pairing: uconn!girlfriend!teammate!paige x uconn!girlfriend!teammate!reader
wc: 5.1k
request: y/n
anon asked: paige accidently spilling the beens about teamate!reader and hers relationship and it being really funny
summary: paige can’t keep a secret, you try not to die of embarrassment, and everyone else gets the show.
it’s supposed to be routine.
the post-game presser is a blur of light and heat. cameras line up like silent soldiers, microphones jut toward you like curious, probing fingers. your jersey is still damp, sticking in places it shouldn’t, hair pulled back too tight, sweat running down the back of your neck, and your heart is hammering—partly from the game, partly from knowing she’s sitting next to you.
paige.
she’s leaning back in her chair, hands draped over the edge of the table, grin already there—the kind that makes you want to disappear entirely. lethal. chaotic. impossible to ignore.
the reporter at the front clears their throat. “so, big night for uconn. you two looked really in sync out there. what’s the secret?”
your stomach twists. your fingers curl around the edge of the table. breathe, you tell yourself. just breathe. don’t look at her.
don’t.
paige leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes twinkling with too much mischief. “well… it’s probably because we’re dating.”
you freeze. blink. your brain stutters. what did she just—no. she didn’t.
“what—” your voice cracks. “paige.”
she shrugs like she’s talking about the weather. “what? they asked.”
and then chaos erupts. murmurs, gasps, pens scratching, camera shutters clicking. someone actually audibly laughs. azzi slaps a hand over her face, peeking through her fingers.
in the corner, kk snickers, elbowing ashlynn. q whispers to nika:
“did…did she just say that?”
nika murmurs back, trying not to laugh: “oh. my. god. yes.”
ice nudges jana: “watch her face—she’s about to combust.”
you hear faint whispers from other teammates too, low but audible: “ohhh no… she’s gonna die,” “i can’t stop watching,” “someone get a fan, she’s melting.”
your ears are ringing with the noise and your own heartbeat.
“you did not just—” you hiss, leaning toward her, but paige leans back casually, resting her chin in her hand, utterly unconcerned.
“what?” she says, that grin still mocking. “it’s not like it’s a secret. everyone’s seen how you look at me during warmups. you get all flustered. it’s adorable.”
your hands fly to your face. adorable? oh god. stop talking. stop. breathe.
paige keeps going. “like, tell me i’m wrong. after south carolina, remember? you literally held my hand the entire walk back to the locker room. i almost lost circulation. and you didn’t even complain.”
kk whispers to ashlynn: “i can’t. she’s melting.”
ashlynn mutters: “this is too good.”
ice nudges jana: “we should help her.”
jana leans forward and whispers toward the nearest reporter: “hey, you might want to… uh, double-check that last stat… yeah, that one. right there.”
ice adds, more firmly: “flash back a sec, let’s see the replay?”
the reporters glance at each other, distracted for a second. you take it as a tiny lifeline.
you peek through your fingers. the reporters are leaning in, pens poised, cameras pointed, eyes wide. half are stifling laughter, half are waiting for confirmation, and your brain just keeps going no no no no no.
“i—” words fail you. “i think… i think we’re done here.”
paige nudges your knee under the table, so light it’s teasing but it makes your stomach clench. “come on, babe, it’s cute. admit it—you love that everyone knows now.”
you groan, pressing your palms harder to your face. “i’m going to change my name and transfer. seriously.”
she tilts her head, blue eyes sparkling. “good luck, everyone already knows. and honestly…i think they love it.”
the press room hums, flashes pop, microphones thrust forward. you feel like you’re underwater, everything slowed, echoing. paige leans closer, brushing her shoulder against yours, whispering so soft it’s only for you:
“besides… you love me too much to be mad.”
your stomach flips. your mouth opens, you try to speak, but the next reporter clears their throat, and the heat from the lights makes your cheeks burn hotter.
oh no. she actually said it.
paige’s hand slides under the table, brushing yours, steady, teasing, grounding, and your heart hammers so fast you can’t tell if it’s adrenaline or panic—or something else entirely.
kk leans toward ashlynn again, whispering: “okay, do we… like, subtly…save her?”
ashlynn nods, “yeah, throw in a distraction—maybe clap or point or something.”
ice raises her hand, pretending to adjust her hair, drawing the reporters’ attention. jana gestures behind the camera: “hey, that flash is too bright—wait, no, wrong button. just—oh god.”
a reporter jots down notes, squinting. another leans forward. one whispers to the person next to them, smirking. you can’t tell if they’re laughing at you or with you—or maybe both.
your breath catches. you want to hide. you want to die. you want to laugh. you want to hit paige.
and then she nudges your side again, whispers another teasing comment you can’t fully hear, but it makes your knees weak, your ears ring, your chest ache in a way that’s equal parts mortifying and thrilling.
short cuts flash through your mind: reporter typing furiously. someone whispering behind their mic. another stifling a laugh. your legs wobbling. cheeks on fire. brain fried.
flash. click. scribble. hum. your world shrinks to her. her hand. her grin.
you realize, with sinking horror and an almost ridiculous thrill, that there is no hiding now. no secret. no quiet. paige has unleashed you, and everyone—everyone—is watching.
the presser continues. questions overlap. flashes strobe. the room hums.
and through it all, her hand stays on yours. calm. steady. teasing. grounding.
