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bueckets · 3 months ago

Text

Office Hours

Pairing: student-athlete!Paige x tutor!reader

Genre: enemies to flirting to losing your mind, paige is a little shit, slow burn but not really, tension so thick it’s basically a third character, paige is failing bio and somehow it’s your problem, cocky athlete x academically unhinged girl, tutoring sessions turned emotional warfare, dirty shirley temples, smut incoming

Description: Paige Bueckers is failing biology, and you're the unlucky tutor assigned to drag her out of academic disaster. What should be a simple arrangement becomes anything but, thanks to her complete lack of focus, relentless flirtation, and the infuriating way she manages to get under your skin—and into your head.

Between chaotic study sessions, surprise bar encounters, and more sexual tension than should legally exist between two people trying to discuss mitochondria, it’s clear that the real test isn’t the midterm. It’s whether you can make it through the semester without either making out with her—or killing her.

One thing’s for sure: Paige isn’t the only one getting schooled.

WC: 9.6k (and growing)

Notes: im back?

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.”

Paige grins, lips swollen, eyes gleaming. “Make me.”

2K notes · View notes

goldfades · 7 months ago

Text

HER PRINCESS ─── PAIGE BUECKERS

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | request: P taking care of the reader and being extra sweet to her, like reader is being a pouty whiny baby and p is just laughing and teasing her ab it but also being the sweetest most caring gf doing everything her princess asks for) for @wanderlusturous

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of period cramps, paige being the sweetest gf ever, reader being dramatic, friendly teasing, nothing else but sweetness!

The soft click of the front door opening pulls you from your half-asleep haze. You’re sprawled out on the bed, face buried in the pillow, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets like the pouty, neglected girlfriend you are. Paige’s practice ran late—again—and even though you know it’s not her fault, it’s easier to sulk than to be reasonable.

“Baby, I’m home!” Her voice carries through the apartment, light and a little breathless. There’s a shuffle of sneakers being kicked off and the familiar jingle of her keys landing in the dish by the door.

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 !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#paige bueckers #wbb x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #wbb imagine #wbb smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers uconn #uconn #paige buckets #wcbb x reader #wcbb smut #uconnwbb

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cosmopretty · 7 months ago

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Paige Bueckers X Fem

synopsis: After a bad game Paige comes home and needs a way to get her anger out and it always helps by fucking you

warnings: smut, nsfw

Tonight was a big night for Paige she had home game, sadly you couldn't make it because you were helping one of your friends go through her breakup. Paige said she understood I mean you went to almost every one of her games she called you "Her good luck charm" because she felt like you were one of the reasons she could win. It wasn't real, it was her talent and hard work that helped UConn win, but regardless she gave you credit.

Instead of watching the game on the TV like you said you would, your friend wanted to watch The Titanic, rolling your eyes you agreed. By the time Paige comes home your friend was long gone, back to her dorm.

Laying down on the bed you flinch hearing the dorm slam shut, getting up you walk over to Paige only to see her with her hand in her hands on the counter. Confused you walk up to her slowly "Paige? Honey are you okay?" you ask her quietly not wanting to upset her further.

She pushes her self off the counter and stands to her full height, her six foot tall frame towering over you "I lost the fucking game, missed the last shot. It was all my fault" she says almost yelling at you.

"Oh Paige- you know-" Before you can finish your sentence she interrupted you "You wanna help me feel better?" she asks you walking closer to you, her hand coming down to hold your hip.

She squeezes the flesh "Of course Paige" you answer her almost immediately.

The tall girl smirks "Then go lay down on our bed naked and wait for me" she says leaning down to kiss the side of your neck before abruptly letting go of you.

Walking away from your you start to take you shirt off as you walk away, your back to her.

Once you get back into your room you strip of the the rest of your clothes. This wasn't the first time Paige came home angry just to fuck the shit out of you.

Before you can even sit down Paige storms in pushing you down on the bed and climbing on top of you. She flips you both over so she’s straddling your waist.

Immediately your body submits to her even if you didn't want to. She knew how to push your buttons and make you hers. After all you were her girl.

"You're my good luck charm and you weren't there, maybe if you were we could have won" She says her hand moving down to your core, rubbing her fingers through your folds.

Before you can even think to reply to her words she shoves two of her long veiny fingers inside of you. Without giving you time to adjust she starts pumping them in and out of you roughly.

Your legs try and squeeze shut but her hand stays between them fucking you. Staring up at Paige as you whine "Fuck P-Paige" you whimper.

The feeling of her fingers abusing your walls so roughly made your stomach tighten, you knew you weren't going to last long. Her voice snaps you out of your thoughts "Come on and cum for me baby" she encourages you her thumb coming to rub your clit.

The sensations of her attack on your clit and fingers pumping into you caused your stomach to tighten so hard you came crashing down on her fingers "FUCK PAIGE" you moan loudly your cum coating her fingers, dripping down.

She smirks sliding her fingers out of your hole before pushing them between her lips, sucking your juices off. Her eyes lock on yours as you watch her suck your cum off of her fingers "Your so hot Paige" you admit accidentally out loud.

The blonde smirks pulting her fingers out of her mouth "I know" she says getting off of the bed and stripping of her clothes. Once she's fully naked she stares at you while she starts harnessing the strap to her hips. You knew you were in for it, she wasn't stopping until she was done, it didn't matter how many times you came.

Paige climbs back on top of your rubbing the strap though your folds collecting your slick

"How bout you ride me baby? Show me you're a good girl and maybe I'll be nice" she tells you flipping you both over so you're straddling her waist. Her back leans against the headboard as her hands hold your waist squeezing the flesh "Go on baby give me a show" she commands pushing you up to hover over her strap.

You slowly push yourself down the strap before falling all the way down, your jaw falling slack as the long strap pushes through your hole into your gummy walls.

She smirks moving your hips with her big hands pushing you up and down on her strap “Such a pretty girl” she whispers her head dipping down into your neck.

Her mouth leaves warm open mouthed kisses down your neck as her strap pushes through your gummy walls. You moan your head dipping back “God P- Paige fuck-“ you whine as she starts sucking on your sweet spot.

“You gonna cum baby” She asks you kissing behind your ear as her hands help speed you up.

Your hands squeeze her shoulders as you nod feeling your stomach tighten “Yes please let me cum P” you beg her. Your hips grind down harder on her strap as it hits your G spot.

Her blue eyes bore into yours “Okay princess go on cum for me” she demands her hands squeezing the soft skin of your hips. Her hips jerk up thrust the strap deeper inside you as she helps you cum.

“F-fuck fuck” You moan pulling Paige into a kiss as you feel your stomach snap and let go, cumming all over her strap.

Paiges lips muffle your moans as she helps you ride out your high. She pulls away from the kiss and embarrassing string of saliva between you both.

You stare at her out of breath the strap still inside you “Your so pretty, all fucked out for me” Paige whispers one of her hands moving up your body to push some hair behind your ear.

“Too bad I’m gonna ruin you” She mumbles flipping you over onto your back faster than you can even think.

You stare at her confused about to say something before she interrupts you “Don’t look at me like that baby, ready for round two?” She asks smirking.

A/N: THE BITCH IS BACKK!!!!

DID YOU MISS ME? I MISSED YALL

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demie90s · 23 days ago

Note

WAIT CAUSE NOW I NEED MORE OF CLINGY MEANCE READER

ᴜᴄᴏɴɴ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ x ᴄʟɪɴɢʏ!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

All She’s Got

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:You’re the clingy one. The one always riding shotgun, always hugging someone, always showing up early just to be around them. It’s never been a big deal—until a joke hits too deep. And Geno reminds the team exactly what you don’t have.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:angst with comfort, team bonding, found family

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:emotional sensitivity, light teasing gone wrong, offhand joke triggers emotional reaction, subtle abandonment themes, Geno being dad-coded, crying, reconciliation

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~1k

ᴠɪʙᴇ:clingy but pure, soft heartbreak, Geno with that “get it together” bark but “I see you” energy, team realizing they are your family even if you never said it out loud

“Please don’t start today.”

That was the first thing Inês said when you wrapped both arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder like a clingy toddler in sweats.

You grinned. “Start what?”

“This codependent circus act,” she deadpanned, trying not to smile. “It’s 8 a.m., bro.”

“It’s called affection,” you replied, nuzzling your face into her hoodie. “Sorry you hate joy.”

KK passed by, shaking her head. “You don’t even have boundaries. You just show up.”

You shrugged dramatically. “That’s what sisters are for.”

“I’m not your sister, girl.”

“Sure you are.”

She gave you a look, one of those “you’re so unserious” faces before tossing her bag into the bleachers and pulling her hoodie off. Practice hadn’t even started yet, and already the gym was filled with noise, water bottle clunks, the screech of sneakers. Normal stuff.

You were always attached to someone—KK, Paige, Nika, Ice, even Ayanna when she let you. If someone sat, you sat on them. If someone filmed a TikTok, you were in the back doing something chaotic. It was known. You weren’t shy about it either.

“God, you really don’t get tired of hugging on people?” KK muttered as she unwrapped tape from her fingers.

You didn’t hear the edge in her voice until she added, “You act like you don’t have anyone else.”

You laughed at first, just instinct. So did a few others. Even she smiled—barely.

But your laugh was thin. Because something about the way she said it—joking, but not—made your chest feel tight. Your hands dropped from Inês’s waist. You walked off without saying anything, grabbing a ball like you suddenly remembered you had a reason to be here besides annoying people.

And that’s when the silence started.

Not loud. Just quiet.

You went through warmups fine. Played like normal. You weren’t sulking or anything—God, that’d be dramatic. You just… didn’t do you. Didn’t yell. Didn’t lean into anyone. Didn’t giggle when Paige airballed or call KK “baby blue” for the color of her sleeves.

No one fully noticed at first. Not until you skipped high-fives after layups and sat by yourself during water break. Paige furrowed her brows. Ice nudged Nika. Even Ayanna mouthed, “She good?”

Geno noticed before anyone.

“Hey,” he called across the gym. “You sick or something?”

You looked up fast. “No, Coach.”

“You sure? You’re moving like somebody stole your dog.”

A few laughs. You smiled too—fake.

“I’m good.”

He stared at you for a beat, then let it go. “Then stop sulking and run it back. Let’s go.”

The gym filled with squeaks again. The usual grind.

But something stayed off.

You weren’t just quiet. You were careful. Like you didn’t wanna be too much. Like you didn’t wanna take up space.

⸻

After practice, while people changed and Geno hounded someone about missing a screen, you were already packed. Bag slung over one shoulder, hoodie up, eyes kind of empty.

“Hey,” Paige called. “You heading out?”

“Yeah,” you said, too soft. “Just tired.”

Nika stood up. “You want—”

“Nah, I’m good.”

You walked out before anyone could stop you.

⸻

An hour later, the locker room was mostly cleared. Geno leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. The girls were mid-convo, tossing jokes around, arguing over who left a banana peel in someone’s shoe, when he cut through all of it.

“Next time one of you decides to joke about her being clingy, maybe ask why she is first.”

Silence.

Nika sat up straighter. “Coach?”

“You ever hear her talk about her siblings?” he asked.

They shook their heads.

“She doesn’t have any,” he said flatly. “No siblings. No cousins around here. Her parents don’t come to games. She’s got no one on campus. No one but you. And the second she acts like she needs you a little too much, somebody makes a joke.”

KK looked like she’d just been hit.

“She didn’t say anything—” Inês tried.

“Because she’s used to not being said anything to.”

Geno’s voice wasn’t loud. But it landed.

“She shows up every day trying to feel close to somebody, and you’re all she’s got. So maybe the next time she’s hanging on your arm or sitting too close or texting too much? Maybe say thank you. You’ve got sisters. She doesn’t. But she thinks you’re hers.”

And then, just like that, he stepped out, muttering something about film edits.

KK sat frozen.

Paige rubbed her hand down her face. “God.”

“She said I was her sister this morning,” KK whispered. “I told her I wasn’t.”

⸻

The group chat started blowing up two hours later.

P Buckets : dude we messed up

HEY ARNOLD: she didn’t even look mad bro

Portugal Baddie: she always says we’re her people

Croatian Baddie: because we are

Brady Baby: i feel like shit

Yanna Banana: i’ll cook for her

P Buckets: just say sorry before geno rips us again

HEY ARNOLD: fr she can have all my hoodies

Croatian Baddie: she’s our sister. period.

⸻

You didn’t respond that night. But the next morning, you showed up like normal. Bag on your shoulder. Hoodie too big. Slight limp in your step because your legs were still dead from suicides.

