#the halftime of the first half of the second half

[trriviall]

OFFLINE CHAPTER 1

Summary: a 2000's pazzi au where azzi just won a championship and paige is a ceo of a nonprofit and runs downtown LA nightlife

warnings: none

wk: 4.3 k

Azzi is on a high right now.

She might also be high.

But who cares? The locker room is loud, music and screams are bouncing off the walls, champagne is being thrown in the air, and Azzi’s cheeks hurt from her non-stop grinning.

It’s 2001 and the L.A. Sparks have just won the WNBA championships, defeating the Charlotte Sting. And Azzi? Azzi was at the center of it all. Her buzzer beater 3-pointer was what the purple and yellow team needed to win the second game, declaring them rightful champions.

For the Sparks, the first game was fairly easy. The first half was gritty; bodies flying on the floor and arguments exchanged. But by the second half, Azzi’s shots were falling, Dearica’s defense was rock solid, and Cameron was putting up points inside the paint like it was nothing.

The second game looked very different.

At halftime, the Sparks were down by 13. The locker room was silent while Coach spoke. The game didn’t start turning around for the Sparks until the fourth quarter. By then, the Sting had gotten comfortable with their lead and started playing sloppy. And if the Sparks knew how to do one thing, it was to put up a fight.

So fight they did. Every time a cut was too slow, a pass too low, or a rebound gone long, the Sparks were there. And when the clock winded down, they were down by two. So of course Dearica managed to find Cameron in the paint, who managed to find a wide open Azzi Fudd in the corner. Rookie mistake on the Sting's part, really.

So now, press was done, and the team could really celebrate. They were all in various states of undressed, champagne and sweat soaked closed tossed aside. Azzi had lost her jersey and her shoes in the chaos, sauntering around the locker room in her uniform shorts and a champagne bottle, her charming smile displayed on her lips. Cam, miraculously, was still in her jersey, though her shoes and socks were lost. Once the blonde’s eyes landed on Azzi, she stood from her locker and wrapped her slender arms around Azzi’s shorter frame. Cam smelled of sweat, lingering floral body spray, and bubbly champagne. Azzi guessed she smelled just about the same, so she had no room to complain.

“To the people’s princess!” Cam said, raising her arm that wasn’t around Azzi in the air. The rest of the team follow suit with cheers, sticky, half empty champagne bottles being raised in the air. 

“For saving our asses out there,” Dearica said, a full grin on her face. Her championship t-shirt was soaked with champagne. “Still can’t believe they left you wide open.” Azzi blushed, her cheeks flushing.

“I’m surprised it went in,” Azzi replied. Her soft voice a little more hoarse than normal. The combination of being drunk, a little high, and screaming the entire game catching up to her. Beside her, Cam scoffed, shaking her head.

“Ever humble,” Cam grumbled. She turned back to the rest of the team, a sly grin making its way to her face. “I think we should celebrate.”

“I thought that was the plan,” Rae spoke up from her locker, a blunt dangling from her slender fingers. Azzi was amazed that her lashes stayed on throughout the brutal champagne shower. “Go on a little bender. Party tonight, wake up for the parade tomorrow, party after that.”

“Where are we going to go on such short notice?” Azzi said, always the voice of reason. No club would have enough space in their VIP section for an entire team at this time of night. The locker room fell silent, Azzi’s words settling in.

“We could just push it to tomorrow night,” Dearica said, shrugging her shoulders. “I need food before I drink anymore.”

“Nah,” Kelsey said, standing up. Azzi wondered what happened to her uniform, the guard standing in a sports bra and spandex. “Cam’s got connections. She can get us into any club in L.A.. For free.”

The team eagerly turned their heads towards the blonde, who was taking a large sip from her bottle. Azzi subtly rolled her eyes, before turning her attention to her best friend. She too wanted to know what this “connection” Cam had could do for the team.

“Connection?” Cameron asked, sounding as confused as the rest of the team looked. “I don’t have any connections.”

“Cam, your sister runs the downtown nightlife,” Kelsey said. “Give her a call, I bet she can get us a VIP table somewhere nice.”

“Who’s your sister?” Sarah Ashlee-Barker asked. For once, Azzi wasn’t annoyed at her nosy questions and naturally curious vibe. She had been teammates with Cam for two years, and didn’t know who this connection was, or who Cam’s sister was. Cameron shook her head, before pulling away from Azzi. Her arm left a wet feeling on the back of Azzi’s neck, and she couldn’t tell if it was sweat or champagne. She didn’t want to know.

Cameron plopped down in her locker cubby, rummaging around in her locker before pulling out her phone. It was an all black Nokia, one of the newer versions. Azzi wasn’t even sure the model she had was out yet. Come to think of it, Azzi could confidently assume that Cam got it from another connection she had. After the press of a few buttons, Cam put the phone up to her ear, the line ringing. The locker room was silent, every player eager to catch a few words of Cam’s conversation.

Azzi wanted to know who was on the other end of the line, simply because she wanted to know what she was getting herself into. If Cam’s connection was some shady guy who only accepted payments in the form of good deeds, Azzi was more than happy to get take-out on her way home and crash in her apartment.

Azzi didn’t know if it was possible, but the locker room went even quieter when they heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line after the call connected. Azzi couldn’t make out any words, but the voice was deep yet soft at the same time. She figured he was some L.A. playboy, the type MTV wanted for music videos and girls fawned over in rom-coms.

“I need a favor,” Cam said. The room was silent, and Cam made an offended face before speaking up again. “You’re speaking to a champion right now. I just need one favor for tonight so we can all celebrate. We can’t get a good table for the entire team on such short notice, you know this. Help your sister out?”

Azzi smiled to herself when she heard the person on the other end of the line go silent, before they let out a long breath. Thirty seconds later, Cam snapped her phone shut and turned to the team with a wide grin.

“Congrats champs. We just got a VIP table at 5 Nights!”

Azzi wasn’t too sure she knew what 5 Nights was. She wasn’t even sure she had ever even heard of it. Azzi didn’t go out a lot, and never without a reason. When she did, it was mostly to her brothers club just three blocks away from her apartment. That way, if she had one too many drinks, she could stumble the quick walk home. And if she was too far gone, her brother was right there. 

Cam had told the team to put on their sluttiest outfits and meet at her apartment in an hour. Which meant they would be meeting at Azzi’s apartment because Cameron lived right across the hall from Azzi, and always seemed to be over.

Azzi wanted to roll her eyes when Cam walked into her room as she was getting ready, and told her that her outfit was too modest.

“You have an ass and abs babe, show them off,” Cam said, before tearing apart Azzi’s closet. Clothes were spilling out when Cam returned with an outfit for Azzi to wear. Azzi’s jaw dropped, and she immediately shook her head.

“My entire ass will be out, no way.”

“That’s like, the whole point,” Cam said. “Besides, everyone else is bringing their A game. Kelsey called me, she’s wearing leather shorts. Short shorts.”

“This isn’t college,” Azzi said, turning back to her vanity to finish her makeup.

“Exactly. So we can reveal a little more.” Cameron sighed when Azzi didn’t respond. Cam sat down on the end of Azzi’s bed, crossing one leg over the other. Azzi glanced at her through the mirror, her high boots falling just below her knees. Her jean skirt was teetering on the edge of too short, making Azzi have to glance twice to make sure nothing slipped.

“I have a reputation to uphold.” Azzi finally said, turning around on her stool to face the blonde. Cam glanced at her low waisted jeans and full length top, shaking her head.

“It’s like you said, this isn’t college. This is your third year in the league, venture out some more. People aren't going to try to torch you for showing some skin. Besides, who’s going to see?”

“Tabloids?” Azzi said, confused. Cam scoffed, waving a hand in the air.

“Screw the tabloids. Get sexy. Show off that ass and those abs, I beg. Take someone home. You’re a girl with needs, babe.” Azzi rolled her eyes, but there was no heat behind them. Azzi watched as Cam left the room, tugging down her skirt as she went.

Azzi had spent the past season focused on nothing but basketball. The whole team did, really. They knew that this could be their year. So she curved everyone that came her way, and anything else that could be a possible distraction. She turned up the princess charm, throwing charming grins at reporters who doubted her and the team's ability to win it all this year.

Azzi sighed and stood up, having basked in enough silence. Azzi threw on the skirt and top Cam picked out for her, before slipping on white kitten heels. Azzi grabbed a bag and threw her lip gloss and phone inside, as well as some cash before leaving her room, shutting the door behind her.

She was in for a night.

Paige was tired. 5 Nights seemed to be more packed than normal for a Thursday night, even in LA. Paige had already had to deal with an almost fight, a couple hooking up in the bathroom, and a girl crying so hard her tears were coated in her running mascara. Paige was just glad that Cam would be here soon and she could unwind. 

She was also glad that Nika was right by her side, reminding her that despite the current chaos, she did like her job. Sometimes.

“How long?” Nika asked, settling across from Paige in the rounded booth. Paige glanced at her watch, squinting to read the time through the club lights reflecting off the silver.

“Should be any minute,” Paige said. “Cam called almost two hours ago.” Nika nodded before flagging down one of the bottle girls walking around with a tray. Nika grabbed two shots from the tray, before winking at the girl and sending her on her way. Nika placed a shot in Paige’s hands, and they clinked their glasses together before knocking them back in sync.

Nika placed her now empty glass on the table, Paige following suit, before crossing her legs and looking at her best friend. “How do you feel knowing you’re going to be surrounded by hot basketball girls all night?” Paige scoffed, shaking her head at Nika’s words. Nika laughed to herself, a sly smirk on her face.

“I feel indifferent.” Paige said shrugging her shoulders, though Nika saw right through it.

“Indifferent my ass,” Nika scoffed. She leaned forward, crossing her arms over the table. “You’ve been obsessed with Azzi for months now. Honestly? I’m surprised it took you this long to meet her.”

“I have not been obsessed,” Paige tried to defend, but it fell upon deaf ears.

Nika quickly picked up on Paige’s sudden interest in the WNBA over the past few months. Sure Paige had always watched it and kept up with their season considering Cam was her sister. But recently, she wanted to watch a lot more games, forcing Nika to miss her nightly episodes of Temptation Island. It was easy to pick up on Paige’s sudden interest in keeping up with Cam’s teammates stats, something she never cared for in the past.

And it was so easy to pick up on Paige’s sudden interest in the sports section of the newspaper. Nika didn’t read the newspaper, and Paige didn’t care for it, so it typically piled up throughout the week in their mailbox until one of them caved and cleared it. However, Nika has been greeted by the sight of Paige drinking her plain black coffee in the morning while reading the newspaper, instead of arguing with her assistant on many occasions over the summer.

“Paige, you bought season tickets to Sparks games.”

“And?” Paige shrugged. “What’s the harm in supporting my sister?”

Paige could care less about supporting her sister. Well, she could care less about supporting her sister’s team. Paige had kept up with Cam’s stats and how she was doing ever since she entered the league. She knew Cam’s practice schedule, game schedule, helped her with tunnel fits, and even worked out with her sometimes. But Paige never cared to learn Cam’s teammates names, their stats, or anything about them. She had never even met them.

And it wasn’t that Paige didn’t care. It was that she didn’t care enough to work in another social group into her busy life. She had clubs and bars to manage, a company to run, a dog to tend to, and parents to please. She didn’t care to make time.

But that all changed a few months ago ahead of the 2001 season. Paige had been working out with Cam at Paige’s private gym, when Cam mentioned how excited she was for this upcoming season. Particularly, how excited she was for the return of her favorite teammate.

“I’m so excited for Azzi to be back on the court,” Cam had said, making small talk to make the minute plank go by faster. “She looked really good during training camp. Her shots were crisp and falling every time.” Paige really wasn’t paying attention, so Cam kept talking. “We would have gone a lot farther with her last year. But that’s in the past. I can tell she wants to win this year even more than the rest of us.”

Paige glanced at the clock above the door, dropping to the floor. Cam followed suit, groaning loudly and complaining about sore limbs. Paige had rolled her eyes and grabbed a sweat towel and wiped her face down.

“Not to mention she looks great,” Cam continued. “Taking a season off treated her well. She’s all long legs and charming smiles now. The paps love her. She doesn’t have a bad side, I’m telling you.”

“I’m pretty sure if the paparazzi loved her, I’d have seen her by now.” Paige said. With as many high end bars that Paige owned and ran, she had celebrities coming in and out. She liked to keep up with everyone coming in and out of her bars and clubs. And she had never heard of this Azzi girl, so how popular could she really be?

“You better look her up,” Cam had said, standing up. “She is everything everyone wants to be. I’m just glad I don’t have to guard her.”

So Paige had gone home and looked her up. And it’s safe to say that was the day Paige decided she would keep up with the rest of Cam’s team.

Now, sitting in a booth in 5 Nights, Paige was giddy on the inside. Cam was right. Azzi was everything everyone wanted to be. She had a charming smile she knew how to use, kind eyes that caught everyone’s attention, and a clean form that everyone wished they had. Paige hadn’t even met her, and she was ready to risk it all for her.

Paige spotted Cam the moment she walked in the bar. Her tall frame stood out amongst everyone else’s. Paige caught her eyes, and tilted her head, signaling she could come back. The bouncer in front of the VIP section, Morgan, didn’t even stop them. She let them right in, closing the rope behind them. Paige stood to greet Cam, the taller girl wrapping her arms around Paige. Paige could tell Cam was already a little tipsy, if her stumbling over her own feet was anything to go off of.

“Paigey!” Cam said, rocking the pair back and forth. Cam pulled back, a dopey grin on her face. “Thank you so much for getting us in. I seriously owe you.” Paige shook her head, shoving her hands in the pockets of her loose slacks.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Perfect,” Cam grinned. “First round on you then.” Cam patted Paige’s shoulder, before turning towards the booth to greet Nika. Paige rolled her eyes, but gestured for one of the bottle girls to bring a round of shots for everyone.

“Paige, these are my teammates. Everyone say hi,” Cam said, standing behind Paige. “This is her best friend Nika, she’s the nicer one.” Paige rolled her eyes again, something she often found herself doing anytime she was around Cam.

Cam insisted she introduced Paige to everyone. So for the next hour, Cam drunkenly tugged her by the arm so Paige could meet her teammates. Paige was pretty sure almost everyone was very drunk, because most of the conversations consisted of Cam’s high pitched laughter, whichever teammate they were talking to joining in, and Paige staring at them confused. Paige figured she would be the only one to remember these interactions the next day.

That was until Cam pulled her back to the booth two hours later, making Paige sit down next to her. Across from the blonde pair, Nika chatted animatedly with Azzi fudd. Paige had missed her when the team first came in, most likely hiding in the back.

The tabloids didn’t do her justice. No blurry photo online or a colorless printed one in the newspaper could compare to Azzi Fudd’s real life beauty. Her smile was radiant, and her skin was glowing. Something about her was warm, she felt like the type of person anyone would get along with. Her curls, slightly damp from her shower, sat on her shoulders, complimenting her cheekbones. From across the table, Paige admired her white top. It was the kind that was basically a bra with mesh covering the torso. Paige couldn’t see what bottoms she was wearing, but she assumed they were criminal.

“Azzi! This is my sister, Paige,” Cam said, extending her arm across the table to tap Azzi’s arm and grab her attention. Azzi’s eyes bounced from Cam to the figure next to her. Azzi’s expression didn’t change, not allowing Paige to get a read on what she was thinking. Paige extended her hand, holding it out for Azzi to shake. Azzi glanced at it, before extending her own hand.

To Paige’s surprise, Azzi’s hand was soft. Paige figured anyone with handles as good as Azzi’s would spend hours in the gym, making her hands calloused but hardworking.

“This is Paige’s club!” Cam yelled over the music. “She owns this one and a few others downtown.” Azzi glanced at Paige with an impressed expression, one brow raised. Paige blushed and shook her head, offering up an explanation.

“This is the only club I own. Nika helps me run it. Me and Nika just sponsor a lot of bars and clubs downtown.” Azzi nodded her head, picking up her drink and taking a slow sip before responding.

“Sounds like the humble way of saying they aren’t anything without you.” Paige laughed to herself, surprised at Azzi’s ability to be blunt in the softest way possible.

“Pretty much.” Paige replied. Her eyes never left Azzi’s, watching the basketball star examine her. Paige was doing the same thing. Her eyes traced the cure of Azzi’s lips and watched her long lashes flutter every time she blinked.

“What else do you do?” Azzi asked, her soft voice managing to reach Paige over the bass of the music. 

“I’m the CEO of a non-profit.” Paige said.

“What does your company do?” It was a miracle Paige was still talking when Azzi’s velvety smooth voice was practically taunting her.

“We help provide therapy to kids.Especially any kid going through a rough time.” Azzi nodded her head like she approved of Paige’s company. And honestly? Paige was glad. Azzi smiled softly at Paige, before taking another sip of her drink.

“Come dance!” Cam said, scooting all the way around the booth to push Nika and Azzi out on the other side. Nika choked on her drink before stumbling out of the booth. Somehow, Nika’s low waisted pinstripe pants looked perfect for the setting, fitting right in with everyone else’s more skimpy club outfits.

When Azzi stood up, Paige had to do a double take. She wore a mini leather skirt that sat just below a dangly belly ring. Her long legs made the skirt look even shorter than it was. But Paige wasn’t convinced it was very long at all, considering she watched as Azzi tugged it down when she stood up. Cam slid out of the booth next, grabbing Azzi’s free hand that wasn’t holding Nika’s.

“We’ll be back P,” Nika said, before leaving the VIP section to join the rest of the team on the dance floor. Paige shamelessly watched as Azzi’s hips swayed as she walked away, her flip flop heels making her walk look more attractive. When Paige finally tore her eyes away from Azzi, she was met with Cam glancing over her shoulder at her, a sly smirk on her face. Paige knew she was caught. But for some reason she couldn’t care less.

Azzi was at the level of tipsy where you were more loose than normal, able to let go, but you were still conscious enough not to make bad decisions. She knew she was tipsy, which was how she knew she wasn’t drunk enough.

She checked her gold watch as Nika dragged her to the dance floor, making Cam have to raise her hand. It was just after one, which meant Azzi would probably cool it off the drinks. Azzi felt Cam lean closer to her over her shoulder, and something told her Cam wanted to start something.

“What do you think of Paige?” Cam asked.

“She’s cool,” Azzi replied.

“What else? I was catching hella vibes from you two.”

“From what? Our two minute conversation about her job?” Azzi asked with a laugh.

“No, from your intense eye contact and the way she eyed you walking away.” Azzi scoffed, shaking her head.

“As if. Get a grip, Cam.”

“I’m just saying, I caught mad vibes between you two. It wouldn’t hurt to get with a baller.” Azzi glanced over her shoulder with a bored expression.

“Bite me.”

Cam snorted, before Azzi fondly rolled her eyes, no real harm behind her words. Nika stopped, pulling Azzi and Cam closer to her. Azzi vaguely recognized the song being played through the loud speakers, the bass making her head buzz. Even though she was only tipsy, the loud music combined with Cam and Nika’s energy put Azzi in the right mood to let go and truly celebrate.

So when “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot came on, Azzi screamed, turning to Cam with wide eyes.

“Biatch! This is your song!” Cam yelled. Nika, even though she didn’t know what was going on, was matching the two girls' energy. Azzi, with a grin on her face, turned around so her back was pressed to Cam’s front, two two girls moving their hips in sync. Azzi was met with Nika’s front, who was dancing in sync with the two basketball girls.

Going to college in the middle of nowhere, UConn, there wasn’t much else to do besides party when you weren’t in class or at practice. All throughout college, “Baby Got Back” had been Azzi’s anthem. It was what got her going and brought out her best moves. Azzi had lost count on how many people she grinded on when this song started playing. Most of the time, it was her best friend Caroline when they were out celebrating wins.

Azizi felt Cam place her hands on her hips, before she turned Azzi around. Now, Azzi’s back was pressed to Nika’s front. The three girls kept it up, passing Azzi back and forth between the two. Azzi got lost in the music, her skirt riding up slightly, grinding on Nika and Cam. After all, Baby’s got back, right?

From the VIP section, Paige was dying. She had never seen anyone dance like Azzi. With the good girl narrative the tabloids portrayed her as, Paige was one of the imbeciles who fell for it. Never in her life would Paige think she would meet the “people’s princess” and then catch her grinding on two girls in the same night. Azzi carried herself with so much poise that Paige didn’t think it was something the curly haired girl had in her.

Paige quickly looked away when Azzi caught her eye from her position between the two girls, and her full lips curved into a smirk. Paige quietly cursed to herself. Never in her life would she imagine a girl would have her blushing. 

Paige was never the chaser. She was always the chased. The media portrayed her as a playboy who had a different person in her bed every night. And while that was not true, Paige was the one luring in one night stands just to never call them back. People fell at her feet, and she let them. Just because Paige wasn’t picky on who she slept with didn’t mean she was run through. She did have standards. Most of the time, whoever landed at her feet that particular night was disappointed. All Paige really craved was  a good makeout session. Once she got that, she sent the person on their way.

Paige was never the one falling at someone else's feet.

But right now, Paige would happily fall at Azzi’s feet. Heck, she would get on her knees and kiss them if Azzi asked.

[baycitystygian]

guys I just survived a ladder that wanted to kill me. cheers

[baddawgsports]

🚨 INTER MIAMI MIRACLE! Down 1-0 at halftime, Miami STORMS back to beat FC Porto 2-1 in the FIFA Club World Cup! MLS just made a STATEMENT on the global stage! 🔥⚽ #InterMiami #FIFAClubWorldCup #MLS #FCPorto

[holyblonded]

baby’s first red | stargirl

pairings: ona batlle x teen!reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you get your first red card

warnings: non serious injuries, pissed off alexia

notes: lucy was kind of the devil on estrella’s shoulder 😭

The impact sent you crashing to the ground once more, the sharp sting radiating from your ankle as you clenched your jaw. You stayed down for a second, trying to steady your breathing, trying to stop the fire building inside you. But then you heard it again.

“Keep up, stargirl,” the Atlético player sneered, barely glancing down at you before resetting.

That was it. You pushed yourself up with a fury burning behind your eyes, but before you could make a move, a body slammed into yours, holding you back.

“Ella no val la pena, d’acord?” Ona’s voice was firm in your ear, her arms briefly tightening before she let go. You took a deep breath, trying to let her words settle, but the rage still bubbled beneath the surface. (She’s not worth it, okay?)

The game continued, your muscles tight with frustration, your mind stuck on the lack of calls, on the smirk that player kept flashing at you like they knew they could get away with it. And then it happened again.

A swift kick to your shin followed by a hard shove to your side, and suddenly, you were hitting the pitch harder than before. Your hands scraped against the turf as you tried to catch yourself, your knee throbbing from the impact. The ref’s whistle remained silent.

Nothing. Again. The stadium roared in outrage, but the official waved it off. You could feel your teammates stiffening around you, their frustration mirroring yours.

Then, the whistle blew for halftime. You stormed off the pitch, your jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. In the locker room, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the anger in your chest growing with every passing second.

