What he doesn’t know, or perhaps, what he doesn’t realize, is the fact that you can very astutely tell how fast his heart is beating whenever the two of you engage in this.

You have eyes to take in the way that his pulse jumps in the caging of his throat, a staccato beat that indicates the adrenaline that wracks down the track of his veins, the excitement that spurs him to devoted attention upon you.

After so much time devoted to the blood, you can tell the measure of a person’s heart: and where it indicates they are on the emotional compass. He radiates a joyful thrill whereas others that you have slaked your thirst from have shied away in muted terror.

Of course, the other indicator of his enthusiasm is the way that his cock juts out fully erect from the fine hair curled in the junction of his legs. The muscles of his bare thighs twitch against the soft sheets that the two of you take occupation upon—he lying, you reclining further down his legs to prepare him.

He’s enthusiastic about the way that you prepare him, rolling your hand up the length of his cock, lingering at the curve of his head. Letting your thumb slink down the head of his cock where a bead of precum pearls in tantalizing, mouthwatering manner.

“Please—”—He groans, and it’s best described as a wanton, broken plea for catharsis, for gratification—“—I need you, honey.”

You let your eyes drag up from the view of your hand gliding down the shaft, just in time to catch the way that his mouth opens in perfect, blissful agony. His eyes remain fixated upon you, a silent plea of desire.

“I need you too,” You hum back against the full of your lips, a pleased chord. Always so willing, always so needy, always so lively. “Are you ready, Wally?”

In answer, his hips buck into you, the slick of his exertion making the glide easier up your hand. Another word finally breaks from the last modicum of propriety he has, a barely uttered whisper. “Please.”

You laugh, though it’s without malice—only endearment. “As you wish, Wally.”

There’s a degree of relief that makes foundation in his face, though it’s quickly replaced by lust as you clench your thighs to rise up. And it’s replaced by abject pleasure as you press your entrance against his cock.

“Fuck—”—He breathes, the entire meter of his body drawn rigid under you, his cock jerking against you in instinctive manner—“—You look so hot like that.”

“Yeah?” You ask, letting a sly smile make appearance as you sink down. As you deny him the chance to reply as his brows twist in euphoria, as you let his cock glide into you, filling you up.

“Oh, fuck—”—He shucks a ragged breath out of him as you sheath him to the hilt with marked ease, a perfect fit for you. You keep a hand on the toned plateau of his stomach.

Under the pads of your fingers, you can admire the way that his abs roll with the need to satiate himself with you. You may as well accommodate him; you let your legs pitch against his thighs and rise up in torturously slow ascent.

“God—”—His fingers twist into the sheets, the whites of his knuckles protruding through the tender flesh of his skin—“—Oh baby, please go faster.”

“World’s fastest man—”—Your grin is beatific, wicked as you sink back down, his eyes rolling back with overwhelming pleasure—“—Can’t handle going slow?”

“Not—”—He grits this confession through his teeth as you seat yourself fully on him again—“—Not with you.”

“Charmer,” You giggle, before you adjust your angle so that you may inch along the taut muscle of his torso, his pecs, his shoulders that are tacky with the sheen of effort. Until you have finally reached the zenith of your journey, where you may huff steamed breath over the pulse that hammers in delicious pace.

“Do you want me?” You ask, punctuating your inquiry with the wet lave of your tongue upon his lifesblood. All he gives you is a roll of his hips that has you sigh in delight at the shock of pleasure through your body, sweet and honeyed and perfect.

“Please,” He begs once more in dire evocation, “I need you.”

You pitch your hips so that you sink down on his cock once more—letting his breath catch in his throat—before you sink your fangs into the give of his skin. And when you take your first heady swallow of his blood, you’re rewarded with an oath muttered on his lips before he groans at the sheer ecstasy.

It’s here you have to take over—Wally’s busy on two fronts, after all. But you’ve grown good at multitasking, at working the breath through your nostrils as you take greedy swallow from his body, and ride the thick length of his cock as it pumps into you.

As the skin of his thighs slaps in lewd manner against you, the whimpers of his rapture taking sinful harmony with it. As you take what is his—and he happily gives it to you.

But you don’t need much—after all, you still have your ride to think of, as you rise back up to allow a moment to bounce on the curve of his length. To take in the way his eyes are glassy, glaze-over, at a satisfaction he only achieves with you; you wipe a droplet of blood away that skirts down from the corner of your mouth.

“Let me taste it,” Wally begs, his face flushed with desire only you can sate him with.

You smile, knowing that he can regard his blood that stains your teeth. As you close the distance back down to him, his thrusts into you jerky and disoriented but still eking out pleasure yet to be fulfilled.

And when he tastes himself on your tongue, you can savor the tang of his moan on yours.

banner and divider made by me :)

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Then one day, after several years, something shifts.

At the Titans Tower, over pizza and crappy movies, you laugh at something he says, and it lingers a second too long. Your hand brushes his, and instead of pulling away, you stay. He notices everything all at once—the way you look in your suit, the talent and skill you possess, your virtues, the way people gravitate toward you, the way he himself does. (ik it's mad cringe but stay w me now)

And suddenly, being around you isn’t just easy. He never really clocked that you both had gotten older. He never internalised the feelings he had for you, and how they matured into something greater now that you've both aged.

It’s dangerous.

Because now he wants more.

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t.

You’re you—Bruce Wayne’s daughter, little sister of his closest friends, and said friends who would literally smite him if they knew of his crush on you, you're the girl everyone watches, the girl who belongs to a world far more complicated than his.

So he does what he’s always done best (not really, but alas).

He waits, and he watches, and he flops.

Hard.

Dick notices first. Of course he does. One look at Wally across the room, staring at you like you’ve hung the stars yourself, and he’s already smirking. Jason catches on next, less amused, more suspicious. Roy takes one look and immediately decides it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

None of them say anything to you. But Wally knows they know.

It doesn’t matter.

Because you don’t.

Until you do.

It happens late one night at the Watchtower, when everything is quiet and the world feels far away. You’re sitting close, closer than usual, talking about nothing, about everything. He doesn’t plan it. He doesn’t think. His hand brushes yours, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. You don’t either.

Your fingers curl into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He looks at you, breath caught somewhere in his chest, and for a second, he thinks he imagined it.

But then you smile, soft and certain, and just like that—

Everything changes.

After a good conversation about what you two are now, and six months later, Wally is absolutely gone for you.

And it’s becoming a problem. Not because you don’t feel the same. Oh no, you reciprocate just as much

But because no one else knows.

The training facility at the WatchTower is loud with energy, filled with younger heroes running drills, sparring, testing limits. It’s the kind of session where everyone’s watching everyone else, measuring, learning, competing.

You’re in the centre of it.

And you’re destroying everyone.

Not in a showy way—nothing flashy or over-the-top—but precise, controlled, efficient. Every movement is deliberate. Every strike lands exactly where it should. You move like you’ve done this your entire life, like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

Wally isn’t supposed to be staring. He’s supposed to be focusing on his own training, running laps, helping where needed. Instead, he’s leaning against the wall, completely locked in on you.

Kon notices first, following Wally’s line of sight. Then Cassie. Then Bart, who grins immediately, elbowing Kon like he’s just discovered something hilarious.

“Dude,” Bart mutters, not even trying to be subtle. “He’s gone.”

Kon smirks. “That’s not a crush, that’s a full-blown situation.”

Cassie folds her arms, watching the way Wally doesn’t even blink as you take someone down and offer them a hand up right after. “Does she know?”

“Probably not,” Bart says. “But she probably will.”

Wally doesn’t hear them. He just sees you.

The way you push your hair back, the way you laugh with someone after a match, the way you carry yourself like you don’t even realise how incredible you are.

And Goodness—

He wants to tell everyone.

Later, at the Watchtower, the feeling only gets worse.

You’re leaning against the console, talking, relaxed, comfortable. Roy’s standing too close, smirking in that way he always does when he’s messing around.

“C’mon,” Roy says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “You’re telling me no one’s locked that down yet? That’s crazy.”

You roll your eyes, amused. “Maybe I’m just selective.”

“Ouch,” he grins. “Guess I didn’t make the cut.”

“You never had a chance.” (reference to my future 4k fic heheheheh)

Wally watches the whole thing from across the room, jaw tightening.

He knows Roy isn’t serious. He knows it’s just how he is—flirting for the sake of it, pushing buttons, having fun. It still bothers him more than it should.

Because Roy gets to do this. Stand close to you. Joke with you. Exist next to you without it being a secret.

Wally looks away, running a hand through his hair, frustrated in a way he can’t quite shake.

He wants that, he wants you.

It doesn’t help when he sees you on TV.

You’re sitting beside Vicki Vale, composed, elegant, every bit the Wayne the world expects you to be. The interview is light at first—charity work, appearances, your role in the public eye.

Then it shifts.

Vicki smiles, tilting her head slightly. “So, Miss Wayne, anyone special with you tonight?”

Wally’s heart stops, just for a second. You don’t hesitate, instead you smile, effortless.

“It’s just me,” you say. “That’s special enough.”

The moment passes.

But Wally doesn’t move, because he knows why you said it, doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt. But it's not like you don't feel it too, you feel it more than you let on.

At dinner that night, the manor is full, everyone scattered around the table, conversation flowing easily.

Bruce brings it up casually, like it’s just another topic.

“So, sweetheart,” he says, setting his glass down, “the boy you met last week at the gala in Municiberg—Tony. What did you think of him?”

You pause, already knowing where this conversation was heading.

“…he seems nice, Daddy. Why?”

Tim doesn’t even look up. “He’s asking because you’re a Wayne and still a single bitch.”

You kick him under the table.

“Language,” Bruce says mildly, though there’s no real bite to it. Then he looks back at you, softer. “You know I just want the best for you darling. I’d hate for you to be lonely. The rest of your siblings all have someone.”

Jason adds in "Ugh even Damian, how'd he find a girlfriend before you?"

"Nika is not my girlfriend"

"Sure buddy"

You force a small smile.

“Yeah. I know, Dad.”

But your chest feels tight, because you’re not lonely.

Not really. You just can’t say why.

You find Dinah later. Ironically, you told her before your own father.

She’s leaning against the counter in the Queen Penthouse kitchen, arms crossed, watching you with that knowing look she always has.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she says.

You huff a quiet laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only if you know what to look for.”

You lean beside her, staring at nothing in particular.

“…I love him.” It slips out before you can stop it.

Dinah doesn’t react, doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Just nods.

“I figured.”

“I just—” you exhale, frustrated. “I don’t want to hide him. I hate it. But I also don’t want everything to blow up the second we go public.”

“You’re waiting for perfect timing,” she says.

“…yeah.”

Dinah smiles slightly. “That doesn’t exist baby.”

"I don't want to hurt Dick, and I hate lying to my dad and my family about him. But people talk Dinah."

"They always have, you can't stop it." She reminds you

"S'not fair" You mumble.

Wally finds Barry. Of course he does.

Barry’s halfway through something when Wally shows up, pacing slightly, energy restless.

“Okay,” Barry says, already clocking it. “What’s wrong.”

Wally runs a hand through his hair. “I’m tired.”

“Of?”

“Not being able to say she’s mine.”

Barry softens immediately.

“…that bad, huh?”

Wally laughs quietly. “Yeah. That bad.”

He looks down, shaking his head.

“I’ve wanted her for so long, Barry. And now I have her—and I still can’t… have her.”

Barry nods slowly.

“Sounds like you already know what you want to do.”

“…yeah.”

Wally exhales.

“I just don’t know if she’s ready.”

That night—

You call him.

Or try to.

He doesn’t pick up the first time.

So you leave a message, voice soft, tired, honest in a way you only are with him.

“Baby, can you call me back? I miss you… I'm lonely.”

It’s quiet after that.

Too quiet.

And somewhere down the hall—

Alfred hears everything.

-

It starts before you even walk into the room.

Which, in hindsight, is already a bad sign.

The Batcave is quieter than usual, but not empty, Dick’s leaning against one of the consoles, Jason’s sprawled in a chair like he owns the place, Tim’s typing away with that focused intensity that means he’s absolutely listening to everything, and Steph is perched nearby, scrolling through something on her phone.

Duke’s there too, arms folded, watching the others like he’s waiting for something to happen.

“…I’m telling you,” Steph says, lowering her phone slightly. “She’s been weird lately.”

Jason huffs. “She’s always weird.”

“Not like this,” Steph insists. “Like—smiling at her phone weird.”

Tim doesn’t look up. “Technically, that indicates external stimulation.”

“…she has a life, Tim,” Dick says.

“Not one we know about,” Tim replies.

That gets a pause.

Jason leans forward slightly. “…you think she’s got a guy?”

Steph gasps like this is the most exciting thing she’s heard all week. “Oh my god, she does.”

Duke raises a brow. “You’re jumping.”

“I’m not jumping, I’m connecting dots,” Steph says. “She’s been leaving the room to take calls, she’s been dodging questions, and she literally ignored Roy flirting with her last week.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “She ignored Roy?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s suspicious.”

Dick exhales, rubbing his face. “…or she just didn’t feel like entertaining him.”

“No,” Steph says firmly. “No, something’s up.”

Tim finally pauses his typing, looking up slowly.

“…if she is hiding something,” he says, “it would have to be significant enough to warrant concealment from all of us.”

Jason leans back. “So… a relationship.”

Silence.

They all think about it.

Then—

“…no way,” Dick mutters.

Steph grins. “Oh, there is absolutely a way.”

By the time you walk into the manor dining room the next morning, the energy is already off.

You feel it immediately.

The way conversations pause for just a second too long. The way Steph is smiling like she knows something. The way Jason is watching you like you’re about to confess to a crime. You narrow your eyes as you take your seat.

“…why are you all looking at me like that.”

“No reason,” Dick says too quickly.

“Just observing,” Tim adds.

“Admiring,” Steph corrects.

Jason smirks. “Waiting.”

You blink.

“…for what.”

“No idea,” Duke says, though he doesn’t look convinced.

You reach for your coffee slowly. “You’re all being weird.”

“Are we?” Steph hums.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

You stare at her. “I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

Your father hasn’t said anything yet. That’s what really sets you on edge.

He’s at the head of the table, composed as ever, reading something on his tablet like none of this concerns him—but you know better.

He’s listening.

And then—

Alfred clears his throat.

It’s soft and polite, but it cuts through the room like a blade.

“I do hope,” he begins, setting down a plate in front of you, “that your late-night phone conversations are not interfering with your rest, Miss.”

Everything stops.

Your hand freezes halfway to your cup.

“…I’m sorry?”

Steph’s eyes go wide.

Tim’s head snaps up.

Dick goes completely still.

Alfred smiles pleasantly, like he hasn’t just detonated a bomb in the middle of breakfast.

“I happened to overhear a rather… affectionate exchange last evening.” (alfred in his snitching era)

Your heart drops.

Straight to the floor.

“No,” you say immediately. “No, you didn’t—”

“‘Baby, can you call me back? I'm so loneyl’” Jason recites, grinning like he’s just been handed the best material of his life.

You whip your head toward him. “YOU WERE LISTENING?”

“I wasn’t,” he says. “But I am now.”

“Oh my god.”

Tim’s already typing something, eyes narrowed. “Timestamp?”

“Tim!” you snap.

Dick runs a hand through his hair, staring at you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle in real time.

“…you have a boyfriend.”

It’s not a question.

Steph gasps again, practically vibrating. “YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?”

“I don’t—”

“You said ‘baby,’” Duke points out.

“That could be anyone—”

“You said ‘I'm lonley",’” Tim adds.

“…so?!”

Jason leans forward, eyes sharp now. “How long.” You stand up abruptly, chair scraping loudly.

“I’m not doing this.”

Bruce finally speaks. “Sit.”

You stop, because when he uses that tone—

You sit. Slowly.

“…I’d like an explanation.” Your mind is racing, heart pounding, every possible outcome flashing through your head at once.

“…it’s not that serious,” you try.

Jason laughs. “Six months, calling someone ‘baby,’ and it’s not serious?” Your stomach drops.

“…how do you know it’s six months.”

Tim doesn’t look up. “You’ve been acting differently for like twenty-four weeks.”

You stare at him.

“…I hate you.”

“Noted.”

Bruce’s gaze hasn’t left you.

“…who is it.”

There’s no point lying, not anymore, not with all of them looking at you like this.

You swallow.

“…Wally.”

Silence.

Then—

Jason stands up so fast his chair nearly falls over, Dick grabs his arm immediately. “Nope. Sit down.”

“I’m calm,” Jason says.

“You are not calm.”

Steph is staring at you like you’ve just revealed the plot twist of the century. “Wally? As in Wally West?”

You nod weakly. Damian is yet to say anything but his expression is nothing but good.

Tim leans back slowly. “…that tracks.”

Duke exhales. “Okay. Yeah. I see it.”

Jason points at you. “He’s dead.”

“He’s not—”

“He’s breathing now,” Jason corrects. “That’s temporary.”

Bruce’s voice cuts through again.

“…how long.”

“…six months.”

That does it.

Dick lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Six months? You hid this for six months?”

Bruce exhales slowly, processing.

Then—

“Call him.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Now.”

Wally answers on the first ring.

“Hey, baby—”

“Hi,” you cut in quickly. “You’re on speaker.”

There’s a pause.

“…what.”

“Hi, Wally,” Dick says.

“Hello, Wallace,” Bruce adds.

“…oh my god,” Wally breathes.

You close your eyes. “They know.”

“…yeah, I gathered.”

A beat.

Then—

“…I’m coming over.”

-

The news spreads faster than either of you expect, because of course it does.

Your family knows and that’s already too many people.

And then somehow—

The hero world starts catching on. It’s subtle at first. A glance here. A comment there.

Bart figures it out in about three seconds.

“WAIT—” he says loudly in the middle of the Watchtower. “YOU TWO ARE A THING?”

Kon blinks. “Oh.”

Cassie crosses her arms, smirking. “Took you long enough.”

Roy laughs. “I knew it!”

Wally groans. “Of course you did.”

Dick just shakes his head. “You weren’t subtle.”

“…we thought we were,” you say.

“You were not,” Tim replies.

And then—

You post.

It’s not a full reveal, not a statement.

Just a picture.

Your hand in his, fingers intertwined, the background is blurred, but anyone who knows you knows

The caption is simple.

boyfriend <3.

The internet explodes.

upcoming tracks: cry for me - jason todd

"porque eres tan linda, que siento que te puedes llevar a zhamira sin tener que hacer nada." (because you're so pretty, i feel like you could take zhamira without even trying.) his voice was teasing. you watched as miko laughed and shook her head at her old friend, knowing the statement was nothing more than a compliment.

"no, no, jay, nunca." (no, no, jay, never.) "lo sé, amor, te estoy jodiendo, te quiero mucho, mamita." (i know, love, i'm just joking. i love you a lot, mamita.) he spoke genuinely, not as jay wheeler the singer but more as josé ángel, her friend. there was something about the comfortable vibe, the cozy atmosphere, that made her feel so at ease that without thinking she responded.

"ya tengo la mía, estoy bien." (i already have mine, i'm good.) the words caught both you and jay off guard. he had seen you both hanging out a lot over the past two years, but had assumed you were simply part of miko's team, especially knowing how professional you usually were.

"¿qué tú me dices?!" (what are you telling me right now?) he asked, very much invested in the gossip despite being a straight man. you sat still, holding your breath as if everyone might suddenly acknowledge your presence. miko just chuckled. "so, tengo pareja." (so, i have a partner.) jay's eyes widened in disbelief. "¡acho, chica! ¿cuándo me ibas a decir eso?" (damn, girl! when were you gonna tell me?) vicky kept laughing. "eventually! it's been under wraps." she explained with a soft smile, glancing over at you. your face was slightly flushed. there was nothing wrong with her confession. you had both talked about things like this getting out eventually, you just never imagined it would happen this way.

"baby," she called out. it took you a second to realize she was talking to you. looking up, you locked eyes with her and flashed an awkward smile, giving a small wave. "¿quieres salir en el video?" (you wanna be in the video?) her tone was soft and sweet, almost protective. it made you blush harder, she had always been so considerate. jay quickly waved you over. "¡sí, sí, ven pa'acá!" (yes, yes, come over here!) that encouraged you to get up and move your chair into frame beside vicky. you offered a shy hello to the camera before turning to jay. it was his podcast, after all. the hard lights and the camera on you felt uncomfortable. yes, you worked in the industry, but you were the one behind the so-called magic of it all. never in front of cameras, your face practically unrecognizable to the public despite all the song credits you had racked up in your late twenties.

"le vamos a dar la bienvenida a y/n! letrista, productora, e ingeniera de sonido. ha trabajado con muchísimos artistas, y probablemente ha trabajado en una de tus canciones favoritas." (i want to welcome y/n to the pod! lyricist, producer, and sound engineer. she's worked with tons of artists and has probably worked on one of your favorite songs.) jay introduced. you couldn't help but feel shy, no one ever introduced you quite like that.

"wow, that's so nice," you chuckled. vicky noticed your stiffness in front of the camera and cut in to ease the tension. "she's worked with jay before, too." "sí, en el último álbum. pasamos mucho tiempo juntos y la aprecio de verdad por eso. tú eres una dura, y/n." (yeah, on my last album. we spent a lot of time together and i truly hold her close to my heart for it. you're the best, y/n.) he praised.

"diablo, pero ninguna de las dos me iban a decir que estaban juntas, mano!" (damn, but neither one of you was going to tell me you two were together, man!) he teased. you laughed. "no, no- yo te dije que tenía pareja, jay." (no, no - i told you i had a partner, jay.) "¡cabrona, pero nunca dijiste que era young fucking miko!" (bitch, you never said it was young fucking miko!) the room erupted in laughter and the conversation kept flowing, the awkward tension in your body easing as the podcast started to feel like a chat between friends.

"tú no sabes cuántos tipos me han preguntado por y/n." (you don't know how many guys have asked about y/n.) vicky tilted her head slightly, as if turning something over in her mind. "¿quién?" she asked jay, her tone edging into something more serious. you could already feel her jealousy building.

"ay, casi todos, cada hombre soltero que entraba a mi estudio con ella salía de allí enamorao." (oh, almost all of them. every single guy that walked into my studio with her left falling in love with her.) all you could do was chuckle. you knew exactly how possessive and jealous your girlfriend could get, and you weren't even a public figure. with men, women, regardless of gender. she wanted everyone to know you were hers and she was yours, and moments like this were exactly why.

"pues se jodieron, tiene novia." (well, they're fucked. she has a girlfriend.) she cut in, the smile on her face fading just slightly. you rested a hand on her knee, a quiet reassurance. "shit, sí, y celosa." (shit, yeah, and a jealous one.) he laughed. you both cracked up. vicky blushed a little at being called out for her reaction to the idea of random men asking about you. even if deep down, she knew you were completely hers.

the podcast wrapped up not long after, the crew beginning to break down equipment around you while jay pulled vicky into a separate conversation, something about a feature he'd been sitting on for months. you slipped back behind the camera out of habit, fingers absently tidying the cords near the monitor even though it wasn't your setup to manage.

zhamira caught you doing it and laughed softly. "you can't help yourself, can you?"

"occupational hazard," you admitted with a smile.

it was another twenty minutes before vicky broke away from jay, and the moment she did, her eyes found you immediately, almost like a reflex. like you were the first thing she looked for whenever she entered a room, which you had slowly come to realize over the past two years was exactly the case. she crossed over to you without a word, arms slipping around your waist from behind as you were zipping up your bag. her chin came to rest on your shoulder, and you felt her exhale. long and slow, the kind she only let out when it was just the two of you. or close enough to it. "lo hiciste bien." (you did well.) she murmured against the side of your face.

"i barely said anything."

"exactly." you could feel her smile against your cheek.

"you were perfect." you laughed quietly, turning in her arms to face her. up close, away from the lights and the camera and the version of herself she performed for the world, she just looked like vicky. tired eyes, the little crease between her brows she got when she was finally coming down from social mode, lip gloss mostly worn off.

"you could have warned me," you said, though there wasn't any real weight behind it. she had the decency to look at least a little guilty. "i know. it came out." she searched your face for a moment.

"are you upset?" you thought about it. genuinely considered the question. the camera, the lights, the sudden spotlight on a life you'd carefully kept quiet. jay's wide eyes. the clip that was probably already being edited into something viral. "no," you said honestly. "i'm not upset."

the crease between her brows softened. she brought one hand up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear the way she always did when she didn't quite have the words. a small, practiced tenderness that she'd never once done for a camera.

"te amo," (i love you) she said simply.

"i know you do." you leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"y yo a ti." (i love you too.) she pulled you in the rest of the way, and the kiss was unhurried and quiet, nothing like the loud, bright evening you'd just survived. when she pulled back, her forehead dropped against yours and she let out a soft laugh.

"jay is going to send me that clip every day for the rest of my life."

"probably," you laughed, knowing how jay loved to terrorize your girlfriend with embarrassing moments of herself. adding this jealous burst to the roaster was probably gold for him, and you, reminding yourself how cute vicky would get when jealous.

Victoria's house smelled like vanilla candles and the faint citrus tang of her favorite body spray, the kind that lingered on her skin after a long day in the studio. The late afternoon sun filtered through sheer white curtains, casting a golden haze over the living room where you both sprawled on the plush couch.

"Mira esto." she murmured, her voice soft and teasing, holding up her screen. The new camera she'd impulse-bought that morning sat unboxed on the coffee table. "Bought it for the vibes. Deberíamos probarlo. Crear algunos recuerdos baby."

You glanced at the device, a thrill sparking in your chest. The song she'd been blasting earlier-her latest, BIAF<3 still echoed in your head and you knew she bought the camera on purpose. "Yeah? What kind of memories?" Your fingers traced lazy circles on her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through her loose sweatpants.

She grinned, that smile that always made your stomach flip, and grabbed the camera. "The fun ones. Come on, posa para mi." She powered it on, the soft chime breaking the quiet hum of the AC. You shifted, propping yourself up on one elbow, arching your back just enough to push your chest forward. Your cropped tank top rode up, exposing the soft dip of your waist, and you knew she noticed. The way her breath hitched told you everything you needed to know.

*Click.* The shutter sound was crisp, digital but satisfying. She leaned in closer, her free hand brushing your hip. "Fuck, te ves bien así. Inclina la cabeza. Sí, así."

Heat bloomed low in your belly as you complied, parting your lips slightly, letting your tongue dart out to wet them. The camera captured it all, and she showed you the screen: your eyes heavy-lidded, skin glowing in the sunlight. "My pretty girl." she whispered, her thumb stroking your inner thigh now, inching higher. The touch sent a shiver through you, your nipples tightening against the thin fabric of your top.

You snatched the camera, straddling her lap in one fluid motion. She laughed softly, hands settling on your ass, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. "Alright, you freak." you teased, echoing her song's hook. "Your turn. Shirt off."

Vicky's eyes darkened, that playful spark igniting into something hungrier. She peeled off her tank top slowly, revealing the smooth expanse of her toned stomach, the black sports bra hugging her breasts. The scent of her skin- warm musk mixed with that citrus perfume filled your nose as you snapped pics. One of her tossing her hair back, another with her biting her lip, hands on her own chest. "Like that?" she asked, voice quiet, her fingers digging into your hips to grind you down against her.

"Yeah." You said absolutely mesmerized while capturing the way her abs flexed when she arched, the subtle sheen of sweat starting to pearl on her collarbone. But it wasn't enough. "Bra too."

She took it off without hesitation, letting it fall away. Her nipples hardened in the cool air and you zoomed in. *Click, click.* Her breathing grew ragged, chest rising and falling faster. "That’s hot, fuck" she said, her hand sliding under your top, thumb circling your nipple through the fabric. Her fingertip dragged just right, sending sparks straight to your core.

"Mhmm." You hummed ou setting the camera on burst mode, angling it to catch her face as you leaned down to kiss her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. She moaned low, the sound vibrating against your lips. When you pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy. "Touch yourself for me baby. I want to watch."

Her gaze locked on yours, a challenge and a plea all at once. "En serio?" But her hand was already drifting down, slipping under the waistband of her sweats. The fabric moved slightly as her fingers found her pussy, and you snapped away. Her head falling back against the couch, lips parting on a sigh, the way her thighs tensed.

"Spread your legs wider. Pose for me." You knelt between her knees now, pushing her sweats down her hips. She kicked them off, fully exposed. Her pussy glistening, folds slick and inviting, clit already swollen. The camera caught every detail. *Click.* The scent of her arousal hit you, musky and sweet, making your mouth water.

"Fuck, baby." she groaned, her free hand tangling in your hair. Two fingers now, sliding in and out with obscene wetness, the squelch audible over her quick breaths. You posed her. Hand her lifting one knee, angling her hips up. Each shot made her bolder, her moans turning into whimpers, hips bucking up into her own touch.

"Look at you, so fucking pretty for me." You set the camera on the table, switching to video mode, the red light blinking to life. "Don't stop. I want it all on tape."

She watched you undress then, eyes devouring as you stripped off your top, your shorts, revealing your soft breasts and the damp patch on your panties. "Come here." she panted, fingers still working her clit in slow circles. You climbed back onto her lap, facing the camera propped against a vase, and kissed her deeply. Her tongue slid against yours, tasting faintly of the strawberries we ate earlier while her slick fingers smeared across your thigh.

You ground down, your pussies brushing for the first time. The friction was electric, her clit nudging yours just right as you both found the perfect angle, and you both gasped into the kiss. "Fuck you feel good." you whispered against her mouth, rolling your hips.

She nodded frantically, hands gripping your ass to pull you closer, grinding up harder. The couch creaked under you, leather sticking slightly to your skin from the building sweat. "Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Grind on me, baby." Her voice cracked, raw and needy, as you set a rhythm. Slow at first, savoring the slide of her folds against yours, the way her wetness mixed with yours, dripping down her thighs.

The camera captured it all. "Pose for the camera." you commanded softly, lifting her chin to face it. She did, biting her lip as you grind on her. "Dile a todos cuánto te gusta.”

"Love your pussy baby, fuck gonna cum so hard for you." Her hips stuttered, chasing the pressure, and you felt her tense, inner walls clenching around nothing.

"Not yet." You slid off her lap, lying back on the couch and spreading your legs wide, pussy on full display for her and the camera. She crawled forward eagerly, settling between your thighs, her breath hot against your folds. "Eat me out first"

Her tongue flicked out, flat and broad, lapping from your entrance to your clit in one long stroke. You moaned, the wet heat of her mouth overwhelming. The texture of her tongue rough against your smooth skin, the faint scrape of her teeth as she sucked your clit gently.

"God, yes! Just like that." She hummed in response, the vibration shooting through you, and delved deeper, tongue fucking into your pussy with sloppy, eager thrusts. The taste of was driving her wild. She groaned like she was starving, hands spreading your thighs wider, nails digging into the soft flesh.

*Click* you grabbed the camera briefly, filming the way her face buried in your cunt, lips shiny with your arousal, chin dripping. "Look at the camera while you eat my pussy. Show them how good you are at it."

She did, eyes locking on the lens, tongue swirling your clit relentlessly. "Sabe jodidamente bien." she mumbled against you, the words buzzing right onto your sensitive nerves. Her fingers joined in, two slipping inside you easily, curling up to hit that spot that made see stars behind your eyes. The stretch burned so good, her knuckles pressing against your entrance as she pumped steadily.

You rocked into her face, one hand in her hair, guiding her. Sweat slicked your bodies now, the air thick with the scent of sex. Musk and salt and that underlying vanilla. Her free hand wandered to her own pussy again, rubbing in time with her thrusts into you, both of you chasing release together.

"Fuck, Vicky- harder." She obeyed, scissoring inside you, the wet squelch louder now, obscene and perfect. Your walls fluttered around her, orgasm building like a wave, thighs trembling against her shoulders. "Gonna cum! Don't stop, please."

"Cum for me." she urged, pulling back just enough to speak, her lips brushing your clit with every word. „Deja que la cámara te vea correrte en mi cara." Then her mouth was back, sucking hard, fingers thrusting relentlessly.

You shattered, pussy clenching around her fingers in rhythmic pulses, juices flooding her palm. The cry that tore from your throat was raw, echoing off the walls, your back arching off the couch. She worked you through it, tongue lapping softly as you shuddered, oversensitive sparks making you twitch.

But she wasn't done. As you caught your breath, she climbed up your body, straddling your waist now, her dripping pussy hovering over your stomach. "I need to cum baby." She grabbed the camera, handing it to you shakily, then positioned herself over your face, knees on either side of your head.

You pulled her down, tongue plunging into her folds immediately. She was soaked, flavor bursting on your tastebuds. Tangy and addictive, her arousal coating your chin.

*Video rolling* You angled the camera to capture her riding your face. Hips grinding down, clit bumping your nose with every roll. Her moans were constant now, breathy and desperate, hands braced on the couch arm above you.

"Joder, tu lengua se siente tan bien."Her scent enveloped you, heady and intimate, as she fucked herself on your mouth.

The rhythm built, her grinds faster, sloppier. "Pose baby." you mumbled against her, words muffled by her wetness. She arched back, one hand tweaking her nipple, the other spreading her lips wider for your tongue. The camera loved it. Her face contorted in pleasure, sweat dripping down her chest.

"I'm close- shit, so close." Her voice broke, hips stuttering. You sucked harder, tongue flicking her clit in rapid strokes. She came with a cry, pussy gushing over your chin, thighs clamping around your head as she rode out the waves. The taste of her release was everywhere, slick and warm, her body trembling above you.

She collapsed forward, kissing you messily, tasting herself on your lips. "Eso fue...joder."

She lied basically on top of you her leg hooked loosely over yours. For a while, you both stayed like that, drifting in and out of that quiet space as you tried to catch your breath. Then she let out a breathy laugh, the kind that comes when everything’s still buzzing a little too loud under your skin. “Yeah” she muttered, dragging a hand down her fact. “That was insane.” You snorted, rolling onto your side to look at her properly. “Speak for yourself.”

She turned her head slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry-Quién se apoderó de la cámara como si fuera su trabajo a tiempo completo?”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, pointing lazily at the coffee table. “You bought it.”

“For the vibes.” she said, grinning.

“Right. Very wholesome vibes.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, then toward the camera again. That got a real laugh out of her. She shoved your shoulder lightly. “Cállate. Disfrutaste cada segundo.” You didn’t even bother denying it. Just gave her a look. Your gaze flicked toward the camera on the table, and immediately she caught it. “Oh quieres verlo?” she said, already reaching for it.

You groaned like your whole confidence from earlier flew out of the window. “I didn’t say that.”

“Too late.” She grabbed it anyway, flipping it on like she’d done this a hundred times before. No hesitation as she scrolled. You leaned in despite yourself. For a few seconds, it was quiet. Both of you watching, taking it in. Then you let out a disbelieving laugh. “Hell no.”

“What?” she said, grinning without looking away.

“That’s crazy.” She finally glanced at you, eyes sharp, amused. “Lo grabaste tú mismo!”

You tried to argue, but nothing came out, and that just made her laugh again.

“Exacto” she said, nudging you with her shoulder. “Don’t hate.”

“I’m not hating,” you muttered. “I’m just saying you are a freak.” She turned toward you fully this time, tilting her head, studying your face like she was deciding something.Then she leaned in just a little, voice dropping. “Y te encanta.”

Before you could respond, she hit play again, this time not even pretending to be embarrassed. If anything, she looked entertained. Like she was watching something she already knew was good. You watched her more than the screen. The way she smirked slightly at certain moments, the way she leaned back like she was completely at ease, like none of this phased her at all.

“Okay” you said after a minute, nudging her and grabbing the camera from her hands. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“Relax” she said, trying to grab the camera back. “I’m appreciating the art.” You leaned back again, letting your head fall against the couch.

„We’re so doing it again” She said with a proud smile resting her head on your chest. You looked down at her and shook your head with a laugh. She turned her head, that same confident grin creeping back.

“What?” she said. “Crees que eso fue algo que solo ocurrió una vez?” You stared at her for a second, then shook your head, laughing under your breath.

„I mean you got it for a reason” i said with a chuckle looking at her and back the camera.

paige couldn’t stop thinking about you.

she hasn’t seen you all week. not really. not because she didn’t want to. god, she wanted to. only a couple texts here and there. not a lot. half-hearted. nothing like before. and every time she thought about reaching out, her thumbs would hover over the screen, typing and deleting the same shit over and over again.

she figures you’ll probably get upset about the fact that she doesn’t reach out. she knows it’s her fault, really. 

but, lately, she’s been getting stuck in her head. what if you regret it? what if she messed it all up? what if you don’t even wanna talk to her anymore? 

it’d been days since you kissed her, and her mind hadn’t shut off since. she could still feel you. your hands on her neck, the way your fingers played with her hair. the warmth of your thigh under her palm. the way you whispered against her mouth. god, she couldn’t stop thinking about your lips. the way you tasted. the way they moved against hers. she kept replaying it. over and over and over. the way your bottom lip trembled just slightly before you kissed her back. the way gasped when she kissed you a little deeper. the way you let out that tiny, shaky moan against her mouth. 

she hadn’t been sleeping right. laid up in bed every night, eyes wide open, heart racing, thinking of all the things she probably should’ve said.

she kept checking her phone like a damn addict—hoping for a text. anything.

but you don’t say much.

and deep down, she knew she was supposed to say something first. you’d kissed her, trusted her, asked her to show you something you had little experience in.

but all paige had done since then… was freeze. she didn’t know what to say when she wanted to text you. 

everything afterwards felt off.

her routine didn’t feel like her anymore. her days felt too long. her nights too short. food didn’t hit the same. music didn’t sound right. even the gym—basketball—felt too damn loud. or sometimes, too damn empty. she really couldn’t get you out of her mind. no matter how many times she told herself to lock in, to just shake it all off… you were everywhere. in the back of her thoughts during drills. in the corners of her dreams when she managed to sleep. on the tip of her tongue when she opened her phone, just to stare at your name without sending anything.

her body ached for you, and she hated that it sounded that dramatic—but it was the truth. because it wasn’t just the fact that you kissed her. that you let her kiss you. 

it was you. and your lips. your mouth. how you touched her, like you weren’t totally sure what you were doing but trusted her to guide you through it anyway. how you leaned into her kiss, moaned against her mouth, desperate, like you wanted her to keep going but didn’t know how to ask. that moment played on a loop in her head. every time she tried to move on, her mind constantly dragged her back to it. and now, after tasting you—after finally having just a piece of what she’d wanted for so long—she couldn’t go back to pretending she was okay with being just friends.

and honestly, paige used to handle it fine. she’s been doing it for years. 

in the beginning, she thought it was just a little crush. nothing serious. just something that’ll go away eventually. 

and you were pretty. gorgeous. that was part was easy. she used to sit next to you on purpose, just close enough to smell whatever perfume you wore, and maybe ask you for a pen just so that you’d look at her and roll your eyes before digging through your back even though she already had a pen. 

so yeah, okay. maybe she stared too long sometimes. maybe she looked at your lips more than she should’ve. maybe she started thinking about you when she was supposed to be focused on film or practice or literally anything else.

but it was just a crush. right?

yeah, well… it didn’t go away.

and when you kissed her, everything she’d been trying to hold back all came rushing up. 

now, she needed more.

at practice, she was more distracted than she’d ever been. she thinks about you while she’s in the locker room, thinks about you while she zones out in team huddles, thinks about you while chewing her lip raw while coach ran down the plan during practice. 

but there are only three sentences in her mind that repeats over and over and over… i miss her. i need her. i want her again.

paige wanted to tell you how she felt. god, she wanted to so bad.

it sat in her mind, begging to come out every time she thought about you—which was all the time. but every time she even thought about texting you, calling you, seeing you again—she froze.

what would she even say? everything sounded stupid in her head. too much. she didn’t know if it was just a kiss for you. maybe just an experiment. a thank you, even.

and the thought of that—of it meaning less to you than it did to her—it made her sick.

because it meant everything to her.