As soon as you stepped into the gym, KK ran over and threw her arms around you, almost knocking you back.

“Good morning to you too,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

She hugged you tighter. “You are my sister. Don’t listen to dumbass KK from yesterday. She’s a liar.”

You chuckled. Barely.

Then Paige pulled you into a hug from behind. Then Nika hooked her arm around your neck. Then Ayanna handed you a granola bar with a deadpan, “For emotional support.”

And when Geno walked in and saw you sitting dead center, surrounded by the team, he just nodded.

“You better run faster today,” he grunted.

“Love you too, Coach.”

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foreingersgod · 3 months ago

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Dress . PB

pairing: paige bueckers x reader

synopsis: you and paige weren’t just friends…but not quite girlfriends either despite your mutual feelings. you’d been longing for the day she’d finally make a move, and upon conspiring tactic to get her to confess her feelings, you finally get your wish.

you hated to love it.

hated the tension, loved the thrill. hated the uncertainty, loved the chase. hated the dull ache in your chest that longed for her, loved the way she made you feel.

it was a tango that you and paige had fallen quite familiar with throughout the years. not just friends, but certainly not girlfriends. the attraction had been there since you met her a lifetime ago, but the both of you couldn't find it in yourselves to throw your entire friendship away-even if that did mean letting something far more beautiful blossom.

it was unbelievably frustrating. the stolen glances, the way her hand always seemed to find yours, the lingering hugs that always lasted far too long-it was all there, like a punch to the gut. it was meant to be, the devotion and the passion, yet neither of you were willing to act on it and risk it all.

you so badly wished you could finally kiss her, feel her soft lips on yours. the urge to feel more than just the supple skin of her hands but feel the entirety of her weight underneath you. your entire being longed for paige, and it only made it more painful that you couldn't have her.

but the desperation overruled the pain, and you'd come to the conclusion that you'd had enough. no more pining and anticipation, silence and patience, and no more desperately waiting. if paige wasn't going to finally admit her feelings on her own, then you'd take matters into your own hands.

it started out simple in your head, a lot more straight forward than what it actually was, but what's love without a little mess? a little harmless flirting, a few well-placed comments, just enough to egg her on; and tonight was the perfect night to set it all into motion.

paige had invited you to tag along to the team's "end of season gala" last weekend and you happily obliged. though, at the time you had no intention of conspiring a plan to corner paige into confessing your feelings for one another. but as you walked the streets of downtown, window shopping for a suitable dress for the evening, the idea flickered alive in your mind.

something just enough to make her jealous-make her realize what she's missing out on.

a dangerous mix, a fool proof plan, right in the palm of your hands. it would be near impossible for her to back away when you were clad in a low-cut neckline as you courted your way to her heart. it was a beautiful gown, not too flashy, but it had a sort of charm to it. the moment you saw it draped over the mannequin in the store, you knew it was the one. a dress curated just for paige to see you in.

you felt a shift in the air as you shimmied it on in front of your mirror, smoothing the fabric down with shaky hands. tonight, could make or break your friendship and you were scared shitless. she meant everything to you, but you weren't sure you could go another second without making your interest known.

the gala was a blur of laughter and music as soon as you stepped through the door. everyone seemed to be having a goodtime, paige's teammates-your mutual friends-coming up to greet you as you made your rounds. you tried your best to stay engaged in your conversations, offering an agreeable response every so often, but your mind was already elsewhere. you were here for one person, after all.

you could see out of the corner of your eye that she was standing across the room, caught in conversation with azzi and kk, the soft glow of the dim lighting illuminating her features. she was dressed in a white button up with a black blazer and black slacks to match. if you didn't know any better, you would've assumed she wore that just so you'd notice.

you took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself focused, but it was useless. she was undeniably hypnotizing. every time she moved, every time she flashed that brilliant smile or threw her head back in laughter, it was like you were gravitating towards her.

as if on cue, paige turned. her lips curled when she saw you, eyes moving down your body when she noticed your attire. she ushered you over without hesitation and you nervously obliged. now was as good of a time as any to make your move.

"hey!" you beamed as you reached the trio, offering a warm smile and a small wave. kk and azzi were quick to greet you back, pulling you in for a brief hug, but paige kept her distance. instead, she muttered a breathy 'hey' back, her eyes still glued on you.

"everything looks so great, i'm having so much fun!" you attempted to talk to paige again, nudging her with your arm playfully "thanks for inviting me paige"

she gulped at the contact, looking into your eyes and then down to the ground to avoid your gaze. you bit back a smile, knowing exactly where the awkwardness was coming from so suddenly. but you couldn't pat yourself on the back too soon, there was still a lot left to set in motion.

you started light, giggling a little bit too long at azzi's jokes, just enough to catch paige's attention. then you'd let your fingers trail up the length of her arm, resting your hand on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. and that really caught her attention. you watched as paige's jaw clenched, her eye's darkening at the sight of the two of you in such close contact. and as the conversation went on, you may or may not have let a few comments slip about how beautiful azzi looked tonight.

before you knew it, you were full on filirting with azzi right in front of paige, trying to get a rise out of her as quick as possible. and it was working too-the whispers in azzi's ear, the twirling of your hair around your finger, the movement of your tongue to jut out against your bottom lip. it was beginning to drive paige crazy and you could tell.

eventually, as the night came to a halt, kk and azzi said their goodbyes and headed out. but paige stayed put, leaving the two of you alone in the outskirts of the celebration. her eyes burned into you as she tried to find the right words to say, but ultimately, you were left in a rigid silence.

"so," she spoke suddenly "you looked nice tonight, i forgot to mention it earlier"

you smiled, genuinely this time, the whole point of the dress quickly forgotten as her words flooded your mind. her tone was sweet and real, and it make your heart flutter.

"oh yeah" you said timidly. now it was your turn to avoid eye contact "yeah, thank you"

"i know what you were doing, by the way" she blurted again, stopping another silent episode before it had the chance to settle. her abruptness caught you off guard.

you blinked, feigning innocence, testing the waters "what do you mean?"

she huffed softly; anxiety written all over her face. a strong hand came to scratch at the back of her neck before she moved closer towards you, head dipping just next to your ear.

"you know what i mean" you bit your lip at the drop of her voice, feeling the resistant energy radiating off of her. it was no secret, the both of you were stalling, waiting for the other to make a move "you've been messing with me. and it's working"

"yeah?" you cleared your throat, trying to hide the fact that you were terrified for what was yet to come. but still, you mustered up the courage you'd been yearning for all night, and let a whisper fall from your parted lips "'cause this dress? bought it just for you, paige"

she groaned shamelessly at your boldness, head falling as her forehead rested against the edge of your collarbone.

"don't say that" she said "because i don't think i'll be able to help myself"

"paige," and everything stops when she hears you say her name again. her fingers brushed against your waist, balancing on the edge of letting herself go and running away "i don't want you to help yourself"

and finally, something in her clicked. like all the tiptoeing around each other and the pretending was left to the past. it was as if a dam had been broken, all the quite longing rushing to the surface. there was no more second guessing, no more wondering about the "what-ifs?". there was only the indisputable truth; she didn't want to be your best friend anymore, she just wanted to be yours. and as she pulled back away from you, her expression contorted into something much rawer and more certain. you knew that there was no turning back now.

"please tell me that this isn't a dream" her voice cracked as she spoke.

you just shook your head, already missing the feeling of her touch. she swallowed hard, nodding back at you before she grabbed your wrist.

"i've been wanting this longer than you know" she was tugging you towards the exit, leading you out of the party so quick that you didn't have a chance to say goodbye to the rest of your friends. but you didn't mind one bit "but i've been scared. and i don't want to be scared anymore"

"me neither" you said as you raced across the parking lot towards her car.

"tell me this is what you wanted" she paused in front of the passenger's side door, lingering on the door handle to let you in. she needed you to confirm that once and for all, that what she was about to do wasn't going to destroy you forever "before i do something that might fuck us up"

"you're not going to fuck us up paige" you reassured "please, i want this. i want you. it's all i've ever wanted"

and she just grinned, so big that her cheeks hurt. she couldn't believe that this was happening, that you were right here in front of her, saying every word she wanted to hear.

"YN, i think i'm in love with you" she wasn't about to hold back now. if she was going to do this, she was going to do this right and finally tell you the truth "and i'm sorry if that's too weird, or-or if that's too quick, but...i need you to know that"

"paige-"

"i'm serious. have been for years, and i'm an idiot for waiting for this long. i'm sorry that it took a stupid fucking gala, that it took-fuck" she cut herself off with a laugh of disbelief "that it took how jaw dropping you look in this dress right now. you deserve so much more than that and i can't apologize to you enough"

you closed the gap between you two, now chest to chest, her hand sliding off the cool metal of the handle in only to find solace on your waist. then, as if you couldn't wait any longer, you cupped her face and kissed her. so hard, so passionate, so needy that it knocked the air straight from your chest. she melted into you in an instant, one hand leaving your torso and coming up to tangle itself in your hair. her grip felt so rough, like she had you and never wanted to let you go.

with lips both numb and brains fuzzy, you pulled away reluctantly for air. paige pulled back, drawing your bottom lip between her teeth, enticing a strained whimper from you.

"i love you too," you panted "paige, i've always loved you"

the hand once in your hair came down to trace the curve of your jaw like she was memorizing this moment. her lips were swollen from the kiss, pupils blown wide, and the sight of her like this-because of you-sent shivers down your spine. it felt almost unreal, saying those words out loud. you would've spent an eternity there with paige; in this parking lot pressed up against the side of her car with your hands all over each other like you were some horny teenagers. it would have made you more than happy just to get to see this look in her eyes forever, like all the pieces in her life finally fit into place.

"you know," she grinned "i've spent so many nights thinking about this exact moment"

"oh really?" you teased, lips ghosting over hers again once more as she toyed with the flowy fabric of your gown.

"yeah," she hummed, ducking her head to press a kiss just below your ear "every fucking night"

gasping at the need for more, you kissed her again, pulling her back to you in an instant. you groaned against her, and she took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours in way that made your back arch instinctively.

"you know how i said i bought this dress for you?" you asked once the need for air became too strong again. she humored you with a nod, smirking as you leveraged yourself on your tiptoes to purr into her ear "i actually just bought it so you could take it off"

paige let out a low growl, fingers flexing against your skin possessively, portraying just how badly she wanted you.

"that so?"

"mhm," you could feel the excitement rumbling deep within your stomach "so what're you waiting for?"

"oh baby," she chuckled, reaching behind her to finally open the car door for you. you glanced at her tantalizingly as you pushed yourself off of her, climbing into the seat eagerly "you have no idea what you just started"

heat flooded through you, biting back an uncontrollable smile. this reality was finally yours-no more hiding your feelings, no more waiting.

tonight, you were hers.

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1-800-fantasy · 2 months ago

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holy. shit.

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prettygirl-gabi · 3 months ago

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Title: Midnight Marathons & Morning Mischief

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Platonic: Jana El Alfy & Reader)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

summary: she just wants her Girl back…

🏷️: @isansstuff , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr

I should’ve known that getting into a Lilo & Stitch marathon with Jana El Alfy would completely wreck my sleep schedule.

For the past two weeks, every night ended the same way—curled up in her room, laptop propped on her knees, eyes half-open as we forced ourselves to get through just one more episode. But, last night? Last night, I didn’t even make it back to my room.

I had knocked on her door after brushing my teeth, Stitch blanket in hand. She barely glanced up from her laptop, already loading another episode. “You ready?” she asked, shifting to make room for me.

“Duh,” I said, slipping under the covers beside her.

At some point, though, exhaustion won. The last thing I remembered was Stitch screaming in frustration at one of his cousins before my eyes shut completely. I didn’t even realize I had stayed over.

That is, until Paige started banging on the door.

“C’MON, JANA, WAKE UP! I DIDN’T MAKE THESE SCRAMBLED EGGS FOR NOTHING!”

My eyes barely cracked open before she added, “ALSO, GIVE ME MY GIRL BACK!”

I groaned, rolling onto my stomach, burying my face into the pillow. “She’s so loud.”

Jana, equally groggy, pushed her glasses up her nose and sighed. “I think it’s cute.”

I turned my head to give her a look. “That’s ‘cause you aren’t dating her.”

Jana laughed sleepily before stretching, her Stitch pajamas crinkling as she moved. I sat up slowly, adjusting my blue light glasses. My oversized UConn shirt fell to my thighs, barely covering my biker shorts. My hair was an absolute mess.

