ihrtpaige

[ihrtpaige]

Holy shit, just finished View and I’m not sure I’ll forget about it anytime soon lol. It was so good and the vibe I got from it was so summery and romantic. Like idk how you write so well but that was sooo good!!!

you're soooo sweet omg, thank u so much!!! i'm so happy u all liked it :')

[ihrtpaige]

Girl I'm gonna need delicate asap its not funny anymore :(

she's here mama!!

[ihrtpaige]

Any delicate update?!

the talk is... delicate!

[ihrtpaige]

DELICATE. chapter one

⠀☆ SYNOPSIS. pop sensation spencer mckenzie's life has long been flipped upside down when she finds herself in a mild internet beef with paige bueckers— but it's not like it's her fault. paige started it when she called her music "overrated" (like, who says that? about the daughter of a fellow uconn legend, no less.); she left spencer with no choice but to clap back. what she doesn’t expect is for paige to respond by tweeting an offer to take her on a date as her public "apology", or to run into her in–person at an event a week later, or to end up falling so damn hard. now spencer has to decide, fast: is she ready to let paige in and be in love again, or will she let the demons of her past take this away, too? after all, the whole world is watching.

contains. mentions of past cheating, a lot of pop culture references and just very meta, alcohol consumption, cat and mouse dynamic a little

notes. it's been 87 years... i actually did finish writing this chapter two months ago, but i really didn't like it so i tried to go at it a few different ways, and ultimately i've just decided to post it as is (kind of a mess). but im curious to know how y'all feel about it, i really hope y'all like it! it will get better from here i promise ^^ also, dw i am working on requests (and more) currently!

taglist. @wosolipa, @syraxsbigfanfr, @jieysiee, @enchantingesme, @faeriehwa, @cowboybueckers, @everyonewatchesuconnwbb ( tysm for the support ♡ if you'd like to be added comment or send an ask! )

word count. 3.45k

los angeles, california.

this is utterly pathetic, spencer knows, but she can’t bring herself to care.

she digs her spoon further into the fudge brownie ice cream, scooping up a hefty chunk before shamelessly shoveling it into her mouth. she doesn’t care if any of it drips onto and stains this designer–italian–whatever sofa, either. after surviving what officially has been the worst year of her life— publicly humiliated, cheated on, and, surprise! the other woman is your best friend— she feels she’s earned the right to spend her couple days of downtime wallowing.

she’s halfway through her pint of ben & jerry’s and a few hours into a buffy the vampire slayer binge–watch when her phone buzzes against her leg.

leela 🫶 : sis get up u gotta see this leela 🫶 : it’s about you 💀

the notification sound chimes again, followed by a link. spencer narrows her eyes, already prepared to see another brain–dead take on her personal life or completely made up blind item when she clicks on it.

it’s a tiktok, some promo thing the dallas wings did with their players ahead of the season. “this or that: music edition”, the colorful text on the screen reads. whoever’s behind the camera goes up to several of the players, asking them to choose between different artists— drake or kendrick, taylor or beyoncé, that kind of thing. spencer’s brain is already half–way checked out before she hears:

“okay, spencer mckenzie or taissa rey?”

because of course. just messy.

spencer told her self she wouldn’t engage with content comparing her and her former best friend anymore— it’s stupid, self–destructive, and just bad for her brain— but it’s honestly still vindicating to see so many of the players pick her. she actually feels her chest tighten, a little. she’d been so caught up in negative headlines and the drama of it all, she almost forgot that there are people that still like her. still choose her.

and then the video cuts to her.

paige bueckers.

national champion, recent uconn alum, dallas wings star, ridiculously hot paige bueckers. of course, spencer’s seen her before— years ago at her dad’s camps when she would tag along, at games when she still had the time to drop in and catch them in person, all over her for you page in what has to have been hundreds of unabashedly thirsty edits more recently. and if one or two of said edits happen to be saved in her favorites folder, that’s between her and tiktok hq.

she looks good in this video, too, with her hair pulled back into a low bun and blue eyes catching the lighting in the gym just right, lips already curved in a half–smirk before she hears the question. her toned arms are on full display in her wings practice jersey, biceps inadvertently flexing as her arms cross over her chest.

for some reason, spencer finds herself holding her breath as she awaits the blonde’s answer, hand suspended mid–air, still holding a spoonful of ice cream.

but paige doesn’t even hesitate before going: “taissa, easy.” she nods definitively. “that spencer song is lowkey overrated.”

the video is onto the next topic before spencer can even fully register it.

she stares at her phone screen, blinking dumbly. sits up. rewinds. watches it again.

and again.

“overrated?” she mutters aloud.

her phone buzzes again. leela, of course.

leela 🫶 : like ??? leela 🫶 : does she need that... leela 🫶 : why's she kinda fine tho 🤫

spencer snorts and taps on the little text bubble icon, opening the comment section. she’s curious, is all. she can’t be the only one sensing the shade in that answer.

most are from fangirls thirsting and keyboard–smashing over how good paige looks in the video, but there are a few in between those coming to spencer’s defense. flopissa over spencer is crazy, one says. paige’s taste in music is usually elite what happened here, reads another.

she keeps scrolling, further and further down, until she’s wading into the comment section abyssal zone. the ones that have barely and likes and poor grammar.

and then she gets a stupid idea.

spencer : would it be messy if i like said something leela 🫶 : girl yes leela 🫶 : do it 👀

that’s all the encouragement spencer needs to switch back to tiktok and start typing.

she doesn’t give herself the time to overthink it. her thumbs flit across the screen, writing out the first thing that comes to mind:

@spencermk_official ✓ : damn what happened to uconn solidarity :/

she hits send.

there’s a brief moment of silence— her show is still playing in the background, buffy’s in the middle of chasing down some vampire— before she lets out a groan and flops backwards into the cushions. that’s nearly eight months of counseling down the drain, for one measly comment.

she doesn’t know, yet, if she regrets it.

it even doesn’t matter, because within seconds, her phone is buzzing again. she flips it over, watching as a flurry of notifications begin to take up her lockscreen, hundreds of likes and replies already.

CLOCK IT.

“uconn solidarity” IM SCREAMINGGG

not paige getting a notice before azzi and caroline 😭😭

pls paige don't have internet...

oop! @paigebueckers

she can’t help it— the corners of her mouth twitch up into a little smile.

is this petty? absolutely. is she being messy for no reason? well, yes.

but it’s also really fun. and spencer can’t remember the last time she truly found anything fun.

dallas, texas.

the sun is doing the absolute most today.

paige yanks her car door open and tosses her duffel bag and sneakers into the back seat with a huff. sweat’s already beading on her skin, rendering her post–practice shower pointless.

of all the things she expected she’d miss about connecticut, she didn’t think the cold would be one of them. this texas heat is on a whole other level.

she swipes the back of her hand across her forehead and shuts the back door, sighing in relief when she slides into the driver’s seat and the air conditioning hits her skin. she can’t remember the last time a practice left her feeling this spent in college. she just sits there for a second, basking in the cool air, letting herself melt into the seat.

limbs still feeling like jelly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, hoping that her friends back in storrs or drew, even if it’s just him bugging her about sending him money for v–bucks again, texted while she was in practice.

instead, the second she turns off do not disturb mode, she’s hit with what has to be hundreds of notifications from socials, all unfurling onto her screen at once— tags, replies, reposts. her eyebrows furrow, and she clicks on the first one she sees.

it’s one of the videos from media day, cropped to just her quick answer and posted by a women’s basketball update page on twitter. paige snorts. this is what’s blowing up? she scrolls a little further. a screenshot.

damn what happened to uconn solidarity :/

she stares at it for a second. then laughs— half–surprised, half–impressed.

okay. she got her there.

paige wasn’t really thinking about whether or not spencer’s music was actually good— or any of the tabloid drama that went down last summer, for that matter— when she gave her answer. just that azzi was obsessed with her album when it first dropped, and played it so much it drove paige crazy. it took her weeks to get that “i don’t want him anyway, girl, take him” hook out of her head.

maybe ‘overrated’ was a little harsh. and, okay— in the moment it may have slipped her mind that spencer’s dad is literally a husky legend. but in her defense, she didn’t think that she would even see the tiktok, let alone actually say something.

now, the internet’s in chaos. on twitter, her mentions are full of her own fans teasing her for getting “clocked” or accounts with display names like spencer’s cupcake telling her to “stay mad, jobless”. on tiktok, there’s already memes and edits being made. she opens safari, and fucking tmz has just posted an article with a crazy sensational headline about it.

paige just can’t go out like this.

her fingers are already moving, pressing the ‘+’ icon to draft a new tweet. spencer’s image is vivid in her mind— bronze skin, hazel eyes, long honey blonde hair, an insane body— as she types. it doesn’t take her long to come up with something at all.

@paigebueckers1 ✓: my bad @spencermckenzie. chick–fil–a on me and we call it even? 😌

tweet sent. a grin tugs at paige’s lips.

instantly, the replies come rolling in.

PLOT TWIST?!

oh she wants that cookie so effing bad 😭😭

can’t even judge bc if spencer’s fine ass acknowledged me i’d try to slide too

ur taste in women >>> ur taste in music

flirting on main with paul mckenzie’s daughter… if this works y’all gotta get married in gampel with geno officiating or smth

paige chuckles softly as she reads a few of them, before shaking her head and tossing her phone into the passenger seat.

there, she thinks, as she starts her car. solidarity restored.

spencer doesn’t even have twitter installed on her phone. it was the one app she felt she could live without after returning to social media from her months–long break last year, due to the overwhelming toxicity at the time. the thing about twitter, though, is that it’s toxic all the time; she was more than happy to continue paying someone else to deal with that.

however, she’s quick to re–download it after receiving texts from both leela and her manager at the exact same time, urging her to check the app immediately.

conveniently, the tweet is the first thing to pop up on her timeline right under the for you tab— literally, in this case.

my bad @spencermckenzie. chick–fil–a on me and we call it even? 😌

spencer’s been in the public eye since she was in diapers. she was only three when cameras were being shoved into her face while she sat courtside in her mother’s lap at heat games, sixteen when she signed her first record deal. she’s no stranger to drama— in fact, after last summer, she considers herself to be a well–versed expert on the matter.

but never has anyone responded by flirting.

she doesn’t like the way it’s making her feel. she’s supposed to be cooking up an instagram story with her riaa record plaques posed conveniently in the background, not smiling uncontrollably at her phone and blushing like an idiot.

what the hell does spencer even say to that? despite the persistent tingling in her stomach, she can’t just fold.

looking at the replies, though, the fans are obviously eating it up. the tweet is nearing fifty thousand likes, and they’re all tagging spencer, encouraging it. they’ve even started calling them ‘spaige’.

she’s not going on a date with paige bueckers, but it can’t hurt to play along.

bottom lip tugged between her teeth, she taps the quote retweet button, typing out her reply.

