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velaenam · 2 days ago

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courtside sins

basketball player!caleb x cheerleader!nonmc reader tags: NSFW (18+) RAW. NASTY. SMUT!!! creampie, penetration (p to v), clit stimulation, groping, swearing, smut w/ sorta plot we just tryna bang caleb ngl — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

the gym is electric! stomping feet, whistles, screaming fans packed tight into the stands– but all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. caleb’s got the ball. shot clock ticking down. sweat glistens down his neck as he dribbles past the last defender, eyes locked on the hoop. you’re front and center on the sideline in your cheer uniform, pom-poms gripped right in your hands, “let’s go, number 5!” you shout louder than anyone else.

it cuts through the noise!

his eyes flicked to you– just for a second– and that is all it takes. you see it in his face; he heard you! that cocky smirk flickers across his lips right before he takes a leap, muscles coiling as he sinks the shot– buzzer screaming!

the crowd erupts– screaming echos off the gym walls, and you can barely hear your own damn voice as you chant along with your squad, launching into your celebratory routine. you flip, kick, throw your arms in the air, adrenaline high and cheeks flushed. state champions. the win tastes sweet, but nothing compared to the way he’s looking at you across the court.

caleb shoves past his teammates, brushing off the pat on his back, and makes a beeline for you. your pom-poms hit the floor just in time for him to grab you by the waist, lift you off the ground, and spin you in a tight circle, sweat drenched and grinning wide.

“thank you. did that for you.” he breathes into your ear, voice rough, chest heaving. his hands linger a little too long on your hips, and you don’t stop him.

before you can respond, he’s pulled away– swallowed by the swam of teammates, reporters, and coaches flooding the court. everybody wants a piece of him. cameras were flashing, arms were wrapping around him. someone shoves a towel at his chest and another hand grasps his shoulder. but even as he talks, nods, and plays the part of the mvp, his eyes would drift back to you.

he manages to break away for half a second, weaving through the chaos just long enough to lean in close for you to be the only one to hear him;

“locker room. 30 minutes. i need you.” his voice is low, rough and urgent. it wasn’t a request– it was a promise– a demand.

your knees buckle, and your lips part to grasp. your pulse is already pounding for a completely different reason.

then he’s gone again, smiling for the crowd.

you don’t wait the full 30 minutes.

the noise of the celebration fades behind you as you slip through the back hallway, cheer uniform brushing your thighs, every step echoing on the waxed floor. the locker room door is ahead- slightly ajar, the overhead lights humming softly inside. your hearts thudding so hard you swear it might rip out your chest.

you push the door open, slowly, letting it creak just enough to announce you. it was empty. warm. the air smelled of sweat, victory, and… axe?

you walk past the lockers one by one, fingers grazing cool metal, until you reach the row where his things always are. your back presses against one of the doors as you wait, stomach tight with heat and anticipation. you can still feel his hands on your hips from the court, still hear that growl in your ear– i need you.

you’re not sure what’s going to happen when he walks through that door.

the door clicks shut behind you– and then it opens again.

you don’t even have time to speak before caleb steps through. the moment his eyes find you the tension snaps. he’s still in his uniform, jersey peeled off the slung over his shoulder, skin slick with sweat and flushed from adrenaline. that look in his eyes? it’s not the cocky grin he gives reporters. it’s darker. hungrier. just for you.

“you waited.” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel smoothed by heat.

“i always do..” you answer, barely above a whisper.

in two strides he’s in front of you, one hand braced on the locker beside your head, the other already gripping your waist, pulling you in. “you don’t know what you do to me out there,” he mutters, breath brushing your lips, “the way you scream my name..” he groans, head tipping back slightly like he’s trying to restrain himself, but he can’t– not tonight. “the way you move in that skirt.”

then he kisses you– hard. no hesitation, no warm up. just heat and teeth and weeks of tension finally breaking open in the dark.

the kiss turns frantic fast– his mouth claiming yours like it’s owed, like the win wasn’t complete until he had you like this. your back slams softly against the locker, the cool metal contrast the heat flooding your body. caleb’s hands are everywhere– one tangled in your hair, the other sliding down, rough palm catching the hem of your skirt.

“been thinking about this all game,” he growls against your mouth, voice thick and shaky with need, “you cheering for me like that… jumping around in that damn skirt… do you know what that does to me…” he mumbles hungrily

you gasp when his fingers trail up your thigh, under your skirt now, dragging slow over your skin with purpose. his touch is firm– like he already knows every place that makes you squirm. your legs part for him instinctively, the air between you charged and electric. his breath hitches, his eyes flicking down as he grins darkly. “no shorts underneath?” he murmurs, “bad girl.”

you’d took it off before he came in.

he doesn’t move further. his fingers stay right at the edge, maddeningly close but never quite touching where you need him. instead, he just smirks, like he’s already won twice tonight. once on the court, and now here, with you trembling beneath his hands.

“you came in here like this on purpose, didn’t you?” caleb whispers, mouth brushing along the shell of your ear, “no shorts.. no shame..” he drawls, lips dragging along your neck, slow and lazy, “what were you hoping i’d do? take you right here? make you mine again– while the rest of them think i’m still giving interviews?”

your fingers dig into his shoulders as he drags his hand up your inner thigh again, feather-light. every muscle in your body tightens, aching for him to stop teasing and do something. but he’s enjoying this– watching you squirm, seeing how badly you want him to break.

“you should see yourself right now” he mutters, eyes locked on yours, “so needy.. so fucking pretty when you beg..”

he pauses, fingers still hovering. your pulse is in your throat. “tell me.. what do you want, baby?”

he doesn’t wait for you to say it. instead, caleb grabs your wrist, spinning you around with dizzying ease, then pulls you down the row of lockers. the sink and mirror come into view, silver and fluorescent lit, as he presses you hard against the counter, your palms catching on the edge.

“look,” he growls, positioning himself behind you. “his hand splays across your lower back, holding you there as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you? look at yourself– watch what you turn me into..” he presses himself on your ass– his dick already hard.

the mirror reflects your flushed cheeks, wide eyes. the way his tall frame towers behind you. all muscle, hunger, and restraint stretches thin. he hikes your skirt up slowly, painfully slowly, exposing you fully in the mirror, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“this is what I wanted..” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles up your inner thigh, “you.. just like this.. mine..” he tugs his shorts off, skinagainst your own.

you barely have time to breathe before you feel him press against you even harder. caleb’s grip tightens on your hips as he leans in, his mouth brushes your ear again, voice low and possessive, “keep your eyes up,” he commands, “don’t look away.”

expert fingers hook onto your panties, tugging them to the side. his dick sliding between your thighs. you were dazed. mind in space. your juices start to coat him as he starts to move slowly, his shaft teasing your folds. your eyes locked onto his gaze, a blush creeping on your face. you were lost for words.

absolutely fucking lost.

then– he thrusts in– deep and sudden– and the sound rips from your throat is half gasp, half moan. one of his hands clamps over your mouth just in time to muffle it, palm broad and rough, the other anchoring your hips in place as he starts to move– hard and deliberate.

the mirror trembles with every motion. your reflection blurs with every rock of his hips. lashes fluttering as you try– and fail– not to melt under the weight of him. caleb groans behind you, head falling forward against your shoulder, “fuck baby..” he murmurs against your skin, “you feel so fucking good..” he pants, pace picking up, “so tight..” he coos, so lost.

your hands grip the sink for dear life, knuckles white. your eyes keep catching his in the glass– wild, dark, and locked on you like you’re the only thing here right now. “you’re mine..” caleb growls again, “say it..”

you try to speak– you really do. but all that comes out is a broken whimper, your mouth falling open against his palm as your body rocks with his every thrust. words feel impossible, lost in the haze of heat, and pressure building fast and sharp inside you. your eyes plead through the mirror, and he sees it– of course he does.

“tried to be sweet.” caleb mutters, voice raw and breathless now. “but you don’t need words, do you, baby?” his hand leaves your mouth, sliding down your front with a slow drag of fingers that find your aching center, circling and taunting, “you’ll tell me with this..”

“y-you idiot!” you half scream half whisper, “ t-tried m-my ass… y-you didn’t let me– talk!” you say in between ragged breathing and moans. your back arches, thighs shaking as he sinks deeper, his fingers working you in time with his hips until you’re right on the edge– held open and helpless, pinned between the sink, and the full weight of him behind you.

he watches every twitch, every moan, every desperate press of your hips against him.

“you’re saying it now.” he grunts, pace snapping into something rougher, more desperate. “you’re saying it with how you’re moving.” your answers before you can. you clench around him, head falling back against his shoulder as a cry tears rom your throat, your release crashing over you like a wave. but caleb doesn’t stop– not until he’s spilling into you with a low guttural sound. chest pressed against your back, lips against your neck as you both come down.

he pulls out slowly, dragging a moan from both of you, and you nearly collapse against the sink– legs shaking, chest heaving. but before you can fully catch you breath, caleb’s hands are already back on your waist, guiding you away from the mirror with that same intensity in his eyes.

“not done-” he breathes, voice husky and rough. “get on the bench.” you don’t question it– because you can’t. he drops onto the wooden bench lining the lockers, legs spread wide, sweat-slick skin gleaming under the harsh overhead light. he pulls you into his lap like he owns you, and maybe he does. your hands find his shoulders as you straddle him, still in your uniform, skirt flipped up and forgotten.

his hands grip your thighs, sliding up slowly, possessively, and he lets out a shaky breath as you sink down onto him again. the stretch burns, raw, and perfect, and his head falls back with a low groan.

“that’s it baby..” he whispers, eyes dark and fixed on where your bodies join. “ride me.. just like that..”

you start to move– slow at first, letting him feel everything, every grind of your hips. he groans again, hands sliding under your skirt to grip your ass, guiding your rhythm.

you set the rhythm first; slow, rolling your hips against him in smooth, deliberate circles, letting him feel how deep he is inside and how wet you still are. caleb’s jaw clenches, his hands gripping tighter, his eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to keep going at that pace. you smirk, just a little, riding the high of having him this crazed beneath you.

“you like watching me fall apart for you, huh?” he mutters, voice thick with arousal and something a little hidden, “think you’re in control now?”

you don’t answer. you just keep moving, slow and deep. hands planted on his chest as you grind down hard, a quiet whimper escaping your throat as his cock hits that perfect spot.

then– he moves.

his hands slide to your hips and slam you down onto him harder, faster, stealing your breath mid-moan. he thrusts up into you from below with a rough rhythm that makes your thighs tremble and your back arch.

each snap of his hips steals whatever control you thought you had, until you’re a mess in his lap– moaning, panting, clinging to him. holy fuck.

“i’ll let you ride me.” he grits out, lips brushing your ear, fighting back a groan, “but don’t forget who’s really fucking you.”

your hands claw at his shoulders now, nails digging in as the pace starts to turn brutal– neither of you bothering to hold back anymore. caleb’s breathing is ragged against your neck, his mouth catching on your skin between curses and praise. his thrusts from below meet every roll of your hips perfectly, the sound of your bodies slapping together echoing through the empty locker room.

your name falls from his lips, rough, desperate, as his hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling that sensitive bundle of nerves with maddening accuracy. you cry out, his stuttering, and he knows– that you’re close– again.

