jijiluvr

[jijiluvr]

[jijiluvr]

hyunjin and crying lightning by arctic monkeys yes thank you.

[jijiluvr]

hotel ii. — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x notre dame!reader (+ slight olivia miles x reader)

synopsis: after a win against uconn, you find yourself caught in a tug-of-war between your on and off ex and one of your biggest rivals, who you simply can’t stay away from no matter how hard you try.

warnings: angst. hints of guilt tripping and controlling behaviour. flashback. reader is a little stupid. no smut (yet)

word count: 4.6k

note: i actually hate this chapter ngl. it feels like such a filler, even tho it’s important to the backstory?? anyway next chapter will be sm better (and nastier) i promise.

The first thing you noticed when you stirred awake was warmth—solid, steady warmth that wasn't yours. The second was the slow, even rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek, the rhythmic beat of a heart against your ear. For a moment, still tangled in the haze of sleep, it felt... nice. Safe.

Then it hit you.

Your eyes snapped open, breath catching as you took in the sight in front of you. Paige was still fast asleep, her arm slung loosely around your waist, her face relaxed in a way you rarely saw—unguarded, peaceful. Her blonde hair was a mess, strands falling across her forehead, and the faintest traces of last night's touches lingered on her lips, somehow still slightly swollen from kissing you senseless.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of everything. The cool air against your bare skin where the sheets had slipped, the dull ache of muscles used in ways that had nothing to do with basketball, the way your body still felt Paige's hands on you like a ghost of last night.

You shouldn't have been here.

The thought sent a jolt through your limbs, panic curling around your ribs. This—whatever this was—wasn't supposed to feel like this. You were used to Paige in fleeting moments, stolen touches, short-lived memories, rushed hookups fueled by competition and adrenaline. Not... this. Not waking up wrapped in her arms like you belonged there.

Before you could think about it too much, you carefully slipped out from under her hold, freezing when she stirred slightly. But Paige didn't wake—just shifted onto her back with a sleepy sigh, lips parting slightly as she settled again.

Your chest tightened, but you shoved it down.

Grabbing your clothes, you dressed as quickly and quietly as possible, slipping on your sneakers and reaching for your phone. Your fingers hesitated on the door handle for half a second before you shook the thought away. No goodbyes. No second-guessing.

You slipped out, shutting the door softly behind you.

The hotel hallway was eerily quiet at this hour, but you kept your head down, walking with purpose despite the way your stomach churned. Every step felt heavier than it should, like guilt was trying to drag you back, but you didn't stop until you reached the parking lot.

Once you were inside your car, doors locked, you finally let out the groan that had been building in your throat, your head dropping against the steering wheel.

Your mind replayed it all—the way Paige had kissed you, slow and deep, like she had all the time in the world. The way she had whispered against your skin, teasing but sincere. The way she had looked at you afterward, something soft and open in her eyes that made you want to run.

And so you did.

With a deep breath, you started the engine and pulled out of the lot, the cold morning air doing little to cool the heat still simmering under your skin.

You didn't know if you regretted it. But you did know that facing Olivia was going to be a whole different problem.

You took another step into the room, your heart pounding in your chest like a ticking clock counting down to an inevitable explosion.

Olivia sat on the edge of your bed, her posture rigid, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned white. She was staring straight at you, her dark eyes burning with something unreadable—something controlled, but barely.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating. Then, finally, she spoke. "Where you been?" Her voice was quiet, but sharp—like a knife wrapped in silk.

Your throat tightened. She already knew. There was no way she didn't. But she wanted to hear it from you. Wanted to watch you squirm under the weight of your own admission.

You inhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to stay loose. "Out."

A sharp scoff left her lips, her head tilting slightly as she studied you. She looked almost amused, like she couldn't believe you had the audacity to play this game. "Out," she repeated, rolling the word on her tongue like it disgusted her.

Your stomach twisted.

She let the silence hang between you before standing, slow and deliberate, closing some of the distance. The tension in her frame was palpable—like a coil wound too tight, ready to snap.

"So, who were you 'out' with?" she asked, her voice deceptively even.

You swallowed. "Liv—"

"Nah, say it." Her brows knitted challengingly, her fingers flexing at her sides. "Say her name."

You held her stare, unwilling to look away, but you didn't answer.

The muscle in Olivia's jaw ticked, and suddenly, she was chuckling—low and bitter, the kind that wasn't really laughter at all.

