My Seniors 🥹

please get kate of the valkyries so i can hate them fully.

3 FUCKING POINTS FROM WINNING AND YALL FUMBLED WHAT THE FUCK

poa isn’t mixed ..? 😟😟

polynesian wbb players after a long day of stealing black aesthetics and hairstyles

i’m so sick, the tears wont stop omg

My roman empire

“To the Moon and Beyond” pt.2

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader (Pazzi x Reader)

Fandom: NCAA Women’s Basketball / WNBA

Warnings: cheating, revenge cheating, eventually in later parts there will be 18+ content (smut, alcohol consumption, strong language), polyamory, public teasing/flirting (in later parts)

Summary: A tangled history of love, heartbreak, and hidden desire leads three elite players into a secret relationship—and the WNBA spotlight.

A/N: yes this is hella long… I got in a groove and couldn’t stop writing… but yeahh enjoy!! This is also one of the longest fics I’ve ever written… will be multiple parts….cause it’s too long for tumblr…

Also thank you @paige05bby for the banner/header

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

Time Passes…

Azzi’s POV – Connecticut

We never said we’d be okay again. We just said we’d try.

And that was enough.

Paige and I gave each other space when we got back to Connecticut. No more sharing playlists or crashing on each other’s couches. No long talks under low kitchen light. Just… basketball and boundaries.

And oddly, it helped.

We found our rhythm on the court again—better, even. Quieter communication. More trust. Something about everything falling apart had made us sharper. More aware. More patient.

She’d glance at me after big plays now, like checking to see if the foundation was still solid. I’d nod once. It always was.

But we didn’t talk about her. Not really.

It was like this uncrossed line neither one of us dared to cross.

Not until we had to.

Because she crossed it.

Before Paige or I could.

Y/n’s POV – Southern California

Three months.

That’s how long it took before I could breathe without tasting regret.

I started sleeping better. My shot was smoother. My appetite came back. I laughed again—loud and real—usually thanks to Juju or Avery acting like idiots in the locker room. And slowly, the ache dulled into something almost nostalgic.

That’s when I saw Paige’s post.

Just a simple photo dump post.

And without overthinking it, I did the thing I told myself I wouldn’t:

“🌚”

That emoji.

Ours.

I hit send and tossed my phone across the bed.

It didn’t take her long.

Incoming call: P.B🌝

I stared at it for a second before answering. “Hey.”

Her voice was quiet, shaky. “What does it mean?”

I smiled faintly. “It means I’ll see you soon, P.”

Three Days Later – Connecticut

They were already waiting at my Airbnb when I pulled up—Azzi leaned against Paige’s car, hoodie sleeves pushed up, Paige sitting on the hood, knees bouncing, like she hadn’t slept.

I stepped out slowly. Heart racing.

We walked into the living room in silence. The same couch they used to sit on. The same air that used to choke us.

Only this time, we all sat closer.

Nobody ran.

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” I said. “Or a relationship. Not yet. But I think… I think we all deserve to know what this could be if we tried.”

Azzi nodded. “Even if it breaks us again?”

“Even then,” Paige whispered.

I looked at them—two people I knew like the back of my hand. Two people who knew all the ugliest parts of me and still showed up.

“Let’s be honest. Let’s be clear. And let’s try—together. For real this time.”

Azzi swallowed. “You mean all three of us?”

I nodded. “If you’re both still willing.”

They looked at each other, then at me.

And for the first time in months, all of us exhaled at the same time.

It wouldn’t be easy.

But maybe it could be something.

Something wild, something flawed, something real.

Something worth breaking and rebuilding again.

Time does something to love.

It doesn’t erase it.

It stretches it. Rebuilds it in the spaces between heartbreak and forgiveness.

It’s been years since that night.

Since Azzi stood in my doorway with a suitcase and heartbreak on her lips. Since Paige cried outside my apartment like she was begging the past to love her back. Since I threw a water bottle at the only girl I ever really wanted to stay.

We tried.

Then we tried again.

And again—each time more honest than the last.

And somehow, all that trying turned into something else. Something that didn’t need to be named to be known.

