"taking care of a corpse. Resting it, bathing it, sleeping with it... only once did." — screamerclauz

! this thread contains approved and real facts only, none of these are just my opinion.

TW: pedphla, traumatic events, @bus3.

1 - If Adam saw his mother leaning or leaning on something, he would often reprimand her because it was "inappropriate." Also, if someone did something in a way he didn't like, he would make the person redo it his way.

2 - Adam had "Asperger's Syndrome," which is a condition on the autism spectrum, causing extra sensitivity to his senses. He put black tape on all the windows in his room to block out natural light because it irritated his eyes.

3 - When Adam was around 0-3 years old, he had a speech delay, and instead of speaking English, he invented his own language to communicate his needs. However, when he realized that the people around him didn't understand him, he stopped speaking.

4 - Adam showed signs of OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder) and washed his hands every time he touched something to the point that his hands would start to peel, which made them even more sensitive.

5 - Adam later created a YouTube channel to vent, where he commented on his opinions on things like: His personality, personality, pedphla, politics, suicide, and much more.

6 - Adam called himself "A very creative soul" in one of his opinion videos.

7 - Continuing on the topic of "OCD," Adam couldn't open doors without using tissues to avoid direct skin contact, he used to wear 20 pairs of socks a day, and his mother had to wash 3 baskets of laundry a day.

8 - Since Adam was very young, his mother warned others not to touch him, not even a pat on the back, not out of jealousy, but because even a light touch like that triggered crises and worrying stress in him.

9 - Despite this, also on his channel, Adam said that he hadn't hugged anyone in 4 years, and that he would like to cuddle with someone he loved. Despite his sensory sensitivity, this doesn't mean he didn't think about it and didn't miss it.

10 - Although psychologists and therapists did not recommend homeschooling for Adam, Nancy (Adam's mother) insisted and got him a 3-day sick leave, but she wanted more, so she went after it and managed to keep Adam at home.

11 - Even though Adam had many problems, school wasn't exactly one of them. It was never recorded that Adam suffered bullying; on the contrary, people tried to help him and make him comfortable in the environment.

12 - By committing the massacre, Adam believed he was freeing children from the evils of the world. Despite defending pedophilia (Pedophilia, not rape), he never liked seeing children in vulnerable positions, much less being disrespected. He believed they were human beings like us, but adults projected their own fears and beliefs onto them, so Adam believed he "freed them."

13 - Adam used his savings to donate gifts to children in need.

14 - A psychiatrist who treated Adam said that he was a "pale, thin, self-conscious teenager with a rigid posture, downcast eyes, and refusing to shake hands."

15 - Adam has a brother named "Ryan Peter Lanza," and they had a good relationship in general. They weren't necessarily very close, but they had a healthy and good relationship for both of them, arguing, helping each other, playing, etc. On the day of the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre, Adam took Randy's ID wallet. It is unknown why he kept it or if this was something regular for Adam. Ryan even needed to answer police for a while because the wallet was found in the pocket of Adam's corpse, but Randy was acquitted.

16 - Adam had visual distortion and considered himself overweight, especially when he was younger. He said that as a child he had puffy cheeks (which is clearly not true). However, in adolescence, Adam's BMI reached 14, causing his mind to start failing. Adam thought he was asexual. at the time because of his weakening mind.

17 - Lanza had several profiles on the internet that say a little about who he was:

Smiggles: Shocked beyond belief, Instant Menssaging

Kaynbred: Wikipedia, The High Road, Combat Arms, Veggie Board,

GFTK: Dailymotion

Blarvink: Wikipedia

CulturalPhilistine: Youtube

fuckcomments: Youtube

Gayfortimk: Tumblr

queerforkimveer: Tumblr

18 - Adam died in a fetal position, curled up near the door. In one of his ranting audios he would quote "I don't want to strive towards my hopes and dreams, I want my dreams to be sprayed all over the walls." And so did. When lanza shooted himself in that class and dropped dead, his head blood spilled on the class blackboard which on top of it had colorful letters saying "Hopes and Dreams"

19 - Bob Skuba, Adam's hairstylist related that: he would just look at the ground, make no eye contact, when he was done he would call him out but he didn't moved from the chair eve with the man calling him, so he would grab him by the arm and take him out of it. Bob would make jokes and try to talk but Adam wouldn't say a word or look up.

