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vicsstufff · 7 days ago

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: •̩̩͙ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 ⋆｡° •̩̩͙ ໋:🦁

chap4 : beginners luck

chap3 here!

chap2 here!

chap1 here!

frat!old money!paige bueckers x reader AU

˳ ⋅ ⊹ wc: 5k

˚ ⋅ ⊹ cw: swearing, implied sex, angst,golden retriever x black cat dynamic, kissingggg, me not knowing how golf actually works sorry ( lmk if i miss something. )

˚ ⋅ ⊹(a/n): pazzi confirmed = goated , also i suck at updating dude 😭😭see ya in 2 months😎💀

IT had been too long since Paige had heard from you. The surface level hello and how you’ve been had been only nursing her newfound need for your attention these couple weeks. A breaking point was hit. You went from a passing thought to every single one.

Paige was experienced in dating, in sex, maybe even love, if you could call something so transactional that. She’d dated models with drug addictions, fellow trust fund babies who were self-proclaimed influencers and people who mirrored her lifestyle in the worst way. But never someone like…you.

You were unimpressed by her show. You didn’t, and couldn’t, wait by the phone for her. You had no questions about how she procured such expensive clothes, and if you could get some. Zero interest in vacationing to her dads summer home on the beaches of Florida. Her flash didn’t impress you. Which made her want to up the ante, cautiously, as to not scare you away.

She’d find herself thumbing the racks of high quality fabrics, imagining you wrapped in them, wondering if you’d wear them at all. Paige smirked thinking about the little defiant fight you’d put up, secretly enjoying it.

Kassie would tap her for the 6th time to ask which overpriced jacket looked better in which color. Paige picked the one she liked the least.

At brunch with her mother and father, who scarcely sat down together, she felt like a child again. Sitting quietly, stabbing her fork into food to the background noise of bickering in such a condescending and polite tone, you wouldn’t be able to tell they’re insulting each other.

Usually, when her dad peers into her soul from across the table, Paige’s spine instinctively shoots up, even if she has something snarky to utter. Now, his cold stare is reading her, and she’s somewhere mentally far, wondering if she heard her phone buzz, or was it her imagination, again.

Another long day of Blueblood obligations, and you still haven’t replied to her asking how you slept, hours ago. Shoulder sliding against the barren eggshell walls of the hallway leading to her bedroom. That daunting ringtone is back. Dad.

Father

My office.

That meant stop everything, and go. Since Paige was little her dads office brought on the similar feeling of being sent to the principals. Either to be chewed out, demanded to do something, performance criticized. Throwing her head back, annoyed at the interruption of a plan to lay on her unmade bed, and think of you naked, her fingers wandering between her thighs, again.

Her feet feel heavy until she meets two thick, wood doors. She doesn’t knock, he knows who it is. It makes her feel less like an employee going to meet their boss.

Bob is wearing glasses at the edge of his nose, typing away at the keyboard, thin lipped. It’s quiet, besides the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. It used to be scary, when she was shorter than it. Even now she shifted, uneasy at the continuous sound.

“What?” Paige’s hands are jammed in her plaid pajama bottom pockets, eyes fixated on the slippers on her feet. Bob lets out a huff of irritation. Then rubs his brows to even his tone before speaking.

“I’m not sure what’s wrong with your appearances and moods, lately. You’re destroying a image we’ve worked very, very hard for..” His typing slows, and eyes cutting at her like a real knife. Paige’s gaze is down at her toes again. “Ever since she was at my dinner table..anything to do with that?”

Paige’s head lols to the side, a frustrated scarlet spreading on her face. Curling lips closed to prevent herself from shooting something back. She learned long ago there was no point in explaining feelings to Bob. He was logical. You did this because that, and everything had its reason. It was safer to just let him say what he hypothesized as true, and let it be that. Anything else would be an argument about how you don’t even understand yourself.

“I see…she just must be special, that’s all..” A sly grin pulls in the corner of his lips. “to distract from a legacy worth millions..” Paige lowly scoffs then shrugs off a more offensive rebuttal.

“We’ve been busy doing our own thing.”

There’s a long stare shared between them that feels like a contest of who will rip away first. Paige accepts it’s her, staring into the clock and it’s taunting clicking.

“I don’t think you’ve been busy with much at all…” He bites, returning his attention back to his Mac monitor. Her eyes might fall out from how hard they roll. Bob was right. She’d been spacing out at meetings she was supposed to shadow. Eerily quiet, compared to her lighthearted self during networking dinners with expensive bills. It was impossible to pull back or be vulnerable without people getting suspicious. She forgot that with you.

“If this…colleague…of yours, is as enticing as you think, invite her along to the club this Saturday.” Bob is unreadable again to Paige. This was another test, it had to be. “I want you to accompany me to golf with Mr. Lattimer, you remember him? From the fund dinner.”

Paige doesn’t remember all the posh last names. They all blended together. Mr. This, Mr. That. She only remembered their faces, and how much gray was in their hair.

Nodding anyways, with a smile melting into her expression, that she tries to fight. You were in. Well, not completely, but this was a foot in the door. Paige was now determined to get you to nail this. She had full faith in you. If you successfully kissed up to Bob, you’d be back in school the next semester.

“Yes sir.” A grin in her voice that Bob raises a brow at, still not glancing back at her. “I think you’ll find (Y/N) very fitting.”

PAIGE could’ve shot you a text invite, yet, showing up to your job was much more intimate. She watched you bustle about, clearing tables, sitting in the far corner during a slow period, you almost didn’t see her, for a few minutes. Like a switch, your stern work-face goes gentle at the sight of her. This makes her perk up, shuffling in her seat watching your hips sway towards her. It baffled her how you could make an outfit so plain, cheaper than the underwear in her drawer, look… Well, she couldn’t stop imagining it off you.

“Stalking me at my job, again, princess?” Paige blushes at the established nickname, bottom lip under her teeth already, shaking her head softly.

“I’m a paying customer,” Throwing a folded blue strip bill onto the table top. Your hands drop off your hips, unable to stop looking at the woman affectionately. Your face questions her. “A tip for a minute of your time? It’s important.” To her, she should’ve added, but you were reeled in nonetheless, looking adorably curious.

You look around before sitting in the black leather booth across from Paige, leaving the hundred between you. Paige swiftly gets up and throws herself next to you, now, locking you in with her. You’re both giggling before she talks.

“Why can’t you ever respond to me?” She whines, in a playful tone.

“We just talked this morning! And you burnt the rest of my pancake mix a week and a half ago, remember? That was my last day off.” you groan slightly, but pull her into a hug anyways, thinking about the grueling schedule you’d been on. They were slightly understaffed at the restaurant now. People were getting fired. Sitting down (or “stealing time” as your boss had called it) like this was a risk to be next.

Of course, you missed her too, but, you figured, Paige had way more time on her hands to think about it. Especially when she didn’t want to be paying attention anyways. She didn’t want to know what liquidating sales meant. Paige wanted to know if you could get work off and go on a holiday with her.

She pulls back, with a suspiciously happy expression, suddenly giddy, moving on seamlessly.

“Well, let me make it up. You’re calling in Saturday, and playing golf with me.”

“I haven’t gotten my schedule y-“

“Perfect,” Paige interrupts. “I can call Jimmy myself, make sure you have it off.” Your eyes widened at the sound of your bosses name. Jim was also an old, pain in the ass, with a habit of flirting with you. You’re about to ask how Paige knows this too, but don’t. Bob frequented the restaurant, before you worked there.

Amongst the wall, when you first walked in was a blown up picture of important men in suits. You’d recognized, upon further examination, Bob was nestled with them. Apparently even owned the place, in some percentage. At least that’s what the caption underneath the frame read.

“Okay, okay, I’ll ask!” You slow her, flustered. Whenever Paige was excited, things had to happen right then, her way. It was apart of her charm, that she’d been trying to figure out why you weren’t orbiting.

The truth was, the pressure of being with someone so important was weighing on you. Were you even good enough for this opportunity? You didn’t own the proper attire, you didn’t know the cues just yet.

“It’ll be fun, I promise. Just me, you, my dad. And Mr. Lattimer.”

“Who’s that?” The mention of Bob coming had your shoulders tense already.

“Some suit my dad plays golf with to uphold deals.” Paige shrugs like it’s everyday because it probably is. “He brings me along to shadow, and comedic relief..I don’t think my dad knows what a joke is anymore.” You both laugh brushing shoulders. Suddenly, you’re soft, and going into a situation you have no control over, blindly again. All to spend time with her.

“I’m nervous, what if I mess it up?”

“How could you? Everyone loves you.”

Your eyes widen playfully, smile not leaving your face.

“Definitely not everyone.”

“There’s nothing to mess up, sweetheart. Just be cute and sarcastic like always,” Paige ignores your comment, squeezing your face with her hand, pouting. You let her, unamused. “I told you, they’re playing golf for business. I’ve got you.” You nod, then look around, again for your manager sneaking about.

“Okay, I’ve got to get back to work..” You sigh, Paige hiding disappointment under a sympathetic look, lets you out the booth. A quick peck is shared, then you both stare, going in for another, longer, kiss.

“I’ll text you.” She says in an almost pleading tone.

“Take your money, Bueckers.” You call back, walking away to clear another area. The blonde stares at it, determining wether to leave it or not, then decides to let you win. She’ll have gifts you can’t refuse later.

Your whole closet is thrown across the floor, come Saturday morning, with you digging inside. It was only 45 minutes until Paige would be standing in your doorframe, ready to show you off. This was significant for her, so it was for you too, you guessed. And, secretly, there was a sort of rush that came with it, that you struggled to deny.

Something entirely new. No member knew your past, or where you’d came from. They’d treat you like one of them, whatever that meant. You’d be in the most prestigious country club of the city, with well known figures, they wouldn’t doubt you had the money. As long as your outfit was right.

After the third attempt, you sit naked in a pile of shirts. Paige texted she was on her way, which meant she actually was almost there. Self consciously, you slip into a plain black jacket and leggings. The shoes with the least wear to them. It would be a painful contrast to all the deep cool colors, pastels, and whites of the people around you. You attempted to gaslight yourself that it would make an impression. But, you can’t say it’ll be a good one.

You hear Paige’s car from outside, quietly rumbling into silence. Paige wouldn’t say that you’re sticking out, she acts, or is, oblivious to it, liking you too much. As for teasing you, and being protective of every interaction you find yourself in, that went unsaid. It would be similar to the kitchen incident, at this rate.

It doesn’t take long to hear a knock. You don’t bother shoving your clothing back into the small space, the door wouldn’t be able to shut. Plus, it would show that despite the probably underwhelming result, you did try. Your makeup was to a minimal and hair tied out of your face.

Suddenly, you were irritated with your own criticism as you turned the knob. What was wrong with you? Who the hell did you think this girl was? Why did she hold so much…power over how you saw yourself now.

There she is, you think, in all her preppy glory. A white short sleeved polo, and navy blue shorts to match the tiny logo. Sunglasses tucked in the neck of her shirt. Strands of blonde, curled, framing her face, the rest pulled back. Her shoes so white, you had anxiety thinking of them on the grass. It slaps you, for even asking those stupid questions. This is what you could have, if you just behave. Do it for her. Then melt in private like you always do.

Paige’s warm smile is wider than usual, today, eyes tenderly staring you down, not even taking in the distressed background. You get a feeling of finally making someone proud.

You invite her in briefly, her leaning in for a small touch of the lips, shared as a greeting. Her arms, unmoving, from behind her back, go unnoticed, while you search for your purse, among the mess. Paige lets you scavenge through your bed, into a pile of shorts, for a few minutes, entertained. She then loudly clears her throat, politely demanding attention. You turn around, half annoyed, fearful of being late.

Paige holds out a matte black Tory Sport bag, handles twisted neatly, setting it on your bed with a soft bounce. You’re curious, cautiously lifting the contents out to examine, with her. A pleated navy skort, sleeveless white top, and a pair of spotless tennis shoes that probably cost more than your rent. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, wide eyes looking from the outfit, to a Paige slightly bouncing up and down, with a grin giggles escape through.

“I don’t know what to say..” You sputter a laugh, she comes with a hug from behind and you let her grab you up. The fabric is a buttery softness, you can’t stop gliding your fingers over. You almost forget you’ll have to change until Paige whispers into your neck.

“Don’t say anything then,” A tender kiss that’s muffled by your hair. “Model it for me.”

You blush, undressing in front of her because she’d seen it all anyways, of course her stare doesn’t falter once you’re down to your underwear. She’s drawing it over you, while you slip on the clothes, down to the fresh white socks rolled into the shoes. It was so thoughtful, you feel a burning in your throat and face, as if you’ll sob.

You swallow it, turning to her, uneasy, and posing playfully. For once, Paige has nothing to say, a breath just comes from her like someone seeing something for the first time.

“You look hot. Like, really hot.” She moves toward you carefully, like you’re a masterpiece hanging from an exhibit wall, not allowed to be touched.

“It fits amazing, I…” hands sliding down your hips, smoothing the fabric, gazing at yourself in the full body mirror by the bed. It’s someone you almost don’t recognize.

All you’re missing is pearls and a fresh manicure. A strange stroke of fear hits you, because it’s something you might even like. You don’t look away as Paige wraps around your waist again, almost unable to help it. It had been a long time since your ego was successfully stroked. You felt like someone. “You really did snoop through my place huh?” You share a laugh in the mirror.

When you arrive, Paige pulls into a personal parking spot, right next to Bob’s expensive Mercedes S Class. It’s so early, the sun has yet to warm up the green field. A golf cart with two middle aged men standing nearby in similar fashion, holding unlit cigars, sipping from their drinks greets you both. You’d offered to help Paige with her clubs, and she’d insist you were quote “too cute to be carrying things”.

Two boys, no older than 19, hold Bob and Lattimers clubs, and a cooler for beer. You wonder why Paige held her own, then you slightly respect her more for it, watching the men relax and talk, while the caddies sigh and move the weight in their feet.

“Ah, Paige! Remember me?” The sun-glassed man with salt and peppered hair, next to Bob beams. You’re not acknowledged by him yet, only by Bob, who you exchange a tiny nod with. He seems shocked at your apparel, almost as much as yourself.

“We were just speaking of you.” Bob says, shades making him even more expressionless. You’re taking in as much of the country club walls as you can, Everyone’s far away from the field, your group is some of the only people. Even at a distance, their tan skin and whitened teeth gleam with the whites of their clothes. Paige pulls you in to her side, you let her, allowing it to ground you back into the conversation.

“How could I forget?” Paige grins at Lattimer, with a look for approval from her dad. Knowing Paige she probably did forget. But no one could tell behind that smile. “Mr. Lattimer, this is my colleague (Y/N), she’s here to school us.” The tall girl bumps a hip into yours, You shoot her a look, heat flushing your face. Both men bellow a laugh, maybe too hard, but you’d rather them laugh it off, than take offense.