“Calma,” Alexia said, stepping in front of you, her voice measured but firm. “We need you in the second half. Don’t let them get in your head.”

You didn’t respond, just yanked off your shin guards and tossed them onto the bench beside you. She crouched down in front of you, lowering her voice.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know how much you want to hit back, but that’s exactly what they want,” she continued. “They want you to lose control. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

You nodded, but your hands were still balled into fists. You weren’t sure you could just let it go.

Lucy plopped down next to you with a knowing smirk.

“Alright, screw the ‘be the bigger person’ thing,” she muttered. “If she knocks you down again, you get up and push her back. Hard. And if the ref isn’t looking, elbow to the ribs, maybe a little tug on the hair if you’re feeling spicy.”

You snorted despite yourself, and Lucy grinned. “What? Just saying, if you’re gonna get a card, might as well make it worth it.”

A laugh bubbled in your throat, but you swallowed it down, nodding as you took a deep breath. Maybe Alexia was right. Maybe you could handle this the right way…or maybe not.

The second half started, and you tried. You really did. You focused on the game, on moving the ball, on not reacting. But then, the Atlético player struck again except this time, it wasn’t you.

It was Ona.

You saw it happen in slow motion. The crunch of the foul, the way Ona’s legs got swept out from under her, the way she hit the ground hard, clutching her knee. The whistle blew, but it was too late.

Something inside you snapped. You didn’t think, you just moved. You were in the player’s face before you even registered it, shoving them with all the force you could muster. They barely had time to react before you pushed them again, sending them stumbling back.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snarled, your voice dripping with rage.

They smirked again, and it was all you needed. Your body moved on its own, shoving them once more. This time, they went down.

The referee’s whistle cut through the air, sharp and immediate. Straight red.

The crowd gasped. Your teammates groaned. You barely heard any of it over the roaring in your ears.

You turned back to Ona, who was still on the ground but waving off the medical staff, trying to get up. When she met your eyes, hers were filled with frustration and gratitude all at once.

Alexia reached you before anyone else, gripping your jersey and pulling you away. “Are you serious right now?” she hissed.

“She deserved it,” you shot back.

Alexia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ll talk later. Go.”

You walked off the pitch with your head high, unapologetic, the chants of the crowd ringing in your ears. You’d take the suspension. You’d take whatever fine they gave you. Because no one hurt your teammates and got away with it.

The celebration was still raging on the pitch. The cheers, hugs, the echoes of victory filling the stadium. But you weren’t out there. You were in the locker room, sitting on the bench, staring at the floor, the weight of the red card still pressing on your chest.

Alexia paced in front of you, her hands on her hips, her jaw tight with frustration.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she finally snapped, breaking the silence. “You got yourself sent off, you left us a player down, and now you’re suspended. Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

You kept your head down, hands gripping your hair. You could feel Olga’s eyes on you too, but her disappointment was softer, less sharp than Alexia’s fury.

“She was fouling me the whole game. She fouled Onita, hard,” you muttered, voice low.

“I don’t care,” Alexia shot back. “You know better than to react like that. You let her get to you, Estrella. And now what? You miss the next game. You put yourself in that position instead of trusting us to handle it.”

Olga sighed, placing a hand on Alexia’s shoulder. “Ale, enough.”

Alexia huffed but didn’t say anything else, running a hand through her hair as she turned away from you.

Olga crouched down in front of you, her voice softer. “We know why you did it,” she said. “And I get it. But you can’t do that, Estrella. You’re too important to this team to get yourself sent off over something like that.”

You nodded, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to look up.

Olga exhaled, glancing at Alexia before standing up. “Come on, Ale,” she said, tugging on her arm. “Give her space.”

“I don’t—”

“Now.”

Alexia let out a frustrated breath but let Olga pull her toward the door. Before leaving, Olga turned back to you. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

You just nodded again. The locker room fell silent once they were gone, the distant sounds of celebration muffled through the walls. You sat there, hands gripping your face, the regret settling in now that the adrenaline had worn off.

The door creaked open again, and you felt someone sit down next to you.

“I don’t need another lecture,” you mumbled into your hands.

“I know,” Ona said quietly.

You finally lifted your head, glancing at her. She was still in her kit, her knee wrapped, the bruise from the foul already forming. But her expression was nothing like Alexia’s— it was warm, grateful, understanding.

“You were right,” she said simply. “She was a dirty player. And I should’ve been the one to push her.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “No, I shouldn’t have lost my head. Ale’s right. I just… when I saw her foul you like that, I couldn’t—”

Ona nudged your shoulder. “I know. And I appreciate it.”

You exhaled, finally leaning back against the bench. Ona stayed beside you, neither of you speaking for a moment.

Then she bumped you again, softer this time. “But next time, let me handle it, yeah?”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

She smirked. “Good. Because I don’t want to visit you in a prison cell for murder.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension eased, just a little.

Ona nudged you one last time. “You’re a good little sister, Estrella. Even if you’re an idiot sometimes.”

A small smile finally tugged at your lips. “Thanks, Onita.”

She grinned. “Now, let’s go before they start drinking all the champagne without us.”

“I can’t have champagne, do they have my sparking

[jjjjisun]

Pre-Game Ritual (Final)

Minju X Male Reader | 10304 words

TW: Incest

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Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

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[Minju... I can't stop thinking about you]

Minju's phone buzzed as she pushed her duffel off her shoulder and the door to her dorm room closed behind her. Looking at her phone, the smile returned to her face and Minju fell back onto the couch in the middle of her and Deborah's room. The old sofa her parents had given her when she moved in was the one that she and her brother used to battle on in the basement when they were younger. There were pulls all over it and one of the cushions definitely had a big tear in the underside where Y/N had once thrown it at her and hit the cabinet instead.

This was crazy. Minju could barely think what to write back as she quivered in pure excitement at what had finally happened with her and her big brother. He was apparently the man of everybody's dreams, or so all her friends said, but only she had gotten to do what they all wanted to, brother or not.

For a few moments between halftime and now, Minju had wondered if her brother was going to treat what had happened as anything more than the relationship that Y/N had with that awful ex, Eunju. But upon receiving his text, and even before that when she saw him staring as he was ushered off the field after the game, Minju knew everything was going to be okay.

-I could barely talk to anybody after we... it was like you made my brain melt!- Minju finally responded.

She had truly avoided people as much as she could after what had happened in the locker room. Perhaps her brother could go out and win a football game after that, but Minju felt completely overcome by the experience.

-You were so amazing out there Oppa. Everybody is talking about it.-

Y/N smiled at his little sister's compliment, almost seeing the pride on her face like she'd worn when he saw her after he scored the first touchdown in the second half.

[I wonder why that is... did you tell them about how you were the MVP?]

-The MVP huh? Don't I get some kind of reward for that?-

[Anything you want sis]

-Hmm... anything?-

[You name it]

Y/N wondered if he was being too forward, and the pause after he texted her made him feel a bit nervous. They were still in uncharted territory and the last thing he wanted to do was overstep with his little sister, no matter how badly he wanted to continue what they'd started.

[What are you doing right now] He asked, trying to continue the conversation.

-Laying on Mom and Dad's old couch. I just got home, what about you?-

[Still in the locker room. All of the guys are finishing up showers and I think coach wants to talk to us about the game]

-SO MANY NAKED DUDES, SO MUCH TESTOSTERONE.- Minju teased, always giving him a hard time about the easiest stereotypes.

[I think you know where I would be if I didn't have to be here]

Again, Minju waited to send something back. She knew he was hoping for her to play into his implications but it felt good to string him along. 'Make him work for it,' Minju repeated in her head.

[Are your girlfriends all going out tonight?] Y/N asked

-They said they were, but I'm thinking of staying in-

Y/N felt like begging to come over. He was near shouting into his phone.

-I'm looking at that spot on the couch that mom had to patch when you burned it with a firecracker right now. You're still a huge pyro aren't you?-

[Duh.] Y/N responded. Some of the guys were beginning to get clothes on and wander over toward the space where they usually gathered. He didn't want to stop texting his little sis, but the coach had a strict no-phones policy for this kind of thing.

-I love having this couch in my dorm, so many memories, so much stupid stuff we did in that basement-

God did Y/N love her. She was right, they had made so many memories together in that basement. Growing up, they'd fought and played together for hours on end down there, left alone to their own devices and to keep each other company. Somewhere along the line, he'd grown much bigger, and she much prettier and all the while he'd built up a love for her that meant he'd do anything to protect and take care of her.

And now Y/N was imagining his little sister laying out, wearing the tank-top she usually did after games and a pair of team gym shorts she always managed to roll a few times at the waist. Her lithe little frame would be stretching out and her smooth feet, with those delicate toes working their way under the arm-pad at the end. She wasn't exactly the same little sister who he'd held down on the couch until she shouted uncle. Maybe she was, he just wanted to be on top of her for an entirely different reason.

His phone buzzing in his hand brought Y/N back to the present.

-I think I know what I want as my prize for being the MVP.-

[What's that?] Y/N texted as his coach called them over to huddle up.

-I want you to come over so we can play together on the couch tonight...-

He was looking down at his phone and his heart was beating faster and faster as he approached the gathering team.

-Only I'm gonna be naked and mom and dad won't come down to check on us.-

-

Words were said, players were congratulated for spectacular play, the team huddled and broke apart and all the while Y/N was thinking of Minju. He couldn't help it; the thought of her lying on that old couch without a thing on, and waiting for him to come over made him mad with excitement.[U2] She was his baby sister, his own adorable college girl, and an unbelievably hot one at that. At a time when every girl at school would claw each other's eyes out to get with him, Y/N wanted nothing more than to rush off and meet his beautiful, eighteen-year-old sister in her dorm as promised.

She wasn't exactly waiting for him. In the time after she'd texted her brother what she wanted, Minju had laid on the couch, enamored, for a few minutes. But not for long, because suddenly she was feeling giddy and nervous like a girl who had finally gotten the attention of a boy in her grade. She got in the shower and shaved her legs, washed every inch of her body and then stared in the mirror primping and preening for what seemed like forever.

Minju felt particularly relieved that the hazing of the day before had included a spa trip and wax because she could feel how smooth her pussy was as she rubbed lotion onto her skin from head to toe. After texting her roommate to ask if she could sleep somewhere else that night and tidying her room, Minju wore only a towel and waited patiently for her brother to arrive.

Doing his best to be inconspicuous, Y/N put the hood of his sweatshirt up and took the stairs rather than the elevator to his sister's floor. He checked the hallway and had to wait for two girls to walk into their rooms before rushing over and turning the handle to his little sister's room. He closed the door behind him and backed up against it, letting out a deep breath he'd been holding.

The sound of the door opening made Minju's heart jump. She knew he was coming, knew what they intended to do: something they had technically already done it earlier that day. But this time felt different.

They hadn't yet met on any day other than a Friday before the game. They had only touched each other on the premise that it was in some way a service to the football team. Before, it was like they had an excuse, but as Minju stood up and watched her brother turn the lock on the door behind him, she knew that he was there for her and only her.

Y/N watched his little sister stand up from the couch with a towel wrapped around her. She was adorable. Petite, youthful and so nervous - he could see it on her as she stood there shaking. He almost felt bad as he saw the body language that seeming to be praying he would approve of her. That was, until Y/N watched his little sister tug at the towel and drop it around her feet.

It felt like the first time he'd seen her naked... wait, was it? His head was all jumbled up as she stood there next to the old green couch and turned a little bit, shrugging her shoulders sheepishly and causing her breasts to perk up for his view.

"Come here little sis," Y/N instructed her

She sidled over to him and Y/N immediately put his hands on her shoulders. The room was cold, and little goose-bumps were showing up on her skin, but his hands felt instantly warm.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." Y/N assured her.

She smiled, nuzzling her head against his arm. Feeling some of the confidence of earlier that day returning to her.

"What if some other boy had decided to stop by before I could get here, huh?"

"Well I probably wouldn't have gotten naked for him, for one." Minju quipped, grinning.

"PROBABLY?" Y/N retorted.

"I definitely wouldn't have let him fuck me if that's what you're asking?" Minju implied. Both of them were quiet as they absorbed what she said.

Feeling mischievous enough, Minju moved her hand to the long bulge in her brother's sweatpants.

"Is that what you're here to do big brother?" she teased. Looking down in wonder at the path her hand was tracing along Y/N's sizable erection.

He couldn't resist any longer, Y/N had to get his hands on her, his lips, everything. With a hand around his little sister's waist and one at her neck, he pulled her toward him and joined their lips. At first it was pure need, lust and magnetism that drew them together, but as their lips slowly parted, Minju's tongue found her brothers in a way that inspired them to take their time.

Minju felt her sibling's hand move its way from her hip to her stomach, and then from her stomach to her ribcage. Finally, he reached her breast and he tested it's weight under his thumb and forefinger before grasping the entire thing.

"Uhhhhh..." Minju mewwed into her brother's mouth as he touched her, loving the sensation of letting him be in control. His desire was obvious, but his touch was gentle. Slowly he felt her up and she let them take awkward little steps backward toward the couch while still kissing.

"Oppa," she broke away as her backside touched the couch, "I've wanted this for so long," she whispered with their foreheads touching and his eyes watching her breasts mound together as he massaged them.

"Not like I said... not just to help you with your games," she continued.

Y/N lifted her up, so easily it scared her, and set her naked bottom on the back of the old sofa. When she looked up, his eyes were directly in line with hers. They could hear girls talking in the hall, ambling to and from the bathroom and getting ready to go out. In the room, it was only them, and nobody knew that beyond her door, a little sister now sat completely naked and hoping that her big brother would soon make love to her.

Y/N put his finger under her chin the way he had so many times before.

"Minju," he soothed her, "I know you have, because I have wanted you for longer than I can remember."

"Really?" She asked, with big puppy-dog eyes gazing up at him. "You're not just saying that?"

"Duh," he said, making her crack a smile, "and you're not just my little sister anymore, you're this beautiful girl who knows what she wants and knows how to drive me crazy and..."

Minju stopped him with a hungry kiss, grabbing his neck and pulling on it so he'd let her at him. He reveled in her haste, reminding him of how she'd actually been like that since she was little, whether he'd just complimented her for growing up or not. Except now, with her naked little body in front of him, he knew she had.

Her breasts, young but full, were very different after eighteen years. Her hips were more womanly, wider and tapered to from her toned abdomen. And those legs she was starting to wrap around him to pull him closer... Y/N knew they had not always been so alluring.

"I do know what I want," she said between kisses.

Without explaining, she reached for the bottom of her brother's sweatshirt and pulled it up before he could utter another word, his undershirt with it. She revealed his upper body and felt a quiver in between her legs as each inch of his abs, his chest muscles and his staunch shoulders all came into view.

Minju had only had sex the once, and still she knew that the extreme desire she felt as she looked at him was for him to use on her... in her..., what she had yet to reveal from his jeans.

"Slow down..." Y/N chuckled as he felt her hands move quickly to his belt. Her breath was so hasty that she could hardly keep kissing him. She managed to push his jeans down and leave her big brother standing in his boxer briefs before he made a move.

Her hand had found his cock almost immediately, attempting to wrap around it through his underwear. It felt so good that Y/N nearly allowed her to do what she must and not stop her, but he'd seen what he wanted next when he had first lifted Minju up onto the couch.

With her beautiful legs spread, she couldn't hide the bare, pink pussy that he hadn't quite gotten to admire yet. It was pursed shut by her soft, little mound but even that couldn't hide that Minju was getting wetter by the second. A light sheen had caught her brother's eye when he stepped back to take off his pants and he knew he had to kiss her there.

Only Y/N had ever touched her, and it had happened so unexpectedly in the hotel room at the away game; so when she saw in her brother's eyes what he intended to do, Minju once again felt her heart flutter; she was the center of his attention.

First, he kissed gently around her inner thighs. Even that elicited a moan from Y/N's little sis and her bare hips writhed, inviting him closer. He took his time, kissing and licking closer and closer to her sweet opening. Minju was positively desperate for him to put his lips directly against her when, she finally felt it.

Y/N dragged his tongue from the little drip of her fluids at the base of her opening all the way up to the tiny peak of her clit. The excruciating care he took, the gentle pressure of his tongue, It was like nothing she had ever felt before, and Y/N didn't stop there.

Slowly and deliberately, Y/N began sucking at her tiny bud to the tune of Minju's repeated gasps.

"Oh fuck Oppa, ohmygod..." she called to him, her diaphragm expanding and contracting involuntarily, "keep doing that."

Y/N smiled right against the cooing brunette's quim as he felt her fingers grabbing at his hair greedily while he stimulated her with his tongue. The sounds of his little sister's cries were so soothing after a whole day of hits and crowds and competition on the field. He'd been thinking of her every free moment, seen her on the sidelines, and imagined all of the things he wanted to do to her. Now that he had her, Y/N didn't care that she was being loud. The door was locked and Y/N didn't intend to stop making Minju moan for him.

In no time flat, Minju knew he was going to make her cum. And for some reason, even though what he was doing was incredible, Minju wanted to feel an orgasm with her brother inside her.

"Oppa, wait," she begged him. Y/N didn't want to obey, to stop her from having the orgasm she seemed headed for. "Please...uhhh... I want to cum with you fucking me."

She urged him up with her fingers behind his head. Even though Y/N didn't want to stop kissing and licking her, the thought of sliding his cock into Minju's wonderfully tight pussy was too much to ignore. At the game, he had hardly the time to realize what they were doing, or how willing and desirable the eighteen-year-old brunette was to him. Now she was all his for the taking, naked and waiting for his next move on the back of their parents couch. He could really take his time and think about what they were doing.

"I love you so much Oppa," she told him as he came up to eye level. She never broke contact with him as he told her the same, but he felt her hands pull his hard cock out of his boxers and shove his waistband down and out of the way.

Her hand could hardly wrap him. Minju couldn't believe that she had managed to fit most of his big penis inside her earlier that day but it didn't worry her; she wanted to savor it this time, slowly, more than ever.

"Ohmygosh Oppa you're big," she told him,

Y/N returned his hands to her perfect breasts and then pawed her body while she stroked him a few times. A drop of fluid lingered at his tip already; Minju smeared it against him with her thumb.

"I've been dreaming of this forever Minju'," he said, getting his little brunette's attention and gazing deep into her big green eyes. "Tell me what you want sis," he encouraged her.

"Mnnhhh..." she called out, bringing him close enough to touch only the very tip to her sensitive clit. She loved the thought of rubbing his pre-cum right against her and feeling her own fluids coat the head of her brother's cock.

"I want to feel your big...mnnhhh..." Y/N urged his hips forward so the underside of his tip pressured her clit, "hard...ohhfuck..." he withdrew and lingered unmoving, "...cock in my pussy Oppa," she dared him, "Fuck me however you want me big brother."

Without another word, Y/N felt his cock line up perfectly to do what she asked. Try as they might to withhold, Minju's taut lips gave way and her brother slowly pushed inside.

It felt considerably better than before, but Minju's pussy was so wet that her brother's cock was able to slide in half-way before she could protest. Y/N held his little sister fast as she tried to adjust to being impaled on his big rod.

Minju and her brother looked down together at where he was inside her. Her recently virgin lips, bare and glistening, were split wide with Y/N's cock halfway in. The room was bright, not like that tiny office; they could see and feel what they were doing without any hesitation or doubt.

It didn't worry Minju one bit. An hour before she had asked her brother for this, for him to 'play with her' on the very couch she could now feel beneath her, in her own dorm room with so many nosy girls moving about all around them. Yet, all she wanted was for her big brother to fill her as much as he could.

When their eyes met again with clarity, it was Y/N's turn to groan. His little sister was using her heels around him to pull his hips closer and slide his cock deeper inside.

"Ouuuuphhh..." Y/N breathed out. He saw his little sister smirk with mischievous pride as they came together at the hips. Somehow, impossible as it seemed, Y/N was buried all the way into Minju's young tunnel.

Joined at the hips, Minju's soft breasts pressed against her brother's chest; she could feel his powerful heart beating. Her head nuzzled against him and his breath tickled her ear.

"You can fuck me now," she whispered, "I'm ready."

Minju enjoyed a few more seconds of the embrace before she felt her big brother move. His cock slowly slid out of her, almost all the way before he urged it back in. She was so wet, Y/N realized, a wonderful assurance of how badly his little sister wanted him. The slick sound of his penis sliding against her inner walls reached their ears and it was wonderful.

Their hips met for the second time, then the third. Minju held onto her brother's neck and leaned back, pushing her chest out proudly as Y/N thrust again.

Her whole body was displayed before his hungry eyes; causing his hips to collide with hers less and less gently. Each time, the space just below her tiny abdomen bulged just a hint, showing the siblings just how deep Y/N's head was inside his whimpering sister's pussy.

'It's okay," she told him, "you can fuck me harder."

Y/N loved her for that; a few thrusts more and the eighteen-year-olds breasts were bouncing mesmerizingly before his eyes. Minju found herself unable to contain herself from crying out in pleasure. She'd forgotten how close she was from her brother's mouth, but she remembered now.

"OhhhOppa," she gasped as he drove into her again, "mmmnhhh...you feel so good in me."

Her big brother could hear in her voice and the adorable sounds coming out of her mouth that Minju was once again near climax as she had been before. He adjusted the angle of his thrusts just a bit; Minju shuddered and dug her nails into his shoulder.

"Ughhhh.. ohhhGOD..." she panted,

Y/N grasped his little sister's soft butt, sinking his fingers into each cheek and kept fucking her. Each time he felt her young pussy fully enveloping him, each beautiful moan and pant, he was reminded of how lucky he was to be inside his beautiful baby sister.

When Minju thought she could take no more, when her climax was approaching and she thought she might turn inside-out with pressure and sensation, her hands fought to stop her brother from impaling her over the edge.

But he wouldn't stop; he just kept driving into her and Minju was powerless to stop the orgasm from coming.

He kept fucking her, even as Minju cried out,

"OuuwhhHHHhhaaa..."

Her legs locked around him, still trying to stop him from making the climax any more intense, but Y/N wanted the opposite. Seeing his little sister cum with such uncontrollable passion was something he hoped to never forget.

She gasped for air, and when Minju suddenly grabbed for his wrists and locked her arms straight to push herself up and off of him as much as she could, Y/N decided to give her a break.

She shook, her whole body shook. Her skin crawled with pins and needles and her entire pussy convulsed around the more than half her brother's cock still tucked inside her.

Y/N was close to laughing he was so happy to see Minju cum like that, and to sense how helpless she must have felt as the orgasm wracked her body. Around his cock, little droplets of Minju's wetness were peeking out, a few of them onto that beloved couch they'd known for so long.

It nearly killed her, but Minju had to go limp and fall into her brother's arms so she slid what she had managed to retreat from of her brother's shaft back inside and let him hold her up.

Y/N listened to her deep breaths and felt her back heave as she tried to regain her wits.

"You jerk!" she breathed into his ear.

"What? What did I do?" Y/N asked, leaning back to try and look into her eyes.

"You made me cum so hard!" She whined, "I couldn't even control my body and you kept fucking me..."

Minju knew she was being silly, and so did Y/N. He simply held her and let her catch her breath, though his cock, still buried in Minju's tiny pussy, hadn't softened a bit.

