#best basketball trainer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uncuredturkeybacon · 6 days ago

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𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you coach her game and quiet her mind

You met Paige Bueckers on a Tuesday afternoon in late September, your sophomore year at Hopkins.

It’s open gym. You aren’t technically supposed to be in there—you’ve already finished your weight training hour and your basketball season doesn’t start until winter—but the hum of a bouncing ball is too rhythmic to ignore. There’s a familiar comfort to the hollow echo of sneakers and grit on hardwood, something that calls you in like a whisper.

You open the gym door quietly, backpack still slung over one shoulder, and that’s when you see her.

Blonde ponytail swaying. Wide stance. Shot pocket high. Paige freaking Bueckers.

You’d heard of her, of course. Everyone at Hopkins had. Varsity freshman starter. Handles like a string puppet master. Shot like a dream. Girl had already been ranked nationally, and people couldn’t stop talking about her like she was some prodigy out of a sports movie. You thought it was all hype.

Then you saw her move.

And the thing was—she wasn’t just good. She was smooth. Every step calculated, but casual. Every pivot like muscle memory. She dribbled like the ball owed her rent.

She doesn’t notice you at first. Just keeps shooting from mid-range, the ball sailing through net with that soft, cotton-candy swish. Over and over and over.

You step in farther.

She stops, finally turning her head slightly, eyebrows raised. “You lost?”

You blink. “No. Just… didn’t know anyone else was in here.”

She nods once, grabbing her rebound. “You hoop?”

You shrug. “Yeah. But I train more than I play now. Strength and conditioning stuff. I work with Coach Cosgriff sometimes.”

Paige bounces the ball slowly under one hand, studying you with that squint she always seems to wear. “So you're, like, a trainer-trainer?”

You laugh once. “A sophomore trainer. I’m certified in watching YouTube videos and correcting people’s forms at the gym.”

She smirks. “Sounds legit.”

“Totally. Olympic-level.”

There’s a pause. You think she’s gonna go back to shooting, but instead she spins the ball toward you with a flick of her wrist. You catch it without thinking.

“Rebound for me?” she asks.

That’s how it starts.

You don’t say much that first week. You mostly pass the ball back to her and correct her foot placement when she does too many fade aways in a row. She doesn’t seem to mind your notes. In fact, she listens. Eyes narrow, brows drawn together. She nods when you speak. Adjusts. Tries again.

By week three, you’re staying after school just to watch her shoot.

By week five, she’s asking you to run drills with her. “I need someone who won’t go easy on me,” she says. “You look like you play defense like a demon.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You calling me aggressive?”

She grins. “I’m calling you annoying. Like a mosquito.”

You end up training together every week after that.

It’s past 6:30 PM, and the gym lights are humming like they’re tired of you both. You’ve run suicides, jump-rope footwork ladders, and back-to-back spot shooting. She’s collapsed on the baseline with a towel over her face.

“You trying to kill me?” she mumbles.

You grin, stretching near her. “You wanna be the best or nah?”

She lifts the towel just enough to peek at you. “I was the best like three years ago.”

“Complacency,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “That’s the first sign of career death.”

She snorts. “You sound like a Nike ad.”

“I sound like someone who’s keeping your ass in shape.”

“Yeah,” she mutters, tossing the towel aside. “You do.”

There’s something unspoken in the air. The gym is empty. Just your water bottles clinking, the soft squeak of shoes as you shift. She looks at you a beat too long.

“You ever think about going into this for real?” she asks suddenly. “Training people?”

“I already am,” you say. “I’m applying to kinesiology programs. Sports science. I wanna do this for a living. Maybe NBA. Or… WNBA.”

“You’d be good at it,” she says, and there’s no teasing in her voice.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You make people better without making them feel like shit. That’s rare.”

You blink. She’s never said something like that before—not with that tone. And something flickers in her eyes like she didn’t mean to say it aloud.

“I’d want you to keep working with me,” she adds quietly. “If I go to UConn. Or wherever.”

“You planning on bringing me with you?” you joke, nudging her shoe with yours.

She doesn’t joke back.

“Yeah,” she says simply.

The dorms are stuffy and the air smells like ramen and underachieving. You moved in early because Paige wanted to start pre-season training before official practices began. You aren’t on the team. You aren’t on staff—yet. But Paige made some calls. And they made an exception.

You’re the one in her corner before the season even starts.

You run her drills. Chart her shot percentages. Track her fatigue, time her sprints, log every mile she runs.

But you also learn her.

The way she hums under her breath when she’s shooting threes. The way she swears under her breath when she’s not getting it right. The way she pulls at the hem of her shorts when she’s overthinking.

The way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not looking.

You see it more now. The lingering. The heat behind her glances.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t look too.

You’re lying on your back in her dorm room after a long night of training, the air between you quiet but charged.

“You ever think this… all of it… happened too fast?” Paige asks softly, turning her head toward you.

You meet her eyes. “Basketball or…?”

She doesn’t answer for a second. “Everything.”

You inhale slowly. “No. I think some things happen when they’re supposed to.”

She smiles faintly, shifting closer.

“And what if this—us—is one of those things?”

You glance down between you. Your hands are almost touching.

You don’t pull away.

Neither does she.

“Then I guess we’re right on time.”

It’s weird how easily your dynamic translated to college. She still listens to you. She still trusts your eyes more than anyone else’s.

“Step on your left harder after the spin,” you tell her during an individual session. “You’re floating too long. You’re not getting enough power.”

She nods and tries again. Nails it. Of course.

Afterward, she walks with you back to your apartment, as she’s been doing for weeks now.

"You coming to the scrimmage Saturday?" she asks, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk.

"Obviously. I'll be sitting next to Coach. Telling him what he's doing wrong."

She laughs and bumps her shoulder into yours. "You're cocky."

"I'm right."

“You’re something,” she mutters.

You don’t ask what she means. You don’t need to.

But you can feel it growing. The way she lingers when she talks to you. The way she watches you when you speak with someone else. The way she listens too closely. Stands too close.

And then it happens.

It’s after a game—a blowout win. You’re the last two in the practice gym, her icing her knee, you jotting down some movement notes in your tablet.

She asks, “Do you ever think about us?”

You stop mid-type.

“Us?” you repeat.

“Yeah. You and me. Not just trainer-player.”

You blink. Slowly. “All the time.”

She’s quiet, like that answer knocked the wind out of her. “So what do we do?”

You swallow. “We try.”

She smiles, soft and quiet. “Cool. So… kiss me?”

You walk over, heart thudding like you’re about to play in front of a sold-out crowd. But this moment—this kiss—is private. Gentle. A quiet victory.

Dating Paige Bueckers is exactly what you expected and nothing like you imagined.

She’s a goof. Always humming Drake songs and using you as a weighted vest when you’re trying to do push-ups.

But she’s also laser-focused, and sometimes that means 3AM texts. My jumper feels off, help. So you drag yourself to the gym with bedhead and bad breath, and she lights up like the scoreboard when she sees you.

The chemistry you have—on and off court—is unmatched.

“Let’s try that pin-down cut again,” you say during a workout. “But sell it harder this time.”

She wipes sweat from her brow. “Why don’t you just play defense on me? That’ll make it real.”

So you do. And she doesn’t get past you the first three tries. Fourth try, she fakes right and spins left—you’re gone.

“God, I love when you push me like that,” she says, out of breath, laughing.

You grin. “Yeah?”

She walks toward you, playful. “Yeah.”

Paige kisses you there, right in the middle of the gym floor, hands on your hips like you're her anchor.

And you are.

You always have been.

There are tough days. Days she doubts herself. When the pressure builds and she doesn’t want to talk to anyone but you.

“I’m not playing like myself,” she says one night, curled on your couch.

You rub her thigh gently. “You’re in your head. You need to come back to your body. You need to play with joy.”

She looks at you, teary-eyed. “How do you always know?”

You shrug. “I’ve always known you, Paige.”

There’s a long pause. And then she says, “I think I want to do this forever.”

“Basketball?”

“You.”

It’s not flashy. There’s no grand gesture. No candlelit dinner. But it’s her. And it’s you. And it’s exactly enough.

It’s senior year now. She’s a legend. You’re her official trainer.

And people still call you Bueckers’ shadow, but now it comes with respect. Because they see it now. That you’ve helped shape her, sculpt her, kept her balanced.

On her senior night, she gives a speech.

She thanks her coaches. Her team. Her family.

And then, looking right at you, she says, “And to the person who’s been here since day one… my first pass, my best read, my forever one-on-one partner—thank you for never letting me forget who I am.”

You don’t cry.

Okay. You do.

But so does she.

Later that night, she pulls you into her room, shuts the door, and murmurs against your mouth, “You were always more than my trainer.”

You smile into the kiss. “I know.”

The moment Paige Bueckers’ name is called, the world erupts.

But she doesn’t.

She just looks at you.

Not the camera, not the stage—you. With that look you’ve seen a thousand times since high school. The one that says we did it.

You’re already standing when she launches into your arms, nearly knocking you back into the row of chairs behind you. Her arms wrap tight around your neck, her face pressed to your shoulder, whispering through the noise, “Don’t let go.”

You don’t.

Not when she pulls back, eyes glassy, hands still gripping your waist.

Not when she walks up to the stage with tears in her lashes and your name on her tongue.

And definitely not when the cameras catch her glancing at you before every answer.

The draft is a blur of bright lights, cheers, cameras, and interviews—but you stay close. Just off-screen. Just like always.

Until the media starts asking questions that aren’t about her game.

“Paige, congratulations on being the number one overall pick to the Dallas Wings! Can you tell us who you brought with you tonight?”

She glances sideways to where you're standing in her shadow. But you know her well enough to read the decision flicker behind her eyes.

She’s not going to hide you. Not anymore.

She turns back to the mic, confidence radiating from her like warm sun. “That’s my person. She’s been with me since high school. Trains me. Puts up with me. Challenges me. Loves me. So yeah—she’s a big part of why I’m here.”

The reporters buzz.

“Who is she to you?”

Paige smiles softly. “She’s everything.”

You nearly choke on your breath backstage.

Paige’s suit jacket is slung over a chair. Her shoes abandoned by the bed. Her Wings hat perched crooked on your head.

She’s on her knees in front of you, chin resting on your thigh, dress shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, her fingers lazily tracing circles on your knee.

“You really said all that on national television?” you murmur, smiling.

“I’ve wanted to say it since we were seventeen,” she replies. “Since that day in Hopkins when you rebounded for me until I cried.”

You slide your fingers through her hair. “You know what this means, right?”

“That I’m your number one overall pick, too?”

You grin. “That, and now the whole world’s gonna know you’re soft for me.”

She leans up and kisses you—slow, full of promise. “Let ’em.”

You lie back on the hotel bed as she climbs in beside you. Her fingers tangle with yours like muscle memory.

“I’m scared,” she whispers eventually.

“Of what?”

“The league. The pressure. Failing.”

You squeeze her hand. “You won’t fail. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

She turns to face you, nose brushing yours. “Stay with me through all of it?”

You press a kiss to her forehead. “Always. I trained you for this, remember?”

She grins sleepily. “Guess I’m stuck with you then.”

“No,” you say quietly. “You chose me.”

Her silence says everything.

And for the first time that night—long after the cameras stopped flashing and the confetti settled—you both breathe.

The sun’s barely cracked the skyline of Dallas, golden haze stretching long across the parking lot when Paige turns to you, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and her practice jersey half-tucked into her waistband.

“You sure you want to come?”

You raise an eyebrow as you slide into the passenger seat of her car. “Seriously?”

She grins, brushing a hand over your thigh before starting the engine. “I mean, you’re not on staff.”

“Nope. Just the person who got you to number one.”

She leans over at a red light and kisses your cheek. “Damn right.”

The gym is humming with controlled chaos when you arrive—assistant coaches shouting instructions, music blasting, rookies trying not to trip over their own nerves. Paige is handed her gear and directed to the locker room, while you find your way to the bench along the sideline.

You set your bag down beside you, pull out your tablet, and cross your legs. The gym smells like polished hardwood and sweat and the faintest trace of new opportunity.

And there she is—Paige Bueckers—tying her shoes like it’s still high school in Hopkins, rolling her shoulders, bouncing a ball between her legs like she doesn’t know every camera in the room is aimed at her.

Your stylus hovers, and you begin.

Hips tight in lateral slide. Right knee still drifting inward on push-off.

She doesn’t look at you once, but she doesn’t need to. She knows you’re watching. Studying. Calculating.

You catch her third turnover in scrimmage. The coach yells something—timing issue—but you know better.

Drifting right early on corner curl. Jumping the pass. Tell her to settle feet before turn.

The practice stretches two hours. Drills. Scrimmage. More drills. Water break. Media arrives toward the end, clicking cameras, calling out names. Paige answers politely. You watch how her smile fades when she turns away.

When it finally ends, she doesn’t even glance at the locker room. She walks straight to you.

“Alright, hit me,” she says, dropping beside you on the bench, water bottle tucked under one arm, legs wide and hands clasped between her knees. Her jersey clings to her back with sweat. Her hair’s pulled into a tight bun, a few loose curls framing her flushed face.

You smirk. “You sure? I’ve got five pages already.”

“Jesus,” she mutters, leaning over to peek. “You still do bullet points?”

“I upgraded. Color-coded now.”

She groans. “Please tell me red still means ‘sucked.’”

“Red means ‘must address immediately.’ But yeah, you sucked on a few.”

She tosses her towel at you. You duck, laughing. Then you glance down at your screen.

“You rushed your footwork on the baseline pick. Every time. You’re cutting the corner too shallow, and it’s forcing your hips to stay closed when you rise.”

“I felt that,” she says, nodding. “Couldn’t get any lift.”

“Exactly. Also—your right knee’s collapsing again on your jump stop. You need to slow down your load. Breathe through it.”

“Got it.”

“Scrimmage—third possession, you jumped the passing lane too early on the weak side. You overcommitted on a read that wasn’t there. That’s a high school mistake, Bueckers.”

She groans again, flopping back against the bleachers. “Ughhh. Be nicer.”

You smile. “No.”

She nudges you with her shoulder. “Anything good?”

You glance at her, the way her eyes are shining despite the exhaustion. You nod.

“You read the defense perfectly on that skip pass to Crystal. Footwork was clean, timing was elite. Also—your fake hesitation in transition off that turnover? Disgusting.”

She grins. “Filthy?”

“Filthy,” you confirm.

There’s a pause, one of those quiet pockets that only exist with people who know every version of you.

Then Paige stands.

“Come on. Let’s fix my corner curl.”

Half the players are already gone, heading toward the locker room or training room or their cars. But Paige pulls you to the far basket like it’s still your high school gym at midnight.

You don’t even hesitate. You grab a ball and toss it to her.

“Start at the top. Walk me through your cut.”

She moves to the elbow, begins her motion slow.

“Too shallow,” you call.

She adjusts. Again. Again.

“Keep your center low. You’re rising too soon.”

She adjusts. Again. And again.

You step closer, placing your hands on her waist as she resets.

“Watch your hips. You’re twisting before your feet are planted.”

Her eyes flick to you. “You watching my hips or checking me out?”

You give her a look. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You sure?” she smirks, stepping closer, her hands ghosting your sides.

You push her shoulder gently. “Back to work, Bueckers.”

She backs up, laughing.

Across the court, Coach Koclanes is still talking to staff when he glances over and sees the way Paige moves differently with you. The way she listens more intently. The rhythm of it. The ease.

He watches as she finishes her last curl, catches the ball you pass her, and sinks it from the wing—net barely moving.

You jog to grab the rebound. She resets.

And he’s already walking over to her by the time she sinks another shot.

“Paige,” he says, calm but direct.

She turns, wiping her forehead. “Coach.”

He glances across the court, then back at her.

“She yours?”

Paige follows his gaze to you, where you’re dribbling the ball lazily between your legs and checking your notes again.

She swallows.

“Yes, sir.”

Koclanes raises an eyebrow. “Trainer or girlfriend?”

“Both.”

He watches you again for a moment then nods slowly. “She’s sharp.”

Paige smiles. “She’s the reason I’m sharp.”

Koclanes studies her, arms crossed. “Alright. Just keep it professional when it counts.”

“She always does. I’m the reckless one.”

He smirks. “I figured.”

You're sprawled on the couch, tablet in your lap, and Paige is sitting on the floor between your knees, her back against the couch as you gently press into her shoulders.

“How bad was I?” she mumbles, half-asleep already.

“You weren’t bad,” you say. “You were just out of rhythm. New system. New teammates. New everything.”

She sighs. “It’s weird. Being the rookie again.”

You thread your fingers through her hair.

“You’ll adjust. You always do.”

She tilts her head to rest against your knee. “Coach asked about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanted to know if you were my trainer or my girlfriend.”

You grin. “What’d you say?”

“I said both.”

You pause. “And?”

“He said you’re sharp.”

You tap her forehead lightly. “Told you.”

She laughs softly.“Thanks for coming today.”

“I’ll be at every practice I can,” you promise. “Always.”

Paige reaches back, wrapping one hand around your ankle. “Feels like we never left the gym back home.”

You smile.

Because you know, deep down, that no matter how far Paige goes—WNBA stardom, championships, international fame—there will always be a corner of a court, a half-lit gym, where it’s just you and her.

The next time Paige asks if you’re coming to practice, you don’t answer. You just give her a look from across your shared bed, tablet already charging, stylus clipped to your hoodie collar. She laughs like she already knew.

"You're such a nerd," she teases, stretching as she slides out of bed.

"And you're late to everything but the gym," you shoot back, already packing snacks into her duffel.

Inside the Wings facility, it's déjà vu—but with a twist.

Paige is looser now. She’s smiling as she jogs out onto the court for warmups. Still focused, still razor-sharp, but her eyes find you through the bleachers like you're her true north.

You're already scribbling notes.

Dribble height off the left—still inconsistent. No dip off the hip before the pull.

She looks smoother today. Reads are quicker. She’s calling out switches and catching mismatches before they fully form. You know she’s watched the film. Your film.

And it shows.

She has a strong scrimmage. Ten assists. Fifteen points. The gym buzzes every time she touches the ball. Coaches watch her like she’s the answer to every late-game possession. But she still looks to you when she’s subbed out, even for just a moment.

A raised eyebrow from you is all it takes to remind her, slow your footwork, release higher, trust the screen.

She does. Nails her next three.

After practice ends, some of the players linger around the half-court line, chatting and stretching. But Paige’s sneakers squeak straight toward you.

She slides onto the bench beside you, water bottle cradled between her palms, jersey clinging to her collarbone with sweat.

“Well?”

You pass her the tablet. “You tell me.”

She scrolls. “Less red.”

You bump your knee against hers. “Because you actually did your hip mobility warm-up this time.”

“Don’t out me.”

You smirk. “I’ll keep your secrets if you keep hitting those high-release threes.”

She hands the tablet back, mock-serious. “Deal.”

You open your mouth to say something else, but someone clears their throat just behind you.

You turn and see him—Coach Chris Koclanes. Arms folded. Neutral face. Calculating eyes.

“Mind if I steal you a second?” he asks—not to Paige, but to you.

You blink, then glance at her. Paige just smiles and gives a subtle nod. You stand slowly, brushing your hands on your sweats as you follow him a few paces down the sideline.

He gestures toward the court. “That was a hell of a session for Bueckers.”

You nod. “She’s a rhythm player. Once she finds her pace, she’s lethal.”

“She credited you yesterday. Said you’ve been training her for years.”

“Since Hopkins.”

“She listens to you.”

You shrug, cautious. “We’ve built trust. I’ve been in her corner longer than most.”

Coach tilts his head, studying you. “You ever worked in a professional setting?”

“Not officially. Internships. Assistant roles. Mostly freelance analysis. Paige has been my primary focus.”

“I noticed.”

You’re silent.

Then he says it, casually—like it’s not a thing that could change your entire trajectory.

“I’ve got a spot open. Player development. One-on-one focus. I want you on staff—assigned directly to Paige.”

You freeze.

“Wait... what?”

He doesn’t waver. “You’ve clearly studied the game. You’ve got rapport. She trusts you more than anyone I’ve seen her with. I want that. I want you working with her officially. You’d be listed as player development assistant, but your job’s simple. Keep her sharp.”

“I—I’d need to talk to her about it.”

“You can. But it’s her job now. Not college. Not freelance. You’ll be part of the system. You in or not?”

You hesitate for the first time in a long time.

You’ve always been by Paige’s side. Always in the shadow just outside the spotlight. But this… this would put you inside the machine.

And that scares you.

But then Paige jogs over, towel around her shoulders, hair a mess, and eyes locked on you.

“You okay?” she asks, sensing the weight of the moment.

You look at her.

At the girl you trained through injuries, through heartbreak, through the hardest years of her life.

At the woman she’s become.

You smile softly.

“Coach wants to hire me,” you say.

Her brows lift. “For real?”

“To train you. Officially.”

There’s a pause.

Then her hand slides into yours, quiet but steady.

“What are you waiting for?”

You show up fifteen minutes early.

Even though you’ve walked through these gym doors a dozen times with Paige, everything feels different now. Your name’s on the clipboard. Your badge is clipped to your lanyard. You’re not just the person she looks for in the crowd.

You’re staff.

Official.

You nod to Coach Koclanes as you pass him in the hallway. He grunts a greeting, mid-conversation with another staffer, but you catch the way he gives a tiny approving nod in your direction.

Paige’s locker is already open when you make it to the court. She’s sitting cross-legged in front of it, re-lacing her sneakers like she didn’t lace and unlace them five minutes ago just to get it right.

She doesn’t say anything. Just looks up and gives you the smallest smirk.

“You nervous?” she asks without looking up.

“Why would I be nervous?” you say, adjusting your tablet bag and trying to sound like your heart isn’t pacing like it’s game day.

“Because you look like you’re about to give a TED Talk instead of coaching me through curls and closeouts.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

“Y/N?” Coach Koclanes’ voice calls from across the court.

You walk over. “Yes, Coach.”

“You’ll be shadowing the guards today. Track foot placement and timing—specifically the pick-and-pop sequences. If Bueckers misses any lift opportunities, I want it noted.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll run her one-on-one this afternoon. After team breakdown.”

“Understood.”

He claps your shoulder once, short and firm. “Welcome aboard.”

You nod. “Glad to be here.”

Practice unfolds like muscle memory.

You stay on the sidelines during group drills—eyes sharp, clipboard scribbling fast, quiet enough not to distract but focused enough to clock the split-second decision Paige makes before her assist in a half-court set.

Hesitation dribble sets defender. Delay creates opening. Reinforce timing.

During defensive rotations, she switches too late once.

You make a note.

She knows.

On the next possession, she’s early.

By a beat.

You smirk down at your page.

Water break.

Paige jogs past you, towel around her neck. She slows just enough to pass a quiet, “How am I doing, Coach?”

You don’t look up. “Foot’s still sliding out on the stagger screen. Don’t let your heel lead.”

“Got it.”

She grins and disappears into the huddle.

You keep writing.

The court’s cleared of team chaos. Most of the players have filtered out, heading to the weight room or showers. Coaches flutter around, chatting about the next game plan.

You wait with two fresh basketballs and a short list of drills. Paige walks back onto the court, damp hair tucked into a fresh headband, sweat already drying on her skin.

She nods at your clipboard. “How bad is it?”

“Not bad. But I’m not here to tell you what’s good.”

“Of course not.”

You toss her the ball. “We’re going to fix the angle on your split step first. You’re hesitating mid-transition when you don’t need to.”

She shifts into position. “I only trust you to tell me that.”

You smile quietly. “Lucky me.”

The next thirty minutes are the closest you’ve felt to home since stepping into this facility.

You aren’t just watching her. You’re correcting, measuring, coaching her through every breath and pivot.

Her shoulders relax under your voice.

Your fingers brush her knee to adjust her positioning—not intimate, but familiar.

You step in behind her on a jab series drill, guiding her hips gently with your hands to show where her weight should be. She exhales through her nose, eyes laser-focused on the floor.