“come on baby..” he whispers, “want to feel you fall apart on me again.. let go.. i’ve got you.”

you do

your body locks up for a second, thighs clenching around him, and then he crashes over you– blinding, breathless, a mess of trembling limbs and broken sounds as you cum all around him. caleb curses under his breath, holding you tight as he follows, thrusting up hard one final time before he grabs you by the back of your head, lips colliding with yours.

you’re still trembling when he lifts you off his lap. arms strong but movements slow and careful. he murmurs a soft ‘i love you’ barely enough to hear, as he kisses your temple and runs a hand down your spine to soothe the aftershocks.

then he slips his hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you in his scent. it was warm and oversized. his sweats follow, tied loose around your waist, your uniform stuffed in his duffel bag.

you’re exhausted– limbs heavy, brain foggy with bliss– but he crouches in front of you with a smile that’s all soft and cute, “come on baby girl” he says, tilting his head, “i’ll carry you.”

you don’t argue. you climbed onto his back, resting your cheek against his shoulder as he hoists you with ease, one hand beneath your thigh, the other steady at your knee. the locker room lights hum behind you as he walks through the hallway and out the door.

when he gets to the car he opens the door with one hand, sets you gently in the passenger seat and buckling your seatbelt before brushing a kiss on your forehead.

“still my favorite win.”

taglist : @rcvcgers, @miffysoo

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gottencents · 2 months ago

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BAD BAD BAD - Yu Jimin

pairing. idol!karina x aespa!addedmember!reader

synopsis. When aespa’s self-proclaimed “loser” Y/N shocks everyone with her hidden baseball talent, she not only steals bases—but also Karina’s heart.

Seoul Olympic Stadium — a crisp spring afternoon. A charity baseball game featuring idols from multiple groups is being held to raise money for youth sports programs. The rest of aespa—Karina, Winter, Giselle, and Ningning—have shown up in matching team merch to support their least expected player: Y/N.

“Okay, this is the funniest thing SM’s ever done,” Winter said through a bite of hot dog, pointing toward the field. “They really sent Y/N to play in a baseball game?”

“She’s probably gonna break the bat trying to swing,” Ningning giggled, phone out to record the chaos.

Giselle nodded dramatically. “Ten bucks says she trips running to first base.”

Karina, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, didn’t say anything. She’d watched Y/N quietly stretch and warm up on the field for the past ten minutes, noting the way her grip on the bat was tight, precise, and the way she adjusted her cap just before walking onto the diamond. She didn’t look like she was pretending. She looked… confident.

“She’s been quiet about it,” Karina murmured, almost to herself.

Winter raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Karina said, eyes still following Y/N. “Just… wait.”

Bottom of the 2nd Inning — Y/N at shortstop.

“Ground ball to short!” the announcer shouted.

Y/N moved like lightning, gloved the ball cleanly on the hop, and lasered it to first base.

“OUT!”

“Wait—was that her?” Giselle blinked.

Before they could react, the very next play: a pop fly headed shallow into left-center. Y/N turned and sprinted, making a diving catch that brought the entire crowd to their feet.

“THAT’S TWO!” the announcer yelled.

Karina stood slowly, hand covering her mouth in disbelief—and something else.

“Was she always that fast?” Ningning murmured.

The third out came a minute later: a full-body dive into a sliding grounder followed by a backhand flip to second for the out.

Karina’s heart thudded. “Oh my god.”

Top of the 4th — Y/N’s first at-bat.

“She probably doesn’t even know how to swing—”

CRACK.

The ball sailed out of the park, disappearing over the left field fence.

The crowd erupted.

Winter screamed. “SHE JUST—NO WAY.”

Giselle grabbed Karina’s arm. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

Y/N rounded the bases calmly, helmet tucked low. But as she passed the aespa section, her head tilted slightly—and Karina could swear she winked.

Later in the game:

Five stolen bases. Three more at-bats.

Three home runs.

Every time Y/N stepped up to the plate, the crowd leaned forward. Every time she got on base, she stole her way around the diamond with calculated precision and raw speed. She didn’t even celebrate. She just played.

Karina had barely sat down. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. There was something intoxicating about the way Y/N moved—sharp, focused, electric. And for the first time, she saw something she hadn’t before.

She saw the girl behind the nerdy anime rambles, behind the loser Twitch streams and long rants about Marvel timelines. She saw all of Y/N. And she was completely, utterly gone.

Post-game. Y/N is named MVP.

Back in the dugout, aespa surrounds her.

Winter grabs Y/N’s shoulders. “You’ve been LYING to us.”

“I thought you were allergic to the sun,” Giselle gasped. “How did you just morph into a baseball prodigy ?!”

Ningning flung her arms around her. “You have stats! You have MVP stats!”

Y/N laughed, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “I played back in the States. Shortstop all through middle and high school. Just… never really talked about it. Didn’t seem like something anyone would care about.”

Karina stepped forward, quiet but steady. “I care.”

The others immediately backed off, eyebrows raised in unison.

Y/N blinked. “You do?”

Karina nodded, lips twitching into a smile. “That was… incredible. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Y/N’s confidence faltered just a little. “You mean like… not a loser?”

Karina’s smile softened. She reached out and gently tugged on the sleeve of Y/N’s jersey.

“No. I mean, I’ve always liked the loser version of you. The Y/N who debates superhero rankings for an hour straight. The one who rage-quits games on stream and immediately apologizes. That’s the version I started falling for.”

Y/N froze. “Falling?”

Karina stepped closer. “But today? Watching you do what you love, totally in your element, completely owning the field? That just sealed it.”

Y/N’s ears went red. “So… you’re saying you—”

“I’m saying,” Karina interrupted, voice soft, “that maybe you and I should leave early, skip the after-party, and hang out somewhere where I get you all to myself.”

Y/N couldn’t breathe for a second. “I know a rooftop.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “With ramen?”

“Always.”

After midnight. The dorm’s living room is softly lit by the city lights through the window. The air is quiet, everyone else in the dorm already asleep. Y/N is curled up on the couch in a loose shirt and joggers, a half-finished can of Coke resting on the coffee table. Karina enters quietly, barefoot, in a hoodie and shorts. She pauses when she sees Y/N still awake.

“Can’t sleep?” Karina asked gently, stepping into the room.

Y/N looked up and gave her a sheepish smile. “Adrenaline’s still kinda punching me in the face.”

Karina chuckled, making her way over. “Understandable. You basically turned into an anime protagonist today.”

Y/N groaned and dropped her head back against the couch. “Don’t say that. I’ll never live it down. My DMs are probably full of ‘shortstop slayer’ memes.”

Karina laughed, settling beside her on the couch. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m not used to it. People being impressed by me, I mean. Not in that way.”

Karina tilted her head. “You’re used to people underestimating you.”

Y/N paused. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence between them, not awkward, but charged—like something unspoken had just stepped into the room.

Karina’s voice was softer now. “You didn’t just impress people today, Y/N. You changed the narrative.”

Y/N looked at her, hesitant. “What narrative?”

“The one you’ve been letting define you. The one where you’re the quirky side character. The ‘loser’ of aespa. You’re not just that. You never were.”

Y/N’s eyes dropped to her hands. She picked at the hem of her sleeve. “It’s easier to make the joke first, you know? Be the one who laughs at herself before anyone else does. Then it doesn’t hurt as much.”

Karina’s expression softened. Without saying anything, she reached over and gently took Y/N’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together.

“You don’t need to shrink yourself to be loved,” Karina whispered. “Not with me.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Karina held her gaze, steady and open. “I know you think you have to keep your guard up. That it’s safer to be the weird gamer girl who doesn’t get taken seriously. But I’ve been watching you longer than you think.”

Y/N blinked. “You have?”

Karina gave a soft nod. “Every late-night stream you stayed up for. Every time you randomly monologued about Marvel on a car ride. I didn’t just tolerate that. I liked it.”

Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper. “Even when I went on that thirty-minute rant about why Batman would lose to Gojo Satoru?”

Karina grinned. “Especially then.”

They both laughed quietly, the tension slowly melting into something warmer. Karina’s thumb brushed across Y/N’s knuckles, tender and grounding.

“I didn’t think someone like you would ever look at someone like me,” Y/N admitted. “You’re… Karina. The it-girl. The goddess. The standard.”

Karina’s smile faltered just a little—but not in sadness. More like she was seeing herself through Y/N’s eyes, and it overwhelmed her.

“I wish you could see what I see,” Karina whispered. “You were magnetic today. And not just because of the game. You were you. Completely, unapologetically. And it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N looked at her, stunned. “Karina…”

“Can I kiss you?” Karina asked softly.

There was a heartbeat of stillness.

Y/N nodded. “Please.”

Karina leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to back away—but Y/N didn’t. Their lips met gently, hesitantly at first, before melting into something softer, deeper. Y/N’s hand came up to Karina’s cheek, fingers trembling slightly from nerves, from adrenaline, from everything.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them lingered in the closeness, noses brushing, foreheads resting together.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh. “I think I blacked out for a second.”

Karina grinned. “Same.”

Y/N tilted her head, voice barely above a whisper. “Does this mean you like me? Like, like-like?”

Karina laughed. “I just kissed you, Y/N.”

“You could be doing it for charity.”

Karina rolled her eyes playfully, then kissed her again—firmer this time, more certain.

“This isn’t charity,” she murmured against her lips. “It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her hand still on Karina’s cheek. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Karina smiled. “Because I thought maybe you’d never see me that way. But then I watched you on that field, completely in your element, and I realized… I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

Y/N leaned into her, their hands still tangled, hearts still racing.

“I think I’ve loved you since our third vocal lesson,” she whispered. “You sang one note and I forgot how to breathe.”

Karina blushed, eyes wide. “Okay, you win.”

Y/N smirked. “Always do.”

They laughed together, collapsing back against the couch, tangled up in each other and the quiet glow of a moment they never thought they’d have.

Outside, the city sparkled.

Inside, Y/N finally felt like she was home.

#cents works #aespa #aespa x reader #kpop wlw #kpop gg x reader #yu jimin #yu jimin x reader #karina #aespa karina x fem reader #aespa karina x reader #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #aespa karina #yu jimin x fem reader #aespa yu jimin x reader #Spotify

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cherryvyxen · 4 months ago

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"𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗪𝗮𝘆"

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Caitlin Clark x f! reader

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 -

Caitlin was always mine in secret, but when she kissed me in front of everyone, I knew she wasn’t hiding us anymore.

You never thought being in love with Caitlin Clark would be this hard.

Not because of her, no — she was perfect in every way. The sweetest, softest person when it was just the two of you. She loved you so openly behind closed doors that sometimes you wondered how she managed to hide it so well when you stepped out into the world.

Because no one knew. Not your friends. Not your family. Not even her closest teammates.

For six months now, you and Caitlin had been quietly, carefully, loving each other in secret. It started because she was worried — worried about what people would say, how the media would twist it, how fans would react. You understood. You really did. But as weeks turned into months, and the feelings between you grew deeper and more serious, you couldn’t help but ache to just be hers without fear.

