#How Many Quarters In Basketball

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Unlucky Overtime

SUMMARY: The Spelldrive game against Royal Sword Academy was very close. But it was in overtime that the teams broke the tie and Night Raven College... lost. They were very upset by this loss and need your comfort even if they deny it.

CHARACTERS: Spelldrive Club 🧹 (Leona Kingscholar; Ruggie Bucchi; Epel Felmier)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Comfort; Kiss

WORD COUNT: An average of 780 words per character.

COMMENTS: Following the same premise as what I wrote for Basketball Club and Track and Field Club of "What if they lost?"

When I started writing about comforting them when they lose, I ended up finding it more interesting and cute than celebrating when they win. I think it's in the bad times that feelings are most intimate and honest.

When I wrote Epel's part, I was upset about something IRL and it ended up helping me writing him. 😂

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy 😉

OTHER CLUBS:

But… We Lost… - Basketball Club (Ace / Floyd / Jamil)

Romantic Experiment - Science Club (Trey / Rook)

For a Quarter of a Second - Track and Field Club (Deuce / Jack)

A Rainy Walk - Mountain Lover Club (Jade) / Gargoyle Studies Club (Malleus)

In the Backstage - Pop Music Club (Cater / Kalim / Lilia)

CONTEXT: If there are competitive players who love to win, they are the members of the NRC Spelldrive Club. Leona, Ruggie and Epel especially. They were playing with everything, especially because of the school they were playing against. The game against Royal Sword Academy was very close, as expected.

When the game ended they needed to break the tie and so the game went into overtime. But unfortunately, this did not give your school the victory.

Leona seemed upset about losing, as did the other players on his team. But even so, he was the calmest in comparison.

They congratulated the RSA students on their victory (or as close to it as possible, if we ignore the slight growls and murderous looks). They avoided unnecessary interactions until they could leave the field.

You know very well how Leona hates to lose, especially when he tries so hard. And so you knew you had to check on him and try to comfort him, even if he says he doesn't want you to.

You go to the locker rooms exit, but you don't see Leona coming out. Many of the players looked at you angrily when they passed by, but knowing how close you were to Leona, they didn't have the courage to even be rude to you directly.

When you see Ruggie, you ask him about Leona. He tells you that Leona left right after he came in, that he went in, grabbed his things and left. He didn't even change his clothes. This worries you and Ruggie.

“You should go check on him.” Ruggie tells you. “And even if he says he wants to be alone, don't listen, okay? He likes your company even if he doesn't like to admit it. I would also warn you not to pressure him, but you already know that.”

“And where do you think he went?” You ask.

“Where do you think he went? Come on, it's not like we don't know his favorite spots.”

You decided to try your luck at the Botanical Garden, and it looks like you were right, but you didn't realize it right away. You go to one of his favorite spots under a certain tree. You look around, but you don't see anyone, until you suddenly see a tail appearing hanging down beside you. You look up and see Leona lying on a thick branch above you.

“I don't need your comfort.” Leona says, without moving and without looking at you. “Go to your dorm. It's late.”

“You wanted me to see you.” You say. “Otherwise you wouldn't let your tail fall beside me.”

“Believe what you want, herbivore.”

His tail was still there by your side and you don't resist to touch it to mess with him. You reach your hand towards his tail, but at the last second it swings, lightly hits you in the face and returns to Leona's lap, away from you. He finally looks at you, but with an annoyed face and growls.

“I'm not in the mood to play. Go away before I bite you... Don't look at me like that.” He adjusts his head again and stops looking at you.

You sit down against the tree trunk. He growls again, but doesn't move. Just like with cats, you'll just stay there waiting for him to come to you. You use your phone or read a book while you wait.

A few minutes later it starts to get colder, you start to notice it and curl up a little. Suddenly something falls on top of your head, you uncover yourself and see that it is a long coat. Leona's captain's coat. You look up and see him in the same lazy position but without the coat and just with the black clothes and belts. You put it on and you start to warm up right away because it was still warm from him having been wearing it.

A few more minutes later and you are startled again by something that falls right in front of you. Or rather, that lands right in front of you.

“Don't you get tired?” Leona asks you, crouching down and looking you in the eyes. “Of being so stubborn?” He has that unbothered, but still slightly annoyed face.

You put down what you had in your hands and stretch your legs on the floor. He gives you a little throat growl. You smile, but he growls at you more, and suddenly he throws himself at you as if he's going to attack you. But he didn't. He stopped very close to your face.

“Yes. I'm angry that I lost.” He says in a low voice. “And that's why you shouldn't have come to me. I don't need pity or words of comfort.”

“Do you really think I pity you?” You ask. “I wasn't worried about you being angry. I was worried that you would fall back into that depressive state of feeling like life is unfair and it's not worth trying anymore.”

His green eyes remain fixed on yours and suddenly he kisses you eagerly. You already know him well enough to know what truly hides behind those roars and tough guy mask. His instinct was to reward you for it.

After he breaks the kiss he lays his head either on your chest or in your lap and hugs you. You are trapped now until he is willing to let you go.

Ruggie was so angry that Leona had to calm him down. All the NRC players congratulated the RSA players, but clearly only because it was what they had to do. The tension and animosity could be cut with a knife. After that, the NRC players go straight to the locker rooms. You feel like you should check on Ruggie.

You go to the exit of the locker rooms to wait for him. Some of the players who passed you on their way out gave you bad looks, but knowing how close you were to Ruggie, they did nothing more than just grumble into the air.

When Ruggie finally left he was still angry. When he saw you, his expression didn't change much other than being a little embarrassed.

“Hi, sorry, I don't have time.” He apologizes, clearly trying to avoid you, but smiling. “I want to put these clothes in the wash ASAP.” He walks around you and starts going away.

You follow him.

“I was thinking about trying those new donuts from Sam's shop with you.” You say.

You see his ears twitch with interest.

“Yeah... but you know, I'm not really hungry. And since they're new, those donuts are still expensive. I'm waiting for him to lower the price a little.”

“Don't worry, I already bought them for you.”

Ruggie stops! And looks at you in surprise.

“You did?! Why?”

“I wanted to give them to you after the game anyway. You know, for the good game.” You see him pouting. “I didn't buy them as a consolation gift. I did it before the game started. I was going to give them to you even if you had won.”

He seemed more satisfied with that explanation and you took out the box you had in your backpack.

“How come I don't smell it?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise, so I asked Sam if there was a way to hide the scent from you. He used a spell on the box.”

Ruggie asks you if he charged extra for the spell. You said he didn't. Before you open the box, Ruggie suggests that you go to a more chill place. After all, you were still near the locker rooms surrounded by players and spectators.

The Windmill is right behind the coliseum and not many people usually go there. In fact, there was no one else there. The two of you sat on the edge of the stream that surrounded the Windmill. The sound of running water could calm both of you.

You open the box, take out one of the donuts and hold it up to his mouth. He blushes a little, but accepts your offer and takes a bite. You loosen your grip and he takes the donut out of your hand with his mouth.

While he was eating he looked at the water and despite the calming sound his anger returned because of the thoughts that also returned to that game. You could hear him mumbling softly, and see his ears back and his teeth showing.

He finishes eating the donut and stands up abruptly, starting to release his frustration with swearing and cursing to the air, kicking the ground and even pulling up grass. You remain sitting on the floor eating your donut.

As soon as he finishes his emotional outburst, which he always did with his back to you, he finally turns around, dropping his arms and sighing. He kneels down next to you, looks at you with a pout, picks up the box of donuts and takes it from your lap. For a second you think he's going to steal all the donuts for himself, but he sets the box aside and lays his head in your lap as if he's laying it on the pillow after a tantrum. You even hear a dog-like whining. If you pet his head, you might see his tail wagging a little.

The two of you continued eating the donuts as you pet his head and ears to comfort him. When the donuts are gone and the box is empty, he gets up, sitting on the grass next to you. Ruggie looks at you, still a little sad, but calmer and with an affectionate sparkle in his eyes.

He doesn't say anything, he just throws himself into a kiss as a thank you.

EPEL WAS PISSED!!! Leona and Ruggie had to calm him down. Even RSA players were scared to see someone like Epel like that. Like other NRC players he avoided unnecessary interactions with players from the opposing and winning team.

As soon as they were able to retreat to the locker rooms Epel was one of the quickest to leave the field. You knew you should check on him.

You go to the exit of the locker rooms to wait for him. You see the other NRC players walk past you, angry about losing and when you finally see Epel coming out of the locker room, the expression on his face is the same if not worse than that of his other teammates, even the vein in his forehead was bulging.

But that changes completely the moment he sees you. His shoulders, and consequently his posture, relaxed and he smiled slightly at you, knowing he couldn't fool you with a big smile. He had a bandage on his nose because of the injury he suffered when he blocked a shot with his face during the game.

You walk over to him and carefully place your hands on his face, showing your concern for his injury. He blushes!

“D-Don't worry. I'm fine, I promise... Gah, wait! Vil’s gonna kill me when he sees me like this!” He suddenly worries.

You say that Vil doesn't need to see him so soon and suggest that the two of you go for a walk so he can clear his head a bit. He sighs and accepts your offer, you are usually right at these times.

“I really need to go for a walk. Or a run. Dagnabbit, I don't even know if walking around the entire campus is enough. If we could leave the camps whenever we wanted and I had a Blastcycle, or... OH! What if you come with me for a broom ride?”

“But you just finished a game of Spelldrive.” You say “Are you sure getting back on a broomstick will be good for you?”

“Don't worry, I can separate a game from a ride. Trust me, it will be good to feel the fresh wind on my face.” He gives you a reassuring smile.

He goes to get his broom and you climb on it behind him, holding on to his torso. The beginning of the ride is pleasant, but eventually he starts to speed up until he reaches a point where you squeeze him and ask him to slow down.

“AH! Sorry, sorry, sorry! My mind went back to that game and I got angry again. I must have started speeding up by accident because of that. Sorry... I think we should stop somewhere for a break.”

He lands on the roof of Ramshackle Dorm.

“Sorry again if I worried you.” He tells you after you both get off the broom. But the ride actually helped me a bit.” Suddenly he grimaces in pain and puts his fingers to the bandage on his nose, it seems his bad mood was returning.

You cup his face and kiss his nose lightly. He blushes a lot again and look away from you.

“I wanted you to see us win.” He admits. “I was so excited to know you were watching. I really wanted to make you proud.”

You tell him that you're proud of him, just as Ruggie and Leona probably are too. Who wouldn't be? He always works so hard to improve. And he's still just a freshman, there will be more opportunities to win, he's just starting out. And for a start, you're sure he played better than a lot of freshmen. You finish by saying that he should rest, especially with an injury like that, and you even offer to take care of it for him if he needs.

“Thank you so much, (Y/N).” He smiles sweetly at you. “I promise I'll give you a win next time.”

If you say that you would prefer him to be more careful, his smile and gaze will become even more affectionate.

“I'll try. Although... hum, nothing.”

You say that now you want to know and he blushes slightly.

“I... I was just thinking that... it must be nice to be taken care of by you. I wouldn't mind getting a shot in the face again for that. Ha ha ha.”

If you hug him, he will freeze for a second, but then he will hug you back and you will feel a loving squeeze, as he whispers a thank you. If you let him, he will kiss your cheek after the hug. And if you want, he will continue with another type of kiss.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[iluvbuckets]

seeing paige fall at the game today just made me fume on how no one even tried checking if she had a concussion 😓

so could u do like a one shot where r basically throws a whole tantrum over seeing paige on the floor and demanding she gets checked

I BEG

great minds think alike bc i literally started this immediately when i saw the announcement

concussion protocol

 paige bueckers x fem!reader 

summary: you and paige are teammates on the dallas wings and she takes a hard hit to the head in the second quarter.

warnings: nothing just you having a soft spot for paige

word count: 2.1k

notes: i could make a part 2 if y'all want also i'm not used to getting anon messages i feel so special

read part 2!

✷✷✷

you had been playing for the dallas wings for two years.

this new team had been nicknamed the team of crashouts, with paige bueckers being a mini diana taurasi combined with dijonai carrington and myisha hines-allen. but you had never been the type to argue with a referee, so you were quickly nicknamed the mom. you kept everyone calm while they were having genuine conversations, as paige would call it. of course, if a call was particularly bad, you did talk to the refs, but not in the way they did. and you had always been that way, even since aau basketball. 

there were many clips of you coming over to talk to any of your teammates while they were talking to refs, especially paige because she seemed to be doing it the most. 

when paige was announced as the number one pick in the draft, you and your team danced around the room in dallas like it wasn’t being live-streamed. you were so excited to get someone as skilled in the sport as paige, and someone who was so kind off the court. 

during training camp, she quickly became your favorite teammate. there was a running joke among the team that she was your velcro player because she just always seemed to be where you were without fail, and you pretended to be annoyed by her, but you would never admit that you secretly loved it. having her around was like a breath of fresh air with her sweet, childish energy, especially because she made sure everyone was always having fun at practice.

and you were becoming close off the court as well. during the first week and even throughout the rest of training camp, you could tell she was having a hard time adjusting to being so far from her loved ones. you started inviting her over for dinner a couple of nights a week so she didn’t feel so lonely and honestly, it felt good to have someone who wanted to spend time with you like that. 

it had evolved from just dinner, though, to full-on hanging out any chance you got, and everyone knew. the two of you had been caught at the mall, professional sports games, the grocery store, restaurants–all by fans wanting photos. not that you minded, of course, because she was quickly becoming one of your best friends.

so when you finally won in connecticut, you were so happy for her, you thought you could cry. it was the place she had never lost in front of her old teammates that she had missed so badly, so you knew it was a full-circle moment. you definitely weren’t expecting her to ask you to come meet her old teammates, either. when they saw you two walking together, they gave each other looks, but you pretended to ignore them for the sake of your sanity. 

leading into the next game against the sky, she was still riding on that high. the last game she had been on fire and she was determined to bring it back to chicago with her. 

but things didn’t always go according to plan.

during the second quarter, while running point with courtney vandersloot guarding her, she tried to drive to be able to get the shot (or a good pass, knowing paige). instead, she ended up colliding with sloot and was sent tumbling to the ground. you were standing in the opposite corner waiting for her to go so you could move from your spot. you barely even registered that she had been hit until you saw her stumble. as soon as the whistle blew, you were running to her side, not even waiting to see if she would get right back up.

and she didn’t, she stayed on the ground. her eyes were pinched shut, biting her bottom lip as hard as she could, hands on her forehead, as she tried to will the pain away on the floor. your stomach dropped at the sight.

you placed a hand on her knee, bending over her a little bit. “are you okay?”

she just nodded in response, moving her hands to cover her face, but you weren’t convinced. you glanced over to the bench to see if they were sending any trainers or if coach was coming over, but she reached her hand out for you to help her up, so they didn’t. they can’t come onto the court unless the player can’t get down. still, you helped her up, patting her on the back comfortingly. she blinked a few times, wincing as she did so.

“you need to go get checked out, paige,” you said sternly.

“no, i’m fine,” she argued, shaking her head. you didn’t know if she was shaking her head at you or trying to shake some of the pain away, though. “i can play.”

you threw your hands up at her, clearly angry. “you just hit your head.” 

she just shrugged as she turned to walk to her spot for the possession throw-in, getting stopped by sloot on the way to check in.

“paige!” you yelled in frustration. she just shook her head at you and pointed to the baseline, silently telling you to drop it and just throw it in. 

you began to walk over to the ref, debating on whether or not there was anything he could do. ultimately, you decided there wasn’t much except give you a technical for arguing like that, so you immediately pivoted to direct your anger to your coach.

“you’re going to let her play?” you practically screamed, watching as his eyes widened slightly, but he attempted to remain calm. he had never been the butt of your emotion before (well, he’d probably never seen it on film either, so this would be a total first).

you couldn’t even stop to think about how to handle it rationally without lashing out, and you didn’t think about the way the announcers would be talking about it either.

uh oh, that’s new. y/l/n seems to be having some words with her coaches after bueckers took that fall.

the arena was quiet enough watching it all go down that the livestream could hear you yelling too, and that would definitely get sent around later, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. a head and neck injury is a serious injury, and you can’t believe that they aren’t treating it as such.

“if she says she’s fine, she’s fine,” coach shrugged, not wanting to make a scene. 

“i don’t give a fuck what she says,” you laughed in disbelief. “evaluate her, at least. she just got hit in the head!”

i don’t think we’ve ever seen y/l/n this heated before. i’m surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of her ears.

paige was standing where she was supposed to be, chewing on her lip, watching this all go down. she couldn’t decide if she was embarrassed or feeling giddy seeing you react this way, but she was definitely a little annoyed. she tried to play it off as best as she could so she wouldn’t get taken out and there you were, ruining it. 

before you could keep yelling, dijonai was pressing a hand to your stomach to push you away before things got too heated. she gave you an apologetic smile, but didn’t say anything as you walked back to where you were supposed to be. when you were standing on the baseline, you shot paige a glare that she ignored.

you played out the final minute, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how angry you were. at paige for getting up, at your trainers and the refs for not intervening, at your coach for not taking it seriously. you didn’t blame your teammates because honestly, what were they supposed to do?

when the buzzer sounded to signal halftime, you walked straight past your coach as you went into the tunnel back to the locker room. you stood at the bench lining the wall for a few moments, closing your eyes and tipping your head back to try to gain some composure before the rest of the team walked in.

you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt arms wrap around you from behind and a head rest on your shoulder, a ponytail touching the side of your neck.

“i’m okay,” paige’s voice broke the silence. it was soft and quiet, and attempting to be reassuring, but it didn’t help.

you laughed, but not out of amusement. “don’t piss me off.” 

“you already are.”

“not at you, but i will be if you don’t get evaluated,” you said.

she let go when she realized you weren’t going to hug her back, sitting on the bench in front of you and staring up at you. you didn’t sit next to her, though. you just crossed your arms and shifted your weight to one foot. 

“i just did a quick one,” she replied matter-of-factly. “they said i can still play.”

you rolled your eyes at her words, knowing that meant that you had to just let it go if she was cleared, but you still knew it was a bad idea. your brother played in the nfl, and if that happened to them, they would’ve been immediately pulled from gameplay because symptoms can take 24-48 hours to show. it’s ridiculous that paige didn’t get the same treatment. 

“you have a headache?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

she shook her head, but didn’t make eye contact. then opened her mouth to speak, but the rest of the team started filing into the locker room. 

for the rest of halftime, you didn’t meet your coach’s eyes as he spoke. you just sat on the bench next to paige, stealing glances every so often to try to catch her wincing in pain so you could plead your case and trying to diffuse your anger. 

she doesn’t though, and you’re forced to carry on into the next quarter like usual.

but it wasn’t usual. she was moving slowly, throwing up bad shots, and making lazy passes. all those stupid mistakes that a normal, healthy paige would never dare to make, even by accident.

at some point toward the middle of the third quarter, she bumped into one of the opposing players. the hit wasn’t even hard and a foul was called on someone somewhere else on the floor, but you watched as she reached up to touch her temple where she had been hit and winced. 

“paige!” you yelled again, approaching her as everyone went down the floor to throw in on chicago’s side. “what the hell was that?” 

she gave you a confused look. “what?” 

“you have a fucking headache,” you accused. there was no reason to ask at that point; you could tell. her face constantly looked like she was in pain for the entire quarter and that touch only gave it away. “get the fuck off the court.”

“i’m fine,” she shook her head, running down the court where everyone was waiting.

you marched right over to the bench for the second time that night to give your coach a piece of your mind. 

“take her out,” you said, pointing to paige.

“she was cleared,” coach said calmly. 

“okay? you want to play around with our best player like that?” you asked, throwing your hands up. still, you jogged back down the court so the game wasn’t delayed anymore and you could avoid a call for that. 

the game continues like nothing happened. 

toward the end of the quarter, another foul is called on your team. it results in free-throws from chicago. while they are setting up, you use the opportunity to approach paige again. 

when she noticed, her eyes widened like she was scared you would yell at her again. you didn’t, though, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders in a hug, making sure your head was on the side she didn’t get hit on. she relaxed in your touch, her hands coming up to rest on your back. 

“i’m not mad at you. i’m just worried, okay?” your murmured in her ear, reassuringly. “i want you to get a full evaluation after this game is over.”

she nodded into your shoulder, knowing she didn't have a choice.

[braaan]

Sunday Best (w/ Eunseo)

male reader & wjsn eunseo

fluff & smut, 3k words

As far as you’ve rationalized, it doesn’t make any sense.

For starters, you and Eunseo have been together since high school, and this is far from the first time she’s been in your apartment.

The first time, hours after a mutual friend’s birthday party gets cut short, Eunseo’s throwing up in your bathroom. It’s a tale as old as time: the Friday night of a long weekend, way too many groupchats, high school bravado kneecapped by Fireball shooters — it’s messy, and senior year. You get you’re her boyfriend’d into nursing her back to life, and one grueling night shift later, she’s under your covers while you’re trying to get comfy on your small-for-sitting futon. And despite how early she’s up the next morning, between the still warm almond croissants on your countertop, the deep hug she pulls you into before you can drum up anything sarcastic, and how much better your basketball shorts sit on her waistline — drawstring double-knotted, waistband rolled all the way up — it’s hard to stay mad.

Another time, you’re coming back from date night, and before the front door even closes in on you two, she’s walking your apartment’s perimeter, pulling out supplies from a backpack. You’re trailing her, trying to simultaneously close the distance she covers and read the tiny labels on household items she leaves in her wake. Before long, there’s not a countertop unmarked by these tiny rubber characters (“They’re called SMISKIs”), all of your spaces start to predominantly smell like daisies, and you don’t recognize half of the brands in your bathroom. Any other time: you’d say something. Any other time: you’d stand up for yourself; puff your chest into the slight height difference. Any other time Eunseo wasn’t reappearing from your bedroom in a tiny cotton shirt and all eight inches of these plaid blue pajama shorts: yeah, you’d draw your boundaries.

Sometime after that, in the lull of quiet comfort and work from home, her legs are in your lap as you both bat away questions on individual video calls. Difference couldn’t be any more stark. Twelve minutes into your morning meeting, in between unmutes of your desktop microphone, you’ve tallied up a total of twenty words, and have entertained a serious-and-three-quarters imagination about where else you could call into this — your camera’s off, after all. Eunseo’s your in-office foil: her chocolate hair freshly straightened, her baby blue button up perm pressed, her small talk status quo. Eunseo’s full of shit. Just off camera, unobvious in her digital four walls, she hasn’t changed out of your heather gray boxer shorts she wore to bed.

So, really:

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Eunseo wake up in a pair of shorts.

It doesn’t make any rational sense how much it still gets a reaction out of you.

--

Granted, it’s an unreal view.

The sun hurries through your curtains to pool around her feet, daybreak serving as stepping stones as she pads to your en suite. Golden yellow melts into her milk chocolate hair, spinning already light browns into shades of almond and sand between sunlit highlights. A breeze picks up through the fabric, and the light breaks. One moment she’s haloed, cast in sunlight, all of her curves etched in radiance; the next, momentarily obscured, a dream in soft-focus, half-glimpsed and inviting whole-yearning. From where you’re propped up on your elbows, she flickers in and out of reality and reverie, real-deal and daydream. She’s a light show in slow motion, superposition between technicolor and transfiguration; sunkiss and shadow in perfect ballet, catching an everyday angel between the light that loves her and pockets of beautiful mystery that make her all the more alluring.

All of this to Eunseo: her morning routine.

She walks without hesitation. Even when it’s mundane, there’s a tangible confidence in the way she sprays sea salt into her hair, carding her fingers through her roots.

It’s the one thing that threw you for a loop about her, really: for a long time, you were waiting for the character to drop. Blended between candor and how you’d be able to read anything just off of her facial expression, Eunseo was headstrong, and always heart first. Early into your relationship, it was unnerving. Younger yous bounced between bouts of ‘wow, that’s frank’ and ‘what are you compensating for?’. You got where you were in life — to you: where most people didn’t — by never playing all your cards, and here Eunseo was all the same, hand face up on the table.

Though it doesn’t take you too long to eventually admit that forward is sexy.

It’s in the way she asks for what she wants, unbothered by the answer, discarding pretense and step-by-step; it’s in the way she’ll take the lead without warning, showing up after work at your lobby to take you on a night she’s pre-planned; it’s in the way that — because on the weekend, you wake up on her time — she’s six feet away from you, tip-toed, peeling at the curtains: all the way stretched out.

And outlined in daylight, you don’t miss a detail.

