#Dani 💗 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bueckersstuff · 3 months ago

Text

Part I Part II Part III

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

A/N: A little gift before the game. Go huskies! 💗

You couldn’t stop shaking.

Even as your friend beside you kept talking, her voice faded into the background, drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears. That face. That voice. That look. It was her.

Paige Bueckers.

You still weren’t sure if she actually saw you—like really saw you—or if it was a coincidence that her piercing blue gaze had locked on you just long enough to make your stomach twist into knots. But what mattered was that you saw her. And the flood of memories that followed was as vivid as the sting of her teeth on your skin, the heat of her breath against your neck.

You clenched your eyes shut and forced a slow breath. It was too much.

Dani laughed beside you, nudging you playfully. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”

You blinked quickly, trying to get your face under control. “Yeah. Just… dizzy. I haven’t eaten yet.”

You took a sip at your own drink, but food was the last thing on your mind. Every shadow in the hallway felt sharper. Every voice sounded like it could be hers. You kept expecting her to turn a corner, to pop up beside you with that infuriating smirk.

What would she say? “Hey, remember me? From that night where you were blindfolded and I ruined your sense of self?”

God.

Lunch was a blur. You barely touched your food.

And then came the next strike.

“You should come with us tonight,” Tasha chirped. “PB and her crew are throwing some sort of celebration off-campus. It’s invite-only but… sorority perks, right?”

You froze. “What?”

“A party organized by Paige and her team.” She said it like it was obvious.

The name settled heavy in your gut like lead.

Of course.

Of course. Of course she ran things. Of course she was untouchable.

Your mouth was dry. You gave a weak smile. “I… don’t think I’ll go.”

She just shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if you do, maybe you’ll get to talk to her. She’s intense, but like—hot intense, you know?”

Yeah, you thought. I know.

You left soon after, barely able to make it back to your dorm. Once there, you shut the door, locked it, and leaned your back against it, heart hammering.

What were the odds?

You told yourself she wouldn’t recognize you. You’d been blindfolded. You hadn’t spoken much. She hadn’t even known your name.

But that didn’t stop the feeling in your chest. The heat crawling under your skin. The hum of something electric and dangerous buzzing in your veins.

You were supposed to never see her again. That was the unspoken rule of what happened that night. One-and-done. No names. No faces.

And yet… here you were.

Same campus.

Same circles.

Same damn woman who had touched you like she owned you.

You sank onto your bed, legs too weak to hold you.

The next few days felt like walking a tightrope over a pit you couldn’t see the bottom of.

You didn’t go to that party. You told yourself you were being smart—being safe—but deep down you knew the truth. You were terrified. Not of her, exactly. But of what would happen if you saw her. If her eyes landed on you again and she recognized you. What would she say? What would you say?

You avoided the common lounges. Changed your usual study spot. Ate earlier than usual—anything to slip through the cracks of her orbit.

But Paige Bueckers didn’t live in the shadows. She was the spotlight.

Everywhere you turned, someone was talking about her.

“She dropped 30 last night.”

“She made a guy cry during beer pong.”

“She’s scary hot when she’s mad.”

You heard it all, whether you wanted to or not. And every time, it sent a chill up your spine that settled somewhere between fear and… something darker.

In class, you barely focused. Your professor’s words blurred into a hum. You kept imagining her voice instead—low, breathless, pressed against your ear that night.

At the library, you looked up every time someone passed behind you.

In the bathroom mirror, you caught yourself checking your neck, your collarbone, your skin for any sign she’d left behind. Nothing, of course. Just memory. But it was potent enough to burn.

One afternoon, you passed a group of her teammates by accident. They were loud. Tall. Dominant.

You slipped by them quickly, head down, heart in your throat—until one of them barked a laugh that sounded so much like hers that you nearly dropped your phone.

You didn’t stop walking until you reached the back of campus and leaned against a tree, breath shallow, chest tight.

This wasn’t sustainable.

You couldn’t keep hiding, but you weren’t ready to face her either.

Still… that didn’t stop the question from burning in your brain:

Did she remember?

You hadn’t told a soul. Not even your new friends knew the real reason you were acting strange. You just kept smiling, nodding, pretending.

But inside, it felt like something was ticking—counting down. Like the universe had set something in motion that you couldn’t stop.

And you knew.

You knew.

Eventually, the ticking would stop. And she’d be there.

Paige Bueckers.

With her knowing smirk and her quiet dominance and the kind of presence that made you feel like prey in a room full of noise.

And when that moment came?

You’d have to face the truth.

You hadn’t just been claimed that night.

You’d been marked.

The campus buzzed with energy.

Game day.

You didn’t care much for basketball, but today was different. There were posters taped to every wall, blue and gold streaks painted on faces, chants echoing through the quad. It was like the entire school had cracked open and poured its soul into one singular celebration.

