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mead-iocre · 8 months ago

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Wife? | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: "accidentally" calling Leah "wife"

warnings: none

wc: 3.7k words

There is another new tiktok trend.

Again, not a viral dance routine.

This one was definitely more nerve-wrecking than the one you did a few weeks ago. With the other tiktok trend, you could pretty much predict how your girlfriend was going to react. However, with this one, it could go either way.

The good thing was that the trend itself was still a fairly simple one. All you need to do was to call your boyfriend/girlfriend “husband” or “wife”, and film their reaction.

From the embarrassingly long time you’ve spent scrolling through videos of other couples doing the trend, most of the reactions have been pretty positive. The ones getting pranked either grew shy or reacted excitedly at their new nickname– kissing their partner and playing it up with the camera. However, there was a video that you saw where the reaction was exactly what you were afraid of. A viral video of one couple, where the man getting pranked reacted quite cruelly. He immediately shut down the implications of the new nickname, leaving his girlfriend awkwardly staring at the camera in shock.

You just prayed Leah wouldn’t react as bad as that.

Marriage was something you and Leah had talk about before. In passing. It was always a fleeting part of the conversation, something that never really went beyond the mutual agreement that you both saw yourself getting married one day. Whether that marriage was to each other was never really a topic of conversation. However, you could see yourself being married to her. Early mornings would be a hectic time since you both had had to leave for practice early. Afternoons on the weekdays would probably be spent having brunch by the river with friends, or spending time at home cuddled up on the sofa while a football match is blasting in the tv. Evenings would be spent cooking together, or arguing about who should be the main builder for the latest Ikea furniture that was purchased.

You just hoped she pictured a similar future.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Hey everyone!” You smile brightly, waving at your phone’s front camera. A flood of hearts started floating across the screen, comments pouring in. Your phone is propped nicely by the new tripod your girlfriend had recently gotten for you. Leah had grown tired of you using random bits around the house to prop your phone up everywhere you had to do your tiktok lives, grumbling about how you always forget to put things back where they belong so she had to do it for you.

In the middle of Leah’s kitchen, you were stood on the other side of the island, checking over the ingredients one more time. The kitchen around was a charming, lived-in space, with mismatched mugs hanging from hooks and spices haphazardly arranged on a shelf. You were dressed in your favourite comfy loungewear set, your hair cascading down your back, and fuzzy slippers on your feet. You loved filming these tiktok videos and fans often left suggestions for your next video. However, what you enjoyed more was having someone with you to film. Usually, you could rope a teammate or two to participate in the latest tiktok dance, but other times, when you begged hard enough, you could sometimes convince Leah to film with you.

Leah, oblivious to the prank looming ahead, was standing right beside you. Clad in a worn-out vintage arsenal t-shirt and grey nike track bottoms, she leans casually against the counter, arms clasped behind her back. Her hair is tied away from her face in a loose ponytail, short strands of blonde hair framing her face. After much nagging (and kisses), she agreed to go on live with you again.

“I’ve gotten quite a few requests to have Leah back for another video.” You gesture to the blonde right beside you. “And I know you guys really enjoyed the last cooking live where we attempted to make Leah’s infamous pasta dish–“

“Which is a Williamson secret recipe mind you” Leah interjects with a signature finger point at the camera. “You lot should be grateful I shared it!”

amanda: first time im joining a live!!!! hellooo

maise: pls say JONAS OUT!

woso.fc: I made it and it was actually really good

katiesgirl: leah looks gooddddd. respectfully, y/n MOVE

“Yeah well thanks for sharing the recipe, Lee. Who knew a basic bolognese sauce and some pasta would taste so good”

“Oi! You love my pasta!”, Leah exclaims as she points at you accusingly.

You laugh loudly, head thrown back. “To be fair the pasta that Leah makes is quite good”

“good? good. mate you go for seconds–” You place your palm over her mouth to shush her, playfully glaring at her. The delicate skin around corner of her eyes wrinkle in amusement.

“Alright. I'll admit it. Your pasta is delicious.”

Leah pulls your hand away from her mouth, pressing a quick kiss on the back of it, and keeping it held hostage in hers.

“Okay. Let’s get started. Today we will be making red velvet cupcakes!”, You turn to the blonde beside you, squeezing the hand that she was holding, practically bouncing on your toes in excitement. Red Velvet cupcakes were one of your favourite treats and Leah knew exactly how much you were craving it lately, hence why she had no complaints when you suggested the recipe.

“But…”, Pausing for dramatic effect. You grab the box of ready-to-make mix and show it off to the camera. “We’ll be using cake mix to cut time”

The comments flood through- probably laughing at you for cheating the recipe. You were so excited for the cupcakes that you almost forgot that you were supposed to also be doing a prank on your girlfriend.

Pulling out a mixing bowl from the cupboard and a couple of measuring cups, you set them on the counter with a clatter. “So, step one!” Leah read aloud, reading from the back of the box. “Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.”

You turn around to the oven behind you, dramatically turning the dial on the oven, earning a sarcastic round of applause from the chat and a few teasing comments.

“Now,” she continued, tearing open the box, “we need to pour this into the bowl. I think this is the most technical part.” She dumped the powdery cake mix into the bowl, a small cloud of white dust puffing into the air, making you both cough and laugh. You leaned in closer, your shoulder brushing Leah’s as you worked together, the warm glow of the kitchen light casting a soft shadow over your figures.

You moved through the steps, laughter echoing as you watched Leah comically crack the eggs into the ball, exaggerating her movements and making faces at you. You glance at the chat that was a constant stream of comments and emojis. “I feel like we’re on a cooking show, but with way more judgment.”

“You lot can’t judge! we’re professional footballers— not professional bakers,” she warned playfully waving the spatula in the air. You giggled as you poured in the vegetable oil, watching the amber liquid sink into the cake mix. “Someone just asked what flavour of cake we’re making,” she read aloud. “It’s red velvet! Her favourite” Leah points a finger at you.

“I wish more weddings served red velvet. It’s always vanilla or lemon— red velvet is superior!” Turning to the camera, you wave the whisk around. “I’d serve red velvet cake at my wedding”

You don’t weren’t a hundred percent certain, but you swear you heard Leah mutter “noted” under her breath, but you pay it no mind. Maybe it was you brain playing tricks on you.

The both of you two exchanged amused glances as the sound of the stand mixer continued to fill the room. It was then you noticed the a smudge of white flour on her chin, the pale powder a contrast to her lingering tan from your last holiday. How she even managed to get flour on her chin, you have no idea.

“Look at me, love” Leah turns her attention from the chat back to you with an eyebrow raised. You gesture for her to turn her cheek to the other side so you can wipe away the dust of flour. Thumbing it away gently, you grin at her and whisper “messy girl” only for her ears.

Unable to resist, Leah sneaks a quick kiss, planting a peck on your lips. You get a quick whiff of white musk and pear before you felt her lips soft against your own. Between the two of you, Leah was always more affectionate, uncaring for any eyes and attention from others around you. You, however, were shy by nature; however you weren’t opposed to how much your girlfriend loved on you so you gladly welcomed her affection.

“Thanks, baby” She whispered back to you, kissing the crown on your head since you were bowing your head, trying to hide your cheeks that you had no doubt were blushing bright red as of that moment. “Okay! Now we have to pour this into the pan and wait!”

As she carefully tipped the bowl over a greased cake tin, the batter flowed smoothly into it, spreading out evenly. “I’m actually enjoying this. Reckon I should quit football?” she said, turning to you with a grin on her face. She taps the bowl to get the last bit of batter out.

“Let’s perfect this recipe first, Lee. And stay with the football thing for now”

lacy: stick to football we need youuuu

paige: no leah no arsenal

stephanie: Leah on Great British Bakeoff when?

awfcsgirl: im craving red velvet cupcakes now

“Now into the oven it goes!”

You opened the oven door with a mock bow, and she slid the cake pan inside. Closing the door together, you give the camera a triumphant look. “And now we wait!” you say, leaning against the counter with a grin.

The live chat was buzzing with messages, some asking about decorating, others just enjoying the playful banter. Leah grabbed her phone to read a few comments. “People are really invested in what we’re going to top this with,” he laughed. “I’m thinking frosting. Lots and lots of frosting.”

You both moved to the kitchen table, pulling up chairs to chat with the audience while the cake baked. The timer on the oven ticked softly in the background. The conversation was relaxed and easy, filled with laughter as you both responded to questions from the chat. Every now and then, you would glance over at the oven, impatient, and Leah would joke about how you had the patience of a toddler.

When the timer finally beeped, you both jumped up, racing to the oven. The scent of baked goods filled the kitchen as she carefully opened the door and pulled the tray out, red and perfectly risen. “Look at that! It didn’t burn” she exclaimed, holding it up for the camera.

After letting it cool for a few minutes, you got to work on the frosting, spreading a generous layer of cheese cream cheese frosting over each of the cupcakes. The soft white contrasting beautifully with the deep red.

“There you have it!” she said, holding the cupcake you were working on for the final reveal. “From cake mix to masterpiece, with love and a little help from you guys!”

You turn towards the camera. “All right, guys. We’re about to do a taste test. Red velvet cupcakes, made from scratch, and zero fire alarms were set off in the process. A win for us.”

“Moment of truth,” Leah whispered, glancing over at you with a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. You nodded, handing Leah a cupcake, your fingers brushing against each other as you exchanged the treats. You caught her eye and smiled, a playful glint in your gaze. And if Leah was paying attention to you she would’ve noticed the way you were pressing your lips together and nervously shifting on your feet, a telltale sign that you were up to something. However, your girlfriend was completely oblivious. She was already too focused on the cupcake in her hand, studying it like it was a masterpiece.

“Ready?” You asked, holding your cupcake up for the camera. Then, without any ceremony, you each took a bite at the same time. Leah took a generous mouthful of the soft, velvety cake, while you hesitated for a second; debating on whether now was the right time.

You took a smaller bite and instantly the rich, velvety cake melted on your tongue. The sweetness mixed perfectly with the tang of the cream cheese frosting. You closed her eyes, letting out a quiet hum of approval, savouring the flavour of your favourite sweet treat. When you opened your eyes again, you found Leah already watching you, her lips dusted with frosting. She grinned at you in approval, and prepared to take another big bite of the cupcake. As you watched her chew thoughtfully, you took your chance.

“You look like you’re enjoying it. Let’s let my wife give her review first” You said, your voice surprisingly dripping with casual nonchalance, as if you hadn’t just thrown a verbal grenade into the middle of your taste test. Instead, the endearment came out quite naturally from your lips.

Leah froze mid-chew. Her eyes wide, she slowly turned towards you, cupcake still in hand, as the word wife echoed in her mind.

“Wife?” She managed to say through her mouthful of cake, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. In the warm glow of the lights, you can see the slight flush of her cheeks, though she tried to cover it by taking another bite; her eyes narrowed at you, who was now struggling to contain your laughter.

The TikTok chat went wild.

awfc_fc: WIFE???

sav: Did she just say WIFE??

liv: DID I MISS A CHAPTER WHAT

zachary: WIFE??? HELLO?!

Unable to hold it in anymore, you burst into laughter, the kind that made you double over and clutch at your stomach. “What? It was an accident,” you say, though the mischievous twinkle in your eyes said otherwise.

Leah swallowed her bite, narrowing her eyes at you, though you can see a smile tugging at her lips. “An accident? Really?”

Wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, you straightened up, still grinning. “Yeah, it slipped out. Didn’t mean to call you my wife, love.” You sneak a quick wink at the camera.

The blonde shook her head, trying to stay serious, but the grin she was holding back finally broke through. “You’re lucky this cupcake is so good, or else I’d throw this at you right now.”

“Oh, c’mon, you love it,” You teased, taking a victorious bite of your own cupcake. Now that the prank was over, you can freely enjoy the sweet treat. “And, technically, I’m not wrong. I mean, future wife, right?”

Leah felt her heart skip at that as she continued to gaze at you. She watched you enjoy your cupcake, humming after every bite. Your earlier words still hung in the air, lingering and nagging.

In the midst of you enjoying your treat, you noticed a small shift in her expression. Your teasing demeanour melted a little, ever so slightly. You tilted your head at her, trying to read the expression on her face. “I mean… eventually, right?” You asked, quieter this time, like you hadn’t meant for those words to slip out either.

Leah’s heart fluttered again at the way your voice caught slightly against the back of your throat when you spoke. Like there was a blanket of uncertainty and doubt over your words, which was a rarity for someone as self-assured as you.

She cleared her throat, feeling it tighten and clog as a result of the palpable tension in the air. This raw, vulnerable moment awarded a fleeting pause in the midst of a long day filled with football practice, article deadlines, red velvet cupcakes, and now sudden talks of the future-- it was overwhelming.

As you both sat in brief silence, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air. Every heartbeat seemed louder than the last.

Always the fixer, Leah broke the silence first. She cleared her throat again, rolling her eyes playfully at you, trying to steer the mood back to light. She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. Are you rushing me? Otherwise I wouldn't put up with your pranks and accidents." The last bit was accompanied by finger air quotes.

She felt you were rushing her?

You looked down at your half eaten cupcake, absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wrapper. The prank was meant to be fun, but as the words "future wife" slipped from your lips earlier, you noticed the way leah's smile faltered, just for a second. Barely noticeable, but it was like a neon sign in your mind, glaring and buzzing, leaving your stomach knotted.

Had you unintentionally placed a burden on her?

You forced a smile, hoping it masked the uncertainty bubbling inside. It wasn’t like you meant to bring up marriage all the time—well, maybe you did. Looking back, it was always you initiating the conversation on marriage or your future together. But it was hard not to. After three years together, you could already picture every detail: the dress, the flowers, the vows. It was all so clear in your head, yet now it felt like you was rushing towards something Leah hadn’t even fully considered.

The uncertainty now gnawed at you. Part of you wanted to blurt out, “Are we okay? Do you really feel that I'm rushing you?” But the fear of hearing something you weren't ready for kept you quiet. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, feigning relaxation, while your thoughts swirled like a storm you couldn’t control.

"I really got you there, didn't i?" You tried to lighten the mood with another joke. “Who would’ve thought I could leave Thee Leah Williamson speechless by calling her my wife”

Shit.

Silence.

There you go again, carelessly throwing the word away without making sure she was comfortable. You wanted to smack your head against the table, mentally cursing yourself. Maybe she really wasn't comfortable with the implications of that word yet. Maybe it was too soon.

Thinking you had made the moment awkward again, you try to backtrack. “I-I didn't mean--I'm not rushing you. At all. I was kidding--“

“Baby”

You ignore her at first, turning to the camera to cover up your embarrassment. You desperately try to settle the way your heart was practically beating out of your chest. Maybe this prank wasn’t such a good idea in the first place.

“Baby”

You finally look at her. You lips were pressed tightly in a line, ready to end the live if she said the word.

“I got it.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your eyebrows, very confused by what she meant. “Wha–“

“I heard you the first time” You really couldn't read the expression on her face right at that moment. However, the corners of her lips were tipped up slightly, which is a good sign.

You did not expect to hear the next thing that came out of her mouth.

“I’ve already got the ring. I plan on marrying you. Just give me a minute to plan something, yeah?”

Your breath hitched, heart thudding in your chest as your eyes widened. You stared at the blonde, completely caught off guard, as if the rest of the world went still for a moment. Her expression was soft, teasing still, but there was something undeniably real in her eyes.

You opened her mouth to say something—anything—but words seemed to escape you. This time, it was you who was rendered speechless. You had known that a proposal might come sometime soon. In fact, you had been having thoughts about proposing to her yourself, but getting confirmation that she was thinking about it too has caught you completely off guard. But it was just like Leah to throw you completely off guard when she proposes. This was probably the most Leah-proposal ever.

meademaa: CHAT IS THIS REAL

mac: I HEARD HER SAY RING DID SHE SAY RING

lacely: NO FCUKING WAY

goonerrr: PAUSE DID SHE JUST

“I know you lot aren’t acting surprised!” Leah turns her head towards the camera with a little laugh, completely oblivious to the fact that you still hadn’t spoken a word for over a minute or so– which was a new record for a yapper like you.

You were usually quick-witted and composed, but in this moment, you felt utterly stunned, as if time had slowed to a crawl. Finally, you snapped out of it and turned towards the camera. There might be tears already welling in your eyes and your voice might’ve come out a bit shaky but no one could blame you.