20 - Untill the beggining of 6th grade, Adam sometimes smelled things that wasn't there, thats a comum trait for people with paranoia/hallucinations.

21 - In the pictures Adam hold guns to his head was almost the exacly way he commited.

Thank you for reading this far.

do u have any additional ask?

have aditional info/details?

wants to know something else or have a question non related?

leave on the comments beneath or send me! I'm all ears.

Word count :5606

Arthur note : hi guys so I think I’m getting good on smut thooo ( mind you I use to write on Wattpad lol ) if you have any idea let me know don’t be shy xoxobre anyway bye !

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The final buzzer echoed through the American Airlines Center, a sharp, mechanical wail that signaled the end of a grueling forty minutes. On the giant overhead display, the score glowed in defiant neon

Dallas Wings 94, Connecticut Sun 88.

Paige stood at mid court, her jersey clinging to her skin, dampened by a mix of sweat and the literal blood she’d left on the hardwoods of the paint. She let out a long, shaky exhale, the kind that rattled deep in her chest. Every muscle in her legs burned, a dullPaige moved through the post-game line mechanically, her hand meeting the sweaty palms of her opponents in a rhythmic, mindless blur. Her mind was already halfway to the locker room, craving the quiet of the ice bath, until Coach Smith’s hand clamped onto her shoulder like a vice.

“Slow down there, Bueckers. Don’t leave yet you’ve got the post-game interview on the floor. ESPN wants a word,” Smith said, nodding toward the camera crew unfurling cables near the mid-court logo.

Paige let out a long, weary sigh, her head dropping for a second before she pulled herself upright. “Right. Duty calls,” she muttered, though her eyes immediately drifted toward the opposing bench.

That’s when she saw her. Standing amidst a sea of jerseys was Azzi Fudd, her signature curls damp with sweat, framing a face that looked entirely too calm for someone who had just played forty minutes of high-intensity basketball. In the competitive world of the Big East, there was a silent code about keeping your distance from the 'enemy,' but Azzi had always been the exception to Paige’s rules.

Azzi caught Paige’s gaze and didn't look away. Instead, she offered a soft, knowing smile the kind that suggested she knew exactly how tired Paige was before turning back to her teammates to join their post-game huddle.

“I saw that,” a voice teased in Paige’s ear.

Paige jumped slightly as Zaza hooked an arm around her, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I saw how Azzi just looked at you, P. That wasn't just a ‘good game’ look.”

Paige felt a heat rise to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the sprints she’d just finished. She adjusted her jersey, looking everywhere but at Zaza. “What are you even talking about, Za? She was just... being polite. We’re all athletes here.”

“Polite? Please,” Zaza snickered, steering Paige toward the waiting microphones. “She looked at you like you were the only person in this entire sold out arena. Don't act like you didn't feel it. It giving congratulations I have surprised waiting on you look ”

Paige bit her lip, her heart racing as she stepped onto the platform. She looked up at the bright lights of the broadcast setup, but in the periphery of her vision, she was still tracking that one specific jersey heading toward the tunnel. "We're just friends," Paige whispered, more to herself than to Zaza, though the weight of Azzi’s smile still felt heavy and warm in her chest.Zaza didn’t let it go, leaning in one last time with a smirk that told Paige she wasn't buying the "just friends" act for a second. “Whatever you say, P. But from where I’m standing, it seems like y’all got something going on and it ain't just basketball.”

Paige opened her mouth to shoot back a final denial, but the words died in her throat as Coach Smith stepped back into the circle, looking at his watch with a pointed expression.

“They’re waiting on you, Paige,” Coach said, gesturing toward the sideline where the sideline reporter stood adjusting her earpiece. “The TV crew only has a three-minute window before they switch to the next game. Let’s move.”

“Go on, ‘superstar,’” Zaza teased, giving Paige a little shove toward the cameras. “Go talk about the win. Try not to get distracted looking for curly hair in the tunnel.”