͏✶

you didn’t think much of the dress you chose to wear for tonight. it was a simple summer dress, the kind of thing you forgot you even had until you started rifling through your closet in a panic. it’s pretty but you weren’t really trying to impress anyone. you just didn’t want to look like you rolled out of bed. you kept telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal—it’s just a movie—but still, you checked the mirror three times. adjusted the hem. made sure the zipper was up all the way. fixed your hair, then undid it and fixed it again.

you told yourself it wasn’t because you were nervous.

you told yourself it wasn’t because of paige.

matt had been texting you all day—mostly sweet stuff. he was nice. respectful. he asked about your favorite movie snacks, said he’d pick you up a little early because he didn’t want to miss the trailers, and even texted you about hitting some off-campus college after to spend more time together. 

you stared at that last message for a second longer than you meant to. you didn’t reply right away. you didn’t know why your stomach twisted when you imagined going.

but you forced a small smile at your reflection, smoothed the fabric over your hips, and told yourself again—it’s just a movie. you repeated it in your head while slipping on your heels.

you’d go, sit beside matt, eat some popcorn, maybe laugh at the cheesy previews, maybe chat during the slow parts. just hang out. just… watch a movie. maybe kiss him.

your chest tightened at the thought. and suddenly it wasn’t matt’s face you saw in the dark theater, leaning in beside you.

it was paige. 

you closed your eyes for a second, but it didn’t help. you could still feel her. you weren’t even touching her anymore, but your body remembered all of it. every detail.

then, you opened your eyes slowly, blinking hard at your reflection. 

just a movie, you whispered to yourself again.

your phone buzzed just as you grabbed your bag. you weren’t expecting anything—maybe matt, saying he was outside, maybe riley checking in. but when you glanced down at the screen, it felt like your heart stopped for a second.

paige: if matt says some dumb shit or makes you uncomfortable or whatever just call me or sumn.

you stared at it, fingers hovering over your screen, unsure what to even say back.

paige was thinking about you.

you lips curl into a soft smile, before replying back. 

you: i’ll call if i need you 

you put your phone away after you sent that message.

the air was cool as matt pulled up outside your dorm, his car parked just in front of the building as he waited. you grabbed your bag, smoothing your dress one last time before sliding into the passenger seat. he greeted you with a warm smile, eyes bright and a little nervous like he wanted everything to be perfect tonight.

throughout the ride, matt was respectful—more than you expected. he kept the conversation light, complimenting you.

“you look really pretty tonight,” he said once. or “that dress really suits you.”

you nodded, forcing a small smile, trying to match his charm, but inside you felt a bit awkward—like you were pretending to be someone who could just go on a date without a million thoughts swirling around your head. the care radio played softly in the back as you both talked about the movie and what you liked, what you were hoping to see, the snacks you planned to grab. matt was a good listener, genuinely interested, but you couldn’t help but feel… unsure. 

when you arrived at the theater, you both found your seats, getting comfortable in the dark. your hands folded neatly in your lap, legs crossed at the ankles, pretending to be at ease.

matt really was nice. thoughtful. his arm rested politely on the shared armrest, close but not touching. every now and then, he’d lean over to whisper something light and you’d smile, nod, let out a soft laugh. he was sweet. polite. exactly the kind of guy people said you should give a chance. he told you that you looked beautiful when he saw you, and he meant it. 

but still… was this really what you wanted?

you sat there beside him, staring ahead, and couldn’t shake the feeling blooming in your chest. like something was missing.

and about halfway through the movie, you felt it—a soft nudge against your hand. you blinked, glancing down. matt’s fingers brushed yours again, hesitant at first, then bolder, letting them settle lightly against the back of your hand like he was testing the waters.

you froze. not out of fear. not because you felt unsafe. but because something about it felt wrong. off.

you tried to stare ahead at the screen. and then, slowly, like it had been planned all night, matt leaned in. you felt his eyes on you. your profile, your mouth. your stomach flipped. not in the same way she made you feel. he was staring at your lips like he’d been waiting for the right moment, and this was it. he tilted his head slightly, and you turned toward him totally out of instinct—eyes wide, not knowing what to say, how to stop it, or if you even should—

and then his lips were on yours.

they were soft, warm, slightly chapped. not rough. not bad…

just… not right.

you kissed him back—barely. more like a twitch of habit than an actual effort. your mind blanked. your hands stayed frozen in your lap. your chest stayed still. 

no spark. no rush.

nothing.

it was awkward. 

and he was trying, being gentle, respectful, careful… but suddenly, your mind was somewhere else.

suddenly, you were back in paige’s dorm, with her fingers resting on the soft skin of your thigh, her mouth coaxing yours open like she’d dreamed about it a thousand times before.

you pulled back first, blinking fast, trying to smile as you reached for the popcorn again like nothing happened.

and matt gave a quiet laugh, sheepish. “sorry, was that okay?”

you nodded automatically.

nothing else happened after that. he didn’t try to kiss you again. he didn’t reach for your hand. he just sank back into his seat. you sat there in silence, eyes on the screen but mind anywhere else as your heart beat too loud in your chest. 

when the movie ended, matt stood up and stretched, put on half of a smile and you followed him out of the theater. 

he asked if you still wanted to head to the party. and you said yes, even though you weren’t sure why. the word left your mouth before you really thought it through, honestly. and he smiled, nodded, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like it was exactly what he hoped you’d say.

you told yourself maybe it’d be better—less awkward—with other people around. maybe being surrounded by music, chatter, and movement ease the tension. 

you trailed beside him through the lot, your heels clicking against the pavement, the cool air nipping at your arms. you were already dreading the moment it’d be just the two of you again, standing by his car or in the front of your dorm at the end of the night—bracing for the part where you’d have to let him down easy. tell him he’s a great guy. that you’re just not feeling it. that it wasn’t about him.

and no matter how nice matt was, no matter how well he treated you—he wasn’t the one you wanted to feel that way about.

͏✶

paige hadn’t even planned on going to the party.

she’d already half-decided on staying in, crawling into bed, watching grey’s anatomy for the millionth time, and maybe passing out before midnight if her mind would let her. it wasn’t like she didn’t want to be around people… it was just that everything felt kind of dull lately. muted. like no matter how loud the music or how packed the house would be, her brain would still be playing that same memory over and over.

you. your lips.

and she was trying. god, she was trying to get over it.

but now the whole team was going—just another athlete from uconn’s birthday party in one of those big houses just off campus. music, drinks, people from all over the university, the kind of party where no one ever really remembered who invited who.

at first, paige waved it off. said she was going to stay in when when azzi asked if she was going, and again when kk tried to bribe her with her tru fru in the fridge. 

but by the time she was alone in her room, the silence got too loud. and already just a minute alone, she was already thinking about you.

was it going well? were you still out with matt? did he kiss you? did you let him?

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath and sat up, rubbing her hands down her face. 

maybe a party wasn’t such a bad idea after all. at least there’d be noise. people. drinks. a distraction. anything to pull her out of her head for a couple hours. 

so she got dressed. nothing too much—some baggy pants, a clean black hoodie, her chain around her neck. she tied her hair up messily, threw on her sneakers, and left before she could change her mind.

the party was already alive when paige got there. music boomed from speakers too big for the living room, bodies packed wall to wall, red solo cups in every hand.

she stepped inside and felt it all hit her at once.

but she didn’t hesitate.

she spotted azzi and kk first—leaned up by the kitchen counter with aubrey and ice, already halfway into their second drinks, talking with some guys from the track team. azzi waved her over instantly, eyes lighting up as she yelled paige’s name through the noise.

“hey! you finally made it.”

paige grinned, playing it off like she wasn’t two seconds away from bailing earlier. 

“you thought i was gon’ let y’all have fun without me?” she said, slipping into the circle, dapping up ice and throwing her arm around kk’s shoulder.

“look at you tryna act like you weren’t just in your bed watchin’ greys,” ice teased, already laughing.

paige rolled her eyes, smirking. “first of all, grey’s anatomy is peak. put some respect on meredith’s name.”

they cracked up, and just like that, paige settled into room. she kept the energy up, laughing, talking shit, hyping up her girls, taking playful shots at aubrey’s outfit, nodding her head and doing the little shoulder bounce when a song she liked came on.

but no matter how much time she spent here, paige couldn’t stop checking her phone. she kept it in her pocket, fingers brushing against it every few minutes like muscle memory to pull it out and glance at the screen—just to see nothing. she shoves it back. tries to focus. laughs at something dumb kk said. nodding along to azzi’s story about some freshman trying to flirt with her after class.

but her hand always drifted back. she didn’t even realize how often she was doing it until aubrey gave her a look and nudged her playfully.

“you waiting on a text or something?”

paige forced a half-smile, eyes back on her screen. still nothing from you. just a couple random notifications—snapchat from someone she didn’t care about, an instagram tag, but nothing that made her excited the way your name would.

“nah,” she lied. “just checkin’ the time.”

but it was late now. later than she thought it’d get without hearing from you.

she just… wondered if you were okay.

if you were having fun. if he was being good to you. if he said something stupid, or tried to touch you, or kissed you when you didn’t want him to.

she hated how easily her brain jumped to those things. hated how it made her chest feel tight and itchy, like she had to dosomething even though she couldn’t.

you weren’t hers.

but thirty minutes later, just as paige was halfway through sipping a cup of shirley temple that azzi shoved into her hand, she saw you. 

you walked in through the front door with matt beside you, his hand sliding smooth around your waist and paige—she froze.

the cup hovered midair for a second before she blinked, slowly lowering it. her friends kept talking around her, but their voices blurred and faded away instantly the linger she looked at you. 

you hadn’t seen her yet. but she saw everything.

she saw the way you hesitated the moment you stepped further into the house, eyes darting around like you weren’t sure where to stand, or who to greet first. she saw the way matt leaned in to say something close to your ear, the way you tilted your head politely and nodded, but didn’t smile the way you normally did when something made you laugh.

but god—you looked so good.

paige couldn’t stop staring. she told herself to look away. just once. just for a second. but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

that sundress on you—fuck.

it was soft, a color that made your skin glow under the dim party lights, and it moved when you walked, swaying around your thighs. it hugged you in the right places, loose in others. your hair was done, your lip gloss shimmered under those tacky party lights, and your arms were crossed loosely in front of you. 

she had to drop her eyes for a second, tongue swiping over her bottom lip, jaw tight. she gripped the cup in her hand as if she could stop herself from imagining how your waist would feel in her hands.

because matt’s hand was there now. on you.

and it made her sick.

paige felt heat crawl up the back of her neck. jealousy wasn’t even the right word. it was something worse. something bitter. because matt wasn’t even doing anything wrong. not really. he was just… holding you like you were a trophy. like you were some prize he’d earned just by asking. like he knew every guy in the room would be looking and that was the whole point.

and you looked beautiful and uncomfortable all at the same time. paige saw it in the slight downturn of your mouth. the way you shifted in his hold, fingers fiddling with the strap of your bag.

she knew that face. she read you.

you weren’t having fun. you were pretending.

and then—you found her.

your eyes met hers and paige went still, all the bitterness on her face melted. completely gone. she straightened up slightly, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows to say hi silently.

then, she mouthed, “you okay?”

your mouth curled into the softest smile. not a big one, but paige saw it.

you nodded.

she returned it with a smaller smile.

then, paige watched matt lean in toward you as he said something near your ear. she saw the way your body tilted away slightly, your shoulder pulling back, your smile going a little stiff.

matt left you after that, saying something with a crooked smile before disappearing through the crowd, headed toward the kitchen. 

and unfortunately, that was where paige had already parked herself—leaned up against the counter with some of her teammates, her friends, trying her best to stay out the way, out the conversation, out of everything before she did something dumb.

she minded her business. she really did. sipped her drink, stared down at her phone, played it cool. 

until one of matt’s friends walked up next to him.

they dapped each other up and started talking sports, class, exams, who was pulling who this weekend—nothing she cared about.

she didn’t mean to hear the next part, but she did.

“yo,” one of his friends said, patting his back, “that girl you came with… she’s hot as fuck, man. you hit it yet?”

and matt—he fucking laughed. laughed like it was funny. like it was just a matter of time. 

he leaned his elbow onto the counter, lifted his drink to his lips, and said, “not yet… working on it, though. i think she likes all that romantic shit.”

like you were a job to finish. like you were just some easy bet.

paige didn’t even realize how fast her face dropped.

she stared at matt for a second, silent, clenching her jaw hard, her fingers curling tighter around her cup. she blinked once. then twice.

then she set her drink down on the counter and walked away.

her eyes scanned the room until she found you again. she found standing by group next to your friend riley, fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

you didn’t see her coming.

but paige was already pushing through the bodies, not even hearing her name when kk—was it kk? or azzi? or aubrey? she doesn’t know—called for her across the room. her hands were still shaking a little as she walked. she didn’t know what she was going to say. didn’t even care. she just needed to get to you. all she knew was that you didn’t deserve to be talked about like that. not by him. not by anybody.

you didn’t even seen her coming. 

one second, you were standing there half-listening to a conversation you weren’t really part of—and the next, paige was there, standing close.

you blinked, a little startled, heart skipping. then, paige leaned in, just enough that only you could hear her.

“can i talk to you for a sec?” she asked. 

her brows were slightly pulled together you felt your heartbeat tick up, and slowly, you nodded.

“… yeah,” you said, looking at her a little confused. 

paige didn’t smile. she just nodded once and gently reached for your wrist as she tilted her head toward the hallway.

and you followed without question.

paige led you down some hallway, away from the crowd. the hallway lights were dim, flickering slightly from a shitty bulb overhead, but she still looked nervous under it.

you leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, heart still fluttering as you looked at her. and paige just stood there for a second, hands stuffed into the front pocket of her hoodie, jaw clenched, staring at the floor before she finally spoke.

“i—” she started, but her voice cracked. she cleared her throat, looked up at you. “i saw matt in the kitchen. he was… he said—“

she stopped and looked at you. would this hurt your feelings if she told you?

your furrowed your brows together as you waited. but paige just swallowed the lump in your throat, shook her head a little like she was trying to talk herself down.

you blinked. “he what?”

“i don’t wanna piss you off,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “i just—i just wanted to check on you.”

you stared at her. “you pulled me aside for that?”

paige flinched a little at your tone. she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“you haven’t talked to me all week. this is the second time, paige,” you snapped at her, trying not to raise your voice. “i haven’t seen you, i barely even hear from you, and now you wanna show up and act like you care?”

“i do care.” paige winced and shook her head. “i wasn’t tryin to be like that, ma, i just—”

“then, why’d you disappear?”

paige couldn’t answer. she had it in her head, but saying it aloud was… different. she didn’t know how to say i’ve been losing my mind over you. or i want you so bad, it’s messing with my head.

she looked cornered. guilty. her lips parted, but the words didn’t come fast enough.

you shook your head, heart beating fast as you turned away. “forget it, paige.”

“wait—”

but you were already walking towards the door to the bathroom in the hallway and before paige could follow—the door shut right in her face.

she stood there, blinking. stunned.

then, she reached for the handle and tried to twist it open. locked. fuck.

“(y/n), open the door.”

she tried the handle again.

“c’mon… please.”

but you didn’t answer.

paige let out a long sigh and leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against the door. after a moment, she stepped backwards, dragging a hand down her face, then leaned her back against the wall across from the door… and waited.

she didn’t care who walked past, who saw her, who might start whispering about how bueckers looked all spaced out and weird in the hallway.

she was gonna wait.

her friends were probably wondering where she was by now. azzi had texted her a little while ago, but paige hadn’t checked her phone. she hadn’t even moved from the spot since you slammed the door. not one step.

ten minutes passed. at least, she thought it was ten. it felt longer. way longer.

her long legs stretched out in front of her and her fingers tugged at the strings of her hoodie over and over, just to keep herself busy. to keep from knocking again. she didn’t want to push. but god, she hated how long it was taking. not because she was impatient—but because she was scared that she’d really blown it.

but then, the door clicked softly, opening just a crack.

paige’s eyes snapped toward it. for a second, she didn’t move, unsure if she imagined it. but then the door eased open another inch, and she could finally see you. she stood up straighter instantly, her back pulling off the wall, her feet taking a few steps closer. 

you blinked at her, cheeks tinted pink as you murmured, “i… i need help with my zipper… it got stuck.”

paige stared for half a second longer, her brows raised in surprise, lips parting just slightly.

then she nodded, almost too quickly.

“y-yeah, yeah—i got you.”

she followed as you opened the door just enough for her to slip inside, stepping into the bathroom with you and quietly closing the door behind her. the bathroom was small. 

you stood in front of the mirror, not looking at her, just reaching up to gather your hair and move it to one side, exposing the line of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your spine.

the zipper sat halfway down your back, caught just where the fabric curved around your waist. your dress gaped slightly on your back, exposing the lace trim of your black bra underneath—

paige froze for half a second. she swallowed hard, eyes dragging up the length of your back, then back down again.

her fingers twitched at her sides.

“paige,” you said, bringing her back to reality. 

you watch her through the mirror. her eyes met yours through the reflection and you notice the way she clenches her jaw before stepping forward slowly. 

“sorry.”

her hand hovered for a second before she finally let her fingers graze the cool of the zipper. she let out a breath and brought her other hand up to steady the fabric, eyes focusing on your back, lips parted slightly as she tried to tug it gently. 

but her hands were shaking. just a little. 

paige tugged the zipper up slowly, and when it reached the top, she didn’t step away. she just stood there, eyes fixed on the back of your neck.

your hair was still swept to the side, skin exposed. her gaze lingered there for a moment, and then she looked up at the back of your head, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and then back down. to your dress. to the way it hugged your body.

her hand moved before she could stop herself, her fingers trailing down softly along the center of your back, following the shape of the zipper. she felt the curve of your spine beneath her fingertips.

and when her hand reached the small of your back, paige let it rest there for a second—her palm flat, sliding to hold your waist gently. 

“i like this,” she murmured.

you still didn’t turn around.

she could see your eyes in the mirror, a little wider now, a little softer. you blinked slowly, your lips parting like you were going to say something, but nothing came out.

paige was losing her goddamn mind.

she blinked, her thumb gently rubbing a circle into the dress, fully letting her large hands rest on your waist. she shouldn’t be touching you like this, not when she still didn’t know what you wanted, but she couldn’t help it. 

she couldn’t stop looking at you. 

then, she leaned in. just a little. and her voice dropped again, barely above a whisper.

“you look really good tonight.”

your breath hitched—paige almost didn’t notice. 

and then finally, you turned around slowly. and paige’s hand dropped to her side like it didn’t know what to do now. you looked up at her and she swallowed hard, trying to so hard to fight the urge to just… close the gap.

“…i’m sorry,” she said quietly, looking into your eyes. “for earlier. for this whole week.”

and for a second, you forgot where you were—forgot about the party still going on just outside the door, about matt, and everything else outside this room.

all you could focus on was her.

paige stood in front of you, taller by just enough that you had to tilt your head back a little to meet her eyes. and you always liked that. you always liked how tall she was. more than you probably should’ve.

“i missed you,” you tell her. 

paige licks her lips again, “me too.”

you stared at her, your eyes searching hers, trying to figure out what she was thinking. 

and then, you asked, “what did matt say?”

her breath caught in her throat, her shoulders tensed, and for a second, she looked like she might lie again. like she might protect you from it. but then she inhaled sharply, her eyes dropping to the floor, and she let out a breath through her nose, clearly frustrated.

she shook her head gently.

“he’s a douche bag,” she muttered finally, glancing away from you. 

the way her jaw clenched again said enough.

the way she didn’t want to look at you when she said it.

she wanted to say what he actually said. she wanted to say how she nearly lost it right there in the kitchen. she wanted to say she hated seeing you with him, hated the thought of his hands anywhere near you.

she furrows her eyebrows before looking directly into your eyes again.

“he doesn’t talk about you like he should,” she added. “like you’re some fuckin’ checkbox on a list.”

her stomach still twisted just saying that much. because it didn’t matter how polite matt was to your face. paige knew the second she heard him speak behind your back—he wasn’t worth one second of your time.

“i wasn’t gonna tell you. not like that. i didn’t… wanna make you feel like shit.”

another pause.

“but i also didn’t wanna let you stand there thinking he was some nice guy. you deserve better than that. way better.”

she was standing so close now, you didn’t even notice when she took a step closer.

“you deserve somebody who looks at you like…”

she stopped herself.

you could feel your heart thudding under your ribs, louder now. paige stared at you, throat moving as she swallowed.

“like i look at you,” she finally said, eyes darting down to your lips.

you stared at her.

then, to her surprise, your fingers found her hand, slipping between hers, intertwining your fingers. paige looked down and a slow smile tugs at the corners of her lips. 

“you’re an idiot, you know,” you say, shaking your head with a small smile, your eyes soft as you watch paige’s face.

she doesn’t miss a beat—she nods her head immediately, obediently and a little sheepish, her grin spreading wide enough to light up the whole room.

“i know,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your soft lips.

her fingers tighten around yours just a little as she takes one more final step closer to you, trapping you between her and the bathroom counter. 

paige’s eyes flickered back up to yours, before whispering, “did you kiss him tonight?”

you looked away for a moment, swallowing hard.

“yeah,” you admitted softly. “i did.”

you can clearly see paige clench her jaw when you said it, but she didn’t say anything else—just waited for you to keep going.

“but… it didn’t feel like—” the heat spread all over your cheeks, blushing hard as she stared at you. “it didn’t feel like when you kissed me.”

paige’s lips curved up even more. it was the kind of smirk that started in one corner of her mouth and made its way up like she couldn’t hold it back even if she tried. she was getting cocky. you could tell. the kind of cocky that came from hearing exactly what she wanted to hear.

“yeah?” she said, a little smug, eyes dropping again to your lips, then back up. “that right?”

you rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your mouth. her free hand brushes gently against your hip. 

“could’ve told you that. ain’t no way he kiss you better than me.”

you smiled at how smug she was being. 

then, you noticed it before paige did—the way her face kept inching closer to yours, just a little bit at a time, with each passing second. and you could feel it. her soft breath on your lips. it sends a shiver down your spine. you could see it clear as day in her eyes—the way they darkened with want, the slight part of her lips. 

she wanted to kiss you. 

your eyes flicked up to hers, catching that glimpse of need swirling behind her gaze. the way her pupils dilated ever so slightly, the way she licked her her lips. the way her hand slides a little lower on your hip to pull you closer, pressing your front against hers.

paige was so close now. closer than she had any business being. 

you could tell she was trying to talk herself out of it—trying to be smart, respectful, hold back like she always did around you.

you feel her breath against your lips as she asks, “can i?”

her eyes didn’t leave yours. she didn’t lean in all the way. she waited. paige didn’t move. not even a twitch. she was frozen in that quiet anticipation, standing still like she was afraid the smallest shift might scare you off.

you saw it in the way she looked at you. how much she wanted you. how much she was trying not to take anything from you.

she wasn’t trying to rush into it, even though she wants to. as if kissing you again was a privilege. 

your throat felt tight, and you nodded before you even realized you were doing it.

“please…” you breathed.

paige’s lips parted slightly, her eyes searching your face like she needed to make absolutely sure. 

she smiled. and then, slowly, she leaned in.

her forehead brushed yours first like she still couldn’t believe this was real. for a second, she just stayed there, nose nudging yours, her hand sliding up to the small of your back, holding you in place, your body pressing against hers. you could feel her breath fan across your lips, and when she finally tilted her head just enough for her mouth to meet yours—

she kissed you. 

and you melted into it.

paige kissed you slow. so slow it almost didn’t feel real at first. her lips barely brushed yours as if she was giving you the chance to change your mind. her mouth pressed into yours again, deeper this time. soft. deliberate. her other hand found your jaw, cradling your face gently, her thumb brushing your cheek.

and her lips… god. her lips were everything.

pillowy and warm and just the tiniest bit chapped like she’d been chewing on them nervously all night. they moved slowly with yours. her nose bumped yours a little, and then, she smiled into the kiss, just barely, smiling like she couldn’t believe she had you this close again.

your arms lifted until they wrapped loosely around her neck, fingers brushing the stray hairs at the nape of her neck, right beneath her bun, and her body reacted before her mind even caught up. her breath hitched. her hand gripped your waist tighter. she kissed you deeper then, her lips parting just a little more, her mouth moving against yours like she couldn’t hold back anymore.

you pulled back just a little—barely an inch—to catch your breath, lips parted, chest rising and falling as your fingers still rested gently behind paige’s neck.

and before you could even fully take a breath, paige was already chasing your mouth. 

her lips followed yours instinctively. desperately. her mouth brushed yours again, a little clumsy this time. her hand on your waist tightened just the slightest bit. 

her nose bumped yours as she whispered breathlessly, “mm-mm, don’t pull away, ma.”

your lips were barely apart when she kissed you again, but this time, she moved faster. needier. rougher. deeper. her mouth opened just slightly against yours, and her tongue slipped in, moaning softly as she tasted you. like she was afraid it might be the only chance she’d get. and you kissed her right back. didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. your lips opened for her like it was natural. like you’d been waiting for her to get brave enough to do it.

and when you moaned into her lips—paige feels like she’s losing her mind. 

your hands at the back of her neck gripped just a little tighter, pulling her in, and paige let out a breathy noise against your mouth. a sound she didn’t even mean to make.

she kissed you like she couldn’t stop. like she didn’t want to stop.

your lips were so damn warm, soft, and addictive in a way that made her head spin. every tilt of your head, every breathy sound you made, every slow drag of your lips over hers just pulled her in deeper.

then, you pulled away again, breathing hard, lips tingling and slick from the kiss. your eyes fluttered open, barely able to think, let alone speak—and before you could say anything, paige was already moving, leaning in slow, her breath grazing your cheek, and then you felt the soft press of her mouth against the line of your jaw.

one kiss. then another. then another, lower, just under your ear. 

her hand flattened at your waist as her body pressed closer until you could feel every inch of her against you, still trapping you between her body and the cool edge of the bathroom counter.

it made your knees feel weak.

outside the door, you could still hear the muffled music pounding through the walls, but it all felt far away. like none of it mattered. because paige’s lips were moving down your neck now, brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw, her mouth open just enough to let her tongue flick gently against your skin.

you gasped, your hands clutching the fabric of her shirt, and she smiled against your throat, smug breath fanning across the wet spot she left behind.

“mm,” she hummed, “you smell so fuckin’ good.”

paige kept kissing your neck, her lips moving over the curve of your throat like she needed to taste every inch of you. your jaw dropped open as you breathed out, eyes fluttering shut, your head tilting just slightly to give her more space.

and paige felt it. the way your breath hitched.

the way your fingers dug into her shoulders, holding on to her. the way your chest rose against hers like you couldn’t get enough air. she groaned low against your neck just thinking about it. 

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath. 

and then, you felt her hand sliding down your side, past your waist, then back behind you, her fingers gripping fabric of your dress. you gasped when you felt her hand bunch it up, inch by inch, pulling the hem higher and higher. her palm smoothed over the back of your thigh, fingers spread wide, grazing the top curve of your ass and—

“paige,” you breathed out, voice soft but firm, your heart racing, “paige… wait—”

you pulled back just a little, your hands pressing gently to paige’s chest, and the second you did, she froze.

her lips hovered by your jaw, parted and flushed pink as her breath came out shaky. she looked at you, eyes half lidded, blinking slow like she was trying to process what was happening, her pupils blown, lips slick and swollen. she looked drunk on you. high on your skin. your taste. your breath. your lips.

paige let out the softest sound, a little whine, as her brows knit together, a little frustrated. her lips parted again like she wanted to argue, to beg you for just one more minute, one more kiss, one more second of being that close.

but she didn’t.

instead, she exhaled hard through her nose and dropped her forehead gently against your shoulder, her hands now resting at your waist, loosening her grip. 

“i like kissing you,” she murmured, her lips brushing your collarbone. 

the party was still loud outside. muffled bass thumped through the floor beneath your feet, and someone laughed down the hall. but all of that felt so far away.

she turned her head just slightly, nose brushing your neck again, “been thinkin’ about it since that night.”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands still on your hips, thumbs brushing slow over the fabric before her eyes found yours. 

“can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” she said.

you reached up slowly, your hands trembling just a little as they cupped paige’s face, fingers settling along the sharp line of her jaw beneath your palms. your thumbs brushed over her cheeks, soft against the slight roughness of her skin. paige’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch as you held her face. 

“i’ve been thinking about you too.”

paige’s eyes slowly opened, dazed as she looked st you—like she couldn’t quite believe you were really there, really saying those words. god, she feels like she’s dreaming. fuck, she’s been dreaming about this for years. 

then, she let out a soft breath and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. her tongue darted out quickly to wet her bottom lip, that nervous little habit you’d come to recognize whenever she was trying to hold herself together. 

without breaking eye contact, her hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. then, her fingers slid lower, sliding over the curve of your hips before cupping your ass with her hands. you felt the breath hitch as paige’s hands gripped you tighter. her lips hovered near yours, her eyes drinking you in, wanting more, needing more. 

“my roommate’s… out of town this weekend,” you said. 

her eyes darted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, her fingers flexing slightly against you, not sure if she’d heard you right. 

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks and tried to glance down, away from her eyes, but her hand on your lower back pulled you gently forward again.

“yeah?” she asked.

you nodded. 

and paige smiled.

then, her forehead dropped to yours, breath brushing your lips.

“you tryna tell me somethin’, ma?” she murmured.

you nodded.

her thumb brushed along your waist and she leaned in to kiss you again—just once. and when she pulled back, barely, her voice dipped into a whisper again, lips brushing against yours. 

“you wanna get outta here?”

͏✶

the walk back to your dorm was a blur.

you don’t really remember most of it—just the way paige held your hand the entire time, her thumb brushing soft circles against your knuckles.

paige didn’t say anything when you fumbled for your keys, just stepped in close behind you as you reached for the door.

her breath was warm against your neck.

and then, her hands. they slid around your waist, pulling you back gently, and her mouth found your jaw before you even registered it, soft lips pressing open kisses along your skin, trailing toward your ear, your neck, to your jaw again and again and… 

you gasped, your keys trembling in your hand.

“p-paige—”

“shhh,” she mumbled into your skin, already kissing lower. “just keep goin’. i got you.”

you barely got the key in the door. your fingers shook from how close she was, how her body pressed firm and slow against your back, her hands smoothing over your hips like she needed to feel every inch of you.

you tried to unlock it. you really tried—

but paige kissed your neck again, a little harder this time, nipping your skin with her teeth, and you moaned before you could stop yourself.

“fuck,” she whispered, “i could listen to that all night.”

finally, the lock clicked. 

you pushed the door open and she followed you in, still kissing you, turning you around with her big hands to lean down and kiss your lips. you stumbled inside and she kicked the door closed with her foot. her mouth never left yours.

and soon, her hands were already at the hem of her hoodie, yanking it up over her head in one swift motion.

you broke the kiss for just a second, lips parted and dazed as you watched her—her chest rising fast beneath the tight black tank top clinging to her, her hair messily loosened from the bun it had been in, some strands sticking to her forehead.

she looked wrecked already.

and god, she hadn’t even started.

she dropped the hoodie to the floor and before you could say a word, she was on you again—her hands finding your waist, then your back, then your thighs, like she didn’t know where to touch first, just that she had to. you kissed her back just as hungrily, the momentum sending you backward until the backs of your knees hit your bed.

she pulled back just enough to breathe, her lips swollen and her eyes dragging over your face like she couldn’t believe that you were real. that she was hovering over you. kissing you. in your bed. 

“take this off for me, baby.”

paige’s hands were already moving, sliding around your waist, fingers dragging down your spine until they found the zipper for the second time tonight. you stood still in front of her, chest rising fast, lips parted from where she’d just kissed. and then you felt her pull the zipper down. inch by inch.

her fingertips grazed your bare skin as the fabric loosened around your body, and the way she touched you sent heat rushing up your neck.

her eyes never left you as she lowered it. the air feels cool across your skin as the dress gave way, sliding down your shoulders, slipping over your hips, and pooling silently at your feet.

paige froze when she looked at you. completely still.

her eyes dragged over every inch of you like it was the first time she’d ever really seen you.

she didn’t say anything for a second. just let her eyes trail down the curve of your neck, your chest, the lace of your bra, the lines of your waist, your thighs.

you loved how she looked at you. 

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” she stepped in close again, her palms finding your hips. 

your voice barely made it out. soft, breathy, your heart thudding so loud you swore she could hear it.

“paige, i… i don’t really know how to—”

paige leaned in, her hand coming up gently to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin so softly it made your stomach twist.

“i know, ma,” she murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth before you could say another word. then again, lower—your jaw. your neck.

she looked up at you as her thumb stroked your cheek.

“i’ll take care of you,” she says, smiling. “you don’t gotta worry about a thing.”

then she stepped even closer, her nose brushing yours, lips ghosting over your mouth.

“imma take my time. imma treat you real good. you trust me, right?”

you nod and she pecks your lips.

“tell me, mama.”

you reach up and wrap your arms loosely over her shoulders as she leans down, her hands still on your hips.

“i trust you.”

paige smiled again. 

her lips still trail over yours, then down your jaw. when she kissed the side of your neck this time, it was slower. less hungry. more… intentional.

“tell me if you wanna to stop,” she told you. “say the word, and i’ll stop. for real.”

you shake your head, “i want you, paige.”

you didn’t want her to stop.

so you leaned up just enough, your hand sliding into her hair, messy and a little loose, almost falling out of her bun. 

you kissed her first this time.

and paige melted into it.

for moment, she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face like she needed to  make sure you were sure again. and when she saw the way you were looking at her—her breath caught in her throat. 

she leaned down, kissed you slow once more, then gently guided you back, laying you down across your bed. she was gentle. like she was lucky just to touch you.

you sank into the mattress, heart pounding as paige hovered above you. her hand brushes lightly over your side, watching your eyes, then she sat up. 

without a word, she reached for the hem of her black tank top and pulled it over her head, revealing her sports bra, the muscles in her arms flexing as she did. she tossed the shirt aside, then brought her hands to the button of her jeans. 

you watched, barely breathing, as she popped it open. slid the zipper down. slowly. 

and eased the denim down her hips.

she watched your eyes as she undressed, making sure you were watching her. you see her smirk, a soft chuckle leaving her lips when she sees you roll your eyes at how smug she’s being right now. 

soon enough, she stepped out of them, now left in just her boxers and her bra.

god—she was beautiful. tall. lean. strong.

“still okay?” she asked. 

“yeah,” you nodded. barely a whisper. “i want you.”

and paige smiled softly, a little crooked, “aight then.”

she couldn’t help but stare for a moment. 

paige hovered above you, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, her hands planted on either side of your head like she was caging you in. 

she looked down at you—laid out beneath her in nothing but that fucking black lace, the same one she’d gotten a glimpse of in the bathroom, the one she hadn’t stopped thinking about since—fuck.

it was like the air had been knocked clean out of her chest.

her eyes dragged over every inch of you. the rise of your chest. the curve of your stomach. the way your thighs pressed together nervously, your fingers twitching against the sheets.

her mouth parted, lips still swollen and glistening.

“goddamn,” she whispered, voice barely there.

she ran a hand over her face and licked her lips, like she was trying to wake herself up.

her eyes dropped again, slowly tracing every detail—how the lace hugged your curves, the way your skin looked in the dim light of your room. 

how absolutely perfect you looked beneath her.

she shook her head like she couldn’t believe it.

“so gorgeous, baby,” she murmured, leaning down again, her lips dragging over your neck. “so fuckin’ fine.“

paige kissed lower—her mouth pressed soft, lingering kisses across your chest, your shoulders, the valley of your breasts, a hand coming up to cup them and squeezing softly before sliding down to your waist once more. her fingers traced along the side of your hips, thumb slipping just under the lace of your panties, and she groaned against your skin, her breath hot.

“this what you wore under that dress?” she asked. 

she kissed you again—even lower this time, just above your stomach. and you nodded, cheeks pink, and she grinned against your skin, her teeth catching your hipbone gently.

“you wore this for him?”

you opened your mouth to explain, to say no, but paige looked up at you then, eyes locked with yours. desperate. possessive.

she leaned up again, her hand sliding up your side, over the curve of your ribs until she reached your bra strap. she toyed with it a second, then whispered—

“nah. you wore this for me.”

you couldn’t even argue.

“right, baby?” she murmured, her thumbs playing with the waistband of your panties. “tell me who you wore it for.”

you could barely breathe, let alone speak.

your chest rose and fell under her, every inch of your skin burning where she touched, where she looked. her body was so close, heat radiating off of her like fire, and god, her voice was doing something to you you didn’t have words for. her hand stayed right there on your hip, fingers slipping under the lace edge again, teasing you. her eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting, mouth parted. 

