#pb5

PAIGE HAS LEARNED that Turks and Caicos might actually be her new favorite place in the world. She's never been here before, never even thought more about coming, but sitting behind the wheel of her rental car with the windows down and the sun warming her arms, she's convinced there's no better place to spend the start of her offseason. She's already spent a lot of time thinking ahead—Unrivaled, the grind of getting back in the gym, the weight room, all of it—but right now, she doesn't really want to think about basketball at all. She doesn't want to think about anything except for the salty air hitting her face and how stupidly blue the Caribbean looks from the road.

She's just finished her rookie season—rookie of the year, which still sounds somewhat fake when she says it out loud, even though it wasn't necessarily unexpected. But everyone around her kept reminding her to take a break before burning herself out, so that's what she's doing. A little wiggle room, a little breathing space. And, not alone, of course. You're here, too.

She glances at the passenger seat, empty but for the pack of waters and fruit rolling around from the corner store she stopped at. You didn't want to come with, said you were "too busy tanning" to get in the car, and Paige couldn't blame you for it. It really is the kind of day that feels like it should be bottled up and kept somewhere.

Her hand hangs half out the window, fingers tapping against the door frame to the beat of some island pop song playing low through the car's speakers. She's got her sunglasses on, hair pulled back into a low messy bun, a faint sunburn already starting on her shoulders and cheeks. She finds herself smiling like an idiot, because it's so easy here. Everything feels slowed down in a way she's not used to. No schedules, no alarms, no planes to catch or practices to run to. Just the ocean, the food, the heat—and you.

She finally reaches the Airbnb, pulling the car up the crushed-shell driveway. She kills the engine, sitting for a second with her hands on the wheel, just listening to the faint buzz of cicadas and waves rolling faintly in the distance. It's wild how quiet it gets here. Back home, there's always cars, always people yelling, sirens, something. Here, it's like the whole world takes a breath. She kind of likes it.

She grabs the plastic bag of groceries from the passenger seat, the cold condensation from the water bottles already making the bag damp, and heads inside. The Airbnb's kitchen is airy and bright, white tile floors and big glass doors that look straight out to the pool and the ocean behind it. She sets the bag down on the island, pulls out the waters and a container of mango slices, and pauses for a second. She should probably put them in the fridge, but she's already itching to see you, so she leaves them right there.

She pads barefoot across the cool floor, sliding open the glass door. Sunlight hits her immediately, warm and heavy, and she blinks against it as she steps out, blue eyes burning slightly from the brightness. When she opens them back up, the first thing she looks for is you.

When she left earlier, you were stretches out on the lounger in that purple bikini, her absolute fucking favorite for obvious reasons, reading some book with your sunglasses low on your nose. Now, though, you're not reading. The book is closed on the side table, your sunglasses are pushed up on your head, and you're lying flat on your stomach, arms folded under your cheek, completely knocked out.

Paige pauses halfway across the deck, her mouth quirking into a smile she doesn't even try to hide. God, you look good. Your skin's glowing, cheeks a little pink from the sun, hair fanned out messy against your arm. She catches herself staring longer than necessary, eyes tracing down your back to the curve of your hips, the way those bikini bottoms are essentially a thong, giving her a great view of your ass. She huffs a laugh under her breath, muttering, "Jesus," like she has anyone to complain to but herself.

She crosses the rest of the way, lowering onto the edge of your lounger carefully so she doesn't wake you too fast. Her big palm flattens against the small of your back, gliding slowly up your spine. Your skin is hot from the sun, smooth and a little sticky with sunscreen, and she feels the muscles of your back shift faintly beneath her hand.

Leaning down, Paige presses her lips gently to your shoulder, just above the strap of your bikini. Once, then again, softer. You stir a little, head shifting against your arm, but don't wake all the way. She grins against your skin, murmuring quietly, "You're gonna burn if you stay like this, mama."

You move a bit under her touch, body warm and drowsy, your voice muffled with sleep. "That's okay."

Paige lets out a snort, a little laugh she tries to hide against your skin, because of course you'd say that. You always do—and then you act like a big baby when you end up red and crisped. Paige can't exactly blame you; she's done the same thing, several times over.

You sigh and roll slightly toward her, cheek pressing into the cushion of your folded arms. Your lashes flutter as you blink yourself awake, and then you're looking at her with those half-heavy eyes. Sleepy, soft, like you're caught in that space between a dream and reality.

"Hey," you murmur, voice scratchy, but your smile curves slow and lazy.

Paige feels her own grin instantly. "Hey," she repeats back, her voice a little lighter, almost a laugh. She leans down, kissing you softly once—then deeper, opening her mouth and sliding her tongue against yours with a kind of hunger that surprises even her.

The sound you make, this slow exhale that ghosts across her lips, pulls Paige in completely. One of your arms snakes up, wrapping around the back of her neck, pulling her closer until her balance tips. She goes willingly, not fighting it, letting herself sink down over you.

Now, she's not just perched on the lounger, but sprawled on top of you, her body pressed along yours, knees braced on either side of your hips. She can feel the heat radiating off your skin, the warmth of the sun mixing with the warmth of you, and for a second, it overwhelms Paige's senses in the best way possible.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, but there's a kind of hunger there that's impossible to ignore. Every time Paige thinks she might be able to stop, you do something—tilt your head just right, exhale against her lips, tighten your grip at her neck, slide your tongue against hers a bit more sensually—and she's gone all over again.

Your hands slide up, tugging lightly at the loose button-up she threw on this morning. It's been hanging open since she left the store, doing a bad job at covering the black sports bra underneath. You push it off her shoulders with ease, fabric slipping down her arms until it pools behind her. She shrugs out of it completely, and you toss it aside, not caring where it lands.

Paige pulls back just enough to smirk against your mouth. She doesn't even attempt to hide the little laugh bubbling in her chest—something about the way you looked at her when you did that. "Could've just asked me to take it off, you know," she teases softly, but before you can answer, probably to tell her to shut up, she leans back in, kissing you again.

This time, as she moves, her hand comes up and gently pushes your sunglasses off the top of your head. She sets them on the side table on top of your book, careful but quick, not once breaking the kiss. Her focus doesn't stray; your mouth has her completely locked in.

Her other hand is a bit less disciplined. Her palm roams slow across your stomach, fingers splaying wide as she traces your tan line. She lingers there for a second, then slides down to your hip, squeezing firmly like she can't help herself. The heat of your body under her hand makes her head spin, and she presses a deeper kiss into your mouth, tongue stroking yours with a slow pace.

Eventually, though it takes effort, Paige does pull her mouth from yours, dragging her lips down to your jaw. She kisses there lazily, like she has all the time in the world, before trailing lower, pressing her mouth to the line of your neck. She pauses to breathe you in, then flicks her tongue out against your skin, slow and teasing.

"You taste like sunscreen," she mumbles with a little chuckle against your throat, the vibration of her voice low and warm.

You just hum in response, fingers sliding into the soft baby hairs at the nape of her neck beneath her bun. You toy with them gently, tugging once, tilting your head back without thinking so she has more space to work with. Paige notices, and her grin grows against your skin.

She keeps moving, kissing and sucking at different spots. A little nip here, a longer suck there, and every time she hears your breath catch, her own stomach dips slightly.

While her mouth is busy, her hand wanders again. It slides down from your hip, fingers tracing the line of your bikini bottoms, dipping lower with no rush. By the time her palm settles between your thighs, Paige is already buzzing with anticipation. She presses two fingers over the fabric, slow little circles against your clothed clit, and when you jolt slightly, she grins, her teeth brushing your throat.

She can feel it instantly—the fact that you're already wet, the thin purple bikini bottoms doing nothing to hide it. The damp heat soaks against her fingertips, and Paige lets out a small, shaky laugh that mixes with her words. "Already?" she teases quietly, but her tone is more awe than anything else.

