omgliz

[omgliz]

masc4masc ellie smau when ????

[omgliz]

the vibe ellie brings to the func

gf!ellie

[omgliz]

── stream sniped

a one-shot about streamer!ellie falling for a random influencer who wants nothing to do with her (except she actually does).

content: streamer!ellie x influencer!reader, modern au, strangers to lovers, ellie's down bad, so is reader you’re just better at hiding it, twitch chat/discord sever/titkok comment antics (that were a bitch to write ngl), MDNI 18+, fingering (r!receiving), oral sex (e!receiving), there's like a splash of meta during the smut that made me giggle when deciding to include it, reader described as having a clit

word count: 5.6k

author's note: so this is where i reveal myself as having quite a bit of knowledge about streaming/gaming/chronic online-ness in general. also, does this count as loser!ellie? am i part of the gang?! anyways, i hope you enjoy!

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: we're soooooo back 😤 !discord !drops

“alright, alright,” ellie muttered, dragging a hand down her face as she leaned toward her second monitor. “let’s do today’s discord submissions. i’ve been skipping out on them because you guys have been fucking weird lately, so... don’t make me regret this.”

her camera’s a little off-center—she obviously just rolled out of bed, the unmade sheets still visibly rumpled in the background, and her hair's clearly unbrushed beyond probably a haphazard comb through with her fingers.

ghostpeekr: !!!!!!!! tryqt: BE NICE ELLIE elliesdischarge: i just sent a pic of my cat meow for her rn whiffytiffany: is she playing with chat members for fortnite tonight???? elliethrows4me: dude make your bed.

ellie sighed, already regretting everything. “i never make my bed, you guys know this by now” she grumbled, clicking into her discord anyway. the #stream-submissions channel lit up immediately. “alright. what are we working with today…”

she scrolled through hundreds of chats, stopping at the ones with the most reactions. first up was a photo of someone’s dog.

she squinted. “this is your… dog?” it’s a tiny, wet-looking chihuahua wrapped in a blanket like a human baby.

“that’s—okay, listen, i’m sure she’s very sweet. but she looks like kind of like a maggot? why the fuck are her eyes doing that.”

lootsluttt: LMFAOOOO v4nitymirror: SHE’S MY BABY ellieclips: you’re the maggot-looking one actually. princessp3ach: UR GOING TO HELL

she kept scrolling.

“okay, next up—dinner pic. we’ve got noodles, veggies… chicken? that’s chicken, right?” she tilted her head. “yeah, okay. this looks gas. eight out of ten. presentation is questionable, but i’d eat it.”

nerfventure: W DINNER flick_n_trick: it’s pad thai dumbass ecam96: NOT U CALLING IT UGLY NotElliesAlt: u’d eat anything tho

ellie glanced at chat and snorted. “okay, but i’m a growing girl, i’ve got a big appetite!”

elliesdischarge: i got something you can eat message deleted by a moderator. dusty_diamond: RATE MY SETUP PLSSSS I JUST POSTED IT sandydunez: okay so where’s the growing part tho?

next post. it was a tiktok.

she paused. “okay, wait. is this gonna get me banned like the last time?”

the video started playing anyway. one of those dramatic thirst edits. saweetie’s my type blasted in the background, and a slideshow began: a list titled in giant capital letters:

“THE HOTTEST WOMEN ON THE PLANET — RANKED.”

ellie raised a brow. “mmmkay. hot women, my specialty. let’s see who made the cut.”

#5 was some instagram model. she nodded approvingly. “valid…”

#4 was a streamer she knew—kind of annoying in real life. she wrinkled her nose. “mid. there’s better streamers out there, you know. ones that might be on your screen. like…right now. i dunno, just saying.”

#3 was that girl from a CW show that everyone insisted was underrated.

#2 was a picture of asami from nickolodeon’s the legend of korra.

she looked at the camera. “okay, but, like…deadass, why am i not on here? this one’s not even a real person?”

leilaniiii: GIRL BE FR nonbinarybullets: 💀💀💀 elliesyumyum: ur like top 17 at best tima0911: not everything is about you smelly.

she flipped off the camera, a grin tugging at her mouth. “you guys have no taste.”

and then—#1.

the music swelled. the tiktok cut to a clip of you.

it was casual, not even a thirst trap—just you in a tank top and sweats, talking to your chat, laughing at something off screen. it was one of those clips where someone was effortlessly attractive without trying, and ellie immediately leaned closer to her screen.

she blinked. “who even is that?”

whiffytiffany: NO WAY mikuirl: THAT’S MOTHER maybemaddie: HER @ IS pastaluvrrr NotElliesAlt: ELLIE BE SERIOUS

ellie’s brows pulled together, genuinely confused. “i’ve literally never seen her in my life. also her user is literally pasta lover. i’m supposed to be impressed?”

usuallylurkin: L + RATIO + SHE'S HOTTER THAN U ellieclips: ur username is smellie btw paine_45: she's like famous famous slaystation_: SHE’S SO GFFFF

she waved a dismissive hand and clicked off the video.

“never heard of her,” she muttered, already loading up fortnite. “anyways. queueing up squads. if you stream snipe and don’t let me win, you’re getting banned.”

it took approximately four hours.

four hours between ellie squinting at your face on stream and someone from her chat catching her lurking in your comment section.

the tiktok in question wasn’t even that serious. you’d filmed yourself in your bathroom mirror, hair half up, wearing one of those off-the-shoulder baggy t-shirts, mouthing along to some audio.

and right there, in the comments section, was ellie’s account:

@ smellie: “wait she’s kinda bad tho”

of course, one of her viewers immediately took a screenshot before ellie even had the chance to delete it. not that she would’ve. but still.

by midnight, the screenshot had already gone viral.

a photo post popped up on for you pages everywhere, featuring a zoomed-in screenshot of the comment with saweetie playing again in the background (naturally). the caption read:

“i think ellie figured out who she was.”

it had 70k likes within the hour.

and, of course—you reposted it.

the comments on the post immediately flooded with:

“OMG SHE REPOSTED” “not ellie switching up so fast” “ellie back up SHE’S MINE”

meanwhile, ellie’s discord exploded.

#general was moving so fast, the mods were genuinely worried:

smelly mod #7: sooooo @ smellie we saw the tiktok 😭

within minutes, ellie herself was typing.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: GUYS chill out omg smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: you’re literally blowing my street cred smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: also there was NOTHING wrong with what i said. she’s fine asf. i was simply making an observation

naturally, no one let her breathe.

ashieee: street cred????? wizard bupple: what streets u live in wyoming cuh ellie's gf #real #actually: remember when u didn’t know or care who she was

ellie attempted damage control.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: okay FIRST OF ALL, wyoming can get scrappy. i have plenty of cred. smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: and SECOND OF ALL. y’all clipped me out of context smelly mod #2: you literally said “who even is that” allyson.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱: in 4k babe. we got u in 4k

at some point, she just gave up.

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: i hate all of you smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: ok but if someone made very hot, sexy romantical edits of us tg i’d probably hate you a little less smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: #otp?! 🥺

smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: new drop just landed. ur welcome 😎 tiktok.com/smellie

it was… a thirst trap.

or her version of one, which meant it was shot in her kitchen with bad lighting and camera half-tilted, lip-syncing to some dumb audio while wearing a backwards hat.

before her regulars could even start roasting her for it, someone had already forwarded the message from #announcements to #general with a reply:

pastalover: nobody’s watching ts 🤣

the server went feral.

laffey ʚɞ: HELLO???? marisol (she/they): EXCUSE ME??? ellie's shift key: you mean to tell me she has been here the whole time??? smellie #1 streamer and pro fortnite player: YOU’RE IN HERE??????

ellie immediately direct messaged you.

smellie: you’ve been lurking like a freak smellie: you didn’t even say hi smellie: and THAT’S what you break the silence with??? pastalover: be grateful i even watched it enough to know it was cringe

and then, a day later, you went live.

a rare event. your streams weren’t regular—more like when you were bored and felt cute. your overlay was minimal. just chat, a little corner cam, and non-copyrighted lofi in the background.

you were doing a get ready with me stream, mid-eyeliner, when you glanced over at chat and smirked.

"yes, i saw ellie’s most recent tiktok. yes, i wish i hadn’t.” you said, voice lazy with disinterest. “she’s, like, obsessed with me.”

topnoodle44: MY OLD MARRIED COUPLE 🥰 0ping: BE SERIOUS ellieuseslightmode: ellie’s gonna faint altaccnumber26: she’s in chat rn btw iclutchforpastalover: she’s BEEN in chat

you paused.

“oh.” you looked at the camera with a raised brow. “she’s here? figures.”

ellie’s username popped up in chat two seconds later.

smellie: looking so good bestie 😳 smellie: drop the lip combo smellie: or come here and kiss me so i can try it on smellie: wait who said that-

you rolled your eyes. “i use a revlon lip liner in the shade mauve and then the elf lip oil in the shade jam session. not that these words would mean anything to you.”

smellie: blah blah blah. proper name, place name, backstory stuff.

you scoffed. “you’re unserious.”

mikuirl: just admit you kinda like her flirting maybemaddie: WAIT I LOVE THE ELF LIP OILS WE’RE SO TWINNINGGGG NotElliesAlt: ellie barely remembers chapstick LMAO chousey203: i can’t tell if you curve her bc you hate her or bc you like her

“actually, i’m doing a public service. her ego needs balance.”

smellie: my ego’s doing fine. it’s my heart that’s in danger.

laughing, you leaned into the camera. “see? she’s like… weirdly committed to the bit.”

smellie: this isn’t a bit 🧍‍♂️

you stared at the chat, deadpan. “sooo, yeah. back to the tutorial. mods, can someone time ellie out for 300 seconds.”

smellie: WTF message deleted by a moderator.

the entire interaction was timestamped, clipped, and in about 15 different tiktoks within minutes.

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: carrying @ pastaluvrrr in fortnite

“okay,” ellie said confidently, leaning so excitedly forward into her mic her voice came out slightly fuzzy and bass-boosted, “fortnite is all about communication. precision. teamwork. and—most importantly—aura. follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

“don’t you literally die first in every match?” you replied, sipping your drink without looking at the screen.

ellie scoffed. “i—okay, first of all, that’s slander. second of all, my KD ratio is… hold on…”

there was a pause as she scrambled to look it up.

“…okay, next topic” she mumbled after a beat. “ready up for me.”

ecam96: girl she gagged u elliesdischarge: ur trash but ur hot so it’s fine jmattsz: you’re both gonna get clapped in 2 minutes besosss: SHE SAID FOLLOW HER LEAD 😭

“wait,” you said as you readied up, “how do i do the little dance?”

ellie gasped. “oh my god. you don’t have any emotes.”

“i don’t play this game!”

“yeah, no kidding,” she muttered. “hold on. i’m gonna flex real quick.”

your screen suddenly showed her character cycling through a ridiculous line-up of skins—spider-man, ariana grande, peely in a tuxedo.

“i cannot believe you spend real life money on this shit,” you said flatly.

“hey! some of them are gifted, okay?”

“your chat literally hates you, babe. who is gifting you anything?”

“HEY.”

slaystation_: did i just hear "babe" 👀👀👀 macetotheface: she’s negging her ON STREAM ellieclips: ellie FIGHT BACK.

the game loaded in and she yelled at you to thank the bus driver like you had any idea how to do that or what she even meant. she picked some obscure landing spot and said “trust me” like she hadn’t already proven herself deeply untrustworthy.

you landed. broke open a chest. got a shotgun.

then immediately got shot in the back.

“oh my god,” you groaned. “ellie. help.”

ellie was halfway across the town, looting.

“you’re downed already?! hang on, hang on,” she said. “i’m coming. hey, don’t crawl away—wait.”

her character—bruno mars, she’d finally settled on—stood over you uselessly as the timer for the revive slowly ticked down.

“what are you waiting for, get me!”

“say please.”

“the fuck?”

“say 'pretty please with a cherry on top my most gracious streamer and fortnite carry god, ellie.'”

a beat.

you rolled your eyes, then smirked at the camera, clearing your throat and lilting breathily into your mic, “puhleeease, ellie?”

ellie stopped moving entirely, the tips of her ears going red in her grainy facecam. her character continued to stand there, unmoving.

“hello?” you prompted. “ellie?”

“sorry,” she said quickly, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. “uhhhh.. got distracted by something.”

v4nitymirror: KEEP IT TOGETHER. looten_scooten: ellie.exe has stopped working elliethrows4me: she’s in love ur honor

she revived you with shaking hands and zero cover, getting absolutely lit up right after by a sniper.

“WHY DID YOU MAKE ME SAY THAT IF YOU WERE JUST GONNA DIE?”

“i panicked!!”

you cackled as the enemy finished her off, her reboot card popping up with all her loot (a grey pistol and a fishing pole).

and then—something strange happened.

as you ran to hide behind a tree, fully expecting to die immediately, two other players—clearly stream snipers—ran up to you. instead of killing you, they dropped guns. medkits. ammo. one of them started building a small base around your body like a protective little guard dog.

“ummm,” you said slowly, “are these… fans? what’s happening here”

“what the hell?” ellie said from the death screen. “they literally murdered me and are now… escorting you?”

one of the players' characters emoted and blew a kiss to you.

you laughed so hard you snorted a little. “babe. i think i have a fan club.”

“this is fuckin’ rigged,” ellie muttered. “i die first and you get princess treatment?”

you turned your character in a circle, doing a default dance in return for their affection.

“okay,” she said, “they’re banned. all of them. from chat. for life.”

boostedbytenshi: THEY’RE PROTECTING HER 😭😭😭 ayayayaim: reveal yourselves in chat this is too funny elliebutinallcaps: jealous!ellie i fear sandydunez: actual carrying. ellie could never.

you made it to the top five before your guards were finally overwhelmed and killed. you screamed as you got sniped out of a bush.

“so close,” you groaned, slumping back in your chair.

ellie sounded smug. “see? told you you needed me.”

you raised a brow. “i outlived you by, like, eight minutes.”

“semantics.”

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: IRL OVERCOOKED w/ baeee (pastaluvrrr)

ellie’s kitchen wasn’t exactly equipped for a baking stream. one of the cameras was actually just her laptop with a built-in cam propped up on a couple of books, the $19.99 two-pack of cheap amazon microphones left much to be desired, and someone—ellie—had forgotten to actually buy half the ingredients before you flew in.

nevertheless, the chat was buzzing at the concept of seeing you and ellie actually interacting together, in-person.

“okay,” ellie said, clapping flour-covered hands together despite the recipe not even calling for flour, “welcome to my kitchen. today we’re making… brownies.”

“from a box,” you added.

“from the heart,” she corrected, nudging your hip with hers.

NotElliesAlt: “brownies” is code for sesbian lex isn’t it usuallylurkin: HELLO? THAT HIP BUMP elliesyumyum: when are y’all just gonna make out

you glanced at the recipe on the back of the box and back at the counter.

“you didn’t preheat the oven.”

“i—” ellie looked down. “i forgot.”

“ellie.”

“i got distracted.”

“by what?”

she looked at you. you stared back.

chat was going a mile a minute despite being on slow-mode.

“riiiiight,” you said slowly, turning to grab a mixing bowl like your pulse wasn’t suddenly doing backflips. “anyways. dry ingredients.”

ellie poured in the bagged mix way too fast, a cloud of dust puffing out from the bowl making you both cough.

"careful, ellie."

she laughed, leaning in to read chat, her face taking up half of the camera.

"holy jumpscare, could you get any closer?"

ellieuseslightmode: back up WE'RE SCARED topnoodle44: where are her sweats from theyre so cute :00 elliethrows4me: can we start a prediction on whether or not they'll burn the brownies

she just laughed, her eyes continuing to skim through the messages. "where are the sweats from?" she leaned back, moving to tug on the waistband of the pants you were wearing, "these are actually from my highschool, funny enough."

you pressed your lips together in a thin line, giving her a look. you hadn't exactly planned on letting chat know you were wearing her clothes and they were about to have a field day with the information.

there was a pause. then she cleared her throat, turned back to the camera, and grinned, "and my shorts are from nike!"

"alright. moving on. can we actually bake now?" you opened a cabinet, scanned it. “where are the chocolate chips?”

“should be in the pantry.”

you walked over and gave the pantry a brief glance-over. not there. “can’t find it.”

“lemme help,” ellie said.

she followed you off-camera, into the pantry.

which would’ve been fine.

except you were really close in there. the shelves were shallow, the door was half-closed, and neither of you had thought to flip the switch outside that turned the lightbulb on.

“what are we looking for again?” she asked, a rustle of plastic punctuating her words.

“chocolate chips. i literally said that ten seconds ago.”

you glanced up as she pushed further into the pantry beside you, her shoulder bumping yours. she didn’t move.

“you found them yet?” she asked, not really looking at the shelves anymore.

“no,” you said, quieter than you meant to.

she turned her head. now she was looking at you.

you swallowed. “getting distracted again?”

her lips quirked into a small smile. “yeah.”

you nodded. "me too."

and then she kissed you.

it was sudden—soft and unsurprisingly clumsy, her hand brushing your waist as her other arm bumped into the baking powder and nearly knocked it off the shelf. your back hit the wall with a dull thud as she licked into your mouth.

and your clipped-on microphones were definitely still recording everything.

NotElliesAlt: HELLO??? tima0911: WHAT AM I HEARING RN tryqt: LIPS. ARE. SMACKING. elliesdischarge: holy makeout elliebutinallcaps: THE MICS ARE ON YOU IDIOTS

when you came back into frame, cheeks flushed and mouth definitely more swollen than it had been before, ellie trailed behind you with the chocolate chips in hand and the cockiest little smirk on her face.

you avoided eye contact with the camera.

“soooooo,” you said, voice slightly higher than usual, “we found them!”

“yep,” ellie said casually, “took some digging. but we got there.”

v4nitymirror: TOOK SOME DIGGING IS CRAZY jmattsz: i can't believe i said i'd gift 20 subs when they finally hooked up and it actually happened on stream.

you coughed. “oven’s ready.”

you leaned over the sink, dabbing at the last of your eyeliner smudge with a cotton round. your reflection stared back—cheeks still hot, lips a little too swollen.

behind you, ellie was half-sprawled across the bed, scrolling idly on her phone.

“you always take this long to wash your face?” her voice was soft. teasing, but not unkind.

you met her eyes in the mirror. “yes. i've made multiple tiktoks about my routine. and i know you've watched all of them.”

she laughed and didn’t deny it. just rolled over onto her back, one arm slung behind her head. “will you do some skincare on me?"

you flicked the faucet off and reached for a towel. “what am i, your servant?"

“you’re sleeping in my bed,” she pointed out, lazily. "you ought to be nice to me."

you turned, towel pressed to your chin. “you invited me.”

“i did,” she agreed. the look she gave you was unmistakable—open, fond, a little reverent.

you padded over and tossed the towel onto your overnight bag. the air between you crackled. ellie’s gaze tracked you the entire way.

she scooted over. you climbed in beside her.

there was a pause. your shoulder brushed hers. then, her fingers found your wrist under the covers, a gentle tap like a question.

you turned to face her. “you gonna be annoying if i kiss you again?”

her smile was slow and stupid and something close to relieved. “probably.”

you kissed her anyway.

this one lasted longer. and the next, even longer. not rushed, not frantic—just deliberate. exploratory. like neither of you were in a hurry now that the door had been opened.

her hand found your thigh. your knee nudged between hers.

she pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours. voice low, barely more than a breath: “i really like you.”

you blinked. something in your chest cracked open.

“yeah?” you whispered.

she nodded, eyes searching yours. “yeah. like… not just for streams or clips or whatever. i mean it.”

you smiled, soft and crooked. “good,” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. then to her jaw. “'cause i kinda really like you too," you muttered, continuing to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

she let herself sink back into the pillows as you shifted to straddle her, hands coming up to rest on your waist. "t-that's.... that's good. perfect. ideal, honestlaaah fuck—" the grip she had on your hipbones grew tighter as you sucked at a particularly sensitive spot on her collarbone.

"you've got such a way with words, smellie."

"fuck off," she breathed out. "don't bring up stream shit when you're in bed with me."

"whatcha gonna do about it?"

she grunted, sliding one of her hands in between both of you to wiggle it underneath your sleep shorts. you gasped, feeling her fingers press up against the wet cotton of your underwear. "that. i'm gonna do that."

you reached down to grip her wrist and re-direct her hand so she was actually touching you beneath the fabric, "well, do a little more."

she groaned, her fingers sliding through the slick that met her there. "fuuuck, that's hot. guiding my hands 'n shit."

you huffed out a laugh that melded into a moan as her fingers fell into a quick pace, tight circles on your clit. "why are you— oh shit justlikethatyeah.." you gulped in a breath before continuing, "why are you fuckin' narrating our hookup right now?"

the angle was a little awkward and she could feel something in her wrist clicking with every swirl of her fingers but she would rather keel over and croak than stop right now.

the pain was irrelevant. especially when you were sitting up slightly to slide your t-shirt up and off and grab desperately at your own tits, manicured thumbs flicking nipples gone taut from the sudden temperature change.

and when you whined out a "fuuuck, ellie!" all tight and wiry and even better than she'd imagined on countless nights alone in that same bed with her hands shoved beneath her boxers, she couldn't help but nuzzle her head clumsily at your chest, nudging your hand away from your right breast with her forehead so she could replace your tugging fingers with her mouth.

your hips jerked forward and the now-free hand latched onto her shoulder for balance as you cried out, her lips pulling and teeth nicking just slightly before she soothed the peak with soft laps of her tongue.

"you like 'em played with, huh?" you could feel the vibration of her mumbling against the flesh of your boob.

"stop fucking talking, ellie. this is sex, not one of those slutty fanfictions people have been writing about us." you punctuated your words with fast firm rolls of your hips, now grinding your puffy clit into her palm as she fucked two long fingers steadily into you.

"yeah, well there's gonna be a whole lot more of those after that little stunt we pulled on stream earlier."

"i thought you said no stream talk in bed— ohhh, oh god. shit— fuck, 'm close."

"yeah? you gonna cum for me?" she was panting, damp puffs of air against your nipple interrupted occasionally by a haphazard suck or nibble. her wrist—aching by now—swiveled as her began to curl her fingers inside of you with purpose, the heel of her hand rubbing firmly against you.

"keep goin'— fuck keep talkin' to me. please don't stop."

"thought you wanted me to shut up? thought you said this wasn't some smutty one-shot, huh?"

the hand gripping her shoulder slid around to the base of her neck. you grabbed purchase on the short hairs there, tugging as she whimpered into you. "ellie if you don't talk me through it right now i sweartogod—"

"alright, alright! i gotcha, baby. cum for me. thaaaaat's it."

a loud moan punched out of you. “shit—fuck— 'm cumming.” your other palm left your own chest to clasp over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your sounds and she quickly moved the hand that was urging your twitching hips to grab your wrist and pull it away.

"hey, none of that. talking is encouraged now, remember?

"shut up." you gritted out through a groan, your hips jerking as your teeth caught on your bottom lip.

"alright, nevermind. not encouraged. copy that."

you tugged on her hair again to mash your lips together, effectively silencing her and sagging bonelessly against her as you came down from your high.

when the both of you finally parted, you looked down to see her mouth slack, head tilted back, and eyes so hazy you'd think she was the one who just came.

she blinked blearily up at you. "you're even bossier in bed than you are regularly. it's so sexy."

"if i hadn't told you to shut up so many times already, i would say it again."

she laughed out loud at that and you couldn't help but giggle back.