Dani and Tasha dragged you to the student center, insisting on free game-day donuts and merch. You let her pull you through the crowd, letting the noise swallow the quiet war going on inside you.

You were doing better, at least outwardly. But every time someone said Paige’s name—even casually—you felt it like a static shock.

You hadn’t seen her again.

Not really.

Not until now.

You stepped into the hallway beside the merch table, just needing air, needing a second—and froze.

She was there.

Paige Bueckers.

Right across the room.

No loud entrance, no warning—just presence. Leaning against the wall near the trophy case, talking to her teammates like she wasn’t the most magnetic person in the room. Wearing her warmup jacket, hair in a low, messy ponytail, expression unreadable.

You should’ve looked away.

You didn’t.

Her head turned. Slowly. Casually.

And stopped.

Right on you.

Your breath caught. Every sound fell away.

There it was—that shift in her eyes. That flash of recognition.

You didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Her brows furrowed just barely, as if trying to place you. And then... something softened.

Your stomach dropped.

Because she knew.

And you knew she knew.

For a second, it felt like that night all over again. The way she hovered over you, the way her voice dropped, how her fingers worked your buttons like she owned them. You remembered everything, and her eyes told you—so did she.

Then someone called her name.

She blinked. Looked away.

You exhaled, unaware you’d been holding your breath.

“What was that?” Dani nudged you, confused.

“Nothing,” you lied.

But it wasn’t nothing.

She had seen you.

And now the silence between you was alive.

You turned your back to her, heart pounding, nerves buzzing like live wire under your skin.

Somewhere behind you, Paige was probably still watching.

And for the first time since that night…

You didn’t want to run.

You wanted to know what she'd do next.

The rest of your day passed in a blur—your body in motion, but your mind trapped in a loop of her eyes, her stare, that knowing look.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You told yourself she might not even remember.

You lied.

That night, Dani convinced you to come to the post-game celebration. “Just for a drink,” she said. “You need to be social.”

The bar was packed, thumping with music, filled with half the student body and most of the team celebrating their win.

You kept your head down.

Until someone walked past and the air changed.

Like lightning in a closed room.

Your heart jumped.

Your skin prickled.

And then, you heard it. Her voice.

Smooth. Low. Dangerous.

“Excuse me,” Paige said casually behind you, her words clearly not meant for anyone else.

You turned.

And she was there.

Standing too close. A drink in her hand. Her eyes on you. So blue, so sharp. Like they had cut through every distraction in the room just to find you.

You stared back, stunned, trapped in the current between you.

“You look different with the lights on,” she murmured. The corners of her mouth curved—not into a smile, but into something far more lethal.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

She stepped in, closer than anyone should ever be allowed in public. Her breath tickled your jaw.

“I’ve been wondering,” she said, her voice a thread of silk and sin, “if I made you up that night.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

Paige tilted her head, eyes scanning your face like she was looking for proof you were real.

“I didn’t, though,” she whispered. “You’re here. You’re real. And fuck…” she paused, exhaling through her nose, “you’re even prettier now.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quietly, barely trusting your voice.

“Really?” Paige replied.

A silence stretched between you, heavy, charged.

Then her gaze flicked to your lips. She leaned in, but didn’t kiss you.

Just hovered.

Torturing you.

“Tell me something,” she said, voice dropping lower. “Do you still think about that night?”

Your chest heaved.

“I…” Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

She smirked—dark and satisfied.

“Just so you know,” she said. “I haven’t stopped.”

Then, just like that, she stepped back. Took a sip of her drink. Disappeared into the crowd, leaving the ghost of her voice and her heat pressed into your skin.

You didn’t move for a full minute.

Because Paige fucking Bueckers had just revealed her identity to you.

You weren’t imagining it.

The hallway outside your building was packed—voices bouncing off the walls, footsteps, laughter. You kept your head down, pretending to scroll your phone, pretending not to care.

But your skin buzzed.

Like it always did now.

She was near.

You felt her before you saw her. And then—Paige walked past.

Not rushed. Not casual. Just enough pace to be deliberate.

And like clockwork, her eyes locked onto you.

Blue. Icy. Intense.

She didn’t smile. She never smiled.

But her gaze dragged over you like she wanted to.

Your breath caught.

She said nothing, just passed close enough for her sleeve to brush your arm.

A deliberate accident.

You didn’t look immediately—but when you did, you found her glancing back.

Just for a second.

But enough to short-circuit your thoughts.

Later that day, you stopped by the library. Dani was running late.

You took a seat at one of the tables near the back, alone. Until a low voice slid through the quiet:

“Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

Your spine stiffened.

You looked up.

Paige.

Leaning against the end of a shelf, arms folded, hood down, her hair loose and messy in a way that didn’t look accidental.

She looked good. Of course she did.

Too good.

You swallowed. “I needed quiet,” you said, keeping your voice even.

A smirk tugged at her mouth. “You’re not hiding, are you?”

You didn’t answer.

She stepped closer.