@spencermckenzie ✓: stream greedy and i’ll think abt it

it’s the first activity on her page that wasn’t obviously scheduled by pr since last august. the fans swarm it within seconds, racking up double the amount of likes on paige’s initial tweet in only a fraction of the time.

she refreshes the tweet a few times, reading the replies and giggling at the ones that are actually funny, but stops herself when she realizes that there’s a specific reply she’s waiting on.

ugh. she needs to get a grip.

she clicks her phone screen off and sits it face down on the countertop. what was she even doing before this— right. skincare. she was getting ready for bed, doing her nightly skincare routine in her master bathroom.

looking at herself in the large mirror now, her cheeks are annoyingly rosy. she runs the tap, hoping that splashing her face with cold water will make the flush subside quicker and snap her out of whatever this is. she distracts herself, taking extra time lathering her fingertips in her expensive korean moisturizer and massaging it into her skin.

as soon as she’s done, though, spencer’s mind is wandering right back to blonde hair and blue eyes and that voice saying her name, even if it was to be rude. her hands are still wet as she grabs her phone, checking that dastardly app.

⤷ @paigebueckers1 ✓: anything for you, ma ⤷ @paigebueckers1 ✓: what sides you like?

attached to the reply is a video: paige, with glasses on, sitting in her car. spencer’s vocals and the melody she wrote play from the speakers— “greedy”, loud and clear.

it’s less then a minute of paige dancing along, shoulders bouncing, flashing the camera a crooked little grin.

it’s so stupid. everything— the video, the dancing, the petname. yet, a giggle still bubbles up out of spencer. simply being hot is one thing, but funny and devastatingly cute, too? that’s just not fair.

spencer’s going to leave it at this, she swears. she absolutely has to, before she makes a horny fool of herself for the whole world to see.

⤷ @spencermckenzie ✓: hmmm… ⤷ @spencermckenzie ✓: surprise me

one week later.

“did you see spencer’s look tonight?”

“ugh, yes. too good. i need her stylist’s number, like, yesterday.”

“i need a pic with her, my followers would die.”

paige’s head turns before she can stop herself. she doesn’t even know the two girls talking a couple seats down from her at the bar— influencers or models, if she had to guess just by looking at them— but now, the drink she just ordered is the last thing on her mind.

spencer’s here?

“your drink,” the bartender says, sliding her a dirty shirley temple— her second of the night.

paige nods her thanks, still half–distracted, taking the drink and turning to scan the crowd. the venue is packed with all these famous l.a. people, practically thumping with the bass of the music coming from the dj booth. she almost didn’t stay for the afterparty of the event since her flight back to dallas is so early, but in the end couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go out. azzi would call her irresponsible, but thank god for her discernment now, right?

paige has been meaning to talk to spencer since their little twitter back–and–forth, but the girl is impossible to get in touch with. she’d tried dm–ing, but all of spencer’s socials are set to mutuals–only, and she’s yet to follow paige back anywhere (ouch). tonight might be her only chance to shoot her shot— for real, this time.

she sips slowly, eyes combing the room. no spencer.

so, she asks around. not directly, but enough. mentions her name casually in a conversation with a stylist, brings her up when greeting a fellow athlete. eventually, someone tips their head toward the back— “saw her out on the balcony a while ago, with that leela girl.”

paige doesn’t know who leela is, but she vaguely recognizes the name— one of those tiktok or instagram get–ready–with–me girls with an insane amount of followers, or maybe an actress?

drink still in hand, paige makes her way through the crowd, sidestepping photographers and pr people and models trying to get her attention. the balcony doors are open, letting in warm california night air, and when she steps out—

there spencer is. leaning against the railing, laughing softly at something a dark–haired girl— leela, paige realizes— just said, her profile sharp in the soft glow of the skyline behind her. hair styled in loose waves and flowing down her back, collarbones on display, so beautiful that it makes paige’s pulse jump just a little.

she clears her throat. “spencer?”

spencer turns around at the sound of her name, lips parting slightly in surprise. the wind toys with a few strands of her honey–blonde hair as her expression flickers— recognition, confusion, amusement— before she settles into something that looks like guarded curiosity.

“oh,” she says, drawing the word out ever so slightly. “paige. hey.”

leela gives paige a once–over, then glances over at spencer, eyebrows raised like she can already sense the tension between them. “oh my gosh, is that doechii?” she says, suddenly, leaning dramatically to look into the party through the doors. definitely an influencer, paige deduces— there’s no way this girl acts professionally. “i’m gonna go talk to doechii— bye, spence!”

she turns to mouth text me to spencer and then she’s gone, returning to the party before spencer can protest. left alone, there’s a pause where paige and spencer are just looking at each other, before they both crack up at the absurdity of her friend’s exit.

“you’re hard to find, y’know,” paige is still smiling as she speaks, taking leela’s empty place beside spencer, her drink resting against the iron railing.

“didn’t know i had a stalker on the loose looking,” spencer says, quizzical. “aren’t you in season? what the hell are you doing in l.a.?” she asks, tilting her head.

“stalker is crazy,” paige laughs. “but yeah. still in the pre–season, technically. the event fit into my schedule, though, so i thought why not?” she shrugs. really, paige knows as soon as the pictures from tonight hit the internet, the tweets are all going to be how she isn’t actually dedicated to the game, which is why such and such is the better player— blah, blah, blah.

spencer nods, like that makes sense to her. “i’m guessing you didn’t track me down just to tell me my music sucks to my face, then?” she teases.

“nahhh. ion wanna get boo’d out of here,” paige quips, unfazed. “what’re you doing out here, anyways? not feeling the party?”

spencer makes a soft sound, gaze drifting out over the balcony, at the cityscape. “yeah, you could put it like that,” she says. “not really my thing lately.”

“well, for what it’s worth, you look great.”

those girls from the bar weren’t exaggerating. spencer is unreal, wearing a body–hugging black satin and velvet mini–dress, chunky gold jewelry, her skin glowy and shimmering in the city lights. paige lets her eyes roam, especially slow over her breasts that are pushed up by the dress— because damn— before she stops, reminding herself that staring is rude.

paige had somewhat gone on a deep dive last week, skimming spencer’s wikipedia page and scrolling through her instagram, but she swears not even the highest quality pictures online do justice to how gorgeous this girl is in person.

spencer raises a perfectly manicured brow. “no ‘ma’ this time?”

paige is a taken slightly aback at the mention of her tweets, but quickly recovers. she leans in, lowering her voice, “you look great, ma.”

spencer seems satisfied with that, if the way her eyes glint is any proof. “thanks. you look…” she pauses, eyes flicking over paige’s face, taking in her sharp cheek bones and blue eyes, the subtle gloss on her lips, the way her top is only partly buttoned, showing a sliver of her chest and the silver chains adorning her neck. “alright.”

paige huffs a quiet laugh. “shit, i’ll take it.”

“okay, fine. you look really good.” spencer smiles back, voice soft.

paige can’t stop smiling, even though her cheeks are starting to hurt. there’s this soft, fuzzy warmth blooming in her chest, stupid and sweet and an entirely too much over an interaction with someone she’s only just met.

“so, your friend,” paige says, feigning nonchalance, leaning against the railing. “y’all close?”

“leela? yeah. we’ve been friends for years.”

paige nods, pretending to focus on her drink, swirling the pink–ish red liquid around the glass. “cool, cool.”

sipping her drink, spencer smirks. “why? you jealous?”

paige breaks out into a grin. “a little. hard not to be when she gets to have you out here all to herself, looking like this.” she’s unabashed in the way she lets her eyes take in spencer’s form this time.

spencer rolls her eyes, and even though she obviously tries to fight it, she can’t help but break into a smile, shaking her head. there’s a pause where paige can tell the girl is pondering something until she finally speaks, “you know… you still owe me chick–fil–a.”

“i do,” paige intones playfully. “you tryna ditch?”

“there’s one a few blocks away,” spencer says all too casually. “we could probably walk.”

paige’s eyebrows shoot up. “wait, you’re serious?”

“mm–hmm,” she hums. “unless you wanna stay and party. i’m heading out either way.”

paige doesn’t have to be told twice.

[ihrtpaige]

i love your fics so much! would you write anything hopkins!paige x reader?

thank u <3 and yeah ofc! i currently don't have any solid ideas for hopkins!p, so if there's something specific you wanna see, send an ask and i'll write it!

[ihrtpaige]

are u going to do a part 2 for view, it’s literally the best fic I’ve read in so long like I’m actually hooked I can’t stop thinking about it

ur too sweet omg 😭🩷 tysm im glad u enjoyed it! and well yes, i considered writing a part 2 which is why i left the ending kind of open.

[ihrtpaige]

VIEW. paige bueckers x surfer!reader

 ☀︎༄.° SYNOPSIS. there's something about the stranger that's been visiting the surf shack you work at all week— you just can't figure out what. maybe it's just how tall and hot she is, her goofy little smile, or the way she says your name. whatever it is, you're determined to figure it out— only after you teach her how to surf.

contains. strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, smut

notes. one, pics aren't meant to indicate reader's ethnicity ofc i just felt it fit the aesthetic. two, it's hardly proofread and i haven't surfed in years so sorry if anything is inaccurate plz ignore and suspend ur disbelief. and finally, i ultimately went w this being reader insert rather than an oc fic, but i do call y/n 'soleil' in my head— just wanted to share that bc i think it's so cute 🤍🌊

playlist. view by shinee / sky walker by miguel ft travis scott / surfin' u.s.a. by the beach boys / teenage dream by katy perry / sunsetz by cigarettes after sex

words. 7.56k

the sun beams down hard, burning through the marine layer and making the old wood of the surf shack look almost golden in it’s light.

you’re leaning on the counter, elbow propped beside your half–drunk, melty smoothie, watching boredly as a drop of condensation runs down the side of the cup. a seagull cries overhead, waves crash in the distance.

it’s the hottest week of the summer, according to the news.

the shack is your dad’s, passed down from your grandfather, and you’ve been working here every summer since you were fifteen. days go by slow. the morning rush— if you could even call three tourists and a guy named skip a rush— has long passed. now, it’s just you, salt air, and a playlist of indie songs playing faintly from your phone in a plastic cup for extra volume.

you don’t notice her at first. the shack’s wooden floor creaks under the weight of a footstep, and you glance up out of habit.

the girl approaches your counter, tall and blonde. she’s wearing an unbuttoned white top over a black sports bra and blue swim trunks, the brim of a baseball cap shading her face, holding a water bottle in one hand and a wad of cash in another.

“hey,” she says, voice easy as she sets a few twenties down on the countertop. “just need a board for a couple hours.”

you blink, suddenly more alert. not because of the request— you rent out boards to half the town— but because something about this girl is… familiar. the voice? or her face? you can’t quite place it. you take in her physique again, as subtly as you can— she’s jacked. you wonder if maybe she’s a pro surfer from somewhere, because geez.

“name?” you ask, already reaching for the rental log. “and soft board or hard top?”

“paige,” the girl says. “soft’s fine. i’m still figuring this break out.”

“first time in sarasota?”

she nods. “way nicer than miami, i heard.”