“Have you played before, (Y/N)?” Lattimer asks, sitting into the passenger of the golf cart, cigar bobbing between his lips.

“No, but I’m open to trying.” You manage to say, with a friendly expression as your stomach is twisting into knots uncontrollably. Paige’s thumb rubs your shoulder, calming you.

“Paige’ll show you everything she knows, she’s been golfing with me since she could hold the handle.” Bob smirks, for the first time everyone chuckles, out of actual humor, not obligation, tinted with fear, for him. You notice the half drunken beer sweating in Bob’s glove.

“Cmon, let’s get this show on the road, these clubs are killing my shoulder” She groans, shifting. You feel really bad for not helping her now, even though she refused. Lattimer tilts his gloved hand gripping the unlit cigar at her with a deep, 6-figure, laugh. Bob moves into the drivers side and you, next to Paige in the back, her equipment between her legs. One arm she uses to hold them steady, the other has her hand buried with yours.

The caddie boys jog along side as you move to the first hole. You watch them, face scrunched with almost disgust. This was normal and apparently a rule, Paige mumbles to you.

“You’ll throw your back out if you keep trudging those things, tell her, Bueckers.” Lattimer jokes, and slightly scolds. Bob just shakes his head with disapproval, eyes forward. “A caddie would do you some good!”

“Totally!” Paige shouts back at him, then whispers close to your ear, with a lean. “maybe then I’ll finally stop being invited to this stupid sh-“ You hush Paige, playfully, and you both exchange sly, knowing, looks.

You save yourself for last. Paige’s shot is quick, and takes a chunk of dirt with it, her ball gone. She shrugs it off with a smile and a self deprecating joke as she walks back to her place next to you.

Lattimer makes a criticism at her hit with a wag of his finger before he does something that’s closer to professional. He whistles, as does Bob, watching it land.

“Let’s see you beat that, Bueckers.” He taunts, cigar now back in his mouth. One of the caddies rushes up to light it with a box of matches. You find yourself studying the form Bob takes as he lines up. His usually stone expression is lifted in the corner, like he knows something you don’t.

Paige slides a hand around your waist, pulling you closer. “Watch this,” she murmurs, low enough just for you.

You’ve never watched golf, but Paige lets out a hoot after the club connects with the ball with a satisfying smack. It cuts clean through the air. The rolls directly into the hole, near the flag. Lattimer whistles again, this time longer. Bob turns around, the caddy boy returning his drink back to him, an expression spread across his face that makes you smirk. ‘Still got it’, it screamed.

Finally, it’s your turn. You step up to the familiar spot, and Paige rushes next to you to adjust your form. You use her club. It’s really an excuse to get her hips close to you, it seems, as she doesn’t do any actual fixing.

“Deep breath, you got it. No stress.” She whispered small, and close to your ear, so it makes the rest of the world slow. You exhale like she says, it surprisingly helps, your shoulders roll, slipping off tension. Paige turns to walk back, the two men with looks under their tuition-priced sunglasses perched like question marks, meet her. She blushes, not realizing how close she had been to you, to anyone else watching, then everyone is looking at you again.

You’re oblivious to Paige’s slight embarrassment behind your back, but the eyes burn holes into you. You hold your breath as you draw back, mimicking Bob’s form the best you can. Then, you swing.

The club connects.

A clean smack.

The ball lifts. Sharp, smooth, fast. It cuts through air, sails tens of feet, then rolls to a stop, right next to the flag.

Right next to Bob’s. Paige breaks the silence first.

“Fuck… that was awesome!” she squeals, bouncing slightly. You’re still frozen, slumped in awe. You stare. You actually did that?

Finally, you turn around.

You look at the faces of the men; Lattimer in disbelief, mouth slightly open before he closes it and clears his throat. Bob isn’t giving anything away, until he bursts out in full hearty laughter. You feel yourself joining him in Paige, unsure of what exactly was funny. But you’d amused him, that wasn’t something easy to do.

“Beginners luck?” You shrug jokingly. The group laughs again.

You finish up the game, somehow second to Bob. Paige, last, which obviously frustrates Bob because she’s been unserious the whole time. Lattimer and Mr. Bueckers are making comments about your figure and shot the whole ride back. All you can do is push it off with a humble response or two, not sure how you did well anyway, but beginning to appreciate and feel almost welcomed into this culture.

“I told you she’d school us.” A slightly tipsy Paige almost shouts, as she tosses her clubs into the back of the car. She’d been boasting as if you’d won this for her, personally, downing a cold corona. She even holds you to her, maybe a little too close, as you walk back from the carts. Bob is still bubbly as he’s capable of and doesn’t notice, as he cracks a few more small jokes with Lattimer, before opening his trunk for his own clubs, beginning to set another meeting. Paige is gestured over to Bobs’ car by Lattimer, you try to stay behind but your wrist is latched onto, and you’re dragging behind her long legs again.

“Paige! I was just telling Bobby,” Lattimer slurs a bit, clearly drunk, “we’d be delighted to have you upstate at the private vineyard. Invite-only. Black tie.”

Bob raises an eyebrow at Bobby but doesn’t correct him. He slams the trunk shut with one hand, expression unreadable.

“So no polos, Paige,” he says dryly.

She sticks her tongue out at his back, and you elbow her, grinning in spite of yourself.

“Yes, no polos,” Lattimer laughs, baring an expensive, veneered smile. “Lots of investors, hedge guys, real estate devils, but we’re mostly there to drink and make nice. Bring your friend along,” he gestures toward you, “she knows how to draw a room.”

He winks with one cloudy gray eye. You blush, instinctively tucking yourself closer behind Paige. She lets you cling to her arm, almost possessively.

“We’ll be there.” Paige’s voice is sure and firm. Without a sarcastic undertone, for once. She looks down at you, practically beaming but there’s steel under the smile.

You can’t tell if she’s proud, excited, or ready to prove something. Maybe all three. Whatever it had been, she doesn’t realize you’ve zoned out, thinking of an even more high pressure moment you’d have to attend on her arm.

Black tie? You’d have to google what that even meant. Paige would probably end up buying you something herself again, another debt you owe to her. This is exactly what you didn’t want, her sugar-babying you. She hugs you by your waist, more than happy to have you there. Then you mindlessly wave goodbye and are walking up to her black sports car again. It looks like a sore thumb next to all the classic, white and eggshell cars. Some even a vibrant cherry red or, or elegant blue. Sheep.

She opens your door for you, and then is called over by Bob, once Lattimer is dismissed to his chauffeur. You try to read their lips behind the tint. It’s short, and Bob does most, if not all, the talking. Anyone would think the girl was getting scolded, if not for the firm pat to the shoulder Bob gives her before dipping into his drivers seat. Once she’s sure he can’t see, unaware that you can, she turns away and smirks to herself, removing the sunglasses from her shirt collar, for the first time this morning, and putting them on.

“Good news?” You ask, as she slips next to you, biting back her expression. She nods immediately, throwing her seatbelt on, signaling you to, and throwing her car in reverse to speed out before Bob. Paige finally speaks once you’re out the parking lot.

“More than good. Baby, you’re amazing, you know that?” Her right hand grips your leg, she is definitely going over the speed limit. The warmth from her palm causes you not to complain. “I mean, I was getting criticized more at 10 by those type of dickwads, you’re a natural.”

“A natural at stroking the egos of snobs?” You snort, she looks at you briefly over the top of her glasses.

“Yes actually, you’ve stroked this one, very successfully may I add.” Her thumb rubs your inner thigh.

At your place, Paige sits on your closed toilet seat while you lather yourself with soap.

“So you really have never played?” She shouts over the water.

“Nope.” You reply, rinsing off suds down you back. Paige’s head peaks over the shower rod, and it takes you awhile to notice. You’re met with a sly grin, as she scans you up and down with a hungry look in her powdery eyes. Crossing your arms over your chest, you clear your throat loudly, unable to hide the smile and blush on your own face.

“I’m just…making sure you didn’t miss a spot that’s all.” She shrugs, slumping back down behind the curtain again, on the seat. You’re feeling bold, still running off the high of the win.

“Come take a closer look.” You tease her. Paige is quiet, she’s never quiet, so it’s genuine. After a minute you shrug and get back to washing, letting the water run down your face. You don’t hear the sounds of clothes hitting the tile, barley hearing the shift of the curtain. You feel Paige behind you, her stomach flush with your back.

Shivers run down you as she dips into the water with you, putting her face in your neck. Her hands explore your wet body. Taking it in as if she hadn’t before.

“Lean against the wall. I think the winner deserves her prize.” Paige’s mouth is next to your ear after she’s left her mark on your throat. She’s holding your hips firm. You feel your body pressing against the tiles itself before you can respond.

“I didn’t win, princess.” You giggle. Paige doesn’t respond. She’s down on her knees, hair drenched with water now, between your legs. She eats you like she dares you to have a snarky comeback now.

You don’t mind champion treatment.

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vicsstufff · 8 days ago

Text

‎₊˚ 𓂃Jada williams headcannons ｡˚

summary — jada williams hcs <3

warnings — nsfw headcannons towards the end! mentions of oral, strap on, groping (yes consensual), breeding kink, jealousy, vibratorsss, semi-public sex, dom!jada but wbk! so basically just smut in the second half lol

authors note — lord knows we need more jada fanfics so enjoy! (y'all have @mrsarnold to thank for this), not all hcs are gonna have scenarios attached to them so pls don’t be disappointed😭and reminderrrrr im a newer writer and I haven't written since Feb so be kind or get blockedddd (esp with the smut ok) also reader is a cheerleader so imma mention cheer skirts :3

word count — 3.4k

sfw

headcannon one — jada is all for soft launches while still keeping her relationship private.

jada was live when you came over. Recently she'd been taking her newfound attention (so just girls thirsting after her) and going live in her free time.

Your relationship isn't really a secret, it's more private and mostly people who had been a fan of jada for years knew about you.

as you put your purse and keys on the counter you call out- "jada, baby where are you?" your voice echos in room "In the room!" she replies

As you're walking to the room you can hear jada say "Who dat? that's my girl" you can hear the small smirk she always seems to have on her face when she tells other people that you're her girl.

as you open the door, jada looks up from her phone, slightly putting it down in the process and a soft smile appears on her face "hey my baby" you smile back and make your way to her as she slightly opens her arms.

getting comfortable, you both look over at the chat and everybody is going crazy

user 1: yo who is that?!?!

user 2: WE CAN'T HAVE SHIT

user 3: y'all late asf, they been together for 2 years

[replied to user 3] user 4: WHAT?

"user 3 right, y'all hella late" jada says, tilting her head more towards the camera with a smile on her face

user 4: HER ASS IS CHEESING! YALL SEE TS???

less to say, the internet was GEEKED by this live.

headcannon two — when she comes over, she purposefully leaves her clothes at your house because she knows she'll catch you wearing it the next day

every time jada comes over you've noticed something. She always forgets at least one piece of clothing, whether it be a jacket, hoodie, sweatpants, basketball shorts-- she always "forgets".

You find it kind of cute, how she always leave a piece of herself with you when you part ways, it makes you fall more inlove with her every time, and so you play into it.

Jada had come over again, in her usual tank top, basketball shorts and jacket, this time it was one with her number on it. Every weekend you and Jada had a routine movie night, the day when both of your schedules were perfectly synced and y'all would take advantage of that, a good movie--usually romance, comedy or mystery, a homecooked meal and brownies, one of yours and jada's favorite desserts.

and just like always, time had gone by fast. but you wanna know what was left behind? her basketball jacket with her number on it.

headcannon three – jada never fails to mention you when shes live, whether you’re there or not.

you and jada are seriouslyyy locked in (incase u haven't noticed yet) but that girl is down BAD!

she'll be on one of her usual lives that she does every few days and somebody could ask her the randomest question ahd she'll go "yeah my girl'--

user 5: jada what's your fav food?"

"oh what's my favorite food? mmm, to be honesttttt, anything my girl makes, her food is always good"

and it always comes out randomly, whether she means to or not because like i said-- SHE'S INCREDIBLY DOWN BADDDD

we all know jada has a second phone that she uses to text people from while she's live so if you're not there with her, the likely hood of her texting you is VERY high cause like i said she's down baddd.

she's on live, phone propped up and reading comments, answering what she can "jada how many tattoos do you have-- just my lower right arm, i wanna get more though" "favorite artist-- not gone lie my brain just went blank but probably the weeknd or SZA"

*ding* she stops and turns to the phone across the counter, reaching over she picks it up and opens it

the chat starts speeding up the faster her fingers type, she looks up from the phone and the first comment that catches her eye is "yo who got u smiling like thatttt" she chuckles "even though it's nun of yall business, my girl got me smiling like that"

It's similar when you are there, she'll be on live and she's tryna get your opinion of everyyyy little thing, but you know she keeps calling you over to wrap her arm around your waist and you're not complaining.

headcannon four – some people may not agree but jada is OVERLY cuddly and touchy! the second she sees you, she’s on you 🤭

jada likes to cuddle ok! many people assume that she isn’t the most touchy person but they don’t know her.

you could be chilling, laying on the couch, on your phone—minding your business and BOOM—there Jada comes, literally just plopping down and laying across your body.

"girl what the hell" you say, putting down your phone and looking at her. Jada on her phone just turns her head with a ? look on her face "what? I can't lay on you? you don't love me no mo'? she says with a scoff

"Girl boo, ur so dramatic, just shut up and look at your phone" you reply with a giggle, picking your phone back up as jada turns back to hers.

After a while, jada gets tired and as she starts dozing off, she lets out a quiet "mmm, missed you today" and all you can do is smile to yourself because you enjoy these little moments too and she knows it.

headcannon five — her love language is definitely physical touch and gift giving (with a lil side of acts of service)

her love language is 1000000000% physical touch, gift giving and acts of service.

she literally always has to be touching you. Y'all at dinner? She got her hand on your thigh. At an event? Arm around your shoulder or fingers laced with yours. At home? she's alwayssss touching you, she's def a back hug girly and a cuddler ok? she loves her a good movie night cuddle session okayyy!

nsfw

headcannon one — Jada is a FANNNN of them cheer skirts reader has to wear, anytime she sees her in one all she can think of it "easy access"

"jada i gotta go to practice, but i'll call you when i get there and before i leave okay?" you tell her as you walk outta her bathroom, putting your cheer jacket on.

looking up from her laptop, she lets out a whistle noise "aye where you going wit all that" she says, moving her laptop beside her and standing up. You're grabbing your wallet, keys and phone as she walks up to you and as you go to walk around the counter she comes behind you

"girl I have to go, you doing too much!" you smack your lips, trying to move around her, your unsuccessful so instead you just look at her, lean in from a small peck and smile

“when u gotta be to practice?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed but her eyes playful, “30 ish minutes, tryna get there early today, why?”

“it’ll only take 6” she replies, it doesn’t click for you at first, replying back confused with a “what’ll only—” your sentence is cut off when jada’s hands, once resting on ur waist now sliding to your ass— “jada no.”