"You know, I sat here and waited for you," she said, shaking her head. "Gave you the benefit of the doubt. Thought maybe—just maybe—you'd come back here and at least be honest with me." Her voice wavered slightly, just for a second, before she forced herself to steel it again. "But nah. You just walk in here with that look on your face—like you don't feel even a little bad about it."

Your brows furrowed, frustration creeping into your veins. "What exactly am I supposed to feel bad about?"

Olivia's nostrils flared. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am," you shot back, voice rising. "We're not even together, Olivia."

Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to argue, but she hesitated. Then, as if snapping back into place, her expression hardened, her eyes scanning over you—taking in the mess of your hair, the faded smudges of Paige's touch along your neck. Her fingers curled into fists.

"I bet she loved that, huh?" she said, voice thick with something dangerous. "That you 'love it over there'?" She quoted.

You sucked in a sharp breath, something twisting painfully in your chest. "Don't do that."

"We can fix this."

You blinked. "What?"

"We can still work this out," she said, gaze flickering between your eyes like she was searching for something—anything—to hold on to. "I know we can."

Your stomach churned again. This was the moment you should feel relief, right? This was what you had wanted for so long—for Olivia to finally let down her walls, to finally stop running from you.

So why did it feel like something in you was pulling away instead?

"As long as you promise to never see her again."

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren't even sure you wanted to make things work with Olivia anymore. The constant back and forth, the push and pull—it exhausted you. But the thought of never seeing Paige again, never hearing her voice, never seeing the sparkle in her eyes, never feeling her touch—

It struck you like a blow to the chest.

And Olivia saw it.

She saw the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way your lips parted but no words came out. For the first time all night, she looked afraid.

Olivia stood still for a moment, her face a mask of mixed emotions—anger, hurt, and disbelief. You could see her struggling to reconcile what was happening, but she didn't say anything. She just watched you, the silence between you both thick, suffocating.

Then, without warning, she took a step toward you.

You didn't back away. Your feet felt like they were rooted to the floor as she came closer, and before you could think, her hands were gently cupping your face, her fingers warm against your skin, tracing the contours of your jaw. Her touch was careful, almost hesitant—as though she was afraid you might slip away if she wasn't careful enough.

Her gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you couldn't look away. There was a vulnerability in her eyes you hadn't seen before, a desperate plea hidden behind the walls she'd built up.

"Please," she whispered, the word catching in her throat. "Don't walk away from me like this. We can fix it, baby, we can make it work—I swear. Just... don't do this."

You didn't respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. There was a burning ache in your chest, and the way her hands trembled ever so slightly as she held your face only made it harder.

Slowly, Olivia leaned in, pressing soft kisses to your face—your forehead, the tip of your nose, your cheek—her lips lingering in places that felt too intimate for everything that had happened. The closeness, the familiarity, felt like an anchor, pulling you back into the past, to all the moments when things had been simpler, when you hadn't known the weight of this choice.

She kissed you again, more desperately this time, her lips brushing over your mouth, a soft, lingering press that left you breathless.

But you couldn't do it. Not again.

You pulled back slightly, your hands coming up to gently push hers away, feeling a pang of sadness when she didn't resist. Olivia sighed, her eyes a little misty, but she didn't argue, didn't try to force you to stay. Instead, she stepped back, running a hand over her hair, frustration clear in the tightness of her jaw.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice breaking just enough for you to hear it. "I don't want it to end like this."

For a moment, you just stood there, watching her, unsure what to say. The pain of the situation—the rawness of everything—was too much, too overwhelming. The world outside your apartment seemed to fade away, and in that small, quiet space, it felt like the last thread of something between you was finally unraveling.

"I'm sorry too, Liv," you said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. "But this shit isn't healthy and we both gotta let it go."

With a heavy, final breath, Olivia nodded, stepping back one last time. The door closed behind her softly, leaving you standing in the silence of your own thoughts, your chest aching in the emptiness she left behind.

And so you stood there in the quiet of your room, chest heavy and heart torn, wondering if you'd made the right choice. The weight of it all pressed down on you, the end of something that was never really meant to be, and yet still felt like a loss.

You sank down onto your bed, your body aching with the exhaustion of the emotional turmoil. But despite the emptiness in your chest, despite the tears you could feel threatening to spill, there was a sense of clarity.