The lounger you're both on creaks as you shift, your legs parting instinctively, hips tilting up to meet her hand. Paige's breath stutters in her throat, and she presses down harder, rubbing slow circles over the soaked fabric, her own body pressing closer to yours. And then she can't help herself: she drags her mouth back up from your neck, claiming your lips again. This time, the kiss is rougher, hungrier, her tongue sliding against yours like she's trying to swallow the little noises you're letting slip. Each circle of her fingertips on your covered cunt makes the fabric beneath Paige's hand wetter, and it only makes the blonde kiss you faster.

"Paige—fuck, baby, need more," you gasp against her mouth, your words hot and stumbling, breath fanning across her lips.

Paige smirks into the kiss, the corner of her mouth quirking up because you sound desperate already. That cocky, satisfied part of her flares up, the one that loves knowing she's the only one who gets you like this. She doesn't slow, but she doesn't give in either.

"Be patient," she murmurs dismissively, kissing you harder before you can argue. "You know you'll get it."

Her words are low, almost scolding, but the way she says them—like it's obvious, like there's no universe where she wouldn't give you everything—makes heat coil tighter in her own stomach. She nips at your bottom lip as her fingers keep working, rubbing you through the soaked fabric until she feels you trembling beneath her.

Paige drags her mouth away from yours again, but only because she's got a new destination in mind. She trails down your throat with messy kisses, tasting sunscreen and salt, feeling the way your chest rises faster under her weight. Her lips dip lower, straight to the top of your bikini—the fucking lavender one she can never stop staring at, her favorite color looking ten times better because it's stretched across your skin.

She kisses right between your tits, tongue slipping out to lap at the faint line of sweat collected there. The sun's brutal overhead, and Paige can feel herself sweating too, damp strands of hair sticking to her temple, but she doesn't care. Not when she has you laid out like this.

Her fingers tug lightly at the edge of the bikini top, pulling the fabric to the side until one of your tits is out. The sight makes her pause for a split second, like she always does, just to take it in. She'll seriously never get used to it—never get over how fucking good you look, how much she loves this particular view. She grins to herself, shaking her head like she can't believe her luck, then leans in and presses open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin.

Her lips close around your nipple, sucking it into her mouth with just enough pressure to make you gasp. Paige hums in satisfaction, tongue flicking lazily, one hand braced on the lounger to keep herself steady. She loses herself there, focused only on the way you twitch and whimper under her mouth, the way your fingers dig into her hair to hold her in place.

Her other hand—the one between your legs—slows without her even realizing it. The steady circles she'd been rubbing taper off until her palm is just resting against your soaked, clothed cunt. She can feel you pulsing there, the faint throb against her hand, and it makes her smirk against your chest. You're squirming, hips lifting against her hand, silently begging her to move again.

But Paige isn't in any kind of a rush—not here, not now. She's on vacation, stretched out in the middle of paradise with nothing but time and the sun overhead. She's not about to speed through the best part.

She pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, grinning up at you with her mouth slick and her eyes glinting. "Relax," she says, voice low, teasing, as her thumb brushes idly along the edge of your bikini strap.

You give her a look but Paige ignores it, not lingering too long before she shifts, moving across your so she can give your other breast equal attention. She mouths at you there, sucking slow and careful, tugging lightly just to hear the change in your breath, the little whimper you can't quiet swallow.

This time, she decides to multitask. Her hand that had been lazily resting over your pussy finally moves. But instead of touching you again right away, her fingers hook into the little lavender bows at your hips. One tug, then the other, and both ties unravel, the fabric going slack against your skin. Paige feels a rush of pride at how easily she undid them, grinning around your nipple as she lets the bottoms slide down your thighs.

By the time they're completely off and tossed aside, you're bare under her, and Paige has to pull her mouth from your chest just to look. She sits back slightly on her knees, eyes dropping, and the sight knocks the air from her lungs for a second.

You're glistening, slick spread across your folds, the sun catching it in a way that makes her mouth water. Your clit is swollen and pink, practically begging for her attention, and Paige actually licks her lips without even realizing it.

"Shit, ma," she mutters under her breath, a little laugh of disbelief escaping her. Even after all this time, seeing you like this still makes her feel dizzy, like she can't believe you're hers.

She brings her hand down, fingers spreading easily over you. She uses her pointer and ring fingers to part you gently, opening you up so she can see everything better. The wetness strings slightly as she does, and it makes her pulse quicken, makes her thighs clench against the lounger.

Her middle finger finds your clit almost instantly, rubbing slow, teasing circle over the sensitive bundle of nerves. She watches the way you twitch when she does it, the way your hips jerk like you can't help yourself. She keeps her gaze locked down there, fascinated, but leans back over your chest at the same time, sucking lightly at your nipple again like she refuses to abandon it completely.

Her mind is split—half of her laser-focused on your tits, the other half mesmerized by the sight of her finger toying with your swollen clit, the way your body reacts under her touch. Eventually, she gets too hungry, mouth watering for something else, something more, and she shifts downward, adjusting herself so she's completely settled between your thighs, knees digging into the cushions beneath you both, and she can feel fabric clinging a little from the sweat running down her own legs. Her breath catches when she glances up—because, God, the sight of you is un-fucking-real. You're staring down at her like you've been waiting for this all day, pupils blown wide, lips parted, chest moving quick, and Paige swears if she wasn't already on her knees, she's drop there anyway. Paige almost comes untouched in her shorts from the look in your eyes alone.

She drags her gaze back down to your pussy, to how swollen and wet you already are, and she swipes her fingertips across your clit again just to watch your hips jolt. She grins a little, gummy and almost smug, because she knows she's got you right there—so wound up you're twitching for her. Paige licks her lips, then suddenly pulls her hand away. She leans down, spitting slow right onto your cunt, and pulls back just far enough to watch it slide between your folds, mixing with the slick already there. Her throat goes dry at the sight.

"Goddamn," she mumbles, almost to herself, but she knows you heard it, too, because your thighs tense around her shoulders.

It's then that Paige stops teasing. She finally gives in, finally dips her head down and licks a long, hungry stripe from your entrance up to your clit. The taste hits her tongue instantly—salty and sweet and fucking perfect—and she groans into you like she's been starving. Her hands grip your thighs, holding them open as she goes in, messy and eager, lapping at you like she can't get enough.

You let out this breathy, almost whimpering sound that makes her clench in her shorts, and she pulls back just enough to murmur against you. "God, you taste so fuckin' good." Her voice is low, shaky with how turned on she is.

She dives back in before you can give her any sort of answer, mouth sealing around your clit, sucking just hard enough to make your hips buck up. She flattens her tongue, dragging it slow, then fast, switching it up just enough to keep you squirming beneath her. One of her hands slides lower, spreading your folds so she can tongue right at your entrance, fucking into you with her mouth, sloppy and desperate.

"Oh, shit—P, that's it," you gasp, voice catching on the words, and that alone makes her moan into your pussy, the vibration making your thighs shake.

She pulls back, chin shiny, breathing hard, and looks up at you with this dazed grin. "You're drippin' all over me, baby. You that worked up already?" Her thumb circles your clit while she watches you squirm, and she shakes her head, grinning wider. "Fuck, love it. Love you."

And then she's right back at it, messy and unbothered about it, nose buried, chin slick, her tongue moving almost frantically because she simply can't get enough. She's nodding her head against you, lips sucking and pulling at your clit, tongue flicking quick, sloppy sounds filling the humid Caribbean air along with your gasps. Sweat drips down her temple, and she doesn't even care, doesn't even bother to wipe it away; she just groans right into your pussy, like she's inhaling her favorite meal.

Her voice breaks out against you, muffled but so raw, "Such a perfect pussy, shit. Always fuckin' wet and throbbin' for me." You roll your hips against her mouth and Paige moans like you're doing her a favor. She reaches up, slipping two fingers inside you while her lips close tight around your clit again, sucking hard. The way you clench around her instantly makes her curse. "Fuck—you're choking my fingers out, mama. So tight for me. Always. So. Tight." She times the last three words with her thrusts, pushing deep.

