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lupinqs · 3 days ago

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CHAPTER ONE ━━ Three Weeks Gone By

𖥔 ݁˖ ━ word count: 5.9K

𖥔 ݁˖ ━ warnings: descriptions of injury, smoking, and mental health issues

𖥔 ݁˖ ━ links: my masterlist, where’s my love masterlist, ao3 link

𖥔 ݁˖ ━ author’s note: sorry for the emotional damage lol. also keep in mind i am not a doctor (yet) so take the diagnoses and hospital things with a grain of salt pls. this is just fanfiction so nothing will be entirely accurate

THE HOSPITAL waiting room is too white.

That’s the first thing Paige notices—like really, fully notices. She’s been sitting here for God knows how long, but it only hits now, as the adrenaline thins from her blood and leaves her shaking in the absence of it: everything is just so fucking white. The walls. The doors. The fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Even the chairs are some awful shade of muted off-white that looks like it’s been scrubbed with bleach a hundred too many times.

Paige sits there, elbows on her knees, fingers laced so tightly together it feels like they might fuse. Her knuckles are white. Her mouth tastes like copper and she still hasn’t blinked long enough to let her eyes water. The floor is this dull, speckled tile she’s been staring at for what feels like hours, just so she doesn’t have to look at anything else. Just so she doesn’t have to see the blood that’s probably still under her nails, even though Nika shoved a pack of wipes at her the second she arrived and told her to clean up. She did. She changed, too—black sweatpants and a UConn long-sleeve Nika must’ve yanked from Paige’s laundry pile. Her original clothes are somewhere in a plastic bag, splattered with blood and glass and God knows what else. She doesn’t want to think about them.

She doesn’t want to think about anything.

But she can’t stop.

The thing is—she knew. She knew it was bad the second she saw Azzi slumped against the passenger side door, face pale and lips parted, seatbelt digging into her chest like it was trying to hold her soul in. Paige doesn’t remember screaming, but her throat still burns, vocal cords raw. She doesn’t remember leaning across the center console, glass shredding her shirt and arms, only that she touched Azzi’s neck with shaking fingers and begged, “Please. Please, wake up. Please, Azzi. Baby, come on. Please—”

The word has been on a loop in her head since.

Please.

She hears footsteps before she registers Nika shifting next to her, their thighs pressed close between the hospital chairs. Caroline’s on her other side, arms crossed tightly over her chest, jaw clenched like she’s trying to keep her heart from falling out of her mouth. Neither of them have said much since they got here. Nika tried at first—asked questions, rubbed Paige’s back, offered water. But Paige couldn’t answer. She was too busy staring at the doors, waiting for someone in scrubs to walk through and change everything.

She still is.

Her leg bounces, then stops. Starts again. Her stomach turns with every passing second. It’s almost worse now, now that she’s been cleared. Now that she’s fine.

Fine.

That’s what the nurse said after dabbing the cuts on her cheek and arm. “You’re lucky,” she’d told her, “Could’ve been a lot worse.”

Yeah. Paige knows.

But also, not really. Not hardly at all. She walked away, sure, but Azzi didn’t. Azzi’s still behind those swinging double doors, hooked up to machines Paige doesn’t understand, and the blonde is out here sitting on her hands like that means something.

Nika moves beside her again. “Do you want me to call your mom?” she asks gently, like she’s trying not to scare a wild animal.

Paige blinks slowly. Her voice cracks when she says, “No.”

She’s not ready to call either of her parents yet. Because, really, what is there to say? Hi guys, I crashed the car and Azzi’s unconscious and maybe dying. Also, my hands won’t stop shaking and I don’t know how to breathe properly anymore. That’ll go over well.

God.

She glances at the clock on the far wall. The red numbers burn into her vision. Almost 1 AM. It’s been… what? Two hours? Three? Time’s folding in on itself. She remembers calling Katie at some point, her voice high and frantic and barely able to form words. “It’s bad. She’s not… I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong. I think it’s her head.” Katie had said she and Tim were getting in the car. Said to hang tight. It’s six and a half hours from Virginia to Connecticut, maybe a little under six if they speed. It might as well be a lifetime.

Paige feels like she’s living inside a nightmare someone else wrote.

And then—

The door opens.

A doctor walks out. Late thirties, maybe early forties. Blue scrubs, dark hair, clipboard in one hand. He looks tired. Too tired. He scans the room, and when his eyes land on Paige, he approaches.

“You’re Paige?” he asks gently.

Her mouth’s too dry to answer. She nods.

He glances at Nika and Caroline, but directs his voice to her. “I’m Dr. Kamal. I’ve been overseeing Azzi’s case.”

Case.

Like she’s a fucking file.

Paige nods again, standing without realizing she’s doing it.

“I want to be as transparent with you as I can,” Dr. Kamal says. “Azzi sustained a traumatic brain injury—a moderate diffuse axonal injury. That means there was widespread damage to the connections in her brain due to the sudden movement during the crash. It’s not uncommon in high-impact side collisions, especially when the head whips hard in one direction.”

Paige swallows. Her ears are ringing. She forces herself to nod again, even though her body is beginning to shake.

“She also has a couple fractured fingers on her right hand, some cracked ribs, and some minor internal bleeding that we were able to stop quickly. The most serious concern is the brain trauma. She’s currently in what we call a post-traumatic coma. It’s not medically induced—it’s her body’s response to the injury.”

The words feel like a foreign language.

Fractured fingers, cracked ribs, internal bleeding, coma.

“So she’s…” Paige sways slightly. Nika moves closer, subtly bracing her elbow. Paige barely notices.

“She’s unresponsive,” Dr. Kamal says, voice gentler now. “Her vitals are stable. Her body’s doing what it needs to do to heal, which is… rest. Sometimes for days. Sometimes lo my er. We won’t know the full extent of the injury—or what recovery could look like—until she wakes up.”

“If she wakes up,” Paige hears herself say. Her voice is hoarse and empty. It doesn’t sound like herself.

Dr. Kamal doesn’t rush to correct her. He hesitates. “We’re hopeful,” he responds. “Young, healthy patients often have strong recoveries. But brain injuries… they’re unpredictable.”

There it is.

The line no one ever wants to hear. The one that means: We don’t know. We can’t promise you anything.

Paige tastes acid in the back of her throat and doesn’t know if it’s from fear or guilt or both. She drove. She was driving. She was the one behind the wheel. And now Azzi is behind glass, behind monitors, behind time, and Paige is standing here like she didn’t cause it all.

“Can I see her?” she asks, voice breaking on the second word.

The doctor says, “She’s in the ICU. We’ll do one at a time, for now. You can sit with her.”

Paige nods too fast. Her vision goes fuzzy at the edges. Nika squeezes her arm as she steps past them, toward the hallway Dr. Kamal gestures to.

The walls blur as she walks. Her footsteps feel uneven, like she’s not quite connected to the ground.

And then she sees her.

Azzi.

So still.

Wires trailing from her arms, an oxygen tube nestled beneath her nose, her head slightly turned to the side. Her curls are pushed back awkwardly, dried blood still cli my ing to her hairline, her temple wrapped with a gauze bandage. Her face looks too pale, too quiet. Like it doesn’t belong to her.

Paige sinks into the bedside chair slowly and doesn’t say anything for a long time.

She just watches.

Azzi’s chest rises and falls. Slow. Machine-paced. Mechanical.

She reaches out, touches Azzi’s left hand gently, the one without broken fingers. It’s warm, at least. That has to mean something.

“I’m sorry,” Paige whispers, barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t let go.

She just keeps sitting there, hand in Azzi’s, like maybe if she holds on long enough, Azzi will come back to her.

Like maybe love might count for something, even here. Even now. Even after everything

And still—please.

Please.

Please come back.

THE FIRST WEEK feels like it doesn't belong to real life.

It moves too slow and too fast all at once, like time can't make up its mind. Everything around Paige is hazy, like it's all being filtered through water or fog or static—like she's watching herself from somewhere else. There's this distant awareness in the back of her head that she should be falling apart, crying in corners, screaming at God or punching walls or something, but none of that happens. It doesn't even feel like an option. She's stuck in this weird in-between place. Numb, but raw. Hollow, but aching.

It's almost worse than full-blown grief. This version of grief is shapeless. Unfinished.

Because Azzi's not gone. But she's not here either.

She's in that bed, looking pale and frail and hooked up to so many machines Paige has started to hate the sounds of beeping. She's breathing, kind of. Sort of. But she's not there. She hasn't opened her eyes. She hasn't said anything. She hasn't squeezed Paige's hand. She hasn't done anything, not since that night.

And Paige keeps waiting. For something. For anything.

The doctors were hopeful at first—cautiously optimistic, they said. It's common with TBIs for people to wake up in the first few days. Some don't, sure, but a lot do. The brain is strange and resilient and unpredictable. That's what they said. Every day, they repeat some version of it with softer voices and more careful phrasing. It's still early, it's not uncommon, we're watching for signs, we just have to wait.

They don't say she might not wake up. But it lingers there, just under the surface, every time they talk.

By day four, Paige stops listening. She hears the words but doesn't let them inside.

Katie and Tim haven't left since that first night. They're always here—always hovering, always holding Azzi's hand, always whispering soft things to her like she's just sleeping. Jon and Jose showed up on day three, bags still packed from a weekend trip they had to cut short. Jon cried when he walked in and saw her. Jose didn't. He just stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, face pinched, looking like someone had gut-punched him. The whole family moves like they're trying to hold each other up, like if one person crumbles, they all will. Paige has never been so grateful that she's close with them, that she feels like part of them.

She's there from open to close every day. Only leaves when she absolutely has to. Her mornings start with the training staff—rehab for her ACL. It's almost a relief, the structure of it. Her knee's almost fully recovered now, so the work is mostly just maintenance. Stability drills, lateral movement, a little shooting here and there. It's easy, in the way that routine is easy. She doesn't talk much during it. The trainers try to make small talk. She doesn't answer unless she has to. (They think it's weird, she knows that. Usually, she's essentially incapable of shutting up. Now, it's all she really does.)

After rehab, she heads straight back to the hospital. She doesn't even shower sometimes. Just throws on clean clothes from the gym bag she keeps in Aubrey’s car (she’s been letting her drive it considering her own is totaled) and goes. Sometimes, the nurses give her a look like they wish she'd go home, rest, sleep like a normal person. She doesn't care. She doesn't sleep anyway.

And when visiting hours end—when someone finally makes her leave—she goes back to her apartment and wants to crawl out of her skin.

It's not right without Azzi. Too quiet, too cold, too empty, despite having two other roommates.

Each night, she goes to Azzi's apartment and sits on her bed for just a few minutes. She stares at the dent in the pillow where Azzi's head used to rest (when it wasn't on Paige's chest or in Paige's bed), traces the edge of the blanket they used to fight over, looks at the random pairs of socks Azzi always leaves scattered near the hamper. There's a sweatshirt crumpled on the desk chair that still smells like her shampoo—she must've worn it that day. Paige presses her face into it one night and just stands there for ten minutes, breathing it in like that might bring her back.

