Ghost Comes Home

lucky number one - paige bueckers x oc!

s: you’ve been best friends with paige bueckers since you were ten. she just won a national championship, is about to be the number one pick in the draft, and is everything she’s ever dreamed of being. but tonight, she only wants to show you one thing—that she knows exactly who’s been there with her through it all.

w: smut (18+), sub!paige, alcohol, language, suggestive/explicit content, softdom reader, mutual pining, friends to lovers, years of built-up tension finally snapping, childhood best friends with so much history, lots of touching/flirting, emotional vulnerability, fluff + filth

word count: 6.9K (yeah it’s a long one)

author’s note: draft day! just wanna say so proud of paige and can’t wait to watch her in the wnba. go dallas wings 😋

you didn’t make it to the championship.

you tried—really tried—but life’s messy sometimes. your internship extended last-minute. your mom’s birthday landed on the same weekend. flights were outrageous, and honestly, you didn’t want to take away from paige’s moment by getting on a last minute flight, so instead, you sent her a four-minute long voice memo, followed by a bouquet of her favorite flowers and a text that read:

just win. then we’ll celebrate in new york like we always said we would.

and she did.

of course she did.

—

you were packing your suitcase when she called, her name popping up with that stupid contact photo of her from freshman year—smiling through a mouthful of froyo and barely holding her phone up.

“yo,” you answer, on speaker. “you alive?”

“barely,” her voice is a breathy groan. “new york. storrs. new york. hartford. back to new york tomorrow. i’m gonna combust.”

“damn,” you grin. “you really hate being famous, huh?”

“shut up,” she laughs, and you can practically hear her flopping into a hotel bed. “i miss you.”

your chest tightens. “you saw me like, two weeks ago.”

“too long,” she murmurs. “new york’s not gonna be the same until you’re in it.”

you roll your eyes, smile curling at your lips. “you always this flirty before the draft?”

“just with you,” she fires back, quick and easy.

you’ve known her since you were ten—rec league basketball, both of you too tall and too fast for your own good. you were paired up for dribbling drills and hated each other for half the season. but something shifted during a snow day makeup game, when she passed you the ball for the game-winner and tackled you in a sweaty hug before you could even react. been best friends ever since.

best friends who talked every night.
best friends who held hands under blankets.
best friends who almost kissed in the backseat of your mom’s car that one summer.
best friends who never talked about it.

until now. maybe.

—

you land in new york two days later.

paige demanded—her words, not yours—that you stay in her hotel suite. she’s not there yet, still in hartford for the uconn parade, but she left your name at the desk and made sure everything was set up.

paige buckets

paige: text me when you land. and when you get to the room. and when you lock the door. actually just facetime me. i miss your face.

you do. she answers with geno in the background yelling at someone about parking. azzi waves from the passenger seat.

“you safe?” she asks, eyes soft.

“yeah,” you say, smiling. “room’s huge. kinda lonely without you, though.”

she hums. “few more hours.”

you wander while you wait.

grab coffee. hit up a bookstore. text azzi to check up on paige, assuming she might be sleep in the car to answer. and get a long, sappy response back about how paige is good and how she’s lucky to have you.

it makes your throat tight. you don’t say it, but there was a time when you thought maybe it was azzi and paige. when their chemistry on the court bled off of it, when their inside jokes got too private, when you found yourself jealous and you hated that feeling.

but it was never like that. not really.

paige always made space for you. always answered. always showed up.

—

she shows up again, hours later.

hair tied back, hoodie slung low, tired eyes but a sleepy smile just for you. you let her in, and she drops her bag, instantly wrapping her arms around your waist.

“hi,” she mumbles into your neck.

“hey,” you whisper back.

neither of you moves for a while.

you talk that night. about the draft. the future. texas.

“i’ve never even been to dallas,” she admits.

“you’ll learn it,” you say. “you learn everything.”

she glances at you. “wish i knew what was gonna happen next.”

you don’t ask what she means. she doesn’t clarify.

—

draft day hits like a wave.

you wake up to a glam team at the door—hair, makeup, and paige’s stylist, brittany, ready with a pulled look just for you.

“she said to make sure you matched,” brittany smirks, holding up a sleek, black dress and chrome accessories. “like, matched matched.”

“she’s insane,” you mutter—but you still wear it.

when she sees you, her jaw goes slack.

