#~imnotkaizer~

[prettygirl-gabi]

Us as they put us in white padded rooms

@yailtsv

@imnotkaizer

[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

[paigeluvvr]

Sick Days

pazzi x reader

blurbbtw

🏷️: @prettygirl-gabi @imnotkaizer @sierrale8ne @fuddaround @pb524830 @paxaz535 (if you want to be in my taglist let me know!)

It was just any other day you wake up, go to your classes and come back home. You had already done that though and now you at your dorm waiting for your girlfriends.

you feel a little hot but you don't think anything of it and you just go and turn the air up and lay in the couch. You feel asleep and you wake to see your beloved girlfriends here. "hi a, hi p" you greet the stretching. "hey mama" they say in unison.

They asked you if you wanted to go out tonight, and your usually would never be the type of person, to turn down a night out. So they kinda those that was suspicious "baby are you feeling ok? you look at little pale." azzi asked you "umm i feel a little hot but other than that im ok i think." Paige is already getting up to get the thermometer.

"baby let me take your temp" paige says and you let her without a fight, cause you were already tired. She takes your temperature and she is shocked "mama you have 102.3 fever." Paige tells you while you look at her likes she crazy. They are getting some comfortable clothes for you and taking off your makeup. "are y'all going to sleep with me?" you asked them "yeah of course we're going to sleep with you"

after y'all's nap you wake up to find them already up. "baby do you want to take your medicine now?" azzi asked you "do i really have a choice?" you sass "sick but still our sassy princess." paige says and now your taking you medicine. Your face scrunches up at the taste.

After a while you get hungry, "im hungry can we get some food please?" You ask them and they say yeah and they all agree on chick fa la. "ok im gonna doordash it."

Yall are all eating and it is about 9:30 pm by the time yall are all done. So yall are laying back down talking, "you know we love you right?" paige says "you've told me but i don't get tired of hearing it love." you tell her and now your sleepy. "goodnight" you tell them and give each of them kisses, "good night baby" they say.

And now y'all are all sleep and you know you're going to be protected for the rest of your life.

even if they weren't in it.

i know this is short but my baby needed to be feed and i wrote this in like 3 minutes so ntm !

[nowiminexileseeingyouout]

fixation

caitlin clark x reader

contains: mentions of an ex bf, blowjob/strapsucking, masturbation

a/n: for @imnotkaizer hope u like it <333 (if u saw this twice i posted without tags by accident)

Caitlin lounged on the plush armchair in the dimly lit living room, her long dark hair spilling over the back of the chair like a waterfall of ink. She gazed at you sitting across from her on the couch. You two had been chatting about Your pasts, and the conversation had taken an intriguing turn.

"Did I ever tell you, I used to date a man," Caitlin mentioned casually, her fingers absently playing with the hem of her shirt. "Before I realized that girls were more my thing."

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, genuinely curious. "Really? What was that like?" you asked, studying Caitlin's face for her reaction.

Caitlin shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "It was okay, I guess. Different from what I'm used to now, that's for sure."

Your eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint in them. "Hey, can I ask you something?" you said, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"Of course, you know you can ask me anything," Caitlin replied.

"Well...did you used to give him blow jobs a lot?" you had asked, trying to keep a straight face. "I'm just nosy about what it was like for you, I've never done it, obviously"

Caitlin blushed slightly but maintained eye contact. "Yeah, I did," she admitted with a little nod. "I guess I was pretty into it, actually."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? Most girls don't seem to like to do it. Why did you enjoy it so much?"

Caitlin pondered the question for a moment before answering with a mischievous grin. "I dunno, I just liked the feeling of having something...in my mouth," she said, her voice dropping to a low, taunting purr. "But you know, it's a good thing you don't have a dick," she added with a wink, "or I might be tempted to show you just how much I liked it."

You laughed, shaking Your head in amazement. "Well, I'm glad I don't have a dick then," you joked back, "Wait, would you actually be into doing something like that though?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Because if you're being real about this...I know we haven't used it, but I do own a strap-on if you're game."

Caitlin's eyes sparkled with mischief and desire, a deep blush coloring her pale cheeks. She licked her lips unconsciously, already imagining the taste, the texture, the sensation of having something hard and thick filling her mouth once more.

"Mmm, I would be so into that," Caitlin purred, her voice low and husky with arousal. "I miss the feeling of something filling up my mouth, stretching my lips, hitting the back of my throat..." She shivered, her nipples hardening beneath her shirt at the thought. "Please, baby, I want to taste you. I want to worship your cock, no matter whose it is."

Your breath caught in her throat, a fresh wave of lust crashing over her at Caitlin's wanton words. Without another word, you turned and hurried to the bedroom, rummaging through the closet until you found the strap-on tucked away in the back. You'd bought it on a whim, never imagining you would actually use it, but now you were grateful to have it.

Returning to the living room, you found Caitlin exactly where you had left her, lounging on the chair with a look of pure, undiluted desire on her beautiful face. You stood before her, the strap-on secured tightly around your hips, the long, thick silicone cock bulging obscenely.

Caitlin's eyes widened as she took in the sight, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She sank to her knees without hesitation, her hair falling around her shoulders in dark, silky waves. Reaching out, she wrapped one small hand around the base of the strap-on, marveling at the weight, the heat of it. She could feel it throbbing slightly from the vibrator behind it nuzzled on your clit, mimicking the pulsing of a real cock.

Your eyes darkened with lust as Caitlin knelt before you, gazing up at the impressive silicone cock with a hunger that couldn't be denied. You gripped Caitlin's hair with one hand, fisting the silky dark locks and tugging her head back slightly. With her other hand, you slapped the thick head of the strap-on against Caitlin's cheeks, leaving a slight reddening mark on her pale skin.

"Open your mouth, you dirty girl," you growled, your voice dripping with desire. "Show me how much you miss having a cock in your mouth."

Caitlin let out a soft moan, her lips parting eagerly. She stuck out her tongue, allowing the strap-on to slap against it, tasting the slight plastic flavor. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through her body, arousal coiling tight in her core.

"Yess, baby," she hissed, looking up at her girlfriend with hooded eyes. "I want it so fucking bad. I want to choke on your perfect cock."

You smirked, taking that as an invitation. Gripped Caitlin's hair tighter and pushed forward, the head of the strap-on pushing past Caitlin's plump lips, stretching them obscenely around the thick girth. You pushed in deeper, watching as inches of the silicone cock disappeared into Caitlin's hot, eager mouth.

Caitlin let out a muffled moan around the intrusion, her tongue working along the shaft, tasting every inch of it. She could feel it hitting the back of her throat, making her gag slightly, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she relaxed her throat, allowing her girlfriend to push in even deeper until her nose was pressed against the base of the strap-on.

You groaned at the incredible sensation, you swore you could feel it all, the tight, wet heat of Caitlin's mouth engulfing you. You began to thrust, fucking Caitlin's face with rough, deep strokes. Slapping Caitlin, leaving red handprints on her soft skin. All the while, Caitlin took it like a champ, sucking and slurping noisily, her eyes watering from the brutal face-fucking.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," you grunted, your hips moving faster, fucking into Caitlin's mouth.

Your thrusts became more erratic, more desperate, as she chased your own pleasure. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and Caitlin's gagging filled the room, a symphony of their shared lust. Just as you were about to reach the edge, Caitlin suddenly pulled back, the strap-on slipping from her mouth with a lewd pop.

"Wait, stop," Caitlin gasped, her voice hoarse from the rough treatment. "I want to touch myself while I suck you off."

You halted, panting heavily, your dark with desire as you watched Caitlin stumble to her feet. Caitlin quickly shed her clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap, until she stood bare before her lover. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the dim light, and her full breasts heaved with each ragged breath.

Caitlin sank back to her knees, one hand immediately delving between her thighs to cup her aching pussy. She could feel how wet she was, her pussy dripping with arousal. She circled her clit with two fingers, biting her lip to stifle a moan as jolts of pleasure shot through her.

You watched, exhilarated, as Caitlin began to pleasure herself. The sight of her lover touching herself, desperate, only served to drive your own lust to new heights. You found yourself grinding against the base of the strap to feel the sensation of the vibrator that you had been Robbed from as Caitlin stopped sucking, watching as Caitlin worked her fingers in and out of her glistening folds.

"Fuck, that's so hot," you breathed, your voice rough with desire. "Keep touching yourself, baby. I want to watch you get yourself off while you suck my cock."

Caitlin needed no further encouragement. She wrapped her lips around the strap-on once more, taking it deep into her throat as she plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into her hungry cunt. She set a steady rhythm, fucking herself in time with the bobbing of her head, sucking and slurping lewdly around the silicone cock stretching her lips.

You groaned, tangling your fingers in Caitlin's dark hair and forcing her head down, burying the strap-on deep in her throat. You could feel Caitlin's throat constricting around the intrusion, massaging the hard length as she swallowed around it. Your grip tightened in Caitlin's hair as you began to thrust in earnest, fucking Caitlin's face with wild abandon.

The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, mingling with Caitlin's muffled moans and gags around the strap-on plunging in and out of her mouth.

All the while, Caitlin's fingers never stopped their relentless intrusion on her dripping cunt. She could feel her arousal building, the coil of tension in her core winding tighter and tighter with each passing second. Her clit throbbed under her touch, swollen and sensitive, begging for more stimulation.

Caitlin pulled back slightly, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting her lips to the spit-slick strap-on. "Fuck, I'm getting close," she panted, her eyes glazed over with lust. "Don't stop, please don't stop fucking my throat. I want to come on your cock."

You growled in response, doubling her efforts. You slammed the strap-on into Caitlin's mouth, burying it to the hilt, holding it there as you ground against her lover's face. Caitlin gagged and choked, tears streaming down her face, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she redoubled her own efforts, plunging three fingers deep into her clenching, fluttering hole.

The room filled with the symphony of your shared pleasure, the crude slurps and gags, the wet squelches of Caitlin's fingers plunging into her soaked cunt, the harsh pants and grunts you let out as you chased your high. The scent of sex and sweat permeated the air, a tangible reminder of their intense, raw sex.

With a final, brutal thrust, you buried the strap-on deep in Caitlin's throat and held it there. At the same moment, Caitlin curled her fingers just right, pressing hard against that special spot inside her. The dual stimulation was too much to bear, and with a silent scream, Caitlin came undone.

