#wcbb x reader

it was wednesday evening. 

wednesday evenings always meant paige. it was the one night a week–other than saturday, of course–where neither of you had morning practice the next morning and you had no classes the next day. which meant you could hang out with her as late as you wanted, and still be able to get enough rest before thursday afternoon practice. she, unfortunately, still had class, but it was just one that didn’t start until ten, so it didn’t feel as debilitating if you stayed later. 

it was routine–one that you had developed at the beginning of the semester. 

paige was sitting on the floor, back resting against the front of her bed with her playstation controller in her hands. her knees were bent with her feet planted on the floor, making her spine round toward the bottom in a way the felt more relieving than it probably should’ve given that it was technically considered poor posture. her eyes were fixed on the screen, tuned into her game of fortnite, but she was also managing to give some of her brain power to you. 

you were lying on your stomach on her bed facing her tv, chin rested in your palm as your thumb swiped back and forth on the screen. you had tinder pulled up to sort through the small pool of men that seemed to be available in storrs, connecticut. there were more left swipes than right, and you were admittedly growing more and more frustrated.

you found yourself doing this a lot lately: getting frustrated by your options. the ones you had already tested in your four years as a university of connecticut student all seemed to be the same–unable to please you. you couldn’t really figure out why, because you had so many friends that had men in their lives willing to give them an orgasm, but you just couldn’t get lucky enough to get the same treatment.

maybe it was because you weren’t committed to them, but you were much, much too busy to find time for a relationship to find that out. and besides, did you really want to start something with someone new now? as a senior in college? it seemed ridiculous when you had limited time left as a husky. 

you audibly groaned, throwing your phone down on the bed, “god, why is it so hard to find one guy that isn’t hard to look at?”

“i dunno. aren’t they all kinda hard to look at?” paige mumbled, not even trying to hide her disinterest in talking about men. 

you blew a sharp laugh out of your nose, “i mean, yeah, kinda.” 

your eyes fixed on her ceiling, thoughts swirling quickly in all kinds of directions. honestly, it was getting difficult to think clearly with how backed up you were. you weren’t even sure when the last time you had an orgasm that wasn’t by your own fingers–or realistically, if you ever actually had one because of someone else. 

paige, on the other hand, didn’t have these problems. she had no issues finding a girl–of course, she didn’t, she was paige bueckers. you knew how many girls thirsted over her, how many would do unspeakable things for the chance at getting in her pants. you’d seen the edits, the ones that were anything but cordial. you saw her dms, too. so you supposed that she wasn’t a great example of the dating pool for the normal people out there, because she could have whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and not have to ask twice.

though, you’d have to admit, you’d never really seen her take advantage of that. her mind always seemed to be set on basketball, and there was nothing pulling her focus from that no matter how hard it tugged.

if you were in her position, you knew you’d have a bad reputation. you’d be answering all of those dms, and too many girls would know what the inside of your apartment looked like. well, it would be guys in your dms, you suppose–but the technicalities didn’t matter. you just knew that you would never masturbate because if you were horny, you’d just open instagram. and if the one you fucked didn’t satisfy you, you’d just find a new one right there.

“how are you not a whore?” you suddenly blurted out without thinking. the provocative, invasive question didn’t really matter, though, not with paige. so you didn’t need to be embarrassed.

“uh, what?” she laughed, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“i mean, you got all these bitches in your phone,” you said it like it was obvious (well, it was), staring at the back of her head like you were about to burn holes into it. 

her freshly highlighted blonde hair was pulled into a low bun on the back of her head, tied together effortlessly messy like she had been messing with it in the mirror for hours to get it just right, but you knew her. she just threw it up without even looking or fixing it. that was one thing about paige–she didn’t even have to try to look good. 

“so?” 

“so,” you started, dragging out the ‘o’. “you have all these hot girls begging for your attention, but you never fuck any of them. like, what do you do when you’re horny?”

she sighed lightly, pressing the pause button on her game and setting her controller to the side so she could give you her full attention. she had to admit, the explicitness of your words was pulling her concentration into a mental image she shouldn’t be venturing into rather than the game. her body turned on the carpet, blue eyes meeting yours immediately. 

“i’on do anything,” she answered honestly. 

it wasn’t hard for you to guess that, though, because you honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had even mentioned anything about hooking up with a girl. it had to have been over a year ago, you think, but you could be misremembering. 

“you never just need an orgasm?” you asked in pure disbelief. “or too like, fuck a hot girl?”

“no,” her reply came quickly, yet even she could tell it wasn’t entirely convincing. but you decided to not point that out for her sake–to see how long she would insist that she didn’t.

because how was she supposed to admit that she didn’t want to fuck all those girls. that even if she did, she would just be picturing you the entire time, imagining you were the one giving her the orgasm she craved. 

she couldn’t, because you were her best friend. her straight best friend, who had never even hinted that you might be even a little attracted to girls in general, let alone her.

“when was the last time you had sex?” you asked with genuine curiosity. she just shrugged casually instead of offering a verbal response. “come on, you don’t remember? you don’t think about it?”

“i mean,” paige started, her eyes glancing up toward the ceiling for a moment like she was debating on the words she wanted to say, if she wanted to be truthful, “yeah, i do, but i don’t wanna fuckrandom people that i’on even know.”

you chewed your bottom lip, a lightbulb suddenly brightening in your mind and blinding your inhibitions. your eyes raked over her face, pausing on her pink lips that were caught between her front teeth from nervousness. you couldn’t imagine why this conversation would make her nervous, though. 

“you know me.”

the words seemed to ram into her chest with a force that was able to knock the wind out of her. on her brain’s list of possible things for you to say next, that was probably at the very, very bottom–if even on the list at all. her lips parted slightly in surprise, eyes searching yours for any sign of humor. but she didn’t find any.

she tried to get a grasp on her composure so she didn’t look so taken back, like she still had the confident smoothness that everyone knew so well. but honestly, she couldn’t remember how to think clearly anymore, and she wanted to pinch herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream that she would wake up disappointed from.

if this were any other time, your confidence would’ve faltered by now. you would’ve been sputtering awkward apologies and probably storming out of the room so she didn’t have to look at you try to gather yourself after a hard fumble. but fuck, you were so fucking horny that your mind couldn’t even stop to think about it. 

“what?” was all paige could muster to say. 

you pushed yourself up from your elbows, leaning back until you were sitting cross-legged in her bed rather than lying on it, “i think we could help each other.”

she cocked an eyebrow as she stared you. she could feel the heat creep from her neck up onto her cheeks, and she knew you could see it too. “for real?”

“you don’t wanna fuck strangers, but you know me. and i need an orgasm, or i’m gonna go crazy,” you shrugged, way too casual for the way paige’s heart was begging to break out of her ribcage. “i mean, if you don’t want to–”

“nah, nah,” she interrupted, maybe a little too hasty to be considered casual. “i want to.” 

you paused for a moment, then smiled, “okay.”

paige swallowed thickly, her nerves making it difficult to do smoothly, and it did nothing to relieve her suddenly uncomfortably dry mouth. she pressed her palms into the edge of the soft mattress to push herself up until she could place a knee on the bed, then slowly crawled over to you. she sat with her legs underneath her in front of you, her balled fists pressing into the blanket beside your own knees. 

you broke eye contact to shift your gaze to her lips–her full, bitten lips that were practically begging for you to kiss her right now. but you didn’t, not when you had already made the first move by even suggesting this. it was her turn to show that she wanted this just as badly as you now.

or maybe it was because you were nervous. this would be your first time kissing a girl–first time kissing paige. you had kissed many boys before, sure, but did you even know how to kiss a girl? it couldn’t be that different. it would be less prickly at least, but still.

“hey,” paige whispered to pull you back down to reality, seemingly recognizing that you were getting in your head about something. you felt her fingers slide across the skin of your neck so she could cup your cheek with her palm, her thumb stroking across your cheekbone comfortingly. 

she didn’t give you another moment to let any more thoughts in before she was leaning forward to press her lips against yours. it was hesitant and extremely slow to allow you to adjust to the fact that you were kissing a girl, and to let her adjust to the fact that she was kissing the girl she had dreamed about kissing for years.

her lips were soft, but slightly chapped too from her habit of chewing on them when she was thinking, and the contrast was an intoxicating feeling. it was so much different than kissing a boy in a way that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

paige pulled away for a moment, swiping the pad of her thumb over your top lip briefly before she was crashing her mouth into yours again. this time with passion that couldn’t be recognized as anything other than hungry. it was still a slow pace, slower than you were used to for sure, but her lips moved against yours like they had something to prove. 

she traced her freehand up your leg, then settled on your stomach to gently push you on your back so you were laying against her pillows. all without disconnect your lips. you subconsciously uncrossed your legs as you leaned back, instead stretching them straight out in front of you. honestly, you didn’t even really know what to do with them. 

but it didn’t seem to matter, because she settled her body between your legs like it was second nature. the hand that was resting on your face instead shifted until it was settled on the pillow beside your head, and her other hand was resting on your hip with her fingers splayed under your shirt against your warm skin. 

she didn’t lower her body down to press against yours, either because she didn’t want to frighten you or because she had other plans. but a noise grumbled in the back of her throat, a mix of a groan and a whimper, telling you that she wanted this–maybe even more than you did.

you didn’t have time to dwell on it though, because she was tightening her fingers on the pillow next to you until her hand was curled into a fist, parting her lips and slowing the rhythm of the kiss like she wanted to say something, but didn’t want to stop kissing you.

“please, lemme eat it,” paige breathlessly whined into your mouth in between kisses. “i’ll make it so good for you. just–let me show you, please.”

your brain was already feeling jumbled just from her fingers dipping down to begin rubbing your clit in circles through your sweatpants, so it almost felt like her words short-circuited it. not only that, but you had never had a guy pay this much attention to how you feel by immediately touching you before (nor have you had a guy beg to eat your pussy)–and she’s barely even touched you.

they usually would grab your hand to put it on their own crotch to chase their own pleasure.

not fully trusting that words you were thinking would come out of your mouth the way you intended, you settled on simply nodding your head as permission. you could feel the corners of her lips curve into a small smile against yours, but the feeling was short-lived before she was moving down your body. 

“imma get you right, promise."

her descent started with your neck, her mouth placing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on the warm skin near your pulse point. however, her hands paused their movements to lift your shirt up and expose your breasts as she did so. her mouth broke free for only a moment to pull it over your head and leave you in an old bralette you hadn’t gotten rid of from their 2016 popularity–you couldn’t help it, they were comfortable (and very flattering, but maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better).

she smiled for a moment, but clearly tried to cover up for your sake to keep the situation serious. her pussy clenched in anticipation too, growing wetter in her boxers by the second at the thought of getting to eat your pussy. 

honestly, you didn’t know what to do with your hands. well, you kind of did, but this wasn’t the same as any other hookup. this was a girl. this was paige, not some guy. so you hesitantly placed them on her shoulders to silence the overthinking flooding your mind. 

she didn’t seem to notice your internal battle, though, not when her lips were mouthing at the skin of your collarbones, like they were something sweet to savor. instead of touching your breast immediately now that it was exposed, she rested all of her weight on the hand that was flat on the bed beside you to hold her up. then, she cupped the back of your knee to pull it up just slightly, bending your leg in the air.

your eyebrows pinched together in confusion as you watched her body adjust to a new position, her legs straddling the one she had just bent as she dove back down to place kisses on one of your breasts while her hand slid up to knead the other. 

but you weren’t so confused anymore when she pressed her clothed pussy against the muscle of your leg and rolled her hips. you felt the vibration of a soft moan against your skin, and you couldn’t help but let out one of your own at the action. 

“this okay?” she practically panted, clearly holding back another thrust until you gave her the go-ahead. 

“fuck, yes. keep going,” you managed to choke out. 

paige happily did so by slowly rolling her hips against you again, this time while pulling your bralette up to fully reveal your bare breasts. her mouth practically watered when she got to see them fully–your hard, pink nipples tempting her. she didn’t do anything to fight the temptation, though, she just wrapped her lips around one of them to swirl her tongue. 

you pulled the bralette fully off your body while she did that, then settled a hand on the back of her head and sighed in content at the feeling of her warm mouth. you had always loved it when anyone you had sex with did this, but there was something about the way she did it that was different. you couldn’t put your finger on what, though. 

after a few seconds, she moved to do the same thing to your other nipple, and you could feel that you were already so fucking wet. your panties were clinging to your folds in an uncomfortable way from it collecting, and you tried to adjust your position slightly to relieve it. however, all it did was press your thigh harder against paige, making her groan against you. 

she leant back slightly to take in the sight of you shirtless below her. you tried not to feel self-conscious–tried not to cover yourself with your arms as her eyes worked over you. there was a smile on her lips, a fond one, one that didn’t read of anything platonic. you were almost certain there was a little glint of love, but you told yourself you were probably seeing things.

“god, i just–” she started, then cut herself off by shaking her head playfully, “i don’t get it.” you felt the warmth of her palms cupping your breasts, kneading them with fascination. “they don’t even know what they got.” 

you laughed nervously, letting your hands fall so they were laying above your head–a silent invitation for her to do whatever she wanted. she shifted her body so she was settled in between your legs, hands sliding from your breasts to your waist. 

she bent her body back down too, to place more slow, open-mouthed kisses against the skin of your abdomen. she let her tongue draw a horizontal line just above the waistband of your pants like a silent request for permission to enter. her eyes flicked up to yours too, going wide in such a delicious way that you couldn’t even stop your hips from twitching up. 

her fingers hooked around the fabric, slowly pulling them down like she was making a show out of it. her tongue followed the path too, making your abdomen flutter. you could feel your clit pulsing uncomfortably–begging for her to touch you already, but you tried not to make it obvious. 

paige clenched around nothing when her eyes set on the lavender panties hugging your hips. they weren’t necessarily sexy, just a cotton thong that were clearly aged, but they were her favorite color. god, she could feel the drool collecting in her mouth and threatening to drip from her lips.

it was an accident on your part. clearly, you hadn’t expected to fuck your best friend today, so you didn’t have it in the back of your mind that she might see them. now, though, you wanted to give yourself a pat on the back for it. 

