Most recent work: What's most important (to you) Chapter 3
My community: Pazzi fanfics for my baddies
I've been getting message saying the link doesn't work. Let me know if this works.
Little reminder: was first created for fics I wasn’t gonna post on main but now I just do polls and updates there, or sometimes longer snippets of fics (subject to change)
yeah so my sister just bought me macdonalds which means im boutta lock the fuck in on rulessssss. Prepare yourselves people, cuz it's either gonna be hella good or extremely ass.
Since we’re all going feral for Paige’s interaction with Miles what about something where she has to defend Azzi from either a frat boy (college pazzi) or an nba player (current pazzi) where they get up in each other’s faces at a party or event? He could say something dismissive to P and that leads to some dysphoria that Azzi helps her with later that night.
just want you to know that i see this and am not ignoring lol. I love this idea and I'm adding it to the list. Of course rules are meant to be broken will be out first but I do love this prompt. Keep sending them in!
I hope you guys like this chapter. Not sure how to feel about it, but I hope you enjoy anyway.
Let me know your thoughts
—----------
Paige’s obsession with fashion began early on, but it really grew in college. She started to mix things up her junior year at UConn, shifting from crop tops and sweats to actual fits.
She felt better when she stopped forcing femininity onto herself. Less makeup during shoots—it wasn’t as if she wore any in her daily life. She began to find her voice. Used her own creativity. A blend of feminine and masculine. She liked both, but had always leaned towards feeling more confident wearing the latter.
It was a learning process, of course. Paige had some questionable outfit choices throughout the years.
The Twitter posts still haunted her nightmares.
UConn and Wings’ fans had dug up some of her looks from high school; the pink flannel and ripped skinny jeans photo had to be the worst one. But young Paige was sure she was the flyest in the room.
She didn’t try as hard anymore. She still dressed nicely, but had drifted away from the hobby. Most of the things she wore these days were Nike gear. The only instances she dressed up were for tunnel fits and events.
She realized how rusty she had gotten at a recent event. Black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a knitted vest. Paige thought she looked good. She had even picked the outfit out the night before—ironed it, too! The internet said she looked like a waiter. It was a hard blow to the ego.
Paige realized maybe she had gone a little too far with her lack of fashion in recent years because apparently there was a dress code for Azzi’s intro rookie presser. And as she rummaged through her closet, she realized she had nothing to wear.
How did she not have a single pink article of clothing?
Kurt, the old fuck, called her last night and told her she had to wear the color. Something about wanting to make Azzi feel at home with the Wings. How wearing pink would make Azzi feel welcome was beyond her. But she’d do it because, honestly, she was worried about Kurt’s sanity. He’d been protective of the brunette and incredibly excited, nearing the point where Paige was considering looking up early signs of psychosis.
She’d been in her closet for close to thirty minutes, and hell, she’d settle for pink adjacent with how it was going. The closest thing she’d found was a gag gift given to her by KK several years back: a black shirt that said “daddy” in pink lettering.
Paige was still digging through the bins in the depths of her closet when she heard her door creak open, followed by a sharp slam.
“Paige?” Drew called out.
There it was, hidden beneath a pile of old Unrivaled gear. Pink. She stuffed it in her pocket and walked out to see Drew lounging on her bed, all sweaty and gross.
“Hey,” he said, grinning at her. The boy was wearing his Kobe’s and ‘Camp Muhl’ shirt. “How’s your day going?”
“What are you doing in my bed?” She glared at him, cringing at the sight of his sweaty curls sitting on her pillow.
“Resting,” he said, blowing a wet curl out of his face.
“Resting?”
“Yep, just got back from a long day at work.” He yawned dramatically, scooting to the edge of her bed.
“What? The kids give you a run for your money?” She teased. A small sense of delight filled her when he scoffed.
“Obviously not,” he said indignantly, kicking his shoes off. “Just had to show ‘em how it’s done. Even dunked on a few of ‘em.”
“Sure you did,” Paige said, walking past shoes (that smelled like ass) and to her dresser. She peeled her shirt off, leaving her in a black sports bra. “I know a ton of 5’9” guys that dunk. A lot of them are actually in the NBA,” Paige tapped her chin. “It’s weird though, I can’t think of their names.”
“Ha-ha, hilarious,” he said, moving towards her. He eyed her rummaging through her drawers, pulling out multiple articles of clothing. She threw them haphazardly onto her bed. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for something to wear. Got this thing later.”
“Jeans and some Dallas gear? Damn, you goin’ to a ballroom dance or something?”