"how about i shut you up instead, yeah? put that mouth to work?"

you learned very quickly that she tended to be kind of squirmy when she was on the receiving end. it was as if she was unable to sit still in the onslaught of pleasure. honestly, it modeled how she was normally, always kind of twitchy and buzzing with energy.

you knew on future nights, you were going to revel in the experience of holding her down, pinning bucking hips to the mattress or firming your grasp on shaking thighs to keep them spread apart.

tonight, instead, you basked in the push and pull, chasing her with your mouth when she wriggled away and groaning in pleasure when she tugged you closer by your hair.

and when you slipped into a particularly good rhythm, hollowing your cheeks with every perfect pull of her clit into your mouth and lashing your tongue at the swollen nub, her hands scrambled to find purchase on something. anything. your sex-mussed hair, unraveled from the neat up-do you had put it in to prepare for bed. your bare, sweat-damp shoulders. and, finally, the perpetually messy sheets below her.

her left leg kicked out and she dug her heel into the mattress for leverage to thrust her hips up and up and up into you, her lower half rising so high you had to pull her by her bony hipbones back down so you could maintain the suction.

"fuuuh– ah, shit. i think i'm gonna—" she was propped up on her elbows now, fluttering eyes focused on you with a desperate gleam to them.

you worked her over with your mouth earnestly, keeping steady eye contact as she lifted a trembling hand, moving as if she was going to pull your head closer, bury your face even deeper in her.

but then those same eyes rolled back into her skull as she flopped back down, the hand falling to grip the sheets once again.

"fuck'mgonnacumbaby" she garbled out and the sight of her chest arching up made her tits look so pretty under her thin white tank top, you wished you had a free hand to reach up and tweak a nipple.

she let out a high-pitched, whispery whine that petered out into silence.

for a couple seconds, all that could be heard was the slurps as you lapped at her, and the hum of the fans from her pc in the corner of her room.

and then—

muffled groans as the strength of her closing thighs finally broke the grip you had on them and pressed against your ears. she wasn't good at staying still, but, apparently, she was even worse when she came, her body folding in on itself as she jerkily fucked her hips up into the heat of your mouth.

you let her fuck your face, your blunt nails dragging red lines down the sides of her thighs. the slight sting of pain grounded her, helping her ride out the waves and stopping her from getting too overwhelmed in the throes of an orgasm.

pulling your head back slightly, you alternated between soft, sticky kisses to her inner thighs and kitten licks at her entrance, cleaning her up and soothing her at the same time as she caught her breath.

"fuck. c'mere."

trembling hands cupped your face as she weakly tugged you toward her. you let her, shifting to settle into her side and throw a leg over her own. she sighed, wrapping her arm around you, pulling you even closer.

"whaaat?" she whined, craning her neck to glare when she felt you giggle. "why’re you laughin' at me?"

"because i know you’re about to try and convince me to go to sleep without washing my face again. and you know i can’t do that."

she didn’t answer — just flopped her head back on the pillow and shut her eyes tight, fake snoring loudly.

"ellie," you warned.

"can't talk. too busy snoozin'."

"my face is a mess, ellie. my hair too.”

"yeah, well. maybe you should've thought about this before you made me cum so hard i couldn't breathe. i absolutely can not move now, let alone clean up!"

you sighed, pushing yourself up off the bed — or trying to. the arm she had wrapped around you tightened in protest.

“ellie, seriously.”

“you can’t move either! i want you to stay. please? pretty please with a cherry on top my most gracious streamer and fortnite carry god?”

you shot her a glare and she grinned, clearly sensing how flimsy your resolve was.

“just five more minutes. then we’ll get up. wash our faces, brush our teeth. hell, i’ll even floss for you tonight, baby. bought those little sticks you’re always ranting about in those hygiene haul videos and everything.”

you huffed. wiped the back of your hand across the bottom half of your face like it would do anything. huffed again.

“fine. but seriously. five minutes. then we’re going.”

you woke up the next morning with a sticky face, ellie drooling on your collarbone, and your phone nearly buzzing off the nightstand from the amount of notifications you'd received post-stream.

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: eating victory crowns for breakfast 🥱

she was streaming fortnite the next morning, acting like nothing had happened. hoodie up, drawstrings pulled tighter than usual to ensure the hickeys you’d sucked into her skin the night before were thoroughly hidden.

she was focused—well, pretending to be—talking about the latest installment of some comic she was obsessed with while looting in-game and ignoring the onslaught of questions in chat.

elliebutinallcaps: WHERE IS SHE?? NotElliesAlt: so you’re avoiding the MASSIVE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM? elliesdischarge: she’s kneeling under the desk, be honest message deleted by moderator macetotheface: she’s prob busy making breakfast in ur hoodie altaccnumber29: blink twice if ur post-nut right now message deleted by moderator

“okay, so—” she was mid-rant when she paused, squinting at the chat. “jesus. y’all are crazy today. can we just play the game?”

messages were flying so fast her eyes couldn’t keep up:

ellieuseslightmode: BRING HER BACKKKKKK ellieclips: we literally heard the makeout. you cannot gaslight us. v4nitymirror: wait did she leave?? is she even still there 😭 maybemaddie: GUYS WHAT IF THEY FOUGHT AFTER. what if it was a drunk kiss and now it’s awkward.

she was sorting through her load-out after an intense fight she nearly lost against a surfer jonesy when it happened:

pastaluvrrr: hiiiii girlfriend 😽

she froze.

the click of her mouse stopped mid-action. the corner of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to react, but the flush across her face betrayed her instantly.

“oh my god,” she mumbled, shrinking into her hoodie. “why are you like this.”

chat, consequently, blew the fuck up.

elliesyumyum: GIRLFRIEND????? GIRLFRIEND. tima0911: please say this vod will be on youtube. PLEASE. elliethrows4me: NOOOOO SHE TOOK MY BITCH tryqt: not the hard launch via twitch chat LMAOOOO ayayayaim: SOMEONE CLIP THIS ellieclips: OH MY FUCKING GOD???

ellie tilted back in her chair, red spreading all the way down her neck. “i dunno why she’s lurking in chat when she’s literally downstairs,” she muttered, trying (and failing) to sound unbothered.

on cue, soft footsteps padded into the room. then came your voice, faint off-screen:

“i was making a matcha.”

the camera unfocused and refocused as you leaned into frame and planted a wet kiss on her mouth.

no warning. just one hand on her shoulder, the other still holding your drink. it was passionate, unashamed, and unnecessarily long.

“does that answer everyone’s questions?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

ellie blinked at you, dazed. then turned to chat—

only to see her character had died while she was busy making out with you.

“awesome,” she mumbled, cheeks ruddy. “you got me killed. hope you’re proud of yourself.”

jmattsz: holy tomato face mikuirl: THEYRE SO GROSS I LOVE THEM looten_scooten: i just took so many screenshots im out of storage iclutchforpastalover: MAMA Y PAPA

you breezed out of frame again like nothing had even happened. ellie cleared her throat. “okay. uhhhh, alright... so!”

chousey203: any day now…. elliebutinallcaps: SPIT IT OUT GIRL ecam96: 100% just creamed her pants message deleted by a moderator slaystation_: DUDE UR SO RED

“mods please,” she begged, hiding her face in her hands. “put chat in emote only. i’m not doing this.”

topnoodle44: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 boostedbytenshi: 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 usuallylurkin: 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩💓🍑🍆💦 ellieuseslightmode: 😘😘👁️👁️

this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!

[omgliz]

cowboy like me

cowboy!ellie williams x texan!reader

you meet ellie while traveling across 1800s western america and she shows you a thing or two about how to survive, cowbgirl style.

or

after meeting your first masc lesbian you'll never love again.

wc 3.8k

warnings probably horribly inaccurate depictions of cowboys. guns, briefly. dry humping/thigh riding (woohoo) (both!receiving). fingering (r!receiving). unresolved ending (sorry).

the first time you saw her, she was barely visible beneath her wide-brimmed hat. you had thought she was a man. the leader of her group, who you now know to be joel, had stopped yours. you remember your father telling you to go wait with the other women. you should have been scared. a pack of armed, skilled riders approaching a cattle-wielding group usually meant robbery. but you weren’t listening to your father or feeling afraid because at the same moment she was pulling the bandana from her nose and tucking it under her chin. 

instead of harsh lines and facial hair, she was soft. a sloping nose and full lips. it was hard to make out the fine details of her face, still partially shielded with her hat but you had seen enough to be intrigued. 

you listened, but not listened, to your father and joel exchange conversation. joel’s offer to help herd your cattle for a price, your father recalling how your group was headed north from texas. when they came to an agreement you deemed it safe to approach the girl. 

you led your horse towards her, breaking the invisible barrier between the groups.

“you’re a woman.” you pointed out. 

“yes, ma’am.” she replied, she rested her hands on the horn cap of her saddle. her twangy accent matched your own.

“but you’re wearing men’s clothin’.” your eyes drifted from her face, taking in the way her work shirt and chaps clung to her frame. 

“yes ma’am.” she was grinning now. up this close you could see the green in her eyes. the freckles that splattered her face.

“why?” there was no malice in your question, just curiosity. back in the city there were no women like her, it would be blasphemous. 

“well, wearin’ skirts and such makes my job harder than it needs to be.”

you looked down at your own blush colored attire. you’d never considered there was a solution to your struggle of riding in a dress. “you’re a cowboy?”

she nodded, “you’re a city girl?”

you nodded, “but we’re goin’ to build a cattle farm in wyoming, so i suppose i’m not anymore.”

“well, city girl, how much do you know about cattle farmin’?”

“nothin’.” you admitted.

you watched as her eyes slowly slid down your body and back up to meet your own. you made a point to sit a bit straighter in your saddle, “since i’ll be hangin’ round for a while, why don’t i teach you some?”

“i’d like that.” 

joel called out to her, motioning for her to come join in the conversation he was having 

“my name’s ellie.” you repeated it back to her and you told her your name. she steered her horse towards the group. “i’ll see ya round, city girl.”

the next week was blistering hot, the confinement of your corset and skirts made the heat almost unbearable. the group had to take many, many breaks to water the cattle and horses. it was during one of these breaks ellie decided you should know how to shoot a gun. in case bandits come, she’d whispered teasingly in your ear as she led you away from the group.

so the two of you stood in a clearing downstream. ellie had instructed you to aim at a lone, dead tree. 

you held the pistol out in front of you. “like this?”

“if you wanna get knocked on your ass. it’s small but it has more kickback than you’d expect.” she comes up behind you and gently guides your left arm up so it can reinforce the gun.

“use two hands. you have more control that way.” you can feel the tickle of her breath hitting the side of your neck.

you readjust your hold on the weapon and you feel her palms rest on the small of your waist.

“now, put one foot out in front of you so you’ll be able to absorb some of the impact.”

you do as she says, inching your right foot slightly in front of your body.

“good. fire it when you’re ready.” 

it takes a second to build up the courage but you press down on the trigger and watch as a hole seemingly appears in the tree. the blow is more intense than you would have thought and you stumble back into ellie. her grip on your waist tightens and she’s catching you before you really fall. 

“well look at that!” she giggles into your ear. “you’re practically a real-life cowboy.” 

you turn around, laughing. impressed by yourself and doubtful of her comment. “not a real cowboy, yet. you still need to teach me how to actually herd cows.”

you hand over her pistol and her fingers brush against yours as takes it. the touch makes you feel tingly all the way up to your shoulder.

“i will, one day.” she looks back at the river, then at you. she has a mischievous look that you’ve come to recognize means trouble. “how ‘bout now we go swimming?”

you nod, feet already moving towards the water.

when you reach the riverbank ellie is making quick work of her heeled boots and hat. then her shirt. then her pants.

you feel your face heat. not because of the temperature. she was naked in front of you, milky skin almost glowing in the sunlight. the freckles that decorated her face covered her body. her shoulders and back. her thighs. 

the water must be cold because her nipples are perked up. your eyes slide down her chest to her abdomen, then further. you don’t realize you’re staring until she calls out to you.

“havin’ a hard time gettin’ undressed?” her tone is teasing, she’s squinting in the midday sunlight. caught. 

“i’m comin’! i have a lot more layers to take off than you.” your hands work at the strings of your dress and then your underclothes. once you’re bare you step into the river. the water is freezing.

“it’s cold.” you grumble.

when you look up ellie is up to her shoulders. “c’mon, i know you’re not that soft.”

you puff something under your breath that she can’t quite hear and slowly trudge out to her. 

you’ve almost reached her and smile, “i made it. you happy now?”

she smirks and swims back a few feet, “nah you’ve got a bit to go.”

“ellie!” you paddle out to her and she swims back again. 

“you’re too slow, you gotta be faster.” she’s still facing you, just leisurely pushing the water back with her arms. 

“you’re so annoying!” the two of you go back and forth for a while, she swims away while you chase her. eventually you get close enough to grab her ankle, and with strength that surprises her a bit, you yank her towards you.

“hey!” she giggles. 

“stop swimmin’ away from me!” you complain half-heartedly.

she laughs at your pout, “but you’re so much fun to tease.”

you go to shove her but she catches your hand. this time it’s her who’s pulling you closer. you’re in each other’s space, you could count the freckles on her face from here. you can feel her breath on your lips. she’s flushed but you tell yourself it’s probably just a sunburn. 

her eyes flicker between your own. you swear you see them dart down to your mouth for a beat before returning to your eyes. she’s so, so close. you want to devour her. or maybe for her to devour you. you’re not sure but you’re aching for her. you lean in just a bit, just to see if she’d pull away. when she doesn’t, your eyes meet her again. silently asking permission. she nods and you’re closing the gap when you two hear your names.

you separate an inch, startled. joel’s on his horse on the edge of the water, “girls we’re gonna get goin’ soon. better come back now.”

ellie nods, “we’ll be right there, joel!” he nods and turns back towards the group. if he saw what was happening he thankfully didn't let on.

ellie’s still got a grip on your hand, “we should get dressed.”

“yeah.” you croak out.

the walk back to the group is silent, but you’re too busy watching the way water droplets from her hair soak into her shirt to care.

the next day you’re looking up at the sky, watching a flock of birds flutter by when you hear her voice all honey-like, “what’s so interestin’ up there?”

“the birds.” you smile, “can you imagine? just getting to go anywhere you want? any time you want?”

“yeah, i can, actually.” her horse falls into step with yours as you both giggle.

the silence between you two is comfortable. the wind blowing in your hair and horse hooves on the ground help to sooth some of the giddy, anxious feeling you have being in her presence. neither of you make a move to talk about your swim yesterday.

“y’know i was thinkin’, if you want to really learn how to herd cattle we might have to get you a pair of trousers.” when you turn to her in excitement you see she’s already watching you. her big, hopefully eyes staring into yours.

“really?” you ask.

“yeah, i mean, with a group this size i’m sure we can find a pair that would fit. and while we’re looking for them we can see if anyone’s got a pair of boots i can borrow.” she lifts of her foot from the stirrup so you can see the sole of her shoe partially fallen off.

“you have ulterior motives! usin’ me for your own good.” you pretend to scoff and cross your arms.

“i’d never!” 

you and ellie make it your task for the day, find you trousers and her new boots. wandering next to families, asking if they have pants or shoes to spare. you get many, many weird looks but eventually you’re successful.

you see ellie’s horse walking towards you and you meet her halfway. “any luck findin’ pants?” she asks.

“no,” you pull a pair of skillfully made boots from behind your back, “but i found you some boots!” you toss them to her and she catches them midair. 

she takes a moment to admire them, then says, “so sweet bringin’ me presents. almost makes me think you like me.”

“well we can’t have that. give ‘em back.” you tease.

“i got you somethin’ too.” she passes you a pair of pants and you feel your grin growing.

 you wait for the group to stop during a watering break to change. ellie lends you one of her workshirts and you’re rushing to put the outfit on to show her.

“what’dya think?” you twirl for her. your outfit is not “fully cowboy” by any means, your boots are not as heeled as ellie’s and the pants feel foreign. 

she laughs, “you don’t look like a city girl anymore.” 

“now i just need a hat!” you muse.

ellie takes her own from her head and plops it onto yours. you dip it and lean over in a mock bow. “thank you, ma’am.” you lay your southern drawl on thick, so it’s closer to ellie’s.

“c’mon, let’s go herd those cows.” she spins away from you and toward your horses to hide her smile.

the two of you trot your way to the back of your group, towards the cattle.

“hey, kiddo.” joel spots ellie.

“hi, joel,” she nods her head to you, still wearing her hat, “my student for today.”

he chuckles a little, “you girls be careful.”

ellie is riding past him and shouts out, “always! you know i’ll shoot any robbers before they shoot me!”

you watch as the old man shakes his head. 

“that girl is the reason for all this grey.” he points to his hair, “keep her in line for me.” he winks.

“i’ll try my best.” you tell him and follow ellie.

the two of you follow behind the cattle, ellie tells you this part is easy, just hang back and don’t let any cows wander from the group.

so that’s what you do, watching the cattle. all day. it turns out to be incredibly fucking boring to watch cows walk but you did it with ellie. she tells you she’s technically an orphan and met joel when she was fourteen. she says that he’s taught her everything she knows. 

that night was warm, not like the overbearing heat that suffocated you but pleasant, balmy.

families stayed out past dark, gathered around campfires. you spotted a lone campfire, far from the others and knew it was ellie. you made your way over, pants rustling in the tall grass.

her head was tilted back to look at the night sky when you approached and she jumped when you said, “don’t you get lonely out here by yourself?”

“nah, i like the quiet.” she patted the ground next to her, motioning for you to sit.

“am i disturbing your quiet?” you lowered yourself next to her. your knees brushed hers when you adjusted your position.

she shook her head, “i was thinkin’ about you anyways.”

“oh,” you felt a smile creep onto your face, “what’dya thinkin’ about?”

“nothin’.” she was grinning and breathless when she said it.

she looks up again, “d’you think there’s somethin’ out there?”

you follow her gaze up to the stars, “in the sky?”

“in space. like people, i mean.” she whispers.

“i dunno. maybe,” you pull your gaze away from the stars and back to ellie. you trace her profile with your eyes. her thick brows, the right one scarred (you note to ask her how she got it). mossy green eyes that are still watching space. the slope of her nose that leads to full pink lips, the ones that you got so close to tasting.

“i do.” you watch her lips as she speaks, how they move around her words, “i’m gonna go up there some day.”

you giggle, “what? how?”

“my horse! shimmer and i are gonna find space people!” she chuckles and finally her eyes meet yours. or they would have if you weren’t still looking at her lips. when you realize you were caught staring you meet her eyes. you feel your face heat up, the tips of your ears burning. before you can apologize her lips are grazing yours.

it’s a light, barely-even-there, kiss but it makes your belly flutter. you lean in and connect your lips further. ellie lets out a shaky breath. you pull away an inch, checking to make sure she’s okay but her hands are catching your face and pulling you back in. you gasp into her mouth, she takes your bottom lip into her mouth sucks. it makes you ache, heat pooling between your legs. you grab the sides of her face and pull her in even closer. you brush your tongue against her mouth and she opens for you. it’s messy, all teeth and tongue. 

you’re still sitting next to each other and the positioning is awkward, top halves of your bodies twisted and lower halves facing forward. you move so you’re straddling one of her thighs, your own leg sliding in between hers. you thank whatever higher power is out there for the trousers you were wearing.

the two of you are shameless, you grinding down into her and her hips bucking up into you. her lips leave yours and move down to your neck. at the same time your hands go wandering down to her chest. you brush your hands against her pebbled nipples and her mind goes fuzzy, whining into the crook of your shoulder.

“oh my god.” you’re gasping when she moves her thigh and it grazes your clit just right. 

you’re still groping her tits when her mouth moves to your ear, lips brushing against your skin when she whispers, “please let me touch you.” her accent is thicker right now, all rasp.

you nod, your hands already reaching for the button on pants. she helps you to lay on the ground and positions herself on your thigh. you feel her grind down on your leg as she sticks her hand down the front of your pants. her fingers are calloused from years of outdoor labor but gentle as she brushes them against your clit. you wrap a hand around her wrist, not stopping or guiding her, just needing something to hold on to.

her hips are still moving against your thigh and she’s panting as she grinds down on it. her fingers drift further down to your entrance. 

“i can?” she asks into your shoulder.

“yeah- please.” and you arch as she works them in so, so slowly. she uses her palm to keep friction on your clit as she curls her fingers inside.

your own hands find their way to her back, digging into the skin there. you kiss your way up her neck, sloppy and uncoordinated now.

“harder, please.” you whine and she obliges. 

her grinding speeds up and you can feel the heat from between her legs through your pants. “gonnacum.” she says fast and jumbled.

you moan in response and it seems to push her over the edge. her hand stalls for a moment, too lost in her own pleasure before regaining the pace she had. her head rests on your shoulder as she gasps.

you feel your own peak building, the pressure behind your clit becoming almost too much.

“ellie! i-” the words get lost, turning to mush in your brain.

“i know, i know.” her lips graze you collarbones.

and that familiar blinding bliss washes over you, overpowering your senses. your thighs squeeze her hand as they twitch. your chests heaving into teacher as you both try to catch your breath. it takes you a moment to come down and when you do you’re looking up at the stars.

“am i invited?” you ask, voice a little hoarse from overuse.

“what?” she lifts her head up from your shoulder.

“when you go to space with shimmer. can i come too?”

she’s chuckling, her eyes look like they’re full of stars, like the sky above you, “yeah you can come, baby. we’ll start a cattle farm on the moon.”

summer comes and goes. the sun is no longer beating over you and you arrive in wyoming, in a small settlement called jackson. joel and ellie help your family build a home and barn for your farm. you’re sitting under a tree in your new backyard watching joel and your father chop wood for winter.

ellie’s head rests in your lap, she’s going on dinosaurs, telling you how they roamed earth millions of years ago just like she does. one her hands holds yours and the other traces your fingernails and knuckles. 

“y’know, you don’t have to roam.” you watch her fingers, how they stop moving on your hand.

“what’dya mean?” she asks.

“you could stay here. in jackson. with me.” you brush a stray hair from her face, “help me raise cattle. harden me up to be a cowboy like you.”

she’s quiet for a while, her eyebrows scrunch a bit and you have the urge to smooth the line between them. “you know i can’t do that.”

“well why not?” 

“because,” she sits up, “it’s just not me.”

“what’s not you?” you feel your own brows tug towards each other.

“settlin’ down. stayin’ in one place.”

“maybe it could be.” you shrug, “you’d be doin’ the same thing out there that you are here. herding cattle, breeding horses.”

she shakes her head, “you don’t get it.”

“no, i don’t. how’s it any different?” you want her to explain it, you want to understand but she scoffs and stands up. 

“i just- i don’t belong here, you hear the way people talk about me.” sure, you’d heard some of the women–prim and proper in their tightly cinched corsets–calling her names, saying awful things but what did they matter?

“who cares about them?” 

she shakes her head, leaving you sitting at the tree. she walks to where joel stands, still chopping wood, says something to him and pushes past one of the newly built fences. he looks to you with a frown and it stings.

you don’t see much of ellie after that, quick glimpses when she thinks you’re not around. seeing her groom horses on your way back from trading. watching her finish building the stables from your bedroom window.

one day your father tells you joel and ellie left town, gone back to texas to meet more cattle farmers to bring north.

