#paige x platonic!reader

[yailtsv]

I’m not fine - p.b

Sum: R is struggling bad and Paige comes to the rescue

Warnings: bad mental health, depression, grief, talks of cancer

Notes: this is my first time writing like angst/sad stuff please tell me how it is and what to change 🙏 requested by @melpthatsme

Pair: paige x bsf!reader

Wc: 1.9k

It’s now been 9 days since your mom died, although it feels like it’s been a lifetime. Your mom was diagnosed with breast cancer about 2 years ago and 2 years ago she said she would fight to the end…and she did.

When you got the call that she wasn’t doing to great you immediately booked a plane ticket to Minnesota and left, forgetting to mention anything to your professors, Geno and CD, or any of your teammates including Paige.

You received calls and texts wondering where you were and what happened for days the only one that didn’t message for days was Paige - and that’s because she has your location.

When you didn’t respond to her 10 messages and 20 missed calls she knew something was up and checked your location to see you heading towards Minnesota, immediately knowing something was going on with your mom.

Paige thinking responsibly in this situation went and talked to Geno, telling him what she thinks is wrong and where she knows you went. Geno ended up giving you and her a week off telling her to find you, make sure you’re ok, and then to get you back home safely.

When Paige got to Minnesota that night she went to check your location while at the airport to see your step dad had texted Paige - basically telling her that your mom has an hour maybe two left and that she needs to get here as soon as she can because he’s worried about you.

That confirmed what Paige was thinking was happening and made her rush to the hospital getting there in around 35 minutes from Uber. When she walked in she went to the front desk telling them your moms name with them giving her directions to the room.

Walking into room 305 she saw your step dad leant against the wall with one of his arms crossed over his chest and the other covering his mouth, looking around she saw your older brother trying to comfort your guy’s kid siblings, and you laying on your moms hospital bed with your head on her chest holding onto her tightly, sleeping.

Your step dad noticed her first getting off the wall and walking towards her - bringing her into a hug “thank you for coming, im just- I know this is gonna hit her hard and that she’s gonna push us away. I feel like you’re the one she won’t be able to push away and if she does you’ll still be able to get to her.” he whispers to her while they both watch you sleep on your moms chest while she slowly plays with your hair

“How long has she been like this?” Paige asks him “I called her at around 11am she got here around 6:35pm so since then.” He replies sadly “she’s been just hanging out in the corner watching all of us but the doctor told us to start saying goodbyes a little bit ago. She decided to go last and she hasn’t moved since.”

Paige nods setting her suitcase that she filled for both of you knowing you weren’t thinking when you just up and left, by the door and carefully walked over to you and your mom

“Hey, mom” paige says to your mom as you guys grew up with each other so you call each other’s mothers mom. “hey Paige, how are you?” She replies weakly while still slowly playing with your hair “Been better, what about you?”

“Ohh you know, been better” she replies a little sarcastically chuckling a little bit, making Paige fake laugh a little with her eyes welling up with tears

“Oh Paige don’t cry, it’s ok! I promise!” Your mom try’s to backtrack “Its not ok. You don’t deserve this. This shouldn’t be how your story ends.” Paige says wiping the tears that escaped

Your mom didn’t say anything just opened her other arm for Paige, letting p hug her.

Your mom sadly passed about 25 minutes later with you waking up because you didn’t hear her heartbeat in your ear anymore.

Ever since you got home from the hospital you locked yourself in your room. You stayed laying sideways on your bed facing the wall for days without moving. The day of your mom’s funeral was probably the hardest day to get through, getting up from bed was painful because of you not moving around, standing made you dizzy because of the not eating, you also had a headache and stomach ache from not eating.

During the funeral it was like ‘the lights are all on but nobody’s home’ you were smiling and greeting everyone, having multiple conversations through out the day with different people, you also spoke at her funeral, you didn’t cry once. You stayed smiling through the whole day.

Until you weren’t.

Getting home from all of the funeral duties you guys did at around 8pm, everyone was tired and everyone was upset - but they all still noticed your behavior at the funeral and now.

“Hey why don’t we all watch a movie in the living room? I’ll make popcorn?” Your step dad say’s trying to keep you from going to your room without you noticing that’s what he’s doing.

Your siblings and Paige all agree but you don’t “I’m tired. I’m just gonna take a shower and head to bed.” You say starting to walk upstairs “hey wait up, I’ll go with you” paige says starting to walk closer to you “no it’s fine P, just watch the movie like you wanted. Im just going to sleep.” Paige looked like she was going to argue “P seriously, I’m fine. Im tired and I want to go to bed.” You say trying to convince her and yourself

Paige looked hesitant but ended up letting you walk upstairs with her sighing and turning around to go to the living room where all of your family went during that conversation

Your step dad looked at Paige in a way of asking if you were joining making her shake her head sadly and him sigh.

Since coming back home from the funeral, you went back to hiding. You locked yourself in your room laying bundled up in your blankets, you ignored everything and everyone. Your family and Paige knocked on your door multiple times a day either to try and get you out or to try and get you to eat something, but you just ignored them everyday.

It’s also now been more than a week meaning you and Paige were supposed to be back in Connecticut 3 days ago. Luckily Paige is your knight in shining armor right now and called Geno, telling him everything. He gave both of you another two weeks excusing both of you from any games that would take place in that time frame.

Paige has been talking through your door for the last 25 minutes trying to get you to open the door, no luck so far.

“Your dad went back to work today, said they couldn’t figure out how to do somethin. Your siblings also went back to school today, the school knows what happened so they’re offering counseling to them.” Paige says sitting against your door listening for any movement but sighing when she didn’t hear any “please open the door. Im worried about you.” She starts “remember when you first found out about her diagnosis? You came to me crying saying you didn’t want to lose her and that you were scared. Do you remember what I said?”

“I said that I would always be by your side, that I would never let you be alone. No matter what, and I’m gonna stick by that even if you’re trying to push me away. Your moms not in pain anymore I promise.” She continues before starting again “your mom wouldn’t want you to be locked up in your room over her. You and I both know that. please just open the door, you don’t even have to leave your room just let me come in there.” She says and try’s listening for movement again but gets disappointed all over again

Right when she was standing up from sitting against your door to go back to the living room, your door opens making her immediately turn around and look at you

You look disheveled. Your hairs messy, you have dark circles over your eyes with tear streaks still on your face, your eyes are red and puffy, your favorite hoodie is now a little baggy on you, and you look like your about pass out

Paige immediately walks closer to you and brings you into her chest, letting you lean all of your weight onto her. She has one hand holding your head to her chest and the other wrapped around the middle of your back while you have your arms wrapped around her waist

“You don’t have to go through this alone, You know that right? Paige mumbles into your hair with you staying quiet.

After a few moments of silence Paige feels something wet on her shirt already knowing that you’re crying, making her hug you tighter. That triggered the waterfall making you start sobbing into Paige’s shirt

“It’s ok, it’s ok. Let it out, it’s ok” paige says staring to rub your back and hold you tighter. “I can’t do this” you sob out “i can’t live without her”

“Shhh shh it’s gonna be ok. You’re never gonna be living without her, she’s always gonna be right next to you watching you and being your guardian angel I promise.” Paige say’s keeping up with her movements on rubbing your back and scratching your head

You don’t answer just cry a little bit louder. Your knees buckle under you but since Paige was holding you still she was able to catch you and decided to just help you sit on the ground so in case you do pass out you would be able to lay down.

She sits against the wall and has you sitting in between her legs still holding onto her waist, with her hands still in the same spots they were in before.

“Please stop trying to push me away. I wanna be here for you.” Paige mumbles into your hair, you just nod into her chest gripping the back of her shirt in your fists

Paige kept her promise and stuck by your side, helping you with everything. You needed groceries? She’s already driving to the store. You don’t have the energy to cook? She’s making it or she’s door dashing, depends really. You can’t get out of bed? She’s getting in your bed beside you and you guys are having a movie night sleepover. You don’t feel the best because of your depression? She’s drawing you a warm bath with a bath bomb, candles, and scents and making your favorite food while you’re in the bath. And so much more - paige has been your rock during this whole nightmare making it feel not as dark and difficult as it actually is.

You both have gone back to Connecticut, and you talked with Geno and CD when you got back with them requesting that you also see some type of councilor or therapist. After that the team decided to have a team night where you do anything and everything - wanting to show that they are in fact there for you and you don’t have to go through the grief process alone.

And eventually after some time you realized that on your own.

[holyblonded]

number 5 | paige bueckers

pairings: paige bueckers x reader, arsenal wfc x reader

summary: arsenal’s star girl and the new point guard for the dallas wings cross paths

notes: this was requested! i actually struggle writing romance so much also i did fabricate the scores a little…

You were born to be a star. Or at least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could walk. You excelled at every sport you tried, basketball, tennis, track, but football stuck. Something about the ball at your feet, the way it seemed like an extension of your body, just made sense. Running up and down the field, the burn in your legs, the weight of a perfect pass, the sweet crack of a shot hitting the back of the net, it grounded you in a way nothing else ever did.

So when you were ten and got an invitation to try out for Arsenal’s Centre of Excellence, it was no surprise. Your mom scraped together every penny she had, bought two plane tickets, and told you to make it count. You balled out. There was no other way to put it. From that day on, you wore red and white like it was stitched into your skin. Arsenal was your home, your heartbeat.

You rose through the ranks quickly, and by fourteen, you were making your senior debut. With it came fame, the kind you never asked for and never wanted.

Kim Little used to tease that if you could physically dissolve into the shadows after a game, you would. But fame was a package deal. No matter how much you hated it, it stuck around. And with fame came obligations: appearances, interviews, photoshoots. Events you wouldn’t even watch in your free time, let alone attend.

Which is how you found yourself sitting stiffly in a chair, allowing a makeup artist to brush powder across your face, while your manager, Maggie, flipped through an email on her phone.

You kicked your legs back and forth, the chair squeaking slightly. “Maggieeee,” you groaned, tilting your head back dramatically. “I don’t want to gooo.”

“You think I want to be here babysitting you?” Maggie deadpanned, not even looking up from her phone.

You gasped, clutching your chest theatrically. “Wow. After everything we’ve been through? The trauma we’ve survived together?”

“The trauma of you refusing to attend anything remotely social?” Maggie snorted. “Get over yourself.”

You pouted into the mirror. “I am over myself. I’m so over myself I’m begging not to go.”

The makeup artist, bless her, tried to stifle a laugh. Maggie just rolled her eyes. “You’re going. You’re sitting in your assigned seat. You’re smiling when the cameras swing by. You’re congratulating whoever walks by. And you’re not escaping to the bathroom for half the event this time, understand?”

You groaned louder, tossing your head back against the chair. “I cannot believe this is my life.”

“You’re literally getting glammed up to sit at the WNBA draft and interview the next upcoming basketball stars. Cry me a river,” Maggie said, arching an eyebrow at you through the mirror.

The makeup artist finished your base and started on your eyes. You blinked up at her. “Wait, are you doing eyeliner? The swoopy kind? The dramatic cat one?”

“It’s called a wing, sweetie,” the artist said kindly.

You looked at Maggie. “Why do I need wings? Am I supposed to fly out of the event halfway through?”

Maggie laughed. “I wish.”

You sulked. “This is a violation of my human rights.”

“Uh-huh. Tell that to the Nike execs paying your endorsement deal,” Maggie said, standing up to go check the rack of dresses hanging nearby.

You glanced over your shoulder at the clothes. “Wait, wait, wait. I thought I was wearing a suit. Didn’t we agree on a suit? I can’t walk in heels. I’m going to fall and go viral for the wrong reasons.”

Maggie hummed thoughtfully. “You’re wearing the suit. Relax. But there are options. Versace sent three.”

“Three?” You practically yelped. “Maggie! Choices make me anxious!”

“That’s literally the least of your problems,” Maggie said, yanking one of the hangers free.

The makeup artist finished and handed you a mirror. You stared at your reflection, a little stunned. You looked…grown. Too grown. The soft glam, the liner, the perfect glow, someone who looked like they knew what they were doing. Someone who belonged at fancy events. Not the awkward, slightly fidgety player who still preferred a Sunday league game over a black-tie gala.

“I look like I know things,” you said faintly.

Maggie snorted. “You do. You know how to kick a ball better than ninety-nine percent of the planet. Now come on. Pick a dress so I can get you dressed before you start hyperventilating.”

You stood up and padded over to the garment rack, eyeing the options with suspicion. One was navy, one was black, and one was a daring white. You pointed at the black one. “That one. Safe. Stealth mode.”

Maggie gave you a look. “You’re not a ninja.”

“Could be.”

“Pick shoes.”

You rifled through the shoe boxes. “Do they make cleats that look like dress shoes?”

“Pick real shoes, you menace.”

You grumbled under your breath but chose a pair of sleek black heels. A couple of stylists helped you into the dress, fixing your straps and adjusting the dress like a mom getting her kid ready for picture day.

As you smoothed your hands down your dress, you caught your reflection again. You looked…good. Still felt like a fraud, but looked good.

Maggie handed you your small clutch. “Smile at least once tonight. You can manage that much, can’t you?”

“I’ll smile once if you let me skip the afterparty.”

“We’ll negotiate.”

You side-eyed her. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

You bumped your shoulder into hers lightly. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Maggie smirked. “Go on, superstar. Time to suffer.”

You sighed, exaggerating every step as you followed her toward the waiting car, already counting down the minutes until you could escape back into your quiet, normal world.

But hey, at least you looked good while suffering.

The draft was buzzing, flashing cameras, laughter, the occasional high-pitched squeal of celebration, and you were sitting center stage, right in the chaos of it all.

You shifted in your seat, adjusting the long, black custom Versace dress hugging your frame. The gold designs swirling around the fabric caught the light with every move, glinting like fire. Your black and gold heels clicked lightly against the floor as you crossed one leg over the other, holding the mic lightly in your hand, playing your role for the night, interviewing players for Nike’s coverage of the draft.

This wasn’t really your scene, you didn’t love the noise, the chaos, but tonight, you were good at faking it. You were charming, quick-witted, and, surprisingly, actually having fun.

Right now, you were interviewing A’ja Wilson, who had the entire place wrapped around her finger with her energy.

“So, A’ja,” you said into the mic, grinning. “Be honest. How many group chats do you think have exploded the night you were drafted with people pretending they’ve been your best friend since elementary school?”

A’ja cackled, throwing her head back. “Girl, my phone look like it got hacked, that’s how many messages I got!”

You fake gasped, putting a hand to your chest. “And here I thought I was special.”

She laughed again and bumped your shoulder with hers. “You’re special. You different.”

You played it up, winking at the camera. “You heard it here first. I’m different.”

The two of you bantered back and forth for a few more minutes, keeping the energy light and fast. A’ja was a dream to interview, lively, hilarious, easygoing. But eventually, her PR person tapped her on the shoulder and pulled her away for more press.

You were just adjusting your mic when someone from Nike leaned down and murmured, “Paige Bueckers is next. She’s on her way over.”

Your stomach did a weird little flip.

Paige Bueckers.

You weren’t exactly the type to get starstruck anymore. You were too used to being the star yourself. A trailblazer that’s what everyone said about you. You had carved your own path through Arsenal, through women’s football, smashing records before you were even out of your teens.

But still…Paige was different. And when you looked up and saw her walking toward you, blonde hair shining under the lights, that easygoing smile on her face, yeah, okay, maybe you were a little starstruck.

Paige’s eyes caught yours and she didn’t look away. There was a jolt of electricity between you, instant and undeniable.

“Hey,” she said, voice low, almost amused, as she sat down next to you, a little closer than strictly necessary.

“Hey,” you echoed, giving her a slow smile as you passed her a mic.

You introduced her to the camera with your usual polished energy, but under the surface, there was a heat building, a charged current in the air between you that you knew the cameras couldn’t quite capture.

“First of all, huge congrats,” you said, grinning. “Drafted number one to the Dallas Wings, casual, no big deal.”

Paige laughed softly, eyes crinkling. “‘preciate you.”

“And second of all,” you added, digging into the bag at your side with a mischievous glint in your eye, “since it’s a big night, I thought we should toast.”

You pulled out two juice boxes.

The entire area around you cracked up, staff, Nike reps, even a few players passing by.

Paige raised her eyebrows, grinning wide. “You’re unreal.”

“I get that a lot,” you deadpanned, offering her one.

She reached out to take it, and your fingers brushed. Lingering. Way longer than necessary. Heat exploded up your arm.

Paige didn’t break eye contact for a second as she gently tapped her juice box against yours. “To new beginnings,” she murmured.

“To causing chaos,” you said back, voice dropping just a fraction.

She smiled, slow, lazy, devastating and for a second you genuinely forgot what your next question was.

It didn’t help that every time you handed her the mic, or gestured toward her, her fingers would find yours, light, feather-soft touches that made your brain foggy. It was all flirting, lowkey, under the radar, enough to make you giddy while still keeping the professional face for the cameras.

Eventually, after what felt like the fastest and slowest ten minutes of your life, Paige’s team had to pull her for other media obligations. She stood, squeezing your shoulder lightly as she handed the mic back, the contact lingering just a second too long, and then she was gone.

You blinked after her, shaking your head a little as you straightened in your seat.

“Get it together,” you muttered under your breath, adjusting your dress.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. A few more interviews, lots of smiles, polite laughter but your mind kept replaying her.

Finally, hours later, you sat at a small lounge area off to the side, checking the time on your phone. Five more minutes, and you could officially leave. You sighed, letting your head rest back against the chair.

“Long night?”

You turned and there she was. Paige.

Standing there, still looking stupidly good, her hands tucked casually into her pants pockets.

You smirked. “You stalking me now?”

“Maybe,” she said, grinning, sliding into the seat next to you.

This close, you could smell her perfume, clean and a little sweet. She turned slightly toward you, her knee brushing yours lightly.

The air between you felt electric again like something important was about to happen.

“You were great earlier,” she said, voice a little softer, a little rougher. “Had me laughing the whole time.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “I aim to please.”

She leaned in just slightly, eyes locked onto yours. “You do a good job of it.”

You were fully engaged now, giving back every ounce of energy she was throwing at you. Your posture, your smirk, the teasing glint in your eyes, it was all deliberate. It was fun. Dangerous.

Just when you opened your mouth to throw a cheeky comment back, Maggie appeared behind you, tapping your shoulder.

“Car’s ready,” she said.

You groaned dramatically. “Five more minutes, Maggie.”

Maggie just rolled her eyes and walked off, clearly used to your antics.

You gathered your clutch and started standing up when Paige said quickly, “Wait—can I get your number?”

You paused, pretending to think it over, tapping your finger against your chin. “Hmm. I don’t know…do you deserve it?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, challenging. “I’d like to think so.”

You glanced around, spotted a Sharpie on the table, and grabbed it. Without another word, you gently took Paige’s arm, rolled up the sleeve of her jacket just enough, and scribbled your Instagram handle in bold, black ink across the inside of her forearm.

You capped the pen and handed it back, smirking. “You have to work for the number. Start there. I’m here until the 19th.”

Paige looked down at her arm, then back up at you, pure amusement and interest written all over her face.

“Challenge accepted,” she murmured.

You shot her a wink, then turned and walked off toward the exit, feeling her eyes burning into your back the whole way.

Behind you, Paige just sat there, arm resting on the back of the chair, staring at the Instagram handle scrawled on her skin, a smug, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.

The past few days had felt like something out of a dream, one you didn’t quite want to wake up from.

Since the draft night, you and Paige had been nearly inseparable. Breakfasts that turned into lunches. Exploring Dallas, discovering hidden coffee shops, cozy bookstores, late-night drives with the windows down and music blasting.

There was something about Paige, something easy and magnetic, that made you drop your guard quicker than you ever thought you could. You weren’t usually the type to let people in so fast, but with her? It felt natural.

She made you laugh until your sides hurt, challenged you in every little way, and had this habit of looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.

Now, it was your last night before you had to catch your flight back to London, back to Arsenal, back to the chaos of your life.

Neither of you had said it out loud, but the weight of it hung in the air.

You were sprawled out on her couch, the two of you a tangle of limbs, comfortable and lazy. The TV was playing something neither of you were watching, the golden glow of the setting sun pouring in through the windows.

Paige nudged you with her foot. “Twenty questions.”

You turned your head to look at her, grinning. “Childish.”

“Scared?” she teased, one eyebrow raised.

“Never.”

You shifted to face her fully, folding your legs underneath you. “Fine. You start.”

“Okay.” Paige bit her lip, thinking. “Favorite color?”

You snorted. “Weak start. Black. Obviously.”

“You’re so emo,” she teased.

“Yeah? What’s yours, Bueckers?”

“Purple,” she answered easily.

You nodded. “You look like you like purple.”

You volleyed back and forth, favorite foods, hidden talents, weirdest fears (hers: snakes; yours: accidentally locking yourself in a bathroom at a party).

The questions grew slower, deeper. What’s your happiest memory? What scares you most about getting older? How do you actually cope with the fame?

That one hit differently. You stared at the ceiling for a second before answering.

“I don’t know if I do,” you said finally. “I think I just… compartmentalize. Like, there’s me, the person, and then there’s the version of me people want. And I just…try not to let them touch too much.”

Paige watched you quietly, eyes impossibly soft.

“You’re good at pretending,” she said, almost like it wasn’t a question.

You chuckled under your breath. “Yeah. You too.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that was heavy and thick but not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

You didn’t know who moved first, maybe it was both of you at once, but suddenly Paige was shifting closer, and you were mirroring her without even thinking.

“Your turn,” she said, voice low.

You wet your lips, heart hammering. “What are you thinking right now?”

Paige’s eyes darkened, a slow, smoldering look that made your whole body tighten with anticipation.

“I’m thinking about how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” she said, voice almost a whisper now.

Your breath caught, not from shock, but from pure, overwhelming want. You didn’t speak. You just leaned in, your hand finding her cheek, thumb brushing lightly across her skin. And then her lips were on yours. It started slow, gentle, almost cautious.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, feeling Paige’s fingers slide up to bury themselves in your hair. Her other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against her.

You kissed like you were starving for it, mouths parting, breathing each other in, that sweet sting of desperation hanging between you.

You shifted your body, swinging a leg over her lap without even thinking, straddling her. Her hands found your hips instantly, gripping tight, anchoring you to her.

She pulled back for half a second, just enough to look up at you—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

“Can I have your number now?” she asked, slightly breathless, but that same teasing glint still dancing in her eyes.

You grinned, slow and wicked, pretending to think about it.

And then, instead of answering, you leaned down and kissed her again, harder this time, teeth grazing her bottom lip in a way that made her groan low in her throat.

She pulled you closer, her hands roaming your sides, fingertips dragging against the thin fabric of your shorts, touch after touch setting your nerves on fire.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other.

“You’re a tease,” Paige murmured, her voice wrecked and fond all at once.

“You like it,” you whispered back.

She laughed, that gorgeous, laugh that made your chest ache, and tightened her hold on you like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

The locker room buzzed with the usual pregame energy, music blasting, boots being laced, jerseys being pulled over heads. You were tucked into your little corner, half-dressed in your kit, phone perched secretly in your hands as your thumbs moved fast over the screen.

p buckets 🩷

Good luck today superstar. Wish I could sneak down there and see you before the game starts.

You bit your lip to hide the stupid smile tugging at your mouth, your cheeks burning. You quickly fired back a reply.

you

behave, bueckers. you’ll distract me.

Almost immediately, another text pinged.

p buckets 🩷

No promises. You’re too fine in that jersey.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out, low, giddy, and you bowed your head, trying to be subtle about it.

Too late. Katie McCabe, the nosiest, loudest teammate you had, caught sight of you immediately.

She strutted over, towel thrown around her neck, and leaned down into your space.

“Alright, who’s got you smiling like a little idiot, huh?” she teased, smirking.

You jumped slightly, snapping your phone against your thigh and shoving it behind you.

“No one!” you blurted out way too fast.

Katie laughed, throwing her arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, sure, tell me another one.”

Before you could even come up with a terrible excuse, another figure appeared, Leah Williamson herself, captain, protector, honorary big sister. She had her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, clearly sensing blood in the water.

Chloe Kelly, recently back from on loan from Man City and another big-sister figure in your life, wasn’t far behind. The two of them exchanged one look, a deadly one, before closing in on you like sharks smelling blood.

“Who is it?” Leah demanded, half-joking, half-serious.

“No one!” you insisted again, your voice climbing an octave.

“Why you lying for?” Chloe chimed in, laughing. “We’ve known you since you were running around the training ground in your big cleats.”

Leah nodded solemnly. “Exactly. We know your tells.”

“I don’t have tells!” you whined.

They both raised their eyebrows.

“Yeah? Then why are you blushing like a tomato, little one?” Katie added, winking.

You were about to come up with some desperate, terrible lie when Renee, your head coach, clapped her hands loudly from across the room.

“Alright, enough!” Renee barked, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Eyes up here, team meeting!”

You exhaled a huge breath of relief as everyone shuffled toward the center of the room.

Katie shot you a wink. Leah narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. Chloe mouthed we’re not done before turning away.

You shook your head, cheeks still hot, and tucked your phone away safely in your locker.

The game against Lyon was electric — exactly what you expected from a Champions League semi-final first leg.

It ended tied 2–2, a hard-fought, emotional battle with moments of brilliance from both sides. You had picked up an assist and drawn the foul that led to your team’s penalty. Not bad, but you were already replaying every moment in your head, thinking about how you could have done even more.

After the final whistle, you did your usual rounds, clapping the fans, signing shirts, tossing your training jacket into the crowd.

It was the best part of nights like this, connecting with the people who supported you through it all.

You made your way along the barricades, signing shirts, hats, even a football boot at one point. And then you saw her.

Paige.

Leaning casually against the barrier, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wearing a simple black Nike hoodie and jeans, somehow still managing to look unfairly good.

The second your eyes locked, you felt yourself light up like a firework.

You tried—tried—to keep it cool, but your grin cracked through instantly.

“Hey, superstar,” Paige teased as you got closer.

“Hey yourself, rookie,” you fired back, feeling breathless for absolutely no reason.

You signed a few more things for kids near her, pretending not to be in a rush to get to her. Finally, you stopped right in front of her.

“You want something signed, Bueckers?” you teased, tapping the Sharpie against her hoodie.

She smirked, mischief in her eyes. “Depends. You gonna make it special for me?”

You chuckled lowly, took a dramatic, exaggerated breath and then, grinning wide, you grabbed the hem of her hoodie and scribbled your signature across it. A big, messy, ridiculous signature.

“Collectible now,” you said, handing the pen back and winking.

She laughed, brushing her fingers lightly against yours as she took it, a little lingering, a little too casual. You felt the shiver go down your spine.

You two kept flirting, kept leaning a little closer than necessary, exchanging little touches that burned hotter every second. Then you felt it. That disruptive energy.

You peeked over Paige’s shoulder and sure enough across the pitch, perched near the tunnel, Leah and Chloe were squinting hard in your direction. Hands on hips. Mouths slightly open like they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing.

You rolled your eyes and groaned dramatically.

“Problem?” Paige teased, noticing your sudden change in vibe.

“Just my bodyguards,” you said dryly.

She laughed, low and knowing.

“I’ll see you after I finish up,” you said, stepping back slightly but still reluctant to leave.

“You better,” she said, eyes twinkling.

You shot her one last grin, before jogging back toward the tunnel but not before blowing her a playful kiss that made her shake her head and laugh under her breath.

The whistle blew and the Emirates erupted.

5–1.

Five to one.

You could barely hear yourself think over the roar of the crowd, your teammates piling onto you, hugging, shouting, screaming their lungs out.

You had scored a banger, a left-footed rocket into the top corner, and you could still feel the buzz in your veins.

Arsenal Women were going to the Champions League final. The first time in eighteen years.

You stumbled around the pitch with the others, grinning so hard your face hurt, high-fiving everyone you could reach.

Confetti was already starting to drift down like snow. Flags waving, chants booming from the stands. It was a dream.

You turned, soaking it all in and then your eyes swept the crowd. And there she was.

Standing just beyond the barriers, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, a soft smile on her lips as she watched you.

The second your eyes locked, you lit up like the fourth of July.

You grinned wide, practically bouncing on the spot, and jerked your head toward her, mouthing wait for me.

You tore through your usual post-game routine, signing shirts, tossing your training top into the stands, posing for a few pictures, rushing but trying not to make it obvious.

The second you got close enough, you didn’t even think. You launched yourself over the barrier, right into Paige’s arms.

She caught you instantly, strong and sure, wrapping you up and lifting you slightly off the ground. You laughed into her neck as she swung you side to side, holding you tight like she wasn’t planning on letting go.

“I am so proud of you,” she murmured into your ear, voice warm and full of something that made your heart squeeze painfully.

You pulled back just enough to see her, your faces inches apart, still smiling, still dizzy with adrenaline and joy. And then, without a second thought, Paige leaned in and crashed her lips onto yours.

It was messy and breathless and perfect, the taste of victory and salt and something sweeter you didn’t have a name for yet. Her hands cupped your jaw, yours grabbed fistfuls of her shirt, both of you entirely forgetting the rest of the world existed.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world had not forgotten about you.

A chorus of screams shattered the moment. You cracked one eye open to see Leah and Chloe a few meters away, standing on the edge of the pitch, pointing at you dramatically.

“OI!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” Leah shouted, voice high with betrayal.

“YOU’RE DEAD! DEAD DEAD DEAD!” Chloe screeched, looking two seconds away from vaulting the barrier herself.

You snorted into Paige’s shoulder, half laughing, half dying of second-hand embarrassment.

Thankfully, Lia Wälti appeared behind them like an angel. She threw an arm across both Leah’s and Chloe’s chests, physically restraining them like they were wild animals about to bolt.

She caught your eye over their heads, gave you a slow, exaggerated wink, and mouthed go!

You grinned wickedly, stuck your tongue out at Leah and Chloe, and watched as their shrieks of protest somehow got even louder.

You turned back to Paige, still tucked safely against her. “Let’s go,” you whispered urgently, laughing under your breath. “Before they break free and I have to explain to the board why Leah Williamson murdered me in public.”

Paige grinned, grabbed your hand tightly in hers, and tugged you away into the bowels of the stadium—running, laughing, hearts pounding, hand in hand, your futures cracking wide open right behind you.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Mic’d Up Mayhem

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x !USC girlfriend Reader

Rating: General (Fluff, Light Angst, Competitive Banter)

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball (USC & UConn)

Summary: In a highly anticipated USC vs. UConn matchup, you and Juju are mic’d up alongside Paige and Jana. Only to be mic’d up for both games against each other.... and everyone is enjoying the show

“Alright, y’all,” Juju grinned, adjusting her mic pack as we stretched at midcourt. “Let’s give the people a show.”

“Oh, I plan to.” I smirked, shooting a look across the court where Paige was going through layup drills.

Paige caught my stare, smirking right back before launching a perfect three-pointer. She didn’t even watch it go in. Show-off.

“You always do when she’s around,” Juju teased under her breath.

I nudged her. “Shut up.”

Jana jogged by, adjusting her mic. “Y’all are disgusting already. Game hasn’t even started.”

“Jealous, El Alfy?” I teased.

Jana rolled her eyes. “Let’s see if you’re still talking when I send your shot into the stands.”

“Try it.”

Paige, apparently always listening even if mid conversation with Ice, called from across the court, “Babe, you’re not getting past Jana.”

I gasped. “You’re supposed to support me!”

“I do—just not when you’re lying to yourself, or going against me and fam.”

Juju cackled. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

From the second the game started, Paige and I couldn’t shut up.

“Nice pass, baby,” Paige taunted after I barely got the ball past her defense.

I grinned, catching the ball again. “You want an assist? I can pass you my number.”

Paige snorted. “I have your number, loser. And you text me every five minutes.”

Juju cut in. “She’s not lying.”

I whipped my head around. “Girl, whose side are you on?”

“The side that wins,” Juju shot back, sinking a jumper, sending a wink at me as we moved back to being defense.

Jana jogged past, clapping. “But not for long.”

By halftime, it was a battle.

Paige hit a smooth pull-up jumper over me, then winked. “Too slow, babe.”

I exhaled sharply. “You want me to start playing for real, huh?”

Paige just grinned. “Try it.”

So, I did.

The next time Paige drove to the basket, I bodied her up. Legal contact—barely—but she stumbled.

“Damn,” Paige laughed, catching her balance. “Didn’t know my girl was this aggressive.”

Juju clapped beside me. “Oh, we love it.”

“Don’t hype her up,” Paige groaned.

Jana called, out just before trying to set up a screen for Paige. “She doesn’t need hype. She’s cooking us already, P.”

Paige raised a brow at me. “Oh, word ? Do less talking and more defense Jana.”

I winked. “Love you, baby”

She smirked. “Love you more, I guess.”

Juju fake gagged. “GOD, we get it. You’re in love.”

The game was tight—UConn and USC trading buckets down to the final minutes.

I had the ball at the top of the key, trying to shake Jana off me. She was locked in, waiting for me to drive.

I hesitated, then went for it—big mistake.

Jana timed it perfectly, swatting my shot into the stands. But my momentum was off, and as I landed, my foot twisted awkwardly.

Pain shot through my ankle. “Shit.”

Before I could even process it, Paige was there.

She dropped down beside me, pushing past the trainers. “Baby, you okay?”

I hissed, clutching my ankle. “I—I think so.”

Juju kneeled beside me, concern all over her face. “That looked rough, man.”

Jana hovered behind her, guilt flashing in her eyes. “I—I, you good.”

I shook my head quickly. “It was clean, Jana. Just bad luck.”

Paige, however, was not focused on the play. She was brushing sweaty strands of hair from my forehead, scanning my face like I’d just been shot.

“Babe, you’re scaring me,” I muttered, as she and Juju helped me stand.

Paige exhaled. “Sorry, sorry. Just—you good?”

I nodded. “I’ll live.”

And then, as I fix my semi untucked jersey, my mic pack fall out, the realization hit all of us.

Juju’s eyes widened. “Wait—”

Jana cursed. “Shit, we’re mic’d up.”

I froze.

Paige paled.

The entire arena had just heard us being disgustingly in love.

I covered my face. “Oh my God.”

I managed to play the final minute—adrenaline doing most of the work. With two seconds left, I sank a cold-blooded three, sealing USC’s 80-78 win.

The crowd exploded.

Paige was visibly annoyed, but she still smiled as I limped toward her in the handshake line.

“Good game,” I teased, taking her hand.

She smirked. “You owe me.”

I shrugged. “How about a kiss?”

Paige blinked. “Right here, ma ya sure?”

I grinned, tugging her forward. “Why not? Everybody already heard us acting like lovesick idiots.”

And with that, I kissed her.

It wasn’t long—just enough for the cameras to catch it, for the crowd to roar, for our teammates to lose their minds.

Paige pulled back, dazed. “You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

She chuckled. “Yeah… I do.”

Before I even got to the locker room good, my phone was blowing up.

Juju ran up beside me, showing me her screen. “Bro, look.”

Twitter (X, whatever) was exploding:

@NCAAWNation: Paige Bueckers & Y/N mic’d up while trash talking/flirting is everything I didn’t know I needed

@USChoops: NOT THEM FORGETTING THEY HAD MICS ON LMAO

@WNBAFuture: Juju’s reaction when she realized they were mic’d up is sending me

And then, TikTok.

Clips of our mic’d-up moments were everywhere. Paige saying love you more, me calling her a flirty menace, her full-on panic when I got hurt—TikTok was eating it up.

And, of course, the kiss.

Jana walked by, shaking her head. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

Paige just grinned, wrapping an arm around me. “Jealous, El Alfy?”

Jana groaned. “so glad she kicked your ass not gonna lie,”

Paige smirked down at me. “Eh. I got the real win right here, plus she kicked OUR ass by two points.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so corny.”