Junior Year (Me & Paige) | Sophomore Year (Azzi):

It was two weeks before the start of junior year, the night it all started—Paige’s jaw in my hands, Azzi’s laugh breaking between kisses—never fully left us.

It just kept morphing.

Into private hotel rooms after games, where the world slipped away behind locked doors and drawn curtains. Into Spotify playlists shared without explanation, songs that said everything we were still too scared to.

Into FaceTimes at 3 a.m. that started with anxious whispers, melted into silence, and ended with us asleep but still connected—breathing synced through the screen, like some kind of tether neither of us wanted to cut.

Senior Year (Me & Paige) | Junior Year (Azzi):

We found a rhythm. Unspoken but steady.

Azzi and I shared playlists. Paige and I studied film together. When one of us got hurt, the other two were there. Always.

We took turns traveling. Hid in hotels. Drove hours for a few minutes of normal. Still never confirmed what this was to anyone. But we were each other’s constants. I think we all clung to that.

There were moments—quick, breathless ones—when I swore we were close to saying it out loud.

But we weren’t ready yet.

Now.

My fifth and final year.

Paige’s, too.

Azzi had the chance to declare. Agents lined up. WNBA scouts in her DMs. But she didn’t.

“Not yet,” she told us both. “I’m not done with this chapter.”

Maybe she meant basketball.

Maybe she meant us.

I didn’t ask.

We’re older now. Wiser. Still messed up in our own ways, but we don’t run from it anymore.

Because somehow, against all odds…

We made it here.

Whatever this is—we’re still writing it.

Not in the way that erases what we did or how we broke each other. But in a way that makes it all softer at the edges. Like smoothing out the corners of something once too sharp to hold. Like choosing to remember the warmth more than the ache.

We never put a label on it. There were no posts, no announcements. Just a series of moments that filled the space between “maybe” and “still.” Like Azzi flying out to surprise me during finals, showing up in a hoodie that still smelled like her detergent, standing outside my apartment with donuts and a handwritten note I’ll never throw away.

Like Paige bringing me lemon ginger tea when I lost my voice before media day, tucking a fleece blanket around my shoulders before I could protest, then sitting beside me in total silence just to be close. Like me knowing the exact minute they both needed space—and when they didn’t.

When Azzi went quiet for too long. When Paige stopped making eye contact but lingered in the doorway like she was waiting for someone to pull her back in. I always did.

The only people who knew were the ones close enough to feel the heat off us when we were all in the same room. The kind of knowing you don’t talk about out loud, because naming it might steal something from it.

There were nights when it felt too fragile to last. When someone would flinch a second too late, or ask a question we didn’t have words for yet.

But somehow, we kept choosing each other. Quietly. Constantly. In the ways that mattered most.

It was love.

Complicated. Tangled. Untraditional. But love.

We weren’t hiding. Not really. Just… protecting. We were public as best friends. Private in every other way.

Especially with Paige and I going pro soon.

Paige? Projected number one pick. Everyone had already printed the headlines. She walked into rooms like she already belonged in them—but I knew how much of that was armor, how much came from the pressure of being everyone’s golden girl for so long.

Me? Somewhere right behind her. Maybe second. Maybe third. My name floated through draft boards like a sure thing—but never the first thing. And I was okay with that. I was chasing something different anyway. Something slower. Something real.

And somehow… we were still us. Not every day. Not always smooth. But we never stopped coming back to each other.

There were team dinners where we sat across from each other pretending not to flirt through inside jokes. Long weekends where we vanished into some Airbnb upstate and forgot what the world expected from us.

Off days spent tangled in dorm beds too small for three people, limbs heavy and warm, no one ever really knowing where one body ended and the next began.

There were fights—sharp words flung in hallways, silences that lasted days. Jealousy that crept in like static: who got more minutes, more press, more offers. Exhaustion from being pulled in too many directions. But even in the worst of it, we never questioned the gravity. Never stopped orbiting each other.

And there was laughter. So much of it. Azzi’s laugh against my neck when I said something stupid. Paige’s breathless giggle when we piled on top of her after a win. Late nights watching bad TV, fingers laced, legs braided, mouths full of popcorn and too-tired confessions.

