The room was dark and quiet, save for the soft sound of breathing. Paige had drifted off hours ago, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the evening, the game, the exposure, the intense sex that followed. But now she stirred, consciousness pulling her slowly from sleep.
She became aware of warmth beside her, of Azzi's body pressed close. And then she became aware of something else, movement. Subtle at first, just a shift of Azzi's hips, but then more. A soft sound escaped Azzi's lips, barely audible, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.
Paige's eyes opened fully, adjusting to the darkness. She turned her head to look at Azzi, and her breath caught.
Azzi was still asleep, her eyes closed, but her face was flushed even in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Her lips were parted, and as Paige watched, another soft moan escaped them. Azzi's body shifted restlessly against the sheets, her thighs pressing together, then falling apart slightly, then pressing together again.
Paige felt heat pool low in her stomach as she realized what was happening. Azzi was having a dream. And from the looks of it, not just any dream.
"Paige," Azzi murmured, so quietly Paige almost missed it. Her hips rolled slightly, seeking friction that wasn't there. "Please..."
Paige's mouth went dry. She propped herself up on one elbow, watching as Azzi's breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling more rapidly beneath the thin tank top she'd thrown on after their earlier activities. Azzi's hand moved in her sleep, sliding down her own body to rest on her lower stomach, fingers twitching like she wanted to move lower but couldn't quite manage it while unconscious.
Another whimper fell from Azzi's lips, louder this time, and her back arched slightly off the bed. The movement caused the sheet to slip down, revealing more of her body, the tank top had ridden up, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach, and her sleep shorts had twisted, riding up her thighs.
Paige's gaze traveled lower, and she felt her pulse quicken. Even in the darkness, she could see the dampness on Azzi's inner thighs, could see how her shorts had darkened with moisture. Azzi was soaked, her arousal evident even through the fabric.
"Fuck," Azzi breathed in her sleep, her hips rolling again, more insistently this time. Her thighs fell open wider, an unconscious invitation, and Paige could see the wet spot on her shorts growing. "Need you..."
Paige felt her own arousal spike, heat flooding through her body. She watched, transfixed, as Azzi's body moved with increasing urgency, chasing pleasure in her dream. Azzi's hand slid lower, fingers brushing over her center through her shorts, and she gasped, the sound breathy and desperate.
"Please, Paige," Azzi whimpered, and god, hearing her name like that,so needy, so wanting, made Paige's stomach clench with desire.
Azzi's movements became more frantic. Her hips lifted off the bed, grinding against her own hand, and her other hand came up to clutch at her breast through her tank top. Her breathing was ragged now, coming in short pants, and a thin sheen of sweat had formed on her skin, making her glow in the moonlight.
"Yes," Azzi moaned, louder now, her head tilting back against the pillow. "Right there, don't stop—"
Paige bit her lip, watching Azzi fall apart in her sleep. It was the hottest thing she'd ever seen, Azzi completely uninhibited, lost in whatever fantasy was playing out in her mind. Her thighs were trembling now, pressed tight around her hand, and Paige could see the muscles in her stomach tensing.
But then Azzi's movements slowed, frustration creeping into her expression even in sleep. Her hand stilled, and she made a small, disappointed sound, like she couldn't quite reach what she needed. Her hips rolled again, seeking, but without the coordination of consciousness, she couldn't find the right angle, the right pressure.
"Please," Azzi whimpered again, and she sounded almost on the verge of tears. "Need more..."
Paige's decision was made in an instant.
---
They'd talked about this before, weeks ago, actually, during one of those late-night conversations where they'd explored each other's fantasies and boundaries. Azzi had been shy about it at first, blushing as she admitted that she'd always thought it would be hot to wake up to Paige touching her, to blur the line between dream and reality.
"Like, you could just... start whenever," Azzi had said, her cheeks pink. "I trust you completely. If I'm asleep and you want to, you have my full consent. Always."
Paige had kissed her then, touched by the trust, turned on by the idea. They'd established it clearly, explicit, enthusiastic consent for Paige to initiate sexual contact while Azzi was asleep. And now, watching Azzi writhe in the grip of a wet dream, clearly desperate for release, Paige knew this was the perfect moment.
A slow smile spread across Paige's face. She was going to make Azzi's dream come true. Literally.
---
Moving slowly and carefully, Paige shifted on the bed. She didn't want to wake Azzi, not yet. She wanted to blur that line between dream and reality, wanted Azzi to wake up already lost in pleasure.
She pressed a soft kiss to Azzi's shoulder, then another to her collarbone. Azzi stirred slightly but didn't wake, just made a soft, contented sound. Paige continued her path downward, kissing along Azzi's sternum, then her stomach, pushing the tank top up as she went.
Azzi's skin was hot beneath her lips, and Paige could feel her trembling. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of Azzi's sleep shorts and slowly, carefully, began to pull them down. Azzi's hips lifted slightly in her sleep, helping without realizing it, and Paige slid the shorts and underwear down her legs, tossing them aside.
The sight that greeted her made Paige's mouth water. Azzi was glistening, her arousal coating her inner thighs, her pussy swollen and wet. Paige could see how turned on she was, could smell the sweet musk of her arousal, and it made her own body throb with need.
But this wasn't about Paige. This was about Azzi.
Paige settled between Azzi's thighs, gently spreading them wider. Azzi made a soft sound, her legs falling open easily, and Paige took a moment just to look at her, beautiful and vulnerable and so fucking wet.
Then she leaned in and dragged her tongue slowly up Azzi's center.
The reaction was immediate. Azzi gasped, her hips jerking up toward Paige's mouth, and a moan fell from her lips—louder than before, but still soft, still dreamy. She was still asleep, Paige realized, but her body was responding, her dream shifting to incorporate the new sensations.
Paige did it again, another long, slow lick, savoring the taste of Azzi on her tongue. God, she loved this—loved the way Azzi tasted, loved the way her body responded even in sleep, loved the little sounds she was making.
She focused on Azzi's clit, circling it with her tongue, and Azzi's thighs trembled on either side of her head. Paige could feel the tension in Azzi's body, could feel how close she already was from the dream. She worked her slowly, carefully, building the pleasure gradually.
"Paige," Azzi moaned, and her hand came down to tangle in Paige's hair, still unconscious, still dreaming, but her body knew what it wanted. "Yes, please..."
Paige increased her pace, her tongue moving faster against Azzi's clit. She slid two fingers inside, and Azzi was so wet they went in easily, her walls clenching around them immediately. Paige groaned against her, the vibration making Azzi's hips buck.
She set a steady rhythm, fingers pumping in and out while her tongue worked Azzi's clit, and she could feel Azzi getting closer. Her moans were getting louder, more desperate, her hips moving in time with Paige's fingers, and her grip on Paige's hair tightened.
"Don't stop," Azzi gasped, and Paige had no intention of stopping. She curled her fingers, finding that spot inside Azzi that made her see stars, and Azzi cried out, her back arching off the bed.
Paige could feel it building, the tension in Azzi's body, the way her walls were fluttering around Paige's fingers, the way her thighs were starting to shake. She was right there, right on the edge, and Paige wanted to push her over.
---
Azzi was dreaming. She had to be dreaming, because the pleasure was too intense, too perfect. In her dream, Paige was between her thighs, doing that thing with her tongue that drove Azzi crazy, and it felt so real—the wet heat of her mouth, the stretch of her fingers inside, the building pressure low in her stomach.
But something was different. The sensations were sharper than usual in dreams, more vivid. Azzi could feel everything—the sheets beneath her, the cool air on her skin, the very real weight of Paige's head between her thighs.
Her eyes fluttered, consciousness trying to break through the haze of sleep and pleasure. She was aware of her body moving, of sounds falling from her lips, of the intense pleasure building and building and—
Her eyes flew open.
The ceiling of Paige's room came into focus above her, dimly lit by moonlight. This wasn't a dream. This was real. Paige was really between her thighs, really eating her out, really—
"Oh my god," Azzi gasped, the realization crashing into her at the same moment a wave of pleasure did. Her hand was in Paige's hair—when had that happened?—and she could feel Paige's fingers inside her, could feel her tongue working her clit with perfect, devastating precision.
Paige looked up, their eyes meeting, and Azzi saw the wicked gleam in Paige's gaze. Paige didn't stop, didn't even slow down. If anything, she doubled her efforts, sucking hard on Azzi's clit while her fingers pumped faster.
"Paige," Azzi moaned, fully awake now but still caught in the overwhelming sensation. "I was—were you—oh fuck—"
She couldn't form coherent sentences. The pleasure was too intense, made more so by the disorientation of waking up already on the edge. Her dream had been building to this, and now reality was finishing what her subconscious had started.
"You were having a dream," Paige said, pulling back just long enough to speak, her voice rough and low. "Such a good dream, baby. You were moaning my name, so wet for me. I couldn't resist."
Then her mouth was back on Azzi, and Azzi's head fell back against the pillow with a cry. She remembered now, their conversation, the consent they'd established. Paige was allowed to do this, and god, Azzi was so glad she'd given that permission because this was incredible.
"I'm so close," Azzi gasped, her hips rolling up to meet Paige's mouth. "Please, Paige, I need—"
"I know what you need," Paige murmured against her, and she curled her fingers just right, hitting that perfect spot while her tongue worked Azzi's clit relentlessly.
---
Azzi felt it building, that familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter in her core. But this felt different, more intense than usual, like the dream had primed her body for something bigger. The pressure was almost overwhelming, and she could feel something else building alongside her orgasm, something that made her thighs shake and her breath come in short, desperate gasps.
"Paige, I think—oh god, I'm gonna—"
She didn't get to finish the sentence. Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, pleasure exploding through her body with an intensity that made her vision white out. And then she felt it, the release, the gush of liquid as she squirted, her body letting go completely.
"Fuck!" Azzi cried out, her back arching off the bed as she came and came, squirting into Paige's mouth. She could feel it, could feel the wetness, could hear the obscene sounds as Paige drank her in, not pulling away, not stopping, just taking everything Azzi gave her.
Paige groaned against her, the sound vibrating through Azzi's oversensitive flesh, and Azzi realized with a shock of arousal that Paige was loving this. She could feel Paige's enthusiasm in the way she pressed closer, in the way her tongue worked Azzi through the waves of pleasure, in the way she moaned like Azzi's taste was the best thing she'd ever experienced.
Azzi's orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through her, her body shaking with the intensity of it. She was dimly aware that she was probably being too loud, that their neighbors might hear, but she couldn't bring herself to care. All that existed was this, Paige's mouth on her, the overwhelming pleasure, the feeling of complete and utter release.
Finally, finally, the waves began to subside. Azzi's body went limp against the bed, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She was trembling all over, oversensitive and wrung out, and when Paige's tongue brushed against her clit one more time, she jerked away with a whimper.
"Too much," she gasped, and Paige immediately gentled, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs instead.
---
Paige crawled back up Azzi's body, and Azzi could see her face was wet, glistening with Azzi's release. Paige was grinning, looking incredibly pleased with herself, and Azzi felt her face heat up despite everything they'd just done.
"Holy shit," Azzi breathed, still trying to process what had just happened. "Did I just—"
"Squirt all over my face?" Paige finished, her grin widening. "Yeah, baby. You did. It was so fucking hot."
Azzi covered her face with her hands, embarrassed despite the lingering pleasure. "Oh my god."
"Hey," Paige said softly, gently pulling Azzi's hands away from her face. "Don't be embarrassed. That was incredible. You're incredible."
She leaned down and kissed Azzi, and Azzi could taste herself on Paige's lips. It should have been weird, but instead it just made her feel warm all over, intimate in a way that went beyond the physical.
"I was having a dream," Azzi said when they pulled apart, her voice still slightly breathless. "About you. We were... god, it was so vivid. And then I woke up and you were actually—"
"Making your dream come true?" Paige supplied with a smirk.
"Something like that," Azzi said, unable to help the smile that spread across her face. "How long were you watching me?"
"Long enough," Paige said, settling beside her and pulling her close. "You were so beautiful, Az. Moving in your sleep, moaning my name. You were so wet, and I just... I remembered what you said, about wanting to wake up like this. I couldn't resist."
Azzi snuggled into Paige's embrace, still feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm. "I'm glad you didn't. That was... intense."
"Good intense?"
"The best intense," Azzi confirmed. She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What was I saying? In my sleep?"
Paige's smirk returned. "Oh, you know. Just begging for me. 'Please, Paige.' 'Need you.' 'Don't stop.' The usual."
Azzi groaned, burying her face in Paige's neck. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"
"Nope," Paige said cheerfully, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But for what it's worth, it was the hottest thing I've ever witnessed. And the ending? When you woke up and realized what was happening? The look on your face was priceless."
"I bet," Azzi muttered, but she was smiling. She felt boneless and satisfied, the kind of deep contentment that came from really good sex and being with someone you loved.
"We should probably clean up," Paige said after a moment, gesturing vaguely at the wet sheets beneath them.
"In a minute," Azzi said, tightening her hold on Paige. "I'm too comfortable to move right now."
"Fair enough," Paige agreed, settling back down. "Besides, I'm pretty proud of the mess I made."
"Paige!"
"What? I am! You squirted, baby. That's like, the ultimate compliment to my oral skills."
Azzi couldn't help but laugh, the sound soft and warm in the darkness. "Your ego is unbelievable."
"You love it," Paige said, and she was right.
"I love you," Azzi corrected, pressing a kiss to Paige's jaw.
"I love you too," Paige said softly, all teasing gone from her voice. "Even when you have dirty dreams about me."
"*Especially* when I have dirty dreams about you," Azzi said. "Apparently they come true."
Paige laughed, the sound rumbling through her chest where Azzi was pressed against her. "Well, in that case, you should dream about me more often."
"Trust me," Azzi said, her eyes already starting to drift closed again, exhaustion pulling at her. "I do."
They lay there in comfortable silence, wrapped around each other, the events of the night, both the game and this, settling over them like a warm blanket. Tomorrow they'd have to face their teammates, deal with the aftermath of their relationship being exposed. But right now, in this moment, it was just them.
And that was more than enough.
Please be gental this is my first time posting in here! Lmk what you think 😄
I’m making a list of my fics that I’m most proud of.
Benefit of the Doubt: Shane tops Ilya as part of helping heal some of his trauma from forcing himself to have heterosexual sex as a young man. also ilya comes so hard he cries and shane talks him through it.
Closer Than You Think: Set in Ep4: situationship accidental sleepover! snowed in! stuck at Shane’s!
Convince Me Either Way: Set in Ep 4, what if Shane wants to have sex but doesn’t want to be sore the next day? Just the Tip?! Also first time not using condoms! For both of them!
Just the Tip: Scott Hunter is right next door, they have no lube and no condoms. They can’t fuck…. unless? (Horny Ilya begs for hole, comes instantly)
Talk a Big Game: Shane rides Ilya until Shane decides they’re done. This nearly kills Ilya. Oh well! (He loves it).
Seven Minutes in Heaven: Shane gets passed around like a blunt, but only Ilya is allowed to make him come. Features Wyatt, Troy and Luca only lol.
Just Keep Touching: Shane might be into sexual overstimulation and Ilya is more than happy to Give It A Go, anything to please his pervert husband.
Shane Hollander vs The Dildo: How did Shane wind up owning The Dildo? Let’s explore his first time.
Take It or Leave It: married just the tip! with overstim!
Across the Line: Luca can’t come because of his new antidepressants. Shane and Ilya help him out (they talk him through it)
I Survived the Edging Olympics and All I Got Was a Fucking T-Shirt: Shane and Ilya edge Luca to tears but it’s actually really really funny because Hollanov are Freak4Freak
Slavic Dad Ilya Rozanov: Just because some of us have parents like this and I had a lot of fun writing it. Features cantankerous Ilya and laid back older Shane with their son who’s so embarrassed he might die.
Paul Baker Thinks Shane Hollander is Nasty at Hockey: Adults x Heated Rivalry Cross-Over One Shot that really is just for Me (also dedicated to Jack Innanen)
Belts and Braces: Married Hollanov CNC Pervert Games with spanking and ‘No Means Harder’
contains: unrivaled!paige, uconn!azzi, fluff, intense amounts of baby fever
word count: 5.3k
masterlist
A/N: uconn wbb & breeze bc game day! anyways, i finally finished this up yesterday. my first oneshot! in my head, this is canon. lol
January in Connecticut was the kind of cold that felt personal.
Azzi Fudd woke up before the sun rose, before the campus got busy, and before the sky decided whether it wanted to snow or just threaten it. Her phone alarm buzzed from the nightstand, and for a split second, she considered pretending she didn’t hear it. Then, her muscle memory took over. She was out of bed with her feet on the floor and pulling on layers like armor— joggers, hoodie, and thick socks— before the feeling of being awake had fully kicked in.
The walk to the gym was brisk and quiet. Her breath fogged the air, and her hands were buried in her sleeves. January didn’t care that basketball was her passion, it was relentless anyway.
Practice was heavy. It’s wasn’t bad, it was just demanding. Whistles, sneakers squeaking, and the echo of the ball hitting hardwood again and again. The season had settled into her bones by then. She knew the order of things: drills, scrimmage, and conditioning. She knew which parts of her body would ache first and which joints would need extra attention that day. Basketball was still the thing she loved most, but love, she’d learned, didn’t necessarily mean easy.
After practice came class, then film. Sitting in a dark room with teammates, pausing clips, and rewinding mistakes. It’s how they learned to be better, sharper, and more patient. Treatment filled the late afternoon. Ice baths, massage tables, and trainers asking how she felt while already knowing the answer.
I’m fine, just tired. Ready to do it all again tomorrow, Azzi would say.
By the time evening hit, the day had pressed in on her from all sides. Azzi FaceTimed Paige whenever they could squeeze it in, sometimes while she was eating, sometimes while she was icing her knees, and sometimes while she was just lying flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. It helped. It always helped. Still, when the call ended, the room felt a little quieter than it should have.
—
Paige Bueckers woke up to sunlight.
Miami didn’t rush her the same way other places did. The air was warm even in the morning, and the palm trees outside her window swayed like they had nowhere urgent to be. Her schedule existed in looser chunks now— Unrivaled games Friday through Monday nights, and workouts slotted around the rest of her life instead of consuming it whole.
She trained hard, still. Lifts, shots, and conditioning. Basketball was always there, steady and familiar, but between workouts, there was space. Time that didn’t immediately belong to someone else.
Some afternoons, that time belonged to Napheesa Collier’s apartment.
Mila, Phee’s daughter, was three and a half and determined to narrate everything she did. Paige sat on the floor with her with her legs crossed, while both of them built towers out of blocks that Mila would immediately knock over, then laugh like it was the best joke she’d ever heard. Paige didn’t mind. She never did. Mila handed her toy cars, asked questions that didn’t need answers, and curled up beside her on the couch during cartoons like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Napheesa moved easily around them, grateful and trusting, and Paige felt… settled in a way she hadn’t expected. Like this version of her life fit just as well as the one under bright lights and packed arenas.
Evenings were warm. Friends stopped by and dinners stretched long. Paige sent Azzi pictures of sunsets and texts about nothing at all— what she ate, who she saw, and how Mila insisted she read the same book three times in a row.
She missed Azzi constantly, but it was a softer ache than before. It was more manageable, and something she could hold without it overwhelming her.
They were good. Solid and secure in the way they had chosen each other, even while being in different cities, having different schedules, and experiencing different seasons of life.
But, some nights, Azzi would lie awake listening to the wind rattle the windows and wonder what Miami feels like after dark.
Some afternoons, Paige watched Mila fall asleep against her shoulder and thought about how Azzi would look sitting right there beside her.
The distance didn’t crack them, but it did make certain thoughts echo louder than they would if they were to be in the same room. Neither of them knew yet how loud those thoughts were about to get.
—
Paige didn’t really think of it as babysitting.
It was just an afternoon at Phee’s place, the kind that slid into existence without ceremony. There was no alarms, no countdown clocks in her head, and no mental checklists of where she needed to be next. The sunlight came in through wide windows, both warm and unhurried, and it stretched across the living room floor in gold bands.
Paige had already worked out that morning. Her body felt good, loose, and strong. She kicked her shoes off by the door an hour ago and hadn’t missed them since.
Mila was on the rug, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she lined up her stuffed animals. Bears, a rabbit with one floppy ear, and a dinosaur that’s seen better days. Paige sat nearby with her legs stretched out, and watched the careful way Mila organized her small world. There was something grounding about it. The seriousness and the focus.
“Paigey.” The way Mila said it, soft and sure like she had always known her, pulled Paige’s attention instantly.
“Yeah, Mila?” Paige answered, already smiling before she even looked up.
Mila held up a stuffed bear. “He needs shoes.”
Paige laughed, the sound both easy and real. “Oh, yeah? You’re right. We can’t have him going barefoot.”
She scooted closer, and Mila didn’t hesitate. She climbed right into Paige’s lap like it was one of her favorite places. Like it was a place she belonged. Paige adjusted automatically, one of her arms going around Mila’s waist, while the other steadied the bear, and then she pretended to tie invisible laces.
Mila giggled loudly, and Paige felt it in her chest. That small and surprising warmth that bloomed before she could name it.
From the kitchen, Napheesa watched with an expression that was soft, knowing, and completely unbothered. There was no hovering and no instructions shouted from across the room, just trust. Paige noticed that too— the ease with which Phee handed this part of her life over. The quiet confidence that Paige would get it right.
“You’re really good with her,” Phee said casually, like it was an observation about Paige’s jumper or her footwork.
Paige shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “She’s easy.” Mila nodded solemnly. “I am.”
That got a laugh out of both of them, and Paige pressed a quick kiss to the top of Mila’s head without thinking. It was automatic and instinctive, like reaching out to steady someone who was about to fall.
Later, after snacks— apple slices and crackers that somehow left Mila’s hands sticky anyway— Paige wiped her fingers clean with practiced care. Between tiny knuckles, along her palms, and a gentle swipe across her cheek. Mila stayed perfectly still, trusting Paige, with her eyes locked on her face.
Paige noticed how small everything is. Her fingers, the shoes, and the socks she helped tug back into place.
At the door, Paige crouched to tie Mila’s sneakers. The laces were absurdly short, and she had to pinch them between her fingers to get a proper bow. Mila rested one hand on Paige’s shoulder for balance while humming tunelessly under her breath. Paige tightened the knot, checked it, then checked it again.
It hit her then, not like a wave, but like a quiet realization settling into place.
This is something she was really enjoying.
It wasn’t effortless. Nothing meaningful ever was, but it was easy in the way that felt right. Her body knew what to do before her brain caught up. The care came naturally when it was focused outward, on someone small and trusting and entirely present.
Back on the couch later, Mila curled into Paige’s side with a picture book. Paige read it once, then again, then again, while changing the voices slightly each time. Mila laughed at the same parts, predictable and delighted. Eventually, her laughter faded into soft breathing, and her head tipped against Paige’s shoulder.
Paige froze for half a second, then relaxed. She adjusted just enough to keep Mila comfortable, while being careful not to wake her. Mila’s weight was warm and grounding. Paige’s arm ached slightly from holding her, but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to.
That was when the thought landed. It wasn’t dramatic or overwhelming, just clear.
She wanted to tell Azzi. Not because it was cute, and not for the story of it, but because Azzi would’ve understood exactly why Paige felt like this. Why her chest felt tight in the best way, and why this moment mattered even though nothing monumental was happening.
She imagined Azzi’s face lighting up and the way her voice would soften. The laugh first— always the laugh— then the quieter and more serious tone underneath. Paige knew it because she knew Azzi. She knew the way she felt things deeply, even when she pretended that she didn’t.
Paige glanced at her phone on the coffee table, still face down, and still untouched.
Not yet, she thought to herself.