Paige shot Zaza a warning glare—half-annoyed and half-embarrassed—before smoothing out her jersey and wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. She took a deep breath, trying to lock back into her professional "game face," but as she stepped onto the black mat in front of the bright lights, her eyes instinctively flickered one last time toward the locker room doors.

The reporter smiled, holding up a finger to signal they were going live in five seconds. Paige nodded, her heart still thumping against her ribs. She knew she had to talk about her shooting percentage and the team's defensive rotation, but all she could think about was the way Azzi’s smile had cut right through the noise of the crowd.

"Three, two, one..." the floor director whispered.

"I'm here with Paige Bueckers after a massive performance," the reporter started, tilting the mic toward her. "Paige, you looked incredibly locked in out there tonight. What was the spark that kept you going in the fourth quarter?"

Paige leaned into the mic, her voice steady despite the chaos in her head. "Honestly? I think it was just about staying focused on the people around me," she said, a small, private smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Sometimes you just see something that reminds you why you love the game."The reporter leaned in, her eyes bright with the excitement of the game's closing minutes. "Let's talk about that fourth quarter. Can we talk about how you hit three back-to-back triples just when the momentum seemed to be shifting? You looked like you were in a completely different zone."

Paige let out a small, breathless laugh, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The adrenaline was still buzzing under her skin, making it hard to stand perfectly still for the camera.

"You know, my teammates did a great job of finding me in my spots," Paige started, her professional athlete brain kicking into gear even as her heart remained back at the center of the floor. "Zaza and the rest of the guards were drawing a lot of gravity, and when the ball swung my way, I just had to trust my mechanics. Once that first one went through, the rim just started looking a little bigger."

She caught Zaza out of the corner of her eye, still lingering near the bench with a know it all grin. Paige quickly looked back at the reporter, trying to keep her composure.

"But honestly," Paige continued, her voice softening slightly, "it's easy to play with that kind of confidence when you know there are people watching who expect the best from you. It keeps you sharp. I just wanted to close it out the right way for the fans and for this team."

"Well, it certainly worked," the reporter smiled, glancing at her producer. "You finished with thirty points tonight. Before we let you go, is there anyone you're looking forward to celebrating this win with?"

Paige felt that familiar heat rise in her neck again. "Just the team," she said quickly, perhaps a little too fast. "We’re going to get some food, get some recovery in, and start looking toward the next one.

"As the reporter wrapped up the segment and the "Live" light on the camera finally flickered off, Paige stepped off the mat. She didn't head straight for the locker room. Instead, she took a long, slow look toward the far end of the arena where the opposing team had exited,Azzi hadn't left for the bus yet. She was standing near the mouth of the tunnel, draped in her team warm-up jacket, looking effortlessly cool despite the intensity of the game they had just finished. As their eyes locked, Azzi didn’t wave or move toward her. Instead, she leaned against the concrete wall, a slow, devastating smirk spreading across her face. Her gaze was intense, burning right through the lingering post-game hype. Slowly, deliberately, she mouthed six words that made Paige’s lungs hitch:

"Meet me at the locker room. I have fifteen."

Before Paige could even blink, let alone respond, Azzi pushed off the wall and vanished into the shadows of the hallway. Paige stood frozen on the broadcast mat, her heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with cardio.

"Paige? You good?" a staffer asked, reaching for the headset.

"Yeah. Fine. Just... tired," Paige managed to choke out. She didn't wait for another word. She practically bolted toward the exit, ignoring the fans leaning over the railings for autographs and the teammates trying to high-five her.

Her sneakers echoed sharply against the linoleum as she turned the corner into the restricted hallway. Every second felt like it was slipping away. She reached the door marked with her name the private auxiliary locker room reserved for the star players' recovery and media prep. She grabbed the handle, took one stabilizing breath, and pushed it open.

The room was dim, lit only by the overhead fluorescent humming softly. Azzi was there, perched on a folding chair in the center of the room, her ankles crossed and her game jersey still slightly damp. She looked up at the clock on the wall, then back at Paige, her expression unreadable but her eyes dancing with a playful, competitive fire.

