jordisols

[jordisols]

[jordisols]

courtside // paige bueckers

summary: request fill:) you attend one of your girlfriend’s games in hopes of surprising her, by watching her play live for the first time. though when the jumbotron catches you courtside, you both learn that you’ll have to be more discreet if you want to remain private.

warnings: ass grabbing, alludes to sex

a/n: wiping the dust off my drafts & writing skills…

✧

december 7, 2024

the barclays center was packed with energy this saturday morning.

the stadium is sold out with thousands of fans bathed in navy blue & white or the opposing team’s red & black. the university of connecticut faces louisville in the women’s champions classic, currently holding a 20 point lead with the game 50-30.

you wouldn’t previously consider yourself a fan of women’s basketball, or sports in general. aside from the olympics, you hardly tuned in to watch athletic competitions of any kind.

until you saw her.

number 5, senior guard of the huskies. the young woman responsible for nearly half the points illuminating on the scoreboard. driven, supportive, unstoppable on the court, and arguably the best player in women’s college basketball at the moment. though it wasn’t her impressive game that drew you to her. it was her charm, her character, and a certain irresistibility about her.

you came across her social media one day, and like many others, found yourself pressing the ‘follow’ button atop her page. though contrary to most, and to your surprise, she reciprocated the action shortly after. somewhere in between then and now, the two of you got especially close. during late night video calls, pre-game messages, and post-show evenings in your high rise apartment.

those moments led you here, sitting pretty in floor seats at the blonde’s game.

you watch as jana dribbles the ball from half court to the three point line, fakes out a louisville player and then pretends to shoot. she passes the ball to azzi, who catches it with ease, stepping back as the ball leaves her fingers and flows through the net with a sharp swish!

the shot clock rings with vigor, signaling the end of the first half. the sound is soon drowned out by the cheers of fans and slapping of noisemakers as the players from each team clear the court.

a short cheer leaves your lips, hands clapping as the star-studded team makes makes their way past your seat and to the coaching staff.

your chin lifts to watch the players as they lightly jog in front of your row, a few of them giving quick waves as they make their way past. you spot a familiar pair of blonde braids near the back of the line, and just as she passes you, her eyes remains focused on her teammates ahead.

your gaze nor smile falters though, because you’re well aware she felt your eyes on her, that is if the smile she’s fighting as she makes it to geno is any constellation.

you and paige had the discussion of keeping your relationship private the minute you starting dating. you were both gradually becoming high profile people in your respective industries, and wanted the focus to be what you do during the day rather than who you did at night.

you first gained traction after your role in clueless: the musical. even more so following the conclusion of mean girls on broadway prior to the pandemic. now, you’re building your career as a actress and singer outside of the theatre, soon releasing your first album.

for paige, she’s had eyes on her since she was a freshman in high school. she’s had both her proudest and most difficult moments broadcasted to tens of thousands of people. and now, she has millions watching her, waiting for her next move on and off the court.

she doesn’t mind the attention, she enjoys it most of the time, but she shares so much of herself with everyone. she just wants to keep some aspects of her life hers. including you.

so you guys aren’t public, not yet, anyway. paige wanted to wait until it was right, and you were okay with that. you know how much she wants that title, and how hard she’s pushing to earn it. that’s what people’s focus should be on. though, you still wanted to support one another. so you’re content sitting on the sidelines silently cheering her on.

well, kind of silently.

with the game paused until the second half, you pulled out your phone, swiping though tabs before you finding yourself on instagram.

you’re scrolling lazily through your social media as you wait for the game to resume, double tapping on a mutual’s post when the noise around you grows exponentially.

you look left and right, trying to see what the commotion is about, only seeing that those around you are at staring at…you.

a bearded man to the left of you sees your confusion, tapping your shoulder. he chuckles as he juts his head towards the ceiling.

your brows furrow, though you follow his eyes towards the stadium screen, to which you see yourself from the waist up in 120 inches of HD LED.

your eyes widen as your jaw drops, the stadium cheering almost impossibly louder at your expression.

a grin sweeps across your face as you give the screen a wave before making a heart with your hands. you read the bottom of the screen which shows a title card with your name followed by broadway actress.

you are onscreen for another few seconds before the camera hard cuts to uconn’s bench, showing a blonde gazing intently up at the jumbotron with remnants of a smile pulling at her lips.

the girl quickly closes her mouth and looks down at the court, hands on her hips as she lazily attempts to hide the growing heat on her face before she reorients herself with her team.

down the court, you shake your head, smiling.

gosh, this is gonna be harder than you thought.

-

the heels of your boots hit the tunnel’s concrete floor with a sharp click clack as you make your way to the visitor’s locker room.

“you do know it’s obvious, right?��� you hear from down the hall.

you continue to walk towards the noise, slowing your steps down as the conversation continues closer. the responder bears a smooth tone, one of striking familiarity you notice as they reply. “man, it was the stupid delay on the screen! messing up my inconspicuousness.”

the first voice breaths something of an unconvinced chuckle, prompting the other to continue.