She kissed my temple. “And..”

I barely had time to shower before Paige was waiting outside my locker room, arms crossed, smug as hell.

“You’re taking me to dinner,” she declared, leaning against the doorframe.

I scoffed, finishing the knot on my hoodie. “I’m taking you?”

She smirked. “You kissed me in front of an entire arena, babe. Least you can do is buy me a burger.”

Juju appeared at my side, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “I vote we all go. Y/N paying.”

I groaned. “Why am I paying?”

Jana, walking by, answered without stopping. “’Cause, it'll be pitty dinner to the looser, name Paige.”

Paige cackled. “ouch, but she’s got a point.”

So, somehow, I ended up at a late-night diner with Paige, Juju, and half of our teammates from both teams. The game had been electric, but the real fun? Watching Paige smugly take sips of her milkshake while everyone talked about the mic’d-up chaos.

“You really forgot?” Aubey grinned, nudging Paige.

Paige didn’t even blink. “I was focused on my girl.”

Juju fake gagged into her fries. “I want a refund on my ears.”

I rolled my eyes, flicking a fry at Paige. “You were focused on trash-talking me.”

“And look where it got me,” she smirked. “victory in trash talking milkshake.”

Jana cut in. “Barely. If Juju had missed that shot, it was OT.”

Juju lifted her fork like a mic. “I never miss.”

Paige side-eyed her. “I’ll remember that.”

She was already plotting her revenge for our next match up in two weeks.

The people wanted more, so here we were. UConn vs. USC, round two. Except this time, Paige was locked in. Less flirting. More trash talk.

“I hope you stretched, babe,” I teased, adjusting my mic pack.

Paige grinned. “I hope you practiced your jump shot.”

Juju and Jana exchanged looks. “Here we go again, just dont forget we're mic’d up y'all.”

Paige was relentless.

Every time I touched the ball, she was in my space. I barely got off a shot before she smacked it away.

“Not today, mamas,” she taunted, wagging a finger.

I groaned. “You’re so annoying.”

Juju, running past, laughed. “Says the one who spent the last game flirting.”

Paige just smirked. “I can do both.”

She proved it by stealing the ball from me, driving downcourt, and sinking a three.

I put my hands on my hips, before doing a quick check ball with Juju. “Show-off.”

Paige jogged backward, smirking. “I know.”

Once down the court and getting reader to take the shot for a 2, Paige blocked me again. I swear, she was on a mission.

“That’s three.” She held up fingers. “You good, babe?”

I groaned. “I will be when I get past you.”

“Manifesting, huh?”

Juju clapped beside me. “She needs something, cause gurl you could have made that way before her block.”

I deadpanned. “Y’all suck.”

Jana shouted from the paint, “You still haven’t scored on her, by the way.”

Paige grinned. “Thank you, Jana.”

I glared at them both, Juju snorted. “She’s salty.”

I managed to shake Paige on a screen and hit a floater over Jana.

Paige sighed dramatically. “Congrats, babe. You’re on the board.”

I flipped my hair. “You’re just mad I scored, and it wasn'tagainst you.”

Paige grinned. “Nah, I’ll just drop a three on you next possession.”

And she did.

The game was tight, but UConn pulled ahead. Paige hit back-to-back threes, then turned to me with the smuggest grin.

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, Steph Curry.”

Paige shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

Desperate, I went for my own three. I followed my form, watched the ball arc—and bricked.

Paige cackled. “Babe.”

I groaned. “Don’t.”

She jogged past, patting my shoulder. “What did I tell you about following your shot?”

Juju, chimed in. “Hate to agree, but Bueckers is right, gotta stick the form and follow ya shot girly”

I roll my eyes , “Judea, who's side are you on bro.”

We fought hard as we could, but it's wasn’t enough. UConn won by six, 90-84 and I was annoyed. Paige, however, was thriving.

She found me in the handshake line, tilting her head. “Dinner’s on me, ma.”

I groaned, softly. “Yeah your turn to get me pitty dinner.”

She grinned. “Love you too, baby.”

I sighed. “You’re so obnoxious.”

Paige leaned in, voice low. “Yeah, but you keep coming back for more.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Another night, another viral moment. This time, Twitter was roasting me.

@NCAAWNation: Paige blocking Y/N three times in a row and then hitting a three on her is top-tier entertainment.

@USChoops: NOT Y/N BRICKING A THREE RIGHT AFTER PAIGE HIT ONE

@WNBAFuture: I need these two mic’d up forever.

@lil_paigey.p: hope no trouble in paradise for those two later...

And, of course, Paige had zero sympathy.

She FaceTimed me that night, grinning. “Had fun?”

I groaned. “I’m blocking your number.”

She smirked. “No, you’re not.”

And, of course, she was right. “But no, good game, P. You did an amazing job”

Looking in the camera with a soft smile, “You fought, hard baby and I'm proud of you for that.” she said as she propped her phone up as she entered the fortnite lobby, with Juju.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[superherocapturedbydemons]

Dear fic writers of tumblr,

If your a fan of the wnba, I have a serious request.

There is zeroooo Angel Reese x Caitlin Clark content.

I’m not even picky, I’ll take whatever kind of fic comes to mind. Pleaseeeee after all star weekend I need content!

[bucketbueckers]

COME AROUND

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader content: language, kinda angsty (but with a happy ending because above all else, i am my own target audience), friends to lovers to exes to lovers, too many gatsby references, teenage awkardness, hopkins!p, sexuality, generational fumble from paige, mental health, slight injury, painfully long

wc: 27.0k synopsis: You were always a little tender-hearted. That’s why your friends told you to stay far, far away from Paige Bueckers. You tried, you honestly did – but Paige was magnetic, and she loved you, and you were just a little too weak to say no. Eventually, you’d have to come to terms with the realization that the both of you were growing up far too fast and that there were many lessons still left to be learned, although you never thought that moment of reckoning would come in the fashion that it did. Despite losing your way over the years, the beautiful thing about life is that you always find your way back home. notes: kinda funny that i thought this was gonna be like 5-6k words long...lol sike 😍 last night's game actually killed me but what do i actually know about basketball. i just work here. this fic came to me in a fever dream and was not planned out at all, is poorly proof-read, and at the end of the day i dont actually know if its good or not cause im sick of reading it. also. please let me know how we feel about the sexuality/process of coming out. i tried to make it as authentic as possible (i did NOT feel like writing homophobia, paige and reader got enough shit going on in this one shot) but lowkey...idk how it works. crazy lore drop but when i realized i liked girls i said "ok" and went on with my day and then eventually got outed to my family so like..oh well. i think that's it though but as always let me know what y'all think and pls pls enjoy 🫶

tags: @unadulteratedcyclepaper @avvwritesstufff @surferandskater5

You were always a little tender hearted — or so you’ve been told. Your heart lives perpetually on your sleeve, bared, bleeding, beating persistently regardless of the way it breaks under the slightest pressure. You’re a patchwork of criss-crossing bandages, an amalgamation of stitches and sutures; nevertheless, you still find the bravery to love and open up your heart in spite of it all. You wouldn’t say that you let people walk all over you. You’re outspoken and proud of it, opinionated and driven. In the same breath, you’re sensitive and trusting – perhaps to a fault, but that’s just who you are.

You don’t think this is a character flaw. Yes, you get hurt, but that’s inevitable. You like to think that if people like you stopped putting love and compassion into the world, then it would all go to shit eventually. You like to think that there is someone out there who will see your effort for what it is and care enough to protect your heart as if it were their own. Platonically, romantically, you didn’t particularly mind – you wanted to forge genuine connections with people. You wanted to love in whatever form that came to be. So, yes. You get hurt. Yes, it would be easier for you to not care so much at all, but if people gave up so quickly, then how would we grow? How can we expect to glean something from the world if it was a depleted resource?

Hopkins, Minnesota, was a quaint little city, but it was where you grew up. Elementary and middle school was… well, elementary and middle school. You learned a lot about yourself, about others, and made a few close friends that have stuck by you for years. Then high school came around and things shifted. Your classmates were confusing mixtures of self-absorbed and altruistic, trying too hard to be one thing or the other, and it was this strange imbalance between finding who you’re supposed to be versus staying true to what you’ve known. It’s that weird thing called growing up, and sure, everyone does it – in a literal sense as they grow older physically, but also as they change their minds and learn new things about the world and themselves, although growing up in high school is just so daunting. It’s like you’re supposed to have all of the right answers, right now, which is scary because you don’t even have the right answers for algebra yet you’re supposed to make life-altering decisions about the person you are?

You digress, though. Freshman year is decent. You get into a steady rhythm, join a couple of clubs that will look good on college applications, and you make a few new friends, ones that feel a little more like you despite the ones you’ve been holding onto since kindergarten. Sophomore year is full of changes, yet again.

But junior year? They weren’t lying when they said it would be the hardest year of high school. You were taking a few AP classes and a dual enrollment class or two to round it out, but despite that, junior year comes with a lot more internal realizations. You weren’t a sports person by any means, but Paige Bueckers soon became a name you were intimately familiar with. She’d led her team pretty far into the playoffs during sophomore year although they ultimately fell short. There was something about her that was magnetic and you wanted to know more, see more. She was a freshman phenom, a generational player.

And when you mention this to your friends, trying to screw up the courage to attend one of the Hopkins girls’ games, you’re adamant that this new shift has nothing to do with the six foot, blonde guard with whom you share a fourth period AP Lit class with. Sure, Paige is ridiculously pretty (even though you’re 100% straight), charming, and she has a way of drawing everyone in. You’d just like to be her friend and that’s all there is to it. You don’t stare at her as your literature teacher rambles on about whatever classic book you’re reading – you don’t remember if it’s To Kill a Mockingbird or The Great Gatsby, but as long as Paige is sitting one row in front and two chairs to the right of you, there probably isn’t a chance that you’ll find it in you to care.

Then, around late October, it’s time for group projects and you’re just hoping you’re not paired with someone who doesn’t want to do the work. When your teacher rattles off your name, pausing once to glance at the rest of the roster, and calling out Paige as your partner, you aren’t entirely sure if this is something you want to celebrate or dread. You look up from your open book, The Great Gatsby, although you’ve read this dozens of times already, and you find that Paige is already turning back to look at you. Her face is a mix of easygoing confidence and gentle kindness all wrapped up in a radiant smile that makes your heart drop out of your ass.

Your classmates shuffle around and she slides into the desk seat next to yours, her knees bumping awkwardly on the sides, but she hardly pays it any mind as she introduces herself to you, as if she isn’t the most famous seventeen-year-old you’ve ever sat next to. You figure that her introduction is more out of humility than anything else. It’s probably daunting to be her, intimidating to bear the weight of countless expectations on shoulders that are barely broad enough to fill out her jersey. You give her your name and she repeats it back to you slowly, testing the pronunciation on her tongue, and grinning when you nod, ignoring the blush that creeps up on your neck.

“A’ight,” Paige says, rubbing her hands together in a way that looks corny as hell, but you can’t help but be amused by it, “What do you think?”

The prompt on the board is simple – by AP Lit standards, at least. Explain the symbolism of the green light. Common interpretations think of the light as a representation of Gatsby’s love for Daisy, the American Dream, or money. Do you believe any of these interpretations (or an interpretation of your own) reflect the themes of the story and Gatsby, or do you believe the narrator, Nick Carraway, has unreliably pushed his own thoughts and interpretations onto Gatsby? How does the green light tie into the broader themes of Gatsby and Daisy’s relationship? Your project must be in the form of a PowerPoint presentation…

You stop reading as the rest of the prompt goes into the rubric. “You first,” you tell Paige, smiling when she huffs dramatically.

“I think it’s supposed to represent Gatsby’s feelings for Daisy,” Paige states. “I mean, it’s constant, like Gatsby’s been in love with Daisy for years. Even before he went off to war. And he’s always starin’ at it at night. I do think Nick is putting his own thoughts into it. Like, by sayin’ Gatsby believes in the ‘orgastic future that year by year recedes before us.’ I’on even know what that means.” You can’t help but laugh at this, drawing a grin from Paige. “But you know what I mean, right? He fell in love with this girl before he went off to war, years pass and he’s alive but she’s married to another dude and he’s rich and lonely and I guess he’s close to her, but they ain’t really that close – I feel like that light just, you know, reminds him that she’s there.” Paige’s voice gets quieter the more she rambles, and when she catches the soft attentiveness in your features, she scratches the back of her neck, shy.

You smile at her. “You know, I wouldn’t have expected that kind of analysis from you,” you admit.

“Bro, what?” she exclaims, choking on a laugh as you dissolve into giggles. “I see how it is. It’s ‘cause I’m supposed to be a dumb jock, right?”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks hurting from the strength of your smile. “No. I mean, like what you said about the light reminding him that she’s there. I always thought I was the only one who interpreted it that way, too.” Paige’s gaze softens as she takes in your explanation. “I feel like Gatsby is trapped in two different times – the past, where he loved her, and the present, where he still loves her but can’t have her. The light simultaneously reminds him of what he’s lost but also what he could have, you know?” Paige nods, encouraging you to go on. “There’s a distance between them, literally, but I think Gatsby feels like Daisy is still within reach. That his dreams are still within reach. I don’t think he realizes he’s chasing a dream from five years ago, or that Daisy eventually moves on as Nick watches Daisy fall in and out of love with Gatsby.”

“That is…really depressing,” Paige says, which makes you laugh again, but the way she’s gazing at you makes you feel as though she’s seeing you in a different light.

You shrug a shoulder, trying to not think too hard about the way her blue eyes sparkle. “I cried over this book a couple of times. I’m kind of a professional now.”

“Now that’s somethin’ I’d expect from you,” Paige teases.

“Okay, jerk!” you gasp indignantly. “You don’t even know me. What makes you so sure of that?”

Paige hums, pretending to think about something, but her expression is undeniably smug. “Call it intuition. How about you let me get to know you and I’ll let you know if it’s true?”

Oh. You were definitely not expecting that one. Your heart thrums a little at the implication, but it softens ever so slightly because you can clearly make out the earnestness reflected in her eyes, the realization that despite the grandeur and the fame and the talent beyond her years, Paige is still human.

“Well,” you say in a manner that you hope is supposed to be coy, “we’re stuck together now for this project. Getting to know me is a little inevitable.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” Paige asks, her lips tugging into a teasing smirk, one that makes you feel exasperated – in a good way. “And what happens after the project? You still gonna let me hang around and annoy you?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, hating the way your pulse races, although you ignore it. “We’ll see if I still like you by then,” you say, which makes her smirk turn into a smile that’s a little more tender, less cocky.

“I can work with that,” she promises. And with that, the both of you start outlining your project. Paige throws in a comment here and there that makes you laugh, keeping the mood light as you work. At the end of the period, you punch your number into her phone, dutifully ignoring the grin on her face and the blush on yours. She texts you immediately after just to be sure, but she texts you during your next class to complain about how boring her history teacher is, too. Conversation comes easy with Paige. It’s like she just knows – knows you – and you’re not sure if that should scare you or excite you. Despite not knowing why your budding friendship with Paige feels so different, you just know that it feels right, and that was good enough for you.

Your last class of the day is a study hall and you’re sitting at a table in the back with two of your friends, Mack and Serena. You can all but feel the mood shift when you recount your day. The mere mention of Paige is enough for your friends to jump on the defensive.

“You need to stay away from her,” Mack says, her tone serious. You frown, glancing at Serena for some help, but she only shifts uncomfortably, finding her online work a lot more appealing than this conversation. “Paige is someone who’s gonna break your heart, okay?”

“It’s not even like that–”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Mack states firmly. “It wasn’t like that when Izy left, was it?”

Despite yourself, your expression sours, and Mack reclines as though she’s made her point. You suppose she has. Izy was your best friend. The two of you were attached at the hip since kindergarten, but in freshman year, she found a new group of friends. She had a lot more in common with them than she did with you – or so it seemed – and she didn’t necessarily cut you off, but it probably would have been easier if she did. The two of you talked sparingly, plans always seemed to fall through, and the loss of that friendship hurt just as much as a break up would.

“Or ‘he-who-shall-not-be-named,’” Serena adds unhelpfully, because all it does is twist your heart again. He who shall not be named, or more colloquially known as Logan, was your first boyfriend. Granted, you only dated him for about three months in the eighth grade, but the break up turned your world upside down. He was your first something. That wasn’t anything to scoff at and he wasn’t kind in the aftermath, so it’s not really your fault for feeling impossibly upset about it. Maybe there was just something about you that made it difficult for people to want to stick around, but maybe there was something about you that managed to pick wrong every time.

“Those are different,” you argue. You can’t help the way your voice wavers, and you feel angry at yourself all over again for getting upset about this. “I was friends with Izy for ten years and Logan was my first boyfriend. They meant something to me.”

“Sure,” Mack concedes. “But you felt a lot for them. Watching you work through that heartbreak…” She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve been hurt by a lot of ignorant people, and, yeah, you always get back up at the end of the day, but I know it weighs on you.” Mack pauses, finding her thoughts as you stare imploringly at her. “People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. You know as soon as she gets an offer, she’s leaving Minnesota and she’s not gonna look back. She’s destined for something a little greater than Hopkins.”

You swallow thickly, Mack’s words hitting you harder than she probably intended. Part of you knows that she’s right. Paige is only a junior but she’s a top prospect coming out of high school. She’s going to go to a great college for basketball. UConn, South Carolina, Notre Dame – one of the dynasties. You’re sure she’d get an offer to stay home and attend the University of Minnesota, but you also know that she’s worth a lot more than Minnesota. The other part of you, the part more connected to that bleeding heart of yours, doesn’t want to listen to Mack. It holds out hope that you wouldn’t be just another part of Paige’s past – maybe you could be part of her future.

Mack glances up at you again, studying your expression, and she softens. “Hey,” she says, gathering your attention. “I’m not gonna make a choice for you. If you wanna be her friend…go for it. I just want you to be careful who you show your heart to. Some people take it for granted.”

You nod carefully, appreciative of the way she looks out for you, and the two of you return to your work. Only moments later, your phone buzzes on the table. A notification from Paige lights up on your screen, then two, and you smile despite yourself and open your messages. You text her back, already pushing your conversation with Mack and Serena to the back of your mind, and you hardly notice their concerned glances as you respond.

Your project isn’t due until mid-December, the Friday before winter break, but you and Paige spend nearly every other day together when she doesn’t have practice. It’s a steady rhythm for the two of you: sitting through your literature class together, exchanging teasing glances and text messages when your teacher isn’t looking, complaining about the other classes you don’t share with each other, and finding yourselves at one or the other’s house to work on your project or simply enjoy each other’s company. You’ll admit that the two of you don’t get much work done most days, instead filling the time with pointless conversations about nothing but mean everything. Hours with Paige feels like mere minutes and you don’t part until a parent texts about dinner and you have to go your separate ways.

She invites you out to one of her games. It’s on a Friday night, and at first, you want to decline, hearing Mack’s words swirl through your brain once more. People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. You don’t want to have to share Paige’s attention, which is a realization that shocks you to your core. It’s dangerously possessive and honestly, it flusters you a little. You’d never been so territorial over a friend’s time like you have been with Paige. Perhaps territorial isn’t even the right word. You have no claim over Paige, nor does she have any claim over you. You don’t like girls and you don’t like her in that way, even if that disjointed flutter in your chest makes you wonder otherwise. You don’t.

Paige seems to read your expression perfectly. That’s a new thing, too. You have been friends for less than a month, although it feels like you’ve known her forever. You know her favorite color, the women she grew up idolizing, the larger-than-life dreams that you know she’s going to make come true because Paige is nothing if not a girl who works hard and believes in herself. You know the messier parts of Paige, her parent’s divorce, her unyielding faith, and the uncharacteristically insecure “I like girls. Does that change anything with us?” that she’d whispered over the phone one night (your heart had raced and you felt warmth creep up your cheeks; you didn’t know what that meant, but you wholeheartedly meant it when you promised her that it wouldn’t change anything).

“You won’t even know I’m there,” you say to Paige, referring back to the game, and her brows furrow in a stupefied confusion. “Are you, like, aware of how many people go to your games?”

Paige rolls her eyes, but the action lacks any real heat as a smile spreads across her face, slow and insufferable in that way only Paige is capable of. “If you’re in the stands, I’m not gonna care about anyone else,” she promises, which makes your heart skip a beat. “I want you there.”

You didn’t really need much convincing after that, so on Friday night, you find yourself in the student section. You’re not even sure who the Royals are playing – probably a district rival – but the one thing you’re sure of is that Paige oozes with confidence, an easy grin on her face as she warms up on the court. She’s chatting with one of her teammates, although her eyes scan the gym imperceptibly. Then, her eyes are sliding across your figure, taking in your – her – Hopkins basketball hoodie that she forced you to wear, showcasing her last name and her number on the back of it, and her grin softens as she waves at you.

That night, Paige plays like she has a point to prove. She’s unguardable from the three-point line, demanding in the paint like she’s prime Lebron James, and she slices through the other teams defense seamlessly as she makes near impossible passes to her wide open teammates. Paige is full of energy, a searing combination of adrenaline and pure love for the game, but the trait that truly captures your attention is the unfiltered cockiness. Off the court, Paige is humble, although you’re still trying to figure out if that’s truly who she is or if it’s her protecting herself from all of the eyes that are on her constantly. But on the court? Paige plays like she’s the best player in the state (which she is) and she plays like she knows she’s the best player in the state (she knows she is). The only word that comes to mind is menace. Paige isn’t a dick, but when she sinks a three, she throws up three fingers as she back pedals for defense. When she landed an impossible buzzer beater to send off the first half, she’d glanced down at her arm, tapping on her wrist as if she were wearing a watch. Then, late in the third quarter, when she stole the ball from an opposing player and took it across the court for the easiest layup of her life and stole the ball again when the other team was trying to inbound it (she scored on that one, too), her celebration was directed at you. She pointed at you in the crowd, a grin on her face and pride in her eyes, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her, shaking your head as the warmth spread through your body.

Seeing Paige play in person is like seeing her in a different light, and honestly, you feel like you know her a little better now. You feel more drawn to her. She offers to walk you home after the game. At first, you want to decline. She just played out of her mind and lead her team to a blowout win against whoever the fuck and your mom is just a call away. Paige insists, reminding you that your houses really aren’t that far apart, and you suppose you can’t really argue against that one.

She keeps you entertained the entire walk back, cracking jokes and recounting some of her favorite plays from the game, and when her knuckles brush against yours as she rambles, you find that you really don’t mind that spark of electricity that runs up your spine at the contact. She tests the waters, pressing closer and closer until finally, she links her pinky with yours under the streetlight; you smile at her, something that’s simultaneously soft and welcoming and laced with the sudden realization about yourself that you’d been putting off the entire time you’d known Paige. You liked her. She glances over at you, mid sentence with a content smile on her face. When she registers the fact that you’ve been staring at her, she stutters, fumbling over her words, and you can’t help your laughter as she blushes bright pink.

It should probably scare you a lot more than it does. Liking a girl is scary and daunting but liking Paige, your best friend, feels like something new entirely. You remember Mack’s words again. People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. As quickly as they’d popped into your brain, you push them to the back of your mind. Mack doesn’t know Paige like you. That much you’re sure of. And if you get hurt in the process of trying to live and experience things for the first time and giving your heart out to someone, then so be it; you were used to it by now, but the gentleness of Paige’s gaze under the moonlight feels like she’s promising that she wouldn’t hurt you.

The two of you pause at your doorstep. You can hear the gentle thrum of crickets, the drag of the wind across grass and leaves. Paige stands tall over you, her expression soft as she gazes down at you with what seems like a flicker of hope – for what, you’re not sure. The air between you feels charged, electric, like you’re opposite ends of a magnet and it’s only a matter of time before you fall into each other entirely.

“So,” she murmurs, cocking a wry smile at you. The usual sharp edges of her confidence has rounded out, enveloping you both in a sort of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the most confusing and best way possible.

“So,” you agree, drawing a quiet huff of laughter from Paige, who runs the flat of her palm across her jaw, contemplative. You give her the space to find her words – she’s done the same for you many times; she was usually the talker between the two of you, but you’ve come to find that she’s an amazing listener, too. A beat passes and she doesn’t say anything, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, and that’s when you decide to step in. “You played great tonight,” you admit.

Paige blinks, as if she’d forgotten all about the basketball game she spent your entire walk home rambling about. Her brows relax, her smile turning bashful, and you can clearly see the humble pride in her eyes, illuminated by porchlight. “You were there,” she says. “Had to show out.” You roll your eyes fondly, your heart thundering in your chest. “Does this mean you’ll come to more of my games?”

You pause, pretending to think about it, but you’re sure the smile on your face gives you away as you respond, “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Paige sighs, playfully exasperated, and you give in easily. “I’ll be there. I had to make sure you were actually good at this basketball thing.”

“My biggest cheerleader,” she mumbles dryly. The sheer excitement and relief on her face betrays her words and her tone and you can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you say. Your voice is hardly a whisper, but it seems to echo in this little bubble of space that the two of you have created.

“I – yeah, I mean, of course,” Paige stammers. She clears her throat, exhaling a long, deep breath, and you’re certain the fondness shows on your face as you stare at her. Paige quirks a smile, slightly embarrassed. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m not!” you exclaim, laughing for real now, which just makes Paige dissolve into laughter of her own. Soon enough, your giggles die down, and you’re both staring at each other with soft, captured smiles. The awkwardness of the moment melts away into something lighter; briefly, you wonder if she’d been standing this close the entire time – you can feel the warmth of her body as she stands mere inches away from you. “Goodnight, Paige.”

“Goodnight,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move, and neither do you. You don’t shy away when her fingers tentatively brush across your waist, her body eclipsing yours, and the both of you are slowly inching towards each other, breaths mingling when your front door bursts open and your little brother pops his head out with a shout of your name. You and Paige scramble away from each other, feeling like you’ve been caught red-handed.

“Get inside!” you hiss at your little brother, not awaiting his response as you push him back inside, closing the door and leaning against it. Part of you feels like crawling into a hole and never coming out of it. Your gaze returns to Paige, who’s staring at you with a mix of amusement, embarrassment, and a whole lot of affection. You sigh, feeling both resigned and like you’d been cheated out of something, and you press your forehead into the door to curb the awkwardness. “Sorry,” you say, knowing full well why you’re apologizing but also understanding that acknowledging the need to apologize is the same as acknowledging the fact that you and Paige were about to do something that would drastically change the course of your friendship.

“S’okay,” Paige says earnestly. You lift your head to meet her gaze, hoping that she’s not just saying it to make you feel better about yourself, but you find nothing but honesty in her features. Her hand brushes against yours once more, a gentle smile on her face. “I’ll text you when I’m home, yeah?”

You nod, exhaling again, mustering up a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes due to the overwhelming embarrassment. “Yeah. Night, Paige.”

“Goodnight,” she says again, her expression soft, and this time, she does leave, her hands buried in her pockets. You swear she glances back at you but it’s too dark to tell for sure. Tentatively, you make your way inside, unwilling to meet your brother’s eyes. It’s not until you’re getting changed for bed that you realize you’re still wearing the hoodie she’d given to you.

You pull it off slowly, carefully, like it’s a prized possession. To you, it may as well be. After what transpired on your front porch only moments ago – or what almost transpired on your front porch, the fact that you’re in possession of her hoodie feels strangely intimate to you. It feels right, too, which is probably more concerning, but you don’t have time to dwell on it as your phone lights up with a message from Paige, then another one. Both texts are simple with the first one reading “Home” and the second one bidding you one last goodnight with a heart emoji. You respond in kind, and when your eyes find her hoodie again, you can’t help the fond, lingering smile that spreads across your face.

You and Paige don’t talk about the almost-kiss on your front porch the morning after. You don’t talk about it the day after that, or on Monday morning when she meets you in the parking lot at school. In fact, the both of you pretend like it didn’t happen at all. It doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. You start to wonder if it even happened at all – if it wasn’t for your brain conjuring images of Paige so close to you, her hand splayed on your waist, you would be sure that you had imagined it.

So, while the two of you don’t talk about it, you do a lot of thinking about it, probably enough for the both of you. You have a lot of new things to consider, such as the fact you almost kissed your best friend (and the fact that you wanted to kiss your best friend), the fact that you have feelings for your best friend, and the fact that you have feelings for your best friend who is a girl. There’s nothing wrong with girls liking girls. That wasn’t your concern. The situation as a whole is just new and unexpected and you don’t have a lot of the answers you’ve been searching for – like do you even like like girls or do you just like like Paige? Do you only like girls or do you like boys, too? You and Logan were thirteen. You’re not much older now, but at that age, it’s difficult to determine if you actually liked anyone in a sense that wasn’t completely platonic or if you were just trying to pretend that you did so you could fit in with everyone else.

You’re fine with the sexuality crisis – for now. You have bigger things to worry about, like being attracted to your best friend. You were no expert by any means, but you were smart enough to know that having feelings for your best friend was generally a pretty terrible idea. For starters, you’re not even sure if Paige likes you back. You’re sure that she’d be cool enough to remain your friend after rejecting you, but you’re not sure if you’d be able to handle the embarrassment of going from friends to extremely awkward friends. On the other hand, there is a chance she wouldn’t want to associate with you, either. The one thing you’re certain of is that you could not handle losing Paige – as a friend or otherwise. In essence, you’re stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

The more that you think about your predicament, the more you realize. A week later, you’re overthinking yours and Paige’s most recent hangout. You’d gone over to her house to “work on the project,” but that had actually turned into Paige flopping onto her bed dramatically and complaining about being sore from practice. Somehow, that meant she wouldn’t be able to contribute, and somehow, that meant the two of you would just have to binge the entire High School Musical series. You spent hours curled into Paige’s side on her bed, her hand tracing patterns onto your shoulder as the movie played on, but you didn’t really pay any mind to Travis or Danielle or whoever the main characters were. Paige was intoxicating, casual in the way she held you, and you sat through the entire movie keenly aware of the way her body pressed into yours and the scent of her cologne on her neck – but you’re getting off track. A new fear about your situation has manifested and despite Paige being the one initially worried that her liking girls would make things uncomfortable for the two of you, you’re now the one wondering if your sexuality is a reason for discomfort.

You worry that you’re the one taking advantage of your friendship. Are you overstepping friendship boundaries just because you’re incredibly close with Paige, or is there a subconscious belief that just because Paige likes girls, too, that means you can invade her personal space like they don’t matter? You worry that you’re making her uncomfortable and she’s just too polite to say anything about it. However, you also understand the fact that just because Paige likes girls doesn’t mean she likes you. That’s simultaneously a source of relief and dread. Relief because honestly, nothing has to change between the two of you. Dread because as time goes on, your feelings for Paige only get stronger, and you’d really like it if she liked you, too.

You decide to put your impending mental breakdown on the back burner. You have actual problems to worry about now, such as the due date of your project that’s quickly closing in. Your literature teacher was usually pretty lenient, but the project was still worth a huge chunk of your grade and you’re sure Paige would kill you herself if receiving a bad score on the project meant she wouldn’t be academically eligible to play basketball. The two of you make a conscious effort to lock in during the last week of the project, a little crunched for time as you’d spent so much of your “project time” talking for hours and watching movies. Granted, Paige ends up shouldering a lot more of the work as time passes on although you do your best to help out in between daydreams about her hand on your waist again.

On Thursday, the night before the project is due and two days before winter break, things seem to reach their tipping point.

You and Paige are basically finished with the project – you were proofreading and scanning your PowerPoint for academic content and ensuring your sentences made any bit of sense. Paige was pressed into your side, “quality checking the designs” as she’d said, but you just thought she was full of shit. She’s unnaturally quiet as the two of you work, until she shifts, her legs stretching out next to yours. “Think the only thing this project’s taught me is that this book is depressing as shit,” she says to you once you click over to the slide titled Gatsby and Daisy: Doomed by Time.

You hum, glancing over at her. She’s swamped in an oversized hoodie but looks impossibly comfortable as she reclines on your bed. “Alright,” you say, “I’ll bite. Why?”

She flips onto her side, explaining, “Literally everything was working against them. Time, society, people. Gatsby and Daisy were the epitome of right person, wrong time and there was nothin’ they could do to, like, get around that, you know? He went off to war, she got married, and he missed his shot ‘cause time keeps movin’. Daisy chose stability over love – Tom’s rich and can provide for her. But Gatsby was rich too. I’on get it.”

“Well,” you murmur, “wealth is not usually a good replacement for actual love.”

“You don’t think Gatsby loved Daisy?”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t love her. I’m saying he doesn’t love the version of Daisy that actually exists,” you explain. Paige gazes at you, a furrow in her brow like she’s realizing something new — about you, about herself, you can’t be sure. “He’s so obsessed with this idealized version of her from way back when and he just doesn’t understand that’s not really who she is anymore. I feel like that’s kinda the point of the green light, too.” As you think about your next words, your voice drops to a near whisper, your throat tightening with a sudden, unrestrained emotion that you can’t quite keep at bay. You meet her eyes, your stare unwavering, hoping that she can read between the lines. “Physically, the light is far away, right? It’s out of reach. But also – it’s a light. It’s impossible to hold. It’s a lesson about the impossibility of desire, that some dreams cost too much.”

Paige is quiet for a few beats, her eyes searching yours. You have always been intentional with your words. That was one of the things she knew to be true about you. Now, she seems to fully recognize your words for what they are — a confession for what you’re otherwise too afraid to say out loud. You’ve given her an out. She could sit here and wax poetic about the same topics and themes you’ve been debating over the last two months, about whether or not Gatsby truly loved Daisy, if the feelings Daisy had for Gatsby were worth giving up her life of comfort and peace, if Gatsby were worth it. Her hand brushes your waist again, her fingertips light against the skin of your navel where your sweatshirt has ridden up, and the jolt of electricity that courses through your veins reminds you of just how risky this whole thing was. You’ve all but given Paige your heart on a silver platter, perhaps too foolish or naive in the way you always search for more, more, more. Maybe you’re asking her for too much. You know she’s leaving Hopkins the first chance she gets. All of that is pushed to the back of your mind when her gaze traces your figure. 

Finally, she speaks. “I don’t think it’s too far away,” she says, understanding exactly what you were trying to say. “Not for you.” Her words ease the tension in your shoulders, her thumb brushing against your skin reassuringly. Her voice is firm, full of conviction, like she’s never been more sure of anything else before. She pauses, your eyes locked together, and her features soften ever so slightly. “Not for us.”

You quirk a small, relieved smile, relishing in the way Paige’s face relaxes, too. “You don’t think it’s impossible?” You don’t say the quiet part out loud – the “You don’t think we’re impossible?”

But Paige knows you. You’ve given more to her  than you’ve ever given to anyone in the past, friend or otherwise, and she doesn’t hesitate. “No.” Her hand settles fully on your waist now, squeezing you gently. “And even if it was… you’re worth it.” She smiles softly, her expression vulnerable and trusting despite the fact that she’s opening herself up to get hurt, too. You’re beginning to realize that the chance of getting hurt is just a risk everyone takes.

You can’t help the entire way your face softens at her confession. You realize that subconsciously, she’d said the very words you’d been hoping to hear for some time now although you never had the vocabulary to tell yourself that – that you never had the vocabulary to tell her that. But you watch the way she studies you, the way she swallows her nerves, and you begin to understand that maybe she doesn’t have the vocabulary, either, but she’s trying her best regardless. This is something that the both of you are doing for the first time; granted, you had one previous relationship, but this new thing between you and Paige feels a whole lot different. She’s the first person you think you actually consciously had feelings for, the first girl, and despite your relief and excitement, that reminder is enough to make you clam up.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly, and you pull your laptop between the two of you. “Well, we should probably get this finished,” you say with the grace of an elephant tromping through weeds. You click over to the next slide. “Does this look fine to you?”

