writingbuckets

[writingbuckets]

heyyyyy… took a break from writing bc im a junior in college and my classes are absolutely killing me, and im preparing to apply to pharmacy school!! however, im in a mood to write with nothing to do today or tomorrow so send me some requests🙏🏽

[writingbuckets]

this wouldnt be a series per say, more like a collection of one shots

[writingbuckets]

𝐮𝐧����𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 3.8k

synopsis: After a tough game, Paige reaches out to Y/N in the early hours of the morning, needing space to clear her head. The two drive through the city in silence, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging between them. As the night stretches on, the quiet moments and stolen glances bring them closer, leaving both uncertain of what comes next but no longer running from the tension that’s always existed between them.

warnings: emotional vulnerability, tension and unresolved feelings, mentions of personal struggles, brief makeout, emotional buildup

a/n: this is the first of several one shots i've written, i do have a new trope idea so i'm gonna do a poll and see if yall would be interested in that <3

The sharp buzz of your phone rattles against the nightstand, dragging you out of sleep. Your eyes flutter open, disoriented by the sudden disruption, your body still heavy with exhaustion. The room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp filtering through the blinds, casting long, soft shadows along the walls.

Groggily, you reach for your phone, your fingers fumbling as you flip it over. The brightness stings for a moment, making you squint, but the name on the screen sends a jolt of awareness through your system—Paige.

Your chest tightens, breath catching in the stillness of the room.

Paige [1:03 AM]: Are you awake?

You stare at the message, the words blurring slightly as your pulse picks up. Paige doesn’t text you like this. Not anymore. Not after everything.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitation settling deep in your bones. Maybe she sent it by mistake. Maybe she meant to text someone else. Or maybe—maybe you’re reading too much into it, like you always do.

Before you can decide whether to respond, another message comes through.

Paige [1:05 AM]: I just need to clear my head.

You exhale slowly, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead as if that’ll ground you, as if that’ll make this choice any easier. You know better than to do this. You should know better.

Because history has taught you that Paige is a storm—unpredictable, overwhelming, impossible to hold onto. She comes and goes, leaving behind unfinished sentences and half-meant goodbyes, carving out space in your life that you never really know how to fill once she’s gone.

And yet.

Something about the late hour, about the way she phrased it—like this isn’t just about a bad game, like this isn’t just frustration—makes your resolve waver. You can picture her now, sitting alone in her apartment, jaw tight, fingers raking through her hair the way she does when she’s trying to hold herself together.

You sigh, already swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, already reaching for your keys, already losing the battle with yourself.

Because no matter how much distance you try to put between you, when it comes to Paige, you always show up.

You pull up outside Paige’s apartment, the low rumble of the engine breaking the stillness of the night. The street is quiet, lined with parked cars that haven’t moved in hours, their windshields glistening faintly under the dim glow of the streetlights. The soft yellow light spilling from the entrance of Paige’s building flickers slightly, casting long, distorted shadows onto the pavement. Everything feels eerily calm—like the whole world is asleep, frozen in time.

Except for you. Except for Paige.

Your fingers drum idly against the steering wheel as you glance up at the building, debating whether to text her that you’re outside. But before you can reach for your phone, the door swings open.

She steps out into the cool night air, her hood pulled up over her head, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her joggers. Even in the dim light, you can see how drained she looks—her posture weighed down with exhaustion, her movements slower, heavier, like she’s carrying something far too big for her to hold. The usual confidence she carries herself with is gone, replaced by something quieter, something that tightens in your chest as you watch her approach.

She doesn’t say anything as she opens the passenger door and slides inside, pulling it shut with a quiet thud. For a long moment, she just sits there, staring straight ahead. The faint glow of the dashboard casts soft shadows across her face, highlighting the way her jaw is set, the tension that lingers in her expression. Her chest rises and falls in slow, controlled breaths—like she’s trying to hold herself together, like one wrong move might break her completely.

You don’t push.

Instead, you ease the car away from the curb, letting the silence settle between you. The road stretches out in front of you, empty except for the occasional set of headlights in the distance. The only sounds are the steady hum of the tires against the pavement, the rhythmic flick of the turn signal when you change lanes, the faint rustle of Paige shifting in her seat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch her staring out the window, watching the city blur past. Her fingers tap against her knee—a habit you recognize all too well. It’s her tell, the thing she does when her mind is racing, when she’s stuck inside her own head with thoughts she can’t quite voice.

You wait.

And then, finally, she exhales. A long, uneven breath that seems to deflate her entire body.

“I played like shit,” she mutters, shaking her head slightly. The words are laced with frustration, with something sharper just beneath the surface.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“You didn’t,” you say, your voice even, but she lets out a humorless laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I did,” she insists. “I let everyone down. I couldn’t hit a shot to save my life. I kept turning the ball over. I just—” She stops abruptly, dragging a hand down her face before gripping the hem of her hoodie. She twists the fabric between her fingers, staring at it like she’s searching for something, anything, to ground her.

“I don’t know,” she finally continues, her voice quieter now. “It’s just... too much sometimes.”

You don’t answer right away. You know her well enough to know she doesn’t want platitudes, doesn’t want to be told that she’s overthinking, that she’s still one of the best on the court.

She swallows hard, her gaze locked on the passing streetlights. And then, just above a whisper—so soft you almost don’t catch it—she says, “I don’t even know if I’m enough anymore.”

Something in your chest tightens at that.

You glance over at her, really look at her. The way her hands are balled into fists in her lap. The way she keeps her eyes fixed on the window, like looking at you might make the words feel too real. The weight of her admission lingers in the air between you, heavy and unspoken, like she’s afraid of what it means to say it out loud.

You want to tell her she’s wrong. That she’s more than enough, that she always has been. That she’s Paige Bueckers, and no missed shots, no bad game, no moment of doubt will ever change that. But you also know that right now, she doesn’t need empty reassurances.

So instead, you keep driving, keep giving her the space to unravel in the quiet comfort of your presence.

Because tonight, just being here is enough.

You guide the car into the quiet overlook, the engine purring softly, a low hum that reverberates through the vehicle. The car slows, and as the wheels roll to a stop, you shift into park and kill the engine, plunging everything into an almost eerie stillness. The world outside the windows seems suspended, as if time itself has stopped. The only sound left is the soft rush of wind through the trees and the distant hum of traffic far below, too far away to feel real.

The city lights stretch out in front of you like an endless sea of gold and white, twinkling across the valley, each light shimmering like a tiny star. It’s a view that feels impossibly distant, like you’ve been transported to another universe. From here, it feels like nothing matters—the weight of the game, the pressure, all the things unsaid between you and Paige, seem to vanish. The chaos of the world below you fades away, leaving only the vast expanse of quiet.

You can feel the tension between you and Paige even as the city stretches out before you. She doesn’t move at first, her gaze fixed on the view, her expression unreadable. The lights dance in her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The stillness that fills the car is heavy, but it’s a familiar kind of weight, the kind you’ve learned to navigate with Paige.

Her shoulders remain stiff, like she’s still carrying the weight of everything—everything from the game, from the pressure she constantly puts on herself, from the emotions she’s afraid to let go of. Her jaw is clenched, her face set in the same determined line that always seems to say, I’m fine, even when she’s not. You don’t say anything, not yet.

You stay still, waiting, letting the quiet of the night wrap around you both like a blanket. The night feels endless, the stars above seeming to hold their breath, too. You know Paige well enough to understand that she needs time. Time to breathe, time to think, maybe time to let down the walls she’s built around herself. And you’re willing to wait, no matter how long it takes.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. It’s hard to tell, as the world seems to stand still in this moment. The cool air outside the car brushes against your skin, but the interior is warm, comfortable, like the car itself is holding you both in place. Paige doesn’t stir, doesn’t say a word, but you don’t mind the silence. It’s the kind of silence that feels heavy with everything left unsaid, and somehow, that’s enough for now.

And then, without warning, she shifts in her seat. The movement is subtle, almost imperceptible, but you catch it from the corner of your eye. Slowly, carefully, she turns toward you. Her gaze is intense, searching, like she’s trying to read you or find something in you that she can’t quite articulate. Her eyes lock on your face, and for a long moment, the world outside seems to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in this tiny bubble of quiet.

Her eyes hold yours, and the weight of her stare is more than you’re prepared for. There’s something in it—a kind of vulnerability, a rawness that you haven’t seen from her in a long time. You don’t say anything. Instead, you let her search, let her find whatever it is she’s looking for.

And then she speaks. Her voice cracks just slightly, the words leaving her mouth with a hesitation that surprises you. It’s soft, quieter than you’re used to hearing her. And it’s raw in a way that feels like she’s pulling back the last layer of armor she’s been hiding behind.

“I knew you’d come,” she says, her tone steady but laced with something deeper.

The words hit you harder than you expect. They aren’t just a statement—they’re a confession, a vulnerability, a quiet truth that cuts right through you. For a moment, you’re breathless, the air catching in your lungs. There’s a subtle ache in your chest, like her words have stirred something you’ve buried deep inside yourself.

You can’t quite place it—the way her voice wavers, or the way her gaze seems to search your soul—but something shifts. The tension in the car changes, but it’s not the kind of tension that comes from the game or from frustrations left unresolved. This is different. This is older, a tension that has always lingered between you and Paige. Something unspoken, something that neither of you has ever fully acknowledged. It’s always been there, lurking just beneath the surface, and now it feels like it’s bubbling to the surface, uncontainable.

You don’t know what to say. How could you, when her words leave you reeling? The weight of them lingers in the air, thick and heavy, making it hard to think clearly. Your chest tightens, unsure of what to do with the space that’s suddenly filled with so much unspoken emotion. You want to say something, to respond, but you don’t know how to put the jumble of feelings into words.

So, you stay quiet, letting the silence stretch out between you both. It’s different this time, though. The quiet no longer feels uncomfortable, no longer feels like something that needs to be filled with words. Instead, it feels like a shared understanding, a moment where both of you are finally letting something shift in the air.

You sit there, the quiet of the night pressing in on both of you, the only sounds the soft rustle of the wind through the trees and the distant hum of the city below. The weight of everything—everything unsaid, everything raw—is heavy in the air. You don’t know why you do it. Maybe it’s the way Paige’s energy is vibrating with something unspoken, maybe it’s the vulnerability that’s been slipping through the cracks in her voice, but your hand moves before your brain can catch up.

You reach over, slowly, cautiously, like you’re not sure if this is what either of you needs but unable to stop yourself. Your fingers brush lightly against hers at first, and it’s like the smallest spark ignites between you. The contact is soft, almost tentative, but it’s enough. It’s enough to make your heart beat a little faster, enough to make the breath catch in your throat.

Paige doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t flinch or withdraw. Instead, she seems to soften, her body leaning just a little toward yours, like she’s craving the connection, too. There’s a shift in the air between you, subtle but undeniable. A charge. Something electric, something neither of you has ever fully acknowledged but has always been there, lingering, waiting.

For a moment, time stretches—long, drawn-out, suspended. You can’t seem to look away from her, and maybe she can’t either. Her eyes flicker down to your lips, just for a second, and you feel your pulse quicken, your breath hitching. The shift in the atmosphere is undeniable now, the tension thick between you both.

Then she looks away, a slight laugh escaping her lips, almost too quiet, too soft to hide the uncertainty beneath it. "This isn’t why I texted you," she says, her voice a little shaky, a little too vulnerable in the way she tries to cover it up with humor.

The words hit you, but they don’t make you pull back. You can’t. You don’t want to. Because despite everything she says, despite the confusion and the mess of emotions swirling in the car between you, there’s this pull. A magnetic force, a need that neither of you can deny.

You swallow hard, your heart thumping in your chest as you shift slightly in your seat. "I know," you reply, the words coming out barely above a whisper. It’s the truth. You know this isn’t what she expected. This isn’t what you expected. But neither of you moves. Neither of you says anything more.

The space between you both has changed, the air thicker now, and you can feel the heat rising between you. Your hand, still near hers, almost feels like it’s burning, like you’re being pulled into something you’re not sure you can stop. You glance at her again, but this time, you don’t just look. You take her in—the way the dim lights from the city reflect in her eyes, the way her lips are slightly parted, like she’s unsure whether to speak or to act.

Without thinking, you close the distance, just a little, until your lips are right there, barely an inch apart, and everything inside you stops for a moment. Your breath mingles with hers, and it’s like the world has narrowed down to this tiny space, to this single breath.

Then, in one fluid motion, you lean in. Your lips meet hers softly at first, hesitant, testing, like you’re both afraid of what might happen if it goes too far. The kiss is light, gentle, as if you're still trying to understand what this moment is. But the second your lips touch, something shifts. It’s like you both realize that this is what you've been dancing around for so long.

The kiss deepens. Her lips move against yours, soft but insistent, the pressure building as if the world outside this car doesn’t exist anymore. Your hands are instinctively reaching for her, pulling her closer, fingers tangling in the fabric of her hoodie as the kiss turns desperate, urgent, like you’ve both been waiting for permission to finally let go.

The taste of her is intoxicating—something sweet, something familiar—and it pulls you deeper into the kiss. She responds just as fiercely, her hands coming up to your face, cupping it, holding you in place as if she can’t get close enough, can’t get enough of this. The car, the city, the world—they fade away until it’s just the two of you, pressed together in a kiss that feels like everything and nothing all at once.

Paige’s body is warm against yours, her breath quickening as the kiss deepens further. Her fingers trace lightly along your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine as she pulls you even closer, if that’s possible. There’s an urgency now, a need that neither of you can explain but both feel to your very core. The silence in the car is replaced with the soft sounds of lips meeting, of breath catching in the back of your throat.

And then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss breaks. You both pull away, gasping for air, your foreheads leaning against each other. The tension between you hasn’t dissipated, not in the slightest. If anything, it’s even more potent now. You can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you, the confusion and the desire all tangled up in the air.

Neither of you say anything at first. Neither of you moves. It’s like you’re both waiting for the world to right itself again, to find your balance after everything that just happened. But for now, all you can do is sit in the silence, the hum of the car the only sound, and let the stillness hang between you, knowing things will never be the same after this.

The air in the car is thick with something unspoken, something between the two of you that neither can define yet. It’s not the kind of silence that’s awkward or forced. No, it’s the kind of quiet that’s heavy with possibilities. You sit there, side by side, neither of you speaking, but both of you feeling the weight of what’s simmering under the surface.

Paige shifts in her seat, the tension in her body still visible, even in the dim light from the dashboard. Her fingers tap lightly against the door, a nervous habit that tells you more than words ever could. She’s thinking, you can tell. Thinking about the game, thinking about what just happened between you, thinking about the things she doesn’t want to say.

And you? You’re just as lost in your own thoughts, unsure of what to do with this moment. With her. It’s like being on the edge of something big, something that feels like it could change everything, but neither of you is quite ready to take the leap. So you both wait. You wait for the other to make the first move, to say something, to fill the silence with something more than the quiet hum of the engine and the soft rustle of Paige’s movements.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Paige exhales deeply, the sound low and tired. She leans her head back against the headrest, eyes closed for a moment, as if she’s gathering herself. It’s a vulnerable gesture, one you rarely see from her. It’s a crack in the armor, just big enough for you to see the exhaustion and frustration beneath it.

"Can we just stay here for a little while?" she asks, her voice softer than you expected, almost hesitant. The words are simple, but the way she says them—like she’s asking for something more than just physical space—catches you off guard. There’s a vulnerability in her tone that makes your chest tighten. She’s not just asking for time, not just asking for a break from the night, from the pressure. She’s asking for something else, something that neither of you can name yet.

You nod without hesitation, a small movement that feels like agreement, but also something more. You’re not ready to leave this moment yet either. Not ready to rush out of this space between you, whatever it is. So, you don’t speak. You don’t offer empty reassurances or try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. Instead, you simply stay.

The night stretches on in a way that feels both endless and fleeting, the world outside the car fading away as you and Paige exist in this small, quiet bubble. The city lights below twinkle faintly in the distance, almost as if they’re watching over you both, but here, in the stillness of the car, nothing else matters. The only thing that matters is the space between the two of you, the air thick with something neither of you can fully grasp.

You don’t talk for a while. You don’t need to. Instead, the silence is filled with stolen glances, those little moments where your eyes meet hers, and you both look away just as quickly, as if the act of holding the gaze would make everything too real, too much to handle. But the glances, the shared looks, say everything. They speak of the things neither of you can voice, of the things that are bubbling up just beneath the surface. There’s something there, something unspoken, and you both feel it—the pull, the tension, the weight of it all. It’s not heavy in a bad way, not suffocating, but it’s there, undeniable and persistent, like it’s been waiting for the right moment to surface.

And the conversation? It’s easy, almost too easy. It’s the kind of conversation that comes after the storm, the kind that flows naturally, like there’s no need to pretend. You talk about the game, about nothing important, just filling the space between you with words, with stories, with little details that make you laugh, that make the tension feel lighter. But even in those moments, you can feel the undercurrent. You can feel the things that are unspoken hanging between you like a thread just waiting to be pulled.

And then, as time goes on, you realize something—whatever this is, it isn’t over. Not by a long shot. The things you haven’t said, the things you’ve danced around for so long, they haven’t gone away. They’re still there, just waiting. And for the first time in a long time, neither of you is running from it.

You’re both sitting here, in this moment, together. Neither of you knows what will come next, but neither of you is trying to escape it. The night stretches on, not like a ticking clock, but like a space where everything can just be. Where everything can breathe, even if it’s unclear exactly where it’s going.

And for now, that’s enough.

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐱

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 4.9k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige’s relationship evolves from a slow burn to a deep, committed love as they navigate the complexities of their careers and dreams.

warnings: emotional tension, angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, fluff, relationship growth

a/n: last chapter!! i've been writing some oneshots as i dont plan on starting a new series for a while, so i have those queued to come out over the next several days!

Paige stood by the door, her hand on the handle, her face a mix of frustration and regret. The air between you felt heavy, loaded with words that had cut deeper than either of you intended. She hesitated, her lips parting as though she might say something, but then she shook her head.