“I’ve been wondering,” she said slowly, “how long you were gonna pretend you didn’t remember.”

You tensed.

She noticed. Her eyes scanned your face, calm but sharp.

Then she added, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach twist, “I’d be offended... but I liked watching you pretend.”

Her hand grazed the back of the chair opposite you. “May I?”

You didn’t say yes.

But you didn’t say no.

She didn’t sit. She just leaned in—fingertips brushing the edge of your book.

“Sociology,” she said, reading the spine. “Makes sense.”

You blinked. “Why?”

Paige smiled. “You seem like the type who wants to understand people before you let them in.”

You stayed silent.

Then she did it—flipped the page of your book, her knuckles brushing yours. Light, but burning.

“You ever gonna say what’s on your mind?” she asked.

You didn’t move.

She straightened up slowly. “Didn’t think so.”

But as she turned away, she glanced over her shoulder and said—low, deliberate, almost smug:

“Hope you’ve got good instincts, sweetheart. You’re gonna need them.”

And she walked off.

Left you there.

Heart pounding.

Pulse racing.

Still trying to convince yourself this wasn’t spiraling—but knowing damn well...

Gravity already had a name.

It started again the next morning.

You left your dorm early—earbuds in, hoodie up, tunnel vision on. The goal was simple: avoid her.

But Paige Bueckers had a funny way of showing up like she read your schedule better than you did.

You made it two blocks before it happened. Crossing the quad, backpack slung lazily on one shoulder, and just as your foot hit the last step off the lawn—

"Careful, sweetheart."

A hand at your elbow. Firm. Warm.

You turned and nearly crashed into her chest.

Paige.

Again.

She’d stepped out from nowhere, like a goddamn mirage.

You yanked your arm back, blinking up at her. “What the hell—”

She grinned, wide and unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

You could’ve kept walking. Should’ve. But she didn’t move.

Instead, she took a slow step backward, letting her eyes scan your frame like she was checking inventory.

“You always this jumpy in the morning?” Her voice was light, but her stare wasn’t.

You didn’t answer. Not really because you didn’t want to, but because her presence short-circuited every thought.

She leaned in slightly, breath brushing your cheek. “Better watch where you’re going next time. Would be a shame if someone caught you falling for me.”

Your breath hitched. She noticed.

She always noticed.

But she let you go. Just like that. Walked off whistling, hands in pockets like nothing happened—like she hadn’t just flipped your day inside out with five seconds of her time.

You hated how hot your face felt.

Later, at the dining hall, you spotted her again. Not with her team this time. Alone. At the back.

You picked a table farthest away. Sat with two girls you’d met through Dani, trying to focus on anything but the way Paige lounged in her chair—long legs spread, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes lazily drifting toward you every so often like she knew exactly where you were.

The girl across from you, Jessa, nudged your arm.

“You good?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Right,” she said, grinning. “Tired from thinking about that sorority initiation or tired from pretending not to eye that tall blonde girl over there like she owns your soul?”

You nearly choked.

Jessa laughed. “Relax, I’m playing. Kind of.”

You didn’t reply. You just stole a glance toward Paige—only to catch her already staring.

This time, she didn’t look away.

She mouthed something.

You squinted. What—

She mouthed it again, slower.

"Come here."

Your blood ran cold.

She couldn’t be serious.

Your knee bounced under the table. You shook your head almost imperceptibly. No way.

But Paige just raised a brow. Then she pointed, pointed, at the chair beside her.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a dare.

And you hated how much your body leaned forward, like it had a mind of its own.

“Excuse me,” you mumbled, pushing up from your chair before your brain could scream loud enough to stop you.

You weren’t even halfway across the room when Paige stood too—like she’d only wanted to prove a point. That she could summon you with a look.

And she could.

She walked past you as you approached, just close enough that her shoulder grazed yours.

As she passed, she whispered near your ear—

“See how I got control over you?”

And then she was gone again.

Left you standing there like the center of some storm you hadn’t asked for—heart pounding, logic in tatters, and gravity, apparently, no longer optional.

The bar is crowded, heat radiating off every body, every bass drop thick with sweat and smoke. You're half a drink in and already regretting coming out. Not because the music’s bad. Not because the energy’s off. But because she’s here.

You’d felt it before you even saw her.

That hum in the air. That pressure in your chest.

Like your body knew she was near.

And when you did see her—standing with her teammates, head tilted back in a laugh you couldn’t hear—it confirmed everything. Paige. Fucking Paige.

God, she looked like she owned the room. Like she was bored of it.

And then, her eyes flicked up—and landed right on you.

Your lungs emptied.

You turned away fast, muttering something to your friend about the bathroom, already slipping through the crowd before the tension strangled you where you stood.

You locked yourself in a stall.

Tried to breathe.

Tried to forget her voice in your head.

“You feel so good, I can’t seem to stop fucking you.”

You flinched.

Was that real? Was she real?

You stepped out, splashed water on your face.

