𑣲 warnings : smutt, driking, public ish sex?, smut, smutt english isnt my first language
𑣲 summary : a solo trip to dallas completely derails the second your eyes lock across a crowded club with paige, who looks effortlessly so hot
𑣲 a/n: i love this i think this is one of my best works i hope yall like ittt dont be a silent reader!! ( can yall tell i love biceps )
wc:2-3k
you're in dallas alone because you just needed a trip for some peace, but right now, you’re just staring at yourself in the hotel mirror wondering if you went too far.
you’re wearing this tiny, low-waisted black mini skirt that barely clears your hips and a revealing, backless halter top that’s holding on by a prayer. you hadn't thought much of it while packing, but looking at it now under the harsh hotel lighting? it's loud. “whatever,” you tell yourself, glossing your lips until they’re practically dripping. “nobody here knows me anyway.” it’s your first night in the city, and you are completely ready to see what dallas has to offer. you grab your purse, check your reflection one last time, and head straight downstairs to catch a ride to the club.
-
the club is a humid, thumping mess of bass and red neon light. you’re tucked into a corner booth, nursing a tequila pineapple,
and then she walks in.
the room doesn't stop, but your brain definitely glitches. she looks like she didn't even try, which makes it ten times worse. she’s wearing a crisp, tight white tank top that hugs her shoulders perfectly, slung low into a pair of baggy, faded loose jeans that sit exactly where they’re supposed to on her hips. she has a backwards cap on, silver chains catching the strobe lights, and this casual, arrogant slouch
you’re just sitting there, fingers tracing the condensation on your glass, trying to blend into the dark corners of the booth. but in that tiny skirt and backless top, you’re basically a neon sign.
and paige doesn't do subtle.
she doesn’t do across-the-room glance where you both look away and pretend it didn't happen. the second her eyes lock onto yours, the space between you completely evaporates. she moves through the crowded club with this heavy stride, tracking you down like it was always her plan for the night. before you can even prepare yourself, she’s sliding into the booth right next to you—so close that the rough, faded denim of her loose jeans drags against your bare thighs. the contrast of her cool pants against your hot, flushed skin makes your stomach do a violent drop.
she leans in, the clean cotton scent of her white tank top immediately cutting through club air.
"you're not from here, are you?" her voice is a low, raspy drawl, her breath radiating a heavy smell of alcohol. her eyes leave yours for a second, traveling down the front of your top, slow and agonizingly deliberate, before snapping back up to trap your gaze. "and you're completely by yourself. that's dangerous."
you swallow hard, trying to hold her stare, trying to look like you aren't completely losing your mind. "i can handle myself."
paige just lets out this quiet laugh, her eyes darkening as she leans in closer, her breath warm against your skin. "hm yeah? let's see about that."
her hand slides onto your bare thigh, her thumb pressing into your skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. the sudden, heavy heat of her touch turns you on instantly, sending a jolt straight down your spine that warms your entire body way faster and deeper than any of the liquor you've been sipping tonight. she smiles, a dangerous, knowing look in her eyes. your vision blurring slightly under the sheer intensity of her weight sitting right next to you.
it’s too much. your head is spinning, your core is tight, and the friction of everything happening right there in the open makes you panic. you abruptly stand up, muttering a faint excuse, and practically run toward the single-occupancy bathrooms down the back hallway just to escape the heat of her gaze.
you slam the restroom door behind you, leaning your back against it, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath in the quiet. but before you can even reach for the lock, the handle jiggles, the heavy door pushes open with zero hesitation, and it's her.
it's paige. the lock clicks into place behind her.
she crowds you against the cold tile wall instantly, her large, warm hands gripping your hips. your tiny skirt hitches up instantly, offering absolutely zero resistance. she pins you flush against her—the heavy scent of her cologne filling your senses before she buries her face in your neck.
her breath is hot, heavy, and frantic against your skin, sending a violent shiver through your entire body as her lips trail open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, making you gasp out loud.
"you think you can just run away from me?" she mutters against your skin, her voice a rough, broken growl that vibrates straight through you.
there’s this agonizing second of hesitation—this breathless, heavy pause where she pulls back just a fraction of an inch to look at you, her eyes completely unfocused and blown out with desire. she’s reading your face, making sure you’re just as undone as she is. "look at you," she whispers, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. "you're fucking shaking."
before you can even breathe out an answer, her hand slides under your backless halter top. her palms are burning against your bare back, lifting you up by your thighs until your feet are completely off the floor and you're pinned flush against the door.
"tell me you want this," she demands, her lips brushing yours, teasing you until you whimper out a desperate "please, paige."
the sound of her name on your lips completely breaks whatever restraint she had left. when she finally crashes her mouth back against yours, it’s bruises and teeth—a deep, devastating wreck of a kiss that knocks the remaining air straight out of your lungs. her tongue slides past your lips with an aggressive, possessive hunger, tasting heavily of tequila and sweet lip gloss. she’s tilting your head back, her fingers tangling painfully tight in your hair to hold you still while she devours you, sucking on your bottom lip until you're whining into her mouth. it’s a frantic, messy blur of hot skin and friction, the muffled bass from the club thumping through the wood against your spine, completely ruining your lipstick and your sanity within three minutes flat.
when she finally lets you go, your feet hit the cold floor with a dull thud. your knees are completely weak, shaking so badly you have to lean against the sink just to stay upright. paige is breathing just as heavily, her eyes still dangerous as she uses the back of her hand to wipe the smeared residue of your lip gloss off her mouth.
she doesn’t give you time to fix yourself. before you can even reach for your purse, her fingers lock tightly around your wrist.
"we're done in here," she mutters, her voice completely shot, rough and commanding. "come on."
she pushes the bathroom door open, pulling you behind her through the dim, crowded hallway. the cold air of the club hits your wet neck, making you shiver as she navigates the crowd with total authority. you’re stumbling slightly in your heels, completely dazed, your heart hammering against your ribs while you stare at the back of her broad shoulders clad in that white tank.
the cool dallas night air hits your face like a slap the second she pushes through the heavy fire exit doors leading out to the back parking lot. it's quiet out here, away from the bass, just the distant hum of the city traffic.
she leads you straight toward a massive, blacked-out suv parked under the flickering shadow of a broken streetlamp. she hits the clicker in her pocket, the amber lights flashing once to unlock it. paige skips the front seats entirely. she yanks open the heavy back door, her grip sliding from your wrist down to the small of your bare back, applying just enough pressure to guide you into the back seat before climbing in right after you and slamming the door shut on the rest of the world.
the air inside is instantly thick, smelling heavily of her expensive cologne, leather, and the lingering heat from the club.
paige doesn’t waste a single second. she moves over you like a shadow, crowding you into the deep leather seats until you’re pressed flat against the backrest.
"you're so small in this seat," she murmurs, her voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. she hooks her fingers under the hem of your tiny black skirt, bunching the fabric up past your hips with one fluid, practiced motion.
when her bare hand contacts your inner thigh, you gasp, your hips instinctively jerking upward. you reach out blindly, your hands locking onto her upper arms for balance. your fingers strain against the sheer density of her biceps—as she leans her full weight over you, pinning you down effortlessly.
"look at me," she commands, her voice rough, completely running the show. you force your eyes open, meeting her blown-out gaze in the dim red light. " keep your eyes on me."
she doesn't hesitate. her long fingers slide down, parting you easily, finding you already completely slick and burning hot for her. when her first finger slides inside, slow and agonizingly deep, a high-pitched whimper breaks from your throat.
"fuck, you’re so wet for me," paige groans against your neck, her breath scorching your skin as she starts a slow, heavy rhythm. her biceps flex hard against your gripping hands every time she drives her fingers deeper, her thumb pressing heavily against your clit with a deliberate, agonizing friction. "you like that, don't you? tell me baby"
"paige—please," you sob out, your head tossing back against the leather, your hips desperately rolling into her touch, trying to force her to go faster.
"no, don't rush it. take it," she mutters, talking you through every single motion, her voice a dark, hypnotic lullaby in the quiet of the car. "breathe through it, baby. just like that. feel how tight you are around my fingers? you're taking all of it so well."
she abruptly pulls her fingers completely out of you with a sharp, wet friction that leaves you whimpering and completely empty, your hips instinctively chasing her hand.
"look at me," she breathes, her voice a rough command in the dark. she doesn't give you a second to recover before her large hands catch the hem of your backless halter top, pulling the fabric up and completely over your head in one swift motion, tossing it onto the floorboards.
the cool air of the car hits your bare chest, but the chill doesn't last for even a second before paige is leaning back down, devouring you. she starts kissing you everywhere, her mouth hot and desperate as she trails her lips down from your jawline, marking up your throat before burying her face in your chest, sucking heavily on your skin until you're arching up into her touch. her hands grip your waist tight, her flexed biceps straining against your ribs as her mouth moves lower and lower, tracing a line of wet, burning kisses down your stomach, making your core tighten up instantly.
she doesn't stop until her face meets your pussy again, the heat of her breath hitting your wet skin just a second before she buries her tongue straight back into you. you let out a broken sob, your fingers instantly tangling in her hair as she starts munching on you with a desperate, heavy hunger, licking over your clit in deep, deliberate strokes.
while her mouth is driving you completely insane, she takes those two long fingers and drives them straight back inside you, opening you up completely. a loud, messy sound fills the quiet interior of the suv as she pumps into you, her rhythm becoming totally ruthless.
"fuck, you taste so sweet," paige growls against your wet skin, her voice completely muffled by your thighs as her flexed biceps lock your legs open, keeping you pinned so you can’t twist away from the sheer intensity of it. "take it, baby. let me feel you come all over my mouth."
a loud, messy sound fills the quiet interior of the suv as she pumps into you, her rhythm becoming totally ruthless.
your breath hitches, your entire body tightening up as the friction builds into something unbearable. "paige—i'm close, i'm so close," you sob out, your hands gripping her shoulders so hard your nails leave scratches over her arms.
"i've got you ma, take it," she murmurs against your skin, her tongue licking over your clit even faster, driving you right over the edge.
the windows are completely fogging up from your frantic breath, blurring the dallas skyline into nothingness. you’re entirely trapped beneath her heavy, solid weight, completely undone by the friction of her tongue and fingers working together until your hips violently jerk upward and you're absolutely screaming into the quiet car, completely spent.
you're still trembling, chest heaving as the aftershocks roll through you, when paige finally pulls back. she takes a heavy breath, looking down at you with a soft, satisfied smirk. reached down, she grabs the bottom hem of her white tank top, gathering the cotton in her hand, and gently uses the fabric to clean the slick wetness from your inner thighs and pussy, wiping you down with slow, careful strokes. once she's done, she pulls herself up, crowding back into your space to press soft, lingering kisses all over your face—your cheeks, your eyelids, and finally your lips, tasting herself on you as she whispers quiet praise against your mouth.
paige climbs over the console into the driver’s seat, shifting the suv into drive with one hand while you just slump against the passenger door, completely wrecked and barely able to keep your eyes open.
seeing that you're completely useless, she lets out a low laugh and reaches right into your purse, pulling out your phone. "let me see this." she holds it up to your face to catch the face ID, unlocking it easily so she can type your hotel into the GPS. but before she sets the phone down, she taps into your messages, typing her number out and texting herself a quick note so she has your contact.
she tosses the phone back into your lap, a smug, knowing smirk on her face as she pulls out of the lot. "there. now i know where you sleep, and i have your number. sit back, i'm taking you home."
-
you blink against the harsh dallas sunlight cutting through the hotel curtains, your entire body feeling completely wrung out.
you sit up and immediately freeze. you’re not in your outfit anymore, no makeup—somehow, you’re tangled up in a pair of soft, oversized pajamas.
the memories of the back of that SUV come rushing back in a burning wave: the cold leather, the heavy flex of her biceps, the absolute madness of her mouth.
you grab your phone off the mattress, unlock it, and right there on the screen is a text from last night.
Paige Bueckers : i knew you couldn't handle yourself, 4:06am
Paige bueckers : but fuck you did so good ma. 4:06am
you stare at the screen, your heart doing a violent drop into your stomach. you run a hand over your face and let out a long, defeated groan.
synopsis: different scenarios where juju’s program is REAL strict but she’s also easy for her girl.
Y’all PLEASE go easy on me, i’m trying to ease my way back into writing. It’s been a long ass time since i’ve actually sat down to write something. I used to be d1 at writing and then high school english took that passion away .
NO AI. I LEARNED HOW TO WRITE FROM TEACHERS AND OTHER ADULTS.
SCENARIO ONE:
Juju sat perched on the barstool that sat next to her kitchen island, her eyes flicked back to the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was currently 12:56 am. You were out with some friends to celebrate one of their birthdays.
That wasn’t the problem. The problem was you told Juju you’d be back before 12.
Now Juju trusted you, she never had no reason not to, but she did want you safe and in the house before she went to sleep. She hated falling asleep without knowing you were there.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the faint jingle of keys cut through the quietness of the apartment. The door cracked open a few seconds later and Juju saw you standing there. She felt her body physically relax.
A soft smile makes its way onto your face as you spotted her sitting there, before you made your way over to her. You were a little woozy, the drinks finally catching up to you. Juju watched you approach, her facial expression caught somewhere between concern and quiet annoyance.
“Hi baby,” your voice comes out a little slurred as you wrap your arms around her neck. You feel her hands settle onto your hips as she pulls her slightly closer, steadying you, between her legs.
“Why you ain’t text me?” She asked, voice low but firm. “You said you’d be back at 12.” She looks down at you. You looked up at her, the tone of her voice hitting harder than you expected. Your smile slowly shrunk into a small frown.
“Are you mad at me?” The few drinks you had were starting to get to you as you feel a wave of sadness shoot through you.
Juju’s face softened as she sighed. Her thumbs brushing slow circles against your sides before she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Nah,” her voice was gentle as she talked. “I’m not mad. Just let me know next time, okay? People out here be weird. I just wanna know you’re okay.”
You nod faintly before leaning back into the warmth of her body, your eyes growing heavy as the silence grows.
Juju slid off the stool carefully, keeping her arm around you as she turned you both towards the hallway.
“Cmon, you’re going to bed.”
“I’m not tired,” you mumbled, dragging your feet just a little as she guided you along.
Juju let out a small huff, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
“I am,” she replied. “So we going to bed.”
You sighed, already knowing there was no winning this one. Letting yourself lean into her hold once again, you followed her down the hall, her body warm and steady as she got you both settled in for the night.
SCENARIO TWO
The desert sun is beaming down on your back as you stand beside Juju, your hand laced with hers.
In your other hand, you held Jazzy's phone, continuously clicking the white button that was on the screen as she posed.
“Wait! Last one,” Jazzy said as she pulled Sienna in the picture, posing with her. You let out a small laugh at the girl before snapping the picture and handing her phone back.
"These are so cute," The girl exclaimed after receiving her phone back. "Thank you so much!" Jazzy placed a quick little peck on your cheek before hurrying off with Sienna.
