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uncuredturkeybacon · 17 days ago

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𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 || 𝚊𝚣𝚣𝚒 𝚏𝚞𝚍𝚍 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you fall in love and never look back

warning : sexual content included - minors do not interact

you're used to pressure. you live for it. ninety-minute matches in front of tens of thousands, champions league nights under the floodlights, the roar of fans at the emirates singing your name. you’ve made your name in the football world with more than just talent. precision. composure. class. arsenal through and through. lioness by blood.

the media calls you “the rolls royce of english football.” you never let it get to your head. but there’s no denying—you’re top tier.

so when your agent sends you an invite to an exclusive athlete gala in los angeles—hosted by nike, packed with global stars—you don’t blink. you pack a tailored suit, hop on a private flight, and plan to shake hands, pose for photos, then bounce.

you didn’t plan on meeting her.

the event is all flashing lights and clinking glasses. you’re posted up at the open bar, sipping on whisky, nodding politely to athletes you recognize from the nba, the wnba, even tennis. but none of them really spark your interest—until she walks in.

azzi fudd.

you've seen her on social media. uconn guard. sharp shooter. but in person, she’s something else. her hair is soft and curled at the ends, makeup subtle, dress hugging her in all the right ways. she carries herself like someone who knows her worth, but doesn’t need to flaunt it.

she spots you first. somehow.

“english?” she said, tilting her head with a smirk when she reached you.

you raised a brow, sipping your champagne. “that obvious?”

azzi laughed, and you swear the sound settled something in you.

“it’s the posture,” she teased. “and the accent. and the fact that you’ve been silently judging everyone’s outfits for the last ten minutes.”

“fair,” you said, chuckling. “you lot dress different over here.”

“and what, you dress better?” she asked, eyeing your crisp black suit, your open collar, the single chain at your neck.

you smirked. “you tell me.”

she laughs, eyes lighting up. “azzi.”

“y/n,” you say, offering your hand.

her grip is firm. confident.

“i've watched your highlights,” she says. “you make the pitch look like art.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you’ve been watchin’ football?”

“i’ve been watching you.”

that was the beginning.

the night drifted by like something out of a movie. you talked and laughed like old friends catching up after years apart. she asked about your training, your matches, what it’s like playing in front of screaming north london crowds. you asked about uconn, her rehab, what drives her to push even harder despite the setbacks.

“no one ever asks me about that,” she said at one point, her voice softer, almost vulnerable.

you leaned in. “well, they should. you’ve done somethin’ incredible.”

after about thirty minutes of talking—real talking—azzi glanced around the busy crowd, then looked back at you.

“you wanna get outta here?” she asked.

you raised a brow. “and go where?”

she shrugged, grinning. “somewhere quieter.”

you ended up outside—on the rooftop patio, behind a velvet rope that no one seemed to be guarding. the music from inside was muffled now, just a thump beneath the hush of the evening breeze.

city lights shimmered in the distance. stars peeked between clouds.

you stood side-by-side at the edge of the railing, her arms resting on the stone, yours beside hers.

“it’s loud in there,” she said.

“too loud,” you agreed.

silence stretched between you—but it wasn’t awkward. it was easy. comforting. natural.

“i don’t usually do this,” she said quietly.

“do what?”

“talk to strangers this long. especially at these things. i hate the attention.”

you nodded. “same.”

she looked at you. really looked. “you’re not what i expected.”

you turned slightly toward her. “what did you expect?”

she smiled. “something more... intense. more guarded.”

you grinned. “you’re not far off. i just like your energy.”

that made her blush. you noticed. and she noticed that you noticed.

“you’re smooth,” she said.

you shrugged. “only when it’s worth it.”

and it was. god, it was.

you talked for over an hour out there. about music. childhood memories. dream matches. the kind of goals that weren’t just on the scoreboard.

she told you her favorite movie. you made fun of it. she told you she’d beat you in one-on-one. you challenged her to prove it.

eventually, someone called her back in. some media thing. she looked at you like she didn’t want to go.