“come on baby, you don’t even have to take the uniform off! easy access.” a smug look resting on her face as she smirks.

headcannon two — y'all have a shared playlist and guess what the first song is? 'girl you loud' by c breezy and tyga

MINDDDD YOU! THESE ARE THE LYRICS:

I'm 'bout to get up on that ass right now

Just love me, love me down, now

And you a smoker, I'ma roll up, you blow it down One more, oh, oh, girl, you loud

I'm 'bout to get up on that ass right now

Just love me, love me down, now

headcannon three — we all know jada got muscles and stamina for daysssss and she puts it to GOOD use okay.

"jada, don't stop. oh my fod fuck don't-" your voice choked out as your orgasm ripples into you. thighs squeezing around her head as your body tensing up. jada, whose been working you TIREDD for the past 2 hours, finally comes up, lips swollen, body glistening.

she hovers over you, leaning down to give you a kiss that you lean into. you guys kinda just hover over each other and for a min, it's just a calm quietness resting in the room.

until she gets up and walks away, you just assume she's grabbing a towel until she comes back. You look up from your position and in her hand is a strap. "jada…." you groan out, resting your arm over your eyes

in the back you can hear her footsteps move closer and closer until she's right in front of you "just give me one more baby."

headcannon four — she has a breeding kink. that's it.

“fucking made for this,” she groans out as she presses her forehead to yours, her hands pressing low against your stomach “made to take me, hold me right here…”you moan in response, pleasure seizing in your body

“Mine… you hear me? All mine yeah? nobody else ever gon’ have you like this…“ her hips moving faster and deeper as she whispers in your ears, voice getting more strained as the base of the strap rubs against her clit

Her grip gets bruising, fingers digging in like she’s trying to mark you from the inside out. Sweat drips down her temples, jaw clenched, breath ragged as she chases that high—“Gon’ fuck a baby into you… gon’ make you mine in every way… you want that, huh? Say it. Say you want it.”

And when you do? Oh yeah—it’s a wrap. Her whole body shudders, a deep, guttural groan ripping from her throat as she presses as deep as humanly possible, staying there, holding you close like if she lets go, the moment disappears.

headcannon five — she loves to concept of vibrating panties (y'all have ATLEAST 2 pairs at her place ALONE.

she makes you put them out before dinner with her friends, girls from her team and a few of her older friends being there. you guys had never used the panties outside of either of your homes, but right before leaving she comes out behind and hands you a pair

“put ‘em on” you look at her like she’s crazy but happy wife happy life I guess? The dress you’re wearing falls a few inches above your knee, it’s a cute black dress with a black lacy material on top and you have a simple pair of black heels to match. On your left wrist you’re wearing a silver bracelet with a JW on it (her initials ofc) and on ur left is sitting a simple (but BLINGEDDDDD out) silver bracelet that jada got for you for your birthday. and now you have a pair of black, lacy, vibrating underwear to match.

you don’t know when she’s planning on turning it on, she doesn’t tell you but thats apart of her little game, shes mot the type for PDA but if u make her mad? oh absolutely. you’re 30 minutes into dinner when she first turns it on, “im telling her like you didn’t— ” you stop, breathe catching, “you okay baby?” your girlfriend says, turning her head to look at you, a small smirk that only you can see resting on her face.

“yeah yeah I just remembered something, tryna figure out if I left the bedroom window open” you chuckle out awkwardly as you try not to make the others suspicious. and just like that the conversation continues, someone else continues and you chime in every now.

as dinner goes on, she’d bring the level up, especially when you’re in the middle of a conversation, watching your reaction from the corner of her eye to see how you handle yourself. And one again so she know when she turn it down.

she can tell when you’re about to come, the way you’re body freezes up, and your breathing starts becoming too harsh, and so she turns it off, watching as your body visibly deflates, hand covering you’re mouth slightly so that nobody can see how you’re mouth is begging to open—nobody else notices it, but jada? she always notices.

headcannon seven — YALL GET MATCHING TATTOOS!!!! you tattooed her initals and jersey number near your.. nvm

“baby we should get matching tattoos” you blurt one randomly one day, jada’s hand playing in your hair—law & order svu playing on the tv. The hand in your hair slows down slightly, “yeah?” she looks down at you as your attention, once on the TV, was now on her,

“yeah” you reply. she's quiet for a while and you can feel her staring at you but then she shrugs with a little “you know what, whatever you want ma” leaning downwards to kiss your forehead.

the next day you and jada go to the shop, the place where she got her arm done. You hadn’t actually expected her to say yes, but you’re happy she did, because you knew exactly where you wanted to put it. After waiting in the lobby for a few minutes, Jada gets guided to a room on the right, you on the left.

“okay so what tattoo do you want and where?” the artist - belle asks you as she lines up her equipment

"I was thinking the number 8, like with a hashtag and then the initials J. W, and like right here." you say, pointing to the area resting above your hipbone on the right.

time skip

it'd been 5 weeks since you got your tattoos, and since summer had finally arrived so you and jada decided to go to the beach with a few of your friends. she still didn't know where you'd gotten your tattoo, but she was about to find out

you went with a simple red bikini, the bottom sitting low on your hips and top fitting snug on your chest, and on top you wore a pair of denim jeans. Since you had already been at the beach for about 30 minutes already, you decided to get up and swim, jada was mid conversation when you pulled you're shorts off, picking them up and placing them in your seat. But as you were about to turn and walk off to the beach and meet your friend who was waving at you, jada stops.

"baby. What's that?" she says, her eyebrows furrowed, mouth open slightly, and eyes focused on near your hip

you hum in reply "what?" a slight smirk on your face, she gestures for you to come here and when you get close enough, she grabs your hand and guides you down to her, now sitting on her lap, one of her hand's rests on your leg and the other drifts to the tattoo

"so that's where you put it?" her voice low and rough as her tongue runs over her bottom lip, "mhm, perfect spot right?" replying as you tilt your head, looking into her eyes which were settled on the tattoo.

"perfect spot? hell yeah" she looks up at you, and for a second thats all she does, is just stare. "fuck it" jada says, leaning in-- her lips finally finding yours, she grabs your face, kiss deepening within seconds, tongues gliding against each other.

a voice comes out of nowhere starting the both of you "yo....y/n" you turn, it's your friend, and all of a sudden you remember you're in public, surrounded by your friends and kids and you shrink "shit my bad, I'm coming" you say, getting up from jada's lap, you lean down giving her a peck on the lips, "later" you tell her before walking away

headcannon ten — She's not for PDA, let alone physical sex in public but god forbid u stand a lil too close to someone and giggle. She finna drag u into the family bathroom, the car and even a restaurant bathroom (that people could walk into.) for a lil quickie!!

jada doesn't do PDA, hand holding, a hand around the waist sure, you'll give her that but she's pretty PDA no. Even kissing is rare for you guys, and definitely NOT sex. Not anywhere someone can hear or see because--and i quote "you think I'd let somebody hear what's mine? hell no, you mine not nobody else's." so to say she's possessive is putting it lightly

but god forbid you stand too close to someone, let out a giggle too long (or flirty in her opinion), jada gets POSSESIVE real quick and all that "no PDA" bullshit goes out the window, you can barely even get out a word as she walks up to you and however you're talking to before she drags you to the family bathroom.

she has your back to the wall, hands roaming as her mouth roam your neck "you need to watch yourself. smiling and laughing--nah not laughing, giggling all up in her face like that, fuck wrong with you?"

and next thing you know, she's got one hand up your skirt and pulling your panties to the side, and the other one pressed against your throat.

you guys come out 6 minutes later, you're skirt slightly ruffled, lips swollen and legs trembling, jad aon the other hand is put together, shirt smooth, composed and a smug look on her face

headcannon eleven — She handholds during sex. U tryna push her away? FINGERS INTERLOCKEDD🤭 and a small “stop pushing me away or ima leave u just like this"

you squirm away from her, moans echoing out, slowly turning into screams-- trying to push her head away from you. her head leans up slightly "aye stop moving" she says trying to hold you down, continuing to squirm, you ignore her.

she removes her hands from under your thighs, taking a hold of your hands that are trying to push her away, she interlocks her hands with yours and- "stop pushing me away or ima leave u just like this"

headcannon twelve — we alr discussed that shes an ass girl earlier, so can u guess her fav position? reverse cowgirl and doggy style.

Jada leans back on the headboard, palming at your waist, hip dips, ass, whatever she can get a hold of-- watching as you bounce on her strap, "yeah ma.... just like that" she says, her voice low and raspy

her arm reaches down, taking ahold of your waistline, moving you back and forth on her -- the strap rubbing perfectly against her clit

"My favorite view fuck, c’mon baby keep going." her head tilting back, slightly hitting the bedframe.

headcannon thirteen — she’s def a hard dom I feel and she usually gets off from ur pleasure but occasionally she’ll be on the receiving end

usually jada doesn't receive, and i mean you have no problem with that, a pillow princess for YEARSSS fuck days. But when she does let you get her off? yeah ur not taking that for advantage.

you drop to your knees, hands resting on her spread thighs. "You know what i want." is all she says, her heavy gaze burning into yours, cloudy and gone. You start pressing small kisses on her inner thighs, slowly making your way to her cunt when she pulls your hair

"Don't make me tell you twice" she tells you, licking her lips. You pause before leaning back down, going farther this time and coming face to face with her pussy, burying your face in it.

it's DIRTY i mean IM TALMBOUT INNITTTTT! your mouth is moving fast, messy--you're tongue desperate to scoop up every little drop leaking from her. Her fingers tangle in your braids, holding you closer to her with every second that passes "Don't stop, fuck" she muttered, body sinking more into the bed.

You moan into her, tongue flicking her clit, sucking--just doing whatever to pull those sounds from out of her because you know it's gonna be the last time for a while.

Every sharp gasp, low groan, commands and compliment she gives you just further fuels the feeling in your stomach

"so fucking good for me" her grip on your hair tightening even more, pushing you more into her, her body leaning back on the bed in pleasure

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vicsstufff · 8 days ago

Text

participation grade

pairing : professor!paige x student!reader

synopsis: paige is your TA and you take those stolen glances in crowded lecture halls a little to far, only to end up across her desk during office hours.

warnings: fingering, oral (r receiving), hair pull, exhibitionism if you squint, porn w minimal plot i knowwwww

a/n: i don’t love this but like i don’t hate it either so here. inspired by the WNBA announcers for cursing my brain with “professor paige”.

You weren't supposed to look at her like that. And she definitely wasn't supposed to look at you like that.

But it didn't stop you. And she noticed.

Paige was the TA assigned to your sports media lecture. Six feet of blonde hair, cocky grins, and a dangerous pair of lavender glasses. She was 27, five years older than you. Too old, that's what you were supposed to say. Except she didn't feel too old, not when you watched her from across lecture halls, noting the way she half-smiled at students when they shared opinions in class. The way her broad shoulders stretched underneath the t-shirts she wore, because of course she dressed casually for class, and of course that was what got under your skin more than when she wore blazers. Paige was confident, sure of herself; she was aware of what students said about her behind closed doors, but never addressed it out loud. Everyone on campus had a crush on her, straight, gay, didn't matter. Paige Bueckers was everyone's type. Worse than that? You think she fed on the attention. The admiration.

Paige noticed you the first day you walked into lectures. It was raining, and you were late. You came in through the side door, the loud creaking of the hinges capturing the room's attention. Your hair had droplets of rain clinging to the strands, your t-shirt damp and sticking to your skin. Your cheeks were flushed from the cold weather or maybe from the feeling of everyone's stares. Paige watched as your eyes widened slightly, darting across the room before landing on Professor Bates, “Sorry,” you had whispered, before turning and making your way toward an open seat.

Class had gone on after that, they moved swiftly to the next topic, forgetting your entry. But not for Paige. She tried not to, tried not to stare, tried not to watch as you chewed lightly on the end of your pen, or the way your cheeks blushed when you caught her staring. Paige clenched her jaw, trying to focus, to remember that you were a student.

You noticed Paige's eyes on you, you felt the heat of her stare all the time, a constant weight pressing down on your chest. You met her glance with a fire, challenging her to maintain the contact. You liked the adrenaline rush, that feeling deep inside that you were playing with fire and would be the one who inevitably got burned.

It only got worse in office hours. You showed up in a pair of sweats and a workout tank that showed a flash of your stomach. You weren't thinking much about the outfit when you threw it on that morning, in a rush to get to your 8am class. But when you walked into Professor Bates' office, expecting to see your 45-year-old, soft smiles and easy-going professor, and instead were met with Paige's piercing blue eyes, you suddenly felt a lot more aware of the outfit you chose.

You felt the way her eyes lingered on the flash of your stomach exposed from the shirt, the way she cleared her throat, sliding her eyes back to her computer, pretending she didn't notice.

“Professor Bates had to cancel last-minute,” she said, tapping at the keyboard like she hadn’t just been staring. “I’m filling in for the day.”

You hummed, “Lucky me”, you said it sarcastically, just an off-the-cuff comment under your breath as you dropped down into the chair in front of her. But Paige caught it, her eyebrow raised, eyes sharpening a little behind her purple glasses.

“Careful”, she said it calmly, but it sounded like a warning. Suddenly, you wanted to push harder against whatever the warning was, wanting to see her snap. But you kept that to yourself.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, stretching slightly, just enough to make her eyes flick—barely—to the sliver of skin above your waistband. She caught herself and looked away fast, too fast to be casual.

“Didn’t realize this was the dangerous kind of office hours,” you said lightly.

She looked back at you, jaw tight, “It is if you’re here trying to make it that way.”

You smiled, slow and knowing, “I thought I was here for help with my paper.”

“Then maybe keep your comments academic,” she replied, but there was no real bite in it. Just heat she was trying to tuck behind her voice, “And maybe stop looking at me like that.”

You tilted your head, all faux innocence that made Paige want to do things she wasn't supposed to think, “Like what?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. She turned her eyes back to the computer, but you caught the way her lips almost tugged upward; she liked this game you were playing. And that only made you want to win more.

It didn’t happen right away.

She avoided you in class. Barely looked at you when you raised your hand. No nods, no half-smiles, no sarcastic remarks about your “distracting” outfits. Paige had gone cold.

But that just made you burn.

So you went back. To her office. Wednesday. Late afternoon. You knew she’d be there.

You didn’t knock this time.

She looked up from her laptop like she expected you. Like she’d been waiting to lose this fight.

“You can’t be in here.”

“Then tell me to leave.”

She didn’t.

You closed the door behind you, slow. Her eyes tracked the movement. You walked toward her, not hurried, not hesitant. Just deliberate.

“You said last week was a boundary,” you said softly. “But you never actually drew one.”

Paige stood. Slowly. Her chair pushed back against the wall. Her shoulders tense like she was prepping for impact.

“You think this is a joke?” she asked, but her voice was too low to be angry.