Her pussy clamped down on her fingers, rippling and squeezing as a violent orgasm tore through her. Her body convulsed, shaking and shuddering as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over her. Drool poured from her stretched lips, dripping down her chin and onto her heaving breasts.

[formerelswhore]

— HI GUYS! so the ban on my account has been lifted so im going to stay on my main account now ^^ @imnotkaizer

[yailtsv]

Bloodsucker || when the hunter becomes the hunted

Warnings: tbc!

All Dividers: @saradika-graphics + @imnotkaizer for the paige pictures 🤗

moodboard / aesthetic - tbc

moodboard / aesthetic - tbc

chapters are not decided yet!

[cherryswisherz]

idk if yall are aware but @imnotkaizer be pushing out bout 5 fics a day and iove it because i always have something to do during my end of day phone time.

thank ya sista💋

[mars4hellokitty]

TY FOR THE TAG MOOTIE 🫂

M - Misty - Laufey

A - Abbey - Mitski

R - Ryd - Steve Lacy

S - Sailor Song - Gigi Perez

You're next 😼 @lolitalovess @jinxedjazz @firefly-ace @imnotkaizer

MOOT / TAG GAME !

mission— spell your real name / name you use on tumblr with songs you like >< ready, set, go !

m — my love, mine all mine (mitski)

i — i love you, i’m sorry (gracie abrams)

c — coraline (lyn lapid)

k — killshot (magdalena bay)

i — i know you (faye webster)

e — either way (ive)

tagging— @puma-riki @flwrstqr @liwinly @woniefication @lilificationn @stvrriki @okwonyo + anyone else who wants to join !

[prettygirl-gabi]

hello my pretty gabi 🥵💕

Hellooo

[prettygirl-gabi]

My Paigey

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball / WNBA (UConn, Dallas Wings)

Summary: bringing Paige home for Easter, where our (my) five-year-old niece Aria quickly claims Paige as her own(once again)—and refuses to let go.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowngirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee, @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr, @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

Easter back home always meant chaos: pastel dresses, chocolate bunnies, church pews packed tighter than my carry-on suitcase, and Aria—my five-year-old niece who had enough sass and charm to run the whole family if we let her.

This year, though, she had a partner-in-crime.

“Are we almost there?” Paige’s voice curled softly in my ear, her hand resting on my thigh as I drove down the familiar two-lane road to my parents’ house.

“Two more turns,” I said, glancing over with a grin. “Excited?”

She smiled, brushing her long hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Nervous too. Your mom likes me, right?”

“She already follows you on Instagram and sends me screenshots when you post anything remotely cute.”

“That’s almost everything I post.” She smirked, the cocky confidence slipping in—my favorite look on her.

I parked the car and we hadn’t even finished getting our bags out before the screen door slammed open.

“YOU’RE HERE!”

A blur of curls and bunny socks came flying off the porch and slammed into my legs. “Hi Aria—!”

“No! I wanna hug Paigey first!”

I watched, mock-offended, as Aria let go of me like yesterday’s news and threw her tiny arms around Paige’s waist, looking up at her with sparkling brown eyes.

Paige crouched down, giggling. “Hey, Jellybean. Missed you too.”

“Are you staying forever this time?” Aria asked seriously, and I saw my mom chuckle behind the screen door.

Paige glanced at me, then back at her. “I’m here all Easter weekend. That cool?”

Aria nodded, then clutched Paige’s hand like she was some magical Disney princess who’d just stepped off a float.

That set the tone for the rest of the weekend.

Aria insisted on riding to church in Paige’s lap—obviously not allowed—so we compromised. She sat next to Paige, then climbed into her lap halfway through the opening hymn, arms tucked around Paige’s waist like she was shielding her from rogue hymnal books.

I leaned in, whispering, “You good over there, P?”

Paige smiled down at Aria, whose head now rested on her shoulder. “I think I’ve been claimed, for marriage and it’s not to you.”

“I see that.”

Aria looked up. “I told the Easter Bunny to give Paigey the biggest basket.”

Paige laughed quietly. “Wow, thank you. That’s very generous.”

“I didn’t get you chocolate ‘cause Mommy says I’m not allowed sugar before naps. But you can have my yellow jellybeans.”

“Those are your favorites,” Paige said softly.

Aria shrugged like a martyr. “You’re my favorite now.”

I gasped dramatically. “Wow. I’m right here.”

“You still smell like car air-freshener.”

Getting Aria down for her nap was usually an ordeal involving at least two parents, one sippy cup, and a very specific Spotify playlist of ocean waves and Moana ballads.

Today? She snuggled into Paige’s arms on the couch while the adults cleared up post-church snacks and deviled eggs. Her eyes drooped, her thumb popped into her mouth, and Paige just rocked her gently with one arm while sipping sweet tea with the other.

“She’s out,” Paige whispered to me proudly.

“You’re literally a miracle worker.”

“She called me her ‘Paigey’ again.”

“You are her Paigey,” I teased. “Face it. You’re hers now.”

Easter Egg Hunt – Later

As soon as Aria woke up, her first word was, “Paigey?”

Paige appeared in the doorway with her sneakers on and a pink hoodie. “Ready to hunt some eggs?”

Aria lit up. “YES. But only if you help me.”

She refused to let Paige leave her side during the entire backyard Easter egg hunt. Even when she spotted a plastic egg half-hidden behind the tulips, she waited for Paige to walk with her to go get it.

“I got the sparkle egg,” she announced proudly, then looked at Paige. “You get to open it.”

“I feel honored.”

“It’s just jellybeans,” Aria said, then paused. “You want the yellow ones.”

“I do.”

After the hunt, Paige lifted her onto her hip like it was second nature, balancing Aria with one arm while helping my mom clean up candy wrappers with the other. I just stood there watching her like an idiot.

“You’re down bad,” my brother whispered, nudging me.

“She’s got my niece under a spell.”

He smirked. “So do you. Just not the same kind.”

The next morning, Paige and I were saying our see you laters and panicking up so we could head back home, and everything was going smoothly.

However, except I could hear Aria’s dramatic wails before I even zipped up my suitcase.

“NOOOOOOOO.”

I walked out to the living room and found her gripping Paige’s leg like a lifeline, face scrunched, little cheeks tear-streaked.

“She said she has to go back to Netticut,” Aria sniffled. “But she’s mine.”

Paige bent down gently. “I am yours. I just have to pack my stuff that’s at the me and auntie Y/n’s place so I can go play basketball with the big girls, remember?”

“No!” Aria shook her head violently. “I wanna come too. Please. I’ll be good. I’ll pack jellybeans.”

I looked at Paige.

She looked at me.

I nodded. “Screw it. We’re taking her.”

We had set Aria up on the pull-out couch in our guest room, with her favorite pillow from home and a giant stuffed bunny Paige won her at a carnival last summer.

She FaceTimed her mom the first night.

“Hi Mommy. I’m good. Paigey made me waffles. Okay, bye.”

And hung up.

That was the new routine.

FaceTime in the morning: “Hi Mommy, I brushed my teeth! Paigey let me use her sparkly toothpaste! Okay bye.”

FaceTime before bed: “Paigey read me three books. And I had mac and cheese. Okay, night!”

She barely remembered we were supposed to be dropping her back off at home after one weekend.

“Okay, Jellybean” Paige said, lifting Aria into the air while I folded her last pair of UConn sweatpants. “Want to help me put this in the box?”

Aria dropped the shirt in and looked around. “Your room is empty.”

“I know. I’m moving to Dallas soon, remember?”

“Do I get to come to Dallas?”

I laughed. “You’d love Texas. Big parks. Lots of bunnies. Maybe Paigey can find you some yellow jellybeans there too.”

Paige looked at me over Aria’s head. “We’re seriously taking her to Texas, aren’t we?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Aria crawled into one of Paige’s empty storage bins. “I fit in here.”

“You do,” Paige said, grinning. “You ready to move in with Auntie Paige and Y/N?”

“I been ready.”

“She’s gonna forget she has parents,” my sister joked over FaceTime as Aria ran around in the background in Paige’s oversized practice jersey.

“She has parents,” I said. “She just… prefers her Paigey.”

Paige walked by, sipping a smoothie. “Is it weird that I kinda love it?”

My sister smiled. “It’s not weird. It’s a little terrifying, but also adorable. You guys are her favorite people in the world.”

“Paigey is my best friend,” Aria said, running up to the phone.

“And who am I?” I asked, teasing.

“My other best friend. But Paigey’s my favorite-favorite.”

Paige just shot me a smug look.

We ended up flying Aria home two days before Paige left for Dallas.

She cried the whole ride to the airport, clutching Paige’s hand the entire time.

“I’ll come visit you,” Paige whispered into her hair. “And I’ll send you pictures from every new place, okay?”

“You pwomise.”

“Yeah, jellybean. I promise.” She said locking pinkies with Aria.

When we finally got back to the apartment, Paige leaned her head back on the couch and exhaled.

“I miss her already.”

“You’re gonna be the coolest WNBA auntie ever.”

“I’m gonna send her a stuffed armadillo from Texas.”

“She’s gonna sleep with it every night.”

We both looked out the window in silence for a moment.

“She’s gonna grow up so fast,” Paige said softly.

I reached over, lacing my fingers with hers. “We’ll still be her Paigey and Y/N.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Later That Night

I got a text.

From Aria.

(Okay, from my sister’s phone, but still.)

It was a drawing. Paige and I holding hands. Aria in the middle. A rainbow over our heads. And above it, in Aria’s all-caps handwriting:

“MY PAIGEY. MY Y/N. MY FAMILY.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[prettygirl-gabi]

One-on-One

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Coach’s Daughter)

Fandom: WNBA: Dallas Wings

Summary: they say shooters shoot…

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin ,@issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

If you’d told seventeen-year-old me that someday Paige Bueckers would be standing across from me in a Dallas Wings practice jersey, spinning a ball on her finger, grinning at me like we shared some inside joke—I would’ve laughed.

And probably cried.

And then immediately passed out.

Yet here I am.