She hates it.

All of it.

Everything.

She lays down. Sometimes in her bed, sometimes in Azzi's. But she never really sleeps.

Most nights, she ends up in the gym, ball in hand, headphones in. Shooting until her arms ache. Until her mind finally shuts up. Until it's late enough that she can go home and pretend she's tired.

A couple of times, the night nurse lets her stay at the hospital. Just quietly waves her past the desk like she didn't see anything, like she's giving Paige this secret gift no one's allowed to talk about. She curls up on this tiny cot that's basically just a folding chair with a sheet on it and doesn't sleep there either—but at least it's next to Azzi.

At least it's close.

She stares at the monitors, the rise and fall of Azzi's chest, the soft hiss of oxygen, the tube down Azzi's throat. She watches the numbers even though she doesn't fully understand what they mean. She listens to the way the IV pump clicks every ten seconds, counts the spaces between beeps. She keeps waiting for something to change.

It never does.

Geno shows up more than she expects him to. Doesn't really say much—just brings coffee, makes sure Azzi's parents have everything they need, stands next to Paige in the hallway sometimes and says things like "she's strong" and "she's gonna fight through this." He's different lately. Not that he was ever cold exactly, just gruff, but there's a softness to him now that Paige isn't used to. He talks slower (if that's even possible). Doesn't tease as much. On the third day, she thinks he almost cried. She pretends she didn't see.

The rest of the team filters in and out every day. Ice and Amari come in the mornings, bring muffins or coffee or snacks from the student union. Nika and Aaliyah and Aubrey stop by in the afternoons. Caroline and Colleen are here more often than not. Ines, too, who tends to hang out with Jon and Jose the most. Sometimes, people just sit with Paige in the waiting room for a bit, not even saying much. Everyone's worried. Everyone keeps checking in. Everyone looks at her like she might break at any second.

But she doesn't.

She just keeps going. Numb, repetitive, and waiting.

Her parents show up on day five. She hadn't really planned on calling them—hadn't even wanted to—but Nika forced the issue. Said they deserved to know. Said Paige couldn't keep doing this without family.

So, she called.

Told her mom in a flat voice what happened, recited it like a police report. She didn't cry or pause. Just said it. Said she was fine. Said Azzi wasn't. Said she didn't know anything else. When she hung up, she felt like the inside of her chest had been scraped out.

Less than twenty-four hours later, her mom and dad were in the waiting room together. Despite the fact that Amy lives in Montana and Bob lives in Maryland. They'd clearly coordinated, and they both hugged her like they didn't care about anything but her being alive.

Her mom kept whispering, "Baby," like it was a prayer. Her dad didn't say much, but he didn't leave her side for two days.

She doesn't know what to do with that.

She doesn't know what to do with any of this.

The thing is... she still doesn't believe it. Not really. She walks into that room every day expecting to hear Azzi's voice. Like maybe this was all a bad joke, and Azzi will sit up with her perfect bunny smile and say something dumb like, "Did I miss practice?"

But it never happens.

She just lays there, still. Like time forgot her.

And Paige keeps showing up anyway. Keeps waiting. Keeps whispering, Please, please, please, under her breath.

She can't let herself imagine what happens if Azzi doesn't wake up. She just can't.

Because then the world would end. Because then she would end.

THE SECOND WEEK is a lot heavier, if that's even possible. Like the weight of it all has finally caught up to Paige, lodged deep in her chest like a stone she can't cough out.

At first, it was just numbness—an ache behind her ribs and a dull ringing in her ears she tries to ignore. But now, it's sharp. It has teeth and edges and it keeps biting into her until she's bleeding with no bandages.

They move Azzi on the seventh day. Out of the hospital in Connecticut and into a new one back home, closer to her family's house in Virginia. It makes sense, everyone keeps saying. Paige even says it, to her teammates and to the doctors and to Geno and to herself, over and over again like that'll make it easier to swallow.

"She'd be going home after the semester anyway," Katie had told her gently, hand resting on Paige's shoulder. "And the doctors there are great. They'll keep a closer eye. It's just... it's better this way."

Paige had nodded because what else is she supposed to do? Scream? Cry? Handcuff herself to Azzi's fucking hospital bed?

Because the truth is, it doesn't feel better. It feels worse. It feels like a door closing that she's not ready to let shut.

And what makes is unbearable is that Paige can't go with her. Finals. A stupid stretch of exams she doesn't even care about anymore, tethering her to Connecticut like a leash. She tells herself she can push through two more days. Two. Just until the ninth day. But every hour she’s not in the same state as Azzi feels like a betrayal.

She finishes her last exam in a daze. She can’t even remember what class it’s for when she walks out of the lecture hall. She doesn’t care. Her bag’s slung over one shoulder, her legs carrying her on autopilot to her apartment just long enough to shove some clothes in a duffel and drive straight to the airport.

She doesn’t eat. She barely drinks water. The whole flight to D.C. feels like she’s holding her breath.

Bob meets her at the airport, and the second she sees him, her whole body just folds into him like she’s five years old again and not twenty-three. He hugs her tight. Doesn’t say much, which she’s grateful for. He’s always known when to leave space for silence.

She spends that night at his place. It’s cleaner than usual. She sees Drew right before his bed time, holds him a little longer than usual. Bob offers to drive her to the hospital in the morning, but Paige is already out the door before the sun finishes rising.

And then she sees Azzi again. Hooked up to a different set of monitors, in a room with warmer lighting but the same godawful stillness. Same absence.

Katie hugs her, and so does Tim. Jon and Jose do, too, their honorary older sister. Jon squeezes her tightly and Jose presses a coffee into her hand that she doesn’t end up drinking.

The nurses know her by name. They let her sit beside Azzi for hours, fingers loosely curled around Azzi’s hand, tracing the veins in her wrist, the soft ridge of her knuckles. She whispers things sometimes. Little nothings. Jokes Azzi would laugh at if she were awake. Updates about practice. Apologies.

She says “I love you” more than anything else.

No one tells her she’s saying it too much. No one dares.

Time warps. She’s either in that room or driving between it and her dad’s house or the Fudd’s. Sometimes she sleeps in the guest room at their place. Usually, she doesn’t sleep at all.

She’s quiet a lot now. Like if she talks too much, she’ll lose her grip on whatever’s holding her together. When people ask her how she’s doing, she lies. Easy lies. “I’m okay.” “Hanging in there.” “Just tired.” And no one calls her on it, because what else could they say?

The only thing she actually feels is anger.

She can’t remember when it started—probably sometime around day ten—but it’s here now, buzzing just beneath her skin like static.

She’s not proud of it, but most of it is aimed upward. At God. At the sky. At the version of faith she’s been clinging to for as long as she can remember.

She’s always believed in Him. Trusted that there was a plan, that there was purpose in the pain. Her ACL injury? Okay. She could understand that. A lesson in patience, in humility, in discipline. She got it.

But this?

This doesn’t make sense.

Why Azzi? Why now, when things were finally getting better again? Why, when Paige was just starting to feel whole?

She’s never been the kind of person who yells at God, but she’s finding it harder and harder to pray these days. When she tries, the words catch in her throat. It feels fake. Hollow. Like she’s talking to someone who’s not even listening.

She sits in the hospital chapel almost every day. Not to pray, just to sit. The silence there feels different—less medical, more ancient. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn’t.

But on day twelve, it breaks her.

She’d gone outside for air. The room had felt too small, too sterile, too suffocating. Azzi hadn’t moved an inch all day, not that she ever does. Her monitors beeped on like they always do. Paige’s throat hurt from holding everything in.

She found a bench behind the hospital, near the staff parking lot. It was late—close to the end of visiting hours. And cold. She sat with her hoodie up, trying to disappear into herself.

That’s when the man sat beside her. Not too close, just close enough to be real. Older, probably in his sixties. Tired eyes. A pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and one already lit between his fingers.

He didn’t ask her anything. Didn’t tell her she looked too young to be there or ask if she was okay. He just nodded, once, and offered the pack without looking.

She stared at it for a second. And then she took one.

It burned her throat. Made her cough the first drag. Made her eyes water.

But it gave her something to focus on. Something sharp. Something that hurt in a way she could understand.

They talked. A little. His wife had terminal cancer. He’d been here every day for the last five months. “Sometimes it helps,” he said, gesturing to the cigarette. “Not much, but enough to get through the next few hours.”

That was all it took. The next morning, Paige left the hospital, walked three blocks to a corner store, and bought a pack. Marlboro Lights. She doesn’t know why—maybe because the man had them, or maybe because she’s still too much of a coward to go full strength.

She hides them in her jacket pocket. Doesn’t tell anyone. Lights one on the balcony of her dad’s condo when he’s already gone to bed. She watches the smoke rise and thinks about how if Azzi could see her right now, she’d roll her eyes so hard they might fall out of her skull.

She laughs, just once, and it cracks halfway through.

Because none of this feels real.

And the thing she keeps coming back to—over and over, like it’s stitched into the rhythm of her heart—is how good that night was. That whole day, really. How bright Azzi had been. How pretty her laugh had sounded through the music. How soft her hand had felt in Paige’s.

She’d looked over at her just minutes before it happened, SZA playing low and sweet, and thought This is it. This is my forever.

And then it was all gone.

Not metaphorically or anything.

Literally just gone.

And now all she can do is wait. Light another terribly tasting cigarette. Try not to cry when no one’s looking. Try to remember the sound of Azzi’s voice, and pray—silently, bitterly, desperately—that she’ll hear it again.

Because if she doesn’t… Paige doesn’t know what happens next.

She’s not sure there is a next.

WEEK THREE might be the worst. Not in a sharp, stabbing kind of way like before—like the first few days when everything was chaos and adrenaline and shock and she couldn’t even sit still. Not like the second week either, when she kept clenching her fists, when she snapped at people, when she caught herself pacing the edge of the hospital parking lot muttering, “Why, why, why—” like if she said it enough, God might finally give her an answer.

This is worse.

This is slower. Sink-deep. It’s a kind of sadness that sits on her chest and doesn’t move. A kind that clings to her like smoke, pressing into her hair, her skin, her fucking bones. The anger’s dulled now, exhausted itself, and what’s left behind is just… her. Paige. Alone with the truth of it all.

It’s the guilt that does her in the most. She wakes up with it, goes to sleep with it, eats around it like it’s another person at the table. No matter how many times people—Katie, Tim, her parents, her teammates, even the nurses—say she didn’t do anything wrong, that she couldn’t have stopped it, that the other driver ran the stop sign… she doesn’t care. It doesn’t register. She was driving. She was the one behind the wheel. Azzi trusted her, and she didn’t protect her.

She should’ve had faster reflexes. She should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve done something. Anything.

But she didn’t. She didn’t do enough. And now Azzi’s stuck in a fucking hospital bed with a tube down her throat and monitors beeping constantly and a room full of decorations that make Paige want to scream.