Her lips close tight around your clit again, sucking hard, flicking her tongue with purpose, while her middle and pointer fingers slide inside you, curling just right to press on that gummy spot that makes you jerk. She feels your muscles clench, quivering around her fingers, and the sound you make—a breathy, broken gasp—sends heat coursing straight through her.

Her hand presses harder on your hip, pinning you down when your thighs start to close around her head. “Uh-uh. Keep ‘em open for me, baby. Let me get all of it. C’mon, let me have it.” She goes back to sucking your clit, relentless now, her head bobbing, spit and slick dripping down her chin, and all Paige can think about is how nothing—absolutely nothing—beats this. Not basketball, not the beach, not any of it. Just you spread out under the sun, moaning her name, while she devours you like she’s starving and you’re the only thing that’s ever gonna fill her.

“Fuck… Paige, oh—God, oh shit. I'm gonna cum, baby,” you moan, hips lifting, arching into her mouth and hand, your chest heaving as you try to hold yourself together.

Paige doesn’t stop. If anything, she presses harder, her forehead pressing against your thigh as she hums against you, letting the vibration travel straight through your body. “That’s it, baby, that’s it… c'mon, mama, you got that,” she tells you, voice low and ragged, breath tickling your skin. She slides her fingers in and out slowly, teasing, dragging the slick along her palm, feeling your body tightening more with every pass.

Your thighs quake, your hips start jerking uncontrollably, and Paige knows she’s got you right on the edge. She leans up just slightly to meet your gaze, seeing that glazed, fucked-out look in your eyes, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and pink. Her chest tightens; she swears she could come just from looking at you like this.

“C’mon, baby, let go for me,” she murmurs, fingers curling in slow, insistent rhythm. “You want it, don’t gotta fight it.” She presses her thumb to your clit now, rubbing firm, circling, dragging it just enough to send you over the edge.

And then it hits you.

Paige doesn't stop until she's absolutely wrung you out, until your body shudder beneath her and your hips are jerking uncontrollably. She feels every pulse, every quiver, and she can't help the low groan that slips past her lips as she laps up every drop, swallowing you hungrily until you're pushing at her head, gasping, overstimulated and shaking.

Finally, she pulls back, breathing hard and sweaty. She then leans up to kiss you, slow at first, letting you taste yourself on her lips. Your moan vibrates against her mouth, and she exhales harshly, hand cupping your jaw to hold you there. Her fingers dig lightly into your hair as she kisses you harder, tongue tangling with yours, savoring the taste of you and the feel of you still so sensitive beneath her.

Her mind is swirling with heat, with you, with everything—the sun, the salt in your hair, the way your body still shakes from aftershocks—but suddenly, a sound slices through it all. The back door of the beach house next door swings open, and Paige’s ears catch the laughter and chatter of the neighbors spilling into the yard.

She freezes for a second, heart hammering, and then glances down. Your bikini bottoms are off, your top pulled so it doesn't cover either of your tits. Paige swears under her breath, then makes a decision.

Sliding fully on top of you, her body pressing against yours, she leans down and quickly grabs the bikini bottoms, fumbling with the ties until they’re secure. She adjusts your bikini top too, pulling it a little more into place so the neighbors won’t see anything, making sure you’re at least decently covered. Her chest presses to yours, warm and heavy, and she exhales slowly into your neck.

“Better,” she murmurs, pressing a few quick kisses to the sensitive skin there, letting her lips linger just long enough to remind you what you were doing a minute ago. Then she straightens slightly, surveying the backyard for signs of anyone else while still straddling you, deciding they probably shouldn’t stick around and vandalize the backyard of this Airbnb any longer.

Her fingers brush down your side, lingering on your hip, and she leans close, whispering against your ear with that familiar husky tone. “Gonna fuck you so good tonight, princess. Swear.” Her chest rumbles with a low laugh as she pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, already thinking about the post-dinner plans—how she’s going to drag you inside later, pull you into the bedroom, baby onto the balcony, and strap you so good you see stars.

For now, though, she just rests there, warm, sweaty, and satisfied, letting the sun beat down on both of you while she holds you close, plotting all the ways she’s going to ruin you tonight.

LATER THAT EVENING, the sun has dipped low, turning the sky a mix of peach and soft violet, and you and Paige have plans for dinner before heading to the beach for drinks afterwards. The air is warm but not oppressive, carrying that salty, slightly sweet scent of the Caribbean. You're finishing up getting ready in the bathroom, leaning toward the mirror to check your reflection one last time. Your short, strapless white sundress hugs your sun-kissed skin just right, flowing a little at the bottom, light and breezy, perfect for the heat and the evening ahead. Your makeup is light but effective—a hint of shimmer on your eyelids, a little bronzer catching your cheekbones, mixing with the sunburn you'd acquired, and your lips glossy, catching the light just enough to make them look soft and full.

You're brushing on the last layer of your lip gloss, leaning slightly closer to the mirror when a low whistle makes you freeze. Your head snaps just slightly, catching Paige as she slips into the bathroom. Her eyes are wide, a little amused, a little hungry, and you know exactly where her gaze landed first. You roll your eyes, smirking at her blatant appreciation. Of course, she's staring at your ass—she always is, especially when you're wearing a dress like tonight's.

"Really?" you ask, voice teasing, leaning back a little so you can glance at her over your shoulder. She doesn't answer immediately, letting her eyes roam, but the faint smirk tugging at her lips says it all.

Paige glides silently closer, and before you can react, her arms wrap around your waist from behind. Her chin rests lightly on your shoulder, her chest pressing against your back. and your reflection catches her expression in the mirror—her eyes twinkling with mischief, lips curved in that familiar, slightly wicked, a lot gummy, grin.

"I don't think I can let you leave the house like this, ma," she murmurs low, voice thick with that teasing hear she knows drives you crazy. "Lookin' too fine." Her fingers brush lightly over your hip, pressing just enough to make you shiver, and the warmth of her body radiates through you.

You tilt your head back just a little so your eyes meet hers in the mirror. The sight of her face that close—mishchievous, adoring, playful—is enough to make your stomach flutter. "You'll live," you reply simply, smiling faintly, keeping your tone light as if this isn't exactly the kind of attention that makes your pulse skip.

Paige hums softly, leaning in toward your neck, tilting her lips just slightly as if to kiss you, and you stop her with a soft laugh. "I just finished the lip combo," you say, voice playful.

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Paige repeats, mockingly, "I just finished the lip combo." The expression on her face is childish and you can't help shaking your head fondly, a laugh escaping as you peel yourself away from her grasp.

You grap your wedges, sliding them onto your feet carefully, feeling the little click of the heels on the bathroom tile. Paige watches you, blue eyes gleaming, and you can feel the warmth of her gaze lingering on your legs, your sun-kissed skin, and the soft curve of your dress. She herself is wearing white shorts paired with a white and orange collared shirt, loose and casual but very her. Her hair is down, wavy, brushing past her shoulders, and your chest tightens slightly at the sight—you love when she wears her hair down, though she doesn't do it nearly often enough. It frames her face perfectly, catching the light just right, and it makes her look softer, warmer somehow, even with that smirk playing on her lips.

Paige steps closer, just enough to brush against your back as you stand. Her hands linger a moment on your waist, and then she leans in, nipping lightly at the side of your neck, on the mark she made earlier by the pool, the one you tried to cover up. You push her away, biting back a small laugh, shaking your head.

"You never stop," you chastise, though your voice carries more warmth than annoyance. Paige just chuckles low, that deep, husky sound that's different from her normal, higher-pitched laugh.

"You look too good and everyone's gotta know you're mine," Paige says simply, shrugging.

You roll your eyes again, before grabbing your purse, slinging it over your shoulder. Paige grabs her wallet as well, the both of you leaving.

