#dallas wings

[azzibuckets]

back to back.

[lupinqs]

&&&. PAIGE BUECKERS x ACTRESS!READER

❛ THE MET GALA ❜

summary. the met gala reunites you and paige for the first time since your one night stand. why not make it two? includes. 20.3k words. sexual content. links. my masterlist. a/n. this is a part two to my old one shot the tonight show … could be read as a standalone but probably more fun together. have fun freaks

PAIGE IS AFRAID she might actually fall asleep sitting up. Definitely not in a graceful way, either. Like, she feels as if her head might tip forward, makeup artist mid-blend, and just completely clock out in a room full of people who are being paid to pretty her up and send her off. It would be humiliating. A headline, probably. WNBA Rookie of the Year passes out before Met Gala. Something of the sort; they're all about their headlines lately.

Instead, she just blinks hard, trying to fight it off.

Her phone glows dimly in her hand, brightness turned all the way down because anything more would feel like a violent against her retinas right now. Her thumb scrolls with no intention, switching from Instagram to iMessages, then back to Instagram, then somehow she's staring at a photo she doesn't even remember clicking on, something in her suggested. It's a courtside shot from her final season at UConn, from one of the games during their infamous March run. She looks younger in it.

"Can you tilt your chin up a little for me?"

She hums something that's supposed to be a yes and does it automatically, muscles moving before her brain is even consciously telling her to do so. There's a brush at her cheekbones, soft but precise, and something powdery floats into the air. It smells expensive. Everything here smells expensive. Floral and warm and like money.

God, she wants to nap.

Her eyes drift from her phone to the window instead, to the stretch of New York laid out clean in front of her, something that looks straight out of movie. It's too clean and structured; it looks almost cinematic. Tiny cars, yellow cabs threading through traffic, looking like they're part of some simulation. People moving in quick, purposeful lines below.

Paige exhales slowly.

Last night feels like it happened a week ago.

Moody Center, loud and alive and real and fun in a way this honestly isn't. Sneakers squeaking against hardwood, the thud of the ball, the way the game was really just flowing. That is the kind of tired she likes—earned and buzzing, adrenaline still flickering under her skin even after the final whistle, her knees and shoulders aching a bit from so much use.

This is a much different kind of tired. It's the type that sits heavy behind her eyes, makes them want to droop, makes everything feel a half-second delayed. The flight out of Austin was just brutal. It was too early, depriving her of any real sleep, her body still wired from the game but also begging her to shut down. She didn't even get to go back to Dallas. Straight from the arena to the airport as if she's some sort of machine.

She kind of is sometimes, honestly.

Paige shifts in the chair, rolling her shoulders slightly. One of the many people around her immediately steadies her head.

"Stay still, babe."

"Sorry," she mumbles, though she's not even sure who she's apologizing to.

Her thoughts drift again, back to the game, because basketball is the one true thing always at the forefront of her mind. It was good, actually. Like, really good. And not just for her, but for the team. For maybe one of the first times since she's played for the fucking Dallas Wings, things began to click, like they weren't all just on survival mode, hoping to not get completely blown out.

Last season had been hell. A good learning experience, sure, but for someone like Paige who's so desperately competitive... it had been hell, no other way to put it. Injuries staked on injuries, lineups changing every other game, a useless coach that did more harm than good, and Paige—the rookie—doing her damnedest to hold it all together while it crumbled between her fingers. It had genuinely felt like dragging a broken body through a season that wouldn't end.

This year is different, though. She already knows that and she thanks God for it. She knows it's still just preseason and the only two games they've played in have been exhibitions, but she can just tell. They've got Alanna, and Azzi, and Jess, and a healthier Rike, and several other pieces that fit much, much better than last year's did.

She's excited. She really is.

And tonight—her lips twitch faintly at the thought. Tonight is just surreal, something made out of a dream or a bucket list, not her real life.

The fucking Met Gala, her first one ever. Even thinking it in her head feels kind of ridiculous. She's seen it her whole life the same way everyone else has: clips online, red carpet photos, people arguing about outfits like it's life or death. That always seemed distant, not a part of her world which revolved around smooth courts and flimsy nets.

And now she's sitting in a luxury hotel room in Manhattan, getting her makeup done by a luxury-level team, wearing something custom from the luxury brand Coach.

If she had told herself three years ago that she would be here, she'd have probably laughed in her own face. Sure, women's sports were growing and she had a following back then, of course. But this is different. Like, this is the Met Gala. This is where celebrities like Rihanna, and Beyonce, and the Kardashians, and—well, you—congregate, not basketball players like her.

That last one sticks in her head a bit longer, stupid and slightly infecting.

You might be there tonight.

It's dumb. Like, seriously, it's not a revolutionary thing for you—of all people—to attend the Met Gala. You've done so before, several times actually. Paige has seen the red carpet photos. And still, her gut warms a bit at the idea, mind flicking back to last year about this time. It's just idiotic, considering she's had several one night stands and she's sure you have, too.

But sue her, honestly. It's not often you get to fuck your celebrity crush. And she likes to think about the time she did, and the possibility of it happening again.

She's delusional, probably. Sure, she remembers the noises you made and the gushing of your cunt on her tongue and fingers. But you've definitely had other people just as hot and famous as her, if not more. She can't be sure she stuck out—though, if she's honest, the small band of cockiness that sits at the back of her brain, not often displayed, can't help but think that maybe she did.

Still, all of that doesn't mean anything. It's just mere curiosity. That's all.

"Okay," Hayley's voice cuts through, interrupting her thoughts. "We're basically done."

Paige blinks, focusing back in. "Yeah?"

Hayley smiles down at her, warm and familiar. They've known each other for a while now, her having done both Paige's and Azzi's hair several times, someone she can trust. "Take a look."

She hands Paige the mirror, and for a second the blonde merely stares, caught slightly off guard.

"Damn," she says before she can stop herself, eyebrows lifting a little.

It doesn't even really look like her. Or—no, it does, but it's like a version she's not used to seeing, one that's sharper and darker. The smoky eye is the first thing she's drawn to, black and smudged, looking just slightly messy but also entirely intentional. The liner is heavier than anything she'd ever do herself (because, honestly, what can she even do herself besides mascara?), but it works. It makes her eyes look brighter, bluer, a pop of ice in a sea of storm clouds. Her skin looks smoother, too, more even, and a bit paler than usual though not in a bad way. Just different, her tan swiped off some. There's a highlight catching the light on her cheekbone when she tilts her head, something subtle but noticeable.

Paige almost laughs as her eyes rove over her appearance in the mirror. "Y'all got me lookin' like a whole different person."

Hayley grins. "A hot different person."

Paige shakes her head, but she's smiling now, lips tilting up, gumminess poking through a bit. "Nah, this is actually kinda crazy."

She turns her head to side to side, taking the hair in now. The extensions feel a little weird. She's only had them in a couple times before: her draft night last year and then New York Fashion Week in 2024. It's just something to get used to, with it being so much longer, brushing her shoulders and back differently. The blonde is brighter, too, catching the light in a way that's almost flashy, contrasting with her skin tone a little less.

It's not her usual at all, not even close. But...

"I fuck with it. Seriously, did your big one," she admits, not surprised, but, like, a little surprised.

"Good," Hayley drawls, clearly pleased. "Because you didn't really have a choice."

Paige snorts, hanging the mirror back. "Yeah, figured that."

Just then, there's a knock at the door, and before she can even guess who it might be, Dmitry, who did her makeup, opens the door wide, gesturing in. Stuart—one of Coach's creative directors who Paige has been working with over the last few months, a sweet man, really—steps forward carefully, as though he's carrying something fragile (which, to be fair, he kind of is). The garment bag in his hands is zipped all the way up, white and pristine, holding the most important thing for Paige tonight.

"Ready?" he asks, smiling at her, lifting the bag a little.

Paige straightens slightly in her chair, suddenly more awake. "Yeah."

Thankfully, they give her some space to change (they wanted to help her with that, too, but Paige has gone through this enough. It is not that hard to put on pants and a vest on her own), the room clearing out just enough to make it feel less suffocating and chaotic for a second, no eyes boring into her at every single moment, no hands touching her. There's a silence—a rarity of today—resting in the room as she stands up, stretching slightly, rolling her neck.

Her body still feels heavy and tired, that underlying ache beneath her knee still flaring a bit from last night. But, there's something that rests beside all of that now, too. A low buzz, a mix of anticipation and excitement. The latter because she's never been to an event this big and it's certainly going to be an incredibly cool experience. The former because she only knows a handful people going—Angel, A'ja, Stuart, Steph, kind of you but also not really at all, maybe a few influencers here and there—and as much of an extrovert as she is, the prospect is daunting and enough to light a flare in some of her nerves.

She unzips the bag slowly, taking in the suit. It looks the same as the last time she saw it, a few weeks ago for the final fitting. She actually likes it a lot, is glad they didn't put her in something completely horrendous like she knows some brands will probably do tonight.

She steps into the pants first, pulling them up, adjusting the fit. They're tailored perfectly, as they should be. The vest goes next and she buttons it carefully.

When she lets the team know that she's dressed, they immediately come filtering back in. Hands are everywhere again, prodding every which way. They put the blazer on her, adjust the collar, smooth the fabric, fix tiny little things she wouldn't even notice. Then, they start with the jewelry—just some rings and earrings, pieces on her ears and fingers.

Paige stands there, letting them do their things, her eyes staying on the mirror as they go.

It's black, the whole suit, but not plain. There are splashes of paint that streak across it to fit the theme, a bit chaotic but in a way that completely works. Miniscule rhinestones catch the light when she shifts, small flashes that make her shimmer. The pants are bell bottoms, which, truthfully, she normally doesn't fuck with, but tonight she can make an exception. There's a 5 embroidered on her wrist, too, something to make it feel like it really is meant for her.

She likes it. She looks good.

Paige can't help but grin a little. "Y'all did great. I look like... I'on even know."

"A rockstar," Hayley offers, running her fingers through Paige's hair a couple times, probably making sure the extensions are all good or something.

The blonde huffs, but she doesn't disagree. "Yeah. Some seventies shit."

They finish up with Paige and for a moment, she thinks she may just have some peace and time to sit before she needs to leave. Clearly, she was very wrong. As soon as they're done, they inform her it's photoshoot time. As if she won't be getting a million photos on the red carpet. Nevertheless, she complies, gracious, knowing it's for Coach and she wouldn't be here without them. She lets them have their fun, lets however many different people tell her where to put her hands like she's an action figure somebody carefully removed from expensive packaging.

"Chin down a little."

She does it.

"Eyes left."

Does that, too.

"Don't smile."

She can do serious. Basketball teaches you that pretty early, what with cameras in your face after losses, press conferences where everybody wants you to explain why things went wrong as if you personally caused the collapse of society, walking into away arenas full of people who hate you. Not to mention all the media day theatrics where the photographers tell you to look tough, stoning your expression for the cameras. Learning how to make your face unreadable does have its uses.

So, she settles into it. She clenches her jaw, just slightly, letting it sharpen like a blade. Her eyes go heavy and her face turns into stone.

The photographer immediately perks up. "Yesss. There it is."

They move her into the hallway next, to get more angles and different poses. Paige easily goes along with it, leaning against the wall, looking over her shoulders, hands in her pockets. One shot has her sitting on the floor in the hallway while some poor young boy—probably a hotel guest—awkwardly waits twenty feet away trying to get to the elevator.

"Sorry," Paige mouths to him, giving a gracious smile.

He looks terrified to even make eye contact and she almost loses it.

Eventually, after what feels like a million photos, someone finally announces they're done for now. Paige grins at the words, and it rests on her face as they head downstairs, before she's once again reminded she can't smile outside either. According to Hayley, tonight's entire vibe is: mysterious lesbian rockstar who maybe smokes cigarettes in alleyways and breaks hearts recreationally. Which is funny because Paige can't sing for shit—she tells people she can, but she knows the truth when it comes down to it—and she thinks cigarettes are disgusting. Sure, give her a vape—that's fine. But cigs are a hard no for her.

Still, when she and Stuart step out of The Carlyle, she flips the switch again automatically.

Flash.

Flashflashflash.

The cameras outside are intense, even more so than she remembers any being at either of the WNBA Drafts she's attended or even the ESPYS. She supposes she gets why—this is the real deal. And this isn't even the red carpet yet. God, she's bound to get a headache tonight.

They shout her name, energized. She just keeps her expression schooled, her shoulders relaxed, trying to pretend as if this happens to her everyday. She turns when they ask her to, pauses when they tell her to, letting them get all their shots. It's part of; she knows that. This entire night is essentially just organized overstimulation.

Eventually, though, Paige is ushered toward the car, sleek and black and shiny beneath the city lights. Stuart slides in beside her once the door shuts, and for the first time in the last twenty minutes, it's actually quiet.

Well. Mostly quiet. They're in New York, after all. There's always going to be a hum of sound, honking somewhere in the distance, sirens faint and constant. It's the city that never sleeps.

Paige exhales slowly, leaning back into the leather seat. Almost instantly, she becomes aware of her heartbeat again. It's pounding. And not in a cute nervous way, either. It's got a pace of genuine physical anxiety. Her chest actually aches slightly from how fast her heart's running, which seems a little dramatic wondering the fact that she quite literally plays professional basketball in sold-out arenas for a living.

But this is just different. Sports famous and celebrity famous are completely different universes. She's done her best each time she's been integrated into them, like that time a few weeks ago when she was fucking papped at LAX. But being able to be cordial and somewhat normal doesn't mean she's not a bit starstruck at the entire prospect of the night ahead, the people she imagines seeing. There are levels to fame and, tonight, she feels very aware of where hers sits.

"Are you excited?" Stuart asks beside her.

Paige glances over. He seems calm and unfazed, maybe a bit excited himself, which makes sense because he's probably done this several times.

She shrugs a little, aiming for nonchalant. "Yeah," she replies. Then, after a beat, wiith a tiny grin, she adds, "I wanna see what Beyonce's wearin'."

Stuart laughs loudly at the statement, shaking his head. "Don't we all?" he offers.

Weirdly enough, those words actually help, making the whole thing feel a little less intimidating for a second. Because underneath all the fashion and the cameras and whatever else, everybody's still just curious about Beyonce. Figures.

The drive itself is short. Painfully short, honestly. Paige barely has enough time to mentally prepare before the car starts slowing and the view comes into place.

The Met, bright and massive and completely swarmed in its glory.

"Ah, shit," Paige mutters under her breath.

Stuart hears her and laughs again.

When the door opens, noise hits immediately. There's flashes and shouting and so many people. Paige steps out of the car carefully, one hand adjusting the front of her blazer on instinct, and everything suddenly feels ten times brighter than before.

There are cameras everywhere. Actual walls of them.

It's disorienting for a long second. Paige could compare it to stepping out of an arena tunnel except everybody's holding big professional cameras with blinding flashes instead of just phones. Nevertheless, she keeps her face composed. She goes for what they told her to: fierce, serious, cool. Or, at least hopefully cool.

The thing she learns pretty quickly is that there's a lot of waiting involved with the Met Gala. Way more than she expected. Because, after the initial chaos, attendees basically end up standing around in lines for a long time waiting for their turn on the carpet. It feels a little normalizing, oddly enough. Like, sure, there's a woman wearing a dress that certainly costs more than Paige's first car standing ten feet away, but she's still stuck waiting in line like everyone else.

Paige passes the time by people-watching. Really, how could she not?

The outfits alone are insane. Some are beautiful, some are confusing, others are just genuinely concerning.

She spots Tyla—who she's actually met before, a couple years ago at fashion week, nice girl—looking impossibly tiny and gorgeous in something teal and shimmery, a dress with the torso bejeweled silver. Then, there's who Paige thinks is Charli XCX in a long black gown, looking as cool as she probably feels. There's also Amanda Seyfried, Gigi Hadid, a lot of really fucking famous people.

And then Paige spots Angel. Or at least who she thinks is Angel from a distance. She's tall and confident and in something bright pink.

Yeah, definitely Angel.

Paige smiles faintly to herself, glad that there's at least one person here she can actually go bother without feeling somewhat weird about it.

By the time it's finally her turn on the carpet, Paige feels more settled, more locked in. The nerves are still there, but now they're buried beneath the adrenaline. Besides, she had a long time waiting to prepare.

The staircase stretches up in front of her, and, once more, cameras begin exploding, sending fireworks of flashes her way.

"Paige, center!"

"Right side!"

"Paige, over here!"

She listens somewhat, moving her angles slowly, looking at different lenses, unsmiling through all of it. She commits to the bit, staying stone-faced, expression as cold as the stormy eye makeup she's got on. Judging by the photographers screaming louder every time she barely shifts positions, apparently it's working.

She knows she looks good, too, which helps. It's just factual, not even really cocky. The suit looks best under bright lights, the rhinestones catching every flash. The dark makeup makes her eyes stand out even more. She looks older tonight, sharper, and she thinks like somebody who belongs here.

Eventually, though, it's over, too. She climbs the staircase, takes the final few photos, and then she's suddenly inside.

Done.

True to her word, she finds Angel pretty quickly afterward. The taller girl looks incredible, truthfully. The pink dress is huge and dramatic and soft-looking at the same time, layers of fabric spilling around her. It works ridiculously well against her skin.

Angel spots Paige as she's approaching and grins widely. "P!"

Paige laughs as she's pulled into a hug. It's nice to see her; she hasn't since Team USA over a month ago.

"You look good as hell," Angel gushes, pursing her lips and nodding in approval as she holds Paige at arm's length to look at her properly.

"Says you," the blonde replies, touching briefly at the fabric of her dress.

They fall into easy conversation fast after that, talking about flights and schedules and how annoying it is that both of them have to be back in their own cities tomorrow morning to make it in time for practice tomorrow afternoon. The Met couldn't be early April, instead?

"I got a seven AM flight," Angel complains, shaking her head in disgust. "Why do they do this to us?"

Paige groans immediately at the thought of her own flight tomorrow. "Mine's at eight. It's sick."

"Athletes deserve their sleep, I'on get it."

"Exactly."

Paige is mid-laugh when something behind Angel catches her attention. Her eyes automatically flick behind her shoulder, curious and drawn.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Paige's brain stalls, neurons firing in a million different directions.

There you are. Just behind Angel's shoulder, across the room. And Jesus fucking Christ—like, seriously? Is the universe out to get Paige tonight or something? She tunes out what Angel is saying almost immediately, her brain fully rerouting itself, because you look...

Fuck, it's actually irritating how good you look. It's as if somebody sat down in a lab and genetically engineered a face and a dress and a body specifically designed to ruin Paige's ability to function like a normal person. You're talking to someone she doesn't recognize, smiling wide, laughing at something they said, and Paige's gut warms at the sight.

It's a pretty smile, one that she knew before she ever even technically knew you. She remembers first seeing it back when she was seventeen and bored and watching a movie. That was before championships and the league and all of this. Back when you were just this insanely pretty actress Paige developed a stupid celebrity crush on without meaning to.

And now you're here, again, real, again, standing just twenty feet away.

Your hair falls in soft curls over your shoulders, shiny beneath the bright lights. The dress is long and flowy and almost watercolor-looking, pastel blues and greens and purples melting together like wet paint. Sparkles catch every movement you make, tiny flashes like light hitting water. It's off-the-shoulder too, exposing your collarbones and the smooth line of your neck, and Paige suddenly becomes hyperaware that she has functioning eyes.

Which is incredibly unfortunate because she cannot stop staring.

Technically, this is only the second time she's ever seen you in person. The first time ended with her in your bed and between your legs, which—

Like, yeah, hard to top that introduction, honestly.

Her stomach flips a little at the memory. It wasn't even just the sex, exactly. Though, obviously, the sex was great. You were great and perfect and pliant and she knows she'll never forget the feeling of your pussy sliding against hers. But there was also everything else, too. The subway ride. Your life. The lazy morning after where both of you had barely slept enough to qualify as rested.

Nothing ever happened after that, obviously. You'd mentioned something briefly that night about filming in Dallas, but that never turned into anything. You didn't have her number and she didn't have yours. She briefly thought about dming you on Instagram—to say what, she doesn't know—but one look at your account told her that you certainly didn't run it. It was mere promo stuff, photoshoots, movie trailers, pictures from premieres, that sort of thing. You were even one of those celebrities that followed zero people. All of that being said, it told Paige enough. If she tried from there, she doubts she ever would have heard back.

So, she didn't dwell on it much. Life moved incredibly fast within the past year; Paige feels like she's lived a million lives since she met you. She got drafted and went to Dallas, had that treacherous first season in the W. Won Rookie of the Year. Went to Turks and Caicos. Learned Dallas better, really lived there. Then lived in Miami for a few months for Unrivaled, where she built deeper relationships and improved on her game and herself. Played for USA basketball at the senior level. All within the span of twelve months. A lot happened.

All that being said, though, it's not like she never thought about that night or you. In fact, one night in Dallas, when she was alone and bored in her apartment and had nothing to do, she watched a movie. A new and a big one that all of her friends had sworn was good, one that you happened to be in as one of the three main characters. You did great in it, what Paige would call 10/10 acting. You also looked great in it, what Paige would call a 10/10 girl. (Not to mention the fact that there was a sex scene in it that included you. Paige would be lying if she said she may or may not have replayed it, watched it over, remembering what it was like to fuck you for real and how you sounded similar but not quite like that. A little more desperate, a little more shaky with her. She feels mildly creepy whenever she thinks about how did she that, though, so she pretends it never happened.)

But now you're standing there looking like that. And, Jesus Christ, there's only so much self-control a person can realistically be expected to have.

Paige isn't so sure she's going to have enough tonight.

YOU'RE FEELING GOOD now. Finally.

Loose in your own body again, warm all over in that perfect way where the champagne and vodka and exhaustion and adrenaline have all melted together into something pleasant rather than overwhelming. The hard part of the night is over. The carpet, the screaming, the pretending you're deeply invested in conversations with people you barely know and probably won't speak to again until this exact event next year. Or maybe the Golden Globes. Or Fashion Week. Or the Oscars. Something of the sort.

Overall, all of that—and the Met—has never really been your thing.

You appreciate it, obviously. You appreciate fashion and art and spectacle and all the effort that goes into it. You understand why people love it. Hell, sometimes you even love it. But there's always a moment on that carpet where the cameras are flashing so violently in your face that you genuinely feel like a zoo animal being documented for scientific purposes. Everyone yelling your name at once, shouting every which way. You'd once left the carpet with a migraine so bad you sat in the back of the care with your eyes closed all the way back to the hotel.

Still, it's part of the job. And your job is good. Better than good. Your job is ridiculous and glamorous and fulfilling and absurdly overpaid. You get to play pretend for a living and wear couture and travel the world and kiss pretty people on camera while somebody hands you millions of dollars afterward.

There are far worse fates.

So, you do the events. You smile and pose and make conversation with celebrities that all know each other through this bizarre web of fame where everybody's dated somebody or worked with somebody or vacationed with somebody in Ibiza once.

And, honestly, tonight wasn't even bad. The dinner especially could've gone so much worse.

You still have mild trauma from last year, trapped between two painfully serious actors who spent forty-five straight minutes discussing practical effects in indie war films while you nodded along like you had literally anything to contribute. At one point, you'd escaped to the bathroom and stayed there long enough that your publicist texted asking if you were alive. You still don't know what the planners were thinking when they assigned your seat next to those men.

This year was far easier. You've been seated between Anne Hathaway and Alysa Liu, with Kylie Jenner across from you. A win on all ends.

Anne is lovely, genuinely. You already know her well enough from filming The Odyssey together last year, a Christopher Nolan film that comes out this summer. She has this ease to her that makes conversations feel natural, even in rooms where everyone's constantly trying too hard. At one point, she learned over and whispered commentary about someone's absurd headpiece across the room that nearly made you choke on your drink.

Alysa was unexpected in the best way, too. She's cute and funny, way funnier than you anticipated. You'd ended up asking her about the Olympics and she'd gushed about it with this animated excitement that made you laugh multiple times throughout dinner. There was something so refreshing about her. No weird Hollywood performance to her personality yet. She still felt real.

And Kylie was Kylie. You've known her long enough know, gotten closer within the past couple of years. Her and Timmy have gotten super serious and he's been one of your best friends for a long time now.

All in all, the dinner had actually been fun. And Sabrina Carpenter's performance during it definitely added to that.

Now is the real good part, though: the afterparty.

Or, more specifically, one of the afterparties. Because of course there are multiple. There are always multiple. But this one's younger and louder and less painfully formal—thank God. The second you walked in, the whole atmosphere of the night changed from curated elegance to rich twenty-somethings trying to get drunk in designer clothes, which is significantly more your speed. The room glows with expensive lighting and far too much money. Champagne towers line near the walls, music pulses through the floor beneath your heels, everything sparkles a little under the lights—jewelry, sequins, glasses, eyes.

You feel good tonight. Hot.

Obviously, you've changed out of the Versace gown you wore to the actual event. Now, the dress you've got on is a short, one-shoulder cocktail piece made entirely of silver sequins and beads that catch the light wonderfully. The bodice is fitted and structured, sculpting your waist before flaring slightly with fine metallic fringe that shimmers whenever you move. The asymmetrical strap curves over one shoulder, leaving the other bare, and the overall effect is sleek, modern, and glamorous. You like it a lot.

You don't like the stilettos as much, but you can handle it. Years in this industry have conditioned you into functioning through foot pain like a soldier.

Your hair's still in curls from earlier, soft around your shoulders, makeup slightly more lived-in now after hours of sitting on your face beneath cameras and lights. There's a pleasant buzz in your bloodstream, enough alcohol to smooth out the sharper edges of your thoughts without fully dulling them.

And currently, you've also got a very attractive man standing beside you at the bar, which certainly doesn't hurt.

Joe Burrow is tall. Tall and broad and muscular without seeming obnoxiously aware of it. Blonde, too, annoyingly enough. Clean jawline, nice smile, nice voice. Very nice forearms, if you're being honest. And he's funny, something you didn't exactly expect. Athletes are kind of a gamble socially. Some of them are charming. Some of them have the conversational abilities of drywall. But Joe's easy to talk to, smooth.

You can tell he's into you. He's not exactly being subtle about it. His body's been angled toward yours for the last twenty minutes, one of his large hands occasionally brushing your waist or lower back when he leans in to say something over the music.

It's enough to consider going home with him, back to The Carlyle, turning the idea around in your brain. You're single. He's hot. You're tipsy. And you haven't gotten fucked properly in a bit, so that would be great, too.

Right now, he's saying something about one of the absurd celebrity interactions he had earlier, deadpan enough that your jaw literally drops. You laugh, leaning toward him instinctively as you do so. "No, she did not."

"She literally did," he enthuses, grinning. "Swear to God."

"That's fucking insane."

"I know."

You're still smiling up at him, amused by his little anecdote, when you feel a body step up beside you at the bar.

"Can I get a Dirty Shirley, please?"

The voice hits first, dragging along an axon terminal until it flares off a nerve signal in your brain. It's low and familiar, rough just around the edges, tainted with a slight Midwestern accent.

Your stomach flips before you even fully turn your head, because you already know.

Paige Bueckers leans casually against the bar to your left as though she hasn't quite literally just short-circuited your brain a little, having left your nerves fried. It's unfortunate that she looks even better up close tonight.

You'd seen her on the carpet earlier and may or may not have already had a small moment over it then. She'd looked sharp out there, cool in a different way from most of the celebrities tonight. She looked less manufactured, much more natural, as if she was dressing up because it was fun, not because she needed everyone in the room to worship her for it—though a lot probably did anyway.

But now you can actually look at her, and it makes your stomach flutter and fumble slightly. Her blonde is brighter than you remember, longer, too, sleek down her back in a way that immediately makes you suspect extensions. It suits her, though. Really suits her. And her makeup—you don't think you've ever seen Paige in makeup like this before. The dark eyeliner sharpens her face beautifully, makes those blue eyes look even lighter somehow. Icy and magnetic and probably a little dangerous. Not to mention the fact that she changed after the carpet, too. Her suit's gone, replaced now with black dress pants and a white button-down that shimmers subtly whenever any ounce of light hits it. Sparkles woven into the fabric, maybe. Whatever it is, it works.

She looks expensive now. Expensive and relaxed. A little tipsy, too, if you had to guess.

And, immediately, unfortunately, your brain betrays you by dragging you straight back to last April. To your apartment. To Paige sprawled between your thighs with those stupid blue eyes looking up at you while her finger pumped and her mouth sucked and—

Okay, you've got to calm down.

Heat rushes across your face almost instantly at the subject of your thoughts and you pray it just looks like alcohol. Which, to be fair, probably helps. Everybody's flushed in here.

Paige lifts her drink once the bartender hands it over, then turns fully toward you. Her eyes land on your face and her pink lips tilt upwards in a slight smirk. It's deeply irritating considering Joe Burrow's hand is literally resting against your lower back right now.

"Hey," Paige greets, nonchalant. She nods at you first, then at Joe. "How're you?"

Her eyes are already roving over you before you even get to answer. It's the least subtle thing maybe ever, though you don't think she's trying to be. The blue travels a path down your dress, to the expanse of your thighs and legs, then back up again, lingering just long enough to make your stomach tighten pleasantly. You suddenly remember that Paige Bueckers is quite confident. The one night you spent with her let you know that it's a natural trait. Still, you don't think it's enough to be quite this bold stone cold sober. The alcohol must be helping.

"I'm good," you reply, lips tilting upwards slightly. "And you?"

Her grin widens just a little around the straw of her drink. "Great."

Joe glances between the two of you curiously before asking, "You two know each other?"

You look up at him. "Yeah, we met last year."

Beside you, Paige hums in agreement before taking another sip of her Shirley. There's something almost smug in the way she just stands there, shoulder brushing lightly against yours at the crowded bar, like she knows at the very least she's already piqued your interest. Or reminded you of the last time you saw each other.

You glance between them, curious yourself. They're both two young and famous athletes. You wonder. "Do you two know each other?" you repeat Joe's question.

"We sat next to each other at dinner," Paige supplies, looking at Joe for the slightest second before turning her attention fully back to you.

Joe nods. "Yeah."

"Ah," you respond softly.

Interesting. Very interesting, actually.

You finish off the last sip of your vodka soda, ice clinking quietly against the glass, and try to maintain at least some level of decorum by staring ahead toward the alcohol lining the bar walls instead of directly at either of them. It would probably work better if you couldn't physically feel both of their attention on you. Joe's hand still rests against your back, and Paige's eyes keep drifting over your body shamelessly every couple of seconds.

If you're honest? You kinda like it.

Sure, if you were sober, you'd probably be awkward about this. Overthinking every little thing, wondering if you looked stupid or obvious or messy.

But drunk-you is significantly more fun. And there's really nothing not fun about standing between two tall, hot, blonde professional athletes who both very clearly want you right now.

However, you can quickly tell that Joe wants to get you alone again. His hand begins rubbing slow circles on its spot against your lower back, warm and steady and big through the thin silver fabric of your dress. He leans down toward your ear again, close enough that you not only catch the clean scent of his cologne underneath the alcohol and party air, but also that his lip grazes your ear.

"You wanna—"

His words are immediately cut off and overshadowed by the loud report of, "Your drink's all gone."

You blink, turning your head to look at Paige automatically. Her gaze is locked on your empty glass, painted with a deeply unconcerned expression, no care in the world that she's just interrupted another person mid-sentence. Then, her eyes flick back up to yours.

"Vodka soda, right?" she asks, expectant.

You stare at her for half a second, a tad bit perplexed. "... Yeah."

You don't even know how she remembers that. Maybe you ordered it last year around her, though you feel like that whole night was tainted more so by champagne. Maybe she noticed earlier tonight. Maybe Paige Bueckers just happens to possess the frighteningly attractive ability to remember tiny details about people she wants. You don't really know.

Before either you or Joe can actually respond, Paige is already flagging down the bartender. "A vodka soda for this girl right here, please," she says easily, nodding at you, her fingers grazing your arm for just a second. They're calloused, but you find that you sort of enjoy the feeling of roughness against your own smooth skin.

There's something just so natural about the whole thing. That's something uniquely Paige. Even when she's being bold, it still feels easy and intuitive somehow, like confidence comes to her the same way breathing does, like social anxiety plays no role whatsoever. With her, you truly don't think it does.

Joe straightens beside you slightly, clearly trying to recalibrate the situation, and you can practically feel the silent competition settling into the space around the three of you. And even though there's a bit more pink blushing the apples of your cheeks now, you honestly think it's kind of hot.

However, the universe seems to make the choice for you because, suddenly, some guy you don't recognize appears out of nowhere and throws an arm around Joe's shoulders.

"Joey B!" he exclaims loudly over the music, slurring just a bit. He's clearly drunk, thou you can't blame him. "There's someone you've gotta meet."

Irritation flares across Joe's face. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now, bro. C'mon."

The guy is already pulling him backward before Joe can protest much more. He glances at you over his shoulder then, expression caught somewhere between apologetic and reluctant, clearly not wanting to leave you standing here.

You give him a small amused smile anyway. "Go."

"I'll find you again," he says almost instantly.

Paige snorts softly beside you into her drink and you fight the urge to laugh outright. You know damn well that you won't be seeing him again tonight, so you watch for just a second longer as he disappears back into the crowd, swallowed up by flashing lights and beautiful rich people and music vibrating through the room.