“so… this was nice,” she said, playing with the edge of her ring.

“it was more than nice,” you replied. “you wanna do it again sometime?”

her eyes met yours. “i do.”

you both reached for your phones at the same time, laughing. you swapped numbers. she leaned in, gave you a hug—warm, slow, lingering just enough to tell you she meant it.

“don’t be a stranger,” she whispered.

“don’t give me a reason to be,” you whispered back.

and then she was gone.

but your phone buzzed that same night.

azzi fudd: u made that party 10x better lol. safe flight back. text me when u land? :)

you smiled.

and replied immediately.

your schedules are brutal. you’re back in london before the jet lag even clears, but she’s already waiting on facetime. she calls from her dorm room—head wrapped in a bonnet, hoodie too big, smile soft.

“hey, england,” she teases.

you’re in bed, shirtless, chain resting on your chest, tired from training but wide awake at the sight of her.

“hey, princess.”

you talk for an hour. then two. she plays you music she’s working out to. you show her your boots for the next match. she giggles when you call cleats “boots,” and you tease her for calling football “soccer.”

“you ever gonna come see what proper football looks like?” you ask one night.

she grins. “only if you come to a uconn game.”

“deal.”

you text daily. facetime every night. she sees you in the training room, laughing with teammates. you see her in the locker room, towel slung over her shoulder.

the connection isn’t just romantic—it’s real. she asks about your childhood. you ask about her faith. you start sharing things you haven’t told anyone. and somehow, even thousands of miles apart, she becomes your peace.

you start sending each other care packages. she sends you uconn merch. you send her your match-worn jersey with your name on the back.

one night, as you're lying in bed, watching her yawn on facetime, she says it first.

“i miss you.”

you bite your lip, feeling that warmth in your chest. “i miss you too, az.”

she flies out on her off-weekend.

you pick her up from heathrow yourself, hat low, hoodie up, trying to dodge paparazzi. she runs into your arms like you’ve known each other forever.

you show her london the way tourists never see it—quiet coffee shops in islington, rooftop views in shoreditch, a walk along the thames at midnight. she holds your hand when no one’s watching.

and then, match day.

you’re starting for arsenal. she's in your box seat, wearing your coat, scarf wrapped around her neck.

you score the winning goal. a screamer from outside the box. and when you run past the crowd, you point to her.

the cameras catch it. the internet loses its mind.

@/uclionesshq: y/n scores an absolute rocket… and points straight at azzi fudd? is this a soft launch or am i delusional??

@/bballxfooty: azzi fudd watching her girlfriend play for arsenal?? they’re so international it hurts. i’m sobbing.

@/woagzone: the way azzi’s smiling from the stands... yeah, we lost.

you’re back in your flat. she’s curled up in your bed, wearing your hoodie, skin glowing in the soft lamp light.

“i’ve never felt this safe,” she whispers, tracing her fingers down your forearm.

you kiss her temple. “you’ve got me now.”

you fall asleep holding her. the kind of sleep where nothing aches. where the world can’t reach you.

you show up in connecticut in a long coat, hat low again, but your frame unmistakable. when azzi checks into the game, she looks into the crowd and beams.

you watch her dominate the court—draining threes, quick cuts, fearless. you’re standing before the buzzer even sounds.

@/espnw: arsenal star y/n spotted court side for uconn vs. tennessee. came all the way from london for azzi fudd. love is real.

@/wosoqueens: y/n clapping court side like a proud wife is my roman empire.

you’re tangled up in her sheets. she’s wearing just a tee. you’ve got your arms wrapped around her waist as she rests her head on your chest.

“you ever think about what this is?” she asks.

you kiss her knuckles. “i think about it all the time.”

“we’re making it work.”