“I’ll give you some space,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t reply, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared at the floor. A knot of anger and sadness churned in your stomach, and though you wanted to stop her, to demand that she stay and work this out now, you let her leave. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You sank onto the couch, staring at the spot where Paige had just been. The argument replayed in your mind, every word sharp and jagged. Your heart ached with the weight of it all—how could someone you loved so much, who claimed to know you so well, dismiss something so integral to who you were?

Your eyes drifted to the framed photo on the bookshelf, a candid shot of you and Paige laughing at the beach. It had been taken on a rare day off for her, one where she hadn’t been thinking about practice schedules or interviews, and you hadn’t been preoccupied with editing episodes or planning content. In that moment, you’d felt so connected, so certain that love was enough to bridge any gap.

But now, the gap felt wider than ever.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, and let out a shaky breath. Could you keep holding on to a love that asked you to compromise so much of yourself? You didn’t doubt your feelings for Paige; you loved her more deeply than you’d ever thought possible. But love wasn’t supposed to come at the cost of your identity.

Still, even through the hurt, you found yourself thinking of the way she looked at you, how her presence could light up the darkest days. You thought of the sacrifices she’d made to reach where she was, the pressure she carried every day as the face of women’s basketball. Maybe she’d spoken out of fear, out of her own need to feel like you were in this together.

You sighed, the anger ebbing just enough for empathy to creep in. But the question remained: Could you find a way forward that didn’t require you to lose yourself in the process?

Paige sat in her car in the dimly lit parking lot, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. She didn’t drive away immediately; instead, she stared out at the rain-speckled windshield, the sound of droplets tapping against the glass a muted backdrop to the storm raging in her mind.

The hurt in your eyes haunted her. She’d never meant to make you feel small or unimportant, but as she replayed the conversation, she could hear the weight of her own words, how dismissive they’d sounded.

It’s not like it’s… a real job.

She winced, shame curling in her chest. How could she have said that? She knew how much your podcast meant to you, how hard you’d worked to build something meaningful. She’d seen the late nights, the endless brainstorming sessions, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about an episode that resonated with your listeners. And yet, she’d brushed it aside in her thoughtless attempt to simplify things.

Paige leaned back in her seat, running a hand through her hair. She’d been so focused on her own fears—on how overwhelming it felt to face the unknown of the draft, to think about moving across the country and starting a new chapter—that she hadn’t stopped to consider yours.

She’d assumed that love meant you’d follow her anywhere, but wasn’t love also about meeting in the middle? About supporting each other’s dreams instead of asking one person to give up everything?

Her chest tightened. Paige hated feeling like she’d failed you, but even more than that, she hated the idea of losing you. 

With a deep breath, she started the car, her determination settling in. If there was one thing she’d learned from basketball, it was that you don’t quit just because you’re down. You regroup. You adapt. And you fight for what matters most.

**********

The soft knock at your apartment door startled you the next morning, pulling you from the haze of your thoughts. You hadn’t been expecting anyone, and after the emotionally charged night you’d had, the last thing you wanted was company. Still, the persistent sound echoed again, gentle but insistent. Reluctantly, you pushed off the couch, your legs feeling heavy as you made your way to the door.

Your heart tightened as you peered through the peephole.

It was Paige.

She stood there on your doorstep, clutching a bouquet of sunflowers and lavender—your favorite flowers. The vibrant yellows and soft purples stood out against the overcast sky behind her. Her hoodie was pulled low over her head, the sleeves hanging slightly past her hands. She looked smaller than usual, her shoulders slouched, her confident posture replaced by something hesitant and unsure. It was a look you rarely saw on her.

For a moment, you considered not opening the door. The wound from last night’s argument still felt raw, the hurt words she’d thrown at you circling endlessly in your mind. But as your eyes flicked back to her face through the peephole, you saw the flicker of vulnerability in her expression, and your resolve faltered.

Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Hey,” Paige said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” you replied, your tone guarded. You didn’t move to let her in, the weight of last night still heavy between you.

Paige shifted on her feet, her grip tightening around the stems of the bouquet. “I… I know I should’ve called first,” she said, her words rushed and uncertain, “but I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me. Still, I needed to see you.” She paused, swallowing hard. “Can I come in?”

For a moment, you hesitated. The pain of her dismissive words still lingered, but the sincerity in her voice made it hard to shut her out. Finally, you stepped aside, motioning for her to enter.

Paige walked in cautiously, as though afraid the wrong move might shatter whatever fragile truce had allowed her inside. She held out the bouquet, her hands trembling slightly. “These are for you.”

You took them silently, your fingers brushing hers briefly before you pulled away. The familiar, calming scent of lavender wafted up as you turned to place the flowers on the counter.

When you turned back, Paige was still near the door, her hands shoved deep into her hoodie pocket. She looked at you with those piercing blue eyes that usually exuded confidence but now brimmed with uncertainty.

“I messed up,” she began, her voice unsteady. “I mean, obviously. But I just… I need you to know how sorry I am. About everything I said, about how I made you feel. It wasn’t fair to you.”

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Paige…”

“No, please,” she cut in, taking a tentative step forward. “Let me finish. I didn’t mean to make it sound like what you do isn’t important. I know how much your podcast means to you. I’ve seen how much passion you pour into it, how much time and effort you’ve spent building it into something real, something that matters.”

Her voice cracked slightly, and she ran a hand through her hair, her frustration with herself evident. “And the fact that I made you feel like that didn’t matter? That’s on me. That’s my fault, and I hate that I hurt you.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and unpolished, and you felt the wall you’d built around yourself begin to crumble, piece by piece. But the sting of her earlier dismissal wasn’t something you could simply brush aside.

“I love you,” Paige continued, her voice thick with emotion. “And I want to build a life with you. But that doesn’t mean I get to decide what that life looks like all on my own. I get that now.”

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you processed her words.

“Paige,” you said softly, your tone no longer harsh but still firm, “I love you too. But I need you to understand something. I can’t—won’t—give up everything I’ve worked for. My career, my independence, my identity… they’re not things I’m willing to sacrifice. Not even for you.”

Her lips parted as if to respond, but she stopped herself, nodding instead.

“I know,” she said after a pause, her voice quieter now. “I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to give up anything that makes you… you. But I also don’t want to lose you. I need to figure out how to support you without asking you to give up everything for me.”

Your expression softened as you saw the vulnerability etched into her features. Slowly, you stepped closer, your arms dropping to your sides.

“This can’t be about one of us making all the sacrifices,” you said gently. “It has to be about meeting in the middle. Compromising. Finding a way to make this work for both of us.”

Paige’s eyes flickered with a mixture of relief and hope. She reached out hesitantly, her hands brushing against yours. “So… what does that look like? For us?”

You squeezed her hands, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “For now? It means long distance. You go wherever the draft takes you, and I stay here to keep building what I’ve started. We’ll visit each other, and we’ll figure it out as we go. When the time is right, we’ll decide what’s next—together.”

Paige let out a shaky breath, her shoulders finally relaxing. “Together,” she echoed, her voice soft but resolute.

You nodded, a flicker of hope warming your chest. “Together.”

She stepped forward, pulling you into a hug that felt like both an apology and a promise. Her arms wrapped tightly around you, as if to hold you closer than the distance you’d both soon face. For the first time since the argument, you felt a glimmer of reassurance. It wouldn’t be easy, but you could make it through this—together.

**********

The morning sun had barely begun its slow crawl across the sky when a soft, rhythmic knock echoed through your apartment. You weren’t surprised—you’d been awake for a while, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to push away the heaviness pressing against your chest. Today was the last full day before Paige left for Dallas, before everything changed.

Taking a steadying breath, you padded toward the door, your heart clenching at the sight of her standing there.

Paige looked like herself, but different. Her usual effortless confidence was tinged with something softer, something quieter. She wore an old hoodie, the sleeves slightly too long, her hands tucked into them like she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. But despite the bittersweet weight hanging between you, she was smiling—her familiar, lopsided grin that never failed to make your heart stutter.

"Ready for our adventure?" she asked, her voice light, but her eyes—those bright blue eyes—held something deeper. Nostalgia, maybe. Or that quiet sadness neither of you had dared to name.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, willing yourself to match her energy. Today wasn’t about being sad. It was about holding on to everything you had built together before distance tested it.

You returned her smile, though it felt a little fragile at the edges. “Depends. Where are we going first?”

Paige’s smirk deepened as she lifted her car keys and jingled them between her fingers. “You’ll see.”

There was a spark of mischief in her voice, a glimmer of excitement that made it easier to ignore the ache in your chest.

You sighed playfully, shaking your head as you grabbed your jacket. “You know I hate surprises.”

Paige’s grin widened. “That’s what makes them fun.”

Stepping outside, you locked the door behind you, inhaling the crisp morning air. The world was still quiet, still untouched by the day ahead, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you. Like time hadn’t already started pulling you in different directions.

Paige opened the passenger door for you, her hand brushing lightly against your back as you slid inside. That simple touch, so casual yet so familiar, sent warmth through your skin—a reminder of how easy it had always been between you.

As she rounded the front of the car and slipped into the driver’s seat, she glanced over at you, her smirk softening. “You ready?”

You weren’t sure if she was asking about the day ahead or everything that would follow.

Either way, you nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

And with that, she started the engine, the hum of the car filling the quiet morning as you set off on a day you both knew you’d remember for the rest of your lives.

The tiny coffee shop on the corner looked exactly the same as it had the first time you’d stepped inside together—warm, cozy, and filled with the rich aroma of espresso and freshly baked pastries. The soft hum of chatter mixed with the whir of the espresso machine, creating the same comforting soundtrack that had played in the background of that first morning. It felt like stepping back in time, like you could almost see the ghosts of your past selves sitting in the very booth you were about to claim.

Paige walked ahead of you, slipping into your usual spot by the window with the kind of familiarity that made your heart ache. You followed, setting your drink down as you slid into the seat across from her.

She looked around with a small, nostalgic smile, her fingers drumming lightly against the table. “Remember the first time we came here?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with amusement.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah. And we both swore it wasn’t a date.”

Paige smirked, leaning back against the worn leather seat. “Even though we sat here for three hours, split a muffin, and made fun of all the couples with their matching lattes?”

You grinned, stirring your drink absentmindedly. “And then you got jealous when the barista flirted with me.”

Paige scoffed, but you caught the way her eyes flickered, the way her lips twitched like she was fighting back a smile. “I was not jealous.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Then why did you glare at him so hard he messed up my order?”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little jealous.”

You laughed, tilting your head as you studied her. The way her fingers curled around her cup, the way the early morning light caught the golden strands in her hair, the way her expression softened in a way that was reserved just for you. It was so painfully familiar—so entirely Paige—and yet, there was something different about this moment. A weight in the air, a quiet understanding that this was more than just a casual coffee shop visit.

You exhaled slowly, running a thumb along the edge of your cup. “It’s crazy to think how much has changed since then.”

Paige’s smile faltered for just a second, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. But then, she reached for your hand across the table, lacing her fingers through yours with the same ease as she always had.

“Yeah,” she murmured, squeezing gently. “But some things never do.”

And sitting there, in the place where it all started, you hoped she was right.

The sun had started its slow descent toward the horizon by the time you left the coffee shop, the golden light stretching long shadows across the pavement. The drive to the beach was quiet but comfortable, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. Paige kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting absentmindedly on your thigh, tracing slow, comforting circles with her thumb.

When she pulled into the small, familiar lot near the dunes, neither of you moved right away. You just sat there, taking in the view—the way the sky bled into soft hues of pink and orange, the waves rolling gently against the shore, the familiar stretch of sand where so many memories lived.

“This feels like a movie,” Paige mused, breaking the silence. “The last full day before I leave. Revisiting all our milestones like some kind of emotional montage.”

You let out a small laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Yeah, well, if this were a movie, I’d like to think we’d get a happy ending.”

Paige turned to you then, something unreadable flickering behind her blue eyes. “We will,” she said, like it wasn’t even a question. And maybe, for now, that was enough.

The cool ocean breeze wrapped around you as you walked along the shoreline, your bare feet sinking into the wet sand with each step. Paige’s fingers were laced with yours, her grip warm and steady despite the coolness in the air. The rhythmic crash of the waves filled the space between you, an unspoken reminder of just how much had happened here.

“This is where we said it for the first time,” you murmured, giving her hand a small squeeze.

Paige let out a soft hum of agreement, a smile playing at her lips. “You were so nervous.”

You shot her a look. “I was not.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You were fidgeting the whole time. Kept staring at the water like it had all the answers.”

You sighed dramatically, nudging her side. “Fine. Maybe I was a little nervous.”

Paige stopped walking then, gently pulling you to a stop with her. The way she turned to face you felt significant, like she was grounding herself in this moment—like she needed you to know she was here, fully present, despite everything changing around you.

“For the record,” she said, her voice softer now, “I was too.”

You blinked at her in surprise, tilting your head. “Paige Bueckers, nervous?”

She let out a small laugh, bumping your shoulder. “Shocking, right?” Then, more seriously, she added, “But only because I knew what I felt for you was real. And I was scared it would be too much, too soon.”

Your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you at the quiet vulnerability in her voice. You reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting your fingertips linger against her cheek.

“It was never too much,” you murmured.

Paige’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something more, but instead, she closed the distance between you, pressing a lingering kiss against your lips. The sound of the waves crashing behind you faded into the background as you melted into the moment, into her.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“I love you,” she whispered, the words carrying the weight of every memory tied to this place.

You smiled, your hands slipping around her waist, holding her close. “I love you too.”

And as the ocean stretched endlessly before you, it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like a promise.

By the time you left the beach, the sky had fully darkened, the last traces of sunlight swallowed by the horizon. The drive back into the city was quiet, but not in a heavy way—just comfortable. Paige kept one hand resting lightly on your knee, her thumb tracing absentminded patterns against your skin, like she was trying to memorize you through touch alone.

The restaurant came into view, its warm glow spilling out onto the sidewalk, a beacon of familiarity. It looked exactly the same as it had that first night—when nerves had danced in your stomach, when you and Paige had tiptoed around the fact that this was a date, no matter how casually you had framed it beforehand.

She put the car in park, then turned to you with a small, knowing smile. “Last stop.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “Crazy how much has happened since the first time we walked in here together.”

Paige grinned, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Back when you still pretended you weren’t into me?”

You rolled your eyes, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I was trying to play it cool.”

Paige let out a laugh, the sound warm and familiar, before hopping out of the car. She jogged around to your side, opening the door for you with an exaggerated flourish. “Well, lucky for me, I saw right through that.”

Inside, the restaurant was exactly as you remembered it—the dim lighting casting everything in a golden hue, the hum of conversations weaving together, the faint scent of garlic and wine lingering in the air. The same elderly couple sat in their usual corner booth, the same soft jazz played from the overhead speakers. It was as if time had folded in on itself, bringing you right back to where it all began.

The host at the podium looked up, recognition sparking in his eyes as he greeted you with a knowing smile. “Welcome back. Your usual table?”

You exchanged a glance with Paige before nodding.

As you settled into your seats, memories of that first date washed over you—the way your hands had hovered awkwardly over the menu, the way Paige had reached across the table to grab your hand, steady and sure, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Now, she looked at you with that same unwavering warmth, but this time, there were no uncertainties between you.

“This feels like déjà vu,” she murmured, her thumb brushing idly over the back of your hand.

You smiled, squeezing her fingers. “Except this time, we know exactly what we are to each other.”

Paige’s expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she reached into her jacket pocket. “I, uh… I got you something.”

Your brows lifted slightly as she slid a small velvet box across the table. The sight of it made your heart stutter, your breath hitching as you carefully lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled against the dark fabric, was a delicate silver necklace—a tiny basketball charm resting at the center, catching the dim light just right.

Paige rubbed the back of her neck, looking almost nervous now. “I know long distance is gonna be hard,” she admitted, her voice quieter than before. “But I wanted you to have something to remind you that no matter where I am, I’m always yours.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you lifted the necklace, the weight of her words settling in your chest.

“Paige…” you whispered, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

She gave you a sheepish smile, her thumb tapping restlessly against the table. “Do you like it?”

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “I love it.”

Relief flickered across her face before she reached for your hand again, her grip warm and reassuring. “We’re gonna make this work,” she said firmly, like she was making a promise. “No matter what.”

You exhaled, letting her words anchor you, letting yourself believe in them. “Yeah,” you said, nodding. “We will.”

And as the night stretched on, filled with laughter and quiet glances and fingers laced together across the table, you realized something—this wasn’t an ending.

It was just another beginning.

The night stretched on longer than either of you expected—not because time slowed, but because neither of you wanted it to end.

After dinner, Paige insisted on driving aimlessly around the city, her hand never leaving yours as she took you down streets filled with memories. The campus gym parking lot, where she’d first pulled you into a kiss after one of her late-night practices. The tiny ice cream shop where she’d tried (and failed) to impress you with her terrible toppings combination. The overlook just outside of town, where you’d once parked and sat on the hood of her car, talking about the future like it was something distant, not something arriving at your doorstep in just a few hours.

By the time you ended up back at your apartment, the sky was already starting to shift from deep blue to soft hues of pink and gold. Neither of you had slept, but exhaustion wasn’t something either of you acknowledged. You spent those last quiet hours curled up together on your couch, Paige’s head resting against your shoulder as she traced lazy circles over the back of your hand with her thumb.

When the alarm on her phone finally went off—its sharp sound slicing through the stillness—Paige let out a long sigh, pressing her face into your neck. “I changed my mind,” she mumbled. “I’m staying.”

You chuckled, running your fingers through her hair. “And what, ditch the WNBA for me?”

She peeked up at you, smirking. “I mean, you’re a pretty compelling reason.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Nice try, Bueckers.”

Still, when she finally stood to grab her bag, you saw the way her expression shifted—the weight of reality settling over both of you.

The drive to the airport was quiet, Paige’s fingers intertwined with yours on the center console. Every now and then, she’d give your hand a squeeze, as if reminding herself that you were still there.

And then, too soon, you were standing inside the terminal.