Some moments weren’t meant to be shared immediately. Some were meant to settle first, to be understood, and to be felt fully before they were named.
Mila shifted slightly, sighing in her sleep as her fingers curled into the fabric of Paige’s shirt. Paige’s heart stuttered, just once.
She stayed there, still and present, while the afternoon stretched around her— the sunlight fading slowly, the hum of the city outside, and the quiet certainty that this feeling wasn’t a fluke. It’s something real.
Somewhere far away, in a colder place with earlier mornings, there was someone Paige loved who would hear about this soon.
Just not yet.
—
The next day, after morning practice, Paige decided to post something on Instagram.
She was back at her own apartment, her hair still damp from a shower, and had a loose hoodie thrown on over some shorts. Her body felt worked but good, the satisfying kind of tired that came from real minutes and real competition. She sprawled out on the couch with her phone in hand and started scrolling through her camera roll.
Her social media managers were always in the back of her mind when she posted.
Have a mix of basketball and personal life.
Let people see you, but not everything.
Paige had gotten good at that balance.
She tapped through photos from the last week and a half or so. Unrivaled games under bright lights, action shots mid-drive and mid-release, a candid of her laughing on the bench with a teammate, one with her coach, her arm slung around Paige’s shoulders, both of them sweaty and smiling like they’d just gotten away with something.
Those were easy. Pictures like those went in without hesitation. Then, she scrolled a little further.
Mila. There were… a lot of Mila photos.
Paige paused with her thumb hovering over the screen. She smiled before she could stop herself. There was Mila eating strawberries with juice smeared across her mouth, Mila asleep against Paige’s shoulder, and Mila holding Paige’s finger like it was an anchor. Paige hadn’t taken them with the intention of posting. Most of them had been for Azzi, honestly, but she also knew how this worked.
Paige wasn’t stupid. She knew her fans would love these. She knew the comments would be ridiculous, and she knew people would lose their minds over her holding a toddler like that— over how domestic it looked.
And she knew— absolutely knew— that her girlfriend was going to see them. That thought made her pause longer than necessary.
She chose fourteen pictures and one video. Mostly basketball photos— ones taken during the Unrivaled games so far. Some of her alone, some with teammates, and one with her coach. She spaced the personal ones carefully, tucking them between the basketball shots so it felt casual and unforced. Like this was just her life, because it was.
The first photo of Mila was a candid. It was of Paige on the couch, with Mila perched on her shoulders, her tiny hands holding onto Paige’s head. The camera caught a side view of Paige’s, and she was caught smiling. It wasn’t polished or posed. Instead, it looked lived-in.
The second photo was louder. Paige wore a backwards hat and glasses, which was a fan favorite look, she knew, and Mila sat on her lap with a puppy in her hands, one of another player’s. Both of them were smiling big, with unfiltered smiles.
And then, the third photo. It was taken in the hallway, and Mila was on Paige’s shoulders again, with her legs hooked comfortably over her chest. Paige was looking at the camera. Her expression was joyful, open, and unmistakably happy.
Not game-day happy.
Not post-win happy.
Just content.
Paige stared at it for a few seconds longer than the others before adding it anyway.
The caption came easily.
Aunty PBreezy on the job 🫡
She clicked post.
The likes started coming in immediately. Paige watched the number tick upward for a moment before closing out of the app and tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. She had errands to run, a lift later, and Mila was coming over again that afternoon.
She didn’t think about it anymore for now.
—
Azzi was scrolling on her phone in between classes in the library when her brain short-circuited.
She had one AirPod in, her hoodie pulled up, and her laptop open in front of her with notes she was only half-reading. Her legs were stretched out under the table, her ankle bouncing faintly, with the leftover energy from morning practice still humming through her.
She opened Instagram without thinking, and Paige’s post was the third thing on her feed. Azzi literally stopped breathing.
She double-tapped it automatically, her thumb moving before her brain could even catch up. Fourteen photos and one video. She swiped through the basketball ones first—because she always did, because she loved seeing Paige play, and loved seeing her confident and glowing in the Miami light.
Then she got to the first picture of Mila. Her chest tightened, but she kept swiping. Her brain stuttered, then she swiped again.
Suddenly, Azzi was staring at Paige in a backwards hat and glasses, holding a toddler and a puppy like this was just a thing that happened in her life now.
“What the hell,” Azzi muttered under her breath as her thumb froze on the screen.
Why was her chest tight?
She swiped to the hallway photo and felt something in her soul malfunction.
Why did she suddenly want a minivan?
Azzi leaned back in her chair, staring at the photo like it might explain itself if she gave it enough time.
This should’ve come with a warning label, she thought to herself.
Side effects may include yearning, domestic thoughts, and loss of sanity.
She glanced around the library, suddenly paranoid that someone might be able to see the spiral happening in real time. Her heart was pounding, and she hadn’t even figured out why yet. She already missed Paige. She had been missing her in that constant and low-level way, but this? This felt unfair.
Paige looked happy and easy, like she fit there. Like she belonged in moments that looked suspiciously like a future Azzi hadn’t let herself think too hard about.
Azzi screenshot the post once, then again, just in case. She locked her phone and placed it face-down on the table, her palms flat on either side of it like it might explode if she touched it again.
Her ovaries, she thought dimly, were staging a hostile takeover.
Somewhere in Miami, Paige Bueckers went about her day completely unaware that she had just destabilized Azzi Fudd with fourteen photos and one video.
And Azzi knew— she knew— that she wasn’t making it through the next five minutes without texting Paige about it.
—
Azzi lasted exactly three minutes. She stared at her phone where it sat face-down on the library table, like she was trying to physically restrain herself. She failed almost immediately. Her hand twitched, her fingers curled, and then she flipped the phone over and opened Messages before her brain could mount a second objection.
Azzi: You can’t just post that and expect me to be normal about it.
She hit send and immediately leaned back in her chair before exhaling hard through her nose. Around her, the library remained silent and studious. No one knew her life had just derailed.
Paige’s typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Paige: ???
Azzi: Don’t play dumb with me.
Paige: I’m literally sitting in traffic. What did I do 😭
Azzi sent the screenshot. The screenshot. Already cropped perfectly, and zoomed in on the hallway photo like evidence in a court case.
Azzi: This.
Azzi: THIS is what you did.
There was a pause, a longer one this time. Azzi imagined Paige glancing at her phone, her eyebrows lifting, and that smug little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Paige: Ohhh that one?
Azzi: Do NOT “ohhh that one” me.
Paige: She just likes me 🥺
Azzi made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan as she buried her face briefly in her hands.
Azzi: Paige. Be serious.
Paige: I am serious. I’m a very responsible babysitter.
Azzi: You look like you’re auditioning for a future I did not emotionally prepare myself for.
Paige sent a voice note in response this time instead of typing. Azzi put her AirPod back in before she even pressed play.
Paige’s voice came through warmly and amused, with the Miami sun pretty much audible in the background. “Az, I was literally just holding her. She climbed up there on her own. I didn’t stage anything, I swear.”
Azzi swallowed thickly.
Azzi: You were smiling like that on purpose.
Paige: I smile like that all the time.
Azzi: LIES.
Paige responded with a photo. This one was new and not posted. Mila was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a crayon, and looking intensely serious.
Paige: Counterpoint: look at her face. Tell me you wouldn’t smile too.
Azzi stared at it longer than she meant to.
Azzi: That should literally come with some kind of warning.
Azzi: “Side effects may include intense longing and a sudden desire to build IKEA furniture.”
Paige: You hate IKEA.
Azzi: I would assemble a crib with my bare hands for you right now and that scares me.
There it was, the truth slipped out sideways, wrapped in humor like bubble wrap.
Paige didn’t respond immediately. Azzi watched the typing bubble appear, disappear, and then appear again. Her heart kicked up a notch. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t that deep. That this was just baby fever. A moment. A spiral.
She knew herself better than that.
Paige: Hey.
Just that. One single word.
Azzi: Hey.
Paige: I didn’t mean to mess with your head.
Azzi: I know.
Azzi: You didn’t mean to.
Azzi: You just did.
Paige sent another voice note, her tone softer and quieter this time.
“I just… it feels normal, Az. Being there with her and with Phee trusting me like that. I wasn’t trying to make a statement.”
Azzi leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting to the high windows of the library, the gray winter light filtering in.
Azzi: That’s kind of the problem.
Paige: Yeah?
Azzi: It didn’t look like a statement.
Azzi: It looked like something that already fit.
Paige didn’t joke right away this time.
Paige: You’d be really good at this, you know.
Azzi’s breath caught. She stared at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something safer.
Azzi: That’s not fair.
Paige: Why?
Azzi: Because now I’m thinking about things I’ve been actively not thinking about.
Paige: Like what?
Azzi: Like how I didn’t feel panicked when I saw those pictures.
Azzi: Just… jealous.
Azzi: And soft.
Azzi: And like I wanted to be there too.
She added one more text quickly:
Azzi: Not now. I know not now.
Azzi: Just… someday.
Paige sent a meme in response. Some dramatic gif from a movie: “I’m listening.”
Azzi laughed out loud, which earned her a glare from a student at another table.
Azzi: You’re impossible.
Paige: You love it.
Azzi: Unfortunately, yes.
There was a pause, then:
Paige: I think about it sometimes.
Azzi’s heart skipped.
Azzi: About…?
Paige: A future that doesn’t revolve around schedules and seasons.
Paige: One where I get to stay in one place for a while.
Azzi’s throat was suddenly tight.
Azzi: You’re doing this on purpose now.
Paige: Maybe a little…
Azzi: I want that.
Azzi: And it scares me how much I want it.
Paige: It doesn’t scare me.
Azzi: How?
Paige: Because wanting something doesn’t mean you have to rush it. It just means you know it’s real.
Azzi stared at her phone, her thumb hovering uselessly over the keyboard.
Azzi: I keep picturing you with her.
Azzi: And then I picture you looking at me the same way.
Paige: I already do.
That one landed quietly. There was no joke and no emoji. Azzi felt heat prick behind her eyes and laughed it off immediately.
Azzi: Okay wow.
Azzi: I did not expect to get emotionally wrecked in the UConn library today.
Paige: My bad 😅
Azzi: You’re not sorry.
Paige: Nope.
Paige sent one more voice note, this one gentler than the ones before.
“We have time, Azzi. So much time. But when I see you freak out like this over something so small… it just makes me realize everything is gonna be okay.”
Azzi: You sound wise.
Paige: Spending time with Mila has changed me.
Azzi: You’re ridiculous.
After a beat, she added:
Azzi: Please do not post any more toddlers without a heads-up.
Paige: Ha, no promises.
Azzi: Paige 😐
Paige: Kidding.
Paige: Mostly.
Azzi smiled at her phone, feeling that familiar warmth blooming low and steady in her chest. The distance still existed, and the seasons still pressed in around them. But, the idea of someday— of something shared, intentional, and real— felt closer than it had before.
—
Later that night, Azzi laid on her bed staring up at the ceiling. The room was quiet in a way that only happened after a long day finally let go of her.
Her phone rested face-up on her chest, the screen dark, waiting for the familiar buzz that meant Paige was FaceTiming her. It was late enough that the campus noise had softened. There were no doors slamming and no laughter drifting down the hall. Just the hum of heat kicking on and off, and the faint glow from the streetlight bleeding through her blinds.
Her body was tired in the way it always was during the season. Her muscles were still faintly sore and her knees felt heavy. Her mind refused to follow suit.
She couldn’t stop seeing it. Paige on that couch, in that hallway, and the way Mila fit so easily against her, like there had never been a question of where she belonged. The way Paige’s smile in that picture hadn’t been for anyone else. It had just existed, unguarded and real.
And then there were the texts. The jokes that hadn’t really been jokes, and the quiet honesty that had slipped between memes and laughter. We have time. I already do.
Azzi swallowed and blinked at the ceiling like it might give her some answers.
She thought about her own childhood— the noise of it and the chaos that it had held. Her two brothers who drove her insane, who stole her things and pushed her buttons but showed up anyway. Family dinners that always stretched long. The feeling of always having someone in the house, someone down the hall, someone who was hers whether she liked it or not.
Family had always been an anchor for her. Something solid, and something that existed beyond whatever phase her life was in at the moment.
The idea of that kind of stability in the future settled low and warm in her chest.
Her and Paige.
The thought no longer startled her the way it might have once. Instead, it unfolded gently. A house somewhere that didn’t feel temporary and shoes by the door that didn’t belong to just one person. Three, maybe two, maybe four— kids running through the halls, leaving messes, noise, and life behind them. A basketball hoop in the driveway, one that was scuffed and crooked, the kind that got used until it rattled. Azzi laughing on the porch, and Paige pretending she wasn’t keeping score.
The image tightened something in her chest, not with panic, but with longing.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together as if that might steady her. This wasn’t a sudden ridiculous case of baby fever sparked by a few photos. It wasn’t just hormones or distance or missing her girlfriend more than usual. It was clarity.
She wanted a life with Paige. One that didn’t end when the season did. One that wasn’t measured in road trips, game schedules, and time zones. She wanted something that lasted. Something that grew and changed, but stayed anyway.
Her phone buzzed softly against her chest, and Paige’s name lit up the screen.
Azzi exhaled, slow and steady before answering, already knowing that whatever came next, she wasn’t imagining this alone.
—
The screen flickered once before Paige’s face filled it.
Azzi’s chest loosened immediately in the way it always did. Paige was sitting on her bed in Miami, her hair still damp from her shower, loose strands of hair clinging to the edges of her face. She wore her glasses— the purple-framed ones that Azzi loved— and a worn T-shirt that had definitely been stolen at some point. The room was dim except for the lamp on her nightstand, which casted everything in a warm and low glow.
“Hey there, beautiful,” Paige said, smiling like she hadn’t already unraveled Azzi’s entire emotional stability earlier that day.
“Hey,” Azzi replied with the feeling of heat crawling up her neck, her voice softer than she meant it to be.
Paige shifted before propping herself up against the headboard. “You look tired.”
“Season,” Azzi said automatically, then smiled a little. “You look… Miami.”
Paige laughed. “Translation?”
“Warm and relaxed. Like you haven’t seen snow in years,” Azzi replied.
“Correct,” Paige said with a big grin on her face. “I would simply pass away if I had to walk to practice in January Connecticut weather right now.”
Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. For a minute they stayed like that, trading small updates. Paige talked about her lift earlier, and Azzi complained about film. It was familiar and easy, the kind of conversation that reminded Azzi why this worked even when it was hard.
Eventually, there was a moment of silence.
Paige’s smile softened. “You okay?”
Azzi hesitated. She stared at Paige through the screen and really looked at her. The way she’d pushed her glasses up with one finger, and the way her eyes stayed gentle, open, and waiting.
“Yeah,” Azzi said, then exhaled. “I mean… mostly.”
Paige didn’t rush her. She just nodded once. “Talk to me.”
Azzi shifted on her bed and pulled her hoodie sleeves over her hands. “I kinda scared myself today.”
Paige’s expression changed. She wasn’t alarmed, just attentive. “How?”
“With how much I wanted it,” Azzi admitted quietly. “The idea. The picture. The… future of it all.”
She let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in her chest all day. “I wasn’t expecting it to hit like that. I’ve always known I wanted… something eventually. But seeing you like that, and then talking about it, it didn’t feel hypothetical anymore.”
Paige stayed very still as she listened.
“I don’t feel panicked,” Azzi continued. “That’s the weird part. I feel… sure, and that scares me more than anything else.”
Paige smiled then, slowly and softly, like something had settled into place. “Hey,” she said gently. “That’s okay.”
Azzi looked up at the screen. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Paige said with a nod. “There’s no pressure here. No timeline we’re supposed to be following, and no version of this where we have to decide anything right now.”
She shifted closer to the camera, her voice steady and warm. “Wanting something doesn’t mean you have to chase it immediately. It just means you’re being honest.”
Azzi swallowed. “I don’t want to mess this up by thinking too far ahead.”
“You won’t,” Paige said without hesitation. “Because we’re not doing this alone. We’re just… noticing it together.”
Azzi let that sit, and let the certainty in Paige’s voice ground her.
“I see it too,” Paige added after a beat.
Azzi’s breath caught in her throat. “You do?”
“With you,” Paige said simply. No dramatics, no promises dressed up as plans, just the truth, offered calmly. “Whatever it ends up looking like.”
Azzi felt something in her chest ease, like she’d been bracing for impact and realized there was nothing coming.
She smiled, small but real. “I really love you.”
Paige’s grin turned soft around the edges. “I really love you too.”
They stayed on FaceTime longer than they needed to, neither of them in a hurry to hang up. Paige eventually yawned, rubbing at her eyes, and Azzi laughed quietly, with the warmth settling over her like a blanket.
When they finally said goodnight, the distance didn’t feel quite as heavy.
And for the first time, Azzi wasn’t afraid of how clearly she could see the future— only grateful that she didn’t have to rush toward it alone.
—
Azzi laid there for a moment after the screen went dark, her phone lying face-down on her chest out of habit, like she might feel Paige’s heartbeat if she waited long enough. The room felt warmer than it had before, less empty. The buzz of her box fan faded into the background as her thoughts slowed down and finally settled.
Her phone then buzzed once, and Azzi’s heart kicked. She lifted it and smiled before she even unlocked the screen.
It was a photo from Paige. Mila was asleep on the couch, curled on her side with a small stuffed teddy bear tucked under her chin. One arm was flung over it protectively, the way kids did when they were completely at ease. Her hair was all over the place, her cheeks were flushed, and her mouth was parted just slightly in sleep. Safe, warm, and loved.
Underneath it, there was one message.
Paige: Practice run.
As Azzi stared at the screen, the corners of her mouth lifted slowly, like her face needed time to catch up with her heart. She brought the phone closer and her thumb brushed over the photo like she could feel it.
This time, the ache that settled in her chest wasn’t sharp. Instead, it was soft and full.
She let out a quiet laugh, shook her head to herself, and then locked the screen before the emotion could tip into something overwhelming. The room was dark, silent, and unchanged, but Azzi wasn’t.
She turned onto her side with her phone tucked safely against her, her smile lingering as she closed her eyes.
Someday didn’t feel far away. For now, that was enough.
It starts with a borrowed hoodie after their first gold medal and turns into a habit Azzi never breaks. Over the years, clothes become their love language until Paige finally realizes she has been in love with her best friend the whole time.
Word Count: 8.8k words
June, 2017
The first time Azzi ever wore something of Paige's, it wasn't planned. Paige hadn't even figured out how to call them actual friends yet without sounding delusional.
It was June 11, 2017, and the U16 FIBA World Championship in Argentina was officially over. Gold medals rested heavy against their chests, still warm from the final game and the celebration that followed.
Understandably, at fifteen-years-old Paige had been buzzing for hours, the adrenaline refusing to settle. She kept replaying the tournament in her head, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened.
This was her first gold medal. Her first championship at this level.
Being a champion was a new feeling for her, one that felt both overwhelming and promising at the same time. Standing on that podium, she had known she had won something that would stay with her long after they left Argentina. Something that would shape the way she thought about herself and the game.
From the beginning, the tournament had felt different from anything she had experienced before. Everything was more competitive and more demanding. The practices ran longer, the games carried a weight she hadn't fully prepared for.
Wearing the USA jersey meant more than just playing well. It meant representing something larger than herself, meeting expectations, and carrying that responsibility every time she stepped onto the court.
Paige loved all of it.
From the pressure to the discipline to the shared focus of a team working toward the same goal.
The overwhelming joy of winning hadn't arrived in one single moment. It came back to her in waves. First when the final buzzer sounded. Then when they stood together on the podium, listening to the anthem as a team. Now she felt it every time her fingers brushed the medal tucked beneath her Hopkins hoodie.
She kept touching it like she needed the physical reminder that it was real, that they had earned it together.
But the bubble they had built over two weeks of practices, hotels, and games was already starting to dissolve. The team was splitting up now, everyone heading in different directions, back to different homes and routines. Paige checked her boarding pass again.
Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport, Minnesota.
She was heading back to her usual life, to her dad and stepmom, to Drew. She loved it there, it was her home.
But as she walked down the aisle, Paige realized how much she was going to miss being surrounded by people who cared about basketball the way she did. She found herself wishing, just a little, that she had someone sitting next to her who understood exactly what this win felt like.
She found her row, slid into her seat, and was halfway through buckling in when she finally looked up.
Azzi Fudd was sitting right next to her.
For a split second, Paige genuinely thought she had made a mistake. She checked her boarding pass again, then the seat number, before looking back at Azzi.
Azzi's expression mirrored her own brief surprise, flickering for just a moment before settling into something more guarded.
"Oh," Azzi said. "Hey."
"Hey," Paige replied, automatically brighter, like she couldn't help it.
She hadn't known Azzi would be on this flight. Hadn't known she would be flying to Minnesota instead of back east to her family. The coincidence alone made Paige's chest feel warm. And suddenly, her heart was racing for an entirely different reason.
Because the truth was, Paige had a thing for Azzi.
She wasn't entirely sure when it had started. Maybe during the first U16 trial a few months earlier, watching Azzi shoot like she was the most perfect basketball player Paige had ever seen.
Or maybe it went back even further, to North Tartan Summer Jam the year before, when Paige had seen her in real life for the first time and thought, Oh. That's… that's what finding someone cute feels like.
Back then, Azzi hadn't even known Paige existed. Which meant it technically didn't count as a crush. Paige had decided that was the rule.
You couldn't like someone who hadn't noticed you yet. That was just… a thing.
But these last two weeks have definitely changed that.
They had spent the entire tournament together, filled with practices and shared bus rides and team meals. And somewhere in all of that, Paige had started trying very hard to be Azzi's friend.
Of course, if you asked her, she wouldn't have called it trying. To her, it felt natural, just being friendly. To a shy fourteen-year-old Azzi, though, it had probably been a lot.
Paige talked easily, she joked constantly, she always seemed to find a reason to be nearby, to comment on a drill, to ask a question that didn't really need asking. She volunteered for partner work, lingered after conversations, smiled brightly at Azzi every single time.
Paige had tried everything to get Azzi to notice her.
She even, regrettably, used a basketball pickup line she had found online at breakfast one morning. "I hand out a couple assists per game, but never landed on a dime like you." She had said it with a grin she thought was charming.
Unfortunately, Azzi had only stared at her, completely blank, then turned to talk to Diamond like Paige hadn't said anything at all.
Still, Paige hadn't given up. Being annoying was better than being invisible. At least annoying meant Azzi knew her name.
And Paige didn't know how to be subtle yet. She didn't know that her enthusiasm could be overwhelming. She only knew that being around Azzi felt good, and that she desperately wanted to be noticed by her.
But somehow, impossibly, she had never once ended up alone next to Azzi for longer than a few minutes. There was always someone else there, always a teammate in the middle, always something interrupting the moment.
Until now.
So when Paige realized they were seatmates on this 10-hour flight, she grinned like she had won something even bigger than a gold medal.
Azzi, on the other hand, did not look nearly as pleased.
Her shoulders tensed almost immediately, and she turned toward the window, earbuds sliding in as her posture closed off. It wasn't rude, exactly, just defensive. Like she needed space before Paige could fill it again the way she had been doing for the past two weeks.
Paige told herself she would play it cool, let Azzi come to her. She managed that for maybe twenty minutes.
That was when she noticed how tightly Azzi had curled in on herself, knees pulled close, arms wrapped around them. Her chin hovered near her shoulder, and goosebumps traced the length of her forearms.
She wasn't wearing a hoodie.
Paige poked her once. No reaction. She poked her again.
Azzi turned just enough to look at her, unimpressed. "What Paige?"
"Rude," Paige said, trying to sound casual and not like her heart had just started sprinting. "Are you cold?"
Azzi's mouth curved in the smallest, driest smirk. "No. I just enjoy pretending I am a human popsicle. What do you think?"
