paigeâs voice was low, rough from the game but soft just for you. âgod, baby, youâre so fuckinâ pretty.â her lips brushed your ear as her thigh pressed firmly between your legs, and you moved against her without even thinking. one hand rested heavy on your ass, the other spread across your throat and jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like she couldnât stop touching you.
she hadnât even changed out of her uniform, sweat still clinging to her skin, but the win had her buzzing, and thisâhaving you desperate in her lapâwas how she wanted to celebrate. you wore nothing but one of her old t-shirts, thin and rumpled, bunched up so high around your waist that it left you completely bare for her.
âplease, p,â you whispered, words breaking on a moan.
her grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, dragging you against the solid muscle of her thigh. âthatâs it, baby,â she praised, her voice low and steady, âjust like that. so perfect for me.â
your fingers threaded through her hair, pulling as your head tipped back, a whine spilling from your throat. âeyes on me,â she ordered, and when you obeyed she caught your mouth in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, messy and hungry, nothing polite about it.
âdonât stop,â she gasped into your mouth, her own restraint cracking as you moved harder, faster, chasing the edge. she slid her hand lower, squeezing your ass and pulling you tighter against her until the pleasure finally tore through you. your body shook, moans breaking apart into sharp little sounds as your climax left you limp in her arms.
paige held you steady, still guiding your hips through the aftershocks, whispering curses against your skin. when your legs trembled too much to move, she slowed, cupping your face between her palms. sweat-damp hair clung to her forehead as she leaned in close, pressing her brow to yours.
âi love you,â she murmured, eyes locked to yours.
you smiled through shaky breaths, voice soft but sure. âalways yours, paige.â
then you kissed her again, slower this time, nothing but love stitched into every touch
Pre-order The Life of a Showgirl: âItâs Rapturousâ Limited Release Deluxe CD now on my site. Available for 72 hours while supplies last. âââ¤ď¸âđĽÂ
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that pic hasnât left my mind so please can you do reader getting baby fever from seeing paige interact with kids, tysm đ
Paige Bueckers x Fem!Reader
Summary: Paige drags you to her youth clinic expecting help with drills. You end up falling a little harder watching her tie shoes, calm tantrums, and carry a toddler like she was made for it. You didnât mean to say sheâd be a good mom. But now you canât stop thinking about it or how easy it is to imagine a future with her.
Author's note: Reader type of writing or second POV isn't my strong suit but I thought I'd give it another go since you guys put your trust in me by requesting these kind of fics. Also, if you squint, yes that's me trying a new writing style. I hope this is what you're looking for @anon
Word Count: 2,653
Youâre not quite sure how you ended up here. Itâs early, far too early, and youâre sitting on a kitchen counter, trying to figure out what happened.Â
The coffee in your mug is warm but hasnât kicked in yet. Youâre sitting cross-legged on Paigeâs counter in one of her oversized Dallas Wings shirts, blinking slowly while she flies around the kitchen with a speed that defies the hour.Â
âIs that your third pack of fruit snacks?â you ask, voice still rough from sleep.Â
Paige doesnât look up as she shoves a pouch into a tote bag that already looks dangerously close to bursting. âFourth. And yes, theyâll all be gone before the first water break.âÂ
You raise a brow, watching her cram in juice boxes with the kind of urgency usually reserved for natural disasters.Â
âYou know theyâre not gremlins, right?âÂ
That gets a look. Paige pauses, holding a bag of apple slices like sheâs reconsidering her whole life.Â
âYouâd think that,â she says, pulling open the fridge again. âBut last week, I sliced these wrong and had a six-year-old crying like I personally ruined her birthday.âÂ
You stifle a laugh behind your mug. âTragic.âÂ
âShe told me I âdisrespected the apple,ââ Paige mutters, tossing the container in anyway.Â
The sun is just barely peeking through the windows, soft gold catching on the highlights in her hair. Sheâs wearing sweatpants and a Wings hoodie, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and her focus is all on the checklist in her head. It shouldnât be this endearing. You shouldnât be this gone before 8 a.m., but here you areâcompletely undone by a woman fighting a ziplock bag.Â