TEN YEARS LATER

you’ve dug up just about every square inch of your room looking for some book your mother needed right this moment. in a last resort you duck your head to see under your bed. trunks of old notebooks, clothing, and other clutter. What catches your attention are a pair of old boots. her old boots. covered in ten years of dust but just as you remember them, sole still falling off one of the toes. you think of her now, her auburn hair, the freckles like stars, splattered over her body, gentle hands. so different from anyone you’d known before. who you’d probably ever know.

you hadn’t seen her since she walked off your ranch all those years ago. you wonder about her now, was she still herding cows? was she killed by bandits? had she settled down?

that night you sit by the candlelight at your desk, pen and paper in hand...

dear, ellie,

i know this letter will never reach you. even if i had a place to send it i’m not sure you’d open it. i still feel compelled to write to you. 

i think about you, still out on the open lands riding shimmer. i think about you wielding your pistol, too arrogant to think anyone could ever touch you. sometimes i worry you were too cocky and found yourself in trouble you couldn’t get out of. shamefully, this isn’t what troubles me most. my biggest fear is that you might have stopped cowboying and now live under one roof with another girl. that i was the reason you left, not jackson or settling down.

i think about you when i look up at the stars. when i collect water from the river. when i hear hooves trotting through town.

sometimes i’m glad you left. if you stayed, i know i would forever be distracted from my chores. i’d use all my energy to make you laugh, to see you smile. sometimes i’m glad i get to keep the ellie i knew in my head. i don’t have to see turn grey from your own children as joel has with you or wither away in old age. 

i’m always hoping for your return, though. always hoping i’ll see you when i walk into town to trade. hoping i’ll see the top of your hat approaching the house from my window. hoping i’ll walk into the saloon and hear you singing with joel.

forever waiting for you,

your city girl

TAGLIST @darkdanixoxo @sabrinathewitch982 @sillypuppy77 @ravyaryn @getoe1s @vampirebrewsss @soldemiel @queenofconeyisland222 @pxgeturner @carefullyominouslegacy @slutforabbyanderson @porcelainmystery

[omgliz]

my pazzi heart bro

[omgliz]

this is how i imagine streamer!ellie williams btw

[omgliz]

𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which love didn’t deserve to be hidden

The last bell rang like it always did—too sharp, too sudden, too loud. But you didn’t flinch. You never did when Paige was the one waiting outside the door.

She stood just across the hall, leaned against the lockers in her Huskies hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, blonde hair tied back like she’d just come from the gym—which she probably had. Her eyes found yours the second you stepped out. Her smile was small, private. The kind meant only for you.

You hadn’t even said anything yet, but she was already grabbing your hand like she’d missed you after twenty four hours of barely being apart.

“You hungry?” she asked, the way she always did.

“Only if you’re paying.”

She rolled her eyes. “I always do.”

You had a diner you both claimed as yours—not because it was particularly special, but because it was halfway between both your houses, and they never carded if Paige wanted to order a milkshake laced with something extra on cold nights.

You sat in the corner booth like always. Paige took the inside so you could stretch your legs across her lap. She absentmindedly played with the hem of your jeans as you talked about nothing—teachers, finals, her points in last night’s game, your latest track mix.

But underneath it all was this tension. Not bad. Not heavy. Just… something pressing up from beneath everything, begging to be said.

Paige was the one to say it.

“So,” she murmured, still twirling the string of your hoodie between her fingers, ���we’re both eighteen.”

You knew where she was going before she even looked up at you.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

She took a breath. “And I’ve been thinking about something.”

You tilted your head, giving her that soft, teasing smile she always said made her weak. “Thinking’s dangerous.”

She didn’t smile back this time. She just looked at you. Really looked. And your heart flipped.

“I wanna marry you,” she said. You blinked. “Not later. Not someday,” she continued, her voice quiet but steady. “Now. Before everything else gets big. Before UConn and cameras and agents and expectations. I want… us first.”

You stared at her. Your hand twitched beneath hers. “You serious?”

She nodded. “I know it’s crazy. I know we’re young. But I’ve loved you since we were fourteen and I don’t want a life where I have to pretend I don’t.”

You didn’t answer right away. The waitress came by, dropped off the milkshake, and Paige barely noticed.

You did. You took a slow sip. Set it down. Then you reached across the table, took her hand in yours, and said, “Where do we go?”

You didn’t tell anyone except your closest friends and your families and even then, it took convincing. Paige’s mom cried not because she was upset. Your mom hugged you so tight you almost forgot how to breathe. Your older sister teased you about it for a week, then gave you the necklace you’d wear down the aisle.

The wedding was in the back room of a county office. No flowers or music. Just the two of you, hands tightly clasped, rings you bought at the mall, and the vows you’d written in the parking lot five minutes before.

She whispered her last words just before you kissed her, “You’re always gonna be my home.”

And you didn’t cry, not there, not until later, when you were curled into her side in your childhood bedroom, the door locked and your phones off, both of you whispering “we did it” like kids who’d just stolen candy from a store.

That night, she fell asleep with your wedding ring pressed to her lips. And you fell asleep memorizing the rise and fall of her breath.

You didn’t know what would come next. But for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel scared of the future. You felt like it had finally started.

The first week of June came with heat that stuck to your skin no matter how many showers you took.

You and Paige were home for the summer after your first year at UConn, back in Minnesota, crashing at your childhood house because her family’s place was overflowing with cousins. Your mom had taken a week off work to cook everything Paige loved and subtly remind you both that air conditioning was expensive, so to stop leaving the windows open.

But your favorite part of the summer wasn’t the food. It wasn’t the quiet nights in your backyard, curled up in a hammock, sharing earphones.

It was the mornings.

Because for once, there was no practice, no homework, no press, no deadlines. You woke up to the soft hum of a ceiling fan and the low murmur of Paige’s voice reading news on her phone. She always let you sleep a little longer. You’d roll over, bury your face in her shirt, and she’d kiss your temple without fail.

That morning, she was tracing the lines on your arm, her voice soft.

“I had a weird dream.”

You hummed, half-asleep. “About what?”

“You,” she said simply. “And me. And a little girl. We were walking down the street in matching outfits. She had my eyes.”

Your eyes blinked open.

You shifted just enough to look at her. “Your eyes?”

She nodded. “Yeah. But she talked like you. Bossy as hell.”

You laughed sleepily. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

Paige was quiet for a moment. And then she said the thing that changed everything.

“I kinda want that. Soon.”

You blinked. “You mean like… someday?”

She shook her head. “I mean soon. Like… not next week. But not ten years from now either.”

You sat up a little. “You’re serious?”

She met your gaze, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I know we’re still young. I know we’re not even halfway through college yet. But… we’ve already been married for over a year. We’ve got our own place. I’ve already got more than enough money to provide. I feel like I’ve lived three lifetimes with you already. And I want her to see that. I want our kid to grow up with it. With us. With everything we’re building.”

The thought hit harder than you expected.

Because you hadn’t really let yourself go there. Your world had been about balance, handling your studies, keeping your marriage private, supporting Paige through the chaos of early fame, and building your own path. A quieting meaningful path.

You were interning in pediatric physical therapy at the time. Working with kids who were learning to walk again, move again, breathe again. It was quiet work, but you loved it. You loved how healing was slow, deliberate, full of patience and gentleness.

You had that gentleness, too. Paige always told you so.

“I want that too,” you admitted. “But how would we even start?”

And that’s how it began.

With a shared blanket. With tangled legs and early morning breath. With laptops open and tabs pulled up on donor options and IVF procedures. With you pointing at one clinic in Hartford that had strong LGBTQ+ support ratings. With her clicking the bookmark icon like it made things real.

You decided, together, that you’d carry.

It made the most sense. Paige’s schedule didn’t stop. Yours could adjust. And maybe, deep down, you always knew your body was ready to hold something made of both your love and someone kind enough to give you the rest.

You didn’t tell anyone yet. You just made appointments, took notes, talked quietly while holding hands in waiting rooms. You whispered about names and strollers and baby shoes while curled up on couches, too in love to be afraid.

It was still a secret, but it was yours and it was starting to grow.

The leaves in Storrs hadn’t changed yet, but you could feel it coming. A shift in the air, the promise of yellowed trees and wind chilled just enough to make you reach for Paige’s hoodie instead of your own.

Classes had started again. Practices resumed. Your part-time job at the therapy clinic picked back up, and Paige was already juggling media appearances and early-season training. Life was busy again — the kind of busy that swallowed entire weeks whole.

And yet, you knew something was different.

It started small. Subtle. The kind of tired that didn’t feel like school fatigue. The way your appetite shifted, cravings that came and went with no warning. The occasional wave of nausea that swept in too fast to be anything else.

You didn’t want to say anything too soon. Not until you were sure.

So one morning, a Tuesday, the quiet kind, gray skies and soft rain tapping on the windows, you woke up earlier than Paige and slipped out of bed with your heart pounding.

You took the test in silence.

Paige stirred just as you set it on the counter, her voice raspy and barely awake. “Babe?”

“In here,” you called softly.

She padded into the bathroom barefoot, her hair a mess and hoodie slung halfway off one shoulder. Her eyes landed on the stick next to the sink and she froze.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

The silence was heavy. Electric. The only sound was the ticking clock above the door and the patter of rain against the glass.

Then Paige stepped forward and laced her fingers through yours. Three minutes passed like a lifetime. When you finally turned the stick over to read it, your breath caught in your throat. Paige read it first. Her hand tightened in yours. Her voice cracked.

“Positive.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so you did both.

Paige cupped your face, her thumbs brushing away tears before they even fully fell, and you choked out a soft, stunned laugh. “That’s really it. We’re really doing this.”

She leaned in until her forehead touched yours, her eyes closing like she needed a second to breathe through it. “You’re gonna be the best mom,” she whispered.

You touched her chest. “You are too.”

Her arms wrapped around you then, tight, grounding, shaking a little, and she kissed you like the world had narrowed down to just this moment. The mirror behind you fogged from the warmth of your bodies and the wetness in your eyes, and neither of you cared that the toothbrush cup was knocked over or that the test still sat crooked on the counter.

It was real and it was happening.

You sat together on the bathroom floor for nearly an hour after that, Paige behind you, legs wrapped around your waist, hands resting gently over your stomach. Her voice was low as she asked what came next. Doctor visits. Nutrition plans. Telling friends, eventually. Telling her mom,  maybe after the second trimester. Keeping it quiet from the public, but letting the people who mattered in.

“I want her to grow up knowing you” Paige said at one point.

You turned your head. “What?”

“Our daughter,” she said. “If it’s a girl, I want her to know you like I do. The way you soften when you talk to kids. The way you look when you read. The way you cry at Pixar movies and pretend you didn’t. I want her to see all of that.”

You kissed her knuckles. “She will. She’ll know everything good starts with you.”

And Paige… confident, composed, unshakeable on court, looked at you then like she might break open from how full her heart was.

She pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Then your neck. Then your stomach.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered softly to the small bump that hadn’t even begun to form. “It’s me. Your mama. I can’t wait to meet you.”

You sat there with her until your legs went numb and the world outside the bathroom stopped mattering. Because everything that mattered was already in your arms.

You always thought time would slow down in moments like this. That the universe might pause in reverence. That the air itself would hush when the world cracked open to let something new in.

But it didn’t.

Time kept ticking. The monitors kept beeping. The nurse kept speaking in calm, practiced tones. Paige kept pacing, back and forth, back and forth, a bundle of nerves wrapped in a hoodie far too big for the hospital room.

You had been in labor for sixteen hours and Paige had not let go of your hand for fifteen of them.

She stood beside you now, gripping your fingers with both hands, her lips trembling just above your knuckles. Her forehead glistened with a sheen of worry, her voice barely audible over the nurse’s countdown.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Just a little more. You’ve got this.”

You didn’t feel like you had it. You felt like you were splitting open, body and soul. But you kept going. Because at the end of this storm was her. Your daughter. Yours and Paige’s.

And when the last push came, and the room erupted with movement, gloved hands, soft gasps, rustling blankets, it was Paige who cried first.

Not loud sobs. Just a breath caught so deep in her chest it came out shaking, broken, overwhelmed.

You barely registered the sound until the nurse placed a tiny, squirming bundle against your chest, and everything else, the pain, the noise, the sterile lights, faded.

There she was. Skin against yours. Eyes closed. Mouth open in a soft wail that cut through you like sunlight.

And just like that, you were someone’s mother.

Paige pressed her forehead to the crown of your head, both hands cupping your cheeks now as if trying to ground herself in the miracle of it all.

“She’s perfect,” you whispered, breathless.

Paige nodded but couldn’t speak. Her hand drifted down to brush your daughter’s back, gentle and reverent, and you felt her chest rise and fall like the weight of the world had landed right on her ribs.

After a moment, you looked up at her, eyes shining. “I want to name her Madison.”

The words slipped out before you could second-guess them. Paige froze. Her eyes, already glossy, widened in stunned silence. “What?”

You offered a small, teary smile. “After you. It’s always been beautiful to me. Strong. Soft. I think it suits her.”

Paige covered her mouth. It took her a long time to speak. When she did, it was nothing more than a whisper, “You want to name her after me?”

You nodded. And Paige completely broke.

She bent down, burying her face into the crook of your neck as she wept quietly, raw and grateful and completely undone. You felt her shoulders shake against you, felt her lips press again and again to your skin like a promise.

“She’s gonna grow up knowing she was wanted,” Paige said finally. “Loved. So loved.” You looked down at Madison, now blinking up at you both, her tiny fist curled near her chin. “She has your nose,” Paige whispered.

“She has your eyes,” you said with a soft laugh.

And she did. Wide, curious, steady.

You watched Paige hold her for the first time, cradling Madison like she was made of silk and wonder. She kissed her daughter’s forehead like it was sacred, whispered something too soft for you to hear, and smiled like her entire life had narrowed to this exact second.

Outside, the sun was setting, streaks of pink and gold across the sky. Inside, you were a family. And nothing else mattered.

It was supposed to be simple. A quiet Saturday. Just a few extra runs with her teammates before the season officially kicked off again. Paige hadn’t played pickup all summer, not since the birth. She’d insisted she didn’t want to miss a single moment with Madison, her first laugh, her first expression, her first babble and that sacrifice never even felt like one.

But this day, Paige was smiling again in her old way, that edge of competitiveness tugging at her mouth as she laced her shoes and looked at you from across the gym. You were sitting near the benches, legs curled under you, Madison bundled against your chest in a soft sling.

“Don’t cheer too loud,” Paige had called, grinning. “I need to stay humble.”

“You’re playing Azzi,” you shot back. “You’ll humble yourself.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and pointed at Madison. “She’s Team Fudd, obviously.”

Madison babbled something incoherent and reached toward Azzi’s direction, and Paige clutched her chest in fake betrayal. “This is what I get for skipping nap time with you, huh?”

You laughed and shook your head, rocking gently as the baby settled into sleep.

The scrimmage started and the gym filled with the familiar sounds,  sneakers squeaking, balls bouncing, the echo of friendly trash talk. You watched Paige play with a kind of ease that reminded you why everyone called her a generational talent. She flowed. She directed. She smiled when Azzi sank a corner three over her outstretched fingers and talked her way through every possession like the court was a second home.

You weren’t even watching the ball when it happened. You were watching Paige because you always were. And you knew her body language too well. The second she planted her leg, you saw it. Something was wrong. She pushed off, pivoted midair, and… Her scream didn’t sound like her. It was sharp. Immediate. Pain laced with panic.

Your heart stopped. The gym did too. Everything blurred but her.

You stood, too fast, Madison clutched tightly to your chest, and rushed forward. Azzi was already kneeling beside Paige, calling her name, but Paige wasn’t answering, she was writhing, hand gripping her knee, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

“Take her,” you said to Azzi, breathless, already dropping to your knees.

“What—”

“Take her,” you said again, more urgently, passing Madison off as gently as you could. Azzi caught the baby without question, holding her close.

You didn’t care who was around. You dropped beside Paige and cupped her face, your voice tight and shaking.

“Hey, hey-look at me. Look at me, baby.”

Paige’s eyes cracked open, wet with pain, panic swimming in them.

“It’s my knee,” she gasped, her voice thready. “I heard something pop. I-I can’t—”

“Shhh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” You stroked her hair back, tried to keep your own hands steady even as the worst-case scenarios clawed through your brain.

She was trembling. Jaw clenched. The trainers finally pushed through the group and began assessing her leg, gently instructing her not to move. Paige’s hand found yours again and squeezed until your knuckles turned white.

You didn’t cry. You couldn’t. Not yet. Because she needed you more than ever.

They brought the stretcher in minutes later. Paige refused it at first, her pride still louder than her pain, but you kneeled beside her the whole time, whispering soft reassurances that didn’t sound like anything real, just broken pieces of comfort stitched together.

Azzi handed Madison back to you just before they wheeled Paige out.

Your daughter was crying. Maybe because she felt it, the shift in the room, the tension, the way her mama’s arms weren’t the ones holding her anymore. You held Madison tighter and followed them out into the hallway.

Paige kept looking for you, over her shoulder, through tears, through clenched teeth. You were always there. Always.

By the time she was loaded into the ambulance, you had Madison strapped in beside you, hand on Paige’s arm, never once letting go.

The apartment never felt louder than when it was quiet.

The silence after Paige’s surgery was thick, the kind that crawled into the corners of rooms, stretched across ceilings, and settled like dust over every shared blanket and half-sipped mug of tea. She was home. She was safe. The surgery had gone well. But none of that seemed to matter to her in those first few days. She barely spoke.

The woman who once couldn’t go ten minutes without cracking a joke or throwing out a stat or narrating her own highlights in third person was quiet now. Not angry or cold. Just… quiet.

She sat on the couch with her leg elevated, wrapped in layers of gauze and ace bandages. Her crutches leaned against the armrest, untouched. A dull ice machine hummed beside her. She stared out the window more often than she watched TV.

You’d offered everything, her favorite snacks, movies, playlists, back scratches, your terrible jokes. She smiled, sometimes. Even laughed, once. But her spirit had dimmed. Until Madison reached for her.

It was during one afternoon, golden light spilling through the windows, and you had just laid a blanket across the living room floor so Madison could have tummy time. Paige sat nearby, distant, her hand absently resting on her swollen knee.

And then Madison, barely a couple weeks old, still clumsy, still unsteady, wobbled on her elbows, lifted her head, and let out a noise.

“Mmma.”

It wasn’t a full word. It was more like a sound. A syllable made out of instinct. But Paige’s head snapped toward her so fast you nearly dropped your tea.

“Mmma,” Madison said again, tiny hand waving through the air like she was reaching for something she couldn’t name.

And something in Paige just cracked.

She leaned forward carefully, wincing, and lowered herself down to the floor. You moved to help, but she held up a hand. “Let me.”

You watched her settle down slowly, one elbow at a time, until she was lying beside Madison on the blanket, face to face with her daughter.

“Hey, baby,” Paige whispered, voice already thick with emotion. “You saying hi to me?”

Madison babbled nonsense in return and smacked her little hand against Paige’s collarbone. Paige laughed, wet and raw.

You didn’t say anything. You just knelt nearby, watching the girl you loved rediscover a piece of herself in the soft weight of her daughter’s hands.

That became the new rhythm. Paige didn’t return to the court, but she started to return to herself.

She woke up first most mornings to scoop Madison out of her bassinet and hum lullabies while you slept a little longer. She changed diapers, awkwardly at first, like she was defusing a bomb, but she got good at it. She mastered the bottle warmer. She talked to Madison like she was already five, telling her about basketball plays and inside jokes and how much she missed playing with Azzi.

“I think she’s the one healing me,” Paige admitted one night as you both lay in bed, Madison asleep in the bassinet beside you. “Not the rest or the rehab. Just her. Just… being here.”

You turned to her, brushing hair away from her face. “I know.”

“She doesn’t care if I score twenty points or zero. She just lights up when I walk into the room.”

“She knows you,” you said simply. “Like I do.”

Paige kissed you… slow, deep, grateful.

You fell asleep that night with her hand curled around your waist and the soft sound of Madison’s breathing filling the room like a lullaby.

Every evening after that, Paige started a new tradition. Right before sunset, she’d call you and Madison to the front door. With her knee still stiff but improving, she’d wrap the baby against her chest in the sling and lean on you as the three of you went on slow walks around the block.

She’d talk the whole time, to you, to Madison, to the trees. Her voice wasn’t fully steady yet, but it carried more warmth with each passing day. You stopped at the same park bench every night. Paige would sit, Madison would nap, and you would press your head to her shoulder.

One evening, as the sky turned lavender and the wind rustled the leaves above you, Paige whispered, “Maybe this was supposed to happen.” You looked at her and she met your eyes. “The injury. The time off. Being here with you and her. It hurts, but… maybe it’s a gift, too.”

You didn’t need to say anything. You just kissed her softly, tasted salt and sunlight, and held her hand until the sky went dark.

The balloons arrived at 9:00 a.m. sharp, pastel pink, sunshine yellow, mint green, and soft lilac. Paige nearly cried just looking at them.

“You did all this?” she asked, her voice already cracking.

You shrugged, pretending you hadn’t triple checked the delivery time and added the glitter-dipped ribbons yourself at midnight. “She’s only turning one once.”

Madison’s first birthday wasn’t supposed to be extravagant. You and Paige had agreed on something small, intimate,  just a few close friends, some cupcakes, a playlist of Disney lullabies. But somehow, like all things involving your daughter, it had turned into something bigger.

Azzi was the first to arrive, thirty minutes early and armed with two giant bags of gifts and a personalized jersey that said “MADISON” across the back in glittery lettering and wore a tiara.

You looked at her, amused. “That for you or the baby?”

Azzi grinned. “Both. I’m her godmother. I take the title seriously.”

Paige rolled her eyes but kissed Azzi’s cheek anyway. “She missed you.”

“She’s not the only one,” Azzi murmured, her gaze softening as she caught sight of Madison toddling along the play mat in the living room, a butterfly clip in her wispy hair.

The others trickled in slowly, a blend of teammates, friends from UConn, and a few chosen family members who had loved Madison from the moment she entered the world. Everyone brought something, toys, snacks, stories. But no one brought cameras.

That was sacred. Still, the moments felt cinematic.

Paige wore a simple white T-shirt with “MAMA” printed across the chest and joggers that had cupcake frosting smudged on the thigh from an earlier kitchen mishap. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, her face radiant in a way you hadn’t seen since before the injury. She moved through the apartment with Madison always within arm’s reach, lifting her onto her hip, blowing raspberries into her stomach, letting her ‘help’ unwrap presents by tearing at the corners with her tiny fists.

You caught her at one point, just standing there. Not moving. Not speaking. Just staring at your daughter like she was something too precious to touch.

You walked up and wrapped your arms around her from behind. “What’re you thinking about?”

She didn’t answer at first. “I’ve never loved anything more than I love you two.”

You rested your chin on her shoulder. “She’s your whole world, huh?”

“She’s the reason I still believe in good things,” Paige whispered.

The party went on around you, Azzi chasing Madison with a sparkly wand, confetti popping out of tubes you forgot you’d ordered, a cake with flowers made of frosting and a single candle that Paige insisted Madison blow out herself, even though she only succeeded in spitting all over it.

When it came time to open the gifts, Madison lost interest after the second box and preferred playing with the tissue paper. Paige didn’t mind. She watched her daughter crumple the paper with such delight that she leaned into your ear and whispered, “We could’ve just gotten her a grocery bag and she’d be thrilled.”

You laughed, tears stinging your eyes from how full the day felt.