You have no reason to be disappointed at that, because the moment he's gone, Paige is already shifting closer without hesitation, filling the empty space he left behind as if she's just been waiting to do it. At the same time, your fresh drink arrives. She grabs it before the bartender can even fully set it down and hands it directly to you, fingers brushing yours briefly in the process.

"He wanted you bad," she teases, grinning. Her smile is as endearing as it was last year; her gums show with it.

You roll your eyes at the words, though you can't stop your own smile from forming. "That's a little hypocritical," you reply, because you can read Paige's body language and it doesn't exactly take a genius to tell she wants the exact same thing.

Paige just shrugs one shoulder, completely unashamed. It makes you stare at her a little longer, because she's a bit different. Not entirely, she's still unmistakably Paige. She's still got that easy athlete swagger to her, that calm confidence, that way of boring her eyes into yours with intense eye contact that sends sparks straight to your cunt, skipping any butterflies in the stomach. But last year, there'd been a bit more restraint to her at first. It wasn't exactly what you would call shyness, just what she's got now in a more reserved role. She'd been charming immediately, of course, but there was still this underlying awareness that she was newer to that world than you were, less established. She'd carried herself like someone trying not to take up too much space at first, especially while you two were still at The Tonight Show afterparty.

That hesitation is completely gone tonight. Now, she just stares at you openly, boldly, blue eyes borderline on what you would describe as craving. All as if she walked over here fully intending to pull your attention away from Joe Burrow and absolutely succeeded.

And, honestly, it's working embarrassingly well.

You lift the straw of your vodka soda to your lips slowly, eyes locked with hers as you take a sip. It's deliberate; you know exactly what you're doing. Paige absolutely notices, her gaze instantly dropping to your mouth, focused there with startling intensity as you sip at your drink. You watch her throat moves when she swallows.

Bingo.

You've spent more than enough years being flirted with to know how to flirt back effectively.

You lower the glass again carefully, opting to change the subject. "I liked your suit tonight. What was it?"

"Coach," Paige responds easily, her fingers—that you have a few fond memories with—absentmindedly tracing over the condensation of her Shirley glass. "I been workin' with them for a bit now."

Then, her eyes slide over you again, slow, probably cataloguing details if you had to guess. She adds, voice a bit rougher, returning the favor now, "Your dress was fuckin' insane. Who did that?"

You shrug, playing for nonchalant, though you also loved the dress that you wore tonight. "Versace."

Paige lifts her brows, grinning. "Fancy."

You laugh softly, then watch as her gaze drops lower now, toward the short silver dress you're in now. Unlike the dramatic watercolor gown from earlier, this one's tiny, strappy. Tight enough that it feels almost painted onto you. Once it was fully zipped up earlier, you'd briefly been worried you wouldn't be able to breathe properly the rest of the night (you adjusted quick).

Paige reaches out, her fingers ghosting along your waist. The touch is light at first, barely there, fingertips brushing over the fabric experimentally before she pinches a tiny bit of the material between her fingers, rubbing it thoughtfully. "This Versace, too?"

"Courtesy of Donatella herself."

Paige lets a low hum out of the back of her throat. She doesn't move her hand away, instead opting to step even closer. She's near enough now that you're greeted by the immense warmth radiating off her body, smell the faint mix of alcohol and expensive cologne and something clean underneath it all. It's slightly familiar. You've only had it once, but it's a nice scent—you remember it.

She murmurs, "Shit. I gotta thank her someday then." Her hand then slides flatter against your waist, long fingers stretching across the expanse of it. You may or may not lean into it a bit, fingers lightly brushing her forearm where it rests against the bar. "You look really fuckin' good, ma."

Your stomach dips at that, dropping a hill into your gut. It's annoying because you're usually fully capable of being normal around attractive people. But Paige just has this way of speaking to you that feels warm and cocky at the same time, as if she already knows the effect she's having, and you find it so disturbingly hot that you're nearly embarrassed.

"Yeah?" you ask lightly anyway, refusing to let yourself look too affected.

Paige rolls her eyes immediately, still grinning. "Don't even play. You know you do."

She's not wrong, of course. You're attractive—that's not exactly groundbreaking information. You've spent the better part of the last decade having cameras shoved in your face and strangers writing think pieces about your cheekbones and your eyes and your lips and your hair and your tits online. You know what you look like.

Still, hearing Paige say it makes you slightly warmer. That heat only heightens when her hand curls slightly, slipping around to move more toward your back, pulling you in just a bit closer.

You let her, taking another sip of your drink.

"Did I cockblock you and Burrow?" she asks, and the utter smugness lacing her voice is unbelievable, enough for you to let out an amused scoff.

"I mean..." you trail off intentionally, grinning around your straw as you shrug one shoulder. Because, technically, yes, she did. If she hadn't walked over here, there's a very real chance you'd still be standing with Joe right now, a very real change that you would have gone home with him later too, would have fucked him.

Paige's smirk only widens at the idea. "My bad," she apologizes, though she sounds exactly zero percent sorry.

Then, while simultaneously dipping her hand lower for a brief second, fingers grazing over the curve of your ass before returning innocently to your lower back, and staring directly at your mouth, she adds, "I can help you fix that, though, if you need it."

You smirk at her over the rim of your glass. "And how would you do that?"

You figure it out, quickly. Because, unsurprisingly, about five minutes later, you're making out with Paige Bueckers in an empty hallway. It might have been less than five minutes, actually. You don't fully remember how you even got down here. One second, you were at the bar trading smug little comments back and forth, and the next, Paige was taking your hand and guiding you through the crowd.

And, now, your back is pressed against the cool wall near the exit staircase, the distant bass from upstairs vibrating faintly through the building while Paige kisses you like she's been thinking about doing it all night—which, to be fair, maybe she has.

Her hands grip your hips hand enough to keep you pinned in place, fingers digging into the thin fabric of your dress while your own hands tangle into the front of her shimmering button-down. And—God—she's still such a good kisser. That was one of the things that stuck out to you majorly when you'd hooked up with her last April. Because some people are attractive until they kiss you—and then, despite being grown fucking adults, just don't seem to know what to do, either kissing too slow or immediately shoving their tongue down your throat.

Paige isn't any of that. Her mouth is warm and confident against yours, kissing you like she already knows exactly what you like, as if she remembers.

You think she does.

You like the softness of her bottom lip, the fullness of it when you catch it gently between your teeth. You like how dominant she gets once she settles into the kiss properly, one hand tightening on your waist while she angles her head deeper and pushes her tongue into your mouth, sliding it slowly from the underside of yours. You like how she presses closer, chest against yours now, one thigh sliding between yours just enough to make your stomach twist pleasantly.

The alcohol tainting your blood makes everything warmer, softer. Her hands feel heavier because of it. Her mouth feels hotter. Your head tips back slightly against the wall as she kisses along your lower lip again, slower this time, tongue sliding.

Paige pulls back barely an inch, just enough to murmur, breath warm against your mouth, "That lip gloss strawberry or watermelon?" She leans in again, tongue ghosting lightly along the seam of your lips to get another taste.

"Raspberry, actually," you mumble, a mix of it and a bit of cherry from her dirty Shirley coating your tastebuds.

You aren't keen on being apart any longer, though, so you slide your fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her back in. She goes easily, and the kiss resumes—far less slow this time—mouths meeting, wide open and slick. Her jaw works against yours, tongues tangling, hers broad and wide enough to make you hum.

It keeps going like that for a bit, against the wall. Eventually, you think Paige's phone starts ringing. You don't bother acknowledging it and you don't think she is going to either, because she's only kissing you faster now. In fact, you barely even register the sound beyond some distant annoyance because Paige's hands are now firmly gripping your ass through the dress, the tips of her long fingers brushing against the bareness of the back of your thighs. Your leg is half draped across her own thigh, and she's flooded your senses completely, having consumed your attention and kept it wholly for herself.

Paige keeps ignoring the buzzing, too busy kissing you hard enough that your head bumps lightly against the wall behind you. One of your hands slides from the back of her neck to the front of her shirt, gripping.

Suddenly, though, she pauses. She doesn't fully pull away, mumbling against your mouth, "Oh, the car."

At the words, you laugh breathlessly despite yourself. You'd nearly forgotten that she called a car at all in the first place, though the prospect of getting out of here, of getting Paige somewhere private for real, is enough to make your skin boil and your cunt leak. You're ready to go.

Paige lets out a quiet groan before fumbling awkwardly for her phone. Her forehead drops briefly against yours while she digs around in her pocket one-handed, clearly irritated by the interruption.

It takes her an embarrassingly long amount of time to answer it because she keeps getting distracted kissing you again between attempts.

Finally, she gets the phone up to her ear. She's slightly out of breath when she says, "Hey."

There's a pause.

Then, "Yeah, we're comin' down now."

Another beat.

"A'ight."

The call ends just like that, short and sweet. The two of you just stand there for a moment afterward, breathing and recovering. The hallway suddenly feels strangely quiet now that you're not actively making out, the sounds of heavy breathing and slick mouths no longer illuminating the area. Automatically, you reach up to wipe at your lips with the back of your hand, pretty sure there's spit smeared around your lip combo at this point. Your curls are definitely messed up too, loosened and tangled from Paige's hands and being pressed up against the wall. You tuck a few strands behind your ears anyway, trying to regain at least a tiny bit of dignity before facing another human being.

Paige doesn't look much better herself. Her lips are visibly swollen and the same shade as her cheeks, bright pink, while her eyeliner is now slightly smudged beneath those sharp blue eyes. The sleek blonde hair is from earlier is mussed and tangled, a bit frizzy, too.

Honestly, it's maybe the best she's looked all night. There's something deeply satisfying about seeing someone so composed and polished suddenly look thoroughly kissed and unruly.

Paige notices you staring, lips lifting. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're lyin'."

You smile despite yourself, smoothing down the front of your dress and pulling down the back of it. Paige, meanwhile, bends to grab your purse from the floor where you apparently dropped it at some point during the last ten minutes of poor decision-making. She doesn't hand it back to you, instead holds it for herself and then just nods toward the exit. "C'mon."

The walk outside is surprisingly normal considering the fact that about two minutes ago, Paige had your leg halfway wrapped around her thigh and her tongue pushed deep into your mouth in the middle of a hallway. Now, though, you just walk side by side without touching, careful. There's an unspoken understanding between both of you the second you near the exit doors—public again, cameras possible, people possible. And despite the alcohol buzzing pleasantly through your veins, neither of you is stupid enough to risk being overly touchy outside a celebrity-packed afterparty on the night of the Met.

You're incredibly relieved when the back exit turns out blissfully empty. There are no paparazzi or screaming, flashing photographers. No blurry TMZ video waiting to make a headline of your life tomorrow morning. Instead, there's just cool New York air and a sleek black car waiting at the curb. Thank God.

You both climb in quickly, and—probably unsurprisingly—the second the door shuts behind Paige, the atmosphere changes completely. Much closer quarters, private enough, dangerous again.

You roll your eyes at Paige's unwillingness to wait even a second, because she's immediately leaning toward the front seat and asking, not even trying to be a hint subtle, "You mind puttin' the partition up?"

The driver doesn't react at all, doesn't even bother to respond. He just—without a word—presses a button, and you watch as the partition slides up smoothly. You assume this poor man has definitely driven drunk and horny celebrities around before.

You don't even get to be sympathetic toward him for long, though, because as soon as the divider clicks and seals, Paige is moving again, and fast. One large hand grips your jaw firmly, tilting your face toward hers while she kisses you hard enough to steal the breath straight from your lungs. Immediately, surprised, you let out a soft sound against her mouth, sinking back into the leather seats as she half climbs on top of you.

The first coherent thought you have once her weight settles against you properly is that she's so fucking solid. Of course, she was athletic last year, too, obviously, but now there's noticeably more muscle beneath your hands. She's got stronger shoulders, thicker arms, firmer thighs pressing between yours as she crowds you deeper into the seat. She's got real, professional athlete muscle now and you can fucking feel it everywhere—it's beyond attractive, unfortunately. Your hands slide over her sides beneath the loose button-down, feeling the heat of her skin before gliding across the hard lines of her abs, all while she continues kissing you deeper.

You know well enough that you don't have to worry about anyone outside the car seeing anything, given that the windows are tainted probably an illegal amount. They blur the city lights outside into soft streaks of color, but inside, the car feels warm, heating up. You're beginning to sweat.

Paige's hand stays firm on your jaw, now angling your head to the side, her mouth dragging away from yours slowly, a chain of spit splitting between you. Then, she's kissing down your neck, slow at first, just her wet, soft lips across skin. It doesn't take her long to grow rougher, though, tongue and teeth poking out, grazing enough for your breath to catch slightly, stuttering in your throat.

"Paige—" you mumble, even if you have no idea what else you want to say.

She just hums against your throat, the vibration of it making you shiver. Then, her mouth moves once more, upward this time. Her lips brush near your ear while one of her hands slides possessively along your waist, bunching a bit of the sequined fabric of your dress there, making it ride up slightly.

"Gonna make you feel so good when we get back to the hotel," she murmurs, the words going straight through you. "You're so pretty, fuckin' deserve that shit."

Your stomach twists hard, your heart stuttering beneath your ribs, and your cunt pulsing, all a reaction to the words and the thoughts that come with them. If you're honest, that's exactly the kind of thing you need to fucking hear right now. You need to be fucked bad—you can feel your thong already soaking—and the anticipation of it is getting to you. Not to mention that praise always hits you embarrassingly hard, especially from somebody whose voice sounds like that, all low and rough and against your skin.

A shaky breath leaves you before you can stop it, and, unfortunately, Paige definitely notices. You shift beneath her unconsciously, thighs parting a bit wider as she returns to mouthing at your neck, and, without even truly thinking about it, body moving on instinct, you grind upward slightly against her.

Paige's teeth catch your earlobe. You think you feel her grinning into it.

"You want some right now, hm?" she asks, tone of teasing, squeezing your waist as she does so. "Quickie?"

Your face burns at the words, and, despite the heat rushing through your body, you scoff, "Shut up." Unfortunately, it comes out more like a whine, especially because you absolutely do want that. You don't even care about the driver so close, who can't see but can probably hear.

Paige just laughs softly against your skin, warm and smug and unsurprisingly pleased with herself. You grab her face before she can tease you again, pulling her back into another searing kiss. She responds immediately, her tongue prodding its way in while one hand slides lower along your thigh—and then up under your dress.

Your breath catches sharply into her mouth. She doesn't hesitate in the slightest, palm gliding between your legs over your panties as if she already knows exactly what she's going to find there.

Which, she does.

The low sound she makes when she feels how wet you are sends heat straight through your stomach and all the way back down to your pussy, probably pushing out another flood of slick.

"Fuck," she mutters quietly.

Then, her middle and ring fingers find the exact spot where your clit swells beneath the lace. She rubs once, a slow, firm circle, and, on cue, your hips jerk. The wetness already seeping through the thin material of the thong makes the lace cling to her fingertips, dragging against the bundle of nerves with every pass.

Your head falls back against the seat with a shaky exhale. "Paige..."

"Yeah?" she murmurs, watching your face, her breath warm against your cheek. She begins to speed up a bit, circling harder, the fabric now bunched and twisted against her knuckles as she presses deeper. The rough seam of your panties rubs against your clit as she works you, the friction almost too much for where you are and what you need—silk and lace and her fingertips pressing down over your the most sensitive part of your pussy. A wet sound starts, the slick slide of her finger against the soaked material, and your thighs tremble open wider. "Tell me."

You don't even know what to say, nearly frustrated by how quickly she's affected you, how you're already somewhat melted beneath her and you're not even at the hotel yet. Half of it is probably due to the alcohol, which makes everything feel heavier, hotter. Every brush of her fingers shoots straight through your body without any buffer at all. The other half of it is because it's just Paige. She's ridiculously good at what she does.

She then curls her other hand around the back of your neck, pulling your face back to hers. Her mouth crashes in, messy and open, teeth catching your bottom lip. She bites down just enough to make you gasp, and in that moment, she hooks her thumb under the waistband of your panties and yanks them to the side.

Her bare fingers land directly on your clit, hot and slick, without any barrier now. The contact makes you jolt, a sharp whimper swallowed instantly by her mouth. She rubs fast, rough circles, fingertips pressing hard on your bud, mashing it in slick, tight motions. Her fingers have already grown wet, making every movement slipper and loud, the sound of her rubbing at you filling the car. (You hope the driver has some music on up front.)

She kisses you harder still, quenching your breathing more, her fingers not letting up. She's rubbing with increasing urgency, her whole hand moving now, palm pressing down, digits slipping against your wet folds as she focuses every stroke directly on your clit. Your hands clutch at her shoulders helplessly, nails digging in.

Vaguely, you're aware of just how insane this situation is. Some poor driver is taking you through Manhattan while Paige Bueckers has you half falling apart in the backseat—and she doesn't even have to slip her fingers inside you to get you there.

The pressure builds embarrassingly fast, a hot, sharp coil in your belly, your hips grinding up into her hand. What's worse is that Paige clearly notices.

"Already close?" she teases against your lips, though she sounds like she needs it almost as much as you do.

You just glare at her weakly, already planning on getting her back as soon as you're in the hotel. "You're so—annoying."

Paige just laughs quietly, but her fingers never stop. If anything, they just get more precise, more deliberate, messy and fast against your pussy, reading to tear the orgasm right out of you. Your thighs tense around her hand as you try to stay quiet, forehead pressing briefly against one of her broad shoulders while she works you through wave after wave of pleasure.

"Fuck," you whisper breathlessly, your lungs having trouble swallowing air in your chest. You're sweating now, too. You can feel it beginning to bead along your throat and collarbones, on your inner thighs as well.

"I know, baby. Trust, I fuckin' know."

That pet name absolutely doesn't help. Neither does the way Paige kisses the corner of your mouth afterward, murmuring soft praise between breaths while your cunt keeps tightening harder and harder beneath her touch.

When you finally cum, it hits fast, the pressure of her palm against your pussy enough to get you there. You're panting hard, but you kiss her anyways in an attempt to stay quiet. She responds in kind, chasing your mouth, kissing you back sloppy, her fingers still rubbing you in those fast, messy circles, no rhythm at all, just relentless pressure. Your entire body tenses, thighs clamping around her hand, hips bucking.

Paige lets you, one strong arm wrapping tighter around your waist while the other keeps sliding through your slickness, pressing against your clit as it pulses, drawing out every wave until you're shuddering and oversensitive. "There you go," she guides, voice wrecked as if she just came herself. "Good girl."

Jesus Christ.

Your heart stumbles in your chest, face flushed, eyes closing for a moment. You feel Paige pull her hand away, feel her adjust your panties at your hips. They lace is wet and sticky against your pussy now and you cringe a little at the feeling, ready to be rid of them. Paige is pulling your dress back down, too, and as she does so, you open your eyes back up, taking in the fact that the car has begun to slow.

Paige presses one final kiss against your mouth before glancing out the window. "We're here."

PAIGE FEELS A BIT drunker than she actually is. She’s not sloppy or stumbling or dizzy or anything like that. She’s just warm, loose-limbed and buzzing and a little stupid in the head in the way that happens when alcohol mixes with adrenaline and attraction and the overwhelming satisfaction making a very pretty—and famous—girl cum in the backseat of a car on the way back from the Met Gala. 

Honestly, half of what she’s feeling probably isn’t even alcohol. 

Half of it is just you. 

Paige glances down at her hand for a second, still slick with you beneath the dim lighting of the car, and her brain immediately short-circuits all over again, pulsing inside her skull. Her jaw tightens as she watches her fingers shimmer slightly. Slowly, she wipes her hand against the leather seat beside her, casual about it externally even though internally she’s already thinking about getting her hand back against your cunt as soon as physically possible.

Preferably, sooner. 

You’re sitting beside her fixing yourself up just a little, flushed and glowing and so fucking pretty that Paige nearly gets frustrated. Seriously, it’s a bit unfair. There are plenty of celebrities Paige has thought were abnormally attractive before seeing them in person, but usually real life evens things out a little. Usually, there’s at least some difference between the heavily curated on-screen—whether it be movies or modeling shoots—version of somebody and the actual human being standing in front of you.

Not you, of course. Somehow, you look even better in real life than you do on the big screen. That shouldn’t even be possible, considering Paige has seen one of your movies four times over just because she got distracted staring at your face. 

And right now, you look especially insane. The silver dress rides high on your smooth thighs where it shifted during everything that just happened, curls messy around your shoulders now, lips swollen and shiny from kissing. Your makeup’s slightly smudged beneath your eyes, making you look softer and just a tad fucked out. 

And fuck. The way you looked just a few moments ago, all breathless and pliant and squirming against Paige’s hand? The blonde’s own pussy pulses at the image. You were so responsive to her, a little easier to read than the last time. Every small sound and movement told her exactly what felt good—which was basically everything. And the thing that’s really got Paige fucked up is that you clearly liked her taking control. Even if you pushed back slightly, called her annoying, rolled your eyes between whimpers—she knows. You enjoyed the praise, enjoyed it when she got a little cocky. 

And that’s dangerous information to hand to someone like Paige Bueckers. 

Because now all she wants to do is do it again. Properly this time. She wants to get you upstairs and peel that little dress off completely and shove her fingers up your cunt while her mouth is on your clit and hear those sounds again without having to stay quiet for the driver’s sake. 

At the thought, Paige drags her gaze away from you to glance through the tinted window toward The Carlyle’s entrance. The sight that greets her immediately makes her groan internally, a sigh escaping her. 

There are at least a dozen paparazzi crowded outside the hotel barriers, cameras huge and obnoxious. They’re waiting and eager, ready to snapshot their favorite celebrities returning from one of the most infamous nights out of the year. Ready for drunken gossip, scandal, all of it.

Paige’s buzz dulls slightly around the edges, enough to leave room for some anxiety to creep in. She’s not used to paparazzi, not like this. She’ll have fans come up to her and ask for photos, but she’s only been unexpectedly swarmed by the media, like, twice in her life. Sports media is different, expected, reporters asking about games and stats and injuries not really bothering her much anymore. But paparazzi is a whole other thing, slimier, greedier. They don’t want quotes or basketball insigiht—they want messy photos and weird speculation and blurry shots of people leaving clubs at two in the morning. 

And Paige especially does not need headlines about leaving the Met Gala with you. It’s not like she’s ashamed or anything; she’d be quite proud to say she got to kiss you, got to fuck you, got to be with you in any capacity. But not to the public, knowing just how much this kind of thing can spiral. One blurry photo turns into ten articles and a hundred TikToks and suddenly, strangers online are deciding the details of your life for you. 

She’s still thinking over it when you lean slightly over her shoulder to look out the window, too.

“Oh,” you murmur softly. 

Paige watches your expression carefully, eyes roving over your face. There’s no panic or even really any annoyance, either. There’s just recognition, experience to back it up. It’s obvious that you’ve been dealing with this kind of thing far longer than she has. 

You adjust your dress one last time, carefully, smoothing the fabric down over your thighs before scooting over Paige’s lap toward the door. Paige’s hand lands automatically on your hip to help move you over, enjoying the feeling of your waist beneath her palm. 

You glance back at her over your shoulder, hand brushing hers on the leather seat for just a moment. “I’ll go first,” you tell her. You pause for a moment, then add pointedly, raising your eyebrows slightly, “We’re just friends, yeah?”

Paige understands the implication that you’re trying to get across. No touching, space between you walking, nothing overly obvious. Just two girls from overlapping industries that became friends and decided to leave the same afterparty together and head back to the same hotel like a thousand other celebrities will be doing tonight. 

Nothing to see here. 

Paige nods once. “Yeah.”

She lets you take the lead without argument because you clearly know this world better than she does. You’ve done this before, probably hundreds of times over. Paige hasn’t. It only makes sense. 

When the car door opens, it’s instant chaos. Flashes explode immediately outside, white hot bursts reflecting against the tinted windows, cameras clicking violently the second you step out onto the curb. Your posture changes so subtly Paige almost misses it. Your shoulders settle, expression smoothing into something calm and unreadable, not giving them implications of anything. 

People begin to shout your name, among other things. Questions and comments, desperate attempts to get your attention. 

“You look gorgeous!”

“Can we get a smile?”

“How was your night?”

You don’t react much at all, just start walking smoothly toward the entrance, not bothering to acknowledge them or respond. 

A second later, Paige follows behind. She shuts the car door, and immediately begins to blink quickly because the cameras are so fucking bright out here. Her head dips, the flashes hitting her eyes hard enough to almost make them water. It’s like being trapped inside lighting strikes. She does the same thing you do, not answering their questions, unresponsive to her own name. She just walks, hyperaware of everything: the distance between you two, the photographers trying to get angles, the sound of shutters snapping nonstop.

It’s only a few feet—just a couple strides with her long legs—to the entrance but it feels far longer under all that attention. 

Finally, though, you’re both inside, the hotel doors closing and the noise dulling into something muffled and distant. 

Paige exhales slowly, watching them continue to flash through the windows like greedy piranhas hunting their prey. She shakes her head, turning away, still blinking spots out of her vision. “How do you deal with that all the time, bro?” she asks you, a little baffled at the idea of all that being normal.

You shrug lightly, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. “You get used to it eventually.”

Paige honestly hopes she never does. 

This lobby is quiet this late at night, mostly empty except for a few staff members and scattered guests lingering around expensive furniture. Silently, doing your best to be inconspicuous, the two of you walk toward the elevators side by side. You’re close but not obviously close, the tension between you humming anyway. 

Paige can still taste you in the back of her throat. Can still feel the shape of your body under hers. Can still imagine your pussy leaking onto her fingers. 

And, judging by the way you keep glancing at her mouth every few seconds, she’s pretty sure she’s thinking something along the same lines. 

You press the elevator button and the wait feels excruciatingly long, every second stretching, the anticipation making Paige restless in her own skin. It makes things even worse when she catches herself staring at the curve of your legs beneath that tiny dress again and immediately has to look away before she does something stupid in the middle of the hotel lobby. 

Ding. 

The elevator doors slide open and Paige genuinely feels relief hit her entire body. You both step inside casually enough, like two people who definitely did not just hook up in the backseat of a car outside the hotel. You press the button for your floor while Paige stands beside you trying not to appear too eager. 

The doors begin closing, painfully slow. Paige is irritated—clearly, whoever designed elevators never had urgent situations in mind. She watches the gap narrow inch by inch, heart thudding harder the closer the doors get to shutting completely. The second they click, it’s over. 

Whatever tiny bit of restraint either of you had left immediately disappears. You move toward each other at the exact same time like magnets snapping together. Your mouths collide hard enough that Paige stumbles slightly into you, one hand instantly gripping your waist while the other slides down to find purchase on your ass. You gasp softly into her mouth and Paige immediately deepens the kiss, opening her lips against yours, tongue sliding hot and familiar while her body crowds you backwards. 

God, she needed this. And she missed this, too, honestly. Even if technically she only had you for one night before this, her body remembers you embarrassingly well. She knows the shape of your waist beneath her hands, the taste of vodka and lip gloss on your mouth, the way you curve into her more and more, molding the two of you together. 

Paige backs you against the elevator wall without even thinking about, kissing you harder once you’re pinned there properly. 

She stops when you pull away abruptly. You look to your left and mutter, “Oh, fuck,” while a breathless laugh escapes through your lips. 

Paige blinks, dazed for half a second before following your gaze downward. When she sees, a groan pulls itself out of her throat. Apparently, when she pushed you up against the wall, your back hit the elevator buttons—several of them. The lit-up numbers stare back at her mockingly, three different floors before your own. 

You’re trying not to laugh now, one hand covering your mouth while Paige drops her forehead briefly against your shoulder in defeat. She needed this ride to be quick—this is a dire situation and she absolutely needs you somewhere behind a locked door as soon as possible. 

Sighing dramatically, Paige lifts her head again and decides, “Doesn’t matter.”

What’s more important is that right now you’re standing there looking flushed and breathless from kissing her, your hands automatically sliding back around her neck the second she leans in again. 

Paige kisses you hard enough to shut the both of you up. One hand stays firmly on your ass while the other cups your jaw, tilting your face exactly how she wants it so she can lick deeper into your mouth. You breathe against her lips, arms looping fully around her neck now, nails scraping lightly against the short hairs there. 

Ding. 

The elevator slows and both of you separate instantly, fast enough it’s honestly impressive. Paige clears her throat and tries to look like a normal, mentally sane person while you smooth your hair down beside her. The doors slide open and no one’s there, thank fucking God. 

The second they’re shut again, Paige’s hands are on you again. You laugh against her mouth as she kisses you, saying, “You’re so eager.”

“You like it.”

You don’t deny that, which earns a smug grin from Paige right before she leans in once more, lips moving slower this time but somehow even hotter, the slick slide of mouths electrifying. Paige can feel herself getting progressively more worked up every second this continues. Her entire body feels as if it’s overheating, restless, too aware of you. Not to mention the fresh pool of slick coating her boxers. 

When the elevator stops again, it’s the same thing. You both jump apart slightly, and—again—there’s no one there. 

Then again, another stop. 

At one point, Paige actually starts laughing against you between kisses because the timing is getting so ridiculous. You just grin back, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. 

Honest to God, the whole thing is kind of fun. Paige feels like she’s a teenager again, sneaking around. The thrill of getting caught just wounds her up tighter, every interruption twisting that knot in her gut. Every time she has to stop touching you and quickly step back only makes her want to grab you harder the second the doors shut again. 

And she does. 

By the end, she’s kissing you almost aggressively, one thigh pushing between yours while your hands clutch at the front of her shirt hard enough to wrinkle it even further. Her lips are probably wrecked by now, and your lipstick is smeared.

The elevator dings one last time, and—finally—it’s your floor. 

Paige pulls back enough to look at the glowing number above the doors and actually exhales in relief. You laugh, still breathless, fixing the strap of your dress while the doors open once more. You walk out into the hallway with a purpose, quick without actually rushing, and Paige follows close behind, tethered to you. 

The hallway itself is empty, muted and dim, thick carpet swallowing the sound of footsteps. Paige’s head continues to buzz pleasantly from the alcohol and from you and from the fact that she’s about to get you all to herself for real now. 

It’s kind of insane for her to actually think about, when her mind pauses just for a moment to go over the information. 

A year ago, she’d been fresh off a natty and about to get drafted, overwhelmed and exhausted and standing in your apartment trying not to embarrass herself in front of the celebrity crush she was somehow about to fuck. Now, she’s following you through The Carlyle after the Met Gala with lipstick smeared across her mouth and your taste still on her tongue. 

Life is so, so weird sometimes. But Paige thanks God for it every day anyways. 

Eventually, you stop outside one of the doors, digging through your purse for the keycard while Paige hovers behind you trying not to stare too obviously at the way your dress hugs your body from behind. The little green light flashes, and then the door clicks open. Something about hearing that lock release makes Paige’s stomach twist hard again. Real privacy, finally. 

You step inside first and Paige follows immediately after, pushing the door shut behind her slowly while taking in the room. It’s large, absurdly luxurious just like everything else in this damn hotel. Soft lighting glows warmly across polished marble countertops and cream-colored furniture, giant windows stretching across one side of the room with dark Manhattan glittering outside. 

Honestly, though, she barely registers any of it for longer than two seconds. Instead, her brain is wired on you, focused on you standing there before her. And, for the first time all night, nobody’s watching either of you. You’re not in a hallway, or a car, or an elevator. There’s no threats of strangers or drivers or cameras. It’s just you and her and the thick, charged silence stretching between you. 

Oddly enough, considering her behavior up until this point, Paige doesn’t pounce immediately. Instead, she slows. 

You set your purse down carefully on the marble counter near the entrance, never breaking eye contact with her while you do it, and Paige feels her heartbeat begin to pick up once more, growing erratic. 

The eye contact is killing her. You’ve always looked at her so directly, like you’re fully paying attention every single second, locked in. It makes her feel simultaneously cocky and nervous, which is honestly an irritating combination. 

Then, you kick your heels off one by one. The sound echoes softly through the room before you start walking backward slowly, grinning just a little. Paige watches you go like she’s in a trance, watches you move closer to the bed with this relaxed confidence that makes her mouth go dry, hungry.

Automatically, she steps farther into the room. Then, she decides to follow your lead. The shoes come off first before she reaches for the buttons of her shirt, undoing them quickly while walking toward you. Most of the work’s already been done from the elevator anyway, thanks to your impatient hands. The shimmering white fabric slides off her broad shoulders easily and Paige lets it drop somewhere onto the floor without bothering to look. 

Now, she’s just in the black dress pants and sports bra underneath, the cool air of the hotel room brushing across her skin while your eyes drag slowly across her torso, lingering on her abs. The glitter in your gaze sends heat straight through Paige’s chest, all the way down to her cunt. You’re looking at her like you want to eat her alive, and, trust, the feeling is incredibly mutual. 

Finally, she’s close enough again. She reaches out, gripping your jaw and kissing you hard. There’s not teasing anymore and it’s certainly not slow. She’s been waiting to do this properly since she first saw you by the red carpet tonight and every moment since has felt like torturous buildup. 

You groan against her mouth, a sound that nearly ruins her on the spot, hands grabbing at her waist while she backs you toward the bed. She barely even realizes what she’s doing until the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you fall onto it with a quiet laugh breaking through the kiss. The blonde follows down instantly, crawling over you without hesitation, knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of your thighs while she kisses you deeper and deeper, trying to make up for all the time spent having to stop tonight. 