For starters, her shirt’s way too small. It’s this light material: cheap white cotton that curls in on itself at the hem. And as she reaches out at the Roman shades, revealing more and more skin, you can explore all the small of her back, run imaginary hands along where her shirt stops, down the soft line where skin kisses spine. You can trace your thumbs at the space just above her hips, skirting shapes at her waistline, dancing just above the navy soccer shorts Eunseo wore in tenth grade, faded far from school colors, and tiny as hell.

You could sit there for hours — you’d find new angles to obsess over.

You get half a beat.

“It’s rude to stare, you know?”

And in one motion, Eunseo closes the distance between where she was and where you sit, quickly cross-legged on your comforter.

“And even ruder to have fun,” she starts, patting the blankets grouped around your waist, “all by yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you spit, batting away at her forearm. The blood runs to your cheeks, and your ears are hot. “You might as well be wearing nothing — what am I supposed to do?”

Looking at you through her fringes, the edges of her lips pulling into the start of a smile, she doesn’t need any words — it’s a brutally honest admission.

“You’re saying,” she whispers, “it’s these you like?” Both of your eyes flick to where her hands find the trim of her shorts, tracing the stitching at her thigh, following a runaway stripe with a fingernail — matte white, all insidious, and teasingly slow.

“Eunseo,” you try again flatly. “Fuck,” and there’s a pause here, implicit now anything but, “off.” 

Which would be half convincing if you could take your eyes off of her legs.

You’re tracing her thigh in your head, filling the toned crease with your gaze, painting Eunseo’s legs with attention.

She leans into you, and makes it hard to think. Your thoughts are cloudy; in the moment. Nothing becomes more top of mind than the smell of daisies.

There’s a half beat.

Then a whisper against your lips: “Tell me what you like.”

Forward is so fucking sexy.

Kissing Eunseo is like fire: hot, and all at once. She’s running her hands under your shirt, snaking her legs under your stomach; she’s whimpering against your bottom lip, redirecting your hands onto her chest; she’s running her tongue against your teeth, wedging herself square in all of your focus — you’re trying to keep up.

You’re kneading at her chest through cotton, creating new creases, feeling the bud of her nipple get hard in your hands.

You’re tugging at her t-shirt, stretching fabric out of form.

You’re molding Aphrodite — palming, gripping, shaping. Sculpting divinity on earth called for hours of sanctification, and you were here to worship.

Eunseo’s like putty to it all — so sensitive, and pliant at your fingertips. She’s moaning at your mouth, then whispering praises. Hushed against your lips: more, more, more, more, more.

You blink life back into your eyes, and magnetically, inherent like gravity, they fall onto hers. Filled with the night sky — wine-dark, galaxy-wide, abyssal, fully oblivion — even now: hooded, sultry, and all shades of dangerous, they felt inevitable, like they were where yours belonged. They beckoned — like they were written in all of your universes, like all the right roads led back to them.

And it’s like Eunseo reads your mind, because all of a sudden: she’s scarlet, a very red blush dancing across her cheeks.

“Okay, pretty boy,” she starts, catching her breath. Then, gathering her hair into a ponytail: “I’m going to blow your mind.”

And without hesitation, because you’re still stuck in ten seconds ago: “You look so cute.”

And because now she has to: “I’m already going to put you in my mouth, you don’t have to flatter me anymore.”

--

Eunseo’s flipped over, her cunt inches from your lips, drawing lines along your length with her tongue. And you’d return the favor quicker, if not for how mesmerizingly methodical she was. You’re catching glimpses of bits and pieces in the negative space between your bodies. Through her t-shirt: a flash of the flat of her tongue as she reaches the tip of your cockhead, her white nails replacing her mouth around your shaft at the top of her dips, her pretty pink pout — how they all disappear as she takes your cock down her throat. She knows all your soft spots — what you like; where you like it — and always gave you what you loved.

It feels like it all makes sense -

Your hips bucking into her mouth on her downbeats, the saccharine song she starts humming mid-bob, the precum-stained kisses she’s leaving along your length in legato, the half-notes they send across your nervous system -

- all of you feels like it rhythmically belongs together.

“Eunseo,” you manage to grit out, and you feel her smirk against your cock.

You can narrate it in your head. Hm? she’s goading, minxy moxie maxed out. This is all it takes to make you cum? There’s a half-choke — a rough buck of your hips. Fingers curl around your shaft — the hum she has in the back of her throat picks up. A little bit of your cock in my mouth? You’re like a tuning fork to it all. You’re dizzy.

And you’d probably die then and there, if not for the last resort of your tongue on Eunseo’s cunt.

It’s one of the only things that levels her, really.

All the build up is cut in half, tempo slowed down to a grind as you swipe long, breathy flicks of your tongue on Eunseo’s pretty pussy. You’re pacing yourself against a water droplet–rhythm in your head. Arms hooked around her thighs, thumbs tracing circles counterclockwise on her skin -

Down.

Build.

Up.

Down.

Swell.

Up.

It’s unholy the noise she makes next.

Too adorable to just leave hanging.

“Look at you, Eunseo,” you taunt, where the start of a stanza would go, and then drop back into cadence — no air for her to respond — tongue back on her slit. 

And against against your mouth, it’s almost like all of the candor is causal — all the forwardness just carefully-crafted camouflage to get you on her cunt — because reduced down to a mewling mess, white-knuckle around your bedsheets, spine arching to get even closer to the flat of your tongue, there is no back talk. Eunseo was yours, her cunt was all yours, and she was so willing to follow.

Doubling your efforts on her heat, lapping against her little pussy, tracing a thumb around her clit -

“Baby,” she whines.

- Eunseo knows she’s coming undone.

And in this full-on, two-part second that you’re completely lucid to -

- she does.

At first, it’s like time’s frozen. You can feel her tense up under your breath, cheat one last gulp of air, tighten her thighs against your forearms.

Then, everything’s in fast forward. Eunseo unravels. She’s scrambling on polyester, looking for a hold, any grip to support her through how hard she’s cumming on your tongue. The words caught in her throat catch up to her, and all the way through her high, she’s conjoining cuss words, peaking into falsetto as you line kisses along her cunt. Son Eunseo melts against you, onto you, unwound and fully fucked.

But never enough to return the favor.

Gracefully sensual, she straddles you, catching herself on your chest, sitting square on your hips, parking up against your length — you’re caught off guard by the sharks.

Plastered against Eunseo’s shirt: an elementary guide to enough shark species to line anyone’s trivia back pocket — Whale, Great White, Mako, Tiger, Basking -

And because now she has to: “My eyes are up here, perv.”

And without hesitation, because this time that’s genuinely low: “Oh, fuck you.”

And not a beat after that, right against your lips, and riding further up your cock: “You only wish.”

Eunseo’s mouth is on yours, and then so’s her tongue. And as she’s exploring your chest with her palms, thumbing at your nipples, you can only smile. You don’t know why you doubted yourself: with Eunseo, there’s no way anything’s a character.

There’s a beat that you both take, and in the next, there’s a shirt over your face.

You’re blinded, covered in SHEIN sheer, and — instincts taking over — you reach your hands out to grab at anything.

You find Eunseo’s waist as she takes you in her pussy.

It’s hot, it’s tight, it’s needy. She’s getting you both back on beat, picking up the pace, up-and-down on your cock, side-to-side on your hips — you’re trying to keep up.

Your grip tightens, and it’s downright unholy: your thumbs touch at her belly button.

She’s so small, so tight, so in your hands, and so fucked, so fucked, so fucked -

“Cum in me,” Eunseo exhales, then suffixes: “in me, in me, in me.”

Your head goes into overdrive — it’s a time bomb: pulsing, racing, tensing; it’s a million miles a second, and so fucking dangerous. You’re gritting your teeth, crushing her waist in your grip -

And because now you have to, and in lossless lucidity: “Eunseo, fuck off.”

She’s so fucked.

And you know in the moment that follows -

How quickly she finds her place under you, picking up where her fingers were last on your cock — kissing, twisting, sucking, her matte white fingernails hypnotic up and down your shaft -

How guttural the moan you let out feels, like it comes from your tailbone -

How hushed the holy shit is on your lips as Eunseo swallows load after milky load -

- how fucked you are, too.

(You always will be.)

--

There’s a little song and dance you play after Eunseo pops back out of the bathroom.

Again: it’s not either of your first times with each other, but like routine — still and forever — you’re falling into characters you know and love.

Eunseo’s laying it on thick, walking like a textbook taught her how to: drummed-up and exaggerated, heel-toe, heel-toe. Hands folded behind her back, she’s in this half-bend, lips pursed, eyes wandering: suddenly fascinated in the brushwork on your walls or how light catches random trinkets, bending over to the left, the right, and just under to make sure their shadows are still there. It’s all but complete, just missing a laid back whistle; it’s all comically stupid, just always the most adorable thing.

Of course — and only after two full minutes of the charade, drawn out and profusely slow-burned; only after you’ve rolled your eyes so hard they might stick, tension just under boiling point — her little exploration leads her to your bed.

And with that kind of setup: anything she said would’ve landed.

So “... you don’t want to put a kid in me …” absolutely does.

Her head’s in your lap now, face cracked in this darling half-giggle.

Outwitting Eunseo is a losing game. You never win. Not against the air that lingers around her, peppered sweet and spicy, intoxicating even when you were both sober. Not against her expert balance of prickly and precious, cutesy-cocky carefully-crafted. Not against the crescents in her eyes when you’re this deep into a bit. You don’t really have to.

She kisses you, and it tastes like the promise of time: that you’ll always have more.

It’s pre-teen sweet, spiked with hands brushing soft spots: it’s goofy, it’s whole, and you’re both giggling — trading tender breaths, sharing secrets in the exhales, melting smiles into each others’.

Here — in between the playful banter, nose-to-nose with Son Eunseo — you’re complete.

“Want a coffee?”

(And it’s probably the only thing you’ve done once and only once. You should make the coffee.)

“I’ll make us two.”

--

:')

feel like everything's been fast paced recently, so hope not cringe to say that this has been a serious refuge for me. domestic... interplay (?) is so fun to explore, and i could probably tease out established relationship footsies switchy blurry lines forever — hope you enjoyed!

thank you @majorblinks for the beta (my twin flame and no one is ever going to do it like us), @chunksworld for giving me the push to write eunseo (guys girl enjoyers!), and @passingnotions for everything in between (u next.)

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Beyond the Game

The arena surrounds you like a heavy blanket. It’s a sound you’re used to a mix of cheers, whistles, and the squeak of sneakers on the court. But tonight it feels different. Heavier. More personal…maybe it’s because you’re facing the Seattle Storm and more specifically, her.

Nika.

You spot her as soon as you walk onto the court for warm ups. She’s sitting on the Storm bench, her brown hair pulled into a sharp ponytail her posture upright and alert. Her warmup jacket is loose over her shoulders, but you can still make out the slight bounce of her knee a telltale sign she’s nervous. It’s one of the little things you’ve picked up about her over the years, first as teammates and later as something more.

Your heart clenches and you force yourself to look away. You can’t afford distractions tonight.

The two of you met back at UConn, thrown together in the intensity of one of the best women’s basketball programs in the country. It didn’t take long for you to click. Nika’s fiery energy balanced out your quieter focus and her teasing always managed to get you out of your head when the pressure felt like too much. Over time, the late night study sessions and post practice hangouts turned into something deeper. You fell in love…deep and unshakable.

But love didn’t keep you on the same team. The draft came and went, and now you’re a Las Vegas Ace while Nika is across the country in Seattle. Different jerseys. Different cities. Different teams.

You hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to face her on the court.

The first quarter flies by in a blur. Seattle’s defense is relentless and your team is fighting for every point. You catch glimpses of Nika on the bench, her eyes fixed on the game but every so often, they dart toward you. She doesn’t smile when you glance her way. She doesn’t need to. The way her gaze softens, just for a moment tells you everything.

The second quarter is more physical. You’re battling for position, driving into the lane when you can trying to keep your team ahead. You catch a rebound off a missed shot and bolt toward the other end of the court, the sound of your shoes pounding against the hardwood echoing in your ears. Somewhere in the chaos, you hear her voice…sharp and commanding as she shouts instructions to her team.

It sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve heard that voice a hundred times in practices, but this is different. Now, she’s an opponent.

By the third quarter, exhaustion is creeping in. The game is tight and the tension on the court is heavy. Every possession feels like a battle.. your body aches, but you push through. You always do. You’ve learned that from her…Nika, with her relentless fire.

The fourth quarter is where everything unravels.

You’re running hard, cutting toward the basket…when it happens. A Seattle forward steps into your path setting a blindside screen. You don’t see it coming. Her body collides with yours and the impact sends you flying backward. There’s no time to think, no time to react. The back of your head hits the court with a sickening thud.

Pain explodes behind your eyes, sharp and overwhelming. The world spins and the crowd’s roar becomes distant. You blink rapidly trying to clear the haze but all you can see are the harsh overhead lights and blurry shapes moving around you.

Through the haze, you hear your name.

“Y/N!”

It’s her. You know it’s her.

You manage to tilt your head just enough to see the Seattle bench. Nika is on her feet…her hands gripping the edge of her seat like she’s about to bolt onto the court. Her eyes are wide with panic, her mouth slightly open as if she’s holding back a scream.

She wants to run to you. You can see it in the way her body leans forward…as if the only thing stopping her is the weight of the game and the unspoken rules that keep her on her side of the court.

The trainers are beside you now asking questions you can barely process. “What’s your name? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?” Their voices are gentle but insistent. You try to answer but your attention keeps slipping back to her. To Nika, who hasn’t moved from her spot even though her entire body looks like it’s trembling with the effort to stay put.

You try to lift your hand a weak signal, something to let her know you’re okay…but it barely moves. She sees it anyway and her hands fly to her mouth, you can see the tears welling in her eyes.

You don’t know how much time passes before they help you to your feet. The crowd cheers as you’re led off the court…though the noise feels distant and strange. Your legs feel shaky and your head is pounding but you glance over your shoulder one more time.

Nika is still standing…still watching. Her hands are clasped in front of her chest now, like she’s holding herself together.

Back in the tunnel you’re taken to the trainer’s room for evaluation. Your head is spinning and the bright lights are making your eyes sting but all you can think about is her.

Your phone buzzes on the bench beside you. You reach for it, fumbling slightly as you try and unlock the screen…It’s a text from her.

Nika💗: Are you okay? Baby Please. Please tell me you’re okay. I can’t sit here anymore.

Your chest tightens and your eyes blur not from pain, but from the ache of knowing how much this is killing her. You type back with shaky hands.

You: I’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Play your game.

The response feels hollow but you know it’s what she needs to hear. You imagine her reading it…clutching her phone like it’s a lifeline.

The game finishes without you on the court. The trainers cleared you from anything serious…a mild concussion, bruises that will ache for days, but nothing crazy. The anxiety in your chest hasn’t eased…you know your girl. You know she’ll be looking for you the second she can.

You’re just outside the locker rooms, every passing second dragging. Your phone vibrates in your hand, and you glance down at the screen.

Nika💗: Where are you? Are you still with the trainers? I’m coming to find you.

You barely have time to respond before you hear hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Nika rounds the corner, her hair damp from a rushed shower and her Storm warmup jacket thrown hastily on. Her eyes are scanning the hallway frantic, until they land on you. She stops for a split second, and then she’s running.

Before you can say a word, her arms are around you pulling you into a hug so tight it almost knocks the air out of your lungs. She buries her face into the curve of your neck, her breath warm and uneven against your skin.

“You scared the hell out of me, ljubav.” she whispers her voice full of emotion. “I thought…I didn’t know if you were okay. I couldn’t come to you. God, I hated it.”

Her words spill out in a rush like she’s been holding them in since the moment you hit the court. You wrap your arms around her pulling her even closer. The tension in her body is noticeable and her hands are clutching at your jersey.

“Baby,” you murmur, your own voice thick with emotion. “I’m okay. I promise, I’m okay.”

She pulls back just enough to cup your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks. “You don’t look okay,” she says, her voice soft. “You’re pale, and your head God, your head…”

“Gee thanks babe” you tease her while covering her hands with your own. “The trainers cleared me. Nothing serious…just some bruises and a small concussion.”

Her jaw tightens and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Her hands drop to your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length as her gaze hardens. “Don’t you ever do that to me again Y/N, you hear me?”

You blink at her surprised by the sudden intensity in her tone. “Do what?”

“Scare me like that” she says, her voice sharp but cracking under the weight of her emotions. “I couldn’t move, baby. I couldn’t come to you when you were lying there and it was killing me.”

Her words hit you, the raw vulnerability in her voice. You reach for her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Nika, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were there in the way I needed you to be. I saw you. I felt you.”

She frowns and she shakes her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re not allowed to get hurt like that again” she mutters, her voice quieter now but no less serious. “I don’t care if we’re on opposite teams. I’ll get ejected if I have to. I’ll run across the court next time.”

You chuckle softly, the sound broken but genuine. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

Her lips press into a thin line but you can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners. “You think I’m kidding babe?”

“I know you’re not.”

The two of you fall silent for a moment, the noise of the arena and the post-game chaos fading into the background. She leans down to kiss you, it’s passionate and intense. It makes you melt against her.

“I love you,” she says suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know that, right?”

Your chest tightens, and you nod, leaning into her touch. “I love you too. Always.”

She swallows hard and pulls you back into her arms, holding you like she’s afraid to let go.

[lazysoulwriter]

kiss cam chaos. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. ♡ content: Pedro x girlfriend!reader, basketball game, kiss cam surprise, public affection, viral moment, crowd losing it, internet collectively sobbing.

need to use this pic, sorry not sorry

---

You were mid-sentence when it happened.

Something about the second quarter, about how LeBron’s passing tonight is actually unreal, and Pedro was nodding with that little wrinkle between his brows, totally focused on what you were saying.

You didn’t even notice the arena screaming at first.

People had been loud all night. It was a Lakers game, after all.

But this was different. Higher-pitched. Almost... gleeful?

Then your friend elbowed you.

“Look!”

You followed her finger up to the jumbotron.

Big red heart.

White block letters.

KISS CAM.

And in the center of the screen — clear as day — you and Pedro.

Your mouths dropped open at the same time. Pedro blinked like he couldn’t believe it. You could already see the outline of a very distinct "oh no" forming on his face.

Then, in true Pedro fashion, he smiled. That soft, crooked, I'm yours smile. Turned to you. Tilted his head.

“May I?” he asked under his breath.

You laughed, cheeks flushed, nodding. “Yeah. Of course.”

He leaned in — slow, gentle, intentional. One hand cupped your cheek as he kissed you like it was second nature. No pressure. No performance.

Just you and him, framed by 20,000 screaming strangers and a floating animated heart.

The crowd went feral.

Someone behind you yelled, “WE LOVE YOU PEDROOOO!”

You both pulled back, laughing, his forehead resting against yours for a second before he leaned into your shoulder, wrapping an arm around you like it was where he was meant to be.

And just like that, you went right back to talking — like you hadn’t just set the entire stadium on fire.

By the time you got home, the video had been reposted everywhere.

Pedro Pascal and his girlfriend on the Kiss Cam at tonight’s Lakers game 🥹💜 They’re so in love I’m gonna SCREAM The way he looked at her??? The forehead lean????

One edit showed your kiss in slow motion, sparkles added for emotional devastation.

Another had a voiceover:

“You don’t just kiss someone like that. That’s love.”

The internet lost its collective mind.

You scrolled through the chaos, snuggled under Pedro’s arm on the couch while he read the headlines over your shoulder.

“‘Softest man alive kisses even softer girlfriend at Lakers game’,” he read aloud, deadpan.

You giggled. “They’re not wrong.”

He turned and kissed your temple, pulling you in tighter. “Guess they got good taste.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @kellyxo1 @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk

[chrissv4mp]

tryouts with jock!billie...

basketball season ended with a huge win from westfield. the whole team got compliments the entire week following the championship game where—this time—they beat the panthers and took home the gold. however, billie was the one who thrived in the showers of affection the most—not just from the other students, but from you as well.

she shot so many three-pointers in the first quarter you would've thought she was trolling the other team. but that was just billie being billie. showing off to the rival team.

your bond with the girl grew stronger over the season. she only glanced your way a few times during p.e. before the season started. and when you began showing up to games, then she finally noticed you and how you looked at her. and now, leading into track season, she had you wrapped around her finger and vice versa.

everyone on your leadership team started up with jokes about how you looked happier now that billie was keeping you busy. although you didn't want to admit it, it was true. every time you smiled now, it was a little wider. you're practically bouncing on your toes on your way to classes, and always humming a song that billie definitely introduced you to.

you were bringing even more energy than usual, making more people turn their heads than usual. and you weren't anything special. you weren't an athlete like billie. you were just some girl who applied for leadership your freshman year and somehow got in.

"you should do cheer," billie had said, sprawled out on your bed with her head hanging off the edge. "seriously. you're already jumping around the halls like you've got pom-poms in your hands."

you rolled your eyes, but the way she looked at you and gave a small smile—head tilted, eyes soft, that stupid charm of hers—made something in your stomach twist.

"are you trying to flirt with me or recruit me?"

"both," she shrugged, watching as you rolled over on your desk chair. "mostly flirt. but also, i just think you'd kill it."

so now here you are. spring's creeping in, basketball season's gone, and track is just starting to settle in. the fields divided—the cheer squad on the grass, laughing and talking, music thumping faintly from someone's speaker. you're a week into tryouts and already basically leading them, even if no one's said it officially. you can feel it in the way everyone's followed your rhythm since the first day.

but your eyes keep drifting—past the goalpost, the soccer goal, the hurdles. to her.

billie—who you're starting to suspect only wanted you to join cheer just so she could be closer to you.

she just passed the finish line, hands on her hips, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern like she can't catch enough air. her ponytail's loose, dark strands stuck to her flushed cheeks, and her blue eyes are flicking around like she's trying not to show how tired she is. but you see it.

the sprinters are doing repeat 400s, thanks to the coaches who love to torture their kids on fridays because they think "they'll have more recovery time since it's the weekend." billie told you something about hating them last year. but, of course, she was the first to the line. she is the fastest girl out there. everyone knows it.

your eyes meet.

even from across the field, there's something charged about it. like your gaze is the only break she gets. the only thing she wants.

and maybe she was right. maybe this whole cheer thing wasn't just a joke to her. maybe she wanted you down here—on the field, moving like you were born to hype up a crowd—because it means she gets to see you like this.

and the way her eyes drag over your figure slowly, shamelessly, like it's helping her recover?

yeah, you know you're not wrong.

the locker rooms are quiet. cold. everybody went home without even thinking to change first, not having enough energy to hang around or talk to their friends. most of them just grabbed their bags and bolted for the parking lot with the last of the energy they had left.

but not billie.

you hear heavy breathing before you even turn.

she's in the doorway, shoulder pressed against the frame, muscle-tee wrinkled and clinging to her in all the right places, hair messy and cheeks still flushed from the sprints, her eyes locked on you. there's a little shine to her collarbone, a bead of sweat trailing from her temple. her breath's a bit steadier than before, but there's still that look burning in her eyes.

"you," she breathes, stepping in and shutting the door behind her.

"me?" you smirk, half teasing, half breathless already.

"mhmm."

she lets her bag fall to the bench beside you as she closes the distance fast, hands landing on your hips like it's second nature, lips already brushing yours.

you barely get a word out before she's pushing you against the lockers and kissing you—slow, deep, a little desperate.

"i hate fridays now," she grumbles like it's your fault.

you laugh, lips parting. "tell that to your coach."

"i will." her mouth trails down, hot and needy against your jawline and neck. "makin' us run 400s and then expecting me to function?" her hands slide around to your back, then your hips again like she needs to feel every inch of you to stay upright. "nah. hate it. hate 'em."

you hum, breath hitching as her tongue brushes you pulse. "you seemed fine when you were flexing for the finish line. i mean, you looked amazing. so hot, y'know?"

"shut up," she mumbles shyly, but her grin betrays her. her hands roam again—your arms, your thighs, your ass where the your shorts barely cover. she palms your face next, thumb brushing your cheek like she's trying to memorize how warm you are compared to the cold tile walls.

"y'just mad you're tired and i'm still standing."

"no, i'm mad because you wore these shorts and let everyone see you," she murmurs, but her mouth is on your collarbones now, kissing slow and lazy like she's got nowhere else to be, "you're evil."

"and you," you whisper, tilting your head to the side as you drag your fingers up the curve of her spine. "are gonna have so much stamina by the end of this season."

she actually whines—quiet, breathy, and real, trying to hide it in a high-pitch growl.

"stop," she says into your skin, biting down gently. "m'so tired."

"you're still kissing me like you want me, though."