Then Azzi stood up, cleared her throat, and said, “Alright, speech time. From the godmother.” The room quieted. Azzi looked at Madison, who was now sitting on Paige’s lap, happily chewing on a wooden block. “I’ve known Paige since we were just kids trying to figure out life while playing basketball,” Azzi began, voice steady but filled with emotion. “And I remember when she first talked about having a family. Not just someday, but really, a family she’d love with everything she had. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more whole than when she became a mom.” She looked at you next. “And you… I mean, you’re the glue. You held her through everything. Injury. Fame. Fear. Joy. You created this life with her. You gave us Madison.” Azzi’s voice cracked just slightly. “I’m honored to be in her life. To be her godmother. And I promise, no matter what, she’ll always know how fiercely she’s loved.”

Paige was crying by then. You were, too. Azzi sat down and mumbled something about “stupid baby parties turning people into puddles.”

You and Paige cut the cake together, one hand each on the knife, Madison between you, licking icing off her fingers. Later, when the sun set and the guests left and the apartment quieted, you found Paige standing in Madison’s room, rocking her slowly in the dim glow of a nightlight.

“She’s out,” Paige whispered, smiling down at her daughter. “Long day.”

You leaned in the doorway, watching the two of them. “You tired too?”

“Yeah. But in the best way.”

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around both of them, careful not to jostle the baby. Paige rested her head on your shoulder.

“She’s not a baby forever,” she said softly.

“No,” you agreed. “But she’ll always be ours.”

The final buzzer was still echoing when Paige dropped to her knees at half court.

Not in pain, not anymore. But in awe.

Of the moment. Of the journey. Of the five years that had brought her here, back to the top, with gold confetti raining from the rafters and her name echoing through the stadium like a heartbeat. A national champion.

You watched it all from just beyond the barrier, Madison on your hip, her little fists clenching tight around the edge of her hoodie as she blinked up at the falling gold like she’d never seen anything so magical.

Your heart had been pounding all game. Not with nerves, those faded long ago. But with something quieter. Pride. Gratitude. That kind of breathless reverence you feel when someone you love finally comes home to themselves.

When Paige stood, the first person she looked for was you. Not the cameras. Not the crowd. Not the photographers waiting for their shot. She looked for you. And you were already moving before she even raised her hand, slipping past security with a practiced nod, weaving through the sideline chaos until you were there. She didn’t speak. She just pulled you in, burying her face into your neck, arms wrapped around both you and Madison in one long, unshakable hold. Your daughter squealed at the embrace, caught somewhere between laughter and confusion as she clutched a fistful of Paige’s jersey and looked around at the glittering chaos.

“She thinks we’re at a birthday party,” you joked softly.

Paige smiled against your skin. “It kinda feels like one.”

You stood together for a while, letting the team take their photos, letting the crowd cheer, letting the moment live.

Eventually, Paige’s mom made her way over, face red from crying, arms already outstretched. “Gimme that baby,” she whispered, eyes on Madison.

You passed her over gently, brushing your fingers along Madison’s curls. “You sure?”

“Please,” her mom grinned. “You two need a night. It’s been… God, it’s been a while.”

Paige glanced at you, something unreadable flickering in her expression.

“We’ll meet you at the hotel later,” you told her mom. “Promise.”

That night, the hotel room felt impossibly quiet.

Paige was still in her championship shirt, barefoot now, hair wet from a quick shower and eyes glassy with exhaustion. You lay on the bed, turned sideways, facing each other. The room smelled like soap and leftover champagne. The confetti Madison had stuffed into her jacket pocket earlier was now spread across the dresser like glittered breadcrumbs.

Neither of you rushed to speak. You didn’t need to. Eventually, Paige reached for your hand. Traced your knuckles. Ran her thumb over the faint groove where your wedding ring always sat, even when the world didn’t know.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said.

You hummed. “Dangerous.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously.”

“Okay. Thinking about what?”

She looked at the ceiling. “The draft’s close.”

“I know.”

“I think I’m ready.”

You shifted, studying her. “You sound unsure.”

“I’m not,” she said. “It’s just… everything’s about to change again. New city. New team. New schedule. And for the first time… I’m not scared of it.” You moved closer until your legs were tangled. She kept talking, voice soft. “I think it’s because I know you’re coming with me. Both of you.”

“Of course we are.”

“And I’m tired of hiding,” Paige said suddenly. You blinked. “Not in a public announcement kind of way,” she clarified quickly. “But… if someone sees us holding hands? If a fan catches us at dinner with Mads and figures it out? I don’t care anymore. I want to be seen with you.”

You sat in silence for a beat. “We’ve spent years holding this love like a secret.”

Paige looked at you, eyes burning with something fierce and honest. “Maybe it’s time we hold it like a promise instead.”

Your chest ached at that. The good kind of ache, the kind that only comes from surviving something with someone you never stopped choosing.

“So… Dallas?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Dallas,” Paige confirmed. “A place with sun, space and a guest room for Azzi so she can crash and spoil Madison.” You laughed. Paige reached forward and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want a backyard. I want to teach Madison how to ride a bike. I want to grill and mess it up, and have you make fun of me while she throws marshmallows at me.”

You leaned in. “You’re getting very suburban.”

She grinned. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s always a yes with you.”

The house was still mostly boxes when Paige picked Madison up and twirled her in a circle between the kitchen and the living room.

“Where do you wanna put your toys, baby girl?” she asked, adjusting the toddler on her hip.

Madison tilted her head dramatically, curls bouncing, and pointed at a random corner with absolute confidence. “Dere.”

Paige blinked. “The kitchen?”

“Yah,” Madison declared, nodding.

You laughed from where you were unpacking plates. “She wants to be close to snacks. She’s her mama’s daughter.”

Paige gave Madison a fake stern look. “You’re a traitor.”

Madison squealed, unbothered, and gripped her mama’s cheeks with both hands. “Snack! Paw-cawn! Chee tihhhks!”

You melted at the sound of her voice, her baby babble had sharpened into syllables you could mostly understand, but it was still laced with that innocent chaos only a two year old could conjure. She was always narrating, always chatting, always looking between you and Paige like her world hadn’t extended past the two of you just yet.

You hoped it never would. Paige’s first official practice with the Dallas Wings was three days later.

And from the moment she put on that navy blue warmup set with the new team stitched across her chest, you could feel something settle in her again. Not ego or nerves. Just purpose. Her steps had weight again. Her shoulders sat straight. She kissed your forehead before you left the apartment like it was ritual, then bent down and pressed her lips to Madison’s curls.

“You ready to come meet the squad, little mama?” she whispered.

Madison nodded solemnly and whispered back, “I gonna say hi.”

You chuckled from the door. “She says that until she sees strangers, then she hides in your neck.”

“I do not,” Madison said with a frown.

“You definitely do.”

“Nooo I brave!” she declared, smacking her hands against her chest.

Paige raised a brow. “Who taught her that?”

You gave her a look. “Who do you think? You gave her a full pep talk before a doctor’s appointment last week.”

Paige beamed. “She took the shot like a champ, though.”

“She cried into my shirt for ten minutes.”

“Still a champ.”

The drive to the facility was calm. Madison hummed along to a song that wasn’t playing, a quiet little tune she made up under her breath that consisted mostly of the word “basketball” repeated in three different tempos. Paige drove one handed, the other is gripping your thigh.

The facility wasn’t what you expected—brighter, friendlier, warmer. You had pictured something clinical. But the front desk staff waved when Paige walked in, and one of the assistants was already holding open the door.

And then you stepped into the gym, Madison in Paige’s arms, your hand tucked in hers, and everything paused. Literally.

DiJonai had been mid-dribble and just froze, mouth hanging open slightly. NaLyssa Smith, mid-stretch, sat up straight and stared.

“Um…” DiJonai finally said, eyes wide. “Bueckers?”

Paige gave a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

“Are you holding a baby right now?”

Paige looked down at Madison, who was fully tucked into her side like a koala. “Yep.”

“And that’s your…” DiJonai’s voice trailed off as she tried to do the math.

“My daughter,” Paige said simply, without hesitation. She squeezed your hand. “And this is my wife.”

You gave a small wave, nerves twitching in your gut despite yourself. There was silence for one beat longer,  and then NaLyssa stood up, walked over, and grinned. “I’ve got so many questions.”

Paige laughed. “Later. I promise.”

Madison blinked up at the new faces, uncertain. She pressed her cheek into Paige’s neck and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Mama I shy now.”

Paige rubbed her back. “It’s okay, Mads. Wanna say hi?”

“Noooo,” Madison whispered, peeking with one eye. “But I wave.”

And she did. A tiny, tentative little hand raising in the air. The entire gym cooed in unison.

DiJonai’s face melted into a smile. “Oh, you’re done for. She runs this team now.”

“I accepted my fate,” Paige said.

Practice started soon after. You took Madison to sit on the sidelines where some chairs had been set up. She sat in your lap with a sippy cup, watching her mama run drills and shout plays with wide eyes.

At one point, DiJonai jogged over during a water break and crouched in front of Madison. “Hey, little queen. You wanna be my hype woman?”

Madison blinked. “Go, go, gooo!”

DiJonai stood and pointed. “See? She gets it.”

Later, when practice wrapped, and the gym started to clear, Paige walked straight toward you, sweat-slicked and breathless, a towel around her neck.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Better than okay,” you said. “They love you. And her.”

“She didn’t cry once,” Paige said proudly.

“She did,” you corrected. “When you did sprints and left her line of sight for five seconds.”

Paige winced. “Oof. My bad.”

You kissed her shoulder. “She recovered.”

Madison toddled up between you both and lifted her arms. “Up.”

Paige bent, picked her up, and kissed her head. “You my biggest fan?”

Madison nodded. “I yell go!”

You and Paige laughed, and Paige held her close. “You’re the only one I’ll listen to,” she whispered. And then she looked at you. “I mean both of you.” And you believed her.

It was early May, and the sky over Minneapolis looked like it remembered you.

You hadn’t been back in almost a year. Not since before Paige’s last year at Uconn, before the confetti, before the flight that turned your shared dream into something sunlit and real. Now you were here again, home in a new way and you were holding Paige’s hand like it still meant something sacred. Because it did.

The Target Center glowed against the evening skyline. A quiet pulse of light and noise. Inside, the crowd buzzed like a charged wire. Every banner fluttered. Every seat filled. The Wings were here to open the season against the Lynx. And for the first time, Paige was wearing a WNBA jersey, her name stitched across the back, number five gleaming under the lights.

You adjusted Madison’s pink earmuffs gently, making sure they sat snug against her curls. She was bouncing on your lap, kicking her tiny sneakers against the courtside padding, singing something to herself with no real melody and a whole lot of joy.

“Baskebahhhlll,” she murmured. “Go mama. Go mama gooo.” She clapped her hands out of sync with anything in particular, then pointed when she saw the players warming up. “Is dat mama?”

You smiled, following her gaze. “Yep. That’s Mama. And you know who else is here?”

“KK,” she said confidently.

“And Uncle Drew.”

She looked around eagerly, head turning like a radar until she spotted them a few seats down. KK waved dramatically, already holding up a stuffed bear with a jersey on it. Drew gave a goofy double thumbs-up. Madison squealed.

Paige had insisted you all come. Not just because it was her debut or because it was Minnesota. But because this was the game that changed everything, not in some cinematic, game winning shot kind of way, but in the way her name would echo across her home state, this time not as a girl with potential, but as a professional. A woman with her world already built.

The game was tight from tip off. The Wings fought like hell—aggressive, young, scrappy. Paige played like she had something to prove, even if she didn’t need to. Her handles were sharp. Her vision, lethal. She talked on defense. She hit two corner threes and pointed to Drew in the crowd after each one, laughing. You couldn’t stop smiling.

And Madison? She couldn’t stop talking. “Mama runnin’! Mama fasss!”

You hushed her gently when the crowd got quiet, but it didn’t matter, she had no idea she was in an arena. To her, this was still just her mama doing cool things while she watched from your lap with her little bunny tucked under one arm and crumbs on her shirt from the cookies KK snuck her.

The Wings lost… barely. A final turnover in the last minute gave the Lynx the edge, and the buzzer sounded over a restless, roaring crowd. But Paige didn’t look disappointed. She looked… proud. She had played well. She had walked into her home state and given them something to remember.

And the very first thing she did after shaking hands with the opposing team? She looked for you. You stood, already lifting Madison into your arms. The little girl blinked, recognized Paige across the court, and shouted her name with a joy so loud it turned heads.

“MAMAAAAA!”

You saw the exact moment Paige heard her. She broke into a breathy laugh, tilted her head back for a second like she was catching her breath, then made a beeline straight across the court. Security parted instinctively. Cameras turned. But all she saw… all she wanted… was you. And your daughter. She reached you, eyes wet with emotion, and scooped Madison up into her arms.

“Did you see me out there?” she asked her softly, pressing kisses to her cheeks, her forehead, her nose.

Madison nodded. “You go vewy fast. And you jump so good.”

Paige grinned. “You’re the best hype woman ever.”

You stepped closer, brushing hair from Paige’s damp temple. “You were incredible.”

She leaned into your touch. “Only because you’re both here.”

Together, you walked toward the tunnel, Paige holding Madison, you holding Paige’s hand.

Fans waved as you passed. Some smiled. Some pointed. A few phones came up, not many. The whispers hadn’t started. The questions hadn’t formed. But they would. And this time… you weren’t afraid.

Madison waved at the crowd like Paige always did after a win. Paige smiled and whispered, “She’s a natural.” You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Because as the tunnel swallowed you in shadows and quiet, and the arena noise faded behind you, Paige shifted Madison to her other arm, took your hand in hers, and whispered one thing, “I’ve never felt more like myself than I do right now.”

It felt like returning to the place where everything began, only now you weren’t just two girls in love trying to keep it quiet. You were a family, no longer hiding, simply living in the open spaces between who you’d been and who you were becoming.

Mohegan Sun Arena looked the same. The light, the noise, the energy, all pulsing in familiar rhythm. But this time, you weren’t sitting courtside. This time, you were in the stands, nestled among friends who had once been your world and still somehow were.

Azzi clutched Madison in her lap like she’d never let her go again. She was wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and a soft pink baseball cap that Madison had already stolen and returned three times.

“Do you miss her?” you asked, watching the way Azzi kept whispering into your daughter’s curls.

Azzi gave you a look. “I think about her every damn day. Y’all stole my child.”

“She FaceTimed you yesterday.”

Azzi sighed dramatically. “It’s not the same.”

KK sat beside her, a giant bag of popcorn in one hand and a water bottle she hadn’t touched in the other. “Mads,” she said between bites, “when you gonna come live with your aunties?”

Madison blinked at her, unimpressed. “I wiff Mama.”

Azzi laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

The game started quickly, Wings vs. Sun, energy crackling through the packed arena. But you felt something different this time. It wasn’t nerves. It wasn’t pride. It was something else.

Eyes. You could feel them. They weren’t aggressive. But they lingered… sideways glances, whispered words exchanged between rows, curious looks that trailed back to you and Madison. To the way your daughter sat perfectly nestled in Azzi’s lap with her earmuffs on, babbling loudly every time she saw Paige on the court.

“There go Mama!” she shouted at least once per quarter, finger extended dramatically.

Each time, a few people turned. Each time, your heart clenched, not in fear, but in awareness. They were starting to piece it together.

It wasn’t just the resemblance. It was the way Madison lit up every time Paige came near. It was the way Azzi, KK, and the rest of the UConn players treated the child like she was royalty. It was the way you—quiet, observant, low-profile—always looked at Paige like the game was secondary and she was the story.

You felt one girl behind you whisper, “That’s her, right? The girl that’s always at her games? I think she’s, like… her partner or something.”

The word didn’t sting. It echoed. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t react. You just reached over, brushed a curl from Madison’s forehead, and kissed it softly.

“Mama go?” Madison asked again, louder this time.

“Soon,” you said. “She’s almost done.”

The Wings were up by twelve with three minutes left. Paige had played a quiet, efficient game, high percentage scoring, high assists, constant leadership. The kind of game you’d only recognize as excellent if you understood how to read her movements. How she directed traffic. How she passed before her teammate even called for it. She looked up often, eyes scanning the crowd until they found the same row. Yours. And when they did, her entire face changed. Not dramatically. Not in a way that anyone else would notice. But you did. The tension in her shoulders loosened. Her chest rose softer. Her smile tilted just slightly. That’s all it took.

The final buzzer sounded not long after. Wings win their first game. Paige Bueckers still undefeated at Mohegan Sun.

Fans filed out slowly, but your group stayed. A staff member came over and handed Madison a small basketball, something promotional, rubbery, too big for her tiny hands but perfect in her eyes.

“I hold ball,” she declared.

“You better share,” KK warned. “I called dibs.”

“Noooo,” Madison said. “Mama coming?” She said it like it was inevitable. And she was right. A minute later, Paige stepped out of the tunnel, in her warmups, towel around her neck, hair damp with sweat. Her eyes found Madison instantly. The moment the toddler saw her, she screamed, “MAMAAAA!”

And then she ran. Her steps were clumsy, wobbly, loud. Fans still lingering turned to watch, not knowing what to expect. But they knew, the second Paige dropped to her knees in the middle of the hallway and held her arms out like the whole world rested in that moment.

Madison crashed into her.

“Hi, baby girl,” Paige whispered, lifting her easily, spinning her once, kissing her cheeks.

You watched from a few steps back, the clamor of recognition finally starting to ripple around you.

“That’s Paige Bueckers’ kid.” “Wait… is that her girlfriend?” “No way.” “They’ve been together this whole time?”

You didn’t turn around. You just walked forward, placed a hand gently on Paige’s back, and kissed her shoulder. She looked up at you, Madison’s curls mashed against her collarbone, and smiled.

“I missed you,” she said.

“You saw us an hour ago,” you teased.

“I miss you every hour.”

You leaned in, eyes on her, voice low. “Let them talk.”

“I hope they do,” she murmured.

And then, in front of the whispers, the stares, the uncertain eyes, Paige Bueckers, number five, national champion, rookie sensation, pressed her lips softly to your cheek and whispered one last thing, “This is the only team I’ll ever need.”

The morning started the way the best days always did. With sunlight creeping across the hardwood floors, Madison already awake, and Paige pretending she wasn’t.

You were in the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, stirring pancake batter while the coffee brewed slowly behind you. The apartment was warm, alive with the sound of Madison’s humming from the hallway. She was dragging her stuffed bunny across the floor by one ear, narrating her morning routine in a half-English, half-toddler dialect that only you and Paige had mastered decoding.

“Mama’s sweepin’. She be sweepin’. Shhh,” Madison whispered dramatically, pointing down the hallway like you weren’t already fully aware.

You crouched down to her level, grinning. “Want to help wake her up?”

Madison’s eyes lit up. “We do da tickles?”

“The tickles,” you confirmed.

Together, you tiptoed into the bedroom like a stealth operation, Madison leading the way, already giggling behind her tiny hand. Paige lay sprawled across the bed in a tangle of blankets, one arm over her eyes, hair a mess, and somehow still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Madison climbed onto the bed first. You waited. One beat. Two. Then Madison pounced.

“MAMAAAA!”

Paige grunted. “Betrayed. By my own child.”

Madison was relentless, small fingers poking at Paige’s ribs, her sides, her face. “You ‘sweep too wong,” she said with an exaggerated frown. “You miss pancakes!”

“Pancakes?!” Paige’s eyes flew open. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

You climbed in beside them, tossing a pillow over your head. “I told you I’d make them.”

“You did,” Paige yawned, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “But I had a dream you brought them to me in bed.”

You kissed her nose. “Dream smaller.”

By the time the three of you made it back to the kitchen, it was chaos, Madison demanding her pancakes be shaped like bunnies, Paige trying to flip hers with way too much confidence, you pretending not to notice the flour on the floor and the butter in Madison’s hair.

Eventually, you all ended up on the couch, full and warm, cartoons humming softly in the background. Paige was on one end, legs stretched out, Madison on her chest like a tiny human blanket, head tucked under her chin. You sat beside them with a book you weren’t reading, more focused on the way Paige’s fingers absentmindedly traced circles on Madison’s back.

“She’s getting heavier,” Paige murmured.

“She’s growing,” you whispered.

Madison stirred a little, then settled again, clutching a corner of Paige’s shirt in her fist.

“She’s perfect,” Paige said, eyes on her daughter. “We really did this.”

You nodded, resting your head against her shoulder. “You’re pretty perfect too.”

“Please,” Paige scoffed quietly. “I almost burned the pancakes. She called them ‘cwunchy.’”

“They were,” you grinned.

“Hey,” Paige said, squeezing your thigh. “You’re legally required to support me.”

“I’m legally required to love you. Supporting you is extra.”

Paige smiled, eyes closing. “Thanks for the extra.”

The rest of the day passed slowly. The best kind of slow, board games with missing pieces, coloring books spread across the floor, finger paint that somehow ended up on the windowsill, and a dance party that ended with Madison passed out in Paige’s arms before dinner.

You all sat in the dim light of the living room as the sun set, the windows open just enough to let the warm Dallas air drift in. Paige had her arm around you, Madison’s tiny legs tucked over both your laps, the three of you tangled up in each other like roots in soft soil.

At one point, Paige looked down at Madison and whispered, “What did we ever do to deserve her?”

You looked at them both and smiled. “Love each other right.”

And maybe that was the answer to everything.

You saw it before Paige did.

It was a quiet Monday, the kind that slipped in unnoticed. Madison was halfway through a morning nap, sprawled across the couch like a queen with her stuffed animals arranged around her in perfect chaos. Paige had just returned from a team lift, still in compression tights and a cutoff hoodie, sipping a smoothie and humming softly under her breath.

You were folding laundry. Or pretending to, anyway, your phone buzzed once, and you caught the name of the outlet in the notification before you even opened it.

The Athletic.

Your stomach tightened slightly, not out of fear, but out of instinct. You tapped the headline.

“More Than a Point Guard. Paige Bueckers’ Return, Her Growth, and the Family That Grounds Her”

You read the first few paragraphs slowly. Carefully. Each word felt balanced on a thread, written not like a tabloid but like someone trying to understand without invading. There were no names. No specifics. Just quiet observations, pieced together with intention.

“Sources close to the Wings’ locker room say that Bueckers, known for her reserved demeanor and private nature, is often the last to leave practice—but never alone. She’s seen quietly slipping out a side door, a toddler on her hip, and someone always waiting just outside with a smile that could split the sky.”

“It’s not a secret, and it’s not a spectacle. But in a league built on visibility, Bueckers has done something remarkable—she’s created a life entirely her own, visible only to those she chooses. And within that life, there seems to be something steady. Something whole.”

“There’s talk of a marriage. Talk of a daughter. No confirmations. No denials. Just the glint of a ring, the sound of a baby’s laugh echoing across empty gyms, and the warmth in Bueckers’ eyes whenever she glances toward the stands.”

You looked up, your throat dry, and found Paige watching you.

“What is it?” she asked.

You handed her the phone. She read slowly, one hand on her smoothie, the other reaching blindly for yours. When she finished, she was quiet. Her thumb rested against the edge of the screen. Her breathing didn’t change, but something in her expression softened.

“They didn’t name you,” she said.

You nodded. “They didn’t have to.”

She looked at you. “Are you okay with it?”

“I am,” you said. And you meant it.

Because it didn’t feel like exposure.

It felt like a door gently creaking open, not kicked, not forced. Just opened wide enough for the world to see what you’d built. Paige scrolled again, rereading a few lines.

“They were kind,” she murmured.

“Because they saw what you are.”

She looked up at you. “What am I?”

“More than a point guard.”

That night, the internet didn’t explode. It hummed.

Fans tweeted quotes from the article like poetry. Screenshots of highlighted paragraphs. Soft speculation. Questions, yes, but not the kind that demanded answers. Just quiet curiosity, threaded with awe.