“you heard right,” you say, just making conversation as you sort out the cash. “where you from?”

“minnesota, but i live in texas.” paige replies.

“minnesota?” you raise your eyebrows, voice lilting. “oh, that’s horrible.”

that earns you a laugh, amusement glinting in her blue eyes— or maybe that’s just the sunlight. “yeah, it’s nothing like this— but hey, that’s home.”

you write down paige without a second thought, then hand her the change. “you’re good. racks are out back. the ones with orange tags are beginner–friendly.”

paige smiles, then glances down at the name stitched into your tank top. “thanks, y/n,”

“be careful not to burn out there, minnesota,” you call out, as paige turns toward the sand.

“i’ll try!” paige tosses over her shoulder, smiling with a glance back at you.

and just like that, she’s gone, walking toward the surf, longboard balanced under one arm. you watch her disappear into the glittering edge of the ocean, brow furrowed.

that name. that face.

you definitely know her from somewhere.

paige is back at about the same time the next day, looking to rent another board.

you don’t know why you’re so surprised. plenty of tourists come by and rent multiple days out of the week. you guess you just weren’t expecting to see her so soon.

she’s wearing the same cap and trunks again today, but no shirt. just a sports bra. pays in cash again, but tells you not to worry about the change this time. makes conversation.

there’s that itch of recognition, too, at the back of your head as you chat. it won’t settle, even as you tell yourself that maybe she just looks like someone you know.

you turn the rental log to her and pass her the pen, letting her sign it this time, and she jots her name down— just paige, again— before thanking you with the flash of a smile, grabbing a board, and heading out to the water.

hm.

by time paige returns, two hours or so later, the sun is overhead and the beach pulses with heat.

the wood of the surf shack has grown warm under your bare feet, and the back of your neck is slick with sweat, the mini standing fan on the counter doing little to help. you’ve peeled off your uniform tank top, leaving you in cut–off denim shorts and an orange triangle bikini top, body glistening with sweat and sunscreen.

you’re perched on your stool behind the counter, lazily sketching flowers and waves onto the corner of the rental log in pen, when a voice comes, “i got something for you,”

you look up, and there paige is again. the hat’s gone now, blonde hair clinging in wet strands to the side of her face, beads of salt water still dripping from her shoulders. she has the board tucked under her arm and a lazy smirk tugging at her mouth.

“longboard survived,” paige says. “can’t say the same for me.”

you grin. “you wiped out?”

“bad. it wasn’t my fault, though— thought i saw a shark, but it was just a stingray.”

“oh my god,” you chortle, shaking your head.

she leans the surfboard gently against the side of the shack and steps forward, arms crossed loosely, the corner of her mouth still curved upward. her gaze flicks briefly to the side of your neck, where your hair is sticking to your skin.

then, down to your chest, lingering just a second too long before dragging back up to your face.

“hot?” paige asks casually. you almost can’t tell if she’s talking about you or the weather.

“practically melting,” you reply, droll, lifting the straw to your smoothie to your mouth as if the mere mention of the heat triggers your thirst. “how’re you holding up, minnesota?”

“not bad,” paige says, leaning up against the counter, arms resting along the edge. “might not’ve used enough sunscreen on my back, though.”

“what is that, anyway?” she asks, pointing at your drink, dry throat evident in her voice. “looks good.”

“this,” you say, tapping the cup for emphasis. “is how you survive seven hours on the beach every day. there’s a shop that sells them just up the road with a plastic flamingo out front. can’t miss it. pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut milk is my go–to.”

paige hums. “pomegranate, pineapple, and coconut? sounds weird. guess i’ll have to try it.”

“you can thank me later,” you smile, smug.

she pushes off the counter, standing upright. “we’ll see about that. have a good one, y/n.”

for some reason, you don’t want her to go yet.

“you, too.”

the morning’s already heating up by the time you clock in for work, but there’s a breeze today— light and salty, lifting a few strands of your hair out of place ever so often. you got to the shack early, opened up before the sun really crested, and on the way in, you plucked a bright pink hibiscus bloom from a bush near the parking lot and tucked it behind your ear, just because. it matches your pale pink bikini top, tied behind your neck in a quick, practiced knot.

you’ve got a bit of pep in your step today, despite the heat. there’s a rhythm to the way you move throughout the shack, humming along to the song playing from your makeshift phone–cup–speaker thing.

you’re restocking wax behind the counter when the thud of something hitting the countertop makes your head turn.

it’s a clear plastic cup, its contents a familiar shade of reddish–purple, already sweating condensation. on the other side of the counter, paige is grinning, her own half–drunk cup in hand.

“pineapple, pomegranate, coconut,” she says, proudly. “the lady at the smoothie place says hi, by the way.”

“you brought me a smoothie?” you say, both surprised and flattered.

“figured it’s only fair, since you put me on,” paige replies, leaning on the counter. “and you looked like you were about to die of heatstroke out here yesterday.”

a smile creeps onto your face. you stop what you’re doing and turn fully to the counter, taking a sip— cold, tangy, sweet. perfect.

“okay,” you say. “you win. that’s actually really sweet of you. thank you.”

paige shrugs. “no problem.”

you hum around your straw, looking up at her— really looking, now. she’s not wearing the cap today, her hair tied into a low–effort bun at the back of her head, and you immediately decide you like this look on her much better. you can see the sharp lines of her cheekbones and jawline more clearly, pink lips fixed in that stupid smirk. skin sun–kissed and eyes so blue, they rival the turquoise waters behind her.

you can’t help it anymore. you have to ask. “are you sure i don’t know you from somewhere?”

paige hesitates— only for a moment, but still, you notice.

“i don’t think so,” she laughs, almost convincing. “i’ve only ever been to miami a few times. this is my first time up the coast.”

you playfully narrow your eyes at her, but you decide to let it go. for now. “mm. you must have one of those faces, then.”

“trust. i’d remember you.” she adds, letting her voice drop lower and, for once, you’re grateful for the heat; you can blame it for the way you flush a shade of deep pink.

“i think you’re just buttering me up for a free board,” you say, setting your smoothie down. “you’re lucky you’re cute, paige from minnesota.”

paige smiles, dopey, and takes a sip from her smoothie. her eyes flick casually from your face to the flower tucked behind your ear. “i like the fit.”

“hm?” you glance up at her.

“the flower, and all the pink,” she says, motioning toward you. “it’s giving… mermaid barbie princess. but the hot, evil kind.” she decides, after her eyes sweep over you.

you snort. “evil? you mean like sirens?”

“yeah, that,” paige smirks. “something tells me you could successfully lure a person into the water.”

you laugh at how forward she is. “in your dreams,” you reply, turning back to the box of surf wax.

paige isn’t in any rush to get out to the water today. she doesn’t ask for a board or hand you any cash. just stands there, drinking her smoothie, making conversation about the music playing from your phone like she has nowhere better to be.

you think you really should remind her to get her board, at least for business purposes, but you look back at her as you work— her eyes trained on you, sun casting her in a dreamy glow— and decide not to say anything just yet.

let her stay a little longer.

the shack closes early on wednesday, as it has every week for the past thirty years.

you’ve spent the past hour sweeping up sand to the best of your ability and straightening the board racks, glancing back at the beach every so often, hoping for a familiar head of blonde hair to appear.

paige doesn’t show.

it’s fine, of course. you just thought maybe she’d stop by, maybe pick up the conversation from yesterday where you’d left off. she’d ended up on an extra stool behind the counter with you, dogging on your music taste and playing the new drake album for you, “so you’d have something to listen to other than that hippie music.”

oh well, you think, as you lock up the shack. tote bag slung on your shoulder and flip flops in hand, you make your way to the wooden stairs the lead from the beach to the parking lot, warm sand sticking to the soles of your feet. you’re only halfway up when you hear someone call out, “hey! y/n!”

you look back to see paige at the bottom of the steps, following after you. “wait up!” she shouts, and you stop in your tracks, feet on different steps.

“i was just about to stop by,” paige says, slightly breathless, leaving three steps between you when she stops. “i didn’t know y’all closed early.”

your stomach does a little somersault, unexpectedly. “yeah. wednesdays are always slow.”

she nods like she’s making mental notes, then gestures over her shoulder, at the beach. “i was planning on renting again.”

you smile. “you and that longboard are becoming a thing.”

“what can i say? i’m loyal.” she grins back. “hey, you surf, right?” she asks, suddenly.

“do i surf?” you blink, then chuckle a little. “yeah, i’m alright.”

“would you be down to surf with me?”

she almost sounds tentative as she asks the question— so un–paigelike that you’re almost taken aback.

you look past her, scanning the beach. it’s not too crowded today, but it’s siesta key in the middle of the summer, so of course there’s still a lot of people. kids running and playing in the sand, a group of teens playing volleyball, couples sprawled out on their towels. the current’s not bad at all, from what you can see— the waves aren’t huge or anything, but you could still catch a pretty good surf.

“yeah, sure,” you reply, shrugging, though a smile plays at your lips.

paige smiles, wide and triumphant. “cool. let’s grab some boards?”

you hesitate. “shit, mine’s at my apartment across town.”

“well, lucky for you, i know the girl that works here.” paige says, starting back toward the shack.

you laugh, falling into step beside her, hyperaware of how close she’s walking next to you as her sandals slap against the steps. you unlock the shack from the back door, switching on the lights, paige following you inside.

you grab one of the better–waxed boards, a tri fin shortboard with a hard top, leaning it against the counter as paige gets the one she’s been renting all week.

without thinking about it, you strip out of your oversized t–shirt and linen shorts, revealing the lavender bikini you were wearing beneath your clothes— the triangle–cut top and cheeky bottoms aren’t ideal for surfing, but your rash guard and surf shorts are also at your apartment, so this will have to do. you reach into your tote that’s lying on the counter, grabbing a bottle of sunscreen, knowing well that it needs to be re–applied every few hours.

you don’t realize that paige has been intently watching you until you struggle to get full coverage of your back, and she steps forward, “here— i got you,” reaching out for the bottle.

you nod, handing her the bottle and turning around, heart thudding as you move your hair over your shoulder.

her hands are firm as she spreads the sunscreen across your shoulder blades, smoothing it along the curve of your upper back, fingers dragging along the base of your neck. you shudder despite the heat as her hands move slow and deliberate down your back, before lingering up at your waist.

“all good,” she clears her throat, letting go finally, but your skin tingles where she touched.