“R-right then. We’re ending the live here. Thanks for watching, everyone!” You round the kitchen counter hastily, practically speed-walking to turn off the recording button. You give the camera one more watery smile and wave, eyeing the flood of comments who are already giving ‘congratulations’ messages.

alessiasextensions: DID WE JUST WITNESS A PROPOSAL

lessifc: CONGRATS MOTHESR

amber: wheres my invite to the wedding????

jordy: might cry or something

You turn around to face your girlfriend– soon fiancé perhaps. You couldn't help but admire the way her eyes sparkled, the blues reflecting the gentle glow of the setting sun. Every feature of her face was etched into your memory – the curve of her smile and the crinkle at the corners of her eyes when she laughed.

Leah was in the midst of bringing another cupcake to her lips, and she’s got the widest grin on her face. She also looked lighter, more relaxed somehow, like she'd been finally free of a heavy load that's been weighing her down.

And in that moment, as your eyes meet hers, you knew with absolute certainty that you would wait for however long it took for her to ask you the question. You knew the moment you met her she would be someone special to you, so you could afford to wait a little longer. Besides, you already knew your answer. It would be the easiest ‘yes’ in your life.

Sitting back in your seat beside her, you narrow your eyes slightly, pointing a finger at her.

“I want you down on one knee when you propose for real, you cheeky fucker”

this has been in my drafts for a whiiiiile. i wrote and rewrote this one so many times until i was satisfied with how it played out.

dedicating this fic to the anon who gave me the idea back in march and everyone else who was waiting so patiently for it to escape the WIP jail lol.

hope it was worth the long wait <3333

comments and reactions appreciated!

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine #my fics #woso one shot #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson x you #anon fic requests

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pbaz7 · 1 month ago

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SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 3

paige x azzi

word count: 8k

a/n: this is just a chapter that moves their relationship forward a little so it’s honestly just random interactions they have. let me know what you think/live react if you can. they’re always appreciated 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

Azzi had been back in LA for four days. The Sparks had already knocked out two games, and the schedule gave them a rare breath. One day off before flying out to Connecticut for a few road games. She’d been staring at her phone on and off all morning. Honestly she’d been thinking about texting Paige since she landed back in LA.

Azzi knew that if she didn’t reach out first Paige likely never would. So she kept flipping her phone screen up, then down. Eventually she sighed and grabbed her phone again. Her first message was just something simple.

Azzi [9:17AM]:

hi gorgeous

She didn’t expect a quick response, especially not from Paige. But her phone lit up almost immediately.

Paige [9:17 AM]:

wassup?

This made Azzi sit up a little straighter. She smiled and typed a response.

Azzi [9:17 AM]:

what are you up to today?

Paige [9:18 AM]:

got a training. then prolly going to workout

Azzi blinked, laughing under her breath.

Azzi [9:18 AM]:

you’re going to workout AFTER you’re done training?

Paige [9:18 AM]:

yeah

Of course she was. Azzi bit her lip, thumbs hovering as she debated what she wanted to say next. Finally, she decided to just be blunt.

Azzi [9:19 AM]:

i wanna see you today

if that’s ok with you

There was a short pause. Long enough to make Azzi regret sending it before Paige finally replied.

Paige [9:21 AM]:

you can come work out with me

Azzi [9:22 AM]:

it’s an off day

but i can come watch you workout

Paige [9:22 AM]:

watch me workout? seems boring

Azzi grinned as she typed her reply

Azzi [9:22 AM]:

i’m sure i’ll enjoy myself

Paige texted back a minute later.

Paige [9:23 AM]:

trainer’s coming at 10

i’ll probably start my workout around 12

Paige dropped a pin for her address and Azzi liked the message.

Azzi [9:24 AM]:

see you soon :)

As the morning stretched on, Azzi kept herself busy by stretching, having a little fruit, and scrolling. The clock felt like it was moving just a little slower than usual on purpose.

But when it finally got closer to the time she should leave, she took a shower and slipped on a pair of black Nike leggings and a black crop top. It was warm enough that the idea of her curls sticking to her neck made her grimace, so she pulled her hair up into a bun.

She glanced at herself once in the mirror, fixing her bun slightly before she grabbed her keys to head out the door.

When Azzi pulled up to the house, she eased into the driveway next to a matte black Audi R8 V10. Her eyes lingered on it for a second, slightly surprised.

She reached for her phone, debating whether to shoot Paige a quick text letting her know she was here. But she figured Paige was probably mid-set or hadn’t even checked her phone since this morning. So she opted for the side gate that she remembered going through with Cam and Rickea last time they were here.

The path curved around the backyard, and as she got closer to the gym she heard a voice calling out numbers and gloves hands hitting mitts with a constant rhythm. It sounded like Paige was still with her trainer so Azzi slowed her pace slightly, not wanting to interrupt.

Azzi stepped in slowly, the door creaking just enough to announce her presence. Paige and her trainer both instinctively turned toward the sound; Paige still breathing heavily, cloves resting at her sides, a grey shirt clinging to her skin.

The trainer looked confused, his eyes flicking to Paige silently asking if she was expecting someone but Paige didn’t react, only offering up, “I’ll be done in like ten minutes.”

Azzi gave her a soft smile saying, “No rush.” Azzi then made her way to the bench tucked along the side wall.

The trainer raised his padded hands again, and Paige turned back to him, nodding her head slightly, telling him to continue.

“1-1-2,” he called out.

Paige’s gloves snapped forward in a quick rhythm of two jabs and a cross.

“1-2-3.”

Another jab, cross, lead hook. It all seemed so crisp. Paige reacted to the combos like they had been engraved in her brain.

“6-3-2.”

The uppercut she threw landed with enough force to make her trainer shift his stance. He didn’t comment on it, just nodded in silent praise.

Azzi leaned back against the bench, watching the rest of Paige’s training unfold. Paige’s grey shirt was soaked through the back, and her blonde hair was tied into a messy bun. There was no music playing and no unnecessary chatter. Azzi’s eyes tracked every one of Paige’s movements. The way her back foot pivoted, how she snapped back into guard after each hit. How her shoulders moved with fluidity. Her breathing steady even as sweat rolled down the side of her jaw.

She looked beautiful like this and Azzi couldn’t help but feel a little in awe of watching her in her element.

The trainer called for a sidekick and Paige turned her hips and threw it hard—maybe a little too hard. Her foot hit the pad and forced her trainer to take a small step back, wincing with a quick laugh.

“Alright, yeah,” he said, shaking her head. “We’re done for the day.”

Paige’s face didn’t change much. She just exhaled through her nose, taking a step back and uncleaning her fists. She mumbled out, “My bad,” before moving to step out of the cage.

She walked toward the bench, tugging at the velcro on her gloves as Azzi sat up straighter, trying not to let it show how much she’d been staring.

Paige peeled the gloves off her hands and tossed them onto the bench next to Azzi. She stepped forward, reaching just past her, close enough that Azzi caught the faint scene to sweat and whatever soap Paige used. Her arm brushed Azzi’s shoulder lightly as she grabbed a half-empty bottle of water.

Paige twisted the cap off and took a long swig before glancing down at Azzi. “What’d you think?”

Azzi looked up at her, a small smile on her lips. “You look good.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, “I was talking about my form Azzi.”

Azzi shrugged, a little sheepish, but she still had a smile on her face. “I mean…I don’t know anything about fighting. But you hit stuff really well and you look good doing it.”

Paige just stared at her for a second, jaw flexing before she finally shook her head and took a step back, mumbling under her breath, “Jesus Christ.”

Azzi stood up, brushing invisible lint off her leggings as she took a step toward Paige. The blonde had her fingers hooked at the hem of her wet shirt tugging it upward over her torso. Her abs flexed briefly with her movements and her skin glistened under the overhead lights. She let her gaze linger, just for a second too long and Paige caught it. She paused halfway through pulling her shirt over her head saying, “Enjoying the show?”

Azzi’s eyes lift up to meet Paige’s blue ones. At the same time she bites her bottom lip a little saying, “Like I said, you definitely look good.”

Paige yanks the shirt off the rest of the way. “That right?”

Brown eyes drop to pale collarbones and abs before rising. “That’s right.”

Paige shakes her head with a quiet chuckle and glances somewhere else in the gym. “You flirt like you get paid to do it.”

Azzi grinned at this. “Could be if you hired me.”

That made Paige glance over at her again, a slight sparkle in her eye. “What’s the job description?”

Azzi pretended to think about it for a second before saying, “Motivational speaker. Personal admirer maybe. Really depends on what you like.”

Paige took another sip of her water, maybe trying to hide the small curve at the edge of her mouth. “You’re a little ridiculous, you know that?”

Azzi shrugged, “You’re not telling me to stop, so maybe you like it.”

Paige looked at her, like really looked, then just briefly her eyes flicked from Azzi’s face to her lips, the back again. If Azzi wasn’t paying attention she wouldn’t have caught it, but she did and she licked her lips slightly to stop the smirk. Paige finally said, “I told you, You can flirt if it floats your boat.”

“It does.”

They stood in the stillness of Azzi’s words for a second and the air between them seemed to get a little thick before Paige looked away, tipping her head toward the weights. “Spot me?”

Azzi didn’t take her eyes off of Paige as she nodded. “Mhmm.”

Paige walked over to the bench press, grabbing a towel and throwing it over the bench before sitting down. Azzi trailed after her slowly, watching every movement.

“You can’t spot me if you’re just going to stare,” Paige said plainly.

Azzi smiled, completely unapologetic about her blatant staring. “You’ll be fine.”

Paige scoffed softly, then laid back and adjusted her grip on the bar. Azzi stepped in behind her, hovering above the bar now. Paige exhaled deeply and began her set, the bar rising and falling easily. Azzi counted under her breath, but somewhere around rep five, her eyes began to drift from Paige’s shoulders to her chest down to her tight abs on display.

By the eight rep, Paige racked the bar cleanly and sat up. She caught Azzi’s gaze. “Thought you were spotting me.”

Azzi blinked, adding a sarcastic comment to recover. “Seems like you didn’t need one.”

Paige wiped her face with the towel. “I didn’t. I was humoring you.”

Azzi grinned. “That’s sweet. Most people take me seriously though.”

Paige took a long sip of water, then looked at her again. “That might be the problem.”

Azzi tilted her head at this. “You don’t?”

Paige met her gaze. “I didn’t say that.”

Azzi let the moment hang, the tension rising in the space between them.

Paige looked away, putting her water bottle back on the floor. “I’m doing another set.”

Azzi stepped back slightly, eyes still on her. “Don’t let me distract you.”

Paige shook her head as she laid back down, gripping the bar mumbling, “Little late for that.”

She moved through the rest of her push day easily, not pushing herself too hard. Doing just enough to keep her muscles active. Azzi lingered close by during each exercise, standing near Paige, sitting on the edge of the bench, or crouched nearby, offering jokes to distract the blonde on purpose.

“Your shoulders are actually kind of crazy,” Azzi said at one point when Paige set down her dumbbells. “You could do all of this and still have energy to carry me upstairs.”

Paige shook her head, biting back a laugh as she grabbed her towel. “You got a crazy ass imagination.”

“Not crazy,” Azzi responded, walking with Paige to her next station. “Just optimistic.”

There were more lines like that. Compliments tossed out like bait knowing Paige would bite on some of them. For the most part Paige deflected with a dry comment or a simple raised eyebrow, but Azzi noticed the few that landed. The slight lift at the corner of Paige’s mouth, the way she’d glance down at her feet or take a deep breath before moving on.

Eventually the workout wrapped up and Paige was rolling out her shoulders and stretching on one of her mats. Her arms were crossed behind her back in a deep chest opener. Azzi had been quiet for the past couple of minutes, as she watched Paige stretch in peace.

“You always dissociate like this when you’re done working out? Azzi asked as she stepped closer to Paige.

“Only when somebody’s staring at me like they’re tryna eye fuck me and I gotta pretend like I don’t see it.” Paige replied, keeping her eyes forward.

Azzi smiled at this and said, “I’m just appreciating the view.”

Paige turned her head, catching the way Azzi’s gaze wasn’t on her face, her eyes resting on the exposed skin just above her waistband. Now don’t get her wrong, Azzi wasn’t desperate by any means. She just knew what her gaze did, knew how to play the game right. So when she saw Paige looking at her she stepped closer, the two of them face to face and her hand lifted, her fingers lightly grazing the lining of Paiges stomach muscles, her eyes moving up to see the blonde’s reaction.

Paige’s jaw looked clenched and her eyes locked onto Azzi’s. For a moment it didn’t feel like the blonde was breathing. The contact was so light that it could’ve been imagined, but Paige felt it and it made her all too aware of how long it had been since she’d gotten laid.

Azzi let her fingers drop away, brushing her hand back as if nothing happened. “Did I tell you that you look good already?”

Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just kept her gaze on Azzi’s face, then drifted her eyes to Azzi’s lips before she broke it, looking past her, toward the other end of the gym like she needed to redirect her thoughts before they got ahead of her.

“You hungry?” Paige asked.

Azzi didn’t move at first, still watching Paige’s reaction before she finally stepped back, a small smile returning to her face. “I could eat.”

Paige nodded, breathing out through her nose as if Azzi stepping back gave her enough space to focus again. “Cool,” she said, bending down to reach for her towel. “Gimme a few to shower?”

Azzi just nodded as she walked over to grab her phone and keys from the bench.

Paige hesitated before she added, “You can come in if you want. Chill in the living room or whatever.”

“Yeah, sure,” Azzi said as she brushed her fingers through her hair, redoing her bun as they walked out of the gym together.

Paige flipped off the lights before shutting the door behind them. The early afternoon sun had warmed the path between Paige’s gym and the house and neither one of them spoke as they made their way across it.

Once they were inside Paige gestured down the hall. “Living room’s right through there. Think the remote’s on the couch.”

Azzi gave her a short nod and she watched as the blonde undid her bun and ran a hand through her damp hair before disappearing around the corner to head upstairs. There was something so effortlessly magnetic about her that Azzi couldn’t put her finger on.

She made her way into the living room, her footsteps soft against the wooden floors. She sank into the large cream colored couch, her body easily relaxing into the soft cushions as her gaze drifted around the space. The house was a modern Beverly hills home but it didn’t feel cold or unlived in.

There was a massive flat screen TV that was mounted on the fart wall with a PS5 mounted next to it. The TV was tucked between two tall shelves that held a mix of items. Some shelves were stacked with books while others had completed LEGO sets lined up and vinyls for a record player that sat nearby.

There was a collection of picture frames and Azzi leaned forward slightly, squinting to see them better from where she sat. A few of the pictures had Cam in them, the two of them in various settings: on a court, at what looked like a dinner, one with their arms slung around each other when they were younger at what looked like a family function. Other frames held what Azzi assumed was other family members. One picture showed Paige with a little girl on her back, both of them laughing.

Azzi’s eyes trailed to the large floor length curtained windows. Sunlight pressing softly against the cream fabric casting muted lines on the floor. The space felt personal.

She passed the time by scrolling on her phone, mindlessly switching between her apps. Azzi wasn’t sure of how much time had gone by when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs and when she looked up Paige was back. She was dressed in black Essentials sweats and a fitted black tank top.

Azzi’s eyes took in her appearance before she smiled. “You love showing off your arms, huh?”

“We live in L.A.”

Azzi laughed softly as Paige walked fully into the living room and sat on the couch, leaning her weight against the armrest.

“You smell good.”

Normally, Paige would’ve brushed it off, letting the comment go unaddressed. This time she glanced at Azzi and offered a small, “Thank you.”

Azzi was momentarily caught off guard by the acknowledgement. She was used to Paige ignoring her compliments at this point.

Paige leaned back further into the couch, letting her arm drape over the edge. “You have a preference? Food-wise?”

Azzi gave her a look. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who just worked out for, like, three and a half hours.”

Paige shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I already started cutting.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Cutting?”

Paige nodded, resting her phone against her thigh. “Yeah. I gotta drop back to 135.”

Azzi’s forehead creased, her confusion and curiosity reflexive. “What are you now?”

“I’m naturally like 140, 141,” Paige said. “Gotta be 135 at most for the fight tho.”

Azzi tilted her head, still confused. “Alright potential stupid question…why drop weight? Wouldn’t it make more sense to just fight at whatever weight you’re naturally at?”