Tonight was supposed to be one of those nights where you stood quietly on the sidelines, watching her shine, keeping your love tucked away like a secret burning in your chest.

The arena was packed, fans screaming her name, the energy vibrating through the air. You watched her from your usual spot — close enough to see every flicker of emotion on her face, far enough that no one would question why you were always there.

She was on fire. Every shot she took was perfect, every move calculated and fierce. You could see it in her eyes — that focus, that determination, but also something else. Something softer that only you knew to look for.

The game was close, but Caitlin took over in the way only she could. Three after three, pushing the team ahead. You could see her jaw set, her chest heaving as she drove to the basket and made another impossible layup, the crowd exploding in cheers.

And when the final buzzer rang, when her team took the win and she stood there, arms thrown in the air as her teammates surrounded her, lifting her up, you felt a pride so deep it made your chest hurt.

You clapped, smiling so big it felt impossible to hide, even though you knew you had to.

She was the star tonight. MVP. And yet, as she held her trophy, you noticed her looking around, scanning the crowd. Her eyes were searching — and when they landed on you, it felt like your whole world stopped moving.

It was a look only you knew. Soft, but intense. Like she was asking you for something. Like she was needing something.

You swallowed hard, glancing away, but when you looked back up, she was still staring. And then she was moving.

At first, you thought maybe she was headed toward her team or a coach, but no — Caitlin was walking straight toward you, determination in her every step.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

She reached you in seconds, ignoring everyone calling her name, every camera flashing in her face, and before you could even speak, she grabbed you by the waist and kissed you right there in front of everyone.

It was nothing like the soft kisses you shared in her apartment, when she would curl her fingers in your hair and smile against your lips.

This kiss was hungry. Desperate. Like she had been waiting too long to finally claim you.

You gasped softly, but she didn’t give you a chance to breathe, her hands holding your waist tightly like she was afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your fingers clung to her jersey, and you kissed her back with everything you had, pouring all the months of love and frustration and aching into that kiss.

Around you, the arena was roaring. People shouting, clapping, cameras clicking non-stop — but you didn’t hear any of it.

All you could hear was Caitlin’s shaky breath when she finally pulled back, her forehead pressed to yours, her eyes filled with something raw and vulnerable.

"Hi," she whispered, voice soft but still out of breath.

You stared at her, completely overwhelmed, heart racing so fast you thought you might pass out.

“Cait…” you breathed, but she only smiled, her hands still holding you like she wasn’t ready to let go.

“I’m done hiding,” she said suddenly, her voice stronger now. “I don’t care who knows. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re mine.”

Tears stung your eyes at her words, so full of emotion and meaning.

"I love you," she added quietly, her thumb brushing your cheek, and you could see she meant it. Like she had never meant anything more in her life.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until she kissed the tears away, soft kisses on your cheeks that made your heart ache even more.

"I love you too," you whispered shakily, and she let out a soft laugh, resting her forehead against yours again.

“I wanted to win for you,” she confessed, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist now, holding you against her chest. “I wanted to win and then finally show everyone who my girl is.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh against her shoulder.

“Well… you definitely did that,” you whispered, and she chuckled, kissing the side of your head.

“I don’t care anymore,” she murmured. “I want everyone to know. You’ve been mine since the beginning, and I’m not hiding that for one more second.”

Your fingers gripped her jersey tighter, and she hugged you even closer, her heart pounding against yours.

“I was so scared,” you admitted quietly. “I thought we’d always have to hide.”

“Not anymore,” she promised, her voice fierce and full of love. “I’m not letting anyone make me hide you again.”

You pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, and what you saw there — love, devotion, pride — made your breath catch all over again.

Her hands framed your face, and she smiled, wiping your tears with her thumbs.

“You’re mine,” she said softly, like a vow. “And I’m yours. Always.”

Before you could say anything else, she leaned in and kissed you again — softer this time, but still filled with all the things she couldn’t say out loud.

And when you finally pulled away, you realized the whole world had just seen Caitlin Clark, MVP, kissing her girl like she never wanted to stop.

You smiled, your fingers tangling with hers as she held your hand tightly, walking off the court with you at her side, like she wanted everyone to know she wasn’t going to let you go.

From now on, you weren’t her secret anymore.

You were hers. In every way that mattered.

And she was yours.

Author's note -

Send request, babes!

#caitlin x reader #caitlin x fem reader #caitlin clark #caitlin #wnba #wnba x reader #wnba players #caitlin clark x reader #uconn wbb #indiana fever #kate martin

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izzih22 · 2 months ago

Note

Can u do one where Paige wins the WNBA finals and runs to hug Azzi after the game

For Everything We Dreamed

Note: sorry it took so long for me to put it out

The confetti hadn’t even fully touched the floor when Paige dropped the ball and took off in a dead sprint.

She didn’t hear the crowd’s roar, didn’t see the swarm of teammates chasing her for a tackle-hug, didn’t even register the Finals MVP trophy someone tried to hand her mid-stride. Her chest was burning, not from the game, but from something deeper—years of sacrifice, months of pain, dreams built in whispers and quiet hotel rooms, in late-night phone calls and crumpled jerseys clutched after a loss.

All she could see was Azzi.

Standing courtside in a neutral jacket—nothing branded, nothing blue or green—just her. Arms crossed, eyes already glassy, biting her lip like she wasn’t about to cry in front of thirty thousand people and a national broadcast.

Paige reached her in seconds. She didn’t stop. She barreled into her—arms wrapping tight around her waist, lifting her clear off the ground, burying her face into the crook of her neck like no one else in the world mattered.

Azzi laughed. Or sobbed. It was hard to tell.

“Jesus, Paige—”

“We did it,” Paige choked, voice raw, shaking, heart slamming against her ribcage. “I did it. We did it.”

Azzi’s arms came around her neck, tight and trembling. “You did it, baby.”

“No.” Paige pulled back enough to look her in the eyes. “This—this is everything we dreamed about. Remember? Sophomore year? Sitting in your room with that busted mini hoop and talking about the WNBA? Playing against each other? Finals? All of it?”

Azzi nodded, tears now streaking her cheeks, unbothered by the cameras trained on them.

“God,” Paige exhaled, forehead leaning against hers. “I saw you as soon as the buzzer sounded. I didn’t even think. I just—had to get to you.”

“You didn’t even let your team celebrate,” Azzi said softly, hands still curled around the back of Paige’s neck. “You just ran straight to me.”

“You’re my team.” Paige’s voice cracked. “You’ve always been.”

Azzi made the softest noise—almost like a laugh but more like a sob—and Paige kissed her.

Right there. In the middle of the chaos, under the falling confetti and the flashing cameras and a crowd going absolutely insane. She kissed her like they had nothing left to prove. Like the years of hiding and deflecting and dancing around questions were over. Like they were just two girls who loved each other—who had loved each other through everything.

Azzi pulled away first, her hand cradling Paige’s jaw. “I’m so proud of you.”

Paige shook her head, blinking fast. “I’m proud of us. You’ve been here the whole time, Az. All those games, all those breakdowns—you carried me through so much. Even on different teams, you still showed up.”

Azzi smiled, and Paige thought she might fall apart all over again.

“I was never not gonna be here,” Azzi said simply. “This moment? It’s yours. But it’s also ours.”

Behind them, the team was finally catching up—players calling for Paige, reporters shouting her name, camera crews jostling to get the perfect shot. But none of it pierced the bubble they’d built in each other’s arms.

Paige glanced toward the chaos and then back to Azzi, who was already smoothing her thumb over her cheek like she knew exactly what she needed.

“Come out there with me,” Paige said suddenly. “Come celebrate with me.”

Azzi’s eyes widened. “Paige, I’m not even—”

“I don’t care.” Her grip tightened around Azzi’s hand. “I want you next to me.”

There was a pause—like Azzi was weighing all the reasons she shouldn’t—and then she gave the smallest nod. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

Paige laced their fingers together and led her back toward the court, toward the confetti-strewn chaos of the celebration.

And when the cameras turned their way again, Paige didn’t flinch. She pulled Azzi into her side, eyes glowing, smile soft.

Because the trophy was incredible. The win meant everything.

But Azzi—Azzi was the reason for everything.

#pazzi fics #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige and azzi

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gregrulzok · 7 months ago

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No because Ekko fucking STANDS ON BUSINESS.

He went to an entirely different universe where his father is alive, where his childhood friends that died as kids are grown and thriving, where his beloved city is thriving and he's allowed to explore his passion for invention, go to parties, have fun, live instead of survive

But no, he has to go back

He gets to see the person he fell in love with as a child happy and healthy, he gets to reconnect with her, fall in love with her all over again and have her reciprocate. He gets to have fun and dance with his childhood friend, his childhood love, that was lost to him.

But no, there's people waiting for him, counting on him. His people, back home. He won't leave them.

He gets told it's literally impossible to head back, the thing that would allow for it was never discovered, it doesn't exist. He can just stay here, where it's safe and warm and fun, where he has everyone he's lost, where he has everything he never, ever had growing up.

But instead of hesitating for even a SECOND, instead of even CONSIDERING IT, he REINVENTS HEXTECH and oh, you know, while he's at it, a little bit of TIME TRAVEL on the side.

And yes, it hurts to leave, he has to say his goodbyes, it's painful, it's raw, but there isn't a goddamn second where there's any confusion as to what he'll do.

He's got people waiting for him to come back, and he would never abandon his people.

Ekko is the fucking MVP of Arcane.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season two #arcane spoilers #league of legends #lol #arcane league of legends #arcane lol #ekko #ekko league of legends #ekko lol #ekko arcane

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linedbycaro · 21 days ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟑𝟎𝐭𝐡 - 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝚸𝐭. 𝟏 (𝚸𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢)

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐨 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞—𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧! 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚�� 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐟𝐮𝐥!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐦, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈!!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9𝐤

It's a day normal as ever. Beautiful, even.

The late afternoon sun spills onto the freeway like gold honey, kissing every surface, painting the California hills amber. It's the kind of breathtaking sunshine that makes the world feel less impossible. The kind that makes music sound better, makes you mind traffic less.

Which is good, because Azzi is currently in a standstill. It's unusually early for rush hour traffic, but then again it's LA. On the 5. Typical. She should be more annoyed, but she is used to LA highways now.

Her biggest complaint with the city's gridlock is its tendency to make her overthink. Or dwell. On her life, on what could have been. On what should have been. I mean, when you're sitting in a car with nothing but a view and an aux system that feels more like a therapist, it's actually pretty hard not to have an existential crisis.

But no. Not today. Today is a good day, and she's determined to not let stupid traffic ruin it. It's a day that feels like a new chapter- like maybe her career-ending knee injury wasn't the end of the world.

She's actually starting to enjoy life again- really enjoy it. Even without playing basketball. Even without the one person she thought she'd have forever. She's finally figuring out who she is without the two things that made up her identity for so long.

Time has helped, yes, but it hasn't necessarily healed. It's just made space for other things. New things. Good things. Things like her very important appointment today. And God, She really, really just wants to be on time.

Her phone pings beside her- it's a notification reminder.