“thanks,” you breathe. “do you need any?”

paige shakes her head. “nah, i’m good. put some on right before i pulled up.”

then, swiftly, she grabs both boards with ease, one under each arm, and flashes you a grin. “let’s go.”

you paddle out together, arms slicing through the water, boards bobbing gently beneath you. paige is strong, powerful shoulders making quick work of the surf, like it’s nothing. still, she’s a beat behind you, watching as you glide ahead.

reading the water is easy, like a cherished book you’ve returned to over and over again. you pop up and catch your first wave with clean, practiced form, and paige lets out an impressed whistle, before she even gets the chance to paddle for one of her own. that familiar sense of fearlessness swells within you, coursing through your veins, exhilarating.

you see the opportunity for an air, so you take it, confident. you crouch low, building speed as you approach the lip of the wave. just as it starts to pitch, you shift your weight and launch off the top, board and body lifting into the air. for a moment, you’re floating— then, you guide the nose back down, landing on the face of the wave and riding it out.

the landing isn’t as perfect and clean as you’d like, but still, you feel fucking cool as the spray of whitewater disperses below you.

you look back mainly to make sure that she hasn’t tombstoned while you were distracted, and paige is watching you, jaw ajar. she makes her way to you, floating just past the break. “show–off,” she accuses, breathless and smiling. “‘alright’, my ass.”

you smirk, shrugging casually. “i’d say that was pretty alright.”

“you just tony hawk’d that shit. stop playing.”

you laugh, pushing a piece of wet hair out of your face. “wanna learn? i can’t teach you how to do that in a day, but i can show you some other pretty cool stuff.”

“uh, fuck yeah?” paige replies, eager.

what ensues for the next forty minutes is you teaching paige how to cutback— which, really, is just you trying to be constructive and not laugh every time she topples off of her board and into the water. but eventually, she gets it, executing the move like a stiff chicken on a longboard, but executing it nonetheless.

she’s very proud of herself, going on about how she wishes she could’ve gotten it on camera as she drifts lazily beside you. you’re both taking a break, sitting upright on your boards, knees brushing beneath the water. there’s a salty breeze, and the sun feels less punishing out here.

she turns to you and asks, “so, how’d you learn?”

“my dad taught me,” you start, motioning back toward the shore. “marty. he owns the shack. his dad— my grandpa, the og marty— opened it in the seventies and my dad took it over before i was born. expanded it through florida, plus myrtle beach and tybee island. i’ve worked at this one every summer since i was fifteen.”

paige smiles like she’s connecting the dots in her head. “ah, marty’s surf & sand. makes sense now.”

“yep. family business.” you nod, legs swaying in the water. “what about you? i’m sure they don’t just provide surfing lessons in minnesota.”

“got into it while i was on vacation in fiji last year. they were doing lessons on the beach and i decided to try it, just ‘cause, but it was cool as hell. i mean, this is nice, but the ocean over there? it’s gorgeous, man.” paige explains, gesturing over the water with her arms stretched wide. her boards bobs unsteadily beneath her and she yelps, grabbing onto it again. you laugh and she shoots you a glare.

“fiji, huh? i’ve never been, but i spent the last couple of years of school studying abroad in trinidad, and then in italy. it was unreal. any time i wasn’t working, i was out in the water.”

paige listens diligently, nodding along. “what’d you study?”

“marine bio at good ole’ umiami. i just graduated back in may.”

“oh, shit? okay, einstein, i see you,” paige says, genuinely impressed, and you giggle, feeling a little shy.

“yeah, totally slumming it out here in florida, einstein–style.” you joke dryly.

“you call this slumming it?” paige says. “you got it good out here. city’s nice, great food, amazing views.”

she has a point. you just get a little insecure about the fact that you didn’t have some shiny lab job lined up directly after college, like most other people in your program. everyone moves at their own pace, you’re aware, and comparison is the thief of joy— it’s just something you get in your own head about sometimes.

when you think about it from paige’s perspective, though, you realize you do have it pretty nice. and you’re having more fun out here, floating on the ocean next to a pretty girl, than you probably would being in a sterile lab all summer long.

“croatia and thailand are nice, too,” paige notes. “i went before i learned, but the surf would be perfect.”

“you travel a lot?” you ask.

paige nods. “for work, mostly.” she slips.

“what do you do?” you question, genuinely curious.

“uh— i work in athletics.”

“like, coaching? or management?” you press.

“yes, coaching. i coach. kids, on a team— high school kids.”

you suppose that makes sense. just looking at her, it’s obvious that she works out a lot, practically all defined muscle and hard lines. your eyes zero in on her abs, tanned, beads of saltwater rolling down them. you lick your lips subconsciously, mouth suddenly dry.

“hey, my eyes are up here,” she teases, having noticed your eyes roaming.

“i know that.” you reply, trying to play it off, failing miserably.

“you sure?” she raises an eyebrow, voice low. tempting you.

you flick a little water at her, and she gasps like you’ve betrayed her gravely. “oh, okay. it’s like that?”

“what’re you gonna do, minnesota?” you taunt, grinning.

she answers swiftly: splashes you with both hands, sending water right into your face.

you shriek, laugh, and retaliate, and then suddenly you’re both in it— one moment splashing and tossing water at each other like little kids, screaming and grinning and soaking each other entirely, and then underwater the next, both your boards tipping with the force of your movements and lack of balance.

water rushes up around you both, sinking down, eyes wide. you open your eyes, salt stinging a little, and the sight of paige has laughter literally bubbling out of you.

you kick up first, breaking the surface with a gasp, laughing and sputtering as you push hair out of your face. paige follows soon after, shaking the water out of her hair, flinging it in your direction.

she’s got a look on her face, and you’re half–expecting her to splash you again, but she swims to you instead. your heart races as one of her arms loops around your waist in the water, pulling you close, legs tangling together as you keep yourselves afloat. your faces are only inches apart now.

her eyes drop to your lips. smirks.

then, she leans in and kisses you, finally. you sigh contently, arms wrapping around her neck, letting yourself just melt into her. she tastes like mint and seasalt, lips soft and moving insistently against yours.

and even though you’re surrounded by miles and miles of cold, perfect blue, something glows inside your chest, warm and pink.

“you know what i just realized?”

“hm?”

“you tricked me into a date today.”

paige quirks an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. “did i?” she asks, feigning innocence.

you nod, licking mango crema sauce from your thumb. “impromptu surf session, tacos, beer. sounds pretty romantic, if you ask me.”

a lazy grin spreads across her face. “so, what i’m hearing is… you had a good time.”

you smile. “maybe.”

and then she kisses you again, cradling your chin in her hand to guide your mouth to hers. you’re seated directly next to each other on a bench table outside the old salty dog, your favorite place for lobster tacos and homestyle tortilla chips. you insisted paige try them when she offered to take you out for food, after you’d toweled off and hung up your boards for the day. your legs are stretched over her lap, the side of your body braced against the tabletop.

you nearly didn’t make it out of the shack earlier— paige had lifted you up onto the countertop, positioning herself between your legs as she licked into your mouth and her hands roamed your body, and if not for the knowledge that your father is the only person allowed access to the security camera system, you just might’ve let her have you right then and there.

this kiss, now, it much calmer. paige’s lips are warm and sure, like she’s been waiting all week to do this and finally can. you feel all woozy when you break away, pupils dilated.

paige hums, “i’mma ask you out properly next time. sound good?”

you nod, still dazed, and she pecks your lips again. fondness unfurls in your chest, tinges your cheeks. it’s insane how much you like her, and you don’t even know her full name.

the two of you continue to talk and finish your food, sipping the last of your beer when it dawns on you that you’ve been out all day, most of which was spent with paige. it’s pretty late now, the sky a deep indigo and the temperature’s dropped significantly. you shiver as a cool breeze blows, shaking the remaining deli paper on your trays.

paige notices, caressing the goosebumps your arm gently. “you ‘bout ready to call it a night? i can take you home.”

you hesitate. the idea of saying goodbye— of this day ending— sits weird in your chest. but it is dark and the restaurant won’t be open for much longer. “okay,” you agree.

you walk hand–in–hand to paige’s rental car, a black jeep suv still parked in the beach parking lot. when you reach it, paige opens the trunk, digging around for something. “here,” she passes you a soft grey hoodie.

“uconn?” you wonder aloud, reading the bold navy–blue lettering plastered on the front of the hoodie, along with the logo of a dog, before pulling it over your head. it’s plush on the inside and smells just like her. you slide your long–dead phone into the front pocket.

“as in university of connecticut,” paige replies, closing the trunk. “graduated from there a year ago.”

“damn. that’s almost worse than minnesota.”

paige chuckles, shaking her head. “girl, get in the car.”

you walk over to the passenger side while paige climbs in behind the wheel. she starts the car after you enter your address into the gps, one hand on the steering wheel and the other settled on your thigh, palm warm. her thumb rubs slow circles into your skin.

the sensation sends you right back to the moment in shack earlier, feeling a familiar pressure appear between your legs.

she’d had to wrench herself off of you after you brought up the unfortunate camera situation, but not before huskily promising to, in her words, “fuck you stupid later.” you were grateful for the extremely cold beach shower water as you rinsed off, maybe a little more than salt and sand, afterwards.

now, in the comfortable silence of this car ride, it’s all you can think about, her voice echoing inside your head. you watch her drive, side profile glowing in the passing streetlights. she gives your thigh a firm squeeze, mouth pulled into that half–smile that tells you she’s thinking the exact same thing you are.

you decide, right then, that— at least for now— you don’t care who she is, as long as she keeps touching you.

you can care later.

it’s a short drive. “this it?” paige asks, pulling into your apartment complex parking lot.

“mm–hm,” you nod, as she pulls into a spot. you hesitate for a second, toying with the hem of her hoodie. then you look at her, expression neutral but voice soft. “you’re coming up, right?”

paige raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “so eager,” she murmurs, reaching over to brush her thumb along your jaw. “can’t even wait ‘til a second date?”

you scoff, turning your face slightly to hide the heat crawling up on your neck, unbuckling your seatbelt. “shut up and come on.”

paige smirks as she kills the engine and follows you out. “after you, baby.”

you’re barely even in the door before paige is on you again, lips catching yours in a feverish kiss.

you allow yourself to be pushed up against the wall in your foyer, moaning into her mouth unabashedly. you slide your palms up under paige’s shirt, feeling her muscles, skin warm against skin. one of hers cup your jaw, angling your mouth so that she can kiss you as deeply as possible, the other running down your side before settling on your ass. when you part her eyes are all dark, blue almost completely swallowed by black. 

“bedroom?” she asks, glancing around your living room and dining area.

“down the hall, on the right,” you answer, breathless. you let out a little squeak as she lifts you into her arms, legs hooking around her waist. she kisses you the whole way to your room, your hand cupping her face.

you bounce a little when she drops you onto the mattress, barely having time to catch your breath before paige is climbing onto the bed, crawling over you. your legs part so that she can crawl between them, forearms framing your head.

she hovers over you, a small smile playing at her lips. “hi,” she whispers.

“hi,” you whisper back.

her hair’s falling into her face, all beachy, and her lips are kiss–swollen. in the moonlight coming from your window, you think she might be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “you’re so pretty,” you blurt.

“thank you,” paige chuckles. “you’re still okay with this?”

you blink up at her, heart still hammering. “yes,” you say. “duh.”