The restaurant is close enough to walk to, which gives you and Paige a chance to linger along the water’s edge, toes sinking into the warm sand, fingers interlaced, palm pressed against palm. The sky is a mix of soft pinks and purples, the kind of sunset that makes the world feel suspended in that perfect, golden-hour glow. Paige keeps stealing glances at you, her grip tightening slightly when your hand brushes hers.

The restaurant itself is quaint but charming, with lanterns swaying gently in the evening breeze and the faint scent of salt and tropical flowers hanging in the air. You manage to convince Paige's picky ass to try a seafood dish she’s never had before, even though her face initially twists in mild suspicion and hesitation. Watching her scrutinize the menu, teasing herself with little murmurs of doubt, makes you grin quietly to yourself.

When the food arrives and she takes that first bite, her expression softens, and then—slowly, almost comically—her eyes widen in surprise. The corners crinkle with delight, and there’s that small exhale, that little hum she always makes when something truly hits her. You tell her you told her so, because you knew she would like it, and she rolls her eyes but also finishes her food quickly.

Dinner passes not in a rush, and the warmth of the evening wraps around you both like a soft blanket. As usual, Paige insists on paying, something you've gotten very used to over the years, and you let her, not even trying to fight it anymore.

After dinner, stepping back into the cool evening air is a relief. The first hints of night are brushing the sky with deep indigo, and the breeze carries that perfect mixture of salt, warm sand, and tropical flora. You walk toward the familiar beach bar, the one you’ve come to enjoy on the last few nights of your vacation. The sand shifts slightly under your feet, and Paige keeps her hand in yours, thumb brushing lightly along your skin in small, absent-minded gestures that make your heart lurch.

Paige pauses briefly near the edge of the path, eyes catching a small, exotic flower tucked among the low greenery. She picks it up, holding it delicately for a moment before stepping back toward you. Without hesitation, she tucks it into your hair, sliding it behind your ear with a mixture of playfulness and tenderness. The gesture is almost childlike, silly in a way, yet impossibly endearing. You can feel the warmth of her hand lingering against your hair for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, and that gummy smile she sends you makes your stomach flutter.

The bar is buzzing as you and Paige step reach it, the warm night air mixing with faint music and the tang of the ocean breeze. It’s one of those beach bars that feels almost like it’s part of the sand itself—wooden floors worn smooth, lanterns swaying lightly above, the sound of waves muffled beneath music and chatter. Paige drifts toward the counter immediately, her eyes lighting up with the same childish excitement you’ve seen countless times before. She orders her usual—a dirty shirley, cherry at the bottom, soda fizzing just right. You grin at the familiarity, letting her order first before considering what you want. Something tropical, you think, something you can sip slowly while watching her grin at her drink like it’s the best thing in the world.

The first round comes quickly, and the warmth of the cocktails hits your chest almost immediately. Paige laughs, that low, husky sound that makes your stomach flutter, and you can feel the buzz settling between you. The music shifts slightly, a faster beat, and before you know it, you’re both moving. Not methodically, not carefully—just swaying and stepping, letting the rhythm take over, your bodies in sync in a way that feels almost instinctive. Around you, a handful of other vacationers are dancing, hands in the air, drinks sloshing slightly, laughing and shouting over the music. You barely notice them; all that exists is Paige and the sway of her body, the light brush of her hip against yours, the way her hair bounces slightly when she laughs at the beat.

Someone, a woman with a wide smile, waves you down, gesturing at the two of you. Paige grins, nudging you forward, and you hand her your phone without hesitation. You barely notice the click of the camera before Paige is grinning down at you, holding up the phone for both of you to see. The photo is—surprisingly—really good. Both of you are mid-laugh, hair messy from dancing, sun-kissed skin glowing under the warm lights, bodies pressed close. You spend a beat too long just staring at it, both of you caught in that moment, memorizing the way you look together.

Another round of drinks comes, tropical and sweet, and the night stretches lazily in front of you. The music slows a little, and the crowd thins as some of the more intoxicated vacationers stumble off toward their hotels. Now it’s just the two of you, swaying slowly to the lingering beats, bodies still pressed together lightly. Your hands trail up through Paige’s hair, fingers weaving through the soft waves you’ve been complaining about wanting to see more often. “Wish you wore it down more,” you murmur softly, brushing a strand behind her ear with a finger. “Tired of that fuckass slick back.”

Paige scoffs, that grin tugging at her lips as she tilts her head down toward you. “Bro, first the braids, now the slick back? Is everything I do with my hair fuckass?” Her eyes glint with amusement.

“No,” you say simply, brushing your thumb across her cheek lightly, “wearing it down isn’t.” You smile up at her, teeth showing, as you nod your head.

Paige responds with a playful scoff, pinching your hip just enough to make you laugh, simultaneously pulling you closer so your bodies press together fully. The warmth of her chest against yours, the soft sway of her hips, the faint scent of coconut sunscreen and sweat from dancing—it all mixes together in a way that makes the rest of the world fade. Your lips hover close, breaths mingling, and you can feel the pull, the tension that’s been building all night, low and sweet and impossible to ignore.

You let your fingers thread through her hair again, tugging her just slightly closer, voice low and husky, almost a whisper. “Paige,” you murmur slowly, breath shaky from the tipsiness, “take me home.”

Her eyes widen just slightly at the request, the grin returning immediately, a little feral, a little possessive, and she doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, okay,” she murmurs against your temple. Her hand tightens around yours, tugging you toward the door, and you stumble just slightly against her, laughing softly, heart racing, wanting.

The walk back to the Airbnb is faster than either of you probably should attempt in your current state. The sand is soft underfoot, warm from the day but cooling as the night air brushes across it, and the moonlight glints faintly off the water, giving everything a soft silver hue. You’re tipsy enough to feel lightheaded, the edge of your balance a little off, but not sloppy—just enough that each step feels cushioned in warmth and laughter. Paige is laughing beside you, the sound vibrating through her chest and into yours as her fingers stay threaded through yours.

You’re moving quickly, chasing the promise of the air-conditioned comfort of the Airbnb, and the wedges on your feet start to protest. “Dude, my feet—bro, these wedges are killing me,” you groan, bending slightly, toes pressing uncomfortably against the straps.

Before you can even finish, Paige’s long fingers snake around your waist, and suddenly she scoops you up effortlessly, slinging you over her shoulder. You squeal, the sudden shift of motion making the world spin just slightly. The moonlight tilts as you turn in her arms, and the sand rushes past in a blur. “Paige—!” Your voice is cut off by laughter, hers, rolling deep and amused. “Almost there,” she says casually, as if carrying you like this is completely normal, while you feel yourself going dizzy and helpless in her arms.

Resigned, you go limp, draping yourself over her shoulder like a rag doll, your hand slapping her ass lightly before just letting it fall. The warmth of her body against yours, the familiar scent of her sunscreen and her sweat from dancing, mixed with the sea breeze, makes your heart hammer in a different, more fluttering way.

By the time you reach the front of the Airbnb, the key glinting in Paige’s fingers, your stomach twists slightly with a mix of tipsy laughter and anticipation. She lets you down, steadying you against the door, and you stumble slightly, laughing breathlessly. Paige fumbles with the key for a second, but eventually gets it in.

The moment the door swings open, something flips inside her. Gone is the playful, teasing tone of the night; in its place is hunger. She presses you against the wall immediately, lips crushing onto yours with a ferocity that makes your knees weaken. Her hands roam, pulling you impossibly close, and all of a sudden you remember—the promise she made by the pool earlier, the one she whispered in your ear as the sun dipped low: she was going to fuck you stupid tonight.

The memory sends heat pooling low in your stomach, your fingers tangling in her hair as she kisses you harder, mouth hot and demanding against yours. Her hips press into yours, firm and unyielding, as if she’s claiming you fully, right here, right now. You gasp into the kiss, breathless and dizzy, and the tipsy haze from the beach bar mixes with raw, sudden arousal in a way that makes everything sharper, more immediate.