That’s when you saw her.

Paige.

Leaning against the tiled wall outside the bathroom door like she’d been waiting the entire time. Like she had nowhere else to be.

You froze mid-step.

Her gaze pinned you there.

"You done hiding now?" she asked, voice low and calm—but with a bite underneath. A challenge.

Your fingers curled at your sides. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“No?” She pushed off the wall, her boots slow and measured as she walked toward you. “Then why'd you run?”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because now she was right in front of you. And her stare was dragging you under.

“You think I didn’t notice?” she murmured. “The way you look at me like you’re scared and starving at the same time.”

Your breath hitched.

"Come with me."

“I—"

She didn’t wait.

Not this time.

She took your wrist gently—but firmly—and pulled you down the hall, through a side door, into a dark, unused back room. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the music.

Then, silence.

Just you. Her. And the thick, suffocating tension you’d both been pretending wasn’t there.

You backed up a step. Paige followed.

Another step. She followed again.

Until your back hit the wall.

She stopped inches from you. Her hand braced near your head. Her eyes locked on your lips like they were already hers.

“You’ve been haunting me,” she said. “And I don’t even know your name.”

You whispered it.

Her lips curved.

“Good,” she said. “Now I know what to whisper when I make you fall apart.”

You shivered.

Her hand lifted—slow, unhurried—and brushed your hair behind your ear. Then slid down. Traced your jaw. The slope of your neck.

You clenched your thighs.

She smirked like she felt it.

“I’m not going to walk away this time,” she whispered, leaning in so close her lips brushed your cheek. “Not until you feel what you do to me.”

Then her mouth met yours.

And everything cracked open.

Her kiss was rough—urgent—like she’d waited too long and couldn’t stand another second. Her hands were on your waist, tugging you closer, pressing her body to yours.

You gasped into her mouth, but she swallowed it whole.

Her knee slipped between your legs.

Her hand slid under your shirt.

You moaned before you could stop it—and she smiled against your lips.

“Just a taste,” she growled. “I’ll ruin you later.”

You didn’t doubt it for a second.

Because right now, her mouth was on your neck, her hand was teasing at the hem of your jeans, and your body was already betraying every ounce of control you thought you had.

And when her voice dropped again, low and wrecked in your ear—

“You’re mine now.”

Your lips were crushed against hers, bodies tangled like gravity had finally snapped. Paige kissed like she fought — with sharp intent and no room for hesitation. She tilted your chin up, deepening the kiss, her tongue sliding past your lips with the kind of authority that made your knees go weak.

Her hands were everywhere — gripping your waist, sliding up your back, cupping the side of your neck with a palm so hot it made your pulse stutter.

“Fuck,” she muttered, breaking away just enough to bite down on your lower lip. “You taste like you were made to be ruined.”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer.

She spun you around, pressing your back to her front, one hand splayed against your stomach, keeping you flushed to her. Her mouth ghosted your neck, breath warm, teasing, tongue darting out to lick at your pulse point.

“You like this,” she whispered, dragging her teeth gently against your skin. “The way I hold you. The way you melt for me.”

You swallowed hard.

She pressed her lips behind your ear. “Say it.”

“…I like it,” you gasped, barely breathing.

She smirked against your neck. “I know you do.”

Her hand moved lower — slowly, deliberately — brushing over the waistband of your jeans, not quite going further but hovering, tormenting, making you ache.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispered.

You stayed quiet.

She chuckled darkly. “Didn’t think so.”

You turned in her grip, your hands now roaming under her shirt, fingertips ghosting over her back, her ribs, drinking in the burn of her skin.

She hissed. “Touch me like that again and I’ll have to carry you out of here.”

And then, just as her hand slipped under your shirt — skin on skin — her phone buzzed loud in the silence, vibrating sharply against the wooden shelf behind her.

She froze.

You both looked at each other, breathless, pupils blown.

The phone kept ringing.

Her jaw clenched.

Paige pulled away just enough to check the screen, her eyes flashing murder. “Are you kidding me?” she muttered.

Then she looked at you — chest rising and falling, lip kiss-swollen, shirt rumpled from her grip — and growled.

“I swear to god…” she muttered, shoving the phone into her back pocket. “This is not over.”

You looked up at her, dazed. “What—?”

She leaned in, nose brushing yours. “This isn’t me stopping. This is me postponing. So when I finally take you apart, you’ll remember every second you had to wait.”

Her voice dropped, almost a threat: “This? Was just foreplay.”

You felt her thumb brush your lower lip, dragging down slow.

“You’ll beg next time.”

Then she turned, opened the door like nothing had happened — like she hadn’t just unmade you in a dark room with her hands and mouth — and disappeared into the crowd.

And all you could do was lean against the wall, breath shaky, hands trembling, heart hammering, wondering what the hell you’d just gotten yourself into.

You’ve mastered the art of vanishing.