When Y/N couldn't take it anymore, and Minju seemed to be recuperated from her earlier near-loss of consciousness, he withdrew from his little sister a few inches and urged back in to see how she would react.

She didn't protest, so Y/N made a different move. Minju yelped as she felt her brother's arms around her back and then suddenly she was being lifted up from the couch.

"Where are you..." Minju started, shivering and glancing behind her when she felt her back come into contact with the cold surface of the door.

Looking back at him, she could see the excited look in his brother's eyes. He'd never felt so free and uninhibited with a girl before, and the way his little sister grinned as he pinned her against her dorm-room door assured him that she was perfectly content.

Once again, Y/N's hips began to move, and before long so did Minju's. She was starting to get the hang of it, starting to understand how her brother's body worked and what the best way was to help them fuck like long-time lovers.

The way her body moved, how her stomach muscles tensed against him and her butt wiggled in his hands as he held her up was irresistible to Y/N. She was the sexiest girl he'd ever seen and now she was proving herself the same as a partner.

The door jiggered a few times as he fucked her against it, and the surface slid against Minju's back each time her brother thrust up into her.

"I love you," he panted in her ear, pounding her again, "uhhhh...I am so fucking crazy about you,"

Minju grabbed his head and pulled it toward her for a kiss. Their tongues attacked clumsily before she pulled apart to tell him she loved him too.

He manhandled her and fucked her so easily against the door that Minju was positively smitten and impressed. She reached up to grab the top frame of the door. She could feel her tits jiggling as they hung higher now and her brother continued his thrusts, unrelenting. She knew that sex could feel good, but she didn't know it could be so fun.

Minju felt playful, diving in and nibbling on her brother's ear. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders and squeezed tight. Her nipples grazed her brother's chest and she shuddered at the added sensation.

Minju was giggling and panting and moaning, totally letting go of her reservations and letting her body tell her how to react. Outside the door, some girls were laughing and standing nearby to remark on the noises coming from Minju's and Deborah's shaking door. If only they knew who was fucking her senseless on the other side; if only they knew that her own brother was shoving his big cock inside her again and again... what would they say then?

Hearing it too, Y/N pulled away from the door. Minju seized the opportunity to gyrate her hips and fuck her brother back a little. He stood still, letting her go as wild as she liked. She held on while he supported her above the waist and she worked her little hips as fast and hard as she could. It felt incredible to them both.

When he started to feel like she might be getting him close, Y/N spoke softly into his sister's ear.

" I'm close sis, uhhhfuck, I can't take you moving your hips like that much longer."

"Oh yeah?" Minju teased, "like this you mean?"

With an intent look on her face, biting her bottom lip and leaning back like a gymnast, Minju rotated her hips around on her brother's big cock and felt his tip prodding her as deep as he'd ever been.

"Ohgod... yes," Y/N answered, firmly grasping her hips to keep her from continuing her dangerous movement.

"We shouldn't Minju!" he admonished her.

"Why not?" she whined, "you already did earlier today... and it felt so good!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him the most innocent, pleading face she could manage.

"Don't you want to cum inside me again Oppa?" she beckoned, pecking his lips to be even cuter.

"Didn't you like squirting all your sticky cum in me, in your little sister's pussy?"

Y/N was speechless. How could he tell her no? The way she was sticking out her bottom lip... the way her big green eyes were begging him the same way they did if she wanted something when they were little... It was so different now; his little sister was now his lover, with her beautiful body wrapped around him like a monkey. He wanted everything about her, every inch of her, and he'd already done it before...

Minju knew she had won as her brother carried her over to that shag carpet she'd felt so silly buying with her mom when they moved her into her dorm. Now it didn't feel quite so silly; it felt soft on her naked back when her brother set her down.

"You didn't know I was on the pill huh?" Minju asked naughtily as her brother positioned himself on top of her, "even when you came all over my pussy that night in the hotel?"

"I guess not," Y/N admitted, feeling guilty.

"It's okay, that was really hot...unhhh..." she let him off, cooing when Y/N slid into her as he hovered above her. "...I couldn't stop thinking about it all week."

"I wanna feel it again Oppa, go ahead," she asked, pulling needily at his hips with her feet,

"Fuck your naughty little sister and then fill me up with your cum,"

'Holy shit,' Y/N thought. It was so unexpected, Y/N had apparently opened Minju's eyes to being just as much a troublemaker as always, except now it included having sex with her big brother.

Immediately Y/N commenced sliding in and out of her. She was still dripping wet, her eighteen-year-old pussy had been waiting for this kind of attention from him for far too long.

Minju felt more full than she had ever before. Y/N was being less and less gentle, and Minju loved it. Over and over he shoved into her; she could feel his tip prodding her depths. Looking down, she wondered how it could possibly fit inside her.

But it did, countless times it did. When Minju looked up she could see the concentration on her brother's face and a look as if he was holding back. Her poor brother, all this and he was still too good to her to cum inside her when she asked.

"OhgodOppa..." she breathed, "I want it so bad."

"Fuck Minju', I'm so close," he told her. Minju knew it, and after being impaled so many times on her big brother's cock, feeling his weight as he buried inside her tunnel, she was too.

"Uhhhhhh..." she returned, "Cum inside me...unghhhh...cum in your little sister's pussy."

His motions became erratic, and suddenly Minju knew what was happening. Her brother's hips stopped their onslaught, pressed against her with his cock buried as far as it could be. As she watched his whole body, his big arms, rippling abs and even his neck tense-up she felt a gush of heat deep inside her.

From his head, Y/N shot forbidden semen deep into his little sister.

Holding the little teenager tight, he throbbed again, coating her cervix...

Again, he splashed her insides with sperm.

As soon as she felt it, there was an electric reaction in Minju's body. She hadn't expected it, thinking maybe her brother had worn her out before, but when the reality of her womb being flooded with Y/N's cum hit her, her little body went into a fit of sensation.

Minju gasped along with her brother. Again a wave of stimulation flowed from the places inside her being painted with her brother's cum to the synapses in her brain before firing out to the tips of her fingers and toes.

"Ohhhh Oppa," she called, "I'm cummmingggg,"

Blackness.

The room was perfectly bright, but Y/N and Minju could only feel each other as they lay on the rug being overcome by their mutual climaxes.

It felt like it would never end, or maybe Y/N didn't want it to. Every time he pumped another rope of semen into his teenage sister's pussy, she seemed to quake and pant again. He wanted to watch her like that as long as possible.

Minju's face was flushed, her eyelids fluttering with her head rolled back. Her chest heaved against her brother as he tried not to put too much weight on her. He felt weak, and he struggled to focus on anything but the squeezing sensation of little Minju's convulsing tunnel. Each time she breathed, her young quim ushered one more defiant rope of white from her big brother's cock.

Even when he had no more to release inside her, Minju's orgasm didn't seem to want to end. He could only watch her, wince when her tunnel massaged him again, and marvel at how beautiful she looked with the mane of hair about her head and the glisten of sweat on her cheeks.

She was something out of a dream: too adorable, too petite, too alluring to really be his little sister... his little sister who he remained buried inside on that dorm room floor. She finally spoke to him,

"I love you," she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

Y/N leaned down and kissed her collarbone, then her neck, her cheek and finally a peck on her lips.

"Love you too," he promised her back.

Minju finally opened her eyes. Seeing her brother above her brought a smile to her face. She felt wonderful... warm and protected under his gaze. He was still hard inside her and she could feel all that cum he'd squirted into her trying to work its way out, though it would have a hard time finding a way with how well her brother's penis filled her tiny tunnel.

Her brother: the now famous... well, somewhat famous quarterback that every girl would be dying to get their hands on. A guy who could have been out scooping up girls on that Saturday night. Instead he'd snuck into HER dorm room, spent the night with ONLY her, and from the way he was looking at her now she didn't believe he had any intention of seeking another.

"You made me cum TWICE...AGAIN!" Minju yelled, almost sounding like she was scolding him. Her brother laughed and then his face showed of pride. He'd never had sex like that with any past girlfriends.

"I know, I guess I just liked seeing you so much the first time."

Minju was running his fingers over his arms as they held him off the floor around her. She giggled when she saw Y/N staring at her breasts like he usually did.

"No," Minju corrected him, "it happened when I felt you cumming in me! It was like one minute I wasn't and then all of the sudden it was so warm and...fuuuuck!"

Y/N couldn't help himself, hearing his baby sister talk about the feeling of him cumming in her pussy, he simply had to shove a little harder against her. They were already touching at the hips but she could feel him push in just a bit more.

"Y/N!" She yelled, slapping her hand against his shoulder, "dooooonn't, I need a little time!"

She smacked him again when she saw him smile like he knew he wasn't supposed to have done that.

"Did you like cumming in me?" she purred.

"Um... duh," he retorted, making Minju roll her eyes.

"I guess that was obvious, you came so much! I can feel it like...everywhere."

It made both Minju and her brother look downward again. He was still lodged inside her and the knowledge was heartwarming to them. Y/N decided to finally withdraw, and though it caused his little sister to growl in protest, he slowly slid his cock out inch by inch; he'd put it back later.

The naughty brunette may have loved seeing her brother's cock inside her, but she had no idea how sexy it would make her feel to see what followed. Right behind Y/N's tip peeked a bead of white cum, her brother's cum, from between her tiny lips. Little by little it snuck out while they both watched. Minju wiggled her thighs together and it made even more sperm flow out.

Y/N marveled at his little sister's incredulous, open-mouthed stare. She looked like the little sister he remembered again, fawning over some present she hadn't expected to receive. It made him unspeakably happy to cause that feeling in her again.

Minju lay there with her brother's spunk working its way out, at least the amount of it that wasn't still spread over every little bit of the eighteen-year old's insides that there was to coat. When she looked at her brother again, she could see that the way she felt about it was mutual. They knew exactly what they had done, the evidence was plain enough: thick and white on Minju's thigh. They knew that they had done something forbidden that would change their relationship forever: the tangible passion between them revealed that. But most importantly, Minju and Y/N knew it was exactly what they wanted, like maybe they'd always been meant to end up as they were now.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Minju asked him sweetly.

"Ahhh, I don't know," Y/N said, raising his arms over his head and stretching, "I was thinking I might go out with the guys...:"

Minju scoffed, hurt.

Y/N let his teasing sink in, shrugging and letting her believe he might be serious. Finally he reached over and pulled Minju so she rolled partially atop him, flopping there like she had no intention of showing him any affection.

"Of course I'm staying with you Minju'," Y/N assured her. "You didn't really think I'd leave did you?"

"Well I don't know!" She said in a kind of sing-songy voice. "You're some kind of big-deal quarterback now, maybe you didn't want to be stuck in all night with your little sister or something."

"You're a little more than that to me now, don't you think?" Y/N asked. Minju was silent for a few seconds before looking up at him innocently.

"Just a little more?" She asked.

"A lot more," he corrected.

Minju and her brother lay there, thinking hard about what was happening between them and wondering longingly what might be next. Both of them were exhausted, so they slowly drifted off to sleep on that ridiculous shag carpet in Minju's dorm room.

It was hours later when Y/N awoke to find his sister spooned in front of him, clutching his arms and trying to wrap herself as much as possible within his embrace.

All of the realities came back to him at once. He was still in his little sister's room, she was still completely naked in his arms and little by little his erection was making its way between her legs until it pushed its way against the teenager's soft pussy.

"Mnnnnhhh..." Minju cooed sleepily, "what time is it."

It was still dark outside, it might not have even been past midnight. Most girls would be out of the dorms by then if they weren't staying in, so there wasn't a sound beyond Minju's waking breaths.

Feeling her against him, Y/N was helpless to prevent pressuring Minju's innocent mound. She hadn't done anything, but he knew she would feel the tip of his cock in that tantalizing gap between her thighs.

Minju was still sensitive from before, but she wanted him all the same. The feeling of her brother's cock hardening between her legs was so intimate that she sensed her whole body reacting. Without a word, Minju began rotating her hips to provide gentle touches of her inner thighs against the head of her big brother's unspoken contact.

'The way she moved her hips...ohhhman!' Y/N thought. Where did she get that? Did she know that it was the sexiest thing he could imagine? Somewhere along the line, his little sister whom he used to see as this awkward, all knees-and-elbows troublemaker, became irresistibly complicit in their forbidden act of incest. How could he have missed the way her teenage body had filled out, how her face had taken on model-esque features, and as he held Minju's squirming backside against him, how her most unspoken assets were now overpoweringly alluring.

When neither of them could stand it anymore, Minju reached down and gave her brother's desire the proper direction. Both siblings exhaled simultaneously, a sigh of relief at the visceral reminder of their unlocked passion for each other.

But the calm didn't last long, because yet another new position for the inexperienced brunette soon brought cries of ecstasy to each thud of Y/N's pelvis against her. Minju's hands grabbed the carpet, they reached back for her brother's hair, anything they could do to ground her as she approached another earth-shattering orgasm.

Y/N may have prided himself on stamina in the past, but he was no match for the panting, crying and writhing of his little sister. For the third time in however many hours, as she quivered and screamed her way through another climax, Y/N held his sister tight, buried deep in her sweet pussy and flooded her with cum yet again.

Minju cooed praises at her brother as she caught her breath, but he was pretty sure she fell asleep, exhausted, before he could even soften and slip out of her. She might have liked to look once more at the warm stream of her brother's spunk that found its way between her taut lips, but apparently she was content enough to know it was there as she drifted off without him. It was fine with Y/N, though; in the time it took for him to fade back to sleep, he got to hold onto Minju, caress her and marvel at the evolution of his unadulterated love for her.

When light began to peek through the old curtains of the dorm room and chanced across the carpet and Minju's pretty, slumbering face, it woke her from one of the most wonderful night's sleep she could ever remember. How many hours had it been?

Minju turned her head and smiled upon seeing her brother fast asleep with heavy arm over her. God was she crazy about him. Sometime in the future, she and her brother might have to answer some tough questions together, but now it just felt...right.

"Hey big brother," she called, wiggling against him.

Nothing. The big lug, he could sleep through anything. She gave him another jolt.

"Wake up, you big jerk."

Y/N smiled, infinitely happy that the first thing he heard when he woke up was his little sister's voice, and the first thing he felt was her naked body still pressed against him. Of course the second thing he felt was himself hardening.

So did Minju, but for once, reason got the better of her. If light was coming through the window, it was the morning. Depending on how early it was, girls would be stirring in the dorm rooms nearby. It wasn't uncommon to hear cries of passion coming from this room or that, but anyone who heard her last night would probably be curious who had been inside fucking Minju so thoroughly. Y/N had to get out before they were discovered.

She felt her brother's hand on her hip and rolled back toward him. He wanted her, again. It brought the same feeling within Minju to know his desire for her, but she couldn't appease him this time.

"We can't Oppa," she pled, "I know you want to but we can't."

Y/N was confused, he couldn't just NOT react to feeling the eighteen-year-old's toned butt against him or the breast his hand was draped across with her pink nipple gracing his palm. He pulled on her hip again.

"Oppa!" she said, rolling away from him and getting to her feet. Seeing her brother stare at her in admiration made her grin, but it was only for a second because she squinted her eyes at him and continued.

"It's the morning Oppa, you gotta sneak out!"

He hated it, but knew she was right. After all the noise Minju was making last night, he definitely couldn't be seen in the room with her by any of the girls who lived around her. Still he didn't want to give up the access to the naked little brunette standing over him. Minju helped him to his feet and then tossed his clothes at him while Y/N dressed.

She'd put on a silky robe when Y/N looked up from tying his shoes. He loathed seeing her body hidden from his eyes.

"So, things are going to be...like...different now, aren't they?" Minju asked hesitantly, standing a few feet in front of him.

"Different how?" Y/N replied, reaching out and pulling her close with hands around her waist. Y/N continued before Minju could worry any further.

"Different like: I've never felt about anyone the way I do about you?"

Minju's eyes brightened as he went on.

"Different like: I can't imagine that better sex with a more beautiful girl even exists?"

Minju blushed at that.

"Or different like: I know who the first person I call is going to be after practice today, hoping she'll be done with her homework so we can hang out?"

Y/N had gotten to his feet and was looking down into his little sister's eyes when she jumped up and wrapped her legs around him. She kissed him wildly, unable to contain her emotions and joy at knowing everything was going to get better and better with her brother.

Minju didn't even notice that he had walked her across the room until she felt the wall near the door against her back. Reminding her of how he had pinned her and fucked her intently against the door the night before, Minju considered throwing caution to the wind and asking him to stay.

But after a few moments, Y/N let her down to the ground. She stayed on her tiptoes, trying not to lose contact with his lips while he pulled away.

"Wanna go on a date tonight or something?" He asked the disappointed teenager.

Minju looked up at him and shook her head excitedly. Once he got her reply, Y/N turned towards the door and opened it to peek out. The coast looked clear.

Before he could swing the door open, Minju grabbed his hand and pulled it toward her. "Wait, Oppa," she said.

He turned back towards her and admired her gorgeous face for one more time that day. Y/N wanted to remember that cute, recently woken smile she wore during practice that day.

"I love you so much," she told him, once again.

Y/N leaned in for one more kiss on her cute little lips.

"I love you too Minju'," he responded sincerely.

Y/N paused a moment, thinking better of leaving without one more thing. He reached down and uncinched the ribbon around his sister's waist and swiftly reached up to push her robe right off her shoulders.

"There," he said, "that's better."

The image of the nude little eighteen-year-old, his own baby sister, and the wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of astonishment at his shameless act would stick with him for the rest of the day until she was back in his arms again.

Y/N made sure he snuck out of her dorm unseen. He rolled his eyes, overwhelmed knowing that his newfound popularity was going to make visits to Minju's dorm-room almost impossible after last night. Still, all the way home, all the way to practice, every free moment he got Y/N was thinking of Minju. Likewise, Minju spent the better part of her day dreaming of him.

Together, their thoughts were free from doubt or worry, instead full of hope and excitement for what would come next. There was going to be a lot to figure out between them, thought Y/N as he reached for his phone after practice, but he'd do anything to make it work. As Minju's heartbeat danced upon seeing brother's call, she answered knowing that somehow her life was headed in a wonderful new direction.

"Hey you!" she said first.

"Hey, sis, what have you been thinking about today?"

[beaureveries]

ONE SHOT : HANDS OFF

paige x azzi

this is the prompt idea

Trigger : protective P

super short!

——————————————————————————

It started in the first quarter.

Paige caught it from the bench during a timeout — a couple fans creeping close to the sideline, politely asking Azzi for a picture. Azzi smiled, nodded, took a few quick ones, then sat back down.

Nothing weird. Nothing Paige hadn’t seen before. Everyone knew they were best friends. Azzi was recognizable in women’s hoops circles, especially here. No big deal.

By halftime, though, it was happening again. And again. And again.

Different people. Different phones. Azzi still smiling, but Paige could tell — the smiles were starting to wear thin. Not because Azzi didn’t like meeting people. Just… long game. Bright lights. Media breaks dragging on forever. Paige knew the look of someone being good about it but getting tired.

By the time the fourth quarter came around, Paige was already watching the edge of the crowd more than she was watching the court. Not distracted, not reckless. Just monitoring. Quietly clocking how Azzi’s posture shifted a little lower every time another stranger leaned in, angling their phone like they didn’t realize they were practically in her lap.

Paige let it slide. For a while.

They were in public. Cameras everywhere. It was fine.

But after the final buzzer, with Dallas taking the win and fans buzzing all over the lower bowl, she saw Azzi hesitate when another group circled around. Saw the small flinch when one guy bumped into her a little too hard while adjusting his jersey sleeve to take a picture.

That was enough.

Paige caught the eye of one of the arena’s event security on her way off the court, nodded subtly toward the gathering group, her jaw set. “Can you help manage that? She’s been great about it, but I don’t want it to get messy.”

The security guy nodded immediately, already weaving that way with a calm, professional ease.

Still, Paige’s steps angled naturally toward Azzi’s spot, like muscle memory.

By the time she reached her, Azzi was still smiling, still good, but Paige caught the shift in her eyes the moment they locked.

Relief. Not rescue. Just… finally.

“You good?” Paige asked, voice low, like this was just a regular conversation between teammates.

Azzi hesitated half a beat too long before she nodded. “Yeah. Just—crowd’s a little much.”

Paige didn’t push yet. Just stood closer, like a quiet shield, not in a way anyone else would notice.

When the group finally started thinning out with help from security, Paige waited until they were alone, then leaned in, voice even lower now. “You didn’t tell me someone shoved you.”

Azzi winced, just barely. “It wasn’t, like, a thing. I just got nudged. I’m fine.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her. Looked through that easy smile Azzi always wore when she didn’t want anyone worrying about her.

“You don’t gotta play tough with me,” Paige said finally, her voice soft but steady. “I know what ‘fine’ looks like on you. That’s not it.”

Azzi glanced down, thumb brushing over the seam of her sleeve. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe not to you.” Paige shifted her weight, folding her arms. “But it’s a big deal to me.”

That made Azzi pause, just for a second.

“I’m serious,” Paige added, quieter now, leaning just close enough that only Azzi could hear. “You don’t deserve to be shoved around by people who don’t know how to act. I don’t care if they’re excited or whatever. They don’t get to forget you’re a person.”

Azzi’s throat bobbed like she wanted to argue, but didn’t.

“And I know you can handle it,” Paige kept going, softer now. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Azzi sighed, finally cracking a small, real smile. “You always gotta do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say stuff that makes me melt in public?”

Paige shrugged, biting down her own smile. “Can’t help it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, fond, like she was fighting not to give in all the way. “I’m good. Really. Just… maybe next time we keep the postgame selfies to, like, a reasonable number.”

Paige huffed a laugh. “Deal. And if not—security detail. I’m not kidding.”

“Security, huh?” Azzi teased, leaning a little closer now. “Big spender.”

“Whatever it takes.”

Azzi watched her for a beat, warmth behind her eyes now, soft and steady. “You’re kinda sweet when you’re mad.”

Paige smirked. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe.”

The crowd was thinning. The cameras were pointed elsewhere now. Just the two of them, standing there like they always did — close enough to give it away, but not quite yet.

And Paige stayed right there, steady, until Azzi was ready to go back home with her.

[girly-girlk]

halftime

joe burrow x pregnant!reader

summary: you go into labor during a game and joe freaks out once he hears the news

it’s week 14, and the bengals are at home — packed stadium, roaring fans, playoff implications hanging in the air. you’re 38 weeks pregnant, swollen and sore but stubborn as ever, sitting in the private box with joe’s mom, trying not to wince every time a contraction rolls through.

you didn’t want to tell anyone. you didn’t want to be that distraction. so you figured you’d time them, breathe, and wait it out. but by the second quarter, your water breaks — fast and fierce.

joe’s mom panics. the team’s staff ushers you out quietly, trying not to cause a scene. they promise to alert joe at halftime, not wanting to throw him off mid-play.

but time moves differently when the woman you love is in labor.

⸻

halftime. locker room.

joe’s sitting on the bench, drenched in sweat, going over plays with the offensive coordinator — until a staffer walks in, pale-faced and hesitant.