“good,” she mutters before leaning in and kissing you again. 

she sits back on her heels, pulling her shirt and bra over her head and dropping them to the floor carelessly, and you do the same, sitting up to pull off her hoodie, both of you panting. her eyes are trained on your torso as reach up your back to untie your bikini top, letting it slip down your arms before flinging it across the room, and breathes, “fuck,”

she’s back on you in an instant, kissing and sucking at your neck, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you as her teeth graze the skin. then, she’s trailing kisses down over your collarbones, to your chest. her hands come up to knead your breasts just as she sucks one of your sensitive nipples into her mouth.

you moan softly, the heat swirling in the pit of your stomach spurred on by the feeling and sight of her suckling your tits. your hips roll upwards, seeking any kind of contact, arousal pooling between your legs.

paige comes off your nipple with a soft pop. one of her hand moves down to your shorts and you raise your hips, letting her push them down your legs, along with your bikini bottoms. she stares at your face, watching for your reaction as her fingers dip between your folds, collecting your wetness on the tips of her fingers.

she’s satisfied with how desperate the noise you make is and the way your jaw goes slack. “so wet, shit,” she breathes, circling your clit lightly. “all for me?”

“yes,” you breathe, pussy clenching around nothing, practically begging to be filled. “want you so bad, paige.”

“what do you want? tell me, baby, and it’s yours.” she croons, fingers moving frustratingly slow.

“a–anything. please.”

“oh, yeah? gonna let me do anything want?” she smirks. “just take it?”

you bite down on your lip and nod, and she finally sinks her fingers into you, fingers angled just right, moving at the perfect space. you moan in satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut. “so good,” you babble, grabbing onto the arm she has braced on your mattress, nails digging into her bicep. “mmh, yes— right there. oh, my god.”

it’s ridiculous how good at this she is, how quickly she finds that gummy spot inside you, fingers curling slightly. your mind wanders— wondering how often she does this, how many girls does she take out and drive home and then fuck in their beds— but is reeled back in when paige adds her thumb to the mix, rubbing your clit hard, sending sparks through you. you cry out, feeling that pressure between your legs begin to mount.

“you close, baby?” she asks, feeling you tighten around her digits. she grins, lowers her voice. “come on, cum for me. just let go.”

your brain short circuits. “i— i’m cu—”

before you can finish the sentence, you’re cumming. you throw your head back and moan out her name as it washes over you, whole body shaking. paige works you through it, thumb rubbing diligently at your clit.

“fuck,” you pant, coming to your senses. “holy shit.”

paige is staring at your pussy. “made a mess, baby.” she says lowly, and your face burns with embarrassment. you can feel it dripping out of you still.

she moves down your body so that her head is positioned between your legs now, kisses your trembling thighs before licking a stripe up your cunt, cleaning you up. you wince, sensitive. “paige…” her name is broken by the mewl you let out, body instinctively attempting to move away from her mouth. “shit, that hurts.”

she just groans against you and tightens her hold on your thighs, forcing them to stay open, knowingly sending vibrations throughout your core. “tastes so good.” she licks up all your cum before moving up to your clit, sucking it into her mouth.

you cry out, tears springing to your eyes as your back arches above the mattress, hands twisting into your bedsheets. “said i can do whatever i want and you’d take it. i wanna make you cum again,” paige declares, voice gruff. “you tappin’ out?”

you whimper in protest. “n–no, i—” you can’t think. it hurts and it’s deliriating and you can’t take it and you don’t want her to stop. “fuck!”

she sucks at your clit and slides her fingers back into you, thrusting with abandon. it’s not long before the discomfort subsides and your whines turn into moans again, pain melting into molten pleasure. your hips rock onto her fingers, desperate for your release.

“look at that,” she murmurs, slurping loudly. “pussy so fuckin’ good. such a good girl. wanna cum again for me? know you can do it, come on, give it to me.”

you orgasm hits you hard, eyes rolling back as your cunt pulses around paige’s fingers, thighs tremoring. paige eases her fingers out of you and laps it all up, drunk off your taste, babbling about how good you are in between licks. little gasps escape you in the aftermath. when you open your eyes, paige is looking up you, amused and adoring.

“you’re evil,” you chide, voice hoarse, and she kisses your inner thigh, breath hitting your skin as she laughs a little.

“had to get you good, sorry. been waiting too long to do that,” she replies, crawling back over to you.

you snort. “three days?”

“felt more like three years,” she grins stupidly.

you lean over to connect your lips, climbing on top of her so that you’re straddling her waist. you sit upright, paige biting her lip as her eyes follow you, and hook your fingers under the waistband of her shorts, fully intending to show hard that the wait was worth it.

the night is far from over.

you nuzzle into paige under the comforter afterwards, cheek smooshed against her bare chest, your head tucked under her chin.

paige stares up into the darkness at the ceiling, mind swimming. she can’t shake the feeling of a weight pressing down on her— not just due to you being on top of her. it’s her heart, aching with both fondness and guilt.

she wants to tell you— who she is, what she does, why she’s hiding. she looks down, fingers ghosting up and down your spine, mouth poised to finally explain herself.

you’re asleep.

paige exhales a quiet laugh and continues stroking your back. okay, later then. she’ll tell you later.

for now, she allows herself to doze off, giving away to the feeling of your soft skin bare against hers.

you’re still reeling from the night before when you clock in the next morning, the sky streaked orange and blue, waves crashing gently.

it’s a nice, cool morning, but you know it’s just going to heat up later. in the meantime, you’re wearing paige’s hoodie, relishing the way her scent lingers— sandalwood, iris, and cardamom. under it, you have on a cropped rash guard and surf shorts, as you and paige agreed to meet to surf together again right after your shift. you’re going to drive to venice this time, a nearby beach with better, bigger waves.

“so, a bunch of us are headed to new smyrna tonight. waves are supposed to be sick,” skip tells you. “you in?”

“can’t. i already have plans.” you say casually, tone even, though a smile plays at your lips at the mere thought of hanging out with paige again.

skip snorts. “what, got yourself a hot date, or something?” he asks, mostly joking, until he catches the look on your face. “with who?”

“nunya.” you reply.

he shrugs, “your loss, then.”

skip browses around while chatting with you about the most recent developments in pro surfer news, before grabbing a couple containers of wax, a pack of earplugs, and the latest issue of surfer magazine, and placing them in front of you on the counter.

“nice jacket,” skip says, eyes skimming the text on your— well, paige’s— hoodie. “hey, you hear that basketball chick is in town?”

you haven’t heard. you don’t really know anything about basketball, except that the miami heat currently sucks, according to everyone in your town. “which one?”

“paige bueckers. apparently, someone saw her at salty dog last night. i’m trying to get a picture.”

you freeze mid–scan, blinking rapidly as your brain tries to grasp what you’ve just heard. “wait, paige who?”

“you’re kidding. paige bueckers! got uconn their first ring in years? plays for dallas now?” skip digs into the pocket of his shorts, fishing out his phone and typing into a search engine. he turns the screen to you, showing you the google results, and surely enough, it’s paige. your paige, except she’s mid–jumpshot in a basketball jersey. your jaw drops. “usually i don’t even watch the women’s stuff, but she’s tough.”

dallas. basketball. uconn.

it’s all starting to make sense, now— every half–truth, every moment she steered the conversation away from herself. how you recognized her, but just couldn’t figure out where from.

“kinda hot, too, right?” skip asks, clicking on another picture— paige posed on the cover some magazine, mainspreading in a suit. you nearly choke on your own spit.

“um— yeah. she’s alright, for a basketball player.” you reply, trying to play it cool. you can’t get mad at someone for calling the girl you’re into hot, one, they don’t even know you’re into her and, two, she’s been lying to you about who she is for the past week.

“yo, if you see bueckers around, text me. i gotta get that picture.” skip says, taking the bag from your hand after you finish his transaction.

“i’ll try,” you won’t, but still— hospitality. “see you, skip!”

he leaves with a wave, and that’s when you can finally stop and process.

you wonder how many times you’d skipped past her face while flipping through a copy of sports illustrated, trying to get to the surfing section, or caught the last few moments of one of her games while waiting for a surf competition to start on espn. your classmates had made a huge deal about getting tickets to the women’s basketball championship game in tampa just a few months ago, but you’d stayed back on campus in miami— you had no interest in basketball.

you should be mad, but you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

paige doesn’t come by until about two hours later, which gives you enough time to do a full internet deepdive.

a seemingly endless list of both professional and collegiate records and awards. highlight reels and tons of tiktok edits. an army of adoring fans begging her to come back online, wondering where she’s been all week.

it’s ironic, because she walks in just as you’re scrolling down her instagram page. you look up at her, back to the selfie displayed on your phone screen, then back up at her just to confirm that, yes— the girl you just might have fallen for is also a famous and formidable basketball player, and for some reason she kept that from you.

you turn your phone screen off, placing it face–down on the counter, and stand up straighter, trying to seem normal. it’s gotten hot, so you’ve taken off her hoodie, leaving you in your surf garments.

paige approaches the counter, two smoothies in hand, a gummy smile on her face. “hey, beautiful.” she slides your smoothie to you.

“hey,” you eye her suspiciously. “how are you?”

her eyebrows furrow a little. “good? great, actually. i had a really good night,” she smirks, looking you up and down. “how ‘bout you?”

“i’m good,” you reply.

paige falters, sensing that something’s off, just by your tone and the fact that you don’t immediately go for the smoothie. still, she leans against the counter casually. “so, what if i wanted to buy a board off y’all? how would that work?”

“well, you’d fill out the form, pay for it, and then i’d give it to you,” you explain. “just a heads up, the one you like is gonna be around six hundred.”

paige nods, sipping on her smoothie. “no best–head–ever discount?” she asks playfully.

“nope, unfortunately,” you say, opening a drawer and grabbing the the purchase forms. “there’s an atm nearby but we do take card, you know.” you give her the opportunity to choose to explain herself.

paige forces an awkward half–laugh. “ha, yeah,” she brushes the idea off. “i’ll just do cash.”

you huff, grabbing the form. you’re about to give it to her, but then you stop, reaching for the pen yourself.

you write the name down on the form. then, you slide it to her.

paige bueckers.

her jaw drops. she looks up at you with wide, guilty eyes. “how’d you…?”

“a guy came into the shack earlier, saw your hoodie, and asked if i’d heard some hot–shot basketball player was in town. said her name was paige bueckers,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at her. “so, naturally, i looked her up, and— what do you know! she was literally just in my bed.”

“y/n, i can explain—”

“that you’ve just been lying to me all week long?”

“okay, technically, i never lied to you. everything i told you about myself was true. i just left out some… major details.” paige reasons.

you narrow your eyes at her. “you’re not a coach.”

“i coached a team for an overtime event twice,” she says, holding up a finger. “won both times, mind you.”

“you could’ve just told me, paige.” your voice is softer now.