When she nails it three reps later, she grins over her shoulder at you.

“I forgot how it feels when it clicks.”

You nod. “That’s why we’re here.”

Another assistant watching nearby chuckles. “She listens to you better than anyone.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

You’re gathering your clipboard and packing up your notes when Coach Koclanes walks over again. Paige’s eyes flick toward you once, but she heads toward the weight room with a soft brush of her fingers across your arm.

It’s subtle.

No one else would notice.

But you feel it.

Coach stops in front of you, arms crossed. “That was a clean session.”

“She’s responding well to structure,” you say.

“No. She’s responding to you,” he replies. “That’s why I pushed to get you on staff.”

You nod. “I appreciate that, sir.”

He watches Paige across the gym, already laughing with teammates in the weight room.

“You keep this up, you’re not just gonna be her trainer. You’ll be a real asset to this team.”

You look at him. “I want to help them all. But she’s the one I know best.”

He nods once. “Then don’t let her down.”

You tighten your grip on the clipboard. “Never have.”

That night, Paige sits beside you on your apartment balcony, toes tucked under her, hoodie zipped halfway, her knees brushing yours.

"You were so locked in today," she says.

"So were you."

She leans over and places a kiss on your shoulder, resting her head on your arm. “You made today feel like home.”

You close your eyes for a second, listening to the hum of Dallas in the distance.

“You are home,” you whisper.

She doesn’t reply.

She just laces her fingers with yours and holds on.

You linger near the back wall, just behind the assistants’ bench setup as the players finish changing. Paige tapes her wrists in near silence, bouncing her knee the way she always does before big games. You know her tells like your own breath.

She looks up once and catches your eye.

You nod, once. A signal.

You're ready.

She blinks slowly and exhales. A signal back.

I know.

Paige Bueckers in crunch time is art. She’s calm chaos. She moves like music. The crowd chants her name before the buzzer even sounds.

You don’t celebrate yet. You just stand with the clipboard tucked to your chest, waiting for the team to return to the bench.

And then she jogs off the court, towel over her head, high-fiving teammates—and her eyes go straight to you.

No smile.

No show.

Just a look that says everything.

I needed you here.

You give a subtle nod, lips parting just slightly, and she closes her eyes for half a second like she’s sealing the moment.

There are reporters. There are lights. Paige answers questions about the debut, the crowd, the shots. One asks if she felt ready.

She pauses. “I was more than ready.”

“What helped you prepare the most for your first game?”

She tilts her head slightly. “Honestly? I’ve had someone in my corner for years. She’s always known what I need before I do.”

A subtle answer.

But you know who she means.

Another day, another practice and you and paige stay past practice to work on more one-on-one training.

She’s standing at the elbow, hands on her hips, jersey damp with sweat. You’re holding the ball. Clipboard tucked under your arm. Your eyes narrow as you step forward.

“Okay. Three reps. Elbow pivot into the dribble-drop. Inside foot. One step. Pull.”

Paige nods. You pass her the ball. She moves—sharp, clean, quick—but her foot lands too flat. You don’t say anything, just tilt your head. She stops, pivots back toward you.

“Too slow?”

“Too flat.”

“Again?”

You toss the ball again. She resets. This time, the movement slices. Sharp plant. Quick pop. Perfect arc. Net barely stirs. You smile, but you don’t say anything. She already knows.

DiJonai Carrington is leaning against the wall near the exit, pretending to be texting. She's not. She’s watching.

She nudges Arike Ogunbowale, who’s walking by.

“Tell me that’s not a couple.”

Arike squints. “You mean Bueckers and iPad Girl?”

“Y/N,” DiJonai corrects.

“Yeah, I mean… they’re always together. I thought she was just training her.”

“Sure,” DiJonai says. “But you ever watch them?”

They both look again.

You’re walking in a small circle as Paige mirrors your movements, copying your footwork in silence, like dancers in slow sync. She laughs at something you say. You roll your eyes but reach out to adjust her elbow softly.

Arike raises an eyebrow. “That’s not just training.”

“Nope.”

You’ve got the court from 7 to 8 a.m. before scheduled practice begins. Paige shows up five minutes early—iced coffee in one hand, her mouth already chewing a bite of banana.

You’re in joggers and a Wings tee, tablet resting on a folding chair, cones lined up like a blueprint for something more serious than just “a workout.”

“You’re in a mood,” Paige says, setting down her drink.

“You’re inconsistent on your left side release. We’re fixing it today.”

She groans. “That’s a lefty problem.”

“It’s a you problem.”

She steps into her shoes and points. “Tell me what to do, Coach.”

You walk through it together.

Left foot plant. Shoulder twist. Off-hand steady. Ball into motion.

You call out commands. She adjusts immediately.

Thirty minutes in, she’s drenched. You toss her a towel and a water bottle.

“Better,” you admit.

“I’m gonna crash before real practice even starts,” she huffs.

You smirk. “You’ll thank me mid-season.”

Paige grins. “I always do.”

“Is it true?” Maddy Siegrist asks during stretching.

“What?” Ty Harris replies.

“That Paige and Y/N have been together since college.”

Ty shrugs. “They’ve known each other forever.”

“I thought it was just a trainer thing,” Maddy mutters.

Ty grins. “Look again.”

Later, during team cooldown, Paige finishes her reps and jogs straight to you. Doesn’t even grab a towel first.

You hand her one anyway.

She dabs her face and says, “Can we run that pick split tomorrow? The one we talked about?”

You nod. “I’ll draw it up tonight.”

She nudges you lightly with her hip. “Add a note that says ‘tell her she’s brilliant’.”

You roll your eyes. “Noted.”

The gym’s closed. The team had morning practice and mandatory lift. Most of the players have left for the day.

You’re not supposed to be here. Not technically. But Paige had asked. Just thirty minutes, she said. Just to walk through that new screen sequence you diagrammed.

So here you are.

You both are.

No cameras. No coaches. Just the echo of sneakers on hardwood and the sound of Paige’s soft exhale as she resets for the fifteenth time.

You're seated cross-legged on the court with your notes spread around you like a campfire circle. She’s walking herself through spacing patterns and foot placement, talking aloud so you can listen for her rhythm.

She misses a step. You catch it instantly.

“Too wide on your pivot,” you murmur.

She sighs. “I felt that.”

“You’re rushing the top foot.”

She stops. Tilts her head.

“You know what helps that?” she says.

You squint up at her. “What?”

She walks over slowly, takes your hand, and gently pulls you to your feet. “You.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want me to demo it?”

“No,” she says, slipping her arms around your waist. “I want a break.”

You laugh quietly. “Oh, so now I’m a human timeout?”

“You’re my entire recovery system.”

Her fingers hook into the waistband of your joggers. Her forehead presses to yours. Her body still humming from the workout, but her expression soft, flushed in a different way.

You lean in. Her lips brush yours once—slow, careful, reverent.

Then again—deeper this time, her hand rising to the back of your neck. She kisses you like you’re the rhythm she’s trying to memorize.

You sigh against her mouth.

“Oh my god—”

Both your heads whip toward the doorway.

Maddy is frozen, Gatorade bottle in one hand, gym bag slung over her shoulder, eyes wide.

You and Paige instantly take a step apart—hands dropping, space returning.

Too late.

“I didn’t see anything,” Maddy says, blinking. “Except I very much did.”

Paige groans quietly. “Mad…”

Maddy grins—messy, teasing, thrilled. “So… I was right.”

You rub the back of your neck. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Too late. They’re all going to scream.”

Paige groans louder, dragging a hand down her face. “God.”

Maddy holds up her free hand like a scout’s oath. “I’ll be cool. But like… this is kinda iconic.”

She starts to back out the door, already pulling out her phone.

“Ver—no texts!” Paige calls.

“I can’t hear you,” she says, vanishing around the corner.

Paige is curled up beside you on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, scrolling through the messages with an embarrassed smile.

“Maddy said she saw a spark fly across the court when we kissed,” she says.

“She’s being dramatic,” you mumble, stroking her leg.

“She also said we owe her wedding invites.”

You snort. “Tell her she’s not getting a plus one.”

Paige laughs softly, then sobers. “You okay with this?”

You glance down at her. “The team knowing?”

She nods.

You rest your hand over her heart. “Feels like they always did.”

She smiles again. Quieter. More secure.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think so too.”

The Wings take the game by six.

Paige finishes with 24 points and 9 assists, carving up the fourth quarter with her signature midrange feints and off-ball creativity. You watched it all from the second row behind the bench, scribbling down your notes in silence, even though you knew everything you needed to say could be told with just a look.

After the buzzer, she walks off the court with her arm draped over DiJonai’s shoulder—grinning, exhausted, and glowing in that way she only does when she’s earned it.

She doesn’t come straight to you like she normally would. She gives you a look—soft, quiet, later.

You nod. Clipboard tight in hand.

Because you both know what’s next.

She’s in front of the mic, jersey swapped for a Wings hoodie, hair damp, eyes focused. The media crowd is familiar now—reporters from local outlets, national sportswriters, and the occasional YouTube basketball guy with a small mic clipped to his collar.

She’s answered three questions already. All standard.

“What did you see on that final possession?” “How has your chemistry with Arike developed this early in the season?” “What’s been the biggest adjustment from college ball to the league?”

She’s smooth. Thoughtful. Never rehearsed, but always real.

And then it comes.

From a new face in the third row. Out-of-town badge. Small outlet, but a big voice.

“Paige—this one’s off-court. There’s been a lot of speculation online recently about your relationship with your player development assistant, Y/N L/N.”

You feel your stomach go tight, even from where you stand just off to the side.

“There are viral clips. Locker room comments. A lot of fans believe you two are more than just athlete and trainer. Do you have any response to that?”

The room doesn’t gasp—but it shifts. Everyone suddenly leans in.

And Paige?

She blinks. Once. Steadies herself. And answers.

Calm. Clear. Unapologetic.

“I think it’s interesting that when a male player trains with someone for years and builds trust with them, no one asks these questions.”

The room holds its breath.

“But when it’s two women, it’s suddenly public interest. People want a headline. A label. Something to screenshot.”

She pauses. Looks directly at the reporter. Not angry—just... resolute.

“Y/N has been by my side since I was fifteen. She's shaped how I play. How I think the game. Whether we’re running drills or sharing silence, she's never once wanted credit for what I’ve done.”

Paige turns her head slightly.

Just enough to catch you in her peripheral vision. She doesn’t smile. But her voice softens.

“So no, I don’t owe anyone a label. But I will say this. Whatever she is to me, it’s not just anything.”

Silence. Then cameras flash. Keys click. But no one says anything else.

You’re leaning against the cool concrete wall when she steps out.

She doesn’t speak right away. Just walks toward you, tugging her hoodie sleeves down like she’s trying to hide how tense her hands are.

You hand her a water bottle. “You handled that well.”

“I hated that,” she mutters.

You nod. “I know.”

She leans her shoulder into yours. “Was I too blunt?”

“No,” you say. “You were just... honest.”

Paige swallows, jaw tightening. “They’ll make it into something it’s not.”

“Let them try,” you say. “They still won’t know us.”

She looks at you now. Really looks.

“Do you wish I’d said more?”

You shake your head.

“You said exactly enough.”

Dallas Wings vs. Connecticut Sun

The crowd is loud before the game even starts.

It's not UConn-blue anymore — this arena bleeds orange tonight. Still, there are kids in Bueckers jerseys lining the front rows. Signs that say "Hopkins to Storrs to the League". A smattering of navy Wings hats in the crowd.

You keep your head down as you walk out of the tunnel with the coaching staff. No clipboard today — not your usual one. Today it’s a tablet. Branded Wings quarter-zip. You’re seated next to the coaches. Front row. You’re not just behind the bench anymore. You’re in it.

“It’s a full-circle night for Paige Bueckers — back in Connecticut, where she built her legend at UConn. But let’s talk about something fans might not know…”

“You mean Y/N L/N?”

“Exactly. She’s seated right there on the bench now. Officially added to the Wings’ player development staff this season, but unofficially, she's been Bueckers’ personal trainer and basketball mind since Hopkins High School.”

“I’ve seen it up close. She has one of the sharpest eyes for the game I’ve ever encountered. Doesn’t just do physical development — she reads the floor like a coach with fifteen years in.”

“And you’ll notice it tonight — every timeout, every free throw, every adjustment, Paige checks in with her. Watch for it.”

Timeout. Wings down by 5.

The team gathers. Coach Koclanes talks to the core five. But Paige doesn’t go to him first.

She walks straight to you.

“Every time I fight over the screen, they’re slipping the weak side,” she says, breath quick but eyes locked on yours.

You nod, tapping a graphic on your tablet. “They’re baiting you. Your stunt’s coming too early. Let them close the lane, then rotate.”

“Got it.”

“On offense, they’re loading strong side on you. Reverse it. Skip it before the trap comes.”

“Copy.”

She claps your shoulder once and jogs back to the huddle.

Behind you, one of the coaches mutters, “It’s scary how fast she processes.”

You smile. “She’s just wired that way.”

The arena quiets slightly as Connecticut sets up at the line.

You see Paige backpedal toward your end of the bench. The ref glances at her, but she makes it quick.

“They’re stacking corner help every time we swing,” she says.

You lean forward. “Because you’re not cutting sharp enough off the split. Give the help something to respect.”

She nods, jaw set. “Backdoor?”

You whisper, “Only if Arike clears. They’re watching her eyes.”

Paige jogs back on-court, whispering something to Arike as the free throw bounces off the rim.

The very next play — skip pass. Fake drive. Backdoor cut. Paige lays it in.

Your stylus marks the play with a bright green tag.

“And there it is. Every time she glances at the sideline, it’s Y/N she’s looking for.”

“And you know what’s incredible? They’re not even speaking full sentences anymore. It’s absolutely fluid. That’s chemistry you build over years.”

“There are players who have court vision, and then there are those with a court language. Bueckers and L/N speak their own.”

It’s close. Wings up by 2. Sun with the ball.

Timeout.

Everyone’s shouting. The crowd is on their feet.

But Paige walks directly to you.

“What do I do?” she asks, fast, fierce.

You point at the digital clipboard. “Let her take baseline. You don’t need the steal. You need the stop.”

She nods. “You sure?”

“Always.”

She gets the stop.

The Wings win.

And as the clock winds down and the buzzer sounds, Paige doesn’t jump. Doesn’t throw her arms up. Doesn’t scan the crowd.

She turns.

And she finds you.

She walks straight to you and pulls you in with one hand behind your neck, pressing her forehead against yours again—this time longer. This time with the world watching.

The locker room is buzzing with celebration.

Not wild. Not champagne-and-speakers. Just a grounded, satisfied kind of joy. The kind that comes when you win with poise. When strategy trumps talent. When Paige Bueckers gets the stop that seals the game in the city where she once built her name.

You’re standing off to the side, tablet in hand, quietly reviewing clips when you hear her voice behind you.

“Hey.”

You turn. She’s fresh out of the postgame cooldown, hair tied back again, towel looped around her neck. Her cheeks are still pink from the adrenaline.

“That cut worked,” she says, low so only you hear.

You nod. “Knew it would.”

“I’ll say it in every language if I have to,” she adds, stepping a little closer. “But thank you.”

You smile, voice soft. “You already say it in mine.”

She holds your gaze like she wants to say something else—but then a media assistant calls out, “Bueckers — press in two!”

She winks once. “Meet you after.”

The postgame presser is at full capacity. More media than usual. Because this one? This wasn’t just a win. This was a return.

Paige walks in wearing her warm-up jacket zipped to her collarbone, no jewelry, no flash. Just locked in. She slides into the chair beside Coach Koclanes, a bottle of water in front of her.

First few questions are standard.

“What did it feel like playing back in Connecticut?” “Did you hear the crowd reaction when you checked in?” “What were you seeing on that final defensive play?” “How do you feel still being undefeated at Mohegan Sun?”

She answers each calmly. Firmly. Head high. Shoulders square.

From a reporter in the second row—

“Paige, we saw a lot of sideline communication between you and your player development assistant, Y/N L/N. This isn’t the first time, but it was definitely the most visible. Can you speak to that relationship and how it affects your in-game decisions?”

A pause. The room quiets. Coach shifts slightly in his seat but says nothing.

Paige exhales once through her nose — not annoyed. Just... thoughtful.

Then she looks directly at the reporter and begins.

“Y/N isn’t just a development assistant. She’s my basketball brain outside my body.”

A few eyebrows lift. Cameras click.

“She knows my tendencies, my triggers, my adjustments. We’ve worked together since high school. Every version of my game — from Minnesota to UConn to the league — she’s helped shape.”

Another pause. The air is listening harder now.

“So yeah, we talk every timeout. Every free throw. Every off-ball set. It’s not just strategy. It’s trust.”

Her voice softens slightly.

“I trust her eyes more than film. More than instinct. She sees the angles I don’t.”

Someone clears their throat. Another reporter chimes in.

“There’s been public speculation that your connection goes beyond coaching. Are you prepared to comment on that?”

Paige tilts her head just slightly — and then gives the smallest smile you’ve seen all day.

“I’m prepared to say that what we have is ours. And whatever anyone thinks they see... I hope they understand it’s built on years of work, not just a few looks during timeouts.”

She shrugs once.

“If it looks like more, maybe that’s because it is. But it’s not for you. It’s for us.”

Silence.

And then, one lone voice, “Well said.”

You’re waiting just past the press hallway, tablet shut down, credential badge dangling loosely from your neck. Paige rounds the corner still in her team gear, phone buzzing in her hand, mouth curled into a small, tired smile.

She walks up slowly, voice low.

“You hear that?”

You nod. “Every word.”

“Too much?”

You shake your head.

“It was perfect.”

She steps in, arms sliding around your waist, and rests her forehead lightly against yours — again, the way she always does when the world outside is loud and this little pocket of quiet is the only thing real.

You whisper, “They’ll keep asking.”

Paige whispers back, “Let ’em. We’ll keep answering our way.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige buckets #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #wnba x reader #dallas wings #lesbian #wlw #wuh luh wuh

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lessi-lover · 4 months ago

Note

Paige taking care of reader when she’s on her period! Reader could have like a period disorder (i don’t want to name specific ones so you can choose) and gets super achy and sick when she’s on her period. They could be at an event maybe and reader gets super bad cramps, so Paige try’s to comfort her until they can get home and then when they do get home Paige is in full doctor mode trying to take care and help reader?

I know this might be a weird request so you can totally trash this if you want!

i got you ma II p.bueckers x reader

i got you ma II p.bueckers x reader 2.2k

the event was loud, packed with people and the bright lights overhead felt like they were boring straight into your skull. you’d been fine earlier, just a little tired, a little sore.

but now, the cramps were hitting you at full force, twisting through your abdomen like barbed wire. your whole body ached, nausea creeping up your throat, and the dizziness in your eyes made it hard to focus on anything but trying to stay upright.

you had always gotten bad periods when you were a teen. the kind that left you curled up in bed for hours, body aching like you’d run for days straight, the cramps hitting so hard you could barely even keep water down.

for years, doctors had brushed it off as something normal, telling you to take painkillers and wait it out. it was never normal, but your parents couldn't do anything but listen to the medical advice you were being given.

growing up, you never knew what it was like to have a “normal” period. while your friends seemed to get through it with just a little discomfort here and there, you were the one clawing at your desk, trying to breathe through cramps that felt like they were ripping your stomach apart. your sisters had just told you it was part of growing up, that it would get better as you got older. but it didn’t. it only seemed to get worse.

in high school, when you started playing basketball more seriously, the pain of your cramps started to affect your performance. you’d be on the court, trying to push through a tough game and suddenly your body would just give out. you couldn’t concentrate on the game or your teammates, you could only focus on getting yourself off the court as soon as possible.

eventually, after enough trips to specialists, you were finally diagnosed with primary dysmenorrhea when you turned nineteen. primary dysmenorrhea is caused by a chemical imbalance in the body, which causes an overproduction of prostaglandins, and in your body's strong attempt to rid the lining, it's much more painful than it should be.

you began learning how to work around it though. by the time you were at uconn, you’d become an expert in managing and listening to your body. you knew your limits and how to stay ahead of your pain.

you’d adjust your play with your trainers to prepare for the worst days of your cycle, always making sure to keep your body well rested and heard. on those tougher days, when the cramps were almost unbearable, you knew how to take care of yourself whether it was icing down, using heat pads, or taking painkillers.

you were prescribed medication to help manage the pain, but it came with its own set of problems. the meds worked, there was no denying that. they helped ease your cramps, the headaches, and your dizziness. but they also made you drowsy, tired, and slowed you down.

as a professional basketball player, those were the last things you could afford. being sluggish on the court was a game changer, but not in the way you needed, and you weren't about to give up your spot for some nonsense pills.

you tried taking them on off-days, on your recovery days, but even then, the tiredness lingered longer than you liked. it was hard to balance the benefits with the negatives especially when you needed to stay at your sharpest, always ready to give your best performance for your team.

so more often than not, you chose to skip taking the medication. your cramps would be unbearable at times, but it was easier to deal with than feeling groggy and uncoordinated when it mattered most. the meds made you feel like you had lost control of yourself, control you weren't about to give up. it felt like a decision you had no choice but to make.

you hadn’t taken your meds this morning. you couldn’t. not with the game this important. the pain was something you'd learned to deal with over the years. tuning it out, ignoring it, finding ways to get through the day without letting it affect you.

but today was certainly challenging you. your body was rebelling at you, no matter how much you tried to push it away, almost as if it was mocking you for being scared to take simple medicine.

you glanced at the bench, where you see cd notice the look on your face, the way you were clutching your stomach as you sat on the subs bench. you gave a small shake of your head and a smile, trying not to show how much it hurt. no time for weakness, especially when your spot could be taken in a second.

but as the final buzzer went off and the team huddled together in celebration of the win, you knew it was only a matter of time before the pain would force a takeover and you would be limping away from the homearena. the moment you got home, you'd be back in full recovery mode, heating pad on your stomach and trying to make it through the worst of it.

you'd been living with this for so long, managing it, hiding it. almost forgetting about if.

paige noticed immediately though. she always did. her hand was on your shoulder in an instant, her brows knitting together in concern. “hey, you okay?” her voice was soft but firm with you, she knew something was up but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

you forced a small smile back, but the throbbing under your stomach was almost too much to hide. "yeah just a bit sore from the game." you muttered, but even to your own ears it sounded unconvincing. you were lying through your teeth and paige didn't buy it for a second.

she crouched down beside you, her eyes scanning your face, studying the way you were gripping your stomach. “you sure? cause you don’t look okay.”

you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your breath, but the cramps were coming harder now, but you let go of your stomach as she looked down again.

you nodded quickly, refusing to show any weakness, refusing to let it be something that would cause paige to talk to your trainers. she could get you cut off from matches if they found out you were skipping out on your pain meds.

“seriously, i’ve got this. just need a minute.” paige raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical at how defensive you were being, but nodded regardless. “don’t push it too far. i’m watching you.” i nodded back, grateful for her concern but too stubborn to admit how drained i truly felt.

as the high of the game wore off. my energy had plummeted and my vision was beginning to blur. the room was getting tighter, the noises from the crowd booming, but my legs felt like they were made of stone and i stayed in place.

without warning, my knees buckled and i let my body fall. i couldn’t stop it. my body gave in, crumpling to the ground. i heard someone shouting my name as i felt hands on my shoulders, turning me onto my side as they called for help.

paige’s face was the first thing i saw when i blinked my eyes open again. concern etched deep into her face, though she was trying to mask it with a forcely tight lipped smile. “hey, can you hear me?”

i nodded, though everything felt like a blur and her words were slightly distorted. the stadium’s sounds were muffled and i could barely make out the voices of my teammates, but paige was the one who kept me grounded. her hands on mine, her voice gentle as she instructed me to focus on her.