“you.” you swallowed, lips barely moving when you whispered, “i wore this for you, paige.”

paige smiles, her cheeks burning more than ever as she moves to bury her face into your neck, hiding the blush fanning over her skin. 

when she lifts her head up, her lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time. her hand slid up your thigh, her body lowering to press more firmly against yours. 

you whimpered into her mouth, wrapping your legs loosely around her waist without thinking, pulling her in closer, needing more. she gasped at that, hips rolling slow against yours once, once, and her whole body stiffened like she couldn’t take it.

she kissed down your neck again, right against your skin. her hands a quick to pull that bra off of you, desperate to feel your tits in her hands. she squeezes them lightly, dragging her lips over the soft flesh, smiling at the feeling of your hard nipples under the pads of her thumbs. you whimper quietly as she gently wraps her lips around one of your nipples and sucks, licking them softly as her hand toys with the other. she switches when she felt like it, giving each nipple equal attention, kissing and marking your skin.

she kisses you down the valley of breasts again, giving each of your boobs a gentle squeeze, before making her way down to your stomach, where she meets the waistband of your lace panties again. paige does well to tease you, skipping the fabric and traveling lower. she kissed the inside of your thigh, slowly, savoring the way your body responded—how you tensed and softened at the same time. how your hand reached blindly for her shoulder. 

she kissed higher. then higher.

her breath hot. her lips soft and maddeningly slow.

her fingers spread along your thighs, thumbs brushing upward toward your hips. 

she wanted you to feel safe. wanted you to feel everything.

soon enough, paige finally pulled your panties down your legs, throwing them somewhere behind her. her eyes never moved away from your body, watching as you squeezed your thighs together, shyly looking at her, you eyes half-lidded. you laid there, bare, hair fanned out on the mattress, over the sheets of your bed, waiting for her…

paige’s knees nearly gives out. her cheeks burning as she stares, her hands absentmindedly reaching to put her hands on your thighs, gently nudging them open.

“spread your legs, mama,” she says, mouth parted, almost as if she was drooling. “lemme see you.”

“paige…” you whimper softly.

“swear, imma make feel you so good.”

there’s a soft shuffling of the sheets as paige urges your thighs apart with her big hands, settling herself onto the bed. with her head between your legs. mouth practically watering. big blue eyes locked onto that perfect pussy of yours. she smirks when she sees how wet you are. fuck, you drive her crazy. she slicks a finger between your folds and hums, leaning closer, nudging her nose against your clit. 

when her mouth finally met where you needed her most, your back arched. your and paige—god, she moaned when she tasted you. her tongue moved slow at first. learning you. she was taking her time. wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere. like she just wanted to worship you. you whimpered, your hand flying to her blonde hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as her mouth moved against you, licking deeper, firmer, then softer again, teasing.

“p-paige, hah--!”

paige groaned into you, your moans only feeding her ambitions, gripping your thighs tighter, and when you gasped and your hips bucked gently, she held you down with one strong arm, never letting up. and you could barely think. she was relentless. so tender. so focused. like she’d been dreaming about this exact moment. she has been, actually. she’s dreamt about having you in her bed. legs spread open. body writhing. screaming her name. leaking all over her sheets. 

“you taste so fuckin’ good,” she whispered against you, her mouth still working between your legs. 

your eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the pillow, thighs shaking. and when paige covers your entire clit with her mouth and just sucks hard—you can’t help but moan her name out all over again. 

she fucks you slow, her mouth and tongue watering as she eats you out, absolutely obsessed with the way you roll your eyes back in pure ecstasy, your soft thighs closing in around your head, trapping her there. 

paige thinks she’s in heaven. fuck, she could die happy right now. her face buried and tongue buried deep into your pussy. sucking. slicking. slurping. you taste so fucking good. 

and you were already close--god, how long has it been? you could barely breathe. every sound slipping from your lips was soft. desperate. with your hips moving against her mouth without even realizing it. and paige groaned again. she loved that. every time you moaned, every twitch, every whimper—she needed more of it. she fucked you deeper, licked faster, her mouth dragging over your most sensitive spot in a way that made you cry out.

she wanted you to fall apart.

“you close, ma?” 

you only moaned in response. 

paige smiles. her eyes fluttered open for a second, catching your face twisted in pleasure, and she swore under her breath before closing them again, diving back in.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, baby,” she mumbled against your cunt. “just like that. lemme hear you.”

your legs tightened around her shoulders, your hands still tangled in her hair, and she didn’t stop—god, she didn’t even slow down. she licked you through every sound you gave her.

you were close. she could feel it. you could feel it.

and fuck—she was close, too. paige has never felt anything like this before. but, it’s so hot watching you come undone. her whines against your pussy turn into fervent moans and groans, absentmindedly grinding her hips into your bed as she continues to fuck you faster with her mouth. paige feels so fucking good. you taste so. fucking. good.

“f-fuck yes--(y/n)—“

and then you’re cumming right on her tongue.

but paige keeps her head buried between your thighs, her mouth relentless as she fucks you more through your orgasm. your hands flew to paige’s head without thinking—fingers tangling tight in her blonde hair, not sure if you wanted to push her away or pull her closer. you gasped, back arching off the bed as you let out a choked sound. your fingers tightened, tugging gently, but paige didn’t budge. she just groaned, moaning into your slick cunt, eyes half-lidded as she continued to eat you out. 

god, paige was practically drunk on you. as if this was more pleasure for her than it was for you.

“paige—fuck, paige—wait—” you gasped, trying to speak through the stimulation.

you moan her name again, already nearing your second orgasm. you can feel her strong, big hands clinging onto your thighs, keeping you open, pushing you down onto the bed in case you even think about trying to push her away. but she just slurps. and slurps. everything is just so sloppy. so lewd. she laps at your cunt, her hips needily grinding into the mattress at the mere thought of you cumming again. 

she held you through it, her mouth never leaving you, her arms never loosening, like she needed to feel every single second of you breaking apart in her hands.

she didn’t lift her head.

she didn’t even pretend to stop.

before you know it, you practically gush onto her face, crying her name out once again. 

and while you came on her tongue, her hips jolted forward on instinct, her boxers sticking damp against her skin, and then—

a low groan tore from her throat, muffled into your skin, her mouth still on you as she cums in her boxers, untouched. paige clung to your thighs, her fingers digging in slightly, her body rocking forward once, then twice.  she shakes slightly, resting her forehead against your lower stomach as she catches her breath. she could feel how wet and how hard she came. 

her face stayed pressed against your skin, breath shaky, heart pounding, teeth sinking into her lip as she tried to collect herself.

you were breathless. completely spent. your chest rising and falling fast. she didn’t say anything at first. with your body still buzzing, you blinked up at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling slowly as you tried to breathe. 

“hah--fuck, i…” paige pants quietly. 

“paige,” you breathed, “d-did you just…”

her whole body stiffened.

you watched as her back rose with a deep breath and then stuttered when she exhaled. she turned her face slowly, pressing it into your stomach to hide, her arms tightening around you in embarrassment.

her voice came out muffled, “y-yeah.”

you blinked, your mouth parting slightly in awe. 

and then—god, she groaned into your skin, clearly mortified, clearly red as hell even if you couldn’t even see her full face.

“fuck, don’t make it a thing,” she mumbled shyly into your belly. “i didn’t mean to… i wasn’t—”

she stopped for a second.

“you just… sounded so fuckin’ good. i couldn’t help it.”

your heart fluttered. 

then you smiled and reached down, your fingers gently threading through her hair, feeling the damp warmth of her cheek against your stomach.

“paige…” you whispered.

her cheeks were so red. flushed all the way up to her ears, lips parted, her breathing still shallow like her body hadn’t come down yet. strands of her hair clung to her forehead, lips swollen, and her lashes fluttered as she finally met your eyes.

“come here.”

paige obeys immediately. 

she kisses you along the way, dragging her lips across your skin. she just kissed the inside of your thigh, soft and slow. then again. then she pressed her lips higher, just above your hipbone, her hand brushing gently up your side.  her mouth trailed along your stomach in a line of soft kisses,

she took her time.

soon, her lips found your ribs, the underside of your breast, your nipple, the dip beneath your collarbone. and when she finally reached your mouth again, she hovered for a second, her nose brushing yours. 

your eyes opened slowly, just enough to see her looking down at you like you. 

not a word left your lips as she watched you smile softly. 

you just leaned up and kissed her, slow, and she melted into it immediately, sighing into your mouth like she’d been waiting all her life for it.

and immediately, your breath hitched.

because you could taste it. yourself. on her. 

the heat in your cheeks spread quickly. you felt it the second your tongue slipped against hers. 

paige groaned quietly into the kiss when she felt your body react, her hand slipping to the side of your neck, holding you there gently. like she couldn’t stand the space between you. she kissed you deeper. slower. and you kissed her back. you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer, your fingers sliding over the tight muscles in her back, feeling her breath stutter against your lips as you parted your mouth for her again.

her lips were so soft. warm. still a little swollen. and the taste of you on her tongue was intoxicating. you whimpered softly without meaning to, and she pulled back just an inch, barely enough to speak, her forehead resting against yours.

then, without warning, she just… blurted it out. 

“can i take you out?” 

you blinked up at her. once. twice. before your brows lifted in surprise, heart skipping hard in your chest.

“what?” you whispered, almost laughing, partly stunned, like maybe you’d misheard.

like maybe she didn’t really just say that with her body still pressed to yours, both of you naked in your bed.

but she nodded. serious. face still flushed. 

“like… on a real date,” she said. “like dinner. or… whatever you want.”

she swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes scanning all over your face for any sign of doubt.

“you’re seriously asking me that… right now?”

“well… i’ve been wantin’ to ask. i just…” she smiled a little, sheepish. “kinda figured maybe i should do it after i made you cum first.”

your jaw dropped. 

and all you could manage, through the haze of disbelief and the tiredness through your body, was--

“you… are so annoying.”

paige blinked.

then grinned. wide. mischievous.

“c’mon,” she laughed, burying her face into your neck, her body shaking as she clung to you and laughed. “don’t play me like that—i was tryna be romantic.”

“that was romantic?” you deadpanned, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“pretty sure,” she muttered, voice muffled against your skin. “i made you cum so hard you forgot how to say yes. that’s gotta count for something.”

you rolled your eyes, cheeks burning as you smacked her shoulder lightly.

“paige!”

“what?” she grinned, finally lifting her head, eyes shining, face flushed and soft with affection.

you rolled your eyes again, but your hand moved and stayed in her hair, your thumb idly brushing the edge of her ear. dazed at the feeling of your touch, paige leaned in again, pressing the gentlest kiss to your collarbone, then your shoulder, then the corner of your mouth.

“i meant it, though,” she said quietly. “about the date.”

“yeah, i know,” you say, smiling softly, noticing how nervous she’s gotten all of sudden. 

paige looked at you. really looked this time. it was dark in your room, but she could see your face clearly. her smile lingered, but it faltered slightly around the edges. and then her eyes dropped to your lips, then your collarbone, then back to your eyes again like she couldn’t settle.

“i really like you.”

she swallowed hard. like the words tasted too big in her mouth. like they’d been sitting there for years and this was the only way they’d come out. 

“i have for a long time,” she admitted. her voiced cracked the tiniest bit. she smiled again, but it was nervous. “i didn’t know how to say it before. or if i should. or if you’d wanna hear it. but… i do. i really… really like you.”

her thumb brushed your hip gently, her body still pressing against yours, scared you’d pull away.

you didn’t say anything at first.

you couldn’t. you just looked at the pink dusted across her cheeks, the way her lashes fluttere, the way her mouth twitched at the corners like she was trying to smile through the panic.

paige bueckers, who was usually so calm. so goofy. poised… looked terrified with you.

“paige,” you whispered, barely getting her name out.

her eyes moved up to meet yours, and for a second she looked like she regretted everything she just said. like she wanted to pull the words right out of the air and take them back.

you shook your head slowly, blinking back the sudden heat behind your eyes.

“why didn’t you ever tell me?”

she gave a weak, breathless laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

“shit, i don’t know,” she said, shaking her head softly, eyes dropping again. “i honestly didn’t think you’d even consider me. and i didn’t wanna mess up what we had, too, so...”

she paused before speaking again. 

“but when i kissed you that night, i… fuck, i couldn’t stop thinkin about you.”

immediately, you reached for her slowly, cradling her face in your hands, thumbs brushing over her hot cheeks.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you either,” you admitted. 

paige’s lips curved up into a crooked smile. she let out a small huff through her nose, her forehead resting against yours. 

she couldn’t believe this was real.

then she pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, a hand moving to your waist, her thumb brushing gently over your skin. she couldn’t stop touching you even if she tried.

“so…” she mumbled, lips twitching up into another grin. “you’ll go on that date with me?”

you roll your eyes first, but you could see it on her face that she was trying to play it cool, trying not to seem too eager, too in her feelings. but she was. she wanted this. wanted you. and not just like this.

she wanted more.

“yeah,” you nodded. “i’ll go on that date with you.”

paige beamed, practically glowing, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“bet.”

you barely had time to breathe before she kissed you again. gentle. smiling against your mouth like she couldn’t help it. in truth, she really felt like her heart was overflowing and kissing you was the only way to keep it from spilling out everywhere. you kissed her back, laughing a little through your nose when she nosed at your cheek afterward, all soft and affectionate, like her whole body had relaxed for the first time in weeks.

you though about the party. how you left matt without even saying goodbye to him. paige pulled you out of the door before you could even look at him. she didn’t want you to look. but she spotted him back in the kitchen as she walked you out. gave him a glare as she pulled you through the party, a hand low on your waist, pulling you close to her body, making sure he saw.

and god, did it make her feel good. 

“you really are annoying,” you mumbled again, your fingers sliding through her hair at the nape of her neck.

“mhm,” she murmured, mouth moving against your jaw. “you already said that.”

her lips traced a lazy path down your jaw, then dipped to your neck, pressing gentle kisses and licks that made your skin shiver. her mouth found your collarbone next, sucking softly, stealing your focus a little more as she marked up your neck with light bruises. 

“i meant it,” you said, suddenly shaky. 

“i know, baby.”

finally, breath hitching in your throat, you whispered, “paige…”

but she only hummed in response, her lips continuing to explore your delicate skin. her lips pressed against your skin again.

you tried again, little more desperate now, “p-paige…”

but she just smiled against your skin, humming like she was saying i hear you, even if she had no plans to stop.

her hands slid up your sides, warm palms trailing, fingers dragging lightly along your ribs, and your whole body shivered. you felt her nose brush your neck, and her mouth found the spot just below your ear.

another kiss. slower. then another. and another.

you tried to speak again. tried to say something, anything—but your breath stuttered again the moment her mouth opened just a little against your neck, her tongue tasting the edge of your pulse, where your skin was sensitive.

“paige,” you exhaled, almost scolding, but it came out as a whisper.

“mm?” she hummed. 

her lips never leave your skin. your fingers curled gripping her shoulders. you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say anymore. your head tilted back without even thinking, inviting her in, chasing the feeling of her mouth. she kept kissing you. lazily. hungrily. like she had all the time in the world and none at all. you felt her tongue graze your neck, felt her hand slide up the back of your thigh again. 

you felt dazed. as if she were kissing the thoughts right out of you. as if she’d made up her mind that she was going to kiss every single inch of you until you couldn’t think straight.

and fuck, it was working.

“i wanna fuck you again,” she confessed quietly against your neck. 

“please,” you whispered, almost too quiet for her to hear. “don’t stop.”

you feel her smile against your skin. 

and just like that—she was yours. and you were hers.

for real this time. no more pretending.

just… you. and her.

finally.

the girl approaches your counter, tall and blonde. she’s wearing an unbuttoned white top over a black sports bra and blue swim trunks, the brim of a baseball cap shading her face, holding a water bottle in one hand and a wad of cash in another.

“hey,” she says, voice easy as she sets a few twenties down on the countertop. “just need a board for a couple hours.”

you blink, suddenly more alert. not because of the request— you rent out boards to half the town— but because something about this girl is… familiar. the voice? or her face? you can’t quite place it. you take in her physique again, as subtly as you can— she’s jacked. you wonder if maybe she’s a pro surfer from somewhere, because geez.

“name?” you ask, already reaching for the rental log. “and soft board or hard top?”

“paige,” the girl says. “soft’s fine. i’m still figuring this break out.”

“first time in sarasota?”

she nods. “way nicer than miami, i heard.”

“you heard right,” you say, just making conversation as you sort out the cash. “where you from?”

“minnesota, but i live in texas.” paige replies.

“minnesota?” you raise your eyebrows, voice lilting. “oh, that’s horrible.”

that earns you a laugh, amusement glinting in her blue eyes— or maybe that’s just the sunlight. “yeah, it’s nothing like this— but hey, that’s home.”

you write down paige without a second thought, then hand her the change. “you’re good. racks are out back. the ones with orange tags are beginner–friendly.”

paige smiles, then glances down at the name stitched into your tank top. “thanks, y/n,”

“be careful not to burn out there, minnesota,” you call out, as paige turns toward the sand.

“i’ll try!” paige tosses over her shoulder, smiling with a glance back at you.

and just like that, she’s gone, walking toward the surf, longboard balanced under one arm. you watch her disappear into the glittering edge of the ocean, brow furrowed.

that name. that face.

you definitely know her from somewhere.

paige is back at about the same time the next day, looking to rent another board.

you don’t know why you’re so surprised. plenty of tourists come by and rent multiple days out of the week. you guess you just weren’t expecting to see her so soon.

she’s wearing the same cap and trunks again today, but no shirt. just a sports bra. pays in cash again, but tells you not to worry about the change this time. makes conversation.

there’s that itch of recognition, too, at the back of your head as you chat. it won’t settle, even as you tell yourself that maybe she just looks like someone you know.

you turn the rental log to her and pass her the pen, letting her sign it this time, and she jots her name down— just paige, again— before thanking you with the flash of a smile, grabbing a board, and heading out to the water.

hm.

by time paige returns, two hours or so later, the sun is overhead and the beach pulses with heat.

the wood of the surf shack has grown warm under your bare feet, and the back of your neck is slick with sweat, the mini standing fan on the counter doing little to help. you’ve peeled off your uniform tank top, leaving you in cut–off denim shorts and an orange triangle bikini top, body glistening with sweat and sunscreen.

you’re perched on your stool behind the counter, lazily sketching flowers and waves onto the corner of the rental log in pen, when a voice comes, “i got something for you,”

you look up, and there paige is again. the hat’s gone now, blonde hair clinging in wet strands to the side of her face, beads of salt water still dripping from her shoulders. she has the board tucked under her arm and a lazy smirk tugging at her mouth.

“longboard survived,” paige says. “can’t say the same for me.”

you grin. “you wiped out?”

“bad. it wasn’t my fault, though— thought i saw a shark, but it was just a stingray.”

“oh my god,” you chortle, shaking your head.

she leans the surfboard gently against the side of the shack and steps forward, arms crossed loosely, the corner of her mouth still curved upward. her gaze flicks briefly to the side of your neck, where your hair is sticking to your skin.

then, down to your chest, lingering just a second too long before dragging back up to your face.

“hot?” paige asks casually. you almost can’t tell if she’s talking about you or the weather.

“practically melting,” you reply, droll, lifting the straw to your smoothie to your mouth as if the mere mention of the heat triggers your thirst. “how’re you holding up, minnesota?”

“not bad,” paige says, leaning up against the counter, arms resting along the edge. “might not’ve used enough sunscreen on my back, though.”

“what is that, anyway?” she asks, pointing at your drink, dry throat evident in her voice. “looks good.”

“this,” you say, tapping the cup for emphasis. “is how you survive seven hours on the beach every day. there’s a shop that sells them just up the road with a plastic flamingo out front. can’t miss it. pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut milk is my go–to.”

paige hums. “pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut? sounds weird. guess i’ll have to try it.”

“you can thank me later,” you smile, smug.

she pushes off the counter, standing upright. “we’ll see about that. have a good one, y/n.”

for some reason, you don’t want her to go yet.

“you, too.”

the morning’s already heating up by the time you clock in for work, but there’s a breeze today— light and salty, lifting a few strands of your hair out of place ever so often. you got to the shack early, opened up before the sun really crested, and on the way in, you plucked a bright pink hibiscus bloom from a bush near the parking lot and tucked it behind your ear, just because. it matches your pale pink bikini top, tied behind your neck in a quick, practiced knot.

you’ve got a bit of pep in your step today, despite the heat. there’s a rhythm to the way you move throughout the shack, humming along to the song playing from your makeshift phone–cup–speaker thing.

you’re restocking wax behind the counter when the thud of something hitting the countertop makes your head turn.

it’s a clear plastic cup, its contents a familiar shade of reddish–purple, already sweating condensation. on the other side of the counter, paige is grinning, her own half–drunk cup in hand.

“pineapple, pomegranate, coconut,” she says, proudly. “the lady at the smoothie place says hi, by the way.”

“you brought me a smoothie?” you say, both surprised and flattered.

“figured it’s only fair, since you put me on,” paige replies, leaning on the counter. “and you looked like you were about to die of heatstroke out here yesterday.”

a smile creeps onto your face. you stop what you’re doing and turn fully to the counter, taking a sip— cold, tangy, sweet. perfect.

“okay,” you say. “you win. that’s actually really sweet of you. thank you.”

paige shrugs. “no problem.”

you hum around your straw, looking up at her— really looking, now. she’s not wearing the cap today, her hair tied into a low–effort bun at the back of her head, and you immediately decide you like this look on her much better. you can see the sharp lines of her cheekbones and jawline more clearly, pink lips fixed in that stupid smirk. skin sun–kissed and eyes so blue, they rival the turquoise waters behind her.

you can’t help it anymore. you have to ask. “are you sure i don’t know you from somewhere?”

paige hesitates— only for a moment, but still, you notice.

“i don’t think so,” she laughs, almost convincing. “i’ve only ever been to miami a few times. this is my first time up the coast.”

you playfully narrow your eyes at her, but you decide to let it go. for now. “mm. you must have one of those faces, then.”

“trust. i’d remember you.” she adds, letting her voice drop lower and, for once, you’re grateful for the heat; you can blame it for the way you flush a shade of deep pink.

“i think you’re just buttering me up for a free board,” you say, setting your smoothie down. “you’re lucky you’re cute, paige from minnesota.”

paige smiles, dopey, and takes a sip from her smoothie. her eyes flick casually from your face to the flower tucked behind your ear. “i like the fit.”

“hm?” you glance up at her.

“the flower, and all the pink,” she says, motioning toward you. “it’s giving… mermaid barbie princess. but the hot, evil kind.” she decides, after her eyes sweep over you.

you snort. “evil? you mean like sirens?”

“yeah, that,” paige smirks. “something tells me you could successfully lure a person into the water.”

you laugh at how forward she is. “in your dreams,” you reply, turning back to the box of surf wax.

paige isn’t in any rush to get out to the water today. she doesn’t ask for a board or hand you any cash. just stands there, drinking her smoothie, making conversation about the music playing from your phone like she has nowhere better to be.

you think you really should remind her to get her board, at least for business purposes, but you look back at her as you work— her eyes trained on you, sun casting her in a dreamy glow— and decide not to say anything just yet.

let her stay a little longer.

the shack closes early on wednesday, as it has every week for the past thirty years.

you’ve spent the past hour sweeping up sand to the best of your ability and straightening the board racks, glancing back at the beach every so often, hoping for a familiar head of blonde hair to appear.

paige doesn’t show.

it’s fine, of course. you just thought maybe she’d stop by, maybe pick up the conversation from yesterday where you’d left off. she’d ended up on an extra stool behind the counter with you, dogging on your music taste and playing the new drake album for you, “so you’d have something to listen to other than that hippie music.”

oh well, you think, as you lock up the shack. tote bag slung on your shoulder and flip flops in hand, you make your way to the wooden stairs the lead from the beach to the parking lot, warm sand sticking to the soles of your feet. you’re only halfway up when you hear someone call out, “hey! y/n!”

you look back to see paige at the bottom of the steps, following after you. “wait up!” she shouts, and you stop in your tracks, feet on different steps.

“i was just about to stop by,” paige says, slightly breathless, leaving three steps between you when she stops. “i didn’t know y’all closed early.”

your stomach does a little somersault, unexpectedly. “yeah. wednesdays are always slow.”

she nods like she’s making mental notes, then gestures over her shoulder, at the beach. “i was planning on renting again.”

you smile. “you and that longboard are becoming a thing.”

“what can i say? i’m loyal.” she grins back. “hey, you surf, right?” she asks, suddenly.

“do i surf?” you blink, then chuckle a little. “yeah, i’m alright.”

“would you be down to surf with me?”

she almost sounds tentative as she asks the question— so un–paigelike that you’re almost taken aback.

you look past her, scanning the beach. it’s not too crowded today, but it’s siesta key in the middle of the summer, so of course there’s still a lot of people. kids running and playing in the sand, a group of teens playing volleyball, couples sprawled out on their towels. the current’s not bad at all, from what you can see— the waves aren’t huge or anything, but you could still catch a pretty good surf.

“yeah, sure,” you reply, shrugging, though a smile plays at your lips.

paige smiles, wide and triumphant. “cool. let’s grab some boards?”

you hesitate. “shit, mine’s at my apartment across town.”

“well, lucky for you, i know the girl that works here.” paige says, starting back toward the shack.

you laugh, falling into step beside her, hyperaware of how close she’s walking next to you as her sandals slap against the steps. you unlock the shack from the back door, switching on the lights, paige following you inside.

you grab one of the better–waxed boards, a tri fin shortboard with a hard top, leaning it against the counter as paige gets the one she’s been renting all week.

without thinking about it, you strip out of your oversized t–shirt and linen shorts, revealing the lavender bikini you were wearing beneath your clothes— the triangle–cut top and cheeky bottoms aren’t ideal for surfing, but your rash guard and surf shorts are also at your apartment, so this will have to do. you reach into your tote that’s lying on the counter, grabbing a bottle of sunscreen, knowing well that it needs to be re–applied every few hours.

you don’t realize that paige has been intently watching you until you struggle to get full coverage of your back, and she steps forward, “here— i got you,” reaching out for the bottle.

you nod, handing her the bottle and turning around, heart thudding as you move your hair over your shoulder.

her hands are firm as she spreads the sunscreen across your shoulder blades, smoothing it along the curve of your upper back, fingers dragging along the base of your neck. you shudder despite the heat as her hands move slow and deliberate down your back, before lingering up at your waist.

“all good,” she clears her throat, letting go finally, but your skin tingles where she touched.

“thanks,” you breathe. “do you need any?”

paige shakes her head. “nah, i’m good. put some on right before i pulled up.”

then, swiftly, she grabs both boards with ease, one under each arm, and flashes you a grin. “let’s go.”

you paddle out together, arms slicing through the water, boards bobbing gently beneath you. paige is strong, powerful shoulders making quick work of the surf, like it’s nothing. still, she’s a beat behind you, watching as you glide ahead.

reading the water is easy, like a cherished book you’ve returned to over and over again. you pop up and catch your first wave with clean, practiced form, and paige lets out an impressed whistle, before she even gets the chance to paddle for one of her own. that familiar sense of fearlessness swells within you, coursing through your veins, exhilarating.

you see the opportunity for an air, so you take it, confident. you crouch low, building speed as you approach the lip of the wave. just as it starts to pitch, you shift your weight and launch off the top, board and body lifting into the air. for a moment, you’re floating— then, you guide the nose back down, landing on the face of the wave and riding it out.

the landing isn’t as perfect and clean as you’d like, but still, you feel fucking cool as the spray of whitewater disperses below you.

you look back mainly to make sure that she hasn’t tombstoned while you were distracted, and paige is watching you, jaw ajar. she makes her way to you, floating just past the break. “show–off,” she accuses, breathless and smiling. “‘alright’, my ass.”

you smirk, shrugging casually. “i’d say that was pretty alright.”

“you just tony hawk’d that shit. stop playing.”

you laugh, pushing a piece of wet hair out of your face. “wanna learn? i can’t teach you how to do that in a day, but i can show you some other pretty cool stuff.”

“uh, fuck yeah?” paige replies, eager.

what ensues for the next forty minutes is you teaching paige how to cutback— which, really, is just you trying to be constructive and not laugh every time she topples off of her board and into the water. but eventually, she gets it, executing the move like a stiff chicken on a longboard, but executing it nonetheless.

she’s very proud of herself, going on about how she wishes she could’ve gotten it on camera as she drifts lazily beside you. you’re both taking a break, sitting upright on your boards, knees brushing beneath the water. there’s a salty breeze, and the sun feels less punishing out here.

she turns to you and asks, “so, how’d you learn?”

“my dad taught me,” you start, motioning back toward the shore. “marty. he owns the shack. his dad— my grandpa, the og marty— opened it in the seventies and my dad took it over before i was born. expanded it through florida, plus myrtle beach and tybee island. i’ve worked at this one every summer since i was fifteen.”

paige smiles like she’s connecting the dots in her head. “ah, marty’s surf & sand. makes sense now.”

“yep. family business.” you nod, legs swaying in the water. “what about you? i’m sure they don’t just provide surfing lessons in minnesota.”

“got into it while i was on vacation in fiji last year. they were doing lessons on the beach and i decided to try it, just ‘cause, but it was cool as hell. i mean, this is nice, but the ocean over there? it’s gorgeous, man.” paige explains, gesturing over the water with her arms stretched wide. her boards bobs unsteadily beneath her and she yelps, grabbing onto it again. you laugh and she shoots you a glare.

“fiji, huh? i’ve never been, but i spent the last couple of years of school studying abroad in trinidad, and then in italy. it was unreal. any time i wasn’t working, i was out in the water.”

paige listens diligently, nodding along. “what’d you study?”

“marine bio at good ole’ umiami. i just graduated back in may.”

“oh, shit? okay, einstein, i see you,” paige says, genuinely impressed, and you giggle, feeling a little shy.

“yeah, totally slumming it out here in florida, einstein–style.” you joke dryly.

“you call this slumming it?” paige says. “you got it good out here. city’s nice, great food, amazing views.”

she has a point. you just get a little insecure about the fact that you didn’t have some shiny lab job lined up directly after college, like most other people in your program. everyone moves at their own pace, you’re aware, and comparison is the thief of joy— it’s just something you get in your own head about sometimes.

when you think about it from paige’s perspective, though, you realize you do have it pretty nice. and you’re having more fun out here, floating on the ocean next to a pretty girl, than you probably would being in a sterile lab all summer long.

“croatia and thailand are nice, too,” paige notes. “i went before i learned, but the surf would be perfect.”

“you travel a lot?” you ask.

paige nods. “for work, mostly.” she slips.

“what do you do?” you question, genuinely curious.

“uh— i work in athletics.”

“like, coaching? or management?” you press.

“yes, coaching. i coach. kids, on a team— high school kids.”

you suppose that makes sense. just looking at her, it’s obvious that she works out a lot, practically all defined muscle and hard lines. your eyes zero in on her abs, tanned, beads of saltwater rolling down them. you lick your lips subconsciously, mouth suddenly dry.

“hey, my eyes are up here,” she teases, having noticed your eyes roaming.

“i know that.” you reply, trying to play it off, failing miserably.

“you sure?” she raises an eyebrow, voice low. tempting you.

you flick a little water at her, and she gasps like you’ve betrayed her gravely. “oh, okay. it’s like that?”

“what’re you gonna do, minnesota?” you taunt, grinning.

she answers swiftly: splashes you with both hands, sending water right into your face.

you shriek, laugh, and retaliate, and then suddenly you’re both in it— one moment splashing and tossing water at each other like little kids, screaming and grinning and soaking each other entirely, and then underwater the next, both your boards tipping with the force of your movements and lack of balance.

water rushes up around you both, sinking down, eyes wide. you open your eyes, salt stinging a little, and the sight of paige has laughter literally bubbling out of you.

you kick up first, breaking the surface with a gasp, laughing and sputtering as you push hair out of your face. paige follows soon after, shaking the water out of her hair, flinging it in your direction.

she’s got a look on her face, and you’re half–expecting her to splash you again, but she swims to you instead. your heart races as one of her arms loops around your waist in the water, pulling you close, legs tangling together as you keep yourselves afloat. your faces are only inches apart now.

her eyes drop to your lips. smirks.

then, she leans in and kisses you, finally. you sigh contently, arms wrapping around her neck, letting yourself just melt into her. she tastes like mint and seasalt, lips soft and moving insistently against yours.

and even though you’re surrounded by miles and miles of cold, perfect blue, something glows inside your chest, warm and pink.

“you know what i just realized?”

“hm?”

“you tricked me into a date today.”

paige quirks an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. “did i?” she asks, feigning innocence.

you nod, licking mango crema sauce from your thumb. “impromptu surf session, tacos, beer. sounds pretty romantic, if you ask me.”

a lazy grin spreads across her face. “so, what i’m hearing is… you had a good time.”

you smile. “maybe.”

and then she kisses you again, cradling your chin in her hand to guide your mouth to hers. you’re seated directly next to each other on a bench table outside the old salty dog, your favorite place for lobster tacos and homestyle tortilla chips. you insisted paige try them when she offered to take you out for food, after you’d toweled off and hung up your boards for the day. your legs are stretched over her lap, the side of your body braced against the tabletop.

you nearly didn’t make it out of the shack earlier— paige had lifted you up onto the countertop, positioning herself between your legs as she licked into your mouth and her hands roamed your body, and if not for the knowledge that your father is the only person allowed access to the security camera system, you just might’ve let her have you right then and there.

this kiss, now, it much calmer. paige’s lips are warm and sure, like she’s been waiting all week to do this and finally can. you feel all woozy when you break away, pupils dilated.

paige hums, “i’mma ask you out properly next time. sound good?”

you nod, still dazed, and she pecks your lips again. fondness unfurls in your chest, tinges your cheeks. it’s insane how much you like her, and you don’t even know her full name.

the two of you continue to talk and finish your food, sipping the last of your beer when it dawns on you that you’ve been out all day, most of which was spent with paige. it’s pretty late now, the sky a deep indigo and the temperature’s dropped significantly. you shiver as a cool breeze blows, shaking the remaining deli paper on your trays.

paige notices, caressing the goosebumps your arm gently. “you ‘bout ready to call it a night? i can take you home.”

you hesitate. the idea of saying goodbye— of this day ending— sits weird in your chest. but it is dark and the restaurant won’t be open for much longer. “okay,” you agree.

you walk hand–in–hand to paige’s rental car, a black jeep suv still parked in the beach parking lot. when you reach it, paige opens the trunk, digging around for something. “here,” she passes you a soft grey hoodie.

“uconn?” you wonder aloud, reading the bold navy–blue lettering plastered on the front of the hoodie, along with the logo of a dog, before pulling it over your head. it’s plush on the inside and smells just like her. you slide your long–dead phone into the front pocket.

“as in university of connecticut,” paige replies, closing the trunk. “graduated from there a year ago.”

“damn. that’s almost worse than minnesota.”

paige chuckles, shaking her head. “girl, get in the car.”

you walk over to the passenger side while paige climbs in behind the wheel. she starts the car after you enter your address into the gps, one hand on the steering wheel and the other settled on your thigh, palm warm. her thumb rubs slow circles into your skin.

the sensation sends you right back to the moment in shack earlier, feeling a familiar pressure appear between your legs.

she’d had to wrench herself off of you after you brought up the unfortunate camera situation, but not before huskily promising to, in her words, “fuck you stupid later.” you were grateful for the extremely cold beach shower water as you rinsed off, maybe a little more than salt and sand, afterwards.

now, in the comfortable silence of this car ride, it’s all you can think about, her voice echoing inside your head. you watch her drive, side profile glowing in the passing streetlights. she gives your thigh a firm squeeze, mouth pulled into that half–smile that tells you she’s thinking the exact same thing you are.

you decide, right then, that— at least for now— you don’t care who she is, as long as she keeps touching you.

you can care later.

it’s a short drive. “this it?” paige asks, pulling into your apartment complex parking lot.

“mm–hm,” you nod, as she pulls into a spot. you hesitate for a second, toying with the hem of her hoodie. then you look at her, expression neutral but voice soft. “you’re coming up, right?”

paige raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “so eager,” she murmurs, reaching over to brush her thumb along your jaw. “can’t even wait ‘til a second date?”

you scoff, turning your face slightly to hide the heat crawling up on your neck, unbuckling your seatbelt. “shut up and come on.”

paige smirks as she kills the engine and follows you out. “after you, baby.”

you’re barely even in the door before paige is on you again, lips catching yours in a feverish kiss.

you allow yourself to be pushed up against the wall in your foyer, moaning into her mouth unabashedly. you slide your palms up under paige’s shirt, feeling her muscles, skin warm against skin. one of hers cup your jaw, angling your mouth so that she can kiss you as deeply as possible, the other running down your side before settling on your ass. when you part her eyes are all dark, blue almost completely swallowed by black. 

“bedroom?” she asks, glancing around your living room and dining area.

“down the hall, on the right,” you answer, breathless. you let out a little squeak as she lifts you into her arms, legs hooking around her waist. she kisses you the whole way to your room, your hand cupping her face.

you bounce a little when she drops you onto the mattress, barely having time to catch your breath before paige is climbing onto the bed, crawling over you. your legs part so that she can crawl between them, forearms framing your head.

she hovers over you, a small smile playing at her lips. “hi,” she whispers.

“hi,” you whisper back.

her hair’s falling into her face, all beachy, and her lips are kiss–swollen. in the moonlight coming from your window, you think she might be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “you’re so pretty,” you blurt.

“thank you,” paige chuckles. “you’re still okay with this?”

you blink up at her, heart still hammering. “yes,” you say. “duh.”

“good,” she mutters before leaning in and kissing you again. 

she sits back on her heels, pulling her shirt and bra over her head and dropping them to the floor carelessly, and you do the same, sitting up to pull off her hoodie, both of you panting. her eyes are trained on your torso as reach up your back to untie your bikini top, letting it slip down your arms before flinging it across the room, and breathes, “fuck,”

she’s back on you in an instant, kissing and sucking at your neck, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you as her teeth graze the skin. then, she’s trailing kisses down over your collarbones, to your chest. her hands come up to knead your breasts just as she sucks one of your sensitive nipples into her mouth.

you moan softly, the heat swirling in the pit of your stomach spurred on by the feeling and sight of her suckling your tits. your hips roll upwards, seeking any kind of contact, arousal pooling between your legs.

paige comes off your nipple with a soft pop. one of her hand moves down to your shorts and you raise your hips, letting her push them down your legs, along with your bikini bottoms. she stares at your face, watching for your reaction as her fingers dip between your folds, collecting your wetness on the tips of her fingers.

she’s satisfied with how desperate the noise you make is and the way your jaw goes slack. “so wet, shit,” she breathes, circling your clit lightly. “all for me?”