After that bar incident—the heated glances, her breath on your neck, the way her hand slipped beneath your shirt only to be yanked away by a damn phone call—you made it your mission to disappear. If Paige Bueckers wanted you, she was going to have to earn it this time.

No more hanging around the places she’d frequent. No more lingering glances across the quad. You even changed your usual study hours to avoid crossing her path. If someone brought her up, you brushed it off with a shrug. Untouchable. Ice cold.

And you know she noticed.

It started with near misses.

Her walking into the dining hall just as you walked out. Her voice down the hall when you slipped into a different classroom. A flash of blonde hair turning the corner too late to catch you. You’d see her shoulders tense, her jaw flex. She was looking for you. Hard.

Then the messages started.

Anonymous. Untraceable. Short. Direct.

“Keep hiding. It’s cute.”

“Next time I see you, you’re not walking away.”

Each one made your pulse spike. Each one made you press your thighs together under the library table.

And then—one night—it happens.

You’re at a friend’s party. Loud music, dim lights, the air thick with smoke and cheap perfume. You’re safe, you think. Paige wouldn’t come to this one.

But you feel it the moment she walks in.

That pull.

That magnetic shift in the room.

You freeze mid-sip, back turned toward the door, your heart slamming against your ribs. You don’t need to look. You know.

And then—warm breath at your ear.

"You really thought you could run from me?"

Her voice is honey-coated threat. You turn, and she’s right there. Towering, eyes glinting with something dark and delicious. She’s not smiling.

Your mouth opens to say something, anything, but she cuts you off with a single finger beneath your chin, lifting it.

"Not here," she murmurs. "Upstairs. Now."

You hesitate.

Wrong move.

Her grip tightens, just slightly. Her lips brush your ear.

"You’ve been a very bad girl, hiding from me like that. You think I won’t punish you for it?"

Your knees nearly buckle.

She doesn’t ask again. She turns. You follow.

The door slams behind you, and suddenly her hands are everywhere. Not rushed—intentional. Possessive. Her body pins yours to the wall with practiced ease, one hand curling around your throat, not squeezing, just there—a promise.

"I should make you beg," she growls, eyes locked on yours. "Make you say please, like the little tease you’ve been."

You bite your lip.

"You going to run again?"

Silence.

"I asked you a question." Her grip tightens slightly. “Answer me.”

You whisper, “No.”

"No, what?"

"No, Paige."

Her eyes flicker, hungry. Her thumb brushes your lower lip.

"That’s more like it."

Then she kisses you—hard.

It’s not gentle, not sweet. It’s all teeth and tongue and punishment, the kind of kiss that says you’re mine now, and you’ll remember it. She spins you toward the bed, forces you to sit, her hands never leaving your body.

"You don’t get to run from me," she says, crouching down so her face is level with yours, her voice a low rumble. “You don’t get to hide. Not after that night. Not after how you moaned for me in the dark.”

Heat floods your cheeks. You hate that she remembers. You hate that you do too.

She smirks. "Thought I wouldn’t figure it out? That I wouldn’t recognize that body? That mouth?"

Her hand trails up your thigh, slow and deliberate.

"Here’s what’s going to happen," she whispers. "You’re going to sit there and take everything I give you tonight. No running. No hiding. You owe me."

You swallow hard.

"For what?"

A slow smile.

"For making me need you."

Just as she starts crawling into your lap—her mouth hovering over yours, her hips grinding into you—her phone buzzes again.

She groans against your mouth, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Buzz.

She pulls it out of her back pocket, checks the screen, and mutters under her breath, “Fucking KK...”

She answers, already irritated. “What?”

You can hear KK’s voice faintly on the other end, all bubbly and loud even through the tiny speaker.

“No, KK, I’m not coming to get food with you right now. I’m busy.”

A pause. Paige’s eyes flick to you—flushed, breathless, thighs pressed together under her weight.

“No, I’m not doing anything important,” she lies. “Just, you know... life-altering shit. Thanks for the interruption.”

Another pause. Then a long, tired sigh.

“God, you are the worst wingman in existence. Always cockblocking me.”

You choke on a laugh, and she shoots you a look. “Don’t you dare enjoy this.”

Back to the phone. “Fine. I’ll be down in ten. You owe me for this, Arnold. You owe me.”

She hangs up and tosses the phone onto the bed with a dramatic thud, then stands over you with a frustrated exhale.

"This is so not over," she mutters, running both hands through her hair like she’s trying to calm herself down before she ruins something. “Next time? You're not leaving the room unless you're crawling.”

Your breath catches.

“And don’t even think about hiding again,” she adds, grabbing the doorknob. “You’ll beg for me. Might even cry. And I’ll love every second of it.”

A wink.

And then she’s gone.

Door slams. Silence.

And you? You're sitting there trembling, turned on beyond reason—and absolutely wrecked by the promise in her voice.

Paige Bueckers isn’t finished with you.

Not even close.

You weren’t supposed to end up here.