“i know. i know. i swear i was going to, it’s just—” she sighs, coming around the counter. you begrudgingly allow her to take both your hands into hers, intertwining your fingers. “i booked this trip to get away from all that. i was trying to lay low, y’know? just chill and surf. and then i met you— and it was nice, for once, for someone to like me for who i am, not what i do. i guess i just wanted to hold on to that feeling. onto you.”

that is… sweet. you soften immediately at the admission. “i’m sorry. are you mad at me?” she asks, and by the look in her big, blue puppy dog eyes you can tell she’s sincere.

you shake your head. “no. not mad, just extremely confused. and, like, stunned. you are really good at basketball.”

paige laughs a little at that.

“you’re not just gonna run off on me when your trip’s over?” you ask quietly, not meaning to sound as supplicating and vulnerable as you do. you’d really hate it if she was just like any other tourist, gorgeous and golden and here for a week, only to never be seen again, because this, you realize, has gotten real.

“what? no. absolutely not,” paige squeezes your hands. “i do have to be back in dallas in a few days, but i’m not letting you go. you can come to my games, i’ll come visit, we can surf.”

“good. because i really like you, paige.” you sigh, heart swelling.

“i like you, too, y/n. seriously.” paige smiles.

she leans down then, pulls you into a hug, hands pressingly lightly against your back like she’s memorizing the shape of you. your arms wrap around her waist, breathing her in. she pulls back, just enough to look at you.

you kiss her. soft, at first, but then her hand is sliding up to your cheek, and yours fist gently into her shirt. you can feel it— the time, slipping away— but neither of you pay it any mind. the ocean whispers in the background. sunlight filters through the windows.

outside, summer stretches on, and neither of you wants to let go.

[ihrtpaige]

[ihrtpaige]

MINISKIRT. paige bueckers x reader

contains. smut, semi public sex, kinda porn without plot

notes. not proofread, short and kinda bad but it's something for the girls something for the summertime we don't care about the streams, named after miniskirt by aoa

words. 1.33k

two hours.

that’s how long paige has been slumped against the cushion in this fitting room while you try on clothes. the two of you are visiting new york for the week, and she’d taken you to fifth avenue for a little shopping spree, giving you free reign over her credit card. whatever you want, baby, she’d grinned as she handed you her platinum amex. you’re super into fashion and posting your outfits on social media, and nothing makes her happier than seeing you enjoy yourself. she just didn’t think it would take forever.

in retrospect, she should’ve known by the way your eyes lit up when the two of you strolled into this store, after browsing at chanel and zara— like a kid entering a toys–r–us for the first time. dragging you out of here is going to be like pulling teeth.

she’s hungry and bored and she wants to go to the lego store, but every time you swear there’s just one more thing you need to try on, you return with a whole handful of new things, not even looking the slightest bit apologetic.

speaking of the devil.

there you are, arms overflowing again, looking thrilled and not even a little bit sorry as you meet her eyes.

“babe, isn’t this so cute?” you ask, holding up a white blouse. it’s quite plain, but it’d look good on you, especially with your styling expertise.

“it’s aight,” she says, truthfully. “it’d look if you were wearing it.”

“i could totally style it with these trousers and those heels from chanel…” you start your babbling as you approach the rack full of clothes that you’re for sure buying, holding the blouse to the pants you’re talking about and visualizing them as an outfit.

you go on like that, doing your thing, while paige just goes back to boredly staring at her phone, one arm stretched over the back of the cushion and manspreading leisurely. she wonders if this place will let her doordash some wingstop…

every so often, the same female employee comes in to snoop around, taking the garments you for sure aren’t purchasing for re–shop. she laughs when she comes around for a third time and asks if you’re all set, and you and paige answer at the same time: a delighted no from you while paige groans hers.

another forty–five minutes pass. when paige looks up again, it’s to gauge whether or not you finally seem ready to go.

instead, she catches a glimpse of you in this tiny, tiny black dress. it’s strapless, sculpted high along the bust with a sharp, curved neckline that dips into a strange but aesthetically pleasing cut–out, like something out of an art exhibit. the fabric clings to you like it was poured on, molding to every line of your body before stopping dangerously high on your thighs. paige’s mouth goes a little dry. suddenly, she’s not so bored anymore.

“damn,” she comments, sitting upright. your gaze meets hers through the mirror as you pose, and you grin.

“you like?” you ask, turning to face her and pose again. “it’s ysl. i was thinking i could wear it to the nike dinner party thing.”

paige stands, sauntering over toward you. her hands find their designated place on your waist, sliding down to your hips as she admires the dress up close. “there’s no way you’re wearing this around anyone else.” she murmurs, leaning in close.

the words cause heat to stir low in your gut, and you lean back into her touch. “but paige,” you whine, though you’re pleased with the sight of her pressed up behind you in the mirror, her hands on your hips complimenting the dress better than any piece of jewelry ever could. “it’d be so good.”

she doesn’t answer, head dipping down between your shoulder as her lips press to your neck, one of her hands moving up your thigh. “paige,” you gasp as the hand slips between your legs, disappearing into the dress.

“look so good, baby,” paige says into your neck, the pads of her fingers dragging along your panties. she feels the way your body jolts as they graze over your clit through the fabric, whimpering, and hums contently when they find the patch of warm wetness already leaking through. she presses against it, teasing your entrance, and your thighs attempt clamp around her wrist. “fuck.” she whispers.

“someone could walk in,” you protest weakly, core throbbing, thinking back to the employee. it hasn’t been long since she last checked in, but still.

paige is aware. she just can’t bring herself to care— not when you look like this, and you’re hers to take.

“thought you wanted people to see you, though?” paige asks, lifting her head from your neck and looking at you through the mirror, eyes piercingly blue. “thinking you’re gonna wear this shit to a dinner…”

“not like that— oh,” you cut yourself off with a moan as one of paige’s fingers works it’s way past the barrier of your painties and into you. your knees go weak, and paige’s free hand immediately comes to hold you up by your waist before you fall forward. she pushes up against you so that your front is pressed to the mirror, hands bracing themselves on the glass, before she starts thrusting, eye–wateringly slow.

“nah, exactly like that,” she corrects you, working in a second finger. “shit. so fuckin’ tight.” she groans, feeling you clench around her digits, insides warm and slick.

“f–fuck,” you gasp, back arching, pushing back and forcing her fingers impossibly deeper. you moan lewdly at the feeling, letting your head loll back onto paige’s shoulder, chasing it.

“you want ‘em to hear you, too, slut?” paige chides, and you bite down on your lip, attempting to contain your sounds.

she adjusts, flexing her arm so that she can fuck you how you really need it, increasing her speed while also pressing the heel of her palm to your achey, still–clothed clit. the pressure is just what you need, unable to hold back your moans any longer. you keen out her name.

paige tuts, sliding the hand she’s not using to fuck you up over your throat, pushing her fingers into your mouth, effectively shutting you up. it forces you to look forward into the foggy mirror at yourself, sucking on your girlfriend’s fingers, dress bunched at your hips with her hand between your legs, the still–attached tag jerking with the force of of your movements.

“tonight, when we get back the hotel,” paige breathes. the muscles in her arm are straining and her fingers beginning to cramp. still, she doesn’t let up. “i’mma fuck you so hard with my cock, you can be as loud as you want. that what you want?”

you mean to say yes, but it sounds more like mmmgh with paige’s fingers in your mouth. it doesn’t matter, because paige understands you loud and clear, knows exactly what you’re thinking, can tell that you’re close by the way your pussy clenches around her, thighs quiver, moans almost too loud to muffle.

you cum right then, hard, cunt pulsing around paige’s fingers. it gets all over her hands, your panties, the dress.

she removes her hand from your mouth and gives you time to recover, catch your breath, before easing her fingers out of your pussy. brings them to her mouth, sucks them clean.

it takes a good minute for the haze to subside, and when it does you’re immediately grossed out by the wet feeling between your thighs. then, you’re hit with a realization that has you turning to paige with a smug grin.

“you have to buy it now,” you say, voice hoarse. “i’m wearing it to the dinner.”

“that’s fine,” paige shrugs, though there’s that unmistakeable mischievous glint in her eyes. “as long as you wear it like that.”

[ihrtpaige]

DELICATE. teaser!

⠀☆ SYNOPSIS. pop sensation spencer mckenzie's life has long been flipped upside down when she finds herself in a mild internet beef with paige bueckers— but it's not like it's her fault. paige started it when she called her music "overrated" (like, who says that? about the daughter of a fellow uconn legend, no less.); she left spencer with no choice but to clap back. what she doesn’t expect is for paige to respond by tweeting an offer to take her on a date as her public "apology", or to run into her in–person at an event a week later, or to end up falling so damn hard. now spencer has to decide, fast: is she ready to let paige in and be in love again, or will she let the demons of her past take this away, too? after all, the whole world is watching.

warnings. mentions of past cheating, mentions of a past friendship breakup and betrayal

notes. not a prologue or anything like that! just a snippet from the first chapter. i have to proofread one more time and make a few revisions, and then i'll have the whole thing up asap! stay tuned!

taglist. @wosolipa, @syraxsbigfanfr ( tysm for the interest and support ♡ if you'd like to be added just comment or send an ask! )

word count. 553

los angeles, california.

this is utterly pathetic, spencer knows, but she can’t bring herself to care.

she digs her spoon further into her fudge brownie ice cream, scooping up a hefty chunk before shamelessly shoveling it into her mouth. she doesn’t care if any of it drips onto and stains this designer–italian–whatever sofa, either. after surviving what officially has been the worst year of her life— publicly humiliated, cheated on, and, surprise! the other woman is your best friend— she feels she’s earned the right to spend her couple days of downtime wallowing.

she’s halfway through the pint of ben & jerry’s and a few hours into a buffy the vampire slayer binge–watch when her phone buzzes against her leg.

leela 🫶 : sis have u seen this?? leela 🫶 : it’s about you 💀

the notification sound chimes again, followed by a link. spencer narrows her eyes, already prepared to see another brain–dead take on her personal life or completely made up blind item when she clicks on it.

it’s a tiktok, some promo thing the dallas wings did with their players ahead of the season. “this or that: music edition”, the colorful text on the screen reads. whoever’s behind the camera goes up to several of the players, asking them to choose between different artists— drake or kendrick, taylor or beyoncé, that kind of thing. spencer’s brain is already half–way checked out before she hears:

“okay, spencer mckenzie or taissa rey?”

because of course. just messy.

spencer told her self she wouldn’t engage with content comparing her and her former best friend anymore— it’s stupid, self–destructive, and just bad for her brain— but it’s honestly still vindicating to see so many of the players pick her. she actually feels her chest tighten, a little. sometimes, she gets so caught up in negative headlines and the drama of it all, she almost forgets that there are people that still like her. still choose her.

and then the video cuts to her.

paige bueckers.

national champion, uconn golden girl, dallas wings star, ridiculously hot paige bueckers. of course, spencer’s seen her before— years ago at her dad’s camps when she would tag along everywhere he went, at games when she still had the time to drop in and catch them in person, all over her for you page in what has to have been hundreds of unabashedly thirsty edits more recently. and if one or two of said edits happen to be saved in her favorites folder, that’s between her and tiktok hq.

she looks good in this video, too, with her hair pulled back into a low bun and blue eyes catching the lighting in the gym just right, lips already curved in a half–smirk before she hears the question. her toned arms are on full display in her wings practice jersey, biceps inadvertently flexing as her arms cross over her chest.

for some reason, spencer finds herself holding her breath as she awaits the blonde’s answer, hand suspended mid–air, still holding a spoonful of ice cream.

but paige doesn’t even hesitate before going: “taissa, easy.” she nods definitively. “that spencer song is lowkey overrated.”

the video is onto the next topic before spencer can even fully register it.

she stares at her phone screen, blinking dumbly. sits up. rewinds. watches it again.

and again.