Her hands are everywhere: your waist, your thigh, sliding up beneath your hair to tilt your head back exactly how she wants it. Honestly, Paige feels a little drunk on power right now, on how responsive you are beneath her, every breath and sigh and movement going straight to her head.

Suddenly, Paige is being flipped over. 

She lets out an involuntary noise of surprise as her back hits the comforter instead, the movement quick enough that she’s barely even processed it before you’re above her. Your hands pin her forearms lightly against the sheets and Paige just stares up at you for a second, slightly stunned. 

Oh. Oh, okay. 

This is new. Paige is used to being the one in control most of the time. She’s the oldest sibling. She runs point on the court. She’s been the captain of basically every team she’s ever been a part of. 

And, with girls, she’s usually the one pinning someone else down, the one hovering and looking smug.

Still, that doesn’t mean she’s complaining right now. Because she absolutely is not. You look like a fucking angel above her, hair falling around your face, cheeks flushed prettily pink, the one silver strap of your dress slipping down your shoulder. Genuinely, Paige thinks you might be the most attractive person she’s ever seen in her life. The realization hits her suddenly that if you asked her to do basically anything right now, she probably would. 

You lean down and kiss her again before she can think too hard about that. Paige melts back into it, making a quiet, satisfied sound into your mouth while her jaw works against yours. 

God, you kiss good, too, different from her. You’re softer in some ways, while simultaneously somehow more teasing. But still confident enough to make Paige feel slightly insane every time you pull her lower lip between your teeth. 

You don’t keep her arms pinned for long. Soon, your hands are moving to her sports bra instead, fingers hooking beneath the fabric before tugging it upward. On instant, Paige lifts her arms automatically to help you pull it off. Your eyes flit down to her now bare chest, hovering for a split second, before returning to her face. Then, you toss the bra somewhere behind you carelessly. 

Paige grabs your back then, strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you flush against her body. The sequins and sparkles of your dress scrape slightly rough against her bare chest but she doesn’t even have it in herself to care or hardly notice, focused instead on you, you, you.

Eventually, you pull away from her mouth just enough to trail kisses along the side of her jaw instead, then lower. Paige’s head tips back against the pillows automatically the second your lips make contact with her neck. You drag the tip of your tongue across her sweet spot before sucking the skin into your mouth. 

“Mm, yeah,” Paige murmurs quietly. You hum against her skin in response, clearly pleased with the reaction.

One of Paige’s hands tangles into your hair, long fingers spreading along the back your skull as she holds you there. Her other hand slides slowly across the exposed skin of your upper back, above your dress. It’s warm and soft, perfect to run her fingers along. 

Every few seconds, your mouth gets a little rougher against her neck, teeth grazing lightly before soothing over the sport with your tongue again. Paige exhales shakily through her nose at the technique, muttering under her breath, “Fuck.”

You laugh a little, a sound that flutters Paige’s stomach slightly, before shifting lower once more. You hover along her collarbones for a few moments, getting closer to her tits but not quite there yet. 

Somehow, someway, after all that kissing, your lipstick is still intact enough to leave faint pink marks behind every time you kiss her skin. Paige notices and her pussy pulses because it’s fucking hot. Something about seeing the evidence of you all over her body makes heat spread through her body. Pink lip-shaped marks scattered across her skin—possessive, almost. Pretty. 

Slowly, you begin to kiss along the side of one of her small breasts, your curls brushing over Paige’s stomach while she watches you through half-lidded eyes. Then, your mouth wraps around one of her nipples. You circle your tongue around it before sucking, cheeks hollowing out, your eyes glancing up at her while doing so. It’s unfairly attractive. 

Paige lets out a low sound, her head tipping back slightly harder against the mattress while her fingers tighten faintly in your hair. She nods once, slow. “Yeah, feels good,” she lets you know lowly. 

You release the bud with a small, wet pop before your mouth travels over to her other nipple, lavishing that one instead. At the same time, Paige’s own hands begin to grow impatient. Her fingers move down to the zipper of your dress, toying with the top of it briefly before beginning to pull it downward. She does so slowly, the sound filling the quiet room. As it opens up, Paige’s hands slide lower, too, palms smoothing down your spine inch by inch while more skin gets exposed beneath her touch. The dress loosens more and more until finally the zipper’s all the way down.

Settling her palms against your bare lower back, Paige mumbles, “Sit up for a sec.”

Honestly, she doesn’t particularly want your mouth leaving her chest. But she also desperately needs to see and feel you properly. 

You push yourself upright without argument, sitting back on her thighs slightly while Paige slides the one delicate strap off your shoulder. The dress falls beautifully, the glittering fabric slipping down your body until you pull it the rest of the way off yourself, tossing it carelessly somewhere onto the floor. 

Paige stares because she can’t help herself. You’re only wearing a tiny white thong underneath, one with a small rose right on the front rather than a bow. Her eyes drag up from there to your perky tits, eyes roving over them as if she’s seeing them for the first time—which, okay, it’s only her second time. Give her a break. Her gaze wanders along your stomach and hips and waist and the side of your ass that she can see. 

“Like what you see?” you tease, grinning. A dimple pops through your cheek. 

Paige scoffs, still looking at you. “Be serious.”

But Paige barely even gets time to truly appreciate the view because you’re already leaning back down again, prioritizing her instead. Your mouth presses lower now, against rigid plane of her stomach, making Paige’s breathing deepen automatically. It doesn’t help that she’s already worked up enough to feel oversensitive everywhere. You take your time, too, which is both a blessing and a curse. Each kiss is careful, lazy almost, as if you’re memorizing the landscape of her abs with your lips, and Paige finds herself holding her breath when you pause just above the waistband of her pants. 

Embarrassingly enough, she can feel her own pulse thrumming under her skin right there, right where your mouth is hovering, deep in her gut. It’s almost ridiculous how badly Paige wants you to just move already. But you don’t. Instead, you look up through your lashes, that stupid, gorgeous grin spreading across your face like you know exactly what you’re doing to her, and your fingers start toying with the button of her dress pants. The metal clinks softly against your nails, and Paige has to physically stop herself from grabbing your wrist and forcing the issue. 

“You want them off?” you ask casually, as if you’re asking her if she wants another drink or something equally mundane. 

Paige gives you a look and lets out this breathy little laugh that’s tinted with more exasperation than actual amusement. “Obviously,” she replies, voice coming out rough. “Quit teasin’.”

But you just grin wider, that glimmer in your eyes telling her that you’re enjoying this way too much. Then, you shrug one shoulder and finally undo the damn button. The sound of the zipper coming down is loud in the otherwise quiet room, and Paige watches your every move like she’s hypnotized. She lifts her hips, helping you slide the pants down her legs. Her boxers get caught with the fabric, falling right with them. 

So, now Paige is fully naked beneath you, spread out against expensive white hotel sheets while you sit between her legs, staring at her bare cunt like it’s something worth admiring. It’s not as if Paige has ever lacked confidence—she knows damn well she’s incredibly attractive, has enough girls telling her that night and day—but this is you. Movie-star-gorgeous you, celebrity-crush you. Even if you’ve seen her once before, you still take the time to look at her as if you can’t get enough. It’s slightly surreal. 

You don’t give her time to dwell on it, though, because your mouth is already on her thigh, pressing kisses into the firm muscle there. Paige’s breath hitches when you get closer to where she actually wants you, but you bypass her pussy entirely, kissing along the bone of her hip instead. She lets out a frustrated groan, one that makes you chuckle against her skin. You’re certainly taking your sweet time, knowing full well she’s not going anywhere and that you’ve both got all night. (Paige doesn’t even bother to think about her flight in a few hours.)

Your lipstick is still smearing along her skin slightly—it’s all over her chest and stomach by now, the pink residue that’ll certainly stain the sheets later—but it’s starting to dim a bit, all the kissing having wiped your lips nearly raw.

Then, you look up at her, and the blonde’s heart hammers so hard against her ribs that she’s almost positive you can hear it. Your eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and you lick your lips like you’re hungry. Paige reaches down, her hand moving almost on its own, and she smooths her thumb along your bottom lip, wiping away the last traces of lipstick. The pad of her thumb comes away stained, and she can feel how soft your lips are, how warm. 

“Lipstick on my bare pussy probably ain’t the move,” she jokes, the words coming out playful, even though her voice is thick with want. 

You laugh, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against her skin, and the next thing she knows, your mouth is on her. And Paige thinks—no, she knows—that she’s about to fucking fall apart like a goddamn china doll. 

The last time you two saw each other, you didn’t go down on her. You scissored and then Paige went down on you. So, Paige hasn’t had this particular experience—but she’s really fucking glad she’s about to get it. 

The first touch of your tongue is tentative, almost experimental, like you’re testing the waters, and Paige inhales sharply through her teeth. You’re warm, so warm, and the sensation is so sudden and intense that her hips buck involuntarily, chasing the contact. It’s exactly what she’s needed after being wet for God knows how long. You smile against her and then do it again, a long, slow drag from the bottom of her slit all the way up to her clit.

Paige’s hand flies down to tangle in your hair once more, breathing out, “Fuck.”

You’re good at this. Like, really good. Paige isn’t completely sure if it’s your skill or the fact that she’s been needing this for hours now, but every move you make seems specifically designed to wreck her. Your tongue circles her clit in slow, figure-eight patterns, applying just the right amount of pressure, and when you suck gently on it, her back arches. She can hear the sounds she’s making—a couple groans here and there, mostly breathy little noises that she’d be embarrassed about if she had any brain function left—but all she can focus on is the wet heat of your mouth and the way your fingers are digging into the flesh and muscle of her thighs, spreading her open for you. 

“That’s good?” you mumble against her, the words muffled but still audible. The vibration of your voice sends a shiver through her entire body. 

“Yeah,” Paige manages, her voice strangled. “Yeah, keep—fuck—keep doin’ that. Like, right there.”

You listen, which is good, because if you stopped right now, Paige might actually combust. Your tongue moves faster, more insistent, and she can feel herself getting wetter, can see the slickness coating your lips and chin as you work her over. It’s messy and obscene and so fucking good, and Paige can’t stop the way her hips start rolling against your mouth, chasing the pleasure, riding your face like she’s been starving for this. 

And maybe she has been. Maybe she’s been starving for the way you moan against her, the sound vibrating through her sensitive pussy, for the way you look up at her with those pretty eyes even as you’re buried between her thighs. She wants to tell you how good you’re making her feel, wants to praise you, but the words get lost somewhere between her brain and mouth, coming out as nothing more than broken moans and half-formed curses. 

“You’re so—” she cuts herself off with a gasp when you flick your tongue just right, and her grip on your hair tightens, pulling you closer. “So fuckin’ good at that, baby.” 

The endearment slips out before she can stop it, but you don’t seem to mind—if anything, you hum against her, the sound sending sparks up her spine. You begin to double down on your efforts, your tongue delving deeper, tasting her, sucking sloppily. Paige can feel the pressure building, coiling low in her belly, and she knows she’s close, knows she’s teetering on that edge. 

She wants to give you something, wants to tell you how incredible you look like this, naked except for that flimsy white long that’s probably soaked through by now, with her arousal all over your face. She wants to say something witty or charming or anything, like she usually does, but she’s so fucking gone for you that the only thing that comes out is a desperate, breathless, “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

You don’t. Instead, you thrust your tongue up into her once before pulling it out and laying it flat, shaking your head against her pussy. And then you suck her clit fully into your mouth, teeth scraping along it. 

A shockwave flits through Paige’s already-overloaded system. “I’mma cum,” she gasps, raw. “God, I’mma fucking cum on that pretty face.”

She watches you nod, just once, your eyes never leaving hers, and that’s all the permission she needs. 

It hits her like a wave, building from that tight knot and exploding outward, radiating through her thighs and her stomach and her chest until she’s pretty sure she’s seeing stars. Her hips buck against your mouth, riding it out, breathing loudly. You stay there, working her through it, your tongue slowing down but not stopping, gentling her through the aftershocks until she’s trembling, until she’s completely and utterly spent. 

She slumps back against the pillows, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut as she tries to remember how to breathe. Her whole body feels like it’s made of static and warmth, every nerve ending alight and satisfied, and she’s pretty sure she’s smiling—this goofy, fucked-out smile—because she can feel the apples of her cheeks aching from it. She feels you press a couple along her folds, just soft and sweet, before you start crawling up her body, your mouth trailing back along her stomach and up between her tits and finally to her face. 

She opens her eyes when she feels you hovering close, and the sight of you nearly knocks the air out of her again. You’re beautiful—which, you always are—but right now, with your lips swollen and slick, your chin a little wet, your eyes satisfied and soft, you look like something straight out of a movie—but fucking better. 

Paige’s hand comes up to cup your jaw, her thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “C’mere.”

You lean closer without hesitation. When she drags her tongue lightly along your chin, tasting the tang of herself on your skin, you let out this tiny hum that goes straight to her gut. She cleans you up carefully, savoring the way you shiver under her touch, and then she’s on your lips, kissing you slow and deep, tasting your tongue, the mix of her arousal and your lip gloss and something that’s just inherently you. You hum again, into her mouth, a low and satisfied sound and Paige feels her heart clench sweetly in her chest. 

She wants to give you everything. 

She wants to give you the world, wants to spend hours making you feel as good as you just made her feel, wants to learn every single sound you can make and every single spot that makes you gasp and every single way your body moves when you’re lost in pleasure. Her legs might be a little sore and her chest is still pounding slightly, but she doesn’t care, because you’re looking at her like she’s something special right now. 

So, she rolls you over carefully, gently, until she’s in a more familiar position on top. She hovers above you, her arms—stronger and bigger than the last time she saw you—caging you in, your bodies pressing together from chest to hip. You look up at her with those gorgeous eyes, your tangled curls fanned out against the pillow, your lips parted and glossy, and Paige has to take a second just to look at you.

She dips her head down, capturing your mouth again, and the two of you just make out for a while, slow and languid and unhurried, gathering energy back. It’s just the slide of lips and tongues and teeth along with the occasional soft laugh when one of you pulls back to breathe and ends up getting pulled right back in. Paige’s hand drifts down your side, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, the soft skin of your stomach. She can feel you shiver under her touch, can feel the way you arch into her like you want more. 

Trust, she’s about to give a whole lot more. 

Her fingertips skim over the waistband of that tiny white thong, and she pauses, her mouth still on yours, her breath mingling with yours. She ghosts her hand over the fabric, just barely making contact. You tense beneath her, your hips twitching up slightly, seeking pressure. The lace is soft under her fingers, a little damp, and the thought of that, of you getting wet while you got her off, sends a pulse of heat right back to Paige’s own core. 

“Now who’s teasing?” you say, shifting beneath Paige’s too-light touch. 

She grins against your lips this time. “Me.”

You roll your eyes and then Paige’s fingers ghost along the thin fabric of your thong one more time, her knuckles brushing against the curve of your hip as she feels the heat radiating off your skin. It’s like you’re already burning for her, and God, that does something to her chest, makes her pulse kick up a notch. She decides what she wants then, how she wants you. She leans in, pressing a peck to your lips.

“Turn onto your stomach,” she tells you against your mouth. 

She watches your eyes flicker with something between curiosity and submission before you shift beneath her, rolling over onto your belly with a fluidity that makes Paige think of silk sliding off a bed. She stays still for a moment, just looking at you—the way your cheek presses into the pillow, how your shoulders relax as you settle, the long line of your spine curving down to the swell of your hips. She leans down to press a kiss against your cheek that’s facing up, her lips brushing skin softly. You nuzzle into it like a cat seeking warmth, and she lets herself stay there for a second longer, breathing in the scent of your perfume and the faint hint of sweat from the night. 

When she pulls away, her gaze shifts down, tracing the dip of your lower back, the tiny scrap of white fabric between your ass—so impractical and yet fucking sexy, enough that Paige feels her mouth go dry. She crawls down your body, her knees sinking into the mattress as she smooths both hands along your back, feeling the muscles shift under your skin. Then, she squeezes your ass firmly, fingers digging into the flesh just enough to make you let out a soft exhale. She presses a kiss to one of your cheeks there, her lips parting against the skin before pulling back. 

She says it, simple and direct, because she knows you’ll listen, “Ass up, yeah?”

You do it, lifting your hips off the bed, arching your back until you’re on your knees, your chest still pressed against the sheets. Paige settles behind you, thighs bracketing yours, her breath hot against the exposed skin of your inner thighs. She hooks her thumb under the string of your thong and pulls it to the side, watching the fabric stretch and snap back against your skin. 

Finally leaning in, she drags her tongue along your cunt in one long, flat stroke, from the bottom all the way up to your clit, tasting you. It’s the same sweet and tangy flavor she remembers from last year, like a memory she’s been saving in the back of her mouth, and she hums low in her throat, satisfied. 

You let out a slow, shaky breath, and Paige can see your shoulders rise and fall, can see your fingers curl into the sheets. She pulls away for a second, her mouth glistening, before she spits on her middle and ring fingers, letting the saliva drip down her knuckles. She rubs the tips of the digits against your clit for a moment before moving down and slowly pushing both fingers inside you, stretching you open. She leans over your back so her bare chest presses against your shoulder blades, and she feels you clench and pulse around her. She’s careful and waits a moment, giving you a second to adjust, to breathe, to let the sensation settle. 

You whimper, a soft sound that makes Paige’s stomach flip, and she sees the flush creeping along your cheek, spreading down your neck. She presses a kiss there, right behind your ear, murmuring against your skin, “Relax. Lemme feel you.”

And you do—you relax, your body going soft around her fingers. She starts pumping them inside you in a slow, steady rhythm before she begins to speed up, going faster and harder, the sound of it wet and obscene. She can feel you growing slicker, can feel it coating her hand, and she presses her thumb against your perineum, grinding down as she fucks you with her fingers, her wrist working in that practiced way she’s perfected. 

“Fuck, I wish I had my strap here,” Paige says roughly without even really thinking, because she was thinking about that in particular. She just knows you would be perfect with it; she wishes she could see it. She watches as your hips buck back against her hand as she shifts her angle, hitting that gummy spot inside you that makes your breath catch. “I’d fuck you with it so good, ma. Make you take it deep, make you feel it in your throat, in your gut—know you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love that shit, feelin’ me stretch you open.”

You moan now, a guttural sound that vibrates through your chest, and Paige feels a grin tug at her lips as she fucks you faster, harder, her fingers curling inside you in a come hither motion, dragging along your walls until you’re trembling, until your legs are shaking and you’re pressing your face into the pillow to muffle your sounds. 

“You’re so warm, feel so good,” Paige murmurs, nose pressing against the back of your neck, breathing in your scent. 

“Paige,” you strangle out, sounding wrecked. She just hums, feeling your walls starting to flutter around her, that telltale squeeze that means you’re close. Suddenly, she realizes that she wants to see your face—needs to see your face when you cum. 

So, she pulls her fingers out with a wet sound, ignoring your whimper of protest. She grabs your hip, flipping you onto your back. You land with a soft noise, your hair splayed every which way across the pillow, your chest heaving and shiny, a sheen of sweat glistening between your pretty tits. Paige sees that look in your eyes—dazed, needy, full of want—and she lets herself take a second just to look at you, all spread out and desperate for her, before she hooks her fingers into the sides of your thong and pulls it down your legs, tossing it somewhere onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. 

Now, you’re completely bare, and Paige gets a good view of your pussy. It shines with slick, pink and flushed, and your thighs are parted, your hips tilted up as if asking for more. She can’t help but lean down, spitting directly onto your clit. The saliva pools on your skin, and then she uses the flat of her hand to rub it in, spreading your wetness around in a motion that makes you gasp. She watches your face, sees your eyes close, sees your lips part, and she thrusts her fingers back inside you—two of them, then three, pushing into you with a wet, slick sound. 

“Tha’s it,” she encourages lowly, her eyes locked onto your scrunched expression as she finger fucks you. “Cum on my fingers, you got it, squeeze me dry. C’mon, baby—look at me. Wanna see your face when you do.”

Paige is sweating too now, her wrist aching slightly as she finds that rhythm again, fast and deep, her thumb pressing against your clit in tight circles. The sound of her fingers moving inside you is obscene, a wet, sloppy echo that drives her nearly insane. She watches your mouth fall open, watches your brows draw together, watches your chest arch off the bed as you gasp. She knows it’s building, knows you’re right there, so she leans down and sucks your clit into her mouth, her tongue flicking against the hood while her fingers curl inside you, and then she feels you break. 

Your orgasm hits so hard your body tries to arch off the bed, jerking and trembling around her hand, and Paige keeps her mouth on you, her fingers moving, drawing every last pulse of pleasure out of you until your thighs clamp around her head and you let out a long, breathless cry that flutters out into a quiet moan. She slows her fingers, gentles them, until you’re twitching with overstimulation, and then she pulls out slowly, digits slick and shiny in the dim light. She brings them to her mouth, licking them clean as she watches you try to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven movements. 

Afterward, Paige crawls up over you and stays draped there for a long while, as if she’s forgotten how to exist any other way. Her whole body feels loose and overheated, pleasantly heavy with exhaustion, and she can feel your heartbeat beneath where her cheek is pressed against your chest, slowing now compared to what it was earlier. The room is almost unbearably warm at this point, thick with heat that can only come from two people spending hours tangled under blankets and in each other. Paige barely even cares, though, because you’re soft underneath her and your fingers are lazily combing through her hair—still extra long with extensions—nails scratching lightly there every couple seconds in a way that makes her feel almost sedated. 

Paige leans up and kisses you softer now than she has all night, little lingering kisses against your mouth and jaw and cheek. She knows she got kind of rough earlier, got carried away in the way she always tends to when she’s really into someone. And she is really into you, which is becoming increasingly impossible for her to just ignore. 

You hum quietly every time she kisses you, arms wrapping lazily around her neck while she settled more of her weight over your body, skin against skin. Your legs are tangled together beneath white sheets that are honestly probably ruined now. 

Eventually, though, you let out a groan, pulling away and pushing weakly at her shoulder. “Oh, my God,” you complain, voice scratchy and tired. “It’s so fucking hot in here. I’m sweating.”

Paige immediately makes a low noise of protest and just presses another lazy kiss against your mouth anyway, because, honestly, if she could physically crawl into your skin right now, she probably would. “It’s not even that bad,” she lies, despite the fact that there’s sweat cooling along her spine and her hair is damp against the back of her neck. She thinks she desperately needs either a fan or a cold shower or maybe both. 

You just stare at her for a second as if she’s genuinely insane before you laugh under your breath, your hands settling against her bare, broad shoulders. “You’re just clingy,” you tell her, amused. 

Instantly, Paige feels her face flush in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with temperature, cheeks tinting pink. “No, I’m not,” she denies automatically, even though she’s currently laying almost her full weight on top of you like a giant blonde furnace. 

“Paige,” you say, just grinning, amused, “you’re literally attached to me right now.”

She opens her mouth to defend herself again before realizing there’s no actual argument she can make here, so instead she just shrugs a little against you and mutters, “I just like you,” into your skin. 

The second the words leave her mouth, she almost wants to bury her face in a pillow and die a little bit, because Jesus Christ. She’s twenty-four years old, not sixteen, and yet somehow admitting that she likes a girl still makes her feel stupidly nervous, especially when the girl in question is you. You, who she truthfully hardly even knows beyond afterparties with alcohol and two nights of good sex. You, who she’s seen in countless movies and interviews and red carpets. You, who somehow looks even prettier now than you did stepping into the Met earlier tonight in that beautiful watercolor dress. There’s a split second where she thinks maybe she said too much, maybe it sounds just idiotic because this is only the second time the two of you have hooked up, but then your expression changes, softening in this way that makes something ache pleasantly in her chest. 

“I like you, too, superstar,” you murmur, your thumb brushing absentmindedly along her shoulder.

Paige genuinely has to fight not to smile too hard at that stupid nickname. It’s ridiculous, honestly. If there’s a superstar between the two of you, it’s very obviously you. You’re the one starring in billion-dollar movies and attending the Met Gala every year and sitting next to Anne Hathaway at dinner like it’s normal. Paige just plays basketball. Okay, she plays basketball very well, but still. 

For a little while after that, neither of you says much. You just kiss slowly, lazily, your mouths barely parting before coming together again, and Paige settles more comfortably against you despite your earlier complaints about the heat because she genuinely cannot stop touching you. Her hand smooths up and down your side absentmindedly beneath the sheets while the city glows outside the massive windows beside the bed, New York slowly shifting from black to that deep bluish-gray that means morning is creeping closer. 

At some point, you mumble, “What time is it?” against her lips, and Paige immediately groans because she forgot time existed entirely, which probably means the answer is going to ruin her night. 

She reaches blindly toward the nightstand for her phone before remembering she left it in her pants, which are currently somewhere in the pile of discarded clothes scattered across your hotel floor. Muttering “fuck” under her breath, she forces herself out of bed, immediately feeling the cooler air against her overheated skin as she digs through the mess until she finds her phone in the pocket of her dress pants.

The second the screen lights up, Paige nearly recoils. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me,” she mutters. 

“What?” you ask sleepily from the bed, propped up slightly on your elbows now while watching her with messy curls and swollen lips and absolutely no business looking that good at four-thirty in the morning. 

Paige glances back at you with genuine despair. “It’s already four-thirty.”

You blink. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Paige says, rubbing a hand down her face dramatically, “and my flight’s at eight.” 

Which means she has to leave for the airport ridiculously soon, which means this night is already ending, which honestly is just unfair considering it feels like she only just got you back, and she won’t even be able to sleep at all. The reality of everything starts crashing down on her all at once after that—the flight back to Dallas, preseason, practice, media obligations, real life waiting outside this room—and suddenly she feels this deep reluctance settle in her chest at the idea of getting dressed and walking out of here. Because the truth is, she doesn’t just want the sex from you anymore, even if the sex is obviously incredible. She likes talking to you, likes the way you tease her, likes the way you look at her when she says something stupid and the way you touch her like you already know her better than you probably should.

You must notice something change in her expression because your face softens slightly as you ask, quieter this time, “You really have to go that soon?” 

Paige sighs hard through her nose before walking back toward the bed. “Yeah,” she admits. “Kinda have to be at the airport in like… an hour and a half.” 

“That’s disgusting,” you tell her immediately, making her laugh despite herself. 

“Right? Evil scheduling, bro.”

You smile a little at that, and for a second Paige just stands there staring at you sitting in the middle of the bed wrapped up in white sheets, your makeup smudged, your curls messy, looking softer and more real than she’s maybe ever seen you. Then, before she can overthink it, she climbs back onto the mattress and reaches for her phone again. “Okay,” she says, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “Lemme get your number this time, forreal.”

That makes you smile instantly, this warm sleepy smile that reaches all the way into your eyes. “Yeah?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” Paige replies. “I feel like it’d be pretty dumb of me not to.” 

You hold your hand out for the phone and she gives it to you without hesitation, watching while you type your contact in. Paige notices stupid details while you do it, like the chipped silver polish still left on your nails from the gala, the way your bottom lip tucks slightly between your teeth when you’re concentrating. When you hand the phone back, your name sits there in her contacts, and she catches herself smiling down at the screen before locking it again. 

“You better actually text me,” you tell her. 

Paige scoffs softly, climbing back into bed beside you. “You sayin’ that like I wouldn’t.” 

“Well,” you say, shifting closer immediately when she opens her arm for you, “you did disappear for a year.” 

Paige snorts, “You said you would be in Dallas all summer. You weren’t in Dallas.”

“Fair point.”

The two of you end up laying there together for almost another hour anyway, despite the fact that Paige absolutely should be leaving, because every time she thinks about getting up and putting clothes back on and stepping out into the real world again, you curl closer against her and she loses all motivation entirely. By the time the sky outside finally starts turning pale blue, Paige is half awake with your head tucked beneath her chin, one of your legs tangled with hers beneath the sheets while your fingers trace lazy patterns against her stomach. And maybe it’s the exhaustion talking, or the lingering softness of the night, or the fact that she hasn’t slept hardly at all within the last forty-eight hours and her emotions feel weirdly close to the surface, but Paige thinks, very suddenly and very clearly, that she really hopes this isn’t the last time she wakes up next to you.

[glazzi355]

Missed moments, made up nights…

w/c: 13k

content: angst, sexual content. I think that’s it?

California Airport— 1:00pm

Paige knows the call is going to be bad before she even answers it, because Azzi never calls three times in a row unless something already feels off, unless something has already started breaking before either of them has said it out loud..

The airport is loud in that annoying, nonstop way, people dragging suitcases, announcements echoing overhead, everyone moving cuz they have somewhere important to be, and Paige is just standing there stuck in place, staring at a screen that still says cancelled like it’s mocking her

Her phone keeps vibrating in her hand.

Azzi

Again

Paige exhales through her nose, runs a hand through her hair, and answers

“Hey babe”

She tries to make it sound normal, like nothing’s wrong yet, like she didn’t just spend the last hour trying to argue with a gate agent who does not care about her life falling apart in real time.

There’s silence on the other end, not long, but heavy enough that Paige can already picture Azzi’s expression, the way her jaw sets when she’s holding something back, the way her silence always means more than whatever she’s about to say

“Hey,” Azzi says back, but it doesn’t sound like a greeting, it sounds like she’s waiting.

Waiting for an explanation Paige hasn’t given yet.

Paige shifts her weight, already feeling defensive even though she hasn’t technically been accused of anything yet, which honestly makes it worse.

“I’m at the airport,” she starts, words coming quicker now because she knows she needs to get ahead of this, “my flight got cancelled, like fully cancelled, there’s a storm or something and everything’s delayed or overbooked, I’m trying to get on another one but it’s a mess right now”

She keeps talking because silence feels dangerous, because if she stops then Azzi gets to fill the space and Paige already knows that’s not going to go well.

“I’ve been here since the morning trying to fix it, I’m on standby for like two different flights and—”

“But you were at Coachella yesterday”

Azzi doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t interrupt loudly, she just drops it in there, calm and flat and way too precise, like she’s been holding onto that sentence and waiting for the exact moment to use it.

Paige stops pacing.

Her jaw tightens immediately

“Yeah,” she says, slower now, already irritated, “and I still had a flight booked that would’ve gotten me there on time, this isn’t like me just not planning shit, I had it handled”

There’s a pause, and it stretches just enough for Paige to feel it settling in her chest, that uncomfortable pressure that means this isn’t just about the flight anymore.

“Today is the draft, Paige”

The way Azzi says it is quiet but it lands hard, like she’s not just reminding her, she’s pointing out something bigger, something obvious that Paige somehow still managed to mess up.

Paige lets out a breath, shaking her head even though Azzi can’t see it.

“I know that,” she says, frustration slipping in now because what else is she supposed to say to that, “you think I don’t know that, like seriously?”

“Then why does it feel like you don’t”?

That one hits in a way Paige doesn’t expect, because it’s not loud, it’s not dramatic, it’s just honest in the worst way possible.

For a second Paige doesn’t answer, which almost never happens btw cuz her smart mouth always has an answer, especially when she’s wrong. she knows exactly what today is, she knows what it means, she knows how much pressure Azzi’s been under and how long she’s been working toward this exact moment.

She knows she was supposed to be there,Not just there somewhere in the crowd, but there in the way that matters, the person Azzi looks for first, the person who sees her before the cameras do, the person who’s supposed to be steady when everything else feels overwhelming.

And instead she’s stuck in an airport arguing about stupid standby lists.

“I’m trying to get there,” Paige says finally, her voice lower now but still tight, still defensive because she doesn’t know how to not be, “like what do you want me to do, teleport or something?”

Azzi lets out a short laugh, and this one isn’t even pretending to be nice anymore.

“I want you to care, Paige”

That flips something instantly.

Paige straightens, her grip tightening on her phone.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that today is the biggest day of my life,” Azzi says, and now there’s something breaking through the calm, something sharper, “and my girlfriend is stuck at an airport because she decided to go to a music festival the day before”.

Paige scoffs under her breath, disbelief mixing with frustration.

“That’s not fair and you know it,” she fires back, words coming faster now, “I planned everything, I had a flight, I didn’t plan for the airline to completely screw me over, how is that my fault”.

“Isn’t it though?”

The quiet again.

That controlled, cutting quiet.

And Paige feels heat rush up her neck

“Okay so what, you want me to control the weather too,” she snaps, starting to pace again, ignoring the looks she’s getting now, “I’ve been trying all morning to fix this, you think I want to miss this, like seriously?”

Azzi doesn’t answer right away.

And that silence says more than anything else.

Because it feels like doubt.

Like she’s not sure.

Like she doesn’t fully believe Paige.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Paige continues, pushing through it, “shit happens, flights get cancelled, it’s not like I just decided not to show up. ”

“Yeah,” Azzi says slowly, “but you’re still not here”.

For a second neither of them speaks, and everything that’s been building just sits there between them, heavy and unresolved and way too big for a phone call.

When Azzi speaks again, her voice is quieter, “Today is the biggest day of my life,” she says, slower this time, like she needs Paige to really hear it, to understand it, “and my girlfriend isn’t gonna be here… wow”.

The disappointment in her voice is worse than if she’d yelled.

It sinks in, sharp and quiet.

Paige closes her eyes for a second, jaw tight.

“You don’t know that,” she says, but there’s less bite now, less certainty

“I do,” Azzi replies immediately, no hesitation, no softening, nothing to cushion it.

And that’s what pushes Paige right back over the edge.

“Okay so now we’re doing this,” she says, her voice rising again, frustration spilling over, “now you’re just gonna act like I don’t care at all”.