Paige goes oddly silent, her brows furrowing in confusion and disbelief. “Uh, what?” she says.

“I said does this–”

“No, I heard you,” Paige interrupts. When you don’t meet her eyes, she sighs, exasperated, and closes the lid on your laptop, pushing it to the foot of your bed despite your protests. Then, her hand is sliding around your waist again, resting on the small of your back and pulling you onto your side so you come face to face. Your mouth clamps shut; the heat of Paige’s gaze feels like it’s enough to pick you apart, to melt you entirely, and you know well enough by now that you’re not getting out of this conversation without explaining yourself to her. “Why’d you freak out?” Paige’s voice softens, tinged with an anxious embarrassment as she adds, “I thought we — did I say too much? Do you not…?”

Instantly, you feel guilt all over. You didn’t realize how bad the situation sounded before now, with you changing the topic uncomfortably after Paige basically told you she liked you. “No, I—” You falter, your words failing you, but Paige stares at you with a hopeful patience. “I’ve never… done this before,” you confess. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever liked.”

Realization dawns on Paige’s face. “Oh,” she says, a mixture of relief and understanding lacing her tone. 

“Yeah,” you agree, a vulnerable smile quirking on your lips. “It’s new. A little scary. I really like you but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“S’okay,” Paige murmurs. Her hand finds yours. “I really like you, too. We can figure it out together.” Her breath catches, eyes widening just a bit. “I mean, if that’s somethin’ you’d want. No pressure.”

You laugh, eyes twinkling as Paige’s cheeks flush pink. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” you tease her. 

Paige huffs, flopping dramatically onto her other side and putting her back to you. “Goodbye!” 

You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your cheeks but you do stop laughing. You reach out, resting your hand tentatively over her bicep as you hook your chin over her shoulder. “Hey, come on,” you say. “I can’t be the only one who has to be vulnerable.” You can nearly visualize Paige’s eye roll, but she does shift again, meeting your eyes. “I’d like that. Figuring this out with you, I mean.”

Her eyes light up, a slow smile dragging across her face. You don’t even think she’s consciously aware of how happy she looks. “You’re for real?”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “Yes, Paige, I’m for real.”

“Good,” she states, beaming.

“Now can we finish our project?”

Paige groans dramatically, rolling over again until she’s sprawled out over you. She hitches one of her obnoxiously long legs across yours, looping an arm around your waist and making herself at home like she’s done this hundreds of times. You can’t stop the flutter in your chest, smiling despite yourself. “Do we gotta?”

“Do you gotta pass AP Lit?” you retort. 

That prompts a sigh from Paige, who untangles herself from you to reach for the laptop she’d pushed haphazardly to the foot of the bed. You miss her warmth immediately, but she’s not gone for long before she’s leaning back against your headboard, your thighs pressed together. She doesn’t make any move to turn it back on, her eyes finding yours instead. You look at her curiously.

“I just want you to know I’m serious about this,” she says honestly, taking you by surprise. “About us.” You soften. “I know a lot of people have hurt you. I’on wanna be one of them. You’re my best friend, you know? I care about you. So…let’s take this slow for now, lemme know how you’re feelin’, yeah?”

You nod, smiling gently and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Same goes for you,” you say, leaning into her a little. She presses herself into your body, her chin brushing against your temple as she nods her head. 

“Promise,” she murmurs. 

And with that vow lingering in the air, the two of you share private, almost starstruck grins and get back to work. Once you finally call it quits fifteen minutes later and you submit your project, Paige is all too content to push your laptop to the side again as she wraps an arm around you fully and begins her scroll through Netflix despite the fact that you know the two of you will be watching High School Musical sooner rather than later. You grin to yourself when she does eventually put it on, not fighting the way your cheeks burn when she absentmindedly plays with your fingers or the way your heart races when she shifts to get comfortable, your legs tangling together. 

As you watch the movie, Paige’s words circulate on repeat in your brain. A lot of people have hurt you. I don’t want to be one of them. You know better than anyone that getting hurt is just another part of life. Despite yourself, you can’t help but believe her, confident that no matter what, your heart will be safe in her hands. You don’t think much of Mack’s warning, of Paige’s celebrity, of just how young the two of you are to be making these kinds of promises. You’re not thinking of the future at all. Your happiness clouds your judgement, and whether you realize it or not, you and Paige are operating on borrowed time. 

Things with Paige are great. Scratch that, they’re nothing short of amazing. The two of you spend the entirety of winter break attached at the hip, splitting your time between your house where you drink copious amounts of hot chocolate and binge silly Christmas movies and her house where you and Drew, her little brother, gang up on her in snowball fights. She whines about the fact it’s two on one, but you point out the fact she’s got an arm like a quarterback and it’s only fair. She only really understands what you mean by that when she launches a snowball at you hard enough to bruise your side, which cuts your snow day short. Paige apologizes profusely, much to your amusement, and she insists on “nursing you back to health” which, in retrospect, seems to have been a clever ploy to get you away from her family and into her arms in the comfort of her room — not that you really needed much convincing for that. 

Sometimes, your days are spent in the park, when Paige gets too restless being inside and wants to play basketball. The two of you shovel away enough snow to reveal the three point line and you rebound for Paige as she shoots. She only manages to get a couple of shots in before her hands get too cold and she starts complaining that the only way to warm them back up is if you’ll hold them. You oblige, you always do, endlessly endeared by her (mostly because you can always spot her gloves hanging out of her back pocket).

The park becomes a place of comfort for the two of you. It’s late December in Minnesota so you almost always have the park to yourselves. You’re able to talk freely without either of your annoying little brothers constantly barging in or worrying about your parents catching you. Paige is out to her family and the Bueckers support her wholeheartedly. You’re not out to your parents yet. You know they wouldn’t particularly mind, either; if anything, they’d probably just implement a really strict open door policy, but it’s still all really new to you. You like Paige. A lot. You fall for her more and more everyday. She’s goofy, sweet (even when she’s teasing you or getting on your nerves), confident, and she always knows how to make you laugh. She’s attentive and she listens. Liking Paige is something you’ve accepted, but you can’t help but be scared of the fact that you don’t really know anything about yourself. 

You can’t figure out if you like girls or if you just like Paige. You can’t look at anyone that’s not her and before her, you’d never even looked twice at another girl. Sure, you always averted your eyes when you passed Victoria’s Secret in the mall and you were really obsessed with Shego from Kim Possible and Starfire from Teen Titans, which could mean nothing. You can’t figure out if you like boys, either, if Logan was a one time thing or if you’d just confused yourself because you wanted to fit in. You don’t know if you’re a lesbian, or if you’re bisexual, something in between or nothing at all. You should be fine with knowing that you like Paige. People always say you don’t have to label it, but labeling means that you know and that it’s real and you can’t help but think that because you don’t know what you’re doing, that you’re doing it wrong or you’re just faking it all.

So you don’t tell your parents. You’re still trying to make sense of it all and you tell Paige as much, honestly a little fearful of her rejection. Part of you feels like you’re leading her on because you can’t give her a straight (no pun intended) answer.

“You don’t gotta have it figured out right now,” she tells you a few days after Christmas. The two of you are back in the park, savoring the peace in the emptiness as you sit side by side on the swings, swaying gently.

You groan a little. “I hate when people say that,” you respond. “I feel like I should know.”

Her eyes find you, warm and patient despite the chill and the fact you’ve been going back and forth on this for days now with you stressing out and Paige being endlessly reassuring about it. “Maybe you do know and you just can’t, like, put it into words?” she offers, drawing your attention. “Sexuality is a spectrum. It doesn’t have to be difficult. You don’t gotta look back on your life for evidence to prove it or whatever. Just be you.”

You fall silent, her words hitting home, and you hate the fact that you’ve been losing your mind over this and all it really took to find some clarity was a conversation with Paige on a swing. Maybe she was right. She usually is about things like this. But you can’t help but feel like you’re missing something. You were the type of person who needed a reason or an explanation for everything. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” you rush out, barely registering the raise of Paige’s eyebrows. “I know we said slow. I can do that. But I really like you, like really really like you, and that’s all I’m certain of. I don’t know everything else and I feel like I should because you know everything else—”

“I don’t,” she interrupts, but you keep rambling.

“—but I like you. You’re sweet and you’re kind and you understand me when I don’t understand myself. You always make me feel secure and I hate that this is so confusing!”

Her gloved hand slides into your hoodie pocket. Her fingers tangle with yours, calming a tremor you hadn’t realized you were harboring. She murmurs your name, pulling your gaze to hers, and she squeezes your hand. “Breathe,” she instructs. You do, calming the incessant thrum of your heart. “There we go.” When you’re feeling a little more stable, she continues. “You’re overthinking it.”

“I don’t wanna mess up with you,” you confess, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders when it’s out.

“You won’t,” she promises. “We agreed we’d figure it out, remember? And even if you do mess up, it’s not gonna change how I feel about you. I like you, like really really like you.” This makes you laugh, your breath steaming in the air. “That’s what matters. You like me. I like you. You don’t need to explain why you feel a way and you can’t fake how you feel. I know you.” The expression on Paige’s face is unbelievably fond and you can’t help yourself when you smile, your cheeks heating up. “See?” Paige says with a grin, poking your cheek. “Can’t fake that blush, ma.”

“You’re impossible,” you huff, pushing her hand away, unable to curb your grin. But your rejection does little to stop Paige. Her hands find your sides, tickling you, and you immediately begin squirming in the midst of your giggles. “Paige! You are so annoying—!”

You lose your balance on the swing and you fall off, tumbling safely to the bed of snow beneath you with a slight oof sound. Paige follows you down, the both of you smiling as you try to catch your breaths. She wipes a tear off your cheek that had slipped out in your fits of laughter and it’s only then that you register your position. She’s straddling you, the beanie on her head lopsided from your scuffle, but the joy on her face is radiant despite the blush on her cheeks — whether it’s from the cold or her feelings for you, you don’t know, and when her hand lingers on her cheek, her expression softening, you find that you don’t care. “Paige,” you murmur. You feel your heart slamming against your ribcage, but for different reasons now. 

“Can I kiss you?” she blurts. Judging by the way her face contorts, it seems that she hadn’t expected to say that out loud, but you’re nodding, hands reaching up to grip the collar of her coat and you bring her down to your level. 

When your lips meet, you feel warm all over, like you’re not laying in the snow with Paige’s legs bracketing your thighs. It’s tentative, uncoordinated, and it’s clear that neither of you really know what you’re doing, but it’s your first kiss and it’s with Paige and it’s nothing short of perfect. Your lips move against hers slowly, her hands gentle on your cheeks. Your grip on her coat loosens, wrapping around her neck and pulling her a little closer to you. Her nose brushes against yours and you gasp from the chill of it, which causes her to sigh against you. You’re not really sure who’s leading, but for once, your brain is blissfully quiet; your heart pounds, feeling nothing but a nervous excitement and unfiltered adoration.

You break away for air. Your breaths mingle, clouds of steam fogging between you two and Paige grins down at you, her expression full of fondness and something electric that makes you want to drag her back down again. So you do, your hands a little more insistent this time, and she responds eagerly. Despite the intensity, Paige is unbelievably gentle and each and every press of her lips against yours is sweet. And it’s corny, but your brain feels a little clearer after having Paige’s lips on yours, like you no longer have to search for answers. Like she’s the answer.

She pulls away, her forehead against yours, and you press a gentle kiss to her cheek. Her eyes open slowly, a blush and a smile simultaneously appearing on her face in response. “What was that for?” she asks.

You smile, shrugging a little in response. “It felt right,” you respond, which only seems to make her smile grow. “Someone once told me I don’t always have to have an explanation.”

Paige huffs out a quiet laugh, her eyes crinkling in amusement and fondness. “They sound really smart,” she jokes. 

Your hand finds her cheek, your thumb stroking her dimple. “She is,” you say seriously. Paige’s expression softens, leaning into your touch. “She’s the best person I know.”

“I bet she thinks the same about you,” Paige whispers. 

Despite yourself, you grin, connecting your lips again. The chill nips at your cheeks but the weight of Paige on top of you grounds you, her warmth stabilizing and comforting, and you know in your heart that you’re doing something right.

New Year’s comes and goes and before you know it, school is starting back up in January. Between you and Paige, a lot of things stay the same. She still drives you to school in the morning, often stopping by Dunkin’ and buying you your favorite coffee. On days she doesn’t have practice, she’ll either drive you home or take you to her place where you either work on homework together (although you don’t get much done, most of the time) or binge television together. Paige has you invested in Grey’s Anatomy now, but the two of you have promised to not watch it without the other.

On the other hand, some things do change. Paige walks you to all of your classes now, even when hers aren’t anywhere near yours. Arguing with her was useless, so you learned to suck it up. She kisses you in the empty hallways, something chaste and sweet and sneaky that leaves you wanting more – that was a new thing. Before her, you never realized how nice kissing can be. You’re sure it’s mostly because you’re super into her regardless, but there’s also something about the casual intimacy that you fall for each and every time. She’s gentle and considerate and you’re just so hopelessly attracted to her that you really should have known that kissing her for the first time would alter your brain chemistry. For now, the two of you are content to appreciate the peace and the privacy that you have. Neither of you tell your friends or your family, though you’re sure Mack and Serena are starting to have their suspicions. They’ve asked you a few times, and while you’re not a very good liar, they seem to accept your rejections as they are and they don’t push any further.

Although you do have one, teensy-tiny problem. Paige hasn’t asked you to be her girlfriend yet. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about that, but there is a lingering nervousness and you’re a little hesitant to ask her about it without sounding obsessive or clingy or insecure. In mid-December, you established that you liked each other, although neither of you really did much about that until you kissed in late-December after Christmas. Did kissing her mean the two of you were dating now? Since then, the two of you have kissed a lot. It reminds you of the scene from Glee where Brittany says, ‘Sex isn’t dating. If it was, Santana and I would be dating,’ and granted, while having sex and just kissing are two different things, you’re starting to feel a little worried by the fact that you and Paige are conventionally girlfriends but not technically.

You convince yourself that maybe you and Paige were just being mature about it. High school relationships have almost redefined what dating actually means. You can’t just ask someone to be your boyfriend or girlfriend and then start the ‘dating period’ per se. You should probably do the ‘dating period’ first and then make it official once you’ve figured out if you’re compatible. You and Paige, however, have been friends for a little over three months, been in this weird ‘dating’ phase for a little less than one month of that time, and by now you’re pretty certain that you and Paige are very compatible. She’s your best friend. But you really want to make it official with her. You’re just not sure how or if she’s on the same page yet.

Making it official with Paige also means making it official to your parents. That thought doesn’t intimidate you as much as it used to. You’re a lot more comfortable in your sexuality now. You’re pretty much head over heels for Paige, you like girls, and you couldn’t care less about boys. Whether that makes you a lesbian or Paige-sexual as Paige had cracked herself up calling it is a discussion for another day. You’re secure in the fact that Paige’s parents aren’t going to care, that your parents won’t mind, either, and that your classmates are worried more about themselves than whoever you of all people are dating. Being out just means you don’t have to stress about sneaking around or if someone’s going to walk into the girl’s bathroom when you’re making out with Paige. Not that you make out with Paige in the girl’s bathroom, because that would just be kind of insane. But hypothetically if you were making out with Paige in the girl’s bathroom, then you wouldn’t have to be scared of getting caught by a classmate. Hypothetically.

The first Friday night home game after winter break is one that you were looking forward to. You knew the Royals were playing a weaker team, so you were excited to see Paige show out, especially after getting to witness first-hand a lot of the effort she’d put into honing her skills over the break. She gave you a ride to school, forced you into her hoodie (yes, the one with her jersey number and her last name on the back and yes, you didn’t really need to be convinced, but you really liked the warmth of her hands on your skin as she helped you into it), and kissed you over the center console of her stepmom’s SUV. It was enough to short circuit your brain. You didn’t need to see her expression to know the reaction she’d elicited from you had made her incredibly smug, but you could visualize it all the same as she made her way to the locker room with her duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Paige Bueckers was going to be the death of you. That much you were sure of.

She’s pure electricity that night. You knew the game was going to be a blowout, but this was next level. If you weren’t so distracted by Paige and the way she was slicing through their defense, you would probably feel bad for the other team. She was putting up insane numbers – 15 points in the first quarter alone, six assists – but she was doing her thing on defense, too. She was clamping the offense, forcing their shots to bounce harmlessly off the rim, and late in the second quarter, she even had a clean block that ricocheted off of the offense and awarded the Royals with the ball. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her. Judging by the glances she’d shoot your way anytime they’d line up for free throws, you’re positive that she knew of your evident distraction, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be ashamed by it. Watching Paige play was a source of pride for you. She was so good at it and she works so hard everyday to show up and show out. It honestly makes you a little emotional in a good way. You’re just proud of her, of her successes. You admire her dedication and her love for the spot, the care she puts in day in and day out to be the best.

Once the game ends, you make your way out of the crowded gym and out to her mom’s SUV, starting the ignition and settling into the passenger seat. You knew that Paige would have a long line of people to greet and that she was adamant about showering before getting anywhere near you after a game. As much as you would love to see her and hang out right after, the both of you knew that you wouldn’t be able to get in a word edgewise. This arrangement, however, did have its positives. The two of you cherished the time you got to spend alone without dozens of eyes on you and you appreciated being able to speak freely. You pull out your phone, scrolling through social media as you wait for Paige.

She doesn’t keep you waiting too long. You spot her walking your direction, bag slung over her shoulder again and her hair thrown up in a loose bun. She’s illuminated by the streetlight but you know well enough by now that the glow on her face is from the sweetness of the win. You smile, your heart thrumming a kind of anticipation that only Paige has ever been able to draw from you. She opens the driver’s side door, sliding in with a happy grin, and tosses her bag into the backseat before she’s leaning over the center console with a murmured greeting, planting an easy kiss on your cheek. You don’t fight the heat on your cheeks, your smile growing bigger when her hand finds yours.

“Good game, superstar,” you tease, relishing in the bashful smile that overtakes her face.

“Thank you,” she says. She gives your hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes finding yours. “There was a pretty girl in the stands. I had to show out for her.”

“Oh?” you ask, feigning curiosity. “Where is she? Not just anyone captures the Paige Bueckers’s eye.”

Paige grins at you again, mischievous and wicked and fond all at the same time. “She’s right where she needs to be,” she retorts, which makes your smile soften into something more tender. “You’re right, though. She’s not just anyone. She’s kind, and funny, and smart, and she’s got this heart of gold. And she’s got this smile that makes you weak in the knees and she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

“Get a grip,” you say, trying to regain your dignity and trying to ignore the blush on your cheeks to the best of your ability. Judging by the way Paige’s smile turns smug, you don’t think it’s working. “You know I like you. You don’t have to woo me.”

“I do,” Paige insists, finally giving you a moment of reprieve when she puts the vehicle in drive and begins making her way out of the parking lot. Once the two of you became friendly and you started showing up to more of her games, a trip out to Dairy Queen became your post-game tradition. She’d buy the two of you a blizzard and she’d park in a quiet, empty lot while you chatted for what felt like minutes but would quickly turn into hours. You know the night’s only over when your spoon hits the bottom of your cup and Paige starts losing her filter. Now, it’s something that you look forward to. “Gotta keep you on your toes. Romance is lifelong, baby. You don’t stop once you got the girl.”

You can’t stop your sudden laughter, amused by her antics. “You got the girl?”

She shoots you an indignant look. “Don’t play. You know I got it like that. I’m all romantical and shit.”

“Total lady killer,” you deadpan. “I’m swooning.”

“You will be,” she agrees. “You make fun of me now but you keep on comin’ back. You just can’t resist Paige Buckets.”

“Maybe I just feel bad for you.” Paige huffs at this, but a smile is quirking on her face. “And nobody calls you Paige Buckets.”

“I do,” she retorts. “Which makes it real. I think therefore I am. That’s Shakespeare.”

“It’s not – you know what? Sure,” you snort, knowing full well that the two of you will sit here for hours arguing about it. “Don’t quit basketball.”

Paige smirks at you as she pulls into the Dairy Queen drive-thru. “Never,” she affirms, only looking away from you when the speaker crackles to life. Paige rattles off your orders (knowing yours by heart, which doesn’t make you feel a little soft) and pulls forward when requested. You make light small talk while you wait for your ice creams and Paige pays – as always; you’d tried once and she confiscated your card until she dropped you off at your house. Then she’s driving off in search of the parking lot you always chill at, her ice cream in the cup holder, her hands firmly on the wheel and eyes on the road. You feed her bites of yours when she stops at red lights, the sheer domesticity of it all feeling so right.

When the vehicle is safely in park, she moves the seat back a few inches, stretching out her legs as one of her playlists echoes through the speakers, a mix of The Weeknd, Brent Faiyaz, and Bryson Tiller. The energy in the car, mellowed out and calmer, still sparks with a sort of electricity that always encompasses you and Paige. Her smiles feel a little looser, more purposeful, and her eyes linger on your face when she looks at you. You talk about everything and nothing, recounting the game and Paige’s insane plays, the homework you’ve neglected to make the most of this time with her, and the date she was taking you on tomorrow night. You’re both nearing the bottoms of your cups, spoons scraping against plastic, and with a soft smile, she offers you the last bite of hers. Her thumb swipes at your bottom lip to clean a bit of ice cream that had run astray. It makes your heart beat a little faster. Paige always had this uncanny ability to make you nervous, to make all of your neurons fire at the same time. You came to the realization long ago that you were hopelessly attracted to her, but it’s times like these that remind you of just how magnetic she is.

The two of you have been here for over an hour now. A glance at the clock tells you that it’s nearing midnight. It always surprises you how easy it is to pass time with Paige. You know that it’s time for the both of you to start making your way home, but Paige doesn’t make any move to shift the car into gear, and you honestly don’t want the moment to end either. You also know that Paige is reaching the end of her sensibilities, her laughs a little brighter and delirious, her fingers restless in how they twist the ring on your thumb.

“You okay?” you ask her, wondering if there’s something that’s keeping her here, if she needs you to drive home or if there’s something else weighing on her. She meets your eyes, a tender smile on her face, her expression soft and sleepy and enamored.

“I’m perfect,” she whispers. “Can we just…sit here a little longer?” The last part is even quieter, if that was at all possible, and you nod. Her fingers tangle with yours fully. And then she starts rambling. “‘M really glad Mr. Mattson partnered us up for that project,” she admits. “It brought me to you. I’on know if I woulda had the courage to talk to you otherwise.”

You giggle, a little in disbelief. “You, nervous?” you repeat. “No way.”

Paige nods emphatically, completely serious. “Yes way. You’re…you’re beautiful, you know that? Like scary beautiful. Like make a girl get super rich during Prohibition, build a mansion, and yearn for you from afar beautiful.”

She grins at you as you roll your eyes. “You are so full of it.”

“And yet,” she murmurs, her thumb rubbing soothing circles across your knuckles, “you put up with me, anyway.” You nod, conceding, and she continues. “Point is, you kinda make me nervous. In a good way. I just… I feel like I need to impress you and do right by you. Guess what I’m tryin’ to say is you make me be the best version of myself. And I, you know, I really like doing this with you.”

You smile softly and squeeze her hand. “I like doing this with you, too,” you admit, drawing a smile from Paige.

Then, she’s shifting in her seat, angling her body towards yours, and her face is pensive, like she’s debating with herself internally. You almost ask her if she’s okay but her next words steal the very breath from your lungs. “Will you be my girlfriend?” she says, and your jaw drops slightly, unsure if you’ve even heard her correctly. Then, she’s sighing, clearing her throat and trying again. “I mean, can I be your girlfriend?” The clarification does little to calm the thumping of your heart. The words get stuck in your throat, emotions swirling through you. Excitement. Relief. Anticipation. An overwhelming amount of affection. Paige seems to mistake your stunned silence for rejection because she starts rambling again. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I had this whole thing planned out and it was supposed to be really romantic. I was gonna ask you at dinner tomorrow, like I already called the restaurant and I was gonna get you a slice of cheesecake because you hate the other kind of cake and it was gonna have the, you know, the question on it and I wrote you a letter ‘cause I can’t talk around you, and–”

You curl your fingers in the fabric of her hoodie and you pull her across the center console,  shutting her up with a kiss. She relaxes instantly, melting into your embrace as her hands find your hips, trying to minimize the space between your bodies. She breaks away, huffing because the center console is in her fucking way, and before you know it, she’s lifting you by your waist and drops you on her lap, kissing you again with a different kind of urgency that’s equal parts relief, gratitude, and so much unrestrained fondness. You wrap your arms around her neck, trying to angle your kiss so you can regain some control because her pace and intensity is honestly making you a little dizzy.

When you run out of air, you plant both of your hands on her chest, pulling away from her with considerable difficulty. You have to stop yourself from kissing her again because you know you’re not going to get another word out. You lean back, smiling when you take in the unmistakable shine in her eyes, the dopey grin on her lips. Your noses brush when you finally respond with a simple, “Yes.”

“Yeah?” she repeats, her arms looping around your waist to hold you a little closer to her body. She looks up at you, her happiness evident, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning in to plant one more lingering kiss to her mouth, humming an affirmative. “Knew you’d say yes. I’m irresistible.”

You pull away from her to laugh in disbelief. “Okay, I see how you’re forgetting the whole ‘I wrote you a letter ‘cause I can’t talk around you’ business. Which, by the way, I wanna see, but you’re so lucky you’re cute because you’re kind of a loser.”

“Loser?” she exclaims, indignant. “Nah, that’s actually crazy!”

“No! Like, you’re this badass athlete and you just dropped like 40 points–”

“43,” she cuts in.

“–40 points tonight and you’re over here nervous about asking me to be your girlfriend–”

“I wanted it to be perfect! It was gonna be perfect but you looked so pretty and I couldn’t wait!”

“Babe,” you say, laughing under your breath, your expression fond as you cup her cheeks, drawing her eyes up to yours. “It’s perfect because it’s us, okay? Us, cramped in your mom’s Honda Pilot, our half melted Dairy Queen and your freaky ass R&B.”

“S’not freaky,” she huffs, but you don’t pay her any mind.

“This was perfect,” you reiterate, your voice softening. Paige exhales under you, taking your words to heart. “Being with you is perfect. But is the cheesecake still on the table for tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Paige says, a furrow in her brow. “Just pretend to be surprised when it comes out.” You hum against her again, kissing her cheek, and she squeezes your waist a little, her voice suddenly a lot more nervous. “Uh, what does this mean for us? I mean…like our parents?”

You’re surprised by how calm you are by the question. You play with the stray hairs at the back of her neck, shrugging an unbothered shoulder. “You wanna tell them?” you ask her.

“I wanna do what you want,” she deflects.

“I want you to answer my question,” you retort.

Paige rolls her eyes, amused. “I would…like to be out. With them, at least. I’on wanna hide forever…but I know this is still kinda new for you. And we don’t have to do nothin’ serious at school, either. Seriously. Whatever you want.” Her hands are warm as they slip under your – her – hoodie, and the touch makes you feel more grounded.

“We can tell them tomorrow?” you offer, hesitant, but when Paige’s face lights up, you know you’ve made the right choice. “As for school, I think I wanna enjoy this while it’s still ours, you know? Just us. I wouldn’t mind being public eventually but I do mind the attention. I guess what I mean is we can be out but I don’t want everyone in our business.”

“Private, not a secret?” she asks, and you nod, relieved because she understands exactly what you were trying to say. “That works for me. And we can tell our parents tomorrow before we go out? Together?”

“Together,” you confirm, a smile lighting up your features.

She leans in to kiss you again, her own smile growing against your lips. Her nose brushes yours when she draws back enough to speak. “Just want you,” she promises. “Nothing else matters to me. Other people, the internet, nothing. Just lemme know how you’re feeling and we’ll handle it, okay?”

“Promise,” you swear. Paige grins at you again, drawing you in for a hug. You sit there in her arms for a while before you find your way back to the passenger seat and she drives the two of you back home.

She bids you a goodnight in the car, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before you stand on your porch to unlock the door. She doesn’t drive off until you’re safely inside. When you’re finally in your room, you don’t take the hoodie off, comforted by Paige’s scent encompassing you, and you fall asleep with an unshakable happiness in your heart and a smile on your face.

(The next day, you and Paige tell your parents, officially. You start with the Bueckers’ first and it goes as well as you were expecting. You and your girlfriend sat them down, explaining, we’re dating and we’re very happy. Moe gave the two of you comforting smiles, but Bob cleared his throat and admitted, “Uh…yeah, we saw you kiss on the Ring doorbell.” You wanted to crawl into a hole and die, to be honest, but Moe and Bob pulled the both of you into hugs and promised that as long as you and Paige were safe and happy, then they were happy for you.

Then, it was time for your family, and you were a little nervous. Granted, they had no idea that you liked girls, let alone would date one. Their reaction was basically the same as the Bueckers’, informing you that they had their suspicions since you and Paige were glued at the hip and that your little brother told them that he was pretty sure he almost saw the two of you kiss almost a month and a half ago. That was objectively worse than the Bueckers’ catching you on the ring doorbell. You were correct in assuming they’d make you keep your door open when Paige is over. And judging by the slightly horrified expression on Paige’s face when your dad finishes talking to her in private, you’re pretty sure he gave her the shovel talk of the century.

And, just so it’s absolutely clear, the date that Paige takes you on that evening is the best date you’ve ever been on – so far. She brings you flowers, pulls your chair out for you, and enchants you all night long with easy conversation. When the waitress brings out your slice of cheesecake with Will you be my girlfriend? written in strawberry puree, you sell your surprise and performance so well that the waitress brings out a second slice, chocolate flavored just for Paige. You’re sure that the night couldn’t get any better, but before she drops you off at home, she reads that damn letter to you and you can’t stop the happy tears. She kisses you goodnight, her expression adoring, and you know that you have the best girlfriend in the world.)

The rest of junior year passes in a blur. You’re the happiest you’ve been in your entire life, your grades are phenomenal, and Paige leads her team to a blowout state championship win. As if that wasn’t electrifying enough, she signed with the University of Connecticut the week after the tournament ended on April 19th. Your girlfriend was officially a Husky and would bleed blue for her college career. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmingly proud of her – playing for UConn has been her life goal, hoping to cement her name as one of the greats next to Sue Bird, Diana Taurasi, Maya Moore. While you couldn’t get into UConn with as much ease as she did, UConn would be the first school you submitted your application for once October rolled around. You weren’t sure who was more excited – you or Paige – at the prospect of going to college together, but what you did know was that you couldn’t wait to cheer her on as she took the world by storm.

With the harder parts of the school year long gone, the time for prom came around in late April. Paige secured your tickets as soon as they went on sale and was dead set on making it the best night of your life. She prom-posed to you with what was possibly the cheesiest sign in the world: it was decorated with lopsided basketballs (although you appreciated the fact that Paige made her sign completely homemade) and read ‘Together, we’re a slam dunk. Take a shot at prom with me?’ and there was no way in hell you’d ever say no to something like that. It took you less than four hours to find the perfect dress, although you spent a week with Paige travelling from mall to boutique to find the perfect thing for her to wear. Dress shopping with Paige proved to be a difficult task, especially for someone who seemed to hate dresses as much as she did. When you suggested she just wear a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, she nearly lost her mind in the middle of the store.

“What kind of date wears jeans and a shirt to prom?” she’d exclaimed, rifling through the dress racks, beginning to ramble. “No, ‘cause that actually pisses me off. Like, you see all these girls walkin’ around in these pretty dresses, make up done to the nines, and their boyfriends can’t even be bothered to iron their shirts?”

“I want you to be comfortable,” you said to her. “What you’re wearing won’t matter to me. You know that.”

She huffed, pulling a black dress off the rack and holding it to her torso, glancing in the mirror with a pensive expression. “It matters to me. I can’t be caught dead next to you lookin’ like an idiot.”

“Well…” you trailed off, much to her chagrin, and she pouted at you dramatically as you laughed. “Get that one,” you advised. “It won’t be super tight on you so you’ll have some breathing room. And I like the way your arms will look in it.” When she tried it on, you walked in on her in the dressing room flexing in the mirror, and, well, you were right.

With the dress debacle out of the way, that meant you had to consider other factors, like your matching corsages and dinner beforehand. Those were slightly less intimidating decisions to make. Paige knew next to nothing about flowers and her only demand was “they have to look nice,” so you found the corsages. You weren’t paying for dinner and Paige knew your likes and dislikes like the back of her hand, so she handled the reservations and promised she wouldn’t dirty Moe’s SUV if the two of you could borrow it for the night. All that was left was prom itself and considering it would be your first and you don’t get another junior prom, you were incredibly excited for it.

Dinner was nice – it would have been hard to fuck up since Paige chose a restaurant she knew you liked and it was hard to not enjoy your time with her anyhow. She serenaded you as she drove, belting Keyshia Cole’s Love like she was a contestant on The Voice. And, sure, it was incredibly off-key and her voice cracked during the vocal flips on “I found,” but you couldn’t help your endearment for her. Making you laugh was one of the things she was a master at. You arrived at the school in good spirits, turned in your tickets without an issue, and entered the gym with high hopes.

The music is thumping, echoing throughout the gym. You can feel the bass in the floor and your body almost immediately vibrates from the noise. Paige curses lightly under her breath, her hand finding yours with a wince, and she glances at you curiously, a simple you okay? visible in her eyes. You nod and she leads you over to the drink table where she gives the two-liter soda bottle a cursory sniff before pouring it in a red solo cup for you. You remember hearing that last year’s prom got cancelled early because someone spiked the punch bowl, which is why they shifted to pouring directly from plastic bottles, but you could never be too sure and you appreciated Paige for her protectiveness.

As you drink, you take in the decorations. The student council was tasked with setting everything up – deciding on the theme, ordering the decorations, putting them up. As you glance around the packed gym, your eyes taking in the streamers and the lights (you pretend that you don’t notice a section of lights that have already been ripped down), you determine that you really can’t tell what the prom theme is supposed to be. A girl and her date pass by you in a 20s flapper dress and a wrinkled button up with Timbs, of all shoes; then you’re passed by a girl wearing polka dots and her date in a graphic t-shirt. You’re getting a lot of mixed signals right now.

“Wanna dance?” Paige asks you and you nod, throwing your cup away, allowing your girlfriend to lead you to an emptier section of the gym. For a while, you’re not really sure what’s playing until the bass drop is over and you realize it’s some remixed version of Zedd’s Clarity. You glance around, watching people dance. There’s a group of students towards the front of the gym near the DJ stand jumping up and down like it’s a mosh pit. There’s another section of people bobbing their heads and moving stiffly. To your right, there’s a group swaying, their phones raised as they capture the moment.

“This is not what I thought prom would be,” you comment off-handedly to Paige, who’s halfheartedly shimmying. 

She shrugs a shoulder, reaching out for your hands with a smile and pulling you closer to her, making sure to leave room for Jesus, as she’d once joked. “We can make our own fun,” she yells over the thump of the music. She drags you into an awkward, uncoordinated and off-rhythm shimmy-dance-shake thing, but her smile is infectious enough that you’re throwing all caution to the wind as you allow her to lead you. You laugh along with her for the remainder of the song before you’re joined by a few of her teammates and their dates. Paige introduces you and together, the small group of you dance to a few more songs. You take a few group photos in varying poses, then find some snacks, and you burn another half hour dancing before the pain in your feet gets to be too much and the music starts giving you a headache.

You don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you have to admit that prom is a weird mix of overwhelming and lackluster. It’s a lot better with friends, though; the short period of time you spent with Paige’s teammates was invigorating but there’s just not a lot to do that’s not eating, dancing, taking photos, or watching people try to dance. You intertwine your fingers with Paige’s, drawing her attention and whispering in her ear about needing air. She nods, leading you towards the door and snagging another drink for you on the way out. The cool breeze and the peace does wonders for you.