"Bedroom," you manage to mumble against Paige's mouth, voice breathless, carrying that mix of want and tipsy urgency that has been building all night. She hums against you in response, lips pressing harder, tongue tracing the seam of yours for a brief, delicious moment before she pulls back slightly, just long enough to stare at you, blue eyes dark with want. Without a word, you both begin stumbling upstairs, arms tangling together to stay balanced. Your hands clutch at her waist, memorizing the lean of her hips, the smooth muscles of her back beneath her shirt, the way her hair tumbles in pretty, blonde waves.

Once inside the bedroom, Paige closes the door behind her with a decisive click. She turns back toward you, tossing her collared shirt aside with a quick flick of her wrist, revealing the white sports bra and the faint sheen of sweat along her shoulders. Your breath hitches, taking in the sight, the familiar warmth pooling low in your stomach. She presses her lips to yours again, kisses long and demanding, tongue slipping back into your mouth, coaxing you to open.

Your hands wander immediately, grabbing at the hem of her sports bra, tugging it up just enough to reveal the skin beneath. Paige lets you without hesitation, arms rising instinctively to give you full access, a small groan vibrating against your lips as you push the bra aside. The fabric slides away and falls to the floor, leaving her tits bare, and you pause for a heartbeat, drinking in the view—the swell of her chest, the taut skin, the way she's looking at you, lips parted, eyes so blue but also so dark.

Before you can even do anything else, Paige's hands are on you, pushing your strapless white sundress down, fabric sliding beneath your tits and letting them spring free. Paige groans low, almost wantonly, cupping your chest with both hands, thumbs rolling over your nipples as her lips find yours again. Her kisses are even harder now, more insistent, each one sending little jolts of heat through your chest and down to the wet ache pooling between your legs.

Paige presses you gently, insistently, onto the bed. You go willingly, collapsing back into the soft sheets, heart hammering, breath quick and uneven, body humming with the tipsy warmth still lingering from the bar. You watch as the blonde stays standing at the edge of the bed, pulling her shorts down and off, a small, playful grin tugging at her lips as she peels them—along with her boxers—down past her hips, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Instinctively, you start to pull your dress off as well, letting it slip down your body, kicking it off at your feet. The cool air brushes your bare skin, goosebumps rising, but the warmth of Paige leaning over you immediately replaces it with something far more urgent and delicious.

Before you can even reach for your panties, Paige's hands are on them, teasing over the wet heat you can already feel pooling. She rubs against your clothed clit briefly, and you can't stop the sharp little gasp that escapes your lips, body arching slightly into her touch. "Shit... so good," Paige mumbles lowly as her palm presses against you. She then fully pulls the fabric down and off, letting your bare pussy meet the air and her gaze, eyes hungry as she takes it all in. Her lips are back on yours instantly, kissing you with that mix of need and softness that makes your chest tighten, hands tangling in her hair. One of her large hands cups the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your skin, holding you close against her as she deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth, demanding and teasing at the same time.

Paige pulls back just slightly, forehead resting briefly against yours, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She tilts her head, lips brushing against yours before she asks, "Strap?"

You nod immediately, heart thudding in your chest at the notion. Her eyes flick down to your pussy for a moment, gaze darkening as if she's already imaging exactly what she wants to do with it. Then, almost instinctively, she asks, "D'you need—?" Her voice trails off, but you know exactly what she's asking. If you need something else first, to get you going.

You don't answer with words right away. Instead, you take one of her hands and drag it down to your cunt, guiding her palm over yourself so she can feel, can gauge just how ready you already are. Your slick coats her fingers, and you arch slightly under her touch, shaking your head and murmuring softly, "I'm good." The words are breathless, tipsy, and very earnest—every fucking nerve ending between your thighs is humming already, eager, soaked for her.

Paige exhales slowly, long and low, letting her fingers linger in your slick just a moment longer. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils dilated. Then, slowly she reaches over you, toward the nightstand, where she stashed the strap the other night after fucking you. It's the same spot she keeps it back in her apartment in Dallas.

You're captivated, eyes tracing every movement of her body as she retrieves it: the curve of her hips, the muscles in her arms and shoulders, the warmth of her skin from alcohol and this. You can't help yourself. Before she even has the strap fully in her hands, you reach up between her legs, sliding your fingers through her slick folds that are already glistening. You find her clit, already wet, already sensitive.

Paige inhales sharply, a breathy gasp. She pauses mid-reach, hand hovering over the nightstand, and for a moment, her eyes meet yours, wide and full of surprise. Your fingers slide in slow circles, teasing, and her lips part, a soft noise slipping past them, and you see her exhale, eyes fluttering half-shut as her cunt pulses above your hand.

Your fingers don't stop moving. You tease at her pussy, brushing over her clit, skimming over slick folds, while your middle finger slides slowly, pressing just enough against Paige's entrance to make her catch her breath. Her hips twitch, grind, against your hand, pressing down. The hand that had been reaching for the strap is now digging into the sheets, knuckles white with the force of her grip, and you can see the tension in her jaw, the slight bite of her lip as she tries to hold herself together.

"Babe..." she grits out, a mixture of frustration and need, almost like she's trying to fight the sensations coursing through her body. She's desperate to stay in control, and yet every movement betrays her, telling you that she's melting for you.

You lean up just a little, pressing your lips softly against her jaw, tasting the faint saltiness of her sweat. "Just let me get you once," you whisper, and the words seem to strip some of the tension from her body, letting her sink into the heat you're creating.

With that, your middle finger slides fully inside her, curling just the way she likes, and she exhales sharply, tilting her head to rest against your shoulder. Her body responds immediately, shivering against your touch, muscles coiling and relaxing in a rhythm.

Your free hand moves up into her hair, tangling in the soft waves at the nape of her neck, pulling her gently closer, guiding her so that every inch of her body presses into yours. The motion is slow, teasing, almost tender, even as her moans and low groans fill the room, small explosions of heat and want that make the air between you feel heavy and electric.

Paige’s eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing her cheeks as her hips continue to roll against your hand. The grip she has on the sheets tightens again, knuckles white, nails digging in, and you can feel the subtle tremble of her thighs, the slick of her heat coating your fingers. She’s caught somewhere between fighting it and giving in completely, and you can see it in the arch of her back, the tilt of her head, the little hitch in her breathing every time your finger presses that spot just right.

You add a second finger and it feels like flipping a switch inside her—you can see it instantly in how her thighs tense, how her breath stutters and breaks apart. Paige’s voice cracks when she tries to get words out, a sharp little “shit, you’re gonna—” that never finishes because it’s swallowed by the sound she makes when you curl your fingers up into her. That spot—you can feel how it pulls her under every time you hit it.

Her forehead presses into your neck like she’s trying to hide from how much it’s taking out of her. You feel the little puffs of her breath against your skin, hot and uneven, almost like she’s panting just to keep up with what’s happening. Her hips keep rolling down to meet you, desperate, clumsy almost, like she doesn’t care how messy it looks, just that she gets there. And your hand keeps up with her pace, thrusting up into her, your palm slick and your wrist starting to ache but none of that matters because she’s so close.

The sheets rustle hard underneath the both of you, her grip fisting at them so tight that the fabric is stretching. Her mouth opens like she’s gonna say something else but what comes out instead is this sharp cry, breathless and raw. You hear her say it between gasps—“god, baby, you’re gonna make me cum”—and it’s so desperate it almost knocks the air out of you.

“Yeah?” you manage, voice low, and Paige nods quickly, messy, like she doesn’t even trust her voice anymore. Her head lifts from your shoulder just enough to find your mouth, her lips pressing against yours like she needs something to ground herself. The kiss is messy and frantic, teeth knocking, breath hot, but you kiss her back, holding her up while she falls apart.

Her hips are moving so fast against your hand now, chasing it, grinding down in these uneven circles that push your fingers deeper. You can feel her clench around you again and again, tighter each time, until her whole body just snaps. Paige lets out this low, strangled sound into your mouth, her thighs trembling hard against your sides as she comes. You don’t stop moving your fingers, working her through it, feeling every twitch and squeeze of her body around you as she rides it out.

