𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵 𐙚

What We Let Go, What We Choose

(What We Couldn't Be Pt.3)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Ex! Reader x Caitlin Clark

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: When a long-overdue goodbye with Paige is mistaken for something more, heartbreak and jealousy push Caitlin to pull away—until a stormy confrontation forces buried love into the open, ending in a choice that finally lets the past go and something real begin.

Author's note: a very very very loooong overdue chapter, srry for that loves. but i hope this last final chapter makes up for it :v

PIAGE DOESN'T STOP TRYING.

At first, it’s subtle—small, almost invisible attempts that would’ve slipped past anyone who didn’t know her the way you once did. She waits near the edge of places she knows you’ll be. Not close enough to cause a scene, not far enough to feel accidental. A figure lingering by the exit of the practice facility. A familiar laugh you hear in passing that makes your spine stiffen before you remind yourself to breathe.

Then it becomes impossible to ignore.

She leaves notes with staff, folded carefully like they matter. She asks teammates how you’re doing, pretending it’s casual when it’s anything but. She shows up at a charity event she knows you’ll attend, standing awkwardly by the refreshment table like she’s afraid one wrong move will shatter whatever chance she has left.

You keep telling yourself you don’t owe her anything

.

But closure is a hunger. And it grows.

At the same time, the world has already rewritten your story.

Everywhere you go, it’s you and Caitlin. On the court, commentators marvel at the way you read each other without looking, how your timing feels instinctual instead of practiced. Off the court, PR leans into it just enough to make fans feral—shared smiles during interviews, side-by-side photos posted at calculated angles, headlines that toe the line between basketball analysis and speculation.

You don’t deny it.

Because something between you and Caitlin is happening.

She still jokes with you, still bumps her shoulder into yours after drills, still texts you late at night when the noise in her head won’t quiet. But there’s a difference now—an undercurrent of something unsaid, something waiting. The line between friendship and love stretches thinner every day, fraying under the weight of what you don’t dare name.

And then, without warning, it shifts.

Caitlin pulls back.

It’s not dramatic. Not obvious. Just… quieter. She stops waiting for you after practice. Her replies come slower, shorter. When you reach for her hand without thinking, she hesitates before letting you take it—just long enough for doubt to bloom.

You feel it like a bruise you keep pressing.

You want to ask her what’s wrong. But before you can, Paige finally gets her moment.

She looks… smaller than you remember. Less sure. Like someone who has been living in regret instead of hope.

“Please,” she says quietly. “Just talk to me. I’m not asking for anything else.”

You stare at her for a long moment, your chest tight. Then, finally, you nod.

You agree to meet her because you’re tired.

Tired of unfinished sentences. Tired of the way her name still echoes in places it shouldn’t. Tired of wondering whether silence is kinder than truth.

You meet somewhere small and quiet, tucked away from cameras and fans and everything that ever tried to turn your heart into a headline. Paige looks different up close—not worse, just… worn. Like someone who’s been carrying regret instead of certainty.

She doesn’t sit right away. She stands there, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, eyes flicking up to yours and then away again.

“Thank you,” she says finally. “For coming.”

You nod once. “I can’t do this more than once.”

“I know.” Her voice cracks just slightly. “I won’t waste it.”

There’s a long pause. Too long.

Then she exhales. “I’m not here to ask for you back.”

That gets your attention.

“I lost the right to do that,” she continues quietly. “And honestly… I don’t think that’s what either of us needs.”

You study her face, searching for the familiar patterns—deflection, charm, confidence—but they’re gone. What’s left is honesty stripped bare.

“Bug, I loved you,” Paige says. “In the way you love someone before you understand what love actually costs. And I hurt you because I didn’t know how to stay without breaking us.”

That damn nickname.

She looks at you then—not with longing, not with possession—but with something softer. Sadder. “I loved you, so so so much. You know that.” she says. “I think a part of me always will. But love isn’t enough when you don’t know how to protect someone.”

The words land gently, but they still bruise.

Your throat tightens. “You made me feel replaceable.”

Her eyes glisten. “I know. And that’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

Silence stretches again, but this time it doesn’t suffocate.

“I forgive you,” you say at last. The words feel heavy—but freeing. “Not because what you did was okay. But because I don’t want to keep carrying it.”

Paige swallows hard. “I’m glad you found someone who looks at you the way you deserve.”

Your chest twinges. “This isn’t about finding someone.”

She nods. “I know. That’s how I know it’s real.”

When she steps forward, it’s hesitant, careful. You let her hug you, just once. It’s brief. Not desperate. Not clinging.

Two people setting something down instead of picking it back up.

It’s an ending.

You don’t realize someone is watching.

Caitlin sees it from across the street.

She sees everything.

She sees Paige’s arms around you. Sees your head tilt forward, your body softening into the embrace. She doesn’t hear the words exchanged, doesn’t feel the closure settling between you and Paige like something finally at peace.

All she sees is what she’s been afraid of.

Her chest tightens painfully.

Of course, she thinks. Of course they found their way back, her mind insists.

She turns away before you notice her. Leaves without saying a word.

You feel the distance almost immediately.

Caitlin avoids you—not rudely, not openly—but with the kind of precision that hurts worse than anger. She keeps conversations surface-level. Professional. Safe. When you laugh, she smiles politely instead of lighting up the way she used to.

You try to catch her eye. She looks away.

It gnaws at you.

You catch yourself replaying moments—wondering when it changed, what you did wrong, whether you imagined the closeness you thought you shared. The silence between you feels louder than any argument ever could.

Finally, after practice one evening, the sky breaks open. Rain pours down hard and unforgiving, soaking the pavement in seconds. You spot Caitlin heading for the parking lot, shoulders hunched, hood pulled up like armor.

The rain comes down harder, relentless, unforgiving, soaking through your clothes until you can’t tell where the cold ends and the hurt begins.

“Caitlin—wait!” you call again, voice breaking despite yourself, running to her, hands above your head to shield yourself from the rain, but it’s useless against the harsh wind and the pouring drizzle of the rain.

She stops so abruptly that you almost run into her.

When she turns, her expression is nothing like the calm, joking Caitlin Clark the world knows. Her jaw is clenched so tightly you can see it tremble. Her eyes are blazing—not with tears yet, but with fury barely contained.

“What?” she snaps. “What do you want? Does it ever occur to you that I don’t want to talk to you?”

You falter at her pissed tone, “I want to know why you’ve been acting like I don’t exist.”

A bitter laugh tears out of her. “Oh, don’t do that. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“I don’t,” you insist. “I would never just—”

“I saw you with her,” Caitlin cuts in sharply, stepping closer, rain dripping off her lashes. “And don’t insult me by lying about what that looked like.”

Oh my god. She saw us with Paige, of all people.

Shit.

“That wasn’t—”

“It looked like you chose her,” she interrupts, voice rising now, cracking with something dangerous. “It looked like everything I was afraid of finally came true.”

You feel the words slam into your chest. “You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”

“Because I was tired,” she shoots back. “Tired of feeling stupid for hoping. Tired of pretending I wasn’t standing in the middle of something I was always going to lose.”

“Lose?” Your voice shakes. “Caitlin, I never saw this as a competition.”

“Well, I did,” she says harshly. “Every damn day.”