“you look... wow,” she says, eyes dragging down and back up. “like, real pretty. dangerously pretty.”

you smirk. “you’re not so bad yourself, number one.”

she’s in an all-black suit, cut sharp and cropped at the waist, paired with an expensive top that leaves just enough skin. she looks like money and power and something you want under your hands.

“you look good,” you say.

“i know,” she teases—but her ears go pink.

at the draft, the lights are blinding.

paige looks calm, collected, nodding at people, shaking hands, posing for photos. but you know her. the way she tugs on her thumb ring. the slight bounce in her shoe. she’s nervous.

you squeeze her hand under the table.

“with the number one overall pick in the 2025 wnba draft... the dallas wings select... paige bueckers from the university of connecticut.”

you swear you don’t breathe until she stands.

the rest is a blur—hugs, cameras, the walk across the stage. you wipe a tear before anyone sees.

—

the after party is chaos.

paige changed into a fitted black crop top and slacks, her chain catching in the light. she’s laughing, flushed, dancing with teammates, drink in hand.

she hasn’t stopped touching you.

a hand at your waist. her fingers brushing your thigh. her mouth too close to your ear when she says, “you looked so good tonight. might be the reason i got drafted.”

“stop,” you laugh.

“i won’t,” she says.

later, she leans in, warm and tipsy.

“i want you,” she murmurs, lips barely grazing your jaw.

you freeze. “what?”

“you heard me.”

your heart trips. “paige—what do you mean?”

she grins, smug. “you know what i mean.”

—

she stumbles into the hotel room first, laughing as she kicks her shoes off, one hand still tangled in yours.

“you’re drunk,” you tease, shutting the door behind you.

“i’m happy,” she corrects, spinning around to face you. cheeks flushed. pupils blown. she looks fucking gorgeous.

“and loud,” you say, taking a step forward.

she doesn’t back away.

“and maybe a little needy.”

you raise an eyebrow. “needy, huh?”

she bites her lip. steps closer. the tension has been building all night—hell, for years—and now it’s finally about to snap.

“you looked so good tonight,” she murmurs. “like... fuck, you don’t even know.”

you smile, slow and dangerous, backing her toward the bed. “oh, i know.”

she lets out a breathy laugh as her knees hit the edge of the mattress. you push her back gently until she’s sitting, legs spread just a little, hands at her sides.

“take your top off,” you say, voice low.

her eyes go wide—but she listens. always listens to you. fingers slipping beneath the hem of her crop top, dragging it up over her head. her breath catches when you lean in and press a kiss just under her jaw.

“you’re so pretty,” you whisper.

“so are you,” she says quickly. like it bursts out of her. “like... fuck. i’ve wanted this forever.”

you kiss her before she can say anything else—deep, wet, messy. you climb into her lap, straddling her, grinding down just enough to make her whimper. her hands find your hips. you grab her wrists.

“uh uh,” you smirk. “you don’t get to be in control tonight.”

her whole body shivers.

“lay back.”

she obeys.

you kiss down her chest, slow, dragging your tongue between her breasts, mouthing at her skin until she’s squirming. her breath stutters when you suck a bruise into her ribcage. when you pull her pants down, she lifts her hips for you like she’s been waiting her whole life.

“fuck,” she whispers, eyes fluttering. “please...”

you raise an eyebrow. “please what?”

she swallows. “please touch me.”

you push her thighs apart and press a kiss to the inside of her knee. “use your words.”

“i want your mouth,” she says in one breath. “please. i need you.”

“i got you baby,” you murmur, grinning.

when you finally press your tongue to her pussy, she gasps—sharp and desperate. her hips buck up immediately, but you pin her down, arms hooked around her thighs, keeping her open for you.

“fuck—fuck, please—” she moans, eyes glassy, head thrown back.

you hum into her, tongue flicking fast over her clit, then slow again—just to hear her whine. she grabs a pillow, covers her mouth, like she’s trying to stay quiet. you pull off just long enough to look up at her.

“you better let me hear you.”

she whimpers. nods. “i will—i promise, just—don’t stop—”

“i don’t plan on it.”

you keep going until her thighs are shaking and she’s begging, voice hoarse, gasping your name like a prayer. when she comes, it’s loud and messy—her whole body trembling, fingers clutching the sheets, her face twisted in pleasure.

you crawl up her body, kissing her as she catches her breath. her lips are soft, slow against yours, like she’s thanking you without words.

“you okay?” you whisper against her mouth.