Her kiss breaks apart into open-mouthed gasps, forehead pressing back into your shoulder as her body jerks one last time. She collapses against you after, chest heaving, hair sticking to her damp forehead, still gripping at the sheets like she’s holding on for dear life. And all you can do is keep your arm around her, keep your fingers inside her until she relaxes enough to let go, grounding her with soft touches while she breathes through the aftershocks.

You pull your fingers out slow, and Paige just melts against you, quiet except for her heavy breathing. Her chest is still rising and falling against yours, sweat cooling on her skin, and for a second you don’t say anything either. It’s kind of nice, just holding her there, feeling how spent she is. She’s got that weight to her body that only comes after she’s really let go, and you know she’s probably just collecting herself.

Eventually she shifts, lifting her head off your shoulder, arms trembling a little as she props herself up on her elbows over you. Her hair’s a mess around her face, cheeks still flushed pink, and she’s giving you this look—half tired, half annoyed, but mostly just Paige. “You were tryna distract me,” she accuses, her voice still raspy.

You grin instantly, can’t help it. “It worked.”

She rolls her eyes like she’s not amused, but you can see the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s fighting a smile. Then she leans down and kisses you, soft at first, then a few more quick ones that almost feel like punctuation, like she’s just proving her point. Before you can even react much, she shifts off you a little, leaning over the side of the bed and actually grabbing the strap from the nightstand.

That makes you laugh a little under your breath. She fiddles with it, and you help her, your hands steadying the harness while she fastens it around her hips. She straps it tight, and her eyes lock on yours in that focused way that always makes your stomach flip. She crawls back over you once it’s on, her body hovering above yours, and you can’t resist poking at her a little. “You sure you’re good to?” you ask, your tone teasing, eyebrows raised.

She pauses, gives you that sharp look, like she’s already tired of your shit.

“I mean,” you keep going, grinning even wider, “you did cum pretty hard—”

You don’t even get to finish the thought before she surprises you completely, thrusting the strap in without warning. The stretch hits you so suddenly your laugh breaks off into a sharp choke, your breath catching hard in your throat. Your hands scramble at her sides instinctively, nails digging in a little as your back arches against the sheets.

“Quit bein’ a brat,” Paige mutters, leaning down over you, her voice low but playful, almost smug.

Your mouth falls open around a sound you don’t even mean to let out, your grin slipping into something else entirely as your body tries to catch up. Paige’s eyes glint down at you, satisfied, and she adds, “You know I got better stamina than you anyways.”

She says it like it’s a fact, like she’s not even bragging—just reminding you of the truth. The way she’s looking at you makes your chest tight, and you realize you’re not winning this round.

There's no ease into it this time. No slow rocking, no teasing grind of her hips the way she usually does to let you catch up. Paige just goes right for it—hard, fast, deep—and it knocks the breath straight out of you every thrust. The stretch is overwhelming at first, and you’re scrambling, trying to keep up with the pace she’s setting, your nails digging into her biceps as if that’ll ground you. She doesn’t even let you adjust; she’s just fucking you, relentless.

You know she can tell, too. Paige always knows—your stuttered moans, the way your thighs keep trembling against her hips, your mouth falling open like you’re trying to keep up with something impossible. And she eats that up.

The sounds are obscene, every thrust making slick echo in the room, the strap sliding in and out of you like it’s meant to be there. Your wetness coats it, coats her thighs, makes everything messy in the dirtiest way, and you're well aware it only pushes her to keep going.

“Fuck,” Paige groans, watching the way your body’s reacting, your tits bouncing with every thrust. Her voice is rough, like she’s strung out on the way you look beneath her. “Listen to how wet you are. You’re drenching me, ma.”

Her words make your cheeks burn, but it’s nothing compared to the heat pooling low in your stomach. You squeeze around nothing, clenching just because your body can’t take how full you are, how fast she’s driving into you. “Paige—” you gasp, but it comes out broken, almost a cry.

“Yeah, say my name,” she pants, hips snapping into you without losing rhythm. “That’s all I wanna hear right now.”

You can barely think, can barely do anything but hold on. Every thrust feels deeper than the last, like she’s hitting something inside you that makes your legs go weak, makes you see stars for a second.

Your mind is half gone, but the dirtiness of it all only makes it worse. She’s looking down at you like she owns every sound spilling out of your mouth, like this is exactly how she wanted you—fucked dumb, unable to form anything but moans and half-words.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, leaning closer, her breath hot against your face as she keeps driving into you. “All fucked out already. Can’t even take it, huh?”

And you can’t answer—your brain feels scrambled, your throat raw with every moan you can’t hold back. She smirks at the sight, thrusting harder, like she’s trying to ruin you on purpose, and all you can do is let her.

Your hand flies up without thinking, clutching at the back of Paige’s neck, dragging her down because you need her mouth on yours while she’s wrecking you like this. The closeness is desperate—you’re gasping into her, pulling her in like kissing her is the only way to stay tethered. She gives it to you instantly, greedy, her tongue sliding past your lips, her jaw tilting hard against yours like she’s just as feral about it.

Her free hand is on your face, holding your jaw tight, thumb digging in almost possessively. The other’s braced into the mattress beside your head as she pounds into you like she’s trying to break the fucking bedframe. Every thrust has you whining into her mouth, the noises swallowed up by the kiss, and she doesn’t let you pull away even when your body jerks from how deep she’s hitting.

“God, you’re takin' it so good,” she groans against your lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to say it before diving right back in. Her voice is gravel, torn up by how turned on she is. “This pussy was made for me. You hear that? Mine.”

Her hips slam into you harder, the strap bottoming out so deep you swear it’s rearranging your insides, and your brain whites out for a second. You claw at her back, trying to anchor yourself, but she’s relentless, giving you no chance to catch up.

“P-Paige, fuck—” you gasp, but it breaks into a moan so loud it makes her grin against your mouth.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she pants, fucking you through it like she’s chasing something. “Say my name while I fuck you stupid. Can feel how close you are. You’re clenching so hard around nothing, baby—fuck, you’re so desperate.”

And she’s right—you are. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, nerves fried, every thrust blurring into the next until you’re dizzy. You whimper against her mouth, half-sobbing from how good it is, from how much it is, and she just eats it up.

“C’mon, cum for me,” she demands, biting your bottom lip as her thrusts somehow get even sharper, hitting that spot again and again. “Cum on my dick, baby. Wanna feel that shit, know you can do it."

The words, the pace, the way she’s holding your face like she owns it—it all collides at once. Your orgasm crashes into you so hard it nearly blanks you out. You choke out a strangled moan, your whole body seizing up, vision spotting like you’re about to pass out. Your thighs tremble violently around her hips as you gush, everything inside you tightening so sharp it’s painful for a split second before dissolving into the sweetest kind of ruin.

Paige doesn’t let up—she fucks you right through it, kissing you so messy and deep you can barely breathe.

Your whole body feels like it’s still buzzing, overstimulated nerves firing in random places, your thighs twitching even though Paige has finally slowed down. Your arm is draped over your eyes, squeezing them shut because opening them feels impossible, and your chest rises and falls in these quick, uneven bursts you can’t seem to get a handle on.

You hear her exhale—low, a little shaky, like she’s coming down herself—before she gently pulls out. The absence is a relief and a disappointment at the same time, but you don’t even have the energy to process it. There’s the faint sound of her tossing the strap aside, hitting the floor with a dull thud. And then she’s back, gathering you up against her chest with this carefulness that doesn’t match how she just fucked you like she was trying to kill you.

You go willingly, collapsing into her warmth, your face pressing into her collarbone, skin still damp with sweat. Paige’s arm wraps securely around your back, her big hand running slow, steady lines up and down your spine. She doesn’t rush you, doesn’t say anything right away. Just lets you be.

