Can i request the hidden baby/ wife trope for paige? Like ppl only find out bc they catch page somewhere in Dallas with her family
𖥻 ALL SHE COULD, ALL SHE CAN. paige bueckers x wife!reader
synopsis: paige does all she can so god can do all she can’t.
notes: REBLOGS APPRECIATED MORE THAN LIKES. comments appreciated more than LIKES. hey… hey y’all… i’m back… hi nonnie, i hope you don’t mind i turned your request into a 2.4k word fic! this details how you got engaged to paige -> how the marriage was -> how she got you pregnant in the first place and the overall privacy around those events -> how that privacy was broken! guys ima be rwal i complerely projected. like i read this fic and i see my future slightly
cw: commitment for my queens with the commitment issues, pregnancy, nothing else i suppose— i was lowkey just projecting my indescribable urge to have a baby and be a wife to my future woman, i heard paige say that she did all she could so god could do all she couldn’t and i just ran w it, wife!reader, WIFE!READER IS DEVOTED TO PAIGE, uconn AND dallas wings paige. these bitches inLOVE
Paige did all she could, so God could do all she couldn’t.
Paige, having been dating you long enough to the point she knew you were here to stay, did not want you to lose what she already did: the luxury of privacy. So, when she came to you with a ring (because she would not have you be ‘just a girlfriend’ when she wanted you pregnant with her baby), she did it quiet.
It wasn’t even outside. It was inside, with your leg draped over hers, and your forearm over your eyes as you tried to take an impromptu screen break because paige decided to scare you saying that your orbital would fracture from too much staring at your screen. she couldn’t believe you actually got scared, but she remembers being thankful for how gullible you were. it gave her the perfect opportunity.
She pulled the velvet box out of her sweatpants, called your name once, then twice, then three times—“come onnn,” she drawled, “i was literally joking.”
“I’m still horrified.” you murmured, before slowly removing your arm, blinking a few times to readjust to the bright light. then, you sat up.
And Paige was there, with that velvet box wide open, and a ring with a rock so big you thought you saw god. most importantly, was that there was a huge smile on her face—pearly whites all on display, as if you didn’t jump out the couch you were both on, gasping so audibly your voice cracked.
Paige proposed to you in the middle of her apartment back at uconn, in the middle of a random tuesday that somehow became your favorite date—in sweatpants and a uconn sweater. you were both barefaced, there was no photographer, there was no other witness, there was no other person— there was only you two.
That was the most intimate thing about it.
The privacy of the engagement wasn’t planned in the way that Paige wanted this one moment to be private— no, she wanted everything under wraps. for all the right reasons, too.
To the world, she was Paige Bueckers— all rounder, all rounded, all around beloved superstar athlete—and to you, she was paige. Paigey, sometimes. Madison when she was being a little bitch, because you knew she always got a bit icked out due to how little that name was used. She was just P, and she was just yours.
She wanted to keep the her that you had away from the hands that already took every other piece she had of herself.
The last piece was her heart, bruised and beaten yet still beating, and still warm—because for aslong as you held it, as long as you kept it, it was safe.
The wedding was a private affair. Young as you two were, she couldn’t have anyone speaking out and questioning her decision to marry you, when your presence in her life was not something she, herself, questioned at all. she remembers it like it was yesterday—it was before the sun set; not too long before it to miss the opportunity for a great shot, but also not too soon — also for the sake of not missing a great shot. Paige remembers; it was one of the days in her life that went according to plan—and even better—went perfectly. you two kissed, and the sun set, and the sky was a mix of oranges, slight yellows and pinks and azzi pulled the officiant by her wrist to make sure she didn’t photobomb the moment the photographer snapped that perfect shot. it was perfect.
You were perfect. You are perfect, still, to paige. You will be perfect forever.
Paige did all she could, so God could do all she couldn’t.
She said that to herself when she paid for you to undergo IVF treatment. She said that to herself when she started taking hormone injections, commiting to the ovarian stimulation for fourteen days so that she’d be able to have them transferred and combined with a sperm donor’s— so that once all that lab work was done, the embryo would be transferred into your uterus. Paige did all she could so God could do all she couldn’t.