She finally zips her bag shut with a triumphant grunt, then steps between your knees, hands settling on your thighs. Youâre still holding your coffee, but the way she leans in makes it impossible to care.Â
âThanks for waking up early,â she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. âEven if you didnât help at all.âÂ
âIâm moral support,â you say, tipping your face up for another kiss.Â
She hums, brushing her lips against yours again. âYouâre cute support.âÂ
You smile, sliding your free hand up her hoodie. âSo... what exactly do you need me for today?âÂ
âJust be pretty and maybe distract the kids if they try to eat me alive,â she says, stepping back and slinging the bag over her shoulder.Â
You hop down from the counter, legs still wobbly with sleep, and follow her toward the door.Â
âCute chaos,â she says, grabbing her keys. âThatâs the theme of today.âÂ
You sip your coffee and sigh. âSounds terrifying.âÂ
Paige grins at you. âYouâre gonna love it.âÂ
-Â
The gym smells like floor polish, orange slices, and tiny sneakers that have seen better days. Itâs loud, echoing with the screech of rubber soles and high-pitched giggles, and youâre already reevaluating your life choices as you lean against the wall with your tumbler in hand.Â
You thought you knew what you were walking into. A few kids running drills, Paige coaching with her usual focus, a casual kind of Saturday.Â
What you get is a full-on child stampede the second Paige walks in.Â
They spot her like sheâs the Pied Piper of basketball, and suddenly sheâs surrounded. One clings to her leg. Another tugs her sleeve, waving a sparkly water bottle in her face. A group of boys immediately start chanting her name like itâs a halftime show.Â
You watch her handle it all without flinching. She drops to a knee, ties one kidâs shoe, hands out high fives, spins a ball on her finger for a wide-eyed five-year-old, and calmly tells two rowdy boys to cool it with the âtoo much sauceâ nonsense before they knock someone out.Â
One kid trips over her own feet near the free throw line and starts to cry. Paige is there before anyone else, scooping her up without hesitation. The girlâs knee is scraped and her lower lipâs trembling, but Paige rests her on her hip like she weighs nothing, speaking low and soft as she carries her toward the bench.Â
âYou good, Coach P?â one of the assistants calls out from across the court.Â
âThrive under pressure,â Paige replies, completely serious as she scans the gym for the first aid kit. She calls for Band-Aids with the same tone she used to run last-minute plays in the playoffs.Â
You take a sip from your tumbler to hide the smile tugging at your lips.Â
She kneels next to the toddler, dabbing gently at the scrape, and you watch her face shift into something youâve only ever seen when sheâs holding newborns or laughing with her mom. Soft, focused, kind. The girl sniffles, and Paige leans in to bump her nose with hers, quiet and patient while the tears slow down.Â
You never thought watching someone explain the importance of sharing a basketball to a six-year-old would make your chest feel like this. Like something warm settled inside you and took root. You press a hand to your cup, fingers curled around the lid, and let yourself stare.Â
You're not sure what you expected from today. But it wasnât falling in love with her all over again, right there on a sweaty gym floor surrounded by tiny, chaotic humans.Â
-Â
The break whistle blows and the chaos finally slows. For a minute, itâs all water bottles and squeaky sneakers, kids flopping onto the floor like theyâve just run a marathon instead of doing three dribbling drills.Â
You stay where you are on the bench, legs stretched out in front of you, eyes still trailing Paige as she jogs over. Sheâs flushed from the heat, hair a little messy, but her smile is wide and bright when she drops down next to you.Â
She leans forward, elbows on her knees, and lets out a breath. âThat was round one.âÂ
You smile behind your tumbler. âI donât know how youâre alive.âÂ
She glances over, eyes scanning your face. âYou okay? Youâve been staring.âÂ
Your stomach flips. You shift slightly, heat prickling at the back of your neck. âYouâre... really good with them.âÂ
Paige turns her head, grinning like she knew that already. âWhat, you thought Iâd be a tyrant coach?âÂ