“just breathe, okay? slow and steady with me.” her words were firm, but soft enough to comfort me as the panic set in.

it wasn’t long before the medics arrived, their quick movements barely registering in my mind as the blonde lowered me to the floor. paige kept talking to me, helping me focus on her breathing whilst she kept her hand on my my shoulder.

as the medics checked my pulse and asked me questions, i could barely get the words out in my state. the pain was still there, i could feel sharp knives digging into my back, but the dizziness in my head was worse.

my body felt heavy, like i was sinking into the cold gym floor of the arena and i couldn’t stop shaking. "what happened?" one of the medics asked, his voice calm but urgent as he pressed a cold towel against my forehead.

"she just dropped," paige answered for me. "she wasn’t feeling great after the game. she has dysmenorrhea, and i don't think she's been taking her medicine." the medic frowned, glancing between paige and me as they slid something soft under my back. “is that true?” he asked and i could feel paige’s eyes boring into me, waiting for me to say what she knew had been happening.

i swallowed hard, my throat dry and bitter, my body still trembling from the cramps. i didn’t want to admit it, but there was no point in lying now. paige had clearly already put the pieces together. i gave a small nod. “yeah.” i mumbled, barely able to even look guilty because i knew what i had been doing. “didn’t wanna take it before the game.”

"has this happened before?" the medic asked.

paige looked at me, waiting for me to answer, but i didn’t. i didn’t want to admit that, yeah, it had happened before. i’d pushed myself too far more times than i could count and i had ignored the warning signs until my body just gave out. "yeah," paige said when i didn’t speak. "she has really bad cramps. worse than normal."

i wanted to protest, to say i was fine, but i couldn’t even form the words. the medic pressed two fingers to my wrist, counting my pulse, while another checked my blood pressure. i could see my teammates lingering nearby, their faces blurred in my vision, their whispers blending with the distant sounds of the crowd still filtering out of the stadium.

paige let out a frustrated sigh, but there was no real anger in her face, she only ever worried about you. “you should’ve told me.” she said, shaking her head and looking up. “you scared the hell out of me.”

"you need to let me help, alright ma? we’ll get you home and get you taken care of."

you barely managed a nod before another wave of pain hit you in the stomach like a truck, making you hunch over slightly as you tried to walk out of the stadium. paige didn’t hesitate to help you, her arm wrapped around you, steadying you as she scanned the room. “we’re getting you out of here.”

you didn’t argue. you couldn’t. it's not like anyone would let you leave the arena by yourself, and paige wasn't about to just let you off. the ride home was a blur, you eyes were barely open but you could feel paige’s hand around yours, her thumb rubbing slow circles against your skin. every time you winced, she gave you reassurance, promising that you’d be home soon.

as soon as you stepped inside your apartment, paige switched into full helicopter mode. she helped you change out of your clothes into thick pyjamas, guiding you to the bed and tucking you under a heap of fluffy blankets she had found. “okay, doctor p reporting for duty,” she announced, already moving. “heat pack first, then meds, and i’ll make you tea. do you think you can stomach something?”

you shook your head weakly, pressing the heating pad she handed you against your stomach as she returned with a glass of water and some painkillers. “just this for now.” she decided, watching to make sure you took them before brushing your hair back.

paige held your chin upwards to make sure you didn't spit them out, because even though you had agreed to take them she couldn't trust you anymore. “you’re burning up, babe. hold on.”

minutes later, she was back with a cool cloth, pressing it against your forehead as she gently massaged your temples. "your body is so important baby. if you won't take care of it like it deserves then i'll have to take care of it for you."

"you don’t have to," i murmured, though i didn’t pull away from her hand. my body was still too weak, too drained, but even if it wasn’t, i wasn’t sure i wanted to. i let my heavy head sink back into the pillows. she huffed. "of course i do. you think i’m just gonna stand by and watch you neglect yourself?" her voice softened, fingers slowing but still moving through your hair. "i can’t let you do that, ma."

"i'm sorry," i whispered.

paige sighed, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face and tightening the blanket around my body. "don't be sorry," she said, her voice gentle but firm in that i knew she was being serious. "just let me help you, yeah?"

you let out a weak laugh and paige grinned back. “there’s my girl.”

as the medicine started kicking in, exhaustion weighed heavy on you, but paige stayed close, shrugging off her shoes and tucking herself into your side. “i got you,” she murmured into your neck, rubbing her face against your skin. “i love you.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers x you #paige bueckers uconn #uconn women’s basketball

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baigepueckers · 6 months ago

Text

Nika Mühl X Reader

Beyond the Game

The arena surrounds you like a heavy blanket. It’s a sound you’re used to a mix of cheers, whistles, and the squeak of sneakers on the court. But tonight it feels different. Heavier. More personal…maybe it’s because you’re facing the Seattle Storm and more specifically, her.

Nika.

You spot her as soon as you walk onto the court for warm ups. She’s sitting on the Storm bench, her brown hair pulled into a sharp ponytail her posture upright and alert. Her warmup jacket is loose over her shoulders, but you can still make out the slight bounce of her knee a telltale sign she’s nervous. It’s one of the little things you’ve picked up about her over the years, first as teammates and later as something more.

Your heart clenches and you force yourself to look away. You can’t afford distractions tonight.

The two of you met back at UConn, thrown together in the intensity of one of the best women’s basketball programs in the country. It didn’t take long for you to click. Nika’s fiery energy balanced out your quieter focus and her teasing always managed to get you out of your head when the pressure felt like too much. Over time, the late night study sessions and post practice hangouts turned into something deeper. You fell in love…deep and unshakable.

But love didn’t keep you on the same team. The draft came and went, and now you’re a Las Vegas Ace while Nika is across the country in Seattle. Different jerseys. Different cities. Different teams.

You hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to face her on the court.

The first quarter flies by in a blur. Seattle’s defense is relentless and your team is fighting for every point. You catch glimpses of Nika on the bench, her eyes fixed on the game but every so often, they dart toward you. She doesn’t smile when you glance her way. She doesn’t need to. The way her gaze softens, just for a moment tells you everything.

The second quarter is more physical. You’re battling for position, driving into the lane when you can trying to keep your team ahead. You catch a rebound off a missed shot and bolt toward the other end of the court, the sound of your shoes pounding against the hardwood echoing in your ears. Somewhere in the chaos, you hear her voice…sharp and commanding as she shouts instructions to her team.

It sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve heard that voice a hundred times in practices, but this is different. Now, she’s an opponent.

By the third quarter, exhaustion is creeping in. The game is tight and the tension on the court is heavy. Every possession feels like a battle.. your body aches, but you push through. You always do. You’ve learned that from her…Nika, with her relentless fire.

The fourth quarter is where everything unravels.

You’re running hard, cutting toward the basket…when it happens. A Seattle forward steps into your path setting a blindside screen. You don’t see it coming. Her body collides with yours and the impact sends you flying backward. There’s no time to think, no time to react. The back of your head hits the court with a sickening thud.

Pain explodes behind your eyes, sharp and overwhelming. The world spins and the crowd’s roar becomes distant. You blink rapidly trying to clear the haze but all you can see are the harsh overhead lights and blurry shapes moving around you.

Through the haze, you hear your name.

“Y/N!”

It’s her. You know it’s her.

You manage to tilt your head just enough to see the Seattle bench. Nika is on her feet…her hands gripping the edge of her seat like she’s about to bolt onto the court. Her eyes are wide with panic, her mouth slightly open as if she’s holding back a scream.

She wants to run to you. You can see it in the way her body leans forward…as if the only thing stopping her is the weight of the game and the unspoken rules that keep her on her side of the court.

The trainers are beside you now asking questions you can barely process. “What’s your name? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?” Their voices are gentle but insistent. You try to answer but your attention keeps slipping back to her. To Nika, who hasn’t moved from her spot even though her entire body looks like it’s trembling with the effort to stay put.

You try to lift your hand a weak signal, something to let her know you’re okay…but it barely moves. She sees it anyway and her hands fly to her mouth, you can see the tears welling in her eyes.

You don’t know how much time passes before they help you to your feet. The crowd cheers as you’re led off the court…though the noise feels distant and strange. Your legs feel shaky and your head is pounding but you glance over your shoulder one more time.

Nika is still standing…still watching. Her hands are clasped in front of her chest now, like she’s holding herself together.

Back in the tunnel you’re taken to the trainer’s room for evaluation. Your head is spinning and the bright lights are making your eyes sting but all you can think about is her.

Your phone buzzes on the bench beside you. You reach for it, fumbling slightly as you try and unlock the screen…It’s a text from her.

Nika💗: Are you okay? Baby Please. Please tell me you’re okay. I can’t sit here anymore.

Your chest tightens and your eyes blur not from pain, but from the ache of knowing how much this is killing her. You type back with shaky hands.

You: I’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Play your game.

The response feels hollow but you know it’s what she needs to hear. You imagine her reading it…clutching her phone like it’s a lifeline.

The game finishes without you on the court. The trainers cleared you from anything serious…a mild concussion, bruises that will ache for days, but nothing crazy. The anxiety in your chest hasn’t eased…you know your girl. You know she’ll be looking for you the second she can.

You’re just outside the locker rooms, every passing second dragging. Your phone vibrates in your hand, and you glance down at the screen.

Nika💗: Where are you? Are you still with the trainers? I’m coming to find you.

You barely have time to respond before you hear hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Nika rounds the corner, her hair damp from a rushed shower and her Storm warmup jacket thrown hastily on. Her eyes are scanning the hallway frantic, until they land on you. She stops for a split second, and then she’s running.

Before you can say a word, her arms are around you pulling you into a hug so tight it almost knocks the air out of your lungs. She buries her face into the curve of your neck, her breath warm and uneven against your skin.

“You scared the hell out of me, ljubav.” she whispers her voice full of emotion. “I thought…I didn’t know if you were okay. I couldn’t come to you. God, I hated it.”

Her words spill out in a rush like she’s been holding them in since the moment you hit the court. You wrap your arms around her pulling her even closer. The tension in her body is noticeable and her hands are clutching at your jersey.

“Baby,” you murmur, your own voice thick with emotion. “I’m okay. I promise, I’m okay.”

She pulls back just enough to cup your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks. “You don’t look okay,” she says, her voice soft. “You’re pale, and your head God, your head…”

“Gee thanks babe” you tease her while covering her hands with your own. “The trainers cleared me. Nothing serious…just some bruises and a small concussion.”

Her jaw tightens and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Her hands drop to your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length as her gaze hardens. “Don’t you ever do that to me again Y/N, you hear me?”

You blink at her surprised by the sudden intensity in her tone. “Do what?”

“Scare me like that” she says, her voice sharp but cracking under the weight of her emotions. “I couldn’t move, baby. I couldn’t come to you when you were lying there and it was killing me.”

Her words hit you, the raw vulnerability in her voice. You reach for her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Nika, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were there in the way I needed you to be. I saw you. I felt you.”

She frowns and she shakes her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re not allowed to get hurt like that again” she mutters, her voice quieter now but no less serious. “I don’t care if we’re on opposite teams. I’ll get ejected if I have to. I’ll run across the court next time.”

You chuckle softly, the sound broken but genuine. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

Her lips press into a thin line but you can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners. “You think I’m kidding babe?”

“I know you’re not.”

The two of you fall silent for a moment, the noise of the arena and the post-game chaos fading into the background. She leans down to kiss you, it’s passionate and intense. It makes you melt against her.

“I love you,” she says suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know that, right?”

Your chest tightens, and you nod, leaning into her touch. “I love you too. Always.”

She swallows hard and pulls you back into her arms, holding you like she’s afraid to let go.

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sweetbans29 · 10 months ago

Text

You're Mine - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Caitlin's jealousy grows when your attention isn't on her (based on THIS request)

Warnings: mildly suggestive

Word Count: 2.1k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Okay but a jealous CC is something else...

It all started when they were moving into their apartment in Indianapolis.

Caitlin would not typically call herself a jealous person. She was confident enough in herself that jealousy was never a dominate feeling. That comes with being the best on the court. When the two of you started dating, it was the classic trope of her falling first but you falling harder. It was something the two of you would joke about often and even though you are pinned as the one that has fallen harder, you know Caitlin is right there with you.

The two of you met sophomore year of college. You studied to be an athletic trainer and got placed to work with the men's basketball team at Iowa. Due to the both the men's and women's teams playing in the same season there was a lot of overlap with athletes in the trainers nook. That is how you met Caitlin, she would typically be the first one in and one of the last ones to leave. You being you, would be the last one out. Cait would use that to her advantage and would often strike up a conversation as the two of you were finishing up your time there. One thing led to another and after declining a date with her three times, you finally said yes.

Over the course of college, the two of you build a relationship that has you moving to Indiana with Caitlin and her younger brother.

It's the three of you with Cait and Colin's parents as you guys move in. Once everything is in the apartment, everyone is quick to set up the apartment. You are the one directing while everyone is doing the physical movement.

The living room is set when you ask Mr. and Mrs. Clark to unpack the kitchen boxes which really only leaves both bedrooms.

Colin comes up to you with a shy smile and you know what he is about to ask. You have a major soft spot for the youngest sibling.

"Will you help me with my room?" Colin asks. You smile and nod at him the same time Caitlin waves you over to set up your room. Colin heads to his room and you turn to Cait.

"Let me help Colin then I will come in and help, I trust you," you say trusting her to start the set up. You give her a quick peck and head into Colin's room.

Caitlin stands there a little disappointed as she looks at what will be your shared room. She doesn't know where to start, you have the better eye for this stuff. It didn't help that she had pictured the two of you setting up the room together for the past few weeks. It's the first time you are living together and Cait really wanted to share in this moment with you.

Caitlin starts moving stuff around and quickly gets frustrated as she doesn't know what the best set up would be. She throws in the towel and heads into Colin's room to find you and him laughing over some old photo he has of him trying to keep up with Caitlin and Blake.

Caitlin frowns when she finds the room is set up and the two of you are sitting on the floor.

"Oh Cait! This is pure gold!" You say looking at the photos. "You were adorable."

"Were? Aren't I adorable now?" She asks, the comment hitting deeper that she would like to admit.

"Well you are grown now," you say as if it was obvious.

Caitlin doesn't hide her disappointment well.

"Are you guys almost done here?" Caitlin asks. "We need to unpack our room."

"I'll be there in a little," you say, eyes still on the pictures in Colin's hands.

Caitlin doesn't like the feelings that arise in her as she walks back. She swallows them down thinking it is because she is tired and it has been a long day of driving and unpacking. When you finally make your way into your shared room Caitlin feels herself relax. You come in and do exactly what Caitlin needs, telling her where to place things and helping her move the bed. Once everything is where you want it, the two of you fall on your bed.

Cait curls herself around you like a sloth, a common occurrence when the she was missing you or on the sleepy side. You chuckle at your girl.

"Sleepy babe?" You ask. She rubs her face into you, one of your favorite things she does. She only speaks after she is content with her little face rubs.

"Missed you," she says with a sigh which causes you to chuckle.

"We have been together all day," you say as your fingers find her neck, starting to massage her.

She doesn't say anything because it sounds silly in her mind. You are right, the two of you had been together all day, only parting when you helped Colin with his room.

"Why don't you and I do some exploring tomorrow?" You ask. Caitlin smiles and nods rapidly.

"Just you and I?" She asks.

"Just you and I," you say.

The next time Caitlin feels that unknown feeling arise is when she comes home from a particularly hard day at practice. She walks into the apartment in hopes of pulling you into your room for her to be held.

When she enters the apartment it's empty. She calls your name, in hopes that you would magically appear. After no response she sees a note on the kitchen counter that read 'Colin and I went out, we will be back soon. Love you'.

Cait sighs and decides to lay down. She hates the feeling of an empty bed and would much rather have you there with her. She shifts all of your pillows, not caring about keeping the bed made, trying to makeshift something that resembles you. When she fails, Cait gets up and decides to put on a pair of your sweatpants and sweatshirt then climbs back into bed.

When you get home, you see remnants of Caitlin leading up to your bedroom. Her shoes by the door, training bag on the floor next to the kitchen counter with her jacket hanging over the couch.

You smile at her trail and make your way into your room. You peak in to see Caitlin laying in bed, wearing your clothes, and scrolling through her phone. Caitlin doesn't see you enter and jumps a little when she feels the bed dip. Her eyes shoot up to find you crawling in next to her.

She doesn't go directly to you even though that is what she desperately wants. It is also what you expect her to do. You give her a questioning look and throw the pillows off the bed.

Caitlin stays put.

"No cuddles?" You say softly, seeing the tiredness in her eyes. You see the conflict in her eyes as she hesitates but slowly makes her way to her sloth position.

Once Cait is next to you, her body releases the tension she didn't realize she had been holding.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You ask and Caitlin shakes her head no. The only thing she wants right now is to lay there and listen to your heartbeat.

"Okay love, you know I am here if you want to," you say kissing the top of her head.

It isn't until the third time that Caitlin can name what she is feeling as jealousy.

She is sitting next to you on the couch while you and Colin are knee deep in a movie, pausing it every now and again to discuss what was happing and offering opinions. You went from being curled up in Caitlin's side to a foot a space between of the two of you. Caitlin sat there itching and that is when she feels her jealousy reach a peak.

You are in an intense conversation with Colin when Caitlin shoots up from the couch and heads into your room, shutting the door a little harder than she had intended to.

Caitlin is frustrated.

She is frustrated with Colin for taking your time when Caitlin wants it. It is a first for her to have to share you with anyone else, let alone her brother. Whenever Cait wanted to spend time with you, you were already doing something with Colin.

She is frustrated with you, only slightly, but still frustrated at the fact that you are not choosing her.

But Caitlin is mostly frustrated with herself. At no point during your Iowa days was she jealous and she has seen you a lot less due to her schedule. Now she sees you daily and nightly and she hates the feeling that she gets when she sees you bonding with Colin. Caitlin knows there is absolutely no threat in Colin. If anything, she should be thrilled that the two of you are getting along so well.

Caitlin sits on the edge of the bed and puts her head in her hands. She hates this.

She hears the door creak and knows you have entered. She feels you come and stand in front of her.

Caitlin's hands find your waist as her head is now on your stomach. Your hands come to her shoulders. You both don't move, only breathing with one another.

"Talk to me, Caity," you say breaking the silence. Cait lets out a sigh. She hates this.

"It's stupid," Caitlin says as she looks up at you.

"It's not stupid if it has you feeling like this," you say as your hands come to her neck. Your thumbs soothe over her face.

"The transition has been hard, I am not adapting to the league like I want to," she says and you both know that although that is true, it is not what has Caitlin feeling this way.

You look into her eyes and it is as if you can see her walls fall.

"I don't know what it is but seeing you with Colin has been making me feel like you are choosing him over me which I know is dumb but I can't help it. Whenever I want to spend time with you, you are with him and I get this feeling and it just burns inside of me," Caitlin says and you can see her frustration.

You can't help but let a smile creep to your lips.

"Caitlin Clark," you say and she already knows what's coming. "Is my girlfriend jealous?"

Caitlin groans as he head comes to your stomach again, shaking her head.

"Baby," you say bringing her eyes to meet yours again. "It's your little brother, you have no need to be jealous."

"I know!" Caitlin says. "It's just, we haven't had much time for the two of us, you know? Between my practice and Colin..."

You choose to not bring up the fact that the two of you saw each other less while you were at Iowa and lean down to kiss your girl.

Her hands grip your waist as she pulls you to straddle her waist.

She breaks the kiss and buries her face in your neck.

"How about we have a code word," you say and Caitlin perks up.

"What kind of code word?" She says.

"One that allows us to show each other that we need some alone time with one another," you say.

Caitlin smiles, "Okay, I like that."

"Any ideas of what it could be?" You ask. Caitlin smiles.

"How about buns?" Caitlin says as her hands squeeze your butt.

"Cait!" You squeal.

"It's buns," she says, wrapping her arms around you and laying both of you on the bed.

You roll your eyes but accept.

"Fine," you say as you look her in the eyes. "You know, jealous Caitlin is kind of hot," you says as you see Caitlin's pupils grow dark.

"Yeah?" She says as she licks her lips. You nod and lean in.

"To bad I have a movie to finish," you say sitting up.

Caitlin looks at you like you are crazy.

"You are seriously going to to choose watching a movie with my brother over having sex with me," Cait says in disbelief.

You make your way to the door.

"Yes." You say without a hitch. "Because I know, the longer I make you wait, the more rewarding it is for both of us."

You walk out and you hear Caitlin groan.

AN: I may or may not be doing a prequel to this with the 3 times you declined a date with Caitlin and the time your finally do... I am a fan of the concept. Let me know if you are interested in that. And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist

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bucketsorbueckers · 17 days ago

Text

Wishing you the best (in the worst way) - 1

Paige X Azzi

warnings: language, toxic azzi and paige

A/N: had an influx of requests for a toxic WNBA fic. no one really specified the kind of toxic they wanted so we have cocky asshole p x cold blooded, vicious azzi. it's going to be a long ride.

little summary crumb:

Three years together. One night in Storrs. No one knows what happened, only that everything changed.

Now, Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd face off for the first time in two years: rival WNBA stars, tangled in history. The headlines call it a reunion. The fans call it fate. But really? It’s a mess.

The breakup was private. The fallout wasn’t. They’ve both tried to move on—new teams, new faces, polished press. But the tension keeps slipping through.

And suddenly, the game they both love, is no longer just basketball. It’s who flinches first. Who still cares enough to get hurt.

And neither of them knows how to lose.

Paige POV

Paige Bueckers didn’t get nervous. It wasn’t her thing. Never had been. But apparently, there was an exception to every rule. Even hers.

She tugged at her sleeve, shoulder flaring just enough to remind her that she wasn’t invincible anymore, and accepted the inevitable.

She was nervous. And fine, whatever. It was allowed. Barely.

The trainer cleared her. The doctor signed off. The staff gave her the green light with the kind of cautious optimism that basically translated to please don’t fuck it up again. And sure—technically—she was ready.

But standing in the tunnel, shoulder taped to hell, jersey clinging to her ribs, she wasn’t sure her body had gotten the message.

She’d already missed four games. One fall at practice. A shoulder that didn’t bounce back like it used to. And just enough time on the bench to spiral—quietly, of course. She'd spent the last few weeks healing. Waiting. Watching. And Paige didn’t do waiting well. She didn’t do sidelines. She didn’t do silence.

And tonight, that changed. She was back. Finally.

She was grateful. Grateful to be cleared. To lace up. To do the thing that made her feel like herself again. But she was also pissed. Because of all the games for her return, it had to be this one.

Footsteps echoed behind her, and she forced the thought down before it could take up real estate in her brain. No space for that.

Focus.

It was still basketball. Just with a bit more of a personal edge.

She stepped onto the court and everything immediately felt louder. The lights. The smack of the ball against hardwood. The squeak of sneakers that sounded like someone grinding their teeth. Her teammates’ voices bled into each other. Somewhere in the upper rows, someone yelled her name, but she didn’t bother looking up.

Because across the court—of course—there she was.

Azzi. Exactly how Paige remembered her. Which was fucking irritating.

Same warmup routine. Same posture. Same expression—somewhere between dialed-in and deeply unimpressed, like she was solving a puzzle she already knew the answer to but felt obligated to pretend it still interested her.

It had been two years since they spoke.

Not a call. Not a text. Not even the performative “happy birthday.”. Which was funny, considering how seriously they used to take it. Gifts. Cake at midnight. Scavenger hunts and soft lit candles. A whole annual performance that clearly meant absolutely nothing.

Guess it didn’t age well. Guess most things didn’t.

Especially them.

The last thing that between them had been a fight. If you could call it that. No yelling. No slamming doors. Just a series of carefully chosen words, flung across Paige’s half-packed bedroom like they were trying to break something on purpose.

And then…

Nothing.

No closure. No apology. Just silence stretched long enough to start looking permanent.

And now, here they were.

Two years later, Paige could still clock the rhythm of Azzi’s shot without looking. Some muscle memory just wouldn’t die, no matter how badly you wanted it to. No matter how much therapy you swore you didn’t need.

Paige exhaled. Azzi looked good. She wouldn’t deny it.

Just as good as she did online, where she now posted like her life had something to prove. Brand deals. Photoshoots. Soft smiles over cold captions. Carefully lit glimpses of the world Paige used to live in.