“shit,” she breathed. her gaze flicked up to yours to make sure you knew that she meant her words. “if you were mine, i’d eat this pussy every chance i got.”

her mouth continued to follow as she pulled your pants all the way off, leaving kisses to replace the warmth that was being pulled away. as she was coming back up, she merely let her bottom lip drag on your skin slowly. 

“yeah?” you squeaked out, trying to muster up some confidence. it didn’t work though, not when your best friend was acting feral between your legs like this and making you feel things you had never felt before. not even metaphorically either, you don’t think you have ever had sex with someone who was so focused on you.

“yeah,” she replied cockily, sucking a hickey into your inner thigh, “you’d have to beg me to stop.”

when you finally felt her warm breath fanning over your center, you let your eyes flutter closed. you honestly couldn’t believe you were actually doing this. that you were actually letting paige bueckers fuck you. it seemed crazy, like maybe you were dreaming. maybe you were. you would wake up in the morning and not be able to look her in the eyes anymore if that were the case.

and maybe it didn’t seem crazy to anyone else, because she had thousands of girls in her notifications who were begging to be in your position right now. but to you, she wasn’t paige bueckers, she was just paige. and just paige was your friend.

but shit didn’t look so friendly anymore.

“look at me,” she said gently. “want you to watch me make you come.” 

following her orders, you opened your eyes slowly to meet her gaze. the same gaze that held a new kind of emotion looking at you right now. there had been so many times that she had looked at you and you couldn’t decide what she was feeling, but you knew now. it was lust, like she could devour you and then devour you again. 

her pupils were blown wide, barely even showing any of that beautiful blue you knew so well, as she stared back. her fingertips were tracing over the band of your panties, seemingly waiting to see if there was any ounce of discomfort hidden in your features. to encourage her to continue, you reached down to place a hand on her head–which she seemed to take it that way. 

paige’s lips mouthed over your clit through the fabric once, then licked an agonizingly slow stripe from your entrance back up to your clit. it was almost like she was making a point that you were hers now, proven by those goddamn panties. 

“oh my god,” she whispered in fascination. “any of them ever get you wet like this?”

you exhaled, but shook your head instead of speaking. you didn’t entirely trust that your voice would be stable enough for her to understand any of the words that would hopelessly tumble from your mouth. 

“didn’t think so. gonna think about me every time someone else tries to touch you.”

the thought of that being the truth made butterflies erupt in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out why. anxiety? excitement? either way, it hit you harder than you would’ve expected it to. you tried to tell yourself that she was just dirty talking–that it wouldn’t matter when her head was clear from the arousal and she wouldn’t feel the same.

but it didn’t feel like it. her tone didn’t imply it. the words fell from her mouth like she was finally allowed to speak a truth she had been forced to hold back against her will, and the thought was terrifying. there was no going back now. your relationship would never be the same.

and maybe you should’ve thought about that a little more before you kissed her, but goddamn, you needed to come so bad.

she shook her head in disbelief, “i’d give you whatever you want. don’t matter when. too fuckin’ beautiful not to get it.” 

without much more hesitation, she roughly yanked your panties down your thighs like they had personally wronged her. well, they had. they were keeping her from eating your pussy. that was blasphemy, she swears.

she tossed them to the side haphazardly, not even breaking eye contact with you to see where the wet puddle of fabric landed. her hands settled on your hips too, with her thumbs lightly rubbing your lower stomach in an attempt to ground you–or maybe herself.

she broke eye contact to look down, eyes meeting your pussy. she let a gasp slip past her lips by accident, her mouth watering as she took in the sight that could’ve been hung in an art museum. or maybe not, because the thought of other people getting to witness you like this made fire build in her chest from the jealousy.

god, it was so fucking unfair that other people got to experience this before she did. 

“so pretty, baby,” she finally spoke with a gentle tone, instantly allowing relief to wash over you and take away the anxiety that the initial silence had caused. her lips placed a light kiss on your pelvic bone, just above where you wanted her the most, to reassure you. “so fucking pretty. gonna ruin you.”

her gaze flicked back up to your eyes, making sure you were watching her while she did this. her eyes were wide, and eyebrows tilted up, but you couldn’t tell why–excitement, fascination, both. there were a few possibilities, but all you knew was that she looked so fucking needy, and you didn’t want to wait any longer for her to fuck you.

finally, finally, she leaned forward to flick her tongue over your throbbing clit, just once. it was an experimental touch, something that would give you enough time to back out if you decided you didn't want to anymore–she desperately hoped you wouldn’t, though. she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to act normal anymore after seeing you spread open in front of her, for her. after seeing the way you were dripping from her touch.

“paige,” you exhaled, curling your fingers in her blonde locks on the top of her head. it surely was messing with her bun, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care about anything except giving you an orgasm right now. 

that was her cue to wrap her lips around your clit and suck gently, pressing her tongue against it while she did so. when she released with a faint pop, she dragged her tongue through your folds slowly, like she was drawing a map for herself to remember for later. and she was, because she knew that this would be the only thing she would think about every time she closed her eyes to sleep from now until the rest of her life.

she couldn’t help but faintly moan against you at the taste, making you feel the vibration. it felt like it moved through your entire body from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, but that may have been because of the overwhelming feeling of finally getting some head when you have sex. and you didn’t even have to beg this time. no, she begged you. that was crazy in itself.

your nervous system felt like it was on fire from the sensation, and you could hardly keep your legs from shaking already. 

she probably noticed too, when she adjusted her position so that she was lying flat on her stomach. her arms moved so that your thighs were thrown over her shoulders, giving her more space to work. she didn’t comment if she noticed, but she was probably too occupied to even notice. 

she used her tongue to lap up all the arousal that had been building up near your entrance, plunging inside for a moment before running it back up through your folds to your clit. she couldn’t help but hum at the delicious taste, already wanting more and she hadn’t even finished her first meal yet.

that was when you felt a finger tracing a circle around your entrance, like it was asking for permission to enter. in what world would anyone say no? you weren’t sure, but fuck, even just the idea had you salivating. 

you bit your bottom lip to stifle any sounds threatening to come out, not wanting anyone to hear. not only that, but it was embarrassing.

when you finally felt the push of her middle finger slowly filling you, you couldn’t help but arch off the bed slightly, toes curling too. the pleasure was overwhelming, and you suddenly knew why sex wasn’t something you felt like you needed before this. after feeling the way paige could eat your pussy like she was an expert on your body, you weren’t sure you ever wanted her to stop–ever.

“talk t’ me, pretty girl,” she spoke into your folds, not even caring if her voice was muffled or if you were even paying attention. “lemme hear you. wanna hear how good i’m makin’ you feel.”

to try to please her, you let a quiet squeak sound from the back of your throat. you hadn’t ever made noise during sex before, so this was new, and no one had really talked to you either. no, they usually just grunted or panted or said something short, not full-on dirty talk. it was making the heat pool in your abdomen much faster than you expected. and your cheeks flush a deep pink.

well, everything she was doing was making the heat pool in your abdomen faster than you expected.

“it’s so much, paige. gonna come,” you choked out, trying your best to keep your hips still so you could chase it faster than if you started grinding your hips against her tongue. 

honestly, it was a lot all at once. not to mention the shock of actually feeling good for longer than a few seconds, and the comfort of it being from someone you trust. really, you couldn’t ask for anything better, even if you came embarrassingly fast.

“yeah?” she couldn’t even suppress the smug smile tugging at her mouth. “do it. give it to me.”

she increased the speed of her tongue flicking over your clit to push you over even more, thrusting her finger at a similar pace and humming to simulate a vibrating sensation. her fingertip would rub over the soft spot inside you every time, making you wonder how it seemed like she knew your body better than you did. 

when you came, you threw your head back against the mattress, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and your back arching toward the ceiling. your legs tensed too, toes curling hard from the intensity of the pleasure. it almost felt like you were peeing from how strong and hard it was, but you tried to shove that thought to the back of your mind. 

“that’s it, baby,” she cooed against you, slowing her movements to allow you to come down. “just like that.”

and paige works you through it slowly. surely prolonging it because you’ve never had an orgasm last longer than a few seconds in your life, not even with yourself, but you couldn’t complain. 

when she finally eased off you and sat back on her heels with her hands wrapped around your ankles to admire the mess she had made, you almost wanted to laugh at how silly she looked. her hair was sticking up just slightly on top of her head, making her bun look crazy, but the look in her eyes was distracting. there was a twinkle, one that read how happy and content she was to be between your legs like that. it was adorable, honestly, but it was also hot when you noticed her red, slick lips.

but when you shifted your legs, you couldn’t help but feel that she had left a puddle of your orgasm in between your legs instead of licking it up.

“leave it,” she said mischievously. 

you pinched your brows together in confusion at that, face contorting into a fitting expression. “why–”

“still gotta fuck you, don’t i?” she cut you off with a playful chuckle. 

you felt your breath catch in your throat at her words.

she leaned forward again. only this time, it was to press her lips against yours instead of to your pussy. it was just a small peck, and she pulled away to smile down at you.

“you thought you were just getting one?” she whispered, reaching behind her head to pull her t-shirt off her body by the neckline and throw it on the floor next to the bed. “pretty girl like you deserves to be taken care of.”

she didn’t give you time to reply before she was kissing you again. 

her lips moved effortlessly with yours like she had kissed you a hundred times, leading you with a slow rhythm that had every joint in your body feeling like jello. you felt one of her hands wrap around your throat, but not squeezing, and you knew that there was new arousal mixing with the orgasm between your legs. 

“you said you needed dick, and imma give it to you so good that you’ll never need nobody else,” she gave you one last bruising kiss before pulling away.

she stretched her body over you, toned abs suddenly very in your face. it wasn’t on purpose though, she was just reaching in her bedside drawer to find the toy that had started this entire thing. when she grabbed it, she sat back on her heels with it in her hands to reveal all six inches of its flesh-colored glory. her eyebrows raised in a silent plea for permission to use it.

“please, paige,” you said with wavering confidence–a weak attempt at displaying the same smoothness she was able to speak without even trying. you could feel your hands tremble from anxiety now that it was becoming real.

of course, she didn’t need much more convincing to continue. you had to bite back a gasp when she curled her thumbs in the waistband of her pants to pull them and her boxers off in one go, leaving her in just her nike sports bra. you don’t know why you were shocked by her taking her clothes off, honestly.

it was even more shocking when she dipped her hand in between her legs, but it wasn’t to touch herself. she swiped two fingers through her arousal, seemingly just trying to see how wet she was from this, by the way she began to buckle the harness without a second thought. she leant forward on one of her hands again to hover over you by placing it next to your head, and used the other to hold the dildo out of the way. 

her eyes quickly glanced between yours, “we can stop, y’know?”

you couldn’t resist playfully rolling your eyes and set your legs on her hips, “i know.”

“okay,” she nodded, “i just wanna make sure you’re not doin’ nothin’ you don’t want to. like, i don’t want you to feel like you have to for me.”

you placed a hand on her cheek as a comforting gesture, stroking your thumb over her cheekbone once. then, you smiled softly at her–loving even–to make her feel better. she visibly relaxed, her shoulders falling from their tense position. you used both hands to smooth over the hair on her head, too, to make sure it wasn’t sticking up anymore.

“it was my idea,” you argued playfully. 

“i know, but you ain’t ever been fucked like this so i gotta make sure you’re still w’ me–”

“paige,” you interrupted her with a groan in a mix of embarrassment and impatience. you covered your eyes with one hand too as you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“alright, alright,” she chuckled, pulling your hand off your face. after gently lacing your fingers together, she pressed your hand against the bed next to your head. “i’ll chill. just wanna make sure you won’t regret it.” 

“i won’t. i trust you,” the reassurance in your voice seemed to enough for her, because you felt the tip of the toy brush against your entrance. 

even though you were trying to act calm for paige’s sake, it was undeniable that you were suddenly experiencing a wave of anxiety come over you despite just having an orgasm on her tongue. your breathing was shallow and quick, but you closed your mouth to try to hide it. and your heart was racing. not just slightly, but you felt dizzy and light, but you wouldn’t dare ruin the moment for either of you. 

how embarrassing would that be to have a medical emergency right now? oh god, you couldn’t imagine how you would ever live that down. you’d never be able to show your face in front of her ever again. 

“don’t worry, baby. don’t have to do nothin’ but lay there and look pretty.”

she shifted her weight from her empty hand against the pillow to the one holding yours, sliding her now free hand down your body. you expected her to use it to grab the toy, and she did, but only for a moment to line it up. instead, she pressed the heel of her palm against your lower stomach, gentle enough that it didn’t hurt but merely added pressure.

“this okay?” she asked, her eyes searching yours. 

you simply nodded in reply and took your bottom lip in between her teeth as you watched her face at the feeling of the silicone nudging against you. after she nodded back in confirmation, her eyes didn’t stay on yours long. they shifted down to where her toy was pressing against your pussy like it was begging for permission to enter. because she was–silently. 

her hips rocked forward just slightly, letting the tip dip in about half an inch. she tried lion up at you and keep her eyes there, she really did, but they couldn’t help but drift down to where you were swallowing her. when she didn’t hear any protests, she let herself sink in deeper, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

it was a strange, but good, feeling. you were so wet, so fucking turned on, that it doesn’t even burn in the slightest to have her slide into you. usually, you would be wincing at the feeling, but this time, you just can’t help the moan that tries to slip past your closed lips. especially because her hand was pressing down on your abdomen, making sure you feel everything. 

she pushed out a sound that’s a mix of a whimper, a moan, and a harsh exhale all in one when she was halfway, dropping down to press her forehead against yours. you tried to catch her eye contact, but you quickly saw that her eyes were screwed shut in both pleasure and frustrated as she tried to breathe normally. 

her clit was pulsing uncomfortably, swollen with need at not just the sight of you finally under her like she had been dreaming of for so long, but from making you come, and she tried to ignore it. this was about you. and anyways, when she started moving, the harness would grind against her and give her the relief she desperately needed.

she pushed out another breath, one that was a borderline sob, “fuck.”

you dug your fingers of your freehand into her shoulders, leaving crescent indents that you hoped didn’t draw blood. maybe she would, though, if she even noticed the feeling (she didn’t). 