You smiled and shook your head before turning back to your girlfriend, expecting to see her beautiful smile but instead you saw the somewhat irritated look that took over her face.
Your smile slightly dropped from your face as you turned your body towards her. "Ju, what's wrong?" Your voice somewhat raspy from all of the screaming song lyrics earlier.
"Nothing," Her eyes drifting past you as she looks at whatever's behind you. You huff as you look at her, knowing she's not telling the truth.
"Baby, it's not nothing. What's wrong?" Your arms come up to wrap around her neck, forcing her to look down at you.
"I don't like you letting people be on you like that." The sentence comes out so quickly, you're not even sure if you heard it correctly. When you finally register what she said, you have to fight back a laugh.
"Who? Jazzy?"
She cuts her eyes at you as she hears the slight giggle leave your mouth. “Am I laughing?” Her tone makes me look at her again before shaking my head to say no, biting back my smile.
“I know Jazzy doesn’t swing like that,” Juju looks away for a brief second before bringing her attention back to you. “But you’re still my girl.” Her arm came up to wrap around your waist.
“Don’t let nobody be on you like that. Touching and kissing up on you like that.” She said as she wraps her arm around me, kissing my forehead.
You looked up at her, smile forming on your glossed lips.
Genre: enemies to flirting to losing your mind, paige is a little shit, slow burn but not really, tension so thick it’s basically a third character, paige is failing bio and somehow it’s your problem, cocky athlete x academically unhinged girl, tutoring sessions turned emotional warfare, dirty shirley temples, smut incoming
Description: Paige Bueckers is failing biology, and you're the unlucky tutor assigned to drag her out of academic disaster. What should be a simple arrangement becomes anything but, thanks to her complete lack of focus, relentless flirtation, and the infuriating way she manages to get under your skin—and into your head.
Between chaotic study sessions, surprise bar encounters, and more sexual tension than should legally exist between two people trying to discuss mitochondria, it’s clear that the real test isn’t the midterm. It’s whether you can make it through the semester without either making out with her—or killing her.
One thing’s for sure: Paige isn’t the only one getting schooled.
WC: 9.6k (and growing)
Notes: im back?
The library is way too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your own breathing sound deafening, where every shuffle of paper or tap of a pen echoes like a gunshot. It’s the kind of silence that should be perfect for studying. Should be.
Except Paige Bueckers is sitting across from you, and Paige Bueckers doesn’t give a single shit about studying.
Instead, she’s leaned back in her chair like she’s lounging courtside instead of being one bad test score away from academic probation. She’s got her long legs stretched out beneath the table, sneakers tapping lazily against the floor. Her hoodie—way too oversized for someone whose entire existence is dedicated to agility and precision—is slouching off one shoulder, and she’s twirling a pen between her fingers like she’s dribbling down the court with a shot clock winding down. The sleeves are bunched up just enough to show her forearms, strong and lined with faint muscle from years of training, but the only thing working right now is her mouth.
Grinning. Smirking. Teasing. Doing everything but reading the goddamn textbook in front of her.
“Alright, Paige,” you sigh, pushing your notes toward her for what has to be the third time. “We need to focus. You will fail this class if you don’t start studying.”
Paige doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t move an inch beyond a lazy stretch that makes her hoodie ride up just slightly, flashing the waistband of her shorts. Her smirk deepens like she can feel you noticing.
“Yeah,” she drawls, tilting her head, “but then I’d have to take it again next semester. Which means more quality time with my favorite tutor.”
You stare at her. She stares back. The kind of look that feels like a staredown before tip-off except way less athletic and way more are you seriously this insufferable?
She holds the eye contact, easy as anything, while you struggle to remind yourself that she is only your student, not a professional flirt sent to ruin your life. Her eyes gleam in the dim library lighting, playful and sharp at the same time. Her lashes are unfairly long, brushing against her cheeks when she finally blinks.
Your heart rate picks up. Not from that. From the academic crisis happening right now. Obviously.
“You’re not failing on purpose, right?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.
Paige tilts her head, pretending to ponder, lips pursing slightly. “Hmm. No, but if I did, would that be kinda cute?”
You groan dramatically, dragging a hand down your face. “I am this close to committing academic misconduct and just taking the test for you.”
Paige gasps. Actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in faux offense. “Wow. I knew med school was intense, but I didn’t realize you were out here ready to commit federal crimes for me.”
“That’s it,” you announce, pushing back from the table. “I’m done. I quit. Find someone else to teach you about mitochondria.”
You barely make it an inch before Paige reaches across the table and hooks two fingers around your wrist, tugging you back down like you weigh nothing. Her grip is firm, all strength and control—like she’s grabbing a rebound, like she’s got her hands on the game ball in overtime. Your pulse jumps again, this time definitely because of that.
Her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary before she releases you. But she’s still watching you, expression softening just slightly around the edges. “C’mon, stay,” she says, voice lower now, like a secret. “I promise I’ll actually pay attention this time.”
You cross your arms. “Oh? And what changed?”
She leans forward this time, elbows on the table, chin propped on one hand. The lighting catches the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. She’s smiling, but it’s something different now—something slower.
“Figured out that if I fail,” she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “I won’t have an excuse to see you anymore.”
Your brain does a full system reboot. Error. What the fuck did she just say?
“Wh—Paige.”
She just winks, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip for half a second before her grin spreads, slow and satisfied. “What? That was cute, right?”
You grab your pen and point it at her accusingly. “You are so goddamn lucky you’re good at basketball, because if you had to rely on your brain—”
“I’d still get by,” she interrupts smoothly, shooting finger guns at you. “People tend to go easy on the charming ones.”
Your mouth actually falls open. Not on purpose—just an involuntary reaction to the sheer, unbelievable audacity of this girl. She’s failing biology, hasn’t written down a single note, and still has the goddamn nerve of a mathlete coasting through an easy A.
You snap your jaw shut, you refuse to let her see how flustered you are. You refuse. “Okay, charming one, then explain the process of cellular respiration.”
Paige squints, lips pressing together as she sucks in a breath through her teeth, nose scrunching like she’s really trying to make something shake in that head of hers. “Uh… it’s when cells… respire?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly through your teeth. “We are so, so fucking doomed.”
She just laughs, kicking her feet out beneath the table, accidentally knocking her knee against yours. “Relax,” she says, her grin widening. “You love tutoring me.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah,” she nods, completely sure of herself. “You totally have a little crush on me.”
You let out a dry, incredulous laugh—one of those sharp, breathy ones, all eyebrows raised and head bobbing. “Yeah, sure.”
She shrugs, tapping a finger against the open page of her biology textbook like she might actually start paying attention. Then, without looking up—
“Nah, I know.”
You blink. Paige blinks back.
The air between you tightens like a taut shoelace, pulling, pulling—dangerously close to snapping. You could be the bigger person here. You could roll your eyes, let it go, return to the noble pursuit of keeping Paige Bueckers from academically imploding.
But something about the way she’s looking at you—too smug, too sure—strikes a competitive nerve in you. And you’re not about to lose anything to her. Not a game, not a staredown, and sure as hell not a battle of wits.
So you shift in your chair, tilting your head, letting your lips curl just slightly. “Oh, you know?”
Paige leans back again, arms crossed, shoulders loose. She’s cocky, sure, but there’s something anticipatory in her gaze—like she knows you’re about to challenge her and she’s thrilled about it.
“Mhm.” She nods, casual as ever. “Crystal clear.”
You hum, feigning thoughtfulness, tapping a finger against the open textbook. “Wow. Must be nice. I thought you struggled with retention, but here you are, remembering things that have literally never been said.”
She gasps. “Rude.”
“You’ll get over it,” you deadpan.
Paige, of course, does not let it go. She tips her chin up, meeting your gaze with something wicked and playful tangled in the blue of her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have a little crush on me.”
You exhale, relieved.
“But you definitely think about me when I’m not around.”
Your breath catches. Paige sees it. Her grin stretches wider, knowing, smug.
Oh, you are not letting her have this.
You scoff, shifting back in your chair, fighting the warmth creeping up your spine. “Paige, you are in my life solely because you can’t pass basic biology. I think about you in the same way people think about a fire alarm that won’t stop beeping.”
“Ah, so constantly?”
You scowl. She beams.
“That’s fair,” Paige shrugs, stretching her arms over her head, and the movement makes her hoodie ride up again, flashing a sliver of tanned stomach. “I am pretty unforgettable. Even when I’m annoying.”
“Especially when you’re annoying,” you mutter.
Paige smirks, but then, as if sensing your growing frustration, she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and dragging her textbook closer. “Alright, fine. I’ll study.”
You narrow your eyes. “For real?”
She winks. “Scout’s honor.”
“Paige, you were never a scout.”
“Prove it.”
You sigh but relent, watching as she flips open the book and actually—miraculously—starts reading the page in front of her. You take a sip of your now-cold coffee, reveling in the small victory.
For a blissful forty-five seconds, Paige is silent. Then—
“So, like,” she starts, “mitochondria. That’s the powerhouse of the cell, right?”
You pause. Blink. Lower your coffee. “Yes?”
Paige throws her hands in the air. “Let’s gooo. I’m a genius.”
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Paige, you have three weeks until your exam. We need to cover way more than that.”
“Okay, okay,” she soothes, putting her hands up in surrender. “Next question.”
You flip to another page, glancing up briefly to make sure she’s paying attention.
She’s not. She’s looking at you.
You pause, caught off guard by the way she’s watching you—not with teasing amusement or lazy smugness, but with something softer. Warmer. Curious.
“Paige,” you warn, shifting uncomfortably.
She blinks, then grins again, but there’s something slightly less sharp about it now. “Nothing, nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head, flipping a page in her book. “Just thinking.”
You hesitate, unsure if you want to ask, what about? But you don’t.
Instead, you clear your throat, turning your attention back to the book. “Okay. Explain the process of osmosis.”
Paige tilts her head dramatically. “Is that, like, when you just chill through life and things come to you naturally?”
“Oh my god, no,” you deadpan.
She grins. “Damn. Thought I was onto something.”
You sigh, rubbing your temples. “We are so fucked.”
Paige just laughs, bright and easy. “Nah. You’d never let me fail.”
She says it like it’s a fact. Like she knows, without a doubt, that you’d never let hers fall behind. And the worst part is she’s most definitely right.
She twirls her pen between her fingers, spinning it effortlessly like a basketball rolling off the tips of her hands. It’s hypnotizing, actually—the smooth rotations, the lazy way her fingers flick with just enough control to keep it from dropping. She’s been doing this for the last ten minutes, and not once has she even pretended to read the page in front of her.
Meanwhile, you’re hunched over your notes, taking deep, steadying breaths. You tell yourself you won’t let her test your patience today. You won’t get dragged into her game. You won’t—
“Paige,” you say, voice strained.
“Hm?” she replies, still flipping her pen effortlessly.
“Please read.”
Paige hums noncommittally. Turns a page without reading it. You inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. “Paige.”
She finally looks up, resting her chin on her palm, eyes bright with amusement. “What? I’m absorbing information. Through osmosis.”
You close your eyes, count to three. Consider what your life would be like if you had literally any other tutoring assignment.
“You are so lucky you’re athletic,” you mutter, flipping the page back to where she was actually supposed to start reading. “C’mon. Photosynthesis. What do you know?”
Paige stretches her arms behind her head, her hoodie riding up slightly—distractingly—before she drops back down with a smirk, looking at you like she’s about to deliver the most groundbreaking scientific revelation of all time.
“Plants… make food?”
Your eyelid twitches.
“Correct,” you deadpan. “And they do that through—”
“The power of love,” Paige interrupts, placing a hand over her chest. “And sunlight.”
You grip the edge of the table. Consider flipping it over. “Yes. Because that’s what biology is. Disney magic and good vibes.”
Paige grins. “Exactly.”
You open your mouth—probably to unleash a scathing lecture about the sanctity of science—when a shadow hovers at the edge of the table. You glance up—because you always have to glance up when people stop by your study sessions with Paige—and find a girl, probably a freshman, clutching her phone like it’s a sacred artifact.
She shifts on her feet, looking like she’s debating whether she should even speak to Paige. You can already see where this is going.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” the girl says, eyes darting between you and Paige, before ultimately landing—unsurprisingly—on Paige. “Could I, um, get a picture? If that’s okay?”
Paige doesn’t miss a beat. She shifts effortlessly from Slacker Paige to Cool Superstar Paige, flashing an easy grin as she leans back in her chair like she expected this. Like this is as common as someone asking her to pass the salt at dinner.
“Of course,” she says, voice warm, inviting, polished. She stands smoothly, rolling her shoulders back, exuding that same relaxed confidence she has right before sinking a step-back three.
You, meanwhile, remain seated, taking a slow sip of your coffee, already resigned to your fate as Paige Bueckers’ unofficial designated library bodyguard.
It’s routine at this point. The public adoration, the excited stammering, the sheepish thank you so much before they rush off like they just met royalty. And then Paige slides back into her chair, knocking her knee against yours like she doesn’t have an entire fan club scattered across campus.
“Where were we?” she asks casually, flipping her pen again.
You don’t even blink. “You were pretending to study, and I was contemplating my life choices.”
Paige snorts. But before she can respond, another person approaches. You glance up again, already prepared, already so tired. This time, it’s a guy—tall, student-athlete vibes, definitely not looking at you.
“Hey, sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly nervous despite the fact that Paige is already smiling at him like they’re old friends. “Could I get a picture real quick?”
Paige grins. “Yeah, of course.”
You take another sip of your coffee. Stare blankly into the abyss. Same process. Paige stands, poses, flashes her million-dollar smile. The guy stammers out a thanks and hurries off.
You exhale. Set your coffee down. “You done?”
Paige barely has time to smirk before two more people shuffle up, practically vibrating with excitement. She notices your unimpressed expression and loses it, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, now it’s funny,” she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.
“Now it’s funny?” you echo flatly.
She grins. “Yeah. You look miserable.”
You scowl. Paige beams. Another five minutes pass before the final wave of admirers disperse, and Paige—finally—sinks back into her chair, looking far too pleased with herself.
“I should start charging,” she jokes.
You arch a brow. “Should I start charging? I’m the one sitting here like an unpaid security detail.”
Paige grins, drumming her fingers against the table. “You could be my manager, you know. We’d be an iconic duo.”
You scoff. “We’re not even an iconic study group.”
“Yet,” she corrects.
You roll your eyes but, reluctantly, glance at the time. The session should go another thirty minutes, but between Paige’s inability to focus and her impromptu meet-and-greet, you’re pretty much out of patience.
“Fine,” you sigh, shutting your book. “We’ll pick this up next time.”
Paige fist-pumps like she just nailed a game-winner. “Let’s go.”
You raise a hand. “But—”
Paige groans.
“You actually have to study next time,” you warn, pointing a finger at her like a parent scolding a child. “No excuses. No distractions. No impromptu fan club meetings.”
You let out a slow breath, collecting your things, already knowing that next time will be just as chaotic. But, somehow, you don’t hate the idea.