"s'cause i do."

you huff a laugh, fingers curling into the back of her shirt as she presses you harder against the lockers, her breathing starting to get heavier now as she whines against your skin. she pulls back just enough to look at you when your fingers tangle in her hair and tug softly.

"better hurry, then," you whisper, leaning closer. "y'said the coaches cleared out the lockers after practice during basketball season. bet they're gonna do it this season, too."

she hums tiredly, one of her hands already rounding back to the front of your body and slipping beneath the hem of your shorts all while keeping eye contact.

her favorite thing in the world.

her eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen from kissing you so much, and her fingers are shaky as they sneak under the waistband of your panties. her fingertips brush your wet folds, making her moan in sync with you.

"looked s'good during practice," she hums, biting her lip and nuzzling her face in your neck. "kept distractin' me."

you smile lazily at her quiet complaints, hips bucking instinctively against her hand as she slowly swipes her fingers through your folds, thumb finding your clit and drawing sloppy circles. you sigh into her ear, tugging at her hair again.

her lips find your neck again, kissing gently. her kisses slowly turn into small nips, sucking at your skin until you feel it and mutter a quiet, "no marks, baby."

a low groan of disappointment escapes her throat, but she listens. of course she does.

the slow pace of her fingers speed up a bit, then she slides two digits into your entrance with little to no effort, gasping softly when she feels how warm and tight your walls envelope her. you moan into her ear, and billie swears she could cum on the spot.

"fuck," you gasp, nails clawing down the back of billie's shirt as she presses you into the cold lockers and fucks you with desperation.

a thud of knocks startles the both of you, heads whipping around to the door. billie doesn't stop her movements, mindlessly thrusting in and out of your warm cunt as her coach speaks.

"girls, you have five minutes to pack up and be outta here!"

your eyes flick to billie's just as she turns her head back, a small pout forming on her pretty lips as she waits for you to say something, knowing that if she were to speak, she'd stutter a million times.

you breathe, trying to control yourself as you speak, "be right out, coach!"

the thuds stop, and you take that as your cue to let out a quiet, breathy moan directly into billie's ear. her fingers speed up, curling and rubbing against your sweet spot. she bites her lip again, leaning close and pressing her lips to yours to silence you—and herself.

you feel the knot in your stomach snap when she moans into your mouth, her free hand gripping your hip tightly. you pull away, lips parted as short gasps leave your mouth. billie watches in awe, brows furrowed and eyes full of love and affection for you.

"y'gonna get captain," she mutters suddenly, kissing your neck again. "know it."

letters. for the anon who wanted more jock!billie 🤍

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @strwberrybils @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @natbelovasblog @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @kittymarrow @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @hkkuugu @eeuni @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly

[inesbaby21]

Caitlin clark and a feminine reader who's her gay awakening. She and the reader are like really good friends at first, and then it slowly turns into something more. Maybe she gets jealous when she sees you hang out with another player like paige or Kate.

"You've got it badddd"- Caitlin Clark

3rd person P.O.V

Don't get me wrong, you and Caitlin had always been close- even when you decided that staying in Iowa wasn't the choice for you. While you had no open regrets you missed the late night conversations with Cait, often talking about how you wanted your hair done next- or maybe which pair of jeans would go best with the new shoes you had ordered.

Being friends with someone who was so comfortable, and open with their femininity was something new to caitlin- almost scary. She was so used to the girls on her team not putting in effort to match the accent of their tees to their new shoes, or waking up an extra hour early to do their makeup because "it made them feel pretty" (you were always pretty to her, especially when you were focused on making a shot- oh and no doubt when you let out a snort from laughing too hard, ultimately causing you to laugh even harder from the embarrassment.)

So, why exactly did it take Caitlin until her junior year of COLLEGE- and subsequently the year you decided that maybe switching your Uconn to be closer to your older (adoptive) sister would be best for you to admit to herself that maybe (definitely) she likes you more than a friend? Why did it take her until the same pink luggage you had arrived with almost two years ago had been packed- and placed neatly in the white car with pink interior that she knew all too well for her to finally gain the courage to admit the feelings she had felt for you for years?

The same feelings that made her want to play a little too hard at the USA basketball tournament- even though she didn't know exactly who you were. That didn't matter though, you stood out like a sore thumb- a small red skirt, crisp white tee with words that read along the lines of "written by lana del something" adorn with red lettering- with makeup soft, and light giving you an almost angelic look.

Don't get even get me started on how unfocused she was that entire game- staring at the shot clock, and then you, and then the clock again. Fumbling the ball- and forgetting to use her pivot when she got a rebound. These little things caused to her ultimately get benched, finding her spot next to Paige as Hailey subbed her out for that quarter- she and Paige talked, about nothing too serious until Caitlin mentioned being distracted by not her nerves.. but by someone sitting in the stands with a ridiculously large ipad.

"No fucking way Caitlin" Paige said a little too loud for the girls liking as she shushed her out of fear of the coaches hearing.

"What? I'm just saying she's really pretty- and from the way she's been at all of the games this week I think she may be one of the girls sister or something" Caitlin said completely oblivious to the fact that the girl she had been almost studying for a week was Paige's younger sister- the same girl who she would spend the next 3 1/2 years yearning after too scared to make the first move.

"Caitlin" the Blonde said- dropping her voice an octave and sitting up straight. "That's my fucking sister you dimwit" she said lightly shoving the now pale girl sitting beside her as she laughed at the expression on the girls face.

"Oh my gosh- I.. I-I'm so sorry, I take all of that back" The brunette began to ramble scared by the sudden change of atmosphere. Not paying the panicking girl any attention Paige began to laugh as the entire situation was nothing short of hilarious to her- and honestly she started shed a few tears before her attention was called back to the game as she was subbed in.

This experience was one of many that occurred until you and Caitlin finally crossed paths in college. It was no secret that you had many offers from many different schools, and that ultimately when you committed to Iowa that there was bound to be a bit of sibling rivalry as both of you were very competitive. It was alsooo noted how much time you spent with the girls on the team with you- now don't get me wrong Caitlin couldn't exactly be jealous when you and Molly Davis began to hang out with one another outside of practice. But something in her snapped when you sad been elbowed in the face by an opponent while getting a rebound, and as she rushed to make sure you were okay the girl nudged her slightly backwards as she helped you up herself l- glaring at Caitlin on the court seemingly forgetting that there were cameras everywhere.

Fast forward to now. She had spent months upset with you- leaving you confused and ultimately hurt as you spent time attempting to figure out what exactly you did wrong. Was it the overwhelmingly positive attitude? The almost sickening pink bedroom decor (you had offered to tone your side of the room down too many times to count. ) Maybe it was the idea of you getting too close to molly, and then when you had sprung the news of you transferring to Uconn as a last resort to getting more playing time- and being able to showcase your talent like promised.

Whatever the reason was, it had Caitlin Clark avoiding you like the plague for months, ignoring the small talk you made when she was in your shared dorm- if she was even there. She began to spend the night with Kate as she had no roommate, and if she wasn't with Kate she was simply out all night.. and who were you to judge her- she was constantly put under stress to play her best, practice like it was a game, and most importantly to not let herself get too involved with anything relationship related.

That last reason alone was why she found herself with a ridiculously heavy, pink gift basket in hand as she marched towards the white car- just as nervous as the USA youth tournament that ultimately changed her life. She spent about a week writing the letter confessing her feelings- and with the help of Molly (ironic right ..) she picked out things that she knew you would not only like, but that help some form of value to you.

"Y/N/N" The girl yelled half heartedly- more sad about your departure, than nervous about giving you the note.

"Hey Caity" You said back with a bright smile- a smile that matched your bubbly voice. Caitlin would never understand why you couldn't hold grudges, even after icing you out for months- ignoring every attempt you gave to communicate, and borderline moving out you still had the heart to forgive her- and sometimes she wondered why it was so easy for you to forgive.

As you close the trunk of the SUV, you walked towards the nervous girl- taking the gift from her hands and giving her a tight hug around the neck, as her hands find their place along your waistline. The two of you stayed like that for a while until she pulled away to get a good look at your face. Caitlin could tell you really didn't want to leave Iowa, but your sister needing support as she was injured, and if you wanted any shot at potentially getting drafted you needed to have more playing time- more time to show how much you've grown as a player, more time to show who you were- to make a name for YOURSELF. These things combined together left you with no choice but to transfer, and why not transfer to a school where your sister already resided with her girlfriend? Why not transfer to a team full of love, and support with multiple great coaches?

Transferring was the best option for you, and Caitlin tried to understand that. Even if it meant potentially losing you, but deep down something inside of her told her that the distance would only bring the two of you closer- it would only feed the growing feeling from both parties, that it would only heal the wound that had opened as a consequence of pushing one another away. As you pulled away from the girl completely- you stared at the basket full of goodies.

"Oh Cait- You didn't have to get me anything"- You said tearing up, it was a thought out gift that obviously took some planning- and the price didn't matter to you as it was something that she had taken time to put together for you. "No, No I wanted to Y/N/N" she girl said with a bright smile "I wrote you a letter that I think you should really read"

As you carefully pull the letter out of its envelope, your eyes skim over the beautifully written piece of card stock- pink ink neatly written on the thick piece of paper as your begin to smile ear to ear. With no other words you drop the letter into the baby pink basket- leaning up and kissed the taller girl passionately, and as you pulled away breathless you began to mutter something along the lines of "Actually the shirt said written by Lana Del Rey" giggling as you began to think back to the day you set your eyes on the girl.

A/N-I'm sorry about being inactive everyone! i have band camp soooo i've been super busy and will be for the next few weeks! Also, im getting to my request/drafs bear with me 🙏🏾. ALSO please ignore my grammar issues, i didnt proof read it all the way- and im also playing around with the plot ngl. butttt i love you guys! and thank you for 120 followers! 💕❤️

tags; @cosmopretty

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER TWO

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @patscorner @wbbgetsmewetter @makethemhoesmad @authentic-girl03 @rosemariiaa

kalena speakss 🪽! wanted to give yall another chapter tonight since college is kicking my butt atm and idk when the next update will be. hopefully soon tho!

May 2025 — Los Angeles, California 

“I just don’t see why you keep acting like our relationship doesn’t matter. I'm tired of acting like it doesn’t piss me off.” Julian spoke, disrupting the peace I had created for myself as I got dressed in the bathroom.

We were supposed to be getting ready for the Sparks home opener game against the Dallas Wings. I was exhausted from getting into LAX at an ungodly hour of the night, and now the conversation was giving me a headache.

“Ju, are we together?”

“Yes—”

“Did you ask me to be your girlfriend?” I turn around, slipping the mini gold hoops in my hand into my ears.

“No, but—”

I cut him off before he gets the chance to defend his position. “Then we’re not together.” I sigh. “I like where this is going, I really do, but we can’t keep having this conversation, Julian. I’m tired of it. This is just the way my career is working out right now.”

“So what? You make more money when the public thinks you’re single?” Julian asks. He’s very visibly frustrated, as he has been since before I even stepped off the stage in New York.

“No. I make more money when I keep the main thing the main thing. And right now the main thing is my music.” The words bounce off the wall for a moment, silence cutting through the air. I feel bad. He really is a great guy, and I hate to put him in a position like this, but it’s the way it has to be. “Ju’ come on. You have to understand where I’m coming from. I’m sorry.”

My hand reaches out for his shoulder, attempting to lessen the blow. Instead he steps back from me, shaking his head with a huff and leaving the bathroom. 

“Have fun at the game, ‘Raye.” He speaks as he leaves, and it’s my turn to huff.

I turned around. Looking intently at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

This is the closest thing I’ve had to a relationship in years, and yet, I’m spending the majority of it fighting over something dumb. But is it really dumb, or am I being insensitive?

I really do like Julian. He’s funny and sweet, he never fails to go out of his way to support me; I mean he just caught a flight to see me on Jimmy Fallon. He buys me flowers, he cares about communication, and all the little things. But for some reason I Just can’t keep up with it. 

It sucks.

—

May 2025 — Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, California 

The atmosphere in the arena is booming, and oddly enough I find myself surprised at how many people have filled Crypto. I’m seated courtside, underneath the basket nearest to The Sparks bench. The game is halfway through the first quarter and at a timeout when I take my seat. 

I have on a burgundy leather set from Fashion Nova. The shirt is a cropped button up that I only fastened at the bottom button and matching shorts. I’m wearing a pair of matching burgundy Prada slingback pumps that my recent success has gratefully allowed me to purchase. 

I sent a last minute text to my sister, telling her that Julian bailed and I would love it if she joined me, hence the slight tardiness. 

I’ve never seen Cassie as excited as she is right now. She’s beaming with energy, you would’ve thought she’s been planning this for months rather than being invited last minute. She’s for sure more of a basketball fan than I am, I credit that to my uncle. Whereas my dad made me more of a football fan.

“You’re gonna be getting infinite Christmas gifts this year for this, oh my God.” Cassie jokes with a kool aid smile on her face. I giggle, brushing her off.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, Cassie.” I giggle, brushing her off playfully. My phone dings, and I pull it up from my lap to check the notification.

Hey I feel like shit about earlier

Talk when you get home?

It’s Julian. Of course it’s Julian. I try to fight the urge to frown but I can’t help the way the disheartened expression forms in my face. I shut my phone off, shaking the feeling off and turning back to the game.

The buzzer sounds, alerting us that the game is starting again. It allows me to finally bring my attention back to the game. The Sparks are down seven, but you couldn’t even tell that the fans were bothered by it. 

“Jumbotron.” My sister whispers to me and I notice the camera moving past ‘celebrity row’ and getting shots of everyone.

“Bro.” I groan. I don’t hate it, it just gets so awkward. The camera man stays out there for too long and then I forget what to do with my hands. 

But regardless, the camera approaches me and my sister. I look up briefly at the Jumbotron before back down at the camera in front of me. A smile spreads to my face and I wave emphatically. Fortunately it doesn’t take very long and the camera man backs away a little.

Only briefly though, because within a matter of seconds he’s crashing to the ground and his large camera falls into Casandra’s lap.

During all the basketball games I’ve ever watched, I’ve always wondered how common the players run into the media crew or the stands. And every time I've sat in an arena, I’ve always said it would never be me. So you can imagine my surprise when a 6 '1 Paige Bueckers fell right on me after getting fouled going for a layup, knocking over the camera man in the process.

“Oh shit, man you good?” Paige asks him. Her hand helps steady him on his feet and Cassie hands him his camera back, mumbling hurriedly if he was alright. The man nods, patting her on the back.

My eyes meet hers, and suddenly I’ve never seen a prettier set of eyes. A shade of blue that was indescribable. Her hand reaches out to the both of us, palms outstretched as she asks, “Are you guys okay?” It comes out as a stutter and I barely notice it but it’s there.

I nod. And then I remember she still has free throws to shoot. “Yeah. All good, thanks.” I smile. Paige turns around, brushing her teammates off with thumbs ups and high fives when they ask if she’s alright. 

I would be an idiot to say that I wasn’t a little star struck. Sure, I wasn’t completely up to date with all things basketball, but I knew more than enough to know just how much Paige Bueckers was loved in the basketball community. Hell, the city of LA basically through a parade when they got that #1 overall pick.

She was a superstar, in all possible definitions of the word. You couldn’t go more than five minutes without seeing her face on TikTok or some commercial. 

And she was stunning; the last five seconds of me staring at her confirmed it in my mind even more.

—

“Thanks, Holly.” I beam with a smile. It only takes a few seconds of me walking away from postgame to hear yelling in my ear and Cam’s long arms around my shoulders.

In the least cocky way possible, I played an amazing game. Yes, the defense I faced tonight was different than when I was at Connecticut and efficiency wise I did struggle a bit. Who am I kidding— I played phenomenal.

26 points 9 rebounds and 7 assists, the pick-and-roll with Dearica racking up many of those. The team came out with a narrow win over the Wings, getting our season off on the right foot.

“That’s my fuckin’ rook!” I hear Azura Stevens hype me up. I dap her up cleanly, the smile on my face physically impossible to get rid of. For only being on the team for a month, they did a great job of welcoming me with open arms. 

I could definitely get used to this.

A towel hangs around my neck, picking up all the sweat from the game. I’m walking towards the locker rooms with a few of my teammates when I get pulled back for some autographs. I don’t say no, honestly I can’t remember the last time I refused to sign an autograph. Or if I ever did. 

There’s a young girl in front of me alongside her mom. She has on the UConn National Championship shirt from a month ago, her eyes wide as she pushes my sparks jersey up to me. I sign it with a smile, my heart swelling in size when she squeals and thanks me profusely.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming out!” I grin. My feet carry me through a few more fans. I sign all sorts of memorabilia from hoodies, to jerseys, phone cases, and shoes. As well as a wild number of selfies before I hear my name.

“Paige, come here!” It’s Rickea, as her voice has become widely recognizable in the last month that I’ve been here. “Oh my God, walk slower!”

I roll my eyes as I pick up my pace. She’s standing courtside with her warmups on. “Finally. I wanted you to meet a friend of mine. Maraye, this is Paige.”

When I look over it’s the girl from the TV last night, standing there with her purse in hand and— oh my God I ran into her like an hour ago. I fell into her lap. Oh my God this is embarrassing.

She looks even more gorgeous than when I was drooling over her last night. Her hair is the same, from what I can remember, but her outfit is completely different. The color she has on is similar to the one from last night, but the set shows off so much more skin. Her legs are toned, the top she wears is unbuttoned just enough to give me a show of the lace black bralette under it, and her gold septum shines in the arena light. 

“Hey.” I greeted her and the girl who sat next to her earlier in the night. “I do apologize about earlier by the way.”

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” She reassures me.

“P, Cam, and I were watching the show last night. You did great, Raye.” Rickea pushes at Maraye’s shoulder. My eyes catch how she blushes in response. 

“You on a world tour or something? New York last night, and LA tonight.” I joke, and she laughs. Her laugh is possibly more angelic than her singing, and the way her accent popped out when she spoke might even have an edge on that.

“Nah. I just couldn’t miss opening night. Kea’ would never let me live it down, plus my sister is like a huge hoops fan.” She explains, gesturing to the two women next to us.��

I’m towering over her as I look at her but she still keeps eye contact with me. My eyes never leave hers, I didn’t even want them to.

“I was just telling her about Cam and Ben’s dinner party on friday.” Rickea starts. She turns to face me, but I’m still stuck on Maraye and her— well her everything. Rickea swats my arm as slyly as she can to get my attention. My eyes rip away from the musician with an incredulous force. “You are going to that, right?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure. I gotta check on when Drew and my dad are coming to town.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there then?” Maraye speaks. 

Someone please help me figure out why her eyes are so mesmerizing. They’re big and a perfect shade of brown. The slight tilt of her head when she asks me nearly drives me crazy.

“Yeah maybe.” I nod before looking at Rickea. I don’t know how long we’ve stood here, but what I do know is that coach will hand our asses to us on a silver platter if we’re late to the first media session of the season. “Yo, we gotta…” My head tilts towards the tunnel.

“Oh shit you’re right. It was so good to see you guys!” She jumps, pulling Maraye and her sister into a group hug. “Tell y’all folks I say hi!”

The four of us exchange waves and we walk off the court. By the time we make it to the tunnel Rickea is letting out a loud cackle and pushing me away from her. “You’re not even trying to hide it!” She laughs. I know exactly what she’s talking about but I act clueless, it’s too early for my teammates to be ridiculing me over my choices in women.

“You are sooooo going to that dinner party.”

A smirk spreads on my face and I roll my eyes. For the first time all month, I can’t even disagree. Nothing is stopping me from going to that dinner party.

[wonyowonyo]

COURTSHIP (K. Minji X M! Reader)

Hello there wonyowonyo here! I'm back with another update :0 This one is one of the 3 requested oneshots I was talking about previously. As for the other 2, I'm still working on them so I hope you guys do wait for them! Idk when I'll finish it, since I'm starting get busy a bit, but I'll try to finish those requests! Anyways no more yapping, this one was abt 5.6k words! As always, I hope you guys enjoy this one! see yall later ^^

Y/N has always had a passion for basketball. As the star player of his high school team, the court is where you feel most alive. But lately, there’s been something — or rather, someone — distracting Y/N.

Minji.

Minji, with her bright smile and infectious energy, has been the topic of many of Y/N’s daydreams. She’s in his class, and while she’s friendly and approachable, she’s also incredibly dense when it comes to his feelings. Despite his best efforts, she just doesn’t seem to get it.

————————————————————

The gym was alive with energy as Ador High faced off against their rivals, Hanlim High. The bleachers were packed with students, teachers, and parents, all roaring with excitement. Banners waved, and the school band played spirited tunes to keep the energy high.

Y/N, the team's star player, stood tall at the center of the court, his eyes scanning the crowd. His teammates huddled around him, their faces a mix of determination and anticipation. Coach Kim gave them a final pep talk, emphasizing teamwork and focus.

"Remember, guys, we've trained hard for this, let’s win this and punch our way to the finals." Coach Kim said, clapping his hands for emphasis. "Stay sharp, watch your passes, and keep the pressure on. Y/N, you're our ace player. Lead us to victory."

Y/N nodded, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He lived for moments like these, the thrill of the game, the roar of the crowd. But today, something—or rather, someone—was distracting him.

As the referee blew the whistle to start the game, Y/N's eyes wandered to the stands. There, among the sea of faces, he spotted Minji. She was easy to find, her energetic presence like a beacon in the crowd. Her long hair was tied in a ponytail, and she wore the school's colors, waving a homemade sign that read, "Go Y/N! You're the best!"

Minji's smile was infectious, and Y/N felt a flutter in his chest. He quickly shook it off, reminding himself he had a game to win.

The tip-off was won by Ador High, and Y/N immediately took control of the ball. He moved with precision and grace, dribbling past defenders with ease. The crowd's cheers grew louder with each successful play.

"Y/N! Over here!" shouted his teammate, Jisoo, who was in a perfect position near the basket.

Y/N feinted left, sending his defender off balance, and passed the ball to Jisoo, who scored with a clean shot. The crowd erupted, and Y/N exchanged a quick high-five with Jisoo before getting back into position.

Among the cheering, Y/N's eyes kept drifting back to Minji. She was jumping up and down, excitement radiating from her. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Y/N found himself smiling despite the intensity of the game.

As the first quarter progressed, Y/N continued to shine, making key plays and scoring crucial points. Ador High were ahead, but Hanlim High were relentless, keeping the pressure on.

During a brief timeout, Y/N sat on the bench, gulping down water. His coach patted him on the back. "Great job out there, Y/N. Keep it up."

Y/N nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. His thoughts drifted back to Minji. He wondered if she had any idea how much her support meant to him. Probably not, he mused, given how dense she could be about these things.

The game resumed, and Y/N's focus sharpened. He executed a flawless crossover, leaving his defender in the dust, and drove towards the basket. As he leaped for a layup, two defenders swooped in, trying to stop his attack.

The ball sailed through the hoop, and the crowd roared. Y/N landed gracefully as he caught a glimpse of Minji in the stands, her eyes wide with admiration. His heart pounded not just from the exertion but from the thrill of seeing Minji's reaction.

At halftime, Ador High led by a slim margin. The team gathered in the locker room, strategizing for the second half. Y/N's mind, however, was partially elsewhere. He couldn't help but think about Minji, her infectious energy, and the way she made his heart race.

"Y/N, you good?" asked Jisoo, noticing his friend's distraction.

"Yeah, just thinking about the game," Y/N replied, though his thoughts were more about Minji than the game plan.

Back on the court for the second half, Y/N refocused his efforts. Hanlim High were playing more aggressively, and the game became a fierce battle of skill and endurance. Y/N's leadership and skill were pivotal in maintaining their lead.

With the final minutes ticking down, the score was tied. The tension in the gym was palpable. Y/N knew this was it—the moment to seal their victory. He dribbled past two defenders, his eyes locked on the basket.

"Y/N! You can do it!" Minji's voice cut through the noise, loud and clear.

Spurred on by her encouragement, Y/N made his move. He executed a perfect spin and launched the ball towards the basket. The gym fell silent for a breathless moment as the ball sailed through the air.

Swish.

The buzzer sounded, and the crowd erupted in deafening cheers. Ador High had won. Y/N's teammates mobbed him, lifting him onto their shoulders. Amid the celebration, Y/N's eyes found Minji's. She was clapping and cheering, her face beaming with pride.

As he was carried off the court, Y/N couldn't help but think that this victory was not just for 

the team, but for Minji. Her support had fueled his determination and made the win even sweeter.

————————————————————

After the game, Y/N was in high spirits. Ador High had won, and he was determined to use the victory high to confess his feelings to Minji. He found her waiting outside the locker room, her smile brighter than the gym lights.