“hey, uh… joe—sorry, i should’ve told you sooner but… your girl, she—uh—she went into labor during the second quarter. she’s already at the hospital.”

everything in joe’s world stops.

“what?” he breathes out.

the guy swallows. “she didn’t want us to say anything right away, she—”

“why the hell didn’t someone tell me sooner?” joe’s up in an instant, tossing his helmet across the room. it clatters loud against the locker. “this is my kid. my girl’s in labor and you’re waiting until halftime?”

a beat. silence.

“where is she? which hospital?”

his hands are shaking. his cleats are half-off already. his coach is trying to calm him down, telling him they need him for the second half, but joe isn’t hearing any of it.

“she’s all that matters. she could be in pain, scared—i’m not missing the birth of my own kid because of a goddamn football game.”

before anyone can stop him, he’s grabbing his phone and keys, storming out in full gear.

⸻

at the hospital.

you’re breathing through another contraction when the doors fly open and joe comes running in, pads still on, cheeks flushed, panic all over his face.

he sees you. and suddenly, everything softens.

“i’m here,” he says, kneeling beside the bed, gripping your hand. “i’m here, baby. i’m so sorry. i should’ve been here.”

you’re crying, half-laughing. “you smell like turf.”

he grins through the tears. “well, i was playing football until about fifteen minutes ago.”

you squeeze his hand. “our baby’s coming.”

and for the first time all day, joe finally feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

[goldfades]

ROOKIE ─── PAIGE BUECKERS

request: "paige's gf and she insists on teaching her basketball—even though she's terrible at it. paige spends half the time “coaching” her (aka being flirty) and the other half laughing when she completely miss the basket"

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here—standing under the hoop on a Saturday afternoon, gripping a basketball like it’s some foreign object you’ve never encountered before.

In your defense, sports have never been your thing. You’re more of a cheer-from-the-bleachers, snack-at-halftime, maybe-ask-what-a-three-pointer-is-later kind of person. And yet, here you are, because your girlfriend, Paige—decided today was the day you’d “learn the fundamentals.”

“Okay, baby, it’s easy,” she says, her voice brimming with the sort of confidence only someone who’s mastered the art of the crossover can pull off. She spins a ball on her finger effortlessly, her grin teasing but somehow still the softest thing you’ve ever seen. “All you gotta do is aim and shoot. No pressure.”

You squint up at the basket. It feels like it’s a mile away. “No pressure?” you deadpan, bouncing the ball once and grimacing when it doesn’t exactly obey. “Do you even know me?”

Paige snickers, sidling closer until she’s standing next to you, her hand on your hip. She’s wearing her usual practice gear: baggy shorts, sneakers laced tight, and a loose shirt that somehow still manages to hint at the muscle underneath. It’s honestly unfair how good she looks while being this annoying.

“Listen,” she says, her tone shifting into something that almost passes for serious. Almost. “I know you. I also know you’re fully capable of putting this ball in that hoop if you just focus and stop looking at me like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

You glance at her, and she’s smirking now, like she knows she’s caught you. Which, to be fair, she has. “First of all,” you mutter, turning back to the basket, “I do want to be here. Second, you’re distracting.”

“Am I?” Her voice is teasing, but you don’t dare look again. You already know she’s doing that thing where she cocks her head just a little and raises her eyebrows like she’s so impressed with herself. “Want me to step back so you can concentrate, rookie?”

“No,” you reply, huffing. “But if you call me rookie one more time, I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna what?” Paige interrupts, leaning down just enough so her lips are by your ear. Her voice drops an octave, and you swear you can feel her grin against your skin. “Miss the basket again?”

You groan, shoving her lightly with your elbow, but the weight of her hand on your hip doesn’t budge. She’s laughing now, full and bright and utterly unapologetic, and despite your best efforts to stay annoyed, you can’t help but crack a smile.

This is going to be a disaster. You can feel it.

You take a step back, spinning the ball once between your hands, trying to look like you’ve got some semblance of control. You absolutely do not. It’s slippery and awkward, and you’re already regretting agreeing to this. Paige watches you with the intensity of a coach but the playfulness of a girlfriend who knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Alright, babe, let’s see what you’ve got,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back on her heels, all casual and amused. She looks entirely too comfortable with the idea of watching you embarrass yourself.

You square your shoulders and look up at the hoop again, trying to remember the quick, nonsensical explanation Paige gave you about form and aim. Something about “elbows in,” “flicking your wrist,” and “imagining you’re putting cookies in the oven.” Honestly, she lost you after “elbows.”

Paige steps closer, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the court. “Okay, pause,” she says, gently placing her hands on your shoulders to adjust your stance. Her touch lingers a little too long to be entirely innocent, and you glance at her, catching the faintest flicker of her teasing grin. “You’re holding the ball like it’s gonna explode. Relax.”

You loosen your grip, if only slightly, and she takes a step back, nodding approvingly. “Much better. Now, bend your knees. Remember, this isn’t a free throw contest, it’s a rhythm thing. Like dancing.”

“Dancing?” You give her a skeptical look. “You’ve seen me dance. That’s not helping your case.”

“True,” she says, laughing. “But at least you don’t step on anyone’s toes here.” Her hand brushes your lower back, the contact brief but enough to send a little jolt through you. She always does this—throws you off-kilter just enough to make you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

You shake your head, focusing on the hoop again. “Alright, alright. I’m doing it.”

“You’re doing it,” Paige echoes, stepping back into your peripheral vision, her hands on her hips like she’s supervising. “Visualize it going in. Manifest it.”

“Manifest it?” you deadpan. “Are you a basketball player or a yoga instructor?”

“Both, apparently,” she shoots back, laughing again. “Come on, just throw it already.”

You take a deep breath, bend your knees, and, in one fluid (well, semi-fluid) motion, you shoot. The ball arcs through the air in what you think is a promising trajectory… only to miss the basket entirely and bounce harmlessly off the backboard. It rolls lazily away, as if to add insult to injury.

Paige absolutely loses it. She doubles over, clutching her stomach as laughter spills out of her. It’s loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that’s so contagious you almost forget why she’s laughing in the first place. Almost.

“Don’t laugh,” you say, but your own voice wobbles with the threat of a giggle. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Paige straightens up, wiping at the corner of her eye dramatically. “Babe, you hit the backboard so hard I think it just filed for workers’ comp.”

“Wow, okay,” you say, rolling your eyes but failing to hide your grin. “This is why I don’t play sports.”

“Oh, come on.” Paige retrieves the ball with a few quick strides, tossing it effortlessly between her hands as she makes her way back to you. She stops just in front of you, holding the ball out. “You’re doing fine. You just need more practice.”

“And by practice, you mean you laughing at me until I cry?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” she says with a grin that’s entirely too charming to argue with. “Now, let’s try again. But this time…” She steps behind you, wrapping her arms around you and placing her hands over yours on the ball. “I’m gonna guide you.”

Your breath catches slightly as she leans in, her voice soft and close to your ear. “Okay, elbows in. Knees bent. Don’t think too hard about it. Just feel it.”

It’s a miracle you’re even upright at this point, let alone holding the ball. Her voice is low and encouraging, her arms warm and steady around you, and suddenly, basketball doesn’t seem so terrible.

“Now,” she murmurs, her hands shifting just enough to nudge yours into position. “Shoot.”

You do, and this time, the ball actually arcs in a somewhat respectable manner. It hits the rim and bounces off, but it’s a lot closer than before.

“Progress!” Paige announces, stepping back with a proud smile. “You’re getting there, rookie.”

You groan. “Stop calling me rookie!”

“Never.” She’s already picking up the ball again, twirling it on her finger like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “One more time. Let’s see if we can actually make one.”

“Fine,” you say, holding out your hands. “But if I make this shot, you owe me something.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise, her smile turning playful. “Like what?”

“I don’t know yet,” you say, taking the ball and narrowing your eyes at the hoop. “But I’m thinking something big.”

Paige laughs, leaning against the pole of the hoop, her gaze fixed on you. “Deal. But if you miss… I get to call you rookie forever.”

You shake your head, fighting back a smile. “No pressure, right?”

“Exactly,” she says, her grin widening. “No pressure at all.”

You focus on the hoop again, blocking out everything except the promise of finally making this shot—and maybe wiping that smug grin off Paige’s face. With newfound determination, you bend your knees, grip the ball like you actually know what you’re doing, and take the shot.

Time slows down for a second. The ball soars in a near-perfect arc, hits the rim… and bounces around it once, twice, before dropping cleanly through the net with a satisfying swish.

For a moment, you just stand there, stunned. Then it clicks: you made it. You actually made it.

“Oh my god!” you squeal, throwing your hands up in triumph. “Did you see that? I made it! I actually made it!”

Before Paige can even respond, you’re hopping around the court like you just won a championship game. Your excitement is entirely disproportionate to what just happened, but you don’t care. You’re too busy celebrating your hard-won victory, flailing your arms and spinning in a little circle.

Paige leans against the hoop, watching you with a mixture of amusement and adoration. “You’d think you just scored the game-winner at Madison Square Garden,” she teases, but the softness in her voice gives her away.

“This is my moment, Paige!” you shoot back, still grinning like a fool. You stop hopping just long enough to grab her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “I made it! I’m a basketball prodigy now. Bow down!”

She laughs, her hands coming up to rest on your waist. “Alright, Michael Jordan, calm down.”

You narrow your eyes at her, playful and determined. “No, you don’t get to laugh. I deserve a reward for this. A big reward.”

Paige arches a brow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, do you now? What kind of reward are we talking about?” Her voice dips into that suggestive tone that always makes your heart skip a beat.

You tap your chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… how about… lunch? I’m starving. And since I’m the champion now, you get to go buy it for me.”

Paige blinks, her smirk faltering. “Lunch?”

“Yup,” you say cheerfully, stepping back and crossing your arms. “From that cute little sandwich place I like. You can’t say no. I earned this.”

Paige stares at you, her expression torn between disbelief and fake betrayal. “You just made the shot of your life, and this is what you ask for? A sandwich?”

“What did you think I was going to ask for?” you counter, cocking your head.

She shrugs, her tone casual but her grin anything but. “I don’t know. Maybe a kiss. Or maybe some leg-shaking, world shattering head.”

“Paige!” You shout at her language, rolling your eyes, though your cheeks heat up at the suggestion. “I just exerted all my physical and emotional energy making that shot. I need food first. Priorities.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face in mock despair. “You’re killing me here. Fine. But only because I’m impressed you actually made it.”

“Damn right you’re impressed,” you say, puffing out your chest dramatically. “Now go. And don’t forget the extra pickles!”

Paige shakes her head, laughing as she jogs off toward the parking lot. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. You owe me, rookie!”

“Never!” you call after her, grinning as you watch her go.

You sink onto the court, still buzzing with excitement. Sure, basketball might not be your thing, but moments like this? With her? You could get used to them.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[meazalykov]

terror arrives

barcelona femeni x female!pugh!oc

margaret (margo) pugh breaks through world class stars to score goals. so what happens when she transfers to barcelona after knocking them out of the champions league in the previous season?

the woman’s name had always been a heavy topic for opponents.

mallory pugh was the darling of american soccer, the golden girl. the one who followed the well-paved path, the one who did things the right way. 

a good youth career, senior national team. nwsl. the poster child for what a career was supposed to look like.

the younger sister… margo? margo had never done things the right way.

she is the younger sister, the shadowed talent. the one who took the road less-traveled. she is the one who was always chasing after something, even if she did not yet know what. the one who ignored the noise, the expectations, the comparisons to her older traditional sister, and ran her own race. 

literally, because margo pugh was not just fast on the pitch, she was terrifying.

tonight, the best team in the world learned just how terrifying she could be.

barcelona had confidence, as they always did. they had won the first leg 1-0, and even without alexia in full form, they were still the most dominant force in club football. 

lyon, the sleeping giant, had stumbled this season. margo? she had missed the first leg due to a minor injury. without her, lyon lacked their usual bite.

now she was back, and she was hungry.

from the first whistle, margo was a nightmare. she did not just move…she exploded. the ball stuck to her feet as if tethered by an unseen force, her low center of gravity allowing her to slip through tackles with a grace that should not have been possible at such speed. 

at just twenty-one, she was already different and already unpredictable, already rewriting the narrative that had been crafted for her due to having a sibling already in the ranks.

barcelona’s midfield, patri, keira, and aitana, were accustomed to dictating games. 

against margo, they could only chase.

at minute 18, margo picks up the ball just past midfield. she turns sharply, a half-second quicker than walsh, and she is gone. aitana reaches out, tries to pull her back…too late.

one touch. two. three. the ball moves like it is an extension of her. she slices through the space between irene and ona like a hot knife through butter. she takes a touch with her right, steadies herself, and buries it past coll before anyone can react.

1-0.

barcelona is stunned. the catalan stadium, roaring just minutes ago, falls into an uneasy silence while the away crowd goes wild. 

the aggregate is tied.

in minute 36, lyon’s press forces a mistake. renard wins the ball, flicks it to diani, who sees margo already running. she knows better than to hesitate. she sends the pass forward, and like clockwork, margo is there. 

she takes the ball in stride, past ona, past paredes…again. one-on-one with coll. this time, she fakes right. cata bites. margo drags it left, rolling the ball into the net with the ease of someone who has been doing this her entire life.

brace. 

before halftime. 2-0.

barcelona looks at each other, shaken. they have never feared a player like this before. they have never feared a twenty-one-year-old with only two years of european experience after leaving the states, but margo?

they fear her.

in minute 74, barcelona fights back and it seems like the best team in the world will have a comeback. they know one goal will send this into extra time. they push, they press, but lyon cannot break. we,, at least until fridolina gets a penalty, which she scores.

2-1.

in minute 82, the final dagger. lyon counters. margo, once again, is at the heart of it. she receives the ball at the halfway line, faced with two defenders. 

she stops. one touch. a step-over. she is gone again, but this time she does not go for a goal.

she lifts her head. she sees van de donk, waiting at the top of the box. a perfectly weighted pass splits the defense, and van de donk does not miss.

3-1.

barcelona is done.

when the final whistle blows, margo does not celebrate right away. she stands still for a moment, watching as the best team in the world lowers their heads, as their fans sit in stunned silence. 

then, she turns, running toward her teammates, arms outstretched.

the headlines will follow. of course the spanish, french, and american media will explode. for now, in this moment, margo pugh just smiles.

she is no longer the shadow, because she is the storm.

the thing is that margo had always known lyon was temporary. when she signed her two-season contract at eighteen, fresh out of high school, people questioned her decision. 

skipping college, heading straight to europe as an american teenager, it was bold and reckless some had said. however, margo had never been the type to follow expectations. she carved her own path away from her older sister who will never play in europe. 

now, at twenty-one, that path was leading her somewhere inevitable.  

when she lifted the champions league trophy with lyon, gold confetti falling around her, sweat still clinging to her skin from the 2-1 victory over chelsea, she knew this would be her last moment in a lyon jersey. 

she had done what she came to do. she had proven herself. 

she had stood on the biggest stage in club football and shown the world what she was capable of at such a young age.  

first, she had business in the states.  

the national break meant time with mallory, time with the uswnt, time to settle back into american soil before returning to europe. she didn’t talk much about what was next since her contract expired, but everyone around her already knew.  

margo had loved barcelona for as long as she could remember. long before she became the player she was today, before she was tearing through midfielders and breaking defensive lines like they were paper, she was a kid watching el clásico matches with wide eyes, heart racing every time barcelona scored. 

she had been obsessed with their style of play, the identity, their magic.  

there were pictures to prove it. old ones, dug up by the media as soon as transfer rumors swirled. 

margo, no older than five, standing next to mallory in an oversized 06/07 barcelona kit, sleeves drowning her small arms, her sister wrapping an arm around her shoulders. the picture was taken in 2010.

the jersey was so big on margo and it looked like a dress, but margo had worn it with pride.  

so when the news finally broke, almost no one was surprised.  

well, except for the barcelona players themselves.  

they had seen firsthand what margo could do, and to say they were impressed would be an understatement.  

there was a reason lyon had beaten barcelona in the champions league semifinals. a reason the best team in the world had been sent home before the final. that reason? margo pugh. 

she had run circles around them. she had been relentless. she had made even the most experienced players look slow, out of sync.  

now, that same terror was about to be on their side.  

alexia had spoken about it first. she had watched margo closely, studied the way she moved, the way she read the game. she admired it. she recognized that rare spark, the kind only the greats had. she’s special, she had told a few of her teammates, and there was no disagreement.  

some, like patri and pina, had felt something else…something dangerously close to jealousy. barcelona had been the team for so long. the standard. the team with the best midfield in the world. 

now? now a twenty-one-year-old was arriving, and she wasn’t just talented, she was a force that nobody stopped last season. not a single soul.

when margo finally landed in barcelona, the entire club felt it.  

the signing was no ordinary transfer. 

this was a statement. a warning. a shift in power.  

this time, the storm wasn’t coming for barcelona.  

it was here with them.

next part to this: 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ

masterlist

[merlucide]

SPOTTING YOU IN THE CROWD! hcs

notes: first post of the new year!! Happy new years!! <33 [Requested]

characters: Aiku, Sae, Sendou, Kaiser, Ness, Lorenzo, Snuffy, Loki, Noa, Chris Prince, Lavinho, Leonardo Luna

warnings: cursing probs, not proofread (again, idgaf) fem!reader in Lavinho’s

pt1 pt2

You bundled deeper into your sweater hoping to savor some warmth, it might as well be snowing right now. As much as you wished you were at home, curled up under a blanket, you were happy to be here, watching your boyfriend’s game. Normally, you only went to home games, but this time you thought, ’why not?’. So, after a 4 in a half hour flight, a 30 minute taxi ride, you finally made it to the stadium. You’d go to his games pretty often, sitting in the VIP section. This go around, you wanted to sit closer, to get a better view of your lover of course. The whistle blows for halftime and you excitedly signal to him.

OLIVER AIKU

Smirks and shakes his head hehe

Means tons you came!! :)

He rlly can’t believe you came lmao

Doesn’t yell back but makes hand signs to ya

You can just tell what he’s trying to say, benefit of The Charm™ (*AHEM..*👀)

Might blow you a kiss, might not, depends on which Aiku you get😙

If he does you ofc accept it and return it, which he cradles it to his heart hehe

*cue jelly and disgusted sendou*

-

🦢: ‘cringe tbh’

🐍: ‘Say, I don’t see your S/O in the stands’

🦢: ‘Low blow.’ bitchless HA

ITOSHI SAE

Surprised

-

That’s it, thanks for reading.

-

….no like he’s so boring, no expression, no fun, no personality

Why are you with him bro

-

Sorry the Sae hater in me took over, let’s continue.

-

Happy? You came? Like

Hes indifferent to it 😭

I mean he recognizes the effort made to see him and appreciates that, YES!

Gives you a little wave :3 (if you’re lucky he’ll give ya a small smile)

He def scores a goal for you and kisses his promise ring looking in your area

After the game he Venmo’s you what you payed for the tickets— despite your retaliation lmao

I hate this hoe

SENDOU SHUTO

Aiku thumbs to you in the stands and bbg lets out the BIGGEST OVERDRAMATIC gasp when seeing you

he could squeal

— Quickly goes back to ‘cool mode’, which lasts for two seconds before yelling back at you

🦢:’BABYYYYYYYY!!’

⚓️: ‘BABEEEEEEEESSSS!!

The team give him the look saying ‘simp’ LMAO

Gets all blushy n embarrassed lol

Yells at you to watch him and tell you he’s gonna score for ya (he totally missed the net)

MICHEAL KAISER

his face when he notices you: 😏

Fuels his ego by like, a gajillion times

—though he is conflicted between making it known to his teammates/fans that you’re here or not letting a single soul know of your existence lmao

Doesn’t wanna hurt your feelings by ignoring you tho 💀 especially since you came ALL the way to see HIM

(Rlly appreciates it)

Just rolls his eyes at you and grins

You kinda have a conversation with your faces LMAO

Bc again he’s trying not to attract to much attention to you!! (cus media, etc)

Ness sees you and waves ! :)

-

🪄: ‘I didn’t know y/n was coming! Hi y/n!!’

🥀: ‘Shut up you squealing maggot.”

🪄: ‘Oh okay’

ALEXIS NESS

turns exactly into “🥹+🤩” combined

So happy you came!!!!

Means so much to him that you’d take your time and money to see him play!

Gives you that big fat wobbly smile of his and yells ‘Hi!!’

Points you out to Kaiser ‘Look! Kaiser, y/n came!’

he doesn’t gaf LMAO

He gives you a nod tho!

-

Blows you many kisses 😌

BM is all giving him the biggest side eye LMAO His love for you makes everyone within a 20 mile radius uncomfortable

-

def gives you the biggest cheek kiss ever and hugs you HEHHEEEHHEHEHEHE

DON LORENZO

Ugly smiles hehehehheh

Two-finger point at cha’ yelling ‘HEYYYYYYY!!!!’

Laughing and smiling soo much

He’s literally BEAMING

He always wants you to come to his games, but understands you have a life of your own and can’t make it to them all

BUT YOU CAME THIS TIME!!

‘MIO AMOUR DIDJA SEE MY MOVES EH? PRETTY SWEET YA?’

afterwards totally tries doing more showy tricks and plays for ya hehe

He’s just pumped af you’re here!!

MARC SNUFFY

Touched 🥹 

Fr tho, he’s touched af

Happy big smile!!

Waves back at cha :3

-

He called you earlier before the game and had no clue!! I mean he heard crowd at the airport but you just brushed it off as ‘oh I’m just at the mall’

Really appreciates it! :)

JULIANN LOKI

he’s like ‘😮!!’

Didn’t expect that!!!

Means so much to him!!

Gets all blushy hehe…,.

Doesn’t want to make a scene so he opts out for a small slightly hidden wave (not to draw attention to you)

rlly appreciates you supporting his career !! Esp since he’s so young starting off so strong

-

After game he goes to you and shakes his head and hugs ya hehe

Can’t believe you lmao

NOEL NOA

Surprised af

Like the thought of you doing this never crossed his mind literally once, E V E R

He knows you watch his games on TV when you don’t go (most of the time)

Soft grinning from him heh

Doesn’t do much bc he doesn’t want the media all over you

-

After the game he brings you closer (not touching bc he’s sweaty af) and kisses your forehead

——Whiiiich the paparazzi saw and it was over the internet for the next few days

So mission failed for Noa lmao

LAVINHO 

okay think Bokuto’s ‘HEY HEY HEY!!’ That’s him rn

Manically laughing LMAO

Starts F L I R T I N G  with you from the field

He’s just like yelling ‘HEEEEY MAMAS, YA FREE AFTER THISSSS?’

Def brags to any single teammates of his LMAO

CHRIS PRINCE

Signature Chris Prince smile!!

Belly laughs too lmao— can’t believe you’re here! And that you didnt tell him

He would’ve easily arranged something easier for you to come, probs traveling with the team or smth

energized as crap and now will do everything at the tippity top of his game to impress you (he does this every time you go to his games, but like it’s 10x bc he’s so pumped)

LEONARDO LUNA

Making ‘:o’ face lmao

So surprised !! But SO happy!!

