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writingoddess1125 · 3 months ago

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Sweet Locks

Welp I got Bored so this got made as promised.

Part 2 >>>

Sebastian Krueger x FemReader + OOC

Warnings: Baby Trapping, Mild Threats, Obsession/Possessive,

This is a bit scarier then the Nikto one

"Hi!"

Your son said cheerfully, Waving at everyone he saw as you strolled through the grocery store. Adding Items from your list in, aka another pack of ramens as your Son Waving at an old women who had giggled at his very bubbly personality.

"Well aren't you a little social butterfly"

The women cooed, You giving a smile at her as Marcus started to talk to her. So far his vocabulary was two words at best, a little behind in terms of words however made up with it by his sweet nature.

"Up!"

He says holding his arms out to her, Which you quickly lower.

"No no, Let's not play the pick up game with strangers. Im so sorry"

You interject and the older women laughs. Waving it off as a sweet kid and a good thing. The stranger departing which you were greatful for before looking back down at your son. He was more social then you- Clearly. Which made things a bit awkward, however in truth you marveled at such a personality when he came from a.. well one hell of a guy.

Sebastian Krueger had been a fairly nice boyfriend from when you two were together just over a year at the time. Having worked out a nice arrangement with the Austrian military man- who was incredibly secretive, a bit broody and overall.. Interesting?

But he had also been rather intense- But originally you didn't mind it.. It translated well in different parts of your guys relationship which had been really fun.

However you'd started to notice his almost possessive ways later on into the relationship, He was loyal and protective sure but it had become to feel like a hand slowly closing around you. Like when he finally strike he would never let you go.

It scared you.

Like if you stayed it would only lead to you being trapped. Which while he was a nice man to you, it always rubbed you the wrong way.

So you broke it off with him over text- Which had been shitty you knew. However you knew it was better, As you'd been able to take a breath without that pressure.

But as if You had tried to slip away just a second too late- You found yourself pregnant. Which.. Well Sucked- However you made peace with it, no reason to be bitter. So you choose to have and keep the baby-

Why the hell not.

Leading to your current state, Chubby toddler, Ramen noodles and most likely a spaghetti dinner.

As you turn the corner to grab some pasta sauce you spot a figure at the edge of the aisle seemingly looking at some random pasta- The expensive ones at that.

Your brows knit together confused, the figure seemed painfully similar. Scratching at that primal 'run away' part of your brain. It wasn't till you saw the side profile of his face did it click-

Shit.. is that Sebastian?

You executed the smoothest U-Turn known to man in a cart as calmly as possible and once out of view speedwalked away to the opposite side of the store.

Was it dramatic?

Sure-

But anyone seeing their Ex in public would make a break for it afterall. Especially when you got a toddler that loves everyone and would probably try and get picked up by the man who was a mirror image of him. So Yeah No-

You were far from the food at this point, tucked in the baby section and toiletries-

Looking around the corner were he had been before as you wait for the coast to be clear- Marcus starting to giggle at seeing you like this, Also the fast cart movements having clearly amused him.

"(Y/N)?"

Oh you could cry.. also were incredibly confused at how he not only found you so fast when you had gotten to the otherside of the store in like a minute?? Turning to face him you give a soft awkward smile- But damn did he still look good.. Sporting a black medical mask, a black compression shirt and sweatpants. Dear God sweatpants-

"Um, Hey Sebastian"

You mumble softly afraid of staring. However that was pointless as he walked over to you. Subconsciously you move infront of Marcus, as if a shield. However unsure why you're doing this.

"How long has it been? 3 years?"

32 months (with pregnancy included) to be exactly but who is counting..

"Yeah give or take, How have you been?" You were mentally screaming at the awkwardness of this all.

"Gut- You know.. (Y/N)-"

"Mama Up!"

You close your eyes at your son behind you. His chatty little self of course wanting to he picked up at this point.

Krueger cocks his head to the side, Interest shining there as he heard the small voice.

Moving to the side you look to Marcus to once more tell him no for the time being. Catching a moment of Krueger returning his head to its natural position and stared.

"Not now Marcus.. Mama is talking okay?"

Glancing to the side you see his eyes flick down to you, Then to Marcus who was staring back at him confused before smiling brightly. You couldn't lie, it was a bit weird looking between the two- You knew that Marcus looked like Krueger but God damn, It was like a copy paste kind of moment. You'd provided some skintone but besides that, It was all him. It was sort of unfair really now that you think about it.

Krueger continued this little processing before he smirked under his mask and started to chuckle which caught you off guard. Covering his face with his hand as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. You honestly couldnt tell which direction he was laughing at- couldnt be anger, amusement? Whatever the fuck else?

"Marcus hm?"

"Hi!"

Of course Marcus said happily, happy to once again greet especially one who knew his name. Krueger smiling through the mask at this as he stared at the little boy.

"Hallo"

He said sweetly, Waving a hand at him in return as you saw that same overly possessive loving look he had given to you before.

"Let's go to a Cafe near and talk"

Krueger said suddently, almost too calm for someone who had just found out they had a child. However you found it best not to question it. Leaving your groceries as it seemed ridiculous to keep shopping as it was.

The man escorting you out with a firm hand on your lower back- Marcus on your hip smiling up at the stranger walking you out of the store.

Which lead you to were you currently were. Seated awkwardly in a nice Cafe that Krueger had dragged you to which was nearby- It seemed fairly new as well since you didnt remember it being there.

Clearly a place he was also familiar with since he had his face mask fully down. Currently having gotten a clementine with some other baked goods for you both and was handing off individual wedges of the peeled clementine to Marcus who was clearly loving the attention and eating the wedges happily.

Honestly it would have been cute if you hadn't felt to tense.

"So, When did you find out you were pregnant?"

"...5 weeks after we broke up"

Humming softly with a nod he went on to the rather elegant strawberry Danish which he ripped with his fingers and once again handed to the toddler who fucking inhaled it even after eating a whole clementine. Drawing a smirk from the grown man as he handed another peice over.

Taking a moment to look the toddler over, Looking at his hands- His arms, face as if examing for imperfections or if anything was wrong.

"Du isst und schaust gut geliebt aus. Gut. Ich würde es hassen, deine Mama verletzen zu müssen"

He spoke calmly, Smiling as he seemed to look over Marcus with a careful eye and hand him another bit of Danish. You had no idea what he'd said but you hear 'Mama' which made it clear it was about you.

"I will be involved, with both of you of course-"

You blink in surprise at his rather blunt statement all of the sudden, Straightening out in your seat as you stare at him.

"Wait what? What do yo-"

"You will be packed by end of the week, Your stuff will be shipped to my home in Linz. It is nice area, plenty of things for you to do"

'What was happening' You feel like you have whiplash and a panic attack starting up real quick.

"L-Linz? Like Austria? I-"

"Ja, you will pick up the language fast also. Pretty area, Big house, big allowance also-"

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not leaving?- You can't just uproot me, us!? I work! I have a home!"

You protest, breathing hard as you look to your son who was staring at you clearly worried. Krueger raided a brow at you, Before curling his lips upward in a dangerous smile.