"Hey, Minji! Thanks for coming to the game," Y/N said, trying to keep his cool.

"Of course! You're amazing out there, Y/N!" Minji replied, her eyes sparkling.

Y/N took a deep breath. "Minji, I—"

Just then, a teammate interrupted, slapping Y/N on the back. "Great game, man! We're heading to the diner to celebrate. You in?"

Y/N shot his teammate a frustrated look but managed a smile. "Yeah, I'll be there in a bit."

Minji, completely missing Y/N's attempt at a confession, clapped her hands. "Ooh, can I come too?"

Y/N sighed inwardly but couldn't say no to her. "Sure, why not?"

————————————————————

At the local diner, the basketball team was loud and boisterous, celebrating their recent win. The energy was infectious, and even the usually reserved Y/N found himself laughing along with his teammates. But amidst the chaos, he couldn't take his eyes off Minji, who was engrossed in conversation with their friends, a milkshake in her hand.

Y/N decided it was now or never. He needed a moment alone with her. "Hey, Minji, can we talk?" he asked, trying to catch her attention.

Minji looked up, her face smeared with whipped cream. "Sure, Y/N! What's up?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh. "You, uh, have a little something on your face."

Minji wiped her face with a napkin and smiled brightly. "Thanks! So, what did you want to talk about?"

Taking a deep breath, Y/N began, "Minji, I really—"

Before he could finish, a waiter tripped, sending a tray of drinks flying. Instinctively, Y/N pulled Minji out of the way, and they ended up in a tangled heap on the floor, laughing.

"Wow, Y/N, you're like a superhero!" Minji giggled, completely oblivious to the romantic tension.

Y/N sighed, thinking to himself, How can someone be so dense?

As they got up, Minji dusted herself off. "Thanks for saving me, Y/N. That was close!"

"No problem," Y/N replied, trying to hide his frustration. "Uh, so, about what I wanted to say—"

"Hey, Y/N! Minji! Come join us for a group photo!" one of their teammates called out, waving a camera.

Minji grabbed Y/N's hand. "Let's go! It'll be fun!"

Y/N followed, his chance for confession slipping away once again. They squeezed into the group, and the camera flashed, capturing Minji's bright smile and Y/N's slightly forced one.

"Alright, on the count of three, say 'cheese'!" the teammate said.

"Cheese!" everyone chorused, and the camera clicked again.

As the evening wore on, Y/N found himself continually thwarted by interruptions. Every time he tried to steer Minji away for a private conversation, someone would call her over or something would happen to derail his attempts.

By the end of the night, Y/N was exhausted. As they walked out of the diner, Minji looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You seemed like you had something important to say earlier. What was it?"

Y/N gave a weary smile. "It's nothing, Minji. Really."

She patted his shoulder. "Well, if it's important, you'll tell me eventually. Right?"

"Yeah," Y/N said, feeling a twinge of frustration. "Eventually."

————————————————————

Determined to make his feelings clear, Y/N invited Minji to study together in the library. He thought the quiet atmosphere would be perfect for a heart-to-heart.

"Minji, there's something important I need to tell you," Y/N began, his palms sweaty as he fidgeted with his notes.

Minji looked up from her book, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What is it, Y/N?"

Y/N took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I—"

Before he could continue, Minji gasped. "Oh no! I forgot to feed my goldfish this morning!" She jumped up, knocking over her chair in the process.

Y/N facepalmed. "Minji, your goldfish will be fine for a few more hours."

Minji sat back down, looking relieved. "You're right. Sorry, Y/N. What were you saying?"

Y/N shook his head, trying to keep his frustration in check. "I really, really—"

Just then, the librarian shushed them loudly, and they both burst out laughing, earning more stern looks from the librarian.

Minji covered her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles. "We should probably keep it down, huh?"

"Yeah, probably," Y/N agreed, still chuckling.

They returned to their books, and Y/N tried to focus on his studies, but his mind kept drifting back to what he wanted to say. After a few minutes of silence, he decided to try again.

"Minji, I—"

This time, Minji's phone buzzed loudly. She quickly grabbed it, glancing at the screen. "Oh, it's my mom. She wants to know if I need a ride home."

Y/N's shoulders slumped. "Do you?"

Minji shook her head. "Nah, I'll walk. It's a nice day out."

"Okay." Y/N took another deep breath. "Minji, I—"

The librarian appeared out of nowhere, glaring at them. "If you two can't keep it down, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Sorry," they both mumbled, trying not to laugh.

Once the librarian had gone, Minji turned to Y/N. "It's really hard to have a conversation here, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," Y/N admitted, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement.

"Maybe we can talk later? After we finish studying?" Minji suggested.

"Sure," Y/N agreed, hoping that later would bring fewer interruptions.

During their “study” session, Y/N was determined to finally get his message across. Instead of actually studying, Y/N was racking his brain for ideas to confess his feelings to Minji. After a minute of brainstorming, he decided to write Minji a letter, hoping that putting his feelings into words would make things clearer. He spent hours crafting the perfect confession, pouring his heart onto the page. He tried to be sneaky as possible, trying to avoid the attention of the laser-focused Minji who’s diligently studying just in front of him.

After spending hours on the library, the pair decided to finally call it quits, as they both left the school premise to walk home. Y/N tried to act as natural as possible as he walked beside Minji who was busy sightseeing. Pushing down his nervousness and finally deciding to make his move, Y/N cleared his throat to get the attention of Minji. 

“H-hey, here. Read this.” Just as he was about to hand the letter to Minji, a strong gust of wind blew it out of his hand. Y/N watched in horror as the letter fluttered through the air and landed in a puddle.

Minji picked it up, her eyes widening as she read the waterlogged, smudged words. "Uh, Y/N? Why does this say you want to 'beef' with me?"

Y/N facepalmed, realizing the ink had smeared beyond recognition. "It was supposed to say I want to be with you'!"  He screamed internally.

Minji giggled, completely missing the point again. "Oh, Y/N, you're so funny! But I don't think fighting would be a good idea."

Y/N sighed, shaking his head but unable to stay mad at her. "Yeah, you're right. Fighting's not my style."

————————————————————

One weekend, Y/N asked Minji to go to the amusement park, hoping a fun day out would provide the perfect opportunity to confess his feelings.

"This is going to be so much fun!" Minji exclaimed as they arrived at the park, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

They rode roller coasters, played games, and ate cotton candy. Y/N couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun, but he was still looking for the right moment to confess.

As they stood in line for the Ferris wheel, Y/N decided it was now or never. The view from the top, the gentle sway of the cabin—it all felt so romantic.

"Minji, I—" Y/N began, but Minji cut him off with a delighted squeal.

"Look, Y/N! We're almost at the front of the line! I can't wait to see the view from the top!" Minji exclaimed, completely missing his attempt at a confession.

Y/N sighed inwardly but couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. One of these days, she'll understand.

They climbed into the Ferris wheel cabin, and as it slowly ascended, Y/N's heart pounded. He looked over at Minji, who was gazing out at the park below with wide eyes.

"It's so beautiful," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

"Yeah, it is," Y/N agreed, though he was looking at her rather than the view.

As they reached the top, Y/N took a deep breath. "Minji, I—"

Minji turned to him, her eyes sparkling. "Yes?"

Y/N felt his courage falter. "I—really like this view."

Minji laughed. "Me too! It's amazing up here."

Y/N sighed, kicking himself for chickening out. He needed to find the right moment, but it seemed like every time he tried, something got in the way.

After the Ferris wheel, they wandered around the park, playing more games and enjoying the various attractions. As the sun began to set, they found themselves at a quiet spot near the park's lake.

"Minji, there's something I need to tell you," Y/N said, his heart pounding once again.

Minji looked at him, her expression serious for once. "What is it, Y/N?"

Just as Y/N was about to speak, a group of kids ran by, laughing and shouting, interrupting the moment.

Y/N groaned inwardly. "Never mind. It's not important."

Minji frowned. "Are you sure? It seemed important."

Y/N forced a smile. "Yeah, it's fine. Let's just enjoy the rest of the day."

Minji nodded, though she still looked concerned. "Okay, if you say so."

The annual school festival was a big event, and Y/N saw it as another opportunity to get closer to Minji. They wandered through the various stalls, played games, and enjoyed the performances. Minji's laughter was infectious, and Y/N found himself falling for her even more.

"Let's try the ring toss!" Minji suggested, dragging Y/N over to a game booth.

"Alright, but I'm warning you, I'm not very good at this," Y/N said with a grin.

Minji laughed. "That's okay! It's just for fun."

They each took turns tossing rings, and Minji managed to win a small stuffed bear. She handed it to Y/N with a smile. "Here, this is for you."

Y/N accepted the bear, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "Thanks, Minji."

As the day went on, they continued to enjoy the festival together. Y/N couldn't help but notice how happy Minji seemed, and it made him even more determined to tell her how he felt.

At the end of the day, there was a fireworks display. Y/N and Minji found a spot on the school rooftop to watch. The sky lit up with brilliant colors, and Y/N felt the perfect moment had arrived.

"Minji, there's something I've been wanting to tell you," Y/N said, turning to face her, his heart pounding in his chest.

Minji looked at him, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What is it, Y/N?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "Minji, I really—"

Minji suddenly gasped, cutting him off. "Oh my gosh, Y/N! Are you going to tell me that you’ll finally teach me basketball for my P.E class?!"

Y/N blinked, completely thrown off. "Uh... what?"

Minji nodded enthusiastically. "I knew it! You kept trying to deny my request, but in the end you still have a soft spot for me huh, Y/N!"

Y/N stared at her, dumbfounded. "I was actually busy back then, Minji. But that's not what I—"

"Shhh, the fireworks are starting!" Minji exclaimed, turning her attention back to the sky.

Y/N sighed, shaking his head as he stared at the night sky. One of these days, she'll understand. Hopefully.

As the fireworks exploded overhead, Y/N felt a mix of frustration and hope. He knew he would eventually get through to Minji, but for now, he would just enjoy the moment with her.

————————————————————

That night, after yet another failed attempt to confess his feelings, Y/N lay in bed, feeling both elated and exasperated. He replayed all the missed opportunities in his head, each one more ridiculous than the last.

First, there was the locker room interruption. Then, the diner disaster. The study session? Don’t even get him started. The amusement park and the school festival were supposed to be perfect, but of course, things had to go hilariously wrong.

He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it, letting out all his pent-up frustration. "Why, Minji? Why are you so dense?!" he muttered dramatically, throwing his hands in the air.

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Minji:

Minji: Hey Y/N, I just realized... were you trying to tell me something important today?

Y/N stared at his phone, his mouth agape. He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. He quickly typed back:

Y/N: Yes, Minji. Yes, I was.

Minji: LOL! I'm such a dummy. But I’m glad you're my friend! Anyways, see you tomorrow at the local park 😊

Y/N sighed, shaking his head but smiling. "Better late than never," he muttered, feeling the weight of all those missed opportunities lift off his shoulders.

————————————————————

The next day, true to her word, Minji showed up at the local basketball court, eager to learn. Y/N couldn't help but admire her enthusiasm, even if she was a bit clumsy with the ball.

"Okay, first you need to dribble like this," Y/N demonstrated, bouncing the ball with ease.

Minji tried to mimic him but ended up fumbling the ball. She laughed, a sound that always made Y/N's heart melt. "This is harder than it looks!"

Y/N moved closer, gently guiding her hands. "Here, let me help you."

He stood behind her, his hands over hers, guiding her movements. As they practiced, Y/N realized that Minji's determination was part of her charm. Her cheerful personality and genuine innocence made every moment with her feel like an adventure. However, she can be dense as a mountain when it comes to feelings.

"Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it," Y/N encouraged, smiling.

Minji pouted playfully. "I hope so. I don't want to embarrass myself in front of everyone."

"You won't," Y/N assured her. "You're doing great."

As the afternoon went on, Minji's skills slowly improved. She laughed and stumbled, but she never gave up. Her persistence reminded Y/N of why he cared for her so much. She was a beacon of positivity in his life, always looking at the bright side.

They took a break, sitting on the court and sipping water. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the gym.

"Thank you for teaching me, Y/N," Minji said, her eyes sincere. "It means a lot."

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest. "Anytime, Minji. I'm glad we can spend time together like this."

Minji beamed. "Me too."

As they sat there, watching the sun dip below the horizon, Y/N realized that these moments, both on and off the court, were the ones he would cherish forever. It wasn't just about the game; it was about the people who made it meaningful. And Minji was at the heart of it all.

————————————————————

The championship game was the biggest event of the year. The gym was packed with students, teachers, and parents, all cheering for Ador High. The bleachers were a sea of orange and black, with banners and posters waving enthusiastically in the air. The scent of popcorn and excitement filled the space, creating an electric atmosphere.

Y/N was more focused than ever, but knowing Minji was in the crowd cheering for him made his heart pound. He glanced up and saw her, her smile a beacon of encouragement. He took a deep breath and joined his teammates in their final huddle.

"Alright, guys," the coach said, his voice steady and calm. "This is our moment. Play smart, play hard, and remember, we've got each other's backs."

The game began with a flurry of activity. The opposing team, Seoul High, were formidable, their defense tight and their offense relentless. Y/N dodged and weaved, his muscles straining with every pass, every pivot. The sound of sneakers squeaking on the polished wood floor and the rhythmic pounding of the basketball echoed through the gym.

As the first quarter progressed, both teams fought fiercely for the lead. Y/N executed a perfect layup, drawing cheers from the crowd. But Seoul High quickly countered with a three-pointer, keeping the score neck and neck.

During a timeout, Y/N wiped the sweat from his brow and listened as the coach outlined their strategy. "Stay sharp, and keep the pressure on. Y/N, you'll be our key player in the final minutes. Trust your instincts."

Back on the court, Y/N felt the weight of the game on his shoulders. He knew the clock was ticking down, and the pressure was mounting. With only two minutes left, the score was tied. Ador High fought for every inch, their determination unwavering.

The game was intense. Ador High and Seoul High were evenly matched, each team responding to the other’s moves with agility and precision. The ball changed hands rapidly, with neither side able to secure a solid lead.

With a minute left in the fourth quarter, Ador High were down by two points. Y/N knew it was now or never. He stole the ball from an opposing player and sprinted down the court. The crowd's roar was deafening. He passed the ball to his teammate, who quickly passed it back to him.

Y/N was at the three-point line when he saw an opening. He darted past his defender and charged toward the basket. Seoul High' center, a towering player, tried to block him, but Y/N was faster. He jumped, the world around him slowing down. With all his might, he slammed the ball into the hoop.

The gym exploded with cheers. Ador High were now up by one point. The slam dunk had turned the tide of the game, and Y/N felt a surge of adrenaline and pride.

With only seconds left on the clock, Seoul High scrambled to regain control. But Ador High' defense was impenetrable. Y/N stole the ball again, blitzing his way to the opponent's side of the court. However, a defender was just right behind him, slowly catching up to lock him down. Entering the paint, Y/N immediately sprung into the air while gripping the ball with all his might. Everyone watched, as Y/N stayed in the air before slamming the ball right onto the hoop just as the final buzzer sounded.

Ador High had won the championship, thanks to Y/N’s back to back dunk. His teammates lifted him onto their shoulders, the victory a culmination of their hard work and dedication.

Amid the celebration, Y/N spotted Minji running towards him. Her face was radiant with pride, her eyes shining. She threw her arms around him, her joy palpable.

"You're amazing, Y/N! We won!" Minji exclaimed, her smile brighter than ever.

Y/N hugged her back, his heart full. "Thanks, Minji. I couldn't have done it without you."

Minji pulled back, looking confused. "Me? But all I did was cheer."

Y/N laughed, a sound of pure happiness. "And that made all the difference."

As the team celebrated their victory, Y/N knew this was a moment he would cherish forever. The roar of the crowd, the embrace of his friends and family, and Minji's unwavering support. This was more than a game; it was a testament to teamwork, perseverance, and the power of believing in oneself.

After the initial celebration, the team gathered in the locker room, their spirits high. The coach gave a rousing speech, praising everyone's effort and determination. Y/N's teammates clapped him on the back, congratulating him on his game-winning shot.

"Man, you were on fire out there!" one teammate exclaimed.

"Yeah, you really carried us in the final minutes," another added.

Y/N smiled, feeling a sense of camaraderie and pride.

As they changed out of their uniforms, Y/N couldn't help but think about Minji. He had to find the right moment to finally tell her how he felt. He glanced at his phone and saw a text from her:

Minji: Congrats, Y/N! You were incredible! 😊

Y/N replied: Thanks, Minji. Can we meet outside? I need to talk to you.

Minji: Sure! Be there in a sec.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. As he walked out of the locker room, he saw Minji waiting for him, her smile as bright as ever.

"Hey, Y/N! What's up?" she asked cheerfully.

Y/N's heart raced. "Minji, there's something important I need to tell you. I've been trying to say it for a while now, but things keep getting in the way."

Minji tilted her head, looking curious. "What is it, Y/N?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "Minji, I—"

Just then, his teammate burst through the door, yelling, "Yo, Y/N! Coach wants you back inside for a team photo!"

Y/N groaned inwardly, feeling the frustration build up again. "Okay, I'll be right there." He turns and smiled at his teammate, biting the insides of his cheeks. His eyes squinted as he telepathically communicated with his teammate. ‘Boy you better thank the gods above we are living in a civilized society’.

The poor teammate, jolted as he awkwardly exits himself back to the team.

Minji giggled. "I'll wait here. Don't keep me waiting too long!"

Y/N nodded, feeling both exasperated and amused. One of these days, he'd get his chance.

After the game, Y/N and Minji found a quiet spot outside the gym. The moonlight cast a soft glow over them, and Y/N knew it was the perfect moment.

"Minji, I have something to tell you," Y/N said, his voice steady.

Minji looked at him, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What is it, Y/N?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "Minji, I like you. A lot. More than just a friend."

Minji's face lit up with realization. "Oh! You mean like more than my love for fried chicken?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, Minji. Much more than that."

Minji's face slowly lit up with realization. "Oh, I get it! You want to join the culinary club to learn how to make fried chicken, don't you?"

Y/N's jaw dropped. "W-What? No! That's not what I meant!"

Minji giggled, completely missing the point. "Oh, Y/N! You're so funny. But sure, I'll help you join the culinary club if that's what you want!"

Y/N sighed deeply, shaking his head but unable to stay mad at her. "Thanks, Minji. You're the best." Giving her a weakened thumbs up and smile.

As he walked home alone, he couldn't help but just laugh at the misunderstanding. Minji's innocence and humor were part of what he loved about her, even if it made things a bit more complicated. But he’s lying if the constant failures he’s facing aren't affecting him. 

“Let’s not give up yet, we still have plenty more chances!” He motivates himself, reassuring his feelings and his unwavering will. 

He proceeded to run the remaining kilometer on his way home.

In the following days, Y/N found himself in another series of dense moments with Minji that only added to his growing frustration and affection:

They were in the library, supposedly studying for their upcoming exams. Minji was intensely focused on her notes, her brows furrowed in concentration. Y/N, however, was distracted by her presence.

"Minji," he whispered, trying to be subtle.

"Hmm?" She looked up, her expression softening.

"I wanted to ask you something," he began, his heart racing.

"Sure, what is it?" she asked, leaning in closer.

"Do you ever think about..." he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase his question.

"Think about what?" she prompted, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Um, about us, you know, being more than friends?" he finally managed to say.

Minji's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, you mean like study buddies? I'd love that! We can help each other with all our subjects!"

Y/N sighed inwardly, trying to keep his smile. "Yeah, study buddies. That's exactly what I meant."

A few days later, they were in the cafeteria, enjoying lunch together. Y/N decided to try again.

"Minji, there's something I've been meaning to tell you," he said, gathering his courage.

"What's that, Y/N?" she asked, looking up from her food.

"I really like you, Minji. I mean, I really like you," he said, hoping she would understand this time.

Minji's face lit up with a smile. "Oh, I like you too, Y/N! You're one of my best friends."

Y/N felt a pang of disappointment but managed to keep his composure. "Thanks, Minji. You're one of my best friends too."

————————————————————

After another failed attempt to confess his feelings, Y/N decided to make one last grand gesture. He arranged a surprise for Minji on the rooftop of their school, a place they both loved for its breathtaking view of the city.

Y/N decorated the rooftop with fairy lights, creating a magical ambiance under the night sky. He set up a picnic blanket, complete with all of Minji’s favorite snacks. He took a deep breath, hoping this time everything would go smoothly.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the city, Y/N led Minji to the rooftop, covering her eyes with his hands.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Minji giggled, clearly excited.

"Just trust me," Y/N said, guiding her carefully. "And... open your eyes!"

Minji gasped, her eyes wide with wonder. "Oh my gosh, Y/N! This is beautiful!"

Y/N smiled, feeling a bit more confident. "I wanted to do something special for you, Minji."

They sat down together, enjoying the view and the snacks. As the sky darkened and the stars began to twinkle, Y/N knew it was now or never.

"Minji," he began, his voice steady. "There's something I've been trying to tell you for a long time."

Minji looked at him, her eyes full of curiosity and warmth. "What is it, Y/N?"

Y/N took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "Minji, I love you. I've loved you for so long, and I can't keep it to myself anymore. You're the most amazing person I've ever met, and I want to be more than just friends. I want to be with you."

Minji's eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling. "Oh, Y/N, I love you too! I can't believe it took us this long to say it out loud!"

Y/N felt a wave of relief and joy wash over him. "So, does this mean...?"

"Yes, Y/N," Minji said, leaning in closer. "It means we're more than friends now."

Y/N pulled her into a tight embrace, his heart soaring. "I'm so glad you feel the same way, Minji."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Y/N knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for. All the misunderstandings and dense moments had led them to this point, and it was worth every second.

The rooftop seemed to glow with a newfound warmth, and Y/N felt an overwhelming sense of happiness. He had finally confessed his feelings, and Minji had reciprocated. It was the start of a beautiful new chapter in their lives.

————————————————————

The next day at school, Y/N and Minji walked hand-in-hand, their friends teasing them playfully.

"Finally, you two figured it out!" one friend joked.

"Yeah, it only took a million failed attempts," another added with a laugh.

Minji giggled, squeezing Y/N's hand. "I guess I'm not the only one who's dense."

Y/N grinned, feeling happier than ever. "Nope, we're a perfect match."

Reaching the hallway, they suddenly bumped into the Culinary Club president.

"Hey, Y/N! Minji said you wanted to join the Culinary Club to learn how to make fried chicken?" the president asked, grinning.

Y/N's face turned bright red as Minji burst into laughter. "Oh, Y/N! You really should have seen your face!"

Y/N groaned, feeling both embarrassed and amused. "Minji, I swear, that was not what I meant!"

Minji squeezed his hand, her laughter infectious. "I know, Y/N. But hey, maybe we can still join and make some delicious fried chicken together!"

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, why not? As long as we're together."

As they walked to their next class, Minji suddenly stopped. "Oh no! I forgot to feed my goldfish again!"

Y/N laughed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Minji. I'll help you with that too."

And so, their story continued, filled with basketball, laughter, love, and a whole lot of heart.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

In the Backstage

SUMMARY: He invites you to watch the inter-school Battle of the Bands where the Pop Music Club will represent Night Raven College and compete with other schools, one of them being Royal Sword Academy. But unfortunately, they come in second place. He also gave you a VIP pass to visit him backstage after the competition.

CHARACTERS: Pop Music Club 🎼 (Cater Diamond / Kalim Al-Asim / Lilia Vanrouge)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Flirting; Kiss; Comfort

WORD COUNT: An average of 1.330 words per character.

COMMENTS: The Pop Music Club was the first club with the cards released and the first one I wrote something about. But nowadays, and compared to what I've written for other clubs, I thought it was worth writing something new and better. Especially for Cater, Kalim and/or Lilia fans.

I hope you enjoy it. 😉

OTHER CLUBS:

But… We Lost… - Basketball Club (Ace / Floyd / Jamil)

Romantic Experiment - Science Club (Trey / Rook)

For a Quarter of a Second - Track and Field Club (Deuce / Jack)

Unlucky Overtime - Spelldrive Club (Leona / Ruggie / Epel)

A Rainy Walk - Mountain Lover Club (Jade) / Gargoyle Studies Club (Malleus)

.

You are at another Unbirthday Party in Heartslabyul when Cater announces that there will be an interschool battle of the bands. The Pop Music Club will represent Night Raven College and compete with other schools including Royal Sword Academy.

The other Heartslabyul students didn't seem very confident that Cater and the others would win.

“Aww, come on...” Cater says disappointedly. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“Well... some of us have already seen the few concerts you've given...” Trey says with that polite smile. “That and...” He smirks “We also know how much effort you guys really put into your club.”