Paige rolled her eyes and leaned back.
Fine. Whatever. Her crush on Azzi Fudd was officially over.
Except it wasn't.
Because when another shiver ran through Azzi a moment later, Paige didn't even hesitate. She tugged her blue Hopkins hoodie over her head and held it out.
Azzi turned fully toward her this time, brows knitting together. "…Why?"
"I am fine in the cold," Paige said with a shrug, forcing nonchalance. "I am from Minnesota after all."
Azzi hesitated, then took it.
She pulled it on, sleeves falling over her hands as she tucked them in, curling into the fabric like the hoodie was already warming her up. Paige had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too hard.
Her Hopkins hoodie. On Azzi Fudd. Yeah, that crush was far from over…
It was dumb, it was just a sweatshirt, but it felt like she had won a secret prize no one else knew existed.
"It looks good on you," she blurted out.
Azzi rolled her eyes, but her shoulders loosened, and the corner of her mouth lifted before she could stop it. She tugged the sleeves further down over her hands, settling deeper into the hoodie.
A few quiet minutes passed. Then Azzi slid one earbud out, turning just slightly toward Paige.
"So… how are you feeling about everything?"
That is all Paige needed.
She started talking about their last game, the tournament, how she felt about winning. Her words came easily now, animated and warm, her smile widening every time Azzi nodded along or added her own thoughts about their run. It felt natural, a conversation that had been waiting to happen.
Paige didn't even notice how Azzi stayed curled into the hoodie, breathing it in without thinking, or how her foot brushed Paige's when she shifted a little closer. She didn't notice how Azzi never put the earbud back in.
Paige just leaned back in her seat, careful not to look too pleased as the conversation stretched on, the hours of the flight slipping past without either of them paying attention.
And they didn't know it yet, but that hoodie was never coming back to Paige. And neither was the version of them who boarded that plane thinking the gold medal would be the biggest thing they carried home.
August, 2018
By the next summer, Paige knew two things for certain.
Azzi Fudd was the coolest person she had ever met.
Azzi Fudd had absolutely no concept of borrowing clothes.
It had been a year since their U16 win in Argentina. Paige was sixteen now, Azzi fifteen, and somewhere between tournaments and camps, they had gone from barely talking to talking every day.
At first, it was mostly about basketball. Then it started to stretch into school, friends, and whatever else filled their days. Somewhere along the way it became late-night messages and dumb TikToks sent back and forth at midnight.
Sometimes Paige would deliberately say something just to get a rise out of Azzi and then spend the next twenty minutes making sure she was forgiven. She told herself it was just for fun. Definitely not because annoyed Azzi was adorable.
The Hopkins hoodie, though, was a different story.
Paige had never seen it again. Not in person, at least.
Every now and then she would bring it up on FaceTime, very casually, like it didn't matter at all.
"Hey," she would say, pretending to scroll on her iPad while talking, "I could wear my Hopkins one… if I still had it. Do you know where it is?"
Azzi would glance up, blink like she was genuinely confused, and shrug. "Huh. That's weird. You need to take better care of your stuff, Paige."
And then, a week later, Paige would open Instagram to see Azzi wearing it in a story, sleeves rolled up on her arms, looking very comfortable in it. .Sometimes there would be a little smirk, subtle enough to deny, obvious enough that Paige knew it was meant for her.
Paige didn't actually mind.
It looked better on Azzi anyway.
But then it started happening more.
First it was a pair of sweatpants at U17 trials. Azzi came out of the locker room after a training session wearing pants embroidered with a number 5 instead of 6, the fabric sitting a little too low on her hips.
"Those are mine," Paige said, not accusatory so much as genuinely stunned.
Azzi glanced down at herself, slow and thoughtful, like she was only just now noticing what she had on. "Oh," she said. "Yeah. I forgot mine."
She said it easily, like that alone explained why she was suddenly dressed in Paige's clothes. Then she shrugged and took a step closer, tugging at the waistband absentmindedly.
"Your stuff are more comfortable," she added, almost offhand.
Paige opened her mouth, then closed it again, her brain stalling somewhere between yes, they are and why are you standing that close and since when does that make my heart do this.
But Azzi didn't wait. She walked off like nothing had happened, hands tucked casually into Paige's pockets, already halfway down the hall before Paige remembered how to breathe.
Paige stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching her go, left with the strange, unmistakable feeling that she had just lost something and gained something at the same time.
The lavender Nike T-shirt happened later that summer, during a sleepover at Azzi's grandparents' cabin.
They had stayed up too late talking, stretched out on opposite sides of the bed, voices dropping lower as the night went on. At some point, Azzi had rolled closer, close enough that their arms brushed and Paige had stopped pretending her heart wasn't doing something ridiculous.
In the morning, Paige was halfway through pulling on one of her own shirts when Azzi sat up, squinting at it through sleep-heavy eyes.
"That looks comfortable," Azzi said.
Paige laughed. "It's literally just a shirt in my favourite color."
"Let me see," Azzi said, reaching for it before Paige could react.
She pulled it on without asking and stood in front of the mirror, tugging it into place. It hung loose on her and very hot. It made Paige's brain immediately stop working. Azzi tilted her head, considering herself for a second.
"Yeah," she decided. "I think I will wear it today."
"You can't just steal my clothes," Paige said, but it came out weak, more breathless than she meant it to.
Azzi turned toward her, stepping close enough that Paige could smell her shea butter based shampoo. She smiled at her, then leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Paige's cheek, close to the corner of her mouth.
Paige's brain short-circuited completely.
"Watch me." Azzi said easily, brushing past her, shoulder grazing Paige's on the way out of the room.
Paige stood there, shirtless and stunned, her hand still half-raised like she had meant to do something about it.
She absolutely did not do anything about it. She just grinned to herself like a complete cheeseball and followed her out of the room after finding a different shirt.
Paige started noticing the pattern after that.
Azzi never made a big deal out of it. She never asked outright. She just… appeared in Paige's things.
A hoodie tossed over her shoulders while they sat outside. Azzi tucking her hands into the sleeves and glancing sideways at Paige like she was checking for a reaction. T-shirts worn to bed, soft and oversized, Azzi stretching in them on purpose the next morning like she knew exactly what she was doing.
And Paige never stopped her.
Not because she couldn't. Okay, maybe a little because she couldn't. But mostly because there was something about it that felt weirdly important. Like a thought she kept circling without ever daring to land on the conclusion.
That every time Azzi chose her clothes, she was maybe choosing her, too, even if she didn't say it out loud.
Azzi, meanwhile, was not subtle.
She tugged at hoodie strings slowly while talking, let the fabric slip off one shoulder just enough to notice, leaned in too close when she laughed. She'd brush past Paige deliberately, fingers grazing her wrist, her waist, her back, then look over her shoulder with a smile that absolutely meant something.
Paige noticed all of it. She just filed it under Azzi being Azzi.
And sometimes Azzi would catch Paige staring and lift an eyebrow, clearly entertained.
"What?" Azzi would ask, smiling like she already knew the answer.
"Nothing," Paige would say too fast. "You are just… wearing my stuff again."
Azzi would glance down at herself, then back up at Paige, eyes bright. "Yeah," she would say easily. "I like how you look at me when you notice it."
Paige would blink and miss it entirely.
"You can keep it," she would offer, because that part felt obvious at least.
Azzi would laugh under her breath like she had just won something.
By the end of the summer, Azzi had three of Paige's hoodies, one pair of sweatpants, and two T-shirts. And Paige had the growing, slightly terrifying realization that she didn't actually want any of them back.
Because the clothes were just clothes.
But Azzi in them, teasing, confident, clearly waiting for Paige to catch up, was something Paige wasn't ready to let go of, even if she still didn't understand why yet.
April, 2019
It happened too fast.
One second Azzi was cutting, quick and effortless and the next she was on the floor, the sound she made cutting straight through the gym.
Paige was on her feet before she understood what she was seeing, a cold drop settling in her stomach as everything else blurred.
She didn't remember moving. She only remembered standing there beside Azzi's mom, shoulder to shoulder, both of them frozen in the same awful, helpless posture.
Paige's hands were clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms. She watched Azzi try to sit up and stop, watched the trainers rush in, watched the realization spread across her face in real time.
Please, Paige prayed, the words tumbling over each other in her head. Please let it be nothing. Please let it just look bad. Please let her stand up and laugh this off.
She prayed again when Azzi was helped off the court. And again in the hallway draped over her healthy knee. And again later, alone, when the truth was announced.
Torn ACL and MCL on her right knee.
Paige had never felt so useless.
The night before she had to leave for Minnesota, Paige finally went to see her. Azzi was propped up on the bed, knee wrapped and elevated, eyes red but dry now, like she'd already cried everything out.
She was wearing the Hopkins hoodie. Paige's Hopkins hoodie.
It suddenly looked a little too big on her, sleeves rolled up, the familiar blue soft and worn against the stark room. Seeing it there on Azzi like this hit Paige harder than she expected.
That hoodie had started as a joke, a tease, something light between them. Now it felt like a safety blanket.
Paige hovered just inside the doorway. "Hey."
Azzi looked up, and the way her face softened at the sight of Paige made Paige's chest ache.
"Hey," Azzi said quietly.
Paige sat down on the edge of the bed, unsure where to put her hands, so she folded them in her lap. Her eyes kept drifting to Azzi's knee before she forced herself to look away.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"I'm sorry," Paige said finally, her voice rough. "I prayed. I really thought…"
"I know," Azzi said, shaking her head gently. "I know you did."
Paige swallowed, then nodded toward the hoodie. "Can you… can you take that off?"
The words surprised them both.
Azzi's fingers curled instinctively into the fabric. She shook her head, small and broken, eyes lifting to Paige's like she was asking for mercy without saying a word.
Paige's chest caved in.
This wasn't teasing. This wasn't give it back or make me. Paige didn't want it because it was hers. She wanted Azzi to have something else too. Something new that meant after, not before.
Paige stood up without another word.
She unzipped her jacket slowly, the UConn zip-up she had gotten just weeks ago after committing, still stiff with newness but already smelling like Paige.
She slipped it off and held it out.
"Wear this," she said softly. "I already warmed it up."
Azzi stared at it, then at Paige, eyes wide and unsure. "Paige… I can't just…"
"You can," Paige said quickly but gently. "You can keep the Hopkins one too. I don't care. I just… I want you to have this."
There was something unspoken in the way she said it.
I want you to focus on the future and not the past. You will be back there with me.
Azzi reached out slowly, like she was afraid Paige might change her mind. Her fingers brushed Paige's as she took the jacket.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Then, after a beat, quieter, almost embarrassed, "Can you… can you wear the Hopkins one while you are here? And you can give it back to me before you leave?"
Paige smiled, soft and a little wrecked. "Yeah," she said. "Of course."
Azzi relaxed then, shoulders finally dropping as she tugged the UConn zip-up closer, bunching the fabric under her hands like she needed to keep it there. It looked too big on her too.
Paige liked that more than she was ready to admit.
Azzi shifted carefully, a small wince slipping through before she could hide it, and Paige was on her feet instantly, hands hovering like she wanted to help but didn't know how.
"Sorry," Azzi murmured.
"You don't have to apologize," Paige said immediately. "Ever."
Azzi hesitated, fingers worrying at the zipper before she looked up again. "Can you… stay? For a bit?" Another pause, her voice softer now. "Can you maybe… come closer?"
Paige didn't hesitate.
She slipped her shoes off and climbed carefully onto the bed beside her, easing herself down until Azzi could lean into her without jostling her knee. Azzi exhaled as soon as Paige's arm wrapped around her shoulders, tucking herself into Paige's side.
Paige adjusted without thinking, one hand resting warm and steady on Azzi's upper arm, the other smoothing gently over her hair. Azzi pressed her face into Paige's shoulder, breathing her in, fingers curling into the fabric of Paige's shirt.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Paige felt Azzi's breathing even out, felt the tension slowly drain from her body as the minutes passed. Without realizing it, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss into the top of Azzi's head, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.
"I hate this," Azzi murmured at one point, voice muffled against Paige's chest.
"I know," Paige whispered back, pressing her cheek into Azzi's hair. "But you are not doing it alone. I am here with you, okay?"
Azzi nodded, tightening her hold just a little. Her eyes flicked up, unfocused at first, then settling on Paige's face. Paige felt it immediately, the change in her attention.
Azzi's gaze dropped, just for a second, to Paige's mouth. Then back up to her eyes. Then down again, like she was testing the thought without daring to act on it. She didn't move closer. She didn't pull away either.
Paige finally understood.
She leaned down slowly, giving Azzi time to change her mind if she wanted to. When she didn't, Paige pressed a soft, careful peck to her lips.
Azzi's breath hitched, and then she smiled shyly. She didn't say anything. She just tucked herself back into Paige's neck, curling closer, her face warm against her skin. Paige tightened her arm around her and rested her cheek against Azzi's hair again, heart steadying.
Paige didn't pray anymore that night. She didn't ask for miracles. She just held Azzi while she slept, letting her feel safe.
And when Paige left the next morning, the Hopkins hoodie stayed behind. So did the UConn zip-up.
April, 2020
By April 2020, Paige was certain Azzi wasn't just borrowing or stealing her clothes anymore. It had turned into a game between them.
And Azzi was very clearly winning.
Paige had come to stay with the Fudds for "training" during lockdown, which sounded official enough when they explained it to other people.
But Paige knew it was more than that.
She was there because Azzi had asked, and there was no version of reality where Paige said no to her.
They still called themselves best friends, technically, even though the label barely covered it now. It didn't explain the way they gravitated toward each other without thinking, or how Paige's attention snapped into place every time Azzi walked into a room. It definitely didn't explain what happened when no one else was around.
They shared a room at the Fudds', always had since Paige arrived. No one suggested the guest room. Neither of them pretended they wanted to.
And tonight, after a late workout session in the gym, they ended up back on the carpet of Azzi's room, both too tired to bother with the bed yet.
Paige lay sprawled on her back, tank top sticking to her skin, legs stretched out and heavy, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think about how warm she felt.
Azzi sat cross-legged against the wall in Paige's state championship hoodie, her back pressed into it, one knee tipped outward with a stretch of bare thigh visible beneath the hem.
One of Paige's favourites. The hoodie, obviously.
The newest piece of Azzi's permanent collection, apparently.
The sleeves were pushed up to Azzi's elbows, exposing her forearms, the fabric loose enough that it slipped slightly off one shoulder when she shifted.
Paige didn't bother pretending she wasn't staring.
"You know," Paige said eventually, keeping her voice light even as her eyes traced the line of Azzi's collarbone, "I earned that hoodie first."
Azzi smirked, still scrolling on her phone, but she shifted slightly, leaning back just enough that the hoodie rode higher on her legs. "Did you, P?"
"That wasn't a question," Paige said, amused and quite distracted by the newly revealed skin.
Azzi finally set her phone aside and tilted her head back against the wall, exposing her throat. "Feels like it's mine now."
Paige pushed herself up, resting her elbows on her knees, closer than she had been a second ago. "You could at least pretend you feel bad about stealing from me."
Azzi's eyes flicked up to meet hers. "Do you really want it back?"
Paige hesitated. Just a fraction too long.
"…Yes," She lied, crawling forward, closing the distance between them inch by inch. "Or you need to pay for it."
That did it.
Something in Azzi's expression changed. The playful teasing glare edged into something more intentional.
That was all Paige needed.
She leaned in slowly, ready to end the argument entirely and focus on something way more fun.
Azzi let it happen for half a second. Then she smiled mischievously.
Before Paige could close the distance, Azzi slipped sideways, ducking out from under her with a soft laugh and scrambling backward toward the bed.
"Too slow," Azzi said, already halfway across her room.
Paige blinked once, then grinned. "Oh, you are asking for it now."
Azzi stopped close to the bed, lifting her arms over her head, exposing a strip of her stomach. "Am I?" she asked, innocent in tone only. "You were the one complaining about a hoodie."
Paige didn't bother answering, she lunged.
Azzi squealed through a loud lough breaking free as Paige followed and the two of them tangled together. Paige caught her by the waist, momentum carrying them both onto the bed, the mattress dipping under their combined weight.
"Paige..." Azzi laughed, trying to twist away.
"Nope," Paige said, breathless, hands firm at her sides. "You don't get to steal my clothes and then run from me."
Azzi wriggled, clearly enjoying herself, knees bumping Paige's hips as she tried to flip them.
For a second it almost worked, but Paige shifted her weight, and suddenly Azzi was pinned beneath her, hair fanned out on the pillow, eyes bright and unrepentant.
They froze there.
Paige hovered over Azzi, close enough to feel the heat of her body and notice the way Azzi's breathing had became more shallow. The grin on Paige's face shifted into something heavier.
"You done running?" Paige asked quietly.
"Paige... please."
Paige was about to give in and lean in. Instead, Azzi moved.
She hooked her legs around Paige's waist and rolled them in one smooth motion, reversing their positions. Paige landed on her back with a surprised laugh, Azzi straddling her hips.
"There," Azzi said, pleased. "That's better."
Paige stared up at her, heart pounding. "What now?"
Azzi shrugged, hands sliding to the hem of the hoodie. "Watch and see."
She took her time pulling it over her head, dragging the fabric upward inch by inch, letting Paige watch the slow reveal of skin beneath. When it finally came free, Azzi tossed it aside without looking, hair falling loose around her shoulders.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of Paige's head, close enough that their noses nearly brushed.
"You still want it back?" Azzi asked softly.
Paige swallowed. "No," she said honestly. "I just want you."
Paige kissed her slowly, letting it stretch, letting herself feel it instead of rushing through it. Her thumb traced the familiar line of Azzi's jaw, brushed the corner of her mouth just to feel her react, then dipped back in, deepening the kiss.
She knew exactly how to kiss Azzi by now.
She knew exactly how much pressure made Azzi exhale softly through her nose, the barely there sound that always gave her away. She knew how long to linger before pulling back to watch Azzi's eyes darken, unfocused, like she was deciding whether to pull Paige closer or just melt into it.
Azzi's hands slid higher up Paige's back, fingers grazing her shoulder blades, nails dragging just enough to make Paige's breath catch. Paige leaned in instinctively, their foreheads brushing, noses bumping in that slightly clumsy way that came from this intimacy being still fairly new to them.
"I missed this," Paige murmured, the confession slipping out between kisses before she could stop herself.
Azzi paused for a second. Her eyes flicked up to Paige's, searching, unreadable, then softened completely.
"Me too," Azzi said quietly at last.
Paige leaned in again, her mouth leaving Azzi's lips to trail along her jaw, down to that spot just under her ear she knew too well.
She felt the sharp inhale immediately, the tiny hitch in Azzi's breathing that always gave her away. Paige smiled against her skin, teeth grazing lightly before soothing the spot with her mouth.
Azzi's hands tightened on her back, nails pressing in, and the quiet, frustrated sound she made sent a warm, steady pull through Paige's stomach.
"You really do look better in my stuff," Paige murmured against her neck, lips dragging back up toward her ear. "But you look even better out of it."
Azzi laughed softly, breathless, tilting her head just enough to give Paige more room, clearly enjoying herself far too much.. "Then why," she asked, voice low and amused, "are we still talking about hoodies?"
Paige pulled back just enough to see her face, smirking at the challenge there.
Her fingers found the hem of Azzi's shorts, brushing along the curve of her hip, feeling goosebumps rise beneath her touch. Azzi's hands tightened at her shoulder blades in response, thumbs tracing slow circles that were anything but absentminded now.
"Good point," she said.
And then Paige kissed her again, deeper this time, unhurried but intent while her hand slipped fully under the waistband of Azzi's shorts, fingers brushing warm skin.
Azzi shifted in Paige's lap, her hips rolling in a slow, needy rhythm, grinding down against the firm press of Paige's hand, chasing her touch.
A soft, brathless moan escaped Azzi's lips, warm and ragged against Paige's ear, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine as Azzi nuzzled closer, her breath mingling with whispers of pleasure.
The hoodie was forgotten somewhere behind them, completely irrelevant now. Paige's focus had narrowed to the way Azzi leaned into her touch, her body responding without hesitation.
And if Paige had her way, that hoodie was staying in Azzi's possession. She knew exactly what would happen the next time she saw Azzi wearing it.
February, 2021
Since the night Azzi told her she was committing to UConn, Paige had been living in a strange, jittery mix of excitement and dread. Like every good feeling she had about Azzi came with the constant worry of losing it.
Paige wanted Azzi at UConn. That part had never been in question.
She wanted her as her backcourt partner, wanted to walk to get ice cream together, to have movie nights, to be able to annoy her in person without needing to fly across multiple states just to make sure she had been forgiven when Azzi refused to answer her calls.
What she hadn't really been ready to admit until then was the fact that the small, careful crush she had been quietly carrying for years had gone and done something reckless.
Because somehow, somewhere between sharing a bedroom during lockdown, months of long-distance FaceTimes, and the easy, familiar way Azzi always made herself at home in Paige's clothes, the crush had turned into something bigger.
Something she couldn't joke her way out of anymore.
Paige was fully, undeniably in love with her best friend.
And because the universe had a cruel sense of timing, right after Paige left for UConn last October, Azzi decided to "be smart" and suggested they forget the benefits part of whatever it was they had been doing.
She said it calmly, reasonably, like she was offering Paige a gift. "You should go enjoy college. Figure out what you like. What you want. Without needing to worry about whatever this is."
And Paige, who didn't know how to say what I like is you, what I want is you, had nodded and pretended that made sense.
So she tried.
Paige threw herself into dating during the first months of freshman year. She went out. She said yes to things. She flirted with people who were nice enough and easy enough but meant absolutely nothing to her.
Which was how she ended up standing in her dorm room, debating whether she should bother changing shirts before walking across campus to a girl's apartment.
A girl she had met last weekend at Ted's. Someone whose name she thought was Brianna, but might have been Brielle and whose most memorable quality was a cute laugh Paige was already pretty sure she couldn't remember correctly.
Her phone buzzed on the desk.
A FaceTime from Azzi.
For a second, Paige considered ignoring it. Not because she didn't want to talk to Azzi, God, she always wanted to talk to her, but because it was getting harder to keep pretending this whole thing of hooking up with people who weren't Azzi made any sense, especially after talking to her.
But guilt won out fast. Paige swiped to answer.
The screen filled with darkness at first, then she saw the soft, red curve of lips she knew better than her own. Then she saw the edge of a UConn training T-shirt her stomach recognized immediately.
Her own training shirt.
The one Azzi had "borrowed" when she visited for Paige's birthday in the fall and never returned it.
"What's wrong, Az?" The words were out before she had even thought about them, because the second she saw the wobble in those lips, every other plan she had for the night dropped out of her head.
Azzi shrugged, her voice small when it came.
"I miss you." She paused, then added more quietly, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to say it. "I know I should just…suck it up and let you be. But I just needed to see you for a second tonight."
Paige felt something twist hard inside her chest.
She had seen Azzi frustrated, competitive, closed off, but this was something else entirely. This was Azzi questioning herself, checking whether it was okay to want Paige's attention, her time, and her presence.
She never wanted Azzi to doubt that she was wanted. Never wanted her to feel like she had to ask permission to need her.
"Hey," Paige said, leaning closer to the camera, her voice dropping instinctively. "You don't have to suck anything up. I am right here, okay? You can call me whenever you want. For a second. For an hour. It doesn't matter."
Azzi nodded, eyes dropping for a moment before lifting again, still shiny. "Were you… going somewhere?"
Paige's gaze flicked to the clock. She was already cutting it close if she wanted to make it over in time, and she knew it.
She didn't even have to think about it.
"Not anymore," she shrugged
One quick thumb press and she was typing out a vague Hey, something came up, can't make it tonight to Brianna or Brielle, hitting send before she could feel bad about it.