You stepped closer.

“No. I think it’s driving you insane pretending not to want me.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Denial. Guilt. Hunger.

“You’re a student.”

“I’m not yours.”

That did it.

She crossed the space between you so fast it was almost dizzying. One hand grabbed the back of your neck, the other at your waist, pulling you in like she’d already spent weeks imagining this. You barely had time to breathe before her mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.

It was teeth and breath and months of swallowed tension finally breaking loose. Her hands didn’t know where to land—your jaw, your back, the hem of your shirt—fingertips searing hot through the cotton.

You kissed her back like you wanted to ruin her.

And God, she let you.

She backed you into the desk, papers scattering, laptop sliding dangerously to the edge. You hopped up without breaking the kiss, legs parting so she could step between them, hands curling in her shirt, dragging her even closer.

She stepped between your spread legs, hand grasping at your jaw, “Tell me you're not mine again,” She muttered harshly, teeth pulling your bottom lip back. You whimpered into her, head moving forward as she pulled back.

Paige moved, her mouth on your neck in open-mouthed, hot, wet kisses, slow and lazy. Her teeth just dragged across your skin moving to your ear, “kinda feels like you're mine, huh?” She whispered into your ear, her hand sliding to your inner thigh. Your breath sped up at both her words and the teasing sensation of having her so close and so far all at once.

Paige hummed against you, hand on your jaw pushing your head back involuntarily forcing you to look at her, “Look at you,” She murmured, eyes dark, pupils blown, “Panting in shit, I haven't even touched you yet.”

She leaned in then, connecting her lips to yours in a searing kiss. Her tongue traced yours with precision that had something deep in your stomach curling into excitement. You kissed her back hard, hand grasping her shirt to pull her closer. Paige groaned softly, her hand moving from your jaw to interlock in your hair. She tugged, hard. And your head rolled back, your lips disconnecting with a quiet pop.

“This what you want, yeah?” She muttered coldly, gone was the TA who laughed at students jokes and in her place was someone whose patience with you had worn thin. “Want me to touch you in my office? On my desk? In this stupid fucking thing you call a shirt.”

Your breathing was erratic at best, you tried to nod, but her hold on your hair tightened. “Nah, I wanna hear you say it.”

“Yes-” Your words broke slightly, as her hand kneaded small circles into your inner thigh, teasing and purposeful. “Fuck, yes, that's what I want.”

Paige let out a growl, her hand that wasnt on your thigh circled your waist, snapping your hips forward against hers. Your mouth parted at the sudden movement, Paige's forehead resting against yours as she glanced down between your bodies. Her chest was moving up and down, breathing heavily. “Been thinkin’ bout this all the damn time.” She whispered, watching her hand slowly trail higher and higher up your thigh. “Thought about it right here. On this desk.” She continued.

Her hand slipped under the hem of your skirt, tension crackling between you as you could no longer see her hand but you could feel it. Your heartbeat was thumping so loudly in your ears you could barely hear, your body shaking in anticipation.

Paige's mouth moved to skin beneath your ear at the same time her hand reached the hem of your underwear, “need you to be good for me” she whispered into your skin, her fingers running along the edge of your underwear. “Need you to be quiet”.

You nodded your head, your mouth running dry as you arched forward, begging for something, anything.

Paiges finger slowly moved your underwear to the side before running a long stripe up your folds. You gasped, head lolling forward. The contact felt like pure bliss after months of fantasies of her running through your head.

“Fuck-” Paige muttered, voice breaking off, “All this for me?” She asked, sucking a soft spot into the skin beneath your jaw, your head falling back to give her more room. Her finger moved, in a slow, torturous circle on your clit, making you whine softly.

Paige pulled her head back to look at you, eyes hard and unforgiving, “What did I tell you?” She asked, fingers pressing harder into your clit in revenge. You choked on a gasp, your head falling forward slightly.

“Quiet,” you breathed, nodding your head absently, “I can be quiet, I'll be whatever you want, just touch me.” Your voice broke slightly, and Paige groaned, leaning forward and slamming her mouth into yours at the same time she slid one long finger into you.

You let her swallow your gasp, hand reaching up to grab her forearm, looking for something, anything to ground you. Paige broke the kiss, curling her finger inside of you, finding your g spot immediately, “Fuck ma, squeezin the hell outta me and it's just one finger.” She breathed, you leaned back on your hands, needing some form of stability, as your hips rolled forward on their own accord.

Paiges eyes moved down your body, watching your hips shift restlessly, “You think you can do it better than me? You wanna ride my fingers?” Her words were cold and mocking, but the heat in her eyes knocked the breath out of you. You rolled your hips forward again in response. Paige leaned forward over you, pushing you back more on your hands, “Cmon ma, show me how it's done.” She whispered, pushing your shirt up and connecting her mouth to your stomach.

Your head fell back on a quiet gasp as her tongue drew circles over the skin of your hip. You rolled your hips in a repetitive pattern, and Paige slipped a second finger into you without warning. You raised your fist to your mouth to bite down on your moan.

Paige let her teeth graze your skin, sucking harshly before using her tongue to soothe the ache. You let your hips move at their own rhythm, drowning in the way she curled her fingers inside of you each time. You could feel yourself pulsing around her, clenching each time you dragged your hips away from her.

Paige pulled her mouth off your hip, breathing you in as she made her way back up to your head. “Look at you, riding my fingers on my desk, sittin pretty like a little slut.” You let out a quiet moan at her words, your brows furrowing in concentration.

Paige started to create her own rhythm, matching each grind of your hips with a push of her hand and a curl of her fingers. “Can't even keep quiet, can you, said you'd be good for me and you can't even take it”.

She kissed you again, sucking your tongue into her mouth, making your eyes roll back. Her lips softened, moving against yours like she was learning you by feel alone. Hot breath, slick mouths, the slide of her body flush against yours.

She broke the kiss as her fingers found a constant speed, thrusting up to meet the roll of your hips. “You have no idea what you've been doing to m.e” She groaned, eye contact unwavering, “Ever since you walked into class, ive thought about this, wanted you all to myself from the start.”, Her voice was careless, as if she was just thinking out loud, not registering what she was saying.

“Thought about you like this, dripping down my fingers behind closed doors.” You squeezed your eyes closed,not being able to handle her voice, the eye contact, the feeling. All of it was too much, too overwhelming. You felt yourself clench around her, your body twitching slightly as the pleasure started to be too intense.

Your mouth fell open, needing more air, more oxygen. Paiges free hand moved down, landing on your clit and moving in firm circles that had a whimper falling from your mouth without your consent.

“Paige” you moaned quietly, eyes snapping open, “So close, don't stop.” You breathed, matching her thrust for thrust. She looked down, watching her fingers slide in and out of you.

“Cmon baby, give it to me, show me how much you want me.” Your hand reached forward on its own, landing on the side of her neck. Your head fell forward, biting softly into her shoulder as your orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your spine arched forward, mouth ripping off her shoulder to suck in a gasp of air. Paige was right there at your ear, “There it is, let me feel it.”

Her fingers didn't stop, they kept going, fast and hard, pushing you through your orgasm. She didn't stop till your legs were shaking against the desk, your breaths coming out in fast pants.

You watched in a mixture of horror and excitement as paige sank to her knees in front of you, sliding your legs open until she fit between them.

Her mouth landed on you instantly, your hand sliding into her hair. “Fuck- paige” You tried to push her away, but she just hummed against you, tongue lapping up your orgasm like she was starving.

She pulled back slightly, “M’not done with you yet, been dreamin bout how you taste.” She mumbled, eyes darkened with lust. “Lie back, you make a fucking sound and I'll stop”.

And then she was on you again, you fell back until you were sprawled out across her desk like one of your dirtiest fantasies. Paiges tongue was experienced and quick, alternating between soft licks against you to harsh circles right on your clit. Your hands reached out, gripping the edge of the desk over your head, your teeth sunk into your lower lip to the point of drawing blood as you tried to keep quiet.

One of Paige's hands moved to push down slightly on your lower stomach, and with you already being so sensitive from your previous orgasm, you knew you wouldn't last long. Not with the skilled way she sucked against you, and the way she groaned into you, the vibration rolling through your body.

All it took was her sucking your clit between her lips and rolling her tongue against you. You glanced down, finding her eyes trained on you already, and you lost it.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as your eyes rolled back in your head. Your spine arched up off her desk, as stars danced across your vision. White hot pleasure burned through you everywhere, all at once. Your skin breaking out in a cold sweat from the pure intensity of it all.

Paige stayed there, licking softly until she was sure there was nothing left. When she finally pulled away, you were panting, lying there looking fucked out. She leaned forward, resting her hands on either side of your head and looking down at you.

“You're definitely not getting any essay help from me now that I know what you taste like,” She murmured, cocky grin on her glistening face.

—---

463 notes · View notes

vicsstufff · 8 days ago

Text

𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which getting stood up wasn’t so bad after all

wc - 1.7k

You’d been sitting on the same sun-bleached wooden bench for the past hour, maybe longer. The edge of the popcorn bag in your lap had crumpled under the idle grip of your fingers, the kernels inside barely touched. The faint hum of country music drifted in from the stage across the path, and somewhere near the corn dog stand, a kid screamed with joy, or maybe in terror, at the start of the roller coaster’s descent. You’d watched the same teenage couple pass by twice now, fingers laced, eyes bright, like this was their very first date and they were still in that golden part of it where everything felt possible.

You were supposed to be on a date too.

The plan had seemed promising enough. A girl you’d met through a mutual friend, pretty, funny in texts, easy to talk to on the phone, asked if you wanted to meet at the fair. “8 sharp by the ring toss game,” she’d said, her voice laced with anticipation. You’d gotten there ten minutes early, dressed in your best “casual but cute” outfit and with hope fluttering low in your stomach like a butterfly that didn’t know whether to settle or bolt.

It was 9:07 p.m. now.

The bench creaked under your weight as you shifted, more out of nerves than comfort. You reached for your phone again, tenth time this hour, but the screen was still empty. No new messages. No apologies, no explanations, just silence.

You sighed, leaning forward, your elbows resting against your knees, phone dangling between your fingers. You should’ve left twenty minutes ago. But part of you had hoped, no, believed, she might just be late. That traffic was bad. That she’d lost signal. That something, anything had gone wrong that wasn’t about you.

But now you knew. You’d been stood up.

The realization came like a slow, cold tide, sweeping in bit by bit until it settled around your ribs and left a quiet ache behind. You stood, brushing imaginary dust off your jeans, intending to slip into the crowd and disappear before the sting in your chest could become something you’d have to confront. You didn’t want anyone to see your face. Didn’t want to run into someone who might ask, “Weren’t you supposed to be with someone?”

That’s when you heard her voice. Clear, warm, slightly amused.

“I was watching you for like… the past hour,” she said, hands in her pockets as she stepped closer, sneakers scuffing against the fairground gravel. “Not in a creepy way, I swear. More like… wondering how long you’d wait before giving up.”

You turned your head, half-ready to ignore her, to brush her off with some polite excuse. But when your eyes landed on her, your mouth stopped working. Because standing in front of you, dressed in a hoodie and a backwards cap, was Paige Bueckers.

That Paige Bueckers.

Blonde ponytail tucked through the back of the cap. Hands stuffed in her hoodie pocket. Eyes that glinted with something familiar, curiosity and kindness.

You blinked. “You’ve been watching me?”

She laughed a little, cheeks coloring like she knew how that sounded. “Okay, that sounded terrible. Let me rephrase. I was playing that water gun game over there, and I saw you sitting on that bench, checking your phone every couple minutes. Then you stopped checking. So I figured…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

You let out a quiet exhale, trying not to show how close her words landed to the bone. “Yeah. I was supposed to meet someone. Guess they changed their mind.”

Paige tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing. “Then they’re an idiot.”

You gave a hollow smile. “Or I’m just not worth the ticket.”

She stepped closer, voice firmer now. “Nah. Trust me, it’s them. You don’t stand someone up at the Minnesota State Fair. That’s, like… borderline unforgivable.”

You let out a short laugh despite yourself.

“I was gonna head out,” you said, half turning.

But Paige gently reached out, not grabbing you, just catching the sleeve of your jacket between her fingers. “Wait,” she said. “Whoever ditched you? Doesn’t deserve you. And I don’t want you going home with that being your night. What if… I gave you the best fair experience you’ve ever had?”

You stared at her, skeptical. “Why would you do that?”

She grinned, boyish and charming. “Because I’m bored. And because I think you deserve a do over.”

You squinted, studying her for a moment. “You’re Paige Bueckers.”

She blinked, then scratched the back of her neck. “Uh, yeah. Guilty.”

“Everyone in Minnesota knows who you are.”

She looked sheepish now, shuffling her feet. “I was hoping that wouldn’t be a deal breaker.”

You stared at her for another few seconds. She looked sincere. Not like she was trying to make a show out of it. Just… honest. A little awkward. Warm in a way you hadn’t expected.

So you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Alright, Bueckers,” you said. “What do you have in mind?”

Paige insisted on holding your popcorn bag even though it was half-stale and barely touched. “We’re starting fresh,” she’d said, tossing it into the nearest trash bin before leading you through the main area of the fair like she’d been training for this her whole life.

It was jarring at first, the pace, the lights, the way the crowd moved around you in pockets. The leftover disappointment still clung to your chest like humidity, and yet… with every step next to her, it began to lift.

She walked beside you, hands in her hoodie pockets, letting her shoulder bump gently against yours when the path narrowed. You figured she must be recognized constantly, there were definitely double takes, whispering kids, the occasional “Wait, was that…?”—but she didn’t react. If anything, she shrank from the attention, redirecting it all toward you.

“So,” she asked, glancing sideways. “What was the plan? Like… your date. What were you guys gonna do?”

You shrugged. “Walk around. Maybe get a bucket of chocolate chip cookies. Try not to vomit on the rides.”

Paige grinned. “Solid plan. Way too basic though. We’re doing this right.”

She steered you through the crowd, stopping first at the mini donuts stand. She bought a fresh bag, handed it to you like it was a peace offering, and then ordered a frozen lemonade for herself. You took a bite, and for the first time that night, the cinnamon sugar actually tasted sweet.

Next up, the basketball game.

You stood to the side as she cracked her knuckles dramatically and handed a few crumpled tickets to the tired teenager behind the counter. “This is for redemption,” she said, grinning at you. “And maybe to earn your forgiveness on behalf of Minnesota’s lesbian population.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “Oh, is that what this is?”

She didn’t answer. Just stepped up, focused her gaze on the hoop, regulation size, double rim, overly inflated ball and took her first shot.

Swish. Another. Then a third.

By the fifth perfect shot, a small crowd had gathered. The teen behind the counter leaned forward, impressed. “Yo… are you…?”

“Nope,” Paige interrupted quickly, not taking her eyes off the hoop.

She missed the sixth, but she didn’t care. She turned to you and grinned like a little kid. “That should be enough for the prize, right?”