“that was so hot i think i blacked out.”

you laugh into her shoulder. “you’re so dramatic.”

she pulls you down beside her, still breathing hard. “i’m in love with you.”

you smile. “i know.”

“and you’re mine now, right?”

you kiss her again. “was always yours.”

LETS START PRIDE MONTH WITH THESE TWO LOSERS!!!!!!!

art creds: caspervi

you can see the moment she realizes she’s leaving kk i can’t THIS IS A SET, DO NOT SEPARATE omg

Simon Riley

Caitlin Clark 👓 talking offseason for the Fever

nsfw. price who takes pride in how well he takes care of his missus. it’s your world and he’s just living in it baby!

there’s not a day that goes by where you aren’t fucked and fed properly. will go to great lengths to make your life as easy as possible, which includes being selfless. which is why when he goes on long work trips he’ll ask one of the boys to take good care of you until he gets back. preferably simon; johnny is much too eager, and gaz is too much of a sweetheart to rough you up just how you like. he can’t bare the thought of having his girl waking up to an empty bed. which why he’ll leave simon with the keys to your home and a heavy pat on the back.

“I’ll be back in a few days. keep her entertained for me, will ya? if she starts getting fussy just means she’s due for a proper fucking. she’s a restless little thing. take good care of her now, yeah? I’ll be expecting updates.”

I do not care if the players wanted to win a World Cup, they’ve enabled this man to get his hands on that trophy and now their team mates might never play for Spain again. Selfish undeserving players that have allowed an abuser to win the World Cup.

Winning the Ballon D’or and the World Cup is more important to you than your team mates and fighting for what’s right ?? FUCK every single player that came back.

lost cause | leah williamson x reader

it’s a little blurb for my hurt girlies

warnings: depression, suicidal thoughts n discussions.

“Would you let me die?”

You looked deep into Leah’s eyes, the both of you trying your very hardest to fight back tears as her eyes shot open towards you. She flipped you over in your shared bed, switching you from your position as her little spoon so you were face to face with her.

“What?”

Leah’s words were laced with sleepiness, her body had been mere seconds away from sleep but your words had stopped her exhaustive haze, her eyes blinking furiously as they adjusted to the lack of light in the room, trying to gauge your facial expression.

“Would you let me die?”

Your words were murmured into the room, quiet that Leah was sure she stood a higher chance of hearing a mouse running across the floorboards then your words.

“What are you talking about?”

Leah’s voice waivered, trying to figure out exactly what you werte referring to.

“Would you?”

The conversation had been on your mind for days, the thoughts that had been humming steadily in your brain finally coming to surface in the moment.

“No shit I wouldn’t.”

Leah’s voice was as strong as it could be, her Milton Keynes accent coming on strong as she tried to decipher what exactly was playing in you brain at 3am in the morning that had led you to this point.

“Could you?”

Once again Leah struggled to understand the words and meaning of what you were saying. You’d had a impossible month, becoming the fifth arsenal player to be plagued with the acl disease. You’d had surgery two months ago, and revelry wise you were doing great, mentally you were struggling more than you ever had. Leah was working on it with you, trying her very hardest to keep you happy, to keep you alive. It was hard, there were days where you refused to leave bed, days where she found scars on your wrists that made her feel sick for not being there for you how she had to be.

“I just told you no.”

Leah’s voice held strong in the room, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of the two of you breathing. It had been a rough night to some extent, you were being weaned off the pain meds and it sucked, Leah was trying her hardest but she wasn’t a doctor, nor instant pain relief.

“What if I asked you to?”

Your words hung heavy in the space between you, like a weighted medicine ball falling directly between you on the bed.

It had been a thoguht that had been at the forefront of your brain for weeks, but for you, it felt like an obligation to talk to Leah about it, to prepare her for something that was very quickly beginning to feel inevitable to you.

“Why would you ask me that?l

Leah’s hand managed to travel its way down to your stomach, her fingers clutching onto your sharp stomach muscles, the lines were strong and deft, a map across your torso.

“Do you love me enough to just let me die?”

Leah looked directly into your eyes. Did she love you to death? Did she love you to your grave? It was a question that hurt Leah from the inside out. Was it selfish of her to say no, to say that it was stupid of you to leave her for the rest of her life, when you’d promised her forever.

“I know it’s selfish but-.”

“That’s a fucked up thing to say.”