Katie put up rainbow streamers a few days ago. Said Azzi would like it—bright, cheerful, something to make the place feel less like a room built for dying. Paige had nodded, had helped hang them even, biting her lip so hard it bled because Azzi does love rainbows, loves unicorns even more, and it was a sweet gesture. Kind. Loving.

But that’s the thing.

It’s sweet because it assumes Azzi’s coming back.

And every day that she doesn’t, Paige wants to rip the damn streamers down. Wants to grab the unicorn pillow they’ve propped under Azzi’s head and throw it across the room because what if she never gets to hold it again?

What if this is it? What if this is just the rest of their life now—Azzi stuck in this frozen state, and Paige sitting here day after day pretending she’s not losing her mind?

Some days, Paige showers. Some days, she doesn’t. She lives out of a duffel bag that’s been tossed in the corner of Bob’s guest room for nearly two weeks now, and she wears the same pair of UConn sweats way more than she should, just because they still kind of smell like Azzi’s detergent. On the nights she stays at the Fudds’, she sleeps in their guest bed even though she never had before because she can’t bring herself to sleep in Azzi’s bed, not without her in it.

She tried, once. Opened the door to that soft lavender room, climbed into the neatly made bed with the stuffed animals and USA medals and the photo strip of the two of them tacked up by the mirror.

She laid there for about three minutes.

Then she got up and locked herself in the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left in her stomach but spit and shame.

Azzi’s injuries are mostly healed now. That’s the kicker. The internal bleeding’s gone. Her ribs don’t need wrapping anymore. The bruises are fading, and the cuts on her face have scabbed over. Even the deep one across her forehead has started to pinken into a scar. The worst of the physical damage, at least the visible stuff, is behind them.

Except for her brain.

They’re waiting. All anyone does is wait.

The doctors won’t run another MRI until she wakes up. No point, they say. The first scan showed she was stable, and they want to avoid unnecessary stress on her body. But they think it’s healing. Judging by her original scans, it’s probably mostly healed. Probably. Paige hears that word and wants to punch a wall.

It’s not about her brain anymore, not technically. It’s just about whether or not she wants to come back. Whether or not she can.

That’s the part Paige can’t handle. The unknown. The way people say things like “in her own time” and “you just have to keep talking to her” and “she’s strong,” as if Azzi’s off somewhere making a choice. Like she’s on the other side of some locked door and Paige just needs to knock loud enough.

What if she doesn’t answer?

What if Paige never gets to hear her voice again, the soft rasp of it in the morning, the way she says Paige’s name like a prayer? What if she never opens her eyes again, never rolls them playfully when Paige says something dumb, never looks at her the way only Azzi ever has—like she’s both the sun and the problem?

Paige thinks about all of that too much. She chews on it like it’s gum she can’t spit out. It’s in her mouth, behind her eyes, in the tight ache of her chest that never really goes away.

On the twentieth day, though, the what ifs halt.

Paige is in the hospital cafeteria with Drew, trying to act normal. Or—whatever version of normal she can fake for her ten-year-old brother, who has no real understanding of the weight pressing down on her chest like it’s trying to crack her ribs from the inside. They’re eating cheese pizza, which tastes like cardboard and salt, and Paige is letting him ramble about basketball—his rec league game last week, how many points he scored, the crazy block he had.

She laughs at the right times, nods along, tosses in a “no way” and “you’re so annoying” every now and then so he doesn’t see the cracks spiderwebbing down the center of her. She tells herself this is good—this distraction, this pretending. If she doesn’t act like she’s dying inside, maybe she won’t. Maybe her brain will start believing the lie she’s trying to sell it.

Drew’s halfway through talking about how bad his classmate on the other team (who he decidedly does not like) was bricking when Paige’s phone buzzes. She flips it over instinctively, thumb unlocking it before she can even blink.

Katie

Come back up here. Quick

Her stomach drops through the floor.

She’s on her feet before her brain catches up, grabbing napkins, stuffing uneaten food into the trash. Drew looks up, confused, mouth still full of pizza. “What?”

“We gotta go,” Paige says quickly, trying not to sound panicked. “Come on.”

“What? Why?” he asks, but she doesn’t answer, just grabs his hand and starts walking fast enough that he has to jog to keep up.

Elevator. Seventh floor. Heart pounding. She’s not sure if it’s dread or hope or fear or all of them crashing into each other like a ten-car pileup in her chest. She’s trying not to let her thoughts spiral, but something about the way Katie texted her—short, urgent—makes her feel like she might throw up.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.

The elevator doors open and she’s pulling Drew out before they’ve fully slid apart. She jogs down the hallway, nurses glancing up from their stations as they pass, and then they’re there—Room 712—and Paige skids to a stop in the doorway.

And everything inside her stops.

Azzi is sitting up.

Sitting. Up.

Not hooked up to a ventilator. Not still. Not lifeless. She’s there. Her body is upright and moving, chest rising with real breath, her head turning toward Katie as if she’d just asked her a question.

Paige can’t breathe. She can’t move either. Her legs go heavy like someone filled them with cement.

Azzi’s awake.

Azzi is awake.

She stares. Her mouth might be open. She has no idea. Her eyes are locked on Azzi’s, and they’re open—wide, warm, beautiful. Big brown eyes that Paige has missed like air. For twenty straight days, all she’s seen is them shut. Unmoving. She’s dreamed about them opening. About Azzi smiling at her, saying her name, joking that Paige’s hair looks stupid or that her outfit is ugly or that she missed her so much it hurts.

Now they’re open. But they’re not looking at her like that.

They’re not looking at her with love.

They’re not looking at her with anything.

And then Drew, somehow, moves first.

“Azzi!” he shouts, beaming, darting forward like he’s just seen his favorite superhero come to life.

Paige’s hand shoots out, fingers curling gently around his shoulder, instinctive. “Hey,” she says quietly, trying not to scare Azzi. “Go slow. She might be—just go slow, okay?”

Drew nods, softening his step as he moves into the room.

Katie and Tim are standing by the bed, teary-eyed and beaming in that overwhelmed, shellshocked way that Paige understands intimately now. Like they’ve been holding their breath for three straight weeks and are just now remembering how to breathe.

Paige watches as Azzi looks at Drew, her brows pulling slightly together. She doesn’t speak right away. Just studies him with soft confusion. And then, slowly, her eyes shift again.

To Paige.

Everything in Paige lifts for a second. Just a second. Like maybe it’s happening—maybe this is the moment. Maybe Azzi looks confused because she’s groggy or tired or in pain, but it’ll wear off. She’ll blink again and say her name. Maybe she’ll cry. Maybe they’ll both cry. Maybe Paige will crawl into bed next to her and press her forehead against Azzi’s and feel her heartbeat and finally, finally exhale.

Paige takes a step forward, her lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile. It feels like her whole body is trembling. “Hey, Az,” she murmurs, voice soft and shaky.

Azzi stares at her.

No smile. No tears. No flicker of something behind her eyes.

Just stillness.

Paige feels a fist closing around her throat.

Azzi turns her head slowly, looking at Katie, her brows furrowed now. “Who—?” she starts, then looks back at Paige. Her voice is hoarse, unused, quieter than Paige’s ever heard it, but still clear.

“Who are you?”

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oovojaver · 2 days ago

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my fav unrivaled cutiesss :33

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kamspeaks · 11 hours ago

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I just know they talkin mad shit rn

#paige bueckers #wnba #wnba basketball #wnba players #dallas wings #wbb #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #kam speaks 💕

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pazzibuckets535 · 21 hours ago

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This was really the hard launch

#paige bueckers #pazzi #azzi fudd #paige and azzi #uconn wbb #paige #dallas wings #women basketball #uconn huskies #wnba #pazzi is real #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige x azzi

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bapeach · 3 days ago

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The mom friend

A platonic fic this time. Hope y'all enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :)

Platonic pairing(s): UConn x female!reader Word count: 4k+ Summary: In which you takes care of your friends without needing anything in return. ------------

When you first arrived at UConn, people immediately had a prejudice against you. Dressed in all black, arms tatted, a resting bitch face and a quiet nature made people think one of three things. One, you thought you were way better than everyone else. Two, you were going to cause a lot of trouble, and not the good kind. Or three, you couldn’t care less about people.

Quite the opposite of that is true.

Though you don’t really look the part, you’re the mom friend of the group. Which the team found out quickly enough. Now when they need a shoulder to cry on, an unjudging ear to talk to, or something as simple as painkillers, they come to you.

You’re calm, level-headed, and always prepared. You also give the best advice out of the whole team. Not because you’ve been through the most shit, but just because you know when to be quiet and let people ramble and when to speak up and give advice or solve their issues.

----

You’re currently sitting in the UConn bus on your way to an away game, headphones on as you stare out the window. You’re sitting in the front, where it’s a lot calmer than the back. The seat beside you is empty, just the way you like it. Of course, you love your team, but you like having an open seat in case anyone ever needs to talk about something a bit more private and wants to come over and chat.

You don’t pay attention to the screaming in the back of the bus or the objects soaring through the sky. You only focus on the slow strum of the guitar in the song you’re listening to and the cars flying by on the highway. Your mind is calm, not really thinking about the upcoming game or the exams that are fast approaching.

You sit up straight as your watch buzzes against your wrist. You rummage through your bag, grabbing the stuff you might need, before slowly making your way towards the back of the vehicle. Aaliyah, who’s seated not far behind you, already knows what’s happening, so she just sends you a quick thumbs-up. You nod at her with a small smile before continuing on.

The next person on your list of people to talk to is Azzi. The younger girl is sitting near the middle of the bus, noise-cancelling headphones on with a sleeping mask on her face. Her head is leaning against Paige’s shoulder, who’s trying not to be too loud or make too many movements. Which is pretty hard for the hyperactive athlete, so you give her a mental pat on the back.

Once you reach the couple, you give Paige a smile before crouching down between the rows of seats. You softly put your hand on the resting Azzi, gently rubbing her arm to check if she’s asleep or not. After a few seconds, she shifts, sleepily pulling off her mask before taking off one side of her headphones.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Have you taken your meds?” It takes her a few seconds to register what you’re saying before she shakes her head. Paige bends down to grab her bag, handing her her medication and some water. You give Azzi’s arm a tiny squeeze before continuing further towards the back.

It gets pretty wild as you reach the end. KK is riling up some of the other girls, jumping around from seat to seat, loudly singing a song off-key. Once she sees you coming with a look that says “calm down”, she sits back down with a goofy smile. You might be one of the only people that can get her to chill out a bit without her feeling like she’s being too much or being a bother.

“Have you taken your meds and vitamins?” You ask her, leaning against the empty seat in front of her. “Oh shit!” She curses, looking around for her bag. She searches around for a few seconds before looking at you awkwardly. You roll your eyes fondly, lifting up the bag from next to you.

KK beams as she lunges forward to grab it. You wait for a few moments to make sure she’s taking her medicine and not just getting distracted again. Though she finds her pill box pretty fast, she looks up again with an “oops, I did it again” look. “I forgot my water bottle…” she says with an apologetic smile.