Paige banged on the door again. “I swear to God, if y’all don’t open this door—”

Jana, being the rational one, finally rolled out of bed and opened the door.

Paige stood in the hallway, hair messy, wearing a tank top and sweats. Her blue eyes landed on me immediately, narrowing slightly. “You traitor,” she muttered.

I rubbed my eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

Paige scoffed before stepping aside, waving us toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I woke up at five in the morning to make breakfast, and I refuse to let it go to waste.”

Jana and I shuffled toward the kitchen island, still half-asleep. The smell of eggs, toast, and hash browns filled the small dorm apartment. Jana grabbed a plate and started fixing her food, knowing she had to eat before the sun rose.

I sat beside her, plate in front of me, my head resting on my hand as I poked at my eggs with a fork. Jana was practically hunched over her plate, scarfing everything down before she started fasting.

Paige, however, stood by the counter with her arms crossed.

I raised an eyebrow. “Not eating?”

She shook her head. “Too tired.”

I rolled my eyes but let it go. Instead, I focused on finishing my meal while Jana made sure to drink enough water. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Paige finally moved.

Not to eat, though.

To cuddle.

She flopped onto the couch, lying on her back before turning her head toward me. “Babe,” she called, voice muffled. “Come here.”

I huffed, standing up, but instead of sitting beside her, I sat on the floor in front of the couch. Jana followed, laptop in hand, already queuing up another episode of Lilo & Stitch: The Series.

Paige didn’t protest. She simply shifted, laying her head in my lap with a tired sigh. I ran my fingers through her hair absentmindedly as the theme song played, already settling in for another episode.

Jana leaned against the couch, eyes glued to the screen, stuffing one last piece of toast in her mouth. Paige, meanwhile, made herself comfortable, arms wrapping lazily around my waist.

By the time Jana finished eating, the sun had started rising. She stretched again before letting out a small yawn. “Alright,” she said, closing her laptop. “I’m officially fasting now.”

I nodded, but before I could even think about moving, Paige grabbed my wrist.

“Oh no,” she murmured, voice sleepy but firm. “You’re coming back to bed.”

I stared at her. “Paige—”

“Nope.”

“Paige—”

She tightened her hold. “Come. Back. To. Bed.”

I turned to Jana, but she just smiled, standing up. “I’ll leave you two to figure that out.”

Paige smirked sleepily. “Traitor,” I muttered under my breath as Jana walked off.

Paige tugged my arm again. “Babe,” she whined.

I sighed, knowing there was no fighting it. “Fine,” I grumbled, letting her pull me up.

She grinned victoriously before wrapping an arm around my waist, guiding me back toward her room. The second we hit the bed, Paige pulled me close, nuzzling her face into my neck.

“Good night,” she mumbled.

“It’s morning,” I reminded her.

She groaned. “You know what I mean.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled, letting sleep pull me back under.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!��🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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troyo-boyo · 3 months ago

Text

Classroom Chaos (Paige Bueckers x Reader)

Summary: Maybe sitting next to your girlfriend and best friend in class isn't the best idea.

Wordcount: 1.4k

The lecture hall buzzes with quiet conversation as students settle in for class. You take your usual seat, sandwiched between your girlfriend Paige and your best friend KK. It’s supposed to be a normal day. Supposed to be.

Unfortunately, sitting between these two is never normal.

From the second Paige drops into her chair, she’s already full of energy, her knee bouncing slightly as she leans closer to you. “Baaaaabe,” she whispers, drawing out the word dramatically.

You don’t even look at her. “No.”

She blinks at you innocently. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I don’t know what you’re about to do, but the answer is no.”

KK chokes back a laugh from your other side. “She’s got you figured out, bro.”

Paige pouts. “Wow. Where’s the trust in this relationship?”

You finally glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “Last week, you and KK spent half the class drawing stick figure basketball plays in my notebook instead of paying attention.”

KK grins. “And they were masterpieces.”

“You drew one of me getting hit in the head with a basketball,” you deadpan.

Paige snickers. “Because it happened.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Before you can say more, KK taps Paige’s desk excitedly. “Alright, new challenge can you flip your pen and catch it behind your back?”

Your eyes widen. “No. Absolutely not.”

Paige smirks. “Easy.”

“Paige, don’t.”

Too late. Paige flicks her pen up, twisting her hand back to catch it blindly.

She misses.

The pen flies past her and smacks the guy behind her right in the forehead.

He lets out an annoyed ow! before rubbing his head.

Paige turns around quickly, flashing an apologetic smile. “My bad! Total accident.”

The guy sighs and hands her pen back, mumbling, “It’s fine.”

KK leans closer, whispering, “You totally just assaulted that dude with your pen.”

Paige snickers. “He’s fine.”

You groan. “Can you two just behave for once?”

Paige nudges your knee under the desk. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You ignore her, opening your notebook as the professor starts setting up their presentation. Maybe if you pretend they don’t exist, they’ll calm down.

Ha. Wishful thinking.

KK, ever the instigator, smirks. “Okay, okay. New challenge, how long can you balance on two legs of your chair?”

Your stomach drops. “KK, no.”

Paige grins. “Oh, that’s light work.”

“Paige—”

Ignoring you, she leans back, lifting the front legs of her chair off the ground, balancing on just two.

She wobbles slightly but steadies herself, looking smug. “Told you.”

KK narrows her eyes. “Alright, but can you—”

Before she can even finish the sentence, Paige leans back too far.

The chair tips.

Time slows down.

You watch in horror as Paige’s smirk disappears, her arms flailing as she tries to grab onto something—but there’s nothing to save her.

With a loud THUD, she crashes to the floor, the chair clattering noisily beneath her.

The entire classroom falls silent.

Every. Single. Person. Turns to look.

Including the professor.

KK’s face turns bright red as she buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently with suppressed laughter.

Paige groans from the floor. “Ow.”

The professor lets out the longest sigh in human history. “Miss Bueckers…”

Still on the floor, Paige lifts a weak thumbs-up. “I’m good.”

You, on the other hand, feel like disappearing into the floor. Your face is on fire, your hands gripping the edge of your desk so tightly your knuckles turn white.

KK finally loses it, bursting into full-blown laughter, practically gasping for air. “Bro—bro—you wiped out.”

Paige glares at her from the floor. “I know, KK.”

The professor pinches the bridge of their nose. “Miss Bueckers, please get up.”

You don’t even look at Paige as you quickly shoot your hand into the air. “Professor, can I move seats?”

Paige freezes mid-motion, staring at you with wide eyes. “Wait, what?”

KK’s laughter immediately stops, her head whipping toward you. “You’re leaving us?”

The professor, already exhausted, sighs. “I’ll allow it if it means this side of the classroom can focus.”

You don’t hesitate, grabbing your stuff and standing up. You love Paige, you love KK, but right now? You need to get away from the chaos before you lose your mind.

Paige immediately scrambles to her feet, looking heartbroken. “Babe, no! Don’t leave us!”

KK grabs your wrist dramatically. “You can’t just abandon us like this!”

You shake her off, dead serious. “I cannot deal with you two today.”

Paige pouts, giving you actual puppy dog eyes. “But I love sitting next to you.”

KK nods aggressively. “Same! You keep us grounded!”

“That is literally the problem,” you mutter.

The entire class watches in amusement as Paige and KK pout like scolded children, looking genuinely devastated as you grab your stuff and relocate to the other side of the room.

As soon as you sit down, Paige sends you a text.

Paige: I miss you already :(

You roll your eyes. Seconds later, KK texts you too.

KK: This is betrayal.

Paige: I can’t believe my own girlfriend left me.

You ignore them, taking a deep breath as the professor finally starts the lecture.

You finally have peace.

Sitting on the other side of the classroom, away from your childish girlfriend and your equally mischievous best friend, you can actually focus on the lecture. No distractions. No suppressed giggles. No flying pens.

A crumpled piece of paper lands right in front of you.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply before slowly turning your head toward the other side of the room.

Paige and KK are staring at you, not even trying to look innocent. Paige gives you a small wave, while KK smirks, already crumpling another piece of paper.

You mouth stop.

KK mouths never, and then…

Another crumpled piece of paper lands on your desk.

You grip your pen tightly, taking another deep breath. Ignore them. Maybe if you don’t react, they’ll stop.

A third piece of paper hits you in the shoulder.

Your jaw tightens.

You glance at the professor, who is still deep in lecture mode, oblivious to the chaos brewing in the back of the room.

Then a pencil lands in your lap.

Your head snaps up, and across the room, Paige and KK are barely holding it together. KK has her fist shoved against her mouth to keep from laughing, and Paige is biting her lip, looking ridiculously pleased with herself.

You glare at them.

They wave again.

Oh my god.

You pick up the pencil and chuck it right back at Paige. She yelps as it bounces off her arm, which just makes KK lose it completely, laughing so hard she almost falls out of her chair.

Unfortunately, the sudden yelp and laughter draw the professor’s attention.

Slowly, painfully, they lower their notes and turn to face you.

You freeze, hands still on your desk, pretending to be the perfect student.

“Miss Y/N,” the professor says, exasperated, “I let you move seats so you could focus. Not so you could start throwing things back at them.”

You point at Paige and KK. “They started it!”

The professor sighs, clearly done with all of you. “Please. All three of you. Go stand in the hallway.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—me too?”

The professor levels you with a stare. “Yes. Please behave your children.”

The entire class erupts into laughter.

Paige and KK are dying. Paige has her head down on the desk, shaking, while KK is practically wheezing.

Your face burns with embarrassment as you grab your stuff, making your way toward the door. Paige and KK follow, looking way too smug about this.

As soon as the three of you step into the hallway, the door closes behind you, and KK immediately bursts out laughing. “Bro, the professor really just called Y/N a parent.”

Paige leans against the wall, grinning. “I mean, are they wrong? You do act like our babysitter.”

You glare at both of them. “This is exactly why I moved.”

Paige steps closer, giving you a sweet, innocent smile. “Babe, don’t be mad.”

You cross your arms. “You literally got me kicked out of class.”

KK smirks. “Technically, you got yourself kicked out when you threw that pencil.”

Your jaw drops. “You hit me first!”

Paige shrugs, leaning against you playfully. “Yeah, but you retaliated. Classic rookie mistake.”

You groan, running a hand down your face. “I hate both of you.”

Paige grins, wrapping her arms around your waist. “No, you don’t.”

You sigh, glaring at her half-heartedly. “I swear, the second we go back in there, I’m sitting somewhere else again.”

KK shakes her head, nudging Paige. “Nah, they’re bluffing.”

Paige smirks. “Oh, for sure. Y/N loves us too much.”

You groan again, but deep down… yeah. Maybe you do.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #wcbb #uconn #wbb #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff #wcbb x reader #wnba #wlw #basketball #women’s sports #women’s basketball #wbb imagine #wbb x reader #uconn x reader #paige bueckers fanfic #lgbtq

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lovegalor333 · 8 months ago

Text

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

my bad (paige x reader)

summary: paige accidentally hits you with a basketball and she feels bad so tries to make it up to you.

content warnings: none!

requested by: anon 💗

It was a warm summers evening in Storrs and there was nothing you and your roommate enjoyed more than ending your day with frozen yogurt.

You had walked to the dessert shop on campus, excited for your sweet treats but there was an unusually long line for this time off the evening. There was a group of girls outside of the shop and as you got closer, you recognised them as the womens basketball team.

There was six of them and all of their faces were familiar. Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd, Ice Brady, KK Arnold and two freshmen that, admittedly you didn’t know the names of. They had a ball in tow that they were bouncing and throwing to one another and every now and then, the ball would be dropped and it would roll away and one of them would scramble after it. You giggle as you watch the scene unfold, KK shoving herself into Paige, playfully trying steal the ball from her.

The team was somewhat famous on and off campus. They were the most successful womens basketball program in the nation with the longest winning streaks in college basketball, period. And more recently, the current team had shot to fame on social media and you could see why. Tall, muscular, athletic. The appeal was obvious.

You had been to a few games over your years at UConn and often saw the girls around campus and they seemed nice enough so you had no problem with how boisterous they were being while you waited in line.

“Be honest. Smash or pass?” Your Khloe asks you, catching your gaze focused on the athletes.

“Which one?” You ask back.

“I don’t know, any…the blondie?” She says pointing to Paige and you slap her hand down not wanting them to see her point.

“I don’t know.” You say but you do know and your roommate does too.