“I’m not acting, I’m telling you how it feels”

“Well it feels like you’re blaming me for something I can’t control”.

“And it feels like you didn’t think this through”.

Paige lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head.

“Are you serious right now”

“Yeah, I am,” Azzi says, and now it’s all out in the open, no holding back anymore, “because I wanted you here, Paige, like actually here, not maybe, not hopefully, not depending on a standby list or whatever the hell is happening right now”

Paige’s chest tightens at that, because that part hits somewhere real, somewhere she doesn’t want to deal with in the middle of being pissed.

“I told you I’d make it,” she says, stubborn, holding her ground even if it’s cracking underneath her, “and I’m still trying to, you’re acting like I just gave up”

Azzi exhales, and this time it’s shaky

“I don’t know if you’re gonna make it”

And there it is.

The real fear underneath everything.

But it comes out wrong.

It comes out sounding like doubt.

And Paige hears it exactly like that.

“I’m trying my bad, I should’ve predicted a storm across the country, that’s on me I guess”.

On the other end, Azzi exhales.

And when she speaks again, her voice is different.

Quieter.

Not softer, just… done.

“Whatever, Paige”

That alone makes Paige’s heart race.

Because that word, that tone, it doesn’t mean the argument is over.

It means Azzi is pulling away from it,

Which is worse.

“Azzi—”

“Come or don’t,” she cuts in, not loud, not emotional, just flat in a way that feels final, “I’ll be getting drafted either way”

Paige’s grip on her phone tightens

“Azzi, that’s not—”

“If you cared, you’d be here”

And that one.

That one hits in a place Paige doesn’t even have time to process.

Because before she can respond, Before she can push back or fix it or say anything at all.

The line goes dead.

Paige pulls the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen like it might somehow undo what just happened.

Call ended

Just like that.

Her jaw tightens.

Her chest feels heavy in a way that has nothing to do with the flight anymore.

“Yeah,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head, already grabbing her bag, already moving again because standing still clearly isn’t helping anything, “okay”

But the word doesn’t mean anything,

Not really.

Because now it’s not just about getting to the draft anymore.

Now it’s about showing up after all of that.

And somehow, that feels even harder.

THE SHED NY—7:00pm

The room shifts before anything is even said, like everyone feels it coming at the same time, conversations lowering just enough, heads turning toward the stage, anticipation building in a way that feels physical, like it’s pressing against her chest

Azzi sits a little straighter without even thinking about it, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of her dress, grounding herself in something real while everything else starts to feel like it’s moving too fast and too slow at the same time

Her heart is loud now

Not nervous exactly, not in the way people expect, because she’s been ready for this, she’s always been ready for this, but there’s still something about the moment finally arriving that hits different, something heavier layered under the excitement

And still

Even now

Her eyes drift

Just once more

Just in case

She scans the crowd again, slower this time, more deliberate, like if she just looks carefully enough she’ll find what she’s been looking for this whole time, but it’s the same blur of faces, the same movement, the same almost-recognition that never fully lands

Nothing

Or at least nothing she can hold onto

Her jaw tightens slightly as she looks forward again, forcing herself to stop, because she can’t keep doing that to herself, not right now, not when everything she’s worked for is literally seconds away

Focus

The voice in her head is sharper now.

This is your moment.

On stage, Cathy Engelbert steps forward, the room quieting in a way that feels immediate, like someone flipped a switch and pulled everyone into the same moment at once

Azzi feels it in her chest, that shift, that collective attention locking in, and suddenly there’s no more space to think about anything else, no more space to wonder, no more space to look for someone who might not even be there

This is it

Her breathing slows, just slightly, controlled, like everything she’s trained herself to do kicks in automatically

Cathy adjusts the card in her hands, smiling out at the crowd, letting the silence stretch just enough to build it up even more

And then she speaks

“With the first pick in the 2026 WNBA Draft…”

The words echo through the room, clear and sharp and heavier than they should be, like they carry everything leading up to this moment inside them

Azzi’s heartbeat stutters, then picks up again

“…the Dallas Wings select…”

Time slows in that strange, unreal way, like everything around her fades just a little at the edges, like she’s aware of everything and nothing all at once

Her name is coming

She knows it

Everyone knows it

But hearing it is different

“…Azzi Fudd, University of Connecticut.”

And there it is

For a second it doesn’t even fully register, like her brain needs an extra beat to catch up to what just happened, to process the fact that it’s real, that it’s done, that everything she’s worked for just got spoken into existence in front of an entire room

Then everything hits at once

The sound first, applause crashing over her from every direction, loud and overwhelming and real in a way that finally snaps everything into place

Her teammates are already moving, hands on her shoulders, pulling her into quick hugs, voices overlapping, excitement spilling over in a way that makes it impossible not to feel it

She’s smiling before she even realizes it, something genuine breaking through everything else, something bright and earned and hers

Number one

Dallas

It’s real

her body moving on instinct now as she turns toward the stage, toward the cameras, toward everything waiting for her on the other side of this moment

The stage feels brighter when she steps onto it, the lights hitting her just enough to blur the crowd into something less defined, something easier to ignore, and she’s grateful for that for a second because it lets her stay present, lets her lean into what this moment is supposed to be

She hears her name again, closer this time, said with pride, with certainty, and she smiles like she’s always imagined she would, like this is exactly how it was supposed to go

She shakes hands, poses for the pictures, holding up the jersey with Dallas stretched across it, cameras flashing in quick bursts that almost make everything feel like a sequence instead of a single moment

It’s loud again, but in a different way now, more focused, more centered around her, and she leans into it just enough to let it feel real

This is hers

She earned this

When she steps off to the side, the noise shifts again, less overwhelming but still constant, and that’s when things start coming back into focus piece by piece

She spots the UConn group first, all of them crowded together, phones out, recording, smiling way too big, some of them already yelling things she can’t fully make out but knows are probably annoying in the best way

Then she’s being guided again, where the interviews are happening, where everything becomes a little more structured, a little more controlled

Holly Rowe is already there, smiling, ready, professional in that way that makes it easy for Azzi to slip right into the version of herself she knows how to be in moments like this

She answers questions, talks about the moment, about the journey, about what it means, her voice steady, her smile easy, like nothing is out of place, like there isn’t anything sitting underneath all of this waiting to be dealt with

And for a second

It works

She almost forgets

Almost

Until her face shows up on the big screen behind them

And then it shifts

Because the camera angle changes, the focus widening just enough to include more of the crowd, more of the reactions, more of everything happening around her

And without even thinking about it

Azzi looks

It’s instinct

Automatic

Like her body moves before her brain can stop it

Her eyes scan quickly at first, then slower, more intentional, searching in a way she’s been trying not to all night

And then

She sees her

Off to the side, just past the main section, standing with the UConn group like she slid in late and didn’t bother fixing anything about it

White collared shirt

Black Nike vest

Clean but completely out of place, like she walked in from a different event and just decided to stay anyway

And somehow

It’s so obviously Paige

Even from a distance

Even with everything else going on

Azzi’s breath catches just slightly

Because she’s really here

Not maybe

Not almost

Actually here

Paige is looking right at her, like she’s been waiting for Azzi to find her, like she knew it would happen eventually

And when their eyes meet

Paige smiles

Not big

Not dramatic

Just that small, easy smile that feels way too familiar

Way too normal

Like nothing happened earlier

Like there isn’t still tension sitting between them that hasn’t been touched yet

Then she lifts her hand, just a little, a quick wave, casual in a way that almost feels unfair considering everything

And Azzi doesn’t even realize she’s stopped listening to the question for half a second until she feels it, that slight pause in herself, that moment where everything else fades just enough for her to feel it fully

Relief

Sharp and immediate

Followed right behind by something else

Something heavier

Because she’s still mad

Still hurt

Still holding onto the way that call ended, the way Paige didn’t get to respond, the way things were left unfinished and unresolved

And now she’s just… here.

Smiling.

Like she made it in time and that fixes everything.

Azzi blinks, forcing herself back into the moment, back into the interview, nodding slightly like she didn’t just lose her place for a second

But it’s harder now.

Because now she knows.

Paige made it.

And that changes everything.

Even if she doesn’t want it to.

Even if she’s not ready to deal with it yet

Her eyes don’t go back again.

Not immediately.

But she can feel it.

That awareness sitting at the edge of everything

Like no matter what else happens tonight, She knows exactly where Paige is.

—

By the time she steps fully off the stage, everything starts coming at her all at once again, just in a different way now, more personal, more immediate, hands reaching for her, voices overlapping, people pulling her into hugs before she can even fully register who’s who

It’s overwhelming, but in a good way.

Mostly

Her teammates are the first to get to her, loud and excited and completely unfiltered, wrapping her up in quick, tight hugs, saying things over each other that she can’t fully process but understands anyway, pride and energy and history all packed into those few seconds.

She laughs a little, breathless, letting herself fall into it just enough to not overthink anything.

Then her parents again, slower this time, steadier, her mom holding onto her for just a second longer, her dad’s hand firm on her shoulder, grounding her in a way nothing else really has tonight.

But then

She knows

Before she even turns

There’s a shift in her chest, something tightening and pulling at the same time, like her body recognizes the presence before her mind fully catches up

And when she does turn

Paige is right there

Closer now

Not across the room, not half-hidden in a crowd

Right there in front of her, like she’s always supposed to be

And for a second everything feels weirdly still

Like all the noise around them fades just enough to make this moment stand out in a way Azzi isn’t ready for

And she looks exactly like she did from a distance, which somehow makes it worse and better at the same time

Azzi’s eyes flick over it automatically, taking it in without meaning to

She really just showed up like that

And there’s a part of her, buried under everything else, that almost wants to laugh

Almost

But it doesn’t reach the surface

Because right underneath that is everything else

The call

The words

The way it ended

And the fact that she wasn’t there earlier

That she didn’t get to be the one to see her first

Didn’t get that moment

Didn’t get to share it the way she wanted to

Paige doesn’t hesitate

She steps in like there isn’t anything unresolved between them, like this is the most natural thing in the world, and wraps her arms around Azzi without giving her time to decide how she wants to react

And Azzi lets her

Because she’s not about to make a scene

Not here

Not now

So her arms come up too, slower, a little more controlled, resting against Paige’s back in a way that looks right from the outside but doesn’t fully match the way Paige is holding her

Because Paige holds on tight

Not casual

Not quick

Tight enough that Azzi feels it

Feels the intention behind it

Feels the relief in it

Her chin brushes lightly against Azzi’s shoulder as she leans in just enough to say it, her voice low but clear

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

The words land soft

Too soft

And that’s what makes it worse

Because Azzi wants to react to that, wants to let it mean what it usually means, wants to fall into it the way she normally would

But everything from earlier is still sitting there, untouched, unresolved, too fresh to ignore

So she doesn’t say anything

She just pulls back after a second, just enough to create space again, her hands dropping from Paige’s back as she gives her a small smile that looks right, looks normal, looks like nothing is wrong

Even though it doesn’t feel like that at all

Paige’s expression flickers for half a second, something quick and almost unnoticeable passing through her eyes, like she felt the difference too, like she expected something more and didn’t get it

But Azzi doesn’t stay in that moment long enough to deal with it

She turns slightly, already being pulled into another hug, another congratulations, another voice telling her how proud they are, and she leans into it, lets it carry her forward so she doesn’t have to stop and think about what just happened

Or what didn’t.

It keeps moving like that for a minute, a blur of faces and hands and smiles, everything blending together in a way that makes it easier to avoid the one thing she doesn’t want to sit with yet.

Until a voice cuts through it

“Can we get a picture of you two?”

Azzi pauses

Just slightly

Because she knows exactly who they mean without having to ask

There’s a small shift beside her as Paige steps back in, close again, like she never fully left in the first place

And Azzi turns toward her, smile already in place again, practiced, easy, giving the cameras exactly what they want

Paige’s hand comes to her back naturally, like it always does, steady and familiar, fingers resting just at her waist in a way that would normally ground her instantly

Azzi’s hand mirrors it almost automatically, resting against Paige’s back, the contact brief at first and then settling just enough to look right for the picture

The camera flashes

Once

Twice

And through all of it, she keeps the smile in place, keeps everything exactly how it needs to look

Even if it doesn’t feel like that at all.

The next stretch of time barely feels like it belongs to her.

Everything starts moving faster after that, or maybe she just loses track of it, because one interview turns into another and then another, each one slightly different but also exactly the same, questions about the moment, about the journey, about what it means to go number one, about Dallas, about the future, about everything she has worked for wrapped into clean, polished answers that she knows how to give without even thinking anymore.

She nods at the right times, smiles when she is supposed to, laughs lightly when something calls for it, her voice steady and controlled in a way that makes it seem effortless, like none of this is overwhelming, like she is completely grounded in every second of it.

From the outside, it probably looks perfect.

Inside, it feels like she is slightly out of sync with herself, like she is watching it happen just a fraction of a second behind, because part of her attention keeps drifting somewhere else no matter how hard she tries to stay present.

She catches glimpses of people in between questions, familiar faces passing through her line of sight, flashes of movement, flashes of reactions, but none of it really sticks long enough to matter, because she does not get the chance to stop moving, does not get the chance to settle into anything real.

And she does not get the chance to go back to Paige.

That part lingers more than she expects.

Not in a loud way, not enough to pull her completely out of what she is doing, but just enough to sit in the background of everything, like a thought she keeps pushing aside and it keeps finding its way back anyway.

She tells herself it is fine, that this is how tonight is supposed to go, that there will be time later, that this is bigger than one conversation or one moment that did not go the way she wanted it to.

She tells herself she is not going to let an argument ruin this.

Not tonight.

Not this night.

By the time the interviews finally start to slow down, it does not feel like a clean ending, it just kind of tapers off, like someone gradually turned the volume down on everything instead of cutting it completely.

Her smile lingers out of habit for a second longer than it needs to before it softens into something more natural, something a little more tired, and she exhales quietly as she steps back, rolling her shoulders slightly like she is finally allowed to feel the weight of everything that just happened.

That is when it really settles in.

She got drafted.

Number one.

Dallas.

It is real in a way that feels heavier now that there is a pause, now that she is not actively talking about it, now that she has a second to actually exist inside it instead of performing around it.

And almost immediately, her mind shifts again.

Back to Paige.

The memory of that hug comes back first, the way it felt just slightly off, the way Paige held on tighter than she did, the way the words sounded softer than she was ready for, and the way she did not respond, did not give anything back except a smile that was easier than honesty in that moment.

She presses her lips together slightly, glancing off to the side without fully turning her head, like she might catch another glimpse of her without making it obvious that she is looking.

She does not.

And that should make it easier to ignore.

It does not.

Because now that things are slowing down, now that she is not being pulled in ten different directions at once, there is more space to think about it, more space to feel the fact that she actually misses her, which is annoying considering she is still mad, still holding onto everything from earlier, still not ready to just let it go like it did not happen.

But she also knows herself well enough to recognize what is underneath that.

She does not want to end the night like this.

Not after everything.

Not after a day that is supposed to mean this much.

The thought settles in slowly but firmly, not dramatic, not sudden, just clear in a way that makes it hard to ignore.

She is not going to ruin this.

Whatever is going on between them can wait a few hours.

It can wait until they are somewhere private, somewhere real, somewhere that is not filled with cameras and people and expectations.

Tonight is supposed to be good.

And she wants it to be good with Paige.

The realization lands just as someone nearby mentions the after party, casual, like it has been obvious this whole time, like everyone already knows where they are supposed to go next and what the night is turning into.

Azzi blinks slightly, the shift catching her off guard for a second, because it feels like the night just started and somehow it is already moving into something else.

She glances around, picking up on the change in energy, people starting to move with more direction now, conversations shifting, groups forming and breaking apart as the next part of the night takes shape.

Already?

It does not feel like enough time has passed.

It does not feel like she has had a second to just be.

But there is no pause built into nights like this.

Everything keeps moving whether she is ready for it or not.

So she adjusts.

Of course she does.

Someone hands her a garment bag, and she takes it automatically, thanking them without really thinking about it, already shifting into the next version of herself that the night requires.

The change happens quickly, almost rushed, tucked away in a private space

just a transition point between one moment and the next.

She exhales as she reaches for the zipper, fingers steady even though her mind is still catching up, still processing everything that has already happened and everything that is about to.

Her draft outfit comes off carefully, set aside with more intention than the moment allows, because even in a rush she cannot bring herself to treat it like it does not matter.

But the night is not over.

Not even close.

She changes into something new, something meant for movement, for noise, for a space that will be louder and less controlled than the one she is leaving behind, and when she catches her reflection for a second, it almost feels like looking at a different version of herself.

Same night.

Different energy.

Her hand pauses for just a second as she adjusts the last detail, her expression settling into something more neutral, more composed, like she is bracing herself for whatever comes next.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, without her fully acknowledging it yet, there is one thought that lingers stronger than the rest.

She is going to find Paige.

And this time

They are not going to let this night go to waste.

—

They are not going to let this night go to waste.

That’s what she told herself not even ten minutes ago, standing in front of a mirror, fixing something that didn’t even need fixing, convincing herself that she could just push everything down for a few hours and deal with it later like a normal person.

Yeah.

That lasts about five seconds.

Because the second she steps into after party her eyes land on Paige automatically. Paige isn’t hard to find.

She never is.

She’s off to the side, leaning back like she belongs anywhere she stands without needing to prove it, still in that same white collared shirt and black Nike vest. But there’s girls. Too close. Not just standing near her, but leaning in, bodies angled toward Paige trying to pull her attention in laughing at things that probably aren’t even that funny, brushing against her arm.

One of them says something and leans in even closer, and Paige tilts her head slightly to hear her better, smiling, relaxed, completely at ease like this is normal, like she’s not doing anything wrong because technically she isn’t.

And that’s what does it.

That’s what flips something in Azzi’s chest so fast it almost catches her off guard.

Because Paige isn’t shutting it down.

She’s just there, laughing, letting it happen, responding in that easy way she always does, like everything is light and nothing matters enough to take seriously.

Like this doesn’t matter.

Like they don’t matter.

Azzi feels the shift immediately, sharp and uncomfortable, something tightening in her chest that she tries to ignore for about half a second before it pushes right back.

Her jaw sets slightly as she watches just a little longer than she should, eyes catching every small detail she wishes she didn’t notice, the way Paige leans in just enough, the way she smiles, the way she doesn’t step back.

And that’s it.

Fuck this night, fuck solving shit, to hell with letting this night go to waste, and fuck Paige Bueckers.

Because why should she be the one trying.

Why should she be the one holding it together when Paige is over there acting like nothing happened.

Like they didn’t just argue hours ago.

Like there isn’t still something sitting between them that hasn’t been dealt with.

Azzi looks away quickly, almost like she’s snapping herself out of it, like she refuses to stand there and keep watching something that’s only making it worse.

Her heart is beating a little faster now, not from the music, not from the crowd, but from that sudden rush of irritation she can’t shake.

“Fuck all that.”

She’s not doing this.

She’s not walking over there.

She’s not interrupting, not inserting herself into whatever that is, not giving Paige the satisfaction of knowing it’s getting to her.

If Paige wants to stand there and entertain that, she can.

Azzi’s not about to chase after her.

So she doesn’t.

She turns away fully this time, letting the crowd pull her in the opposite direction, slipping into conversations she doesn’t really care about but participates in anyway, smiling when she needs to, responding just enough to keep things moving.

It becomes automatic.

Talk, laugh, move on.

Repeat.

Anything to keep herself occupied.

Anything to not look back over there.

But she still knows.

She knows where Paige is without checking, knows when she moves, knows when the energy shifts around her, like some part of her refuses to fully disconnect no matter how hard she tries.

And when Paige gets closer at one point, just passing through, not even stopping yet, Azzi feels it instantly, that familiar presence that usually pulls her in without thinking.

This time she shuts it down.

She turns slightly, just enough, keeps her focus locked on the person in front of her, nodding like she’s fully invested in whatever they’re saying, like nothing else exists in that moment.

Like Paige doesn’t exist in that moment.

She keeps that up the entire night.

Every time there’s a chance for eye contact, for a conversation, for anything that might force them to actually deal with what’s going on, Azzi avoids it cleanly, slipping away just enough to make it look natural.

No scene.

No confrontation.

Nothing obvious.

She doesn’t look at her, doesn’t talk to her, doesn’t give her anything.

Because right now, being mad feels easier than walking over there.

And risking that she actually cares more than she wants to admit.

—

Paige’s Pov

Paige knows she messed up bad because Azzi won’t even look at her.

It started back at The Shed, the second Paige slipped in late, still catching her breath, still trying to make herself smaller than she actually is so she didn’t pull focus, because that was the whole point of everything she did today.

She knew what tonight was supposed to be.

She knew how big it was, how much it meant, how long Azzi had been working toward that exact moment, and the last thing Paige wanted was to walk in and accidentally make it about anything other than her.

Because she knows how people are.

She knows how fast things shift, how quickly attention turns, how fans start talking, how one picture or one clip can turn into something else entirely.

If she showed up dressed like she usually does, styled, noticeable, matching the energy of the night, it wouldn’t stay about Azzi for long.

It would turn into something else.

Something about them.

Or worse, something about Paige.

And she wasn’t about to let that happen.

So she kept it simple.

She didn’t care that it made her look like a waiter.

If anything, that was the point.

Let them laugh.

Let her teammates say whatever they want.

As long as Azzi got her moment exactly how she deserved it, Paige was good with that.

And she made it.

Barely, but she made it.

She saw it happen.

Saw her name get called, saw her walk up there

Just that.

Just her.

And then she hugged Azzi.

“I’m so proud of you, baby”, because she was, because she is, because that part was never complicated.

but she didn’t say anything back.

Just pulled away, smiled like everything was fine, and moved on.

That’s when Paige knew.

Nothing about this was fine.

Now they’re here.

And it’s starting to piss her off.

And Paige gets it.

She does.

She knows she messed up the timing, knows she wasn’t there when she was supposed to be, knows that mattered more than anything else tonight.

But she still showed up.

Paige exhales slowly, dragging a hand through her hair as she leans back slightly, trying to play it off, trying to look like she’s just here, just part of the night like everyone else.

That’s when the girls show up.

Not surprising.

It happens all the time.

They slide into the space around her like it’s natural, conversations starting easily, laughter coming quick, one of them stepping just a little closer than necessary, asking something that Paige barely registers because her attention is still somewhere else.

Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about it.

She’d respond the same way she always does, relaxed, easy, not taking any of it seriously.

And she does.

At first.

She laughs lightly, says something back, keeps it casual, nothing that actually means anything.

But then—

She sees Azzi.

Walking in.

And more importantly, she sees the exact second Azzi sees her.

It’s quick.

Barely there.

But Paige catches it.

The way Azzi’s eyes land, the way they linger just long enough to take everything in, the girls, the space between them.

And something in Paige shifts immediately.

Because if ignoring her is the game now, then fine.

She can play too.

A small smirk pulls at her lips before she even fully thinks it through, subtle enough that no one else would notice, but it’s there, sitting just under the surface as she turns her attention back to the girls in front of her.

Maybe this will work.

Maybe if Azzi sees it, really sees it, she’ll finally drop whatever this is and come over here and say something instead of pretending Paige doesn’t exist.

Because that’s what Paige actually wants.

Not this distance.

Not this silence.

Not whatever weird tension they’re sitting in right now.

She wants it to be normal again.

Wants Azzi to look at her the way she usually does, talk to her like nothing is off, like they’re still them and not whatever this is supposed to be.

So yeah.

If it takes a little jealousy to get there.

If it takes pushing just enough to get a reaction.

Paige’s fine with that.

But her eyes flick back once.

Just once.

Checking.

Waiting.

Because at the end of the day

She doesn’t actually care about any of this

She just wants Azzi to come over

And finally talk to her.

But the second Paige looked back, Azzi was gone.

Oh come on

Her eyes wandered the place trying to see where the brunette went and then sees her, talking and laughing with others.

“I’m so fucked,” she mutters under her breath.

Because yeah.

She knows exactly what this is now.

Azzi saw her.

Saw everything.

And instead of coming over, instead of saying something, instead of even giving her a look that meant anything—

She dipped.

And now she’s over there acting completely fine, like she didn’t just clock the whole situation and decide she wasn’t entertaining it.

Which means the plan backfired.

Badly.

Paige straightens slightly, running a hand over the back of her neck as she looks back up again, eyes landing on Azzi whether she wants them to or not.

Now it’s not just waiting for Azzi to come to her.

Now it’s knowing she won’t.

And that sits weird in her chest, heavier than she expected, because for a second she really thought it would work, thought Azzi would get a little jealous, get a little annoyed, come over and finally say something instead of playing this whole silent game.

But Azzi’s not doing that.

She’s doing the opposite.

She’s acting like she doesn’t care at all.

And that’s worse.

Way worse.

Paige shifts her weight slightly, barely paying attention to whatever the girl next to her is saying now, nodding at the wrong time, giving a half answer that doesn’t even make sense because her focus is completely somewhere else again.

Because now she’s stuck between two options she doesn’t like.

Either she keeps standing here, playing it off, pretending she’s unbothered and letting Azzi do whatever she’s doing over there.

Or she goes over there herself.

Which feels a little too close to losing.

Her jaw tightens slightly at that thought, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for her to feel it.

Because this wasn’t supposed to turn into that.

She wasn’t trying to start something.

She just wanted Azzi to talk to her.

—

Azzi’s pov

It happens fast.

Not planned, not some big dramatic lead-up, just one of those moments where the timing finally lines up whether they’re ready for it or not.

Azzi is halfway through another conversation she’s barely paying attention to, nodding along to something someone is saying, when she feels it again.

That shift.

That presence.

Closer this time.

Before she can move, before she can slip out of it like she has been all night, there’s a hand around her wrist, not rough but firm enough to stop her from walking away like nothing’s happening.

Paige.

Of course it is.

Azzi’s breath catches for half a second, more out of instinct than surprise, because she knew this was coming eventually, knew Paige wasn’t going to let the whole night pass without saying something.

She just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Paige pulls her just slightly out of the main flow of the crowd, not completely hidden, but enough to create a pocket of space where the noise dulls just a little, where everything feels closer, more direct.

Not private.

But not fully public either.

Azzi turns toward her slowly, already knowing what she’s going to see before she even fully looks.

Paige’s expression isn’t relaxed anymore.

There’s something sharper there now, something frustrated, something that’s been building all night finally pushing to the surface.

“What the fuck is up with you?”

It comes out low, controlled, but there’s no mistaking the edge behind it, the kind that doesn’t come from nothing, the kind that’s been sitting there waiting for the right moment to land.

For a second, Azzi doesn’t answer.

Not because she doesn’t have anything to say.

She has too much to say.

That’s the problem.

Her eyes flick past Paige for just a second, and that’s when she notices it.

Cameras.

Not right on them, but close enough, angled just enough, people watching just enough for it to matter.

Of course.

Of course this is the moment it happens.

she smiles.

Like nothing is wrong.

Paige’s grip is still there, still holding onto her wrist, not tight enough to hurt but enough to keep her from just walking away again, and Azzi can feel the tension in it, the frustration, the need for an answer that she’s not about to give right here.

Not like this.

Not in front of everyone.

She shifts slightly, just enough to loosen the hold without making it obvious, her hand sliding free in a way that looks natural if anyone is paying attention.

Her smile doesn’t drop.

Doesn’t even falter.

She leans in just a little, close enough that her voice stays between them even with everything going on around them.

“We’ll talk at the hotel.”

It sounds calm.

Too calm.

Like this isn’t anything serious.

Like she’s not actively choosing to shut this down right now.

Paige doesn’t move immediately.

For half a second, she just looks at her, like she’s trying to read past the smile, past the tone, past the way Azzi is handling this so cleanly it almost feels unfair.

Azzi holds the eye contact just long enough to make it convincing, just long enough to make it seem like everything is under control, like this conversation is already handled.

Then she pulls back slightly.

Still smiling.

Still composed.

And then she walks away.

From the outside, it looked clean. But Paige and Azzi knew better.

Because now it’s not just tension sitting between them anymore.

Now it’s waiting.

For what happens when they finally get to the hotel room.

And there’s no one around to interrupt it.

Hotel room

Azzi slips her shoes off by the door, barely looking back, already moving further into the apartment like she’s trying to outrun the conversation before it even starts.

Paige stands there for half a second, watching her, jaw tight, patience already thin from everything that’s been building all night, from being ignored, from being shut down, from that fake smile.

“Are you serious right now?”

Her voice cuts through the space sharp and immediate, not loud yet but close, like she’s already halfway there.

Azzi doesn’t stop.

“I’m tired, Paige,” she says, not turning around, her tone flat like that should be enough, like that should end it. “I just want to go to sleep.”

And that—

That’s what sets Paige off.

“Yeah, no, fuck that,” Paige snaps, pushing off the door and following after her, the frustration finally spilling over. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to ignore me the entire night, pull that shit at the party, and then come home and act like you’re just gonna go to sleep like nothing happened.”

Azzi finally turns then, quick, like that hit a nerve exactly where it was supposed to, her expression tight, controlled but barely.

“I didn’t pull anything,” she shoots back, her voice sharper now, the calm from earlier gone. “You’re the one who came up to me in the middle of a crowded room and decided that was the time to start something.”

Paige lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, running a hand through her hair as she paces a step closer.

“Start something? Azzi, are you hearing yourself right now? I’ve been trying to talk to you all fucking night and you keep dodging me like I did something insane. For God fucking sake you’re acting like I cheating on you or sum, I was a bit late Jeez i still made it before your name got called I don’t get what the big deal is.

“I wanted you to see me first, before everyone else, before the cameras, before all of it. I was there for yours wasn’t I? Was I late to yours? When it was your draft I was there with you the whole fucking day!”

Paige’s expression shifts, just slightly, something real breaking through the anger for a second.

“I still made it,” she says, softer but still defensive, like she needs that to count for something.

“Yeah, you made it,” Azzi says, nodding once, but there’s no softness in it. “After everything already started. After it already mattered.”

Silence hits again, but this time it’s sharper, heavier, both of them standing there with too much left unsaid and no easy way to say it.

Paige exhales hard, shaking her head.

“You’re being overdramatic,” she says finally, and the second the words leave her mouth, she knows they hit wrong.

Azzi’s expression changes immediately.

“Overdramatic?” she repeats, slow, like she’s making sure she heard that right.

Paige runs a hand over her face, already irritated, already too deep into it to backtrack properly.

“You know what I mean,” she says, her tone still edged. “you’re acting like I completely ruined your night over something I couldn’t control.”

Azzi lets out a short laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.

“You don’t get to decide how I feel about it,” she says, her voice low but sharp. “And you definitely don’t get to call me overdramatic because I actually cared that you were supposed to be there.”

Paige opens her mouth to respond, then stops, clearly frustrated, clearly not wanting to drop it but also not getting anywhere.

“Whatever,” she mutters finally, stepping back slightly, her hands dropping to her sides. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Good,” Azzi shoots back immediately. “Then don’t.”

Paige lets out another breath, shaking her head again like she’s trying to physically get rid of the frustration sitting in her chest.

“I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

It comes out quick, almost like a challenge, like she wants a reaction even if she won’t admit it.

Azzi doesn’t hesitate.

“By all means.”

Flat.

Cold.

No pushback.

No stopping her.

Paige stands there for a second longer, like she’s expecting something else, like she’s waiting for Azzi to change her mind, to say something, to not let it end like that.

She doesn’t.

Azzi just turns away again, walking toward her room without another word, like the conversation is over, like there’s nothing left to say tonight.

And Paige is left standing there, frustrated, tired, still pissed, but underneath all of that—

Something else.

Something that feels a little too close to regret.

2:00 am (Paige’s pov)

Paige is stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it’s going to give her an answer if she looks at it long enough, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other hanging off the side like she just gave up halfway through getting comfortable.

She hasn’t moved in at least twenty minutes.

Hasn’t even tried to sleep again.

Because every time she closes her eyes, it just replays.

The argument.

The look on Azzi’s face.

The way her voice changed when she said she wanted Paige there first, before everything, before the cameras, before the moment stopped being just hers.

Paige exhales slowly, dragging her hand down her face, letting it rest there for a second like she’s trying to physically push the thoughts away.

“Yeah… I fucked that up.”

It’s quiet, barely above a whisper, but saying it out loud makes it settle differently.

Because she did.

Not on purpose, not in some careless way, but that doesn’t really matter now, does it.

From Azzi’s side of it, none of the effort, none of the stress, none of the last-minute everything changes the fact that she wasn’t there when she was supposed to be.

Paige shifts slightly on the couch, turning her head toward the hallway without fully meaning to, like her body already knows where her mind is going.

Toward her.

Because no matter how annoyed she was earlier, no matter how frustrated she got at being ignored, it never really sat right.

She knows Azzi.

Knows how she gets when something actually matters to her, how she doesn’t always say everything directly but you can feel it anyway, sitting right under the surface.

And tonight mattered.

A lot.

Paige swallows slightly, her jaw tightening just a bit as another thought slides in, one she’s been trying not to sit with too long.

The party.

Those girls.

She huffs out a quiet breath, shaking her head slightly against the couch cushion.

“Yeah, that didn’t help either. You’re so fucking dumb why can’t you use the same iq you have in basketball you dumbass.” she says like she’s scolding herself.

Because she knows.

Azzi didn’t say anything about it, didn’t bring it up, didn’t even look at her long enough to make it obvious.

But Paige knows.