(20 minutes till) November 30th- 3:45 pm: INTERVIEW WITH SPORTS ILLUSTRATED!! DON'T BE LATE!!

Well, shit. Her ETA currently reads 3:57.

It's fine. Its fine its fine its fine its fine. She reaches down to text her manager to let the magazine know when- HONK.

The cars in front of her are moving again. Slowly, but definitely moving. She drops her phone and presses the gas.

About a mile ahead, she spots an ambulance on the left side of the road. Rail twisted and torn. A grey jeep totaled and unrecognizable, barely hanging off the side of the asphalt. Her gut drops a little, and she thinks, what a crazy, horrible accident. I guess that explains the traffic. Jesus.

But then she pulls her eyes back to the road. Eyes forward. Focused. Just a freak accident that'll probably be on the news tomorrow.

Eventually, the traffic breaks. She makes it- barely, and the interview goes well- overwhelmingly so. She feels like the journalist really understands her. And for once she actually trusts that her story will be shared truthfully- raw and real and open and honest.

The world will finally hear from her for the first time in two years. For the first time since the accident. Since she basically disappeared off the planet.

When she went ghost, she hadn't just disappeared from the spotlight, left like she hadn't just won the WNBA MVP the season prior, she disappeared from her personal life too.

At first It wasn't something she intended to do, it just happened. She stopped living. Stopped trying. Drew away. Pulled back. Shut down.

And people tried to reach out, honest to God, they really did. Over and over and over again. But Azzi didn't let them reach her. Truly reach her.

She'd be on the phone with Inez or out to eat with Caroline, and they'd talk, give her life updates, and Azzi listened. She really did. But when it became her time to talk, she just didn't. She felt like she didn't have anything interesting going on. Anything to add. Anything to share. Truthfully, she just felt empty. Like her life was void. She felt like she didn't relate to anyone, didn't want to burden anyone, and didn't want anyone to see how hopelessly, deeply, and desperately she was struggling.

So slowly, the phone calls got shorter. Dinners became less frequent. Paige held on the longest, because, of course, she had. But then she let go too.

Throughout the beginning of Azzi's recovery process, Paige had been right there, by her side, helping her through it like she had all the other times, regardless of Azzi's emotional distance.

But when the doctors told Azzi she wouldn't be able to play on it again and that her knee had given out one final time, Azzi lost it. She began to resent Paige. Beautiful Paige, who had just won the WNBA championship, and instead of celebrating with her team, had flown to Azzi the minute the game was over. To help her. To be with her. Azzi hated herself for it.

She remembers that night vividly- Paige walking in with her duffle slung over one shoulder, confetti still shedding off her sweatsuit, a takeout bag in hand. And with one look at her, Azzi crumbled. Sobbed. Stupidly. Uncontrollably. Angrily. Because she was tired. Oh, she was so tired. And she was sick to her stomach that Paige cared so much.

She couldn't accept that type of devotion, that frustratingly persistent love. It felt too big. Too undeserved. Azzi couldn't even be properly happy for her girlfriend, who had just won the championship. And that made her hate herself even more.

So she snapped. Yelled. Spouted awful words she never should have said at the one person who deserved it least out of everyone in the world. Words that cut deep. Violent. Words that she didn't mean, not deep down, but words that she felt. Undeserved. Unwarranted. Vicious, all the same.

That awful night Paige finally understood that Azzi didn't want her help. Didn't want her to be there. Azzi remembers how Paige swallowed thickly, eyes threatening to spill with tears.

She looked so Hurt. Irrevocably hurt. And exhausted too. Like she was done fighting this battle alone. Done fighting for Azzi's life. She remembers how Paige whispered a hoarse "okay" and turned and left, door shutting softly behind her.

And this time, Azzi was truly alone.

The months that followed consisted of days spent in bed. Laying in the dark, shades half drawn, hair unwashed, unbrushed, unshowered. Not eating. Skipping recovery appointments. Because what did it matter anyways?

She watched the world from her phone screen. Saw that Paige signed with The Sparks and left the Wings. And her heart thumped, both hopeful and sour at the thought that Paige was coming to her city on her team. But then she remembered it didn't matter. She was no longer a part of that world, and being in the same city wouldn't change Paige's silence. Azzi didn't blame her.

And they never spoke again. Unless well- Unless you count that one time six months after Paige had left Azzi in her apartment.

Things had gotten low. Low low. And that night, Azzi had had a lot to drink- which wasn't new for her- but it had been more than usual.

And there she was, slouched on the floor of her bathroom, bottle tipped over and broken beside her, pooling onto the tile. The stench of alcohol reeked around her, and she remembers the cool feel of metal in her hand, pressing into her wrist. Sharp. Controlled. Comforting.

She remembers watching the red liquid trickle to the floor, bright and sticky, staining the puddle of liquor beneath her- now a mix of alcohol and blood and tears. And no one was coming to save her. Everyone had given up on her, and she really didn't matter to anyone.

And then she remembers, maybe less clearly, how deeply she didn't want to be alive. How she stumbled up the steps to her building's balcony, alcohol still thundering in her blood. How she climbed up on the ledge. Stared out. Looked down. Standing.

And she was terrified. Terrified with how easy it was. Terrified with how much she wanted to. Terrified with how much she didn't.

She didn't get down. She didn't step off the ledge, but she did call someone. The one person still pinned in her contacts. The person who she knew, deep down, would always pick up on the second ring. The one person that maybe, just maybe, she still mattered too.

"Paige," She had said shakily. "I'm scared." Her voice was barely a whisper, frantic.

The minute Paige heard Azzi's broken tone, she demanded, voice laced with concern, "Az, where are you? Tell me right now. Okay?" And Azzi told her.

And when she finished, Paige pleaded, voice cracked and brimming with worry, "Just stay on the phone with me, K? Stay on the phone. Don't leave me. Don't leave. I'm coming. Stay with me now. Please. I'm on my way. Stay on the phone, and don't hang up."

Azzi could hear Paige was crying then too. And Paige couldn't see her, but Azzi nodded back furiously, her voice like a lifeline keeping her grounded. Keeping her here.

The rest of it was kind of a blur. But she does remember Paige's panicked eyes. She remembers strong arms tugging her down from the ledge, wrapping around her, not letting go. Holding her. Just holding her for the longest time, her familiar scent washing away Azzi's fears- and momentarily, her pain too. Azzi wept into her shoulder, yielding to Paige's strength, her steadiness, her safety.

She remembers sure hands peeling off week-old clothes, helping her into the shower- walking in with her fully clothed, scrubbing her scalp, rubbing soap in gentle motions down her limbs.

She remembers blonde hair pulled back in that bun, bent over, cleaning her wounds. Tender fingers wiping her eyes, lifting water to her lips.

She remembers falling asleep with Paige rubbing circles on her back, whispering, "It's okay, it's all gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay I promise. I promise."

And then she remembers waking up alone, wondering if she'd imagined it all. If it had been just a bad dream.

But then there was a handwritten note on her bedside.

I've never been more terrified in my life. Thank you for calling me. I'm so fucking glad you called me. I never want you to feel like that again. I never could have imagined it would get this bad, but I should have seen it coming. I should never have given up on you. I'm so sorry. That was so scary, and I really want you to get better. There's a car coming to pick you up at 1:00. I think you should get some help and some treatment. Then let's talk. I love you. Always. Unconditionally.

So she got into the car. She went to rehab. She got better. Started therapy. And her life improved. Moved forward. Slowly. There were some bad days, of course, and her progress wasn't linear, but it was steady.

And here she is, on the other side of it, ready to tell her story. Ready to re-enter the world. Ready to help others.

Except she never called Paige. To thank her. Not that she couldn't have, not that she was embarrassed. But what would she even say? Two words would never cover it.

And time passed. Her life changed. It's not like Paige ever reached out, either. Azzi always thought Paige assumed she wanted space; or maybe that night was too emotionally taxing for her, and Paige needed a boundary.

The last thing Azzi wants to do is hurt Paige more or take advantage of her kindness. Sure it stings, but Azzi is eternally grateful for Paige- even if her help that night didn't result in her coming back into her life. Regardless, she is certain they have mutual understanding- An invisible tether that says, as long as I know you are out there, somewhere in this universe, on the same planet I'm on, I'm okay, and I'm here for you. Even if we don't talk anymore.

Azzi's heart tugs at the memories- her love for Paige that hasn't dwindled. She is certain she's ready to move on and focus on the current. But she is also certain she will never love anyone the way she loves Paige. And now that she has grown- healed, she wishes she could let Paige know how sorry she is.

But more than anything, she wants to see Paige thrive. She wants to see her happy. And from afar, it looks like she has been doing really well. And it would be selfish of Azzi to take that away from her in the name of some self-beneficial closure. And Azzi has to be okay with that.

She's just grateful for the opportunities she still has- for the people she has been able to reconnect with. People who have welcomed her back with grace and understanding and love. And she feels fulfilled now, too.

She's excited to launch her new nonprofit: helping women navigate athletic setbacks, vocalizing the importance of mental health, and funding a research initiative exploring the link between female athletes and ACL injuries. She's also coaching a local middle school rec team for fun. She's motivated. And proud. And filled with purpose.

She sighs, happy with how the day has gone. She's done reflecting on her past for the night and is ready to top her night off with a book and some ice cream.

And then her phone rings. It's late. Really late for a phone call. But that's not what catches her off guard.

It's the fact that Azzi's phone is on Do Not Disturb, and there is only one contact in her phone that still bypasses thre setting. Her heart drops.

No, she thinks. It can't be. It's probably a fluke. It's probably just Caroline calling to ask how the interview went.

But when she picks up her phone up off the couch, and her screen lights up with the familiar "P 🤍" Facetime, her throat goes dry.

It's like her body knows before her brain does, because her thumb swipes' answer' before she can even mentally processes anything. Because her soul knows, innately, that no matter the distance or the time that has passed between them, she will always pick up.

The screen loads for a minute, and then it connects. And-

"Oh my god, Paige!"

The words tumble out of Azzi's mouth with a guttural yelp when she sees the blonde on the other side of the screen. Bruised. Bloodied. Hair loosely tied back. Eyes tired. Face pale. In a medical gown. Propped up in what must be a hospital bed.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Azzi is going to be sick. Her blood is pounding, and suddenly, she can't breathe properly.

"Az," Comes the croaky voice- distinctly Paigie's. Azzi doesn't answer. Just stares at the screen blankly. Terrified. Her ears are ringing.

"Azzi," Paige tries again, slightly louder this time. That snaps her to attention.

"P, are you? Are you okay- what happened?" Azzi asks, slightly breathless. "Tell me you're gonna be okay."

"Azzi," Paige sighs her name like an answered prayer.

"Hi," Azzi says softly, "Hi, I'm here." She gives the blonde a weak smile. "Can you hear me?"

"You're here." Paige breathes out, relieved. "You're here."

"I'm here," Azzi repeats, voice wobbly. "Can you tell me what happened? Is someone with you right now?"

"I- I was in an accident I think. I don't remember." Paige says, quiet. "I woke up in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. They said- they it was an accident, but I just don't remember."