You grin at her as you grab a bottle of water out of your cargo pants. You hand it to her, getting a loud “Thank youuuuu” in response. Once she’s taken her pills, you turn around and make your way back to the front. As you walk, your eyes scan over the seats, making sure that everyone is doing alright.

Before you sit back down in your seat, you nod at coach Geno, who’s already looking at you to see how the rest are doing. Once you’re in your spot, you lean your head back against the window and close your eyes, trying to get some rest during the remainder of the trip.

It doesn’t take long before you feel someone sitting down next to you. You open your eyes again, turning towards your teammate. Caroline gives you a soft smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You pull your headphones down to your neck and look at her with a calm, knowing look. You don’t ask what’s wrong, knowing she’ll tell you when she’s ready.

Realizing you can tell something is wrong and there’s no point in hiding, Caroline drops her smile. “My head hurts,” she mumbles, clenching her jaw as another wave of pain pulses through her skull. “What kind of headache is it? A normal headache? A migraine? Is it from your neck?” you ask softly as to not hurt her head even more. You’re glad the back of the bus finally seems to have quieted down.

“My neck,” she replies with a sad frown. You rummage through your bag to find some painkillers, handing them to her without a word. You let her drink from your water bottle as you make eye contact with Aaliyah as she stands up to make sure Caroline is okay. You give her a look, letting her know you’ll take care of her, making her smile before she sits back down.

After putting your water bottle back, you lean back in your chair, letting Caroline lean against you. You rub her neck, trying to relieve some tension as she relaxes against you. It only takes her a few minutes to be fully knocked out against your shoulder.

The rest of the ride passes without any issues.

Once you arrive at the hotel, you wake up Caroline, who gives you a thankful smile as she loops her arm with Paige, who’s already waiting for her with a concerned look. You stay seated until everyone has made it out of the bus before making your way through the aisle to make sure that no one forgot anything.

You grab Nika’s lucky bracelet from the floor beneath her seat, putting it in your pocket before finally leaving the bus. The girls have already followed CD into the building, while Geno waits for you outside of the hotel. You smile at one another, making quiet conversation as you follow the team. You let him know Caroline was having issues with her neck and that everyone that needed to take medicine took it. When you join the group, Geno pats you on the back in appreciation.

CD explains that they’ve rented the whole top floor of the hotel for the team, but that that doesn’t mean everyone can cause chaos and mayhem. She gives KK and Paige a pointed look, making everyone stifle a laugh. She calls out the names of every girl, partnering them up with someone else to room with for the night. Two by two, the team starts dispersing into the elevator or up the stairs to go to their room.

Since the team is at an odd number, you get assigned to a room by yourself. You don’t mind, though, knowing that at some point everyone ends up hanging out in your room anyway. CD hands you your key with a smile and a wink, while Geno hands you a copy of the schedule. The schedule is somewhat modified from the standard one the rest have.

Your program includes more information than is really needed, but you like being informed. Your sheet is also the only one (outside the coaching staff) with the correct times on it. Though they are brilliant players with a high IQ both on the court and off, most of the girls struggle with being on time. Since it’s not an issue for you, seeing as you’re usually early, you’re the only one to get the correct timetable.

You take your time going up to your room, enjoying the peace and quiet, while also relishing in the faint sound of laughter coming from the team as you pass their rooms. Once you reach your room, you immediately start unpacking everything that needs to be unpacked, like your toiletries as well as your pajamas. When you’re all set, you lie down on your bed with a satisfied sigh.

Seeing as the whole floor has been rented, most girls left their doors open to easily be able to talk to each other and walk to each other’s rooms. Your own door has been left ajar, the only light in the room coming from the hallway and the streetlights outside. You lie on the bed with a satisfied smile as you listen to the giggles from your friends. You grin as you hear KK screeching and Paige’s boisterous laugh, knowing you’ll have to go tell them to quiet down soon before Geno gets mad.

Knock knock

“Knock knock,” a voice says as they knock on your door frame and lean into your room. You open your eyes and give Ice a kind smile. “Black pouch, left side of my suitcase,” you tell her. “What? I didn’t even say anything,” she replies, a confused frown on her face.

You sit up a bit, leaning on your elbows as you smirk at her. “You’re right, my bad. What’s up?” You ask. Ice squints her eyes slightly before mumbling, “Do you have any extra tampons?” Your smirk widens as you flop back down onto the bed, putting your arms behind your head. “Black pouch, left side of my suitcase,” you repeat.

“How did you know what I was gonna say?” She asks in disbelief. You shrug nonchalantly. “It’s the 13th of the month,” you reply, slowly getting up to grab a drink. “So what? You know my whole cycle?” She says with an unsure laugh. You shrug again. “I know everyone’s cycle,” you say before taking a sip of water.

“Azzi gets pretty bad cramps when she has her period, so she comes to me for painkillers. Nika gets bad headaches, so she often comes to me for some peace and quiet. KK becomes quieter and grumpier, Caroline becomes more emotional, and you always forget to bring stuff,” you finish with a smile.

Ice looks at you for a moment. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” She says, looking at you like it’s the first time she’s really seeing you. You give her a gentle smile, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze as you pass her. You leave her be as you start making your way down the hall, popping into every room to let them know it’s time for dinner soon and to get ready.

Once you’ve let everyone know, you walk back to your room to change into more suitable clothing. You pass Ice on your way back, giving her a wink and a grin. In no time, you’re ready to leave. You grab a small bag, putting in some more medicine, pads/tampons, bandages, and other stuff the team might need before leaving. You make your way towards the elevator, straining your ears to make sure everyone is getting dressed.

Once inside, you press the button to the floor below you. You stroll over to Geno’s room, knocking on the door and smiling once CD opens it. She lets you in, letting you sit in the chair in the corner of the room. You let them know everyone is getting ready and that the bus should be able to leave within the next 15 or so minutes.

Before long, everyone is back in the bus on their way to a nice restaurant nearby. You stand behind Geno in the aisle as you both do a quick headcount to make sure everyone is there. Most people would think this is unnecessary. Even some of the team have said that before. Well, they did before KK got left behind at a restroom stop, and they only realized she was missing when they realized no one was causing a ruckus.

Once satisfied, the bus driver drives off. You sit closer to the rest of the team this time, seeing as it’s only a short drive. You tease some of the newer players with the older girls, giving them a wink to let them know you’re just joking.

At the restaurant, you sit down at the end of the table, near Paige, Azzi, KK, and Nika. Your eyes scan the menu as you lean to the side to let Nika look at it as well. You listen to what everyone else is getting, shaking your head as Paige says her order.

“You’re not gonna like that,” you mumble as you glance up at her. “What? No, I like this stuff,” she says, nodding her head to convince you. “Remember how you said that last time and then spent the whole dinner pouting cus you hated it?” You ask not unkindly. “Yeah, okay, but this is different,” she says determinedly. “Alright,” you say, giving her a smile.

You order a spaghetti, knowing it’s a dish that Paige also likes, just in case you end up being right. Once everyone’s food and drinks arrive, you take a sip of your water, leaning back as you look at the blonde in front of you. Her face contorts the second she takes her first bite. When she catches your eye, she masks her expression, but it’s too late. You’ve already seen she doesn’t like it.

You give her an “I told you so” smirk before leaning over to switch your plates. “No, no! It’s fine, this is fine!” She stumbles. “Shut up, P,” you reply with a tender smile, swapping the dishes. You don’t notice the grins the rest of the team gives each other at the sweet moment. You share your dessert with KK, who claimed to be too full after dinner but seemed to suddenly have some more space after seeing the sweet treats on the table.

Once back at the hotel, you make your way to your room, knowing that the rest of the girl will soon start filtering in after getting into their pajamas. You know you should tell them to go straight to bed, since you’ve got a game tomorrow, but you can’t. You’ve always had a soft spot for them and struggled to say no to them in moments like this.

------

The next morning, you have a quiet yet cozy breakfast with the team. Most of the girls are still too tired to feel the nerves of the upcoming game. You split your time between sitting with the players and the coaching staff, going over strategies and things you’ll have to pay attention to on the court.

At the gym, you do your usual game day ritual before checking up on the other girls. You give Aaliyah your extra arm sleeve when you see her rummaging through her bag with a frown. She doesn’t have to tell you what she’s searching for for you to know what’s wrong. When you see Nika nervously biting her nails, you walk over, handing her a strip of gum without a word. The tension leaves her body the second the minty flavor touches her tongue.

You play the game with your whole heart and soul. You shoot like your life depends on it, steal the ball like a thief in the night, and assist your team as much as you can. When a teammate goes down, you’re the first to reach them. To check that they’re okay or to simply lend a hand to help them up. Everyone plays amazingly. However, it’s not enough.

By the time coach Geno asks for the last time-out of the game, everyone is dead tired. The Huskies were good. Really good. But so was the other team. When you all huddle up, you see the exhausted faces of your teammates, hear their labored breaths, and feel the tension radiating off their skin.

You barely hear Geno talking as you look at the shooters of the team. One of them will have to take the final shot. One of them will have to deal with the crushing disappointment of not being able to score the winning point if it goes wrong.

The coach pauses as he sees the look in your eyes. The moment you decide what you’re going to do, he knows too. You nod at him. “Give me the ball,” you say resolutely. Everyone’s head snaps your way as the words leave your mouth. “You might miss,” Paige says, not trying to make you feel bad, but not wanting you to have to deal with the weight of the final score. “I might,” you reply in a way that shows you’re not changing your mind.

Everyone nods slowly before turning to Geno to listen to what he wants everyone to do. You clench your fists, jaw tight as you look at the floor. No matter what, you know every player did the best they could and that if you missed the shot, it would be okay in the end. However, that gave you little comfort at the moment.

When the final buzzer sounds, the Huskies’ shoulders sag as tears well up in the eyes of the younger players. 63-65 reads the final score. You weren’t able to make the basket. You try not to let the disappointment you feel show in your body language. You shake hands with the other team with a “good game”, you tell Jana her last layup was pure art, and you ruffle KK’s hair with a smile and a wink.

Most of the girls speed walk away when they see the media team appear. Nika doesn’t spot them soon enough before she’s asked to go to the pressroom. She sends you a desperate look that says “please don’t make me go alone”, which isn’t needed as you’re already walking over to join her. You’d rather sit in the locker room with the others than sit in a room with nosy jerks and flashy cameras, but you don’t want Nika to be alone.

The first questions are pretty civil and are aimed at your coach, so you spend your time keeping an eye on Nika and thinking of ways to make everyone feel better once you’re back home. When the first reporter to ask Nika a question starts talking, your head snaps up. The Croatian girl tries to answer to the best of her abilities, but halfway through her answer, her chin starts to wobble as her voice becomes shaky.

The tears in her eyes barely have time to form before you take over. You reply to the question, your voice serious. Though UConn didn’t win, you speak proudly about the team’s playing. Noticing Nika picking her nails in the corner of your eye, you slide your hand into hers underneath the table without a word. Your speech doesn’t falter as she squeezes your hand tightly, like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.