She saw the way her eyes landed, the way she looked and then looked away, the way she shut down instead of saying something.

That wasn’t nothing.

And Paige made it worse.

Not because she cared about those girls, she doesn’t, not even a little, but because she wanted a reaction, wanted Azzi to finally come over and say something, wanted to break whatever weird distance they were stuck in.

And instead it just pushed her further away.

Paige lets her head fall back again, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended her.

“Smart,” she mutters, dry, almost annoyed at herself.

Because now Azzi’s in the other room.

Mad.

Probably still thinking about everything.

And Paige is out here on the couch, wide awake, knowing she’s the reason for most of it.

She shifts again, sitting up this time, elbows resting on her knees as she leans forward slightly, running her hands together like she’s trying to get rid of the restless energy sitting under her skin.

She should just leave it.

Let her sleep.

Talk in the morning when everything isn’t so raw.

That would be the smart thing to do.

That would be the logical thing to do.

She lasts maybe ten more seconds before that thought falls apart.

Because she knows Azzi.

And if she’s quiet in there right now, that doesn’t mean she’s fine.

It probably means the opposite.

Paige’s head tilts slightly, her focus shifting without her even realizing it, listening to the silence like she’s trying to catch something hidden inside it.

And then—

A sound.

Soft.

Barely there.

A sniffle.

Paige freezes.

For half a second, she doesn’t move, like her brain needs time to process what she just heard, like maybe she imagined it, maybe it was something else, maybe—

Another one.

Quieter.

And her chest drops instantly.

“Fuck.”

She’s already moving before the word fully leaves her mouth, pushing off the couch so fast it barely makes a sound, her feet hitting the floor as she crosses the space in a few quick steps, all the hesitation from earlier completely gone.

She reaches the door in seconds, not even bothering to knock, her hand already on the handle as she pushes it open just enough to slip inside.

The room is dim, the only light coming from somewhere faint, barely outlining the space, but it’s enough.

Enough for her to see her.

Azzi’s curled slightly on the bed, facing away from the door, shoulders drawn in like she’s trying to make herself smaller, like if she just stays still enough she won’t fall apart completely.

And even from here, Paige can tell.

She’s trying not to cry.

Trying to keep it quiet.

Trying to hold it in like no one’s supposed to see this part.

Paige’s chest tightens immediately, something sharp and heavy hitting all at once, guilt and concern and something softer underneath it that pushes everything else aside.

Because she’s not supposed to look like that.

Not tonight.

Not after everything.

For a second, Paige just stands there, taking it in, like the sight of her like this caught her off guard more than anything else tonight.

And then she steps closer.

Slower this time.

Careful.

Like she’s approaching something fragile she doesn’t want to break any further.

“Az…”

The mattress dips slightly as she climbs onto the bed, the movement gentle but noticeable, and for a second she hesitates, watching Azzi’s back rise and fall unevenly, hearing the quiet effort she’s putting into keeping herself together.

Paige reaches for her anyway.

Her hand finds Azzi’s shoulder first, warm and familiar, sliding gently as she pulls her closer, not forcing it, just guiding her until Azzi turns enough to fall into her.

And then she really pulls her in.

Both arms wrapping around her, firm and steady, one hand pressing softly against her back while the other comes up to cradle the back of her head, guiding it down until Azzi’s face is tucked against her chest.

Right where she always ends up.

Right where she belongs.

For a second, Azzi holds it together.

Just a second.

And then she breaks.

It’s quiet at first, like she’s still trying to keep it contained, but it doesn’t last, her shoulders shaking slightly as everything she’s been holding in all night finally spills out, her hands gripping at Paige’s shirt like she needs something solid to hold onto.

Paige tightens her hold immediately, instinctively, her chin resting against the top of Azzi’s head as she pulls her even closer.

“Hey, hey… I got you,” she murmurs, her voice low and soft. “You’re okay, baby, I got you.”

this is where they always end up no matter how bad it gets.

“I’m sorry,” Paige says after a second, the words coming out quieter now, more real. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Azzi shakes her head slightly against her chest, her voice breaking when she finally manages to speak.

“No, I’m sorry,” she says, pulling in a shaky breath. “I was being dramatic, I made it a bigger deal than it needed to be, I just—”

“No.”

Paige cuts her off immediately, her hand coming up to tilt Azzi’s head just enough so she can look at her, even in the dim light.

“Don’t do that,” she says, her voice firm now, not harsh but certain. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for that.”

Azzi blinks at her, still teary, still a little shaky, clearly not expecting that.

“You were right,” Paige continues, softer now but just as serious. “You were completely right. I should’ve been there, like actually there, when it started. I know how much that meant to you, and I hate that I missed it.”

She exhales slightly, her thumb brushing lightly under Azzi’s eye, catching what she can of the tears.

“And then I made it worse,” she adds, a small, almost frustrated laugh slipping out. “Standing there with those girls like that was gonna fix anything. That was stupid.”

Azzi lets out a quiet breath at that, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she leans back into Paige again, not fully pulling away this time.

“I just wanted you there,” she admits, her voice softer now, less defensive, more honest. “Like before everything started. I had this whole thing planned in my head and it just… didn’t go like that.”

Paige nods slightly, her hand still resting against her back, steady, grounding.

“I know,” she says quietly. “And I’m sorry I messed that up for you.”

There’s a pause after that, not uncomfortable this time, just… calmer, like the tension that’s been sitting between them all night is finally starting to loosen.

And then Azzi lets out a small, almost embarrassed laugh against her chest.

“I even bought a special lingerie just for tonight.”

she mutters, like she’s debating whether she should’ve said it at all.

Paige blinks, then lets out a soft laugh, the tension breaking just a little more.

“Of course you did,” she says, shaking her head slightly, her voice lighter now.

Azzi groans quietly, hiding her face again.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Paige says, even though she clearly is, just a little. “I mean, I am, but not like that.”

She shifts slightly, pulling her closer again, pressing a quick, soft kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she murmurs. “I promise.”

Azzi huffs quietly, but there’s no real attitude behind it now, just tiredness settling in where everything else used to be.

“I’m too exhausted for any of that right now,” she says, her voice already softer, slower. “My feet actually hurt so bad, those heels were a mistake.”

Paige lets out another quiet laugh at that, her hand moving down to rub lightly along Azzi’s back.

“Yeah, I could’ve told you that,” she says.

Azzi doesn’t respond.

Not right away.

Because somewhere in the middle of that sentence, somewhere between the exhaustion and the comfort and finally letting everything go, she just… stops.

Her breathing evens out, her grip loosens slightly, her body settling fully against Paige like she doesn’t have the energy to hold herself up anymore.

She falls asleep right there.

Still tucked against her.

Still holding onto her.

Paige goes still for a second when she realizes, her hand pausing slightly against her back before continuing again, slower now, more absent, like she doesn’t want to disturb her.

She looks down at her, the faint light catching just enough to make everything softer, calmer, like the version of Azzi she knows best is finally back.

And something in her chest settles with it.

“Yeah,” she murmurs quietly, more to herself than anything. “I’ll fix it.”

Her arm tightens just slightly around her, careful, protective.

And this time.

She actually lets herself sleep too.

The next morning (Azzi’s pov)

The first thing Azzi notices when she wakes up is the cold empty space beside her, and for a second she just lays there, eyes half-open, trying to place it.

Because for a moment it feels wrong.

Like she missed something.

Her hand drifts slightly across the mattress, like she expects to find Paige there anyway, like maybe she just shifted or got up for a second, but there’s nothing except the faint imprint where she used to be.

Azzi frowns slightly, still waking up, still caught somewhere between sleep and reality.

And then she smells it, eggs and coffee and Something sweet underneath it all that she can’t fully place yet but knows instantly isn’t random.

Her brows lift just slightly, confusion easing into something softer as she blinks herself fully awake, pushing herself up slowly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Okay…” she mutters quietly, more to herself than anything.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, standing up, still a little slow, still feeling the leftover exhaustion from last night sitting in her body.

Before she makes her way to the door her eyes land on the shopping bag and remembers the lingerie she got.

For a second she just looks at it, and then something shifts in her expression, something softer, almost amused, like a memory clicking back into place.

“Oh my God,” she breathes out quietly, a small smile pulling at her lips.

Because she remembers.

What it was for.

What she had planned.

What the night was supposed to look like before everything went sideways.

Her fingers curl slightly as she stands there for a second longer, then she lets out a quiet breath, shaking her head just a little.

And instead of walking out—

She turns back.

A few minutes later, she’s standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the robe around her, making sure it covers just enough, her hair still a little messy from sleep, her expression softer now, lighter.

She takes one last look at herself, then turns and heads out.

The smell hits stronger the second she steps into the kitchen.

And the sight of it—

She actually pauses.

The table is set.

Not perfectly, not like something out of a movie, but clearly thought out, plates, food, coffee already poured, flowers sitting in the middle, balloons everywhere and more flowers.

And Paige—

Paige is standing by the oven, pulling out a tray with a look on her face that already says she’s about to complain about something.

Azzi just stands there for a second, taking it all in, that warm feeling in her chest growing, spreading, settling in a way that makes everything from last night feel further away.

She notices the effort.

Every part of it.

And it means everything.

Paige turns slightly, setting the tray down, already shaking her head.

“Yeah, I’m never making these again,” she says immediately, not even realizing Azzi’s there yet. “Who the hell decided cottage cheese belonged in cookies, because that’s actually criminal.”

Azzi lets out a quiet laugh, the sound slipping out before she can stop it.

Paige looks up at that.

Sees her.

And something in her expression shifts instantly.

“Hey—”

She doesn’t even get the word out fully before Azzi starts walking toward her.

Slow at first.

Then not so much.

Paige’s still mid-rant, already continuing like she didn’t just get interrupted.

“I’m serious, they smell weird, they look weird, I don’t even think—”

Azzi cuts her off.

Completely.

Her hands come up, sliding around the back of Paige’s neck as she pulls her in and kisses her.

Paige freezes for half a second, clearly not expecting it, and then everything else just drops.

The rant.

The thought.

Her hands move automatically, finding Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer like there was never any distance to begin with.

The kiss deepens slightly

Paige's hands tighten on Azzi's waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of the robe. Azzi makes a quiet sound against her mouth, something between a sigh and a hum. Her fingers slide up into Paige's hair, tangling gently at the nape of her neck, tugging just enough to tilt Paige's head slightly, changing the angle, deepening the kiss even more. her tongue brushing against Paige's lower lip in a way that's deliberate, teasing, like she's reminding Paige exactly who she's kissing.

Paige exhales sharply through her nose, her grip shifting, one hand sliding up Azzi's back, the other dropping lower, fingers grazing the curve of her hip through the robe. She can feel Azzi's heartbeat, or maybe that's her own, they're so close it's hard to tell anymore.

"You're distracting me," Paige murmurs against her lips, but there's no complaint in it, just breathless recognition.

Azzi pulls back just enough to look at her, close enough that their foreheads are almost touching, her eyes darker now, warmer, still a little puffy from crying last night but somehow more beautiful because of it.

"Good," she says softly, her voice low, almost a whisper. "You deserve to be distracted."

And then she kisses her again.

Harder this time.

More certain.

Her teeth graze Paige's lower lip, just barely, just enough to make Paige's stomach tighten, and then she soothes it with her tongue, slow, deliberate, like she has all the time in the world now. Paige makes a sound she didn't mean to make, something low in her throat, and Azzi smiles against her mouth at that, small and satisfied, like she's keeping score.

When they finally pull back, it’s not far.

Not enough to break it completely.

Azzi’s hands are still wrapped around her neck.

Paige’s hands are still firm at her waist.

Close enough that their breaths still mix.

Paige exhales softly, a small smile pulling at her lips as she looks at her.

“So…” she murmurs, voice quieter now but still carrying that teasing edge. “How does it feel being a Dallas Wing and being with an amazing girlfriend and teammate like me?”

Azzi’s lips twitch, her expression shifting just enough to match the tone.

“Oh, I’m dreading it already,” she says, completely straight-faced.

Paige recoils slightly, hand coming up to her chest in fake offense.

“Ouch, bro. That’s crazy.”

Azzi laughs softly at that, but instead of pulling away, she just pulls her back in again.

Another kiss.

Shorter this time.

But just as intentional.

Paige kisses her back immediately, but there’s a flicker of confusion when Azzi doesn’t stop there.

Because she starts moving.

Guiding them backward.

Still kissing her.

Still holding onto her.

Paige stumbles slightly with it, trying to keep up, a quiet laugh slipping through the kiss.

“Wait—” she mumbles against her lips. “Babe, let’s at least—”

Azzi doesn’t let her finish.

She kisses her again.

And keeps moving.

Back into the room.

The door closes behind them with a soft click, and Paige barely registers it before she’s being pushed gently onto the bed, the movement smooth but confident enough to make her blink in surprise.

Azzi stands over her for half a second.

Then reaches up.

Lets the robe fall.

And Paige forgets what she was about to say entirely.

"Is this—"

"Yeah," Azzi says, her cheeks flushing slightly, but she doesn't look away, doesn't hide. "The lingerie."

Paige swallows.

"You're wearing it right now."

It's not a question, but Azzi nods anyway, her teeth catching her lower lip briefly.

"For you," she adds quietly. "I mean... I bought it for last night. For after. But..."

"You're trying to kill me," Paige says, her voice rougher now, her eyes not leaving Azzi’s perfect body.

"You started it," she says. "With the flowers. And the balloons. And the cottage cheese cookies."

Paige groans, dropping her head back against the mattress.

"Don't bring up the cookies right now."

"Why? You don't want to think about cottage cheese while you're—"

Paige doesn't give Azzi a second more to respond hands gripping Azzi's waist firmly, pulling her flush against her chest. Azzi's breath hitches, eyes widening, but she doesn't pull away—her hands hover uncertainly before settling on Paige's arms. 'P, wait—' Azzi starts, voice soft, but Paige cuts her off again.

“ Nah, no waiting. I promised I'd make it up to you”

Her fingers dig into Azzi's hips, steering her back toward the bed with unyielding pressure. Azzi stumbles slightly, a mix of surprise and heat flushing her cheeks, but she lets Paige lead, submissive under the weight of that promise.

Paige pushes her down onto the mattress, not rough but insistent, climbing over her to straddle her thighs. Azzi's legs part instinctively, giving Paige space, her body arching up just a fraction. Paige's hands pin Azzi's shoulders, holding her in place as she leans down, capturing her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss—tongue thrusting in, claiming every inch. Azzi moans into it, soft and yielding, her fingers clutching at Paige's shirt.

“Hands above your head,”Paige orders, breaking the kiss with a nip to Azzi's lower lip. Azzi hesitates, biting her lip, but obeys, stretching her arms up, wrists crossing like an offering. Paige smirks, satisfied, grabbing the robe's belt from the floor and looping it around Azzi's wrists, tying them loosely to the headboard—not tight enough to hurt, but secure enough to remind her who's in control. “Good girl. Stay just like that. Let me show you how sorry I am.”

Azzi squirms, a whine escaping. “P.. stop teasing, I need you.”

Paige chuckles, low and teasing, her hands roaming down to take the lingerie fully, trailing nails over her bare skin, scraping lightly over her collarbone, down to her tits. She cups one, thumb flicking the hard nipple, then pinches it sharp enough to make Azzi gasp and arch.

“Lemme get you right baby,” Paige says as she lowers her head, mouth latching onto the other nipple. She sucks hard, tongue swirling, teeth grazing the sensitive place.

Paige presses her thigh down between Azzi's legs, grinding just enough to tease without relief.

“Oh god, P—yes” Her hips twitch up, seeking contact but Paige pushes it back down. “Not yet. Beg for it if you want more.” Paige pulls back, watching Azzi's face flush deeper, her bound hands tugging futilely at the tie.

Azzi bites her lip, eyes pleading.

“please Paige... touch me. I need you”

The words come out small, and Paige's core tightens at the sound. She slides lower, hands hooking under Azzi's knees to spread her wide, exposing her fully—pussy glistening, clit swollen and begging.

Paige's fingers trace her inner thighs first, slow and deliberate, building the ache.

“Look at you, so wet already. All for me?' Azzi nods frantically, hips lifting. “Yes,I've been wanting this since yesterday.”

Paige rewards her with a single finger along her slit, parting the folds, circling her clit lightly before dipping just the tip inside. Azzi whimpers, thighs trembling. “More—please, deeper.”

Paige obliges but on her terms—thrusting two fingers in slow, curling them against Azzi's walls, finding that spot that makes her cry out. Her thumb presses her clit, rubbing firm circles, the wet squelch of Azzi's arousal filling the room.

“Take it, babe. This is me making it right.” Paige pumps faster, free hand pinning Azzi's hip down to stop her from chasing too hard. her face contorted in pleasure—mouth open, breaths ragged.

“Paige—fuck, I'm close. Don't stop.”Azzi's voice breaks pleas turning desperate. Paige leans in, lips at her neck, sucking a mark high enough to show. “Cum for me then. Show me you forgive me.”

She adds a third finger, stretching her, thrusting deep and rough, thumb flicking her clit hard. Azzi shatters, pussy clenching tight around Paige's fingers, juices coating her hand as she rides the waves, back arching off the bed. “Yes—P! Oh shit, yes!”Her cries echo, body shaking, bound wrists straining.

Paige doesn't stop immediately, drawing it out with slower strokes until Azzi slumps, panting. She pulls her fingers free, slick and shiny, and brings them to Azzi's mouth. “Taste how good you are.”Azzi parts her lips obediently,eyes locked on Paige's with that hazy look. Paige watches, arousal throbbing between her own legs, then unties the belt, rubbing Azzi's wrists gently. “Flip over. Ass up.”

Azzi nods, still catching her breath, rolling onto her stomach with a soft whimper. She pushes up onto her knees, arching her backHer face presses into the pillow, arms stretched out in front, fully surrendered.

Paige stands from the bed, her own sweatpants hanging low on her hips, pussy aching and damp against her boxers. She glances at Azzi's trembling form, smirking at how eagerly she's obeying.

“Stay right there, don't move,” Paige commands, voice firm as she steps over to her duffel bag by the nightstand. She unzips it quick, digging past clothes and toiletries until her fingers close around the strap.

Paige pulls it out, strips off her sweats and boxers in one go, kicking them aside and steps into the harness, buckling it tight around her hips and thighs, the base of the dildo pressing snug against her clit with every adjustment.

She tugs the straps secure, the weight of the cock settling heavy between her legs, ready to thrust. Glancing back, she sees Azzi peeking over her shoulder, eyes widening at the sight, a fresh flush creeping up her neck. “You brought that? For me?” Azzi asks, voice small and needy, ass moving back n forth slightly in anticipation.

“Knew I'd need to fuck you proper to make up for last night,” Paige replies, climbing back onto the bed. She kneels behind Azzi, hands gripping her hips to pull her back, aligning the tip of the strap-on with Azzi's dripping entrance. The silicone head nudges her folds, slicking up immediately from Azzi's arousal. Paige teases it there, sliding up and down her slit, bumping her clit on each pass. Azzi moans, pushing back desperate. “Please, P—put it in. I want it so bad.”

Paige slaps her ass cheek hard, leaving a red handprint that makes Azzi yelp and clench. “Beg nicer. Tell me how much you need my cock.” Azzi bites the pillow, then lifts her head.

“Fuck me with it, Paige. Stretch my pussy—make me cum on your dick. I'm yours.” The words hit Paige like fire, her own clit pulsing against the base as she grips Azzi's waist tighter.

With one smooth thrust, Paige sinks halfway in, Azzi's walls gripping tight around the intrusion. Azzi cries out, fingers clawing the sheets. “Oh shit— p it’s big!” Paige pauses, letting her adjust, then rocks her hips forward, burying the rest inch by inch until her pelvis slaps against Azzi's ass, fully sheathed. The pressure on Paige's clit makes her groan low, already chasing her own build.

Paige starts slow, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the wet sounds of Azzi's pussy taking the cock filling the room. Azzi's tits sway with each thrust, nipples dragging against the mattress. “Harder—yes, like that,” Azzi gasps greedy, rocking back to meet her. Paige obliges, pace picking up, hips snapping forward with force, the harness rubbing her clit relentlessly. She reaches around, fingers finding Azzi's swollen clit, rubbing fast circles to match the rhythm.

“Your pussy's sucking me in so good. Taking it all for me,” Paige pants as she pounds deeper, the curve of the dildo hitting Azzi's g-spot on every stroke. Azzi's moans turn to screams, body jolting forward with the impacts. “P—I'm gonna cum again! Don't stop”

Paige spanks her other cheek, alternating the slaps to keep the sting fresh, skin blooming pink under her palm.

Paige leans over her back, chest pressing against Azzi's spine, one hand tangling in her hair to yank her head up. “Cum on my cock then. Squeeze it tight.” She thrusts erratic now, chasing her own edge, fingers pinching Azzi's clit. Azzi let’s go agai, pussy clamping down hard on the silicone, juices squirting out around the base as she wails, thighs shaking uncontrollably. The clench pushes Paige over too—her clit grinding against the harness sends sparks through her, orgasm ripping free with a guttural moan, hips stuttering as she rides it out buried deep.

They collapse together, Paige easing the strap out slow, both panting heavy. She unbuckles the harness quick, tossing it aside to wrap arms around Azzi from behind, kissing her shoulder. “You good? That make up for it?”Azzi turns her head, lips finding Paige's in a lazy kiss.

Azzi lets out a quiet laugh at that, the sound lazy, warm, her head tilting back just enough to meet Paige halfway.

“Maybe,” she says, teasing, even though there’s no real edge left in it.

She turns slightly in Paige’s arms, just enough to face her, her lips finding Paige’s in a slower kiss this time, not rushed, not trying to prove anything, just… there.

Paige hums softly against her, her hand sliding up Azzi’s arm, fingers tracing absent patterns like she’s grounding herself in the moment.

“I’m serious though,” Paige adds after a second, her forehead resting lightly against Azzi’s.

“I really am sorry,” she says, softer this time.

Azzi doesn’t pull away.

She just reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I know.”

And she does.

Paige presses another soft kiss to her shoulder, lingering just a little longer, like she’s still making up for it in small ways.

They stay like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other, everything finally feeling… right again.

And then—

Paige groans quietly, letting her head drop back against the pillow.

“Damn,” she mutters. “The breakfast is probably cold now. All that hard work, gone.”

Azzi lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she shifts slightly to look at her.

“You’re actually upset about the cottage cheese cookies?”

“I’m upset about everything,” Paige says dramatically, turning her head to look at her. “I cooked, I decorated, I emotionally matured, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Do I hear complaining beuckers?”

“Nah I’d do it again.”

Azzi rolls her eyes at that but she’s still smiling, still close, still not moving away.

“Come on,” she murmurs. “We can reheat it.”

Paige raises an eyebrow.

“You’re really about to make me eat those cookies.”

“Yes.”

“That’s messed up.”

Azzi just kisses her again, quick and easy this time, like the conversation doesn’t even matter.

And Paige doesn’t complain after that.

Not really.

Because she’s smiling too.

And everything feels okay again.

“Officially a wing.” Paige says.

“Offcally a wing.” Azz repeats.

The end

[ihrtpaige]

PLASTIC OFF THE SOFA. paige bueckers x reader

contains. gf!paige, smut, domesticity

notes. was supposed to cram multiple chapters for my lit class but wrote this instead :P consider it an early valentine's gift. also this is set in the summertime bc i am so over this dreadful ass weather.

words. 2.30k

paige plops down beside you on the sofa with a tired little grunt. it’s natural, instinctual even, the way your body immediately seeks hers, wrapping your arms around and curling into her, and exhaling contently when she returns the hug, lips pressing to your temple lovingly.

it’s been a long, long day, with you and paige finally moving into your new apartment downtown. between going back and forth to transport boxes from your old place on the other side of the city and unpacking, you didn’t have much time for each other all day. it’s like heaven when her lips finally press to yours, moving together languidly as one of her hands splay across the small of your back, bringing you closer.

this place is nicer than the complex you moved into right after the draft last year. it’s a sleek, shiny high–rise building, located right in the heart of the dallas. the view of the city from your unit on the eleventh floor is breathtaking— but still, it’s nothing compared to the sight of paige right in front of you.

in the heat of hauling things in earlier, she’d taken off her shirt, leaving her clad in just her basketball shorts and nike sports bra, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. warmth radiates from her body to yours, her sunkissed skin smooth and firm. you let your hand wander, feeling up her abdomen, abs flexing under your touch. the kiss breaks when smile at her, “finally done.”

“yeah, no thanks to you,” your girlfriend snorts as she nuzzles into your neck, nose brushing against a ticklish spot, making you giggle.

although you did try to convince her to just hire professionals to move your belongs, paige insisted on doing it all herself. she didn’t see the point in paying someone else to do something she was fully capable of, she explained, despite having beyond enough to afford the help. in other words, your girlfriend is ridiculously stubborn.

“my job was to provide moral support,” you defend yourself, voice going a bit breathy as paige starts to kiss on your neck. you carried a few boxes from the foyer to the living room, handed paige things whenever she needed them, went out and grabbed chicken nuggets and milkshakes from the nearest chick–fil–a for you both— a+ girlfriend behavior, in your humble opinion.

paige hums, raising her head to look at you, a smirk already playing at her perfect pink lips. “you could provide some oral support,” she quips, and it’s extremely corny, but her voice is so low and gruff and stupidly attractive. it sends heat straight to your core, regardless. “least you could do, since i already did all the work today.” you roll your eyes and smack her on the shoulder.

“oh, really?” you say.

“mhm,” she nods, eyes fixated on your lips. “want that pretty mouth all over me.” then, she pulls you into her lap and kisses you again, hands immediately claiming their place on your ass as her tongue pushes its way into your mouth.

you can’t help but arch into her, moaning into the kiss. admittedly, you did find it sexy, watching her carry in all those heavy boxes from your seat at the kitchen island, her skin shiny with sweat. she’s so strong, so hard hardworking. thinking about it makes fire coil in your gut, heat rushing to the same place between your legs.

paige’s hands grip your body tighter, grinding your hips down against her. you break the kiss to plant your lips to her jaw, kissing down to her neck, sucking where you know she’s most sensitive. you’re satisfied with the soft noise paige makes in response, head lolling back to give you more access.

you mark her throat twice more, then lean back, hands smoothing down her shoulders, until they find the hem of her sports bra. paige helps you pull it off of her, flinging it across the room, neither of you caring where it lands. then, she pulls your shirt over your head, helping you get out of your bra. you’re both eager to get out of your bottoms, paige shimmying out of her shorts and boxers while you unbutton your cut–offs, slipping them down your legs and kicking them aside.

moments later you’re on the floor, kneeling between her legs, face–to–face with her bare cunt. paige is relaxed into the couch, one arm stretched along the back of it, while her other hands comes down to cup your face. it always gets her so turned on, seeing you on your knees for her, all obedient.

“my good girl, hm?” she hums. you shiver at the pet name and nod, leaning in to press kisses to the insides of her muscular thighs. “so pretty… prettiest in the fuckin’ world,” she praises, thumb stroking over your cheekbone gently.

you feel your own cunt pulse at the sound of her voice. eager to please, you dive in, licking a stripe up her pussy, watching for a reaction. she manages to hold the eye contact as you drag your tongue from her entrance to her clit over and over again, thighs tensing and sucking in a sharp breath. then, coming up, you close your lips around her clit, sucking on the swollen bundle of nerves, and release it with a soft pop! “shit,” she hisses, eyes fluttering shut, then gasps when you kiss her there.

“tastes so fucking good, baby,” you moan, moving your tongue in circles. your words have even more slick dripping out of her, and you slurp it up, as if you’re starving.

she groans softly, hand moving to the back of your head, tangling into your hair as she rocks her hips up against your mouth. “yeah, you like that? want my cum in your mouth?” she asks breathily, staring down at you, mesmerized by the sight of you lapping at her pussy.

you nod eagerly, spurred on by the thought of her finishing for you, wanting so badly to hear her cry out and see her face twist with pleasure. you quicken your pace, flattening your tongue against her and shaking your head, then sliding into her entrance. her cunt flutters, thighs twitching around your face, the grip on your hair getting tighter.

“k–keep doing that—” she cuts herself off with a pretty moan, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “fuck, i’ll give you whatever you want.”

you thrust your tongue in and out as fast as you can manage, despite the way your jaw starts to hurt, because every sound paige makes, every twitch in her abdomen, every roll of her hips makes it worth it. it gets you that much worked up, the fabric of your panties stuck to your skin with how wet you are, clit brushing against the thin lace and throbbing.

you can tell paige is getting close before she says so. her breathing is ragged, head thrown back, free hand now gripping onto one of the throw pillows. “gonna cum. fuck, don’t stop.” she pants, eyes rolling back. you add your fingers to the mix, rubbing fervently at her clit while you fuck her with your tongue, wanting to get her there.

and then the evidence of her orgasm is spilling into your mouth, droplets slipping past your lips and running down your chin, dripping onto the sofa. you don’t stop with your ministrations— not until you’re certain she’s finished and you’ve swallowed all that you can.

you sit back on your heels afterward, resting a hand on paige’s knee and catching your breath. paige also has to take a breather, eyes shut, body having gone slack against the couch.

when she blinks her eyes open, it’s like her strength is renewed by the near sight of you. as if you weigh nothing at all, she reaches forward, lifting you off of the ground and laying you down on the ouch, climbing over you to slam your lips together in a searing kiss. she wastes no time, tearing your panties off of you.

you feel your cheeks flame as the cool air hits your skin. you’re soaked, clit pink and puffy, aching to be touched. it’d probably be embarrassing if it was for anyone else, but paige just groans at the sight of your drenched cunt, dragging her middle and ring fingers through your slick folds, massaging your clit. then, without warning, she pushes them into you.

instantly, you’re hit with a towering wave of pleasure, washing over you so suddenly it catches you off guard. “oh, my god—” you gasp as paige starts to thrust, her fingers feeling like heaven as they drag against your slick walls. “yes, baby, that’s so good.”

your spine curves deeply, lifting above the cushion, moaning loudly each time plunges into you. her thrusts are erratic, fucking into you messily, curling and scissoring her fingers, stretching you out. you grab onto her arm, nails digging into her bicep, hips bucking in an attempt to match her unsteady pace. you need this, faster and harder and deeper. “please,” you mewl.

before you can even really get into it, that familiar tightness only just appearing in the pit of your stomach, she’s suddenly retracting her fingers from your body. you’re left layering there confused, betrayed, the ache returning to your core in seconds, clenching desperately around nothing.

your mouth opens, but she speaks before you can complain. “i’ll be right back, don’t move.” she orders, before disappearing into your new shared bedroom.

thankfully, she isn’t gone too long. you barely have enough time to catch your breath and steady yourself before she returns, moments later, with the strap secured to her hips, the only thing she has on other than socks.

she joins you on the couch again, settling between your legs, knees planting into the cushions. she grabs you by the hips and pulls you close, then takes the toy into her hand by the base, slapping it against your clit a few times. you choke on air, reaching out to grab onto her waist. “paige,” you whine.

“shh, i got you,” she tells you, sliding the tip up and down your slit teasingly. “gonna make you feel so good, babe. have you creaming all over my dick.”

you’re almost relieved to hear that. “please,” you beg, legs wrapping around her hips, trying to bring her closer. “i need you.”

the stretch is delicious, burning in the best possible way. “fuck,” you cry, feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

paige holds you down with a firm hand on your hip, watching the toy disappear inside you, inch by inch. “so fucking tight,” she mutters, slowly pulling back out, the silicone dragging along your walls. “swear i can feel you squeezing me, baby.” you whimper at that, spine arching, nails digging into her sides.

she lets you adjust, starting off slow and careful, searching your face for any signs of discomfort as she gently fucks you. right now, you just look fucked out, lips parted as you breath laboriously and eyes shut, but still begging for it like whore. paige thrusts with a little more vigor this time, driving the strap into you.

you moan, loud and unbidden, head pushing back into the throw pillow. she’s so big, filling you completely, just the way you need it. she leans forward, body hovering over yours now with her forearm braced just above your head, fucking you deeper, tip brushing against that gummy spot deep inside every time she plunges back in.

if your new neighors are home, you’re pretty sure they can hear everything. hell, the whole floor probably knows what’s going on in your unit. the sounds filling your apartment are filthy— the obscenties leave your mouth, your pussy squelching, skin slapping against skin in a steady rhythm. your hands slide up to paige’s back, clinging to her, hips rolling to meet her thrusts.

paige tilts her head down, pressing her mouth to yours at the same time as she reaches down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit easily, stroking rapidly with her middle and ring fingers. you instantly know you aren’t going to last much longer, feeling the tightness reappear in the pit of your stomach, boiling hotly. your lips leave paige as a loud moan forces its way out of your throat, cunt fluttering around the strap.

“yeah, that’s it,” paige encourages you, slamming into you, fingers working you past the edge. “go ahead and cum on my cock. know you can do it, just gotta let go for me.”

with a broken, high–pitched moan, you cum hard, feeling it ebb through you. paige fucks you throat it, continuing to thrust as your body shakes, nails dragging down her skin, leaving pink welts in their wake. you can barely hear her cursing at the stinging pain, ears ringing and vision blurring.

your body goes limp against the couch, attempting to catch your breath. paige pulls out and collapses beside you, also panting. you can’t help but laugh weakly when your eyes meet, feeling completely spent.