The airport was a whirlwind of movement—travelers rushing to their gates, the hum of announcements over the PA system, and the low murmur of conversations all blending into a chaotic symphony. But for you and Paige, time seemed to slow.

You stood together near the security checkpoint, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. Paige’s carry-on bag was slung over her shoulder, and she kept fidgeting with the strap, her usual confidence replaced by a nervous energy.

“This feels… surreal,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, your throat tight. “Yeah, it does.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled by everything left unsaid. Then, you reached into your bag and pulled out a small box, holding it out to her with a soft smile.

Paige frowned slightly, taking it. “What’s this?”

“Just something to remind you of home.”

She opened the box carefully, her eyes widening as she pulled out a sleek, black leather journal. Her fingers ran over the cover, tracing the embossed initials P.B. in the corner.

Flipping it open, she found the first page already filled in—your handwriting neat and familiar.

“For every new chapter of your life, and every thought you can’t put into words. No matter where you go, I’m always listening. Love, Y/N.”

Paige blinked a few times, her thumb grazing over the words as she let out a soft chuckle. “You’re really making sure I don’t forget to call, huh?”

You smirked. “I figured if you ever run out of things to say to me, you can write them down instead.”

She exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head. “I love it,” she murmured, holding the journal to her chest before meeting your gaze again. “I love you.”

Your heart clenched, but you kept your smile steady. “I love you too.”

Paige laughed softly, but you saw the way her eyes glossed over. “I’ll use it every day.”

Reaching into her bag, Paige pulled out something of her own and handed it to you. It was one of her jerseys, neatly folded. You unfolded it, your breath catching when a piece of paper slipped out from inside.

Curious, you opened the note, Paige’s handwriting filling the page.

“Y/N,This jersey is just a piece of fabric, but it’s part of me—just like you are. Wherever I go, whatever I do, you’ll always be my home. I love you, more than words can say.Paige”

Your eyes flickered up to meet hers, your throat tightening. “Paige…”

She stepped closer, cupping your cheek with her hand. “I mean it,” she whispered. “No matter how far I go, I’m yours. Always.”

You leaned into her touch, swallowing back the overwhelming emotions pressing against your ribs. “I’ll be at every game,” you promised, voice thick. “Front row, screaming my lungs out.”

Paige chuckled, brushing her thumb against your cheek. “Oh, I know. You’re gonna be my biggest distraction.”

You smirked through the ache in your chest. “That’s the plan.”

The final boarding call for her flight crackled through the speakers, and Paige sighed, glancing toward the gate.

“I guess this is it,” she murmured.

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “For now.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you like she never wanted to let go. “I’ll call you as soon as I land,” she whispered.

“You better,” you said, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

As she finally pulled back, her hand lingered in yours, and you felt the absence the moment her fingers slipped away.

You watched her walk toward the gate, her bracelets catching the light as she waved one last time before disappearing into the crowd.

And though your heart ached with the weight of goodbye, you held her jersey close, knowing this wasn’t the end—just the start of a new chapter.

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩

paige bueckers x tutor!reader

wc: 3.5k

synopsis: In a tense library setting, Y/N tutors Paige Bueckers in math, but Paige’s distracting flirtations make it difficult for Y/N to focus. As the session progresses, Paige's teasing escalates, and the playful tension builds between them.

warnings: flirting and sexual tension, mild power dynamics, explicit sexual content, public setting, sexual innuendos and suggestive themes

a/n: smut!! hopefully the next thing i post is for the hot take?

“Alright, so this is a basic setup for solving linear equations,” you said, your voice calm but tinged with a teacher-like authority. Your pen glided over the page, underlining the example problem with precision. “The key is to isolate the variable, so you want to start by simplifying both sides.”

The library was bathed in soft afternoon light streaming through tall windows, the rays casting long, golden streaks across the tables and shelves. The air felt still, heavy with the kind of focus that seemed to permeate academic spaces. Occasionally, the faint hum of the air conditioning broke the silence, accompanied by the gentle rustle of someone turning a page or the muted scrape of a chair being adjusted.

Across from you, Paige sat slouched in her seat, an air of nonchalance radiating from her. Her elbow was propped on the table, fingers cradling her cheek, her head tilted ever so slightly as though the weight of paying attention was too much effort. The textbook lay open in front of her, but its pages were pristine, unbent, untouched—like a prop more than a tool.

Meanwhile, your notebook was the complete opposite. The pages were covered in neat rows of equations, annotations, and diagrams, each one carefully designed to explain the problem at hand. You leaned forward slightly, your brow furrowed in concentration as you scribbled another step beneath the problem.

Paige’s eyes weren’t on the notebook. They weren’t even on the textbook. Instead, her gaze lingered on you—on the way your fingers moved smoothly over the paper, the way a strand of hair had fallen into your face, the way your lips pursed slightly when you were focused.

“Are you even listening?” you asked without looking up, sensing her lack of attention.

Her blue eyes snapped to yours, wide with feigned innocence, as if she’d just been caught red-handed and was scrambling to cover it up. The corners of her lips twitched, hovering between a smirk and a nervous smile. “Yeah. Totally,” she said, her tone overly casual, as though repeating your words would make up for the fact that she clearly hadn’t heard a single one. “Isolate the variable.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in your chair to give her an expectant look. “Okay, then,” you said, your voice dripping with skepticism. “Tell me what the first step is.”

Paige’s face froze for a beat, her confident front cracking just enough for you to catch the flicker of panic in her eyes. She shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as she stalled for time. Her gaze darted to the notebook between you, scanning it as though the answer might jump off the page and save her. 

She blinked once. Then twice. Each deliberate, slow flutter of her lashes seemed like an attempt to buy time, to summon an excuse that would pull her out of the corner she’d backed herself into. Finally, with a resigned exhale, Paige leaned back in her chair, the legs creaking softly under the shift in her weight. A sheepish grin spread across her face, one of those lopsided ones that managed to look charming even when it was entirely unearned.

“Uh… you know,” she began, her voice light and teasing, “this whole tutoring thing would be way easier if you weren’t so distracting.”

Your pen froze mid-scribble, and you looked up, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Heat bloomed across your neck, a quiet embarrassment sneaking in at her unexpected comment. “I’m the distraction?” you shot back, trying to sound exasperated but unable to keep the faint incredulity out of your tone. “You’re the one zoning out like we’re not cramming for your math quiz tomorrow.”

Paige shrugged, entirely unfazed, her smirk stretching wider, becoming more self-assured. “Can you blame me?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as her eyes scanned your face, her expression making it clear she was in no rush to answer seriously. “It’s hard to focus when you look like…”

She trailed off, letting the silence hang between you, knowing full well it would make you curious. Her hand lifted lazily, gesturing vaguely in your direction as if the rest of the sentence didn’t even need to be said.

“Like what?” you pressed, narrowing your eyes at her and crossing your arms over your chest, the action more defensive than you intended.

Paige leaned forward again, her elbow resting on the table as she met your gaze with a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. “Like that,” she said simply, her voice soft but firm, as though the words held a weight she wasn’t willing to explain.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t completely hide the faint smile threatening to tug at the corners of your lips. There was a part of you—a small, secret part—that enjoyed her relentless teasing, even if it made concentrating nearly impossible. In truth, who didn’t want an attractive athlete constantly flirting with them? “Compliments won’t get you out of this, Bueckers,” you said, shaking your head as you tapped the open notebook with your pen. “Eyes on the notes. We’re finishing this problem before I lose my patience.”

She groaned dramatically, her head tipping back as though the weight of the request was unbearable. “Fine, fine,” she relented, her voice dripping with exaggerated defeat. Slowly, she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand as her other hand hovered above the notebook. Her gaze skimmed over the words without much urgency. “Isolation of variables. Got it. So simple.”

The sarcasm in her tone wasn’t lost on you. “If it’s so simple,” you countered, shifting in your seat to lean closer, “then what’s the next step?”

Paige tilted her head, her eyes lingering on the page for a beat too long, as if stalling for time. The faint crease in her brow made it clear she wasn’t entirely sure what to say. But then, her focus flickered—first to your hand, resting near the edge of the notebook, and then upward, locking onto your face.

Her lips curled into that signature smirk of hers, the one that practically radiated confidence and just a touch of mischief. “Honestly?” she began, her voice taking on a softer, almost playful tone.

You raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “Yeah?”

“The next move,” she said, her gaze unwavering, “is probably asking you out. That’s gotta be easier than this math stuff.”

You froze, your pen hovering mid-air above the notebook, her words replaying in your head like a broken record. Slowly, you blinked, your brain scrambling to formulate a response as an involuntary warmth spread from your chest to your cheeks. “You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as you refocused on the paper in front of you, hoping she didn’t notice the subtle hitch in your composure.

“But you’re still here,” she quipped, her voice light and teasing, accompanied by a grin so self-satisfied it could’ve powered the room’s dim lighting. She leaned back in her chair again, stretching her arms behind her head like she didn’t have a care in the world.

You shot her a look, your eyebrow arched in mock annoyance. “Not for much longer if you don’t start paying attention,” you warned, though the corners of your lips betrayed you, twitching upward despite your best efforts to stay stern.

Paige tapped her pencil lazily against the edge of the table, her eyes flicking between the open textbook and your concentrated expression. A playful grin spread across her face as she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.

“You know,” she started, her tone light and teasing, “I think I could probably focus better if I was sitting next to you.”

You paused mid-scribble, lifting your head to give her a skeptical look. “What difference would that make?” you asked, though your voice wavered slightly under the weight of her mischievous gaze.

Paige shrugged, the grin on her face growing wider. “I don’t know. Something about proximity to greatness or whatever,” she said with a wink. “Plus, you could point out what I’m doing wrong in real time. Super efficient.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. “Or you’d just get more distracted,” you countered, trying to sound unfazed.

Paige tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe,” she admitted, her voice dropping slightly. “But I think it’s worth the risk.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you tried to focus on the notes in front of you. But the warmth of her words lingered, and from the corner of your eye, you could see the triumphant spark in her gaze.

Without a word, she pushed back her chair, the legs scraping softly against the library floor. Before you could question her, Paige stood and casually made her way around the table, plopping herself down in the empty seat right beside you. The subtle scent of her cologne hit you immediately, and your heart rate spiked as the proximity closed the space between you.

“Paige,” you said, your voice low but exasperated. 

She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. You blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden closeness. Her shoulder brushed yours as she leaned just slightly into your space, and you could feel your face heat up. “That’s not how this works,” you mumbled, looking down at your notes in a desperate attempt to avoid her gaze.

Her eyes dropped to your notebook, and she gestured toward it lazily. “Alright, teach. Show me how it’s done.”

You sighed, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. “If you don’t take this seriously—”

“I am,” Paige interrupted, her voice soft but sincere. She looked at you, her smirk softening into a small smile. “Promise. Just… don’t mind me sitting here.”

Before you even realized it, your concentration shattered like fragile glass, the words on the page blurring into meaningless scribbles when Paige’s hand, warm and deliberate, began a slow, almost hesitant journey up your thigh, slipping just beneath the edge of the table. Her fingertips grazed your skin lightly, tracing lazy, teasing circles that sent a shiver up your spine. The contact was featherlight but impossible to ignore, each movement deliberate enough to make your heart race.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively glanced around the library, your eyes darting to the other tables to see if anyone might be watching. The muted hum of the room felt louder, the soft rustling of pages and faint whispers of conversation suddenly heightened against the thrumming of your pulse.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a mix of shock and disbelief. Your gaze snapped back to Paige, wide-eyed, but she didn’t flinch.

She leaned in slightly, her lips tugging into a sly, self-assured smirk. “Helping you relax,” she murmured, her voice low and velvety, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, daring you to call her out—but the steady rhythm of her fingers told you she had no intention of stopping.

"Shh," she whispered, her hand inching further up. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest as her fingers found the hem of your skirt. The possibility of getting caught only heightened the thrill, your pulse quickening with anticipation. Paige's hand slid under the fabric, her palm grazing against your bare thigh. You sucked in a sharp breath, your skin tingling at her touch. She traced light patterns on your inner thigh, drawing closer and closer to your aching core.

"Paige, we're in public," you hissed, but your words held no conviction. Your body betrayed you, your hips shifting towards her teasing touch.

"I know," she purred, her fingers dancing maddeningly close to where you needed them most. "But no one can see what I'm doing to you under this table. So, you just sit there and look pretty, and I’ll handle the rest, okay?”

The war raging in your mind was written all over your face, each flicker of hesitation and uncertainty etched into your features. Your eyebrows furrowed, then lifted slightly, your lips parting as though to speak but quickly pressing together again. It was a silent tug-of-war, the conflict within you mirrored in the subtle shifts of your expression, betraying the chaos swirling behind your eyes.

As Paige's delicate fingers traced tantalizing patterns across your skin, a shiver of electric pleasure coursed through your body. Her touch was like liquid fire, igniting every nerve ending and sending waves of intoxicating sensation straight to your core. You found yourself lost in a haze of desire, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to maintain your composure.

The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to pull away from whatever this was. But the primal urge growing within you drowned out all reason. Your body betrayed you, responding to Paige's skilled touch with a hunger you'd never experienced before.

As if in a trance, you felt your head slowly nodding, giving in to the overwhelming need that consumed you. Paige's lips curled into a knowing smirk, her eyes glinting with triumph at how easily she'd convinced you. That smug expression only fueled your arousal further, making you ache to prove just how dirty you could be.

At your agreement, Paige's eyes flashed with predatory hunger. In one fluid motion, she removed her hand from your thigh, leaving a trail of tingling skin in its wake. Her slender fingers curled around the armrest of your chair, nails digging into the fabric.

With surprising strength, she yanked your chair towards her, the wheels squeaking in protest. The sudden movement sent a jolt through your body, your heart pounding as you were pulled into her personal space. The scent of her perfume - a heady mix of jasmine and something darker, more primal - enveloped you.

Your bodies were now mere inches apart, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Paige's chest heaved with each breath, the swell of her breasts straining against her tight top. Her legs parted slightly, inviting you closer.

The abrupt closeness left you dizzy, your senses overwhelmed by her presence. You could see every detail of her face - the flecks of gold in her eyes, the slight parting of her glossy lips, the flush creeping up her neck. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with unspoken desires and the promise of what was to come. 

Paige abruptly broke the intense eye contact, her gaze darting down to the open textbook on the desk. The sudden shift in her demeanor was palpable, like a switch had been flipped. Her long lashes fluttered as her eyes scanned the page, a slight furrow appearing between her perfectly shaped brows.

With a graceful movement, she extended her arm, her finger tracing a line in the book. The simple gesture drew your attention, almost hypnotically. You could see the delicate bones of her wrist, the soft skin of her inner arm, the way the fluorescent light caught the fine hairs there.

Her body language had changed subtly. Where moments ago she had been all seduction and hunger, now she affected an air of studious concentration. But there was a tension in her shoulders, a slight quickening of her breath that betrayed her act.

As you followed her gesture to the textbook, you caught a whiff of her scent again - that intoxicating blend of jasmine and musk, now mingled with the faint smell of arousal. The proximity of your bodies hadn't changed; you could still feel the heat radiating from her, could still see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

The moment of studious concentration was shattered as Paige's hand found its way to your bare thigh. Her fingers traced slow, teasing circles on your exposed skin, the sensation sending shivers of anticipation through your body. You felt the heat of her palm, the slight calluses on her fingertips, as she caressed your leg.

Paige's eyes lifted to meet yours, the fleeting vulnerability replaced by a smoldering intensity. The air between you was charged with tension, thick with the promise of things to come. You could see the dilation of her pupils, the flush that was creeping up her neck, the slight parting of her pink lips.

Her hand moved higher, inch by torturous inch, her fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The flimsy skirt provided little barrier, and her touch felt like a brand against your flesh.

Paige leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, “Tell me,” her hand continued its torturous exploration, fingertips teasing along the hem of your skirt. She pulled back slightly, her gaze locked on yours, "how badly do you want this?” 

Her hand slid higher, skimming the edge of your panties. Suddenly, her pinky and ring finger slipped underneath the elastic band, hooking into the side of your underwear. With a quick tug, she pulled them to the side, exposing you fully to her touch.

You hesitated before whispering out, “So bad, Paige, please.”

Paige's fingers stroked through your wet folds, gathering the slick arousal there. She brought her hand to her lips, wrapping around them, swiping her tongue across the digits in a slow, deliberate motion. "So good," she said, her eyes never leaving yours.

You watched, mesmerized, as she pulled her fingers out with an audible pop and returned them between your legs. Her fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, maddening circles around the sensitive bud. Pleasure jolted through you, your legs quivering and toes curling in your shoes.

Just as you felt something within you building, Paige moved her hand lower. You gasped as you felt her tracing your entrance, your slick arousal allowing her to glide easily across the delicate skin, Paige's lips curving into a wicked grin against your ear. 

"Feels like you want this," she whispered, dipping her finger teasingly inside your heat before retreating. "So wet. I wonder..." She dipped back in, this time adding a second finger to tease you as she withdrew. 

Paige continued her maddening torture, fingers slipping into you only to withdraw once more before you could get too accustomed to the sensation. Your thighs trembled, hands fisting in the arms of your chair as you tried to control your breathing.

"Feel so good," Paige murmured appreciatively, "I can't wait to feel you around my fingers." 

She pushed two digits deep inside you, finally giving you the penetration you craved. Your head fell back as she began to pump slowly, building up a rhythm. Her thumb found your clit, adding another layer of stimulation that had you squirming. "You like this, don't you?" Paige's breath was hot against your neck as she pressed open mouth kisses to your pulse point. "Being touched like this, in public where anyone could catch us. It excites you, doesn't it?" 

Paige's fingers were relentless, plunging into you at a steady, driving pace that had you seeing stars. Her thumb circled your clit, each touch sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. The dual sensations were almost too much to bear. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge of oblivion, your body tensing tighter and tighter. "Go ahead and cum for me," Paige commanded, her voice a dark, sinful purr. "I want to feel you soak my fingers with it." She pressed her thumb hard against your clit, the increased pressure finally pushing you over the brink.

Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around Paige's fingers, your teeth clutching your bottom lip in an attempt to silence your noises. 

Even as you rode out the aftershocks of your climax, Paige didn't stop. Her fingers continued to pump into you, drawing out your pleasure and making the intense sensations border on painfully overwhelming. You almost sobbed, you mouth forming an O, your hands coming down to clutch at her arm, nails digging into the skin there. "Paige, please," you begged, unable to tell if you were begging her to stop or for more. But she knew exactly what you needed.

Paige removed her hand from between your legs, your hips still jerking sporadically. Through the haze of pleasure, you saw her raise her hand, slick with your arousal. Rather than wiping her fingers off, Paige brought them to her mouth again. Your gaze locked with hers as she sucked them into her mouth, licking them clean. A low, throaty moan escaped her at the taste of you.

Paige leaned back in her chair, her trademark smirk firmly in place as she grabbed her pencil tapped it against the edge of the table. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, locking onto yours as if she’d just won some unspoken game, and in some ways, she had.

“So,” she drawled, her voice dripping with smug confidence, “the next step?”

[writingbuckets]

how do we feel abt some paige x tutor!reader smut bc everything ive written for the hot take is AWFUL?

[writingbuckets]

omg im in ky too! for school

lmao i feel like we probably go to the same school

[writingbuckets]

𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 6.8k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige Bueckers are caught in a tense moment after Paige’s jealousy and neglect come to a head. With emotions running high, both struggle to navigate their complicated feelings, forcing them to confront the future of their relationship.

warnings: angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, slight manipulation, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, slight violence (physical restraint)

a/n: i present to you... jealous paige bc this is one of my favorite tropes literally ever! this was 16 pages on google docs so i apologize for that, gonna go through all my posts and add warnings to them so i shall see you later <3

You’re sprawled out on your bed, limbs heavy against the soft blanket, phone clutched in one hand. The screen casts a faint glow in the dim room, illuminating the furrow of frustration etched into your brow. Your thumb idly scrolls through your message thread with Paige—a barren wasteland of unanswered texts. Each message feels like a tiny stone dropped into the pit of your stomach, adding to the growing weight.

Monday

Hey, how’d practice go? You alive?

Wednesday

I know you’re busy, but can we talk soon? Paige?

Friday

Cool. Guess I’ll take the hint.

You sigh heavily, locking your phone and tossing it onto the bed beside you. The device bounces slightly before settling face down, but your mind refuses to let it go. A sharp buzz suddenly cuts through the silence, jolting your heart into a sprint. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers. You snatch up the phone, only for disappointment to flood in when Jasmine’s name lights up the screen instead.

You swipe to answer, switching to speaker and tossing it back on the bed. “What’s up, Jas?” you say, your tone flat and lacking its usual warmth.

“Clearly not you,” Jasmine replies, her voice teasing but tinged with concern. “You sound like someone kicked your puppy. Is this about Paige again?”

You pause, chewing on your bottom lip, the weight of your emotions threatening to spill over.

“She’s been ghosting me all week,” you finally admit, bitterness seeping into your voice like a slow drip. “I get that basketball keeps her busy, but is it really that hard to send one text? Like, ‘Hey, sorry, can’t talk right now’? That’s all I’m asking. It’s not rocket science.”

Jasmine’s incredulous tone comes through loud and clear. “Wait. She hasn’t responded at all? Not even a quick ‘Hey, I’m swamped’?”

“Not a word,” you reply, the edge in your voice sharpening. “Meanwhile, she’s out here talking about how much she likes me and how she wants to make things work. For what? So I can sit here, feeling like a damn afterthought, while she… I don’t even know what she’s doing anymore.”

“You deserve so much better,” Jasmine says firmly, her voice a grounding presence.

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, picking up your phone again despite yourself. It’s a reflex, a bad habit you can’t seem to break. You open Instagram, swiping through stories without purpose, when something stops you cold.

KK’s latest post dominates the screen. It’s a picture of the team crammed into a booth at Ted’s, smiles wide and carefree. Paige is smack in the middle, holding up Dirty Shirley, her grin so effortless it’s like she hasn’t ignored a single text in her life. She looks happy. Relaxed. Completely unbothered.

The caption reads: “Dubs only, baby! Turnt up with the squad 🏀.”

Your grip on the phone tightens as heat rises to your cheeks. Your jaw clenches involuntarily. So, she has time for this? Time to party, to hang out with her team, to go to Ted’s of all places—your spot—but can’t find two seconds to acknowledge you?

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, the words simmering with anger.

“What happened?” Jasmine’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“She’s at Ted’s,” you say through gritted teeth. “With the team. Laughing, drinking, looking like life is perfect while I’m over here wondering if she fell off the face of the Earth.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jasmine says, her indignation matching your own. “She thinks she can ignore you and get away with it? Nope. Get up, put on your hottest outfit, and remind her who the hell you are.”

You sit up, heart pounding as the idea takes root. Your glare is fixed on KK’s post, as if staring at it hard enough might erase the image entirely. Locking your phone, you toss it onto the bed before swinging your legs over the side.

“You know what?” you say, your voice steady and laced with resolve. “Maybe I will.”

The moment you’ve had enough, something shifts inside you—like a fire being reignited. The frustration that’s been simmering all evening finally boils over, and you grab your phone with newfound determination. Sitting upright on your bed, you unlock the screen, your fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease.

Y’all down for Ted’s tonight? Need backup.

The message is direct, no frills. This isn’t just a night out—it’s a mission.

Jasmine’s reply comes almost instantly, as if she’s been waiting for an excuse to hit the town. Say less. On my way in 20. Her energy is palpable even through a text.

Seconds later, Veronica chimes in: I’m in. Let’s cause some trouble. Her signature wink emoji follows, and you can’t help but smirk.

Finally, Serena’s response lights up your screen with a single word: Bet. Short, sweet, and packed with confidence.

With your friends locked in, you toss your phone onto the bed and head straight to your closet. It’s time to make a statement—one that’s impossible to ignore. You stand in front of your wardrobe, fingers brushing over hangers as you mentally critique each option. Too casual. Too plain. Too predictable.

After what feels like an eternity, your hand lands on the one. It’s bold, sleek, and undeniably sexy—a figure-hugging dress that accentuates all the right places and practically demands attention. You pull it off the hanger, holding it up in front of the mirror. The deep color complements your skin perfectly, and the hem does the absolute minimum in covering the bottom of your ass.

You slip into it carefully, smoothing the fabric over your body and adjusting it until it fits like a second skin. Taking a step back, you examine yourself in the mirror, tilting your head as a small smile plays on your lips. You look good. No—scratch that. You look amazing. But tonight, looking amazing isn’t enough. You want to turn heads. You want Paige to feel it.

Not done yet, you move to your vanity, flipping on the lights. Your makeup bag sits waiting, and you dive in with practiced precision. First, a flawless base, smooth and glowing, like your skin was kissed by the perfect Instagram filter. You follow with a contour that defines your features, giving you a sharp, sculpted look. Then comes the winged liner, bold and dramatic, with a flick so precise it could cut glass. Smokey eyeshadow enhances the look, making your gaze impossible to ignore, and a high-shine gloss adds the perfect finishing touch to your lips.

You lean back, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror. Every detail is on point, down to the faint shimmer of highlighter catching the light on your cheekbones. It’s flawless, if you do say so yourself.

As you’re spritzing on your favorite perfume—a scent both intoxicating and unforgettable—your phone buzzes again. Jasmine’s text reads: Outside. Let’s do this.

You slip on your favorite pair of chunky, heeled boots, the ones that make you feel like you own every room you walk into, and grab your bag. The rhythmic click of your heels on the pavement mirrors your determination as you stride out to Jasmine’s car.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you’re met with a low whistle from Jasmine. “Damn, girl,” she says, giving you an approving once-over. “Are you trying to destroy someone tonight?”

You smirk as you buckle your seatbelt, tossing your bag onto your lap. “Not destroy. Just remind a certain someone what she’s about to lose.”

Jasmine’s laugh fills the car as she reaches over for a fist bump. “Now that is the energy I needed. She won’t know what hit her.”

The ride to Ted’s feels electric. The bass of the music pulses through the car, a perfect soundtrack to your rising confidence. Jasmine keeps hyping you up the whole way, stealing glances at you every so often.

“You look so good, you’re probably going to start a fight,” she teases with a grin.

You meet her eyes with a smirk, adjusting a strand of hair in the mirror. “Good,” you say, your voice dripping with confidence. “Let her be mad. She’s got it coming.”

Jasmine’s laughter rings out, blending with the music as the two of you pull into the crowded parking lot. The neon sign for Ted’s glows against the night sky, and the hum of voices and laughter spills out into the cool evening air.

You step out of the car with purpose, adjusting your outfit one last time as your heels click against the asphalt. One final glance in the car’s side mirror confirms what you already know: you’re a vision, and tonight, you’re a force to be reckoned with.

Ted’s won’t know what hit it. And neither will Paige.

The low buzz of voices and the faint clinking of glasses hit you the moment you step into Ted’s. The warm glow of string lights overhead bathes the packed bar in a golden hue, and the energy in the room is palpable—loud laughter, animated conversations, and the occasional cheer erupting from the direction of the pool table. Your heels click against the floor as you make your way in with Jasmine, Veronica, and Serena flanking you like a well-coordinated squad. 

It doesn’t take long to spot her. Paige is exactly where you expected, seated in a large booth near the back with Azzi, KK, Ice, and Jana. She’s dressed casually, black denim shorts, a black crop top, and an unbuttoned, white shirt, but she might as well be wearing a neon sign with the way she draws attention. She’s laughing, leaning back with her arm draped casually over the seat, completely at ease. You can see the sparkle in her eyes from here, even as she remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

The sight makes your stomach twist, but you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about Paige. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Let’s hit the bar,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you lead your friends in the opposite direction, deliberately ignoring the booth and the person in it.

The bartender greets you with a smile, and you order a couple rounds of shots for your group, letting Jasmine and the others hype you up as you throw them back the second they’re placed in front of you. Once you feel enough of a buzz to quell your anxiety, you decide to settle for a mixed drink to sip on for the remainder of the night. It isn’t long before you notice someone approaching, a tall, athletic-looking girl with broad shoulders and an easy grin. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and jeans, and the confidence in her stride is unmistakable.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the bar. Her voice is low, smooth. “You look like you’re having more fun than anyone else here.”

You flash her a smile, tilting your head slightly. “You could say that.”

Her grin widens, and she introduces herself, launching into a conversation that you quickly match. Her compliments come freely—your outfit, your laugh, even the way you carry yourself—and you don’t hold back, laughing a little louder than usual and letting your fingers brush against her arm as you talk.

Across the booth, KK nudges Paige, a look of concern flickering across her face. “Uh, hey, isn’t that Y/N?” she says, nodding toward the bar.

Paige’s head snaps toward KK, her expression darkening as she follows her teammate’s line of sight. Her brows knit together as she takes in the scene—your effortless smile, the way you lean into the girl’s space, her hand resting on the bar just a little too close to yours. She recognizes the look in your eyes, it’s the same look she was on the receiving end of the first night you met.

“Yeah,” Paige says shortly, her voice clipped. She sets her drink down with more force than necessary, her grip tightening around the glass before she looks away.

Meanwhile, you pretend not to notice the silent storm brewing across the room. You keep your focus on the girl in front of you, leaning in just enough to keep the conversation flowing, though you can feel the heat of Paige’s jealousy from where you stand. It sends a thrill through you, equal parts satisfaction and spite.

As the girl laughs at something you’ve said, you turn your head to the side slightly, trying to catch a glance at the booth where Paige sits. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her tense, her hand balling into a fist on the table as she murmurs something to Azzi.

You can feel it in the air, Paige is reaching her breaking point. And that’s exactly what you wanted.

Paige sits stiffly in the booth, her grip on her drink tightening as her knuckles blanch. Her jaw works furiously, muscles twitching as if she’s holding back an eruption. The sound of your laugh, airy and effortless, cuts through the din of the bar, and Paige’s eyes flicker with barely concealed rage. Her teammates exchange uneasy glances, sensing the storm brewing beside them.

Azzi nudges KK and leans in. “Uh, is she okay?”

KK shrugs, her voice low. “I don’t think so.”

Paige suddenly stands, her movements sharp and deliberate. The scrape of her chair against the floor draws their attention.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asks, concern softening her voice.

Paige doesn’t look at her, her gaze fixed like a laser on you across the room. “I’ll be back,” she mutters, her voice clipped.

She doesn’t wait for a response, weaving through the crowd with purpose. Her steps are quick, her shoulders tight, and her eyes never leave you. You’re at the bar, leaning casually against the counter, completely absorbed in your conversation with the tall, athletic-looking girl beside you. The girl leans in close, her hand grazing your arm as she says something that makes you throw your head back with a laugh.

Paige’s chest tightens, and the corners of her vision blur with the heat of her jealousy. Each second feels like an eternity as she closes the distance, her blood boiling at the sight of the stranger getting a little too comfortable with you.

When she reaches you, she doesn’t pause to think. Her arm snakes around your waist in one swift motion, pulling you firmly against her side. The sudden contact makes you gasp, your conversation abruptly cut off. The flirty girl takes a step back, startled and clearly intimidated by Paige’s possessive presence.

“We’re leaving,” Paige says, her tone low and commanding. Her words are sharp enough to slice through the tension in the air.

You turn your head sharply, blinking in surprise as your eyes meet hers. The fire in her gaze burns so brightly it could scorch you, but you’re too stubborn to back down. “Now you have time to talk to me?” you ask, drawing the sentence out with deliberate sarcasm. “I think I’m fine right here.”

Paige’s jaw ticks, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, her arm tightens around your waist, her fingers pressing firmly into your side. It’s a silent warning, one you choose to ignore as you plant your feet against her attempts to steer you toward the door.

“Paige, what the hell?” you protest, your voice rising with irritation.

“Not here,” she snaps, her tone cold and final. Her grip remains unrelenting as she continues to lead you away from the bar.

Your friends notice the commotion, Jasmine standing halfway out of her seat. “Y/N, are you good?” she calls, her brows furrowed with concern.

You twist in Paige’s hold just enough to look back at them, throwing a hand up in a dismissive wave. “I’ll text you!” you shout over your shoulder, your voice dripping with frustration.

Paige doesn’t slow her pace until the two of you are outside, the cool night air biting at your skin. She releases you near her car, and you immediately step back, glaring at her.

“Seriously, Paige?” you snap, your voice sharp as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think you can just show up, ruin my night, and drag me out like this?”

Paige’s nostrils flare as she turns to face you fully, her expression thunderous. “I think I just did.”

Eventually you arrive at her apartment, and she has to practically pull you out of her car by your arm. The second you step into Paige’s entryway, you rip your arm out of her grip with enough force to make her stumble slightly. You spin around to face her, your chest heaving with frustration. The door slams shut behind you, echoing through the space like a gunshot.

“What the hell is your problem, Paige?” you shout, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Your words are sharp, fueled by anger that’s been simmering for days.

Paige whirls around to face you, her face already twisted in fury. “My problem?” she fires back, her voice rising to match yours, letting out a humorless chuckle. “You’re out there all over some random girl, and you’re asking me what my problem is?”

You take a step closer, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I am! Because you ignore me all week, and the second I talk to someone else, you suddenly care? Make it make sense, Paige!”

She runs both hands through her hair, pacing in jerky, frustrated strides between the door and the counter. “Do you know how insane it made me to see you with her?” she snaps, her words laced with raw, unfiltered emotion. “Laughing, touching her, looking like you were having the time of your life? Like I didn’t even exist?”

You laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you cross your arms over your chest. “That’s rich, Paige. At least she actually talked to me, which is more than I’ve gotten from you in weeks.”

The room feels charged, every word hanging heavy in the air, but Paige isn’t done. She steps forward again, her voice low and rough with frustration. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want to talk to you? You’re all over her, touching her like it doesn’t matter, and it’s driving me crazy—"

“Gee, sounds like you finally get it,” you fire back, your words sharp with bitterness. “But hey, don’t worry, I’ll stop talking to people if it’ll make you feel better. Maybe next time, I’ll just sit in the corner and wait for you to remember I’m here, like some sad little backup plan.”

You turn your head, preparing to walk out, but before you can take a single step, Paige’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist with a force that stops you in your tracks. Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn to face her, ready to throw another snarky remark her way.

But before you can speak, she’s there, bringing her hands to grab both sides of your face, her lips crashing into yours with an intensity that takes you by surprise. You freeze for a split second, then instinct kicks in. You try to pull away, pushing against her chest with as much force as you can muster.

But she doesn’t let up. Her kiss deepens, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, keeping you in place. The anger you’ve been carrying fades, replaced with confusion and something else you can’t quite name. You can feel her tension, her frustration, her need for something—maybe an answer, maybe redemption.

She slides one of her hands down to anchor around the front of your throat, her other hand drifting to grab at your hip through the thin material of your dress. She slowly starts to back you towards her kitchen, not stopping until the top of your ass is pressing against the island counter. She brings both hands to your hips, tapping the side of your ass with one hand, encouraging you to jump, and roughly squeezing your hip with the other.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as she lifts you effortlessly onto the cool marble countertop. Her hands slide possessively up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher. She steps forward, wedging herself between your parted legs.

"You look so fucking good in this dress," she says, her voice low and thick with desire. One hand slips under the fabric to caress the bare skin of your hip while the other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat.

She dips her head, warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin before her lips press against your racing pulse. Your back arches as she nips at the delicate skin, soothing the pinch with her tongue and surely leaving a mark. A breathy moan fills the air and it takes you a moment to realize it came from you. 

Her lips trail lower, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You shiver as her tongue flicks out to taste your skin. The hand on your hip slides inward, fingertips skimming teasingly along the inside of your thigh. 

You wrap your legs around her waist, pulling her in closer, desperate for more contact. She chuckles darkly against your throat, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure racing down your spine. "I love it when you get like this," she murmurs approvingly. "All desperate and needy."