Paige raised her eyebrows a little, clearly used to this question. “It doesn’t really work like that. Most fighters cut weight to compete in a lower class. Fighting up means you're probably giving up a lot of size, reach, strength. It’s doable, but you’re at a disadvantage most of the time.” Paige pauses before adding, “Think about it like me for example. I’m 141 dropping to 135. If I fought at 145 I’d prolly be fighting someone who’s naturally 151 dropping to 145. So they’d have 10 pounds on me naturally.”

“So 135 is...what weight class?” Azzi asked, shifting a little closer on the couch.

“Bantamweight,” Paige answered , taking a sip of water. “I can fight at featherweight too if I want—that’s 145. But most of the top girls in that division walk around way heavier than I do.”

Azzi nodded. “So you’ll drop, weigh in at 135, and then go back up?”

“Pretty much. It’s a game. Make weight, rehydrate, eat. You just hope the cut doesn’t drain you too much. It’s why I start earlier.”

Azzi’s eyes drifted away, still trying to wrap her head around the new information. “That sounds crazy. And the weigh-in is right before the fight?”

Paige shook her head. “Nah, usually the day before. Gives you time to recover a little.”

“So how many classes are there in the UFC?”

“For women? Four main ones. Strawweight, Flyweight, Bantamweight, and Featherweight,” Paige listed off easily. “Each one’s got killers. Every class plays out a little different depending on size and speed.”

Azzi glanced over at her. “You really know all this off the top of your head?”

Paige nodded. “I live it.”

Azzi smiled, letting the quiet admiration show on her face. “You know this is probably the most you’ve talked since we met, right?”

Paige glanced at her. “It’s easy to talk about.”

Azzi shifted again slightly on the couch, turning her body more toward Paige. “Yeah. I can tell it means a lot to you.”

Paige leaned her head back against the cushion before looking over. “It does.”

The room settled into a soft pause before Azzi nudged her knee lightly against Paige’s. “You just wanna order something?”

Paige glanced down at the slight contact before saying, “Up to you.”

Azzi grinned. “Dangerous last words.”

Paige shrugged, letting her arm drape over the back of the couch. “I trust you…Kinda.”

Azzi gave her a mock-offended look. “Kinda?”

“Let’s see what you pick first.”

Paige tossed her phone toward Azzi, who grabbed it from the couch cushion it landed on. She tucked her legs underneath her and began scrolling through DoorDash, her eyes scanning for something that caught her attention.

After a few minutes, she made a satisfied noise, picked something for herself and handed the phone back. “This one.”

Paige looked down at the screen, reading the choice. Her expression didn’t change as she glanced back up at Azzi. “You’re disgusting.”

Azzi laughed, unbothered. “God forbid an athlete tries to eat healthy.”

Paige shook her head, muttering under her breath as she navigated the app. “This isn’t healthy. It’s a crime.”

“I like what I like,” Azzi said with a big smile, clearly amused by Paige’s distaste.

Paige ended up ordering a BLTA for herself and then locked the phone, tossing it aside on the cushion. “I no longer trust you to pick a meal.”

Azzi smirked. “Shouldn’t have handed me your phone.”

Paige let out a soft huff of a laugh and leaned back again. “Mistakes were clearly made.”

Azzi mirrored Paige’s position, tilting her head back to rest against the back of the couch as she watched the side of Paige’s face. “So,” she said casually, “what do you usually do when you have people over?”

Paige didn’t glance over. “I don’t.”

“Like…ever?”

“Not really.” Paige said, tilting her head to look over at Azzi for a second. “Too much effort and they never know when to leave.”

Azzi smirked. “Sounds like you’ve had some interesting guests.”

Paige huffed out a quiet laugh. “I’ve had…mistakes.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Mistakes?” Her tone was light, but there was an edge of curiosity in it. “You don’t do the whole casual thing?”

Paige shook her head. “Too much of a distraction. Not worth the trouble at the end of the day.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her. “So what I’m hearing is that it’s just never been good enough?”

Paige's eyes stayed forward. “I didn’t say that.”

“If it was good enough, it’d be worth the trouble.”

Paige let out a laugh—more air than sound—but her face didn’t change. “You’re real confident for someone making a lot of assumptions.”

Azzi shrugged, eyes never leaving Paige. “You make it easy. You talk like someone who’s been disappointed one too many times.”

Paige let the comment hang in the air, deciding not to comment on it. “Tell me about you,” she said casually.

Azzi lifted her eyebrow. “What do you wanna know?”

Paige didn’t blink. “Whatever you wanna tell.”

So Azzi decides to talk to Paige about basketball. She shifted as she spoke, animated in a way Paige hadn’t seen before. Her hands moved when she talked about her parents, her eyes lighting up when she described the chaos of the backyard drills and unconventional training days—the time her mom saran wrapped her right arm to make her left better. Paige listened, barely speaking, but her expressions—however small—gave her away. A faint smirk at the saran wrap story, subtle eye contact at the ACL details, a quiet nod when Azzi described the mental weight of the recovery.

When Azzi got to the part about winning a championship, her voice softened just a little, like the memory carried a kind of stillness in her heart. “It made everything feel worth it,” she said, gaze lingering on the wall for a moment before glancing back at Paige. “Every surgery, every rehab session…all of it.”

Before Paige could respond, the doorbell rang. She stood up to grab the food, muttering something about “terrible timing” that earned a smile from Azzi. She sat back down, gave Azzi her food and they started to eat as the conversation picked up again. This time with Paige asking more, drawing Azzi out on certain moments, adding dry comments here and there that made Azzi laugh. Comments that made Azzi glance at her like she was trying to figure her out in a new way.

After she grew tired of talking about herself Azzi finished a bite of her sandwich and asked, “What about you? What made you get into fighting?” She knew the basics from Cam, how Paige’s dad had introduced her to the sport. Still, she wanted to hear it from Paige herself.

Paige glanced at her, wiping her hands on a napkin before leaning back against the couch. She didn’t answer right away, her eyebrows moving very slightly as she thought about what to say.

“I’m sure Cam’s told you I can be a bit…” she trailed off, lips tugging to the side as she searched for the right word. “Ill-tempered sometimes.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, amused more by Paige’s dry delivery than the admission itself. “That’s one way to put it.”

Paige chuckled slightly, her gaze dropping to the space between them. “My dad noticed it early on. Instead of riding me about it or trying to fix it the way most parents might, he found me something I could throw it into. Said I needed an outlet. Fighting made the most sense.”

Azzi nodded, chewing slowly as she took the information in. “Where’d the ‘ill-temperament’ come from?”

Paige was quiet for a moment but her posture or expression didn’t change. “When I was younger, my parents used to argue a lot. I’m talking loud, ugly shit. Eventually they split. I think I was around fourteen. Fifteen maybe.” She cleared her throat like it might push away the weight of the memory. “I was pissed at my mom for a while for leaving. Didn’t matter that it was probably the right choice or that she was doing the best she could. At that age, anger sort of…replaces any logic.”

Azzi didn’t interrupt, just turned more toward her as she listened.

“We’re good now though…really good, actually. But back then? I was just mad. At everything. Fighting gave me somewhere to put it.”

Paige leaned her head back against the cushion again, eyes moving up toward the ceiling for a second. “I don’t know why I still got a temper now, honestly. Maybe I just got hit in the head too many times.”

To her surprise, Azzi let out a soft laugh before adding, “You probably shouldn’t joke about that,” giving Paige a playful nudge with her knee.

Paige smirked faintly, the corner of her mouth twitching as she glanced at her. “I’ll live.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, but her smile lingered. “Sure. Just don’t start forgetting things mid-conversation and we’ll be good.”

“I do that already,” Paige deadpanned, reaching for her water. “So if I forget your name tomorrow, don’t take it personal.”

Azzi tilted her head, grinning. “I’ll just remind you. Over and over and over.”

Paige gave her a sideways look shaking her head a little.

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, eyes scanning Paige’s face. “You feel ready for the fight?”

Paige exhaled through her nose, arms folding loosely across her stomach. “No,” she admitted. “But I got two and a half weeks to be ready.”

Azzi tilted her head with genuine curiosity. “What makes you not ready?”

Paige shifted, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her water bottle. “Still gotta drop a few more pounds,” she said, then added, “And I’ve only watched a couple of her fights. I don’t have a feel for her tells yet.”

“Why aren’t you watching more then?”

Paige glanced over, adding dryly. “You’re here.”

Azzi gave a one-shouldered shrug, the corner of her mouth twitching. “We can watch it.”

There was a small stretch of silence before Paige asked, “You sure?” Searching Azzi’s face like she didn’t expect the offer.

Azzi nodded once. “Yeah.”

Paige grabbed the remote from the coffee table, her voice a little quiet as she said, “Bet,” before turning on the TV. A beat passed before she pulled up the fight footage, scrolling through a few thumbnails before selecting one.

They watched in near silence, the commentary barely registering as Paige sat forward, forearms resting on her thighs, eyes locked on the screen like she was studying a puzzle no one else could solve. The glow of the TV danced against her features, her a little jaw tense. Expression completely unreadable.

Every so often, Azzi would ask a question. Sometimes pointing at something, sometimes just tilting her head in confusion and Paige would answer, not unkindly, but with the same flat focus she gave the fight. Her replies were short, sometimes dry, offering, “No, that’s not a choke.” Or, “That’s awful footwork, she’s baiting herself.” But she never ignored Azzi, never brushed her off which didn’t go unnoticed by the brown eyed girl. If anything, she kept rewinding the footage as if each question helped her think differently.

Paige replayed one sequence three times in a row. “She drops her left every time she throws a hook,” she mumbled more to herself than to Azzi, gesturing with the remote. “Wide open for a counter.”

Azzi nodded slowly, starting to follow the things Paige was explaining to her. At one point she squinted at the fighter in question. “Why does she drop her hands when she lands?” she asked after a few seconds.

Paige blinked over at her. “What?”

Azzi pointed at the screen, her voice reflecting her curiosity. “Right after she hits clean, like you call it. She does this little—" she mimicked it, “—like, a half shrug or flex.”

Paige narrowed her eyes and rewound the clip, watching it again. Going back to other timeframes where she remembered a hit landing. The girl would land a crazy combo and sure enough, right after a hook. There was a split-second drop of her hands, almost like a flash of her arrogance, a cocky shoulder roll.

Paige stared for a moment, then tilted her head in complete confusion at something so obvious. “…What the fuck,” she whispered, almost too low for Azzi to hear. “That’s a rhythm break.”

Azzi smiled slightly at the thought of helping Paige a little

Paige didn’t say anything right away, she just rewound and played the moment back a few more times, in disbelief. “It’s so fucking obvious that I didn’t even see that. That’s...that’s stupid, but it’s useful.” She sat back slightly, her eyebrows raised in thought. “She’s gonna eat a hook doing that shit.”

Azzi leaned her head against the couch, watching Paige more than the screen now. “Guess I’m good for something.”

Paige didn’t look over, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Remind me to bring you to film more often.”

Azzi smiled at that, but didn’t respond. Instead, she let the silence settle between them again, the commentary of the fight filling the space. Paige suddenly exhaled and sank back into the couch, her posture finally relaxing.

“You always like this before a fight?” Azzi asked softly, not necessarily teasing her, just curious about getting to know her mannerisms.

Paige glanced over at her, her eyes more reflective than defensive. “I don’t know. Guess I just get quiet. Try to lock in.”

Azzi nodded. “You’re intense.”

“Takes one to know one.”

That made Azzi laugh, but it was quieter this time. She shifted to face Paige fully, resting her arm on the back of the couch behind her. “You ever get scared?”

Paige’s eyes moved back to the screen, then down to her hands resting on her thighs. “Not of getting hit,” she said eventually. “I trained too long for that. I’m more afraid of...not being good enough. Not being who I expect myself to be.”

The room went a little still after that. Not in a bad way, just honest.

Azzi’s voice dropped, almost hesitant to break the moment. “That’s a lot to carry.”

Paige gave a small nod, the flicker of an emotion crossing her face. “Yeah.”

Azzi’s fingers moved, brushing along the back of the couch, close to Paige’s shoulder but not touching her. “Well,” she said after a moment, “for what it’s worth…you’re one of the few people I’ve ever watched and thought, ‘yeah, she’s doing exactly what she’s supposed to be doing.’”

Paige turned her head to look at her and their eyes met for a moment. Almost like Paige was studying Azzi. When she finally spoke her voice was low, “You don’t even like fighting.”

Azzi tilted her head. “No. But I kinda like you so.”

The shift in their positioning was subtle. A slight lean of Azzi’s body toward hers, and the way Paige didn’t pull back. Just sat there, watching her like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with what she was thinking, but she wasn’t going to stop it either.

Paige’s gaze lingered on her for a second longer before drifting back to the screen. “You’re easy to be around.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the words and by how Paige said them. Almost like they hadn’t meant to come out, or like she’d practiced saying them in her head but couldn’t bring herself to look at Azzi when she said them.

Azzi smiled softly and teased Paige a little saying, “That was sweet.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Paige added dryly, trying to wrap humor around something that wasn’t really a joke.

“Too late.”

Paige didn’t say anything back—not because she didn’t have a response, but because that was her response.

After a while, the room settled into another comfortable stillness, broken only by the occasional shifting of weight on the couch as they talked. But outside, the sun started to disappear and Azzi glanced at her phone, sighing as she sat up slightly.

“I should go. I gotta be up early. Flight to Connecticut tomorrow.”

Paige didn’t say anything right away, just watched Azzi. “Who you play?”

“Connecticut. Then the Mystics, and the Sky before we come back.”

Paige nodded slowly. “I’ll watch.”

Azzi grinned at this. “You will?”

Paige just looked at her with that same unreadable expression. “Yeah.”

They walked out together, the air cooler than what it was earlier in the day. When they got to Azzi’s car, she opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, but didn’t start the engine right away as she looked back at Paige, whose hand was resting on the door handle.

“I’ll text you,” Azzi said softly..

Paige gave a small nod. “Alright.” She hesitated for half a second, then gently pushed the car door closed for her.

Azzi lingered behind the window for just a moment, gaze meeting Paige’s again through the glass. Then she gave a small wave before turning on the car and shifting into reverse.

Paige stood near her car and watched Azzi disappear down the path.

…

For the first few days of Azzi’s road trip, they stayed in touch. Not constantly, but enough to be in the loop of one another’s day. Enough to miss it when it started to fade.

They would exchange texts after workouts or games, quick check-ins.

Azzi [12:19 PM]:

almost broke my ankle on a mop left on the court during shoot around

wanna come fight the janitor for me?

Paige [12:21 PM]:

i’ll pull up

being gloves for both of us

Another time after Paige had just finished sparring.

Paige [1:23 PM]:

heads still attached..barely

how’s your shot today?

Azzi [1:40 PM]:

clean. unlike your footwork probably

They even shared a call on the third night. Azzi had dialed on a whim, not expecting much. But Paige answered, the background noise of her gym speakers still playing music behind her voice.

“You’re still there?” Azzi asked, settling back in her hotel bed.

“Yeah,” Paige replied, slightly breathless. “Didn’t think you were the type to call.”

“Didn’t think you’d answer,” Azzi shot back, but the smile in her voice gave her away.

They talked for fifteen minutes—about nothing, really. Just talked.

But by the fifth and sixth day, Paige had gone quiet.

No text. No post-training recap. No response when Azzi sent her something from her game.

It was like she’d disappeared from the face of the earth.

Currently the cabin buzzed faintly with the quiet hum of the team plane and the occasional shuffle of movement from teammates. Azzi sat in her seat, her legs stretched out in front of her and her phone resting on her thigh, screen blank.

Across the aisle, Cam noticed the shift in her energy, even before Azzi pulled her headphones off.

“Hey,” Azzi said, her voice a little quiet to not disturb anyone else as she leaned over. “You heard from Paige?”

Cam looked up from the tablet she was watching film on. “Yeah talked to her a couple of days ago. Why?”

Azzi gave a small shrug, too casual to be real. “Just wondering. Haven’t really heard from her the past few days.”

Cam studied her expression for a moment. Head tilting and eyes narrowing like she was trying to read something off Azzi’s face. “You guys been talking?”

Azzi hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah a little.”

Cam’s expression softened—not into pity, but something close. Like she understood something Azzi wasn’t saying yet. She glanced at Azzi’s phone, then back at her.