Like wym his darling came to his away game?? Wym they took a 4 hour flight to see him play

Feels so special hehe

Blows you kisses with both hands and waves with both as well

Makes it known you’re here (if you’re comfortable with being public, but in this scenario I’d assume so)

Gives you a big hug afterwards

help sorry for any ooc-ness for some I had a hard time getting creative juice

Made January 1st 2025

[chelseacult]

Love You A Little Bit

Leila Ouahabi x Reader

Summary: You're always encouraging Leila to practice her English.

Word Count: 6.5k

You knew facing Manchester United at Old Trafford wouldn’t be easy. The roaring applause every time a United player surges forward or makes a clean tackle. The solidity of their defense at your every attempt to attain a spot on the scoresheet. This environment was nothing new. Still, what you weren’t expecting was to walk off the pitch 2-0 down at halftime. 

You walk up to Mary, who eagerly grabs her water bottle from the cooler. She sees you approaching and grabs yours too, holding it out in your direction.

“Thank you,” you say as you grab it from her. “If they keep intercepting my crosses, I’m gonna go crazy,” you add before chugging the rest of the water in your bottle.

“Keep trying! I’ll get on the end of one eventually. Probably,” Mary shrugs, laughing slightly before following suit and chugging the remnants from her water bottle. You let out a matching laugh at her words. Mary spares you a quick smile before she turns to converse with Alanna. With Mary’s attention elsewhere, you use this opportunity to search for the person you’re most eager to speak with. When your eyes finally land on Leila, she’s speaking with Jill near the city goal, both of them looking dispirited. 

You start walking in their direction, crossing nearly half the field to reach them. You approach just as the two women are separating from a quick embrace that Leila initiated, your girlfriend ever the affectionate type. Jill gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she walks past you. 

“Score next time!” you call after her, glancing back with a grin. By the time she replies, you’re already looking at Leila, reaching a hand out for her, so you miss the matching grin you can hear in Jill’s voice. “You first!” Jill shouts back, continuing her walk to the locker room.

Leila stifles a laugh at the interaction, reaching for the hand that you have extended toward her. She turns and begins to lead you two off the pitch, only walking about a foot before you pull her back into a hug. She immediately melts into you, and you feel her hands pressing against the small of your back as you hold each other. 

“45 more minutes. We’ve got this,” you attempt to console the woman in your arms. You feel the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the warmth of her body pressed against yours almost acting as a barrier from the commotion of the grueling first half. For a second, neither of you moves, just enjoying the shared warmth in the brisk Manchester weather. She eventually pulls back and nods, but you can tell she doesn’t really believe your words.

“Not if I keep playing like this,” Leila sighs heavily in frustration. Her shoulders slump ever so slightly as she removes her hands from your body and runs them down her face. You know her well enough to know that her thoughts are likely working against her after the team’s less-than-ideal defensive performance.

“I believe in you,” you speak softly, taking her hands gently in yours. You pull them up to your mouth to press a tender kiss to each set of knuckles. Her eyes search yours, looking for any indication that you’re not being completely truthful. Obviously, she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. But from the way her eyes soften, you’re guessing she likes what she finds there instead.

“My number one fan, hmm?” Leila teases, her voice lighter as she seems to perk up at your words. A faint smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, and the weight on her shoulders seems to lift a bit.

“Duh,” you speak confidently, leaving her no option but to fully believe your words this time. She rolls her eyes affectionately before lifting your hands to her mouth and mirroring your actions, placing a quick kiss on each knuckle. You’re not the least bit surprised at the warmth that erupts in your chest.

“Thief,” you say lightheartedly, referring to Leila copying your gesture. You’re completely aware that your voice sounds slightly winded as a result of feeling her lips on your skin. She moves your hands away from her mouth but keeps hold of them.

“I want you to feel how I felt when you did it to me,” she says earnestly. And while you’re still not surprised by the way she has your heart skipping a beat, you do still struggle to grapple with how she does it so effortlessly. 

“How did you feel?” you can’t resist asking, hoping she’ll take the bait and reveal that she’s feeling everything you’re feeling right now.

“You tell me,” she urges with a tilt of her head, her smile widening.

“Excuse me! I asked you first,” you press further, amusement in your voice.

“I’ll answer for the both of you. You love each other. Amazing. Let’s go!” Khiara interrupts with a playful laugh that you both echo. She shuffles between you two, wraps one of her arms around both of your respective shoulders, and leads the way to the locker room. 

Alex is already speaking by the time the three of you arrive at the locker room, the energy a mix of unintelligible conversation and low motivation. You and Leila walk over to your locker and settle on the bench perched in front of it. As you sit side by side, you begin to playfully take turns nudging each other’s leg, almost like a quiet game of footsie. You tune in to Alex’s words as she shifts her attention to the City defense.

“We need to talk about defense. They’re cutting through us like we’re not even there,” she speaks, looking back and forth between the other three defenders. 

Kerstin is the first to respond. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s happening. I’m shattered. Anyone else think they got faster since the last time we played them?”

“Right? I was thinking the same thing. They’re barely letting me pass,” you agree. Kerstin enthusiastically nods and gestures a hand your way, silently emphasizing your words.

Leila, who had been sitting next to you quietly with her arms crossed, leans forward eagerly. 

“It is because we are not keeping our shape. If Laia moves to the right by Kerstin and I stay left, they will move outside.” Leila stops her rant momentarily to look over at Alex. “Alex, you are always good. I have no advice.”

“I am already on the right! You are the one drifting,” Laia defends.

“I do not drift. I reposition to cover everyone else,” Leila argues back.

Alex holds back a grin at their arguing before allowing it to drop and speaking seriously. “I don’t know, Leila. If we’re spread too thin, they can manipulate the gaps.”

Viv chimes in. “Yeah, and like Kerstin said, their forwards are fast. If we force them out, there’s a chance we don’t recover.”

Leila’s face falls slightly. “It was just an idea,” she mutters under her breath, crossing her arms and leaning back slightly, her weight pressing against your side.

While your teammates brainstorm other ideas, you nudge her with your elbow, leaning in closer. “I think it’s a good idea,” you say softly. 

“You are the only one,” she smiles slightly, but her gaze remains stuck on the floor. The faint scratches on the tiles hold her attention as if they’re the most interesting things she’s ever seen.

“Well, I matter the most,” you shrug before nudging her again, willing her to look at you. You notice that her smile has shifted into something more genuine when she shifts her attention to you. She reaches a hand forward and traces a finger down your cheek, her touch lingering for a minute.

“Alright, Leila, we’re trying your plan. It’s the best one we’ve got,” Alex decides. Leila attempts to hide the excitement in her nod as Alex continues. “Everyone needs to step it up. Cover for each other. We can’t keep giving them so much space to work with.” Everyone takes in her words before they begin to empty out of the locker room.

Leila turns to you as you both get up from the bench and begin to follow the others out of the room. “It will help if you go up the wing faster when we yell to press. If you are fast, we can counterattack,” she says encouragingly.

“Do you mean, like, a high press or just marking?” you ask for clarification as you reach the door, pressing your back against it to keep it open for her.

 Leila stops in front of you as she searches for the right words. “When we all go forward. What is that?”

“Pressure?” you suggest. You reach up and brush a rogue piece of hair out of her face, and she absentmindedly leans into your touch.

“Sí! I said that,” she exclaims as grabs your hand, directing the two of you to begin walking toward the field again. 

“You said ‘press,’ babe. It’s not the same,” you tease with a playful smile and a squeeze of her hand.

“English is ridiculous,” Leila sighs, throwing her head back exasperatedly, but she squeezes your hand back a couple times.

“It’s a good thing you have a live-in English tutor then,” Lauren jokes, having been listening to your conversation from behind you as you walk. She grins as you and Leila laugh in response, not waiting for either of you to reply before she rushes ahead of you and onto the pitch.

Leila straightens up and glances at you with a playful grin. “I do not need help. I am almost like a native speaker.”

“Because of me!” you insist with a matching grin, bumping the side of your body into hers. 

“As a thank you, I buy you dinner when we get back home,” Leila offers as she slides her hand from yours. The smell of freshly cut grass takes over your senses as you step onto the pitch.

“Deal,” you reply. Leila shoots you one last smile before the two of you separate, running to your respective positions.

⟡

Leila’s plan was successful, aiding Manchester City in recording a 3-2 comeback win. United’s defense finally let you through long enough to set up a chance for Mary before netting two in the back of the net yourself.

At the final whistle, Leila beelines to you. “Vamos, mi amor!” she screams excitedly before wrapping her arms around you and lifting you off the ground for a minute. 

“Two goals in two minutes! Increíble!” she adds, placing you back down on the grass. The way she’s smiling at you when she pulls back makes your knees weak, and you feel like you could melt into the grass beneath your feet. You hope the look on your face accurately reflects the amount of adoration you feel for her

“Enough about me, baby, you were amazing! I told you! 45 minutes was all we needed,” you tell her with matching excitement.

“We were amazing,” she counters, her smile unwavering.

“Yeah, you’re both amazing. Don’t forget my assist,” Jill interrupts with a smug grin and wink in your direction. 

“Who passed you that ball, eh?” Leila reminds the midfielder, giving a gentle shove to Jill’s shoulder.

“I don’t remember,” she says with a shrug, her tone indicating that she absolutely does remember.

“Too distracted by my worldie?” you chime in, flashing Jill a grin. “I think the second goal was one of my best.”

Leila responds with an enthusiastic “It was!” at the same moment Jill says, “Of course not. You just got luck.” Her remark earns a gasp from Leila. 

“She was lucky two times?” Leila asks with raised eyebrows.

“Exactly,” Jill affirms, unable to keep the serious look on her face from turning into a smile.

“If you’re really that upset that you’re not on the scoresheet, I can bribe the officials to say one of my goals was yours,” you say with faux sympathy present in your voice and on your face, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.

Jill chuckles at your words. “Good. I think that’s fair, especially after how good my assist was.”

“You forgot I had to chase the ball halfway down the field before passing to you?” Leila asks, clearly amused.

“Fine, team effort,” Jill gives in. “But my assist made it cool.”

Before either of you can respond, a voice calls out from behind you. “Leila! [Y/N]! Interview time!”

Leila groans at the interruption, and you match her annoyance as you glare in the direction of the voice, neither of you fans of doing media. Jill only laughs, clearly amused by your irritation. 

“Have fun!” Jill exclaims before you part ways with her, you and Leila heading to the woman waiting to interview you both on the sidelines. 

You answer all of the interviewer’s questions with ease, the nervousness you’re feeling never once coming to the surface—one of your greatest strengths if you do say so yourself. When the woman shifts her questioning to Leila, you pass her the microphone that’s been residing in your hands for the last several minutes.

Through a thick accent, the interviewer speaks. “So, Leila, we heard from Alex that putting pressure high up the field was your idea! United seemed to really struggle with getting through the City side during the second half. What exactly did you see from United in the first half that made you think this was the right move?” 

You can almost guarantee from the look on Leila’s face and her intense eye contact with the interviewer that she’s struggling to make out what exactly she’s being asked. Your assumption is confirmed upon Leila thrusting the microphone back into your hands, silently asking you to take this one.

You keep the microphone low to ensure it doesn’t pick up on the encouraging words you send Leila’s way—your words a combination of you can do it and don’t overthink it. You try to pass the microphone back to her, but she just stares down at it for a beat before glancing up at you with a pleading look in her eyes.

Despite your heart screaming at you to come to her aid, you’re completely confident in her ability to formulate an answer (even if she doesn’t feel that confidence herself), so you don’t budge. She eventually takes the microphone back and attempts to answer the question. She stumbles over her words here and there, but the encouraging nod you give her every time she glances your way seems to motivate her to keep trying.

“Thank you for your time, girls, and congratulations on the win!” the interviewer finally speaks, unknowingly providing Leila a lifeline. You both thank the woman in return. Leila quickly grabs your hand and drags you down the tunnel before coming to an abrupt stop once you’re a decent ways away from anyone else. 

She drops your hand and turns to look at you, an unreadable expression on her face. Still, you have an idea about why she might be staring at you like this. 

“Don’t be mad at me. You did good!” you reassure as you step closer to her, wrapping your arms around her waist and smiling up at her.

Her resolve falters at that, wrapping her arms around your neck in return. “You are lucky I love you. It was embarrassing.”

“You don’t need my help, remember? You’re like a native speaker,” you tease her with reference to her comment during halftime. She purses her lips and holds back a smile. You do the opposite, letting out a laugh that prompts her to let her smile appear. She shortly follows in your footsteps and joins in your laughter.

“That reminds me,” Leila starts, moving her hands down to your hips and pushing you back against the tunnel wall with a soft thud. 

She leans in, and she’s close enough that you can feel her breath on your ear. She just hovers there, breathing against you, and you struggle to contain the shiver that makes its way through your body. She places several featherlight kisses on the shell of your ear, one of her hands trailing down your neck and resting in the curve between your neck and shoulder. Her thumb runs along your collarbone. 

“Dinner is on you,” she whispers. She punctuates her words with a light tug of your earlobe between her teeth before pulling away from you completely. You exhale, only now realizing you’d been holding your breath. It takes you a minute to realize that she’s waiting for you to take her outstretched hand, only noticing because she’s wiggling her fingers. She laughs at your delay as you reach for it, interlocking your fingers with hers and allowing her to lead the way to the locker room.

⟡

“No, absolutamente no. No voy a hacer eso,” Leila adamantly declines your suggestion to speak to the restaurant staff in English.

“This is the perfect time to practice,” you encourage her with a smile and a squeeze of her knee. She groans and drops her head onto your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. She mumbles something under her breath that you struggle to make out, but the feeling of her breath on your neck gives you goosebumps. You grab the menu with one hand while your other hand wraps around her.

“Babe, look, spaghetti. You can say that, no problem.” You manually move her head off of your shoulder and point to the menu. She sits up begrudgingly before looking at the menu and then back at you with an unimpressed expression.

“Come on, practice with me. Pretend I’m the waitress,” you attempt to convince the stubborn woman sitting next to you. 

She smirks at that, raising her eyebrows and leaning a bit closer. “I did not know you like roleplay, bebé.” You scoff and push her away, unable to stop the corners of your mouth from turning up into a smile despite how hard you try. 

“We will talk about that later,” Leila affirms with a peck to your shoulder before looking back down at the menu. “Spaghetti,” she mumbles to herself.

You wait for her to look up at you before speaking. “Hello, I’ll be your waitress tonight. What can I get for you?” you say in your best customer service voice. 

She briefly hesitates before speaking in your direction. “Hola, I want spaghetti, please,” she matches your false excitement, keeping her eyes on you and waiting for your approval.

“Perfect! Just say ‘hello’ instead of ‘hola,’” you remind your girlfriend.

“Ah, sí. Hello,” she smiles at you.

“Hi,” you smile back. Leila laughs that infectious laugh of hers that you’ll never tire of hearing. Your heart still flutters every time you hear it, especially when it results from something you’ve said. 

She scoots even closer, leaving almost no space between your bodies. She cups your face with both hands and quickly kisses your lips several times before pulling back slightly, her thumbs moving languidly along the curve of your jaw.

“We cannot do this if I am on the other side,” she refers to her constant insistence that you both sit on the same side of the booth when you go out, citing a desire to be near you whenever possible. You roll your eyes at her statement now, just as you did when she first joined you on your side of the booth all those years ago with the same reasoning. The small smile on your face both times tells her that your eye roll isn’t malicious. 

When the waitress approaches your table, you put some space between the two of you but grab her hand to keep some contact. The waitress introduces herself and takes your order before turning toward Leila. “And for you?” she asks kindly.

Leila hesitates for a moment and glances over at you. You give her an encouraging nod before she looks back over at the waitress. Leila opens her mouth before shutting it again and pointing to the spaghetti on the menu.

“Spaghetti?” the waitress confirms, and Leila nods. “Good choice. We’ll have your food out shortly.” 

“Thank you,” you say as the waitress walks away before you turn to Leila, who is seemingly avoiding eye contact with you.

“Leila!” you gently nudge her shoulder with yours.

“Qué? I order spaghetti like you said. You should be proud of me,” she shrugs and smiles smugly. 

“You were supposed to use words like we practiced,” you punctuate your complaint with a gentle nudge of your knee against hers.

She shrugs again, “Same result. I do not even like spaghetti a lot. You should have picked something else for me to get,” Leila says with a dismissive wave in your direction.

“You should’ve looked through the menu yourself,” you exclaim, “you had ample time to change what you were getting. We were waiting for like an hour.”

“I focus on saying it right. Then the woman was here, and too late,” Leila trails off with a sigh. 

Before you can comprehend what she’s doing, Leila grabs the straw out of her drink and flicks it toward you. A tiny splash of soda splattering across your arm and shirt. The cold droplets make you flinch slightly, and your ears are graced with her laugh again. 

“Oops,” she says. Her voice is heavy with mock innocence, clearly not sorry as she twirls the straw between her fingers.

You gasp. “And to think I was just about to offer you half of my pizza!” You move your hand with the intention of grabbing your straw to do the same thing she did, but her hand darts out and grabs it before you can. She places a kiss on the back of it before scooting near you again.

“Oh, lo siento. Lo siento.” She repeats the words a few times, cupping one side of your face and kissing your cheek after every couple of words. Her face remains just inches from yours when she asks, “What flavor is the pizza?”

“You were sitting right there when I ordered. Were you not paying attention to me?” you ask, feigning offense.

“No, no, I was busy looking at how beautiful you are. Obviamente!” Leila says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, placing one last playful, sloppy kiss on your cheek. You dramatically wipe the remnants of her kiss off your face.

“Pineapple,” you reveal before she can comment on your wiping off her kiss. She makes a noise of disgust and looks at you with a face of pure disbelief, like she genuinely can’t fathom why someone would order such an entree. 

“Ugh, no good. Eres tan rara.” Despite her words, she wraps her arms around your neck and leans into you. You follow her lead and wrap your arms around her, leaning your head on hers.

“Spaghetti for you then, my love,” you say before placing a matching kiss on her temple, although she doesn’t wipe yours off.

⟡

The blaring sound of your alarm is a stark contrast to the warm, peaceful energy that had previously encompassed the room. The Spaniard wrapped around you makes no move to reach over and end the disturbance, and neither do you. A silent battle that you two partake in every morning. Leila’s eventual stirring lets you know that she’ll likely be the one to fold this morning. But, for the moment, she tightens her hold on you.

“Mmm, estúpido despertador. Quiero que desaparezca,” she murmurs into your hair as you nuzzle further into her chest, stalling her leaving the bed momentarily. Exhaustion typically draws Leila back to the comfort of her native language. Having just woken up, it takes you a minute to catch her Spanish words before replying.

​​

“It was your idea to put it on the dresser,” you whisper wearily before reluctantly pulling away from her embrace to allow her to get up. 

“You should have told me not to do it.” She attempts to crawl over you to climb out of the bed, but your hands dart out, firmly grasping her hips. The sudden halt stops Leila in her path and leaves her straddling you. 

One of your hands moves to the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to hover just near yours. You pay her soft gasp no mind as you mutter, “I did tell you,” against her lips. Before she has a chance to reply, you lean up and press your lips to hers, albeit a little too passionately for this early in the morning. Not that she minds, judging by the way she kisses you back with matching, feverish intensity. 

Leila pulls back, one hand gripping yours to remove it from her neck. Her free hand pries your other hand away from her hip, which still holds firmly. 

“A little early for you, no?” she asks rhetorically with a smirk before pinning your hands to the bed. 

She leans closer to you, not close enough to kiss but close enough that you can feel every breath she takes. She just stares down at you, and you swear her eyes darken the longer she looks. The unmistakable heat in her gaze almost makes you shiver. 

She leans in again, brushing her lips against yours for a split second before changing directions and pressing them to your neck. She places a few warm kisses up the juncture of your neck, eventually switching between sucking and gently biting. It’s your turn to gasp when she focuses all of her attention on the sensitive spot behind your ear. 

“Olvidé que eres sensible ahí mismo,” she pulls back to whisper alluringly in your ear before focusing her attention on the matching spot on the other side of your neck. It also takes you a minute to translate this sentence, but this time, it’s for an entirely different reason.

The feeling of her mouth, teasing and deliberate, paired with the growing heat between you, is enough to distract from the ringing of the alarm clock that Leila still hasn’t shut off—until it isn’t.

Leila pulls back again, quickly kissing your lips before climbing out of the bed. “Lo siento, cariño, that ringing is making me crazy,” she notes before continuing her earlier pursuit of turning off the alarm.

“Why?” you trail off with a dramatic groan, pulling the blanket to cover your eyes as Leila also opens the curtains while she’s up.  

“Sun is good for you.” Leila trails back over you and sits on the edge of the bed before attempting to pull the comforter down to reveal your face. You let her do so only to glare up at her. It’s short-lived though as you’re unable to stop the smile that takes over your face upon seeing her grin down at you. This inability to stay serious around her remains a constant struggle.

“We’re in the sun enough during practice.”

“No practice today, so we do this,” Leila gestures over to the window that has quickly become the bane of your existence. “Get up, por favor,” she says with a gentle shake of your shoulders.

“Why?” you question her for a second time.

“Because. Vamos, levantarse!” she answers vaguely, standing up from the bed and grabbing your hand to pull you up into a sitting position. She begins to walk toward the doorway while you remain seated on your bed.

“I’m not convinced,” you call after her.

“I will see you downstairs,” she calls back, flashing you a smile before exiting the room, completely aware that you’ll follow shortly after. 

After scrolling on your phone for several minutes, you finally rise up from the bed. You close the curtains that your girlfriend so rudely opened and begin to make your way to the kitchen where she likely resides, if the smell of roasting coffee beans is anything to go by.

Leila is standing near the coffee pot with a bewildered look on her face when you enter the kitchen. Her confusion quickly turns into a smile when she notices your presence. She picks up the full mug of coffee resting on the counter.

“Para ti, mi vida,” she says as she extends the mug toward you.

“English, remember,” you remind her, taking the coffee from her hands and kissing her on the cheek in return. “Thank you, baby.”

“You did not care about my Spanish earlier this morning.” Leila places her hands on your waist, pulling you into her slightly. You smile at her over the top of the mug as you bring it up to your mouth and take a sip. If you’re using the mug to shield the slight flush that has overtaken your face as a result of her words, that’s no one’s business but yours.

As the coffee hits your tastebuds, your face instantly contorts in disgust. Without thinking, you spit it back into the cup. Leila’s face drops at your actions, and she pulls away from you.

“Ugh, see! This is not working anymore,” Leila says, annoyance present in her voice as she looks at you. 

You can’t help the way your heart slightly drops at her words. “What’s not working?”

“This,” she repeats and gestures rapidly between the two of you. She offers no further explanation, but you note the seriousness on her face. You look down at the mug in your hands, hoping that somewhere in the coffee resides the answer to your question. But the liquid offers no answers. You glance back up at her.