Because if the choice was between walking across campus to hook up with someone whose name Paige wasn't even sure of, or sitting here on her bed watching Azzi Fudd in her training shirt looking at her knowing Paige was the only person Azzi wanted to see right now…
There wasn't a decision to be made.
Paige shifted against the headboard, settling in. "So," she said, aiming for light even though her heart was still pounding, "you have got me now. What do you want to do for the rest of the night, Az?"
Azzi's mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but wasn't ready to give it up yet. "Just… be with you."
Paige smiled, soft and a little helpless. "Yeah," she said. "I can do that."
And she stayed, and after that night, after hearing Azzi's voice like that, Paige stopped trying. It wasn't a decision so much as a knowing feeling. Whatever she had been searching for, she wasn't going to find it anywhere else, it had always come back to Azzi.
And once Paige let herself admit that, there was no reason left to pretend otherwise.
October, 2021
By the time Azzi had been at UConn for two months, Paige realized how little time it had taken for them to fall back into each other.
They weren't friends who used to be more. They weren't quite just best friends again either. There wasn't a word for it, nothing neat enough to pin it down. It was just… them. And the them they were now leaned toward something inevitable, hovering there without quite tipping into it yet.
It showed itself in the smallest, quietest choices at first.
Azzi lingered whenever she came over, never rushing to leave, never checking the time like she was worried about overstaying. She always ended up settling into the spot closest to Paige on the bed or the couch, knees brushing, shoulders pressed together.
Paige never moved away. She didn't shift to make more space or pretend not to notice. She just stayed, letting Azzi choose that nearness again and again.
Without really meaning to, Paige started memorizing Azzi's schedule. She knew which corner of the library Azzi liked best, the one with the big windows and comfortable chairs. More than once, Azzi looked up from her notes to find Paige already there, backpack dropped at her feet, acting like she had just happened to pass by at exactly the right time. And when they packed up, Paige always walked her home. Like the idea of Azzi walking back alone had never crossed her mind as an option.
Azzi did it back in her own way.
On days Paige had rehab sessions ran long, Azzi would show up afterward with Paige's favourite sandwich already in hand, brushing it off like she had been hungry anyway, even though Paige knew she had gone out of her way. Sometimes she would leave it on Paige's desk with a note scribbled on a scrap of paper or she would simply just hand it over with a soft, "Eat," like she had already decided that taking care of Paige was her job.
After classes, Paige found excuses to stop by Azzi's room, and Azzi always seemed to be waiting for her, a mug of tea already cooling on the desk like she had anticipated the visit.
They sat side by side, legs tangled on the bed, talking about nothing important, like practice, a song Paige had on repeat or something ridiculous a teammate had said. Intil Paige realized it was late again and she should probable go home to sleep.
Somewhere along the way, they started introducing little rituals of their own.
After every away game, win or lose, they would find the nearest ice cream place still open, sliding into booths, talking through the game. Paige ordered for both of them without asking because she already knew what Azzi liked.
Tuesdays became Azzi's.
She started cooking in the shared kitchen of her apartment, texting Paige halfway through her last class to ask what she wanted. Paige would show up already in her pajamas, hair damp from the shower. Azzi always had something warm waiting. They ate together at the counter or on the floor of Azzi's room, legs crossed, shoulders touching, plates balanced between them as they talked about nothing and everything at once.
Paige noticed it all and she knew Azzi did too. But they weren't rushing anything. They let the routines settle and the space between them fill naturally with all the things that made it feel impossible to imagine it any other way.
They didn't talk about where it was heading but they both knew it was only a matter of time.
And that was why, when her door swung open without a knock one Friday evening, Paige wasn't surprised to see Azzi stroll in like she owned the place.
What did surprise her was the way Azzi stopped short halfway into the room, her gaze catching for a split second before darting away.
Paige was half dressed, still in black boxers and a sports bra. They had seen each other in far less presentable states, so embarrassment wasn't the reason her pulse jumped. It was more likely the way Azzi checked her out before catching herself.
Azzi swallowed, then fixed her attention on the far wall with sudden, exaggerated interest, like it had become fascinating out of nowhere.
"Uh," Azzi said, her voice just a shade rougher than usual. "Can I borrow something for tonight?"
Paige blinked at her, then tilted her head, a faint smirk pulling at her mouth. "Since when do you ask?"
Azzi shifted her weight, hands shoved into the front pocket of her hoodie. "Can't expect you to be fine with it forever," she said, still not quite meeting Paige's eyes.
Paige hummed thoughtfully, eyes flicking over her in an exaggerated way, like she was seriously considering it. "Wow," she said lightly. "Growth."
Azzi finally looked at her then, eyes narrowing just a little. "Hey."
Paige laughed and crossed the room, closing the distance between them until she could catch the faint scent of Azzi's shampoo. She reached out, thumb brushing once over her pulse like she couldn't help herself, and tugged her toward the open closet.
"Az," she said, softer now but still teasing, "what's mine is yours. Always. That is never gonna change."
Azzi's expression warmed immediately, a little unsure but unmistakably fond, and it made Paige's stomach do that familiar, stupid swoop. Azzi ducked her head like she was trying to hide it, but the smile gave her away.
Paige turned to the closet, flipping through hangers with exaggerated seriousness.
"I mean," Paige added casually over her shoulder, "you do have a reputation to maintain."
"For what?" Azzi asked, suspicious.
"Stealing my clothes," Paige said, pulling out a black top that hung loose at her own shoulders. She held it up between them. "Gotta make sure the collection stays curated."
Azzi took the top, her fingers brushing Paige's and lingering. Paige looked up and saw something in Azzi's eyes that made Paige's pulse speed up once again.
Paige acted on it.
She slipped an arm around Azzi's waist and pulled her in. Azzi melted into it immediately, like her body had been waiting for exactly this. One hand slid up around Paige's neck, fingers curling into her hair, and she tucked her face into the space just below Paige's jaw.
Paige breathed her in, letting Azzi's unique smell relax her own body. Azzi's curls brushed Paige's cheek as she settled and Paige felt her relaxed fully in her arms, all the tension draining out of her.
Paige tightened her hold just a little, resting her chin against Azzi's head, enjoying the weight of her there. She pressed a small, instinctive kiss into Azzi's hair.
"I really love having you here," she murmured quietly. "At UConn with me."
Azzi exhaled against her neck, a soft sound, her grip tightening in response.
"I love being here with you too."
Paige held her for another long moment, smiling to herself, knowing, without needing it said that this was already home for both of them.
Ted's was its usual Friday-night chaos, music thudding through the floor, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the air warm with sweat and cheap beer.
Paige moved through the place easily, greeting teammates, nodding at people she knew, slipping easily up to the bar. Azzi stayed close, tucked just behind her shoulder, one hand hovering near Paige's arm. Whenever the crowd shifted, her fingers brushed Paige's wrist like a quiet check-in that she was still there with her.
Paige signed for the bartender, already pulling her card out.
"What do you want?" Paige asked, leaning close to Azzi's ear so she didn't have to shout.
Azzi smiled at her. "You choose, you know what I like."
Paige grinned pleased, and turned back to the bar.
She liked that. Liked knowing and taking care of her. Liked that Azzi trusted her.
When the drinks came, she handed Azzi hers first, watching closely as she took a sip. Azzi's face lit up immediately with a delighted grin just for Paige.
Paige relaxed only then, lifting her own glass.
They didn't even make it through one song before someone from the men's team caught Paige's attention near the other side of the bar. She groaned quietly but smiled, holding up one finger at Azzi in apology.
"Two seconds," she mouthed.
Azzi nodded without complaint, lifting her glass in a lazy salute and leaning back against the high-top. As Paige turned away, Azzi's fingers brushed her hand, a silent sign of I will be right here.
Paige was gone for maybe a minute. Two at most. But when she turned back, drink still in hand, she clocked it instantly.
Azzi wasn't alone.
She was talking to a guy Paige didn't recognize. Tall, wearing a backwards cap, leaning just a little too comfortably into Azzi's space. Azzi laughed at something he said, polite but distracted, her body still tilted toward the space Paige had just vacated.
Freshman, Paige clocked immediately. Which was unfortunate for him, because Paige had spent the last two months making sure everyone on campus who mattered understood one very simple thing:
Azzi Fudd was not available.
Of course, Azzi didn't know that. Paige had never announced it. She had just… handled it. Apparently, this guy had missed the memo.
And then Azzi looked up.
Their eyes met across the room. Her gaze flicked to the guy, then back to Paige, eyebrows lifting just slightly like she was checking in, You seeing this?
Paige answered without thinking. She moved.
She walked back with easy confidence, and when she reached them, her focus narrowed immediately to Azzi, like nothing else in the room mattered. She slipped in close, arm wrapping around Azzi's waist with quiet certainty, pulling her in until Azzi fit naturally against her side.
Azzi leaned back into her instantly, hand coming up to rest on Paige's stomach, thumb rubbing their in quiet reassurance.
Paige didn't even look at the guy.
"Sorry Az," she said lightly, lips close to Azzi's ear. "I am all yours now."
Azzi tipped her head back to look at her, eyes warm and unmistakably pleased. "Are you?"
Paige smiled down at her, her hand staying firm at Azzi's waist, thumb pressing in just enough to be felt. Her gaze dipped deliberately to Azzi's top, fingers brushing the hem with quiet familiarity.
"That looks really good on you," Paige said, casual but loaded. "Still my shirt, though."
Azzi laughed, tilting her head, clearly entertained. "I know."
Only then did Paige glance at the guy.
Just a brief, polite nod that said this isn't your conversation.
The guy hesitated, opened his mouth like he might say something, then thought better of it.
"Uh," he said, stepping back. "Nice meeting you, Azzi."
Azzi nodded politely. "You too."
He disappeared into the crowd without another word.
Paige took a slow sip of her drink, arm still snug around Azzi's waist. "Freshman?" she asked lightly.
Azzi hummed, amused. "Probably. He was asking about my major."
Paige nodded. "Yeah. That checks out."
Azzi turned in her arms, facing her more fully now, one hand sliding up to rest at the back of Paige's neck. "You are very… protective tonight."
Paige shrugged, unapologetic, thumb tracing a small circle at Azzi's side. "Just taking care of what's mine."
Azzi didn't tease her for that.
She just leaned in closer, shoulder fitting perfectly against Paige's chest, smiling into her drink like she found the whole thing deeply entertaining.
And Paige stayed right there, arm firm around her, perfectly content to let the rest of the bar figure it out on their own.
A few hours later they stumbled through the door to Paige's room, still laughing about something Nika had yelled across the bar, walking so close their shoulders bumped with every step.
Azzi kicked off her shoes and tossed the borrowed top onto Paige's bed, pulling on her usual shirt she wore whenever she slept over at Paige's.
A faded USA shirt from Paige winning the youth Olympics in 2019.
Then for a moment she hesitated, rocking back on her heels, looking over at Paige. She wore an expression Paige couldn't quite read.
Azzi looked like she was working up to something.
"Did you mean it?" Azzi asked quietly at last.
Paige glanced up at her. "Mean what?"
"What you said earlier," Azzi said, her voice even quieter now. "That what's yours is mine." She hesitated, then added, almost careful, "Does that also mean… your heart too?"
Fucking finally.
The question barely finished forming before Paige crossed the room.
Two strides and she was there, her hands coming up to frame Azzi's face, thumbs brushing the soft warmth of her cheeks.
Paige looked into Azzi's eyes for a second before she closed the last inch and finally kissed her.
The kiss wasn't tentative or careful this time.
It was warm and sure and full of all the almost moments they had been circling for ages Every look, every almost touch, every too long pause they had been living for weeks were made into one perfect, unapologetic kiss.
Azzi made a tiny, happy sound against her mouth, one Paige felt more than heard, and then she was kissing her back like she had been ready for this all along.
Her hands found Paige's waist, fingers curling into the thin fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer until there was no space left to question. Azzi's lips were soft and confident now, moving against hers.
Paige smiled into the kiss, deepening it just a little, her hand slipping to the back of Azzi's neck. Azzi's lips were soft and confident now, moving against hers.
When they finally broke apart for air, they stayed close. Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, Paige's thumbs still tracing slow, affectionate circles along Azzi's cheekbones.
"Yeah," Paige murmured, her voice warm. "My heart too."
Azzi smiled wide immediately like something had clicked into place. Her hands tugged lightly at Paige's waist, bumping their noses together.
"Good," Azzi said, playful but pleased. "Took you long enough."
Paige laughed under her breath, leaning in so close her lips brushed the words. "You could have said something earlier too."
Azzi's grin turned teasing. "Please. I have been obvious for years. I don't steal anyone else's clothes. Only yours."
Paige kissed her again, not just to shut her up, but because for the first time she didn't have to question what it meant. It felt allowed now.
And as she held Azzi there, familiar and certain in her arms, Paige thought back to that plane ride years ago. To a tired, overexcited kid fresh off her first gold medal, handing over a Hopkins hoodie without a second thought. Back then, it had felt like nothing more than a friendly gesture.
Now she finally understood.
That hoodie hadn't been a coincidence. It had been the first quiet choice in a long line of them. The first time Paige had given something of herself without keeping score.
And Paige suddenly knew she had never cared whether Azzi borrowed her clothes or stole them outright. She had been giving her pieces of herself to Azzi all along willingly.
She had been choosing Azzi from the beginning. And she was ready to keep choosing her, every time.
synopsis: paige was done with azzi. for real this time. the younger girl seemed to have a habit of pushing and pushing and pushing and paige couldn’t take it anymore.
(based off of bella kay’s song! go listen!)
w.c. — 2.8k (so short #sorry)
themes: paige down terribly bad, azzi is a fuckboy, azzi is high key evil, paige cannot stand up for the life of her #yikes
warnings: angst, drinking, sexual content
author’s note: hi i’m so sorry if this seems rushed!! i kept hearing this song and just had to write this fic lol :p (i’ve never written smut before so if you guys have any tips let me know :,)) ermmmm happy reading! fuck ice!! let’s go seahawks!!
…
paige had known it was a dumb decision to go to the bar that night. every time she went out, she found azzi flirting with another girl. her friends would tell constantly tell her to leave her alone. to stop hoping for something that would never be given back to her, but truth be told, she loved it. in fact, the minute that they’d say anything even slightly mean about azzi, she’d instantly make up a lie so as to not seem like a victim.
she’d complain about the countless times azzi would hurt her in ways that should’ve been enough to leave forever, but deep down in her heart she knew that she’d always be down expeditiously bad for azzi, as evil as the brunette could be.
but tonight, she truly had reached her breaking point with azzi. things had felt so good recently, and azzi just had to go and fuck things up.
paige wore the flannel azzi said she liked, layered atop the black shirt she said made paige’s arms look big. she paired it with the baggy dark blue jeans she stole from the younger girl.
azzi looked so beautiful that night, as she always did. she wore the matching jewelry paige had bought for her last valentine’s day, pink diamonds glistening in her ears and sat on her chest. she wore a matching black set, and hair was perfectly styled in her favorite half-up-half-down.
she sat at the bar, laughing with her friend. lauren, laney, something like that. paige didn’t really care about azzi’s friends.
it was almost as if azzi could feel paige staring at her, because as paige’s eyes trailed back up from where they had been staring at her legs, she met azzi’s. paige caught her smile before quickly snapping her gaze back into her lap.
nika had been saying something into paige’s ear, but she didn’t catch it over the loud music pumping through the bar. god, this dj was ass. also, she was still thinking about azzi. “what was that?”
nika groaned, repeating herself. “i said, you have to let her go.”
“let who go?” paige replied, feigning confusion. (not well, apparently).
“azzi,” she sighed, “and don’t play dumb with me. you’re so down bad for a girl who wants nothing to do with you,” nika said, clear annoyance in her voice. “she’s so terrible to you.”
“nika, stop. watch how you talk about her,” paige said angrily, always one to defend the younger girl. “you know it’s not like that.”
she hesitated before continuing. “actually — you’d never understand. so how ‘bout you shut up and stop talking about shit that doesn’t involve you?” she spat, staring nika down.
“dude, chill. i’m just saying — don’t say i didn’t warn you this time.” nika said, promptly walking up and leaving just as paige was about to reply.
paige buried her face in her hands, groaning at her tendency to always take the fault when both her and azzi knew she wasn’t to blame. she was utterly pathetic. still, she couldn’t change it. her brain was engineered to always put the younger girl first.
when she looked back up, she saw her again. only this time, she wasn’t looking back. she was looking up at another girl. she looked like a total fuckboy, tatted arms, baggy shirt and jeans, and dirty blonde hair.
azzi threw her head back in laughter before pulling her phone out to, seemingly, give the blonde girl her number. when she stood, she was slightly taller than the girl.
all of that had been typical behavior from azzi, constantly trying to make paige jealous. she knew how much the older girl loved it. she knew she’d never say no to her no matter how badly she hurt her.
but paige was done. because this time, azzi grabbed the girls hand and walked her to the dim hallway of the bathroom. she smiled before pulling the girl in with her, the door slamming behind them.
paige gave it a few minutes, hoping azzi would suddenly get the ick and leave, but when enough time had passed, paige decided she’d leave. she was so angry and so fucking done with her.
paige: so done with u
read 1:07 am
she stood, suddenly realizing she had way too much to drink. she went to go find nika, hoping she could walk back to the dorms with her. after checking the whole bar, she went on her phone to see that nika had apparently left.
paige ordered an uber and tried to keep her composure. it was freezing outside, but the alcohol kept her warm enough. she thought about azzi, then realized that probably wasn’t the best idea. she was not about to cry over her situationship outside of a shitty storrs, connecticut bar, and if her thoughts lingered too much on her, she knew that’s what would happen.
the uber pulled up to the curb, and paige entered slowly, her movements laggy from the shots she’d downed earlier. she fell limp against the door, willing herself to stay awake. she stared out at the dead college town lit by street lamps and her eyes filled with tears. she tried to blink them back but they wouldn’t stop flowing.
god, she was a fucking loser, letting herself fall for a girl who would never pay her mind. she inhaled sharply, hoping that the poor uber driver didn’t hear her drunk sobs from the backseat of his car.
when he finally pulled up to her dorm, she quickly got out, muttering a wet thank you through her tears before walking into the building.
she stumbled up the staircase, feeling entirely drained from the events of the day.
when she got into her dorm, the lights were already off, signaling to her that dorka and nika were probably already asleep. she trudged into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, eyes red and puffy from her tears. she sobbed more at the sight, realizing how pathetic she was, crying over azzi.
she went to bed in one of the shirts azzi had left after one of their countless hookups, eyes still red and puffy and head pulsing from the tears and alcohol.
….
she woke up the next morning with a pulsing headache and checked her phone, the screen entirely too bright for how hungover she was. great. now she was nauseous and sad, since her phone had no new messages from azzi. as mad as she was at azzi, she was secretly waiting for a text back.
instead, she walked out into the common area of their apartment. azzi was sitting down on her couch, scrolling through her phone next to dorka. when she looked up, she smiled, as if nothing had happened the night before. “hey, p,” she said, before standing up and walking past paige into her bedroom.
paige was so confused, but followed her anyway. she decided she’d kick her out. “why are you in my room?”
azzi laughed at paige’s accusatory tone, not paying her any mind. “because i’m bored.”
paige was seriously done. like, genuinely. so, so done. “did you fuck her?”
azzi continued scrolling through her phone, nonchalant as ever. “yup.”
jesus christ, she was so blunt. sometimes, paige wished she was less honest. at least that way she wouldn’t have to know the truth about all of azzi’s endeavors. “fuck you, azzi.”
that caught her attention. “excuse me?”
paige let out a short laugh. “you fucking heard me. fuck. you.”
azzi scoffed. “whatever i do isn’t any of your fucking business, paige.”
“well why’d you do it, then?” paige asked, not even pretending she wasn’t pissed about it anymore. “you wake up next to me and then go fuck somebody in the bathroom of a bar? not to mention, in the same bathroom where you squirted in my mouth?”
azzi looked at her like she was stupid. “i don’t owe you shit, paige. if you want something different, leave,” she said, zero sincerity in her features. “cause i’m not attached to whatever the fuck you think this is,” azzi deadpanned. “we’re friends who have sex. i don’t owe you loyalty.”
paige couldn’t believe it. she doesn’t know why she even tried. her eyes began to fill with tears, and she was fucking humiliated. “you’re so fucking mean. you do this shit to me over and over again and i’m sick of it.”
azzi continued with the nonchalance, zero sign of give in her features. “and yet, you stay anyways.”
paige looked at her, eyes continuing to fill with tears. “well i’m not staying this time. we’re done, azzi. whatever this is, whatever you consider us to be, i’m fucking done with it.”
azzi shrugged, as if the sentence hadn’t affected her at all. “okay?”
paige scoffed, turning towards her door. “fuck you. you’re so fucking terrible to me,” she said before slamming her door with finality.
…
when she woke up the next morning, she felt so fucking guilty. she knew she had to apologize. she said words she didn’t mean, threw accusations she shouldn’t have thrown. they could get over this. they always did.
paige decided she’d walk to azzi’s apartment to apologize, and then she’d end their agreement. they’d stay friends without the sex.
… or at least that’s what she’d planned.
because she never really stood a chance, since azzi opened her door that afternoon looking beautiful as ever. her hair was down like she’d just styled it and she was wearing paige’s favorite light purple sweat set. the sweatshirt was cropped, teasing azzi’s toned abs and her belly button piercing.
memories flashed through her head. azzi pressed against her kitchen counter, sweatshirt rucked up by paige’s hand as the other worked her in tandem with her mouth. azzi crying from the sensation, pushing paige’s head away because of the overstimulation.
paige willed herself back into the present, deciding to keep her eyes fixed on azzi’s instead.
and lord, that was a terrible mistake. because even though paige had seen every square inch of azzi’s body, there was nothing she loved more than her eyes. those beautiful brown eyes that could make her do anything azzi asked of her.
just as she was about to turn and leave once she realized how big of a mistake this was, azzi’s hand wrapped around her arm. “paige,” she started. “what are you doing here?”
and then paige remembered everything. the words she’d said the night before, the things she’d told her. and fucking hell, she was crying again. “i’m so sorry, baby,” she choked through her sobs. “i shouldn’t have said all that to you.”
azzi didn’t respond. didn’t even react. it was as if paige hadn’t said anything at all. so, naturally, paige kept going. if azzi hadn’t said anything back, the older girl probably hadn’t said enough. “you’re not mean. you’re perfect,” she continued through her sobs. “and whatever you give me is enough. i don’t need more than that what i have, swear.”
paige looked back at azzi, who still held a poker face. then finally, she smiled. her bright teeth shone from between her glossed lips, and her dimples peeked from between her cheeks. still, she didn’t say anything. until she started laughing.
paige continued crying from the utter confusion. it was as if azzi didn’t care that she’d just poured her heart out. like she didn’t just beg for forgiveness at her door. “what’s wrong with you?”
paige scrunched her face in confusion. “what do you mean?”
azzi laughed again, as if the entire situation was ridiculous to her. “i mean, why are you crying, paige?”
paige was astounded at how clueless azzi was pretending to be. “because i was super mean to you last night.”
azzi choked out another laugh. “yeah, you were. but right now it sounds like you’re waiting for me to respond or something. i’m still pissed at you,” she said, her face now painted with disgust.
paige wiped the tears out of her eyes and let herself take a few breaths before speaking. “please. let me prove it to you. let me prove how sorry i am,” she said, grabbing azzi’s chin to force the younger girl to look up at her.
and god, she was so beautiful. her brows were furrowed, and her teeth toyed with her lip as if she was trying to keep her composure. “okay,” she said, her voice still laced in anger. “prove it then, paige.”
and paige obeyed immediately, dropping to her knees and pressing azzi up against the door. she smirked up at her and spoke. “your roommates home?”
azzi scoffed. “obviously not. if they were i wouldn’t be letting you do this.”
paige grabbed her hips and fell back onto her heels, resting her head against the younger girl’s knee. after a moment, she kissed it through the fabric before leveling her head back up to her hips. she pulled on the drawstring of azzi’s sweatpants. paige pulled them down, revealing a black thong. she looked up, kissing her jutting hip bones. “so perfect az, fuck.”