“I told you she gets like this sometimes,” she offered gently. “Goes quiet. Especially when she’s locked in. Fight’s in a little over a week.”

Azzi nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah,” she murmured, her gaze drifting out the window, even though the clouds outside were too high and white to offer her anything.

“Since you can’t pop up at her house like I’d usually suggest…just call her when we get to the hotel tonight.”

Azzi let out a short breath, more of a quiet exhale than anything. “I’ve already text her a few times.”

“She probably hasn’t even seen them,” Cam told her. “She keeps her call ringer on, but turns off notifications for messages ”

Azzi nodded at that, letting the information settle.

Cam studied her for another moment. Then she smiled a little wide. “You like her, don’t you?”

Azzi blinked, her eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“I thought you were fucking around before. Just attracted to her like everyone else,” Cam said. “But you actually like her.”

Azzi didn’t answer nor look at her right away. Her fingers tapped her phone once before going still in her lap. There wasn’t a need for her to say it out loud. But still she looked at Cam and said quietly, “Yeah. I do.”

Cam surpassingly didn’t tease her. She just nodded, like she understood the small weight of Azzi saying that. Then she went back to watching film on her iPad and Azzi went back to listening to music.

When they landed and Azzi got settled into her hotel room, she sat on the edge of the bed, her phone in hand. Cam’s words echoed in her head, and for a minute, she just stared at the screen, thumb hovering over Paige’s name in her recent contacts. She sighed before she tapped the call button.

It rang three times before a slightly breathless voice came through. “Hey.”

Azzi smiled faintly when she heard her voice. “Hi, stranger.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige said, her voice still a little uneven, the background music muffled but noticeable.

Azzi’s eyebrows pinched together slightly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing just hitting,” she muttered.

Azzi pulled the screen back just long enough to glance at the time. “At 11 at night?”

“Yeah,” Paige said simply, her voice a little distant again like she’d pulled the phone away or was pacing.

It went quiet between them for a moment. Then Paige’s voice cut through more clipped than usual. “You need something?”

Azzi got a little tense at the tone, recognizing the edge in it but choosing not to meet it with her own. “You went a little MIA the past two days.”

There was another pause. Azzi could almost hear Paige slowing down on the other end, just slightly. But the silence stretched for so long it made Azzi think maybe Paige hadn’t heard her

But then—“I’m sorry,” Paige said again, a little softer this time. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Azzi shook her head, adjusting the phone against her ear as she sank back into the pillows. “What’s going on?”

The other end of the line went quiet again, just the faint sound of Paige’s breathing which was slower now, like she’d finally stopped moving. Azzi waited patiently.

Then came a low exhale. “Just been in my head too much.”

Azzi let the silence stretch for a second before asking gently, “You wanna talk about it?”

There was a dry laugh from Paige. “Not much to talk about.”

“You’re in your head, aren’t you?” Azzi challenged her.

The silence that followed gave Azzi her the answer. She shifted again, pulling the hotel comforter over her legs. “What are you in your head about?”

It took Paige a few seconds to respond, but when she did, her voice was quieter than usual.

“No matter how ready you feel,” she said, “there’s still the nerves...the slight fear of stepping in the cage with somebody whose only goal is beating your ass. Knock you out if they can.”

Azzi nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips when she realized Paige was opening up. She could still hear Paige’s slight breathlessness on the other end of the line, could picture her wiping sweat from her forehead, standing somewhere in the middle of the gym, hands probably still wrapped.

"On the bright side,” Azzi said lightly, “that’s your goal too, right? Just beat her ass first.”

Paige huffed out a quiet laugh, the first genuine one Azzi had heard all call. “Fair.”

A beat passed, then Azzi asked, more seriously this time, “Does this one feel any different?”

“No, not really,” she said slowly. “I just know she’s arrogant. Got something to prove, so she’s gonna come in heavy. Probably try to make it a statement match.”

Azzi leaned back against the headboard, her eyes tracing the soft lines in the hotel ceiling. “Then just remind yourself of who you are. Of how you said you don’t step in there unless you know you’re walking out.”

There was a small pause on the other end—then a subtle shift in Paige’s breathing. The heaviness that had stuck to her voice since answering the call started to fall away.

“Yeah,” Paige said, her voice steadier now. “You’re right.”

Azzi smiled faintly. “So if you know who you are and what you can do…what’s going on?”

Paige took a long breath before replying. “Before every fight, you gotta get over that hump,” she admitted. “That mindset of knowing one hit…just one hit…could change your life forever. One hit hard enough, and it’s lights out.”

Azzi didn’t jump in to comment right away. She let the truth of the words settle between them, the weight of what Paige said. But she didn’t sound scared, she sounded like someone who knew the risks and still loved what she did.

Azzi shifted slightly under the covers, cradling the phone closer to her ear. Her voice was calm, like she didn’t want to spook whatever Paige was still untangling in her chest.

“What else?” she asked softly. “What else is in your head?”

Paige was quiet again, but it wasn’t like before. It wasn’t guarded this time—more like she was sifting through the noise, trying to find the right thread to pull on.

“…Just feels like a lot,” she said eventually. “The weight of being perfect. The expectations of staying undefeated. The pressure to show up like I’m bulletproof. The discipline it takes everyday. The diet. The sleep. The timing. You miss one thing and it shows. People think it’s just stepping in the cage and fighting but it’s not. It’s everything leading up to it that’s draining.”

Azzi nodded, even though Paige couldn’t see her. “Do you feel ready? Not physically, I mean. Mentally.”

“Some moments I do. Other moments I’m sitting in the gym at midnight because I convinced myself I’m behind.”

“But you’re not.”

“No,” Paige admitted. “I’m not. But that doesn’t stop my brain from trying to tell me I am.”

Azzi hummed quietly. “That voice’s a bitch.”

Paige let out a surprised laugh at that. “Yeah. She is.”

Azzi’s voice was even gentler now as she asked, “What does she say?”

“That I’m not sharp enough yet. That I’m going to slip. That my timing’s off. That I don’t have it in me to push myself for the next week. That if I lose, it’s over.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Some days.” A short pause. “Other days, I just fight back harder.”

Azzi laid her head back, letting the silence stretch naturally. “You’re fighting it now, aren’t you?”

Paige didn’t respond for a moment. Then she offered up a quiet, “…Yeah.”

Azzi’s voice grew, steady as ever. “Good. Because she doesn’t know who the fuck she’s talking to.”

Paige opened and closed her mouth, like the words were fighting their way out of her. Then finally, she said, “Thanks…for this.”

Azzi blinked, her eyes still on the ceiling. “For what?”

“For listening. Letting me talk,” Paige whispered. “I’ve never really talked about this before.”

Azzi turned her head toward the phone. “Why not?”

Paige let out a faint breath. “Because if I told Cam, or anyone in my family…it’d just scare them. Make them worry even more than they already do. Everyone’s already on edge when I fight. If they knew what goes on in my head before it? It’d eat at them.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She just listened and as the silence stretched, Paige took it as permission to keep going.

Her voice was quiet, but steady. “It’s not that I don’t trust them. I do, with my life. But it’s different when you’re the one in it. I don’t need someone to freak out for me. I just need…I don’t know. I guess I just need someone to sit with it without freaking out. Like you’re doing now.”

Azzi’s chest tightened a little. The sincerity in Paige’s voice, the vulnerability she was showing was rare. It made her want to reach through her phone and be there in person for this conversation. “I get that,” Azzi said quietly. “And I don’t mind sitting with it if it helps you.”

There was a soft rustling on the other end, like Paige had finally sat down somewhere. Azzi smiled and said, “Now, drag yourself out of the gym.”

Paige gave a quiet, amused sound. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Azzi teased. “Go put together one of those half-finished LEGO sets you were complaining about.”

Paige snorted. “They’re not half-finished, they’re…momentarily paused.”

“Mmhm,” Azzi said, clearly unconvinced. “Well pause the self-destruction and do something that doesn’t involve you punching a bag all night for once.”

Paige laughed a little but didn’t argue. “Alright. I’ll go build something.”

“You better,” Azzi said, already smiling. “And send me a picture of it so I know you didn’t just crawl in bed with a protein shake and call it a night.”

“You know me too well,” Paige mumbled.

“I’m starting to,” Azzi replied, smiling to herself in the empty hotel room in the middle of Chicago.

As the quiet between them settled into something calmer, Paige’s voice came through again. “Hey…I’m sorry again for going MIA. I just—” She gathers her thoughts. “I should’ve said something,” she added. “You played great the other day, by the way.”

Azzi sat up a little, caught off guard by the statement. “You watched it?”

There was the faintest smile in Paige’s voice when she answered and God Azzi wished she could see it in person. “I did.”

That single admission settled something in Azzi. She pressed further into the pillows and closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Paige.”

“Goodnight, Azzi.”

The call ended, but the quiet lingered in Azzi’s room. Different now, almost warmer. Like something small had changed between them after the call.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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p0orbaby · 4 months ago

Note

Like can we pls pls pls pls pls get a smut where Reader sees alexias new photos for nike (though she had shown to reader some they did had the edit the impact you know) reader getting all hot and bothered and jumps on alexia qhen she gets home like do it everything with me

it’s not smut because i’ve got to save some material for bitter sweet

shameless plug

The day is, for the most part, unremarkable.

You wake up at 07:26, which is two minutes before your alarm, which is irritating because you could have had those two minutes. You stare at the ceiling for a moment, assessing your bodily functions—slight stiffness in your neck from the way you slept, residual warmth from the duvet, a faint need to pee but not urgent enough to act on. Alexia is still asleep next to you, her breathing slow and deep. There’s a dent in the pillow from where she’s been lying, a strand of hair curling across her cheek. You could stay here, watch her, but then your alarm does go off, and reality intrudes.

You shower, make coffee, scroll absentmindedly through your phone, thumb moving in automatic, practised motions. You see the photos at exactly 08:02.

And that’s when everything changes.

At first, your brain doesn’t fully register what you’re looking at. There’s a moment of lag, like a buffering screen, a stutter in your synapses. Then the full weight of it hits, and it’s like being smacked in the face with a sledgehammer. A very attractive, well-lit sledgehammer.

It’s Alexia. Obviously, it’s Alexia. But it’s Nike Alexia.

Sweaty. Flexing. Half-naked.

Her abs look like they’ve been sculpted by the gods. Her arms—veins subtly pronounced, muscles taut, defined—are a work of art. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on her skin, catching the light in a way that feels almost… obscene. Her gaze is focused, intense, fixed down the lense, like she’s contemplating the meaning of life but also potentially about to fight someone.

You stare. Then you blink. Then you stare again.

Something warm pools low in your stomach, and your grip on your phone tightens. You have seen Alexia naked. Repeatedly. You live together. You have firsthand knowledge—intimate, detailed knowledge—of every inch of her body. And yet, somehow, these photos manage to feel like a personal attack.

Your first thought is: How dare she?

Your second thought is: I need to sit down.

Which you do, heavily, onto one of the kitchen stools. Your coffee is abandoned, cooling rapidly. The world outside continues as normal—birds chirping, distant traffic noise, the faint hum of the fridge—but your internal landscape has been irrevocably altered.

You should say something. React. But words fail you, so instead, you just keep staring, swiping through the photos in what can only be described as a state of near-religious awe. You don’t even realise you’re making a noise—somewhere between a sigh and a groan—until you hear movement behind you.

Then, her voice, still thick with sleep.

“What are you looking at?”

Your soul leaves your body.

You exit out of the app too quickly, fumbling with your phone like a guilty teenager caught watching something they shouldn’t be. Which is ridiculous. You are an adult. You are in a committed relationship with this woman. There is no reason for you to be acting like this.

And yet.

“Nothing,” you say, entirely unconvincing.

Alexia pads barefoot into the kitchen, wearing one of your T-shirts, her hair slightly messy. She yawns, stretching, and your eyes immediately zero in on the movement, the flex of muscle beneath skin. It is unfair that she looks this good first thing in the morning. Unethical, even.

She squints at you, then at your phone. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve seen God.”

You take a slow, steadying breath.

“Not God,” you say. “Just Nike’s new campaign.”

She blinks. Then, the smirk starts, slow and knowing. “Ah.”

“Don’t ah me,” you say, pointing accusingly. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” She moves to the fridge, retrieving the orange juice. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You posed.”

She laughs, pouring herself a glass. “I did.”

“You flexed.”

“I did.”

“You—” You gesture vaguely, helplessly. “You glistened.”

She tilts her head, amused. “That’s usually what happens when you’re sweating.”

“I don’t sweat like that,” you say, almost mournful. “I sweat like a normal person. You sweat like—like—” You pause, struggling to find the words. “Like a Nike advert.”

Alexia sips her juice, looking infuriatingly pleased with herself. “That’s convenient.”

You exhale sharply, dropping your head onto the counter. “I need help.”

“Probably.”

Silence stretches. You can feel her eyes on you, can hear the faint clink of her glass as she sets it down. Then, her voice, softer now, but with an unmistakable thread of amusement.

“Do you want me to sign one for you?”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

She gestures toward your phone. “A print. I can sign it for you. Make it personal.”

You gape at her, scandalised. “Do I look like the kind of person who would have a signed picture of their girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You have my old Barça jersey framed.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s—” You flounder. “It’s memorabilia. Historic.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So these pictures aren’t historic?”

“Not unless I drop dead from looking at them,” you mutter.

Alexia grins. “Want me to flex for you right now?”

You make a noise that is neither dignified nor human.

Alexia laughs. It’s light, teasing, but there’s something else behind it, something knowing. She closes the small distance between you, leans in, voice low.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not,” you lie.

Her hand brushes your arm, slow, deliberate. “You are.”

You swallow. Your mouth is dry. Your heart rate is—scientifically speaking—fucked.

This is fine. This is manageable.

Then, she actually flexes.

And you black out.

Metaphorically.

Mostly.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso x reader

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lexiputellas · 4 months ago

Text

"The Space Between Us," from the Broken Vows series.

The scent of vanilla lingers on your skin as you smooth lotion over your arms, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of your bedroom.

The clock on the nightstand reads 9:36 PM. Alexia’s still not home.

You know where she is—her calendar said she had a photoshoot today. She didn’t mention it, didn’t text to say it might run late. You only know because you check, because you still care.

A sound from the front door catches your attention.

You know the rhythm of her arrival by heart.

The shuffle of shoes being kicked off—never in the right place, yet somehow always appearing neatly in the closet by morning. The familiar jingle of keys landing in the bowl. The soft rustle of fabric as she shrugs off her coat, placing it over the arm of the sofa instead of hanging it up. You’ve asked her a hundred times to bring it to the bedroom instead, but some habits never change.

She used to laugh when you nagged her about it. Used to press a kiss to your forehead and say, "Lo siento, amor," before distracting you with her hands on your waist, her lips on your neck.

Now, there’s only silence.

You set your lotion aside and make your way to the bathroom, falling into your nighttime routine. Cleanser, toner, serum, eye cream, moisturizer, retinol.

Alexia used to tease you about it. Once, she asked why you spent so much on skincare. Is La Prairie expensive? Yes. But so is trying to look younger, prettier, wanted.

She appears in the doorway as you are lost in thoughts, already undressing, moving around you without a word.

No, hey, I was looking for you, baby.

No playful touch, no kiss on your shoulder as she passes. Just a small, absentminded peck on your forehead.

"Hi," she says, before turning toward the shower.

You swallow, setting down your moisturizer. Fine.

"Hi. How was your day? Your photoshoot?" You ask because you still care, even if she doesn’t ask about yours.

Alexia pauses, brows pulling together slightly. "What photoshoot?"

Your stomach twists. "The one on your calendar."

For a second, something flashes across her face—Guilt? Annoyance?

"Oh, right. I forgot. Good. It was for Nike," she says, turning the water on. "I don’t know if the campaign’s coming out anytime soon, though."

"Why not?"

"Something about the shirts being released later, I think."

"Oh."

You nod, pressing your lips together as you watch her. Her toned stomach, strong legs, the way she looks the same as when you met. Maybe you should start going to the gym again. You used to love it. You used to love going together.

But Alexia’s already stepping into the shower, and the conversation ends there.

You finish your routine in silence and slip into bed, the sheets cool against your skin. Alexia follows a few minutes later, her hair damp, the scent of her body wash lingering in the air.

