Alyssa Naeher Secures USA The Gold

what if i have big boobs and a small heart?

luke hughes x f!reader social media au

warnings: swearing, use of 'manwhore', allusions to sex

fc: steph bohrer

liked by markestapa, trevorzegras and 791 others

ynofficial: j-dog strikes again

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colecaufield: HEART, NOT BOOBS 📢

ynofficial: let's all bow down to preacher jack🧎

colecaufield: he's my summer entertainment

dylanduke25: you'll have to excuse my brother in law's behaviour, he does this sometimes. you just have to reset him by giving his fake tooth a wiggle

ynofficial: 💀

lhughes_06: duker what happened to the definitions?

dylanduke25: 'forgetting' - a failure to recall information

liked by lhughes_06

trevorzegras: i think i just pulled something trying not to laugh

lhughes_06: jackhughes you know it's bad when z points it out

_quinnhughes: i can confirm that was my live reaction

markestapa: my my he's done it again

ynofficial: my friend my pal my buddy

markestapa: YOU TALKIN TO ME? YOU TALKIN TO ME?

ynofficial: well who the hell else am i talking to

markestapa: we're really funny

ynofficial: the pranks? the laughs?

markestapa: between me and you?

ynofficial: ah!!!

edwards.73: YOU'RE ON VACATION WITHOUT ME?????

lhughes_06: you're in nj????? at dev camp?????

edwards.73: SEMANTICS

ynofficial: if it helps it's only duker, gavo, me, luke and mark now

edwards.73: it doesn't

ynofficial: you'll get over it😘

jackhughes: fuck

ynofficial: brace yourself. i'm never letting it go

_quinnhughes: he could do with being taken down a few pegs

lhughes_06: and what better way than a future s.i.l with no contractual obligations?

ynofficial: you make it seem like i'm unemployed

lhughes_06: you know you could be...😘

ynofficial: I DON'T NEED YOUR MONEY OKAY

ynofficial: I DON'T NEED TO RELY ON A MAN FOR FINANCIAL AID

lhughes_06: aid???? YOU'RE MY GIRLFRIEND I LIKE TAKING CARE OF YOU

markestapa: rare otp crumbs 😲 

dylanduke25: OTP OTP OTP

liked by edwards.73, jjmccarthy and 873 others

ynofficial: but what happens if i have big boobs and a small heart jackhughes?

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nolan_moyle: immediately that is incorrect

ynofficial: TREAD CAREFULLY MOYLE I HAVE BOOBS OKAY

nolan_moyle: i was in fact ☝️not talking about your boobs

markestapa: i'm honoured to be featured but you're the biggest liar in the world

dylanduke25: THAT GIRL IS A SOFTIE

edwards.73: well spoken

ynofficial: i will have you know that i am NOT a softie 🤨

_quinnhughes: i beg to fucking differ

ynofficial: QUINN YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO HAVE MY BACK

_quinnhughes: then i'm switching sides

ynofficial: 😨

jackhughes: I WAS HAMMERED THEN OKAY.

jackhughes: also you probably have the biggest heart out of everyone i've ever met

ynofficial: shut the hell up i do not

markestapa: to answer your question though, i think you'd just be a baddie

ynofficial: are you saying i'm not a baddie then

markestapa: you're a different kind of baddie honey 💛💛

liked by ynofficial, tyler_duke and 43,183 others

lhughes_06: an appreciation post for the biggest baddie with the biggest heart

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markestapa: you missed the boob part

lhughes_06: dude

ynofficial: mark has a point, do i not have boobs?

ynofficial: ample?

lhughes_06: i don't know how to answer that on social media

dylanduke25: ample: large and accommodating/plentiful

lhughes_06: LET'S ALL STOP TALKING ABOUT MY GIRLFRIEND'S BOOBS

jackhughes: are you jelly?

lhughes_06: you're the last person who gets to ask me that after what you just said

jackhughes: have a little brother they said 😐 you can bully him they said 😐 it'll be fun they said 😐

_quinnhughes: i'm literally living proof of that not being true wtf are you on

adamfantilli: question 🤔

lhughes_06: oh dear

adamfantilli: are cheesy speeches genetic? or was it a fluke?

lhughes_06: i think i'm offended

_quinnhughes: ouch

trevorzegras: LOL 😛

ynofficial: i had that thought and with experience luke usually says 'fuck shit up' and quinn says 'expose their weaknesses, flash luke, i'll point at the ocean to distract mark and then spike the ball. also, if we win, i'll buy you alcohol for the next month'...so jack is probably the fluke

bradytkachuk: i can confirm this is true yes

colecaufield: that does sound pretty accurate

trevorzegras: _quinnhughes YOU BRIBE UNDERAGE CHILDREN WITH ALCOHOL?????

_quinnhughes: i also know a lot of your secrets and i happen to be incredibly persuasive 😬

trevorzegras: was that a threat?

ynofficial: YES LMAO

edwards.73: so in conclusion, y/n is a soft baddie and the boob thing is inconclusive????

ynofficial: i totally forgot about the point of this post

lhughes_06: love to know my efforts go unrecognised ❤️

ynofficial: i don't have to show it on social media 😘

lhughes_06: tis true 😊

rutgermcgroarty: OTP 📣 OTP 📣

markestapa: private but not secret will always have my heart

luca.fantilli: he says swiping at the photos of them making out and shoving them in both luke's and y/n's faces telling them how cute they are and that they should post more couple content

markestapa: how tf do you know what i'm doing

luca.fantilli: there's a groupchat

markestapa: WITHOUT ME IN IT????????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

liked by ynofficial, jacob_truscott20 and 63,197 others

lhughes_06: this is how we do ☀️😎

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jackhughes: 😎🫣🔥🤝

_alexturcotte: court marshaled

g.brindley4: Behaviour.

ynofficial: hot hot hot

lhughes_06: all you you you

markestapa: flirty flirty flirty

trevorzegras: baby hughes is smooth smooth smooth 😮‍💨

jackhughes: 🙄🙄

dylanduke25: is pitcure #1 proof that boobs do indeed win?

g.brindley4: YNOFFICIAL WAS TAKING THE PIC SO YES!!!!!

edwards.73: luke hughes boob guy confirmed 🤫🤫

ynofficial: your curls will be the death of me

lhughes_06: 😊😊😊😊

matthewknies: they'll be the death of me too 😔

liked by rutgermcgroarty, nblanks98 and 528 others

ynofficial: just told these 4 goobers that they've all been 'so bf' recently and luke walked away from me, mark literally FROZE and eddy and duker just...got it

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ynofficial: side note: luke heard me tell this to mark and i've never seen the man look so ready to punch his friend before

markestapa: i was about to use my pims to defend myself

ynofficial: channel your inner rocky

markestapa: NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT

edwards.73: i think sometimes you should back down and go home

ynofficial: 😧😧

lhughes_06: in my defence, i was in the middle of playing golf

ynofficial: which is ridiculous because it was literally dark

_quinnhughes: yeah i don't remember still being there in the dark

ynofficial: that's because...

lhughes_06: no

lhughes_06: stop don't

jackhughes: now that i think about it i don't remember still being there either????

ynofficial: erm

dylanduke25: ew so you and luke were on a dark golf course with a buggy by yourself????? you disgust me

ynofficial: WE WEREN'T DOING THAT

lhughes_06: we were chatting shit but now that you mention it, thanks for the idea

jackhughes: 🤮🤮

_quinnhughes: don't pretend like you haven't done worse mr hot tub time machine 🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

ynofficial: i can never watch that film again

edwards.73: me and duker are just 💪 that 💪 good 💪

dylanduke25: PERIOD 😤😤

ynofficial: it's true, you are

nolan_moyle: nblanks98 you look so bf all the time

ynofficial: yk what i think you're 10000% correct with that nolan

nolan_moyle: thank you 😊😊

nblanks98: aw 🥰

umichhockey: admin would like to agree with you

liked by ynofficial

jackhughes: have i been 'bf' lately?

ynofficial: you've been more 'manwhore' lately

_quinnhughes: ynofficial you're my favourite non-hughes

lhughes_06: when i marry her will she be the favourite hughes?

_quinnhughes: out of my siblings? absolutely

ynofficial: i'm SO honoured

ynofficial: _quinnhughes also you've been very bf lately, i don't tell you often

_quinnhughes: it's the hoodies isn't it?

ynofficial: and the fact that your cuddles are just *chef's kiss*

jackhughes: i give good cuddles too i'll have you know

lhughes_06: jackhughes you're not coming near her with a ten foot pole

ynofficial: you do jackhughes

ynofficial: what

lhughes_06: what

ynofficial: jack's given me hugs before

jackhughes: yeah

lhughes_06: why

ynofficial: he broke up with his girlfriend????

lhughes_06: JACK HAD A GIRLFRIEND?????

_quinnhughes: WHEN WAS THIS???????

jackhughes: ynofficial thank you for that

ynofficial: i'm so sorry oops

markestapa: you've been so gf lately

ynofficial: thank you bestie

edwards.73: what does that mean?

ynofficial: (i don't know)

lhughes_06: should i be threatened right now? i don't feel it but i feel like i should be iykwim

svech and jack in the same picture😧🙏

there's something about caitlyn's playful stare and the fact that they're both giggling that made this scene all the more intimate to me

imagine this man just shows up and is your real estate agent

(Base game version) Sims In Bloom: A Sims 4 Legacy Challenge ☆ﾟ*･｡*･

I won’t be play testing this one, so please let me know if you come across any issues!

( Original version )

General rules

For each generation complete the designated aspiration, career and skills.

Asterisk * marked points are optional, you can choose to complete these to make the challenge more difficult.

There are two colours associated with every generation. Use these for genetics (berry/vanilla), or just clothes and house decor if you wish.

Start each new generation with a small house/apartment and 1000 simoleons. If you want to make the challenge harder, you can start each generation on an empty lot with 0 simoleons (rags to riches style!)

Play on any lifespan you wish (short is not recommended).

If you decide to play this challenge @ me or use the tag #sib or #SimsInBloom if you want me to see!

Gen 1 - Daisy (white, yellow)

Gardening has always been your passion. Owning a large, healthy garden is all you’ve ever wanted in life, even if your nails constantly have soil under them and you have so many broken pots you’ve lost count. Your happy place is sitting in the shade of the fruit trees that you grew yourself from tiny saplings. You wonder what your family will grow to do, and hope that they will flourish just as beautifully as your garden has. This is the start of your family legacy!

Aspiration: Freelance botanist

Traits: Cheerful, Clumsy, Loves the outdoors

Career: Self-employed/None

Skills: Gardening, fishing, fitness

Earn money by selling the produce you’ve grown/collected yourself

Grow a cowplant and keep it alive for as long as you live (if it dies, immediately plant a new one)

Grow 5 perfect plants

Marry a sim who also has the ‘loves the outdoors’ trait

Grow a death flower

Keep reading

You Showed Up

summary: your boyfriend is playing in the world cup but your own career conflicts with his games. he thinks it's an issue of commitment but little does he know, with the help of one of his teammates, you'll be there in time for the final

requested: yes, by @thehappygrungelife

⚠️: none, bland ending ? help

pairing: lionel x shy!supermodel! reader

authors note: in this, reader is a supermodel so uber busy and uber famous. her and leo are dating but aren't exactly public

the end is like fluff in the sickening sweet way i do it LOLL

-

It was a late night at your place. All the curtains were drawn in your Parisian apartment and the lights were on the lowest setting. You were on the sofa with your boyfriend, your head on his shoulder while you both scrolled mindlessly on your phones. With a sigh and looked up and saw his packed bags by the door.

The constant reminder that this was the last time you’d be together until the tournament ended.

Frowning, your eyes remained on the packed bags causing Lionel to look up. "What's wrong bebé?"

“Just gonna miss you when you leave." you replied.

He smirked. "Easy solution. Come with me."

You pursed your lips and gave him a matter of fact look. "You know I can't, I have fittings and castings all throughout January."