"Hasi (Austrian german ver. of Bunny). It isn't a discussion nor something you can argue. He is Mine. You are mine. You're leaving with me if you like or not"

"Your job will be called, saying you are moving with your husband now. Understand?"

"You're fucking insane!-"

You scoff as grab your bag standing up quickly to grab Marcus to leave. But Krueger slammed his hand on the table, making both you and the baby jump.

"Sit back down. Now"

He barked. You stare at him, hesitant before slowly sitting back in your seat. Krueger took a heavy breath, Before looking to Marcus.

"Hand loud.." Marcus said shyly pointing to the Krueger hand still flat on the table.

"Ja, Papa hand very large. So it's very loud. Did not mean to startle you little one"

He cooed softly. Smiling at Marcus as he placed a hand on the boys hair and feeding him more Danish.

"I won't do that again, Okay?"

Marcus nodded at this a soft touch to his hair and the Danish clearly to smooth over the noise that had scared him- Krueger greatful the child was much more pleasant and sweet then others since he didn't seem to mind.

Krueger kept his gaze soft as he gently touched his sons mousey brown hair that matched his own. Not bothering to look at you as you glared daggers at him.

"I never told you my in detail my career. Nor will I- However just so you know. Running will be very bad for you, You will be very fast to learn why I cover my face when I work. I'd hate for you to see that side of me"

Your brows scrunched together, now confused and a creeping of worry settling on you. Looking to Marcus in his grasp, you could tell he wouldn't hurt the boy but it didn't mean you weren't any less terrified at getting threatened by a man who had your son in his hands.

He sighed almost disappointed pulling his large hand from the boys hair to give Marcus a sip of juice, holding the cup steady for the boy.

"Besides I am persuasive in all that I do- and if you act up in fighting on this, I know how much you like your hair pulled. I hope as much if dragged to the airport"

Your face paled and he smirked, seemingly satisfied with your reaction with understanding the situation you were in.

"Gut. You understand now"

He said calmly, Handing the last little bit of Danish to Marcus who finished eating with a happy smile and seemingly full. You still sitting there looking at your Coffee and Almond Croissant that he had ordered for you. Your brain reeling as you glance around the empty Cafe, Had the Cafe workers not hear this?.. Did they honestly not see the panic on your face?

Krueger seemed to catch this, Still smiling.

"You know, For a ex-soilder you really do make wonderful pastries Yegor- I'll have to commission you for a wedding cake at some point"

Hearing a cackle from the back you look to see a man walk out wiping his hands of flour.

"If you do- I'm charging you extra" The man said making Krueger laugh as the mysterious man walked back to his kitchen, glancing at you with a knowing smirk. You meeting Krueger eye as it was now clear.. This was his territory.

You bit your bottom lip, now understanding completely why he brought you here. It was no better then a cage trap so much so that treats set up as a lure and the gate slamming behind you the moment you stepped foot.

"Eat. You will enjoy it, and afterwards we will go see how much stuff you have to start packing. Okay?"

Nodding softly you pick up the croissant and take a soft bite, You realized your hands were shaking slightly when some of the shaved almonds fell to the saucer and you couldn't even taste the food that youre eating. Feeling Krueger watching you with his lips curled in a smile.

"...Non of this was an accident.. Was it?"

You whisper, feeling tears well up in your eyes- Your son?.. The Store?... The almost jovial look on his face as he took a sip of his most likely cold coffee.

"Nein, You where mine from the start"

He said in a almost romantic way, a content sigh from his lips as he sipped his coffee. Ignoring the tears going down your cheeks as you felt that fearful trapped feeling swallow you.

He was never gonna let you escape again..

Translation! Snuck this to the bottom for a reason.

"You eat gokd and look well loved. Good. I'd hate to have to hurt your mother"

#x reader #call of duty thoughts #call of duty mw3 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod x female reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #sebastian krueger #cod krueger #krueger x reader #sebastian krueger x reader #krueger x you #krueger call of duty

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theseh00perscanh00p · 21 days ago

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Coaching Violation: Part 2

paige x azzi

a/n: mannn to the anon that gave me this suggestion thank youuuu because i'm truly hooked on this dynamic

word count: 4.9k

Early Morning – Film Room

Paige’s POV

The film room was cold. Fluorescent lights buzzing. The only sound was the click of the remote and the occasional squeak of a sneaker from the court down the hall.

Paige sat alone, hoodie sleeves pushed up, pen tapping against her legal pad as she watched the same baseline out-of-bounds set for the fourth time in a row.

Click. Rewind. Play. Pause. Scribble.

Click. Rewind. Play. Pause. Cross out. Start again.

The notes weren’t good enough. The angles weren’t right. The rotations were late. Or maybe she was just late — to everything. To this job. To letting go. To moving the hell on.

She leaned back, shoulders tense, eyes flicking toward the top of the screen.

There she was again.

#35.

Azzi, moving through defenders like water, setting the pace, seeing things before they unfolded. Controlled. Confident.

Too confident.

Click. Pause.

The screen froze on Azzi mid-cut, head turned slightly toward the camera. The edge of a smirk barely visible.

Paige stared at it too long.

Her jaw clenched.

She tossed the remote on the table and rubbed her eyes with both hands.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, as if hearing herself say it might snap her out of it.

But it didn’t.

Because now she could hear her voice again — Azzi’s voice — from the day before, soft and dangerous in front of the press:

“I’m gonna do everything I can to be the best player for Coach P.”

And she’d meant it. Not just in the way a player says something for media points. No — it was laced with something real. Something Paige hadn’t let herself feel since—

Vegas.

Damn it.

She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to remember the flicker of candlelight from the hotel bar, the click of the door shutting behind them, the way Azzi’s laugh sounded when it was muffled against her shoulder.

Or the way her fingertips had skimmed across Azzi’s ribs in the dark — slow, reverent — like she was tracing a play she didn’t know how to run.

The gasp Azzi made. The heat of her skin. The way Paige had wanted to stay.

She blinked, hard.

No.

She shoved the image out of her head, stood up too quickly, her chair scraping loud against the tile.

There was no room for that. Not here. Not now. Not with her coaching this team and Azzi in a Sparks jersey, looking at her like—

Like that night hadn’t ended in silence.

Like Paige hadn’t walked away.

She picked up the clipboard, flipped her drill plan to a fresh page, and started over from scratch. Again.

Third rewrite this morning.

Didn’t matter.

She’d work it out. She always did.

Even if her hands were shaking just a little when she gripped the pen.

Pre-practice Locker Room

Azzi’s POV

Her jersey hung in the locker like it belonged there.

#35 stitched in clean gold and purple.

A new start.

A new city.

And still, the same ache sat in her chest like it had unpacked with her.

Azzi tugged on her compression sleeve, then peeled it off again — too tight. Or maybe she was just restless. Something in her body wouldn’t settle. Not since that first practice. Not since the look Paige had given her like she was just another player, just another job.

She wasn’t supposed to care.

They weren’t supposed to even speak again, let alone orbit the same facility five days a week.

And yet, here they were.

Azzi sat on the bench, elbows on her knees, eyes fixed on the floor as players drifted around her — lacing sneakers, sipping pre-workout, tossing jokes back and forth.

She wasn’t in the mood.

Because none of them knew what it was like to have seen Paige.