“Yes you do. That’s your type all over.” She teases and she’s right. That was your type. Tall, blonde, light eyes, athletic, there was no denying Paige Bueckers was your type.

“Whatever.”

“So…smash or pass?”

“Smash.” You say and your roommate grins but before can even roll your eyes in response, you literally get smashed, right in the face.

You’re thrown off balance and stumble back at the impact before you steady yourself.

“Paige!”

Your eyes are screwed shut as a sharp, stinging sensation spreads over your left cheek, that hurt like a bitch.

“Oh my God! My bad ma, I’m so sorry.” You feel two hands land on your shoulders and when you open your eyes, it takes a second for your vision to clear. When it does, you’re met with Paige, inches away from you, hands on your shoulders, a sorry look on her face.

“Does it hurt?” She asks, bringing her hand up to your face to angle it so she can get a better look at her handy work. Your cheek felt like it was on fire, it was definitely red as hell right now.

Your head spun and you wasn’t sure whether it was because of the unexpected impact or because of the beautiful, blue eyed girl with her hand on your face.

“A little.” You squeak out.

“I am so sorry, I feel so bad. You should ice it. I should get you ice. Where can I get ice? Someone get some ice!” Paige rambles out and you laugh at her frenzied words.

“It’s OK. I’ll survive.” You reassure her and she seems to calm down.

“Your frozen yogurt is on me.” She tell you and you shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I do. I just threw a ball in your face.” She chuckles, finally dropping her hands from your face and shoulder.

“Well, when you put it like that...” You respond, rubbing your cheek in hopes to defuse the pain.

The line moved quick and soon, Paige and her friends were at the counter making their orders and you were up next. Paige insisted on standing beside you until you had ordered, even when her friends went to sit at a table, just so she could keep her promise and pay for you.

“Could we also get a bag of ice for the pretty lady?” Paige interjects after you give your order, “I accidentally smacked her face with my ball.” She over explains and once again brings her hands up to turn your face to the server so he can see the mark, “Look.” She says but the guy behind the counter looks like he couldn’t care less. “I don’t need ice, it’s fine.” You insist and he gets on, adding your chosen toppings to your frozen yogurt.

You’re thankful for your red cheek because the way Paiges slender, slightly calloused fingers held your face so gently and the use of the pet name pretty lady made you blush, hard. You had been single for longer than you’d like to admit so at this point you were touch starved and Paige was feeding you.

She had already started eating her frozen yogurt and as you glanced up at her to thank her for paying, you notice a blob of it on her cheek.

“Um-you- you kinda have…” You point at her face, “some yogurt right here.”

You hate to admit it but you’re mesmerised by the way she flicks out her tongue and wiggles it, trying to swipe the yogurt away.

“It’s still there.” You inform her and she dips her head down, more to your level, “Do you mind?”

Does this girl seriously want me to wipe her face? You thought to yourself.

“Come on, I don’t bite.” She chuckles so you take your finger and wipe the yogurt away, “There.” You say, her face now clean and her next movement makes you raise your brows, taken aback. Her mouth is open, tongue poking out ever so slightly, she wants to lick the yogurt off your finger.

“Seriously?” You ask shocked at her brazen attitude, “You don’t know where my fingers have been.”

“I can only dream.” She smirks and takes it upon herself to guide your finger to her mouth, licking it clean.

“You’re so nasty.” You playfully shove her shoulder.

“A nasty girl who pays for your yogurt.” She says taking your order from the server and handing it to you.

“For real, thank you.” You smile genuinely.

“For real, I’m sorry.” She replies and you tell her it’s fine before turning to leave the store, Khloe waiting for you by the door.

“You’re not sitting in?” Paige asks making you turn around to face her again.

“No, we have…a spot.” You say, referring to yours and Khloes favourite place to eat on campus.

“Ohh, a spot?”

“Mhm.” You nod, taking a spoon full of frozen yogurt into your mouth.

“Where is this spot?”

“I’m gatekeeping.” You tease and Paige pouts exaggeratedly, “Maybe I’ll show you one time.” You offer not actually knowing why you said that and you immediately cringe.

But Paige agrees, “Deal.” She says, holding out her hand for you shake and you do. For someone you only really met a few minutes ago, her hands have been on you quite a bit.

You begin walking to Khloe and by the grin on her face, you know what the topic of conversation will be this evening.

“Wait, how can I reach you?” Paige calls after you, “If it’s meant to be, it will be.” You call back, turning your head to look at the girl one last time.

“I don’t even know your name!”

You shout out your first and last name as you walk out of the shop.

“Did blondie just suck your finger?!” Khloe whisper screams once the door closes behind you.

You laugh, “It was more of a lick.” You say matter of factly.

“But her finger was in your mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Wow…slutting it up in the Fro-Yo shop. That’s the most action you’ve got all semester.” Khloe jokes.

“Alrighttt, not to much on me and my sex life. I’m going through a drought.” You defend yourself.

“Well, from where I was standing, it’s due to get pretty wet.”

“Shut up!”

You and Khloe head to your favourite spot and eat your frozen yogurt like you did most nights. Side by side on the grass, watching the sunset.

Your phone pings from in your pocket and you pull it out seeing a notification from Instagram.

paigebueckers started following you.

Another notification came through almost instantly.

paigebueckers: its meant to be

“Damn, she’s quick.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: please let me know if you have any requests, id be happy to do them! 💋

#paige bueckers #wlw #lgbtq #oneshot #paige x reader #uconn wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers imagine #blurb #fanfic

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pinkyqily · 1 month ago

Note

I can see Juju never playing about her gf, like how she lowkey pulled up on that Michigan player after that foul, I can imagine her acting that way if someone said something about her gf

IMAGINE SOME PLAYER TRYING TO START SUM WITH YOU BUT JU DOESN'T PLAY ABOUT HER GIRL LIKE THAT ON OR OFF THAT COURT

The game was a close one against Michigan, but usc managed to close the gap. During the 4th quarter, a Michigan player it would be funny by colliding into you when you had the ball.

It all happened so fast, one moment you had the ball and was about to shoot, next thing you know, you're on the ground, head hurting.

As you tired getting up, you found yourself staring at the commotion going on.

Ju was arguing well more like yelling at the player that had so-called in bump into you.

Things got a little physical real fast with the Michigan player shoving ju, juju who then shoves her back but real hard that she fell back on the ground.

You witnessed all this while still being on the ground with a wrist that was starting to feel like hell. But you soon got up seeing that Judea was starting to get hella heated with the girl.

Both teams had to get their players, refs being no use in the situation.

You got up walking towards them, you got in-between ignoring the girl who pushed you earlier.

"Ju just leave it no point". You said to her.

"Nah bro, just let me pull up her lil ass since she thinks shits funny."

"And what get a game suspension, Judea be so for real right now." This time, you pulled her away more of her using her own legs.

As you both made it to the bench, she was still talking about the situation. "I still think you should've let me do sum since her ass thought she tuff or sum."

"You're already gonna be in hot trouble with coach and your mom, and you still wanna pull a on court fight, girl can you be so for real." You said to her.

As you said that, she rolled her eyes at you. "Doesn't matter if it my mom or coach nagging me, no one gon hurt my girl and think they can get away with that shit."

You laid your head on her shoulders as you both held hands while sitting on the bench. "It like you get extra hotter when you're pissed." You told her.

Guess the Michigan girl learned something the hard way cause o the moment fame ended and it was time for the high five shenanigans, she immediately looked away from ju really quick moving quite fast in the line.

On your way to the locker rooms you and ju got a real laugh out of that one.

Kyi Radio: love a these dululu imagines there so fun to write ngl hopefully I made your dululunese come to life with this one,ju would most definitely not play about her girl.

Divider credits to @cursed-carmine

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insomniakisses · 5 months ago

Note

G!p Caitlin taking you with her to a team dinner and some random dude starts flirting with you and you decide to make her jealous a little bit and she eventually gets fed up and leads you to the bathroom

Broken Bonds and Finding Love (Caitlin Clark x Reader x Kate Martin)

Part one - You’re Mine // Series Masterlist

A/N: Lowkey changed the request a bit, i just went with it haha. Not exactly the vibe I had hopped for my first WBB fic but.... Yeah. Maybe i could make a part 2 if yall are wanting it!

warnings/notes: I changed this to be alpha!cait hope thats okay, smut, semi public sex, possessive nature, omegaverse au, cait has a dick, afab reader, omega reader, alpha caitlin clark, daddy kink, CNC themes, Toxic!caitlin, cheater!caitlin, Blowjobs, porn with plot, Slightly angsty too, Slight Alpha!Kate x reader, omega space, talk of injuries, blood, possibly slight abusive themes, mentions of cum.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ☽ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

It was a common thing, Caitlin taking you out for meals. Whether it was with her team, the pair of you and Kate or just the two of you. She was just that kind of girlfriend, she liked spending time with you, doting on you and spoiling you beyond belief no matter how much you protest that it’s not necessary.

Today was different though, her attention was not on you at all. No, her attention was on her team and her team only. You put up with it at first, knowing to behave because Caitlin doesn’t like bratty girls. Bratty girls have to be punished. Not to mention the big win the team had just had, she deserved to celebrate and enjoy her night.

But when the second hour of her paying you no mind rolled around you began to get squirmy, you tried to be good you really did but you couldn’t help act up. Especially when your attempts to get her attention were brushed off.

Your first attempt was subtly, shuffling closer to her and looping your hand in her free one, content with the feeling of her skin against yours. That was until she shook your hand off a moment later moving her hand to rest on the table. You pouted then, feeling uneasy that she had brushed you off so easily. The second attempt was a little bolder, and you knew it might cross a line, but you didn’t care. Reaching over you squeezed her upper thigh, but she gave you nothing. Not even a lip twitch.

A soft whine escapes you, quiet enough that only she could hear but she doesn’t react. It makes you sad really, having so little of her attention when she’s usually so wrapped up in your presents that the world becomes white noise. Not tonight though, no, tonight she was focused on anything but you. Even the waitress’s chest and ass apparently judging from the way she bites her lip staring at her as she passes by.

That’s the last straw you think, its one thing for her to ignore you for her team after a win. That you could learn to live with, but to shamelessly check out another omega in front of you after ignoring you all night? Ouch.

You avert your eyes as soon as you see it, like looking any longer might burn you. Your eyes lock with Kate and she shoots you a sympathetic look, clearly more than aware of your feelings. Certainly, more so than your own girlfriend. If you could even call her that.

The two of you had never really used such labels, the girl claiming she didn’t need a label to prove she loved you and only you. And if she loved you and you knew that why did anyone need to know. You felt silly now, sitting there in her jersey her number delicately painted onto your cheek with such detail and care it was clear you had practiced making it look perfect.

Your cheeks flushed, embarrassment and humiliation flooding you. Stupid. You thought, negative thoughts swirling round in your head, beginning a spiral. You excused yourself not that anyone batted an eye as you made a beeline for the restrooms. You lean on the counter and shake your head trying to stop the thoughts that hit you.

She’s embarrassed of you.

She doesn’t even want you here.

She just wants you to leave her alone.

She wants the waitress, she’s prettier than you are.

You shake your head, willing the thoughts to go away. Caitlin hadn’t said any of that, you shouldn’t believe it. You sigh, taking a deep breath and splash your face with water. Taking a deep breath readying yourself to go back out there. Caitlin was your ride, so you were stuck there, forced to endure another 2 hours of humiliation. Sat next to Caitlin as she ignored you and eye fucked anything that walked past. You didn’t know what was worse the way she ignored you without a care, the way Kate was sat opposite all kind smiles and eyes full of pity or the way you knew at the end of the night you’d be faced with horny Caitlin’s honeyed words and empty promises. You’d fall for it of course, you always did. Laying there as she hovered above you, thrusting into you without a care, breath like a brewery.

Stepping out of the restrooms you didn’t notice Caitlin’s gaze on you, you were too busy apologising to the poor waiter you’d bumped into. Luckily, he hadn’t been carrying anything, but it didn’t diminish your efforts as you rambled on and on apologising to him.

He dismissed you though, a flirty smirk settling onto his face as he rubbed your waist. Complements and examples of how you could make it up to him escaping his lips over and over. Usually, you would push him off with a scoff and a comment about how sleazy it was, but not today. Today you needed the attention, and you didn’t care who it was from.

You didn’t know or care if Caitlin was looking, having ridded yourself of her jersey and washed her number off your face. She didn’t deserve you, not after her behaviour today. An opinion you would stan your ground on. At least for now.