She slides under the covers beside you, her back turned, scrolling through her phone.

You shift closer, letting your hand trace along the curve of her stomach.

She doesn’t react.

Your fingers skim higher, your touch soft, searching. You press a kiss behind her ear, your lips lingering.

She used to love this. Used to shiver under your touch, turn to you with a lazy smile and pull you closer.

Now, she just exhales sharply. "Not tonight."

Your hand stills.

Something tightens in your chest.

"Lately, it's never tonight," you say, trying to sound lighthearted, but the words betray you.

Alexia sighs. "I'm tired, amor. It’s been a long day."

You force a small nod. "Yeah… me too."

She lets out a quiet scoff, shaking her head as she turns onto her side. "Yeah?" she says, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Long day of what? Ordering more skincare? Taking Nora to school?"

It’s said like a joke, but it isn’t funny.

You let out a quiet breath, looking at her—really looking at her.

The woman who used to bring you coffee in bed just because she wanted to see you smile. The woman who used to call you on her way home just to ask how your day was. The woman who used to pull you into her lap, nuzzle into your neck, tell you she couldn't imagine falling asleep without you in her arms.

Where did she go?

When did she stop seeing you?

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to nod, to smile as if it doesn’t hurt.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Something like that."

Alexia hums, already turning away, her back facing you as she pulls the blanket over her shoulder. Just like that, the conversation is over.

You stare at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her breathing slow.

Once, she couldn't sleep unless she was holding you.

Now, she barely even touches you.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, your chest hollowing out, aching.

You turn onto your side, facing away from her, blinking hard against the sting behind your eyes.

You won’t cry.

Not over this.

Not when you’re not even sure she’d notice.

#barcelona x reader #x reader #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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holyblonded · 4 months ago

Text

return of media day | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: you are about to drop your first signature cleats with nike and they decide to do a joint shoot with alexia

warnings: rfef mentioned 😐

notes: this was extremely cute y’all. it’s a bit short but i couldn’t think of anything else to add. tell me what else yall want to see with this series!!

You were already half-asleep in the car on the way to the shoot, having just landed back in Spain after international break. Nike hadn’t given you too many details about today, just that it was important and you had to be there.

So naturally, you showed up in a hoodie, sweatpants, and slides, looking like you had just crawled out of hibernation. You walked onto set, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze in place.

“There’s no way,” you muttered, blinking rapidly.

You turned away, rubbed your eyes again, then looked back to confirm you weren’t hallucinating.

“ALE!”

Alexia barely had time to react before you full-speed sprinted at her and jumped, forcing her to catch you mid-air. Alexia let out a surprised grunt as you crashed into her, legs wrapping around her waist like some kind of overly excited koala.

Her first instinct was to scold you, but an involuntary smile spread across her face as she held you. “You’re so dramatic.” She huffed, adjusting her grip to keep you from sliding to the floor. “You do realize I’m not a crash pad, right?”

You ignored her, squeezing tighter. “I knew I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“You thought you were hallucinating?” Alexia chuckled, finally setting you down.

“I’ve been awake since five a.m., Ale. I didn’t even know where I was going today. Nike just shoved me into a car and told me to smile.” You pulled back slightly, holding her shoulders as if to make sure she was actually real. “And then I see you? My brain short-circuited.”

Alexia smirked. “Understandable. Seeing me is a life-changing experience.”

You lightly smacked her arm. “Don’t make me regret missing you.”

By now, everyone on set had stopped what they were doing, watching your reunion with varying degrees of amusement. A cameraman filming the behind-the-scenes content caught the whole thing, likely already thinking about how to turn it into a dramatic slow-motion edit.

“Wait—” Alexia suddenly furrowed her brows, looking around the studio. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” you repeated, blinking. “Why are you here?”

Alexia gave you a deadpan look. “I work with Nike.”

“Well, so do I,” you shot back, placing your hands on your hips.

A pause. Then, ever so slowly, the realization dawned on both of you.

“Oh my god,” Alexia exhaled, eyes widening.

“No way,” you whispered dramatically.

“You’re the shoot?” Alexia asked, pointing at you.

“And you’re part of it?” you gasped, pointing right back.

“Did neither of you read your emails?” one of the Nike reps finally interjected, rubbing their temples.

You and Alexia turned to them, completely unapologetic.

“Absolutely not,” you said in unison.

Alexia shook her head with a fond smile, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Well, I guess this just got a lot more interesting.”

You grinned. “And a lot more chaotic.”

The Nike rep sighed, muttering something about “athletes and their aversion to reading”, before motioning for the crew to resume setting up.

Meanwhile, you leaned into Alexia, still grinning like an idiot. “Hey, Ale?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you miss me?”

Alexia rolled her eyes, pulling you closer. “Unfortunately.”

The interview started off smooth. Professional. Standard media day questions.

The crew had set up the cameras, the lights were bright, and the atmosphere was lighthearted. You and Alexia sat side by side, answering questions about the new cleats, the upcoming season, and your goals.

Then, someone asked, “How would you describe each other’s playing styles?”

Alexia hummed, tilting her head thoughtfully. You turned to look at her, fully expecting a compliment, maybe even some poetic analysis of your skills.

Instead, she casually dropped, “Estrella is… chaotic.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“But effective,” she added, holding up her hands like that softened the blow. “You never know what she’s going to do next. It’s terrifying.”

You scoffed. “Wow. That’s crazy. You know, I was gonna be nice, but now?” You turned to the camera, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “Alexia is a control freak.”

Alexia gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest like you had personally insulted her entire family. “I am not a control freak.”

“Oh, you so are.”

“I just like order,” she defended, crossing her arms.

“You demand order,” you corrected, smirking. “Everything has to go exactly how you see it in your mind, and if someone does something unpredictable, you short-circuit for a second before trying to control the chaos.”

Alexia opened her mouth, then closed it, then sighed. “Okay, maybe. But that’s a good thing.”

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, Capitana.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes playfully before turning back to the camera. “Well, since we’re being honest, I stand by what I said, chaotic, unpredictable, borderline reckless—”

“Hey!”

“—but effective,” she repeated, laughing.

You turned to the interviewer, pointing at Alexia. “This is why she stresses me out.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “You stress me out.”

The media crew was loving it. The interviewer barely held in their laughter.

“Alright, so if you had to pick one word to describe each other’s playing style?” they prompted.

Alexia didn’t even hesitate. “Unhinged.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. “That is so rude!”

“You’ve literally nutmegged someone while tying your shoe,” Alexia shot back. “I rest my case.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Fine. If I’m unhinged, then you’re bossy.”

Alexia smirked. “I am your captain, you know.”

“And I am your problem,” you teased back.

The media crew burst out laughing as Alexia groaned, throwing her head back.

“You are a menace.”

“And you love me.”

Alexia sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “Unfortunately.”

The interview wrapped up, but the banter continued as you walked off set.

“Chaotic?” you muttered. “That’s crazy. I bring excitement.”

“You bring stress,” Alexia corrected.

“Same thing.”

“Absolutely not.”

You smirked. “Admit it, though. You love playing with me.”

Alexia gave you a side glance, shaking her head. “I tolerate it.”

You grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

Everything was going smoothly—well, as smoothly as anything involving you ever could—until it was time to officially start the photoshoot for your signature cleats.

You stood in the center of the set, cleats laced up, lights shining, the Nike crew prepped and ready to go. Just as they were about to start, you clapped your hands together.

“Wait, hold on,” you said, making everyone pause. “Before we do this, we need to discuss the name of my cleats.”

Alexia, sitting off to the side watching, sighed deeply, already sensing disaster.

The Nike reps exchanged nervous glances.

“Alright, so,” you began confidently, “I was thinking we call them The Menace Ones.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“No,” Alexia said immediately.

“Okay, okay,” you continued, undeterred. “The Chaos Touch?”

“No.”

“The Ankle Breakers?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Nutmeg 3000?”

“Please stop talking,” Alexia groaned.

You turned to the Nike crew, hoping for support, but they all seemed too afraid to challenge Alexia’s authority.

“Fine, fine,” you huffed dramatically. “I’ll be normal about it.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced.

For the next twenty minutes, you behaved. You posed, dribbled, and shot dramatic looks at the camera like a professional. Everything was going perfectly.

Then came the first break and you disappeared.

Five minutes later, you returned, dressed head to toe in an Adidas tracksuit. The entire room fell into stunned silence.

Alexia’s eyes widened in pure disbelief as she stared at you. “No.”

“What?” you said innocently, adjusting the collar of the jacket. “We’re on break.”

“TAKE THAT OFF,” Alexia demanded, already storming toward you.

“I just thought I’d switch things up—”

Before you could finish, she grabbed your arm and started dragging you toward the changing room.

“You are going to get us both killed,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“You have to admit it’s a little funny,” you said, barely suppressing your grin.

Alexia shot you a glare. “You are lucky Nike likes you.”

“And you are lucky I love you enough to go change.”

Alexia sighed heavily, releasing you with one final warning look. “If you come out in Puma next, I’m leaving.”

The camera zooms in on your cleats as you spin them in your hands, running your fingers over the details. The black leather shimmers slightly under the studio lights, gold speckles running along the sides like stars scattered across the night sky. The laces are a deep navy, and the sole glows with a metallic silver finish. A rich purple fades into the black near the heel, blending seamlessly like the sky at dusk.

You smile softly, tilting the shoe toward the camera.

“These are the Estrella 001s—my first signature boots with Nike,” you say, voice filled with quiet pride. “The name comes from my nickname, Estrella, which means ‘star’ in Spanish. But it’s more than that.”

You turn the boot over, showing the gold lettering on the back heel tab, where Estrella 001 is printed vertically in a clean script.

“For me, stars have always meant guidance. I used to look up at them when I felt lost, like they were the only things that stayed constant. They remind me of my past, my struggles… everything that made me me.”

The camera pans over the subtle red and yellow stitching near the tongue of the cleat.

“This is for where I come from. Barcelona, Spain,” you continue. “I might not play for Spain anymore, but it’s still my home. It’s where I fell in love with football. Where I met the people who shaped me. I’ll never forget that.”

You flip the boot back over, running your thumb over the inside, where a tiny phrase is stitched in white.

“It says, ‘Siempre pa’lante.’ Always forward. That’s something Ale taught me when I was going through a tough time. I didn’t always believe it, but she did. And now? Now I do too.”

You set the cleat down and glance toward the camera, a small smile playing on your lips.

“But I wouldn’t be here without my family. My real family.”

Your eyes flick over to Alexia, standing off-camera.

“When Ale took me in, she gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever have again. A home. A place to belong. Someone who loved me without conditions.” You pause, voice thick with emotion. “She didn’t have to, but she did. And I’ll never be able to thank her enough for that.”

The camera smoothly shifts toward Alexia, who is very obviously blinking back tears, her lips pressed together tightly as she tries (and fails) to hold it together.

You grin. “Are you crying?”

She sniffs, shaking her head. “No.”

You smirk, standing up and walking over. “She’s crying.”

“I’m not—”

Before she can finish, you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. She exhales sharply, but her arms immediately come up to hold you close.

The camera catches the soft, warm moment between you two.

“You took me in,” you murmured. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Alexia’s arms tightened around you. “You were mine the second I saw you.”

You squeezed her tighter, voice thick. “Thank you for loving me, Ale.”

She kissed your forehead, whispering softly. “Siempre pa’lante, mi niña.”

#woso x reader #fcb femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #woso x platonic!reader #barca femeni x teen!reader #barca x reader #woso x teen!reader #woso community #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #⋆｡˚ stargirl

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idontego · 27 days ago

Text

Imagine Katsuki has put on some comfortable weight since being in a committed relationship with you. Ordering take out on rainy days in, indulging in celebratory meals at the office or meetings, sweet treats baked by civilian’s he had saved, and his new found love for pasta recipes. His Strong arms still valid and protecting, his back is now beefier, his thighs are soft and rideable, but his tummy is your favorite part about his new weight gain. It’s softer, has a slightly rounded shape to it. Obviously, you had noticed all of these things and he had to as well, right?

“You almost ready, Katsuki?” you called out from the kitchen where you waited in an adorable outfit for an afternoon date.

“Yeah, m’ comin. just give me a sec!” Bakugo responded from his bedroom where he was getting ready. He couldn’t quite really figure out why he wasn’t really feeling his outfit. It was a pair of gray nike sweatpants and a black dri fit shirt. A casual outfit that he had worn frequently. Only this time, he was grumbling to himself, tugging at the waist band and the draw strings, because they were too tight, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself.. His shirt hugged his perfect biceps and showcased his scars on his right arm from previous battles, But it also was just too close to his skin, too tight to his now taut belly. He was aggravated, and you could tell once you heard him huffing and puffing louder from outside the bedroom.

“Kats, what’s taking you so lon-“ Your question ended once you saw him standing infront of his full length mirror. He looked up like he had been caught? He sucked in slightly after acknowledging your presence. Heat started to spread to your cheeks once you had an idea of what could’ve been happening.

“Stupid clothes.. must’ve shrunk n’ the wash. Didn’t you wash these on ‘cold?’” He asked, tugging down at the hem of his shirt.

You smiled slightly, almost containing a laugh, but you kept your composure for the sake of him. “I- i normally do, yeah. Maybe you just-“

“Don’t. Don’t fuckin say it.” He warned, face bright red unable to look at you. He turned his body slightly away from you and crossed his arms over his chest. Almost to conceal himself. “What? you think m’ fat now or somethin’?”

“No no. You’ve just put on a little weight, Katsuki. nothing wrong with it.” You pouted, making your way over to him. You approached him slowly, carefully. You could clearly sense his insecurity and he now was like a ticking time bomb of emotions. You wrapped your arms around him from behind.

“You’re stupid.” He bit back, although his arms dropped once he felt your embrace. His body now completely relaxed under your touch. he hated it. “Quit makin’ fun’a me,” he mumbled.

“i’m not ‘making fun of you.’ Look, why don’t we reschedule our date, and today we’ll just make it about you. Go shopping.. try on some new clothes..” That suggestion was a shot in the dark, you said it with one eye open not knowing how he’d react to it, but you just wanted to comfort him, truly.

“Plus, i love you chunky you’ve gotten..” You said, toying with the hem of his shirt, you slipped your hands under the fabric and made contact with the warm skin of his belly.

“Cut it out.” He warned as he squirmed slightly from the contact of your cold hands on his stomach. “M’ not goin shoppin..”

Well, that was partially true. He didn’t want to go shopping with you. He didn’t want you seeing what size he’d pull off the rack when the truth of the matter is you didn’t even care.

“Well, maybe you’ll stop being such a grump when you get clothes that actually fit you, honey,” you pouted, letting your hand roam up and down his torso.

“I don’t need new clothes. what i need to get is a fuckin grip..” He responded, rubbing his forehead with his hand, glancing at himself in the mirror again.

“i- i didn’t mean it like that.. i think it’s cute. i like how you look, katsuki. Why don’t you want clothes that you’ll be more comfortable in?” comfortable, as in clothes that actually fit his dumb ass.

He felt so-… vulnerable right now. Fuck, he hated that word. He swallowed harshly before turning to face you. He planted his hands on your hips, giving him a new sense of control. “You actually like me like..this?” He asked, gesturing to his tummy.

“Of course i do!! i liked you before,.. and especially now. always.” You said, determined to reassure him, and it was true. the word “always” came out barely above a whisper as you started to trail soft warm kisses to his cheek and down to his softer jawline. He stopped you before you could plant more than one kiss to his neck.

“i really fuckin’ love you. You know that?”

He stopped you by placing his hand under your chin to look you in the eyes. “Lookit’ me when i’m talkin’ to you, brat.” He said, eyeing you carefully and looking for genuine affection in your eyes.

You smiled and giggled lightly before looking him in the eyes. “I love you too, Katsuki.”

“Now gimme a real kiss.” he demanded, a cocky grin plastered on his face. There he was again. The confident and cocky Katsuki that you know.

“Like i could say no to that stupid face.” You grinned back, before he leaned in to cut you off with a passionate kiss.

“Tch.. you’re still a brat.” He said, smacking your butt playfully before grabbing his keys and heading for the door. He has his own new insecurities, but he knows he can confide in you. He knows you love him for him.