And it’s somehow worse than I imagined, because she’s real, she’s even more beautiful than a screen ever showed me, and she’s smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

It had been a normal first day of practice—rookies meeting vets, drills, intro speeches—and I’d just been here to help my dad, Dallas Wings’ head coach Chris Koclanes, with welcoming the new players.

You know.

Like a normal, functioning adult who wasn’t crushing like a giddy teenager.

And maybe it would’ve stayed innocent if Arike hadn’t cornered me at the Gatorade table.

“You’ve got it bad,” she said in that sing-song voice that meant trouble.

I groaned. “Don’t.”

“She’s looking good in Dallas gear, huh?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Well, either you make a move before practice ends or I will.”

I blinked. “You’re bluffing.”

She smirked. “You know I’m not.”

And that’s why I’m now standing at half-court, holding a basketball, heart pounding loud enough I’m convinced Paige can hear it.

“You sure about this?” Paige asks, tossing her towel onto a bench. There’s an amused twinkle in her eye, like she’s very much enjoying this.

“Scared?” I tease.

She snorts. “Of you? Never.”

I spin the ball once on my palm. “First to eleven. Ones and twos. Loser…” I pause, letting it hang dramatically, “…has to buy dinner.”

“And if you win, you’re buying dinner?”

“Nope. If I win,” I say, walking backward toward the three-point line, “you give me your number.”

She raises an eyebrow, but she’s smiling. “Confident.”

I shrug. “I’ve been waiting years for this moment.”

Her laugh is low, a little breathless. “Alright, coach’s kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Paige checks the ball and immediately fakes left, drives right, and lays it in.

“1-0,” she says, grinning, jogging backward.

“You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already trying to embarrass me,” I say, checking it back.

She shrugs, playful. “Gotta set the tone early.”

I fake a stepback, blow past her, and hit a quick floater off the glass.

“1-1,” I say, smug.

“Ooooh, we got a game,” Arike shouts from the sideline, recording it on her phone.

Over the next few minutes, it’s back and forth.

She calls out my lazy defense.

I chirp her about missing an open three.

We’re grinning the entire time, bumping shoulders, getting a little too close for it to just be casual competition.

At 7-6 her, she leans in during a dead ball and whispers, “You know, if you wanted my number this bad, you could’ve just asked.”

I nearly travel.

“You’re cocky,” I say, shaking my head as I check the ball.

“And you’re adorable,” she says easily, clapping her hands for the pass.

I nearly pass out.

We battle until it’s 10-10.

Game point. Winner takes all.

We’re both sweating, a little out of breath. She’s bouncing on her toes, her eyes locked on mine.

“You ready to lose in front of your dad?” she teases.

“You ready to explain to the whole team how you got cooked by a ‘retired’ player?” I shoot back.

Her grin is everything.

I jab step, fake right, crossover left—

and pull up for a jumper just inside the arc.

Swish.

I throw my arms up as the small group watching cheers.

“Let’s goooo!” Arike yells, jumping around like a fool.

I turn to Paige, who’s standing with her hands on her hips, smiling like she just lost on purpose.

“Hand it over, Bueckers,” I say, wiggling my fingers for her phone.

She pulls it from her waistband and tosses it to me.

As I type my number in, she leans in close enough for me to smell her vanilla body spray.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Only if you’re into that.”

Her laugh is soft. Secret. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Later, after the gym clears out, I stop by my dad’s office.

He’s behind his desk, tapping on a laptop.

“You heading out?” he asks.

I nod, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, gonna show Paige around. Deep Ellum, maybe Bishop Arts.”

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing for a second too long.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

He shrugs. “You had that look on your face. The one from sophomore year, when you thought she liked one of your Instagram posts.”

“Oh my God.”

He laughs. “Just don’t break my rookie’s heart, alright?”

I pause, the humor fading slightly. “What if she breaks mine?”

He looks at me for a long moment. Serious. Dad-mode activated.

“Then I’ll bench her.”

We both laugh, the tension breaking.

“Go,” he says, waving me off. “But be home by midnight or I’m calling Arike to find you both.”

I salute him dramatically and jog out before I can combust from second-hand embarrassment.

We end up at a taco truck in Deep Ellum, sitting on the curb with greasy napkins and lime wedges everywhere. It’s casual and easy—until Paige turns to me, holding her drink.

“So… your dad kinda let something slip yesterday,” she says, tone light.

My stomach drops. “Slip, like what?”

She bites her straw to hide a smile. “At the rookie press conference. After he introduced us to the staff. He was talking about you, to me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh God. What did he say?”

“He said—” she pauses for dramatic effect, “—‘She’s been a fan of yours for a long time. Could practically write a dissertation on your highlight reel.’”

I groan and hide my face in my hands.

“Yup,” Paige says, laughing. “So I knew.”

“You knew—this whole time?!”

She nods, sipping casually. “And I still let you think you were being subtle.”

I groan again.

“But,” she says, nudging my knee with hers, “I thought it was cute.”

I peek out between my fingers. “You don’t think I’m, like… a weirdo?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a little. But in a good way. Honestly? I think it’s kinda hot that you risked public humiliation for my number.”

I blink. “You think I’m hot?”

She smirks. “Don’t push your luck, coach’s kid.”

I laugh, bumping my shoulder into hers.

We sit there for a while longer, just…talking. About Dallas. About her adjusting to the WNBA. About me adjusting to not being an athlete anymore.

It feels easy. Natural. Like it was always supposed to happen.

And when she walks me back to my car, she lingers for a second, eyes flickering to my mouth before she says, “Let’s do this again.”

I grin. “Wasn’t planning on stopping.”

She slides her hand into mine briefly—barely a brush of fingers—and it’s the best first almost-date of my life.

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Good Old Days

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball/Women’s College volleyball (UConn / NC State AU)

Inspired by: “Good Old Days” by Macklemore ft. Kesha

Summary: Childhood best friends turned lovers rediscover love during final seasons.

A/n: this is Paige’s pov…..

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @paige05bby , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

I wish somebody would’ve told me, babe.

Told me that the nights spent on rooftops, the laughter echoing from backyards, and those wide-eyed dreams we swore were real—those would be the good old days.

That you would be my good old days.

I met you when we were eight.

You’d just moved into the house down the street, wearing your older brother’s oversized hoodie and scowling like you hated Minnesota’s snow more than anything else.

I threw a snowball at your window. You came outside to yell at me. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

We had our first fight two months later. You didn’t want to share your last Capri Sun. I called you selfish. You cried. I cried harder. We made up two hours later when I offered you my fruit snacks.

Childhood friendship. Pure, unfiltered, untouchable.

It stayed that way until we grew up.

It was the summer before we turned sixteen when it all changed.

Fourth of July. You wore a red tank top, fireworks reflected in your eyes. We laid on a blanket behind your cousin’s truck, half-drunk on soda, half-drunk on feelings we couldn’t name.

You said, “Do you ever think about us? Like… more than best friends?”

I didn’t answer. I kissed you instead.

That was our first kiss.

That was the start of something I didn’t have the words for yet.

“I wish somebody would’ve told me, babe. Someday, these will be the good old days.”

We said I love you the next month.

We said I hate you two weeks later.

Because that’s how we were.

Passionate. Stubborn. Real.

You wanted to go to homecoming. I didn’t have the guts.

I let you go with someone else, even though my heart screamed at me to ask you.

You were furious. “But you didn’t even ask either, did you, Madison?”

When you used my middle name, I knew I’d really hurt you.

You didn’t talk to me for three days. That was a record. I hated every second of it.

We got high together for the first time senior year. An edible at a bonfire. You laughed so hard you snorted water out your nose. I couldn’t stop saying I love you. You kept repeating it back through tears of laughter.

Those were the nights we thought would never end.

Then college came.

UConn for me. NC State for you.

We promised nothing would change.

But it did.

Distance didn’t kill us. Time did. Pressure. Injuries. Growing into different people.

Still, you showed up for me when it mattered. Like that day—August 1st, 2022.

ACL tear. Pickup game. My whole world flipped.

You flew in without saying a word. Showed up at the hospital in your NC State hoodie, hair in a messy bun, eyes red.

“I knew you’d need me,” you whispered. “So I came.”

I’ll never forget that.

“I just wanted my name in a star. Now look at where we at…”

Senior Night. February 16th, 2024.

I stood on the court, mic in hand, heart racing like it was my first game again.

“I know everyone wants me to address the elephant in the room… but umm unfortunately this will not be my last senior night at UConn. Im coming back!” I said, voice breaking as the crowd exploded.

You were in the stands. I saw you. I always found you first. You were crying, grinning, clapping so hard your palms must’ve burned.

That night, we laid in my bed. Not lovers. Not exactly friends. Something softer. Something complicated.

“I feel like this is it,” I murmured into the quiet. “Our year. I think we can bring it home.”

You turned to me, eyes glossy. “I think so too. And even if it isn’t… you’re already enough, Paige.”

No one else could’ve said that and made me believe it.

April 5th, 2024. Final Four. UConn vs. Iowa. 69-71. We lost.

I was in shock. Tears running down my face.

You were the first person I saw when I looked up.

No cameras. No fans. Just you, waiting by the tunnel.

You didn’t say anything. You just hugged me like it was 2015 again and we were back in my backyard crying over a scraped knee.

“I’m proud of you,” you whispered.

And God, I needed that.

Then your shoulder tore. Final season. Senior year. The one you came back for.

You tried to push me away again.

“Go focus on your season, Paige.”

I didn’t leave. I flew out. I brought your favorite smoothie and an ugly teddy bear from the airport gift shop.

You looked at me, broken and raw. “Why are you still here?”

“Because if I had to do it all over again—us, this, the heartbreak, the magic—I would.”

We spent spring in late-night FaceTimes.

Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we just stared at each other, eyes heavy with sleep and old feelings.

Other nights, I’d find myself in Raleigh. Or you in Storrs. Quiet visits. No social media. No explanations.

We sat on my roof one night after a party. Music below. Stars above.

“I wish time would slow down,” I said.

You nodded, head on my shoulder. “I wish we could be 16 again. I wish you’d asked me to homecoming.”

I looked at you. “I wish I had too.”

April 4th, 2025. Final Four. We won.

April 6th. National Championship. Tampa. We did it. Natty secured.

I collapsed in the confetti, tears soaking my jersey.