You’d done everything right—dodged her on campus, avoided eye contact, even left a party early the moment you saw her blonde head in the corner of your eye. But tonight?

She caught you slipping.

Literally.

One wrong turn after a film night at the student union, and you ran straight into her outside the gym. No time to escape, no one around. Just her… sweaty, smug, and fully aware that fate had finally handed you over.

"You done running?"

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

You tried to backtrack, but her hand shot out, grabbing your wrist—not roughly, but firmly. Her fingers wrapped around yours like they’d been waiting.

“You’ve been ducking me, baby,” she said, voice low. “Time to fix that.”

Now you're here.

In her dorm.

The door clicks shut behind you. The room is warm, dimly lit with nothing but a desk lamp glowing in the corner. It's exactly how you'd imagine Paige Bueckers' space—organized chaos, athletic gear tossed casually to the side, trophies lining the top of her bookshelf. But right now, it’s not the room that has your heart racing.

It’s her.

She stalks toward you slowly, like a lion with all the time in the world.

“You look nervous,” she says, head tilted slightly. “Like the first time.”

You try to play it cool, to say something snarky, but your mouth is dry.

“I warned you,” she continues. “Told you this wasn’t over.”

You take a breath. “So now what?”

Her smirk could ruin you. “Now,” she whispers, reaching behind you to lock the door, “I take what’s mine.”

She doesn’t kiss you right away. No—she makes you wait. She steps in close, crowding your space, her hands bracing the wall on either side of your head.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Running. Hiding. Making me chase.”

You shiver.

“You like making me work for it, huh?”

Her mouth moves to your jaw, then lower, stopping just before your neck. Her breath is warm, her voice velvet-drenched sin.

“I should leave you standing here,” she says, trailing her fingers down your arm. “Let you squirm. Let you beg. But I’m not that patient tonight.”

She pulls back, eyes scanning your body like she’s memorizing every inch.

“Take your hoodie off.”

You blink. “Wha—”

“Now.”

Your hands tremble as you peel it off slowly. She watches like it’s a private show, eyes dark, arms crossed.

“Good girl,” she mutters. “Sit on the bed.”

You obey without thinking.

She walks over, slow and deliberate, then straddles your lap. Her hands cup your face—firm but gentle—and finally, finally, she kisses you.

And it’s everything.

It’s possession. It’s revenge. It’s release.

The kind of kiss that wipes your memory clean and replaces it with nothing but her. She kisses like she wants to ruin you, like every second is her chance to remind you who’s in control now.

You moan into her mouth, and she pulls back just enough to whisper:

“You gonna run again?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe. “No.”

“No what?”

“No, Paige.”

Her eyes flash with something wicked.

“That’s right.”

Her hands wander, slow and torturous, teasing the hem of your shirt.

“You know what I think?” she says against your collarbone. “I think you liked making me chase you. You liked knowing I was getting frustrated. Turned you on, didn’t it?”

You don’t answer.

She bites—lightly—at your skin. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

A smug, satisfied sound escapes her throat.

“Thought so.”

She pushes you gently back onto the bed, her body following, hovering above yours.

“I’m gonna take my time with you,” she purrs. “Make you forget how to walk. How to think. You’ll leave this room and still feel me between your legs three days from now.”

Your breath hitches.

And then, just as her lips trail down your neck, her hand resting firmly on your thigh—

Her phone lights up on the nightstand.

You both see it at the same time.

KK Arnold.

You freeze.

Paige doesn’t move at first. Then she sighs, long and slow, dragging her eyes to the ceiling.

“This girl,” she mutters. “Has the worst fucking timing.”

She grabs the phone, doesn’t even answer—just texts back:

“If you’re not dying, shut the hell up.”

Then she tosses it facedown without a glance, eyes back on you.

“Now,” she says, voice darker than before, “where were we?”

She dips lower, lips brushing your ear.

“Oh, right... I was about to ruin you.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed.

Could’ve been five minutes. Could’ve been an hour. All you know is Paige hasn’t taken her eyes off you once—not since she climbed over your body and settled just close enough to burn you alive.

She’s not rushing.

That’s the problem.

She’s in complete control. And you? You’re breathless beneath her.

“You okay?” she asks, voice soft—but her smirk says she already knows the answer.

You nod.

“Use your words.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Her smile grows. She leans in, breath hot against your cheek. “You sure? You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.”

She runs a finger slowly down the side of your neck, just enough to make you flinch.

“There it is,” she whispers. “You always do that when I get too close. Like your body’s trying to give away secrets your mouth won’t.”

Your cheeks flush.

Her fingers trail lower, dragging along your collarbone—light, teasing touches. Just pressure and heat and the way her eyes devour you.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” she murmurs, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes. “Since that night at initiation. You, blindfolded, breathing like I already owned you.”

You can’t breathe now.

She leans closer. Her lips ghost over yours—so close you feel the warmth but never the kiss.