“oh, paige,” you shut your eyes and moaned as she plunged all the way inside, pressing your skin against the harness to make sure she was as deep as possible. and you felt it, you really did. you were so fucking full that your brain felt like mush. 

she let out another sound that sounded like a sob, which almost had you convinced she was crying. if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought she could really feel it–that she wasn’t fucking you with a silicone toy instead of the real thing. not like it mattered, though. there was a difference, but not enough of one to matter. not when she was focusing on your pleasure at the expense of her own. 

“don’t stop,” you cried, hopelessly clenching around the thick dildo threatening to brush against your cervix. 

of course, paige, desperate to please you, found some strength within herself to pull her hips back until the only thing left inside you was the tip. she slowly rolled her hips back in, adopting a slow, but deep rhythm to make sure you felt all of her. the hand on your abdomen was certainly helping with that, too. 

her head lolled to the side so her forehead was pressing against your temple, and you felt her beading sweat swipe against her skin at the motion. the gasps coming from her mouth were fanning over your cheek, making heat pool in your stomach. 

“fuck, you like that?” she grunted, or maybe whined–you couldn’t tell. you barely nodded your head in reply before she was answering herself anyway, “i know you fuckin’ do. can hear how much this pussy loves me.” 

and she wasn’t wrong. the wet noises as she slid back inside you were evident, and you weren’t sure you had ever had sex this loud, to be honest, in every possible way. as long as it was paige, though, you were sure that you could get used to this–but you couldn’t think of anything else in this moment. your mind was ringing paige, paige, paige like it was lyrics to a catchy song.

“faster, please,” you whimpered, your hand tightening on hers like you were trying to squeeze the life out of it. 

“whatever you want, mama,” she breathed. 

of course, she paused to stabilize herself, then picked up her speed just like you asked. she ignored the way her thighs were burning, pushing through the way they were trembling just to hear the quiet moans slipping past your lips without mercy. 

the pace allowed the harness to rub against her clit deliciously, damn near making her hips stutter from pleasure, but she tried to keep her composure. that is, until you opened your mouth to speak again. 

“shit, i’m yours,” you weren’t one to talk much during sex, so you weren’t really sure where it came from. but you thought briefly about testing the waters since she clearly liked it, then couldn’t stop the words from falling out of your mouth. 

similarly, she couldn’t stop the way her rhythm noticeably stuttered, and the loud moan that tumbled past her lips without permission. “oh fuck,” she whimpered. “oh fuck, oh fuck.” 

her mouth latched onto the skin of your neck, biting down just below your ear on the sensitive spot that had your hips bucking up into her rhythm. it was surely leaving a bruise that both of you would regret later, but you neither of you could bring yourselves to care. the hand she had on your stomach had drifted down so her thumb could slowly circle your clit bring you closer to the edge–mostly because she didn’t know how long she could last. 

she was hopelessly clenching around nothing, her orgasm building in her stomach faster than she was intending to. she could only hope that she could hold it off, because she wasn’t ready to stop fucking you yet. not that she necessarily had to, but she couldn’t imagine that it wouldn’t be hard enough to wipe her out for a few minutes before she could regain her stamina. 

“don’t say that shit to me unless you want me to come,” she managed to choke out, then lifted her head enough to press her lips against yours. though, it was uncoordinated, and sloppy, and mostly just panting in each other’s mouths. 

she tightened her fingers on yours at the feeling of your saliva coating her lips, having the sudden urge to ask you to spit in her mouth from the feeling because she was undeniably yours–a complete and utter fool for you. but she wasn’t sure how you would feel about that, and she wasn’t ready to scare you off the first time you had sex. 

maybe next time, she thought to herself. if there even is a next time. 

paige tried to push down the nagging feeling that there very well may not be a next time because she may have just ruined one of her longest friendships just to have an orgasm, but she reminds herself that it was already ruined anyway. it was ruined junior year of college in that goddamn hotel room after her acl surgery. after she had woken up from her drug-induced slumber and saw you lying next to her with a soft smile that didn’t make her feel broken. instead, it comforted her–gave her a sense of normalcy even when the waves were feeling too rough to continue.

and she knows that coming back from this would be terrible, because she’s already accepted that you didn't want her because you weren’t attracted to girls. so what was she supposed to tell herself now? how could she live with the possibility that you just didn’t like her?

paige physically shook her head to rid the thoughts from her brain. they were much too intrusive in this moment. they were keeping her from enjoying you being naked underneath her, and she needed to be present for that.

though, you being you, she should’ve known better thank to think you’d let it go unnoticed. “what?” 

“nothin’,” she shook her head again, this time almost imperceptibly, “just–look so beautiful taking all me like this. you fuckin’ belong on my dick.”

you allowed your fingers to curl into the hair at the nape of her neck, just below her bun, and pulled. it was hard enough that you pulled her neck back a little, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feeling.

the movement of her hips increased their speed as she subconsciously chased her own release, making your back arch up into her body from your own pleasure. your jaw fell slack against her mouth, so you couldn’t even pretend to want to kiss her back. not that she was even trying anything either, she was just letting her lips brush against yours every so often. 

suddenly, paige’s hand ripped away from yours and the other stopped its movements on her clit. she leant back slightly, her pace slowing just a little as her position changed. you almost wanted to ask her what she was doing, until she grabbed each of legs to throw them over her shoulders one by one. 

“oh, fuck, paige,” you moaned in anticipation for the feeling that was about to come. the sound was more high pitched than your previous moans, but you didn’t care to dwell on it. she did, though, because the sound of her name leaving your lips like that was music to her ears. 

she placed her hands on the sheets next to your head, dropping her body weight onto them so she could resume the faster pace. it caused a slight stretch in your hamstrings, but gave her a new, deeper angle to drill into you at. the skin on your legs was damp against her shoulders, and she couldn’t lie that she felt a rush a wetness when she felt your calves tense around her neck from the pleasure. the new position also brought the tremble in your hips to light, making your entire leg shake for a moment, but you quickly covered it by tensing the muscle. 

“right there,” you gasped. she was so fucking deep inside you, hitting an angle that made you damn near see stars, you swear. your hands instinctively shot out to grab her wrists next to your head, digging your nails into the skin like it was something keeping you on the ground in this moment. 

“yeah? feel good, don’t it?” she asked, a cocky smirk threatening to rise to her lips. her eyes were fixed on your pussy, watching the way the silicone was swallowed whole between your legs–watching the way it was shining with your slick. 

her own pussy was drenched between her legs and making a mess of her thighs, but she tried to ignore the way it was begging to be touched–begging for your fingers or your mouth, or maybe to grind against your pussy or even your leg. god, she fucking hoped this wouldn’t be the only time she got to have you spread open for her like this. there were so many things she could do to make you come, and she wanted to try every single one. 

hell, she wanted to know what it was like to be fucked by you. for you to buckle the harness around your hips and drill into her until she was fucked so dumb she could hardly remember her name, let alone anything else but whatever you would whisper in her ear as she was being filled by you. maybe she was getting ahead of herself with those thoughts, but fuck, she’s had so many dreams about it. so, so many dreams about you on top of her and making her do whatever you wanted.

“yes, yes, yes,” you practically chanted in time with every thrust, though your words eventually just turned into little whimpers that had paige’s mouth watering. oh fuck, the way you were becoming more vocal with the new position had her weak. and she’s glad it gave her bout of confidence, because otherwise she would’ve came already. 

well, she’s trying really hard not to, at least. her abdomen is clenched hard, showing off her abs with the accidental flex as she tries to keep it away.

“mhm,” she hummed absentmindedly, or maybe it was mix between a hum and a moan–she couldn’t really tell. her mind was focused on more important things. “i know, baby.”

you could feel the familiar heat pooling in your lower abdomen, the muscles twitching so much that you had no choice but to arch up into her. though, the movement was more of you arching into your own legs thrown over her body, but the idea was still there. 

“i’m so close, paige, shit,” you choked out. you flexed your legs around her shoulders successfully locking your ankles behind her head to cage her neck in. your abdomen was flexing and unflexing too, torn between staying tense for the oncoming orgasm or grinding it out. it caused your hips to grind just slightly in an attempt to match her rhythm since you couldn’t plant your feet and lift them up to chase it, but you didn’t mind. this almost felt better than that–easier, like it was right there instead of so far away. 

“keep sayin’ my name,” paige whined. she fixed her eyes on your face to watch your expressions, to watch the pleasure she was giving you manifest itself on your beautiful features. “tell me who this pussy belongs to. who got you feelin’ like this?”

“fuck. you, paige,” you moaned. “it’s yours. no one could ever fuck me as good as you.”

her jaw went slack in both surprise and pleasure from the words tumbling from your mouth, and maybe you were a little shocked too. but you couldn’t think, could barely register that you were even speaking in this moment. your words felt distant in your ears. not because you didn’t mean them, but because your brain was so melted from the intense pleasure that it didn’t feel real anymore.

you gasped when you felt her thumb circling your clit again in small circles at a faster pace than before. 

“yeah, that’s right,” she mumbled in concentration, because her own abdomen was tensing with a sudden, intense orgasm. 

maybe she should’ve been paying more attention to the signs so this didn’t happen, but all she could focus on was your face, and the way your pussy was dripping, so she threw herself on the back burner to prioritize what was more important. and she should’ve listened to what she had said to you earlier too–that possessive words would make her come. 

a loud sob ripped from the back of her throat as she flooded her inner thighs with slick, causing her hips to thrust wildly into you to ride out the feeling. her eyes were screwed shut so tightly that the darkness was becoming light again, but she honestly didn’t even realize they had closed until they were opening just slightly when her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

the sight of her coming on top of you was enough to send you over the edge too. you felt yourself gush onto her toy, clenching around it so hard that she physically felt the resistance from how tight you became. it made her hips stutter just once, and she slowed her pace slightly to help work you through it without overstimulating you. 

your legs tensed so hard that your ankles untangled and heels were digging into her shoulder blades. the pressure subconsciously pulled her closer to you, but she managed to lock her elbows so she could stay up. your toes were curled hard enough that you almost felt a cramp brewing in your left foot, abdomen tight enough to show your own abs, and hands locked tight enough around her wrist that there would surely be red rings around them when you released. your jaw was clenched too, rather than slack, teeth pressing together so hard that your molars were aching. 

it was the most intense feeling your body had ever felt, and it damn near didn’t even know what to do with it. 

“fuck,” she cried finally, though there were no tears slipping onto her cheeks. her thumb paused its movements to let you come down, eyes blinking open to watch your body relax under her. her hips snapped forward accidentally, hard enough to make your body move, but she didn’t apologize for it. 

her thigh muscles and hip flexors were burning and shaking from the exertion, but she didn’t stop her slow thrusts to help you work through your orgasm. and again, just like before, she was definitely prolonging it with her movements, but you could hardly complain. 

your body was twitching beneath her, abdomen clenching every few seconds and making her hips turn up. your head felt light and airy, and your lips seemed to find it hard to find words. though, you parted them in a weak attempt to catch your breath as you tried to draw them deep from your diaphragm. 

“okay?” she weakly asked through her own hard breaths. her chest was visibly heaving harder than she had ever experienced in her life. not during a 40-minute straight game, not after running suicides, not even after sprinting a 400 on a track. 

you simply nodded, not fully trusting your brain to make coherent sentences. your hands released their grip on her wrists to let your arms fall onto your head, forearms covering the light from your eyes. luckily, she accepted it as an answer as she nodded back, wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. she swiped her tongue over her top lip to lick some off her top lip, too. 

paige slowly moved your legs off her shoulders. she tried her hardest to resist the smirk threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth when they immediately started helplessly shaking from your ankle all the way up to your hip, setting them down gently on the bed next to her so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. 

but you couldn’t even pretend to care about it. you were still catching your breath, eyes shut underneath your forearms as you tried to wrap your head around the fact that you just fucked your best friend and it was the best sex you had ever had in your entire life. and not only that, because you would definitely do it again. in fact, she was right. you don’t know if you’d ever be able to touch someone else because your mind would always wander back here. 

not just to the way paige, your best friend, expertly touched you like she knew your body better than you you did, or the way she pounded into you like she didn’t care about anything other than making you come. or the way she ate your pussy like she was starving and it was favorite meal. your mind would travel back to the way she spoke to you like she was yours, like she needed you to know how much she needed you–how everything she did revolved around your pleasure. 

and she was so fucking dedicated to it that you weren’t sure if she was speaking from the heat of the moment or if her words went deeper than that. if her words were coming from a place of hidden truths rather than pleasure so blinding, she would say whatever came to mind. 

you winced at the sudden emptiness of her sliding the toy out of you slowly, but your legs stayed limp against the sheets. she unbuckled the harness carefully through her trembling fingers, leaning over the side of the bed to carefully set the soaked toy on the floor. she made sure that it was propped so it didn’t touch anything other than the carpet for easy cleanup, but she would worry about that later. 

when she sat up again, she gently laid a palm on your ribs and the other on your outer thigh. her chest wasn’t heaving anymore, but she was still breathing too quickly to be considered normal. and her heart was pounding in her chest too, though she couldn’t tell if it was her lingering tiredness from the exertion or from nervousness. 

you didn’t open your eyes at the contact despite the way it had your skin buzzing, still trying to catch your own breath and normalize your own heartbeat after that, but you could feel her gaze burning into you. 

“still with me?” she asked softly. her tone was quiet and careful, trying to gauge how to proceed from here. 

“yeah,” you breathed with a nod. 

after a few moments of listening to each other breathe, you cracked an eye open to see what she was doing. all you were met with was her eyes fixed on your face, lips parted to allow more air in. her eyes were glassy and had a new sparkle that you couldn’t quite put a name to, lips red and covered in salvia from her tongue swiping over them, cheeks flushed pink in the most adorable way, and hair messy in her bun that was still barely hanging on. the corners of her mouth curved slightly into a smile, but her expression was mostly unreadable. it made your heart rate kick back up in a way that was from anxiety. 

this is the part where they would ask you to leave, or make an excuse about being busy as a way to subtly ask you to leave, or get up, or something. your skin crawled uncomfortably, and the feeling that it was about to happen right now too was uncomfortably crawling up on your spine. or maybe that was sweat dripping down–either way, you knew you’d rather beat her to it than face the embarrassment. 