You barely make it two steps out of the library before Paige falls into step beside you, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie, head tilted toward you like she’s waiting for something. You don’t say anything. Neither does she. But she’s still there, walking at your exact pace, still spinning that damn pen between her fingers like she’s making it her personal mission to erode the last of your patience.
After half a block of this nonsense, you finally huff. “Why are you still here?”
Paige smirks, eyes twinkling. “Wow. I thought we were friends, and you hit me with why are you still here? I think I need to sit down. That was devastating.”
You resist the urge to shove her into a trash can. “You should sit down. With a biology textbook.”
“That,” she sighs dramatically, “sounds like a you problem.”
You groan, but the corners of your lips twitch—just slightly. She glances at you again, side-eyeing, like she’s waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. So, instead, she nudges your arm with her elbow. “You heading back to your dorm?”
“Yep,” you say, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Where some people go to actually study.”
Paige grins. “Fun. I was gonna hit the gym.”
You pretend to be shocked. “No way. The gym? You? Unheard of.”
She chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Crazy concept. Gotta keep these knees in top shape so I can keep playing dumb for you in the library.”
You roll your eyes, but your lips do twitch again. When you reach the intersection where you usually part ways, Paige hesitates—just slightly. Her foot taps against the pavement, and she glances at you, like there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t.
But then the crosswalk light changes, and she just flashes her usual grin. “Alright, I’ll see you next time. Can’t wait to waste more of your valuable time.”
You shake your head, already walking away. “You are a waste of my valuable time.”
Paige calls after you, voice dripping with smug amusement. “Admit it! You’d be bored as hell without me!” You don’t respond. Maybe, just maybe, she has a point.
You barely manage to kick the door shut behind you before dropping your bag to the floor, the weight of the entire goddamn week peeling off your shoulders like an old sticker. Your body feels wrecked—like you just played all four quarters of a game you weren’t even supposed to be in. Midterms, tutoring, the endless cycle of pretending you have your shit together when in reality, you’re two missed assignments away from a full-on breakdown.
Your roommate’s bed is empty, the perfectly made sheets an immediate giveaway that she’s already at her boyfriend’s place for the night. Which means the dorm is yours. Finally. A rare and precious occurrence, like a solar eclipse or a professor canceling class with a two-minute email. You grab your laptop from the desk, already knowing exactly how you’re gonna spend the next five hours: Desperate Housewives. Your guilty pleasure. Your lifeline. Your emotional support chaotic suburban drama. You settle onto your bed, wrapping yourself in a blanket cocoon, cracking your knuckles in preparation for an evening of zero responsibilities—when your phone rings.
You groan dramatically, not even bothering to check the screen before answering. “No.”
There’s a pause, then Jordan’s voice comes through, unimpressed. “Bitch, you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“Yes, I do,” you sigh, rolling onto your back. “And the answer is no.”
“You’re being difficult,” she complains. “Come out with me.”
“No.”
“C’mon. It’s Friday night. You have no excuses.”
“I have the best excuse. I’m too fucking tired.”
Jordan makes an exaggerated scoffing noise. “Tired from what? Sitting across from your little basketball girlfriend and watching her pretend she doesn’t know how to read?”
You freeze. “She’s not my—”
“Uh-huh.”
You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jordan.”
“[Redacted],” she mimics in a deep, mocking tone. “Come out. I’ll buy your first drink.”
“You say that like you’re doing me a favor. It’s literally one drink.”
“Okay, and? You’re broke.”
She’s got you there.
“I have plans,” you try again.
“What plans? Watching white women commit crimes in wedge heels?”
You frown. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Because I know you.”
You press your lips together, because yeah. She does.
Jordan senses weakness and pounces. “You never go out anymore,” she whines. “It’s tragic. I’m watching my best friend turn into a sad little academic goblin. When’s the last time you flirted with someone for fun?”
“I—” You pause. And that’s enough for Jordan.
“Oh my god.”
“I don’t need to flirt with random people, Jordan,” you argue.
“Okay, then come to keep me company. Emily’s bringing her crypto bro boyfriend and I need a buffer. You owe me.”
“For what?”
“For being my best friend, dumbass.”
You let out a long, slow exhale. Your bed is so soft. Your show is right there. Your roommate isn’t gonna be back till morning, which means you could fall asleep watching hot moms commit felony-level fraud and no one would judge you. But Jordan is relentless. And also, maybe, just maybe, she’s right.
“Ugh, okay, fine, one drink,” you say finally.
She screeches. “I’LL BE THERE IN TWENTY.”
“Wait, what the— twenty?!”
“You don’t get time to back out, babe. Love you! Bye!”
The call disconnects. You stare at your ceiling for a long moment before groaning into your pillow. Guess you’re going out. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your closet like it personally wronged you.
Twenty minutes. Less than that now. Jordan is on time when it comes to dragging you out of your self-imposed hibernation, so you don’t have the luxury of procrastinating. You run a hand through your hair, sighing as you debate your options.
Jeans? Safe. A dress? Too much effort. Skirt? Trying too hard.
You pull open a drawer, fingers brushing over the usual suspects: black tank, oversized tee, hoodie. The same exact shit you wear every day. You tug at the hem of your pajama shirt instead, already debating if you could get away with staying in. Jordan would literally break into your dorm if she had to.
You settle on something in the middle—black jeans that just hug your waist enough to be flattering without suffocating you, a tight long-sleeve that makes your arms look good, and sneakers. Cute but low effort.
Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror above your desk, and your mind does that thing. That thing where you start thinking in spirals, words layering on top of each other like a too-thick coat of paint. Jordan always looks good when you go out. The hot friend, effortlessly wanted. Guys slip her their numbers, girls compliment her makeup, and you? You’re there. Background noise. The best friend, the safe choice, the one people never approach first.
Your hands move on autopilot, pulling your hair into something presentable, smoothing out wrinkles in your shirt. Your brain moves just as fast, thoughts piling up. When’s the last time someone wanted you? Really, genuinely wanted you?
Not for help on an assignment. Not for a favor. Not as a buffer against some awkward third wheel situation. Your fingers tighten around the mascara wand as you swipe it over your lashes, the thought hitting heavier than it should.
And then there’s her. Paige. Paige, who everyone wants. Paige, whose name alone makes people light up, whose smile makes the world lean in closer. Paige, who has the kind of effortless pull that shouldn’t be real, the kind that isn’t real, except it is—because it’s her.
You imagine what it must be like. To be wanted by everyone. To have people go out of their way just to see you. To be loved by an entire fucking world that doesn’t even know you. To have that kind of pull. You shake your head, dabbing concealer under your eyes, fixing nothing. Paige doesn’t have to think about this. About being ignored. About whether or not someone is really interested or if they just need her for something else. Paige is easy to love.
Your hands are steady as you apply lip gloss, but your thoughts aren’t. Because you know what’s worse? Worse than not being wanted? Feeling like you could be—if only you were someone else. A sharp knock-knock-knock at your door makes you jump, snapping you out of whatever existential spiral you were just sinking into.
You check the time. 7:59. Jordan, always on time when it comes to dragging your ass out of the house.
“Bitch, open up,” she calls through the door, impatience already seeping through her voice. “I know you’re in there, don’t make me break in.”
You roll your eyes, grabbing your phone off the bed before opening the door. Jordan doesn’t even wait for an invitation. She just steps in like she owns the place, eyes immediately scanning you up and down.
“Oh, thank god,” she exhales dramatically, throwing herself onto your bed like she just finished a marathon. “For a second, I was scared you were gonna pull some bullshit and answer in sweats.”
“I was considering it.”
“And I would’ve dragged you outside as is.”
She props herself up on her elbows, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look good, though. Like, sexy but nonchalant. Very ‘I don’t try but I still eat men alive.’”
You snort, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull your sneakers on. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”
Jordan flips onto her back, legs kicking lazily. “Hot girl vibes activated. I’m proud.”
You ignore the way that your brain still insists on running her words through some dumb internal filter. Hot but? Sexy but? There’s always a but. Still, you appreciate the compliment.
Jordan rolls onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “Okay, so what’s our game plan?”
You raise a brow. “Game plan?”
She grins. “Are we flirting for fun tonight? Making out with strangers? Taking free drinks and saying thanks but no thanks?”
You scoff, standing to grab your jacket. “You’re doing all of that. I’m drinking one drink, pretending I enjoy being in public, and then leaving.”
Jordan makes a dramatic gagging noise. “You’re so lame, it physically hurts me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You throw on your jacket, checking yourself one last time in the mirror before turning back to her. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Jordan squints. “You know, for someone who never goes out, you could at least try to fake some excitement.”
You sigh, grabbing your phone. “Fine.” You flash her your most half-assed smile. “Yay. Alcohol.”
Jordan stares at you for a long beat. Then she cackles.
“I hate you,” she wheezes, hopping off the bed and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon, grumpy girl. Let’s get you drunk.”
You let her steer you out the door, already bracing for whatever the night has in store.
The bar hums with low conversation, the steady pulse of bass from the speakers vibrating against your ribs. The air is thick—spilled beer, cheap whiskey, the faintest trace of cologne as someone brushes past you. It’s crowded, bodies pressing in too close, the kind of warmth that clings to your skin, dampens the edges of your sleeves.
You plant your elbows on the bar, exhaling slow. Jordan’s already disappeared into the crowd, her voice lilting somewhere behind you, laughing too loud at something she probably doesn’t even find funny. You don’t bother looking back. You just need a drink, something cold in your hand, something to make this whole night feel less like a mistake.
The bartender moves in front of you, nodding once in acknowledgment, and you order—automatic, easy, something you don’t have to think about. While you wait, you glance around, taking in the room.
It’s packed, but that’s expected. The usual Friday night chaos—people gathered in clusters, leaning into one another to be heard over the music. A group near the dartboard erupts in laughter, a guy raises his arms in exaggerated victory, another flips him off good-naturedly. At the other end of the bar, a girl tugs her friend closer, whispering something into her ear, their giggles swallowed by the noise.
And then— a flash of blue. You don’t think anything of it at first. Just a hoodie, nothing more. But then there’s another. And another. A guy walks past, a UConn logo stretched across his chest, the lettering cracked and faded from too many washes. At a nearby table, someone’s peeling the label off their beer bottle, the cuff of their UConn crewneck pushed up to their elbows. A girl at the bar turns her head, revealing the unmistakable emblem stitched into the side of her cap.
Your drink lands in front of you with a soft clink. You reach for it, fingers curling around the condensation-slicked glass, but your eyes are still moving, scanning. Near the pool table, someone slams a cue stick down, shaking their head. “Bro, that was insane.”
“I told you,” another guy laughs, taking a swig of his beer. “They were fucking unstoppable.”
A bartender walks by carrying a tray of shots, and someone calls out, voice sharp with excitement—
“To the Huskies!”
A cheer rises, loud and immediate, glasses raised, grins splitting across faces. Your fingers tighten around your drink. Another voice cuts through—closer, rough around the edges like it’s been shouting for hours. “Bueckers was on fire.”
Your stomach tenses. A television flickers in your periphery, mounted above the bar, the broadcast running highlights on a loop. A flash of white jerseys, a blur of movement, the unmistakable arc of a three-pointer sinking clean through the net.
Your gaze catches on the name emblazoned across the back.
BUECKERS. 5.
Your drink sits untouched in your hand. A hand lands on your shoulder, nails cool against your skin. Jordan’s voice cuts through the hum of conversation, bright, energized.
“There you are,” she says, leaning in so you can hear her. Her breath is warm against your ear, smelling faintly of whatever sugary drink she got roped into first. “Why do you always ditch me the second we get here?”
You lift your glass, taking a slow sip before responding. “I didn’t ditch you. You ran off.”
Jordan grins, squeezing your shoulder before letting go. “Details.”
She slides onto the stool beside you, propping her elbows on the bar, the sheer confidence in her posture making it clear that she’s already in her element. You can tell from the way her shoulders are loose, from the easy way she scans the room—she’s here to enjoy herself. She tugs at the collar of her cropped tank, a calculated movement, and you don’t miss the way a pair of eyes flicker toward her from across the bar.
Of course. It never takes long. The girl is pretty—high cheekbones, sharp jaw, hair spilling in soft waves over her shoulders. She’s nursing a drink in one hand, the other tracing idle patterns into the wood of the bar. She’s been looking, you realize. Long enough for it to mean something. Long enough for it to be deliberate.
And Jordan? She notices. She always notices. You watch as she tilts her head slightly, lips curling at the edges, all slow-building amusement. Not an invitation. Not yet. Just an acknowledgment. I see you seeing me. And just like that, the girl moves.
She slides closer, just one seat between her and Jordan now, her presence a hum of subtle perfume and confidence. You feel the shift immediately, the way the space around them tightens, charged with something unspoken. You take another sip of your drink, eyes flicking between them. Jordan doesn’t look over right away. She lets it build, that delicious tension she thrives on, makes the girl wait for it. And when she finally turns her head—slow, purposeful—it’s a hook.
“Hey,” the girl says, voice smooth, honeyed.
Jordan’s lips part slightly, amused. “Hey yourself.”
There it is. The shift, the moment the conversation has already decided what it’s going to be. The girl twirls the stem of her glass between two fingers, considering. “You’re a little hard to miss.”
Jordan lifts a brow. “Yeah?”
The girl nods, a smile playing at her lips. “Saw you the second I walked in.”
You huff a quiet laugh into your drink. Jordan flicks you a glance, but she doesn’t look away for long. She’s locked in now, her full attention settling on the girl beside her.
“That so?” she murmurs.
The girl leans forward slightly, just enough that Jordan can smell whatever floral-citrus perfume she’s wearing. “Mhm.”
Jordan takes her time responding, letting the moment stretch, her fingers tapping lazily against the bar. “And what’d you think?”
The girl laughs, low and knowing. “I think I liked it.”
Jesus. You shake your head, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. This is Jordan’s playground, and she’s barely even started. Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts in.
“There you are, finally.”
Emily. And, by default, her crypto bro. You turn just in time to see her sliding in beside you, her expression teetering between fond exasperation and mild relief, like she was worried you wouldn’t actually show. Her boyfriend—god, what’s his name again?—is hovering a step behind her, already half into whatever overpriced IPA he’s nursing.
“Thought you were gonna bail,” Emily says, bumping your arm.
You shake your head. “Almost did.”
She laughs. “Would’ve sent Jordan to physically drag you out of bed.”
“She already threatened to.”
Jordan, not even looking at you, raises a hand and flicks her wrist. “And I would’ve done it with love.”
Emily grins before turning to Jordan, about to say something else—until she sees the girl. And immediately, her expression shifts.
“Oh,” she says, blinking once. Then, lips curving slightly, she leans in, dropping her voice just enough for you to hear. “She’s hot.”
Jordan doesn’t turn her head, but her smirk deepens. “I know.”
The girl doesn’t flinch, unfazed by the blatant cockiness, the sheer Jordan-ness of it all. If anything, she looks more intrigued.