For now, you were content laughing and encouraging the man in front of you. Though, a few minutes later his smirk dropped into a worried frown. You furrow your brows about to ask him what’s wrong when you hear it. A low deep growl from right behind you. Caitlin’s growl. You shudder at it, not liking the way her scent covers you. It feels wrong. Smothering even, in the way you can only smell her. Her anger is heavily evident in the scent, it sets you off, filling you with dread.

You don’t react, you don’t have time to before your being tugged away. Her grips hard around your wrist, it hurts, and you know it will bruise. She growls again, throwing you into the restroom and into the counter not batting an eye when you yelp out in pain.

Her eyes are narrowed on you, her jaw set. She’s beyond pissed, angrier than you’ve ever seen her. You don’t like it. Not the way she looks at you or the harshness of how she’s touching you. Its wrong. It doesn’t feel good, it makes you feel unimportant. Confirming your previous fears.

She’s quick with her movements reaching out and grabbing your jaw, hard. “What, the fuck was that?” She spits, eyes full of disgust. Her anger flaring when you don’t answer, “I asked you a question slut!” she growls unamused when you fail to answer again, your mouth just opening and closing as you stare up at her wide-eyed.

“Can’t work your mouth huh? You’re just a dumb fucking slut, aren’t you?” you don’t answer, she doesn’t let you. Shoving you down onto your knees with a grunt. “Your mouth’s only useful for one thing, isn’t it? Huh?” her voice is deep and raspy, her hands making quick work of freeing her cock.

“Cait-“ you begin to whine, but she talks over you.

“Oh, just SHUT UP and fucking take it” she grunts grabbing the back of your head and slamming herself down your throat. Groaning in delight when you gag around her, your fists balled up and slapping against her thighs, drool dripping down your chin onto the floor.

“That’s it,” she gathers your hair in both her hands guiding your head along her as she starts a rough pace fucking into your throat. “That’s fucking it, all your good for warning my fucking cock like the cockslut you are.”

She keeps her rough pace as she abuses your throat, loving every gag you make trying to take her, you have no choice, but you just shut your eyes and take it.

“My slut aren’t you baby,” she taunts thrusting fast as she nears her orgasm, “just here for my use, my personal little cock sleeve, fuck!” She gasps pinning your head to her crotch holding you still as her cock twitches in your throat. Her cum painting it as she spurts into you, panting heavily as she does so.

You gasp for air when she finally releases you, coughing slightly after swallowing all her cum. She slaps her cock again your face smugly, wiping cum and drool across your cheek without a care.

“Are you ready to answer me now slut?” she asks, voice calm but sharp.

“Yes daddy, sorry daddy” you whimper shuffling closer to nuzzle into her thigh as she absent-mindedly strokes your hair. The little attention doing wonders to send you slipping into omega space.

She hums, giving your hair a tug as she repeats her earlier question. “So, what the fuck was that outside, hmm? Throwing yourself at that worthless alpha right in front of my face” she scoffs, staring down at you awaiting your answer which comes out mumbled against her thigh as frustrated, and embarrassed tears escape your eyes.

“M’sorry daddy, wanted your attention but you didn’t want me anymore…” you whimper more tears flowing down your blushed cheeks. “You wanted that waitress… not me.”

She sighs at that, hearing the confusion and heart break in your voice as you stare up at her with such sad eyes. Her hand comes down to caress your cheek and you mean into her touch letting her pull you up and into her arms, though you curl into yourself a little when met with her intense gaze.

“Look at me.” She commands guiding your head, so it’s tilted up at you. She waits till she has eye contact before she speaks again, “I want you, only you baby hmm” she coos as she wipes your tears and rests her forehead against yours.

“But I was bad…” you mumble, head getting fuzzy as your hit with a wave of her pheromones pushing you further into omega space weather you want it or not. Your pupils dilating as you let out a whine leaning into her fully eyes closing as she tugs your pants and underwear off, guiding you onto the counter and spreading you.

“That’s why I have to punish you...” you hear her say, missing the smirk on her face as you let your eyes close finding it hard to focus one anything right now, trusting your alpha to take care of you.

She lines herself up slamming in, neglecting wrapping up her dick because your so out of it you won’t stop her. Besides if your hers so what if she cums in you? That’s her right whether you like it or not.

The bathroom is filled with grunts and groans as she pounds into you, gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise and slamming into you so hard you’d find it painful in your right mind. There’s no kisses or gentle words, she just pumps out more pheromones keeping you in a state of constant compliance as she pounds away not batting an eye as you hit your head into the mirror ever time she thrusts. Or how you whine in pain from the tap digging into your side.

“That’s it, take it. Fucking take it.”

“All your good for”

“Mine to use whenever I want, however I fucking want.”

“That’s right I fucking own you.”

“Your mine”

She just repeats the same few things grunting against your neck as she bites and sucks at your neck not caring that she’s just mate marked you, and certainly not licking at it to stop the blood or sooth the wound. Instead, she just pounds and pounds into you not caring when people come in or out until she’s done with you. Pulling out with the false promise of coming back for you after she grabs her jacket, instead she leaves you there. Kate watching her leave with the waitress from earlier a little while later, wondering where you could possibly be or if you could see this happen. Scoffing “does she have no shame” she thinks to herself.

You’re in and out of consciousness, confused and in pain when Kate finds you. Having taken a trip to the restrooms to fix her hair before leaving. The first thing that hits her is your smell, she smells your in omega space and then her eyes land on you.

You’re still on the counter, slumped up by the mirror. Bruises and scratches litter your skin, blood crusting on your neck as the bite mark remains an open wound. Caitlin’s cum leaking from your pussy and it’s there she sees the hand shaped bruises across your legs and hips. She’s frozen in place, she knew Caitlin wasn’t always the best or most loyal to the omega’s she had but she would have never thought Caitlin could be so cruel especially not to someone so sweet and loving as you. She growls then, silently promising to protect you from now on. Even if she has to fight Caitlin to do it.

You’re shaking as she gets closer your eyes barely open, clearly not able to do anything not even speak. She’s unsure if the constant shaking is from coldness or that your body is in shock, honestly it could be both judging on your state. She’s so thankful that it was her that found you, who knows what another alpha might have done.

She slips off her jacket and helps you into it grabbing some paper towel and wetting it in the sink, gently cleaning at your sensitive pussy. She coos when you jolt and laces her free hand with yours, kissing your knuckles as she talks you through every single thing she does for you. Making sure she notifies you before she makes any kind of movement to touch you.

Once she’s cleaned you up and tended to your wound as best she can with what’s around her, she looks for your clothes placing them in a pile on the counter next to you. You can’t put them back on, there soaked in god knows what from the floor and half ripped from Caitlin’s lack of care.

“For fucks sake Caitlin! You asshole.” she mumbles under her breath. Shoving them into her bag to deal with later.

Slipping out of her sweats and helping you into them she can’t help chuckle at how long they are on you, rolling up the bottoms until they rest at your ankles. She takes her hoodie off then and ties it round her waist covering whatever her baggy t-shirt didn’t of her boxers. Once she’s satisfied, she won’t flash anyone she guides you into her arms.

“C’mon then babygirl, let’s get you somewhere safe, okay?” She doesn’t really expect an answer back, not in this state anyway, but she asks regardless. A small smile tugging at her lips when you manage a slight nod as she carries you out to her car, setting you gently into the seat and buckling you up. With one gentle kiss to your head, she closes the door and gets in the driver’s side, making her way back to her apartment. She’d never been so glad she moved out into her own place. Her only focus being making sure you’re okay

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ☽ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

391 notes · View notes

bueckets · 5 months ago

Text

Competitive Stamina

Pairing: teammate!Paige x reader

Genre: fuck buddies with unresolved issues, unbearable sexual tension, dom!Paige, strap, degradation, slapping, edging, post-game aggression sex, possessive paige, rough sex that solves nothing, idk just porn w minimal plot (I KNOOOOOW)

WC: 6.3kish?

Bus rides after a loss were a special kind of hell.

The stale air of the charter, the overhead lights too dim to be useful but too bright to let you sink into oblivion, the stiff-backed seats that creaked with every shift—everything grated on your nerves. The taste of failure sat heavy on your tongue, thick and bitter, and no amount of Gatorade could wash it away.

You sat near the back, arms crossed, jaw tight, replaying every goddamn second of the game like a goddamn. masochist. Every blown rotation, every missed shot, every second too slow on defense. It was a fucking disaster.

The low hum of the engine did nothing to drown out the tension hanging in the air. Some of the team sat slumped in their seats, headphones jammed in, pretending like they weren’t reliving the same nightmare. Others were scrolling through their phones, avoiding the inevitable post-game analysis that would come the second you all got back.

And then there was Paige.

Slouched in the seat across the aisle, one long leg stretched out, the other knee bouncing restlessly. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, the muscles in her jaw flexing every time she gritted her teeth. The blue glow of her phone screen flickered across her face, but you could tell she wasn’t actually looking at it. Just brooding.

You tried not to look at her. Tried to keep your glare aimed out the window, at the blur of highway lights cutting through the night.

But the energy rolling off her was impossible to ignore.

Fucking furious. The kind of anger that vibrated beneath the skin, white-hot, impossible to smother. She was pissed in a way that she wouldn’t let go of anytime soon, the kind of loss that would eat at her, keep her up all night, have her in the gym first thing in the morning with her hoodie up and music blasting like she could outwork the ghosts of the game.

Your fingers curled into your palms.

Because yeah, you were mad too. Mad at yourself. Mad at the team. Mad at how fucking avoidable it all had been. But mostly, you were mad at how much you felt it—how the weight of it sat heavy on your chest, suffocating. You knew you wouldn’t sleep tonight. Not because you didn’t want to, but because your brain wouldn’t let you. Wouldn’t stop dissecting every mistake, every misstep.

Paige exhaled sharply, a sound more bite than breath.

You glanced over, barely turning your head.

Her fingers drummed against her bicep, rapid, restless, a nervous tick she only ever had when she was barely keeping her frustration in check. Her knee bounced faster.

Then, she turned her head, and her eyes found yours.

Sharp. Burning.

And just like that, you were both back on the court. Back in the moment she’d called the switch and you hesitated a fraction too long. Back in the second where everything unraveled.

The muscle in her jaw flexed. You could practically hear what she wanted to say. The words sat heavy between you, unspoken but loud.

What the fuck was that?

You swallowed hard, refusing to be the one to break first. You weren’t about to sit here and get chewed out on a moving bus, in front of everyone.

But the fire in her eyes told you that this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The door barely slammed shut before Paige was on you, shoving you back so hard your shoulder blades smacked the wall. The cheap dorm drywall rattled behind you, a picture frame nearly toppling off its hook.

Her breath was sharp, jagged, her whole body coiled so tight with frustration it looked like it might snap. She was still in her jersey, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, strands of blonde hair stuck to her forehead like she hadn’t even thought about peeling them away. But it wasn’t exhaustion in her eyes. It was fury. Blazing. Undiluted.

“What the fuck was that?” she spat, stepping into your space like she wanted to press you through the goddamn wall.

Your own irritation flared, heat crawling up your spine, but she wasn’t done.

“I called it. I fucking called it. You hesitated." Her voice cut like a whip, her breath hot against your face. “You don’t hesitate.”

Your jaw clenched. “I heard you, Paige. It wasn’t just me. We all fucked up.”

“Oh, fuck off with that.” Her laugh was sharp, humorless, nothing but teeth. “I don’t give a shit about them. You were supposed to have my back. You were supposed to listen to me.”

You bristled, hands curling into fists at your sides. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who fucking cares. You think I wanted to lose? You think I don’t feel like shit right now?”

Paige’s glare burned straight through you. Her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring, like she wanted to say something even sharper, even worse, but she just looked at you. Like she was daring you to take the blame. To admit it. To fold under her fire.

But you weren’t folding. Not tonight.

“You wanna fight me over this?” you snapped, stepping forward, barely an inch between you now. “Fine. Take a fucking swing, Paige.”

Her breathing hitched. For a half-second, something flickered in her eyes—something reckless, something raw. You thought maybe she would hit you, thought maybe you wanted her to.

Instead, she shoved you—hard. Your back hit the wall again, and this time she followed, grabbed your jersey with both hands, yanking you into her.

And then her mouth crashed onto yours, all teeth and heat and fucking rage.

You gasped against her lips, but she didn’t care—didn’t even give you the space to breathe. Her fingers dug into your jersey, nearly lifting you off the ground as she pressed you into the wall, her body flush against yours, hot and furious and unrelenting.