"Thank God you're alive," Azzi replies, voice barely above a whisper, suddenly understanding how Paige must have felt that night, how terrified she must have been getting Azzi's call, scared that she going to lose her.

"I'm so scared Az."

"I know, but it's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay, P." Azzi tries to make her voice sound reassuring, but truthfully, she is petrified. Petrified with how easily Paige could've died. Petrified with how much it's shaken her. How much she's realized that she doesn't want to imagine a world without Paige in it. Without hearing her voice. Seeing her face. Needing to know she's okay at any given moment.

"I'm glad- I'm glad you called. I'm glad to hear your voice- to know you're okay," Azzi says after a minute.

"Yeah?" Paige smiles weakly. "Me too." And then, "You look pretty, Az. You look like you're doin' better."

"I'm sorry I never called," Azzi's voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

And the thank you lingers because they know it's for more than Paige's compliment.

Then Azzi says, "You look good too P. You look so pretty." And it's true. Azzi has never seen Paige look more beautiful than now, bruised and all. Alive.

Azzi sees Paige is quiet then, drifting, on the other side of the screen. And then she whispers, "Azzi, just stay on the phone with me a little, okay?"

"Okay, P. Of course. Do you want me to- do you want me to come to the hospital?" Azzi feels a bit guilty now, knowing that if it was the other way around, Paige would already be on her way.

"No, s'fine," came the reply. "I think I'm gonna sleep now anyway. I just- I just needed to hear your voice. to See you."

"Okay," Azzi says comfortingly. "I'll be here. I'm not goin anywhere."

"And call tomorrow too," Paige says like Azzi is fleeting. "When I'm better."

"I'll call P. I promise. You sleep now, I'm watching." And then, because it feels right, she adds, "I love you."

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #azzi x paige #pazzi #pazzi fics #billie eilish #the 30th #uconn huskies #wbb fic #uconn wbb #dallas wings #azzi35 #pazzi is real

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misshoneyimhome · 2 months ago

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What's up buttercups 💕

I present to you, chapter fourteen 💕 There's really not much to say here, except things might get a bit more tense now - and spoiler alert: it's the not punch we wanted, but it's the punch needed (in case you get that Batman reference... because well, your girl here and Auston love their Batman) 🔥

Anyway, happy reading! 💋

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, language, 18+ smut: semi-public sexual activities, mutual masturbation, unprotected vag sexual intercourse (cum inside)

Word count: 6.9k Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three ; Chapter four ; Chapter five ; Chapter six ; Chapter seven ; Chapter eight ; Chapter nine; Chapter ten; Chapter eleven; Chapter twelve ; Chapter thirteen

Some who might have interest: @hockeybabe87 @tonyspep @thesecretestblogever @delayed-delusions @kurlyteuvo @emsdevs

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter fourteen - A queen can move wherever she likes*

“Dearest Toronto readers,

It’s been a long weekend in the kingdom, and your favourite royal court has been buzzing. We’ve seen cheek kisses on sidewalks, power plays behind closed doors, and perhaps most shockingly of all—a certain Ice King was spotted somewhere far more dangerous than centre ice: the Queen’s childhood home.

Yes, you read that right. Auston Matthews, NHL captain and Toronto’s most elusive bachelor, was seen not at a club, not at brunch, but walking through suburban front doors with a bottle of wine and a confident stride. A boyfriend meeting the Queen dowager? That’s either reckless or royal behaviour—and in this game, it might be both.

Sources say the dinner included siblings, twins, toddlers, and passive-aggressive wine pouring. Was it a PR move? A strategic play to reinforce the illusion? Or are we watching something real—something raw—unfold right before our eyes?

Meanwhile, back in the city…

Matthew Knies continues his personal heater on the ice and in our hearts. With a face made for fan cams and a slap shot that belongs in a museum, the baby Leaf is proving he’s more than just Auston’s golden boy.

William Nylander was spotted this weekend at a downtown café, deep in conversation with a brunette definitely not on the official WAG roster. Eyewitnesses say they were laughing. And sharing a croissant. Sharing. Is the chill Swede finally warming up?

And let’s not forget the true MVPs of game nights: the Tavares children, who had the entire Scotiabank section in tears after high-fiving the Zamboni driver and declaring, “Daddy’s team always wins.”

But beneath the laughter, one truth remains: the Queen is no longer sitting still. She’s been introducing families, teasing captains, and walking through this season like she owns the ice.

They think the Ice King holds the crown… But what happens when the Queen chooses not to wait?

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

You woke up slowly, reluctantly, like your body already knew Monday was going to demand more than you had to give.

Your muscles ached. A deep, humming kind of soreness that made itself known with every shift beneath the duvet. The inside of your thighs were tender. Your shoulder throbbed faintly where Auston’s mouth had lingered too long. And your heart? That was worse. Because it wasn’t bruised—it was confused.

Sunday had been… a lot. Dinner with your family. The backseat. His hands. His mouth. His voice—low, sharp, hungry. You like pushing me? This what you wanted?

Your breath caught at the memory, at how easily it replayed in your mind. You hadn’t even kissed him goodbye. And he hadn’t stayed.

But it hadn’t felt cold, either.

You should’ve stopped it. That would’ve been smart. Strategic. The kind of move a woman playing pretend would make. But when he touched you like that—when he looked at you like you were something worth coming undone for—logic folded like tissue paper.

He’d left a message: “See you around, boss. Like this version of you, Pushy. And bossy…” With just enough cheek to make you smile when you read it, hair still damp from the shower, legs still trembling when you moved too quickly. At the time, it had seemed casual. Now, in the bright stillness of Monday morning, it felt… unfinished.

You wrapped your robe tighter around your body and padded to the kitchen, where your coffee sat untouched beside your open laptop.

Just stood there with your hands wrapped around the edge of the counter like it might ground you. A breeze slipped through the cracked window, rustling the little notes stuck to the fridge—grocery lists, old concert stubs, a photo of you and your sister with matching sunburns. Your life. Unchanged. Unmoved. Except now, it felt like something seismic had shifted beneath the surface.

Work emails blinked at you like neon signs, demanding your attention, but your mind kept wandering. The curve of his jaw. The grip of his fingers. The weight of his stare next to you at your mother’s dinner table like he was undressing you through the candlelight.

As soon as you sat down by your desk, you missed two emails before you realised it—one from your manager, one from Chase asking about something vague and unimportant. You blinked, forced yourself to refocus, and typed out an overly enthusiastic response to both.

And then a few minutes later your phone buzzed.

Jess: Sooooo… are you alive? Or did Auston’s post-dinner cardio kill you?

You snorted and dropped your head against the back of your chair.

You: Barely alive. Legs? Done. Nervous system? Shot.

Jess: Damn giiirl… I need a full breakdown.

You: There will be diagrams.

Jess: Can’t wait babe! But uhm, btw, Liam and I are going to the game Wednesday! He got tickets through work, I think. And.. Ryan will be there too, apparently, with some new girl. Hope that’s ok 👀

You blinked a couple of times and then sat a bit straighter.

You stared at the message longer than necessary, thumb hovering like it might change. The knot in your stomach wasn’t quite jealousy. It was something different—half guilt, half relief. Ryan had always been a good friend. And yet the memory of Ryan trying to kiss you, asking about you… of watching from across the arena… it made your pulse spike in a way that felt more like warning than longing.

Yet, you decided to play it cool.

You: Oh yeah? That’s… good. Hope it’s not weird.

Jess: I told Ryan you’d be with the team partners anyway, so he probably won’t try anything. Just a heads-up.

You: Appreciate the buffer. Truly.

You stared at the message for a moment, chewing your lip. Ryan had almost kissed you. He’d asked about you last week... Now he was showing up with a date at a game. Maybe that was progress. Maybe that was closure.

Still… you didn’t like the unease that lingered.

You brushed it off and returned to work. As much as you could without thinking about a certain hockey captain, of course.

The morning air was crisp—one of those deceptively calm November mornings where the sun peeks through grey clouds just enough to look hopeful, but the chill still cuts through your hoodie.

A man passed with a cup of Tim’s in one hand and a mini Leafs jersey in the other. Auston caught the flash of his own number—34—scrawled across the back. He didn’t wave. Didn’t nod. Just kept walking while Felix paused to inspect a lamppost like it held answers.

Auston kept one hand jammed in his pocket while the other held Felix’s leash, loose and easy. The dog trotted ahead, nose twitching with every new scent, tail wagging like the win the night before had meant something to him, too.

Auston wasn’t smiling, but the edge of his mouth tugged every so often—remembering the way you’d looked last night.

That skirt had no business being legal. It clung to you like second skin, the kind that demanded to be peeled away. He could still see the way you’d shifted under his gaze, like you knew what you were doing to him, and maybe you did. The hem had barely covered the tops of your thighs, riding up with every step you took through the hallway of your childhood home, like a tease only meant for him.

You’d worn it like it was made for you.

Like it was made for him.

And maybe it had been.

He exhaled through his nose, the breath sharp in the cool morning air, and shoved both hands deeper into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. Felix tugged at the leash a few steps ahead, sniffing out his usual trail, completely unbothered by his owner’s unravelling mental state.

This was supposed to be easy.

Light and fake.

But it didn’t feel fake anymore.

Not after the way you’d gripped the edge of the seat in his car like it was the only thing anchoring you to earth. Not after the way your voice had cracked when you said his name, breathless, wrecked, undone. Like he was something precious and forbidden all at once.

Not after the way you’d let him in without hesitation—into your house, into your body, into the soft, bruised places you hadn’t let anyone touch in a long time.

And now, hours later, with the scent of you still clinging to his hoodie and the phantom of your moans looping in his head like a goddamn soundtrack, he was walking his dog like a man trying to reset his heartbeat. Like a man trying not to admit that he’d crossed a line he didn’t want to uncross.

He was lost in thoughts until suddenly his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He slid it out without thinking, thumb swiping across the screen.

It was a photo sent by his sister. And beneath it, one line: “Mamma saw this yet?”

The image showed him standing in your mother’s kitchen, slightly out of focus but unmistakably there. One of your nieces—or cousins?—perched on his hip, his hair slightly mussed, a half-smile caught mid-laugh as you passed him something off-screen. The whole thing looked too real. Too domestic.

Too… couple-y.

It wasn’t the kid on his hip that rattled him—it was the look on his own face. Relaxed. Happy, even. Like he belonged there, laughing in kitchens and holding babies and handing out second servings of salad like it was a Sunday ritual. It wasn’t fake. That was the worst part. He hadn’t even been pretending.

“Shit,” he muttered.

And as if on cue, his phone buzzed again. And this time it was a call.

Mom.

He sighed and picked up. “Hey.”

“So.” Ema didn’t waste time. “You meet her family before I get to meet her?”

“Wasn’t exactly planned—”

“Auston.” His name was a warning wrapped in amusement. “Is this really serious? Because I’m already being texted by Mitchy’s mother who thinks I’m ‘next. And I hope I am…”

He winced. “It’s not—We haven’t really talked about—”

“You had dinner with her family, mijo. That’s serious, right.”