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fratttymatty · 3 months ago

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The Scent of Rebirth

(All characters are 18+)

James Pritchard adjusted his glasses and tugged at the collar of his too-tight school shirt, already damp with nervous sweat. At eighteen, he had the physique of someone who had spent his childhood indoors, nose buried in fantasy novels and science textbooks. He was overweight, his rounded cheeks permanently flushed, and his thick brown hair always a little too greasy.

Today’s biology lesson was on body types—ectomorph, mesomorph, endomorph. A fascinating subject to James, but not to the other students in the class, a rowdy bunch of roadmen who had only turned up because they had nowhere better to be.

Mr. Patel, their weary teacher, pointed to an illustration of an overweight figure on the board. “This is an endomorph—characterized by higher body fat, a rounder build, and—”

“Bruv, they should just go gym, innit?”

Laughter erupted across the room. The comment came from Kyle, a broad-shouldered sixth-former in an untucked school shirt, a loosened black tie, and a Moncler gilet over his school blazer. His mates, a group of barely engaged, vape-smoking roadmen, smirked and nodded in agreement.

James slouched in his seat, cheeks burning. He felt their eyes on him. They didn’t have to say it. He was the endomorph in the room.

The day dragged on, and by the last period, James was waiting alone in an empty classroom. His friends—Tom and Aiden, two equally nerdy boys—had gone to grab something from the vending machine.

That’s when he heard footsteps.

The door swung open, and Kyle and his boys strolled in. James sat up straight, instantly wary.

“Oi, man’s gotta freshen up, yeah?” Kyle grinned, pulling out a can of Lynx Africa.

“Yeah, dis place stinks of nerd, fam,” chuckled another.

James frowned. “Uh… I was just waiting for—”

PSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Before he could react, the room was filled with thick, choking clouds of Lynx Africa. Can after can was unloaded into the air, the overwhelming, spicy scent clinging to his skin and clothes.

James coughed, eyes watering. His head swam. The room spun. He gripped the desk as a dizzy heat spread through his limbs.

Something was… changing.

James gasped, his voice cracking mid-breath. His stomach tightened, the excess weight melting away as if being burned off by the sheer force of Lynx Africa. His school shirt stretched, then loosened as his chest hardened, his arms thickening into lean, toned muscle.

His spine straightened, shoulders broadening, giving him a confident, dominant stance. His fingers tingled as they toughened, no longer the soft hands of someone who spent hours typing on a laptop.

His face sharpened—his jawline becoming chiselled, his baby fat vanishing. His thick, greasy hair shortened into a trim, textured fade, perfectly styled without effort.

His glasses slipped off his nose. He no longer needed them.

His mind ached as thoughts—intelligent, articulate thoughts—were scrubbed away, replaced by something simpler. Gone were the complex political debates he enjoyed. Instead, his head filled with vague opinions about “immigrants taking over” and “how the left ruined this country.”

His voice deepened, acquiring the rough, lazy cadence of a roadman.

His clothes shifted—his baggy, tucked-in white school shirt became tight and fitted, the sleeves rolled up to show his new toned arms. His school blazer transformed into a black designer puffer, worn over his shoulders instead of properly. His once-neat tie was loosened, and his polished shoes morphed into black Nike Air Forces.

James Pritchard was gone.

In his place sat Bradley, an 18-year-old roadman, lean and toned, with a dumbed-down mind and an arrogant smirk.

The door swung open.

Tom and Aiden walked in, laughing—until they saw Bradley.

They froze.

“James?” Tom stammered, eyes wide.

Bradley frowned. “Bruv, who the fuck is James?” He leaned back in his chair, looking at them like they were a pair of wastemen.

Aiden swallowed. “It’s you, mate. You just—”

Bradley scoffed. “Nah, I dunno what you man are on about. Man don’t know no nerdy James, yeah?”

His voice was filled with swagger, his old polite, nervous tone erased completely.

Kyle and his boys re-entered, grinning. Kyle clapped Bradley on the back. “Oi, my guy lookin’ fresh, you know. Man finally levels up.”

Bradley smirked. “You done know, bruv. These neeks tryna chat shit, yeah?”

Kyle sneered at Tom and Aiden. “Oi, bun these bruddas, fam. Man don’t need no nerds in his life.”

Bradley laughed—a cocky, dismissive laugh. “Real talk.”

Tom’s face fell. “You’re really gone, aren’t you?”

But Bradley didn’t hear him. He had already turned his back, walking over to Kyle’s table. Someone passed him a vape, and without hesitation, he inhaled, exhaling a thick cloud of watermelon-flavoured smoke.

His old life? Forgotten.

Later that day, Bradley sat with Kyle and the mandem outside the school, leaning against the railings, his blazer half-off his shoulders. He took another drag of his vape, exhaling slowly.

“So what you sayin’, bruv?” one of them asked. “Man used to be one of dem lefty neeks, yeah?”

Bradley squinted. He had been a proud liberal, hadn’t he? But that all felt… cringe now. Weak. Pathetic.

“Nah, blud,” he scoffed. “Man clocked the truth. Lefties are soft, fam. Proper wastemen, letting this country get taken over.”

Kyle nodded approvingly. “Real talk, fam. Man’s gotta back Reform UK, innit. Can’t be lettin’ the government keep taking man’s money for them benefits lot.”

Bradley grinned. “Straight, bruv. And real talk? There’s bare foreigners everywhere now. Can’t even walk down my own road without hearin’ some mad language, fam. Man don’t even feel like man’s in England no more.”

The group laughed and nodded, passing the vape around.

He belonged here now.

A few days later, Bradley was posted up outside a chicken shop, surrounded by his new mandem, sharing a vape and talking about nonsense.

Then, she walked past.

Georgina.

The fittest chav in school. Platinum blonde hair, thick fake lashes, tight crop top (despite the uniform rules), and the most insane back Bradley had ever seen.

She noticed him.

“Oi, you Kyle’s boy now, yeah?” she said, eyeing him up and down.

Bradley licked his lips, grinning. “You done know.”

She smirked. “Yeah, you’re kinda fit now, you know.”

Bradley pulled her close, hands on her waist. “You already know you’re mine, innit?”

She giggled. “Obviously.”

As he leaned in for a kiss, the last fragments of James Pritchard were erased.

He was Bradley now. Forever.

#male tf #male tf story #gay to straight #smart to dumb #gym bro tf #scally tf

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snkrbonbon · 2 years ago

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#Nike SB React Leo #DX4361-201 #Spring 2024 #$95 #Nike SB #Nike #Nike React Leo #Nike Leo #Leo #Nike SB Leo #Nike Sneaker #2024 #Brown

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mikaylathenerd5 · 1 month ago

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Main Mainlist ৹ Join My Taglist

The Hurt in His Hands

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Amaris Morel (OC)

Rating: 🔞 Explicit

Content Warnings: Smut, angst, emotional vulnerability, unresolved love, possessive behavior, slight breeding kink tone, heavy emotional aftermath

Summary: They were never good at pretending. But this—this was something else. One year after she walked away, Amaris finds herself face to face with Roman again. He’s colder. Bigger. Louder in silence than he ever was in words. And she can’t stop trembling beneath the weight of everything unsaid. What happens when the person who once held you like home comes back with nothing but hurt in his hands?

Word Count: ~ 4k

🖤 thank you in advance for the likes, reblogs, comments, and asks.

The meeting room was too bright for the kind of tension swimming in the air.

LED panels buzzed overhead, flickering against the glass walls like warning signs, but no one said a word. Not yet. Not since he walked in.

Amaris Morel kept her back straight, her fingers folded over the manila folder in her lap like she was holding a prayer instead of production notes. She hadn’t looked up—not when the door opened, not when the energy shifted, not even when she heard the chair scrape directly across from hers.

She didn’t need to. She felt him before she saw him.

Roman Reigns.

He was wearing just a black Nike tee stretched across his chest, gray joggers riding low on his hips, and a chain sitting heavy against his collarbone. Casual. Comfortable. Dangerous in a way only he could make soft fabric look like armor.

He hadn't seen her in over a year, but that presence? That pressure?

Still sharp. Still sharp enough to make her skin remember what it was like to burn for him.

She could feel his eyes on her like static. That old, careful kind of gaze — slow, deliberate, meant to unsettle.

And yet, she didn’t flinch.

“Let’s start,” said one of the producers at the far end of the table. “We’re concepting the documentary layout for Roman’s legacy run—pre and post Tribal Chief. We brought in Amaris to consult based on her history with brand voice and—”

“History,” Roman said flatly.

Amaris looked up.

The room went still.

Their eyes locked, and it felt like a slap across memory.

That face—familiar, unreadable, beautiful in the way a storm is right before it breaks. The same face that used to press against her stomach in the dark. The same mouth that once whispered mi amor like it was a prayer and a promise.

Now? That same mouth was a weapon. Flat. Cruel. Controlled.

Her voice didn’t waver. “I’m here to do my job.”

“Right.” Roman leaned back in his chair, arms crossing. “Back to do what you do best.”

She blinked once. “Which is?”

“Rewrite history,” he’d said.

And now, here she was—rewriting it with sweat, with silence, with the body he once let walk away..”

There it is, she thought, jaw tight. The bite. The bruise underneath all that gold.

God, he still knew how to aim for the throat.

She didn’t react. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I didn’t write the story,” she said, voice calm. “You did. I just shaped how the world saw it.”

“And then walked away.”

Amaris gave a tight smile. “Not everyone needs to stay in the ring to win, Roman.”

His jaw ticked. A flash of something—wounded pride or old rage—flared behind his eyes.

The rest of the room pretended not to hear the undertow between them.

Someone cleared their throat. “So, uh—about the Hall of Champions transition—Amaris, you had notes?”

She opened the folder slowly. She didn’t look at him again. “Yes. The pacing undercuts the emotional shift in tone. You need to restructure the edit between the IC title and the heel turn. Otherwise, it’s too abrupt.”

The producer nodded. “Right, we were hoping for your insight on that moment. You were working closely with—”

Roman’s chair scraped loudly across the floor as he stood.

Everyone froze.

“You need me for anything else?” he asked, eyes scanning the room but never settling.

“We’re actually moving into the Bloodline formation segment—”

“I’ll review the footage later.”

And just like that, he left.

No goodbye. No glance. Just the slow, heavy walk of someone too used to winning every argument by walking away first.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

Amaris exhaled only when the door clicked shut.

Later That Afternoon Private Locker Room

She didn’t mean to end up outside his door.

She hadn’t followed him. She told herself that twice.

She just happened to be walking past with the revised edit notes in hand. Just happened to pause. Just happened to stare at the nameplate like it meant something.

And then the door opened.

Roman didn’t speak.

He didn’t ask what she was doing there. Didn’t demand she leave. Didn’t say her name the way he used to — soft, reverent, almost reverent.

He just looked at her.

And then stepped aside.

She walked in like she wasn’t afraid. Like her feet weren’t trembling in her heels. Like her breath didn’t catch the second she stepped into that familiar scent of him — oud, sweat, hotel soap — like a memory buried under skin.

The same scent she used to bury her face into after long flights. After fights. After love.

The door shut behind her.

He still hadn’t spoken.

Not until she turned and looked at him. Not until the silence between them started breathing on its own.

“Did you come to do your job,” he asked, voice low, “or just remind me how you left?”

Amaris’s grip tightened on the folder.

“I didn’t know you’d be in that meeting.”

“Bullshit.”

“Would it have changed anything?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her like she was unfinished business he hadn’t had time to bury.

“You left,” he said again, slower this time. “You don’t get to act surprised that I didn’t forget.”

Her heart jumped—traitorous and sharp.

Because underneath all that control, there was something raw in his voice now. Not angry. Not even bitter.

Wounded.

“I didn’t forget either,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t survive it the way you think I did.”

She cried in airports. Swallowed her pain for a man who kept choosing gold over softness. And still, she waited for him to choose her back.

For the first time, his mouth parted like he wanted to speak—like he might finally ask why she left, why she let go.

But he didn’t say a word.

He just watched her like she was both the scar and the weapon that caused it.

And for a second, she almost wished he hated her. It would’ve hurt less.

FLASHBACK: One Year Ago

The hotel suite was quiet. Too quiet.

Amaris stood by the window, arms crossed over her chest, staring out at the city lights bleeding through the curtains.

Roman was still in his gear. Chest bare, wrist tape half-peeled, that golden glove glinting faintly on the table where he’d tossed it.

He didn’t look at her. Just sat at the edge of the bed like he had nothing left to say.

“You didn’t even look for me tonight,” she whispered.

“I had a match.”

“You always have a match, Roman. You never come back to me afterward.”

His jaw clenched. Still silent.

“Do you even see me anymore?”

Nothing.

“Or am I just background noise now—part of the set?”

He looked up slowly. Finally.

“This is who I am now.”

“No,” she said, voice cracking. “This is who you had to become. There’s a difference.”

“You want soft?” he snapped. “Go find someone else.”

The silence between them turned brutal.

And that night, when she walked out, he didn’t stop her.

She waited at the door.

Waited for anything. One word. A reach.

But he just sat there, head bowed.

His hand curled into a fist at his side. But he didn’t move. Not even when the door clicked shut.

And let her leave.

The silence between them didn’t dissolve. It thickened.

Roman moved first. Slow, calculated. He didn’t come closer—not yet—but the shift in his weight was enough to press the air out of the room.

Amaris stayed near the door, the folder still clutched to her chest like it could shield her from the things they hadn’t said. Her back grazed the wood. Her heels didn’t dare move.

“I should go,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound like hers.

Roman tilted his head, not in disbelief—in challenge.

“You’re good at that,” he said quietly. “Leaving.”

Her jaw tensed. “You let me.”

“I had to.”

She blinked. “No, Roman. You chose to.”

That did it.

He stepped forward. Just once. Not aggressive, but deliberate. Close enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

Her body betrayed her first. The scent of him, the heat—it all rushed back like a slap. How many nights had she dreamed of him like this, close but unreachable? And now he was inches away, and it still wasn’t close enough.

“You think I wanted you to leave?” he growled. “You think I didn’t feel that every night?”

He stepped closer again, breath hot against her cheek.

“You think I didn’t relive it? The night you walked out?”

His voice dropped further, almost hoarse.

“I could’ve broken every wall down just to reach you. I should’ve. But I didn’t. And now I can’t fucking stop thinking about how I let you go.”

His breath shook like he was on the edge of something—rage, love, regret. Maybe all three.

She didn’t answer with words.

She moaned into his mouth as his hand slid beneath her dress.

The fabric bunched at her waist. Her head tipped back against the lockers with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed.

And when he cursed her name, low and ruined—like a prayer and a punishment—she let herself fall all over again.

The golden glove still sat on the table across the room. Watching. Reminding. Untouched by the mess they made.

And still, somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered—

What would hurt worse: staying or surviving it all over again?

His mouth moved from hers to her jaw, trailing heat down the column of her throat. She gasped when his teeth grazed the spot beneath her ear—the one he used to claim like it meant something.

Roman’s hand gripped her thigh, sliding higher, rough palm skimming her skin as he backed her toward the couch in the corner of the room. The leather was cool beneath her as he guided her down, his body lowering over hers like he had every right to be there.

Amaris’s head hit the cushion with a soft thud. Her fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer like she needed him to hurt her right to forget how he’d hurt her wrong.

“You gonna run again after this?” he asked, voice low, dark.

“Only if you stop touching me,” she snapped back, breathless.

He growled—low and reverent—and shoved her dress higher, dragging her panties down her thighs with one hand while the other gripped the back of her neck, holding her gaze.

“Don’t look away from me,” he said. “You owe me that.”

Her eyes didn’t drop. “Then make it worth it.”

His mouth was on her before she could blink.

Hot, relentless, filthy. Tongue dragging through slick heat like he’d been starved of her, nose pressed firm as he devoured her like worship, like revenge. He licked long and slow, then fast and sharp—switching rhythm until she couldn’t find her breath. He sucked her clit into his mouth, tongue flicking mercilessly.

“F-fuck, Roman—” she whimpered, thighs clamping around his head.

One of her hands slammed against the arm of the couch. The other clutched his hair, tugging hard. He groaned like he liked it, the vibration making her hips jolt.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her. “Give it to me.”

He slipped two fingers inside her—deep, curling just right—while his tongue never stopped moving. She writhed, back arching, voice breaking with every pulse of pleasure.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say who’s making you fall apart.”