“it’s officially our place, now,” paige comments, and you snort.

you glace around at the living room, noting the assortment of boxes and things that still need to be unpacked. “not until we get all this shit put away,” you reply.

“yeah, that can wait until tomorrow,” then, paige reaches over and her thumb is suddenly on your clit again, rubbing you in light circles. your eyes flit to hers, gaze inquiring, though you can’t help the soft moan that tumbles past your lips. “think you can give me another?” she asks, smirking— though, it’s not even really a question. you will, before the night is over.

you just laugh breathily. “our neighbors are going to hate us.”

[thaatdigitaldiary]

WEDNESDAY NIGHT INTERLUDE. — paige b. x fem!reader

╰┈➤ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺. you and paige were always designated fuck buddies. just you and her. after your greediness gets the best of you, she proves that you know better.

╰┈➤ 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. (sexual contents), weed usage, tribbing, fingering, pussy eating (p!receiving), spit play (ish), toxic yuri..., edging (lots of it), hair pulling, degrading.

╰┈➤ 𝘬𝘦⁷⁷ 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴. WELL HELLO. i have returned from the infamous writing break to give you this blurb for (way after) new years cus yall r my babies and i luv you oh so much (teeheeeee) i hope all of you achieve your new year’s resolutions and leave all negative shit in 2025! expect more from me since they cuttin a bitch work hours…👩🏽‍💻

4.2K WORDS.

@‘𝘴 : @lupinqs @sierrale8ne @sheturnpesbian @pboogerswbb @vamptizm @lilpaigeyherbo @bueckersbitch @xoxosierralane @kehlaniscript @wecrytogether @summer3walker

“Been a minute since we slept together, gotta get myself together.”

“I’ve been thinking about everything… I don’t know if it’s because I’m lonely?”

“Lonely on a Wednesday night.”

— PARTYNEXTDOOR.

It was a dark, and very boring Wednesday night. Your phone was on do not disturb, and the blunt in your hand was freshly rolled. The room was lit up ever so slightly, the brown floor lamp dim in the corner of your living room. The netflix show you decided to binge had been off for a while–the noise of the air blowing out of your Playstation was loud, signaling that it was time to get a new one.

All you had on was a white camisole, that clinged to your braless tits, making your nipples hard in the below freezing living room. Your black lace panties had just been slipped back on, considering the session you just had with yourself before you rolled this blunt.

Your necklaces clung to your sweaty skin, the mixture of sweat and your Prada perfume creating a different kind of smell, one you didn’t mind. It smelled like sex–in a good way.

You felt so lonely on nights like these, fresh out of a situationship with the one girl you thought was your ‘number-one-sex-candidate’, Paige Bueckers. The two of you cut it off after she caught you fucking around with other people–but man, do you regret it. You thought about the way she felt inside you, which was the cause of your panties being long gone a while ago. It was to the point you bought a dark blue dildo to match her strap, just so it could feel like she was dicking you down all over again. You screamed her name, spelled her name out when your fingers were inside yourself–for a situationship, you were clearly obsessed with her.

The amount of times you wished you could just pick up the phone, tell her you needed her, wanted to make her head so big, that she would come over and fuck you just to prove a point. You had all this weed to yourself, and you felt like you needed the company. She was pissed when you went to someone else to get off, fucking all her anger out before blocking you on everything completely. She hit every angle inside of you, fucking you so deep while you were in missionary, forcing you to tell her that nobody could fuck you like she could.

And she made you feel how stupid you were for fucking someone else.

The girl was a random, it was an honest mistake, really. The one night your body craved another body on top of it, the temperature rising every time you climaxed. You were impatient. Paige was on a trip with her team, all the way in Turks and Caicos, without you. Out of the couple conversations the two of you did have, you vividly remember her telling you she wouldn’t be back for at least a week–but you couldn’t wait that long to be fucked.

You needed it now.

But being greedy gets you nowhere, because that night–the night you went out on a solo date, so bored and horny… just aching for Paige to come back home to you–there was this girl, not only was she charming and sweet, she looked just like Paige.

You seduced her with ease, downing a couple shots back to back, tipsy enough to feel on her with every thing being reciprocated. You could tell she liked you, and that made things so much easier on your end. After a couple more shots between the two of you, you took her back to your apartment–her tongue was deep inside of your mouth as soon as you hit the door, and before you knew it–your back was arching off the fabric of your couch, with her head between your legs, slurping every drop of your pussy.

She dicked you down good, too. But it was never how Paige did you. Paige knew exactly what angles to hit, how to curve it inside you just right–and she knew how to make you cum in under five minutes, tops. She knew how to make you loud, and keep you quiet–and when she fucked you… it sent you to a whole different dimension.

This one night stand knew how to fuck, but you missed Paige. You missed the way her voice got all low when she was inside, whispering to you like other people could hear her. It was like some type of love spell, and at one point you almost told her you loved her mid-stroke. Sometimes you used to think that if you ever did, she just might say it back–and that sat just fine with you.

The night she had living proof you fucked someone else–she was furious. It was past midnight, a little after your “one-night-stand”, and you tried your best to hide how fucked out you were. Your hair was messy, clothes all over the floor. You tried to play it off as just being lazy when Paige came over, since she knew you had been busy with all the things you were juggling at the moment. But Paige doesn’t forget anything. Not a single thing.

That night she arrived at your apartment, she stripped you of everything immediately. She was craving you like crazy, so much as ripping the new pair of Victoria Secret panties she had just bought you, and kissing down your hips slowly. Her lips were so soft, and the very lightly tinted lip balm she had on left marks on your thighs. The way her lips pecked against you made you wet, as she did nothing but speak absolutely reckless in your ear.

She was making her way back up to your tits–when she saw things she never wanted to see. There was a fresh hickey on your right boob, not even bruised all the way yet. One thing about Paige–she never forgot what she left on your body. Didn’t forget not a single mark, hickey, scratch–nothing. Paige had a system when it came down to fucking you–it was a job only she did, she could leave whatever she wanted on you, and you’d beg for more–Every. Single. Time.

But this right here, it set her off completely. Of course she was mad–you were giving her pussy up this easy, acting like every time she fucked your brains out, it meant nothing. She made you pay for it that night too, and it puts you in the same predicament every time when you think about it–stripping yourself naked, lying on the plush mattress with the same vibrator you seemed to use six times out of the seven days of the week. You couldn’t resist her, really–that sexiness in her voice was so addictive, and don’t even start on the tapes you made. They were still in your hidden album inside of your camera roll, and you found yourself visiting that album tonight.

So here you were, a fresh blunt after completely obliterating yourself, over a girl you didn’t know even wanted to fuck you again. But nothing was impossible. So much so, that you lit your blunt, took a puff, and picked up your phone. It might’ve seemed like you were the only obsessed one between the two of you–but in reality, it wasn’t just you. See, Paige had every right to keep you blocked on every platform, but she didn’t. She blocked you for a little while, then all of a sudden, she re-saved your contact, unblocked you on all her socials–just to make sure she could watch you closely. Better yet, watch you suffer without her.

You were tired of being a pussy, so you went to your contacts, and scrolled all the way down to the “P” section–passing some family members with the same letter, and seeing her name. Her contact picture was the two of you in her mirror, her standing behind you in nothing but a black tee and boxers, and you, in one of her t-shirts and your own panties–your bra across the room. You loaded the messages between you two, the last thing that was said was her calling you a “greedy slut”, since apparently, you were so desperate for sex.

come over?

please?

Radio silence.

You sat your phone back down on your couch, and after about twelve minutes passes–you felt the small vibration of a notification. You knew it wasn’t just any notification though, knowing your do not disturb didn’t let anything through. It was Paige.

What happened to your other bitch

She must couldn’t make you cum

Yeah ik 😂

Her ego turned you on so bad. More than anything. The way she knew you couldn’t live without her touch, her kisses, her fingers, her pussy, her strap. Little did you know, she was craving you too, and thinking about your body turned her on too. There were so many nights she’d snatch her boxers clean off–quickly pulling up one of your old sex tapes, moaning your name softly, pumping her fingers in and out of her pussy. Paige wasn’t even the type to feel this way about any girl, especially when they went out fucking other girls. But you, you were something different–out of her comfort zone. Not only did she fuck you good, you fucked her good, too. She never let anybody else touch her body like you did, never let anyone below her belt, unless she was in control completely.

A couple minutes passed once again, and your phone started buzzing. You turned it over, screen faced up, and watched the bold letters appear. It was Paige, and you picked up the phone, trying to process the thought of her even wanting to contact you again.

You let it ring a couple more times, finally clicking the green button.

*Hello?”*

*...*

*”You still stay inna same apartment?”

*”Rent too good to leave, Paige. Why you ask?”*

*”Yo address still 926?”*

*”Mhm.”*

*”I’m onna way.”*

And right after that, Paige hung up the phone. You didn’t know what to do, the two of you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, let alone spoken to each other. But her voice, that raspy, sexy, sound had your panties hanging on for dear life. You missed that voice, bad. And that same voice, along with Paige Bueckers herself, was on the way to your apartment. Who knows what she was gonna do to you? Was she there to argue? Make up for lost time? Kiss you? Hug you? Fuck you?

It was all intriguing to you, but that little voice inside your head was slightly frightened. The last time you two saw each other, she fucked your guts crazy. And if she was down with fucking you senseless while you two were beefing, who knows what she’d do when it’s been a while. A while since she’s seen your body, been a minute since she’s kissed and held it. You didn’t know what you were getting into tonight, but you were prepared for whatever there was to come.

You got up from your couch, and quickly ran some hot shower water. You scrubbed your body down, and went over the hairs you missed on your legs, making them smooth as butter. You dried off, rubbing all the special and expensive body oils all over your body. You smelled heavenly, your body absolutely radiant under your vanity lights. You applied your skincare, making all your face slick and shiny, with the smallest swipe of lash serum on both of your eyelids.

You didn’t know if you wanted to be casual or sexy, even though you figured you knew what she was coming over for–you didn’t want to assume. You threw on something simple, a big tee and the cutest panties you had. Throwing your hair up, you strutted back to the living room to re-light your blunt. You wanted to seem more relaxed, and the smoke you blew out was doing just that. You inhaled, exhaled, and repeated. Your body felt calm and collected, and ready for any and every thing.

You knew Paige lived decently far from your apartment, and that’s why she insisted on driving to see you every time you two linked. It was easier on her. It took you a good hour to get all the way ready, and for a second you thought Paige was flaking to get back at you once more. But your doubts were shut down right after they popped in your head, because a couple seconds later, there was the faintest knock on your front door. You dusted your shirt off, and kept the blunt in hand. You sashayed over to the door, and you took a peek into your peephole. It was her, in all her glory.

Her hair was in a low bun, with a black beanie over it. She had on her glasses, and you had a feeling she remembered you told her you liked them on her. Her gray Essentials sweatpants were low on her hips, with the drawstrings untied. Her Calvin Klein boxers peeked ever so slightly above her waistband. She had her keys in between her fingers, and the veins throughout her hands were popping out like she was ready to get her blood drawn. You took a breath, and unlocked the door.

The door clicked, and all Paige could do was stare up and down your body. You leaned on the doorframe, and took a hit of your blunt in front of her. A small smirk creeped upon her face, and she reached her two fingers out to take a hit from it as well.

“You gotta come inside, if you wanna smoke my weed.” You said, the tone in your voice causing Paige to lick her lips.

“That’s the only reason you want me to come inside?” Paige asks, stepping past you and setting her keys down on your granite countertop.

“Is there any other reason you’re at my apartment this late?” You tease, handing her the blunt. She takes a long drag, maintaining eye contact while she exhales. She made everything look so sexy to you, the smallest things had your pussy tingling through your panties. She handed your blunt back to you, and sat manspread on your couch. Her long arm was extended across the back of it, and her hand rested on her thigh.

“You look pretty.” Paige huffed, that smirk popping back up on her tanned face.

“Thank you, Paige.” You giggled, but you wanted to know the real reason she was here. Was it sex? Or to sit around and tease all night? Because you could easily do both.

“Why’re you here, Paige.” You say, inhaling the substance from your blunt once more. You dipped it in the ashtray and got comfortable in your spot.

“I can’t come see you?” She asks, throwing her hands up in defense.

“Didn’t know you still wanted to see me, P.” You sigh, dropping your head down in disappointment.

Paige picked your chin up, and looked you straight in your eyes. Your eyes were tinted pink, and your lashes drooped low on your eyelids. The weed was getting settled in your system–and Paige could tell. She stroked your jaw, and brought you into her lap. You let her do whatever she wanted with you, and it always worked out in your favor. She held on to your hip, and took the blunt from out of your fingertips. She took a drag, and pulled your bottom lip down with her finger.

“Open.”

You opened your mouth, and she blew the smoke into your mouth so you could inhale it. Then as you take it all in, her lips connected with yours, and all you could feel was her tongue fighting against yours. You pulled away and stared at her, but all she could do was smile at you.

“I can show you I still fuck with you, mama.” Paige whispers, grabbing any of the meat of your bare ass that wasn’t covered by your panties, and just rubbing it to her liking.

“I missed this ass too, baby.” Paige says, her voice low, making you smile.

You took the blunt back from her, inhaling, and exhaling into her mouth. She stuck her tongue in your mouth, and saliva dripped down from both of you. Paige was groping your ass harder each kiss, forcing your hips to grind down on her lap, leaving your panties damp. She hooked her long fingers on your panties, tapping your legs to lift them up, so she could take the fabric that was covering nothing, right off of you.

She threw your panties on the floor, and felt on the slick of your pussy.

“You get wetter every time I pull up to this apartment, I see.” She teases you, and makes circles around your clit. She rubs and rubs, stimulating every inch of your body until you can’t physically take it anymore. That was her signature. She wanted to overstimulate you every chance she got, because watching you fall apart was heaven on Earth. She slowly slides two fingers in your pussy, pumping in and out so she could watch you squirm.

She was whispering all kinds of shit in your ear, and that was one of your favorite parts. She knew how to talk you through every position, every angle, every orgasm.

“Ride these fingers, baby. C’mon.” Paige whispers, moving your hips back and forth against her digits. The sound of your pussy was ungodly, and it was music to Paige’s ears. “How could you have given all this away so easily?” You thought to yourself. Paige was the only one who could make you fold like this, and you were so stupid to have given up her pussy like that. And so here you were, riding her fingers like your life depended on it–waiting for her to tell you to cum at any second.

But all of a sudden, her fingers stop moving inside of you. All the passion came to a halt. She pulled her fingers out of your pussy, her fingers halfway soaked. She maintained eye contact, and sucked her fingers clean. Paige kissed you, hard. Her tongue was back in your mouth, and the two of you were fighting for power. But Paige needed this right now. She needed your body.

She pulled away from your mouth, and lifted you up right from her lap. She looked down at your pantless body, and took your hand. She led you to your own bedroom, the same room she fucked you in so many times. It was a room she missed.

You made it to the door, and Paige stood at the doorframe, admiring the room she once fucked you over eight times in one night in. You were so shy all of a sudden, seeing her tall frame standing against the door. Her boxers showing, her eyes low and droopy–it was like a wet dream.

She walked towards you, looking down at your body–scanning it like the rough draft of an essay. She got so close to your face again, with the stench of weed and her Valentino perfume flooding your nose.

“Arms up.” Paige demands, lightly massaging your shoulder. You lifted your arms up, and she took off the oversized shirt that covered your body. She couldn’t do anything but bite her lip at the sight of you, your beautiful plush tits, and the small tattoo on your collarbone. She bent down, grabbing your chin. She turned your head, and kissed down your neck while the two of you stood there.

“Y’know how you can make all this up to me?” Paige asks.

“Mmm..how, baby?” You moan quietly, your hands tangling in the wavy strands of her hair.

“Let me use you.” Paige mutters, while leaving a fresh hickey on the side of your neck.

She stopped kissing your neck, and grabbed your hips. She backed you into your mattress, and pushed you ever so slightly. You were completely naked, looking up at her. You squeezed your legs together, every single movement you made, any type of pressure–it was all getting you closer to cumming.

“Take em’ off me.” Paige directed, gesturing to the sweatpants clinging to her long legs. You blinked–getting all shy on her again. You stared up at her once more, brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face.

“I’m not gon’ ask you again, mama.” She grabbed your jaw, and it made you moan instantly. You pulled down her sweatpants slowly, watching her thighs twitch from the cool air. Her pants reached to her ankles, and your heart was beating so fast, you could’ve sworn Paige could hear it thumping. Then came her boxers, they were navy blue with the Calvin Klein logo on the waistband, and once you pulled them down, you could feel your mouth salivating at the sight of Paige’s pussy.

She was practically dripping, the wetness was hidden away in her discarded boxers. You took one look at how wet she got for you, and completely lost any sense you had left. You gripped her thighs, and dipped your head into her crotch. You lapped at her pussy, using your tongue to pleasure the woman who always had the nerve to look this good.

“Fuck, mama. Eat this pussy, baby.” Paige moaned, gripping the back of your head, and pushing it deeper and deeper between her legs–forcing your tongue further inside her pussy. The veins were practically popping out of her hands, and she was pulling your hair so hard–but it felt so good. She moaned and moaned in your ears, practically riding your face. Her face was scrunched up, and you could tell she was reaching her limit.

You broke free from her, slowly retracting your tongue from inside of her. Her head was thrown back, until she felt you coming to a stop. She looked down at you, her anger slowly fading into her face. She jerked your head back, looking at you with her eyebrows furrowed.

“The fuck is you doin’?” She exclaimed, her voice raspy from never holding back when she moaned, and bending down to look at you, eye-to-eye.

You bit your lip at the sight–her face red, and her plush lips pink from all the kissing the two of you did.

“Lay back.” You told her, standing up before her, and switching spots with her. She was sitting on your bed, her pants and boxers laid out on the floor. She scooted back against your headboard, and snatched her white tee off in the process. She threw it across your room, planning on never putting it on again for a while. She slouched slightly, and watched as you slowly rubbed on your body, and crawled across your bed to meet her.

She looked up at you in amazement, casing and staring at your body like it was a champions trophy. She missed all of you. You placed yourself on her lap, and the small moan that erupted from her mouth was sinful. You grinded on her good, the two of your pussies connecting with so much ease. She grabbed your hips, and started pushing you down on her lap further and further. The sound was ridiculous, the squelching between the two of you echoed throughout the room–your pussies wetter than they had ever been before.

“You missed this pussy, baby?” You moaned out, Paige giving a head nod.

“Tell me you missed it, don’t nod.” You demanded, moving your hips faster.

“Okay. Okay, baby–fuck. I missed this pussy, mama. Damn.” Paige yelled out, her face growing pinker every grind. Her pussy was wet, and it felt so soft against yours. This is what felt right. You smiled at her, grabbing her shoulders, and slapping your body against hers. Her eyes were rolling back, and her mouth was slowly opening. Moans couldn’t even form anymore, it felt so good–that no sound could escape Paige’s mouth.

“Y’close, baby?” You whispered, before throwing your head back from the sensation of your pussy taking over your whole body.

“So, so, close. Lemme… fuck. Lemme hold you, mama.” Paige said, holding your back, and pressing herself against you. You slammed your pussy against hers, until the both of you came undone together. It was everywhere, on your stomach, her thighs, your sheets.

You kissed her sloppily, then eventually slowing down. The two of you laid on the side of your bed that wasn’t wet, and stared at your apartment’s popcorn ceiling. Paige looked down at the mess you made, and turned over to look at you.

“Do you love me?” She asks, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“I do love you.” You answer, turning and facing her.

“You not gon’ give my pussy up to no lame again, are you?” She asks sternly, biting her jaw.

“Never.”

“Aight, well. I love you too, then.” Paige says, smirking.

She pulled your body closer to hers, and you drifted into a deep sleep shortly after.

The next morning, Paige gathered her things, and you woke up to an empty bed. You figured she would just play you again, since fucking someone else obviously made her mad. A couple hours passed, and you made right with your feelings–assuming Paige wouldn’t be back, and the conversation last night was just an ‘after-sex fantasy’.

There was a knock on your door, and when you answered it–she smiled at you. Backpack on her back, and an extra bag in hand.

“We got time to make up for.”

[wecrytogether]

RECOGNITION CHRISTMAS BONUS

contains: stepmom!pazzi. smut (porn with plot). slight age gap (p is mid twenties, a is early thirties) mommy kink. praise kink. service top!p. strap. a man getting his hoe snatched by his daughter.

word count: 6k

niyah speaks: merry christmas my freaks and geeks! this is actually insane lol. proofread (not really). love ya, enjoyyyy

it was a stupid gift, truly. it was a gift that paige had thought about and schemed and stalked to get— but it was stupid, nonetheless. 

she and azzi had only fucked, and they’d only done it once but paige knew it wouldn’t be the last time. 

she’d reached a level of infatuation that had her concerned with herself. she thought about azzi the second she woke up after fucking her. she thought about azzi on the flight home, during the two games she played before christmas and during every single one of her finals. 

the woman was burned into her brain. the sound of her voice, the way she tasted, the pressure of her legs around paige’s head, the pressure of her pussy around paige’s fingers. she’d never forget it. 

not that she wanted to. before she even made it back to connecticut, paige decided she was gonna have azzi again. that she’d do whatever to ensure that she’d always have azzi.

she'd talked herself down from corny grand gestures and settled on a christmas gift. not one azzi would have to pretend to like, or one she'd never be able to use in public. she wanted to get something that azzi would never forget, but would never have to explain. simple but useful and noticeable. 

how she got to louboutins— paige didn't know. it was supposed to be simple, but she had to verify the purchase before she could actually buy the shoes and she had to pay extra to ensure that the gift box wouldn't be destroyed by the plane. 

when she got home, she saw azzi and her father on opposite ends if the couch, watching a cop show. they both whipped their heads around when she opened the front door, but paige only looked at azzi. 

azzi with her ocean of curls and her strong collarbones and braless chest. she smiled her real smile and said hello and paige nodded because she couldn't breathe enough to speak. she thought she remembered everything about azzi, but standing in that doorway felt like she'd forgotten just how damn beautiful the woman was. 

she practically shoved her own self down the hall and into her bedroom, throwing her duffel onto her bed and flopping down on her ottoman— the same ottoman that azzi had left that gift bag that started paige's… whatever you'd call the thing paige had for her.

something in paige felt gross while blaming her feelings on azzi. she was acting like a guy. pretending that a woman was to blame for someone else attraction to her, was a definable man-ish trait. but maybe that was paige's form of toxic masculinity.

she shook her head, like someone could see her rejecting her own inner monologue. 

this wasn't azzi's fault— it was no one's fault. the sex was too good to be considered a fault (as was the conversation and the cuddling after, but paige was mainly focused on the memory of azzi's breasts in her mouth in that moment.)

she reached behind her and grabbed the duffel bag. carefully, she pulled out the box that held azzi's shoes. she looked at the fancy wrapping that she paid to have put over the box and realized that this was an insanely stupid gift.

who the fuck bought christian fucking louboutins for a woman they'd only fucked once?

apparently, paige did.

she debated not giving azzi the shoes, but then remembered that these shoes costed a thousand and forty-five dollars. so she she decided she'd wait. because shoes like these deserved more than a rushed passing of hands and whispered thank you. shoes like these deserved A Moment.

she nearly exploded with want in the few days it took to get azzi alone. she co-existed with her father and azzi as if the proximity was comfortable.

for two days, paige watched azzi move throughout the house noticing every minuscule thing she did, and watched it as if it was a major event happening before her eyes. she clenched around nothing when azzi bent over to fluff the throw pillows. her stomach tightened at the sight of azzi in the same nightgown from fourth of july. she felt a violent jealousy when her father said anything that drew even the smallest giggle from azzi's perfect mouth.

none of this meant anything— at least not to a normal person. but paige had grown to accept the fact that she was not normal about azzi. she tried to be. she tried not to talk to her— to continue treating her father's current girlfriend the way she'd treated all of them.

she did her best not to speak to her, but sometimes she forgot. at least, she told herself that she forgot, rather than admitting that she made the conscious choice to talk to azzi for a stupid reason like wanting azzi's attention on her. it was always something small— asking azzi to pass her something, or saying "excuse me" when accidentally bumping into her when there was plenty of empty space for paige to walk through. 

that was all paige allowed herself, though. and it was enough for those two days. the memory of azzi's skin brushing her as she passed the salt, and the sound of her sharp inhale to the feeling of paige's body pressing into hers was enough to hold paige over until she was able to get her alone. she patient and observant, the way she'd learned to be after years on the court. 

her Moment came when bob announced to the whole house that he had to go to work, as if the only other two people in the house weren't sitting in the living room with him when his phone rang. 

everytime bob spoke to azzi, paige felt a slight surge of guilt. because she didn't particularly like her father, but she didn't hate him. and he'd kept azzi this long which meant he had to like her. 

but then paige looked at azzi and remembered that azzi wasn't someone who deserved to be liked. she remembered that azzi deserved to be craved and learned and ravished. she'd think about how something as simple as liking wasn't worthy of being in the same sentence as azzi fudd, and then she'd feel better about fucking her dad's girlfriend. 

paige felt her body spark at the sight of him walking out of the house, but she waited until she heard his car leave the driveway to say acknowledge the fact that she and azzi were finally— finally— alone.

she moved from the loveseat she was on to the couch where azzi was wrapped in the throw blanket. she smiled at azzi. "hi."

"she speaks." azzi snarked, but it had no merit based on the way the apples of her cheeks swelled from her smile. 

still, paige's face dropped. every joke had truth to it, and she didn't want azzi to think paige didn't want to talk to her. she didn't want azzi to think paige wanted anything but her.

"i've spoken to you." azzi arched a brow at her and tilted her head as if to say really? like a dog with it's tail between it's legs, paige course corrected. "kinda."

"hm." azzi looked pleased with herself, which wasn't the plan. she was supposed to be pleased with paige— she was supposed to be pleased by paige.

"i'm sorry." paige shook head, scooting closer to the woman that had consumed her every waking thought for the past seven months. "i just didn't wanna fuck anything up. was trynna act like i always do so my dad wouldn't peep anything."

azzi rolled her eyes, and moved her hand like she was pushing the thought away. she smacked her lips and smirked at paige. "your father doesn't notice anything besides his food being over salted. you'd have been fine."

then why are you with him? paige wanted to ask. 

she had a million question for azzi, actually. all of which revolved around that one central annoyance. paige didn't see a point in asking it, though. she knew it would only hurt her. she knew that knowing what azzi saw in bob would be be detrimental to her overall sanity, so she bit her tongue and remembered her mission. 

"i got you something." she watched azzi bring a hand to her chest and rub her thumb over the pink diamond that laid perfectly on her chest. 

paige felt great pride for being the one to give azzi her emotional support necklace.

she grinned softly before speaking even softer. "again?"

"yeah." paige's eyes stayed on the hand on azzi's chest. "again."

she almost dug her teeth into her lip at the dip in of azzi's collarbones. she almost pounced at the sight of the veins and tendons in azzi's hand. she almost came at the idea of that thumb swiping cross her clit while azzi—

she popped onto her feet, causing azzi to gasp a little bit. paige couldn't bring herself to feel bad about scaring her with the sudden movement, because she was too focused on not fucking her before she gave her the shoes. 

Mission. she had a damn Mission. 

without a single word, she walked to her bedroom and retrieved the box. before she walked back out, paige stared at herself in the mirror. she took in her pink cheeks and her booming heart. she tried to tell herself to calm down— to play this cool because azzi was older and paige was acting like two-month-old golden retriever. 

she was so fucking desperate and it should have been humiliating. but it wasn't. she'd scream from every rooftop that she got to be desperate for azzi. that it was allowed of her to want this woman because the woman wanted her too. she was wanted by the most enamoring person she'd ever met so no— she wasn't humiliated by her desperation. 

back in the living room, she stood infront of azzi, who was still wrapped in the blanket on the couch.

"it's a um—" she shoved the box in azzi's face. "it's a christmas gift. but i want you to have it before christmas in case you wan—" she shook her head, embarrassed of this stupid fucking gift. "just open it."

azzi took the box, but made no move to open it. she just looked up at paige with those eyes, but they were big— wide with something that looked like uncertainty. 

she looked down at the box in her lap, then up at paige again.paige nudged her head at the box, a silent plea for azzi to open the fucking box. she didn't. she kept looking up at paige.

paige sighed and furrowed her brow. she wanted to cry from anxiety. her leg shook like she was a child having a tantrum. 

she held azzi's eye contact, but tried to silently communicate that she was about to lose it. she moved her mouth, but nothing besides a weak whine came out. 

please she mouthed.

still gazing up, azzi ripped the black wrapping paper. paige didn't give a single damn about the fact that she'd paid for that. she was booming inside, too worried that she'd royally fucked up.

azzi ran her hand over the shoe box and looked down. her mouth dropped open when she saw the label. she said paige's name. paige said nothing. when azzi removed the lid from the box and saw the glossy black heels, she snapped her head up. 

"paige." she sounded stern and paige was going to throw up.

"what?" she asked. "you don't like it? is it the wrong size? because i checked the family group chat from when taylor asked if she could borrow your clogs for her lab or whatever but i got a size up because i didn't want them to hurt your feet and—"

she was cut off by azzi waving her hands and saying her name yet a-fucking-gain.

she shut her eyes and took a breath before pressing her lips together. "i really need you to say something other than my name."

azzi looked up from the box of shoes with an offended look on her face. "you don't like when i say your name?"

she was flirting. thank freaking god.

paige huffed out something that was supposed to be a laugh, but sounded more like an exhale of relief and shook her head. "not like that." her blonde hair swished in her face and paige smiled at the feeling of it brushing against her nose. 

she'd worn it down this entire trip, remembering that when she came the second time, azzi pulled her hair. she didn't care about that, it was more so about paige wanting the full feeling of azzi's hand in her scalp, rather than the feeling of her bun being tugged. 

"how would you like me to say it, p?" 

mirages of "you can taste, p" and “paigepaigepaigepaigepai—SHIT” flashed before the her eyes. 

she snapped out of it when she felt azzi's hand clasp hers and tug her onto the couch. she climbed into paige's lap, and suddenly, anxiety was a thing of the past. paige held her, bringing her hands so they were interlocked at the small of her back. 

azzi rested her arms on paige's shoulders, twirling the hairs on the back of her neck as she spoke. "i love the shoes. i was just surprised, okay? i mean they— they're literally red bottoms."

paige grinned like world peace had been achieved. "you like them?"

that's all she wanted. she wanted azzi to like it. she wanted to see her smile the way she had when she saw the necklace. 

"i said i love them, sweetheart." azzi slid a thumb over paige's cheek. "they're gonna be so cute with my dress for the pictures tomorrow."

paige was too busy trying not to focus on how perfect azzi felt in her lap to process anything azzi had said. her fingers felt so good wrapped around paige's jaw and her breath felt so cool against paige's face. 

"that's good." she responded, non-committal. "i'm glad" 

"you wanna see?" paige's eyes dropped to azzi's chest, braless, but covered by a navy blue tee. azzi followed her line of sight and swatted at paige's shoulders. "my dress. do you wanna see my dress?"

she laughed while she nodded. "yeah, of course."

azzi chewed on her bottom lip, looking paige over. then, she dropped a single peck against the girls lips and climbed off her.

"okay, be right back!" she cheered, like she hadn't just kissed paige for the first time in a month. like she hadn't tilted paige's world even further off it's axis with something a slight as a peck. 

as she watched azzi run down the hallway with her shoe box in hand, paige deflated into the couch. she let out a huge puff of air and wiped her sweaty palms down her spread thighs.

she'd known for a while that her relationship— whatever you'd call it— with azzi could never be casual. she'd known that before they fucked. but while azzi changed into her dress, paige thought about how much she'd wanted that moment since she got home. 

she weighed the ache of wanting more— wanting it all— against the security of what she already had. 

she pictured the reality of what her life would be if she asked for it— for azzi to be hers and for them to be together outside of their secret gifts and the rare moments that they had alone. she imagined azzi sleeping in her bed and meeting azzi's friends. she tried to think of what it would feel like to be in azzi's pink room. to touch all of her knick-knacks and fuck azzi on every surface in her house. 

she mulled over very interaction between them, from their first conversation until when azzi was just in her lap. she thought about how every hidden second felt to her and she chose to have restraint. 

she chose not to press for commitments or clarity or anything more than she already had and she told herself that asking for it all would only ruin everything. 

was azzi just going to leave rich and successful (boring) bob, who lived close and wasn't desperate?

no. no she wasn't. 

and paige knew that she'd treat azzi they way she deserved. she'd spend the rest of her life on her knees for azzi if it was possible. 

but it wasn't possible, and paige knew that, too. so she packed up all her wants into a corner of her brain that she tried not to think about and began convincing herself that this would be enough. torturous eye contact and days of waiting to be alone would be enough. 

she heard the clacking of azzi's new shoes come down the hallway and wiped a hand down her face just to make sure she hadn't started crying. 

she turned her head to see azzi strutting like she'd been meant to walk down the hallway of paige's childhood home in the thousand dollar shoes that paige had bought for her. 

her dress was black with fur trim and it looked expensive and so azzi that paige didn't even wonder of it was meant to be worn for the holidays. if azzi was wearing it, it was meant for whatever she was wearing it to. 

"so," azzi twirled, "do we like it?"

her grin was so tight that paige could see the dimple in her cheek, and paige's body began to vibrate. azzi's face was always so loud about everything she felt. paige could look at her and tell when she was annoyed, or when she wanted to say something and right now she could tell that azzi was over the fucking moon.

her gift made azzi happy. she'd done good. 