To punctuate her point, she rolls her hips, grinding against your center. The pressure and friction draw a keening whimper from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip her strong shoulders, nails digging into taut muscle through her shirt. 

Her lips glide over your skin, a delicate yet fervent touch, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. As she moves up from your jawline, each kiss ignites a spark, and her breath, hot and teasing, touches your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. "I've been thinking about having you like this all night," she murmurs.

You whimper as her hands skim higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric. She captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth, leaving you breathless and aching for more. 

She reaches up to pull your dress down, revealing your bare breasts. Her lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting it gently. You arch into her touch, a moan escaping your parted lips as she places full attention on the sensitive bud. Her tongue flicks and swirls, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. 

Her other hand palms your neglected breast, kneading the supple flesh. She rolls the pebbled nipple between her fingers, pinching and tugging in time with the ministrations of her mouth, each pull sending another rush of heat flooding your body.

"So pretty, baby," she says, the words vibrating against your skin. She gives your nipple one last hard suck before trailing her lips across your chest to the other breast, circling her tongue around the straining peak. Her mouth is relentless, her tongue swirling and flicking over your nipple until it’s aching, her teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. Her free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You’re already wet, your panties soaked through, and she groans against your skin as her fingers brush over the damp fabric.

Your head falls back as you cry out, hands fisting in her silky hair to hold her close. She smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the reactions she's pulling from your trembling body. Your back arches involuntarily, pressing your body closer to hers as you desperately seek more of her touch, the sound of her soft chuckle making you shudder with pleasure.

"Patience," she whispers, the word barely audible as her fingers trace lazy circles around your clit through the lace of your underwear. The sensation is frustrating, and you can't help but whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily in search of more contact.

You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body responding to her touch in ways you never thought possible. You already know she's jealous, you saw the way she looked at you earlier when you were talking to that other girl. But you can't help but feel thrilled at the way she's touching you now, as if she's trying to claim you as her own.

You lean back on your hands, your eyes locked on Paige's as she continues to tease you. Her gaze is intense, fiery, and you can see the possessiveness in her eyes. It sends a thrill down your spine, making you even more turned on. 

"You're mine," Paige murmurs, her voice low and husky, filled with an undeniable possessiveness. The words send a thrill throughout your body, making your heart race with excitement. “Say it.”

"I'm yours," you whisper back, your voice barely audible as the tension builds within you. You can feel the pressure growing more and more intense, your body aching for release. 

Paige's fingers finally slip under the waistband of your underwear, making contact with your sensitive skin. The feeling is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly as she begins to stroke you. Her touch is firm and confident, her fingers expertly finding your most sensitive spots.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation. Paige's gaze is locked on yours, her eyes filled with a fierce intensity that makes you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "Come for me, baby."

And with those words, you finally let go, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out her name. Paige holds you close, her fingers still moving rhythmically as you ride out your orgasm. As the waves of your orgasm begin to subside, Paige pulls her fingers away from your clit. 

Before you can fully catch your breath, Paige is on you again. She moves with a speed and agility that takes you by surprise, pushing your back onto the counter with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your body splayed out beneath her, you feel a thrill of excitement run through you. You're completely at her mercy, and the thought is intoxicating. Paige's hand makes its way back to your throat, her grip firm and unyielding. She pins you to the counter by your throat, her body pressing against yours as she holds you in place.

You gasp at the sudden change in position, your heart racing with a combination of fear and excitement. The feeling of being completely dominated by Paige is both terrifying and exhilarating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

Paige's other hand slides back between your legs, her fingers finding your entrance with ease. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment, your body responding instinctually to her touch. She finds your g-spot easily, her fingers curling and pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure. You moan softly, your hips bucking as she begins to stroke you, her movements slow and deliberate at first, before building up to a feverish pace. 

But she’s not content with just bringing you to orgasm. She wants to claim you, to mark you as hers in every way possible. And as she continues to finger you, her grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, you know that you're completely and utterly hers.

Paige's movements become more insistent, her fingers moving faster and harder as she brings you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink of another orgasm, your body writhing and bucking beneath her touch. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as she continues, her movements growing more frantic as she feels your body starting to give in to the pleasure. “Paige, I can’t… it’s too much.”

“Nah, baby, I’ve been so mean to you this week, I just wanna make it up to you.” You moan louder now, your voice echoing through the room as Paige brings you to new heights of pleasure. Your body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending sparking with pleasure. “C’mon, I know you can take it.”

And then, with one final stroke, you reach the peak of your orgasm, your body convulsing and shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Paige's fingers continue to move inside you, prolonging your orgasm and sending you spiraling into new heights of ecstasy. When it's all over, you collapse back onto the counter, your body spent and satisfied. Paige pulls her fingers away, a satisfied smirk on her face as she looks down at you, bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck at the remnants of your orgasm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, though the heat in your cheeks betrays your embarrassment. You quickly move to fix your dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious now that the moment is over.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Paige replies, her voice steady but softer than usual. Still, her gaze doesn’t waver, her blue eyes fixed on you.

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. The distant hum of the refrigerator is the only sound, an almost mocking contrast to the charged tension between you. Sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, you swing your legs idly, trying to feign a casualness you don’t feel. The cool surface beneath you does little to soothe the heat creeping up your neck as Paige stands in front of you, close enough that her presence seems to fill the room.

When you finally look at her, expecting that same smug, self-satisfied smirk she’s perfected, you’re caught off guard. Her expression isn’t cocky; it’s something else entirely. The spark of amusement is gone, replaced by something heavier, something raw. Her blue eyes hold yours, steady and searching, as if she’s trying to find the words buried somewhere between you.

Paige shifts slightly, her hands resting on the counter on either side of your thighs. She takes a breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that betrays the steady confidence she usually exudes. For a split second, it feels like the world narrows down to just this moment, just the two of you.

Her voice finally breaks the silence, low and uncharacteristically serious. “You know we need to talk about everything.”

The words hang between you, heavy and undeniable. Her tone is firm but carries a vulnerability that makes your stomach twist. She’s not brushing this off or dancing around it like you half-expected. No teasing grin, no playful deflection—just a directness that makes it impossible to pretend this is something you can both walk away from unscathed.

Paige shifts her weight slightly, standing even closer now, the space between your legs shrinking until there’s barely any left. The warmth of her body radiates against you, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every inch of space she occupies. Her eyes don’t leave yours, and you can tell she’s waiting, giving you the chance to push her away—or pull her closer.

But the way she looks at you, so open and unguarded, makes it hard to do either. It’s a stark contrast to the Paige who had been ignoring your texts all week, and yet, it feels so achingly familiar. You’re torn between wanting to stay guarded and giving in to the pull of the moment. Finally, you arch an eyebrow, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions threatening to surface.

“Okay,” you say, your tone more challenging than you intended. “Start talking.”

Paige’s shoulders stiffen, and for a second, you think she might retreat into that wall of stoicism she hides behind so well. But then her jaw tightens, and she steps even closer, her closeness making your nervousness spike, but you don’t flinch, meeting her gaze head-on.

“I can’t stand seeing you with someone else,” she says, her words thick with frustration. “I don’t want you flirting, laughing, or even looking at anyone but me. I want you, Y/N. Only you. I want us to be exclusive. I’ll do better. Just… don’t ever do that again.”

Your breath catches, and you almost flinch at how accurately her words cut to the truth. Still, you say nothing, giving her the space to continue.

“I messed up,” she begins, her voice quiet but deliberate. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve made you feel like you’re not important to me, like basketball or… anything else in my life comes before you.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to maintain your composure, the snarky defense you’ve built up around yourself threatening to crack. You cross your arms, fighting to keep the sarcasm in your voice, even though your insides are a tangled mess of emotions.

“Exclusive, huh?” you challenge, your voice sharp, almost taunting, as you raise an eyebrow. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between you and the vulnerability she’s suddenly laying at your feet. “And what happens when basketball gets in the way again? When I’m just another item on your to-do list?”

Paige flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The slight crack in her usually unshakable confidence stirs something in you—satisfaction, maybe, or guilt. You can’t quite tell. Her jaw tightens, the muscles working as if she’s biting back the first response that comes to mind. Instead, her gaze shifts, no longer carrying the frustration or defensiveness you’ve grown used to. Instead, there’s something softer, rawer, in the way she looks at you now. The intensity of her eyes locks you in place, her expression quietly pleading yet resolute.

“I’m not going to let that happen again,” Paige says, her voice low and steady. “I know I’ve screwed up before. I’ve made you feel like you’re not a priority, like you’re just… there, waiting for me to fit you in.” She pauses, the weight of her own admission hanging heavily between you. “But that’s not how I see you. That’s not what I want us to be.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. There’s no rehearsed apology, no empty promises. Just a raw honesty that feels like she’s peeling back the layers she’s kept hidden from everyone else. Your heart twists, torn between holding onto your frustration and the pull of what she’s offering.

You narrow your eyes, unwilling to let her off the hook so easily. “And how do I know this isn’t just another one of your moments? That it won’t be the same cycle all over again?”

Paige exhales, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of your skepticism. “Because I don’t want to lose you,” she says simply, her tone almost breaking. “Because when I saw you with her tonight, it felt like the ground was being ripped out from under me. I don’t want to feel that again, Y/N. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not enough, or that you’re not worth my time.”

You’re still sitting on the counter, and the height difference gives you a brief sense of power, though it doesn’t last long under the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re not some item on a list,” she continues, her voice softening as she tilts her head to meet your eyes. “You’re the list, Y/N. You’re the one thing that matters more than all of it. And if that means I have to rearrange my life, show up differently, or prove it to you every single day, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The vulnerability in her words catches you off guard. For a moment, all the anger and bitterness you’ve been clinging to starts to loosen its grip. Still, you’re not ready to let her win that easily. You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as if to study her, daring her to flinch under your scrutiny.

“You’re really laying it on thick, Bueckers,” you quip, though the usual sharpness in your tone is softened by the faintest hint of a smirk.

Paige’s lips twitch upward, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. “That’s because I mean it,” she counters, her voice steady. “I’m not going to let you walk away from this—not without fighting for you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, the air between you charged with unspoken feelings and the lingering tension of everything that’s gone unsaid for far too long.

“So, you’re telling me I’m the priority now?” you ask, your voice quieter this time, a little softer, though you keep your arms crossed in a weak attempt to shield yourself. There’s hesitation in your tone, an uncertainty you can’t quite hide, but the words still slip past your lips. “Not basketball, not your schedule, not the team?”

Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t waver. Her blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that pins you in place, her conviction written all over her face. “Yes,” she says, her voice steady, as though the truth of it is something she’s carried for a long time. “You. Only you, Y/N.”

You look down at where her hands rest, then back up to meet her eyes—those piercing blue eyes that seem to hold nothing but honesty and a hint of fear, as if she’s bracing for your rejection. Your defenses falter. The weight of her confession, the raw emotion in her voice, the way she’s standing there, so vulnerable—it all seeps into the cracks of your resolve. Slowly, your arms drop to your sides, the tension in your shoulders easing as you exhale a shaky breath.

“Paige,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, fueled with something more forgiving. “If you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” she interrupts, her voice firm but not forceful. Her hands slide up slightly, resting on your hips now, anchoring herself to you. “I swear to you, Y/N. I won’t.”

You hold her gaze for another long moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all you see is determination—determination and something deeper, something so achingly familiar it makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough. Enough to make Paige’s expression soften, her shoulders relax, and a spark of hope flicker in her eyes.

Her grip on your hips tightens slightly as she steps closer, standing between your legs, her face just inches from yours now. “Okay?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe it.

“Okay,” you say again, your voice steadier this time. You tilt your head slightly, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But you’d better back it up, Bueckers. I’m not making this easy for you.”

Paige chuckles softly, a sound filled with relief and affection. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Before you can respond, she leans in, her hands sliding up to cup your face gently, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. She hesitates for the briefest moment, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you don’t, she closes the distance.

The kiss is slow at first, almost tentative, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. But it doesn’t take long for the intensity to build, for her to pour every ounce of her emotions into the connection. Her lips move against yours with a mix of passion and desperation, and you can feel her heartbeat pounding in sync with your own.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, then slide up to thread through her hair, pulling her closer as you kiss her back with just as much fervor. The tension, the anger, the frustration of the past week melts away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest like wildfire.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting together. Paige’s eyes search yours, her lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “I’ll make it up to you, Y/N. Every day. You’ll see.”

You can’t help but smile back, your fingers still tangled in her hair. “You’d better,” you reply, your tone soft but teasing. “Because I’m holding you to it.”

Paige grins, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it feels like everything is falling into place.

[writingbuckets]

writing an extremely smutty one shot rn!!!

[writingbuckets]

just wanted to say thanks for the love on hits different <3 i've seen several ppl asking for a part 2, but i wrote it intending it to be open-ended so you can kinda decide for yourself what happens... with that being said i'm slowly being convinced and i will obvi let you know if i do start writing it, see ya!

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 5.5k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige’s relationship evolves from a slow burn to a deep, committed love as they navigate the complexities of their careers and dreams.

warnings: emotional tension, angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, fluff, relationship growth

a/n: second to last part, yip yip!! i do have some ideas for one shots based in the universe that i'm really excited to write!!!

The past few months had been nothing short of blissful. Waking up to Paige’s warm smile, the mornings spent tangled in each other’s arms, and the quiet, stolen moments before the world came knocking—everything felt perfect. Despite the pressures of her rising basketball stardom and your climb in the podcasting world, the two of you had created a safe haven where fame and expectations couldn’t touch you.

It wasn’t just the big, romantic gestures—though Paige’s surprise road trips and thoughtful gifts were nothing to scoff at. It was the little things that made your relationship feel unshakable: the way she instinctively reached for your hand in crowded rooms, the way her laughter filled the silence when you shared dumb inside jokes, and the way she always managed to make you feel like the most important person in her orbit.

Of course, there had been challenges. Navigating the complexities of her public life and your desire for privacy was never easy, but you’d always found a way to meet in the middle. Paige was fiercely protective of you, and while the occasional paparazzi photo or speculative headline was frustrating, it never felt like more than a passing inconvenience.

You thought you’d found a balance—a way to thrive as individuals while building something meaningful together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. And for a while, that had been enough. 

Until now.

The soft hum of music played in the background as you leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Paige rinse the dishes from dinner. It had been her turn to cook, and she’d outdone herself with a recipe she’d picked up from the internet.

“I’m just saying,” Paige began, flashing you a teasing grin over her shoulder, “you were a little too impressed for something that came out of a fifteen-second video.”

You laughed, crossing your arms as you leaned back. “What can I say? I’m easily won over by good food.”

Paige shook her head, setting the last plate in the drying rack before wiping her hands on a towel. “Noted. Food’s the way to your heart. Got it.”

As she turned to face you, she stepped closer, her damp hands finding your waist. Her touch was casual, intimate, like it had been a thousand times before, but it still sent warmth spreading through you.

“You’re lucky I let you in my kitchen,” you teased, your hands sliding up to rest on her shoulders.

“Oh, please,” she replied, smirking. “Your kitchen loves me. It told me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Moments like these—light, easy, filled with laughter—were what you cherished most about being with her. Just the two of you in your little world, where nothing else mattered.

Paige’s arms tightened around your waist, and you rested your chin on her shoulder, savoring the quiet hum of her presence. The faint chatter of the TV in the background barely registered as she pulled you closer.

“You know,” she said, voice soft with mock seriousness, “we could just cancel all our plans forever and do this every night.”

“Tempting,” you replied, smiling into her collarbone, “but you’d get bored of me eventually.”

“Never.” Paige leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, her expression earnest.

Before you could respond, the sound of the TV caught your attention. A familiar jingle—ESPN’s sports coverage—signaled the beginning of a new segment. You pulled away slightly, glancing at the screen, where a panel of analysts were deep in discussion.

“…and with the Women’s NBA Draft just around the corner, all eyes are on Paige Bueckers,” one of them said, a glossy headshot of Paige flashing onto the screen. “She’s the clear favorite for the number-one pick, and teams across the country are already vying for the chance to have her on their roster.”

Paige let out a soft laugh, her fingers instinctively brushing against the fabric of your shirt as her grip on your waist loosened. She turned her attention to the TV, where ESPN analysts were dissecting every possible scenario for her future. "Man, they really don’t let up, do they?" she said, her tone laced with amusement, though there was a hint of nervous energy beneath it.

The corners of her lips tugged upward, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to match her smile. She moved towards the TV, the light from the screen flickered across her face, highlighting the easy confidence in her expression, the kind you admired—and sometimes envied. You followed her to the couch while the analysts continued their animated chatter, debating potential fits for Paige’s skillset, throwing out city names like they were playing a game of darts.

Dallas. Seattle. Los Angeles.

Each name felt like a small pinprick against your heart, sharp and impossible to ignore. The map of your life, once neatly outlined, suddenly felt scattered, its pieces floating far beyond your reach.

"They’re hyping you up pretty hard," you said, forcing a lightness into your tone that didn’t match the weight pressing on your chest. Your voice wavered just enough to betray you, and Paige’s eyes flicked toward you, a faint crease forming between her brows.

"You okay?" she asked, her head tilting slightly as she studied your face. Her hand slid back to your waist, her thumb brushing soothing circles against your side—a small, grounding gesture she always did when she sensed something was off.

You blinked, willing the heavy feeling to ease, and offered a quick nod. "Yeah, of course," you replied, though the words sounded hollow even to you. "Just... big changes, you know?"

Her lips parted, as though she was about to say something, but the voice of one of the analysts cut through the moment. "Paige Bueckers is a generational talent, the kind of player who can turn a struggling franchise into a contender. Wherever she ends up, she’ll be the face of the team—and the league—for years to come."

Paige smirked, her eyes flickering back to the screen. "No pressure, right?" she joked, her laugh light and airy.

You managed a faint chuckle, but your gaze drifted back to the TV. The words echoed in your mind—wherever she ends up. The reality of it was sinking in now, each city they mentioned feeling like a little reminder of how far she could be from here. From you. 