She drags a hand through her wet hair, pacing like a caged animal. “Do you know what it’s like to fall in love with someone who’s still bleeding from someone else? To watch you flinch every time her name comes up and tell myself it doesn’t mean anything?”

Your throat tightens. “You never told me.”

“Because I was angry,” she snaps. “Because I didn’t want to be that person. The one who demands space in a heart that isn’t empty yet.”

She turns back to you suddenly, eyes burning.

“I stepped between you on that court because I couldn’t stand watching her touch you like she still had the right. Because I wanted—no—I needed to be the one you leaned on.”

Her voice rises, raw now.

“And when I saw you hug her last week? After everything? I felt like a damn fool.”

“That hug was goodbye,” you say desperately. “I was letting go, we were letting go!”

“Well, it didn’t look like letting go,” she fires back. “It looked like history winning again.”

Silence crashes between you, heavy and electric.

Then she laughs, broken and angry all at once. “Do you have any idea how much I hate this? How much I hate that I care this much?”

Rain streaks down her face like she’s crying even when she refuses to.

“I’m in love with you,” she spits, like the words have claws. “And I tried to suffocate it. I tried to turn it into friendship, into teamwork, into jokes and late-night texts. But it didn’t work.”

Her voice breaks completely now.

“I fell anyway.”

Your chest aches painfully. You step closer, voice shaking but firm. “Then why didn’t you stay?”

“Because I didn’t want to be second,” she says fiercely. “Because I didn’t want to be the rebound. Because I didn’t want to hear you say her name in your sleep and realize I was always going to be standing in her shadow.”

You reach for her hands. This time, she doesn’t pull away.

“I chose you,” you say, voice thick. “I didn’t just walk away from her—I closed that door. That hug wasn’t love. It was closure.”

She searches your face like she’s afraid to believe you.

“Say it again,” she demands. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I choose you,” you repeat, louder, stronger, firmer. “Not because you’re safe. Not because it’s easy. Because I want you. Because you’re the one who stayed.”

Her breath stutters.

“You don’t get to say that unless you’re sure,” she whispers angrily. “Because if you break my heart—”

“I won’t,” you interrupt. “But I won’t lie to you either.”

Something in her finally gives.

She grabs your jacket, pulling you into her, kissing you like she’s been holding back for far too long—angry, desperate, consuming. The rain soaks you both, the world dissolving into heat and breath and truth.

When she finally pulls back, forehead pressed to yours, her voice is softer—but no less fierce.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

You smile, tears mixing with rain. “I won’t.”

And for the first time, love doesn’t feel quiet or careful.

What We Couldn’t Be Pt.2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Ex! Reader x Caitlin Clark

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: After a tense Fever–Wings game where your injury sparks a viral video between the you and Caitlin, and Azzi and Paige, shipping and reigniting rivalries, Paige’s unresolved feelings resurface, and she desperately tries to reach you—only to find herself blocked.

Author's note: helloooo everybody, you guys wanted a part 2, and here it isssss!! srry for the late upload, college had been fucking me huhu

THE DAYS LEADING UP TO the Fever–Wings game passed in a strange, fragile rhythm. You’d been living in that uncertain space between healing and breaking, where the scars of Paige’s departure were still tender but no longer openly bleeding. Grief, you learned, wasn’t just sorrow—it was the quiet hollow that lingered even when you laughed, the sharpness that pierced when you least expected it.

And yet, Caitlin was there. Always.

Not in the loud, performative way of someone swooping in to replace what you had lost, but in the quiet ways that mattered: a meme sent to your phone right before bed that made you snort despite yourself; a hand on your shoulder after practice that lingered just long enough to remind you that you weren’t as invisible as you sometimes felt; the way she caught your gaze during interviews, grounding you with a look that said, I know you’re tired. I’ve got you.

It wasn’t love—not yet. But it wasn’t just friendship either.

Something in between. Something dangerously fragile.

The arena buzzed with energy hours before tipoff. Commentators hyped up the “most awaited rivalry,” spinning narratives of Caitlin versus Paige, two college legends now carrying their names into the WNBA spotlight. But beneath the media chatter, you knew fans were watching something else. You.

Because whether you liked it or not, your name was always tied to Paige’s. The breakup, the whispered drama, the way your paths continued to collide—it was all fuel for storylines you couldn’t control.

Caitlin approached you as you laced up your sneakers, her expression unreadable but her tone casual. “Ready?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

Her lips curved in a half-smirk, the kind that always looked like she was both teasing you and daring the world to underestimate her. “Good. Let’s make this game ours, rookie.”

The words echoed in your chest. Ours.

The first half unfolded with brutal intensity. Dallas played with sharp precision, Paige moving across the court with the grace you knew all too well. Watching her handle the ball again, hearing the crowd roar her name, you felt a pang—not of longing, but of recognition. She was still everything she had been when you loved her: fierce, brilliant, magnetic.

But you weren’t the same anymore.

Every time you dribbled past her, every time Caitlin called your name and tossed you the ball, you felt yourself shifting into something steadier. You weren’t Paige’s shadow anymore—you were your own force.

Still, the tension was undeniable. When you collided with Paige on a defensive switch, your bodies pressed for just a second too long, her breath hot against your cheek. Neither of you spoke, but your silence screamed.

The crowd felt it. The cameras caught it. Social media was already dissecting it before the halftime buzzer.

It occurred at the end of the second quarter.

Caitlin threaded a perfect pass your way, the kind of instinctive connection that came from hours of practice and an unspoken understanding. You sprinted toward the basket, adrenaline pumping, the layup waiting like a promise.

But your fingers betrayed you. The ball slipped, the spin was wrong, and as it clanged hard against the rim, you landed awkwardly. Pain tore through your ankle, sharp and unrelenting. You collapsed to the cold floor of the court, clutching it as the whistle shrieked. A sharp grunt left your lips as you try to keep the scream from tearing your throat.

The noise of the crowd dimmed, replaced by the rush of blood in your ears.

Then, suddenly, Paige was there.

Her hand extended to your shoulder, her eyes wide with concern. The world narrowed to that moment—the familiarity of her presence, the memory of every time she had steadied you before.

But before you could move, Caitlin was at your side.

She crouched low, slipping her arm under yours that wasn’t held by Paige, with a firmness that left no room for argument. Her eyes flicked up to Paige’s, hard and unyielding, and she moved Paige’s hand away from you. It wasn’t a spoken challenge, but it might as well have been.

Back off. She’s with me now.

The crowd roared. Phones lit up. Hashtags were born in real time.

And you? You let Caitlin help you up because your body ached, because your pride was shattered, and maybe because a part of you wanted her to.

By the time you sat on the bench, in your team's respective dugout, ankle wrapped and elevated, the internet had already chosen its narrative.

Clips of Caitlin lifting you, her hand steady on your back, flooded Twitter and TikTok. You and Paige staring for a few seconds, and her helping you. Caitlin and Paige’s stare off. Edits of your shared glances with Caitlin after she helped you up, spliced with romantic music, comments about “chemistry you can’t fake,” and captions like Caitlin stepping up where Paige failed, trended worldwide.

“#CaitlinxReader” exploded.

You scrolled briefly on your phone, your chest tightening as you saw thousands of fans declaring Caitlin and you the new it duo, speculating on whether there was more than friendship between you. Some celebrated it; others dredged up Paige’s name, comparing, debating, weaponizing your pain for clicks.