“We’re not working anymore?” you press with your eyebrows raised. You’re sure your internal bafflement is being reflected by the look on your face.

“No. Obviously, we are not,” she says again. The way your heart drops only amplifies at her clarification. You place the mug down on the counter and step closer to her. She notices the confusion on your face and continues speaking before you can ask any follow-up questions.

“This,” she starts, walking over to where the coffee machine sits on the counter, “is not working. I cannot make coffee for you in this machine. It is too old.” She inspects the machine, similar to how you inspected your coffee just now. She’s likely looking for answers just as you did, though her question concerns the machine’s ability to work properly where yours regarded the state of your relationship.

“You’re talking about the coffee machine?” you ask, letting out a sigh of relief before she even confirms the miscommunication.

“Yes,” she answers, your earlier confusion now being reflected on her face as she notices your reaction to her words. “Está bien. If you want to keep it, we can. I will keep trying,” she says comfortingly, unaware of the internal turmoil you just experienced.

“No, you’re right, it’s old. We can get a new one,” you say, still reeling. You reach over for your mug before thinking better of it and placing it back on the counter.

“Why are you being weird?” she asks with a nervous laugh as she reaches around you to grab your mug from the counter. She turns toward the sink and dumps the coffee down the drain.

“I’m not,” you respond, moving around the counter to sit on the stool across from her. Leila remains standing in the kitchen, her disapproving hum barely audible over the quiet clink of her placing the mug in the dishwasher.

“You are,” Leila counters as she shuts the dishwasher and focuses all of her attention on you. When you don’t reply, she tilts her head slightly, raising one of her eyebrows.

“It’s fine. I’m fine, Lei,” you brush it off, hoping she won’t press you any further.

“Tell meee,” she draws out as she follows your earlier path, rounding the corner and coming up behind you. She wraps her arms around your waist and rests her head on your shoulder. “Tell me!” she demands again, giving your body a gentle shake. You’re nearly certain from her tone that she’s pouting at you.

“I-,” you start, but before you can get any more words out, Leila turns your stool around so you’re facing in her direction. “I thought you were trying to say that our relationship isn’t working,” you reveal quietly, looking away from her intense eye contact for a moment, slightly embarrassed at your misunderstanding. 

Her face falls. “Ah, no! Nunca, mi vida. It is perfect,” she reassures earnestly before pulling you into a tight hug, lifting her leg to rest her bent knee on the side of the stool you’re sitting on, leaning closer to you. You hug her back without a second thought (or, really, without a first conscious thought). She pulls back after a prolonged minute or so.

“Now you know how it feels,” she refers to your misinterpretation of her earlier words, Leila typically the one to misunderstand what you’re saying when you speak English with each other. 

“Is it this embarrassing for you every time?” She considers your question briefly, eventually deciding on a simple “No.”

“Whatever,” you mutter and gently push her away. The lack of effort in your action tells her that you don’t actually want her to move away from you. You share a smile as she indeed picks up on this and leans back in, resting her forehead on yours.

“This is why I work on my English. And you work on your English teaching skills,” she teases.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a gasp. “I try my best. My student is difficult sometimes.”

“Grosero. I am easy.” You hold back a smirk at the innuendo in her words, the double meaning completely lost on her. 

“Yes, you are,” you agree, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead in an attempt to hide the growing grin on your face.

“You are laughing?” You shake your head at her question and pull her into another hug, hoping it’ll distract her from the conversation.

It does.

⟡

“Leila!” you groan as she steals the ball right from under your feet. 

“I am too fast for you, amor, eh?” she teases as she runs past you, a smirk present on her face.

“Show-off,” you mutter upon closing the distance that she put between you. She gently kicks the ball back over to you, and you pass it back. The two of you fall into a steady back and forth as the ball bounces between your feet.

“I have an idea,” Leila eventually says, resting her foot on the ball you’ve just passed her way. “You run past me and score. I defend.”

“Easy,” you say confidently, gesturing in a silent ask for the ball back. 

“Vale, show me,” she says before kicking the ball back in your direction, gesturing for you to start running.

At her insistence, you start running down the field with the ball at your feet. You’ve barely run for ten seconds before she’s intercepting your path with a tackle that sends you to the ground. You groan again as she successfully ruins your plan for the second time.

She jumps to her feet, rushing over to where you’re sprawled out dramatically. “Estás bien?” she asks, and you can hear the concern in her voice. You nod as she offers you both of her hands, but before she can pull you up, you tug her down to the ground with you. You share a laugh as she lands beside you before she leans closer, her face hovering just above yours. She looks down at you with a smirk that you’re no stranger to. “That was me going easy on you, by the way.”

“You’re annoying,” you say with a roll of your eyes as you reach up to brush a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Despite your words, her smirk softens into something warmer. “You love me still, sí?”

“Obviously,” you say lightly. She looks at you expectantly, and you know exactly what she’s waiting for. “I love you,” you borderline whisper. Disregarding the annoyance you were just feeling toward the Spanish woman, you attempt to pour all the love you can muster into your declaration. She deserves it. 

“Hmm, how much?”

“Too much for me to comprehend sometimes,” you admit. Sometimes you’re awed by how soft she makes you. Her gaze softens at your words, the affection in her eyes matching that which is present in yours whenever you so much as think about her.

“Te quiero tantito,” she murmurs as her fingertips brush up and down your arm. You’re not surprised in the slightest at the feeling of goosebumps that follows.

You tilt your head. “Tantito? What is that?”

“It means, ‘I love you a little bit.’” Her lips turn up into a half-smile. 

“A little bit?” you say with a raised eyebrow in disbelief. A flicker of amusement crosses her face before she lets out a soft laugh, her smile growing into a full grin.

“Mhm. It is like a joke, no? Because, obviously, I love you a lot,” she corrects. “Maybe we stop with my English and focus on your Spanish.”

You give her a smile in return and shake your head. 

“We can start lessons now. Say ‘golazo.’ The thing you did not score past me,” she clarifies with a laugh, this one more hearty than the one she graced your ears with moments ago. You’re unable to stop the laugh that she pulls from you.

“Golazo. You’ve taught me that word already,” you remind her.

“Oh, bien! That means ‘good.’” Before you can reiterate that your Spanish knowledge isn’t this limited, she continues with a grin. “Now you say, ‘Leila es el amor de mi vida.’”

Your cheeks warm as you’re again able to make out what she’s wanting you to say. You hold her gaze. “Leila es el amor de mi vida,” you say, sincerity present in your voice.

Her grin melts into something tender. “Good job,” she murmurs, the adoration in her voice impossible to miss. She leans down to kiss you, and you bask in it for a minute before she pulls back, lingering close enough for her breath to merge with yours. “It means-”

“I know what it means, baby,” you cut her off gently, your heart skipping a beat at the feeling of her so close.

“What about this one? ‘Tú también eres el amor de mi vida,’” she asks, adoration still present in both her voice and the way she’s gazing down at you.

“Thank god. Imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been for me if I wasn’t yours,” you reply, only half joking and once again not needing her translation. 

Her laugh rings out, and you can’t imagine being happy without hearing it every day for the rest of your life.

a/n: honestly this wasn’t supposed to be this long but I got carried away and kinda veered off course. anyway I don’t know a word of spanish and used google translate so please feel free to tell me if anything needs editing! thank you!!!

[baigepueckers]

Paige Bueckers X Reader

Drawn to You

Paige Bueckers wasn’t one to get distracted.

Not during warmups, not during a game, and especially not during a timeout when the coaching staff was trying to make something out of a chaotic first half. Normally, her focus was like muscle memory refined, sharp, second nature. But tonight, something had been tugging at her attention and will never quite let go.

You.

She didn’t know your name. Just that you were one of the Flight Crew dancers. That you moved like music itself, with rhythm and intention. That you smiled in a way that didn’t beg for attention, but always seemed to have it. Paige didn’t know when she first started noticing you but now she couldn’t stop.

At first, it was during a timeout in the first quarter. She was trying to listen to the assistant coach draw up a baseline inbound play, but her eyes slipped past the clipboard, past her teammates shoulders, toward the far sideline where you were stretching with the rest of the crew. Laughing at something someone said, head tilted back, eyes squinting slightly beneath the blue overhead lights. It should’ve been nothing.

But it wasn’t.

There was something quiet in the way you existed. Something Paige couldn’t name. It wasn’t just the way you danced…though God, that was captivating too. It was the way you looked at people when they talked to you, how you gave them your full attention. The way your hands moved when you spoke, your posture when you stood still, the small kind smile you seemed to offer everyone without expectation.

It unnerved her how easily you settled into her thoughts.

By halftime, she knew she was distracted.

She’d missed a rotation on defense and Arike had given her a look. She’d bobbled a pass she should’ve caught. None of it was catastrophic, but she was off and she knew why.

She was tired of pretending she didn’t keep looking at you.

The Flight Crew’s halftime set started just as the team was heading into the tunnel. She lingered behind, towel slung over her neck, heartbeat settling. Coaches were already inside. Players were chatting among themselves. But Paige stood near the tunnel entrance and watched.

You were mid routine centered, powerful, graceful in a way that wasn’t forced. Every move hit with purpose, but there was an ease to it too.

She felt like she was watching someone in a different universe, but for some reason that universe made more sense than hers.

And then it happened.

You turned just slightly…and your eyes met hers for the briefest second.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

Just held her gaze, steady and open before returning to your movement like it hadn’t been a moment at all.

But it was. To Paige, it was.

It was enough to sit with her for the rest of the game like a quiet hum under her skin.

After the final buzzer and after the handshake line and team huddle, Paige drifted toward the baseline, still in uniform, still sweating under the lights…trying not to look like she was waiting for something.

You were across the court again, gathering your water bottle while slipping a jacket on over your top. Your crew was filtering out around you, laughing softly.

Paige stayed still until it felt like the space between you had thinned.

Then, almost without thinking she moved.

It wasn’t bold. It wasn’t smooth.

Just a few slow steps across the edge of the court, her shoes squeaking faintly against the hardwood. She didn’t know what she was going to say. She wasn’t good at this. Not when it was real.

You looked up just as she neared, and your expression shifted…not surprised. Not expectant either. Just… calm. Like you’d been waiting too, in your own way.

“Hey,” she said, voice quieter than she meant.

“Hey,” you returned, your tone just as soft.

A pause. Not awkward. Just full.

Paige let out a breath through her nose and rubbed the back of her neck. “You guys were… incredible tonight.”

You smiled. “Thank you. You weren’t bad yourself.”

That made her huff a laugh, short and unsteady. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t exactly focused.”

Your head tilted slightly. “No?”

She hesitated then met your gaze again. Her voice dropped, sincere now. “I kept watching you.”

You didn’t blink.

“I noticed” you said, with no judgment in your tone. Just fact.

“I didn’t mean to stare. I just…” She trailed off then shook her head a little, trying to gather herself. “You have this… way about you. I don’t know. The way you talk to people. The way you carry yourself. It’s just…”. She stopped. “I guess it stood out.”

For a second, you didn’t say anything.

Then you spoke…quiet, but clear. “You seem like someone who doesn’t say things unless they mean them.”

She swallowed. “I don’t.”

“I’m glad,” you said, smile softening. “Because I think I noticed you too.”

Something in Paige’s chest unclenched slow, relief blooming in the space where nerves had been.

You looked down for a moment, adjusting your bag on your shoulder then glanced back at her. “I usually leave pretty quick after games. But maybe next time, I won’t.”

Paige nodded once, then twice like she was afraid it wouldn’t stick. “Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”

You stepped back, your hand brushing hers gently as you passed.

“See you around, Paige,” you said, and something about the way her name sounded in your mouth made it feel like more than a goodbye.

She watched you walk away, her pulse still hammering, from this. This quiet, tentative something she hadn’t been expecting. And maybe didn’t fully understand.

But maybe she didn’t need to.

[curseluvr]

OVERTIME DESIRES

Star basketball player Suguru Geto gets lucky on and off the court. The last thing you should do after the team you’re cheering for loses is to fuck the rival team’s star player. Losing never felt so good.

warnings: fem cheerleader!reader, basketball player!suguru, semi-public/locker room sex, hair pulling, breeding kink, praise, swearing, reader does the split on it

wc: 3.2k

One of the biggest games of the basketball season has your entire school on edge. Jujutsu University, your school’s number one rival, is visiting tonight. It’s your first year here after transferring from another school, and you can’t figure out why there’s so much chaos. With the student body riled up, your squad is even more tense. That’s why your captain is reiterating the rules directly out of the sacred Cheer Bible.

“Let’s begin,” she says, clearing her throat. “No posting thirst traps while in uniform. No hooking up with an athlete while they’re in season. If you break up, pretend he’s dead. And for today, absolutely no ogling the opposing team.” 

The silence that follows is heavy. 

“Did you hear that? I’ll say it again and again. I don’t care that the Jujutsu boys are … you know. Do. Not. Engage.” 

You turn to Yuki. “Is this necessary?” 

She doesn’t answer right away, just lifts her phone and shows you the Jujutsu roster someone posted on Twitter. Pictured on the screen is their captain and point guard, Satoru Gojo, grinning like he owns the planet. 

You blink. “I guess I understand the hype.”

“Please,” Yuki says, “You should see their shooting guard. He’s Gojo’s right hand man and every girl’s wet dream.”

Before she can swipe to his photo, your captain disbands the meeting. 

“Get to stretching. And remember ladies, keep it tight, keep it classy, and keep your drama out of the locker room!”

-

The pep band blares. The crowd roars. You’re adjusting your ponytail when the arena lights dim, signaling the arrival of the visiting team.

Jujutsu University enters like they’ve done this a hundred times—which they have. The entire student section rises to their feet to boo, and yet somehow, it sounds more like worship.

Gojo’s the first one in, of course. He blows a kiss to someone in the bleachers and points finger guns at your mascot like he’s flirting with a cartoon. You roll your eyes. 

And then he walks in, and you immediately know he’s the one Yuki was talking about. Suguru Geto. 

His jersey has a number 3 on the back, and his sharp eyes look like they’ve seen too much and care too little. He’s not showy like Gojo. He doesn’t need to be. He walks with the quiet confidence of someone who knows he can drop thirty points without cracking a smile. His hair is tied back in a low bun, ink trailing down one arm, and a black compression sleeve on the other.

The world doesn’t exactly stop—but it tilts. It’s not even lust at first, not really. It’s curiosity with teeth. Sharp, intrusive, and a little unhinged.

Yuki nudges you. “Told you.”

You say nothing, still staring as Suguru jogs to half court, gives Gojo a low five, and eyes the place like he’s ready to destroy it.  Just when your gaze flicks to his face again, he looks right at you.

Not long. Just long enough to make your stomach drop and your skin burn and your body suddenly very aware of itself in your uniform.

He doesn’t smile. Just tips his chin up a little, like he’s clocked you, and he’s made a note of something he likes. He turns away just as fast.

Yuki’s already smirking at you.

“Oh,” you say, trying to sound unimpressed. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Yuki scoffs. “That man is the reason this entire campus is foaming at the mouth. Gojo might run his mouth, but Geto? He ruins people. Quietly.”

You shake your head and turn away, but it’s too late—you’re curious. And that curiosity only festers when game time comes and the gym turns electric.

-

When the second quarter ends, your squad breaks for water before the big halftime performance. The gym is loud—too loud. The score’s tight, and everyone knows the second half is going to get bloody. You wipe sweat from your brow, trying to focus on your breathing, on your formation for the next routine.

But your focus is shot. Suguru hasn’t looked at you again since that first glance. And somehow, that’s worse.

You’re standing just off-court near an exit, waiting for the rest of your squad to return, when a shadow passes into your peripheral vision.

And there he is.

Coming off the court alone, towel slung over his shoulder, jersey clinging to him in all the right places. You freeze, rooted to the floor like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even though you haven’t done anything but smile and wave your pom poms.

Suguru doesn’t say anything as he approaches. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t slow down. Just as he passes you, close enough that your arms almost brush, he tilts his head down and murmurs, voice low enough that no one else could hear:

“You shouldn’t stare so much. People might think you want something.”

Then he’s gone.

You don’t turn around. Your thighs are clenched, your pulse is racing, and there’s no doubt in your mind now—you do want something.

And if the look in his eyes said anything? He already knows.

-

The game is a blur of sweat, sneakers, and chants. You know enough about basketball to follow along, but even someone who’s never watched a game could tell that Suguru Geto was good. When he dunks on your captain, Suguru just walks away as his teammates stop your own team from chasing him down. 

The score is tied with three seconds left. Someone passes the ball to Suguru, and everything slows. There’s no rush, no panic. He plants his feet, looks at you, and shoots. He sinks the three and it’s chaos. 

The buzzer goes off as the crowd goes wild, and your squad disbands in every direction. Bodies brush too close in a storm of adrenaline and frustration. You should react, but all you can feel is the heat of his stare still burning on your skin, long after he’s turned away. It takes you a moment before you snap back into it. If you’re going to get what you want, now’s your only chance.

The Jujutsu team is already on their way out, but you spot Suguru looking over his shoulder at you. He tilts his head in the slightest, and you smile, more to yourself than for him.

-

The guest locker room is dimmer than yours, and quiet. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzes faintly overhead. Your sneakers squeak against the tile as you step inside, heart hammering in your throat.

There he is. Sitting on a bench, legs spread wide, his jersey peeled off and tossed to the side. His skin glistens with sweat, chest rising and falling slow and deep. A single strand of hair clings to his temple. The rest falls loose around his shoulders, like he tugged the tie out without thinking.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you.

He just drags his gaze up your body, slow and deliberate, and lets it settle on your eyes.

You feel it like a touch. Like being pinned in place.

“Lost?” he asks, voice low, lazy. You don’t know what you expected his voice to sound like, but it suits him.

You open your mouth to respond, but the look in his eyes shuts down every excuse you had rehearsed. It’s reckless. It’s probably against three different rules in the Cheer Bible.

“I figured you’d come.” 

“Are you always this cocky?”

“You followed me,” Suguru replies, mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Why?”

Your throat is dry. “You looked at me.”

He chuckles, quiet and wicked. “So I did.”

He leans forward, rising to his feet slowly. He walks toward you with a confidence that steals air from the room. Each step measured, heavy, controlled.

And when he stops just in front of you, his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger at your jaw, his thumb ghosting the corner of your mouth.

“What do you want?” he asks you.

“Like you don’t already know,” you retort, trying not to roll your eyes. 

“I want to hear it, pretty girl,” Suguru responds. 

Instead, you grab the front of his shorts and pull him into you like you’ve already made up your mind.

Your lips crash into his before either of you speaks again.

Suguru catches your waist instantly, pressing you back into the row of lockers with a low grunt, like he’s been holding back all night. His kiss is rough, unhurried, all control. His hands travel down your thighs, gripping them with purpose, lifting you like it’s nothing. You wrap your legs around him as your back hits the lockers.

“Knew you wanted it the second I stepped on that court,” he breathes against your mouth. 

You drag your fingers through his hair and tug just enough to make him hiss.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to win,” you joke.

He laughs, deep and dark, then walks the two of you toward the bench behind him. He sits, spreading his legs wide, dragging you with him. You straddle him, your skirt already bunched up, breath shaky as he palms your ass through your spandex.

“You gonna ride me like your school pride depends on it?” he murmurs, voice gravel thick.

You press your forehead to his and whisper, “If you ask nicely.”

Suguru looks at you like you’re being ridiculous. “Didn’t I earn this?”

The only response you give him is your hips rolling against his hardening member. He groans under his breath, grip tightening on your hips as your body grinds against him. There's heat in every part of your body, tension stretched taut like a pulled rubber band about to snap.

"Keep that up," he warns, voice low, lips brushing your jaw, "and I won't be gentle."

You grind down again, slower this time, relishing the twitch of his muscles beneath you. “I don’t think you wanted me because I looked gentle.”

Suguru leans back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes dark, amused, hungry. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs.

“You looked at me first,” you remind him, breath brushing over his lips.

He tilts his head, runs his hands up the line of your waist, thumbs grazing under your top. “Yeah,” he admits, voice softer now. “I looked. Couldn’t help it.”

You kiss him again, less messy this time, and so much more deliberate. You want him to feel the intention behind it. Suguru cups the back of your neck just as his tongue enters your mouth, like he’s trying to memorize your taste. His hand finally slides under your top, large palm hot against your spine.

“You gonna keep teasing me,” he murmurs, voice thick, “or are you gonna show me what those legs can really do?”

“Tell me you want it.”

He exhales, and you can see his control thinning.

“I want it,” he says, gravel low. “I want you.”

You pull your skirt off with haste, tossing it behind you. The look on his face when you pull his cock out of his shorts and line yourself up is almost reverent. 

“No foreplay?” he asks cautiously.

“Been wet the whole game,” you confess. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Alright. Take a breath,” he murmurs, voice dark and low.

You do, and then he pushes in. Your mouth falls open instantly—your fingers clutching his broad shoulders as the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. It’s thick, slow, impossible to ignore. Every inch drags against you like he’s trying to leave a permanent impression inside your body.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “You’re… you’re big—”

Suguru grins at that, eyes blown with lust. His hands tighten just slightly around your waist, dragging you down the rest of the way.

“You’re a cheerleader, ” he says, voice honey-smooth, taunting. “Aren’t you used to stretching by now?”

You whimper something incoherent against his neck, nails digging into his skin as your hips sink the last inch, fully taking him in.

Suguru groans at the feeling, head dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin. 

He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, allowing the full sensation to sink in. Then he pulls back just slightly—just enough to make you whine—and snaps his hips up once, slow and deep.

“Still think I’m cocky?” he whispers, dragging his mouth along your jaw.

You press a finger to his lips. “Don’t waste your breath,” you whisper, breathless yourself. “You’ll need it.”

You plant your feet wide on each side of the bench, sliding into the kind of practiced split your body knows by muscle memory. Suguru swears under his breath like a prayer.

A sound escapes him, low and guttural, as his grip on your thighs becomes a silent plea.

“Show-off,” he mutters, breath ragged as he grips your hips tighter, guiding your rhythm.

“Maybe,” you pant, “But you like it.”

“Yeah,” he growls, tugging on your hair at the scalp. “I do.”

You move together like you’ve done this before in another life—frantic and fluid. His hands slip beneath your top while your teeth graze his neck. Sweat builds, your thighs start to shake, and he leans back just slightly, admiring the sight of you—drenched in heat, split wide open on top of him, owning it.

With his hands firm at your hips, he guides you down onto him—slow, deliberate, watching every twitch of your face like it’s gospel. Each thrust steals the breath from your lungs. You cling to his shoulders, moaning quietly against his ear.

Suguru’s jaw is clenched, eyes half-lidded. “Fuck… look at you.”

Your movements lose control as you chase your high, using him for your pleasure. When you start to unravel, he pulls you flush to him, burying his face in your neck. 

“Cum on my cock, pretty girl.” 

When you clench around him, he muffles his groan against your skin. You're still catching your breath when his hands tighten again, anchoring you in place. His lips drag along your shoulder before he pulls back, breath hot against your skin.

“Turn around,” he murmurs.

You blink at him, still dazed. “What?”