It’s grounding. Every stroke of her palm helps drag your breathing back to something resembling normal, though it’s still shallow, still quick. She notices—you can tell she notices—because her other hand comes up, sliding through your hair, and she murmurs softly, like she’s coaxing you out of a daze.

“Breathe, baby. You’re good. I got you.”

Her voice is hushed, softer than you expected given how wrecked you are. You nod weakly against her chest, even though she can’t really see it, trying to match your exhales to the slow rhythm of her touch.

“I really did just fuck you stupid, huh?” she adds after a beat, and you can hear the grin in it, smug but still gentle.

You let out something between a groan and a laugh, muffled against her skin. “Shut up.”

Date nights for y/n and Paige were rare enough when they weren’t 1600+ miles apart; y/n wasn’t too fond of going out in public with her. Not because she was ashamed of Paige, quite the opposite, actually. She loved her girlfriend, wanted to scream it from the rooftops whenever she got the chance. However, the media was a cruel thing, something that, unlike Paige, y/n wasn’t used to. So she always opted for cozy nights in, curled up in blankets with their current favorite takeout spread across the coffee table, while they watched their show. 

She would never tell Paige why she hated going out, getting all dressed up for the public eye to see. However, deep down, her own insecurities got the best of her. There were good days, when she didn’t care if the whole world saw her, and the shirt that hugged her was just a little bit too tight for comfort, but she couldn’t find anything else to wear. Then there were bad days, when from the moment she woke up tangled in sheets, she was self-conscious about how she looked.

She wasn’t totally surprised when she came to visit Dallas for the first time. Paige had told her to pack something dressy, something that she wouldn’t get too hot in. She’d heard on multiple phone calls and read through multiple texts about the places Paige wanted to take her when she came down, wanting nothing more than to show off the city she now called home. 

Still, that doesn’t mean she was looking forward to whatever Paige had planned. 

𓄲

The morning of Paige’s surprise rolled around unbeknownst to y/n. She woke to Paige leaving kisses against her shoulder, her arms wrapped around her waist from behind as she scrolled on TikTok. Turning her head enough to be able to look up at the blonde, she smiled, mumbling a good morning out to her.

Paige seemed to brighten immensely, knowing her girlfriend was awake, throwing her phone down to focus all of her attention on y/n, “Good morning, baby.”

“For you not being a morning person, you’re awfully cheerful.” Y/n maneuvered, so her head was now buried in Paige’s chest, arms slipping around her torso.

“I have a reason. My surprise for you is tonight.”

Despite not knowing what it was, y/n tensed ever so slightly, yet Paige paid no mind to it, rambling excitedly about what her plans were for the upcoming night, “‘m gonna take you to this restaurant that I found, okay, well Arike told me about it, that’s besides the point. And then I was walking around and saw a store I think you’ll really like, it’s got those flowers you talk about all the time. Oh! You should wear whatever outfit I told you to bring. Wanted to get all dressed up for tonight.”

Even though she could tell how excited Paige was, a sense of dread started to form in the bottom of her stomach. She wished she could be one of those girls who jumped at the opportunity to get dolled up, pick an outfit out from an array of ones she liked, spend over an hour just doing her makeup, and hair. She wasn’t, though, the furthest thing from it. 

𓄲

Later that night, when Paige was in the living room making sure all of her times were correct, and everything was set in place, not wanting anything to go wrong, y/n was in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, the zipper on her dress only halfway up her back.

“Paige?”

“Hm? What’s wrong?” The blonde made her way into the bathroom, focused only on her phone, but looking up once she reached it, grinning at the sight of her girlfriend.

“Can you help me?” Y/n gestured to her back, Paige nodding as she moved to stand behind her.

She started to pull the zipper down, which only caused y/n to yell her name. Paige met her gaze through the mirror with an innocent expression, holding her arms up in surrender, “You need to be more specific, babe.”

Y/n only rolled her eyes, laughing as Paige gilded the zipper to meet the top of y/n’s dress.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, twisting her necklace to face the right way, fixing her hair to lie correctly, and tugging at the fabric that clung to the skin of her stomach. 

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed at her quiet tone, not completely unused to it but startled by it nonetheless. She watched as y/n’s eyes trailed over her frame in the mirror, letting herself be leveled with her own scrutiny, no doubt her mind highlighting all the things she thought were wrong.

Y/n felt awful. The dress she once gravitated to for every occasion, now, too, betrayed her.

It was hard enough to find clothes that fit her; it was even harder to find ones she liked, and that actually made her feel good. She’d always relied on this dress, one she bought in her sophomore year of college, a black one that was fitted yet didn’t make y/n think eyes were on her with every step she took. The dress had never failed her, but now? She wanted to do nothing more than tear it off and throw it in the dumpster where she would never have to look at it again. 

“Baby?”

Y/n didn’t acknowledge her, too busy thinking about the way her makeup looked caked on, the way her hair still didn’t do what she wanted it to do. It caused Paige to spin her around, hands moving to cup her face, and guided her chin so she could see her, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

The girl mustered up all the courage she could, plastering a fake smile on her lips, “Nothing. I’m just a little tired, you know?”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m-”

“We’ve been dating for two years, you think I don’t know when you’re lying?”

Y/n pouted, arms crossing over her stomach, which drew Paige’s gaze and caused her to frown too, “I thought you liked this dress?”

Curse Paige and the way she always knew what was wrong.

“I did. Now I don’t. It’s too tight.”

“Is it actually too tight, or do you just think it looks like it’s squeezing the daylights out of you?”

“Meanie.”

“Asking a serious question, y/n/n.” Paige countered. “Because I think the only time you’ve ever looked more beautiful is when you wear my hoodie and your hair is a mess.”

“That doesn’t feel very reassuring, Paige.”

The girl sighed, before taking y/n’s hands in hers, moving to sit on her bed, and pulling y/n to stand between her legs. Y/n’s insecurities were written all over her face, and maybe that was just because Paige had known her for so long that she knew the telltale signs. She also knew, somehow, that no matter how much she tried to change her mind, her mind would find a way to counteract her words. 

So, Paige gave in. “You wanna stay here instead? Put some sweats on, order in, and watch that movie you’ve been talking so much about?”

Y/n frowned, but could feel the relief creeping in, “You put so much work into planning tonight… I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I’d be more upset if I knew you went through the whole night not feeling your best and constantly looking over your shoulder.”

“Promise you’re not mad?”

“I promise, sweetheart. Now c’mon, one Paige and y/n signature date night coming up.”

𓄲

Halfway through the movie, takeout containers sat empty on the counter, and a pint of ice cream sat between them on the couch. Paige tried to focus, really did, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the look in y/n’s eyes as she saw herself in the mirror.

“Baby?”

The movie was forgotten the moment the word left Paige's lips, y/n’s eyes meeting hers. She tilted her head, a small smile on her face as she gazed up at her girlfriend, “Yeah?”

“Earlier… when we were in the bathroom-” 

Y/n could feel herself go rigid against Paige, the air leaving her lungs as she continued to listen to her talk, “You were doing that thing again. Where you think everything about you looks wrong.”

The girl stayed silent, not wanting to release the tears she’d been trying so hard to keep at bay from the moment she put that dress on. She didn’t know what Paige wanted her to say; all she could do was nod and hope that the blonde would drop the subject.

“Talk to me… please.” Her voice was desperate, pleading, and soft all in one. 

Y/n’s hand slipped into the girl’s beside her as she turned towards her, her left shoulder pressed against the back of the couch, and her ankle wrapped around Paige’s. She took a deep breath, biting her lip before murmuring, “I just wanna feel pretty, Paige.”

Paige swore she’d never felt her heart break more than in that moment. She hated that her girl had to feel like this, that society had made it so not only her but every girl that didn’t look like the stereotypical one had to feel like this. 

Logic and reasoning were not on Paige’s top priority of things to think about when she pulled y/n into her lap, hugging her tightly like right there was the only place y/n was meant to be. Y/n didn’t have enough energy to protest her girlfriend’s actions, simply digging her head into his shoulder, tears cascading down her cheeks, and seeping into the fabric of Paige’s UConn hoodie. 