“'course we are. that’s what happens when you’ve got somethin’ worth holdin’ onto.”

she pulls the blanket over both of you and whispers, “stay a little longer?”

you do.

the world doesn’t know what you are.

not really.

they know you’re something, though.

the glances during games. the posts that show two mugs on a counter instead of one. the matching trainers. the way azzi was spotted in london twice in a single month. and you? you’ve suddenly developed a love for women’s college basketball.

you two never said a word publicly. but the internet doesn’t need confirmation. it’s already in love with the story.

you’re doing press before arsenal’s champions league tie against lyon. you sit on the set in a tailored track jacket, crisp fade, diamond stud glinting under the lights. you’ve done a hundred interviews—but this one feels different. because you know what’s coming.

the interviewer smiles, flipping through her notes with a glint in her eye. “y/n, your form lately has been phenomenal. and off the pitch, you’ve got fans speculating about some… cross-sport romance?”

you smirk, sitting back in your chair.

she pushes, teasing. “you’ve been spotted at a few uconn games recently… and i think the world noticed you pointing to a certain basketball player after your last goal.”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “you lot pay more attention to who i’m lookin’ at than the goal itself, clearly.”

the interviewer grins. “so no confirmation? nothing to share with the romantics out there?”

you lift an eyebrow, grin subtle. “i’m focused on arsenal. and my game.”

a beat.

“but i will say… i’m very proud of certain people in my life right now.”

the clip goes viral within minutes.

azzi’s sitting in front of the press after dropping 27 points against south carolina. she’s radiant—sweat still glistening, hair pulled into a bun, eyes bright.

a reporter raises a hand. “azzi, we’ve seen some famous faces court side for your games lately—one in particular. arsenal’s y/n. are they just a fan of basketball, or…?”

azzi smiles, biting her lip.

“y/n is an incredible athlete. and… a great person to have around.”

the room chuckles.

“would you say they motivate you?”

azzi leans forward. “let’s just say… i like having people in my corner who understand what pressure feels like.”

she never confirms. never denies. but the way she smiles as she says it says everything.

you’re in bed, shirtless, chain glinting in the low light. azzi’s curled up on her dorm bed, hoodie swallowing her frame.

“why do i feel like we’re dating and doing pr at the same time?” she says through a laugh.

you grin. “you handled that well, love. straight outta the ‘don’t kiss and tell’ handbook.”

she mimics your accent terribly. “just proud of certain people in my life, innit?”

you laugh hard, chest shaking. “oi, don’t ever do that again.”

her smile softens. “i miss you.”

you close your eyes for a moment. “i know. me too.”

there’s silence, but it’s full. comforting.

“you coming out for the next match?” she asks.

you nod. “wouldn’t miss it.”

it starts small. a video of you cooking in a kitchen that isn’t yours—azzi’s laugh in the background.

her story the next day: you driving, hand on the gearshift, ring on your pinky catching the light.

you post a photo of two nike duffle bags side-by-side on a hotel floor.

she posts a mirror selfie. you’re blurry in the back, sitting on the bed, scrolling your phone.

comments flood in:

@/bballxwoso: this is the softest soft launch in history. just say you’re in love already.

@/footyfangirl: they’ve posted each other’s fingertips and i’m still screaming.

you’ve got a rare week off. you fly to see her and stay in a low-key airbnb outside hartford. no cameras. no noise. just the two of you.

she’s laying on your chest after a movie, eyes half-lidded. you’re playing with her curls.

“you ever get scared?” she asks quietly.

you hum. “of what?”

“this… getting bigger. people knowing. what it means if we go fully public.”

you nod. “yeah. but i’m not afraid of us. just the noise around us.”

she looks up at you, eyes soft. “i’m not hiding you. just protecting us.”

you lean down, kissing her forehead. “i get it. and when you’re ready… i’m right there.”

you fall asleep like that, hearts in sync.

@/wagculture: azzi fudd just called y/n “someone in her corner” and now i’m crying in international couple.

@/ballinnboots: they won’t confirm, but my serotonin confirms for them.