“You don’t even remember everything I whispered in your ear that night, do you?”

You shake your head.

Her smirk returns. “Good. That means I get to say them again.”

She shifts slightly, bringing herself eye level with you, her hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your shoulders. Her body doesn’t touch yours. Not yet.

“You were so quiet,” she says, her voice a low hum. “Didn’t even know who I was. Just stood there… breathless… like you knew you were mine before I ever touched you.”

Her mouth finds your jaw, then your neck, slow and deliberate.

“I could feel it,” she whispers against your skin. “The way your body leaned in. The way your breath hitched when I got too close.”

You clench your fists into the sheets, trying to stay still.

“Look at you now,” she chuckles, pulling back to hover over you again. “Still trying to act like you’re not losing it.”

You swallow. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

She tilts her head, eyes dark with amusement. “You wanna know what I think?”

You blink, already dizzy from her words. “What?”

“I think you like being ruined,” she says. “You like when I’m in charge. When I make you feel like this.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

She takes your silence as confirmation and leans in, brushing her nose against yours.

“Stay still for me,” she whispers. “Can you do that?”

You nod, breath trembling.

“Good girl.”

She runs her fingers up your arm, down your side, always avoiding the places you need her most. She’s not touching you to tease—she’s touching you to train you.

To break you down slow.

Her lips find the side of your neck again, then pause.

“Do you feel that?” she asks.

You do. The thudding in your chest. The heat pooling in your stomach. The wild, unbearable ache of wanting.

“Now imagine what it’ll be like when I actually touch you.”

You whimper, and her smile turns wicked.

“Paige,” you whisper, voice barely there.

“Yes, baby?”

“You’re driving me crazy.”

She laughs—low, husky, victorious.

“That’s the point.”

She presses her forehead to yours, brushing your hair back with gentle fingers now. Her tone softens.

“I’m not going to kiss you again until you ask for it.”

Your mouth falls open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

You look at her—smug, glowing, waiting.

You try to hold out.

You try.

But then she leans closer again, breath brushing your lips, her hand cradling your face like you’re something delicate.

And you cave.

“Please,” you breathe. “Paige, please kiss me.”

She smiles like she’s been waiting to hear that since forever.

“See?” she murmurs, brushing her lips against yours. “Told you I’d ruin you.”

Then she kisses you.

And this time, there’s no stopping.

Her mouth tastes like something you’ll never recover from—mint gum and sin and a hunger that’s entirely hers.

The kiss is slow. Deep. Like she’s savoring every second of owning you.

You try to keep up, but your head’s already light and your body’s gone liquid. All you can do is hold on.

“Mm-mm,” she hums, lips still brushing yours. “Don’t hold on. Just let go.”

And you do.

She guides you back down, your head hitting her pillow like it’s the only soft thing left in the world. Her hand slides under your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek while her knee nudges between your legs—but never close enough.

“You feel this?” she murmurs.

Your breath stutters. “What?”

“The ache. Right here.” She presses her hand to your stomach, fingers splayed. “It’s not going away anytime soon.”

She lets the silence stretch, lets the tension wrap itself around your spine like a second skin. Then she smiles—soft and dangerous.

“You like this, don’t you?” she whispers. “Me taking my time.”

You can’t speak.

“You’d let me do this for hours, huh? Just keep you like this. Squirming. Barely breathing.”

You nod—shaky, ruined, already half undone.

She grins like you gave her the answer she wanted.

Her lips skim down the side of your throat, not kissing this time—just letting you feel her there. Warm breath. Skin on skin.

Your fingers clutch at the sheets. “Paige—”

“Shh,” she coos. “No talking unless I ask you a question.”

You bite your lip.

“You were hiding from me,” she says, voice rougher now. “After the bar. Like you thought you could get away from this.”

You try to meet her eyes, but she keeps her face buried in the hollow of your throat, laughing under her breath.

“You know how crazy that made me?” she murmurs. “Waking up every morning thinking about how you begged me... then disappeared.”

She shifts, finally dragging her fingers under the hem of your shirt—but only resting them on your ribs.

“I should make you wait longer,” she says. “Punish you for hiding.”

You nearly whimper, and she hears it.

“Mmm,” she purrs. “You’re already sorry, huh?”

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Baby,” she cuts you off, pulling back enough to make you see her eyes—serious now. “Don’t apologize. Not unless you mean it.”

Your voice breaks. “I do.”

She watches you for a second longer, then leans down and kisses you again—slower, deeper, like she’s forgiving you with her mouth.

Time starts blurring after that.

You stop counting the kisses. The teasing touches. The little whines you don’t realize you’re making until she shushes you softly, running her hand over your side to settle you.

“You’re doing so good,” she whispers. “Look at you. Can’t even keep your eyes open.”

You’re breathless. Dizzy. Skin burning everywhere she’s touched. You can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours—you just know you’re trembling under her, legs tangled with hers, lips kiss-swollen and parted.