Your stomach churned, the what-ifs swirling in your mind, but you swallowed the lump in your throat and tightened your grip on her arm. "No pressure," you echoed softly, your attempt at a smile faltering as the weight of the conversation you both needed to have settled heavily in the room.

You managed a soft laugh, but the sound felt foreign, caught somewhere between your chest and throat. Your mind, however, was a whirlwind—spinning with a thousand questions, a thousand uncertainties. The thought of Paige leaving, of her packing up and moving thousands of miles away, twisted itself deeper into your thoughts. It was a jarring reality, one that you hadn’t quite processed until now. The idea of her being so far, of the life you’d been building together being uprooted, gnawed at you like an ache you couldn’t shake. For a fleeting moment, the cozy warmth of the evening, the easy comfort of the couch and Paige’s arms around you, seemed to dim—fading into the background, as if overshadowed by the looming storm in your mind.

You shifted in Paige’s embrace, adjusting to face her more fully. Her body heat, once soothing, now felt distant, like an anchor too far out of reach. The soft glow of the TV, once so comforting with its familiar noise, faded into mere background hum. Yet the words they’d been saying—about Paige’s future, her draft prospects, her potential to be the face of an entire team—those words lingered. They clung to the air between you like smoke. 

Your fingers found the hem of her hoodie, absently twisting the fabric between your fingers as you fought to steady the rising tide of emotions threatening to spill over. This conversation had been coming for weeks, and you knew it, but hearing it all laid bare, with the prospect of her leaving becoming real, was harder than you’d expected.

“Paige,” you started, your voice quieter than you intended, cautious as it slipped from your lips. You swallowed once, gathering the right words—words that wouldn’t send her into defense mode, words that wouldn’t make her think you were doubting her. You fidgeted with the fabric, finding it oddly grounding as you tried to put your thoughts together. “Have you thought about what’s going to happen… after the draft?”

The question hung in the air, delicate and fragile. You hoped it wouldn’t shatter everything you’d built.

Paige blinked, her gaze briefly pulling away from yours as she processed your words. For a second, her expression was unreadable, the usual openness in her eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, after a breath, she shrugged, her shoulders lifting in a casual, almost dismissive gesture. "Not really," she replied, her voice light, too light. "I mean, we’ll figure it out."

Her words were meant to be reassuring, but they felt hollow, like a promise she hadn’t fully thought through. The ease with which she’d brushed off the question—the lack of real consideration in her answer—struck you like a sudden chill.

Her nonchalance stung more than you expected, like a sharp, sudden crack that left a lingering ache behind. You had always admired how Paige could stay so effortlessly confident, but in this moment, her casual demeanor felt like a wall you couldn’t get past. The way she dismissed the weight of the conversation, as if it was nothing more than a passing thought, made your heart sink deeper. You needed clarity—needed her to see just how serious this was—but her tone only made the tension between you feel heavier, as if you were both in two completely different worlds.

You blinked, trying to steady your breathing. Your heart raced, the knot in your chest tightening as you processed her response. We’ll figure it out, she had said. But you weren’t sure that was true. 

The more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to think about your own life, your own career, your own future in all of this. You’d been so caught up in supporting her, in being there for her as she prepared for this monumental step, that you hadn’t paused to ask the most important question: What about me?

“Figure it out how?” you asked, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to sound steady. You could feel the pressure building in your chest, the familiar anxiety of facing something you didn’t want to face, but you couldn’t just let this go. You needed her to see the stakes.

Paige let out a soft exhale and leaned back into the couch with a lazy stretch, her muscles flexing under her hoodie as she made herself comfortable, completely unaware—or maybe just unconcerned—about how the words she was saying were affecting you. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice relaxed, as if she had no cares in the world. “I’ll move wherever I get drafted, and you’ll come with me. Right?”

Her words hit you like a slap, so unexpectedly hard that they left you momentarily stunned. The assumption in her voice, the casualness, it felt like a complete oversight, like she hadn't even taken a second to consider what it might mean for you. The air between you seemed to freeze, the space on the couch growing wider as you recoiled, pulling back just enough to distance yourself from the weight of her statement.

You blinked, your chest tightening as you processed what she’d just said. You searched her face, her eyes, hoping to see a flicker of recognition—some sign that she realized the enormity of what she was suggesting. But there was nothing. She looked... calm. Completely at ease. Like she had just suggested picking a place to eat for dinner or choosing a movie to watch. Her expression was so serene that it almost made you question if she had really understood the magnitude of her words.

You’ll come with me. Right?

"Wait," you said, your voice quieter than it had been a moment ago, but the edge of sharpness in it still made you pause. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure, but it was hard when her casual assumption hit you like a wave. "You just assumed I’d uproot my whole life and move with you?"

It felt like a jolt of cold reality that you weren’t prepared for, and as much as you wanted to remain calm, the frustration bubbled up inside of you. The way she had dismissed your career, your life, your plans, as though they were secondary to her dreams... it wasn’t just unfair—it was hurtful.

Paige's brow furrowed slightly as she processed your words. She shifted, sitting up straighter now, her posture more defensive. "Well, yeah. I mean... isn’t that what people do when they’re committed? I thought we were on the same page about this." She leaned forward slightly, her tone still casual, but there was a hint of confusion creeping into her voice as she tried to reconcile the difference between her perception and yours.

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. You took another breath, letting the anger simmer beneath the surface without letting it completely take over. You needed to get your point across without letting the frustration drown you. "On the same page?" you repeated, your voice steady but thick with disbelief. A soft, incredulous laugh escaped you, but it held no humor. "Paige, we’ve never even talked about this. Not once."

The words felt heavy in the air as you glanced at her, your gaze steady and controlled despite the way your stomach twisted. She was still looking at you with that same puzzled expression, as if the idea that you’d feel any differently hadn’t even occurred to her.

"You just decided for me that I’d leave my job, my friends, everything, to follow you?" You let the question hang in the air, each word deliberate, your calm voice betraying none of the overwhelming emotions that had started to churn inside. It was as if you were watching yourself from outside your body, trying to make sense of this entire conversation, this entire situation. How had things gotten to this point without either of you discussing the most basic of expectations?

There was a brief silence between you as you let the weight of your words sink in. Paige’s expression shifted then, her brow furrowing deeper as she processed your reaction. But even in the quiet that followed, you could see the realization dawning on her. She had never really thought about what it would mean for you—she had assumed that because her path was clear, everyone else’s would align with it too.

The thought that she hadn’t considered your life, your dreams, your commitments, hurt more than you expected.

She looked genuinely taken aback, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and surprise. For a brief moment, she seemed to freeze, as if the possibility that this might actually be a big deal had never even crossed her mind. The way her gaze darted from you to the space between you both was enough to make you feel like an invisible wall was slowly building. “I didn’t think it would be…” Her voice trailed off for a second as she searched for the right words, the weight of your unspoken frustrations hanging heavy between you. “I didn’t think it would be an issue. You love me, and I love you. Isn’t that what matters?”

You found yourself responding before you could stop it, the hurt leaking through in the sharpness of your voice. “You don’t think my life matters?” you shot back, the words tumbling out like a dam breaking. The hurt was so raw, so real, that you couldn’t mask it, couldn’t pretend that this wasn’t a breaking point for you.

Paige's face twisted in confusion, like she couldn’t fully process the weight of what you were saying. Her eyebrows knit together, her lips pressed into a tight line as she tried to piece together your reaction. “What? No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Her voice was defensive now, the tone shifting from confusion to frustration, a hint of impatience creeping in. She leaned back slightly, her body language closed off, and you could see the frustration building in her eyes. “But come on, it’s not like your podcast can’t be done anywhere. It’s not like it’s… a real job.” The moment the words left her mouth, her eyes widened slightly, as if she suddenly realized the weight of what she’d just said. It was a fleeting expression, gone as quickly as it came, but it was enough to make the air around you feel suffocating.

Her words hit like a slap, and you froze, feeling the air in the room grow thick with tension. The way she said it—casually, without a second thought—made something inside you snap. Your mind raced, trying to process how she could belittle something you had poured your heart into for years. Something that wasn’t just a passion but a future you had worked tirelessly toward.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The words she’d just spoken clung to the air between you like poison, and the silence felt heavier than anything you’d ever experienced. Paige, still unaware of how deeply her words had cut, shifted uncomfortably on the couch, as if she was expecting this to blow over quickly. But you couldn’t let it slide—not this time.

Your eyes met hers, your jaw tightening with resolve as you finally found your voice. "You have no idea how much I’ve invested in this—how much it means to me. It’s not just some side hobby, Paige. It’s my career. It’s my future." You stood up slowly, the calm you’d been holding onto slipping as you struggled to keep it together. "I don’t expect you to understand what it takes, but don’t you dare act like it isn’t important."

Her eyes flickered with guilt, but there was also a stubbornness there, a refusal to fully comprehend the depth of your frustration. She opened her mouth to say something but paused, as if she finally realized how far this had gone—how wrong she’d been. The air between you both grew thick with unspoken apologies and lingering questions.

Your stomach dropped at the silence, a heavy, hollow sensation filling you from the inside out, and the room seemed to stretch and contract all at once. The warmth of the evening was now completely gone, replaced by the cold reality of what she’d implied. The words she’d thrown out so carelessly reverberated in your mind, each one growing sharper, more painful the longer you thought about it.

You stared at her, searching her face for some sign that this was a misunderstanding, but all you saw was a mix of confusion and regret, too little, too late. The hurt came crashing over you in waves, and you felt it all at once—a rush of anger, disappointment, and sadness that left you breathless. It was like a dam had broken, and the flood of emotions poured out before you could even process them.

“Wow,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, heavy with disbelief. You shook your head slowly, a bitter laugh escaping your lips, though it didn’t feel at all like something to laugh about. “You have nothing to say?”

You felt the anger bubble up, making it impossible to stay still. “Y/N, that’s not what I—” she began, but you didn’t give her the chance to finish. The words were like a knee-jerk reaction, a defense mechanism you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Don’t,” you cut her off, the words sharp and final as you stood, distancing yourself both physically and emotionally. You took a few steps away, the space between you growing wider with every second that passed. Your chest tightened, a mix of hurt and frustration making it harder to breathe. “Just don’t.”

Paige opened her mouth to argue but stopped, her lips pressing into a thin line. The tension in the air was palpable, every word unsaid only deepening the divide between you.

You didn’t want to hear her excuses. You didn’t want to listen to her try and explain away the damage she’d caused with a single careless comment. It was as if she didn’t even recognize the weight of your sacrifices, the hours of work, the relentless drive that had gone into making the podcast something you could be proud of.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and turned away, the cold creeping in even as the air in the room thickened. You wanted to scream, to ask her how she could be so blind, but all that came out was silence—heavy, suffocating silence that stretched between you like an impenetrable wall.

 The stillness of the room felt suffocating as you turned back toward Paige, your eyes narrowing slightly as you watched her shift uncomfortably, her expression waver between frustration and guilt. But it wasn’t enough—none of it was enough—to calm the anger and hurt that was boiling inside you, threatening to spill over.

“Do you even understand what my podcast means to me?” you asked, your voice trembling at first but quickly steadying with each word. You couldn’t stop now. The words felt like they were clawing their way out of you, desperate to be heard, to make her understand. “It’s not just some hobby I do for fun. It’s my passion, Paige. It started as this little thing Taylor and I threw together in college, sure. But it grew. We grew. We’ve built something that people actually care about. Something I care about.”

You took a deep breath, the silence between you pressing on your chest, but you continued, not giving her the chance to interrupt. “Do you realize how much work I’ve put into this? The late nights researching, the hours of editing, the moments of doubt where I questioned if it was even worth it... But I kept going, Paige. I kept going because it meant something to me. Because it was more than just an idea—it was my life.”

You paced again, unable to stay still, the agitation making it harder to find the right words. “And now, you’re telling me that I can just drop everything and follow you wherever you go. Like this—” you motioned to the space between you, gesturing at the room, the life you had built around the podcast, “—is all so disposable. That my career, my dreams, don’t mean anything in comparison to yours.”

You stopped walking, standing still now, the weight of your own words sinking in. The room felt thick with emotion, your chest tight as you tried to steady your breathing. Paige looked at you, her face a mix of confusion and guilt, but you weren’t sure if she was seeing you—or just the frustration of the situation.

“You never asked me, Paige,” you said quietly, but there was an edge to your voice now, one you couldn’t suppress. “You never gave me the chance to decide what I want to do. You just assumed. You assumed that my life was secondary to yours. And that hurts more than anything.”

The silence stretched out again, but this time it was different. It wasn’t the heavy, suffocating silence of earlier. It was quieter—filled with the weight of things left unsaid, of walls that were now higher than they had been moments ago. And no matter how badly you wanted to go back to the way things were, you couldn’t ignore the sting of her words, the hurt of being overlooked.

Paige opened her mouth to respond, but you held up a hand to stop her, your words spilling out now like a dam breaking.

“When I started it, I thought it would be a stepping stone, you know?” you said, your voice softening slightly as you let the weight of the memory carry your words. The anger was still there, but it was now laced with a quiet sadness, the kind of sadness that came from realizing something you loved might not matter to the person who meant the most to you. “A way to get into sports broadcasting someday. Just a way to prove myself in a world where everyone told me I had to be more than just ‘the girl with a mic.’ But it turned into so much more. It grew into something I didn’t expect. It became my purpose, Paige.”

You paused, feeling the words weigh heavy in your chest as they tumbled out. “We get messages from listeners—real people—saying our episodes helped them find their voice, or gave them the confidence to chase their dreams. They’ve told us we’ve made them feel seen, heard. Do you know what that feels like? To have someone tell you that you’ve made a difference in their life, even if it’s just in a small way? That the words you’ve said, the stories you’ve shared, have actually meant something to them?”

You shook your head, swallowing hard as your thoughts started to spill faster, more desperately. “I can’t just leave that behind, Paige. It’s not just something I can put on pause. It’s part of who I am now. It’s everything I’ve worked for. Taylor and I built this thing together. We’ve spent years finding our rhythm, figuring out how to work seamlessly as a team. That doesn’t just happen over Zoom. I can’t replicate that through a screen." You paused, your voice softening. "And even if we tried, it wouldn’t feel the same. The podcast wouldn’t feel the same."

Your voice trembled with the weight of the truth, the truth that felt like a wall between you and Paige. She was listening now, her gaze softening, but there was a distant look in her eyes. It was the look of someone who didn’t quite get it, not yet—not fully. And it stung, the idea that she still didn’t understand how much this meant to you.

Her gaze softened slightly at your words, but you didn’t let it distract you. The vulnerability in your voice, the quiet ache of wanting her to understand, was a double-edged sword. You needed her to understand, but you couldn’t afford to soften what you were saying now. “This isn’t just about you, or me, or us. This is about everything I’ve built—everything I’ve sacrificed. I need you to see that.”

Paige flinched at your words, guilt flashing in her eyes, but you weren’t done.

“I love you, Paige. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. But I can’t lose myself in the process. I won’t. And I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

The room fell silent except for the faint murmur of the TV in the background. Paige looked down at her hands, her expression unreadable, as you stood there, waiting for her to say something, anything, that could fix the growing chasm between you.

Paige sat there in silence, the only sound in the room being the faint tapping of her fingers against the side table, each tap like a beat of an unsaid apology. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, but it was clear she wasn’t seeing it. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, turning over her words and the weight of your frustration. The tension between you two hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

When she finally lifted her eyes to meet yours, the expression there was different—vulnerable, uncertain, like she was trying to piece together the right words but couldn’t find the thread. Her voice was soft, carrying a hint of something fragile, something far more careful than before. "I didn’t mean to make it sound like what you do isn’t important," she said, her voice wavering just a bit. "I know how much your podcast means to you. I’ve seen how hard you work on it—how late you stay up, how much passion you put into every episode. I respect that, I do. I just…" She trailed off, clearly struggling to put her feelings into words, her eyes searching for some kind of understanding that she couldn’t quite reach.

You couldn’t stop yourself from pushing, from needing to hear more—to understand if there was a place for your voice in her world, or if you’d just been another thought she hadn’t really considered. "You just what?" you asked, your tone sharper than you meant, the hurt lacing your words threatening to unravel you.

Paige let out a long, defeated sigh, her shoulders slumping as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She seemed smaller now, quieter, the usual confident spark in her eyes dimmed. Her fingers drummed against the fabric of her hoodie in a nervous rhythm, as if it helped her think through the mess of her own thoughts. "I guess I didn’t think about it enough," she admitted, the words coming slower now, more deliberate. "I just assumed we were on the same page. That you’d want to come with me, wherever I end up. I mean, I thought that’s what people in serious relationships do. They make it work, no matter what."

You felt the knot of frustration twist tighter in your chest, but now it wasn’t just frustration. It was the raw sting of realization—she hadn’t even considered that your world was important enough to stay in. That she could hurt you without even knowing it.

"You assumed," you murmured, repeating her words to yourself, trying to understand. The air between you seemed to grow colder, the warmth that had once been shared between the two of you slipping away with each passing second. "You assumed we’d just make it work. Making it work doesn’t mean one person sacrifices everything while the other gets to chase their dreams without a second thought, Paige."

She flinched again, rubbing the back of her neck. "I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I’ve been so focused on this draft, on everything that comes after, that I didn’t stop to think about how it might affect you. And that was wrong. But I thought—"

"You thought what?" you interrupted, your voice rising now. "That I’d just drop everything without a conversation? That I’d be fine leaving my life just because you’re Paige Bueckers and I should be grateful to be in your orbit?"

Paige’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought she might snap back, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned back against the couch, her shoulders slumping. "I didn’t mean to make it seem like that," she said, her voice quieter now. "I just… I thought we were committed enough that it wouldn’t even be a question. That we’d figure it out together."

"Committed enough?" you repeated, incredulous. "Paige, being committed means talking about things. It means understanding each other’s priorities and figuring out how to support each other. It doesn’t mean making thoughtless decisions about what the other person is willing to give up."

The room was thick with tension, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The faint buzz of ESPN in the background was the only sound, a reminder of the looming draft that had started this argument in the first place.