“overrated?” she mutters aloud.

[ihrtpaige]

pretty girls

pairing : azzi fudd x reader

warnings : smut.

notes : azzi 😍💞💓🌸💗💗🪷💖🥰💝💘🌼🌺🌺❣️💞💞💞 thats all.

words : 1898

you and azzi collapse onto the couch in the dorm, exhausted. drunk. annoyed.

tonight was a dud, to say the least. you’ve barely had any time to go out and have fun, like you should as college students, because of basketball and junior year being the absolute worst when it comes to your workload. and then, on the one night you do have off, free of practice for the next couple days and all your homework turned in, both the guys you planned on spending it with turned out to be absolute dicks.

yours had seemed nice enough, in the beginning. he’d been the one ask you out after over a week of staring you down in your shared econ class, take you, azzi, and the football player she’s been talking to out to some club in hartford, and then back to his place after a couple hours of dancing and taking shots. but just as he’d gotten you back to his dorm and out of your clothes, he’d said something so boyishly disgusting, it’d taken real reserve for you to not to slap him before pushing him off of you, re–dressing, collecting your things, and getting the hell out of there.

it’d been pure coincidence that azzi texted asking if you could meet with her as you’d stumbled out of werth tower, phone in one hand and your heels in clutched in the other. you’re not sure what happened with her and her football player— it couldn’t have been good, judging by how her makeup was running. you’d felt bad, and held her hand the whole uber ride back to the dorm, the pad of your thumb caressing the back of her hand.

“want a water?” you ask the girl, tiredly. you’re still very much inebriated and standing could result in a pretty embarrassing fall.

she nods, though, and so you decide to risk it, stumbling into the kitchen and at one point using the wall for support. you grab two bottled waters and pad back into the living room, handing one to azzi and sighing as you sit back down next to her, close. you can feel the heat from her body radiating onto you.

“that fucking sucked,” you gripe, recalling the night, earning a weak, drunken laugh from azzi.

“dudes…” she says, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her water, eliciting giggles from yourself. a single word is enough to get her point across; men fucking suck.

“ugh, and i’m still wet,” you murmur to yourself, the alcohol in your system removing any filter you’d have otherwise. you and azzi are close, so this is probably the least provocative thing you’ve said to her tonight; you both laugh at the statement. you shift uncomfortably and tug at the end of your dress. you need to get out of this chiffon and take a long, hot shower.

azzi turns to look at you, one of her curls falling out of place. she still looks so pretty, even though her makeup had gotten messy. her big brown eyes and perfect, clear skin and full lips. how could anyone fumble her and live with themselves?

“what?” she giggles at how long you’ve been looking at her.

“nothin’,” you smile back. “you’re just too pretty to be crying over some guy.”

then, azzi leans in and kisses you. she pulls back to assess your reaction, before kissing you again when you don’t look petrified or disgusted. you let her slip her tongue into your mouth this time, and surprise yourself with the little moan that comes with it, eyes fluttering closed. your back naturally arches to push up against her.

you lose track of how long you make out before azzi’s hand finds it way to your knee, resting there gingerly, “can i…?”

“like, finger me?” you ask dumbly, because fingering is definitely a step above kissing. plenty of girls that are straight and just friends kiss each other, even make out. but you and azzi are crossing into the territory of actually having sex.

seeing as you play basketball, the conversation of sexuality has obviously come up before, often. every other morning, actually, as paige feels the need to recount her sexcapades to you all. you hadn’t really thought about yours until you got to uconn, and then decided to quietly give yourself the title of unlabeled, while still just hooking up with guys because that’s all you knew. you didn’t think azzi…

“it doesn’t have to mean anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she assures you, her tone surprisingly casual, like she’s trying to convince you to try a new drink at the bar or attempt a shot you haven’t tried before at practice, not breach the basis of your close but purely platonic relationship. “we’re just having fun.”

you consider your position— on the couch, in the dorm, basically out in the open. the other girls had gone out, too, to ted’s, of course. but knowing them, with a schedule this clear, they won’t be home any time soon. and wet is an understatement; you’re practically aching down there, you need to be touched so bad. what could it possibly hurt?

“okay,” you say, finally, a smile slowly spreading over your features. azzi pecks your lips once more before sliding her hand further up your leg.

never having done this before, you’re nervous as you part your thighs, just slightly, still confined by the tight dress, but then her hand is there, warm palms caressing your skin and inching closer and closer towards your core. you gasp when her fingers finally graze the thong you’d put on, feeling a rush of wetness between your folds at the small contact.

“is this still okay?” your friend asks, voice barely above a whisper, and you nod, almost embarrassingly quickly. so she keeps going, experimentally rubbing you through your underwear and you keep gasping, bordering on whimpering with every touch.

“here,” azzi climbs off of the couch and positions herself between your knees, encourages you to push yourself forward by grabbing onto your hips and finally pushing up that dress. when she finally gets you out of your thong, carelessly tossing the garment aside, it’s less like she’s actually trying to get you off and more like curious touching, unknowingly sending you closer and closer to the edge as she spreads your lips open, drags her index finger up from your slit to your clit. “you are really wet,” she muses, pulling her hand away, bringing her thumb and index finger together just to pull them apart and watch as a thin string of your arousal connects them. you blush, suddenly embarrassed, thighs twitching. “it’s okay, just relax for me.”

she smiles up at you so sweetly, and you’re trying to, throwing your head back and closing your eyes and trying to even out your breathing, but then she’s bringing her face toward your cunt, flattening her tongue against you and licking upward, sending shockwaves up your spine, and you can’t help but squirm and whine. “open your legs a little wider, y/n… good girl,” she instructs, and your head practically feels like it’s swimming at the words, unbelievably sexy in her voice.

“a–az,” you want desperately to grasp at her hair, but know how long it took for her to style her curls, so you opt to just fist your hands into the sofa and cry out when she sucks your clit into her mouth.

the way azzi’s using her mouth so well and holding your legs open with a firm grip on your thighs makes you wonder if this is her first time with another girl, too. she doesn’t look grossed out by the taste or confused on how to make you feel good. if anything, when she drags her tongue down from your clit to your entrance, licking into you, she seems all too happy to responsible for the long, drawn out moan it elicits from you, and repeats the motion until you’re practically crying. when you feel your heart start to hammer against your chest, you know you’re not going to last much longer.

azzi removes her mouth from your pussy, but quickly replaces it with a pair of fingers, working over your clit at high speed while she presses wet kisses to your thighs. all it takes is a few more flicks of her wrist to make you cum, thighs trembling and toes curling into the carpet. she doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your moans turn into winces, signaling that you’re being overstimulated.

you feel almost delirious as azzi climbs into your lap, arms looping around your neck. it feels almost natural for you to place your hands on her waist, looking up at her like she hung the moon. “was i good?”

“i can’t feel my legs, i think,” you rasp in response, earning laughter from the girl, before she leans down to kiss you, the taste of your own cum potent on her lips and tongue.

as the kiss intensifies, you just go with the flow, letting your hands slip past the hem of the crop top azzi had worn. you push the fabric up until its bunched up at her chest, glad to find she went braless, and, tentatively, take her breasts into your hands, fondling them gently. azzi chuckles at your obvious nervousness and lack of experience, but her laughter quickly melts into soft moans as you take one into your mouth, sucking firmly— you don’t think you’ve ever heard a prettier sound. you don’t think you’re going to be able to just go without ever hearing that sound again.

releasing her nipple, you let your free hand travel down to the button on azzi’s shorts, popping it open, and pulling down the zipper with haste. despite the constricting denim, your hand still fits into the opening, past the hem of her panties. you figure it can’t be much different than getting yourself off with your own fingers, so you just go by what you’d do if you were on your own, rubbing slow circles into azzi’s clit to work her up before quickening the pace.

she buries her face into your neck, moans muffled as her hold on you tightens— you take that, and how wet she is, as a sign that you’re doing it right, and continue until you feel her physically shaking in your arms. “fuck, y/n, i’m gonna—” she cuts herself off with a high–pitched moan, and you continue to rub her clit through her orgasm until she stops grinding down against your hand. you rub her back, also, feeling that you’re actually kind of good at this. that you could get used to it.

the exhaustion from the night seems to hit you both like a brick, all of a sudden, and you both just sort of slump over in that position, limbs tangled and all.

[ihrtpaige]

but i'm a cheerleader

pairing : paige bueckers x cheerleader!reader

warnings : smut. semi–public sex.

notes : this is highkey unrealistic af so don't think too hard abt it! also i got kinda lazy while proofreading and editing, so there may be some errors/might feel a bit clunky at times, sorry in advance 🫠

words : 2148

xl center erupts with screams and applause as the final buzzer rings out— the university of connecticut’s women’s basketball team, for the tenth game in a row, has come out victorious, winning with a whopping forty–seven points over their competitors.

you jump up from where you’ve been sitting cross–legged at the baseline of the court and shake your bright red pom–poms, yelling out one of your cheers. the rest of the girls follow suit after you, their captain, perfectly in sync as the pep band begins to play the uconn husky fight song.

you’re never not tired as hell at the end of a game— the exhaustion from your halftime performance starting to set in and your head dully aching from your tight half–up–half–down hairstyle— but none of that ever deters you. you’re captain for a reason, bringing sharp precision, clean lines, and high energy to every performance, whether its on a court, field, or stage.

but of course, even the best of best have their weaknesses.

yours has actually landed you in trouble before, just once— you missed a whole count because you were distracted by a pair of icy blue eyes watching you intently from uconn’s bench, her intrigued expression being replaced by a smirk once she realized she’d caused your mishap. coach really chewed you out next practice, but you got got the blue–eyed girl’s number after that game, so it was honestly kind of worth it.

your post–game cheer earns its own round of applause from the remaining fans in the stands, and you bow, shaking your poms the whole way back to the baseline, where your coach awaits you. she offers a few nice jobs and back pats, as well as a fair share of critiques, before finally telling you all you’re free to go.

while the rest of your team head for the cheer locker room, you start toward the opposite direction. “y/n?!” one of your teammates calls out after you, confused.

“go on, i’ll meet you guys later!” you reply, before running to meet paige at the other side of the court, by the stands.

there’s still a large crowd of fans waiting to take pictures and have their jerseys signed by your girlfriend, but once she notices you approaching, she yells out, “alright, y’all, that’s it for tonight! thanks for coming!”

her voice softens when she turns to you and smiles, “hey.”