She smacked his arm. “No, I’m going to Azzi’s presser,” she said, “but I have to wear pink. Something ‘bout the front office saying we need to support Azzi.”
“By wearing pink?”
She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Do you even own pink?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
She pulled the only pink article of clothing she owned out of her pocket.
“A hat?”
“Yep,” she affirmed, putting it on her head, smiling in triumph. She gave it a little twist so that it sat just right.
“It says Miami, though.”
“Oh.”
—----------
Drew managed to rope Paige into driving him to the park before the presser.
He’d been going to the Inner Core in the weeks that he’d been staying with her. There were a few courts located under the highway overpass where he played pickup with some guys he’d met.
It wasn’t the first time she had to drive him somewhere. She still hadn’t gotten his car situation sorted out, so Nika was picking him up for work each day. Paige offered her gas money multiple times, but the Croatian said, “Just because I’m not in the W anymore doesn’t mean I’m broke, Paige.” And though Paige hadn’t meant it that way, she was still embarrassed enough not to offer again.
“Did you tell Tara yet?” Paige asked. The sun was out in full, beating down on the car’s back exterior. Paige’s AC was on full blast.
“No,” he murmured, voice cutting through the humming air vents, “I think she’d be even worse than Dad if she knew.”
Drew was right. His mother could be intense.
“Yeah, maybe not the best idea, actually,” she agreed. “It just worries me that I’m the only one who knows.”
“You don’t need to worry, Paige,” he said, “Ima figure this shit out. Basketball is what I wanna do and I know I can. Please just believe, okay?
She didn’t believe it, and that was the issue.
So, instead of responding, she simply kept on driving.
“So, Azzi…” Paige had just gotten into the right-turn lane. The two were less than five minutes from the courts. “You gonna hit?”
“Hit?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows. She squinted and leaned forward to concentrate. Traffic was always bad in downtown Dallas.
“Hit? Like you know,” he waved his hands, “fuck?”
They both flinched when she jerked the steering wheel, just missing a honking truck. “What the actual fuck, Drew?”
“Okay, first of all, don’t crash,” he said, wide-eyed, adjusting his seatbelt. “And second, what do you mean what ‘the fuck?’ I’m for real! She’s hot.”
Paige took a deep breath, composing herself from the truck and from Drew’s belligerence. “No, I’m not ‘hitting’,” she said, leaning back, her focus fully back on the road, “and you’re being inappropriate.”
“Broooo,” he whined, “literally, how? I know you were just saving face back at Nika’s gym.”
At that point, she was pulling into the parking lot. And honestly, she was ready to rid herself of her little brother. “No, Drew, I was being completely for real. And she’s my rookie. I’m not attracted to her.”
“Liar.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Liar, liar, liar,” he sang.
Nothing about this conversation was funny to Paige. “Get out of my car,” she said in the most intimidating voice she could muster. And since Drew knew what was best for him, he scrambled out, leaving a frustrated Paige behind.
—----------
Kurt and Paige have had a rocky dynamic throughout the time they’ve known each other. As far as metaphors go, the two weren’t dissimilar to a divorced dad and estranged daughter with deep-rooted issues. They kind of hated each other, but also didn’t? Basically, they care about each other, but in a fucked up kind of way. Luckily, over the years it had developed into a tentative love-hate relationship.
Kurt tried to relate to Paige. She was his star, but he messed up one too many times, and it caused irreparable damage to her trust in him. She had an inkling he was trying to change his ways with Azzi. With her, he was the new and improved dad. That dad who kept more than a jar of jelly in his fridge and didn’t say, “the call goes both ways.”
Even though Jose was also adamant about making sure Azzi was comfortable, he had always loved Paige. If Kurt was the deadbeat dad, Jose was the dad who stepped up.
Jess was the outlier. Kurt seemed scared of her, and Jose just let her ball. She was the grizzled vet, butch as fuck, and still wears that high-ass bun that Paige never had the nerve to tell her looked kinda funny.
And KK, well, KK was Jose’s new acquisition. She took the position of lead assistant coach with Dallas. Geno, the old fart, got her the job. Paige called it nepotism. KK called connections.
Paige supposed it could be both.
KK had gotten waived a few weeks after being drafted. She ended up going overseas for a while, but her heart had always been in the States. She had been living all the way in Connecticut for the past 3 years, assistant coaching at UConn, when she received the call.
Now Paige was at the Wings’ practice facility trying to avoid three of the aforementioned people: Kurt, KK, and Jose.