“i should probably think about heading,” you said quietly, trying to beat her to the punch, shoulders tensing as you braced for impact. the impact of her agreeing, you mean, of the reality that you had just had a one night stand with the person you care about the most. and even though she could make you feel good in ways that you didn’t think was possible, that she was still like the rest of them at the end of the day.  

“what?” paige’s tone was dripping in disbelief, and sadness, maybe offense? she tilted her head to the side slightly like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing–like the role was reversed and you had just become the very thing that you were afraid of her being. there was a slight smile on her lips, but it was anything but amused. 

your eyes widened in embarrassment, and you lifted your arms so they were resting on your forehead instead so she could see that, “sorry, i just–i figured you’d–” you sighed to buy yourself time to collect your thoughts to actually utter a coherent sentence, “i dunno. i assumed you’d want me to leave.” 

she chuckled, this time from gentle amusement, the kind that was fond rather and didn’t make you think she was laughing at you, then gently stroked your ribs with her thumb. “why would i want that?” 

instead of replying verbally, you just shrugged. the intense humiliation was burning hot in your chest and cheeks, and you felt stupid for even suggesting something like that now. but you’d never had anyone pay this much attention to you when your clothes off, and truly care how you felt. 

okay, well, maybe a few have tried their best, but it was never like this. never fully putting themselves to the side to make sure you were taken care of first–physically and emotionally. 

“i don’t know,” you mumbled. 

paige sighed, then finally moved so she was laying on top of you. her cheek pressed into your collarbone, one hand on your collarbone on the other side with her thumb gently resting on the skin of your neck, her leg bent so her thigh was gently resting over your hip, and the other leg pressed against your outer thigh so she wasn’t touching your center while you were sensitive. 

her breathing had evened out, and you just hoped she couldn’t feel the way your heart was still racing beneath your skin. if she did, she didn’t bring attention to it, and you were grateful for that. she tensed her body like she was pulling you closer, then fully relaxed so you could feel her entire weight–almost like a weighted blanket.

“i wouldn’t do that to you,” she whispered out of reassurance. then, she took a breath of courage to gather up the strength for her own confessions, “i thought you wanted to leave.”

your breath caught in your throat slightly at the vulnerable tone. “i wouldn’t do that to you,” you echoed quickly. the words left your mouth at a speed that showed you meant it, and weren’t just saying to make her feel better. 

you couldn’t ignore the way her body was trembling against your skin, showing just how much of a toll you’d really taken on her. you figured it was from how much effort she put in though, from how she basically did all the work–not even considering that it was from her unusually intense orgasm, and that it was so intense because she was fucking you. 

because that was the truth. it wasn’t from the speed of her hips, or how long she held that speed for, or how long she was holding herself up. the intensity stemmed from how her body–her mind–reacted to you. she could’ve forced herself to go for hours without a break if that’s what you needed. 

you timidly lifted an arm to drop around her back, fingertips dragging lightly over her skin. she hoped you couldn’t hear how her breath hitched–couldn’t feel how her heart rate increased at the action. of course you did, and the sudden shift of anxious energy filling the air made it obvious, but you chose not to acknowledge it. instead, you ran your fingers up and down her spine lightly, trying to calm her nervous system that was definitely sent into overdrive. 

her body physically relaxed at the contact, which only made her feel heavier against you, but you weren’t going to complain. you could support her weight, you knew that, and if you couldn’t, you would pretend you could for her sake. this was your attempt at forgoing any possible miscommunication that could mess this moment up–like it almost already did. 

“thank you,” you said quietly. you meant it genuinely, but damn, you could’ve slapped yourself after it left your mouth. not because you didn’t want to say it, but because it felt stupid coming from your mouth. thank you for fucking me and giving me an orgasm after i literally asked you to because the men here suck and can’t do it for me, you’re such a good friend! god, what is wrong with you?

still, she laughed lightly and nuzzled her nose into the skin where your neck meets your shoulder, placing a light kiss there. you thought maybe she would say something else, but she didn’t. she let her physical reply speak for itself instead, but you, surprisingly, didn’t feel any ounce of insecurity about it. 

even though she seemed collected outwardly, her mind was running a thousand miles per minute. there were so many thoughts swirling in her head that she couldn’t pick just one to stress on–just one to freak out about. because this was you, her best friend since freshman year of high school when you joined the basketball team as an off-season sport. 

the same you that she knew she was in deep with, that she couldn’t deny the flutter that erupted in her chest every time you smiled, or laughed, or talked, or breathed. 

SCENARIO ONE:

Juju sat perched on the barstool that sat next to her kitchen island, her eyes flicked back to the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was currently 12:56 am. You were out with some friends to celebrate one of their birthdays.

That wasn’t the problem. The problem was you told Juju you’d be back before 12.

Now Juju trusted you, she never had no reason not to, but she did want you safe and in the house before she went to sleep. She hated falling asleep without knowing you were there.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the faint jingle of keys cut through the quietness of the apartment. The door cracked open a few seconds later and Juju saw you standing there. She felt her body physically relax.

A soft smile makes its way onto your face as you spotted her sitting there, before you made your way over to her. You were a little woozy, the drinks finally catching up to you. Juju watched you approach, her facial expression caught somewhere between concern and quiet annoyance.

“Hi baby,” your voice comes out a little slurred as you wrap your arms around her neck. You feel her hands settle onto your hips as she pulls her slightly closer, steadying you, between her legs.

“Why you ain’t text me?” She asked, voice low but firm. “You said you’d be back at 12.” She looks down at you. You looked up at her, the tone of her voice hitting harder than you expected. Your smile slowly shrunk into a small frown.

“Are you mad at me?” The few drinks you had were starting to get to you as you feel a wave of sadness shoot through you.

Juju’s face softened as she sighed. Her thumbs brushing slow circles against your sides before she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Nah,” her voice was gentle as she talked. “I’m not mad. Just let me know next time, okay? People out here be weird. I just wanna know you’re okay.”

You nod faintly before leaning back into the warmth of her body, your eyes growing heavy as the silence grows.

Juju slid off the stool carefully, keeping her arm around you as she turned you both towards the hallway.

“Cmon, you’re going to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled, dragging your feet just a little as she guided you along.

Juju let out a small huff, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“I am,” she replied. “So we going to bed.”

You sighed, already knowing there was no winning this one. Letting yourself lean into her hold once again, you followed her down the hall, her body warm and steady as she got you both settled in for the night.

SCENARIO TWO

The desert sun is beaming down on your back as you stand beside Juju, your hand laced with hers.

In your other hand, you held Jazzy's phone, continuously clicking the white button that was on the screen as she posed.

“Wait! Last one,” Jazzy said as she pulled Sienna in the picture, posing with her. You let out a small laugh at the girl before snapping the picture and handing her phone back.

"These are so cute," The girl exclaimed after receiving her phone back. "Thank you so much!" Jazzy placed a quick little peck on your cheek before hurrying off with Sienna.

You smiled and shook your head before turning back to your girlfriend, expecting to see her beautiful smile but instead you saw the somewhat irritated look that took over her face.

Your smile slightly dropped from your face as you turned your body towards her. "Ju, what's wrong?" Your voice somewhat raspy from all of the screaming song lyrics earlier.

"Nothing," Her eyes drifting past you as she looks at whatever's behind you. You huff as you look at her, knowing she's not telling the truth.

"Baby, it's not nothing. What's wrong?" Your arms come up to wrap around her neck, forcing her to look down at you.

"I don't like you letting people be on you like that." The sentence comes out so quickly, you're not even sure if you heard it correctly. When you finally register what she said, you have to fight back a laugh.

"Who? Jazzy?"

She cuts her eyes at you as she hears the slight giggle leave your mouth. “Am I laughing?” Her tone makes me look at her again before shaking my head to say no, biting back my smile.

“I know Jazzy doesn’t swing like that,” Juju looks away for a brief second before bringing her attention back to you. “But you’re still my girl.” Her arm came up to wrap around your waist.

“Don’t let nobody be on you like that. Touching and kissing up on you like that.” She said as she wraps her arm around me, kissing my forehead.

You looked up at her, smile forming on your glossed lips.

The library is way too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your own breathing sound deafening, where every shuffle of paper or tap of a pen echoes like a gunshot. It’s the kind of silence that should be perfect for studying. Should be.

Except Paige Bueckers is sitting across from you, and Paige Bueckers doesn’t give a single shit about studying.

Instead, she’s leaned back in her chair like she’s lounging courtside instead of being one bad test score away from academic probation. She’s got her long legs stretched out beneath the table, sneakers tapping lazily against the floor. Her hoodie—way too oversized for someone whose entire existence is dedicated to agility and precision—is slouching off one shoulder, and she’s twirling a pen between her fingers like she’s dribbling down the court with a shot clock winding down. The sleeves are bunched up just enough to show her forearms, strong and lined with faint muscle from years of training, but the only thing working right now is her mouth.

Grinning. Smirking. Teasing. Doing everything but reading the goddamn textbook in front of her.

“Alright, Paige,” you sigh, pushing your notes toward her for what has to be the third time. “We need to focus. You will fail this class if you don’t start studying.”

Paige doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t move an inch beyond a lazy stretch that makes her hoodie ride up just slightly, flashing the waistband of her shorts. Her smirk deepens like she can feel you noticing.

“Yeah,” she drawls, tilting her head, “but then I’d have to take it again next semester. Which means more quality time with my favorite tutor.”

You stare at her. She stares back. The kind of look that feels like a staredown before tip-off except way less athletic and way more are you seriously this insufferable?

She holds the eye contact, easy as anything, while you struggle to remind yourself that she is only your student, not a professional flirt sent to ruin your life. Her eyes gleam in the dim library lighting, playful and sharp at the same time. Her lashes are unfairly long, brushing against her cheeks when she finally blinks.

Your heart rate picks up. Not from that. From the academic crisis happening right now. Obviously.

“You’re not failing on purpose, right?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

Paige tilts her head, pretending to ponder, lips pursing slightly. “Hmm. No, but if I did, would that be kinda cute?”

You groan dramatically, dragging a hand down your face. “I am this close to committing academic misconduct and just taking the test for you.”

Paige gasps. Actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in faux offense. “Wow. I knew med school was intense, but I didn’t realize you were out here ready to commit federal crimes for me.”

“That’s it,” you announce, pushing back from the table. “I’m done. I quit. Find someone else to teach you about mitochondria.”

You barely make it an inch before Paige reaches across the table and hooks two fingers around your wrist, tugging you back down like you weigh nothing. Her grip is firm, all strength and control—like she’s grabbing a rebound, like she’s got her hands on the game ball in overtime. Your pulse jumps again, this time definitely because of that.

Her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary before she releases you. But she’s still watching you, expression softening just slightly around the edges. “C’mon, stay,” she says, voice lower now, like a secret. “I promise I’ll actually pay attention this time.”

You cross your arms. “Oh? And what changed?”

She leans forward this time, elbows on the table, chin propped on one hand. The lighting catches the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. She’s smiling, but it’s something different now—something slower. 

“Figured out that if I fail,” she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “I won’t have an excuse to see you anymore.”

Your brain does a full system reboot. Error. What the fuck did she just say?

“Wh—Paige.”

She just winks, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip for half a second before her grin spreads, slow and satisfied. “What? That was cute, right?”

You grab your pen and point it at her accusingly. “You are so goddamn lucky you’re good at basketball, because if you had to rely on your brain—”

“I’d still get by,” she interrupts smoothly, shooting finger guns at you. “People tend to go easy on the charming ones.”

Your mouth actually falls open. Not on purpose—just an involuntary reaction to the sheer, unbelievable audacity of this girl. She’s failing biology, hasn’t written down a single note, and still has the goddamn nerve of a mathlete coasting through an easy A.

You snap your jaw shut, you refuse to let her see how flustered you are. You refuse. “Okay, charming one, then explain the process of cellular respiration.”

Paige squints, lips pressing together as she sucks in a breath through her teeth, nose scrunching like she’s really trying to make something shake in that head of hers. “Uh… it’s when cells… respire?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly through your teeth. “We are so, so fucking doomed.”

She just laughs, kicking her feet out beneath the table, accidentally knocking her knee against yours. “Relax,” she says, her grin widening. “You love tutoring me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” she nods, completely sure of herself. “You totally have a little crush on me.”

You let out a dry, incredulous laugh—one of those sharp, breathy ones, all eyebrows raised and head bobbing. “Yeah, sure.”

She shrugs, tapping a finger against the open page of her biology textbook like she might actually start paying attention. Then, without looking up—

“Nah, I know.”

You blink. Paige blinks back.

The air between you tightens like a taut shoelace, pulling, pulling—dangerously close to snapping. You could be the bigger person here. You could roll your eyes, let it go, return to the noble pursuit of keeping Paige Bueckers from academically imploding.

But something about the way she’s looking at you—too smug, too sure—strikes a competitive nerve in you. And you’re not about to lose anything to her. Not a game, not a staredown, and sure as hell not a battle of wits.

So you shift in your chair, tilting your head, letting your lips curl just slightly. “Oh, you know?”

Paige leans back again, arms crossed, shoulders loose. She’s cocky, sure, but there’s something anticipatory in her gaze—like she knows you’re about to challenge her and she’s thrilled about it.

“Mhm.” She nods, casual as ever. “Crystal clear.”

You hum, feigning thoughtfulness, tapping a finger against the open textbook. “Wow. Must be nice. I thought you struggled with retention, but here you are, remembering things that have literally never been said.”

She gasps. “Rude.”

“You’ll get over it,” you deadpan.

Paige, of course, does not let it go. She tips her chin up, meeting your gaze with something wicked and playful tangled in the blue of her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have a little crush on me.”

You exhale, relieved.

“But you definitely think about me when I’m not around.”

Your breath catches. Paige sees it. Her grin stretches wider, knowing, smug.

Oh, you are not letting her have this.