Lionel sighed. "Yeah well it'd be nice to have you watch me. You know, help make our relationship public."

A nervous laugh escaped your throat. Aside from being who you were and the career you had, your personal life was completely private. No one knew much about you or your relationships and you liked it that way. You weren't comfortable enough like Lionel to have the media and fans know every single thing about you so when the two of you began dating, he had agreed to keep the entire thing under wraps.

He saw the indecision on your face and nodded. "You don't want to."

"It's not that." you weakly smiled. "I'm just private."

"Too private to let everyone know that you’re in a relationship?”

You said nothing, running a hand through your hair. This was not the argument you wanted to deal with before his departure.

"We've been dating for a year and a half and you still dont want to go public?" he continued.

"Leo-"

He shook his head. "Are you concerned about what the media will say? Are you embarrassed?"

Your face scrunched up in confusion. "What? Get real.”

"I mean, we never go anywhere together. And if we are in the same place, you never acknowledge me in public and you refuse to even admit we're even a couple until we're in the privacy of your own place! Not even mine."

"Okay." You pushed yourself off of the couch. "This is not an argument worth having so I'll see you in bed."

Leo rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Y/n, stop. Come here."

"I'm tired, I've been working all day. I'll be in my room."

You didn't even bother looking back at him as you walked straight to your room. Being as petty as you were, you took an insane amount of time getting yourself ready for bed. Lionel was already in your bed before you even finished and said nothing as he watched you make multiple trips back and forth from your room to the bathroom.

When you finally finished, you shuffled to your bed where he waited, his hands folded behind his head.

"Nice pajamas." he smiled.

Looking down, you pulled the hem of one of his training tops that you paired with one of his pants.

"Thank you. A special man gave them to me." you joked, getting into bed beside him.

Once you were comfortable enough, you reached over him to turn off the lamp and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "Night."

"Dulces suenos mi amor." he whispered. (sweet dreams my love)

You smiled at the endearing words and laid against him with closed eyes, falling asleep.

The night went by and in the morning, you awoke to an empty bed. Confused, you sat up and yawned as you glanced around the room.

Did he leave? He wouldn’t really leave without saying bye?

“Leo?” you croaked, your morning voice raspy.

No response.

With a groan, you forced yourself out of bed and to your bathroom, giving yourself a few minutes to freshen up. When you finished, you shuffled out of bathroom and passed though your room, making a direct path to your kitchen.

On your way there, you glanced at the door and frowned at the empty space where your boyfriends bags were placed not even ten hours ago.

Letting out a breath you moved around the kitchen, preparing an easy breakfast until the sound of your front door slammed shut.

“Hey. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” Leo said, a bit out of breath.

You turned around and smiled. “That would’ve sucked."

He chuckled and rested his hands on your waist. "Don't miss me too much. I'll be back home before you know it."

"No, you won't. You have a cup to win."

Leo pressed a short kiss against your lips. "I love you."

"Love you too. Call me when you can."

"I will."

The distant sound of a car honking from outside caused him to groan.

Sighing, you gave him one last kiss. "Go. Make me proud."

He said nothing more, squeezing your waist before turning on his heel. You remained against the counter and waited to hear the front door click shut.

You were honestly disappointed that you wouldn't be there for his games, seeing that your job was incredibly demanding. Even if you tried, every ticket for the games was sold and every hotel was booked. There was no way around it. Unless you got some help.

Abandoning your breakfast, you went looking for your phone, thinking of the person you’d call.

It didn't take long to find since you left it on your sofa. Grabbing it, you unlocked and swiped through your contacts until you found the person you were looking for.

You found the name of your boyfriends teammate and closet friend and clicked, waiting for it to ring.

It only took a moment for it to ring until he picked up.

"Hola Y/n! Como estas?"

You blanked and went back to your high school Spanish and smiled. "Bien! Look, I need a favor."

"For my best friends girlfriend? Anything."

-

You waited as the phone rang on speakerphone, blowing on your wet nails.

"Bebé?"

Shooting up, you grabbed your phone, briefly forgetting about your nails.

"Congratulations! You did amazing!"

He laughed on the other end of the line. Argentina had just beaten Croatia 3-1, Lionel scoring once and Julian scoring twice.

"That goal was for you."

You laughed to yourself and stuck out your free hand to examine the dark red you chose for the winter. "It was very impressive. I followed the whole thing live."

"You know what would be even more impressive?” he asked.

"Hm?"

"If you actually came to a game and watched me. You know, so you don't have to worry about the livestream buffing or anything."

You lightly sighed. "Leo.."

He huffed. "It was just a suggestion. You know, kind of solidifying-"

"Yes, our relationship.” you interrupted. “We've been over this."

"Yeah but it's like you're scared."

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. "I'm not scared, I just.. I'm not ready."

You couldn't see but your boyfriend on the other end of the line, all the way in Qatar had his hand through his hair as he paced around the locker room, obviously annoyed.

"It was only a suggestion. And what do mean ‘not ready?’ What are you not ready for, what are you scared of?”

The end went silent and you gave yourself a second before smiling to yourself. "Goodnight honey. And congratulations, once again."

Lionel dragged his free hand down his face with a sigh. "Carino,"

"Goodnight." you repeated, adding extra emphasis on the word.

You heard him sigh and before he could mutter an apology, you spoke up. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Hanging up, you tossed your phone aside, glancing at your packed bags by the door.

Little did he know, in just a few hours, you'd be on a plane to Qatar, just to see him play the final.

No one knew except for Ángel, a close friend of Leo's and yours. He helped you with everything, a place to stay for your brief stint in Qatar along with good seating.

You were excited. A little bit nervous, but excited nonetheless.

-

The minute you entered the stadium, you only needed to flash a badge and you were almost immediately escorted to the seats where the players' family and friends were. It was crowded seeing that you got there near the end of the first half and it was 2-0. Leo put it in the net at at the twenty-third minute and Ángel scored at the thirty-sixth minute, a moment you enjoyed watching on the way to the stadium.

You thanked the man who escorted you to the proper row and saw one open seat. Next to his mother.

Smiling, you excused the people you had to pass in front of and sat down beside her.

Celia tore her eyes from the match for a second to see who sat beside her and when she did, her hands flew to her face.

“¡Mi niña hermosa! You came!” (my beautiful girl)

“I did!” you exclaimed, pulling her into a side hug.

The woman shifted in her seat to face you and pulled you away with a large smile. “Does he know you’re here?”

With a shake of your head, you held her arm tightly. “No, it’s a surprise! I’m gonna see him after the match.”

Celia pulled a hand away from you and rested it on her chest. “He’s gonna love this. You know he’s crazy in love with you, right?”

You laughed to yourself, suddenly feeling shy. “Yeah?”

The older woman’s smile never left her face and she nodded, turning her focus back to the game. “Wouldn’t be surprised if I saw a ring on your finger.”

“Aha.”

She winked and you couldn’t stop smiling at her words as you turned to the pitch, mulling over her words.

-

The minute the whistle for half time blew, it was like the entire crowd was on needles.

So far, Argentina was the one with points on the board and to you, this looked like an easy sweep.

In the wait, you headed to the restroom and when you returned, you chatted with your boyfriends family who were all incredibly happy to see you.

While you were chatting and catching up with his family, Leo on the other hand was a mess in the dressing room.

After he gave a pep talk to the team, he went to his respective spot and sulked. No one seemed to notice except for Ángel.

Hermano mío, ¿qué pasa?” the man asked (my brother what’s wrong?)

Lionel sighed. “Ella no es,” he paused for a minute before shrugging in defeat. “Ella no está aquí.” (she’s not- she’s not here)

Ángel turned his teammate around. “¿Está seguro?” (are you sure?)

Leo nodded. “Sí. No pude verla cuando salimos del campo.” (yes. i couldn’t see her when we left the pitch)

His friend said nothing. There was no way you didn’t show. Ángel had just texted you before the game to make sure you were coming and you confirmed. Hell, you even sent a ridiculous selfie of you at the airport in Qatar giving a thumbs up.

Lionel frowned at his friends silence and rolled his eyes. “Lo que sea. No importa. Tenemos un juego que ganar.” (whatever. it doesn’t matter. we have a game to win)

His friend said nothing and nodded and the team manager whistled.

“¡Vamos! ¡Vamos por la copa!” (let’s go! let’s go get the cup)

Cheers erupted from the group of men as they all clapped each others shoulders and passed words of encouragement as they filed out of the dressing room.

The two teams walked onto the pitch and the whistle blew, signaling the start of the second half.

The second half of the game was nearly a heart attack waiting to happen. It was nearly deadlocked the entire time and it felt like every sudden move was a make or break.

You watched with focused eyes as the players on the field moved back and forth. Whistles were blown, obvious insults were traded and the players seemed agitated and on edge, especially the ones who played for France.

At the eightieth minute, Kylian Mbappe, one of your husbands club teammates found the net. You groaned and you were even more surprised when he netted the ball not even a minute later.

The game soon went into overtime and you were nearly silent the entire time, not uttering a word to anyone, just focused on the game, praying for a good outcome.

It was at the one hundredth and eighth minute Lionel finds the ball and puts it in the net. Screaming, you stood to your feet and hugging his mother who also standing.

The two of you cheered and jumped around in pure joy.

As the game went on, substitutions happened and yellow cards were given. It wasn’t until later when the scored was equalized again, thanks to Kylian.

Your eyes found your boyfriend who looked on edge. It wasn’t like him and you watched as his jaw clenched before sighing. You just knew going back to club football wasn’t going to be a walk in the park with those two.

The extra time runs out and the game soon goes to penalties and you were literally on the edge of your seat, your body shaking with anticipation.

France took the first kick, Kylian bringing it home.

Argentina was next and you barely cheered as Lionel made the shot. You were too focused.

France’s Conan missed and Dybala scored for Argentina. Tchouaméni misses for France and Argentina’s Paredes scored.

You took a deep breath and exhaled as you eyes Muani take Frances’ fourth penalty. It’s almost silent as he preps to take the shot and when he does, the ball goes in.

A mix of cheers and groans erupt all around the stadium and your heart pounds even faster. Celia grabs your hand tightly and you glance at her. She glances back before focusing back on the pitch.

You let out a low whistle and watch in anticipation as the Gonzalo Montiel prepares himself for the pitch. It’s like everyone’s on pins and Celia grips your hand even tighter, causing you to wince.

Montiel lets out a breath before taking the shot. You held your breath as you watched and it was like everything was moving in slow motion. When the ball hit the net, the blood rushed to you ears as you let out a scream that was immediately drowned out by everyone else in the stadium.

Celia stands to her feet, picking you up with her as she hugs you tight, her face wet with tears. You hug her back and to your own surprise, you’re crying as well.

After minutes in each others arms, Celia pulls away from you and rests her hands on your cheeks, shaking your face with excitement before letting go and turning to her husband.

His other family members around you embrace you tightly and when they release you, you’re watching the man you love on his knees with tears in his eyes, a smile never leaving his face.

Your thoughts circle back to his mothers words to you and you smile to yourself until Celia grabs your hands.

“¡Vamos a verlo!” she exclaims, dragging out of the row and down to the pitch. (let’s go see him)

You nod and let the older woman lead you down as you take in the energy and reactions of the crowd.

Almost everyone sporting some sort of Argentinean merch are either crying or screaming with joy. The entire way to the pitch was blur and when you felt the grass underneath your shoes, you sighed and took it all in.

“Do you want to see him now or do you want to keep it a surprise?”

You glanced at her with a smile. “You go first. Go congratulate your son.”

Her face softened and squeezed your hand before running to her son. You watched as she grabbed his arm and he turned around in shock.

The man smiled and wrapped his arms around his mother, making your heart melt. Celia pulls her sons head down as he walks her away from the commotion on the pitch.

You shove your hands in your pocket and watch as he suddenly straightens. He cocks his head and points to the ground, saying something to his mom. She nods and he begins to look around frantically.