"I love you," Paige said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I want us to be together, no matter what. I’m sorry for ever assuming and I’m sorry I ever said your podcast wasn’t a real job, I’ve never thought that. But I don’t know how to fix this right now. I don’t know how to make you feel like you don’t have to choose between me and your career, because honestly? I don’t even know how to make this work."

Her vulnerability softened some of the anger coursing through you, but it didn’t erase the hurt. You took a deep breath, your voice steadying. "We can’t fix this tonight, Paige. But we need to figure out what this relationship looks like moving forward. Because I can’t be in a relationship where my dreams are treated like an afterthought. And if that’s too much for you, then maybe…"

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Paige’s eyes widened, and she immediately stood, crossing the space between you in an instant. "Don’t," she said firmly, reaching for your hand. "Don’t even say it. We’ll figure it out, okay? I don’t have all the answers right now, but I’m not losing you. Not over this."

You looked at her, the determination in her eyes clashing with the doubt lingering in your heart. Could you really find a way to make it work? Or was this the beginning of a painful realization that love, no matter how strong, wasn’t always enough?

[writingbuckets]

𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 4.1k

synopsis: On a crisp autumn morning, you try to lose yourself in the quiet, but nothing dulls the ache of what you've lost. Then you hear it, her laugh. Paige. The sound stops you in your tracks, a cruel echo of a time when it was meant for you. You tell yourself to walk away, to let go. But as Paige leans in, smiling in a way she hasn’t in months, one truth becomes impossible to ignore: she’s happy. Just not with you.

warnings: angst, themes of heartbreak and unrequited feelings, mentions of past relationship, jealousy and longing

a/n: this is a oneshot that i wrote months ago and edited a few days ago, somehow it's now a lot more than a one shot. wanted to post this between chapters (this has no relation to the hot take btw) while im continuing to write.. found this oddly relatable tbh <3

It’s one of those crisp autumn mornings where the air bites just enough to make you tug your jacket tighter around yourself, your fingers curling into the sleeves as a poor substitute for gloves you forgot to grab on your way out. The scent of fallen leaves lingers in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the campus café a few buildings over. Each step you take is accompanied by the satisfying crunch of golden and rust-colored leaves underfoot, the sound a small comfort in an otherwise quiet day.

Your headphones rest snugly over your ears, but they’re not playing anything. You told yourself you’d start a playlist or a podcast—anything to drown out the noise in your head—but your finger never quite hit play. Instead, the world is muffled, a half-hearted attempt to create distance between yourself and the people passing by, their chatter fading into a low, unintelligible buzz.

Silence has been your only companion lately, not by choice but by necessity. Words don’t come easily anymore, not when they’re laced with the sharp edges of memories you’re trying to bury. So, you wear the headphones like armor, hoping they’ll trick the world into thinking you’re occupied. That you’re fine.

You aren’t.

The hum of a fake distraction—an unheard podcast or a song you’ve played so many times the lyrics have lost their meaning—isn’t enough to dull the ache that sits heavy in your chest. It’s like carrying a weight you can’t put down, a constant reminder of everything you’re trying to move past.

It isn’t working.

You round the corner near the library, your gaze locked on the cobblestones ahead of you, tracing the uneven patterns without truly seeing them. The wind shifts slightly, carrying with it the faint murmur of voices—just background noise, indistinct and harmless. But then, cutting through the din like a melody you’d forgotten was stuck in your head, you hear it: her laugh.

You freeze.

It’s an instinctive reaction, your body stopping as if commanded by something beyond you. The sound is unmistakable, warm and familiar, a cruel echo of a time when it was meant for you. It’s lighter than you remember, tinged with an ease you haven’t felt in months. For a moment, you wonder if you imagined it, if your mind is playing tricks on you because you’ve replayed that laugh so many times in your head.

But you know better.

Your heart stumbles in your chest, skipping beats in a rhythm you can’t control. The world around you feels like it’s moving at half speed, the rustling of leaves, the chatter of passing students, all fading into a dull hum. It’s just you and that laugh, and it anchors you in place, even as every fiber of your being screams at you to keep walking.

You don’t. You can’t.

Instead, your head tilts ever so slightly, your eyes flicking up from the cobblestones as if pulled by an invisible string. The library looms ahead, its tall glass windows reflecting the bright morning sunlight, and there, just to the left of the entrance, is the source of the sound.

It’s her. Paige.

She’s standing by the bike racks, her golden hair catching the morning sunlight in a way that makes it look almost haloed, a painful reminder of how effortlessly radiant she’s always been. She’s wearing one of her oversized UConn hoodies, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal her forearms, and a pair of joggers that hang loosely on her frame. Her posture is relaxed but engaged, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks, the kind of gesturing she does when she’s caught up in something that excites her.

You follow the line of her gaze, and that’s when you see the girl standing opposite her. She’s petite, with cropped dark hair that looks like it belongs in a magazine ad, framing her face in a way that feels effortlessly chic. There’s an easy confidence about her, the kind that makes you immediately aware of her presence even if she’s just standing there. Her head is tilted slightly, her dark eyes locked onto Paige with an expression that’s half amusement, half curiosity.

The girl’s smile—soft, unhurried—only adds to the ache blooming in your chest. It’s the kind of smile that says they’ve been talking for a while, that whatever Paige is saying has managed to capture her full attention. She leans just slightly into Paige’s space, not enough to cross any lines but enough to make it clear she feels comfortable there. Too comfortable.

You notice the way Paige mirrors her, her own stance leaning slightly forward as she laughs at something the girl says. It’s not the polite, surface-level kind of laughter she uses with strangers or people she’s obligated to be nice to. No, this is something deeper, more genuine, the kind of laugh that used to be reserved for you.

The sight of them hits you like a punch to the stomach, sharp and sudden, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your feet feel rooted to the ground, unable to move, as if your body has betrayed you by forcing you to witness this. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing, that they’re probably just talking about basketball or class or something else entirely ordinary. But the way they look at each other makes it impossible to believe.

There’s an ease between them, a rhythm that feels natural, unforced. It’s the kind of thing you thought you and Paige had, back before everything fell apart. Back before the love you gave her started feeling more like a weight than a gift.

You don’t know why you’re still standing here, watching this unfold like some cruel scene in a movie you can’t turn off. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, or maybe it’s that small, stubborn part of you that still aches for her, that still hopes for something that deep down you know will never come.

And as Paige leans back against the bike rack, her lips pulling into a soft, easy smile that lights up her face in a way you haven’t seen in months, you realize something else: she’s happy.

Just not with you.

You tell yourself it shouldn’t hurt. You repeat the words in your head like a mantra, willing them to sink in and dull the ache that’s building in your chest. It’s been months since the breakup—months of sleepless nights, hollow mornings, and the constant, gnawing sense that you’re not quite whole anymore. Months since you stood in the middle of her apartment, the walls closing in as your voice cracked under the weight of emotions you couldn’t hold back any longer.

You remember it so vividly, like a cruel film reel that plays on a loop in your mind. The way your hands trembled at your sides, clutching your chest as if that would keep your heart from shattering completely. You remember begging her to choose you, to see you in the way you saw her—not just as a passing comfort, but as someone she couldn’t imagine her life without. You laid everything bare that night, your heart, your soul, everything you had left to give.

She couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. You’re still not sure which one hurts more.

The worst part is, you never got a straight answer. Paige never said the words you needed to hear, one way or the other. Instead, she stood there, her silence louder than any rejection could’ve been. Her hands stuffed into her hoodie pocket, her eyes downcast, refusing to meet yours. She didn’t have to say it, not really. Her lack of an answer was an answer in itself.

And now, as you stand here on this crisp autumn morning, watching her bond with someone else, the pain you thought you’d buried rises to the surface all over again.

She laughs again, and this time, the other girl joins in, her laughter ringing out like a bell in the cool air. What could possibly be so funny? There’s something natural about the way they interact, as if they’ve known each other forever. And then the girl reaches out, lightly swatting Paige’s arm, her smile widening as Paige grins in response.

It’s such a familiar gesture, so effortlessly intimate, that it makes your stomach churn. You used to do that. You used to be the one standing by her side, making her laugh like that, your fingers brushing against her arm without a second thought. It was second nature then, the closeness between you so natural it didn’t need to be questioned.

Now, it feels like a distant memory. Like it belonged to someone else entirely.

You wonder if Paige notices. If she ever thinks about the small moments you shared, the way you used to trace patterns on her arm when you sat next to her, or the way she’d tease you just to see you roll your eyes before swatting her playfully in return. Does she remember those things, or have they already been replaced by something—someone—new?

The thought sends a fresh wave of pain crashing over you, sharp and unrelenting. It’s like seeing your place in her life erased in real time, like watching her rewrite your story with someone else in the role you once played.

And all you can do is stand there, frozen, as their voices continue to ring out, each sound driving the knife a little deeper.

You tear your eyes away, forcing yourself to stare at the path ahead, but it’s no use. Your chest tightens with every second you linger, a vice gripping your ribs as you wrestle with the urge to look back. Just keep walking, you tell yourself, over and over like a chant that might somehow drown out the pounding of your heart. She doesn’t see you. She’s too focused on the girl in front of her, on whatever effortless conversation they’re sharing, on the world that clearly doesn’t include you anymore.

But your feet betray you, refusing to move. You’re rooted to the spot, caught in a torturous limbo between wanting to flee and needing to see more. Your legs feel heavy, like they’re made of stone, and no matter how much you beg them to carry you away from this moment, they won’t obey.

So, inevitably, you glance back.

Your eyes land on them again, and the weight in your chest deepens. The way Paige looks at her…it’s different. It’s not the kind of look she gives her teammates when they’re joking around after practice, or the polite smile she flashes at fans during meet-and-greets. This is something else entirely.

Her gaze is light, unburdened, and warm in a way that makes you ache. It’s the kind of look she used to reserve for you—back when everything between you felt simple and easy, before the cracks started to show. There’s a softness in her expression that makes it clear she’s present, fully immersed in whatever the other girl is saying.

It’s a far cry from the way she used to look at you toward the end, when her eyes always seemed distracted, her mind a million miles away. You remember those moments vividly: sitting across from her at dinner, trying to fill the silence with light conversation while she scrolled through her phone or stared out the window. Or the times when her replies felt clipped, her tone detached, like her focus was anywhere but on you.

But here, with this girl, there’s none of that tension. None of the weight that seemed to cling to her when she was with you. She’s free in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s almost unbearable to witness.

You wonder if it’s because things with her are new, untouched by the complications that came with being part of Paige’s world. You know what that world is like—how it demands so much of her, how it chews up anything that doesn’t fit into the narrow space between her dreams and her reality.

Once upon a time, you thought you could exist in that space. That you could be her safe harbor, the person she came home to when the rest of the world felt too big. And for a while, you were. But eventually, the demands of her life became too much, and you started to feel less like her safe place and more like another weight she had to carry.

But seeing her now, so light and unguarded, makes it clear she’s found that freedom again. Just not with you.

For a moment, you hate yourself for standing here, for letting her have this power over you. You should’ve known better by now. You should’ve walked away when you had the chance, or at least been strong enough to not let her have this hold on you. But here you are, frozen in place, unable to tear yourself away from the scene unfolding in front of you. It’s pathetic, really. You told yourself you were over this, that you had moved on, but now you’re standing here, watching her laugh with someone else, and it feels like you’re right back at the beginning.

You should’ve known better.

Paige was always a force of nature, a hurricane that swept through the lives of everyone around her. She had this magnetic pull, this ability to draw people into her orbit without even trying, leaving them dizzy and disoriented in the wake of her presence. You’d seen it happen time and time again, watching her captivate room after room, effortlessly charming everyone she came across. You told yourself you’d be different, that you wouldn’t let her sweep you up in the chaos of her world.

But you were wrong.

And now, here you are, standing at the edge of her orbit, watching as she’s pulled into someone else’s gravity, her easy conversation ringing out with someone who isn’t you.

It hits different when you’re the one she left.

You’ve tried to convince yourself it was for the best, that it wasn’t her fault, that maybe you were never meant to be. But the truth is, you can’t shake the feeling that you weren’t enough. That no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t keep up with her, couldn’t fit into the space she carved for herself in the world. You weren’t strong enough to hold her attention, not when her dreams were always just a little bit bigger than the life you were building together.

You think about the nights you spent alone, tossing and turning in your bed, the ache in your chest that refused to go away. It was a familiar feeling, like a tight knot that twisted every time you tried to think about anything else. You replay your last conversation over and over in your mind, dissecting every word, every glance, trying to figure out where things went wrong. Was there something you missed? Was there something you should’ve said or done differently?

You think about how many nights you stayed up staring at the ceiling, your mind racing as you wondered if there was something, anything, you could’ve done to stop her from walking away. Maybe you should’ve tried harder. Maybe you should’ve been more patient, more understanding. Maybe, just maybe, if you’d given her more space or time, she would’ve come back.

But no amount of replaying or overanalyzing can change the fact that she’s gone.

And then you think about her. About how she’s standing there, smiling and laughing, her whole being lit up in a way that feels both beautiful and agonizing to watch. She’s living her life, as if the last few years with you never happened. As if the moments you shared, the plans you made, the quiet mornings and late-night talks—all of it—was just some passing memory she’s moved on from.

You wish you could be as free as she is, as unburdened by the weight of everything that’s left unsaid between you. But you can’t.

And as you stand there, watching her interact with someone else, the anger bubbles up from deep within you, raw and unrelenting. It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that she can move on so easily, as if the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet. It’s not fair that you’re still stuck in this place, unable to let go, while she’s already building something new with someone else. You think about how long it’s been since you let her go, how many times you’ve told yourself you’re fine, but you know the truth. You’re not fine. Not yet.

And maybe you never will be.

You take a shaky breath, your chest tight and heavy with the weight of everything you’re trying to hold back. The last thing you want is to let her see you like this, weak and broken, still caught in the web she wove without ever knowing the damage it left behind. Finally, you force yourself to turn away, telling yourself this is the last time you’ll look at her like this. The last time you’ll let her tear your heart open.

The sound of her laughter follows you as you walk down the path, each step heavier than the last. It’s like the world is closing in around you, her voice lingering in the air, echoing in your ears as if it’s mocking you. A soft wind rustles the leaves, and the chill in the air only amplifies the emptiness inside you. You try to ignore it, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other, on pushing yourself away from the scene you’re not supposed to be a part of anymore.

Your vision blurs, and you blink rapidly, willing the tears to stay hidden until you’re far enough away to lose yourself in the crowd. The last thing you need is to cry in front of her. You don’t think you could bear it. Not now. Not after everything. You shove your hands deeper into your pockets, your body moving mechanically as your mind races with all the things you should’ve done differently. The ache in your chest makes it hard to breathe, but you keep walking.

Every step is like a small betrayal of the self-respect you’ve tried to rebuild over the past few months. You tell yourself it’s fine, that it’s just a moment, a fleeting weakness that will pass. But as much as you try to convince yourself, the tightness in your chest refuses to go away.

You don’t know if she ever thinks about you. If the nights you shared, the love you gave her, ever cross her mind. Maybe they do, in passing, in those quiet moments when she’s alone with her thoughts. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe the pieces of you she carried with her were too small to leave any lasting mark. Maybe the person she is now doesn’t even remember the version of herself she was when she was with you.

The thought stings, and it stings even more when you catch a glimpse of her in the corner of your eye, just as you turn the corner. 

Paige has stopped talking to the girl, her gaze shifting. She doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, her eyes scanning the path ahead of her. And then, as if the universe itself has conspired against you, she turns her head, her eyes meeting yours from across the distance. It’s a split-second moment, brief, but in that flash, everything about you feels exposed.

For a moment, neither of you moves. Your heart races in your chest, the pulse hammering against your ribs as her gaze locks onto you. There’s something in her eyes—something soft, something almost apologetic, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. She blinks, her posture shifting, a subtle tension tightening in her shoulders. But then her gaze drops to the ground, and she looks away.

You can’t be sure, but you think you saw her face fall just slightly. A brief, fleeting flicker of something—maybe sadness, maybe regret, maybe something else entirely—but it’s there, gone before you can make sense of it. It’s a look you haven’t seen in months, one you thought had long disappeared. A look that used to mean she cared. A look that, for a moment, made you believe maybe she did still think about you.

It’s like a punch to the gut, and it almost makes you want to turn back, to walk over to her and ask her what that look meant. But you know better than that. You know the answers won’t bring you the peace you crave. So, you force yourself to turn away again, swallowing the lump in your throat, keeping your gaze focused straight ahead as the sting of her eyes on yours lingers.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe it’s time to let go. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

By the time you reach the other side of campus, you’ve made a decision. A promise to yourself. You won’t cry over her anymore. You won’t give her that power.

You think about all the ways you’ve tried to move on—telling yourself it was for the best, that you deserve someone who’s not only there for you when it’s convenient, but always. That you’ll find someone who sees you for all that you are and doesn’t make you feel like an afterthought.

But as you round the corner of the building, the weight of everything still clings to you, wrapping around your chest, suffocating you. You push your thoughts aside, trying to keep walking, trying to outrun the rawness of it all. The hurt, the anger, the disbelief. But the faster you move, the heavier the ache feels.

You slip into the nearest building, your hands shaking as you push open the door, the cold air inside only adding to the discomfort that’s settled deep in your bones. You make your way down the hallway, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with every step. The quiet hum of the building seems to echo the emptiness that’s followed you all day, and your chest tightens as you lean against the cold brick wall.

For a brief moment, you just stand there, trying to steady your breathing, willing yourself to feel anything other than this—anything other than the overwhelming ache that has consumed you since you saw her this morning.

But then, it happens.

The tears come anyway.

At first, it’s just one—a single tear that escapes despite your best efforts to hold it in. And then another. And another. They fall silently, tracing paths down your cheeks as your chest shakes with the weight of everything you’ve been holding inside. You hate how easy it is for the tears to come, how they betray every promise you’ve made to yourself. You told yourself you were done feeling like this, that you were moving on, that you wouldn’t let her have this kind of control over you anymore.

But it still hits different.