“yes,” you breathe, pussy clenching around nothing, practically begging to be filled. “want you so bad, paige.”

“what do you want? tell me, baby, and it’s yours.” she croons, fingers moving frustratingly slow.

“a–anything. please.”

“oh, yeah? gonna let me do anything want?” she smirks. “just take it?”

you bite down on your lip and nod, and she finally sinks her fingers into you, fingers angled just right, moving at the perfect space. you moan in satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut. “so good,” you babble, grabbing onto the arm she has braced on your mattress, nails digging into her bicep. “mmh, yes— right there. oh, my god.”

it’s ridiculous how good at this she is, how quickly she finds that gummy spot inside you, fingers curling slightly. your mind wanders— wondering how often she does this, how many girls does she take out and drive home and then fuck in their beds— but is reeled back in when paige adds her thumb to the mix, rubbing your clit hard, sending sparks through you. you cry out, feeling that pressure between your legs begin to mount.

“you close, baby?” she asks, feeling you tighten around her digits. she grins, lowers her voice. “come on, cum for me. just let go.”

your brain short circuits. “i— i’m cu—”

before you can finish the sentence, you’re cumming. you throw your head back and moan out her name as it washes over you, whole body shaking. paige works you through it, thumb rubbing diligently at your clit.

“fuck,” you pant, coming to your senses. “holy shit.”

paige is staring at your pussy. “made a mess, baby.” she says lowly, and your face burns with embarrassment. you can feel it dripping out of you still.

she moves down your body so that her head is positioned between your legs now, kisses your trembling thighs before licking a stripe up your cunt, cleaning you up. you wince, sensitive. “paige…” her name is broken by the mewl you let out, body instinctively attempting to move away from her mouth. “shit, that hurts.”

she just groans against you and tightens her hold on your thighs, forcing them to stay open, knowingly sending vibrations throughout your core. “tastes so good.” she licks up all your cum before moving up to your clit, sucking it into her mouth.

you cry out, tears springing to your eyes as your back arches above the mattress, hands twisting into your bedsheets. “said i can do whatever i want and you’d take it. i wanna make you cum again,” paige declares, voice gruff. “you tappin’ out?”

you whimper in protest. “n–no, i—” you can’t think. it hurts and it’s deliriating and you can’t take it and you don’t want her to stop. “fuck!”

she sucks at your clit and slides her fingers back into you, thrusting with abandon. it’s not long before the discomfort subsides and your whines turn into moans again, pain melting into molten pleasure. your hips rock onto her fingers, desperate for your release.

“look at that,” she murmurs, slurping loudly. “pussy so fuckin’ good. such a good girl. wanna cum again for me? know you can do it, come on, give it to me.”

you orgasm hits you hard, eyes rolling back as your cunt pulses around paige’s fingers, thighs tremoring. paige eases her fingers out of you and laps it all up, drunk off your taste, babbling about how good you are in between licks. little gasps escape you in the aftermath. when you open your eyes, paige is looking up you, amused and adoring.

“you’re evil,” you chide, voice hoarse, and she kisses your inner thigh, breath hitting your skin as she laughs a little.

“had to get you good, sorry. been waiting too long to do that,” she replies, crawling back over to you.

you snort. “three days?”

“felt more like three years,” she grins stupidly.

you lean over to connect your lips, climbing on top of her so that you’re straddling her waist. you sit upright, paige biting her lip as her eyes follow you, and hook your fingers under the waistband of her shorts, fully intending to show hard that the wait was worth it.

the night is far from over.

you nuzzle into paige under the comforter afterwards, cheek smooshed against her bare chest, your head tucked under her chin.

paige stares up into the darkness at the ceiling, mind swimming. she can’t shake the feeling of a weight pressing down on her— not just due to you being on top of her. it’s her heart, aching with both fondness and guilt.

she wants to tell you— who she is, what she does, why she’s hiding. she looks down, fingers ghosting up and down your spine, mouth poised to finally explain herself.

you’re asleep.

paige exhales a quiet laugh and continues stroking your back. okay, later then. she’ll tell you later.

for now, she allows herself to doze off, giving away to the feeling of your soft skin bare against hers.

you’re still reeling from the night before when you clock in the next morning, the sky streaked orange and blue, waves crashing gently.

it’s a nice, cool morning, but you know it’s just going to heat up later. in the meantime, you’re wearing paige’s hoodie, relishing the way her scent lingers— sandalwood, iris, and cardamom. under it, you have on a cropped rash guard and surf shorts, as you and paige agreed to meet to surf together again right after your shift. you’re going to drive to venice this time, a nearby beach with better, bigger waves.

“mornin’ sunshine,”

you don’t have to look to know it’s skip. he’s the only person that would walk in this early, one of your most loyal customers for the past five years. your dad also taught him, along with all the other kids in town, how to surf. “morning,” you chirp back.

“so, a bunch of us are headed to new smyrna tonight. waves are supposed to be sick,” skip tells you. “you in?”

“can’t. i already have plans.” you say casually, tone even, though a smile plays at your lips at the mere thought of hanging out with paige again.

skip snorts. “what, got yourself a hot date, or something?” he asks, mostly joking, until he catches the look on your face. “with who?”

“nunya.” you reply.

he shrugs, “your loss, then.”

skip browses around while chatting with you about the most recent developments in pro surfer news, before grabbing a couple containers of wax, a pack of earplugs, and the latest issue of surfer magazine, and placing them in front of you on the counter.

“nice jacket,” skip says, eyes skimming the text on your— well, paige’s— hoodie. “hey, you hear that basketball chick is in town?”

you haven’t heard. you don’t really know anything about basketball, except that the miami heat currently sucks, according to everyone in your town. “which one?”

“paige bueckers. apparently, someone saw her at salty dog last night. i’m trying to get a picture.”

you freeze mid–scan, blinking rapidly as your brain tries to grasp what you’ve just heard. “wait, paige who?”

“you’re kidding. paige bueckers! got uconn their first ring in years? plays for dallas now?” skip digs into the pocket of his shorts, fishing out his phone and typing into a search engine. he turns the screen to you, showing you the google results, and surely enough, it’s paige. your paige, except she’s mid–jumpshot in a basketball jersey. your jaw drops. “usually i don’t even watch the women’s stuff, but she’s tough.”

dallas. basketball. uconn.

it’s all starting to make sense, now— every half–truth, every moment she steered the conversation away from herself. how you recognized her, but just couldn’t figure out where from.

“kinda hot, too, right?” skip asks, clicking on another picture— paige posed on the cover some magazine, mainspreading in a suit. you nearly choke on your own spit.

“um— yeah. she’s alright, for a basketball player.” you reply, trying to play it cool. you can’t get mad at someone for calling the girl you’re into hot, one, they don’t even know you’re into her and, two, she’s been lying to you about who she is for the past week.

“yo, if you see bueckers around, text me. i gotta get that picture.” skip says, taking the bag from your hand after you finish his transaction.

“i’ll try,” you won’t, but still— hospitality. “see you, skip!”

he leaves with a wave, and that’s when you can finally stop and process.

you wonder how many times you’d skipped past her face while flipping through a copy of sports illustrated, trying to get to the surfing section, or caught the last few moments of one of her games while waiting for a surf competition to start on espn. your classmates had made a huge deal about getting tickets to the women’s basketball championship game in tampa just a few months ago, but you’d stayed back on campus in miami— you had no interest in basketball.

you should be mad, but you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

paige doesn’t come by until about two hours later, which gives you enough time to do a full internet deepdive.

a seemingly endless list of both professional and collegiate records and awards. highlight reels and tons of tiktok edits. an army of adoring fans begging her to come back online, wondering where she’s been all week.

it’s ironic, because she walks in just as you’re scrolling down her instagram page. you look up at her, back to the selfie displayed on your phone screen, then back up at her just to confirm that, yes— the girl you just might have fallen for is also a famous and formidable basketball player, and for some reason she kept that from you.

you turn your phone screen off, placing it face–down on the counter, and stand up straighter, trying to seem normal. it’s gotten hot, so you’ve taken off her hoodie, leaving you in your surf garments.

paige approaches the counter, two smoothies in hand, a gummy smile on her face. “hey, beautiful.” she slides your smoothie to you.

“hey,” you eye her suspiciously. “how are you?”

her eyebrows furrow a little. “good? great, actually. i had a really good night,” she smirks, looking you up and down. “how ‘bout you?”

“i’m good,” you reply.

paige falters, sensing that something’s off, just by your tone and the fact that you don’t immediately go for the smoothie. still, she leans against the counter casually. “so, what if i wanted to buy a board off y’all? how would that work?”

“well, you’d fill out the form, pay for it, and then i’d give it to you,” you explain. “just a heads up, the one you like is gonna be around six hundred.”

paige nods, sipping on her smoothie. “no best–head–ever discount?” she asks playfully.

“nope, unfortunately,” you say, opening a drawer and grabbing the the purchase forms. “there’s an atm nearby but we do take card, you know.” you give her the opportunity to choose to explain herself.

paige forces an awkward half–laugh. “ha, yeah,” she brushes the idea off. “i’ll just do cash.”

you huff, grabbing the form. you’re about to give it to her, but then you stop, reaching for the pen yourself.

you write the name down on the form. then, you slide it to her.

paige bueckers.

her jaw drops. she looks up at you with wide, guilty eyes. “how’d you…?”

“a guy came into the shack earlier, saw your hoodie, and asked if i’d heard some hot–shot basketball player was in town. said her name was paige bueckers,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at her. “so, naturally, i looked her up, and— what do you know! she was literally just in my bed.”

“y/n, i can explain—”

“that you’ve just been lying to me all week long?”

“okay, technically, i never lied to you. everything i told you about myself was true. i just left out some… major details.” paige reasons.

you narrow your eyes at her. “you’re not a coach.”

“i coached a team for an overtime event twice,” she says, holding up a finger. “won both times, mind you.”

“you could’ve just told me, paige.” your voice is softer now.

“i know. i know. i swear i was going to, it’s just—” she sighs, coming around the counter. you begrudgingly allow her to take both your hands into hers, intertwining your fingers. “i booked this trip to get away from all that. i was trying to lay low, y’know? just chill and surf. and then i met you— and it was nice, for once, for someone to like me for who i am, not what i do. i guess i just wanted to hold on to that feeling. onto you.”

that is… sweet. you soften immediately at the admission. “i’m sorry. are you mad at me?” she asks, and by the look in her big, blue puppy dog eyes you can tell she’s sincere.

you shake your head. “no. not mad, just extremely confused. and, like, stunned. you are really good at basketball.”

paige laughs a little at that.

“you’re not just gonna run off on me when your trip’s over?” you ask quietly, not meaning to sound as supplicating and vulnerable as you do. you’d really hate it if she was just like any other tourist, gorgeous and golden and here for a week, only to never be seen again, because this, you realize, has gotten real.

“what? no. absolutely not,” paige squeezes your hands. “i do have to be back in dallas in a few days, but i’m not letting you go. you can come to my games, i’ll come visit, we can surf.”

“good. because i really like you, paige.” you sigh, heart swelling.

“i like you, too, y/n. seriously.” paige smiles.

she leans down then, pulls you into a hug, hands pressingly lightly against your back like she’s memorizing the shape of you. your arms wrap around her waist, breathing her in. she pulls back, just enough to look at you.

you kiss her. soft, at first, but then her hand is sliding up to your cheek, and yours fist gently into her shirt. you can feel it— the time, slipping away— but neither of you pay it any mind. the ocean whispers in the background. sunlight filters through the windows.

2025

It’s a warm, breezy Tuesday in Connecticut, one of your rare off days, and this is quite possibly the last place you’d expect yourself to be.

Standing before you is an old antique shop. It’s a block away from the apartment you share with your girlfriend, Paige Bueckers, and you pass it every day on your morning jog. It’s rustic, worn at the edges, but there’s something softer about its unassuming visage today. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re out a little later than usual – Paige had an afternoon practice compared to her typical morning ones, so the two of you had lounged in bed for a little longer, soaking in the time together.

Whatever the reason, there was something in the air that compelled you to stop by. So you do.

The sign that hangs over the door is rusted, hanging loosely from one tarnished chain, its words unrecognizable from how time has eroded it. A bell chimes happily as you push the door open. Immediately, you’re hit with the scent of aged paper, ink, and something else that is distinctly vintage. The walls are lined with various art pieces, antique furniture tucked neatly into the crevices of the shop with tan price tags attached. You’re wrought with a familiar sense of nostalgia; there’s something so incredibly touching about the fact that everything in this store had belonged to somebody once, had been something of value, something to take care of. Everything is still in perfect condition. It’s beautiful to know that after someone is long gone, there is still someone out there who will cherish their belongings and take care of them the same way they had.

You gaze around the shop, taking everything in, your steps slow and methodical. You were never a patient shopper, always seeking to get in and get out, but it feels as though the shop is trying to tell you something – trying to show you something. You wander, studying the art, the intricate carvings on aged furniture, until you make your way to the check-out counter. The clerk is absent, although there’s a cardboard box full of old pictures – a black and white photo of a bride, toddlers playing soccer, an elderly couple on a porch swing.

There’s something achingly familiar about them. It makes your heart swell, makes you wrack your brain to discern where you’ve seen these photos before. You sift through the rest, lingering on a few; there’s one of a couple laughing on the porch of what you assume to be their first house, a photo of two people embracing – one is wearing an aged military uniform, which makes your face soften, and the third is two teenagers holding hands, dressed fashionably. That one makes you smile as you take in the lovestruck expression on their faces.

Still, there’s something about the photos that give you pause. You pull out your phone, navigating to FaceTime, and you call the one number you know will pick up no matter what.

The line clicks through and Paige’s face fills your screen. She’s slightly out of breath, her face flushed from the exertion of practice, hair messy and sweat beading at her temples. Despite that, she grins, a sort of smile that’s reserved only for you. “Hey, baby,” she greets, her voice soft, which brings a smile to your face as well. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you say back. “Sorry, I know you’re at practice–”

“We finished early, but I always got time for you,” she promises. “You know that.”

Your smile widens. “Well, I was on my jog, but you know that antique shop in town?” Paige hums in affirmation. “Something told me to go in, so I did. Look at some of these photos I found.” You flip the FaceTime camera, positioning your phone over your collection of photos. Paige leans in a little closer to see, her brows drawing together in concentration.

“They feel…really familiar,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “Like I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaim. “It’s so weird. It’s like I know these people.”

“Wait, go back to that one,” Paige requests. “The black and white one, military uniform.” Doing as instructed, you pull that one to the forefront of the stack, gazing at them expectantly. That’s when you truly take a closer look, recognizing the expressions on the couple’s faces, their facial features. Your breath hitches just as Paige says, “Why do they kinda look like–”

“Us,” you finish.

“Yeah,” Paige murmurs, a little awestruck. “I can’t explain it but like – I can feel it.”

You flip the photo around, your eyes catching on the date on the back, and the subsequent memory hits you like a truck.

1944

It’s a sweltering afternoon in May when your life changes.

Well, changes for the second time since 1941.

Three years ago, the United States declared war on Germany and the adjoining Axis powers following the attack on Pearl Harbor. It was a dramatic shift for the entire country, one that displaced just about every facet of life. Men were drafted, heading overseas to fight, leaving holes in the workforce. Although the reality was bleak and dire, you saw this as an opportunity – for independence, for some shred of equality, for freedom. With plenty of job openings as workers were joining the war effort, you landed a job at a shipyard along the coast.

It wasn’t easy. Far from it, actually. You worked long, uncomfortable hours, hardly fitting in time for a break. You, along with several other women, worked on building, repairing, and maintaining the ships that would be used to transport supplies or men overseas. For you, it was enough – the daily routine, the knowledge that you were contributing to something greater than yourself, that your efforts were making a difference. It was worth it.

You get off your shift sometime in the afternoon. You’ve been up since the early hours of the morning; now, you’re half-asleep, only going through the motions and letting pure muscle memory guide you down the busy streets. Something big is happening soon – you can feel it. You’ve noticed drastically more uniformed men on the streets, whispers of another draft; at this point, your suspicion is a matter of when and not if.

Barely aware of what’s in front of you, you turn the corner, colliding roughly with the person in front of you. They hardly move although you bounce backwards, knocked off balance by both your exhaustion and the fact that you’re so much smaller than the other person. You’re already bracing yourself to eat concrete, eyes shut tightly, when you realize you’re not toppling over; instead, there’s a pair of firm hands holding you by the arms, keeping you upright.

“You alright?”

Her voice is concerned, if a little gravelly, rough around the edges in a way that captures your attention immediately. You open your eyes, your breath hitching, because you’re sure this is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. The street is busy — everyone lost in their own little worlds moves right by you, but at this moment? It feels like time stops, like nothing exists except for you and the blonde woman before you. 

Her hair is pulled up in a tight, slick-back bun, the edges pressed and the golden waves reflecting in the early May sun. Her eyes are a deep blue, almost startling so, but there’s an evident kindness that softens the intensity. Her jaw is sharp, angular, her nose sloping elegantly despite the chisel, but what truly captures your attention is her stature — she’s the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, no less than six foot, and her broad shoulders fill out her khaki uniform service shirt. There’s an emblem pinned over her left breast, wing shaped in the aviator insignia. You’ve been staring for far too long already and the pilot is smiling like she’s caught you. Despite yourself, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, your voice even, which makes the expression on her face soften. 

“The flyboys would never let me live it down if I ran you over,” she says coyly, her hands lingering just a second longer on your arms before she finally steadies you. Her touch makes you flustered. “Hurtin’ a girl like you is cause for a national emergency.”

You laugh, a tinkling, carefree sound that betrays the way your heart pounds — in a good way. “You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

With gentle hands, she pulls you under the awning of the storefront you’re standing next to — an antiquities shop, according to the sign, keeping you out of the way of the bustling crowd as she murmurs, “I call it like I see it.”

With a teasing smile, you glance up at her, enjoying the way she looms over you far too much. It’s not intimidating, her stature, but it does make you feel warm all over. She’s long, toned, and you can see the muscle hidden behind her uniform. Her khaki button up is tucked neatly into the waistband of her sage green trousers, the top missing a few clasped buttons to reveal the dog tags hanging from her neck. She looks so put together, handsome and beautiful all in one, and maybe it’s the solemnity of the world around you, but this moment in time feels so peaceful, so right. “Do you, now?” you ask. “And what exactly are you seeing, flygirl?”

The nickname makes her preen, flashing her teeth in a smile that could surely ruin you. “Well,” she begins, her eyes scanning your figure in a way that looks as though she’s in a gallery staring at art, and not actually standing in the middle of a crowded street and staring at a woman who has just gotten off a twelve hour shift, covered in motor oil. Her gaze doesn’t make you feel objectified – far from it, but you’re beginning to think that you enjoy her attention. “I see this pretty girl – gorgeous is more like it, but I ain’t never been good with words. Just actions.” Her lips quirk slightly, reaching out with her thumb to wipe away a smudge of grease off of your cheekbone. Your face flushes, which only makes her features brighten like the clouds parting for the sun. “I see honesty. Ambition.”

“You can tell that much about me just from one look?” you say, a little amused.

“I’d tell you a hell of a lot more if it meant seein’ you again,” she confesses.

You scan her features, not quite sure what you’re searching for – deception, maybe, but you don’t see it. All you see is genuinity, a certain brand of hope that you haven’t seen in anyone’s expression in the last few years. You don’t know anything about her other than the fact that she’s a pilot, an aviator, but a slow smile spreads across your face the more you consider her request.

In times like these, you need all the joy you can get, no matter how short it is. So you teasingly lean in, relishing in the way her body eclipses yours as she melts into you, but you stop her with a hand to the chest. You know she could easily push past it, but you appreciate the way her body goes rigid, like she’s letting you make the call. Her brow raises – a challenge, maybe? – but despite herself, her smile grows, too.

“I’m not that easy,” you whisper to her, satisfied when her breath hitches. You press against her gently and she leans back, acquiescing. “You’re gonna have to work for it if you wanna see me so bad.”

“I can do that,” she promises, nodding emphatically, which makes you laugh quietly – she’d seemed so confident, so composed; now, she just seems eager to impress, to listen to every word you say.

Content, you take a step back, flashing one last smile. “See you soon, flygirl,” you say, enjoying the smitten look on her face, until –

“I never got your name, yardbird!” Her voice carries over the thrum of the crowd.

When you pause, glancing back at her, she seems amused, if not a little hopeful to hear you answer. But again – you’re not that easy. “Find me again and I’ll tell you,” you call back, your promise reaching her ears. You watch as her smile grows; even from afar, you can make out the determination in her eyes, the clear message of challenge accepted.

You’re not surprised to see her again.

If anything, you were almost expecting it. Her eyes had held a promise, the vow that she’d rise to the challenge. She didn’t become a pilot by being unambitious – you were sure that it was the complete opposite of that, having to work twice as hard as her flyboy companions. Any surprise you hold is because of how soon you see her.

It’s the next day and you’re walking home from the shipyard again, taking that same path you’ve taken hundreds of times across the years. You’re guided by muscle memory, weaving around the slow walkers and finding natural gaps in the crowd. When you turn the corner, the pilot is standing under the awning of the antiquities shop again, her hair pinned up in the same, sleek bun, her uniform crisp and pressed. She’s glancing at her wristwatch and as soon as you round the corner, stepping onto the street, she looks up and meets your eyes immediately. A smug smile graces her features.

“Found you,” she calls out, pushing herself off of the wall with a boot to the brick. You roll your eyes, amused, and you meet her in the middle by the doorway.

“You memorizing my schedule?” you ask her.

She shrugs a coy shoulder. “I’m committed,” she declares. “Said you weren’t gonna make it easy for me, right?”

“So she does listen,” you muse.

“Every word.” You smile at her, and it’s then that you realize she’s hiding her hands behind her back. Recognizing your curiosity, she reveals her hands, her smile softening – she’s holding a singular red rose, a rich, dark red in color, and you shouldn’t be surprised, but you are. “Think this is enough to finally earn your name, yardbird?”

You hum, tapping your chin dramatically, which draws a laugh from the aviator. Conceding, you take the rose from outstretched hands, much to her relief. You introduce yourself, listening as she tests the pronunciation on her tongue, smiling at how nice it sounds rolling off her tongue. Then, she sticks out her hand for you to shake as she states, “Paige Bueckers, airforce service pilot.”

She walks you home after that, her hand gentle yet protective over the small of your back. Your conversation is full of laughter, teasing, and Paige flirting with you unashamedly; you like it more than you would ever admit to her, although you’re certain she knows. Despite the fact that this is only your second conversation, there’s something about Paige that gives her the uncanny ability to understand you – it’s like a connection that goes deeper than your accidental run in from yesterday, like she was born to know you and you were born to know her. It’s like you’ve known Paige Bueckers your entire life. It’s a new feeling, but certainly not an unwelcome one.

This quickly becomes your routine. You wake up early, spend your morning and the better part of the afternoon at the shipyard, then Paige walks you home. Getting to know her comes as easy as breathing and being with her is almost enough to make you forget about the chaos in the world. It’s like Paige is your perfect complement. She came into your life in the most unexpected way possible, but the more time you spend with her, the more nights you invite her over for dinner, the more you realize that you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some nights she stays over. Paige blends so seamlessly into your routine that you wonder how you were ever complete without her at your side constantly. In the mornings, she’ll brew your coffee – how she figured out exactly how you took it, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t complaining, make your breakfast, massage your hands (because they were always sore and calloused from working on the ships all day), and walk you to the shipyard every day. At some point in time, she graduated from having a hand on your back to tangling your fingers together, which is something you truly relished in.

Over the month, the two of you get closer. Sometimes you stay at her house, waking up early enough to iron her uniform just to make her day a little easier. Paige tells you that you don’t have to go out of your way to do that for her, but secretly, you like it when she’s still in the grips of sleep and she gets out of bed to wrap her arms around you, resting her chin on your shoulder and watching you smooth out every wrinkle from her shirt. She’s warm, and soft, and dare you say it, she’s yours, even though neither of you have truly discussed it yet. It’s not traditional – in fact, nothing about the two of you is traditional; until recently, it wasn’t normal for women to work, let alone fly airplanes, let alone be in relationships together, but it works because it’s you and Paige. It works because although you’ll never have the vocabulary to describe it, you know this isn’t the first time you’ve met Paige. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared sleepy mornings together. It’s not even the first time you’ve loved her. Whether you truly realized it or not, you and Paige were a story centuries in the making, spanning across several years, decades, lifetimes.

But in a world like this, not everything can be perfect. Your suspicions were right from the very beginning.

“I have to leave,” Paige whispers to you on one quiet, sunny afternoon. It’s June 1st, barely fourteen hours into the day when Paige breaks the news. You’d been working since dawn. When Paige picked you up from the shipyard, she’d been noticeably dim, not nearly as lively on the walk back. You pressed, but she was silent, so you’d hoped that she was just tired from training; then, she’d suggested the two of you go to her backyard to lay in the sun. You curled up next to her, your chin on her chest, smiling as she pointed out the different shapes in the clouds (“That one’s definitely a boat,” you’d said, finger directed at a blob in the sky, to which Paige had responded with, “Y’think so, yardbird?”)

You knew Paige was an aviator. An aircraft service pilot, to be exact. You knew that eventually, she would be called in to fulfill a duty. You just never thought it would come so soon.

“When?” you murmur, willing your voice not to crack. Your hand was resting over her stomach – you can feel how her breathing comes to her quicker, hear the way her heart pounds in her chest. She wants to leave just as much as you want her to, but she knows she’s bound by obligation.

“Tomorrow morning,” she responds. Your heart aches and she can only tighten her arm around your shoulders, her chin pressing into your temple. “I’m flyin’ out to England – all of the Allies will be there. We’ll get debriefed, then… I’m flying twenty men into Normandy to invade Europe. After that, I’ll be transporting supplies and cargo between our bases and the frontlines.”

“Paige,” you try, but the lump in your throat cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says, trying for a lighthearted tone, but you can hear that it’s weighing on her just as much as it’s weighing on you. “I’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t make me a promise you can’t keep,” you beg, which makes Paige deflate, unable to continue being strong. “There’s no guarantees–”

“I know–”

“And don’t be reckless, you hear–”

“Yardbird,” Paige stresses, her voice cracking on the syllables of her nickname for you; despite the anguish on her face, there’s a calm acceptance, a sort of determination that looks like a promise to return. She squeezes your shoulder, directing your attention to her face. Tears are pooling on her waterline and if there’s one thing that’s always true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that irritating, unmistakable confidence of hers; you can see it reflected in her eyes. She believes that she’s coming home after this mission. You know better than to get your hopes up. “I promise you–”

“Don’t–”

She interrupts you with a stern look, desperation clouding her features now. She needs you to hear this. “I promise I’ll come home to you,” she vows. Paige’s voice softens to a whisper, her eyes searching yours to make sure you’re listening. “I don’t care what it takes. As soon as my mission is complete, I’ll be flying the first plane out of Europe. You and me?” Paige trails off, squeezing your hand like it’s a lifeline. “We aren’t done here. I still have to make you mine.” You murmur her name, but she shakes her head, needing to finish her thought. “I still have to introduce you to my family – to Drew. There’s so much more we have to do together – that we are going to do together. Okay?”

You gaze at her for a few achingly long moments, trying to memorize the blue of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the way her hair is disheveled because she’s usually so put together and that thought alone makes fresh tears spring to your eyes. Before they can fall, she leans up, pressing her thumbs to your cheeks and her forehead to yours. “I’ll write you letters,” she promises. “Everyday.”

You breathe in deep, trying to remember her scent. You know that you still have the rest of the day with Paige, but it feels like she’s already overseas. Gathering yourself, you nod against her, trying to commit the way her skin feels on yours to memory. “Okay,” you repeat, giving in. Her fingers brush across your skin, tilting your head up to meet her eyes. She’s scanning your features for any hint of a falsehood, but the only thing she sees is a quiet acceptance, the kind that comes when you know you can’t argue anymore or stop something from happening.

She offers you a gentle, wobbly smile, and it does lift your spirits some. If Paige can believe so ardently in something, then so can you. “I’ll be okay,” she says again.

“I know,” you confess, because deep down, you really do think she’ll come back to you. From the very first moment you crossed paths, you learned that Paige was not one to back down. Now, when her choices are coming home to you or not coming home at all, her decision is simple.

Nothing changes when she leaves. You work your shifts, mind obviously elsewhere, but with what you know about her deployment, you know that you can’t dwell on it too much. You have a heftier workload now, maintaining and fixing the ships, so you get lost in the routine.

The bright spot of your week is the first letter comes a few days after she leaves. Somehow, the worn paper smells like her, and you smile at the sign of her looping scrawl, the borderline chicken scratch handwriting. It makes you think of all of the times she’d leave you notes across your house, reminding you that you’re beautiful and that she’s thinking of you. The memory makes your chest ache, so you push it to the back of your mind.

June 3, 1944

To my yardbird,

I just landed in England. It’s very busy here. It’s beautiful, too, and I think you’d like it. I can see us walking down the cobblestone streets together, maybe sometime in the future when the vendors and stalls are in business again. I would probably say something annoying and you’d shake your head, amused and trying to hide your smile, but I would know.

How are you doing? How is the shipyard? The hibiscuses we planted in May? I want to hear everything.

When I sat down to write this, I thought the words would come easy to me. I spent my entire flight thinking of what I would say to you, what I would ask. I thought it would be easy to tell you how desperately I want you and how I count down the hours until I get to see you again. Maybe God’s honest truth is that these aren’t understandings that can be summarized in one single letter – or truths that can’t be summarized at all.

Do you ever think about how you can look up and see the same sky as me, the same stars? I’ve spent a lot of time in the air. I know the clouds like the back of my hand, the way they move, the way the wind currents will guide me home. I know more about the sky than I know of the earth. In my profession, it’s hard to stay grounded – literally and figuratively, but my time with you has reminded me that there is an importance in returning to the soil, spreading my roots, seeking out a future I previously thought I couldn’t afford. You’ve given me hope, a dream, a love.

On my flight to England, I looked to the west and I saw a star. It shone brighter than the rest, glimmering and sparkling despite the fading night. As I’m writing this, I’m staring at the very same star. It makes me feel as though we aren’t so far apart right now, that you could look up and see what I’m seeing. You and I, we’re still connected, two ends of a red string coated in something cosmic and everlasting. When I look to the sky, it’s like I’m looking at you.

I will be home soon. That is my one promise to you. Until then, I hope you’ll look to the sky and look for me, too.

Yours,

–P

You draft your response immediately and send it off with the mail carrier before evening. You don’t know when it will get to her or if she’ll have much time to write back, but before you go to bed that night, you step outside and direct your attention to the western sky. You spot the star she was referring to almost immediately, the way it twinkles against a dark canvas; despite the ache in your heart, looking at it makes you feel a little less alone.

June 7, 1944

To my flygirl,

You make England sound so peaceful. I’m sure it is made all the more beautiful a country by you being in it. I would love to visit with you, when the world is all right and it’s a warm, summer day. Even if we just explore the cities, you have a way of making each moment feel more significant. You turn the mundane into a memory. Wherever you go, you leave a trail of magic behind you, and I am endlessly blessed that God has put me on this earth with you if only so I could follow it.

I’m holding up. The days are long and the nights are short and I miss you more and more each day you’re gone. According to the radios, you flew into Normandy yesterday and the invasion began. I hope you stay safe. The shipyard is busy – we are sending out more and more ships everyday for cargo and for men. Even more come back for repairs. I rarely get a break as of late, although I know my job is an important one. The hibiscuses are healthy, but they bloomed a little brighter when you were here to care for them. I don’t know how you do it. It is as though these things know you – they know you’re gentle, and kind, and that you have this nourishing, uplifting factor about you. They know of your love as well as I do, of what it is like to be without it.

I find myself writing and then pausing. I have so many things I would like to say to you but this paper can only hold so many of my thoughts. I agree that one letter is not enough to express myself fully. However, I know not to worry. You are thoughtful in ways most people never think to be and you have always been talented in understanding me before I’ve been able to understand myself. There are many things you know but I do like saying them. I miss you – isn’t it funny how we always come back to this? I miss you in a way that makes my chest ache. I miss having you in bed next to me and I miss the way you sing in the mornings. I miss you because you are everything I didn’t know I needed and more than I ever thought I deserved.

Remembering that you are under the same sky as me makes me feel a little less alone. Remembering that you see the same stars, the same moon, the same sun reassures me you aren’t so far away. Remembering that you feel the same love reminds me that you’ll be home soon.

With love,

Your yardbird

Over the course of the next several weeks, you continue to work. You continue to gaze at the sky before bed, imagining Paige doing the same before she goes to sleep. You write to her and you read the letters she sends you. They always start the same – an affectionate “To my yardbird” that never fails to bring a smile to your face. She tells you about her days, never once mentioning the toils of the war, only the beauty of the nature around her in spite of the damages around it. She tells you about the other women airforce service pilots – the WASPs – in her platoon and their ineffable courage. Paige tells you about the ones vying to return home to their families, too, and their unshakable determination to make it home.

You reread all of her letters when the sun goes down. Each and every one of them, starting with the one dated from June 3 to her most recent one. At this point, you have all of her letters memorized from the penmanship to the content. You spend hours with your hands clasped as you utter your hopes, prayers, a constant wish for her to be safe.

The weeks tick by. There’s nothing of note on the radio. You get lost in the rhythm of working, of thinking about Paige, of writing letters to her and handing them off to the mail carrier with the same unwavering expression of hope. You remind yourself that you and Paige aren’t done here, and that she’ll be back soon.

Then, her letters slow down ever so slightly. The Allies are pushing for one more coordinated attack, she’d written to you. I’ll be in the air frequently.

All you could do was wait. And hope. And work.

So, you do.

Four more weeks pass by. In that time span, you only get one letter from Paige in the second week, then she’s silent for the next two.

You try to not let the worry ruin your life.

On August 25, the radio at the shipyard crackles to life, announcing, “The Allied advance has liberated France. The Germans are in full retreat.”

You felt as though you could breathe a little easier, but you were still sick without the knowledge of whether or not Paige was okay. You don’t hear anything for two days.

On August 27, you’re leaving work early, a rare happenstance. Given the relative silence of the last few days of the invasion, you and the other women were able to finish repairs fully on the current batch of ships you were working on and you were waiting to get the damaged ones back from overseas. With nothing else to do, you walk your worn path back home, letting pure exhaustion and muscle memory guide you home. You’re too tired to even think, but you do glance up at the antiquities shop as you pass by. It had become a habit over the last twelve weeks, bringing a smile to your face as you remember the day you and Paige had met.

But you stop in your tracks, letting the bustle of the crowd pass you by as you gawk. Part of you can’t believe it, half-tempted to rub your eyes, convinced you’re in the middle of a dream or that the sheer exhaustion of the past three months has finally caught up with you. All you can do is stare, until–

Paige Bueckers cocks one of her signature, amused smiles, her eyes relieved and fatigued all at the same time. Her hair lacks its usual gel, the edges unruly. Her uniform top is buttoned one lower than usual, exposing the undershirt she’s wearing, and the hem is barely tucked into the waistband of her trousers. She doesn’t look injured, just like she could use a really long nap, but the sight of her makes your heart leap out of your chest.

“You’re early today, yardbird,” she comments wryly, glancing down at her wristwatch. “You got a hot date?”

You drop your bag at your feet, coming into her personal space with three quick strides. Judging by her expression, it’s clear she wasn’t expecting this reaction from you, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you cup her cheeks, standing on the tips of your toes to kiss her. Paige melts into you completely, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against her with an overwhelming amount of relief. She sighs against you, tilting her head to kiss you deeper, but your hands tremble on her face as you taste the salt on her lips. You can’t believe that she’s here right now. After twelve weeks of aching, of hoping, of believing, she’s here. 

You break away from her when your lungs burn, needing to breathe. Despite the tears, she’s still smiling when she presses her forehead to yours, her eyelids slipping shut like she just needs to absorb the moment and breathe you in. You do the same, your hands sliding down to tangle in the fabric of her shirt. She’s firm, she’s warm, she’s alive and she’s in front of you and you have possibly everything you’ve ever wanted right here in front of you. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you whisper into her chest, your voice a little muffled, but Paige’s shoulders shake with laughter, dissolving all of the tension left in your body.

“I told you,” she murmurs, her chin pressing into your temple as she holds you close, “I’d come home to you.”

And if there’s one thing that’s true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that she doesn’t break a promise. Not this one, and certainly not the one she makes to you almost a year and a half later in her backyard when the two of you exchange private vows during a quiet, peaceful, summer afternoon, promising to love each other for the rest of your lives.

2025

As quickly as the memory comes to you, it disappears just as fast, leaving you in a daze. You blink once, twice, wondering if you’d just imagined it all or if that was real. Glancing back down at the photo in front of you, the two women embracing in the middle of a crowded street – one a flygirl, one a yardbird, their features so similar and their expressions so loving, you think that it had felt too real to be fake.

“Hey, you alright?” Paige’s voice echoes from your call, concern laced in her tone, and despite yourself, you can’t help but crack a smile because those were the very first words the aviator had said to you. Perhaps there was more truth to it than you thought.

“I’m okay,” you promise, peering down at the photos again. An idea hits you all at once. “You said you finished practice early, right?” Your girlfriend hums, clearly confused with where you were going with this. “How quickly can you get to this antique store?”

Paige doesn’t keep you waiting too long. She makes it to you in record time, the jingle of the bell above the door capturing your attention. You glance up, spotting her, and the two of you share matching smiles as she strides closer to press a kiss to your temple, squeezing your hip. “Alright,” she murmurs. “Lemme see these pictures.”

You hover silently next to her as she sifts through the pile of pictures you’d accumulated. She lingers on the black and white photo of the pilot and the shipyard worker – describing that photo as you and Paige still feels a little too weird, but you watch as her brows furrow, her eyes lighting up with something that looks like recognition. You don’t even have to ask to know that she’s feeling the exact same thing that you did.

“This is insane,” she mumbles under her breath, which makes you laugh a little, amused. Paige holds the photo gently in one of her hands as she looks through the others, finding one of two teenagers holding hands on their way to a dance, presumably, considering the way they’re dressed. They don’t look as similar to you and Paige as the first photo did, but it still brings back a sense of nostalgia that Paige picks up on, too. “You remember prom? Junior year at Hopkins?” your girlfriend asks, nudging you gently.