And right then, like she could feel Paige watching, Azzi laughed at something her teammate said.

Paige looked away. Tugged at her sleeve. Rolled her shoulder. It twinged—sharp, but manageable. She could play through pain. What she wasn’t sure she could ignore was the riot in her chest. Not because she missed Azzi. Not because anything still ached. Because she wanted to beat her.

This was the game everyone had circled the second her name came off the injury report last week. Prodigy versus breakout star. Recovery versus rise. Paige versus Azzi.

And Azzi?

Azzi had been eating up headlines for a while now. Not just while Paige was out—though yeah, she’d made the most of that window. But for months. Maybe longer. Years, even.

Always trying to claw her way into the same conversation. Same pedestal. Same spotlight. Like if she kept stacking accolades, eventually her name would get mentioned first.

It was exhausting. Because Paige could see it for what it was. Azzi didn’t just want to win. She wanted to outdo her. Outpace her. It was flattering, in a way. If it weren’t so fucking irritating.

The buzzer sounded.

Paige tugged the hem of her jersey into place, palm pressing flat over the Wings logo. It was hers. She’d earned it. Every stitch, every minute, every doubt she’d shut down with a box score. Dallas was her city now. Her team.

Her rookie year hadn’t just been good. It had been a warning. Rookie of the Year. All-Star nod. Took a team nobody believed in and dragged them into the playoffs by the throat.

And then her second year? Better. Smoother. Like the game had slowed down for her. Like the ball knew where to go before anyone else did. She’d earned the minutes. Earned the respect.

And now, it was year three. Which was why tonight mattered. Not because it was her first game back. But because the second her return hit the news, the story stopped being about her.

Instead, it was back to:

Fudd vs. Bueckers. The Husky Reunion.

As if Paige couldn’t possibly stand on her own without Azzi’s name stapled to hers. Like she was only interesting when someone was looking at them side by side and asking who had the better stat line.

It sold out the moment the there were whispers she’d be back. Tickets reselling like they were front row at a title fight. And yeah—that was what pissed her off the most. Not the crowd. Not the hype. Not even the recycled headlines.

It was the way people talked about it like it was scripted. Like they knew what it meant to stand three feet from the person who used to know your tells before you made them, and not even look them in the eye. Azzi could probably still call her next move if she wanted. And Paige hated that.

They hadn’t played each other. Not once.

Paige had missed the start of Azzi’s rookie year with a shoulder injury. By the time she was cleared, Azzi was out—benched with a foot injury of her own.

One season. Three scheduled games. And somehow, they’d missed each other every time. One always just a little too late. The other a little too early.

People speculated, of course. Nods in interviews. Tweets with too many question marks.

Were they dodging each other? Was it personal?

Paige ignored all of it. Chose to believe, maybe, that fate had kept them on opposite sides of the calendar for a reason. That it hadn’t been the right time.

Until now.

No more excuses. No more sidestepping.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

It was the game. The one everyone thought they understood—two former number-one picks. Once-in-a-generation players. A full-circle moment. The one they had been holding their breath, waiting for.

At one point, it would’ve been a celebration. But not anymore. Not after what happened. Somewhere between the confetti and the silence, everything had shifted. And tonight, the cameras were pointed right at the fault line.

Paige had logged off weeks ago. Let the internet spiral without her. But even that couldn’t stop the texts. Old teammates posting stitched-together jerseys like it was funny. Throwback photos. Split screens.

A house divided, they captioned it.

Her dad even sent one—her and Azzi at sixteen, matching shirts, matching dreams. Paige didn’t respond. Everyone seemed obsessed with what they used to be. But Paige? She’d let go. A long time ago.

“You good?” Dijonai asked, sliding in beside her as the lights dimmed for intros.

Paige peeled off her warmup and rolled her neck.

“Yeah,” she said. “Glad to be back.”

Dijonai gave her a look: steady, knowing, toeing the line between curiosity and concern.

“Glad to have you,” she said, then leaned in, lower: “You see her yet?”

“I’ve seen enough.”

Nai smiled, shaking her head.

“Handle your business, P.”

Paige smirked.

The hum settled in after that. Low, electric, full of nerves and promise. That strange kind of hush that only happens right before something starts. Right before everything matters. Paige let it sink into her ribs like it belonged there.

This was always the best part. The seconds before the whistle. When everything was still hypothetical. Still clean. Before the bruises. Before the screens. Before the headlines.

Before her. Before Azzi.

Her shoulder still ached. Fine. She’d play through it.

Azzi was across the court. Also fine. Paige had played through worse.

Every move she made would be dissected by analysts, reporters, and desk-bound men with Twitter fingers and no left hand. That was more than fine, too. They could choke on their pregame takes.

This moment? It still belonged to her.

“And now, starting for the Dallas Wings…”

The crowd didn’t quiet. If anything, it leaned in. Like the arena itself was bracing. They hadn’t come just for Azzi. They came for this. For the rivalry. The rematch.

Her knee bounced—left, then right, then left again. That same rhythm it always found in big games. She counted it out like a metronome. Let it keep time while the noise swelled

“And at guard, six-foot, from Hopkins, Minnesota…”

A pause. Calculated. Like even the announcer knew the script.

“PAIGE BUECKERS!”

The place exploded. Flashbulbs. Screams. That chant starting in the lower bowl, rolling up like thunder. Girls in her jersey standing on their seats. Phones everywhere. A wave of noise so loud it curved in her chest.

They were in D.C. Azzi’s territory, sure. But every game was a home game when you were Paige Bueckers.

Paige jogged out, face blank. Polished. Her heart thudded like a second shot clock—loud, annoying, too fast. She ignored it. Slapped hands down the line. Arike said something in her ear—some joke, probably. Paige smiled like she heard it. She didn’t.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The court felt slightly tacky under her soles. She could smell sweat, fresh popcorn, and whatever citrus-slick cleaner the interns used on the benches.

Everything was sharp. Everything locked in. She stared straight ahead as the camera circled one more time. And then—just before it cut away—she offered the crowd a single smirk. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Cocky ass,” Arike muttered and Paige bit back a laugh. Shook her head once. But didn’t deny it.

The Mystics intros were next.

The announcer rolled through the names, his voice swallowed by the bass and the crowd. A few scattered cheers. Flashing lights. All background noise. Then came the pause.

“And at guard—five-eleven, from Arlington, Virginia—number 35…”

A pause, perfectly timed. Like the crowd needed a beat to detonate.

“AZZI FUDD!”

And they did.

Full volume. Full throttle. Signs shot up. Kids in her jersey screamed like they’d been waiting their whole lives for this exact moment. The jumbotron lit up with her face, frame after frame, as if D.C. had rewritten history to make her theirs from the start.

Because they didn’t just love Azzi. They claimed her. Their homegrown hero. The girl who learned to hoop in their backyard, who turned promise into proof and made it look easy.

Azzi smiled, letting the cheers swell. Not the media smile. Not the one she gave reporters or fans in the tunnel. The real one.

And for a second, Paige forgot where she was.

Because that smile, she used to see it at night. In her bed. In the soft blue light of her dorm room, when the world had finally shut up and Azzi was curled beside her, laughing at something Paige had said and trying to stay quiet about it.

Her fingers twitched at her side right before she dragged her gaze away. Shoved the thought back where it came from. No time for what once was and would never be again.

Focus, she reminded herself.

The teams crossed midcourt like clockwork, moving through the usual pregame choreography—quick handshakes, shoulder pats, murmured “good lucks” no one really meant.

Paige moved on instinct, her expression smooth, unreadable. And then Azzi was there. Direct path. Five feet. Four. Paige stepped just slightly left. Azzi stepped slightly right.

They passed each other like two trains on parallel tracks—close enough to feel the draft, but never close enough to crash. Paige was sure the moment would be analyzed over and over. But no one would really understand what it meant.

Not what happened behind closed doors. Not what was said—or wasn’t—that one unseasonably warm May night in Storrs. Not what it took to walk away from that place in one piece after the dust settled. No one except them. And they weren’t interested in talking about it.

So they moved past each other like ghosts. No eye contact. No hesitation. Just a space between them that felt wider than the court.

Paige shook out her arms. Rolled her neck once. The noise dulled—crowd, cameras, all of it fading into static. She stepped into position. Bent her knees. Let her fingertips brush her thighs.

Heart still thudding. Shoulder still aching. Jaw still tight. She took one more breath and forced her eyes to the center of the arena.

She wanted this game more than she’d wanted anything.

And when your name was Paige Bueckers?

That was saying a hell of a lot.

Azzi’s POV

Azzi loved gamedays. Always had, since she was a kid. Not for the spectacle. Not for the fans. For the clarity. There was a rhythm to it. Warm up. Lock in. Eliminate the noise. Everyone else made it emotional. Azzi made it clean.

She didn’t need hype videos or speeches or deep breaths. She didn’t need to get mad.

She just needed the job in front of her. And tonight, the job was simple: win.

Everything else—the crowd, the noise, the storylines people kept trying to write for her—none of it mattered.

None of it.

She exhaled as her sneakers hit the hardwood, the sound sharp in the empty arena. No cameras yet. No teammates. Just her and the court.

Good.

She liked it this way. Quiet. Stripped down. Nothing moving except what mattered. No one talking. No one asking how she felt.

She’d beaten everyone there. Her team, media crews, staff. Sometimes she just needed a few minutes alone. To gather her thoughts. Or expel them, given the noise in her head today.

She took a breath. Deep. Steady. She was here to work. So she slipped in her headphones and got to it.

Eventually, her teammates trickled in. The rhythm picked up. Music started. Someone laughed too loud. Azzi nodded through it, stretched through it. Stayed inside her own head.

And then, just as she settled at the baseline to stretch, she heard it. That shift in sound. Not her team. Not music. The crowd.

A ripple that started low and moved fast, like everyone in the building had suddenly looked up at the same time.

It wasn’t polite applause. It was a change. As if the room had caught fire quietly. A flurry of whispers sweeping through the stands.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. Her body knew before her mind caught up. Every hair along her neck stood on edge.

Because somewhere behind her, Paige Bueckers had just walked into the building. And Azzi felt it like a shadow slipping back across her skin. But she didn’t turn. She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Instead, she adjusted her sleeve. Fixed the waistband of her shorts. Let the noise roll past her like a wave she’d seen before. Because she had.

The crowd always loved Paige. Loudly. Desperately. She was built for it. Headline hot, untouchable, curated and constantly in motion. The kind of person cameras just found, like they were contractually obligated to.

But Azzi didn’t care. Not really. She didn’t need that kind of noise. She just needed the ball.

Still eventually her curiosity won out. And when she did finally look, casual and unbothered like she wasn’t looking at all, there she was.

Paige.

Like the universe had been waiting for Azzi to look up just to prove a point.

She looked…different. More built. More defined. Like the weight room had become a second home. Like she’d carved herself into something harder, stronger, more deliberate. And somehow, she looked taller. Not in height—just in presence. Like the space around her had finally caught up to the way people talked about her.

But the essentials hadn’t changed.

Her stride. That unreadable expression. the kind of posture said, I’m back, even when she hadn’t said a word.

Azzi’s jaw tensed—reflex, not emotion—and she turned away. She dropped into a deep lunge, refocusing on her warmup. Her hip ached in quiet refusal. But that burn was easier to manage than whatever was starting to burrow into her chest.

Fine.

Paige was here. Not just in the league. Here. Across the court. Only a few feet away. Close enough to feel again. Like the last two years hadn’t happened. Like the three years before that didn't matter.

Azzi exhaled slow. Grounded her heel. And closed her eyes.

Let Paige have the headline. The welcome back. The cameras and curated angles. Azzi had never left. And tonight? She wasn’t here to watch the story unfold. She was here to end it.

She was mid-lunge when Kiki crouched down beside her.

“You good?” she asked, low, like she didn’t want to make it a thing.

Azzi didn’t look over. She shifted her weight, let the stretch deepen.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

Azzi nodded once. Still didn’t look. It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

She was fine. She was ready. She’d watched the film. She knew the plays. She’d tracked every one of Paige’s off-ball tendencies like she was prepping for the finals. She was good. She just didn’t like the noise. The eyes. The feeling of her name being used as punctuation on someone else’s comeback arc.

“I’m good,” she said again, quieter this time. Almost to herself.

Kiki stood and gave her space, which Azzi appreciated. She kept to herself after that. Didn’t say much. Didn’t need to.

When it came time for lineups, she took her seat on the bench and went still—exactly like she always did. Spine straight. Hands folded. Eyes fixed on the third line of the court. She didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. This was just another game. So she kept her routine.

The lights dimmed. She kept her eye on the line. The music got louder. Kept her eye on the line. The crowd chanted. Eye. On. The. Line.

She didn’t look up when the familiar announcer’s voice echoed through the arena. She never did. Opponent intros weren’t worth her time. She sat still, eyes fixed, breathing slow. Focused. She heard the names. Arike. Dijonai. The crowd clapped, loud but familiar. Standard stuff.

Then came the pause. That small, weighted silence before that name.

Azzi didn’t move.

“And at guard, six-foot, from Hopkins, Minnesota…”

The sound started to swell. Azzi’s jaw clenched. Her fingers curled tight around the hem of her jersey. Still, she didn’t move.

“PAIGE BUECKERS!”

The arena erupted. Not just applause…adoration.

Screams so loud they cut through the bass. Chants already forming. Phones in the air. Kids on their feet. Paige’s fucking face on every screen like she was the second coming.

Azzi stayed perfectly still. Except her pulse, which kicked hard against her throat.

This was her court. Her city. And still, Paige walked in and the crowd reacted like God had clocked in.

It wasn’t surprising. Not really. Because it never mattered where they were. Didn’t matter who was playing better. Who showed up. Who carried when it counted.

People loved Paige Bueckers. Blindly. Loudly. Every time.

Azzi, admittedly, hated it. No matter how hard she tried to act like it didn’t matter. It fucking irritated her—the way the air shifted when Paige’s name got called. How the crowd leaned in, reaching, like they were hoping to brush up against her skin. How no one ever seemed tired of the Paige Bueckers narrative.

No one except her.

Azzi sat still. Stared at the line. Ignored how her jaw ached from clenching her teeth. A habit her mother often got onto her about. And tried to ignore the slow crawl of fire inching up her throat.

The Mystics were up next.

Azzi stayed seated. Didn’t adjust her jersey. Didn’t look at the crowd. Just kept her hands folded and her gaze steady. Names were called. Cheers followed. Louder than Dallas, but expected. Then the pause.

Not for drama. For her.

“And at guard—five-eleven, from Arlington, Virginia—number thirty-five…”

The crowd didn’t wait for the name. They were already on their feet.

“AZZI FUDD!”

And it hit. Like a wave.

Not the shiny, headline love Paige got. This was louder. Heavier. Like D.C. was screaming for one of their own. Because she was. She’d grown up here. Learned her game here.

Before UConn. Before national titles. Before the cameras ever found her, Azzi had belonged to this place.

It was home.

Azzi stood slow. She smiled—soft, camera-ready, just how she knew they wanted her too. She gave a wave. Let her hand brush Kiki’s. Let her eyes lift to the rafters for a breath.

And then her feet hit the court like it belonged to her.

Because it did.

They lined up at midcourt, players moving through the usual routine. Azzi moved on instinct. Easy, practiced. Smile here. Tap there. And then:

Paige.

Direct path. Five feet. Four. Azzi didn’t hesitate. Didn’t slow. She adjusted course a fraction to the right. Paige shifted left.

No eye contact. No pause. No anything. They passed each other like strangers. Or worse like they’d planned it. Azzi hoped no one would notice. They probably wouldn't unless they were watching closely. Unless they knew what it used to look like—what it used to be.

Paige didn’t even flinch so Azzi kept walking. Chin high. Expression smooth. But something in her jaw clicked hard enough to feel.

Azzi took her place just off the circle. Dropped into her stance. Shoulders square. Knees bent. Focused.

She kept her eyes low, the way she always did. Ran through the checklist in her head. Let the weight of the moment settle in her legs, not her chest.

In. Control. But then, she looked up. And there she was.

Paige.

Azzi blinked once. Not out of surprise. Just…reflex.

Paige was already watching her. Not glancing. Not checking. Watching. Azzi held the stare. Gave her nothing.

And then, Paige’s mouth moved. Barely. A twitch. The corner lifting slightly like she’d just thought of something funny. Like she was something funny. Like seeing Azzi there—across from her, locked in, ready—was amusing.

They’d always been teammates. But Azzi was always her second. The quiet one. The follow-up. The shadow. She’d never said it out loud. Never needed to. But here, facing the person she used to know better than herself, she felt it. Clearly. Sharply. Deep in her chest.

And on cue, like Paige could hear the thought form, she tilted her head. Just a fraction. And fought back another smile.

Azzi forced her eyes away.

Fuck Paige Bueckers.

She was going to bury her. Tonight. Publicly. And she was going to do it with a goddamn smile on her face.

The ball went up. The moment cracked wide open.

Azzi didn’t watch the jump. She didn’t need to. Her eyes were already on the movement. Paige’s shoulders dropping, the shift in her hips as she angled for space. Azzi moved to match without thinking. Her body knew the rhythm. She wouldn’t complain about that, at least for tonight.

Paige was smooth. She always had been. Every movement precise. Balanced. Like she’d practiced it in her sleep. But unlike most, Azzi didn’t need to guess where Paige was headed next.

She could feel it before it happened. The weight shift. The jab step. That little hesitation. The quick pull-up from the right elbow Paige still hadn’t given up. Azzi was there. Every time. And she knew it was eating Paige alive. The way she pivoted too hard. Looked for the shot. Then had to pass it away.

Azzi grinned, soaking it in.

On defense, Paige was holding her own but Azzi wasn’t here to play fair. Paige still moved like she knew her. Like muscle memory could win this. But Azzi had spent the last two years rewriting the script. Adding pages Paige never got to read. She’d built a whole new game in her absence—one that had nothing to do with her.

So in the second quarter, she decided to show it. Not something flashy. Just different. A move Paige wouldn’t expect.

She cut across the baseline. Clean, fast, like she was headed for the corner. Like she always did. And then—at the last second—she planted. Sharp. Precise. Spun off and sliced toward the lane. The pass came on time. She caught it in stride, two steps and up.

Floaters weren’t her go-to. But that was the point.

She rose. Clean catch. Quick release. Soft touch off the fingertips, just enough to float it high. And then—collision.

Not body to body. Just force. The ball snapped backward midair like it’d been yanked out of existence. Azzi didn’t see the hand. Didn’t see the face. Just felt the shift. Momentum gone, legs swept, weight crashing down.

She hit the court hard. Flat. Elbow first. Shoulder after.

The arena gasped. No whistle. No help. Just the echo of the block still humming through the paint as the ball rolled out of bounds. She blinked once. Twice. And then looked up.

Paige.

The same smirk she’d given so many others. Clean. Effortless. Like it barely cost her anything. And for a second, the world stilled. The crowd. The lights. The breath in Azzi’s chest. All of it suspended beneath that look.

The same look Paige had given her the night she had laughed and said:

Then leave.

Azzi sucked in a breath at the memory. Paige didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t even step back. Instead, she tilted her head—smirking like it was all just good fun—and said, just loud enough for Azzi to hear:

“Recycling my moves, Fudd?”

Azzi saw red. She was on her feet in a second. No thought, no hesitation. Lunged. Not clean, not subtle. Just rage. Shoulder forward, jaw clenched, palms slamming into Paige’s chest. Hard.

Paige stumbled—wide-eyed for half a beat. Then caught her footing. And shoved her right back. Two hands. All bite. No hesitation.

“Oh,” Paige spat. “So now you know how to fight for something?”

Azzi stepped forward again, teeth bared.

“Fuck you, Paige.”

They were inches apart now. Chest to chest. Paige leaned in—voice low, venom sweet.

“Thinking about that too?”

That was it. Azzi lunged again.

Kiki grabbed her, arms tight around her waist. Arike stepped between them, mouthing something urgent, useless. Azzi didn’t hear a word. She didn’t care.

She was going to kill Paige.

“Say that shit again," She yelled.

The ref blew the whistle—once, twice, three times. Didn’t matter.

Azzi was still straining against Kiki’s grip, teeth clenched, chest heaving. Paige wasn’t backing up either. She stood there, breathing hard, smiling like she’d won something.

The arena had exploded. Screams, gasps, phones in the air, coaches yelling from both sidelines.

Then the ref stepped in. Hands up. Fingers flat.

A T. One for Azzi. Another for Paige.

Double technical.

Sonia pulled Azzi back by the elbow. Arike pushed Paige toward the bench. Still, neither of them looked away.

Azzi’s heart climbed into her throat. Paige’s smirk hadn’t slipped—like she’d planned every word, every shove. And worse, Azzi had walked right into it. Given her exactly what she wanted.

They held each other’s gaze for one breath longer until Sonia tugged harder, steering her toward the bench. Her team was biting back smiles but Azzi’s pulse was still racing. Her hands still aching to wrap around Paige’s throat and squeeze.

Paige’s POV

Admittedly, she knew she shouldn’t have done it. Knew she was opening doors that probably couldn’t be closed.

But when Paige saw an opportunity to make a statement, she struggled not to take it.

So when she saw Azzi go up for the floater—that floater, the one they used to drill at Gampel when the gym was quiet and the world still felt simple—it felt like a gift. A godsent window to remind everyone who she was.

So yeah, she went for it. Maybe a little harder than necessary. Maybe with more bite than the moment called for. But whatever. Physical contact was part of the game.

But the block wasn’t what would cause the trouble. It was what came after.

Azzi had looked up at her from the floor. Paige hadn’t planned to offer a hand, but she didn’t leave either. She lingered—could’ve walked away, should’ve maybe.

But that look on Azzi’s face stopped her. Too familiar. The same one she’d worn the night she said the words that had nearly knocked Paige off her feet:

I’m not one of your fans, Paige. My world doesn’t revolve around keeping your ego intact.

So, with that still ringing in her ears, Paige did the one thing she absolutely shouldn’t. She opened her fucking mouth.

She’d never seen Azzi this off-kilter. Anger wasn’t her default. Not like this. But whatever this was—sharp, unfiltered, a little unhinged—it was real. Unfamiliar, maybe. But real.

And before Paige could think to take it back, Azzi shoved both palms hard into her chest.

If Paige was being honest, she was just relieved to see Azzi feel something. Even if it was rage. Even if it was reckless and damn near murderous.

Because at least it was real.

And maybe—just to feel something herself—Paige shoved her back.

Words were exchanged. Paige said things she shouldn’t. But she’d wanted to say them. So she did. And now she was standing on the sideline, watching the chaos settle, still smiling. Because she’d gotten what she wanted.

Azzi Fudd didn’t melt down for no reason. And that outburst? It confirmed exactly what Paige had suspected:

The people’s princess was still pissed. Still carrying it. Still hers, in that ugly, furious way.

And that meant Paige still mattered.

She didn’t want Azzi back. Not anymore. But knowing she could still ruin the woman's composure with a single sentence?

That was almost better.

They took their technicals in silence. Both sank their free throws. Both jogged back onto the court. But something had changed. This time, Azzi wasn’t pretending. She wasn’t bothering to tuck her distaste behind polite defense or tightly wound professionalism.

She stared Paige down like she’d stopped caring who saw her crack. Paige didn’t flinch. She welcomed it.

Loved the way Azzi looked when she let go—when the polish slipped, when the control cracked and something raw came through. It was a mess. A storm. And it was perfect.

Azzi undone was her favorite version in the world.

By the fourth, the Wings were up by eight.

Paige was having a game—27 points, a double-double, the kind of stat line that usually quieted the noise. She felt loose. Dialed in. Like the floor belonged to her again.

Azzi was keeping pace because...of course she was. 29 points. A few steals. Stripped passes that made highlight reels before the clock even stopped.

They hadn’t been matched up most of the quarter. Paige had been switched onto Sonia, mirroring every step, staying tight in the lane.