I searched the crowd again. And there you were. Hands cupped over your mouth, eyes bright with joy.

I pointed. You smiled.

After the game, I found you in the tunnel.

“Come back to Connecticut with me,” I said, breathless. “Come celebrate.”

You hesitated for one second. Then nodded.

April 7th. Welcome Home Rally. Gampel Pavilion.

You were front row. Cheering louder than anyone. I saw you mouthing my speech with me. You’d always known me best.

Later that night, parties in Storrs. I kept looking for you.

When I finally found you on the porch steps, red solo cup in hand, you grinned.

“Remember when we thought this was impossible?” I asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “But then again… we always were kind of unstoppable.”

April 13th. The parade in Hartford. Thousands of fans. Confetti and chants.

You were in the crowd. Again.

Always showing up.

Always my good old days.

April 14th. WNBA Draft.

I wore black. You wore purple. We didn’t sit together. We couldn’t. But the after party we were glued to each other.

I pulled you into my arms and whispered, “Thank you for every version of me you loved.”

You kissed my cheek and said, “I’ll always love every version.”

And now, sitting in this quiet hotel room, draft hat on the table, champagne on the dresser—I think about us.

“I was thinkin’ ‘bout the band… thinkin’ ‘bout the fans… in a small club in Minnesota…”

I was thinkin’ ‘bout you.

How we used to sneak out, lie on the grass, dreamin’, figuring out who we were. The futon nights. The fights. The Fourth of July. The homecoming I ruined. The edible giggles. The hospital rooms. The long drives. The late nights. The confessions. The heartbreak.

All of it.

Those good old days.

And I finally understand what the song meant.

“Maybe these are the moments… maybe I’ve been missin’ what it’s about…”

I smile through the tears.

Because even though we didn’t end up where we thought we would, I had you.

And that was always enough.

I pick up my phone.

Me: You up?

🏐💕: Always for you.

Me: I don’t know what happens next. WNBA, life… all of it. But if I had to go through every moment again—the best, the worst, the magic, the pain—I would. With you.

🏐💕: I’d do it all again too.

You send a picture. It’s us. Fourth of July. Sixteen. Right before our first kiss.

And I know, deep in my bones, in my heart, in the history written in every scar and every smile line…

“I wish somebody would’ve told me, babe…”

These will always be my good old days.

I don’t remember falling asleep, only that your voice was the last thing I heard and your picture was the last thing I saw. Fourth of July. Age sixteen. A still frame of a beginning.

The next morning, sunlight pours through my hotel window like it’s got something to say. My phone buzzes. It’s you.

🏐💕: Wanna get breakfast?

Me: Always.

We meet at a little diner a few blocks from the hotel. It’s nothing fancy—red booths, sticky syrup bottles, that smell of burnt coffee and cinnamon pancakes.

You’re already there when I arrive, hoodie pulled over your head, sunglasses on despite being indoors. You wave me over with a fork in one hand, smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Sleep okay?” you ask.

“I did once you answered.”

You snort, nudging a mug toward me. “I ordered your coffee. Hazelnut. Two sugars. I remembered.”

“You always do.”

We fall into conversation like we never stopped. College talk. Draft nerves. Rookie contracts. Training camps.

Then, it quiets. There’s a lull between bites of waffle and sips of coffee. You glance out the window, chewing your lip the way you always do when you’re nervous.

“Can I ask you something?”

I nod. “Always.”

You meet my eyes. “Do you think… do you think we missed our chance?”

I set my fork down. My chest tightens. “I used to think that.”

“And now?”

“Now I think… maybe we needed the time apart to grow into the kind of people who could try again. And get it right.”

You look down, then back up. “I never stopped loving you.”

I reach across the table, cover your hand with mine.

“I never will.”

It’s not loud. Not dramatic. No background music or movie-score-worthy kiss. Just you and me, in a booth that smells like syrup, holding hands like we’re sixteen again and scared of what love could mean.

Only this time, we’re not scared.

This time, we’re ready.

And maybe we can’t rewrite the past, but we can choose what comes next.

“I wish somebody would’ve told me, babe…”

“…that someday, these would be the good old days.”

And maybe—just maybe—we’re about to start the best ones yet.

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[prettygirl-gabi]

“To the Moon and Beyond” pt.4

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader (Pazzi x Reader)

Fandom: NCAA Women’s Basketball / WNBA

Warnings: cheating, revenge cheating, eventually in later parts there will be 18+ content (smut, alcohol consumption, strong language), polyamory, public teasing/flirting (in later parts)

Summary: A tangled history of love, heartbreak, and hidden desire leads three elite players into a secret relationship—and the WNBA spotlight.

A/N: yes this is hella long… I got in a groove and couldn’t stop writing… but yeahh enjoy!! This is also one of the longest fics I’ve ever written… will be multiple parts….cause it’s too long for tumblr…

Also thank you @paige05bby for the banner/header

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2025 WNBA Draft.”

The venue erupts in applause, a few camera flashes already firing off as families sit up straighter, hands tightening on the backs of their loved ones’ chairs.

I glance back toward Paige’s table — she’s seated now, nestled between Bob and Azzi. Amy’s beaming, Coach Geno leaning in to say something that makes Azzi laugh behind her hand.

It’s a beautiful picture, but even from here, I can see the weight in Paige’s shoulders. The quiet tension in her jaw as the clock ticks down.

Then—

“With the number one pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Dallas Wings select… Paige Bueckers from the University of Connecticut.”

The venue explodes. Clapping, screaming, camera shutters.

Paige’s POV:

My head drops for a second. Not in disbelief—I knew this moment was coming. But it’s reverent. Like I’m praying not to fall apart under the weight of what it means.

Azzi hugs me first. It’s tight. Long. She says something low into my neck and I can’t even register it through the rush in my ears, but it keeps me grounded.

Coach Geno’s next, grinning like a proud dad. He pats my back twice, then holds my arms like he wants to say something else — but doesn’t need to. It’s in his eyes.

Then my dad, pulling me into a tight squeeze.

And my mom. Her hands cradle my face before she kisses my forehead, her eyes glossy. “I love you, Mads.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

But I’m not done.

Before I even take a step toward the stage, my feet veer right — toward the only other table that matters.

She stands the second I approach.

We don’t say anything at first. We just hug. And it’s real — real like everything that’s ever existed between us.

Her lips brush my ear.

“M’so proud of you, Madsy. I love you to the moon and beyond.”

I pull back just enough to whisper, “You’re a reason I’m number one.”

Her eyes water, and I can’t stay in that too long or I’ll lose it completely. So I let go, step back, and head toward the stage.

I pose with the commissioner, jersey held high. Smile locked in place.

But before I even make it down the steps good, I get gently pulled into an interview setup on the side of the stage — Holly Rowe waiting, mic in hand.

“Paige, what does it feel like to hear your name being called as the number one draft pick? What’s racing through your mind right now?”

I laugh, a breath of disbelief caught in my throat. “Umm… just an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Uh, it’s super surreal — just being here with the other draft invitees. My teammates are here, my family’s here. I’m just super grateful. I’ve been focusing on staying present, staying where my feet are… and to be here right now? I’m extremely blessed.”

Holly nods, eyes soft. “You fought through the hardest times to still be here, standing, against all odds.”

I blink, then nod slowly. “Uh, through my faith. Through God’s purpose. Through my teammates, my family.

The coaching staff, the strength and conditioning staff. Everybody’s invested a lot in me. It’s part of me wanting to give back to them — show that I can do better, show them that their hard work helped me get to this stage. I didn’t do it alone. It took a village. So I’m extremely grateful for them.”

“And what about your teammates who came here to support you tonight — how important has this group of women been to your journey?”

That one gets me.

I swallow, blinking hard as my voice tightens. “Uh… they’ve changed my life. Those are my sisters.”

I pause. Just for a second.

“Just extremely grateful for them. I think two teams — or one smart one — should absolutely pick up Kaitlyn Chen and Aubrey Griffin tonight. They’re ready. I believe in them. I love them. And they’re going to be my sisters for life.”

Holly smiles. “Last one. What’s it been like to be drafted the same night as your childhood best friend — someone you’ve played with since your Rec and AAU days all the way through high school? What was going through your mind when you hugged Y/n before coming up here?”

My chest tightens.

“It felt like I was letting go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding in,” I say slowly, honestly. “She’s been a part of my village since day one, basically. And I just… yeah. The distance meant nothing in our friendship — we made it work. And I just love her. To the moon and beyond.”

I smile, blinking quickly as I look over toward her again.

“And I can’t wait to play against or with her in the W.”

The interview ends, and the applause picks up again.

Y/n’s POV:

Suddenly it’s my turn now, and the cameras all pan to me.

“With the number five pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Y/n Y/l/n from the University of Southern California.”

Everything else blurs for a second.

I hug my grandma first — her arms trembling as she whispers prayers against my cheek. Then my grandpa, whose voice cracks as he says, “You did it, baby.”

My dad is next, pulling me in like he used to after every high school game, and then my mom — eyes full, hands cradling my face like I’m five years old again.

I soak it in. All of it. Every touch, every tear.

Then I walk toward Paige’s table.

She’s already on her feet, arms wide open.

“You did it, mama” she whispers in my ear the second I’m wrapped in her. Her voice is quiet, thick with emotion. “Go do great things, yeah?”

I nod into her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut just to stay in the moment.

Azzi’s arms come next, folding around both of us for a beat before Paige steps aside.

“One chapter ends. A new one starts,” Azzi says into my ear. “Give ’em hell, baby. You deserve it.”

And then there’s Kiki, grinning with watery eyes, pulling me in for a tight hug that makes me laugh through my tears. “You’re my favorite hooper, don’t tell nobody.”

I finally make my way up to the stage, taking my picture with the commissioner before stepping off and walking straight into Holly Rowe’s interview zone.

The lights are hot. The mic in her hand steady. She smiles warmly as the camera rolls.

“Y/n,” she begins, “first off, congratulations. How does it feel to officially be a Golden State Valkyrie?”

I let out a small laugh, still slightly breathless. “It feels insane. Surreal. Like… something I dreamed about since I was a little girl. To hear my name, to walk that stage, to know I’m repping a team like Golden State—it’s everything. I’m ready.”