“this is the nonchalant final boss you’re talking too.”

you snicker at her comment as you turn the curve of the tunnel, finally spotting the player a few yards away. “yeah, it was super nonchalant when you were practically drooling onscreen.”

paige’s whips forward at the sound of your voice, seeing you walking towards her. you stop a few feet from her and azzi, though your eyes are on her.

“hey, superstar,” you say smiling.

paige’s nose scrunches, lips curling at the sides. “hi.”

the pair of you stand there for a beat, admiring each other in silence, as if to commit the other to memory.

azzi adjusts her duffel bag, starting to walk again. “right. so, i’ll just catch you guys later.”

“tell coach i’ll meet y’all at the airport?” paige asks, as azzi passes you, a knowing smirk on her face.

she snorts. “yeah, okay.”

“bye y/n,” she calls from behind you, voice echoing against the cement walls.

you laugh, looking down, “bye azzi.”

there’s another breath of silence that falls between you two, similarly to the space that separates you now. almost like the distance that usually parts you two still lingers, and is what’s currently keeping paige a yard away from you, holding her bookbag straps with a adoring yet hesitant look in her eyes.

“she’s right,” you say walking closer, “if you wanna keep things private, you really shouldn’t go staring at me like that in front of twenty thousand people.”

she smacks her teeth, eyes slightly downcast now that you’ve closed the gap between you two.

“hard not to stare when you come up in here looking like that,” she says, “you look fuckin’ amazing.”

you smile almost impossibly harder, a soft, “thank you,” living your lips. she takes your left hand, holding it your above your head, eyes still cast on yours as her brows raise in silent question. spin for me.

paige holds your hand loosely as you slowly turn, a giddy grin on your face as you let her eyes again.

“next time you come see me play you’ll be repping #5, right?”

you hum in agreement.

“you were incredible out there, p.”

“thank you, baby,” she says softly. “how come you didn’t tell me you were comin’?”

“just wanted to surprise you is all.”

she pulls you in with warm hands on your waist. “i would’ve dropped 30 if i knew you were here sooner.”

a giggle escapes your lips as you reply, wrapping your arms around her neck. “i think twenty is enough.”

“how long are you here for?” you ask, looking up at her.

“just tonight. we leave right after breakfast tomorrow.”

“well then i guess i’ll have to give you the spark notes version of the tour,” you say. she raises her brows in question.

“what, you thought i’d let you leave the city without seeing my favorite spots?”

“as cute as you’d be as my tour guide, who needs to see the city when i got the best view right here?” she replies, bringing a hand to cup your cheek.

you frown into her palm.

she rubs your cheek tenderly. “come on, don’t pout at me, mama.”

“next time?” you ask.

“next time,” she assures.

“besides,” she sighs, hands trailing down to cup the fat of your ass. “before i leave i need to take a bite out of the big apple,” she says, enunciating her words with a soft squeeze.

your lips pull a smile as your nails scratch the nape of her neck. “that can be arranged.”

new york: the city that never sleeps, and trust, you and paige didn’t get much that night.

✧

[jordisols]

[jordisols]

[jordisols]

i just want to remind y’all that you do NOT know paige, you do NOT know any of these basketball players and people based on the lives and content you have seen. calm down with the personal ass jokes you should only feel comfortable making about your friends, stop psychoanalyzing paige, what she likes and doesn’t like, what she is or isn’t comfortable with or excited for.

for the last time, none of you know this girl, you’re not her friends, you’re supporters who need to stay in their lanes. this isn’t aimed at anybody but some of the jokes and assumptions and whatnot i’ve seen about specifically paige… they fr act like this girl is above EVERYTHING. every person, every program, every game and rule. relax on all that i beg, she’s gonna be fine doing everything else every rookie before her, including literal wnba legends have done.

[jordisols]

oh it’s PURRING. holy fucking arm.

[jordisols]

[jordisols]

WE HUG NOW — Paige Bueckers

CONTENT WARNING — angst , song based fic , lowkey asshole paige , injury , sc reader , reader being stubborn , self doubt , no happy ending.

WORD COUNT — 1950 , not proofread

You weren’t supposed to be back here. 

Not in this gym. Not in these halls. Not around the husky logo posted around everywhere you look. 

But this is what happens when you’re from a rivalry school. 

As you and your team made it through the tunnel you heard fans already. You’d barely made it two steps out the tunnel before people were calling your name.

“Hey! Number 6! Can we get a pic?”

“Can you sign this?”

A line already forming of younger girls in South Carolina hoodies and jerseys with sharpies in hand. You smile at them as you make your way over, taking photos, signing shirts, letting them hug you and talk to you. Cameras were flashing as multiple compliments were thrown at you. 

As you’re signing a shirt you hear someone call your name behind you – “She used to play with Paige, right?” 

“Yeah, and now she’s even better. I hope she drops 30 on her tonight.” Another replies.

You laugh under your breath and shake your head to yourself as you hand one of the fans their autograph back before she asks—”Is it weird playing against Paige?”

And you lie.

“It’s not at all, it’s just another game for me.” You smile at her.

It’s not just another game and you’re sure they all know it. The amount of whispers about the two of you and rumors. Some people think you left because you couldn’t stand being in her shadow anymore. Others say it was about petty drama. 

No one knows you left because you couldn’t stand looking at her and wondering if you were the only one who felt wrecked by it all.

No one knows about how you silently cried in front of her when telling her you were transferring. “I can’t stay here if you’re going to pretend that I just don’t matter to you, it hurts.” All she did was nod. And you never heard from her again.

But now you’re both in the same gym again, just a bit different this time. Different jerseys but the same building. 

You smile at all the fans again as you turn towards the court as everyone starts warm ups. You jog to the baseline and force yourself to shake off the nerves. You’re not the same girl that had left Uconn. You’re better now. Faster. Stronger. You’ve earned your spot here and the respect. 

At the other end of the court, Paige stretches near her teammates. She hasn’t looked over, not even once. 

Not during warmups. Not during introductions. Not when lineups are called and your name is shouted louder than hers. 

She doesn’t acknowledge you, not even one. But the world does. They’re watching you. 

The tip off was a bit of a blur to you, mainly due to the adrenaline and too many thoughts running around your head, oh and the screaming of the crowd.

You’re locked in, that’s all that matters to you. Your hands are steady, your footwork is clean, your passes are amazing. But your mind keeps drifting. Every time you hear her voice, every time she runs past you. 

By the second quarter, it’s a close game. The kind of game where everyone is on edge. Calls come slower or not at all. The game is dragging on it feels like but the crowd roars and it makes everything better. Knowing people are here to watch this game. 

But none of that mattered at the moment because she was still out there. And now she was guarding you. You hate the way it makes your heart ache, just being near her and looking at her. 

She stands across from you with a blank face. Her stance is perfect, she’s locked in and focused. It’s not even about the play anymore, it’s the way she doesn’t seem affected being this close to you again. She doesn’t flinch when you get close. You end up blowing past her on the left and you hear her chasing behind you, too close. 

You miss the layup. 

Your coach and teammates congratulate you anyway and say to brush it off.

You don’t care.

You felt like you were nothing to her, you knew you were at some point though. When she would pull you aside after practice to walk home with you. When you fell asleep tangled up in a hotel room bed after games. When she would stare at you like you were the only girl in the world. She won’t even look you in the eye now.

You’re at the top of your game again, guarding tight against her and her teammates. You have to keep this up. This game is your one chance to prove that you’re better, that transferring wasn’t a bad idea. 

You cut hard as her eyes follow you closely. Her feet match yours as the two of you move. You make a quiet jab to the right before blowing past her. You shift as you try to pass her defense and get to the hoop.

That’s when it happens.

Paige’s body slams into yours. You feel the force of her as her shoulder digs into yours side which sends the both of you off balance. You try to balance—you really do but there’s nowhere to go. You land off the hardwood floor and your knee gives out with a crack.

You gasp loudly as you fall to the floor, pain flaring up your leg.

You barely process the noise. Your scream. Your body falling to the court. It’s all too much and so fast. Your head is spinning and your eyes become blurry with tears but you see Paige.

She’s staring down at you with a shocked look as she steps back slowly, her eyes flickering to your leg.

Another cry falls from you as you turn away from her to curl into yourself, one of your hands slapping against the floor. Half of you is crying because of the pain… the other half crying because you wanted Paige by your side.

She just sits there and watches you, stepping back again as your teammates come to your side. Kk and Azzi are by her side, looking at you with concern as they pull her away.

You’re sitting in the locker room, ice pressed against your knee now. The pain has faded to a bull throb now and you can hear the game still going on outside. You’re staring down at the floor as you sit there before you hear the door open.

You know it’s Paige without looking up.

She stands at the entrance for a few seconds before her soft footsteps fill the empty room and next thing you know, she’s stopping in front of you.

“I heard ACL?” She asks quietly, her gaze locked onto your knee.

“Yep, full tear. Season ending.” You responded after a few seconds of silence, finally lifting your head to look at her. She swallows before moving to sit front of you, her hands resting in her lap.

“I’m so sorry.” She says and this time it actually sounds real. 

“You didn’t do it on purpose.” You say back, your voice low as you shrug towards her. 

“I never wanted it to be like this between us.” She admits. “I… I didn’t know how to fix it, and I just froze.”

You sigh before leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. 

“I just wanted you to say something. Anything. You disappeared the second things got hard. You didn’t reach or fight for it. It’s like you just didn’t care, I wasn’t important to you.” 

She flinches before her eyes falling to her lap. She’s picking at her skin again, a habit she picked up during middle school.

“I was… scared.” She says, and her voice cracks in a way you’ve never heard before. “I didn’t want to lose you. I told myself staying away from you was safer. I thought… You would fight back and push yourself back into my life again.”

“I waited. For a text or a call from you. For so long, Paige..” You look up to her then, studying her face. It really gets you now. The truth that maybe, just maybe, this entire time she had been hurting as well. 

“I’m still pissed at you.” You say with a small smile on your face directed towards her.

“I know.”

“I don’t forgive you, not yet at least.”

Her jaw tightens as she takes a breath and nods.

“But..” You hesitate before letting out a sigh. “I’m tired of pretending it didn’t mean anything. You mattered to me. You still do..” 

“So.. What now?” She asks carefully, her eyes flickering with something, maybe hope or even guilt.

“Now… I spend the next year doing rehab and um.. Try not to spiral. And maybe.. If you mean what you said, you’ll text me. You show up for me. You don’t disappear this time, please.” You know you sound desperate at this point, but you couldn’t help it.

She nods slowly, her face is unreadable but you see her hand twitch, like she wants to reach for you. She doesn’t though. She doesn’t leave either. 

It’s now been four weeks. 

The brace is now on and your swelling has gone down, but the pain hasn’t. You’ve memorized the ceiling in your bedroom, every dent and crack up there. 

Your phone has buzzed all day, it feels like forever. You can’t be mad. The season goes on, life goes on.

You’re just not in it anymore. 

Your leg is propped up on a pillow with a blanket tangled at your feet, your tv remote in one hand. You didn’t even mean to turn the game on, it’s just muscle memory at this point. ESPN. Uconn vs. Creighton.

Your fingers twitch on the remote, maybe you should change it but you can’t bring yourself to do it. 

The cameras pan around the court, the blue and white jerseys are moving. Paige is there, of course. Her hair is tied back and she’s locked in. 

She looks like she got everything she wanted. 

Your expression is blank as you stare at the screen. All the noise turns to static in the background. You see her drive to the rim, finishing a smooth layup and the crowd roars. She highfights her teammates and looks up in the stands with a bright smile. 

You wonder if she’s thinking about you. Probably not.

You wonder if she remembers that night in the locker room. The way both of your voices cracked. The way she looked at you and admitted she still wanted you. You wanted to believe her—you did. You were stupid to. 

You swallow hard as the TV blurs for a second. You blink and realize it’s your own tears. You blink a few times and then cut the volume down.

Paige hits another three and you want to cry.

You sit there for the rest of the game in silence. 

The room is quiet, only the sound of you breathing and the quiet ache in your chest that feels even more heavier than before. You sniffle before reaching for your phone.

No new texts. No missed calls. 

The world didn’t stop when you got hurt. 

More tears blur your vision as you scroll and click on Paige's contact before you start typing a message and click send.

“Do you even think about me?”

Sent 10:59 p.m

you have blocked this contact.

You’re still sitting there trying to make sense of all of this.

Maybe that was the worse part—

She’s just thinkin it’s a small thing that happened.

The world ended when it happened to me.

TAGLIST — @mrsarnold @troyo-boyo @itsjstkatt @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @bwjbivee @jupitermoonbaby @buzzinrusso @sophiesyh @kaelaheartsyou @l0verl4ne @aubreygriffin @hey-lovey @avvwritesstufff @niya500 @melpthatsme @private-but-not-a-secret @yoursidehismain @yannasuniverse @lalaluna20 @yailtsv

[jordisols]

those who have been following this team for a while know how incredible this image is. it's something that we never thought would happen, given that vero sacrificed her national team career to speak out against the abuses of rfef.

but so nice to see vero getting her flowers, even though this is literally the bare minimum that rfef should be doing for her 🥹

[jordisols]

SATURN — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x ex teammate!gf

synopsis: the of joy watching your girlfriend finally accomplish the dream you’d chased together for years had you feeling as if you were on another planet.

warnings: none.

word count: 4.1k

note: NATTY BABYYYY this is lowkey supposed to be part of a series but idc. might write a nasty part 2 idk yet

@brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @xxloveralways14 @prettygirl-gabi

You were already in your seat before warmups even started, nestled between some of the players' families — the energy in the arena pulsing like a heartbeat under your skin. The crowd was alive, buzzing with excitement, nerves, hope — everything you knew Paige was probably feeling tenfold.

You shifted in your seat, politely chatting with a few of the parents nearby, when you felt the subtle buzz-buzz of your phone in your back pocket. Once. Then again. And even before you touched it, you already knew.

It was her.

Paige was the only one you ever left your notifications on for — a quiet agreement between the two of you that started back when you were teammates. Important games, late-night flights, tournament weeks. The world could wait. But not each other.

You slipped the phone out and glanced down, already smiling at the first few lines of her message. She didn’t have to say she was nervous — not directly — you knew her. Knew the way she over-thought during high stakes. Knew when her confidence sometimes needed a little steadying hand. And maybe, in this moment, that was you.

Without hesitation, you leaned slightly toward Amy, tapping her gently on the arm. "I'm gonna go see her real quick," you said, voice raised just enough to carry over the swelling music. "I think she's a bit more nervous than she lets on."

Amy turned to you with a warm smile, her eyes soft and familiar. "Alright, hun. Be careful not to get lost or hurt," she teased, patting your back gently.

You chuckled lightly, offering a nod before slipping away, weaving through the packed row of seats with the kind of practiced ease that only years in arenas could give you. At the base of the stands, a security guard moved to stop you until you flashed the laminated pass hanging from your neck — the one Paige gave you just in case the ‘I played here’ card didn't cut it.

"Special clearance," you said with a playful grin, tapping the badge.

He nodded and stepped aside, and you made your way down the tunnel, the sounds of the court fading into a muffled roar behind you. Your footsteps echoed against the concrete, sneakers quiet but purposeful as you searched for the locker room.

You'd walked hallways like these more times than you could count, but tonight it felt different — electric. Heavier. As if every brick remembered the weight of your own games, your own moments.

You passed staff, trainers, and volunteers — offering polite nods, a quick smile, but your focus didn't waver. And finally, you reached it. The door to the locker room stood just ahead, slightly ajar, voices murmuring beyond it.

You took a steady breath.

Raising your hand, you knocked gently, not wanting to interrupt too harshly — but the response was immediate. The door swung open with a soft creak and standing there, arms crossed like a disappointed sitcom dad, was Geno Auriemma himself.

You barely had time to open your mouth before he squinted at you with that familiar mock-annoyed stare. "What the hell do you want?" he said, dry as sandpaper. "Don't you have a season to be preparing for?"

You couldn't help the grin that tugged at your lips. "Nice to see you too, Coach," you said sweetly. "Just came to say hi to your star player before the game. She sounded like she needed a little emotional support."

He huffed, dramatically stepping back but still blocking the doorway. "Great. Just what I need. A walking distraction waltzing in here like she still owns the place." He turned his head toward the locker room behind him. "Bueckers! Your traitor of a girlfriend is here."

You heard a faint laugh from somewhere inside before Paige's voice came closer, followed by her footsteps. "You don't have to say it like it's a federal offense, Coach," she called.

"I do when someone deserts my program and then has the audacity to come distract my loyal players." Geno muttered.

You bit back a laugh, stepping inside just slightly, hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry I didn't stay until I was grey and old for a sixth year. That wouldn’t have been on-brand for me."

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Aubrey did it. You could've too. But no, you’re busy being passed around from team to team.

Your jaw fell comically at his harsh joke, though it was clear on your face that you found it funny.

Before you could respond, Paige appeared just behind him, her ever-familiar grin lighting up her face. "Not too much on her," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder with the kind of ease only years under his coaching could earn.

Geno snorted, stepping aside with an exaggerated grumble. "Great. Now they're both ganging up on me," he mumbled, brushing past the two of you. "You've got five minutes before I drag her back by that ponytail. Don't make me come looking."

And then he was gone, muttering something else under his breath as he disappeared down the hall.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the hallway suddenly felt a little quieter — just the two of you in your own little world for a moment.

Paige's grin melted into a familiar, knowing smirk, her eyes slowly dragging over you with no rush, like she had all the time in the world. She tilted her head slightly, tongue pressing into the inside of her cheek as her gaze took in the outfit that had her full attention: her white UConn #5 jersey — the one she wore when setting her new career high — cropped just right, the hem tucked into the wire of your bra. Two dainty chains shimmered at your waist, resting lightly against your skin, and that denim skirt you wore? It had her completely entranced.

"You look beautiful, mama," she murmured, her voice low and warm, hands rising to curl gently around your exposed waist and bringing you closer. Her thumbs brushed softly along your skin, like she was trying to commit every inch of you to memory before she had to leave.

You rolled your eyes, though your heart fluttered at the nickname, lifting your hand to place a single finger beneath her chin and tilt her face up again. "Eyes up here," you said with a teasing smile.

She smirked even more but obeyed, locking eyes with you now, and something in her expression shifted—just barely. There was still that signature confidence lingering behind her grin, but it flickered for a second. She was nervous. You knew her well enough to read between the lines of her confidence.

So you let your hands move too—one settling against her jaw, the other tracing slow, comforting patterns along the back of her neck as you leaned in just slightly.

"You got this," you whispered, your voice soft but steady. "You all do. You've worked so fucking hard. I've seen it. I've lived it. There's not a single team that deserves this more than you guys."

She sighed quietly, leaning into your touch for a moment, grounding herself.

"And no matter how this goes, okay? You've already made history. You've already built a legacy here that no one can touch. This game doesn't change that."

Paige looked at you, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "Easy for you to say," she muttered, her thumb still circling your waist, "you won a natty your first year here. Freshie magic or something."

You snorted, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "Yeah, and I also tore my ACL and dislocated my knee right after, and then lost two championship games after coming back," you quipped, raising an eyebrow. "Trust me, legacy isn't built in the win column. It's built in moments like this—where you show the fuck up no matter what."

She chuckled, head dipping as she pressed a quick kiss to your collarbone. "Why do you always know exactly what to say?"

"Because I'm wise. And I'm hot. And you're madly in love with me, so it helps the delivery," you replied with an obnoxious smirk, earning an eye roll and a grin from her.

But just like that, a knock came from inside the locker room—someone calling out a one-minute warning.

Paige's smile faded into something more solemn, more focused. She looked at you like she wanted time to stop.

You leaned in and kissed her—slow and grounding, a kiss full of belief and reassurance, not desperation.

"I'll be right there in the stands," you whispered against her lips. "Cheering like hell for you."

She nodded, brushing her nose against yours once more before pulling away, a last squeeze at your waist anchoring her before she stepped back inside.

And then you were turning on your heel, heart pounding in your chest, rushing back up the tunnel with a promise in your chest and her kiss still warm on your lips.

You sat wedged between Amy and Aaliyah, knees bouncing and knuckles cracking one after the other, that nervous tick you could never seem to shake. The roar of the crowd was muffled by the storm brewing in your chest—excitement, anxiety, hope. You weren't even on the court, but it felt like your lungs were working overtime, like your body hadn't quite realized you weren't the one playing tonight.

Your eyes were locked on Paige. You knew her rhythm, the way her feet moved before a shot, the slight squint she made when something didn't feel right in her wrist. And right now? She was off. Not by much, not enough for the commentators to acknowledge — but you noticed. A missed layup. A clean three that rimmed out. A hesitation where there usually was none.

"She's holding back," you mumbled under your breath, not sure if it was to Amy or yourself.

Amy glanced sideways, calm despite the tension, her hand resting patiently in her lap. "She's pacing herself. It's a long game," she murmured, like a mother who'd said that to herself a thousand times over the years.

You swallowed hard, fingers flexing again.

Halftime came. A ten-point lead didn't erase all the nerves, but it helped you breathe. You were ushered into a short media segment with Chiney, Elle, and Draya—each of them glowing with energy and optimism. Most of them had chosen South Carolina as their winner, just like the last time. And you knew Paige heard, knew that she wanted to prove them wrong once again. You forced a grin, answered their questions with practiced poise and your usual humor, cracked a quick joke about having more nerves now than you ever did during your championship games. But as soon as the segment ended and you were back in your seat, your hands found each other again. Crack. Crack. Crack.

The second half started with fire.

UConn came out swinging—faster, sharper, hungrier. It was like watching the team you knew they were all season finally come alive. The passes were crisp. The communication was seamless. And Paige? Paige lit up. The crowd surged every time her feet left the ground, and you felt every ripple of it.

Then came the moment—before the fourth quarter even began. UConn had ballooned the lead to twenty points. Twenty. Against South Carolina.

You knew. They had it.

They really, truly had it.

With just minutes left in the game, Paige was called out. You didn't even hear the announcer. All you saw was her name flash on the substitution board, and then her figure walking off the court for the last time in a UConn jersey. She headed straight for Geno.

And that was it.

You saw the second her walls fell. Her arms wrapped tight around him, her face buried into his shoulder, and she cried. Not from sadness, not even from relief—just that overwhelming wave of everything at once. The grief of goodbye, the joy of winning, the weight of all she'd carried for five years crashing down at once.

You bit your lip hard, trying to blink it away.

But the tears came anyway.

Your hand, almost on instinct, reached for Amy's beside you. You didn't even realize you'd done it until you felt her soft squeeze, her thumb gently brushing your knuckles.

"She did it," Amy said softly, her own voice thick. "Our girl did it."

You nodded, a teardrop slipping down your cheek as you watched Paige wipe her own. You didn't care about the cameras or the cheering crowd around you. All you saw was the girl you loved standing in the center of it all—finally at peace with the legacy she’d leave behind.

And God, she looked beautiful.

The clock ticked down, South Carolina letting the seconds bleed out as they dribbled at the top of the key. 82 to 59. There was nothing left to chase, nothing left to prove. You could see it in their body language—shoulders slack, heads low. Acceptance.

But you?

You could barely breathe.

Your chest was tight with emotion, heart hammering beneath your UConn jersey as if it had taken the court with Paige. The tears were already there, sitting heavy in your eyes, threatening to spill every time you blinked.

This wasn't just a win.

This was a culmination.

Of years of grit. Of heartbreak and healing. Of setbacks that could've broken her. Could've broken anyone, including you. But Paige never let them. And through every single one — every surgery, every rehab session, every media doubt and ‘what if’ — she fought her way back.

And tonight, she crossed the finish line.

National. Champion.

The buzzer blared and the world exploded. The roar of the arena became a blur as blue and white stormed the court, players tackling each other into tears and laughter and chaos.

A sob broke from your chest before you even knew it was coming.

Aaliyah pulled you into a tight hug, your bodies shaking with the same overwhelming joy. "They fucking did it," she whispered into your shoulder, and your tears fell freely now.

Then Amy was there, and you didn't even hesitate. You folded into her arms like she was your own mother, crying into her shoulder as she cradled you. "I'm so proud of her," you choked, and Amy's voice cracked, too.

"I know, baby. Me too."

It was only a moment, but it felt eternal—one of those fragments of time that would etch itself into your memory forever. The kind you'd still feel in your chest decades from now.

The hugs came in waves after that. Bob pulled you in, patting your back like he'd known you your whole life, Drew following. Jana and Azzi’s families were in tears, too — parents who'd watched their daughters pour everything into this season. You found yourself hugging them all, despite the fact that you were never the touchy kind.

But tonight? Tonight, everything was different.

You were overflowing with so much love, so much pride, that it didn't matter how many people you embraced. You wanted to hold them, hold something, because it was the only way you knew how to keep from completely falling apart.

Because this wasn't just UConn winning. This was Paige winning.

Your Paige.

And after everything she'd survived, everything she'd sacrificed, there wasn't a single person in this building who deserved it more.

Blue and white confetti began to rain from the rafters like snowflakes falling from heaven. Like they’d been waiting an eternity to rain for this team, each piece catching the light as it fluttered down onto the court—onto jerseys soaked in sweat and triumph, onto shoes that had carried a thousand miles’ worth of effort. You were already on your feet, pushing past rows of elated families and clapping fans, heart hammering as your eyes locked on the chaos unfolding below.

You didn’t wait. Couldn’t. Your legs carried you forward before your mind could catch up, weaving through bodies — staff, players, press — your official pass swinging around your neck as you moved with purpose. Nothing else mattered but getting to her.

Paige was somewhere in the mess of limbs and laughter, her face flushed with adrenaline and joy, heart pounding so hard she swore she could feel it in her ears. They’d done it. She’d done it. After everything—injuries, heartbreak, missed chances—she had finally finished what she started.

But as the arena roared around her and her teammates screamed with triumph, none of it felt quite real.

Not until she saw you.

Her eyes scanned desperately through the confetti-streaked blur, searching past the crowd of coaches and teammates and celebratory loved ones until — there. That familiar silhouette, that proud, teary-eyed smile she’d know in any stadium, in any lifetime.

You were coming toward her, dodging through the swell of people like gravity was pulling you straight to her. Your tears had long dried thanks to Aaliyah’s tissue and a few shaky breaths, but the way your chest rose and fell with emotion, the way your smile quivered just enough to betray what this moment meant—it all hit her like a second wave of victory.

She didn’t wait either.

Shoving past the bodies in her way, Paige moved faster than she had all game. A blur of blue and white, of shoes pounding the floor, until finally — finally — she reached you.

And without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around you and pulled you in like you were her anchor in a storm. Your bodies collided with the force of something years in the making, her face burying itself in the crook of your neck, breath warm against your skin as she clung to you like you were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

She didn’t care about the cameras. The trophies. The future.

She only cared about this. About you.

Your arms came around her neck, locking her in just as tight as you whispered, voice shaking but certain, “I’m so proud of you, I could scream.”

Her breath hitched against your shoulder, and when she pulled back just enough to look at you, her blue eyes were glassy—overwhelmed, elated, completely undone. You could see everything she couldn’t say reflected in them.

Another tear slipped down your cheek, and Paige leaned in to kiss it away without thinking, without hesitation, her lips brushing your skin with so much gentleness it undid you all over again.

“You fucking did it,” you breathed, voice cracking with the weight of it all.

The urge to kiss her—really kiss her—was overwhelming, but you held back. You weren’t public yet. You’d agreed to wait until the WNBA Draft, until she was ready. But truthfully, it felt like everyone in the world already knew. The way she looked at you like you hung the moon didn’t exactly scream subtle.

So instead, you cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing along her cheeks, trying to memorize every detail—every emotion etched into her features. Your smile trembled as you whispered, “God, I’m so relieved and overjoyed that I feel dizzy.”

She let out a soft, breathless laugh—something between disbelief and pure elation—and pressed her forehead against yours, her voice breaking through the din, “Hold onto me, then. I’ve got you, angel.”

And in that moment, with confetti clinging to her hair and sweat still glistening on her brow, Paige Bueckers didn’t just feel like a champion.