“God, you’re unbearable,” Emily mutters, sipping her drink.
Jordan, at this point, is fully ignoring all of you. She’s gone, deep in the slow back-and-forth of a conversation that’s teetering right on the edge of something. You watch, mildly entertained, as the girl tucks her hair behind her ear, as Jordan lets her gaze flick lower, just for a moment, before meeting her eyes again.
Classic. You’re about to tune them out entirely, return your focus to the drink in your hand, when—
The door swings open.
And just like that, the energy shifts. You don’t see them at first. You feel them. A ripple through the crowd, a flicker of awareness in the way people turn their heads, in the subtle glances exchanged between strangers. The volume dips for half a second—not silence, just a shift, a momentary lapse before everything surges back up again.
Your eyes track toward the entrance—toward the new arrivals pushing through the threshold, stepping into the bar with the ease of people who know they’ll be noticed. White sneakers. Loose sweatpants. Jackets slung over shoulders. And that unmistakable color.
UConn blue.
Jordan is still locked in, her conversation with the pretty girl unfolding in the slow, deliberate way that only happens when both people know exactly what they’re doing. It’s all prolonged eye contact, subtle shifts in body language, the kind of flirting that exists in the pauses as much as in the words. Emily is barely paying attention, absorbed in some argument with her boyfriend about blockchain or whatever the hell it is he does. You’ve stopped listening.
Which means you’re just… there. Third-wheeling at a bar, drink half-finished, barely contributing to the conversation. The worst part is, no one even notices. Jordan, obviously, is in her own world, and Emily is too preoccupied with rolling her eyes at her boyfriend to remember you exist. You take another sip of your drink, letting your eyes wander.
The UConn girls have spread through the bar now, weaving into the crowd like they belong there. You recognize a few faces—players you’ve seen on highlight reels, names you don’t know but should. There’s a looseness to them, an ease, the kind of relaxation that only comes after a win.
You wonder, absently, if Paige is here. Not that it matters. The thought makes you shift slightly, pushing down something vague and uncomfortable. You finish off the last sip of your drink and set the glass down a little too hard, the soft clink barely audible over the noise.
“I need to piss,” you mutter, mostly to no one.
Jordan doesn’t react, too busy letting the girl touch her arm in that slow, lingering way that means she’s definitely coming home with her later. Emily gives a halfhearted wave, her focus still locked on her boyfriend, who is currently explaining something with way too much hand movement.
You slip into the crowd, navigating the maze of bodies with the kind of single-minded determination usually reserved for final exams and finding your phone when it’s on silent. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the floor, thrumming up through your sneakers, settling somewhere in your chest. Every step feels like walking through molasses—people shifting, swaying, arms brushing against yours in that careless way that comes with alcohol and too many bodies packed into one space.
You make it to the hallway leading to the bathrooms and nearly sigh in relief. It’s quieter here—not quiet, but enough that you can hear yourself think. The walls are still pulsing faintly with the music, the distant echo of a chorus threading through the air, but it’s a reprieve from the chaos of the main bar.
And then you see the door. Locked.
Holy fuck, you’re about to piss yourself. You try the handle anyway because maybe the universe will be kind, but no—solid, unmoving. Leaning against the opposite wall, you exhale sharply, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. Fine. You’ll wait. Not a big deal.
Except time starts dragging. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, tapping your fingers against your thigh. One minute passes. Two. You check your phone, even though you just checked your phone.
Okay. You can handle this.
Except—five minutes in, it’s not just uncomfortable. It’s annoying. Who the fuck is in there? Writing a novel? Performing a one-act play? Curing a disease?
You knock once, firm but not aggressive. Just enough to remind whoever is inside that there’s a whole world out here.
No response. Another minute passes. You cross your arms, shifting again, foot tapping against the floor. Seven minutes.
You knock again. Harder this time. “Yo.”
Nothing. Oh, come on. You glance toward the men’s bathroom. It’s right there. Completely open. No line. Just an empty doorway leading to salvation. Wouldn’t be the first time. But before you can talk yourself into it, you knock again. Hard. Impatient. At this point, you’re not even polite about it—you just hit the door. “Hurry up, Jesus Christ.”
The lock clicks. A second later, the door swings open, and out stumbles a couple—disheveled, flushed, and absolutely not here to use the bathroom for its intended purpose. The girl giggles into her boyfriend’s neck, her lipstick half-smeared, while his hands are still gripping her hips like they’re considering going back in for round two.
You don’t even react. You just shove past them, slam the door shut, and finally—finally—relieve yourself. Blessed silence, aside from the muffled bass still thumping through the walls. You take a moment to breathe, running your hands through your hair, shaking off the weird tension that’s been clinging to you all night. You’re fine. It’s fine.
When you step back out, the hallway’s busier—more people filing in, laughing too loud, waiting their turn. You navigate through them, dodging the wobbly, half-drunk girl clinging to her friend’s arm, sidestepping the guy trying way too hard to look casual against the wall. You’re almost back to the main floor when—
A hand catches your wrist. Firm, deliberate. Enough pressure to stop you, but not enough to hurt. Your breath stutters—not from fear, not exactly, but from the sheer certainty in that grip. Like whoever’s holding you already knew they would.
You turn your head. And there she is.
Paige fucking Bueckers.
Loose hoodie, sleeves pushed up, exposing the lean muscle in her forearms. A chain glinting under the dim bar lights, catching for half a second on the sharp line of her collarbone before disappearing beneath fabric. Her hair is a little messier than usual, like she’s run a hand through it one too many times. And her expression?
Smug. Smug as hell.
“Well, well, well,” she drawls, her grip on your wrist still firm, thumb brushing once over your pulse before she finally—leisurely—lets go. “Fancy seeing you here, tutor.”
Her voice is low, teasing. The kind of tone that makes you want to roll your eyes and press your thighs together at the same damn time.
You exhale sharply. “Oh, fuck me.”
Her grin widens instantly, wolfish. “I mean, if you insist—”
You smack her arm, and she laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a full-bodied, head-tilted-back, entirely too pleased with herself kind of laugh. It’s obnoxious. It’s attractive. It’s exactly why you need to get out of this conversation immediately.
But Paige has other plans. She steps closer—just enough that you feel the heat of her body, just enough that the crowd shifts around you, forcing you to stay exactly where you are. Her gaze drops, just for a second, flickering down your outfit before dragging back up, slow, deliberate.
“You clean up nice,” she muses. “Didn’t know you owned anything other than oversized sweatshirts.”
You narrow your eyes. “Didn’t know you left the gym.”
She hums, tapping her chin like she’s considering. “True. But, you know, when you drop thirty-six points in a game, you kinda have to celebrate.”
Of course she dropped thirty-six.
“And yet,” you deadpan, “here you are. Bothering me.”
Paige grins, shifting on her feet so she’s even closer, close enough that you can smell her cologne—something crisp, clean, expensive. Unfair.
“C’mon, don’t act so surprised,” she murmurs. “You knew we’d run into each other eventually.”
You raise a brow. “Did I?”
She tilts her head, amused. “Yeah. ‘Cause you’ve been avoiding me all week.”
Your pulse skips. “I have not—”
“Oh, you definitely have,” Paige interrupts, smirking. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you switching up your usual schedule. Skipping our tutoring session on Tuesday.” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Tragic. Really had me wondering if I did something to offend you.”
God, she’s insufferable. And yet—
“Like you care,” you shoot back.
Her eyes glint, sharp, knowing. “Oh, I do.”
Something thickens in the air between you. Something tangible, humming just beneath the surface of her cocky smirk, her unwavering stare. Her fingers twitch at her side, like she’s considering reaching for you again. You see it happen, the micro-movement, the shift of her weight like she’s deliberating. And then, just as quickly, she exhales, straightening to her full height.
“Well,” she says, her voice dipping into something smoother, softer, “if you’re not avoiding me, then I guess you wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink with me, huh?”
You blink. “What.”
She jerks her chin toward the bar. “Drink. You. Me.”
You hesitate. That same pressure returns, that feeling of everyone wants her, but somehow, right now, she’s locked onto you. Paige watches you, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. “What’s wrong, tutor? Afraid you might enjoy my company?”
Your jaw tightens. “I tolerate your company.”
She smirks. “Then come tolerate me at the bar.”
Your mistake wasn’t stopping when she grabbed your wrist. Your mistake was letting her talk. Because now Paige fucking Bueckers is smirking at you like she’s already won something, head tilted, hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie like she’s lounging through this entire interaction. You can already feel yourself being pulled into her orbit, and she knows it.
“A drink?” you echo, squinting at her. “You? Drinking?”
Her smirk grows. “Shocking, I know.”
“Lemme guess,” you deadpan. “Protein powder with a splash of vodka? Maybe a nice gatorade-infused tequila?”
Paige gasps—actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest like you just accused her of a heinous crime. “Wow. You think so little of me.”
“I think exactly the right amount of you.”
She exhales dramatically, shaking her head. “Tragic. Here I am, just a small-town basketball star trying to enjoy a simple, wholesome night out, and my own tutor is out here slandering my good name.”
You raise a brow. “Your good name?”
She nods solemnly. “That’s right. I am, at heart, a simple girl with simple pleasures.” Then, as if to punctuate the absolute bullshit she just said, she throws an arm around your shoulder, leaning in until her lips are a breath away from your ear. “Like dirty Shirley Temples.”
You choke. On nothing. Paige pulls back, just enough to see your reaction, the sharp glint of amusement in her gaze practically sparkling.
“No fucking way,” you manage. “You drink dirty Shirley Temples?”
She grins. “Religiously.”
“That’s—” You blink, at a complete fucking loss. “That’s the most unserious drink you could have possibly chosen.”
Paige winks. “And yet? It goes down smooth.”
“Oh, I bet it does.”
She laughs, full and warm, tilting her head like she’s considering something. “Y’know,” she muses, “I like this side of you.”
You narrow your eyes. “What side?”
Paige drops her voice, lowers it into something silkier, something that slides down your spine in a way that should be illegal. “The one that flirts with me back.”
Your brain short-circuits. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb now,” she murmurs, fingers tapping lazily against the side of your arm like she’s keeping count of your heartbeat. “You’re usually so good at keeping up.”
You hate that she’s right. You take a slow breath, forcing yourself to regain some composure. “You are so full of shit.”
Paige hums. “Maybe. But you seem to love it.” And then she winks. A full, obnoxious, Paige Bueckers-grade wink.
Oh, you are not going out like this. You lean in, just barely, watching the way her smirk twitches, the way her fingers still on your arm. “Tell you what,” you say, keeping your voice light, casual, like you’re not insanely aware of how close she is. “I’ll let you buy me a drink—”
Paige perks up. “Yeah?”
“If,” you continue, “you admit that I’ve been absolutely kicking your ass in our tutoring sessions.”
Her lips part. “Oh, hell no.”
You grin. “What’s wrong? Afraid of the truth?”
She clicks her tongue, shaking her head like she’s personally offended. “No fucking way. That’s extortion.”
“That’s accountability.”
She squints at you. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”
Your breath catches. For a split second, you completely malfunction, and Paige fucking sees it.
She grins—huge, like she just sank a game-winner at the buzzer. “Ohhh, that got you, huh?”
You snap back immediately. “Did not.”
“Uh-huh.” She crosses her arms, rocking back on her heels. “You were fully thrown off just now.”
You roll your eyes, trying to pretend like you didn’t just combust internally. “You gonna buy me that drink or what?”
Paige sighs like you’ve personally exhausted her. “Fine,” she relents. “But I’m getting you my favorite.”
You smirk. “A dirty Shirley?”
She grins. “Exactly.”
And with that, she grabs your hand—just for a second, just to tug you toward the bar, just long enough to make your pulse spike before she lets go.
The bar is packed. Bodies pressed together, voices overlapping, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through the thumping bass. Paige moves through it like she owns the place—shoulders loose, hoodie slouched just right, that damn chain flashing under the dim lights. You follow, pretending your eyes aren’t tracking the way her sweatpants sit just low enough on her hips to be distracting.
She leans against the bar, elbow propped up, and tilts her head at you like she’s studying something.
You squint. “What.”
Her lips twitch. “Nothing. Just trying to figure you out.”
“You’ve had months to do that.”
“Yeah, but you keep surprising me.” She drums her fingers against the counter, slow and rhythmic. “Like, for example, I knew you had some bite to you, but tonight? You’re really showing your teeth.”
You cross your arms. “Maybe I’m just extra annoyed by you today.”
Paige hums, tilting her head like she’s considering. Then, before you can react, she leans in—close, warm, too close—and brushes her lips just against the shell of your ear.
“Nah,” she murmurs, voice dipping low. “You like it.”
A slow, rolling shiver spreads down your spine.
Paige pulls back, just far enough to meet your eyes, her smirk lazy and so fucking smug. She knows exactly what she just did. You hate that she’s right. Before you can retaliate, the bartender appears. Paige turns, all casual ease, and grins.
“Two dirty Shirleys,” she says.
The bartender raises a brow but nods, moving to make the drinks. You stare at Paige. She shrugs. “Hey, a deal’s a deal.”
“You actually meant it?”
“Duh,” she says. “What, you think I just flirt for fun?”
Your lips part, because yes, obviously, that’s exactly what you think. Paige sees the way your expression shifts, and her grin deepens. “Aw, babe, don’t tell me you thought I was playing with you.”
You blink. “I—”
She tuts, shaking her head. “See, now I really need you to drink this, ‘cause you need to loosen up.”
The bartender slides the drinks over. Paige pushes one toward you, watching expectantly. You hesitate. Paige lifts hers and clinks the rim of her glass against yours. “C’mon, tutor. Don’t be scared.”
Scared? Oh, that does it. You grab the glass and take a sip, the sweet bite of grenadine and vodka coating your tongue. Paige watches the way your throat moves when you swallow, her lips parting just slightly.
Just like that, the game shifts. You lower the glass, eyes locking with hers.
“Not bad,” you murmur. Then, mirroring her move from earlier, you step in just enough to make her breath hitch, tilting your head slightly like you’re about to say something important—something deep, something meaningful.
And then— you drag your tongue slowly over your bottom lip and the blonde’s eyes darken. You almost laugh, but her hand suddenly brushes against your waist, just a whisper of contact, the heat of her palm radiating through your thin shirt. It’s brief—so brief you could almost pretend it didn’t happen—but the way your skin burns says otherwise.
“Shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, just for you to hear.
You smirk. “Something wrong?”
Her jaw tightens. “Not at all.”
She takes a sip of her own drink, eyes never leaving yours, throat bobbing as she swallows. The moment stretches. Then—Paige exhales sharply, like she’s shaking something off, and grins. “Alright, alright, you win this round,” she admits, nudging your arm with hers. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”
You tilt your head. “Guess you’ll just have to keep figuring me out.”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “God, you’re fun.”
Then, so casually, she hooks a finger into your belt loop and tugs. It’s playful. It’s barely anything. But it’s also everything. Because she doesn’t let go. You swallow. Hard.