You scoff, shifting back in your chair, fighting the warmth creeping up your spine. “Paige, you are in my life solely because you can’t pass basic biology. I think about you in the same way people think about a fire alarm that won’t stop beeping.”

“Ah, so constantly?”

You scowl. She beams.

“That’s fair,” Paige shrugs, stretching her arms over her head, and the movement makes her hoodie ride up again, flashing a sliver of tanned stomach. “I am pretty unforgettable. Even when I’m annoying.”

“Especially when you’re annoying,” you mutter.

Paige smirks, but then, as if sensing your growing frustration, she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and dragging her textbook closer. “Alright, fine. I’ll study.”

You narrow your eyes. “For real?”

She winks. “Scout’s honor.”

“Paige, you were never a scout.”

“Prove it.”

You sigh but relent, watching as she flips open the book and actually—miraculously—starts reading the page in front of her. You take a sip of your now-cold coffee, reveling in the small victory.

For a blissful forty-five seconds, Paige is silent. Then—

“So, like,” she starts, “mitochondria. That’s the powerhouse of the cell, right?”

You pause. Blink. Lower your coffee. “Yes?”

Paige throws her hands in the air. “Let’s gooo. I’m a genius.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Paige, you have three weeks until your exam. We need to cover way more than that.”

“Okay, okay,” she soothes, putting her hands up in surrender. “Next question.”

You flip to another page, glancing up briefly to make sure she’s paying attention.

She’s not. She’s looking at you.

You pause, caught off guard by the way she’s watching you—not with teasing amusement or lazy smugness, but with something softer. Warmer. Curious.

“Paige,” you warn, shifting uncomfortably.

She blinks, then grins again, but there’s something slightly less sharp about it now. “Nothing, nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head, flipping a page in her book. “Just thinking.”

You hesitate, unsure if you want to ask, what about? But you don’t.

Instead, you clear your throat, turning your attention back to the book. “Okay. Explain the process of osmosis.”

Paige tilts her head dramatically. “Is that, like, when you just chill through life and things come to you naturally?”

“Oh my god, no,” you deadpan.

She grins. “Damn. Thought I was onto something.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “We are so fucked.”

Paige just laughs, bright and easy. “Nah. You’d never let me fail.”

She says it like it’s a fact. Like she knows, without a doubt, that you’d never let hers fall behind. And the worst part is she’s most definitely right.

She twirls her pen between her fingers, spinning it effortlessly like a basketball rolling off the tips of her hands. It’s hypnotizing, actually—the smooth rotations, the lazy way her fingers flick with just enough control to keep it from dropping. She’s been doing this for the last ten minutes, and not once has she even pretended to read the page in front of her.

Meanwhile, you’re hunched over your notes, taking deep, steadying breaths. You tell yourself you won’t let her test your patience today. You won’t get dragged into her game. You won’t—

“Paige,” you say, voice strained.

“Hm?” she replies, still flipping her pen effortlessly.

“Please read.”

Paige hums noncommittally. Turns a page without reading it. You inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. “Paige.”

She finally looks up, resting her chin on her palm, eyes bright with amusement. “What? I’m absorbing information. Through osmosis.”

You close your eyes, count to three. Consider what your life would be like if you had literally any other tutoring assignment.

“You are so lucky you’re athletic,” you mutter, flipping the page back to where she was actually supposed to start reading. “C’mon. Photosynthesis. What do you know?”

Paige stretches her arms behind her head, her hoodie riding up slightly—distractingly—before she drops back down with a smirk, looking at you like she’s about to deliver the most groundbreaking scientific revelation of all time.

“Plants… make food?”

Your eyelid twitches.

“Correct,” you deadpan. “And they do that through—”

“The power of love,” Paige interrupts, placing a hand over her chest. “And sunlight.”

You grip the edge of the table. Consider flipping it over. “Yes. Because that’s what biology is. Disney magic and good vibes.”

Paige grins. “Exactly.”

You open your mouth—probably to unleash a scathing lecture about the sanctity of science—when a shadow hovers at the edge of the table. You glance up—because you always have to glance up when people stop by your study sessions with Paige—and find a girl, probably a freshman, clutching her phone like it’s a sacred artifact.

She shifts on her feet, looking like she’s debating whether she should even speak to Paige. You can already see where this is going.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” the girl says, eyes darting between you and Paige, before ultimately landing—unsurprisingly—on Paige. “Could I, um, get a picture? If that’s okay?”

Paige doesn’t miss a beat. She shifts effortlessly from Slacker Paige to Cool Superstar Paige, flashing an easy grin as she leans back in her chair like she expected this. Like this is as common as someone asking her to pass the salt at dinner.

“Of course,” she says, voice warm, inviting, polished. She stands smoothly, rolling her shoulders back, exuding that same relaxed confidence she has right before sinking a step-back three.

You, meanwhile, remain seated, taking a slow sip of your coffee, already resigned to your fate as Paige Bueckers’ unofficial designated library bodyguard.

It’s routine at this point. The public adoration, the excited stammering, the sheepish thank you so much before they rush off like they just met royalty. And then Paige slides back into her chair, knocking her knee against yours like she doesn’t have an entire fan club scattered across campus.

“Where were we?” she asks casually, flipping her pen again.

You don’t even blink. “You were pretending to study, and I was contemplating my life choices.”

Paige snorts. But before she can respond, another person approaches. You glance up again, already prepared, already so tired. This time, it’s a guy—tall, student-athlete vibes, definitely not looking at you.

“Hey, sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly nervous despite the fact that Paige is already smiling at him like they’re old friends. “Could I get a picture real quick?”

Paige grins. “Yeah, of course.”

You take another sip of your coffee. Stare blankly into the abyss. Same process. Paige stands, poses, flashes her million-dollar smile. The guy stammers out a thanks and hurries off.

You exhale. Set your coffee down. “You done?”

Paige barely has time to smirk before two more people shuffle up, practically vibrating with excitement. She notices your unimpressed expression and loses it, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, now it’s funny,” she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Now it’s funny?” you echo flatly.

She grins. “Yeah. You look miserable.”

You scowl. Paige beams. Another five minutes pass before the final wave of admirers disperse, and Paige—finally—sinks back into her chair, looking far too pleased with herself.

“I should start charging,” she jokes.

You arch a brow. “Should I start charging? I’m the one sitting here like an unpaid security detail.”

Paige grins, drumming her fingers against the table. “You could be my manager, you know. We’d be an iconic duo.”

You scoff. “We’re not even an iconic study group.”

“Yet,” she corrects.

You roll your eyes but, reluctantly, glance at the time. The session should go another thirty minutes, but between Paige’s inability to focus and her impromptu meet-and-greet, you’re pretty much out of patience.

“Fine,” you sigh, shutting your book. “We’ll pick this up next time.”

Paige fist-pumps like she just nailed a game-winner. “Let’s go.”

You raise a hand. “But—”

Paige groans.

“You actually have to study next time,” you warn, pointing a finger at her like a parent scolding a child. “No excuses. No distractions. No impromptu fan club meetings.”

Paige nods solemnly. “Of course. One hundred percent. Fully locked in.”

You squint at her. “You’re lying to my face.”

She grins. “Yeah. But I did it really well.”

You let out a slow breath, collecting your things, already knowing that next time will be just as chaotic. But, somehow, you don’t hate the idea.

You barely make it two steps out of the library before Paige falls into step beside you, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie, head tilted toward you like she’s waiting for something. You don’t say anything. Neither does she. But she’s still there, walking at your exact pace, still spinning that damn pen between her fingers like she’s making it her personal mission to erode the last of your patience.

After half a block of this nonsense, you finally huff. “Why are you still here?”

Paige smirks, eyes twinkling. “Wow. I thought we were friends, and you hit me with why are you still here? I think I need to sit down. That was devastating.”

You resist the urge to shove her into a trash can. “You should sit down. With a biology textbook.”

“That,” she sighs dramatically, “sounds like a you problem.”

You groan, but the corners of your lips twitch—just slightly. She glances at you again, side-eyeing, like she’s waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. So, instead, she nudges your arm with her elbow. “You heading back to your dorm?”

“Yep,” you say, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Where some people go to actually study.”

Paige grins. “Fun. I was gonna hit the gym.”

You pretend to be shocked. “No way. The gym? You? Unheard of.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Crazy concept. Gotta keep these knees in top shape so I can keep playing dumb for you in the library.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips do twitch again. When you reach the intersection where you usually part ways, Paige hesitates—just slightly. Her foot taps against the pavement, and she glances at you, like there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t.

But then the crosswalk light changes, and she just flashes her usual grin. “Alright, I’ll see you next time. Can’t wait to waste more of your valuable time.”

You shake your head, already walking away. “You are a waste of my valuable time.”

Paige calls after you, voice dripping with smug amusement. “Admit it! You’d be bored as hell without me!” You don’t respond. Maybe, just maybe, she has a point.

You barely manage to kick the door shut behind you before dropping your bag to the floor, the weight of the entire goddamn week peeling off your shoulders like an old sticker. Your body feels wrecked—like you just played all four quarters of a game you weren’t even supposed to be in. Midterms, tutoring, the endless cycle of pretending you have your shit together when in reality, you’re two missed assignments away from a full-on breakdown.

Your roommate’s bed is empty, the perfectly made sheets an immediate giveaway that she’s already at her boyfriend’s place for the night. Which means the dorm is yours. Finally. A rare and precious occurrence, like a solar eclipse or a professor canceling class with a two-minute email. You grab your laptop from the desk, already knowing exactly how you’re gonna spend the next five hours: Desperate Housewives. Your guilty pleasure. Your lifeline. Your emotional support chaotic suburban drama. You settle onto your bed, wrapping yourself in a blanket cocoon, cracking your knuckles in preparation for an evening of zero responsibilities—when your phone rings.

You groan dramatically, not even bothering to check the screen before answering. “No.”

There’s a pause, then Jordan’s voice comes through, unimpressed. “Bitch, you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Yes, I do,” you sigh, rolling onto your back. “And the answer is no.”

“You’re being difficult,” she complains. “Come out with me.”

“No.”

“C’mon. It’s Friday night. You have no excuses.”

“I have the best excuse. I’m too fucking tired.”

Jordan makes an exaggerated scoffing noise. “Tired from what? Sitting across from your little basketball girlfriend and watching her pretend she doesn’t know how to read?”

You freeze. “She’s not my—”

“Uh-huh.”

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jordan.”

“[Redacted],” she mimics in a deep, mocking tone. “Come out. I’ll buy your first drink.”

“You say that like you’re doing me a favor. It’s literally one drink.”

“Okay, and? You’re broke.”

She’s got you there.

“I have plans,” you try again.

“What plans? Watching white women commit crimes in wedge heels?”

You frown. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Because I know you.”

You press your lips together, because yeah. She does.

Jordan senses weakness and pounces. “You never go out anymore,” she whines. “It’s tragic. I’m watching my best friend turn into a sad little academic goblin. When’s the last time you flirted with someone for fun?”

“I—” You pause. And that’s enough for Jordan.

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t need to flirt with random people, Jordan,” you argue.

“Okay, then come to keep me company. Emily’s bringing her crypto bro boyfriend and I need a buffer. You owe me.”

“For what?”

“For being my best friend, dumbass.”

You let out a long, slow exhale. Your bed is so soft. Your show is right there. Your roommate isn’t gonna be back till morning, which means you could fall asleep watching hot moms commit felony-level fraud and no one would judge you. But Jordan is relentless. And also, maybe, just maybe, she’s right.

“Ugh, okay, fine, one drink,” you say finally.

She screeches. “I’LL BE THERE IN TWENTY.”

“Wait, what the— twenty?!”

“You don’t get time to back out, babe. Love you! Bye!”

The call disconnects. You stare at your ceiling for a long moment before groaning into your pillow. Guess you’re going out. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your closet like it personally wronged you.

Twenty minutes. Less than that now. Jordan is on time when it comes to dragging you out of your self-imposed hibernation, so you don’t have the luxury of procrastinating. You run a hand through your hair, sighing as you debate your options.

Jeans? Safe. A dress? Too much effort. Skirt? Trying too hard. 

You pull open a drawer, fingers brushing over the usual suspects: black tank, oversized tee, hoodie. The same exact shit you wear every day. You tug at the hem of your pajama shirt instead, already debating if you could get away with staying in. Jordan would literally break into your dorm if she had to.

You settle on something in the middle—black jeans that just hug your waist enough to be flattering without suffocating you, a tight long-sleeve that makes your arms look good, and sneakers. Cute but low effort.

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror above your desk, and your mind does that thing. That thing where you start thinking in spirals, words layering on top of each other like a too-thick coat of paint. Jordan always looks good when you go out. The hot friend, effortlessly wanted. Guys slip her their numbers, girls compliment her makeup, and you? You’re there. Background noise. The best friend, the safe choice, the one people never approach first.

Your hands move on autopilot, pulling your hair into something presentable, smoothing out wrinkles in your shirt. Your brain moves just as fast, thoughts piling up. When’s the last time someone wanted you? Really, genuinely wanted you?

Not for help on an assignment. Not for a favor. Not as a buffer against some awkward third wheel situation. Your fingers tighten around the mascara wand as you swipe it over your lashes, the thought hitting heavier than it should.

And then there’s her. Paige. Paige, who everyone wants. Paige, whose name alone makes people light up, whose smile makes the world lean in closer. Paige, who has the kind of effortless pull that shouldn’t be real, the kind that isn’t real, except it is—because it’s her.

You imagine what it must be like. To be wanted by everyone. To have people go out of their way just to see you. To be loved by an entire fucking world that doesn’t even know you. To have that kind of pull. You shake your head, dabbing concealer under your eyes, fixing nothing. Paige doesn’t have to think about this. About being ignored. About whether or not someone is really interested or if they just need her for something else. Paige is easy to love.

Your hands are steady as you apply lip gloss, but your thoughts aren’t. Because you know what’s worse? Worse than not being wanted? Feeling like you could be—if only you were someone else. A sharp knock-knock-knock at your door makes you jump, snapping you out of whatever existential spiral you were just sinking into.

You check the time. 7:59. Jordan, always on time when it comes to dragging your ass out of the house.