And you couldn’t ignore the fact that maybe Paige had seen it too.

Because during the third quarter and towards the fourth, you caught her glances—sharp, unsettled with a clenched jaw, lingering longer than they should.

Dallas won. The final buzzer blared, sealing the game in their favor, but the arena still buzzed with a different kind of electricity. The rivalry was no longer just about basketball—it was personal.

You limped toward the tunnel, exhaustion and frustration weighing you down. And then, fate twisted cruelly.

You collided—hard—with Paige.

The impact jolted through you, and for a second, all the air left your lungs. You looked up, meeting her eyes, and it was like being dragged back in time.

“Watch it,” you muttered, your voice brittle with the effort of keeping your composure.

Her jaw clenched. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”

You froze. “What do you want me to say, Paige? That I’m grateful you tried to play savior out there? That it means something? It doesn’t.”

Her face hardened, but her voice cracked. “Don’t act like I don’t still—”

“Still what?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Still care? Then why did you leave me like I didn’t matter?”

The words hung between you, heavy and unrelenting.

And then all of a sudden Azzi appeared, her brows furrowed so deeply.

She slipped her arm through Paige’s, standing squarely between you with an expression that burned. “Is this what it’s about? You causing drama again?”

Your chest tightened. “What are you talking about? I wasn't causing any drama—”

“Oh, please,” Azzi cut in, voice sharp as glass. “You’re clinging to something that’s over. She’s with me now. Get over it.”

“Azzi, cut it out.” Paige immediately said as she tries to keep her calm.

The sting of her words sliced deep, but before you could react, Caitlin was there.

Her presence was like gravity—solid, unshakable. She stepped closer, her hand brushing your elbow, steadying you. “Back off,” she said, voice low and calm, but laced with steel.

The tunnel pulsed with tension. Cameras flashed. Reporters whispered. The world was watching, even if it wasn’t supposed to.

Security and some team staffs eventually intervened, pulling everyone apart before the confrontation could escalate. But the damage was done. Clips of the moment were already captured and went viral: Paige reaching for you, Azzi stepping in, Caitlin defending you. Fans were eating the interaction so much that they were dedicated in dissecting every second, every glance, every touch.

Back in the dugout room, you sat in silence, ankle throbbing, head spinning. Caitlin dropped down beside you, tossing a towel in your direction.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

You nodded, though your throat felt raw. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

She studied you for a long moment, then reached out, brushing her fingers briefly against yours. “You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Not her. Not Azzi. Not the fans. You’re more than their storyline. They don’t owe you anything.”

Something in your chest cracked—not painfully, but like a dam giving way. You didn’t reply, but you let her hand linger against yours, and for the first time that night, you felt like you could breathe.

Later, in Dallas’ locker room, the storm raged on. Two lovers in a fit of rage, away from everybody else. Away from prying eyes and ears.

Azzi paced, her hands balled into fists. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Paige’s head snapped up, her voice sharp. “I’m not.”

“Then why do you look at her like that?” Azzi’s voice broke, trembling with both anger and fear. “Why do you freeze every time her name comes up? Why does it feel like I’m competing with someone who isn’t even here anymore?”

“I chose you.” Paige insisted, her voice strained, desperate. “I’m with you, Azzi. She’s—she’s in the past."

“Then why doesn’t it feel that way, huh?”

“Do you still love her, Paige?” When Paide didn't answer right away, Azzi continued in a feeble voice.

“I- I am... not. I don’t anymore. Stop bringing it up.” Paige stammered, eyes wavering away from Azzi, backing away with unstable steps, running a hand through her hair.

“Why did you hesitate?” Azzi’s eyes are now brimming with tears.

Paige could only walk away, shaking her head.

That night, your phone buzzed relentlessly. Messages, missed calls—all from Paige.

Please. Just talk to me.

I need to explain.

Don’t shut me out like this.

Don’t say anything if you don’t want talk, just hear me out.

Be angry at me.

Shout at me.

Curse at me.

I don’t care, just talk to me.

Please.

You stared at the screen, heart pounding, thumb hovering. For a moment, the temptation gnawed at you. To hear her voice again, to let her in, to feed the part of you that still ached for closure.

But then you remembered the tunnel. The argument at her apartment. The begging. The hurt. The sting of her absence. The way Caitlin’s steady presence had felt like safety when everything else threatened to crumble.

You pressed Block.

You didn’t know if it made you feel a little better.

Lying in the quiet of your hotel room, your ankle iced and your phone turned face down on the nightstand, you stared at the ceiling.

Caitlin’s text came hours later, simple but enough: “Rest up. I’m here.”

And though the world outside was on fire—fans dissecting your every move, Paige and Azzi splintering under the weight of unspoken truths—you allowed yourself a small smile.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t defined by Paige.

You were something else. Something more.

What We Couldn’t Be

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Former Ex-Teammate! Reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Reader is devastated when Paige hard-launches her new relationship, openly giving her the love she once denied.

Genre: Angst

Author's corner: in honor of paige and azzi lowk hard-launching each other lol (crying)

IT HAD BEEN MONTHS since you last saw Paige. Months since that fight in her apartment where words turned sharp, where silence carried more weight than either of you could bear. The memory of that night still clawed at your chest—the way her voice stayed calm even when yours trembled, the way she whispered “I just need this private” as though the secrecy was harmless, as though the shadows weren’t suffocating you.

“I can’t keep living like this, Paige.” Your voice had cracked that night in her apartment, frustration bleeding through exhaustion. “You keep saying you love me, but only when nobody’s watching. I’m tired of being a secret.”

Paige’s jaw had tensed; her hands shoved deep in her sweatshirt pockets like she was holding herself back. “You know why, Y/N. The pressure, the media, everything—I can’t have them knowing. Not now.”

“Not now?” Your voice rose, brittle and breaking. “It’s never now with you. Do you even want me, or do you just want me hidden?”

She looked away then, eyes wet but distant. “It’s not about not wanting you. It’s about protecting what we have.”

”I just need this private.”  She added.

You laughed bitterly. “Protecting it? You’re suffocating it.”

That silence that followed—god, it was worse than shouting. Because in that silence, you realized she wouldn’t choose you. Not out loud, not in front of the world.

You had begged, not with words but with your eyes, for her to understand. To see how hiding something so precious broke you apart piece by piece. You were willing to give her everything—your love, your loyalty, your future—but in return she asked for silence. For invisibility. For a kind of love that lived only behind closed doors, where nobody could witness its beauty. And you couldn’t do it anymore.

So you ended it. Or maybe it ended itself.

Months later, Paige had chosen someone.

And it wasn’t you.

Now, months later, the world had changed. You had made it to the WNBA—Indiana Fever’s youngest guard, fighting for her place, learning how to breathe under the weight of new expectations. Paige was in Dallas, golden as ever, carrying the spotlight with that same mix of grace and gravity she had at UConn. On the court, her name still carried reverence. Off the court, it was her smile—bright, magnetic, untouchable—that made her seem like she belonged to everyone.

Everyone but you.

You had convinced yourself you were healing, that the sting had dulled. Until the night Paige posted a picture with Azzi.