Holly nods. “And right before you went up, we saw you hugging Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd, and your USC teammate Kiki Iriafen. Especially Paige,” she adds with a slight smile, her tone shifting, probing. “What was it like to have that moment with her?”

The second she says especially Paige, something tightens in my chest.

I blink quickly, trying not to break. But the lump is there.

“It felt like… home,” I say, voice soft, then firmer. “Like everything we’ve been through wasn’t for nothing.”

I glance over to where Paige and Azzi stand watching, arms crossed, eyes full.

“They’ve kept me up when I didn’t think I’d get up. My teammates like Kiki and Rayah, they’ve been some of my biggest pillars at USC. I couldn’t have made it without them.”

My voice starts to catch, and I steady my breath.

“And… and just to experience this moment with such an amazing friend like Paige, it’s surreal. She’s been there for me through the good, the bad, the ugly, and so much more. So to be able to share that hug with her in that moment…” I pause, eyes welling. “It just felt like I was back home.”

Holly gives a soft, yet mischievous smile that only I can pick up on after years of media training. But I can also see the glint in her eyes — the one that means she’s fishing for something.

Something I wasn’t going to give her.

And then.

She tilts her head slightly. “So, earlier tonight, Paige also said something… heartfelt during her own interview. The same phrase you just used, actually: To the moon and beyond. I’m curious — can you tell us what that means to hear those words from her? How does it pertain to the love you two clearly share? And how does it feel to have such a special phrase between the two of you?”

The air stills.

My jaw flexes just slightly. My media training kicks in, but my eyes? They cut daggers.

I smile — calm, warm, but firm. “I think what’s special between Paige and I, or Azzi and I, or really anyone who’s supported me, is just that — it’s special. Personal. Something we’ve built through years of growth, struggle, and love in every form it takes.”

I let the words settle.

“That phrase—To the moon and beyond—isn’t about spectacle. It’s about loyalty. Gratitude. Being proud of the people you’ve walked through fire with.”

And then, softer — deliberate:

“I’m proud of her. I’m proud of us. And yeah— I love her to the moon and beyond.”

The crowd around us claps quietly, moved, and Holly gives a slightly more sheepish nod as the segment wraps.

“Congratulations, Y/n,” she says. “Golden State’s lucky to have you.”

I thank her, walking down the steps.

But as I pass her, I pause just long enough to lean in for a quick, polite hug. Close enough for only her to hear.

“Respectfully,” I whisper, “what you just did was inappropriate. This is an important night, for women, not a time to be messy for a headline.”

And I keep walking — head high, heels clicking, Valkyrie-purple and black draft cap now tilted on my head like a crown.

But by now, as the third round had started most of the crowd has thinned out.

The glitz and chaos of the first two rounds faded into calmer applause, quieter conversations, softer flashes from cameras less concerned with making headlines and more about capturing heart.

I could’ve left by now. Most people in my shoes would’ve. But I stayed.

Part of it was respect — for the women still waiting to hear their names called, still gripping hope in one hand and faith in the other. But mostly? It was because Paige and Azzi hadn’t left yet. And I wasn’t going anywhere without them. Also, their teammates who I’ve became friends with over the years.

I was sitting beside Azzi, my heels long abandoned, barefoot and leaning my head on her shoulder like she’s known me forever. Technically, she kind of has.

Paige’s off doing media — bouncing between interviews and photo ops, still glowing from her number one selection. But I know she’s itching to come back. She always finds her way back.

That’s when the room shifts.

A pause. A slight hush. And then—

“With the 30th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Kaitlyn Chen from the University of Connecticut.”

The reaction her teammates and I is massive. But it’s real, and raw.

Kaitlyn gasps from where she’s seated with her UConn teammates toward the back, hands flying up to cover her mouth, pure disbelief painting every line of her face. The girls erupt around her, jumping to their feet, whooping, hugging, pulling her into a pile of joy and disbelief.

I rise to my feet too, clapping, grinning, and—

“YOOOOO! LETS GOOO CHENY CHEN!”

A familiar voice echoes as Paige comes running full-speed back into the venue from the hallway, her face plastered with a proud mom smile.

“LET’S GOOOO, KAIT!” she shouts, and suddenly she’s in the pile too, lifting Kaitlyn halfway off the ground in a hug so tight it almost knocks them both over.

Azzi’s laughing from beside me, already filming it on her phone. “She sprinted in here like it was a buzzer beater.”

“She’s never moved that fast in transition,” I tease, nudging her.

The joy is infectious, like we’re all breathing in some shared miracle.

And just as the room begins to settle again, another voice fills the speakers.

“With the 37th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Minnesota Lynx select… Aubrey Griffin from the University of Connecticut.”

The girls, Azzi and I jump to our feet again. Jana was the first to pull Aubrey in a hug.

“I told you. I fuck told you.” She said as she finally let Aubrey go, within seconds, Paige is, grabbing Aubrey in the kind of hug that lifts her clean off the ground too.

More laughter. More love.

The applause hasn’t even fully faded from my ears by the time we’re slipping into the private elevator together—me, Paige, and Azzi, tucked away from the noise and flashing cameras.

Azzi’s got her arm looped around my waist, her thumb gently brushing over the exposed skin of my back. Paige is leaning against the wall, still slightly buzzed from all the emotions and champagne, a soft smirk on her lips.

“You’re really not gonna tell us what you’re wearing to your party?” Paige asks, stepping forward and boxing me in with her arms on either side of the elevator panel.

“You’re both in for a surprise,” I grin, nudging her chest gently with a finger. “You really thought I’d let Brittany dress me like that and not make y’all wait?”

“Brittany won’t even text us back,” Azzi huffs.

“Exactly,” I wink.

The elevator dings, and Paige steals a kiss—soft, sweet, pressed right against the corner of my mouth like it’s instinct.

Azzi leans in next, brushing her lips over my cheek, her voice low and warm. “We’ll see you soon, star girl.”

We split off at the lobby—Paige and Azzi headed to their car back to the hotel to change, and me toward my suite upstairs to get ready.

The private suite smells like body oil and setting spray, the air thick with glam prep and controlled chaos.

My team is already there waiting—my makeup artist starts a completely new look on my face, my nail tech adjusting new rhinestones, and Brittany? She’s holding a glass of champagne and pacing, talking like she’s coaching a championship game.

Halfway through getting changed, my phone lights up.

FaceTime: Paige

I smirk and answer, angling the camera so she only sees my face in a robe and glam half-done.

Her eyes narrow.

“Where’s the dress?”

“Hi to you too,” I laugh, adjusting the robe collar.

“Brittany’s being a vault,” she groans. “Azzi tried calling her and got nothing but ‘no spoilers.’ C’mon babe, just a hint? Straps? Color? Texture?”

I shake my head, smug. “Sorry babe, you both gotta wait and watch to see what your woman is gonna pop out in.”

“That’s so disrespectful,” she pouts. “How am I supposed to survive this?”

“I believe in you,” I wink, blowing her a kiss before hanging up.

Minutes later—

FaceTime: Azzi

I’m in my mini robe and getting a final touch-up on my lips when I answer. Azzi’s hair is slicked up in a bun and she’s in a gorgeous shimmery black dress, but the second she sees me, she squints dramatically.

“What are you wearing?! I know it’s not just a robe.”

Before I can answer, Brittany swoops in from behind, sipping from a flute and wagging her finger in front of the camera.

“Nope,” she says with her full chest. “She didn’t see y’all’s lil outfit change—y’all can’t see hers. I don’t care if she’s y’all’s girlfriend or not. There will be no spoilers.”

Azzi’s mouth falls open. “This is so not fair.”

“You’ll live,” I grin.

With that I ended the call and began getting dressed.

Brittany had helped me change into this black mini that’s doing exactly what it needs to.

Strapless, velvet up top, hugging me just right, and the skirt? Full of these little textured ruffles that bounce every time I move. It’s short—like, “you really made it to the league” short—but not too much. Just enough to feel fun, a little bold.

I’ve got on these strappy heels that make my legs look a mile long, and I’m carrying this tiny leopard-print bag that really doesn’t hold anything but makes the outfit pop. I feel like I could walk into any room and own it. Scratch that—I already did.

“Girl, Paige and Azzi not even ready for you,” Brittany says, turning toward me just as the hairstylist finishes pressing the last section of my wig.

“I already got them looking bad and boujee at Paige’s party, but you? Oh, you ‘bout to make jaws drop. Hell—mine already on the floor and you ain’t even stood up yet.”

I grin in the mirror, watching my reflection morph into something out of a dream.

The wig is immaculate—deep, rich violet with a soft wave to it, edges laid to perfection, giving main character energy and a little bit of what the fuck you gonna do about it?

My hairstylist gives me a final fluff, a nod of approval. “Purple’s your color, babe. You’re giving future MVP.”

I rise from the vanity slowly, deliberately, the velvet mini hugging me in all the right places, the ruffled skirt catching the light with every step I take.

Brittany lets out a full “Whew!” and does a slow, dramatic circle around me like she’s evaluating art. “Yeah, no, you can’t sit with us type shit. You’re giving league legend meets Vanity Fair cover meets… ‘I got your girl and your backup dancer.’”

I laugh, throwing my arms around her. “I’m not even at Paige’s yet.”

“You don’t need to be,” she says, sipping her champagne. “The minute you walk in, the whole place gonna go silent. Azzi gon’ choke on her drink. Paige? Paige is probably gon’ stutter and forget how to function. You about to put every post-game interview she ever did to shame.”

“She doesn’t even know what I’m wearing,” I murmur, smoothing the dress over my hips one more time, heart doing a little dance in my chest.

“And that’s exactly why she about to lose her mind.”

My phone pings.

🦵🏽: “Paige just made me take another shot because you’re not here yet. And we have no idea what you’re wearing. Where are you, baby?”

I smile down at it, thumbs dancing over the screen.

Me: “I be there shortly babe. Tell P to pace herself. I need her upright.”

🦵🏽: “No promises. But hurry. We need you.”

My breath hitches a little, heart fluttering under the weight of her words.

I close my clutch, give my wig one final fluff, and turn to Brittany.

“Time to go turn parties upside down.”

Brittany flashes her teeth. “Let’s go, Valkyrie.”

The bass thumps steady beneath my heels as I step further into the private lounge, lights dimmed low, champagne already bubbling in glasses, and my name etched in silver across a custom neon sign hanging above the bar.