He ran a hand down his face. “Mamma”

“Oh, that’s it. I’m coming to Toronto. This weekend. It’s only fair I meet the girl if you’ve met her family.”

The line went quiet for a second, and then: “You’re not mad, are you Mijo?”

He paused, looking out over the dog park path ahead of him. Felix had finally stopped sniffing and started walking again, tail high.

“No,” Auston said finally. “No, I’m not mad, mamma. I’m just… not sure how to put words into it all”

“Oh honey. That’s completely normal. Sometimes love can do that to you.”

His mother’s voice was nothing but soft and gentle. Yet, it twisted something within him. Something strangely… good.

“Hmm…” he muttered under his breath. “I guess.”

I few more minutes went by as they said their goodbye before he ended the call and just stood there. Felix barked at a squirrel in the distance, but Auston didn’t flinch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cold fingers meeting warm skin, heart kicking just a little faster. This was the part where lines got blurry. Where fake turned into something more. Where people—his people—started expecting explanations.

Was this serious?

Yeah.

Yeah, it was starting to feel that way.

And the worst part?

He didn’t hate it. Not even a little.

The office felt louder than usual.

Not in volume—nobody was shouting, no alarms were going off—but in the subtle, pervasive kind of way. Like something was humming just below the surface. You caught it in the way two of your co-workers stopped mid-conversation when you entered the kitchen, the way they exchanged glances over their coffee mugs with poorly hidden smirks.

You told yourself it was nothing. Probably just end-of-quarter chaos. Or the broken espresso machine. Or Chase’s ugly tie.

But then: “Did you see the one where he’s holding the plates? Like, actual dessert plates?”

You froze.

That voice was too close. Two desks behind you. You recognised it—Kelsey from HR, who somehow always knew things about you before you did.

“Honestly,” said someone else, “he looks like he belongs there. Like he’s her boyfriend or something.”

“Didn’t her sister post that to Close Friends? How did it even get out?”

You blinked hard at your screen. Your emails blurred.

No. No way.

You opened Instagram, hands trembling slightly, and navigated to your sister’s profile. Her story was still there: Auston in your mother’s kitchen, holding a handful of dessert plates with one of the twins next to him, you in the background laughing with your head tilted back like something out of a romcom. She hadn’t meant for it to go public.

Apparently, someone had changed that.

You dropped your head into your hand and let out a groan. This was too much. First the charity gala. Then the photo at the game. Now this?

You barely heard your phone buzz.

Jess [Voice Note, 0:58]

“Okay. Okay, listen. I’ve been trying not to scream all morning but—babe. I saw the photos. Those of Auston? In your mum’s kitchen? Carrying fucking dessert plates? He looked at you like you were the only person in the room. Like you hung the damn wallpaper and he wants to kiss you against it. I cried a little. I’m not okay.”

You let the audio finish, one hand dragging down your face.

Maya [Text, 1:46 p.m.]

Okay wait… are you two actually in love? Because I’m starting to believe the fairy tale and I need to know whether to invest emotionally or not.

You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know how.

Instead, you stared at the blinking cursor on your screen and thought about the way Auston had gripped your thighs last night. The way he’d looked at you at the dinner table like you were the most fascinating thing in the room—more interesting than your brothers’ finance talk, more powerful than your mother’s smile.

You thought about the bruise on your hip, the ache that still hadn’t fully left your body.

And just like that – as if someone had read your mind, your phone buzzed again. A new message.

Auston: So, dinner again this week?

Just six words. Direct and simple. Classic him.

You stared at it for too long, thumb hovering. Part of you wanted to reply with something cheeky. Another part wanted to say yes. Absolutely. Please.

Instead, you typed:

You: Let’s see how Wednesday goes. Then we’ll see if you deserve my company at dinner.

Auston: Can’t wait to see you there, boss… hopefully, with my name on you. Or better yet, me on you…

But then, you left him on read.

Not because you didn’t want him. God, you did. But because this—this moment of silence—was the only control you felt like you had. After the gossip, the glances, the screenshots, the stories. After opening yourself up more than you had in years.

You needed a beat to breathe.

Just one.

Wednesday -

The Scotiabank Arena buzzed with anticipation, a low hum of energy thick in the air even before puck drop. It was the kind of night that made Toronto feel alive from the inside out.

You adjusted the hem of Auston’s jersey as you stepped into the private suite, sleeves pushed to your elbows, the oversized fit swallowing your frame just right.

"Well, well, well," Tessa grinned as she spotted you, her voice cutting through the chatter like a chirp on the bench. "Look who’s back in her boyfriend’s uniform. You do know that makes it official, right?"

"It’s just a jersey," you said, but the smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"Sure it is," Stephanie chimed in from her spot on the plush couch, legs crossed and glass of white wine in hand. "But the Matthews name looks really good on you."

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, and sank into a seat between them. The suite was already bustling, the partners and families sipping drinks, laughing, passing snacks back and forth. Gaby was in the corner with Estelle, whispering and giggling about something you couldn’t quite hear over the announcer calling the players to the ice.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. A message from Jess:

Jess: "We're in 108. Liam just spilled half his beer cheering for Knies during warmup. Classic."

You: "Love that for him. You good?"

Jess: "Very good. Ryan’s here too. With a girl. Just FYI. He asked about you. I told him you were too busy for him."

Your stomach did a weird little dip. Once again, you weren’t sure if it was annoyance or relief.

You: "Appreciate the strategic deflection."

Jess: "Always. Go enjoy your little hockey husband."

You slipped your phone into your pocket just as the lights dimmed and the arena roared to life. The anthem played, the puck dropped, and the game began with a bang.

From the first shift, it was clear the Leafs were locked in. Auston was skating like he had something to prove—which, to be fair, he always kind of did. His edges were sharp, movements fluid, and his eyes tracked the puck like a predator in control. You watched as he dangled around two Knights defenders and fed a no-look pass to Knies, who roofed it top shelf.

The suite erupted.

"That kid," Aryne breathed, shaking her head. "I swear he was made in a lab."

"He was made by God and Minnesota," Tessa laughed. "In that order."

By the end of the first period, Auston had a goal to his name and an assist. He shot you a look from the bench as he caught his breath, one brow slightly raised, a smirk ghosting his lips. You felt your pulse skip like a scratched record.

Then during the break, the Tavares kids naturally burst into the suite with wide eyes and sticky fingers.

"Can you play mini sticks with us?" Axton asked loudly already pulling you by the hand.

“Alright mr,” you chuckled lightly before you dropped to your knees on the carpet without a second thought, laughing as you tried to keep up with their chaotic energy.

"Unfair!" Jace then shouted. "She’s too good!"

"Oh, I learned from the best," you teased, ruffling his hair.

You were breathless by the time Gaby handed you a water bottle and helped peel one of the kids off your back.

"Natural," she said with a grin. "Tavares might offer you a babysitting gig."

"Well, maybe if this PR thing doesn’t work out, I’ll consider it."

Then back in your seat for the second period, the mood was giddy. Auston almost picked up another assist after winning a puck battle behind the net and feeding it to Marner. Knies followed it up in the third with a beautiful solo goal that had the entire bench on their feet.

The Leafs won 3–0.

"God, I love this team," Stephanie sighed as the final buzzer rang out.

“You love that Auston keeps racking up points while our new friend wears his jersey,” Tessa teased, nudging your arm with a playful smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but the laugh escaped anyway—light, warm, real. There was something about tonight that felt easier than it should’ve. No spiralling. No overanalysing. Just… being. Present. Caught in a moment that felt strangely like belonging.

The girls were already planning post-game drinks and a weekend spa trip.

"You should come," Tessa said, nudging you with her knee.

The chatter in the suite swirled around you, full of champagne giggles and the buzz of victory. Someone had already cracked open a second bottle, and Stephanie was busy Googling spa menus.

“We’re thinking Saturday,” she said, flipping her phone around to show you a pastel-coloured website with lotus flowers and words like tranquillity and aromatherapy. “Girls only. No sticks and no pucks.”

You hesitated for half a beat, your instinct ready to decline before your brain caught up.

“Should I even be invited to that?”

Tessa scoffed. “Babe, you’re Auston’s girl here. You’re basically in the group chat now.”

“There’s a group chat?” you blinked.

Stephanie raised her glass in a mock-toast. “There is. And you’re in. Cucumber water, mud masks, robes, and extremely unfiltered gossip.”

You opened your mouth, still unsure.

But then you thought about the tension in your shoulders lately. The swirl of uncertainty. Auston’s hand on your thigh under the dinner table. The way he said your name like it had teeth. The way he made you feel like more than just a player in some fake game.

Maybe you needed this. Not for him—but for you.

“O- okay,” you said, surprising even yourself. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Tessa cheered. Stephanie beamed. Someone passed you a fresh glass of prosecco.

You leaned back into the plush stadium chair and let yourself enjoy it—the win, the warmth, the invitation to just exist among women who got it. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed this kind of comfort. Easy company. No expectations.

And just moments after the final horn had blown and the crowd erupted, you then followed the girls down the hallway, hearts still racing from the game. Laughter bounced off the walls as you weaved past security and staff, heading toward the player hallway to greet the team. It was tradition. Casual and familiar.

You were still laughing when you suddenly saw his shadow.

Not Auston’s.

Ryan.

He was leaning casually against the wall outside the player’s lounge, dress shirt pressed, and a badge clipped to his belt. His eyes swept the corridor, and then they landed on you.

And just like that, the ease you’d been floating in all night vanished.

Jess’s message echoed in your head.

You tried to look away. But then he started walking toward you.

“Let’s talk about jerseys.

Because while Auston Matthews dominated the scoreboard tonight—one goal, one assist, and more control than a Bond villain—the real headline was who was wearing his number in the stands.

Our Queen didn’t just show up. She arrived.

Laughing with the WAGs, sipping prosecco, and playing with the Tavares kids like she belonged there all along. And that jersey? It fit her like a crown—bold, casual, intimate. Like it meant something. Maybe it does.

Matthews looked up more than once. Don’t think we didn’t notice.

And while the WAGs have welcomed her into the inner circle, we can’t help but ask: Is she there for him… or finally there for herself?

The Queen is moving freely across the board now. Laughing. Glowing. Choosing.

And with whispers of a certain someone from her past lurking in the wings, we have only one question left: What happens when the game off the ice turns personal? - The Benchwarmer”

“Hey,” Ryan said soft and confident, standing upright and sliding his hands into his pockets like he’d just bumped into you by accident. “Was hoping to see you here tonight.”

You blinked. “Ryan. I… didn’t know you were allowed down here.”

He held up his badge with a shrug. “I wasn’t at first. But my firm’s hosting a few clients in a suite. I saw the final buzzer, figured I’d check out the backstage energy.”

You forced a polite smile. “Well… hope you enjoyed the game.”

“I did. And you?” His eyes flicked to the jersey you were wearing—Auston’s name sprawled across your back in bold white letters. His smirk didn’t falter. “Looks like you’re enjoying it too.”

Your pulse skipped. “It was a great night for the team.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice dipping just slightly. “Listen… I know this might be a bit out of the blue, but do you wanna grab a drink or something? Just us? Catch up, you know?”