It wasn’t much. Just a simple photo—two girls laughing, their shoulders brushing, the kind of closeness that fans had speculated about for years. Paige’s caption was cryptic, nothing more than a blue heart and a sun emoji. But the internet didn’t need much to burn. Comments flooded in, shipping names revived, theories spun. You told yourself it was just noise, that Paige had always been close to Azzi, that it meant nothing.

And then Azzi posted a TikTok.

It was playful, lighthearted—her lip-syncing about her dinner being covered by Paige. At the end, Paige appeared, playfully rolling her eyes and appearing to stand up from the chair. It was not out of the ordinary, they sometimes do TikToks like this, what’s different about this compared to the others? But when Azzi liked a comment that read “at least paige is winning off the court” your chest collapsed in on itself.

The world tilted, and suddenly you were twenty again, standing in Paige’s apartment, begging her not to keep you in the dark.

For years, fans had speculated about Paige and Azzi. Their friendship had always been painted as something more, and though Paige had once whispered to you in the dark, “they don’t know you’re the one,” you had always felt like you were fighting against a tide you couldn’t control. The comments, the edits, the endless shipping—it gnawed at you, made you wonder if maybe Paige wished it were true. If maybe she wanted that story instead of the one you were writing together.

And now it was true. Or at least, that was the story Paige was telling.

The hard launch came quietly, the way heartbreak always does. A series of photos on Instagram—Paige and Azzi at dinner, Paige’s arm draped around Azzi’s shoulders, their hands intertwined on the table. The interview of Paige, when the interviewer asked if she knew her basketball girlfriend really well.

You stared at it until the letters blurred. Your breath caught in your throat as though the world had been ripped in half.

You told yourself you could ignore it, that you didn’t need to look at the comments. But of course, you did. Thousands of fans celebrating, calling them “endgame,” “soulmates,” “the love story we’ve all been waiting for.” And in every word, you felt yourself shrinking.

Because once upon a time, that had been you.

But Paige hadn’t been willing to claim you. Not in posts, not in interviews, not even in the small ways that mattered. She had kissed you in shadows and held you when the world was sleeping, but the moment the sun rose, you became invisible.

You hadn’t wanted fame. You hadn’t wanted attention. All you had asked for was acknowledgment—that you weren’t just a secret tucked into the corner of her life. And she couldn’t give it.

But she gave it to Azzi.

The interview sealed it. The journalist asked about the rumors, and Paige smiled—a smile that used to be yours.

You turned off the screen before the interview finished, but the words stayed, echoing through you like a wound you couldn’t close.

That night, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, your chest tight, your hands trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, hot and relentless. You tried to swallow them, to tell yourself you were stronger than this, but grief doesn’t listen to logic. It lives in the spaces between your ribs, in the silence of an empty room.

It wasn’t just that Paige had moved on. It was that she had given Azzi everything she had denied you. The openness, the certainty, the willingness to be seen. You weren’t mourning just the loss of her—you were mourning the proof that you had never been enough for her to choose.

The next morning, practice felt heavier than usual. Your teammates noticed the way your shots fell short, the way you avoided conversation, the way your smile never reached your eyes. Aliyah gave you a look once, almost asking, but you shook your head. Some pain couldn’t be shared.

Caitlin Clark noticed. She always noticed.

“Hey,” she called as practice ended, tossing you a towel with that easy grin of hers. “You okay? You’ve been zoning out all day. I was wide open twice, by the way. You ignoring me already?”

You caught the towel, forcing a smile. “Sorry. Just… distracted.”

Caitlin studied you for a moment, her sharp eyes softer than people gave her credit for. “You don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’m here.”

Something in her tone—steady, genuine—made your throat tighten. You weren’t used to being seen like that anymore. Not after months of being invisible to the person you once gave everything to.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied, because you couldn’t unpack Paige Bueckers in the middle of the Fever’s locker room.

But Caitlin didn’t push. She just bumped her shoulder against yours as she passed, leaving a warmth that lingered longer than it should have.

That night, Nika FaceTimed you.

Her face filled the screen, blonde hair pulled back, expression serious. “I saw it,” she said without preamble.

You didn’t have to ask what. “Of course you did. Everyone has.”

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, the way it used to in the UConn dorms when she caught you crying after late practices. “Are you okay?”

The question cracked something in you. You tried to smile, but it trembled. “I don’t know. I thought I was, but seeing her like that—seeing her give Azzi what she wouldn’t give me—it just…” You trailed off, words splintering into the ache in your chest.

Nika exhaled, leaning closer to the camera. “You know it doesn’t mean you weren’t enough, right? Paige—she has her own fears, her own walls. That doesn’t mean you didn’t matter.”

“But it feels like it,” you whispered. “It feels like I was just the practice run. The person she kept in the dark until she found the one she was ready to show off.”

Nika’s eyes glistened, but her voice stayed firm. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t compare your worth to what Paige is doing now. You gave her love, and that love was real. That doesn’t vanish just because she didn’t shout it from the rooftops.”

You swallowed hard, blinking fast. “It still hurts like hell.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “And I wish I could fix it. But promise me you won’t let this break you. You’ve worked too damn hard to get here.”

Her words steadied you more than you expected. Because Nika had always been like that—the anchor when the storm got too loud.

Everywhere you turned, Paige and Azzi were there. In headlines, in highlight reels, in the laughter echoing across social media. You tried to tell yourself you didn’t care, but your heart betrayed you each time their names appeared together.

The cruelest part was that you didn’t hate them. Azzi was kind, brilliant, deserving of love. Paige was everything you had fallen for once—passionate, magnetic, unstoppable. Together, they made sense. And maybe that was what hurt the most.

You didn’t hate them. You hated that it wasn’t you.

Weeks passed, but the ache didn’t fade. Some nights you scrolled through old photos, through texts you never deleted, through memories you couldn’t erase. You remembered the way Paige would tuck her chin into your shoulder after games, the way she whispered, “you’re my home,” as though it were a secret too precious to share.

Maybe she had believed it then. Maybe she hadn’t. Either way, it was gone now.

One evening, after a grueling game, you found yourself alone in the locker room long after everyone else had left, though you didn’t notice one person had decided to stay. The echoes of laughter faded down the hall, leaving only silence. You sat on the bench, your jersey damp, your body heavy, and for the first time, you let yourself break.

Caitlin found you sitting alone in the locker room long after the others left.

She sat beside you, quiet at first. Then: “She’s all over your head, isn’t she?”

Your breath hitched, not at all surprised at her presence or maybe you are just numb everywhere. “How do you—”

“I’m not blind,” Caitlin said gently. “You don’t have to say her name. But I see it. Every time you flinch at your phone, every time you zone out in practice. Whoever she is… she hurt you bad.”

You looked at her then, into those earnest eyes that burned with the same fire you carried on the court. And for a moment, you almost told her everything—the secret relationship, the breakup, the hard launch that gutted you.

But instead, you just whispered, “Yeah. She did.”

Caitlin nodded slowly. “Then let me be blunt: she’s an idiot. Because anyone who gets you and lets you go? That’s on them, not you.”

Her words pierced something in you, something raw and desperate. And before you could stop yourself, a tear slid down your cheek. Caitlin’s hand brushed it away before you even realized she moved.

You looked away quickly, ashamed of the crack in your armor. But she didn’t pull back.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” Caitlin said softly. “But you don’t have to carry it alone, either.”

The silence that answered was unbearable.