You bit down on her lower lip, hard, just to make her feel how pissed off you were too.

Paige growled, a low, dangerous sound, and then she was yanking you off the wall, turning, dragging you with her, stumbling toward the nearest surface.

Your hands found her hips, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her jersey. She was still in her shorts, her body taut with adrenaline, with the remnants of competition. You could feel her heart pounding beneath your palm as you pressed against her, pushing back just enough to let her know you weren’t going to just take it.

But Paige didn’t give a damn about pushback. She just grabbed the front of your shirt, dragging you with her as she stumbled backward, lips never leaving yours. She was all fire, all pent-up rage, and you were more than willing to be the thing she burned through.

“Fucking—” she muttered against your lips, frustration bleeding into something else as her fingers tangled in your hair, nails scraping against your scalp. “You drive me insane.”

“You’re the one losing your shit,” you bit back, but the words barely made it out before she was kissing you again, harder this time, as if she could shut you up with the force of her mouth alone.

The room spun as she shoved you back, barely making it to the couch before you tumbled onto it together. Her body was already on top of yours, pressing you down, thighs tight around your waist. Every inch of her was tense, electric, and you could feel it—the way she trembled, the way her breath came too fast, the way her fingers flexed against your skin like she didn’t know if she wanted to fight you or fuck you.

Maybe both.

Your hands roamed, slipping beneath her jersey, tracing the heat of her back. She sucked in a sharp breath as your fingers ghosted over her spine, but she didn’t stop you. If anything, she leaned in harder, her hips pressing down, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shudder.

“I hate you,” she muttered, but her hands were already working at your jersey, pushing it up, fingers skimming the bare skin underneath.

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah? Feels like something else.”

She growled, actually fucking growled, and suddenly she was yanking your jersey over your head, tossing it somewhere behind her. The air was thick, charged, your bodies too close, too desperate, too much.

“Shut up,” she ordered, and then her lips were on your collarbone, her teeth nipping at sensitive skin, her hands gripping your waist like she was trying to anchor herself—like she was afraid if she let go, she’d lose herself completely.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to stop her or let her.

Your laugh died in your throat the second Paige’s fingers dug into your waist, her grip rough, possessive. Her body was hot against yours, muscles tight with lingering adrenaline, her breath ragged as she straddled you. Every inch of her was taut with frustration, with need, with something far more dangerous than simple post-game aggression.

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering, and then your hands were on her hips, squeezing, dragging her closer, feeling the way her thighs flexed beneath your grip.

“Oh, you wanna be a smartass?” Paige growled, her fingers already sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts, snapping the elastic hard against your skin. Her eyes were wild, blown wide with something dark, something hungry.

You grinned, challenging. “What are you gonna do about it?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

A sharp crack rang out as her palm met your thigh, the sting immediate, heat blooming across your skin in its wake. You gasped, your body jerking at the impact, but Paige just smirked, her fingers soothing over the mark she’d left behind.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured, and then her hands were pushing at your shorts, yanking them down with the same force as her frustration. “You know what your problem is?”

You arched a brow, breath hitching as she ran her fingers down the inside of your thigh, deliberately avoiding where you needed her most. “Enlighten me.”

Paige hummed, slow, teasing, dragging her nails lightly across your skin before she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. “You don’t listen.”

And then her teeth were on your neck, biting, claiming, distracting you just long enough for her fingers to slip lower, tracing over your already-soaked underwear.

Your hips jerked up, chasing her touch, but she pulled back, clicking her tongue.

“No,” she said, voice sharp, commanding. “You don’t get to be greedy. Not after that bullshit on the court.”

You groaned, frustration curling tight in your stomach. “Paige—”

Another sharp smack against your thigh. You gasped, your body trembling as the sting settled into a dull, aching heat.

“You’ll take what I give you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss over the mark she’d just made. “And you’ll be grateful for it.”

You barely had time to respond before she was moving again, shifting off you just long enough to grab something from her bag. Your breath caught when you saw it—the familiar black strap, the sleek vibrator she loved to tease you with.

Your pulse spiked.

“Color?” she asked, voice low, dangerous.

You exhaled shakily, your body already aching, already desperate. “Green.”

Paige smirked. “Good.”

And then she was on you again, pressing you down, pinning you beneath her as she reached for the harness, her hands sure, practiced.

“Now,” she murmured, buckling it into place, her blue eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Let’s see if you can pay attention this time.”

You barely had a second to breathe before Paige moved—gripping you with both hands, flipping you over like you weighed nothing, shoving you down onto the couch with a force that stole the air from your lungs.

The cushions barely softened the impact.

Your cheek pressed into the rough fabric, your pulse hammering against it, every nerve in your body already on edge, already buzzing with anticipation.

Then—her hands were on you again.

“On your knees,” she ordered, her voice low, firm—no room for negotiation.

A shiver ran through you at the sheer authority in her tone, and you scrambled to obey, pushing yourself up, ass in the air, legs spread just enough to keep your balance. Paige didn’t hesitate. Her hand came down hard against your ass, the sharp crack echoing through the apartment.

You gasped, your whole body jolting at the impact, the sting radiating outward in a hot, delicious burn.

Paige hummed behind you, pleased. “Fuck, I missed this,” she murmured, her fingers smoothing over the mark she’d just left. “You’re so fucking pretty when you take it.”

Another slap. Harder.

Your hands clenched into fists, your breath stuttering as the pain twisted into something dangerously close to pleasure.

“You like that?” Paige taunted, her palm resting on your already burning skin, her fingers digging in. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, voice unsteady. “Fuck—yes.”

“Good,” she muttered, reaching for something behind you, the couch shifting with her movement. A small click—then the unmistakable slick pop of a cap flipping open. The scent hit first. Sharp, clean, something cool against the heat simmering beneath your skin.

She shifted behind you, knees pressing firm into the cushions, the heat of her body radiating against your back, against the backs of your thighs. Her breath ghosted over your skin—too close, not close enough.

Then—her fingers.

She didn’t give you time to prepare.

A rough fistful of your hair, yanking hard, forcing your spine into an arch so deep your ribs strained, your lips parting in a sharp, unbidden gasp.

The pull was brutal, just shy of painful, the roots of your hair screaming—but the way her grip anchored you, controlled you, owned you—

You swallowed, legs trembling beneath you.

“Stay fucking still,” she warned, pressing the head of the strap between your thighs, teasing, dragging it through your wetness, spreading it around. “I’m gonna ruin this fucking pussy.”

She thrust, pushing in hard, deep, no warning beyond the stretch, the sheer fullness stealing the breath from your lungs.

You whimpered, your arms shaking as you fought to stay upright, your body clenching around the intrusion, the burn sharp, perfect.

Paige groaned behind you, her grip tightening in your hair. “Jesus fuck, you take it so well,” she muttered, rolling her hips, dragging the length in and out, slow at first, teasing, letting you feel every inch.

Then—another crack against your ass. Your moan was shameless, your body jerking forward, only to be pulled back by her grip on your hair.

“Fuck, you sound so good,” Paige rasped, voice thick, wrecked. Her grip on your hip tightened, her fingers digging into your skin like she wanted to brand herself into you. Her thrusts were deep, relentless, knocking the air straight out of your lungs with every snap of her hips. “You like it when I use you like this?”

Like it?

You could barely hold yourself up, fingers curling into the couch, your body betraying you in every possible way—hips arching back without thinking, legs shaking, thighs slick with everything she’d already wrung from you.

Your mind was a haze, a mess of static, the sharp sting of her fingers bruising into your hip mixing with the raw aching stretch between your legs. There was no room for thought, for pride, for anything except the unbearable, devastating need to keep her right fucking there.

She pulled back—almost all the way—leaving you empty, your walls clenching around nothing, a sharp, helpless noise slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Then she slammed back in.

A cry tore from your throat, your body jerking forward with the force of it, pleasure spiking so sharp it hurt.

“Yeah?” she breathed, amusement curling at the edges of her voice, sharp and teasing, like she could feel how fucked out you were, like she loved it. “Fucking say it.”

Say it. Admit it. Let the words fall from your lips and cement exactly how pathetic you were for her.

You clenched your teeth, breath ragged, body trembling beneath her. The stubborn part of you—the part that fought—clawed at your ribs, held your tongue, refused to give her the satisfaction.

Her palm cracked across your ass—sharp, punishing, hot—and your whole body jerked. A strangled whimper escaped you, high and wrecked, and before you could so much as breathe, she yanked your head back by your hair, forcing your spine to arch, forcing your mouth open on a choked gasp.

“You wanna fucking test me?” she growled, voice low, dangerous, pressing in—so deep you felt it in your fucking stomach.

Your pulse slammed in your throat. You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, every muscle locking tight, refusing to give her the satisfaction, refusing—

“I love it,” you gasped, your voice breaking as she spanked you again, making you clench around the strap, making your whole body shake. “Fuck—Paige, please—”

She growled, a low, feral sound, and suddenly her hand left your hip, reaching for the vibrator she’d left on the couch.

“You wanna beg?” she taunted, flicking it on, pressing the toy right against your swollen clit. “Then fucking beg for it.”

Paige yanked your head back by your hair, making your back arch, making your ass push up even higher, exposing everything to her. The stretch in your scalp sent shivers straight down your spine, the sharp pull mixing with the brutal way she was pounding into you. Deep. Hard. No mercy.

“Look at this greedy fucking pussy,” she growled, voice dripping with filth, eyes locked on where she was splitting you open. “You’re dripping all over my cock, fucking yourself on it like a desperate little slut.”

Your moan was ragged, broken, the force of each thrust knocking it right out of your lungs. Your arms trembled, struggling to keep you up, but Paige didn’t give a fuck. She loved seeing you like this—wrecked, used, hers.

She shifted behind you, digging her nails into your hip as she slammed into you harder, deeper, making the couch creak under both of you. Every thrust sent wet, obscene sounds echoing through the apartment, slick, filthy, undeniable.

“Listen to this messy fucking hole,” she hissed, smacking your ass again, fingers digging into the flesh right after. Your skin was burning, tingling, the heat radiating through your whole body. “You love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you? Like a dumb little slut, letting me wreck you.”

You gasped, nodding frantically, not trusting yourself to speak—not when every thrust hit something devastating inside you, making you whimper like you’d lost your mind.

“Use your fucking words,” Paige snapped, yanking your hair harder, forcing you to arch so much you thought you might break in half. “Tell me what you are.”

“Y-Your slut,” you choked out, the words barely making it past your lips before she spanked you again, harder than before, the sting rocketing through you, making your whole body twitch.

“Damn right you are,” she muttered, her breath hot against your ear as she leaned over you, still fucking into you, still ruining you. “So fucking wet. So fucking tight. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice high, needy, desperate.

Paige groaned, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, making you scream. Your arms collapsed, your face pressing into the couch, your body unable to hold itself up anymore—but she didn’t stop.

“Oh, fuck no,” Paige laughed, dark and wicked, reaching for your wrists and yanking them behind your back, pinning them there. “You don’t get to tap out now. I’m not done with you yet.”

You sobbed against the cushions, pleasure and overstimulation crashing over you in waves. The way she had you—spine arched, arms pinned, completely fucking helpless—made your head spin. And then—fuck—she reached for the vibrator again, pressing it right against your clit.

You howled, your whole body jerking at the sudden intensity, at the way she wouldn’t fucking let up.

“Oh, you’re squirting for me, huh?” Paige teased, her voice full of pure fucking ego as she felt the mess dripping down her thighs. “Can’t even handle my cock without making a mess, can you?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out—just a sharp, shuddering breath, a wrecked sound that barely made it past your lips. Your throat felt raw, your body trembling, pushed beyond its limits but still, still chasing more.

Paige’s smirk deepened, her amusement curling at the edges of your desperation. She leaned in close, her breath rolling hot against the sweat-damp skin of your neck. The tip of her nose ghosted over your jaw, her lips brushing the shell of your ear—not a kiss, just enough to taunt, to tease.

“Pathetic little thing,” she murmured, her voice all velvet and cruelty, her words sinking deep into the mess she’d made of you.

Her hips rolled, the strap dragging slow, deliberate, pressing deeper just as the vibrator ground into your swollen, aching clit. The sensation sent a violent tremor through you, your fingers clenching into useless fists, every nerve frayed and screaming.

Paige hummed, pleased.

“What if I just kept you like this?” Her tone was almost thoughtful, but there was something darker beneath it, something that made your stomach flip, made the heat between your legs flare so violently it nearly hurt.