You hesitated for a moment. “Ryan, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

But then he slowly stepped in closer—only by a fraction, but it was enough. “C’mon, just one drink. Unless… you’re afraid your hockey star might get jealous?”

And that’s when it shifted.

The energy. The air. The invisible crackle of something electric behind you.

Because Auston had arrived.

You didn’t see him at first—you just felt him. The way the space around you changed, like it bowed slightly to his presence. And then his voice came, calm and cool but carrying an unmistakable edge.

“She said she’s not interested.”

Auston stepped up beside you, his hand resting gently but firmly against the small of your back. His body angled slightly forward—almost protective, grounded, a wall between you and whatever Ryan thought he was doing.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Wow. Straight to the defence. Guess that captain title really goes to your head.”

Auston didn’t flinch. “She said no.”

“I didn’t hear her say anything,” Ryan countered. “You always speak for her?”

Your mouth opened, but Auston beat you to it—his tone dipping even lower, dangerously quiet.

“She doesn’t need to say anything. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

Ryan scoffed. “Uncomfortable? I was making conversation. She’s my friend you know.”

Auston took a step closer. “Well, maybe you should just back off then and keep it at friends.”

Ryan laughed, but there was no real humour in it. Just a sharp edge laced with something darker. “Back off? What, you think just ‘cause you’ve got a few goals and a fan club, you get to be her personal bouncer now? I’ve known her for way longer than you have.”

Auston didn’t blink. “Sure, you have. But you’re still making her uncomfortable. And you’re not listening.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. You could feel the heat radiating off Auston, his calm starting to fracture, piece by piece.

Ryan shifted, cocking his head toward you, voice sharpening. “You seriously want this guy?” He gestured to Auston with a sweeping motion, scoffing. “Some overpaid, half-baked jock who spends more time doing press than using his brain? Come on. You used to want more than that.”

“That’s enough,” you said, but your voice didn’t carry—not over the tension.

Auston’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching at his side.

And Ryan saw it. Smelled blood. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. You don’t like when people get too close, huh? When someone better can take things from you.”

Auston stepped forward. Close now. His voice low. Maybe even dangerous.

He noticed the people around him, around all three of you, starring but without inferring. Not yet at least.

“You’ve got three seconds to walk away.”

“Oh, I’m shaking,” Ryan drawled sarcastically, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, Matthews—what exactly do you think you are to her? A good fuck? A bank? Or are you just her rebound?”

You felt your breath catch—rage rising like wildfire in your throat. But Auston just exhaled through his nose, slow and measured.

“At least I’m the one she wants to kiss her,” he said evenly.

Ryan’s face twisted, something snapping. And then—

He shoved Auston. Not hard enough to drop him, but enough to send him a step back. Enough to cross a line.

“You don’t own her,” he spat, stepping forward again. “And if she had any sense left, she’d walk away from you.”

You instinctively moved between them, your hands pressing against Auston’s chest before he could react. His fist had already curled. His nostrils flared. He looked ready to swing.

“Please, just stop,” you said almost nervously.

Ryan laughed again, but it sounded bitter this time. “You really want to waste your time on a guy who can barely string two thoughts together unless it’s in front of a camera?”

You turned to him, voice suddenly steely. “Hey, he’s got more heart and more brains than you’ll ever have, Ryan. So maybe get out before you embarrass yourself further.”

Ryan’s mouth opened, maybe to snap back, maybe to apologise—but he didn’t get the chance.

“Yeah, get out buddy. She’s too good for you anyway.”

Auston didn’t move. But Ryan did. And with no warning, no build-up, he just swung. His fist connecting with Auston’s nose in a sickening thud.

A gasp tore from your throat. Auston staggered back a step, grabbing at his face, blood blooming beneath his nose instantly. Somewhere behind you, a door burst open. Shouts erupted. Two security guards and a teammate you couldn’t quite place rushed in.

Everything was chaos.

“Get him out!” someone barked.

Ryan didn’t resist. Just held up his hands, face tight with anger and pride as the guards ushered him back down the hallway.

You turned, immediately at Auston’s side. “Jesus fuck—Auston, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just touched under his nose and winced, blood smeared across his knuckles. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

You looked at him—really looked—and felt your chest squeeze.

Because this wasn’t just about a punch. It was about everything. The pressure. The feelings. And the way it all suddenly felt impossible to ignore.

The corridor outside the treatment room still buzzed with the echoes of shouting, the weight of everything that had just happened hanging in the air like smoke. You could still feel it on your skin—the electric sting of adrenaline, the heat of Auston’s presence, the sound of your voice cracking through the chaos when you told Ryan to back off.

Now, that moment felt far away.

Inside the room, the fluorescent lights hummed low and steady. Auston sat on the edge of the treatment table, jersey peeled halfway down his torso, the blue and white fabric bunched around his waist. His white undershirt was streaked with a faint smear of blood near the collar. His head tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded beneath furrowed brows, while the trainer dabbed carefully beneath his nose with a sterile cloth.

He looked calm. Too calm. Like someone who’d learned to bottle his rage and store it behind a locked jaw and unreadable stare.

You hovered just inside the door, hands clenched around the strap of your bag, your fingers sore from the way you’d gripped it during the fight. You weren’t sure what to say. Or do. Or feel.

The nurse glanced your way with a warm, knowing smile. “Just a light break,” she said softly, lowering the gauze and checking the bridge of Auston’s nose with gentle pressure. “Nothing that won’t heal. He’ll be fine.”

You nodded, offering a tight smile in return. But Auston still hadn’t looked at you. Not really. His gaze stayed pinned to a scuff on the wall opposite, jaw locked so tightly you could see the flicker of tension running along his cheekbone.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. The urge to say something clawed at your throat, but it came out softer than expected.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

That got his attention.

His eyes flicked to yours instantly—sharp and sudden, like a match struck in the dark. “Don’t be.”

“Ryan was out of line. I should’ve—”

“You did exactly what you should’ve.” His voice was firm, low, laced with something you couldn’t quite name—pride, maybe, or disbelief. He shook his head slowly, exhaling as the nurse stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

You stepped closer, inch by inch, until you were just a breath away. The tension in your shoulders released just slightly.

“Always,” you whispered. “He shouldn’t have said those things… it wasn’t fair to you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was alive—full of something simmering just beneath the surface, the kind of stillness that comes right before a storm. You could feel the pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in your core. Your heartbeat was so loud you wondered if he could hear it.

He was still watching you.

His eyes dropped—once, slowly—scanning the jersey hanging off your frame. His name stretched across your back. The sleeves bunched just above your elbows. You hadn’t changed after the game. You hadn’t wanted to.

Auston swallowed. Hard.

“You look…” He shook his head once, like the thought itself knocked something loose. “You look fucking beautiful tonight.”

You smiled, soft and unsure, but he didn’t.

His expression had shifted—something darker, needier curling in his eyes. Like the sight of you, in that jersey, defending him, coming to find him after the chaos—that had done something to him. Unlocked something he’d kept tucked away beneath captain’s speeches and stoic locker room interviews.

And when he finally stood—slowly, deliberately—closing the distance between you, you didn’t step back. Didn’t flinch. Just lifted your chin a fraction, lips parting in anticipation.

His hands found your jaw. Yours found the edge of his shirt.

And then he kissed you.

Not gently. Not cautiously.

Hungrily. Desperately.

You barely registered your bag slipping from your shoulder and hitting the floor with a soft thud. Auston’s hands were everywhere—cupping your jaw, sliding down the curve of your waist, gripping the hem of the jersey like he needed to prove to himself you were real and here and his.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Watching you out there… looking like that… standing up for me like that? You… drive me so fucking crazy.”

You blinked, breath catching in your throat.

“Every time you opened your mouth tonight, I wanted to kiss you,” he added, voice raspier now. “Every time you smiled, I wanted to take you somewhere no one else could see.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

Because the look in his eyes had already told you everything.

Like the only thing that mattered now was reminding you—and himself—that whatever this was? It was already too far gone to pull back from.

The kiss grew sharper—tongues clashing, teeth catching, breaths mingling with increasing urgency.

You gasped when his hands gripped the back of your thighs and lifted you in one swift motion, setting you down on the edge of the treatment table like you weighed nothing. And then his hands were under your jersey—warm and possessive—and the rest of the world blurred out.

“Fuck,” he breathed, lips brushing your neck, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your fingers found the base of his shirt and tugged, eager for skin. “Then don’t.”

He growled—actually growled—against your collarbone, and the sound hit you low in your belly. One of his hands slid behind your back, pulling you flush against him while the other pushed between your thighs, parting them with just enough force to make you gasp.

“Already wet for me?” he muttered, mouth trailing up to your ear. “Or is this all new?”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a moan when his fingers pressed right where you were pulsing for him, just over the fabric of your jeans. “Can’t promise I’ll stay quiet.”

His mouth curved against your jaw. “Don’t even care.”

You kissed him again, this time harder—messy and desperate—and your hands moved on instinct. You reached for the waistband of his joggers, tugging just enough to feel the firmness beneath, already growing. Auston hissed through his teeth, gripping your hips tighter.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead resting against yours as he slipped his fingers past the button of your jeans, sliding down until he found your core—hot, slick, and already twitching for more.

Your breath caught. “Auston—”

He swallowed your name with another kiss, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. You arched against him, biting your lip to stay quiet. His thumb caught your clit just right and your hips jerked in response.

“Just like that,” he murmured. “You’re so perfect like this.”

Your hand had slipped inside his waistband too, curling around the length of him—hard, heavy, already leaking against your palm. He bucked into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a split second before opening again, dark and hungry.

“Need to feel you,” he muttered. “Need to be inside you.”

You nodded—because yes, god, yes—and he didn’t wait for anything else. He pushed your jeans down, just enough, tugging your underwear with them. You kicked them off one leg while he shoved his joggers and briefs down just enough to free himself, and then—

He spread your legs open, lined his tip with your entrance before he slid into you in one smooth, needy thrust, burying himself deep. Both of you exhaled sharp, broken sounds against each other’s skin.

You clung to him. He gripped your hips. And the treatment table creaked faintly beneath you as the rhythm built—quick, quiet, frantic.

Auston bit your shoulder to muffle a groan. You tangled your fingers in his hair to stay grounded.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t careful.

But it was real. Messy. Breathless.

Auston was buried deep inside you, one hand gripping your hip like it anchored him to reality, the other braced against the table to keep you steady. The sting of the vinyl beneath your thighs, the bite of his teeth against your collarbone, the press of his body—every inch of it was too much and somehow not enough.

Your forehead was pressed to his shoulder, your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt as your bodies moved in sync—quick, desperate thrusts muffled by the rhythm of your panting breaths and the faint creak of the treatment table beneath you. It was frantic and overwhelming, and so, so fucking good.

And then—

“Hey Tony. You okay in there?” a voice called out from the hallway, muffled through the door but close enough to rip you both out of the moment.

You froze like you’d been struck by lightning.

Auston stiffened instantly, his hand shooting up to gently cover your mouth. You could feel his heart pounding through his chest as he leaned in toward the door, breath ragged.