“I don’t care who Paige Bueckers is dating or if she has a kid. But the way this article talks about her? It was real respectful.”

“The most Paige thing ever is being married with a child for years and nobody finding out until someone noticed the way she smiles into the crowd.”

Paige read each one slowly, Madison curled in her lap, her thumb brushing along her daughter’s chubby thigh. “Are we… okay with this?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “They see us. Not all of us. Just enough.”

Paige pressed her lips to Madison’s temple. “We still keep it ours, though.”

“Always.”

Indianapolis was alive with light and noise.

Banners lined the streets. Billboards pulsed with orange. Every hotel lobby buzzed with familiar faces, players, coaches, media, fans. The air hummed with something different now. Not just celebration. Not just basketball. But a sense that women’s sports weren’t whispering anymore. They were roaring.

And Paige—your Paige—was walking her first-ever All-Star orange carpet like she belonged there. Because she did.

You were standing a few feet back, Madison on your hip, Azzi just behind you in white wide-leg jeans and a cropped tee, making jokes about how Bob was acting like Paige’s dad slash manager. Paige didn’t complain. Her dad, standing off to the side with quiet pride in his eyes, had spent the morning telling stories about baby Paige crossing over little boys in their driveway. You didn’t miss the way he looked at her now, a little in awe, a little emotional.

She looked unreal.

Cream baggy pants with patches stitched along the legs. A sleeveless cardigan, neckline deep just enough to show her necklace, the one with the little “M” charm tucked against her chest. She’d slipped it on before you left the hotel without saying a word, just looked at you in the mirror and smiled.

You and Madison were both in summer dresses, yours a soft, linen green that made Paige whistle when you walked out of the bathroom earlier, Madison’s white with blue flowers, the straps tied in loose bows on her shoulders. She’d insisted on wearing lip gloss, and you hadn’t had the heart to say no.

The orange carpet was chaos. Cameras flashing, reporters shouting names, fans screaming from the barricades. Paige handled it the way she always did, calm, collected, a half-smirk on her face like she was both part of it and floating just above it.

And then, somehow, like it always happened, you all ended up drifting apart just a little.

Azzi and Drew got stopped by an influencer for something involving TikTok. Paige was off to the side with some of the other players there—Napheesa, Gabbie, Jackie Young, NaLyssa, Dijonai—Maddie balanced on her hip like it was second nature. And you? You were sipping a small water bottle when the girl approached.

“Hi! Sorry,” she said, chipper and confident, holding a mic with a sticker that read WagTalk. “I run an account that does player partner interviews. Would you be down to answer a few fun questions? Just light stuff, like, ‘how well do you know your WNBA girlfriend?’” You blinked. She was already pulling up her camera app. “Totally fine if not, obviously! But you’re kind of iconic. No one knows anything about you two officially, so…”

You hesitated. Then glanced toward Paige. She had Madison on one arm, talking to Phee and cracking up about something, but when she felt your eyes, she looked over, and gave you a single, subtle nod. Not permission, but a sign of trust. So you smiled at the girl and said, “Sure.”

The camera was already rolling. The mic picked up your voice clearly.

“Okay!” she said, clearly relieved. “This one’s called ‘How Well Do You Know Your WNBA Girlfriend?’ Ready?”

You smiled, nodded.

“What college did she go to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “UConn.”

“Easy,” the girl laughed. “What’s your girlfriend’s career high in the W?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Thirty-five points.”

“Correct!” she grinned. “What year did she win Gatorade Player of the Year?”

“2020.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Someone did their homework.”

“I was there,” you said simply.

She smiled, then jumped into the next. “Okay, fourth question—year, pick, and team she got drafted?”

You didn’t blink. “2025. Number one pick. Dallas Wings.”

A soft gasp came from behind the camera. “Okay, okay! Last one—how many national championships did she win?”

“One,” you said.

She nodded approvingly, then leaned in with a cheeky grin. “Girlfriend reveal, it’s…”

You smiled, soft and steady.

“Well—” you said, your voice light, “wife. And it’s Paige Bueckers.”

The girl stepped back, stunned. “That was—wow. Thank you. Seriously. That was—”

You waved gently, already turning to make your way back toward your family.

By the time you reached them, Paige had Madison up on her shoulders, the toddler gripping her mama’s hair with both hands and babbling about “dat big orange thing” she saw on the carpet. Paige was laughing softly, swaying to keep balance, before she spotted you. The look she gave you said everything.

You nodded, slow and sure. “It’s done,” you said quietly.

Paige tilted her head. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned down just enough to kiss you—nothing dramatic, just a soft press of lips to temple, then cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

“Let them know,” she said.

And somehow, the world already did.

By the time the sun dipped lower and the pre-weekend media cycle picked up, the video was everywhere.

Clips played on Instagram stories. Tweets lit up with screenshots. Slow motion edits of you smiling while saying “well, wife” surfaced with background music. The fans—shocked, thrilled, moved—pieced it together with the old clips. The stares. The glimpses. The quiet devotion.

It had been a long time since you and Paige got to go anywhere without a diaper bag or a crayon-stained snack pouch. You hadn’t worn heels in weeks. She hadn’t worn cologne since Madison had developed a habit of sneezing on command for attention.

But tonight?

Tonight was different.

Her dad had taken Maddie with a proud grin and a wink—“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she doesn’t convince me to buy another stuffed animal. Or four.”—and Paige had kissed her Maddie's, whispered “be good for Papa,” and turned to you with a look that made your pulse stumble.

She’d worn black tailored pants and a light blue collared zip up sweater, simple but clean. Her hair was pulled back in a slick bun, a silver chain resting against her collarbone, and the second you stepped out of the elevator into the party, heads turned—because Paige Bueckers didn’t just walk into a room, she glided.

You wore a red silk dress, one Paige had picked out without telling you, claiming it matched your mouth when you were about to say something smart. She hadn’t let go of your hand since you’d walked through the door.

The party was alive—pulsing music, laughter bouncing off the walls, neon lights that made every drink sparkle a little brighter. Players mingled in clusters, sneakers traded for heels and platforms, jerseys swapped for crop tops and chains. You spotted familiar faces already dancing with Angel, Sabrina laughing with Aaliyah Boston over something that had both of them nearly doubled over.

You and Paige found a quieter corner, where she ordered two drinks—Dirty Shirleys, both with extra cherry, because you teased her once and she never forgot.

“You trying to get me drunk on sugar?” you asked.

She leaned in. “No, but I’m tryna taste cherry on your lips later.”

Your laugh was soft. Familiar. She knew just how to draw it out.

You barely had time to take a sip before two figures approached with a kind of chaotic energy that made everyone in their path turn and smile.

Courtney Williams and Natisha Heideman.

You’d seen them online, of course—their livestream antics, the way they talked about hoop like it was a love language, the way their chemistry radiated through every screen. And now they were here.

Courtney had a mic in one hand, Natisha had a phone in the other, and both were laughing before they even reached Paige.

“Ayo, Paige!” Courtney grinned, sliding into the space beside her. “Look who finally made it to an All-Star party! You clean up nice.”

Paige smirked, sliding her arm around your waist without a second of hesitation. “Appreciate it. You two good?”

“We better now,” Natisha said, grinning wide. “We on live right now—say hey to the chat.”

Paige looked straight into the camera. “What up, StudBudz Nation.”

Courtney whistled. “She already knows the name! She really is a real one.”

Then T leaned in slightly, her eyes flicking toward you. “And who’s this radiant human?”

You opened your mouth, but Paige beat you to it—her arm tightening ever so slightly around you.

“This is my wife,” she said.

Courtney’s eyes widened, mouth dropping into a slow, impressed smile. “Wife?!”

“Wifey?” T echoed. “Like legal wife? Like rings and vows and all that?”

Paige lifted her left hand and wiggled her ring finger. You mirrored her a beat later.

Courtney turned back to the phone. “Y’all. Y’ALL. The rumors are TRUE. Paige Bueckers is a married woman, and nobody told us?!”

The chat on their stream exploded. You could see it out of the corner of your eye—hearts, “NO WAY,” “I KNEW IT,” and a flood of cherry emojis for some reason you couldn’t quite place.

“I mean,” Paige said casually, sipping her Dirty Shirley, “it was never a secret. Just wasn’t a headline.”

T looked at you with a warm smile. “So how long you been putting up with her?”

You grinned. “Since freshman year of high school.”

Courtney clutched her chest. “THAT’S REAL LOVE. That’s ‘I seen your braces and your awkward phase’ love.”

“You have no idea,” you laughed.

They kept talking—light, fun, teasing. Paige never took her hand off you, her fingers resting against your hip, her thumb brushing over the fabric of your dress like a rhythm only she could hear. You weren’t nervous. You weren’t guarded. You were just there—standing beside the love of your life, the mother of your child, while the world slowly learned what real love could look like.

Eventually, someone called Court and T toward the dance floor. The second they walked away, Paige turned to you.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “They’re sweet.”

Paige tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re glowing.”

“You’re the reason.”

She leaned in, pressed her lips to yours, slow and soft, just long enough to forget where you were. And when she pulled back, her smile was lazy and full. “Remind me to thank my dad for taking Maddie.”

You laughed. “Oh, I plan on it.”

And somewhere behind you, a livestream kept rolling. The chat kept freaking out.

But Paige? She was too busy tracing the line of your spine with her fingertips and whispering, “Let’s sneak out of here before anyone else tries to make us viral.”

And you did. Hand in hand.

The crowd was already electric before the tip.

You could feel it from the moment you entered the arena, hand in hand with Maddie, her tiny sneakers lighting up with every step and her curls bouncing beneath the oversized “BUECKERS” jersey she proudly wore like armor. She’d begged to wear the “real one”—the All-Star edition Paige had custom-made for her with a glittery number five stitched on the back and MAMA’S GIRL embroidered just above the hem.

The second you stepped out into the front row, cameras turned, fans pointed, but you were used to it now. The whispers had turned into waves, the curious glances into knowing smiles. People didn’t question anymore. They just nodded, smiled, lifted their phones, and said things like…

“She’s here.” “She brought her.” “They’re real. They’re really real.”

And they were.

You lowered Maddie onto the padded seat beside you, fastening her pink earmuffs gently over her ears. She was bouncing in place, clutching her plush basketball like it had feelings, eyes scanning the court until they locked onto the figure emerging from the tunnel.

Paige.

Hair in a slick back bun, her All-Star jersey tucked into her shorts, every step she took radiating quiet confidence. She looked like she belonged there—not like a rookie, not like someone finding her way, but like someone who had always been meant for this.

She was on Team Collier, and tonight, they were going up against Team Clark—a lineup that had been hyped all week. From the first possession, Paige played like someone who remembered exactly who she was. Fast, fluid, feisty. Pull-up jumpers that kissed the glass. Behind the back dimes that made the crowd gasp. No look passes that threaded through defenders like smoke.

And every time she made a shot, every time she set up a teammate, her eyes scanned the stands, found you, found Maddie. She’d tap her heart. Raise her hand.

Maddie, despite not fully grasping score differentials or offensive sets, clapped like her life depended on it. “MAMA FAST!” she yelled. “MAMA MAKE A BASKET!”

You just held her close, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, your heart rattling in your chest with every smile Paige tossed your way.

Team Collier built a steady lead by the third quarter, and by the fourth, Paige was playing loose—laughing mid-play, dapping up teammates, spinning her defender into the paint for a scoop layup and grinning like she was ten years old again in a driveway with a dream.

When the buzzer sounded the arena erupted. Paige didn’t celebrate with her teammates first. She turned to the sideline. You stood instinctively, already lifting Maddie into your arms as Paige jogged over, sweat-slicked and glowing, hands out.

Maddie shrieked with delight. “MAMA WIN!”

Paige caught her midair with practiced ease, spinning her in a circle right there on the hardwood, laughter spilling out of both of them. Maddie threw her arms around her mama’s neck, little legs swinging, and Paige held her like the trophy she’d always dreamed of. You stayed close, watching it unfold with a kind of awe you never got used to. Not because she’d won. Not because of the crowd or the cameras or the chants.

But because even in the loudest moment of her life… Paige still only had eyes for her family.

“Maddie,” Paige said, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, “did you see that three pointer?”

“I SAW IT!” Maddie screamed back. “YOU DID A ‘WOOSH!’”

Paige laughed, eyes glassy, head tilted back. “She’s gonna be louder than me someday.”

“She already is,” you said, stepping forward, brushing a curl off her forehead.

Paige kissed you without thinking. Soft, sure. A thousand cameras caught it. A thousand more would repost it. But she didn’t even glance their way.

This moment wasn’t for them. It was for you. For Maddie. For the team that carried her long before the world figured out who she really was.

And in that moment—under the All-Star lights, jersey stained with sweat, daughter in her arms and your hand in hers— Paige Bueckers didn’t just look like a star.

She looked like someone’s everything.

That someone is you.

The afterparty had already started by the time you got there, but in truth, it had been starting all day—from the moment Paige laced up for her first All-Star Game, to the kiss she gave you after the win, to the way she whispered “we’re doing something big, huh?” against your neck during the elevator ride back up to the room.

Madison was tucked away with Paige’s dad again, sleeping soundly after a postgame dinner that ended with three scoops of ice cream and a pink balloon tied to her wrist. She hadn’t even fought sleep—just curled up in Papa’s arms and gone under.

That left you and Paige free.

Free, in the way parents rarely get to be. Free in the way you both had once been before babies and futures weighed heavy on every move. And tonight, the world had caught up to who you were. There was nothing left to hide.

So when you walked into Azzi’s rented out venue—lights bouncing off walls, bodies moving to bass heavy remixes, laughter slipping through the room and the smell of tequila—you felt light in a way you hadn’t in years.

Paige was already there. Already gone, honestly.

You spotted her in the middle of a massive circle of people—players, staff, friends, influencers, some of the league’s most recognizable faces—and at the center of it all was Paige Bueckers, absolutely wasted, one arm wrapped around T, the other flailing toward the ceiling as she belted out the chorus to “Love” by Keyshia Cole like it was the national anthem.

Court held the phone, capturing every second for their stream, howling in the background as Paige leaned fully into the performance—eyes closed, face twisted in earnest pain, free hand over her heart like she’d been through something deeper than a win.

“I used to think that I wasn't fine enough…” 

The crowd around her was losing it.

People shouted the words with her, reaching into the circle, phones up, drinks spilling. It was a moment. One of those rare, glowing things that lives half in memory, half in myth.

And then Paige stopped. She turned, unprompted, eyes searching through the haze like she felt something shift. Like her center of gravity had moved.

And then her eyes landed on you. You. Standing just beyond the circle, dress clinging to your curves, lipstick smudged from the second drink you didn’t need, tipsy but glowing. Your body already swaying a little to the music. Your heart already halfway in your throat.

Paige smiled. Not a grin. Not a smirk. A smile—wide, reckless.

“But I won’t waste my time tryna figure out…”

She turned back toward the camera, locked eyes with Court’s stream, and yelled, “THIS ONE’S FOR MY WIFE.”

The entire place screamed. You didn’t even have time to blush. Paige was already moving—stumbling, maybe, but with absolute determination—pushing through the circle, drink long forgotten somewhere behind her, arms already opening wide.

You met her halfway. Your bodies collided like magnets, her arms sliding around your waist, your hands bracing against her chest.

“LOVE! NEVER KNEW WHAT I WAS MISSIN’ BUT I KNEW ONCE WE START KISSIN’…”

She sang it directly to you. Off key. Loud. Unapologetic. You were laughing, full body laughing, the kind that made your knees weak and your cheeks ache. And then you were singing too, equally off key, both of you spinning in a slow, ridiculous two step as the crowd cheered like you were the main event.

“She gone,” Court shouted nearby, laughing into the phone. “Paige Bueckers is DRUNK IN LOVE. Somebody get Beyoncé on the line!”

Paige dipped you—literally dipped you—almost falling over, but you caught her waist, steadying her just long enough for her to whisper against your cheek, “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re so drunk,” you whispered back.

“I would marry you right now.”

“You already did.”

“I’d do it again.”

You kissed her.

Sloppy, sweet, cherry on her lips from some long gone drink, one of her hands tangled in your hair, the other holding onto you like she never wanted to let go. You felt her giggle against your mouth. Felt her chest shake with joy. Felt the way she held you like she’d waited for this night since the very beginning.

You pulled back just slightly, noses touching.

“Having fun?” you asked.

Paige nodded. “Best night of my life.”

“That’s what you said at the wedding.”

“Every night with you is better.”

Courtney screamed, “Y’all stop being cute, damn.”

The party kept going around you. The music stayed loud. The lights stayed low. But you and Paige didn’t leave each other’s arms for the rest of the night.

And later—after someone handed you water, after Paige dramatically declared her hangover “a tomorrow problem,” after the crowd thinned and the room quieted and the StudBudz signed off with the words “love is real, y’all”—you took your wife by the hand and slipped out into the night.

Still drunk. Still in love.

The sunlight didn’t knock, it barged in.

Bleeding through the hotel curtains in sharp gold stripes across the sheets, it landed directly on Paige’s face like a punishment. She groaned dramatically, one arm flinging over her eyes, the other blindly searching for the edge of the comforter like she could pull herself into darkness.

You were already up.

Not because you weren’t hungover—you were, just a bit—but because years of being a mom had turned your internal clock into something no amount of Dirty Shirleys could unwind.

You stood in the doorway of the bedroom, coffee in one hand, a cold Gatorade in the other, wearing one of Paige’s oversized shirts that barely reached mid-thigh. There was a faint line of leftover lipstick on your upper lip and smudged mascara you hadn’t bothered to fix. You looked like the ghost of last night’s events.

And Paige? Paige looked like she’d been hit by a freight train driven by Keyshia Cole herself.

She was curled up in the middle of the bed, tangled in white sheets, hair an absolute mess, face flushed, and only wearing black Nike Pros and a sports bra—the same one she’d been in when she peeled off her clothes in a sleepy daze a few hours earlier. One sock was still on, the other was god knows where.

She groaned again as you approached, voice gravelly. “Why is it… so bright?”

“Because it’s nine in the morning,” you said, setting the drink down gently on the nightstand. “Drink this.”

“I’m dying.”

“You’re hungover.”

“Same thing,” Paige mumbled, cracking one eye open. “What time did we leave the party?”

“Late. After you said ‘bye’ to everyone.”

Paige’s face crumpled. “Noooo.”

You grinned. “Oh, yes.”

“I did not…”

“You did,” you said, sipping your coffee. “And we’re also viral again.”

She slowly rolled onto her side, curling into herself like a ball. “You’re lying.”

You handed her your phone wordlessly.

She squinted through bleary eyes at the screen. The clip had already hit half a million views overnight.

“Paige Bueckers drunkenly singing Keyshia Cole to her WIFE and it’s everything.”

The comments were even worse—or better, depending on your angle.

“She really said I GOT MARRIED AND I’M GONNA YELL ABOUT IT.”

“WHERE IS THIS KIND OF LOVE FOR ME.”

Paige groaned again and flopped backward onto the pillows. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You say that every time.”

“This time I mean it.”

“You said that last time.”

She reached out blindly and found your wrist, tugging you down into the bed beside her. You landed softly on your side, one leg slung over hers, your face tucked close.

“You still love me?” she asked, voice smaller now.

“Desperately,” you whispered against her collarbone.

“Even though I embarrassed myself?”

“Especially because of that.”

She smiled, slow and sheepish, eyes barely open. “You looked so good last night.”

“I still do,” you teased.

She ran a lazy hand down your bare thigh. “Yeah. You do.”

You were about to kiss her when—

“MAMA LOOOOOVE!!!”

The hotel room door burst open. You both sat up instinctively just as Madison barreled into view, arms outstretched like she was preparing for takeoff. She was wearing one of Paige’s shirt she had clearly begged her Papa to let her sleep in. Her curls were wild. Her face was glowing.

“Mama! Mama!” she chirped, scrambling onto the bed like a girl on a mission. “I saw you was singin’! You was loud!”

Paige groaned again and flopped back dramatically. “Oh no.”

Madison plopped onto her stomach and poked Paige’s cheek with a grin. “You say ‘I in loooove!’”

“I did, huh?”

“I sing too!” Madison announced. “I go ‘LAAAAHVE’ like dis—” and then, at full toddler volume, she screeched a dramatic warble that would’ve made Keyshia proud.

You choked on laughter. Paige looked like she was trying to disappear into the mattress.

Paige cracked an eye open. “I’m gonna be known forever by that moment.”

You kissed her nose. “At least you looked hot doing it.”

She paused, then she smirked—a small, sleepy, very attractive smirk.

“I can live with that.”

Madison curled up between you both, completely unbothered, humming a made-up melody that sounded suspiciously like “Love” but with lyrics about something else.

And as Paige reached for the drink, groaning but grinning, you looked around that hotel bed—tangled hair, sore throats, and your daughter sandwiched between the two of you—and realized…

You wouldn’t trade this hangover for anything in the world.

[omgliz]

summer off-season 🛩️

can’t stand her part 2!

paige bueckers x f!reader | social media au

summary: paige, reader and uconn friends visit hawaii!!

Lots of people asked for a second social media au, ask and you shall receive!! I am flooding in work but if you want to send it more requests feel free guys 🥳

see first part here !!

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺.

→ you created a group chat titled Vacay 🌴

- 5 min later

🔔 p bueckers 💕 sent you a message

p: im just gonna call you to say goodnight baby

p: you don’t have a choice

you: lol okay

→ p bueckers 💕 is calling…

call ended | 1h 3min

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ .

🔔 kaitlyn.chen mentioned you in a story…

kaitlyn.chen

→ you reposted this story

-

4hrs later…

-

🔔 paigebueckers mentioned you in a story

paigebueckers

❤️ you liked this story

→ you reposted this story

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ .

1hr later..

📍finding directions to four seasons oahu resort

→ estimated arrival time by car: 23min

🔔 paigebueckers invited you to a jam

→ currently playing playlist… ‘for my baby’

. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠. ◠ . ◠ .

🔔 you’ve arrived at your destination!

-

paigebueckers

📍Hawaii

❤️ 610k

liked by yourusername, trinity_rodman, and more…

tagged: yourusername, kamoreaarnold, kaitlyn.chen +

paigebueckers aloha 🌺🌺

user HELLO 8TH SLIDE ??! 🤯

→ yourusername hi 😋

→ user oh my god hi I love you

nika.muhl Serve

user If you look closely you can see me drowning in the ocean

aaliyahedwards_24 Still confused how your big self fit on the back of my bike

→ user clock it

→ user CRAZYYY AALIYAH 😭😭

→ paigebueckers friendly fire?

user you guys are so cute…. *annabelle get them.*

yourusername 🩷🩷

→ paigebueckers 🫶🫶

→ kamoreaarnold 😘😘

→ yourusername 😒

aubrey.griffin44 Bruh I shoudlve went with your group instead… we in the desert out here

❤️ you liked this comment

→ yourusername we miss you aubrey

→ user Aubrey would’ve ate some vacay pics uppp

user we want more y/n content!!!

paigebueckers liked this comment

-

yourusername

❤️ 599k

liked by paigebueckers, wbb, janaelalfy8, and more…

tagged: aaliyahedwards_24, kamoreaarnold, paigebueckers, nika.muhl, janaelalfy8, kaitlin.chen

yourusername oahu, how are u !! 🌴

📌 paigebueckers mine

you pinned this comment

→ kaitlyn.chen Cringe

→ yourusername jealous ?!