There was comfort. A kind of safety that didn’t need explaining. That silent understanding of you’re mine even when it’s hard to be.

Now, we’re back in the same room again.

The night before the draft, we end up curled together in Paige’s hotel room—no glam team, no press, no cameras. Just us.

Azzi’s on the floor with her back against the side of the bed, head leaning on my thigh, scrolling through some playlist she swears is good luck. Paige is beside me, one arm flung across my waist, her other hand tangled in Azzi’s curls like muscle memory. The air is thick with unsaid things, but none of them feel heavy.

There’s an unspoken weight hanging in the room—like we all know this is the last time it’ll feel like this. Like home.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

Draft night. New cities. New teams. New people.

And yeah, we’ll FaceTime. We’ll visit. But we all know it won’t be the same. We won’t have spontaneous Wednesday night takeout or shared laundry loads or long recovery sessions where one of us always ends up asleep with someone else’s ice pack slowly melting between tangled legs.

Paige being the first to speak. “This doesn’t feel real.”

Azzi sighs softly from my lap. “It doesn’t feel fair.”

I tilt my head, resting it on Paige’s shoulder. “We knew it wouldn’t last forever.”

“Still,” Azzi says, voice tight, “I wanted more time.”

None of us say it, but we all feel it: the ache of what it means to love two people at the same time, knowing the world doesn’t always bend to make space for that.

Shortly we fall asleep in the bed tangled together as if we were a package deal, that was too fragile to separate. Paige on one side, Azzi on the other, me in between—like a bridge holding two halves of the same heart together.

And in the quiet, I let myself wonder if this is the last night we get to have like this.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

wbb tumblr march 2024 — july 2024 was sooo peak. you just had to be there 😭

WASTED NO TIME

𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which the next chapter begins

new york city hums like it knows what’s about to happen. there’s a kind of electricity in the air, thick with promise and nerves, and as your driver weaves through the busy streets, you watch paige take it all in from the backseat—her face turned to the window, hood pulled over her head, hand clasped tightly in yours.

“this doesn’t feel real,” she murmurs, eyes wide as they track the towering buildings, the people, the energy. “like, i’m actually here.”

you squeeze her hand. “you’re not dreaming, bueckers.”

she smirks, still dazed. “you sure? 'cause being in new york with you, about to get drafted number one… i must’ve done something right.”

you look at her—at the soft awe in her voice, the nerves she’s trying to hide—and smile. “you earned all of this.”

she leans over and kisses the back of your hand. “wouldn’t be here without you.”

the hotel lobby smells like roses and money. a few of the other top picks are checking in, media reps scattered around, coaches from various teams exchanging polite nods. paige walks in with her backpack slung over one shoulder like she’s still in college, but she’s greeted like a queen.

people look at you too—curious, trying to place you. her plus one, but not a public one. not yet.

upstairs, the suite is stunning. floor-to-ceiling windows, champagne already chilling in a silver bucket on the table, and a view of manhattan that would knock the breath out of anyone.

paige walks straight to the window. “god,” she whispers. “how am i supposed to sleep tonight?”

you wrap your arms around her from behind. “you won’t. and that’s okay.”

the next few days are a whirlwind of cameras and flashing lights, pre-draft interviews, and moments stolen in between where paige clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping her grounded.

you walk with her to early press calls, watch her shake hands with executives and talk to reporters with the perfect balance of humility and fire. she rides up the empire state building in an elevator full of pr staff, but she only holds your hand. at the top, she stands by the glass and whispers, “feels like the whole world’s watching.”

“they are,” you say, brushing your fingers against hers. “and they’re about to see what happens when a star rises.”

the suite becomes a glam studio before the sun even rises. stylists, makeup artists, wardrobe specialists—all bustling around paige while she sits in the middle of it all, cross-legged in a robe, sipping coffee like she isn’t about to have her life change forever.

her stylist calls you over as you’re about to change into the outfit you packed.

“actually,” she says, holding up a garment bag. “this is for you.”

you blink. “that’s not mine.”