“Yeah…” he called back, voice cracking slightly before he forced it deeper. “Just—uh—cleaning up. Give me a sec.”

Silence.

You held your breath until the faint sound of footsteps retreated down the hall. And then—

“Fuck,” Auston muttered under his breath, a wicked grin twitching at the corner of his mouth as he looked back at you, flushed and wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” you whispered behind his palm.

“Don’t be,” he growled. “We’re not done.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He never needed to—not when your body was already giving him every answer.

He started to move again, slow at first, like testing the water. But it didn’t take long for the urgency to return—like the interruption had only made him hungrier. You bit down on your lip to keep from gasping, your moans coming out as desperate little whimpers against his shoulder.

“Gotta stay quiet,” he murmured, voice thick and hoarse, “but you’re making it real fucking hard.”

His hand then slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit like they’d been magnetised. He circled it with a precision that made you bite back a cry, your whole body tensing against him.

Auston groaned low in his throat. “There she is.”

You squeezed his bicep, your thighs trembling. “Please…”

“Shhh,” he whispered, breath hot against your neck. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

God, he did.

And when you came, biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep from crying out his name, Auston wasn’t far behind—his hips stuttering, arms shaking, face buried against your neck.

For a moment, you both just stayed there—still tangled, still pulsing in the quiet aftermath.

Your jeans were around one ankle, his shorts half-hitched, your jersey clinging to your back with sweat. Clothes wrinkled, bodies flushed, breathing still uneven.

You leaned back on your hands, heart thudding against your ribcage like it hadn’t quite caught up. Auston stood between your legs, head bent slightly as he pressed one last kiss to your collarbone, his hands smoothing over your thighs.

“We should really stop having sex in public places,” you said finally, your voice hoarse and half-laughing, like you didn’t quite believe the words yourself.

Auston chuckled, low and spent, his forehead brushing yours. “Probably.”

Then he pulled back just enough to flash that boyish grin—the one that made him look far too innocent for what he’d just done. “But I’m not even a little sorry.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as your body slowly came back to you.

“Neither am I.”

He helped you off the table gently, fixing your jersey and brushing a hand through your hair. You reached for his shirt to straighten it. Somewhere in the distance, skates clicked across concrete and doors slammed. The world was waiting.

“Dearest Toronto reader,

did you feel that? The ice cracked tonight—and not just under skates.

Our Ice King racked up points like it was personal (and maybe it was). Knies continued his adorable domination with the kind of energy that makes entire sections swoon. Meanwhile, Rielly played like a man with a mortgage and something to prove, and Willy Styles? Let’s just say his downtown café companion wasn’t the only brunette raising eyebrows this week.

But even a solid 3–0 win couldn’t steal the spotlight from the real show backstage.

A certain ex tried to re-enter the chat, badge and all. But here’s the twist: it wasn’t Auston who drew first blood—it was her. The Queen. The one wearing his number. The one who didn’t flinch when voices rose and fists flew. She didn’t need saving. She didn’t wait to be claimed. She stood tall. Chose her position. And made it very clear whose side she was on.

And if you thought that was the end? Think again. Word is, a treatment room bore witness to more than bruises tonight. Let’s just say there was passion. There was heat. There was a jersey half off and a door barely locked.

So yes—this game is getting messier. Hotter. More dangerous. And it’s the Queen who’s holding court now.

She’s not moving to check the King. She’s moving for herself. And if that shakes the board?

Let it fall.

Yours always.

The Benchwarmer”

#The Benchwarmer #inexperienced!reader x Auston #auston matthews fanfic #Toronto maple leafs fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl romance #nhl imagines

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highhhfiveee · 3 months ago

Text

happy thursday <3 thinking about you know who…

cw. suggestiveness, no smut. this part is purely context to y/n and sae’s relationship 🫶🏽 if there are errors, i apologize 💔

this is technically supposed to be read after these two: 1 & 2 | formal part three: x

meeting at the grocery store had been something neither you nor fwb!sae itoshi had seen coming. you’d played it all wrong, leaving you with enough awkwardness to last a lifetime, yet the opportunity hadn’t passed you by. with the ball in sae’s court, he’d expertly juggled and turned your flustered stammering into an instant connection.

the foundation of that connection had been mutual attraction, though you’d made it known to sae (and yourself) that you weren’t easy. there would be no hopping into bed immediately after you both checked out; you needed to get a feel for this mysterious dairy aisle guy who’d confidently invited a complete stranger to watch him play soccer.

you weren’t a sports person, but you began to understand the hype; the raw electricity floating in the air had your adrenaline flowing, leaving you completely engrossed from beginning to end.

sae was a god; nothing could’ve prepared you that first time you saw him play, running game on the opposing blue lock eleven.

it was a dance that only he knew, his steps a mindfuck to anyone forced to face him. he left those with two left feet in his wake, lowly shadows scattered behind the MVP plastered all over the jumbotron.

you hadn’t stayed back to see him after that first game, eager to beat the traffic leaving the stadium.

you’d heard your phone ping at a red light, reading the text you’d gotten from sae: you still here?

no ): i didn’t want to be stuck in traffic

…

i wanted to see you

your heart had lurched like your car when you slammed on your brakes, and in classic y/n fashion, you’re trying to find the right words to say.

oh…really?

my bad, i thought maybe you’d be too busy for me after

so it wasn’t bc of traffic?

“fuck.” you’d swore into the air, biting at your thumbnail as you tossed your phone into the passenger seat and continued on your way home, leaving sae on read.

both are true

…come down to the pitch next time, yeah?

at least say bye

from then on, you were elbowing your way through the crowds to get onto the turf, overwhelming sae with your zeal. you were jumping in his face, squeezing him with your hugs and spewing out soccer terms that you’d tried to learn and contextualize.

“that was a sick feint!”

“a triple nutmeg????”

“the spin on that ball was atrociously good…”

sae sort’ve hated that he’d cracked a smile, let it travel to his insides, and produce a laugh.

he’d never been the best at making friends, and was surprised that you’d stuck around at all, unfazed by his blasé attitude and lack of interest in most things outside of his own career.

you were no longer the girl he’d met in the store. you’d blossomed into this light, a beacon of all the things sae kept himself away from and yet, you never let him dim you.

he’d asked for your number on a whim, really, ready for you to leave him to his cream cheese search, but after texting with you, watching you run up to him from the sidelines, and hearing you cheer his name, he wanted you to stick around.

he took you to some bars first, always ready to wash away the stress of a game with an ice cold pint. you only ever ordered whiskey and cokes, an unexpected happening to sae. eyeing you and your deep purple faux fur jacket, your knee-high boots and your face made up and pretty as always, he’d admitted, “i thought you’d order something girlier.”

“i drink to drink,” you’d slurred, struggling to catch the straw of your third drink between your glossy lips. “i’d look just as good sipping an appletini as i do downing this jack n coke...” you’d hiccuped before blurting, “i could say the same though. i’d thought you’d order something manlier.”

sae rolled his eyes, dragging his finger around the rim of his half-empty mug. “i like beer.”

“and i like whiskey. bottoms up, babe.”

after a few months of bars, he’d started asking you to dinner.

what if we got mexican food after the game tomorrow

will your body recover

or are you gonna be shitting up a storm

that’s gross y/n

these are questions that friends ask!!!!

you’d tried to drink a beer that night, scowling at the taste but tolerating it for sae’s sake. “you know you can drink something else, right?”

he’d said it after watching you gag and shiver for the nth time, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his seat, his legs spreading under the table.

“i’m trying to be a good sport.”

“y/n….”

“okay, fine,” you’d been prepared to argue back, but his eyes, always so fucking blue and static, made you uneasy. he was watching you, almost daring you to give him lip.

there had been moments in your bar days where you’d felt yourself pulse at the sound of his short, dry laughs, the timbre of his voice as he spoke, even when a hint of a smile crept onto his face. you’d chalked it up to the alcohol, as it always left you feral and in heat, though you couldn’t use that as an excuse now.

you’d only had half a beer, and that would never be enough to knock you on your ass and have you imagining x-rated scenarios with the one and only sae itoshi…right?

you and sae had learned a lot about each other over those months. it was an effortless friendship, a connection where you felt seen and heard and respected enough to delve into the recesses of your lore. sae had done the same, something so out of character for him. you could tell that he was uncomfortable in the beginning, getting into tales of him and his brother, his time in spain…but, eventually he’d become an (almost) open book. he trusted you. he knew he was safe in your company, free to feel and express and….

“a signed sae itoshi jersey?” you’d squealed when he’d given it to you in his car after dinner at a fancy mediterranean place. “for me?”

“who else would it be for?” he’d deadpanned, but you’d swatted at his arm, huffing, “my god, take a joke, itoshi…” you’d started giggling, turning your eyes back to the white and red jersey. you let your fingertips glide over the fabric, enamored by its quality and the fact that he’d given it to you as a gift.

“thank you, i can’t wait to wear it,” you’d mused, leaning over the car’s center console to give sae a kiss on the cheek. your lip gloss left a mark on his reddening skin, and you’d blurted, “whoops” as you brought your hand up to wipe it. he’d stopped you with his fingers around your wrist, saying, “leave it.”

it was barely above a whisper, so not like him. you’d both been flushed red the entire trip to your house, departing on a somewhat awkward exchange of “see you later/bye”.

that same night, after a shower, you were on the couch when your phone chimed.

you try the jersey on yet?

mhm! i’m wearing it right now (: super comfy

show me

the words had sent you into near cardiac arrest. if his whispered “leave it” had been anti-sae, “show me” was him personified. blunt, to the point, demanding, dominant.

you did as you were told, strolling over to your full length mirror and snapping two photos of yourself, immediately sending them and throwing your phone across the room.

sae felt his phone buzz, but kept himself in suspense for a moment. the “show me” hadn’t been his first choice of response, but felt the most authentic.

he wanted to see you, plain and simple.

he wasn’t sure why his heart had begun to pound as he looked at your attachments.

it was a bit shadowy in your place, but the warm white light from your huge lamp cast you in an angelic glow, the crisp white of the garment popping against your creamy brown skin. you filled it out well, leaving little room for it to billow, and the hem skirted the top of your thighs. sae could see the black lace of your panties peek ever so slightly, but swiped to the second picture for an almost full-reveal.

you’d used the back camera for the first one but the front for the second, and the angle of your arm holding the phone pulled the jersey up past your ass a bit. it was round and perfectly shaped, striped with light stretchmarks and sae’s mind got a bit carried away…

he wanted to fuck you in his jersey.

he wanted to fuck you in general. you’d wanted to fuck him too; you both knew what you craved, but you’d wanted a foundation first. sae respected that, and though he would’ve fucked you without knowing your middle name and favorite book series, he thought the familiarity was nice.

had you two built a strong foundation?

sae loved an image

we should go back to my place after my next game

yeah, i agree

you’d both say the answer was yes.

chat did i cook

#blue lock #bllk #bllk sae #bllk x reader #blue lock fic #blue lock fluff #bllk smut #blue lock smut #sae itoshi smut #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock angst #faire is writing!#faire’s fwb!sae itoshi <3

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