Once the press conference is over, you sling your arm around Nika and guide her to the locker room. The conversation inside is barely audible, only a few hushed voices being heard every once in a while. You head to the showers before getting changed into comfy clothes for the drive home. You then make your rounds.

You give some encouraging words to the crying players, hold an ice pack to Azzi’s knee, and give a hug to Paige, who looks like she’s holding the world on her shoulders. With every upset frown and sad pout that you’re able to turn into a smile, the weight on your chest lessens.

By the time you get into the bus, most girls have already somewhat recovered from the loss. Paige and Azzi are cuddled up near the back of the bus with lovesick smiles on their faces. Caroline is combing her fingers through the hair of one of the younger players, who’s smiling softly. Aaliyah is braiding Nika’s hair, and though both are silent, you can tell they’re okay.

The bus still feels uncomfortably silent, even with the soft chattering. Because it’s never this quiet. Not when KK is there. KK, the class clown, the prankster, the bright ray of sunshine.

You make your way towards the back of the bus, where the young girl is lying down with a defeated frown. While the girl is usually the happiest one of the bunch, she also has days when she feels like she has failed everyone.

You tap her leg, telling her to move so you can sit. You don’t say anything at first, checking to see what she needs right now. You could give her a big speech on how everyone did their best and that next time, you’d win. You could offer her the stat sheet from the game, showing her that she played better than she’s ever done. Though you know none of that is what she needs right now.

“Hey,” you say softly as you knock your knee into hers. She looks over, barely being able to contain her tears. You can tell she wants to tell you not to bother. That nothing you say right now will make her feel better. So instead, you rummage through your bag and hand her a box. She frowns in confusion as she looks at it.

“I’m thinking of getting a new tattoo,” you say, confusing her even more, since she was sure you’d try to make her feel better by giving a speech. “You wanna draw me one?” She lets her fingers trail over each marker as she shrugs. You give her your arm, telling her you were also thinking of getting your already existing tattoos colored in. Of course, you don’t really want them colored, but it’s a sure way to get KK’s mind off of the loss.

She starts drawing in silence at first. You just sit there, talking about small things that you saw throughout the week that reminded you of her and what video games you want to play with her. Before long, she’s quietly telling you about what happened in her favorite class and is making small jokes. You don’t expect her to become a ball of energy right away, but she doesn’t have to be. You just want her to be less sad.

Hearing KK’s voice and laugh makes the team look back towards the back of the bus. A soft smile is visible on everyone’s face as they see the interaction. The girl beside you doesn’t notice their looks, but you do. You send them a kind smile of your own, nodding as KK asks you something.

Coach Geno asked you if it was exhausting once. Being a good student, an amazing player (both on and off the court, when you help your team), and always taking care of your friends. You’d just shrugged. Of course, it was tiring. But so what?

As you lean back in your seat, KK blabbering nonsense in your ear and the rest of the team scattered out in front of you with calm smiles on their faces, the only thing you can think about is how it’s all worth it. You wouldn’t trade this group for the world, just as they wouldn’t trade you for it.

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wbbdesignsbyzoe · 5 hours ago

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I love the meme Paige ones

me this week.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #wbb #dallas wings #paige buckets #paige bueckers uconn #wnba #wnba basketball #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers meme #meme

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 days ago

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The Ache That Stayed

Pairing: Georgia Amoore x Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Washington Mystics

Summary: Old wounds reopen when love outlasts heartbreak, silence, and time.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @liloandstitchstan , @kaliblazin , @marleymarleymarleymarley , @latenighttalkinqwp , @atimelessheaven , @gabischeeseballs

I was folding laundry when the hospital called.

The number flashed across my screen—unknown, Washington D.C. I almost let it go to voicemail, assuming it was spam, but something in my gut twisted, sharp and uncomfortable.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Y/N Y/L/N?”

“This is she.”

“You’re listed as the emergency contact for Georgia Amoore. She was injured during training camp for the Washington Mystics and has been admitted to MedStar Washington Hospital. She requested that we notify you.”

For a second, the world tilted. My laundry slipped from my hands, forgotten on the floor.

“I—I’m still on her list?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My mouth went dry.

“I’ll be there.”

The hospital smelled like bleach and fear.

I didn’t know what I expected walking into Room 408, but it sure as hell wasn’t for my entire chest to crack open like an old wound that never fully closed. There she was. Georgia. My Georgia.

Except she wasn’t mine anymore.

She looked smaller than I remembered, despite the way time and distance had stretched us apart.

Her hair was tied back messily, leg braced and elevated, eyes half-lidded from meds.

But when she saw me, she blinked like I was the hallucination.

“You came,” she whispered.

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would.”

I took one more step into the room and closed the door behind me.

“Why am I still your emergency contact, Georgia?”

She looked away, her fingers twitching slightly against the sheets.

“I never took you off.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I hoped you’d still come.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I should’ve walked out. Should’ve called her coach, her agent, anyone more appropriate.

But instead, I pulled the visitor chair closer to her bed and sat.

Because no matter how far she pushed me away… I still loved her.

And that’s the cruel thing about love—when it’s real, it doesn’t ask for your permission to stay.

I’d extended my stay in D.C. with no return flight in sight.

I was helping Georgia settle into her apartment post-surgery. Washing her hair in the sink. Making toast she barely ate. Sitting on the floor while she slept on the couch with her leg propped up.

I told Jenna—the girl I’d just started dating two weeks ago—that I needed to help a friend.

She didn’t ask too many questions.

I wished she had.

The fight started the fifth night.

Over nothing, really.

Or maybe over everything.

“You don’t have to keep playing nurse,” Georgia said as I handed her her pain meds. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Right,” I snapped. “Because you’re great at handling things on your own. That’s worked so well for you.”

She flinched.

“You can go back to your new girl,” she said flatly.

My hand froze.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t you dare use her like a shield.”

“You’re the one who’s with her,” Georgia fired back, “but you’re here with me.”

I felt something inside me snap. The rage I’d buried for twelve long months clawed its way out of my chest.

“You broke up with me, Georgia! No warning. No explanation. Just ‘I need space’ and a goodbye I didn’t see coming. And now you’re throwing shade because I’m trying to move on?”

Her jaw clenched.

“I wasn’t okay,” she muttered.

“And you think I was?” I stepped closer, my fists curling. “You think I didn’t cry for weeks? That I didn’t check your highlights at Kentucky like a masochist? You think it didn’t kill me every time I saw your face and knew I wasn’t part of your world anymore?”

Georgia’s eyes welled up, but she didn’t speak.

“Say something!” I shouted.

“I didn’t know how to love you and figure myself out at the same time!” she screamed back. “I was drowning. Everyone expected me to perform, to lead, to be the next face of college basketball, and I didn’t know who the hell I was anymore—”

“So you made me collateral damage.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“YOU DID IT ANYWAY!”

My fists hit her chest—not hard, not enough to cause pain, but enough to let the pain out of me. Once. Twice. Three times. Each one laced with tears, not anger.

She let me.

She just sat there, crying silently, arms falling open like she’d been waiting to catch me this whole time.

And I broke.

I collapsed into her chest, sobbing so hard my ribs ached.

“I hate you,” I whispered against her. “I hate that I still love you.”

She didn’t speak. Just cradled my head to her heart, her hand shaking as she ran her fingers through my hair.

“I hate me too,” she whispered back. “But I never stopped loving you either.”

We sat like that. Wrecked. Raw.

Two people too hurt to touch the truth until it tore them apart.

Two Days Later

The silence was softer now.

We didn’t speak much, but we didn’t need to. Not yet.

I cooked. She complained that it was too bland. I told her she could order DoorDash with her good leg.

She laughed. I smiled.

And then I got the text.

Jenna: “I miss you. When are you coming back?”

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Georgia was asleep on the couch, curled around a heating pad.

She looked peaceful. Or at least, at peace with me being near.

I walked outside and called Jenna.

“Hey,” she answered, voice bright and warm.

“Hey,” I said quietly. “Can we talk?”

“I shouldn’t have started something new,” I told her. “Not when I was still bleeding from something old.”

Jenna was quiet on the other end.

“I told myself I’d moved on. But I didn’t. I just… covered the wound and pretended it didn’t hurt anymore.”

“And now?” she asked.

“I’m sitting in my ex’s apartment, helping her heal, and realizing I’m still in love with her.”

I expected her to yell. Or hang up. Or cry.

But all Jenna said was, “Thank you for being honest.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad, Y/N. Disappointed, maybe. But not mad. Go be where your heart already is.”

I blinked back tears. “You’re kind.”

“I’m also blocking you after this, just FYI.”

I laughed through the lump in my throat. “Fair.”

“Take care of yourself. And her.”

I hung up.

The weight lifted. Slowly, but noticeably.

I walked back inside.

Georgia was sitting up now, watching me with wide eyes.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I told her.”

Georgia’s throat bobbed. “Told her what?”

“That I’m still in love with you.”

She looked like she wanted to cry again. “What’d she say?”

“That she’s blocking me.” I sat down beside her. “I told her I needed to be honest with myself.”

Georgia reached for my hand.

“And what’s the truth?”

I looked at her—really looked.

“The truth is I loved you then. I love you now. And if you’re not going to run again… I’ll stay.”

She gripped my hand tighter, eyes shining.

“I won’t run.”

I leaned my forehead to hers, heart pounding.

“Don’t break me again.”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it.”

And somehow, that felt like enough.

Or at least the beginning of it.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

173 notes · View notes

clairescity · 12 hours ago

Text

Pain, Then Pleasure - P.B

𐃯— Paige Bueckers x Reader

𐃯— After a brutal week of exams, two friends go to the local bar to celebrate. The drinks flow and you can’t ignore the way strangers eyes fall onto Uconn’s golden girl, Paige Bueckers. Jealousy builds in you as the night goes on. All whilst Paige grows drunk and clingy. not being able to keep her hands off you in a way that would blur every line of friendship. When a girl hits on Paige and shattered glass leaves her a bleeding finger, you pull her into a dark corner of the bar protective and possessive instinct tipping into something heated. Her finger wasn’t the only thing you kissed better that night. One drunken kiss turns into another, and before the night is gone, you’re walking Paige back to her dorm where all that tension finally shatters. The glass wasn’t the only thing that shattered that night.

𐃯—Word count: 6.8k

𐃯— Content warnings: drinking. smut. sub!p slight spit kink. semi!public sex. fingering. slight!overstim (p!receiving) exhibitionism. oral (p!receiving). scissoring. slapping. degrading. praise. edging. crying. aftercare.

༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚ ༝༚༝༚

The bass from the local bar moved through the sticky floor and up your body, the whole bar vibrating with all of UConn students drunk on finals weekend freedom. Shouts, laughter, and awful singing that was really just yelling mixed with the sharp smell of vodka and spilled beer. Swaying behind you, her arm wrapped around your waist loosely like it was the most natural thing in the world to her, was none other than UConn’s golden girl, Paige Bueckers.