“please, paige,” azzi begged, not even attempting to hide her desperation.
paige brought her gaze back down to azzi’s thong, which was now growing a dark spot from her arousal. she wasn’t going to drag it out this time. she couldn’t. she, herself was too desperate. paige was sure she’d come just from tasting azzi, as she often did. her left hand grabbed azzi’s, and the other pulled azzi’s thong aside.
azzi’s cunt glistened with her need, and paige had to taste her immediately. “so fucking pretty, az. always.” she lapped up her arousal and groaned at the taste of it. it was her favorite thing in the world, having azzi whiny and desperate above her.
“paige, you’re so — fucking hell,” azzi choked out. “don’t stop. please,” she begged, fingers still gripping paige’s hair.
“never would, baby,” paige mumbled. she dragged her head back from a second, leaving azzi’s cunt to pulse around nothing. “if i could choose how to die, this would be it. you, riding my face, crying for me,” she said, smiling. “would suffocate in it.” azzi whimpered and tried to drag paige back towards her. “patience, az,” she spat out cockily, her face sheen with azzi’s arousal. “you got the best pussy in the world, mama,” she said, kissing azzi’s cunt.
paige continued to suck at azzi’s clit, determined to get the younger girl crying. she heard azzi’s whines get louder, the younger girl shaking above her. “paige, please — can’t,” she choked out. “feels too good. i can’t do it.”
“you can, mama. just hold on a little longer for me, baby. i know you can,” she said, pressing a kiss to her pelvis. paige looked up one last time and saw azzi sobbing above her. the younger girl tried to push her back down, but paige resisted her this time. “can you be good and wait a little longer?”
azzi finally looked down at her, eyes heavy with her arousal, and nodded. “good girl,” paige said, sucking a mark into her thigh.
she put her mouth back on azzi’s clit, the brunette immediately shaking from the sensitivity. paige worked her up until she heard the younger girl let out a sob above her, and she finally worked her towards release. “go ahead, baby, let go for me,” she said.
azzi cried as paige worked her through her orgasm, tongue licking up every last bit of her come.
“‘s okay azzi. you’re okay,” she said. she put azzi’s pants back on and pulled her into a hug, kissing her forehead.
the younger girl was completely spent, unable to form a coherent sentence. paige always felt possessive when azzi was like this, embarrassed by her own need. she pulled azzi into a kiss, whispering reassurances to her in between. “it’s okay mama, you’re okay.”
after a few minutes of lazily kissing, a sharp knock pounded through azzi’s apartment as her eyes widened with guilt. “shit.”
“who’s that, az?” paige asked before moving to answer the door.
“no — paige, wait,” azzi started. but it was too late.
there was the girl from the other night. she wore a gray nike tech set, and she looked just as pissed as paige. she hadn’t looked in a mirror, but she was sure her hair was tousled from having azzi’s fingers intertwined in it. it was obvious why she was there.
paige looked back at azzi. looked at the girl, who was definitely shorter than azzi now that she was seeing her up close. she laughed with disbelief, though she wasn’t surprised. “just a second,” she muttered out in the direction of the short blonde, who just nodded in understanding.
she shut the door. walked up to azzi. growled out a “fuck you,” and left.
the other girl was already gone, and azzi was left alone in her dorm.
☆》 ━ author's notes: idk, i’m sorry 😭 i’m coming back to edit tomorrow, enjoy i guess 🫣
It’s been two weeks. Two long, stupid, unbearable weeks since Paige has touched Azzi the way she wants to.
Not for lack of proximity, they’re always touching.
Nothing is technically wrong. They’re still them. Still tangled up on Paige’s too-small twin bed after practice, still kissing like they’ve got nowhere else to be, knees brushing on the bus, hands lingering too long during high-fives, Azzi’s fingers hooking into the waistband of Paige’s shorts when she pulls her closer during team huddles.
Paige thrives on getting her girlfriend off. It’s her favorite thing — the way Azzi melts, the way she grips, the way she gets a little bossy when she’s close. Paige loves it. Craves it.
Everything started on what Paige would’ve called a random Wednesday afternoon — like any other day.
The library is too quiet for how loud Paige’s thoughts are.
Azzi never texts. That’s not an exaggeration. Azzi answers texts. Maybe. Eventually. Sometimes with one word. Sometimes with a thumbs up. She’s the type to forget her phone exists for six hours straight.
So why has it lit up five times in the last twenty minutes?
They’re sitting across from each other at one of the long wooden tables. Books open. Laptops out. Paige’s highlighter uncapped but unmoving.
Azzi’s phone buzzes again, she flips it over immediately. Not casually, not absentmindedly. Quick. Intentional.
Paige watches her try to act normal.
Azzi picks up her pen. Writes one sentence. Stops. Flips the phone back over. Types something fast. Jaw tight. Then — like she remembers she’s being observed — she places it face down on the table.
Paige tilts her head.
“Since when do you answer your phone on the first try?” she asks lightly.
Azzi doesn’t look up. “What do you mean? I always text back.”
“You barely answer me.”
“That’s not true.”
Paige raises an eyebrow.
Azzi’s lips twitch like she wants to smile, but she doesn’t. The phone buzzes again. Her hand moves before she can stop herself. Face up. Read. Type. Face down.
Paige’s stomach does something unpleasant.
“Who is it?” she asks.
Azzi shrugs. Too casual. “Just someone.”
Just someone.
Paige leans back in her chair, studying her like she would film — small details, micro-reactions. Azzi’s shoulders are slightly hunched. Her knee bouncing under the table. Her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek every time the screen lights up.
Buzz.
Azzi doesn’t even pretend this time. She grabs it immediately.
Paige’s eyes drop to the reflection in Azzi’s glasses. She can’t read the words, but she can see the typing bubble.
Ongoing. Back and forth.
“That’s a lot of ‘just someone,’” Paige says quietly.
Azzi finally looks at her.
There’s something guarded there. Not guilt exactly. But not nothing.
“It’s not what you think.”
Paige laughs once under her breath. “I didn’t say I was thinking anything.”
Azzi flips the phone over again. Slower this time. Like she’s trying to prove something. “I’m allowed to text people.”
“Obviously.”
Another buzz.
Azzi doesn’t touch it this time but her eyes flick down and Paige notices that more than if she had grabbed it.
Silence stretches between them. The air feels heavier than a library should allow.
“You’re being weird,” Paige says finally.
Azzi exhales. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Then why won’t you just tell me who it is?”
Azzi hesitates, just for a second and that second is louder than any confession.
Paige nods slowly, pushing her chair back a few inches. “Okay.”
“Paige—”
“It’s fine,” Paige says, but her voice has lost its softness. “I just didn’t realize we were doing the mysterious phone thing now.”
Azzi’s fingers curl around the edge of the table. Defensive. Cornered.
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
The phone buzzes again, neither of them move.
Okay, that had been hella weird but Azzi would never cheat on Paige, right? Right. So she just let it go.
The next time something weird happened was three days later.
Practice runs long, but in a good way. The music’s loud, Coach is in a decent mood, and Azzi is locked in — hitting shots, chirping at Paige, bumping her shoulder during drills like always.
Nothing feels off.
By the time they’re in the locker room, it’s close to four. Steam from the showers fogs up the mirrors. Someone’s arguing about playlists. Paige is sitting on the bench, unlacing her shoes, when Azzi nudges her knee with her own.
“Oh, P,” Azzi says casually, like she just remembered. “I forgot to tell you — I’m going to Caroline’s tonight.”
Paige looks up. “Right now?”
“Yeah. She needed help with this thing for class. And her partner’s out of town, so.” She shrugs, pulling her hoodie over her head. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep over.”
It’s said easily. No tension. No weird energy.
Just information.
Paige nods. “Oh, okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning though,” Azzi adds, leaning down to kiss her quick, soft, normal. “Text me when you get home.”
“Yeah,” Paige says.
Azzi grabs her bag and heads out with a wave over her shoulder.
Paige gets back to her apartment around six. She tosses her duffel on the floor, flops onto her bed, opens Instagram without thinking.
And there it is.
Caroline’s story.
A boomerang of two hands clinking plastic spoons over a cup of ice cream. Azzi’s laugh in the background.
Next slide: a selfie. Caroline pressed into Azzi’s side. Azzi smiling, cheeks flushed from the cold.
Caption: my strong girl 💪🏼🤍
Paige’s stomach tightens. Strong girl? She taps back to the picture and zooms in slightly.
Azzi looks… happy. Relaxed. Not like someone drowning in homework help.
Still, she exits Instagram and opens Find My. Just to quiet the weird feeling.
Azzi’s name is still there but underneath it: Location not available.
Paige frowns, that’s odd. Azzi’s location is always on. They’ve never even talked about it — it’s just always been on.
Paige refreshes. Still off. Her thumb hovers over Azzi’s contact for a second, she doesn’t call.
She locks her phone and stares at the ceiling. It’s nothing. Probably nothing.
But it doesn’t feel like nothing.
It had been a couple of days since then and things had gotten even weirder.
They’re in Paige’s bed, the lights off except for the faint glow from the street outside. It starts the way it always does — slow, familiar, easy. Azzi kisses her first, climbs into her lap like she belongs there.
Paige’s hands settle at her waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of her shirt.
Azzi lets her, she always lets her get this far.
Their mouths move together, deeper, warmer. Paige feels that spark she loves — the one that makes her want to take her time, make Azzi unravel piece by piece.
She shifts them gently, trying to roll Azzi onto her back.
Azzi stops her. Not abruptly. Not rough. Just enough pressure on Paige’s hips to keep her in place.
“Stay,” Azzi murmurs against her mouth.
Paige smiles faintly. “Bossy.”
Azzi huffs a quiet laugh and kisses her again, hands sliding lower, redirecting the momentum back onto Paige.
Paige lets it happen for a minute. Then two. Then she gently catches Azzi’s wrist.
“Your turn,” she whispers.
Azzi shakes her head lightly, still smiling. “I’m good.”
“You said that last time.”
“I know.”
Paige studies her in the dim light. Her breathing’s steady. Her expression soft but guarded in a way Paige can’t quite name.
Paige’s hand drifts up instead, slipping under Azzi’s shirt. Azzi exhales when Paige’s palm brushes over her chest — leans into it even.
That part is allowed, Paige can tell.
Azzi’s fingers thread into Paige’s hair, encouraging. But the second Paige’s hand starts to travel lower— Azzi gently catches it.
Not playful. Not teasing. Just firm.
“P,” she says quietly.
Paige stills. “What?”
Azzi doesn’t meet her eyes. She presses a kiss to Paige’s jaw instead. “Can we just… not?”
“Not what?”
Azzi swallows. “Just this part.”
This part. The girl who sometimes wakes Paige up eating her out is asking to skip this part.
Paige pulls back slightly so she can see her face. “Did I do something?”
“No.” Immediate. “No, you didn’t.”
“Then why do you keep stopping me?”
Azzi hesitates, and that hesitation lands heavier than anything else.
“I just don’t feel like it,” she says finally.
Paige nods slowly, even though her chest feels tight. “Okay.”
Azzi leans in again, trying to close the distance, to soften it with kisses but Paige can feel the boundary now. It’s invisible, but it’s there. A line she keeps walking into.
They settle back into each other eventually. Azzi curls against her, tucks her face into Paige’s neck like always.
From the outside, it probably looks exactly the same.
But Paige lies awake longer than she admits to herself, staring into the dark, replaying the moment her hand was stopped.
Next time it’s after a win. The team went out, came back loud and buzzing, and now it’s just the two of them in Paige’s apartment. The adrenaline hasn’t fully worn off yet. Azzi is still grinning when she pushes Paige gently against the kitchen counter.
“You were ridiculous tonight,” Azzi says, hands sliding to Paige’s hips. “That step-back? Disrespectful.”
Paige smirks. “You liked it?”
“I always like it.”
Azzi kisses her like she’s still riding the high of the game — quick at first, then slower. Paige laughs into it, then pulls her closer.
They stumble toward the couch, half kissing, half teasing. It’s playful. Charged. Different from the quiet, heavy nights.
Paige ends up sitting first, Azzi standing between her knees. Paige’s hands move automatically, gripping her waist, then slipping under the hem of her shirt.
Azzi lets her. Lets her explore. Lets her pull her closer. Lets her breathe a little harder when Paige’s mouth trails down her neck.
“You’re so annoying,” Azzi murmurs, though she’s smiling.
“You started it.”
Paige’s hands wander, more confident tonight, encouraged by the way Azzi keeps leaning into her.
Then Paige shifts her weight, guiding Azzi down onto the couch instead.
There’s a flicker in Azzi’s expression. Small. But there.
Paige doesn’t clock it at first. She kisses her again, hands tracing lower along her sides, thumbs hooking lightly at the waistband of her shorts.
Azzi’s fingers immediately wrap around Paige’s wrists. Not tight, just stopping.
“Wait,” she says.
Paige looks up. “What?”
Azzi sits up slightly, pushing Paige back into a seated position instead. Reversing them without making it obvious.
“Can I just—” she gestures vaguely between them, breath still uneven. “Get you first?”
“What do you mean? I haven’t fucked you in like two weeks.”
“I know baby, I just want you.”
Paige studies her. Azzi’s cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are steady now. Guarded in a way that doesn’t match the moment.
“You don’t want to?” Paige asks carefully.
Azzi shakes her head. “I just don’t feel like receiving right now.”
It’s different this time. No playful grin. No distraction tactic. Just a boundary stated plainly.
Paige nods after a second. “Okay.”
Azzi relaxes instantly at that. She leans down, kisses her softer now, slower. The energy shifts from electric to contained.
They stay tangled on the couch, hands roaming in safer places, breaths eventually evening out.
But Paige can’t ignore the pattern anymore. It’s not about the mood. It’s not about timing. It’s deliberate.
So now Azzi is sitting on the floor in front of Paige’s desk, back against the bed, legs stretched out like she owns the place.
Paige’s in her chair, spinning a pen between her fingers, pretending to focus on her laptop.
Azzi looks… pleased with herself. “So,” she says, dragging the word out.
Paige doesn’t look up. “So?”
“I need you tomorrow at six.”
That makes Paige glance over. “Need me?”
“Yeah.” Azzi grins. “At my dorm. Be there.”
Paige narrows her eyes slightly. “Why?”
“No questions.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.” Azzi reaches out and nudges Paige’s knee with her socked foot. “Just trust me.”
There’s that spark in her eyes again. That secretive one. For some reason, instead of feeling excited, Paige feels something small and sharp poke at her ribs.
Azzi pushes herself up off the floor and steps closer, stopping right between Paige’s knees. She rests her hands lightly on the armrests.
“Just meet me there,” she says softer now. “Okay?”
Paige studies her face. There’s no tension. No weird energy. Just excitement. Maybe a little nervousness.
And still — that faint irritation lingers. Because for weeks now things have felt off. Guarded. Controlled. And now Azzi wants romance.
Paige exhales through her nose. “Six,” she says finally.
Azzi grins like she just won something. “Six.”
She leans down, presses a quick kiss to Paige’s mouth, then another to her forehead.
Paige watches her walk toward the door.
“Don’t be late,” Azzi calls over her shoulder.
The door shuts. Paige spins once in her chair, staring at the ceiling.
She should be excited. Instead, she feels… unsettled.
And she doesn’t know why.
———————————————————————————
Caroline’s dorm room smells like vanilla candles and microwave popcorn.
Azzi is pacing, like actually pacing.
Caroline is cross-legged on her bed, watching her with open amusement. “You’re wearing a line into my carpet.”
“I’m nervous,” Azzi shoots back.
“It’s a date. You’ve been dating for three years.”
“I shouldn’t have done it,” Azzi says for the fifth time in ten minutes.
“Come on, Az. You were so excited to do it, it was harder to convince me to go, than for you to actually do it,” Caroline says.
Azzi groans and drags both hands down her face. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”
“Because you said, and I quote, ‘She’s gonna lose her mind in the best way.’”
Azzi stops pacing and flops dramatically into Caroline’s desk chair.
“I still think she will,” she mutters. “I just— I didn’t think about the healing part feeling this long.”
Caroline snorts. “It’s been two weeks.”
“Exactly. Two weeks of dodging my own girlfriend.”
“You’re the one who refused to just tell her.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise. I just—” She exhales. “I want to see her face. I want her to be surprised. In a good way. I want it to feel like… I don’t know. Worth the weird two weeks.”
Caroline leans back on her elbows. “So instead of telling her why you turned your location off, avoided letting her touch you, you just started acting mysterious. Genius strategy.”
Azzi glares at her. “You said it was romantic.”
“I said the idea was romantic. The communication blackout was your idea.”
Azzi presses her lips together, replaying the last two weeks in her head — the way she had to stop Paige’s hands, the way she kept redirecting things, the way Paige looked confused more than once.
“I just didn’t want to ruin it,” Azzi says more quietly now. “I couldn’t exactly let her—” She gestures vaguely downward. “Not while it was healing.”
Caroline raises an eyebrow. “And since I was physically present when you made that decision, I can confirm you were very committed to it.”
Azzi points at her again. “You literally said, ‘Do it. She’ll think it’s hot.’”
“I stand by that.”
Azzi huffs out a nervous laugh, spinning the chair once. “What if she doesn’t?”
Caroline stares at her like she’s lost her mind. “Azzi. Your girlfriend is obsessed with you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is absolutely the point.”
Azzi nods slowly.
“She’s gonna connect the dots,” Caroline adds. “And then she’s gonna realize you’ve basically been suffering in silence for dramatic effect.”
Azzi exhales. “I was not suffering.”
Caroline gives her a look.
“…Okay, a little,” Azzi admits.
Caroline laughs. “You’re ridiculous.”
Azzi finally smiles, small but real. “She’s worth it.”
Caroline shakes her head fondly. “You are down catastrophic.”
Azzi doesn’t deny it. Instead, she leans back in the chair and stares at the ceiling, already imagining Paige’s face tomorrow night.
———————————————————————————-
The day starts wrong. Not catastrophic. Not dramatic. Just wrong.
Paige misses two easy shots at shootaround. One of her professors sends back a paper covered in red comments. By the time she gets back to her dorm, she has a headache sitting right behind her eyes.
Her phone buzzes.
Baby 💗: don’t forget. 6 🤍
Paige stares at the message longer than she should, she types.
P 💗: rough day. might not be in the mood to go out.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Baby 💗: what?
Baby 💗: nooo come on
Baby 💗: just trust me
Paige exhales through her nose.
Five minutes later, there’s a knock on her door. Of course.
Azzi steps in without waiting. “You’re not canceling,” she says lightly, like it’s not even an option.
Paige is sitting on the edge of her bed, still in sweats.
“I had a long day,” Paige says flatly.
“I know. That’s why this is good.”
“I don’t feel like being good.”
Azzi softens slightly, walking closer. “It’s just a couple hours.”
Paige lets out a humorless laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”
Azzi stops. “What does that mean?”
Paige rubs her temples. She didn’t mean for it to come out sharp, but it’s sitting there now.
“It means,” she says, looking up at her, “you’ve been weird for two weeks.”
Azzi’s expression flickers.
“You’ve been distant. You’ve been stopping me every time I try to touch you. You disappear randomly. And now suddenly you want a perfect little date and I’m just supposed to show up smiling?”
“That’s not what this is,” Azzi says, quieter now.
“It kind of feels like it.”
Azzi steps closer. “Paige.”
“I can’t have a bad day because you want to go out now?” Paige’s voice cracks just slightly — not loud, but frustrated. “I’ve been trying to act normal while you’ve been ignoring me.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“You have.” It’s not yelled. It’s tired. “Maybe not completely. But enough.”
Silence hangs between them.
Azzi looks like she wants to explain. Like she’s balancing on the edge of just blurting it out.
Instead, she swallows. “I just wanted tonight to be good,” she says softly.
Paige’s shoulders drop a little at that.
“I don’t need perfect,” Paige mutters. “I just need not confusing.”
That lands. Azzi moves closer, carefully this time, like approaching something fragile. She sits down beside Paige on the bed.
“It’s not bad confusing,” she says gently. “I promise.”
Paige looks at her, searching her face for something solid.
“You promise?”
Azzi nods. There’s still tension there. Still leftover irritation. But it’s thinner now.
After a second, Paige exhales.
“Fine,” she says quietly. “Six.”
Azzi’s lips curve into a small, relieved smile.
“Six,” she repeats.
But this time, there’s nerves underneath it.
———————————————————————————
The hallway smells faintly like someone’s burned popcorn, but the second Paige pushes Azzi’s apartment door open, that disappears.
Candles. Everywhere.
Not in a cheesy, over-the-top way. Just enough. Along the kitchen counter. On the windowsill. A couple on the coffee table. The lights are dimmed low enough that everything feels softer.
Paige steps inside slowly, closing the door behind her.
“Az?” she calls out.
No answer.
She slips off her shoes, heart thudding a little harder now — irritation from earlier mixing with something warmer.
The kitchen island is set up. Two plates. Napkins folded (which Azzi has never done in her life). And on the stove, under foil, are wings. The good kind. The ones from the place Paige likes but pretends she doesn’t because they’re overpriced.
There’s even a bottle of sparkling water chilling in ice.
Paige can’t help the small smile that pulls at her mouth.
“Okay…” she murmurs to herself.
“Azzi?”
Still nothing.
She walks further in, glancing around the living room. Music is playing softly from somewhere — a playlist she recognizes. The one they put on during long drives.
Her chest tightens a little. This isn’t casual. This is effort.
She moves down the short hallway toward Azzi’s bedroom, the door cracked open just slightly.
“Az?” she calls again, softer this time.
No answer.
Paige nudges the door open with her fingertips.
The room is lit by more candles. The bed is made — actually made. Fresh sheets. The desk pushed back a little, like someone cleared space on purpose.
Paige steps inside slowly. “Okay, this is either romantic or you’ve been kidnapped,” she mutters under her breath.
Her eyes scan the room.
“Azzi?”
And that’s when she hears movement — soft, coming from the bathroom.
Paige stands in the middle of the room, suddenly hyper-aware of everything — the music drifting faintly from the living room, the flicker of candlelight against the walls, her own heartbeat in her ears.
“Az?” she calls again, softer now.
There’s a beat. Then, from behind the door, “Yeah?”
Not kidnapped. Good.
Paige steps closer to the bathroom door, stopping just short of knocking. “Are you gonna make me stand here all mysterious and abandoned?”
“Maybe.”
“Azzi.”
There’s rustling inside. A drawer closing. A deep inhale.
Then: “Okay. Just— give me a second.”
That tone. Not playful. Not fully. Nervous.
Paige’s irritation from earlier flickers back up. “You dragged me out for a secret candle situation and now I’m on a time-out outside your bathroom?”
“Paige,” Azzi says through the door, and there’s a smile in her voice, but it’s tight. “Please. One second.”
Paige leans her shoulder against the wall, crossing her arms. “Fine,” she mutters.
Another few seconds pass. Long enough that Paige’s curiosity starts outweighing everything else.
When the bathroom door finally opens, Azzi steps out like she had to hype herself up first.
She’s not dressed up in some over-the-top, candlelight-dress kind of way. She’s dressed like herself.