The teen nodded, wide eyed, and gestured toward the wall of stuffed animals. Paige looked them over with her hands on her hips, as if choosing the fate of a kingdom. Then her finger shot out.

“That one.”

A giant sloth. Its arms stretched wide as if it were already preparing to hug someone. You blinked as she took it and walked it over to you, holding it out like it was a bouquet of roses.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

“Seriously?”

She shrugged. “Tell me that’s not peak romantic. I win you something oversized and impractical? That’s, like, a classic.”

You hugged the sloth to your chest, trying to hide the way your cheeks warmed. “Okay, Bueckers. One point for you.”

She bumped her shoulder into yours again, more deliberate this time. “It’s a long game and I plan to win.”

From there, the night blurred into movement and color. The fair came alive in a way it hadn’t when you were sitting alone on that bench. You screamed together on the roller coaster, laughed uncontrollably when you spilled cheese curds on your shoes, and got scolded by a grandma for accidentally cutting the line at the corndog stand. Paige never pulled out her phone. Never checked a message or answered a call. It was like, somehow, she’d made the night all about you.

By the time you made it to the ferris wheel, the sky had turned a navy blue you only see on postcards. The horizon glowed orange and pink, the last traces of summer’s daylight slipping away.

You both settled into the cart, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

The wheel creaked and groaned as it carried you up slowly, stopping occasionally to let others board. When you reached the top, Paige exhaled and tilted her head back, looking out over the glowing fairgrounds. The lights reflected in her eyes, softening everything about her.

“I come here every year,” she said quietly. “Usually with family. Sometimes with friends. But tonight… this has been one of the best nights of my life.”

You turned to look at her, your hand still wrapped around the plush sloth like it was keeping you grounded. “Yeah?”

She nodded, smile faint but sincere. Then her voice dropped a little, more careful.

“I know I’m probably pushing my luck here, but… I’d regret going home without asking.” She paused, met your eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

The question hit like warm thunder, soft but impossible to ignore.

You didn’t answer with words. Just leaned forward slowly, testing the distance between you. Paige closed the gap, her hand brushing your jaw as she tilted her head and kissed you, tender and sure.

It was soft, not showy. Not rushed. Like she wanted to memorize the feel of you before the world spun again. You could taste the faint sweetness of lemonade on her lips, the warmth of her skin, the way the air seemed to still around you.

When you pulled back, your breath caught. Your heart was thudding in your ears. She looked at you, slightly dazed, then smiled when she saw the way your teeth caught your bottom lip.

You looked away, biting back a grin. “Okay,” you whispered. “That was… pretty unforgettable.”

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vicsstufff · 8 days ago

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Request for anyone writing for Paige Bueckers rn:

Sugar momma type deal where the reader is struggling, working multiple jobs trying to afford college and failing to keep up with school work and one day she meets Paige who surprises herself by offering to support you through college on her NIL money after one conversation and their romance blossoms from there. Maybe some spice, maybe some protective Paige, maybe some sappy love?

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vicsstufff · 9 days ago

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only dallas can blow new york out by 30 points and then lose it in a quarter and a half

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vicsstufff · 9 days ago

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vicsstufff · 9 days ago

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WHATEVER SHE NEEDS

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: smut

♡— synopsis: paige wakes you up in the middle of the night just to fuck.

♡— a/n: okay so this was a request, i couldn't find it in my inbox but i remember getting it 😭

you’re barely awake, barely conscious of the way her lips were dragging up the side of your neck. letting out a soft groan, you started to stir which only made her hold you tighter and whimper:

“baby?”

she pressed her hips into your ass again, teeth grazing your skin in the way that always made you moan. you stirred again, coming around enough to open your eyes and look over your shoulder at her. “what’s wrong?”

“i need you, need you to touch me.” she said softly, hips still grinding against your backside. you let out a soft chuckle because of course, leave it to paige to wake you up because she was horny. you shifted in her arms so that you were facing her. despite the fact that it was almost pitch black in the room and your eyes were still blurry from sleep, you could see the desperation and need written all over her face.

you didn’t ask what time it was, you didn’t really care. all you cared about was the fact your girl needed you and who would you be if you didn’t give into her? definitely not yourself. you hand snaked over her hip and gave her a gentle squeeze, leaning in closer until your nose brushed hers. “show me where you need me, baby.”

paige didn’t say anything as she wrapped her hand around your wrist and guided your hand between her thighs. you pressed your fingers against her clothed clit, applying just enough pressure to make her breath hitch. any other time you would’ve teased her longer but you could imagine how long she was awake before she finally woke you up, how long she’d been waiting.

she lifted her leg and draped it over your hip as your fingers trailed down and pushed her panties to the side. you could tell how wet she was by how wet her panties were and when you finally slid your finger through her slit and felt how wet she really was, you let out a quiet hum. as your fingers circled her clit, you tilted your head and finally kissed her—swallowing her small whines.

you slid your fingers down and eased your fingers into her cunt. she was so wet that the sheet barely muffled the sound of your fingers fucking into her. there was still enough friction to make her moan and drop her head on your shoulder, her arms wrapping around you again.

“fuck, baby—” she moaned, hips rocking forward as you pressed your fingers deeper. you hummed against her head, loving how needy she was for you, how easy it was to turn her into a whining mess.

“you’re so wet f’me, drippin’ all over my fingers.” you teased her, and maybe some other time she would’ve told you to shut up or something but she was too turned on to care now. all she cared about was getting that orgasm she so desperately wanted.

you shifted the angle of your hand so you could press your thumb to her clit, adding on to her building pleasure. paige let out a louder moan—something close to a sob—as she jerked in your arms. “ohmygod—needed this so bad, needed you.”

“yeah?” you breathed out, as if you couldn’t tell she was telling the truth. you twisted your arm a little and with that your fingers shifted, brushing against her spot perfectly.

“right there—don’t move.” she cried out as her thighs started to tense. you groaned at the way her pussy started to throb around your fingers, signaling she was getting close. your free hand found it’s way to the back of her head and you let your fingers grasp onto the blonde strands, tugging her head back until you could see her face again.

“that feel good, baby?” you asked, brushing your lips over hers. paige nodded quickly, her brows drawing together and her lips parting. her stomach tightened with every slow drag of your fingers, chest heaving with every circle pressed to her swollen clit. she never stopped grinding down into your hand, chasing your fingers as much as she could.

you could tell she was close—right there at her breaking point—by the way her eyes were rolling back, how her hand had closed around your arm tightly, how her walls felt tightening around your fingers. you knew her body like the back of your hand—so good you could probably get her off in your sleep.

“i’m cumming—shit, yesyesyes.” paige choked out, body stilling in your arms as her orgasm hit her like a freight train. your fingers didn’t stop moving inside her, you were making sure you pulled every last bit of that orgasm out of her. your own breathing was heavy and shaky as if you were the one being pleased, and maybe in a way you were.

“fuck, paige. cum for me, baby, just like that.”

paige let out a guttural moan as you started to push her towards the line of overstimulation. you didn’t push her too far and started to slow your fingers to a stop, pulling them out carefully. she let out a soft whimper and opened her eyes as she felt your hand coming up from the sheets.

your eyes met hers as you placed your fingers in your mouth. you made a show of moaning around them and letting your eyes roll back. paige felt her stomach flutter again—even though she just came, she was ready to go again. “you’re gonna kill me,” she whispered.

you let out a soft chuckle and brought your hand up to her cheek, those same wet fingers that were in your mouth now brushing against her skin but she didn’t really care. you ran your thumb over her bottom lip before leaning in and speaking against her lips, “not before i ride you.”

she let out a soft groan and you didn’t give her a chance to say anything else before you were kissing her, tongue immediately sliding between her lips. paige let out a hum at the taste of herself on your tongue.

in the midst of kissing you, paige slid her leg back and ran her hands down between your bodies. her fingers grasped at your panties and she tugged them down the best she could, you helped her the rest of the way.

the sheet had been kicked off of your bodies, revealing your skin to the cool air in the room but both of you were too hot to really register the cold. you started to press her back into the mattress, rolling with her body and settling between her legs. paige broke away from your lips as she felt your wet cunt on her thigh. “you always get so wet for me.”

“only for you.” you whispered back. your hands were sliding up her shirt and hers were sliding up your thighs. she gripped your hips and tugged you forward until your pussy was right on hers. paige let out a moan as you lined your clits up, hers still being sensitive from her previous orgasm.

after you were satisfied with your position, you carefully rocked forward—hissing at the way your clits slipped together perfectly. she ran her hands over your ass and started to guide your hips down, mewling from how sensitive she still was.

even though you were just as turned on as she was, she was much louder than you were. you leaned down and pressed your lips to hers again as you found a slow rhythm, muffling the sound of her moans the best you could. the drag of her slick folds against yours had you moaning low in her mouth and her hips rutting up to apply more pressure.

the sound of your bodies meeting was loud and obscene, bouncing off the walls like a mocking echo. you broke away from the kiss and just rested your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut with a quiet moan. “you feel so fucking good.”

paige nodded her head quickly—at what? she didn’t even know but it felt like the right thing to do. her hands were gripping your ass hard as she pulled you against her, her body arching off the bed a little as she felt herself starting to get overwhelmed by the pleasure. you trailed your lips down her chin and neck, breathing heavy through your own moans.

“want you to cum on me—pleasy, baby, need you—.” she babbled, saying anything that came to mind as she got lost in the feeling of her orgasm creeping up her spine. you let out a soft huff through your noise, chest heaving as your hips unknowingly rocked harder and faster. hearing her beg sent a jolt through your core, pussy gushing as you closed your mouth around her peaked nipple.

paige let out a strangled noise of surprise when she felt you start to suck, thighs shaking around yours. her body soon realized that’s all she needed for her orgasm to pull her under—her back arched with a very loud moan. “m’cumming, oh my—”

her hips bucked wildly, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent moan as her entire body trembled beneath you. all you could do was moan against her as you chased your own high. paige’s body felt like jello now, she couldn’t move a muscle—all she could do was lay there and moan as you used her to get off.

it wasn’t long before your orgasm started to approach. your hips stuttered and lost rhythm, jerking wildly against her. “fuck, fuck—m’gonna—” you choked, eyes fluttering shut as your stomach clenched hard. “gonna cum, paige—gonna cum all over you.”

she brought her hand down on your ass hard, causing your body to jerk on top of her. your hips jerked one last time before you fully collapsed on her chest, both of you sweaty and slick, panting hard. her arms wrapped around you and held you close to her body.

the both of you laid there for a moment to catch your breath and you could feel her heartbeat start to fall into a steady beat, yours syncing with hers. you let out a soft, breathless laugh, that was more a huff than anything, and lifted your head enough to give her lips a soft kiss. “thank you,”

“for what?” paige asked, eyes blinking open to look at you.

“for waking me up, duh.” you laughed as you rolled off of her and laid on your back. paige moved with you, tossing her leg back over your body like before and laying her head on your chest. “what time is it?”

paige shrugged and lifted herself up enough to reach across your body and tap one of the phones on the nightstand. when the phone lit up and showed her the time she winced and looked back at you with a sheepish look. “it’s 3:25.”

“3:25?!” you looked at her shocked, not expecting it to be that late. you looked over at the phone to make sure she was reading the numbers right and sure enough, she was. you let out a soft groan and let your head loll to the side. “i have to be up in an hour, i’m gonna kill you.”

she gave you a sheepish smile and leaned over your body, pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. “well, you did say not before you rode me. i die a happy woman.”

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vicsstufff · 9 days ago

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𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you get your heart broken but revenge is sweet

wc - 9.8k

suggestive language included - minors dni

You never packed like this before. Not angrily. Not with your heartbeat hammering in your ears and your mind playing every little moment that led to this. But tonight, every drawer slammed harder than the last, and every shirt tossed into the suitcase felt like an act of self respect.

“You’re seriously doing this right now?” she muttered from the kitchen. The clink of her fork against a ceramic plate was infuriatingly casual. “You always get dramatic when you’re about to get your period.”

You didn’t look at her. If you did, you might scream.

It had been two years. Two years of bending for her moods, waiting for her to meet you halfway. You gave, she took. You showed up, she vanished. And every single time you said something, she’d smile like she knew you were too soft to leave.

Her name was Logan Taylor. Five foot nine inches, played pickup basketball every weekend like it was the WNBA Finals, and loved pretending she wasn’t emotionally unavailable. You met her at a coffee shop a couple blocks from your apartment. She told you she liked your hoodie. That hoodie is now crumpled on top of your suitcase, a silent casualty of love turned dull.

You finally turned to face her.

“Do you even hear yourself?” you asked. “This isn’t about being emotional. This is about the fact that I’ve been dating someone who treats me like I’m disposable.”

Logan didn’t even pause chewing. “You’re being sensitive.”

You blinked slowly, like your body needed a second to process that someone could be this smug while you were this hurt.

“And you’re being predictable,” you shot back. “I’m done.”

Logan leaned back in her chair, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You’ll be back. You always are.”

Your chest burned. “Not this time.”

She shrugged. “Okay. When you miss me, you know where I live.”

You zipped your suitcase and gripped the handle. Then you walked to the front door, flipped her off with the coldest middle finger of your life, and slammed the door so hard you hoped the frame cracked.

Your friends didn’t ask too many questions when you texted the group chat.

“Officially single! Free tonight?"

By 11:17 PM, you were in a short black dress, heels you forgot you owned, and eyeliner sharper than your ex’s attitude. The club was packed. Sweaty, loud, and exactly what you needed. You danced like you owed the night something. Like it was the only way to sweat her out of your system.

Someone handed you a tequila soda. Someone else complimented your smile. You were laughing again, really laughing, and the bass shook the floor under your feet.

That’s when you saw her. The person your ex-girlfriend obsesses over. The person she couldn’t go an hour without mentioning.

Tall, blonde, glowing in the neon haze of the VIP section like some goddess who accidentally walked into the Dallas nightlife. She had on a fitted crop top and loose black pants. Her sneakers were white and spotless. She looked good, annoyingly good.

And she was looking at you.

You blinked, then smiled. She smiled back.

No way.

You turned back to your friend group and tried to focus. You couldn’t let yourself spiral into that fantasy. Not tonight.

“Hey,” said a voice beside you. You turned. It was her. Paige Bueckers, six feet of confident charm and boyish beauty, standing next to you like it wasn’t the most insane thing to happen since you left Logan’s apartment. “I’m not trying to be weird,” she said, leaning in just enough so you could hear her over the music. “But I’ve been watching you dance and… damn.”

You laughed, partly from disbelief. “You’re not being weird. Just very direct.”

She grinned. “That’s good, right?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If you’re gonna stand there all night or dance with me.”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Lead the way.”

You turned and pulled her with you. The lights flickered blue and red. Her hands were on your waist before the beat even dropped. She wasn’t pushy, just smooth—cool fingers skimming your hips, keeping pace with yours, letting you lead.