He stands, towering over you now, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. 

“You heard me.”

Your body obeys before your brain catches up. He helps you down, steadying you as your knees shake slightly. Then he turns you until your chest presses against the cool metal of the locker. The contrast between the chill of the surface and the heat of his body behind you makes you shiver. One of his hands flattens against your lower back. The other traces up your spine and slides into your hair, gently gathering it to the side.

“You feel that?” Suguru murmurs, pressing close, his voice a low rumble. “How bad I want you?”

You nod, lips parted, cheek resting against the locker.

“Use your words, pretty.”

“I feel it,” you whisper. “I feel everything.”

He hums, low and pleased. “Good.”

Suguru’s mouth grazes the curve of your neck as he enters you again, pulling the neediest moan from you. Your hands brace the lockers as his rhythm builds. His grip never falters. Every breathless sound you make only seems to push him further.

“Still think I’m cocky?” he murmurs.

You try to answer, but your voice catches. It’s too much—his control, the pressure, the way he knows exactly how to push you to the edge without letting you fall.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he says, voice wicked.

Each motion leaves you shaking, boneless, lips parted against cold steel. And when your knees nearly give out beneath you, Suguru holds you steady, murmuring something you barely catch. 

“You with me?” Suguru asks again. 

All you can do is nod.

“I asked where you want me to cum,” he repeats.

You whimper, constricting around him absentmindedly. “Inside,” you plead.

“Fuck, pretty baby, are you sure?” 

All you can do is nod against the locker. “Need you to fill me up.” 

Suguru cums the way he plays basketball—silent, but explosively controlled. There’s no wasted breath, no dramatics, just a low grunt with a clenched jaw. You moan at the feeling of his cum spurting inside of you, mixing together with your overflowing wetness. His arms lock tight around your waist like he’s holding himself together with sheer force. His orgasm rolls through him like a wave, powerful and controlled, but you can feel it in every part of his body.

His chest heaves against your back, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder, almost like an apology for how hard he took you, for how badly he needed it. For a long moment, neither of you moves. His hands stay on your hips, thumbs brushing gently now, as if grounding himself in the aftermath. As the haze clears and your breathing slows, he presses a final kiss to your shoulder, then leans back with a lazy, satisfied grin.

You let out a breathy laugh and glance at him over your shoulder. Then, quietly, like he just remembered where you are, he chuckles.

“Your squad’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s only if they find out,” you tell him simply.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Worth it.”

Suguru grins, all lazy and beautiful, eyes dragging over your face like he wants to memorize the way you look wrecked and flushed.

Then he reaches for the towel in his duffel bag. It’s already a little damp from wiping sweat during the game, but he uses the clean corner anyway. You flinch at first, sensitive, but he moves slowly and with a gentle touch. He brushes your inner thigh with his knuckles as he works, and his voice drops low.

“Didn’t think you’d really follow me.”

“I didn’t think I would either,” you admit, catching your breath. “This never happened.”

He hums, then folds the towel and tosses it to the side. “Or it can happen again during my home game.”

You start to shift, but he tightens his hand on your waist. Suguru reaches up, eyes locked on yours, and removes the cheer bow from your hair.

“What are you doing?” you ask, half amused, half dazed.

He twirls it around one finger before stuffing it in the pocket of his bag.

“Souvenir,” he says with a wink.

You gape at him. “You’re stealing my bow?”

“Borrowing,” he says. “You can come get it back.”

You give him a look. “That’s not how borrowing works.”

“It is with me.”

You shake your head, finally managing to stand, though your legs are a little shaky and you absolutely hate that he notices.

Suguru sits back on the bench, admiring the view as you fix your uniform and tighten your ponytail.

“Still staring?” you tease.

He licks his lips, not bothering to deny it. “Yeah. And?”

You toss him a look over your shoulder as you head toward the door. “You’re cocky for someone who barely won.”

“Mm,” he calls after you. “You didn’t seem too mad about it when you were bouncing on—”

“Bye, Suguru.”

He laughs, full and unbothered, as the door swings shut behind you.

Your heart is still racing. Your skin still tingles. And deep in your bag, your phone buzzes with new messages from your squad wondering where the hell you are. You’re definitely looking forward to next month, when your school will travel to play his. You know you’re not done with Suguru Geto. Not even close.

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[demie90s]

Paige Bueckers x fem!Reader x Caitlin Clark

Shameless Rivalry

MASTERLIST | MORE | MORE Part 2

Summary:It started with a viral interview. Asked for your top 5 celebrity crushes, you answered without hesitation-Paige Bueckers and Caitlin Clark, tied for #1.

Genre: Sports romance, love triangle, rivals-to-lovers, college basketball chaos

Warnings: Heavy flirtation, cursing, tension so thick you could drown in it, emotional whiplash, reader folding for two dangerous women

Word Count~ 1k

Vibe: Camila Cabello's Shameless in a jersey. Obsession, competition, and soft filth hidden behind sweet smiles and game-day uniforms.

It’s content,” they said.

Your team—your label, your brand girlies, your best friend who handles your TikTok—they set up a fake media day backdrop and filmed you answering fan questions. You were half-drunk on bubble tea and fame, sitting in front of a ring light in a hoodie and gold chains, giving dramatic answers to dumb shit.

And then came the question.

“Top five celeb crushes. Go.”

You grinned. Chewed your gum. Thought about lying.

Then you leaned forward and said it like gospel.

“Paige Bueckers and Caitlin Clark. Tied for number one.”

They cackled. You winked. The TikTok got posted the same night. And within 12 hours?

Over 15 million views.

People were stitching it. Debating it. Tagging them both in your comments like you weren’t gonna see. Like they weren’t gonna see. But the real chaos didn’t start ‘til Caitlin reposted it with a winky face.

And Paige liked it. And now?

It’s Iowa vs. UConn week. And you are the problem.

⸻

You pull up to the game like it’s a red carpet. Which, for you, it kinda is.

Skin-tight designer tank. Oversized dark blue jean. Your signature chain with the little diamond “y/n” glinting in the lights. A coat slung over your shoulder like you don’t care about anything but fashion and front row power.

Everyone’s watching. Cameras catch your entrance like you’re here to headline. You’re not. You’re here to haunt.

⸻

First quarter. It’s barely started and Paige already checked the sideline twice.

You don’t wave. Just smirk. Cross your legs slow. Adjust your lip gloss like you know exactly how you look.

Because you do.

Caitlin’s on the other side. Scanning the stands mid-play. She sees you. Grins. Immediately hits a no-look assist like it’s nothing.

Game on.

⸻

Second quarter.

Caitlin fouls near your side and damn near lands in your lap. You hold out your hand without thinking.

“Need help?”

She grabs it. Holds on a second too long. Leans in like she’s adjusting her jersey.

“Still tied for first?” she whispers.

You raise an eyebrow. She smirks and jogs back to the line.

⸻

Halftime. UConn’s up.

You’re backstage, sipping something green from a straw, talking to one of the assistant coaches when Paige passes you in the tunnel.

You nod. She slows. Looks you up and down. Eyes linger on your lips.

“You always dress like this for games?” she asks.

“Only when I’m being watched.”

She smiles. Not sweet. Sharp.

“Careful. Might get you benched.”

“I’m not the one playing, baby.”

That shuts her up. She walks off with her shoulders tight, her jaw set. You feel hot.

⸻

Third quarter is nasty.

Both girls are playing out of their minds—dropping threes, making passes, locking up on defense like they’ve got something to prove.

Spoiler: they do. And it’s you. Every time Paige hits a bucket, she looks your way. Every time Caitlin scores, she points.

You’re trying to keep cool. But your legs are crossed tight and your throat’s dry and your manager literally whispers:

“You’re the final boss.”

⸻

Fourth quarter. The game’s tied. Timeout. And somehow, somehow, they both walk near you. Different sidelines. Different teams. Same plan.

Paige gets close and leans down like she’s fixing her shoe. Doesn’t even look at you when she says:

“What’re you doing after this?”

Then she walks off. Caitlin comes by ten seconds later, sweaty and smug, brushing a towel over her neck.

“Tell Paige not to wait up.”

You let out a laugh—quiet, choked, stunned. Because it’s not a game anymore. Not for them. Not for you. And this isn’t over.

Caitlin – Day One

I’m not obsessed. I just haven’t stopped thinking about her for three days.

I scroll past her story again—she posted some blurry, close-up pic in a hoodie, and I stared at it like it held answers. It didn’t. Just her lips, glossed, smirking like she already knew what she was doing to me.

I liked the pic. Unliked. Liked again.

Tweeted right after.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll break the scoreboard trying.”

It gets traction. People assume it’s about the game. It’s not. It’s about her. It’s always about her now.

I sit in my car an extra 20 minutes after practice. Just refreshing her profile.

I almost post a pic of the hoodie she complimented two games ago. Caption it “yours looks better though.” I don’t. I save it in drafts.

My stomach’s been tight since the game. Like I lost something. Like Paige already knew I would.

Paige - Day two

She’s tweeting again. Caitlin, I mean. Cryptic thirst mixed with vague dominance.

I’m not impressed.

I’ve been watching her spiral for a day and a half, and honestly? It’s cute. I decide to start my own war.

My Instagram story goes up around 11 p.m. Black screen. Just audio.

“Let Me Love You” playing low. The Mario one. That chorus hits, and I add a single white heart. Then tag no one. But everyone knows.

Twenty minutes later, I post a picture. Me, half-turned, shirt riding up just enough. Caption?

“Don’t look too long.”

The comments go crazy. I open her profile. Her. Not Caitlin.

She hasn’t posted since the game. But her views on my story? Top 5. Always.

I DM her.

“So we tied, huh?”

No reply. Yet.

But I know she saw it. I know she’s watching me now, too.

Caitlin – Day Three

She’s playing dirty. The thirst traps. The song. The DM. Paige wants to win this in public. But me? I want her in person.

I text my manager first thing: “Can we lock in a promo with Nike or literally anyone she’s working with?”

It takes two hours.Then I get a yes.

Some shoot. Something casual. They want creators and athletes and “relevant faces.” They said her name before I could.

I said yes before they finished. I don’t even ask what the campaign’s about. I don’t care. As long as I’m in the same room as her again.

I’m gonna look her in the eye and remind her who really saw her first.

Paige – Day Four

She signed on to the promo.

The same one I just begged my agent to get me into under the excuse of “increased visibility.” It worked. Barely.

I don’t even need this campaign. But if Caitlin thinks she can just schedule herself into her orbit and win her back like that?

Nah. I show up early.

Hair done. Outfit cute. Lip gloss on. Laces tight. I walk into that set like it’s a runway and don’t even ask where my trailer is. I already know.

Then I hear Caitlin’s voice down the hall. She’s laughing. I walk in. And there she is.

In the makeup chair. Looking at me through the mirror like I’ve been in her head too.

I drop my bag.

“What, no warmup before we start fighting over her again?”

She laughs. But it’s not friendly.

My POV

They’re both here. Same promo shoot. Same room. And neither of them knew the other would show up.

I watch them from the back of the set, pretending I’m checking lighting cues.

Caitlin’s bouncing a basketball like it’s a stress relief tool. Paige keeps adjusting her crop top like she’s making sure I’m looking.

I sip my matcha. Tilt my head.

“Are y’all okay?”

Neither answers.

But they both turn and look at me like I’m the only win that matters.

I should’ve known better.

I thought showing up early would save me from the drama. Do my set. Smile for the camera. Bounce. But then Paige walked in like she was the camera. Looking fine as hell. All attitude. Not even trying to act like Caitlin wasn’t already in the building.

She saw me and smiled like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Then waved me over with that smug-ass smirk.

I sighed. But yeah—I went. She barely let me speak before launching in.

“I just think it’s funny how she only shows up when you’re around.”

I blinked. “You mean Caitlin?”

Paige scoffed. “Obviously. She’s never even cared about this brand until now. But one little interview and suddenly she’s front row again?”

I stared at her. “You flew in this morning.”

“Yeah, for you. I’m consistent.”

I rolled my eyes so hard my soul almost left my body.

“She’s fake humble, you know that? All soft-spoken until someone else wants what she wants. Then she’s a menace. I mean, look at her—she’s been staring over here the whole time like I stole her lunch.”

I turned my head. Caitlin was, in fact, staring. She smiled when we locked eyes.

I looked back at Paige, deadpan. “You done?”

She grinned. “Not even close. But I’ll let you go make her jealous for a minute.”

I should’ve walked away.

But no—I went to Caitlin next. Because I’m stupid. Because curiosity is a disease.

She was near the wardrobe racks, acting like she wasn’t watching my every move. I didn’t even say anything yet and she pulled me behind the curtain like we were about to commit a crime.

“She touch you?”

I blinked. “Are you serious?”

Caitlin tilted her head, eyes scanning mine. “I’m just asking. She gets real handsy when she thinks she’s winning.”

I exhaled through my nose. “You flew out to do a shoot with a brand you don’t even wear. And you’re mad Paige touched my arm?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she smiled. Slow. Sharp.

“I didn’t have to post a thirst trap to get your attention. I just had to show up.”

My brows lifted. “Wow.”

“I’m just saying. One of us knows how to talk to you. The other just stares and hopes it works.”

I laughed. Out loud. She looked smug for half a second until I turned and walked off mid-sentence.

I was done.

Not even halfway through the day and they were already trying to weaponize me like I was a prize to be fought over. Whispers. Glances. Comments loud enough to be overheard. They weren’t even being slick anymore.

So I dipped.

Told the assistant I needed air and never came back. Let them fight over an empty room.

I got a coffee. Put on my playlist. Texted my team “y’all are never setting me up again.”

Because I am not the problem here. They are. And I’m not choosing shit…Until they figure out how to act.

——————————————-——————————————-

@draculara-vonvamp

[enwoso]

lovie flash forward where she captains the lionesses to win the euros again (with any kids from the other stories that are lionesses kids) and she’s a midfielder because when she was little she didn’t want to choose between alessia and leah so she chose between their two positions she also is number 6 (for leah) and has russo on her shirt (for alessia) so it’s a mix of both of them. she’s also quite tall but the nickname tiny stuck around😭

there’s even a déjà vu moment for when they play germany and lovie is looking over a players shoulder at a note and people make it a meme along side alessia’s from years ago😭

anyway! she captains them to a clean sheet win and scores a hatrick and has a world famous celebration that’s all over the internet with kids copying her and when she’s getting interviewed after it she basically says what leah said “I can’t stop crying” and “i’m trying really hard not to swear”

and when it’s all done she’s back to celebrating and drags alessia to roll around in the confetti with her like when alessia won her first euros and she makes ella and mary knee slide with her like then too (bc ofc they came to watch) also dedicates her medal to her mum and leah during her interview🤌🏽

maybe even gets a ballon d’or nomination afterwards😎

glimpse of the future | alessia russo x leah williamson x russo!reader

to the person who requested this, i'm so sorry it took so long. i loved this request when i first seen it and wrote a whole fic in two days for it but then when i was editing it i re-read it and hated it hence why it's took so long, but i hope i've done it justice as i ended up loving making this and editing photos for this was such a fun thing to write once i got the plot right🙃

grumpy masterlist

you stood in the tunnel, your heart pounding as the roar of the crowd echoed throughout the stadium walls. taking a glance down at the armband which was wrapped tightly around your left arm. captain, you, at 23 leading england onto the pitch in the euros final. it was something four year old you dreamed about.

the weight to deliver tonight was almost overwhelming. but your focus went to your family who was in the stands.

your mum, leah all decked out in england merch, shirts, flags face paint everything they could get their hands on as they were surrounded by your uncles gio and luca as well as your grandparents who had been there throughout the entire tournament as well as your mum's former teammates.

you could imagine your mum's excitement vividly - alessia painted in england colours, a scarf tied around her neck despite the warm weather and her england shirt with 'russo' #11 adorned on the back.

alessia had spent the last three weeks telling anyone who would listen about how proud she was leading to you being the subject of endless teasing from your uncles and your mum's friends even if was a little annoying you knew it all came from a good place.

"you've got this lovie" alessia whispered to herself, adjusting her shirt a little, the iconic number 11 gleaming with pride. your number being that as it was the famous number 2,3 for your mum and 6 for leah combined.

as you walked onto the pitch with your team, the thunderous cheer filled your body with energy. the match beginning and you were in your element. england were dominating possession, moving the ball with so much flare.

so in the 24th minute a perfect through ball found you in space as you cut inside, steering clear of the german defender as you slotted the ball into the bottom corner - the stadium erupted. your team mates surrounding you with head taps and hugs.

by the time halftime had rolled around, you had already bagged a brace having been set up perfectly each time by your teammates. england were flying and looking likely to win it but you knew better than start and get comfortable knowing the momentum could easily change.

in the 70th minute of the second half, the germans made a substitution. your sharp eyes caught a glimps of a substitute carrying a folded piece of paper.

wandering over as you strained to see it over the players shoulder, but it was all in german and dotted with cryptic numbers. you mum walking with a big grin as it was a straight parallel of the same thing she had done int he 2022 euro final.

"focus lovie" she muttered to herself as she felt leah's hand rest on her knee to stop it from bouncing up and down. the game getting its self back underway.

the game wearing on, the german tightening their defence but you weren't finished. in the 78th minute you found yourself once again on the edge of the box.

a clever one two with your centre forward, left you one one one with the keeper. seeing an open goal you chipped the ball delicately over the outstretched hand of the keeper.

GOAL!

you knew once it had left your foot it was going in, your celebration was instinctive. rushing over to the corner in a sleek knee slide as you cupped your hand to your ear — staring into the stand as you soaked in the noise.

you way of silencing the doubters, for those who had said you'd never be half the player your mum was. you feeling nothing but satisfaction when you proved them all wrong time after time.

the referee's whistle cut through the air finally after six minutes of added time — sharp and definitive. and for a second you froze. then it hit you, you had done it. your three goals had done it. england were european champions, once again.

you knees buckled and you collapsed onto the grass, your hands covering your face as the tears started to fall. the noise around you was deafening, a cacophony of cheers and screams echoing throughout the stadium. 

you tilting her head back, staring at the sky as you tried to catch your breath — your chest heaving up and down.

feeling hands grab at your shoulders and turning to see your teammates rushing towards you, all screaming with joy. a blur of england jerseys surrounding you as you were pulled into a massive group hug, lifting you off the ground as if you were the trophy.

you laughing through your tears of joy, unable to stop the huge grin on your face as they chanted your name, loud and proud.

"russo scoring goals galore! captain fantastic!" your teammates shouted, ruffling your hair as you took in every single ounce of the moment.

back in the stands with your mum, alessia was in her feet. tears falling from her eyes as she clutched onto leah's arm. "that's my baby, that's my lovie!" she shouted her voice cracking.

alessia's scarf all askew, her face paint all smudged from the tears streaming down her cheeks in joy, but she didn't care. she could be prouder of you and she wanted all to know.

leah was beaming beside your mum, clapping furiously as her voice was hoarse from cheering. leaning in close to alessia as she rubbed a hand up and down the blondes back.

"you right here that, you know. she's you out there — maybe slightly better" leah nudged alessia as she playfully rolled her eyes at the teasing comment.

"don't say that!" alessia half laughed, while half crying through the pride radiated from her, "but also — maybe"

your grandparents, carol and mario were on their feet waving flags and cheering loudly. mario clapping a hand over his heart as his face etched with emotion, “she’s incredible” he said to no one in particular more just thinking aloud.

“runs in the family” gio chimed in as he grinned nudging luca slightly.

luca had been on his phone recording the celebration, well trying to. “this is going on every family group chat. i’m never letting her forget this!”

as your mum’s former teammates — ella, mary, lucy and lotte were just as loud as your family. they may not be your family by blood but they were definitely your chosen family. they’d watched you grow up with their owns eyes being there for you when you needed.

mary was hollering, “that’s the russo legacy right there!” as lucy waved her england scarf above her head like a helicopter.

as you back in the pitch, you’d managed to peel yourself away from the group hug as your eyes scanned the stands, looking for your family.

finding them quickly, your mums attire dressed in full england merch from head to toe was a dead giveaway, and when your eyes met your mum’s you lifted your arms and pointed towards her.

“for you mum!” you mouthed, tears were still streaming down her face in pure pride. alessia bringing a hand to her mouth as she nodded the tears continuing to spill over again.

you turned back to the field, it being moments away from the trophy celebration, as you wiped your eyes as the reality of the moment was really starting to settle in.

you’d dreamed of this as a little girl, you’d watched your mum win it in 2022 amongst some of the most decorated players in the words which your adored.

now it was your turn. your fists clenching as you breathed in the moment. the weight of history pressing in your shoulders — but not as a burden but as a crown.

the crowd hadn’t stopped for a single moment since the final whistle, chanting and cheering as the team relished in the celebrations for their hard word over the past few weeks.

as you lined up watching the german players receiving their medals first, as you congratulated each one. you’d dreamed watched as your teammates, their joy mirrored your own. a sense of profound sense of gratitude — not just for the win, but also for the journey.

the germans had received their silver medals, it was now your turn as the announcer roared their names through the speakers.

you stood at the end of the line watching all your teammates received their well deserved gold medal, the captains armband still snug around your arm, still trying to process what had just happened.

your cheeks were damp with tears, your hands trembling with adrenaline and emotion.

the first few medals had been handed out, you watching in with pride as you could hear their laughter, their shouts of disbelief. every step closer to the podium felt surreal — as if she was walking through a dream.

it was now your turn, the official draped the gold medal around your neck, the cool weight of it grounding you. you touched it lightly then turned to the cheering fans lifting it high. the roar from the crowd was deafening.

you’d shook hands with all the officials lined up, your heart pounding as you were left to lift the trophy. your heart was pounding. the trophy was gleaming under the stadium lights and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

"and now, your captain, y/n russo, will lift the trophy!"

the crowd erupted as you moved towards your teammates moving into the middle of the group as you gripped the handles of the trophy tightly. pausing for a moment as the weight of the moment hit her.

then with a deep breath, you hoisted it high above your head. confetti cannons exploded, showering the team in gold as the stadium roared with joy.

you closed your eyes, tilting your head back to feel the confetti rain down on you. you could hear your teammates screaming behind you, their hands slapping her shoulders in celebration.

in the stands, your mum was a mess of tears and pride. she clutched leah’s hand tightly, “that’s our girl, le” your mum yelled bouncing on her toes as you lifted the trophy.

gio was shouting your chant, “midfield magic, hear the crowd roar! russo’s scoring goals galore!” as luca waved a giant england flag above his head.

back to you on the pitch, the trophy remained being passed about high above peoples head as you laughed on, before an interviewer found you amidst of the celebrations.

“how does it feel y/n?”

“i-i can’t stop cryin’ and i’m trying really hard not to swear” you admitted, a small laugh falling from your lips as your voice shook.