She’s wearing a cropped t-shirt she very obviously cut on her own — the edges slightly uneven, the word BUCKETS stretched across her chest from Paige’s Nike merch. The hem hits just below her boobs, showing a strip of them that feels intentional without trying too hard.
Gray sweatpants hang low on her hips, soft and familiar, the kind she always steals from the dryer before they’re fully done. They look casual — almost too casual for how carefully everything else is set up.
But there’s a detail she knows Paige will clock. Underneath the waistband, just barely visible when she shifts her weight, is the thin line of purple fabric.
Not accidental. Not random. Deliberate.
Her hair is down, falling around her shoulders instead of tied back like it usually is after practice. There’s a nervous flush across her cheeks, like she’s been standing in the bathroom staring at herself in the mirror for too long.
She doesn’t look polished. She looks real. Comfortable. Dangerous in that quiet, confident way.
And the way she’s standing — shoulders squared but fingers fidgeting slightly at her sides — makes it clear she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Or at least, she hopes she does.
“Okay, you look unfair,” Paige says slowly. “Hi.”
Azzi laughs under her breath, nervous energy radiating off her. “Hi.”
There’s a moment where neither of them moves. All the tension from earlier in the day is still there, but it’s mixed with something else now. Something charged.
“You did all this?” Paige asks quietly, gesturing vaguely toward the candles, the room, everything.
Azzi nods. “Yeah.”
“For me.”
“Yeah.”
Paige studies her face — the nerves, the anticipation, the way her hands keep flexing at her sides like she’s trying not to fidget.
“What’s going on?” Paige asks, softer now.
Azzi swallows.
“Okay,” she says, exhaling. “Before you say anything — I need to explain the last two weeks.”
Paige’s stomach flips. “…Okay.”
Azzi steps closer. Close enough that Paige can feel the heat from her skin. “I wasn’t ignoring you,” she says quickly. “And I wasn’t cheating. And I wasn’t losing interest.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know,” Azzi says gently. “But I could tell you were thinking something.”
Paige doesn’t deny that.
Azzi takes another breath.
“I just needed time for something to heal.”
Paige blinks.
“Heal?”
Azzi’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink. “And I didn’t tell you because I wanted tonight to be a surprise,” she finishes.
Paige stares at her, trying to piece it together.
“What did you do?” she asks slowly.
Azzi hesitates for half a second — then reaches for Paige’s hand.
“Just… don’t freak out.”
Paige’s brows lift immediately. “That’s never a comforting sentence.”
Azzi huffs out a nervous laugh, still holding her hand. “I know. I know.”
There’s a beat where she almost backs out of it. Paige can see it — the split second of reconsideration.
Then Azzi squares her shoulders. “Okay. So,” she starts, cheeks flushed. “A couple weeks ago… Caroline and I went somewhere.”
Paige narrows her eyes. “I know, I saw the pictures.”
“She went with me because I was nervous.”
“Nervous about what?”
Azzi squeezes her hand once, like she’s steadying herself.
“I got pierced.”
Silence.
Paige blinks.
“…Your ear?”
Azzi’s blush deepens. She shakes her head.
Paige’s eyes widen slightly as the realization creeps in. “Wait.”
Azzi nods once. Small. Committed.
“Oh.”
Another beat of silence.
Paige’s brain visibly catches up. The last two weeks rearrange themselves in real time — the stopped hands, the careful boundaries, the redirections.
“You—” Paige laughs once, disbelieving. “You’ve been dodging me because you got—”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Azzi says quickly, words tumbling over each other now. “I had to let it heal. And I couldn’t risk anything messing it up. And I didn’t know how to explain that without ruining tonight.”
Paige just stares at her. All the irritation. All the confusion. All the weird, prickly feelings.
They dissolve.
Replaced with something else entirely.
“You’re insane,” Paige says finally.
Azzi winces. “That’s not the reaction I was hoping for.”
There’s a difference now. A softness under it. A heat creeping into her voice.
Azzi’s shoulders relax a fraction. “So you’re not mad?”
Paige lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “I thought you were pulling away from me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I thought you were bored.”
“Paige,” Azzi says, almost offended. “Be serious.”
Paige searches her face one more time, just to be sure.
“You did all this,” she says quietly, glancing around the candlelit room, “because you got pierced.”
Azzi nods, nervous again. “I just— I wanted it to be… fun. And worth the wait.”
Paige’s eyes darken slightly at that.
“Worth the wait,” she repeats.
Azzi swallows.
There’s a charged pause.
Paige steps even closer, their bodies nearly touching now. “And tonight is the grand reveal?”
“…Yes.”
Paige studies her for one long second. Then a slow smile spreads across her face, she leans in just enough that their foreheads almost brush.
“You could’ve just told me,” she murmurs.
“I know.”
“But I do love a prize at the end of the tunnel.”
Azzi exhales, relief and anticipation mixing in her expression.
“So,” Azzi says carefully, “was it worth the drought?”
Paige’s hand slides to her waist, firm and certain now. She smiles.
“We’re about to find out.”
In one fluid motion, Azzi pushed the soft fabric of her sweatpants down her legs, stepping out of them. She stood there in just the cropped shirt and a scrap of purple lace that barely qualified as a thong. The sight was a physical blow to Paige’s resolve. Her breath hitched.
“That distance… it was killing me, P. Every day. Having to stop when all I wanted is for your finger to be inside of me” Azzi’s voice dropped, trembling with genuine emotion. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of the tiny purple thong. “But I couldn’t let you see. It needed to heal. I couldn’t risk you… I couldn’t risk me… not being able to wait.”
She peeled the lace down, slow and deliberate, revealing the neat, shaved triangle of her pubis. And there, glinting in the soft light from Paige’s desk lamp, was the reason.
A single, perfect silver ring, pierced through the very top of her labia minora, nestled just above her clit. The metal was cool and bright against her flushed skin.
Paige’s mouth went dry. Her core flooded with heat.
“Oh, fuck,” Paige whispered.
“Yeah,” Azzi breathed, a shaky laugh escaping her. She spread her legs wider, an open invitation, a blatant display. The ring shifted slightly with the movement, catching the light. “I got it for you. I got it because of you. Because for two fucking weeks, all I could think about, all I could fantasize about, was your mouth on me. Your tongue… playing with it. Teasing it. I haven’t touched myself once since I got it done. I’ve been saving every single bit of that need for you.”
The confession was filthy, earnest, and it unraveled the last of Paige’s restraint. They moved at the same instant, a synchronized collapse of space. Paige surged forward, her hands finding Azzi’s hips, pulling her close as Azzi’s fingers tangled in Paige’s hair, guiding her down, down, down.
Paige dropped to her knees on the scratchy dorm carpet, her face inches from the stunning, adorned flesh. The scent of her, clean and musky and utterly Azzi, filled Paige’s head. She could see the delicate, healed skin around the silver ring, still slightly pink. She could see the way Azzi’s folds were already glistening, slick with anticipation.
“Please,” Azzi begged, her voice cracking as she looked down, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the ‘BUCKETS’ shirt. “Please, Paige. It’s all for you. I’m all for you.”
Paige didn’t need another word. She leaned in, her breath ghosting over the sensitive skin, watching Azzi shiver violently. Then, with a reverence she’d never felt before, she extended her tongue.
She didn’t go straight for the center. She started at the very top of Azzi’s inner thigh, placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. She trailed her tongue slowly, agonizingly slowly, up the crease of her leg, feeling the muscle jump and tense beneath her lips. She bypassed the dripping heat of her slit, ignored the desperate, silent plea of Azzi’s body, and instead moved to the other side, tracing the same path.
She was circling the prize. Building the ache.
Azzi whimpered, her fingers tightening painfully in Paige’s hair. “You’re a fucking tease. A beautiful, cruel fucking tease.”
Paige hummed in agreement, the vibration making Azzi jerk. Finally, she brought her mouth to the very heart of the matter. She didn’t lick her. Not yet. She pressed a single, soft, closed-lipped kiss directly onto the small, cool metal of the ring.
Azzi cried out, a sharp, broken sound. “Yes!”
Now.
Paige opened her mouth, letting her tongue, flat and warm, swipe a broad, wet path from Azzi’s perineum all the way up to the ring. She tasted salt and silk and pure, unadulterated arousal. Azzi’s hips bucked off the edge of the bed she was braced against.
“Again,” Azzi panted. “Do that again. God, your tongue…”
Paige obeyed, repeating the long, languid stroke, savoring the taste, the texture, the way Azzi’s entire body bowed with pleasure. But she had a goal. On the third stroke, she changed the pattern. She reached Azzi’s swollen clit, circled it once, twice, making Azzi sob, and then she moved just above it.
She fixed her mouth around the pierced flesh. She suckled gently, pulling the tiny ring and the tender skin it was pierced through into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth.
“Fuck! Fuck, Daddy” Azzi’s legs trembled. One hand clawed at Paige’s shoulder, the other still fisted in her hair, holding her in place. “Tha’s it… that’s the spot. Right fucking there… oh god.”
Paige released the ring with a soft pop and immediately began tracing slow, meticulous circles around it with the very tip of her tongue. She traced the circumference of the silver, feeling its shape, feeling the tiny, hard bead where the ring closed. Each circle was a little tighter, a little more focused, the pressure a little more direct on the incredibly sensitive, nerve-packed flesh that was now permanently adorned for her pleasure.
“It’s so much… more,” Azzi gasped, her words coming in ragged bursts. “Everywhere your tongue goes… the metal moves… it pulls… it sends these shocks right through my whole fucking cunt. I can feel it in my toes, Paige. I can feel it in my teeth.”
Encouraged, Paige dove deeper. She used her tongue to flick the ring back and forth, a tiny, rapid motion that had Azzi screaming, her back arching so sharply Paige thought it might snap. Slickness coated Paige’s chin, dripped down onto her own chest. The room filled with the lewd, wet sounds of her feasting and Azzi’s desperate, filthy praise.
“Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop,” Azzi chanted, her hips rolling in a frantic, grinding rhythm against Paige’s face. “Eat me. Use that perfect tongue on my pierced pussy. Make me come all over your face. I’ve dreamed of this… I’ve dreamed of your mouth right here”
The dirty talk was a catalyst. Paige redoubled her efforts, licking and sucking and nibbling with a fervor she didn’t know she possessed. She slid two fingers inside Azzi, curling them upwards, and Azzi’s inner walls clamped down on them like a vise, pulsing wildly.
“I’m gonna come,” Azzi warned, her voice high and thin.
Paige sealed her lips around the piercing once more and sucked, hard, while her fingers thrust in a deep, relentless rhythm. She felt the exact moment it happened. Azzi’s body went rigid, a strangled scream tore from her throat, and a hot, gushing flood of release soaked Paige’s hand and chin. The contractions around her fingers were intense, milking them, as Azzi shook through the longest orgasm of her life.
As the last tremors subsided, Azzi slumped back, her legs giving out. She slid down to the floor, pulling Paige with her, their foreheads touching, both breathing like they’d run a marathon. Azzi’s eyes were glazed, blissed-out.
She looked at Paige, at the evidence of her pleasure glistening on Paige’s face, and a slow, sated, devilish smile spread across her lips. “I want to ride you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse.
She guided Paige onto the bed until she was exactly where Azzi wanted her: flat on her back, the sheets a tangled ruin beneath her. Her legs were parted, an open invitation, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. But Azzi wasn’t one to rush.
“Look at you,” Azzi purred, her voice a low rasp that vibrated through Paige’s core. “Already so wet for me. Just from eating me out.”
Paige whimpered, her hips giving an involuntary twitch upward, seeking contact that wasn’t there. “Azzi, please…”
“Please what?” Azzi climbed onto the bed, crawling up Paige’s body with predatory slowness. Her knees settled on either side of Paige’s hips, not yet lowering herself. She just hovered, letting Paige feel the heat radiating from her, seeing the slick evidence of her own need glistening. “You have to use your words, baby. Beg for it.”
“I need you,” Paige gasped, her hands flying up to grip Azzi’s thighs. Her fingers dug into the firm muscle, nails biting slightly. “I need to feel you. God, I need your pussy on mine. Now.”
A dark, delighted chuckle escaped Azzi. “That’s my girl.” Finally, she lowered her hips, but not to join them. Instead, she ground herself down against the hard plane of Paige’s abdomen. The smooth, warm metal of the piercing dragged a wet, shocking trail through the sweat-sheened valley between Paige’s abs. It was a claiming, a branding. My territory.
Paige cried out, the sensation bizarre and intensely erotic—the cool metal, the hot slickness, the firm pressure. “Fuck, Azzi…”
“Yes,” Azzi hissed, rocking her hips in a slow, deliberate circle, painting Paige’s skin with her essence. “You’re mine tonight. Every inch of you.” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of Paige’s head, her breasts hanging heavy above Paige’s face. “And you’re going to remember who owns this ache.”
With that, she shifted. In one fluid, powerful motion, Azzi settled her weight fully, aligning their centers. The first contact was seismic. The hard, smooth ball of the piercing pressed directly against Paige’s swollen clit, while the soaked, heated flesh beneath surrounded her.
Paige’s back arched off the bed, a shattered cry torn from her throat. “Oh god!”
Azzi’s eyes rolled back for a split second, her own breath catching. The pressure, the friction, the perfection of it. “There,” she growled, finding her rhythm immediately. She didn’t just move; she rode. Her hips pistoned with a fierce, demanding cadence, each downward grind pressing the metal barbell hard against Paige’s most sensitive nerves before dragging through her folds with exquisite, torturous friction.
The room filled with the sounds of it: slick, wet slaps of skin on skin, ragged breaths, and the broken, needy sounds Paige couldn’t contain. Azzi’s hands, which had been braced, now slid down. One tangled in the sheets beside Paige’s head for leverage, but the other—the other groped and kneaded the firm curve of Paige’s ass, pulling her up into each thrust, fingers digging in possessively.
“You take me so well,” Azzi grunted, her voice strained with her own building pleasure. “Your pussy is gripping for it. Begging for it. Isn’t it?”
“Yes! Yes, it is!” Paige sobbed, her own hands scrambling for purchase on Azzi’s back, her nails leaving faint red trails.
“Louder.” Azzi’s pace became punishing, a relentless, driving rhythm that had the bedframe creaking in protest. She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of Paige’s ear. Her voice dropped to a guttural, dominant whisper that was more felt than heard. “Tell me whose pussy you crave.”
The command, wrapped in that rough, dirty praise, sent a violent shudder through Paige. Her whole world narrowed to the point where their bodies joined, to the piercing that rubbed her into a frenzy, to the hand mercilessly gripping her ass. “Yours!” she wailed, the admission torn from some primal place. “I crave your pussy, Azzi! Only yours! Please, don’t stop!”
“Good girl,” Azzi snarled, the praise a reward that ignited Paige even further. She changed her angle slightly, rolling her hips in a tighter, more focused circle, ensuring the metal bead ground in relentless circles directly on Paige’s clit.
Paige’s cries became incoherent, her thighs trembling violently where they clamped around Azzi’s waist. She was hurtling toward the edge, the pleasure coiling tight and unbearably hot in her belly. Azzi could feel it, could see the desperate, shattered look in Paige’s eyes. She rode her harder, faster, her own climax coiling like a spring, fueled by the power, by the submission, by the incredible, unique sensation of the piercing stimulating them both.
“I’m gonna… Azzi, I’m gonna…” Paige babbled, her body tensing like a bowstring.
“Come for me,” Azzi ordered, her own control fraying. Her ass-gripping hand slid around to Paige’s front, fingers splaying possessively over her lower belly, holding her down as she drove into her final, frantic movements. “Come on my piercing. Come on my pussy. Show me how much you crave it.”
The command was the final trigger. Paige’s vision whited out as the orgasm detonated through her, a silent scream on her lips before sound returned—a raw, broken cry that seemed to go on forever. Her core clenched in rhythmic, pulsing waves around the nothingness they were sharing, milking the sensation for all it was worth.
Feeling Paige shatter beneath her pushed Azzi over the same precipice. With a final, deep grind that pressed the metal deep into Paige’s oversensitive flesh, Azzi threw her head back, a guttural shout ripped from her throat as her own release crashed over her. Heat flooded between them, mixing with Paige’s, as her body shuddered through the convulsions, her grip on Paige’s ass tightening to the point of pain before finally, slowly, beginning to relax.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged, synced breathing. Azzi, still trembling, lowered her forehead to Paige’s shoulder, her body weight a delicious, crushing comfort. She was slick with sweat, her muscles singing. Beneath her, Paige was a boneless, whimpering mess, tiny aftershocks still making her twitch.
Azzi nuzzled into the crook of Paige’s neck, her voice a hoarse, satisfied murmur. “Mine.”
“Holy fuck, Az.”
They’re warm and quiet after, sheets twisted around their legs, the room dim except for the light slipping in through the blinds.
Paige stares at the ceiling. “You can’t do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Leave me two weeks without sex.” She glances down at her. “Unless there’s a prize at the end of the tunnel but you have to tell me”
Azzi snorts against her skin. “A prize?”
“Yes. A reward system. I need incentive.”
Azzi lifts her head, smiling lazily. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m serious.” Paige tightens her arm around her slightly. “I was suffering.”
“You were not suffering.”
“I was.” She nods solemnly. “Deeply.”
Azzi rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling. “You’re dramatic.”
“Correct. But still valid.”
There’s a beat where the teasing fades just slightly. Paige’s fingers slow in her hair.
“I just… don’t like when it feels weird,” Paige admits quietly. “If you’re gonna put me on a drought, I need to know there’s a reason.”
Azzi studies her face for a second. Something softer passes through her expression.
“There was a reason,” she says gently.
Paige raises an eyebrow. “A very good one indeed but I didn’t like those two weeks.”
Azzi’s lips curve into a small, secretive smile. “We’ll see.”
“It sounds like you’re planning something again.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I”ll get my nipples pierced.”
Paige groans dramatically and drops her head back against the pillow. “Unbelievable. I’m dating a plot twist.”
Azzi laughs, leaning down to kiss her slow and warm.
“Just trust me,” she murmurs against her mouth.
Paige sighs, but she pulls her closer anyway. “Fine,” she says softly. “But next time? Less mystery. More immediate gratification.”
period sex with Eddie? if you’re comfortable w it 🥺 I feel like he’d be so into it and like it’s soothing your aches and pains omg
period sex <333 eddie <333 period sex with eddie <333333
this post is 18+, minors dni.
"There y'go," Eddie hums, feeling your hips buck up beneath his frame, "That feelin' better?"
Eddie's hand splays over your belly, the touch combined with his hips gently rocking into yours soothing the ache there. The slow, soothing thrusts of his cock into your aching cunt spread warmth and coziness through you that make you want to fall asleep right then and there, drooling on your pillow until you can't possibly take any more.
"Mhm," You nod, biting your lip so that a tear doesn't sneak out from your eye, fueled by the pain slowly subsiding below your gut, "Love- love you, Eddie."
"I love you too," He croons, dipping down to press warm, sticky kisses to the curves of your face. He dots your cheeks, chin, tip of your nose, eyelids as they droop, temples, forehead, and the bridge of your nose before finally pressing a much firmer one to your lips, catching your bottom one between his and letting his tongue lave over it.
A sharp wave of pain washes over you before you can see it coming, twisting up your insides into a knot that Eddie's hand massaging your belly is already working out. He catches the sharp intake of breath against his lips, then hears your whine, and works his fingers deeper into the soft chub of your belly, "'S okay, sweetheart, jus' breathe, okay? It'll be over in a second."
The whole Fat Baby Shane thing made me convinced Shane and Ilya have the biggest fattest babies ever. I don't care if they adopt or have a surrogate or Shane gets pregnant I just know their kids end up being monster babies and it would be insane except theyre both big beefy hockey players so the babies look almost normal when theyre held by them. The internet has a field day comparing pictures of Ilya holding them(in which they look like slightly bigger than normal babies) and Yuna holding them(in which the babies look like an area 51 project). Shane and Ilya still think theyre so little and honestly not heavy at all(see: big beefy hockey players) so theyre completely confused when anyone mentions that theyre gigantic. When Ilya does recognize that theyre like 95th percentile babies he is very proud
current brainrot is cock hungry reader with big dick steve. just desperate for him when in public and reader not being able to wait until they get home bc she needs him in her now
this post is 18+. minors dni.
You'd been attempting to relegate your hands to strictly the meat of Steve's thigh, but once you feel the denim against your fingertips, you itch for more.
You're relatively concealed, contained within the darkness of Starcourt's movie theater, but there's an audience of people around you that probably wouldn't be too cool with watching you and Steve bone.
That's why, when your fingers creep just inches to the north, Steve's hand shoots out to stop your own.
"Woah, hotshot, be careful. You're getting fresh."
"I'm sorry Steve," You huff, almost a whine, "I- I know we're in public, I just-" You've been on edge for days, limited in your schedule by work and other social obligations. You haven't gotten to fuck Steve in over a week, and it gets harder and harder to keep yourself civil around him when you can physically feel an ache of what you're missing.
He takes your hand in his and squeezes, holding it steady as you both try refocusing on the movie.
You manage all of twenty seconds before faking a casual glance around you, noting that you're in the very last row, up against the back wall with only three people in your immediate vicinity, all in the row in front of you. If you can just-
"I can hear you thinking terrible, sexy thoughts." Steve whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leans over.
"Sorry! Sorry. How'd you-?"
"Your hand was wandering again."
You glance down to where you'd unconsciously dropped his hand in search of the soft skin of his upper thigh through his jeans. You can see the outline of his cock through his pants, which isn't uncommon for someone as well-endowed as Steve in the tight fit of his jeans, but it's perhaps a smidge more pronounced than it usually is.
"Can you make it to the bathroom?" He asks, "There's an old lady in the second row and I don't know if I could... perform around her."
You're up and out of your seat before he can even finish speaking, and Steve nearly spills your joint popcorn trying to follow along where you're dragging him.
"Easy! Excuse me, sorry." He mumbles, weaving through the crowd as you leave your snacks behind in the darkness of the theater. Once you reach overhead lights you're on him, and Steve lets out a surprised grunt as he's pushed against the wall of the movie theater hallway.
"Jesus! You're a pervert," He notes, "You're worse than a man. We were heading for the bathroom, remember?"
"Fuck the bathroom," You pant, "Or- actually, fuck me. Please and thank you."
"In the hallway?"
"You're into it." You glance cursorily down at the outline of his cock in his pants, noting that it's even more pronounced than it was before, "Hurry up, Steve. I wanna catch the end of the movie."
I love your ones with shy x king steve could you write more with lots of angst lolll
ty for requesting !! — the trials and tribulations of dating hawkins' golden boy (shy!reader, secret relationship, hurt/comfort, king!steve universe | 1.6k)
Gravel crunches under your feet, digging into the bottoms of your shoes with every step. You storm through the empty alleyway between the gymnasium and the chemistry lab despite that. Despite the whipping wind that threatens to pull you back. Despite the calls of your name from an achingly familiar voice.
“Hey! Hey, wait up!” Steve shouts at the back of you, laughing like it’s funny.
You hear his footsteps kicking up gravel as he rushes to catch up with you. It takes little effort on his part — legs long and mostly bare in his Hawkins Tigers basketball shorts. He towers over you accordingly, when he slides ahead of you to stop you suddenly in your tracks.
“Hey. What’s going on?” the boy pants with a crooked smile. His cheeks, freshly shaven, are now flushed from a merciless practice. The shirt clinging just perfectly to his torso, too, is damp at the neckline with sweat. “Why are you avoiding me, huh?”
He’s met with an emotionless scowl from you, which is strange, ‘cause you’re usually all smiles around him. But you keep your arms crossed over tight your chest, adamant in revealing nothing to him.
Steve’s smile wavers at the edges as he forces a breathy, unsure laugh. “Oh, you’re not— you’re not talking to me? Shit, I must have some serious groveling to do, don’t I?”