She did all she could during the nine months of your pregnancy; she didn’t ‘deal’ with you, she cherished you. She cherished every little act of servitude she could bring you so as to ease the struggles of your pregnancy, even by a little bit, and when you cried—she soothed. She did all she could so God could do all she couldn’t.
She did all she could to make sure no one was sure of you. Your existence, technically. She hid you as best as she could because if the media found out she was engaged, in the process of getting her girl PREGNANT, and wanted to stay quiet about it? Fuck no, hello? She’d be finished—news outlets wouldn’t leave her alone at all; people would bash her for hiding so much from them (as if they had any right to know), and the most teeth-gritting truth? They’d ask about you. You and your—her— child. They wouldn’t even ask, they’d take.
Whenever Paige thinks of such dire consequences, she thinks of one tiktok sound—‘I would rather shit in my hands. and clap.’
Paige did all she could, so God could do all she couldn’t.
The days you were in labor scared her shitless, and with away games on her schedule at the same time you were set to be due, and an endorsement she had yet to film— she had to, regretfully, put you on a balance scale.
Or, she thought she had to.
Then you delivered the baby early. Paige was scared shitless, eyes wide and bulging out everytime you squeezed her hand—everytime you screamed, her ears rung, and despite how overwhelming it was she knew whatever she felt didn’t amount to the way you felt that entire pregnancy. so, inbetween your cries of pain and the bone-breaking squeezes of your hand, she thought to herself: My wife is giving me new life. My wife is giving me new life. My wife is giving me new life. My wife is giving me new life.
Paige had received many honors and accolades through her years, and yet the greatest achievement she’s ever had was to be worthy enough to keep you—
And when she held your child in her hands, and the child had her eyes and what she believed to be your smile—she thought, reverently,
‘My wife gave me new life’.
Children should be cherished. Loved. Protected.
Children should be protected, even if it takes hiding them from the world, loving them so quietly only they can hear it, because they are all that matter.
You knew who you married.
Before anything else, you knew paige would prioritize your privacy. you trusted her with this type of thing— coming from where you came from, doing what you did, the sense of normalcy that you still held—you understood how despite how mundane it was to you, to Paige it was something you couldn’t lose.
So, you dealt with all her security measures. the separate cars, exiting and entering the same place at different times, picking things up separately, doing things separate in general—you dealt with it all, because you knew you would never truly be separated. Not while you had such a hold on her heart, and not while you held her baby.
Moving to dallas was a tough decision as is, with the risk of fans seeing you together and the thought that they’d see you as an obstacle— because you knew. You knew how many women would lay their life down for a chance to date your wife—and if they were willing to lay down their own lives? Lord knows what they’d do with yours.
It happened in a Target parking lot. Paige was loading your groceries into the trunk, and you were doing your damndest to be as fast as possible trying to get your squirmy child into their carseat. This wasn’t a common thing— usually you’d be in the far corner of the parking lot, away from prying eyes because no one wanted to park that far—but today wasn’t your day. Too many people had decided that on this particular day they would go grocery shopping, and the moment you and paige saw an open parking spot you immediately went for it. The problem was that you had to get in and out as fast as possible.
Your baby’s seatbelt buckled the same time Paige closed the trunk…
And the same time Paige closed the trunk was the same time someone snapped a photo with a flash on.
“…What the fuck?” Paige cursed, as you froze dead in your tracks. It was so quick. Too quick. The person turned before you saw them despite your efforts to whip your head every possibly direction— all you saw was a whole lot of nothing, and also the end of your private life. Paige, on the other hand? Saw failure.
She was about to walk away from the car, about to hunt down whoever did it, but it was you who stopped her. You, and the extra pressure from your ring finger. You, her wife. “Paige,” you whispered, quietly, voice shaken but strong: “Paige, just get in the car.”
Paige did all she could, so God could do all she couldn’t.