→ kaitlyn.chen Yes. 🥲

user Her and paige matching pics on 7th slide 🥹

janaelalfy8 The tan lines 😍

kamoreaarnold Only a week into the holiday and yall already posting all ts i have nothing

→ yourusername girl take more photos

user baddest in the wnba

aaliyahedwards_24 Model era? ⁉️

user ik paige drooling rn

→ paigebueckers oh absolutely

→ user WE LOVE A PROUD GF

user #needthat.

trufru Get that rest, queen! 🩷

-

🔔 aaliyahedwards_24 mentioned you in a story…

aaliyahedwards_24

❤️ you liked this story

→ you reposted this story

-

paigebueckers

📍velvet nightclub, oahu

❤️ 715k

liked by yourusername, madelyncline, sarahstrong_…

tagged: yourusername, kamoreaarnold, nika.muhl, aaliyahedwards_24, kaitlin.chen, janaelalfy8, madisonbaileybabe

paigebueckers girls night from start to finish 🍾🍾

📌 kamoreaarnold Damn y’all actually cute

paigebueckers pinned this comment

kamoreaarnold I’m cuter

→ paigebueckers holy airball 🔥

user PAIGE FEEDING USSS THE COUPLE CONTENT

user sleeping on the highway tn

madisonbaileybabe fancy seeing y’all here 🙈

→ yourusername same time tmr? 😉

kaitlin.chen We ate

nika.muhl Sick of third wheeling atleast give me pic creds bro

→ kamoreaarnold Me too

→ aaliyahedwards_24 Me three

→ janaelalfy8 me four

→ kaitlin.chen me five

→ paigebueckers my bad 😚🫶

-

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺.

That’s all for this part my darlingss if everyone has ideas for the next please let me know!! hope this was good part 2 i thought a vacay idea would be fun 🤩

❤️❤️❤️

[omgliz]

partition • pazzi x reader

tonight was all about paige, as much as you loved to be the center of attention; you had to let her have her night.

azzi had already talked to you about this earlier in the day while she was getting glammed up, asking you for no fits, no snarky comments and no bratty behavior. the night went amazing; the draft had ended hours ago, team dinner was done and now the club was coming to an end.

it was about 4am when you checked your phone, you were sitting on paige’s right leg and azzi on her left; the three of you wearing dallas wings hats as paige felt up both of your thighs. you guys had spent the last 4 hours dancing and drinking the night away with your friends but now, your feet are killing you and you want nothing more than a street hot dog and your bed.

paige however; looks just as alive as she did when they called her name as she bites her lip, admiring yours and azzis bodies in your dresses. while your guys’ relationship was a secret the section at the club was private; you were pretty sure the bottle girls had to sign some kind of nda to work here tonight.

“you tired, baby?” paige asks, making you glance up from your phone. she must’ve noticed how your energy had plummeted in the last 30 minutes. “no, i’m okay.” you smile, assuming she’d want to stay out and continue to finish her time. “are you sure? you look tired?” azzi asks, making you shrug this time. “c’mon, let’s get going im ready to go anyway.” paige says, patting you and azzi both on your butts; signaling to get up.

you all get up and grab your belongings, saying your goodbyes and making the long journey to the car.

“that was so fun, im so proud of you.” azzi says, smiling to paige as you walk about a foot ahead of them but in the middle. “thank you, babe. couldn’t have done it without you two.” paige smiles, reaching to pinch your cheek; making you giggle and speed up your walk a bit.

once you guys get to the car you remembered what you had forgotten in your drunken state; the dallas wings sent paige a limo for the night, assuming she’d be riding with all her friends but it was just the three of you in reality. “i forgot about this” you blurt out, face a perplexed. “did you?” azzi giggles, letting her hand come to graze your hips. you hear the car door open and watch as the male driver gets out the car, coming around to open the door for the three of you.

“good evening, i hope you had a great time, miss buckers.” he greets politely, gesturing for us to enter the door. “i did, thanks man.” paige smiles, grabbing your hand guiding you into the back of the limo. once your sat inside you look at the exterior as she helps azzi in. it’s spacious, the couch wrapping all around the back in a U shape, it’s all white with an led rim that’s shaded to a light purple. there’s a small table in the middle, bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne, a few glasses set on the table.

you throw you head back, thinking it’s time to relax but as the car door shuts and paige finds herself comfortable between you and azzi; you realize it’s a different time. “hope you’re not sleepy yet, mama. we still got 30 minutes until we’re back to the hotel.” paige licks her lip before biting it, grabbing you by the back of the neck; leaning to plant kisses on your lips. you moan into the kisses as paige’s hand goes up your thigh, hiking up your dress. “drove me crazy in this little fucking dress tonight.” your eyes roll back after paige says that, planting one more kiss to your lips before biting your bottle lip; pulling her head back slowly before letting your lip go.

you sit up, now fully awake and watch her shift to azzi a bit. “and you looked so fucking sexy tonight.” paige pulls azzi into a kiss, pulling her dress up and allowing herself to massage the soft skin of her thigh. you almost moan at the sight of time making out. shifting in your seat, you burry your face into paige’s neck, sucking at the skin as your hand makes its way into her top, letting your fingers graze her nipple. paige and azzis kiss breaks after a bit and azzi also gets to work, sucking on paige’s neck and really just trying to feel whenever she can.

paige is a moaning mess, heavy breathing and eyes rolling back. something tells paige’s to open eyes and when she does she realizes; the partition was down. she’s too drunk off of you guys to ever care to much yet she still calls out, “driver roll up the partition, please and turn on some music.” you and azzi don’t pay much mind, both of you now basically grinding down on the seat, trying to get any kind of relief.

the car is soon filled with the sound of luther by kendrick lamar and sza.

“god, i love you two so much.” paige moans, neck now filled with hickeys but she doesn’t even mind. you and azzi murmur out your love yous back and her hands come to the back of each of your heads, pulling you two off her neck. paige bites her lip as she watches your and azzis eyes interlock; mischief in your eyes. “hi, baby.” azzi whispers, face moving towards yours. “hi, az.” you whisper back shyly. your lips soon interlock, tongues grazing each others. you feel azzi move, trying to get more comfortable, getting on her hands and knees on the seat; making you follow, your ankles crossing as you arch your back.

“so unreal.” paige whispers, biting her lip and you gasp when you feel her hike up your dress, putting your ass on display and revealing your black thong. she gives you ass a few smacks before moving to azzi, lifting her dress up as well and smacking her ass a few times; making her moan into the kiss. your guys’ hands all over and in between paiges lap as she manspreads, one of each of her hands come to grab at yours’ and azzis asses; leaning back to admire the view of her girlfriends kissing in front of her.

you and azzi moan into the kiss loudly at the same time, both feeling a single one of paige’s fingers slip inside of you with no warning. azzi’s hand comes up; tightly grabbing onto your hair as paige starts to finger fuck the both of you. “look at my dirty girls.” paige teases, now slipping in a second finger in both of you. “do my girls like that?” paige’s forward, making you and azzi pull apart; moans spilling out of the both of you as paige continues her assault on your pussies. “feels so good, daddy.” you whine, leaning forward to give paige a few pecks on the lip. “feel good, mama?” paige asks azzi, who’s clearly trying not to cum so soon. “feels so good, fuck.” azzi moans are so soft, the type that make you feel like you can float on them.

as paige and azzi kiss you see a golden opportunity, immediately reaching to unzip paige’s pants. paige moans into the kiss, lifting her hips up to help you pull her pants and boxers down. you moan at the sight, your girlfriends kissing, azzi bent over facing you but you can still see the round of her ass and paige’s hand sneaking around her, paige’s pants now down at her knees; pretty pink pussy on display; all three of you still in your dallas wings hats. azzi pulls back from the kiss, looking down to admire paige’s wet cunt, glistening in the light purple lighting.

you’re the first one to touch, allowing your middle fingers to connect with her clit, wet and sticky; rubbing soft circles on it. paige bites her lip, looking down to watch you play with her; fingers still fucking you and azzi. it doesn’t take long for azzi to join in, sticking her pointer and middle fingers inside of paige, fucking her with the same sensual speed that paige is fucking you two at. you’re all moaning messes, shoving your face back inside of paige’s neck, licking and sucking all over as you feel your orgasm approach.

“think…think m’ gonna cum, daddy.” you whimper, warning paige. “yeah? did you ask if that was okay?” paige whispers back, a bit scarily to you; realizing you’d probably have to cum on whatever condition paige wanted. “can i cum, please daddy?” you pull your face from her neck, letting her see your pouty little face. “ask azzi, baby.” you look to azzi, who’s eyes are screwed shut and you can tell, she needs to cum too. “mommy, can i please cum.” you whine out, getting impatient, your hips now trying to jut away from paige a bit. “i’m gonna cum too baby, c’mon, cum with mommy.” azzi moans; pulling you into a kiss.

your tongues swirl as your orgasms hit, your movements on paige halting for a moment but she doesn’t mind, just happy to see you guys playing so nicely. paige helps you both ride out your highs, enjoying the feeling of your warm, wet holes pulsating around her. “good girls.” paige groans, pulling her fingers from both of you. you bite your lip, seeing how wet her fingers are from azzi as she brings them up to your mouth, “open up, baby.” she moans as azzis fingers start to move inside her again. you open your mouth, letting paige’s fingers inside; savoring the sweet taste of azzi, sucking on her fingers like a long popsicle. once her fingers are all clean paige brings her fingers that were inside of you to azzis mouth, she opens without needing to be told; immediately moaning at the taste.

you start to rub circles again, making paige moan out; now being stimulated by you and azzi. azzi releases paiges fingers with a pop. “so good for me.” paige groans, leaning back in the seat again; her hands going to untie the top of your dress, helping pull it down to your hips, letting your tits free. she immediately does the same to azzi, pulling down the straps of her dress to release her boobs. her hands come under both of you, reaching to play with both of your boobs, jiggling the fat in her hands.

“you gonna eat my pussy for me, baby?” paige asks you making you bite your lip with a nod; making you pull your hand away from her clit. azzi pulls her hand away as well and they watch and you get off the seat, it feeling good to get into a new position and onto your knees in between paige’s legs. you pull her pants down to her ankles and she spreads her legs wider, giving you easier access. azzi uses her left hand, helping guide your head towards paige’s pussy. you almost moan the feeling of the warmth radiating off of her pussy as your face gets close. the first taste is like heaven as you immediately take her clit into your mouth, sucking at the bud.

“holy shit.” paige groans, helping azzi readjust to sit perked up on her knees; her tits at perfect eye level with paige. you moan at the taste of paige and the view above you, azzis silk press becoming a bit frizzy with sweat but she still looks beautiful as ever; moaning out as paige takes her nipple into her mouth. paige’s arm wraps around azzis lower back, pulling her closer to her and the other hand goes to play with azzis other nipple. azzi throws her head back, her hand still pressing your face into paige’s pussy.

paige’s pussy tastes sweeter than normal, you’re not sure if it’s maybe the cherry liquor you’re still tasting on your lips, azzi’s vanilla lipgloss or maybe the fact that she just won first round pick in the draft but whatever it is; it’s making you weak in the knees. you nod your head in her pussy, eyes rolling back as you lick up her clit with the minimal movement your allowed with azzis hand. azzi looks down to check on you, noticing how fucking submissive you look she can’t help but to pull you back by your hair and lean down; making paige release her nipple for a second, she grabs you by the cheeks, squeezing with her other hand, “open wide, baby.” her voice is so alluring you do as she says, your mouth soaked with paige’s wetness and now her saliva as she spits in your mouth.

you swallow like a good girl of course, gasping for a breath before azzi shoves your face back into paige’s pussy. paige leans forward a bit, one of her hands grabbing at your dress that had bunched up at your waist and the other coming down to spank your ass. “good fucking girl, how did i get so lucky?” paige praises, leaning back again after delivering a few more smacks to your fat ass. “im gonna bust.” paige groans out making you lick her pussy faster. her hand also comes to grab a bunch of your hair, joining azzis. “c’mon, princess make daddy cum.” azzi moans, biting her lip at the sight of you two.

it doesn’t take many more licks and nods of your head before you feel and taste paige spilling down your chin, “fucking shit, baby.” paige groans hips bucking into your face as her and azzi hold your head still.

you gasp for air when they finally let you go, leaning your back against the seat as paige lays there limp for a second, azzi pressing soft kisses to her neck. “you did, so damn good baby.” paige praises, her hand coming down to reach for you; helping you back onto the seat.

you guys hear the music turn down and the partition cracks just a bit, “we’ll be at the hotel in 5.” the driver calls out, rolling the partition back up and turning the music back up. “fuck, let’s fix ourselves.” azzi says, starting to pull the top of her dress back up. you watch as paige starts to pull her pants back up, pouting as azzi puts her tits away and paige covers her pussy. “don’t worry, baby. i got something waiting for you at the hotel.” paige smiles, noticing your pouty face and knowing you’d want to go again. “really?” you beam, making azzi giggle as you start to fix yourself. you turn away from paige and azzi, just trying to figure out which way is which on your dress. “something real good.” paige comes behind you, one knee on the seat as she grabs onto your shoulders, starting to thrust her hips into your ass. you gasp out in excitement, “you brought the strap!” making azzi scoff, “actually i brought it, paige forgot to pack it.”

you crouch a bit in the limo, almost being at your girlfriends’ heights in your 6 inch heels. paige let’s you go, as you grab onto azzi; your dress still not fixed, ass and tits still out as you straddle her lap. “thank you, mommy.” you press a soft kiss to her lips, letting her taste paige who still lingered on your mouth. “you’re welcome, now let’s get you fixed.” azzis quick to squeeze your ass in both her hands for a second before pulling your dress down and fixing the top, re-ting what paige un did a while ago. “my pretty girls.” paige smiles, making you both look over at her, her phone in hand taking a picture to savor the moment.

the next morning hit like a hurricane, there were clothes and shoes all over the room, sex toys spread all over the bed and even some on the floor as you woke up in the middle of your girlfriends.

the sun was peaking through the curtains as you looked to see them still asleep, spotting your phone on the side of paige you reach softly for it.

3:39pm

your phone reads, you immediately feel a grumble in your tummy, turning to azzi to wake her up. “azzi, baby wake up.” you whisper making her groan, “please baby.” you whine. “what?” she grumbles, eyes not open yet. “i’m hungry.” you pout. “ask paige to order something.” she says, turning away; immediately falling back asleep.

you turn to your blonde girlfriend; realizing azzi was too sleepy to help. “paige, wake up.” you whisper, shaking her a bit and she opens her eyes immediately; stretching her long limbs. “what happened, babe?” her morning voice sending a jolt straight to your pussy that you decide to ignore. “i’m hungry.” you whine out, “here.” paige turns, grabbing her phone and handing it to you. “doordash something for us.” making you smile in victory. you turn away from paige, allowing her to spoon you, one of her hands going between your thighs, enjoying the warmth of it.

azzis turns back to face you, joining in on the cuddles, still probably half awake. you cuddle in the middle of them; keeping paige’s brightness on low as you place your guys’ order. sitting the phone between you and azzi; you relax, deciding it’s just best to sleep until your food gets here.

[omgliz]

here’s these texts with lottie while i work on my fanfic 🙈 to keep you entertained yay

[omgliz]

𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which tattoos aren't the only thing that leaves a mark

warning : sexual content included - minors dni

Your dorm smells faintly of antiseptic and coconut oil, dimly lit by a salt lamp you found at a garage sale and a few strands of fairy lights taped haphazardly across the ceiling. Your tattoo machine is humming gently on your desk, neatly cleaned and resting beside a lined-up set of sanitized needles, ink caps, and gloves. You’ve got a system — one that’s been perfected over the last year and a half — ever since your roommate dropped out and you turned her bed into your makeshift tattoo studio.

Under the name Inkling, you’ve built a quiet reputation on campus. No one knows your real name unless they’ve been in the chair. Athletes, musicians, a couple grad students — they’ve all come through that dorm door, usually through hushed referrals and cryptic Instagram DMs. You’ve never posted your face. Just close-ups of fresh ink, your gloved hands, or that one photo of your forearm covered in delicate, razor-sharp line work. That one got shared a lot.

You’re careful. Every DM gets deleted after a location drop. Every appointment spaced out. You’ve seen enough busted dreams to know UConn wouldn’t hesitate to bench someone — or worse, expel you — if they found out.

It’s a rainy Thursday when your phone buzzes with a new DM.

Hey. Someone told me you might be the person to talk to about a tattoo?

The username catches your attention: @/paigebueckers.

You lean back in your chair, eyebrows lifting. The Paige Bueckers. You’ve seen her on campus, walking with her hood up and headphones on. People talk about her like she’s royalty — or a ghost. Never really both.

You heard right. What are you looking for?

The typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then comes back.

Something small. My first one. Maybe ribs.

I got you. Location’s in your inbox. Delete this after reading.

You wait.

And then — just like you asked — the message disappears.

You hear the knock on your door five minutes early.

Cracking it open just a sliver, you scan the hallway. Empty.

Then you see her. Hoodie up, eyes down, clearly trying to go unnoticed. You gesture her inside, and she slips in quickly.

She pauses in the doorway, scanning the room. Your tall frame leans casually against your desk, arms inked and folded across your chest. You’re wearing a fitted black tank and sweats, fresh from a lift earlier. Her eyes drift, lingering a little too long before she catches herself.

"You're Inkling?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, tone skeptical — but not unfriendly.

You smirk. “In the flesh.”

She blinks. You can see the recalibration in her eyes, like she wasn’t expecting you — tall, masculine, and somehow both rough around the edges and easy to talk to.

“I’m Paige,” she offers, finally meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping aside to let her walk further in. “I know who you are.”

You gesture to the chair in the corner — clean, covered in disposable wrap, next to your station.

“So,” you say, pulling on a pair of black gloves. “What are we doing today?”

She tugs her hoodie down, suddenly self-conscious. “I was thinking something simple. Maybe… a small cross? Just here—” She lifts the hem of her shirt slightly, revealing a sliver of toned side. “Right under the ribs.”

You nod, already moving to draw the stencil. “Any style in mind? Fine line? Bold? Shaded?”

She hesitates. “Fine line. Clean. Simple. Kind of like… a reminder, y’know?”

You nod again. “I got you.”

Within a few minutes, you’re walking back over with the stencil, eyes flicking up to hers. “You’re gonna have to take your shirt off.”

You say it casually, but her cheeks tint pink.

She hesitates, then pulls her hoodie and tank over her head, folding them neatly and setting them on the chair. She’s in a sports bra, but even so, her posture stiffens a little under your gaze.

You kneel next to her, applying the stencil with gentle precision, fingers cool against her warm skin. “This okay?”

She looks down and nods, voice quiet. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

You pick up the machine, the buzz filling the room.

“First tattoo, huh?”

She nods. “Is it gonna hurt?”

“Little bit. But I’ll talk you through it.”

The needle meets her skin. She tenses at first — a sharp breath — but you keep your voice low, steady, as you work.

“You’re not gonna die. Promise.”

She laughs softly, tension easing just a little.

You fall into a rhythm — machine buzzing, your voice threading in between.

“So how’d you start tattooing?” she asks after a minute.

“Boredom,” you admit. “High school. I used to sketch on my friends with Sharpies. Someone dared me to buy a machine. I practiced on fake skin for months before I ever touched a person.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Terrified. But I loved it more than I feared it.”

She goes quiet. You glance up.

“What about you?” you ask. “Why basketball?”

“It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense,” she says softly. “It’s like… the court’s the only place where everything goes quiet.”

You hum in understanding, eyes flicking back to your work. “Same way I feel when I’m doing this.”

There’s a long pause. A comfortable one.

You finish the last line, clean it up, and wrap the fresh ink in clear bandage. You explain the aftercare — gentle washing, no picking, keep it moisturized.

She puts her shirt back on and hands you a wad of cash.

And then, just as she reaches for the door — she pauses.

“Hey,” she says, turning back, biting her lip. “Do you ever give your number out?”

You raise a brow. “That depends. Why do you need it?”

Her eyes flick over your face, a little emboldened now.

“I wanna get to know you,” she says. “Not just the artist. You.”

There’s a moment of quiet — just the hum of your machine behind you, the buzz of electricity in the air.

You step toward her, pulling a pen from your pocket and gently taking her hand.

You write your number on her palm, slow and deliberate.

“Then start with a text,” you murmur, eyes locked with hers. “And we’ll see.”

Two weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Paige sat in your chair — stiff and unsure, her rib stinging under your needle while your voice calmed her nerves better than she’d ever admit.

She hasn't stopped thinking about you since.

Not just the way you looked — tall, confident, with inked knuckles and a crooked grin — but the way you spoke to her. Like she wasn’t just Paige Bueckers, UConn’s superstar. Like she was just... a girl in your dorm getting her first tattoo.

After she left that night, she stared at your number in her palm for a good half hour before finally texting.

hey. it’s paige. got one on the ribs.

You replied two minutes later.

hey ribs. glad you didn’t pass out lol.

Since then, it’s been constant.

Late-night texts. Memes. Song links. Half-flirty, half-real conversations about childhood dreams, favorite snacks, worst injuries, and best memories. She's gotten used to your name lighting up her screen — even looks forward to it. Maybe too much.

Right now, she’s lying on her stomach in the locker room, phone half-hidden under her forearm as she types out a reply.

P: would you ever tattoo your own face on someone as a joke?

You: only if they deserved it.

She grins, lip caught between her teeth, thumbs already flying over her screen for a comeback— when suddenly—

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” KK’s voice breaks through the quiet.

Paige fumbles, yelping a little and nearly dropping her phone. She quickly flips it over, shoving it under her towel.

“N-nothing,” she blurts.

KK lifts an eyebrow, towel slung over her shoulder, all mischief. “Nothing looks a lot like someone.”

“I was just—” Paige clears her throat, rolling over. “Twitter.”

“Ohhh,” KK says knowingly. “Yeah, same. I always giggle at tweets like they’re cute girls texting me too.”

Before Paige can defend herself, Azzi walks in mid-laugh and immediately picks up the vibe. “Wait. What did I miss?”

“Paige is hiding a crush,” KK sing-songs.

Azzi whips her head around. “You’re texting someone? Wait, is it that tattoo artist?!”

Paige goes red instantly. “What? No— I mean— not like that— we’re just—”

“Oh my God,” Azzi says, grinning like she just won the lottery. “You are! You went once and got hooked. I knew it!”

“She called her ‘ribs,’” KK adds dramatically. “I heard it. They have nicknames already.”

“Ribs!” Azzi cackles. “That’s gonna be her contact name in my phone for you now.”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbles, grabbing her towel and pressing it over her face to hide.

Then Aubrey walks in, adjusting her hair, immediately clocking the chaos. “Why is Paige buried like a corpse?”

“She’s in love,” Azzi says sweetly.

“With her tattoo artist,” KK adds.

Aubrey pauses. “Wait. Inkling?”

Paige lifts her head. “You know?”

Aubrey shrugs like it’s obvious. “Yeah. I got my latest one from her last semester. She’s fire.”

“She’s also hot,” Azzi adds. “Like, if I liked girls? I’d have gotten a sleeve just to keep going back.”

KK snorts. “I’d get her initials on my neck.”

“Okay, enough!” Paige yells, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Y’all are so annoying.”

But she’s smiling — wide, and a little dazed — because maybe, just maybe, she kind of loves that they can see what she’s trying to figure out herself.

Meanwhile, across campus, you’re sprawled across your bed, scrolling through Paige’s latest message with a smile playing on your lips.

She sends you a blurry selfie of her holding an energy drink with a caption:

P: this is either gonna power me through or kill me in the middle of practice

You laugh.

You: if you die i’m tattooing “dumb decisions” on your forehead. with wings.

A pause.