"we do." paige nodded. "we really do."

and then azzi was walking towards paige with a warmth in her eyes that made paige want to jump out of her body. 

she hiked her dress up a little and climbed back into paige's lap and paige hoped to everything holy that azzi was thinking the same thing she was. 

azzi pecked paige's lips again, cradling the girls jaw in both hands. "i'm gonna curl my hair for the pictures tomorrow." she kissed her again, longer this time. "it's gonna be in a ponytail with a red ribbon." 

this time, she sucked paige's bottom lip into her mouth. "they'll match the bottoms of my shoes."

paige brought her hands to the bottoms of azzi's thighs and slid them under her dress so she could cup her ass. azzi wasn't wearing panties. 

she tilted up and took azzi's mouth, before leaning back so her head rested on the back of the couch. azzi leaned with her, pressing weight over paige's chest. 

they kissed like that— kissing and sucking and licking until paige's hair was mousy and azzi was panting into her mouth. paige let her pull away for air and went to her neck, sucking on the same spot that turned her to putty the last time. 

azzi moaned and squeezed the back of paige's neck and paige felt like a literal caged animal, trying her absolute hardest to treat azzi with the softness she deserved. but then azzi started grinding down onto paige's lap and she could feel the warmth of azzi's pussy through her sweats.

she tightened her hand around the meat of azzi's ass and breathed her name out like it was oxygen itself. 

azzi bent her neck so her mouth was right by paige's ear said, "feels so good."

paige pushed up hard off of sheer natural instinct and azzi whined like she felt everything but pain.

her hips stuttered in paige's lap and paige squeezed again, "please keep going," she begged. "keep riding me."

azzi kept going, fucking her hips into paige's with her neck bent so that paige could do whatever to the skin there and along her collarbones. 

paige did her damnedest to stay still so that azzi could take what she needed, but still, azzi pulled a hand from under dress and dragged it between her legs. 

"need your hand— put your hand on me," she whimpered and paige let wrist be guided beneath the black fabric. 

"azzi," she rubbed two fingers over azzi's pussy, taking in the heat and the slickness and the overall perfection of her current situation. "you're so wet." 

azzi nodded and twisted her face in pleasure as paige flattened her palm against her. azzi grinded again, sliding herself across paige's hand. she pushed the heel of her palm up and azzi let her head drop onto her shoulder. 

"i made you happy?" she asked because she needed ot hear it. her eyes rolled back when azzi bit at the muscle between her neck and shoulder. "oh my fucking god," 

"you make me so fucking happy." azzi moaned. "i feel so pretty— yes— so pretty in my new shoes."

"you look so good in them," paige praised, pulling azzi so she could look at her pretty fucking face. 

"we're gonna match," azzi locked in on paige's eyes, still fucking against her palm. "you're gonna look so sexy in the clothes i bought you."

you deserve it.

paige used her hand on azzi's ass to guide her faster. she kissed azzi again, sucking at her tongue and nipping at her lip when she leaned back again. 

"you feel so good, p" paige started moving her palm with azzi's rhythm and azzi threw her head back and cursed. "right there— yes, sweetheart."

she fell apart on top of paige, riding her orgasm out while paige watched, wet with a sense of depravity. 

when she was done, azzi slouched into paige's chest. she looked up to see paige bring her palm to her mouth and lick the mess off of it. 

she was hungry, nothing on her mind but tasting azzi from the source. 

"lemme take you to the bed." 

──

paige set azzi down on the bed without breaking their kiss. she bent over and tongued at azzi's mouth, one hand on the mattress and one holding azzi's leg around her waist so she could keep feeling her heel digging into her back. 

azzi's hands were everywhere. from paige's hair to her back to her ass to her biceps— she ran her hands wherever she could get them. paige loved that. she liked feeling azzi everywhere on her because it made feeling azzi everywhere within her, that much stronger. 

azzi pulled so that paige had her pancaked onto the mattress, and wrapped both legs around her in a full body hug. without permission, paige bucked her hips down and azzi gasped into her mouth while pullig paige impossibly further into her. 

if they stayed like that forever, it would have been okay with paige. bumping and grinding into each other while as close as humanly possible was like heaven to her, but she also was greedy and was going to take what she could get. 

azzi had the same thought, it seemed, because she used her hips to roll them over so she was on top of paige again. she stopped kissing her. stopped running her hands over paige's body. stopped grinding into her. 

she just sat there, looking at paige.

"what's wrong?" paige asked, breathing heavy with her hands in the air like she'd done something wrong.

azzi shook her head, and brushed a finger down the length of paige's nose. "you're so pretty,"

like she was offended, paige scrunched her nose. "pretty?"

"pretty." azzi nodded, pulling paige's hand so they laid above her head. she moved her hands from her wrists to her forearms all the way down to her biceps and squeezed the muscle there. "beautiful."

she looked transfixed and sounded like she was in utter awe, and for once, paige didn't worry if someone was calling her pretty as a microaggression. 

azzi bent down and kissed both of paige's biceps. she pushed her shirt up and kissed the lines framing paige's hips. she kissed at paige's ribcage and when she'd pushed paige's sports bra up, she kissed her nipples. 

she was touching so much of paige's body, treating her like they had all the time in the world, and she'd go as long as it took for her point to be proven.

only when paige could feel her heartbeat in her pussy, did azzi climb off of her. paige watched her take her dress off and didn't care to hide the fact that she was breathing so hard that her stomach was sinking into her with every exhale. 

she took in azzi once again. the last time they did this, it was night and the lights were off and paige couldn't full see the details of azzi's naked body. but now, in the light, paige could see the faint lines of azzi's own abs. she could see the dimples in her hips and freckles on her chest. 

she never bent down to unstrap her shoes. she'd kept the heels on. 

paige didn't know how she went a month without this, and she was worried that this would be the only time she'd have it until easter. 

she ripped her own shirt and bra all the way off and threw them , and let azzi pull her bottoms off with same urgency.

now, they were both bare and staring at each other. paige was ready for whatever azzi was planning, but she wouldn't rush. she'd let azzi stand there staring at her for as long as she liked, no matter how frantic she was beginning to feel.

thankfully, azzi stepped closer and put her hands on paige's knees. 

"scoot up for me." paige moved so she was sitting up with her back on her headboard. azzi nodded, getting on the bed. "good." 

paige brought her legs together and squeezed at the praise and she nearly passed out watching azzi's tits bounce as she scooted on her knees. when she got to paige, she spread her legs and sat on her haunches between them. 

slowly, she leaned forward placing a confusingly chaste kiss on paige's lips. paige had no clue was was going on, but she was so wet and so needy and she wanted azzi so bad that she wouldn't interrupt by asking questions.

azzi kissed her again, deeper this time and slid her hand between paige's legs. 

"azzi," paige pleaded, trying to chase her tantalizing, soft touch.

"paige." azzi responded, still not applying the pressure needed for relief.

paige wanted to cry. she was clenching around nothing and her pride was practically leaking out of her pussy. "please."

"i just want you to know," azzi bent down and licked at paige's nipple. "that you are so pretty i just wanna fucking eat you." she sucked paige's other nipple into her mouth, before pulling away and looking in her in the eyes. "can i make you cum?"

paige would have let azzi decapitate her in that moment. she wasn't used to this— to someone taking their time with getting her off, and she wasn't quite sure how to do bottom and be vulnerable, but she was more than willing to learn. 

she nodded feeling like the equivalent of a limp spaghetti noddle. "okay."

azzi looked up at her and smirked. "okay?"

"yes." paige corrected. and azzi hadn't really done anything yet, but still paige added, "thank you."

azzi smiled. "you're welcome, sweetheart."

paige whined when azzi pulled her hand away, but it got stuck in her throat when azzi arched her back on her way down. she laid on her stomach with her feet in the air and paige stopped looking at her ass, so she could look at the red bottoms of azzi's shoes. 

azzi kept her feet in the air when she pushed paige's knees up so they were pressed against her chest. she kept her feet in the air when she kissed paige's thighs. she kept them in the air when she licked paige's pussy and moaned. 

paige's whole body clenched at the feeling of azzi's tongue on her, but everything in her loosened when azzi sucked her clit into her mouth.

paige let her head fall onto her knee and she dug her nails into the back of her thighs as azzi ate her. her tongue moved slow over paige's clit as she sucked and moaned and paige couldn't do anything but let her.

"oh my—" her head fell against the headboard and squeezed her eyes so hard she saw shapes. "fuck me,"

azzi kept going as she was, and paige could feel herself dripping. she was so wet she could literally feel it on her ass, and she needed more. 

"god," she whined. "please fuck me, mommy." 

she felt azzi grin into her before she felt a finger— a thumb— slip inside of her pussy. 

perfect. the stretch, the pressure against her spot, the heat of azzi's mouth— it was perfect.

she felt like her bones had slipped out of her body. she was wet and languid and happy to be being fucked by this perfect woman. 

"thank you," she cried, and she felt everything wash out of her as she came. "ohmygodthankyou."

the red of azzi's shoes blurred back into paige's vision as her legs dropped from her chest and slammed onto the mattress. azzi brought her head up and wiped the corners of her mouth with the cutest look on her face. 

her brown skin was flushed and despite her efforts, she still had paige's cum on her chin. it was wonderful. 

she settled into paige's lap and paige felt her slick against her stomach. she pulled paige in by the jaw and kissed her with so much tongue that paige tasted herself.

when she felt herself getting ready to go again, she put her hands on azzi's shoulders and said, "i wanna fuck you,"

azzi nodded quickly spread her legs a little, but paige shook her head.

"no like, i brought a strap." she chuckled, suddenly nervous. "from connecticut. i bought a new one. for you."

she looked into azzi's eyes, searching for any disapproval or upset, but instead, azzi raised her brows and smirked.

"oh?" her smile wrapped around word and paige knew that she was about to get what she wanted. 

still, she had to make sure. she had to hear the yes. 

"yeah," she smiled, leaning up and kissing azzi. "so can— can i? please?" 

"yes, sweetheart." azzi nodded. she sounded so fucking sweet. "you can fuck me with your strap."

paige smiled and kissed azzi as she rolled off of her lap. she went to her closet, where her duffel bag was and made quick work of putting on the harness and attaching the dildo. she tugged at it to make sure it was secure in its place and then stepped out to find azzi playing with herself. 

"hey," paige said, mildly offended. 

azzi kept rubbing herself as paige walked towards the bed, "i'm just getting ready."

paige furrowed her brows. "you don't think i'd do that?" 

had she not given the impression that she'd take care of her? did azzi think that she was just gonna shove into her and—

"no, sweetheart i just—" azzi moved her hand and folded them on her belly. 

"let me do it, please," paige hopped on the bed and grabbed azzi's ankles. she rubbed over the skin there, appreciating the coolness of the straps of her shoes. "i've wanted to eat your pussy since i got here." 

azzi giggled and settled her head against the pillows. her hair surrounded her head in a frizzy jumble of brown curls and her lips were kiss swollen. paige cataloged this moment in her mind, and brought azzi's legs up in the air. 

she pressed her ankles beside each other and kissed the bottoms of her shoes. "i'm glad you like your gift." 

"thank you for them." azzi cooed. "you didn't have to get me something."

paige kissed her ankles. "i'd give you anything." 

i'd give you everything. 

azzi smiled, as she watched paige leave open mouthed kissed down her legs. she moved down until she got to her thighs, and then she spread azzi's legs so they made a v around her head. then, she put them over her shoulders so she could feel the heels again, and dove in.

she ate azzi's pussy the same way she had the first time. with everything she had. like it was all she wanted to do forever. she moaned into azzi at the feeling of her hair being tugged and she took that as sign to keep going. she didn't stop until she heard, fuck i'm ready.

paige pulled away, ignoring the string of spit connecting her to azzi. "you sure?"

azzi sighed yes and paige moved so they were in missionary. azzi spread her legs and welcomed paige. she held paige by the biceps as she looked up at her with those huge brown eyes. her pupils were blow to shit, almost completely taken over her irises and paige almost completely lost her mind. 

she dipped her head, resting her weight on her forearmand her kness and she kissed azzi before sliding in.

azzi tipped her head back and moaned out oh paige and like she could actually feel it, paige groaned too. 

she kissed whatever skin she could get to and started rolling her hips. she sped up as she went until she'd reached a rhythm that had azzi clawing at her back. the sting of her nails paired with the sting of the heel in her back had paige thinking she might seriously be into pain.

she loved this. watching azzi's face twist in pleasure. she loved making that happen. she'd do this forever. and she kept that in mind as she stroked in and out. she wanted to always be the one making azzi feel the best she ever did.

she wanted azzi to feel this for days. she wanted azzi to think of it every time she wore her heels. 

"it's good?" she asked, still watching azzi's screwed up face. 

"it's so deep—holy shit," azzi gasped and looked down between them.

"i been thinking about this since i left." paige admitted. "being in you. making you cum again."

azzi brought her eyes up and paige could see something in them that made her want to melt. azzi looked like she was in total bliss. like she wasn't— couldn't— think about anything. that was what paige wanted. she just wanted azzi to feel. to feel her and to feel good. 

"you look so pretty when you cum." she continued. "look so pretty when you're full."

"paige,"

paige knew she couldn't cum again, but her mind swirled with satisfaction. satisfaction with herself, with the look on azzi's face, with the rasp of azzi crying out her name.

"love when you say my name." she powered through everything going on in her head. she felt so weak, but so proud of what she was doing. "when you call me sweetheart and when you touch me."

azzi's mouth dropped open and her eyes almost fluttered shut, but she blinked them open. "you're gonna make me cum," 

her hands came up to paige's face, and she cradled it while sliding a thumb into her mouth. paige closed her lips around it and sucked as she kept fucking her. azzi's face twisted again at the sight as she let out an air holy shit. 

"don't stop," azzi shook her head and threw it back. "you're so good." 

paige moaned around her thumb and brought her free hand down to swipe across azzi's clit.

she pushed the finger out of her mouth and kissed azzi's lips. and like a secret, she whispered in her ear, "please, mommy. cum in the shoes i bought you."

she sucked at the spot on azzi's neck and brushed over her clit and fucked into her pussy and she kept going until azzi's whole body locked up and she shook under her. 

"oh fuucckkkkk" she screamed before slapping a hand over her mouth and muffling herself. 

paige watched the veins in azzi's neck pop out, she watched a flush take over her chest, she watch her hand tremble over her mouth— she watch it all and knew that she'd done what she was supposed to do. she'd made azzi happy. 

she'd done good.

🏷️ @kehlaniscript @thaatdigitaldiary @hcneymooners @comeeatts @lesbainjoeburrowtruther @ztecj @dwbimyob @sarag1511 @paigefudd @rishofkf @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @adpknicolasmith @mushroom036 @ashilley-pazzi @under-the-mud

[graduallycalculatingelixir]

hellooooo

[huskiearchives0502]

wrapped around your finger

pairing: uconn!gf!paige bueckers x uconn!gf!reader

setting: uconn wbb, 2023–24 season

summary: You and Paige have known each other since freshman year, dated for almost three, and somehow she still looks at you like she cannot believe she got lucky enough to keep you. Everyone at UConn knows Paige talks back to everybody, argues with anybody, and competes with literally everything. Everyone also knows that when it comes to you, Paige Bueckers folds in record time. She carries your bag, remembers your matcha order, saves your seat, follows you around, and listens the second you say her name. It’s normal. At least, it’s normal to you. But when your childhood friend visits Storrs and sees Paige orbiting you in real time, he starts noticing what you and Paige barely clock anymore: Paige is absolutely, embarrassingly, permanently down bad.

warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, private relationship, soft jealousy, childhood friend visit, paige being down bad, golden retriever paige, teasing, flirty banter, uconn 2023–24 timeline

word count: 10.8k

You had stopped being surprised by Paige Bueckers a long time ago.

Not because she was predictable. Paige was one of the least predictable people you had ever met. She could wake up calm and decide by breakfast that she was going to argue with somebody about a card game from two weeks ago. She could limp into practice after a long lift, sore and quiet, then spend the next hour talking like she had personally invented basketball. She could be sweet for exactly three minutes before saying something so obnoxious that Nika threatened to throw a towel at her head. She could make a room louder by walking into it and softer by looking at you across it.

So no, Paige herself was not predictable.

But the way she loved you was.

That had become one of the steady things in your life. As regular as the squeak of sneakers on hardwood. As familiar as the cold Connecticut mornings that made you pull your sleeves over your hands on the walk to practice. As known as the little rhythm your day had fallen into after almost four years at UConn and almost three years of Paige being yours in every way that mattered.

She texted you at 8:03.

outside.

Not good morning. Not come out. Not hurry up because we’re gonna be late, even though both of you knew she was thinking it.

Just outside.

You were sitting on the edge of your bed with one shoe on and one shoe still somewhere under your desk, hair half-fixed, hoodie bunched around your waist because you had gotten distracted looking for your charger. Your practice bag sat open on the floor, one side sagging with a pair of slides, tape, an extra shirt, and the water bottle you swore you had filled last night but had probably left empty because you were you.

You glanced at the text and smiled before you could help it.

She did this every morning she could.

Sometimes it was before class. Sometimes before breakfast. Sometimes before practice. Sometimes after a lift if your schedules split weird and she had ten minutes to spare. Same building, same athlete housing, same familiar path between your doors, close enough that Paige had turned walking you places into a habit so deeply carved into her routine that neither of you really talked about it anymore.

You found your other shoe under a sweatshirt, shoved your foot into it, and opened your door.

Paige was leaning against the wall outside, hood up, one foot crossed over the other. In one hand, she held her own drink. In the other, she held yours.

Iced matcha. Oat milk. Light ice. The sweetness level you liked. The one you had mentioned, casually, once, freshman year, before either of you had gotten together, before Paige had started looking at you like you were something she was trying not to want too obviously.

She had remembered it anyway.

She looked up when your door opened, and the lazy little grin that slid onto her face was so familiar it made your chest warm in that quiet, annoying way she always managed to pull out of you.

“You look late,” she said. She lifted your drink slightly, but when you reached for it, she pulled it back just enough to make you look at her.

You paused. “Seriously?”

Paige’s grin spread slowly. “Delivery fee.”

You stared at her.

She stared back, completely unbothered.

There were people who thought Paige had no shame, and they were mostly right, but this was different. With everyone else, Paige’s confidence was loud. With you, it was softer, still cocky but warmer, like she had learned exactly how far she could push before you rolled your eyes and gave her what she wanted anyway.

“You’re charging me now?” you asked.

“Inflation.”

“For a drink you chose to buy?”

“Service industry is hard.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet.” She leaned slightly closer, her voice dropping into something sweet enough to make your stomach do that stupid little flip it still did even after all this time. “You want your matcha or not?”

You tried to hold your stare.

You lasted maybe two seconds.

Then you leaned in and kissed her.

It was meant to be quick. A small morning peck, soft and familiar, the kind you had given her a thousand times in hallways and elevators and outside locker rooms when nobody important was looking too closely. But Paige smiled against your mouth like she had won something, and that made you laugh, which made her chase the kiss for one extra second before letting you pull away.

Her eyes were still on your mouth when she handed you the cup.

“Pleasure doing business,” she murmured.

You took the matcha and gave her a look over the lid. “You’re annoying.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling, and Paige saw it. She always saw it. Her whole face shifted for half a second before she hid it by reaching for your bag.

You already had the strap over your shoulder, secure and settled, but Paige’s hand went to it without hesitation. Gentle. Automatic. Her fingers hooked under the strap near your collarbone, careful not to tug your hoodie too hard, and she lifted it slightly like she was asking without asking.

You barely paused. Just tilted your shoulder toward her so she could slide it off.

That was how normal it was.

You turned back toward your room to grab your keys, but Paige was already reaching around the doorframe, plucking them off the small hook beside your closet where you always forgot them. She held them up between two fingers, shaking them once.

“You were gonna forget.”

“I was not.”

“You literally turned around without them.”

“I was testing you.”

“I passed.”

“Barely.”

Paige made an offended sound, like the idea of barely passing anything in relation to you physically pained her. “Do not disrespect my job.”

“Your job?”

“Yeah.” She stepped back so you could lock your door, shifting your bag higher on her shoulder without thinking. “Making sure you don’t walk around this campus helpless.”

“I am not helpless.”

“You’d lose your keys in your own hand.”

“And yet I somehow survived before you.”

Paige looked at you like that was the most insulting thing you had ever said to her. “Barely.”

You laughed, and that was the thing: Paige heard it. She always heard it. Her whole face changed for half a second, pleased and soft before she covered it with attitude again, like she had not just lit up because of one small laugh in a hallway she had walked through a thousand times.

She fell into step beside you as you started down the hall.

You did not ask for your bag.

She did not offer it back.

That was just how it went.

By the time you reached the elevator, she had already pressed the button, already tugged gently at the back of your hoodie because the tag was flipped, already nudged you away from the corner where the floor was still wet from someone’s spilled water bottle.

You barely noticed any of it.

Paige noticed everything.

That was another thing people did not always understand about her. They saw the loudness first. The talking. The smirking. The ridiculous confidence that came out every time someone challenged her to anything, even if the challenge was stupid. Paige Bueckers would compete with a wall if the wall looked at her wrong. She argued calls. She argued card games. She argued rankings, music, cereal, whether or not Nika had traveled during a drill three months ago, and once, for twenty minutes, whether soup counted as a meal or a warm beverage with responsibilities.

She had opinions about everything.

Except when it came to you.

With you, she still had opinions. She just delivered them softer. Or swallowed them entirely if you gave her that look. The one she pretended did not work on her even though everybody with eyes knew it did.

The elevator doors slid open.

KK was inside, backpack hanging off one shoulder, scrolling on her phone. She looked up, eyes flicking from your drink to Paige’s hand on your bag to Paige standing half a step behind you like a bodyguard who had forgotten she was not actually employed.

KK’s mouth twitched.

“Morning,” you said.

“Morning,” KK replied, still looking at Paige. “Dang. She pick you up every day?”

Paige frowned. “Why you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you got commentary.”

KK lifted both hands. “I’m observing.”

“You’re always observing too much.”

“I’m learning the ecosystem.”

You snorted into your drink.

Paige immediately looked at you, smiling because you smiled, then caught herself and turned back to KK with a scowl that had no heat behind it. “Don’t start.”

KK looked delighted. “Oh, I’m definitely learning.”

“You’re learning how to run today,” Paige said.

“You gonna make me?”

Paige opened her mouth.

You took a sip of your matcha and said casually, “Paige, don’t bully the freshman before breakfast.”

Paige stopped.

Just like that.

Her mouth closed. Her shoulders dropped. She leaned back against the elevator wall, grumbling softly, “Wasn’t bullying.”

KK stared.

You didn’t notice, or maybe you did and chose not to say anything. That was the problem with you. You had gotten so used to Paige folding around you that half the time you treated it like weather. Like of course Paige stopped arguing when you told her to. Of course Paige carried your bag. Of course Paige slowed down if you slowed down. Of course Paige’s attention snapped to you the second you said her name.

KK, however, had not been at UConn long enough to fully absorb the sight without reacting. She looked between you and Paige.

Then she pointed at Paige’s chest.

“You just sat down.”

Paige’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

“She said don’t bully me and you just sat down.”

“I was already leaning.”

“No, you got domesticated in real time.”

You choked slightly on your matcha.

Paige stepped forward. “Bro,”

You put one hand lightly on Paige’s forearm. “P.”

Paige stopped again.

KK’s mouth fell open.

The elevator dinged.

You walked out like nothing had happened.

Paige followed immediately.

Behind you, KK whispered loudly, “This is crazy.”

Paige threw a look over her shoulder. “I heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

You laughed again, and Paige’s irritation lasted exactly half a second before it softened at the edges.

It was not that Paige did not realize how she was with you. She knew she loved you. She knew she liked being near you. She knew she got this ridiculous, embarrassing pull in her chest when you looked at her like she was your favorite person in the room. She knew she felt calmer when she had your bag on her shoulder, your drink in her hand, your knee pressed against hers under a table, your voice cutting through noise and landing directly in the part of her brain that cared about nothing else once you called for her.

She just did not think of it as unusual.

To Paige, loving you had always been active. It was doing things. Watching things. Remembering things. Carrying what you forgot. Giving you the better seat. Taking the outside of the sidewalk. Handing you your water before you asked because you always forgot to drink when you were locked in. Knowing when you were tired from the set of your mouth. Knowing when you were annoyed by the way you got quiet instead of loud. Knowing when you needed space and when you only said you needed space because you did not want to be a burden.

She had spent almost three years being your girlfriend and nearly four years knowing you, and she still felt like she was learning you.

Still felt lucky every time you let her.

Breakfast was loud, the way breakfast with the team usually was. Nika was already at a table with Azzi and Ice, talking with her hands and accusing somebody of lying about something you had missed. Aaliyah was scrolling through her phone, occasionally looking up to make a comment sharp enough to make everyone laugh. Ashlynn and KK were arguing about music. Someone had stolen someone else’s seat. Someone was definitely going to claim it was their seat even though there were no assigned seats and everyone knew it.

Paige guided you toward the table without touching your back, just hovering close enough that you could feel her. you slid into the seat you usually took, and Paige put your bag down beside your chair before sitting next to you.

Nobody acted like Paige carrying your things was breaking news.

That was just Paige with you.

Still, when Paige pushed the small container of fruit toward you before you reached for it, Nika’s eyes flicked up. When Paige took the napkin dispenser from the middle of the table and set one beside your plate, Azzi’s mouth curved like she was trying not to smile. When you got distracted answering Ice’s question and Paige quietly unwrapped your straw for you because your hands were full, KK looked at Azzi again.

Paige, for her part, seemed completely unaware she was doing anything worth noticing. She was busy talking about the shooting drill from yesterday, arguing lightly with Nika over whether or not Nika had counted one of her own makes after the buzzer.

“I’m just saying,” Paige said, leaning back in her chair with the kind of confidence that made people want to argue with her even when she was right, “if the ball’s still in your hand when the time’s done, that’s not a make.”

Nika stared at her. “It left my hand.”

“After.”

“During.”

“After.”

“You were not even looking.”

“I felt it.”

“You felt it?”

“Yeah. Spiritually.”

Nika blinked. “You are so annoying.”

“You’re mad because I’m right.”

“You are loud because you are wrong.”

Paige grinned. “I’m loud because I got a voice.”

You reached across Paige for the honey packet near her tray, and before your fingers even touched it, Paige picked it up and handed it to you.

Still arguing. Still looking at Nika. Still mid-sentence. But the honey packet was in your hand.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Paige’s voice dropped out for half a beat. She turned toward you, expression easing. “Yeah.”

Nika stopped talking. Only for a second. Then she looked at Azzi with a flat expression.

Azzi pressed her lips together.

“What?” Paige asked, noticing too late.

“Nothing,” Nika said.

“Your face says something.”

“My face says I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired when you’re losing.”

Nika shook her head, but she was smiling now. “Eat your breakfast, Paige.”

Paige looked like she might push back, so you bumped your knee lightly against hers under the table.

Paige sat back.

Picked up her fork.

Started eating.

Nika’s eyes dropped to the movement.

KK saw it too.

The table went silent for half a beat.

Then KK nearly lost it.

“Oh my god,” she said. “No way.”

Paige pointed her fork at her. “You want attention so bad.”

KK shook her head, eyes bright. “Nah, this is educational. I’ve never seen somebody go from talking crazy to trained that fast.”

“I’m not trained.”

Nika made a face. “Mmm.”

You glanced at Paige, amused. “You’re not.”

Paige immediately relaxed, like your words had settled something in her. “Thank you.”

You took another sip of matcha. “You just listen well.”

Nika gagged.

“Actually disgusting,” she said.

Paige smiled down at her plate, trying and failing not to look pleased.

That was the thing that got her teased the most. Not that she listened to you. Not even that she was softer with you. It was that she liked it. Paige, who had a comeback for every person at every table, got visibly happy when you praised her for something as simple as bringing the right drink or remembering your slides or waiting by the door.

You could ruin her with a soft “thank you.”

You never abused it. That was why it worked.

You were not demanding. You were not constantly telling her what to do. If anything, you asked less of Paige than Paige wanted you to. You carried your own weight, on and off the court. You were steady and sharp and calm in ways Paige admired even when she pretended to be too cool to say it out loud. You did not need Paige to take care of you.

That was exactly why she liked doing it.

It felt like being chosen for a job nobody else even knew existed.

By the time practice rolled around, Paige had gone through three different arguments, won two of them by volume alone, and lost the only one that mattered because you had tilted your head and said, “Let it go.”

She let it go.

Nika saw.

Nika suffered.

Practice was the one place where the softness sharpened into something else.

You and Paige had always had chemistry on the court. It was one of the first things people noticed about you as freshmen, before either of you admitted what was happening, before the late-night talks and lingering hallway moments turned into something too obvious to keep pretending around. Back then, it had been basketball first. Timing. Trust. The kind of connection that made passes look cleaner than they were because both of you were already moving before the ball left the other’s hands.

Paige knew where you wanted it.

You knew when Paige was about to cut.

She could throw a pass through traffic without looking and you would be there. You could drift to the corner half a second early and Paige would find you. You screened for her without needing the call. She slipped the ball to you in pockets that made coaches nod and teammates roll their eyes because of course.

Of course it was you two.

Of course Paige could be triple-covered and still somehow locate you.

Of course you could be running full speed and still know exactly where Paige had gone without turning your head.

The team had stopped reacting dramatically because it had been years. But KK still noticed sometimes. The newness had not worn off her yet. She would watch Paige thread a pass to you on the wing, watch you catch in rhythm and knock down the shot, watch Paige point at you with that smug little look like she had personally assisted the sun into rising.

Then KK would look at Azzi like, “Do they always do that?”

And Azzi, who had seen too much, would just nod.

That day, during a half-court drill, Nika was pressing Paige high, talking in her ear the entire time.

“You’re not getting by me.”

Paige dribbled low, grinning. “I’m already by you mentally.”

“You are so annoying.”

“You love guarding me.”

“I love humbling you.”

“You can try.”

Nika bumped her with her chest. Paige laughed, shifted her weight, eyes flicking once to the left.

You saw it.

You cut.

The pass came before Nika could turn her head.

It snapped through a narrow lane, quick and clean, landing in your hands exactly where you liked it. You rose into your shot without thinking. It dropped.

Paige’s grin went wide.

“Talk to me nice,” she told Nika.

Nika turned slowly, expression flat. “You passed.”

“And?”

“To your girlfriend.”

“And?”

“That is not humbling me. That is flirting with cardio.”

You laughed, jogging back on defense.

Paige looked entirely too proud of herself.

A few possessions later, your shoe came untied.

Later, during a pause in drills, you found yourself holding a ball under one arm, your water bottle tucked awkwardly against your side, and a towel hooked over your fingers when you looked down and realized your lace had come loose.

You made a face.

Paige was several feet away, mid-bicker with Nika again.

“I’m telling you, that was a foul.”

“It was not a foul.”

“You grabbed me.”

“I breathed near you.”

“You wish.”

“You complain so much.”

“You foul so much.”

You shifted the ball against your ribs and called, “Paige?”

Paige stopped mid-sentence.

Not gradually.

Immediately.

Nika’s mouth stayed open around whatever she had been about to say.

Paige turned. “Yeah?”

“Can you help me real quick?” you asked, polite and distracted, glancing down at your shoe. “My hands are full.”

Paige was already moving.

You did not even ask. She crossed the space between you, dropped down to one knee, and tied your shoe like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Because to her, it was.

The gym went weirdly quiet for one second.

Not fully quiet. Balls still bounced. Someone’s sneakers still squeaked. Coaches were still talking. But the pocket around you shifted, just enough for the people closest to notice Paige Bueckers, who had been arguing a foul call like she was preparing a court case, suddenly kneeling in front of you with your shoelace in her hands.

You looked down at her.

She double-knotted it.

“You gotta stop leaving them loose,” she muttered.

“You always say that.”

“Because you always do it.”

“You always fix it.”

Paige glanced up.

Bad idea.

Very bad idea.

Because you were looking at her with that small, private smile, the one that made her forget there were other people in the room. Her hands paused at your shoe, and for a second she just stared up at you, eyes soft and stupidly fond, like she could not believe this was her life.

Nika made a sound of genuine distress.

“I hate this,” she said.

KK, from somewhere behind her, whispered loudly, “She got on one knee.”

Paige snapped out of it and stood so fast she almost bumped your shoulder.

“It was untied,” she said defensively.

KK’s mouth twitched like she was physically fighting the urge to say something.

Nika made a face over her water bottle, eyes flicking from Paige to you and back again, unimpressed in the way only Nika could pull off without actually being mad.

By the time practice ended, the story had already become bigger than it was. Not because anyone was shocked, exactly, but because KK had narrated it like a sportscaster in the locker room until even Azzi told her to breathe.

“She said, ‘Paige, can you help me real quick?’” KK insisted, sitting on the bench while pulling off her shoes. “Casual. Normal, right? And Paige stopped like somebody hit pause on her whole body.”

Paige, from two lockers over, threw her towel at KK.

KK caught it and kept going. “Then she said her hands were full, pointed at the shoe, and Paige dropped. Dropped. Like we were watching a proposal video.”

“It was a shoe,” Paige said.

“It was history.”

Nika nodded grimly. “Freshman is right.”