“Leo!” you call out.

He immediately recognizes your voice and turns around, seeking for you.

Taking a few steps his way, you pull your hands out of your pocket and cup them around your mouth. “Lionel!”

His eyes continued to search until his mother turns him around in your direction.

When he turned and saw you steps away, his eyes widened. Looking at his mother, he looks your way again, earning a nudge from the older woman.

“Go.” she nodded with a warm smile.

He says nothing and smiles, letting go of his mother. He began to walk to you, slowly at first before breaking into a full spirit towards you.

Naturally, many cameras followed him and documented the sight of him quite literally jumping into your arms.

You stumbled back and wrapped your arms tightly around him before he fell to his knees, consequently bringing you down with him.

With the both of you kneeling in the grass, Leo slightly shook in your arms, his emotions taking over him all at once.

“I can’t believe it,” he sobbed. “you actually came.”

You nodded and held him tighter. “Yes honey, I’m here.”

He said nothing and continued to cry in your arms, bringing forth a multitude of cameras. Normally you would’ve told them to go away but this was too precious of a moment to let a few cameras ruin.

Pulling away from him, you cupped his face and brought him close, your forehead touching his.

“Congratulations. You played fucking amazing.” you whispered with a smile.

Lionel smiled, mumbling a thank you before pressing a soft kiss on your lips. "How'd you get here- the seats, my mom-"

"I had some help."

He shook his head with a laugh. "From who?"

"Your friend. Your hermano." you teased.

Turning to look for his friend, you both were caught by surprise by a camera being shoved in both of your faces along with a microphone and an all too eager reporter.

"Lionel Messi, World Cup winner!" he grinned. "First, let me extend my congratulations."

Leo nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course! And you, Y/n L/n, famous model, queen of the runway. What brings you here and if you don't mind, what is Lionel Messi, the new World Cup winner to you?"

You and Leo shared a look before he stood to his feet and helping you up. Once you both were standing side by side, you rested a hand on his chest.

"This man here is the love of my life. My boyfriend."

Lionel's eyes widened and he glanced at you, his eyes dampening once more.

By now, more cameras were surrounding you and the original reporter looked incredibly pleased. "That's some news! For how long?"

You lightly nudged your boyfriends who answered the question. "A little more than a year, next month makes two years."

"So are we expecting a ring soon?" one reporter asked.

A chorus of mumbles erupted around the two of you, causing you to shyly turn into your boyfriends chest with a laugh. Lionel caught on and chuckled, walking the two of you away from the cluster of reporters.

"So this makes us official?" he joked.

You rolled your eyes and pulled him close for a kiss. "Go get your award."

He glanced over his shoulder to see the platform being set and turned back to you with a grin.

"Again," you spoke up. "congratulations."

"Lo hice por ti." he whispered with a teary smile. (i did it for you)

You mulled over his words and slightly shook your head. "Get up there."

Kissing your check, he gave your hand one last squeeze before jogging over to his teammates.

You stood there watching him with receive hugs from his mates with the biggest smile on your face, paying no mind to the few cameras catching your smile as you watched.

After the ceremony, Leo brought the trophy to you and you shook your head.

"No, Leo, don't." you warned.

He held it out to you. "Just for the pictures carino."

You glanced around. "No, it's a family thing, I can't."

Your boyfriend scoffed and lightly pushed the coveted cup in your hands and smiled. You smiled as well and after a few flashes you gave it back to him but of course, photo ops were never finshed.

He led you around the pitch, stopping for photos and interviews all with his arm around you.

He managed to get the pair of you away from everything and the two of you made your rounds, walking around the pitch..

"Te amo mucho." he said, kissing your cheek. "Mas que cualquier otra cosa en el mundo." (i love you so much. more than anything else in the world)

The sweet words made you grin and you squeezed his hand.

"Te amo." you replied.

He laughed at the way the words came out of your mouth. Even with almost two years of being together, your Spanish was awful.

"Expect a ring in your future soon."

You stopped and your mouth dropped. "Leo."

He stopped beside you and nodded. "Serious."

With a scoff, you continued walking. He walked up beside you and held your hand, fingers intertwining with yours.

"You're funny." you said with a laugh.

He chuckled and said nothing, keeping tight lipped about the ring he already showed his mother just days before.

The two of you continued to walk hand in hand, in silence and peace until it was time to go back to the hotel.

Once inside, he helped you move your stuff to his room which was only doors down, thanks to Ángel. The two of you showered together and once you were in bed, you quickly fell asleep but he couldn't.

Lionel was over the moon. His life was everything he ever dreamed of. He finally won the one thing in his career that really mattered and all with the love of his life watching. He couldn’t even close his eyes as he laid back with a silly smile on his face.

Because you showed up.

-

argh i hate ending things

expect a cheesy, sappy, romcom fic soon

Going UP?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Description: From missed alarms to broken elevators, your Tuesday couldn't get worse, well, until it gets better. When a late-running grad student's desperate dash to save her thesis turns into an unexpected elevator encounter with UConn basketball sensation Paige Bueckers, she learns that sometimes the best assists come from broken machinery.

Armed with nothing but coffee-fueled anxiety and an encyclopedic knowledge of basketball analytics, you find yourself trading quips with college basketball's golden girl in a stalled elevator. What starts as a disaster turns into something else entirely when basketball theory meets practice, terrible jokes meet dangerous grins, and hot chocolate meets, well, everywhere except the mug.

They say love is a game of chances. But when you're trapped between floors with a girl who can bend physics on the court and make your heart run suicides off it, maybe it's worth taking the shot. Sometimes cupid doesn't use arrows. Sometimes he just breaks the elevator.

Featuring: One (1) very broken elevator Several questionably colored cocktails A security guard who's seen it all Basketball plays drawn in spilled Shirley Temples Analytics-based flirting And a whipped cream fight that definitely isn't regulation play

Coming soon to wherever meet-cutes happen in college sports. (Rated R for excessive basketball puns and gay panic)

WC: 8.1k (roughly)

Genre/Notes: uh, i tried to be funny, floofy, rom-com-ish? (i tried), smut at the end, someone gets their kitty ATE, proof read like 50%

Your sneakers pound against the cracked, patchy sidewalk of North Campus, dodging the construction zone that's been "two weeks from completion" since freshman year. The November air bites at your cheeks, sharp as broken glass, and your laptop bag repeatedly slams into your hip with each stride, probably turning your thesis notes into digital confetti. A gust of wind lashes at you, tugging at your jacket, your hair, your sanity, and sending a rogue candy wrapper tumbling like a lonely tumbleweed across the quad like some 50’s Old West showdown. 

You'd woken up to three missed calls from your advisor and an email that made your soul leave your body.

Meeting moved to 9:15 AM. Please bring updated analytics models.

It's 9:12.

The universe is really testing you today. First, your roommate's cat knocked your phone off the nightstand, somehow managing to turn off all five of your alarms. Then, the dining hall’s card reader had the audacity to look at your student ID like it was written in crayon, leaving you to scavenge through your bag for exact change like a Victorian orphan. And now this.

You weave through the crowd of freshmen congregating outside the Student Union like they've never seen stairs before, your thermos of room-temperature coffee sloshing dangerously close to the lid. The wind whips a forgotten syllabus past your feet as you cut across the grass (sorry, campus maintenance), taking the "shortcut" that everyone pretends they don't use. You can practically hear the landscaping team groaning somewhere, shaking their heads at the worn-down dirt trail you and a thousand other students have carved into their perfect lawn.

Gampel Pavilion looms ahead, all glass and steel and architectural hubris. The morning sun hits it at an angle that makes it look like it's on fire, which feels appropriate given your current state of mild panic. You've spent so many hours in this building that the security guard, Mike, doesn't even look up from his crossword puzzle anymore when you scan your ID.

"Running late?" he calls out as you blast past his desk.

"What gave it away?" you shout back, already halfway to the elevators. Your sneakers squeak against the polished floors, leaving behind a faint trail of panic and shame— but most importantly, dirt. 

The ancient LED display above the elevator shows it's on the third floor. You slam the up button approximately forty-seven times, as if that's ever made an elevator move faster in the history of vertical transportation.

"Come on, come on," you mutter, shifting your weight between feet like you're doing some demented speed-skating warm-up. Your laptop bag keeps sliding off your shoulder, and you're pretty sure your hair looks like you styled it in a wind tunnel.  A strand falls into your eyes, and you blow it away with a frustrated huff. Everything about you screams disaster, and yet the elevator couldn’t care less.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open with all the urgency of a DMV employee on a Friday afternoon.

And there she is.

Paige Bueckers is leaning against the back wall of the elevator, one foot propped up behind her, looking like she just stepped out of a Nike ad. Her practice uniform is pristine, her blonde hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail that somehow hasn't gotten the memo about today's wind situation. She's got AirPods in, absently spinning a basketball between her hands like it's an extension of her body.

Your brain short-circuits. 

Time seems to slow down as you stand there, probably looking like a deer caught in very attractive headlights. The elevator dings again, threatening to close its doors on your moment of crisis.

Fuck it.

You lunge forward just as the doors start to close, practically diving into the elevator like you're trying to save a ball going out of bounds. Your coffee sloshes, your bag swings, and you nearly face-plant into the corner.

Paige pulls out one AirPod, her eyebrows raised so high they might achieve orbit. "Nice entrance."

You straighten up, trying to salvage whatever dignity might be hiding in the corners of this elevator. "Thanks, I've been practicing."

The elevator starts its ascent with a concerning rattle that definitely wasn't part of the original design. You adjust your bag for the hundredth time, very aware that you probably look like you just lost a fight with a leaf blower. Meanwhile, Paige keeps spinning that damn basketball, the soft thump-thump of it between her hands matching rhythm with your still-racing heart.

Nine floors to go. Eight if your advisor hasn't moved offices again after the Great Coffee Incident of last semester.

You can handle this. You're an adult. A slightly disheveled, possibly caffeine-deprived adult, but still. Just because you're sharing an elevator with the university's basketball goddess doesn't mean you need to—

The lights flicker once. Twice.

The elevator shudders like it's having an existential crisis.

Then everything stops.

The emergency lights kick in, bathing everything in a red glow that makes Paige look like she's starring in a very stylish apocalypse movie. The basketball stops spinning.

"Well," she says, tucking the ball under her arm and giving you a smile that definitely doesn't make your stomach flip. "Looks like the universe has other plans for us this morning."

You look at your phone: 9:14 AM.

Your advisor is going to kill you.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," you mutter, jabbing at the emergency call button like it personally offended you. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

The little red light blinks back at you, mocking your entire existence, as if to say, yeah, good luck with that, idiot. You hit the button again, harder this time, because maybe the elevator just needs some aggressive encouragement.

"I don't think that's helping," Paige says, watching you with a mix of amusement and concern. She's still spinning that goddamn basketball, the rhythmic thump-thump now feeling less like a heartbeat and more like a countdown to your academic doom.

"Yeah? Well, neither are you," you snap, immediately regretting it. Great. Now you're trapped in an elevator AND you've just been rude to Paige fucking Bueckers. "Shit, sorry, I just—" You run both hands through your already catastrophic hair. "My advisor is going to crucify me. Like, actually crucify me. She's probably got a cross picked out and everything."

Paige catches the ball mid-spin. "Dr. Martinez?"

"How did you—"

"The only professor I know who actually might own a cross for student crucifixions." She tucks the ball under her arm. "She made one of our freshmen cry last week just by looking at her."

"That tracks." You slide down the wall opposite her, your legs finally giving up on the whole standing thing. "God, I can't believe this. I've got my entire thesis presentation on this laptop, three months of analytics data that I haven't backed up because I'm an idiot, and now I'm going to die in an elevator with—" You wave vaguely in her direction.

"With?" She raises an eyebrow, and you swear there's a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"With UConn's basketball savior who's probably missing practice right now because the universe decided today was a great day for some cosmic practical joke." You let your head thunk back against the wall. "Coach Auriemma's probably already got a hit out on me."