“You’re late,” Azzi said, her voice smooth and dropping an octave in the quiet room. “Now I only have twelve minutes before my coach comes looking for me.”

Paige let the door click shut behind her, leaning her back against the cold wood. The silence of the locker room was a sharp contrast to the chaos of the arena she’d just left.

“The interview ran long,” Paige whispered, finally finding her voice as she stepped deeper into the room, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s. “And maybe I wasn't expecting you to be so... bold. You know people are talking, right? Zaza is already on my case.”

Azzi stood up slowly, the height difference between them disappearing as she took a step toward Paige. The smirk was back, softer now, but no less confident. “Let them talk, P. I didn't come here to talk about Zaza. And I didn't come here to talk about the game you just won.”

She stopped just inches away, the scent of her perfume mixed with the lingering salt of the court filling Paige’s senses. “Twelve minutes is a long time if you don't waste it making excuses.”

Paige didn't offer a witty comeback or another excuse. Instead, she reached out, her fingers sliding firmly around the curve of Azzi’s throat not to hurt, but to claim guiding her head back just enough to bridge the final gap.

When Paige leaned in, the kiss wasn't the frantic, rushed explosion one might expect after weeks of hidden glances and court-side tension. It was slow, deliberate, and thick with the kind of longing that had been building since tip

off. It tasted like Gatorade and determination, a private collision of the two most competitive people in the building.

Azzi let out a sharp, muffled breath against Paige's lips, her hands immediately flying up to find purchase. She gripped the mesh of Paige’s jersey, the fabric bunching white-knuckled in her fists as she hauled Paige closer, eliminating every last inch of oxygen between them. Paige reached down, hooking her arms under Azzi’s thighs and hoisting her up in one fluid motion.

Azzi let out a startled gasp that quickly melted into a low, jagged moan as her legs wrapped instinctively around Paige’s waist. Paige’s hands shifted, her fingers digging firmly into the curve of Azzi’s backside, squeezing with a possessive intensity that made Azzi’s head fly back.

The height difference now worked in Azzi’s favor, allowing her to look down at Paige with a hazy, heavy-lidded expression. She tangled her fingers into the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck, pulling her back in to settle the score.

This kiss was different it was messy, desperate, and fueled by the frustration of having to play against each other for two hours while wanting this the entire time. Azzi’s chest pressed hard against Paige’s, their hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized beat through their thin jerseys. Every time Paige squeezed, Azzi’s breath hitched, her nails scratching lightly against the skin just above Paige’s collar.

"Paige," Azzi breathed against her lips, her voice trembling. "If you... if you keep doing that, I’m never making it to that bus."

Paige didn't loosen her grip. She hiked Azzi up higher, pressing her firmly against the lockers until the metal groaned again. "Then let them leave without you," Paige muttered, her voice dark and focused, before burying her face in the crook of Azzi’s neck, marking the skin right where those curls usually hid everything from the cameras.Paige pulled back just enough to let the dim light hit the curve of Azzi’s shoulder, her eyes tracking the faint, fading blossoms of purple and rose that she’d left there only days before. A slow, predatory smirk curled Paige’s lips, a sharp contrast to the soft, golden-girl persona the media had just seen on the court.

“I see you still have them hickeys from last time,” Paige murmured, her voice vibrating with a low, possessive hum. “I guess you didn't cover them up well enough for the film room.”

Azzi tried to let out a defiant huff, but it came out as a shaky, uneven breath. Her grip on Paige’s shoulders tightened, her knuckles turning white against the fabric. Before she could find a witty retort, Paige leaned back in, her focus narrowing on one specific mark that had nearly disappeared.

Paige didn't just kiss it; she let her teeth graze the sensitive skin first, a sharp warning before she bit down precisely over the old mark, claiming the space all over again.

“*Ah—Paige*,” Azzi gasped, her head falling back against the lockers with a muffled *thunk*. The sound was a jagged, high-pitched moan that seemed to vibrate through the entire room. She arched her back, her legs squeezing tighter around Paige’s waist as the sharp sting of the bite gave way to a deep, pulsing heat.