You backed it up, slowly, just to see what she’d do.

She pressed in closer. Her hand slid from your waist to your stomach, splayed flat. You let your head tilt back onto her shoulder, letting the music pull you both under. You felt her breath near your ear—no words, just presence. Warm, steady, new.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t think about Logan. You didn’t think about being too much. You didn’t think about anything except the way Paige Bueckers was holding you like she already knew how to.

You don’t know how long you danced with her. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. Time dissolved between bodies. Yours, curved against hers. Hers, impossibly still and sure in the chaos. There was a point where you turned around to face her and she was already looking at you like she’d been waiting for you to do it.

“Need some air?” she said eventually, her lips brushing your ear.

You nodded.

Outside, Dallas heat kissed your skin even at midnight. Your sweat cooled. The sidewalk was slick with the night’s excess, but you felt lighter, like gravity forgot you for a moment. Paige was walking beside you, her hand brushing yours, pinky catching yours briefly, accidentally, until it wasn’t an accident anymore.

You glanced at her. “Do you always scout girls at the club?”

She smirked. “Only the ones that move like they’re trying to forget.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You read all that from a few songs?”

“I’m good at reading people.”

You turned to her. “Okay… what do you think I need right now?”

She stopped walking. You did too.

And Paige looked at you, not like a basketball star, not like a celebrity, not like some player who said the right things at the right time. She looked at you like someone who noticed. Like someone who saw the way your shoulders dropped in relief the second you stepped out of your old life.

“I think,” she said, quiet but sure, “you need a night that doesn’t end with you questioning if you’re enough.”

That shouldn't have hit you the way it did, but it did.

“Where are we going?” you asked before you could second guess yourself.

She licked her lips. “My place. If you want.”

You nodded, no hesitation.

Her apartment was clean. Stylish. Minimalist but lived in. A couple of basketball shoes were lined up by the door. A Wings hoodie was slung over a chair. There was jewelry on the counter, branded merch, but you spotted a UConn one too.

She threw her keys into a tray by the entrance and turned to you. “Water? Wine?”

“Water’s good.”

You followed her into the kitchen, your heels clicking against the tile until you kicked them off. She handed you a glass, and for a moment, you just stood there, your fingers brushing hers as she passed it to you. Your eyes dropped to her hands. Big, gentle, slow moving hands.

“You good?” she asked, her voice softer now.

You nodded. “More than good.”

She stepped closer. There was something different in the way Paige looked at you now. Something heavier than just club flirtation or attraction. She watched your mouth like it said something she didn’t want to miss.

And maybe it had.

Because you put your glass down without breaking eye contact, and she took that as the green light. Her hand came up, slow, cradling your cheek. The pad of her thumb brushed your skin, featherlight.

“You sure?” she whispered.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The kiss was nothing like you expected. Not hungry. Not rushed. Just… full. She kissed you like she had all night. Like this was the reason she’d found you on that dance floor. Like she wanted to memorize the way your lips moved.

Your hands slid beneath her shirt, fingertips gliding over warm, toned skin. Her hands slipped to your waist, drawing you in until your chest pressed to hers.

You pulled back slightly, breathless.

“This a one night thing?” you asked, not accusing, just wanting to know what this was and wasn’t.

She didn’t let go of your waist. “Do you want it to be?”

You looked at her. At her strong jaw, her focused eyes, her gentle grip. “I don’t know yet.”

Paige smiled. “Good. Neither do I.”

She kissed you again, deeper now. Hungrier. Her hands roamed your back, and yours found her neck, her shoulder blades, her waist. You found your way to her bedroom like you’d both done this before in some other life.

Clothes came off slowly. Paused between kisses. She whispered compliments in between, nothing cocky, just honest.

“You’re so damn pretty,” she breathed, trailing kisses down your collarbone.

“You’re worse than I thought,” you teased, grinning as you traced a line down her side.

“How so?”

“Dangerous.”

She chuckled, low and warm, before kissing your hip like it was holy.

The night wasn’t rough or fast, it was heat and tension and laughter between sheets. She didn’t rush, not once. It was slow touches, low moans, fingers laced together, her mouth warm and insistent between your thighs. You guided her, breath hitching as she learned you like a map she’d been waiting to trace.

After, when your body was slick with sweat and the sheets twisted around your legs, she curled around you from behind and kissed your bare shoulder.

“I’m not gonna lie,” she murmured, voice scratchy and worn, “I was gonna come to the club, have a drink, leave early. I had practice in the morning.”

You laughed, eyes half closed. “Sorry for messing with your schedule.”

She smiled against your back. “Don’t be. I’d suffer through a thousand practices for that dance.”

You felt her arm tighten around your waist. You didn’t say anything. You just held her hand and let yourself believe, maybe for the first time in years, that being wanted could be this soft. This steady. This real.

You woke up to a ceiling you didn’t recognize, wrapped in sheets that didn’t smell like yours, but oddly, you weren’t disoriented. If anything, you felt… safe. Like your body had finally caught up to what your heart had been trying to say for months.

It was morning in Dallas. Light streamed in from the tall window, painting long shadows across Paige’s bedroom floor. The A/C hummed low in the background, the only sound besides your slow breathing and the occasional shifting of the woman next to you.

Paige was still asleep, arm slung across your waist like she’d done it a hundred times. Her face was turned toward the pillow, lips parted slightly, blonde lashes fanned out in sleep. She looked younger like this. Softer. Not the star, not the face on the banners outside College Park Center.

Just… Paige.

You studied her for a moment longer than you should’ve, your heart tugging before your mind could catch up.

What was this? No, seriously, what was this?

You barely knew her. You’d met hours ago. She flirted with you like you were the only one in the club, and now you were naked in her bed, tangled up like she’d always been part of your morning.

She stirred. Her arm pulled you closer on instinct. You felt her nose graze the back of your neck before you heard her voice, low and sleepy.

“Mornin’…”

“Hey,” you whispered, smiling.

“Damn,” she murmured, pulling her hand back across your stomach like she had to confirm you were real. “I was hoping that wasn’t a dream.”

You turned your head just enough to meet her gaze. She looked a little shy now. Still flirty, but softer at the edges, like her confidence was real, but she didn’t take this lightly.

You grinned. “Still here.”

“Good,” she said, eyes flicking to your lips. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Cool. Lemme cook for you. But fair warning, it’s gonna be eggs or cereal. I don’t do anything that requires more than two steps.”

You laughed, rolling onto your back as she sat up, stretching. The way the morning light hit her arms and shoulders, Jesus. You had to force yourself to breathe normally.

“Eggs are fine,” you said.

She padded into the kitchen in just her sports bra and sweats. You stole one of her shirts and followed behind, taking a seat on one of the stools by her counter. The shirt smelled like detergent and lavender. Her.

She moved easily in the kitchen. Still sleepy, hair messy, smile lazy. You could already tell she was a creature of comfort—loose clothes, loud music, glass of water always in reach. She cracked the eggs like she was breaking in a new day.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

You blinked. “Cooked eggs?”

She grinned. “No, made breakfast for someone I met the same night.”

You smiled, heartbeat hitching just slightly. “Me neither.”

“I usually just ghost ‘em before sunrise,” she added, flipping the eggs. “But you… you’re different.”

You looked at her. “How so?”

She shrugged, still facing the stove. “You didn’t just look good dancing, you looked free. Like you’d just escaped something.”

You went quiet. She turned and caught your expression.

“Too deep?” she asked, lips quirking apologetically.

“No,” you said. ��Just true.”

She brought the plates over and sat beside you, her thigh brushing yours. You ate in comfortable silence, the kind you didn’t have to fill. She stole a bite from your toast. You didn’t stop her.

And then, your phone buzzed. You grabbed it from the counter. Your heart dropped.

You done with your little tantrum yet?

Everything inside you dropped. Paige must’ve seen it on your face.

“Hey,” she said, setting her fork down. “What is it?”

You hesitated, then passed the phone to her. She read it, her jaw ticked slightly.

“Wow,” she muttered. “That’s… some confidence.”

“Yeah,” you said, voice dull. “That’s her thing. She really believes I’ll crawl back.”

Paige looked at you, serious now. “You’re not even crawling forward. You’re walking away. And I like where you’re going.”

You stared at her for a beat. Something shifted in your chest. Gratitude? Relief? Maybe both. You reached for the phone again. And you typed back.

Clear whatever you want. I’m not coming back. Keep the plants alive if you can. But honestly? I doubt it when you could barely keep yourself alive.

You blocked her and exhaled.

Paige smiled. “Damn. That was hot.”

You laughed. “I don’t know what I expected. She always thought she owned me.”

“She doesn’t,” Paige said, pushing your hair behind your ear. “She never did.”

For a second, your throat tightened. And then her hand was on your thigh. Steady. Grounding.

“I’m not rushing anything,” she added. “But if you want space, I’ll give it. If you want company, I’m here.”

You stared at her for a long moment, the swirl of last night, this morning, your ex, and her… crashing together.

“I want to stay,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how long, but just… right now.”

Paige nodded, like she already understood that.

“Right now works,” she said.

She kissed you again, soft, like morning light. Like the beginning of something real.

She texted you the next morning, asking if you were free, throwing a flirty line after. You laughed, curled up on your couch, hair still damp from your shower, wearing a hoodie you ‘accidentally’ borrowed from Paige.

You took your time replying, not because you were playing hard to get, but because the smile on your face kept distracting you.

I wanna take you out. Like out out that’s not at some club or back to my place. A real date. Pick you up at 6?

Your stomach flipped. This wasn’t casual anymore. This wasn’t just dancing, a night filled with steam, to morning after eggs. She wanted to take you on a date and you wanted it.

She pulled up right at six p.m. sharp. The same black jeep she’d driven you home in, but this time, it felt different, more deliberate. You stepped outside in a sundress you hadn’t worn in months, hair soft and loose, lips tinted with the kind of gloss that said, “just in case she kisses me again.”

Paige got out of the car when she saw you.

“I don’t know what’s louder,” she said, eyes dragging over you, “your dress or my heartbeat.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “You rehearsed that?”

She smirked. “Maybe. But I meant it.”

The restaurant was just outside the city, tucked away, low lights, candles flickering on every table. Intimate, but not fancy. The kind of place with good pasta and better wine. Paige opened the door for you, waited for you to sit before pulling her chair in, and it hit you all over again.

She was intentional.

Logan used to scoff at reservations. Said eating out was a waste. Said flowers were “try hard.” Said PDA was for people trying to prove something.

Paige looked at you like she wanted to prove something. Not to the world, but to you.

“So,” she said, after ordering for herself and letting you speak first. “Tell me something you haven’t told anyone else in the last week.”

You blinked. “That’s your first date question?”

“I’m a professional question asker.”

You smiled. “Okay. Hmm. Something I haven’t told anyone…” You paused. “I hated leaving her. But I’m really proud of myself for doing it.”

Paige didn’t say anything for a second. She didn’t jump to validate you or offer a story of her own. She just let it sit, like she knew the weight of it, and respected it. “I’m proud of you too.”

You looked down, fighting a smile. “Your turn.”

“Something I haven’t told anyone in the last week?” She leaned back, fingers tapping her water glass. “Okay. I’ve watched the replay of last night’s game three times already.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I played like shit,” she said with a grin. “But it was also the night after I met you. And when I watch it… I can tell the exact moment I stopped caring about the score and remembering the hours we spent together.”

You stared at her, lips parting slightly. “That’s… really good.”

She shrugged, fake casual. “I’m kind of a romantic. Don’t tell anyone.”

Dinner was long. Slow. You talked about everything—family, music, guilty pleasures, the worst movies you ever cried over. Paige told you about growing up in Minnesota, about pressure, about how silence in a locker room after a loss feels heavier than anything. You told her about how the quiet in your old apartment had started to feel like a punishment.

She reached for your hand halfway through dessert and didn’t let go for the rest of the night.

The walk back to her car was quiet, but not awkward. The good kind of quiet. The kind where your hands are still linked and your shoulders keep bumping and everything in the air feels charged, but comfortable. Familiar, somehow.

When she walked you to your door, you turned to face her. “Thank you,” you said. “For the night. For making it feel…”

“Like a reset?” she offered.

You nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

She stepped closer. Not too close. Just enough. “I’m not in a rush,” she said, voice lower now. “We can take this however slow you need. But I’d really like to kiss you again.”

You smiled. “Then why are you asking?”

Her smile grew. “Consent is hot.”

You laughed. “So is that line.”

She kissed you, soft and unhurried. One hand on your waist. The other cradling your cheek like it meant something. And it did. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours.

“Next time,” she whispered, “I’m cooking.”

“You said your eggs were ugly,” you teased.

“I didn’t say my dinner was.”

You let your hand linger on her chest, fingers splayed over the logo of her jacket.

“Next time,” you repeated, softly.

And for the first time in a long time, you went to sleep feeling full, not just from good food or good company. From possibility.

It was the light that woke you again.

Not the harsh, glaring kind that forced you into the day, but the soft gold kind that slipped through the sheer curtains like it was asking permission to touch your skin. You stirred, buried in cotton sheets, legs tangled with another pair that had no business being that smooth and warm and unmoving.

You didn’t open your eyes right away. Because you didn’t have to.

Paige’s arm was around your waist. Her breath slow against the back of your neck. One of her hands was tucked beneath your hoodie—the one you’d “forgotten” to give back—her thumb just barely brushing your ribs. You could tell from the rise and fall of her chest that she wasn’t fully awake either. And neither of you seemed in a rush to change that. You smiled into the pillow.

“You’re smiling,” Paige mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

“You’re awake,” you murmured back.

“Barely.” Her arm tightened around your middle. “This hoodie smells like me.”

“I know.”

“You’re wearing it again.”

“I know.”

She nudged her face into the curve of your neck. “You’re a thief.”

“You like it.”

“I do.” A pause. “Stay a little longer.”

You turned over slowly, shifting to face her. Her eyes were still half shut. Blonde hair a mess across her forehead. No makeup or filter. Just Paige. Gorgeous in the softest, sleepiest way.

You reached up and brushed your thumb across her cheek. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

Her lips quirked. “Good. Because if you tried, I was gonna not let you go.” You laughed and rolled into her, burying your face against her chest. Her arms came up to wrap around you fully now, anchoring you like she always meant to hold you this way. “I could get used to this,” she said, fingers tracing gentle lines on your spine.

“Waking up like this?”

“Yeah. Slow mornings. Just you. Coffee eventually. Maybe pancakes. Or just cereal in bed.”

“You’re romanticizing the hell out of cereal right now.”

“Only because you’re here. If I were alone, I’d be eating dry ass Cheerios and doom scrolling.”

You grinned against her chest. “I love that for you.”

She tilted your chin up, her eyes finally opening all the way. “I really like you.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t overthink it. You didn’t measure what you felt against some ghost of what you used to feel with Logan. You just let the truth spill back.

“I really like you too.”