@/sportsnships: this is like if christen press and tobin heath had a gen z reboot.

it’s late. you’re about to kick off in the champions league semis. she’s in her dorm, wearing your tee, facetime tilted just right.

“you got this,” she says, voice soft. “lock in. be brilliant.”

you smirk. “you’ll be watchin’, yeah?”

“always.”

you glance at the camera. “i love you, az.”

there’s a pause.

then her smile blooms. “i love you too, y/n.”

2026 creeps in with quiet ambition.

your days are full of football and facetimes. her nights are full of training and pressure, the wnba draft looming like a bright star on the horizon.

you’ve both gotten better at handling the distance—but the ache never goes away. every goodbye feels a little heavier. every hug at the airport feels like it's not long enough.

but you’re still hers. and she’s still yours.

new york is buzzing. cameras flash. reporters in sleek suits swarm the red carpet. inside the draft venue, azzi sits front and center, dressed in an all-white suit that hugs her like it was tailored by angels. calm on the surface. electric underneath.

you’re there too, seated a few rows back, behind her agent and team. dressed lowkey—black turtleneck, silver chain, dark coat. watching.

not to be seen. just to be near her. just to witness her moment.

when the commissioner steps up to the podium and says her name—

“with the first pick in the 2026 wnba draft, the los angeles sparks select… azzi fudd, university of connecticut.”

—it feels like your chest might crack open with pride.

the crowd erupts. cameras zoom in as she stands, dimpled smile lighting up the world. she hugs her mom, her teammates, her coaches—and just before she walks onto the stage, her eyes flick toward you.

she doesn’t say anything. just meets your gaze and gives you the tiniest, most intentional nod.

you nod back. hand on your heart.

that’s my girl.

later, after the chaos has died down and the press is over, you’re both back at the hotel. she’s taken off her heels, sitting in your lap on the balcony of the suite, city lights flickering below.

she’s still glowing. you’ve got your arms wrapped around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder.

"you looked like a goddess up there," you whisper.

she smiles, hands covering yours. "i kept thinking, ‘y/n’s watching.’ that kept me grounded."

you kiss the side of her neck. "you earned all of it. and then some."

she leans her head back against your shoulder, quiet for a beat. “i want you with me. in la. i know we’ve never said that out loud, but… i want you here.”

you hold her tighter.

“i know,” you say softly. “i want that too.”

you knew it was coming. you’ve known for a while.

but when the press release drops, the football world still spins on its axis.

"y/n to leave arsenal after eight seasons, signs with angel city fc in los angeles"

the post goes up on all platforms—black and red graphic with your profile, a quote from you in bold text: “sometimes, even home changes shape. i’m ready for a new chapter.”

you didn’t mention azzi.

you didn’t need to.

@/arsenalwosofans: y/n leaving arsenal? my world just shattered in four languages.

@/uswntdaily: y/n to angel city??? she’s really going to be in the same city as azzi. i’m eating this power couple up.

@/footygirlunited: they won’t say a word and yet i’m crying like they just proposed on live tv.

@/bballxfootycore: the way azzi went #1 to la… and a few months later y/n signs with angel city… do you believe in fate or do you believe in fudd x y/n?

you move into a place just outside downtown. a three-bedroom loft, all hardwood floors and open windows. azzi’s duffel is already by the door when you arrive.

she walks in, tank top and sweats, smile soft. “welcome home.”

you drop your bag and walk to her, arms sliding around her waist.

“i missed you,” you murmur into her neck.

she exhales, relief flooding her. “missed you more.”

you rest your forehead against hers.

“now i can be there for all of it,” you say. “your first game. your rookie season. your bad days. your best ones.”

she blinks slowly. “we’re really doing this.”

“we’ve been doing it.”

“but now we don’t have to leave.”

you kiss her—slow, deep, and full of promise. “not for a while, love.”

it’s late summer in l.a.

you play first—angel city vs. portland thorns. you assist a goal and nearly score one yourself. the crowd roars when azzi’s spotted in the stands, rocking your kit, hair in a bun, proudly clapping.

later that night, the roles reverse. you’re court side at crypto.com arena as the sparks face the liberty. she hits the game-winning three.

she points to you as she runs back on defense.

and you? you’re already standing, arms in the air, grin splitting your face.

and twitter? still losing it.