Paige didn't let up, swirling her tongue over the new, dark welt she was creating, marking Azzi so deeply that no amount of high-collared warm-up gear would be able to hide it tomorrow. She wanted every trainer, every teammate, and every camera to know exactly who Azzi belonged to when the lights went down.

“Now you have a fresh one to remember me by on the ride home,” Paige whispered against the heated skin, her hands squeezing Azzi’s hips harder, pinning her against the cold metal until the only thing Azzi could feel was the fire Paige was lighting in her veins.

Azzi’s fingers dug into Paige’s hair, tugging her closer even as she trembled. “You’re... you’re such a problem, Bueckers,” she choked out, though she was already tilting her head to give Paige better access, her heart racing so fast it felt like it might burst through her ribs.she carried Azzi over to the long, cushioned bench lining the wall. She set her down firmly, but the second Azzi’s feet hit the floor, Paige was between her knees again, towering over her. The playful banter was gone, replaced by a heavy, focused intensity that made the air in the small room feel like it was vibrating.

With steady, impatient hands, Paige grabbed the hem of Azzi’s jersey. Azzi lifted her arms instinctively, her breath hitching as the fabric was pulled over her head and tossed carelessly onto the locker room floor.

Paige stayed silent, her chest heaving as she took in the sight of her. In the dim, harsh light of the room, she looked at Azzi with hunger in her eyes—a look that had nothing to do with being a teammate or a rival, and everything to do with the fact that they were finally alone.

"You have no idea," Paige finally whispered, her voice low and raspy, "how hard it was to watch you from across the court for two hours and not be able to touch you."

Azzi sat back against the lockers, her skin flushed and her pulse visible in the hollow of her throat. She met Paige’s gaze, her own eyes dark and reflecting that same desperate energy. "Then stop talking, P," Azzi challenged, her voice a breathless dare. "Show me."

Paige leaned in, her hands sliding from Azzi's waist up to her ribcage, her thumbs tracing the line of her skin as she prepared to do exactly that. The twelve-minute clock was still ticking, but in that moment, Paige didn't care if the whole team walked through the door—she wasn't letting go.

Paige trailed a path of searing kisses down Azzi’s neck and over her collarbone, her movements slow and deliberate. She watched the way Azzi’s skin rippled with goosebumps, the athlete’s body reacting to every touch with a sharp, electric intensity. When Paige finally reached the soft curve of her breast, she didn't hesitate, swirling her tongue over the peak in a teasing circle.

Azzi’s breath hitched, a low, broken moan escaping her lips as she gripped the edges of the bench.

Then, Paige took her into her mouth, sucking firmly, the heat of it sending a jolt through both of them. The sensation was overwhelming; the world outside—the bus, the fans, the highlight reels—simply ceased to exist.

"Paige... please," Azzi gasped, her voice strained and desperate. She threw her head back, her neck arching into a beautiful, taut line as she stared up at the dim locker room ceiling. Her fingers found Paige's hair again, clutching tightly, grounding herself as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

Paige leaned into the sensation, her hands roaming Azzi’s sides, marking her territory with a hunger that only seemed to grow with every sound Azzi made.

she reached up to capture Azzi’s other breast, her palm molding against the soft skin as she squeezed it with a firm, rhythmic grip.

Azzi’s entire body jolted, her back arching so sharply that her shoulder blades dug into the cold metal of the lockers. A loud, uninhibited moan tore from her throat, echoing off the tile walls. She was completely at Paige's mercy now, her fingers tangled so tightly in Paige’s blonde hair that she was practically pulling her closer, wordlessly demanding more.

"Paige, God," Azzi choked out, her voice a ragged mess of pleasure.

The contrast was intense—the cold, sterile locker room against the burning heat of their skin. Paige let her thumb brush over the peak she was squeezing,

Azzi, driven by the intense heat Paige was radiating, shifted her weight and began to grind her hips against Paige’s lap. The rhythmic, desperate motion was a direct answer to the way Paige was marking her body, and the effect was instantaneous.