âHonestly?â You look at her. âYeah. You intimidate adults. I figured youâd scare half these kids into running suicides.âÂ
She lets out a laugh, bumping her shoulder into yours. âGuess Iâm full of surprises.âÂ
Before you can reply, a small voice pipes up in front of you. âCoach P, can I do your hair?âÂ
You both glance down to see one of the younger girls holding a purple hair tie, looking hopeful and determined. Paige gives her a dramatic nod, then sits up straighter and turns so her back is to the kid.Â
âMake me look like a champion,â she says, dead serious.Â
The girl beams and gets to work, tiny fingers tugging at blonde strands with careful focus. You try very hard not to melt right there on the bench. Paige catches your eye over her shoulder and smirks.Â
âYou gonna survive this?â she murmurs.Â
You shake your head slowly. âBarely.âÂ
She winks, and you have to look away before your face gives too much away.Â
The gym is noisy again, but none of it reaches you the same way. Not with Paige beside you, sitting still for a crooked braid, completely unbothered and completely perfect.Â
-Â
The car is warm, windows cracked just enough to let in the soft breeze. The sun dips low on the horizon, painting the sky in orange and pink, and the gentle hum of the tires on the road mixes with the radio. Paige is humming along, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh.Â
Youâre half-leaning against the passenger door, cheek pressed to the cool glass, hair messy from the gym and the day. Itâs the kind of tired that settles in your bones but feels good. The kind that lingers after something meaningful.Â
You glance over at her. Sheâs still got a little sweat at her temple, a smudge of something on her sleeve from a kidâs snack, and you can still hear her laughing from earlier. Itâs a whole new kind of beautiful.Â
âYou were really amazing today,â you say, voice quiet. âLike... you'd be such a good mom.âÂ
You donât mean to say it out loud. It slips out, and the second it does, your heart stutters. Paige doesnât respond right away. The radio keeps playing something soft, and the silence suddenly feels too loud.Â
You panic.Â
âI meanâI didnât mean it likeâwe donât have toâI mean, I did mean it, butââÂ
âSo when are we starting?â Paige cuts in, eyes still on the road.Â
You blink. âWhat?âÂ
She smirks, and itâs that signature Paige Bueckers trouble-smirk that both irritates and destroys you. âIâm serious. We can pencil it in between road games and your night shifts.âÂ
You smack her arm lightly, and she laughs, loud and unbothered. The tension slips out of your chest with it.Â
âYouâre the worst,â you mumble, but youâre smiling.Â
She finds your hand on the center console, curling her fingers through yours. The rest of the ride is quiet. Her thumb strokes your knuckles, slow and steady, like sheâs been doing it forever.Â
You donât say anything else, but you canât stop thinking about it. The way the words fell out. The way they landed. And the way she held onto them like she already knew.Â
-Â
Thereâs a half-empty container of lo mein on the coffee table and your legs are tangled with Paigeâs under a blanket that smells faintly like her laundry detergent. The TV is playing a game neither of you are really watching. Itâs mostly background noise now, filling in the space between quiet, steady breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric.Â
Youâre curled into her side, head tucked under her chin, trying to focus on anything except the way your brain keeps circling back to earlier. The thing you said. The thing she didnât laugh off.Â
Paigeâs fingers are resting lightly on your thigh, her thumb moving in slow circles. You can feel her heartbeat against your shoulder. Itâs calm. Unrushed. The kind of comfort that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.Â
âHey,â she says, her voice barely above a whisper. âI liked what you said.âÂ
You shift a little, enough to look up at her. âI didnât mean to freak you out.âÂ
She shakes her head. âYou didnât.âÂ
Her gaze stays on yours for a second longer than expected. Then she tilts her head slightly and says, âIâve actually thought about it.âÂ
Your breath catches.Â
âI mean... if we ever wanted to. I think weâd be good at it,â she continues. âYouâre patient. You care so much. And I know Iâd figure it out if it was with you.âÂ
Youâre quiet for a moment. Thereâs something fragile about this space youâre in, but it doesnât scare you. Paige isnât someone who says things she doesnât mean. Sheâs grounding you with every word.Â
âIf we had a kid,â you say slowly, âtheyâd probably be stubborn.âÂ
