Wifey Perks
Paige Bueckers x wife!reader warnings: gets heated! Notes: hope yall enjoy!!
You’re standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down the silk fabric of your dress, trying to tame the slight nerves fluttering in your stomach. Paige had made dinner reservations at a place you’d both been dying to try, and you were determined to look perfect.
“Babe,” comes her voice from behind, a little too smooth, a little too amused.
You catch her reflection in the mirror—Paige, leaning against the doorframe of your shared bedroom in a fitted black button-up and slacks that make your knees a little weak. Her hair’s slicked back just enough to look intentional, and she’s watching you like you’re the main course instead of the appetizer.
“You look…” Her eyes drag down your body. “...really, really good.”
You smirk, applying your earring. “Thank you, baby. We should probably leave in fifteen if we want to make it on time.”
But she doesn’t move toward the closet for her jacket. No—Paige moves toward you, slow and confident. Her arms wrap around your waist from behind, and her lips ghost over your bare shoulder.
“You really wanna go to dinner?” she murmurs, tugging lightly at the zipper of your dress.
You freeze for a second, a flush creeping up your chest. “Yes, Paige. I got ready for this. I’ve been doing my makeup for twenty minutes.”
“And I’ve been trying not to stare at you for twenty-one.” She presses a kiss just below your ear. “But I’m losing that battle fast.”
You swat her hands playfully. “Paige, stop. We made a reservation.”
“Reservations can be moved,” she whispers, her fingers now trailing the curve of your hips. “Or canceled…”
You turn in her arms, facing her, your hands pressed against her chest—supposedly to stop her, but you’re already leaning in too close. “You are ridiculous.”
“But you love me,” she grins, kissing the corner of your mouth.
“And I love that dress,” she adds, not-so-innocently slipping her fingers under the hem, “but I think it would look better on our bedroom floor.”
Your breath hitches. “Paige.”
“Baby.”
You sigh—dramatic, defeated—then grab her face and kiss her, slow and deep. When you pull back, your lipstick is smudged and so is your resolve.
“Ten minutes,” you murmur, already backing her toward the bed. “Then we go to dinner.”
She grins like she’s already won. “Ten minutes? Challenge accepted.”
Let’s just say... you showed up fashionably late.
You hit the mattress with a soft laugh, your hands tangled in her hair, and Paige hovers over you like she has all the time in the world.
Ten minutes. Yeah, right.
She knows you meant well—meant to stay on schedule, meant to make that dinner reservation—but your voice when you said “Ten minutes” was already breathless. Already breaking.
Paige smirks as she leans in, brushing her lips along your jawline before murmuring against your skin, “You really thought we were making it to that restaurant on time, huh?”
Your only answer is a whimper when her hands trail up your thighs and that silky dress rides a little higher.
“You did your makeup so nice, too,” she teases, fingertips dancing over your cheek, then your lips. “Gonna hate messing it up.”
But she’s lying—she loves messing it up. Loves watching you come undone under her hands, all fire and softness at once. Loves that you still pretend to scold her when you’re already arching into her touch.
“Paige,” you gasp as she sucks a mark just below your collarbone, and she hums against your skin like she’s savoring you. “This was supposed to be dinner.”
She pulls back, eyes dark with mischief. “And now it’s an appetizer.”
You laugh—half flustered, half in disbelief—but then her lips are back on yours, and she’s kissing you like you’re the only thing that matters. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of her shirt, and she lets you have control for a moment before flipping you gently, settling between your legs.
“Tell me when ten minutes is up,” she whispers, eyes locked on yours.
“Clock’s already broken,” you mutter, drawing her down again.
30 minutes later...
You're both tangled in the sheets, legs a mess, breath still uneven. Paige props herself up on one elbow and glances at the clock.
“We are so late.”
You groan and cover your face. “I knew this would happen.”
She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“…The breadsticks better be unlimited.”
Paige smirks. “If not, I’ll cook for you instead.”
You give her a tired side-eye. “Last time you ‘cooked,’ you almost set the kitchen on fire.”
“That was one time—”
“The fire department came, Paige.”
She leans in, kisses the tip of your nose, and says with a grin, “And yet you still married me.”
You sigh and smile at the same time, fingers threading through her hair. “Unfortunately for me… you’re way too good at making me late.”
She wiggles her brows. “Wife perks.”
~Cati