His wide hands settle warm on the outsides of your elbows, just before he ducks down to kiss you. You catch a smirk pulling at his pink mouth when the tip of his nose traces the bridge of yours — like it’s still so funny to him.
He frowns when you flinch back from him, boyish features twisting like a puppy’s might. “You okay?” he wonders, suddenly solemn.
“No, Steve,” you snap. “I’m not.”
He stammers hopelessly. “Well, what— What happened? Did I… Did I do something, or…?”
“No. You didn’t do anything,” you bite. “Because you never do anything.”
You try to walk past him, but Steve sidesteps to block you, his hands spread awkwardly before him in surrender. “Okay, well, now I’m confused,” he murmurs, face swirled with uncertainty. “‘Cause you’re saying I didn’t do anything, but… it kinda sounds like I did do something…”
His disregard sets you aflame from the inside.
“Tommy made fun of me in front of all your friends. In front of you—” You dig your finger into the center of his chest. “—And what did you do? Nothing, Steve… Nothing.”
Your voice breaks. You clear your throat when emotion starts to strangle you.
The memory of earlier that day pangs your chest like it just happened — like it’s still happening. And it’s not so much what Tommy said to you, but what Steve didn’t have the courage to say.
The boy sighs, swiping a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. “He’s a dick, babe. You know that. Don’t let him get to you—”
“That’s really easy for you to say, isn’t it?”
He flinches at your foreignly sharp tone. “Well, what was I supposed to do?”
Now, you can’t tell if he’s oblivious or just a coward. Neither is particularly attractive.
“Anything,” you spit. “Literally anything.”
“I just didn’t want them to find out about us, alright?” Steve argues, harsher now. “That was the agreement, wasn’t it? That we stay a secret—”
“‘Cause you’re ashamed of me,” you choke, eyes going glassy.
“‘Cause I didn’t want this shit to get any worse for you!”
“It can’t get any worse, Steve! I’m fucking— I’m fish bait!”
“What?!”
“Every day, I’m terrified of what your friends are gonna say to me,” you confess, despite the cracks in your voice and the tears blurring your vision. “I’m self-conscious, all the time, ‘cause they always have something to say. About my hair, my clothes, my makeup—”
Steve’s chest burns with a palpable ache. Every inch of your heartbreak is his own. His arms cross over his chest in a feeble attempt to quell the flame. “Really?”
You scoff a bitter laugh. “God, you’re so oblivious…”
“I didn’t know it was that bad, babe, I swear,” Steve says, voice suddenly fragile as he takes a step closer to you. His sneaker scuffs the gravel with hesitancy. “I thought Tommy was just being a prick, you know? He’s like that with everyone. I had no idea it was like that, okay?”
Your tight chest deflates with a sigh. “The point is, Steve… That Tommy shouldn’t be doing anything to be at all. You should be protecting me— Not even as my boyfriend, but as a decent fucking human being.”
“I’ll talk to him,” the boy says with a firm nod.
“Steve—”
“I will. I-I’ll sort it out, okay? I promise.”
Even though the look of hurt twisting his features makes your eyes sting, you smack your lips indifferently against your teeth. “No. Don’t worry about it. I’d hate for him to find out about us—”
“Babe—”
“Or, god forbid, you lose any shot of being prom king,” you laugh cynically. “Wouldn’t that be a bite?”
Steve huffs, though it’s hard with the leaden weight on his chest. “Okay. Now you’re just being mean.”
You know you are. You wanted to be — wanted to hurt him like he hurt you. But you’re questioning if he deserves it now, so you shrink into yourself all over again. “I have to go. Me and Robin are going to the library.” When you walk past him this time, he makes no effort to stop you.
It hurts only slightly.
“Let me drive you,” he calls to you, anyway.
“So you can be seen with a bunch of dweebs at the library?” you scoff, not looking back at him. “I’d hate to see what that would do to your reputation.”
“Please, don’t,” Steve sighs, with his hands on his hips and his head tossed back like he’s talking to the sky. “Don’t leave when you’re mad at me. Please.”
His words are carried to you on an early fall breeze, which stills suddenly when you spin around to face him. The sight of you takes his breath in a similar way — eyes teary, chin quivering, face twisted with the hurt he caused.
“Do you know how humiliating it is?” you ask him, voice trembling. “To watch your boyfriend stay silent when all of his friends are making fun of you?”
“I’m sorry—”
“It’s fucking humiliating.”
His jaw clenches. So hard his temples shift. “I thought I was helping,” Steve explains, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I thought if I said something, then everyone would find out, and you said you didn’t want that—”
“Because you’re King Steve,” you retort, agonizing the point he seems to be forgetting. Your voice breaks like splintered glass. “And I’m— I’m nothing—”
“That’s not true—”
“—And I thought the only way I’d get to be with you was if no one else knew. So you could keep being Hawkins Royalty while dating the… the local fucking prude.”
An emotionless laugh sputters from your lips. It cuts through Steve like a knife.
“I didn’t… I didn’t know you felt that way,” the boy confesses, closing the short distance between you. The snapping gravel under his sneakers fills the silence. You duck your gaze when he towers over you again.
“Well… now you do,” you murmur.
“I’ll make it better, okay? I’ll fix it,” Steve assures. Unsure of what to do with his hands when they’re not holding you, he sticks the trembling limbs in the pockets of his short shorts. He shifts on his feet and kicks a rock with his sneaker. “You just… You just have to let me.”
He flashes you a look then, a pleading sort of glance from beneath his lashes, glimmering with a darkened honey. It makes your chest sparkle in a similar way. But still slightly hurt, you only shrug in response.
“Can I have a kiss, at least?”
You shrug again with eyes wide and pleading, shining now with a surer answer you hope he can hear in your silence.
Steve leans in slowly, testing the waters. His gaze darts from your eyes, to your mouth, and to your eyes again. When you don’t flinch away by the time his nose grazes yours, he finally kisses you — a chaste peck that makes your tense shoulders slowly relax. You fight the urge to chase him when he pulls back from you.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Really,” Steve says in a pained murmur. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “‘Cause you mean— You mean a lot to me, you know?”
It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to telling you he loves you, which is saying something, ‘cause he thinks he almost tells you every day.
“You mean a lot to me, too,” you mutter shyly in response.
Steve tries and fails to bite back a grin. He ducks down for another kiss –– the long and languid one he’s been dreaming about all day. The kind that tastes like strawberry chapstick and nicotine and yearning. The kind that pains you to pull away from.
Your kissed mouths smack apart in protest. You try hard to conceal a lovesick smile. “I really do have to meet Robin, though…” you confess in a mousy voice.
His rosy mouth falls softly agape. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, uh,” he clears his throat. “Call me later?”
You step back from him and shrug, still smiling. “We’ll see,” you lilt beneath the gravel crunching under your feet. Only when you’re at the edge of the alleyway do you glance at him over your shoulder. The puppy-like hurt on his face returns.
“You’re breakin’ my heart!” he calls to you, only partly serious.
“Just like seeing you grovel,” you joke. “That’s all.”
contents: reader with a vagina and breasts; gender unspecified reader; condescending/sort of mean!steve; edging/overstim/ruined orgasm (reader receiving)!!!!; dacryphilia; fingering
“Look at you.”
Your body trembles, stiff and rigid, chest heaving. You don’t open your eyes because there’s really no point. Tears still spill out of the corners of them, trailing hotly down your temples and disappearing into your hair.
You hate Steve right now. And you love him so much. And you hate him so bad.
You feel the pad of his thumb gently swipe at your cheekbone. “Open your eyes for me, sweetheart.”
You take a deep breath and do as you’re told. Steve’s perched above you, still clothed, smiling sweetly at you while you writhe and cry under him.
“You’re so pretty when you cry,” he says softly. “Are you doing okay?”
You take another deep breath. “I don’t — I don’t know how much more I can take.”
He pouts. It’s fake sympathy. “What do you mean, honey? It’s only been, what, seven times that you almost came? Why not make it an even ten?”
He’s playing with you and you have to lay there and take it. Arms stretched above your head and legs spread open. Held sturdy only by your own will. If you move, it’s another lost orgasm. And you want to please Steve. You want him to coo at you while you cry and you want him to tell you that you’re a slut while you drip onto his hand.
You’re naked. He’s fully clothed. Just having his fun. Like you’re a doll. On occasion, he stops his torture to stand back and palm himself in his jeans, watching you struggle.
You begged him for this. Really had to convince him that you wanted it. He agreed hesitantly, but quickly got on board by the second time he took the pleasure away from you.
It’s just a change in dynamic, after all. You’ve given Steve his own version of this hell several times before.
Sometimes, Steve needs to be cared for — someone else to take care of him, of everything. And other times, like this, he wants to call the shots. He wants to control everything, make all of the decisions for you, watch your brain practically melt out of your pussy every time he touches you. Making you dependent on him, like he owns you.
“Not ten,” you moan, your wet eyes looking into his. “I’ve been good, please.”
“You’ve been good,” he says under his breath, tone mocking. His fingers trace up your slit delicately, finding your overstimulated, but so very under-stimulated clit.
You jolt, legs snapping together. You’re so delirious with need that it’s hard to remember the rules. Even if your brain knows them, your body doesn’t.
Steve tsks, using a bit more pressure on your clit, shoving your legs open again with his free hand. “Well, it’s eleven now. Jesus, we might even make it to twenty. Already getting so stupid on me, how’re you going to make it, huh?”
You shake your head and grip tightly onto the headboard above you.
“It’s okay. I like you stupid. You know I’ll take good care of you, right, baby? Because I know what you need. Don’t I?”
You sniffle and nod. You trust him. You just hate him right now.
“That’s right,” he coos, slipping two fingers into you like it’s nothing.
You cry out, toes curling, voice raw, eyes squeezing shut again. You’re shaking so hard that it’s unintentionally making you cold, goosebumps prickling tightly over your exposed skin.
“You can take it. Already did it seven times. What’s a few more, yeah?”
He curls his fingers and you sob.
“Need to cum, oh my god. Steve, St— unh!”
Steve sits between your legs to keep them open and uses the hand not burying itself into your pussy to play with your tits. Groping, nudging at your sensitive nipples with his thumb.
“I’m coming!” you cry. It’s approaching like a fucking freight train. You couldn’t stop it even if you tried, and you really did try.
But Steve pulls away, his fingers sliding out of you, and your clit twitches as you cum. All ruined. Nothing good about it. Cunt clenching around nothing, utterly empty, nothing to keep your clit from pulsing. The usually band that snaps between your lower stomach and pussy only stretches, doesn’t snap.
“Really thought you had it in you,” he says, disappointed. Wipes his slick fingers on your thigh like he doesn’t even care. “I was going to let you cum early, too.”
He leans forward, hovering over your lips while you choke out sobs.
drabble warnings: none just absolute fluff and slight angst :)
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
You didn’t expect to cry tonight.
You only meant to use the bathroom, splash some water on your face, maybe breathe for a minute. But the hallway was crowded, and the music was too loud, so you ducked into the only quiet place you could find— the small pantry off the kitchen.
You slide down the wall, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to get your breathing under control. It’s stupid to cry over something as small as getting overwhelmed at a party, but once the tears start, they don’t stop.
The door creaks open, and you look up, startled.
Steve stands there in the doorway, brows pulling together instantly.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just sees you, red-eyed, small, trying to hide, and his whole expression softens.
“Baby,” he murmurs, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
He crouches in front of you, hands resting on his thighs, leaning down so you’re eye level. “Hey. What happened?”
Your throat tightens. “I don’t know. I just… I felt weird. And crowded. And now I’m crying, which is stupid.”
“Not stupid,” he says immediately. “Never stupid.”
You sniff, wiping your face with your palm. “I’m ruining the night.”
“You’re not.” He shakes his head, smiling faintly. “I was already bored without you.”
Your laugh comes out shaky, half-sob, half-giggle. He smiles wider, proud of the reaction.
“You okay if I touch you?” he asks softly.
You nod.
Steve shifts down onto the floor beside you, wrapping one arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently against him. His other hand strokes the back of your head slowly, like he’s smoothing out your thoughts one by one.
You melt into him instantly.
“I didn’t know where you went,” he murmurs into your hair. “I got worried.”
“I just needed air,” you say. “But there wasn’t any.”
“I get it.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “It’s loud out there. And sweaty. And Kyle keeps trying to get me to play beer pong with him, which is honestly traumatic.”
You huff a laugh, leaning your forehead against his collarbone. The smell of him— cologne, warm skin, summer air, settles something deep inside you.
He tightens his arm around you.
“You can always come find me,” he says softly. “If you need to leave, we leave. If you need space, I’ll make it. If you need to cry in a pantry, I’ll sit with you until you’re done.”
“Sorry,” you whisper.
He pulls back enough to tilt your chin up with two fingers.
“Don’t apologize to me,” he says. “Not for feelings. Not ever.”
You look up at him, eyes still wet. “I love you.”
His expression breaks, open, warm, full.
“Yeah?” he says, voice lower. “Good. Because I’m crazy about you.”
You swallow hard. “Can we go home soon?”
“Right now,” he says instantly. “We don’t owe these people anything.”
He brushes your cheeks with his thumbs, removing what’s left of the tears, then stands and offers his hand. You take it. He pulls you up slowly, steadying you with a hand on your waist.
As you step out of the pantry, he keeps you tucked under his arm, shielding you from the noise and lights like he’s done it a hundred times before.
He leans down and kisses your forehead.
“You tell me when you wanna go,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
And for the first time all night, you believe him completely.
pairing: best friend!steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 5.6k words
description: coming back to hawkins would not be easy turns out to be not as easy as you thought.
important warnings: 18+ content, MDNI!!, dual pov, no use of y/n or descriptors but reader has a backstory, no smut just angst/fluff, tons of internal conflict, mental illness, the girls are fighting, mentions of suicide, billy mention, reader is medicated, therapy, talks of trauma, steve's parents (EYUCK), reader's parents are good people, robin being the voice of reason?
this is a multi-part series: part one - two - three
author's note: took me long enough, sorry! i am working through multiple wips at once and this one takes a specific mood. thank you for your patience! please let me know if you want more!
playlist while listening: porch light - noah kahan / some protector - role model / at the beach, in every life - gigi perez / stupid song - olivia rodrigo
You had been back for two days.
Hawkins looked the same. Felt the same. The crisp February air required you to sport your winter coat that was two sizes small. The trees were still barren of leaves, and the roads looked paler from months of deslicking.
Your Dad’s car smelled like fast food and a hint of his cologne, so you decided to suffer and let the cold air in by cracking the window.
“Didd’ya know that Steve was working at that Family Video?”
You had yet to reach out to him. You spent the last few months trying to work up some courage to call and tell him you were coming back, but you dodged the idea over and over again.
You sigh, “The one we are about to pass?”
Your Dad’s eyes leave the road briefly. “You want to stop in and see if he’s working?”
You stare ahead, knowing that avoidance would only make the situation worse. Your anti-anxiety medication would just have to work over time the moment you walk in.
Chills spread across your arms as the strip mall comes into focus. “Yeah, let me stop in there.”
-
You see him through the window, and you almost stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Somehow, you carry yourself to the door, and once the bell rings, indicating a customer is walking in, there is no turning back.
Steve’s mind is elsewhere as he stacks more returns on the counter. He is usually good about keeping eyes on the door, but for some reason, he does not turn around to look at who graces him and Robin with their presence.
“You got the job.”
Your voice makes him shift immediately, like his body is hardwired to find you.
You look different. He’s not even sure what he expected when he imagined seeing you again. For some reason, in his dreams, you looked like you did at the end of your senior year. That was around the time he realized there was something different about you.
That’s when he realized maybe Nancy was right to call it quits. Because the codependency between you two was not just friendly.
You were still beautiful beyond words.
But the grudge he had been harboring for a bit too long drove its evil little head right into his thoughts. Because instead of being completely taken with your sudden appearance, he gets a bubbling, burning feeling in the back of his throat.
He doesn’t say anything as you stand there, seemingly waiting for him to joke back.
“Dude! You’re here!” Robin drops the VHS tapes she was putting away back onto the cart. She makes a beeline for you, grabbing you and pulling you in for a hug.
You take in the fact that she still smells the same, like Irish Spring and stale cigarettes. Her arms were practically locked around you before you could say anything to her. Right near her pulse point, you get a new aroma, something spicy and more masculine.
“I’m so happy to see you,” You mutter into the strands of her crimped hair. She finally releases you, looking you up and down. You recognize that you probably look different. Some healthy weight fluctuation, you took better care of your skin, and you changed the way you styled your hair.
“You look great,” She smiles, dropping her hand from your shoulder. When your eyes move away from hers, you see Steve still leaning against the cashwrap. His arms are folded like he’s intentionally being guarded.
He was hiding. Unsure whether to rush to you for a hug or spite you for not answering his calls.
Robin takes in the fact that you are both eyeing each other. She fiddles with her hands before quietly excusing herself from the equation, returning to her wheeled cart of movies as if endless returns in the action section are suddenly calling her name.
You step closer, but you can practically feel your heartbeat in your ears.
“Welcome home,” He finally says, raspy and a bit hesitant. Hearing the words out loud makes him cringe. He drops down off the back of the cash wrap, grabbing the stack of tapes.
“Thanks, I just got in yesterday. My dad,” You gesture to the car outside, where your Dad remained idling in the parking lot, “He said you worked here. I wanted to–”
The bitterness is sprouting up quickly. He cannot help it. “Come rent a movie?”
Your face drops at the quickness of dismissal. He finally steps forward, and your instinct is to shift out of his way when he brushes past you, “No, no.”
He hates himself for the way he grits his teeth. He thought he would be over the fact that you needed time away. But he could not help but be mad that you left when he needed you the most. He had relied so heavily on a new routine, a new job, newfound closeness to Robin, all of it new, and finally, when he settled in and got adjusted, you throw a wrench in it with your presence. You were so good at throwing him off balance.
“Then what?”
“I came to see you.”
He scoffs, grabbing a random VHS off a shelf in the horror section. How could that be? How could you just come in to see him when you had iced him out for months on end? You spent every day with him, and then, suddenly, there was nothing.
“Can’t even pick up a phone and call, and now you want to see me?”
You can feel the blood rush from your face. The horror that Steve, the only person you ever want to see, doesn’t want to see you.
He’s trying to remain busy, like he has a million customers to tend to. But it’s just you, him, and Robin. His hands and eyes avert away from you every time you try to step closer.
You push forward, letting your oversized bomber jacket slightly hang off your shoulder. Maybe it was an awful time to discuss the specifics of what you two are going through, but seeing him made you feel like you needed it off your chest. Right that very second.
“I came to talk.”
He scoffs, shaking his head like you said the most absurd thing ever. Because it kind of was to him, at least. What was there left to say? A half-assed apology? Talk about the weather?
He rapidly blinks, “Did you ever think that I, maybe, am not ready to do that?”
“Honestly, no. I did not think of that,” You nudge your jacket up your shoulder, folding your arms tighter against your midsection to lock it into place. You were not expecting Steve to run into your arms for a hug, but him completely brushing you off is making the hairs on your neck stand up.
It takes everything in him not to provoke you. To yell in your face and make you feel bad for showing up on some random afternoon in February. You truly had no idea what he dealt with the last 6 months, and now you are expecting him to spill his truth while he was on the clock?
He bites the inside of his cheek before drifting off, “Well…”
You lean forward, almost condescending. You hear the backroom door close, and it makes you look away. Robin must have tried to seek out an escape from this awkward tension that is bouncing off every wall of Family Video.
“Well?”
Steve finally breaks, slamming the tapes down on a random shelf nearby. He puts his hand on his face, dragging it down to try to wipe away the anger on his face. It doesn’t help. “I am not ready to talk to you.”
You jolt back, stepping back slightly to add more space between the two of you. You weren’t afraid of him hurting you, but it’s obvious you pushed a bit too hard. The body language is practically screaming at you.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He bites back, his voice getting deeper.
The tone is very comparable to the night of Starcourt. When he did not want your help. When you had to push forward and break down all those walls he had built up. It seems like he worked over time to build them even higher this time.
The realization makes your body revert to that same full-body anxiety. Your hands shake as you tighten your grip on your coat, and your lip quivers like the room dropped forty degrees.
You swallow, trying to carefully craft a response in under a minute, “Steve, I’m not here to corner you and demand you to talk to me, but I’m offering an olive branch. I know we did not leave on good terms.”
The way you phrased it was confounding to Steve. He has to laugh. It’s the only way he can let out the pressure and sharp, stinging feeling in his chest.
“See, I didn’t leave. You did.”
You recoil like he slaps you. The words feel too harsh, and while Steve has always been bad about knee-jerk comments like that, these felt like bullets being shot straight into your chest.
The anxiety ramps up almost immediately. Your body trembles harder than it ever has, and for once, you are completely unashamed to cry in front of him.
“Okay, yeah, you’re right. I did leave,” You swallow, your mouth getting overtaken by the amount of saliva it’s producing. You almost spit at him as your finger waves right in his smug face, “but if I hadn’t, I would probably be in that same goddamn cemetery Billy Hargrove is in right now. Does that sound better to you?”
You can tell he does not want to react, but the bluntness of your statement is jarring.
His bottom lip retracts behind his teeth, like he’s biting back words to throw your way. His eyes blink rapidly as his gaze shifts towards the glass door, as if he wants them to swing up and suck you outside.
“Why come back then if it’s so goddamn awful?”
Why come back?
That’s the only question you have asked yourself since your parents suggested it a month ago.
The answer you discovered, only with the help of your therapist, was that you had unfinished things to deal with. Those things would not just disappear because you left. They would linger and continue to swirl in the back of your mind.
Your parents. Your love for your home. Your best friend.
It would all still be here. No matter the intensive therapy you put yourself through or the medications you took, Hawkins was still woven into your very being, and the people here were the most important things you had.
You could spill all of this to Steve, but he already made it obvious that he was not ready to speak to you.
You could just leave and not answer his question.
But you were always one trying to settle the score. That was one thing that had not left you.
You would not indulge him in a genuine response to such a question, so you decide to send a jab his way.
You use the back of your sleeve to wipe your mouth and the rolling tears that grace your cheek.
“You really know how to be welcoming, Steve Harrington. Just as cruel as your old man.”
For some reason, Steve was not expecting you to fight back. He assumed that since you slipped away and decided to become a better person somewhere else, you would let his maliciousness slide. So when you push back with a dig and comparison to his father, he wanted to push every tape off their resting spot in front of him.
He decides to just stand there and gawk at your welling up eyes. Like a fucking asshole.
You storm out of there, letting the cold February wind whip the door shut.
You don’t say anything when you get in the car, and your father does not press you on the subject. He can probably read it on your face.
-
It had been over a week since your interaction with Steve, and you were still replaying every second in your brain. Over and over.
You spend a lot of time walking. You walk every morning and every evening. When your parents ask if you need a companion, you tell them your Walkman would suffice. In reality, you knew that they would try to pry more information about the situation out of you, and you were not sure what to tell them. You lied and told them it was just awkward and that he said he would get around to calling you.
You decide halfway through your morning walk that you want to stop at the diner on the corner of Main and Mulberry. You order a plain black coffee and carefully wrap your headphones around your Walkman.
As the waitress drops off your mug, you hear the diner doorbell clatter. You shift to look, and it’s instantly awkward.
Robin stares back at you, her face instantly showing how she did not expect to see you.
You want to look away, pretend like you didn’t see her, to reduce the restriction you feel in your throat.
She had called a couple of days after the interaction at Family Video, but you told your Mom to tell her you were busy. You just did not know what to say. Was she mad at you, too? Did she hear what you said to Steve?
She slowly approaches you, offering the gentlest smile. “Uh, hey.”