You resist rolling your eyes. “How could I not?” you say sarcastically. “Someone saran-wrapped the doors so tightly that the principal had to call the fire department just so we could get in.” Paige laughs. Affection blooms in your chest despite yourself, and you grin, too. “We made the best of it, didn’t we?” Paige hums in affirmation, brushing her fingers across the photo before you before picking up another one. It’s two people laughing on a porch. You can tell they’re lovers by their closeness. “Remember when I rented my first apartment and you helped me move in?”

Her lips curl into a fond smirk. By help you mean Paige stayed over every night for a week straight, delaying your unpacking and “breaking in the new crib,” whatever that meant. You’d enlisted her to help with your furniture, your decor, and building shelves, but you’d go to bed in her arms and wake up to all of your furniture in completely different spots. “Oh no,” Paige would whine, a terrible actress to this day. “Guess I gotta stay and help you fix this.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was intentionally waking up at night and “inconveniencing” you just so she could stay a little longer and annoy you, but you suppose the real kicker was she never really needed an excuse to be near you, anyway. You would have let her stay for the week even if it meant she didn’t fuck up the way your furniture was arranged.

“I still dunno why your furniture kept moving,” she muses, still committed to the bit. “You ever call maintenance? Or security or somethin’?”

You roll your eyes for real this time, pressing a little closer. She raises her arm to rest it over your shoulders. You pick up a photo of a 30’s bride, her veil long over her face. It wasn’t a secret that you wanted to marry Paige someday – the two of you had been together since high school and you both had discussed as much; now, she was entering her final March Madness tournament as a Husky. The two of you were so interwoven into the fabric of each other’s lives that you were sure you would be together until one of you took your last breath.

“You look pretty in white,” she comments off-handedly, like she’s slick, but you know better.

You grin. “You think so?” you ask coyly. She hums again, a smile of her own growing on her features the more she stares at the picture of the bride. “Well, I think you look pretty good in a suit, too.”

“Oh, little ole me?” she croons, faux shyness lacing her tone.

“You’re so annoying,” you say.

“You’ve loved me since we were fourteen,” she reminds you – as if you’d ever forget it. “You’re stuck with me at this point.”

The truth was, you’d be content to be stuck with her for the rest of your life. The other truth was that Paige’s ego was already so dangerously over-inflated that it’s days away from popping like a balloon with too much helium, so you couldn’t possibly admit that to her. The third truth was that Paige knows you love her, just as she loves you, so she didn’t need you to admit it to her, anyhow. The both of you were stuck with each other, not that either of you minded.

“Let’s get these?” you request, and Paige nods, scooping up your selected photos in her gentle hands.

But it still feels like you’re missing something. You have your photos, the memory of a life long passed – which reminds you; you and Paige will be having a lengthy conversation about that memory later today – but it feels as though you haven’t seen everything the universe clearly wants you to see. So you link hands with Paige, scanning the shop once more as you search for the missing piece.

It’s Paige who actually locates it after a few moments of walking. She glances at you meaningfully, guiding you down a row of bookshelves, eyes roaming over its contents like she knows exactly what she’s looking for. At the very end of the line, there’s an old, dusty, leatherbound book covered in cobwebs laying flat on an antique table, as though someone pulled it off the shelves to read and then forgot about it. Paige exhales like it was exactly what she was looking for.

She drops your hand to brush the back of her hand over the front cover, getting rid of the dust and the cobwebs, and then immediately sneezes. It makes you choke on a giggle, the mystery and the intrigue of the moment softened by Paige’s incessant allergies, and the tips of her ears flush red as you whisper a quiet, “Bless you.”

When the cover is clean, she wipes her hands on her shorts and opens the book carefully to the front page. You peer over her shoulder again. The penmanship is in neat cursive, the ink fading with time, but still legible enough for you to read. There’s a date in the top right corner reading 1543 September 9. Paige whistles lowly, holding the book a lot more gingerly now, which amuses you a little bit.

You look at the first line, reading, “Father procured me this journal to document my life and my emotions. He believes that it will help regulate me and, in quote, save me from this phase of rebellion lest I make a mockery of the crown. I am only eighteen. Surely, he must understand that the life of a princess is not one for me.”

Paige blinks once. “Well, that’s heavy.”

“Paige, she’s eighteen.”

“Technically, like…” your girlfriend pauses to do the math in her head, “...Four hundred and…eighty sum’.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, and when you reach out to turn the page, you’re hit with another memory – only this time, you know that Paige is seeing it too.

1543

“Princess, your father is just trying to look out for you. He is just…a little misguided.”

You huff indignantly as you drag your brush through your hair. You truly do not mean to be this dramatic, but indignance just seems to be the main emotion that your father manages to evoke from you. Ever since you turned eighteen, the “of age” marker determining your eligibility to officially inherit the throne, the King – your father – has been nothing short of particular. Exacting. Expectant. If you’re not studying with your tutor, you’re listening in on his meetings, learning the ins and outs of how to run a country. You’re his only heir, so deep down, you understand why he demands so much from you. There’s a short time between now and when your father won’t be deemed fit to run a country. You’re just upset that being the princess means you can’t be you anymore.

There’s a certain degree of freedom you get used to growing up in the castle. You want for nothing – everything is provided for you, no question about it. You have the best education possible, learning from private tutors all over the world – math prodigies, language experts, philosophers. Everything you could possibly want is at the tip of your fingers. As of late, however, it seems that you may just be broken. 

You long to be outdoors, away from the castle and its stuffy, too large walls. You long to do things for enjoyment and not for obligation. You’re eighteen – you want to be with people your age, not the children of the entitled, pompous bureaucrats that your father rubs elbows with. You want to be you, not the Princess, not the heir to the throne, just you.

It seems there are just some luxuries that one cannot afford, not even monarchs with the world at their disposal.

“‘Misguided’ is one word for it,” you huff, trying to not catch too much of an attitude with your chambermaid, Carlotta. It is not her fault, not in the slightest, and she’s been there for you your entire life – even longer than your father has. “I do not want to be–”

Carlotta hushes you, a gentle, cautious hand resting over your shoulder. You clamp your mouth shut. “You must be careful, Princess,” she murmurs.

“There are eyes and ears everywhere,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. “I know. I’m sorry.”

That was another thing you loathed about being a royal – the constant paranoia. It is a well-known fact that your father has enemies. Perhaps that is just a fact of life that comes with being king, a political figure, someone in charge of making decisions for millions of people. It is hard to be free when you’re tailed by your father’s most trusted knights and officers.

“It is all right,” Carlotta assures you. “Now come – you must be ready for the banquet.”

You nod, swallowing back your remark, and you allow Carlotta to help you into your gown.

The banquet goes as well as you were expecting. It’s loud, raucous, and full of minging, networking, and brown-nosing. You’re certain that you’ve never faked as many smiles or laughs as you have until today, but once it becomes socially acceptable, you sneak out the back door.

Or, as well as one can sneak when there’s a knight tasked with following your every move.

You glance over your shoulder. Just before the door slams shut, a tall figure in breathable armor slinks through the gap, following you at a respectable pace. However, there’s something that gives you pause.

As irritated as you are at the prospect of being tailed by your father’s appointed guards, you’ve made a habit of knowing who they are. Tristan is your usual suspect – he’s tall, lean, and his armor is recognizable. There’s a crest on his breastplate, signifying that he comes from a family of nobles, but this knight lacks the decorative chestpiece. Every other day, you’re then followed by Maximus. He is a little shorter than Tristan, although in place of a family crest, he has the traditional knight’s insignia – he doesn’t come from a family of nobles; rather, he’s an experienced knight who worked his way up through those ranks.

Whoever is wearing this suit of armor isn’t Tristan or Maximus, and you know that while your father makes a habit of annoying you, he wouldn’t reassign your patrols without telling you. Feeling your heart beat a little faster in your chest, you lengthen your strides, trying to get away from whoever is pursuing you without giving it away that you know they’re an enemy.

The issue with all of the country’s royals concentrated in one wing of the castle means that the large majority of the knights are assigned to that wing. That means there’s little protection through the back corridors. That means you need to find a way to get the knight off of your trail. There’s a variety of things you could be used for. A bargaining chip. An arranged marriage. Perhaps you’d just be killed entirely.

You hang a left, casting another glance over your shoulder. You don’t see the knight round the corner just yet, but you can hear his footsteps pick up speed. Realizing how dire your situation is now, you will your body into a run, thanking Carlotta for putting you in a pair of sandals instead of the heels your stylist had set out for you. The heavy clank of armor follows you down the winding halls as you breathlessly search for your exit.

To your right is a set of tall glass doors, leading into the palace gardens. Confident in being able to find somewhere to hide there, you push the doors open and run outside.

What you’re not expecting to find, however, is a tall blonde woman sparring in the dark. She spins on a dime, her sword lowering, but recognition flickers across her face once she realizes you’re the Princess. You briefly wonder if she’s a knight, too, or if she’s here to kill you, as well, but you throw all caution to the wind, deciding to trust the blue of her gaze. “Help me!” you exclaim, throwing yourself behind her just as the glass doors burst open and the turncoat knight barrels outside.

You realize, perhaps a little too late, that the blonde woman is not wearing armor. She’s dressed in a breathable navy and white tunic, the knight’s crest emblazoned across the chest, and a pair of worn boots. At the very least, she’s drastically more agile than her opponent (and taller, too, you note, although you remind yourself that there’s possibly a time and a place for those sorts of realizations). 

The armored knight draws his sword, a quiet acceptance in his body language like he knows he’ll have to go through the blonde knight to get to you, but she’s rigid, confident, rising to the challenge completely.

They collide in a flurry of sparks, loud groans, and the clang of metal against metal. The blonde, to her credit, doesn’t budge, but the force of their impact sends the armored knight stumbling. Using that to her advantage, she delivers a swift kick to his abdomen, which makes the knight fall to the ground completely. 

“Yield!” she barks, her blade against the soft part of his helmet.

He pauses, gazing up at her as if truly contemplating it, before his own leg jerks out, knocking her off balance. She grunts, dropping to one knee, and he uses her injury to kick her backwards as well. He digs his sword into the soil, using it to lift himself up. The knight spins his sword in his hand, remnants of dirt flying off of his blade, and he stalks towards her like a predator to his prey. All you can do is watch on in horror. 

You’re so focused on the other knight that you don’t notice her fingers digging into the dirt next to her until she comes up with a fistful of soil that she launches directly at his helmet. He recoils with a yelp, disoriented, and the blonde knight locates her sword, slashing out in a quick motion and catching the soft spot where his knee bends. He staggers again and she slams her hilt into his wrist, causing him to drop his sword. She grabs it immediately, dual wielding both blades, and the checkmate move comes when she kicks his injured leg. He falls to his knees and she crosses both of the swords under his neck again, chest heaving and sweat beading at her temple.

“Yield,” she commands. “I won’t ask again.”

He lifts his head ever so slightly, meeting your gaze across the garden. You stand your ground even though you’re rattled and you can feel your pulse in your fingertips. Barely eighteen and I’m already surviving assassination attempts, you think to yourself, Father would be proud. Then, he drops his head again, defeat in his posture. “...I yield.”

By the time he finishes his sentences, the garden doors burst open and more of your father’s nights enter the garden, brandishing their blades. They catch sight of the blonde knight, swords to your attacker’s neck, then settle their gaze on you, breathing heavily but not a hair out of place. “Arrest him,” one of the captains instructs, and another knight surges forward to deal with the attacker. “Secure the Princess. Alert the King immediately.”

The garden is a flurry of activity as the knights disperse. One group leaves as they drag away your attacker. Another group surrounds you as if forming a wall between you and any potential danger. Still, you can’t keep your eyes off of your savior, the blonde woman whose cheek is slightly smeared with blood. You’re not sure if it’s hers or his, but this isn’t a night you’re going to forget for a while – not because of the attempt on your life, but because of this knight’s bravery, her spur of the moment decision to put her life on the line for you, especially against an opponent with far more protection than her.

It’s nearly stupid. She’d behaved so recklessly, but it was her job. So why do you feel so drawn towards her?

Your father arrives with a security detail of his own. You’re not quite sure what you were expecting from him, but he gives you a cursory look over, nodding in approval when he sees that you’re okay, before he turns to his men. “Who allowed this to happen?” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to, but you think he’s scarier like this – the deadly sort of calm that only comes out when someone is truly pissed. “Who allowed a turncoat knight to nearly kill my daughter?”

His men are notably silent. Your father scoffs, shaking his head, and he turns on his heel, probably ready to storm out until he catches sight of the blonde knight, standing solemnly in the corner. “Who are you?”

Her voice doesn’t waver when she answers, not meeting your father’s eyes out of respect. “Sir Paige Bueckers, Your Majesty.”

He glances at her – armorless, then he glances at the rest of the knights gathered – uniformed. “Why are you here?”

Paige hesitates, looking up to meet your eyes, a silent plea for help. “She saved me, Father,” you answer for her, drawing your father’s attention back to you. She relaxes slightly, gratitude in her expression. “I noticed the knight following me wasn’t one of my usual handlers. So I ran out here to flee and found Sir Paige.” Your father looks at Paige again, studying her in a new light. His quiet contemplation could mean a lot of things. Then, surprising everyone, you say, “Father, I want her reassigned to my guard detail immediately.”

Your father considers this for a few moments longer, then he turns to the captain. “See to it,” he orders. The captain nods emphatically. And with that, your Father returns indoors, his security detail following. The rest of the knights follow until it’s just you and Paige, who stares at you with a mix of shock and curiosity.

You nod at her, softening. “Come. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

Paige, unsurprisingly, is not a woman of many words. You don’t expect her to initiate any sort of conversation with you given your status, but she does look at you – a lot – mostly when she thinks that you’re not aware of it. There is nothing inherently inappropriate about her gaze. You can tell she’s curious. You can also tell that she knows she has a duty to do. Her gaze flickers on and off you to scan the hallways for any sort of potential danger and her hand hovers over the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist as if someone would jump at you both from the shadows.

Functionally, she hasn’t said a single word to you since you met her, yet you battle the urge to get to know her. You know that would never be allowed – a royal fraternizing with a knight. It breaches every code of conduct and tradition that you’ve been raised to recite by memory. Despite your knowledge, there seems to be a pull between you and the knight, one that you’re finding harder and harder to resist as you watch her brows tent in concentration, her eyes studying everything about her surroundings as you lead her to the medic.

When the two of you reach the infirmary, she doesn’t say much else, either, only nodding or shaking her head when the physician asks questions like “Does it hurt when I do this?” or “Do you feel any pain here?” You do watch as her face screws up, discomfort in her features, when the physician pokes and prods at her knee.

She’s fortunate, according to the physician, that it is only bruised and she should expect to recover quickly. Taking an armored boot to the knee when you’re wearing only a thin tunic is usually grounds for a fracture or a broken bone. Paige takes the diagnosis in stride, her eyes trailing after the physician as she leaves the infirmary to fetch some herbs from the greenhouse, and shamelessly, your eyes find the knight again. She doesn’t glance at you, but you can tell that she’d like to, so you break the silence to say, “You don’t need to be so formal with me.”

Her throat bobs as she argues, “I do.” Then, as if you’d forgotten, she reminds you, “You’re the princess. Treating you otherwise would be disrespectful.”

You cock a wry smile. “And would disobeying my wishes not also be disrespectful, Sir Paige?”

She pauses, not expecting that one, and finally, she glances up to meet your eyes. Her eyes are startlingly blue, alert despite the exhaustion and the lingering pain of her battle, but they’re kind. They’re soft in a way you would never expect from a hardened knight. They’re gentle when they appraise you, studying your features, and her features relax as if she’s looking at you – truly looking at you – for the first time. “I suppose it would be, Princess,” she agrees. “I apologize.”

Your smile softens, too. “Considering you saved my life today, perhaps we can call it even?” you suggest, trying for a joking tone, and you find that it’s well-received when she chuckles. “Thank you for that, by the way. I would not be here without your courage.”

“I was just doing my duty,” she murmurs humbly. “My only wish is for you to not have had to witness that.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” you say reflexively.

Paige glances at you again, her eyes lingering on your face before a slow smile curls on her lips. “I’m beginning to see that.”

You know she doesn’t intend to say that in any sort of way, but the warmth of her gaze, the approval in her eyes, and her words alone are enough to make your cheeks flush. It’s wrong – that much you’re sure of. You haven’t known the knight for very long, but there’s something so magnetic about her, like you’ve met her before, like you know you’ll be safe with her. This conversation feels like one you’ve had before. That thought doesn’t alarm you as much as it should. Paige just feels right.

Then, she raises her hand, rubbing her face, and she doesn’t realize that she’s reopened the small cut beneath her eye. “Oh,” you say, not nothing much of it as you reach out for a piece of gauze, “you’re bleeding.” Motioning to the wound and ignorant to the way Paige’s breath hitches, you ask, “May I?” She nods and you step between her parted legs, hovering over her as you gingerly reach out with the cotton, fingers light and delicate against her skin, cleaning away the blood. You and Paige are inches apart by now, and the sudden closeness makes your hand tremble, especially when your eyes flick up to meet Paige’s. The expression on her face is almost awestruck, reverent in a way that makes you forget about how dangerous this is. You don’t realize that you’ve planted your free hand on her shoulder, holding onto her to keep her from moving, nor do you realize how her hands grip the edges of the table, knuckles white like she knows it would be wrong to touch you, but the way her breath stutters makes it so obvious that she’s desperate to regardless.

Sobering up, you lean back, red tinging your cheeks as Paige exhales deeply. The physician returns to the infirmary at that time, grinding together herbs in a mortar and pestle and muttering to herself absently. You and Paige exchange a glance, the heat of the previous moment softening as you both put some space between each other, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve stumbled across something that you shouldn’t have – the chemistry between you and the knight. You’ve always been curious and daring by nature; you know yourself well enough to know that you’ll track down that spark and see where it goes, even if it means sweeping the ashes under the rug after it ignites into something you can’t quite stop.

For now, you have to play it smarter. All eyes are on you as you prepare to take the throne from your father, and the last thing you want to do is jeopardize Paige and her future, even if you’ve already done so by assigning her to your personal guard.

Beneath the professionalism, the practiced stoicism that you see right through, you recognize that very same spark reflected in Paige’s eyes – the curiosity, the determination, the willingness to press the match to the kindling if you’d so much as asked. You know this is risky, that this energy between you and Paige is something that will splinter the foundations of the life you’ve grown so accustomed to.

And the worst part of it?

You wouldn’t even mind if it did.

Paige assimilates seamlessly into your routine. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the knight, who adjusts to her new position with a startling quickness and efficiency. Given the recent attack on your life, your father arranged to have her moved to a room only a door down from yours in the Royal Wing of the palace, believing that having her close would allow her to protect you better. She becomes your shadow of sorts, although you had to put your foot down early on in your new…partnership, and force her to walk side by side with you instead of the infuriating ten or so feet away.

“Being close to me would keep me safer, wouldn’t it?” you’d questioned her, by no means trying to be coy about it.

Paige had smiled softly like she knew, amusement and acceptance in her features as she agreed, “I suppose it would, Princess.”

She follows you everywhere – your royal meetings, your appointments with your tutors, to the dining room, and well, if she’s found in your bedroom, listening to you ramble about your latest project, then you’d say it’s for your own protection as much as it’s for the growing friendship between the two of you. When Paige isn’t worried about her professionalism, she talks. A lot. It doesn’t bother you at all. You’re content to listen to her stories, her experiences, her life, how every choice she made throughout the years led her here. Selfishly, you’d think that inadvertently, her choices had led her to you, although you don’t voice that thought at all.

She grew up in a small village a few hours away by horseback – Storrs. It isn’t well known for much except for the cold winters that the locals loathe. She’d recounted her childhood with a fond smile on her face, even the uncomfortable parts like the time she’d hurt her knee severely while sparring or when her parents had divorced. Divorce wasn’t as familiar to you, having been raised in the castle where your father remained with your mother until she passed, even though there wasn’t any love between them after your birth and their failure to conceive a male heir – although that’s a story for another day. When you voiced as such, wondering about the casualness in which she and her parents viewed their separation, she’d merely shrugged and said, “Sometimes people just don’t feel the same love that they did before. Why stick around to force something when your heart’s not in it?”

You’d felt as though that applied to a little more than relationships, considering how you didn’t want to be queen. As much as you trusted Paige, you didn’t think it was the time nor the place to drop that kind of confession on her.

While there’s no more attempts on your life, Paige sticks by you fiercely. If it were anyone else, you’d probably be pissed at the lack of independence, but there’s something about Paige’s company that you cherish, even if it’s just her standing watch at the door while your tutor teaches you philosophy. You like having her around. That thought should scare you much more than it does. For the first time in a really long time, it feels like you’re free. Growing up, you’d never had many friends. Everyone your age was always too aristocratic, too pompous, too entitled. You’d tried, but you could just never get along with them – it was always like you were on the outside looking in no matter what you did differently. With Paige, it feels like you’re shedding all of the past desires to fit in. She makes you feel as though you don’t have to fight your way inside just to be accepted. She makes you feel as though there’s always a place you’ll belong, even if it’s just with her.

So while there aren’t any more attempts on your life, that doesn’t mean your life gets easier. As you progress in your training and you begin to take up more royal duties, there is an increase in the number of suitors that make their way through the castle. Most of them have been arranged by your father, seeking to find a husband to rule next to you – or rather, someone for you to stand next to while they rule. They’re either princes of distant kingdoms, or the high-ranking sons of nobles. You hate all of them. They’re either too old, too stuck-up, too arrogant, or too…male. You’d longed for visions of long, blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes, the gentle way in which the knight spoke to you yet the fierce way she protected you. None of these men were her, and you could tell your father was becoming upset by how often you turned them away.

If you hated them, then you’re not quite sure what word to use to accurately portray the amount of disdain that Paige feels for them. You can see it in her expression alone, the white-hot hatred that burns in her eyes even as she speaks to you politely, calmly. You see it in the way she stands unyieldingly next to you, a hand poised over the hilt of her sword as if she was ready to dispose of whichever groveling idiot was trying to propose, if you wouldn’t deny them yourself. You see it in the way her entire demeanor shifts, the way she grows more confident when you’re alone and her hand curls around your waist and she dips her head down to your ear to whisper, “None of them deserve you. Not a single one of them.”

If Paige hadn’t already ruined you for anyone else, then you’re sure she ruins you completely after that.

At first, you think it’s just her commitment to duty. Paige’s entire job is to keep you safe, protected. If she feels as though these suitors would be too violent, too uncaring, too unfit for you, then you suppose she was well within her right as the princess’s protector to feel however she wanted to feel. Then, you think it’s just hate. She knows you almost as well as you know yourself, if not more. At this point, you’re both a little more than princess and knight. You’re friends who share a mutual duty to a kingdom. However, you realize all too late that it’s actually jealousy.

She stands behind you, her tall stature imposing and intimidating as she stares down the last suitor you had scheduled for today. He’s the prince from a kingdom down south. His name is Oscar and if you had to be honest, you got a bad feeling from him as soon as he strutted in, a black and red cape billowing behind him like he’s already king and has nothing to worry about. You’d even felt Paige stiffen behind you, but you promised your father you would at least talk to your suitors before rejecting them (and you were not keen on sitting through another lecture from him).

The interview goes terribly. You can feel Paige’s mood worsen the more Oscar speaks. He interrupts you countless times, talks over you, and when you do get to speak, he dismisses it like it’s trivial and continues rambling on about his success or his fortune or how well he could lead a kingdom. You knew the conversation was over as soon as he promised he wouldn’t take anymore than five mistresses and you had to stop Paige from jumping across the table and stabbing him entirely.

So, you politely tell him, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re what I’m looking for in a potential king. I have to look after my people.”

You see the shift in his expression before he even raises a hand. You just couldn’t react fast enough to block the swing.

But Paige does. She catches Oscar’s wrist in her hand, her grip so tight that the tips of his fingers were turning purple and he was choking on pain. Then, she slams his hand into the wooden table before you, the surface almost splintering from the force of it. You can hear a sickening crunch, but all you do is raise your brows as Paige leans over you, her gaze set firmly on Oscar. “We’re done here,” she murmurs, her voice low and threatening. “Raise a hand to the princess ever again and I’ll kill you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

You don’t hear what he says, too stunned to focus on anything but the vein that protrudes from Paige’s neck, the challenge laced in her tone, the way her response has left a warm feeling deep in your belly. He scurries out with a metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, the door slamming shut, and you and Paige are left alone in the conference chamber. Paige breathes heavily next to you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder in both consolation and apology, yet all you fixate on is the way your thoughts race.

Paige is saying something to you, but it sounds like you’re underwater. You push out your chair, standing as she rambles, and you turn on your heel to meet her eyes. There’s still a lingering fire in there although it dwindles the more she talks, concern and something else you can’t quite place taking precedence. Before you have the time to talk yourself out of it or remind yourself of how wrong this is, you curl your fists in the fabric of her tunic and you pull her down to your level.

She immediately freezes against you, the words caught in her throat releasing in the form of an indulgent groan as she finally registers that your lips are on hers. When she relaxes to kiss you back, the intensity is almost overwhelming, like the fire from earlier has returned. She grips your hips possessively, backing you into the table and lifting you onto it for better leverage, one hand dropping to hold your thigh and the other curling around the back of your neck. Paige leans forward, pressing against you like she couldn’t stand to leave any inch of space between you.

The kiss is hazy and it makes your mind spin in the best way possible. You sigh against her, welcoming the intrusion when her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and she holds onto you like she’s scared that you’ll disappear if she lets go. Paige kisses you like you’re hers, which you may as well be. You’re hers to protect, hers to hold – not the princes’, not the nobles’, not anyone else’s.

When you both break away from each other, chests heaving, her voice is rough, low, wrecked when she whispers again, “None of them deserve you.” Her eyes scan yours, her thumb brushing across your pulse point and her breath hitching like she can feel exactly what she’s doing to you. “Not you, the princess. And especially not you, the girl whose heart is as pure as it is kind. The girl who I…”

You swallow thickly, feeling the heat in your cheeks and fighting the urge to pull her back into you as she trails off. “And you do?” you murmur. “Deserve me?”

“I’d fight a hundred men and a hundred men more if it meant proving that to you,” she vows. You know her well enough by now that you don’t need her to prove anything more to you. She already has. Your heart is hers. “This isn’t just a duty to me,” she confesses a few beats later, her voice hardly above a whisper like she’s confessing a secret. “It’s real. What you are to me is real. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing will,” you say, confident and assured. “I’m safe with you.” Paige nods, her hands warm against your skin, and you press your temple to hers to admit, “For you, I’d run away and leave it all behind.”

You feel her freeze against you, surprise, mostly. She leans back to meet your eyes. “Princess, you don’t mean that,” she says quietly.

You nod vehemently, your fingers tightening in the fabric of her tunic. “I do, Paige, I swear it.” She softens, taking in the conviction in your tone. “I don’t want this – I don’t want to marry someone else. I don’t want to be the queen. I want you, a life of peace, where I don’t have to worry that someone will try to kill me or if I’m making a decision that will kill my people. I want peace.”

The silence lingers. There’s a realization in the wake of your declaration that in your position, you could never afford peace. Princesses don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. Knights don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. You know you’d give it up in a heartbeat if you could find the courage to. You study Paige’s features closely, waiting for her to speak. She swallows thickly before she does.

“Storrs,” she whispers, confusing you. “My village. We can go there – just say the word and I will take you, I swear it. I don’t owe anything to this kingdom. My loyalty is to you. We’ll be safe there, free, and you can do everything you’ve wanted – you can teach, you can explore–”

“Okay,” you agree.

Paige pauses. “What?” she asks, trying to keep the hope at bay.

“We’ll go to Storrs,” you repeat, a smile growing on your face.

“You mean it?” Paige murmurs, her voice cracking, and all you can truly do is cup her face in your hands, kissing her once more. This one is softer, the perfect seal to the promise you’ve just made to each other, and it feels more right than a crown on your head ever will. Her embrace makes you feel more secure than a legion of your father’s men ever could. You know in your heart that this is where you belong.

Happiness doesn’t last for too long. 

When you wake up the next morning, you can feel that something is off. Paige is usually already awake, standing guard at your door and waiting for you to come out for breakfast. Now, there’s an unusual silence that lingers and it makes you feel on edge.

Instead of Paige at your door, you find Carlotta, wearing an uncomfortable expression on her face. Dread wraps its fist around your heart, squeezing tight, and your chest hurts when you ask, “Carlotta, what’s going on?”

“Your father has requested your presence in the throne room immediately,” she says to you, her voice shaking. You swallow thickly, afraid of what waits for you. You cast an uneasy glance at the door to Paige’s room, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, but still feeling as though something is terribly wrong. Carlotta follows behind you as you walk through the winding corridors, anxiety coursing through your veins.

The scene awaiting you in the throne room is not one you could have ever prepared yourself for. Your father sits idly atop his throne, an almost nonchalant laziness in his body language. He’s surrounded by his usual guard detail. Your body burns with anger when you realize Oscar is standing right next to him, his hand wrapped in gauze and a splint, a malicious expression on his face. But what truly devastates you, what makes fear seize your heart entirely is Paige held firmly in the knight captain’s grasp, her hands and ankles shackled. She looks no worse for wear, only disheveled and her bun mussed from an evident fight, but her eyes burn bright with hatred and something that looks like failure.

“My daughter,” the King calls across the room. Everyone directs their attention to you, but you’re not prepared for the amount of grief and shock on Paige’s, like she wasn’t expecting you to see her like this. “Come – we have much to discuss.”

There it is again. That same steely calm from the night in the gardens. Your father isn’t the kind of man to yell – people with power and trained men at their disposal have no need to raise their voices – which is why his demeanor in this situation makes you fearful. Not for yourself, but for Paige.

“I’m not a man who shies away from admitting when he’s wrong,” your father continues when you step closer. “Accountability makes for strong leaders. I’ve always told you that, haven’t I?” You scan his features, your gaze giving nothing away. He’s not looking for a response. “It seems I’ve made a mistake in knighting an individual. Where she goes, trouble follows, such as the night in the garden. And now, with the suitors.” Your father cocks his head, looking perplexed. “Prince Oscar has suffered several broken bones and a fractured wrist due to…your knight being unable to control her anger. Alas, it has come to my attention that she has also filled your head with lies, deceit, and empty promises.”

He stands, his sea of guards parting for him as he makes his way towards you, towards Paige. “If she wants to run away, so be it. If this turncoat knight no longer wants to give back to the kingdom that has made her, that has given her the life she has now, then so be it. What I will not allow is for her to manipulate my daughter – the Princess – into leaving with her.

“So,” he muses, ushering Prince Oscar forward, who gazes at you like he’s won. “We are here to make an example. The monarchy will not be mocked. My daughter, tomorrow at sunset, you will be wed to Prince Oscar. He will be your king and you will inherit the throne. And your knight –” he spits the word like it’s venom, clear distaste evident in his features, “–will be executed at nightfall for treason against the crown.”

Your ears are still ringing.

Your father’s revelation left you numb, reeling. You watched as his men dragged Paige out of the room, her eyes locked on yours in surprise, disbelief, and ever-present grief. Your father had more to say to you, but you weren’t listening. Being forced to marry Oscar of all suitors was at the back of your mind. All you could think about for hours on end was your knight will be executed at nightfall. The word executed circulated through your mind on repeat along with images of Paige’s eyes, betrayed and disappointed all at one.

This wasn’t the plan. You and Paige were supposed to run away. You were supposed to leave kingdom life behind and go to Storrs together. You were supposed to live a life of peace in a small village where the crown couldn’t possibly find you. You’re not supposed to marry Oscar, or watch the love of your life be executed. This was all so horribly wrong.

You’re confined to your room for the entire day, your father feeling as though you would find a way to escape or look for Paige. He knows you better than you’d expected. With nothing but time on your hands, you wait. You cry. You scream and you break the mirror in your room because when you look at it, all you can see is the way Paige had stood behind you as you asked for her opinion on your dress and her jaw had gone slack before she whispered, “I think you’re the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen.” You spiral, because you were so close to making it out but your father and Oscar have derailed your plan.

At nightfall, 24 hours away from Paige’s scheduled execution, Carlotta knocks at your door. She lets herself in when you don’t respond. You hardly look up, even when she takes a seat on the foot of your bed. She’s silent for a few moments before she says, “I’m sorry, Princess.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound scraping against your throat. “It’s not your fault, Carlotta.” Even if it was, you don’t want to think about it. This woman has raised you since you were a baby. You weren’t sure if you could ever handle that heartbreak.

“It’s not,” she agrees softly. She clears her throat. You can almost feel her hesitation. “I was next to your mother when she passed on,” she admits. That confession makes your heart skip a beat. “I held her hand as she was taking her final breaths. I’d loved her, you know. Your father never knew. He didn’t care to. But when I watched my life’s greatest love die, it was a pain unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. I thought a part of me died that day. Your mother, however, entrusted me with something special to her – a part of her. She made me promise to take care of her daughter – the Princess – and to this day, you are the most important person to me.”

“Carlotta,” you murmur, tears pooling in your eyes and your voice cracking. “What are you saying?”

“You love her,” she says, like it’s more fact than fiction, like it’s something as obvious as the sky is blue or the grass is green. “Sir Paige. She is your life’s greatest love. I couldn’t save my love. But there is still hope for yours.” She stands, drawing your attention as you feel her move. There is a folded piece of parchment in her hand. Carlotta presses it into your hands. “Read this, and do not lose your faith, Princess.”

Carlotta leaves before you can say – before you can ask anything else of her. Your mind spins as you look down at the paper in your hands, at Paige’s familiar, sloped handwriting. Fingers trembling, you unfold it, and you begin to read.

Princess,

I did not think I would get to speak with you after they dragged me out of the throne room in handcuffs, so you will have to forgive me if this letter is incoherent. It is difficult for me to wrap my head around the idea – the fact, rather, that I will be dying at nightfall tomorrow.

Being a knight, I had always known that my death would be imminent. My profession is not safe. My duty is to put my life on the line for the kingdom, for the king and the princess. I knew of that long before I picked up my sword for the first time. I had always imagined that it would be in combat – perhaps I would be fighting those hundred men and the hundred men more that I had spoken of. Perhaps I would be the lucky one and die of age after living a life of valor, dedication, and virtue. Execution had never crossed my mind.

If there is one part of my life that I could pick out and say is the greatest moment of it, I would say that meeting you is it. Not being knighted for the first time or my father teaching me how to wield a blade. It was you. It is always going to be you. You are my purpose, my reason for fighting. You have made my life worth it, even if we were only a short time.

I want you to know a few things. First, this is not your fault. If I knew the outcome from the very beginning, I would choose you everytime without question. A moment with you is worth an eternity wherever my soul takes me next. Second, do not give up. You are kind, courageous, brilliant – I know you will think of something. Third, I miss you. I have only been apart from you for a few hours, but I miss you; if I knew of a way to make you miss me the way that I do, I would never dare to make use of it for you are undeserving of such an all-consuming ache. The fourth is that I love you. I planned on telling you once we made it to Storrs, after I had introduced you to my family. You deserve to know.

You are my greatest love, Princess. In this life and the next I will never give up on searching for you.

Eternally,

–P

By midafternoon the day of your wedding and Paige’s execution, you can tell that something has shifted once more. The palace is eerily silent. Again. It almost makes you worry, but after considering that your life couldn’t get any worse, you decide that the silence is a problem for you in the future. For all intents and purposes, you’re still essentially trapped in your room, and you spent the better part of the night and the entire day leading up to this moment rereading Paige’s letter to you. It didn’t make you feel any better about the situation, but you try to remember Carlotta’s words to you. They give you strength when you feel like all else is failing.

The minutes tick by until you hear tapping on the glass door leading to your balcony. Believing it may only be a bird, you think nothing of it until the tapping persists, louder this time. The glass is textured, so you can’t see out of it, but you reach for the first sharp object you can find – in this case, it’s one of your heels – and you creep towards the door, pushing it open with caution.

You freeze immediately. The heel slips out of your grasp and Paige is standing before you, her tunic rumpled and exhaustion in her eyes, but she doesn’t look hurt, and that’s all you can truly be thankful for. “I was beginning to think you weren’t home,” she murmurs, a coy smile on her face that is not befitting of the moment, and you could sob as you throw your arms around her neck. She wraps her arms around your waist, lifting you off of your feet. Paige buries her face in your neck, breathing you in and sighing in relief – you’re both okay. You don’t know what to say, stammering through words that don’t make any sense, but Paige squeezes you a little tighter, shushing you.

After a moment, she places you back down on the ground, drinking you in like she can’t believe this is real. Then, she smiles softly. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she says quietly. “Carlotta is waiting for us at the stables. Get your bag and whatever else you need. She’ll take us to Storrs.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, all you can do is nod, wiping your eyes as you retrieve the bag you’d packed after you and Paige agreed to leave. You make sure to slip into a pair of more comfortable shoes and you don’t forget to grab her letter stashed under your pillow. When you’re ready, she guides you down the wall of the palace and into the garden below, creeping through the bushes until you reach the stables. You hug Carlotta so tightly that she groans, laughing, and together, you, Paige, and Carlotta make the journey on horseback to her village.

Her village welcomes you and Carlotta in – they’re definitely a little shocked, but they’re happier to have Paige back and safe. She introduces you to her family, her mom, her dad, her step-parents, her brother and her step-siblings and they all treat you like one of their own, a blended family that’s no less full of love. They own a small little shop, one that dabbles in selling antiquities and artifacts from ages ago. You can see yourself splitting time between working there and teaching the village children, but most importantly, you can see yourself free, in love, and happier than you ever would have been in the castle. It will surely be a national emergency when the King realizes that the princess, the knight, and the chambermaid have all escaped, but you think that’s a problem for someone else.

For the record, Paige does tell you she loves you – in person, not through a letter – that night after you’ve been fully introduced to everyone and her mothers worked together to make a hearty dinner for you and Carlotta. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of having – a love that’s wholly yours, a life to share with someone who cherishes you, and the freedom to live the life you’ve always wanted. You were always destined to find this – destined to find Paige, to love her, to give her your heart completely; the two of you have always been connected by that red string of fate and wherever your souls take you next, you know you’ll find her there, waiting for you.