Not the version who stood at the front of the gym clipboard-in-hand, posture perfect, voice steel.

The other one.

The one who had kissed her slow. Whispered between breaths. Traced her ribs like she was something precious. The one who had made her laugh so hard she had to pull a pillow over her face just to quiet down.

Azzi swallowed hard, a rush of heat pressing behind her eyes.

God. Why do I still care?

They’d had one night. One damn night.

But Paige hadn’t faked it. She couldn’t have. Not with the way she’d looked at her afterward — like she wasn’t sure whether to stay or run.

And now she was running at full sprint, clipboard-first, pretending like it never happened.

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek.

She wasn’t even sure what she wanted anymore. An apology? A second chance? Or just some acknowledgment that Paige hadn’t walked out of that hotel untouched.

Because she hadn’t.

A voice broke through the fog — one of the assistants calling for stretch.

Azzi stood, rolled her shoulders back, tucked her hair into a bun.

If Paige thought she could hide behind plays and drills forever, she was wrong.

Azzi had seen through her once.

And if there were still cracks in the armor?

She was going to find them.

Paige’s POV

Whistle in hand. Clipboard tight to her chest. Voice low, direct.

“Drill two. Half-court motion. Full contact. Let’s clean it up.”

Paige didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. Her tone did the work — sharp, composed, impossible to misread.

She kept her eyes on the movement. The floor. The rotations. The drills.

Not on Azzi.

Not even once.

Which was harder than it should’ve been.

Because Azzi was flawless again — flowing through sets with ease, voice clear on switches, every step purposeful. She wasn’t showboating. Wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t performing for attention.

She was just… locked in. Quiet. Present. Dangerous.

And somehow that was worse.

Because if Azzi had cracked a joke, Paige could’ve snapped back. If she had smirked or said something smart under her breath, Paige could’ve disciplined her and moved on. But this?

This calm. This discipline. This poise?

It felt like a dare wrapped in grace.

And it was working.

The gym pulsed around them — sneakers on hardwood, the faint echo of bounce passes and shoe squeaks and shouted screens.

But there was a second silence layered under it all.

Azzi hadn’t said a word to her today.

Not one.

No Coach P.

No smug glances.

No flirtatious edge in her voice.

It was like she’d flipped a switch, and Paige… hated how much she noticed.

She shifted her clipboard to her other arm and walked the baseline slowly, correcting foot placement here, calling out spacing there.

She still didn’t look at #35.

But she felt her.

Every time she moved. Every time she shifted her weight. Every time her voice cut clean across the court to direct a play.

It was haunting.

The silence between them wasn’t absence — it was weight. Everyone felt it. You could see it in the way players kept glancing between them, waiting for something to snap, or spark, or shift.

But Paige wouldn’t give it to them. Wouldn’t give it to her.

This was her team. Her court. Her rules.

And if that meant biting her cheek until it bled just to keep her face neutral?

So be it.

Scrimmage was live.

Tempo was high. Bodies colliding. Voices overlapping.

It was exactly how Paige liked it — loud, messy, real basketball. The kind that showed you everything a box score couldn’t.

She paced the sideline, whistle tucked into her hoodie collar, eyes sharp.

“Talk through the weak side! Don’t wait for the rotation — anticipate it!”

The second unit was running hard. Rickea was giving Azzi hell on-ball, trying to impress. Paige clocked it. It was good energy.

But even before the play unfolded, she saw it happening in slow motion.

Rickea pressed too high. Azzi pivoted, protecting the ball. Cam rotated late on help — not malicious, just overeager — and stepped straight into Azzi’s drive.

Bodies tangled. Contact hit hard.

Azzi went down with a loud slap of skin and hardwood.

The room held its breath.

And Paige — before she could think, before she could breathe — was already moving.

She was halfway onto the court before she caught herself, a sharp “Hey—!” already halfway out of her mouth.

Azzi sat up slowly, face unreadable, hand pressed to her shoulder where she took the brunt.

“Sub out,” Paige said, sharper than she meant to. “Now.”

Cam froze. “Coach, it was clean—”

“I said out.”

Silence fell. Paige exhaled through her nose, sharp and controlled.

Azzi got to her feet on her own, brushing herself off, giving Paige a quick — almost unreadable — glance.

But Paige saw it.

Saw the flicker of surprise. And something else. Something softer. Like thank you hidden under pride.

Shit.

She turned on her heel, calling the next set like nothing had happened.

But her pulse was loud in her ears. Louder than the sneakers. Louder than the ball.

You can’t do this. You can’t react like that. Not with her.

Azzi’s POV

She wasn’t hurt. Not really.

The shoulder sting would fade.

What wouldn’t fade? The look on Paige’s face the second she hit the floor.

For a moment — just one — Paige looked at her like she did that night.

Like she still cared.

Azzi’s lips twitched, almost a smirk, but she buried it.

So Paige could pretend all she wanted. Coach voice, coach rules, coach distance.

But she saw it now.

Beneath the hoodie and the whistle and the ice?

That woman from Vegas was still in there.

And Azzi? She wasn’t letting her go that easy.

Post-practice Locker Room

The locker room was a little too quiet for post-scrimmage.

There was music playing — something low and vibey off someone’s playlist — but it felt like background noise to the tension Azzi still hadn’t shaken.

She sat at her locker, towel around her shoulders, hairline damp, shoulder stiff.

The fall wasn’t serious, but the reaction? That was the part echoing in her head.

Paige crossing half the court without thinking. The sharp edge in her voice when she called Cam out. The way her eyes had locked on Azzi like she was the only one that mattered.

Azzi’s skin still tingled from it.

She rubbed her shoulder absently, trying to play it cool, when Rickea slid onto the bench beside her.

“You good?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. Just landed wrong.”

Rickea raised a brow. “Didn’t look like Coach thought it was that casual.”

Azzi looked over, caught the teasing glint in her eyes.

Rickea leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice. “What’s going on with you two?”

Azzi paused. Just for a breath.

Then she smirked — easy, practiced, not quite real.

“Nothing.”

Rickea snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Azzi shrugged, turning back to her locker, voice lighter than she felt. “I’m just here to hoop. Not get into drama with the boss.”

It was technically true.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Because Rickea didn’t know what it felt like to have had that mouth on your neck and that voice in your ear and then be coached like you were just one of twelve. Didn’t know what it was like to go from being held to being ignored — coldly, carefully, professionally.

Azzi stared down at her shoes, jaw tight.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew the stakes.

She’d never jeopardize Paige’s job. Or her own.

But the part that scared her?

She wasn’t sure how long she could pretend this was just basketball.

Practice Facility – After Hours

The gym was dim, lit only by the overhead emergency lights and the glow from the scoreboard clock, frozen at 00:00.

Everyone else had cleared out an hour ago. Trainers. Teammates. Staff.

But Azzi stayed.

She always stayed when her mind was too loud and her chest too tight — when the only thing that made sense was the feel of the ball in her hands and the sound of it kissing the rim.

She took another shot. Swish. Caught the rebound. Reset. Shot again.

Her shoulder still ached from the fall, but she didn’t care. The pain kept her grounded. Reminded her this was real. Not a memory. Not a dream. Not Vegas.