Her voice is softer now, but the teasing edge is still there. “I like this side of you.”
You clear your throat, trying desperately to focus on something other than the warmth of her touch. “You said that already.”
Paige smirks. “Yeah. But I really like it.”
Paige is cocky. Too cocky. The kind of cocky that drips off her like it’s stitched into her damn DNA, like she was born knowing how to get under people’s skin, into their heads. And right now, she’s looking at you like she’s already inside yours, like she’s set up shop in the most dangerous corners of your mind and made herself comfortable. She still has her finger hooked in your belt loop. Just resting there, like she belongs there.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs, sipping her drink, tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of grenadine before it can slide past her lip.
Your jaw clenches. You look down at her grip on your jeans, then back up. Blatantly.
She smirks. “What, this?” She tugs. Not hard. Just enough to make the fabric of your jeans pull against your hip, just enough to remind you she’s right there.
You don’t move. “Let go.”
She hums, tilting her head. “Nah.”
Your fingers twitch around your glass. “Paige.”
She exhales, all mock exasperation, finally—finally—releasing her hold. But before you can celebrate your very minor victory, she leans in, voice dropping to something dangerously smooth. “Relax. You can touch me if you want.”
Your breath catches.
She laughs, tipping her drink toward you in mock salute. “You’re so fun to mess with.”
You narrow your eyes, pulse still skittering from the low, teasing way she said touch me. “You’re insufferable.”
Paige hums. “Maybe, you like it.”
And there it is. The line. The one she’s been waiting to say, the one she’s been circling since the second she grabbed your wrist.
You roll your shoulders, schooling your expression into something neutral. “You’re alright.”
Her brows lift. “‘Alright’? Wow.”
You sip your drink, unfazed. “I mean, you are failing bio.”
Paige scoffs. “Unnecessary.”
“Just saying. I don’t think geniuses need tutors.”
Paige smirks. “Nah, but they do need entertainment. And you, babe—” she tips her chin toward you, eyes gleaming, “—are so fucking entertaining.”
The casual babe nearly stops your brain completely.
You grip your glass tighter. “I should charge you extra.”
“For what? Intellectual stimulation?”
“For being exhausting.”
Paige’s grin widens. “Yet, here you are. Still talking to me.” She takes another slow sip of her drink, eyes locked onto yours over the rim of her glass. Watching you. Like she’s waiting for something.
You shift your weight, feeling entirely too seen, entirely too open under that gaze. Paige notices. Of course she does. Her lips part, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek like she’s considering something.
Then—before you can react—she leans in.
Your body locks up.
She gets close. Not teasingly close, not almost close—actual close. The kind of close that makes your heart trip over itself, the kind of close that makes your breath catch in the back of your throat.
Her lips hover right there, her breath warm against your jaw. Then, quietly, smugly—obnoxiously:
“Wanna make out?”
You freeze.
She grins. “What? You look like I just asked you to solve a physics problem.”
“Are you serious?”
Paige tilts her head. “Nah, I just like watching you panic.”
She’s so fucking unbearable. You set your glass down with a sharp clink. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I’m funny.”
“You’re a menace.”
She beams. “You don’t seem to mind it.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heat of the bar, or the way Paige is looking at you like she wants something—like she’s daring you—but suddenly, your patience snaps.
You grip the front of her hoodie and pull. She barely has a second to react before your lips crash into hers. Paige groans. A low, gravelly sound that vibrates against your mouth, sending heat shooting straight to your stomach. And fuck, she kisses back.
All cocky, eager pressure, her hands already gripping your waist, her fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt like she wants to feel more.
The bar melts away. The noise, the people, everything—all of it fades because Paige is right here, kissing you like she’s been waiting for you to do this since day one.
You tilt your head, chasing the taste of vodka and cherry on her tongue, and Paige makes this obscene little noise before she presses in, deeper, her teeth grazing just enough to make your knees buckle. You gasp, and she smirks into the kiss, like she knows, like she’s already winning again.
Asshole.
You yank at the waistband of her sweatpants, a little revenge, a little fuck you, and Paige laughs—low, breathless—before biting gently at your bottom lip, sending a full-body shiver down your spine. Your grip on her tightens.
She hums, pleased. “Knew you wanted me.”
You pull back, just barely, panting. “Shut the fuck up.”
NSFW ALPHABET PT. 1 ⟢ various [wnba, wcbb, nba, football, nfl, F1] .ᐟ
summary ౨ৎ nsfw alphabet, yk what that means! a freaky letter for each one of your favs!
content ⟢ smut smut smut— mentions of aftercare, ass eating (not in depth), body worship, sex positions, dirty talk, s/d dynamics, cum play, breeding kink, masturbation, tribbing/scissoring, public-ish sex, oral, degradation kink, some non-google translated yet poor french (thanks french class!) it’s pure smut man just beware!!
serenity says ໒꒱ i'm so sorry for ghosting y'all... uni has been beating my ass up. TRUST the requests and chapter one of let the light in will be posted eventually, i just need to adjust to my classes bc i'm actually going insane ANYWAYS! thank you sm for 200 followers (like ahhh wtf? i didn't even notice?) i wanted to celebrate but didn't want to do anything too big (bc lord knows i can't stick to a regular posting schedule), so here's a lil nsfw alphabet with almost everyone i write for! enjoy :)
nsfw alphabet template from @/ikiissagirl!!
the next part includes players from the wnba, nba, football, and nfl .ᐟ
AFTERCARE ⟢ what are they like after sex? 𝝑𝝔 ANTHONY EDWARDS
anthony is used to sex being casual, so after it, he cleans himself up and moves on. back then, maybe he’ll check up on his partner, make sure she’s not too worn out, still, he keeps it pushing. but when he meets you, and he starts catching feelings, your relationship becoming more serious than expected, anthony realizes that it’s not enough— you deserve better than that. to the point of one day, he sheepishly asks you what you like to do after sex. he’s definitely not perfect, but he gets the gist of it. he’ll give you some praise once you both catch your breath, force you to get up and pee, by carrying you to the bathroom bridal style— if he’s feeling extra, like on valentine’s day, he’ll run you a bath— whatever else you need, he insists you tell him and he’ll get it. ant might be tired, but he’s not lazy. after that, it ends with some pillow talk, because when does anthony not want to talk to you?
BODY PART ⟢ their favorite body part of their partner 𝝑𝝔 SHEDEUR SANDERS
ass. no brainer. have you seen him talking about how much he loves “cake”? he eats cake— said with nothing but pure pride in his voice, hell, shedeur worships every kind of cake. dr. miami cake. flat cake. thick cake. ass is ass, sue him. he loves squeezing, kissing, massaging (he’s weirdly good at it), slapping, caressing your ass— no surprise his hand “accidentally” lowers down your waist when you’re out and about with him, or how you catch him looking behind you whenever you’re walking around his place. and when you have sex with him, you can’t find it in you to be shocked that the first position he suggests is…doggystyle. maybe reverse cowgirl, if he wants to switch things up. wow, shedeur, way to be subtle!
CUM ⟢ anything to do with cum, basically 𝝑𝝔 LUKA DONCIC
luka likes his cum on you…a little too much. his favorite is when you let him cum on your chest especially, watching you play with your boobs while his cum paints your skin. he doesn’t understand what is it exactly— maybe it’s because of the whole marking thing? he’s a messy guy? or how you just scoop it up, look at him with a smirk while you put it up to your mouth to swallow? who knows. what luka does know though, is that wherever you tell him to finish, his dick reacts in an instant. that’s why when you tell him to finish inside, please luka! he doesn’t even hesitate, or think about how he’s not protected at all— simply focused on how you’re clenching around him, pussy greedily swallowing his cum up like your mouth does. he watches it drip out of your hole, so tempted by you that his fingers reach out to shove it back in. he’s not obsessed, no, not at all.
DIRTY TALK ⟢ do they like dirty talk? what do they usually say? 𝝑𝝔 KYLIAN MBAPPE
kylian can fluently speak three languages— english, spanish, and french, and regardless which one he switches to in bed, his words come out sinful every time. we’ve seen the video of him talking to his teammates. point blank period, he’s a yapper that loves a good dirty talk session. mostly because you just have the best reactions to what he says— even with the language barrier, you know it’s dirty and your pussy loves the gruffy sound of his voice in your ear while he’s fucking you. he’ll fuck you dumb, to the point where french starts sounding like spanish, spanish sounding like english, just nodding along to whatever he says. kylian laughs, loving how he doesn’t need a translator to get to you.
“c’est tout pour moi, non? dit-moi, ou je arrête.”
“putain, juste comme ça, bebe.”
“tu veux de moi? quoi, tu peux pas me demander plus mieux ce ça?”
FAVORITE POSITON ⟢ very self explanatory, what position in bed do they prefer?
1 𝝑𝝔 JALEN DUREN
jalen duren is 6’10, unless if you’re 6’9, there’s definitely a height difference between the two of you that makes sex a real workout. jalen’s personal favorite are positions where he gets to hold you up. against the wall, or your legs wrapped around his waist, or his arms hooked around your legs— he doesn’t really care. jalen loves how he gets to show his strength, and you never fail to squeal when he picks you up so effortlessly. kiss his muscles and he’ll probably fold right then and there. the full control he gets is intoxicating, being able to choose the pace and how exactly hard he thrusts into you. you on the other hand, love how the position makes you feel every part of jalen. the angle of the position allows him to get reallll deep inside too, you gasping at each brush his dick makes with your cervix. the downsides? a man gets tired eventually, and the soreness you feel afterwards is insane. #ripbutworthit
2 𝝑𝝔 ANGEL REESE
tribbing, hands down. she calls it what it is: bumping coochies, affectionately though. it doesn’t matter if you’re on top or she is, missionary style, scissoring— although she gets a kick out of being on top after a good game, because she feels on top of the world…haha, get it? no? okay :( she enjoys every second of it, the way your bodies are molded, soft lips attached while your pussies rub together, the wetness gathering between you both allowing you to roll your hips up and down in sync. she’s a moaner, so if you decide to speed up, gyrating your clit right on hers, she will not be able to keep quiet. overstimulation really gets to angel, so drag it out by bringing your fingers to her clit too, and then she’ll really tear up. point it out and you’ll be the next one whimpering and crying too, trust. angel always gets her lick back.
3 𝝑𝝔 JARED MCCAIN
he’s one of those guys who loves missionary because of the closeness it gives. whenever he pushes inside of you, jared’s eyes snap right to your face, relishing every expression and gasp you make. he’ll hold your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact the whole time, smiling at how much you’re moaning— because of him. whenever it gets too much, he loves being able to be there for you, putting his hand in yours and talking you through it. “you’re doing so good for me baby,” is his go-to.
GOOFY ⟢ are they more serious in the moment? are they more humorous? 𝝑𝝔 TYRESE HALIBURTON
tyrese is a mix of both serious and goofy, especially seen in my “living room flow” fic. he doesn’t go as far to make a joke out of situation— you needy for him is a very serious problem he’d love to fix with his fingers…or dick. still, he can’t help but let out a joke or two, loving the way you react. you either giggle and slap his shoulder, or roll your eyes, scoffing at him. either way, it does something to him. what can he say? he lives to please you. when tyrese is serious though, is whenever you’re close to orgasm (wanting to make sure you feel good) or he is (trying his absolute best not to cum before you do).
INTIMACY ⟢ how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect. 𝝑𝝔 LEWIS HAMILTON
lewis is maybe the most intimate lover you’ve been with your whole life. i’m serious, he’s painfully romantic. he’s the kind of guy that writes a poem about you and how every inch of your skin is perfect— and recites it while he’s thrusting into you, slowly and sensually. he makes you feel every inch, every vein, and every twitch of his cock. whispering his poem against your ear like it’s a prayer. you have no choice but to believe him, because who can say no to his unwavering adoration for you— how he doesn’t stutter over a single line, inked hands holding your warm skin like it's the most precious thing he'll ever get to feel, and immerses himself into every touch you give, thanking you for blessing him with access to your sacred body. he sets the mood too— candles being the only light source of the room, rose petals scattered across the bed, while a light r&b song plays, muffled by the noises escaping your throat.
JERK OFF ⟢ masturbation headcanons 𝝑𝝔 JUDE BELLINGHAM
unfortunately, jude is not the kind of guy who can wait to see you rather than jerk off. if he’s hard, he’s hard. it won’t go away, no matter how many weird images he thinks up in his head. it’s even worse whenever he’s on away games— mind plagued with the thought about how you aren’t here. you can’t kiss him. play with his hair. cuddle against him. feel his boner poke through his shorts while you start— fuck! he can’t even bother with a facetime call, since it’s 3 am where you are already. it’s more of a means to an end, jude reasons, wanting “jude jr” to be gone already. spitting into his palm, he pulls up a video in his hidden album of you riding him, sighing at the sight of your ass bouncing up and down. he really needs to see you again.
KINK ⟢ one or more of their kinks 𝝑𝝔 JJ REDICK
a serious degradation kink. obviously, there would be a safeword and boundaries established (he’s a meanie, but not evil!), but once it’s decided, it’s like a switch flips. suddenly his voice turns all raspy, rough hand pushing you down to his clothed lap as you look up at his stern face. he doesn’t play at all. he’s calling you his slut, muttering about how pathetic you look on him, begging to get off on his thigh? “you’re that desperate, huh?” he chuckles. “keep movin’. i didn’t say stop.” it’s almost a little cruel how he loves to watch you slip up— waiting for the moment he has a good reason to spank your ass red. if the opportunity is there, he’ll take it. don’t worry, he has some numbing cream somewhere in his drawer.
LOCATION ⟢ favorite places to do the do 𝝑𝝔 JUJU WATKINS
juju likes having sex in more private places— i mean, hello, she’s usc’s superstar and a basketball legend in the making! her putting her arm around your waist causes enough commotion, imagine what pictures or videos of you two fucking would do? seriously, juju would never know peace again. so mainly, you’re either doing it at her place, yours, or a secluded place (with a door and lock preferably). anywhere else would have her unfocused and antsy— constantly looking around to see if anyone’s watching or coming by and rushing to get an orgasm out of you. scared or not, she’ll make sure you cum though!
a headcanon related to my ucla wcbb!reader fic— juju definitely ate you out on the floor of ucla’s locker room once (when the arena was cleared out after the game, no one else there but the poor custodian who couldn’t figure out where the random whimpers were coming from?) after you had bet that ucla would win against usc. she simply said “bet.” and played her heart out that night. trust, it felt good to see you, all hot and bothered laying on the ucla logo plastered on the floor, juices soaking the material beneath you. juju being able to ruin you on your turf. you decided to stop making bets with juju after coach had pointed the stain out the next day, yelling— “ladies, if you spill anything on the floor, clean it up!”
long ass taglist i am so sorry...will add another option to the taglist form that'll make the taglist for fics like these shorter!