Her smile spread, slow and wide and soft, like it lived somewhere between relief and anticipation. Like it was happy just to exist in the space you’d made together. She leaned in and kissed you, lazy and unhurried, like there was no time limit on this. And there wasn’t.

You spent the rest of the morning exactly like that… curled together in bed, talking when you wanted to, kissing when you didn’t, laughing quietly about nothing. Paige eventually rolled over and scrolled through DoorDash.

“Okay,” she said, “we’ve got a very important decision to make.”

“Hit me.”

“Waffles from that place on down the street, or croissant sandwiches from the spot that always gives me too many hash browns?”

You raised a brow. “Is there such a thing as too many hash browns?”

She grinned. “You right.”

You ended up with both because Paige couldn’t pick and you didn’t stop her. Because she wanted to make the morning last and you were more than happy to let her try.

While you waited, she pulled you into her lap on the couch, her arms lazily slung around your waist as your legs draped over hers. She kissed your temple, your jaw, your shoulder. Not to turn you on, but just because.

“You always like this?” you whispered.

Paige shrugged. “Only when I want someone to stay.”

You kissed her. Again and again.

It’s been weeks since that second morning in her bed.

Now, her hoodies are in your closet, your hairbrush lives in her bathroom, and every night Paige has an away game, she sends a “goodnight” selfie from her hotel room with a thumbs up and her pillow smooshing half her face. You have a collection now saved in a hidden album labeled "Sleepy P."

You’re hers, she’s yours, quietly, confidently. But anyone who looks closely enough can tell especially on game nights.

Especially tonight.

Sold out crowd. Big names in the building. Arike is locked in. DiJonai’s talking trash with a smile. But you? You’re settled in courtside, wearing your Wings varsity jacket—the one Paige draped over your shoulders at the end of that rainy Tuesday dinner last week. It still smells like her cologne.

You’re not flashy. You’re not trying to be seen. But everyone sees you.

Wings staff give you nods and smiles. One of the assistants, Kevin, you think, passes you a water bottle because he knows you don’t trust concession stand Dasani. Even Chris waves once, before diving into whatever chaotic clipboard ritual he’s doing tonight.

ZaZa bumps Paige’s shoulder during warmups and jerks her chin toward you.

“She’s here again,” she mouths.

Paige doesn’t look. She doesn’t have to. She just smirks and keeps stretching, but the moment she finishes her last set of defensive slides, her eyes flick to yours. You raise two fingers. A quiet peace sign. She raises hers back. Like always.

The game is brutal.

Vegas is stacked. Jackie Young’s in kill mode. Chelsea Gray is picking apart every switch. Even A’ja, still recovering, is dominating the wings.

The Wings hang tough, but it slips in the fourth.

Missed free throws. A late turnover. The kind of loss that doesn’t sting because they were outmatched, but because they almost had it. The buzzer sounds. 87–81, Aces. Fans clap. Aces bench erupts.

Wings players jog off. Paige walks off last. Her hands on her hips, head down, jaw clenched. You know her well enough now to see it, that stormy quiet when she’s not mad at anyone but herself.

You wait by the tunnel. Security knows you. Lets you through. You’re standing just inside the edge of the player hallway, your arms folded, quietly watching as players file past.

Then you hear a voice you don’t mistake, not even in a crowd. Sharp. Flat. Familiar in the worst way.

“Yo!” You turn. It’s Logan. She’s on the other side of the security barrier, in the section right behind floor level. Jeans. Black tee. That same smug posture, like the world owes her space. You blink. She waves a hand. “You serious right now? You really down here?”

The nearest guard steps forward, firm but polite. “You need a wristband to enter this section, ma’am.”

“I’m just trying to talk to her,” Logan snaps. “It’s fine.” You don’t say a word. You adjust your jacket. You keep your arms crossed. “Since when were you into basketball?” she yells.

That stops a few people. Not because they care, but because it cuts through the buzz of postgame noise. You meet her eyes.

And then you do the worst thing you could possibly do to someone like Logan.

You look right past her. Not through her. Not around her. Past her like she isn’t even the subject anymore. You take a step back, nod once at security, and disappear into the tunnel without a word.

Behind you, Logan’s still trying to make noise. Still hoping to bait a reaction. But you’re already moving forward. Literally and emotionally.

Paige is waiting just inside the tunnel, her hair still damp from the game, arms loose at her sides, eyes scanning until they land on you.

She doesn’t ask what just happened, not at first. She just reaches out and pulls you into a hug.

“You okay?” she murmurs, lips near your ear.

You nod against her chest. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“She’s loud,” you say. “But she’s not important anymore.”

Paige pulls back enough to see your face. “She better not be.”

You smile, and this time it’s effortless. “She’s not.”

She brushes her fingers down your arm, linking your pinkies for a second.

“Good,” she says. “Because I’ve been planning a post loss pity dinner, and you’re definitely coming.”

You chuckle. “Are you the main course?”

Paige smirks. “That depends how fast we get home.”

You’re both curled up on her couch.

The city outside is quiet now, the hum of traffic faded, Dallas exhaling as night settles deeper into its bones. The TV flickers in front of you, some reality show playing, volume low enough that neither of you are actually listening.

Paige is behind you, long legs tangled with yours, her arm slung comfortably around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. Every now and then, she presses her nose into the back of your neck, just breathing you in like this might be the best part of her whole day.

You feel her hand move slowly beneath the blanket, just her fingers drawing shapes against your stomach. You don’t even care what they are. It’s the softness that undoes you. The lack of expectation. The lack of her needing to be anything but present.

She sighs into the quiet.

You tilt your head a little. “You good?”

Paige nods, slowly. “Just… tired,” she says. “The good kind. The kind you get after a game, even if you lose.”

You glance over your shoulder at her. “Even tonight?”

She shrugs, the barest lift of her shoulder. “Didn’t play great. But I’ll watch film, fix it. I’m learning.”

“You’re already great.”

She smiles, but it’s small. Not fake, but cautious. Like she doesn’t quite know what to do with that kind of kindness yet.

You roll over to face her fully, sliding your hand over her hip.

“I’m serious. You’re a rookie. You’re starting. You’re playing as the best, and you belong. And…” you pause, smile widening, “… you’re an All Star. That’s insane, Bueckers.”

She laughs quietly. “You sound more excited than I do.”

“I am more excited than you are.”

“Not possible.”

You kiss the tip of her nose. “I’m so proud of you.”

Her eyes soften at that. Like, really soften. Not in a playful way. Not in a ‘say it again and I’ll pretend I hate it’ way. Just vulnerable. Her thumb traces the edge of your jaw now, slowly.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she murmurs. You raise a brow, letting her continue. “The All Star game… it’s in Indy this year. July’s kind of a blur already, but that weekend’s locked in. They gave us guest passes. Flights. Rooms. Everything. You watch her closely, waiting. She takes a small breath. “I want you to come with me.”

You blink. Not because it’s shocking, you’ve practically been living out of her apartment for the past week, but because it means something. Public and real. A trip that turns the quiet thing you’ve been into something the world might notice.

Paige must see that flicker in your expression because she adds quickly, “I mean, no pressure. I know it’s not a secret, but we’re not, like, out out. I’d get it if you weren’t ready. I’d never want—”

“I want to.” She stops. You repeat it, slower. “I want to come with you.” She exhales. Like she’d been holding her breath, waiting for that answer and bracing for something different. You pull her closer, tucking your head beneath her chin this time. “Is this where I pretend to be surprised and honored you invited me?” you tease, grinning.

“Shut up,” she mutters, kissing your temple.

“I should warn you though,” you continue, voice muffled against her hoodie, “if I’m going to Indy, I’m gonna go all out. Sit courtside. Probably gonna heckle whoever guards you.”

Paige laughs. “You already do that.”

“Not in enemy territory.”

“I like it.”

You grin. “Good. Because I already have outfit ideas.”

She hums, voice low now, lips near your ear. “You keep saying things like that and I’m gonna forget this is supposed to be a rest night.”

You shiver a little under the blanket and press closer.

“Then let’s rest now,” you whisper, “and wear each other out later.”

Paige lets out the softest groan, somewhere between amused and tortured.

“You’re dangerous.”

You kiss her jaw. “I’m yours.”

She wraps both arms around you now, burying her face in your neck.

“I know.”

Indianapolis is humid the weekend of the All-Star game, but you’re too swept up in the rhythm of the trip to care. The plane ride is quiet, not because there’s tension, but because Paige falls asleep with her head against your shoulder ten minutes into the flight, and you spend the entire time scrolling your phone with one hand while the other brushes lightly through her hair. Every once in a while, she murmurs something in her sleep, little fragments of game plans or dreams, and you just smile and hold her closer. It’s not until the descent, when she blinks awake and yawns like a cat, that she remembers where she is and who she’s with and even then, her first instinct is to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

The hotel is sleek and modern, full of the buzz of league media, event staff, and players arriving with entourages, suitcases, and signature styles. Paige’s name is on nearly every banner, not just as a rising rookie, but the rookie. The one people want to talk to, photograph, circle on the stat sheet. You try to stay in the background at first. That’s what you’ve always done, quiet support, out of the frame. But Paige doesn’t let you shrink. When she checks in, her hand stays on your waist. When someone from the league tries to usher her toward media, she introduces you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “This is my girlfriend,” she says, steady and soft. She doesn’t say it for the effect. She says it because it’s true.

And when she turns and catches your face, she smiles like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

You spend the afternoon together, lunch in a tucked away spot Paige heard about from Azzi, a nap curled into each other in a room with blackout curtains and too much A/C, and eventually, the players only event in the lobby that you’re not supposed to be at but are definitely invited to. Paige makes it clear with a glance that she’s not going unless you come with her. So you do. You stand beside her as she jokes with NaLyssa and Dijonai, as she gets dragged into a game of beer pong she didn’t want to play but somehow wins, as she drinks half a sparkling water and gives you the other half like second nature. When she finally breaks away, it’s just to press her forehead against yours in the corner of the room and whisper, “You’re the only part of this that doesn’t feel overwhelming.”

You kiss her, quick and quiet, just enough to steady her. You don’t even think anyone notices.

But they do.

The first viral moment happens at shoot around the next morning.

You’re standing courtside with your badge on, hoodie pulled over your head, watching Paige run drills with the other All Stars. You’re barely in the frame. It’s one of the league’s interns filming a behind the scenes Instagram Reel, just a few seconds of warmup shots, stretches, and banter. But Paige jogs over to grab her water and instinctively looks toward you. You smile. She raises an eyebrow. You mouth something—probably “don’t miss again”—and she rolls her eyes, water bottle still in hand, and flips you off with the most casual affection in the world.

The camera doesn’t catch the words. Just the moment. The look on her face. That microsecond of melted ice. That smile she only gives you.

By the time you both make it back to the hotel later that afternoon, the clip has over 200k likes and the comments are full of speculation.

“PAIGE SMILING LIKE THAT??” “WHO TF IS SHE LOOKING AT???” “IDK WHO YOU ARE BUT I WANNA BE YOU” “y’all… that’s the ‘I’m in love’ stare.” “the eyes don’t lie chica.” “I don’t wanna start a rumor but… I’m starting a rumor.”

You show her your phone while she’s brushing her teeth. She’s in boxers and a sports bra now, barefoot in the hotel bathroom, hair wet from the shower and eyes still tired.

She sees the post. Reads the comments. Then spits into the sink, wipes her mouth, and meets your gaze in the mirror.

“You okay with it?”

You hesitate. Not because you’re scared, but because this was always a soft thing, quiet, real in the way sunlight through curtains is real, private. But now? It’s becoming known.

“I am,” you say, after a breath. “As long as they know you’re mine.”

Paige grins. Leans back against the counter and pulls you in by the front of your hoodie.

“Oh, they’ll know.”

And she kisses you there, in the mirror’s reflection, in a hotel bathroom a couple states away from home, with the world creeping closer, but your hearts beating like they’re still just yours.

The orange carpet was chaos.

Not the disorganized kind, not messy or overwhelming, but alive. Camera flashes, handlers with clipboards, publicists pointing, reporters waving down players like they were politicians or movie stars. Paige stepped out of the SUV like she’d done this a hundred times, even though this was her very first All-Star appearance. First as a rookie, first as a pro, first with a world that had already anointed her the next big thing, even if she hadn’t fully caught up to it yet.

She looked ridiculous. And by ridiculous, you meant heartbreakingly beautiful. She wore white baggy pants with patches, black loafers and a sleeveless cardigan she’d let you lift up by them hem just to see a little something before leaving the hotel. She left her hair free, her natural waves being out. Her diamond stud earrings caught the light every time she turned to smile and that smile wasn’t for the cameras.

It was for you.

Because you were off to the side—not on the carpet, not in the shot, but close enough. Watching her. Beaming. Dressed casually but clean.

Paige floated from one interview to the next. WNBA, ESPNW, Slam. Everyone wanted her. Everyone asked the same ten questions, and she answered them with poise you knew she’d practiced. You watched her nod and laugh and point at teammates, taking selfies, tossing peace signs. And then, out of nowhere, two well know characters in the W popped up, phones already out, midstream, hollering across the carpet like they owned it.

“There she is!” C yelled, twisting her phone to get a close up of Paige, who immediately put her hand over her face and groaned.

“Not you guys,” Paige muttered, still smiling.

“Look at her,” T cackled, zooming in. “Miss Rookie All-Star, giving model on the carpet. Hey, Bueckers, blow us a kiss for the people!”

Paige, flustered but still competitive, threw a slow wink at the camera and strutted down the carpet. They howled. And you watched her cheeks flush beneath all that press polish. She was having fun and you loved watching her like that.

You didn’t even notice the woman walking up to you until she gently tapped your shoulder.

She couldn’t have been older than 24, wide eyes, clear lip gloss, and a press badge around her neck. She held a phone mounted on a stabilizer in one hand and a microphone in the other, its foam cover stamped with the bubbly logo WAGTalk.

“Hey,” she said, her smile disarming. “Would you be down to be in a video real quick? It’s silly. Couple of questions. You can say no.”

You hesitated, but then glanced at Paige, now signing a jersey for a little girl by the ropes and you nodded.

“Sure,” you said. “Let’s do it.”

The woman perked up. “Okay! So this is a little thing we do called How Well Do You Know Your WNBA Girlfriend? Think you’re up for it?”

You grinned, nervous but game. “We’ve only been dating a couple weeks… but I’ll try my best.”

She laughed. “That makes it even better. Okay. First question, what was your girlfriend’s career high in college?”

“Forty points,” you answered, without hesitation. “And that’s an easy one cause she always talks about it. Like, all the time.”

“Love that. Alright, career high in the W?”

You chuckled. “Thirty-five points. She made me sit down and watch the replay. Every minute.”

“Okayyy, locked in. What sports brand sponsors her?”

“Nike. And she made me get rid of every pair of other brands I owned. Like, straight up exiled them.”