“Auch, you are such meanies.” Cater says sadly. “Do you really have no hope in us?”

“I wouldn't say we have no hope. I do hope you win.” Trey simply says smiling.

“We all want Night Raven College to win, that's not even in question.” Riddle says. “But Trey is right. The three of you have already let it slip that you spend your meetings eating snacks and talking instead of practicing. And I've also seen one of your concerts.” He says with that disappointed face that looks like he's about to sigh. “If you truly want to win against Royal Sword Academy you will have to put in some real effort!”

“I should have known the conversation would go this way." Cater sighs as he plays with a strand of hair. “But you're right, Housewarden. I promise we'll do our best. Anyway, I wanted to invite you all. Ta-da!”

Cater takes five tickets out of his coat pocket and gives them to Trey, Riddle, Ace, Deuce and finally you. “Front row! The best seats!”

“Hey! What about me?!” Grim complains.

“You both count as one student, so you only need one ticket. Isn't that cool?” Cater explains.

Both Ace and Deuce say they believe in Cater and the others to win. Ace because he's a bootlicker and Deuce because he's just that naive. As Grim begins to focus more on the food than on you, Cater gets closer.

“Hey, (Y/N)-chan~” He whispers to you. “You're going to root for me, aren't you~? I got you a special ticket.” He discreetly passes you another paper that said ‘VIP pass’. “You can meet me backstage after the concert if you want. You will make Cay-kun very happy if you do~” he winks.

Cater was really happy to see you in the audience, in the seat he arranged for you, along with the other Heartslabyul students. During the NRC song he looked at you many times.

To your surprise and that of all the other students who had seen them perform before, this time, they were actually taking it seriously. They were having fun as always, but you could tell they had been practicing and were trying hard to win. Lilia didn't even try to do his scream vocals or throw himself into the audience. Okay, he pretended he was going to do it, but just to startle the people at the front of the stage, he didn't actually do it.

The performance really went well, their best concert so far. But... unfortunately... Royal Sword Academy was better. At least for the jury who gave them first place, while Night Raven College got second... as always.

There was a buffet for the guests after the competition and both Trey and Riddle told you that you could leave Grim with them while you went to check on Cater. They could tell that he had worked hard and might be a little down from losing to RSA. They also agreed that you would be the best person to cheer him up if needed.

Using your VIP pass, you entered backstage and passed Kalim and Lilia in the hallways. Kalim was happy to have made it this far to the point of being ranked second among so many other schools with talented students and so was Lilia. But Lilia whispered to you that perhaps Cater would be more cheer up if you went to see him in their dressing room.

You do so and Lilia and Kalim head outside to meet up with the others. When you arrive in front of the door that Lilia indicated to you, you knock on it and tell Cater it's you. He casually asks you to wait just a second, and only then does he open the door for you.

“Hey, (Y/N)-chan~” Cater greets you with his signature smile. “I'm glad to see you using the VIP pass I gave you. I hope you enjoyed our show.”

You tell him you loved it and how it was the best they've ever done, at least compared to what you've seen.

“Aw, you’re so sweet~. We really tried hard this time. It was difficult to convince Kalim and Lilia to take this a little more seriously, but they did it for the school. Ha ha... It's just a shame we didn't win.”

“But you did won.” You say. “Second place at least.”

“Yeah... Second place... You’re right! We won one of the best places and I'm really happy about that. All our training was worth it!” He says with a big smile. “We should go celebrate with the others.”

But you don't move out of his way so he can go through the open door. You knew that was his happy mask and you wanted to talk to him alone, to try to get him to be honest with you.

“Before that, I liked to see your dressing room. I never saw what one actually looked like in real life.” You tell him.

“Oh, it's a little small for three people, but it's actually pretty cool. Come in, I'll show you.”

You walk in and close the door behind you, which Cater doesn't find strange. He shows you the dressing tables that they used to put on their makeup, the instruments that still needed to be stored in the boxes, the cart where their clothes were, etc.

“Cater...” You say almost interrupting him. He looks at you. “I know you're not doing so well. Lilia knows you're not doing so well. Riddle and Trey knew you might be a little sad after all your effort. You can be honest with me.”

“You're all so sweet to worry about Cay-kun so much. But I'm fine, I promise.” He smiles and winks at you.

“Okay. Then give me a hug.” You say, opening your arms.

He's taken a little aback and says that you're really cute, but that he's actually fine. However, you don't low your arms and say that you want to give him a hug to congratulate him on his performance. He sighs and ends up accepting.

He starts by giving you a hug like he always does. But then, the hug becomes a little tighter and more sincere.

“I’m sorry...” He whispers, close to your ear and with difficulty. “...I did my best...” His words were almost inaudible.

You hug him tighter and tell him that you know, that everyone knows, and that it's okay to be sad about not winning first place. You also tell him he can stay there with you as long as he wants until he feels better. Actually better.

This makes him hug you tighter.

“I don't want to waste your time.” He whispers again, as if at the same time that he wants to say it, he doesn't want you to hear it.

“You're not.” You whisper back to him. “You're never.”

He asks again if you really thought he acted well and you are sincere in saying yes and that he can ask whoever he wants, everyone will say it was their best performance. After some time, he breaks the hug and discreetly wipes away a little tear that you hadn't even realized that he had shed.

“Ha ha. This isn't very cute, is it?” He says.

“You are always very cute.” You reply, cupping his face.

“You too.” He smiles and places his hands over yours that you placed on his face. “Do you know what would really make me feel a lot better?”

You smile, showing that you probably know. You move closer to him and he moves closer to you in response, until you kiss. You feel his smile on your lips and then his hands on your back to bring you closer.

“(Y/N)!!!” You hear Kalim's voice shout, approaching, running behind you.

You were in the hallway, in the break between classes with Grim, Ace and Deuce. You turn around and Kalim stops in front of you, tired but with his huge sunny smile on. As he catches his breath, you see Jamil running towards you with that stressed look on his face. Kalim probably started running all of a sudden when he saw you.

“(Y/N)! There's going to be an interschool battle of the bands!” Kalim tells you. “And we're going to compete. You have to come see us!”

“The Pop Music Club will compete for Night Raven College.” Jamil explains. “And the members can invite any students they want to the front rows of the audience.” He took three tickets out of his hoodie pocket and gives one to Ace, one to Deuce and one to you.

“Hey! What about me?!” Grim complains.

“Since you and (Y/N) are counted as one student, you only need one ticket to be able to go together.” Jamil explains.

“I'm so excited! Especially to see you in the audience.” Kalim tells you. “I’ll do my best to give you the best show ever!”

After all the classes, when you were already in Ramshackle Dorm, you hear someone knocking on the door. When you open it, you see Kalim and Jamil.

“Hey! I wanted to give you something else, but Jamil said it was better to do it when you were alone.” Kalim takes a ticket from his pants pocket, a different color from the others, and gives it to you. “It's a VIP pass. I would love it if you could come see us backstage after the competition.”

“If we had given you this ticket in front of the others,” Jamil says with that annoyed expression. “I can easily see Ace and Grim trying to convince Kalim to give them a VIP pass as well. Even though each member only has one VIP pass each to give to someone”

Kalim was so happy to see you in the front row, in the seat he had arranged for you, that he got distracted before they start playing, waving and smiling at you. Cater was the one who called his attention to come back to the drums.

To your surprise and that of all the other students who had seen them perform before, this time they were actually taking it seriously. They were having fun as always, but you could tell they had been practicing and were trying hard to win. Lilia didn't even try to do his scream vocals or throw himself into the audience. Okay, he pretended he was going to do it, but just to startle the people at the front of the stage, he didn't actually do it.

The performance really went well, their best concert so far. But... unfortunately... Royal Sword Academy was better. At least for the jury who gave them first place, while Night Raven College got second... as always.

There was a buffet for the guests after the competition and you took advantage of Grim being busy with the food to use your VIP pass to go see Kalim, Cater and Lilia backstage.

You found them in the hallway. The three of them were smiling and talking excitedly, and when Kalim saw you, his smile grew even bigger and he ran to you.

“(Y/N)! What did you think of our show? Did you enjoy it?”

He was as happy as if he had won first place. You should know by now that winning or not is not what's important to him. As you told them how much you enjoyed their music and how it was probably their best concert yet, Cater noticed something.

“Hey, Kalim, didn't you have a ring on each hand?”

Kalim looks at his right hand, which had a ring on the index finger. Then he looks at his left and sees that there is no ring. Kalim searches through his pockets until he remembers that he had taken off his rings to wash his hands and must have only remembered to put one back on. Cater tells him and you to go back to the bathroom or the dressing room to see if you can find it while he and Lilia go meet the others at the after-party.

On the way to the bathroom, the two of you started talking, about the music, the performance, the competition in general, other things that had nothing to do with anything...

In the bathroom Kalim looks for the ring, but came out saying that he couldn't find it anywhere, so maybe you should look in the dressing room. In the dressing room you look for the ring on the floor, since Kalim said he had sat on the floor packing some things. You find the ring under one of the dressing tables they used to put on makeup, give it to him and he puts it back on his finger. When he does this, you can see his nails better.

“Ooh, you noticed my nails! Yeah, they're gold with a tiger-stripe pattern. Cool, huh? I can help you do your nails like this too. It would be fun if we matched. OH! Speaking of which.”

He walks over to a large cardboard box that was in the corner of the room, opens it, and takes out a white t-shirt.

“Our matching T-shirts are custom-made, you know. We ordered more to sell as merch.” When he unfolds it and shows you the front, it's a t-shirt exactly like his. “Which is how we blew through what little budget we had.”

He walks back to you and hands you the t-shirt. It's a little bigger than the size you normally wear.

“Sorry, we only made one size. I think it was because it was cheaper. He he. It's the same size as ours.”

You thank him and say you're excited to trying it on, so Kalim turns around so you can swap shirts. As soon as you tell him you're ready, he turns around and smiles when he sees you wearing the same t-shirt as him.

“It looks so good on you!” Kalim looks at his hand which has the ring with a red stone. “Hey, try this too.” He takes off the ring from his index finger, comes closer to you and holds out his hand. “Can I?” he asks with a cute smile.

You place your left hand on his right hand and he instinctively puts the ring on your ring finger.

“Another gift for you. For being my best friend and best fan, Heh heh heh. I tried really hard today because I really wanted to make you proud. We didn't get first place, but second is also really cool, isn't it? I won for the school and for you.”

In the midst of so much joy, you end up hugging him to thank him for the gifts and to say that you agree that second place is incredible too. He hugs you back so happily that he even spins you around, making you lift your feet off the ground.

You knew that even if Kalim really liked you, he wouldn't just give you a kiss out of the blue. So you're the one who does it and kisses him on the cheek. He's surprised for a second, but then he kisses your cheek back.

“Even though this day is already amazing.” He says, still hugging you and his face is so close to yours that your noses are almost touching. “The best part is still celebrating with you.” He ends by saying in a lower, more affectionate tone. His eyes inviting you to kiss him again.

You do it, but this time on his lips. You feel his enthusiasm and love not only by the intensity of his kiss but by the way he hugs you tighter.

You were coming back from Mr. S's Mystery Shop, while Grim had stayed at Ramshackle Dorm out of laziness, when you comment to yourself something about the shopping bags being a little heavy.

“You should not be shy about asking a trusted colleague for assistance then.” Lilia says, suddenly appearing upside down.

You get startled and almost drop one of the two bags you were carrying, but Lilia catches it in time.

“You are carrying all these purchases alone? Allow me to be your cute little helper until arriving at Ramshackle Dorm.”

He puts his feet on the ground and walks with you. You ask him if there was any reason for him to be around.

“Do you mean any other than a simple, pleasant walk? Ku fu fu. Well, yes. I was looking for students to invite to the interschool Battle of the Bands. The Pop Music Club will compete for Night Raven College against other arcana academies. One of our enemies being Royal Sword Academy.” He says with that smug smile. “I have a special ticket for you and Grim in the front row, along with Malleus, Silver, and Sebek.”

Lilia makes a ticket appear in his hand and gives it to you. He also explains that since you and Grim are counted as one student, you only need one ticket to go together.

“However,” Lilia smirks. “I have in my possession another type of ticket, an even more special and exclusive one, that I intend to gift to you and only you. Have I piqued your curiosity?”

Of course you are.

“Khee hee hee, that is the spirit! Here.” He makes another ticket appear, different from the first one he gave you. “It is a VIP pass. You can visit us in the trenches after the battle. Or as they call it, backstage.” His smug smile returns. “It would be a great pleasure to celebrate our victory with you.”

Lilia spotted you first. When you saw him he was already looking at you smiling. But during the performance he gave as much attention to you as he did to his Diasomnia boys. If you want to be Lilia's biggest cheerleader, you'll have to compete with Sebek, or simply join him.

To your surprise and that of all the other students who had seen them perform before, this time, they were actually taking it seriously. They were having fun as always, but you could tell they had been practicing and were trying hard to win. Lilia didn't even try to do his scream vocals or throw himself into the audience. Okay, he pretended he was going to do it, but just to startle the people at the front of the stage, he didn't actually do it.

The performance really went well, their best concert so far. But... unfortunately... Royal Sword Academy was better. At least for the jury who gave them first place, while Night Raven College got second... as always.

There was a buffet for the guests after the competition and you took advantage of Grim being busy with the food to use your VIP pass to go see Lilia, Kalim and Cater backstage.

You found them in the hallway. They were smiling and chatting excitedly when they saw you. All three of them really wanted to know what you thought of their performance and you said that it was the best show of theirs that you had ever seen.

While the four of you are talking, Lilia has the feeling of having forgotten something. And then he realizes that he was missing one of the necklaces. He must have forgotten it in the dressing room and suggests that Kalim and Cater go meet the others in the after-party while asking you to go with him to help him look for the necklace.

The two of you go to the dressing room that was provided for the three of them and start looking for the necklace. You ask him if he remembers when he took the necklace off his neck, but... he doesn't. You see him making that sulky face. His biggest pet peeve was missing things and then looking for them, and remember this makes you giggle.

“Are you laughing at my misfortune?” Lilia messes with you. “I lose such an important item and the person I trusted to help me makes fun of my memory loss. How mean. You are so cruel. *snif*” He fake whines.

You know he's just messing with you and tell him that you just thought it was funny because you remembered that it was his pet peeve.

“Do you know what kind of necklace I am searching for?” He asks with a smirk. “It is a long chain with a tag, all made of stainless steel. It's called Dog Tag, or more precisely: Military Dog Tag. Nowadays, many young people use it for style, especially cool band members such as yours truly. But its origins date back a few decades, during a battle between humans, as a way to identify soldiers who were wounded or killed on the battlefield. That is why these tags usually have the names, ranks and even the blood type of the respective soldiers engraved on them. Quite interesting, don't you think?” He smiles casually.

You agree, but ask why he decided to tell you that at that moment.

“Fu fu.” He smiles smugly again, the raspberry red of his eyes piercing you. “You are able to understand why this necklace suits me, correct? Should you not be more careful when laughing at me?”

In response, you smile at him relaxedly and tell him that you trust him.

“Khee hee hee, I'm actually glad to hear that.” Lilia smiles sweetly at you and suddenly seems to remember something that made him bursts out laughing.

You ask what he was laughing at. What had he remembered?

“HA HA HA HA! My memory really is not what it used to be. After our song, I accidentally broke my chain. But Kalim said he knew someone who could fix it and make it look like new. I told him ‘I'm actually glad to hear that’ and he put it in his trouser pocket. Ha ha ha ha!”

So you were looking for something that wasn't even there. And neither Lilia, Kalim nor Cater remembered that. You laugh with Lilia.

“Oh well, at least this little mistake served to spend a pleasant time alone with you.” He smiles seductively, abruptly switching the mood. “You know, second place is as noble a position as first place, but...” he makes puppy eyes at you. “I am quite sad to have dishonored our school by losing again Royal Sword Academy. *snif* Oh, if a loving soul could soothe my sorrows.” He closes his eyes sadly, but opens one to look at you with a sly smile at the corner of his lips.

You chuckle and ask if a hug would help. He says yes and hugs you before you can change your mind.

“At least it was fun.” He says close to your ear. “And it was a good sight to see you rooting for me. You are such a cute fan~” He pulled his head away, but didn't break the hug and pressed his nose against yours, looking at you provocatively. “But I wonder what kind of fan you would like to be. Cater told us some... captivating stories. Fu fu~”

Your noses were touching, but he wouldn't move any further than that. He expected you to take the initiative from there. If you do, and kiss him, you will feel his smile on your lips and the type of his hug gradually changing.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[kissesandcigarettes]

0:1 | air ball

LOVE ON COURT ╱ MINISERIES

↳ MASTERLIST

— pairing: basketball player!vinnie/tutor!reader; college!au

— word count: 5.9k+

— warnings: language, drinking, broken family dynamics, grief, mentions of past abusive relationships, terminal illness, character death, mentions of sports-related injuries, uni students doing nsfw things, character death, implied and explicit smut

summary: vincent hacker has the hearts and love of everyone in the 32,423 student body population of UCLA, on and off the court. everyone except for you, that is. you would chug down an entire bottle of ethylene glycol before you would think about placing your name in the same sentence as “love” and “vincent hacker.” it really is too bad that you didn’t think of this before you agreed upon tutoring him for an entire year.

a/n: longer author's note is at the end, i hope you enjoy the first part of this story🤍

the main floor of the tutoring center in the science and engineering library is uncharacteristically quiet, devoid of the constant, never-ending disorder that gives life to the machine-like organized chaos otherwise running this space. 

your eyes flit back and forth between the clock on the wall and the blue piece of paper – a student pre-evaluation sheet – laid down in front of you on the table. your fingers are busy with spinning and flipping a stray pen you found lying on the table earlier, a poor attempt at trying to stop yourself from leaving if you keep track of time with each passing minute. you’re itching to go, sitting close enough on the edge of your seat to fall, one leg bouncing up and down as the heel of your foot keeps rhythm. your body is taut with unreleased tension, wound up so tight you’re scared that if you let it unravel its hold around your muscles, there will be nothing to stop you from bolting out the door. 

you tell yourself that you will for sure leave this time if the student you are supposed to be meeting doesn’t come exactly in the next five minutes – but then again, you had said the same thing more than an hour and half an ago, so you doubt you’re going to stick to your word now. 

you laugh a quiet laugh that tastes bitter on your tongue as your mind spins up some out of place joke about how you got stood up over a tutoring meeting before you have ever gone on a first date. 

leaning your pounding forehead against your open palm as you shake your head in the tragically comical nature of your current reality, your eyes focus on a marker scratch on the table as you freefall into your thoughts. the dimly-lit room consoles your headache, your eyes falling shut against your will as exhaustion wraps around your resolve.  

you have been a tutor for almost two years now, having started working as one when you were a first-year student. you had applied for the job on whim after seeing a flyer about it among the many others on the main bulletin board in the student union’s plaza and stuck with it ever since. at the time you were desperate for a job, having moved away from your home without the luxury of having someone to rely on for supporting your finances if you fell on hard times. after numerous applications and unanswered emails, the green and blue flyer appeared before you like a beacon of light. over the course of the following quarters you spent as a student at UCLA, you grew immensely attached to your position, the main reason being your deep passion for teaching and providing equal learning opportunities for all. 

more than that, you liked the structured and steady routine the job had allowed you to get into amidst the chaos of your first year trying to figure out the workings of university. as your schedule was determined for that quarter, everything fell into place naturally – going to class during the day and tutoring at night, with your spare time mostly devoted to studying and/or getting involved in some student organizations, and of course looking for research opportunities, which you had done by floating through various labs in the chemistry department, with the help of professors who welcomed your eagerness and strong work ethic with open arms.

now that you think about it, your routine back then hadn’t changed all that much as a third-year student. your days still consisted of those dreadful 8am lectures and long study sessions in quiet reading rooms and devoting your spare hours to tutoring in the science center – only now, whatever little spare time you had were spent locked up in dr. ratanawa’s lab, whose cohort you had decided to join at the beginning of your second year, poring over samples and running batches of experiments and writing scrupulously detailed notes for the ever-growing-almost-final draft of your thesis stored in the depths of your laptop. you had claimed a lonely lab bench in the corner of the lab as your own, the top of which now was covered in colorful test tube racks, various pencil holders filled with bright neon highlighters, notebooks that contained all of your recordings and taped scraps of paper and post-it excerpts for your thesis that came about in your mind spontaneously, and other miscellaneous equipment you needed the most, such as pipette tips and clean test tubes. 

sprinkled throughout all of this were brief coffee breaks in the trustee garden - a coveted square piece of lush, shaded greenery, dotted with wood-and-metal benches and cut through with large cobblestone pathways, hidden amidst the towering giant concrete buildings of the sciences - for cherished moments of sunlight, almost falling asleep in the shower when you were the last one to come home and your flatmates were asleep, the campus cafes’ baristas knowing your order by name too much for your liking, and if you needed to put the pent up stress in your body to good use, going to the campus gym. the last one didn’t happen as often as you wanted, but it was better than nothing. 

long story short, you had managed to somehow elongate your 24-hour days into 25, sometimes 27 hours. if he could, einstein would rise up from his grave to give you a kiss on the forehead.

well, that was before the school’s athletics department decided to throw a fucking bulldozer of a wrench into all of it.

you don’t know who you should be more angry with: the head of athletics, who put pressure on the head of the science center to find a tutor in your group of already overworked and overstressed tutors, or yourself for being the one who readily accepted to take on the extra, un-paid hours in a brief moment of sheer, pure fucking stupidity that would make michael from the office break the fourth wall and reach through the screen to throttle you if he witnessed it.

bless your heart for your endless supply of senseless altruism. 

as the clock ticks the minutes away, it being almost 7pm and the student already being two hours late to the meeting, your anger is shifting dangerously more in the latter direction. 

after the initial wave of pure red you felt towards the balding and wire-glasses wearing man, steven or steve something, for not even bothering to learn if what he was asking was allowed or not - or not being considerate enough to wonder if you had a life of your own - dissipated, you felt much of that misplaced anger had been towards yourself from the start. anger for not being able to say no to authority figures when you needed to, anger for not being able to form firm boundaries between yourself and overcommitting, anger for your boss’ attempts to advocate for you going unheard. anger that an entitled and spoiled ball chaser’s needs are being prioritized over students who don’t have guarantees for a cushy future and have no choice but to succeed in the ruthless, cut-throat environment that is academia and beyond.

your thoughts come down crashing and burning, shattering throughout the scattered corners of your mind as your fingers stop mid spin to firmly slam the pen down on the table. 

“fuck it.” you mutter behind gritted teeth. you have waited more than long enough for this entitled brat who can’t read a clock to take the courtesy to show up and you refuse to wait any longer. you move to gather your stuff, shove your laptop in your bag with more force than necessary and grab your water bottle—

—just as the door swings open so hard it creaks at its hinges, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang that makes you bite your tongue in alarm as it rams through the absolute silence of the building. the water bottle in your hand drops first onto the table’s edge, then onto the floor, rolling away soundlessly. 

a guy stumbles through the door, looking as if he ran all the way from the other end of the campus, quite literally breathless as his chest heaves, loud enough that you can hear the shudder of his breaths that struggle to fill his abused lungs. he looks like a racehorse trained to the brink of exhaustion, with his hair falling down to conceal his face as he bends over, hands clasped on his knees, back moving like a rising and falling mountain.

thank fucking god that you have grown to develop nerves of steel since childhood, because if you had been someone with less wits, you would’ve let out the most inappropriate shriek.   

“h-hey, are you okay?” your first instinct is to say, your hand instinctively reaching out to hover in the air as you hesitate whether you should reach for the guy or let him recover on his own. you swallow with difficulty as you watch his back spasm in a way it definitely shouldn’t. your other hand reaches for your phone in the pocket of your coat, your mind working on figuring out what you would say to the operator in the likelihood of dialing 911. 

“are-are you looking for someone–?” you try next, unsure of what to say when you don’t know if he can even hear you. you haven’t taken a single anatomy course outside of high school but have been around pre-meds too often to know that his ears must be ringing with the deafening beat of his pulse, loud enough to make your words go unheard, the thick rush of blood throbbing in his forehead.

“the tutoring center is closed for the night,” you say, your voice louder this time and steady despite the blood rushing past your own ears and your heart thundering a bruising beat against your ribs. you place a tentative palm over the left side of your chest, gently stroking over the spot as if you can calm it down.

you think that he may not have heard you once again when he doesn’t acknowledge you, but his breathing seems to be in better condition, so you repeat yourself after clearing your throat. you taste blood on your tongue when you speak. nerves of steel, indeed.