She glowed like she always did tall, slim figure, golden locs, pale skin kissed by the glowy orange lights, her smile pretty and a little tipsy. Her eyes were drunk and sparkling, and you’d both admit you had maybe one too many shots. You hadn’t even wanted to come out tonight. Finals were over, yeah, but your plan was to sit at home in your sweats and perhaps binge the new season of whatever Netflix show Paige had already bullied you into watching. But Paige had other plans. You could still see her leaning against her dorm doorframe earlier, hooking one finger through your belt loop, giving it a sharp, small tug that made your stomach flip.

“C’mon,” she’d whined, leaning in close enough that her breath tickled your face, looking down at you. “You’re not bailing on me. I need my favorite girl out there right by my side tonight,” she muttered.

One look into her pleading eyes with that knowing grin and your resistance had crumbled. And now here you were, swept away into the crowded heat of the bar with her attached to you like a second skin.

Heat pooled in your stomach as her chest brushed your back, her cologne cutting sharp through the mist of sweat and beer. And you hated how easy she made it how a single teasing look could leave your cheeks pink with your pulse jumping.

You tilted your head back toward her over your shoulder, making eye contact, your faces so close. “I can’t believe I let you drag me here,” you mumbled, though your tone held no real bitterness. You toyed with the silver rings around her slim fingers that were grazing the skin on your stomach. Even tipsy, she clung to you like she belonged there.

Paige only grinned, dragging her hands along your exposed tummy, your white crop top doing nothing to shield you from the chill of her rings, which caused you to shiver. She gave your hips a little squeeze, like she was testing how much she could get away with.

“Oh, please. You know damn full and well you’d be bored in your room shoving ice cream down your throat watching that lame ass show.” Her lips brushed your ear as she leaned in over the bass.

“Maybe that’s my type of celebration, and you practically begged me to watch that show!” you huffed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You love it when I make you come out with me. Don’t lie.”

You could only hum at that, closing your eyes and turning your head back as the alcohol sank heavy and warm into your system. Your hand fell over hers after toying with her jewelry, and you gave her soft hand a light squeeze, and she immediately went still against your back, breath catching. Especially drunk, she was easy to guide, easy to hold, your golden girl who pretended to run the night, yet every single little touch from you made her instantly melt.

Over time at UConn, being around Paige like this had taught you who she truly was. Paige wasn’t always the confident, in control girl the world believed she was. That was the version she gave the public eye. The one who ran the show. But with you, that act slipped. Drunk Paige was the clearest example bratty, whiny, and completely different from the poised girl everyone else saw.

Tonight, she was slipping into that side completely soft, clingy, and almost obedient under your hands. Or so you hoped.

You snapped out of your haze when you felt Paige’s warm hands slowly slide off your skin, leaving goosebumps in their absence.

“Baby, I’m gonna go get me a Dirty Shirley,” she slurred, her voice playful as she slid in front of you. Her cheeks were flushed from heat and alcohol, blonde hair clinging to the side of her neck in soft waves.

“Paige,” you scolded, raising your brows as she turned on her heel away from you. Your voice was low and sharp. Your hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her body back toward you. “Haven’t you had enough, P? You can barely walk,” you said. Paige definitely was more of a lightweight.

She stumbled into your chest with a soft huff, catching herself with a grip on your waist, and looked down at you with that knowing little pout that always made your stomach churn.

“Pretty please?” she whined, dragging her hands down your arms in a featherlight touch, her fingers automatically intertwining with yours like it was instinct. “Last one. Promise.” She tilted her head, giving you those stupidly cute, big, glassy puppy eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pulse quickening, part irritation, part something warmer that had been simmering all night. She had no idea what she did to you when she got like this—needy and completely at your mercy.

“Fine,” you mumbled, your tone unamused.

Paige’s face lit up, her toothy smile blooming instantly. “Knew you’d say yes,” she teased.

“Yeah? Say that again and you’re not allowed.” You tightened your grip on her hands.

Paige gasped, immediately pleading. “No! I’m sor-”

“Go,” you cut her off.

She gleamed at that, slipping away before you could say another word. You shook your head, watching her every move as she drifted toward the bar. The crowd seemed to part for her like it always did, the orange lights catching on her hair and the curve of her bare shoulder. God, she was wearing your favorite outfit tonight that white top that showed off her toned arms, her pretty abs, her hips under those low rise black pants.

Your eyes stayed locked on her the sway of her hips, the way strangers glanced at her like she was a prize. Your stomach twisted with that familiar, possessive heat. Only you got to look at her like that.

She leaned against the bar for balance, hair spilling over her shoulder, cheeks flushed. You watched her wave the bartender over, flashing that perfect smile as she ordered.

And then, just like always, someone moved in.

A girl slid up beside her, looking just like you, which only infuriated you more. She leaned down, her mouth nearly brushing Paige’s ear, and your jaw clenched. You couldn’t hear a word over the music, but the way her fingers brushed Paige’s shoulder was enough to make heat curl low in your stomach. Paige didn’t move away. If anything, she giggled, tipping her head slightly to listen.

Of course she did.

You were already moving through the crowd before the next bass drop hit. Someone muttered when your shoulder bumped theirs, but all you could see was Paige.

Then, before you knew it, her elbow caught the base of a tall glass on the bar. Typical Paige.

The crash was instant shards skittering across the floor. Paige gasped and instinctively crouched, laughing it off as she reached for the pieces like a drunken idiot. “Oops…” Paige mumbled.

“Paige!” you snapped, shoving through the crowd. She froze halfway to the floor but still reached for a shard.

“Don’t touch that!”

Too late. She hissed, jerking her hand back with a whimper, a thin line of red blooming across her fingertip. Her big, glassy eyes shot up to yours, soft and startled.

The girl beside her reached out. “I can-”

“I’ve got it,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. You’d never be so rude, but alcohol just brought out a different you.

“…Ow,” Paige whimpered, oblivious to the tension, holding her hand out to you like you could fix everything. Her lip trembled, her eyes glossy, and all the noise of the bar faded under the rush of possessive heat in your chest.

You crouched down, wrapping an arm around her middle and pulling her up. She leaned into you, mumbling incoherently as you guided her away from the glass and through the many bodies, ignoring the stares.

You let your hold fall down to gripping her wrist, dragging her toward the back. Her steps were uneven, a soft stumble every few seconds, and each time she tripped, she let out a little whine that went straight to your chest.

“Slow down…” she slurred.

“You can keep up,” you said sharply, glancing back. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, and the moment your eyes met, she ducked her head, bashful despite the alcohol.

You found a shadowed corner near the back, half hidden by a jukebox and some old posters. Pressing her back against the wall earned a little yelp to leave her lips. You released her wrist only to catch her chin, tilting her face to yours, seeing her eyes wide and confused.

“Look at me,” you said softly.

She obeyed instantly, big glassy eyes locking onto yours. Her lip caught between her teeth like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“You’ve been driving me insane all night, you know that?” you murmured, the alcohol giving you every ounce of confidence. “Clinging on me, whining for drinks, letting everyone eye fuck you like you’re theirs. Leaning into that girl when you know who you belong to.”

Paige shook her head quickly, hair brushing your chin. “No,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m yours.” If only you knew Paige had orchestrated this entire night for this exact moment.

A low hum of satisfaction curled in your chest. Your hands slid to her waist. She melted, almost begging, her hips subtly leaning into you.

“That’s right, baby. Look how smart you are.”

You pressed into her, pinning her lightly against the wall. Her fingers clutched your shoulders, a needy whimper spilling from her lips. Her mouth opened like she wanted to speak, then shut again, eyes hazy with want.

“Nuh uh,” you murmured, grip tightening. “Spit it out. What is it? Use your words,” you said slowly.

She squirmed under your gaze, chest rising and falling. When she finally spoke, it was a whisper, raw and desperate.

“Show me I’m yours.”

That snapped something deep inside you.

Your hand grabbed the side of her face, your other hand yanking her hips, pushing her flush against you. You crashed your lips to hers, heated and hungry. Paige gasped, kissing you back, fingers tangling in your hair and tugging.

The kiss turned messy, teeth and all, until a soft whimper from her throat made you suddenly slow, savoring her. Tasting her. Your hands stayed firm on her, keeping her where you wanted, and she followed your lead without hesitation.

Paige’s lips parted, a soft sigh slipping past her lips. You didn’t waste the invitation, tongue brushing hers slow and deliberate. Paige tasted of strawberry chapstick, Dirty Shirley, and something purely her enough to make you throb.

She melted, pinned to the wall, her hands digging into your waist, then your hair, tugging until you groaned. You deepened the kiss, claiming every shuddering, soft sound she made.

When you pulled back, a slick string of spit connected your lips. Paige’s eyes were glazed, chest heaving like you’d stolen her air.

“Y/n…” she whispered. “You-”

You couldn’t contain yourself and swallowed her words with another rough kiss, your tongue sliding against hers. A muffled whine left her throat, her hips pressing closer instinctively.

“Gonna let me claim you in a room full of people?” you murmured, pulling away just barely.

Paige nodded eagerly, breathless.

“Words, baby,” you said, patting her thigh, stern enough to make her shiver. “Beg.”

Her voice was ragged, whiny. “Please. Please, please, pretty fucking please claim me,” Paige said without hesitation.

A slow, dangerous smile curved your lips. “Oh, you sweet thing,” you murmured, brushing her bottom lip. “If only you knew what you just got yourself into.”

Your lips met hers again, slower this time, then trailed to the corner of her mouth, dragging softly along her jaw and down to her neck. She whimpered, tipping her head back.

Your teeth sank into her skin just enough to make her yelp, and the sound went straight to your core. You soothed the bite with your tongue, then sucked hard enough to make her eyes roll back.

Her hands fisted in your shirt, knees wobbling.

“Mine,” you rasped.

She nodded weakly with a tiny whimper.

You turned your head, locking eyes with the girl hitting on Paige earlier. You knew she was there. She froze, caught. Without looking away, you reached for Paige’s jeans, fingers fiddling with her buttons.

The zipper sounded deafening. Your gaze returned to Paige’s flushed face. “This okay, sweet girl?”

“Yes.. please,” she begged. A slow smile spread across your lips as your eyes trailed down her body. Your fingertips brushed her stomach, barely there, making her tremble. When you reached the band of her boxers, you tugged lightly, then let the elastic snap back against her skin. She jolted with a shuddering gasp.

Your hands slipped lower, sliding into her boxers, and you couldn’t hold back your own sharp breath. “Oh, fuck…” you murmured, already drunk on her pussy. “Is this all for me?”

Paige whimpered, her head tipping back. You let two fingers glide between her folds, savoring every slick curve until you found her clit and circled it just right. Her soft moan sent a pulse through your body as her brows knit together, desperate eyes meeting yours. Paige began to rock her hips against your fingers, desperate and needy, making a deep chuckle slip from your throat. Man, who would’ve thought Paige Bueckers, the girl who could command any room, make every head turn with a single smirk, would be here… whimpering, begging, riding your fingers like she couldn’t get enough?