Paige laughs, and the sound does something weird to your chest. "Nah, Coach is more of a 'make you run suicides until you puke' kind of guy. Much less paperwork than murder."

"Fantastic. So I'll die from academic execution AND athletic retribution. Perfect way to start a Tuesday."

"You always this dramatic before 9:30?" She's definitely smirking now.

"Only when I'm trapped in elevators with pretty girls who should be at practice."

The words are out before your brain can catch up with your mouth. Your eyes go wide, and you seriously consider trying to pry open the doors and jump down the shaft.

But Paige just grins, wide and dangerous. "Oh, so you think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're deflecting from the fact that we're stuck in a metal box that's older than both of us combined," you say, proud of how steady your voice comes out despite the internal screaming.

"And I think you're deflecting from the fact that you just called me pretty."

You pull out your phone again, desperate for a distraction. "No signal. Perfect. This is fine. Everything is fine."

"Could be worse," Paige says, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her feet almost reach where you're sitting, and you absolutely do not notice how long her legs are. "Could be stuck in here with Dr. Martinez."

That startles a laugh out of you. "Jesus, don't even joke about that. She'd probably make me defend my thesis right here."

"Yeah? What's it about?"

You look up from your phone to find her watching you with what appears to be genuine interest. "You really want to know?"

"Well," she gestures around the elevator, "it's not like I've got anywhere else to be."

You narrow your eyes. "If this is some kind of pity conversation—"

"It's not." She cuts you off, her voice surprisingly firm. "I'm actually curious. Plus, you look like you might spontaneously combust if you don't talk about something other than being stuck in here."

She's not wrong. Your leg has been bouncing non-stop since you sat down, and you're pretty sure you're about to wear a hole in your bottom lip from biting it.

"Fine," you say, setting your phone aside. "But remember, you asked for this. And if you fall asleep, I'm using that basketball as a pillow."

Paige's eyes light up with something that makes your stomach flip. "Deal."

"Okay, so you know how current basketball analytics are basically just glorified box scores?" You shift to face her properly, your earlier panic morphing into the kind of enthusiasm that usually makes people's eyes glaze over. "Like, sure, we can track points and assists and whatever, but that's just the obvious stuff."

"And there's more than the obvious stuff?" Paige asks, settling in like she's actually planning to follow your inevitably chaotic explanation.

"So much more." You pull your laptop out, balancing it on your crossed legs. "Like, imagine being able to track not just who made the shot, but all the little things that made that shot possible. The way players move without the ball, how defensive shifts create spaces that don't show up in any stat sheet.”

Your hands start moving as you talk, painting invisible patterns in the air. Paige has stopped spinning her basketball, her eyes following your gestures with an intensity that makes you warm all over.

"It's like..." You pause, trying to find the right words. "You know how in chess, sometimes the most important move isn't the one that takes the piece, but the three moves before that made it possible?"

She nods, leaning forward slightly. "Like a setup play."

"Exactly!" You're fully animated now, previous elevator crisis temporarily forgotten. "But current systems don't track that. They don't see how Player A moving left makes Player B's defender shift just enough that Player C can—"

The emergency speaker crackles to life, making you both jump.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" The voice sounds bored, like stuck elevators are just another Tuesday morning inconvenience.

Paige reaches over and hits the call button. "Yeah, we're here. Two people."

"Alright, we've got maintenance heading up. Should have you out in about fifteen minutes. Sit tight."

The speaker clicks off, leaving you both in that red-tinted silence again.

"Fifteen minutes," you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. "Dr. Martinez is definitely going to have that cross ready."

"Hey," Paige says, and something in her voice makes you look at her. "Tell me more about your system. How do you track all those micro-movements?"

You blink at her. "You actually want to hear more?"

"Would I ask if I didn't?" She's got this soft half-smile that does dangerous things to your ability to think straight. "Plus, you get all..." she waves her hand vaguely, "sparkly when you talk about it."

"Sparkly?"

"Yeah, like you're lit up from the inside." She says it so casually, like she hasn't just made your heart do a full court press against your ribs.

You clear your throat, trying to remember how words work. "Right. Well, um, I've been working with the computer vision lab to develop these tracking algorithms..."

The next fifteen minutes dissolve into a blur of technical explanations and basketball theory. Paige asks surprisingly specific questions, and you try not to look too pleased every time she leans in closer to see something on your laptop screen.

When maintenance finally gets the elevator moving again, it feels too soon.

The doors open on the fourth floor – your floor – and you scramble to pack up your laptop, suddenly aware that you've spent the last twenty minutes word-vomiting about analytics to one of the best basketball players in the country.

"Thanks for, uh, keeping me from completely losing it," you say, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "And sorry about the whole..." you gesture vaguely at yourself, "chaos."

Paige stands too, and even in the normal lighting, she's unfairly pretty. "Chaos looks good on you."

Your brain short-circuits. "Can I get your number?"

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into the nearest trash can. But Paige just grins, that dangerous one that makes her look like she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

"Tell you what," she says, spinning the basketball on one finger because apparently she's physically incapable of not showing off. "Come to Friday's game. If you can spot one of those micro-interactions you were talking about..." She lets the ball roll down her arm and catches it smoothly. "Maybe you'll find out if I give my number to random girls I meet in elevators."

She backs into the elevator, maintaining eye contact until the doors close between you.

You stand there for a solid thirty seconds, staring at the brushed metal doors like they might reveal the secrets of the universe. Or at least explain how you went from having a mental breakdown about your advisor to what definitely felt like flirting with Paige Bueckers.

Your phone buzzes: another email from Dr. Martinez.

Meeting rescheduled to 2PM. Bring coffee. The good kind.

You look back at the elevator doors, then at your phone, then at the ceiling.

Looks like you're going to a basketball game on Friday.

The security guard at Gampel's student entrance looks at your ticket, then at you, then back at the ticket with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for people trying to use expired coupons at Target.

"This is— courtside," he says slowly, like maybe you don't understand what those words mean.

"Yeah, I, uh,” You shift your weight between feet, very aware of the growing line behind you. "I got it in an email?"

It comes out like a question because honestly, you're still not entirely sure this isn't some elaborate fever dream. The past three days have felt surreal, starting with Dr. Martinez actually smiling during your rescheduled meeting (turns out that fancy coffee shop downtown does make a difference) and ending with an email from pbueckers@uconn.edu that made you choke on your morning cereal.

The security guard squints at his scanner like it's personally offending him. "These are usually reserved for—"

"Is there a problem?" A familiar voice cuts through the growing awkwardness, and you turn to find Mike, your elevator-lobby guardian angel, approaching with his signature "I've seen too much student nonsense" expression.

"Got a courtside ticket here, but—"

"Oh, yeah," Mike says, shooting you a look that's somewhere between amused and knowing. "This one's good. Let 'em through."

You mouth a 'thank you' as you pass, and he just shakes his head, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "kids these days" under his breath.

The student section is already packed, a sea of navy and white that ripples with pre-game energy. But your ticket directs you past all that, down, down, down the steps until you're so close to the court you can smell the fresh polish on the hardwood.

"This isn't happening," you mutter to yourself, dropping into your assigned seat—which is literally close enough to high-five players coming off the court. "This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just casually sitting courtside at a sold-out game because you got trapped in an elevator and word-vomited about basketball analytics for twenty minutes. Totally normal Friday night."

The woman next to you, wearing what looks like several hundred dollars worth of UConn gear, gives you a concerned side-eye.

"Sorry," you say, slinking lower in your seat. "I talk to myself when I'm having an existential crisis."

She just nods and shifts slightly away, which, fair.

The arena fills up quickly, the ambient noise growing from a buzz to a roar. You try to look casual, like you totally belong here and didn't spend forty-five minutes earlier having a breakdown about what to wear to a basketball game when you're sitting close enough to be on TV. (You'd finally settled on jeans and a UConn hoodie, figuring if you're going to have a gay panic on national television, you might as well be comfortable.)

The teams come out for warm-ups, and your heart definitely doesn't skip when you spot number 5 leading the layup line. Paige moves like she's got some sort of cheat code for gravity, each motion fluid and precise. She's got her game face on, all focused intensity and practiced routine, but then—

She catches your eye as she circles back to the line, and her serious expression cracks just enough to let through a hint of that dangerous grin from the elevator.

"Oh, I am so screwed," you breathe, and the woman next to you shifts another inch away.

The game itself is a blur of motion and noise. You try to focus on analyzing plays like you promised, looking for those micro-interactions you'd rambled about, but it's hard to think strategically when Paige keeps making passes that shouldn't be physically possible. Your laptop's probably having a stroke trying to track all these movements.

By halftime, UConn's up by twelve, and you've filled three pages of your Notes app with what started as technical observations but has devolved into increasingly incoherent capslock about various impressive plays. The latest note just says "HOW DID SHE EVEN SEE THAT CUTTING GUARD??? PHYSICS???? HELP????"

"Nice analysis."

You nearly drop your phone. Paige is right there, pretending to adjust her shoes by the bench but clearly smirking in your direction.

"I'm being professionally thorough," you whisper-hiss back, trying to ignore how your pulse is doing full-court sprints.

"Uh huh." She stands up, heading back to the huddle, but not before adding, "You look good in UConn blue, by the way."

You spend the entire third quarter trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The fourth quarter is when you see it—one of those perfect setup plays you'd theorized about. Paige moves left, drawing her defender, while simultaneously nodding almost imperceptibly to her teammate. The slight movement causes a chain reaction: the defense shifts, creating a gap that shouldn't exist, and suddenly there's a perfect passing lane that materializes out of seemingly nowhere. The ball flows through it like water finding the path of least resistance, resulting in an easy layup that looks simple but was actually three moves in the making.

You're on your feet before you realize it, pointing and probably looking deranged. "That! That's exactly what I was talking about! The head fake was the trigger but it wasn't even about the—" You cut yourself off, becoming aware that several people are staring at you, including the woman next to you who's now practically in the next seat over.

As the final buzzer sounds (UConn by 18), your phone buzzes with a new email.

From: pbueckers@uconn.edu

Subject: Nice catch

Body: 617-555-0147

PS - Your "professional analysis" face is reaaaaallly cute. Even from ten feet away.

You stare at your phone long enough that the arena starts to empty around you, afraid that if you look away the numbers might disappear like some basketball Cinderella story. The woman next to you finally gets up, edging past with the kind of caution usually reserved for wild animals.

"Sorry about all the,” you gesture vaguely at yourself.

She just pats your shoulder with grandmotherly sympathy. "Honey, I've been watching basketball for forty years, and I've never seen someone have a gay awakening quite that enthusiastically. Good luck with number five."

You're still sputtering when she disappears up the stairs, leaving you alone with a phone number and the distinct feeling that the universe is either laughing at you or playing matchmaker.

Possibly both.

Nah— Definitely both.

After what feels like an eternity of staring at your phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, your bladder kindly reminds you that you stress-drank an entire large iced coffee before the game. Fucking wonderful. You glance at the concourse—and immediately regret every life choice that led to this moment.

The bathroom line snakes around the corner like some kind of hydra-headed monster, full of people who clearly had the same brilliant beverage ideas you did. You briefly consider just holding it and dealing with the consequences later, but your body has other plans.

"This is karma," you mutter, taking your place at the end of the line. "This is definitely karma for all those times I made fun of people waiting in long bathroom lines."

The girl in front of you snorts. "If it helps, I'm pretty sure we're all suffering from the same coffee-based poor judgment."

Twenty minutes. Twenty. Entire. Minutes.

You've gone through every social media app twice, responded to three emails you've been avoiding, and played enough Candy Crush to rot your remaining brain cells by the time you finally emerge from the bathroom. The arena is practically empty now, just cleaning crew and a few lingering fans.

Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, that number burning a hole in your mind. You pull it out, staring at the digits like they might rearrange themselves into instructions on how to text your elevator-meet-cute crush without sounding like a complete disaster.