Y/N Y/L/N — Valkyrie Made.

It’s surreal. All of it.

My after party’s buzzing—friends from USC, family from back home, even a few familiar faces from the league who’ve come to show love.

Cousins are off in the corner doing some version of a victory dance to whatever DJ is spinning. My mom’s laughing with my aunt, both holding cocktails, and my dad? He’s already found the dessert table. Classic.

Every hug, every toast, every flash of a camera feels like a quiet you made it.

I check my phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.

Paige sent a photo earlier—her in a white linen shirt left half open, a chain glinting at her collarbone, a drink in hand, Azzi leaning into the frame mid-laugh. Wish you were here, the caption said. You look like a star tonight.

I smiled so hard I had to step away from the bar.

They’re still at Paige’s official draft party—bigger venue, fancier crowd. UConn royalty everywhere. I told them I’d stop by later. I wanted this first—my people, my space, my moment.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t counting down until I could be in Paige’s arms again.

For now, though?

I toss my head back and laugh at something my cousin shouts over the music. Someone’s uncle tries to breakdance. High school friends and I are screaming along to Nicki lyrics.

And I just let myself exist in this joy.

Drafted. Loved. Alive in the moment.

Tonight, I celebrate everything.

And soon, I’ll go celebrate her.

And her, too.

Because lucky me?

I got both.

The driver pulls up outside the venue, for P’s party, a velvet-rope affair in downtown Brooklyn, camera flashes already popping as we step out. But the moment I walk in?

It’s like the air changes.

The bass is deep, sensual—SZA’s “Used” thumping through the walls—and heads turn instantly. My dress, my skin, this hair. My Golden State Valkyries cap from earlier is still in my clutch, and I slide it on backward as I walk through the crowd, owning it.

Azzi sees me first—nearly drops her drink, eyes bugging out as she grips Paige’s arm like she just saw Beyoncé.

“Oh my God,” she breathes.

Paige turns.

Freezes.

Then stares.

Like I just stepped off the cover of a fantasy she’s never dared say out loud.

Mouth parted, eyes locked on mine, shirt still half-open, gold chain glinting at her collarbone.

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

Then louder. “Holy. Shit.”

Azzi’s fanning herself. “Paige, are you breathing? You good?”

She leans back and really looks at me then—eyes widening like she’s seeing me for the first time tonight.

Paige blinks like she forgot how to be a functioning adult. “She’s wearing black. Her hair is purple. What the fuck. What the—who let her walk in like this?”

Her gaze dragging down my body and back up with exaggerated reverence. “I—uh. Yeah. No. You ate. Like. I’m not okay.”

“I told you,” Brittany cackles from behind me, brushing invisible lint off my shoulder. “Didn’t I say she’d go feral?”

Azzi nods, still fanning herself. “Feral. Unhinged. That’s the look.”

I grin, tugging a strand playfully. “Thought I’d give the people drama.”

Paige’s jaw is on the floor.

“You—” she tries, stepping toward me, hands already reaching. “You look—Jesus, come here.”

And suddenly I’m in her arms, being spun once, twice, her lips pressed to my jaw, her breath hot in my ear.

“I’m gonna have to fight someone tonight,” she murmurs. “You cannot look like this and expect me to act normal.”

I smirk. “Baby, you were never normal around me.”

She grins, eyes shining with that familiar softness—drunk off champagne and love and me, apparently.

“I’m so happy,” she murmurs, breath fluttering into my hair, voice breaking a little. “God, I’m so proud of you. You looked so beautiful tonight—like stupidly beautiful. And I kept thinking, that’s my girl, that’s my f—fuckin’ girl, and no one can say a thing ‘cause you’re magic, and you did it, and you stayed, and you always show up, and I just…”

Her breath stutters against my collarbone. I tighten my arms around her.

“I love you,” she says quietly, with that Paige kind of conviction that leaves no room for doubt. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Madsy,” I whisper back, barely holding the tears. “To the moon and beyond.”

She sniffles, hiding it with a laugh as she pulls Azzi into the hug too, her arms wrapping around the both of us.

“I don’t even know how I got so lucky,” she says, voice cracking again. “Y’all stayed. Through everything. You never let go. Thank you. I’m never gonna stop being thankful.”

We stay like that for a long moment, a little pile of love in the corner of the world, before Paige suddenly smirks and grabs for my hat.

“Trade with me,” she says.

So we switch—my Golden State Valkyrie SnapBack lands on her head, tilted to the side with cocky Paige energy, and her Dallas Wings cap ends up on mine, turned backward.

The perfect contrast: her softness, my fire.

Azzi cackles beside her. “She’s been speechless since you walked in. I’ve never seen Paige malfunction in real time.”

“One more word and I’m taking her to a dark corner,” Paige mutters under her breath, and I pretend not to hear the chaos in her voice.

One too many shots in, and a blur of tequila later, I’m in the middle of the dance circle, losing every last shred of chill to Get It Sexyy by Sexyy Red.

Paige’s Dallas Wings SnapBack is still turned backward on my head, and my mini dress? It’s making its case for fit of the night as I drop it low, knees bent, back arched, ass bouncing to every beat.

Slim thick, caramel skin, 5’5”, this bitch a ten (yeah)

Hair done, bills paid, catch me slidin’ in a Benz (vyoom)

The circle is hyping me up like it’s a damn arena. Azzi is losing her voice, Paige is grinning like she’s watching a miracle unfold, and Kk is literally fanning herself.

Lili is recording the entire moment on her little digital camera like it’s 2005. Somebody starts throwing dollar bills like we’re in Magic City.

And I am thriving.

I shake, drop, twerk to the floor—turn around and give them the look over my shoulder that makes Paige’s jaw damn near hit the ground.

Azzi hands me a shot, and I take it like a pro, licking the salt off her hand and winking at her before tossing it back.

Then Paige disappears.

A moment later, she’s at the DJ booth. I know that energy. I know what she’s asking for.

Then the beat drops.

Practice by Drake.

I spin, eyes wild. Paige’s doing this on purpose. She knows what that song does to me.

I grind into the beat like the track was written for my hips, my body pulsing with the rhythm. I see Paige watching—biting her lip, shirt halfway undone now—and Azzi? She’s behind her, laughing, whispering something in her ear that makes Paige tilt her head back.

And then—

Paige walks over, holding a shot.

She grins. “You’re not drinking this unless it’s from my mouth.”

Gasps. Cheers. Screams. The whole party goes feral.

I raise an eyebrow. “Only if you do one with Z. And then Z does one with me.”

The circle erupts.

Challenge accepted.

Paige pours the tequila into her mouth, steps up to me, and kisses me—slow, hot, deep—letting the shot flow into mine. I swallow, lips lingering on hers, breath caught in my throat.

Next, Paige does it again, but with Azzi this time. Azzi giggles into it, a little shaky, a little buzzed, her fingers curling into Paige’s shirt as the liquor passes between them.

And then Azzi turns to me, eyeing me up and down as she takes a shot glass from Paige.

Her hands are on my hips as she leans in. She pours the shot in her own mouth, and next thing we’re mouth to mouth. The tequila burns but her kiss softens it.

When we pull apart, we glance toward the circle—

Paige is standing there in absolute shock, jaw slack, blinking like she just witnessed her first lesbian porn in real life.

Ayanna and Aubrey are fanning themselves, literally fanning, shouting over each other:

“WOW—”

“Did that really just happen?!”

“Play that back—I need an instant replay.”

I throw my head back laughing as Paige runs both hands over her face like she needs divine intervention.

“Jesus,” she mutters, “I am so going to hell.”

Before anyone can make it worse, Azzi claps once. “Alright, lovebirds. Time to slide.”

“To where?” I ask, breathless from laughing.

Paige grabs my hand. “Upstairs. We reserved the rooftop. And there’s a jacuzzi with our names on it.”

Azzi hooks her arm around mine on the other side. “And there’s dessert. And more tequila. And vibes.”

We make our way to the elevator as a trio, laughter trailing behind us like confetti, Paige still occasionally glancing at me with that same stunned look.

Right before the doors close, she nudges me softly and whispers, “I wasn’t kidding about the corner thing.”

I smirk. Raising my eyebrow. “Mm really.”

Azzi sighs. “I swear, if y’all start making out in the pool again, I’m bringing a Super Soaker.”

“Do it,” I tease. “We’ll only make it worse.”

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[prettygirl-gabi]

“To the Moon and Beyond” pt.2

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader (Pazzi x Reader)

Fandom: NCAA Women’s Basketball / WNBA

Warnings: cheating, revenge cheating, eventually in later parts there will be 18+ content (smut, alcohol consumption, strong language), polyamory, public teasing/flirting (in later parts)

Summary: A tangled history of love, heartbreak, and hidden desire leads three elite players into a secret relationship—and the WNBA spotlight.

A/N: yes this is hella long… I got in a groove and couldn’t stop writing… but yeahh enjoy!! This is also one of the longest fics I’ve ever written… will be multiple parts….cause it’s too long for tumblr…

Also thank you @paige05bby for the banner/header

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

Time Passes…

Azzi’s POV – Connecticut

We never said we’d be okay again. We just said we’d try.

And that was enough.

Paige and I gave each other space when we got back to Connecticut. No more sharing playlists or crashing on each other’s couches. No long talks under low kitchen light. Just… basketball and boundaries.

And oddly, it helped.

We found our rhythm on the court again—better, even. Quieter communication. More trust. Something about everything falling apart had made us sharper. More aware. More patient.

She’d glance at me after big plays now, like checking to see if the foundation was still solid. I’d nod once. It always was.

But we didn’t talk about her. Not really.

It was like this uncrossed line neither one of us dared to cross.

Not until we had to.

Because she crossed it.

Before Paige or I could.

Y/n’s POV – Southern California

Three months.

That’s how long it took before I could breathe without tasting regret.

I started sleeping better. My shot was smoother. My appetite came back. I laughed again—loud and real—usually thanks to Juju or Avery acting like idiots in the locker room. And slowly, the ache dulled into something almost nostalgic.

That’s when I saw Paige’s post.

Just a simple photo dump post.

And without overthinking it, I did the thing I told myself I wouldn’t:

“🌚”

That emoji.