@/angelcityhq: y/n dropping dimes in the afternoon and cheering on her girl court side at night… this is the crossover episode we deserved.

@/wosoxwnba: power couple. first pick. big leagues. big love. big dreams.

you’d forgotten what it was like to not wake up next to her every morning.

no countdown to goodbye. no long-haul flights. no screen between you and her smile.

just sunlight pouring into the la loft and azzi, bare-faced and warm in your hoodie, mumbling something about coffee as she wraps her arms around your waist.

you’d give up the world to freeze this version of life.

you settle into a rhythm faster than expected. you train at angel city’s complex, she trains with the sparks. you both come home exhausted most days, but there's a new kind of peace in the tiredness—because it leads back to each other.

you take turns cooking. she sings in the kitchen sometimes, off-key but confident, while you season everything with a heavy hand and a smirk.

“why do you act like paprika is personality?” she teases, resting against the counter.

“and why do you act like boiled broccoli is gourmet?” you shoot back.

she throws a dishtowel at you. you catch it midair. she rolls her eyes and kisses you anyway.

you walk hand-in-hand through downtown when no one’s really paying attention—hoodies up, fingers intertwined. you sit together in low-lit corners of cafés, her leg pressed against yours beneath the table. it’s not hiding. it’s guarding.

but the city isn’t blind.

photos surface. grainy shots of the two of you laughing in line at trader joe’s. a blurry picture of you with your hand at the small of her back, guiding her through a crowd. a fan tiktok captures azzi running into your arms outside the sparks’ practice facility, her voice saying “baby” clear as day.

at a post-game interview, a reporter tries to slide it in, casual.

“you’ve been looking more settled off the court lately, azzi. happy. is there someone special we should know about?”

azzi just smiles, grabs her water bottle, and says, “i’m focused on basketball. but i’ve got good people around me.”

at an angel city press day, you’re cornered too.

“you’ve been in la for a few months now—fans have noticed you’ve been spending time with a certain sparks rookie. can we expect a power couple debut anytime soon?”

you chuckle, cool as ever.

“i think people should focus more on the way she plays than who she’s with. girl’s a star. let her shine.”

no confirmations. no denials.

just fire. just finesse.

@/wnbaxwoso: they’re so good at dodging questions it’s actually elite. ballers and pr-trained? iconic.

@/laduo_daily: they really said “mind your business but also yes we’re in love” and i respect it.

@/cuffingseason: the way azzi fudd lights up when she’s asked about y/n? i’m writing my vows now.

she’s fresh out the shower, hair damp, wearing just one of your oversized tees. you’re on the couch in grey sweats, watching highlights with the sound low.

azzi crawls into your lap, legs tucked on either side of you. her skin is warm. she smells like vanilla and citrus.

“you okay?” she asks, fingers resting lightly on your chest.

you nod. “just thinking.”

“about?”

you hesitate, then sigh. “feels like we’re on the edge of something. like… people are starting to really see us.”

she leans her forehead against yours. “and?”

“and i don’t want it to ruin this.”

“it won’t,” she whispers. “they can look all they want. what we have? they don’t get to touch it.”

you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her closer.

“you’re everything,” you murmur into her skin.

you start walking her into the tunnel before every sparks game now. you don’t even try to be discreet anymore. you stand behind the barrier while she warms up, nodding to her when she looks your way.

she always does.

before your own matches, she’s there too. in black sunglasses, fitted angel city gear, and your kit number in a chain around her neck.

fans notice. fans scream.

@/angelcityhearts: azzi waiting in the tunnel for y/n after the game? she’s giving supportive wife energy.

@/sparksxacfc: this isn’t just a crossover. this is an era.