Over the next few days, you couldn't stop thinking about her. Paige was everywhere. Every corner of your mind, every inch of your body seemed to ache with the memory of her. Her hair—so perfectly tousled, blonde strands framing her face just right. The way it smelled, like a mix of fresh shampoo and something more intoxicating, like the scent of the air just before it rains. You could still feel the warmth of her touch, the way her fingertips had tingled against your skin, the nails pressing into your back, sending electricity shooting through you.

Her eyes. Those damn baby blue eyes. No matter where you searched, you had never seen anything like them before—bright, curious, yet so dark and hungry. Every glance felt like she was peering into the very depths of you, knowing things about you you hadn't even realized yet. And the way her gaze softened one moment, only to turn intense the next. You could still feel the weight of it, even now, as if it was still following you around.

The image of her—the girl you'd walked out on more than once—was imprinted in your mind, and there was no way to escape it. She had been on your mind since you'd left her hotel room, and now it was starting to feel like you had made a terrible mistake all over again. Regret was seeping into your thoughts. The way you'd left, without a single word, no text, no call—it felt like a betrayal now. You had walked out on her, and now the guilt gnawed at you every waking moment. She hadn't reached out either. You figured that she simply didn't care much—after all, it was just a casual thing, right? But the more you thought about it, the more it felt like self-sabotage. Something you were a pro at.

Even in practice, it was all you could think about. Every shot you tried to make, every pass, every dribble felt off. Your mind was miles away, far from the court, lost in thoughts of her. Your teammates were noticing too, whispering to each other in hushed voices as they glanced your way. You tried to focus, to shake the thoughts of Paige out of your head, but it felt impossible.

Then, when you finally had a moment to yourself and picked up your phone, the universe seemed to taunt you. Your social media feeds were flooded with pictures and videos of her—Paige smiling at some event, making a joke on a court, laughing with her teammates, several sports channels posting about her. Your heart twisted each time you saw her face, the way she glowed on screen. A pang of jealousy hit you too. How could she be out there, living her life, so effortlessly happy, when all you could think about was her?

You found yourself scrolling through her pages again and again, watching her smile, seeing her live her life without you in it. It was like an ache you couldn't ignore like you had been doing for so long. How did you walk away from someone like her?

It made sense in your head and despite that, you couldn't stop wondering if she even cared about you at all—if she'd cared about any of it. That was the worst part—because now, all you could think about was how to fix it and you had no idea if it was even worth it.

It had been a week. A week of silence, of uncertainty, of trying to push past the thoughts that refused to leave your head. No matter how much you tried to focus on basketball, on your life outside of Paige, you just couldn't shake her.

She was everywhere, in everything. In the music playing through your headphones, in the scent of someone's perfume as they walked past you on campus, in the depth of your camera roll, in the way your phone screen felt too empty without her name lighting it up.

And now, finally, you were willing to do something about it.

You stared at your phone, fingers hesitating over the screen before finally tapping her name. You nibbled on your bottom lip, heart pounded in your chest as the call attempted to go through. But the line didn't even ring—it went straight to voicemail.

You frowned, confusion settling in as you opened her contact and tried again. Straight to voicemail.

A sinking feeling grew in your stomach as you switched to text.

You: can we talk?

The message never sent. Instead, a small red exclamation mark appeared next to it, accompanied by the gut-wrenching realization: Message Not Delivered.

Blocked.

You blinked at the screen with parted lips as if willing it to change, as if there had been some mistake. But no—Paige had cut you off completely.

A heavy weight settled in your chest, defeat washing over you like ice-cold water. For a moment, you sat there, gripping your phone tightly, fingers twitching as if you could somehow undo the damage that had already been done.

She was actually done with you this time.

The thought burned—made you wanna throw up and for a second, you considered giving up. Maybe this was what you deserved for walking out on her, for leaving without a single word. But the thing about you—when you wanted something, when you cared about something—you didn't just let it slip through your fingers.

So, you tried a different route.

It wasn't hard to figure out her schedule—after all, UConn's games were public, and you knew Paige well enough to remember or at least guess how her daily routine went. The real challenge was finding the right opportunity, the perfect timing that didn't interfere with your own demanding schedule.

And when you finally found the opening, you made your decision. You impulsively booked a flight to Storrs, Connecticut.

The moment the confirmation email hit your inbox, nerves slammed into you full force. The idea of showing up unannounced, of seeing Paige after all this time—after she had clearly chosen to cut you out—was enough to make your stomach twist.

Would she even listen to you? You didn't know. But after everything, the least she deserved was a face-to-face apology.