You whisper her name once.

She kisses your jaw.

You whisper it again.

She brushes her fingers across your hairline and presses her forehead to yours.

“You gonna pass out on me?”

You nod weakly.

She lets out a quiet laugh and rolls over, pulling you against her chest without asking.

“You really don’t know what you do to me,” she mutters. “You’ve got no idea.”

You breathe her in. Her shampoo. Her skin. The way her thumb strokes your hip in lazy circles like she needs you close.

“You ruined me,” you mumble into her collarbone, voice almost gone.

She hums. “No, baby. Not yet.”

You blink up at her.

She looks down at you, a tired smirk on her lips. “I’m just getting started.”

Then she kisses your forehead like she means it.

And you pass out right there, wrapped in her arms like she’s never letting you go.

You wake up to sunlight—and to Paige Bueckers’ arm slung lazily across your waist.

It’s warm. Heavy. Possessive.

Her fingers are curled against your stomach like they belong there.

You blink slowly, heart already picking up speed. You’re still in her dorm. Still in her bed. Still sore from the tension she never let you outrun last night.

And Paige?

She’s still asleep.

You think.

Until she shifts just slightly and mumbles, “You’re thinking too loud.”

You freeze.

Her voice is rough. Morning-rough. Soft and lazy, like she hasn’t opened her eyes yet but already knows exactly what’s going through your head.

“You’re awake?” you whisper.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “Have been. Felt you tensing the second you realized where you were.”

You stay quiet.

She opens one eye, just barely. Her lips pull into a slow, sleepy smirk. “Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not.”

She raises a brow, gaze heavy with disbelief. “Liar.”

You exhale, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m just—processing.”

“What’s there to process?” she murmurs, voice dropping lower. “You came. You begged. I delivered.”

You throw the pillow over your face, groaning into the fabric. “Paige.”

She laughs—light, smug, too proud for someone who still hasn’t sat up. “God, you’re cute when you’re ruined.”

You peek at her. She’s fully sprawled across the bed, hair a complete mess, eyes still sleep-heavy, but her expression? All heat and mischief.

And that cocky smirk?

Still glued to her lips like she knows exactly what she did to you last night—and she’s proud of it.

You sit up, back to her. Try to breathe. Try to not remember every word, every graze of her fingers.

She props herself up on her elbow behind you. “You really gonna ghost me again?”

You glance over your shoulder.

She’s watching you. Closely.

Your silence answers for you.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, dragging her hand through her hair. “You run every time it gets good.”

“I don’t run.”

She tilts her head. “You literally ducked behind a vending machine last week when you saw me.”

You groan. “It was instinct.”

“Oh? And what’s the instinct now, sweetheart?” she asks, voice suddenly silkier. “To run again? Or to beg?”

Your stomach flips.

She sees it. Feels it. Smirks like it’s a trophy in her pocket.

“You keep looking at me like you want to leave,” she says softly, crawling across the mattress until she’s right behind you. “But your body doesn’t lie. And you know what it’s telling me?”

You try not to react, but her lips brush your shoulder.

“It’s telling me,” she whispers, “you want round two.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, fists clenched in the sheets.

She kisses the spot behind your ear—gentle, hot, achingly slow.

Then she pulls back, sits cross-legged behind you, and leans against the wall like she didn’t just shatter your nervous system again.

“But I’m not touching you,” she says, grinning. “Not until you ask me to.”

You turn to glare at her.

She shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

You nearly combust on the spot.

Then: knock knock knock.

A fist slams against the dorm door from the hallway, loud and familiar.

“PAIGE. Let’s GOOOOO. Team lift in fifteen!”

You freeze. Paige sighs like it’s the most annoying sound in the universe.

“That’s KK,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. “This girl is physically incapable of minding her business.”

Another knock.

“PAIGE. I SWEAR TO GOD—”

“I’M BUSY!” Paige shouts back, not moving an inch. “STOP COCKBLOCKING!”

You blink. “She doesn’t know I’m in here, does she?”

“Nope,” Paige says, popping the “p” and shooting you a wink. “And she won’t—unless you want the whole team knowing I kept you all night.”

Your eyes widen. “Paige!”

She laughs and throws a pillow at you. “Relax. I’m not that mean.”

Then, softer—quieter:

“…Unless you want me to be.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“Get dressed,” she says with a lazy smile. “But don’t think this is over.”

You hesitate. “It’s not?”

She gets up, stretches—shirt riding just high enough to send your brain into panic mode.

Paige turns to you, full smirk returning. “Nope. This was just your warm-up.”

Taglist: @afiaxx @melpthatsme @nicebellee @azziswrld @iowahawkeyes22 @wheeniemyloove @averagelobotomyenjoyer @bebitts @avvwritesstufff @bueckersverse @yourmom-25s-blog @marissahowardd @paige05bby5bby @whoslai @munchtotally @prettygirl-gabi

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