“Bitch, open up,” she calls through the door, impatience already seeping through her voice. “I know you’re in there, don’t make me break in.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your phone off the bed before opening the door. Jordan doesn’t even wait for an invitation. She just steps in like she owns the place, eyes immediately scanning you up and down.

“Oh, thank god,” she exhales dramatically, throwing herself onto your bed like she just finished a marathon. “For a second, I was scared you were gonna pull some bullshit and answer in sweats.”

“I was considering it.”

“And I would’ve dragged you outside as is.”

She props herself up on her elbows, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look good, though. Like, sexy but nonchalant. Very ‘I don’t try but I still eat men alive.’”

You snort, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull your sneakers on. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

Jordan flips onto her back, legs kicking lazily. “Hot girl vibes activated. I’m proud.”

You ignore the way that your brain still insists on running her words through some dumb internal filter. Hot but? Sexy but? There’s always a but. Still, you appreciate the compliment.

Jordan rolls onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “Okay, so what’s our game plan?”

You raise a brow. “Game plan?”

She grins. “Are we flirting for fun tonight? Making out with strangers? Taking free drinks and saying thanks but no thanks?”

You scoff, standing to grab your jacket. “You’re doing all of that. I’m drinking one drink, pretending I enjoy being in public, and then leaving.”

Jordan makes a dramatic gagging noise. “You’re so lame, it physically hurts me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You throw on your jacket, checking yourself one last time in the mirror before turning back to her. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jordan squints. “You know, for someone who never goes out, you could at least try to fake some excitement.”

You sigh, grabbing your phone. “Fine.” You flash her your most half-assed smile. “Yay. Alcohol.”

Jordan stares at you for a long beat. Then she cackles.

“I hate you,” she wheezes, hopping off the bed and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon, grumpy girl. Let’s get you drunk.”

You let her steer you out the door, already bracing for whatever the night has in store.

The bar hums with low conversation, the steady pulse of bass from the speakers vibrating against your ribs. The air is thick—spilled beer, cheap whiskey, the faintest trace of cologne as someone brushes past you. It’s crowded, bodies pressing in too close, the kind of warmth that clings to your skin, dampens the edges of your sleeves.

You plant your elbows on the bar, exhaling slow. Jordan’s already disappeared into the crowd, her voice lilting somewhere behind you, laughing too loud at something she probably doesn’t even find funny. You don’t bother looking back. You just need a drink, something cold in your hand, something to make this whole night feel less like a mistake.

The bartender moves in front of you, nodding once in acknowledgment, and you order—automatic, easy, something you don’t have to think about. While you wait, you glance around, taking in the room.

It’s packed, but that’s expected. The usual Friday night chaos—people gathered in clusters, leaning into one another to be heard over the music. A group near the dartboard erupts in laughter, a guy raises his arms in exaggerated victory, another flips him off good-naturedly. At the other end of the bar, a girl tugs her friend closer, whispering something into her ear, their giggles swallowed by the noise.

And then— a flash of blue. You don’t think anything of it at first. Just a hoodie, nothing more. But then there’s another. And another. A guy walks past, a UConn logo stretched across his chest, the lettering cracked and faded from too many washes. At a nearby table, someone’s peeling the label off their beer bottle, the cuff of their UConn crewneck pushed up to their elbows. A girl at the bar turns her head, revealing the unmistakable emblem stitched into the side of her cap.

Your drink lands in front of you with a soft clink. You reach for it, fingers curling around the condensation-slicked glass, but your eyes are still moving, scanning. Near the pool table, someone slams a cue stick down, shaking their head. “Bro, that was insane.”

“I told you,” another guy laughs, taking a swig of his beer. “They were fucking unstoppable.”

A bartender walks by carrying a tray of shots, and someone calls out, voice sharp with excitement—

“To the Huskies!”

A cheer rises, loud and immediate, glasses raised, grins splitting across faces. Your fingers tighten around your drink. Another voice cuts through—closer, rough around the edges like it’s been shouting for hours. “Bueckers was on fire.”

Your stomach tenses. A television flickers in your periphery, mounted above the bar, the broadcast running highlights on a loop. A flash of white jerseys, a blur of movement, the unmistakable arc of a three-pointer sinking clean through the net.

Your gaze catches on the name emblazoned across the back.

BUECKERS. 5.

Your drink sits untouched in your hand. A hand lands on your shoulder, nails cool against your skin. Jordan’s voice cuts through the hum of conversation, bright, energized.

“There you are,” she says, leaning in so you can hear her. Her breath is warm against your ear, smelling faintly of whatever sugary drink she got roped into first. “Why do you always ditch me the second we get here?”

You lift your glass, taking a slow sip before responding. “I didn’t ditch you. You ran off.”

Jordan grins, squeezing your shoulder before letting go. “Details.”

She slides onto the stool beside you, propping her elbows on the bar, the sheer confidence in her posture making it clear that she’s already in her element. You can tell from the way her shoulders are loose, from the easy way she scans the room—she’s here to enjoy herself. She tugs at the collar of her cropped tank, a calculated movement, and you don’t miss the way a pair of eyes flicker toward her from across the bar.

Of course. It never takes long. The girl is pretty—high cheekbones, sharp jaw, hair spilling in soft waves over her shoulders. She’s nursing a drink in one hand, the other tracing idle patterns into the wood of the bar. She’s been looking, you realize. Long enough for it to mean something. Long enough for it to be deliberate.

And Jordan? She notices. She always notices. You watch as she tilts her head slightly, lips curling at the edges, all slow-building amusement. Not an invitation. Not yet. Just an acknowledgment. I see you seeing me. And just like that, the girl moves.

She slides closer, just one seat between her and Jordan now, her presence a hum of subtle perfume and confidence. You feel the shift immediately, the way the space around them tightens, charged with something unspoken. You take another sip of your drink, eyes flicking between them. Jordan doesn’t look over right away. She lets it build, that delicious tension she thrives on, makes the girl wait for it. And when she finally turns her head—slow, purposeful—it’s a hook.

“Hey,” the girl says, voice smooth, honeyed.

Jordan’s lips part slightly, amused. “Hey yourself.”

There it is. The shift, the moment the conversation has already decided what it’s going to be. The girl twirls the stem of her glass between two fingers, considering. “You’re a little hard to miss.”

Jordan lifts a brow. “Yeah?”

The girl nods, a smile playing at her lips. “Saw you the second I walked in.”

You huff a quiet laugh into your drink. Jordan flicks you a glance, but she doesn’t look away for long. She’s locked in now, her full attention settling on the girl beside her.

“That so?” she murmurs.

The girl leans forward slightly, just enough that Jordan can smell whatever floral-citrus perfume she’s wearing. “Mhm.”

Jordan takes her time responding, letting the moment stretch, her fingers tapping lazily against the bar. “And what’d you think?”

The girl laughs, low and knowing. “I think I liked it.”

Jesus. You shake your head, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. This is Jordan’s playground, and she’s barely even started. Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts in.

“There you are, finally.”

Emily. And, by default, her crypto bro. You turn just in time to see her sliding in beside you, her expression teetering between fond exasperation and mild relief, like she was worried you wouldn’t actually show. Her boyfriend—god, what’s his name again?—is hovering a step behind her, already half into whatever overpriced IPA he’s nursing.

“Thought you were gonna bail,” Emily says, bumping your arm.

You shake your head. “Almost did.”

She laughs. “Would’ve sent Jordan to physically drag you out of bed.”

“She already threatened to.”

Jordan, not even looking at you, raises a hand and flicks her wrist. “And I would’ve done it with love.”

Emily grins before turning to Jordan, about to say something else—until she sees the girl. And immediately, her expression shifts.

“Oh,” she says, blinking once. Then, lips curving slightly, she leans in, dropping her voice just enough for you to hear. “She’s hot.”

Jordan doesn’t turn her head, but her smirk deepens. “I know.”

The girl doesn’t flinch, unfazed by the blatant cockiness, the sheer Jordan-ness of it all. If anything, she looks more intrigued.

“God, you’re unbearable,” Emily mutters, sipping her drink.

Jordan, at this point, is fully ignoring all of you. She’s gone, deep in the slow back-and-forth of a conversation that’s teetering right on the edge of something. You watch, mildly entertained, as the girl tucks her hair behind her ear, as Jordan lets her gaze flick lower, just for a moment, before meeting her eyes again.

Classic. You’re about to tune them out entirely, return your focus to the drink in your hand, when—

The door swings open.

And just like that, the energy shifts. You don’t see them at first. You feel them. A ripple through the crowd, a flicker of awareness in the way people turn their heads, in the subtle glances exchanged between strangers. The volume dips for half a second—not silence, just a shift, a momentary lapse before everything surges back up again.

Your eyes track toward the entrance—toward the new arrivals pushing through the threshold, stepping into the bar with the ease of people who know they’ll be noticed. White sneakers. Loose sweatpants. Jackets slung over shoulders. And that unmistakable color.

UConn blue.

Jordan is still locked in, her conversation with the pretty girl unfolding in the slow, deliberate way that only happens when both people know exactly what they’re doing. It’s all prolonged eye contact, subtle shifts in body language, the kind of flirting that exists in the pauses as much as in the words. Emily is barely paying attention, absorbed in some argument with her boyfriend about blockchain or whatever the hell it is he does. You’ve stopped listening.

Which means you’re just… there. Third-wheeling at a bar, drink half-finished, barely contributing to the conversation. The worst part is, no one even notices. Jordan, obviously, is in her own world, and Emily is too preoccupied with rolling her eyes at her boyfriend to remember you exist. You take another sip of your drink, letting your eyes wander.

The UConn girls have spread through the bar now, weaving into the crowd like they belong there. You recognize a few faces—players you’ve seen on highlight reels, names you don’t know but should. There’s a looseness to them, an ease, the kind of relaxation that only comes after a win.

You wonder, absently, if Paige is here. Not that it matters. The thought makes you shift slightly, pushing down something vague and uncomfortable. You finish off the last sip of your drink and set the glass down a little too hard, the soft clink barely audible over the noise.

“I need to piss,” you mutter, mostly to no one.

Jordan doesn’t react, too busy letting the girl touch her arm in that slow, lingering way that means she’s definitely coming home with her later. Emily gives a halfhearted wave, her focus still locked on her boyfriend, who is currently explaining something with way too much hand movement.

You slip into the crowd, navigating the maze of bodies with the kind of single-minded determination usually reserved for final exams and finding your phone when it’s on silent. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the floor, thrumming up through your sneakers, settling somewhere in your chest. Every step feels like walking through molasses—people shifting, swaying, arms brushing against yours in that careless way that comes with alcohol and too many bodies packed into one space.

You make it to the hallway leading to the bathrooms and nearly sigh in relief. It’s quieter here—not quiet, but enough that you can hear yourself think. The walls are still pulsing faintly with the music, the distant echo of a chorus threading through the air, but it’s a reprieve from the chaos of the main bar.

And then you see the door. Locked.

Holy fuck, you’re about to piss yourself. You try the handle anyway because maybe the universe will be kind, but no—solid, unmoving. Leaning against the opposite wall, you exhale sharply, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. Fine. You’ll wait. Not a big deal.

Except time starts dragging. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, tapping your fingers against your thigh. One minute passes. Two. You check your phone, even though you just checked your phone.

Okay. You can handle this.

Except—five minutes in, it’s not just uncomfortable. It’s annoying. Who the fuck is in there? Writing a novel? Performing a one-act play? Curing a disease?

You knock once, firm but not aggressive. Just enough to remind whoever is inside that there’s a whole world out here.

No response. Another minute passes. You cross your arms, shifting again, foot tapping against the floor. Seven minutes.

You knock again. Harder this time. “Yo.”

Nothing. Oh, come on. You glance toward the men’s bathroom. It’s right there. Completely open. No line. Just an empty doorway leading to salvation. Wouldn’t be the first time. But before you can talk yourself into it, you knock again. Hard. Impatient. At this point, you’re not even polite about it—you just hit the door. “Hurry up, Jesus Christ.”

The lock clicks. A second later, the door swings open, and out stumbles a couple—disheveled, flushed, and absolutely not here to use the bathroom for its intended purpose. The girl giggles into her boyfriend’s neck, her lipstick half-smeared, while his hands are still gripping her hips like they’re considering going back in for round two.

You don’t even react. You just shove past them, slam the door shut, and finally—finally—relieve yourself. Blessed silence, aside from the muffled bass still thumping through the walls. You take a moment to breathe, running your hands through your hair, shaking off the weird tension that’s been clinging to you all night. You’re fine. It’s fine.

When you step back out, the hallway’s busier—more people filing in, laughing too loud, waiting their turn. You navigate through them, dodging the wobbly, half-drunk girl clinging to her friend’s arm, sidestepping the guy trying way too hard to look casual against the wall. You’re almost back to the main floor when—

A hand catches your wrist. Firm, deliberate. Enough pressure to stop you, but not enough to hurt. Your breath stutters—not from fear, not exactly, but from the sheer certainty in that grip. Like whoever’s holding you already knew they would.

You turn your head. And there she is.

Paige fucking Bueckers.

Loose hoodie, sleeves pushed up, exposing the lean muscle in her forearms. A chain glinting under the dim bar lights, catching for half a second on the sharp line of her collarbone before disappearing beneath fabric. Her hair is a little messier than usual, like she’s run a hand through it one too many times. And her expression?

Smug. Smug as hell.

“Well, well, well,” she drawls, her grip on your wrist still firm, thumb brushing once over your pulse before she finally—leisurely—lets go. “Fancy seeing you here, tutor.”

Her voice is low, teasing. The kind of tone that makes you want to roll your eyes and press your thighs together at the same damn time.

You exhale sharply. “Oh, fuck me.”

Her grin widens instantly, wolfish. “I mean, if you insist—”

You smack her arm, and she laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a full-bodied, head-tilted-back, entirely too pleased with herself kind of laugh. It’s obnoxious. It’s attractive. It’s exactly why you need to get out of this conversation immediately.

But Paige has other plans. She steps closer—just enough that you feel the heat of her body, just enough that the crowd shifts around you, forcing you to stay exactly where you are. Her gaze drops, just for a second, flickering down your outfit before dragging back up, slow, deliberate.