Paige looked betrayed. “You’re encouraging her?”

“I am processing trauma.”

You sat at your locker, laughing quietly while you changed into slides. Paige heard it and turned toward you instantly, her annoyed expression easing before she even realized she was doing it.

KK pointed. “There. Again.”

Paige looked back at her. “What?”

“You heard her laugh and forgot you were mad.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You smiled.”

“People smile.”

“Not like that.”

Paige opened her mouth, then seemed to decide there was no way to win without making it worse. She turned back to her locker, mumbling something under her breath.

You leaned closer as she sat beside you to tie her own shoes.

“You’re getting cooked today,” you said softly.

Paige looked at you from under her lashes. “You enjoying it?”

“A little.”

“That’s messed up.”

“You make it easy.”

“I make a lot of things easy for you.”

Her voice dropped just enough that the words slipped under the noise of the locker room, warm and teasing in a way that made your stomach flip even after all this time.

You gave her a look.

Paige smiled.

There she was. Cocky again, but only because she knew she had gotten to you.

“Careful,” you said.

Her smile grew. “Or what?”

You did not answer right away. You just reached over and tugged gently at the front of her hoodie, barely enough to move her. Paige leaned in without hesitation, like her body had accepted your gravity years ago and never bothered resisting after that.

Her knee touched yours.

Her eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then Nika groaned from across the room.

“Not in the locker room.”

Paige did not look away from you. “Nobody told you to watch.”

“You are both in public.”

“You’re just jealous nobody ties your shoes.”

Nika stood up. “I’m transferring.”

Azzi, calm as ever, said, “You said that yesterday.”

“And I meant it yesterday too.”

You laughed again, pushing Paige lightly away before she could get herself in more trouble. She let you, of course. She always let you. But she stayed close enough that her knee remained pressed against yours.

That was how your day was supposed to go.

Practice. Teasing. Food. Maybe film. Maybe homework neither of you wanted to do. Paige pretending she was not going to end up in your room later, sitting on your floor while you studied, claiming she was only there because your Wi-Fi worked better even though you lived in the same building.

You had forgotten, almost completely, that your childhood friend was coming.

Not because you did not care.

Just because Storrs had a way of swallowing everything into its routine. Basketball, classes, lifts, team meals, recovery, sleep, repeat. Outside people became messages you answered late at night and calls you returned walking between buildings. Home existed, but differently. Childhood existed, but in flashes.

Then your phone buzzed while you and Paige were leaving the practice facility.

Eli: just got here Eli: this campus is confusing as hell btw Eli: if i go missing it’s uconn’s fault

You stopped walking.

Paige stopped too, because you stopped.

She did not ask why immediately. She just looked at you, then at your phone, reading your face first.

“Oh,” you said. “Eli’s here.”

Paige’s expression did something small.

Not enough for most people to notice.

You noticed.

“Today?” she asked.

“Yeah. I told you he was visiting this weekend.”

“I know.”

“You forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.”

You raised your eyebrows.

Paige shifted your bag on her shoulder. “I remembered conceptually.”

You smiled. “That means you forgot.”

“It means I remembered there was a concept of him arriving.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yet you keep me.”

She said it lightly, but there was something underneath it. A tiny searching thing she would deny if you called it out.

Eli texted again.

Eli: are you ignoring me already Eli: fame changed you

You shook your head, typing back quickly.

me: stay where you are. i’ll come get you.

Paige watched you text. She was quiet in a way that was not quite quiet. Paige had many versions of silence. There was tired silence. Thinking silence. Annoyed silence. Film-room silence, rare and usually forced. This one was the kind where she was pretending she was not curious.

You put your phone away. “He’s by the student union.”

Paige nodded.

“You coming?”

Her head snapped toward you.

You almost laughed at how fast it happened.

“You want me to?” she asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

“I mean, yeah.” You adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “Unless you had something else.”

“No.” Too fast. “I’m coming.”

You looked at her.

She looked away.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“Maybe you’re cute.”

Paige’s face changed instantly. The attitude vanished so quickly it was almost funny, replaced by that pleased, slightly bashful look she only got when praise came from you. It was not that Paige did not know she was cute. Paige had confidence for days. She knew what she looked like. She knew the effect she had. But compliments from you landed differently. They got under the armor.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay?”

“Trying to be humble.”

“You?”

“It’s new. Support me.”

You laughed again, and she smiled like she had earned something.

The walk to meet Eli took longer than it should have because Paige kept slowing whenever you got a notification, kept shifting closer whenever a group passed too near.

By the time you spotted Eli, he was standing with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around with the slightly overwhelmed expression of someone who did not spend most of his time on a campus where everyone seemed to be either carrying a backpack, wearing athletic gear, or moving like they were late to something.

He saw you and grinned.

“There she is,” he called. “Miss Big East.”

You groaned before you even reached him. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, too humble now?”

“I was always humble.”

Eli laughed and pulled you into a hug.

It was normal.

It was childhood-normal. Easy. Familiar. The kind of hug that belonged to old photos and family barbecues and summers when you had both been shorter, louder, and convinced adulthood would feel more organized than it did. He smelled faintly like airport air and cold wind, and for a second you remembered being thirteen and racing him down a street near your old house, both of you breathless and dramatic over absolutely nothing.

Paige stood beside you, holding your bag.

She did not move. She did not interrupt. She did not look upset, exactly. But her posture shifted.

When you stepped back, you turned immediately. “Paige, this is Eli. Eli, Paige.”

Eli’s eyes moved to Paige.

Recognition hit him quickly, because of course it did. Even people who did not follow women’s basketball closely tended to know Paige, or at least knew enough to do a small double take when they realized she was standing in front of them with your practice bag on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Eli said, smiling. “I know who Paige is.”

Paige gave him a polite nod. “What’s up?”

Not rude.

Not warm.

Controlled.

You glanced at her.

She glanced back, and her expression softened for you immediately before she looked at Eli again.

Eli noticed.

You didn’t.

Or if you did, you filed it away with all the other Paige things that had become normal over the years.

“Good to finally meet you,” Eli said. “I’ve heard a lot.”

Paige’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You cut in before Paige could decide whether that was a challenge. “He means from me.”

Paige looked at you. “You talk about me?”

The question came out softer than she probably intended.

You stared at her. “Paige.”

“What?”

“You know I talk about you.”

“I mean, I assumed.”

“You assumed?”

“Was hoping.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“But you do?”

Eli looked between you with the growing expression of someone who had just realized he had walked into a conversation with its own private rules.

You shook your head, but you were smiling. “Yes, P. I talk about you.”

Paige nodded, trying to look cool and failing because the corner of her mouth kept betraying her.

“Cool,” she said.

Eli looked like he was fighting a laugh.

Paige watched the two of you go back and forth, and there it was again. That small, quiet pinch in her chest. Not jealousy in the sharp, ugly way. Not distrust. Nothing that made her doubt you.

Just awareness.

Eli knew a rhythm with you that Paige did not.

He knew how to tease you from before. He knew old versions of your expressions. He knew references she had not been there for. He knew the shape of your life before Storrs, before UConn, before Paige had learned your drink order and your favorite practice socks and the exact way your voice changed when you were trying not to laugh.

Paige did not like not knowing things about you.

She especially did not like when somebody else did.

But she stayed quiet, because it was not her place to make that your problem.

That was the thing about Paige’s jealousy. It could be loud in her head, but she had learned where the boundary was. She could be clingy. She could hover. She could make one too many jokes. She could insert herself into plans with embarrassing speed.

But she would not make you smaller to make herself feel bigger.

Eli was your friend. Your childhood friend. He had come to Storrs to see you. Paige understood that.

She just wished understanding made her less annoyed.

You spent the next hour showing Eli around the parts of campus that mattered to you. Not the formal tour version, though he joked that you were a terrible guide because half your descriptions were things like “this is where Nika yelled at someone once” and “that hallway always smells weird after games” and “Paige almost ate it on that patch of ice sophomore year.”

“I did not almost eat it,” Paige said immediately.

You looked at her. “You grabbed my sleeve and screamed.”

“I slipped.”

“You screamed.”

“It was a strategic noise.”

Eli laughed. “Strategic?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t there.”

“No, but I can picture it.”

“She was very dramatic,” you said.

Paige pointed at you. “You promised not to bring that up.”

“I did not.”

“You did emotionally.”

“That’s not legally binding.”

“It should be.”

Eli grinned. “She always this argumentative?”

You and Paige both answered at the same time.

“Yes,” you said.

“No,” Paige said.

You looked at each other.

Paige sighed.

Eli laughed again.

The thing was, Paige did argue. Constantly. With everybody. With Nika, with KK, with Azzi when Azzi was in the mood to entertain it, with coaches under her breath when she thought they were wrong but knew better than to say too much. She argued because she cared, because she was competitive, because her brain moved fast and her mouth often got there even faster.

But with you, she folded around the edges.

The first time Eli saw it clearly was outside the dining hall.

Nika had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, because Nika had a talent for entering scenes already annoyed.

“There you are,” she said to Paige. “You still owe me.”

Paige frowned. “For what?”

“For lying.”

“I lie about a lot of things. Be specific.”

“For saying you beat me in shooting yesterday.”

“I did beat you.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“You counted one twice.”

“You missed enough that it didn’t matter.”

Nika stepped closer, hands up. “You are so—”

“Paige,” you said, barely looking away from your phone.

Paige stopped arguing.

Again.

Instantly.

She turned toward you. “Yeah?”

You held out your empty matcha cup. “Can you help throw this out?”

Paige took it from your hand before the question fully finished. “Yeah.”

She walked to the trash can.

Eli watched her go.

Nika watched Eli watching her.

Then Nika looked at you, looked at Paige, looked at Eli again, and made a face.

“See?” she said to Eli, despite the fact that nobody had asked her anything. “This is what I deal with.”

Eli blinked. “What?”

Paige returned. “Don’t talk to him.”

Nika ignored her. “All day. She talks crazy to me, then Y/N says one thing and suddenly she’s customer service.”

“I’m helpful,” Paige said.

“You are house-trained.”

Paige’s mouth dropped open. “Bro.”

You coughed around a laugh.

Paige looked at you immediately, then smiled despite herself.

Nika pointed at her own face like she was presenting evidence. “Disgusting.”

Eli was laughing now, eyes bright with the kind of amusement that made Paige want to be annoyed but also weirdly proud. Because yes, fine, maybe she was easy for you. But that was not embarrassing to her in the way everyone seemed to think it should be.

She liked being yours.

She liked when people could tell.

Not too much. Not enough to put words on it that you had not both agreed to share. But enough that people understood there was a line around you, and Paige lived somewhere inside it.

KK joined you near the entrance, looking way too excited for someone who had only caught the tail end of the conversation.

“What happened?”

Nika pointed at Paige. “Same thing that always happens.”

KK’s eyes lit up. “She folded?”

“I did not fold,” Paige said.

You looked at her.

Paige glanced at you and lowered her voice. “I didn’t.”

KK slapped Nika’s arm. “She said that quieter to Y/N.”

Nika nodded. “Different tone.”

“Y’all study me too much,” Paige said.

“You make it easy,” KK replied.

Eli leaned closer to you as Paige got pulled into another bicker with Nika and KK. “Are they always like this?”

“Yes.”

“And Paige is always like…” He trailed off, eyes flicking toward her.

You followed his gaze.

Paige was pointing at Nika, fully animated again. “You literally foul every possession and then act confused.”

Nika fired back instantly. “Because you complain every possession and then act like a victim.”

“I am a victim.”

“You are a problem.”

KK looked thrilled. “This team is so unserious.”

Paige turned toward her. “You’re part of the team.”

“I’m observing as a scholar.”

“You’re observing your way onto the line.”

You smiled, then said, “P, leave the freshman alone.”

Paige stopped. Her hand dropped. “She started it.”

Nika closed her eyes like she was in pain.

KK whispered, “That is insane.”

Eli looked at you.

You looked back at him, confused. “What?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

Because to you, that was just Paige.

Your Paige.

The one who would talk back to the entire world and then hand you obedience like it was the easiest thing she had ever given anybody.

Dinner was not supposed to become a thing.

That was how it happened.

Eli, after wandering campus and pretending not to be tired from travel, rubbed a hand over his stomach and said, “I actually haven’t eaten since this morning. You wanna grab something?”

Paige answered too fast.

“We were actually going somewhere.”

You turned your head slowly.

Paige did not look at you immediately.

Eli looked between you. “Oh. My bad. Can I come along?”

There was a pause. Not long enough to be rude. Long enough for Paige’s soul to briefly leave her body.

You could see her processing it. She had inserted herself because she wanted to be included, because you were hers and she was not above being obvious about it, but now Eli had done the reasonable thing and asked to come too. Paige could not say no. It was not her place. He was not her friend, not really, but he was yours. He had come all this way. He was being nice. He had not done anything wrong except exist with childhood memories and apparently no girlfriend, which Paige had already decided was suspicious on principle even though she had not yet confirmed it.

So she swallowed whatever first response had tried to climb out of her mouth.

Then she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s fine.”

The words were polite.

Her face was not thrilled.

You smiled at her softly.

Paige caught it and looked away, jaw shifting like she was trying not to smile back because she had a reputation to maintain and was currently losing it in front of everyone.

Eli did not ask what that meant.

He was starting to understand.

You ended up at a casual spot not far from campus, the kind of place athletes drifted toward when the dining hall felt too loud or too repetitive and everyone wanted something that did not taste like it had been planned by a nutritionist with a clipboard. The evening had settled cold around Storrs, the sky dark early in that Connecticut way that always made the day feel shorter than it was. Paige walked on the outside of the sidewalk without thinking, switching places with you so smoothly that Eli noticed before you did.

You were talking about something from childhood, hands moving as you explained a story involving a bike, a hill, and Eli apparently making a terrible decision at age twelve.

Paige listened.

Mostly.

She was trying.

But every old story felt like opening a door into a room she had never been inside. You as a kid. You before UConn. You before the girl Paige met freshman year, sharp and pretty and impossible not to look at across a gym. Paige knew that version. She knew who you became under pressure. She knew how you handled bad shooting nights and sore knees and exam weeks. She knew the way you taped your fingers. She knew how you looked when you were locked in during a close game. She knew your coffee order when you were too tired for matcha. She knew your favorite hoodie, the one you denied was hers even though it had started in her closet. She knew what made you laugh now.

Eli knew what made you laugh then. That should not have bothered her.

It did anyway.

Inside the restaurant, you slid into a booth, Eli across from you. Paige sat beside you before anyone could even pretend there was another arrangement. Her thigh pressed against yours under the table. She spread the menu open with one hand, her other resting near her own knee.

You leaned slightly into her without looking, shoulder brushing hers.

She relaxed instantly.

Eli saw that too.

The conversation stayed easy at first. Food orders. Travel complaints. Eli making fun of how cold Storrs was. You telling him he was dramatic because it was not even winter yet. Paige muttering that he would not survive January, which made you laugh.

Then Eli mentioned an old nickname. It slipped out casually, like he had said it a thousand times before.

Paige’s head turned.

You groaned. “Do not call me that.”

Eli grinned. “What? It’s classic.”

“It is not classic. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s history.”

“It’s banned.”

“You can’t ban history.”

“I can ban you.”

Paige looked at you. “What nickname?”

“No.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “No?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m asking.”

“You’re starting by asking.”

“I wanna know.”

Eli smiled like he had just been handed a weapon. “You don’t know?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to him.

There was no heat, not really.

But there was something.

You felt it immediately.

Not jealousy, exactly. Something softer and more sensitive than that. Paige hated being outside of anything involving you. She would never say it that plainly, but you knew. She wanted every version of you she could get. Not to own, not to control, but to understand. To keep safe. To love properly.

You nudged her knee under the table.

She looked at you.

Your hand slipped down, quiet and easy, finding hers under the table.

Paige went still.

Then her fingers wrapped around yours.

Just like that, the sharp thing in her expression eased.

Nobody above the table needed to know.

Eli kept talking, but his gaze dipped once. Maybe he saw the movement. Maybe he only saw how Paige’s shoulders dropped the second your hand touched hers.

Either way, he did not mention it.

Your food came, and Paige immediately pushed the sauce you liked closer to your side before you reached for it. She pulled a napkin from the dispenser and put it beside your plate. When you got distracted answering one of Eli’s questions, she moved your drink away from the edge of the table because you had a habit of gesturing too much and almost knocking things over.

Eli watched all of it.

After a while, he started testing it. Not cruelly. Just curiously.

“You always take care of her like that?” he asked Paige.

You looked up, confused.

Paige did not hesitate. “Yeah.”

Your face warmed.

Eli’s eyebrows lifted, amused by the directness.

Paige shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “She forgets stuff.”

“I do not forget stuff.”

Paige looked at you.

You looked back.

She said nothing.

You frowned. “Okay, I forget some stuff.”

“You forgot your keys this morning.”

“I was testing you.”

“She says that every time,” Paige told Eli.

Eli laughed. “Sounds like her.”

Paige’s smile tightened at the edges.

There it was again.

Sounds like her.

Like he knew. Like he had known longer.

Your thumb moved over Paige’s knuckles under the table.

She inhaled quietly.

You kept talking to Eli, but your hand stayed in hers.

Paige clung to that small contact like it was a lifeline.

The night got warmer after that. Not because Paige stopped feeling strange, but because you kept choosing her in ways that did not interrupt the conversation. Your knee stayed against hers. Your hand returned to hers whenever you could. Once, when Eli was telling a story about some mutual childhood disaster, you leaned sideways and murmured, “You okay?” so softly only Paige heard.

She nodded.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re quiet.”

“Listening.”

“To him?”

“To you.”

You looked at her then, and Paige looked right back, no joke ready, no smirk, just that open fondness she sometimes forgot to hide.

You squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back.

Eli watched you both from across the table and smiled faintly to himself.

Later, when Paige stepped away to take a call from one of the staff members about something schedule-related, Eli waited until she was out of earshot before leaning back in the booth.

“So,” he said.

You looked up from your drink. “What?”

He nodded toward the direction Paige had gone. “That’s Paige.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean…” He smiled. “That’s Paige.”

You looked down, fighting the way your mouth wanted to curve. “Yeah.”

“She’s intense.”

“She’s Paige.”

“She looks at you like you hung the moon.”

You went quiet.

That was not the kind of teasing you could swat away easily.

Eli softened a little, elbows resting on the table. “You happy?”

The question settled between you.

You looked toward the hallway where Paige had disappeared, then back at him.

“Yeah,” you said. “I am.”

He nodded. “Good.”

You stirred your straw through the ice in your cup.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The noise of the restaurant filled the silence: silverware, voices, the low hum of music, someone laughing too loudly near the front. It was strange, having someone from before sit across from you in the life you had built after. Strange, but not bad.

Then Eli asked, quieter, “Who is she to you?”

You did not answer right away.

Not because you did not know.

You knew exactly who Paige was to you.

She was the girl outside your door with matcha. The hand under the table. The pass before you cut. The hoodie on your chair. The person who had learned you in details so small other people would have missed them. She was cocky, impossible, soft where it counted, annoying when she wanted attention, loyal in a way that made your chest ache. She was the person who could make you roll your eyes and feel safe in the same breath.

But the relationship was not only yours to hand out.

Even after almost three years, even when the team knew, even when people close to you could figure it out, you were careful with it. Not ashamed. Never ashamed. Just protective. Paige was not a headline to you. She was not gossip. She was not something you tossed casually onto a table just because someone asked.

You looked toward the hallway again.

Paige was still gone.

Then you smiled faintly.

“She’s important,” you said.

Eli studied you for a second.

Then he nodded, like he understood exactly what you were not saying.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”

You did not deny it.

You did not confirm it either.

You only took a sip of your drink, still smiling down at the table like you could not quite help yourself.

Eli leaned back, satisfied. “For what it’s worth, she seems good for you.”

“She is.”

“She’s also wildly obvious.”

You laughed.

“She is not subtle,” he said.

“No,” you admitted softly. “She’s not.”

“And you don’t notice?”

You frowned. “Notice what?”

Eli stared at you.

Then he started laughing.

“What?”

“You’re kidding.”

“What?”

“She follows you around like you’ve got her on a leash.”

You rolled your eyes, but your face felt warm. “She does not.”

“She absolutely does.”

“That’s just Paige.”

“With you,” Eli said. “I’m getting the sense that is just Paige with you.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Because the easy answer was to deny it. To say Paige was like that with everyone. Helpful. Touchy. Loyal. Big-hearted beneath all the attitude.

But that was not fully true.

Paige cared about her people. She would do anything for her team. She would show up, protect, support, fight, love hard. But with you, there was a softness that had its own shape. A quiet automatic obedience that did not appear anywhere else. Paige could argue with a coach, a teammate, a ref, a wall, and herself.

But you said her name, and she stopped.

You had never really thought about how that looked from the outside.

Before you could answer, Paige came back.

Her eyes moved between you and Eli immediately. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said.

She did not believe you. “Why you smiling like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you were talking about me.”

Eli lifted his drink. “We were.”

Paige slid into the booth beside you, suspicious. “What about me?”

You leaned toward her, shoulder brushing hers. “Good things.”

Her suspicion wavered.

“Good things?” she repeated.

You nodded.

Paige tried to hold onto the attitude, but your knee pressed into hers under the table and your fingers found her wrist. Her entire expression softened again, helplessly.

Eli watched it happen.

Then he laughed under his breath.

Paige looked at him. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying nothing.”

“Because it’s nothing.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You’re annoying.”

Eli pointed at you. “She used to say that to me all the time.”

Paige’s attention snapped toward you. “Did you?”

You blinked. “Probably.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You had other annoying people before me?”

You smiled. “P, nobody is annoying like you.”

She looked pleased before she could stop herself.

Eli covered his mouth with his hand.

“You’re laughing again,” Paige said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just seeing the vision.”

“What vision?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Paige looked at you. “I don’t trust him.”

You patted her hand under the table. “Be nice.”

Paige immediately muttered, “I’m being nice.”

Eli whispered, “Leash.”

You kicked him under the table.

He laughed so hard he almost choked on his drink.

Paige looked between you again. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, but you were laughing now too.

Paige huffed, but she was smiling because you were smiling, and that was usually all it took.

By the time dinner ended, Paige had relaxed more. Not fully. She still watched Eli with that quiet competitive focus whenever he mentioned something from your childhood. She still asked too many casual questions that were not casual at all. She wanted to know how long you had known each other, when you stopped living near each other, whether he visited often, whether you two still talked a lot, whether he had a girlfriend.

That last one came out too smooth.

Too smooth meant dangerous.

“So,” Paige said, pushing fries around her plate like she did not care. “You got a girlfriend or something?”

You turned your head slowly.

Eli blinked, then smiled. “Subtle.”

Paige shrugged. “Just asking.”

“Uh, no. We broke up a few months ago.”

Paige’s hand paused.

You felt it because you were still holding it under the table.

There it was.

The clocking.

The immediate mental file opening in Paige’s head.

Single childhood friend. Knows your old nickname. Makes you laugh. Came to Storrs. Hazard level: annoying.

You squeezed her hand before she could spiral too visibly.

Paige looked at you.

You gave her the smallest smile.

She exhaled through her nose and nodded once, like fine, okay, she would behave.

“Sorry,” you told Eli. “That sucks.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “It was mutual. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Okay, maybe not fully mutual.”

You gave him a sympathetic look.

Paige, to her credit, said nothing mean.

You were proud of her.

So proud, actually, that under the table, you brushed your thumb over the inside of her wrist.

Paige’s posture changed.

A tiny shift. Barely visible.

But you felt it. The way she melted in increments, like you had found the exact place to touch to make the jealousy drain out of her. Her shoulder pressed more firmly into yours, and when you did not move away, she stayed there.

Eli saw that too.

He smiled to himself again, less teasing this time.

Something gentler.

After dinner, the three of you walked back toward campus under streetlights, the air cold enough that your breath showed faintly when you laughed. Eli told more stories. Paige listened more than she spoke, but she was not withdrawn anymore. She made comments. Teased you. Asked questions. Got offended when Eli claimed you used to be faster than you were now.

“She is faster now,” Paige said immediately.

Eli lifted his hands. “I’m just saying, at twelve—”

“At twelve she was racing you on a street. Now she’s training every day.”

You glanced at her, amused. “You sound personally offended.”

“I am.”

“On my behalf?”

“Always.”

The word came out too easy.

You looked at her.

Paige looked back, realizing after the fact what she had said. Her cheeks pinked slightly, though she would blame the cold if anyone asked.

Eli looked away politely.

You let your hand brush hers as you walked.

Paige caught it.

Just for a second, your fingers linked.

Then you let go before it became too obvious to anyone passing by.

Paige did not complain.

She just smiled at the ground.

Eventually, Eli had to head back to where he was staying. He hugged you goodbye, promised he would text in the morning, and told Paige it was good to meet her.

Paige nodded. “You too.”

Then, after a beat, she added, “For real.”

Eli seemed to understand the effort in that.

He smiled. “Take care of her.”

Paige’s expression shifted.

Not defensive.

Certain.

“I do,” she said.

Your heart did something stupid.

Eli glanced at you, then back at Paige. “Yeah. I can tell.”

When he left, the quiet that followed felt bigger than it should have.

You and Paige walked back toward the dorms side by side. For the first minute, neither of you spoke. The cold pressed in around you. Somewhere in the distance, people were laughing. A car passed, headlights sliding over the sidewalk before disappearing around the curve.

Paige had her hands in her hoodie pocket.

You had your arms crossed against the chill.

Normally, she would have said something by now. A joke. A complaint. A dramatic comment about the cold. A question she pretended was casual.

Instead, she stayed quiet.

You glanced at her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“P.”

She looked at you.

You stopped walking.

Because that still worked too.

Paige stopped immediately, turning to face you.

The streetlight caught the side of her face, softening the sharpness of her features. She looked younger like this, hood up, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes searching yours with the kind of openness she rarely gave anyone else.

“You were hovering,” you said.

Paige’s mouth twitched. “Was not.”

You gave her a look.

She held out for maybe two seconds.

Then she folded.

“A little.”

You smiled. “A little?”

“Medium.”

“P.”

She sighed. “Fine. A lot.”

Your smile widened.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite in it. “Don’t look all happy.”

“I’m not happy.”

“You are.”

“Maybe I think it’s cute.”

Paige looked away quickly.

There it was again. That pleased, shy little crack in her confidence.

“You think everything I do is cute,” she muttered.

“Not everything.”

“Name one thing.”

“When you leave your socks on my floor.”

“You love that.”

“I do not.”

“You love that I’m comfortable.”

“I love you. That is different.”

Paige went quiet.

It still got her sometimes.

Even after almost three years.

Especially after almost three years.

Her eyes came back to yours, softer now. “Yeah?”

You stepped closer. “Yeah.”

The tension in her shoulders dropped.

For all her confidence, for all the attitude and cockiness and noise, Paige still looked at you sometimes like she could not believe she had gotten this. Like there was a part of her still standing in freshman year, watching you across a gym, wondering how someone could be that pretty and that good and that calm under pressure. Like some part of her was still amazed that you had chosen her back.

You reached for her sleeve, tugging her closer.

She came immediately.

Of course she did.

“You know you don’t have to compete with him, right?” you said.

Paige’s eyebrows pulled together. “I wasn’t.”

“P.”

She looked down.

You waited.

The thing about Paige was she could argue with everyone else forever, but with you, silence usually worked better. You did not have to push. You just had to stay.

Finally, she said, “He knows a lot about you.”

“He knew me when we were kids.”

“Yeah.” Paige swallowed. “That’s the part.”

Your chest softened.

There it was.

Not jealousy, not really.

Want.

Paige wanted every version of you. The teammate. The girlfriend. The girl who forgot her keys. The girl who hit corner threes. The girl who got quiet when she was tired. The girl who used to race bikes down hills and apparently had an embarrassing childhood nickname she refused to share.

She wanted all of it.

Not because she felt entitled to it.

Because she loved you so much she hated the idea of missing anything.

You slid your hand down her sleeve until your fingers found hers.

“You can ask me anything, you know.”

Paige looked up. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What was the nickname?”

You groaned immediately. “No.”

“You said anything.”

“I said anything, not that.”

“That is included in anything.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love me.”

“I do, unfortunately.”

Paige smiled, bright and victorious. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

You looked at her.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

The nickname landed soft and low, wrapped in that pleading tone she only used when she wanted something from you and knew she had a decent chance of getting it. Paige could be shameless when she wanted attention. Worse, she knew you liked it.

“Don’t baby me,” you said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Is it working?”

You stared at her.

She smiled.

You sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“But it’s working?”

“Maybe.”

She stepped closer, fingers tightening around yours. “Then tell me.”

You looked around, even though nobody was close enough to hear. “If I tell you, you can’t laugh.”

Paige’s face turned serious immediately. Too serious. Fake serious. “I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

“Not at you.”

“At the nickname.”

“That’s different.”

“Paige.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t laugh.”

You hesitated.

She leaned in slightly, eyes fixed on yours like this mattered more than anything else in her entire night.

So you told her.

Quietly.

Paige stared at you.

Her lips pressed together.

“Don’t,” you warned.

Her shoulders shook once.

“Paige.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You are literally laughing.”

“I’m holding it in.”

“P.”

She stopped.

Mostly.

Then she cleared her throat, face red from the effort. “It’s cute.”

“It is not cute.”

“It’s very cute.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“You’re done.”

“No, wait—”

You started walking again.

Paige followed instantly, still holding your hand.

“Baby, wait.”

“No.”

“I’m serious. It’s cute.”

“You’re never allowed to say it.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

You glanced at her.

She looked sincere for about half a second.

Then she said it under her breath.

You stopped.

Paige immediately tried to run.

You grabbed her sleeve, laughing despite yourself. “Paige!”

She was laughing now too, stumbling backward as you pulled her close. “I had to.”

“You promised!”

“I said it quiet.”

“That does not count.”

“It counts emotionally.”

“You are so annoying.”

“But you love me.”

“Barely.”

Paige gasped. “Barely?”

You tried to pull away, but she caught your waist gently, tugging you back in like it was instinct. Not rough. Never rough. Just enough to make you step into her space, your hands landing against the front of her hoodie.

Her face was close now.

Too close for a public sidewalk, maybe.

But not close enough for either of you to move away.

“You love me barely?” she asked, voice softer.

You looked up at her. “Maybe medium.”

“Medium?”

“Fine. A lot.”

“How much?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re needy.”

“For you? Yeah.”

That shut you up.

Paige smiled, but it was not cocky this time. It was honest. Warm. A little vulnerable around the edges.

“I am,” she said, like she had decided there was no point pretending otherwise. “I’m real needy for you.”

Your fingers curled in her hoodie.

“Everyone noticed,” you said softly.

“I don’t care.”

“You cared earlier.”

“I cared that he knew stuff I didn’t.” Paige’s thumb moved lightly at your waist. “Not that he noticed I’m obsessed with you.”

Your face warmed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am.” She leaned closer, nose brushing yours for half a second. “Still got you though.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Still don’t know how.”

Your expression softened.

Paige said it like a joke, but her eyes gave her away.

You lifted one hand to her face, thumb brushing her cheek. She went still under the touch. Completely still. Paige Bueckers, who could not stop moving most days, who bounced and shifted and talked with her whole body, froze like your hand on her face had turned the world quiet.

“You don’t have to know how,” you said. “You just have to stay.”

Her eyes searched yours.

Then she nodded once.

“I can do that.”

“I know.”

“I’m good at that.”

“You are.”

“Best thing I do, probably.”

“You play basketball pretty well too.”

Paige smiled. “Pretty well?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

You laughed, and Paige kissed you before the sound could fully leave your mouth.

It was quick, soft, familiar. A kiss that belonged to quiet sidewalks and cold nights and the kind of love that had been built over years of mornings, practices, passes, arguments, teasing, and Paige waiting outside your door with your drink in hand.

When she pulled back, she was smiling.

You tapped her chest. “Come on. It’s cold.”

Paige immediately stepped beside you.

Then, after two steps, she gently took your hand again.

You looked at her. “You’re clingy tonight.”

“I’m clingy every night.”

“True.”

“You like it.”

You did not answer.

Paige bumped your shoulder. “You like it.”

“Maybe.”

“You do.”

“P.”

She grinned. “Okay.”

And just like that, she stopped pushing.

The walk back was quiet after that, but not empty. Paige kept your hand in hers until you reached the building. She opened the door for you. Followed you inside. Pressed the elevator button before you could. Stood close enough that your shoulders touched as you waited.

When the doors opened, KK was inside again. Because apparently the universe had a sense of humor. She looked at your joined hands.

Then at Paige.

Then at you.

A slow grin spread across her face.

“Damn,” KK said. “Still on the leash?”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “You got one more time.”

You squeezed Paige’s hand.

Paige shut her mouth.

KK’s grin got huge. “Oh, this is sick.”

You stepped into the elevator, laughing.

Paige followed, muttering, “I hate everybody.”

KK looked at you. “She don’t hate you.”

“No,” you said, leaning slightly into Paige’s side.

Paige looked down at you, all soft again, all helpless again, all hers and yours and gone in that way everyone could see except maybe the two of you.

“No,” Paige said quietly. “I don’t.”

KK made a gagging noise.

Paige ignored her.

You smiled.

And when the elevator doors closed, Paige was still holding your hand, still carrying your bag, still standing close enough to follow wherever you went next.

Like always.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like she had never once wanted to be anywhere else.