She didn’t see the screen. Not until it was too late.

One second she was cutting left. The next, her shoulder slammed into something solid. Brutal. Unmoving. It folded her. Quick. Clean. She hit the hardwood hard, pain flaring sharp and instant through her arm.

Sonia sank the three. No contest. The whistle blew. Wings timeout. And Paige just laid there—blinking up, breath caught halfway in her throat.

No one was there. Not at first. Then her eyes caught a jersey walking away. 35. And Paige knew. Azzi was the one who’d delivered the hit.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t check. Just kept walking like it hadn’t even registered. And Paige watched her the whole way—waiting for a glance, a smirk, some flicker of acknowledgment.

But Azzi gave her nothing. Just dropped onto the bench, swallowed by a wall of teammates like she nothing happened at all.

Athletic trainers surrounded Paige.

“Told you not to fuck it up again,” John, the head trainer, muttered.

Paige shrugged,. “I’m good,” she mumbled, ignoring the pain. “Just needed a minute to rest.”

“You’re so full of shit, Bueckers.” He crouched beside her. “Let me see.”

He moved her arm, and Paige bit back a wince. Hard.

She wasn’t leaving this game. She didn’t care. She was going to finish it—shoulder screaming or not. She was going to beat Azzi Fudd until the last second drained off the clock.

“I should yank you out right now,” John said.

“Don’t.” She met his gaze, unblinking. Daring him.

He exhaled. Frustrated. “Alright. But if you tear it worse, that’s on you. Don’t come back here blaming me. It’s not in good shape.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Then let’s stop making a scene.”

John offered a hand and helped her up, careful to grip her good arm.

The crowd applauded. A wave of relief rushing through the stadium. Paige didn’t really hear it. Focused on the five point gap that now existed between a win and a loss. She cracked her neck once and locked in.

Fourteen seconds. Down two.

Paige dribbled up the court, slow and deliberate, the ball echoing in hear ears. Her eyes scanned the floor, but this was mental now—muscle memory and instinct.

She was cataloguing. Options. Spacing. Who was open. Who thought they were. Who she trusted to hit the shot if she gave it up.

Everyone was loud. The crowd, the bench, the pounding in her shoulder. But her mind was quiet. Sharp.

Sonia was overcommitting. Azzi was sagging just enough. Kiki’s cut was too early. Arike was calling for it, but Paige wasn’t ready to let go.

Not yet.

She could see the play forming in pieces. Like film on fast-forward. The same loop, rewinding and slicing through the noise until the ending sharpened.

She already knew how this had to go. It was always going to be her.

Her shoulder ached with each bounce of the ball, but adrenaline softened it. She crossed half court, eyes flicking to the scoreboard.

12.

11.

10.

She sucked in a breath. Met Nalyssa’s eyes. Nodded once. And just like they’d drawn it up, Nalyssa moved.

Sonia expected a right cut. Everyone did. That was Paige’s stronger side. But they’d been working on this. Quietly. Constantly.

Nalyssa slid upward. Set her feet. Paige cut left. The screen hit. Clean. Crisp.

She stepped back.

Azzi recovered quickly—credit where it was due—but not fast enough.

Paige rose. One clean motion. No hesitation. No second-guessing. She let it go. Turned on her heel before the ball had even cleared the arc.

Three fingers in the air, like punctuation. Like prophecy.

She didn’t need to watch. She already knew. And still—when the swish came, it split the air. Somehow the sound was louder than the crowd, like the game itself wanted to confirm what they all already knew.

Paige Bueckers was back. And had just ruined the Mystics undefeated season.

When she turned around, her teammates were walking towards her. Laughing, clapping. But Paige barely noticed.

She looked past all of it. Past the noise, past the movement, past the win. And found her.

Azzi. Still standing. Still watching. Cold eyes across the court like nothing had ended.

And Paige did what she shouldn’t. She lifted her chin. And grinned. Small. Sharp. Cut from the same place the shot came from.

Like she’d just won something that had nothing to do with basketball at all.

#pazzi fics #azzi x paige #paige x azzi #pazzi

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pbaz7 · 5 months ago

Text

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART THREE

paige x azzi

word count: 5.3k

A/N: Here��s a chapter with a lot more interaction between Paige and Azzi. Don’t do too much on my girl this chapter y’all she getting better😭. Let me know what you think and leave reactions! I’m low key starting chapter 5 today 🤭

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April 2021

Azzi and Paige's respective seasons had come to an end, though in completely different fashions.

For Azzi, it was the perfect finale to her high school career. After a long recovery from her ACL and MCL injury, she returned stronger than anyone thought possible in her senior year. And she was able to cement her place as one of the best players in the nation after everyone questioned if she would be able to come back the same. She became a McDonald's All-American and earned the prestigious Morgan Wootten Player of the Year award on top of carrying her team to another state championship, leaving her high school legacy on the highest note possible. When she walked off the court for the final time in her high school jersey, the roar of the crowd and the embrace of her teammates felt like the perfect send-off. Azzi was content. She had conquered every challenge thrown her way, and now she was ready for the next chapter at UConn.

For Paige, the end of her freshman year at UConn was a much different story. On paper, her season was nothing short of extraordinary. She had helped the Huskies defeat their rivals time and time again, putting on performances that left commentators and fans in awe. She’d scored a season-high 32 points and dished out 7 assists against St. John’s of New York—a game where it seemed like her fierce competitiveness toward the St. John’s she’d grown up playing against carried over to this completely unrelated team.

The accolades poured in. Paige was named Big East Player of the Year, unanimous Big East Freshman of the Year, and helped UConn secure the Big East Championship title. She had the most points by any UConn player in their NCAA tournament debut. By the end of the season, she’d been crowned AP Player of the Year and Naismith College Player of the Year—the first freshman in history to earn both honors.

But none of that mattered to Paige.

For all the individual awards and historic milestones, she couldn't forgive herself for how the season ended. UConn had made it to the Final Four, and the weight of expectations—both internal and external—was immense. Paige believed it was her job to lead her team to a national championship, but when they lost to Arizona in the semifinals, everything came crashing down for her.

She replayed the game in her mind constantly, scrutinizing every missed shot, every turnover, every moment she thought she could have done more. The praise and accolades felt hollow, and no one could convince her otherwise. For Paige, and according to the media, the loss was a failure. It didn’t matter that she was only 19 years old, it didn’t matter that she was only a freshman, the media tore into her from every angle and she hated herself for giving them the room to talk in the first place, despite what everyone around her said. If she had won they wouldn’t have had anything to say.

While Azzi basked in the glow of a picture perfect end to her high school journey, Paige drowned herself in guilt and frustration. Day after day, she was in the gym, pushing herself harder and harder. No one had to tell her to work—she was relentless. The sound of basketballs hitting the court echoing through an otherwise empty gym.

For Paige, there was no off-season. The only way to make peace with her freshman year, she thought, was to be better.

Her freshman year had been historic. But Paige didn’t care about history. She only cared about winning, and anything less wasn’t good enough.

May 2021

Paige was back home in the DMV, spending her days exactly the way she had since the loss in the Final Four. The small, private space her trainer let her use had become her sanctuary. She had poured every ounce of herself into her offseason grind, putting on muscle and sharpening her skills. Each shot, each drill, each drop of sweat was a reminder of what she wanted to fix.

The gym was empty, just how she liked it. Paige worked in solitude, her sneakers squeaking on the hardwood as she moved through her drills. The sharp echo of the ball bouncing against the floor filled the space. She was locked in, oblivious to everything but the rhythm of her workout.

The faint creak of the door opening didn’t even break her focus.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out.

Paige barely glanced over, recognizing Azzi immediately. She gave a slight nod in polite acknowledgment but kept shooting. Azzi lingered near the door for a moment, unsure if she should stay or leave. Last summer, she would have turned around and walked away without hesitation like she almost did. But not this time. She stepped farther into the gym, watching Paige as the other girl moved with mechanical precision, no emotion on her face

After a while, Azzi spoke again, her voice cutting through the quiet. “Are we ever going to talk? You know, now that we’re going to be on the same team.”

Paige didn’t even look up. “Not really in the mood to talk today, sorry.” She said, launching another three-pointer that swished through the net.

Azzi sighed, crossing her arms. “Seems like a pattern,” she muttered, just loud enough for Paige to hear.

That made Paige pause. She caught the ball as it rebounded toward her and turned to face Azzi, her expression annoyed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Azzi leaned against the wall, arms still folded. “You know what I’m talking about. When I came to visit UConn in December, you blew me off. You couldn’t even speak, let alone stick around for five minutes.”

Paige scoffed, dribbling the ball lazily as she shook her head. “Not everything is about you, Azzi.”

Azzi pushed off the wall, her brows furrowed. “That’s bullshit. You were avoiding me. Just stop being pussy and admit it.”

Paige let out a humorless laugh. “Contrary to this inflated-ass ego you seem to have, other people have things going on. It didn’t have shit to do with you Azzi.”

Azzi stared at her, stunned eyes almost bulging out of her head. “I have the ego? You can’t be serious right now?”

“Yes,” Paige said flatly, bouncing the ball once before shooting it again.

Azzi stepped closer, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You couldn’t put your feelings aside for two seconds to welcome me to UConn because your ego’s so damn big.”

Paige rolled her eyes, spinning the ball on her hand before letting it drop to the floor. “Like I said, it didn’t have shit to do with you. I played like garbage the day before and needed to clear my head.”

Azzi tilted her head, her tone incredulous. “You played fine, Paige. I watched that game.”

Paige snorted, shaking her head as she bent to pick up the ball. “No, I didn’t.” She straightened up and started ticking off mistakes on her fingers. “I had a sloppy turnover, missed three shots that all hit the rim the exact same way because my footing was off, got scored on because I went under screens too many damn times…” Her voice was rising, her frustration with herself evident.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the laundry list of self-criticism. “That’s not even that bad, Paige. You’re just trying to find excuses for being childish and avoiding me.”

Paige’s eyes flashed as she now fully faced Azzi, her tone sharp. “See that’s your problem, Azzi. You’re fine with ‘not bad.’ You’re fine with mediocre shit and you get mad at people who aren’t.”

Azzi, clearly offended. “You don’t know shit about me if you think I’m fine with mediocre Paige.”

“Oh, I know enough,” Paige shot back, her voice laced with irritation as she shot the ball again.

Azzi let out a muttered, “Whatever,” as she turned away. She grabbed her basketball shoes, plopping down on the bench to lace them up. Afterward, she moved to stretch, her movements calm and deliberate, just like she always did.

The silence between them was heavy, but neither seemed willing to break it. Paige resumed her shooting, her focus sharp and a little intense now. Azzi followed suit, picking up a ball and taking her own shots. Unlike last summer, when they’d somehow found a rhythm together, this time they kept their distance, rebounding their own shots and staying on opposite ends of the half court.

The only sounds were the echo of the basketballs, the swish of the net, and their heavy breathing. The tension that lingered between them from the argument didn’t dissipate, but they both seemed like they were just going to ignore it.

Paige’s focus faltered as her phone, lying on the bench nearby, began to ring. The sharp tone interrupted her music in her ears, cutting into her concentration. She ignored it the first time, then the second, but by the third, she was definitely irritated.

“Are we serious?” she muttered under her breath, catching the ball after it went through the net and tucking it under her arm. She walked over to the bench, her frustration evident in every step. Grabbing the phone, she glanced at the screen before answering.

“Yes, E?” Paige said, clearly irritated with everything happening today.

Azzi glanced over briefly but kept shooting as she heard the nickname she knew was for Evina, her movements still smooth and efficient. She couldn’t help but listen to Paige’s side of the conversation, even if she pretended not to.

“I’m fine,” Paige said, her tone clipped. A pause, then, “No, I don’t need you guys checking in on me every five minutes. I’m not a kid.”

Azzi caught her rebound, her curiosity piqued. She heard Paige’s exasperated sigh before she continued. “I said I’m fine!…I’m sorry…I’m just in the gym, okay?”

Another pause, longer this time. Paige’s expression softened slightly, though her tone remained defensive. “Yes, I’m eating. No, I’m not overdoing it. Can you guys please just stop hovering for like two seconds? I swear I’m fine.”

Azzi missed her next shot, distracted by the way Paige’s voice wavered slightly on the last sentence. She retrieved the ball and glanced over again, noting the way Paige’s jaw was clenched slightly with the conversation.

“Yes E, I get it, okay? I do. But I don’t need you to—” Paige stopped mid-sentence, closing her eyes and letting out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, I know it’s not my fault–Yes I know. Ok, I’ll call you later.”

She hung up abruptly, tossing her phone back onto the bench with more force than necessary. Her shoulders sagged for a moment before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and straightened up, spinning the ball in her hands as she made her way back to the court.

Azzi didn’t say anything, but she watched Paige carefully, her expression unreadable. Paige didn’t acknowledge her, resuming her shooting with a little more force than before, as if trying to work out her frustrations on the court.

The silence between them stretched on, filled only by the rhythm of bouncing balls and the occasional swish of a perfect shot.

July 2021

The short break before heading to UConn for the summer session had gone by a little too quickly for Azzi. It felt like one moment she was at home with her family, soaking up their familiar warmth, and the next, she was packing her bags, giving tight hugs, and heading off to start a new chapter in Connecticut. The thought of being at UConn felt surreal, even though she’d visited before. Now it was official—she was part of the team.

The roster had shifted quite a bit since her last visit. Azzi wasn’t the only fresh face; two other freshmen, Caroline and Amari, had joined the team. The sophomore class had thinned out, now consisting of only Paige, Aaliyah, Nika, and Piath. Aubrey was the only junior on the team, and was known for her quiet but steady presence on the court. The upperclassmen rounded out the roster, with seniors Christyn and Olivia bringing their experience, Evina stepping into a leadership role, and Dorka, a graduate transfer, joining the fold for her first year at UConn.

It was a balanced team, a blend of youth and experience, and Azzi felt a mix of nerves and excitement at the thought of working with them. The expectations were high, but she was ready.

…

From the moment she arrived, the practices were intense. UConn’s reputation as a basketball powerhouse wasn’t just for show, and the demands were grueling on Azzi’s body. The upperclassmen set the tone, with Evina and Christyn emerging as clear leaders, guiding the team both on and off the court. Paige, despite being only a sophomore, was right there with them. She had an undeniable presence, her skills speaking louder than words, and her surprisingly calm demeanor commanded respect everyday at practice.

Azzi, however, was still trying to get a read on Paige. The girl was an enigma. For someone who could be so fiery and competitive on the court, Paige seemed almost indifferent to Azzi off it. She didn’t go out of her way to ignore her, but she didn’t engage either. Paige showed up to team bonding events, polite and cordial, but her interactions with Azzi were nonexistent unless they were arguing during drills or scrimmages.

It was frustrating, to say the least. Azzi couldn’t tell if Paige didn’t like her or just didn’t care for her presence. And yet, somehow, during today’s team bonding activity—a scavenger hunt organized by Coach CD, of all things—Azzi found herself assigned as Paige’s partner.

Paige muttered something under her breath when the pairs were announced .

Azzi crossed her arms, arching a brow. “Trust me, I’m not exactly jumping for joy here either.”

Paige rolled her eyes at Azzi’s comment , adjusting the strap of her backpack. “Let’s just go.”

The rest of the team was already scattering in pairs, armed with clue sheets and a mix of determination and excitement. Azzi glanced at their first clue and sighed. This was going to be a long afternoon.

The two of them trudged through the scavenger hunt, their movements as tense as the silence between them. Paige seemed perfectly at ease with it, her eyes fixed on the list in her hand. Azzi, on the other hand, was brimming with unspoken frustration. She wasn’t one to hold things in, and after several minutes of biting her tongue, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why don’t you like me?” Azzi blurted out, the words cutting through the quiet.

Paige barely looked up from her paper. “I don’t not like you,” she replied, her tone not hinting at her emotion.

Azzi huffed, folding her arms as she followed Paige. “Yeah, sure. That’s why you barely talk to me outside of practice. That’s why all you do is argue with me when we scrimmage. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you roll your eyes every time I open my mouth.”

Paige finally stopped walking, turning to face Azzi with a mixture of confusion and something else. “You’re reading too much into it Azzi. Just because we don’t hang out doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her expression incredulous. “Then what does it mean, Paige? Because from where I’m standing, it sure feels like you’ve decided you can’t stand me and you bust my ass everyday in practice.”

Paige sighed, glancing around as if hoping for the next clue to appear and rescue her from the conversation. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It just means I think you need to be better.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of the statement. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, her voice even. “You’re good, Azzi. Everyone on the planet knows you’re good. But if you want to be great—if you want to be what this team needs—you have to start acting like it.”

Azzi scoffed, her frustration bubbling over. “Are you kidding me? I work my ass off every single day. I’m in the gym just as much as you are—probably more.”

Paige shrugged, not bothered by that last comment knowing it wasn’t true. “It doesn’t matter how much you work if you don’t carry it with you onto the court. Until you start playing like you know you’re the second-best player on this team, it’s not going to mean anything.”

“Second best,” Azzi repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, what an honor.”

“Exactly,” Paige said, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t agree. You need to own that. Play like it. Make everyone feel it.”

Azzi shook her head, incredulous. “Just because I don’t have a giant ego like you doesn’t mean I don’t think I’m the best.”

“I don’t have an ego,” Paige said. “I just know what this team needs.”

Azzi stepped closer, her voice rising slightly. “Oh, you mean they need another uptight, self-centered recruit who thinks they have all the answers?”

Paige’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice calm. “No, they need the top recruit they just got to stop being passive and start leading. They need someone who plays like they know they’re the best so the rest of the team can feed off of it.”

Azzi let out a bitter laugh. “So... basically an asshole?”

Paige exhaled sharply, clearly done with the conversation. She shook her head and turned back to the scavenger hunt, muttering, “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” Azzi shot back, her tone challenging. “And you know what? You don’t get me either. You think you’ve got me all figured out, like I’m some shy, passive player who’s too scared to take charge. But you don’t know the first thing about me Paige.”

Paige stopped walking, spinning around to face Azzi. “And you think you know me? You think I’m just some uptight ass self-absorbed player who doesn’t care about anyone else? I just have my own shit to deal with. Not everything is about you.”

Azzi bristled at the words, her voice dropping to a quieter but still heated tone. “I never said it was about me. But you could at least try to make me feel like I’m part of this team instead of treating me like an outsider.”

Paige’s expression softened for just a moment, but she quickly masked it with a shrug. “Maybe stop acting like one.”

Azzi stared at her, her frustration mixing with hurt. “You really think I’m not trying?”

Paige didn’t answer right away, her eyes flicking back to the scavenger hunt paper. “No that’s not what I said, I think you’re holding yourself back. And this team doesn’t have time for that.”

Azzi shook her head, biting back a retort. They resumed walking, the silence between them now heavier than before. Paige stayed focused on the clues, while Azzi followed a step behind, her mind racing with everything they had just said—and left unsaid.

After a stretch of silence, the tension between them still hung heavy in the air. Azzi walked a step behind Paige, her frustration simmering beneath the surface as Paige stayed focused on the scavenger hunt paper, seemingly unaffected.

Finally, Paige slowed her steps, glancing over her shoulder. Her voice was quieter this time but still firm. “Azzi… I don’t not like you. Seriously.”

Azzi looked up, startled by the unexpected comment. “Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered.

Paige turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “You belong on this team. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. And yeah, you can be frustrating as hell and I definitely don’t agree with a lot of the things you say, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re good. Doesn’t mean I don’t like you and I’m sorry if I made you think that.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the blunt acknowledgment. She shifted her weight, her frustration tempered but not entirely gone. “Well, maybe if you didn’t act like I had something to prove all the time, I’d actually feel like I belonged.”

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Pushing you is how I know you do belong. I wouldn’t waste my time talking to you if you didn’t.”

Azzi’s lips pressed into a thin line, but a flicker of understanding passed through her expression. “Fine,” she said after a beat, her tone quieter now. “But maybe try dialing it back a little. Just… once in a while. It’s tiring.”

Paige shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Azzi rolled her eyes at the silence but didn’t press further. They resumed walking, the tension between them still lingering, but the weight of it had lessened—just enough to keep moving forward. Maybe Azzi would try her luck again at getting to know the blonde.

…

Later that night the team was gathered in one of the larger suites, the atmosphere buzzing with energy as conversations overlapped and laughter echoed through the space. Players lounged across couches and the carpeted floor, munching on snacks and joking around. It was one of the nightly bonding sessions the seniors insisted on, a tradition meant to bring the team closer as the season loomed.

Paige sat at one end of the couch, scrolling through her phone with a focused expression. Azzi, perched on the armrest opposite her, noticed how Paige’s grip on her phone tightened slightly, her jaw set in a way that betrayed her usual calm demeanor during times like this. Curiosity piqued, Azzi leaned subtly to get a glimpse of what Paige was reading. The headline immediately made her frown: “Paige Bueckers: Can She Handle the Pressure This Season?”

The article was harsh but clearly biased, questioning Paige’s ability to bounce back from the previous year’s challenges. Paige’s face betrayed nothing, but Azzi could feel the tension radiating from her as her jaw continued to tighten.

Without a word, Paige suddenly stood, catching everyone’s attention.

“Where are you going?” Nika asked from her spot on the floor, looking up with a raised brow.

“The gym,” Paige replied flatly.

A collective groan went around the room.

“Come on,” Christyn said, leaning back against the armrest of a chair. “We’re supposed to be bonding, not sneaking off to the gym again.”

“You’ve been there all day already,” Olivia added, shaking her head. “What’s left to work on?”

Paige crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed by the protests. “You don’t have to drag me out later I swear. I’ll be fine.”

Before anyone else could chime in, Azzi spoke up, her voice cutting through the noise. “I’ll go with her.”

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to Azzi. Nika blinked, looking as though she misheard.

“Wait, what?” Aaliyah asked, tilting her head.

“Azzi, you good?” Christyn asked, confused about her voluntarily being around Paige.

Even Paige hesitated, glancing at Azzi with a mix of surprise and confusion. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Azzi interrupted, her tone firm. “There’s some stuff we probably need to work on together anyway.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to figure out Azzi’s angle, but she didn’t argue.

Nika glanced at Caroline, who sat beside her on the floor. “Am I the only one wondering what’s going on here?”

Caroline shrugged, looking equally curious. “Nope.”

“I mean, we’re all thinking it,” Dorka chimed in, earning a few quiet laughs.

Paige sighed, clearly ready to leave the scrutiny behind. “I’ll grab you some clothes,” she muttered, already heading toward her room.

Azzi stood, ignoring the murmurs and exchanged glances from the team. Aubrey, who had been quietly observing from the corner, gave her a small smile, the only one not visibly surprised.

As Azzi followed Paige out of the suite, Nika leaned toward Aaliyah, whispering just loud enough to be heard, “This is either going to end in a fistfight or... something we don’t want to know about.”

“Probably both,” Aaliyah replied with a smirk.

Azzi caught the comment but didn’t react having no idea what they were talking about.

…

Azzi and Paige had just finished an intense workout. They worked through it together in silence for the most part with the occasional high five or pay on the back. The gym was eerily quiet at this hour, with only the hum of the overhead lights and their heavy breaths filling the space. Both of them were seated on the floor, backs resting against the padded wall, their bodies dripping with sweat.

Paige let her head fall back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling before finally looking at Azzi. “Thanks,” she said, her voice softer than usual.

Azzi glanced over at her, slightly caught off guard. It wasn’t the thank-you that surprised her—it was the way Paige was actually looking at her. For the first time, there wasn’t a guarded or dismissive edge in her expression, just sincerity.

It threw Azzi off balance for a second, and without thinking, she blurted out, “Woah your eyes are blue.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “They sure are,” she said, amused.

Azzi shook her head, laughing at herself. “I just mean, I never noticed before,” she admitted. “Probably because you’re always glaring at me the few times you actually address me.”

Paige laughed again, the sound lighter than Azzi expected. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I know I can be... a bit much sometimes.”

Azzi shrugged, brushing it off.