âObviously,â she says, smiling. âThatâs from you.âÂ
You scoff. âFrom me?âÂ
She hums, drawing another slow circle on your thigh. âOkay, fine. Mutual stubbornness.âÂ
You stretch your legs, pressing your toes against her calf. âThink theyâd want to hoop?âÂ
Paige raises a brow. âOnly if they want to live in this house.âÂ
You laugh, leaning in closer until your nose brushes her jaw. She turns her head and kisses your temple, then your cheek, slow and unhurried. You shift until youâre hovering just a bit above her, hands resting on her chest, her heart beating steady beneath your palm.Â
Her eyes donât leave yours. âYouâd be such a good mom too.âÂ
The words land differently this time. Like theyâve taken root.Â
You lean in and kiss her, soft and slow. There's a calm ease between you, a quiet sense that this moment is exactly enough. Her hands glide up your sides, drawing you closer, and the kiss deepens with a steady, growing certainty. It feels grounded, natural, and full.Â
You stay like that for a while, trading kisses that feel a lot like promises, your hands in her hair, her breath warm against your mouth.Â
Eventually, you settle back against her, head tucked under her chin again. Her fingers find yours under the blanket, and she laces them together like itâs second nature.Â
Neither of you say anything more, but it doesnât matter. The conversation still lingers between you. Quiet, soft, and full of something that feels like a future.Â
-Â
The morning light slips quietly through the curtains, golden and slow. Youâre warm beneath the covers, the sheets tangled around your legs, and Paige is behind you, her arm draped loosely across your waist.Â
Her face is tucked into the back of your neck, breath soft against your skin. She hasnât moved much, still half-asleep, but you feel her smile before you hear her voice.Â
âStill thinking about baby names?â she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.Â
You smile to yourself. âOnly a little.âÂ
She shifts slightly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. âWeâre not even engaged.âÂ
You hum, brushing your fingers lightly over her hand where it rests against your stomach. âYet.âÂ
That earns a quiet laugh. She nestles closer, her nose nudging your neck. âOh? So thatâs your play?âÂ
You turn your head enough to glance back at her. âCanât give away all my secrets.âÂ
Paige leans forward and kisses you, soft and unhurried, her lips brushing yours in a gentle, lingering touch. The moment carries a calm ease, filled with warmth and a deep affection that settles in your chest and stays with you.Â
She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Thereâs sunlight in the room but itâs her gaze that holds you. Heavy with sleep, warm with something deeper. You see the way she loves you, quiet and certain, like itâs stitched into the spaces between breaths. It feels like forever, folded gently into now. Like a future already blooming, right there in her eyes.Â
-Â
You find it while cleaning out Paigeâs gym bag. A Polaroid, tucked between a folded t-shirt and a half-crushed sour patch wrapper, edges slightly bent but still intact.Â
It takes a second for you to recognize it.Â
Paigeâs sitting on the bleachers at the clinic, a tiny kid perched on her lap, front teeth missing, head thrown back in a laugh. Paige is mid-laugh too, hair a little messy, eyes crinkled in that way that still catches you off guard sometimes. In the background, youâre barely in frame, slightly blurry, but the smile on your face is real.Â
You stare at it longer than you mean to. Something about it makes your chest ache in the softest way. Itâs not just cute. Itâs something more. A moment you didnât realize had settled so deeply in you.Â
Later, at home, you slip the photo into the pages of a book on your nightstand. Itâs one you started months ago, filled with scribbled notes and magazine clippings. Across the top of the page it says âHome Planningâ in your handwriting, underlined twice.Â
The picture fits there without needing to be explained.Â
A snapshot tucked between pages that dream of a home you havenât built yet.Â
Itâs not a blueprint or a promise, but it hums with the weight of something real.Â
A seed of a someday, resting gently in your hands. A quiet glimpse of a future with Paige â one with soft mornings, sleepy kisses, and tiny feet running down the hallway. A life you build together, filled with love, laughter, and the kind of family you used to only imagine.Â
And when the time comes, youâll know. You already do.Â