And for the first time, you let yourself break completely—sobs wracked through you, violent and unrelenting. You pressed your hands to your face, wishing you could stop, wishing the pieces of your heart didn’t still belong to someone who had chosen someone else.

You whispered her name once, into the emptiness, and it sounded foreign. Caitlin widened her eyes at the name you just uttered.

Paige.

It felt like surrender.

You didn’t reach out. You didn’t text. You didn’t call. Because love wasn’t enough, not when it had cost you so much.

Instead, you carried the hurt quietly, like an old injury that never quite healed. You played your games, you smiled for cameras, you lived your life. And maybe one day the ache would fade, maybe one day you’d stop searching for her in every crowd.

But tonight, as the world celebrated Paige and Azzi’s love story, you let yourself grieve the one that never got told.

The one that lived only in silence.

The one that ended before it ever had the chance to be seen.

Paige had chosen.

And it wasn’t you.

But maybe—just maybe—there was still a future where the pain didn’t own you. Where your story wasn’t defined by what Paige couldn’t give.

Secret love affair⋆˚࿔

Pairing: 𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗀𝖾 𝖡𝗎𝖾𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Word Count: 900

Summary: 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗁, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗀𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗌, 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

Genre: 𝖠𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗅

Author’s corner: 𝗁𝖾𝗒𝗒, 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 wrote 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌!- 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍𝗒 lmao

credits to @dollywons for this cute af dividers!

The arena roared, but all I heard was the frantic thump of my own heart. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and victory, the metallic tang of adrenaline sharp on my tongue. Paige, a blur of blonde ponytail and UConn blue, sliced through the defense, her movements poetry in motion. The symphony of squeaking sneakers and strategic dribbles filled the court, each beat a pulse of inevitability. Then—release. The ball arced, spinning through the air like it was destined for greatness.

Swish. Game point. Victory.

The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of screams and stomping feet, but I stood frozen on the sidelines, drowning in the noise. I should have been ecstatic. Everyone around me was. But a knot of dread coiled tight in my stomach, suffocating the elation before it could even form. Another win meant another wave of attention, another round of interviews, another barrage of cameras capturing her every move. And with each flash, the pressure mounted, crushing me under its weight.

Paige and I were a secret. A stolen kiss in the empty locker room after practice, hushed whispers on late-night phone calls, intertwined fingers under the table at a crowded restaurant, hoping—praying—no one noticed. It was beautiful, fragile, and terrifying.

I knew why. Paige was a phenomenon. A star. A brand. Coming out as queer, especially with someone as...unremarkable as me, was a risk. She had endorsements, sponsorships, and an image to maintain. I understood, logically. But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

After the game, confetti rained down like a cruel parody of celebration, a stark contrast to the gray cloud settling over me. I waited by the tunnel, forcing a smile for the fans shoving their phones in my face, eager to glimpse their superstar. Finally, she appeared, radiant and electric, her face flushed with triumph.

Our eyes met. And for a fleeting second, I saw everything: relief, love, a plea for understanding. Then, just as quickly, the moment was gone, swallowed by the throng of reporters who had already begun circling like vultures.

"Paige! Huge game! Thoughts?"

"Paige, what's next for the Huskies?"

"Paige, any words for your fans?"

I watched as she navigated their questions easily, her voice steady, her answers polished and professional. She spoke about teamwork, dedication, about the future of UConn basketball. Not a single mention of the person who had stayed up all night with her, calming her pre-game jitters. Not a single acknowledgment of the hand that would be cold and empty on the drive home.

Later, my phone buzzed.

“Drinks with the team. Raincheck?”

Raincheck. That word had become the soundtrack of our relationship. Raincheck on date nights, raincheck on introducing me to her family, raincheck on simply existing together in the light. Everything was a raincheck, perpetually postponed to a mythical future where the stars aligned, and the world was ready for us.

That night, I didn’t reply.

The silence stretched for days. I avoided the arena, the TV, and even social media. Every notification, every news article, was a reminder of the chasm growing between us. The chasm is built of fear, ambition, and the crushing weight of public opinion.

When she finally showed up at my apartment, her eyes were red-rimmed, her fingers trembling as she clutched the hem of her sweatshirt. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Why are you ignoring me?” she asks in a hurt tone.

"You know what's going on, Paige." My voice was steel wrapped in glass, fragile and sharp all at once.

"I’m tired of being a secret. I’m tired of hiding."

"But I can't..." She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Not yet. I just need more time."

"Time for what?" My voice cracked, raw with unshed tears. "Time for everyone else to be okay with us? Time for you to decide if I'm worth risking your image?"

"That's not fair," she said, her voice rising, defensive. "You know I care about you."

"Caring isn’t enough, Paige. I need more than stolen moments and whispered white lies promises. I need you to be proud of me. I need you to want to show me off to the world."

“Can’t you do that for me? For us?” I pleaded. She stayed silent.

“Paige, please say something,” I begged, my voice shaking as tears ran from my eyes uncontrollably.

Why isn’t she saying anything?

Why?

Why?

Just why.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I saw it then—the truth, etched in the tight set of her jaw, in the flicker of fear behind her eyes. She wasn’t ready. And I couldn’t wait any longer. Her silence was the only answer I needed.

"I can't do this anymore," I whispered, my voice breaking.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, carving silent paths of regret. "Please, don’t go. Please stay."

But I had to. For my sanity. For my self-respect. I couldn’t keep sacrificing my happiness for a future that might never arrive.

"Goodbye, Paige." I said, turning away.

The door clicked shut behind me, the sound slicing through the quiet like a final, irreversible decision. As I walked away, I imagined the headlines that would eventually break, the whispers that would follow Paige and the scrutiny that would descend upon her. I hoped, with a selfish pang, that she would regret her choice. But mostly, I hoped that one day, she would find the courage to be true to herself, even if it cost her everything.

Because in the end, love shouldn’t be a secret. It should be a victory, celebrated with as much passion and fervor as a game-winning shot.

And I deserved nothing less.

Caught Between the Lines ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

Pairing: 𝖢𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇 𝖢𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗑 𝖬𝖾𝖽 𝖠𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: 𝖢𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖾𝖻 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽, 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗋, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖢𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍.

Warning/s: 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗈, 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽???

Author's corner: 𝗁𝖾𝗒𝗒, 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌!!—𝗂'𝗆 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗈𝗐𝖺. 𝗉𝗅𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌

CAITLIN CLARK HAD ALWAYS known exactly who she was.

From the moment she first picked up a basketball, the rhythm of the game had been her heartbeat. It was her first love, her greatest passion, the one thing in life she could always count on. Every shot, every pass, every buzzer-beater was a piece of her story, written in the language of the sport she adored. And then there was Connor—her steady, unwavering boyfriend, the person who had always been by her side. Through every victory and every defeat, he was there, a familiar presence, a safe place.

She never questioned it. Not once.

Until you.

It wasn’t supposed to be complicated. You were just the new assistant for the athletic department, someone she saw in passing, a friendly face on the sidelines. The kind of person anyone would gravitate toward—kind, funny, easy to talk to. It started out simple. A few harmless conversations, a joke exchanged between drills, the kind of thing she’d never given a second thought to before.

But then she started noticing things.

The way her pulse quickened when she heard your voice. The way her eyes searched for you in the crowd before every game. The way she caught herself smiling at her phone when your name popped up on the screen.