⤷ want to be added to the taglist? read this!
in which you and one of your teammates get a little too playful on live, and Grace has to play it cool. But can she really?
warnings: smut, dom!grace x fem!reader
Grace props her phone up on the bench in the locker room, smirking as she hits the “Go Live” button on TikTok. “alright everyone, welcome to post-practice chaos!!” she says, moving the camera so it catches the whole team.
The comments start flooding in immediately fans and students saying hi, asking questions, spamming emojis.
Grace and Zakiyah tries to answer some questions while the chat is going fast, and with how chaotic the locker room is at the moment.
You sit down next to your teammate, nudging her with your shoulder. “watch they’re going to clip everything” you whisper, laughing.
she laughs, slapping your arm playfully, and you shove back, Grace’s smile drops for a second seeing the contact going on behind her as she watched you both through the live screen.
she clears her throat, forcing a laugh for the camera.
the chat instantly picks up:
“wait what’s happening??”
“ why she went quiet 😭”
“LMFAO r y’all peeping whats going on?”
Zakiyah starts laughing with divine as she starts reading the chat as well. Looking at Grace as she leans back pretending to read comments, her eyes flickering between you and Bella.
You and Bella oblivious to whats going on, as you both are just joking.
“guys what are they saying?, whats funny” you asked while giggling. deciding on if you want to get up to see for yourself.
Grace moves out the frame, mumbling “don’t read it” then moves back into the frame, trying to look like the jealousy isn’t eating her up inside.
“nothing they trolling that’s all” flau’jae said while reading the comments now
you were confused, trying to put your headband on before getting up to see the comments, bella snatched it from you playfully, with a smirk on her face.
“Bella give it back, i’m not playing” you laughed, tugging it back. She pulled, you pulled it
“you were playing a minute ago, what happened?” she laughed.
Grace watching you two with the biggest mug on her face, not even caring about the live right now.
Both of you laughing as the headband wobbled between you.
“anyways.. what are they saying” you say about to read the chat.
“grace fix your face”
“nah there’s definitely something going on between her and bella”
“grace why did your mood just change out of nowhere😭”
“how was practice?”
“practice was good guys, thanks for asking” divine replies to the comment. Trying to ignore the other comments
grace nods, looking turned off.
“yea it was alright”, she adds on putting on her hoodie, looking like shes ready to leave.
“oh please, me and Bella mess around like that all the time,” you said with a small laugh. “y’all must be new.”
“exactly, i don’t know why y’all always have to make something weird” Bella adds on
“right” grace mumbles, you shoot her a quick look confused to why she has an attitude.
the locker room suddenly goes quiet peeping whats going on between you and Grace
bella’s lets out a quiet laugh now understanding whats going on, “uh, guys I’m gonna start to head out i have homework” she says grabbing her bag awkwardly. “bye live” she waves.
“yeah, i was just about to end this live anyways” Grace said snatching her phone, before anyone could get to say bye.
“Grace, are you serious right now?” you said, dropping your bag by the door, finally back at the dorms. “you’re really mad at me because I was joking around with Bella?”
Grace kicked of her slides, clearly annoyed. “Im not mad”
You let out a small laugh. “you literally stormed out the locker room after getting off live”
she took her hoodie off, tossing it onto the chair. “yeah because y’all were doing to much”
You stared at her, “we were fighting over a headband Grace.”
“yeah, i saw and so did everyone else” she mumbled
“um, okay and?” you followed her into the room, “you know me and Bella always play like that, so what’s the problem now?”
“the problem is me having to sit there and act like all that touching and giggling wasn’t getting to me” she said now turning to you. “do you like seeing all the comments and posts saying you and Bella might have something going on?” she says staring at you. “cause i don’t”
“well i don’t feed in to that stuff and you shouldn’t either, because I’m right where i want to be, with you”
“yeah?” she said moving closer to you.
“yes i’m serious” you said looking up at her
smut ahead
“really? because its not what it looks like” she said as her hand creeped around your neck
“you look so sexy jealous” you cooed. As she began to kiss you, tightening her grip on your neck. “I want you out these clothes now” she demanded tugging on your shirt.
you didn’t waste no time
“you wanna make me look like a fool on live right?, better hope I show you some sympathy” she said with a small laugh, attaching the harness to her waist.
suddenly, she flipped you on all fours, lining up with your entrance and slamming into you with no warning, beginning to take her anger out on you. “sh-shit wait, sl-slow down” you stuttered. “nah, you can take it” she said grabbing your hair roughly, your back now meeting her chest.
you moaned, grabbing onto her muscular arms. “i’m sorry, i-i won’t do it again”
“yeah? say she can’t fuck you like this” grace said in a sharp tone. “she can’t fu-fuck me like this” whining as she yanked your hair again before letting go. Making you collapse into the pillow struggling find stability.
“fix your arch” she said, slapping your ass.
you jerk from the sting “i’m gonna cum” you said as your breath hitched.
you felt your stomach knot up, as your release approached, only to be left with an empty feeling.
“you think you deserve to cum?” she laughed at you. “please” you panted, turning around to look at her. “you gotta work for it baby” she teased.
⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | request: P taking care of the reader and being extra sweet to her, like reader is being a pouty whiny baby and p is just laughing and teasing her ab it but also being the sweetest most caring gf doing everything her princess asks for) for @wanderlusturous
⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of period cramps, paige being the sweetest gf ever, reader being dramatic, friendly teasing, nothing else but sweetness!
The soft click of the front door opening pulls you from your half-asleep haze. You’re sprawled out on the bed, face buried in the pillow, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets like the pouty, neglected girlfriend you are. Paige’s practice ran late—again—and even though you know it’s not her fault, it’s easier to sulk than to be reasonable.
“Baby, I’m home!” Her voice carries through the apartment, light and a little breathless. There’s a shuffle of sneakers being kicked off and the familiar jingle of her keys landing in the dish by the door.
You don’t answer. Not because you didn’t hear her, but because being dramatic feels like the only appropriate response to spending all day missing her.
Seconds later, the bedroom door creaks open, and there she is. Paige stands in the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder, her hoodie a little damp from sweat. Her hair’s pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her cheeks are still pink from exertion. You catch her grin the second she spots you moping on the bed.
“Oh no,” she teases, voice dripping with mock concern. “It’s worse than I thought. My princess is in full-on pout mode.”
You groan, rolling over just enough to glare at her. “Don’t call me that.” The words come out muffled through the blankets, hardly convincing.
Paige just laughs, dropping her bag on the floor before walking over. She leans down, resting her hands on the mattress, her face hovering inches from yours. “You’re right. Maybe I should call you grumpy-pants instead.”
“Paige,” you whine, turning your head away, which only makes her laugh harder. Her familiar scent—something clean and faintly floral—follows her as she crawls onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight.
“You missed me, huh?” she says softly, tugging gently at the blanket wrapped around you. You try to swat her hand away, but it’s useless—she’s persistent. “Come on, don’t be mad. I’m here now.”
When she finally manages to pull the blanket down far enough to reveal your face, she looks at you with such a warm, adoring smile that it’s hard to stay annoyed. Paige Bueckers, MVP of making you feel like the most loved human on the planet, even when she’s being a total pest.
Paige’s grin widens when she catches sight of your pout. She’s so close you can see the little flecks of gold in her blue eyes, and the way her damp lashes stick together. Her cheeks are still slightly flushed, not just from practice but from the effort of teasing you into a better mood.
“You’re so cute when you’re all grumpy,” she coos, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. Her fingertips are warm against your skin, and despite yourself, you lean into her touch ever so slightly. She notices, of course, because she notices everything, and her smirk turns smug. “Aww, see? You can’t stay mad at me.”
“Try me,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest in a last-ditch effort to look unbothered. It’s a weak attempt. Paige knows she’s already winning.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she says, voice dropping into that playful, teasing tone that makes your stomach do flips. She shifts to sit cross-legged beside you, her body radiating warmth, and pulls your blanket fortress down further, exposing your pajama-clad form to the cool air. You squeak in protest, trying to grab it back, but Paige just laughs, easily dodging your attempts.
“Paige! I’m cold!” you whine, dragging the syllables out as dramatically as possible.
“You’re not cold,” she counters, leaning down so her face is level with yours. Her lips are barely an inch from your ear when she whispers, “You just want attention.”
The accusation makes your cheeks burn, but you refuse to admit it. Instead, you turn your head to glare at her, only to find her looking at you with such fondness it makes your heart squeeze. Her teasing may drive you crazy, but it’s never mean—always laced with that endless well of affection she has for you.
“Okay, okay,” she relents, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll stop being annoying. What does my needy girl want?”
You hesitate, biting your lip as you try to decide between staying stubborn or giving in. Paige raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently like she has all the time in the world, and you know she does. No matter how busy her day has been, Paige always makes it clear that when she’s with you, she’s with you—no distractions, no half-listening, just you and her.
Finally, you mumble, “I want cuddles. And snacks.”
“Snacks, huh?” Paige chuckles, but she’s already sliding off the bed, her socked feet making no sound against the floor. “Anything for my princess. Stay here—I’ll be right back.”
This time, you don’t protest the nickname. You watch as she disappears into the kitchen, humming softly to herself. Her hair bounces with every step, the ponytail swinging as she moves with that effortless grace she always has, even when she’s been on her feet all day.
Moments later, she returns with an assortment of snacks balanced in her arms—your favorite chips, a chocolate bar, and even a glass of water because, as she always reminds you, “You need to stay hydrated, babe.” She sets everything on the nightstand with a satisfied grin before crawling back onto the bed.
“Okay, princess,” she says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Snacks, check. Cuddles, incoming. Anything else?”
You pretend to think for a moment, then look up at her with wide, innocent eyes. “Maybe... a massage?”
Paige groans dramatically, throwing her head back as if you’ve asked her to climb Mount Everest. “You’re so high-maintenance,” she teases, but her hands are already reaching for your shoulders.
And just like that, the annoyance of her long day away melts into the warmth of her presence, the comfort of her touch, and the steady rhythm of her laughter filling the room.
↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !
↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡
Paige Bueckers is the human equivalent of a golden retriever. Loud, affectionate, and seemingly immune to exhaustion. I, on the other hand, am not.
This becomes a problem every weekend when she didn’t have practice or games, she wakes up at the ass crack of dawn, blasting music or throwing herself on top of me to get me out of bed. It’s also a problem late at night, when my only goal is to shower and pass out, but she and our friends have other plans—like tonight.
After an exhausting volleyball practice and an eight-hour shift at work, all I wanted was silence, a warm shower, and sleep. I walked into our apartment fully prepared to collapse face-first into the mattress.
But instead, I was met with chaos.
Paige, KK, Ice, Jana, and Aubrey were gathered in the living room, the glow of a ring light illuminating their faces as they talked animatedly to one of the phones propped up in front of them.
They were on live. Of course.
“Baby!” Paige practically launched herself off the couch when she saw me, nearly tripping over her laptop charger in the process. “You’re home!”
“Yeah,” I muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion as I dropped my bag by the door. “Unfortunately.”
KK snorted. “Oh nah, she’s on her last leg.”
“I am,” I confirmed, rubbing my eyes. “Why are y’all screaming?”
“They’re gonna try the moves on each other,” Jana explained with a shake of her head. “And Ice is building a house. With me.”
“Multitasking,” Ice said proudly.
I sighed, already regretting my life choices. “I’m going to bed.”
Paige pouted. “Noooo, don’t leave me.”
I gave her a blank stare. “Paige, I just worked for eight hours after a full morning practice. I want to sleep.”
“You can sleep here.” She tugged at my wrist. “C’mon, I promise I’ll be quiet.”
“Now that’s a damn lie,” I deadpanned.
The live chat must have heard because the comments started flying:
“She already knows Paige be lying, LMAOO.”
“Nah, you should sleep there just to prove how done you are.”
“Golden retriever gf and black cat gf fr, fr.”
“It’s giving y/n is a single mother rn.”
Paige ignored them, pulling me toward the couch and plopping back down with her laptop. “Here, cuddle me so you’ll be comfy.”
I was too tired to argue, so I let her maneuver me onto her lap, arms loosely wrapped around her shoulders as she settled back against the couch.
The moment my head hit her shoulder, I was gone.
I woke up to muffled voices, but I barely registered them.
Paige’s arms were still wrapped securely around me, her warmth cocooning me in a way that made it impossible to move. I buried my face deeper into her hoodie, inhaling the familiar scent of her detergent.
Somewhere in the background, KK’s voice rang out. “Wait, wait—yo, the chat is killing me right now.”
I frowned, cracking an eye open. Paige was still typing on her laptop, completely unfazed by whatever was happening. KK, Ice, Jana, and Aubrey were still talking animatedly to the iPad.
They were still on live.
I groaned softly, shifting against Paige. “Y’all are seriously still streaming?”
Paige rubbed my back absentmindedly. “Mhm.”
Jana smirked. “The chat’s been going crazy over you.”
I frowned. “What?”
KK cackled, reading out comments.
“She deadass knocked out while they screaming their lungs out over Legos and self-defense.”
“Bro, she’s strong cause I could nevaaa.”
“Paige, she’s sooo done with y’all.”
“It’s giving power couple.”
“They’re gonna make edits of them, I just know it.”
I groaned again, squeezing my eyes shut. “I hate all of you.”
“Love you too, baby,” Paige cooed, pressing a kiss to my temple.
The chat exploded.
“PAIGE PLSSS.”
“She’s so whipped.”
“Nah, I need me a Paige.”
“Paige doing work with y/n in her lap gives.. a single mother vibes.”
“Somebody que up Reba McEntire.”
I sighed, too tired to care. “I’m going back to sleep.”
Paige chuckled. “Go ahead, baby. I got you.”
And just like that, I was out again—chaos and all.
Sometime later—maybe an hour, maybe longer—I woke up to the sensation of being lifted. Paige’s arms were steady as she carried me toward our bedroom, her steps careful despite how exhausted she had to be by now.
“Mm,” I mumbled sleepily, cracking my eyes open just enough to see her face. “Live’s finally over?”
She smiled down at me, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Yeah, baby. Got my homework turned in on time, too.”
I hummed in approval, letting my head rest against her shoulder as she set me down on the bed and pulled the blankets over me. The room was dim, the soft glow from the hallway light casting a shadow across her face.
“Hold on, ma,” she murmured before disappearing into the kitchen. A minute later, she returned with my cup, filled to the brim with ice water. She set it down on my nightstand, her fingers brushing against my forehead as she leaned in. “So you don’t wake up thirsty.”
I blinked up at her, my heart doing an annoying little flip at how effortlessly sweet she was. “You’re the best.”
Paige smirked. “I know.”
I reached out, grabbing her wrist before she could turn away. “Come lay down.”
She hesitated. “I’m not really sleepy yet.”
“Don’t care.” I tugged her toward the bed. “Just come cuddle.”
That was all the convincing she needed. Paige climbed in beside me, her arm slipping under my waist as I curled into her side.
“Okay, but what are we watching?” she asked, grabbing the remote.