Paige let out a choked, gutteral growl against Azzi’s skin, her hands sliding down from Azzi’s chest to grip her hips, holding her steady so she could feel every bit of the friction. The thin material of Paige’s mesh basketball shorts was no match for the damp heat building between them; she could feel the moisture soaking through the fabric, a physical testament to how much Azzi wanted this.

"Azzi... you're gonna make me lose it," Paige rasped, her voice thick and raw.

Azzi didn't slow down. She leaned forward, burying her face in Paige’s shoulder, her breath hot and jagged. Each time she pressed down, she felt the hard line of Paige's tension, and it only made her move more frantically. The sound of their heavy breathing and the soft, wet friction of the grind filled the small room, drowning out the distant muffled sounds of the arena staff finishing their cleanup.

Paige squeezed Azzi's waist, her knuckles white, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as she felt her own shorts becoming damp.

Her fingers, slick with sweat and trembling with a frantic energy, latched onto Paige’s wrist with surprising strength. She didn't just move Paige's hand; she guided it downward with a desperate urgency, forcing it past the waistband of her own shorts until Paige’s palm met the searing, damp heat radiating from her.

“Please,” Azzi whined, the sound a broken, high-pitched plea that vibrated against Paige’s neck. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a total surrender. “Paige, please... I can’t—I need you to...”

The vulnerability in Azzi’s voice, usually so controlled and calm under pressure, sent a lightning bolt of heat straight to Paige’s core. Paige didn't need to be told twice. She slid her hand lower, her fingers finding the center of the storm, discovering just how ready Azzi truly was. The slick, wet heat was overwhelming, and as Paige’s fingers made the first firm contact with her clit, Azzi’s entire body went rigid, her thighs clamping tightly around Paige’s waist as if she were trying to pull her inside.

“You’re so wet for me, Z,” Paige growled, her voice a dark, possessive rasp. She began to move her thumb in a heavy, rhythmic circle, finding the perfect tempo that made Azzi’s hips stutter and jerk uncontrollably.

Azzi’s head fell back against the lockers with a rhythmic clang, her eyes rolling back as she began to sob into the quiet of the room. Every time Paige increased the pressure, Azzi’s breath hitched into a jagged, desperate gasp. She was chasing the sensation, grinding her weight down onto Paige’s hand, her fingers digging so deep into Paige’s shoulders that they were sure to leave marks.

“That’s it,” Paige whispered, leaning in to catch Azzi’s bottom lip between her teeth. “Right there? You like that?”

Azzi couldn't even form words anymore. She could only nod frantically, her voice reduced to a series of needy, whimpering sounds as the tension in her muscles coiled tighter and tighter,

"I need words, Az," Paige murmured, her voice a low, teasing vibration against Azzi’s ear. She pulled her hand back a fraction more, making the contact agonizingly indirect. "You’re making all these noises, but I want to hear you say it. Tell me exactly what you need."

Azzi’s hips bucked upward instinctively, trying to chase the friction that had been snatched away. She let out a sharp, frustrated hiss, her fingers clenching into the back of Paige’s jersey so hard the fabric strained. The slow, torturous circles were driving her insane; she was so close to the edge that the sudden lack of intensity felt like a physical blow.

"Paige... don't... don't stop," Azzi choked out, her voice trembling and raw. She tried to grind down, but Paige held her steady, refusing to give in to the frantic movement.

"That's not what I asked for," Paige countered, her eyes locking onto Azzi’s with a dark, playful hunger. She flicked her tongue over the spot she had bitten earlier, reminding Azzi of the marks she bore. "Tell me. Use your voice."

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and dilated, her face flushed a deep, beautiful crimson. She looked completely undone, her usual poise stripped away until only this raw, aching need remained. She swallowed hard, her breath coming in short, jagged stutters as she looked at Paige, pleading with her eyes before finally letting the words tumble out.

"I need you... I need you to touch me for real," Azzi confessed, her voice dropping to a desperate, broken whisper. "Please, Paige. Harder. I want you to make me come. Right now."

The admission was the final spark. Paige’s smirk widened, a look of pure, predatory triumph crossing her face. "That's my girl," she growled.