“I’on wanna ruin your night,” Paige begins, a little sheepish, “but was this kinda…”

“Lame?” you supply, watching the relief spread across Paige’s face.

“Yeah,” she agrees. You offer her a sip of the soda and she takes it gratefully, holding onto the cup for you as you toe off your heels, lowering yourself to the sidewalk and taking a seat. You stretch out your legs, sighing when the pressure in your feet is alleviated. “Wanna get Dairy Queen after this?”

You groan, leaning your head onto hers as she wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Like you even have to ask,” you murmur, appreciative of the peace. Paige chuckles, her thumb rubbing against your shoulder. The two of you sit there for a while soaking it all in before the music inside dies down. You can hear the echo of the DJ as he tells everyone to partner up for the slow dance. Paige sets your cup on the ground, removing her arm and standing up. You glance at her as she extends her hand for you to take.

“May I have this dance?” she asks, and you laugh, unable to say no. You allow her to pull you to your feet as the opening notes of Taylor Swift’s Crazier bleed through the gym walls. She navigates you both to the grass, your feet bare against the cool ground, and she wraps her arms around your waist as yours go around her neck.

I'd never gone with the wind, just let it flow

Let it take me where it wants to go

The two of you sway, the sound of chirping crickets serving as the perfect background to the gentle hum of the music through the walls. Her hands are warm on your side, her chin pressed to the top of your head, your face cradled gently against her chest. If you were being honest, this is probably the most content you’ve been since dinner – being alone with Paige has a way of cheering you up.

I was trying to fly, but I couldn't find wings

But you came along and you changed everything

Paige starts humming the lyrics, the vibrations of her voice soothing you as you follow her lead. Your fingers smooth some of the flyaway strands at the back of her neck, hands mapping the expanse of her toned shoulders, content to just feel her and relish in this tender, unexpecting intimacy.

You lift my feet off the ground

You spin me around

You make me crazier, crazier

It’s then that you’re hit with a gentle realization, the lyrics resonating with you. You and Paige have been together for close to four months at this point, although it feels closer to five months since you admitted your feelings to her back in late December. Every day since then has been full of nothing but pure enjoyment, a whole lot of care, and some of the best times of your life. Paige has this way of always making you smile, even when the day gets hard, this way of making you feel so appreciated and cared for. You’re young and you really weren’t expecting her to come into your life the way she did, but you really can’t deny this overflow of emotion that you feel when she’s around. You know exactly why you feel this way.

You lift your head off her chest, your hands resting on the tops of her shoulders as you pull back far enough to look her in the eye. She gazes at you curiously, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips, and you can’t help your smile as you kiss her tenderly. She responds, pulling you flush against her, and you know that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“What was that for?” she whispers, an enamored little grin on her face, cheeks bright with a blush.

You don’t hesitate. “I just love you,” you confess.

You expect her to freeze up. You expect her jaw to go slack, to ask you to repeat what you said. Love wasn’t something you should just drop so casually – the both of you knew that. But Paige’s smile only grows, a lone dimple popping out as her eyes shine under the streetlight. She cups your cheeks in her hands and leans down to kiss you again. It’s soft, barely-there brushes that you can still feel in your heart; her lips ask you a simple question that you can’t help but answer. You lean into it, into the love that has built between the two of you over the months you’ve been together and the months you’ll be together in the future, into the shared promise of I’m yours.

“I love you,” Paige whispers, punctuating her words with a squeeze. “So much.”

You smile against her lips, letting her pull you back in. The music fades into nothing, your focus entirely on Paige, on the way her lips move against yours, the way her hands cradle your face, the way she loves you. You’ve given your heart over to her completely and she cherishes it like it’s her own. Sometimes, there are things you’re just born knowing, and right now, you know that everything in your life has led you to being here now, to being Paige’s. You couldn’t think of anything better than that.

SENIOR YEAR – 2019-2020

Senior year is the beginning of the end.

You and Paige spend summer break attached at the hip, but not overbearingly so. You’d gotten a part-time job mostly to make some extra money and to make your resume look a little better, so you were occupied by that four days a week. Paige, on the other hand, was spending extra time in the gym and running drills with private trainers and coaches. She was committed to one of the best colleges in the country for basketball – summer was not the time to be slacking off. It was the time for her to get better, stronger, faster; if you wanted to celebrate with the best, you had to be the best, and Paige turned that pressure into motivation.

Above all else, you still made time for each other, even when she was exhausted from practicing and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die because food service sucks (seriously, you were a cashier – what makes people think you of all people fucked up their food? Your job was to hit buttons and ask if they wanted fries with that). At the heart of it, you and Paige were each other’s remedies. You were a source of peace, comfort, and relaxation. Honestly, much of the time the two of you shared over the summer was spent napping, but you weren’t going to complain. You were busy and she was busy and you’d take whatever you could get, even if that meant being the big spoon every other night.

Things weren’t harder by any means. They weren’t any easier, but they were just different. You had to get used to managing your time, learn how to effectively maintain a relationship when the only time you really get to see each other is once or twice a week (and when Paige is snoring for most of it). You’d argue that this is just making the two of you stronger. The two of you would only be busier in college. Now is the time for growing up and realizing that you couldn’t reasonably spend every waking moment together, as much as you would like to. You were fine, Paige was fine, the two of you communicated, and you were very happy.

Well, there was one slight issue.

Following Paige’s commitment, your Instagram messages and comments had been blowing up. It started small. There were joking comments (or so you’d hoped) with messages of ‘You better not distract Paige next season!’ and their variations. It all ramped up from there. Trolls accusing you of only dating Paige because she’d become a millionaire once she’s in college, accusing you of keeping her out of the gym. Someone even said that UConn wouldn’t win a national championship anytime soon considering their starting point guard would be too busy playing the part of a doting girlfriend.

You won’t lie. All of the comments and the messages were really heavy. Here you were, barely 18 and you had crazy fans of varying age levels all in your business and saying awful things. There were comments you wouldn’t even dream of repeating. You talked to Paige about it and she’d held you as you cried. It was less of the content, but it was more about the spam and the constant onslaught and the amount of people tearing you down for no good reason. Paige posted on her socials requesting for people to leave you alone. While there was an outcry of support from the kinder folk, you’d somehow gotten even more harassment in your messages. You eventually caved and privated all of your accounts, scrubbing the nasty comments and trying to go about your life.

The damage had already been done.

Senior year was supposed to be your best year thus far, yet everything was bleak. It was nowhere close to the academic rigor of your junior year, but you were taking a few more dual enrollment classes and a lone AP, which means you were spending a lot more of your time studying so your grades wouldn’t slip. You ended up having to drop one of your clubs, too. You were less upset about that one considering it wasn’t doing a lot for you anyways. The fact that everything started piling up and you had to make all of these ultimatums was weighing on you.

Paige was incredibly busy, too. Coming off of a championship win from the year before, her coach was determined to get them back there again this year. Practices were longer, more grueling, and as if those weren’t enough, Paige was spending more time in the gym alone to get shots in and run drills, like she had something to prove. Maybe she did. She needed to show that she wasn’t an overrated high school player, that Geno Auriemma didn’t make a mistake in recruiting her. She needed to prove that she has what it takes to go from a high school championship contending team to a collegiate championship contending team. Combined with her own classwork, she was running out of time to devote to you, so the two of you were honestly just stuck.

The time you did get to spend with one another never felt like it was enough. You tried your best to fit in dates that had nothing to do with school or basketball, just the two of you. You loved each other. You would go through worse things than this, and you were dedicated to making it work, damn it. You communicated – or tried to, at least. You could tell Paige was under a lot of pressure, you knew her well enough by now. Anytime you brought it up, she’d always say that she’s just tired or that she needs to lock in because the pressure is only going to increase when she’s in college. You tried to help, but you just didn’t know how, and you were terrified of pushing her too far. She didn’t need you to be this clingy, obsessed girlfriend who can’t function without her, and maybe you were worried about becoming too much, too. It’s just a hard pill to swallow when you go from being all over each other in junior year to whatever the fuck this is now. You have to remind yourself that you and Paige need the space to be your own people. You’re changing, she’s changing, and you can’t hold onto a past version of her – if you force her to be something she’s not, you’ll just lose her, and that’s not something you can stomach. So you take her word for it, letting her be her own person, even if it feels like you’re still losing a battle you could never have won in the first place.

Growing up is hard, isn’t it? 

And it’s weird – because it’s not like everything is bad. There’s a lot of good times, too. Paige still drives you home after her games, making sure to stop at Dairy Queen, making sure to fit in some time at that parking lot just to chat with you. Sometimes it gets a little heavy when she’s a few hours past delirious and her kisses become a little more insistent, sloppier against your skin and you both have to remember to chill out because your first time is not about to be in the backseat of her stepmom’s Honda Pilot. She still smiles at you like you’re her everything, because you are. It’s hard, but she moves mountains to make time for you, even if that just means spending the night at your house and in your arms and you do nothing but sleep because you’re both just exhausted from life.

You still wear her hoodie, the one with her number and her name on the back and the one that’s starting to smell like the perfect blend of the two of you. You leave your clothes at her house and she leaves hers at yours. You and Paige integrate so seamlessly into each other’s lives that the slow-forming rift between the two of you is unexpected when it eventually cracks, sending the two of you tumbling into a bottomless chasm. Somehow, you miss it entirely — the fractures, the shifting of tectonic plates. Maybe the hard truth is you don’t miss it at all, but you ignore it in hopes that you can patch up the lacerations. 

But that rift doesn’t actualize for another few months, for for now — you’re fine. Unknowing of what’s ahead of you, too busy and too in love to focus on anything but the present. 

The holidays are a much needed reprieve. Thanksgiving and Christmas back to back means your classwork finally lessens and Paige isn’t spending every waking moment in the gym. That doesn’t mean that she didn’t try to spend every waking moment in the gym, though. On the very first day of Thanksgiving break, you could feel her shifting around in your bed at an hour that was definitely not appropriate. She was apologetic for waking you up and said that she just wanted to get some shots in before the local rec teams took over the courts. You weren’t having any of it. Half-asleep, you’d dragged her back into bed with you, climbing on top of her and resting your head on her chest, murmuring nonsense about missing her. The details are fuzzy, but you do remember waking up some hours later after the sun finally rose and Paige was still in bed with you, her arms wrapped tight around your waist.

Spending so much uninterrupted time over break reminded you why you fell in love with Paige in the first place. It wasn’t like you were starved of reminders while you were both in school – she texted you good morning (although this was anywhere from 5-6am) and she texted you good night (anywhere from 12-1am); the knowledge that you were the first and the last thing on her mind made your heart race. She walked you to and from your classes, carried your bag for you, but it was that time outside of school that you were truly missing with her.

When you brush your teeth together in the morning, she flicks water at you teasingly and wipes the foam off your lip when you miss a spot. She’ll sit atop the counter and watch as you do your skincare or your makeup with an enamored look on her face. Most days, she allows you to do her mascara or apply some new skin cream on her face, although the latter usually ends with Paige whining about how it burns and you reminding her that just means it’s working. You spend time with each other’s family, you go on dates, open presents at each other’s house, and a few days after Christmas, she takes you back to the park where you’d shared your first kiss. It’s not your one year anniversary since Paige was, ugh, a gentlewoman and “courted” you (well, as well as high schoolers can “court”) prior to making it official, but it’s close enough for you. The realization that you’ve shared your life with Paige for a year fills you with an indescribable emotion and all you really know is you can’t wait to share more and more years with her.

After New Year’s, everything shifts again. You get busy with school and Paige locks back in for basketball. Her team has been undefeated the entire year and they’re on the right track to make it back to the championship, which seems to ignite a fire under her. She spends her time in the gym, practicing and practicing and practicing. You can tell it’s wearing on her. Her texts become sparse and you often find yourself making your way to the gym at night just so you can drive her home. When you ask why she’s burning herself out like this, her response is always a variation of I need to be better or We’re so close – I can’t let the team down but you know her. You know she’s not telling you the complete truth and that kills you.

What had you done so wrong that Paige doesn’t trust you with her feelings anymore? What had you done so wrong that you’ve forced her into locking herself in the gym until her fingers bleed and her feet blister? Perhaps if you were a little more online, you’d understand why. Between the trolls and your mass amounts of homework, you hardly had the time for Instagram. You don’t see the comments under Paige’s posts, claiming you’d just be a distraction in college. You don’t see the comments arguing that Paige’s uncharacteristic performance in a recent game is your fault.

It’s in mid-February that you grow tired of the overthinking and the ache that’s made its home in your chest. It’s nearing midnight but you can’t sleep. You’ve been staring at Paige’s location on the Find My map for nearly four hours now – she’s been on the court ever since practice ended. You tried to give her space. You didn’t want to be overbearing. You know that she’s under pressure but God you just wanted her to confide in you, to feel more like a girlfriend rather than an afterthought. So, you slide on a pair of shoes, tucking your keys into your pocket and you begin the quick walk to the park.

You hear the rhythmic bouncing of the ball before you see Paige. You hear the dribble, the swish of the net, the clang of the rim. The basketball rolls towards you and you pick it up, coming face to face with Paige, whose face is a picture of surprise.

“Hey,” she says softly. You pause to take in her appearance. She’s dressed in a pair of athletic shoes, ball shorts and a loose tank top. She’s soaked in sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead and her eyes a wild mix of exhaustion and pure determination. Your heart constricts in your chest. Why is she doing this to herself? “What are you doing here?”

“It’s late,” you say, quirking an unamused smile. “Almost midnight. Couldn’t really sleep without knowing if my girlfriend was alive or not.”

She stares at you like she’s trying to read your expression. A slow wave of realization rolls over her and she sucks in a deep breath, knowing she’s in trouble. “I’m okay,” she says but you know she’s not. “Just–”

“‘Just trying to get some shots up,’” you interrupt. “‘Just wanna be prepared for the championship.’” Paige’s jaw ticks and she runs a frustrated hand across her jaw. You soften a little, knowing that you’re not the only one with shit going on. That consideration would get you in trouble one day, but you don’t really care right now. “Can we talk? Please?”

“I need to–”

“Paige,” you breathe out, your voice firm despite the way it cracks. You feel the tears prick at your eyes and you can’t help but feel frustrated at yourself for getting emotional. “Please stop running away from me,” you beg.

She looks like she’s about to argue again, although she thinks better of it, nodding her head and taking a seat on the bench where her bag rests. You sit next to hear, placing the basketball on the other side of you. Paige is silent, her hands folded together and her brows drawn in. You speak first. “I’m worried about you.” That draws her attention, confusion and guilt and hurt lining her expression, but you swallow, continuing. “I hardly see you outside of school and you spend every waking moment with a ball in your hand. I know you think that you need to work harder or train harder, but it’s killing you, Paige. You say you’re fine and I wanna believe that but we’ve been dating for a year now. I know you better than that. This is wearing you down and I just don’t understand why you can’t be honest with me about why you’re doing this to yourself.”

The distant chirp of the crickets is all you can hear. Then, she heaves a shuddering sigh. “I’m not good enough for this,” she confesses in a murmur. “That’s what everyone says. I’m overrated. That Coach Auriemma shoulda recruited someone else – someone better, faster, stronger, taller. Basketball is my future but lately it just feels like that’s another thing I have to prove to people who watch me from behind a screen. There’s so many people relying on me, watching me, investing in me and I can’t – I can’t let them down. I can’t lose. I am so fucking afraid of losing that I forget how to win.”

“Paige,” you whisper, your hand reaching out to hold hers. She intertwines your fingers so tightly that it hurts your hand. You don’t care. “You are so much more than what people have to say about you, okay? Isn’t that what you told me?”

She huffs, something akin to amusement, but there’s no enjoyment in her expression. “You didn’t sign up for that,” she retorts. “They were hurting you ‘cause of me.”

“No one signs up to be an online punching bag,” you state. “Least of all you. You don’t deserve that.” She shakes her head, disbelieving. You lean into her, trying to ground her, and she shivers against you. “You know it’s not true, right? There is no one better, or stronger, or faster than you. Maybe taller, but I love you the way you are.” That’s enough to draw a real laugh from her and you squeeze her hand. “Listen to me. Geno didn’t recruit you because of your strength or your speed or whatever else. Geno recruited you because he knew you had the heart of a Husky and because he knew you had what it takes. And – I know it’s hard, but sometimes you’re going to lose. What’s important is picking yourself up afterward and doing it all over again. Win or lose, you’re always gonna have me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know that?”

“I do,” she murmurs. “And I’d do the same for you.” Her words sound more like a grave realization more than a reassurance, but you don’t catch it. You don’t notice the solemn look on her face, the way she looks like she’s coming to terms with something difficult. You don’t notice the determination that reads something like I’m going to win another state championship this year and prove everyone wrong.

“Come home?” you plead. Paige nods slowly, collecting her gear almost robotically, but she presses a kiss to your lips and all you feel an overwhelming amount of relief. Everything will be okay, you tell yourself. This was just a small bump in the road.

Wishful thinking.

Paige’s state championship gets cancelled due to a global pandemic.

She’d been in such high spirits, excited at the prospect of competing, of taking home the trophy one more time before she went off for college. In March, everything shut down. You were out of school for what you believed to be an extended spring break, but the rest of the year was cancelled entirely. The state championship game was quick to follow. You weren’t expecting Paige to take the news as bad as she did.

Your texts go unanswered, again. You know she’s stuck in her house, which was always a recipe for disaster for her. Paige gets too restless, too impatient, always itching to be moving. You let a day go by of radio silence. Two days. By the third, you’re beginning to lose your mind. You simply weren’t built for online education and your little brother makes focusing impossible. On the fourth day, you send another message to Paige, which ultimately gets left on read.

You show up to her house, tired of being iced out like this, of being treated like you’re something disposable when Paige is upset. Bob lets you in, grinning, and you wave at Drew as you walk upstairs, your footsteps echoing like your heartbeat in your ribcage. You knock on Paige’s door, not getting a response, but you walk in anyways.

Her room is a mess. Clothes are strewn about, one of her comforters lying on the ground. You nearly trip over a loose basketball but your eyes lock on her – lying in bed with an almost catatonic expression on her face. Maybe the aftermath is your fault. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Paige wasn’t in the best headspace. While you were her girlfriend, showing up to her room invited while she’s spiraling would make her meltdown make sense. The ensuing argument is a blur.

Paige is frantic, her hands gesturing wildly as she chokes back sobs, exclaiming confessions of “I’m nothing without that championship,” or “I can’t handle this anymore.” It’s the first time you’ve actually been a little fearful – not of her, but for her. You knew the pressure was getting to her and you just let her deal with it instead of intervening. You were too scared to upset her and now the both of you are paying the price of your insecurity.

You tried to comfort her, but it was like something shifted. She told you to go home. That you were too much right now and that it’s obvious at this point that you’re only going to get hurt if you stay with me. You were willing to ignore her words even if they were like knives to your heart, but what truly destroyed was how she flinched away from your touch like it was burning oil. Go home, she’d said again. I don’t need you here. I can’t keep hurting you like this.

Maybe showing up in the first place was a mistake, but so was leaving her. You walked back to your house with tears in your eyes, wondering how you fucked up so bad.

The next day, Paige shows up at your doorstep with flowers. You couldn’t ignore the hurt in your heart and you didn’t want to forgive her so easily, but it was hard to stay upset with her. No matter how mad you were, you were still in love with her. She apologized, describing how the championship cancellation and the lockdown and the pressure was making her go insane. She acknowledged those wrongs didn’t make a right and she’d spend the rest of her life making it up to you. You didn’t want to fight, or argue, or hurt anymore, so you wrapped her in your arms as the both of you cried. You had a lengthy conversation full of more apologies, and foolishly, you’d thought the worst of it was over. It wouldn’t come until much later.

Miraculously, you still have graduation that month although everyone has to wear masks and you have to sit five feet apart on the football field. You and Paige graduate with honors, you take photos, and your combined families have a huge dinner at the Bueckers’s household. That evening, right before you say grace, your phone lights up with an email from the UConn admissions team.

You got in.

As your families cheer, your eyes are too full of tears to notice the expression of pure dread on Paige's face as you throw your arms around her neck. It feels like everything is finally going your way. You and Paige would be going to college together. It would be easier – it has to be. You didn’t really care about what anyone had to say about the two of you. You had Paige and that was enough for you.

You go to bed that night blissfully and ignorantly happy. Two weeks pass and that’s finally when the worst happens.

You feel your phone’s vibration before you hear its ringtone.

Groggily, you open your eyes, hands blindly fumbling through your sheets and under your pillow as you try to locate your device. At first, you think it’s your alarm waking you up for class, but remembering the fact that you’ve just graduated two weeks ago hits you like a sack of bricks. There will be no more morning alarms, not until you’re in Storrs, Connecticut and starting the fall semester. You also realize it’s far too dark outside to be morning, so the ringing of your phone can only mean one thing.

“Hello?” you answer without looking at the caller ID, knowing that it was Paige on the other end. You couldn’t think of anyone who would call you at 1:55 in the morning. The fact that Paige is calling you at 1:55 in the morning, however, is a cause for concern. She had an early flight around 8am – summer practices and conditioning were already starting up for the Huskies, as well as other freshman athlete orientations.

“Hey,” Paige says. Her voice is quiet on the other end of the line, tight and weak like she’s fighting to stay composed. Immediately, your heartbeat picks up, fearing for the worst. “I’m at your front door. Can I – can you come down please? I need to talk to you.”

“I’m on my way,” you respond, already throwing your blanket off of your legs and leaving your room. “Are you okay?”

Paige is oddly silent for a few beats. Your socked feet thump lightly against the stairs as you make your way down, your pulse racing like you’d just ran a marathon. Her name falls from your lips in a murmur and she heaves a shuddering sigh from the other end of the phone. “Please,” she begs, “just come outside.”

“Okay,” you promise, and the line goes dead as you unlock your front door, opening it to reveal Paige standing on your front porch. She’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and crocs like she’d made the last minute decision to show up to your house. Her shirt is rumpled, the UConn logo emblazoned on it – one she’d gotten from her official visit however long ago. Her hair is disheveled, too, pulled up into a loose ponytail with loose strands at the front. And her face. You’ve never seen Paige look so miserable before, but what truly shocks you is the guilt clouding her eyes, the frown on her lips. “Hey.” Your voice is quiet, opening the door wide enough for her to come in. Paige merely shakes her head, her hand finding your wrist as she guides you onto the front porch. The door clicks shut behind the two of you. “What’s going on?”

Under the porchlight, her features come into focus. Her expression is downcast, eyes red as if she’d been crying, shoulders high and tense with some monumental weight bearing down on them. You know she has a lot going on – the two of you have talked about as much. She was the number one high school recruit and she’s been committed to one of, if not the best college for women’s basketball. There’s a lot of pressure on her to live up to those expectations, to be the best in the game. You also know Paige hasn’t been the same since the beginning of the year, but she’d assured you that it was just exhaustion and the need to lock in. When you come face to face with her, you’re wracked with a near insurmountable quantity of guilt – why hadn’t you tried harder to get her to open up?

“I’m sorry,” is what Paige says. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your mind conjures up thousands of reasons why Paige could be apologizing to you at two in the fucking morning. “I know this timing is super fucked up and this is such a shitty thing to do to but I can’t get on that plane later and not –” Paige’s words trail off, the sound getting stuck in her throat.

You blink, feeling the unmistakable burn of tears in your eyes, the tightness in your chest. Part of you knows exactly where this is going, but the other part of you refuses to consider it. “Not what, Paige?”

Her hands fidget nervously with the hem of her shirt. She throws her head back, suddenly finding the roof of your porch very interesting as she takes a deep breath. “I don’t –” her voice cracks before finally, she meets your eyes, guilt and dread and something that looks strangely like atonement filling her irises. “I don’t think we’re gonna work out,” she says. Your heart all but drops out of your ass and onto the ground, but she keeps rambling in that Paige-esque way that you’ve spent months falling in love with. “We’re not gonna work out in college. I have basketball, and you – you have so many great things ahead of you. You have dreams and aspirations and I can’t…I can’t let you lose sight of those if you stay with me. I love you, so much, but we’re just gonna keep hurting each other if we keep trying to mend something that’s just gonna keep on breaking.”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Something ugly twists in your gut, something that feels like a painful mix of despair, desperation, and a deep-rooted anger you’d never realized you’d been harboring. You weren’t an angry person. Sensitive, sure. You were understanding and kind. Never angry. “Why do you get to decide that?” you manage, your voice rough with emotion. Your voice rises in pitch as you continue. “Why do you get to decide that we can’t be fixed? What–”

“We’ve been tryin’ to fix this for months,” Paige points out hoarsely, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

“Because you’re not trying!” you exclaim, arms flying out. Paige flinches, but you don’t stop. “You just – you keep pulling away from me and I don’t know why but I can’t do this on my own, Paige. And when I ask you always say you’re just tired or you’re just busy but I know you. I know you and I know that you weren’t giving us your all and I still trusted you because fuck, I just wanted you! I would never make you choose between me or basketball but I’d like to at least be considered once in a while.”

“It’s not like that,” Paige argues. “I’ve done nothing but consider you–”

“Bullshit.”

Her face falls. “See?” she murmurs, laughing a little despite the hurt in her expression. “We’d never work out in college. We can’t even do this right.”

You seethe. “Because you’re trying to break up with me when we can fix this.”

“I’m trying to break up with you because I can’t fucking protect you!” Paige cries. Her words hit you like a truck and you clamp your mouth shut as she wipes her eyes. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I can’t protect you when we’re both at UConn. Do you even know what they’re saying online? They’re saying I can’t hoop because I’m too busy playing house with my girlfriend. They’re saying that her girlfriend is trying to leech off of her success, that you’re ruining my life, that my girlfriend needs to leave me alone. Everyday I’ve worked harder to get stronger, faster, better, just so there wouldn’t be anything about me they could use to hurt you but they always find something to say. I can’t protect you from that when you’re with me. I can’t let them ruin your life because you love me. You have so much ahead of you and they’ll tear you down. I can’t bear that.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you say, but even you know that’s a lie. You take in the look on Paige’s face, the commiseration, the resolution. Your anger melts away into sheer desperation when you begin to fully realize the gravity of your situation. It feels like your entire life is slipping from your fingertips and you’re running out of time to do something about it. “Paige…” You hate the way she flinches at her name.

“Please,” she begs again. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Just let me do this for us and we can both try to be happy.”

You don’t mention how there won’t be an us if you let her walk away now, but you do step forward, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as you plead, “Don’t do this to us.” A tear slips down your cheek and Paige shudders as she wipes it away with the pad of her thumb, an inexplicable amount of guilt in her eyes. “We can fix this, okay? I swear. I promise you won’t even know I’m there. I won’t say anything and I’ll watch your games online – whatever it takes, I’ll do it, Paige; just don’t fucking do this to us.”

She murmurs your name, her face falling as she brushes your hair out of your face, but you’re shaking your head, pressing on. “Just give us some time. Please. We can work this out. I don’t want anything but you. And…and – last year, you said nothing else mattered, right? What everyone else thought, what the media thought. We can be private again, whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” she whispers, voice broken. “You don’t deserve to be hidden away. I can’t do that to you. It’ll kill us before we even got a chance otherwise.”

Your lip wobbles as you say, “You’re killing us now, Paige.”

She nods, a tear of her own falling, and she wipes it away before you can even raise your hand. “I know. But at least it’s on our terms and not theirs.” You shake your head, fingers tightening in her shirt, and Paige crumbles. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling her into your chest as your body heaves with sobs, your tears soaking her shirt. You can hear the tremble in her voice as she fights for her composure. “I’m sorry. Being with me will just hurt you more. I can’t put you through that,” she chokes out. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were the only one trying. I thought it would change things but it didn’t. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t save us.”

The irony makes you ache – Paige killing you just to save you. Deep down, you know she’s right. Your social media have been private for months now, but there’s nothing you wouldn’t do just so you could keep Paige. But right now? All you’re truly able to process is the heartbreak, the way the criss-crossing bandages fall off, the way the stitches and the sutures come undone, revealing a festering, open wound that after all this time, you’ve never been able to repair. No matter what, it always comes back to this – your heart on the ground, stomped out and bleeding and ruined. You just never thought Paige would be the one to crush it under her heel.

You’re tender-hearted. You always have been.  That’s why your friends told you to stay far, far away from Paige. You tried, you honestly did – but Paige is magnetic, and she loves you, and you were just a little too weak to say no. Now you’re faced with the ugly realization that maybe you should have listened, that when they told you ‘She’s leaving Minnesota and she’s not going to look back’, they were right. Despite it all, you’re naive enough to say that you’d go through with it all over again. You love Paige. You would give up a lot of things in the world if only you could keep her, but her decision is made and it’s time for you to make yours.

That’s why you forgive her. You sniffle, trying your best to compose yourself as her hand rubs soothing, apologetic circles on your back. “It’s okay,” you manage, your voice impossibly soft and broken down.

“It’s not,” Paige murmurs, her voice cracking.

“It will have to be.” You feel her nod at that, her arms tightening a little, like she’s trying to savor this last moment with you before it’s gone forever. You do, too, pressing your head against her chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of her heart that you’ve spent hours memorizing the cadence of. You’ve spent so many months of your life learning everything there was to know about Paige Bueckers – her favorite color, her dreams, the parts of her that she keeps hidden. You wish you didn’t know what she looked like when she was walking away but you should have known that you and her were doomed by time from the very beginning.

You don’t want to let her go. Eventually, you have to, and looking at her face makes you want to cry and beg all over again. Her hands find your cheeks as she kisses you one last time. You can taste the salt on her lips, hear her shuddering breath, feel her forehead as it presses against yours gently. You know this kiss is more of a goodbye than it is a gesture of affection. That’s enough to make the ache in your chest return tenfold.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again. It doesn’t do anything to fix what’s broken. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you promise. You hate those words because you know they’re true – Paige has just broken your heart on your front doorstep and despite it all, you still love her and you always will.

She releases you, her hands trailing down your arms, trying to commit you to memory. Then, her hands leave your skin entirely and she takes a step back. “Guess this is goodbye.”

You bury your hands in your pockets, knowing that if you don’t do something with them, you’ll try fighting for her again. “Guess it is.”

She stares at you for a long while before nodding, her final goodbye a soft murmur under her breath. You watch her go as she walks down the sidewalk, her figure illuminated by the streetlights. It feels strangely like reaching for a light, something you’ll never be able to physically grasp. It’s like watching your entire future crumble in the blink of an eye, like reminding yourself that some dreams are too costly and that sometimes, desire is impossible. Right person, wrong time.

Your lip trembles as you walk back inside, locking the door behind you. When you turn to head back upstairs and go back to bed, hoping that this is all some kind of fucked up fever dream, you find your mother waiting for you, worry etched on her face. That’s when you crumble again, sagging into her confused arms and sobbing.

“She’s gone,” you manage to get out in between heaving sobs. Your mom understands instantly, hushing you and smoothing out your hair, rocking you back and forth as you cry. You’ve hurt a lot, but never like this. You want this terrible feeling to go away but you know this is a loss that’s going to stick with you for a while.

Later that night, when you’re sure you’ve cried all you could, you lie in bed bundled in Paige’s hoodie despite the heat. On the UConn application portal, you only hesitate a little bit before you click on the Cancel Enrollment button. Then, you navigate over to the University of Minnesota application portal, hesitating a lot longer before clicking on the Confirm Enrollment button. You power your phone off entirely, unwilling to spend the night staring at the picture of you and Paige on your home screen. All you feel is a devastating emptiness and this time, you’re fully on your own now and there’s no one else to help you pick up the pieces.

FRESHMAN & SOPHOMORE YEAR – 2020-2022

To no one’s surprise, you absolutely hate the University of Minnesota. There were a lot of reasons why it wasn’t your first choice. The program it offered for your degree wasn’t the greatest. You hated the dorms. You hated campus life, too. UConn had a lot of things that UMN didn’t. A better sports scene, better programs, your ex-girlfriend who you’re still hung up on, everything. You knew you’d be just as miserable at UConn if you’d gone there, too. Paige was everywhere. The freshman phenom who could truly do it all. The work she’d put into becoming better had paid off and it led to her having an electrifying first season.

Even though your heart ached, you couldn’t help but be proud of her. She was doing everything she said she was gonna do. She’s breaking records and making a name for herself – you’d just wished you could be there for it.

It’s almost pathetic how you’re unable to get over her. You stay off of social media but the knowledge that she’s just one text message away fucks with your brain more than you’d like to admit. It reminds you all too much of Gatsby and Daisy and that stupid project the two of you partnered for in AP Lit, only you’re some weird inverted version of them. Paige is the one with the riches, the grandeur, the mansion, yet she’s the one with the green light on the dock. You spend hours gazing out and hoping that she’s looking back at you, too. You’re the one who wishes you could go back into the past where you were still together, even though Gatsby’s story taught you that you’re only yearning for something that doesn’t exist anymore. You’re Gatsby, unable to move on, unable to fully come to terms with the fact that your dream wasn’t truly attainable, that you desired for too much and you couldn’t reach it.

There’s a scary thought in the back of your head that sounds like you just weren’t worth it. Gatsby’s story also taught you that Daisy’s feelings for Gatsby weren’t worth losing her social status, her life of comfort. Were you not worth it? You would have gone to hell and stayed if only to keep Paige, but perhaps that’s just something you need to work on.

So, you do. You find yourself a therapist in Minneapolis. You’ve been unhappy for a while now, but it’s also become increasingly obvious that you need to work on setting boundaries and unlearning emotional attachments that have done nothing but hurt you. You fall in love (romantically or platonically) far too quick, too easily, and you’re too forgiving. You were told from the start that you should be taking care of your heart and you suppose it’s better late than never.

Your therapist is an older lady who has seen some shit and been through some shit. She’s blunt and honest and exactly what you need. She tells you that you can protect yourself and still give to the world, to others. She also tells you that if you’re so unhappy at UMN that you should probably transfer. You put that piece of advice on the backburner because you’ve barely been here for a semester. Maybe you’ll have more fun and make new friends come spring. Maybe everything will turn around if you give yourself the chance to grow and be happy without constantly looking over your shoulder, hoping to see familiar blue eyes and that teasing smile you’ve all but memorized.

(Spoiler: you don’t.)

The spring semester of your freshman year rolls around and you’re honestly burned out. Your first semester was rough and you had a straight C average, which was quite the culture shock after being a straight A student throughout highschool. You try to show up to all of your classes, but registering for an 8am was honestly the worst decision of your life. You miss a few, your grades remain horribly consistent (more C’s!), and you can’t hold onto anymore friends, not for lack of trying. Your clubs fall through and nothing feels right about UMN. Sure, you’re close to home and you visit your parents twice a month, but UMN isn’t home at all. You know that there’s a piece of you in Connecticut somewhere.

Therapy is helping a lot, though. Fixing yourself emotionally is really taxing, but you’re making progress, and that’s good enough for now. Although it takes a couple of weeks, you manage to make a friend in one of your classes and you study together often. Her name is Krista. She’s a pre-med biology major and quite possibly the smartest person you’ve met in your semester and a half at UMN. She introduces you to some of her friends, too – an assortment of med-school hopefuls and the lone English major. Slowly but surely, UMN doesn’t feel as lonely and your grades start improving.

Eventually, the heartbreak starts to ache a little less. Seeing Paige’s picture plastered everywhere doesn’t hurt as much. You tune in for some of the UConn games during March Madness to cheer her on. It will probably take you a long time to be fully over Paige, but you’re at least mostly over the hurt. You reach out to a couple of your mutual friends just to see how she’s doing. Maybe you’ll regret that decision one day. Maybe not. Hearing that she’s doing okay settles your heart some. That turns into weekly check-ins. It’s something.