“the tutoring center is closed for the night. can i help you?”

the guy moves to stand upright, breathing more under control than when he first barged in, the only indication of his earlier exertion being the redness staining his cheeks and neck on his otherwise pale skin.

“i was–” he still sounds a bit winded, drawing in a deep breath that scrunches up his face before continuing, “–i was supposed to meet with a tutor named (y/n)? are–” another deep breath, a pant, “are you her?” 

as your startle reflex diminishes, your heartbeat reverting back to its natural rhythm and your hands left feeling clammy, you realize this must be the student you were paired with. the ringing in your ears subsides as your initial shock quietly but swiftly gives way into your earlier anger. keeping your face neutral despite your mind trying to go against you, you decide to go along with where he is taking this conversation to.

“yes,” you speak more coolly now, no trace of your earlier worry for the guy’s wellbeing left in your tone. pulling up the zipper of your coat, you shove your hands into its pockets as your lips move around the metallic taste in your mouth. “do i know you?”

“i’m vinn–i mean, vincent hacker–” he stops abruptly when you don’t make any indications of showing that you know or at least are familiar with his name. you continue to stare at him blankly, cocking an eyebrow as if what he said explains everything. you hope that you are at least masking the anger you felt earlier as it kindles back to life, not wanting him to realize he’s gotten under your skin already. 

the look on his face is that of confusion, his eyebrows pulling into a light frown. “uh, i’m…vincent hacker? i’m on the basketball team? i was told that you are the tutor assigned to me? for chem 30A? dr. orlov’s class..?” 

you get the feeling that this situation is not common for him, and neither is the lack of confidence in his words. when you don’t make any attempts to reply to this either, he stops talking all together, an expression of unease and uncertainty beginning to rise rapidly over his face. his frown deepens into one that strains his forehead. 

“am–am i in the right place? this is the science and engineering library, right?”

“right,” you say tightly, slinging the straps of your bag over your shoulders as you walk around the table to stand in front of him, yet maintain a good distance. “let me ask you this, then. do you realize what time it is, vincent?”

he blinks a few times as if it takes a moment too long for him to register your words. his eyes look around then for a clock in the room, even though you can see the lit-up screen of an apple watch peeking underneath the sleeve of his student athlete-issued hoodie. 

“um–” he stammers while his eyes continue to dart around, and you can almost taste the panic on his face seeping into his voice. 

“it’s quarter past seven, vincent.” your voice snaps his attention back to you, eyes still moving about everywhere except for your face like he is searching in his mind what the time means, and finally remembering it as his panic shifts into a sinking sense of realization across his features in one single sweep. 

“we were supposed to have a meeting - this meeting to be specific - exactly two hours and fifteen minutes ago.” you say dryly, tilting your head slightly towards the side. “you know, to discuss how i can help you do better because you are struggling in the class? so that you can stay in the team for the rest of the season? or did your coach not tell you about this?”

you see the flush of red that had settled down crawl steadily up his neck and reach his face once again, no doubt his ears that are hidden underneath his hair, too. he shifts in place awkwardly, crossing then uncrossing his arms, then finally tucking his hands in his pockets and looking away from your accusing eyes when he meets your scalding gaze for a brief second. he doesn’t say anything, but the response is as clear as day on his face that you don’t need to waste your time with giving him the benefit of the doubt thinking it could be something else. the ticking of the clock on the wall accompanies your breathing, the slight shudder you feel as you draw air in through your nose. it’s so quiet that you would hear a pin drop on the carpeted floor.  

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to be so late.” his voice is apologetic, colored with what you think is shame, which catches you off-guard. you had expected him to be defensive, not standing here with his head bowed and cheeks burning with embarrassment. you don’t know what to make of it and if you should believe him. is he being truthful? you want to believe he is. you think the downward curl of his lip and the way his eyebrows have scrunched up and his voice is so quiet and the flush on his skin has become deeper with each word isn’t an act. you notice the puffiness surrounding his eyes, most visible underneath where you also notice are prominent bags and darkness as if he hasn’t been sleeping. you almost feel sympathetic towards him, ready to ask – 

is everything okay?

– but the small, cruel voice that hides in the back of your mind and rears its ugly head out only at times when you want to give in to your emotions pipes up. whispering cold, sharp words mockingly into your consciousness, it pulls you back from the edge you’re standing on of softening your gaze and dulling the bite of your words. you don’t even realize the shift within yourself until you start thinking again. you highly doubt his words. it’s just another way for people like him to charm others to gain undeserving sympathy and make the situation when they’re at fault work in their favor. the shame you saw in his face and heard in his voice suddenly makes red flash across your vision and burn your tongue as if you held it over an open fire. there is a bitter, all-consuming ache blooming in the middle of your chest that winds up your throat and settles in the back like an unmoving lump. you swallow with difficulty around that weight, your fingers catching on the material lining inside the pockets of your coat as your hands curl into fists. 

he cracks his fingers one by one as his hands hang by his side, voice timid almost as if he wants to disappear the way the syllables disappear at the back of his throat. “the coach made us all stay back longer because we started late and there weren’t any shuttles running at night because it’s friday so i–”

something in you snaps. the small voice chuckles like nails scraping on ice. your throat aches in tandem with the ache inside your chest. 

you stupid fuck. stupid, stupid girl. 

“no. no–vincent–just stop.” you cut him off with a startle, shaking your head as his words die out underneath the force of yours. “are you really going to do this? i mean, isn’t this getting old for your crowd – blaming your coach every time? like, what are you trying to accomplish by giving me all these excuses to cover up the fact that you’re lying?

he almost does a double take at the way your tone shifts - not a slow build, but a snap that echoes like a crack in the air between you. the pressure of the weight behind your ribs finally bursts, the ache filling the space inside like steam rising from a fissure. you watch as his eyebrows rise - not too much but enough so that you see the movement on his forehead - his lips parting open. the flush of warmth on his face dissipates away like water going down the drain as your words hit him across the face like a bucket of cool water. this, you can tell, was not what he expected to hear from you. 

you continue when he doesn’t speak, letting out a dry scoff that sticks behind your tiredly aching teeth, pushing loose tendrils of hair out of your face. the words seem to tumble out before you can reel them back in or find the reason in yourself to stop and address your logic. “i don’t have to do this, you know. i really don’t. i don’t know if you even thought about this, but do you realize i’m taking time that i don’t have out of my night to come here, only waste all these hours i could have used otherwise to instead wait on you?”

he looks at you with an expression you can’t pinpoint as to what exactly it is when it’s a combination of many things at once – shock, surprise, embarrassment, confusion. except for that moment just before a rising swell of anger, which you know all too well. you don’t like the way he’s suddenly scrutinizing you, as if he is looking at you underneath a microscope, as if he could see right through you if he wanted to with just a few turns of the focus knobs and tuning the sharpness, holding light to whatever you are keeping hidden inside you in dark corners. 

“are you done so that i can get a word in too? or do you think everyone likes listening to you speak as much as yourself?” he says in a steady voice that betrays the ticking in his jaw, yet the words bite deeper than just at the surface level like you pretend they do. 

“i’m just wondering, do you automatically accuse everyone you’ve known for less than five minutes of being a liar if you don’t like what they say? or am i the only exception?” he continues, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continues to scrutinize you with that searching gaze you think you don’t like at all. 

you hold back a scoff that had been climbing its way out of your throat. “i would say the head of the athletic department coming to request private tutoring for you, plus the fact that your spot on the team hinges on your grades and gpa, should’ve been enough to ring some bells, don’t you think? or do you still think i’m automatically accusing you, just wondering?”

his frown deepens at your words, and you take that as a sign of his growing frustration as you confront him with the truths that brought you here into this moment. 

“i know the logistics of what i need to do to stay on the team.” he deadpans, his movements stiff as he straightens his stance now that the initial surprise has worn off and he can match you head on. a simple straightening of his back fixes his posture, which makes you look him up and down when you realize how imposing his frame is when you see him this close in the flesh. “what i don’t get is how you made me out to be a liar when you don’t know anything about me besides the fact that i’m an athlete and doing poorly in a class.”

so, he’s not entirely as dense as you thought. 

crossing your arms to meet his stance, “it’s simple, really, and it’s quite easy to understand. you just don’t want to.” you quip back. “this meeting was arranged almost a week ago, which means you should’ve been well aware of meeting me here today last friday. which means that there should be no excuse for you to be more than two hours late. you’re just arguing-”

“–i’m arguing? you’re the one who started going off on me the moment i walked in here-”

“–because you’re trying to cover up your own ass for being neglectful and not taking responsibility over your academics and you’re trying to make me look like the bad person here-”

“–trying to make you look like the bad person?” he tilts his head in confusion, eyes widening and face scrunching like he ate something sour. “what are you talking about? i was trying to apologize to you and you would’ve rightfully gotten it if you didn’t cut me off like that when you did. seriously, do they hand out attitude like it’s candy when you get hired? because i’m starting to think it’s part of the job.”

“on the contrary, vincent, does every single athlete i have the misfortune of working with have to read a manual on how to make entitlement and arrogance a part of your personality? because i’m starting to wonder if humility exists for you only when you’re speaking to the cameras for espn courtside.” your palms grip around your forearms so tight that the material of your coat wrinkles to stop your voice from wavering as your anger threatens to boil over. “why don’t you think about bringing your sense of responsibility off the court too, rather than blame the ones who are actually doing well and trying to help incompetents like you?”

yikes yikes yikes. that was a blow so low that it would have made your mom slap you across the face in retribution if she were in your life.

he barks out an incredulous laugh, like a hot knife poking at your nerves, but you don’t miss the expression of deep hurt flash across his face as quick as lightning or the way he flinches at the insult like you physically struck him. a deep, chasm-like silence stretches between your bodies before he breaks it.

“incompetent? no - now you’re just taking this way out of proportion and making it into something else entirely. who gave you the right to be this disrespectful, my god-”

you should stop. you really should. 

but you don’t. 

“-you’re the last person to be giving me a lecture on disrespect when you-” you point your finger towards him, “-don’t even have the decency to come up to me and ask me to give you tutoring yourself-” then point at yourself with the same threatening gesture “-or the courtesy to let me know that you will be late and make me waste my night by sitting here doing nothing.”

“i didn’t have any way to contact you.” he says as if that’s supposed to be the explanation for everything. “you didn’t leave any of your personal info with anyone from the team, so i couldn’t reach out you even if i wanted to.”

what? you’re absolutely sure you had your phone number and university email written on the form you gave to the athletics office – if anything it’s mandatory for you to provide that for the benefit of the student. how did they not give it to him all this time? 

but still. you don’t think that’s valid enough to justify his negligence when you’re keeping up with the responsibilities on your end more than someone else in your position would have. 

“that’s no excuse.” you almost seeth, the words coming out of your mouth rapidly as if they can hurt him with their speed. every new piece of information that leaves his mouth adds onto the notches that you’re collecting in giving rise to your fury. “you could’ve come here during our regular hours. there’s a secretary here that you can leave a message with, she could have saved it for me and let me know when i was here the next time.”

vincent lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing a closed fist over his eyes which you notice look very red and irritated even from the distance. “i don’t have time during the day, do you not get why-”

“then you make the time for it!” you slap the back of your hand against your palm in frustration. you realize distinctly that you’re yelling, but you can’t seem to stop once you let it out. “just like i am trying to make the time for you when i don’t have to. you’re all so inconsiderate–you just–you just look out into the world from a tunnel and can’t see anything around you besides yourselves and that fucking court. do you think i want to be here at this time of the night? that i just have free time lying around to use up because i’m bored? no, i’m stretching myself thin to help you out, but you obviously don’t even care about any of this!”

a muscle tics in vincent’s jaw as he grits his teeth, staring at you behind narrowed, wet looking eyes and a sharp, dissecting gaze. you think it would indeed be intimidating to be on the receiving end of that stare if you weren’t the person you were. 

when he talks, his voice is cold as ice and distant as the look in his eyes. there’s no sharpness, no emotion behind his words, which scares you more than if there was underlying anger in them. with the latter, you would know that he is matching you head on, that he feels the same as you do so that you are right in some way to be so harsh with him. but when he is completely numb like this, as if this brief argument just carved his insides and left him hallow, you feel as if you are yelling at a child who doesn’t know any better. 

“where are you getting all of this from, huh?” his voice is rough, but there’s something else beneath it too - not just anger, but something close to exhaustion. “who made you believe you’re so special that you think anyone who’s not like you is stupid or not busy enough? do you know what i have to do to–” 

he cuts himself off as if he realized he was about to give himself away, jaw clenching hard as he bites down on the words that almost escaped out, as he looks at you with an expression you can’t understand. his face slackens at his near mistake, but shutters back up just as quickly. a sharp inhale makes his chest shudder. shaking his head, he wipes a hand tiredly down his face. you shove down the urge to rub your eyes, moving past the stinging ache that’s consistently been there the entire day. you are once again thankful that the room is dimly lit and you don’t have to squint to see him like a newborn mole rat.

“nah,” he huffs out an empty sound that breaks into shards in the air. “nevermind. it doesn’t matter what i tell you. nothing i say would change your mind, would it?”

you scowl at his words, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “i don’t have a reason to when all you’re going tell me is how hard it is for you to practice every other day and just do the bare minimum to pass your classes-”

his eyes flash. “-here you go again with this crap, who gave you the right-”

“regardless of whatever else you have going on outside of your academics, the fact that i was asked to accommodate you, by someone that i wasn’t given much of a choice to say no to, for you to act like this, says a lot about how this will go.” 

vincent looks at you in disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend how the conversation spiraled so out of control so quickly. you feel like you are stranded on a floating raft in the middle of the ocean, struggling to stand on it. you are trying to stay afloat, keeping the raft from tilting too far in one direction by constantly shuffling in place. but one movement too much, just one sudden disturbance, and you will both get swallowed in the salty depths of the waves. eventually, though, one of you will move too much, and you will both fall over into vast, unknown darkness. you just don’t know who it will be yet. 

vincent looks at you in what you can only call puzzled, hurt disbelief. “i seriously don’t understand you. i told you i was sorry, i was trying to apologize until you decided to go off with that tirade.” he shakes his head, a hollow laugh escaping him. “forget it. i can’t– i can’t do this if you’re just gonna give me this-this attitude, whatever this is-” he gestures at you with his hands, “-every time you see me. i would rather fail that class and retake it than have to see your face every day.”

you laugh bitterly; you knew in your gut your argument would end in this way. the raft is slippery and unsteady underneath your feet as vincent inches away to the other edge, jaw tight and shoulders squared as if he’s bracing for the incoming fall, and you think you will need to push only a little more before you are both drowning. you’re not surprised, but disappointed in yourself for believing maybe this would have been different. you really should reduce your expectations if nothing else but for your own sanity.

“it pains me to say this, but i think we finally agree on something here.” your left eye pulses in a slow twitch from the exhaustion of the past couple days catching up with you. it’s crowding inside your brain, your thoughts and words going fuzzy as you grip onto your adrenaline to keep you awake until you can get home. “i don’t think that we’re a pair fit to be working together. i can’t tutor someone who won’t take responsibility for his own actions and don’t know what his priorities are when they’re so obvious.”

you walk up to him, closing the distance between you by reaching out to hand him the piece of paper you had been holding onto just in case. “here’s the form that you need to fill out to have someone else replace me. it might take a while since there’s only a few of us, and everyone is booked already for the year. thanks to you and your team for that architectural monstrosity you call an arena, we lost our previous budget and had to settle for a new one that cut down half of the staff here.”

his eyes are seething and red as he rips the form out of your hands - too fast, too rough - the sharp edge of the paper slicing clean through the underside of your finger as you move your hand back. the cut is clean and burning, but you don’t register the pain right away - you feel the breaking sensation through your skin before you feel the pain. it sends a small shock through your hand and you bite down on your stinging tongue to trap the small gasp that forms at the back of your throat. instead, you match his gaze with an equally furious one of your own - and you’re horrified to find that he’s not looking at your face, but at the hand you’re cradling in your palm. you don’t look down to see what damage lies there; instead, you close your fingers over it tightly and completely to hide it away, putting your arms down, which makes him look back up at you. underneath the redness and swelling in his eyes, you see something else flicker in his pupils - something like regret, but it’s gone before you can catalog it for processing later when your mind isn’t so consumed by anger. 

you stare at him for one more second, then shoulder past him as roughly as you can and head out the door with big steps, shutting it behind you hard enough it slams close with a bang that echoes in the empty hallway. you don’t bother with calling the elevator, knowing it will take ages to get to the fourth floor, and make your way down the emergency stairs, taking them as fast as your feet will move. 

you notice the sensation of something sticky and warm pooling inside your closed palm when you push open the door to step outside, the crisp, chilly night air hitting your coat-warmed body all at once. you open your trembling, tightly closed fist to see that the cut is bleeding, more than you thought it would. there is a thick rivulet of it running down that you look at with a dull gaze. you blink away the angry tears forming in your eyes as a shiver settles into your body, wiping them away harshly with the back of your hand as you let out a shaky breath. the pain of the cut is acute, but it’s real, grounding you when everything else feels like it’s spiraling. you walk to the bus stop with your free hand pressed around your bleeding finger, prying it away only when you can’t tolerate the cold wind chilling the warmth of the tears sliding down your cheeks. 

you just want to get to your apartment and sleep this night off to forget about it, hoping that tomorrow morning you won’t remember any of it.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've been active on here, let alone write anything, but this was a little something i had been working on while i was away. the university i went to was HUGE on their men's basketball team and i started to think about if vin was in an engineering major student athlete on the basketball basketball team with a fireball of a STEM tutor thrown into the mix and here we are.

i love my reader character already, she means so much to me you guys don't understand. right now it looks impossible for her and vin to be in a romantic relationship, let alone a friendly one, but doesn't the transformation make it all the more satisfying?

i want to hug vin in this chapter. i just know it that he was holding it together when the reader was there but the moment she left and he went home he had a good angry/hurt crying session lying down on his bed. he may or may not have listened to music, i'll leave that up to you to decide and pick the song.

i was debating whether to make it one-post long or divide it up into a multi-part series and considering this part is almost 6k words alone...i think it's the healthiest option to do a multi-part miniseries. i still feel rusty about writing and edited this so many times (and will undoubtedly come back to edit again after its posted) so i hope it's not boring or dull or a drag to get through. thank you thank you thank you if you finished this rambling all the way here. if you enjoyed, please leave down your thoughts about any part of it - your words mean the absolute world. until next time, sending much love to all of you🤍

[1for5]

tie breakers to slurpee runs

paige bueckers x reader

iowa vs uconn. a game anticipated by many, a game that will determine if you could get into the finals. both teams have shown their best skills in basketball, making them one of the most popular teams in the wncaa. 17 million people were watching, and all of their reactions depend on your play.

it was the 4th quarter, with your team, iowa, getting a 65, and the opposing teame earning a 63. everyone in the stadium felt the tension of the two teams.

you were in charge of blocking paige bueckers, a skillfull player in uconn, as your coach noticed how you always knew her plays and tactics. what your coach did not know was that, paige was your ex, whom you met back in the 2019 world cup. knowing paige’s strategies were natural to you.

aubrey griffin, a huskie (and an old friend), grabbed the ball from your teammate. she then passed it to nika muhl (another old friend), who passed it to paige. you were trying your best to block the ball-until it shoots, making the scores a tie of 65-65. your coach immediately requested for a time out.

looking at the time, there were only 10 seconds left, which made you anxious due to your mistake. your coach gave your team strategies. “okay team, we got this. y/n that wasn’t a mistake. just make up for it.” your coach said, giving you a pat on the back.

back in the game, you were blocking paige, and paige made you trip, which caused a foul. you weren’t sure with what you feel, as this moment only gave you a deja vu.

2 years ago, you visited the uconn huskies for your girlfriend. you all played a small game, and you got fouled as kk arnold accidentally hit you. you all took it lightly of course, but you also all practiced proper rules. they asked you to have free throws, with all the members of the team cheering for you, and paige giving you a quick peck on the cheek as she hands you the ball.

going back to the present, you felt everyone’s eyes on you. you dribbled the ball, got a point. both cheers and groans were being heard from all the sides of the stadium. you threw another-point! you felt happier, as if you were able to redeem yourself.

the game continued, and caitlin gave a foul to paige. this is the longest 10 seconds ever of my life you thought. before throwing, paige gave you a look, eyes hinting that she longed for you but at the same time with range, which came from the game. you noticed her, the eye contact came in quick up until the referee gave her the ball to throw. looking at the time, the game only had 4.3 seconds left, and if paige got both throws, you needed a tie breaker.

paige did infact get her two throws and earned uconn 2 points. it was still a tie. the ball fell from the ring, and kate martin, your teammate, received it. she looked everywhere for an open spot, and it was only yours who was open.

you got the ball from kate’s pass, and you honestly did not know what to do. you felt all the nervousness as you were positioned quite far. you saw the ring, threw the ball, and hoped for the best. the sound indicating that the game finished played, and your ball went in. a buzzer beater.

you didn’t know what to feel, and the world felt quiet up until your teammates came to you and hug you.

“FINALS BOUND BABY!” caitlin shouted, the rest of the team following her. you all celebrated, shouting many cheers. you and your teammates also went to the uconn players, as they were also friends with many of them.

this moment to you still felt like it was a dream, and you being so tired was making you have a low social battery. you were surrounded by many familiar faces without game tension, most of which you missed. nika, kk, and aubrey were the friends you missed the most. you got closer to them as you always were at paige’s dorm.

“AUBREY! i missed you” you screamed and hug your old friend, you regained so much energy, your tiredness left. she was also very excited and reciprocated the hug, “been a long time huh, how are you?” she asked. “doing good! how about you? getting drafted soon?” you replied back smiling wide.

“nah, ill be a super senior! paige and i..” she announced, with a hint of hesitation when she said the last phrase. you understood why aubrey mentioned paige, she was the reason you and her got close, and it was natural for her to mention her. “oh that’s cool! injuries allowed me to grab another year, however, i think ill push thru with the draft already.” you said, trying to ignore what she told you about your ex. aubrey then gave you a wide smile, congratulating you.


after more minutes of talking, nika and kk appraoched you. “OUR GIRL IS BACKKKK” they were both excited to see you too. the four of you then talked about each other’s careers and recent hobbies. you were filled with joy when nika told you that she was also invited to the wnba draft. kk also told you about her ongoing sponsorships and training camps.

you were filled with excitement and joy with all of their achievements. you then heard kate shout at you, indicating for you to come close to her. you bid your goodbyes to your old friends, and went ahead to kate.

“look who i am talking to! caitlin said before that you were a fan.” kate revealed paige bueckers, who was in her usual basketball jersey (of course) and had quite a messy braid hair-do. she still looks good you thought.

kate didn’t know about your history with paige, only caitlin did. it felt awkward, and your social battery suddenly went low, however, not wanting to gain speculation, you just continued on with the conversation.

“oh yeah. hi paige!” you stated, shaking her hand. “hi y/n. good game out there.” paige replied to you, retaining eye contact.

“yeah good game.” you nonchalantly replied, trying to hold back a smile. it did not feel right talking to paige like you are strangers, you still longed for her clingy touches and the sweet tone her voice has when she talks to you.

you, kate, and paige had a small conversation, and after awhile, your coach called everyone to get ready to come back to the hotel.

a couple hours later, your teammates were celebrating, however, you wanted to have your “comfort” drink. you loved 7-11’s slurpee, and you always get it whenever you feel tired or drained.

you went inside the store, and got your slurpee. you took a seat, and plugged in your earphones. after, you just blankly looked at the outside window, observing the night life of cleveland.

suddenly, a familiar figure sat down beside you. “tough game huh?” paige asked. “explains the slurpee.” you replied, also acknowledging her own order of slurpee. when you were still together, you always brought along paige to your 7-11 runs.

“really, good job on the game. i am proud of you and little you would be proud too.” paige comforted you, hinting a smile. “thank you. i was just really pressured this game, and you being part of our opposing team did not help either.” you joked, giving a small laugh.

“oh come on!” you and paige laughed. silence was now back, you both just looking out and drinking your slurpees in silence, and somehow, in comfort.

“i missed you. talking to you like a stranger felt wrong.” paige then said, ending the silence.

you didn’t realize how much you have longed for this, that paige still has a big effect on you. you were glad that she felt the same way.

“i missed you too.”

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter TWELVE.

nba!gojo x manager!reader || directory. || prev. || epilogue.

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, implied sexual content, playing dirty, not how basketball administration works, so many italics, the LAST CHAPTER! || sfw. 6.6k words.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

It comes out louder than you’re intending, but still goes unheard in the overwhelming noise of the stadium. Game two of the championship series is in full swing. Satoru throws his hands out, arguing with the ref, both of them talking over each other, and then Kento pulls Satoru away and says something else to the official. Ever the diplomat.