P: can’t wait 

Your heart stutters. Not just because she’s flirting. But because she’s still here. Still texting. Still choosing you — even if it’s just messages for now.

And that tiny seed of maybe?

It’s starting to bloom.

It’s just past 9PM when your phone buzzes again. You’re half-asleep on your couch, a late re-run of Ink Master humming in the background, one hand tucked behind your head, the other lazily scrolling through your camera roll.

P: hey! ribs needs a touch-up.

You grin, already sitting up straighter. You type back fast.

You: oh no. your tragic little cross fading already?

P: tragic? wow. ok.

You: come cry about it. you free now?

P: omw.

You glance up, blinking.

She’s coming here. Now.

You toss your hoodie on, adjust your sweats, and quickly wipe down your station — not because it needs it, but because you suddenly feel like everything has to be perfect.

You don’t even know if she needs a touch-up. You think the tattoo healed clean. You remember exactly how it looked when she left — skin flushed, ink crisp and sharp, your gloves ghosting her side as you wrapped her ribs with practiced care.

But if Paige wants an excuse to come back?

You’ll let her use all of them.

Fifteen minutes later, you hear a soft knock.

Three quick taps. Hesitant.

You open the door, and there she is.

Hair tied back in a bun. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Eyes flicking up to meet yours with that soft, unsure kind of confidence that’s been growing since day one.

“Hey,” she says, almost breathless.

You step back to let her in. “Hey, Ribs.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

“I brought snacks,” she says, holding up a gas station bag. “Touch-up tax.”

You grin. “Bribery noted.”

She perches on the edge of your couch while you prep the machine again, glancing around like she’s trying to memorize every poster, every flickering light string, every shadow you cast across the room.

“So,” you say, sliding gloves on. “Let’s see the damage.”

She lifts the hem of her hoodie, then the tank under it, revealing her side again. She doesn’t flinch this time. Doesn’t hesitate. Just watches you carefully as you lean in to inspect the ink.

You blink.

“Yeah…” you say slowly. “You definitely didn’t need a touch-up.”

“Damn,” she says, tone innocent. “Guess I’ll go then.”

You catch her wrist before she moves.

“Nah. You’re already here.”

The tension builds like a tightrope between you — stretched thin but thrilling.

You lean in, dragging a gloved fingertip lightly over the healed tattoo, eyes never leaving hers.

“You been using the aftercare stuff I gave you?”

“Every night,” she murmurs. “Like a good girl.”

You pause.

You’re not sure who leans in first, but suddenly your faces are too close. Her knee brushes yours. Your fingers are still on her skin. Your heart’s somewhere between say something and kiss her now.

She breaks the silence first.

“You ever get nervous?” she asks softly.

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“Stuff like this,” she says. “Being in someone’s space. Not knowing what happens next.”

You let your hand drop from her ribs, slowly peeling your gloves off.

“I used to,” you admit. “But then I started noticing the signs.”

“What signs?”

You lean back slightly, just enough to make her lean forward — chase the space you left behind.

“Someone shows up without needing a touch-up,” you say. “Brings snacks. Doesn’t take her eyes off you.”

Paige swallows, pulse fluttering in her neck.

“And what do you do when you notice?” she whispers.

You smile — slow, crooked.

“I wait until she makes the next move.”

There’s silence.

Then Paige sets the snack bag aside and shifts closer — until your knees touch again, until the air between your mouths gets impossibly thin.

She rests her hand lightly on your forearm. Testing. Waiting.

“I came back for more than a touch-up,” she says, barely audible.

“I know.”

And then?

You both move at once — like gravity finally gave in.

She almost kissed you.

You know she almost did.

That moment — the way she leaned in, her breath catching, your eyes locked — it was charged. One inch closer and she would’ve been in your lap, her lips pressed to yours, hoodie half-off.

But she pulled back.

Murmured something about practice tomorrow. Smiled that crooked little smile and slipped out like it didn’t shake you to your core.

And now you’re haunted by it.

By her.

The ghost of her fingers on your arm. The scent of her hoodie. The way her voice dipped when she said, “I came back for more than a touch-up.”

You haven’t stopped texting, of course. If anything, it's gotten worse.

P: i keep thinking about that stencil gel. why is it always freezing

You: so u remember the cold gel and not the way i touched ur body huh

P: i hate you

You: no u don’t

She doesn't deny it.

And neither do you.

Three days later, you're bent over your client, your machine buzzing as you work on a chest piece — intricate line work, shaded stars that bloom over his pec like smoke. You're focused, gloved hands steady, music humming low in the background. Your lamp casts a warm glow over your little setup. Three quick knocks. Just like last time.

You look up, brows furrowing. You're not expecting anyone.

You lower the needle and call out, “Door’s open.”

It swings open a moment later — and there she is.

Paige. In joggers and an oversized tee. Slightly flushed like she ran here, hair pulled into a high ponytail, holding a bottle of blue Gatorade like she needed a reason.

“Hey,” she says, eyes flicking around your room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Her gaze lands on your chair — on the guy sitting shirtless, one arm behind his head, wincing through the sting of the needle.

“Oh,” she says quickly. “I can come back.”

You shake your head, pulling your gloves tight again. “Nah. Stay.”

Paige hesitates… then closes the door behind her and sinks onto your couch, pulling one knee up, tucking her foot beneath her. She stays quiet at first, just watching.

But you can feel it. Her eyes on you. The weight of them.

Your shirt rides up slightly as you lean over the client. Your chain glints in the light. Your forearms flex. There’s a streak of black ink on your jaw from where you scratched an itch and forgot you’d touched the cap first.

You glance up.

She’s staring.

Her lip is caught between her teeth. Gatorade forgotten in her lap.

You smirk slightly.

“You good over there?” you murmur without looking away from your work.

She snaps out of it. “Yeah. Just… observing.”

You don’t push. You keep tattooing. But your voice drops just enough to tease:

“Didn’t know I was part of the show.”

She doesn’t reply.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch her shifting — crossing her legs tighter, cheeks a little flushed.

When your client finally hops off the chair and checks out the finished work in your mirror, you clean up and walk him to the door, chatting easily. You say goodbye, click the lock, and turn back around.

Paige is still on your couch. Still holding her Gatorade. Still not looking directly at you.

“You sure you’re not here for another touch-up?” you ask, voice low now that you’re alone again.

She looks up finally.

“I don’t think the tattoo’s the part that needs touching.”

Your heart stutters.

The silence swells again, thick and buzzing.

You take one slow step forward. Then another.

She stands up too, meeting you halfway.

Close. Too close.

You can smell her shampoo. See the freckles scattered on her collarbone. Feel her breath on your chin.

But she doesn’t close the distance.

Instead, her hand brushes your wrist as she walks past you — casual, smooth, intentional — and she murmurs over her shoulder, “Text me later.”

The door shuts behind her.

And you’re left standing in your own dorm, slightly ink-stained, jaw slack, stomach twisted up in tension so sharp it almost hurts.

She pulled back again.

And you're starting to think she's doing it on purpose.

It starts with a text.

P: u up?

You: what are you, a guy on tinder?

P: shut up. i’m serious. come to the gym.

You: it’s midnight.

P: exactly. no one will be there. come shoot with me.

You: ...u tryna seduce me with hardwood floors and fluorescent lighting?

P: depends. is it working?

You don’t even respond.

You just throw on your sneakers and a hoodie, grab your keys, and head out the door.

The UConn practice gym is dim when you walk in — only a few of the overheads are on, leaving the court glowing like a movie scene. Quiet. Still. And there she is.

Paige.

Ball in hand, ponytail high, shooting solo from the top of the key. She doesn’t see you at first — just lets the ball roll back from the rebound machine, catches it in one smooth motion, and fires again.

Swish.

You whistle low.

She turns, a smirk already tugging at her mouth.

“About time,” she says, wiping her forehead with the bottom of her shirt — giving you a full view of her toned stomach before it drops again.

You blink. “Sorry, I had to emotionally prepare for whatever pickup line you were gonna hit me with.”

“Oh please,” she tosses you the ball. “You think I need lines?”

You catch it with a grin. “You’re kinda full of yourself, Bueckers.”

“And you are kinda stalling. Let’s see if you can actually shoot or if you just look cool.”

You raise an eyebrow, then dribble once, twice, pull up at the elbow — clean jumper.

Swish.

Her mouth parts slightly.

You shrug. “Told you I was more than just tattoos and biceps.”

She circles you, grabbing the rebound, bouncing it back your way.

“You are full of surprises,” she murmurs. “I didn’t expect you to have form. Or a jumper.”

You shoot again. Another swish.

“You know,” she adds, jogging over, “if I make this next shot, you have to give me a free tattoo.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And if you miss?”

She spins the ball on her finger, grinning. “Then you still give me one, but I pick where.”

You snort. “That’s not how bets work.”

“Shh.” She backs up behind the three-point line, sets her feet, shoots—

Clank. Off the rim.

You break into laughter, hands on your knees. “Yo—so confident. So dramatic. So short.”

“Okay wow, personal attack,” she says, chasing the ball. “We get it, you’re tall.”

“And humble,” you add with a wink.

She tosses it back. You shoot again. Net.

“You're seriously hot when you do that,” she blurts, then instantly freezes.

You pause mid-dribble, smirking. “When I shoot?”

“When you swish,” she mutters. “And like… do that half-smile thing after. You know what you’re doing.”

You walk closer, bounce passing her the ball again.

“Oh yeah?” you say, voice dropping just a little. “What else do I do that’s hot?”

She squints at you, stepping in too. “You wanna play this game?”

“I thought we were playing,” you murmur.

There’s a pause. Just breath and bouncing orange rubber.

Then Paige grins. “Okay,” she says. “Truth or dare, but gym edition.”

You laugh. “Why do I feel like this is about to go off the rails?”

“Pick one.”

You spin the ball on your palm. “Truth.”

She tilts her head. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

You hesitate — not in fear, but because damn, she really jumped right to it.

You take a slow breath.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “Too many times.”

She swallows. Looks at your mouth for a second too long.

You step back. “Your turn.”

“I pick dare.”

You toss her the ball again. “Hit a three. If you miss, you owe me a date.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not a dare.”

“Sure it is. Do it.”

She backs up, sets her feet, deep breath — and shoots.

It arcs high. Hangs in the air. And—

Rim.

Bounces off.

She stares at it like it betrayed her.

You bite your lip, trying not to grin. “Damn. That’s crazy.”

She groans. “That was so close.”

You step up to her, gently take the ball from her hands, your fingers brushing hers.

“A deal’s a deal, Bueckers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “You better take me somewhere good.”

“Oh, I will,” you say, dribbling lazily between your legs. “Just not to another empty gym at midnight.”

She grabs your wrist before you can turn — eyes locked on yours, soft and slow.

“But you’d come,” she says quietly, “anytime I asked, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even pretend to lie.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I would.”

She lingers. Closer again. Inches. Seconds.

And then, like always — she pulls back.

Grabs her Gatorade. Spins the ball once. Looks over her shoulder with that damn smirk.

“Text me later.”

And she’s gone.

It had been four days since you and Paige shot around at the gym.

Four days since that charged truth or dare, since she missed the shot on purpose (you’re sure of it), since she got all up in your space only to walk away like she didn’t just set your heart on fire and leave it smoldering behind her.

You’d been texting still — the usual flirty banter and late-night teasing. But she hadn’t come by. Not since that night.

So when you hear a knock at your door around 7 p.m., your heart stutters.

Her?

You glance over your shoulder — already gloved up, your tattoo machine buzzing as you finish the shading on a delicate black rose. The girl in your chair is leaning back, her cropped tank pulled to the side to expose her ribs. She’s pretty — short brown curls, lip ring, soft eyes. You've tattooed her once before.

You lower the needle for a moment and call out, “Come in.”

The door creaks open.

Paige walks in.

And she freezes.

You swear you hear her swallow.

She takes in the scene — the girl, shirt hiked up, bra strap slipping down, your hand gliding carefully along the edge of her ribs. The soft music. The warm lighting. Your focused expression.

Her jaw clenches — subtle, but you catch it.

“Oh,” she says, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pocket. “Didn’t know you had company.”

You glance up and smile casually. “Just finishing up. Come in. You can chill.”

Paige hesitates, then steps inside and sinks into your couch, eyes lingering on the girl’s exposed skin.

You don’t miss the way she watches you — the way her knee bounces, the way she tugs her hoodie sleeves over her hands like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“Almost done,” you murmur to your client, finishing the last bit of shading. “You’re sitting like a champ.”

“Wouldn’t be my first time,” the girl says with a playful smirk. “You make it easy.”

Paige’s head snaps toward her.

You don’t look up, but you feel it.

She’s seething.

“Glad to hear it,” you say, smirking to yourself as you wrap the tattoo.

The girl sits up, pulling her shirt back down, glancing toward Paige. “Friend of yours?”

“She’s… someone,” Paige mutters, not looking away.

The girl raises an eyebrow, smiles slowly, and heads toward the door.

“Thanks again,” she says to you, hand brushing your arm on the way out. “You’ve got magic hands.”

As the door closes, Paige lets out a sharp, dry laugh.

“Magic hands, huh?” she echoes, voice tight.

You finally look at her — really look.

She’s not just irritated. She’s jealous.

And trying really, really hard to pretend she’s not.

You peel off your gloves, toss them in the trash, and sit on the edge of your desk.

“Something on your mind, Bueckers?”

She shrugs, eyes fixed on the spot where the girl had been. “Didn’t know you did flirty commentary with your clients.”

“She was being nice.”

“She was being obvious.”

You tilt your head. “So?”

Paige looks at you — and the mask slips just a little. Her lips part, then close again. She shifts on the couch, restless.

“So do you flirt back with all your clients?”

“Only the hot ones.”

She raises her eyebrows.

You smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind when you were shirtless on my chair.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

She’s quiet.

You stand and walk over slowly, stopping just in front of her, hands sliding into your own hoodie pocket.

“Why, Paige?”

She looks up at you, eyes a little too bright, lips just a little too pouty.

“Because I actually care if you’re into someone else,” she finally says, voice low.

The room stills.

You exhale through your nose, taking a beat before you answer.

“You jealous, Bueckers?”

She lifts her chin. “You’re damn right I am.”

You don’t move — you just look at her. Let her feel it.

“You could’ve texted,” you say quietly. “Could’ve said something. Asked me to hang.”

“I didn’t wanna seem…” She trails off.

“What?”

“Attached.”

You take one slow step forward, between her knees. You don’t touch her — not yet — but you’re close enough for her to feel your presence everywhere.

“And what if I like that you’re attached?”

She blinks.

“What if I’ve been thinking about you just as much? What if that gym night messed me up? What if every time you leave, I want you back in the room five minutes later?”

She stares up at you, lips slightly parted, breathing shallow.

And then you lean down, close enough to feel her breath, close enough to kiss her — but you don’t.

You stop right there, noses brushing.

“Still jealous?” you whisper.

Her hand slides up your side, resting lightly on your hoodie — but still, you both hold back.

Barely.

“Only when I’m not the one in your chair,” she murmurs.

You grin. “You saying you want another tattoo?”

She looks at your lips. “No,” she breathes. “I want you.”

But still — no kiss.

Just that unbearable, perfect tension.

It starts with a simple text from Paige.

P: You busy tonight?

You: Not if you’re finally letting me beat you at Uno

P: Tempting. Come by my dorm? Girls are hanging out.

You: You sure? I don’t wanna crash the estrogen party

P: They’ll like you. I promise. Just don’t flirt with anyone but me.

You: Oh? Am I allowed to flirt with you now?

P: Only if you want everyone to know you’re obsessed with me

You laugh at your phone, toss on your hoodie, and head out.

By the time you get to Paige’s floor, you can already hear music and laughter bleeding through the cracked door. You knock once before stepping in.

It’s warm, loud, and full of energy. Sarah’s lounging on the couch with her socks mismatched. Azzi’s sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting cards. KK’s got her phone propped up against a candle jar, already live on TikTok.

“Heyyyy,” Paige grins, hopping up from where she’s been half-sitting on the armrest. She comes toward you, a glimmer in her eye. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you murmur.

The second you step into the room, every pair of eyes snaps to you.

“Ohhh, so this is the mystery guest?” KK calls, adjusting the angle of her phone. “Wait, wait—come closer, let the live see this. Who is this??”

“She’s a friend,” Paige says quickly, shooting KK a look.

Your eyebrow quirks at friend but you play it cool.

KK waves you over like you’re already part of the crew. “Come sit! Don’t be shy. We were literally just talking about Paige’s secret text buddy—”

“KK!” Paige cuts in, her tone a warning.

“What? I didn’t say their name,” KK teases. “Could be anyone.”

You smirk, sliding into the empty space beside Paige on the couch. Your knees brush. She doesn’t move away.

Azzi greets you with a small, knowing smile. “You play cards?”

“Better than Paige, apparently,” you quip, and she chokes on her drink.

KK cackles from the floor. “Oooh, you got jokes! I like them.”

You glance over and notice Paige is still looking at you — not saying anything, just watching you like you’re the only person in the room. The heat in her stare is something else.

“Okay, okay,” KK says, turning her phone slightly. “Live wants to know who you are. You look suspiciously comfortable over there.”

You flash a polite smile. “Just a friend.”

Paige snorts, and you bump her leg gently with your knee. She doesn't take her eyes off you.

Live chat starts popping off on KK’s phone.

“Who is that???👀” “Is Paige finally boo’d up???” “She’s kinda fine ngl” “They’re sitting HELLA close 😭” “They matching?? Are they matching??”

You glance down at the hoodie you’re wearing — black. Paige’s is black, too.

You lift your eyes to her, biting your lip.

“Matching hoodies, huh?” you whisper under your breath.

“Just coincidence,” she says softly. “Unless you wanna make it a thing.”

Your heart skips, but before you can answer, KK calls out, “HEY. Come on live with us real quick.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re already famous in the chat. Might as well say hi.”

Paige gives you this amused little shrug, and Azzi’s smiling into her cup like she knows exactly what’s happening here.

You sigh playfully, scoot over to KK’s phone and lean in. Paige scoots right with you — now shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed, close.

KK angles the camera toward you both.

“Okay live,” she announces dramatically, “say hello to our very mysterious, very smooth, very not nervous at all guest.”

You nod at the camera with a mock serious face. “Pleasure.”

The comments explode again.

“THE WAY THEY’RE SITTING” “PAIGE IS SMILING SO HARD OMG” “Who is this suave mf I’m in love” “Are y’all dating or what???” “They keep looking at each other omg STOP”

You glance at Paige.

She’s got that look again — amused, glowing, and just a little smug.

You lean closer to the mic. “No comment.”

The room erupts in screams.

You stay on the live for a few more minutes, answering random (safe) questions — what’s your favorite cereal, do you hoop, how did you and Paige meet (you lie effortlessly — “through mutual friends”).

Eventually, KK ends the stream, still giggling.

“That was the most fun we’ve had on live in weeks,” she grins. “You gotta come back.”

“I’ll think about it,” you wink.

Paige gives you a long look as you both settle back into your original spot, her voice low when she says, “You handled that like a pro.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you reply, nudging her leg.

The moment settles in again — comfortable, warm, buzzing beneath the surface. Her pinky brushes yours on the couch cushion.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

And still—no kiss. Just charged silence, quick glances, and the weight of everything almost happening.

Almost.

It’s late.

That kind of quiet hour where most of campus has gone still, windows dark, the night holding its breath.

Your phone buzzes on your desk.

P: that live earlier… you were kinda smooth ngl.

You smirk, staring at the screen for a moment before typing back.

You: kinda? thought i had you blushing.

P: you wish.

You: come over. prove me wrong.

You hesitate only a second before hitting send. You’ve been dancing around this thing long enough—teasing glances, flirty texts, late-night thoughts.

Tonight?

You want to know.

The reply comes quick.

P: omw.

Ten minutes later, there’s a soft knock on your door. You open it to find her standing there in gray sweats and a white crop hoodie that shows a sliver of skin. Her hair’s loose, no makeup, eyes soft.

“Hey,” she says, voice low, like she’s already matching the quiet.

“Hey,” you echo, stepping aside to let her in.

The lights are dim, a candle flickering on your shelf, casting golden shadows across your dorm. The same chair you tattoo in sits empty now. You gesture to the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

She sits, legs crossing at the ankle, eyes tracking you as you close the door and lock it gently behind you.

“Still think I was only kinda smooth?” you ask, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it her way.

She catches it, smirks. “I think you’re full of yourself.”

You chuckle, settling into your desk chair. “Nah. I just know how to read a room. And your face during that live?”

“I was not blushing.”

“You so were.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, teeth tugging at her bottom lip in that way that’s dangerous.

“So what,” she says slowly, “this is your move? Invite a girl to your room, make her talk about her feelings under low light and candles?”

“Only the special ones.”

That gets her. She exhales a soft laugh, cheeks warming in the glow. “You flirt like you tattoo. Confident. Smooth hands.”

Your eyebrow raises. “You thinking about my hands?”

A pause.

She doesn’t look away. “A lot more than I should.”

The tension punches the air out of the room. There’s no music, no noise. Just the sound of your shared breath and the rush in your ears.

You get up and move to sit next to her on the bed.

Close. But not touching.

“What are we doing?” you ask quietly.

She looks at you. Really looks.

“You tell me,” she murmurs.

“I think,” you start, fingers brushing hers slowly, “we’ve been circling this for weeks.”

You turn your body toward her, eyes scanning her expression. “And I think you’ve wanted to kiss me since the night I tattooed you.”

“I almost did,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “That night… when you leaned in.”

You nod. “I know. I felt it.”

You inch forward, just a breath between your lips now. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s inviting it—

And then, just as your lips graze hers, she pulls back.

A whisper of space.

Your pulse stutters. “Paige?”

Her smile is teasing, but her eyes are molten. “Not yet.”

You exhale, not sure if you’re frustrated or even more into her now.

“Cruel,” you mutter.

“Maybe,” she grins, “but now you’re thinking about it more.”

You lean back with a soft groan. “You’re evil.”

She shrugs, smug. “You love it.”

She stays for another hour, curled up in your bed, both of you side by side talking about nothing and everything—what music she listens to pregame, your favorite artists to ink, how she once tried to pierce her own cartilage and absolutely passed out.

You almost forget the burn.

Almost.

Because every so often, she shifts, and her shoulder touches yours. Her leg brushes your thigh. She looks at your mouth and then looks away, and it drives you insane.

When she finally stands to leave, it's after 2 a.m.

You walk her to the door. She hesitates there, hand on the knob.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” she says softly.

You lean against the doorframe. “Anytime.”

Her eyes flicker down to your lips again.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

Then she leans in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth—a whisper of a kiss, not quite what you wanted, but more than you expected.

A promise.

“Goodnight,” she murmurs.

And then she’s gone.

You’re not sure when exactly she got so deep under your skin, but now you feel it in your fingertips, in the buzz behind your teeth every time her name lights up your screen.

It’s been a few days since that near-kiss.

Too many.

You’ve been playing it cool, trying not to push—waiting for her to make the move.

But tonight?

Tonight you don’t want to wait anymore.

P: gym in 15?

You: be there in 10.

The UConn practice gym is dark, except for one row of overhead lights glowing above the court. Paige is already there, ball in hand, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a black tank and loose shorts. She looks unfairly good under the gym lights.

She looks like trouble.

“You’re early,” she says, tossing you the ball.

“Didn’t wanna keep you waiting.”

She smirks. “You sure about that? You’ve been making me wait for weeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Me?”

She starts walking backward toward the top of the key, still grinning. “You’re the one who talks all this game and then freezes every time I get close.”