It didn’t make sense. She was happy with Connor. She loved him. Didn’t she?

One evening, after a grueling practice, Caitlin walked outside the gym and found you waiting, leaning casually against the brick wall, arms crossed, that familiar smile playing at your lips. The golden glow of the setting sun framed you in a way that made her stomach twist—an unfamiliar, exhilarating feeling she couldn’t quite name.

"Hey, superstar," you teased, bumping her arm. "Killer game today."

She laughed, but it came out breathier than she intended. "Thanks. I try."

For a moment, the world seemed to slow. There was something unspoken in the air between you, something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge but couldn’t bring herself to ignore. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her gym bag as she struggled to push the feelings away.

"You, okay?" you asked, voice soft with concern, noticing Caitlin's uneasy posture.

She hesitated. She could brush it off, pretend like nothing had changed. Or she could be honest—with herself, with you.

"I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think—"

But she didn’t finish. Couldn’t finish. Because if she said it out loud, if she admitted what was happening, then it would be real. And that terrified her.

You didn’t push. You just nodded, offering a quiet reassurance. "Whatever it is, I’m here."

Caitlin exhaled slowly, a mix of relief and frustration washing over her. She didn’t have the answers, didn’t know how to navigate these feelings. All she knew was that, for the first time in her life, she felt like she was standing at the free-throw line with the game on the line—and she wasn’t sure if she was going to make the shot.

As she stepped into the locker room, her teammates were in mid-conversation.

"Clark, you good?" Gabbie asked, tossing a towel over her shoulder.

"You’ve been spacing out a lot lately."

"Yeah, you better not be losing focus on us," Kate teased, elbowing Caitlin lightly. "We need our star locked in."

Caitlin forced a laugh, shook her head, sat on one of the benches, and began untying her shoes. "I’m fine. Just tired."

Monika gave her a knowing look but didn’t press. "Well, whatever it is, make sure you don’t forget we’ve got Purdue this weekend. We need you sharp."

Caitlin nodded, but even as the conversation moved on, she couldn’t shake the unease creeping in. She was used to having all the answers, knowing exactly what she wanted. But now? Now, she wasn’t so sure.

That night, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Caitlin tried to rationalize it all. Maybe it was just admiration. Maybe she simply looked up to you in a way she hadn’t with anyone else. But then why did her stomach flutter every time you sent her a text? Why did she replay your conversations in her head, wondering what you meant by certain glances, certain words?

Connor noticed something was off. He had always been good at reading her.

"You’ve been quiet lately," he said one afternoon as they walked along campus. "Everything okay?"

Caitlin forced a smile, nodding too quickly. "Yeah, just tired. Long practices."

He accepted her answer, but she knew it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair to herself.

Days passed, and the weight in her chest grew heavier. It was after a particularly grueling practice that everything came to a head. She found herself lingering in the locker room longer than usual, dreading the moment she had to step out and face reality.

"Clark, you’re showering in slow motion today," Hannah teased as she finished getting dressed. "You trying to avoid something?"

"Or someone?" Sydney teased with a grin.

Caitlin sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You all are too nosy."

"We’re just looking out for you," Gabbie said, her tone more sincere now. "If something’s up, you know we got you, right?"

Caitlin said nothing in reply to Gabbie, she leaned her back against one of the lockers, running her fingers in her and softly tugged on it.

"I don't know why you're avoiding Y/N, and I don't want to meddle in on what's happening between the two of you, but I hope you two will fix this, whatever's been going on." Gabbie said in a worried voice.

Caitlin swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah, I know. I'll talk to her soon." What Caitlin didn't know was that ‘soon’, may come a bit earlier than she would have liked.

You walked inside the locker room, your eyes looking for something or someone, your expression shifting the moment you saw her. The girls, all except Caitlin, turn to look at your arrival.

"Caitlin?"

She snapped her eyes open and stood straight as soon she heard your voice and turned to face you. "Y/N..." she said in a shocked voice.

"Hey, Cait, can we talk for a moment?" You said meekly, Caitlin merely blinked her eyes at you, unsure what to say. "Um." she mumbled, darting her head towards the girls in the room, signaling with her eyes that she wanted a moment with you.

Gabbie and the others shared a look of understanding and slowly piled out the room to give the two the privacy they needed.

You slowly approached her and took your place beside her. The two of you standing side by side with both your hands lying limply just inches away from each other, both in your mind wanting to hold each other's hands but too afraid to make a move. Neither of the two was looking at each other. Caitlin's staring blankly at the ceiling, while yours were at the ground, your right foot twiddling the floor. After a few minutes of tension-filled silence, you can't handle any more of the awkwardness dancing between the two of you and decide it was time to speak up.

"Why are you avoiding me, Cait?"

Caitlin did not reply to you, still staring at the ceiling, her eyes slowly blinking, quickly licking her lips.

"Had I done something wrong?" You said forlornly, furrowing your brows. At that, Caitlin snapped her head at you, and she immediately shook her head in disagreement.

"No, no... It's not you, God it was never you, Y/N," Caitlin quickly replied while grabbing your hand at your side, while her other hand held your jaw, her thumb rubbing your cheeks softy.

She looked at you nervously, her heart hammering. "I don’t know what’s happening to me," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know why I feel this way."

You didn’t look surprised. If anything, you looked… understanding.

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," you said in a whisper, while slowly caressing her inner wrist with your forefinger.

"Feelings are messy. They don’t always make sense. You can talk to me, Cait. You are not alone, don’t bottle this up."

Caitlin inhaled sharply, her hands trembling. She wanted to believe you. She wanted to let go of the guilt, the confusion, the fear.

“I don’t know why I feel this way for you… It’s not fair. I— I don’t know what to do.” Caitlin choked, pressing her forehead to your neck. “I wish I could answer that, Cait.” You bit the inside of your mouth; the only comfort you gave to the teary-eyed girl was a soft squeeze of her wrist with a light kiss on the top of her hair.

Caitlin wanted to believe in you but most of all, she wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss your lips and not question why she wanted to.

Four months had passed, and Caitlin continued to wrestle with her emotions. Avoiding Connor was no longer an option. She needed to confront the truth—even if it scared her.

One afternoon, after practice, she found him waiting outside the gym. He looked at her with hurt but quiet understanding, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Do you love me, Caitlin?"

It was quiet for a moment, Caitlin hesitated, and in that pause, the answer became painfully clear. "I care about you, Connor. I do. But… something’s changed. I’ve changed."

His jaw tensed, but he nodded. "I knew this was coming. I just didn’t want to admit it."

"I’m sorry, I really am, but I don’t want to hide any longer. If I dragged this much longer, I would continue to hurt you more, it's not fair to you." she whispered in an apologetic voice.

"I just want you to be happy," he said softly. "Even if it’s not with me. Your happiness is more important."

“I’m proud of you, cait. I really am.” Connor added with a wobbly smile.

Tears pricked at Caitlin’s eyes as he walked away, but alongside the sadness was something else—a strange sense of relief. The weight she had been carrying was slowly lifting.

Later that night, she found herself outside your apartment door, heart pounding. When you opened it, surprise flickered across your face before softening into a smile, leaning against the door, crossing your arms, and leaning against the door frame.

"Yes, Caitlin?"