“You hear that?” he rasped. “That’s you. Wet for me. Loud for me. Made for me.”

“Y-you, Roman—fuck—it’s you—”

He hummed again, and that tipped her over the edge. Her entire body shook, pleasure ripping through her like a wave she couldn’t outswim. She came loud, messy, breathless.

He didn’t stop. He licked her through it, fingers still moving inside her, tongue teasing sensitive nerves until she sobbed, half-begging, “Too much,” and tried to twist away.

“Yes you can,” he rasped. “You owe me every sound you never made when you walked away.”

He held her thighs open, kissed her overstimulated clit one last time, and rose—mouth glistening, jaw tight, eyes burning.

When he stood, licking his bottom lip like her taste belonged to him, she couldn’t breathe.

He undid his joggers slowly. Deliberately. Let them fall, revealing the ache of how much he still wanted her.

“You sure you can take me after all this time?”

Her voice was wrecked, wrecking. “You think I forgot how to break for you?”

Roman pulled her hips forward. With one hand, he reached behind her and grabbed a throw pillow from the couch, sliding it beneath her waist to tilt her hips up.

She gasped at the shift. He didn’t rush. He just watched the way she reacted—how her thighs trembled, how her eyes fluttered.

He guided himself between her legs, tip nudging her soaked heat.

His hand moved to her chest—not her breast, her heart—and laid flat against it. Her skin burned beneath his palm, her pulse thudding hard.

“Still beats for me,” he whispered, gaze locked on hers.

“Then beg me to finish what I started.”

She didn’t beg.

She reached down and guided him in herself.

Then she rolled her hips—slow and deliberate—drawing a growl from deep in his chest.

“You don’t get to leave me aching and stay silent,” she gasped. “Give me all of it.”

For a second, it felt like they were rewriting everything. With breath. With sweat. With sin.”

The stretch burned beautifully—too much and just right, all at once. He filled her in a way no one ever had, thick and hot and unbearably perfect, the kind of fullness that left her breathless and branded.

She could feel every inch of him, dragging slow through her like a secret only they shared. It wasn’t just good. It was devastating. It was the way he used to make love to her when he meant it.

She cried out, nails digging into the couch cushion.

Roman cursed again, low and hoarse, slamming in to the hilt.

“That’s it,” he gritted. “You think I forgot how to wreck you? I remember every fucking sound you make. I remember how you claw at me when you're close. Let me remind you what it means to be mine.”

His thrusts were slow at first. Deep. Devastating. He kissed her between each one—her mouth, her throat, her shoulder—like he was stitching together every broken thing he’d ever left behind.

“You think I forgot how to love you?” he whispered. “Even when I hated you for leaving?”

“I thought if I stopped needing you, it’d hurt less,” he said through gritted teeth. “But fuck—every time I breathe, it’s still you.”

“Don’t say that,” she breathed.

“Why not?” Another thrust. “It’s true.”

He shifted, angling his hips to drive even deeper. Her head tipped back against the armrest as a strangled moan slipped free.

“Roman—please—”

He growled into her neck, licking a stripe along her collarbone. “Please what, baby?”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t—”

“I hate you,” she sobbed. “I hate that I still love you like this—”

He moved harder. Kissed her throat. “Then love me harder.”

He didn’t.

One hand slid between them, fingers circling her swollen clit as he thrust harder now, pace punishing. Her legs began to shake again.

“You think anyone else gets this from you?” he hissed. “You think I don’t know every way your body begs for me?”

Roman’s hand flattened against her lower belly, pressing down just above where they were joined. The pressure made her eyes roll back.

"Feel that?" he growled. "Feel how deep I am inside you?"

Her body tried to fight it off—hips jerking, breath stuttering—but he didn’t stop. He circled her clit harder, angled his thrusts deeper, pressing exactly where he knew it would destroy her.

The tension coiled, unbearably tight.

She clawed at his back, head falling to the side, voice catching in her throat.

“Roman—”

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And she did.

Her whole body seized and shattered. Her hips jerked, thighs trembling violently, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was too much—too deep, too good, too him. She felt it break through her like a wave too big to ride, a collapse she didn't want to fight.

It hit her like a dam breaking—heat, release, a flood that soaked his hips and ruined the pillow beneath her. Her whole body seized and shattered. Her hips jerked, thighs trembling violently, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was too much—too deep, too good, too him. She felt it break through her like a wave too big to ride, a collapse she didn't want to fight.

She broke on a gasp, back arching as she came undone for a second time, louder this time, messier. Her fingers clawed at his shoulders. She didn’t care.

He was close. She could feel it in the way his rhythm started to stutter.

But he didn’t let go.

Not yet.

He clenched his jaw, like he was trying to drag it out, trying to memorize the way her body felt wrapped around him, slick and pulsing and made to fit. Every thrust was rougher now, deeper, like he was punishing himself for needing her this much.

“You feel that?” he grunted. “That’s all the time I didn’t touch you. Every fucking night I wanted this.”

His rhythm faltered, just for a second, a guttural sound breaking free.

“You don’t know what it did to me—seeing you across the table like you hadn’t ruined me.”

Amaris moaned, legs trembling. “Roman—please—”

He leaned in, lips brushing her cheek. “You think I can forget the sound you make when you fall apart for me? You think I don’t hear it in every room I walk into without you?”

He rolled his hips, grinding into the spot that made her entire body jerk. She whimpered, nearly breaking.

“That’s it, baby. Let me feel you one more time.”

“Look at me,” he demanded.

“I never stopped being yours,” he gasped. “Even when you weren’t mine.”

She did. Eyes glazed, mouth open, pupils blown.

“You’re mine,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Even if it kills us. Even if you leave again tomorrow.”

Her name broke from his throat like a prayer. His voice cracked around it—hoarse, desperate, feral—as his control finally snapped. One of his hands flew to the couch, gripping it hard like he needed something to hold onto, the other anchoring her hip in place as his rhythm broke into jagged thrusts.

“I can’t—fuck—I can’t hold back anymore,” he groaned. “You feel too fucking good—”

Amaris arched into him, mouth falling open in a gasp that wasn’t just pleasure—it was surrender.

“I never stopped loving you,” she whispered, trembling. “Even when I hated myself for it. Even when you made me feel like background noise.”

That wrecked him.

He moaned her name again, deeper, and pressed his forehead to hers—his entire body trembling, grip slackening, a soft, broken groan slipping past his lips as he came apart in her.

Before he could speak, he ducked down and bit the soft skin beneath her jaw—not enough to hurt, but enough to stay. A mark. A memory.

“Mine,” he rasped, licking over it afterward, voice still shaking.

His thumb traced her jaw next, slow and reverent, like he didn’t know how to let go.

They stayed like that, locked together, chests rising and falling like they’d just survived a storm neither of them saw coming.

He wasn’t just fucking her. He was trying to carve his name into her skin. Trying to make her remember. Trying to keep her here.

She realized some pain, you crave just to remember you survived it.

And some pleasure, you take just to remember you’re alive.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Roman stayed inside her, forehead still against hers, their bodies locked in the quiet aftermath. His breath was hot on her lips. Not kissing. Just... there. Sharing the same air like they didn’t know how to exist without it.

Amaris blinked slowly, her lashes damp, body humming with overstimulation and something far more dangerous—recognition.

His thumb brushed her cheekbone.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter than anything that had come before.

She didn’t answer.

Not yet.

Because how could she explain what it felt like to be held by the same man who’d once let her go?

Roman began to pull back, but she stopped him. Hand against his chest. Just enough pressure to keep him close.

“Don’t,” she said. It came out small.

He froze.

“Don’t leave,” she clarified, softer now.

He let out a shaky breath. Brushed a curl from her damp temple.

He should say something. Anything. But every word he never said back then was sitting in his throat like gravel, and he was afraid if he opened his mouth, all of them would come out at once—too late.

“Not unless you ask me to.”

She didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

So they stayed there.

“Don’t leave me again,” she whispered. Not a demand. A memory.

He didn’t answer. But his grip tightened.

She’d come here to reclaim her control. But she’d never felt more undone.

No apologies. No promises.

Just the sound of their breath. Her fingers stayed tangled in his, their limbs still pressed together—warm, shaky, like they didn’t know how to separate yet.

Then, softly—

“You could’ve fought for me,” she whispered, eyes still closed. “I waited for you to. Every night.”

Roman didn’t speak right away. His hand moved—gentle, reverent—and rested just above her hip.

“I didn’t know how to keep you,” he murmured. “Not without ruining you.”

Amaris blinked up at the ceiling, a single tear slipping down her temple.

Her thighs ached. Her hips were sore. Every inch of her felt marked in ways that wouldn’t show. Her breath stalled, fingers twitching slightly against the couch like her body hadn’t fully returned to her yet. And still, part of her didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to forget what it felt like to be wanted like that again.

Roman noticed. Brushed it away with the back of his fingers.

His other hand grazed the edge of the pillow still tucked beneath her.

Slowly, he reached down and pulled it out, replaced it with his thigh beneath her instead. More grounding than softness. More intimate than apology.

Still evidence of how they’d fallen apart just to find each other again.

She was still both—scar and weapon. Softness and consequence.

He used to call her "baby" when no one was listening. Back then, it felt like a vow. Now, it echoed more like a habit he hadn’t broken yet—and maybe never meant to keep.

“If this is the last time,” she said, voice barely above a breath, “I want to remember it with your hands on me.”

He leaned down. Pressed his lips to her shoulder. Said nothing more.

Their foreheads touched again. One shared breath, shallow and terrified. A pause so full of everything it could’ve meant that neither of them dared break it.

There it was again—the hurt in his hands. Not rage. Not lust. Just ache.

He held her like she was still breakable—like the hurt in his hands was all he had left to offer.

But his hands didn’t leave her.

And that silence? It said everything.

Until it didn’t.

A knock at the door.

Three short raps—sharp, impatient.

Roman tensed.

His body went still. Every instinct in him screamed to shield her—even now.

His jaw clenched. Just once. But enough for her to feel it against her cheek.

He knew that knock. Too sharp to be accidental. Too familiar to ignore.

Amaris didn’t move.

She didn’t know if she wanted the door to open—or never stop knocking.

Her mind was still somewhere beneath him. Her body couldn’t tell if it had just been claimed or abandoned all over again.

Because outside that door, someone else knew they were no longer pretending.

And just like that, the weight of the world they’d tried to forget was standing on the other side.

And this time, she wasn’t sure they could close the door fast enough.

Authors Note ✍🏽:

so i found another one on that old college hard drive and… yeah. it turned into a storm of everything i didn’t say out loud.

roman is unhinged. amaris is trying to hold herself together. they love each other in all the wrong ways and still can’t let go.

if a line hit you, scream in the tags. if you felt it in your chest, tell me which one broke you. i love connecting with readers — comments, asks, reblogs, tags, all of it. thank you for reading 🤍

💭 questions for you, mi gente:

who do you think was at the door? 👀

do you think this was the last time… or the beginning of something new?

what line cracked your chest open?

did roman wreck you more with his mouth or his silence?

would you have stayed?

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns smut #tribal chief roman #wwe fanfic #black oc fanfic #black writers #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black oc #wwe fanfiction #the bloodline #the tribal chief #roman reigns fic #roman reigns

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dippedanddripped · 1 year ago

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The New Nike React Hyperdunk 2017 Low Is Something Else...

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averyspizookies · 2 months ago

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Hey y’all!!1 Please give live reacts and feedback!!! It inspires me to keep writing if I know that people like it. I love you guys and thank you for reading!!

Pairing: Paige x Azzi

Paige could’ve guessed a few people that could walk onto her team but Azzi fucking Fudd was not one of them.

I mean she was from the DMV why would she be in Minnesota? At Hopkins?

She was viral to say the least, videos of her shifty skills and her perfect copy of Steph curry’s shooting form were everywhere. She had tons of awards and championships and was on multiple USA teams at the age of 16. Not to mention she had dabbled in some modeling for Nike and other sports brands, which Paige may or may not have looked at the photos a few (hundred) times.

But the worst thing about it was that her worries were right, Azzi Fudd was a threat, she was a star, maybe even bigger than Paige.

The crowd was still roaring as Azzi walked in, she placed one foot in front of the other smoothly, she looked pretty smooth too; she had her full, long curly hair down-the front braided back, with a small touch of makeup on. She shined in the elertic blue color of the uniform, a perfect contrast against her tan skin.

She was effortlessly beautiful, her smile would make anyone fall in love and propose on the spot.

As she neared the group of baksetball players- her soon to be teammates, her eyes fell on one person in particular.

Paige Beuckers.

She had known about Paige, She was everywhere.

Gatorade’s Athlete of the year, overtime’s star player, viral highlights of her shooting and passing skills.

She was going to be fun to play with, great to play with.

But the look on her face told another story.

It was filled with something cold, unlike the rest of the teams eyes all filled with joy and recognition, they weren’t inviting, even if they were pretty.

Azzi finally took her place in line, she was on the oppisite side of Paige, but she couldn’t figure out why Page wasn’t excited. They were both guards yes, but that didn’t mean they had to fight? They had some plays where two guards were on the court, its not like Azzi being there would cut back on her playing time.

her new coach came to stand next to he whispering something under his breath, “Seems like the people already know you, huh?”

Azzi chuckled lightly as she looked around at the screaming fans, well I guess not fans, but her classmates.

She wasn’t a stranger to people fawning over her, but she didn’t let it get to her. Her parents reminded her everyday that if she’s not a good person, her skills won’t matter in the end.

And that was something she listened too, she was humble and proud of that.

But that didn’t mean sometimes seeing people go crazy over you didn’t feel insanely good.

***

The pep rally continued, starting with men’s soccer and going on women’s. The crowd was still excited but it was clear they cared most about basketball. No one was a national star on the other teams.

But as the football team came to an end, after what felt like 40 years, the crowd started to die out.

There was only 10 minutes of school left so teachers and staff were packing it up, the girls stood there, only now Azzi realized all of them were taking in a huddle, without her.

It stung but it was going to happen, she was new and-

“Azzi? Come over here!” A voice called out from the huddle waving her over.

Relived but still weary Azzi walked over, she always carried herself with confidence even though 90% of the time it was fake.

She walked up to the girls with a smile, “Hi guys, I’m Azzi, its nice to meet you all”

“Girl….we know. I think everyone in the state knows. No wait, everyone who’s heard of basketball knows.” A tall tanned girl said,

Azzi bushed slightly, still keeping her confidence, “Yeah, I guess, but I didn’t have time to go over the roaster…. So I still don’t know most of you..” She trailed off looking around at the girls,

“Oh girl-I gotchu, “ a girl, she’s pretty sure is named Kk says coming up and holding her shoulder, she starts pointing at teammates naming them and giving a silly side fact about them.

Azzi takes it seriously to focus and learn all her teammates, she’s good at reading people so she can almost immediately tell who is a possible friend on the team and whose gonna take some warming up too.

But then Kk points at the very last person, Paige;

“And this is well, I’m sure you know”

“Paige Beuckers, sophomore right?” Azzi cuts in making eye contact with Paige,

Paige wasn’t like anyone on the team, she glowed with confidence, so much so that it almost seemed cocky. But the way she played wasn’t selfish at all, she had the top number of assits every game, so maybe she just didn’t the same mindset as her.

“Yeah, nice to meet you or whatever.” Paige said crossing her arms around her chest,

Well that was rude.

“Paige, stop it right now.” A girl Azzi had learned was named Nika said, she had a heavy accent and only came to the states a year ago, but apparently she was close to Paige by the was the blonde immediately listened.

“Sooooo um anyways girl boo, are you any good? We got practice after this so I guess we finally find out right!” Kk said in a way that made her whole team forget about Paiges comment and focus back on Azzi,

Hopeful that the conversation was changing she turned around to reply when she felt a tap on her shoulder,

“Umm Azzi? Sorry this is weird but we’re such big fans! We watch your highlights with Steph like at least 20 times a day, do you think we could get a picture?” A girl said, speaking for the other 2 along with herself.

This wasn’t uncommon; getting asked for a picture with fans. But she didn’t think it would happen at her school.

Despite this she didn’t wanna be rude, “Yeah sure!”