You and Paige were friends for a long time before you made it official. You’re not mourning the loss of a relationship, but you’re mourning your best friend, too. Nobody ever told you how devastating it was to go from sharing everything with someone to watching their life in pictures. Part of you wonders if she’s doing the same as you, if she even thinks about you like that, if she thinks about you at all or if she regrets the decision she’d made.

Your first year at UMN is nothing special. There’s a nagging voice in the back of your head that urges you to transfer. If you’re not fully happy after a year, then you’re not going to be happy this year. You think about the friends you’ve made – Krista and the others. Something about them just isn’t right. You may never have the vocabulary to explain it, but no matter how nice and welcoming they are, you still feel like an outsider looking in. Things aren’t all that bad, you tell yourself. Your grades are better and honestly, maybe this is just life. You aren’t always going to have a bunch of best friends. So, you decide to stay at UMN.

(How many bad decisions can one person possibly make before you start getting concerned?)

Sophomore year isn’t any better. It doesn’t suck, but you’re still unhappy. You’re surviving, not living. You start going home every weekend rather than the twice a month schedule you’d originally planned on. Being back in Hopkins reminds you of simpler times. It reminds you of late night Dairy Queen runs, of chatting in an empty parking lot, of that time Paige accidentally honked the horn in her stepmom’s SUV when she tried to pull you onto her lap. Hopkins reminds you of your junior prom, where you and Paige slow danced to Taylor Swift outside the gym, where you told her that you loved her for the first time and she told you that she did, too. Hopkins reminds you of happiness.

In December that year, your mutual friend — Amaya Battle — informs you that Paige fractured her tibial plateau and tore her lateral meniscus. None of that sounded good, but you felt like shit once Krista explained what that all meant. That injury would bench Paige for a couple of months. Despite the time, you still knew Paige well enough to know that she’s not happy about that. You open a long abandoned text thread with her, your last message reading happy birthday! and hers reading Thank you, and begin to draft out a new message. Saying that you’re sorry doesn’t feel like enough, but anything else feels like too much. You settle on simply expressing your condolences and you let her know that you’re praying for her. You’re not surprised when you don’t receive anything more than another “Thank you” in return.

Spring semester is long and uneventful. You still tune in for some of Paige’s games, but once finals are said and done and you’re not feeling any differently, you know that it’s time to move on. You apply as a transfer student for UConn.

JUNIOR YEAR – 2022-2023

You get accepted into UConn. Reading the Welcome to UConn Nation email feels as good as it did the first time you opened it surrounded by your family. It feels like coming home all over again. The break in between semesters feels painfully short and far too long at the same time, but before you know it, you’re moving into your dorm on campus, laughing along with your new roommate Livya like you’ve been friends forever. She helps you get settled in. Then she shows you around campus, pointing out all of the best study spots and the best dining halls. You meet up with a couple of her friends for lunch and it’s like everything just clicks. You know in your heart that this is where you’re supposed to be.

The news, however, comes to you in the form of an ESPN headline rather than a text from your mutual friend. Paige had torn her ACL nearly a week ago playing a game of pick up. Your heart was caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but feel terrible for Paige. This was supposed to be her healthy season back after her previous injury in December, but here she is on the bench again, healing from an injury she didn’t deserve to get. You feel the strangest sense of deja vu when you message Paige again, extending your condolences, but what you’re not expecting is the phone call from her that comes a few seconds later.

It rings once and all you can do is stare at it, jaw on the ground. On the second ring, your thumb hovers over the answer button. And on the third ring, you commit to it, bringing your phone to your ear. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest as you greet Paige. “Hey.”

Her voice is soft when she responds. “Hey.” It’s a little rough around the edges, mature, but there’s a lingering tenseness to it like she’s trying to keep herself together.

“Wasn’t expecting you to call,” you admit.

“Me neither,” she agrees.

You sit in silence for a few moments before you shift, clearing your throat. There’s so many things you want to say to her, but you know this moment is too fragile, too new. You know you’re not talking to the same girl you once knew. She’s changed. She’s older and she’s wiser and she knows what she wants now. You don’t know how to say what you want to say, although it’s evident that Paige is a little lost, too. “How, um…how are you?” you say finally.

The noise she makes on the other line sounds a little amused. “Well,” she murmurs. “At least it’s not both knees, right?”

You can’t help the choked laugh that draws from you. “God,” you say. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed at that.”

“Nah, s’okay,” she promises. You can hear the slight smile in her voice. “I missed that.”

Your heart thumps against your ribcage. “Missed what?” you ask, but you know what she means.

“Your laugh,” she confirms. “Still the same as it once was.”

You hum. “We’re not the same,” you say softly. “We’ve grown up.”

“Have we?” she asks. You swallow. “We’re older. Learned a lot. Doesn’t mean we’ve changed. Just evolved.”

“Is that not the same thing?”

“Pikachu evolves into Raichu but he’s still Pikachu, isn’t he?”

Despite yourself, you grin. “And you’re still an idiot.”

That makes her laugh. “C’mon,” she drawls. “I got a bum knee and you’re making fun of me?”

“Some things never change.”

“They don’t,” Paige agrees. “Heard you transferred to UConn?”

“I did. UMN wasn’t right for me. It didn’t feel like home.”

“It does here?”

You don’t hesitate when you respond. “Yeah. It does.”

The line falls silent again. You can hear the sound of Paige breathing on the other end. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says finally. Your grin melts into something a little more tender. “Do you wanna come to my dorm? We can catch up.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Probably not,” she concedes. “But I’m injured and I just spent two years missin’ you and I wanna see you.”

You should feel embarrassed at how little it takes to convince you. Before you realize the words coming out of your mouth, you’re saying, “Send me the address.” She does. Paige’s dorm isn’t too far away from yours. “I’ll be there in ten.”

When you do arrive, the girl who answers the door is not Paige. It’s Azzi Fudd. She knows you by name, offering you a gentle smile and pointing you down the hall to where Paige’s room is. You thank her, your heart caught in your throat, and you make your way through the apartment. You knock and you enter.

Paige glances up immediately as you walk in, her face softening immediately. She’s sprawled out across her bed, her knee secured in a heavy brace and propped up in a pillow. She’s wearing a loose pair of shorts and a long-sleeved UConn shirt. The first thing you notice is how different she is. Her time on the court and in the gym has treated her well. Her shoulders fill out her sweatshirt, muscles taut against the fabric. She’s bulked up and she scraped her old ponytail for a slick back bun, although the ‘slick back’ part is messy, strands flying haphazardly. Her eyes are disarmingly blue, not like that’s changed from the last time you saw her, and her smile is just as you remember. It’s enough to soften you instantly.

“Hey,” she says as you close the door behind you.

“Hi, P,” you murmur. Her face shifts, taking you in, and you know she’s cataloging everything that’s different about you, too. You wear your hair in a new style and the way you carry yourself is unlike the way you carried yourself in high school. It’s not confidence, it’s surety, more you. Behind the curiosity, you can see the lingering guilt, the realization that she broke your heart two years ago yet you still dropped everything to come and see her because she’s injured. You glance around the room, breaking your eye contact, scanning the basketball posters, album covers, and pictures of her and her teammates strewn about. Her comforter is purple, which makes you smile. Some things truly never change. “Nice room.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you fight a wince because of how awkward it sounds.

“Clean, right?” she jokes, drawing a short laugh from you – you’d always teased her for being messy, often having to motivate her to pick up her room. Her dorm is clean, but obviously lived-in as evidenced by the jacket slung over the arm of a gaming chair and a water bottle or two on the nightstand and the desk. “Nice hoodie.”

It’s only then that you glance down and your face flushes when you realize what you’re wearing. HOPKINS is emblazoned on the front, the number 1 below it. You don’t need to turn it around to know you have BUECKERS stitched on the back. Your eyes find her face again, noting that she’s not upset about it. She’s a little amused, if anything, although there’s something softer in her expression. You shrug a little. “Wasn’t brave enough to get rid of it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Her voice is a soft murmur. You meet her eyes, sharing a soft smile. Then, she clears her throat, shifting, and she nods to the spot next to her. “Come talk?” she requests.

You open your mouth, ready to decline. You know that if you fell into these patterns with Paige again, then you’d truly never get over her. Part of you wonders if you want to get over her in the first place, but you know you can’t put yourself through this again if she’s not in it for the long haul. “I don’t think–”

“Please?” she asks softly, her voice catching in her throat. “I just…don’t wanna be alone right now.”

You’re moving before she even finishes her sentence. She moves the blankets for you as you kick off your shoes, sliding in next to her like it’s second nature. When you do, you’re enveloped by her, the scent of her cologne, her body wash, that same brand of shampoo she’s been using since she was seventeen. You can feel the warmth of her body so close to yours and your breath hitches. You can hear the stutter in her breathing, too, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s missed you in the way you’ve missed her. Her fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to hold you, like she’s reminding herself she doesn’t really have that right anymore.

“So…” she starts. “Why’d you transfer? Really?”

You sigh. “I couldn’t really find my place at UMN. I struggled in my classes for a while and I had so much trouble making friends. I found a group, but it always felt like I was a plus one. My psychologist and my parents told me to transfer. Even Drew told me to transfer.”

She cracks a small, surprised smile. “You talk to Drew?”

“Our parents still talk, you know,” you say, nudging her, listening to her laughter. “Plus, Drew and my brother are like best friends.” You pause for a moment, twisting the ring on your finger, and hesitantly, you admit, “Drew told me I should transfer to UConn specifically. For you.”

“For me?” Her voice is pitched, her expression unreadable, and you nod.

“Yeah. He said we were happier before the break up.”

Paige chuckles, rolling her eyes. “He’s such a little shit.”

“I wonder where he gets it from?” At that, Paige half-heartedly shoves you, but there’s no force or malice behind it as you laugh. “But I didn’t transfer for you.”

“Of course not.” Her expression betrays her feigned nonchalance, like she thinks you’re full of shit.

“I didn’t!”

“Okay,” she says insufferably and you shake your head. “I, uh…I’m sorry for how I ended things.”

Your smile drops instantly, features softening. “Paige,” you murmur, but she ignores your words entirely. 

“I’ve thought about it for two years,” she admits, “and every day I wish I could go back in time and undo it. I thought I was protecting you but all I did was hurt us both. In the end, it didn’t even change shit. That’s the fucked up part.” She scoffs a little. “And here we are. I broke your heart yet you text me on my birthday, reach out when I injure myself, drop everything to come see me ‘cause my knee’s fucked? Why?”

You swallow thickly, not really needing to think about your response. “It’s you,” you whisper. You hear her breath catch, see the tears welling up in her eyes again. It’s always gonna be you, is the part that goes unsaid, but you wonder if Paige understands it all the same. “I would watch your games sometimes,” you confess. Paige makes a noise that sounds like it’s in between a sigh and a whimper, like hearing you speak is hurting her. You continue anyways, needing to get it off of your chest. “I’d watch your games and I’d cheer you on and wonder what it would be like if you didn’t change your mind, if I was sitting courtside like we’d always talked about. I’d probably be wearing this fucking hoodie or maybe you’d give me some of your UConn gear. Every week, I would talk to Amaya Battle just to ask how you were, and –” Paige interrupts you with a soft whisper of your name, but you shake your head, feeling the long restrained tears drop. “I missed you and all I wanted was you. You were so close yet so far – impossible and out of reach.”

“Not impossible,” she says firmly, her voice rough with tears. Instantly, you’re transported back nearly four years ago when she’d uttered words not too dissimilar. I don’t think it’s out of reach. Not for you. Not for us. “Never impossible. Not you, not me, not us.”

A tear slips down your cheek and she wipes it away. The brush of her finger against your skin, no matter how small, is pure electricity in your veins and you’re breathless for an entirely different reason now. “Aren’t we?” you ask, your eyes on hers. They’re alarmingly blue, brightened by the pool of tears that’s found home in them. You can’t help the way your feelings come rushing back. You were always going to be in love with Paige Bueckers. That’s not a feeling that goes away overnight or even two years after breaking up with her. She’s ruined you for anyone else and you can’t even be mad about it. “We’re different. You’re different.”

“Not different,” she argues, desperation lacing her tone as she squeezes your hands in between her own. “Evolved. I’m still me.”

“That’s the scary part,” you say. It’s scary because you know you’ll never be able to say no to her. You love her too much for that, and deep down, you also there’s nothing more right than you and her.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Her thumb finds your cheek again, clearing the wetness, and your lip trembles when you look at her.  Paige’s expression is unguarded, a clear promise reflected in her eyes. If this all went to shit, you wouldn’t have the energy or the resources to pick your heart up again, but what are you if not brave despite the ache? What if it’s different this time, if you and Paige have grown, not changed, and you’re better for each other? You know better now than to make those same mistakes. You know Paige well enough to know she means what she says. So maybe you’re a fool, or you’re naive, or too trusting for your own good, but you can’t help but believe Paige. “A lot of people have hurt you. I was one of them,” she continues, uncomfortably vulnerable as she swallows. “I will never forgive myself for that but somehow, you did. Whatever it takes, I’ll prove to you that you didn’t make the wrong choice like I did. Give me time and the chance and I’ll show you. I swear.”

Your heart knows your decision long before your brain has made it. That’s just how you work. You nod at her, watching utter relief and gratitude seep through her features, and honestly, when you look back at it, you’re not completely sure who leans in first. But what you do know is that you’re tangling your fingers in her sweatshirt, pulling her impossibly close as you initiate the kiss, something intense and deep and desperate and everything you’ve been wishing for over the past two years. You know it’s a bad idea, doing this out of order, yet you can’t bring yourself to care because Paige shudders against your lips, her hands finding your hips and dragging you impossibly closer. You’re cautious of her knee, trying to minimize the amount of space between your bodies, and you loop your arms around her neck when you pull away to trail your lips down her jaw, the column of her throat. She tilts her head back, granting you more space, and you don’t sober up until you feel one of her tears fall against your cheek.

You pull away from her immediately, feeling as though you’d been submerged in an ice bath. Paige must not register that she’s crying because she chases after you with a noise of dissatisfaction, her hands pressing into your sides. You push her away gently, smiling despite yourself, brushing her tears away with your knuckle. “Maybe we should, um… not make out when we’re crying and emotional?” you suggest.

Paige clears her throat, leaning away from you with great difficulty. “Yeah,” she agrees quickly. “Probably for the best.” You can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes from your mouth. Paige’s lips quirk up, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “We’re okay?” she asks, a little hesitant.

“We will be,” you assure her, not missing the way her face lights up. “But we should probably…”

“Slow down?” Paige finishes.

You nod. “Yeah. Be friends first. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“I can work with that,” she murmurs, her words a direct echo of the first promise she’d ever made to you.

You smile, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. You breathe a little easier knowing that you’re still you and Paige is still Paige – you’re not the same, but you’re something a little better, more improved, and you have the knowledge to take better care of each other’s hearts this time around. You and Paige have grown up and matured. You lost your way for a while but as you lay in bed next to her like no time has passed at all, you know somewhere deep inside of your body that this is where you’re truly meant to be.

(You and Paige do commit to slow. You know each other like the back of your hands and the love is still there, but you’re determined to do this right this time. So, you keep things friendly, strengthening the connection between the two of you – she introduces you to her teammates, helps you study while she’s out for the season. In turn, you help her with her rehab and you motivate her on the days that feel more bleak.

When the both of you go back home for Thanksgiving break, both of your families are ecstatic to see that you’re “back together” and you don’t think anyone believes the two of you when you say you’re just taking it slow for now. Your little brothers tease you, your dads share knowing glances, and your mothers smile like they know exactly where this is going.

However, when the two of you return to Minnesota for winter break, Paige takes you to the park that the two of you used to spend your time at, leading you to the swings. You talk about anything and everything and nothing, content to just enjoy the moment, but when Paige asks you to be her girlfriend officially – again, but second time’s the charm, right? – you truly have no choice but to say no, kissing her gently as the Minnesotan snow falls around the two of you.

You’re home now.)

[fuddaround]

that damn net ⋮ p.b

pairing : paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary : seeing paige with the net and hat was a complete turn on for her situationship.

word count : 3.6k

warnings : degradation, hitting, public fingering, strap, fast paced, time skips, teammate reader, mention of reader whining.

kay speaks 💌 : this is kinda rushed, sloppy, and not fully edited just because i was aggravated after it didn’t save. i also somehow lost a part (i write it all in my notes first) ??

you can’t stop staring.

the arena is a mess—confetti everywhere, screams bouncing off the walls, people hugging, crying, laughing. you should be in it, soaking up the history, the win, the moment. but you’re locked in. eyes trained on her.

paige.

her hair’s messy under the championship hat. her jersey’s drenched in sweat and gatorade. she’s still breathing hard, adrenaline pulsing through every muscle, and god, it looks so good on her.

you’re trying to keep it chill. keep it platonic. friendly. situationship rules. you know them. no acting out in public. no being obvious. no catching feelings.

but the way she’s smiling right now? pure joy, pure fire, pure fuck-you-we-won energy towards sc? it’s driving you insane.

she waits ‘til the very end for the net-cutting. typical. center of attention shit. the whole team chanting her name. she climbs the ladder, slow and cocky, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth.

she snips the last piece. holds it up like a trophy. then as she climbs off the ladder, cd loops it around her neck like a chain. her arms up. crowd going absolutely insane.

you swallow hard.

it’s too much.

she looks like sex and power and everything you’re not supposed to want too much of. but fuck. she’s unreal.

and she smirks.

that smirk. the one that means she knows. that she saw you looking. that she liked it.

you feel your stomach flip. heat crawling under your skin.

she disappears into the mob of teammates and coaches and cameras. people are already pulling her into interviews, wrapping her in hugs, shouting her name.

and you’re just standing there, frozen, breath caught somewhere between lust and pride and the fucked-up ache of wanting someone who’s never really been yours.

you move through the crowd. heart pounding. trying to play it off.

you finally find her by the sideline, holding another can of diet coke that she hasn’t opened, laughing with azzi.

her cheeks are flushed, eyes sparkling, and the net’s still swinging from her neck like a damn trophy.

you lean in, close enough so only she hears.

“you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

her eyes flick over to you, lazy and slow. lips curl again. dangerous.

“oh,” she says, voice low, almost lost in the noise. “i do.”

the night moves fast.

bars are packed. drinks are free. everyone’s screaming uconn. half the city’s trying to buy shots for the team.

someone handed you a jello shot shaped like a basketball. you don’t even ask what’s in it.

paige is everywhere.

center of every circle. laughing with your teammates. dancing like she’s floating. championship hat still on backwards, net still around her neck like jewelry. the bar lights hit it and it flashes every time she moves.

you’re trying to play it cool. to not stare. to not think about her mouth. or her hands. or the way she keeps looking at you like she’s already fucked you tonight.

or that net that you find way too much attraction to.

she finds you near the edge of the dance floor. leans in close, breath sticky sweet from a lemon drop shot.

“oh baby..you look sooo stressed,” she says, fake pout on her lips.

“i’m good.”

“nah,” she grins, finger grazing your waist. “you’re tense. i can feel it.”

you glance around. the music’s loud. no one’s looking.

but still.

“stop.”

“you want me to?”

her hand slips under the hem of your championship shirt. just a touch. palm against your skin. you tense, but don’t move.

“you’re such a fucking tease,” you murmur.

“and you let me do it. every. single. time.”

you roll your eyes, but your breath catches when she presses her leg between yours. just lightly. enough for you to feel it.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here.”

“we’re not doing anything,” she says, mouth close to your ear. “i’m just standing. you’re the one squirming.”

you laugh, but it’s shaky. her hands are back on your hips now. gripping. pulling you closer.

you try to speak, but she cuts you off, lips brushing your neck.

“you should’ve seen your face when i cut that net. all wide-eyed and horny. like you were about to drop to your knees right there on the court.”

“fuck off.”

“make me.”

her voice is syrupy sweet, but her hands are getting bolder. one trails down your thigh. stops just where you need it most.

you suck in a breath.

“paige—”

“you gonna say my name like that later?” she asks. “all desperate and wrecked?”

you clench your jaw. look away. try to focus on literally anything else.

but her fingers brush higher. almost. barely.

“you wore this tight ass skirt for me, didn’t you?”

“you’re not the only one i wanted to look good for.”

she laughs. cocky. mean.

“cute lie, princess.”

your head falls back when she presses just enough pressure to make your thighs clench.

“oh, no panties?” she whispers.

you don’t answer.

“jesus,” she says. “you’re really down bad, huh?”

you grab her wrist, but she doesn’t stop.

“say it,” she whispers. “say you want me.”

“i want you.”

“how bad?”

you stare at her. the music’s loud. lights flickering across her face. her pupils blown wide.

“bad enough to hook up with you in this damn bar’s bathroom.”

her smile’s lethal.

“let’s go.”

the bathroom’s disgusting.

sticky floor, loud bass bleeding through the walls, one flickering light overhead.

you don’t care.

she locks the door behind you and you’re already on her.

lips crashing. hands everywhere. teeth clashing. she tastes like vodka and lime and victory.

she pushes you up against the wall so hard it rattles. one hand on your throat, the other hiking your skirt up like she owns it.

“so fuckin’ needy,” she breathes. “could feel your pussy throbbing on my thigh out there, ma.”

you moan into her mouth. pull her closer. her fingers slide between your legs, and she freezes.

“fuck,” she whispers. “you’re soaked.”

“i told you.”

“nah,” she grins. “you didn’t tell me shit. but you will.”

“well, i did tell you i needed you.”

her hand moves slow at first. teasing. sliding through your slick, not giving you enough. just stroking her ego.

“paige,” you gasp, bucking into her palm.

“what, baby? use your words.”

“i really really need you and like now.”

you bite your lip. try to hold it in.

she presses two fingers inside, fast and deep.

you cry out. cling to her.

“that’s it,” she says, low and smug. “take it. be quiet for me though.”

your knees almost buckle.

she fucks you against the wall like she’s been dying to. like she’s owed it. fingers curling just right, palm pressing your clit every time she pumps.

“knew this pussy would be good,” she groans. “knew it’d fit my fingers perfect.”

you’re gasping now. grabbing at her shirt. mouth open, eyes fluttering.

“keep lookin’ at me like that, and i’m gonna make you cum just like this. messy. in a bar bathroom.”

“don’t stop, please, p” you beg.

“never do, baby.”

she shifts her stance, grinds her palm harder, curls her fingers deeper. your body’s not even yours anymore—just a bundle of nerves under her touch.

“you close?” she murmurs. “you gonna cream on my fingers like a good little slut?”

you lean your head on her shoulder as you grip onto the net hanging around her neck.

“yes,” you whimper. “fuck, paige—yes.”

“just remember to be quiet.”

that’s all it takes.

you break. legs shaking. moaning into her neck as you cum hard, pulsing around her fingers. she holds you up through it, fingers fucking you through the high like she’s memorizing every twitch.

“god damn,” she whispers. “this pussy’s still mine even after weeks apart.”

you try to answer but all that comes out is a whimper.

she pulls her fingers out slow. watches the slick drip down your thighs. then sucks them clean, eyes on yours the whole time.

“tastes like a championship.”

you shove her, laughing breathlessly, but she grabs your chin and kisses you hard. filthy. claiming.

“you thought that was bad?” she grins. “wait ‘til we get to the hotel.”

the night stretches on, and you’re deep in it now — drunk off paige, drunk off the win, drunk off the way she’s touching you under the table, like you belong to her and everyone in this bar should know it.

you’re at a booth in a rooftop bar now, watching the city flicker below you. but you can’t look anywhere except her. paige. her lips around a straw. the way her eyes keep flicking to yours, smug and teasing, her championship hat crooked on her head.

and she still has on that damn net.

she leans in, just enough to make you shiver. whispers in your ear.

“you still good, baby? you still thinking about what happened in that bathroom?”

you don’t answer at first, not wanting to make it obvious how wrecked you are. how much she’s already ruined you tonight.

her fingers find your knee, pushing up your thigh. slowly. steadily. no one else notices, but you feel it. feel her moving closer.

you shift, trying to keep it together, but paige’s grip tightens.

“don’t move,” she commands, voice low, dark. she’s not looking at you anymore, eyes scanning the bar, but her fingers are still creeping higher.

you want to beg. want to beg her to do more, but you hold your breath instead.

“you’re so fucking quiet,” she teases. “you’re barely even talking to the team. i promise i’ll make you feel good at the hotel.”

you bite your lip, heart hammering in your chest. “paige…”

“shh,” she cuts you off. “don’t talk yet. i’m handling you tonight. you’re gonna sit there and let me touch you however i want.”

you freeze, mouth open. her fingers brush against the inside of your thighs, slow and deliberate. she knows exactly what she’s doing to you, playing with you like you’re her toy.

her hand slips under the waistband of your skirt, just enough to slide her fingers between your slick folds.

the pressure is light, but you can’t help the way your body jerks toward her.

“you’re fucking dripping,” she breathes. “is this because of me? is this how much you want me, baby?”

you clench your jaw. you’re trying so hard to stay composed, but paige’s fingers are sliding deeper, circling, pushing in slow like she’s savoring it. savoring every reaction you can’t stop yourself from giving.

you swallow hard. look at her, eyes half-lidded.

“i need all of you,” you whisper.

paige smirks, but she doesn’t stop. she presses harder, curling her fingers inside you just enough to make you squirm, but not enough to make you cum. you’re a mess in her hands, and she’s enjoying every second of it.

“yeah?” she purrs. “you like me teasing you, huh? it’s fucking cute, how desperate you are for me.”

“paige,” you whimper, your voice breaking under the pressure.

“what, ma?” she hums, fingers still teasing, never giving you enough. “you gonna cum right here? with everyone watching?”

you shake your head, desperate for more. but you don’t want anyone to know. not here. not yet.

“i’ll make it so fucking obvious,” she whispers. “so fucking messy, baby. you’ll be dripping all over this booth.”

you want to shout, but you just squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the table for control. your body is betraying you, heart pounding, hips pushing into her hand.

“you feel that, baby?” she whispers. “you feel how much you want it? i can make you cum right now, but you gotta beg me.”

you look at her. eyes wide, chest heaving.

“paige, please,” you breathe, your voice shaky.

“please what?”

“please… make me cum.”

her fingers are suddenly gone. you open your eyes, confused, frustrated.

“oops,” she shakes her head, smirking. “you’re gonna wait, baby. wait until we’re alone. i want you begging me later, in the hotel room.”

you groan in frustration, but she pulls her hand back under the table and sits up straighter, looking around the bar like nothing happened.

“god, you’re so fucking annoying,” you mutter, glaring at her.

“yeah, i know,” she grins, leaning close again. “but you’ll be screaming my name soon.”

she kicks the door shut behind you.

hat still on. net still swinging against her chest.

“on the bed,” she says.

you stumble back, lip trembling, skirt still soaked from the bars.

your whole body feels like a live wire.

she’s looking at you like she’s starving.

she’s already tasted you and now she wants even more.

you drop onto the mattress. legs open. hands shaking.

she doesn’t touch you at first. just stares.

“look at you,” she mutters. “so fuckin’ pretty laid out like this.”

“hurry i need you.”

“nah,” she cuts you off. “you’re not in charge tonight.”

your breath catches. thighs twitch.

she shrugs her jacket off. still got the net on like a damn trophy necklace.

and you’re glad she still has it on along with the championship hat.

“still thinking about me on that ladder?” she asks, soft, sick. “with the net around my neck?”

you nod, fast.

“say it.”

“you looked so fuckin’ hot,” you whisper. “couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

her eyes darken.

“you should’ve told me earlier, baby. i would’ve fucked you in the locker room.”

“i did tell you remember and you just kept edging me.”

“i didn’t edge you the bathroom,” she whispered through a kiss she planted on your neck.

you whimper. legs falling wider.

she kneels between them. kisses your thighs slow, gentle, like you’re fragile.

but there’s venom in her voice.

“you’re always actin’ like you don’t need me.”

“i do,” you cry.

“yeah?”

“need you so bad, ma.”

she grins. evil. drags your skirt down and throws them somewhere across the room.

“then stay real still.”

her mouth’s on you before you can even breathe.

hot, slow kitten licks. like she’s savoring it. sucking your clit with little moans, like she’s the one being pleased right now. and knowing her she probably was.

“i want you,” you sob. “please.”

“you already have me.”

you grab the sheets, crying out.

she spreads you open with both hands. tongue fucking you deep. moaning into it like she’s addicted.

“stay still f’me, baby,” she says, mouth glossy.

you’re whimpering now. body twitching. thighs shaking.

“you gonna cum, baby?”

“yes, fuck—please—”

she flattens her tongue. sucks hard.

your back arches.

“that’s it,” she whispers. “cum for me. make a mess.”

you break.

loud, messy, whole body trembling. crying into the pillow as she fucks you through it.

“that’s my girl,” she says, smug. soft. fucked up.

she climbs off the bed and grabs the strap.

your breath hitches.

she pulls her shorts off, straps up slow, watching you the whole time.

still wearing the hat. still wearing the net.

“look at what you’re begging for,” she says. “you gonna take this like a good little slut?”

you nod, eyes glassy. “yes, please. i’ll be good.”

she crawls back over you. slides in deep on the first thrust.

you scream and grab onto the net trying to pull her down.

“shhh,” she coos. “you wanted this, remember?”

“so full,” you cry. “so fuckin’ full.”

she fucks you slow. deep. mean.

leans down, kisses your mouth. your neck. your tears.

“no one’s ever gonna touch you like this again,” she whispers. “you’re mine, baby.”

“yours,” you sob. “yours, love.”

she pulls out and slams back in.

your legs shake.

the net brushes your chest with every thrust. you can’t stop staring at it. can’t stop crying.

“say it again.”

“i’m yours,” you whine. “please—don’t stop—”

“never,” she growls. “never fuckin’ letting you go.”

and she fucks you into the mattress like she means it.

because she absolutely means it.

she flips you off her like you weigh nothing.

“get up.”

you’re panting. shaking. body still twitching.

“i said get the fuck up.”

you stumble off the bed. legs weak. pussy throbbing.

she grabs you by the wrist, drags you toward the full-length mirror near the window.

you catch a glimpse of yourself—swollen lips, tear-stained cheeks, net burn on your chest—and you moan.

“look at you,” she growls, shoving you flat against the mirror. “fuckin’ wrecked.”

her strap’s still on. soaked. thick. heavy against your ass as she kicks your legs apart.

“you love getting used, huh?” she spits. “love being my little trophy slut?”

you nod.

she grabs your chin. yanks your face up.

“say it.”

“i’m your trophy slut.”

she grins. kisses the back of your neck.

“wear the net.”

she loops it around your shoulders, lets it fall down your chest. tangling between your tits.

“now watch yourself.”

her strap pushes into you from behind. slow and brutal.

you choke on a moan. hands splayed on the mirror.

“paige, oh fuck—”

“shut up,” she snaps. “you don’t talk unless i tell you to.”

she fucks you deep. one hand gripping your hip, the other pressing your face into the glass.

you can’t look away. can’t stop watching the way she ruins you. the net bouncing with every thrust. her hat crooked. jaw clenched.

“you see that?” she hisses in your ear. “that’s mine. you’re mine.”

“all yours, okay,” you sob. “don’t stop—please—”

“not stopping ‘til you break.”

her pace gets mean. harder. the mirror rattling with every thrust. your breath fogging the glass.

“watch the way this pussy takes it,” she says. “watch how fuckin’ good you bounce on my strap.”

you try to hold yourself up. try not to collapse.

but she grabs your throat and pins you there.

“don’t you fuckin’ look away.”

“shit,” you cry. “please..need it, need it so bad—”

“then cum, baby,” she growls. “cum on this dick. right here. in the mirror.”

you scream.

it hits you like fire. shaking. clenching. dripping down your thighs. hands sliding down the mirror like you’re melting.

she doesn’t stop. keeps fucking you through it. slapping your ass, talking you through your own destruction.

“there she is,” she pants. “my good little whore. my fuckin’ champion.”

you collapse against the glass.

face first. smiling.

ruined.

owned.

hers.

your body’s buzzing. brain mush. thighs trembling and glassy-eyed in the mirror’s reflection.

she finally pulls out.

hands careful now. warm on your hips.

you think she’s gonna say something cocky, but she doesn’t. not yet.

she just wraps her arms around you from behind, pressing her bare chest to your back, strap hanging heavy between you.

you both breathe there.

quiet.

sweaty.

blissed out.

“did i hurt you?” she asks, voice low. soft. way different from a minute ago.

you shake your head, still catching your breath.

“you sure?”

you nod again.

she turns you around gently, palms framing your face. her thumbs brush under your eyes, wiping away what’s left of the tears.

“tell me if i ever go too far,” she whispers. “i mean that.”

“you didn’t,” you murmur. “i liked it.”

she smiles, kind of shy now. kisses your forehead.

“you scare me when you get like that,” you add, laughing a little.

“yeah?” she grins. “you scare me when you cum in like twelve seconds.”

you shove her shoulder. she catches your wrist, grinning.

“don’t even lie,” she smirks. “i wasn’t even halfway in.”

“whatever,” you mumble, cheeks flushed. “you’re annoying.”

“you’re obsessed.”

you roll your eyes and look down.

the net’s still around your neck. tangled. damp with sweat and tears and everything else.

she sees it too.

“gimme that,” she says, tugging it off slow. “you look too good in it, i’m gonna get hard again.”

you groan. “paige, you don’t even have a real dick.”

“so,” she murmurs, lifting the net over your head and looping it around hers again. “i’ll get horny again and fuck you again.”

you watch her walk back to the bed, still completely naked, wearing nothing but the hat and the net. cocky. glowing.

but then she flops down with a sigh. breathes deep into the hotel pillows.

“holy shit,” she mutters.

you’re standing there, still wrecked, still staring at her. something shifts in the room.

not the sex.

not the games.

just the weight of it all finally hitting.

you sit next to her, slow, careful.

“we won.”

she blinks at the ceiling.

you say it again.

“paige. we fuckin’ won a natty.”

she turns her head to look at you.

eyes soft. blue like waves. glowing like the trophy.

“we fuckin’ did,” she whispers. “national fuckin’ champs.”

you both laugh. it bubbles out of your chest like it can’t be held in anymore.

“we climbed the ladder,” you say, smiling.

“we cut the net.”

“you made me cum with the net around my neck.”

she grins. “best sex ever.”

you lean back onto the pillows beside her. heads turned toward each other. tangled limbs.

she pulls the blanket over both of you.

“hey,” she says.

you hum.

“i know we’re… not like, anything,” she starts. “but tonight—i don’t know. you feel like mine.”

you look at her.

she’s not smiling now. not teasing.

just soft.

real.

“i am,” you whisper. “if you want.”

she nods. just once.

then she curls into your side, still wearing the net. lets it fall across both your chests like a blanket.

you both fall asleep like that.

champions.

teammates.

tangled in the win, the lust, the love.

her in the hat. her in the net.

you in her arms.

[isak-dot-gov]

Breaking Point

Pairing: (Platonic) Uconn wbb team x Manager!Reader

Word count: 1508

My Masterlist :)

.................................................

The sun had set hours ago, casting the campus in soft hues of blue and purple as the last traces of daylight slipped away. Inside the UConn basketball facility, the lights were still on, illuminating the court and the offices where the team’s dedicated manager, you, sat hunched over a desk cluttered with schedules, practice plans, and game itineraries. Your fingers flew across your laptop, finalising details for the next week’s practices, making sure every tiny element was in place.

You had been doing this for hours—days, really. Balancing all the responsibilities of being the team’s manager was a full-time job in itself, but you never complained. You loved the team, loved the feeling of being part of something bigger than yourself. Every game plan, every practice schedule was a chance for you to make their lives easier, more organised, to ensure they could focus on playing and winning.

But tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of everything seemed to press down on your chest a little harder than usual. Your eyes were heavy, your brain foggy from lack of sleep. You couldn’t remember the last time you had taken a real break, the last time you had eaten something that wasn’t a quick snack between tasks.

As you rubbed your temples, trying to push through the mounting exhaustion, you heard footsteps approaching. The team had just finished a late-night practice, and a few of the players—Azzi, Paige, and Aaliyah—walked over, towels draped around their necks, sweat still clinging to their skin.

“Still working?” Paige asked, her tone light but concerned as she glanced at the stack of papers on your desk. “You’ve been at it for hours.”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, just trying to make sure everything’s ready for next week. There’s a lot to get done.”

Azzi frowned, her sharp eyes narrowing in on the dark circles under your eyes. “You need to take a break. You’ve been running yourself into the ground lately.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, brushing off their concern. “Really. I just have a few more things to finish, and then I’ll be done.”

Aaliyah stepped closer, her brow furrowed with worry. “You’ve been saying that for days. When was the last time you actually did something for yourself? Ate a real meal? Slept more than a few hours?”

Her words stung a little, not because they were harsh, but because they were true. But there was no time to think about yourself right now. The team needed you. They relied on you to keep everything running smoothly, and you couldn’t let them down.

“I’ll take a break once I’m done,” you muttered, turning back to your laptop, trying to dismiss the conversation.

But Paige wasn’t having it. “Come on, seriously. We appreciate everything you do for us, but you can’t keep going like this. It’s not healthy.”

You felt your pulse quicken at her words, a strange mix of guilt and frustration building up inside you. You knew they were trying to help, but the thought of stepping away, of not getting everything right, sent a wave of anxiety through you.

“I can’t stop right now,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “I’m almost done, I just need—”

“You need a break,” Azzi cut in firmly, crossing her arms. “You’re not helping anyone if you burn yourself out.”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to argue anymore without snapping. “I’ll be fine. I just need to finish this.”

The team exchanged worried glances, but reluctantly stepped back, giving you space. They could see you were overwhelmed, but they also knew you were stubborn when it came to taking care of the team. They’d have to try again later.

Once they left, you exhaled, trying to refocus. Your hands trembled slightly as you typed, exhaustion making it harder to concentrate. But you pressed on, determined to get everything perfect. The team depended on you for this, and there was no room for mistakes.

But then, in your haze of exhaustion and stress, something slipped.

You didn’t notice it at first. You finished typing up the practice schedule, sent it off, and leaned back in your chair, rubbing your tired eyes. But as you scrolled back through the document to double-check the details, your heart dropped.

The times were wrong.

The schedule you had just sent out—the one for the entire next week of practice—was completely off. The gym had been booked for the wrong hours, and now it would overlap with another team’s time slot. There was no way to fix it without completely reworking the entire plan, calling the facility to reschedule, contacting the other team…

Panic began to rise in your chest, a suffocating wave of anxiety crashing over you. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring as the weight of everything you’d been holding together started to unravel. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, pounding in your ears. This mistake—it wasn’t something small. It was huge, and it would mess up the team’s entire week of preparation.

You couldn’t let them down like this. Not after everything you’d worked so hard for. Not when they were counting on you.

But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You tried to type, tried to fix the mistake, but your fingers fumbled over the keys, and the screen swam in front of you. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you gasped for air, your chest tightening as the panic took hold.

You were spiralling.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the haze. “Hey, what’s going on?”

It was Paige. She must have come back to check on you. Before you could even respond, she was at your side, her eyes widening in alarm as she saw the state you were in.

“Guys! Come here, quick!” Paige called out, and within seconds, Azzi, Aaliyah, and Nika rushed over, their faces filled with concern.

You were shaking, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you tried to explain what had happened, but the words wouldn’t come out. Your chest felt like it was caving in, and you couldn’t think straight. The room felt too small, too overwhelming.

“I messed up… I messed up everything…” you choked out, tears spilling down your cheeks. “The schedule… it’s all wrong. I’ve ruined everything for the team…”

Paige crouched down beside you, her voice calm but firm. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out, alright? Just breathe.”

Azzi knelt on your other side, her hand gently resting on your back. “You’re not alone in this. We’re here. We’ll fix it together.”

You shook your head, the panic still gripping you tightly. “But I—”

“Shhh,” Aaliyah interrupted softly, crouching in front of you, her voice gentle. “You’ve done so much for us. You don’t have to carry all of this on your own. We’ve got your back, just like you always have ours.”

Nika handed you a water bottle and knelt beside you, her voice soothing. “Take a deep breath, alright? In and out. You’re not going to fix anything by pushing yourself this hard.”

As their words slowly broke through the panic, you focused on their presence—on the warmth of their hands, the softness in their voices. Gradually, your breathing slowed, the tightness in your chest easing as you tried to ground yourself.

Paige gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve been going non-stop for too long. We can handle a mistake. You’re allowed to be human.”

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “I just… I didn’t want to let you down.”

Azzi smiled softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You could never let us down. You’re the heart of this team, and we need you to take care of yourself just as much as you take care of us.”

Aaliyah nodded in agreement. “Exactly. You’ve been doing more than enough. Let us help you.”

The weight that had been pressing down on your chest finally started to lift as you realised they were right. You didn’t have to be perfect all the time. The team loved you for who you were, not just for what you did for them.

With their support, you slowly stood up, still shaky but feeling a little steadier. Nika handed you a towel to wipe your face, and Paige slung an arm around your shoulders.

“Now, we’re gonna get you out of here,” Paige said firmly. “You’re taking the night off. No arguments.”

Azzi nodded, a playful smile on her lips. “Yeah, we’ll fix the schedule in the morning. Right now, you’re going to rest.”

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t argue. You let them take care of you, just like you had always taken care of them. You weren’t in this alone, and that realisation brought a sense of relief you hadn’t known you needed.

As they led you out of the gym, you knew you would be okay. You had your team—your family—by your side. And together, you could face anything.

......................................................

[mainstreamangel]

BLIND, DEAF, MUTE

Platonic!Paige + Platonic!Azzi x Platonic!Fem!Reader

Summary: Based on this req and this req !

Genre: Fluff

Warning(s): N/A

A/N: I chose Paige and Azzi, sorry if that's not what you wanted :)

WC: 1.1k

You had decided to record an entertaining video for your fanbase. It was comical honestly, 3 talented basketball players doing the blind, deaf, and mute challenge. You were blind, Paige was mute and Azzi was deaf.

You had propped up your phone and started a TikTok live.

"Alright, today we're doing the highly requested blind, deaf, and mute challenge. I will be blind, Paige will be mute and Azzi will be deaf. We're going to try and bake cupcakes." You smiled.

parabolicparabola: this is finna b hard 4 paige she cant ever shut up

tachycardiatoebeans: this is gonna be so chaotic but im here for it lol

Paige helps tie a tie around your head and makes sure you can't see anything.

"Good?"

"Yeah."

"How many fingers am I holding?" Paige asks, sticking out her hand in front of your face.

"I dunno 12?"

"I don't even have 12 fingers."

"What?" Azzi shouts.

Paige eyes her and then the camera.

"Alright I'm done talking now."

"We need a cup of all-purpose flour." Azzi shouts.

"Ow, Azzi stop." You flinch.

Paige silently laughs and grabs the bag of flour and a measuring cup. She messily pours the flour into the cup and pours it into a large bowl. She puts the bag down and reaches in to grab a pinch of flour.

Quietly, she puts a little bit of flour ontop of your head, in your hair. She deems it not enough and grabs a bit more. She goes to put some on your forehead but Azzi hits her hand, which ultimately makes the flour go in your face.

You sneeze.

"What the fuck? I'm not the bowl."

Paige's jaw is dropped. She turns to Azzi and Azzi shrugs.

"You were sabotaging her." She yelled.

"1 1/4 tsp of baking powder is next," Azzi reads.

You go to reach for any canister shaped container. You feel around and land on one, grabbing it you reach for a measuring spoon.

Paige shakes her head and puts a hand on your arm. You flinch and turn in her general direction. Azzi is off doing a quick dance break.

"What?" You ask. No response.

You let go of the items in your hand and start reaching out towards Paige. You hit her nose and laugh.

"Sorry!"

Azzi comes back and eye's the camera giving a questioning look.

cardiacarrest: shes still got flour all over her

wbnalover45: bust a move azzi

"That's not baking powder!" She walks over and puts the baking powder in your hands.

"Thanks, uh Paige, can I have the correct measuring spoon?" You reach out.

Paige nods to no one and grabs one that's too big for the recipe. She hands you a 1/4 c.

"Thanks, P."

You start pouring, trying to guess how much 1 1/4 t. is.

Azzi was looking at her phone, reading the next steps to not notice the chaos unfolding. You pour in the baking powder, an inaccurate amount, flowed over the initial amount.

"What's next?" You ask.

"What?" Azzi shouts.

"What's next?" You shout back.

"Huh?"

Paige makes Azzi look at her.

"What?" Azzi asks again.

Paige doesn't know how to communicate, 'what's the next step', without words so she just shrugs.

"Well?" You ask, impatiently.

"You want the milk?" Azzi asks Paige.

Paige smirks and nods.

Azzi hands her the milk jug and she pours a generous amount into the bowl.

"Wait, not in the bowl yet!" Azzi screams.

"Huh?" You ask.

You don't want to put your hand into the bowl but assume there was now milk in the bowl.

"Can I have the eggs?" You ask.

Azzi takes another dance break and the chat eats it up.

Paige puts 2 eggs into your hands and you attempt a one handed crack. Which you believe you ate it up but there were like 4 egg shell fragments in the bowl. Paige didn't say anything. Ironic.

You do the same with the other egg and Azzi hands you a spoon.

"Stir?" You ask.

"What?" She yells.

Paige laughs silently and makes a quiet symbol with her finger against her lips to tell her to quiet down.

"No the song isn't quiet." She yells.

You shake your head and continue to stir the batter.

Paige goes to preheat the oven and gets the pan set.

The batter looks disgusting. It's missing so many ingredients but you three don't know what has been and hasn't been added.

"Liners." You hold out your hand. Paige puts the liners into the tray.

"Hello? Liners?" You emphasise.

"What? You want a lemon??" Azzi asks, trying to read your lips.

"No, I want the cupcake liners."

"Your eyeliner is fine!"

"I don't even wear eyeliner??" You furrow your brows.

Paige is cracking up and almost falls.

"Can I get a paper towel?"

"This is your town! Her ye Her ye!" Azzi says in an old english accent.

Paige puts a cutting board in your hands.

"You're not deaf, Paige. Why the fuck are you handing a cutting board to me." You wave the board around.

The oven beeps signaling it's reached it's desired temperature and you sigh, with liners or not you take the bowl and try and pour it, into the divots.

Paige takes a bit of the batter and puts some on your still floured nose.

"Paige!" You squeal.

"P, what're you doing?" Azzi yells.

Paige gets more batter and chases Azzi around the kitchen.

You feel the inconsistent wooshes of movement as they whirl past you occasionally. You sigh and call for Paige.

"Paige can you please put this in the oven? I'm not doing this part."

Paige thankfully listens and puts it in.

After letting it cook it comes out and Paige puts it on the stovetop. You remove your blindfold and Azzi removes her headphones.

"It's so good to be able to talk again." Paige laughs.

"Yeah and I can see properly. I can see that the kitchen is a mess." You sigh.

"I think I have permanent hearing loss."

"That's not good, we need you on the court Az." You laugh.

You bring the tray over to the camera to assess the damage.

"Why does it look like that colour?" You ask.

"Is that even edible?" Paige asks.

"Probably not. I think we missed a few ingredients."

"It didn't even rise."

Azzi laughs and snaps a photo for her insta.

azzifudd

[picture of disaster cupcakes]

tagged: yourusername ; paigebueckers blind deaf and mute disasters, love my girls tho <3

[patscorner]

one shot idea ! kk always liked y/n but was always nervous to make move so she sneakily starts leaving flowers in y/ns locker 🙈🙏🏽

yes ma'am🫡

Locker Of Petals

Summary: see request

wc: 1802

Pairing: kk arnold x teammate!reader

Contains: kissing, wingman Paige, angst if you squint

(first time writing for wcbb, cut me some slack)

______________________________

Kamorea doesn’t know when she knew she fell. She didn’t know when she started to notice the little things, like the way the jersey hugged your torso or the way she’d catch herself staring at your arms a little too long. Maybe it was the way your presence lit up every room you walked in or the way she’d catch herself looking for you at parties, praying you’d show up.

KK didn’t know if you felt it, but she had a hunch. From the way she’d look for you and already find you looking at her, to the way you seemed brighter around her, how your eyes lit up when she saw you. She seemed to convince herself that you were straight, even though she never asked, and you’d never mentioned anything about dating anyone.

But she knew she’d fallen and hard. Every single thought she had contained a bit of you. Whether she was eating dinner with her family or she was driving to practice, she was always thinking about you. And with you, she was even more of a mess, stumbling on her words, struggling to maintain eye contact, or messing up her shots because she heard your voice.

But to her, there was nothing she could do because she thought you were straight, as most people did. You were straight passing, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Sure, you’d had your fair share of boyfriends, who didn’t hit right, and you’d never felt that spark. But the first girl you’d kissed, you knew you didn’t like men.

KK knew she liked you, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t had your eyes on her either. You’ll admit, you noticed the way her arms flex during warmups, the way you smile extra wide when she’s in her dancing moods, the way you always seemed to navigate to her when you guys were in public settings.

You two weren’t subtle either, the team noticed the tension, often teasing you two or purposely leaving you two alone. The internet noticed too. They had compiled clips of you both staring at each other for a second too long, or being too close and whispering to each other. They noticed how everytime KK was live, you’d either be in the chat, or she’d request you to join, which you never refused. They noticed that after a good shot, or a game winning buzzer beater, you two were the first to make physical contact, hugging, chest bumping, or dapping each other up.

Either way, it didn’t matter because you both were oblivious to the feelings the other felt towards you, stupidly seeing the actions as platonic. It was painful for your teammates to watch, Paige and Nika ear often being talked off by both you and KK. Finally, Paige was fed up.

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” she asked KK. KK scrunched her face and shrugged. “I don’t know if she likes me… or people like me.”

Paige raised her eyebrows. “People like you?” KK sighed. “Yeah, you know…” Paige shook her head. “You’re fucking stupid.”

KK rolled her eyes. “Very fucking helpful, P. Thank you! I feel so much better now!” she spoke sarcastically. Now it was Paige’s turn to roll her eyes. “Come on, bro, if you don’t see she’s gay, you’re the blindest fucker alive.”

“Spell blindest, Paige.” KK scoffed. Paige shook her head but ignored her comment and continued. “You’re missing the point, KK. Ask her, please. For mine and Nika’s sake. If I’m kept up for another night listening to you whine and bitch and complain about it, I will ask her for you.”

KK groaned and fell back on the couch dramatically. “But what if-”

“Do it.”

“P, come on, how do I kn-”

“You don’t. And you’re not gonna find out by sitting here and crying about it.”

KK shook her head, but she knew Paige was right. She was only delaying the inevitable. She was only hurting herself by waiting.

She sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

Paige perked up. “Seriously?” KK rolled her eyes. “I said fine, didn’t I?”

Paige scoffed. “You do not get to give me attitude, I’m helping you out. “Yeah, yeah. How should I do it?” KK asked.

Paige smirked. “Don’t worry, I got an idea.”

Over the weeks, KK found a way to leave your favorite flowers in your locker every day. She’d do it when you were in the bathroom, or she’d sneak into the locker room during practice. Every day, you got a flower, and every day, you grew even more curious about who it could be. You’d asked the team once, but they all denied it. You knew it had to be one of them, but you weren’t interested in confrontation.

Finally, KK grew tired of waiting for you to put the puzzle together, so she decided to give you the missing piece. Her.

It was just another practice for you guys, and you’d gone to your locker to grab your water bottle. You opened your locker and smiled as the flower you’d grown so familiar with fell to your feet. You picked it up and put it on the bench behind you, continuing to rummage through your locker, resuming your search. A voice echoes from behind you, startling you.

“You ever figure out where the flowers were comin’ from?” KK piped up. You jumped, putting your hand on your heart as you turned around to face KK, who was standing near the entrance of the locker room. “Jesus, KK, you scared the shit outta me.”

She chuckled. “Sorry. But, did you?”

You looked at the flower, then back at her and shook your head. “Nah, they’re really sweet, though. I just wish whoever left ‘em would talk to me, y’know. Kinda curious as to what they mean.” You spoke, turning back to your locker.

KK was speechless, stunned by your beauty. Even though you were sweaty and stinky, KK couldn’t help but admire you. Your loose hairs sticking out of your ponytail and your legs veiny from the running you were doing.

You noticed KK’s silence, and turned back to her. You watch as her eyes trail back up your body, until they finally meet your eyes. You both grow warm under the intense eye contact, looking away immediately.

“Sorry.” KK mumbled, rubbing her neck as she walked over to sit on the bench behind you. You shook your head. “It’s okay.” You whisper back, turning around so your back was to the locker.

Silence fills the air as you and KK stare at each other. Finally, you clear your throat, breaking the deafening silence. “So, did you need something?”

KK takes a deep breath. “Uh… yeah, I kinda had to talk to you about something.” You don’t say anything, which gives her the go-ahead to continue.

“Uh, yeah. So I was thinking maybe we could hang out sometime. We could go watch a movie or like, I don’t know, eat dinner, y’know just us, or-or not. We totally could invite the team if you want, like it doesn’t have to be just us if you're not-” You laugh lightly, amused by her flustered state. “KK, calm down. I’d love to go out with you.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?” You smile. “Yes, really.”

She stands up and gives you a hug, embracing you tightly. You aren’t surprised by this movement, as you and KK often shared intimate, ‘platonic’ hugs. What you were surprised about is that when KK pulled away, she stayed wrapped in your arms, eyes glancing at your lips, then back up at your eyes.

“Can I kiss you now?” she whispers. You smile and nod. “Please.”

And with that, her lips interlock with yours as you sigh into the kiss. You wrap your arms around her neck, deepening the kiss. KK groans as you swipe your tongue against her bottom lip, inciting a make-out, and she places her hands on your waist.

KK pulls you against her as she sits on the bench, placing you on her lap without once breaking the kiss. You moan into her mouth at her actions, your tongues dancing together.

The kiss becomes more heated, but it’s interrupted by a throat clearing. You look up quickly, but KK knows who it is, and she buries her face into the crook of your neck with a groan. You laugh at her reaction, smiling at the blonde grinning widely at you.

“So sorry to interrupt, but I’m glad I did before you guys fucked on the very public team bench.” You laughed nervously as KK lifted her head up and turned to Paige.

“Shut the fuck up. We were not going to fuck, P.” You fake pout. “We weren’t?”

KK eyes widen as they shoot to yours. “Oh! Uhm- I mean we can lat-” “I do NOT wanna hear you guys reschedule your fuck-sesh, as long as it’s not in here, I do not care. Just- talk or whatever and come out so we can start these drills.” and with that Paige closed the door.

You laugh lightly, before getting off of KK’s lap. “I assume that means you’re the one who’s been leaving these flowers?” you say, picking up the flower, playing with it between your fingers.

“What..? Me..? Noooo…” KK says sarcastically, smiling as she stood up in front of you. “Whatever makes you say that?” she says, her voice darkening. She steps towards you, closing the space between you.

You feel your face grow hot as you recognize the lack of distance between you. She’s so close that you could smell her minty breath and even though she was just practicing, she looks so good. It’s undeniable that KK is attractive, anyone with eyes can see that. Her brown skin glistened under the lighting on the court, and her face of concentration was one you could stare at forever.

You looked at her in her eyes and shrugged. “Lucky guess.” Your voice matches hers, laced with seduction. She smiles. “You may be right.” You grin, taking a step so that you’re looking down at her.

You hum lightly, leaning down to peck her lips lightly. KK sighs into the kiss, and you smile at her reaction. She’s whipped. You break the kiss, but instead of pulling away, you rest your forehead on yours.

“Let me take you out.” KK whispers looking in your eyes. You nod before pulling away and closing your locker.

“Okay. Now, let’s go before Paige comes back and yells at us.” You smile, grabbing her hand and leading her out.

KK couldn’t help but feel her face burn. She’s liked you for so long, and finally, she took the leap, and landed head over heels.

All because of your locker of petals.

______________________________

taglist: @bueckerslover @wintersstan @breeloveschris

[holyblonded]

the putellas test | birds of a feather

pairings: hopkins!paige bueckers x black!oc, alexia putellas x platonic!reader, alba putellas x platonic!reader

summary: alexia plans a series of test to see if paige is worthy enough to date her niece

warnings: none(?)

notes: i’m finding my grove back for this series 👻

Paige had barely stepped foot inside the Putellas household when she realized two things:

1. Alba was definitely the fun, carefree aunt.

2. Alexia Putellas was about to ruin her life.

It wasn’t that Paige had expected smooth sailing. She had heard plenty of stories about La Reina from Cecilia. The unwavering discipline. The intensity on and off the pitch. The death stares. Cecilia always said it with love, of course, but that didn’t make it less terrifying.

And now here Paige was, standing in the middle of the Putellas living room, completely at the mercy of one of the greatest footballers in history.

“Ah, so this is Paige Bueckers,” Alexia said, arms crossed, her voice void of any warmth. Paige blinked at the intensity in her gaze.

She had met Geno Auriemma, a man who practically yelled for a living, and he still didn’t intimidate her half as much as Alexia Putellas did in that moment.

“Uh, yeah. Hi?” Paige offered, throwing in a small wave for good measure.

Cecilia, her own girlfriend, stood off to the side, looking way too amused for someone who was supposed to love her.

“She’s real, Ale,” Alba teased from the couch, sipping her coffee like she was about to enjoy a show. “Not a hologram.”

“Yet to be determined,” Alexia muttered, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she straightened up and gave Paige a once-over, scanning her like a book.

Paige had never felt so judged in her life.

“Do you have a problem?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

Alba choked on her coffee.

Cecilia’s eyes widened. “Paige why—”

Alexia raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

Again, Paige had two options: backtrack immediately and pray for survival or commit to it.

She sighed. “You’re staring at me like I just walked into a courtroom without a lawyer.”

Alba burst into laughter breaking the silence, actually wheezing as she clutched her stomach.

“Oh, I like her,” Alba grinned, wiping a tear from her eye. “You picked a good one, neboda (niece).”

Alexia, however, remained stone-faced. Paige swallowed.

Cecilia, still looking a little worried, decided to step in. “Ale, don’t scare her off. I’ve had this one since kindergarten.”

Alexia exhaled loudly and finally uncrossed her arms. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s see if she survives the test first.”

Paige froze. “The what?”

Alba whistled. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. She did these with my partners too.”

“How well do you know Cecilia?” Alexia demanded, hands on her hips.

Paige blinked. “Uh… really well?”

“We’ll see about that.” Alexia pulled out a notebook and flipped to a page clearly labeled “Paige Test.”

Alba snorted. “Oh, she’s been planning this.”

Paige’s heart started racing. “Is this a joke?”

Alexia stared at her like she had just said she preferred orange juice over apple juice.

“First question,” Alexia said, ignoring Paige’s mild panic. “What’s Cecilia’s go-to comfort meal?”

“Easy,” Paige smirked. “Cocas.”

Cecilia grinned. “Correct.”

Alexia frowned, flipping the page. “Butchered the pronunciation, but, fine. What was Cecilia’s favorite toy as a kid?”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. “Her stuffed koala, Coco.”

Alba gasped. “Wait, Coco still exists?”

Cecilia groaned. “Yes, and now I regret telling Paige she’s still around.”

Paige beamed. Alexia narrowed her eyes.

“Alright, last one,” Alexia muttered. “What was the name of Cecilia’s first pet?”

Paige hesitated, then said, “She never had a pet.”

Cecilia gave her a proud nod. “Correct.”

Alba whistled. “Damn, I was hoping you’d get that one wrong. Just cause.”

Alexia huffed, clearly annoyed that Paige passed the first round. “Fine. But that was just the warm-up.”

Paige suddenly had a bad feeling.

“Why are we at a field?” Paige whispered, standing stiffly on the pristine turf pitch as if she’d accidentally wandered into a gladiator arena.

Alexia smirked, casually tossing a ball between her hands like a villain in a sports movie. “If you’re going to date my niece, you need to prove you’re worthy.”

Paige crossed her arms. “I feel like I should’ve signed a waiver for this.”

“Beat me in a 1v1.”

Paige blinked. “What.”

On the sidelines, Cecilia was already cackling, her phone out to document the unfolding disaster. “Amor, I love you, but you’re so screwed.”

Alba, who had settled comfortably into a lawn chair with an iced coffee, nearly choked on her drink. “Oh, this is going to be hilarious.”

Paige turned back to Alexia. “You’re playing like it’s a Champions League final, aren’t you?”

Alexia raised a brow. “Of course.”

Paige exhaled. “Cool. Just wanted to mentally prepare myself before I get sent into early retirement.”

The game started, and within ten seconds, Paige knew she was doomed. Alexia moved like she was playing an intense game, which, unfortunately for Paige, meant she had not a single ounce of mercy in her bones. The second Paige even thought about trying to defend, Alexia nutmegged her so smoothly that Alba screamed from the sidelines, falling out of her chair in laughter.

“Oh my god—SHE COOKED YOU,” Alba howled, kicking her feet on the ground.

Cecilia wasn’t much better, barely holding the camera steady as she gasped through laughter. “Amor, bend your knees, stay low—oh, never mind. She got you again.”

Paige was starting to sweat. She knew she wasn’t a football player, but this was getting embarrassing. She tried again, this time using her basketball instincts to anticipate Alexia’s movement. It almost worked until Alexia spun around her like she was an orange traffic cone and easily slotted the ball into the mini goal.

Paige groaned. “Did you have to add the spin move? That was excessive.”

Alexia smirked. “I was holding back.”

“Holding back?” Paige echoed, hands on her knees. “I think my soul left my body on that last turn.”

Alba clapped her hands like a delighted spectator. “Ale, you should’ve been a bullfighter. The way you let her charge and then just moved out of the way? Beautiful.”

Paige shot Alba a betrayed look. “You’re supposed to be the fun aunt.”

“I am,” Alba grinned. “That’s why I’m enjoying this so much.”

Fifteen minutes later, Paige lay face-down on the grass, sweaty, breathless, and questioning every decision in her life.

Alexia stood over her like a victorious warrior. “That was embarrassing.”

Paige groaned, her voice muffled against the grass. “You slide tackled me.”

“This is Spain,” Alexia shrugged. “We don’t take it easy.”

Cecilia jogged over, shaking her head. “Ale, you’re literally the most overprotective person in the world when it comes to family, but you just sent my girlfriend flying across the field.”

Alexia crossed her arms. “If she wants to date you, she needs to be strong enough to protect you.”

“From what? A rogue defender? A pigeon in Plaça Catalunya?” Cecilia shot back. “Besides, she’s a basketball player!”

“You never know,” Alexia muttered ominously.

Paige groaned louder, still sprawled on the ground. “Is this the last test?”

Alexia smirked. “One more.”

Paige dared to glance up. “Oh god.”

Alba grinned. “Good luck. This one’s psychological.”

Paige sat slumped on the couch, exhausted, while Alexia paced in front of her like an overzealous teacher preparing for a final.

Cecilia sat cross-legged next to her, munching on a snack with the carefree air of someone who had zero stress in life, unlike Paige, who had just been subjected to a day of physical and psychological warfare.

Alba was leaned up against the kitchen counter, watching the whole ordeal like it was a reality show.

Alexia finally stopped pacing, turning to face Paige with the gravity of a judge about to deliver a verdict.

“Final question.” Her voice was calm, but there was something undeniably intense about it.

Paige, despite being wiped from the impromptu 1v1 and whatever else Alexia had put her through, sat up a little straighter, her exhaustion fading under the weight of the moment.

Alexia took a step closer, studying her with sharp, discerning eyes. “Do you love Cari?”

Paige didn’t hesitate. “With everything in me.”

Cecilia, who had just been about to take another bite of her snack, paused, her expression softening.

Alba let out a quiet “Awww” from the kitchen.

For a moment, the room was silent. Alexia simply stared at Paige, as if searching for any cracks in her answer. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she gave a slow, approving nod. “Good.”

Paige exhaled, feeling relief flood her body. Maybe, finally, she had passed the test—

Then, with absolutely no warning, Alexia leaned in close, her voice dropping to an ominous whisper.

“Because if you ever hurt her,” she murmured, “I know people.”

Paige froze. Her brain went blank for a solid five seconds before she blinked rapidly.

“Did you just threaten me?”

From the kitchen, Alba howled with laughter, nearly knocking over her drink. “Ale, you can’t just say that to her!”

Alexia shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m just saying.”

Paige turned to Cecilia, still slightly shaken. “Does she actually know people?”

Cecilia sighed like someone who had pondered this question too many times. “Honestly? I don’t even know.”

Alexia remained dead serious for a moment longer, letting the weight of her words linger. Then, finally, she cracked a smile, the first genuine one she’d shown all day.

“Welcome to the family, Paige.”

Paige exhaled deeply, her entire body sagging into the couch.

“Jesus Christ.”

Alba, still grinning, raised her glass in Paige’s direction. “You survived, Bueckers. I honestly wasn’t sure if you would.”

Paige groaned. “Neither was I.”

Cecilia leaned into Paige’s side, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You did good, amor.”

Paige huffed. “I better have. I think I aged five years.”

Alexia smirked, arms crossed. “That was nothing. You should’ve seen what I did to Alba’s first girlfriend.”

Paige paled and her throat grew dry.

Alba threw her head back and cackled. “Ale, stop terrifying her!”

Alexia just smiled. “No promises.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Midnight Marathons & Morning Mischief

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Platonic: Jana El Alfy & Reader)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

summary: she just wants her Girl back…

🏷️: @isansstuff , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr

I should’ve known that getting into a Lilo & Stitch marathon with Jana El Alfy would completely wreck my sleep schedule.

For the past two weeks, every night ended the same way—curled up in her room, laptop propped on her knees, eyes half-open as we forced ourselves to get through just one more episode. But, last night? Last night, I didn’t even make it back to my room.

I had knocked on her door after brushing my teeth, Stitch blanket in hand. She barely glanced up from her laptop, already loading another episode. “You ready?” she asked, shifting to make room for me.

“Duh,” I said, slipping under the covers beside her.

At some point, though, exhaustion won. The last thing I remembered was Stitch screaming in frustration at one of his cousins before my eyes shut completely. I didn’t even realize I had stayed over.

That is, until Paige started banging on the door.

“C’MON, JANA, WAKE UP! I DIDN’T MAKE THESE SCRAMBLED EGGS FOR NOTHING!”

My eyes barely cracked open before she added, “ALSO, GIVE ME MY GIRL BACK!”

I groaned, rolling onto my stomach, burying my face into the pillow. “She’s so loud.”

Jana, equally groggy, pushed her glasses up her nose and sighed. “I think it’s cute.”

I turned my head to give her a look. “That’s ‘cause you aren’t dating her.”

Jana laughed sleepily before stretching, her Stitch pajamas crinkling as she moved. I sat up slowly, adjusting my blue light glasses. My oversized UConn shirt fell to my thighs, barely covering my biker shorts. My hair was an absolute mess.

Paige banged on the door again. “I swear to God, if y’all don’t open this door—”

Jana, being the rational one, finally rolled out of bed and opened the door.

Paige stood in the hallway, hair messy, wearing a tank top and sweats. Her blue eyes landed on me immediately, narrowing slightly. “You traitor,” she muttered.

I rubbed my eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

Paige scoffed before stepping aside, waving us toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I woke up at five in the morning to make breakfast, and I refuse to let it go to waste.”

Jana and I shuffled toward the kitchen island, still half-asleep. The smell of eggs, toast, and hash browns filled the small dorm apartment. Jana grabbed a plate and started fixing her food, knowing she had to eat before the sun rose.

I sat beside her, plate in front of me, my head resting on my hand as I poked at my eggs with a fork. Jana was practically hunched over her plate, scarfing everything down before she started fasting.

Paige, however, stood by the counter with her arms crossed.

I raised an eyebrow. “Not eating?”

She shook her head. “Too tired.”

I rolled my eyes but let it go. Instead, I focused on finishing my meal while Jana made sure to drink enough water. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Paige finally moved.

Not to eat, though.

To cuddle.

She flopped onto the couch, lying on her back before turning her head toward me. “Babe,” she called, voice muffled. “Come here.”

I huffed, standing up, but instead of sitting beside her, I sat on the floor in front of the couch. Jana followed, laptop in hand, already queuing up another episode of Lilo & Stitch: The Series.

Paige didn’t protest. She simply shifted, laying her head in my lap with a tired sigh. I ran my fingers through her hair absentmindedly as the theme song played, already settling in for another episode.

Jana leaned against the couch, eyes glued to the screen, stuffing one last piece of toast in her mouth. Paige, meanwhile, made herself comfortable, arms wrapping lazily around my waist.

By the time Jana finished eating, the sun had started rising. She stretched again before letting out a small yawn. “Alright,” she said, closing her laptop. “I’m officially fasting now.”

I nodded, but before I could even think about moving, Paige grabbed my wrist.

“Oh no,” she murmured, voice sleepy but firm. “You’re coming back to bed.”

I stared at her. “Paige—”

“Nope.”

“Paige—”

She tightened her hold. “Come. Back. To. Bed.”

I turned to Jana, but she just smiled, standing up. “I’ll leave you two to figure that out.”

Paige smirked sleepily. “Traitor,” I muttered under my breath as Jana walked off.

Paige tugged my arm again. “Babe,” she whined.

I sighed, knowing there was no fighting it. “Fine,” I grumbled, letting her pull me up.

She grinned victoriously before wrapping an arm around my waist, guiding me back toward her room. The second we hit the bed, Paige pulled me close, nuzzling her face into my neck.

“Good night,” she mumbled.

“It’s morning,” I reminded her.

She groaned. “You know what I mean.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled, letting sleep pull me back under.

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[the-monkeies-girl]

Okay wait because I just thought of a lil fic for our soft boy Noa: maybe him having a bad day with maybe a lot of stress from the responsibility of rebuilding his clan but he sees reader playing with some of the baby apes? Like she’s letting them climb all over her and she’s chasing them and playing one of their games and Noa’s heart absolutely melts at the sight because she’s so caring with the babies and it makes him think of HIS future babies? 🥹

Paige you are my muse and I could kiss you if I lived closer to you ( Platonically mwah. )

Title: Chimp Gossip. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Heavily Implied! Noa x Human!Reader. Rating: K. ( FLUFFY BABY. ) Words: 2.5K+ Summary: Prompt above.

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Noa felt tired. Beyond that, it felt like the usually taut muscles in his entire body were all turning in on themselves, desperate for rest as even his calves faltered a bit as he made his way down from the work in progress that was the Eagle Enclosure. So many large thatches of wood had been used today, so many propped up with the help of other Apes, Noa feeling the responsibility of brutally bearing it all metaphorically onto his shoulders as he thought dimly of his Father and the ultimate legacy that he had left behind.

Noa paused them, feeling the splay of his elongated and spaced out toes pressing into the wood below him that heralded his body in suspended animation in the air, a spiraling walk way that on most days, would not pose a problem, but today with the trenches he was pulling himself through to make sure that Enclosure was perfect, Noa wanted nothing more than to lay his body down and just roll the rest of the way until his fur was coated with dirt and even then he’d fall asleep on the ground, not even able to will himself to the communal nest to sleep. 

Green eyes that would rival even the most flushed and beautiful landscapes that surrounded the village were dropped and silken with lazed appointment to get just himself somewhere that he could unwind, somewhere where there were no responsibilities and where he wasn’t a Leader, he wasn’t the Master of the Birds. A place he could just be… Noa. Another Ape in their vast numbers, not important and just as insignificant in the scape of the world as any other. Maybe, the Ape thought and felt the fur rise against his spine at the mere idea that brilliantly popped into his mind, maybe he’d go and find you just to talk it through. 