Without another second of delay, Paige slammed her hand back into full contact, her fingers sliding deep into the slick heat as her thumb began a heavy, unrelenting friction. She didn't hold back this time, matching the frantic energy Azzi had been begging for. Azzi’s head snapped back, a loud, shattered cry echoing off the locker room walls as her body finally gave in to the overwhelming surge Paige was unleashing on her.

Paige didn't just slide her fingers inside; she did it with the same precision and force she used to drive into the paint, burying two fingers deep into Azzi’s slick, pulsing heat. The sudden fullness made Azzi’s breath catch in a sharp, jagged inhale. She collapsed forward, her strength failing as she buried her face in the crook of Paige’s neck. Seeking something to anchor her, Azzi’s teeth grazed Paige’s skin, her lips latching onto the sensitive cord of Paige’s neck. She sucked and bit with a desperate hunger, marking Paige with a dark, visible hickey that would be impossible to explain to the media or the coaches.

Suddenly, the sharp, jarring ring of a phone cut through the heavy silence of the locker room. It was vibrating against the bench, the screen illuminating the dim corner with a persistent glow. Azzi ignored it, her hips stuttering against Paige’s hand as she tried to stay lost in the sensation, but the caller was relentless. It stopped for a second, then immediately began blaring again.

Paige pulled back just enough to see the name on the screen. A slow, wicked smirk spread across her face. This was a different kind of game now.

“Answer it, Az,” Paige whispered, her voice a dark, velvet command against Azzi’s ear.

Azzi pulled back, her eyes wide and hazy, her face flushed a deep crimson. “What? No... Paige, please, just—”

“Answer it,” Paige repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. She didn't remove her fingers; she kept them perfectly still, a silent threat of what was to come.

With trembling hands, Azzi reached for the phone. Her fingers fumbled with the screen before she finally managed to swipe 'accept.' She pressed the phone to her ear, her heart hammering so hard against her ribs it felt like it might bruise.

“H-hello?” Azzi managed to choke out, her voice thin and unstable.

“Hey, Az! Great game tonight, girl,” her best friend Mya’s voice echoed brightly through the speaker, sounding a million miles away from the tension in the locker room. “I saw that crossover in the third! You looked locked in. How was the game? Are you on the bus yet?”

The moment Mya finished her sentence, Paige’s eyes flashed with a predatory glint. Without warning, she increased her pace, her fingers hooking and driving deep with a sudden, relentless speed.

The sensation hit Azzi like a physical wave. She gasped, the sound caught in the back of her throat as she nearly choked on a loud, involuntary moan. She clamped her hand over her mouth, her knuckles turning white as she squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body trembling with the effort of staying silent.

“Az? You there?” Mya asked, her voice laced with sudden confusion. “You sound out of breath. Did you just finish sprints or something?”

Paige leaned in, her lips grazing the fresh hickey Azzi had just left on her neck, her thumb maintaining a brutal, heavy rhythm on Azzi’s clit. She watched with hooded eyes as Azzi struggled to breathe, the phone shaking in her hand as the pleasure threatened to shatter her composure right there on the line.

Azzi’s voice was a fragile thread, barely holding together as Paige’s fingers created a rhythmic, squelching sound that seemed deafening in the quiet locker room. Every time Paige drove deeper, the slick, wet friction echoed, a clear giveaway to anyone paying close attention.

“Y-yes... I’m here,” Azzi managed to stutter out, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the moisture soaking into her shorts. She tried to keep her hips still, but Paige wouldn't allow it, hooking her fingers and pulling a sharp, needy gasp out of her.

“You okay?” Mya asked, her tone shifting from casual to suspicious. “What is that noise? Are you in the training room or something? It sounds like… splashing?”

Paige’s smirk widened. She leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of Azzi’s ear, her breath hot and teasing. “Tell her, Az,” Paige mouthed silently, her thumb increasing the pressure until Azzi’s legs began to shake uncontrollably.

“It’s just... the ice bath,” Azzi lied, the words coming out in a high-pitched rush. She gripped the edge of the bench so hard her nails dug into the padding. “I’m just... getting in. I have to go, Mya. The connection is bad.”