You follow, dribbling casually. “Please. You’re the queen of pulling back last second.”

“Maybe I just like the anticipation.”

You stop at the arc and shoot. Swish.

She raises a brow. “Okay Steph, I see you.”

You shrug. “I told you I could shoot.”

She gets the rebound and tosses it back. “Let’s make it interesting.”

“What, horse?”

“No,” she says, stepping close, just barely toe to toe. “If I make my shot, you have to answer a question. Truth only.”

You grin. “And if I make it?”

“Same deal.”

“Bet.”

She pulls up from midrange. Net.

You groan. “Alright. Hit me.”

Her eyes glitter. “Have you thought about kissing me since that night?”

You blink. “Is that even a question?”

“Answer it.”

You step a little closer. “Every night.”

She swallows, the moment thick now. Her turn to shoot again.

She misses.

Your ball.

You catch it, holding it between you. “My question.”

She lifts her chin. “Hit me.”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

She bites her lip. “Because I wanted to see if you’d break first.”

You chuckle, stepping forward again. “Well, congratulations.”

She tilts her head. “Why’s that?”

You don’t say anything.

You just step into her space, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else—

And you kiss her.

No warning. No teasing. Just your lips on hers, firm and hungry, claiming the moment you’ve both been aching for. She gasps softly into it, hands finding your waist like muscle memory, and you deepen the kiss without hesitation, your fingers tangling in her ponytail.

It’s messy and hot and so full of built-up tension it practically cracks.

She pulls you closer, your body pressing hers gently against the padded wall behind the baseline, breath catching as your teeth graze her lower lip.

“God,” she whispers, head falling back just slightly, “finally.”

You grin against her skin. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

She kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth.

When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed and her voice is rough. “You’re in trouble now.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nods, smirking. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

There’s no more pretending now.

No more slow-burn games.

She’s officially yours—and you?

You’re already all in.

She’s still catching her breath when you pull her by the hand—out of the gym, down the empty hallway, back toward your dorm like there’s no time left to waste. Because there isn’t. Not anymore.

Not after weeks of stolen glances, soft hands brushing thighs during shoot arounds. Not after that kiss that tasted like everything she’d been holding back.

You open your door, and she’s on you the second it clicks shut.

Your back hits the wall, her mouth claiming yours like she’s starving. Her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer, your hands already sliding up the back of her hoodie and under the hem.

You break the kiss just long enough to pull it off, revealing that toned stomach you’ve been sneaking looks at during practice. She's wearing just a simple black sports bra, but it might as well be lace with how fast your pulse jumps.

“Bed,” you mutter against her neck, kissing the warm skin just below her jaw. “Now.”

She obeys, backing toward it, climbing up without breaking eye contact. You follow, slipping your hoodie over your head, your shirt next, until you’re standing above her, toned arms flexing slightly as you kneel on the mattress between her legs.

She looks up at you like you’re something dangerous. And she wants to get burned.

“Still cocky?” she asks, breathless.

You smirk. “We’ll see who’s cocky in five minutes.”

Her laugh is soft, shaky, the nerves behind her bravado showing for the first time.

You dip your head and kiss her again—slow this time, tongue tracing her bottom lip, hands smoothing up her sides until your thumbs brush just under her bra. Her breath hitches.

“Off,” you murmur, and she arches up for you, letting you slip it over her head.

She’s so soft beneath you—golden skin, flushed chest, and already looking at you like she’s seconds from falling apart.

Your hand ghosts over her stomach, fingers tracing the top of her shorts. “This too?”

She nods.

You slide them down, along with her underwear, slow enough to make her squirm. Now she’s laid out under you, nothing between you but heat and air and the sound of her breathing.

“Fuck,” you whisper, dragging your eyes down her body like a prayer. “You’re so pretty like this.”

Her fingers curl into the blanket. “Then do something about it.”

You settle between her thighs, kissing slowly down her stomach, leaving a trail of heat in your wake. Her thighs tense as you press a kiss just above where she wants you most, but you pull back.

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” you murmur, mouth hovering over her, breath warm against her. “You really thought I wasn’t gonna return the favor?”

She whines, hand flying to your hair.

And then you give in.

Your mouth meets her with slow, devastating pressure, tongue moving with practiced ease, teasing her open until she’s gasping your name, hips rising from the bed. Your hands press firmly on her thighs, keeping her in place.

She’s so sensitive, so responsive, each moan rolling out of her throat like it’s been waiting in her chest for days.

When you add your fingers—slow at first, curling just right—she loses it, head thrown back, mouth parted, trying and failing to keep it together.

“Right there,” she gasps. “Fuck—please, don’t stop.”

You don’t.

You keep going until she’s trembling, legs shaking, eyes squeezed shut as she falls apart around you, fingers tangled in your hair like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

You only stop when she’s tugging at your shoulders, breathless and wrecked.

You crawl back up her body, kissing her slowly now, her taste on your tongue, your hand resting on her stomach as it rises and falls.

“I told you,” you murmur against her lips. “I don’t miss my shots.”

She laughs, dazed and completely gone. “I’m never letting you near a basketball again.”

You grin. “Then I’ll just have to find other ways to wear you out.”

She’s curled against you now, legs tangled with yours under the warm sheets, skin still buzzing and kissed with sweat. Your arm’s draped over her waist, your fingers drawing slow circles along her back while her cheek rests on your chest.

The silence is thick with something warmer than lust.

You feel her chest rise and fall against you, slower now. Calmer. But every so often she lets out a breath like she’s still recovering—like you short-circuited something in her.

You brush your lips over her temple. “You okay?”

She nods, then looks up at you with the kind of smile that knocks the air out of your lungs. Messy hair, kiss-swollen lips, eyes too big and too honest.

“I’m… really okay,” she says softly. “Like… insanely okay.”

You chuckle and squeeze her waist, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Just okay? I’m offended.”

She laughs and hides her face in your chest. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

There’s a long pause after that. A quieter one. One that has her fingers slowly brushing your side, like she needs to touch you to believe this happened.

“So,” she says after a minute, her voice lower now, careful. “Was that… like… a one-time thing?”

You blink down at her.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing. “Paige. I just took you apart on my bed. You think I’d do that and just ghost you?”

She shrugs, eyes still down. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to assume.”

You tilt her chin up with your fingers. “Then let me be clear.”

You kiss her—soft and slow, the kind of kiss that says everything you haven’t dared to say out loud yet.

“I want to keep seeing you,” you murmur against her lips. “Outside of tattoo sessions. Outside of gym rebounds. I want you.”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in for days.

“I want you too,” she says, her voice a whisper. “I have. For weeks.”

You smile. “Same.”

There’s another beat of quiet before she starts trailing her fingers up your chest again. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

You raise a brow. “How so?”

“You’re tall. Hot. Mysterious. You make art. And you’re insanely good in bed. It’s not fair.”

You grin and brush her hair back behind her ear. “And you’re a literal basketball god with killer eyes and an attitude. I’m the one in trouble here.”

She grins lazily and leans in again, kissing you like she’s falling into something she doesn’t want to stop.

Eventually, she sighs and buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Can I sleep here?” she mumbles, her voice half gone.

You answer by pulling the blanket tighter around her and kissing the top of her head.

“Yeah, Paige,” you whisper. “Stay as long as you want.”

[omgliz]

LOL RIZZ SOLD SEPARATELY 😭😭😭😭😭

[omgliz]

at the same damn time😋😋😋😋

[omgliz]

Cowgirl!Abby x Cowgirl!reader

NSFW | bottom!abby | contains: fingering, dirty talk, praise, public sex, (a little) nipple play

After the rodeo, you find the blonde who caught your eye during Bronc Riding. And she looks mighty fine.

The dust from the rodeo still clung to your boots when you stepped into the bar, the scent of leather and sweat mixing with beer in the low-lit room.

Your hands rested in your belt as your eyes scanned the room, taking a deep breath. On your face, you felt the wind coming from a fan in the wall, which helped you cool off a bit.

It was the kind of place that had seen its fair share of hard days and longer nights – worn wooden floors, a jukebox playing something slow, the annoying murmur of men talking. Shitty lighting.

And then there was her, in the bar.

A long, blonde braid in the back of her head. Her face was mostly hidden by the angle of her hat, but those arms, exposed by a tight white shirt and a brown sleeveless vest, looked delicious.

You had spotted her earlier, in the rodeo. Bronc riding.

It was a hell of a thing to watch – eight seconds of muscle, the horse kicking like the damn devil while the rider held on with nothing but a single rein and stubborn will. Most people got thrown before the buzzer, but her? She rode it out like it was just another day.

Those thick, strong thighs gripping the saddle, shoulders squared, her long braid catching the light as she moved with the horse beneath her.

You knew when you saw her, she liked women. It wasn’t a guess – it was clear, written in the way she carried herself, in the way she looked when she pulled her hat lower, gaze sweeping the stands. She didn’t have to say a damn word for you to know.

And now, here she was.

At the same bar as you, one hand curled around a bottle of beer, her other resting on the counter. Her forearms lined with muscle, a few fresh scrapes from the ride standing out against tanned, freckled skin. Those jeans fit her thick thighs snugly and you nearly cursed.

You weren’t the kind to waste time.

So you grabbed a drink, took a large sip, and made your way over. Your hips swayed with every step, not seductive, just confident.

“Didn’t take you for a beer drinker,” you said, leaning against the bar beside her.

Close enough to catch the scent of pine and sweat, something that made your fingers twitch against the glass in your hand.

The cowgirl barely glanced your way at first, just lifted her bottle, slow and easy, before finally looking at you. You were a little scared she'd tell you fuck off, but she entertained you.

“What’d you take me for?” Her voice was warm, thick with southern drawl.

You let your eyes drag over her, not hiding the way you looked. The fit of her jeans, the muscle in her arms, the braid that hung loose over her shoulder.

“Well… Someone who really knows how to ride,” you said, tilting your head just enough to make the meaning clear. “Figured you’d drink somethin’ that burns a little more goin’ down.”

That got her attention.

She turned to face you fully now, an eyebrow raised, that cocky little smirk settling on her lips. “You watch me out there?”

You smiled and gave her your name.

“I watched you,” you said, taking another sip. “Couldn’t look away if I tried, really… What's your name?”

Abby huffed a small laugh, shaking her head, but you caught the way her fingers tapped once against her bottle, the way her jaw tensed just a little. She was used to people noticing her, sure. Maybe even flirting with her. But you weren’t flirting – you were hunting.

And she knew it.

“Abby. You ride?” she asked, eyes dragging over you now, a little slower this time.

You just smiled. “Think I’d be here if I didn’t?”

She hummed, taking a sip of her drink, watching you over the rim. “What’s your event?”

“Barrel racin’, mostly.” You let the words hang for a second, just long enough to watch her lips twitch around the rim of her bottle. “Not as flashy as ridin’ a bronc, but I get where I need to go real fast.”

Abby swallowed, set her beer down with a quiet clink. “Yeah? You good at it?”

You leaned in just a little, feeling the heat roll off her skin, the smell of leather and smoke clinging to her like a second skin. “Ain’t never had any complaints.”

That got her.

Abby’s smirk faltered for just a second, her fingers flexing against the counter like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take another drink. You saw it – the split second of hesitation, of surprise – before she recovered, tilting her head at you like she was trying to figure out what, exactly, she’d just walked into.

“Real cocky,” she muttered, shaking her head.

You grinned. “So are you. Ain't you?”

She gave a slow shrug, rolling out her shoulders like they were still sore from the ride. “Earned it.”

“I bet you did…” You let your gaze drop for just a second, tracking the movement, the way her broad frame shifted under the soft bar light. “Shame you ain’t as good at takin’ a compliment as you are at stayin’ in the saddle.”

That made her chuckle, low and rough, before she turned back to her drink. “Ain’t used to bein’ talked to like this.”

“Like what?”

Abby glanced at you from the corner of her eye. “Like I ain’t the one runnin’ the show.”

You didn’t look away, didn’t blink. Just let the corner of your mouth lift, slow and sure. “You wanna run the show, sweetheart, you just let me know.”

Abby exhaled sharply, shaking her head, but you saw it – that little spark in her eye, that flicker of something curious, something interested.

She didn’t say no.

The bar restroom door had barely clicked shut before you had Abby pressed up against the wall, the worn wood against the heat of her back. The dim light buzzed overhead, flickering against the old mirror above the sink, but neither of you were paying it any mind.

Your hands were on her, gripping her hips, fingers curling into the soft, worn denim of her jeans. She was solid under your touch, all muscle and heat, and fuck, you liked the way she felt, caged in like this, broad frame pinned between you and the wall.

Her breath was warm against your lips, that pine-and-smoke scent mixing with the beer between you. She wasn’t letting you take the lead just yet – but she was leaning into it, hands fisting in your shirt like she wasn’t sure whether to push or pull.

“Y’sure are handsy,” she muttered against your mouth, but her voice was rough, breathless, betraying the way her chest was rising and falling fast.

You grinned, brushing your lips over the corner of her jaw, feeling the muscle there tense beneath your mouth. “Didn’t hear you complainin’.”

Abby exhaled hard, her fingers flexing where they held you, but she didn’t argue.

Instead, she held onto your neck and kissed you like she had something to prove.

It was all teeth and heat, a clash of want and whiskey, her lips parting under yours just enough to let you take more. You did – deepening it, tilting your head to slot against her just right. She let out a low sound, something caught between a sigh and a curse, and you swallowed it down, pressing your body flush against hers.

Her braid brushed against your fingers as you reached up, threading your hand into the thick hair at the nape of her neck, tugging just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Fuck,” she murmured, lips breaking from yours for just a second, forehead dropping against yours. “Y’ain’t what I expected…”

You smirked, fingers still curled in her hair, tilting her head back just enough to trail your mouth down her throat. “And you ain’t nearly as tough as you pretend to be, sweetheart.”

Abby let out a short, breathy laugh, her hands tightening on your waist like she was about to say something back, but you didn’t give her the chance.

Instead, you kissed her again, deeper this time, stealing whatever cocky remark was about to leave her lips. You felt her tongue against yours, trying to take some control. But a small tug at her nape was enough for her to melt again.

Her hat fell to the floor, but yours was there too, and neither of you seemed to care.

Your lips wandered, and Abby’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head when your mouth sucked at the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Her breath came hard, every inhale a jagged gasp, that cocky smirk and those defiant eyes finally dropping away as she melted against you.

“Damn,” she muttered, a breathless, shaky exhale that made you laugh quietly, still sucking at her throat.

Her hips jerked forward on instinct, pressing just a little bit closer, and you could feel the heat of her body now, the way she was growing desperate for more than just the touch of your hands.

“You’re all talk,” you whispered, smirking against her skin.

Abby huffed, her fingers still gripping your shoulders hard, but not quite pushing you away. Not just yet. “Y’ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

You hummed, nipping at her jawline before taking the curve of her ear in between your teeth, scraping them down to the sensitive skin of her neck. A strangled sound vibrated in the back of her throat, body shifting against yours like she was fighting the urge to just melt into you.

“Can’t wait to see how all this attitude melts away,” you said, low and rough.

You slipped that vest off her shoulders and your hands found the bottom of her shirt, tugging it up over her stomach. The noise she made when your hands touched her bare skin was almost enough to make you lose control.

She was hot, solid, and just the right amount of soft, enough that you couldn’t help but run your hands over her ribs, feeling the way her muscles moved underneath your touch.

Your thigh slid between Abby's and her back arched at the contact, a soft curse slipping out when your thumb brushed over a scar on her skin.

You went higher, feeling her soft, small tits in your hands, the hard nipples hidden by the vest she wore before but now, right in front of you, they were so tempting.

You didn't care about the salty taste of her skin, you were kissing her neck as your fingers teased and played with her nipples, and you could swear her legs seemed less firm on the ground.

“Y’like that?” you breathed, leaving open-mouthed kisses up to her jaw.

She nodded, breath catching, like she was struggling to focus on anything other than your touch. She was still trying to hold herself together, trying to be tough and stoic and not just whimpering at the light scrape of your teeth on her skin, but you could feel how she was starting to unravel.

“Yeah,” she managed, voice rough around the edges. “Feels good.”

You hummed, shifting your fingers down to the front of her belt, toying with it. You wanted this bad, wanted her desperate, flushed, panting for you to take it further.

You wanted her to give up that control, show her how a real cowgirl treats a woman. You wanted to make that cocky smirk melt right off her pretty, freckled face.

Slowly, you opened her belt, using both hands for a moment. Those belt buckles could be a hassle, but you did it in no time. She didn't let you go the whole time, her firm, calloused hands feeling up your sides.

When you popped the button, you could feel the way her breath seized in her chest. You saw it too. Her body was just so gorgeous…

Your hand slid into her jeans, following the very happy trail on her stomach. “Do you want this?”

“Can’t you just fuckin’–”

“Do you want this?” you repeated, tone sharper this time, one eyebrow raised.

Abby took a sharp breath, jaw clenching. Her whole body was tense, and not in the good way – you could practically see her fighting every instinct she had to resist giving in, to shove you away, anything but admit what she wanted. You could tell she was usually the one in control.

You were close to her, close enough to see the way her eyes darkened when your fingers paused, just at the thick patch of hair right above where she wanted you.

Her breathing was still coming too fast, too hard, and she seemed like she was holding back not to buck against your hand.

Obedient…

"Use your words, sweetheart..." Your voice was just a whisper, your eyes meeting hers, steady and dark. “You look real pretty like this.”

You could almost see the moment it snapped, the last sliver of control finally slipping. “Goddamnit…” she muttered, “Please,” and you would’ve smirked if you didn’t see how hard it’d been for her to break, to say the words she’d been forcing back. “Please, just touch my–”

You didn’t wait for the cowgirl to finish and just slid your hand down, letting out a heavy sigh as your fingers reached her soaked folds. Abby's head dropped back, chest arching forward, hips bucking toward your touch when you pressed against her.

Those low whimpering sounds were back again, breathless and rough in the back of her throat, and now that she wasn’t holding back, they were driving you insane.

Your fingers rubbed her clit as well as you could from the way your hand was shoved in her pants, sliding too easily because of how wet she was.

With a frustrated sigh, you removed your hand. She barely had time to question. “Why'd you–”

Your hands held onto Abby's pants and – wet – underwear and pulled down them to her thighs, seeing how the redness of her cheeks increased a bit, leaning on the sink with one of her hands.

“Patience… 'M just gettin’ this out of the way.”

You held onto her hips and put her against the square, leaky sink, lights flickering as you did it.

Abby breathed against your lips, it was getting even more hot in that bathroom and you could feel her scent, taking a deep breath to let it in even more. Your bodies were flush together as your hand slid down between the two of you again.

"Fuck... Listen, I don't usually... I don't get fucked," she said, hesitantly, but her eyes fluttered shut once your fingers were back between her legs, spreading her wetness.

They slid down towards her entrance, teasing it.

"You don't like that?" You whispered against her ear, and she let out a muffled moan.

"Yes, yes... I do..."

"Then shut up and just take it.”

You saw those words make her shiver, that defiant look flickering through her eyes again, just for a second, before you pushed a finger into her. Abby was so wet you slid right in, and she was tightening around you already.

Any protest, any sass, anything left was lost in a whimper that caught in her throat, one of her hands gripping the edge of the sink, the other still holding firm to your arm.

"Shit, you fuckin'–" her voice faltered.

The sight of her arm flexing while she held firmly onto the sink made you even hotter, pressing your own clothed cunt against her thigh while your finger thrusted into her.

"What was that, sweetheart?”

That got her a second finger, that slid into her easily with the first one. You could feel her stretch around you.

If she wasn't gonna answer you before, she certainly wouldn't now.

“Oh my– God…” she let out an exhale, her head leaned forward, voice a little higher than before. It made you grin.

Abby looked down, and if she kept her eyes off you, maybe you wouldn't notice how flushed she was. But you weren't about to let her get away with that.

Your free hand moved up, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at you, to see. She swallowed, her freckled cheeks a deep shade of pink, and her eyes were dark, barely open. Your hips slowly moved against her thigh, feeling the seam in your jeans press just right against your own aching wetness.

"You're makin’ such pretty noises," you said against her neck, your fingers sliding in and out of her with wet noises that made your own pussy throb. "And you're squeezin’ me so tight… you sure you don't like doin' this?”

Her eyes closed, wanting to just get a second to breathe, to get the air back into her lungs and maybe get some dignity back.

It almost worked, too. With you pressed up against her, it was hard to focus, hard to think about anything other than the feel of your mouth on her neck, the feel of your fingers deep inside her, curling up just right.

So it obviously didn't work.

"Ah– fuck, I never said I didn't… like it," she managed, voice already strained.

You smirked, satisfied by the reactions you were pulling out of her. You couldn't focus on grinding her leg properly but you didn't care, going harder and deeper as you felt your palm smack against her clit, every single time you shoved your fingers in.

"Shh… You're right. I know you like it, baby. 'M gonna give you what you need..."

That seemed to mess with Abby and she groaned, her firm hands gripping your ass and forcing you to grind harder against her leg. The fact she could manhandle you like that and still allowed you to be in charge made you feel even more wet.

You let out a muffled moan, biting your lower lip as you enjoyed the friction and pressure of her thigh against your throbbing cunt.

She groaned again, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, trying to keep herself from losing control, trying to keep herself together. But you were making it impossible.

"Fuuuck–"

Your grip on her chin loosened, your hand sliding down to the front of her throat, just holding it.

It was more than enough to make her shiver, her breath catching in her chest.

Her head tipped back of its own accord, baring her throat, and you leaned into the side of her neck to kiss and suck at the skin, your fingers curled up inside her, relentlessly. The blonde whimpered, her thighs trembling, her hands squeezing your ass tighter.

Her head snapped forward, trying to regain control, and she could only barely rasp out, "I'm so–”

You tightened your hand on her throat, just a fraction, just to let her feel it, and a long, low moan escaped her throat. That, along with the way your palm pressed against her clit every time you were knuckle deep caused her to finally tremble, hands holding tightly to your hips.

“Oh fuck– I'm so close–”

“That’s right… Come for me,” you leaned in closer, voice low but commanding. “Ain't you a good girl?”

“Yes– yes, fuck, I'm–”

You didn't need her to finish that sentence, so you squeezed a bit harder on her neck and you could feel the wetness that coated your fingers as she tightened inside, her hips shaking as she came and for the first time cried out your name.

All you could hear for a moment was Abby's hard breathing, as she clearly tried to hold in the sounds of her pleasure.

You couldn't let that happen, so you kept thrusting into her, seeing as her eyes rolled back, riding her orgasm to the last second.

You couldn't make out what she muttered between her soft moans, so much softer than you thought they'd be, but you like that. You fucking loved seeing such a big, cocky woman unraveled like that.

“That's… too much,” you understood those words at least, gently pulling your fingers off gently, hearing a soft “Ah” due to her sensitivity after coming.

“Y’okay?” you gently asked, looking at her as you adjusted yourself, without didn't fully separating your bodies.

Especially because she didn't let go of you.

“Yeah. Yeah… I just… Fuck,” that came with a nervous laugh and you grinned. “I just don't usually come like… that,” she admitted, taking a deep breath.

As your hands busied themselves with closing her belt, your sharp eyes looked at her, a hint of mischief.

You were sick of this hot restroom.

“Come home with me. I promise you gon’ be comin’ like that all night, baby.”

[omgliz]

and i combusted someone plz draw cowboy caitvi

[omgliz]

more ellie x abby less ellabs x reader

[omgliz]

This is LITERALLY PAIGE BRU