@/wnbaxnwsl: they keep acting like they’re not the hottest couple in la. sweethearts, you are.

it’s quiet on the roof of your building. you’ve got a blanket over your shoulders, azzi between your legs, her back against your chest.

below, the lights of la shimmer. but you’re not looking at the city. you’re looking at her.

"you ever think about forever?" she asks suddenly.

you tilt your head, cheek against her curls. "yeah. with you? all the time."

she smiles, closing her eyes, fingers laced with yours.

neither of you says anything else.

because sometimes, love doesn’t need explaining.

it just needs space to breathe.

and in la—together—you’ve finally got it.

los angeles had changed everything.

what used to feel like distance now feels like grounding. you wake up next to her. you fall asleep with your hand resting lightly on her hip. the city buzzes around you, but all you care about is her voice in the morning and her laugh in your kitchen.

you never wanted the fame. you wanted football. but somehow, the world kept looking.

the pitch is clean. nike wants a joint campaign. you, the english footballing phenom. her, the wnba’s brightest new star. both in la. both on the rise.

“power. precision. partnership.”

that’s the tagline.

they film the campaign over two weeks—split screens of you in angel city black and pink, her in sparks gold and purple. shots of you sprinting down the wing. her launching a perfect three. your silhouettes passing in the tunnel. a final moment where you stand shoulder to shoulder, backs turned, “fudd” and “y/l/n” side by side on your jerseys.

the internet loses it.

@/nikewomen: two sports. two cities. one force. [#dualforce | coming soon]

@/sapphicsports: why is this the sexiest campaign in sports history? they didn’t even touch hands and i screamed.

@/ballerbaesunited: i saw a full second of eye contact in that trailer and now i believe in love again.

still, neither of you confirm anything. just coy smiles in interviews and “we respect each other’s game.”

but something is shifting.

you're tired of loving her in the shadows.

you rent a house away from the city for a weekend. just the two of you. no cameras. no fans. just ocean, pine trees, and silence. she’s been working nonstop, and you’ve watched her shoulders sink lower every time she checks her phone.

on the second night, you cook dinner. nothing fancy—grilled salmon, her favorite roasted potatoes, wine on the deck. she’s wearing your hoodie and her curls are loose and wild in the sea breeze.

you give her the ring after dessert.

no kneeling. no speeches.

you reach into your pocket, pull out the box, and slide it in front of her while she’s mid-laugh.

she freezes. looks at you. then the ring.

“y/n…”

“i want forever with you,” you say quietly. “i don’t care if the world knows. i just want you to know.”

she opens the box with trembling fingers. the diamond isn’t flashy—but it’s clean, clear, timeless.

tears rise in her eyes.

“yes,” she whispers. “yes, yes, yes.”

you pull her into your arms, holding her like you’ll never let go.

you don’t plan to.

back inside, rain begins tapping against the windows.

you lead her to the bedroom with your hand gently cradling her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek. she’s still a little breathless, eyes wide and glistening. you kiss her like she’s sacred—like you’re thanking the universe for giving her to you.

clothes fall away in the quiet.

your hands are reverent, movements slow. her name leaves your lips like a prayer, whispered against her neck, her shoulder, her chest. you don’t rush. you trace every inch of her skin like it’s poetry you’ve waited your whole life to read.

she holds your face while you move over her, guiding your rhythm with soft touches and sighs. you kiss her fingers—especially the one with the ring. her hips rise to meet you, and when she comes undone, it’s with her head buried against your throat and your name on her lips like gospel.

after, you lie tangled in the sheets, heartbeats steady, her leg draped over your waist. she looks at the ring again, smiling so hard it hurts.