Maybe… This burden he felt could be explained in Echo logic, maybe you could give him insight that no one else was able to give, given you came from the outside and had a vastly different view on the inner workings of the Clan. You tried, Noa knew that, but the ignorance and your soft words always put him at ease and he found himself tugged towards that as he finally began moving once again, this time with a more lively tug towards actually doing something beneficial instead of giving up and falling on his face to sleep.

There were two places you could be, he thought and scanned the scape of the village itself with induced interest. With the Eagle Enclosure nearly complete, now there were sprawling natures of half built huts that hit the flattened land that made the Clan a part of the Earth.

He could hear the hustle of a group of Apes playing Monkey Ball to his left in the adjacent field that housed the horse paddock as well. You were definitely not there, Noa chuckled to himself, and bi-pedal even though it tore into the muscles of his tired thighs, he began in the opposite direction towards the stream that cut through the east perimeter of the sprawling and homely bungalows that catapulted into the air. 

Monkey ball, Noa had noticed, was not your thing. There were logistics of it that made no sense, your eyes not able to keep track and you only cheered with what Noa cheered on to help the cause that you were only there to spend time with him. Not that he minded, he like the rise of your body against his as you yelped, your arms in the air and even going as far as showing him a congratulatory high-five, the interest there for the Ape only to see the scape of your stomach as your shirt rose with the action.

There was more chattering to the right of Noa, recognizing his Mother with the young Apes who gave him a spotted glance, Noa giving his best impression of adoration towards her that was always felt as she threw a fish for one of them to catch. Then--- Slowly, his feet backed up and he looked back at his Mother when the tear of your voice rocketed through him. 

You… Noa focused his eyes at the motion behind Dar, curiosity sinking their teeth into him and he trailed that way, hap-hazardly giving her a pressing of the forehead as he went by, a silent hello and always a quiet thanks for being so proud of him despite his shortcomings. Much like you were, Noa mused and stopped a few feet behind Dar to stare at the scene in front of him.

He’d--- It took him a moment to recognize the fact that you were even there, pinned to the ground on your back by four or so young Apes, no older than three years of age, your mouth formed into a grin as they trailed themselves against your appendages. Noa felt slack-jawed, not even tearing himself back to reality at the sound you emitted. A laugh, snorting around the edges as you felt a baby Chimpanzee seat themselves on your chest in victory. “Alright! Looks like Gul won Pin the Echo down.” His brow hardened at that. Was this… A game you were playing with them? Something you… Made up? The objective being to get you pinned down. Surely not. Surely you were fighting back at least a little--- But, then again that would take away the fun as he crouched himself down into a small hunch to observe, admiring the way that your hair flushed back on the ground as you reached to grasp the Chimp who was on your chest into the air and then back onto the ground below.

There was sudden abundance of noise as they chittered as the others, three Bonobos praised their Chimpanzee friend who had just won this new game, Noa tilting his head as you rolled, laughing to himself at the amount of dirt and twigs that were now tangled on your body as you rose, knowing that if you were in any other situation rather than tendering to the young, you’d complain about being dirty. 

You bent your body for him, at least that’s what he wanted, his eyes getting a tasteful amount of skin through the thinned t-shirt you had on, loose in the front and Noa was able to look down it before looking away in innocence and puffing his cheeks in mild defeat that the Ape had that desire, telling himself to remain calm and to not let the hackles of his fur shoulders rise in anticipation.

Curiosity truly was an end all be all as he drew his gaze back towards you slowly from the tree he had chosen to fixate on, admiring the stance of your legs into a position where they were spread, your feet digging into the ground, knees bent and you sat your hands on said knees to urge yourself down to speak to the young group.

“You need to give me a head start this time, you guys are a lot faster than I am.” Gul looked at you, absolutely determined as did Noa to understand the clear objective of this game. Noa figured he’d win again. He seemed competitive, his small frame ready to pounce forward at the moment you began running. The other three he recognized. Bek, Corel, and Stem. Not as competitive but they seemed to be baited in eagerness just like Noa was as you rocked back and forth on your feet. They followed your movement - back and forth on their hands and feet as they were all resting on all fours.

“You ready?” “Yeah!!!” All four in unison and before Noa could blink, you were running away from them, their much smaller frames all chasing after you as you threw your head back in a wild cackle, Noa widening his eyes at the animalistic tear that came from you.

“I’m gonna do it!” You yelled at the Apes who now bounced through the taller grass of the meadow you chose to dart in. “I’m gonna make it to the tree!”

Ah, so that was the objective. Get yourself to the tree safely before you were pinned down by the young. As you went to turn your head back forward so you could see where you were going, you disappeared into the tall grass with a loud grunt, Noa raising his body in a frenzy at the lack of visual on you as the young Apes called out your name, ringing to Noa as he himself fell onto all fours and traced his way there.

“Noa!! Noa!!!” Bek yearned for him, grasping his banded forearm as he came forward. “She fell!!!”

“Right on… Face!” Gul laughed as Corel came to rest by your head, her tiny face near the crown of your skull and sniffed experimentally and Stem was bringing his small body near the other side so they were essentially flanking you before you brashedly moved your shoulders rapidly, up and down.

Momentarily, panic ran through the older Ape that you had been hurt, that you were crying and begging for some help but that… Was not the case as he told himself to calm the beating of his heart at the sound of your muffled laughter that seeped into the Earth below your face. “You can’t cheat and get Noa to come help you!” 

“Not cheating!” Stem was fast to defend himself and bounced on his feet. “Noa like Echo! Had to come make sure okay after falling on face!”

The other three cooed and looked towards the Master of the Birds himself at this gossip and he found himself staring into three sets of small eyes that were alight at the gossip that their friend knew. Before Noa could say anything to you in defense, seeing the blush radiating across your cheeks at the confession from the young, Noa was hounded, his legs being pushed and pulled on by all four of them. “You like the Echo!”

“Echo likes you too, kept talking about you all day!!!” Corel tattled with a barking laugh, Noa’s eyes ample as he looked over at your apologetically. It appeared difficult to keep even the smallest secrets away from the smallest ears.

“Does… she like Noa!?” Gul inquired, “Maybe…” They all gasped in unison as if they knew what he was thinking, “She will be like Mother Dar!!!”

They all four ‘ooo’ed at that curiously at that and moved towards you and climbed onto your back, their small hands and feet tickling at you. “Would… like that! To be Noa’s mate! He need… to ask!!!”

Noa’s mouth opened in protest as you rolled onto your back, all four scattering before they returned to jump on your chest and stomach, a small grunt rising from you as you laughed, your eyes shut as they began pestering their tiny grasps on your face, admiring the plushness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks and the smooth nature of your skin. “Make… different looking Apes! Echo looking!” Stem offered to Noa with a gleam.

“Maybe… ugly.” Gul said, brashedly and Noa felt a pang of offense to that but refused to take it personally. They were just young Apes, they had yet to set into their social skills and he was more than used to that from Anaya at times.

“Hey!” You said with a guff and looked over at the Chimpanzee child. “They would not be ugly!” Staring up at Noa, you spotted him with a small smile that told him you were okay and that there was no reason for him to be apologetic about the entire situation as you could see the wheels turning in his head at the prospect that these young Apes had just presented to him.

The obvious nature of his feelings were able to be detected abundantly as you lifted yourself onto your forearms and told Gul with flushed cheeks at the prospect that Noa even wanted that with you, “You lose a point in the game for that comment.”

“Sorry!” He said and jumped off you to trail himself to Noa, faux swagger in his stance as he looked up at him and said, “Make Beautiful Echo Ape baby.”

Noa gazed down at him and felt his mouth fall open at the statement before there was a call from behind him and all four of the young jumped at the voice, chattering a quickened goodbye to the two of you and made their way back to head home before communal dinner rolled around.

Noa turned his attention back towards you, his stance wide as his arms were open, his feet spread out to accommodate the attack of the small Apes against them and he began fumbling over his words, hopeful to defend himself against it as he tore through the idea of having… Anything beyond a friendship with you. His hands moved frantically, trying to come up with a sign, an excuse. Something that would garner him favor with you as you chuckled softly. At first and then it turned into a boisterous laugh, your head tilting back and you laid in the grass below, arms and legs spread out like a star-fish as you looked up at the sky. 

“Crazy Apes.” Noa chuckled nervously, drawing himself down into a hunch and looked at the side of your face. You were embarrassed, it was obvious from the reddening of your face, the way that you tugged your bottom lip and chewed on it as your glances were giving favor to the fluffy clouds above that were turning a soft orange as the sun was getting ready to depart. “Crazy.” Noa agreed quietly, his hands resting between his bent knees as he played with some grass between his fingertips. “They--- Don’t know what… They talk ab---” “Noa,” You had turned your face towards him, Noa’s heart jumping straight into his chest at the softening of the look, your lips tugging from a hardened laugh into a gentle and eased smile as you assured him, “Don’t worry about it. They’re just… Kids.” “Yeah...” Noa chortled nervously, letting his eyes fall over to the trees to his left as he was unable to shake the idea of what it would be like to bear a child with you. To… Have you give him what he wanted, not known until minutes ago when he had seen how you were with them. How carefree you were, how easy it came to you. Would it be the same if he asked you to do that for him?

To ask you to brute the pain and agony of at least trying with the knowledge that maybe it was indeed possible. Noa pierced his eyes into the deep forest and shuffled on his feet to keep himself from standing awkwardly like a statue before he looked back at you, captivating your gaze with such ease as you smiled at him, tenderly… Softly… A… Affectionately like you would accept the challenge that ran through his mind. 

 “They.. are Just… Kids.”

[bucketbueckers]

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: language, slight cheating (deserved? 🌚), messy, toxicity, gaslighting, angst (w a happy ending bc angst without a happy ending makes me want to jump)

wc: 9.2k

synopsis: The unspoken truth between you and Azzi was that the two of you weren’t just friends. There was always something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface, something that was so glaringly obvious to your mutual friends yet something neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge. You thought that it was safer this way – keeping your relationship with Azzi strictly platonic, saving the both of you from an eventual heartbreak. Unfortunately, it seems that a toxic girlfriend you weren’t quite committed to was actually all it took for the two of you to give up on trying to stay away from each other.

notes: this was supposed to be a lighter read but 💛 anon said i should make a really angsty fic and well. who am i to deny the people. this was not originally going to have as much plot as it did but my fics never stay on track 🌚 also this is a little all over the place so im sorry!!! as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

For as long as you’ve known her, Azzi Fudd wasn’t just your friend. There was always something more between you. Gazes that lingered a little too long, a hand on a waist that burned in the most pleasant way possible, softer smiles that seemed to be reserved only for each other.

You met her during your freshman year – she was a freshman, too, a little wide-eyed and definitely out of her element at the crowded frat party. You were only there for “team bonding” and you quickly realized that “team bonding” meant your teammates were going to get plastered and you’d have to be the babysitter. You’d spotted Azzi from the corner of your eye while you were rummaging through the refrigerator for a water bottle, and, in a rare moment of smoothness where you didn’t stumble over your words because Azzi was drop dead fucking gorgeous, like stunningly beautiful, you’d asked if she wanted a water, too. She told you yes. For good measure, you stole a bowl of hummus and some pita chips from the pantry, asked if she wanted to get some air, and that was that. She told you her name under the glow of the porchlight and you told her yours through a coughing fit (which she’d been endlessly amused by) because the hummus was spicy for whatever reason – either way, you and Azzi had an instant connection, one that went a little deeper than hummus and chips at midnight and an easy conversation you’d never expected to have with a stranger, and frankly, you were a little too scared to give up what you had with her to ever think about acting on your growing feelings.

So, you never did. You never let anything slip – never gave any sort of indication that occasionally, you jolt awake late at night, your skin burning with what feels like the phantom press of Azzi’s lips against your skin. You don’t tell anyone how you’ve spent years organizing that little compartment in the corner of your brain that’s dedicated purely to Azzi – the meticulous system of filing cabinet-esque thoughts and facts about her; you know that you store her favorite color right next to her coffee order, only three rows down from vivid images of her smile, the dimples on her cheeks, the slight pout of her lips.

If anyone asked, Azzi Fudd was just your best friend, and you were hers. It seemed as though Azzi was none the wiser – or perhaps she was too polite to say anything otherwise, or maybe she’d felt the same way, too, and was just as afraid of ruining your friendship as you were – no way that was actually the truth, though. Despite your best efforts, you weren’t as subtle as you thought. Paige was convinced that you and Azzi were meant to be. Caroline always glanced at you meaningfully when you and Azzi walked into the room at the same time or when she caught you staring at her from afar. It was as though you and Azzi were just one big inside joke that everyone was in on but the two of you.

It’s a late night at Ted’s when you find yourself nursing a drink at your usual table. Paige had stolen Aubrey and Ayanna away to play some pool, KK, Jana, and Ice were dancing, and Azzi and Caroline went to the bathroom to freshen up. In times like these, you wish you were just a little better at saying no to Azzi – there’s something in the air that’s bringing your mood down and you can’t figure out what it is. It’s like a heaviness weighing down on you, a sort of dread that fills your veins. You’re sure the liquor isn’t helping either. Granted, you’re only a few sips in, not one to ever progress past tipsy, but you’re not really feeling the night out. Azzi had gazed at you with her big doe eyes, lips drawing into a pout. You figure you’d have a better chance at fighting off a bear than living with yourself after denying Azzi something.

“Hey–”

You can’t help the way you startle, lost in your thoughts. Azzi’s tinkling laughter reverberates in this small bubble of space you’ve created in the back corner of the bar; despite yourself, your lips curl into an amused smile, Azzi’s presence alone enough to lift your mood. “How’s the brooding, Batman?”

Huffing out something akin to laughter, you roll your eyes a little, sliding over in the booth to let Azzi in. She sits, eliminating the space between your bodies completely; you swallow, trying to not fixate on the way her shorts ride up on her thighs as her skin presses against yours, and Azzi? She’s the perfect picture of nonchalance, taking a sip from her drink like she’s completely unaware of how she’s turned your brain into mush. “Not brooding,” you argue. You don’t comment on how weak your voice sounds. Blessedly, Azzi doesn’t either, but she sets her drink down on the table to gaze at you. 

Her brows draw together when she asks, “You okay?” Her fingers brush across your cheek and up your temple, which makes all of the blood rush to your head. “You’re feeling a little hot. You sure you’re not catching whatever bug Kayla and Jana had?”

You try for a chuckle, but even that comes out unconvincing. “Might be the alcohol,” you deflect, knowing full well that the two and a half sips you’ve had weren’t even enough to get you buzzed. The truth of the matter is that after a while, this just gets exhausting – pretending that you weren’t completely head over heels for Azzi. She’s your best friend. It’s easy to hide your feelings during the day when you’re both occupied – Azzi with basketball, you with softball – but things change at night. You’re looser, less-restrained, and all of the walls you keep up during the day to keep your feelings at bay come crashing down. Everything just feels so much more stronger and part of you starts to wonder if it’s worth it anymore – harboring your feelings. Maybe saying them out loud would be enough for you to start working through them and finally get over Azzi. Maybe you could finally be just friends again and you could spend time with her without hyperfocusing on how each and every one of your nerve-endings light up with activity at the slightest brush of her skin against yours.

Then, Azzi’s smiling at you, something soft and warm and mischievous all at the same time, like she’s got a trick up her sleeve and she knows that you’ll spend hours trying to figure out what it is. Her next words surprise you, moreso when her hand circles around your wrist, intertwining your fingers. “Come dance with me,” she requests.

Your throat bobs as you swallow, glancing at her hesitantly. “What?” you say smartly.

Azzi rolls her eyes, standing and pulling you to her feet. “I said–” She plants her hands on your shoulders and all you can really do is let yours fall to her waist, your fingers catching on her belt loops, “–come dance with me. You’ve been sitting too long. No wonder that half a shot of alcohol is kicking your ass.”

“It was like two shots,” you shoot back, but you let Azzi drag you across the room. You catch Paige’s eye as she leans over the pool table, lining up her shot, and she gives you a knowing look that just makes your cheeks heat up all over again. If you never got the chance to tell Azzi how you’d felt, you were sure that Paige Bueckers and that big ass mouth of hers would find a way to slip up and tell Azzi herself. “And you know that bartender uses that strong tequila.”

“I think you’re just a lightweight, babe,” Azzi states, pulling you into her space as she leads you to the beat of the music. You try to not focus too much on her words, but babe has begun to circulate through your mind on repeat, bumping into things haphazardly. Before you know it, one of your last remaining brain cells has caught the word in a jar like a butterfly and has stored it in that compartment in your brain next to everything you know about Azzi. The jar is tucked onto a shelf, only a few rows down from your filing cabinet system; one day you’ll worry about just how much space in your brain is dedicated to Azzi Fudd, but as her hands burn marks into your skin, guiding your body against hers, you find that you don’t really care.

Neither of you say anything as you dance along to the song. You can feel the bass in the ground, reverberating through your body as it races up your spine. You feel Azzi’s hand splayed across your waist, her grip firm, like there’s some sort of unspoken promise that she’d lose it if you weren’t in her personal space at all times – she spins you around, your back to her front, and the drag of her fingertips against your skin makes your head dizzy. Her breath tickles the back of your neck, her voice sweet as she hums in tune with the singer through the crackling speakers.

It’s in times like these that everything fades away – your hesitation, your insecurities, the worries that Azzi may never truly reciprocate what you feel for her. All you can truly focus on is the gradually lessening space between the two of you, the cloud of her perfume in the air, each and every one of her whispered lyrics and the smile she presses against your temple. You’re not sure if there’s a chance in hell that you’d be able to get over her. But for now, that’s the least of your worries, far too lost in the warmth of her palm against your bare skin where your shirt has ridden up – until you’re dragged back into the real world.

Azzi’s grip has tightened on you, but you barely register it as you open your eyes to see who has interrupted you. It’s a girl, probably around your age, hair dyed a red so dark that it’s nearly brown. She’s wearing a form-fitting black dress, and sure, she’s conventionally attractive, but Azzi has had your attention for nearly four years; you can’t think or look at anyone that’s not her. When the redhead asks Azzi to dance, a hopeful smile on her face, you feel your stomach churn immediately. It’s enough to sober you up fully – drunk not because of the alcohol, but because you’d allowed yourself to fall into Azzi as if the two of you were actually together. You’re reminded of the fact she’s just your best friend. The way she’s holding you means nothing. You feel Azzi’s gaze on you, but before she can say anything, you extract yourself from her hold, smiling unconvincingly at her, and you’re too unfocused to notice the way her face falls.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you say, nodding meaningfully to the redhead as bile pools in your throat. “You have fun, okay?”

You’re gone before Azzi can say anything else, unwilling to look back. You push your way through the crowd to the bar, swallowing back the humiliation and the fact that despite everything, a part of you still yearns for Azzi, and you motion to the bartender, requesting another drink. You dig through your wallet for your card, fingers trembling, cursing under your breath when it refuses to slide out of the little pocket it’s nestled in.

“I got it,” someone else says. You glance up to see an unfamiliar woman offering her card out for the bartender to swipe. She flashes you a charismatic smile and in return, all you can do is raise your brow.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you say, but you slide your wallet back into your pocket, anyway.

“Seemed like you needed a pick me up,” she says, shrugging a shoulder. “Saw you dancing with that girl over there – I was hoping she wasn’t your girlfriend, because I’ve been wanting to buy you a drink all night.”

You take a cautious sip, glancing back into the crowd of people, your eyes finding Azzi immediately. She’s dancing half-heartedly with the redhead, a generous amount of space between the two of them, and she seems to feel your eyes on her because she turns her head, locking eyes with you. You stare for a beat, then avert your gaze, making eye contact with the woman before you. She’s blonde, easy on the eyes, and she seems nice enough. Why not? “We aren’t together,” you state – although you wish you were – and her smile seems to grow.

She tells you her name – Alex – and the two of you dance for about fifteen minutes until Jana, with the grace of a bull in a China shop, interrupts to complain about a tummy ache and that everyone needs to go home. You weren’t sure where she got the logic on that one, but Jana had seemed desperate, and you weren’t going to tell her off in front of Alex.

You and Alex exchanged numbers. Still, she was nice enough, but she wasn’t Azzi. Maybe she was what you needed to get over Azzi, though. Conversation flowed nicely between the two of you and you had some things in common. Maybe you could grow to like her. Maybe you just needed to find someone the opposite of Azzi – blonde, boisterous, and short – to get over the crush you had on her (though you weren’t stupid enough to actually think it was a crush).

Azzi drives you home after Ted’s that night. You’re both silent for the first few minutes until she speaks up. “Did you have fun?” she asks cautiously. You don’t need to ask her to clarify – you know what she means.

You also know that you can’t lie to Azzi. You’ve never been any good at it. She glances at you from the corner of her eye and you feel yourself sink a little further into her passenger seat. “Would’ve had more fun with you,” you confess, watching as some of the tension melts from her shoulders.

“Then why didn’t you?”

You shrug a little, picking at your cuticles. You know exactly why you pushed her away. You just weren’t strong enough to admit it to her. “The redhead seemed to like you,” you say softly. “You don’t have to spend all your time with me. You can like…see other people. Do shit. Have fun. I don’t wanna be your clingy best friend.”

Azzi’s jaw ticks as she signals left, coming to a stop in the turn lane as she waits for the light to change. “What if I want to?” she murmurs. “Spend time with you, I mean. It’s not clingy. It’s just us.” That’s kind of the issue. You don’t voice that thought out loud, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of your heart, too. She speaks again before you can, her voice coming out in an almost petulant huff. “I don’t even remember her name.”

At that, you choke on a laugh, finally lifting your head to look at her. “Whose?” you ask. “The redhead?”

“Yeah,” Azzi confirms, pressing on the gas once the light turns green. “She wasn’t you.”

You swallow thickly. “Alex’s not you, either,” you whisper.

Azzi makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “Alex,” she repeats, like she’s in disbelief. “Do you like her?”

You shrug again, noncommittal. “She’s…nice,” you say. “And she bought me a seven dollar drink, so…” Azzi doesn’t find that as humorous as you did, her lips drawing into a pout, one you would have teased her for had the situation been less tense. “Az, what’s the issue? I was with her for like, twenty-five minutes. I’m not getting married to her.”

That makes Azzi fall silent again, contemplating her next words. “No issue,” she says, clearing her throat, as if sobering back up. “I’m sorry. I think the alcohol made me moody.”

You don’t comment on how she barely made it through her first drink before switching to water, but she didn’t comment on your lies and deflections, either. “It’s okay,” you say, summoning the courage to nudge her gently. She glances at you once more, a soft look on her face as you say, “Who’s brooding now, Batman?”

That makes her roll her eyes, giggling under her breath before she refocuses on the road. The tension in the car dissolves as she turns on your shared playlist, continuing to drive. For a moment, it feels like nothing is wrong. Tonight was just weird. There’s nothing going on between you and Azzi. Then, your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with a text notification from an unknown number. It’s Alex – letting you know that she enjoyed getting to meet you and that she’d like to see you again. You feel the unmistakable feeling of dread wrap its iron fist around your heart. Too caught up in your own reaction to the message, you don’t notice how Azzi’s knuckles turn white as they grip the wheel.

Against your better judgement, you do see Alex again. You stared at her message for a few hours, trying to come up with one good reason why you couldn’t give her a chance, but your mind came up blank every time. She was nice, attentive, had a good sense of humor, and she was wholly focused on you when you’d spend time together. Still, no matter what, you couldn’t shake the image of warm brown eyes from the forefront of your mind. You tell yourself that it’s not supposed to be an overnight change. You don’t love someone for four years and expect it to go away. So, you give Alex that chance (even though it feels so wrong), and she treats you to a few dates over the course of three weeks.

You get to know her. At the very least, she’s a good friend and a charismatic date. She tips well, makes you laugh, and she has an adorable little weiner dog named Bruiser (“Legally Blonde style,” she’d said jokingly, which did make you laugh, mostly because Bruiser, despite his name, was dressed in a cute pair of pink pajamas). By the third date, you start to feel a little hopeful that you’re finally making progress. Alex doesn’t push you – she seems to understand that you want to take it slow, which is something that you’re grateful for. She hasn’t asked you to be her girlfriend yet, either, which is also something you’re grateful for. Becoming her girlfriend this early feels too real, like the idea of you and Azzi is something that you’re fully leaving in the past. Keeping up the facade around Azzi does weigh on you, but it’s become something that feels like a core part of you and being without it feels wrong.

Speaking of Azzi, you don’t tell her too much about the Alex situation. She doesn’t ask much about her, either, a barely concealed look of irritation clouding her features whenever her name is mentioned. She hasn’t told you that she doesn’t like Alex, but at this point, you think her telling you is more of a formality than anything else. It’s clear as day that she hates Alex’s guts, although you don’t suppose Azzi will ever tell you why.

Maybe you’ll be better off this way – having one part of your life that doesn’t revolve around Azzi – well, doesn’t revolve completely around Azzi. Hopefully this little bit of independence will be good for you. This feels more like blind reassurance than actual confidence, but you’ll take what you can get at this point.

As you and Alex spend more time together, something changes with Azzi. At first, it’s nothing serious and you hardly even notice it. Azzi’s texts come a little more frequent, your FaceTimes a little longer. It’s miniscule especially because you and Azzi already text frequently and you spend hours on FaceTime together, but it’s more like a concerted effort to keep you with her and talking to her for longer periods of time. You’re not exactly sure why, although you’re not complaining; you’ve always enjoyed your late night phone conversations where Azzi loses her filter and rambles on and on for hours about the funny things that happen at practice or the latest picture of Stewie that her mom had sent her. You do have to admit this change in behavior makes it a little more difficult to get over Azzi – the constant proximity and speaking isn’t doing you any favors – but you can’t just abandon Azzi because you’re talking to Alex now. Your goal is to go back to a complete, platonic friendship with her, not ice her out completely.

Azzi’s behavior does progress, though. Still, it’s subtle – she’ll come over to your apartment more often or invite you over to hers more frequently. You’ll spend the night watching movies, giggling over the shitty acting or singing along to the Disney movies that Azzi ropes you into watching with her (as if you’d ever say no to her). It ends with her convincing you to stay over or her coming up with a slick excuse how she should just stay the night since her apartment is so far away (that you see right through – Azzi Fudd is a lot of things but a good liar is not one). Sometimes she’ll leave behind a shirt or a hair tie at your apartment; when you ask if she wants you to bring it over, her response is always the same: “Nah, keep it. I don’t have enough space in my closet for that shirt,” or “I noticed you were running out of hair ties anyways – you should just keep it.”

(When Alex comes over, she’ll notice each and every new addition, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Azzi left her sweatpants this time?” she asks, gingerly moving them from the foot of your bed to your desk chair. You don’t notice the bothered look on her face as you hum.

“Yeah,” you say, not thinking much of it. “She said she has too many.”

“Right,” Alex hums, not quite convinced. “You don’t want any of mine?”

Confused, you glance at Alex, busy folding your own laundry. “Your what?”

Alex huffs quietly. “...Forget about it.”)

Then, the behavior ramps up. Azzi is touchier, borderline clingy, which is different because you’re usually the clingy one between you and Azzi. It’s not that obvious when the two of you are watching movies at night – she’ll just lean against you, her head on your shoulder and a leg slung over yours, but in public? She’s almost possessive, always needing to be in contact one way or the other, a firm arm wrapped around your waist at all times. When tipsy randoms approach you to ask to dance, she doesn’t even let them finish their sentences before she’s tightening her arm around you, shaking her head with faux sympathy, and saying, “Sorry, she’s spoken for.”

In public is one thing. But in public when Alex is around is when Azzi really shines. You and Alex aren’t official yet, which is something that Azzi seems to take advantage of. Azzi buys all your drinks, glancing at Alex when she smiles that honey-sweet smile and says, “C’mon, you know I got you, right?” She always whisks you away to dance before Alex can get the chance to, and to be honest, you let her. Deep down, you know that you’d rather be doing this anyway – dancing with Azzi, letting her pull you close like she’s trying to stake a claim or prove something to someone, letting her whisper the lyrics in your ear and the both of you laughing when she starts making up her own words because the actual ones don’t make any sense.

You don’t think much of Azzi’s behavior until Alex calls you that night when Azzi’s in the shower. Alex offered to drive you home, but Azzi stepped in to let her know that you’d be staying over with Azzi to watch a new movie that had recently come out – you weren’t aware those were the plans, but you didn’t mind, either. You’re doing your skincare at Azzi’s vanity when your phone rings. Part of you is tempted to let it go to voicemail, but Alex had seemed bothered, and while the two of you weren’t official yet, you didn’t want to be an asshole.

“Hello?” you greet, pressing the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you rub in your moisturizer. 

“Hey,” Alex says. You hear her exhale sharply. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I don’t really know how to, like, explain this, but I feel like you keep blowing me off for Azzi,” Alex states, which makes you pause in your movements. “I feel like Azzi is jealous – of me – and she keeps trying to, fuck, I don’t know, worm her way in between us to keep you away from me? And you just let her do that shit.” You’re silent, letting her words echo in your brain, but she keeps speaking before you get the chance to. “I know she’s your friend. But ‘friends’ don’t behave like that. She’s one day away from pissing on you like a dog to mark her territory and I just need to know – do you even like me? Is this going anywhere? Because I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I’m trying to be nice about it but at this point I can’t tell what you want from me.”

You open your mouth, then close it, looking vaguely fish-like in the mirror. You can hear Alex’s breathing from the other end of the line as you try to gather your thoughts. Finally, you settle, and gently you say, “Azzi is my best friend.” You can almost visualize Alex’s eye roll, the soft huff that she thinks the microphone doesn’t pick up on. “She’s not jealous. Just…protective, I guess. She’s not trying to get in between us – we’re just always close like that.”

“Then tell her to chill,” Alex says frustratedly. “It’s making me feel like I’m the other woman – like I’m just something you’re stringing along in case Azzi gets bored. Did she ever act like this before I started taking you out? Why is she suddenly so obsessed with being all over you now that she doesn’t have all of your attention?”

“Alex,” you say calmly, surprising yourself. “I am not your girlfriend.”

She laughs bitterly from the other line. “Oh, it’s like that? What, I take you on a few dates and it didn’t mean shit to you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you hiss. “You don’t have a claim over me. You’re acting like a dog trying to mark its territory. You are not the other woman. There isn’t even a woman. Ask me to be your girlfriend – or don’t – but leave Azzi out of this.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a few beats until she scoffs. “Okay. Whatever. Have a good fucking night – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up without a second word. You roll your eyes, huffing, dropping your phone face down on the surface of Azzi’s vanity as you continue your skincare routine.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Azzi’s voice startles you, which causes you to groan and Azzi to giggle. She murmurs an apology as she comes up behind you, resting her palms over your shoulders, her thumbs pressing into your shoulder blades pleasantly. “Everything okay?”

You shrug, sighing again as her fingers work out the knots in your back. “Alex is just being weird,” you say, grunting when her fingers dig in harder than intended at the mention of her name. Azzi whispers another apology, softening her motions.

“What’d she say?” Azzi coaxes.

You meet her eyes through the mirror, seeing nothing but concern and a willingness to help on her features. “She just…I don’t know. She said you’re ‘one day away from pissing on me like a dog trying to mark its territory.’”

Azzi’s jaw drops, pausing in disbelief for a moment until peals of giggles fall from her lips. Her amusement makes you feel a little bit better about the situation. “Gross,” she says.

“I know,” you agree. “She thinks you’re trying to get between me and her. I told her there wasn’t even a ‘me and her.’ She hasn’t asked me to be her girlfriend.”

Azzi snorts. “How’d she take that one?”

“She told me to have a good fucking night and that she’d see me tomorrow.”

“Yikes,” Azzi says.

You hum again. “Yeah. I’m not really bothered, though. Don’t really wanna deal with it right now. She thinks you’re obsessed with being all over me and that you’re possessive. I said we’re just best friends, like we’ve always been like this?” It’s then that you catch onto Azzi’s sudden silence. Concerned, you turn in your chair to look at Azzi directly. “Az? You good?”

“You know you could do better than her, right?” Azzi’s words surprise you. Your jaw falls slightly, brows drawing together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Azzi emphasizes, “what’s so good about Alex?” She spits her name like it’s poison. “She danced with you one night at a bar and thinks that makes you exclusive. She’s jealous, possessive, and she doesn’t even try to be cordial to me, Paige, Jana, or anyone. You could do so much better than her. You know you don’t have to settle.”

“I’m not settling,” you argue, even though you know you 100% are settling because you can’t have Azzi.

Azzi gives you a knowing look, one that softens when she sees the confusion in your features, the angst, the insecurity that no matter what, the decision you’re making isn’t a good one. “I just feel like I’m losing you to her,” she admits in a whisper. “That you’re gonna choose her over me.”

“Az,” you breathe out, your heart aching. “I’d never do that. You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I feel like I already have,” Azzi says. She swallows, her eyes searching yours, and she takes a deep breath like this conversation is physically destroying her. She shifts, staring at the wall instead of you, and the way her next breath comes out in a shudder makes you feel like she’s realized something damning. “I don’t… I like being us. Before there was an Alex. And I know I don’t have a claim over you – but it feels like things are changing faster than we realize. That we’re changing and I can’t even figure out why or what’s different because you’re with Alex.”

You soften, standing to face her fully, and you cup her cheeks, pulling her attention back to you. “We aren’t changing,” you promise. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Alex won’t change that.”

“Do you even like her?” You falter, not expecting Azzi to ask you that, and your silence is all the answer she needs. “Why are you with someone you don’t even like?”

“I’m not with her,” you say weakly, but Azzi is shaking her head, pressing on.

“You don’t have to settle,” she reminds you again. “She is not your only option.”

You can’t tell if Azzi is trying to convince you or herself of that. You don’t have the courage to be honest with her, to tell her the real reason you’ve spent so long trying to make yourself believe that you truly liked Alex. So you don’t. Instead, you whisper, “Do we have to talk about this tonight?”

Azzi’s face falls slightly, but you hardly notice it, too caught up in the way your heart nearly pounds out of your chest. She nods, stepping back, and she clears her throat. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

You can recognize the look in Azzi’s face from a mile away. Softening again, you reach out, wrapping her in a tight hug, one that she immediately melts into. “Thank you,” you murmur into her neck, her skin still a little warm to the touch from her shower. She doesn’t say anything in response to that, instead tightening her arms around your waist, and exhaling deeply.

Alex asks you to be her girlfriend the night after your conversation with Azzi. She’d showed up to your apartment unprompted, bouquet in hand and an apologetic expression on her face. “I was out of line,” she’d said, sincerity in her features. “It wasn’t right of me to get upset or accuse you and Azzi of what I accused you of.” Your heart was pounding out of your chest while she explained herself, apologizing and making it right all in one, but the way your heart raced wasn’t out of anticipation. It wasn’t because you’d spent so long wishing that Alex would ask. Your pulse thrummed because of pure dread and adrenaline coursing through your veins. This wasn’t what you wanted. Not at all. You wanted Azzi – you’ve wanted nobody else but her for close to four years.

But Alex wanted you. Azzi didn’t. You needed to get over her. So, feeling as though you’re making a terrible decision you may never be able to come back from, you say, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

For a while, things are okay. Azzi clearly isn’t happy with you and Alex now being official, but your friendship stays the same. You try to split your time between the two of them, not wanting to feel as though you have to make a choice between your best friend and your girlfriend, and for the first month that you and Alex are together, it works well enough.

At least it does until Alex decides that it’s not enough.