They took a photo of you and the baby. Of her loading the groceries into the trunk with the ring gleaming proudly on her ring finger.
And God, it seems, did not interfere.
You raced home with the baby masked up and your face covered by a sun visor. Paige gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were about to split open had you not placed your palm ontop of them. “This is bad.” Paige whispered, breaking the uncomfortable silence between the two of you. It was a red light, but she almost ran it— thats usually what can happen when your entire life is at risk. “My God, this is so, so bad—“ she continued, choking on her own spit.
“What do you suppose we do about it? It’s already been done. We don’t know if it’ll get leaked, honey. Some people have morals.” You tried to reason knowing it was to no avail, because all you aimed for was to lighten the load Paige had (which was already so heavy. too heavy, even). “They might’ve taken the picture to—“
“To what?” Paige interrupted through grit teeth, her tone still gentle in contrast to the rage you could tell was simmering off of her. Before anything else, you were her wife. She would not be caught dead raising her voice at you unless it was to call you over, because you were too far away. “To what?” She repeated, “There’s no other reason why. They’re going to — they’re going to leak it. Our baby, and you, and I— they’re going to leak us—you wouldn’t go a day without someone trying to ambush you, baby,” her tone was heated, her eyes wild, so wide they shook and for a moment you saw them flicker with what you mistook for a last shred of hope.
You tried to speak. You couldn’t.
“You and the baby need to move back to Connecticut.”
Your ears began ringing. Your heart’s sinking to your stomach, beating so fast you were sure you’d explode if you didn’t—
“…What?” You muttered, frozen.
… If you didn’t speak. Alas, that one word was all you could muster.
“You and the baby need to move back to Connecticut. I can’t risk anything, baby. i’m not risking you. I’ll visit every weekend, I’ll send you money, I’ll facetime—“
No, no, no, that’s not how it goes, that’s not what you want.
It doesn’t matter what you might ‘need’, it doesn’t matter—
“Absolutely fucking not.”
You speak before you think. Your voice is so firm, so resolute, that Paige pauses.
Green light. The cars start moving, and you start speaking. Paige’s eyes are on the road now. Her mind is still on you.
“Paige.” you begin, “Paige, you gave me your last name. You gave me a ring. You gave me a house, a home, you give me extra space in the bed, you give me two extra house keys just incase I lose my main one— Paige, you gave me a baby.” You snap, but there is no yelling. There’s only you choking on your tears and the last shred of peace that is your baby sleeping behind the two of you in the backseat.
Car drives always were peaceful to your little miracle.
It’s a redlight, now. Paige doesn’t look at you. She looks straight ahead. Her forearms are resting on top of the wheel and she is staring straight ahead, and you both know shes not watching the road.
“Goddamn it, Paige,” You mutter. “You gave me your heart. I’m not letting go of something so precious.”
Your hand is on top of hers. Your rings press against eachother and you swear you see her shiver. You continue.
“I am your wife, Paige. I am not— I am never, going to leave you.”
Paige finally looks at you, and there are tears running down her face.
“Are you sure?” She asks, voice cracking.
“Yes.” You answer, and there is no hesitation.
Her hands are on your cheeks, her lips are on yours, and your foreheads press together— and the traffic light is green.
and honks be damned, Paige doesn’t go immediately.
A week later, the photo is leaked. Fortunately, you don’t get the outcome you expected.
The poster is bashed for their audacity to interfere with a celebrity’s private life, and you both watch in a sort of cruel delight as they get what they are due: a dent in their digital footprint, and a frighteningly concerning amount of cyberbullies.
Nothing of your identity is leaked. Paige is able to resume her rookie year smoothly, with the same incompetent coach unfortunately. You continue your duties as per usual, and the baby— still so little—sleeps to both of your voices—Paige’s, sometimes through a phone call, but she’s always there.
People speak, but never ask.
Paige is content with this. She thanks her fans for their respect, although it’s meant to be expected, and she promises—as she always does— to do all she can, so that God can do what she can’t.
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