She rocked her hips again, slower this time, grinding the strap deep, her other hand pressing the vibrator harder, no mercy, no relief.

Your back arched, legs twitching, your body caught between pain and unbearable pleasure. Your mouth opened again, but the sound that tore from your throat was nothing human—a choked, broken whimper, your breath catching on the sheer force of it.

Paige’s grip tightened at your hip, steadying you, owning you.

“Kept you bent over,” she murmured, almost absentminded, like she was imagining it, like she was picturing every second of it. “Stuffed full, dripping all over me, shaking so fucking hard you can’t even hold yourself up.”

Your muscles seized, heat crashing through you like a live wire. Your nails scratched at the couch, desperate, useless, but Paige just laughed, feeling the way your body convulsed, the way you clenched down tight around the strap, your walls fluttering, trembling, breaking.

“Go ahead, baby,” she groaned, biting down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. “Cum on my cock. Fucking scream for me.”

Paige laughed as she felt your body convulse beneath her, as she felt your cunt squeeze down around the strap, milking it like it was real, like you couldn’t help yourself. The moment your orgasm tore through you, she didn’t stop—kept fucking into you through it, kept the vibrator locked tight against your clit, holding you down as you twitched and shook, your body betraying you.

You screamed, legs kicking, but Paige just grinned, watching you break.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” she muttered, dragging her lips over your spine, biting down hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to own you. “Look at this greedy little hole—still clenching, still soaking my cock.”

Your brain was fried, barely able to process the overstimulation, your whole body shaking, but Paige didn’t care.

She pulled out slowly, dragging the strap through your swollen, ruined folds, making you feel every inch as she left you empty, used, gaping. Your thighs were soaked, your pussy wrecked, your skin hot and buzzing from the spankings.

Then—another slap, this time right over your dripping folds, her palm catching the mess you’d made.

You jerked, gasping, pleasure and pain crackling through you at once.

Paige chuckled, sliding her fingers through your wetness, gathering it up before shoving them into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself.

“Suck,” she ordered, and you obeyed, wrapping your lips around her fingers, your tongue swirling over them, licking up every drop.

She groaned, watching you, eyes burning.

Paige dragged her fingers from your mouth, slow, deliberate, her touch lingering just long enough to make you chase it—your lips parting instinctively, tongue flicking out as if to pull her back in.

Wet pop.

The slick, obscene sound echoed in the space between you, and Paige exhaled, something dark, something satisfied curling at the edges of her breath.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” she murmured, her voice thick, heavy, sinking straight into your bones. Her fingers brushed over your cheek, smearing the mess she’d just pulled from your mouth, her thumb pressing against your lip, teasing, taunting.

Then—she moved.

Fast. Unyielding.

Hands at your hips, gripping tight, flipping you like you weighed nothing, like you were just another thing for her to use. The cushions barely had time to register your weight before she was spreading you open, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, pushing until there was nothing hidden from her.

You barely processed the shift before cool air hit your soaked, swollen skin, the contrast so sharp it sent a full-body tremor through you.

Your thighs were quivering, slick shining under the dim lights of the apartment, your pussy swollen, throbbing. Paige ran her fingers over it, barely touching, watching the way you twitched, still overstimulated.

“God, you look fucking ruined,” she smirked, gripping the base of the strap, tapping the tip against your still-sensitive clit, making you jump. “Think you can take more?”

Your breath was ragged, your body wrecked, but fuck—fuck, you needed it.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Please.”

Paige’s eyes darkened.

“Then spread those fucking legs wider,” she commanded.

And you did.

Paige smirked as you obeyed, spreading your legs wider, exposing yourself completely—flushed, dripping, needy despite how wrecked you already were. But she didn’t give you anything. Not yet. Instead, she pressed the tip of the strap just against your entrance, teasing, not pushing in, just barely letting you feel the pressure.

Her fingers traced lazy circles over your trembling thighs, pressing down on the spots she’d spanked raw, making you flinch, making you feel every mark she’d left on you.

“You really think you deserve more?” she taunted, dragging the tip of the strap through your soaked folds, never giving you enough. “After that fucking disaster on the court?”

You whimpered, your body twitching, desperate for more friction, but Paige just smirked, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“You cost us that game,” she murmured, her voice low, dangerous. “Didn’t you?”

You swallowed, cheeks burning.

“I—”

Slap.

Paige’s palm met your inner thigh, hard, making you jolt, making you yelp.

“Try again,” she said, her grip on your chin tightening, nails digging in. “Say it.”

You shuddered, your body betraying you, thrumming under her control, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“I—I lost us the game,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige hummed, pleased, dragging the strap down again, teasing, but still not giving you what you wanted. “Louder.”

You whimpered, your face burning hotter.

“I lost us the game,” you gasped, the words tasting like shame, like submission.

Paige grinned. “Yeah, you fucking did.”

And then she thrust in, hard, no warning, splitting you open in one smooth, devastating motion.

You screamed, your back arching, your whole body shaking at the sudden stretch, the sudden fullness.

Paige groaned, rolling her hips, making you feel every inch of it. “That’s what a fucking loser like you deserves, huh?” she muttered, one hand gripping your throat, the other pressing the vibrator right against your clit. “Getting fucked like a brainless little toy.”

You sobbed, your body already teetering on the edge, too much, too fast, but Paige just grinned, watching you struggle, watching you break.

Then—she stopped.

Everything.

No movement. No friction. The vibrator still humming against you, but not pushing enough to get you there.

You whined, your hips bucking, trying to chase it, but Paige held you down, her grip on your throat tightening.

“Oh, no,” she mocked, tilting her head. “You think you’re getting off that easy? After you fucked up my game?”

You gasped, your body shaking, the pleasure so close, so unbearable—

But Paige just smirked, lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “You’re not cumming until I say you can.”

Your breath hitched, your entire body screaming for release, your skin hot, your muscles tight, that unbearable edge turning into something sharp, almost painful. Paige was still inside you, thick and unyielding, the vibrator right there, your clit swollen, throbbing—but she wasn’t moving. Just watching. Waiting.

Fuck. Fuck.

You needed it, needed her to just move, just do something, but the moment your hips jerked forward, chasing friction, Paige’s hand tightened around your throat, pressing down just enough to steal the air from your lungs. Your back arched, your body helpless, caught between pain and pleasure, oxygen slipping from your grasp.

“You don’t listen,” Paige murmured, shaking her head, like she was disappointed in you. “I told you—you don’t get to cum yet.”

Her grip eased up just enough to let you breathe, let you speak.

Your jaw clenched. Your pride flared—some stubborn, defiant part of you that hated being told what to do, even if your body was betraying you, even if you were dripping around her, desperate for more.

Fuck that.

Your hands snapped up, grabbing at her wrist, trying to pry her fingers away from your throat.

Paige’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin.

“Oh, you wanna fight now?” she taunted, laughing at you, mocking you, like you weren’t even a threat, like you were nothing more than her plaything.

Rage flared in your chest, heat curling in your gut, fueled by humiliation, by desperation. Your nails dug into her wrist, and you bucked your hips hard, trying to throw her off, trying to gain some kind of control.

Bad fucking idea.

Paige growled, low and dangerous, and before you could blink, she had your wrists pinned above your head, her weight pressing you down, her breath hot against your ear.

“That was fucking stupid,” she muttered, her voice dark with something dangerous, something predatory. “Now I’m gonna make you beg for it.”

You struggled, tried to fight back, but she was stronger, her grip iron, her body unshakable.

“You love this,” she whispered, grinding her hips down, making the strap press deeper, making you whimper. “You love being under me. Love getting used. Love being my little fucking toy.”

You clenched your teeth, shaking your head, your breath ragged.

“N-No—”

Slap.

Paige’s hand cracked across your face, your head snapping to the side, heat blooming across your cheek.

Your gasp was sharp, shocked, but the second she grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at her, forcing your eyes to lock with hers, your stomach dropped.

Because she knew.

She saw it. Felt it.

The way your pussy clenched around the strap. The way your thighs trembled. The way your lips parted, breath hitching, body betraying you entirely.

Paige smirked.

“Oh, you liked that,” she mocked, pressing the vibrator harder against your clit, making you jolt, making you whimper. “Fucking filthy.”

You hated how right she was.

Hated that you were fucking soaked, your body burning, your pride cracking under the.

She leaned in, her lips brushing your ear, her voice slow, teasing, cruel.

“Say it,” she whispered, rolling her hips, dragging the strap out of you, just enough to make you ache, to make you chase it.

You clenched your teeth, fighting it, fighting her.

She laughed, mocking, pressing the strap just against your entrance, right there, but not inside, not giving you what you needed.

“Say it,” Paige murmured again, her voice slow, dragging over the syllables, rolling them over her tongue like she relished the sound. Like she knew she had you. Like she owned you. “Say you love it.”

Her tone was laced with something dark, something dangerous, but it was her eyes that truly wrecked you—those piercing blue irises locked onto yours, drinking in your desperation, your humiliation, your surrender.

You shook, your entire body trembling, every nerve burning with the unbearable edge she had you dangling over. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, aching, needing her to just move, to just fucking fuck you, but she wouldn’t. Wouldn’t give it to you until you admitted it. Until you broke completely.

Your fists clenched above your head where she still had them pinned, nails biting into your own skin as you tried to fight it, tried to hold on to the last shreds of your pride.

But it was slipping.

You could feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, your body betraying you, betraying everything, and fuck—fuck, she knew. She could see it.

Her smirk deepened, her fingers tightening around your wrists, pressing them harder into the cushions, her body looming over you, suffocating in the best fucking way.

She waited.

She didn’t repeat herself. Didn’t need to.

Your breath hitched, caught in your throat, your thighs quivering where they were still spread wide open for her, still needy, still so fucking wrecked.

And then—

“… I love it.”

The words were barely a whisper, barely more than shame slipping from your lips, and the moment they left your mouth, Paige fucking grinned.

Her fingers released your wrists, only to slide down, wrapping around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur, to make your breath stutter.

“Good fucking girl,” she purred, her voice thick with pride, with ownership, with pure fucking satisfaction.

And then she slammed back in.

Hard.

No warning. No buildup. Just a brutal, unrelenting thrust that forced a wrecked cry from your lips, your back arching, your body convulsing under her.

She didn’t ease you into it. Didn’t fucking care that you were still trembling, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive. She just used you, fucking into you with brutal, merciless strokes, making your breath punch out of you with every thrust.

Her hand tightened around your throat, her other hand grabbing your hip, holding you still, forcing you to take it, to accept it, to submit completely.

“Say it again,” she growled, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice dripping with sin, with dominance, with something feral.

You whimpered, your whole body wrecked, already tipping toward that unbearable edge again, already so fucking close.

Her hips snapped harder, her cock splitting you open, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, ruining you.

“Say it again,” she snarled, her grip on your throat tightening, the vibrator pressing harder against your clit, sending a white-hot shock through you.

Your entire body twitched, fire spreading through your veins, through every nerve—

And then—

“I love it—fuck, I fucking love it.”

Paige moaned, deep and guttural, her hand sliding up, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at her, forcing you to see how much she was enjoying this. How much she loved seeing you like this—ruined, helpless, hers.

“That’s fucking right,” she spat, pounding into you harder, her fingers digging into your cheeks, her nails biting into your skin. “You fucking love it. Love getting used. Love being my little fucking slut.”

You sobbed, pleasure crashing through you, your whole body convulsing as she fucked you through it, as she held you down and forced you to take every second of it.

And fuck—fuck—she wasn’t stopping.

She had you right where she wanted you—under her, wrecked, body trembling, clenching around the strap, soaking both of you. She was fucking you through another orgasm, grip tight on your jaw, vibrator still pressed to your swollen, abused clit, your body unable to do anything but take it.

Her breath hitched, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she watched you fall apart.

“God damn,” Paige grunted, her gaze locked on the way your thighs shook, the way your fingers clawed at her forearms, the couch cushions, fucking air—like there was anywhere to go, like she wasn’t going to hold you right there until you had nothing left.

“You’re so fucking pathetic like this.”

You sobbed, every nerve fried, pleasure tipping past unbearable, white-hot static frying your goddamn brain—

BANG BANG BANG.

Your whole body seized. Paige froze.

For a second, the only sound in the room was the both of you panting—loud, breathless, soaked—

Then—

“HEY!”

A voice from the other side of the door. KK. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whispered, mortified, pure horror crawling up your spine.

Paige, though? She fucking laughed.

“Yeah, we’re serious,” she called out, still breathless, still inside you, still fucking smug. “What do you wan?”