Ours.

I hit send and tossed my phone across the bed.

It didn’t take her long.

Incoming call: P.B🌝

I stared at it for a second before answering. “Hey.”

Her voice was quiet, shaky. “What does it mean?”

I smiled faintly. “It means I’ll see you soon, P.”

Three Days Later – Connecticut

They were already waiting at my Airbnb when I pulled up—Azzi leaned against Paige’s car, hoodie sleeves pushed up, Paige sitting on the hood, knees bouncing, like she hadn’t slept.

I stepped out slowly. Heart racing.

We walked into the living room in silence. The same couch they used to sit on. The same air that used to choke us.

Only this time, we all sat closer.

Nobody ran.

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” I said. “Or a relationship. Not yet. But I think… I think we all deserve to know what this could be if we tried.”

Azzi nodded. “Even if it breaks us again?”

“Even then,” Paige whispered.

I looked at them—two people I knew like the back of my hand. Two people who knew all the ugliest parts of me and still showed up.

“Let’s be honest. Let’s be clear. And let’s try—together. For real this time.”

Azzi swallowed. “You mean all three of us?”

I nodded. “If you’re both still willing.”

They looked at each other, then at me.

And for the first time in months, all of us exhaled at the same time.

It wouldn’t be easy.

But maybe it could be something.

Something wild, something flawed, something real.

Something worth breaking and rebuilding again.

Time does something to love.

It doesn’t erase it.

It stretches it. Rebuilds it in the spaces between heartbreak and forgiveness.

It’s been years since that night.

Since Azzi stood in my doorway with a suitcase and heartbreak on her lips. Since Paige cried outside my apartment like she was begging the past to love her back. Since I threw a water bottle at the only girl I ever really wanted to stay.

We tried.

Then we tried again.

And again—each time more honest than the last.

And somehow, all that trying turned into something else. Something that didn’t need to be named to be known.

Junior Year (Me & Paige) | Sophomore Year (Azzi):

It was two weeks before the start of junior year, the night it all started—Paige’s jaw in my hands, Azzi’s laugh breaking between kisses—never fully left us.

It just kept morphing.

Into private hotel rooms after games, where the world slipped away behind locked doors and drawn curtains. Into Spotify playlists shared without explanation, songs that said everything we were still too scared to.

Into FaceTimes at 3 a.m. that started with anxious whispers, melted into silence, and ended with us asleep but still connected—breathing synced through the screen, like some kind of tether neither of us wanted to cut.

Senior Year (Me & Paige) | Junior Year (Azzi):

We found a rhythm. Unspoken but steady.

Azzi and I shared playlists. Paige and I studied film together. When one of us got hurt, the other two were there. Always.

We took turns traveling. Hid in hotels. Drove hours for a few minutes of normal. Still never confirmed what this was to anyone. But we were each other’s constants. I think we all clung to that.

There were moments—quick, breathless ones—when I swore we were close to saying it out loud.

But we weren’t ready yet.

Now.

My fifth and final year.

Paige’s, too.

Azzi had the chance to declare. Agents lined up. WNBA scouts in her DMs. But she didn’t.

“Not yet,” she told us both. “I’m not done with this chapter.”

Maybe she meant basketball.

Maybe she meant us.

I didn’t ask.

We’re older now. Wiser. Still messed up in our own ways, but we don’t run from it anymore.

Because somehow, against all odds…

We made it here.

Whatever this is—we’re still writing it.

Not in the way that erases what we did or how we broke each other. But in a way that makes it all softer at the edges. Like smoothing out the corners of something once too sharp to hold. Like choosing to remember the warmth more than the ache.

We never put a label on it. There were no posts, no announcements. Just a series of moments that filled the space between “maybe” and “still.” Like Azzi flying out to surprise me during finals, showing up in a hoodie that still smelled like her detergent, standing outside my apartment with donuts and a handwritten note I’ll never throw away.

Like Paige bringing me lemon ginger tea when I lost my voice before media day, tucking a fleece blanket around my shoulders before I could protest, then sitting beside me in total silence just to be close. Like me knowing the exact minute they both needed space—and when they didn’t.

When Azzi went quiet for too long. When Paige stopped making eye contact but lingered in the doorway like she was waiting for someone to pull her back in. I always did.

The only people who knew were the ones close enough to feel the heat off us when we were all in the same room. The kind of knowing you don’t talk about out loud, because naming it might steal something from it.

There were nights when it felt too fragile to last. When someone would flinch a second too late, or ask a question we didn’t have words for yet.

But somehow, we kept choosing each other. Quietly. Constantly. In the ways that mattered most.

It was love.

Complicated. Tangled. Untraditional. But love.

We weren’t hiding. Not really. Just… protecting. We were public as best friends. Private in every other way.

Especially with Paige and I going pro soon.

Paige? Projected number one pick. Everyone had already printed the headlines. She walked into rooms like she already belonged in them—but I knew how much of that was armor, how much came from the pressure of being everyone’s golden girl for so long.

Me? Somewhere right behind her. Maybe second. Maybe third. My name floated through draft boards like a sure thing—but never the first thing. And I was okay with that. I was chasing something different anyway. Something slower. Something real.

And somehow… we were still us. Not every day. Not always smooth. But we never stopped coming back to each other.

There were team dinners where we sat across from each other pretending not to flirt through inside jokes. Long weekends where we vanished into some Airbnb upstate and forgot what the world expected from us.

Off days spent tangled in dorm beds too small for three people, limbs heavy and warm, no one ever really knowing where one body ended and the next began.

There were fights—sharp words flung in hallways, silences that lasted days. Jealousy that crept in like static: who got more minutes, more press, more offers. Exhaustion from being pulled in too many directions. But even in the worst of it, we never questioned the gravity. Never stopped orbiting each other.

And there was laughter. So much of it. Azzi’s laugh against my neck when I said something stupid. Paige’s breathless giggle when we piled on top of her after a win. Late nights watching bad TV, fingers laced, legs braided, mouths full of popcorn and too-tired confessions.

There was comfort. A kind of safety that didn’t need explaining. That silent understanding of you’re mine even when it’s hard to be.

Now, we’re back in the same room again.

The night before the draft, we end up curled together in Paige’s hotel room—no glam team, no press, no cameras. Just us.

Azzi’s on the floor with her back against the side of the bed, head leaning on my thigh, scrolling through some playlist she swears is good luck. Paige is beside me, one arm flung across my waist, her other hand tangled in Azzi’s curls like muscle memory. The air is thick with unsaid things, but none of them feel heavy.

There’s an unspoken weight hanging in the room—like we all know this is the last time it’ll feel like this. Like home.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

Draft night. New cities. New teams. New people.

And yeah, we’ll FaceTime. We’ll visit. But we all know it won’t be the same. We won’t have spontaneous Wednesday night takeout or shared laundry loads or long recovery sessions where one of us always ends up asleep with someone else’s ice pack slowly melting between tangled legs.

Paige being the first to speak. “This doesn’t feel real.”

Azzi sighs softly from my lap. “It doesn’t feel fair.”

I tilt my head, resting it on Paige’s shoulder. “We knew it wouldn’t last forever.”

“Still,” Azzi says, voice tight, “I wanted more time.”

None of us say it, but we all feel it: the ache of what it means to love two people at the same time, knowing the world doesn’t always bend to make space for that.

Shortly we fall asleep in the bed tangled together as if we were a package deal, that was too fragile to separate. Paige on one side, Azzi on the other, me in between—like a bridge holding two halves of the same heart together.

And in the quiet, I let myself wonder if this is the last night we get to have like this.

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[prettygirl-gabi]

I. Suddenly im pregnant…

⊹ ࣪ ˖ SQUIRTED all she wanted to do was fuck you while you are asleep, but what she didnt expect is you squirting for the first time. and now shes hooked ➟ dub con. overstimulation. strap on. squirting.

Paige was a bundle of frayed nerves and restless energy.

She slipped back into the bedroom, intending to grab a quick shower and reset, but the sight of you stopped her cold.

You lay sprawled across the bed, the thin white sheet clinging precariously to your hips, leaving the rest of your body bare to the cool morning air.

Your skin seemed to glow in the soft light, your chest rising and falling with the slow, steady cadence of deep sleep.

One arm was tucked under the pillow, the other flung carelessly across the mattress.

Paige felt a sharp, insistent heat flare in her core.

The morning’s stress dissolved, replaced by a raw, aching need.

A quickie, she thought, biting her lip.

just enough to anchor her, to feel you, to burn off the edge.

She moved with quiet purpose, her bare feet silent.

Her fingers found the nightstand drawer, pulling out the harness and strap-on she kept hidden there.

The leather was cool against her skin as she fastened it, the weight of the silicone toy settling familiarly against her hips.

She adjusted the straps, her hands lingering as she imagined sinking into you, your body soft and yielding beneath her.

Her pulse hammered as she glanced at you again, the anticipation electric.

Paige climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight.

She moved carefully, not wanting to jolt you awake, and leaned down, her lips brushing the curve of your ear.

“Baby” she whispered, her voice low and thick with desire.

“Wake up for me.” You stirred, a soft, sleepy murmur escaping as your eyelids fluttered.

She smiled, her fingers trailing lightly down your side, tracing the dip of your waist.

“It’s me” she murmured, her lips grazing your jaw. “need you to stay awake f'me kay?”

Your eyes opened, bleary but sharpening as you registered her presence and the hunger in her gaze.

“Paige?” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep, a touch of confusion laced with warmth.

You shifted, the sheet slipping lower, and paige’s breath hitched at the sight of your exposed skin.

“Shh, just let me have you” she said, her hand sliding between your thighs, finding you warm and inviting.

You gasped, your body arching instinctively into her touch, sleep fading as desire surged.

Her fingers teased, slow and deliberate, coaxing a low moan from you.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect” she muttered, her lips crashing into yours, the kiss deep and possessive.

Her tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you, as she pressed herself closer, the tip of the strap nudging against your entrance.

“Paige—please” you breathed, your hands gripping her shoulders, nails biting into her skin.

The plea sent a jolt through her, and she didn’t hesitate.

She guided the strap inside you with a slow, steady thrust, watching your face as you took her, your lips parting in a silent cry.