2025

The memory fades and you and Paige blink in tandem, your hands still resting over the book as you look at each other. Almost no time has passed, although the both of you look like you’ve lived a whole new life entirely, which you may as well have. Paige breaks the silence to mutter, “I was a knight in a past life and in this one, I have to do homework?” Her disbelief makes you laugh, all of the tension dissolving as she joins in with you.

“Says you,” you retort. “I was a princess.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You ain’t never letting that one go.”

“Nope!” you chirp happily. Paige rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the smile off of her face as she closes the book gently. You intertwine your fingers with hers, giving her a squeeze. “Hey, you okay?” you ask.

Paige nods, her smile widening. She leans in to kiss you softly, which makes you grin against her. “Never better,” she assures you. “I was right, though.” You hum, gazing up at her, and she reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “You are my greatest love.”

IT'S HALLOWEEN, and Paige is drunk.

Not, like, dangerously drunk. Not falling-over, can't-walk-straight, gotta-call-it-a-night drunk. Just loose, warm in the face, her arm slung a little too comfortably around your shoulder drunk. She's been sipping on some concoction Amari made her and stealing swigs from the Tito's bottle that Nika has been quite literally just carrying around all night, and it's hitting her good now—the alcohol, the music, the thick haze of sweat and cheap perfume and way too many bodies crammed into the old frat house.

The place is packed, crammed in a way where everyone's essentially elbow-to-elbow, breathing down each other's necks. There's a fog machine running full blast in the living room, string lights flickering white and orange overhead, and the frat president of Phi Delt has been standing on the kitchen table, pouring people shots all night.

Somewhere in the middle of it all is her and you. You're both dressed up as Subway Surfers, wearing jeans and beanies. Paige is in an oversized denim jacket, you're in a cropped white tank. You've each got fake spray paint bottles tucked into your waistbands, and Paige has been pretending to spray people with hers since she got here.

You look so good tonight that Paige has been struggling—but has managed to (mostly)—keep her hands to herself for hours. Which is impressive, even for her.

But now, she leans into you, pressing her face into the side of your neck, mouth hovering close to your ear. "You're so hot, dude," she mumbles. "Makin' me feel insane."

You laugh, squinting at her, nose scrunched up from the smoke machine blowing directly in your face. "You're so drunk."

Paige nods. "I’m right."

You roll your eyes, but she feels your fingers slip around her waist all the same, anchoring her a little closer. She can feel the curve of your hip against hers, your breath warm on her jaw.

Around you, the rest of the team is scattered across the house. Ice is dressed like Catwoman, full black bodysuit and all, but with white Nike dunks instead of heels. Azzi's a unicorn, wearing a headband with a horn and a rainbow skirt. Predictably, Ash is a cowgirl, sporting a hat, boots, and a flannel. KK's in a football uniform and Paige keeps seeing her chest bump people in the hallway. Nika said she wasn't dressing up and then showed up in Harry Potter robes and a stick she found on the sidewalk as a wand.

Paige loses you pretty quickly. One minute, you're pressed up against her side, laughing at something Nika said about a guy in a banana costume, and the next, Aaliyah and Aubrey are dragging Paige by the hand toward the dining room table where someone set up beer pong.

"Come on, Subway Surfer," Lili teases, tugging her through the crowd. "You owe me after bailing last time."

"I ain’t bail," Paige argues, but her words are mushy and dumb around the edges. She's definitely way drunker than she thought. "You started without me."

Aubrey grins, tossing her a ping pong ball. "No excuses now."

So, she plays. And loses—badly. Because she can barely focus on the cups and because Aubrey's good at everything and also because, if she's honest, Paige kind of forgets the rules halfway through and just starts downing whatever cup is the closest.

Somewhere in the middle of her third round, she glances around and realizes you're gone. Not gone gone, like vanished or anything, but definitely not in the room. Not sipping in the corner anymore. Not perched on the couch with KK or Ice like you were earlier. Not in her immediate orbit, which suddenly feels very wrong.

She blinks, frowns. "Where'd she go?" she mumbles, mostly to herself.

"Bathroom?" Aaliyah offers, setting up another rack of cups.

But Paige is already distracted. Already scanning the room again, brain fuzzy and slow and a little too warm. She feels like she needs water. Or food. Or just her arms around you.

And then—finally—she sees you.

You're coming in from the backyard, cheeks flushed pink and hair mussed from the breeze, trailed closely by Nika who's holding up her pen proudly. The two of you are giggling about something, bumping shoulders, and Paige watches you for a second—the way your mouth curls around a grin, the way you stumble slightly and catch yourself with a hand on the wall—and her chest does this stupid little flutter.

When you spot her, the two of you making eye contact, you beeline straight across the room with a smile that could probably make Paige drop dead if she wasn't already weak in the knees from the five cups of beer she just chugged.

You press yourself into her side like you did earlier, and whisper in her ear through a giggle, "’M so crossed."

Nika sidles up behind you, holding her pen toward Paige. "I think she hit this one too many times," she says proudly, snorting a little.

"I was peer pressured," you say, completely unserious, lips still curved and eyes all glassy. "By a Croatian."

Paige stares at you, unable to stop herself. Your pupils are blown, you smell like weed and your perfume, and your cheek is resting against her shoulder in a way that makes her stomach flutter and roll no matter that you've done it a million times before tonight.

"Shit," she breathes, not even trying to hold back her grin. She slips an arm around your waist, palm flat against the curve of your hip. "You're gon' be done soon."

You nod, unbothered. "I know. But it's okay."

"She also just told me she wants Taco Bell," Nika says with a shrug. "So, good luck with that."

You snort into Paige's neck. "I do want Taco Bell."

Paige lets her head fall back for a second, laughing. She's sweating a little, maybe. Or just flushed. Either way, she pulls you into her tighter and your hand goes to her chest, playing with the edge of her jacket drawstring. Nika mutters something about leaving you two alone before she dies of a contact high, and Paige flips her off halfheartedly as she walks away.

You've been quiet for a moment, just staring stupidly up at Paige like she's some sort of elaborate piece of art. She cups your face loosely with her free hand, thumb brushing your jaw. "You're so high."

"You're so drunk," you respond, laughing a little. The thought of alcohol must spark something in you, because then you perk up, asking excitedly, "Can we take a shot?"

Paige is swaying a little, her head spinning in that slow, dizzy way that makes it hard to tell if she's floating or just leaning into you too hard. And yet, even knowing she probably doesn't need another, her smile widens at the idea of more alcohol and she nods, pulling you towards the table with the drinks.

It's tequila that Paige finds, and she pours just enough into two solo cups, handing one to you. You laugh as you tap the rim of your cup against hers. "Cheers, Subway Surfer."

"Cheers, baby."

You both throw it back, and Paige makes a face like she's just been punched in the throat. The tequila burns all the way down, leaving her eyes watering, but you're already giggling again and pressing your cold fingers against her cheeks like you're trying to stable yourself.

And as Paige watches you do so, brain fizzling out a little, she blurts, "Let's go upstairs and make out."

You blink at her, slow and spacey, like your brain is also buffering—and then your face splits into a wide grin. "Okay," you say immediately, not even pretending to hesitate.

You're already grabbing her hand again, dragging her out of the kitchen, both of you stumbling and laughing like kids skipping class. You nearly run into a guy dressed up as a cowboy in the hallway, and Paige has to use her free hand to brace against the wall just to keep you both upright.

It takes a minute to find a room that isn't occupied—the first one's locked, the second one has a group of girls sitting crisscross on the floor clearly in some sort of debrief, and the third one... yeah, Paige doesn't even want to think about what she saw in there. But the fourth bedroom is empty. It’s mostly dark except for a string of LED lights casting a red glow across the walls. The bed's made, the door shuts with a soft click, and suddenly everything feels a lot quieter.

Paige leans back against the closed door, blinking hard, trying to find her balance.

You're standing in front of her now, still grinning, still flushed and gorgeous and wild-eyed. One of the straps of your white tank is hanging off your shoulder, and your jeans lay low on your waist, and Paige just... stares for a second.

"You're so pretty," she says, like it just slips out.

You hum, pleased. "I know."

And then you're kissing her—hot and eager and messy, arms looped around her neck, your body all soft curves pressed up against hers. Paige melts into it instantly, grabbing at your waist and backing you into the edge of the bed. She's dizzy in the best way, drunk off the alcohol and you, and all she wants is to feel your mouth against hers for the rest of the night.

You tug her down with you when you flop onto the mattress, laughing against her lips as her knee slots between yours.

"You're so warm," you mumble, hands sliding beneath her shirt to press flat against the muscles of her abs.

Paige groans a little, dragging her mouth to your jaw. "You're so crossed."

"Mhm," you respond.

Paige doesn't respond, too busy sucking a soft bruise into your neck, just beneath your jaw. You tug at the hem of her jacket like you want more of her, all of her, now.

The room spins a little when she pulls back to take it off, and she has to laugh at herself to keep from falling over. "Jesus," she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut for a second.

When she opens them back up, you're still beneath her, eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown, your lips slightly swollen from the way she's been kissing you. Paige feels it everywhere—that slow, warm buzz that starts in her stomach and spreads out through every nerve ending. She's drunk, sure, but it's not just the tequila or the shots that she probably shouldn't have taken. It's you, too, looking like that, beneath her like that, staring up at her like that.

Your hands are gripping at the wife beater tank she's been wearing beneath the jacket, clumsy but firm, pulling her back in close. Paige grins, head dipped, forehead pressed lightly against yours, her breath warm against your cheek as she asks, "Can we fuck?"

"Yes," you breathe immediately, like it's the easiest answer in the world. You tug her back in, mouth finding hers again, messy and fast and all teeth and tongue.

Paige's grin widens into the kiss, because she can't help it—because she's stupid happy and stupid drunk and stupid turned on and your legs are already hooking around her waist and she just wants you so, so bad.

"God," she murmurs against your mouth, "you're so—"

She doesn't finish. She doesn't even really know what she was gonna say. You're so perfect? You're so hot? You're so mine?

All of them, probably. But the words blur together in her head, and she's too busy kissing you again to get them out anyway. Her hands slip under your tank, fingertips skating across your stomach, and she feels you twitch, shiver a little at the touch.

"Wait," she says, blinking hard. She pulls back just an inch, just enough to see your face better in the red LED light. You’re drunk, and she needs to know.

You blink up at her, all flushed cheeks and bedroom eyes. "What?"

"I just—" She grins again, that gummy one she's got. "You're sure?"

You nod, smiling up at her, though looking slightly impatient. "Paige," you say in amusement.

"Okay," she replies, practically breathless now. "Okay."

And then you're kissing again, a little slower this time, deeper, and Paige forgets all about whatever music is thumping through the floor below, forgets all about where you both are, who might be downstairs, what time it is.

The makeout lasts a while, getting heavier and messier as it keeps going. Paige knows she's sloppy when she's drunk, but you are too, and that kind of makes it perfect. Her hat—part of the whole dumb Subway Surfers thing—got tossed who knows where a few minutes ago. Your beanie is halfway off your head. The spray paint cans that was clipped to your jeans are somewhere on the floor. One of them rolled under the bed and clanged against something, and you both paused for a split second, and then immediately went back to kissing.

You're squirming under her, and Paige feels your fingers dragging up under the back of her tank, and her hips automatically press down, grinding into you. Her breath catches in her throat, and she holds back a groan in the back of her throat. Your grip on her tightens, and she keeps rolling her hips into you, slow and lazy, gasping into your mouth. And then, somewhere in the middle of that, her drunk brain stutters.

Wait.

You're both still fully clothed.

Like... jeans, tops, shoes. So many layers. Why?

Paige pulls back just slightly, looking down between your bodies like it's some big revelation. Her forehead scrunches, confused and dramatic. "Bro," she mutters, dragging her hands up your sides. "Why do we have so many clothes on right now?"

You're breathing heavy, too, lips kiss-bitten and eyes lazy, and you kind of laugh against her. "I don't know," you mumble. "You tell me."

Paige just stares at you for a second, like she's trying to solve a very serious puzzle. Then, she nods, like it all suddenly makes sense.

"That's dumb," she declares, fumbling at your jeans with drunk hands. "That's so dumb."

You laugh again, trying to help her out because she's terrible at buttons when she's sober, let alone several shots of tequila deep. "You're kinda dumb, too."

"I'm serious," Paige says, still messing with your waistband like it personally offended her. "I'm—this is, like—clothes are wrong."

You snort. "Right."

"No, listen," she continues, letting out a half-drunken huff as she finally gets your jeans unbuttoned and starts tugging them down, clumsily but determined. "I just—I don't understand why I'm grindin’ on, like, your zipper when I could be—"

"Paige," you say, half laughing, half gasping as she manages to get your jeans halfway down your thighs.

"What?"

You grin. "I love you, but you gotta stop talking. You're not very good at multitasking right now."

"Rude," Paige mutters, nose scrunching. "I'm tryin' so hard."

"I know," you whisper, hands at the back of her neck tugging her back down. "It's cute."

She smirks against your mouth as she kisses you again, hands still moving. She finally fully gets your jeans off, tossing them to the side with far too much force—they land on a lamp and knock it over with a loud clunk. You both freeze for a moment. Paige blinks.

"That wasn't me."

"That was definitely you."

"Nope," Paige says, leaning back over you, clearly done caring. "Ghost did it."

You're giggling again, arms back around her neck, and she smiles as she kisses you, now with your bare legs wrapped around her waist. It's easier like this—better, closer. Her hands settle at your hips as she rocks down again, sighing against your mouth.

"See," she mumbles, voice low now, "way better without clothes."

You hum, eyes fluttering shut. "You're still wearing pants," you inform her.

Paige doesn't bother with that, too busy kissing you greedily once more, tongue deep in your mouth, one of her hands already sliding between your legs. She palms you first through your panties, just pressing there a second, testing the heat and the way your hips lift into her. You're already warm, already kind of wet, and that makes Paige's stomach flip. You whine into her mouth, and the blonde swears she could live in that sound.

"Fuck," she breathes out, breaking the kiss just enough to look down. Her hand keeps moving, rubbing slow little circles over the damp spot growing beneath her fingers. "You're already like this?"

"You've been on top of me for, like, ten minutes," you remind her.

"Oh, right," Paige says. "My bad."

She grins down at you, biting her lip. Her eyes are glassy and her cheeks are hot, and everything’s very hazy. You’re all she really sees. You, spread under her in this random bedroom at some packed Halloween party, lights from the hallway still peeking in under the door, faint bass thumping somewhere below your feet. But it’s all so far away. This—your hands on her waist, your chest rising and falling, your thighs tight around her—is all that matters.

And God, you’re so pretty. Your hair’s a mess and your lipstick’s completely gone and you’re looking at her like you’d let her do anything right now. It makes her dizzy.

She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, tugging slowly.

"Yeah?" she murmurs a little hoarsely, her nose brushing yours. "Can I take these off?"

You nod, eyes wide, breath catching. "Please."

And maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's how turned on she is, or maybe it's just the way you say please, but Paige has never moved quicker. She shimmies your underwear down your legs in a clumsy rush, grinning when you giggle at her drunken focus.

She tosses the panties to the side and leans back over you, planting a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, then your mouth again. Her hand slips back between your legs, and the second her fingers slide through you, her whole body tenses.

"Fuck, mama," she mumbles, mouth still against your cheek. "You're so wet."

You let out a little noise, something between a hum and a muffled moan, grabbing at her shoulders, nails digging in a little.

Paige is definitely drunk. Definitely too gone to be doing this as skilled and purposeful as she usually does—but that doesn't stop her from trying. She kisses you once more, deep and slow, while her fingers start working you open eagerly, not at all trying to tease. No, tonight, she just wants to make you feel good.

Her mouth never stops moving. It’s either kissing you or mumbling into your skin. “You’re so pretty like this,” she says. “So good for me. I swear, you always are.”

And, okay, let this be known: when Paige is drunk, she's a lot of things—clingy, giggly, overly confident, always talking with her hands, always saying exactly what's on her mind without thinking it through. But above all, she's messy. Emotionally, physically, romantically. Just... messy in the way she touches and wants and moves.

Right now's no different.

Her fingers are pumping in and out of you, rhythm not totally smooth, but urgent and hungry and warm—and it doesn't even matter that it's not perfect because the way you're responding to her is more than enough. You're just as gone as she is, mouth falling open with every sharp inhale, hips grinding to meet each thrust, like your body is chasing Paige's touch without needing instructions.

It makes something coil in her gut, this tight hot thing that burns through the haze of alcohol.

"Holy shit," she murmurs, breathless, her vocabulary small at this point. "You feel so good. Like... fuck."

You whimper, thighs twitching around her hand, and Paige swears she could die happy hearing that sound again. The bass from the party downstairs is still faint in the background, but Paige can hardly even hear it behind the sound of your breathing and her fingers working you open.

You whisper her name like it's the only word you remember. "Paige—"

She groans, soft and right into your ear. "Say it again."

"Paige," you breathe, voice breaking around it.

"Fuckin'—love you," she grits out behind another harsh thrust of her wrist. She leans back in, kissing you sloppily, lazily, while her fingers curl again, and this time, the reaction you give her is instant: back arching, eyes fluttering, mouth falling open on a gasp.

"There," she mumbles. "Tha's it, right?"

You nod, biting your lip, and she keeps going—keeps curling her fingers just like that, over and over again, while her thumb starts circling over your clit quickly. Her hand is drenched from you, a white ring started to form around her fingers, the squelching sounds obscene.

"Gonna cum for me?" she asks, all sweet and a little cocky even though she's barely holding herself up.

You nod again, eyes squeezed shut, and Paige watches every second of it like it’s the most important thing she’s ever seen. The way your body trembles, the way your lips part and your breath hitches and your hips buck up against her hand like you can’t help it.

And then you do—right there, falling apart underneath her, your voice breaking, back arching, fingers fisting the front of her hoodie.

It’s honestly one of the hottest things Paige has ever seen.

She slows her hand down, keeps it there, not pulling out until your body softens and your thighs relax around her wrist. You're gasping, blinking up at her with this dazed little smile that makes her heart do a somersault and her cunt pulse.

She pulls her fingers out, watching your slickness slide down her hand as she does so. It's instantaneous—the want that pulses deep inside her.

"Fuck, I gotta feel you," she mumbles, and the words fall out low and desperate, like she doens't even realize she's saying them until they're out there.

You nod, wide-eyed and breathless, already reaching to tug at her waistband like you were two seconds ahead of her. The second her jeans and boxers are off—kind of a disaster, honestly, because she almost trips trying to get them off one foot and you're giggling as you yank them the rest of the way—Paige climbs right back on top of you like she's been waiting hours and not seconds. Her hands settle on either side of your head, your legs open instinctively for her, and then she's grinding down against your cunt.

"Shit," she gasps the second her hips roll forward.

Because it's so good. The way your pussies slide against each other, hot and slippery and messy, but perfect in that blurry, overstimulated, drunk kind of way. You both moan at the same time and it's like the sound just echoes in Paige's chest.

She buries her face in your neck and lets herself get lost in the pace. Back and forth, up and down. No real pattern, just feeling wet folds along wet folds. The heat of your thighs around her. Your slick mixing with hers. Your hands digging into her back. Your hips rising to meet her every movement.

"Holy fuck," she whines, not even sure if she's talking to you or herself. "You feel so good. You feel so—God, 'M not gonna last, I swear."

Your hands curl around her waist, fingers digging into the indents of her lower back, and your hips stutter up into hers like you're trying to match her rhythm and just barely missing it.

Paige helps, one of her hands reaching to hold your hip down. She kisses you again, sloppy and open-mouthed, pulling away only to mumble, "You're so perfect, mama. So fuckin' perfect."

"P, so good," you gasp before her lips press back down onto yours.

Paige grinds down harder, every brush of your pussy against hers feeling like fucking fireworks. It's probably the inebriation, but her every nerve feels like it's lighting up. Her whole body is buzzing with it.

You whimper underneath her and tilt your hips just right and Paige gasps because that's it. The fucking spot.

You're both panting now, the tension ratcheting up fast and sharp between you. Her stomach tightens. Her thighs are starting to tremble, aching. The whole room feels like it's spinning but you are solid underneath her, something to hold onto.

"Jesus," she breaths, almost delirious with it. "I'm close. I'm—shit, baby, I'm so—fuck."

Your nails dig into her back. You're close too, she can feel it. The way your body arches, the way your breath catches, the way your pussy pulses against hers, the way you keep chasing every touch like your whole body is begging her not to stop.

"Cum with me," Paige whispers, and it sounds like begging. "Please, baby. Want you to cum with me."

And you do.

You both do, tangled up and shaking and moaning into each other's mouths, slick sliding down your thighs. Paige buries her face in your neck and groans as her orgasm hits her like a truck. Her whole body clenches up and her breath stutters out in short little huffs as she rides it out, grinding down once more before collapsing fully on top of you.

Paige listens to your heartbeat, racing under her cheek, and her eyes flutter shut.

You, however, shift slightly beneath her. Your hand finds her hair and you let out a long sigh, voice slightly slurred as you say, "Bro, we just fucked in a random frat boy's bed."

it was wednesday evening. 

wednesday evenings always meant paige. it was the one night a week–other than saturday, of course–where neither of you had morning practice the next morning and you had no classes the next day. which meant you could hang out with her as late as you wanted, and still be able to get enough rest before thursday afternoon practice. she, unfortunately, still had class, but it was just one that didn’t start until ten, so it didn’t feel as debilitating if you stayed later. 

it was routine–one that you had developed at the beginning of the semester. 

paige was sitting on the floor, back resting against the front of her bed with her playstation controller in her hands. her knees were bent with her feet planted on the floor, making her spine round toward the bottom in a way the felt more relieving than it probably should’ve given that it was technically considered poor posture. her eyes were fixed on the screen, tuned into her game of fortnite, but she was also managing to give some of her brain power to you. 

you were lying on your stomach on her bed facing her tv, chin rested in your palm as your thumb swiped back and forth on the screen. you had tinder pulled up to sort through the small pool of men that seemed to be available in storrs, connecticut. there were more left swipes than right, and you were admittedly growing more and more frustrated.

you found yourself doing this a lot lately: getting frustrated by your options. the ones you had already tested in your four years as a university of connecticut student all seemed to be the same–unable to please you. you couldn’t really figure out why, because you had so many friends that had men in their lives willing to give them an orgasm, but you just couldn’t get lucky enough to get the same treatment.

maybe it was because you weren’t committed to them, but you were much, much too busy to find time for a relationship to find that out. and besides, did you really want to start something with someone new now? as a senior in college? it seemed ridiculous when you had limited time left as a husky. 

you audibly groaned, throwing your phone down on the bed, “god, why is it so hard to find one guy that isn’t hard to look at?”

“i dunno. aren’t they all kinda hard to look at?” paige mumbled, not even trying to hide her disinterest in talking about men. 

you blew a sharp laugh out of your nose, “i mean, yeah, kinda.” 

your eyes fixed on her ceiling, thoughts swirling quickly in all kinds of directions. honestly, it was getting difficult to think clearly with how backed up you were. you weren’t even sure when the last time you had an orgasm that wasn’t by your own fingers–or realistically, if you ever actually had one because of someone else. 

paige, on the other hand, didn’t have these problems. she had no issues finding a girl–of course, she didn’t, she was paige bueckers. you knew how many girls thirsted over her, how many would do unspeakable things for the chance at getting in her pants. you’d seen the edits, the ones that were anything but cordial. you saw her dms, too. so you supposed that she wasn’t a great example of the dating pool for the normal people out there, because she could have whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and not have to ask twice.

though, you’d have to admit, you’d never really seen her take advantage of that. her mind always seemed to be set on basketball, and there was nothing pulling her focus from that no matter how hard it tugged.

if you were in her position, you knew you’d have a bad reputation. you’d be answering all of those dms, and too many girls would know what the inside of your apartment looked like. well, it would be guys in your dms, you suppose–but the technicalities didn’t matter. you just knew that you would never masturbate because if you were horny, you’d just open instagram. and if the one you fucked didn’t satisfy you, you’d just find a new one right there.

“how are you not a whore?” you suddenly blurted out without thinking. the provocative, invasive question didn’t really matter, though, not with paige. so you didn’t need to be embarrassed.

“uh, what?” she laughed, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“i mean, you got all these bitches in your phone,” you said it like it was obvious (well, it was), staring at the back of her head like you were about to burn holes into it. 

her freshly highlighted blonde hair was pulled into a low bun on the back of her head, tied together effortlessly messy like she had been messing with it in the mirror for hours to get it just right, but you knew her. she just threw it up without even looking or fixing it. that was one thing about paige–she didn’t even have to try to look good. 

“so?” 

“so,” you started, dragging out the ‘o’. “you have all these hot girls begging for your attention, but you never fuck any of them. like, what do you do when you’re horny?”

she sighed lightly, pressing the pause button on her game and setting her controller to the side so she could give you her full attention. she had to admit, the explicitness of your words was pulling her concentration into a mental image she shouldn’t be venturing into rather than the game. her body turned on the carpet, blue eyes meeting yours immediately. 

“i’on do anything,” she answered honestly. 

it wasn’t hard for you to guess that, though, because you honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had even mentioned anything about hooking up with a girl. it had to have been over a year ago, you think, but you could be misremembering. 

“you never just need an orgasm?” you asked in pure disbelief. “or too like, fuck a hot girl?”

“no,” her reply came quickly, yet even she could tell it wasn’t entirely convincing. but you decided to not point that out for her sake–to see how long she would insist that she didn’t.

because how was she supposed to admit that she didn’t want to fuck all those girls. that even if she did, she would just be picturing you the entire time, imagining you were the one giving her the orgasm she craved. 

she couldn’t, because you were her best friend. her straight best friend, who had never even hinted that you might be even a little attracted to girls in general, let alone her.

“when was the last time you had sex?” you asked with genuine curiosity. she just shrugged casually instead of offering a verbal response. “come on, you don’t remember? you don’t think about it?”

“i mean,” paige started, her eyes glancing up toward the ceiling for a moment like she was debating on the words she wanted to say, if she wanted to be truthful, “yeah, i do, but i don’t wanna fuckrandom people that i’on even know.”

you chewed your bottom lip, a lightbulb suddenly brightening in your mind and blinding your inhibitions. your eyes raked over her face, pausing on her pink lips that were caught between her front teeth from nervousness. you couldn’t imagine why this conversation would make her nervous, though. 

“you know me.”

the words seemed to ram into her chest with a force that was able to knock the wind out of her. on her brain’s list of possible things for you to say next, that was probably at the very, very bottom–if even on the list at all. her lips parted slightly in surprise, eyes searching yours for any sign of humor. but she didn’t find any.

she tried to get a grasp on her composure so she didn’t look so taken back, like she still had the confident smoothness that everyone knew so well. but honestly, she couldn’t remember how to think clearly anymore, and she wanted to pinch herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream that she would wake up disappointed from.

if this were any other time, your confidence would’ve faltered by now. you would’ve been sputtering awkward apologies and probably storming out of the room so she didn’t have to look at you try to gather yourself after a hard fumble. but fuck, you were so fucking horny that your mind couldn’t even stop to think about it. 

“what?” was all paige could muster to say. 

you pushed yourself up from your elbows, leaning back until you were sitting cross-legged in her bed rather than lying on it, “i think we could help each other.”

she cocked an eyebrow as she stared you. she could feel the heat creep from her neck up onto her cheeks, and she knew you could see it too. “for real?”

“you don’t wanna fuck strangers, but you know me. and i need an orgasm, or i’m gonna go crazy,” you shrugged, way too casual for the way paige’s heart was begging to break out of her ribcage. “i mean, if you don’t want to–”

“nah, nah,” she interrupted, maybe a little too hasty to be considered casual. “i want to.” 

you paused for a moment, then smiled, “okay.”

paige swallowed thickly, her nerves making it difficult to do smoothly, and it did nothing to relieve her suddenly uncomfortably dry mouth. she pressed her palms into the edge of the soft mattress to push herself up until she could place a knee on the bed, then slowly crawled over to you. she sat with her legs underneath her in front of you, her balled fists pressing into the blanket beside your own knees. 

you broke eye contact to shift your gaze to her lips–her full, bitten lips that were practically begging for you to kiss her right now. but you didn’t, not when you had already made the first move by even suggesting this. it was her turn to show that she wanted this just as badly as you now.

or maybe it was because you were nervous. this would be your first time kissing a girl–first time kissing paige. you had kissed many boys before, sure, but did you even know how to kiss a girl? it couldn’t be that different. it would be less prickly at least, but still.

“hey,” paige whispered to pull you back down to reality, seemingly recognizing that you were getting in your head about something. you felt her fingers slide across the skin of your neck so she could cup your cheek with her palm, her thumb stroking across your cheekbone comfortingly. 

she didn’t give you another moment to let any more thoughts in before she was leaning forward to press her lips against yours. it was hesitant and extremely slow to allow you to adjust to the fact that you were kissing a girl, and to let her adjust to the fact that she was kissing the girl she had dreamed about kissing for years.

her lips were soft, but slightly chapped too from her habit of chewing on them when she was thinking, and the contrast was an intoxicating feeling. it was so much different than kissing a boy in a way that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

paige pulled away for a moment, swiping the pad of her thumb over your top lip briefly before she was crashing her mouth into yours again. this time with passion that couldn’t be recognized as anything other than hungry. it was still a slow pace, slower than you were used to for sure, but her lips moved against yours like they had something to prove. 

she traced her freehand up your leg, then settled on your stomach to gently push you on your back so you were laying against her pillows. all without disconnect your lips. you subconsciously uncrossed your legs as you leaned back, instead stretching them straight out in front of you. honestly, you didn’t even really know what to do with them. 

but it didn’t seem to matter, because she settled her body between your legs like it was second nature. the hand that was resting on your face instead shifted until it was settled on the pillow beside your head, and her other hand was resting on your hip with her fingers splayed under your shirt against your warm skin. 

she didn’t lower her body down to press against yours, either because she didn’t want to frighten you or because she had other plans. but a noise grumbled in the back of her throat, a mix of a groan and a whimper, telling you that she wanted this–maybe even more than you did.

you didn’t have time to dwell on it though, because she was tightening her fingers on the pillow next to you until her hand was curled into a fist, parting her lips and slowing the rhythm of the kiss like she wanted to say something, but didn’t want to stop kissing you.

“please, lemme eat it,” paige breathlessly whined into your mouth in between kisses. “i’ll make it so good for you. just–let me show you, please.”

your brain was already feeling jumbled just from her fingers dipping down to begin rubbing your clit in circles through your sweatpants, so it almost felt like her words short-circuited it. not only that, but you had never had a guy pay this much attention to how you feel by immediately touching you before (nor have you had a guy beg to eat your pussy)–and she’s barely even touched you.

they usually would grab your hand to put it on their own crotch to chase their own pleasure.

not fully trusting that words you were thinking would come out of your mouth the way you intended, you settled on simply nodding your head as permission. you could feel the corners of her lips curve into a small smile against yours, but the feeling was short-lived before she was moving down your body. 

“imma get you right, promise."

her descent started with your neck, her mouth placing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on the warm skin near your pulse point. however, her hands paused their movements to lift your shirt up and expose your breasts as she did so. her mouth broke free for only a moment to pull it over your head and leave you in an old bralette you hadn’t gotten rid of from their 2016 popularity–you couldn’t help it, they were comfortable (and very flattering, but maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better).

she smiled for a moment, but clearly tried to cover up for your sake to keep the situation serious. her pussy clenched in anticipation too, growing wetter in her boxers by the second at the thought of getting to eat your pussy. 

honestly, you didn’t know what to do with your hands. well, you kind of did, but this wasn’t the same as any other hookup. this was a girl. this was paige, not some guy. so you hesitantly placed them on her shoulders to silence the overthinking flooding your mind. 

she didn’t seem to notice your internal battle, though, not when her lips were mouthing at the skin of your collarbones, like they were something sweet to savor. instead of touching your breast immediately now that it was exposed, she rested all of her weight on the hand that was flat on the bed beside you to hold her up. then, she cupped the back of your knee to pull it up just slightly, bending your leg in the air.

your eyebrows pinched together in confusion as you watched her body adjust to a new position, her legs straddling the one she had just bent as she dove back down to place kisses on one of your breasts while her hand slid up to knead the other. 

but you weren’t so confused anymore when she pressed her clothed pussy against the muscle of your leg and rolled her hips. you felt the vibration of a soft moan against your skin, and you couldn’t help but let out one of your own at the action. 

“this okay?” she practically panted, clearly holding back another thrust until you gave her the go-ahead. 

“fuck, yes. keep going,” you managed to choke out. 

paige happily did so by slowly rolling her hips against you again, this time while pulling your bralette up to fully reveal your bare breasts. her mouth practically watered when she got to see them fully–your hard, pink nipples tempting her. she didn’t do anything to fight the temptation, though, she just wrapped her lips around one of them to swirl her tongue. 

you pulled the bralette fully off your body while she did that, then settled a hand on the back of her head and sighed in content at the feeling of her warm mouth. you had always loved it when anyone you had sex with did this, but there was something about the way she did it that was different. you couldn’t put your finger on what, though. 

after a few seconds, she moved to do the same thing to your other nipple, and you could feel that you were already so fucking wet. your panties were clinging to your folds in an uncomfortable way from it collecting, and you tried to adjust your position slightly to relieve it. however, all it did was press your thigh harder against paige, making her groan against you. 

she leant back slightly to take in the sight of you shirtless below her. you tried not to feel self-conscious–tried not to cover yourself with your arms as her eyes worked over you. there was a smile on her lips, a fond one, one that didn’t read of anything platonic. you were almost certain there was a little glint of love, but you told yourself you were probably seeing things.

“god, i just–” she started, then cut herself off by shaking her head playfully, “i don’t get it.” you felt the warmth of her palms cupping your breasts, kneading them with fascination. “they don’t even know what they got.” 

you laughed nervously, letting your hands fall so they were laying above your head–a silent invitation for her to do whatever she wanted. she shifted her body so she was settled in between your legs, hands sliding from your breasts to your waist. 

she bent her body back down too, to place more slow, open-mouthed kisses against the skin of your abdomen. she let her tongue draw a horizontal line just above the waistband of your pants like a silent request for permission to enter. her eyes flicked up to yours too, going wide in such a delicious way that you couldn’t even stop your hips from twitching up. 

her fingers hooked around the fabric, slowly pulling them down like she was making a show out of it. her tongue followed the path too, making your abdomen flutter. you could feel your clit pulsing uncomfortably–begging for her to touch you already, but you tried not to make it obvious. 

paige clenched around nothing when her eyes set on the lavender panties hugging your hips. they weren’t necessarily sexy, just a cotton thong that were clearly aged, but they were her favorite color. god, she could feel the drool collecting in her mouth and threatening to drip from her lips.

it was an accident on your part. clearly, you hadn’t expected to fuck your best friend today, so you didn’t have it in the back of your mind that she might see them. now, though, you wanted to give yourself a pat on the back for it. 

“shit,” she breathed. her gaze flicked up to yours to make sure you knew that she meant her words. “if you were mine, i’d eat this pussy every chance i got.”

her mouth continued to follow as she pulled your pants all the way off, leaving kisses to replace the warmth that was being pulled away. as she was coming back up, she merely let her bottom lip drag on your skin slowly. 

“yeah?” you squeaked out, trying to muster up some confidence. it didn’t work though, not when your best friend was acting feral between your legs like this and making you feel things you had never felt before. not even metaphorically either, you don’t think you have ever had sex with someone who was so focused on you.

“yeah,” she replied cockily, sucking a hickey into your inner thigh, “you’d have to beg me to stop.”

when you finally felt her warm breath fanning over your center, you let your eyes flutter closed. you honestly couldn’t believe you were actually doing this. that you were actually letting paige bueckers fuck you. it seemed crazy, like maybe you were dreaming. maybe you were. you would wake up in the morning and not be able to look her in the eyes anymore if that were the case.

and maybe it didn’t seem crazy to anyone else, because she had thousands of girls in her notifications who were begging to be in your position right now. but to you, she wasn’t paige bueckers, she was just paige. and just paige was your friend.

but shit didn’t look so friendly anymore.

“look at me,” she said gently. “want you to watch me make you come.” 

following her orders, you opened your eyes slowly to meet her gaze. the same gaze that held a new kind of emotion looking at you right now. there had been so many times that she had looked at you and you couldn’t decide what she was feeling, but you knew now. it was lust, like she could devour you and then devour you again. 

her pupils were blown wide, barely even showing any of that beautiful blue you knew so well, as she stared back. her fingertips were tracing over the band of your panties, seemingly waiting to see if there was any ounce of discomfort hidden in your features. to encourage her to continue, you reached down to place a hand on her head–which she seemed to take it that way. 

paige’s lips mouthed over your clit through the fabric once, then licked an agonizingly slow stripe from your entrance back up to your clit. it was almost like she was making a point that you were hers now, proven by those goddamn panties. 

“oh my god,” she whispered in fascination. “any of them ever get you wet like this?”

you exhaled, but shook your head instead of speaking. you didn’t entirely trust that your voice would be stable enough for her to understand any of the words that would hopelessly tumble from your mouth. 

“didn’t think so. gonna think about me every time someone else tries to touch you.”

the thought of that being the truth made butterflies erupt in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out why. anxiety? excitement? either way, it hit you harder than you would’ve expected it to. you tried to tell yourself that she was just dirty talking–that it wouldn’t matter when her head was clear from the arousal and she wouldn’t feel the same.

but it didn’t feel like it. her tone didn’t imply it. the words fell from her mouth like she was finally allowed to speak a truth she had been forced to hold back against her will, and the thought was terrifying. there was no going back now. your relationship would never be the same.

and maybe you should’ve thought about that a little more before you kissed her, but goddamn, you needed to come so bad.

she shook her head in disbelief, “i’d give you whatever you want. don’t matter when. too fuckin’ beautiful not to get it.” 

without much more hesitation, she roughly yanked your panties down your thighs like they had personally wronged her. well, they had. they were keeping her from eating your pussy. that was blasphemy, she swears.

she tossed them to the side haphazardly, not even breaking eye contact with you to see where the wet puddle of fabric landed. her hands settled on your hips too, with her thumbs lightly rubbing your lower stomach in an attempt to ground you–or maybe herself.

she broke eye contact to look down, eyes meeting your pussy. she let a gasp slip past her lips by accident, her mouth watering as she took in the sight that could’ve been hung in an art museum. or maybe not, because the thought of other people getting to witness you like this made fire build in her chest from the jealousy.

god, it was so fucking unfair that other people got to experience this before she did. 