They sat in comfortable silence for a beat before Azzi tapped her phone screen, the faint glow illuminating the time. “So, you wanna tell me why we’re in the gym at...” she squinted at the numbers, “1:47 a.m. on a Wednesday?”

Paige glanced at her, the corners of her mouth quirking up slightly. “I know why I’m here. You wanna tell me why you decided to join me?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the wall, smirking. “I knew they wouldn’t let you come if I didn’t. Plus, like I said earlier, there’s some things we need to work on.”

“Like what?” Paige asked, her curiosity piqued.

Azzi turned to face her more directly, her expression serious but still teasing. “Like you passing the ball where I’m going instead of where I am.”

Paige rolled her eyes, a playful scoff escaping her. “I’m a great passer.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing. “And I’m the best shooter in the country. I move a lot. You need to figure out where I’m going to be, not just where I currently am.”

Paige blinked at her, processing the critique. Her lips twitched like she wanted to argue, but instead, she let out a small laugh, nodding slightly as she thought about it.

Azzi stood up, brushing off her shorts before grabbing the ball that sat nearby. She spun it in her hands and tilted her head toward the court. “Come on,” she said, motioning for Paige to follow her.

Paige smiled despite herself, pushing up from the floor. “Fine,” she said, her tone mock-defeated.

Azzi grinned. “Let’s see if you’re as great as you claim you are.”

Paige laughed, jogging after her toward the court, the tension between them starting to ease in the quiet rhythm of the game.

Paige and Azzi stood at the top of the key, the ball in Paige’s hands as Azzi explained what she’d meant earlier.

“You follow my eyes, just like everyone else,” Azzi said, dribbling the ball before passing it to Paige. “But my eyes don’t always tell you where I’m going. You’ve gotta look at my movements instead.”

Paige nodded slowly, absorbing the critique. She dribbled the ball once, then shifted her stance. “Alright,” she said, her voice intrigued. “Let’s run through it.”

They started with basic passes, Paige watching Azzi closely. Some were spot-on, hitting Azzi perfectly in stride. Others lagged slightly behind, forcing Azzi to pause or adjust.

“See?” Azzi said after one of those off passes, tossing the ball back to Paige. “You’re looking at where I am. You’ve gotta watch my hands.”

Paige tilted her head, brow furrowing. “Your hands?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, holding them up. “My hands show you where I’m going to end up. Pay attention, and you’ll see it.”

Paige bounced the ball a couple of times, nodding. “Alright, let’s try again.”

They went through the drill several more times, Paige focusing on Azzi’s hands like she’d suggested. Slowly but surely, the passes started to click. Paige began to notice the subtle flicks of Azzi’s fingers or the way her hand angled before she cut. After a while, the passes were seamless, their movements flowing together effortlessly.

“See?” Azzi said, catching another perfect pass in stride. “Told you.”

Paige smirked, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face. “Guess you were right.”

“Always am,” Azzi teased, tossing the ball back.

The two of them had been running the same drill for what felt like forever. Paige’s passes were sharper now, landing perfectly in Azzi’s hands as she moved seamlessly through her cuts. The flow of their movements had become natural, like they’d been doing this together for years.

Azzi caught the ball mid-stride and jogged back to the top of the key, bouncing it casually. “You know it’s almost three, right?” she said, glancing at the clock.

Paige paused, hands resting on her hips. “They’re going to kill you for letting me stay this late,” she said, half-smirking. “You’re supposed to be the responsible one, remember?”

Azzi shrugged, her lips curving into a small smile. “They never said what time you had to leave,” she replied. “All they said was that it was supposed to be team bonding.” She held the ball out toward Paige. “I’d say we bonded a little bit. Plus,” she added, her smile widening, “we haven’t argued the whole time we’ve been here, so that’s a win.”

Paige chuckled, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the hem of her shirt. “Guess you’ve got a point.” She reached out and took the ball from Azzi. “And for the record, I wouldn’t call you responsible. You’re just as bad as me for sticking around this long.”

Azzi laughed softly, leaning back against the padded wall at the baseline. “Maybe. But if you didn’t notice, I’m not the one who dragged us here in the middle of the night.”

Paige shot her a playful glare, bouncing the ball a couple of times. “Fair enough. But you didn’t exactly put up a fight about it either.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Because I saw how tense you were and someone had to make sure you didn’t overdo it. Like I said—team bonding.”

Paige shook her head, laughing under her breath as she lined up a shot. The ball arced perfectly through the air, swishing cleanly through the net. “Fine,” she said, turning to Azzi. “But if they ask, this was your idea.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, pushing off the wall. “Yeah, sure. I’m sure they’ll believe that.” She walked over and retrieved the ball, tossing it back to Paige.

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet gym, the weight of the night settling between them. Paige glanced at Azzi, a hint of gratitude in her expression. “Thanks, by the way. For coming with me.”

Azzi shrugged, though her smile softened. “Don’t mention it.”

Paige held the ball, debating for a second. Then she smirked. “One more run?”

Azzi sighed, shaking her head with a chuckle. “Fine. But only one more.”

“Promise,” Paige said, already moving to her spot.

Azzi jogged to hers, the exhaustion fading as they fell back into the rhythm they’d built over the past few hours. It was definitely more than one run through.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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feistypazzi · 6 months ago

Text

RESILIENCY

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Disclaimer: Fiction!

TW: Bit angst and bit fluff?

Summary: Paige's reaction to how her girlfriend, Azzi played so well against the opposing team during the Bahamar championship.

PS: Sorry, it took so long! And let me know if y'all want part 2 because there's no fluff enough btw Feel free to send a fic request. Enjoy! 💗

It’s just Azzi’s third game since her comeback for the 2024–2025 season as a redshirt junior after recovering from her ACL injury, and she had been out for almost two years of rehab. It was devastating, especially for Azzi, who had to endure an injury and was unable to play the basketball she loved alongside her girlfriend, Paige.

November 2023

Everyone gasped when Azzi Fudd fell on the hardwood floor, rubbing her knee during the warm-up games before their upcoming match against FDU.

Paige sprinted into action, worry etched on her face. “Hey… Azzi,” she said, trying to help the brunette up, but Azzi couldn’t manage to stand on her right leg. Paige's heart pounded in her chest as she saw her best friend in serious pain as if her knee was tearing her apart.

The team's medical trainer, Janelle, immediately rushed to the court to assess what had happened to Azzi’s knee and whether it might pose a significant problem for the Huskies.

“Can you move your knee?” Janelle asked professionally as she examined Azzi’s knee, tracing her finger carefully over it while Azzi sat on the UConn bench. Their teammates and other coaching staff gathered around to give her privacy, all visibly concerned.

“No… I can’t. It hurts so badly,” Azzi replied, her voice cracking as she gripped the empty bench tightly. Her throat felt dry, and her heart raced.

“Is this it?"

"It’s happening again."

"This can’t be happening."

"I’ve been here before.”

Tears prickled at the corners of Azzi’s eyes, and her palms became sweaty. She had been in this situation before, and it had turned into her worst nightmare each time she attempted a comeback for a basketball season. But now, it was happening again.

“Azzi… just breathe; it will be fine,” Paige tried to soothe her best friend, her voice tinged with vulnerability. She could hardly bear to watch her best friend endure something she had already experienced. Kneeling beside her, she held Azzi's hand tightly, looking up at her with concern.

After a moment of examining Azzi’s knee, Janelle stood up and said, “We need to get her into the locker room for a better look.” Her tone was unusually serious as if she were preparing the whole UConn team for the worst.

Paige immediately wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist to steady her weight, trying to avoid putting pressure on her right knee, but the trainer shook her head.

“Let us handle this, Paige. Just focus on the game,” Janelle insisted, signaling one of the assistants to help guide Azzi.

For a moment, Paige's stubbornness got the better of her, and she gently but firmly pulled her girlfriend by the waist. “I’ll help,” she insisted, her voice breaking at the end.

“Your stubbornness won’t help right now, Paige,” exclaimed Geno, the head coach of the Huskies.

Paige tilted her head toward him. “But, Coach—” she tried to protest, but Azzi interrupted her.

Azzi took a deep breath and turned to Paige, feeling the throbbing in her knee subside for a moment. “Paige, it will be fine. Just focus on the game.” Despite her initial instinct to continue protesting, Paige saw the reassurance in Azzi’s eyes. Eventually, she sighed heavily, squeezed Azzi's side gently, and reluctantly shifted her arm to one of the assistants and the trainer.

As Janelle and the assistants helped Azzi toward the locker room, Paige stood there with the other Huskies, feeling helpless but hoping it wasn’t serious and that Azzi would be able to come back to play in the upcoming game until they disappeared to the tunnel.

“Let’s just hope for the best, Paige,” Geno muttered, giving her a gentle pat on the back. “This is not the end of the game; focus.” He then gathered the team to discuss the positions of players on the court, but Paige couldn't take her eyes off the tunnel where her best friend had vanished.

Suddenly, Aubrey nudged her. “C’mon, she’ll be fine,” she said soothingly as Coach Geno continued explaining strategies.

It was painful for Paige to watch one of the best players in UConn fall and get injured, but that's not just the best player, it's also her best friend and girlfriend. She nodded in response but couldn’t stop glancing back toward the tunnel.

The whistle blew, signaling the tip-off. The starting lineup was supposed to include Paige, Azzi, Nika, Aaliyah, and Kk, but Geno decided to replace Azzi with Ashlyn.

Each player in the starting lineup patted Paige’s back as they walked off the court. However, the blondie found it hard to focus on the game and kept drifting off to thoughts of her best friend, fearing she might be injured again. She didn’t want to think that way, but after witnessing how Azzi screamed in pain while rubbing her knee, it was breaking her; the fear consumed her.

The game ended with another victory for the Huskies. However, despite their win against FDU, they couldn’t celebrate due to Azzi’s condition. After the game, they went to the locker room to check on her.

“How is she?” Geno asked the trainer.

Janelle pulled him aside as the Huskies gathered around their injured teammate. “We can’t determine anything yet, but the only thing I can be sure of is that it’s something serious.”

The following day, the doctor confirmed that Azzi had torn her Achilles. Everyone was shocked by the news, especially since this was her second consecutive year re-injuring her knee as part of the UConn women’s basketball team during her sophomore and now junior years.

PRESENT TIME

Eight minutes into the third quarter, Paige and Azzi sat in front of the scoring table, ready to sub in. However, Paige was worried for her girlfriend because their opponent was more aggressive compared to the teams they had faced before.

Paige nudged Azzi’s shoulder gently and took a deep breath. “Hey, are you going to be okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” the brunette replied, breathing out and nodding with a fond smile to reassure her girlfriend.

“They're kind of aggressive, you know, compared to other teams we—” She was cut off by the whistle signaling a player substitution.

“I’ll be fine, P,” Azzi said as she stood up and walked onto the court to check-in.

Despite Azzi’s reassurance, Paige still felt uneasy but knew there was nothing else she could do. She had faith in her girlfriend, knowing that Azzi was the most resilient and unbreakable person she had ever met.

Paige couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with joy and anxiety as she played alongside Azzi, marking their 20th game together.

After Azzi successfully made a three-point shot, the Huskies went wild. Paige raised her hands in the air, witnessing the resilience of her girlfriend. “Let’s go, Fudd!” she shouted proudly, a huge smile stretching across her face to the point that it hurt her cheeks.

Azzi turned to her with a sweet smile lingering on her lips. “Told ya,” she mouthed with a wink, making Paige smile even more.

Two minutes before the third quarter ended, Paige subbed out and sat on the bench. She noticed the change in the aggressiveness of the opposing team as if they were taking advantage while Paige was off the court, resulting in Ole Miss scoring 28 points in the third quarter.

Paige rested both elbows on her knee as she watched her girlfriend’s continuous aggressive play on both defense and offense, taking shots to help stop the bleeding for the Huskies.

She could barely focus on the game; her full attention was on Azzi's every movement. She bit her inner cheek and gripped the towel she was holding, tapping her right foot on the hardwood floor.

With only a minute left in the third quarter, Azzi subbed out of the game and walked toward the UConn bench proudly after scoring 18 points throughout the game, high-fiving each of her teammates as they stood up to greet her.

Suddenly, Paige squeezed Azzi’s hand gently when their palms met and forced a smile when their gazes caught each other.

She watched her girlfriend until they were both back on the bench. Azzi noticed that Paige couldn’t take her eyes off her while she drank from the squeezable bottle. Raising her eyebrows in confusion, she asked, “Hey, what’s with that stare?”

Blondie realized she had been watching her girlfriend the entire time. She immediately turned her head to watch the game and shook her head dismissively. “Nothin’,” she lied.

The brunette was unconvinced and noticed how Paige's legs were bouncing up and down uncontrollably. She knew something was bothering her girlfriend.

Resting her hand on Paige’s thigh, she hoped that would calm her nerves. Upon feeling Azzi's soothing touch, Paige’s eyes widened and her breath hitched; the trembling in her leg stopped immediately.

“P…” Azzi whispered concern was written across her face as her light touch lingered on Paige’s thigh.

“Yeah?” Paige murmured, not turning her head to avoid eye contact because she knew her girlfriend could read her easily.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Paige,” Azzi said, her tone firm.

Paige swallowed hard and sighed before tilting her head toward Azzi, trying to keep her composure. “There… w-what now?”

She furrowed her brow, concerned about what might be occupying Paige’s mind during the game. As their gazes met, she saw vulnerability in Paige’s oceanic eyes. Noticing that Ole Miss had scored 28 points during the third quarter, she concluded, “Are you worried that we might lose this game?”

Paige's eyes narrowed. “Huh—? What? I mean… what makes you think that?” she said, letting out a nervous laugh as her heart began to race. “Of course not.”

“Then why?” Azzi pressed, her patience wearing thin.

“Why what…?”

Azzi sighed exasperatedly and rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. Something’s bothering you—”

“Bothering me?” Paige chuckled nervously, pointing to herself. “Nuh…” She shook her hand but then paused as she noticed her girlfriend's serious expression. Her shoulders were hunched against the bench. “F-fine… it’s just… I’m just… worried, okay?” She admitted.

“Worried about what? The game?” Azzi asked.

“No, it’s not about the game. It’s about YOU. I’m worried about you, Azzi,” Paige emphasized each word.

Azzi’s eyes widened, and she chuckled, “Me? WHAT?!—” Before she could say anything else, Paige caught her off guard.

“How’s your knee?” the blonde asked, a hint of annoyance and vulnerability in her voice. Still, her lips curled into a small smile as she heard her girlfriend's sweet chuckle.

“Is that why you’re so worried?” Azzi furrowed her brows but didn’t wait for Paige to respond. “Well… my knee is totally fine, so there’s nothing to worry about. Hm’kay?” She smiled softly, and once again, Paige melted at the tender look and sweet smile, with the delicate dimple on Azzi’s cheek.

Req by: @rhyxanwaters thankyou! 💗

Special tag: @melpthatsme

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #anon ask #paige x azzi #uconn women’s basketball #pazzi fics

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all444glo · 15 days ago

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𝘽 𝙇 𝙊 𝙒 𝙈 𝙔 𝙇 𝙊 𝘼 𝘿

🎞️: You were the star volleyball player. She was the star basketball player . Met in college, bonded through forced collabs and a shared dorm sophomore year, then joined the same sorority and became damn near inseparable. From campus legends to pro athletes drafted to the same city—then both making the Olympics? It felt like fate. You all always showed up for each other, on and off the court. Sure, there were girlfriends and boyfriends in the mix, but none of them lasted. Not when you two moved like this. Fans shipped you, friends joked, family side-eyed. But the late-night cuddles, lap dances after too many drinks, drunken innocent kisses that lingered just a little too long? That was just friendship... right?

⚠️: cw: explicit sexual content (18+), oral, fingering, strap-on use, praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, blurred friendship lines, slight orgasm denial,soft dom!reader x nervous touch-me-not!Rhyne

“𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 '𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 ('𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚) 𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝑱𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌”

The soft hum of the TV played as background noise in your bestfriends apartment, casting a low glow across the room. The Princess and the Frog rolled on screen—Rhyne’s pick, of course. She'd thrown it on half-jokingly after you did her retwist, claiming she “needed Tiana’s Inspiration.” Now, nearly an hour in, you were curled against her on the couch, one leg slung lazily across her lap. Her fingers absently grazed the curve of your thigh like she didn’t even notice she was touching you. But you noticed. You always noticed.

Being around Rhyne had always felt like standing next to a slow-burning fire. Warm. Calming. But if you got too close, things could go left— and fast. You both excelled at your respective sports back at UTK, now both pros in Atlanta, her with the Dream, you with the Vibe. You were hairstylist, occasional roommate, therapist, and best friend all in one. She’d seen you at your lowest after a loss, wrapped you up after a brutal ankle injury. Best friends, eventual sorors, and something more unspoken but it was implied that it was best that way.

Your phone buzzed on the side table. A missed text from your team’s trainer. You ignored it.

“I still can’t believe you packed your whole closet for this trip,” Rhyne murmured beside you, voice low and amused. Her fingertips danced just under the hem of your shorts now.

You shrugged, eyes still on the screen. “That’s only because your wardrobe only consists of sweatpants and cropped hoodies. If we gon do cancun we gon do it right…even if you have to wear my clothes”

“That’s wild. You saying I can’t dress?”

You tilted your head at her with a grin. “You actually can Rhy, you choose not to. You looked amazing in your last tunnel outfit”

She smiled, that dimple on the left side appearing—just the one. The one that made your stomach flip every time. “You always tryna crack a joke,” she muttered, voice heavier now. “But you saying I look good though right?.”

Your chest pulled a little. You sat up straighter, shifting so you were straddling her lap, arms draped over her shoulders. Rhyne blinked slowly, the flicker of tension rising between you two like static in the air.

“You don’t feel it?” you asked, voice soft, vulnerable. “This thing between us?”

Rhyne didn’t answer right away. She looked down, the glint of her waist beads catching your eye as the tank she wore shifted—purple and gold,snug on the soft dip of her hips.

“I been feelin’ it,” she finally said, voice quiet. “I just didn’t wanna move wrong with you.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips to hers. She inhaled sharply but didn’t pull back. Her mouth moved with yours, slow and uncertain at first. Then need kicked in, and she kissed you deeper, her hands gripping your thighs like she’d been holding back for too long.

Your hips shifted against her lap, pressing down just enough for her to feel the slow roll of your desire. Her breath hitched as you pulled your hoodie off and tossed it aside, baring your sports bra and smooth skin underneath. Rhyne looked up at you with a different look in her than usual, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar glance. She was mentally undressing you, calculating exactly what she was about to do with you.

You kissed her again, slower this time, fingers sliding under her tank and lifting it up. She let you take it off. Her chest rose and fell as you leaned in, mouth brushing over her collarbone, then lower, tasting every inch of her skin.

When you reached her waist beads, you paused. Pressed a kiss right where they met the swell of her stomach. Rhyne’s whole body flinched under you—not from discomfort, but from overwhelm.

“Do you know how much my mind wanders when you’re between my legs?,” you whispered against her skin.

She swallowed thickly. “Oh Yeah?”

“Anytime we share the same dressing room, get dressed together, drive together— shit anything.”

“I get so needy” you moaned, watching her heat grow wetter.

You ran your tongue lightly beneath the beads, feeling her tense, her thighs clenching under you. Your eyes locked with hers as your fingers slipped into the waistband of her shorts. “Can I?” you asked softly, voice low.

She didn’t say anything—just gave you the slightest nod, but her body told the truth. Her breath hitched. Her thighs parted, just enough, instinctively. You took your time peeling her shorts off, inch by inch, revealing smooth skin and the growing slick between her thighs. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Damn…” you whispered, your voice a mixture of awe and hunger. “You this wet for me already?”

Rhyne exhaled through her nose, trying to stay composed, but you caught the twitch of her thighs and the way her hand clenched the cushion beneath her.

You leaned in and kissed the inside of her knee, slow and steady. Then higher. Your lips lit a path up her thighs—soft and plush,—leaving goosebumps in your absence. You were in no rush. This was no where near about you.

When you finally reached her pussy, you let your breath hit her first—warm, teasing. You watched her hips stutter at the sensation. Her eyes fluttered closed.

You didn’t dive in right away. She deserved to be savored, you licked her slow, from the bottom of her slit all the way to her clit, just once, like a taste test. Her whole body tensed.

“Oh my—fuck,” she whispered, hand flying to your curls, gripping just enough to anchor herself.

You hummed into her, tongue moving with a patience you knew would drive her crazy. You took your time licking her folds, tongue flicking and dipping, tasting her like she was your favorite meal—because tonight? She was.

“You feel that, Rhy?” you murmured between licks, voice vibrating against her. “I love how you taste, can’t believe you hid this from me”

Her hips jerked at that, a stifled moan slipping from her lips. “Y/N…” she breathed, her voice tight, unsure. That vulnerability cracked something open in you.

“I got you,” you whispered directly against her clit, the tip of your tongue now circling it deliberately, carefully, like you were unwrapping her layer by layer. “Feed me baby.”

You flattened your tongue and dragged it slowly, adding pressure, letting her feel the full weight of your love. Her thighs started to close around your head—instinct—but you didn’t let up. You wrapped your arms under and around her legs, holding her in place.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” she gasped, the curse slipping out of her like it was her first time cursing.

Her grip in your hair tightened, but you didn’t stop. Your mouth moved faster now—lips sucking gently, tongue swirling over her clit with purpose. You were giving it to her messy now, filthy, tongue-fucking her between moans, letting her grind into your mouth.

"God—I'm gonna—"

You kept going, letting your tongue press just right, your lips sucking her swollen clit, your voice low and husky between breaths.

“Cum for me, Rhyne, let me make you feel good.”

And she did.

It hit her hard and sudden—legs trembling, hips lifting off the couch, moaning raw and guttural into the empty space. She didn’t even realize she was saying your name like a chant until the sound of it echoed in the room.

Her body relaxed slowly, twitching as you gave her one more slow lick, just to taste how sweet she got when she came. You kissed her inner thigh again, soft this time, leaving a mark.

You didn’t expect her to move right away—but she reached for you with shaky hands, pulling you up into her arms. Her kiss was hungry now—deep, unfiltered, like you’d unlocked something in her. Her kiss was all tongue and need now, her fingers tugging your shorts down, ripping your panties with practiced precision.

“My turn,” she muttered against your mouth.

You gasped as her fingers slipped inside you, slow but deliberate. She didn’t rush—Rhyne was nothing if not intentional. Her touch mirrored your earlier patience, learning what made your breath hitch, what made you clench around her. She had you whining into her neck, your forehead pressed against her collarbone, your own waist beads digging into her wrist as she worked you over.

“You look so amazing,” she whispered into your ear.

You broke apart on her hand with a long, drawn-out moan, collapsing against her. She held on you kissing your neck and marking you up. “I’m not done…” Her lips attached to yours as she sucked and bit on your lips, still not easing up with her fingers.

You broke away from Rhyne’s lips, gasping as her fingers sped up—slow and deep, then quick and precise like she knew your body better than you did. Your moans spilled out uncontrollably as your fingers clawed at the couch, bunching air in your fists.

"You ‘bout to cum for me, baby?" she breathed against your ear, her voice low and ragged, making your entire body shudder.

Your head nodded fast, dizzy with need, the tension in your stomach coiling tight.

"Use your words," Rhyne murmured, nipping at your jaw, her hand never stopping its rhythm between your legs. "Let me hear you say it."

“Y-yes ma—fuck!,” you whimpered, voice breathless, thighs already trembling.

But just as the orgasm threatened to rip through you—she moved her hand away, chuckling deep in her chest like she was proud of herself.

You turned your head, tongue pressed in your cheek, giving her a glare that could kill.

She just grinned, cocky as ever, opening one of the drawers next to her couch. “Stop being greedy,” she said, voice laced with mischief as she pulled you flat onto your back and stood between your legs, towering over you.

You watched as she slid a strap on—slow and deliberate, like she wanted you to see every second. Your breath caught when she stroked it against your soaked folds, teasing you with your own wetness.