The stretch was intense, your body still pliant from sleep, but you were so ready, so eager, it felt like you were made for her.

“God, you take me so well” Paige groaned, her hips snapping forward, setting a quick, relentless rhythm.

The bed creaked under her, the sound mingling with your gasps and the slick, rhythmic slap of her thrusts.

She braced herself above you, her arms caging you in, her eyes locked on yours as she fucked you.

Your hands roamed her back, clutching at her as if she were your lifeline, and she reveled in it loved how you needed her, how your body opened for her, how you gave yourself completely.

She leaned down, her lips finding your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Mine” she growled against your skin, her teeth grazing your pulse point.

You whimpered, your legs wrapping around her waist, pulling her deeper, and paige felt her own arousal spike, the harness pressing just right against her.

She thrust harder, faster, chasing the sounds you made, the way your body responded.

Her hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, circling it with a pressure that made you cry out.

“Paige—oh god, im—” Your voice broke, your body trembling as the pleasure built, coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

She could feel it, the way you clenched around the strap, your thighs shaking against her hips.

She didn’t slow down, her thrusts hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

“Come for me, baby,” she urged, her voice rough, almost desperate.

“Let go, I’ve got you.” She leaned down, kissing you again, swallowing your moans as she pushed you closer to the edge.

Your nails raked down her back, leaving stinging trails she’d feel for hours, and then it happened, your back arched, your body seizing as the orgasm tore through you.

But it wasn’t just release.

Paige’s thrusts faltered, her eyes widening as she felt the sudden, hot rush against her thighs, the unmistakable gush that soaked the sheets beneath you.

You were squirting, your body shaking uncontrollably, a high, keening cry escaping your lips as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

“Holy fuck” she whispered, her voice raw with shock and awe.

She’d never seen you do this before—never even dreamed you could—and the sight of you, so utterly lost in ecstasy, was staggering.

She froze for a split second, her mind reeling.

You’d never done this, not in all the times you’d been together, and the sheer intensity of it, the rawness, sent a thrill through her.

But she didn’t stop.

A new hunger took over, a need to see how much more you could give, how far she could push you.

“Fuck, baby, look at you” she growled, her voice thick with a mix of wonder and determination.

She resumed her thrusts, slower now but deeper, each one deliberate, hitting that same spot inside you that had unraveled you moments before.

“Paige—wait, i—” you gasped, your voice trembling, your body still quivering from the aftershocks.

But she didn’t let up, her hands gripping your hips to keep you in place as she drove into you again.

The sensitivity was overwhelming, your nerves alight with every movement, but the pleasure was undeniable, building again even as you thought you couldn’t take more.

“I’m not done” she said, her tone low and commanding, her eyes burning into yours.

“I wanna see how much you can take.” Her fingers returned to your clit, lighter this time, teasing rather than demanding, but enough to send fresh sparks through you.

You whimpered, your body torn between exhaustion and need, but you didn’t pull away.

You couldn’t. The way she looked at you—awestruck, possessive, ravenous—held you captive.

She thrust again, deeper, her hips grinding against you at the end of each stroke, the strap pressing just right against her own aching core.

Your breaths came in short, ragged bursts, your hands clutching the sheets as another wave built inside you.

“Paige, it’s too much” you whined, but your hips bucked up to meet her, betraying your words.

“Too much?” she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes were still wide with fascination.

“You’re still moving with me, baby.” She leaned down, her lips brushing your ear.

“Give me one more, i know you can.” Her words pushed you closer, the praise and pressure intertwining, and she kept up the relentless pace, each thrust drawing a new sound from you gasps, moans, whimpers that spurred her on.

The sheets were a mess, clinging to your skin, but she didn’t care.

She was mesmerized, watching your body respond, testing your limits.

Your thighs trembled, your core tightening again, and she could feel it—the way you were close, so close, despite the intensity.

“Fuck, you’re gonna do it again, aren’t you?” she murmured, her voice almost reverent.

She angled the strap just right, her fingers circling your clit faster, and you shattered.

Another gush, weaker this time but still unmistakable, spilled from you, and paige let out a low, triumphant moan.

“That’s it, baby, fuck, that’s it.” You collapsed, utterly spent, your chest heaving as you gasped for air, your body limp against the soaked sheets.

Paige slowed, her thrusts easing until she stopped, her own breath ragged from exertion and arousal.

She unbuckled the harness with trembling hands, letting it fall to the floor, and collapsed beside you, pulling you into her arms.

Her heart pounded against your back as she held you, her lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. “Baby” she said, her voice soft but still tinged with disbelief.

“you… you squirted. Twice.” She laughed, the sound warm and a little awed, her arms tightening around you.

“I didn’t even know you could do that.” You groaned, half-embarrassed, half-exhausted, burying your face in her arm.

“I didn’t either” you mumbled, your voice hoarse.

“God, Paige, you broke me.”She chuckled, her fingers brushing through your hair, gentle now.

“Broke you in the best way,” she said, kissing your temple.

She glanced at the ruined sheets, then back at you, her grin wide and a little smug.

“Worth it, though.”You laughed weakly, still catching your breath, your body heavy and sated.

“You’re gonna have to carry me to the shower” you said, only half-joking.

Paige just nodded, her eyes soft, her touch tender as she held you close.

“Deal.” she murmured, nuzzling your neck.

🔖 — @addl0vee @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @paige05bby @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]

Title: No Credit to Fate

Pairing: Juju Watkins x Reader

Fandom: USC Women’s Basketball

Summary: she believes in us… and that’s what matters the most.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @paige05bby , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

Living with Juju meant learning to love chaos.

Not the dramatic, emotional kind—but the kind where there were basketball shoes in the kitchen, protein bar wrappers under couch cushions, and Deuce, our chunky little Frenchie, somehow snoring louder than a grown man at 3 a.m.

It also meant waking up next to the softest version of Juju—the hoodie-still-on, hair-in-a-bun, drooling-on-the-pillow kind of soft. The kind I fell in love with our freshman year when we were just two USC athletes pretending not to notice how often our paths “accidentally” crossed.

Sophomore year hit different, though. We had our own apartment now. A cozy two-bedroom off-campus with string lights on the balcony and a pink ceramic dog bowl that said “Deucey” in cursive.

That morning, she was sitting on the couch, hoodie pulled over her head, with Deuce curled against her thigh. She was scrolling on her iPad, lip tucked between her teeth, headphones half-on. I walked out of the bedroom holding her water bottle and her keys.

“You forgot these.”

Juju looked up and smiled, reaching for both.

“My savior,” she said, then leaned over to kiss my cheek. “And the only person Deuce likes more than me.”

“He’s literally obsessed with you,” I said, reaching down to ruffle his ears. “I’m just the second mom who feeds him when you’re at practice.”

Juju grinned. “Second? Nah. You’re tied for first. Dude cries if you’re late coming home.”

“Just like you, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wow. Okay.”

I laughed and plopped down beside her. “What’re you watching?”

She showed me the screen—highlights from her last game.

“I missed three open looks in the first half,” she mumbled, annoyed. “Need to fix that.”

“You also had nine assists and twenty points.”

“Still.”

I kissed her shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

She turned to face me, head tilting slightly. “You love it.”

I did. God, I did.

Our day unfolded like most do. She went to lift, I went to class. She texted me midday asking if Deuce pooped, and I sent her a picture of the evidence (she’s very hands-on about parenting, okay). By evening, we were both home, sprawled across the couch, half-watching a movie while Deuce snored between us.

Juju had one sock on, her hair down now, and I was curled under her arm with my hand resting on her stomach.

“Remember when we used to sneak into each other’s dorms?” I murmured.

She smirked. “Yeah. And Nika caught me climbing out your window and called me Spider-Man for a month.”

“She still does.”

We laughed, and then I got quiet.

She noticed immediately.

“What’s up?”

I hesitated, playing with the string of her hoodie. “Do you think we’re soulmates?”

Juju blinked at me like I’d just asked her if she wanted to move to Nebraska and live off the grid.

Then she scoffed.

“The fuck?” she said. “After all the work I’ve done? Nuh uh. Fate gets no credit.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

She sat up a little, lifting Deuce so she could face me directly. “Soulmates implies we were just meant to be. Like some magical shit just made this happen.”

I tilted my head, curious. “You don’t believe in that?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I believe in the fact that I spent three weeks figuring out how to flirt with you without looking like an idiot. That I learned how you take your coffee, your sandwich order, how you like your notes color-coded. I didn’t fall into this—I chose you. Over and over. Even when it was hard. Especially then.”

My throat tightened. She wasn’t yelling. She wasn’t even mad. Just…passionate. Juju was always passionate.

“So you don’t believe in fate?”

“I believe in us,” she said, eyes locked on mine. “But I’m not giving fate the win for something we built with our own damn hands.”

I smiled. “That’s actually kind of beautiful.”

She leaned in. “I’m kind of beautiful.”

I kissed her. “Yeah, yeah. You are.”

Later, we were making dinner together—well, I was making dinner while she danced to SZA with a spatula in her hand. Deuce sat on the floor like our little sous chef, occasionally sneezing at the smell of garlic.

“Y’know,” she said between dances, “it’s weird how normal this all feels.”

“What do you mean?”

She leaned against the counter, eyes soft. “Like… we’re twenty. Sophomores. But it feels like we’ve been building a life together forever.”

I turned down the heat on the pasta and joined her, wiping sauce off her chin.

“I know,” I said. “But that’s how you know it’s real.”

She nodded slowly, then asked, “You ever think about after college?”

“All the time.”

She raised an eyebrow. “With me?”

“Who else is gonna co-parent Deuce?”

She laughed and hugged me from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder. “You’d come with me if I go pro?”

I turned to face her fully. “There’s not a version of my future that doesn’t include you.”

Juju didn’t respond immediately. She just leaned in and kissed me—slow, certain, grateful.

When we finally pulled apart, she whispered, “You know, if I did believe in soulmates… you’d still be mine.”

“Same.”

Deuce sneezed again like he was annoyed by the romance.

That night, curled up in bed, her legs tangled with mine and the sounds of the city humming in the distance, I whispered:

“I don’t care if it was fate or hard work. I just care that we’re here.”

She didn’t open her eyes. Just smiled, half-asleep, and replied, “Here is my favorite place.”

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️