Mahito smirks, everything about the way he holds himself self-righteous and arrogant. Your nails dig into your palm and leave crescent-shaped imprints as the team falls into position for the free throws. What a stupid fucking call. And it’s not even the first questionable choice the ref’s made this game. Mei Mei looks all smug across the court, and it’s making your bones shake with anger.

Geto steps up with an unnervingly calm expression, bouncing the ball once with a resounding thump before taking the shot he shouldn’t have gotten in the first place. Swish.

If Sukuna was still here, he’d be rioting, but he only made it halfway through the second quarter before getting escorted out because “OH, YOU THINK YOU’RE HOT SHIT, YOU PONYTAILED PRICK, DON’T YOU?” and “WHAT ARE YOU COMPENSATING FOR WITH THAT NUMBER ONE ON YOUR JERSEY, PATCHWORK PRINCESS, HUH?”

Shigemo and Mahito definitely heard, and you swear Shigemo tripped a little.

You don’t disagree with Yuji’s uncle, really. You were honestly a little sad to see him leave.

In his place, you’ve picked up a steady stream of cussing under your breath, and beside you Nobara looks almost impressed by it.

Geto does that infuriating little half-smile and nails the second free throw, and you have to turn away, pace a few steps back and forth to collect yourself as the ball launches back into play. It’s third quarter and you’re losing, 64-79. Fuck. Fuck.

Ieiri’s hand comes down on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks, and you raise your head to meet her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, not calm down or stand still or there’s still time to turn it around. She just looks at you like she knows, because she always knows—knows it wasn’t a fair call, knows the stakes are high, knows the tension is squeezing the blood out of your heart and the air out of your lungs like a vice.

She nods. I get it. I’m with you. You nod back.

You walk back to the sideline, fists balled at your side, and you watch. Satoru turns around, raking a frustrated hand through his hair, dislodging his headband. He turns around and you catch his eye, offering him a small smile. You hope it doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

Even from here, you can see some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He cracks a half-smile back.

At the start of the fourth, you’re 75-83, the headset around your neck instead of over your ears—you can’t listen, don’t want to know what the odds are, don’t need to hear the commentators’ pessimism on top of your own.

It’s only eight points. They can do this.

At some point, the Curses sub Dagon on, and after a while he and Yuji are getting a little too physical—or Dagon is, while Yuji tries fruitlessly to not get obliterated. He’s just trying to get open for Satoru, but Dagon is practically on top of him. He’s playing dirty in a way that reminds you of Hanami. At this rate, Yuji’s going to end up on the ground.

“Fucking call something,” Nobara practically growls, eyes narrowed on the ref, who either doesn’t see or just doesn’t care.

Satoru, ball in hand, locks eyes on Dagon as he clings doggedly to Yuji’s side, backing up into him, sticking out an ankle in hopes of tripping him. Only Jogo stands between Satoru and the basket. Jogo swipes a massive hand at the ball and Satoru reaches out and just—fucking catches it.

He palms the ball in his left hand and uses his right to intercept Jogo’s fingers as they reach out, stopping him in midair, a flagrant foul, and the ref blows the whistle, calling the play. Jogo goes still and just stares at Satoru's hand around his, shocked. Yuji stumbles back as Dagon finally lets up.

“Holy shit,” Ieiri murmurs beside you.

“He did that on purpose?” Nobara says, but it’s not really a question. Satoru just fucking fouled Jogo to stop play before Dagon could hurt Yuji. You pull one side of the headphones up to your ear to hear the call.

“And that’s a personal foul by number six, Satoru Gojo, against San Diego guard Jogo.”

Megumi storms over to Dagon and shouts something sharp and fast that you can’t hear, and Yuji puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him away. Kento says something to the ref and it must finally hit home, because the ref mutters something to Dagon before the free throw, and after that he doesn’t try to pull anything shitty over on Yuji again.

Maybe it’ll be fine, you think as you hit the halfway point of the last quarter. The Sorcerers have already won once. They can do it again.

And then they lose.

The Sorcerers, they fucking lose. And as the stadium erupts in cheers and the Curses subs swarm center court, you’re suddenly worried that somehow the first time was a fluke—after all, the Curses are first seed, aren’t they? They’re supposed to win. They’re projected to.

No. It wasn’t a fluke. You know your team, you have faith in your team. They can turn this around, they have to. They’ve defied the odds before, and they’ll do it again.

This doesn’t mean anything.

On the jet, Satoru buries his head in the crook of your neck and you let him, playing with his long, slim fingers in your lap. When you land, he doesn’t go home, and you spend the night trading kisses and reassurances on the couch, against the wall, possibly atop the kitchen counter, and then your bed, and you fall asleep beside him thinking, It’s not too late. There is still every chance the Sorcerers can take this title home.

And even if they don’t, you think, listening to Satoru’s steady breathing in your ear, there are more important things.

—

The week passes in a blur of basketball, training, travel, late nights with Satoru and stolen kisses in offices and cars and bedrooms. The ref from the last game racked up such an outrage online that by the third game of the series—this time on your home court—you’ve got a new official entirely, one who has a great track record with the league. Hiromi Higuruma is actually fair, and things start to run more smoothly.

If someone asked you for a play-by-play of the two home games, you couldn’t give them one, just a vivid recollection of a few scenes, compiled in the back of your mind like a highlight reel.

Satoru and Geto facing off for the tip-off, eyes narrowed and bodies tense, nearly colliding as they both stretch for the ball.

Megumi coming off a dunk and breathlessly grinning at Tsumiki in the stands.

Satoru turning around at the last second to block Jogo like an instinct, like he has eyes on the back of his head.

The Sorcerers winning game three.

Higuruma fouling Mahito when he snags Yuji’s shirt in his hands, and Yuji nailing the free throw like it’s nothing.

Shigemo leering at Kento, only for Kento to pass the ball right around him, straight through the long, blond ponytail. Ino palming the pass and lobbing the ball into the net from the three-point line.

The Sorcerers winning game four.

All the built-up, coiling anticipation has you losing sleep, the knowledge that if you can hang on to this lead, just win one more, it’ll be over, you’ll have won.

The night the Sorcerers win the fourth game, you’re putting away laundry, listening to Mitski and humming to yourself. And then the music fades out and you frown, thinking your phone is just tripping out—until it segues into your ringtone and an unknown number lights up the screen.

You have no idea what to expect from this. The last time you answered an unknown number, you ended up talking to Takada.

“Hello, is this Sorcerers management?”

Definitely not Takada.

“Uh, yes. How can I help you?”

“Well, hey, glad I caught you! This is Yuki Tsukomo with the WNBA.”

Your breath stalls in your throat, fingers tightening around your phone. Yuki Tsukomo. The fucking commissioner of the WNBA. What the fuck?

You knew her in college, briefly, in a peripheral sense—her fifth year was your first, and she played for your university’s rival school. You crossed paths a number of times, but not in any way that would have been significant to Yuki.

Now, though, she’s a household name, a massive WNBA star in her own right before she retired and rose up the corporate ranks. She’s amazing. She’s an idol. And she’s on the phone with you right now.

“So, I’m calling about a career opportunity. I know this is a bit unorthodox, and if you’re interested I will certainly redirect you to our HR manager, but I wanted to speak with you personally. Is now a good time?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, sinking down onto your couch, trying to keep your voice even. “Yeah, now’s great.” Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

“Wonderful!” Yuki says. “Alright. So we have a vacancy this upcoming season for a conference coordinator. It’s a fairly big role, but I understand you’ve had a great deal of success in NBA management over the last few seasons. Your name comes highly recommended. And, I mean, I remember your work ethic back in college.”

The first thing that sticks is that Yuki actually remembers you. You’re astounded. You were so sure she’d have no idea.

The second thing hits a moment later, taking a second to process. Career opportunity. Upcoming season. Conference coordinator. Conference coordinator.

Where the NBA is divided into six divisions, the WNBA has only its two conferences, six teams in each. Coordinating a conference would entail, essentially, managing half of the WNBA.

“I appreciate that,” you manage, and feel your eyes widening the more Yuki lays out the details of the position.

The pay is actually higher. Right now, you’re just managing one team. This, though—this would be monumental for you.

Relief floods your entire body when she says Eastern. You could stay here. You wouldn’t have to move. The WNBA operates on a different schedule than the NBA—you’d be able to maintain a relationship with the Sorcerers, travel during the WNBA season.

You could do this—you could have both.

“Just think about it,” Yuki says brightly, wrapping up the call. “I know it’s a bit out of the blue, and you’re busy with the championships right now. I know this is a tight deadline, but if you could get back to me before the end of the season, that would be fantastic—the vacancy was a bit unexpected and we’re trying to get a jump on things.”

“Yeah, absolutely, I—I’ll think about it. Thank you, Yuki. So much.”

“Absolutely,” she replies. “Thanks for taking the time to speak with me. You have a good one!”

The line goes dead before you can reply. “You too,” you say to the open air, falling back onto your couch, boneless. Holy. Shit.

You only give yourself a minute before you open up your phone again.

“Toru,” you say, when he picks up on the first ring. “Can you come over?”

Fuck your laundry. It can wait.

—

He wants you to take it.

“This is fucking amazing!” he shouts, sweeping you into a hug, your feet off the floor. “Oh my god! This is so cool. My girlfriend is so fucking cool.”

“Toru,” you laugh as he sets you down. “I didn’t say yes yet. I just—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, pulling you over to the couch, sitting down beside you. He pulls one knee onto the cushions, angling himself toward you, and takes both of your hands in his. “Do you remember that night in the gym?”

You snort. “No, Satoru, I don’t remember the first night we f—”

“Not what I meant, but yes, that was wonderful, let’s do it again,” he says. “Listen. I asked you, if you got a better job offer right now, if you would leave.”

Oh. You remember. Define better, you said. Better might mean a pay raise, an admin opportunity, a move back into the women’s basketball sphere.

Not for another team, you told him. You wouldn’t leave the Sorcerers for the Curses, or for some other group of players on another coast. But for higher-level management, something with the league—isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?

“Don’t let us hold you back,” he says gently. “That’s the last thing I ever want to do to you.”

You look at him, sitting here in your apartment, looking like he belongs. Hair like silk under your fingers, eyes the color of oversaturated photos of a summer sky.

You realized a lot of things in the gym that night.

One was that you won’t leave behind what you love.

Another was that you still have higher aspirations, places you want to be, things you want to change.

And taking this job, saying yes? It’s not leaving.

Satoru will still sit on your couch and hold your hands and look at you like you’re the world. And then you’ll go watch him kick ass on the court, and you’ll go to dinner with him and Megumi and Tsumiki and Yuji, and you’ll spend the rest of your time investing in women’s basketball, that thing that’s had so much of your heart for so, so long.

But you can’t—you won’t—leave this team with just anyone.

“It has to be the right person,” you finally say, squeezing his hands. “I’m not saying yes unless I know you’re in actual, really good hands.”

“Well, I really don’t think anyone’s gonna use their hands quite like—”

You glare at him and he shuts up, biting back his laughter. He nods, releases one of your hands to push a strand of hair out of your face. “Then let’s find the right person,” he says.

An hour later, you’re both sprawled out in the living room with computers and phones and papers and a thousand tabs up, scrolling through pages of Google search results, scanning old rosters, throwing out names of a few standout NBA and WNBA managers, debating whether they’d leave their own teams for the Sorcerers.

And it hits you all at once, as you scroll through your contacts. You think about the small forward who was a freshman your senior year of college. She was a business management major, a great player, but you could tell she didn’t want to go pro, not like that.

“Oh,” you breathe, feeling like this answer’s been right in front of you the whole damn time. “Yes.”

Satoru perks up beside you, nudging you with an elbow. “Yeah?”

You look at him and feel the grin spreading across your face, hope sparking in your chest.

You should give her a call, you think.

But Satoru has already sat up, and he’s pulling you toward him with a devilish grin on his face. He shoves the papers and laptops out of the way and pushes you down with a hand on your shoulder, straddling you on the floor, white hair hanging down around his face like a curtain blocking out the rest of the world. It’s just you, and him, and his breath on your lips—

Yeah. The call can wait.

“You are,” he says, tracing the line of your jaw with one hand, “the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” The blood rushes to your cheeks unbidden, and you pull him down to press his lips to yours before he can comment on your blush.

“Not so bad yourself,” you breathe against his neck, and he takes your wrist and holds it above your head, kissing a line down your collarbone.

You have no recollection of getting to your bedroom, shoving the just-folded laundry off your duvet. All you know is Satoru’s fingers at the hem of your shirt, your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his mouth on yours, wishing you never had to come up for air, thinking maybe you don’t need to. Maybe you and Satoru can just breathe each other’s air forever, and you never have to let him go.

—

“And I'm sorry to throw this on you during championships, and I know that if—”

“I’m happy for you.”

“What?” You blink at Yaga, sitting across from you in his office with his fingers steepled on the desk. His collection of little crochet animals lines the windowsill behind him, a procession of colorful little creatures that feels wholly disparate from his dark clothes, his serious eyes, his broad-shouldered and imposing stature.

You thought this conversation would be harder. You were ready to lay it all out, to thank him for making this the best place you’ve ever worked, to apologize for hanging him out to dry, to tell him that this way he won’t have to deal with any complications that might arise from you and Satoru being together. You talked it over with yourself in the bathroom mirror and in the shower and before you fell asleep, like a final presentation in a class you needed to graduate.

As a conference coordinator, the WNBA will pay you almost 20% more than you make right now. You’ll be running the whole Eastern division. It’s everything you wanted when you first started in sports management. It’s everything you want now—you won’t have to move, you won’t be traveling during NBA season, you can have everything you’ve built here and everything you’ve been working toward all at once and it feels too goddamn good to be true.

“Look,” Yaga says, leaning back in his seat. “You have been instrumental to this team. And I would love to have you here. We all would. But you deserve to go where you want with this career. And if the WNBA is where your heart is, I know for a fact every guy in that locker room would back you.”

And you realize, abruptly, that Yaga was never going to be a real roadblock. That speech you rehearsed wasn’t for him; it was for you.

Yaga is happy for you, in that calm, unbothered way of his, and Kusakabe will be too. You’re suddenly kind of emotional about it, their unwavering acceptance, the encouragement, the truth in Yaga's words. That this team would—will—back you. Even if you tell them you have to pass your position on to someone else.

“I haven’t accepted yet,” you clarify quickly. “I just—there’s a lot of things to think over. But I didn’t want to leave you in the dark, in case… I mean. I love it here. I do. This is just… a big opportunity, I think.”

“Well. If you do choose to take the job, and you have a recommendation for me,” he says, “I would be very inclined to listen.”

Satoru thinks you should take it. Kasumi practically begged you. And you did make that call—you do know someone who could step into your place, someone who would love this team the way you do.

“Yeah,” you tell him, letting the tension melt out of you with the word. “Her name’s Riko. Riko Amanai.”

—

The series goes on, and you push the offer to the back of your mind, heading out to San Diego in hopes of taking home the title. You stand between Ieiri and Nobara, Charles Bernard and Rika Orimoto talking rapid-fire in your ears.

They become background noise as the game launches into motion—not a good start. Geto wins the tip-off. Satoru misses a free throw. Mahito fouls Kento so hard that Ieiri has to pull him off court to check for a concussion. (He’s clear, but he has to sit out for a moment to get his bearings, and you want to punch someone. Preferably Mahito.)

You lose.

The team's mood tonight is a few shades darker, yours saved only by an influx of photos of the dogs from Tsumiki back home.

tsumiki: [4 Image Attachments] tsumiki: [1 Movie Attachment] tsumiki: cuddle mode!!

Satoru steals your phone and sends her a .5 selfie of him wrapped around you in the hotel bed.

you: CUDDLE MODE

Still, the loss is a blow to the ego, and now the Sorcerers are three to the Curses' two. But there’s hope. The next match is a home game, and you could win it and take the series in six games.

Back at Jujutsu Arena, Naoya Zenin (you wonder what the relation is to Maki as she commentates dryly in your headset) pounds two three-pointers in the first four minutes. Takaba makes two free throws, and Geto just will not give Satoru a breath of air. Every time one of them scores, so does the other. It’s a brutal back-and-forth and you abruptly feel like you’re watching a tennis match instead of a basketball game.

Jogo and Mahito couldn’t be more different as guards—Jogo as a point guard is hulking and stands like a wall between the forwards and the basket, but Mahito as a shooting guard never stays still, launching himself around the court with all the abandon of a fucking trapeze artist, anything it takes to knock the ball from Yuji and Megumi’s hands.

Game six is a tight call, but the Curses win by two and cement the tie. It’s running the full seven-game series, the first one the Sorcerers have had since mid-season. The final game in San Diego will decide everything.

You spend the night before the flight at Satoru’s place, all the pent-up frustration and aggression and nerves spilling out in kisses and gasps and his hands in your hair and your lips on his neck, and when you both collapse into bed a few hours too late for a reasonable amount of sleep, you wonder if tonight was more of a workout than a basketball game ever was.

The Sorcerers reach game seven 3-3 and angry. It’s the most stressed you’ve been in what feels like forever.

“We’re gonna win,” Ino says as he paces the common space of the visitors’ locker area. He’s trying to be entirely unbothered, but he can barely stand still. You can’t help but crack a smile, though, as he enlists Yuji and the two of them bounce around trying to hype up the rest of the team, to ease the tension. It seems to work—Satoru laughs, and Megumi is trying to bite back his own smile as Yuji’s arms flail around wildly in an unprepared, spur-of-the-moment pep talk. Ino’s encouragement even seems to get to Kento.

“Let’s put this rivalry to fucking sleep,” Hakari says with a sharp-edged smirk. “Beat ‘em on their own floor.”

“Stay sharp,” Kusakabe demands. “Stay alert, stay calm. Fast on your feet, strategic with your passes.” He glances at Yaga to see if the head coach has anything to contribute.

He shrugs. “End of the season, boys. You walk out of here winners or you walk out of here with a fire under your ass to do better next season.” He crosses his arms, the fingers of his left hand drumming on his right arm. “Let’s try not to set any fires.”

Junpei laughs nervously. Making it all the way to championships in your first season must be a whole different kind of stress. You hadn’t even considered it until now.

Toge wraps an arm around him and ruffles his hair in some kind of half-noogie that is very sibling, or maybe just very boy. Yuta grins, and then everyone looks to Kento, waiting for the captain’s final orders.

“Do what you always do,” he says, looking at each of the guys in turn. “Stay open. Communicate. Weigh the risks. Seventy percent smart—”

“Thirty percent ballsy,” Ino finishes. Not Kento’s word—he usually opts for chance or risk. But the smallest twitch at the corner of Kento’s lips tells you he’s optimistic, despite everything. He nods at Ino.

“Right,” he says finally. “Let’s play some damn good basketball.”

The guys break into a chorus of cheers and Nobara laughs beside you as she films it. Nothing gets a rise out of the team like Kento dropping a swear word.

Before the team files out to the court, Satoru grabs you and pulls you into a kiss, heated, bruising, full of nervous energy.

“Score one for me, Six,” you say, and he grins before disappearing down the hall. Ieiri and Nobara start after them and look at you expectantly. But there’s something you need to do.

It’s the last day of the season, regardless of what happens. There’s no more pushing this back. You need to call Yuki back with an answer.

You hold up your hand, waving your phone for them to see. “I’ll catch up.”

—

The double doors leading into the gym are like a huge, metal sound barrier. The moment you open one of them even a crack, the noise comes flooding through, anxious and excited and face-painted fans spilling into the aisles, waving signs and jerseys and those stupid foam hands.

You tuck your phone into your pocket as the door slams behind you, and Nobara immediately catches your eye and grins. She points up into the visiting section.

For a moment you aren’t sure you’re seeing correctly—it’s weird to see them in colors that aren’t their own—but the woman at the end of the row, purple-streaked hair pulled back into a bow, leaves no room for doubt. The Samurai are here. All of them.

Akari waves at you, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and yanks on Utahime’s sleeve until she notices and grins at you, too.

“Ready for this?” Ieiri asks, her med bag ready at her feet—just in case—and you shake your head.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Well,” Nobara says, taking her place between you and Ieiri, “we don’t have much of a choice.”

Twelve minutes feels shorter than it ever has. The first quarter passes in a blur, with Satoru winning the tip-off and both teams scoring well into the twenties within nine minutes flat. The visiting section is louder than it’s ever been, giving the home fans a run for their money—likely because of the Samurai, you think. Todo is hollering like it’s his last day on earth, and Haibara is as invested in this game as any one of his own.

Yaga lets Yuta and Toge on in the second quarter to work their magic, and they don’t disappoint, passing and scoring seamlessly before the Curses can ever hope to pick up on their silent signals.

Satoru is playing harder than you’ve ever seen him play. He’s lightning-quick, all reflexes and instinct, but Geto matches him in speed and strength and skill and strategy and god, it’s like they’re mirrors of each other. Halfway through the second, Hakari goes on to give Satoru a break, and the Heat follow suit with Ryu Ishigori.

You, Nobara, and Ieiri have given up saying anything, all of your attention on the court, rapt. At the start of the third, Kusakabe gives Junpei a long look, considering.

This right here is the highest the stakes can get. Nobody is expecting a rookie to come onto the court and score against a number one seed in the last game of the NBA season.

Maybe that’s why they do it.

Junpei is fresh off the bench, full of energy, and he’s small. He’s fast. He’s exactly what the Sorcerers need to get past Jogo and Mahito, while all of Geto’s attention is focused on Satoru.

The Curses make exactly the mistake they’re supposed to: they don’t take Junpei as a serious threat until it’s too late, and he’s already racked up the score by a solid nine points.

He comes off before the end of the third, after the Curses have caught on and ganged up on him on defense, but he’s grinning and exhausted and happy. You can’t help but catch his smile, let his enthusiasm send sparks of hope through you, too, as Ino goes back on in his place.

“They never stop underestimating,” Nobara muses, looking across the court at a tense Mei Mei.

“Good,” Ieiri says.

For the whole of the fourth quarter, the difference in score is never more than four. Back and forth, back and forth, squeaking shoes and high-pitched whistles and shouts and cheers and boos and the thudthudthud of the ball on the court, or maybe that’s just the noise your heart is making as it tries to break out of your ribcage.

They break the hundreds with a minute left in the game.

98-100, Curses.

You don’t know the last time you breathed.

101-100, Sorcerers.

Every muscle in your body is tense.

103-100, Sorcerers.

You feel detached from your own body, your own breathing loud in your ears.

103-103.

Geto has the ball and Satoru sprints, crossing the court to him in a few long strides, coming face-to-face with the man he’s known since they were teenagers in a high school gymnasium.

Geto’s dribbling, running, and then Satoru stretches out a hand and snags the ball in the blink of an eye and pivots on one foot, his whole body leaning in the direction of the basket, half-court.

Two seconds left on the clock.

There’s no way, someone in the stands is shouting. You want to tell them to shut up. You don’t have time.

You don’t know if it’s an accident, if it’s malicious, if Geto is really just trying to snatch the ball from Satoru’s hand—but you watch with your heart jumping into your throat as his fingers brush Satoru’s headband, dislodging it, pulling it down over his eyes. Like a blindfold.

He can’t see.

One second.

Satoru winds his arm back and throws the ball, blind, right over Geto’s outstretched arm, headband still covering both eyes. He wrenches it off in a flurry of movement and stumbles back, following the arc of the ball as Geto’s head turns to do the same—

Half a second.

Please, you pray to whatever fucking basketball god might be paying attention. You’re too scared to blink. .439 seconds. Time has never felt this slow, the whole of the stadium holding a collective, shocked breath. Orange numbers in your periphery, moving so rapidly you can’t keep up. .004, .003, .002, .001—

And then the world explodes.

“AN AMAZING BUZZER BEATER BY SATORU ‘SIX-EYES’ GOJO! ASTOUNDING SHOT, BLINDFOLDED, WELL PAST THE THREE-POINT LINE—”

“106-103 IN THE SORCERERS' FAVOR! ONE HAND, DID YOU SEE THAT, CHARLES? ONE HAND!”

You rip off the headset, maybe drop it to the floor, you’re not even sure, because the ball went through the net right as the buzzer sounded, and the screams are so deafening you can barely see, and Nobara is shaking you and Ieiri’s jaw is hanging open and the Sorcerers fucking won the NBA title.

Satoru’s surprised gaze finds you from across the court. He’s beaming, drunk on shock and skill and victory, and you are too, and maybe a little drunk on him.