It’s a Friday night, and you’re supposed to go over to Paige’s dorm to hang out with her and the rest of the team. They’d had a nailbiter game on Thursday and between practices and exams, you all just wanted to take the time to spend together and relax. KK was supposed to be bringing her Switch and you were looking forward to beating Paige’s smug ass at Mario Kart.

“You’re seriously going out?” Alex says from her bed, where she’s been watching you touch up your make-up in the mirror.

You resist an eye roll, not really wanting to argue, so calmly, you explain, “I’m just going to Paige’s to hang out with the team.”

“Feels like you never want to make time with me anymore,” Alex complains. You don’t respond to that, focusing on your mascara, until she speaks up again. “Is Azzi gonna be there?”

Your hand falters, smudging against your cheekbone, and you sigh in frustration as you dig through your clutch for a makeup wipe. “She’s on the team, so yes, Azzi will be there.”

“You do know you’re not with her, right?” That makes you stop moving completely, sliding the wand into the applicator. You turn to meet Alex’s gaze, who seems proud at having elicited a reaction.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not with Azzi,” Alex repeats, as if you needed a reminder. That’s the reason why you’re in this fucked up mess anyways, trying to make yourself like someone who’s not actually the woman you love. “So why do you keep running back to her at the end of the day? You’ve been friends for, what, four years now? If she wanted you, don’t you think she would have done something about it by now?” Despite the anger bubbling in your chest, embarrassment also blooms on your cheeks. “I want you. She doesn’t. Stop chasing her and running away from me – it’s not going to change anything.”

For that, you have no true response, your heart racing. You just feel trapped now. This isn’t what you wanted at all, but you feel like you’re too far in to quit now. “Stay in with me,” Alex states. It’s not a plea, not a request. It’s a demand – and for a moment, you think maybe she’s right. You’re still her girlfriend. You have to spend time with her. 

You text Paige, letting her know that you can’t make it tonight. Her response is swift, an over dramatic series of crying emojis followed up by a message that makes your heart constrict – “Az was lookin forward to this all week, she’s gonna crash out lol.” You don’t really know what else to say, so you just send Paige another apology before powering your phone off, knowing that as soon as Azzi finds out, you’re going to be the first person she calls.

You and Alex curl up on her couch, browsing through Hulu for a show to watch. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders feels wrong. It’s too stifling, too possessive. It’s nothing like the way Azzi would wrap her arm around you – making you feel safe and grounded all at once. Alex is nothing like Azzi and in the beginning, you thought that was just what you needed to let go of Azzi. Now, it feels like giving up Azzi feels like giving up a part of yourself.

Another month passes by in a blur of daily disappearances, shitty excuses, and daydreams of soft brown eyes and a dimpled smile. Anytime you’d try to make plans with Azzi or her teammates, Alex would remind you of all the reasons why you shouldn’t. You’re with me – not them. Why did you pursue me if you were just going to discard me? And at a certain point in time, the edges start getting blurry. You can’t even remember if you’d truly made those promises to Alex in the first place.

Azzi tried to reach out a few times, but Alex’s watchful eye had creeped into every facet of your life. She was there to pick you up from your practices. There wasn’t a single plan you’d made that she hadn’t carefully looked over and approved – most of them she invited herself along for, just to make sure you wouldn’t stray too far away. Weeks passed and you couldn’t remember the last time you had a life to yourself that wasn’t corrupted by every inch of the woman you’d danced with at the bar.

Escaping feels too difficult. Lately, it feels as though Alex knows more about you than you know about yourself. She strings you along just to yank the chain, leaving you unmoored and choking around a collar you were sure you’d fastened yourself. She’s devoted and loving one moment, cold and apathetic the next when she feels as though you hadn’t done enough to earn her affection. She’s attached at your hip for one week, then leaves you drowning the next when she suddenly ghosts, leaving you wondering if you’d truly had a girlfriend at all.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Alex had accused you of stringing her along for the ride to get over Azzi, and now here she is. You don’t think she’s trying to use you to get over someone, but perhaps she’s punishing you for the way you’d chosen Azzi at every opportunity at the beginning of your relationship. You’re doing the time now, you suppose, although every morning you wonder if and when your sentence would end; you hope that Alex would grow tired of you one day and finally dispose of you. You weren’t sure if you had the confidence to drag yourself out of this mess despite how easily you threw yourself into it.

“You know Azzi’s like, in love with you, right?” Alex asks you one day. You’re sitting at the table, poking at your chicken and spinach mindlessly. Your girlfriend sits across from you, arms crossed and plate clean. Her words make you falter, your fork stilling, and you don’t glance up, not wanting to confront the expression on her face. “I recognized it the first night at the bar. She was all over you while you were dancing, holding you like she owned you. When she went to dance with someone else, it was a complete shift – she didn’t even want that other girl. Just you.”

At that, you glance up finally, searching Alex’s eyes. They’re cold, nothing like the Azzi’s warm brown that you’d spent years memorizing the exact hue of. “What are you trying to say?” you ask, because you truly don’t understand her point. Doesn’t she understand that she’s won? That she’s broken you down, separated you from your friends, that she’s interwoven herself into the very fabric of your life? What else could you have for her to take?

Alex shrugs, a picture of nonchalance, but you see the tension in her shoulders anyways. “I just want you to know why I’m doing this,” she says, which makes a cold feeling course through your veins. “I don’t want to be the bad guy. You know that, right? I just want to protect you, from someone who wants to take you from me. Azzi couldn’t take care of you like I could. She always had this agenda from the very first night we met. Do you understand that?”

Your fingers are trembling around your fork. “Alex,” you whisper, drawing her attention to you. Her head cocks like you’re a wounded animal on the side of the road and she’s studying you to determine if she should leave you – or at the very least, move you out of harm’s way. You know her, though. She’s the type of person to keep on driving. “I’m tired. Can we not do this right now?”

Her lips curl into a smug, self-satisfied smile, because she knows. She knows she’s elicited a reaction, even if it’s not as obvious. She knows that she’s won this round. She stands, leaving her plate behind, and she looms behind you as her hand trails across your shoulders. Then, she leans in, planting the barest of kisses to your temple that makes your body tighten with barely concealed fear and dread. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she whispers, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “One day you’ll understand what I’ve done for you.”

She leaves and it’s only then that you allow your body to relax. Exhaling deeply, you bury your head in your hands, feeling tears of anguish and frustration building at your waterline. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t need to look at it to know who it is. Azzi has been trying to reach you for a while. She hasn’t given up, but you haven’t had the energy to text her back, to tell her about what’s going on. Now, you think you might have to take that chance.

That night, while Alex snores unknowingly next to you, you collect your bag and all of the clothes stored in her drawers. With quiet footsteps, you exit her apartment, already reaching for your phone with trembling fingers as you dial the one number you know will pick up at any time. It barely rings once before the line clicks through.

Azzi’s greeting is a murmur of your name, both in disbelief and ever present relief. “Azzi,” you say back, your voice barely reaching her. “Please come pick me up.”

“Do you want water? Juice?”

Azzi’s voice cuts through the haze in your brain. When she picked you up, neither of you had said anything, but you’d hugged her tight enough that she groaned a little, which made you smile for what feels like the first time in forever. She let you into her apartment wordlessly, took your bag to her room, and sat you down on the couch.

“I’m okay,” you say. All you really wanted was to feel comfortable in your own skin again, but being in Azzi’s presence is doing wonders for you. You can’t help but feel a bit of residual guilt – all of this could have been avoided had you been braver, if you’d denied Alex from the start or if you could just muster the courage to tell Azzi that you’ve been in love with her for four years. “Can we just…can we go to bed?”

Azzi nods quickly, murmuring an affirmative, and she links her hand with yours as she leads you down the familiar hallways. It shouldn’t bring you as much peace as it does, but holding Azzi’s hand makes you feel like you’re a sailor coming home after a long voyage and finally spotting the lighthouse in the distance. Azzi’s bed is a welcome comfort and you fall into place next to her, feeling the tension melt out of your shoulders.

You can feel her next to you, the warmth of her body, the smell of her perfume in the air, and you feel your heart ache all over again. This was where you were supposed to be. Not with Alex. Even if you and Azzi remained friends forever and you kept your feelings for her close to your chest, it would still be better than going through these past few weeks with Alex on repeat.

“I missed you,” Azzi admits, her voice cutting through the darkness in the room. She shifts. You can feel her eyes on you, so you shift, too, coming face to face with her.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, watching as a soft smile spreads across her face. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You swallow thickly. “For everything. For Alex. For leaving you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Azzi promises. Hearing those words is like coming up for air after being submerged for so long. You don’t know if she knows just how healing it was to hear her say that. Her hand finds yours, squeezing you gently. “I’m sorry for not doing more to help you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shoot back, a coy smile on your face, which makes Azzi giggle.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Azzi murmurs.

You think that you should – that you owe it to yourself and to Azzi to be honest about the last few months. So you do. Azzi listens to you as you start from the beginning, outlining the course of your and Alex’s relationship and where it derailed. When you finish, Azzi’s face is full of concern, sadness, and a slight determination. She’d apologized again. You told her it was okay, mostly because it was okay. You would be okay.

“Do you love her?” Azzi asks a few beats later, perhaps a bit selfishly. 

“No,” you confess, feeling Azzi relax against you. “I never did.” She nods, and you both fall silent for a moment until you speak up again. “Az?” She hums, her fingers brushing against your skin. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth? Alex said something earlier and I’m…I’m just tired of feeling like I’m crazy.”

“Anything,” she promises. 

“Do you love me?” The words come out less composed than you’d been trying for, your voice cracking at the end, but you don’t really care. You need answers. You’d spent so many years loving Azzi from afar, but for Alex to say she’s confident in Azzi loving you back? This could change everything.

“Of course I do,” Azzi says, her words a little jilted. “You’re my best friend.”

You feel your heart drop, but you press forward. “Not in that way, Az.”

You can hear her breath hitch. At first, you’re not sure if you’re going to get a response, but she tightens her grip on your waist, and admits, “Yeah. I love you.”

Silence encompasses the both of you. Azzi doesn’t push – she never does, and that might be one of the things you love most about her. She lets you process that revelation on your own. At first, a part of you wonders if it was truly that easy in the first place, if all you ever needed to do was ask Azzi. The fear of her saying anything but yes outweighed the hope. Now that you’ve heard it, you can’t deny how much lighter your chest feels, the hope that swells in your chest. “Say it again,” you request.

“I love you,” Azzi swears, her voice a little firmer this time, her hands holding onto you like she’s afraid you’re going to disappear completely. “I love you. I have for years. Seeing you with Alex almost destroyed me.”

Feeling a little braver, you sit up, moving your legs to straddle her waist. There’s nothing inherently sexual about it, but the sheer closeness makes you feel a little more grounded, especially when her hands steady you by the hips. “I’m sorry,” you say again, your voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.

“Don’t be,” Azzi murmurs, her thumb brushing against your hip bone.

“I was only with her because I thought I could get over you,” you confess, which makes her jaw relax, her face soften. “God, Az, I’ve been in love with you forever. I didn’t think I could have you.”

Despite the heaviness of the moment, Azzi’s lips quirk into a fond, relieved smile. Her hands leave your hips, fingers brushing your arms as she trails them up. She hooks a finger into the collar of your shirt, pulling you down to her as she whispers, “You have me. Completely.”

You’re not thinking about the consequences as you finally kiss Azzi Fudd – you’re not concerned about the fact that technically, you have a girlfriend that you’re technically cheating on, nor are you concerned about what this means for you and Azzi. The logistics are a problem for you tomorrow. Azzi sighs against you, her lips insistent, fingers tangling in your shirt – and to be honest, it’s a pleasant paradox. Alex is a taker in every definition of the word, but Azzi swallows each little sound you make against her lips, pressing firmer against you to take everything you’ll give her, but there’s a bit of mutualism in the way you and Azzi simultaneously take and give.

One of her hands releases your shirt to cup your cheek, her palm warm against your skin as it rapidly heats. You’re both passionate, a little desperate, but despite it all, the love between the two of you is palpable – you can feel it in your heart and the way it swells; it courses through your veins, leading you home, reminding you that this is a love you’ve spent years harboring and cultivating. 

People always say your first kiss with someone you love is a little earth-shattering, that it’s like fireworks or coming home. To you, this kiss with Azzi feels something like freedom. It feels like you don’t have to keep any more secrets from her or yourself.

Azzi breaks away, her chest heaving and her breath warm against your lips. “I love you,” she whispers again, holding you tighter, insistent. “Leave her. Please.”

You’re nodding before Azzi has even finished her plea. “I will,” you swear, kissing her again. You grin when Azzi chases you, pressing one last kiss to your lips before a soft smile spreads across her features. “I love you.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything in response to that – she doesn’t have to. She presses a kiss to your temple and you stretch out across her body, her arms wrapping around you once more. You fall asleep next to her feeling free and at peace – you’re not quite out of the woods yet, but you’re almost there, and you have more moments like these to look forward to with Azzi.

She has an early practice that next morning, so she’s gone before you’re awake, but you know what you need to do. You walk the short distance to your apartment, make yourself a coffee to mentally prepare, and you send a quick text to Alex – ignoring the fifteen unread messages she’s sent between the hours of 2am to 7am – telling her to come to your apartment so you can talk. You don’t wait around for a response. You get a trash bag and start collecting all of the shit she’s left at your apartment during the time you were together – clothes, toiletries, a lone coffee mug (that you’re sure shatters once you drop it into the bag, but you don’t really care).

All of Alex’s belongings are secured in the trash bag when there’s a knock at your door. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, dragging the bag behind you as you step up to your door. You open it halfway, raising a hand and making an annoyed noise when Alex tries to walk in. “No,” you say firmly, “stay outside.”

A look of annoyance flashes across her face, but she does as you’ve commanded, crossing her arms. You reach for the bag, throwing it haphazardly behind her. “So, here’s what’s happening,” you begin. “We’re breaking up.” She opens her mouth to say something, but you cut her off with a raised hand again. “I don’t really care what you have to say. We’re done. This is all you’re getting from me. Lose my number and get fucked.”

Unceremoniously, you slam the door in her face, locking it immediately. You bury your head in your hands as your pulse pounds against your ribcage, but as you listen to the sound of her footsteps fading away, that familiar feeling of freedom returns tenfold. You could cry with relief, although you don’t, pulling your phone out of your pocket. You’re free now, and you know who your first call will be to.

Azzi picks up on the first ring, sounding a little out of breath as she greets you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you respond, feeling the smile creep up onto your lips – you’re sure she can hear the excitement and the relief in your voice.

And she does. She laughs a little, sounding relieved, too. “I’m on my way,” is all she says, bidding you one last goodbye before she hangs up.

You can’t get rid of your smile, and thankfully, she only keeps you waiting for about fifteen minutes. She opens your door with her key and walks in like she’s been here hundreds of times before – which she has, because there’s no part of your life that is complete without Azzi in it. She spots you immediately. You stand up from the couch, dropping your phone on the cushion, and you meet her in the middle.

Azzi is a little sweaty, disheveled from practice, but you don’t care as her arms encircle your waist, pulling you flush into her with pure relief in her laughter. You wrap yours around her neck, standing on the tips of your toes to reach her. You kiss her, something softer than the first one you’d shared the night prior. You feel her smile against your lips, which only makes you smile, too, your noses brushing against each other as you both share a breathless little laugh. She tightens her grip around you and you can’t find it in yourself to mind – you know that Azzi is always going to be there to protect you, and finally being hers after all these years is something you know that you’re not going to screw up – you did your time.

[yailtsv]

i’ve had some people asking about fics so here’s everything in my drafts and in my notes app

drafts: (have a post ready, just need to write the fic)

sick - p and a take care of blakely while she’s sick requested

pretty girl - p and a take time off school to go see the #2 espn pick after azzi requested

2 girlfriends? - p and a ask blakely out requested

secret admirer - r has a secret admirer and that so called secret admirer just happens to be her best friend requested

secret - p and fudd!reader date behind azzi’s back requested

i got all i need - p and a decided to go out for all holidays for rory including valentine’s day

state championship - the bueckers and fudd family go support their granddaughter/niece at her state championship requested

basketball practice - paige watches saylor’s first basketball practice back after being grounded from it for two weeks requested

i can’t do this again - blakely gets hurt during a game against the connecticut sun with the whole uconn wbb team in audience

valentines getaway - p and a take their disney obsessed girlfriend to disney world

jealous jealous girl (smut version) - 🤗 requested

someone to stay - juju watkins x gf!reader

notes: (do not have a post ready for them: they just sit in my notes app until i write the ones in my drafts)

gf!reader/gf!oc:

x reader:

Sick - Jana x Reader requested

spoiled - Jana x Reader requested

Period - P x Gf!reader

Clingy - P x Gf!reader

oakley - nothing yet!

paige’s daughter:

x reader - nothing yet!

willow - nothing yet!

lilah - nothing yet!

paige’s sister

x reader - nothing yet!

taylor - nothing yet!

kaleigha:

Big East Media Day - pt2 to senior night

Sick - kaleigha is sick and paige takes on her big sister roll and cares for her

pazzi (poly)

x reader - nothing yet!

blakely - all in my drafts

pazzi’s daughter

x reader - nothing yet!

rory:

Bowling w/the huskies- cute moments with p&a + the team

Off Day Mornings - p&a’s morning with a 10 month old

Gaming cuddles - fortnight cuddles!

Sick - rory gets sick at paige and azzi help her

WNBA Draft - paige takes rory to the 2025 draft with her

Ro’s first steps - rory takes her first steps at a uconn game requested

saylor:

What is going on with you?! - Saylor comes home in the evening drunk

No car for a month - P & A take Saylor’s car and keys away from her, after she snuck out while the were asleep requested

Why? - Azzi finds a vape in Saylor’s room requested

big sister - saylor finds out she’s gonna be a big sister requested

i’m sorry, WHAT? - paige and azzi get a call from saylor’s school saying they found her smoking weed requested

bad influence - saylor brings her bf home and p&a think he’s a bad influence (he’s the person that gave her the weed) requested

transferring - flashback fic to when paige and azzi told saylor she was moving schools requested

breaking point - saylor finally breaks requested

acting out - paige and azzi figure out what’s going on requested

you’re not a disappointment- paige and azzi get saylor to talk and finally what’s going on in her head requested

pazzi’s sister

x reader - nothing yet!

avia:

i don’t like me - paige and azzi find the younger fudd crying in the bathroom requested

platonic x reader/oc

x reader - nothing yet!

x oc - nothing yet!

new ocs/ multi series:

stepmom!paige + mom!azzi : don’t have a name yet MULTI PART?

azzi’s sister / samantha logan : don’t have a name yet OC

bueckers!reader x juju watkins : MULTI PART?

i know a lot of people aren’t gonna read this post but if you have any last minute requests send them in (it can be for team members, paige, pazzi’s daughter anything on my masterlist)

and if you want to be on the tag list for everything or just a certain group of fics lmk

[sellasstories]

INTIMACY

word count: 3.2k

pairing: paige bueckers x reader

⚠️warnings⚠️

explicit smut, internalized homophobia, light angst

prompts:

you and paige having “platonic” life-altering sex, and her finally realizing her feelings and then pinning you against the wall and having actual romantic life-altering sex

5 + 1: 5 times you and paige hooked up “platonically”, and 1 time it was decidedly not platonic

best friends to lovers

miscommunication (maybe just bad communication)

1:

The first time that you kissed Paige Bueckers was all because of a silly conversation had at a ridiculously late hour during your 13th birthday sleepover. You were giggling over the fact that you were grown up enough to have boyfriends, and blushing over what you could do with them.

Hardly daring to say it, you’d whispered to Paige in the dark that you were scared to kiss a boy because you’d never done it before, and she’d asked if you were scared to kiss her. She’d explained that she wasn’t scared to kiss you because you were her friend, and even though your heart was beating out of your chest, you’d agreed.

Eyes wide, you and Paige had scooted closer to each other, your lips barely touching before you’d both pulled away, laughing. Once you’d calmed down, you tried again, getting comfortable with little pecks on the lips. You continued this throughout the night, and when Paige kissed you good morning, it became a part of your friendship. After that night, you realized some things:

1. Kissing was actually fun (not gross, like you’d been led to believe)

2. Paige was good at kissing (you had no evidence for this, but she made it fun and that had to be the point)

3. Girls definitely made you feel the same butterflies in your stomach as boys did (this was pretty shocking, so you chose to keep that to yourself)

You didn’t know what it was at that point, but that was when you figured out that you were bisexual. You always wondered if Paige felt anything from the kisses, but dismissed your thoughts as she clearly didn’t think kissing meant anything.

2:

The first time you made out with Paige Bueckers was two years later, but it led to a an earth-shattering fourth realization:

4. You liked Paige, like a lot, like you wanted to do a lot more with her than kissing (this was extremely shocking, and you resolved never to tell anyone, especially not her)

You were 15 years old, both slightly tipsy at your first high school party. Wanting to seem cool, you’d agreed to play Truth or Dare with the popular kids. Paige picked dare, of course, and you didn’t like the looks that passed over the two of you as the boy that had asked Paige dared her to kiss you for a full minute.

You planned to just press your lips together to hers, hoping that you wouldn’t run out of air somehow, but Paige apparently had other ideas. Within seconds, she was moving her lips confidently, and you were shocked to your core when you felt her tongue dart into your mouth.

Even though Paige had started it, you were terrified that she would know how you felt when you kissed back. She didn’t, of course, and you were only slightly devastated when she pulled away after someone announced that the minute was up.

You made out again in the back of Paige’s dad’s car on the drive home, and it started a tradition of making out drunk at parties. It never meant anything, of course, but you touched yourself to the memories many times after that, always feeling immensely guilty, but never enough to stop.

3:

When you were 17, something shifted in your relationship on a random night. You and Paige were laying in her bed (you were sleeping over at her house), marvelling at being able to do whatever you wanted because her family wasn’t home.

By now, you’d both had a couple of boyfriends, but you never did anything more than kissing because (this took you a while to admit to yourself) you wanted Paige, not them. Your conversation had lapsed into silence, and Paige, emboldened by a confidence that only comes in the darkness, had asked you a decidedly intrusive question.

She asked you what you thought about when you masturbated, and you’d panicked and named a boy that you supposed you thought was hot, not being able to give Paige the real answer (her). You’d quickly turned the question on her, and she’d blushed profusely and mumbled her boyfriend’s name.

Feeling jealous, you’d asked if he’d ever touched her, and she quietly confessed that he had, but had never made her finish. You should’ve expected her to ask you the same thing, but it still caught you off guard when she did.

Taking your silence as embarrassment, Paige had reassured you that it would happen soon and that you didn’t need to be nervous. Then she asked if she could touch you, maintaining that it would be best not to be surprised and react weirdly when a boy eventually did.

You were shocked at the casualness of her words and reminded her that she had a boyfriend, but she reassured you that doing stuff with girls didn’t count. Too hopeful to fully grasp the meaning of her words, you’d agreed and asked to touch her, too, your shaking hands in stark contrast to her slow, assured ones.

Before you knew it, Paige Bueckers became the first person other than yourself to give you an orgasm, and without even putting her fingers inside you (you didn’t want to think about how you’d dreamed about this moment in slightly different circumstances). She confessed after that she’d never made herself feel like that, meaning that you gave her her first ever orgasm (you definitely didn’t want to put too much value into it, but your brain was going absolutely haywire).

Once again, you never talked about it after, even when Paige broke up with her boyfriend a few weeks later. You didn’t want to make anything weird, so you pretended to forget all about it.

4:

You don’t really remember the first time that you and Paige had sex because you were really fucked up. You were 19 at a UConn party after one of Paige’s games, and of course everyone was throwing themselves at her.

You’d started doing shots to numb the jealousy, but Paige had quickly found you and insisted on joining you like her stupid, endearing, ride or die self.

She’d asked if you wanted to smoke with her, and of course you’d agreed. You’d shotgunned, which had turned into making out, but you did it regularly enough that it barely phased you anymore.

You’d started to feel it all hit you, so you’d told her to go back to the party while you tried to find somewhere to sit and sober up a bit, settling on an empty bedroom.

Paige had come in to check on you, because of course she had, and once she’d sat down on the bed to rub your back, you finally had the courage to kiss her first.

You’d woken up in the morning with a pounding headache and a pit in your stomach as memories came back to you in disjointed images.

You remembered pushing Paige onto the bed and tangling your hands in her hair, giggling as her hands found their way under your dress. It got a bit fuzzy after that, but you had a very clear memory of your head between Paige’s legs as you pumped your fingers in and out of her.

You’d shifted and felt a pleasant soreness between your own legs, your jaw dropping as you realized that she must have done the same to you. You were upset that you couldn’t remember it, but also shocked that things had actually gone that far.

Finally registering your surroundings, you’d seen Paige, dressed only in her underwear, passed out beside you in the bed at the frat house where the party had been. Fixing your dress, you’d shaken her awake so that you could both leave.

Paige had been groggy as she put her clothes on, but she’d been awake enough to smirk that you two had a fun night. You weren’t sure what to feel anymore, so you’d just nodded, staying silent on the walk to your dorm.

When you didn’t speak of it again, you almost convinced yourself that it didn’t hurt anymore.

5:

Your last straw was after you and Paige had sex sober. Thinking back, you often wondered how you’d let it happen, but there was no sense lying to yourself. You would always take whatever Paige was willing to give you.

You’d been roommates at UConn for over two years, and despite your complicated feelings, it had been good most of the time. Until Paige had walked into your bedroom and ruined everything.

She’d flopped onto your bed (as she often did), but instead of discussing any topic appropriate for best friends (you were really starting to hate the term), she’d point-blank asked to you to finger her. Nothing Paige Bueckers had ever said shocked you as much as those words coming out of her mouth, so you’d sat in silence as she shamelessly explained that she was really horny and that you’d been really good at it at the party (that you still tried not to think about).

You couldn’t believe that she would bring it up so casually after not speaking of it for almost a year, so you’d assumed that she was joking. Deciding to just go with whatever this bit was, you’d agreed to do it after you finished an important assignment. You expected her to leave soon after, now that the joke was made, but she stayed firmly planted on your bed, and you could feel her staring at your back.

You weren’t sure what to do once you’d finished your assignment, but seeing no other choice, you’d slowly turned around to ask Paige what the hell was going on. Your words had died on your lips as you’d seen how she was laying on your bed, biting her lip as she’d started at you with her legs spread wide.

All she’d needed to do was shift her hips slightly and you’d given in. You’d walked to sit down on your bed, surprised when Paige pulled you into a heated kiss. You’d barely even had time to register that this was the first time you’d made out sober because Paige had ground her hips up against you as she lifted them to take off the basketball shorts she’d been wearing.

You’d tried to take off her panties, but she’d stopped you, so you rubbed her clit through them. Paige was grinding against you urgently, so you’d slid them to the side, plunging a finger into her when you found her dripping wet.

Still locked in the kiss, you’d been surprised to feel Paige clench around your fingers as she came quickly.

You were distracted enough (worrying about the consequences of this latest activity) that Paige was able to wrap her legs around your waist and flip you over onto your back. She was already pulling your sweats off when you’d recovered enough from your surprise to ask what she was doing.

Paige, looking confused, had straddled you and replied that she was returning the favour. You’d like to think that you would’ve been smarter if she hadn’t been rocking her hips against yours, but your only thought in that moment had been that if this was going to ruin the friendship, you at least deserved an orgasm after everything she’d put you through.

Once again, inexplicably, Paige had joined your lips together as she’d slid a hand under your panties (she left them on) to brush over your clit. You’d lost yourself in the feeling of her fingers in your pussy, only opening your eyes when Paige’s lips had left yours. In a sight that was burned into your memory forever, you’d watched her shuffle down the bed and lower her mouth to suck on your clothed clit.

Paige’s fingers were still inside you, and when she’d looked up with her mouth on your clit, you came just from the look in her eyes. It was one of the best orgasms of your life, but as Paige had collapsed onto your chest with a satisfied smile, you’d realized that you couldn’t go through all of this again.

+ 1:

When you’d woken up the next morning, Paige was still sleeping on you, and you’d wanted so badly to confess. Looking down at her beautiful sleeping face, you’d gently shaken her awake. You’d noticed a fearful look in her eyes as she’d quickly sat up and pushed you away. Paige had opened and closed her mouth like she was going to say something, but then she’d turned and ran out of your dorm.

She’d apparently been staying with one of her teammates, but you didn’t know because you hadn’t spoken to her for days. You’d already cried so hard that you’d given yourself a headache, so you didn’t go to class. You were curled up in a kitchen chair drinking tea when the door was thrown open to reveal Paige.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to appear indifferent. “Why are you back?”

“Why aren’t you in class? I didn’t think you’d be here,” Paige said evasively.

“I didn’t feel like going,” you mumbled, suddenly conscious of your puffy eyes.

Paige stepped tentatively into the room and took a deep breath. “I really thought I was gonna have more time to figure out how I was gonna do this, but I guess it’s happening now. I’m so sorry for everything. Nika and Azzi helped me realize how confusing it all must have been for you, and it’s all my fault. I think I just didn’t let myself think I could have anything more than platonic feelings for girls, and then by the time I did, it was already so messed up with us.”

She bit her lip. “I told myself it would be fine because I was scared talk to you, and even more scared to lose you.” Her voice wobbled on the last confession.

Despite everything you’d done with each other, Paige had never been this vulnerable with you. Once again, Paige Bueckers had managed to leave you speechless.

“That’s not an excuse, and I’ve probably ruined this — us — forever, but I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry,” she finished, eyes glued to the floor.

You stood up and walked towards her. “It’s my fault, too. I should’ve said something earlier but I was scared to lose you, too. I’m s-” you started to apologize too, but Paige surged forward to kiss you.

You could feel the passion of years of repressed feelings pouring out as she wrapped her arms around your neck. The sound of the door slamming made you both jump, but Paige quickly pushed you back, pinning you to the wall with her arms on either side of your head.

You’d never kissed Paige like this, and it was everything you’d been missing. She grabbed your thighs and picked you up, easily carrying you to her bed. “I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am,” Paige apologized again as she gently laid you down.

“Why don’t you show me, then?” You whispered, still not completely sure that this wasn’t a dream. Paige stripped off her shirt and your breath caught at the sight of her abs. She squeezed your hips to get you to lift them as she took off your pants, kissing all the way down your legs.

“I want to see you. Take everything off,” you mumbled, still fearing rejection.

“Anything you want,” Paige breathed as she pulled her sportsbra over her head. Somehow, this was the first time that you’d seen her shirtless in years, and you were not disappointed. Tearing your eyes away, you unclipped your own bra as Paige pulled off her pants. She climbed back on top of you after you took off your panties.

This was the first time that you’d been completely naked in front of each other. “You’re so beautiful,” you said adoringly, and Paige was quick to slot your lips together. You were both rolling your hips trying to get friction, so Paige moved one of your legs over hers so your pussies could slide against each other.

You were both moaning as you found a rhythm that had your clits rubbing together. Paige’s hands were tangled in your hair, and you brought your hands up to play with her tits, rolling her nipples between your fingers. The pace of your hips increased, your kisses getting sloppier as you both focused on chasing your pleasure. You came first, and the stutter of your hips was enough to send Paige over the edge as well. You locked eyes, panting into each other’s mouths.

Barely giving you time to recover, Paige’s fingers were on you again, her thumb pressing on your abused clit. Your lips were nearly bleeding from how hard you were biting them as you tried not to scream. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Paige said soothingly, kissing your clit. She easily slid two fingers inside you, pumping them slowly. You’d calmed down enough from your first orgasm that it was just teasing you more.

“Faster, Paige, please,” you whimpered. Paige instantly complied, starting to attack your clit with her mouth. You were grinding as you fucked yourself on her fingers, and she was letting you, her tongue still managing to stimulate your clit. Paige’s fingers curled just the right way and soon you were holding her head between your thighs as you came again.

Paige faced you, laying down on her side, and you held eye contact with her as you sucked your juices from her fingers.

“My turn,” you smirked, lightly pushing Paige onto her back to climb on top of her. Her face was flushed and her lips were slick with spit and your juices. You wanted to devour her. Leaning down to kiss Paige hungrily, your wet pussy slid against her abs and you moaned into her mouth.

You took the time to do the things you’d always wanted to do — biting her lips, sucking on her tits, leaving hickeys all over her body. Paige squeezed her legs shut as she writhed under your touch, so you pulled them apart, excited when you saw how wet she was.

“Need you,” Paige whined unexpectedly. Not wanting to deny her pleasure, you used your tongue to spread her wetness. You started to tease her clit with your fingers as you pushed your tongue inside her. Paige was squirming so much that you had to grab her thighs to keep her still.

You kept going until she was screaming that she was close, quickly replacing your tongue with your fingers as your mouth closed around her swollen clit. Paige grabbed the hand that was still on her thigh, squeezing it as she came. Her hips bucked wildly as she moaned your name like a prayer.

You were careful to be as gentle as possible as you went to lay down beside her. Paige was still too out of breath to speak, her body twitching with aftershocks of her orgasm. “So that meant something to you?” You felt the need to ask, turning to make eye contact with her.

She was already looking at you tenderly. “Of course it did… that you’re my girlfriend now, if that’s something you’d want,” she said nervously.

You couldn’t help but smile as you pecked her swollen lips. “Of course I want that, if it’s something you want,” you mirrored her words.

Paige was smiling now, too. “Shut up, you’re not funny!”

“I’m funnier than you, at least,” you retorted as you pressed yourself against her body.

[kotton-kandy953]

What yandere themed songs do you associate with some of your favorite yan danganronpa boys?

━ 𝚂𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙴

➛ yandere!male headcannons × fem/gn!reader

title page┆word count: 0.3k┆warnings: second-person pronouns, manipulation, murder, obsessive behavior, yandere themes┆a/n: I barley post abt byakuya so I had to put him in the banner

dr boys and their yandere ! songs x g/n ! reader

➤ 𝐃𝐑𝟏

ᯓᡣ𐭩 MAKOTO N.

❝ I want to go on walks with you, I want to have long talks with you ❞

I Want To Be Your Boyfriend - Hot Freaks

this isn't exactly a "yandere" song (I think) but it's Makoto-core I guess

Makoto would be more a "soft yandere." or a yandere who doesn't want to kill off "threats." He just wants you to love him back.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 BYAKUYA T.

❝ told her, ‘pick out any bag, it’s not too much’ ❞

Wet Dreams — Odetari ft. Nimstarr

He’s rich asf

Byakuya would be an overprotective and possessive yandere. Only wanting to protect you from anyone and everything that could possibly hurt or harm you.

➤ 𝐒𝐃𝐑𝟐

ᯓᡣ𐭩 HAJIME H.

❝ they don’t love you like I do ❞

Love Taste - Jamie Paige ft. Moe Shop, Shiki

He'd be like super overprotective and possessive as a yandere as well. Quite similar to Byakuya but not exactly like him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 NAGITO K.

❝ I just can’t function without you ❞

Functioning Alcoholic - Odetari

I feel like Nagito is so crazy and obsessive that he can’t go seconds without being with you. Hence this song being picked for him

➤ 𝐃𝐑𝐕𝟑

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SHUICHI S.

❝ you’re so upset with me but I’m so obsessed with you ❞

I’m so crazy for youuu </3 - Rebzyyx

It was either this or "all I want is you" by Rebzyyx

According to my own personal beliefs, Shuichi would be an over-obsessive and delusional yandere. Like Nagito but toned down 1,000%

ᯓᡣ𐭩 KOKICHI O.

❝ If I can’t have you, baby no one else in this world can ❞

Jealous Girl - Lana Del Rey

I could NOT decide on a song for his lying ass

Due to his compulsive lying, it would be easy for Kokichi to manipulate you. Especially if you both were close friends. And not to mention that he'd be hella jealous of anyone you seem fond of. Platonically or Romantically.

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