I thought for a second before grinning. “Turn on something from Disney Jr.”
Paige gave me a look. “You deadass?”
I nodded. “Yep. Something nostalgic. We can make fun of it while we watch.”
She rolled her eyes, but the fondness in her expression was undeniable. A few moments later, the familiar theme song of Little Einsteins filled the room. I snorted.
Paige smirked. “Classic.”
For the next hour, we laid there, half-watching, half-talking about our day. I told her about how my legs were still sore from practice, how I nearly cussed out a customer at work, and how I saw a dog that reminded me of her on my way home.
She told me about her classes, the new drill Coach Geno had them running, and how she was convinced Ice was going to drop out of school and become a full-time Lego builder.
By the time the clock hit 4 a.m., our words had slowed, our sentences broken by long stretches of silence. Paige’s fingers traced lazy circles against my back, her breath warm against my temple.
“You tired now?” I murmured.
She exhaled softly. “Yeah, baby.”
I nuzzled into her chest. “Finally.”
She chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead. “Goodnight, ma.”
“‘Night, Paigey.”
And just like that, we drifted off, tangled in each other, with Little Einsteins still playing in the background.
pairing: paige bueckers x childhood bestfriend!reader
word count: 6062
warnings: a boyfriend, paige being slow, azzi clocking paige, unrequited love but only for a lil bit, sprinkle of angst, clichés
song: in between by gracie abrams
summary: paige has been your best friend since the beginning of time, but valentine's day is a day full of emotions, realizations, rom-coms, and not-so-grand gestures.
⭑ from lani - happy late valentines day!! this is the longest fic ive ever written and the end is a lil rushed and idk if i even like the whole thing but hope yall like it :))
masterlist !
WHAT KIND OF person dumps their significant other on valentine's day? who has the audacity, the nerve to break someone's heart on the one day of the year purely dedicated to love?
the answer to those questions is you, shockingly.
the day seemed doomed from the beginning. you had woken up to a text from derek (the name of your now ex-boyfriend) detailing his apologies for not being able to spend the morning with you due to an early morning class.
following the explanation and plethora of heart emojis was a screenshot of a receipt from some food delivery. you were confused at first until a third text came through. "check your front door :)" it said.
curious though skeptical, you shrugged on a random throw blanket before making your way to your apartment's entrance. pulling open the door, there's no one there but there is a small brown bag resting on the carpeted hallway. as soon as you pick up the package, a fourth (and final, but you didn't know it then) text buzzed through.
"hope i got your order right, i love you and i'll see you at lunch ❤️"
you can't help but smile at the message, your hopeless romantic roots tugging at your heart strings. upon opening the bag, however, the smile fades quickly.
he did, in fact, not get your order right. there was a medium sized iced drink, but it was a coffee instead of your usual matcha latte. and the pastry accompanying it was a croissant. which would have been fine...except for the fact that it was a chocolate croissant. you never liked chocolate.
despite derek's mistakes, you consumed the order nonetheless, not wanting to be ungrateful. it was the thought that counts anyway...right?
before you began to spiral into insanity over little details (such as messing up your starbucks order), you decided to distract yourself by calling your best friend. clicking the contact with no hesitation, it only takes two rings for the blonde to pick up.
meanwhile, in werth training center, the aforementioned best friend had just flopped down onto the wooden floors, drained from the scrimmage their coach had just made them do.
he explained that their shortened practice was their valentine's day gift from him which, compared to their usual practices, made it seem like he was possessed by an angel. maybe a pink valentine-themed one.
"paige," azzi calls out to her from the row of seats on the sideline, "y/n," she says simply before gently throwing the purple-encased phone to the sweaty girl. she catches it effortlessly, answering the call in a heartbeat.
"what's up, y/n?" she opens with a smile, sitting up and settling into a criss-crossed position.
"hi, p, happy valentine's day," you reply, a smile of your own growing on your face at the sound of her voice.
"happy valentine's," paige greets, ignoring the spark in her chest.
"are you at practice?" you ask as you discard the unfinished coffee and bread.
"yeah but we got let out early," she explains, now standing up and walking to the locker rooms, "i'm bouta shower and head back to the dorms."
"that's good," you nod, "you got any plans for today?"
"nah, i'm prolly just gonna chill in my room. watch some grey's, order wings maybe. ou that actually sounds good.."
you laugh lightly at her trailing thought, "you don't have a date or anything? i'm sure there are girls that would pay thousands."
"well, they can keep their money. spend it on getting a hobby or something," she shrugs, knowing that she could, in fact, have any girl wrapped around her finger. except for the one she actually wanted.
"please," you scoff, "don't act like you don't love their attention."
"i don't really care about...their attention," she mumbles, gathering herself a change of clothes.
"hm?" you hum, not hearing her clearly.
"nothin'," she dismisses, "what about you? is derek with you right now?"
"nope," you sigh, "he's at class."
"willingly? at eight in the morning?"
"mandatory attendance, apparently."
"that's bullshit," she scoffs, slightly angered by his lack of presence.
"it's fine, p," you insist, half-lying, "we're going out for lunch anyways so…”
"still. want me to drop by, get you some breakfast?" she offers.
"thanks, but derek doordashed me some starbucks."
"alright..." she says skeptically, as if she doesn't believe that he would care enough to do so, "he get your order right?"
"um...almost."
"wasn't even close, was he?" paige laughs.
"iced coffee and a chocolate croissant,” you breathe out.
"wow," she's almost speechless at how far off he was. almost.
"don't."
"i didn't say anything!"
"you were about to-"
"i mean, doesn't he know you don't like coffee? or chocolate?" she laughs again, shaking her head.
"it's fine-"
"i'ma stop by in a bit, alright?" she interrupts.
"what?" you ask, "i said you don’t have to.”
"you got, what?" she checks the time on her apple watch, "'bout 3 hours 'til you get ready to meet up with derek?"
"something like that, yeah."
"then i'll keep you company," she reasons, "plus you got a better tv than me."
"of course," you roll your eyes with a chuckle.
"i'ma freshen up real quick and head over, yeah?"
"yeah, okay," you give in, though your heart rate quickened slightly.
"alright, i'll see you soon."
"bye, p," you end, hanging up and going to take a shower of your own.
on the other side of the line, paige was queueing up some music in front of her locker when azzi decided to sneak up on her.
“since when do you listen to gracie abrams and taylor swift?”
“yo, chill! damn near gave me a heart attack,” she jumps, hand on her chest in shock. azzi simply deadpans at the girl, eyebrow raised waiting for her to answer, “what? i like their songs.”
“‘in between’? ‘need’?” she reads off of the girl’s phone, “paige, these songs aren’t even officially released.”
“okay…and?”
“and…i remember someone just gushing about these songs last night,” she continues with an suggestive tone.
“oh yeah? who?” paige plays dumb.
“paige.”
“i don’t know what you’re insinuating here but-“
“spell ‘insinuating.’” the brunette dares.
“okay, azzi, where is this going?” she sighs, dropping her shoulders exasperatedly. she feels annoyance rising in her. not at her friend, specifically, but at the thought of having the same conversation they’ve had too many times before.
“tell me you’re not still into y/n.”
“the fuck? of course i’m not,” she defends instantly, but from the raise of her teammates eyebrows, she knows it wasn’t anywhere near convincing, “i promise i’m over her.”
“is that why it only takes you one second, maybe two, to answer her calls and texts? or why your face, swear to god, lights up when you see her or even just talk about her?” azzi challenges, not believing paige’s words.
“i don’t do that-“
azzi laughs, “thank god you can hoop ‘cause you’re a shit liar.”
her frustration is quick to rise, “bro, what do you want me to do? i can’t just shut it off like it was never there, alright? i tried distancing myself from her; it didn’t work. i tried talking to that one cheerleader; it didn’t work. i tried being friends with derek; guess what? it didn’t work. so now what?” paige flops onto the bench in her locker, head low as she rests her elbows on her knees.
azzi sees the defeated look on her face. she’s breathless and tired but not from the drills they just did in practice.
“paige…” she starts, but she can’t find the words to comfort the blonde. there’s a beat of silence, a sense of helplessness lingering in the air as if it was radiating off of paige.
“you know he can’t even get her fucking breakfast order right?” she speaks up a moment later, “shit, i wouldn’t even be surprised if he gives her daisies when they go out later.”
“what’s wrong with daisies?” azzi asks, confused.
“she’s allergic,” she answers simply.
another beat of silence. this time filled with azzi’s understanding - revelation, if you will. she knows that paige has been your best friend since elementary school. but now she knows that, to paige, you were so much more than just her best friend. paige knew you like she knew the lines painted across a basketball court. she understood you like she understood the rules of the game she was practically born to play.
but there was always one thing she never understood about you: why did you waste your time on people who didn’t care like she did? or in simpler terms, why didn’t you ever notice her?
“paige,” the brunette says carefully, “you’re gonna destroy yourself and y/n if you keep this up. i know it’s hard to hear but you have to get over her.”
“i don’t know how,” paige whispers, as if the words themselves are physically hurting her.
“then make her see you,” azzi offers, “make her realize that you’re the one for her.”
“but she’s with derek, and-“
“i have a feeling derek won’t be around long,” she chuckles, “but you? i know you’ll always be there for her. she knows it, too. she just needs a little help understanding why.”
“maybe,” she sighs, “i’ll figure it out. thanks, az.”
“you’re welcome. just remember - oh what’s that one saying? shit or get off the pot? yeah, that.”
“disgusting,” paige breaks out into laughter, shaking her head and standing up from her spot on the bench.
“that’s what you are. now go shower ‘cause you stink.”
“hey!” she yells, throwing a random towel at her teammates head as she runs away with a yelp.
turning back to her locker, she picks up her phone to type out a text.
peely 🍌: hey, i can’t make it to yours, coach wants to go over some film for a while - sorry :(
y/n: no worries! tell geno i said pls have mercy
peely 🍌: u got it
peely 🍌: doordashed u sum matcha btw, should be there in a bit
y/n: aw thanks p u didnt have to
peely 🍌: dw abt it, have fun on ur date :)
with the send of the final text, paige sighs, throwing her phone into her bag and heading to the showers muttering, “why do i do this to myself?”
——
you had been waiting at the restaurant for almost an hour. that makes three awkward smiles as you tell the waitress you're just waiting for someone, two refills of an ice cold water you're only drinking to calm your nerves, and one tauntingly empty chair across from you.
you remained, of course, because you were so sure that he would come. you made up excuses for him in your head: flat tire, broken traffic light, alarm malfunction - something, anything that justified the embarrassment you were feeling right now.
your only source of enjoyment was the notes of "holy ground" by taylor swift playing softly from the speakers in the room. you found peace in the familiar song, occasionally humming along to the lyrics you know by heart.
the melody allows you to get lost in your thoughts, acting as a distraction from the situation at hand. and somehow, your mind leads you to your best friend. you think of her soft blonde hair, the way she smiles - really smiles, and your favorite memories with her.
MINNESOTA, 2020
"i dunno, i don't really like taylor swift."
"what?" you exclaim, lifting your head from paige's lap, "wow, i have failed you."
"nah, i just don't really listen to her. she's too radio for me," paige explains.
"what does that even mean?" you laugh, laying back down and resting your head on paige's legs.
"like...i feel like she makes her songs specifically for the radio. the ones i hear aren't that special."
“yeah, the ones you've heard, maybe. you just need to be introduced to the best ones," you say before getting up to fetch your earbuds from your backpack and handing them to paige. after plugging them into your phone, you hand one of the buds to paige and keep the other for yourself.
the girl beside you settles back against her headboard, placing the gaming controller she had just been using onto her nightstand. instinctively, you lean your head on her shoulder, scrolling through your playlists to find a suitable song.
after a while, you settle on “holy ground” from your playlist titled, “a romcom kind of love.” the iconic drum beat echoes in your ear, the quick lyrics sending chills across your skin. about halfway through, paige starts getting into it, even tapping on your leg lightly to the flow of the words. when the song comes to a close, she leaves her hand resting on your thigh, innocently brushing her fingers on your skin in random shapes.
“so? what did you think?” you ask, peering up at her.
“it’s good,” she states plainly, “still very radio-y, though.”
“you’re impossible,” you roll your eyes, retaking your place against her shoulder and scrolling to find another song.
this time you choose a newer production, one that technically wasn’t an official song. you had to relocate to a different app completely just to listen to it.
“bro, why are we on youtube?” paige laughs, knowing full well that you pay for spotify premium.
“it’s an unreleased song, it’s not on any streaming platforms,” you explain, “which is stupid because this is top five, for sure.”
“if it’s that good, then why didn’t she release it?”
“because she wants to torture us? i don’t know, you should ask her.”
with that, she laughs again, the sound accidentally becoming the perfect introduction for the song. the light strums of the guitar and breathy vocals flow through the wired device, immediately bringing you peace. when you reach the chorus, you can’t help but hum along to the lines, the catchiness of the words pulling you into a trance. you allow yourself to fully relax against paige, closing your eyes in serenity. as the song closes, you find it hard to open your eyes back up, the strength of slumber holding you back from moving.
“wow,” paige breathes, “you were right. that was actually really good.”
she tilts her head down at you, but is met with your silent, sleeping figure. your lips were slightly parted, a light flush on your cheeks from the comforting warmth in the girl’s bedroom.
smiling softly, paige brushes a loose hair out of your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek affectionately. she pulls the earbuds out of your ear and her’s and takes your phone from your open hand, making sure to text your parents that you would be sleeping over and would be back first thing tomorrow.
before plugging it in to charge and shutting it off, paige takes a mental note of the song that you had played. she locates her own phone and navigates over to spotify, creating a playlist and sending an invite for you to join as a collaborator. the first two songs she added were “holy ground” and a pirated version of “need” that took way too long to find.
finally, she gently lays you down onto her bed, making sure you were propped up against the pillows and snug under the blanket. she gets herself situated next to you, careful to leave a space out of respect for your own comfort. however, as soon as she scooted under the covers, you curled up next to her, nuzzling your face in her neck and draping an arm loosely over her stomach.
the blonde freezes, eyes wide at the feeling of your body so close to her’s. color rushes to her cheeks immediately. she can’t help but stare at you - the peaceful look on your face, the way you found comfort in close proximity rather than distance.
she has the urge to pull you closer, to hug you to her chest and tell you how much you meant to her. she restrains herself, instead settling for sleep with hopes that things will be different in her dreams.
you were oblivious to all of this, and unfortunately for the both of you, it would remain that way for years to come.