“this is ours,” she whispers.

you nod, eyes half-closed. “always.”

the invite arrives on crisp ivory card stock. your name printed in gold: y/n y/l/n – nominee, ballon d’or féminin.

you’ve dreamt about this moment since you were a kid in england, dribbling a ball on concrete playgrounds. and yet all you can think about is who you want by your side.

you ask azzi to come.

she says yes immediately.

it’s the first public event you attend together as a pair. no hiding. you walk the carpet first—tailored black suit, clean line fade, quiet confidence. cameras flash. reporters call your name.

then azzi steps out beside you.

she’s in a sleek black gown, hair slicked into a bun, the engagement ring tucked behind subtle waves. she’s radiant. and standing so close to you that it’s impossible not to notice.

reporters pounce.

“azzi, are you two…?”

you grin, arm around her waist. “we’re here to celebrate football tonight.”

a red carpet interviewer smiles slyly. “just football?”

azzi chuckles. “just greatness.”

they laugh. you both redirect. nothing confirmed. nothing denied. but the way you look at each other in between flashbulbs says more than words ever could.

“and the 2026 ballon d’or féminin goes to…”

a pause. a drumroll.

“…y/n y/l/n.”

the applause is thunderous. you rise slowly, heart thudding against your ribs. azzi grabs your hand as you pass, squeezing once, her eyes gleaming.

you take the stage, accepting the golden ball with both hands, blinking into the lights.

“thank you,” you say. “to my clubs. my country. my teammates. and to someone watching tonight… who’s shown me that love doesn’t weaken focus—it sharpens it.”

you glance toward azzi. she beams, eyes glassy.

a photo circulates from inside the ceremony—azzi cheering, hands raised, the ring catching the light on her finger.

@/femmesoffooty: that’s a ring. that’s an engagement ring. you can’t lie to me anymore.

@/gaysinsport: y/n just won the ballon d’or and she’s engaged to the love of her life. is this tomdaya all over again?

@/sportslesbians: azzi in that black dress with a diamond on her finger and y/n winning the biggest award in football. it’s their world. we’re just sobbing in it.

you toss your blazer on the couch, loosen your collar. azzi sits on the bed, scrolling through her phone with a half-smile.

“think they noticed?” she asks, showing you the zoomed-in ring tweet.

you laugh, walking over. “let ‘em.”

she looks up at you, pride and softness in her eyes. “you’re the best player in the world.”

you lean down, hands on either side of her face. “only thing i care about is being yours.”

she pulls you down into her arms.

the world is watching now.

and for the first time… you’re letting it.

you never thought you’d get excited about countertops.

but here you are—azzi by your side, hand in yours, arguing about quartz versus marble with an interior designer who is both frightened and fascinated by how seriously you take backsplash color schemes.

you’re standing in the middle of an empty living room, all high ceilings and sunlight and possibility, and she’s looking at the space like it already belongs to her.

to you both.

you squeeze her hand. she grins. “feels real now, huh?”

you nod. “yeah. real—and forever.”

you buy it just outside west hollywood. a spanish-style bungalow with arched doorways, a tiled patio, a garden in the back where azzi swears she’ll grow tomatoes but forgets to water succulents. you spend weekends building furniture, painting walls, and arguing over where the couch should go.

(it ends up in the exact spot she picked. you don't mind.)

one afternoon, you catch her slow-dancing to no music in the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon like a mic. you lean against the doorframe and watch her with a smile tugging at your mouth.

this is what peace looks like.

this is what love feels like.

the engagement is private. the wedding won’t be.

you both know the headlines are coming. wnba star and ballon d’or winner to tie the knot. you don’t care. not anymore.

you sit at the dining table one night, laptops open, pinterest boards synced, and a bottle of wine between you. she wants an outdoor wedding. you want something small, intimate. you settle on a coastal venue north of malibu—cliffside views, lots of open air, and the sea close enough to hear.

guest list? selective.

just friends. family. teammates. the people who know you, not just your stats.

you make the playlist yourselves—slow r&b, golden-era soul, a few old-school uk garage tracks that make her roll her eyes and laugh when you dance around the room like a fool.

you add “adorn” by miguel and “like i’m gonna lose you” by meghan trainor to the slow dance list. she adds “golden hour” and your eyes almost well up.