She turned, caught the ball, and froze.

Paige stood in the doorway of the coach’s office, clipboard in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows.

Azzi’s pulse tripped over itself.

They stared at each other across the half court line — too much air and not enough space between them.

Neither of them spoke.

Paige stepped onto the court, her sneakers echoing softly. That same silent intensity. Controlled. Lethal. It made Azzi’s stomach twist.

Azzi let the ball fall into her hands again, spinning it slowly under her fingers. “Forgot something?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Just nodded toward the bench. “My clipboard.”

Azzi tossed a look over her shoulder. “You always grab it like it’s a shield.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “You always stay late like you’re trying to prove something.”

“Maybe I am.”

Silence again.

Paige moved to walk past her, just barely brushing Azzi’s arm. Skin grazed skin — a whisper of contact. Barely there.

But it was enough.

Enough to set off a spark in Azzi’s chest that spread too fast. Enough to make Paige stop in her tracks, just for a second too long.

Azzi didn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

Paige stayed still for a moment, breath shallow, her body just inches from Azzi’s. The heat from their brief contact still lingered, coiled beneath her skin like a live wire.

Her eyes flicked down for the briefest second — not to Azzi’s shoulder, not to the ball, but to her mouth. Then back up.

A war waged just behind Paige’s eyes. You could see it. Feel it. Like she was counting every reason not to lean in.

She finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“This can’t happen.”

Low. Controlled. Ice beneath fire.

Azzi’s breath hitched. She turned her head, eyes burning into Paige’s profile. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

Paige didn’t flinch, but something cracked in her eyes — a flicker, small but real. Her throat moved like she wanted to respond, but nothing came out.

Azzi didn’t look away. “You think pretending it didn’t happen makes it easier? Because it doesn’t. Not for me.”

The silence wrapped around them, thick and hot and unbearable.

Paige blinked hard, like she could force the memory away — that hotel room, that laugh, that impossible softness.

Then she finally tore her eyes from Azzi’s.

Paige’s jaw clenched. Her grip on the clipboard tightened until her knuckles whitened. Her entire body seemed frozen in place, like she wanted to move forward but couldn’t.

She said nothing. Just turned, too fast, and walked away.

No explanation. No softening. No second glance. Just the sound of her footsteps fading into the quiet.

Azzi stood alone, chest rising too fast, the echo of Paige’s presence still heavy in the air.

She shot once more. Missed.

Behind her, a phone buzzed on the scorer’s table. Her phone.

One new message.

P. (You Know the One)

Don’t stay alone in the gym after hours. Not with your shoulder like that.

Azzi stared at the screen.

No emoji. No softness. Just concern disguised as control.

She glanced at the contact name — P. (You Know the One) — and hated how honest it still was.

And it was exactly the version of Paige she couldn’t stop wanting.

Sparks Training Facility – Weight Room, Morning

Paige’s POV

The weight room was humming — plates clanking, trap bars thudding, breath short and sharp as players moved through their lifts in focused circuits.

Paige stood near the racks, clipboard in hand, checking reps off as she moved from station to station. Her expression was calm. Blank. Professional.

Except she couldn’t stop tracking #35 in her periphery.

Azzi was across the room spotting Cam on trap-bar dead lifts, focused and efficient. No laughing. No joking. No reason for Paige’s pulse to be doing what it was doing.

But it was.

Azzi’s braids were tied back tight. A soft sweat glinted at the base of her neck. Her shirt had ridden up just slightly, revealing the sliver of a scar near her ribs. And suddenly Paige was back in Vegas — fingertip to skin, breath caught, laughter half-muffled under hotel pillows.

Damn it.

She looked down, scratched through a line on her clipboard that didn’t need scratching, and moved to the next station.

“Split stance rows, four sets — let’s stay clean with the back angle!” she called out.

KK walked up beside her, sipping from her stainless bottle. She didn’t look up from the athlete she was watching when she spoke.

“You good?”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

KK shrugged, still tracking motion. “Your eyes keep drifting like you forgot which side of the gym you’re on.”

“I’m watching the floor.”

“Mmhmm.”

Paige didn’t answer. Just checked another name off, a little too fast.

KK stepped closer, voice low but pointed now. “You know I don’t care what happened before this job. But if it’s bleeding into your drills? I do.”

“It’s not,” Paige said flatly.

“Then why you gripping that pen like it’s holding you back from doing something dumb?”

Paige said nothing.

KK leaned in just a fraction more, dropping her voice like a scalpel: “You can lie to the team. You can lie to her. But don’t try it with me, Bueckers.”

Then she walked off, calling out rep cues like nothing happened.

Paige stared at her clipboard, jaw tight.

Across the room, Azzi caught a clean hang clean and reset her stance. She didn’t look over.

Not once.

Which somehow made it worse.

Coaches’ Office – Midday

The hum of the projector ran in the background, casting muted movement on the wall like it might distract from everything Paige didn’t want to talk about.

It didn’t.

She stood at the whiteboard, marking up transition schemes with one hand and gripping her coffee like it was the last tether to reality with the other.

KK was leaning back in one of the office chairs, legs stretched, arms folded. Watching her. Not even pretending not to.

Paige kept talking. “I want to adjust our rotation cadence next scrimmage. Rickea and Cam need more reps running the secondary transition, especially if we’re going to see a guard-heavy defense in preseason.”

KK blinked. “Cool.”

“But I wasn’t asking about the rotation.”

Paige didn’t turn. “Didn’t think you had to.”

KK stood, stretching with a slow, exaggerated shrug. “Just saying. You look like you’re coaching through a panic attack.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Paige finally turned, arms crossed. “Are we gonna talk about basketball or feelings, KK?”

KK gave her a look — the kind that made rookies shrink and veterans shut up.

“You know I don’t do feelings,” she said. “But I do do problems.”

Paige said nothing. Her shoulders were too square. Her jaw too tight.

KK stepped forward, dropping her voice. “Look. I know what happened last year messed you up. You put your whole life in one lane and the universe ripped it out from under you. I get that.”

A pause.

“But if you think you can fake your way through coaching and pretend you don’t give a damn about the woman you left in a hotel room, you’re gonna get yourself caught up real fast.”

Paige blinked.

The silence that followed was heavy — not loud, but dense. Like everything in her head had collapsed inward.

“I’m not—” she started, then stopped.

KK raised a brow.

Paige swallowed. Looked at the wall like it might give her an answer.

“She’s just doing her job,” she finally said. “I’m doing mine.”

KK stepped back, letting her off the hook — for now.

“Keep telling yourself that, Coach,” she said. “But figure it out before she starts doing more than her job.”

Then she turned and left, the door swinging shut behind her.

Flashback – Las Vegas Hotel Room

The light crept in soft and golden through the edge of the blackout curtains, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets.

Paige lay still on her side, hair mussed, one arm tucked under her head, the other stretched across cool sheets.

Azzi wasn’t there.

Not entirely, anyway. She was at the edge of the bed, back turned slightly, blanket low on her spine, scrolling lazily through her phone. Her bare shoulder rose and fell with each breath, soft and unbothered.

Paige’s eyes traced the line of her neck. The curve of her waist. The same ribs her fingers had followed the night before, slow and quiet, like they were learning the shape of something they’d never forget.