You exhaled a soft sigh of pleasure just from watching her come undone. “Such a needy little thing, huh?” you murmured, your voice low and taunting.

When you pulled away from her clit, she let out a frustrated puff of air. You only tsked softly before letting your fingers slide lower, pushing inside her with a slow, deliberate thrust. The tight heat of her walls made you moan under your breath as her body instinctively clenched around you. Warm slickness coated your fingers, gushing against your knuckles with every movement.

You glanced up and took her in. Her eyes fluttered shut, her teeth catching her lip in a desperate attempt to keep quiet.

“None of that,” you said sharply, your free hand grabbing her jaw and tilting her head down until her eyes snapped open to meet yours. “I want to hear you… and so does she.”

Your head tilted toward the crowd. Sure enough, the girl was still watching, frozen and wide eyed. Paige followed your gaze, her head turning, and when her eyes locked with the girl’s, her breath caught, her pupils blown wide.

That was when you drove your fingers into her harder, faster an unrelenting rhythm that had her gasping. Her head fell back with a sharp, helpless moan.

“B-baby, please…” she managed to whimper, mouth falling open as she chased the feeling.

You quickened your pace, watching the way she started to crack, her hips rolling down to meet every thrust. Paige’s walls clenched greedily around your fingers, and the sound of your breath hitched, the wet drag of her pussy only spurring you on.

“That’s it,” you murmured, utterly transfixed by the sight of her losing control and herself.

Just as you felt her on the edge, you grabbed her jaw again and turned her face toward the girl. Paige’s eyes widened, gasping at the sudden force.

“W-what are you-”

She couldn’t finish. Her words replaced with a high, broken moan as your thumb found her clit, circling it with merciless precision.

“Cum for me, Paige,” you growled, your voice thick with nothing but command. “Let her watch you fall apart.”

Paige’s hips snapped, rolling against your fingers desperately. “Oh, fuck!” she cried, eyes locked on the girl as you worked her over. Her lip was caught so tight between her teeth you almost thought it would bleed.

And then she broke her body shuddering, riding her high, walls fluttering around your fingers. You felt her pussy gush, making you moan.

“There you go. Such a good girl for me.”

The girl in the crowd looked flushed, her cheeks blooming pink as her eyes darted away. You caught the subtle bob of her throat as she swallowed hard, and a satisfied smirk tugged at your lips.

“So good for me,” you purred.

When you turned back to Paige, the sight nearly made your chest ache with pride. She was completely wrecked hair messy, lips swollen, her chest rising and falling in uneven short breaths. Her pupils were blown wide, and that lazy, fucked out grin on her face was proof she was all yours.

Paige hummed weakly at your praise, and you couldn’t resist a low chuckle as your fingers began to circle her clit in a slow, deliberate tease. She jolted and let out a soft, broken whine, both hands flying to your wrist in a feeble attempt to stop you.

“No?” you asked, tilting your head, your tone dripping with mocking sweetness. “I thought this is what you wanted, baby.”

“S’… too much… please.” she whimpered, her grip tightening around your wrist, her thighs trembling from oversensitivity.

You let her suffer for just a moment longer before easing your fingers out of her, savoring the way her body sighed at the sudden emptiness. Your fingers trailed along her slick folds one last time, committing every curve and texture to memory before sliding free.

A low hum of satisfaction left you as you admired your hand your fingers glistening, coated in her sweet release. A grin spread across your face as you lifted them toward her lips, tapping lightly against her mouth.

“Open,” you commanded, your voice leaving no room for question.

Paige obeyed without hesitation, lips parting as a soft, needy sound escaped her. You dragged your coated fingers slowly across her tongue, and her eyes fluttered shut as she tasted herself, sucking gently, hollowing her cheeks.

The sight had your stomach tightening with a surge of heat. Without warning, you pushed your fingers deeper, pressing past her tongue until you felt the brief choke of her throat around them. Paige gagged softly, her eyes snapping open, glassy and submissive, as drool slicked her lip.

The sight alone could’ve undone you. Well, it almost did.

Your fingers slid out her mouth with a pop, it almost looking like she leaned forward wanting more. “Don’t worry, my girl. Wait til I get you home,” you mumbled, lightly patting her cheek. You leaned in and pressed a slow, tender kiss to the side of her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent hit you instantly sweet cologne, and the faint tang of alcohol and sugar clinging to her skin. A sigh slipped from your lips as you let yourself savor her for just a heartbeat, your nose brushing along her jaw.

Paige’s fingers twitching like she wanted to grab you again. Instead, you reached for her hand, intertwining your fingers slowly, deliberately, letting your thumb trace circles against her knuckles. She followed without hesitation, her steps clumsy but eager as you tugged her gently toward the back exit.

“Let’s go,” you said softly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

The two of you stumbled out into the cool night, the noise of the bar fading away behind the slam of the heavy door. Paige pressed herself into your side, as you led her through the quiet empty streets. Her hands never left you, fingers brushing your hip, tracing the waistband of your jeans, occasionally sneaking up under your top for warmth or maybe just for you.

You couldn’t even remember every step of the walk; the world had narrowed down to her touches, her soft giggles, the heat of her body pressed against yours. Every time she moved into you, that same familiar fire sparking lower in your chest each time.

By the time you reached her dorm, Paige was practically draped across you, her lips brushing the skin on your shoulder as she fished for her keys. She handed them over with a little huff, her pout so adorable it made you want to ruin her all over again. Which you were, to be clear.

The moment the door clicked open, instinct took over. You pushed her inside, kicking the door shut with your heel, the sound echoing in the small dorm room. Paige barely had a second to gasp before her back hit the wood, your hand sliding up to cradle her jaw as your lips crashed onto hers.

She let out a soft, needy moan into your mouth, her fingers flying to your waist like she couldn’t hold on tight enough, tugging you to her. The kiss was messy, heated, all teeth and tongue and the faint taste of strawberry and sugar on her lips. Her body arched into yours desperately. You forced yourself to pull away as you both kicked your shoes off. You dragged her into her room, pushing her onto the bed, climbing on top of her, straddling her. Her lazy smile deepened as her hands slid to your hips, fingertips tracing little circles into your skin. You let your palms sprawl across her warm stomach, leaning down to press slow, teasing kisses along her jaw.

“Too damn pretty for your own good,” you murmured against her skin, the words buzzing against her neck.

Your fingers found the hem of her top, playing with it for a moment, and you glanced up, silently asking for permission. She gave a small nod, her eyes hazy and trusting. You peeled her top upward, letting your knuckles skim her soft skin, and she lifted her arms to help. The shirt was tossed somewhere behind you, forgotten.

You froze for just a second to admire her. Paige in a fitted black Nike sports bra, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. A grin tugged at your lips before you leaned down, kissing down her neck, her collarbone, and every inch of her chest, savoring the way she squirmed beneath the attention.

“Paige,” you whispered, looking up at her through your lashes.

She hummed in response, already breathless.

“Can I?” you asked, snapping the band of her sports bra lightly against her skin.

Her soft whimper was followed by a meek, “Yes.”

You grinned as you slowly peeled the bra up, shimmying her out of it. The moment the fabric left her body, your smile shifted into something darker, your eyes locked on her exposed chest. Her nipples hardened under the cool air, and your voice dropped to a low murmur.

“Oh, baby…”

Your hands rose instinctively, cupping her breasts and kneading them slowly, your thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. Paige’s breath hitched, and she let out a soft whine, her body writhing under your touch.

“Want… your mouth,” she mumbled, twirling a loose strand of your hair between her fingers.

You lifted a brow, pausing just long enough to make her squirm.

“Please,” she added, a desperate little whisper.

“There she is,” you teased, your voice like velvet.

You dipped down, wrapping your lips around one of her nipples, your tongue flicking against the sensitive bud while your free hand teased the other. Her fingers immediately buried in your hair, gripping tight as a shaky moan left her lips. She arched into your mouth, her back bowing slightly, seeking more.

You pulled back with a soft pop, letting your lips trace a wet, lazy path across her chest to the other breast. Your mouth closed over her other nipple, tongue swirling as you sucked gently. Paige’s fingers stayed tangled in your hair, holding you there like she never wanted you to leave.

Her soft sounds filled the room, and you could feel her thighs squeeze together beneath you as you worked her over, every flick of your tongue making her tremble. After a minute, you let your lips leave her breast, now kissing down her stomach, your tongue slowly dragging across her skin. Paige’s grip on your hair finally loosened, her arms falling above her head, fingers curling into the sheets as she let out a soft sigh. She was completely at your mercy now.

You pressed a lingering kiss just above the button of her jeans, looking up through your lashes. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and all she could do was nod, desperate and pliant under your gaze.

You didn’t waste another second. Your fingers popped the button, dragging the zipper down slowly, savoring the way her body squirmed in anticipation. You peeled the denim down her legs, letting your fingertips trail against her skin, and tossed the jeans somewhere behind you.

A satisfied hum slipped from your throat at the sight of her now, left only in a pair of snug black boxers that did nothing to hide the heat between her thighs.

“God…” you murmured, your voice low and warm, “look at you.”

You knelt between her legs, slowly parting them, and your own thighs pressed together instinctively at the sight of her. Paige shifted under your gaze, a blush blooming into her cheeks, with the neediness in her eyes.

“Look so pretty for me, angel,” you whispered, letting the reassurance sink in.

You bent down, letting your lips ghost along the smooth skin of her inner thigh, leaving a soft trail of kisses that grew slower, more deliberate, the closer you got to where she wanted you. A playful nibble made her twitch, and her soft, frustrated whine filled the air.

Before she could beg, your palm landed in a firm slap on the inside of her thigh, making her jolt.

“Patience,” you murmured, your voice firm but gentle, and she instantly went quiet.

Finally, you were level with her clothed cunt, her boxers damp with arousal. You pressed a feather light kiss against the wet fabric, and Paige let out a sharp little breath. Your nose brushed against her clit as you inhaled her scent, groaning softly into the fabric.

She couldn’t take it, her fingers tangled in your hair, pushing your head forward, trying to pull you closer.

You pulled back immediately, delivering a slap to her covered pussy.

Paige gasped, eyes wide, a blush creeping down to her neck.

“Uh-uh,” you warned softly, a smirk curling your lips.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you hooked your fingers into her waistband and dragged her boxers down her thighs. She instinctively snapped her legs closed, heat radiating from her core.

“Hey…” you cooed, voice reassuring and soft as your hands slid along her thighs, “don’t be shy. It’s just me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, her legs fell open again.

The sight stole your breath. Her slick folds glistened in the low light, her arousal pooling onto her inner thighs. A groan slipped out before you could stop it, your head tipping forward for a second as if the sight alone could knock you out.

“Fuck… Paige,” you muttered, eyes roaming over her body before meeting her gaze. “So fucking beautiful. How could you hide this from me all this time?”