Your feet are moving before you realize they are, pounding across the court like you’re the one playing, and then he’s sweeping you into his arms, his lips on yours, and you’re laughing into each other, and you don’t even care that he’s a sweaty mess because he made it and you beat them, you beat Geto and Mahito and Shigemo and Mei Mei and you won.

Yuji grabs you and Satoru both and drags you into the swarm. You catch Kento’s eye, and he nods at you, blond hair mussed and messy, and it might be the least put-together you’ve ever seen him with his playing goggles knocked half-off his face by the force of Ino’s hug, and he’s full-on smiling.

Megumi launches himself at Yuji and hugs him and it’s the most affection you’ve ever seen him show in public, and Nobara’s filming but not even looking at the screen as she jumps around, hooting and hollering and practically tripping over Junpei’s feet. Yuta has Toge on his shoulders and Hakari is suddenly standing next to Kirara, his secret-not-secret WNBA girlfriend—you didn’t even know she was here—and then the Samurai are jumping out of the stands and there are so many people and life could not get any better than this.

This was your home court, once. You feel like, somehow, you’ve taken part of it back.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU? THAT’S MY FUCKING NEPHEW!”

You whip around to find Sukuna in the front row, and your jaw drops not because he’s here and yelling and cussing but because oh my god, did he make it the whole game without getting kicked out?

Two security guys abruptly look at each other in alarm and start picking their way through the crowd toward him. Never mind. You’re fairly certain he already got kicked out and somehow just… got back in.

Ieiri yanks you into a hug, then makes a disgusted expression at Satoru when he tries to do the same to her. “You are so sweaty!” she shouts over the din, and he gets that shit-eating grin on his face and runs after her, throwing her over his shoulder despite her protests. You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

—

When the celebration dies down and your cheeks hurt from smiling, the teams line up and shake hands, one by one like a bunch of high schoolers forced to mutter half-hearted good games to the assholes from the other side of town.

Satoru and Geto are the last ones in both lines. And you expect them to brush past each other, not stay in one another’s orbit for a second longer than they have to, but—their interaction is lasting a bit longer than it’s supposed to. Their lips are moving, words you can’t make out. You’re honestly surprised they’re shaking hands at all.

But neither of them seem tense. To your surprise, Satoru barks out a laugh—just once, like he’s surprised by it himself. Geto looks down at his feet, smiling, and when they part ways, it’s with a clap on the back. Like old friends, maybe—or at least, not like enemies.

Interesting.

As your boyfriend—your NBA champion boyfriend—makes his way back to you, your fingers twist in the fabric of the jersey you’re wearing, GOJO printed along the back in blocky white letters.

You raise a brow when he’s within range, looking pointedly between him and the cluster of the other team.

He shakes his head, a little disbelieving, hair falling into his face with his headband slack around his neck. “He, uh. He said good game. But I think it might have also been an apology?” Satoru says, looking a little puzzled. “And… I did too?”

“Good game is… an apology?”

“It just—the way he said it. I don’t know how to explain it. But there’s something there.” Satoru shrugs. “We both could have handled a lot of things better. I’m… I don’t know that we’ll ever go back to the way things were. But he said we don’t need to worry about Mei Mei’s scheming anymore, either.”

Skeptical, you ask, “He can actually talk Mei Mei down?”

Satoru shrugs. “I’m not sure, honestly. But I think she might respect you a little bit for how much she didn’t manage to pull one over on you this season.”

It’s like she knows you’re talking about her. She turns to look at you across the court just as you look at her, and when your eyes meet, the smallest smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Just for a second, and then she turns away.

But it’s enough for you. Enough for you to believe that things between the Sorcerers and the Curses—between Satoru and Suguru—might change for the better.

You find yourself thinking about shifting dynamics, the way the environment of the team will already be different next season—it always is, you suppose. Nothing in the NBA ever stays still for long. It’s not trading season, but there have been rumblings about Choso Kamo being traded to the Sorcerers. You can only imagine the havoc he and Yuji will create together on the court.

But you’re thinking about that, and you’re thinking about Riko, and you’re thinking about the WNBA and you and Satoru and all the ways this is going to work. You know it.

He must see it in your eyes, because he doesn’t ask what you’re thinking about. He just says, “It’s not a pay cut, and even if it was, you could take it.” He grins, ruffling your hair. “Your boyfriend is super rich, you know.”

“Hah, hah.” You swat his hand away from your hair, but lace your fingers through his, pulling him down toward you for a kiss. “Toru?”

“Mm.”

“I took it.”

Yuki was ecstatic when you called before the game, chattering about emails and paperwork and HR and meetings before cutting herself off and telling you to go enjoy the game. “I’m not a betting girl, but if I was,” she said, “I think things are looking good on your end of the court.”

“Oh my god.” Satoru’s smile could power whole galaxies. “Oh my god. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say back. “You just won the damn NBA Championship.” But he just smiles at you like the title means nothing to him, not when you’re standing right in front of him. “You know it means I won’t be traveling with you all the time. You’ll see me less.”

“And we’ll make it work,” he says without hesitation. “Because A, I made you a key to my place.” You blink, every word on your tongue suddenly falling away.

“You—what?”

He grins. “And B,” he says, tugging you closer, his voice getting softer as he leans down to whisper in the shell of your ear. “I love you.”

The world around you is still. You’re still, except for the slow, steady smile spreading across your lips. “I have loved you for a long time,” he tells you, “and I don’t plan on stopping.”

“Presumptuous,” you say eventually, and kiss him again. When you pull back he’s grinning, and so are you. “I love you, Toru.”

And the warmth in his eyes lights up the stadium more than the floodlights, more than the scoreboard, more than the camera flashes.

You thought the most electric you’d ever feel would be on the court, dunking, or on the sidelines, watching the ball soar through the air and slip through the net with a swish right as the buzzer went off. But you were wrong on both counts.

The most electric you’ve ever felt, the most yourself��you’ve ever felt, is now, is here, is with Satoru Gojo and his hands around your waist and his lips against your lips and his heart beating against yours.

You’re just as proud of him as he is of you, and something deep in you knows this is what love is supposed to be, even footing on a basketball court, love and respect and pride in equal measure, bright eyes and warm hands and the feeling of the whole future at your fingertips.

Today, you watched the man you love score a one-handed three-pointer from half-court with a blindfold over his eyes. Score one for me, Six.

“Was that last one for me?” you ask, grinning up at him. “Some buzzer beater.”

“Oh, yeah.” The smirk his lips curl into makes you want to take the words back, wipe them away before Satoru can say whatever bullshit is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s too late.

“You can beat my—”

“Satoru!”

directory. || prev. || epilogue.

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a/n: THE END!!! crazy. never written a tumblr fic before. or a jjk fic. or a x reader fic in general. it absolutely was not supposed to get this long, but oops! wild stuff. sad to see it end, but i’ve got something in the works for my man ino!! if there’s anything about the buzzer beater universe you want me to expand on/things you would like to know, flood the asks and i’ll answer. thanks for reading, friends :)

[ciaossu-imagines]

So glad to hear you’re feeling well! Can I request ▪️♦️☠️ from prompt 29 for some underrated knb boys, Izuki Imayoshi and Sakurai?

Thank you 😊 That’s really kind of you! Of course you can – I’m more than happy to do these up for you and I hope you’ll enjoy the headcanons!

Shun Izuki

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

I think Izuki is someone who is pretty naturally tidy. I’m not saying there’s nothing about his room that is cluttered, a little messy, or somewhat untidy, but it’s rare and only one little area or one thing. For the most part, it’s clutter or dust. He prefers it when things look clean and he finds it easier to operate in his day-to-day life if things are organized. If he gets something out, he puts it away when he’s done. It only takes a minute or two and it keeps his living spaces looking like he wants them to.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Izuki likes magazines and while the ones he subscribes to are Shonen Jump, a couple sports magazines, and one that’s entirely dedicated to basketball, when he buys a magazine at random or sees one sitting out, he collects the sample items he sometimes finds in them. He also collects the little sample items that stores give out and he gifts a lot of them. His older sister loves whenever he finds perfume or skincare samples, his mother praises him when he brings home samples of things that will help around the house (like a mini sample box of a laundry detergent the convenience store was giving away), etc.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Izuki is very level-headed. He can remain calm in a lot of situations and he doesn’t let a lot get to him. It’s not very often that he’ll get seriously angry. It’s far more common for Izuki to get annoyed instead of truly angry. When he argues, he’s able to do so pretty calmly and politely. He can count, without even using all of his fingers on one hand, how many times in his life he’s found himself truly and honestly completely pissed off. When Izuki’s temper does get triggered to that degree, he needs space and alone time. Don’t pressure him to talk or to try to communicate about whatever issue pissed him off. Don’t cling to him while he’s pissed. It’s a surefire way to make things ten times worth.

Ryo Sakurai

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

It’s not entirely unexpected and it probably wouldn’t be completely shocking for those around him, but Sakurai still tries to hide something. It becomes very apparent though, within his bedroom or whatever living quarters he has, that Sakurai has a love for both cutesy things and for things that are a little geeky. He collects anime figurines for shows that he really loves, some major figurines for Slam Dunk, One Piece, and Jojo’s, and then some chibi figurines of other shows he’s really into. He actually really loves chibi figurines because it combines cutesy and anime. His blankets have cute prints on them and he’s painted his desk and some of his other furniture in very pastel colours and uses washi tape to decorate some areas. He collects some novelty items that he finds adorable, like a nightlight shaped like a cartoon smiling bear or a mug that holds his drawing pencils that is shaped like a strawberry.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

We know, from canon, that Sakurai’s main hobby is drawing manga. He has a love for a lot of different manga genres and styles. He’s got about four or five different stories in his head at any one time and he’s slowly working on all of the different manga’s for the stories he likes the best. He’s very self-conscious about his work, but those he gets really close to will be allowed to see at least some of his work. He normally only shows the manga he’s working on that are shonen themed or sports themed though. He keeps back the manga he feels a little more embarrassed about working on…that is, Sakurai is definitely currently working on a slice of life manga where a lot of the characters are based off the people he knows and those he meets, even if he would claim otherwise publicly. He is a little afraid that he’d be called out or would offend others if they saw those characters. The other one he hides? Straight up shoujo romance with some tragic elements in it.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

There’s very little that Sakurai finds pride in. He doesn’t have a lot of self-confidence. Rather, it’s very much the opposite, where he doesn’t see a lot of good in himself. When Sakurai does find those areas where he can feel real pride in himself and his abilities, he holds tight to them. They become the building blocks of his entire self-image and the way he lives his life. When he feels like those things he takes pride in are either being called into question or threatened, it sparks his temper. He becomes easily annoyed, sometimes even pissed off. He finds a backbone real quick, which isn’t bad. However, what can be bad in that regard is that, in his anger, Sakurai loses control of his tongue pretty easily. It can lead him to say some exceptionally harsh things, sometimes things he doesn’t even mean, just to aggravate or hurt whoever has made him feel bad.

Shoichi Imayoshi

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

Imayoshi prefers more saturated colours in his living spaces. He tends to paint in darker colours, things like hunter green, navy blue, even black, but he balances them out with more neutral colours used in his décor or furniture. He tend to prefer lighter wood or mid-toned wood furniture and he prefers it to be pretty streamlined in the design. I could see him gravitating towards mid-century modern furniture just in the profile and lines of the furniture. He mixes a lot of traditional Japanese furnishings and décor with more western-styled stuff to create a more eclectic blend in his living spaces.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

For some reason, I just personally headcanon him as a gamer. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it, but I so see him as playing video games. He’s unnaturally talented at it and he plays a lot of cooperative games, like Overwatch and Fortnite. He’s a pretty hated player though, because he goes out of his way to troll the other players. He gets so much joy and amusement out of it. He would tank his own teammates if they were annoying him, were a lot weaker than him, or just to get reactions out of them.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Imayoshi is the quintessential picture of ‘I don’t get mad, I get even.’ He’s petty in his anger. It’s pretty hard for someone to tell they’ve really pissed him off, as he’s really good at hiding his temper from others. They’re quick to discover they’ve crossed him in some way though, because Imayoshi will start pulling petty tricks and pranks. He will be caustic as fuck towards them too and his words will hold a distinctly destructive force to them as he twists the person’s biggest insecurities against them. However, once he feels the person has been punished enough for his anger to be satisfied and satiated, he doesn’t hold any further grudges and goes back to how he normally treated them.

[themoonlightfae]

Ready And Waiting To Fall - Epilogue

Pairings: Fem!Reader x Yeosang

Summary: You're relatively sure the guy you keep seeing at the coffee shop has a secret. Unless, of course, you just have an over-active imagination On second thought, surely that must be it, because vampires aren't real. Or are they?

Genre: Vampire AU

WC (Total): 29,620

Rating: Explicit

Originally Published (Completed): 230122 on ao3

Tags: Under the cut

A/N: This story is set a few years prior to Dancing In The Dark-- the story of how the reader met YeosangKeep reading

Tags: fluff, banter, moving on from the past, talk of forever

As you rapidly approached the year mark since you and Yeosang had begun your relationship, you were feeling a myriad of different things, to the point where your thoughts and emotions were becoming almost overwhelming. 

A very large part of you was still unsure some days that this was really happening. You’d always made fun of the media tropes where the plucky heroine had thought that the thing she was seeing was for sure not real, just a myth or a figment of her imagination... only to find out that it was very real, and she was right in the middle of it. 

And here you were, living it in real time. 

Since your talk with Yeosang over the summer, your relationship had morphed into something so solid and unwavering that you had absolutely no doubts anymore, especially about what you wanted for your future. One day, someday, you knew you’d have to make the choice. You weren’t sure at this point when you would feel ready to stop the clock on your human life, or even how to embrace living the life of an undead being, once you did get there. 

The only thing you did know, without fail, was that you wanted to be with Yeosang, for as long as fate would have it. The two of you complimented each other so well, and both of you knew it. You knew he felt the same as you did— quitting was not in his vocabulary, and he was never leaving your side, come hell or high water. 

Yeosang interrupted your train of thought as you sat at your vanity, trying to get ready for the date you were supposed to be going on. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his chin on your head. 

“Hi.”

“Hello,” you grinned at him in the mirror. 

“I heard you muttering in here, so I thought I’d come check on you. You know, procrastinating is not going to make you any less likely to get your tail kicked at Galaga again.”

“Okay, but to make me feel better, we have to play the basketball game,” you said with a mischievous grin. Yeosang groaned. 

“You know I’m horrible at that one!”

“Oh, I know, mister zero points last time. It’s like taking candy from a baby.”

“Why would you take candy from a baby?” He stared at you with mock horror, and you giggled as you gently removed his arms from you so you could finish your makeup. 

“Because babies, much like my vampire partner, are easy targets,” you told him matter-of-factly. "It's science."

He sat down on the bed, fully pouting now as he watched you apply mascara. You rolled your eyes at him. 

“You know, acting like that won’t stop me from kicking your butt at basketball.” You laughed out loud at his expression, mouth hanging open, blinking repeatedly at you. 

“Oh, it’s on,” he said determinedly. “Let’s go.”

Yeosang dragged you over to Galaga as soon as he’d cashed in for some quarters, and the two of you spent about half an hour playfully trash talking each other as he did indeed kick your ass many more times over. 

“You know, this honestly isn’t fair. You’ve probably been playing this since it came out.”

“Well, yes,” he nodded. "And?"

“And it’s a button masher too! And your reflexes are so good… honestly, Yeosangie, I think this counts as cheating. Full stop. You're a straight up Cheaty McCheaterson."

“Oh, I am, am I?” He kissed your cheek softly. “Well… that’s too bad... for you.” 

He laughed and ran away towards the skee-ball machines as you squealed and chased him. You challenged him to best out of 10 at skee-ball, another game that you knew he was dependably awful at. As you won your 6th game, you turned to Yeosang, winding your arms around his waist and kissing his birthmark as he stood there grumbling. 

“The two of you are honestly so adorable, it’s disgusting,” a familiar voice said behind you. You spun around, and quickly did a double take. 

It was Hongjoong. 

But he was not wearing his normal clothing. Gone were the high-waisted trousers, the frilly shirt and long duster coat. The only leather you could see was his boots, but they were not his typical knee high, elaborately styled ones. He stood there in front of you, looking somewhat sheepish, in ripped jeans and a hoodie, hands in his pockets. 

“Are…” You were fully aware that you were staring, but you didn’t care. “Hongjoong, are those Docs on your feet?”

He shrugged. 

“They seem to be very popular. I did some research online. They’re supposed to be dependable shoes. So I bought them. Well… honestly, I bought several pairs. Very comfortable.”

“Wait,” you said, giggling under your breath now. “You mean to tell me you went shopping on the internet?! Unsupervised?!”

“Hey,” he said indignantly, crossing his arms. “That's rude. I’ll have you know that I may be old, but I am very far from technologically illiterate!”

Yeosang was cackling next to you. 

“Hongjoong, it took you a full six months at least to learn how to use your iPhone. And we just switched to those a few years ago.”

“Aha, the truth comes out!” You snickered. Hongjoong’s expression was pained now, as you and Yeosang essentially roasted him there in the middle of the arcade.

“Well, little bird, at least now I don’t look like a… what was it called again?”

“A LARPer. And there was nothing wrong with that, by the way. We love you for your eccentricities."

“I know. But, as Yunho pointed out to me a few weeks ago, it was time to update my wardrobe.”

“Great, maybe we can save some money on all your dry cleaning bills,” Yeosang said slyly. Hongjoong made a face at him. 

“So, you’re crashing our date again, huh?” You reached out to rest a hand on Hongjoong’s arm. 

“Well, no, not intentionally this time,” he shrugged, and you thought you saw him balk at your touch just the tiniest bit. You quickly pulled your hand away.

“I was passing by on my way to meet with Jongho, and I saw you two through the window, so I thought I’d come say hello,” Hongjoong explained. “I do hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” you said brightly. "I'm just giving you a hard time for the hell of it." You winked.

“Is Jongho okay?” Yeosang asked. Hongjoong nodded. 

“Oh, yes. He came to me about a week ago, however, saying that he wants to try and get back out into the world. So I told him I’d spend time with him. Naturally, he refused to entertain that offer unless I agreed to buy some regular clothes, thus precipitating my online shopping spree.” He grimaced. “Yeosang as the clan's accountant, I’d have to ask you to please ignore the amount of boxes that will be showing up over the next week. I know we can afford it, but it's... embarrassing."

“Noted,” Yeosang laughed. Hongjoong checked his wrist, where a brand new Apple watch was wrapped around it. “I should go. Jongho said he’d meet me at the movie theater.”

“No more pocket watch?” You asked, tilting your head. Hongjoong had always carried an ornate old silver pocket watch, and you'd quickly noticed it seemed to be a prized possession.

This time, you saw Hongjoong visibly flinch. 

“Ah, yes. It was time to put it down.” He waved at you and Yeosang. “Anyway, I should go. See the two of you later. Do take care, little bird,” he told you with a small smile and a pat on your shoulder. 

You waited until Hongjoong was gone and across the street before turning to Yeosang with a curious expression. 

“Yes, Elsie had given him that watch,” Yeosang said. “It looks like Hongjoong is finally ready to move on with his life.”

“That’ll be good for him, I hope,” you said softly. Yeosang nodded.

“I hope so too.”

That night, you lay in bed, curled up with Yeosang as he peppered your face with tiny kisses, holding you close as he rubbed circles on your back. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you with every fiber of my being. I think I always have, and I don’t know that I’ll ever stop.”

“I love you too, Yeosangie,” you told him, running your fingers through his hair softly. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of your hand on him. 

“Do you trust me?” He asked, eyes still closed. He opened them and looked into your own.

“What— of course I do.”

“Just… when I say forever. Do you trust me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because forever has become something that people just… say. They don’t think about it. They just say the word like it’s nothing. To me, telling someone I love them is not as serious, so to speak. I tell all my friends I love them, and partners in time, when I feel that it’s the right moment. I would never want anyone I care about to go around thinking that I didn’t love them. But to say forever… I want you to know that I mean it. I don’t know what future years will bring for us. But I know that if I can be your safe space, just as you are mine, that we can weather them together, however many we have left. And someday, when the time is right, you’ll make that choice you’ve been thinking about.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I will. I just need some more time first, do you understand?”

“Of course, my love,” he murmured, gathering you into his arms and pulling you closer. “It’s a heavy choice, and I will never push you. Just know that I’m here, and as I’ve always said before, I’m not going anywhere. If you’ll let me, I want to love you until the end of time, until the stars rain down from the heavens. And even when that end comes, it’ll be okay, because I’ll have you by my side.” 

He kissed your forehead softly as you blinked a few times, trying to stay awake. 

“I love you, Yeosang. And let me promise you too, because I agree with you. Forever is the biggest choice anyone could make and the most serious word they could say. But I’m making that decision right now— I am choosing forever with you, and I can’t wait to see what our forever holds.”

[pazziwbb535]

Interesting how prevoius anon is harder on a rookie, playing in her second regular season game, for making "rookie mistakes" than a vet that should know better. Paige made mistakes but she was the best starter on the floor.

The team took the lead at the end of the first quarter while Arike over-reacted to getting her shot blocked, then committed a foul soon after along with getting a tech within the first few minutes of the first quarter. Arike is used to playing hero ball and she has to adapt to not playing that way since she has help. Arike is great when she's shooting well, but when her shots aren't falling and she don't get any calls she hurts her team by not doing anything else to make an impact. She had the opportunity to be a vet and leader and she chose to be selfish when her team needed her the most. Makes no sense that a rookie is more mature, plays with poise, control and discipline more than her vets.

I knew this would happened which why I didn't want Paige in Dallas. I can totally see Arike's ego being hurt and her holding this team back whether than allowing the team to have success without her being the first option. We saw this happened with Satou Sabally. In 2023, Satou was arguable the best player on the wings and McCowan was playing her best basketball but Arike would cost them games. That 2023 season was the wings best season since moving to Dallas. They made it to the semis. 2 seasons later Satou wanted out when she saw Arike would rather play hero ball over team ball which would cost them games. I'm seeing history repeat itself with Paige. For the sake of the Wings and Arike, they better not fumble Paige or else Wings will be forever known for not keeping stars while Arike will forever be known for being unable to along side other stars

i really appreciate everything you brought up — so many important points here.

Paige absolutely looked like the most composed, steady presence on the floor last night. she brought a calm energy, kept her head, made smart reads, and showed maturity. her court vision is unreal, but beyond that, she just plays with a sense of control that this team desperately needed in a game that was slipping away.

what’s been frustrating to watch is the disconnect between that composure and the emotional intensity we saw from Arike. i have so much respect for her talent — she’s been the face of this franchise and has carried the load for years — but with the way this roster has evolved, it’s clear the team dynamic has to shift. her shot wasn’t falling early, and instead of resetting, she responded with a quick foul, then a tech, and spent the rest of the night forcing tough shots. the team needed leadership in that moment, and instead, it felt like frustration took over.

this is where it becomes less about individual talent and more about fit, growth, and leadership. Arike is great when she’s on — no one’s denying that — but when the shot isn’t falling or she’s not getting calls, there needs to be a willingness to adapt and find other ways to impact the game. last night, that didn’t happen. and it was even more noticeable because a rookie was out there showing what it looks like to play with poise.

i also hear you on the Satou comparison — it’s something that’s quietly lingered in the background for a while now. that 2023 Wings team was the best we’d seen in a long time. Satou was thriving, McCowan was dominant, and there was a real sense of momentum. but even in that run, you could see moments where hero ball disrupted the rhythm. and now, two seasons later, Satou’s gone. it’s hard not to look at that and wonder what could’ve been if the team had been more committed to playing together instead of relying on one person to do it all.

that’s why Paige’s arrival feels so important. she’s the kind of player who elevates everyone around her — but that only works if the team lets her. if egos get in the way, if there’s resistance to letting the offense run through her, or hesitation to adjust roles, it’s going to stall the team’s progress. and honestly, it would be heartbreaking to watch another potential star get pushed out because the system couldn’t evolve.

the Wings have a real opportunity here. they have young talent, experienced vets, and a fanbase that wants to see it all come together. but they can’t keep fumbling pieces and blaming chemistry. at some point, leadership — on and off the court — has to step up and create a culture where stars can actually shine TOGETHER.

because if they don’t, then yeah, the narrative becomes: Dallas can’t hold onto talent, and Arike can’t coexist with other stars. and i don’t want that to be the story. i want to root for her. i want to see her evolve and be part of this team’s growth. but that takes accountability and a willingness to change.

i’m still hopeful. it’s early. there’s time to adjust. but the patterns are starting to repeat — and i think everyone sees it. so i hope we see some changes.