She hadn’t meant to stay.

That was the thing.

It was supposed to be one drink, one night, one mistake you tuck into your past like a receipt in your back pocket.

But she’d stayed.

And now she didn’t know what the hell to do with herself.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She turned over carefully, grabbed it.

A text from her agent:

Front office’s calling early about pre-camp media. We’ll need you back by Monday.

Another buzz — a WNBA alert. A push notification about contract restructuring. The world, inching back in.

She felt the ache of it low in her ribs — the pull of reality, sharp and heavy.

Azzi turned over slightly, eyes half-closed, still sleepy. “You always wake up this early?”

Paige blinked, shoved her phone face-down. “Habit.”

Azzi smiled, lazy and real. “That’s sick.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, but it felt tight in her chest.

There was a pause — not awkward, but close.

Azzi propped herself on one elbow, looking at Paige like she was something worth staying for. “So…”

Paige looked back at her.

Then Azzi asked it — soft, tentative, but not small:

“What is this?”

A beat.

A breath.

Everything tightening at once.

Paige stared at her. At the woman who had let her in last night. The woman who touched her like she wasn’t broken, like she wasn’t just one more walking headline with too many eyes watching.

And then Paige did what she always did when something felt too much like truth.

She shut down.

Her voice was quieter than she meant it to be.

“It was just a night, Azzi.”

Azzi’s expression didn’t shift right away — just held, still, like a dropped glass that hadn’t shattered yet.

“Oh.”

Paige looked away.

Azzi didn’t ask anything else.

And Paige didn’t stay long after that.

Return to Present Day

The memory burned through her as she stood at the film board again, marker in hand, lips tight.

She blinked hard and crossed out the same line of notes she’d written three times already.

Behind her, the door creaked open.

A voice: “You good for media this afternoon?”

Paige didn’t look up.

“Yeah,” she said.

And her hand shook just slightly when she picked the marker back up.

Sparks Facility – Private Team Dinner

Azzi’s POV

The dining room was loud in the way only good teams could be — food clattering onto plates, laughter bouncing off the walls, music thumping low from someone’s speaker in the corner.

It was the first time all week they’d felt like a team instead of twelve women trying to outrun the roster cut list.

Azzi sat with one leg tucked under her at the end of the table, a half-empty plate in front of her and a bottle of water she hadn’t touched. Her hoodie sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and her braids were still damp from a post-practice shower.

She wasn’t tired, but her smile was.

Across the room, Paige was seated next to KK, posture clean as always, shoulders square, face unreadable. She was laughing at something — or at least giving the polite version of it — but her eyes weren’t in it.

Not once had she looked Azzi’s way.

Not that Azzi was counting.

“Hey, Fudd,” Rickea called from a few seats down, eyes glinting. “What’s it like playing under your former rival?”

The table laughed — low and teasing — not mean, just curious.

Azzi blinked.

She leaned back slowly, lips curling just slightly. “Let’s just say… she still knows how to keep me on my toes.”

A few scattered oohs floated through the air.

Paige didn’t react. Not obviously.

But Azzi saw it — the slow lift of her eyes. The flash of tension in her jaw. The half-second pause in her hand before she took another sip of water.

Their eyes met. Just for a moment.

Azzi held it. Just long enough to make it count.

Then Paige looked away — back to KK, back to her perfectly untouched plate.

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek, heart thudding.

She hadn’t meant to say anything that would press. But the truth was — it was hard to be this close to someone you once held with both hands and not want to test the distance.

Parking Lot – Just Outside the Sparks Facility

She hadn’t meant to linger.

Everyone else had peeled off in pairs, jackets slung over shoulders, laughing as they disappeared into the night. Azzi stood just outside the side exit, leaning against her car door, scrolling through nothing. The kind of stalling that didn’t need a reason.

The heavy door clicked open behind her.

Footsteps. Measured. Familiar.

Paige.

Azzi didn’t turn around right away.

“You always the last to leave?” Paige asked, her voice even but quieter than usual — like the dark softened her.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, offering a shrug without looking. “Someone’s gotta close it down.”

There was a pause.

“You really don’t know how to shut off, do you?”

Azzi smiled to herself, finally glancing back at Paige. “That’s rich coming from you.”

That pulled a breath of a laugh from Paige — soft, but there. And still, her eyes lingered.

Azzi added, more lightly now, “Besides… it’s quieter when no one’s around. Easier to think.”

The words hung between them. They both knew what it echoed.

FLASHBACK – All-Star Weekend, Vegas

Bar, late. Just the two of them leaning in close.

“I don’t date much,” Azzi had said, swirling ice around her glass. “Everyone either wants the version of me they see on TV, or they’re intimidated by it.”

Paige had looked at her then, really looked. “Same. People always say they can handle the schedule, the pressure, the travel. But they never stay.”

Azzi’s voice had dropped. Honest. Hopeful. “Maybe it’s different when someone else actually gets it.”

Paige hadn’t replied right away.

But the way she’d reached out, fingers brushing Azzi’s knuckles — that had said enough.

BACK TO PRESENT - Parking Lot

Now, Azzi’s voice carried a playful edge, even as her chest felt heavy. “I figured if I kept staying late, eventually someone might stay too.”

That landed harder than she meant it to.

Paige’s mouth opened, then closed again. She didn’t have a clipboard this time. Nothing to hide behind. Just her hands shoved into the front pocket of her hoodie and eyes that looked like they wanted to say something — but didn’t.

Instead, she gave a small nod. Almost imperceptible.

“Goodnight, Fudd.”

And then she walked off into the dark, the soft thunk of her car door the only sound left behind.

Azzi stood there, heart racing for reasons she didn’t want to admit.

She should’ve said more.

Or maybe Paige should’ve.

But it was always like this now — full of almosts.

And no one ever stayed.

Azzi’s Apartment – Late Night

The city outside her window was still — the kind of stillness that made every thought louder.

Azzi sat curled into the corner of her couch, knee tucked under her, hoodie pulled over one shoulder, wine glass dangling loosely between two fingers. Her playlist hummed in the background, something mellow and moody that only made her chest feel tighter.

She should’ve gone to bed.

Instead, she replayed the way Paige had looked at her in the parking lot — the flicker in her eyes, the pause before her goodbye, the way she remembered something so small from that night in Vegas.

Something Azzi had never forgotten.

I figured if I kept staying late, eventually someone might stay too.

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

And Paige hadn’t meant to let it show on her face.

Her phone buzzed beside her — a teammate dropping a group pic from dinner. She ignored it.

Because the thread she had open was the one that mattered.

P. (You Know the One)

Still pinned. Still untouched.

Still holding the weight of everything unsaid.

Her eyes drifted to the last message.

Don’t stay alone in the gym after hours. Not with your shoulder like that.

Professional. Impersonal. Barely.

But that wasn’t what Azzi remembered.

She remembered fingertips and tension and words whispered in a hotel room when no one else was listening. She remembered Paige agreeing that their world was lonely — and maybe, just maybe, they could make it less so.

But now Paige was her coach.

And Azzi was still waiting for her to break.