The initial tactic was to sneak in incognito through the back. She tucked her pink hat into her bag and wore a casual outfit. Washed jeans and the retro Wings long-sleeve she had chosen earlier when Drew was hovering. The addition of the black hat was supposed to disguise her. Unfortunately, Paige’s key card didn’t extend to the trucking garage. Front door it was, and it went exactly the opposite of how she wanted it to.
It turned out there weren’t many six-foot blondes who frequented Wings’ territory.
“Where’s your pink?” KK asked.
“Wha?” She spun around to find KK, decked out in her own pink attire. Apparently deciding to go the whole nine yards with a pink essentials sweatsuit. “I haven’t put it on yet,” she said, putting her hands into her pockets. “And what the fuck is that?” Paige motioned to KK’s clear dedication to the required attire.
KK’s eyebrow rose. “I’m following the dress code,” she said, “which you’re obviously not.”
“I just said I haven’t put it on yet,” Paige countered, “it’s—it’s in my car?”
“The press conference is in twenty minutes and you still have to go to your car to get changed?” KK questioned, looking entirely unconvinced.
“Yeah, so I’ll see you there. I gotta pee,” she lied, taking a few steps back. “Save me a seat!” Paige called out when she had gotten far enough to turn and speedwalk towards the bathroom.
“You’re Paige Bueckers,” she called back, “you already have a seat!”
—----------
Kurt wasn’t playing. This girl loved pink.
Pink tablecloth. Pink chairs for the press. A pink couch for the players who were attending. A pink runway carpet? There was even a tiara next to Azzi’s nameplate.
Paige seriously wondered if she could get pink-eye from this shit.
Chairs lined the room, which sat reporters and media members. Unlike the pink, the press wasn’t there to make azzi feel welcome. These guys were snakes, ready to sink their teeth in. Paige knew they were all preparing for the best sound bite possible, waiting to catch Azzi off guard. The pens and pads in their hands were just for show.
Already seated on the couch were Jess and Zaza. Paige took her seat between the two.
“Love the hat,” Jess whispered. Even she, the most butch lesbian Paige knew, wore a healthy amount of pink.
“God,” Paige groaned, tipping her head back, “Why is everyone on me about the hat?”
“Probably because it says Miami,” Zaza chirped, taking a closer look. “And honestly, it’s more pink-adjacent. I’d say it’s more orange than anything.”
Before Paige could respond, the room started rumbling. Kurt had just come in, taking his seat on the left side of the table. The guy cleaned up nicely. He slicked his hair back, clearly trimmed his beard, and had on a nice collared shirt—pink, of course—Paige was almost proud.
With his hand on her back, Jose escorted Azzi in. She trembled slightly as she lowered herself into her seat.
Paige didn’t blame her. The vultures were waiting.
Their lead PR team member, Lindsay, made her opening comments, reminding reporters to wait to be called on before asking their questions and that Zoom members must use the electronic hand feature.
“Alright,” Lindsay said, “Derek, go ahead.”
All heads turned to a white man at the front of the room.
Derek looked down at his notepad. “Azzi, I’m sure you know how excited Dallas fans are to have number one picks in both the NBA and WNBA this year—I’m just wondering, and only because this has been circulating the internet—do you know Flagg? Because funnily enough,” he chuckled. Unfortunately, Paige knew nothing he was about to say would be funny. “The internet has been shipping you two as a couple.”
Several reporters gasped, but Derek leaned back in his seat, looking rather pleased.
“Uhh,” Azzi started.
Lindsay chimed in, “Players won’t be answering personal questions at this time. Thank you for the question, but we will be moving on. Don, go ahead.”
Azzi’s cheeks tinged a light shade of pink, clearly frazzled. Maybe Kurt could feel it too, because he placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered something to her.
“Hi Azzi, Don Johnson with Sports Central. You’re known for your shooting, but I think one of the most overlooked aspects of your game is your defense. Can you talk a little about what you can bring to Dallas regarding that?”
Okay, the worst was over. Safe question, Paige thought.
“Well, first, thank you so much. I actually really pride myself on my defense, so thank you for noticing!” She said politely.
Paige couldn’t help but chuckle at Azzi’s enthusiasm. She was cute in the way a puppy is cute, wide-eyed and ready. Za elbowed her in the ribs.
“I’d consider myself a two-way guard. I know that if my shots aren’t falling, I can always fall back on my defensive tenacity. That’s what I was taught growing up. As for what I can bring to Dallas? I’d just say defense,” her eyes widened, then she began to sputter, “Not that there’s no defense, of course. Everyone of my teammates is great on defense! I just meant, like—I just meant it in the sense of, like, you know…what I can bring.” She slumped into her seat meekly, giving up on the rant.