To: 617-555-0147

Hey, this is your favorite elevator analytics nerd. Great game tonight. That fourth-quarter setup play was chef's kiss

You hit send before you can overthink it, then immediately regret every word choice. Chef's kiss? Really? Maybe if you run fast enough, you can catch up to your dignity before it leaves the building entirely.

Your phone buzzes before you can fully commit to your shame spiral.

From: Paige 🏀

some of us are heading to murphy's for dirty shirleys if you want to continue your "professional analysis" in person? promise there won't be any elevators involved

You nearly trip over your own feet.

Will there be a formal presentation required? Should I prepare slides?

just your sparkling personality and maybe an explanation of how you knew that play was coming before I did 😉

Bold of you to assume I wasn't just gesturing wildly at a mosquito 

we both know you're too much of a basketball nerd for that. meet you there in 20?

You pause at the arena exit, looking down at your very casual, very not-prepared-to-go-out outfit. But then again, when has anything about this situation been normal? 

Your eyes shoot back to your phone and your frantic typing begins once again.

Only if you promise to explain how that behind-the-back pass in the third quarter didn't break several laws of physics

deal. and hey?

Yeah?

the hoodie really does look good on you

Your stomach shoots to your ass and you stand there grinning at your phone like an idiot until Mike, doing his final security rounds, walks by and shakes his head.

"Don't stay out too late, kid," he calls over his shoulder. "These love stories always get complicated when they start in elevators."

"That was literally ONE MOVIE," you shout after him, but he just waves without turning around.

You look down at your phone one more time, then up at the now-empty arena, and can't help but laugh. Somehow, a broken elevator, an understanding security guard, and a basketball player with a dangerous grin have turned your disaster of a week into whatever this is.

Time to find out if Dirty Shirleys taste better when you're sharing them with a girl who can bend physics on a basketball court.

Murphy's is exactly what would happen if a sports bar had a baby with a college town dive and raised it on a strict diet of neon signs and questionable decor choices. The walls are plastered with enough UConn memorabilia to fill a museum, if museums were into collecting signed napkins and mysteriously stained jerseys.

Your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics as you push open the door, immediately hit by the smell of mozzarella sticks and what you really hope is just decades of spilled beer. The place is packed with post-game energy, and you're pretty sure your heart stops completely when you spot Paige at a corner booth, still in her game-day warmups because apparently she just casually walks around looking like a Nike ad.

"Analytics nerd!" she calls out, waving you over with that stupid grin that makes your brain cells commit mass suicide. "We saved you a seat!"

The 'we' turns out to be a collection of players who could probably stack on top of each other and touch the moon. You slide into the only open spot—right next to Paige, because the universe is clearly not done testing your ability to form coherent sentences today.

"Everyone, this is the elevator girl who knows more about our plays than we do," Paige announces, and your face goes hot enough to fry an egg. "Elevator girl, this is everyone."

"I have a name, you know," you manage, trying to ignore how her shoulder is pressed against yours in the crowded booth.

"Yeah, but 'elevator girl' has a better ring to it," she says, sliding a violently pink drink your way. "Plus, it's technically accurate."

"So is 'basketball menace' but you don't see me—" Your mouth snaps shut as her teammates start cackling.

"Oh, I like this one," says a girl you recognize as KK Arnold, grinning like she just got early Christmas. "She's got bite."

"She's got analytics," Paige corrects, but she's looking at you with something that makes your stomach relocate to somewhere in the general vicinity of Jupiter. "Speaking of which, you never did tell me how you caught that play coming."

You take a long sip of your Dirty Shirley to buy time, immediately regretting it when the sugar content threatens to give you instant cavities. "Holy shit, what's in this? Pure pixie stick powder?"

"Don't deflect," Paige says, poking your side. "We've got a whole team of analysts and none of them caught it. So spill."

"Fine, but only because you bought me diabetes in a glass." You shift to face her, accidentally-on-purpose letting your knee rest against hers under the table. "It was your head."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "My head?"

"You've got this tell," you say, getting into it now because apparently basketball analysis is your ideal flirting language. "This tiny little head tilt you do when you're setting up something sneaky. Like a cat about to knock something off a table, but make it basketball."

The entire table goes quiet, then erupts in laughter.

"She's got you there, P," Ice wheezes. "You do look like a menacing cat sometimes!"

Paige is staring at you with a mix of indignation and something else that makes your chest feel too small for your heart. "I do not have a cat tell."

"You absolutely do," you say, emboldened by sugar and the way her eyes keep dropping to your lips. "It's actually kind of cu—"

"SHOTS!" someone yells, and suddenly there's a tray of something alarmingly blue being passed around.

"Oh god," you mutter, watching the liquid slosh ominously. "Is this what happens when a Smurf dies?"

Paige nearly chokes on her drink. "That's terrible!"

"Just like these shots are about to be?"

She leans in close—too close, definitely too close for your remaining brain cells to function—and whispers, "Good thing I like terrible jokes."

Your stomach shoots to your ass (and possibly into another dimension) as she pulls back with a wink that should be illegal in at least forty-eight states.

"I hate you," you inform her, grabbing one of the Smurf funeral shots because if you're going to have a gay crisis in a college bar, you might as well commit fully.

"No you don't," she says with absolute certainty, and the worst part is she's right.

You really, really don't.

The night dissolves into a blur of increasingly ridiculous drinks (who knew they made something called a "Husky Howl"?), basketball stories that get more elaborate with each round, and Paige's thigh pressed warm against yours under the table. You learn that she stress-bakes before big games, that she once tried to teach her dog to play basketball, and that when she really laughs—like, really laughs—she snorts a little and it's possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen.

At some point, Azzi starts drawing up plays on napkins with increasingly chaotic drink-fueled creativity. Aaliyah Edwards keeps stealing her pen to "fix" the defensive rotations, while Nika Mühl throws wadded-up straw wrappers at both of them, critiquing their "absolutely trash spacing."

"No, no, look," KK follows imaginary lines with her finger across the napkin, accidentally dragging it through a puddle of spilled Shirley Temple. "If we run this here, and then—" she grabs your arm— "you're the defense, okay? Stand up."

"I absolutely am not," you protest, but Paige is already pulling you up with that stupid grin that makes your knees forget how joints work.

"Come on, elevator girl," she teases, positioning you near the booth. "Show us those analytics skills in action."

"I hate all of you," you mutter, but you're laughing as KK tries to demonstrate some elaborate defensive scheme that mostly involves her spinning in circles while Aaliyah provides unhelpful commentary.

"Your footwork is trash, bestie," Aaliyah calls out, now using maraschino cherries to build what appears to be a scale model of the paint.

"YOUR footwork is trash," KK shoots back, then promptly trips over nothing.

"Ladies, ladies," Paige steps in, all faux seriousness undermined by the way she can't stop grinning. "Let a professional show you how it's done."

She moves behind you, hands settling lightly on your hips, and your brain immediately flatlines. "See, proper defensive stance is all about—"

"Get a fuckin' room!" Nika yells, launching another straw wrapper that hits Paige square in the forehead.

"Actually," Paige says close to your ear, and your stomach does approximately seventeen backflips, "I've got that new analytics setup at my apartment if you want to see it. You know, for research purposes."

You turn to face her, very aware that her hands haven't moved from your hips. "Research purposes?"

"Mhmm." That dangerous grin is back. "Purely academic, of course."

"Of course," you manage, trying to ignore the way your pulse is doing a full drumline routine.

"Oh my god," KK groans from the booth. "This is worse than when Aaliyah tried to flirt with that barista using coffee puns."

"Hey!" Aaliyah protests. "That was smooth!"

"You asked if she wanted to 'espresso' her feelings!"

"And now we're dating, so who's the real winner here?"

Paige rolls her eyes at their antics, but her thumbs are drawing small circles on your hips that are making it very hard to focus on anything else. "So? Want to help me with some late-night analysis?"

Your stomach shoots to your ass as you meet her eyes, finding them sparkling with something that definitely isn't just about basketball statistics. "I mean, it would be unprofessional to turn down a research opportunity..."

"GET OUT OF HERE," Azzi throws a cherry that sails completely wide of both of you. "Your gay panic is ruining my plays."

"Your plays were already ruined," Nika points out, helpfully redrawing the vodka-smudged X's and O's with what appears to be lip gloss.

Paige grabs her jacket with one hand and your hand with the other, tugging you toward the door. "Don't wait up, nerds!"

"USE PROTECTION!" Aubrey shouts after you, causing several nearby tables to choke on their drinks.

"I mean, analytics can be very dangerous," you say with mock seriousness as you step into the cool night air, very aware that Paige hasn't let go of your hand. "All those numbers flying around."

"Absolutely hazardous," she agrees, pulling you closer as you walk. "Better stick together. For safety."

"For safety," you repeat, hoping she can't feel your pulse racing where your fingers are intertwined. "And research."

"And research," she echoes, giving you that sidelong grin that makes your heart forget how to beat properly. "Though I should warn you..."

"Yeah?"

She stops under a streetlight, turning to face you with eyes that sparkle with mischief. "My elevator works perfectly fine."

Your laugh echoes off the empty street. "Damn. There goes my backup plan."

"I'm sure we can find other ways to get stuck together," she says, and your stomach relocates somewhere in the general vicinity of Mars.

As you follow her down the quiet streets of Storrs, your joined hands swinging between you, you make a mental note to buy Mike the biggest coffee gift card you can afford.

Broken elevators might just be your new favorite thing.

Paige's apartment is exactly what you'd expect from someone who's somehow both a basketball prodigy and a complete dork—there's a literal trophy shelf right next to a collection of Star Wars Funko Pops, and her UConn jersey hangs framed above what appears to be a very elaborate gaming setup.

"Nice lightsaber," you say, nodding to the collector's edition propped in the corner.

"Nice deflection from how your hands are shaking," she shoots back, shrugging off her jacket.

"It's cold outside!"

"Uh huh." She disappears into the kitchen, and you hear cabinets opening. "Want some hot chocolate? I promise it's better than those nuclear waste shots Aubrey kept ordering."

Your stomach does a weird flip at how domestic this feels. "Only if you have—"

"Mini marshmallows and whipped cream? What kind of monster do you think I am?"

You follow her voice to find her already pulling out mugs, one of which has "Ball is Life" written in what appears to be glitter pen. "The kind that owns a bedazzled basketball mug?"

"First of all, Nika made this for my birthday and it's a masterpiece," she says, grabbing milk from the fridge. "Second of all, you're just jealous of my sophisticated taste."

"Oh, absolutely. Nothing says sophistication like..." you pick up a container from the counter, "unicorn hot chocolate mix?"

She snatches it back, fighting a grin. "It's limited edition!"

"Of course, my mistake. Clearly I'm in the presence of a fine dining connoisseur."

The kitchen fills with the smell of chocolate as she heats the milk, and you try not to stare at how she's rolled up her sleeves, forearms on full display as she stirs. You fail miserably.

"See something you like?" she asks without turning around, because apparently she has eyes in the back of her head.

"Just admiring your hot chocolate technique."

"My technique is excellent, thank you very much." She turns, holding up a can of whipped cream with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Want to see?"

Your throat goes dry. "I feel like this is a trap."

"Maybe." She takes a step closer, and your back hits the counter. "But you've been analyzing my moves all night. Shouldn't I get a turn?"

You're about to say something witty—really, you are—but then she's shaking the whipped cream can and all your brain cells collectively abandon ship.

"Don't you dare—" 

The words are barely out before she's spraying whipped cream directly at your face. You squeal (not your proudest moment) and grab for the can, resulting in a brief wrestling match that ends with cream basically everywhere except in the actual mugs.

"You're such a menace!" you gasp, trying to wipe cream off your nose while she cackles.

"Says the girl who called me out on my head tilt in front of my whole team!"

"That's different! That was professional analysis!"

"Oh yeah?" She steps closer, effectively pinning you against the counter. "Analyze this."