“hey, you,” you say gingerly, hyper–aware of the cameras fixed on paige, and so also you, by extension.

she nods her head in the direction of the arena’s large exit doors, silently instructing you to follow her.

you keep a safe distance while you’re still in the presence of the fans and cameras and the media, but as soon as you’re both in the tunnel, so dark that no one can see you, paige is all over you. her hands fly to your waist if they’re under the control of a magnetic pull as her lips press to yours, gasping into your mouth. you shudder as you melt into the kiss, into her, throwing your arms around her neck. you part your lips, allowing her to lick into your mouth— you want her to eat you alive.

“you were so good out there,” you tell her once you part, voice breathy.

paige grins cockily, already knowing that she played well, and you can see that your red lipstick has transferred onto her mouth, making you laugh. “what? what’s funny?” she questions, confused but chuckling a bit herself.

you shake your head. “nothing, just—” you point at your own lips, which you’re sure have also gotten smudged. “you’ve got something.”

“ah,” she rolls her eyes, genuinely sounding irked, which only makes you laugh harder. “well, you’ve got something—”

she cuts herself off by simply kissing you again, a light peck, taking your hand into hers soon after she separates your bodies.

high on the rush of the win and each other, you two walk hand–in–hand to the women’s locker room— only to be met with aubrey, crouched at her locker as she finishes packing up her things. if not your lipstick literally being smeared all over paige’s lips, then the flush on both of your faces and the way you freeze and suddenly drop each other’s hands, even though both of your teams are aware of your relationship and you have nothing to hide, certainly tells the older girl everything she needs to know.

she simply stuffs a few more of her things into her bag before heading out, lightly punching paige on the shoulder and laughing as she passes by, “see y’all!”

one you hear the door close, you and paige just look at each other before bursting into giggles at the interaction. “she’s never gonna let me live that down.” the blonde groans, wrapping her arms around your waist again.

you just laugh, falling quiet as you find yourself lost in her eyes for the nth time since you first met her. those eyes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. she gets kind of sheepish whenever you look at her for too long, avoiding your gaze and blushing— you’re not sure why, she’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “i love you.” you say, very seriously.

“i love you, too, y/n,” she responds, just as earnest, and leans in to kiss you, only to be stopped.

“wait,” you say, reaching up and finally taking that godforsaken ponytail down, feeling all the tension in your head release as soon as you do. you drop the hair tie and bow to the ground, haphazardly brushing your hair out of your face with your fingers as it falls out of the style.

“god, you’re so fucking pretty,” the blonde marvels aloud, before finally kissing you again.

your lips move together languidly as her hands move down until they’re cupping your ass, kneading the soft flesh in her palms. “paige,” you whine into her mouth, allowing your head to roll back as her lips trail wet, open–mouthed kisses from your jawline all the way down your exposed collarbones.

“yeah, baby?” she replies and then sucks harshly at a particularly sensitive spot, making you whimper.

“want you,”

“here?” she pulls back slightly to scan the locker room— everyone else’s belongings are gone, it’s just her bag and shoes left in front of her storage space. still, someone may have forgotten something and could easily walk in on you while trying to find it. “someone could see—”

you don’t care. you pull paige back in, connecting your lips again, pushing your tongue into her mouth and kissing her with the kind of fervor that makes it impossible for her to deny you. she guides you backwards until your back is pressed to the one navy blue wall that isn’t lined with lockers, her hands feeling you all over.

her fingertips find their way to the hem of your tiny skirt, pulling up until the fabric is bunched up high on your hips, revealing the even smaller red safety shorts you’re required to wear under your uniform. she steps back briefly to give you some space so you can push them and your panties down your legs, kicking them aside, before she slots her thigh between your legs. already knowing exactly what to do from experience, you grind down against her thigh, and it feels so good when you clit drags against her bare skin, you whimper and repeat the motion again and again.

paige uses one hand to hold you steady with a strong grip on your waist, while the other works at pushing up the top piece to your uniform and bra, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the locker room. she immediately leans down to suck and lick at one of your firm nipples while rolling over the other with her free thumb. the sounds are obscene— your moans, paige’s slurping, and the squelch of your wet pussy rubbing against her thigh all coming together to fill the room.

“fuck, p,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut. “so good.”

paige releases your nipple from her mouth with low groan, briefly licks at the other, before standing upright. she leans in, dangerously close and she whispers into your ear, “i can feel it, y’know. you really want my fingers that bad?”

you blush, flustered by her referring to the way your pussy keeps clenching against her thigh, showing how needy you are, but still nod. “need it, paige, please,” you whimper, hoping she’ll give in quicker if you beg for it.

you’re proven correct, because your girlfriend plants a quick kiss on your cheek, murmuring, “anything for my girl,” before removing her thigh from between your legs, dropping down to her knees and crouching in front of you. ever the tease, she starts by kissing at your thighs, whispering sweet nothings into your skin— beautiful, so pretty, good girl, all mine.

and then two of of her long, slender fingers are prodding at your entrance, easing in nice and slowly. your pussy clenches around the digits, welcoming her inside like an old friend, your walls slick and velvety.

you allow your head to tip back against the wall, eyes closing again, “oh my god.” paige knows your body so well, knows just how to angle her fingers and jab at that sweet spot inside you, the one that makes you cry every time. she adds her mouth to the mix, kitten–licking at your clit before sucking it into her mouth, sending shivers up your spine.

“i’m close,” you cry out, and paige hums against you encouragingly, sending vibrations all throughout your core.

what really has you tipping over the edge is the look in her eyes when you finally will yours open, staring up at you with such adoration as she gets you off. you always said those eyes would be the death of you; your kryptonite. you nearly fold over as your orgasm hits you, legs shaking as the pleasure ebbs throughout your whole body, sobbing out your girlfriend’s name.

“you good?” paige chuckles, amused by your struggling. her lips, covered in your cum and arousal, plus your lipstick from earlier, are glistening in the fluorescent lighting of the locker room— the sight is so hot, you almost feel ready to orgasm again. almost.

“y–yeah, i just—” you swallow thickly, heaving. “need a minute.”

paige’s hands grip your hips, holding you steady until she feels you’re able to stand on your own. only when she’s certain you won’t topple over does she let go of you, sweetly kissing you on your forehead when she stands up. “i’ll be right back, wait here,” she tells you, disappearing momentarily.

“dude! i look fucking insane!” you hear her yell out, making you laugh weakly. you figure she’s found a mirror.

she returns with a wet hand towel, having washed off her mouth, hands, and thigh. she’s gentle as she cleans you up, knowing you’re still sensitive. then, she grabs your panties and shorts from off the carpeted floor, bending over and holding them at your ankles to help you re–dress.

“wait, but i wanted to do you, too,” you whine, a genuine pout setting in on your face as you step back into the panties.

paige shakes her head. “when we get home,” she offers. “i don’t wanna… defile this place any more than we already have.”

you laugh, again, at her choice of words. paige helps you get back into your shorts, as well, and you pull your skirt, bra, and top back down to their regular positions, smoothing over your uniform with the palms of your hands, trying to look at least a little bit presentable for when you walk out of here. paige wanders off toward her locker, changing out of her uniform.

finally feeling stable enough to walk, you find your hair tie and bow on the ground, rolling the former onto your wrist. “wait, c’mere,” you wave paige over, just as she’s pulling a fresh t–shirt over her head.

“hm?” she hums as she approaches, but you just motion for her to lean down a bit. she complies, and you place your bright red bow in her hair, right at the top of her ponytail.

“awww,” you gush at the sight. paige just looks at you, trying her best to appear unimpressed, but you can see the smile playing at her lips. “so pretty! cheer captain!”

she spends all of thirty seconds pretending like she’s not enjoying this, before breaking out into a dance, very poorly imitating your cheer routine from earlier. you encourage her, nonetheless, clapping and cheering, “go paige! go paige!”

she finishes with a ridiculously complex move that you’re pretty sure belongs to some tiktok dance learned recently with kk, grinning, “how was that?”

“10/10, hands down!”

[ihrtpaige]

DELICATE. paige bueckers x popstar!oc

⠀ ☆ ⠀SYNOPSIS. pop sensation spencer mckenzie's life has long been flipped upside down when she finds herself in a mild internet beef with paige bueckers— but it's not like it's her fault. paige started it when she called her music "overrated" (like, who says that? about the daughter of a fellow uconn legend, no less.); she left spencer with no choice but to clap back. what she doesn’t expect is for paige to respond by tweeting an offer to take her on a date as her public "apology", or to run into her in–person at an event a week later, or to end up falling so damn hard. now spencer has to decide, fast: is she ready to let paige in and be in love again, or will she let the demons of her past take this away, too? after all, the whole world is watching.

author's note. ta–da! this idea popped into my head like a year ago and has been pinging around in there since, so i finally decided to lock in and write it. i really hope y'all enjoy! i'll probably share a little snippet, too. side note, the pictures i used for the moodboard aren't necessarily supposed to be indicative of spencer's appearance, they just fit the color scheme best.

contains. sexual content, wnba paige, mentions of past cheating, mentions past betrayal and friendship breakups, romantic dramedy, i can't even call it enemies to lovers fr bc they're only "enemies" for like 5 seconds, situationship to lovers, fluff, angst, the whole shebang

playlist. delicate by taylor swift ⭑ sympathy is a knife by charli xcx ft ariana grande ⭑ it's ok i'm ok by tate mcrae ⭑ busy woman by sabrina carpenter ⭑ hold tight by justin bieber ⭑ off the table by ariana grande ft the weeknd ⭑ find your love by drake ⭑ luther by kendrick lamar ft. sza ⭑ labyrinth by taylor swift ⭑ i feel it coming by the weeknd ⭑ daylight by taylor swift ⭑ end game by taylor swift ⭑ party 4 u by charli xcx ⭑ sweet nothing by taylor swift ⭑ radio by lana del rey

chapters.

zero. teaser!

one.

two.

three.

& more.

[ihrtpaige]

ihrtpaige !⠀ naisha.⠀ 19.⠀ blindian.

⠀ bisexual.⠀ uconn & sparks fc.⠀ armyonceswiftie.

#note : delicate still coming i swear like fr.

ficlist.

but i'm a cheerleader ( smut, paige bueckers x reader )

pretty girls ( smut, azzi fudd x reader )

delicate ( series, paige bueckers x popstar!oc )

miniskirt ( smut, paige bueckers x reader )

view ( slowburn, paige bueckers x surfer!reader )

rules.

dni if you don't like rpf, you don't like paige or azzi, you're racist or weird to black players, or you're a terf

i'll take requests! just keep in mind the players i like the most are paige and azzi, and i don't write anything taboo ( noncon, incest or stepcest, piss, m!reader )

i can't control what y'all do on the internet, but if you're below 18 pls dni w me personally ( no priv msg )

[ihrtpaige]

Cameron Brink, Rickea Jackson & Rae Burrell | LA Sparks vs Chicago Sky (2025)

[ihrtpaige]

(happy valentines day!)