Before making the trip, you reached out to someone you knew you could trust. Someone who had been there since the very beginning.

You: Aubs, I kinda need your help.

The response was almost immediate.

AubDawg: With what?

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing out exactly what you needed to say.

You: I need to see Paige. Like I really need to talk to her.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

AubDawg: You realize she's mad at you, right?

You swallowed hard. Of course you knew. You had felt the weight of it every single day.

You: I know. That's why I need to do it in person.

The pause this time was longer. A minute passed. Then another.

Then finally—

AubDawg: Fine. But I'm not promising anything.

The plan was simple.

You'd fly in, keep your presence quiet, and attend one of UConn's home games disguised—or at least, as discreet as possible. A hat, a hoodie, glasses, something to keep you hidden in the crowd. You just needed to see her, to get through to her somehow.

The anxiety built up as you boarded the flight, as you landed in Connecticut, as you made your way to the campus you were all too familiar with.

It felt surreal, being back here. Walking past familiar buildings, recognizing places where you had spent hours practicing, laughing, learning. Memories surfaced with every step, each one pressing into your chest like an old ache.

You tried not to focus on that.

Aubrey met you at the arena just before the game, her arms crossed as she gave you a look that was somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement.

"You're insane," she muttered.

You smirked, pulling the brim of your hat lower over your face. "Call it insanity, call it dedication. Same thing."

She sighed. "You sure about this?"

"Nope,” you admitted, popping your ‘p’, “But I guess there’s not much to lose if I don’t try.

Aubrey studied you for a moment before shaking her head. "C’mon. I got you a seat where you won't get caught."

Your stomach twisted as you followed her inside.

You weren't sure how this was going to go. You weren't sure if Paige would even give you the time of day.

The energy inside Gampel Pavilion was electric. The air buzzed with cheers, the pounding of basketballs against hardwood, the screech of sneakers cutting across the court. UConn was locked in a battle, but you weren't paying attention to the score.

Your eyes were locked on one person.

She was poetry in motion, every movement sharp and precise, every shot falling effortlessly. Even from your seat—hidden beneath the brim of your cap, swallowed in a hoodie pulled high around your face and through your glasses—you could see the fire in her eyes.

She played with a vengeance. And you had a sick feeling in your stomach that you were part of the reason why.

You watched as she drained a three-pointer, barely flinching as the crowd erupted. Watched the way her jaw clenched, the way her muscles tensed with an unspoken frustration.

She was mad. Not just at the opposing team. Not just at the game.

But at you.

Your fingers curled into fists inside your hoodie pocket. Had she always looked this good when she played? Or were you just now letting yourself see her again?

The final buzzer sounded. UConn had won, but Paige hardly looked satisfied as she stormed off the court, towel draped over her shoulders, sweat glistening under the bright lights. She barely celebrated with her team, barely acknowledged the noise around her.

And now came the hardest part.

Getting to her.

You waited. Let the crowd thin out, let the team disappear into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. Aubrey had already told you to meet her at one of the back exits, where the players sometimes slipped out after games.

You pulled your hoodie tighter around you, moving swiftly through the hallways that you had once walked. Some things never changed— bound to stay the same as they’ve always been.

"What are you doing here?"

Her voice stopped you cold.

Paige stood just outside the exit, her duffle bag slung over one shoulder, her body still humming with adrenaline. She was fresh out of the locker room, her damp blonde hair pushed back, her skin flushed from the game.

She looked pissed and your heart lurched.

You took a cautious step forward. "Paige, I—"

"No." She held up a hand, her jaw tight. "You don't get to just show up here like this."

Your mouth went dry.

She scoffed, shaking her head as she took you in—your face, your posture, the nervous tension rolling off of you.

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

"I had to talk to you," you said quickly, voice almost breathless.

Paige let out a bitter laugh. "Had to talk to me?" She took a step closer, and you caught the flicker of something beneath her anger—hurt. "You disappear for almost weeks. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing. And now, suddenly, you have something to say?"

You swallowed hard. "I was scared, okay?" you replied, a subtle crack in your voice. "I—"

Paige let out a sharp breath, running a hand through her hair. "Scared of what, exactly?"

Of you. Of what this could be. Of feeling something real. Of the past.

You struggled to find the words, but Paige shook her head.

"Nah. You don't get to come here and give me half-assed answers," she snapped. "You don't get to just waltz back into my life after—" She exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "Do you have any idea how much it fucking sucked to wake up and realize you were gone again? To realize I was stupid enough to actually think..."