She squirmed, blushing even harder under your dark stare.

You couldn’t tease her anymore. Not when your own desire coiled tight within you. You leaned down, lips brushing her soaked pussy in the faintest kiss. Her legs immediately spread wider, a wordless invitation, and your hands slipped under her knees to keep her open for you.

Your first slow lick traced every curve of her pussy, tasting her fully, and your eyes fluttered shut as you moaned against her. Paige sighed, her hips jerking with a stutter, already falling apart under your first touch.

When your lips wrapped around her clit, sucking softly, the sound that tore from her chest was almost sinful. She gripped the sheets, knuckles white, her moans filling the room. You hollowed your cheeks, letting your tongue flick and swirl before lapping at her wetter, messier, each movement dragging a louder sound from her.

The wet sounds of her pussy and of your mouth on her and your own muffled groans filled the room, mixing with the soft creak of the bed as Paige’s hips trembled beneath you. You let your tongue trail lower, teasing the entrance of her slick heat, and she whined your name, thighs quivering.

Her voice broke into little incoherent sounds, her whole body shivering with pleasure. She was already gone.

You shook your head against her pussy, tongue working faster, greedier, desperate to taste every drop of her as she came undone. You let your tongue find her clit again, and you watched as Paige began to lose control of her body, her hips rocking, legs shaking, a moaning mess.

“Gonna- gonna cum! Please!” Paige begged, her voice breaking as her body trembled and arched under your mouth.

And really, who the hell were you to deny an angel like this the release she craved?

“Give it to me,” you mumbled against her soaked pussy, tongue working her relentlessly. “Be the good girl I know you can be…”

Paige’s fingers twisted tight in the sheets, knuckles white, and her hips snapped up with a loud, desperate cry of your name. Her release hit hard, hot and messy against your tongue as she gushed, and you swore you felt your eyes roll back, greedily lapping up every drop she had to give you.

She rode out the waves of her orgasm, hips jerking as her legs shook around your head. But the pleasure quickly became too much, her soft whines and shaky hands tried to push you away.

“I know, baby… I know,” you murmured, but your mouth lingered, savoring her, needing to taste her completely before you finally pulled back.

You kissed her throbbing, sensitive pussy softly, one last farewell, then dragged yourself up her body, chin and lips glistening with her cum.

The sight of her nearly undid you. Paige sprawled out beneath you, hair messy against the pillow, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed with bliss. Her legs were still trembling, and her pussy glistened, dripping with the evidence of her release.

You were soaked yourself, just from watching her come apart for you.

Sliding up to straddle her waist, you fisted a hand gently in the back of her hair, tilting her face up toward you. “Need you to see how sweet you taste,” you whispered, your voice low and warm.

Your lips claimed hers in a slow, deep kiss. Paige moaned into your mouth, tasting herself on your tongue, her hands finding your thighs as if she needed to hold onto something solid.

“Think you got another one in you?” you murmured against her lips, teasing.

Paige shook her head weakly, a soft whine escaping her as she tried to clamp her legs together.

“I think you do,” you said with a knowing smirk, watching her body betray her even in its sensitivity.

Her head shook again on the pillow, her lips pouting in protest.

“Please, baby? I wanna cum too…” you whispered, leaning down close to her ear. Your breath was hot against her skin as you brushed a stray strand of hair back and pressed a kiss under her jaw. “Need to feel my pussy against yours…”

Paige’s breath hitched hard, and her fingers fisted into your shirt, tugging insistently.

“Go ahead,” you murmured, giving her permission.

She wasted no time your top was stripped off in an instant, and her shaky hands went straight for your bra clasp. Her eyes flicked up to yours, that little spark of asking still there, even wrecked and needy.

“May I?” she asked, voice soft and reverent.

“Since you asked so nicely…” you said, smoothing your palm over the top of her head.

Her tongue peeked out at the corner of her mouth as she focused, and you couldn’t help but smile down at her. The clasp popped open, and your bra slid off your body, leaving you completely bare above her.

Paige gasped, her eyes darting from your breasts up to your face, awe and hunger swirling together. Her hands instinctively gripped your hips tighter, holding you like she might never let go.

Then, in a sudden rush, she grabbed your face and smashed her lips against yours, kissing you with a desperate passion, like if she stopped for even a second, you might disappear. Her mouth moved against yours, teeth clashing softly as her hands slid down your body, fumbling with the button of your jeans.

You let her take some control, shivering at the feeling of her fingers brushing against your stomach. The two of you worked in sync, hurried and impatient, until your pants were gone and you were left in nothing but your panties.

Paige let out a soft, needy moan at the sight of you, her hand immediately cupping your clothed cunt. Her lip caught between her teeth as she felt just how soaked you were.

A smirk played at your lips before you slipped off of her, plopping down beside her on the bed. Paige turned her head toward you, confused, until you patted your stomach.

“C’mon, baby. You didn’t think I was gonna miss the chance to watch you ride my pussy, did you?”

Paige whimpered, that submissive haze washing over her again as she crawled on top of you. You peeled off your panties, baring yourself completely to her. Paige’s mouth dropped as she took in your naked figure, eyes drinking in every curve.

You gave your hips a teasing little thrust to snap her out of her daze. Slowly, you opened your legs for her, your glistening pussy catching the soft light. Paige’s eyes went wide, and she reached out with trembling fingers to touch you.

You smacked her hand gently.

“Nuh-uh,” you chided softly. “This is about you.”

She gulped, uncertainty flickering across her face, but you only smiled and reached for her hips.

“Sweet girl, it’s okay. Just open your legs for me.”

Paige obeyed, leaning down until her legs were spread wide over you. The first brush of your soaked pussies together made both of you whine, your hips jerking instinctively at the delicious friction.

It was too much for Paige; she was already lost. Her hips began to rock almost immediately, desperate and messy. You threw your head back, your back arching off the bed as the sensation rolled through you. Your hands clamped down on her hips, guiding her movements, helping her find the perfect rhythm.

Paige’s hands slid up to toy with her own nipples, her back arching, her eyes locked on your face the entire time. You moaned her name, chest heaving, watching her ride your pussy with a hunger you’d been holding back all night.

“My best girl,” you breathed, voice breaking.

You could tell Paige wasn’t going to last, and honestly, neither were you. The slow burn of edging yourself all night just from watching her unravel had left you trembling under her.

“M’ not gonna last,” she cried, her voice high and broken, falling forward to brace herself with her hands on either side of your head. Her hair spilled forward around your face, soft and warm.

“I know, Paige,” you whispered, gripping her hips tighter. “Need you to cum with me.”

She whimpered, her hips stuttering as her clit rubbed perfectly against yours.

“Please, please, can’t hold it,” she cried, and that was when you felt it a warm tear falling onto your chest. Your breath caught in your throat.

Oh, fuck. She was crying. Pleasurable tears.

The sight sent you over the edge.

“I’m gonna cum, come on, baby, cum with me,” you urged, rocking her hips faster, chasing the high together.

Paige’s whole body shook as she broke apart, a loud, shattering cry of your name tearing from her throat. Her orgasm hit so hard she sobbed through it, and her words tumbled out without thought.

“Fuck. I love you,” she gasped, voice breaking.

The raw confession stole your breath. You gasped, staring up at her as your own orgasm crashed into you, your body clenching and shaking beneath her, riding the waves of pleasure until neither of you could move.

The room was filled with the sound of your shuddering breaths, wet skin, and the fading echoes of your moans. Paige finally collapsed against you, her chest pressed to yours, her breath warm and uneven against your ear.

“Holy fuck,” you mumbled, still trembling, feeling your own slick drip against her.

Paige sniffled softly, and your instincts kicked in immediately. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her tight, your nails lightly scratching her back.

“Did so good for me,” you whispered against her temple, kissing the side of her head. “M’ so proud of you, my perfect girl.”

She stayed quiet for a long moment, just catching her breath, lazily kissing your neck between soft sniffles.

You finally pulled her up enough to see her face.

“Look at me,” you whispered, voice soft but firm.

Her bleary eyes met yours. “Hi…” she mumbled, shy now, cheeks pink.

Your lips curled into a small, warm smile. “Hi, pretty baby.”

“Legs hurt,” she whined softly, her voice rasping.

“I know,” you said, brushing your thumb along her cheek. “How’s a bubble bath sound?”

Her lips curved into a sleepy smile at that.

She pushed herself up, still straddling your waist, and glanced down between your bodies. Her thumb grazed your dripping cunt, and she popped it into her mouth with a soft moan at your taste.

You watched her with a fond smile, until you caught sight of her finger a thin red line across it.

The memory of the shattered glass from earlier came rushing back. You had been so worried about claiming Paige back, you had forgotten about her little cut. Your heart skipped.

“Oh, my poor baby… how could I forget?” you gasped, gently grabbing her hand and pulling her thumb from her mouth. Paige blinked in surprise, eyes wide.

You peppered soft kisses over her cut finger, murmuring against her skin.

Paige let out a soft hum at the attention.

“Let’s go fix my girl up,” you whispered, kissing her knuckle once more. “Need to kiss you all better.”

And this time, Paige only smiled shyly, letting you guide her off the bed, still trembling but safe in your arms. You led Paige carefully into the bathroom, her legs still slightly shaky. Sitting her down gently on the closed toilet lid, you turned to the tub, twisting the handles until warm water filled the bath. The soft hiss of the faucet and the rising steam filled the quiet room. You poured in the bubbles, watching them bloom and swell across the surface, the faint scent of vanilla and honey filling the air.

Once the bath was ready, you crouched down in front of her. She looked adorably drowsy, her hair messy around her flushed face. You took her injured hand, bringing her finger to your lips for a gentle kiss before leaning up to press another against her cheek. Paige gave you a sleepy smile, her eyes soft and full of trust.

You stood to grab the small first-aid kit from the cabinet above the mirror. Pulling out a single bandaid, you crouched down again, wrapping it carefully around her cut finger. Then you kissed the bandaged fingertip, letting your lips linger for a second.

“All better,” you said softly.

“Thank you…” Paige whispered, her voice heavy with exhaustion, almost like a child being tucked in after a long day.

You smiled, threading your fingers through hers as you stood. “C’mon, pretty girl.”

Guiding her carefully, you helped Paige step into the warm bath. She let out a soft sigh as the heat wrapped around her, bubbles clinging to her skin. Once she settled in, you slipped in behind her, the water lapping gently at your waist as you pulled her back against your chest.

A content hum left your throat as you felt her warm, soft skin against yours. Her head leaned back against your shoulder, and you let your hands wander lazily, cupping bubbles to wash over her body in slow, tender motions. Your lips brushed her shoulder in a gentle kiss, then trailed to the side of her neck.

Paige exhaled a soft, content sigh, melting against you completely, her muscles finally relaxing after the intensity of the night. The soft splashes of water and the faint smell of vanilla bubbles were the only sounds for a moment, peaceful and warm. Paige held onto your legs.

Breaking the quiet, you murmured against her damp skin, “For the record… I love you more.”

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