PRESENT
you smile sadly at the memory, a wave of nostalgia overwhelming you. you missed the moments when it was just the two of you against the world. sure, you were still each other’s ride or die, maybe now more than ever, but things have definitely shifted. paige is laser-focused on basketball, something not to be disrupted. and you were working your way up to fulfilling your dream career, making new friends (and other…connections) every day.
you knew that paige would always be your best friend and that you would always be her’s, but you were both growing. you were becoming the people you spent hours under the minnesota stars talking about, the women you aspired to be since the random thoughts became real dreams.
but there was something else. it wasn’t a feeling of loss or sadness. it wasn’t a feeling of negativity at all. it was more of a lingering idea, one that was locked away but trying to escape. it was the same feeling that coursed through you whenever you were with paige - laughing, talking, smiling, everything.
for you, it was a rare, unexplainable feeling. but to paige, she knew exactly what it was. she felt it in herself everytime you were around; even sometimes when you weren’t but simply lingering in her mind. the feeling was the root of a lot of her inner conflicts. what once was a fleeting wish had become an recurring plot point.
all of this was unbeknownst to you, and maybe it would remain that way, but you often found yourself chasing that feeling, whatever you thought it was. you searched for it in guys like derek, wondering if, one day, someone would be able to ignite it. you tried your luck with clueless boys, god bless their hearts, but you were never successful.
you began to think. maybe it was-
“y/n!” you hear, snapping you back to reality, “i’m so sorry, i got caught up with alissa and our professor held us back after class it was-“ derek sighs, “i’m sorry.”
you look up at him, searching his eyes for some sort of sign. this has happened before - him showing up late because he “lost track of time” when he was hanging out with alissa. you’re not sure why you let it slide then or why you’re somewhat accepting the excuse now.
“um, it’s fine,” you say unsure, as if you were trying to convince yourself instead of him.
he places a wet kiss on your forehead, the feeling suddenly making you nauseous, “i’m so sorry, bubba,” you had to stop yourself from visibly grimacing at the nickname. you hated it; it was so childish, so odd, “here, happy valentine’s day.”
he pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, and you instantly regret not breaking up with him sooner.
“daisies?”
“yeah, i had no idea what to get you so i just asked alissa, i hope they’re okay,” he offers with a nervous rub at the back of his neck.
“okay, um, you know what? i’m sorry, i have to go,” you stand abruptly, officially sick (not just because you felt your throat getting itchy from the flowers’ pollen).
“woah, wait what?” he asks, confused, “what’s wrong?”
“derek-” you laugh in disbelief with a shake of your head, “this isn’t working, alright? i honestly don’t think it ever was.”
“what do you mean? why?” he stutters.
“you just aren’t for me and i’m not for you. i mean, you get my very simple starbucks order completely wrong, you leave me stranded here for an hour because you were with another girl, and you don’t even care enough to get to know me.”
“i know you-“
“i’m allergic to daisies, derek. i have been since i was a kid.”
he’s speechless. the whole scene is laughable.
“y/n-“
“no, it’s okay. really,” you dismiss, “it’s better this way honestly.”
he’s silent once again, not knowing what to say to fix this. another reason for you to leave.
“i really did like you,” is what he decides on.
you offer a small, pitiful smile, “happy valentine’s day, derek.”
and then you’re gone - out the door with tears stinging your eyes. not because you’re mourning the loss of him or because your allergies were kicking in, but because you were tired of having to search the ends of the earth to find someone who simply...cared.
you pull your phone out of your back pocket to call an uber when you see a new text from azzi.
fudd around 🫡: how’s the date going?
y/n: waited for an hour just to get daisies shoved in my face 😀
on azzi’s side, she wears a knowing smile. paige was right. of course she was.
fudd around 🫡: is he dumb
y/n: definitely
y/n: broke up w him tho!! 😜
fudd around 🫡: omg
fudd around 🫡: are u okay? want me to pick you up?
y/n: im good im in an uber rn heading back to my apt but ty
fudd around 🫡: wanna have a girls night? im getting tired of watching aubrey practicing tiktok dances
y/n: sorry az i think im just gonna doordash sum crumbl and take a nap
fudd around 🫡: no worries, lmk if you need anything! love u bby 🫂
y/n: love u too ill see yall at the game on sunday 🫶
you sigh, though it’s interrupted by a nasty cough. you groan mentally, already hating being sick. you open the crumbl app to place an order but your plan is foiled when a notification pops up.
sorry, this location has closed early due to the holidays!
as if your day couldn’t get any worse.
meanwhile, azzi was frantically throwing on a hoodie and slipping on a pair of uggs to rush over to paige’s dorm. she almost bangs the door down upon arrival.
“bro, hello? are you insane?” the blonde asks as she opens the door.
“they broke up,” she says simply.
“who?”
azzi was wondering if paige got a concussion at practice, “are you slow? who do you think?”
and, of course, it still takes a second for the realization to come, “oh shit,” paige says finally.
“what’re you gonna do?” the brunette asks.
“um, i don’t know, do you want me to throw a party?” she says sarcastically, though she's genuinely lost.
“holy shit, paige,” she deadpans.
“what??”
“go talk to her! get her flowers, comfort her, tell her how you feel!”
paige shakes her head immediately, “no, no. i can’t, you know i can’t.”
“why not? it’s now or never, p.”
“you so dramatic.”
“i’m trying to help you! now are you gonna man up or do you need me to do all the work for you?”
“okay, i got it, damn,” the blonde muttered with a scowl.
“good,” azzi noted, beginning to walk away but not before turning to paige on last time, “don’t mess this up.”
———
you were all cuddled up in your bed - a fuzzy blanket wrapped snugly around your figure, surrounded by different stuffed animals you had collected throughout your life.
you were in the middle of a romcom marathon - "10 things i hate about you," "27 dresses," "13 going on 30," you were always attracted to movies that had numbers in the title for some reason.
currently, you were watching andie anderson and ben barry sing a drunken version of "you're so vain" as they publicly argue about the lies their relationship was built on. pure cinema.
a small smile was growing on your face as you the scene progressed, knowing an indirect love confession was on the way. however, your peace was interrupted when you heard the ring of your doorbell.
with furrowed eyebrows, you check your phone. no texts or calls and your fast food order was still about twenty minutes away. you peer out your window, the sun had already started to set and you assumed everyone was settled in their dorms or - ugh - coupled up with their partners elsewhere.
sighing, you roll out of bed, put on your bunny slippers, and head for the front door of your apartment. without checking the peephole, you swing the door open, expecting a delivery of some sort that you needed to sign off on.
you were wrong.
"hey."
it's paige, holding a bouquet of different colored tulips in one hand and a small gift bag in the other.
"paige? what are you doing here?"
"um," she starts nervously, "i heard about the breakup and i just wanted to come over. y'know make sure you're good and shit, so..."
you grin at her shyness, this side of paige being one that only came out around you.
"azzi?" you ask, referring to how she found out.
"azzi."
you laugh lightly, "thank you for all this," you nod, "you really didn't have to."
"i wanted to," paige shrugs, her cheeks lightly flushed with pink.
"you wanna come in?" you ask as you step aside to let her into your apartment.
"thanks," she says, as if she hasn't been here hundreds of times before. she knows it's different this time, though. "these are for you, by the way."
she hands you the bag and flowers with her perfect smile - a sight that any girl would go to war for.
"thanks, p," you beamed, reaching inside the paper bag to find a small stuffed bunny and boxed cookie.
you inhaled the sweet scent of the tulips and felt the softness of the miniature bunny (you could've sworn it smelled a little bit like paige's perfume). you were particularly excited about the pink box containing the sweet treat you had been craving all day.
"how did you even get this? i thought they closed early today," you question.
"there was one open on the other side of town so i just picked it up there," she expressed as if it were no big deal.
"bro," you deadpan, "the other side of town? you drove all the way over there for one cookie?"
"it's nothin', promise," she dismisses, "and you're actually sharing that with me so it's a win-win."
"right," you nod as if that was an obvious fact.
"and the tulips - i figured derek prob'ly got you some stupid shit so i got your favorites."
god, she really did know you so well.
all you have to do is nod slowly for her to understand.
"daisies?"
"daisies," you confirm.
you stare at each other for a second then simultaneously break out into laughter.
"hey, at least he's gone now," she points out.
"yeah, thank god," you giggled.
"and you've always got me," she added.
"always," you agree before setting down the gifts and pulling the blonde into a tight hug.
she instantly relaxes against you, instinctively wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her cheek on your shoulder. you threw your arms around her neck and slightly lifted yourself on your tip-toes due to the height difference.
"thank you, paige," you mumble into her hair with the utmost sincerity.
"always, y/n," she reaffirmed in a soft whisper, "always."
still wrapped in each other's arms, paige recognizes the voices echoing from your bedroom.
"is that..." she lifts her head to eye you suspiciously.
"um...maybe..."
"you gotta start it over," she says, fully pulling out of the hug to shuffle over to your room.
"but it's already almost done!"
"don't care, wanna watch," she chimed, already flopping onto your mattress.
you shake your head with a laugh, watching her search for your remote in the mountain of throw pillows, stuffed toys, and blankets.
you first move to place the tulips in a vase, but not before snapping a picture of its original arrangement. following that, you pick up the stuffed bunny and hold it above your bunny slippers - they're practically identical - and take a picture of that as well.
"dude, where the hell is your remote?" paige huffs, "you got a whole ecosystem over here, it's like mining for gold."
chuckling, you bring yourself and the bunny over to your room, grabbing the remote that rested on your bedside table.
"oh."
"aren't you supposed to have full court vision or something? eyes in the back of your head?" you tease, settling next to her.
"i do. trust," she retorted with a playful glare.
"mhm..." you hum skeptically.
"man, whatever," she scoffs, but you could tell she wasn't angry from the way she almost immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her.
with an airy laugh, you snuggle next to her, wrapping your arms around her torso and leaning your head on her chest, rewinding the movie to the very beginning.
------
"top ten movie of all time, for sure," paige sighs happily as the end credits roll out accompanied by a shot of the new york city skyline.
"only top ten? i'd argue top five."
"i'd put it at six," she says, "but the number five pick is reserved for 'love and basketball.'"
"what's that?"
"are you serious?" she deadpans, head snapping to look down at you.
"uh yeah? i've never heard of it," you shrug, innocently scrolling through you instagram feed.
"oh i have failed you," she says in disbelief, "you and the basketball community."
you freeze, getting a sense of déjà vu. you're immediately taken back to your senior year of high school, when you had said the exact same thing upon finding out about paige's lack of exposure to your favorite music artist. full circle, truly.
"hellooo?" the blonde taunts, waving a hand in front of your face, "you good?"
"yeah, sorry - zoned out," you explain, "what'd you say?"
"can you hand me the remote so i can put it on?" she repeats softly.
wordlessly, you give her the device, but your mind is still caught up in another wave of nostalgia. it was the second time today that you were overwhelmed by familiarity, specifically regarding your best friend.
it got you thinking...was she really your best friend? that was always what you labeled your bond with the girl: best friends. since childhood.
but maybe there was more to it. you always believed that romantic relationships should be built on unspoken, irreplaceable understandings - the kind that had to be crafted over time, as opposed to sparked or forced overnight. you hated how you spent your early twenties in different situationships and talking stages like you were still in high school. you hated it, yes, but you now know that all of it was necessary for your better understanding, your growth.
you cared for the little things: things that mattered most but didn't warrant attention, things that became inside jokes or symbols of your relationship, things that would be remembered and saved for wedding vows. you cared for someone that knew you inside and out, backwards and forwards, upside down and rightside up.
then it hits you.
all the knowing glances, natural habits, quiet moments, embraced routines - all the things you had spent your whole life searching for - it was undeniably paige.
“hey, are you okay?” her soft voice coaxes you back to reality.
your focus should be on the movie playing on your tv, but instead it was on the light absentminded brush of paige’s fingers against your arm. it’s not enough. it’s too much.
you sit up suddenly, tucking away a loose piece of hair that had fallen in your face. you stared into the distance, your heart rate quickening the way it had around paige so many times before. now you know what that feeling is. that one feeling that you could never quite put your finger on.
fuck.
“y/n,” you hear her voice again, this time more worried, “what’s wrong?” you hear her shuffle for the remote to pause the movie.
you struggle to find words, tears stinging your eyes. you cover your face in embarrassment, not wanting her to see your sudden breakdown.
“y/n, talk to me,” she persists. you feel her hand at the small of your back in an attempt to comfort you. when you still don’t respond, she takes your hands away from your face and into her own, a silent statement saying that she’s listening. that she cares.
finally, you speak at a low volume, “i’m scared, paige.”
“scared? of what?” she asks, immensely confused.
you were scared of what this meant for you, your friendship with the girl, everything.
in an almost inaudible whisper, “i think i’m in love with you.”
silence. no one moves. no one breathes.
“what?” her voice cracks.
“i think i’m-“ you begin to repeat, moreso for yourself than her.
“no, i heard you,” she interrupts, “but what do you mean?”
you stand up abruptly, paige following you into your living room. you’re shaking, head light as you’re overwhelmed by the realization.
“y/n, please,” she pleads, voice cracking once again. why?
“paige, i-“ you take a breath, “i’m sorry…”
“sorry? why are you sorry?”
“i don’t know what this is gonna do to our friendship or to me or you - i don’t know what to do,” you ramble as a single tear rolls onto your cheek.
“hold on for a sec,” paige interjects, stopping your pacing as she steps in front of you, hands on your shoulders steadying you, her chest heaving like it’s hard for her to breathe, “you love me?”
you sigh, a frown on your face, “yeah…i do.”
she exhales as if she had been holding her breath for ages. her hands have now moved up to the nape of your neck, ghosting over your skin carefully, “say it.”
“what?”
“say it,” she repeats, searching your eyes. her breaths are heavy - like she’s running out of oxygen and your words fill her lungs.
somehow, the two of you went from being multiple feet apart to a mere few inches apart. she’s looking down at you; you feel her eyes scan your face - eyes, lips, back to your eyes.
you hesitate, gazing into her daring blue eyes.
and then.
“i love you.”
the distance is closed. gone as if it was never there.
the feeling of her lips on yours feels like an apology from the universe for keeping you apart for so long. the kiss is slow, delicate. it shocked you at first, your lips unmoving, but you settle into the softness of it.
her hands move to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer while you wrap your arms around her neck. it’s familiar, mimicking the hug you two shared just a few hours earlier. you can almost feel the strong beat of her heart against your chest, and you’re sure she can feel yours. it was the feeling of two hearts falling in love.
when you pull apart after what felt like hours, your eyes remain closed, as if this is all a dream that you were scared to wake up from. you still feel paige's lips ghosting over yours. your eyes open when she speaks up.
“i’ve waited years, y/n,” she whispers, “years.”
“really?” a stupid question, honestly, but you didn’t know what else to say.
“you think i would lie about that?” she laughs, the sound infectious.
the girl pulls you into a hug, your head buried in her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around you.
“i love you,” she says with a sweet kiss to your head.
you let out a sigh of relief. it feels like a weight lifted off of your shoulder, the pit in your stomach gone. she made it all go away.
there’s still levels of uncertainty, questions to be answered, things to be established. for a moment - and only for a moment - you thought about the complications. but when you gaze up at the blonde and she smiles at you like you're her world, none of that mattered.
the way she held you, cared for you, looked at you, kissed you - you wanted it more than everything in between.