Your heart stops as she reaches up, thumb gently wiping whipped cream from the corner of your mouth. Time seems to freeze, your entire world narrowing to that point of contact and the way her eyes drop to your lips.

"Your technique could use some work," you manage to whisper, and she laughs—that real laugh, with the little snort that makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

"Maybe you should show me how it's done then."

Your stomach shoots through the floor as you reach up, threading your fingers through her hair (definitely getting whipped cream in it but whatever), and pull her down to meet you.

She tastes like chocolate and whipped cream and something uniquely her, and you can feel her smile against your lips as she wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

"How's that for technique?" you murmur when you finally break apart, both breathing a bit harder.

"Hmm." She pretends to consider it, but her eyes are sparkling and her hands are still firmly on your waist. "Might need more data to make a proper analysis."

"Oh my god, you're actually worse than me with the nerd references."

"You like it," she says with absolute certainty, leaning in again.

"Maybe," you concede against her lips. "But only because you're cute when you're being smug."

She pulls back just enough to give you that dangerous grin that started this whole thing. "Just cute?"

"And modest, clearly."

"I'll show you modest," she growls, and then she's kissing you again, deeper this time, backing you further against the counter until you're pretty sure your soul leaves your body entirely.

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter, 

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter, forgotten in the haze of warm laughter and sticky fingers. At some point, her lips found their way back to yours, sweet and a little messy, and now you’re on her couch, knees bumping against hers as you both settle into an almost tentative rhythm. She pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours, and her breath fans across your lips in short, uneven bursts.

“You’re trouble,” she whispers, her voice low and a little breathless, her hands sliding up your arms to rest on your shoulders, thumbs brushing the curve of your collarbone.

“You like trouble,” you fire back, and there’s just enough of a spark in your tone to make her grin.

“I really do,” she admits, and before you can respond, her lips are on yours again, slower this time, deliberate. It’s not the playful teasing from before—it’s something heavier, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest and your hands curl into the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.

Her fingers tangle in your hair as she shifts, nudging you gently until your back hits the cushions. She hovers above you, her knees bracketing your thighs, her ponytail spilling over one shoulder as she leans down to kiss you again. This time, it’s a little rougher, her teeth catching on your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp, and the sound seems to light something in her eyes.

“You’re killing me,” you murmur against her mouth, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, her grin sharper now.

“Good,” she says simply, and her hands are on the hem of your hoodie, tugging it up. “This okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard, and she doesn’t wait for a second invitation. The hoodie’s off in a flash, tossed somewhere behind the couch, and her eyes sweep over you like she’s committing every inch to memory. Her hands are warm as they skim over your sides, fingertips brushing against bare skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re gorgeous,” she says softly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and the way she says it makes you believe her, even with your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage, trying to sound casual even as she leans back down, her lips finding the curve of your jaw and then lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hands find her waist, and you can feel the strength of her beneath the soft cotton of her sweatshirt, her muscles flexing slightly as she shifts against you.

“Should we,” she starts, her voice trailing off as she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s a question there, unspoken but clear, and you answer it by pulling her back down, your lips crashing into hers with more urgency than before.

“Definitely,” you say between kisses, and that’s all the encouragement she needs.

Her sweatshirt joins your hoodie somewhere on the floor, and her hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, the curve of your hip. It’s all a blur of heat and soft laughter and the kind of clumsy, sweet desperation that only comes with two people trying to figure out how they fit together.

The couch is too small, the angles all wrong, and at some point, she pulls back just enough to breathe, “Bed?”

You nod, and then she’s pulling you to your feet, her hand sliding down to lace her fingers with yours as she leads you toward her room. There’s something about the way she looks back at you, her grin soft and a little nervous, that makes your heart ache in the best way.

The moment you’re through the door, she’s on you again, her hands sliding up your back as she kisses you like she’s trying to memorize every curve, every shiver. The bed is soft beneath you, and her weight is solid and warm as she follows you down, her knee nudging between yours as she leans over you.

“You’re really good at this whole ‘research’ thing,” you tease, and she laughs against your collarbone, the sound low and husky and so incredibly her.

“Don’t distract me,” she murmurs, and her hands are on you again, her touch firm and sure and just a little shaky in a way that makes your chest swell with affection.

And when she kisses you again, slow and deep, you think, for the first time all week, that maybe the universe actually got something right.

The mattress dips under her weight as Paige pulls back just enough to take you in, her hair falling loose from her ponytail, framing her face in a way that feels criminally unfair. There’s a glint in her eye now, something teasing but focused, like she’s about to run the most calculated play of her life.

“You look nervous,” she says, her lips curling into that sharp grin that’s been undoing you all night.

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, though your voice cracks on the last syllable like your body’s calling you out.

She chuckles, low and throaty, and leans down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Good. Because I’m about to ruin you, and I don’t need you overthinking it.”

Before you can process what she said, she’s sliding down your body with deliberate slowness, her hands dragging over your sides, down your hips, and hooking around the waistband of your leggings. She raises an eyebrow, silently asking permission, and the second you nod, she pulls them down in one fluid motion, leaving you feeling bare and achingly vulnerable.

“Holy shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, her eyes locked on you like she’s just stumbled on a masterpiece at an art museum. Her hands settle on your thighs, thumbs tracing small circles that send shivers racing up your spine. “You’re so—” She stops, shakes her head, and looks up at you with that cocky grin. “Nah, I’m gonna show you instead of telling you.”

Her lips press to the inside of your knee, soft at first, but as she moves higher, her kisses grow hungrier, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you squirming.

“Paige,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper, but she just hums against your thigh like she’s savoring her favorite meal.

“Patience,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin as she shifts lower. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Your response gets caught in your throat as her mouth finally finds you, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had promptly evaporates. Her tongue moves with the same precision she has on the court, all calculated angles and devastating accuracy, and it’s like she’s figured out exactly how to dismantle you.

“Fuck—Paige—” Your hips jerk involuntarily, but her hands hold you steady, her grip firm enough to keep you grounded while her mouth does the opposite.

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her lips glistening, and there’s a wicked glint in her eye that makes your stomach drop in the best way. “Hang tight,” she says, reaching toward the nightstand.

“What are you—oh my God,” you gasp as she pulls out a vibrator, the sleek little device gleaming like it was made for moments like this.

Paige winks, all confidence and mischief, as she turns it on, the low hum filling the room. “You trust me, right?”

You nod, because at this point, you’d probably trust her to lead you into a cult if it meant feeling like this.

“Good.” She leans back down, her mouth finding you again just as the vibrator presses against you, and the combination is so overwhelming it almost knocks the breath out of you.

Your hands fly to her hair, tugging as the vibrations send shocks of pleasure racing through your body, and her tongue works in tandem, teasing and relentless. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you can feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, with every calculated movement.

“Paige, I—” Your words dissolve into a moan that would make your ancestors weep, your thighs trembling as she doubles down, her grip on you tightening.

“That’s it,” she murmurs against you, her voice low and full of something that sounds dangerously like pride. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, you do. The orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and clutching at the sheets as your vision whites out. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you swear you hear yourself speaking in tongues.

Paige doesn’t stop until your legs are twitching, and even then, she presses one last kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back with the most self-satisfied grin you’ve ever seen.

“Did I just—” You pause, catching your breath, your voice hoarse. “Did I just have an exorcism?”

Paige laughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “If you did, I think I’m gonna need to start charging for holy services.”

“Fuck you,” you say weakly, though the way you’re still grinning probably ruins the effect.

She crawls back up to you, her body warm and solid as she settles next to you, her arm slinging over your waist. “Oh, you’re definitely going to want to do that next,” she teases, pressing a kiss to your temple.

And just like that, you’re laughing, still breathless and a little wrecked, but somehow more at ease than you’ve felt in ages. Paige grins down at you, smug but soft, and you think, maybe, that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Sometimes the best love stories start with a malfunction.

Just don't tell Mike. He's smug enough already.

The End

umich pinterest finds😜💗🌷🌸👛

i giggled when i saw this

ultimate duos frfr🤞🤞

he’s so bbg

what the actual fuck is going on here

𝑦𝑒𝑠٫𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝘩𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 ♚

knight!ellie x princess!reader

𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅

cw: 18+ mdni // era-typical misogyny, fem!reader, masculine!ellie, dom + switch!reader, sub + switch!ellie, oral, finger & face f*cking, general rough treatment, mommy k!nk, slight dub con // not totally proofread

an: this is so completely self indulgent, it just came to me after I watched a tv show and I wanted to write something filthy lmfao! this is my first time writing full length smut so pls be nice :) anyway happy reading - sincerely, sugar ✧˖° ⚔️

You had your sights set on her from the very beginning.

You met Dame Ellie Williams for the first time at the annual military ball. Your father, was promoting his best soldiers to the royal guard, and for the first time ever one of the lucky chosen few was a woman. She was gorgeous, lean and built with lithe muscle. Jaw sharper than her sword and kind eyes like sea glass. She was last in line to have her uniform pinned with the family crest and after greeting both of your parents, her eyes landed on you. Her face inflamed and the easy going charm she had with the King and Queen melted instantly. Her bow was off kilter and when she kissed your gloved hand you swore you could hear the faintest whimper fall from her lips after they connected with the silk.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness.” She said shakily as she straightened, still not meeting your eye.

“The pleasure is all mine.” You said, and at the sound of your voice Ellie felt something flutter inside her.

You just had to have her.

Unfortunately she was assigned to your fathers security detail soon after the ball, one of the few guards trusted to escort him to and from the palace, ensuring his safe return to his wife and only daughter. But that simply wouldn’t do. You only saw Ellie a few times a month- at dinners over foreign affairs or at jousting tournaments, where she stood guard looking handsome and stoic, too far away from you for your liking.

You set out on a mission to have her…promoted. You wanted her in your bed, between your thighs and the only way to get her to break her discipline and her decorum, was to have her by your side without fail, every single day.

It was a late summer evening when you began the first phase of your plan. You needed to get your parents attention, force them to have a reason to assign you a personal guard. You needed to do something big, something that broke almost every royal decree of protocol. A late night rendezvous with some friends at the tavern in nothing but your nightgown sufficed. Half the royal guard was sent out to search for you when your handmaiden found your bed empty that morning. When your fathers men finally found you, dancing on the bartop in the tiniest of silk slips with a pint in both hands, your parents were not best pleased.

The lecture you received was mind numbing. You’d acted out before but this behavior was ‘not becoming of a princess’ and your parents were appalled.

“Perhaps we need to find someone to look after you.” Your mother suggested, manicured fingers rubbing her temple to relive the stress fueled tension there.

“Mother, no! I’m not a child!” You complained, knowing that the more you pushed back, the firmer they’d be.

“You sure seem to have a penchant for acting like one!” Your father sighed angrily. “You can have your pick of the newly appointed guardsmen.”

“Father, if I have to have some glorified babysitter watch my every move I don’t want it to be some strange man from the guard!”

“She does have a point my love” you mother said, touching the King’s arm fondly.

Your father let out an exhausted sigh. “Will Dame Williams suffice? She is of top rank…and a woman, I suppose.”

You tried your best to control your excitement. “That will do just fine.”

Your father nodded with finality and dismissed you to your wing of the castle.

And that is how you wound up with Ellie at the door to your bedchambers every morning. You become quick friends, after you wore her down of course. She was trained to be hardened, always on the look out for danger. But overtime she’d grown to have a soft spot for you. You’d finally gotten her to see you as a friend and not just a job. She felt bad that you were cooped up in the castle, being bred for marriage and motherhood. She was kind to you, and kept you company throughout your days. She was your chess partner, confidant, and escort on many frequent trips to the library.

But you wanted more. You noticed the way she looked at you when she thought you wouldn’t see. How her eyes lingered on your chest when you laughed and how her speech became stuttered and breathy when you touched her arm.

You just needed her too see you differently, less like her friend… more like a lover.

You decided that it was finally time for phase two. You needed to break her, but first she needed to be worked up, to a point she couldn’t return from.