Minutes passed before y/n found the strength to pull away from her, her hand reaching up to wipe her nose as Paige cupped her face, the coolness of her hands soothing the warmth of her cheeks, thumbs wiping the leftover tears. 

“Can you listen to me for a minute? Please.”

Y/n nodded, unable to do much more when her girlfriend gave her those puppy-like eyes.

“You are the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever met. Even before we started dating, I would see you, and you would take my breath away and cause me to stare for ages, not because I was judging you, but because I couldn’t believe my eyes. Self-love is the most important kind of love there is, and it breaks my heart every time I see you look at yourself a little longer in the mirror or when you constantly look around to make sure no one’s watching you.

“You’re not going to feel pretty all day, every day, but I want to help minimize those days as much as I can.” 

Y/n’s breathing had slowed, listening to Paige as she spoke, something in her mind finally quieting for the first time since she got to Dallas. She felt Paige’s finger poke her cheek in an effort to get her to smile, and as always, it worked, a laugh escaping her lips.

Paige grinned, “There’s my girl.”

“You’re so annoying.” Y/n buried her head back into her shoulder, unwilling to let Paige see the pink tint that had now covered her face.

Paige’s hand slipped beneath the shirt she was wearing, tracing small circles with her thumb against y/n’s back, “There will always be someone to say something, ma, and trust me, I wish I could take it all away so it wouldn’t have to hurt you. But I want you to know I love you for you, and I could never imagine myself loving anyone else but you.”

“Sap.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

And just like that, the tension in the room defused, leaving two girls who simply loved each other until the end of the universe. Y/n’s mind was no longer cluttered with her usual self-conscious thoughts, instead replaced with Paige’s words of love and her own determination to gain a better self-love.

You should’ve faked an illness.

The second Paige Bueckers strolled into the Wings media room with a Gatorade in one hand, that stupid smirk on her face, and her blonde hair tied in a messy bun—you knew this was a setup.

"Where do you want me, boss?" she asked, all lazy confidence as she spun a chair with her foot and flopped into it, legs spread way too casually.

You didn’t answer.

You were too busy mentally preparing yourself to survive this.

This was supposed to be simple. A quick “10 Questions with Paige Bueckers” segment. You’d already filmed one with Maddy and another with JJ. Easy. Done. Posted.

"Mic me up," she said, leaning forward, chin in hand. “Unless you’d rather just whisper the questions into my ear.”

Your hands paused mid-reach toward the mic pack.

“Paige.”

“Just trying to set the mood.”

“This is a Wings-sponsored Q&A, not a date night.”

She smirked. “Yet.”

You made a noise in the back of your throat that wasn’t human and stepped back like she was contagious.

“Alright,” you muttered, trying to sound normal, “today’s content is just a quick round of fan questions. Keep it light, short answers, and—please—don’t flirt with the camera.”

She smirked. “So it’s only okay if I flirt with you?”

You stared at her.

She stared back.

“…Cut,” you said, even though you hadn’t even started filming yet.

Paige just laughed again, like this was a game and she was winning.

And maybe she was.

You tapped record.

"Okay. ‘10 Questions with Paige Bueckers.’ Let’s go."

She gave the camera a smolder like she was filming a perfume ad. “Hit me.”

Question 1: Favorite teammate?

"Hard one. I’d say Arike, but she never passes me the aux,” Paige said, then turned to look directly at you. “So… probably our media girl. She makes me look good. And she blushes real easily.”

You choked on your spit.

“Excuse me—”

She held her hands up. “Just facts.”

“No, that is not—”

"You’re literally blushing right now."

You smacked your hand over your cheek. “That’s—because the lights are hot.”

“It’s LED lighting, babe.”

You moved to the next question, your voice higher than usual.

Question 2: Go-to hype song?

Paige tapped her chin, then pointed at you. “You remember that playlist you made for the team? You’ve got good taste, so any of those.”

You blinked. “How do you know I made it?”

“Because the title was ‘Wings But Make It Hot.’”

You physically turned away from her and muttered, “...I'm gonna quit.”

She grinned. “No you won't.”

Question 3: Pre-game ritual?

“I get taped, I pray, and I listen to music,” she said. Then added, “Sometimes I scroll through our social media. Gotta admire the work of my favorite content creator.”

“Paige.”

“What? I’m supporting the brand.”

You refused to look up. She was definitely smirking.

Question 4: Funniest teammate?

“Zaza,” she said. “But the funniest moments? When you trip over wires trying to avoid making eye contact with me.”

You clenched your clipboard.

“Next question.”

Question 5: Dream brand collab?

“Chipotle,” Paige said, finally giving you one clean answer—until she added: “Or Allure, so I can do one of those ‘Get Ready With Me’ featuring you sitting in my lap.”

You made an audible wheeze.

“Paige, what is wrong with you?!”

She just shrugged.

Question 6: Favorite W moment so far?

She actually went still for a second. “First home win. Packed crowd. Everyone standing.”

You eased a little.

Then she glanced at you.

“And you were on the baseline, smiling like it was your win. I remember that more than the final score.”

You immediately dropped your pen.

“Oh my God—”

“I’m just being honest!”

“You’re being insufferable!”

Question 7: Most embarrassing moment?

Paige laughed instantly. “I tripped going up the tunnel once and tried to play it off like I meant to. You caught it on camera, didn’t you?”

“I may have… saved the footage.”

She raised a brow. “For blackmail?”

“…For bloopers.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, not believing you for a second.

Question 8: Hidden talent?

She leaned forward again, voice low. “I’m really, really good at flustering pretty girls.”

You stared at her.

“I swear to God, Paige—”

“What? You literally just backed up like I was going to kiss you.”

“I—You—Stop TALKING.”

Question 9: Three words to describe yourself?

She thought for a second.

Then said, slowly, “Talented. Clutch. Yours.”

You didn’t move.

The room went silent.

“…Nope.” You stood. “Nope nope nope. Go send Arike in. I need someone who can give me an actual video before I throw this mic into a wall.”

Paige blinked. “What I'm doing good!”

“I’m trying to do my job,” you snapped, flustered and furious. “And I get it, you think this is fun—but I’ve got sponsors on my back and deadlines and league guidelines to follow, and I can’t spend the rest of the day editing around your flirting just because you think it’s cute!”

She didn’t move.

You sighed, running your hands down your face. “Just—please. Go get Arike.”

A pause.

Then Paige stood.

But instead of leaving, she quietly sat back down, posture perfect.

“Run it again,” she said.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ll answer them straight. No games.”

You hesitated.

Then, reluctantly, hit record.

And just like that—she was perfect.

Question 1 (redo): “Arike. Her energy’s wild but she’s always got your back.”

Question 2: “Marvin Sapp, or some Drake.”

Question 3: “Pray. Visualize. Lock in.”

Question 4: “Zaza. No contest.”

Question 5: “Chipotle.”

Question 6: “First home game win. That crowd…”

Question 7: “Tripped in the tunnel. Very humbling.”

Question 8: “I can rap, do impressions, and cook a mean breakfast sandwich.”

Question 9: “Focused. Grateful. Competitive.”

You stared at her, stunned.

She just looked at you like nothing happened.

Until the last one.

Question 10: Message for the fans?

She looked into the lens.

“Thank you for showing up for us. Every game. Every post. Every jersey sale. You make this matter. We see you. We feel it. And we play for you.”

A beat.

“And I know this might get edited out,” she added suddenly, gaze flicking off-camera—to you, “but if you think I’m gonna stop flirting with the cutest girl on this team just because she asked me to be serious for five minutes… she clearly doesn’t know me that well yet.”

You slammed the stop button on the camera. “Paige.”

She stood, grinning like she just hit a game-winner.

“Love when you say my name like that.”

You pressed your hands to your face. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

And the worst part?

You didn’t.

Not even a little.