Leahs voice harshly cut you off, the older woman try her hardest to stay composed as she kept her eye contact with you, it was the only glimpse she had into your thoughts, what exactly you were feeling in this moment.

“I know and I’m sorry Lee, but I had to ask.”

Leah shook her head, no you didn’t. There was a billion worlds where you never should have had to ask, to ask permission to live, to ask permission from her about whether or not she loved you enough to let you go.

“Do you want to die?”

Leah’s words struck a deep frown onto your face, like it had been plastered on with sticky tape and glue. It looked wrong on your face, nights like these were normally spent with you being the happiest you ever were, cuddled up in the arms thay you loved more than anything in the world.

“Are you planning on dying, could you?”

There was no illness, no surgery, no life threatening circumstance that could lead to the end of your life, so it was either planned or paranoia and Leah was leaning to believe it was the first one.

“Could I die?”

Her words twisted around in your brain, your heart racing furiously against Leah’s Arsenal hoodie as you tried to digest what she was saying to you, it wasn’t a meal that was agreeing with your stomach, you could feel the word vomit rising already.

“Could you love me enough to live for me?”

The rephrasing of her words made you feel even sicker, like the nausea you got after eating lactose when you definitely were not supposed to.

“You know I love you Leah.”

Leah’s brow furrowed, because yes, she knew you loved her, you reminded her at least once a day. But what about loving her made you want to die, enough to seek permission.

“So could you live for me, it might be selfish, but please.”

Leah’s words invoked an i necessary amount of uncomfortable silence that spread out like a blanket across your shared bedroom, even the dogs lying at the base of your bed seemed to understand the memo, their snores silencing for a second whilst you and Leah just stared at eachother.

“Leah, I can’t do this anymore.”

She knew that, knew that more than anyone this acl injury had been hell for you. Her once energetic and happy girl had changed, into a person that was completely unrecognisable, it hurt her heart and soul, wondering if she’d ever get her girl back, or if that version of you had died out in the pitch with your injury.

“I know your struggling bunny, but I need you to do this for me, I need you to try. If you can’t keep yourself alive then I will fight every single day for you. Suicide is not the answer for you, you have too good of a life ahead for suicide to be your last chapter.”

Leah often reflected, often prayed that maybe, for whatever reason some things were just meant to be, even when they sucked. Maybe, just maybe, life wasn’t supposed to be easy for you. Maybe you were one of the rare few who could handle tough times and still come out on the other end as a loving person. Maybe it was all falling into place because you are a strong person, you are having this experience for the good of yourself. Maybe it’s gods twisted way of loving you, pushing you through the hard times so you can see the good in life. Maybe for you, this is growth, pain is becoming the new normal. Maybe just giving your all was enough, or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Leah made up things to make her life easier.

She reached her hands up to the loose hair strands that had fallen in front of your eyes, pushing them back behind your ears so you were forced to look at her dead on.

“How bad is it bunny, is it bad enough that you can’t just try your hardest for me?”

You bit down hard on your lip, contemplating the question silently in your head as Leah awaited your response. You stayed silent for a little while, the only sign you were still alive being your eyes blinking every once a while and your chest rising steadily.

“I’ll try.”

The words were pieces, like chunks of oranges sliced up and scattered across a chopping board, and whilst Leah didn’t exactly hear them she managed to put all the pieces together in her brain.

“I love you.”

Her words came out as one big breath. To Leah, you were as important as oxygen, without you she died as well, your contagious laugh and sparkly eyes were what got her through the rough days and nights and she couldn’t even imagine what life would look like waking up without you.

“I love you more.”

Leah smiled at you gently, coaxingly, how you’d look at a injured puppy.

“You could never.”

Leah pulled your body flush against hers, her hand coming up and under your hoodie and coming to rest on top of your heart, the feeling of your organ pumping against her was pure comfort, a luxury that she allowed herself to be granted. She exhaled deeply as she felt the feeling of your blood being pumped all over your body, to your little toes and your tiny hands.

She knew life right now sucked for you, knew just how much a acl injury made you question every single part of your life, but that didn’t matter to her, what mattered was that you weee slive, and in her arms, finding solace in her gentle touches and broad body.

You intertwined your legs with hers, wrapping her warm ones around your cold ones and slowly beginning to relax against her, as your emotional revelation began to fade from your brain, your promise to Leah breaking every single thought that had been marinating in your head.

“Go to sleep bunny, I’ve got you, nobody is harming you in my arms, even yourself.”