The atmosphere in the room had become extremely awkward. Jess and Za had gone stiff, and Paige coughed behind her fist just to have something to do.
Again, Kurt came to Azzi’s aid. “Azzi is completely correct,” he said, patting her shoulder. “We are extremely excited to see the defensive changes that Azzi can bring.”
Azzi let out a long breath, sinking further in defeat.
Paige sighed. Okay, maybe the worst of this conference wasn’t over.
—----------
“Okay, well, that didn’t go as well as I’d hoped,” KK said, leaning against the wall beside Paige.
Paige huffed. “Yeah, I actually feel kind of bad,” she agreed, turning towards KK, “They brought up some heavy stuff…and stupid stuff.”
KK sighed. “She seemed really nervous earlier, too. I’m sure that wasn’t how she wanted it to go. Especially with the last question.”
Paige grimaced. KK was right. The last question was pretty much the nail in the coffin to a terrible presser. Azzi’s college career had nothing to do with Paige. The reporter was just trying to get a headline: “Azzi Fudd: good enough to play with Bueckers, or will she choke in Dallas, too?”
Paige chose not to dwell on it. It came with the territory.
“You’ve met her already?” Paige asked, leaning off the wall. “When?”
The two were facing each other, KK resting one shoulder against the wall, hands in her pink pockets. Paige still thought she looked stupid. “Paige, I’m the assistant coach. Yes, I’ve met her.
“When do I get to meet her?”
KK shrugged. “Whenever you want.”
—----------
Paige was in the main lobby of the practice facility. The facility that the front office insisted on building before the team’s official move to downtown Dallas her third year.
The lobby itself was bland. Linoleum floors, bright overhead lights. Still wings-themed, of course. Still blue and green. Still trophy cases and memorabilia. But not as personal as the place she was heading.
The lounge was Paige’s favorite spot.
Unlike the sterile feel of the lobby, the white floors were replaced with a plush blue carpet. Instead of meticulously curated decor, the walls were adorned with personality and achievements.
Hung on the wall in the entrance was a photo of her holding up the championship trophy, smiling wide as confetti rained down on her. Above it was another photo, this one being of the team. It was taken outside Universal Studios—Napheesa insisted on team bonding. Paige had gone, even if it meant Mila got to pick out the location.
Paige enjoyed spending time in the lounge. It was connected to the gym and locker room, and with her having 24/7 access to the facility, she spent a lot of her time there.
She’d leave her place at midnight, just a gym bag and headphones, and shoot hoops alone. It was soothing. There were no expectations of playing perfectly or preparing for a game. No coaches yelling at her, nobody watching her or critiquing her technique. No suggesting or telling her what to change. Just her and the ball.
Afterwards she’d go to the lounge and lie on the plush couch to close her eyes and think.
The lounge was also where Azzi was waiting.
Waiting for Jose or Kurt, Paige wasn’t sure. She knew Azzi was there only because KK told her.
I lowkey should stop doing the polls cuz I said I was going to do dual POV for this chapter, but it just doesn't work. Also I'm gonna need to watch some videos on how to do that photo shop thing so bare with me on that.
The only thing I CAN promise is that the chapter should come out tonight or tomorrow.
okk im in the community but i have multiple requests (im needy sorry)
since they’ve been doing so much butt stuff definitely anal with both fingers and strap, not super degrading likee kinda soft/sweet sex but still super dominant P, and PLEASE make P apologize for keeping that rule in place for so long 🤭
You can find all this on stat muse and the box score.
I'm pulling it up to show coaching changes that Jose has made.
Arike average stat line MAY: MIN 30.1 - PTS 13.6 - REB 1.9 - AST 2.9 - FGA 12.8 w/ FGM 4.3 - (+/-) + 2.3
Arike on-average stat line JUNE: MIN 28.2 - PTS 13.6 - REB 3.8 AST 2.9 STL 1 FGA 11.7 w/ FGM 4 - (+/-) -1.1
Her minutes have decreased (coach’s decision) and what I’m most happy about is the game against Seattle. Jose recognized she was not helping the team and she played 20 minutes total and didn’t play in the 4th or OT.
Take this in to account when you say players suck or that Jose isn't doing anything. I encourage you guys to go to statmuse it's a really cool website and you can get the app too.
Feel free to disagree but stats don't lie. Several mistakes don't way out the majority...