“You clean up nice,” she muses. “Didn’t know you owned anything other than oversized sweatshirts.”

You narrow your eyes. “Didn’t know you left the gym.”

She hums, tapping her chin like she’s considering. “True. But, you know, when you drop thirty-six points in a game, you kinda have to celebrate.”

Of course she dropped thirty-six.

“And yet,” you deadpan, “here you are. Bothering me.”

Paige grins, shifting on her feet so she’s even closer, close enough that you can smell her cologne—something crisp, clean, expensive. Unfair.

“C’mon, don’t act so surprised,” she murmurs. “You knew we’d run into each other eventually.”

You raise a brow. “Did I?”

She tilts her head, amused. “Yeah. ‘Cause you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

Your pulse skips. “I have not—”

“Oh, you definitely have,” Paige interrupts, smirking. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you switching up your usual schedule. Skipping our tutoring session on Tuesday.” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Tragic. Really had me wondering if I did something to offend you.”

God, she’s insufferable. And yet—

“Like you care,” you shoot back.

Her eyes glint, sharp, knowing. “Oh, I do.”

Something thickens in the air between you. Something tangible, humming just beneath the surface of her cocky smirk, her unwavering stare. Her fingers twitch at her side, like she’s considering reaching for you again. You see it happen, the micro-movement, the shift of her weight like she’s deliberating. And then, just as quickly, she exhales, straightening to her full height.

“Well,” she says, her voice dipping into something smoother, softer, “if you’re not avoiding me, then I guess you wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink with me, huh?”

You blink. “What.”

She jerks her chin toward the bar. “Drink. You. Me.”

You hesitate. That same pressure returns, that feeling of everyone wants her, but somehow, right now, she’s locked onto you. Paige watches you, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. “What’s wrong, tutor? Afraid you might enjoy my company?”

Your jaw tightens. “I tolerate your company.”

She smirks. “Then come tolerate me at the bar.”

Your mistake wasn’t stopping when she grabbed your wrist. Your mistake was letting her talk. Because now Paige fucking Bueckers is smirking at you like she’s already won something, head tilted, hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie like she’s lounging through this entire interaction. You can already feel yourself being pulled into her orbit, and she knows it.

“A drink?” you echo, squinting at her. “You? Drinking?”

Her smirk grows. “Shocking, I know.”

“Lemme guess,” you deadpan. “Protein powder with a splash of vodka? Maybe a nice gatorade-infused tequila?”

Paige gasps—actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest like you just accused her of a heinous crime. “Wow. You think so little of me.”

“I think exactly the right amount of you.”

She exhales dramatically, shaking her head. “Tragic. Here I am, just a small-town basketball star trying to enjoy a simple, wholesome night out, and my own tutor is out here slandering my good name.”

You raise a brow. “Your good name?”

She nods solemnly. “That’s right. I am, at heart, a simple girl with simple pleasures.” Then, as if to punctuate the absolute bullshit she just said, she throws an arm around your shoulder, leaning in until her lips are a breath away from your ear. “Like dirty Shirley Temples.”

You choke. On nothing. Paige pulls back, just enough to see your reaction, the sharp glint of amusement in her gaze practically sparkling.

“No fucking way,” you manage. “You drink dirty Shirley Temples?”

She grins. “Religiously.”

“That’s—” You blink, at a complete fucking loss. “That’s the most unserious drink you could have possibly chosen.”

Paige winks. “And yet? It goes down smooth.”

“Oh, I bet it does.”

She laughs, full and warm, tilting her head like she’s considering something. “Y’know,” she muses, “I like this side of you.”

You narrow your eyes. “What side?”

Paige drops her voice, lowers it into something silkier, something that slides down your spine in a way that should be illegal. “The one that flirts with me back.”

Your brain short-circuits. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb now,” she murmurs, fingers tapping lazily against the side of your arm like she’s keeping count of your heartbeat. “You’re usually so good at keeping up.”

You hate that she’s right. You take a slow breath, forcing yourself to regain some composure. “You are so full of shit.”

Paige hums. “Maybe. But you seem to love it.” And then she winks. A full, obnoxious, Paige Bueckers-grade wink.

Oh, you are not going out like this. You lean in, just barely, watching the way her smirk twitches, the way her fingers still on your arm. “Tell you what,” you say, keeping your voice light, casual, like you’re not insanely aware of how close she is. “I’ll let you buy me a drink—”

Paige perks up. “Yeah?”

“If,” you continue, “you admit that I’ve been absolutely kicking your ass in our tutoring sessions.”

Her lips part. “Oh, hell no.”

You grin. “What’s wrong? Afraid of the truth?”

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head like she’s personally offended. “No fucking way. That’s extortion.”

“That’s accountability.”

She squints at you. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”

Your breath catches. For a split second, you completely malfunction, and Paige fucking sees it. 

She grins—huge, like she just sank a game-winner at the buzzer. “Ohhh, that got you, huh?”

You snap back immediately. “Did not.”

“Uh-huh.” She crosses her arms, rocking back on her heels. “You were fully thrown off just now.”

You roll your eyes, trying to pretend like you didn’t just combust internally. “You gonna buy me that drink or what?”

Paige sighs like you’ve personally exhausted her. “Fine,” she relents. “But I’m getting you my favorite.”

You smirk. “A dirty Shirley?”

She grins. “Exactly.”

And with that, she grabs your hand—just for a second, just to tug you toward the bar, just long enough to make your pulse spike before she lets go.

The bar is packed. Bodies pressed together, voices overlapping, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through the thumping bass. Paige moves through it like she owns the place—shoulders loose, hoodie slouched just right, that damn chain flashing under the dim lights. You follow, pretending your eyes aren’t tracking the way her sweatpants sit just low enough on her hips to be distracting.

She leans against the bar, elbow propped up, and tilts her head at you like she’s studying something.

You squint. “What.”

Her lips twitch. “Nothing. Just trying to figure you out.”

“You’ve had months to do that.”

“Yeah, but you keep surprising me.” She drums her fingers against the counter, slow and rhythmic. “Like, for example, I knew you had some bite to you, but tonight? You’re really showing your teeth.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe I’m just extra annoyed by you today.”

Paige hums, tilting her head like she’s considering. Then, before you can react, she leans in—close, warm, too close—and brushes her lips just against the shell of your ear.

“Nah,” she murmurs, voice dipping low. “You like it.”

A slow, rolling shiver spreads down your spine.

Paige pulls back, just far enough to meet your eyes, her smirk lazy and so fucking smug. She knows exactly what she just did. You hate that she’s right. Before you can retaliate, the bartender appears. Paige turns, all casual ease, and grins.

“Two dirty Shirleys,” she says.

The bartender raises a brow but nods, moving to make the drinks. You stare at Paige. She shrugs. “Hey, a deal’s a deal.”

“You actually meant it?”

“Duh,” she says. “What, you think I just flirt for fun?”

Your lips part, because yes, obviously, that’s exactly what you think. Paige sees the way your expression shifts, and her grin deepens. “Aw, babe, don’t tell me you thought I was playing with you.”

You blink. “I—”

She tuts, shaking her head. “See, now I really need you to drink this, ‘cause you need to loosen up.”

The bartender slides the drinks over. Paige pushes one toward you, watching expectantly. You hesitate. Paige lifts hers and clinks the rim of her glass against yours. “C’mon, tutor. Don’t be scared.”

Scared? Oh, that does it. You grab the glass and take a sip, the sweet bite of grenadine and vodka coating your tongue. Paige watches the way your throat moves when you swallow, her lips parting just slightly.

Just like that, the game shifts. You lower the glass, eyes locking with hers.

“Not bad,” you murmur. Then, mirroring her move from earlier, you step in just enough to make her breath hitch, tilting your head slightly like you’re about to say something important—something deep, something meaningful.

And then— you drag your tongue slowly over your bottom lip and the blonde’s eyes darken. You almost laugh, but her hand suddenly brushes against your waist, just a whisper of contact, the heat of her palm radiating through your thin shirt. It’s brief—so brief you could almost pretend it didn’t happen—but the way your skin burns says otherwise.

“Shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, just for you to hear.

You smirk. “Something wrong?”

Her jaw tightens. “Not at all.”

She takes a sip of her own drink, eyes never leaving yours, throat bobbing as she swallows. The moment stretches. Then—Paige exhales sharply, like she’s shaking something off, and grins. “Alright, alright, you win this round,” she admits, nudging your arm with hers. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

You tilt your head. “Guess you’ll just have to keep figuring me out.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “God, you’re fun.”

Then, so casually, she hooks a finger into your belt loop and tugs. It’s playful. It’s barely anything. But it’s also everything. Because she doesn’t let go. You swallow. Hard.

Her voice is softer now, but the teasing edge is still there. “I like this side of you.”

You clear your throat, trying desperately to focus on something other than the warmth of her touch. “You said that already.”

Paige smirks. “Yeah. But I really like it.”

Paige is cocky. Too cocky. The kind of cocky that drips off her like it’s stitched into her damn DNA, like she was born knowing how to get under people’s skin, into their heads. And right now, she’s looking at you like she’s already inside yours, like she’s set up shop in the most dangerous corners of your mind and made herself comfortable. She still has her finger hooked in your belt loop. Just resting there, like she belongs there.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs, sipping her drink, tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of grenadine before it can slide past her lip.

Your jaw clenches. You look down at her grip on your jeans, then back up. Blatantly.

She smirks. “What, this?” She tugs. Not hard. Just enough to make the fabric of your jeans pull against your hip, just enough to remind you she’s right there.

You don’t move. “Let go.”

She hums, tilting her head. “Nah.”

Your fingers twitch around your glass. “Paige.”

She exhales, all mock exasperation, finally—finally—releasing her hold. But before you can celebrate your very minor victory, she leans in, voice dropping to something dangerously smooth. “Relax. You can touch me if you want.”

Your breath catches.

She laughs, tipping her drink toward you in mock salute. “You’re so fun to mess with.”

You narrow your eyes, pulse still skittering from the low, teasing way she said touch me. “You’re insufferable.”

Paige hums. “Maybe, you like it.”

And there it is. The line. The one she’s been waiting to say, the one she’s been circling since the second she grabbed your wrist.

You roll your shoulders, schooling your expression into something neutral. “You’re alright.”

Her brows lift. “‘Alright’? Wow.”

You sip your drink, unfazed. “I mean, you are failing bio.”

Paige scoffs. “Unnecessary.”

“Just saying. I don’t think geniuses need tutors.”

Paige smirks. “Nah, but they do need entertainment. And you, babe—” she tips her chin toward you, eyes gleaming, “—are so fucking entertaining.”

The casual babe nearly stops your brain completely.

You grip your glass tighter. “I should charge you extra.”

“For what? Intellectual stimulation?”

“For being exhausting.”

Paige’s grin widens. “Yet, here you are. Still talking to me.” She takes another slow sip of her drink, eyes locked onto yours over the rim of her glass. Watching you. Like she’s waiting for something.

You shift your weight, feeling entirely too seen, entirely too open under that gaze. Paige notices. Of course she does. Her lips part, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek like she’s considering something.

Then—before you can react—she leans in.

Your body locks up.

She gets close. Not teasingly close, not almost close—actual close. The kind of close that makes your heart trip over itself, the kind of close that makes your breath catch in the back of your throat.

Her lips hover right there, her breath warm against your jaw. Then, quietly, smugly—obnoxiously:

“Wanna make out?”

You freeze.

She grins. “What? You look like I just asked you to solve a physics problem.”

“Are you serious?”

Paige tilts her head. “Nah, I just like watching you panic.”

She’s so fucking unbearable. You set your glass down with a sharp clink. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I’m funny.”

“You’re a menace.”

She beams. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heat of the bar, or the way Paige is looking at you like she wants something—like she’s daring you—but suddenly, your patience snaps.

You grip the front of her hoodie and pull. She barely has a second to react before your lips crash into hers. Paige groans. A low, gravelly sound that vibrates against your mouth, sending heat shooting straight to your stomach. And fuck, she kisses back.

All cocky, eager pressure, her hands already gripping your waist, her fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt like she wants to feel more.

The bar melts away. The noise, the people, everything—all of it fades because Paige is right here, kissing you like she’s been waiting for you to do this since day one.

You tilt your head, chasing the taste of vodka and cherry on her tongue, and Paige makes this obscene little noise before she presses in, deeper, her teeth grazing just enough to make your knees buckle. You gasp, and she smirks into the kiss, like she knows, like she’s already winning again.

Asshole.

You yank at the waistband of her sweatpants, a little revenge, a little fuck you, and Paige laughs—low, breathless—before biting gently at your bottom lip, sending a full-body shiver down your spine. Your grip on her tightens.

She hums, pleased. “Knew you wanted me.”

You pull back, just barely, panting. “Shut the fuck up.”

AFTERCARE ⟢ what are they like after sex? 𝝑𝝔 ANTHONY EDWARDS

anthony is used to sex being casual, so after it, he cleans himself up and moves on. back then, maybe he’ll check up on his partner, make sure she’s not too worn out, still, he keeps it pushing. but when he meets you, and he starts catching feelings, your relationship becoming more serious than expected, anthony realizes that it’s not enough— you deserve better than that. to the point of one day, he sheepishly asks you what you like to do after sex. he’s definitely not perfect, but he gets the gist of it. he’ll give you some praise once you both catch your breath, force you to get up and pee, by carrying you to the bathroom bridal style— if he’s feeling extra, like on valentine’s day, he’ll run you a bath— whatever else you need, he insists you tell him and he’ll get it. ant might be tired, but he’s not lazy. after that, it ends with some pillow talk, because when does anthony not want to talk to you?

BODY PART ⟢ their favorite body part of their partner 𝝑𝝔 SHEDEUR SANDERS

ass. no brainer. have you seen him talking about how much he loves “cake”? he eats cake— said with nothing but pure pride in his voice, hell, shedeur worships every kind of cake. dr. miami cake. flat cake. thick cake. ass is ass, sue him. he loves squeezing, kissing, massaging (he’s weirdly good at it), slapping, caressing your ass— no surprise his hand “accidentally” lowers down your waist when you’re out and about with him, or how you catch him looking behind you whenever you’re walking around his place. and when you have sex with him, you can’t find it in you to be shocked that the first position he suggests is…doggystyle. maybe reverse cowgirl, if he wants to switch things up. wow, shedeur, way to be subtle!