"what does this all mean to you and the team?"

you took a deep breath. "i speak on behalf of all my teammates when I say this is for everyone who doubted us, who told us we shouldn't play because we're women. well, look at us now. european champions. who's got the title—us or them?"

you paused, your eyes glancing over to the stands where your family was, “and for me, well this isn't just about football. i've been able to do this because of my two biggest fans—my mum and le. this is for you both. i love you so much. and gio," you added with a teary laugh, "you were right—this is way better than chocolate!”

you laughed, knowing when gio and the rest of your family saw the interview would get the reference from when your mum first won the euros. you thanked the interviewer as you made your way to the sidelines where you would finally be able to enjoy the moment with those who mattered most to you.

when you made it to them, you effortlessly jumped over the barrier, being engulfed by your family. your mum throwing her arms around you, sobbing for the thousandth time today.

“mum! we did it” you whispered, your voice breaking.

your mum hugging you tightly as a hand run down your back before she pulled away, “no, you did it lovie.”

leah joined the hug, wrapping both your mum and you in her arms, “we are so proud of you, angel” she smiled softly her own eyes filled with pride.

as you turned to your grandparents who had been watching the sweet moment between your mums as they beamed with pride.

your nonno, mario pulled you into a tight hug, “you’ve made this family so proud kiddo” he smiled his voice thick with emotion.

“thanks nonno” you said, your voice trembling as you held back the tears.

your uncles, gio and luca, of course broke the emotional moment with their teasing. “did you have to score three? what a show off!” gio grinned, a wide smirk on his face.

you laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, “remind me how many you’ve scored in a euros final?” you quipped back. gio just laughing as he pulled you into a headlock as you laughed.

you’d posted for photo after photo, finally making your way to your mum’s teammate that had made the journey, mary was first to give you a massive hug ruffling your hair. “hat trick in a final! you’ve got your mums genes that for sure!”

“probably better actually” ella added with a wink as you scoffed with a laugh.

“ok, ok let’s not start that argument, again” you smiled as you catch up with the girls your cheeks already flushed from the sheer amount of attention being placed on you.

the celebrations felt endless and carried on all night long, you not being sat in a function room. having danced the night away with not only your teammates but also your family.

but you still had one thing left to do, the medal which hadn’t left your neck. moving your way over to your mum who was sat leaned up against leah.

you without saying a word took the medal from around your neck, placing around your mums as a confused look flashed across your mums features.

“lovie? what- what are you doing? this is yours” your mum asked as she moved to take it from around her neck.

your quickly shaking your head, “no it’s for you, without you, and leah i wouldn’t be half the person i am today”

and there came the tears again as alessia beckoned you to sit down next to her as the tears spilled again.

“oh not again, angel i had just managed to get her to stop cryin’!”

-

months later

you were sprawled out on the couch having a rare weekend off you’d came home for to spend some time with your mums.

you quiet morning however was ruined when alessia walked in, holding her phone. her face was lit with excitement.

“lovie, you’ll never guess what!” your mum paused as you nodded your head for her to continue, expecting for her to tell you about some gossip she’s found from the neighbours while putting the bins out, “you’ve been nominated for a ballon d’or!”

you nearly choked on your water as you shot up, your eyes going wide, “what? are you having my life?”

your mum shook her head, “you’ve heard me!” she beamed, “i always knew you’d do something special but this-“

leah then appeared in the doorway clearly having already heard the news as she shook her head with a bright smile, “told you less, she’s better than we ever could have imagined”

you groaned from the compliment, though you were grinning, “mum, le- stop your embarrassing me”

but as you hugged them both, you knew you wouldn’t trade their pride or their love for anything in the world.

from ‘tiny’ to towering greatness — quite literally — y/n russo had lived up to the legacy and had created a one for her own in the process.

[cupofteatoyou2]

What if she chose me pt5

The bruise isn’t new. It’s from the match. first match. The one where Alexia chewed through you at halftime and your lungs hadn’t felt full since.

You remember the moment, a poor step forward, a misread rotation. And then a sprint to recover that left your ribs wide open—and the opposing winger didn’t miss her chance.

She barreled through you like you were nothing. You hit the pitch hard. Elbow to turf. Chest to knee. All the air in your body gone in one sharp second.

No whistle. No card. No concern. Just pain.

You remember pushing up before the med staff could reach you. You remember Ingrid kneeling beside you and muttering, “Don’t lie,” and you did anyway.

You told her you were fine. You weren’t.

You played the second half on adrenaline and to keep your pride. And after the match, when you peeled your kit off and caught sight of your side in the mirror, it bloomed in color.

Purple first. Then blue. Then something somewhere between rage and surrender. You haven’t let anyone see it since.

And now, here you are—few weeks later , standing on the edge of training with that same bruise burning under your top. It’s almost faded but pain is not gone.

It pulls with every twist. Every reach. Every breath. But it’s not bad. Not enough to stop you. You could play.

And yet When you jog onto the pitch, boots biting the grass, breath fogging in the crisp air—your eyes find her first.

Jana. She’s already moving. Already working. Already throwing herself into drills with a sharpness you haven’t seen in weeks. She’s moving like someone trying to earn something back. And maybe she is.

You stop at the edge of the cone grid and watch her recover from a misstep, square her shoulders, and demand the ball again.

You can’t look away. Not when you remember her voice from few night ago.

“I wanted to hate her.”

“I’m tired.”

“They don’t need me anymore.”

You shouldn’t have heard it. But you did. And now it echoes in your blood.

You take your place in the drill, jaw tight, lungs already burning before you’ve started. Jonatan splits the group. You and Jana end up on opposite sides of the rotation.

The message is clear one of you will start this weekend. One of you will not.

The ache in your side spikes when you turn. You press a palm to the bruise through your kit. Just enough pressure to remind yourself that it’s still there. That you could use it. If you wanted to.

Because when you glance across the pitch—Jana is locked in. Laser-focused. Alive in a way you haven’t seen in weeks. You remember what she said. Not to you. But about you.

“She’s so solid.”

“And me? I’m still waiting to feel like I’m not temporary.”

You step into the next pass and let your timing be just a little off. Let the touch slip just slightly.

You twist too quickly. Then stop. Grab your side. Not dramatic. Just... enough.

Jonatan notices.

“Hey—what’s up?”

You hesitate. There it is. The moment. Say the truth? Fight for it? Or—

You exhale slowly. Shake your head.

“Don’t feel okay,” you say. “Ribs. It’s burning like hell. Probably shouldn’t push.” His eyes narrow. Not suspicious—just cautious. He knows you. You don’t back down easy.

“You sure?”

You nod. Bite the inside of your cheek. “Yeah.”

He nods. Waves his arm. “Jana. You are starting this weekend.”

She nodded. Small smile is noticeable on her lips. But tries to act cool. Like it wasn’t something she was craving for.

You sit down on the edge of the bench, stretching your legs out like it’s just another day. But your hands are shaking. She slides into the shape drill, shouting for the ball, hitting her marks.

And you watch. Every pass. Every tackle. Every look. And the bruise beneath your top pulses with something deeper than pain. Because now it’s not just physical.

It’s choice. It’s sacrifice. It’s a secret.

You look down at your hands, pressed to your thighs, trying not to unravel.

Then you feel it— Eyes on you. You glance up. Alexia.

She’s standing near the far goal, arms crossed. Watching. Not the drill. You.

You lock eyes. You don’t flinch. She doesn’t either. Her face is unreadable. No scowl. No smile. No pity.

But you know what she’s thinking. You see it in her stillness. In the way her gaze lingers half a second too long.

She knows. She knows what you did. And she doesn’t say a word. Just turns. And walks away.

You wait until the field clears before you move. Your bag is heavy on your shoulder. Not from weight, just… from everything else.

You don’t make it five steps toward the tunnel before someone falls in beside you. Quiet. Unassuming.

Ona.

You don’t look at her. She doesn’t look at you.

But she matches your pace.

You both walk in silence for a few seconds—long enough for it to be comfortable, but not long enough for you to ignore the fact that she came after you. Deliberately.

Finally, she says, voice quiet but not timid

“You didn’t limp this morning.”

You flinch. Just slightly.

Your hand curls a little tighter around the strap of your bag.

Ona doesn’t push. She just waits.

You sigh. “It’s not nothing,” you murmur. “It still hurts.”

“But not enough to stop you,” she says softly. Not accusing. Just… sure.

You glance at her, and she meets your eyes.

There’s no judgment in hers. Just understanding.

You look away. “She needed it.”

“I know,” Ona says.

Another beat of silence. Then “So did you.”

That hits harder than you expect. You swallow. Your throat is dry. “It felt right.”

“It was kind,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t cost you something.”

You stop walking. Ona stops too. You turn to her. “Please don’t say anything.”

She shakes her head. “I won’t.” She pauses, then adds, “But just so you know… it doesn’t make you weak.”

“I know that,” you say automatically.

She tilts her head. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Because you’re not sure anymore.

Ona doesn’t press further. She just reaches out and lightly taps your arm, the way someone might close a book after reading the final page.

“I’ll see you inside,” she says. And then she’s gone.

You stand there for a long moment, heart too loud and lungs too tight, staring after her. And maybe it’s the bruise. Maybe it’s the guilt.

Maybe it’s the look on Jana’s face during drills—focused, determined, herself again. But you don’t regret it. Not exactly. You just wish you didn’t have to lie to everyone else… To do something that finally felt like telling the truth.

The stadium hums with that particular kind of noise—matchday noise. The kind that isn't made of cheers or songs, but nerves. Boots clicking against tunnel floors. Velcro tightening. The muted thump of fists against shoulders. Breath warming hands.

You don’t feel part of it. Not today. You’re zipped into your tracksuit, sitting on the bench while your body screams to move, to be in it. But all you can do is watch.

Jana’s name is read over the speakers. Her number. Her position. The crowd cheers. The squad nods, claps backs, taps boots. She jogs onto the field like she never left it.

You watch her the way someone watches a closed door—knowing they can’t walk through it, but still waiting to see what’s on the other side.

You’ve been on this bench before. But not like this. Not after choosing it. Not after making yourself small so someone else could breathe.

The match begins fast—high energy, tight spaces, pressing from both sides. And Jana adjusts quickly. Efficient. Precise. She holds her line with the kind of quiet certainty that earns trust without demanding it.

You’re not surprised. You’ve always known she could do this. It’s the reason you lied.

Midway through the first half, she wins a hard challenge near the sideline. Slides clean, pops up faster than expected, and pushes the ball forward into space for Aitana to chase.

The bench erupts.

Ona slaps the railing and yells something in rapid Catalan that definitely includes a swear and possibly the phrase holy shit.

Aitana points back at Jana with a grin.

The coaches murmur, scribble something on their clipboards.

You sit still. You’re clapping, but not smiling. Not fully. Because watching it happen—watching her reclaim the space—you should feel proud. And you do. But under that? There’s a small, sharp ache. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Just the ache of not being missed.

Right before halftime, she locks down a dangerous switch with a perfect first touch and turns into space like it’s hers. And then, for a split second—she glances toward the bench.

Her eyes sweep across the sideline. You don’t think she’s looking for you. But maybe she is. Maybe she saw. You hold the gaze just long enough for your chest to tighten.

Then she’s gone again—back into the rhythm of the match, back into the center of the moment you gave her. The whistle blows for halftime. You exhale. And you don’t even realize you’d been holding your breath.

The locker room is full of noise again—boots kicked off, instructions muttered, hydration routines kicked in like religion.

Jana sits near the front, head down, unwrapping her tape. She’s calm. Focused. She doesn’t smile. But she feels different. Like she’s reinhabiting her own skin. Like the version of her who’s been folding inward for weeks is finally standing upright again.

You stay quiet in the back, near the extra kits, sipping from a bottle you barely remember grabbing. Mapi tosses a rolled-up sock across the room. Aitana hums something under her breath. Patri checks her ankle tape like it might explode. The team moves on. And you— You stay still.

The second half is more of the same. Not perfect. Not easy. But steady.

Jana plays with something that looks suspiciously like confidence now. She takes a risk with a high press. Holds her shape under pressure. She’s breathing in rhythm with the game, and for the first time, it looks like she trusts herself again.

The bench responds. They cheer. They shout. Ona leans forward with her elbows on her knees every time Jana goes one-on-one.

You feel every second like a quiet pulse under your skin. No one says your name. And that’s the part that sticks. Not being benched. Not being bruised. Just… not being part of it. Not being needed.

Full time.

5–1.

The team wins. The pitch becomes a rush of high-fives, grins, and shouted congratulations. Players jog to the corner flag. Staff claps from the sideline.

Jana gets pulled into a half-hug by Ingrid. Aitana yells something triumphant and spins in a circle. You walk onto the field with the rest of the bench.

You smile. You nod. You say, “Good job,” to someone. Maybe to everyone. But not to her. Not yet. Because you’re not sure what you’d sound like if you opened your mouth.

Later, while the team heads toward the tunnel, you hang back for a second. Just long enough to watch her. Jana jogs past a photographer and waves a quick thank-you to a ball kid.

She looks calm again. Like something is no longer pressing on her chest. And maybe it’s that peace that hurts the most. Because you gave her that breath. And now, all you can do is wonder— Will she ever know?

You file into the tunnel with the rest of them—boots thudding on cement, laughter bouncing off walls, jerseys clinging damp to skin.

The energy is high. Not over-the-top, just bright. Victorious. You move with them, but not quite among them. You're behind the wave, not inside it.

Someone offers you a high five. You take it. Aitana slings an arm around your shoulder for a second, giddy from the win. You smile back, reflexively. But it’s muscle memory, not feeling. And then—Jana.

She walks past you with salma and Patri, expression calm, voice low, her fingers trailing across the sleeve of her jacket as she peels it off.

For a moment, you think she might stop. Say something. Look. Acknowledge you in some small way. She doesn’t. Not because she’s cold. But because she doesn’t know. No one does. To them, you sat this one out. To them, you're just a player with a sore rib and a spot on the bench.

Not the one who watched the moment she gave up a dozen times bloom beautifully in someone else’s hands. Not the one who chose that silence, and now has to live in it.

The locker room is loud again. Mapi’s already pulling off her socks, talking about the free kick no one remembers. Aitana’s trying to hijack the speaker. Marta is yelling about the playlist being cursed. Someone opens a bottle of sports drink and it explodes across the bench.

The chaos is comforting, in a weird way. It means things are okay. Normal. Alive. You move through it like a ghost with a smile on its face. You take off your boots. Tape your fingers. Sit on the edge of the bench and unwrap the compression sleeve around your ribs slowly, carefully, like removing armor you don’t get to wear again.

The bruise is Still there. Not dark,but noticeable. You stare at it for a long second. Then pull your hoodie on before anyone sees.

Across the room, Jana is laughing and it’s real. The soft kind of laugh that comes when something inside finally unclenches. She’s talking with Mapi now. Ingrid tosses her a water bottle. Patri claps her shoulder and says something that makes her roll her eyes and smile. You watch the team absorb her again. Welcome her back without hesitation.

They don’t know what it took. They don’t need to. That’s what you told yourself. That was the deal.

But the quiet part of you—the one still curled around your own bruised breath—wonders if there’ll be a moment where someone sees it. Where someone asks.

Not for credit. Not for thanks. Just… to be seen. Just once. By her.

Outside, the sky is starting to darken. The bus waits in the lot. The cold creeps under your sleeves. You step out with the others, hood pulled up, hands in your pockets. Behind you, you hear someone laugh—Mapi again, probably—and then a quiet voice you know too well.

Jana. You don’t turn. You don’t look back. You just walk onto the bus like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t mean something. Like it didn’t cost something.

You take the window seat near the back and press your forehead to the glass. The outside world blurs. And in the reflection—you catch a glimpse of her boarding behind you. She doesn’t sit beside you. She doesn’t even pause. But her reflection glances in your direction once—and you don’t know if it was accident or instinct. But it lingers. And that, somehow, is worse than if she hadn’t looked at all.

Because it’s enough to keep you hoping. And not enough to make it stop hurting.

The bus pulls into the training ground, and as soon as it stops, the team scatters like water on concrete.

Everyone moves fast. Unspoken routines kick in. Car keys. Kit bags. Spare sliders. There’s laughter, back slaps, light swearing. The glow of a win still hangs over everything—but it’s fading now, giving way to fatigue.

You’re the last to stand. You grab your bag slow, not because you’re sore—but because you’re trying to delay that moment where it’s just you, alone in the cold, pretending to check your phone while you wait for your ride to show up.

You step off the bus. Half the parking lot’s already emptying out—cars reversing, headlights cutting through the dark.

You don’t notice her until she speaks.

“Need a lift?”

You turn, heart catching in your throat for reasons you don’t name. Alexia.

She’s not even looking at you. She’s already halfway to her car, keys loose in her hand like this whole thing is optional.

You hesitate. “I’m okay.”

“Didn’t ask if you were okay,” she replies. “Asked if you needed a ride.”

It’s not friendly. It’s not cold, either. It’s just direct. And that’s worse, somehow.

You sigh. “Yeah. Sure.”

She nods once. Doesn’t wait. Just unlocks the doors and slides in. You follow.

The car is quiet. Uncomfortably so.

No music. No small talk. Just the quiet squeak of the windshield wipers as they clear a few drops of late rain and the faint buzz of the engine under your feet.

She drives like she does everything—precise, measured, no frills.

You stare out the window, counting passing lights. Your bag’s in your lap. Your fingers haven’t stopped fidgeting with the edge of the zipper since you got in.

The silence stretches. Then—

“You didn’t have to sit out.” Her voice is calm. Flat. Not accusatory, but not warm either.

You blink. Look at your hands. “Yeah.”

“She would’ve been fine. Either way.”

You nod once. “Probably.”

“She’s not weak,” she adds.

You let out a quiet breath. “I know.”

Alexia shifts lanes, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping the indicator like she’s thinking through something harder than this conversation.

Then— “She’s better when she thinks no one’s watching.”

You glance at her. “That a compliment or a warning?”

Her lip twitches. Not a smile—more like a shrug in expression form.

“Just a fact.”

Another beat. Then“She looked at you.”

You freeze. Alexia doesn’t elaborate. You say nothing.

You didn’t think anyone noticed. Not during the match. Not that moment. The way Jana’s eyes found you for that breath of a second.

“She does that sometimes,” Alexia says, keeping her eyes on the road. “When she thinks it’s safe.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Because your chest hurts again, and it has nothing to do with your ribs.

“She doesn’t talk much about you,” Alexia continues. “But she doesn’t stop watching you either.”

You grip the edge of your bag tighter. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” she says. Cuts you off without heat.

You let that hang in the air between you. Neither of you fills it. You watch streetlights blur by outside the window.

She pulls into your street. Parks, engine still running.

She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t ask if you’re getting out. Just sits there. One hand on the wheel. Still. You reach for the handle. But pause.

Your voice comes out too quiet. “Did it matter?”

Alexia doesn’t ask what you mean. She knows.

She says, “Not to everyone.” Then she adds—softer “But it mattered.” You nod. Stare straight ahead.

“See you Monday,” she says.

You open the door. Step out. Close it gently. She drives away without waiting for anything else.

And you stand there, on the curb, in the quiet night with the streetlight hitting just wrong—and for the first time all day, you let yourself feel it.

The pride. The ache. The silence. And the truth of it all

You didn’t disappear. But you did fade for a time. And somehow, Alexia saw it happen. Not with pity. Not with kindness. But with something that almost—almost—felt like respect.

Your phone is screaming when you wake up.

It’s vibrating nonstop, face-down on your nightstand like it’s trying to crawl off and escape the incoming apocalypse.

104 unread messages.

3 missed calls.

2 voice notes flagged by WhatsApp as “potentially unhinged.”

The group chat is on fire.

Mapi

EMERGENCY VIBES MEETING WAKE UP, COWARDS

Mapi i had a dream that we missed our only chance to go on a girls’ trip and i woke up sobbing

Mapi we deserve sun. and alcohol. and a pool where i can float and not think about defensive shape.

Aitana you were already floating in yesterday

Mapi I WAS MANIFESTING

Ingrid

Can we please pick somewhere with decent water pressure this time?

Marta I vote beach. And a grill. And at least one hammock.

Ona I’m not going if there’s a goat.

Patri

what kind of vacations do you think we’re planning???

Vicky someone find a house and post three options. democracy will decide.

Mapi democracy is a scam unless I win. i want a cliff house with ghosts and ocean views and a cursed mirror

Aitana you want Midsommar

Mapi i want freedom

You stay curled under your blanket, scrolling one-eyed through the chat, barely awake, already winded from the sheer volume of nonsense flying around.

Ona is shutting down every questionable idea with surgical precision.

Marta is spamming house listings—some nice, some deeply suspicious.

Patri is trying to get people to commit to a plan like a responsible adult.

Mapi is losing her mind in six languages.

It’s chaos. Beautiful, feral chaos.

You scroll through another dozen messages until someone starts a new poll labeled

THE VIBE

Beach and Wine

Cliff and Fire

Chill and Healing

Feral and Possibly Illegal

Mapi votes twice. You laugh into your pillow.

Then, halfway through a new thread where Aitana suggests shared groceries and someone says “NO WE ARE FREEFROM SPREADSHEETS,” you pause.

Because something tugs at your memory.

Tamariu.

It’s quiet. Coastal. Tucked away. Not flashy. Just peaceful. You went once—years ago. And something about it still sits soft in your chest. You scroll back to the main thread. Type without thinking

Y/N Tamariu’s nice. Small. Chill. Sea’s good. Market coffee slaps.

You send it. No emoji. No tag. Just that. You toss your phone on the bed like it didn’t matter. Like your heart didn’t skip when you pressed send. You go brush your teeth. Come back. The chat has exploded.

Mapi i googled it. 10/10 would haunt someone there

Salam THE WATER LOOKS SO BLUE MY SOUL JUST GOT CLEANSED

Marta i think i found a house. it has a pool and a roof deck and like… eight beds?

Vicky send the link. please, god.

Patri does it have kitchen knives that won’t cut air?

Ingrid And beds not made of concrete?

Mapi DOES IT HAVE A VIBE??

Marta yes. a haunted-but-hot vibe. it’s perfect.

Aitana i’m packing already

Mapi dibs on the bathtub for morning regrets

Ona dibs on locking my door

You scroll back for a second to check your own message.Just curious. And there it is. Not in the replies. Not loud. Not direct.

Jana liked your message.

Just that. No follow-up. No words. Just one quiet, deliberate tap of acknowledgment.

Buried between Mapi yelling “I CALL THE LEFT SIDE OF THE MOON ROOM” and someone sending a playlist full of vibey synth music labeled “vacation moodboard.”

But it’s there. It’s her. And it lands hard. Because after everything— after all the silence. the side-eyes. the tension. the way she never said anything, even when you stepped off the pitch for her— this is the first thing she’s given back.

It’s not big. It’s not loud. But it’s real. And it’s hers.

The chat keeps spiraling. Someone suggests a packing theme. Someone else says they’ll bring tequila and healing crystals.

Mapi tries to form a carpool and offers to drive despite three unresolved parking tickets and a complete lack of GPS trustworthiness.

The whole thing is ridiculous. Loud. Messy. Alive. And you? You don’t type anything else. You just sit there on your bed, watching the chat burn, smile tucked under the edge of your blanket— And think

She saw it. She saw me. Even if she didn’t say anything. Even if no one else noticed. She did.