Azzi leaned in and flashed her dimpled smile, and the girls looked back up and said there thanks as they left,

But as this was happpenig she had heard a scoff from behind her, one she knew could only belong to a certain person on the team,

She turned back around to Kk, “sorry what were you saying?” Azzi asked trying to focus back into the conversation,

As Kk was going to speak again another voice; Nikas, came through from the other side of the group.

“Paige stop it! She was being nice,”

“I just didn’t know she was that famous” Paige sneered, eyeing Azzi to make sure she heard it.

Azzi just pushed down her wave of sadness at this comment, she knew Paige had some anger issues from a few of her viral videos, but this was more, she didn’t even know Azzi and already hated her,

“Just ignore her, she’s cool I promise just yknow, territorial.” Ice said blocking Paige from Azzis view,

“Uh yeah, I get it. Maybe she’ll warm up to me later,” She replied smiling once again no matter how bad she wanted to run away and call her mom,

“Your like…..really nice for yknow-a person like you.” Caroline said looking at Azzi.

“What do you mean?”

“Yknow….like your the number one recruit in your class, just thought you’d be more, ‘im a star!’ But your not, your really sweet from the looks of it,” the tall burnette added sincerely,

Azzis heart skipped a beat at the compliment, feeling like maybe she was going to make some friends on the team,

“Thank you, that’s really kind of you to say.” She said giving a warm smile from her heart.

“See that’s what I mean!! She’s like a freaking princess.” Caroline said gesturing towards Azzi,

“Ohhh your right, Wait!! We should totally call her that! ‘Azzi Fudd; the princess!’” Kk said bouncing yet again, it seemed to be something she did quite often.

“Noooo ‘The People’s Princess!” Yknow cuz the people clearly love her!” Jana interrupted,

The other girls all agreed, making her heart swell,

She felt in place, she felt loved by these girls she had only known for a few minutes.

***

Paige had enough of Azzi already, she didn’t know why she hated her but she just did.

And when people came up to her asking for a picture, she could feel her blood boil. It was so stupid! She was just a basketball player, yeah maybe a good one… but she wasn’t Lebron James.

“Paige…” Nika warned knowlingly,

Nika always knew how to get to Paige, and even though the blonde knew she was being unreasonable, she was too mad to fix it.

“still just annoying, I mean shes a freshman! We haven’t even seen her play yet, what if she sucks.”

“Paige. She’s the Azzi Fudd, you know damn well that girl is going pro.” Nika scoffed.

she was right, and Paige hated it. Azzi was going to be good. But Paige was also good, great even. She didn’t have to worry.

“We’ll see at practice.” She said before turning away walking into the parking lot.

***

Paige sat in her car, she had a good 15 mintues before practice started to be by herself.

She closed the door and plugged in her phone to the aux. Sounds of Frank Ocean’s voice filled the car.

She let out a breath and closed her eyes, but her peace was interrupted by a the sound of a car door opening next to her.

She looks over and saw a jeep, looked like it just came from the dealers. It was black and sleek and expensive.

But she had never seen this car before, and the reason became clear once the door opened again,

Out walked Azzi, her hair now pulled up and her jersey traded for a pair of Nike shorts and a team USA shirt.

Of course Azzi had a perfect car, Paige let out a groan.

A little too loud apparently, because Azzi glanced up at her car. She caught a glimpse of Paige before awkwardly walking away.

“Oh my god kill me” Paige said throwing her head in her hands, embarrassed of being caught starring,

But cmon, Azzi just turned 16 like a week ago, which Paige hated that she knew. And she already had a great new car. She just seemed to have every fucking thing. Talent, fame, scholarships, looks. She was the worst.

Paiges alarm ringed telling her to go back into the gym, she threw off her jersey top, leaving her dark blue Nike compression shirt on and her uniform shorts, she really didn’t care to change, she just wanted this practice over with.

She started to stroll into the gym and sat down on the bleachers to put her shoes on.

“You better now? Azzi’s hitting it off with the team, you should really go talk to her.” Nika said sliding next her, putting her shoes on as well.

“I’d rather not, I come here to practice, not socialize.” Paige said tying her laces a little tighter then normal.

She stood up and walked over to get a ball for some shots before practice started,

“Hey Paige, can you hand me a ball?” a sweet voice said from behind her, one that could only belong to azzi,

Rolling her eyes Paige tossed a ball rough at her, not making eye contact,

“Um thanks,” She said walking away,

Paige let herself watch Azzi walk away for some reason, but she caught a glimpse of something that made her mad all over again.

Azzi was wearing team issued UConn Kobe’s, the ones you find on the players, they probably were only gifted to the players by the coaches.

Paige should have those shoes on, not her.

“your starring bueckers.” Caroline said appearing next to her,

Paige felt a slight blush creep up her neck, “I am not!”

“Mhm sure, just don’t be too much a bitch, the rest of the team wants her here.” She said picking up a ball and dribbling away.

It seemed like everyone loves stupid Fudd already. Great.

“ladies, ladies, Huddle up!” Their coach shouted blowing the whistle.

The girls all pulled towards her, balls in hand.

“So today as we all know is the first day of practice. You’ve all made the team, but that doesn’t mean we have our starters yet, play hard and play like you want to be here. Hit the line!”

The girls all groaned at the last few words, jogging over to the line.

“All right girls! We’re gonna start out with some running, I know you a want to play some basketball, but for now we wanna see whos in shape and ready to be apart of the starting 5. You’ll be running back and forth at the whistle in pairs, the last pair standing…well let’s just say they don’t have to worry about fighting for a spot in the 5. You all want this bad, so give it your all. if your partner falls behind; stay with them. Teamwork wins games. Let’s get started!”

Paige put her hands on her hips, she was ready for this. she was an all around athlete.

she ran almost everyday in the summer, she had worked her ass off with full court layups and sucideds.

But she wasn’t worried about herself, what if she got paired with some kid who couldn’t run half a mile?

She knew teamwork was important, but sometimes it held her back.

Her coach started pairing people up from the varsity roster, kk and ice, Caroline and Aubrey, Jana and Kaitlyn, Sarah and Morgan, and Nika with Allie,

Paige was too busy laughing at Nika getting paired up with the freshman who looked scared shitless to realize who there was left,

her coaches voice rang through, “Paige and Azzi!” Before moving on to the jv girls.

……..Really?

She had to get paired with the one person she didn’t even want to look at?

Azzi started to walk towards her and then she caught Paige off guard by speaking. “listen I know you hate me for no reason, i’m not stupid. But I want to be here, and i’m not gonna let you bitch me out. So can you please suck it up and work with me?”

Paiges breath caught, she was expecting Azzi to just be kind of a pushover, but I guess not.

“I’m not being bitchy, just making sure your good enough for my team Princess”

“Oh i’m good enough, and you know that Bueckers.”

Maybe Paige had read her wrong, but that wasn’t even the worst thing.

Now that she looked at Azzi right next to her, she was fucking beautiful.

She was nothing like the girls Paige had dated, and there had been a lot. She kinda had a reputation at the school, but that was expected with her fame.

But Azzi was tall, athletic, toned and tanned. She had her hair up in a messy bun with strands of curls falling out of it, and her smile could kill an army.

Maybe Paige should have some fun.

Azzi seemed to be straight, thinking back; there was a few rumors about her and this one D1 commit dating when they did a shoot for Adidas.

Paige had looked at that shoot a little less then the ones Azzi did before, she didn’t know why.

But with this, she pushed those thoughts down, she still had to prove she was better than this stupid, perfect person.

“All right girls, link arms with your partner and get ready!” Their coach shouted, clipboard and stop-watch in hand.

Paige was ready, she was prepared to run a freaking mile in the gym, and Azzi was locked in.

She knew Paige was intimated by her, it was kind of cute. But that doesn’t mean she gets to be bitchy, Azzi earned her spot here, hell—she was offered by IMG academy, she belonged anywhere basketball was.

so she knew she had to give it her all. she eyed Paige and stepped closer,

Fuck she smells good.

But whatever, she was still a bitch for no reason, no mater how intoxicating her presence was.

“I don’t bite, what are you waiting for Paige?” Azzi said holding her arm out,

“Really you don’t? I’m surprised. But I guess that wouldn’t be very princess like huh?”

“Shut up, I didn’t chose that nickname,” She didn’t, but she didn’t mind Paige saying it.

Paige scoffs and took Azzis arm into her own, linked by the elbows.

“This too close for you? Maybe I might bite Bueckers,” Azzi teased, her voice droppping slightly and meeting Paiges eyes,

“nah, just don’t fall in love with me, I know its a lot to handle being this close.” Paige said back, her eye contact unwavering.

There was an unspoken energy flowing between them, like they had just started a battle.

Azzi wasn’t used to teasing, but something about Paige made her want to push her buttons, but Paige did it right back.

The teasing was charged though, something else happening deep down,

A whistle blew hard and loud, “All right ladies, let’s see what you got!”

All the girls linked in pairs stepped up to the line, all ready to run. No one was going to back down, everyone had fought for there spots during tryouts, the group going from 80 girls down to just 2 teams of 12.

The whistle blew.

The girls jogged to the other side of the court, easy. They waited for the next whistle which came a second later,

The jogged back down, the whistle came again. A little faster this time, they ran once again.

“How about we speed it up?” Paige asked to Azzi, arms still linked,

Azzi scoffed, “Are you stupid, why would we burn energy?”

“what? You cant run a little?”

The whistle blew again 4th time down the court,

But this time Azzi took off sprinting, Paige didn’t expect this so she stumbled a little at first before catching up with Azzi who was basically pulling her,

“You could’ve warned me!” Paige said throwing her free hand up.

“I like to surprise, what can I say?” Azzi slid back, flashing her dimpled smile.

Paiges heart skipped a beat at the sight, she was stupidly pretty, and know she started to realize maybe not as sweet she presented.

The whistle blew again, this time Paige took off, fully sprinting as hard as she could, but Azzi expected this, causally keeping up with her,

Because they were sprinting and the other girls were jogging to the lines, they had an extra second to watch and wait for the rest of them to hit the line.

They were on their 6th stretch of the court, which was nothing to the varsity girls, but down the line it seemed that 2 pairs of JV girls had already dropped out, getting some bad stares from the coaches,

Paige nudged Azzi “Hey, looks like there’s only 10 more groups to beat.”

Azzi looked over and huffed, “we’ve run for maybe a total of 60 seconds, how did they make the team?”

The whistle blew for the 7th time,

Paige and Azzi took off sprinting once more,

a little out of breath Paige responded, “i don’t know, but I’m gonna tell you right now; I can do this all day.”

“oh really? Lets see when your the one begging me to stop, once I had to run 100 lines.” Azzi said, not out of breath unlike Paige,

Paige felt some anger creep back in, she had to last longer then stupid Azzi who didn’t even look like she had run one time.

The whistle blew for the 8th time, they sprinted in silence,

After a few seconds it blew again, they sprinted yet again.

“All right girls! I’m glad to see there’s 10 pairs still left, but we’re gonna speed it up. Get ready.” The coach yelled, and blew his whistle again.

Paige glanced at Azzi as their coach talked, silently asking a question which Azzi seemed to understand, because this time they didn’t sprint, they just jogged with the rest of the girls to the line, then the whistle blew again almost immediately.

After the 18th whistle blow, the time in between the lines was getting less and less. 3 more groups had dropped out, leaving one JV pair and Varisty.

Paige was out of breath, it getting a little harder to run, but the worst thing was that Azzi was still fucking fine.

she wasn’t showing any signs of breathlessness, looking as causal as ever.

The whistle blew for the 19th time, they ran to the other end barley touching it before the 20th blow came through, they ran back to the line,

“You okay there Bueckers?” Azzi said glancing over before the next whistle, which came right after she spoke,

Once they hit the other side the blonde responded, “just fine Princess, like I said; all day”

after the 30th whistle, it was hard to breathe, the JV pair had dropped out, lasting longer then anyone expected them to.

But it seemed like Azzi only gained energy with every step, which was the most annoying thing ever.

40th whistle came though. The first Varisty pair dropped out; Sarah and Morgan who sat on the floor panting.

50th whistle, KK and Ice dropped out,

“You hanging in there?” Azzi said, only now starting to pant.

“All day.” Paige responded simply, not even looking at her.

55th whistle, Jana and Kaitlyn.

60th whistle, Allie and Nika.

By the 70th whistle Caroline and Aubrey were barely making it to line in time.

There was only 2 pairs left, the rest of the girls were watching intently along with the coaches, who clearly didn’t expect them to last this long.

Paige was barley breathing, hair ponytail slicked to her neck in sweat,

Azzi on the other hand was still standing straight up, breathing heavily but she was focused, not letting her exhaustion get to her.

82nd whistle. They had run the court 82 times.

Aubrey and Caroline both collapsed onto the floor, barely breathing.

Paige and Azzi looked at each other, both extremely done with running, they had done it.

“all right very good ladies, but Azzi and Paige, separate and stay on the line, the two guards need to see whos gonna start.”

Paige groaned, everything hurt.

Her and Azzi unlinked arms, slick with sweat, Azzi whispered under her breath, “good luck Bueckers, and don’t get distracted.”

distracted? By what?

The whole blew, Azzi jogged with perfect posture down the other side, where Paige met her quickly.

Paige wasn’t gonna just let her win, she’d rather die then loose, especially to Azzi.

The rest of the team was chanting for different girls, taking bets on who would win,

The whistle blew: number 90.

There was a stabbing pain under Paiges chest, she couldn’t think or breathe. Only powered by her competitive nature.

100.

They had run the court 100 times.

Paige whipped her sweat with her shirt, the sheen glinting on her abs,

Azzi looked over just as she doing this, too be honest, Paige was attractive. She wasn’t afraid to admit it. But she was a bitch, but a hot one.

And Azzi was smart, and self aware, knowing she was attractive too, and that Paige sure wasn’t hiding her flirting very well.

With the 110th whistle she decided to push her luck. Seeing if she was right about her suspicions.

she leaning against the wall and pulled her sweat soaked shirt over her head. Leaving her in a sports bra.

a few of the girls clapped at this, Nika loudly whislted.

She had defined abs from the years of hard workouts, she knew they only looked more impressive in the light of the gym while sweat was dripping off them, her messy bun had dropped slightly, and more curls came out framing her face.

Paige looked over, her eyes dragged over her frame, not even hiding it, she mouthed “Not gonna work” before the whistle blew again.

The 115th whistle blew, they had officially run a little over 2 miles straight.

But with the constant changing of directions and the heat from the gym, it felt a lot more like a marathon.

Azzi looked over at Paige, she wasn’t looking like she could last much longer, but she was way too stubborn to give up. Azzi mouthed “you done?”

Paige responded by sprinting down the court at the whistle.

By the 120th whistle Azzi was done, she could barley keep her head up,

Paige was even more done, seemingly running on stubbornness.

As the 130th blew, Azzi legs started giving out, almost at the same time she could see Paige stumble slightly before running again.

Azzi didn’t know why. But she didn’t want to beat Paige.

Hell-one of the reasons she came here was to play with Paige.

So with that, when the 131st whistle blew and Paige didn’t move, Azzi didn’t either, instead she stumbled onto the ground.

Paige collapsed next to her, out of breath and barley alive,

The girls on the beach all burst out in cheers,

“Well I guess its a tie- good job both of you… that was unexpected. Girls on the bench! I expect more, a lot more running will be coming your way, grab a ball and start shooting. Bueckers, Fudd, Just hit the showers, and don’t throw up on anything important.”

Azzi hummed in acknowledgment, Paige just groaned.

After a few more seconds, Paige stood up slowly, wobbling walking towards Azzi extending a hand out.

Azzi looked up confused, but she quickly masked it with a smirk, “A real gentlewomen huh?”

Paige rolled her eyes, “Just shut up and take my hand,”

Azzi reached out and grabbed Paiges hand.

she was forcefully pulled onto her ground catching a glimpse of Paiges toned Biceps flexing, clearly she lifted. A lot.

Paige smirked catching what Azzi was looking at, “You starring at something you like Princess?”

“shut up, don’t flatter yourself, there’s barley anything there, noodle arms,” Azzi responded, a little flustered from getting caught.

“Really hm? What’s this then?” Paige said flexing her arm fully looking down at Azzi with a cocky smile,

Azzi scoffed and pushed past her,

Paige called out as Azzi walked past, “You can feel it if you want!”

Azzi didn’t turn around because if she did, Paige would fully be able to her stupidly big smile.

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