CUM ⟢ anything to do with cum, basically 𝝑𝝔 LUKA DONCIC

luka likes his cum on you…a little too much. his favorite is when you let him cum on your chest especially, watching you play with your boobs while his cum paints your skin. he doesn’t understand what is it exactly— maybe it’s because of the whole marking thing? he’s a messy guy? or how you just scoop it up, look at him with a smirk while you put it up to your mouth to swallow? who knows. what luka does know though, is that wherever you tell him to finish, his dick reacts in an instant. that’s why when you tell him to finish inside, please luka! he doesn’t even hesitate, or think about how he’s not protected at all— simply focused on how you’re clenching around him, pussy greedily swallowing his cum up like your mouth does. he watches it drip out of your hole, so tempted by you that his fingers reach out to shove it back in. he’s not obsessed, no, not at all.

DIRTY TALK ⟢ do they like dirty talk? what do they usually say? 𝝑𝝔 KYLIAN MBAPPE

kylian can fluently speak three languages— english, spanish, and french, and regardless which one he switches to in bed, his words come out sinful every time. we’ve seen the video of him talking to his teammates. point blank period, he’s a yapper that loves a good dirty talk session. mostly because you just have the best reactions to what he says— even with the language barrier, you know it’s dirty and your pussy loves the gruffy sound of his voice in your ear while he’s fucking you. he’ll fuck you dumb, to the point where french starts sounding like spanish, spanish sounding like english, just nodding along to whatever he says. kylian laughs, loving how he doesn’t need a translator to get to you.

“c’est tout pour moi, non? dit-moi, ou je arrête.”

“putain, juste comme ça, bebe.”

“tu veux de moi? quoi, tu peux pas me demander plus mieux ce ça?”

FAVORITE POSITON ⟢ very self explanatory, what position in bed do they prefer?

1 𝝑𝝔 JALEN DUREN

jalen duren is 6’10, unless if you’re 6’9, there’s definitely a height difference between the two of you that makes sex a real workout. jalen’s personal favorite are positions where he gets to hold you up. against the wall, or your legs wrapped around his waist, or his arms hooked around your legs— he doesn’t really care. jalen loves how he gets to show his strength, and you never fail to squeal when he picks you up so effortlessly. kiss his muscles and he’ll probably fold right then and there. the full control he gets is intoxicating, being able to choose the pace and how exactly hard he thrusts into you. you on the other hand, love how the position makes you feel every part of jalen. the angle of the position allows him to get reallll deep inside too, you gasping at each brush his dick makes with your cervix. the downsides? a man gets tired eventually, and the soreness you feel afterwards is insane. #ripbutworthit

2 𝝑𝝔 ANGEL REESE

tribbing, hands down. she calls it what it is: bumping coochies, affectionately though. it doesn’t matter if you’re on top or she is, missionary style, scissoring— although she gets a kick out of being on top after a good game, because she feels on top of the world…haha, get it? no? okay :( she enjoys every second of it, the way your bodies are molded, soft lips attached while your pussies rub together, the wetness gathering between you both allowing you to roll your hips up and down in sync. she’s a moaner, so if you decide to speed up, gyrating your clit right on hers, she will not be able to keep quiet. overstimulation really gets to angel, so drag it out by bringing your fingers to her clit too, and then she’ll really tear up. point it out and you’ll be the next one whimpering and crying too, trust. angel always gets her lick back.

3 𝝑𝝔 JARED MCCAIN

he’s one of those guys who loves missionary because of the closeness it gives. whenever he pushes inside of you, jared’s eyes snap right to your face, relishing every expression and gasp you make. he’ll hold your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact the whole time, smiling at how much you’re moaning— because of him. whenever it gets too much, he loves being able to be there for you, putting his hand in yours and talking you through it. “you’re doing so good for me baby,” is his go-to.

GOOFY ⟢ are they more serious in the moment? are they more humorous? 𝝑𝝔 TYRESE HALIBURTON

tyrese is a mix of both serious and goofy, especially seen in my “living room flow” fic. he doesn’t go as far to make a joke out of situation— you needy for him is a very serious problem he’d love to fix with his fingers…or dick. still, he can’t help but let out a joke or two, loving the way you react. you either giggle and slap his shoulder, or roll your eyes, scoffing at him. either way, it does something to him. what can he say? he lives to please you. when tyrese is serious though, is whenever you’re close to orgasm (wanting to make sure you feel good) or he is (trying his absolute best not to cum before you do).

INTIMACY ⟢ how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect. 𝝑𝝔 LEWIS HAMILTON

lewis is maybe the most intimate lover you’ve been with your whole life. i’m serious, he’s painfully romantic. he’s the kind of guy that writes a poem about you and how every inch of your skin is perfect— and recites it while he’s thrusting into you, slowly and sensually. he makes you feel every inch, every vein, and every twitch of his cock. whispering his poem against your ear like it’s a prayer. you have no choice but to believe him, because who can say no to his unwavering adoration for you— how he doesn’t stutter over a single line, inked hands holding your warm skin like it's the most precious thing he'll ever get to feel, and immerses himself into every touch you give, thanking you for blessing him with access to your sacred body. he sets the mood too— candles being the only light source of the room, rose petals scattered across the bed, while a light r&b song plays, muffled by the noises escaping your throat.

JERK OFF ⟢ masturbation headcanons 𝝑𝝔 JUDE BELLINGHAM

unfortunately, jude is not the kind of guy who can wait to see you rather than jerk off. if he’s hard, he’s hard. it won’t go away, no matter how many weird images he thinks up in his head. it’s even worse whenever he’s on away games— mind plagued with the thought about how you aren’t here. you can’t kiss him. play with his hair. cuddle against him. feel his boner poke through his shorts while you start— fuck! he can’t even bother with a facetime call, since it’s 3 am where you are already. it’s more of a means to an end, jude reasons, wanting “jude jr” to be gone already. spitting into his palm, he pulls up a video in his hidden album of you riding him, sighing at the sight of your ass bouncing up and down. he really needs to see you again.

KINK ⟢ one or more of their kinks 𝝑𝝔 JJ REDICK

a serious degradation kink. obviously, there would be a safeword and boundaries established (he’s a meanie, but not evil!), but once it’s decided, it’s like a switch flips. suddenly his voice turns all raspy, rough hand pushing you down to his clothed lap as you look up at his stern face. he doesn’t play at all. he’s calling you his slut, muttering about how pathetic you look on him, begging to get off on his thigh? “you’re that desperate, huh?” he chuckles. “keep movin’. i didn’t say stop.” it’s almost a little cruel how he loves to watch you slip up— waiting for the moment he has a good reason to spank your ass red. if the opportunity is there, he’ll take it. don’t worry, he has some numbing cream somewhere in his drawer.

LOCATION ⟢ favorite places to do the do 𝝑𝝔 JUJU WATKINS

juju likes having sex in more private places— i mean, hello, she’s usc’s superstar and a basketball legend in the making! her putting her arm around your waist causes enough commotion, imagine what pictures or videos of you two fucking would do? seriously, juju would never know peace again. so mainly, you’re either doing it at her place, yours, or a secluded place (with a door and lock preferably). anywhere else would have her unfocused and antsy— constantly looking around to see if anyone’s watching or coming by and rushing to get an orgasm out of you. scared or not, she’ll make sure you cum though!

a headcanon related to my ucla wcbb!reader fic— juju definitely ate you out on the floor of ucla’s locker room once (when the arena was cleared out after the game, no one else there but the poor custodian who couldn’t figure out where the random whimpers were coming from?) after you had bet that ucla would win against usc. she simply said “bet.” and played her heart out that night. trust, it felt good to see you, all hot and bothered laying on the ucla logo plastered on the floor, juices soaking the material beneath you. juju being able to ruin you on your turf. you decided to stop making bets with juju after coach had pointed the stain out the next day, yelling— “ladies, if you spill anything on the floor, clean it up!”

long ass taglist i am so sorry...will add another option to the taglist form that'll make the taglist for fics like these shorter! ⤷ want to be added to the taglist? read this!

౨ৎ angel reese's taglist ꒰ @doncicdoll ┊͙ @sapphicsonfilm ┊͙ @vicsstars ꒱ ‧₊˚

౨ৎ jalen duren's taglist ꒰ @doncicdoll ┊͙ @sapphicsonfilm ꒱ ‧₊˚

౨ৎ jared mccain's taglist ꒰ @doncicdoll ┊͙ @sapphicsonfilm ┊͙ @vicsstars ꒱ ‧₊˚

౨ৎ jj redick's taglist ꒰ @doncicdoll ┊͙ @localvminist ┊͙ @sapphicsonfilm ꒱ ‧₊˚

౨ৎ jude bellingham's taglist ꒰ @purplesectorlew ┊͙ @goldenflowergirlyy ┊͙ @mariaaaalm ꒱ ‧₊˚

౨ৎ kylian mbappe's taglist ꒰ @purplesectorlew ┊͙ @goldenflowergirlyy ┊͙ @mariaaaalm ꒱ ‧₊˚

౨ৎ luka doncic's taglist ꒰ @doncicdoll ┊͙ @localvminist ┊͙ @sapphicsonfilm ┊͙ @mariaaaalm ┊͙ @vicsstars ꒱ ‧₊˚

౨ৎ sir lewis hamilton's taglist ꒰ @purplesectorlew ┊͙ @ongak ┊͙ @mariaaaalm ꒱ ‧₊˚

౨ৎ tyrese haliburton's taglist ꒰ @doncicdoll ┊͙ @sapphicsonfilm ┊͙ @mariaaaalm ┊͙ @vicsstars ꒱ ‧₊˚

You don’t answer. Not because you didn’t hear her, but because being dramatic feels like the only appropriate response to spending all day missing her.

Seconds later, the bedroom door creaks open, and there she is. Paige stands in the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder, her hoodie a little damp from sweat. Her hair’s pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her cheeks are still pink from exertion. You catch her grin the second she spots you moping on the bed.

“Oh no,” she teases, voice dripping with mock concern. “It’s worse than I thought. My princess is in full-on pout mode.”

You groan, rolling over just enough to glare at her. “Don’t call me that.” The words come out muffled through the blankets, hardly convincing.

Paige just laughs, dropping her bag on the floor before walking over. She leans down, resting her hands on the mattress, her face hovering inches from yours. “You’re right. Maybe I should call you grumpy-pants instead.”

“Paige,” you whine, turning your head away, which only makes her laugh harder. Her familiar scent—something clean and faintly floral—follows her as she crawls onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight.

“You missed me, huh?” she says softly, tugging gently at the blanket wrapped around you. You try to swat her hand away, but it’s useless—she’s persistent. “Come on, don’t be mad. I’m here now.”

When she finally manages to pull the blanket down far enough to reveal your face, she looks at you with such a warm, adoring smile that it’s hard to stay annoyed. Paige Bueckers, MVP of making you feel like the most loved human on the planet, even when she’s being a total pest.

Paige’s grin widens when she catches sight of your pout. She’s so close you can see the little flecks of gold in her blue eyes, and the way her damp lashes stick together. Her cheeks are still slightly flushed, not just from practice but from the effort of teasing you into a better mood.

“You’re so cute when you’re all grumpy,” she coos, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. Her fingertips are warm against your skin, and despite yourself, you lean into her touch ever so slightly. She notices, of course, because she notices everything, and her smirk turns smug. “Aww, see? You can’t stay mad at me.”

“Try me,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest in a last-ditch effort to look unbothered. It’s a weak attempt. Paige knows she’s already winning.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she says, voice dropping into that playful, teasing tone that makes your stomach do flips. She shifts to sit cross-legged beside you, her body radiating warmth, and pulls your blanket fortress down further, exposing your pajama-clad form to the cool air. You squeak in protest, trying to grab it back, but Paige just laughs, easily dodging your attempts.

“Paige! I’m cold!” you whine, dragging the syllables out as dramatically as possible.

“You’re not cold,” she counters, leaning down so her face is level with yours. Her lips are barely an inch from your ear when she whispers, “You just want attention.”

The accusation makes your cheeks burn, but you refuse to admit it. Instead, you turn your head to glare at her, only to find her looking at you with such fondness it makes your heart squeeze. Her teasing may drive you crazy, but it’s never mean—always laced with that endless well of affection she has for you.

“Okay, okay,” she relents, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll stop being annoying. What does my needy girl want?”

You hesitate, biting your lip as you try to decide between staying stubborn or giving in. Paige raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently like she has all the time in the world, and you know she does. No matter how busy her day has been, Paige always makes it clear that when she’s with you, she’s with you—no distractions, no half-listening, just you and her.

Finally, you mumble, “I want cuddles. And snacks.”

“Snacks, huh?” Paige chuckles, but she’s already sliding off the bed, her socked feet making no sound against the floor. “Anything for my princess. Stay here—I’ll be right back.”

This time, you don’t protest the nickname. You watch as she disappears into the kitchen, humming softly to herself. Her hair bounces with every step, the ponytail swinging as she moves with that effortless grace she always has, even when she’s been on her feet all day.

Moments later, she returns with an assortment of snacks balanced in her arms—your favorite chips, a chocolate bar, and even a glass of water because, as she always reminds you, “You need to stay hydrated, babe.” She sets everything on the nightstand with a satisfied grin before crawling back onto the bed.

“Okay, princess,” she says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Snacks, check. Cuddles, incoming. Anything else?”

You pretend to think for a moment, then look up at her with wide, innocent eyes. “Maybe... a massage?”

Paige groans dramatically, throwing her head back as if you’ve asked her to climb Mount Everest. “You’re so high-maintenance,” she teases, but her hands are already reaching for your shoulders.

And just like that, the annoyance of her long day away melts into the warmth of her presence, the comfort of her touch, and the steady rhythm of her laughter filling the room.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !