#~•gabi gabs moots•~

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: You Should’ve Told Me

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn, Romance

POV: First Person (Reader)

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Freshman year of college, you and Paige Bueckers became fast friends after bonding over having the same major and the same schedule. You told each other everything—well except the fact that you’re a stripper in your junior year.

Fic is based of @yailtsv ‘s mood board: Paige w/stripper!gf

I low-key want yail to do a pt.2 to fic….

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

Freshman year, I was awkward as hell—tote bag too full, hair always in a rushed bun, and clumsy enough to spill coffee on someone within the first week of classes. That someone just happened to be Paige Bueckers.

“I am so sorry!” I remember fumbling with napkins, heart sinking as the brown stain spread across her hoodie.

She just laughed, blue eyes full of amusement. “It’s fine. I didn’t even like this hoodie anyway.” She glanced down at my binder full of psych notes. “You’re in Psych 103 too?”

And just like that, we became inseparable.

We sat next to each other in every class, studied together, FaceTimed when one of us missed something. Paige introduced me to her teammates, took me to games, and somewhere along the way, we started telling each other everything. Or… almost everything.

I never told her what happened the summer before junior year.

When my parents found out I liked girls, they didn’t scream. They just cut me off. No more tuition. No more health insurance. No more help. Just silence.

So I found a way.

It started small—cocktail waitress. Then VIP hostess. Eventually, I was offered a stage audition at Club Venus. I said yes.

I told myself I’d quit once I had enough. But then rent came due. Then books. Then food. And now, here I was in senior year, dancing on weekends, midterms on Mondays. Still getting straight A’s, still smiling at Paige in class… still lying.

Tonight, I was working a shift but planned to leave early. I had cupcakes waiting at home and a card for Paige’s birthday. I couldn’t wait to surprise her.

But life? Life had other plans.

⸻

“VIP bachelorette party at table three!” my manager called, shoving a tray into my hands.

I groaned. My set was next. “Tell them I’ll be there after stage.”

He rolled his eyes. “Make it quick, baby. They brought the birthday girl.”

As the lights dimmed and the bass rolled in, I stepped out onto the stage, heels clicking, hair bouncing. I plastered on my best smile, the one that made rent and textbooks possible.

But then I saw her.

Front and center, blue eyes wide with disbelief, was Paige.

Her teammates flanked her—Azzi, Nika, Ice—all grinning, waving dollars.

Paige? She looked like the earth had dropped out from beneath her.

She was frozen, staring up at me as if I’d just confessed to murder.

My stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no.

I tried to look anywhere but her as I danced, heart racing, cheeks burning. I wanted to bolt off stage and hide, but I couldn’t. Not mid-set.

When I stepped down and made a beeline for the dressing room, Paige was already moving.

“Hey! Wait—wait up!”

“I’m working,” I hissed, not looking at her.

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, grabbing my forearm gently.

That’s when the other girls noticed.

“You have to pay to touch!” Amber snapped, stepping between us.

“Back off,” another added. “No touching without permission.”

I opened my mouth to say, “It’s okay,” but then Paige reached into her pocket, pulled out every bill she had—$550—and slipped it into my bra strap with steady hands.

Her eyes locked on mine. “Let’s go to a room, shall we?”

I hated how professional I had to stay as I nodded. Hated how much shame churned in my gut. Hated how I couldn’t even celebrate her birthday right.

Once we got into the private room, the door closed behind us, and she didn’t even sit down.

She paced.

“You’re a stripper? Seriously?”

“Paige—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because!” My voice cracked. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me like that. Like I’m something dirty.”

She stopped pacing.

“I don’t—God, that’s not it, I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“You could’ve told me,” she whispered, softer now. “We tell each other everything.”

“I couldn’t,” I said. And then it just poured out. “I didn’t have a choice, okay? My parents cut me off after I came out. I had no money, no job, no backup plan. I tried everything else. This pays enough. It pays… enough to stay in school.”

Her face crumpled.

“You’re doing this… just to pay tuition?”

I nodded, blinking fast. “It’s not what I want to do. I just—don’t have any other options.”

I didn’t know it then, but that moment shattered something in her.

“I’ll pay it,” she said suddenly.

My eyes widened. “What?”

“My NIL deals cover everything. I barely touch my stipend. Let me help—please.”

“No, Paige—”

“I mean it. You’re killing yourself for a degree. Let me take care of it.”

“I can’t take that from you.”

She looked hurt. “Why not? You’re my best friend.”

That stung more than it should’ve.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

⸻

I thought that was the end of it.

But then she started showing up.

Every night I worked, Paige was there, always tucked into a corner booth, hood up, arms crossed like a bouncer. She tipped big. Watched bigger. Anyone who even looked like they were gonna get handsy? She was up like a shot, staring them down until they backed off.

My coworkers started calling her “your bodyguard.”

Eventually, her presence became comforting.

When I danced, I knew she was watching—but not in a creepy way. She watched like she was protecting me from the whole world.

A few weeks later, after another quiet shift, she waited outside the dressing room.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” she said, handing me a grilled cheese and my favorite boba. “But I miss our study dates.”

I smiled. “You could’ve said that instead of bribing me with dairy and tapioca.”

We talked for hours that night. About school. About the future. About everything but this place.

Eventually, one night, she just blurted it out.

“I like you.”

I blinked. “You what?”

She stepped closer. “I like you. Like, more than a friend. More than anything.”

“…Even though I work here?”

“Especially because you do. You do what you need to survive. That’s… kind of badass.”

I melted.

⸻

Dating Paige was like finally breathing again.

She never judged me. Never looked down on me. But she never stopped worrying either.

She’d sit at the bar, watching every lap dance like a hawk. If a guy leaned in too close, she shot daggers. If someone tried to touch me, security would swoop in—probably tipped off by a glare from Paige.

And yes, she paid for lap dances. Smirking every time.

“You gonna scold me again, babe?” she’d tease, slipping twenties into my garter. “Or you gonna dance for your biggest fan?”

I hated taking her money. She knew it. But she insisted.

“Think of it as a girlfriend tax.”

Still, I drew a line—no more private room sessions once we were official. I couldn’t handle the guilt. She supported the decision immediately.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she said one night, brushing hair from my face. “Just keep doing what’s best for you.”

The trouble was… I wasn’t making enough anymore. Less tips. Fewer dances. I picked up more shifts, lost more sleep, skipped more meals.

Until one night, I collapsed in her arms.

We were in my apartment. I’d just gotten off work. She brought me tea. I sat down, and before I could even sip it, I started crying.

“I’m so tired, Paige,” I whispered. “I’m tired of selling pieces of myself to strangers while trying to study for exams. I’m tired of dancing when I can’t even feel my legs. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay when I’m falling apart.”

She pulled me in, arms tight around my waist. “Baby, you’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

“I can’t take your money. I just… I can’t.”

She kissed my temple. “Okay.”

That was all she said.

⸻

A few weeks later, I got a letter from Financial Aid.

Your balance has been paid in full.

I called. They said an anonymous donor paid off my remaining tuition.

I knew.

She didn’t say anything right away. She waited until I was calm. Until I was home. Until we were curled up on the couch and I was smiling again.

“I love you,” she said. “And I’ll always do what’s best for you. Even if you won’t let me say it out loud.”

I cried again, but this time, I didn’t feel ashamed.

Paige was more than my girlfriend. She was my anchor. My protector. My everything.

And if loving her meant letting her be my sugar mama on my off days?

So be it.

“Okay,” I whispered, curling into her side. “Buy me that Lego set.”

She grinned. “You got it, baby.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[prettygirl-gabi]

I …… ummm

— ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. girl you loud by chris brown, tyga

their reaction to you being too loud while having sex.

ft. paige. juju. caitlin. aubrey. kk. nika.

PAIGE.B — The rhythm of her hips is relentless, the strap hitting just the right spot, and you can’t hold back. “Fuck, yes, oh my god, it’s so good!” you cry out, your voice echoing off the walls, louder than you realize. She slows for a moment, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she leans down, her lips brushing your ear.

“Well, damn, babe” she chuckles, her voice low and dripping with amusement. “You’re putting on a whole concert for the neighbors, huh?” Her hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer as she picks up the pace again, clearly enjoying your lack of restraint. “Gotta say, i love how you sound, but maybe keep it down before we get a noise complaint.” She winks, her teasing only making you want to be louder and she knows it.

JUJU. W — She’s got you pinned against the bed, the strap moving with a steady, deliberate rhythm that’s driving you wild, your moans spill out, desperate and unrestrained. “Oh, fuck, please, don’t stop!” you practically shout, your voice bouncing in the open space, she pauses mid thrust, her dark eyes narrowing as she arches a brow.

“Hey,” she says, her voice calm but laced with authority “you’re gonna wake the whole damn city at this rate.” Her hand slides up to cup your jaw, tilting your face to meet her gaze. “Keep those pretty sounds for me, okay? Just me.” Her tone is firm but warm, and when you nod, biting your lip, she smirks and resumes, slower now, making you fight to stay quiet under her commanding stare.

CAITLIN. C — Your moans are loud, spilling out despite the intimate, quiet setting “Oh, God, baby, it’s too good, yes!” you cry, your voice carrying through the thin walls, she chuckles softly her eyes glinting with a mix of tenderness and smug confidence as she leans down, her lips brushing your forehead. “Shh, baby, you’re gonna wake everyone” she murmurs, her voice warm but laced with a cocky edge.

“I know I’m good, don’t have to announce it to everyone.” Her hand slides up your thigh, grounding you as she keeps her rhythm steady, her touch gentle but her smirk all self assured charm. “Keep those pretty sounds just for me, yeah?” Her gentle tone wraps around you like a hug, but the way she arches a brow says she knows exactly how much power she holds, and she’s loving every second of it.

AUBREY. G — The strap is hitting deep, and you’re losing it, your voice rising with every thrust. “Yes, yes, fuck, you feel so good!” you moan, loud enough to make you wonder if the walls are thin, she laughs, a low, smug sound, and leans back slightly, one hand resting casually on your hip as if she’s got all the time in the world.

“Oh, you’re loud tonight, aren’t you?” she drawls, her voice thick with confidence. “Bet the people next door are taking notes.” Her grin is all cocky charm as she shifts her angle, making you gasp even louder. “Go on, keep screaming for me, but don’t be surprised if we get a knock on the door.” Her playful arrogance only pushes you closer to the edge, and she’s loving every second of it.

KAMOREA. K — Every thrust pulls a loud, desperate moan from you, your voice cutting through the ambient noise. “Oh, fuck, yes, it’s so good, baby!” you cry, loud enough to turn heads if anyone were closer, she pauses, her lips curling into a devilish grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, girl, listen to yourself, putting on a full on show for the city” she teases, her voice low and dripping with playful mockery.

She leans in, her breath hot against your ear as she whispers “You gonna scream loud enough for everyone to hear or what?” Her fingers trail teasingly down your side, and she gives a single, sharp thrust just to make you gasp again, laughing when you do. “Come on, babe, keep it down—unless you want me to really give you something to yell about.” She winks, clearly loving how flustered her teasing makes you, and resumes her rhythm, daring you to stay quiet while she pushes every button you have.

NIKA. M — She’s got you pressed against the kitchen counter, the strap driving into you with a steady, forceful pace that’s unraveling you completely, your moans are loud, unrestrained, spilling out as you grip the edge of the counter. “Fuck, yes, oh my god, don’t stop!” you shout, your voice echoing off the polished surfaces, she stops abruptly, her jaw tightening as she fixes you with a frustrated glare.

“Are you serious right now?” she snaps, her voice sharp with annoyance. “You’re gonna bring the neighbors banging on the door with that noise.” Her hand grips your hip, holding you still as she leans in, her tone low and irritated. “I’m trying to focus here, and you’re making it real hard to keep this discreet, tone it down, or I’m stopping for good.” The edge in her voice is real, but the way her eyes linger on your flushed face betrays a flicker of heat she’s annoyed, sure, but part of her is still hooked on you. She resumes, slower now, watching you closely to make sure you obey, her patience clearly on a short leash.

۶ৎ — @addl0vee @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream @gabbyygoo @bravemode @latenighttalkinqwp @avvwritesstufff @prettygirl-gabi @yailtsv @bebitts @heartsforari @usuallyshadowybasement @authentic-girl03 @private-but-not-a-secret @evanpeterstoe @destinybueckers44 @youmeandjennessey @starfulani @cherryswisherz @bueckersworld @paiges-1vur

[prettygirl-gabi]

I was told by @elalfywhore I had to drop a pazzi x reader fic…. Here’s a edit while you wait….

[prettygirl-gabi]

Just thought you'd like this

My wife

[gabrielitas]

i was tagged by @xfirebenderx (we’re kinda new moots but u seem very chill and thank u for tagging me!🥺🥰)

nicknames: gabi, gaba, a few of my teachers have called me gabs?

zodiac: gemini

last thing i googled: my local co-op bookstore (i wanted to find out if they’ve changed the hours they buy used books☺️)

song stuck in my head: busy boy by chloe x halle

number of followers: almost 30

amount of sleep i get: well on weekdays it’s like, four hours on average????? and then on weekends it’s between 8-10 lol

lucky number:uhhhhhh... i was born on the 27th so 27 i guess?

favorite song: oh god i have no idea

favorite instrument: probably the drums

dream job: a lawyer (specifically in family law)

aesthetic: i guess reading next to an open window while there’s a thunderstorm outside with a steaming mug of cardamom tea, with the scent of the tea and wet soil mixing in the best way possible (idk i feel like that’s the best way to explain it)

favorite author: ooo ok either sk ali, sandhya menon, or elizabeth acevedo

favorite animal noise: this might b a bit basic butttt, cats purring🥺

random: i’m the mom friend of my group😊

ok so i do *not* have 15 ppl to tag so i’m just gonna tag my bffie @bellokentley ❤️

[prettygirl-gabi]

Beautifully written.

𝚍𝚘 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞? || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which she forgets but fate doesn't

The hospital lights are always too bright.

Sterile. Cold. Clinical. Nothing like the warmth you used to feel wrapped up in Paige’s arms after a long day, her voice soft against your ear, whispering about dreams and game plans and how lucky she felt to have you.

But now, the only sound that echoes in the room is the beeping of monitors. A rhythm you’ve come to hate because it means she’s alive—but not whole.

She’s been awake for three days.

Three long, agonizing days since the doctors told you the words you never thought you’d hear. Partial retrograde amnesia. A fancy way of saying: She doesn’t remember you.

She remembered basketball. Her coach. Her teammates. Her stats.

But not you.

Not the woman who held her through every injury. Not the woman who kissed her forehead before every game. Not the woman who stood in the stands with her jersey on and tears in her eyes every time she made history.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even seem to want to.

Every time you tried to talk to her, to offer something—anything—to make it come back, she would shrink further into herself. Polite, but distant. Guarded.

You told yourself to be patient. To give her time. Love is supposed to wait, right?

But then her parents pulled you aside.

Her mom couldn’t meet your eyes. Her dad’s voice was gentle but firm.

“Maybe it’s best,” he said, “if you give her some space.”

“She’s overwhelmed,” her mom added. “She’s trying to focus on healing. And you being here… it’s a lot.”

You felt like your heart had been ripped out and handed to you in a sterile hospital hallway.

“But I—” you started, but your voice cracked.

“She doesn’t remember you,” her dad said softly. “Maybe it’s time you start healing too.”

And just like that, you were being erased.

You left UConn a week later.

You couldn’t stay. Not in that gym where you used to shoot around after practice together. Not in that dorm where her laughter used to echo through the halls, tangled up with yours.

You entered the transfer portal.

A week after that, you were headed to UCLA.

New coast. New team. New life.

Except it wasn’t really a life at all.

Because every morning you woke up without her. Every night you fell asleep trying to forget the way she used to whisper I love you against your shoulder.

And Paige?

Paige healed.

She recovered. She rejoined practice. And every now and then, she’d ask her parents, “Hey… that girl that used to sit by my bed. Who was she?”

Her parents would smile too tightly. “Oh, just someone from school,” they’d say. “Don’t worry about it.” “Focus on your future.”

So she tried. She buried the questions. Tried to push past the shadow of a memory she couldn’t reach.

It’s been a year.

Final Four. UConn vs. UCLA.

Of course it comes down to this. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You spot her across the court during warmups.

Paige Bueckers. Back in form. Confident. Deadly. Beautiful in a way that still makes your chest ache.

She doesn’t see you. Or maybe she does and doesn’t know what you mean.

You play your heart out. Every cut, every drive, every shot—there’s fire behind it. But it’s not enough. UConn takes the win.

And then it’s the handshake line.

You don’t know what’s worse—the idea of touching her again, or the idea of not.

She reaches for your hand. Her fingers close around yours.

You look up.

Her eyes meet yours. And something flickers.

A spark. A ghost of recognition. A heartbeat caught in her throat.

“Good game,” she says automatically, her voice hoarse from emotion.

You nod, lips trembling. “You too.”

You try to let go first, but she holds on a second longer. Like maybe she doesn’t want to let go.

Like maybe she knows.

But you pull away with a small smile and walk off.

You don’t look back. You can’t. Because the tears are already falling.

That night, Paige can’t sleep.

She’s tossing and turning in the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, the handshake replaying in her mind on a loop.

Then she starts seeing flashes.

Not highlights. Not plays.

You.

Laughing in the passenger seat of her car, your hand hanging out the window. Falling asleep on her chest after late practices. Sneaking out of hotels for midnight milkshakes before big games. Crying in her arms after your first big loss together. The way she used to kiss the inside of your wrist like it was sacred.

Your voice echoing in her head:

"You make everything feel lighter."

And then— Pain. Sharp and raw. Like her heart’s been waiting all year to remember and now it finally does.

She sits up with a gasp, chest heaving.

And she remembers everything.

The accident. The look on your face when she didn’t know your name. The way you held her hand even when she pulled away. The way you loved her even when she forgot.

And the day you left—eyes red, voice shaking, whispering, “If you ever remember me… I hope it’s the good parts.”

She buries her face in her hands and sobs. Gut-wrenching, soul-breaking sobs.

Because she remembers now. She remembers you. And she let you walk away.

She remembers everything now.

It hits her like a freight train the moment she wakes up, drenched in sweat and tears, clutching the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering her to the world.

You.

Your laugh. Your touch. The way you used to whisper “we’ve got this” before every game like you were casting a spell.

She remembers the accident. The way you used to sit by her bedside, silently praying for a miracle.

She remembers the confusion in your eyes every time she said, “Do I know you?” The way your shoulders slumped just a little more each day.

And then— Your goodbye. Your eyes red. Voice cracking. That whisper— "If you ever remember me… I hope it’s the good parts."

She needs to find you.

Now.

She jumps out of bed, heart racing, hands shaking as she fumbles with her phone.

Instagram. Blocked. Twitter. Blocked. TikTok. Blocked. Message. Green bubble. No profile picture. No read receipts. Just a wall where there used to be warmth.

She searches your name again, as if something might’ve changed in the last five seconds.

Nothing. You’re gone.

She stares at the screen like it might apologize.

Like it might undo what her silence, her forgetting, has cost her.

She runs to her parent’s hotel room like she’s being chased, the ache in her chest growing with every mile. The moment she steps through the door, her mom’s face pales.

“You remember,” her mom says softly.

Paige nods, jaw tight. “Everything.”

Her dad shifts uncomfortably. “Paige, we didn’t mean to—”

“You told her to leave, didn’t you?” Her voice is hoarse now. Breaking. “You told the love of my life to walk away from me.”

“You were overwhelmed,” her mom defends gently. “You didn’t recognize her, and she was—”

“She was mine!” Paige snaps, the tears already welling in her eyes. “She waited by my bed every day, and you treated her like she was some stranger trying to mess with me.”

Her mom’s lip trembles. “We thought we were helping—”

“You weren’t. You took her from me.”

She’s crying now. Full-on sobs she can’t control. Her knees buckle and she sinks to the kitchen floor, head in her hands.

Her dad kneels beside her, reaching to touch her shoulder, but she flinches away.

“She left because she loved me,” she chokes out. “And now I’ve lost her for good.”

Championship night.

It’s everything she dreamed of.

Confetti falls from the rafters. Cameras flash. Reporters crowd the court. The trophy’s heavy in her arms, shining under the lights.

But all she feels is empty.

Because you’re not there.

Not in the stands wearing her jersey. Not on the court, jumping into her arms. Not waiting in the tunnel with your arms wide and your smile even wider.

You’re nowhere.

She stands there, holding the championship trophy, and the moment the cameras pull away, she breaks.

Sinks to the hardwood, sobbing so hard her chest shakes.

Azzi and KK rush to her, but there’s nothing they can do. Nothing anyone can do.

Because she won it. The dream you built together. The thing you used to whisper about under blankets and after practice and in quiet corners of the world. “We’ll win one together. Just wait.”

You waited. You believed. And she forgot you.

And now you’re gone.

Later, alone in the locker room, she scrolls through your old messages.

The ones she didn’t delete. The ones she couldn’t.

"I believe in you always." "You’re not alone. Not ever." "We’re going to make it, babe. I promise."

She clutches her phone to her chest and cries again. The trophy sits on the bench beside her, shining quietly.

But it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

Because she won.

But she lost you.

It’s been a week.

Seven days since the championship. Since the confetti. Since Paige collapsed in the locker room clutching a trophy in one hand and her heart in the other.

She hasn’t stopped thinking about you. You, who should’ve been on the court beside her. You, who used to trace plays on her back with your fingers at night, whispering “When we win it all…” like it was gospel.

But you weren’t there.

And the silence is louder than any celebration ever could be.

She’s sitting in the back of a black SUV on the way to the WNBA Draft, staring at the world outside the window, eyes glazed over.

Azzi’s next to her, buzzing with nerves and excitement. Paige should be too. She’s projected to go first. Her dream is about to come true.

But her hands are cold. Her throat’s dry. Because the person she wanted to celebrate with most— Is gone.

And she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see you again.

You told yourself you wouldn’t come. You’d done the whole disappearing act flawlessly—blocked numbers, wiped socials, cut the thread before it could pull you back in.

But then the day arrived, and you couldn’t stay away.

So now you’re here.

Not in the front row. Not on the list. But tucked away in the back of the venue in jeans and a hoodie, hood up like maybe that’ll hide the way your heart is thudding in your chest.

You just wanted to see her one last time.

The lights dim. The commissioner steps up to the mic.

“With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Dallas Wings select…”

You hold your breath.

“Paige Bueckers, from University of Connecticut.”

The crowd explodes.

You’re on your feet before you know it, clapping with your whole soul, because God, you’re proud of her.

Because no matter the distance, no matter the heartbreak— You always believed in her.

She walks across the stage, hugs her parents, accepts the jersey, does the interview.

And for a moment, you let yourself imagine an alternate world. One where you're up there with her. Where she never forgot. Where you never left.

But you blink and it’s gone.

You’re halfway to the exit when the commissioner returns to the podium.

You pause.

Probably just the last few names. Filler. Nothing that concerns you.

“…and with the 30th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft…”

You check your phone, already mentally checking out.

“The Dallas Wings select…”

You look up absently.

“…Y/N L/N, from University of California Los Angeles.”

Your heart stops.

You freeze. Eyes wide. Mouth open.

No. That— That has to be a mistake.

You barely played this year. You didn’t go to any pre-draft camps. You only declared because your coaches pushed you to. You didn’t even think you’d get a look.

And now— Now you're drafted?

By Dallas?

The same team as Paige?

The same Paige who’s sitting with the commentators, still soaking up the high of being drafted first overall, smiling through interviews — until your name’s announced.

You see it in real time. Her whole body freezes.

The mic drops a little in her hand. Her head snaps toward the screen behind her, where your face flashes beside your name.

She doesn’t even blink.

Because she heard it. She felt it.

Just like you did.

After taking your picture, you’re pulled into a different room, mind still i overdrive, not being to comprehend much yet. As you walk in, there she was — looking beautiful in her suit.

You don't know what to expect. A handshake? A nod? Maybe just silence?

But as soon as you reach her— She steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

Tight. Shaking. Desperate.

And suddenly you're back in her arms, back in the place you never thought you'd be again.

"I prayed for a second chance," she whispers in your ear. "And you showed up."

You swallow the lump in your throat, gripping the back of her jersey like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

“I didn’t think I’d get drafted,” you murmur. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. There's glassiness there, but also something else—something soft and fierce and real.

“I’m not losing you again,” she says, voice thick with tears.

You can’t trust yourself to speak. So you just nod. Because maybe this time, fate is finally on your side.

[prettygirl-gabi]

@zizi-bee-yapping she’s not a hear me out she’s a hold me back…

[prettygirl-gabi]

The gc saga continues….. @elswhore , @yailtsv , @let-zizi-yap , @atimelessheaven ……. What shall I ever do with y’all

[prettygirl-gabi]

Me and @elalfywhore during the first half lol

[prettygirl-gabi]

Give me moreeee I need it like rn

Chapter 2: Mistake? Lesson learned?

»»— warnings: none

»»— notes: ummmm i’m sorry 🙃

»»— word count: 1.1k

previous part ⌧ next part

Unprofessional Line Masterlist

you left.

you didn’t stay in the office like you were supposed to.

you got scared and left.

paige left for the GQ shoot about 30 minutes ago, which means you had 30 minutes of pure silence, which is bad, cause that’s 30 minutes of silence where you can be stuck in your head over thinking.

what if she fires me now? i can’t afford rent without this job. i have some money saved up though so maybe that can hold me over until i find a good paying job. no! what if she tells all the bosses that i slept with her so then they won’t hire me? i’m screwed. i need to get out of here before she gets back and fires me. why’d i cross that line?!?

you immediately stood up from the couch finding and putting on your clothes as you found them. once completely dressed - you bolted.

not turning back once, you just needed to get out of there immediately. although you did tell the front desk worker that you were leaving cause you didn’t feel good, but that’s it.

“babe i’m saying this in the nicest way possible, your dumb. not even dumb but ridiculous.” your best friend says over the phone

“oh gee thanks!” you responded sarcastically, sitting on your couch in your super overpriced apartment - that’s in terrible condition, may i add.

“hey don’t do that, you know i’m right. she never once showed any signs that she was gonna fire you right?”

“….no”

“and she wasn’t being rude to you, or making you feel like an object, or anything of the sorts right?”

“well no bu-“

“so you just left for no reason. she’s obviously interested in you and your interested in her, so what’s the problem? you’ve been telling me about her for years, bro! years! and now that you’re finally crossing that bridge, you just run away?”

“it was a mistake! she’s my boss, i-i can’t just sleep with my boss, you know that. i need to just…move on. she’s not interested in me and i can’t be interested in her. it’s against the rules on every level. lesson learned; don’t sleep with your boss! it makes things complicated.” you sighed, sounding like you were trying to convince yourself more than your friend. mistake? lesson learned? really?

“you don’t even sound confident in that! bro talk to her! you’ve been with her since her brand was created, you’re literally a day 1! she wouldn’t ever fire you let alone fire you because of something you BOTH did!”

you just sit there letting her words wrap around your brain, before you hear water dripping, making you sigh out loud already knowing where it’s coming from

“hey i gotta go, my ceiling’s leaking again, i gotta go find buckets to put under the leaks.”

you try not to give her time to respond but right when you’re pressing the red button, you could hear “TALK TO HER!” before the call ended

you sigh before standing up to search for these dumb buckets, to put under these dumb leaks, that the dumb landlord won’t send help for. you’ve been complaining about multiple leaks, and broken things for almost a year now. your showers been broken for the last two months too, so you’ve been getting to work before anyone else and taking a shower in the locker room downstairs, and you obviously left the office in a hurry and now you’re stuck smelling like sex, sweat, and paige’s valentino cologne. thank god your lease will expire soon.

paige had just gotten back from the GQ photo shoot, a little bit behind schedule but only because she had the driver stop at your favorite fast food place.

paige waved to the front desk worker as a way to say she’s back, as the worker was on the phone and then got in the elevator heading to the top floor - where hers and yours offices were

nobody should ever be up on the top floor unless they absolutely need to talk to you or paige, which is why paige felt comfortable yelling out to you, + like she said she’s the boss and she makes the rules, so really she could yell as much, and as loud as she wanted too, but she’s aware that you’re more introverted and private, so she is still gonna respect that you don’t want the office knowing about you and her.

“babe, i got us food!” paige yelled out, reaching for her keys to unlock her office door, only to find it already unlocked, making her enter confused

“baby?” paige called out taking her keys out of the door, before looking around to see no you, none of your clothes on the floor, and her shirt layed on the couch

she looked around confused and scared, before setting the food down on the small table on the side of the couch, and exiting the office going back to the first floor

“hey, hey, hey, have you seen y/n? she’s not upstairs.” paige says to the front desk worker, with her voice laced in noticeable concern

“she left a little bit ago. claimed she she wasn’t feeling good, and honestly? she looked very pale and tired” he said shrugging before looking back down at his computer, trying to finish whatever he was working on - not knowing that he just punched paige right in the heart

she slowly nods before hitting the desk gently as a way of saying ‘thank you’ before slowly making her way back to the elevator.

walking into her office, she immediately walks past the couch, going straight to her desk and pulling her phone out of her suit pocket

Hey, are you feeling better?

delivered at 7:30

Baby?

delivered at 7:47

Alright, message me when you

feel better, yeah?

delivered at 8:00

paige sighs throwing her phone onto her desk, before rubbing her hand over her face.

did i mess this up? did i ruin everything? is she actually sick or is she avoiding me? god i’m such a bitch, this is all my fault. wait, did i take advantage of her? no! she gave me consent, she has to just be sick, right? right?

paige groans throwing her head against her desk, food long forgotten about

but her overthinking time is abruptly interrupted as one of your interns knock on her opened door “miss.bueckers you need to have those new designs turned in tonight”

“yeah i’ll get to them, thank you” paige rasps out “are you ok, boss? you look sad”

paige puts on a fake smile “i’m fine, thank you.” the intern falls for that though, taking her word that she is ok, and leaves paige alone in her office with her overwhelming voices

is she avoiding me? did i mess things up?

🏷️ @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @authentic-girl03 @souplored @bethsleftnip @evry1luvzzae @paigeluvvr @dopeeaglequeen

[prettygirl-gabi]

Yall ever wonder why I write so much for Paige thank @yailtsv ……😇💗 she’s literally my spoiled princess

She’s Paige and im DiJonai……

But I love her though

[prettygirl-gabi]

Yep, @zizi-bee-yapping I sure do want some…..

[prettygirl-gabi]

@elswhore @let-zizi-yap @yailtsv @atimelessheaven the way yall got me wrapped around every last one of y’all’s fingers it’s sickening

[prettygirl-gabi]

I need more @elalfywhore and I need it neowww

something about cockwarmimg with azzi

“so pretty, baby.” azzi praised, running her hand up your thigh that was on top of her leg; both of you laying on your sides facing one another.

she had came home from hanging with the team, only to find you pretty in your little babydoll, wrapped up in the blankets all cute. how could she not pull out your favorite strap to give you a little treat.

you simply moan in response to her praise, feeling fuller than ever as she slightly moves her body to get comfortable; making the strap thrust a bit inside of you. you lean your face into her, wanting kisses. azzi smiles, leaning down to kiss you. they’re soft pecks; you moan at how sensual it is.

“let me see, pretty girl.” azzis voice soft, reaching to the bottom of your baby doll and with some of your help; she gets it off. you moan as she takes one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking on it and lifting her head upwards; letting it go with a loud wet pop.

your eyes widen and you’re practically drooling and she pulls her tank-top off, her pretty tits on display. “c’mere, baby.” she grabs the back of your head softly, pulling your face to her chest.

you moan, taking one of her nipples into you mouth; cuddling into her more, enjoying the skin to skin as she holds you. “you like that, huh baby?” she softly thrusts the strap into you a few times, making you pulse around it. “feels so good, mommy. so full.” you mumble around her nipple, not wanting to take it out of your mouth as you rub the other one with your finger.

azzi cant help but to giggle as she thinks;

this is the happiest i’ve ever seen her.

[prettygirl-gabi]

When you send a teaser of your next fic to @let-zizi-yap and now she won’t stop bullying you til you post it…..

P.S. will be posted in a few mins…..

Fic link

[prettygirl-gabi]

Daily gc things ft. @yailtsv and @atimelessheaven while the other two are not active rn…