She exhaled, long and shaky, then typed:

You ever gonna stop pretending it didn’t mean anything?

Paused. Deleted.

You still look at me like it did.

Backspaced again.

Another sip of wine. Another deep breath.

And then—

Azzi

This probably breaks like… eight rules, but I can’t stop thinking about your hands.

Send.

She stared at the screen.

No typing bubble.

No read receipt.

Just silence.

And suddenly, the quiet outside wasn’t nearly as loud as the one inside her.

If Paige didn’t answer…

That would hurt.

But if she did?

That might be worse.

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd

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alternate-real-ities · 2 months ago

Note

Small problem here. At my university more and more of my friends and classmates are supposedly dropping out! But more and more Asian jocks keep taking their place! I may just be a theatre major, but there has to be something I can do right? Before they fully mess up the spring musical that is.

The Big Play

One day, as you're walking across campus lost in thought about these changes, you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and find yourself face to face with two muscular Asian guys who could be mistaken for twins - the spitting image of the type that seems to be taking over your university. One was wearing a blue compression shirt, while the other wore a matching tank top, seeming to belong to some kind of athletic team or group. Maybe they were from your university's football team?

"Hey there", the taller one says, his deep voice confident and friendly. "We're new here. You're doing the theatre major thing, right? Us too, bro! Mind showing us around?" You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Why would these stereotypical-looking jocks want to join your theatre classes? But then again, they seem friendly enough, and you don't want to be rude. "Hmmm, sure, I can show you around." you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm heading to the theatre building if you want to come along."

You start walking towards the theatre building, the two muscular Asian guys falling into step beside you. As you walk, you can't help but notice how sweaty they are - beads of sweat trickle down their chiselled faces and dampen their shirts.

"Thanks for showing us around, bro." - the taller one says. As he speaks, he brushes up against you, leaving a smear of sweat on your arm, but you try not to let it bother you.

"No problem", you mumble, leading them into the theatre building. Throughout the tour, the two guys seem fascinated by everything, asking questions and nodding along. But every so often, one of them brushes up against you - an elbow here, a hip there. At first, you think it's just because they're so muscular and not used to navigating tight spaces. But as it happens more and more, you start to wonder if it might be on purpose.

Inside the dimly lit hallway of the theatre building, their musky scent seems to grow stronger, filling your nostrils with every breath. They brush up against you again as they look at posters on the wall, their sweaty skin leaving faint damp marks on your clothes. You feel your face flush; their musk is strong - a heady mix of sweat, testosterone, and something else you can't quite place. It's not unpleasant, but it's intense.

Finally, after showing them the auditorium and dressing rooms, the tour comes to an end. You breathe a sigh of relief as you step back outside into the fresh air. "Thanks again for the tour bro!" - the taller one says, clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to make you stumble slightly. "We'll definitely see you around dude. We have to get to the gym now, but we really appreciate it."

You nod, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. "No worries, feel free to hit me up if you need anything else." you manage to say. They grin weirdly at you, their eyes seemingly dull, as if nothing much was going inside their heads. With that, they jog off towards the gym, leaving you standing there, still carrying their scent and feeling a bit dazed by the whole encounter.

You head back to your dorm, still feeling a bit flustered. The encounter with those two jocks has left you feeling strange. Why were there so many more Asian dudes around campus lately? And there's no way in hell that those 2 guys were theatre majors. You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Maybe you just need to get some rest.

That night, you wake up drenched in sweat, your sheets tangled around your legs. Your body feels like it's on fire, a high fever burning through you. You groan and roll over, trying to find a cooler spot on the mattress, but it's no use. In your fevered state, you swear you can still smell the intense musk of those two jocks from before. Their scent penetrates your sickly mind, making you feel even more feverish. You just wish this was over already.

As dawn breaks, you finally drift into a restless sleep, only to be jolted awake a few hours later by the loud ring of your alarm. For a moment, you're disoriented, your body aching and your head pounding. A sudden surge of energy courses through you though, chasing away the last vestiges of fatigue and fever.

You throw on some clothes and head out for a run, uncharacteristic for you. As you jog past the gym, you see a familiar face - one of the jocks from your theatre class. He does a double take as he sees you, his eyes widening appreciatively. "Looking good, bro!" he calls out, his voice deep and rich. "You should come work out with us sometime!"

You thank him for the compliment, but keep running and go on your way. While you feel flattered, there's no way a guy like you could keep up with that guy at the gym.

Later that day in one of your theatre practical classes, one of the many Asian bros in your theatre class suggests skipping rehearsal to play some football instead. "Come on bro," he says, clapping you on the shoulder. "It'll be a good bonding experience for us. We'll be getting in sync for the play!"

You hesitate for a moment, feeling uncomfortable with his suggestion to skip rehearsal for football. But as they insist, you find yourself agreeing against your better judgment. "Okay, sure. Let's play some football." - you hear yourself say, a slight excitement creeping into your voice.

You all gather in the backstage, where a makeshift football field has been set up. As you start tossing the ball around, you're surprised by how naturally your body moves, dribbling the ball and passing it to your classmates. The other guys are all laughing and joking, their energy infectious. You find yourself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of belonging that you haven't felt in a long time.

The game intensifies, sweat pouring down your faces as you run and jump, your heart racing with adrenaline. You can feel your muscles burning, but in a good way - like they're being awakened for the first time. Your skin starts to tingle, and you can feel the heat radiating off your body.

As the game winds down, you're all panting and glistening with sweat. The air is thick with the musky scent of a bunch of aroused young men, their hormones raging after the intense physical exertion. You look at your arms and notice they seem more defined than before, veins lightly tracing their contours. And is that a tan? Maybe that run this morning was more effective than you thought.

Your two jock buddies from yesterday come up to you, grinning widely. "Man, you're a natural!" one of them says, clapping you hard on the back. You can feel the sweat from his hand mixing with yours, but it doesn't bother you as much as it did before. In fact, it feels kind of nice.

"Yeah, we'll make a real player out of you bro." the other chimes in, playfully punching your shoulder. You laugh along with them, feeling a strange sense of belonging despite the odd circumstances. As you head back home, you can still feel the heat of their hands on your skin, and the scent of their musk lingers in your nostrils. You can't help but smile at the thought of spending more time with them.

The week went by, and you found it harder to focus on pretty much anything. Your once-sharp mind felt fuzzy, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind whenever you tried to concentrate on something for too long. Theatre scripts that used to dance off the page now seemed boring and pointless compared to the thrill of spending time with your new jock friends.

Your body was changing rapidly too, but you were too distracted and dim-witted to really notice or care. Each morning, you'd stumble out of bed, your ever-growing massive cock already semi-hard and leaking pre-cum, making a mess of your sheets. But all you could think about was hanging out with your new bros, and how good it felt working up a sweat.

Even as your IQ dropped, and your cock grew bigger and more insistent, you remained blissfully unaware of the true reason behind your changes. The Asian flu had wormed its way into your brain, rewiring it to crave power, pleasure, and the approving gazes of your Asian bros. It also amplified your extroversion by a tenfold, making you eager to spread this new way of being.