She felt whole.

The confetti was still falling when you found yourself wrapped up in the chaos of celebration—players, coaches, staff, families, cameras flashing in every direction. And yet, through all of it, Paige refused to let go of you. She hadn’t once loosened her grip on your hand unless absolutely necessary. She dragged you with her everywhere—through the mob of hugs and team photos, past media personnel and assistants trying to usher players into the right spots. If she had to move, you were moving with her.

It didn’t exactly help the dating ‘rumors,’ but it’s not like either of you were trying that hard to hide it anymore. Not when every glance, every touch, every lingering moment screamed what hadn’t been said out loud yet. And the only time she’d left your side was for a few post-game interviews—short ones she kept brief, always glancing over her shoulder like she couldn’t wait to get back to you.

By the time she returned, she was in full celebration gear — navy blue championship shirt, the official ‘2025 National Champions’ hat perched crookedly on her head thanks to the ponytail sticking through the back. It wasn’t sitting properly, but she didn’t care. She looked every bit the moment — casual, powerful, confident. The cut-down net hung around her neck like jewelry, each white loop resting against her chest like a symbol of everything she’d fought for.

You’d never wanted someone more in your life.

There she was — grinning, flushed, radiant with triumph and joy. Cool as hell with that net swaying like a diamond chain, like a statement piece. She looked like victory and history wrapped into one, and it made your heart clench. It also made your thighs clench, but that was another battle you’d deal with later.

She turned to you mid-laugh, slipping an arm around your shoulder so easily, so instinctively, it was like your place had always been right there beside her. You leaned into her side as you laughed along with your friends and their families, occasionally pausing to pose for photos, smiling so much your cheeks ached.

Still, it all felt surreal.

Overwhelming, yes—but not in a bad way. Just… different.

It reminded you of your own championship win, though yours had been more quiet, intimate. COVID-era restrictions kept the arena half-empty, the celebration smaller. It had been beautiful in its own way — just your team, close family, a bubble of victory you’d all created together. But this? This was a different universe. The noise, the cameras, the massive crowd — this was loud, unapologetic joy, the kind of celebration dreams are made of.

And Paige knew that. She remembered. She’d watched you win on her TV screen her senior year of high school, wide-eyed and proud, texting you congratulations from her living-room as she geared up for her freshman year at UConn. She’d imagined chasing a repeat with you, shoulder-to-shoulder. But god had other plans.

Instead, it was you watching her from the sidelines that year, your injured leg keeping you benched while she chased the dream alone.

It was all coming full circle now.

You didn’t even realize she was looking at you until her hand reached up to tug off her crooked hat. She turned to face you fully, that soft, easy smile spreading across her face — the kind only you ever got. Then, with the gentlest touch, she placed the hat on your head, her fingers brushing lightly along your temple as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Your lips twitched up, amused and curious. “Why am I wearing your hat?”

Without missing a beat, her voice low and steady, she replied, “What’s mine is yours.”

Then her eyes held yours, deep and unflinching, as she added, “Including this natty. I wouldn’t be standing here without your love. Your support. Your belief in me—especially when I couldn’t believe in myself.”

Your breath hitched.

She leaned in slightly, voice quieting in a way that made it feel like no one else in the world existed. “We did this for you too. You, Aaliyah and Nika.”

The words shattered something open inside you. Not in a painful way — more like a dam breaking, releasing every moment of sacrifice and struggle, every cheer from the bench, every quiet tear from the stands, every night you spent holding her through self-doubt and injury and pressure.

Because through all of it, you had been there. She’d carried your strength onto that court like a second heartbeat as if you were still playing alongside her and now, standing beneath a shower of confetti and surrounded by her teammates, she was handing that championship right back to you.

Your throat burned. Your vision blurred. You blinked up at her, lips trembling into the softest, most overwhelmed smile as your fingers came up to grip the brim of the hat she’d gifted you.

You didn’t cry. Not fully. But your eyes said everything.

And Paige, with a tired smile and unspeakable tenderness, reached out and pulled you close again—not for the cameras, not for the crowd.

But just for you.

[jordisols]

need the uconn women’s basketball team to pass me around like a blunt.

[jordisols]

and i’ll be there for her, with open arms, and open legs, and an open mouth..

[jordisols]

Jana literally sobbing talking about Paige

"I've never met a person that cares more. unselfish.She's been my literal sister. She's been my mom, my dad, my family ever since I came here. she made me feel like home. She's been my role model. I'm gonna miss her so much. But I'm super proud of her and I'm super lucky that I got to be her teammate. "

[jordisols]

she looks so good wow.

[jordisols]

lord have mercy

[jordisols]

this clip of her did things to me… really really nasty things

ok so…. all paige writers should write for glasses paige again THANK YOUUUU

[jordisols]

i'm a whore and i remember