“You ready for me, baby?”

You nodded, reaching for her, your hand finding hers and lacing your fingers together.

Rhyne leaned down and kissed your neck as she eased the tip in—inch by inch. You whined loud, feeling the stretch, the pressure of her filling you so gradually it was almost cruel.

"It’s okay," she cooed against your ear, kissing your cheek. "You can take it. I got you."

You squeezed her hand tighter, grounding yourself in her as she started to move—long, slow strokes that dragged perfectly along your walls, her strap curving right into your g-spot like it was made for you.

Your mouth dropped open, moaning loud as your back arched off the bed. The pain melted into overwhelming pleasure with every stroke, and when she picked up the pace—deep, relentless thrusts—you couldn’t hold her hand anymore.

Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds pouring out of you.

“Oh my God—” you cried, voice shaking.

Rhyne grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand away from your mouth, eyes locked on you. “Nah, let me hear all that,” she growled, rolling her hips and rubbing tight circles on your clit with her thumb. “You sound so damn pretty, let my neighbors know how good you feel right now”

Your walls clenched around her, your body oversensitive from how many times she'd already made you cum tonight.

"You gon’ cum with me, baby?" she asked, her breath hitching as her rhythm got rougher, messier—hips snapping into yours harder, like she was chasing it with you.

You nodded frantically, eyes rolling back, thighs locking around her waist. “Yes—fuck, yes, Rhyne, I’m gonna—”

“Then cum on this dick, mama,” she groaned, grinding into you, never stopping on your clit. “I knew you were such a good girl Y/N.”

And just like that, you unraveled beneath her.

Later, as you both laid tangled on the couch—sweaty, legs intertwined, the movie still somehow looping on the screen—she ran a thumb over your lips, smiling.

“Let me take you on a proper date so you can be mine for real” she murmured, half asleep”

You kissed her shoulder, grinning. “Oh so you like me”

Rhyne rolled her eyes, “Y/N I love you…”

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unluckilyimnot · 1 year ago

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HI YIRL

so I rlly wanted to ask (actually I’m craving it rn) if you could do a sae, shidou and kurona hc when what they would do/ how would they react if their s/o is rlly good (like REALLY good) at like soccer or any other sport (basketball, volleyball I don’t really mind so do wtv<3)

s/o who's really good at sport

0.5 | fluff

m.list | rules

Note: HIII thank you for your request!! I'm an hc girlie ask anything ! It really like this one hihi I hope you like it !

Sae + volley ball

he loves the fact that you’re good at sport too

he doesn’t know shit about volleyball but he will learn by himself to understand when he see you play

it doesn’t matter if you’re pro or not, he likes to come see you play

don’t expect him to scream or whatever, but he tries to come every time

he wants to know more about strategy or your position in the team (libero, setter, ect)

the more he learn about it, the happier he is

will make you dinner or bento according to your daily training

he always knows what to do when you’re sore and can’t move because of the pain, but won’t do much for you because he’s in the same state

or he would be annoying and tells you things like “you should’ve stretch better”

comment whenever he thinks you played well or not

will try to help you do your best

you two do cardio together

running date

for fem body people, he’s really cautious if you’re on your period and tells you to be careful + give you pain killer along with your lunch

not your first fan bc your friends are way too extreme but he comes just after them <3

Shidou + boxing

wants to do it with you

he LOVES when you show him new things you’ve learn or teach him

he’s really good and you already told him to try out more but he loves soccer too much

it’s simply a good date idea to him

he’s screaming the loudest he can during competition

pretend to be you trainer sometimes to mess around

your number 1 fan

likes to play fight with you

he’s really dramatic, if you win at some point he will just lift you in the air and take a few turns

he loves to do basic sportif stuff with you

i’m not sure he’s that careful about his diet but if you are, he’ll listen to you and it can be an excuse to spend time with you

he likes coming with you for groceries

his fav protein shake are vanilla flavor

You always have to put an end to the fight he starts it

But if you're violent enough he'll end up being clingy bc you're hot

Kurona + basketball

he tries to make it to all of your matches

he seems like a big fan of basketball, i think he follows NBA play closely beside football

first hype boy man, you never fell down with him

and if you do, he’ll cheer you up like nobody else can, even your team mate

he always here to give you advices if you need

but he also loves to hear your point about his training and how he can get better

i feel like your better at building your training than him so he likes to do it with you

he would love to play with you sometimes, outside when the weather is fine with it is the best

he’s kinda insecure if some people came along and they’re better than him but thats still not his sport so it’s fine

as long as you enjoy it the fullest he’s the happiest

if you’re pro and you have to go aboard to play he’s sad ngl, he misses you a lot

tries to call you everyday

he’s the happiest honestly, he just likes being able to talk about sport freely whithout sounding nerdy

#blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #blue lock hc #bllk headcanons #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #bllk hcs #sae itoshi x reader #sae x reader #sae headcanons #shidou x reader #shidou headcanons #shidou fluff #kurona x reader #kurona fluff #kurona headcanons

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canonsinthehead · 1 day ago

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Naruto Modern AU/Hollywood pt.11 - WHAT ARE THEY DOING? (Career/profession) (All Characters)

You may be wondering, what is the carrer/profession of all the other Naruto characters in this AU? Let's figure it out...

Before we did into this one you can always refer to previous parts of this HC for more context.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

NARUTO: JAPANESE KAI CENAT.

SAKURA WWE fighter/wrestler in glitter.

SASUKE: Rock punk star turned model. Ambassador of Orochimaru’s fashion estate.

KAKASHI: Lawyer turned actor. GETS PAID BANDS FOR 3 MINUTES CAMEOS. Most of his money comes from advertisements, collaborations, and sponsorship deals.

GAI: Fitness influencer, celebrity trainer, and part-time actor. Older than what he pretends to be, it feels like he hasn't changed physically since the '80s or something.

NEJI: Producer & label owner. Regarding his downfall, his fate was sealed when he revealed that his cousin Hinata was actively cheating on her husband Shino Aburame (who likes her a lot), and how he felt bad for him. He said the rapper TONERI (she's cheating with) is a straight weirdo and is doing witchcraft for people to like is trash ass music. Nobody listened and just laughed when Neji claimed her cousin had a kid from this bum and aborted it. Only Tsunade (she's messy ofc) was open-minded to his words, but Neji didn’t knew how this interview with her would seal his fate. Hiashi planned his demise immediately after (passed away 3 years after).

She had a cooking show where she cooks with different guests (Cooking Venture with Hinata Hyuuga), and Toneri was in one of them.

NO MATTER HIS DEMISE, Neji always had the reputation of being a loving CEO/manager/producer with his artists, while being high standard and demanding the best of them. During the "decline of his mental health," his work remained irreproachable and of high quality. At his worst, he was crashing out on social media by night and releasing bangers by day.

TENTEN: cheerleader for the red leaves of konoha.

LEE: Olympic gymnast.

KURENAI: Professional Opera singer.

HINATA: Nepo baby/JAPANESE MARTHA STEWART/Marie Kondo.

KIBA: Basketball player (Red Leaves of Konoha). His mother Tsume Inuzuka is the president of the female division of the Konoha Police. Regardless of the assumptions, the Inuzuka clan is a well-established family, especially for the advanced canine training and tracking techniques they provide to various entities, companies, and governments.

SHINo: GOLF PLAYER

SHIKAMARU: Ran NASCAR at some point. He retired from the sport early despite being quite good, for being "bothersome". He has always been on the bright side AND posses a degree in a field with a long ass name and hard to obtain. He now lives a more chill life playing professional chess and playing/reviewing video games (KILLING IT AT LEAGUE OF LEGENDS). Naruto collaborates with him a lot.

CHOUJI: Chef. Has a TV show trying the weirdest food all over the world. He is always a guest at cooking competitions. Has a passion for spices and wants to collect the rarest of them.

INO: Alex Earl, social media twin. She likes the fact that most people underestimate her abilities because of her influencer's background, but she is a tuned-up negotiator and goal-oriented businesswoman to the point of perfectly maintaining the music label she co-managed with Neji after his passing

ASUMA: basketball coach

GAARA: greenhouse owner/large-scale gardener. Has programs for the youth and employment opportunities by teaching the art of agriculture. YES, HE IS OF WEALTHIER BACKGROUND WITH HIS SIBLINGS, BUT PREFERS TO STAY OUT OF THE SPOTLIGHT. His agricultural projects are turning many desertic regions into green paradises with great success.

TEMARI Businesswomen who have an assistant following her around with a notepad with her very busy schedule. BOSS AND CEO. Owns a makeup brand.

KANKURO: artist, tattoo artist, and doll maker

ITACH: actor, also an official cast member in Killer Bee's variety shows. His debut episode (along with Neji as a guest) has to be the most-watched episode of all time.

OBITO: an illusionist magician. He has facial scars because of a burn accident that happened outside of his work. His most renowned trick is the ability to make himself or objects disappear and make them reappear out of nowhere. Nobody can decipher the secret of his tricks and he his often employed by very rich clients to entertain them.

IZUNA: nepo baby living off his brother's money. SOFT LIFE and free to live the promiscuous life he desires. gets away with trifling behaviour because NEPOTISM. Madara is running the pr machine full force because he is incapable of telling his younger brother no. The older Uchiha is even funding many of Izuna's dubious ventures. Madara would say it's a luxurious life and the libertine’s way. While Tobirama would say it's escorting with a Louis Vuitton bag.

MADARA: businessman/politicians

HASHIRAMA: politician/businessman

TOBIRAMA: politician

FUGAKU: investor/businessman

MIKOTO UCHIHA: doctor

MINATO: news anchor (the Anderson cooper type), I’m tuned in for the new year’s ball drop celebration every time. he has been doing it for more than a decade now WITH HIS WIFE.

KUSHINA: DISC THROWING athlete. (Think of valarie allman). she discovered her talent when a young Naruto got disrespectful and she sent his small gaming console into the galaxy, Naruto hates that story, rip PSP.

TSUNADE: anime Wendy William

OROCHIMARU: fashion designer, Fashion pioneer/icon

JIRAYA: FOUNDER OF AO3. USING THE DONATIONS TO KEEP THE SITE UP BUT NEVER STOPPING BEING IN BETA. FINANCING HIS EXPENSIVE ADDICTIONS WITH DONATIONS (and y'all keep donating). #1 BEST SELLING AUTHOR

YAMATO: pharmacist (clearly selling weed on the side)

SHIZUNE: successful online lady in sales. Are you tired of working a boring 9 to 5…

ANKO: STRIPPER, nobody knows where she is working, but she surely receives a lot of tips. you can catch her debating other creators online on podcasts since she is more of the lifestyle/motivational content type of girl. the one-sided beef Mizuki has had with her since forever has been fueling her pockets for years, and its not stopping anytime soon.

MIZUKI: podcaster/conspiracy theorist

KABUTO: science researcher

IBIKI: bdsm connoisseur, performer, fashion designer, half way porn star (with some weird "performance" shows for an elite clientele. sits next to Orochimaru as a fashion influence but is more bdsm inspired with all those harness, leather, and belts.

KONOHAMARU: basketball player

HANABI: rapper in a girl group

HIRUZEN: politician

DANZO: Right-wing news anchor on NINE TAILS FOX NEWS.

KARIN: teacher in music school by day, webtoon artist by night.

SUIEGTSU: allegedly, a masked dj

JUUGO: photograph

KIMIMARO: model

RIN: YouTuber doing nails, loves to make collabos with her husband, Obito.

IRUKA: speech specialist

HIDA: hotep cult leader.

KAKUZA: mega church pastor. where the bread is. ushers, close the doors…

KONAN: hairstylist

PAIN: HOCKEY PLAYER, but now activist.

SASORI: POPULAR FORUM CHAT DEVELOPER. some the of the ideologies coming from those using his site is questionable as fuck but reflect his own especially about women smh.

DEIDARA: performance artist/sculptor. he would be the type to break eggs on his head and call it a metaphor for capitalism. outside of that, he is indeed gifted for sculpting, and his pieces are displayed in many museums. his current era is street art, he has made many murals displayed in large cities across the world.

DARUI: basketball Player

OMOI: basketball player and variety show host.

C: tennis player

KARUI: rapper

SAMUI: singer

RAIKAGE: politician

KILLER BEE: rapper and host of variety shows

HAKU: figure skater

ZABUZA : basketball player

RAIGA: basketball player

GATO: sport team owner and businessman

KISAME: basketball player,

MIRU: professional cheerleader

IZUMO: interior designer. He is part of Tsunade's show cast, having a fashion/design section.

KOTETSU: a star baseball player, but appears a lot in Tsunade’s show to support his husband, and it always gives hilarious results. they are beloved for being so funny and likable. They are both busy, but you can catch them at each other's important events every time without fail.

NEXT PART

PREVIOUS PART

BACK TO PART 1

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favstxlenkssxs · 2 months ago

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Brooklyn (Brooke) Cait Riley

the leopard. the killer. the brutal one.

☆— what's more wrong - that i too wish to be great, or my mother wished she'd had a son? [brutus - buttress]

unoffical theme songs: brutus, empathy, ptolemaea, pump up the jam

birthday: mar 15, 1978

face claims: anya taylor joy, emily blunt

sexuality: asexual

early childhood

brooke was born into a world where her brother existed before her. it would be the only world she would ever know. to say her brother (caspian) was favored would be the understatement of the century. her parents fell over themselves for their son. their entire reason for having brooke was so caspian would have a brother to play and grow up with. that didn't happen and she carries the weight of thinking if she was a son, her life might be better.

because of having second place to him in everything, she attaches herself obsessively to whoever shows her unwavering care. it first appeared in third grade. her teacher was patient and kind, always helping her just enough so she could figure out the rest of the problem on her own. when her mother tried to pick her up from school, she started crying and screaming because she wanted to stay with her teacher.

after that, it was her best friend in fourth grade. after her friend became uncomfortable, it was her middle school librarian.

she's never learned how to be quiet. if she wants her voice to be heard, she has to scream. if her brother wants to be heard, all he has to do is mumble.

this jealousy is unknown to caspian. he's always just thought she was an angry little sister and teases her relentlessly until she's snapping at him.

her parents will always take his side when this happens.

pre-crash high school

freshman year, she starts getting into fights. it's stupid, honestly. all it does is get her into trouble and make her brother an embarrassed senior with the insane freshman sister. but it feels...good. it feels good to let her anger out.

brooke spends so much time in the nurses' office that she has her section of bandages in the cabinet. the nurse, sick of cleaning up her messes and pulled muscles, starts teaching her about physical health and how to do minor wound treatment for her aching muscles.

the nurse is a little surprised at how well she's doing with it and recommends her to the athletic trainer, saying she'd make a good assistant or intern. that's how brooke finds herself watching games, passing out waters, and teaching stretches to the basketball team, soccer team, and football team.

sophomore year she's doing the same but she's beginning to make a name for herself. people know her as the girl an inch from snapping. people are learning to steer clear from her. steer clear from the girl who has nearing a hundred detentions, the girl who always seems to have a black eye, the girl who grins crookedly when she feels the other person hit first.

she's not lumped in with the burnouts, no. she's something everyone avoids. she's not a harmless stoner, she's cold and calculated.

it disappoints her, in a way. now that she doesn't have people taunting her, baiting her into fights. she misses the feeling of letting her rage out.

junior year, she's considered another athletic trainer with how much she's helped. sometimes, when the actual trainer isn't there, she gets called for games and practices with complete trust.

nationals is a different story though. when the trainer tells her about a conflict that may result in brooke going in as the athletic trainer she starts to have a few doubts. maybe she can handle a few hours by herself but for an entire trip? she's not that qualified.

but her trainer and the nurse assure her she's well suited for the trip and that they wouldn't trust anyone else. it makes her feel important.

one look at all the trophies her brothers' won for the teams makes the decision for her.

she's going to nationals with the yellowjackets.

the wilderness

she feels blood when she opens her eyes. it's all over the seat, dripping onto her hands too. she can't tell if it's hers or not. she can't tell.

notes: ik this is prob very disappointing but i had an idea for a little freak of nature so here's brooke! still going to be posting abt julie a lot but i wanted to talk abt brooke too.

@logansdogmotif @artificialroux

#brooklyn riley #yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #yellowjackets s3 #yellowjackets oc #yj oc

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pbazzi535 · 2 months ago

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Interlinked Chapter 1

Background: Paige has been playing in the WNBA for 3 seasons, going into her 4th season, she is still playing in Dallas. Paige is 27, Elizabeth is 26, and Kinzley is 2.

April 2028

Paige Bueckers stood in the practice gym for the Dallas Wings, with a rack of balls shooting corner 3’s. She had been working so hard this off season to improve her shooting and build strength in her knees which have been sore lately. Paige hears the door to the practice facility swing open, she didn’t pay much attention to it just figuring it was Arike coming to get some extra shots up like she always did. Arike and Paige spent the most time in the gym, they made a pact when Paige got drafted that they would do everything in their power to grow together and bring a championship to Dallas together. So, they were often found lifting or in the gym shooting. When Arike didn’t say her usual “wassup Bueckers”, Paige decided to look towards the door. That’s when she saw a little girl, beautiful curly brown hair, blue eyes, in a cute blue dress, running towards her.

Paige barely had enough time to drop the basketball she was holding and bend down to catch the little girl before she went barrelling into her legs. Paige picked her up, the little girl was giggling uncontrollably, Paige smiled, “Hi, are you coming to shoot some hoops with me?”. Suddenly, the door swung open again “oh my gosh I am so sorry, she ran from me when I was grabbing my laptop, Kinsley come here please”.

Paige, still holding the little girl, put her down to go back to who she assumed is her mom. Paige couldn’t help but stare, she was gorgeous, from where she stood 15 feet away, Paige could see her beautiful blue eyes, long brown hair and breathtaking smile. “Don’t worry about it, I think she wanted me to get her rebounds, and I could work on that”, Paige joked. “I’m Elizabeth by the way, and this is Kinzley, she is trying to avoid her naptime”. Elizabeth smiled at Paige and picked up her daughter. “Avoiding a nap?! Kinzley, naps are the best! I’m Paige, its nice to meet you guys… are you the new trainer? I heard some of the girls talking last week.” “Yes, I am, today is my first day, and it isn’t going too well, I am definitely lost...”

Paige picked up the basketball that she had dropped earlier and said, “well I know my way around this place pretty well, I can show you around just let me put this away”. “Oh no I couldn’t interrupt your workout, I am sure…” “No I insist, you are a part of the team now and I won’t ever leave someone lost in this big building” Paige interrupted “plus I am done here for the day, my arms are starting to feel like jello”, Paige smiled.

Elizabeth blushed, “I really appreciate that” and started following Paige out of the gym.

“so, are you new to Dallas?” Paige asked as she showed Elizabeth and Kinsley around the facilities. “yeah, we just moved her a couple weeks ago, when I heard about this opportunity, I could not pass it up” Elizabeth answered. “well I hope you enjoy it here, this is a great team and the staff are amazing too, they made me feel right at home when I joined the team a few years ago… have you been a trainer for a while?” Paige asked as they rounded the corner to the recovery room. “Yeah, I actually opened up a private practice with my ex in LA and saw lots of professional athletes.” Elizabeth glanced around the room and saw the office with her name on it. “I think this is my office?” Elizabeth looked back at Paige. “yep this is it, and I think I covered all of the major areas, you’ll know you way around pretty quickly” Paige met Elizabeth’s eyes and realized just how long her eyelashes were and how they complimented her light blue eyes so well. They just stared at each other for a few moments, “Mommy… I’m tired” Kinzley broke the silence, rubbing her eyes. Elizabeth looked down at her daughter in her arms and smiled “I know baby, we are going to go home now, say goodbye to Paige”.

“Bye Paigey” Kinzley says sleepily.

“Bye sweetheart, have a good nap” Paige smiles at the little girls nickname for her.

“Well, I will see you around I am sure, thanks again for showing me around, and sorry for interrupting your workout with my escape artist daughter”.

“No worries at all, it was great to meet you… I would love to grab a coffee with you sometime, you know to show you the best spot in town” Paige scratches the back of her neck nervously.

“I would love that… I’ll give you my number and you can text me” Elizabeth says and she rubs Kinzley’s back putting her to sleep on her shoulder.

Paige gives Elizabeth her phone to put her number in.

“bye Paige” Elizabeth says sweetly and she turns and walks away. Paige just watches and whispers to herself “gosh she is beautiful.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you like it and would like the next chapters!

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #paige x reader

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teastyun · 1 year ago

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˚ ༘ Jules' masterlist ⋆｡˚

☀︎ fluff I ☾ smut I ✎ soon to be published

ARCANE

stories

-> paid undone (Sevika x reader) ☾ (pt. 1)

pound town ☾ (final)

working as an owner of a mechanics shop at day and prostitute at night at Zaun's most famous brothel, you expect a quiet night shift after a hard day of work. your expectations go avail and you miserably fail at keeping your identity hidden from Sevika, who has just earlier visited you at your shop that day.

-> the sweet taste of submission (Sevika x reader) ☾

being blackmailed into piracy, you never expected anything less than cruelty to encounter you in your foreseeable future. but what happens if you become best friends with the captain's quartermaster? are you able to prevent any further feelings from developing?

-> all bark no bite (Vi x Caitlyn) ☾ MOST RECENT!

arriving at Caitlyn's mansion after escaping the heartbreaking scene, her and Vi try to work out the last few months' consequences with a break of moans and thrusts in-between their fighting.

THE LAST OF US (ABBY)

stories

-> pierced heart (tits) (pt. 1) ☀︎

mended heart (pt. 2) ☾

blooming heart (final) ☾

Abby might be your roommate, but she's for whatever reason so distant and cold towards you... until one day, you decide to pierce your nipples and manage to break a barrier inside of Abby.

-> edge's hatred ☾

after a hard week of patrolling and going on missions, you're finally able to take a night off with your friends, watching anime while getting drunk. but instead of getting drunk, you get railed by your enemy Abby in the community bathroom. oops?

-> denial is a river in Egypt ☀︎

one night, you hear a big fight happening between Abby and Owen in her dorm on your way to the bathroom. will you be able to cheer her up, despite you two being sworn enemies for the last few years?