She exhaled, steadying herself. "I don’t have everything figured out yet… but I want to. With you.... If you'll let me."

You shook your head and stepped forward, pulling her into a big hug. "You don’t have to have all the answers or worry about what the future might hold. The answers will come when they’re meant to. Just know that what you're feeling is real. And it’s okay. You're okay."

Caitlin’s breath hitched, but this time, it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of relief. Acceptance. She let herself lean into the warmth of your touch, leaning on your right shoulder, pressing her nose at the side of your neck, finally allowing herself to believe it.

Court-side Confessions ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Pairing: 𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗀𝖾 𝖡𝗎𝖾𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗑 𝖳𝖾𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: 𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗀𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌… 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗍, 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?

Author's corner: 𝗁𝖾𝗒𝗒 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌!!— 𝗂 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the gymnasium windows, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floor. Paige Bueckers dribbled the basketball with practiced precision, her movements fluid and controlled. Each bounce echoed in the empty space, a rhythm that matched the beating of her anxious heart.

At twenty-two, Paige was no stranger to pressure. As a senior and star point guard for the university basketball team, she'd learned to channel her emotions into her game. But there was one pressure she couldn't seem to master – her feelings for a certain teamate.

Y/N was stretching at the far end of the court, her athletic frame moving with a grace that made Paige's breath catch. They'd been teammates and close friends since freshman year, a connection that ran deeper than just basketball. Paige had watched Y/N grow from a talented rookie to the team's leading scorer, admiring not just her athletic prowess, but her compassionate nature and infectious smile.

"Hey, you're here early," Y/N called out, walking towards Paige with a water bottle in hand.

Paige's heart raced. She'd perfected the art of hiding her true feelings over the years – a survival mechanism born from fear of rejection and the potential impact on their friendship. "Early bird gets the best practice time," she responded, her voice carefully controlled.

The truth was far more complicated. Each day, Paige wrestled with her emotions. Y/N was more than just a teammate or a friend. She was everything Paige had ever wanted – kind, supportive, intelligent, and breathtakingly beautiful. But the fear of losing their friendship always held her back.

As they warmed up together, Paige couldn't help but notice how perfectly they moved in sync. Their basketball chemistry was undeniable – a metaphor for the deeper connection she desperately wanted to explore. The campus buzzed with Y/N's popularity. She was the team's darling, loved by teammates and fans alike, with a charm that drew people to her naturally.

During a water break, Y/N sat next to Paige, their shoulders almost touching. "Big game coming up next week," she said, her voice soft and encouraging. "You've been working really hard."

Paige knew this was more than just a casual observation. Y/N had always been perceptive, always seeing beyond the surface. It was one of the many reasons Paige had fallen so deeply in love with her.

The university's athletic Gymnasium was a testament to competitive sports. Trophies lined the walls, photographs of past champions creating a backdrop of excellence. For Paige, it was both a dream and a pressure cooker. Her sexuality, her feelings for Y/N, her athletic performance – everything felt like it was hanging in a delicate balance.

As practice concluded, Paige made a decision. She couldn't continue like this – hiding, wondering, hoping. The uncertainty was consuming her. This was their senior year, potentially their last season together. Something had to change.

"Y/N," Paige said, her voice trembling slightly, "can we talk?"

Y/N turned, her dark eyes questioning. "Sure." she responded, a smile playing on her lips.

In that moment, Paige realized that taking a chance might be the most courageous thing she'd ever do. Not just as an athlete, but as a person discovering her true self. The basketball court had always been her safe space – now it was becoming the ground zero of her emotional revolution.

Paige’s hands felt clammy despite the cool morning air circulating through the gym. She gripped the basketball a little tighter, trying to ground herself. Y/N’s easygoing smile had always disarmed her, made her feel safe—but also made her heart pound like she was in double overtime with seconds left on the clock.

Y/N nudged Paige with her shoulder. “What’s up?”

Paige exhaled, willing herself to stay composed. “I just… I wanted to talk to you about something. Something important.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly, but her expression remained open and attentive. “Of course. What is it?”

Paige hesitated. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, but fear kept them locked in place. She could make a move on the court without hesitation, but this—this was terrifying. What if it changed everything? What if she lost Y/N’s friendship? What if it ruined their dynamic as teammates?

But what if she didn’t say anything at all? What if she let this moment slip away and regretted it for the rest of her life?

She licked her lips, forcing herself to push through the fear. “I—”

The gym doors creaked open, cutting her off. Coach Geno strode in, clipboard in hand, his usual no-nonsense demeanor in full force. “Morning, ladies. Hope you’re ready to put in some work.”

Paige’s stomach twisted. The moment was lost.

Y/N shot her a look, a mixture of curiosity and concern in her eyes. “Let’s talk after practice, okay?”

Paige could only nod.

Practice was brutal, as expected. Full-court drills, defensive rotations, and high-intensity scrimmages had everyone drenched in sweat. Paige threw herself into the training, using it as an outlet to channel her emotions. She and Y/N played off each other seamlessly, their chemistry on full display. No-look passes, perfectly timed assists—it was almost as if they could read each other’s minds.

By the time Coach blew the final whistle, Paige’s legs felt like jelly, but her mind was clearer than before. She had to do this. No more running away from her feelings.

Y/N approached her at the water station, tossing Paige a fresh towel. “Still up for that talk?”

Paige wiped the sweat from her forehead, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

They walked side by side out of the gym, the early morning practice now giving way to the hustle and bustle of campus life. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut grass and the faint aroma of coffee from a nearby stand. Students hurried to class, their chatter blending into a familiar background hum. Some stopped to greet Y/N with high-fives and words of encouragement, their admiration clear in their voices. Paige had always admired how effortlessly Y/N fit in everywhere. She was magnetic, a natural leader on and off the court.

Despite the warmth of the morning sun, Paige felt a chill crawl up her spine. Her pulse quickened with every step as her mind raced ahead of her. This wasn’t just any conversation—this was the kind of moment that could change everything.

They found a bench near the gym, slightly tucked away from the main walkway, shielded by the sprawling branches of an old oak tree. The shade offered a sense of privacy, though Paige’s nerves still prickled. She took a deep breath, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. Her knees bounced slightly, the movement a quiet testament to her anxiety.

Y/N arched an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “Okay,” she said, her tone light but laced with concern. “You’re kind of freaking me out now. What’s going on?”

Paige let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head at herself. “Sorry. I just… I’ve been holding this in for a long time.”

Y/N’s expression softened, her eyes searching Paige’s face. “Paige, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

The sincerity in Y/N’s voice made Paige’s throat tighten. She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered if Y/N could hear it.

“It’s about us,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N blinked, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “Us?”

Paige nodded, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her practice shorts. She forced herself to meet Y/N’s gaze, terrified and relieved all at once. “I don’t know how to say this without making things weird, but—I like you, Y/N. More than just a friend. More than just a teammate.”

The words were out, and Paige felt like she had just taken the most important shot of her life. The silence that followed was unbearable. The world around them seemed to fade into a dull blur—students walking past, birds chirping overhead, the distant whistle of a coach calling out instructions on the field. None of it mattered. All that mattered was Y/N and whatever she was going to say next.

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, as if forming a response, but no words came out immediately. Paige’s stomach twisted, the fear creeping back in. What if this ruined everything? What if—

“I… I didn’t know you felt that way,” Y/N finally said, her voice softer than before.