You told Ellie you needed to rest, and take an afternoon nap in the comfort of your bed. Of course she needed to stay and protect you, so you begged her to stand right outside your bedroom door and make sure no one interrupted you. Ellie, oblivious as always, readily agreed and stood post.

What she didn’t know was that you weren’t sleeping, no. You stripped down to your chemise and settled yourself upon your grand bed. You thought of her green eyes and strong thighs and slowly started to trail your finger down to your already dripping core. You pressed a finger to that sensitive bundle of nerves and started a slow, easy rhythm. You imagined what she would taste like, what she’d feel like beneath you and you couldn’t help the sounds that dripped from your lips.

“Ellie,” you whined into your cushion.

You gripped your chest with you other hand, pulling and twisting your nipples until they stiffened to peaks. You pressed a finger into your tight hole and couldn’t control the loud moan that fled your mouth.

On the other side of the door Ellie’s attention was instantly grabbed. She pressed her ear to the wood, not sure if you were calling out to her by accident in your sleep or because there was danger nearby. You moaned again and Ellie discovered that neither of the former were true: there was no danger and you weren’t sleep talking either. Her cheeks burst into a crimson flame as she realized what you were up to. You cried her name out again, muffled by the pillows as you added a second finger and Ellie gripped the doorframe so tight she feared she would splinter the oak trim. She was wracked with inner turmoil: she felt so guilty that she could hear you, but the sounds you were making- the fact that you wanted her, it was all too much. She could feel a dampness grow between her thighs at your siren call. But no- she had to control herself. Ellie willed her feet to carry her across the room, and she sat down stiffly on one of the settees in the receiving room, and forced herself not to intrude on your personal time. But your hypnotic call only grew louder. When you finally climaxed, Ellie heard it loud and clear, and when you left your bedroom for dinner you noticed a lovely blush on on the knight’s freckled cheeks.

You were sad that Ellie hadn’t burst into your bedroom to catch you in the act, but you had expected her to be this stubborn. You would just have to entrap her another way.

You gave her many excuses to see your body in questionable states of undress. You would frequently dismiss your lady’s maid and make Ellie help you get ready- instructing her on how to lace up your corset just right as you elegantly held your hair up.

“Like this, your highness?”

“Mhm. A little tighter, Ellie.” You’d whisper. You could here the hitch in her breath and it excited you beyond belief. She’d yank the laces harder and you’d brace yourself with a grunt against your vanity. “You can go harder, you won’t hurt me.”

Ellie swore under her breath and pulled again.

Once you were fully dressed you’d twirl for her, ask her opinion on your new dress and watch her stutter her way through a compliment as she tried her damn hardest not to ogle the tantalizing swell of your breasts in that godforsaken corset.

Other times you would force her to escort you to the palace kitchen in the middle of the night, claiming that you were “feeling a bit hungry, and longed for something sweet.”

Ellie would advise you that it wasn’t safe to roam the palace at night, even with her there to watch over you. But you’d beg and beg, and she just couldn’t say no to you. You wouldn’t bother to cover up, you would just slide a thin robe over your slip dress and pop your slippers onto your feet.

You held Ellie’s arm as you talked her ear off, playing with the fastening on her uniform as you strolled through the castle’s maze like hallways.

Once you made it to the kitchen you glided from place to place, finding fruit or old pastries to add to your plate.

“Did you like serving in the military, Ellie?” You asked, chopping up a few strawberries.

“Of course,” she answered immediately, “it was an honor to serve my country.”

“But didn’t you ever get lonely- those cold barracks, no one to keep you company. No one to keep you warm.” You offered her a chunk of fruit from the end of the knife. She bit it off gently and chewed, not meeting your eyes.

“I had rum and a blanket.” Ellie deadpanned, before rolling her eyes playfully- avoiding the question. But then you licked some strawberry juice off of your finger and she stopped smiling. Her eyes followed the path of your tongue and you watched her ball her fist, a pitiful attempt at self control. Oh, how you loved to toy with her.

But of course, she didn’t take the bait. “We should… be getting back, your highness. Finish up assembling your plate so I can escort you to your bedchamber.”

It was a chilly night, a storm was raging outside your windows snd you were starting to give up hope. Ellie still hadn’t cracked and you were growing tired of this game you two were playing. It was her day off, so you were already bored out of your mind, missing her as well, and anxious as thunder roared outside your window. It was well past sunset when a knock sounded at your door. When you pulled it open you were surprised to see Ellie, hair dripping and lips glistening with rain water.

“Ellie, oh God, what happened to you!”

“There’s flooding outside the castle. The servants basement quarters are too dangerous to stay in so your father called in all the guard to assist in relocating the palace staff.”

“Oh no! Is everyone alright?”

Ellie gave a small smile at your concern and touched you arm comfortingly. “Everyone is safe and sound, princess. The King has offered the guest rooms up to them and we’ve scrounged up some extra cots.”

“Thank goodness.” You sighed in relief.

“Your mother just wanted me to inform you, so… I’ll be on my way. Goodnight, your highness.”

“It’s still too dangerous to go home Ellie! What wing of the castle are you staying in?”

She gives you a sheepish grin, “most of the rooms are full. There are mothers with children that need those beds. I was just going to find a chair to pass out in.”

You lips parted in shock. “Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m allowing that when I have a perfectly fine bed right in here.” You grabbed her arm and pulled her into your rooms, slamming the door behind you.

“Your highness I couldn’t possibly-“ Ellie began shaking her head vigorously. In doing so, she flung a few water droplets on you and you shrieked, giggling as you backed away.

“Nonsense. Just sit here while I get you a towel!” You told her, depositing her in front of your fireplace.

You returned with blankets, towels and the leftovers from your dinner, which you’d taken in your bedroom tonight. You handed her the uneaten baguette as you layed the blankets down in front of the fire. You tossed a few cushion on the floor as well, for extra coziness.

“Shoes,” you said, gesturing for Ellie to hand her soaking boots over to you. She sighed, knowing you wouldn’t take no for an answer and started unlacing them. Once off, you put them close to the hearth to dry off.

Ellie looked beautiful in front of the fire. You’d never seen her hair down, and the aubern locks glowed in the low light. The flames cast shadows on her sculpted face and you were reminded of just how handsome she was.

“Please join me,” Ellie said, drawing you out of your admiration, “I feel guilty taking all the warmth for myself.”

You dropped down beside her, and she opened up the blanket around her shoulders too you. You readily curled into her and she draped the ends of it over you.

“Are you comfortable? All dry?” You questioned, still worried that she would catch cold.

“I’m all good, princess.” You nodded and layed your head on her shoulder.

“You’re so kind to help all those people, Ellie.”

She shook her head, “just doing my job your highness.”

“I know, I know but still. You’re so good. And selfless. That’s why- that’s why I like you so much…you’re very dear to me.”

Ellie sat upright, looking down at you bewildered, “you like me??”

You rolled your eyes and shoved her, “seriously! this cannot be news to you.”

But Ellie looked so confused, her brows furrowed adorably and you found yourself laughing out loud.

“I’ve wanted you ever since the military ball all those months ago!”

“I thought you’d were just…lusting after me,” she spluttered, “I thought you would eventually move on. I didn’t know you had…feelings. Real ones.”

You clutched her cheeks in your hands desperately, “Ellie of course I have real feelings. You are the kindest, most brave, most gorgeous person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. I’d be a fool not to.” You touched your forehead to hers and Ellie’s gaze was glued to your plush lips, as were yours to hers.

“Your highness…we can’t.” She whispered, voice strained.

“Please, ellie. Don’t deny me any longer.”

She groaned and screwed her eyes shut, weighing her options.

She could have you and lose her title.

Or not and be miserable for eternity.

You, of course, made the decision for her when you surged forward and claimed her lips as yours. When she felt the softness of your moth against hers all the logic in Ellie’s head flew right out. She slid her hands down your waist and gripped you tightly, pulling you to her.

You pulled away first, breathless- “I want you. Right here, right now.”

“Fuck,” ellie cursed and pulled you back into her.

You mount her, straddling her lap and pushing a hand down on her chest. Ellie’s head lands on a mass of pillow with a ‘thump’ and she gazes up at you in surprise. There was no time for softness, no time to pretend to be the demure, innocent princess. You’d waited far too long and you knew what you wanted.

You pulled your silk sleep dress over your head and dropped it on the floor. Ellie’s cheeks burned at the sight of your bare chest and you grinned at her reaction.

“Christ.” She choked out, immediately bringing her shaking hands up to your body, “can I? Please?”

You smiled down at her and nodded. She pressed her palms to you breasts and you both moaned at the feeling. Her roughened hands felt perfect on your skin, just as you’d imagined. Soon Ellie replaced her hands with her mouth and you drag your hips down into hers as she sucked a nipple into her mouth.

“God- fuck, Ellie just like that, sweetheart.” She whined into your chest at the pet name and you laughed. “Such a talented mouth on you, baby. Want to put it to good use for me?” She nodded her head eagerly and released your breast with a pop, lips still shiny and wet.

You smoothly slid off her and layed down against the soft blankets. You then touched a single finger to your dripping core, beckoning her over with the other hand. Ellie scrambled over to you, positioning herself between your thighs.

“Lie on your stomach for me,” you instructed and she immediately lowered herself down. You liked how well she followed instructions, and loved how little it took for her to submit to you. “Good girl, Ellie.” The knight groaned and rested her cheek against your thigh, like she couldn’t handle your praise.

You reached down and ran your hands through her hair, scratching gently at her scalp and she whined again at your touch. “I want you to make me come, okay?”

“I can do that,” she said eagerly, “I’ll do anything. Just- please let me touch you. Please.” She ran a finger down your clothed slit and you shivered.

“No, baby I want you to use your mouth. Only your mouth.” You sighed, trying your hardest not to buck your pussy up into her touch. “Now take my panties off. No hands.”

Ellie nodded then lowered her mouth to your hips and hooked her teeth around the lacy fabric, before pulling it down you thighs. When she finished she looked up at you expectantly, and you realized she was waiting for your permission to taste you. You almost came at the thought- she was such well trained soldier. You’d have to send a thank you note to the head general.

The first swipe of Ellie tongue sent shockwaves through you. She ate you like she was starved and you were a delicacy. She took your sensitive bud into her mouth and sucked once, then twice and you cried out in pleasure.

“Fuck- Ellie! Keep going, doing so g-good.”

She doubled down on her ministrations , gripping your hips in her big hands. She slid one of your thighs over her shoulder and pressed you impossibly closer. You couldn’t handle the pleasure. You’d never felt anything this good and you could’ve cried at the feeling. And you did, a few stray tears leaked out of your eyes as Ellie thrust her to tongue down into your entrance. You were getting closer by the second. You gripped Ellie’s hair in your hands and pushed her mouth into you roughly. She moaned into your core and the vibrations made you buck up into her wanting mouth- which felt heavenly. You began dragging your clit across Ellie’s tongue, selfishly using her pretty little mouth to get off.

Ellie was surprised at how aroused she became at your aggressive treatment. She’d been with many girls in her day, but none of them ever as bold as you. Before she knew it her hips were grinding down into the pillows below her, trying to find even a morsel of relief. Ellie whined into your cunt, and you groaned at the feeling, “I know, baby. I know- I’m just- I’m so close. FUCK! Just a bit longer, mommy’s almost there.”

You looked down at her- and she was beautiful: hair messy, cheeks flushed, hands limp on your hips as you used her. It was that image that sent you free falling over the edge, tumbling to your climax.

You release your grip on Ellie’s hair and she fell against your thigh, gasping for air and whimpering in pleasure.

You stroked her hair and cooed at her as you came down from your orgasm, the cool air of the room hitting your abused cunt just right.

Ellie finally sat up, after taking a few moments to catch her breath- her cheeks and chin smeared with the evidence of your orgasm.

“Was- was it good? Did I do good job?” She asked shyly.