“it is now. paige picked it out. said it had to be perfect.”

your chest tightens as you unzip the bag, revealing a dress so perfectly you, it feels unreal. the fabric is soft, expensive, and the color—something muted and romantic—brings out your features in a way you didn’t even know was possible.

“she did this?” you whisper.

“she wanted you to feel special today too.”

you change in the bathroom, hands shaking slightly. when you finally step out, paige is standing near the window, fully dressed in a glittery-dark colored custom suit that has her shimmering with every step, her curls falling effortlessly over her shoulders.

she turns—and everything slows.

her mouth parts. “holy... you look…”

you laugh, flushed. “you too. you clean up alright, bueckers.”

she walks up to you, cups your jaw gently. “you’re unreal. thank you for being here today.”

“there’s nowhere else i’d be.”

the red carpet outside the venue is chaos—reporters, photographers, wnba legends, fans with signs, people shouting paige’s name like it’s already etched into history.

you try to stay a step behind her, to let her soak in her spotlight, but she won’t have it. her hand wraps around your waist and stays there. through the cameras, the chaos, the interviews—she keeps you close.

you’re standing just off to the side when the espn interviewer waves paige over for a quick one-on-one. the camera is rolling, and you make a move to step back, but paige pulls you forward by the hand.

the interviewer smiles knowingly. “paige bueckers! big night. how are we feeling?”

paige smiles back, calm and radiant. “excited. grateful. nervous. all of it.”

“you’re projected to go number one overall—does that add pressure?”

“a little,” she admits. “but i try to block it out. i’m here to soak it in and be present.”

the interviewer nods, glancing at you briefly. “and you’ve got some company tonight. can we ask who your date is?”

paige glances your way, and you feel her fingers squeeze yours.

“she’s someone very special to me,” paige says, voice even but warm. “we’re here to celebrate the moment. that’s what tonight’s about.”

“so… are you confirming you’re in a relationship?”

she chuckles, not flustered at all. “i’m confirming that i’m not doing tonight alone. that’s all you get.”

“alright, alright,” the interviewer laughs. “we’ll take it.”

twitter explodes five seconds later.

inside the venue, the lights dim and the countdown begins. you sit beside paige, her hand still wrapped in yours like a lifeline. her leg bounces. her breath hitches every time someone coughs into a mic.

“paige,” you whisper, turning to her. “hey. breathe.”

she nods, but doesn’t look at you. her eyes are on the stage.

“whether you go first or fifth,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to hers, “you’re still the most incredible person in this room. and i’ll be just as proud no matter what.”

her eyes flutter closed. she exhales.

“promise?” she whispers.

“promise.”

then the lights shift. the wnba commissioner walks to the podium. the music swells.

“with the first pick in the 2024 wnba draft, the dallas wings select… paige bueckers, university of connecticut.”

the room erupts.

paige turns to you—eyes wide, heart on her sleeve—and she kisses you.

right there. full, gentle, and certain.

the room falls silent for a heartbeat, and then explodes again.

@/espnw: she’s the number one pick. she also just kissed her girl on live tv. paige bueckers is here.

@/wnba: #1 pick. #1 moment. paige bueckers delivers the most unforgettable draft night kiss of all time.

@/bleacherreport: paige bueckers. first pick. first public kiss. iconic.

@/gaysportsnerd: so like… when do we get the engagement photos?

@/dallaswings: welcome to dallas, @/paigebueckers!

@/overtime: not just #1 on the court. paige bueckers just dropped the most iconic draft night moment of all time.

@/chennedyfan99: paige bueckers said “i’m number one and i’m in love, what about it?”

later, after the cheers settles and the cameras stop flashing, paige wraps her arms around you on the balcony of the hotel suite. new york glows behind you, and she leans her head on your shoulder.

“i didn’t plan the kiss,” she says softly.

“i know.”

“but i meant it.”

“i know.”

she turns her face to yours, brushing your cheek with her nose. “i want to be number one in everything. including with you.”

“you already are,” you whisper. “you always have been.”

she smiles, soft and golden. “forever, huh?”

“hell yeah.”