Paige looked down, nodding slowly. “I’ve been scared to tell you. I didn’t want to mess up our friendship or the team dynamic, but… I couldn’t keep pretending.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment before she let out a small, breathy laugh. “Wow.”

Paige’s stomach flipped. “Wow good or wow bad?”

Y/N turned to face her fully, her dark eyes filled with something Paige couldn’t quite decipher. The sun cast a golden glow around her, highlighting the soft curve of her smile as she exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Wow, to think I thought it was unrequited. I feel the same way too, dummy.”

Paige’s breath hitched. “You do?”

Y/N smiled, a little shy, a little unsure. “I’ve never really thought about it before, but now that you’ve said it… well, I’m glad you did.”

Paige’s chest swelled with something new—hope. The tension in her shoulders melted away, replaced by a warmth that spread from her heart outward.

“So… what do we do now?” Paige asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers with an ease that sent a shiver down Paige’s spine. “We take it one step at a time. Together.”

Little Green-Eyed Monster ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Pairing: 𝖩𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌!𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗀𝖾 𝖡𝗎𝖾𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼! 𝖢𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇 𝖢𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗄

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗈𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗀𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗉 𝖺 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖢𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗀𝖾'𝗌 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒.

Author’s corner: 𝖧𝗂 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖨 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 enjoyed 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝖨 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌!!— 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝖻 :,)— 𝖨'𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 any 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍s, 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗐eeks 𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇, 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗁𝖺ve 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗅

Paige Bueckers didn’t think of herself as the jealous type.

She wasn’t. At least, that’s what she told herself every time she saw Y/N laughing a little bit too hard at something Caitlin Clark said, Y/N’s hand resting on Caitlin’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. It shouldn’t have bothered her. Y/N was friendly. That’s just how she was. And Caitlin? She was the same way—loud, charismatic, magnetic. It made sense that Y/N would be drawn to her. Everyone was.

But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

It started as a quiet, nagging feeling. A twist in Paige’s stomach when she saw the way Caitlin casually slung an arm over Y/N’s shoulder after a game between Uconn and Iowa. A twinge in her chest when Y/N reposted another one of Caitlin’s ridiculous Instagram stories, her responses filled with inside jokes that Paige wasn’t a part of.

Then it got worse.

She noticed the way Y/N stayed up late Face Timing Caitlin after games, her soft laughter filtering through the walls. She caught the way Caitlin looked at Y/N—like she was her favorite person in the room—and Paige hated how much she understood that feeling.

Because Y/N was her favorite person in the room.

And yet, somehow, she was never Y/N’s.

At least, that’s how it felt.

Paige tried to push it down, to remind herself that she had no right to be jealous. They weren’t dating. They were best friends—had been since their high school days in Hopkins. She had no claim over Y/N, no right to feel this way, but every time Caitlin made Y/N smile, it felt like something sharp was lodged in Paige’s ribs, like she was suffocating on words she’d never been brave enough to say.

She started to withdraw, her usual lively energy fading into something muted. On the court, she was all business, hyper-focused and distant. Off the court, she was even worse, skipping out on team hangouts after a good win, and turning down Y/N’s offers to study together. She didn’t want to admit why, but the truth clawed at her every time she saw Caitlin’s name light up Y/N’s phone screen. It was making her crazy.

“Paige, are you okay?”

Y/N’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and Paige blinked, realizing she had been absentmindedly staring at her across the gym. Y/N’s brows were furrowed, concern evident in her eyes as she stepped closer to Paige.

Paige swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Y/N didn’t look convinced. “You sure? You’ve been kind of off quiet lately.”

Paige forced a tight-lipped smile. “Just tired. Long practice.”

Y/N studied her for a moment longer with a slight frown before nodding. “Okay. Well, Caitlin and I are going to grab food after this—wanna come?”

There it was again. Caitlin and I.

Paige should have just said no. Should have made up an excuse. But instead, she found herself nodding, because the thought of leaving Y/N alone with Caitlin made her stomach churn even worse.

Dinner was torture. Paige sat stiffly across from Y/N and Caitlin, barely eating, barely speaking, a pizza laying limply in her hands. She watched as Caitlin leaned in to whisper something in Y/N’s ear, making her laugh softly. That same laugh that used to be just for Paige. It burned. Jealousy starting to fill her.

Caitlin was always charming, and maybe that was the worst part—she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was just being herself. And Y/N wasn’t doing anything wrong, either. She was just being her. And it made Paige feel bad because she Y/N was being friendly. That’s just how she is.

“Oh shit, it’s getting late. I should get going.” Caitlin said standing while looking down at her watch.

Y/N stood up from her seat alongside Paige, “Yeah us too, Geno might chew us at practice if we're late,” Both Caitlin and Y/N chuckled while Paige looked with a blank expression, her tongue poking her right cheek.

“Thanks for the catch-up Cait.” Y/N added looking at Caitlin with a smile.

“It was also good catching up with you Y/N, god knows when will be our next.” Caitlin chortled.

“Right, well see you, Cait. I had fun tonight.”

“Me too, see you both around.” Caitlin replied nodding to Y/N and Paige. Y/N waved goodbye while Paige remained standoffish causing Caitlin to look confused at Paige’s behavior.

After dinner, Y/N walked beside Paige, a lingering concern in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked noticing Paige’s behavior was off the entire night.

Paige exhaled sharply, stopping in her tracks. “No. I’m not.”

Y/N frowned. “Paige—”

“I can’t do this,” Paige blurted out, eyes shining with frustration. “I can’t sit there and watch you with her like it doesn’t kill me.”

Y/N’s mouth parted slightly, shock flashing across her face. “Paige…”

Paige looked away and ran a hand through her hair, inhaling sharply. “I know we’re just friends. I know I don’t have the right to feel this way, but I do. I like you. More than I should.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncertain. Then, slowly, Y/N reached out, taking Paige’s hand in hers, interlocking them.

“You should’ve told me sooner,” Y/N murmured, squeezing gently.

Paige’s breath hitched. “You do?”

Y/N nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah. But I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I was scared.”

Relief flooded Paige’s system, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in her chest eased. She let out a shaky laugh, squeezing Y/N’s hand back. “Guess we’re both kind of dumb, huh?”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head slowly. “Yeah. But at least now we know.”

Paige’s heart raced as Y/N gently tugged her forward, their steps in sync as they walked back towards to their dorm. The night air was crisp, the sky a deep shade of indigo. It felt like a fresh start, like a weight had been lifted off both of their shoulders.

“So… what happens now?” Paige asked, her voice soft, unsure.

Y/N squeezed her hand, fingers lacing with hers. “Well, we could start by going on an actual date.”

Paige felt a warmth spread through her chest, a rare, giddy smile pulling at her lips. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Y/N said, bumping her shoulder lightly. “Because I don’t think Caitlin would’ve been a great girlfriend anyway. No offense.”

Paige threw her head back in laughter, shaking her head. “Yeah, probably not.”

The two of them walked on, hand in hand, the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks fading into something softer, something new.

Later that night, Paige lay in bed, staring at her phone screen. She hovered over Caitlin’s contact, debating whether to say something. Eventually, she just sent a simple message.

Thanks for being cool.

Caitlin’s response came almost instantly.

Took you long enough. Don’t mess it up.