She trailed off, lips pressing together like she couldn't let herself finish. Guilt churned inside you.

"I fucked up," you admitted, voice softer now. "Big time. I know I did. And I don't expect you to forgive me just because I flew here. But I just needed to see you. I needed you to know that I regret it. All of it."

Paige's eyes searched yours, stormy and unreadable.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then she let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head. "You really think you can just show up, say sorry, and I'll just—what? Act like it never happened?"

You stiffened at her words, but before you could respond, she continued.

"I'm not doing this again," she muttered, adjusting her duffle bag over her shoulder. "I'm not letting you back in just so you can run the second shit gets too real."

You felt a pang in your chest. "Paige—"

"Nah," she cut you off, eyes flashing. "You don't get to 'Paige' me right now."

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. For the first time since you arrived, you wondered if this had been a mistake.

Paige exhaled sharply, glancing away for a moment before shaking her head, almost to herself. When she looked back at you, there was something raw in her expression, something you hadn't seen before.

"Go home," she said quietly.

And just like that, she walked past you, disappearing into the night. Leaving you standing there, feeling more lost than ever.

july 27th 2021

The room felt emptier than it should.

Your half of the dorm had been stripped down to the essentials—no posters, no clothes spilling out of drawers, no sneakers tossed lazily near the door. Just a few boxes stacked near the bed, waiting to be carried out.

You were crouched in front of your dresser, grabbing the last of your things, when you heard the door open.

You didn’t have to look to know it was Paige.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you packed away the final remnants of your life at UConn.

“You’re actually leaving.” Her voice was even, but you caught the slight edge underneath it.

You huffed a quiet laugh, stuffing a hoodie into the last box. “Well, yeah. We’ve been over this.”

“Yeah, I know.” Paige crossed the room, dropping onto her bed, elbows resting on her knees. “Doesn’t make it any less shitty.”

You sighed, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of your own bed. For the first time that night, you looked at her.

She looked… frustrated. Sad, maybe. But mostly frustrated.

“So… Notre Dame, huh?” she muttered, thrumming her fingers against her knee.

You nodded. “They want me.”

Paige’s jaw tensed. “UConn wanted you.” ‘I want you’ , but she doesn’t say that

You exhaled sharply. “UConn wants you. You’re the star.” Your voice held no venom, not a trace of envy.

Paige’s gaze snapped up, something flickering in her blue eyes.

“You know that’s not why I’m leaving,” you said, voice softer now, less defensive. “It’s not about you.”

Paige scoffed, shaking her head. “Feels like it.”

That caught you off guard.

You stared at her, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

It had always been complicated with Paige—this thing between you, this unspoken something that neither of you were ever brave enough to name. Maybe it was easier that way. Or maybe it was just safer.

You swallowed. “Paige—”

“Don’t.” She leaned back on her hands, tilting her head toward the ceiling like she was trying to keep her emotions in check. “You already made up your mind.”

Silence settled between you again. The worst part? She was right.

You were leaving. And she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You sighed and stood up, grabbing the last few things off your desk. When you turned, Paige was already up, crossing the room to the half-filled box by your bed.

She didn’t say anything—just started gathering loose items and placing them inside.

You watched her for a second. There was no irritation in her movements, no unnecessary force. Just quiet resignation.

You didn’t stop her.

For the next few minutes, neither of you spoke. The room was filled with nothing but the occasional rustle of packing and the weight of everything left unsaid.

Eventually, Paige picked up a framed photo from your nightstand—the two of you from freshman year, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, grinning after a big win.

Her thumb brushed over the glass. “You taking this?”

You hesitated, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know yet.”

She nodded once, then set it gently inside the box.

And that was that. No more arguing. No more trying to change your mind. Just Paige, quietly helping you pack up your life—piece by piece, moment by moment.

taglist (if you’d like to be removed from the series taglist LMK i promise i won’t be offended!) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @tndaqlwifwy @ohmybueckers @yailtsv @omg-imtumbling @xxloveralways14 @cowboylikeavaa @prettygirl-gabi @itsstavy13 @kaelaheartsyou @jnkbueckers @shootingstarrrrr @melpthatsme @sierrale8ne @unadulteratedcyclepaper @janessabaker @rosemariiaa

[jijiluvr]

that femme who’s constantly smoking weed will definitely fix you btw