“so pretty, baby,” she finally spoke with a gentle tone, instantly allowing relief to wash over you and take away the anxiety that the initial silence had caused. her lips placed a light kiss on your pelvic bone, just above where you wanted her the most, to reassure you. “so fucking pretty. gonna ruin you.”

her gaze flicked back up to your eyes, making sure you were watching her while she did this. her eyes were wide, and eyebrows tilted up, but you couldn’t tell why–excitement, fascination, both. there were a few possibilities, but all you knew was that she looked so fucking needy, and you didn’t want to wait any longer for her to fuck you.

finally, finally, she leaned forward to flick her tongue over your throbbing clit, just once. it was an experimental touch, something that would give you enough time to back out if you decided you didn't want to anymore–she desperately hoped you wouldn’t, though. she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to act normal anymore after seeing you spread open in front of her, for her. after seeing the way you were dripping from her touch.

“paige,” you exhaled, curling your fingers in her blonde locks on the top of her head. it surely was messing with her bun, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care about anything except giving you an orgasm right now. 

that was her cue to wrap her lips around your clit and suck gently, pressing her tongue against it while she did so. when she released with a faint pop, she dragged her tongue through your folds slowly, like she was drawing a map for herself to remember for later. and she was, because she knew that this would be the only thing she would think about every time she closed her eyes to sleep from now until the rest of her life.

she couldn’t help but faintly moan against you at the taste, making you feel the vibration. it felt like it moved through your entire body from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, but that may have been because of the overwhelming feeling of finally getting some head when you have sex. and you didn’t even have to beg this time. no, she begged you. that was crazy in itself.

your nervous system felt like it was on fire from the sensation, and you could hardly keep your legs from shaking already. 

she probably noticed too, when she adjusted her position so that she was lying flat on her stomach. her arms moved so that your thighs were thrown over her shoulders, giving her more space to work. she didn’t comment if she noticed, but she was probably too occupied to even notice. 

she used her tongue to lap up all the arousal that had been building up near your entrance, plunging inside for a moment before running it back up through your folds to your clit. she couldn’t help but hum at the delicious taste, already wanting more and she hadn’t even finished her first meal yet.

that was when you felt a finger tracing a circle around your entrance, like it was asking for permission to enter. in what world would anyone say no? you weren’t sure, but fuck, even just the idea had you salivating. 

you bit your bottom lip to stifle any sounds threatening to come out, not wanting anyone to hear. not only that, but it was embarrassing.

when you finally felt the push of her middle finger slowly filling you, you couldn’t help but arch off the bed slightly, toes curling too. the pleasure was overwhelming, and you suddenly knew why sex wasn’t something you felt like you needed before this. after feeling the way paige could eat your pussy like she was an expert on your body, you weren’t sure you ever wanted her to stop–ever.

“talk t’ me, pretty girl,” she spoke into your folds, not even caring if her voice was muffled or if you were even paying attention. “lemme hear you. wanna hear how good i’m makin’ you feel.”

to try to please her, you let a quiet squeak sound from the back of your throat. you hadn’t ever made noise during sex before, so this was new, and no one had really talked to you either. no, they usually just grunted or panted or said something short, not full-on dirty talk. it was making the heat pool in your abdomen much faster than you expected. and your cheeks flush a deep pink.

well, everything she was doing was making the heat pool in your abdomen faster than you expected.

“it’s so much, paige. gonna come,” you choked out, trying your best to keep your hips still so you could chase it faster than if you started grinding your hips against her tongue. 

honestly, it was a lot all at once. not to mention the shock of actually feeling good for longer than a few seconds, and the comfort of it being from someone you trust. really, you couldn’t ask for anything better, even if you came embarrassingly fast.

“yeah?” she couldn’t even suppress the smug smile tugging at her mouth. “do it. give it to me.”

she increased the speed of her tongue flicking over your clit to push you over even more, thrusting her finger at a similar pace and humming to simulate a vibrating sensation. her fingertip would rub over the soft spot inside you every time, making you wonder how it seemed like she knew your body better than you did. 

when you came, you threw your head back against the mattress, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and your back arching toward the ceiling. your legs tensed too, toes curling hard from the intensity of the pleasure. it almost felt like you were peeing from how strong and hard it was, but you tried to shove that thought to the back of your mind. 

“that’s it, baby,” she cooed against you, slowing her movements to allow you to come down. “just like that.”

and paige works you through it slowly. surely prolonging it because you’ve never had an orgasm last longer than a few seconds in your life, not even with yourself, but you couldn’t complain. 

when she finally eased off you and sat back on her heels with her hands wrapped around your ankles to admire the mess she had made, you almost wanted to laugh at how silly she looked. her hair was sticking up just slightly on top of her head, making her bun look crazy, but the look in her eyes was distracting. there was a twinkle, one that read how happy and content she was to be between your legs like that. it was adorable, honestly, but it was also hot when you noticed her red, slick lips.

but when you shifted your legs, you couldn’t help but feel that she had left a puddle of your orgasm in between your legs instead of licking it up.

“leave it,” she said mischievously. 

you pinched your brows together in confusion at that, face contorting into a fitting expression. “why–”

“still gotta fuck you, don’t i?” she cut you off with a playful chuckle. 

you felt your breath catch in your throat at her words.

she leaned forward again. only this time, it was to press her lips against yours instead of to your pussy. it was just a small peck, and she pulled away to smile down at you.

“you thought you were just getting one?” she whispered, reaching behind her head to pull her t-shirt off her body by the neckline and throw it on the floor next to the bed. “pretty girl like you deserves to be taken care of.”

she didn’t give you time to reply before she was kissing you again. 

her lips moved effortlessly with yours like she had kissed you a hundred times, leading you with a slow rhythm that had every joint in your body feeling like jello. you felt one of her hands wrap around your throat, but not squeezing, and you knew that there was new arousal mixing with the orgasm between your legs. 

“you said you needed dick, and imma give it to you so good that you’ll never need nobody else,” she gave you one last bruising kiss before pulling away.

she stretched her body over you, toned abs suddenly very in your face. it wasn’t on purpose though, she was just reaching in her bedside drawer to find the toy that had started this entire thing. when she grabbed it, she sat back on her heels with it in her hands to reveal all six inches of its flesh-colored glory. her eyebrows raised in a silent plea for permission to use it.

“please, paige,” you said with wavering confidence–a weak attempt at displaying the same smoothness she was able to speak without even trying. you could feel your hands tremble from anxiety now that it was becoming real.

of course, she didn’t need much more convincing to continue. you had to bite back a gasp when she curled her thumbs in the waistband of her pants to pull them and her boxers off in one go, leaving her in just her nike sports bra. you don’t know why you were shocked by her taking her clothes off, honestly.

it was even more shocking when she dipped her hand in between her legs, but it wasn’t to touch herself. she swiped two fingers through her arousal, seemingly just trying to see how wet she was from this, by the way she began to buckle the harness without a second thought. she leant forward on one of her hands again to hover over you by placing it next to your head, and used the other to hold the dildo out of the way. 

her eyes quickly glanced between yours, “we can stop, y’know?”

you couldn’t resist playfully rolling your eyes and set your legs on her hips, “i know.”

“okay,” she nodded, “i just wanna make sure you’re not doin’ nothin’ you don’t want to. like, i don’t want you to feel like you have to for me.”

you placed a hand on her cheek as a comforting gesture, stroking your thumb over her cheekbone once. then, you smiled softly at her–loving even–to make her feel better. she visibly relaxed, her shoulders falling from their tense position. you used both hands to smooth over the hair on her head, too, to make sure it wasn’t sticking up anymore.

“it was my idea,” you argued playfully. 

“i know, but you ain’t ever been fucked like this so i gotta make sure you’re still w’ me–”

“paige,” you interrupted her with a groan in a mix of embarrassment and impatience. you covered your eyes with one hand too as you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“alright, alright,” she chuckled, pulling your hand off your face. after gently lacing your fingers together, she pressed your hand against the bed next to your head. “i’ll chill. just wanna make sure you won’t regret it.” 

“i won’t. i trust you,” the reassurance in your voice seemed to enough for her, because you felt the tip of the toy brush against your entrance. 

even though you were trying to act calm for paige’s sake, it was undeniable that you were suddenly experiencing a wave of anxiety come over you despite just having an orgasm on her tongue. your breathing was shallow and quick, but you closed your mouth to try to hide it. and your heart was racing. not just slightly, but you felt dizzy and light, but you wouldn’t dare ruin the moment for either of you. 

how embarrassing would that be to have a medical emergency right now? oh god, you couldn’t imagine how you would ever live that down. you’d never be able to show your face in front of her ever again. 

“don’t worry, baby. don’t have to do nothin’ but lay there and look pretty.”

she shifted her weight from her empty hand against the pillow to the one holding yours, sliding her now free hand down your body. you expected her to use it to grab the toy, and she did, but only for a moment to line it up. instead, she pressed the heel of her palm against your lower stomach, gentle enough that it didn’t hurt but merely added pressure.

“this okay?” she asked, her eyes searching yours. 

you simply nodded in reply and took your bottom lip in between her teeth as you watched her face at the feeling of the silicone nudging against you. after she nodded back in confirmation, her eyes didn’t stay on yours long. they shifted down to where her toy was pressing against your pussy like it was begging for permission to enter. because she was–silently. 

her hips rocked forward just slightly, letting the tip dip in about half an inch. she tried lion up at you and keep her eyes there, she really did, but they couldn’t help but drift down to where you were swallowing her. when she didn’t hear any protests, she let herself sink in deeper, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

it was a strange, but good, feeling. you were so wet, so fucking turned on, that it doesn’t even burn in the slightest to have her slide into you. usually, you would be wincing at the feeling, but this time, you just can’t help the moan that tries to slip past your closed lips. especially because her hand was pressing down on your abdomen, making sure you feel everything. 

she pushed out a sound that’s a mix of a whimper, a moan, and a harsh exhale all in one when she was halfway, dropping down to press her forehead against yours. you tried to catch her eye contact, but you quickly saw that her eyes were screwed shut in both pleasure and frustrated as she tried to breathe normally. 

her clit was pulsing uncomfortably, swollen with need at not just the sight of you finally under her like she had been dreaming of for so long, but from making you come, and she tried to ignore it. this was about you. and anyways, when she started moving, the harness would grind against her and give her the relief she desperately needed.

she pushed out another breath, one that was a borderline sob, “fuck.”

you dug your fingers of your freehand into her shoulders, leaving crescent indents that you hoped didn’t draw blood. maybe she would, though, if she even noticed the feeling (she didn’t). 

“oh, paige,” you shut your eyes and moaned as she plunged all the way inside, pressing your skin against the harness to make sure she was as deep as possible. and you felt it, you really did. you were so fucking full that your brain felt like mush. 

she let out another sound that sounded like a sob, which almost had you convinced she was crying. if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought she could really feel it–that she wasn’t fucking you with a silicone toy instead of the real thing. not like it mattered, though. there was a difference, but not enough of one to matter. not when she was focusing on your pleasure at the expense of her own. 

“don’t stop,” you cried, hopelessly clenching around the thick dildo threatening to brush against your cervix. 

of course, paige, desperate to please you, found some strength within herself to pull her hips back until the only thing left inside you was the tip. she slowly rolled her hips back in, adopting a slow, but deep rhythm to make sure you felt all of her. the hand on your abdomen was certainly helping with that, too. 

her head lolled to the side so her forehead was pressing against your temple, and you felt her beading sweat swipe against her skin at the motion. the gasps coming from her mouth were fanning over your cheek, making heat pool in your stomach. 

“fuck, you like that?” she grunted, or maybe whined–you couldn’t tell. you barely nodded your head in reply before she was answering herself anyway, “i know you fuckin’ do. can hear how much this pussy loves me.” 

and she wasn’t wrong. the wet noises as she slid back inside you were evident, and you weren’t sure you had ever had sex this loud, to be honest, in every possible way. as long as it was paige, though, you were sure that you could get used to this–but you couldn’t think of anything else in this moment. your mind was ringing paige, paige, paige like it was lyrics to a catchy song.

“faster, please,” you whimpered, your hand tightening on hers like you were trying to squeeze the life out of it. 

“whatever you want, mama,” she breathed. 

of course, she paused to stabilize herself, then picked up her speed just like you asked. she ignored the way her thighs were burning, pushing through the way they were trembling just to hear the quiet moans slipping past your lips without mercy. 

the pace allowed the harness to rub against her clit deliciously, damn near making her hips stutter from pleasure, but she tried to keep her composure. that is, until you opened your mouth to speak again. 

“shit, i’m yours,” you weren’t one to talk much during sex, so you weren’t really sure where it came from. but you thought briefly about testing the waters since she clearly liked it, then couldn’t stop the words from falling out of your mouth. 

similarly, she couldn’t stop the way her rhythm noticeably stuttered, and the loud moan that tumbled past her lips without permission. “oh fuck,” she whimpered. “oh fuck, oh fuck.” 

her mouth latched onto the skin of your neck, biting down just below your ear on the sensitive spot that had your hips bucking up into her rhythm. it was surely leaving a bruise that both of you would regret later, but you neither of you could bring yourselves to care. the hand she had on your stomach had drifted down so her thumb could slowly circle your clit bring you closer to the edge–mostly because she didn’t know how long she could last. 

she was hopelessly clenching around nothing, her orgasm building in her stomach faster than she was intending to. she could only hope that she could hold it off, because she wasn’t ready to stop fucking you yet. not that she necessarily had to, but she couldn’t imagine that it wouldn’t be hard enough to wipe her out for a few minutes before she could regain her stamina. 

“don’t say that shit to me unless you want me to come,” she managed to choke out, then lifted her head enough to press her lips against yours. though, it was uncoordinated, and sloppy, and mostly just panting in each other’s mouths. 

she tightened her fingers on yours at the feeling of your saliva coating her lips, having the sudden urge to ask you to spit in her mouth from the feeling because she was undeniably yours–a complete and utter fool for you. but she wasn’t sure how you would feel about that, and she wasn’t ready to scare you off the first time you had sex. 

maybe next time, she thought to herself. if there even is a next time. 

paige tried to push down the nagging feeling that there very well may not be a next time because she may have just ruined one of her longest friendships just to have an orgasm, but she reminds herself that it was already ruined anyway. it was ruined junior year of college in that goddamn hotel room after her acl surgery. after she had woken up from her drug-induced slumber and saw you lying next to her with a soft smile that didn’t make her feel broken. instead, it comforted her–gave her a sense of normalcy even when the waves were feeling too rough to continue.

and she knows that coming back from this would be terrible, because she’s already accepted that you didn't want her because you weren’t attracted to girls. so what was she supposed to tell herself now? how could she live with the possibility that you just didn’t like her?

paige physically shook her head to rid the thoughts from her brain. they were much too intrusive in this moment. they were keeping her from enjoying you being naked underneath her, and she needed to be present for that.

though, you being you, she should’ve known better thank to think you’d let it go unnoticed. “what?” 

“nothin’,” she shook her head again, this time almost imperceptibly, “just–look so beautiful taking all me like this. you fuckin’ belong on my dick.”

you allowed your fingers to curl into the hair at the nape of her neck, just below her bun, and pulled. it was hard enough that you pulled her neck back a little, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feeling.

the movement of her hips increased their speed as she subconsciously chased her own release, making your back arch up into her body from your own pleasure. your jaw fell slack against her mouth, so you couldn’t even pretend to want to kiss her back. not that she was even trying anything either, she was just letting her lips brush against yours every so often. 

suddenly, paige’s hand ripped away from yours and the other stopped its movements on her clit. she leant back slightly, her pace slowing just a little as her position changed. you almost wanted to ask her what she was doing, until she grabbed each of legs to throw them over her shoulders one by one. 

“oh, fuck, paige,” you moaned in anticipation for the feeling that was about to come. the sound was more high pitched than your previous moans, but you didn’t care to dwell on it. she did, though, because the sound of her name leaving your lips like that was music to her ears. 

she placed her hands on the sheets next to your head, dropping her body weight onto them so she could resume the faster pace. it caused a slight stretch in your hamstrings, but gave her a new, deeper angle to drill into you at. the skin on your legs was damp against her shoulders, and she couldn’t lie that she felt a rush a wetness when she felt your calves tense around her neck from the pleasure. the new position also brought the tremble in your hips to light, making your entire leg shake for a moment, but you quickly covered it by tensing the muscle. 

“right there,” you gasped. she was so fucking deep inside you, hitting an angle that made you damn near see stars, you swear. your hands instinctively shot out to grab her wrists next to your head, digging your nails into the skin like it was something keeping you on the ground in this moment. 

“yeah? feel good, don’t it?” she asked, a cocky smirk threatening to rise to her lips. her eyes were fixed on your pussy, watching the way the silicone was swallowed whole between your legs–watching the way it was shining with your slick. 

her own pussy was drenched between her legs and making a mess of her thighs, but she tried to ignore the way it was begging to be touched–begging for your fingers or your mouth, or maybe to grind against your pussy or even your leg. god, she fucking hoped this wouldn’t be the only time she got to have you spread open for her like this. there were so many things she could do to make you come, and she wanted to try every single one. 

hell, she wanted to know what it was like to be fucked by you. for you to buckle the harness around your hips and drill into her until she was fucked so dumb she could hardly remember her name, let alone anything else but whatever you would whisper in her ear as she was being filled by you. maybe she was getting ahead of herself with those thoughts, but fuck, she’s had so many dreams about it. so, so many dreams about you on top of her and making her do whatever you wanted.

“yes, yes, yes,” you practically chanted in time with every thrust, though your words eventually just turned into little whimpers that had paige’s mouth watering. oh fuck, the way you were becoming more vocal with the new position had her weak. and she’s glad it gave her bout of confidence, because otherwise she would’ve came already. 

well, she’s trying really hard not to, at least. her abdomen is clenched hard, showing off her abs with the accidental flex as she tries to keep it away.

“mhm,” she hummed absentmindedly, or maybe it was mix between a hum and a moan–she couldn’t really tell. her mind was focused on more important things. “i know, baby.”

you could feel the familiar heat pooling in your lower abdomen, the muscles twitching so much that you had no choice but to arch up into her. though, the movement was more of you arching into your own legs thrown over her body, but the idea was still there. 

“i’m so close, paige, shit,” you choked out. you flexed your legs around her shoulders successfully locking your ankles behind her head to cage her neck in. your abdomen was flexing and unflexing too, torn between staying tense for the oncoming orgasm or grinding it out. it caused your hips to grind just slightly in an attempt to match her rhythm since you couldn’t plant your feet and lift them up to chase it, but you didn’t mind. this almost felt better than that–easier, like it was right there instead of so far away. 

“keep sayin’ my name,” paige whined. she fixed her eyes on your face to watch your expressions, to watch the pleasure she was giving you manifest itself on your beautiful features. “tell me who this pussy belongs to. who got you feelin’ like this?”

“fuck. you, paige,” you moaned. “it’s yours. no one could ever fuck me as good as you.”

her jaw went slack in both surprise and pleasure from the words tumbling from your mouth, and maybe you were a little shocked too. but you couldn’t think, could barely register that you were even speaking in this moment. your words felt distant in your ears. not because you didn’t mean them, but because your brain was so melted from the intense pleasure that it didn’t feel real anymore.

you gasped when you felt her thumb circling your clit again in small circles at a faster pace than before. 

“yeah, that’s right,” she mumbled in concentration, because her own abdomen was tensing with a sudden, intense orgasm. 

maybe she should’ve been paying more attention to the signs so this didn’t happen, but all she could focus on was your face, and the way your pussy was dripping, so she threw herself on the back burner to prioritize what was more important. and she should’ve listened to what she had said to you earlier too–that possessive words would make her come. 

a loud sob ripped from the back of her throat as she flooded her inner thighs with slick, causing her hips to thrust wildly into you to ride out the feeling. her eyes were screwed shut so tightly that the darkness was becoming light again, but she honestly didn’t even realize they had closed until they were opening just slightly when her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

the sight of her coming on top of you was enough to send you over the edge too. you felt yourself gush onto her toy, clenching around it so hard that she physically felt the resistance from how tight you became. it made her hips stutter just once, and she slowed her pace slightly to help work you through it without overstimulating you. 

your legs tensed so hard that your ankles untangled and heels were digging into her shoulder blades. the pressure subconsciously pulled her closer to you, but she managed to lock her elbows so she could stay up. your toes were curled hard enough that you almost felt a cramp brewing in your left foot, abdomen tight enough to show your own abs, and hands locked tight enough around her wrist that there would surely be red rings around them when you released. your jaw was clenched too, rather than slack, teeth pressing together so hard that your molars were aching. 

it was the most intense feeling your body had ever felt, and it damn near didn’t even know what to do with it. 

“fuck,” she cried finally, though there were no tears slipping onto her cheeks. her thumb paused its movements to let you come down, eyes blinking open to watch your body relax under her. her hips snapped forward accidentally, hard enough to make your body move, but she didn’t apologize for it. 

her thigh muscles and hip flexors were burning and shaking from the exertion, but she didn’t stop her slow thrusts to help you work through your orgasm. and again, just like before, she was definitely prolonging it with her movements, but you could hardly complain. 

your body was twitching beneath her, abdomen clenching every few seconds and making her hips turn up. your head felt light and airy, and your lips seemed to find it hard to find words. though, you parted them in a weak attempt to catch your breath as you tried to draw them deep from your diaphragm. 

“okay?” she weakly asked through her own hard breaths. her chest was visibly heaving harder than she had ever experienced in her life. not during a 40-minute straight game, not after running suicides, not even after sprinting a 400 on a track. 

you simply nodded, not fully trusting your brain to make coherent sentences. your hands released their grip on her wrists to let your arms fall onto your head, forearms covering the light from your eyes. luckily, she accepted it as an answer as she nodded back, wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. she swiped her tongue over her top lip to lick some off her top lip, too. 

paige slowly moved your legs off her shoulders. she tried her hardest to resist the smirk threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth when they immediately started helplessly shaking from your ankle all the way up to your hip, setting them down gently on the bed next to her so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. 

but you couldn’t even pretend to care about it. you were still catching your breath, eyes shut underneath your forearms as you tried to wrap your head around the fact that you just fucked your best friend and it was the best sex you had ever had in your entire life. and not only that, because you would definitely do it again. in fact, she was right. you don’t know if you’d ever be able to touch someone else because your mind would always wander back here. 

not just to the way paige, your best friend, expertly touched you like she knew your body better than you you did, or the way she pounded into you like she didn’t care about anything other than making you come. or the way she ate your pussy like she was starving and it was favorite meal. your mind would travel back to the way she spoke to you like she was yours, like she needed you to know how much she needed you–how everything she did revolved around your pleasure. 

and she was so fucking dedicated to it that you weren’t sure if she was speaking from the heat of the moment or if her words went deeper than that. if her words were coming from a place of hidden truths rather than pleasure so blinding, she would say whatever came to mind. 

you winced at the sudden emptiness of her sliding the toy out of you slowly, but your legs stayed limp against the sheets. she unbuckled the harness carefully through her trembling fingers, leaning over the side of the bed to carefully set the soaked toy on the floor. she made sure that it was propped so it didn’t touch anything other than the carpet for easy cleanup, but she would worry about that later. 

when she sat up again, she gently laid a palm on your ribs and the other on your outer thigh. her chest wasn’t heaving anymore, but she was still breathing too quickly to be considered normal. and her heart was pounding in her chest too, though she couldn’t tell if it was her lingering tiredness from the exertion or from nervousness. 

you didn’t open your eyes at the contact despite the way it had your skin buzzing, still trying to catch your own breath and normalize your own heartbeat after that, but you could feel her gaze burning into you. 

“still with me?” she asked softly. her tone was quiet and careful, trying to gauge how to proceed from here. 

“yeah,” you breathed with a nod. 

after a few moments of listening to each other breathe, you cracked an eye open to see what she was doing. all you were met with was her eyes fixed on your face, lips parted to allow more air in. her eyes were glassy and had a new sparkle that you couldn’t quite put a name to, lips red and covered in salvia from her tongue swiping over them, cheeks flushed pink in the most adorable way, and hair messy in her bun that was still barely hanging on. the corners of her mouth curved slightly into a smile, but her expression was mostly unreadable. it made your heart rate kick back up in a way that was from anxiety. 

this is the part where they would ask you to leave, or make an excuse about being busy as a way to subtly ask you to leave, or get up, or something. your skin crawled uncomfortably, and the feeling that it was about to happen right now too was uncomfortably crawling up on your spine. or maybe that was sweat dripping down–either way, you knew you’d rather beat her to it than face the embarrassment. 

“i should probably think about heading,” you said quietly, trying to beat her to the punch, shoulders tensing as you braced for impact. the impact of her agreeing, you mean, of the reality that you had just had a one night stand with the person you care about the most. and even though she could make you feel good in ways that you didn’t think was possible, that she was still like the rest of them at the end of the day.  

“what?” paige’s tone was dripping in disbelief, and sadness, maybe offense? she tilted her head to the side slightly like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing–like the role was reversed and you had just become the very thing that you were afraid of her being. there was a slight smile on her lips, but it was anything but amused. 

your eyes widened in embarrassment, and you lifted your arms so they were resting on your forehead instead so she could see that, “sorry, i just–i figured you’d–” you sighed to buy yourself time to collect your thoughts to actually utter a coherent sentence, “i dunno. i assumed you’d want me to leave.” 

she chuckled, this time from gentle amusement, the kind that was fond rather and didn’t make you think she was laughing at you, then gently stroked your ribs with her thumb. “why would i want that?” 

instead of replying verbally, you just shrugged. the intense humiliation was burning hot in your chest and cheeks, and you felt stupid for even suggesting something like that now. but you’d never had anyone pay this much attention to you when your clothes off, and truly care how you felt. 

okay, well, maybe a few have tried their best, but it was never like this. never fully putting themselves to the side to make sure you were taken care of first–physically and emotionally. 

“i don’t know,” you mumbled. 

paige sighed, then finally moved so she was laying on top of you. her cheek pressed into your collarbone, one hand on your collarbone on the other side with her thumb gently resting on the skin of your neck, her leg bent so her thigh was gently resting over your hip, and the other leg pressed against your outer thigh so she wasn’t touching your center while you were sensitive. 

her breathing had evened out, and you just hoped she couldn’t feel the way your heart was still racing beneath your skin. if she did, she didn’t bring attention to it, and you were grateful for that. she tensed her body like she was pulling you closer, then fully relaxed so you could feel her entire weight–almost like a weighted blanket.

“i wouldn’t do that to you,” she whispered out of reassurance. then, she took a breath of courage to gather up the strength for her own confessions, “i thought you wanted to leave.”

your breath caught in your throat slightly at the vulnerable tone. “i wouldn’t do that to you,” you echoed quickly. the words left your mouth at a speed that showed you meant it, and weren’t just saying to make her feel better. 

you couldn’t ignore the way her body was trembling against your skin, showing just how much of a toll you’d really taken on her. you figured it was from how much effort she put in though, from how she basically did all the work–not even considering that it was from her unusually intense orgasm, and that it was so intense because she was fucking you. 

because that was the truth. it wasn’t from the speed of her hips, or how long she held that speed for, or how long she was holding herself up. the intensity stemmed from how her body–her mind–reacted to you. she could’ve forced herself to go for hours without a break if that’s what you needed. 

you timidly lifted an arm to drop around her back, fingertips dragging lightly over her skin. she hoped you couldn’t hear how her breath hitched–couldn’t feel how her heart rate increased at the action. of course you did, and the sudden shift of anxious energy filling the air made it obvious, but you chose not to acknowledge it. instead, you ran your fingers up and down her spine lightly, trying to calm her nervous system that was definitely sent into overdrive. 

her body physically relaxed at the contact, which only made her feel heavier against you, but you weren’t going to complain. you could support her weight, you knew that, and if you couldn’t, you would pretend you could for her sake. this was your attempt at forgoing any possible miscommunication that could mess this moment up–like it almost already did. 

“thank you,” you said quietly. you meant it genuinely, but damn, you could’ve slapped yourself after it left your mouth. not because you didn’t want to say it, but because it felt stupid coming from your mouth. thank you for fucking me and giving me an orgasm after i literally asked you to because the men here suck and can’t do it for me, you’re such a good friend! god, what is wrong with you?

still, she laughed lightly and nuzzled her nose into the skin where your neck meets your shoulder, placing a light kiss there. you thought maybe she would say something else, but she didn’t. she let her physical reply speak for itself instead, but you, surprisingly, didn’t feel any ounce of insecurity about it. 

even though she seemed collected outwardly, her mind was running a thousand miles per minute. there were so many thoughts swirling in her head that she couldn’t pick just one to stress on–just one to freak out about. because this was you, her best friend since freshman year of high school when you joined the basketball team as an off-season sport. 

the same you that she knew she was in deep with, that she couldn’t deny the flutter that erupted in her chest every time you smiled, or laughed, or talked, or breathed. 

“Esteemed guests and loyal citizens of the fire nation, we gather here today to witness the momentous occasion of Firelord Zuko and lady Y/n’s union.”

You let out a nervous breath, gripping the bouquet of red lilies to ease your nerves. This was it, your wedding day. You felt lightweight, your heart fluttering in your chest as the Head Fire sage continued his greeting. You glanced over at Zuko, who looked regal as ever, his hair neatly pulled back in a top knot with not a single hair out of place. He was wearing elegant robes to match yours, and his crown sat neatly against his bun, soon to be identical to your very own, sitting on a cushion right behind the Fire Sage.

Zuko caught your glance, his lips curling into a sweet smile and making your heart soar.

“We honor the union between Firelord and Firelady as they say their vows and become one in leadership.” Your full attention was now fully on the sage, ready to say your vows and complete the ceremony to take your place as Firelady, as well as your place as Zuko’s wife.

“Do you, Lady Y/n, promise your heart and loyalty to both the fire nation and firelord as Firelady and sovereign ruler of this nation?” Your mouth suddenly felt dry, your stomach turning as you realized that what you would say next would change the trajectory of your life. You would now devote your life to being a partner, a ruler, a wife. There was no backing out, no running away from the pressures of your new life and the responsibilities that came with it.

Knowing the weight of your next words, you spoke them with confidence, all doubts dissolving in your mind.

“I do.”

******

The celebration was grandiose. The large ballroom of the palace is alive with music and chatter between the guests. Banners of deep reds and gold decorate the space. Large tapestries of the fire nation insignia drape down from the walls, basking the room in warm colors, the extravagant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling tying it all together.

You sat next to Zuko on your thrones, the slew of gifts and offerings from your guests neatly set out in front of the both of you on a table for all to see and bring more as they please.

“I don’t think I've had the chance to tell you today,” Zuko’s voice cuts through the fray, drawing your attention back to him. Not that it wandered very far in the first place. You raised your eyebrows, prompting him to continue. “But you look so beautiful, esteemed Firelady of the Fire nation.” there was a hint of teasing to his tone, the honorifics sounding so unnatural coming from his lips. “Why thank you, Mr.Firelord” you playfully quipped, he snorted leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours. “I also don't think I've told you that I love you today” he murmured, ghosting his lips over yours. & you felt as if you'd swallowed a spoonful of honey, your unspoken words of affection settling a warm pool in your chest. “So tell me, your highness” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips basking in the radiant smile that graced his face. “I love you.” and his words were all you could hear. In the midst of the grandeur it suddenly was just you and him. Heart to heart.

Just as you were going to respond, Kitara and Aang came up to you, bright smiles on their faces as they voiced their congratulations and well wishes. You couldn't help but eye the betrothal necklace around her neck, so similar to the one passed down to her by her mother, but uniquely crafted to represent her and Aang’s love. You ghosted your fingers over your wedding ring; a beautiful red jewel held in silver, the center piece in the shape of a lotus flower. You smiled, things had really changed since you’d last seen them.

“Really? That's amazing, congratulations you two” your train of thought was interrupted and you quickly tried to pick back up on the conversation. “Thank you, Zuko. We’ll hope to see you two at the presenting ceremony” Aang smiled, placing his hand over Kitara’s stomach. And you beamed, looking at Zuko with an excited look on your face. “Kitara? You’re expecting? What wonderful news! We wouldn’t miss it for the world, don’t worry!” You gasped, reaching out to tenderly place your hand over her still flat stomach. You felt a wave of emotion wash over you, this was someone you’d basically grown with. You had seen it all together and now— oh. The sudden thought struck you and you glanced over at Zuko, who had turned a few shades too red when he caught your eye, seemingly knowing what you were thinking.

As Firelady it was your duty to both serve your nation and your husband as a dutiful wife and leader. Part of that duty was to provide an Heir. An heir. the thought sat heavy and unspoken between the two of you. Sitting back up to keep yourself composed, you exchanged a few more words of congratulations with Aang and Kitara before they headed back to mingle with the rest of the party.

“And now, the first dance for the newlyweds. Please clear the ballroom!”

Zuko stood from his seat, your train of thought having little time to continue running rampant in your mind before he turned to you and extended his hand out for you to take. “May I have this dance, lady y/n?” He mused and you rolled your eyes at him, a soft smile adorning your face. “Don’t be cheesy, baby” you giggled, your cheeks burning as he led you to the center of the ballroom.

The crowd dispersed to give you your space, the spotlight now on you and your husband. The lights were dimmed and the band began to play slow, sentimental music as you and Zuko swayed together wrapped in each other’s arms. His eyes glistened with emotion as he stared into your gaze his irises warm pools of melted honey, filled to the brim with affection and love for you. Despite the people in the room, the gazes you and Zuko exchanged were private. Unspoken words and emotions translated into touch—his hand snug on your waist and your arms tight around his shoulders. He held you closer, your body flush against his. The warmth of his body seeped into you through your dress, the natural scent of cinnamon and citrus you had come to know as his comforted you as it took over your senses. Tenderly, you leaned your cheek on his chest, closing your eyes and losing yourself in him

It was only when the music stopped that you came back to reality. Parting from Zuko’s embrace to envelop his lips in yours, the crowd cheered and swooned at your unabashed display of love. He held onto you proudly in front of the crowd, adjusting the newly acquired crown on your head as you pulled away from him. There was no question that you were his and that he was yours, and the entirety of the world knew it.

As the night went on, you and Zuko prepared for your short voyage to the beach house he had specifically built for you as a token of his affections. It was meant to be a two week stay in which you and Zuko would be mostly alone, enjoying the last few moments of freedom together before you’d be just as wrapped up in political meetings and paperwork as he was. While you packed, you couldn't help but let your mind drift back to thoughts of the future. How many children would you have? When would you have them? Were you even ready? You tried to shake them off but they plagued your mind, a blush warming your cheeks when you’d thought about how exactly you’d reach that goal. You shivered, imagining exactly how it would feel to be at your husband’s mercy. Vulnerable and open for his taking. It sent a strong surge of heat through your body, and you squeezed your knees together to force it away. You briefly wondered if Zuko was thinking the same way you were.

The trip went by quickly, and you soon found yourself in the grand hall of the very sizable beach home Zuko had designed. It was open; large floor to ceiling windows allowed vast amounts of sunlight to bathe the space, a stark contrast to the comforting darkness of the palace. The walls were painted beige and the home had sandy brown hardwood flooring. Multiple portraits for your families adorned the halls, the newly completed tapestry of you and Zuko was the center-piece, taking up an entire wall all on its own. You sat at one of the windows, soaking in the view of the beach in front of you. It was serene, the ocean stretched on forever, beautiful blue shining with the sun tucked over the horizon. The warm breeze gently blowing through your hair brought with it the calming scents of the ocean and you sighed, relaxing into the beach chair you had brought with you.

Zuko was in the kitchen trying his best to replicate the simple recipes Iroh had attempted to instill in him when he was just a boy. He cut the vegetables and trusted his hand when adding the spices. The stew he had begun to simmer on the stove emitted a pleasant aroma, and he considered it a success. He covered the pot, putting the fire out and instead replacing it with a weaker flame he had cast with his finger. Leaving the stew on low heat, he decided he would seek you out. Walking out he found you blissed out and relaxed by the opening of the hall. He smiled to himself, padding up to sit beside you in the unoccupied chair. He reached over and grabbed your smaller hand in his, squeezing it to wake you out of your sleep.

*****

“Woah, this is really good, honey!” You hummed in delight as you took another spoonful of the stew Zuko had prepared. You both sat at the table, set right by a large window where you could see a single palm tree overlooking the sandy floor of the beach. The tree swayed in the wind, heavy with coconuts and shading a significant amount of space. A perfect lounge spot for after your meal, you thought. “Yeah, it's pretty alright. Uncle taught me this recipe when we were in Ba Sing Se” a smile quirked at his lips, fondness in his eyes as he remembered his uncle. “He only made it for me once, but he made sure to write down all his recipes…I guess it came in handy.” You nodded, reaching over to briefly squeeze his hand in comfort before hungrily returning to your bowl. Zuko chuckled as you scarfed the stew down, shaking his head as he brought another spoonful to his lips.

*****

Night had fallen by the time you and Zuko had finished unpacking and settling in. You sat outside on the beach floor, on a large towel protecting you from the grainy sand beneath you. The moon reflected beautifully in the dark water, the gentle sound of waves crashing onto shore making you feel a sense of calm. Zuko sat next to you, wearing nothing but a beach towel around his waist and a pair of shorts. He distractedly stared up at the night, hundreds of stars gleaming against the sky. You leaned closer to him as the chilly breeze blew over your bare shoulders, the bikini top you wore doing absolutely nothing to shield you from the cold. Zuko pressed a warm kiss to the crown of your head, wrapping his arm around you. “Cold?” He murmured, nosing into your hair. “A little- but I think I'll be okay.” He hummed, reaching down to undo the knot holding his beach towel together. Your eyes widened slightly and you blushed, holding your breath as he pulled it away, his bare thighs now in full view. You shyly looked away as he wrapped the towel over your shoulders, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek.

Zuko was always affectionate with you, so you almost paid it no mind when his hand rubbed up and down your hip, or when his warm lips grazed the skin of your throat, his hair tickling your neck as he pressed wet kisses down your skin. His touch was careful, almost hesitant as his kisses crept lower and lower down your chest. You jerked as his hand came up to trace over the fabric of your bikini top, the pad of his thumb briefly brushing against your clothed nipple. He halted at your reaction, pulling away with an apologetic look on his face. “Was that too much? I’m sorry-“ you shook your head, your hand coming up to cradle his face.