A groan. Another thud of a fist against the door.

“It’s two in the fucking morning! Some of us don’t wanna listen to your freaky-ass sex life all fucking night!”

You covered your face with your hands. Paige grinned, completely unbothered, shifting her hips just enough to make your breath hitch, like this was funny, like this wasn’t the worst moment of your entire fucking life.

“Maybe you should get some fucking earplugs,” she shot back, smirking.

“Or maybe you should go fuck in a soundproof basement like a normal goddamn person!”

Paige snorted, her body shaking from how hard she was holding back laughter.

“Not my fault this bitch is loud as fuck.”

You kicked her.

Hard.

Paige cackled, her whole body shaking on top of you.

“Jesus Christ!” KK groaned, slamming the door one last time before stomping away, voice trailing off as she disappeared down the hall. “Fucking lesbians, man…”

Silence.

Then, Paige propped herself up on her elbows, grinning down at you, still breathless, still flushed, still inside you.

“Well,” she smirked.

She rocked her hips—slow, teasing, devastating.

“Where were we?”

A beat.

Then, from the depths of your absolute humiliation, you mustered the last bit of strength in your body—

“KK! YOU’RE GAY TOO, BITCH!”

Silence.

A door slammed down the hall.

Paige lost her shit, laughing so hard she actually collapsed on top of you, her whole body shaking, still breathless, still inside you.

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. “I hate you.”

Paige propped herself up, still grinning like an absolute psycho, eyes gleaming.

“No, you don’t.”

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goldfades · 3 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐓 ꩜ paige bueckers ⁵

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

ᝰ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.1k

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you were her rookie — quiet and a little in awe of paige bueckers. she was your star junior teammate with a backwards cap and too much charm. it started platonic until it didn’t. after last year’s final four heartbreak, everything shifted. now it’s april, you’ve just won a natty, and paige is drunk, high, and very, very in love with you at a team party. the only problem? you’re still supposed to be a secret.

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | college basketball setting, secret relationship, alcohol + weed use (crossfaded paige), fluff, heavy pining, touchy!drunk!paige, reader trying to be subtle and failing, teammates might be catching on, one kiss (hidden), a lot of love and a lot of chaos <3

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | shessss baaackkk, i missed writing for paigey poo so here's a quick fic. this was requested by this anon, hope you enjoy!

It started out simple.

You were her rookie. A wide-eyed freshman dropped into the chaos of Storrs basketball, figuring out where to stand during stretches and how not to trip over the Gatorade cart during timeouts. Paige was already a phenomenon by then — two years in, all-world talent, face of the program, eyes-on-you-every-second kind of presence. She played with the pressure of a nation and still walked into practice with her socks mismatched and a bag of fruit snacks in her hoodie pocket. Somehow, she made it all look easy.

And you? You were just trying not to drown.

She took to you fast. Teased you early and often, slung her arm around your shoulders on your third day like you’d been teammates for years. She gave you nicknames that stuck. Talked to you during warmups. Waited for you after practice. It was friendly. Casual. She was just that kind of person — magnetic and warm in that disarming, dangerous way.

Everyone loved Paige. You just happened to love her a little faster.

Still, it was platonic. At first.

She was the sun in your solar system, but you kept your orbit safe. You watched her from across the locker room and let yourself be grateful for proximity. For inside jokes and shared playlists and the way she always passed you the ball when she didn’t have to. It was enough, because it had to be.

But things shifted after the loss.

Final Four. One game short. You still couldn’t say the name of the team that beat you without feeling your throat close up. The locker room had been silent after — just the sound of jerseys being peeled off and someone’s quiet tears. Paige had sat next to you, hair still soaked with sweat, knees bouncing in frustration.

She didn’t say anything that night. Just sat there until the room was empty and you were left alone with the noise of your own failure.

That offseason, everything changed — the team, the training, and the two of you. Paige was different. Not colder, just sharper. Focused in a way that felt like a countdown ticking in the background of everything she did. You became part of her routine — not because you were trying, but because she pulled you into it. Early mornings. Late-night shooting sessions. Recovery days where you lay side by side in the training room with matching ice packs and silence thick between you.

There was a night in June where you both stayed late. The gym was mostly dark except for the soft glow above the hoop. She was shooting free throws in a hoodie that swallowed her frame, and you were half-asleep on the sideline, watching her without meaning to.

She looked over. “You good?”

You nodded. “Always.”

And then she smiled — not the cocky, performative kind, but the rare one. The one that felt like it was just for you.

You don’t remember who moved first. Or who touched who. Just the dizzy, surprising closeness. The way your hands found her hoodie, and hers found the back of your neck. The kiss — soft, unsure, not yet brave enough to mean what it meant.

But it meant everything.

By July, it was official — just not public. There were no Instagram posts, no pre-season whispers. Just a quiet understanding, solidified by pinky promises and looks that lasted too long.

You wanted to keep it sacred. She wanted to keep it safe.

Mostly, you both agreed on one thing: no distractions.

Not this year.

You’d watched the trophy get handed to someone else. Felt the sting of a season ending in silence. Paige had told you, with eyes fierce and voice steady, “We’re not losing again.” And she meant it.

So the relationship — this thing between you — became a tucked-away part of your lives. Hidden, but not small. Private, not pretend.

Azzi figured it out first. She always did. She caught the way Paige looked at you during team dinners, like she couldn’t help it. Said nothing at first, just raised her eyebrows and smiled like she knew a secret. KK caught on later, after a particularly reckless scrimmage where you dove for a ball and Paige went full linebacker to break your fall. Geno — well, Geno walked into the film room one day and caught you both half-asleep on the couch, limbs tangled, her head resting on your chest.

No words. Just a long sigh. A muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

But he didn’t say anything to the team. Didn’t ask you to stop. Just stared at Paige for a little too long during the next film session and offered you a longer leash on your shooting days. You assumed it was his version of a blessing.

Still, you stayed quiet. For the team. For the goal. For the dream you’d both been chasing since the first day of summer workouts.

Now, the dream was real.

The championship banner was hanging. The nets were cut. The confetti had been swept away and turned into keepsake Ziplocs by the equipment staff. There were bruises on your knees and polish chipped from your nails, but there was a ring on your finger and a medal around your neck.

And there was Paige — across the room in a backwards snapback and a net draped around her neck like a trophy chain.

She looked like every bad decision you’d ever want to make.

Loud. Wild. Free.

She wasn’t drinking (yet) — none of you really were, not officially — but she had the swagger of someone who’d just stolen a whole city and didn’t plan to give it back. She was running the beer pong table with Azzi, yelling Drake lyrics and calling herself “Champagne Papi” like it was her God-given title. Every time she made a shot, she shouted “Wet like I’m Book!” and turned to look for you.

Your stomach flipped each time.

You tried to play it cool. Sat on the kitchen counter with KK and a cup of something citrusy, talking about nothing. Let her do her thing. Let the adrenaline run its course.

But you could feel it in your chest. The pull.

She caught your eye once through the crowd and tilted her chin in that way she always did — subtle, but claiming. You. Mine. Us.

You ducked your head before anyone could see you smile.

It was still a secret. But it didn’t feel small anymore.

It felt like something breaking open. Something bright. Something inevitable.

It was all fun and fire until Paige got her hands on the alcohol and weed.

You weren’t even sure when it happened — one minute she was steady-handed, sharp-eyed, yelling over music with her usual borderline-annoying charisma. The next, she was laughing so hard she was folded over a beanbag, clinging to a bottle of vodka like it was holy, and insisting to anyone who’d listen that “net necklaces are gonna be, like, a THING. I'm starting a movement.”

You were sitting on the floor beside her, back against the couch, letting the night pulse around you. Someone was playing trap edits of early 2000s bangers through a Bluetooth speaker. Someone else was trying to stack red solo cups into a pyramid on the kitchen island. Azzi had long since disappeared upstairs with a pack of shooters and a speaker under one arm.

You were just hoping no one noticed the way Paige’s thigh was pressed flush against yours. Or the fact that her fingers had found your wrist twenty minutes ago and hadn’t let go.

Not that she was being subtle.

“Baby,” she said suddenly, leaning into your shoulder with a weight that was more affection than balance, “tell them about how I scored nineteen in the second half even though I got kneed in the stomach. Tell them. You were there.”

You blinked. Swallowed a laugh. “That’s not exactly how it happened.”

“Okay but—you saw it. I was limping. I was, like, emotionally bruised.”

“You literally waved off the trainer and flexed at the camera.”

“Yeah, after I cried internally.”

She was completely serious. Glossy-eyed, flushed cheeks, cap still backwards and askew like she’d forgotten it was on. The net around her neck had frayed slightly at the bottom, and she kept absentmindedly fingering the knots while she talked. It felt like the perfect metaphor — tangled, over-the-top, a little frayed, but absolutely her.

She shifted again, resting her head against your shoulder now, her voice dropping to something quieter. “You looked real pretty after the game. Like, the prettiest. Even with your mascara on your chin.”

You stiffened slightly. “Paige.”

“What?” Her voice was sing-song now. “I can say that. We won. You’re my good luck charm. My... talisman.”

“Talisman?” you echoed, eyebrows raised.

She grinned, loopy and pleased with herself. “My enchanted girlfriend. It’s giving fantasy novel. It’s giving—we ride at dawn.”

Someone snorted nearby. KK, probably. You didn’t turn to check.

Instead, you glanced down at Paige, her legs stretched out across the carpet, the hem of her shirt hitched up slightly from where she kept fidgeting. Her arm had migrated from your wrist to your waist, loose and lazy, and her fingers were now hooked in one of your belt loops like she was anchoring herself to you. Every now and then, she’d give a gentle tug, like she was making sure you were still there.

You were fairly certain she wasn’t aware of how obvious she was being. Or maybe she was. Maybe she just didn’t care anymore — not after the trophy, the press conferences, the adrenaline still wearing off in slow waves.

“I think everyone’s too drunk to notice,” she whispered after a moment, cheek brushing your jaw.

You inhaled sharply. “That’s not the point.”

She looked up at you, blinking wide, adoring eyes. “I love you.”

Your stomach flipped. “Paige.”

“I do. I love you and I don’t care if people know. We won. You can’t get mad at me tonight.”

You glanced around, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement, every sound. KK was across the room deep in conversation with one of the managers. Someone was shouting over a game of flip cup. Azzi was still upstairs. You leaned your head closer to hers, trying to sound stern, but your voice came out softer than intended.

“You’re not in trouble. Just… maybe stop yelling that you’re in love with me across the room.”

“I didn’t yell,” she said indignantly.

“You absolutely yelled.”

“Fine.” She nuzzled into your side. “Then I’m whispering it now.”

You sighed, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

She stayed like that for a while — curled up beside you, tipsy and affectionate, talking in circles about the game and the after-party and how she was convinced her net-chain idea was actually kind of brilliant. She leaned into every touch. Her fingers brushed your knee, your hip, your collarbone — innocent spots, but familiar, unthinking. Like she was trying to memorize you all over again.

Someone passed by and clapped her on the shoulder, offering a half-hug and a “Hell of a game, Bueckers.” She smiled and thanked them, but didn’t move away from you. Didn’t even blink.

Eventually, the party thinned out. The music quieted to a low pulse, and the chaos of earlier mellowed into a lazy buzz of laughter and half-finished drinks.

You were still on the floor when Azzi returned, holding a bottle of Gatorade and one eyebrow arched.

“You two good?” she asked, not even bothering to hide the smirk.

“We’re great,” Paige chirped, already half-asleep against your shoulder. “Better than great. We’re champions. Did you know we’re champions?”

Azzi snorted. “No way.”

“Deadass.”

You shot Azzi a look — somewhere between pleading and I will kill you if you say something. She raised both hands in mock surrender and drifted off toward the couch.

Eventually, you helped Paige up — a slow, giggly process that involved her pretending to be a baby deer on ice skates and you dragging her by the elbow.

She looped both arms around your shoulders once she was standing, the net bouncing against your chest.

“We did it,” she whispered, her lips brushing your ear.

You pulled her closer. “Yeah. We did.”

And you let her kiss you then — just for a second, just tucked into the corner where no one could see. It tasted like orange Gatorade and celebration and something that had been waiting for months to breathe.

You didn’t know what came next. Didn’t know how much longer this secret could stay secret, or if you even wanted it to anymore.

But for now, there was only this.

The win. The night. The girl in a backwards cap and a fraying net, clinging to you like a lifeline.

And love — loud, wild, inevitable — beating out its rhythm against your ribs.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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