Each passing day brought more changes to your body. Muscles erupted across your frame, rippling beneath your skin as they grew denser and larger. Your skin tone deepened to a rich, lustrous brown that seemed to glow under the lights. And there was an insistent throbbing between your legs now, a heavy ache that demanded attention.

One morning, you finally caught sight of yourself in the mirror - and saw nothing wrong with the Adonis staring back at you. Gone was the scrawny theatre major; instead, a towering, dark-skinned Asian god grinned in the reflection.

As you stared at your transformed reflection, the urge to touch yourself became overwhelming. You stumbled back onto your bed, stroking your massive, throbbing cock until thick ropes of cum erupted from the tip, painting your face a pearly white. Panting heavily, you gazed at your reflection in the mirror across from your bed, admiring how the sight of your cum-covered face only enhanced your new god-like appearance. With a deep, satisfied grunt, you licked some of your essence off your fingers, savouring the taste as you prepared to go to classes.

Except, you didn't go to classes. Instead, you found yourself drawn to the weight room, eager to pump more iron and feel your muscles swell. Your Asian bros were already there, their chiselled bodies glistening with sweat as they grunted and strained against the heavy weights.

"Yo, bro! We've been thinking… why waste our time on that lame theatre shit any more?" one of them called out, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face. "We need a beast like you out there on the field. You should join the team!"

Your hesitation lasted only a split second before you nodded eagerly, a wide grin spreading across your handsome face. "Fuck yeah! Theatre is boring as hell anyway," you declared, your voice deeper and more confident than it had ever been before. The only plays you'd be doing from now on were on the field.

The other jocks cheered and high-fived you as you joined them at the weight bench. After the intense workout, you hit the showers together, steam filling the room as hot water cascaded over your glistening skin. Hands roamed and groped, laughter echoed off the tiles. It felt natural, right. Your cock throbbed constantly now, always hungry for more stimulation.

The Asian flu had taken hold completely now, rewriting your mind and body to crave the company of other infected males. But you were too far gone to realise it. All you knew was that you felt amazing - strong, confident, horny all the time. And you wanted everyone else to feel this way too.

As you strode out of the locker room with your new bros, you couldn't help but notice more guys on campus looking different… bigger, buffer, their skin tones richer. The infection was spreading, turning more men into dumb, horny Asian jock bros like yourself. It made you grin for some reason - this was definitely wrong, but it felt so right…

#asian flu #male transformation #muscle tf #muscle transformation #musclegrowth #race change #alpha man #alpha muscle #asianization

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wandascrush · 1 year ago

Text

Welcome to the world

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pain, birth, crying, water breaking

Cold sweat lined your forehead when you opened your eyes, adjusting to the darkness in the room. You flung your sheets off the bed and sat up, immediately holding your tender belly. You felt nauseous, cramped up, and sweaty- the worst combo. Immediately, you waddled over to the restroom, splashing cold water on your face and taking shallow breaths in and out. Phew- you were calming down, everything was okay. Just the normal symptoms when your 38 weeks, nothing new.

You hoped the warm light pouring into the bedroom wouldn’t wake up your exhausted wife that only got four hours of sleep the night before, tending to your early morning sickness. You felt bad but hey, you were equal, it’s not like you got any sleep either with this little one growing inside you. You finished drying your face off with a towel and drinking some water through the sink when you decide to head back to bed and try to get more rest, it was probably just some Braxton hicks pains. That is until you felt a gush of water down your legs, your water broke

“Nat-,” she didn’t even stir. You gripped the side of the door frame, hands turning red as you groaned out in pain, “Natty!”

Two hours later you were in a delivery room, damp with sweat and a worried, but excited, wife holding your hand. The hospital lights flooded your vision as nurses and doctors came in and out, checking your dilation.

Tender lips brushed the top of your head, “Shhhh detka, this is the moment we’ve been waiting for, just a little earlier than planned. Breathe, that’s it, in and out, just like that sweetheart,” and when you looked into her eyes you’d never seen so much love from another human. Your stomach immediately cramped again, pain washing over you as you closed your eyes and took shaky breaths out loud.

Clint was on his way with Laura, the future uncle and aunt of your child, speeding down the highway. Steve, your baby's future Godfather, was two hours away picking up flowers for you, a teddy bear for your little one, and candy for Natty and himself. The rest of the group was getting back from a mission overseas, no doubt they would miss the birth, but you knew they’d be there ASAP.

The warm glow of the bright lights kept you up, even as you tried to shut out all other senses. Closing your tired eyes and imagining what the cries of your baby would be like was the only thing that brought you comfort. Once the pain subsided and nurses stopped poking and prodding you, images of your new family of three eased your mind.

Natasha was right by your side, rubbing your back through the pain and nausea, dabbing your forehead with a cold compress for the hot flashes and feeding you ice chips. In this moment she swore to herself you’d never looked so beautiful. You were her dream come true. All three of you. An hour later your redhead had to step out to update Maria and Fury on what was going on.

At first, sure Fury was disappointed to lose one of his best agents for a couple months for maternity leave- but he couldn’t hide his excitement either.

Laura’s sweet gaze was above you in the meantime, gently lifting your head up to press cold compresses on your neck and chest.

“Hey momma, how’re we holding up?” She grabbed some water for you and adjusted your pillow.

“Well, for starters I feel like a tiny human is kickboxing with my insides…so right on point I’d say.” You tried to sit up on your elbows, wriggling your way through the copious amounts of hospital sheets.

It felt like hours before the nurses gave you the go-ahead to start pushing. You had never been so glad for any decision like the decision to get an epidural during delivery. Was it still painful? Hell yes. But did it hurt a lot less? Also, hell yes. Natasha felt useless watching you, not being able to help. It was like being stabbed in the chest every time she heard you scream or start to cry. The best she could do was not keel in pain when you practically broke her hand from squeezing it so hard. And then- in a magical instant- she was here.

Mae Lena Romanoff.

This beautiful, new child you just delivered was crying and being wrapped in a blanket.

You and your wife’s biggest dream had arrived and she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Her nose was the same as her momma’s, with your e/c eyes. She had a full head of brownish-reddish hair like Natasha’s, damp on her small head. You couldn’t help yourself from crying, sobbing really, as you looked at this little doll in your arms. And as you looked up at Natasha, she was crying too.

The nurses started cleaning you up and doing all the usual routines after giving birth, making sure not only your baby was healthy but yourself as well. Natasha took the baby in her arms and sat by you, marveling at this little joy she created with her wife. Her gentle arms cradled the baby close to her ear as she whispered to her, “Welcome to the world, little one. As long as I’m here, no one will hurt you. Not ever.”

An hour later the room was filled with Clint, Laura, their kids, and Steve. All of them gently stroked the baby’s head, cooing and “awww”ing. You held her close and pointed to everyone in the room, “That’s your Uncle Clint, he’s going to teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow. And that’s your Auntie Laura, one of the best people you’ll ever meet. Those are your cousins that are going to play with you until you’re all grown up. And that right there, is Steve. The best Godfather anyone could ask for. Later on you’ll meet Tony and Pepper, they’ll get you into so many adventures. We’re all going to love you so much, sweet baby. ” If you could freeze this perfect moment in time, you absolutely would. You knew that as long as you had Natasha, your daughter, and this village to help raise her- your family would always be okay.

#natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female #natalia romanoff #natalia romanova

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wirewitchviolet · 4 months ago

Text

Let's talk about how Ranma is trans in the 2024 anime, part 1

Way the hell back in 2018, after a random exchange with a friend, I sat down and wrote a series of four blog posts where I looked at the manga Ranma ½, which ran from 1988 to 1996, explicitly through a lens where I assumed the protagonist is in fact a trans girl. A major component of the series being that Ranma and several other characters fell into various pools in a cursed set of natural springs causing them to magically change into whatever tragically drowned in one when hit with cold water, then back to their original body with hot, and Ranma fell in the girl one, so it was bound to be a series that would crack a lot of eggs regardless, but my memory of reading it years before transitioning was that it worked on a mundane level too, particularly later. I did somehow forget a bit towards the end where Ranma honestly just kinda straight up comes out of the closet, but I'm not going to link to that panel yet again for the sake of preview links not blending together. Anyway, those posts were already the most popular things I ever put on this blog and have never stopped circulating, despite it being a pretty old and largely forgotten series at the time.

I had always had the idea that I really should go back and also watch the anime adaptation(s) of Ranma, which deviates a good bit from the manga, but that is 161 episodes, 3 movies, and 11 OAVs which are terribly terribly paced, and I don't actually get paid for this. But then lo and behold, here's a brand new anime adaptation coming out decades later, looking really nice, and surely that will deviate even more from the source material, so here I am diving in to find all new bits of gender stuff to talk about, under the fold here and-

Oh. Turns out the new anime series is actually an EXTREMELY faithful adaptation of the original manga and the only deviations I've actually noticed are that there's a little bit less nudity and the one scene with Ranma's breasts fully on display goes the route of not drawing nipples. And really that's only significant because the original anime adaptation somehow got away with that one. Speaking of the original anime run, this adaptation brings back the entire surviving voice cast, and continues the tradition of coloring Ranma's hair red in cold-water form as an extra tell for the audience. And speaking of color, one thing this adaptation does now and then that I really appreciate is punctuating certain scenes with the sort of cool pastel palettes (see above) that were used for the cover illustrations of the original manga.

Another thing the 2024 anime does is throw in a quick little vignette before the opening credits of each episode to restate that Ranma and Akane are engaged, and the feminizing water thing, which mostly feels like it's there as just a little extra emphasis that regardless of all the other shenanigans going on, those two are the one actual couple and making it clear that the rest of the tangled web of crushes and obsessions don't really matter. Something I feel like this adapatation is keen to emphasize in general. In fact, being as nearly 1 to 1 an adaptation as it is, the title of every episode is directly lifted from the chapter names of the manga, so we can just slap together a little infographic and see what's getting compressed a bit and what's getting the time it needs to breathe!

We're chewing through the extended fight scenes pretty quick and slowing down any time Akane's having an emotional moment or some time in the spotlight basically. Which makes sense since the action scenes in the manga are like all full page splash images with a word of text and need to be flowing quickly, and because we have the benefit of hindsight knowing that the Kunos become irrelevant real quick. We're also squeezing out a little early identity crisis stuff for Ranma in the process (there's an early dream sequence after first meeting Kuno, coming to grips with the whole "since I'm a girl, dudes want to sleep with me" realization that barely makes it in and a few early moments of internalized misogyny that get dropped), and we really give Shampoo's debut some space (not QUITE as much as the above suggests, most of episode 10 is wrapping up a three parter on the ice skating with her just punching through the wall as a cliffhanger at the end).

The whole thing is also paced out to nicely cover the first four volumes of the manga, out of 38. They might up the compression rate a little, but as it stands, it's going to take another 8 or 9 seasons to get through everything at this rate. In comparison, my first blog post got through three times this much of it, but the original anime covered only the first half of this in the same episode count (and then for some reason introduced Shampoo and Mousse early and didn't get through the ice skating until episode 27).

Anyway, like I said, this doesn't really change things up enough to have a lot to say about how clearly Ranma is trans. Jumping back to the start though yet again, it really cannot be emphasized enough though just how clearly, even from the very first episode, she is SO much more comfortable presenting as a girl, not at all nervous meeting Akane's family like that, then suddenly super tense and awkward and closed off when interacting with... really anyone while boy-moding. So I guess it's time to bust out some of these other lenses to look at this...

Let's talk about how Akane is gay, part 1

I mean, we've established she's into Ranma, with extra emphasis in this adaptation, and we've established that Ranma is in fact a girl, but that's just the one data point. What else do we have? Well, she's quite explicitly not a fan of guys, particularly guys who are attracted to her, and we're keeping plenty of a focus on that while not wasting time trying to pretend Kuno matters at all in the grand scheme of things. The closest she ever comes to showing interest in a guy is Dr. Kuno, and the anime here is strongly emphasizing how that's less of a real crush and more just emulating her oldest sister (Nabiki of course is also some flavor of queer, and I don't think anyone has ever questioned that) since that's kinda what you do, right? She also gets intensely jealous of the idea of Shampoo kissing Ranma while assuming Ranma is a girl, talks about how hot she is, and hell, at the start of things when everyone's assuming they've somehow gotten into a situation where one of the three sisters has to marry a cis girl, Nabiki points out how that works out perfectly for her. Because she is extremely gay.

Let's talk about how Ryoga is trans, part 1

OK so this isn't the same absolute slam dunk as Ranma turned out to be, but there is a surprisingly strong case to argue that Ryoga is also a trans girl. What do we know about Ryoga after all? Real real socially awkward. Only has one sorta-friend from childhood, who turned out to be trans later. Can we call Ryoga a furry? I'm not even talking about the pig curse, but there's this whole feral wolf vibe before that's even established. In a series where basically every guy who is ever introduced is a horny creep obsessed with rigid gender roles, Ryoga does not bat an eye at seeing women naked (which comes up oddly often), spends a lot of these early arcs hanging out with the gal pals to help practice gymnastics and skating, deals well enough with the pink heart collar and being called Charlotte, and like so many of us, Ryoga is introduced to the series indignantly sputtering about how Ranma's situation shouldn't really be called a curse and is a situation we'd be happy to be in. You could argue that Ryoga's saying this just relative to the pig curse, I guess, but I do at least get the vibe that Ryoga wouldn't be too super worried about finding hot water with that one.

Speaking of the pig curse, I feel like every time I revisit Ranma I have a different perspective on the whole "P-Chan" situation. With this adaptation, it does feel significantly closer to "it's really just this super awkward situation where I've been looking for a good moment to explain and at this point it's been so long she'll probably kill me" than "I am a loathsome sex offender using a disguise to snuggle up with this girl who thinks I am a small animal" and Ranma is doing an appropriate amount of "I'm not going to blurt it out, but you should seriously come clean already" so, glad to know we're downplaying that.

Also, the emphasis on Ranma and Akane as The Couple in this adaptation really makes it clear that Ryoga isn't so much into Akane as just kinda... incapable of conceiving of any sort of existence that doesn't involve being Ranma's rival/friend/polycule member.

Anyway, I guess that's where I have to leave this until the second season drops? Have a patreon link?

#trans reading #ranma #ranma 1/2 #trans #ranma 2024

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