You weren’t prepared for it. You never are. You weren’t prepared for the way seeing her with someone else would make you feel like your whole world was crumbling, for the way she could still twist your insides with just one look.

And you realize, as the tears fall, that it’s not something you can just shut off, not something you can will away by sheer force. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself you’re over it—this still hurts in ways you didn’t know were possible.

And it probably always will.

And then, as if the universe itself is mocking you, your phone buzzes in your pocket, the sound cutting through the quiet like a reminder that life doesn’t stop just because you’re falling apart.

You pull it out with trembling hands, wiping your eyes hastily as you glance at the screen.

It’s a text from Paige.

“Hey. Can we talk? Please?”

You stare at the words for a moment, as if they’re some kind of trick. You wonder if you’re just imagining it, if the universe is playing some cruel joke on you. But the message is still there, blinking on the screen, waiting for you to respond.

You don’t know what to do with it. You don’t know what to feel.

Part of you wants to ignore it, wants to throw your phone across the room and pretend you never saw it, pretend like you’re stronger than this. But another part of you—one you’re terrified to acknowledge—wants to open the message and respond, to let her back in, even though you know you shouldn’t.

You’ve already been down this road before, and you don’t think you can go through it again.

But as you stare at the message, your heart pounding in your chest, the question hangs in the air: Does it matter if she wants to talk? Will it change anything?

And somewhere, deep down, you know the answer.

But you also know you’re not ready to completely let go, not yet.

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐢

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 3.7k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige’s relationship evolves from a slow burn to a deep, committed love as they navigate the complexities of their careers and dreams.

warnings: emotional tension, angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, fluff, relationship growth

a/n: and we're backkk! there's only a few parts left to this fic, so i've started to write out the beginnings of new fics, specifically some one shots, so anticipate those. requests are open as i'm searching for some new one shot ideas <3

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the wide windows of Paige’s apartment, bathing the living room in a warm, golden hue that softened everything it touched. The air smelled faintly of something savory—garlic and herbs, maybe—and the sound of soft music playing from a speaker on the counter added a lazy, tranquil ambiance to the space. The place felt like her—equal parts cozy and effortlessly inviting.

You were curled up on her oversized couch, legs tucked beneath you, scrolling idly through your phone, though you weren’t really paying attention to the screen. Most of your focus was on Paige, who moved around the kitchen with an ease that only came from familiarity. She’d kicked off her sneakers hours ago, padding barefoot across the tile floor, opening and closing drawers like she already knew where everything was.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” you called, tilting your head to get a better look at her.

Paige glanced back over her shoulder, strands of her blonde hair escaping from the now loose bun she’d tied the day before. She was wearing one of her UCONN hoodies, the fabric fitted to her frame, the hem brushing her hips. Beneath it, her pajama pants, relaxed and slouching slightly, added to the casual, cozy vibe she exuded, making it clear that she was at ease in the moment, her usual confident exterior softened by the comfort of her home. The look was casual and unintentional, but she somehow managed to make it distractingly appealing.

“Nope,” she replied, her lips quirking into a smug smirk that made her dimples appear. She lifted a knife and pointed it in your direction playfully before turning back to the cutting board. “I’ve got this. Just relax, superstar.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, though you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. It was a teasing moniker she’d given you after you’d shared the news about landing a sponsorship for your podcast, and she’d been insufferable about it ever since. “I don’t know if watching you struggle to chop vegetables counts as relaxing,” you quipped, leaning your head against the back of the couch to watch her work.

Paige gasped in mock offense, clutching a hand dramatically to her chest. “Wow. The disrespect. In my own home, no less!”

You laughed, setting your phone down on the coffee table. “Okay, Chef Bueckers. Go ahead and impress me.”

Paige gave you a mock salute, her grin widening. “Don’t worry. By the end of this meal, you’re gonna feel so bad for doubting my skills that you’ll be begging me to cook for you every night.”

“Big words for someone who just fumbled a clove of garlic two minutes ago,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned into the corner of the couch.

She muttered something under her breath, turning back to the counter with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about what happened with the garlic. That’s in the past now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls and mixing with the quiet music. The ease between you two was palpable, and it filled the space with a sense of lightness you’d grown increasingly fond of. It was amazing how natural it all felt—how seamlessly you’d slipped into this routine of spending time at her place, teasing her from the couch while she experimented with new recipes.

Occasionally, she glanced over at you, her smirk softening into something more affectionate. You caught her looking once, and she quickly turned back to the cutting board, pretending to be overly focused on dicing an onion.

“You know,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, “if you keep staring at me, we might not get to eat until midnight.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige shot back, though the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.

“Sure,” you replied, stretching out on the couch with an exaggerated yawn. “Take your time, Chef. I’ll just starve quietly over here.”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Keep talking, and I might just burn your food on purpose,” she said, tossing a sliced pepper onto the cutting board with a flourish.

“Wow, threatening your guest? That’s bold.”

“You’re not a guest,” she countered, her voice softening in a way that made your chest tighten. “You’re... you know.”

The way she trailed off, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between you, caught you off guard for a moment. But then she glanced over her shoulder again, her smile small but genuine, and the tension in the air shifted into something that felt more intimate than playful.

“You’re impossible,” you said quietly, though your tone held no real annoyance.

“And yet, here you are,” Paige replied, her smirk returning as she turned back to her work.

The scent of whatever she was cooking began to fill the apartment in earnest, rich and inviting. The golden hour light streaming in through the windows caught the edges of her hair, turning it almost honey-like in color, and for a moment, you forgot about the meal entirely, too caught up in watching her.

Paige, as usual, noticed. “Now you’re staring,” she said without turning around, her voice full of teasing smugness.

“Am not,” you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks said otherwise.

“Caught in 4K,” she retorted, glancing at you over her shoulder with a grin that made your stomach flip.

You shook your head, laughing softly as you leaned back against the couch, letting the easy rhythm of the moment wash over you. If this was what life with Paige looked like, you couldn’t wait to see where it went next.

The past few months had been everything you didn’t know you needed. What began as slow steps into something new had quickly blossomed into a rhythm that felt effortless, as if this was where you were meant to be all along. The awkward tension of your first date, with its nervous laughter and overthinking, had melted away after that night, replaced by an ease that sometimes made you question if it was too good to be true. And yet, every time Paige looked at you with that lopsided grin or sent a teasing quip your way, you realized this wasn’t a dream—it was your reality.

You and Paige had settled into a flow that worked, balancing your busy schedules with the demands of her games and your growing podcast. It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it. Early mornings were spent sharing hurried cups of coffee, and late nights often found you curled up on her couch or yours, laughing at something silly on TV or talking about nothing and everything. Somewhere in the middle of all that, you’d discovered how much you loved these quieter moments, the ones that felt suspended in time, like lazy afternoons when the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

Being with Paige had surprised you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. On paper, she was a phenomenon: the Paige Bueckers, basketball prodigy, fan favorite, and media darling. She was a star in every sense of the word, with a presence so magnetic it felt like it could pull the tide. But with you, she was just Paige. Goofy, thoughtful, endlessly witty, and endearingly competitive about everything from who could open a jar faster to who had the better taste in music.

She was the kind of person who would call you at midnight just to tell you she’d heard a song on the radio that reminded her of you. She was also the kind of person who would take ten minutes to pick out the right snack from a convenience store and then tease you for your “unrefined” candy preferences. With her, everything felt easy—like finding the right piece to a puzzle you hadn’t realized was missing.

“You’re quiet,” Paige’s voice broke through your thoughts, casual but laced with curiosity as she worked at the counter.

You blinked, her words pulling you back to the present. She hadn’t turned around, too focused on her task, but somehow, she always knew when your mind wandered. “Just thinking,” you replied, trying to play it cool.

Paige glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Thinking about what? Or should I say… who?”

“Wow, conceited much?” you shot back, trying to ignore the slight flush that crept up your neck.

Her grin widened as she turned fully, holding up a cutting board with half of a neatly sliced pepper. “Just admit it,” she said, her tone smug.

“I wasn’t thinking about you,” you lied, though your cheeks betrayed you.

“Oh, really?” Paige placed the cutting board down and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. The playful glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t letting this go. “So, what was it? World domination? Your podcast’s next big scoop? Which player’s sneakers squeaked the loudest during the last game?”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “None of the above. I was thinking about…” You trailed off for dramatic effect.

“About?” she pressed, leaning in slightly as if your answer were life or death.

You smirked, deciding to turn the tables. “About how you always insist on using the tiniest cutting board in existence for way too many vegetables. Seriously, do you not own a bigger one?”

Paige gasped, clutching a hand to her chest in mock offense. “This cutting board and I have history! Don’t disrespect it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was insulting a family heirloom,” you teased, folding your arms across your chest.

“It practically is,” she shot back with a grin. “We’ve been through a lot together. College dorm meals, team dinner cooking fails… it’s seen things, Y/N.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And yet it’s still too small.”

Paige laughed, pushing off the counter and returning to her task, her shoulders shaking with amusement. “One day, I’ll upgrade. But until then, this little guy gets the job done.”

“Barely,” you quipped, earning another laugh from her.

She reached for a pan, humming softly to the tune playing throughout the apartment. Watching her like this—barefoot in her hoodie, completely at home in her own space—made your chest ache in the best way. 

“Careful,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You might actually impress me with your cooking skills.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, I will. And when I do, I expect a full public apology for all the trash-talking you’ve done about my culinary expertise.”

You snorted. “Culinary expertise? Paige, I’ve seen you eat cereal straight from the box because you didn’t want to wash a bowl.”

“That’s called efficiency,” she shot back, turning her attention back to the stove. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The playful banter filled the space, bouncing off the walls with an energy that contrasted beautifully with the softer, quieter moments you shared. It was hard not to feel light in moments like this, when everything about her felt so natural and unguarded. Paige had a way of making the world feel a little less heavy, a little more vibrant, just by being herself.

“Paige,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression shifting from playful to attentive in an instant. “Yeah?”

“I was just thinking…” You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Paige turned off the burner and set the spoon down, giving you her full attention. She leaned against the counter, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. “That sounds serious,” she teased gently, though her tone was laced with genuine curiosity.

You smiled, trying to push past the nervous energy bubbling up. “It’s not, really. Just… us. How this feels.”

Her eyes softened, the teasing completely gone now. She pushed away from the counter and walked over to the couch, dropping down beside you. “What about it?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, searching for the right words. “I guess I didn’t expect it to be this easy. Being with you.”

Paige tilted her head, watching you closely. “Easy in a good way, I hope?”

You nodded quickly, laughing softly. “Yeah, in a really good way. I mean, I knew you’d be funny and smart and all that. But I didn’t think…” You trailed off, suddenly shy under her gaze.

“That I’d be this irresistible?” she offered, a smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes betrayed her vulnerability.

“Obviously,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. Then you sobered, reaching out to take her hand. “I didn’t think I’d feel this comfortable. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Paige’s fingers curled around yours, her grip warm and steady. “Same,” she admitted. “I was worried at first, you know? That I’d mess things up or… that maybe it’d be too much.”

Your brows furrowed. “Too much?”

She shrugged, her thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. “With basketball, the attention… my life isn’t exactly low-key. I didn’t want that to make things harder for you. But you’ve just… you’ve handled everything so well.”

You squeezed her hand, your chest tightening at her honesty. “Paige, I knew what I was signing up for. And yeah, maybe it’s not the most ‘normal’ relationship, but it’s ours. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Her smile was small but radiant, the kind that made your stomach flip. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against hers. “Right back at you.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence filled only by the soft hum of the kitchen appliances. Then Paige shifted slightly, her free hand brushing against your cheek.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper.

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “Me too.” 

Her eyes softened, and before you could say another word, she leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Her lips brushed yours gently at first, a soft, lingering kiss that seemed to hold everything unspoken between you. The warmth of her lips sent a shiver through you, and as she deepened the kiss, everything around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that quiet moment. It was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that told you more than words ever could, words you desperately wanted to say. When you finally pulled away, your breath was shallow, and the world outside felt a little less important.

Paige smiled, her thumb gently tracing your bottom lip. “I meant that,” she whispered, her voice low and full of meaning.

“I know,” you replied softly, your hand instinctively finding her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer.

The look in her eyes was so tender, so full of affection, that you felt like you might melt under its weight. And you couldn't help but think that for all the unexpected twists and turns life had thrown at you, this—being here, with her—was exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, she slid a plate in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Voilà,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sophistication. “A masterpiece, handcrafted by yours truly.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing the dish. “Looks edible,” you said, hiding your smile.

She gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse me? That’s not the enthusiasm I was hoping for. Where’s the applause? The standing ovation?”

You picked up your fork, taking a small bite to appease her. To your surprise, the food wasn’t just good—it was amazing. The flavors were rich and perfectly balanced, the kind of dish you’d expect at a nice restaurant, not from Paige’s kitchen.

Your eyes widened, and Paige immediately noticed. “I knew it,” she said triumphantly. “You love it. Go ahead, admit it.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Like, really good. How did you pull this off?”

Paige leaned against the counter, her smirk turning smug. “Told you I’m full of surprises, superstar.”

As you laughed, the late afternoon sun began to dip lower, casting the room in softer, golden hues. The conversation flowed effortlessly as you ate, touching on everything from her upcoming games to your plans for the next podcast episode. She listened intently as you spoke, her gaze warm and unwavering, and you found yourself marveling again at how easy it was to just… be with her.

When dinner was done, Paige stood and started clearing the plates, but you stopped her.

“Hey, you cooked. Let me handle this.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Deal. But if you break one of my glasses, you’re banned from entering my kitchen forever.”

“Noted,” you said with a laugh, collecting the dishes.

By the time you’d finished tidying up the kitchen, the faint hum of the TV and the soft glow of the living room lights welcomed you back into the cozy space. Paige was sprawled out on the couch, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, she’d taken down her bun and her golden hair was tousled from running her fingers through it. She held the remote in one hand, scrolling through Netflix with a look of mild concentration.

Hearing your footsteps, she glanced up, her face breaking into a soft smile. “There you are,” she said, patting the empty space beside her. “Come here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Crossing the room, you sank into the cushions beside her, instantly enveloped by her warmth as she draped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you close. Your legs tangled together naturally, the scent of her familiar—clean and comforting.

“Miss me already?” you teased, resting your head against her shoulder.

“Always,” she shot back smoothly, her lips quirking into a grin as she pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“What are we watching?” you asked, glancing at the TV, where the endless carousel of titles continued to scroll.

“Not sure yet,” she admitted, her thumb hovering over the remote. “But I’m vetoing any true crime. I don’t feel like sleeping with the lights on tonight.”

You laughed, snuggling further into her side. “Fair point. Let’s go with something cheesy, then. Rom-com or bust.”

“Rom-com it is,” Paige agreed, scrolling until she found a movie with a predictably charming cover: a couple laughing together in a picturesque park. She clicked play without much thought, settling back into the cushions with a contented sigh.

The movie began, its upbeat opening credits accompanied by a lighthearted soundtrack, but your attention drifted almost immediately. Instead of focusing on the predictable meet-cute unfolding on the screen, you found yourself drawn to the small, absentminded gestures Paige made—the way her fingers gently traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm, the way her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm that matched the quiet calm of the moment.

You tilted your head to look up at her, catching the soft lines of her profile as she watched the screen. Her expression was relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips every time something particularly cheesy happened.

“What?” she asked, not looking away from the screen but clearly sensing your gaze.

“Nothing,” you replied, though the warmth spreading through your chest begged to differ.

Minutes passed like that, the comfort of her presence and the warmth of the room lulling you into a blissful haze. Then Paige’s voice broke the silence, softer now, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” she murmured after a while, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

She shifted slightly, enough that you could feel her looking down at you. When you tilted your head up, her blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. There was something searching in her gaze, like she was trying to find the right words.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

You nodded, your heart picking up slightly at the unexpected vulnerability in her tone. “Of course.”

Her fingers stilled against your arm, but her hand didn’t pull away. She took a breath, her chest rising and falling beneath your touch, before speaking. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I could feel this way about someone.”

The weight of her words settled over you, heavy and full of meaning.

She continued, her gaze unwavering, as if grounding herself in your presence. “It’s like… no matter how crazy everything gets—basketball, the media, everything—you’re this constant. And I’ve never had that before. Not like this.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling in your chest. Paige wasn’t someone who opened up easily. She carried so much of the world on her shoulders, and yet here she was, baring a piece of herself that felt achingly real.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against her cheek. “Me neither,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

She leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a moment like she was savoring the weight of your hand against her skin. When she opened them again, the vulnerability in her expression was replaced by something softer—an undeniable warmth that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I mean it,” she said, her voice steady but still tender. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The words hit you with a force you hadn’t expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. All you could do was shift closer, wrapping your arms around her as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Paige held you tightly, her hand finding its place at the small of your back. Her lips brushed against your temple, lingering there as if to ground herself in the moment.

“I don’t think I could do this without you,” she murmured.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. “You could,” you said firmly, though your voice trembled with the weight of your own emotions. “But I’m glad you don’t have to.”

A slow, grateful smile spread across her face, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. The space between you felt almost sacred, the air charged with unspoken promises.

The movie played on in the background, forgotten as you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment, and the quiet, unshakable love that filled the space between you.

[writingbuckets]

lwk wanna start writing for other people, not that id ever stop writing for paige, its just that anakin skywalker and rafe cameron exist

[writingbuckets]

just reread one of my favorite harry styles fanfics on wattpad just to find out the sequel hasnt been updated in two years… what am i supposed to do now

[writingbuckets]

𝐡𝐢! 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬 <𝟑

twenty - from the great state of ky (all hail georgia amoore) - sza and bryson tiller enthusiast - requests are open

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

series - i. broken plays ii. the hot take

oneshots -

i. hits different ii. green-eyed monster

iii. the next step

iv. under the current

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

paige bueckers x podcaster reader

synopsis: Y/N and Paige’s relationship evolves from a slow burn to a deep, committed love as they navigate the complexities of their careers and dreams.

warnings: emotional tension, angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, fluff, relationship growth

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

part vii part ix