“An ice bath? This late?” Mya sounded skeptical, but before she could dig further, Paige hit a spot that sent a bolt of pure electricity through Azzi’s spine.

Azzi’s back arched off the bench, her phone slipping slightly from her ear as she let out a muffled, strangled sound. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, trying to swallow the scream that was clawing its way up her throat.

Paige didn't slow down. She kept the pace fast and punishing, her eyes locked on Azzi’s face, watching her struggle to maintain a normal conversation while being completely unraveled. The wet sounds grew louder, more frantic, as Azzi’s body began to coil toward a peak she couldn't possibly hide.

“I’ll... call you back,” Azzi choked out, her voice breaking on the last word. She didn't wait for a response, slamming the 'end call' button and dropping the phone onto the floor.

The second the line went dead, the silence was replaced by Azzi’s loud, sobbing moan. “Paige! Oh my god, stop—no, don't stop!” she cried out, her head thumping back against the lockers as she finally let go, her body vibrating with the intensity of the climax Paige was forcing out of her.

Azzi’s eyes rolled back, her fingers clenching into Paige's shoulders with enough force to leave bruises as her muscles spasmed in long, pulsing waves.

Paige didn't pull away. She leaned into the heat, her own breath coming in ragged growls as she felt the weight of Azzi’s squirt against her lap. She kept her fingers still but deep, letting Azzi ride out the tremors that were racking her frame. The wetness spread quickly, the dark stain on Paige’s shorts a blatant, unmistakable mark of exactly what had just happened in the shadows of the locker room.

Azzi slumped forward, her forehead dropping onto Paige’s shoulder as the adrenaline began to drain away, leaving her weak and breathless. She was shivering, the cool air of the room hitting her damp skin, but the heat where they were joined remained searing.

Paige reached up, smoothing back Azzi's damp curls with her free hand, her eyes dark with a mixture of pride and lingering hunger as she looked down at the mess they’d made. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of their synchronized, gasping breaths and the ticking of the clock that told them their fifteen minutes were almost up.

"Look at you," Paige whispered, her voice a low, gravelly rasp against Azzi’s ear. "You're a mess, Az. How are you supposed to walk out to that bus now?"

Azzi finally pulled back, her eyes hazy and blinking as she tried to reconnect with reality. She looked down at the dark, wet stain spreading across Paige’s white shorts the undeniable evidence of her surrender and then at her own discarded jersey. The reality of the situation crashed back in: the bus, the coaches, the cameras, and the fierce rivalry that usually defined their lives.

"I hate you," Azzi whispered, though there was zero venom in it. She reached out with trembling fingers, adjusting the collar of Paige's jersey to try and hide the dark, blooming mark she’d left on Paige's neck. "You're going to have to wear a turtleneck for a week, Bueckers."

"Worth it," Paige replied, catching Azzi’s hand and kissing the palm.

A heavy, muffled thud sounded from the hallway the distinct noise of a heavy equipment bag being dropped. Then came the sound of muffled voices and footsteps echoing toward the locker room area. The fifteen minutes were officially up.

"Go," Paige said, her tone suddenly urgent. She stood up, helping Azzi find her feet. Azzi’s legs were still dangerously unsteady, her knees buckling for a split second before she caught herself. Paige grabbed Azzi’s jersey from the floor and shoved it into her hands. "Bathroom. Back door. Use the sink to fix your hair. I’ll go out the front and distract whoever is in the hall."

Azzi scrambled to pull the jersey over her head, her movements frantic as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles. She looked at Paige one last time, her expression a mix of lingering heat and the sharp anxiety of getting caught. "Mya is going to kill me. She's definitely going to know I wasn't in an ice bath."

"Tell her the water was just really, really cold," Paige teased, though she was already moving toward the door, checking the hallway through the small crack.

She turned back, her gaze lingering on the damp spot on her own shorts before she pulled her long, oversized team hoodie down as far as it would go, covering the evidence. She looked at Azzi, her eyes glowing with a secret triumph that no championship trophy could ever match.

"See you at the next game, Fudd," Paige whispered.

"Count on it," Azzi breathed, already slipping toward the back exit.