You spin on the stool, facing her completely. You quirk your mouth, trying to smile, but you feel like you can’t.
“Hey.”
She’s wearing an oversized blazer with obnoxious shoulder pads. They bump you slightly as she slides onto the stool next to you. She tucks her hair behind her ear as she glances your way.
“I didn’t see your car outside,” She mumbles, taking in the fact that you were drinking plain black coffee.
You nod, trying to retain some mystery, “I walked.”
“Oh, I see. I did, too, cause… I don’t have a car. Don’t even have a license!”
For as long as you have known her, you knew Robin would just word vomit information that was never asked about. It did not bother you. It was actually nice sometimes letting someone else take on the role as the chatty one. That’s probably why Steve liked her so much, she was quick-witted and talkative, just like you.
She continues, “How have you been? I called last week, but I guess your Mom didn’t get you the message.”
That pressing guilt hit your stomach when she mentions the phone call. You disguise it, though. Instead, you just nod neutrally, “I’m okay, thanks for asking.”
The waitress interrupts the conversation, asking Robin if she needs anything. She orders orange juice and a waffle. For a second, you sit there sipping on your liquid tar and trying not to look at Robin.
She finally speaks up again when the waitress drops off her plastic cup of orange juice, “Okay, yeah. Have you, uh, talked to-”
“Robin,” You stop her immediately. Even hearing his name, you just know, will make you want to cry. “I don’t think I want to talk about this at 8 in the morning.”
She takes a sip of her juice, making a sucking noise as she lets it go down her throat. You think the sternness in your voice will make her shut the conversation down, but you are so wrong.
Robin shakes her head, placing her cup down with a clatter, “Respectfully, I just need to say something and get it off my chest.”
You never expected Robin to be so frank with you about the situation. You imagine her thoughts have been stacking up since you did not want to take her call. She also worked with Steve, and you would be naive to believe they have not discussed it.
So you nod, letting her take the floor and say what she needed to.
“Steve and I have gotten fairly close since you left. I see him almost every day. Hell, the guy drives me to school. And like, I know I’m not you, and I could never replace the friendship you two have, but God, I’d be an idiot not to see that he’s hurting because of this situation,” She sighs, like she’s working up to really get into what she needs to say. Hearing her admit that Steve is still hurting over everything makes you want to yell. It could have been worked out had he not been so stubborn, you think to yourself.
“He spent months waiting by the phone just hoping you’d call. He tried throwing himself into work, and while it helped for a bit, and then suddenly, you come back, and he’s back to his depressed temperamental self. And I cannot stand by and watch it anymore.”
You finally look at her. She’s leaning towards you, and you focus on the tightness of her lips and scrunching of her nose. She is looking at you hard, as if she’s trying to get inside your mind.
“I already told him that you two needed to talk, but he’s afraid of what you will say to him,” Her voice is more hushed, like she knows that the waitress or other patrons of the diner will hear the conversation.
“He shouldn’t be afraid of me,” You mumble, your voice cracking slightly. Your foot slips off the rung of the chair, and the sound gives you a break in the tension to adjust your ass on the seat.
You hated that this conversation was happening right now, but there was almost a relief that it had come at a time you were not prepared for. You had played countless conversation possibilities with yourself over the last week, and none of them involved Robin Buckley dishing out reality to you beforehand. It felt like a splash of cold water being thrown at you, rattling you out of your internalized echo chamber.
Robin sits back into her seat, nodding her head, “Well, it’s Steve we are talking about. When has he ever been good about confronting shit head-on?”
You are quick to respond to that question, “Never.”
That had always been the point of contention between you two. You were more upfront and honest about certain emotions, and he was more guarded and abrasive about his feelings. But as you sit there and watch Robin receive her single waffle, you realize that before you left, Steve was facing things head-on. He had confessed that he was in love with you and that he wanted to be with you. Something you had actively avoided. It was like the roles reversed in your most vulnerable state, and you were too caught up in your own head to notice him.
And then you left.
“Please, for all that’s good in the world, talk to him. Let him say what he needs to say and work through it,” She rambles as she cuts off the edges of her waffle, like a child peeling the crust off a PB&J, “He loves you. A lot. A sickening amount, actually.”
“Jesus, Robin,” You gripe, putting your face into your palms. You felt like you got bitch slapped multiple times, and it rattled some sense into you. “I love him, too. I just don’t want to feel bad for wanting to get better.”
“Tell him that. He always comes around. Especially for you.”
You wipe your hands down your face, successfully shielding the secret tears that had pricked at the corners of your eyes. You sniffle as you slam your hands on the counter. “You’re right.”
“I know. Now, please, put some sugar or creamer in that mug and stop torturing yourself.”
-
You got home that morning and sat around like a lump on a log, trying to figure out how to go about this entire thing. Would you show up at his house? Should you just call and see if he’s willing to meet up?
That’s more reasonable.
You stare at the phone on the wall across the room, like it’s going to telepathically show up in your hand. You sit like that for an hour before your Mom walks in and looks at you, confused.
“You okay, hun?”
You jerk a nod, not looking at her. Still eyeing the phone. “I’m gonna call Steve.”
The confusion does not leave her face as she turns to the light blue phone you are eyeballing. “Okay, phone’s right there.”
You push up off your springy couch and rush past her like it will dissipate before you can even reach it. You hear the dial-tone and like muscle memory, you spin the numbers around with your finger-tip.
It rings. And rings. And on the fourth ring, someone picks up.
“Hello?”
It’s a woman’s voice. A voice that sounds vaguely familiar, but you are not positive in identifying it as his Mom. After years of knowing him and being his best friend, you had only interacted with her in passing. “Hey, uh, is Steve home?”
She clears her throat, and you can hear some rustling around. “He is.”
There’s a pause that makes you feel like you have a frog in your throat. You clear it and grab the phone cord.
“Can I please speak to him, please?”
You don’t expect the next question. Steve’s mom never pressed you when she answered the phone usually, so this was just weird. But nonetheless, she persists. “Can I ask who’s calling?”
“Dustin,” You lie, deepening your voice slightly. You knew that Steve would possibly avoid the call if you said your own name. He’s best friends with Dustin. He would not miss his call, surely.
You hear a huff on the other side of the line, obviously annoyed. “Steven! Dustin Henderson is on the phone!”
There’s rustling before you hear Steve’s muffled yell back.
The line picks up somewhere else, and suddenly it’s Steve’s breath that you hear. “What’s up, Dustin?”
“It’s not actually Dustin.”
Dead silence fills the line before he finally replies, “Bug?"
He sounds sure of himself, so you don’t see any reason to confirm his suspicions. He clears his throat, "Why did you pretend to be Dustin?"
You felt stupid for lying, now. "I didn't think you'd take my call."
"Well," He stops for a minute, "I would have."
"Was that your Mom who answered?"
"Yeah, she's waiting for her divorce lawyer to call, I guess."
Your heart stops for a second. Divorce?
You decide not to press it. “Can we just talk in person?”
He thinks for a moment as you strangle your fingers around the cord, “I’m about to leave for work.”
“Can you come over after?”
“I… I guess, yeah.”
You don’t know why you nod because he can’t see you. The relief of him agreeing to your proposition makes you release the phone cord and clear your throat again, “I’ll wait outside for you. Just pull up in front of the house.”
“Alright. See you at like 10:15.”
-
Steve pulls up in front of your house and sees you sitting on the front stoop. You are wrapped up in a bunch of layers that almost make you look ten sizes bigger. As you approach his car, he leans over the seat to pull up the lock.
When you settle in, the cold air is replaced with the warmth of his car’s heater.
It still smells the same. That musky scent, a hint of mint. There’s a staleness from the dryness of the heat being pushed through the vents. Once you settle into the seat, you shrug off your top layer and stuff it between your legs.
And Steve watches your every move. The way you tug your sleeves off. The way you purse your lips as you focus on moving your coat to his car’s floorboards.
“Hey,” He finally says, catching your darting eyes.
You blink rapidly, working yourself up enough to look at him. “Hey.”
He puts the car into drive, easing off the brake, “Wanna just drive and talk or do you want to park somewhere?”
“Just park somewhere.”
You are not sure how this conversation will go, and you don’t want to risk a car accident because it ends in a fight. Parking somewhere seems like your best bet.
Steve knows what this is all about, and for his entire work shift, he’s pondered what he was going to say. He wanted to tell you the truth. But the cold, hard truth felt gritty in his mouth, and he hated the idea of it burdening you. He was mad that you left, but he also did not want you dead like you had hinted at during the confrontation.
He was so blind to your suffering last summer, and thinking that you could compartmentalize everything like he did every time shitty things happened. But you were softer, less tainted by the real world. He assumed that if Dustin, a middle schooler, could move on from the chaos, so could you.
He mulled it over and decided that the only way out was through. He would melt his truth down into something more malleable and apologize for being an asshole.
He knew he was one before, and that was made plainly clear when Robin recounted it all to him in the bluntest of terms. But seeing you was like being slapped with a hot skillet, right across the face. It was a searing pain that was too sudden and completely threw him for a loop.
He parks at the middle school, right in front of the gymnasium.
It was almost a full circle. The place where your friendship began and the place where it may end.
You were almost not putting too much faith in this ending well.
“We need to talk,” You whisper after a minute of unmoving silence, “About… everything. Just air everything out.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Steve swallows, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean what I said the other day. I said it on impulse, and I didn’t… I was just taken off guard at first, and I was not sure how to say how I really feel.”
He didn’t mean it. He was just taken off guard. A spark of hope sat in your chest. You felt similarly. The words uttered last week were impulsive and not true.
“Yeah, me too.”
“I thought about you,” He clears his throat, “still think about you every day. What happened, how everything went down.”
You face him completely, eyeing the way he has his hand on the steering wheel still. Carelessly resting his wrist over it.
He has yet to look at you.
“I am not good at dealing with these, very deep and complex emotions, you know that.”
“I am aware.”
“But I’m trying. Really trying.”
His eyes meet yours, and it’s a charged couple of seconds. He looks so desperate, and you look like you were not expecting his admission.
“Because I still feel the way I always felt about you. Even though I haven’t seen you in six months and you’ve obviously done some figuring-shit-out stuff, and you’re different, but yet, still so beautiful-"
His plan to be blunt is falling apart. Looking into your eyes and finally letting these pent-up emotions out is making him soft. You always make him crumble with just one look.
You stop him, silently pleading that he would not tack on those feelings. You needed your friend back first, not a lovesick fool. “Steve-”
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m truly sorry for saying what I said. I’m sorry for harbouring some resentment towards you and why you left because I know you needed it. I know you needed to leave and get better, and fuck, I’m so glad you did! Because I wish I had the chance to do that! I’m sorry I am an asshole who speaks without really thinking sometimes, and I’m sorry I made you feel like shit. I always wanted you to come home, and asking you why you even decided to do so was such a dick move. I want you here. I want you back in my life like old times.”
Between every sentence, he slams his hand on the steering wheel as if to emphasize them. Hearing his apology makes your entire body shiver.
You bite the inside of your lip, letting a long, drawn-out breath out, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?”
You did not regret most of your words to him, but comparing him to his father is borderline evil. It’s like comparing apples to oranges. His father spent so much of his adult life being cruel to his son. He was bitter, narcissistic, and just plain cold.
Steve was the exact opposite. He was an asshole sometimes, sure, but to correlate the two was not right.
And then there’s not seeing everything from another viewpoint. You needed to acknowledge how you could see how your selfish sacrifice affected Steve in a way you could not even imagine.
“Saying that you are like your dad. You are nothing like that son of a bitch,” You say it with pure conviction,”and I really didn’t take your perspective into account. Therapy makes you focus on yourself and interpersonal relationships, so I have been so focused on my own shit and thoughts that I never put myself in your shoes. I am sorry for not being there when I should have been.”
He’s quick to brush his own problems under the rug. That’s just the Steve way. He waves your last sentence off, like it was not needed. “It’s fine.”
You grab his hand mid-air, holding it down over the stick shift between the seats, “It’s not, though. I am sorry. I cannot count the number of times I wanted to call, but I just didn’t know what to say. You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I left you in the dust.”
His hand turns in your palm, grabbing onto your fingers and knuckles. When he squeezes, the tension in the car almost breaks.
“I had my own ways of coping. Distracting myself helped. Dealing with my parents and their issues also helped occupy my brain instead of harping on everything."
His brow raises as if to give you permission to ask more about the situation he hinted at earlier. "What's happening with them?"
"Dad's leaving her. He was messing around with one of his assistants, and Mom finally had enough. She wants to get the hell out of Hawkins, and Dad said if I want to stick around, I gotta start paying my way."
You want to wrap him up in your arms and never let him go. The guilt for not being around was only growing. "Steve... I am so sorry. If you need a place to stay, if you need help, just ask-"
"I'll be okay. I have a job, y'know. It's decent pay. I can get by."
You jerk a nod, but you feel the need to reassure him further. "Me and my family are always here for you."
His lips quirk, an almost smile. He immediately feels better hearing you say something like that. Your family has always been good to him. When his parents left him for long periods of time, your Mom was the first person to offer to have him over for dinner. You always invited him to family game nights and random summer vacations.
He saw you and your family as a lifeline for so long. Not having it for a while really made him have to grovel for some semblance of it. Luckily, Robin was a pretty great friend to have and Dustin's mom still made a point to have him over every other Sunday for pasta. It just was not quite the same, though.
They were never you. They couldn't be.
Before he can even stop himself, Steve feels the need to open up about the last real conversation you two had before you left. His lips start moving before his brain mulls it all over, "Listen... I also want to say that I know I didn’t make the goodbye easy by confessing my feelings at the lake…”
As he drifts off, you clear your throat. That entire conversation felt like it happened a lifetime ago. While you still hung onto a lot of his words, you knew that you could not guarantee that he felt the same way he did back then. “It was a vulnerable time for the both of us.”
His fingers brush against your ring finger, lingering like he’s trying to muster up some courage.
“I still mean it, y’know?”
Because he did. That was another reason why all this hurt so bad. He loves you in a way that is more than just being your friend. His entire day used to be spent thinking about all the ways to make you smile. How could he somehow lock you down and make you stick by his side forever. He wanted, wants, you as you are and all that you could be now.
He wants to sit by and listen to you talk about whatever. He wants to cook you dinner and pour you a glass of wine. He wants to hold you close every night and snuggle his face into your neck. He wants to kiss you and feel your hands everywhere.
You are all he could ever need or want.
Hearing him say he still meant what he said all those months ago confirms your ever-maddening thoughts.
He loves you more than you could even imagine. And you love him back.
“I know,” You whisper, looking at your hands slowly moving together. He’s slow to move your knuckles up to his warm lips. As he presses them against your hand, you refuse to look away.
A simple gesture to confirm everything that’s been said is sealed with truth and a kiss.
You clear your throat, knowing that you had to get the last thing on your mind, out into the world, “My therapist said I should come here and not start fresh, per se, but figure out how my new sense of self can exist in this environment.”
“Okay…”
“I am… still me but not quite,” You explain, trying to word it a way that does not confuse him, “And I really want you to get to know me again.”
His mouth slowly spreads into a soft smile, “I’m sure we can figure it out.”
You nod, letting the tension you had felt for almost a year slip off your shoulders. He had you, still. You had him. And you refuse to fuck it up this time. You would choose him in every lifetime.
“All good. Me and you.”
dividers by @/cafekitsune
if your age is not in your bio, i will not be tagging! sorry!
i heard we’re talking about shane crying during sex? 👀
ok so i think he’s almost cried plenty of times, y’know that thing he does where his eyes fill with tears but they never actually fall? ilya fucks him so good i can see that happening on a regular basis, but it’s not like he likes him or anything, it’s completely involuntary, ilya’s hitting so deep and that’s just how his body reacts, couldn’t possibly mean anything else….
i’m gonna be boring and say the first time he actually cries during sex is at the cottage, probably after the thing with his parents. there was a really good tumblr fic i read a while ago (i’m annoyed i can’t remember who wrote it) where after they get back to the cottage but before his parents come back over for dinner, all the stress of the day hits shane all at once and he kneels for a while with ilya’s cock in his mouth to settle his nerves. i think that helps get him through dinner, but he’s still feeling shaky after they leave
they fuck nice and slow that night, it’s been an emotional day for both of them, and ilya recognizes how off-kilter shane feels, but shane insists he still wants it, begs for ilya’s cock like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. shane feels so full it’s like he’s going to burst, so full of love for his boyfriend and relief that his parents still love him and they even like ilya too, it’s too much and he’s breathing faster and faster until his face scrunches and the tears come pouring out. ilya panics, asks shane what’s wrong, is he hurting him, tried to pull out but shane sobs and wraps his arms and legs so tight around him and begs him not to go, he’s fine, it’s so good everything’s just too much and he needs ilya to keep fucking him or else he’ll die and the tears just won’t stop. he pulls ilya down on top of him and buries his face in his neck, it’s safe there, he can let everything go and ilya will take care of him. after everything that’s happened over the last decade ilya is still here and they finally have each other and shane is never letting him go again
ilya’s losing his goddamn mind because this shouldn’t be hot, why is this hot? the man he loves is breaking down in tears and is so desperate for him and it’s the hottest thing ilya’s ever seen, and he’ll definitely have a little crisis about it later but for now shane needs him and he has to keep going, has to keep fucking shane until there’s nothing left in him. he wraps his arms around shane’s back and behind his neck and pulls him impossibly closer, “i’ve got you, lyubimyy, shhh it’s ok, let it out for me, good boy…”
…and on that note i have to clock in for work ✌️
Hiii cutie bug! Again sorry to be late to get to his glorious glorious ask omg.
But YES I think this is how it went down if Shane was never to cry during casual era sex. Like Shane had always held held held in the tears when he felt overwhelmed during their hookup era, let them shimmer in his eyes but he was always so unsure how much he could share of himself with Ilya. He never cries- ever- it’s so rare, he has gotten so good at making sure they never fall and who is he to put his tears on his casual fuck Ilya Rozanov.
Adore the idea the Shane knees for a while with Ilya after getting back to the cottage, just using Ilya as his grounding his cock filling his mouth as he tries to re centre. Tries to find his way in the haze of his dad knowing of boyfriends I think so yes probably and his mum knowing and his mum apologising and it’s too much. Too much.
But YESSS yes Shane on his back, Ilya’s cock deep stretching him open, up over him and Shane is gazing up at this man, his man that is fucking him. The hulk of muscle and skin and Shane loves it, loves him. He loves being fucked and he loves men and he loves Ilya- he’s not sure be could live without this. And it’s. It’s alright. His parents know and it’s ok- it’s good even they like Ilya ans it’s so much it’s still still so much in the whole world and whole hockey of it all but his mum and his dad shook Ilya’s hand and had dinner with him and shared vodka with him and his dad had laughed at one of Ilya’s jokes and his mum had insisted Ilya have a second helping and Shane is so horrible in love.
And Shane just shatters, shatters, he takes in a long breath through his nose and there’s a soft keening sound and then he’s sobbing, sobbing and fuck it feels good it feels so good after being so scared today, so scared and happy and nervous and terrified and in love love love. It’s all been so fucking big and new and scary and worse of all, unpredictable. But now, now he feels held, taken care off, owned in the valley of has body, the thick press of his cock.
Ilya is all “Shane? Okay, okay hang on” and he’s starting to pull back and he’s like you said Shane grips him to him, his thighs and arms pinned tight tight around him, pulling him in and gasping “please fuck please no Ilya closer” and Ilya is nodding and petting his hand down the back of Shane’s head, kissing all over his face and crooning soft words, mixes of Russian he doesn’t know and sweet English that makes his heart ache.
Shane is nodding and nails in Ilya’s back and he’s gasping “please Ilya fuck me, fuck me, I need it. Need you” and Ilya nods and kisses him all tongue and open mouthed and then tucking Shane into him, wrapped up to his chest and he’s fucking him deep and aching.
Shane is shaking and sobbing into Ilya’s neck and moaning and Ilya is just cooing “it’s okay, you’re ok, I have you, I’ve got you, my Shane, it’s alright, you can let it go, it’s alright I love you. I’m right here” and it destroys Shane, he’s rubbing his face into Ilya’s neck and nails are digging into his back.
“Good boy, good boy, take it so fucking good, take my cock so good- so good Shane” and he can’t stop telling him how perfect he is, crying on his cock, needing him, loving him, so desperately sweet so fucking open, a mess for Ilya, trusting Ilya with his tears messy and gorgeous. Shane is safe with him, always, even when it’s scary.
Myshane sleeps best on his tummy. It’d a subconscious thing, he just always ends up face smushed into the pillow and stomach pressed to the mattress his hand curled up into his neck. Sometimes a pillow pulled into his chest, or trapped under his leg.
He knows it’s bad for his posture so he usually tries to be good and sleep on his back but often wakes up on his tummy. David’s heart had gone soft when Shane had fallen asleep on the couch at their cottage last summer, on his stomach and open mouthed deep sleeping. It had taken him back to baby Shane, who would curl himself up on his stomach on his bed or on David or Yuna’s chest, hands tucked up under his chin like he still does now. He’d always loved to make himself cosy, loved best of all falling asleep snuggled up to one of his parents.
Anyway- Ilya doesn’t find out until the cottage of course, this habit of his Shane’s, how he’ll wake up and Shane will have slipped out of the cradle of his arms and be sprawled on his front head turned so his cheek is all mushed into the pillow. Ilya started to realise on the nights Shane was extra sleepy, he’d subconsciously shuffle them so that Ilya was on his back and Shane could roll on top of him, he’d let out a happy little grunt and tuck his arms to his chest, hands under his chin and be asleep in seconds. Sometimes Shane tried to fight it, and he’s tuck himself down on his back or his side and Ilya would hear his breathing even out. Sure enough he’ll wake up to Shane soft whine and rolling in bed, shuffling until he’s onto his stomach, his brow going lax and lips pouted with a content sigh, arm thrown out on top of Ilya or his thigh hooked up over him.
Ilya loves it, he finds it sweet when Shane will go from watching a moving tucked against Ilya, big heavy tired blinks and then just sigh and wriggle until he’s on his tummy, and then in two breaths he’s out, deep heavy in sleep.
It’s cute, another thing that Ilya loves about him, a little Shane fact that lives in his mind. When Shane is fighting sleep with a spinning mind, fidgeting and worrying, Ilya will get his hand on Shane’s shoulder and mumble “roll over baby”, smooth him onto his stomach and rub Shane’s back, big open palm figure of eight between his shoulder blades, little kisses over the back of his head and neck till he settles.
Ilya will do what he can whenever he can to facilitate Shane’s preference no matter where they are. On the bus he’ll lean against the window and pull Shane to lay on his chest. On long haul flights he’ll do the same, tuck Shane on top of him with his hand petting the back of his head.
Shane half asleep tired voiced and heavy limbed, having tugged at Ilya’s hair and scratched at his shoulders until he woke up, shane mumbling that he can’t sleep asking Ilya if he can fall asleep between his legs. Half asleep Ilya nodding, rolling onto his back and spreading his legs, not evening opening his eyes as Shane shuffles down the bed to cosy his head into Ilya’s lap. His warm mouth exhales over the fabric of Ilya’s boxers. Ilya’s hand, heavy and sleep clumsy comes to rest on Shane’s head. “Want it in?” He asks and the words are rumbly and half formed, hazy and half asleep. Shane shakes his head, nose and lips pressed to Ilya’s soft cock through the fabric and he takes a takes a deep breath in. He doesn’t need his mouth full, not right now- he just needs to feel close. Ilya hums and strokes at Shane’s ear, fingers going slack as he starts to doze again. “Sleep” he instructs Shane before he falls asleep himself and Shane does, burrowed under the covers nuzzling his lips and nose against the hottest part of Ilya till he finally sleeps