-> heaven and back ☾ ✎ (date soon to be added)

as an owner of an inherited queer bar, your bodyguard Abigail Anderson does not only guard your bar, but also your filthiest thoughts about her combined with your slowly rising attraction towards her. one night, you sneakily slip her a revealing polaroid of you, not thinking about the consequences of your actions.

love letter to my nemesis ☾

the original sexual tension between you and your nemesis Abby drastically changed into an uncomfortable and unbearable one... who knew that hooking up with your arrogant and rude leader in your dorm would lead into you two avoiding each other completely?

headcanons

-> Abigail Anderson headcanons ☀︎

-> Abby and her strap headcanons ☾

-> Abby and her strap headcanons pt. 2 ☾

-> personal trainer!Abby headcanons ☾

-> jealous!Abby headcanons ☾

brabbles

-> rival football player!Abby x football player!reader ☾

-> basketball coach!reader x assistant coach!Abby ☾

my recommendations

-> some spicy Abby x reader fics ☾

-> some spicy Ellie x reader recs ☾

#➶ jules' anthology

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saturnn127 · 2 months ago

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couldn’t make it any harder | LJN smau

>profiles (yn's found family) see masterlist for warnings and details :)

jeong jaehyun, the brother: yn’s favorite family member (he’s the only one lmao). they are really close, and he is very protective of her. he’s just scared to lose her, the last family member he has. though he can get overbearing, yn knows it’s out of a good place. he’s the captain of the basket ball team, and a senior.

yuta nakamoto, the brother’s best friend: yn sees a lot of him since he’s always with yuno. he treats her like his own sister, and try’s to help jaehyun with her as much as he can. she used to have a crush on him when they were younger, and sometimes still gets flustered around him. he’s co-captain of the basketball team and in automotive, where he likes to work on his motorcycle.

johnny suh, the father figure: a year above jaehyun and yuta, two above yn, he has taken it upon himself to take care of the two jeong siblings. they were neighbors growing up, and after the incident, his family took them in. since then, they’ve been treated like family, and johnny made sure they were taken care off all throughout college. now a graduate, he’s managing and working as a personal trainer at a gym owned by his uncle.

kim doyoung, the manager: yn’s manager at a restaurant next to campus. they were coworkers when doyoung was still in school, but he was promoted once he graduated. he is another that would take care of jae and yn, making sure they were fed and had the proper resources for school.

cl/kwon chaerin, the mother figure: owner of the restaurant doyoung and yn work at. she hired yn when she was 15 despite it being not legal, and made sure to protect her from getting in trouble. she felt sorry for the girl after all she went through so she took her in under her wing. she even trained her on being a man eater, despite the fact that she is a happily married woman.

gd/kwon jiyong, the step father: chaerin’s husband and former gang member. he now works as a co-owner at the bar next to the restaurant with his friend Taeyang, who had also been in the same gang. he is constantly showing yn how a man should treat his lover, wanting to make sure her standards are high.

tracklist prev ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 next

a/n: i’m realizing this is just me using all of my fav idols. oh well. i love the found family trope, so it’s def going to have a heavy part in this au :)

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pbaz7 · 5 months ago

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AGAINST THE TIDE — PART TWO

paige x azzi

warnings: language

word count: 4.8k

A/N: Here’s the next chapter!! It’s another chap of me setting the scene so bear with me. The next chapters when Azzi officially gets on campus will have more interaction between them. I’m also not sure how I feel about the 1st person POV so I might stop after this who knows. Anywho let me know what you think and leave comments and live reactions if you can!! Happy New Year everyone 🥳

—————————————————————————

July 2019 - Paige POV

I was deep into my basketball workout, the sound of the ball echoing through the gym as I went through the drills with precision. My trainer standing by the sideline, coaching me through each movement — footwork, ball-handling, shot mechanics. I was lost in the rhythm of it all, my mind focused solely on the next move, the next shot, just as I did every offseason.

But then, something on the TV caught my attention.

The US 3x3 tournament was on — I hadn't been paying too much attention to it, but I always found time for basketball, no matter who was playing. It was in my blood. I just loved the game at all levels.

My focus slipped for a second as I looked over at the screen, noticing the score was a little close. Then I saw Azzi.

I froze, the ball bouncing softly at my side as I watched everything unfold. One minute, she was pushing through the defense, looking like she was about to make a play, and the next, she was on the floor. Her knee buckled awkwardly, and I saw her fall, immediately clutching it. The pain was clear as day on her face.

"Oh fuck," I muttered under my breath, the word escaping before I could stop it. My trainer immediately moving toward the TV to turn the volume up.

The announcers' voices filled the gym, sharp with concern. "All of a sudden there’s concern for the health of one of the best high schoolers in the country. We can only hope Azzi Fudd is able to walk out of here on her own which will be a good sign for all the viewers who I’m sure are holding their breath as this all unfolds." One said, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily in his tone.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen as Azzi stayed down, her face twisted in pain, tears welling in her eyes as the camera zoomed in on her. I hate when they do that shit.

I didn’t particularly like Azzi. She was too passive for my liking, not nearly as fiery or intense as I thought a player should be. Especially someone of her caliber. Plus she fouled the hell out of me for no reason that one time. But seeing her in that kind of pain? That wasn’t something I could enjoy. Despite all the rivalry, despite everything, I hated seeing anyone get hurt.

For all our back-and-forth, the trash talk, the competitiveness that had grown between us, I never wanted to see her hurt. She had just had an incredible season, her name up there with the best in the country — and now, it could all come crashing down in a second. This injury could change everything for her, just like that.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when my trainer asked, “You think she’s going to be ight?”

I didn’t answer right away. I just stood there, watching as they helped Azzi off the court, her face still contorted in pain as she limped off. It hit me kinda hard — this was a big deal, and despite everything that had happened on the court between us, I couldn’t help but feel for her.

“Yeah,” I muttered. "I’m sure she’ll bounce back."

After that the gym felt a little different now. The ball didn’t bounce as loudly, and the drill didn’t seem as important. All I could think about was how quickly things could change in an instant. How that could have been me. How it could still be me.

…

Later that night, laying in bed, Paige aimlessly scrolled through social media. Her feed was flooded with news of Azzi's injury. It was everywhere. All anyone seemed to be talking about was the #1 player in the class of 2021 tearing both her ACL and MCL after her incredible sophomore year. Paige had to admit, it hit her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. She had seen Azzi's growth first-hand the few times they’d played — her rise to stardom, the awards, and now, this. The thought of the rivalry they'd shared now feeling so... empty... nagged at her.

Paige knew that she’d see St. John’s again twice next year but something about the thought of no Azzi in the mix made it not as exciting. Without Azzi, there wouldn’t be any real competition left. Their games had been some of the most intense, back-and-forth battles she’d ever played in, and now that felt like it was over. There was no way Azzi would be back before the playoffs next year.

Paige’s fingers hovered over her phone screen as her mind wandered. She didn’t know why she was doing this, but she found herself scrolling through her contacts, looking for Azzi's number. They’d played together on the U16 team and Paige had everyone’s number from the team saved after they insisted on having a groupchat. She tapped it and paused, unsure of what to say, knowing if she was in Azzi’s shoes no words would ease whatever she was feeling. Still she sent a message anyway.

You'll bounce back. It's just a setback Fudd.

She stared at the message, fingers hovering for a moment before hitting send. She didn’t expect a response. What was she even doing? Azzi probably didn’t even want to hear from her, they didn’t even like each other. But it felt wrong to just leave it at that — to not acknowledge what Azzi was going through. She knew the girl after all.

With a heavy sigh, Paige set her phone down and went to brush her teeth to get ready for bed. She didn’t really expect a response back.

But when she returned, phone in hand, her screen illuminated, signaling a new notification.

Thank you, means a lot.

Paige typed a quick reply: Anytime.

Then she put her phone on the nightstand, settling into bed as she turned on a WNBA game.

November 2019

Azzi sat at the end of the bench, her leg throbbing slightly beneath the brace, trying to make sense of the game she’d just watched. Her team had been outclassed from the jump, and without her on the floor, it felt like they had no chance. Paige of course had been unstoppable—37 points, and the craziest part was, she didn’t touch the floor the whole fourth quarter. It was almost embarrassing to watch.

When the buzzer finally rang, signaling the end of the game, Azzi’s shoulders slumped and she sighed in relief that it was over. She didn’t even look at the scoreboard; it didn’t matter. She stayed seated as her teammates lined up to shake hands with the Gonzaga players. The energy in the gym was deflated—everyone had known the outcome was a foregone conclusion the moment the game tipped off.

As Azzi adjusted her knee brace and slowly stood up, she was surprised to see Paige walking toward her.

The other players from Gonzaga hadn’t thought to come over and shake her hand, but Paige didn’t hesitate. She offered Azzi a quick high five, her face a mix of competitiveness and something else. Azzi raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the gesture but unwilling to show any emotion to the blonde in front of her.

Paige’s voice was light, almost teasing. “What’s that, 4-1 now, Fudd?”

Azzi couldn’t help but scoff. “You didn’t talk shit the whole game,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You just had to come over here and ruin it, didn't you?”

Paige laughed, a playful glint in her eyes. As she turned to walk away, she tossed over her shoulder, “No comp to talk shit to on the court that’s all.”

Azzi watched her go, a mix of annoyance and begrudging admiration in her chest. Paige had a way of making things look easy, and even though Azzi hated it and hated how she acted, she couldn’t deny it—Paige was damn good.

March 2020 - Paige’s POV

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands, stomach in knots. My phone sat next to me, buzzing with more notifications I couldn’t bring myself to check. The championship game we’d worked so damn hard for, the perfect season we’d earned — all of it, gone. Just like that.

CoVid-19 had canceled the last game, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. It felt like a bad dream. The end of my high school career. Just like that, like a snap of a few fingers. Kind of funny how life is in that way.

We had been unstoppable. Undefeated. We were supposed to go out on top. I was supposed to walk off that court with my teammates, with that championship trophy, the culmination of all the hard work and sacrifice after losing last year. But now, it was all over, and I was left with nothing but this empty feeling in my chest.

It felt wrong, especially after the season I’d had. Gatorade Female High School Athlete of the Year. Gatorade National Player of the Year. Naismith Prep Player of the Year. Morgan Wootten National Player of the Year. I was on the cover of SLAM, for fucks sake. A McDonald’s All-American. I was supposed to play in the Jordan Brand Classic. The championship with my team was supposed to be the last piece of the puzzle. And now it was just... taken from me. From all of us.

I wasn’t the only one feeling it, but that didn’t make it any easier. My teammates were crushed, too. We all were. We’d worked for this. We had dreams about our comeback season, and now they were dashed. I just couldn’t understand how everything had unraveled so quickly.

It wasn’t just about the game, though. It was everything that came with it. The way everything seemed to be falling into place too quickly. My future at UConn was waiting, but it felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me before I was ready. All of a sudden, the world felt uncertain even though I knew exactly where I was headed for the next four years.

I tried not to think about the stuff I’d lose, like the last game I was supposed to play, the players I was supposed to compete against, and the milestones I was supposed to hit with my team. Instead, I kept thinking about what was next.

The only thing I could do right now was work. There was no championship trophy to hold, no fans to cheer for me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still prepare.

So, I grabbed my shoes and headed to the gym. I knew there was no real closure here. Not right now, so it was pointless to get in my feelings about it. Pointless to sit around and be sad. There was still a season ahead of me, more basketball to play. College was waiting now.

…

The gym was quiet except for the sound of basketballs bouncing. Paige was working through her shots, focused as she tested her range and worked on different combo moves. She wasn’t expecting company, everything was shut down. Her thoughts were elsewhere—on the future, not on what had been taken from her. The weight of losing her senior season to the pandemic still hung over her, though she didn’t let it show in her work.

Then, she heard the faint sound of footsteps behind her. She pulled off her headphones and turned around, surprised to see Azzi standing there. It had been about seven months since Azzi’s knee injury, and seeing her standing there in person was different from seeing her in a game. The two of them never really spoke outside of playing one another, and the awkwardness of the situation wasn’t lost on either of them.

Azzi paused when their eyes met. “My bad, didn’t know anyone was here,” she said, clearly about to turn and leave. The gym was small and only half a court and she didn’t want to deal with whatever Paige had to say today.

Paige shook her head in disagreement, clearly not phased by her presence. “It’s cool. You don’t need to leave.”

Azzi hesitated before nodding and walking over to the bench, sitting down to put on her basketball shoes. Paige returned to shooting. Once Azzi had finished getting ready, she stood up, stretched, and grabbed a ball. Paige was still shooting when she glanced over taking off her headphones again.

“How’s the knee?” Paige asked before she could stop herself, looking down at the black sleeve covering Azzi’s right leg. Her voice broke the silence, and Azzi looked at her, surprised by the blonde speaking to her.

“It’s a work in progress,” Azzi replied, her tone softer than Paige had ever heard. It was clear she was still recovering, but she didn’t seem too eager to talk about it.

Paige simply hummed in response, turning back to the basket. Neither of them said much after that.

Paige continued to go through her drills as Azzi worked on her shots, most of them swishing effortlessly through the net, though she was missing more than usual. Paige, focused as always, didn’t really think too much about what the other girl had going on. After a while of silence, Azzi turned to her.

“Congrats on all your awards, by the way,” Azzi said, her voice genuine, even if it came out a little unexpectedly and awkwardly. Paige nodded, briefly acknowledging it with a half smile. There wasn’t much more to say—her accomplishments had all come in a season that felt incomplete, and she didn’t really wanna think about that right now.

Then, on a rebound, Azzi’s ball went a little further than expected, and Paige jogged to retrieve it, having been closer as she was getting some water. Azzi watched her and when Paige came back, she passed Azzi the ball without a word.

That was the turning point. Instead of keeping to their separate routines, they began to shoot together. Azzi rebounded for Paige, and Paige did the same for Azzi. They moved around the court, each shot a natural rhythm as they stepped into the pass. The way they moved, the way they passed and shot, was effortless, like they had done this a thousand times before. Neither said a word as they shot, they were just happy to not have to run after their own rebound every two seconds. The ease between them told a story of mutual respect even though it was usually clear they weren’t too fond of each other.

The silence between them stretched on as Paige and Azzi continued to shoot. The rhythm of their movements, the swish of the net, and the soft thud of the ball bouncing were the only sounds filling the gym. They both seemed absorbed in their own thoughts as they passed the ball back and forth.

After some time, Paige’s phone kept buzzing so she glanced at the clock. She had been there longer than she’d planned, and she remembered telling Drew she’d take him to the movies. So she reluctantly made her way to the bench to take off her basketball shoes even though she hadn’t cleared her mind like she hoped. Azzi was still shooting, focused and intent, as if the ball and the hoop were the only things that mattered.

Paige bent down to untie her shoes, glancing up as she did. Azzi missed another shot, and the ball rolled off to the side. Paige grabbed it without thinking, tossing it back to Azzi with a casual flick of her wrist.

As the ball landed back in Azzi’s hands, Paige couldn’t help but notice the slight hesitation in Azzi’s movements, the way she seemed to favor her left leg a bit. Azzi took a moment before shooting again, but the ball missed again, clanging off the rim and bouncing awkwardly as the girl groaned in frustration.

Paige stood up, grabbing her shoes from the ground as she spoke. “You’re favoring your left side when you shoot now,” she said, her voice calm but observant. “That’s why your shot’s not falling. You gotta trust that your knee will be fine.”

Azzi paused, the ball resting in her hands as she processed the comment. Paige could see the wheels turning in Azzi’s mind, the realization slowly dawning on her. She didn’t reply, but Paige noticed the way she shifted her weight as she took a second shot, more thoughtfully this time as it went through the net.

Paige didn't linger, just headed toward the door. Azzi didn’t say anything more either, lost in her thoughts as she continued to shoot.

November 2020

Azzi had been wrestling with the decision for weeks. The pressure to commit was everywhere, with coaches, family, and even fans weighing in with their opinions. Narrowing her choices to UCLA, Maryland, and UConn had been easy enough—each school had its appeal.

Maryland offered familiarity. The hometown hero story would mean playing in front of her family and friends, building a legacy close to home. UCLA? Well, their facilities were out of this world, and the program was on the rise and it would be nice to be the player who brought them to the top. But UConn... UConn was something else entirely.

The school was synonymous with greatness. Azzi had grown up dreaming of wearing that blue and white jersey, playing under Geno Auriemma, and being part of a dynasty, of being a husky. There was no denying the opportunity to grow under one of the best coaches in basketball history.

But there was a large problem. Paige.

Azzi had only crossed paths with Paige a handful of times during their games, but each interaction had left a bad taste in her mouth. Paige Bueckers was an undeniable talent, but her confidence often read as arrogance. The way Paige carried herself—with that smirk and cocky demeanor—rubbed Azzi the wrong way every time. Could she really spend years as a teammate to someone who seemed so self-absorbed? She couldn’t imagine having to share the court with the girl let alone the ball that she would probably never pass to Azzi.

Azzi turned the thought over and over in her mind day after day, replaying memories of Paige’s antics during games, her posturing, the way the media fawned over her, the way she soaked it in. It was irritating. Still, Azzi decided she couldn’t let one person dictate her future. This was her dream, her opportunity to compete at the highest level, to win championships.

When Azzi made her commitment to UConn public, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The decision was made, and she was ready to face whatever came next—even Paige and all of her bullshit.

A couple of states away in Connecticut, Paige sat scrolling through her phone in the gym when the news broke. A tweet caught her eye, and as she opened it, her jaw nearly hit the floor.

"DMV’s Azzi Fudd, 2021 #1 Recruit Commits to University of Connecticut"

Paige stared at the screen, rereading the headline as if it would change. Her eyebrows shot up, and her eyes bulged in disbelief.

“What the fuck” Paige muttered to herself.

December 2020

During high school winter break Geno organized Azzi to come on a visit to meet the team before her official arrival. The visist had been going smoothly—almost perfectly, in fact. The facilities were incredible, Geno’s warmth and charisma made her feel valued, and the team seemed thrilled to have her there. Everything felt right. Everything except the glaring absence of Paige Bueckers.

It wasn’t like Azzi had come to the visit just to ‘officially’ meet Paige, but it would’ve been nice. Paige was clearly the face of the program now, the freshman star everyone raved about. If they were going to be teammates, Azzi figured they’d at least cross paths before she officially got to campus the upcoming summer. But so far, Paige had been conspicuously absent from all the introductions, the tour, and now the relaxed hangout in the dorm's common area.

The team was great, though. Christyn and Olivia, two of the team’s upperclassmen had gone out of their way to make Azzi feel comfortable, sharing stories about what it was like to play under Geno. Christyn was particularly funny, throwing in sarcastic comments about Olivia’s sometimes over-the-top pregame rituals.

Aaliyah, Nika, Saylor, and Piath—some of the freshmen—were a mix of energy and chaos. Nika’s personality was magnetic; she was constantly cracking jokes and pulling Azzi into the group’s banter. Aaliyah had a quieter, grounded presence, offering up thoughtful questions and laughing at Nika’s antics. Saylor and Piath added their own flair, with Saylor occasionally teasing Nika for her over-the-top expressions and Piath keeping things calm when the group got a little rowdy.

Then there was Aubrey, who was nestled between the older and younger players. She had an easygoing vibe, but there was something quietly sharp about her observations and she didn’t seem to talk much. But as the night wore on, Aubrey began to loosen up a bit and was leaning in to share a few inside jokes about the team dynamics here and there.

“You’ll like it here,” Aubrey said, nudging Azzi with her elbow. “Well, once you get used to all the chaos… and Paige.”

The mention of Paige brought the blonde’s absence into sharper focus. Azzi glanced toward the only closed door in the suite, making her assume it was Paige’s. Azzi had heard what sounded like the same game replaying over and over since she’d been in the suite coming from behind the closed door. She hadn’t thought much of it earlier, but now it felt a little deliberate that she hadn’t come out yet.

Evina noticed Azzi’s glance and sighed. “I’ll go get her,” she said, standing up and walking toward Paige’s door.

Before she could get there and knock, the door swung open. Paige emerged in a whirlwind, a granola bar clamped between her teeth, headphones slung around her neck, her phone in one hand, and her basketball shoes in the other.

“Hey, P,” Evina said, trying to stop her. “Come hang out for a bit. Azzi’s here.”

Paige grunted, barely making eye contact. “Can’t. Played like ass yesterday,” she mumbled around the granola bar before walking past everyone and out of the suite.

Azzi scoffed, unable to hold it in. It was hard not to take it personally. She didn’t know Paige well, but her quick exit felt more like an insult than anything else.

“No, don't take offense,” Evina said, noticing Azzi’s reaction. “Paige is… well, she’s Paige. You’ll get to know her. She’d live in the gym if we let her. Trust me, it’s not about you.”

Aubrey snorted from her spot on the couch. “Yeah I lost a bet and had to drag her out of there twice this week. First time, I turned the lights off. She didn’t even notice, or didn’t care. She just kept shooting until she got tired of me messing with her music and walked out.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “And the second time?”

“Had to practically carry her out,” Aubrey said with a laugh. “She gave up eventually, but only because I promised her Nika wouldn’t eat all the protein bars anymore.”

“I don’t eat all of them!” Nika protested loudly, drawing laughter from the group.

Azzi chuckled slightly but her irritation still lingered. Sure, Paige might be obsessive about basketball, but her absence still felt pointed with Azzi knowing the older girl didn’t like her. Azzi decided to ignore it though and as the night wore on, the team’s easy camaraderie pulled her in, and Azzi found herself genuinely liking everyone. Even looking forward to being here in the summer.

But Paige’s absence hung over everything, making it hard for Azzi to fully relax. When it got close to midnight and Paige still hadn’t returned, Nika, Aubrey, and Evina began debating who should go to the gym this time.

“I went twice already!” Aubrey said, throwing her hands up. “I’m not doing it again. I’d rather wrestle Olivia’s big ass for the remote.”

“You didn’t even try last yesterday,” Nika teased. “You just texted her and gave up and I had to go eventually.”

“Yeah, because she’s a weirdo when she’s like this.”

Evina groaned, standing up. “Fine shut up. I’ll go.”

Azzi watched as Evina grabbed her keys and headed out, her frustration bubbling to the surface again.

About thirty minutes later, the door to the suite swung open, and Evina stepped in, followed by a very irritated Paige. Azzi immediately noticed the tension as Paige, her hair sticking slightly to her forehead from sweat, strode in mid-sentence.

“It’s not that big of a fucking deal, E,” Paige muttered, clearly continuing a heated discussion the two had been having on their way back.

“It is a big deal,” Evina shot back, her voice calm but firm. “And you’re going to handle it. Now.”

Paige groaned dramatically, tossing her basketball shoes onto the floor by her room before following Evina inside. The door shut behind them, and for a brief moment, the suite was quiet.

Then came the muffled sounds of what was unmistakably yelling. Azzi wasn’t sure whether Paige or Evina was louder, but she could hear enough to piece together that Evina was getting on Paige about something.

The team, meanwhile, carried on as if this was perfectly normal, as if it was their routine. Aaliyah was fiddling with the remote trying to find a game, Aubrey was scrolling through her phone, and Christyn and Olivia were engaged in a debate over which snack brand had the best pretzels.

Eventually, the noise from Paige’s room stopped, and a few moments later, Evina emerged, her expression relaxed and a victorious smile playing on her lips. “She’ll be out soon,” she announced, as if this was some kind of accomplishment.

True to her word, a while later, Paige reappeared. She had swapped her clothes for a loose hoodie and joggers, her wet hair thrown over her shoulders. She glanced at Azzi, her blue eyes softening slightly.

“Hey,” Paige said, offering a small, almost sheepish smile. “Sorry for missing most of your visit. Welcome to UConn Azzi.”

Evina, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, watched the interaction with a knowing grin, as though she’d personally orchestrated this rare moment of civility.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by Paige’s shift in demeanor. She nodded, her response clipped but polite. “It’s all good.”

Paige didn’t seem to notice Azzi’s hesitation—or if she did, she didn’t care. She flopped down onto the couch between Nika and Olivia with an exaggerated sigh, stretching her legs out and leaning her head against Nika’s shoulder.

“Welcome back to the land of the living twin,” Nika greeted her, her voice light and teasing.

Paige tilted her head, giving Nika a look that Azzi couldn’t quite decipher. It was like an entire conversation passed between them in a single expression. Nika burst out laughing, shaking her head as she nudged Paige playfully, making the blonde crack a smile as she leaned back on Nika’s shoulder.

The casual interaction threw Azzi off. For someone who’d seemed so intense and standoffish earlier, Paige was now practically melting into Nika. It was… strange.

Nika, Azzi had learned over the course of the evening, was one of the sweetest and most outgoing members of the team, always cracking jokes and making people feel included. On the surface, she and Paige couldn’t have been more different, yet here they were, leaning on each other like lifelong best friends.

Before Azzi could think too much about it, Christyn, who had been munching on a bag of chips, reached into the cabinet and tossed two protein bars at Paige, hitting her square in the chest.

“Eat,” Christyn ordered, her tone casual but firm. Paige barely reacted, opening one of the bars and shoving a piece of it in her mouth without a word.

Azzi couldn’t help but notice the dynamic. It was almost as if it was second nature for everyone to take care of Paige. Dragging her out of the gym, making sure she ate, looking out for her even when she seemed pissy about it.

It was strange to witness but oddly endearing picking up on how much they cared about each other. Azzi still wasn’t sure how Paige fit into the easygoing, tight-knit vibe of the rest of the team, but seeing her now—grumbling about snacks while slouching into Nika’s shoulder—it was clear there was more to her than Azzi had originally thought.

Azzi had planned to be the bigger person today and put all their bad blood to the side. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Paige had been avoiding her, and it left a sour taste, so she kept her mouth shut.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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