“Yes, you made me feel so good!” You told her, pressing kiss after kiss to her wet face. She blushed even harder and dropped her head down onto your shoulder. “I’d like to return the favor now, darling. If that’s okay with you?”

Ellie’s breath hitched and she gripped your hand. “I’ve never had anyone- in that way. I’ve only ever touched women. They… usually don’t touch me.”

You frowned at her confession, saddened that she’d never received the pleasure she deserved. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

You watched her ponder your offer, and then she shook her head yes. “Alright. But maybe- just your fingers please. For now.”

“Anything you want, baby.”

You lay her down gently against the pillows, and kissed her forehead, then her lips. You could taste yourself on her tongue and that sent you reeling. You kissed your way down her neck, stopping at her chest. “Can I take this off of you?” You asked, tugging at her uniform top.

She nodded and you smiled, unbuttoning it quickly.

“So fucking pretty,” you whispered under your breath as you pressed your mouth to Ellie’s chest. She cradled your head as you left bruises on the swell of her breasts.

You bite the skin of her toned stomach and continue your conquest. You look up at her, silently asking permission to remove her trousers and she nods, biting the insides of her cheek in anticipation. You tug her bottoms and undergarments off until she’s laid bare for you and you admire the glorious curves of her strong body.

You stroke a single finger against her wet heat and she’s instantly mess, head thrown back, stomach clenching at the intensity of her pleasure. You played with her a little, pinching her lips and cupping her pussy, and Ellie sobbed at your touch. You just loved to watch her break- she was so pliant beneath you and the power trip sent a thrill down your spine.

You pressed a finger inside of her and Ellie keened, clutching your wrist with tears in her eyes. You felt her clench around you and you groaned at the sensation. “Think you can handle another finger, my love?” You asked, after a particularly rough thrust.

“Give me more- please, I can- fuck! I can take it.”

You smirked down at her, “you’d take anything I give you, huh?”

“Yes!” She cried, at the feeling of another one of your fingers stretching her out.

You continued fucking her, one hand inside of her tight heat and the other sweetly caressing her cheek. You caught her falling tears with your lips as you kissed her freckles. “That’s it baby. Doing so good. My brave girl.”

Ellie writhed underneath you and you smiled.

“M’close.” She cried tearfully.

You took in her wrecked form and decided she could handle more. You pressed yet another finger up into her, curling your digits until every thrust was hitting that perfect spot deep inside her. Ellie jackknifed off the floor, curling into herself at how good it felt. You pressed a delicate hand to her abdomen to keep her down as you continued thrusting your fingers into her.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” You asked her, stilling your pace inside her. Ellie whimpered at the lack of stimulation, bright green eyes snapping open to look at you, pleading for release.

“Oh God- yes.” She whispered, breathing so heavily her breasts jumped with her jerky, desperate movements.

“Please, what?”

“Please, your highness! P-please- I can’t. I need-”

You thrust back into her in one swift motion and Ellie cried out, instantly clenching down around you and trapping your hand in a vice grip between her thighs. She looked beautiful when she came, open and wanting, skin glowing from the firelight. Set ablaze, inside and out.

You soothed your knight through the aftershocks of her orgasm with gentle touches. When she finally stopped trembling you eased her back against the pillows, pulling a quilt over the both of you. She curled her body around you, still trying to protect you even in her ravaged state.

The fire was dying, but the room still held a warm and bright glow.

“Thank you, Ellie- for this.” You whispered.

She smiled and pressed a kiss to your hair, slinging her arm around your torso and pulling you to her chest. “The pleasure is all mine, princess.”

Taglist : @kissesforells @cassharass @pretty-forest-nymph @harmsworld1 @teatimedisaster @eedajj @robinismywifee @ahogwartswhore @tatumrileyslover @inf3ct3dd @nicolicht @ailuigatsoc

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU • PAIGE BUECKERS

Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few?

🎵: Do I Wanna Know? covered by Hozier

TW: suggestive, angst, reader is an alcoholic, usage of Y/N, mentions of nausea and vomiting

SUMMARY: you get drunk to avoid running back to your ex…but tonight it brought you right to her.

A/N: I went to a UConn game the other day!

How many times were you going to find yourself in this situation? You were strolling around the crowded house, searching for anyone that would have you. You were drunk again, like you were most nights.

You did this a lot now; get wasted and hookup with strangers. The alcohol allowed you to loosen up, finally find some peace, and the hookups kept you feeling useful and pleasured.

The two of those things also kept you from groveling at the knees of UConn’s best female guard.

You and Paige had been in a serious relationship. You loved that woman. She was the best thing that ever happened to you.

But you’d fucked up. Your love for booze had scared her off. She got sick of attending parties every weekend, sick of having to take away the bottle, sick of dragging you from parties, sick of pushing you off at home when your drunk self tried to start something, sick of nursing your nasty hangovers. She had told you to chill, promised you movie nights and dates instead of parties.

You never listened, so eventually she sat you down and, with a lot of difficulty, ended things. It had become too much for her. She needed to focus on school and basketball. It was her last year in college, after all. She wanted to make it count.

Without Paige, your need for alcohol only grew, which is how you found yourself in the middle of a frat party. Things had been usual, until someone screamed and everyone started fleeing. You knew what this meant; cops. You started running, too. If the police got you, you were screwed. Chugging drink after drink was fun, until the idea of getting caught came up.

You stumbled through the woods behind the house. This was where people typically ran, but you were alone. Maybe you were going the wrong way? You could see lights up ahead, so you went towards those. If there was civilization, you could find your way home. Once you made it through the trees, you found yourself in a campus that you quickly recognized…UConn.

Well, you thought, at least you knew your way around.

You started wandering, your phone in hand, waiting until you had good enough WiFi to get an Uber.

When you first heard the sound, you thought you were imagining it. Surely it was just the sound you associated with the school.

Nope…when the small, outdoor court came into view, you realized there was someone dribbling a basketball.

That someone was Paige Bueckers.

What were the chances?! You needed to go, before she saw you. You turned around fast, and tripped over your own feet. Your body hit the grass with a small “oof” sound escaping your lips.

“Y/N?!” Paige called when she saw you.

She was at your side within a second, immediately trying to get you up.

“Hi, Paige…” You said awkwardly, trying not to slur.

“The hell are you doing here?” She asked as she pulled you to your feet easily.

“I was…in town.” You shrugged.

She was gonna say something else, when her nose wrinkled. “Jesus…you smell like beer.”

It clicked in her brain just then. You opened your mouth to lie again, but all that came out was a shaky, alcohol scented breath.

“Ar you drunk?” She asked quietly.

“Just…a little bit.” You mumbled.

“Bullshit!” She exclaimed abruptly. “You’re wasted, aren’t you?!”

“I didn’t mean to be!” You yelped.

“Sure.” She scoffed. “You accidentally took a few shots? Chugged some beer? Drank some soda that you didn’t know had vodka in it?!”

You huffed, not knowing what to say. She was always right when it came to this.

“I just need to get home…” You whispered shakily.

“Where were you?” She whispered back.

“Party.”

“Hm. It’s early for you to leave a party.”

“Cops.”

An awkward silence passed. She watched you fight intoxicated tears.

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” She sighed.

“Could you…get me a ride?” You said. “I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

“Where are you going? Home?” She asked.

You nodded.

“What if you go out again, huh? The bar? The club?”

“I’m super tired, Paige.” You shook your head. “I’m not going out.”

“You think I’m gonna believe you?” She scoffed. “You’ve pulled that shit before.”

“Then what are you gonna do?” You said, frustrated.

She sighed again, dragging a hand down her face.

“You’ll stay with me.” She announced. “Just for tonight.”

You froze. Really? Your ex would be the one taking you home?

“Come on.” She said, hesitantly placing a hand on your shoulder. “Let’s go. It’s getting cold.”

She led you back to her apartment. You were a bit unsteady, starting to feel the negative effects of the alcohol.

“Don’t you have roommates?” You asked once you were inside her building.

“They don’t mind.” She waved that off. “Just be quiet and they won’t care.”

“We shouldn’t do this…” You said.

Usually when you got drunk, you were all over her, insisting she go home with you.

You knew better by now.

“Don’t worry about it.” Paige said softly. “I just…I can’t let you go home alone right now.”

The both of you went up to her dorm. She pulled out her keys and opened the door, inviting you in. When you struggled to slip your shoes off, feeling unsteady, she knelt down to get them off for you.

“You feeling sick?” She whispered.

“Uh…not really.” You replied, despite that fact that your head was spinning.

Paige saw right through the lie.

“Go in my room.” She told you. “I’ll be right there.”

You quietly went to her bedroom, remembering where it was, of course. You perched awkwardly on the edge of her bed, waiting.

Paige came in a few minutes later, after convincing her roommates they they wouldn’t be hearing any grotesque noises. She carried a small trash bag and a glass of water.

“Drink up.” She instructed, giving you the cup. She then placed the bag in your lap. “And if you have to puke, do it in there.”

“Thanks.” You muttered.

She knelt down in front of you, looking at you with those insanely blue eyes. “C’mon…drink.”

You took a few sips of the water. You knew she was being helpful, but the water kind of made you want to throw up.

“Just hold onto that bag.” Paige said when she noticed your facial expression.

She stood up, and walked over to her closet. After digging around for a moment, she came back with a t-shirt and comfy shorts. The shirt looked so familiar…you suddenly realized why.

You would always steal her clothes when you were a couple. She often found her hoodies in your bedroom, her sweatpants (which were actually ginormous on you because she was so tall), mixed with your laundry. You rarely hid it well. Sometimes you’d just show up at her place in her clothes.

Your favorite thing to steal was one of her March Madness shirts. It was very comfy, and a reminder of how amazing Paige and her team were. So when she gave you the shirt that drunken night? You quickly burst into tears.

“What? What’s wrong?” Paige asked worriedly.

“You…you remembered.” You sniffled.

She didn’t know what to say. She felt sort of caught. She muttered a quick “Of course I did” and took the water from you.

Her bedroom was dark, only slightly lit by the moon shining through the window, so she didn’t see much when she helped you out of your party clothes. Not like she’d never seen you naked. Once you were in the comfortable clothes, she pulled the blankets on her bed back, allowing you to slip in.

“I’m gonna stop, Paige.” You whispered, still crying as she tucked you in. “I’m gonna stop drinking.”

She sighed. She’d heard you say this before, but never so seriously.

“Good.” She said. “You’re gonna kill yourself at this point.”

“I know…” You whimpered. “I don’t want to die…”

You were quick to put your head in your hands so she wouldn’t see you cry even more. She bit her lip at this. She was angry at you, for continuing to abuse alcohol, but…she hated that she was. She just wanted to comfort you. She never liked seeing you cry.

“Let’s just try to sleep, alright?” She said softly, climbing over you to lie down.

She got in the bed, keeping a safe distance. Neither of you were very comfortable. You were too tense. You hadn’t been in bed together in ages. It would’ve been nice if you weren’t so awkward.

You really tried to pull yourself together. You wiped your eyes, took deep breaths, focused on good thoughts. But your drunken tears kept coming.

Suddenly, Paige was shifting, and she was getting closer. She laid on her side, facing you. Then you felt her hand carding through your hair, gently scratching your scalp.

“What’re you doing…?” You whispered.

“When I used to do this, you’d be out cold within minutes.” She whispered back.

She kept doing the soothing motion. Your eyes were getting heavy, like she’d hoped.

“I’m really gonna stop.” You muttered.

“I know…just sleep.” She murmured.

“I miss you.” You whispered. In your half asleep, intoxicated state, you didn’t think twice about saying that.

She swallowed hard, her hand faltering for only a second. “I told you to go to sleep.”

“I just wanted you to know.” You answered.

“I know.” She repeated, smiling a little at the small amount of sass in your voice. “You don’t have to miss me, though. I’m right here.”

Exhaustion was finally getting to you, so you were falling into a deep sleep.

“I’ll be right here.” She whispered a few seconds before you fully sank into unconsciousness. “We’ll figure this out…we always do."