The interviewer was giggling now. “What pick in the draft was she?”

You raised both hands like you were holding a trophy. “Number one, baby!”

The interviewer gave you an approving nod. “Okay! What sport would she play if she wasn’t a basketball player?”

Your smile twitched, unsure. “Oh, that’s a tough one… ‘cause basketball’s her whole world…”

You trailed off as you felt a familiar presence at your side, not touching you, not interrupting on camera, but standing close enough that you knew exactly who it was.

Off camera, soft and smug, Paige’s voice drifted in. “You’re my whole world, baby.”

Your breath caught.

The interviewer gasped. “Stop it, that was so cute.”

You turned toward her voice, grinning and flushed, but stayed facing forward as the next words came out, wobbly but sincere. “…Honestly? I have no clue.”

“She mentioned golf,” the interviewer offered helpfully.

You burst out laughing. “That’s a lie. She raged the last time we played mini golf. Threw the golf club and everything. Number one crash out.”

Behind the camera, Paige groaned. “I was having an off day.”

“You made an eight on the easiest hole,” you teased.

“I wasn’t locked in!”

The interviewer was howling now. “Okay okay, last question. What college did she go to?”

You looked straight into the camera and said it like it was muscle memory. “UConn.”

The girl behind the mic clapped her hands. “And now, girlfriend reveal! It’s…”

You turned and pointed, laughing as Paige stepped half into frame, one hand raised like she was doing the world a favor.

“Paige Bueckers,” you said, grinning ear to ear.

The clip would go viral within hours. The comments would explode. Everyone would say it was soft, it was wholesome, it was goals. But in that moment, standing there with Paige’s arm finally wrapping around your waist and her lips brushing your temple as the WAGTalk girl thanked you both, it didn’t feel like a reveal. It just felt like real life.

The arena is still glowing with postgame adrenaline. Confetti clings to sneakers and the bass from the speakers is thumping low like a heartbeat that refuses to settle. All-Star Weekend has its own rhythm, part performance, part celebration, no stakes except pride and flash. Paige hadn’t taken it seriously, not for a second. She grinned through missed shots, danced through halftime, launched logo threes with the same casual ease she used to sink free throws.

And she won. Team Collier, or Team Hangover, depending on who you ask, walked away with the trophy, all smiles and jokes. But Paige didn’t celebrate long. She didn’t linger for the group photos or the final shots at half court. The second the buzzer went off, she made a beeline to the sideline, toward you.

You met her before she could even slow down.

Her arms wrapped around your waist like second nature. She pulled you in with a grin, kissed your cheek in front of thousands like the most obvious thing in the world, and said nothing at all because she didn’t have to.

“Couldn’t miss today,” she says, her voice muffled by your collar. “Felt like magic.”

“You looked like magic,” you whisper back.

It’s only then that you notice the crowd forming around you—media outlets, photographers, social accounts with millions of followers. They’re inching closer, cameras already up, calling her name.

“Paige! Can we get a photo of you and your girlfriend?”

“Paige! Over here—one for ESPNW!”

“Bueckers, real quick! Couple shot?”

And without hesitation, she steps to the side, pulling you with her and poses. Not stiffly or uncomfortably. She slides an arm around your waist, leans into your shoulder, and kisses your cheek in front of a hundred lenses like this is her normal. Like you’re hers and that’s the headline.

“Just one more!” someone yells.

She obliges. For a few seconds.

Then she lifts her chin, locks eyes with the nearest camera operator, and says calmly but clearly, “Okay, that’s enough. Back up.”

There’s no venom in her voice, but there’s steel. She’s not asking. The crowd hesitates. Some drop their cameras. Others nod and step back, the way you do when someone draws a line you didn’t know existed.

She turns to you, hand still on your waist, a bit breathless now. “Sorry. I just… they were crowding you.”

You smile. “I’m okay.”

She leans in, brushing her nose against yours. “I know. I just don’t like them treating you like a prop.”

“I am the hotter half,” you tease.

“Obviously,” she says, kissing you before you can say anything else.

“Wow,” came a familiar voice from behind the nearest stanchion. “Really milking it, huh?”

You froze for a second. Just long enough to confirm the voice. Logan.

She wasn’t near the court. Not credentialed. Not even floor level. Just hovering at the edge of the crowd like she belonged there, like she hadn’t spent two years treating you like a placeholder. Paige felt you stiffen beside her. Her hand stayed on your lower back, grounding you.

Logan wasn’t yelling this time. She didn’t have to. The bite in her tone was enough to draw attention.

“Well, I guess that explains why you left, huh?” Logan said, smirking. “You traded up. Congratulations. Can’t wait for your little interview.”

You didn’t respond right away. Because Paige beat you to it. She turned to face her fully, head tilted slightly, expression unreadable.

“You’re Logan, right?”

Logan blinked. “Yeah?”

“I heard you’re like my biggest fan.” That did something. Logan froze, just for a second. Like she’d never imagined Paige Bueckers would say her name, let alone acknowledge her existence. It cracked the mask. You saw it. You felt it. Paige continued, calm and sweet. “That true?”

Logan scoffed, recovering. “I mean, I respect your game. Didn’t know you were the type to get involved in my leftovers.”

Paige didn’t flinch. But you smiled. Not a big one. Not petty or loud. Just a slow, knowing smile as you turned slightly and let your voice carry.

“You know what they say?” you said, eyes locked on Logan. “Break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favorite athlete.” You shrugged. “And did.”

Logan looked stunned. Speechless for the first time since you met her. Mouth slightly open. Confidence deflating.

Paige didn’t wait. She turned to you, pulled you in by the waist, and kissed you full on the mouth—slow, solid, certain.

The crowd didn’t matter. The lights didn’t matter. Not even Logan mattered. When Paige pulled back, her voice was soft. Only for you.

“Ready to get out of here?”

You nodded, heart thudding, throat tight with adrenaline and something sweeter.

She slipped her hand into yours.

And together, you walked into the tunnel, leaving the noise, the past, and your ex exactly where they belonged. Behind you.

The venue is packed. Ceiling dripping with low neon, bass so deep it pulses in your body, smoke machines kicking just enough haze into the air to make everything feel slower, warmer, like a dream you don’t want to leave.

Paige’s hand hasn’t left your body all night.

Not during the toasts. Not during the postgame congratulations. Not even when Phee pulled her into a celebratory circle where players took turns clinking glasses and yelling “rookie of the year” like it was a drinking game. She held you close through all of it, her free hand sloppily gripping a lime wedge as she knocked back another tequila shot. Her cheeks flushed, eyes wild with the kind of high you only get from winning, from being wanted, from being twenty-three and alive.

You’re both drunk. Properly. Shamelessly. Shoulder to shoulder in a room full of sweat slick athletes and hype women, flash videos, impromptu raps, girls throwing ass on marble countertops and someone screaming every time a new bottle of champagne gets cracked open.

And Paige? She’s glued to you.

One hand on your hip. One behind your neck. Body molded against yours like gravity pulled her there first. You’re dancing—messy, rhythmic, shameless and she’s moving with you like it’s instinct. Your ass is pressed into her, swaying low to a beat neither of you fully hear, just feel. Her hands stay steady, gripping you tighter every time your hips roll back against her. She’s not even trying to hide it.

And you’re not trying to stop.

Your head tips back onto her shoulder, lips brushing her jaw as you whisper something—probably filthy, probably slurred—and she lets out this quiet little laugh that almost doesn’t match the fire behind her eyes. You spin to face her, dragging your hands down her chest, still moving with the music, and she grabs your waist and pulls you flush against her.

“Y’don’t get to do that,” she mumbles, drunk and breathless. “You don’t get to touch me like that unless you’re ready for me to leave with you right now.”

You bite your lip. “You said that like you’re not already gonna drag me back to the room.”

Paige leans in like she’s going to kiss you again—hard, messy, the kind that always comes with the promise of something dirtier—when a familiar voice slices through the beat.

“Y’all nasty.” Both your heads snap up. The two well known characters in the W are standing five feet away with a phone pointed directly at the two of you, laughing so hard they’re bent over. “You thought we wouldn’t catch that?” C howls, spinning in a slow circle to show the crowd behind her. “Stream been running and Paige Bueckers out here gettin’ handsy!”

“Not Bueckers Gone Wild!” T adds, already leaning into Paige with the camera at selfie length. “Tell the people what you was just whisperin’, come on. I know she said some shit.”

You and Paige both burst out laughing, her forehead drops onto your shoulder, her arm still firm around your waist. She’s blushing, even in the dark, but not pulling away. Not even a little.

“Nah,” Paige says, voice raspy, “stream don’t deserve to know.”

C’s howling again. “Oh she in love love.”

You’re laughing too, your face hot, your hand still resting on Paige’s stomach like it belongs there. You glance toward the phone and offer a lazy peace sign, already too far gone to care that thousands are probably watching.

“She’s mine,” you say to the camera, slurring just slightly. “And y’all can’t have her.”

The stream goes crazy.

But Paige’s only response is to pull you even closer and kiss you like the whole world isn’t watching—hands tangled in your hair, mouth slow and hot and deep, like you’re the only person she can taste tonight and she’s not willing to stop.

The two scream again. Somewhere in the distance, someone yells, “YOOOOOO!”

The party doesn’t stop, if anything, it somehow escalates. The bass gets deeper, the drinks stronger, the lights dimmer. Champagne’s being poured down shirts. Someone’s holding a fake trophy and fake crying. A DJ who may or may not be an actual DJ starts spinning throwbacks, and suddenly all the W players are screaming lyrics from high school like it’s a religious rite.

But Paige isn’t paying attention to any of it.

She’s behind you again, your bodies pressed together in the middle of the floor, her arms wound around your stomach, fingertips slipping beneath your crop top like she forgot you’re in public. Her mouth is right at your ear now, breath warm and reckless, saying things no one else can hear but that have you chewing your lip and shifting your hips right into hers. She’s drunk, not sloppy, but bold. Intoxicated in every sense, and it’s all you.

“You keep doing that,” she murmurs, one hand sliding down to the hem of your skirt, “and I swear to God we’re leaving right now.”

You turn in her arms slowly. Press your body into hers and smirk.

“What’s stopping you?”

That’s all it takes.

She grabs your hand and drags you through the crowd like she’s on a mission, shouldering past bodies and flashing apologetic smiles that no one takes personally because it’s Paige Bueckers and she’s glowing with All-Star night glitter. You’re giggling behind her, trying not to trip over your heels, both of you slick with sweat and vodka, riding the line between chaos and control.

The valet already has the car waiting, a sleek black SUV with tinted windows and a driver who’s too used to W players to bat an eye. Paige yanks the door open, ushers you in first, and slides in right after, slamming it behind her like she’s locking the world out.

The second it clicks shut, she’s on you.

Mouth to your neck. Hands under your thighs. Whispering something about how good you looked all night, how your ass shouldn’t be allowed in that dress, how you’re lucky she didn’t just take you right there on the DJ table.

You laugh, breathless, palms splayed on her chest. “You were so close.”

“I was this close,” she growls, dragging her teeth along your jaw.

You tangle your fingers in her hair and pull her back to look at you—cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide, lips slick and slightly parted.

“Hotel,” you mumble. “Now.”

And like clockwork, the car slows to a stop.

Only… the hotel isn’t quiet. Not even close. There’s a crowd.

Dozens of fans. Maybe more. Mostly girls. Holding phones, signs, Wearing jerseys, some Paige’s, some others, all of them buzzing with the same postgame, post party energy you two are dripping in. The moment the SUV appears, you hear the screams start.

You both freeze.

“Shit,” Paige mumbles, adjusting her shirt, hands still on your thighs but trying to look composed. “Forgot about that.”

The driver opens her door first. Paige steps out into the camera flashes, squinting in the lights, then turns immediately and offers her hand to you.

You take it. She holds it tight.

And with every ounce of composure you both almost have, you walk toward the hotel entrance, fingers interlocked, eyes forward, shoulders brushing. She waves with her free hand to a few fans calling her name, throws up a lazy peace sign, then mutters out the side of her mouth, “Do I look sober?”

You glance up at her, smiling. “You look like you tried.”

“You look drunker than me,” she says, stifling a grin.

“Because I am drunker than you.”

She squeezes your hand, hard. “Don’t trip on the stairs or I’m gonna have to carry you.”

“That’s what you want to do anyway.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Someone calls your name, or something close to it, but Paige doesn’t stop walking. Doesn’t let go of your hand. She gets you through the doors, past the lobby, past the front desk and the concierge pretending not to stare, into the elevator, and finally… into safety.

The second the doors close behind you? She pins you to the mirrored wall and grins.

“You’re mine tonight.”

You pant against her lips, already dizzy. “I was always yours.”

The elevator ride to the suite is silent, not because there’s nothing to say, but because everything you want to say is already written in how Paige’s eyes won’t leave your mouth.

She stands behind you, close enough to feel her chest rise against your back, the heat of her breath brushing the nape of your neck. Her hand rests at your hip. Not moving. Just waiting. The seconds tick by like they know what’s coming. Like they’re holding their breath with you.

The door to the room opens, and Paige pushes it shut with the heel of her foot the second you step inside.

Neither of you turn on the lights. There’s no need.

The glow from the city outside filters in through the floor to ceiling windows, soft gold and restless blue painting long shadows across the bed, the floor, the space between you. It’s not quiet, either. You can still hear the faint thrum of traffic, a distant siren, someone yelling outside the hotel.

But Paige makes the world shrink. She closes the space between you like she’s waited long enough. Because maybe she has.

The kiss is slow at first. Controlled. Her lips brushing yours once, then again, her hands finding the hem of your dress like muscle memory. You’re not sure who leads the dance from there, maybe it doesn’t matter. All you know is that things get warm fast. That clothes slip off too easily. Her mouth finds the curve of your neck like she already memorized it. That she whispers your name once—low, admiration—and it changes something in the air.

What follows isn’t rushed. It’s messy in all the right ways. A heel knocked off. Her jacket draped halfway over the armchair. Your dress somewhere between the minibar and the edge of the bed. You’re on your back. Then she is. Neither of you are thinking about anything except the way her hands map every part of you like she’s tracing a territory she already claimed weeks ago, she’s just making sure no one ever forgets.

You laugh into her mouth when she loses a pillow off the bed. She groans when you grind just right. Her fingers slip. Yours clutch. The room smells like sweat and perfume and something sharper, like want. Ache. Like you’ve both been waiting to be this close with nothing left between you but breath and heat and the way she keeps whispering, “You drive me crazy.”

You don’t sleep for hours. You barely notice the clock at all.

By the time you collapse against each other—tangled, slick, spent—the sky outside is already blushing pink.

And Paige? She kisses your forehead, slow and grounding, her arms wrapping around you like she’s still not ready to let go.

“You good?” she whispers.

You nod against her shoulder. “You?”

She grins. “Better than good,” she says, voice wrecked and proud and still a little breathless. “I’m yours.”

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