Your stomach fluttered when his eyes met yours, the blush on his face a dead giveaway of his anxiety. “I actually..liked it” you offered a reassuring smile, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to his lips. Zuko pressed back into you, his hand coming up to tangle with yours, still cradling his cheek. His other arm found its home on your waist, pulling you closer and leaving you breathless as he deepened the kiss your exposed skin meeting his bare chest sending a shiver up your spine. He slowly lowered you on the towel, his hands leaving you to lift your thighs over his. He pulled away from you panting, his heart lurching in his chest as he looked at you beneath him, your face flushed and your lips kiss-swollen.

His eyes flitted down your body, stopping at the loosely tied knots of your bikini. He gazed back up at you, his eyes glinting with something unfamiliar. Slowly, he dragged his hands down your sides, your breath baited as his hands trailed down your waist, his eyes locked on yours. You felt pinned down by his gaze, too drawn in to even think about moving. Finally, he stopped at the knots tying your bikini together, teasing them with the tips of his fingers, slipping them in and out from under the straps.

It felt like the desire in his eyes would consume you, and you spread your thighs wider to welcome him in.

“I wanna taste you, baby.” He breathed, quiet words for only you to hear. You slowly nodded your head, the desire burning in your core rendering you defenseless against the temptation of having your husband between your thighs— hungry for your intimacy.

He was swift, pulling the strings and undoing the knots. He held his breath, pulling the cloth off with nimbility. The cool air blew over your dampening folds, making your legs quiver with the urge to close. He sighed in relief, as if your pussy was the solution to all his problems, and maybe it was; because Zuko pressed his lips to your pussy, breathing you in and moaning at the taste. You gasped, covering your face in abashment as he experimentally flattened his tongue against you, trying to catch every little drop of your essence on his tongue. For the first few minutes it was just that– Zuko experimenting, finding his rhythm and poking and prodding with his tongue, your pretty sounds of pleasure guiding him.

It was only when his tongue passed your clit over in a swipe that you arched into his mouth, gasping as your hands came down to tangle in his hair, pushing him further in between your legs that he got the idea on how to pleasure you further.

And he wasted no time abusing this newfound discovery.

He closed his eyes, wrapping his glistening lips around the delicate bud and sucking on it, his tongue a tight squeeze around the suction as the tip flicked and swiped over the surface. You felt like you were floating, waves of pleasure coursing through your body in alternating intensity. You laid there, your mouth open in a soundless moan as his fingers found your entrance, teasing over the delicate opening before sliding in with ease, the mix of spit and your arousal making it easy. It didn’t take too long for you to come undone at his hands, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to build you up. The high was exhilarating, your toes curling as his fingers continued to move against your plush walls, your pussy twitching and spasming around his fingers and tongue. You pulled him off with shaking hands, his lips and chin glistening with the creamy residue of your orgasm. He was panting when his lips found yours again, pressing you hard into the towel as his weight overtook you. You kissed him back, clinging onto his shoulders as the breath was pulled from your lungs.

Carefully, he pulled away from you looking at you in complete adoration. His dark hair was disheveled and frizzy, but he could care less as he brought you to his chest, his arms secured around your waist. “That was…” “amazing.” you finished his sentence, looking up at him in earnest. He smiled, nodding his head in agreement. “Yes. amazing,” he ran his fingers through your hair lovingly, “better than i’ve ever imagined.”

******

The next few days went by in a blur. You and Zuko had opted to start exploring the island, going to local markets and indulging in the culture the small village had cultivated. They welcomed you both kindly, offering all kinds of commodities and gifts to the newlywed leaders of the fire nation. In a way, you felt at home. The beach home had become a safe haven, the two of you retreating to its safety whenever the day had been fulfilling. You sat in the kitchen as he cooked, staring a little too hard at the rippling muscles on his back. You shifted in your seat, briefly remembering the way he had so carelessly taken his fill of you on the beach just nights prior. A wave of heat overcame you and you felt your clit pulse in exhilaration. He turned towards you, setting your plate on the counter and sitting himself next to you. Humming, you brought a spoonful of the rice and pork he had prepared, moaning in delight as the flavor bathed your taste buds.”If I knew you could cook like this, I'd give the palace cooks a lot more days off.” you joked, bringing another spoonful of the food to your mouth, chewing happily. “You never asked,” he smiled as he watched you eat, taking a sip of his water. “I'd cook you anything you want.” you nodded in appreciation “i’ll keep that in mind.”

Finished with the meal the two of you washed the dishes together, chatting and joking around. Your arms were covered to the elbow in suds, and you playfully flung some him his way, giggling at the stricken look on his face. “Oh you think you’re funny,” he grabbed a large mass of the suds, smearing it over your hair. “Hey!” quickly a fight ensued, suds and water flying back and forth throughout the kitchen. Moments later, you laid on the floor with your wet shirt stuck to your chest. Zuko sat next to you in a criss-cross, wiping the soap water off his forearms. He gently began to pat the remaining suds off your hair. Sighing, you closed your eyes as he began to thread his fingers through your damp locks, pressing warm kisses to your face every now and again. It was dark outside, and the beach house was dimly lit with the flames of the wall lamps, creating a calming atmosphere. You almost wanted to doze off right there. “Had enough?” he playfully poked your side, earning a gentle swat at his hands. “Mmh, more than enough. M’tired.” he chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “Tired, huh? That's new.” his face crept to yours leaving a sweet kiss lingering on your wet cheek. “Let’s head to the shower and then we can sleep all you want.”

But sleep didn’t come easy. Your mind kept replaying the events from a few nights ago over and over in your head while Zuko slept peacefully next to you, pressed against your side. Staring up at the ceiling, you tried to ignore the aching in your pussy, your body and mind betraying you, the dampening of your panties impossible to ignore. Your heart sped up as your mind replayed the obscene memories of your husband between your legs, lapping up your arousal and deliciously bringing you to your climax. Sighing, your hand crept down to your panties, hesitantly teasing at the silky band. Glancing over at Zuko, you faltered. Your husband was a fairly deep sleeper, one quick little swipe wouldn’t wake him up, right? You pushed the hesitation away, slipping your hand past the band and parting your pussy lips with the tip of your fingers. You sighed as your clit brushed against the pad of your finger, sensitive and pulsing.

You tested the waters, rubbing your nub from side to side, biting your finger to muffle the small gasps of delight leaving your lips. The rhythm you had started soon became dull and you pressed harder, now rolling circles into your clit trying to mimic the sensation Zuko’s tongue had provided. Soon you had built a pattern of alternating between small, tight circles over your clit to quick, heavy swipes over the surface. It was intoxicating, the waves of pleasure rolling over you, and subsequently it became harder to keep your whines at bay. Zuko shifted beside you and you flinched, looking to see if he was still asleep. His breathing stayed even, and he didn’t move again so you resumed, sneaking your hand a little lower to tentatively sink a finger in, slightly leaning forward to sink it in further up to your first knuckle, gasping as you felt the warm, wet suction of your walls. Lost in the haze, you almost jumped out of bed when you felt your husband’s warm hand cup over your pussy, his face coming up to lay over your collarbone. “Hmm, I thought you were tired.” he rasped, his sleep laden voice making your pussy clench around your fingers in response, warmth pooling in your core. “I-i’m sorr-” he cut you off, pressing his lips against your own, swallowing your apology. “Don’t be.” he murmured, his hand easing yours away from your pussy and replacing your fingers with his own. “You could’ve just asked..” you leaned back, spreading your legs wider to give him more room. “Didn’t wanna..wake you.” you sighed in pleasure, Zuko’s fingers filling you up nicely, his pace moderate as he pumped them in and out of you, muffled squelching from your arousal sounding from under the covers. “If this is what I'm waking up to, I wouldn't mind.” he slowly lifted the covers up from your bodies, discarding them behind him on the bed. You moaned, feeling his lips trail hot kisses down your body.

He stopped his trail right at your navel, shifting so that he could situate himself in between your legs. “What a mess..” he sighed, eagerly pressing his mouth to your soping wet pussy, lapping up anything he could. “Pussy so sweet, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied.” your face burned as he buried himself into you, his nose bumping up against your clit as he shoved his tongue inside of you, pushing it in as far as he could go. “Don’t say stuff like that..” you whined, your legs quivering as he pulled away to suckle on your clit. He said nothing, too preoccupied with slipping his fingers into you, groaning into your cunt as your taste bathed his tongue. His eyes were closed in half-awake bliss, and you briefly felt bad for waking him up so late. Looking down at him, you noticed his hips jolting into the bed, his muffled groans only increasing in volume the faster he went. It was clear that he needed relief too.

You tapped his shoulder, waking him from his entrancement and pulling him up towards you. He sat up, confusion in his sleepy gaze. “I..i want you to feel good too, Zuko” you pointed at his crotch, the hard outline of his dick bold in the fabric of his boxers. “You don’t have to baby, I'm fine with just taking care of you,” you shook your head, running your fingers over the bulge, smiling when you felt him shiver under your touch. “I want to.” he nodded, helping you ease off his boxers, your mind reeling as his dick hung heavy between his legs, thick and glistening with pre. “How am I going to do this?” you thought, reaching forward to wrap your hand around his girth, sliding it up and down his length, feeling slightly confident as his breathless moans filled your ears. “Faster baby, please” he gasped, your speed increasing as you stroked him, thumbing over his tip and smearing his precum over it. His hips lightly bucked into your hand, his eyes closing in bliss. Feeling bold, you laid down on your stomach, grazing your lips over the head of his dick. He jolted, his hands coming to rest over your cheeks. “Baby..” you shushed him, looking up into his eyes through your lashes. “Just let me do this. Let me try” and slowly, he dropped his hands from your face, instead resting them on your shoulders as you slipped the tip into your mouth.

Zuko winced, watching as you tried to take him in fully, tears pricking your eyes as his cockhead brushed against the back of your throat. “Just breathe baby..take it easy” you nodded as best you could, breathing through your nose as you tried to swallow him further. It was too much, the thick girth of his dick making you gag and sputter around him. You pulled away heaving for air, a thin line of spit connecting you to his tip. He comfortingly caressed your cheek, brushing your hair away from your face. “You okay?” He rasped, wiping the spit from your bottom lip. You nodded, taking a deep breath before you were on him again, this time holding your breath as your took him whole, forcing his length down your throat for a few heartbeats before pulling upwards, bobbing your head in steady rhythm.

Zuko moaned, your warm mouth sending hot waves of pleasure up his spine and throughout his body. His hands came down to squeeze and knead his balls as you continued sucking him off. You made a mental note to do that for next time, seeing as with every gentle squeeze his dick twitched in your mouth, his legs quivering with every bob of your head. It didn’t take much more for him to pull you off of him, thick spurts of cum oozing out from his aching tip. He panted, eyes laden with sleep and lust as he pulled you towards him, locking lips with yours in a heated kiss. Zuko eased you back into the pillows, his lips hungrily pressed against yours, his tongue tracing over your bottom lip and sucking your tongue into his mouth. His hands wandered over your body, committing every curve and dip to memory, feeling the heat of your arousal against his body. Easing himself between your legs, you tensed feeling the weight of his dick slap over your fluttering pussy. He pulled away, sensing your apprehension. “You okay?” He grabbed your chin, meeting your eyes to his. “We can stop-“ you shook your head “no..i don't want to stop. Just, be gentle, okay?” He leaned down and kissed you again. “Of course I will. We can take all the time you need.”

Pain. Hot, searing pain is all you could feel. Despite ample prep from Zuko’s fingers and tongue, it did little to fully dull the ache that came with the stretch of his length. He was a little more than half way in now, your knuckles white as you gripped his arm for comfort. He pressed warm kisses to your face, your legs hoisted up to his shoulders. It was hard for you to breathe, the air feeling like its completely left your lungs. Was it supposed to hurt this bad? You didnt know, your eyes glossy with tears as your slowly tried to relax your body. “Baby, breathe” Zuko whispered, his lips warm against the skin of your neck. You nodded, trying to take deep breaths and try to focus on something other than his dick splitting you in half. “Just relax okay? You’re doing so good f’me.” His hand came down to rub over your hip, creeping down to lightly trace over your puffy clit, rubbing slow circles into the bud. You squeezed your eyes shut, wrapping your arms iver his shoulders. “Okay, i’m ready..” You whispered, readying yourself. He pressed one last reassuring kiss to your throat before he slowly pushed the rest of himself inside of you, interlacing one of his hands with yours as you winced in pain. The other one still rubbing light circles over your clit.

Seconds dragged on what felt like hours, your hips shifting as the ache slowly began to subside, you suddenly became aware of just how full you were. His dick molded into the plush walls of your tight pussy, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. It was almost overwhelming, having him stretch you out to accommodate everything he had to offer. Zuko slowly moved his hips back and forward, keeping his pace light. His eyes squeezed shut, curses falling from his lips as he relished in the pleasurable grip your pussy had on him.

You closed your eyes, feeling the ache fade away into pleasure. Your nails dug into his back, your back arching into his body. “Fuck” he huffed, his eyes half lidded as he rocked into you, the headboard creaking with every thrust of his hips. The sound of your skin slapping filled the room, the obscene squelching of your wet pussy making you bashful, closing your eyes tight as your face came alight with a rosy blush. Zuko’s eyes drank in the view of your body sprawled out for him, your neck littered in red marks and your lips kiss swollen and puffy. There wasn't a move you could make that escaped his fixation with you, his hands wandering all over your body, kneading the flesh of your ass and thighs roughly. “This pussy was made for me, baby” he grunted, his hand coming down to rub rough circles over your clit. “Z-zuko!” You gasped your toes curling from the flashes of white, hot pleasure shooting up and down your spine. “Spirits- you’re squeezing me so tight baby, fuck” he hissed burrying himself in all the way to the hilt. Your eyes rolled back, the stimulation on your clit and Zuko’s dick beating your insides was all too much. You came hard, harder than you ever could with just your fingers. Your walls clamped down, squeezing him tight as your ecstasy washed over you in violent torrents of mind numbing pleasure…

*******

The remaining days of your vacation you spent in bed. Zuko became insatiable, taking you anywhere and everywhere. And, fortunately for you— it didn’t stop at the beach house.

Back at the palace, when you weren’t wrapped up in meetings you were underneath him, taking his dick anyway he wanted to give it to you. He had learned your body inside out, absuing those spots he knew would drive you insane and eating you out like you were his last meal.

He found that his favorite way to start his day was between your thighs, eating your pussy until you were a shaking mess above him. When you expressed how you wished the mornings with him would last forever, he had a canopy with thick, maroon curtains installed in your bedroom to block out the light and disturbances of the morning. Of course, weeks into marital bliss the subject of Heirs was brought on by his royal advisors. “Not a problem” Zuko stated, squeezing your hand on the armrest of the throne. “We’ll provide an heir in due time.”

*******

“Z-zuko! Slow down!” You moaned, folded almost in half, Zuko thrusting into you, making sure to give you his all. He snickered, leaning down to press a wet kiss to your lips. “We have a duty to uphold” he grunted, sloppily slotting his hot tongue over the seam of your lips, fucking into you with vigor you’ve never felt before. The pleasure was blinding, his cockhead hitting every crevice inside of you, absuing your g-spot with sweet percison. “They want heirs? We’ll give them a fucking million of them.” And by the look in his blown pupils, you could tell he was serious. “Zuko ah! Ah!” You gasped, feeling as though the air was being punched out of your lungs with every smack of his pelvis against your ass. His hand crept down to rub rough circles over your clit, and your head fell back in a silent scream.

Because your usually beautiful, fluffy fur was ruffled all about and there were distinct streaks of redness across it. The blood was striking against the already blinding white, and Regulus could not fight the way his breath hitched. 

“Amour,” he all but hissed, speed walking after you to where you had hid away in the first available corner.

Despite remaining mostly aware of your human self, once you were in your animagus form, certain animalistic tendencies took over. It was how you were able to communicate so efficiently through hisses and pets, but also why in states of panic, you would seek out physical shelter to hide beneath rather than coming to him for protection and comfort like you otherwise would.

Uncaring of how he looked running after a cat and murmuring to it as if it was a person, Regulus followed you, crouching down on his knees before you when you hid beneath an armchair against the wall. He couldn’t see you well in the darkness, but he did see a pair of yellow eyes shine out at him, so stunning that the fear in them should be illegal.

“Mon amour.” Regulus decided to forgo any reservations, and laid down on his stomach with his cheek against the floor so that he could be face to face with you. “Darling, what happened to you? Are you alright?”

The whimpering sound you made shot straight through his heart, drawing a rather pathetic coo from him.

You curled further up into yourself. Regulus inched his hand forward so that it was close to your face, but you made no move to butt your head against it like you usually would. Your eyes seemed to be pleading with him, but in this form, Regulus couldn’t read you as well.

In this form.

Regulus suddenly knew what he had to do.

Before that though, he retracted his hand in favour of letting his fingers curl around his wand. He brought it up to rest before you, slowing his movements down so as to not alert you in this frightened state. Even in a moment like this, you still trusted him entirely, and only blinked slowly at him while you shivered. He brought the tip of his wand up to rest just above your red spots.

“I’ll make it better, amour, I swear,” he mumbled, almost as if to himself. With a light graze and two whispered incantations, Regulus spelled away whatever shallow scratches you had across your beautiful fur and cleaned up the blood that had stained you so unjustly. 

Though he could not be certain, he thought he heard a sigh escape you. This time, when he put his wand down, you leaned your patterned forehead down against his fingertips. Worry was still clouding most of his mind, but his lips did twitch at the sentiment.

“I’m not leaving you.” He declared before saying anything else, not wanting fear to take over you once more. “Just stay right there, lovely, and I’ll be right back for you.”

Regulus almost stumbled when he pushed himself up onto his feet and near-sprinted up towards his dorm, taking the stairs three steps at a time. If you were startled, he could neither see nor hear it, and fully intended to soothe you in a mere moment.

The second he was out of sight of any other students, Regulus twirled into his own animagus form, Shadow.

At this new level of elevation and with the animalistic instincts taking over him, Regulus felt the wave of concern spark in him anew. While he could sense when he spelled away your injuries that they were not serious, the thought of you scared ached throughout him. On speedy onyx legs, he leaped back down the stairs with just one thought swimming through his mind.

Amour, amour, amour.

You must have smelled Shadow on his way to you, because even before he saw you, he picked up on the keening noise you made at the approach of your mate. 

Still sheltered carefully beneath the armchair, you were perched up on your front paws, staring eagerly towards where Shadow was pouncing towards you. This time, you let him slip beneath the seat and into your hiding place without any hesitation. On the contrary, you made space for him, and as soon as he was within reach, you curled up against him, hiding away.

With your face burrowed into Shadow’s furry neck, he could finally feel you sigh out in relief, any tension and fear seeping out of you. It was exactly what he had been hoping for, exactly what he wanted, no needed to accomplish.

Your love was true in any form, but the connection the two of you shared in animagus form was different from anything Regulus could even think to communicate through words. He had yet to find any relevant literature on animagi explaining the bonding experience you had in animagus form, but perhaps this was one of the things in his life that Regulus didn’t need to intellectualise.

Instead, Shadow curled back up against you, keeping his head over yours in a protective manner as he held you close with his paws. Absentmindedly, he began grooming your fur, placing every strand back down in the correct direction, ridding you of any evidence of whatever tussle you had suffered when roaming the castle. Certain places of your fur seemed to demand more of his attention, and though Regulus could not prove it as he healed and cleaned you up magically earlier, he had a creeping suspicion that was where you had been scratched up. So he didn’t resist it, instead doting on you exactly how he wanted.

Beneath his touch, you were becoming soft and pliant once more, purring loudly and occasionally looking up at him with the yellow eyes he had come to love so. His Whiskers. His amour.

Using the very bond he had no words to explain, Shadow asked you through some odd form of cat communication and animagi telepathy: What happened?

Your grunt and huff communicated what he had feared. Mrs. Norris.

Shadow made a hissing sound directed at your shared menacing nemesis before doubling down on his efforts to soothe you, nudging you over onto your back so that he could groom and kiss along your neck and chest – your most vulnerable areas in cat form, showing you just how safe you were now. 

This was part of what occasionally living as a cat entailed, but Regulus would be damned if he did not care for you as if it was a tragedy each and every time. Spelling out I love you with every lick and pet and nudge and purr.

Based on the lovely sounds you were making and how you seemed to melt into him until you were one and the same, you loudly claimed I love you too.

- - -

Soft, lavender sheets. Honey over a warm, homemade breakfast with coffee at the Three Broomsticks. The Hogwarts grounds at the cusp of spring.

Those were the scents he could so clearly make out in Potions this afternoon. It was his final class of the day, and he’d successfully produced an incredibly effective batch of Amortentia. He could tell that because all he could smell was you.

The scent overtook him, shaking him with surprise. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes rolled backwards, closing to conceal the embarrassing gesture. He swayed ever so slightly, his fingers bracing himself against the lab table. Fuck.

“Are you alright, dear boy?” Professor Slughorn’s voice broke through his fantasies.

Regulus’s eyes popped open. The pleasant dizziness subsided only a bit. He nodded.

“Yes, sir, I’m…,” he trailed off. Subconsciously, his eyes glanced toward his cauldron. It steamed gently, the coloring of such flickering soft oranges and pale blue-purples. It was reminiscent of the smells it gave off.

Slughorn’s eyes found his cauldron as well. “Ah, I do believe I can smell it now. It appears you’ve made a superb mixture of the love potion.” He chuckled gleefully.

“Well, now, tell me—what do you smell?” The professor asked, a devious glint in his eye.

“I—er…” Regulus stuttered. It wasn’t as if the scents would indicate anything that related to you, but his knowledge of his perversion made it seem like anybody could know. Besides, if anyone in this room was a Legilimens—he was already screwed.

So, he swallowed nervously and told him. Soft, lavender sheets were reminiscent of your scent. The uniforms that you kept washed and prepared so perfectly in that delicious laundry soap were almost too much for him to bear sometimes. He always knew when he’d just missed you in a room—your scent was overwhelming.

Honey over a warm, homemade breakfast with coffee at the Three Broomsticks. Every Saturday morning, you would join your friends at approximately nine o’clock right inside Hogsmeade. The first few times he’d caught you there, it was by accident. The last dozen, he’d intended to be there.

It didn’t take long to figure that aspect of your schedule out. It just clicked one day that you always happened to be there at the same time. One day, he decided to test his theory and went back the very next day at the same time. And, sure enough, there you were. Gorgeous with a dazzlingly bright smile. You sipped at your creamy coffee and drizzled golden honey over your breakfast. That time he’d realized you always went there on Saturdays, was one of the most beautiful times he’d ever seen you.

The Hogwarts grounds at the cusp of spring. This one was more so a mixture of his love for the school and his love for you. The changing of the seasons at Hogwarts was beautiful and comforting anyway, but you had done to it what you had done to everything else in his life. You took it over, bleeding into every aspect of it like paint in water.

With every early blooming flower, he saw you pressing your nose to them, intaking their scent with a gentle smile on your lips. With every spring shower, he saw you giggling amongst your friends as you raced across the quads to reach your classroom.

Everything he loved had become infected with you, and he didn’t care. He only wanted more.

Professor Slughorn nodded and gave him one last smile before wandering away to check other students. If he had any inkling that any of what Regulus smelled had anything to do with you, he didn’t show it.

Regulus turned back to his cauldron and inconspicuously leaned in, taking another deep breath. The smell was intoxicating. So much so, in fact, that he felt his trousers beginning to tighten.

His eyes snapped open and he looked around the classroom. Everyone seemed focused on their projects. He tugged his robes tighter around his front to cover his issue.

Fuck, when was class going to be over? Desire filled his limbs like a sweet warmth. All he could think about was you—your body, your hair, that smile. He switched his weight back and forth between each foot, fidgeting idly.

His eyes closed as he popped his neck, trying to urge his brain in a different direction. But, of course, everything led back to you.

He’d overheard you talking to your friends earlier this morning, stating that you would be in the library until later this evening while you waited for your laundry. In lieu of looking like a complete stalker, he’d told himself he wouldn’t follow. He would wait in his room and leave you be until this Saturday where he’d resume his typical routine by taking a small booth in the corner, and admiring from afar. But, now, the lust burning within him was almost too much to bear.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, that is all for today!” Slughorn announced. Fucking finally.

That was all Regulus waited around to hear. He muttered a quick vanishing charm over the cauldron. The Amortentia inside and all evidence it had ever been there disappeared before his eyes, but the scent of you lingered. He snatched his bag off the ground and made for the doors.

Somehow, his cauldron would find its way to the collection of them by the door. But, for now, he had to get back to his room and take care of his problem.

His mind raced with thoughts of you, which only served to worsen the pressure in his pants. Your exposed neck flashed across his eyes, your lips spread over your teeth, your body shuddered beneath his. One day, he’d see those things. But, for now, his imagination would work.

At least, it had been. The last few times he’d used you as a visual to get off, it’d taken much longer than it used to. His attraction to you was anything but fading, but his imagination was beginning to not cut it anymore.

If only he could have something of yours that would—

He stopped in his tracks. The entrance to the laundry room stared back at him.

Hadn’t you said something about waiting on your laundry this morning? Would your laundry still be in there?

That was too far. He was beginning to act like a total creep. But, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. Right?

With a preemptive glance around, he slipped into the laundry room.

One single house elf wandered about the far corner, sprinkling some scented concoctions over drying clothes on a rack. She did not seem to bear him any mind as he stalked in.

Regulus’s eyes scanned the room, searching for anything that reminded him of your uniform. Nothing really stood out and, amongst the hundreds of laundry soaps being used, he was having a hard time singling your scent out. Until, he came across a hamper in the corner waiting to be picked up.

It seemed to be filled with uniforms only, but a small metal plaque was imprinted on the side of the basket. Your initials were etched into the silver. His breath caught in his throat. It could have been someone else’s with the same initials, but there was only one way he’d know for sure.

He walked over to the basket and picked up the set of robes at the top. Gently, he pressed them to his nose and inhaled.

His limbs all but melted. These clothes were yours, without a doubt. Fuck, you were irresistible. He gripped the robes and contemplated. Was there anything of yours he could take without you noticing? How wrong was this, really? He wasn’t sure. He felt like a total creep, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted you so fucking bad. He just hadn’t quite figured out how to approach you yet.

And, just as he had begun to set the robes back into their basket and move on—deciding that this behavior was unacceptable—something slipped from within the robes. A flash of a pale peachy color caught his eye.

Interested, he set the robes back into the basket and squatted down to get a better look. Laying scattered across the floor was a lacy coral pair of underwear.

The rear panel of the piece was cut high and couldn’t have covered much of your ass. He swallowed thickly, pinching the material between his fingers.

Without another thought, he shoved the panties into his pocket and disappeared back down the hallway.

When he returned to his dormitory, he locked the door and crawled into bed, pulling the canopy curtains shut tight.

And before he could question the morality of all of this anymore, his desire overtook him. With a shuddering breath, he ripped his belt off and pulled himself out of his pants.

He grabbed the panties out from his pocket and hesitantly took in a breath. Your scent hit him like a rock. He all but groaned and struggled not to come from the sight of your underwear alone. Merlin, he was pathetic.

He pressed the fabric to his face as he began to pump himself to the thought of you. The image of you in these would have him on the floor clawing for you if he wasn’t careful.

Already, he was close and near ecstasy. His eyes opened as an idea crossed his mind. He wrapped his knuckles in the lacy material and then placed his fingers back around his dick. He continued to pump himself with the scratchy fabric tightened against his fingers. He shuddered at the sensation, his eyes rolling backward.

He placed a hand over his mouth to muffle the impending sounds. His head fell back against his pillow. His chest jerked beneath each wave of building pleasure.

Before he could hold it in, he came hard around his fist, your panties soaking in his release. As hard as it was, he forced his eyes open to catch the visual. The sight alone nearly made him come again.

And before any guilt about the situation could cloud his mind, he dozed off with you on his mind.

***

By the time he’d woken up, showered off all of his guilt, and made it to class, he’d worked up enough anxiety upon seeing you that he’d hardly even noticed you weren’t in your normal seat.

His eyes glanced about the room, straying away from the spot they usually locked onto every time he walked in.

He noticed that you were seated right beside his normal spot. His breath stopped in his chest. He nearly turned back around and skipped class, before you caught his eyes with yours. His lips parted as he tried to decipher your expression. You must know what he had done. Why else would you be up there?

Your eyes dropped and a hint of a smile brushed across your lips. He took in a shuddering breath and tightened his fingers around his bag strap. His heart pounded in his chest as he worked up the courage to climb the steps to reach his seat.

This classroom was arranged in an auditorium-type setting, with each row of seats on an elevated set of bleachers that stood about ten rows high.

He’d always sat at the top because it gave him a perfect view of the back of your head, and, more importantly, the tops of your breasts when you’d lean back over the edge of your seat to stretch. He was such a fucking freak and he hated himself for it, but he could not help it.

He reached his seat and sat, knee bouncing nervously beneath the desk.

“Good morning, Regulus,” you spoke quietly. Despite your odd tone, his name on your lips sped his heart rate up even more.

“Er, good morning,” he responded. “What’s up?”

His attempt to sound nonchalant was thoroughly ignored by you as you slid a folded piece of paper onto his desk. Before he could question it, you stood and made your way back to your normal seat.

Maybe it was the nerves wracking his brain, but he could swear you’d buttoned one less button on your shirt than you usually did today.

Right on cue, you leaned backward over your chair and stretched. This time, it was different. The edges of your black bra were ever so slightly exposed this time. You had definitely buttoned one less. And your face found his, smirking slightly.

You knew. You had to.

He broke eye contact and scrambled with the piece of paper, unfolding it as quickly as he could.

I know what you did. You should have just asked. Meet me in my dorm after school. 5pm.

If his heart could physically pound even harder, it did. The blood drained from his face. How could you have known? Did the elf tell you? Fuck, he was going to be sick. The lace panties currently sitting in his back trouser pocket were burning a hole through the chair.

He shouldn’t have brought them. He couldn’t help himself. He needed you so bad. Just gently fingering the material beneath his robes was helping him through the morning.

He took in a deep breath and pulled his hand from his pocket. He needed to focus on something other than you. You were driving him completely insane.

And yet, the class and every other aspect of his life was nothing compared to you—your scent, your face, your voice, your panties around his cock.

He shuddered with want. His heart pounded. Sweat beaded at his temples. If he stuck around much longer, his vision was going to start blurring. He grabbed his bag and whisked himself down the bleacher stairs.

The professor hadn’t yet arrived and was not there to see him disappear through the heavy wooden door.

The door clunked shut behind him, echoing down the corridor like a blast of lightning. He all but ran to the men’s lavatory at the end of the hall, pushing through that door, while trying to ignore the fact that he swore he’d heard the classroom door shut a second time.

He wouldn’t allow himself to hope that it was you running after him.

He ducked down and assured himself that the bathroom was completely empty. His bag dropped from his shoulder as he ran over to the porcelain sinks lining the far wall.

Pain scorched through his chest as his breath came out rapidly. He ripped his robe down his shoulders, letting it slip to a pool on the ground. His hands slammed against the sink, fingers twitching in panic.

He ripped his uniform sweater vest over his head and tossed it away. The old faucet squeaked as he jerked it on, letting the cold water rinse over his hands, then splash onto his face.

He all but panted into his reflection; his cheeks flushed and his eyes lidded. He needed something. Anything. It felt like his insides were on fire.

Before he could turn and whisper a locking charm over the lavatory door, it burst open, revealing you in your full glory. Your chest pumped with heavy breaths as if you’d run to get there.

Anticipation in seeing you jerked through him, a small gasp catching in his chest. Neither of you spoke for a few moments.

“I—”

“Don’t speak,” you interrupted immediately. His jaw snapped shut, his hands anxiously gripping the sink behind him. The still running water began to seep over the sink’s lip, sliding down through his fingers. The cold feeling over his hot skin forced a small gasp from him.

Wordlessly, you willed the sink to stop. The water shut off, and the last bit of leaking liquid fell across his fingers and hit the floor with a gentle splatter.

“The elf told me what you did,” you finally spoke. So he had been right. That was how you’d found out. “She told me a dark-haired boy stole something from my basket. I knew it was you.”

“How—how did you know?” Regulus stuttered out.

“Please. If you were anymore obvious, you’d have begged to fuck me in the middle of class,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. Regulus flushed a deep red at the thought, in disbelief that this conversation was really happening. What made it even crazier was he couldn’t tell if you were mad or not.

“You’ve been obsessed with me for months. I’m not stupid, and you’re more obvious than you think.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Regulus frowned, looking down at his shoes. Embarrassment flared uncomfortably in his stomach. He could feel his cheeks and ears heating up substantially. Despite his desires, he wanted to be far away from you at this moment.

“And yet, I can’t find it in me to be mad at you,” you said. Regulus’s eyes snapped up.

“Do you like me?” you asked, head tilting to the side at the question. Regulus’s mouth parted as if to speak, but stuttered as no words came out. He had silently begged for a scenario where he could admit his feelings to you for months, but now, when it was all he needed to do, he couldn’t speak.

“Reg, do you like me?” You said each word slowly and overenunciated. Your eyes were wide and your head nodded with each word, as if you were talking to a badly-behaved dog. For some reason, that turned him on even more.

He couldn’t speak, but he could show you how much he liked you.

This was either going to go very well, or he was going to elongate this humiliation ritual indefinitely. Then again, your humiliating him was not doing much to put him off. If anything, it was making him harder.

He pressed his lips together and let his hands slide off the sink. He slowly dropped to his knees, the left one bracing against the wet tile, then the right one shortly after. His eyes never left you—lidded and needy. Your eyes lowered with his body.

“Crawl.”

A shuddering breath left his lips, but he did not let anything deter him. At this point, he’d bare himself naked and rip his own chest open to get to you.

His hands braced against the wet floor and he crawled toward you. He moved slowly, carefully, so you could turn him down if you decided he wasn’t worth it at any point in the process. He wanted you to know that he was a choice—a disposable one at that. He was less than that.

Once he was inches from your body, his eyes stopped at your unclothed thighs, taking in every inch of your skin until it disappeared beneath your uniform skirt. He forced himself to look away and find your eyes.

Your expression was only describable as bored. If anything, you could have been disgusted with him. What did you want from him? Without instruction, he was useless. He wanted to touch you, to show you how bad he wanted you. He leaned his face forward ever so slightly and glanced up.

When you didn’t protest, he inched closer and closer until, with a shaky breath and a barely stifled moan, he pressed his face above your right knee. He trailed his nose across your skin, breathing your scent in. His hands pulled from the ground and gently cupped the back of your leg.

He exhaled roughly. His lips dragged across the top of your knee, tongue barely darting out to scrape along your flesh.

He placed a line of hot, wet kisses upwards until the hem of your skirt brushed against the bridge of his nose. He paused, looking up at you for permission. He could smell your desire.

You still had a plain expression on your face, your arms crossed. You didn’t say anything, so he took it as a pass to keep going.

He pushed his face upward, your skirt sliding over his face and shielding his eyes from the light in the bathroom. Hesitantly, his lips pressed over you from over top your bottoms.

They were lacy like the ones currently sitting in his back pocket, his tongue could taste the design poured over them. Despite your disinterested expression, you were unbelievably wet. As soon as his mouth pressed to you, the pressure from his jaw forced a gush of desire from between your thighs.

He audibly moaned at the flavor. All hesitancy left him and he pulled the entirety of your cunt over his face. He heard you gasp at the sudden pull, your fingers bracing against his curls as you struggled to keep your balance.

Your legs were split down over his jaw as he worked his tongue over you, revelling in your taste through the lace. Your nonchalance faded away as he continued to kiss against you. Soft moans slipped from between your teeth, echoing gently off the lavatory walls.

“Fuck,” you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair. When you didn’t stop him from going any further, he traced his fingers up the length of your thighs until they reached the waistband of your panties. He slipped his fingertips beneath the strap and pulled them down, the material soaked in a mixture of his saliva and your desire. He pulled his mouth away from you only long enough to push your bottoms down to your ankles, before reuniting his lips with your bare core.

At the connection with nothing in between, he watched through lidded eyes as you threw your head back and moaned aloud. “Reg…fuck, baby!”

The sound of those words on your lips only urged him on faster. Every time he’d touched himself at night, it was to his imagining what you’d sound like as he pleasured you. And this was everything he’d hoped for and more.

Even if you ditched him and never let him touch you again, he’d never lose the memory of your gorgeous body, your taste, your scent, your sounds. Shit.

Before he realized it, he caught himself grinding against your shin. He had no idea how long he’d been doing it for, but it had to have been a few minutes at least, as he felt a coil of pleasure building in the base of his stomach.

“You get off from pleasuring me, Reg?” you teased, scraping your nails easily against his scalp.

He moaned in confirmation, clutching at your ass, kneading the soft skin there as he continued to consume you.

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna…”

Regulus buckled down and traced every inch of you, his tongue swirling as roughly as it could. His hands gripped your thighs even tighter if that was even possible.

As he worked you further toward your orgasm, you let out increasingly loud, breathy moans that pounded in his brain. And with each one, he echoed with one of his own. He forced you closer, and forced himself closer.

And then you were gasping, and clutching at his curls even tighter than before, just as you broke around him. An excess of your lust gushed around his lips, and slid down his cheek and throat in gentle beads.

At the flavor and the way you clenched around his tongue, he came into his trousers, his hips no longer trying to seem subtle as they rocked against you. He panted raggedly against you as he continued to work you through your end, despite the power of his.

Once you had come down from your high, you all but collapsed against him. Your knees buckled and he caught you as you melted into his arms. All of your confidence had seemed to have fallen away. You shuddered as aftershocks hit you like waves.

He wiped his mouth along the length of his sleeve, before gingerly wrapping his arms around you. He only meant to test the waters, but just as with before, you did not question him and you did not push him away. In fact, he felt you snuggle against him with a contented sigh.

With a burst of confidence, he raised a hand and gently eased it across the crown of your head, smoothing your hair along the way. You said nothing, but your fingers gripped against his robes.

He needed to get you up and pull you into your dormitory, so you weren’t resting on the floor of the bathroom. He could tuck you into your bed, and watch you as you fell asleep, just like he’d always wanted to.

But, for now, he was happy with holding you as he could, with your taste still in his mouth.

- - -