“why that one?” you ask softly.

she looks at you, eyes shining. “because that’s what being with you feels like.”

the night of the housewarming party, your home is filled with laughter, music, and the smell of grilled chicken and baked mac and cheese.

angel city teammates show up first, bringing ridiculous gifts—like a neon sign that says “goal diggers” and a framed picture of you mid-slide tackle with “our king” scribbled across it in gold marker.

then the sparks players roll in, loud and rowdy, and immediately start challenging your friends to beer pong in the backyard.

paige bueckers and nika mühl arrive with azzi’s old uconn friends. you’d met them once before, but this time they act like old family. paige throws her arms around you like a sister. caitlin hands you a bottle of wine and says, “if you ever hurt her, i’ll ruin your credit score.”

you laugh. “noted.”

your family had flown in the night before—your mum already tried to rearrange your spice rack, your dad had teared up walking through the garden.

azzi’s parents arrive last. her mom brings a massive casserole dish and her dad immediately grills you about wedding logistics.

“beach weddings get windy,” he warns, sipping lemonade. “i hope your suits are tailored tight.”

azzi rolls her eyes. “dad.”

you just smile and say, “they’re perfect.”

midway through the evening, you find her in the kitchen, crouched on the floor with a plate of cake and a fork in her hand.

she looks up at you, cheeks full.

you laugh. “you hiding?”

“they keep asking about the wedding,” she mumbles.

“mine keep asking when we’re having kids,” you say, crouching beside her.

she snorts. “they don’t waste time, do they?”

you brush a crumb off her lip. “we could run away.”

she hums. “we already did. just in a very well-furnished house.”

you kiss her softly, slow, ignoring the distant sounds of music and shouting and someone—probably paige—trying to start karaoke.

“i like this life,” she whispers.

“i like it with you.”

you collapse on the couch together, lights low, dishes half-washed. she’s in one of your tees again, hair up in a messy bun, bare feet resting in your lap.

you play with her fingers, gently spinning the ring on her hand.

“so this is it,” she says, half-asleep. “i’m excited for forever.”

you nod. “and it only gets better.”

she yawns, then turns into you, her body melting into your side.

and as you hold her in the quiet aftermath of celebration, in the home you built together, you realize something simple and beautiful:

this isn’t the beginning of the end of your story.

it’s the beginning of the best part.

the day of the wedding begins slow.

the world outside is still wrapped in fog, but inside the coastal venue, sunlight begins to filter through glass windows and soft white curtains. you wake up in separate rooms—old school tradition, azzi’s idea—and yet your first instinct is still to reach for her.

you resist. barely.

your suit is classic—clean black, tailored within an inch of its life. your cufflinks are a gift from her. “always yours,” engraved in tiny script.

the ceremony is outside. white flowers, pale green vines, and a view of the cliffs that seems to go on forever. every seat is filled with someone who’s shaped your story. your mum dabs at her eyes. azzi’s grandmother clutches a handkerchief like it’s holy. teammates whisper excitedly.

then she walks down the aisle.

you forget how to breathe.

she’s in a custom off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her body and moves like water. her hair is pinned back with soft curls brushing her cheeks. she meets your eyes and smiles—and in that moment, nothing else exists.

your hand shakes slightly when you reach for hers.

she grips it tight.

after the ceremony, you sneak away. just the two of you. up on the cliff, overlooking the sea.

no audience. no pressure. just love.

you sit together on a low stone wall, legs touching, holding hands.

“i wanted to say this without the world listening,” you begin, voice low. “because some things are too sacred for microphones.”

she nods, eyes already shimmering.

you breathe.

“i’ve spent most of my life being strong. stoic. people expect it. but with you, i learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s trust. and i trust you with every part of me. the loud ones. the quiet ones. the ones i still don’t understand. i choose you—every day, in every way.”

she blinks, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

her voice is soft when she speaks.

“i used to wonder if someone like you could ever love someone like me. i never had the answers. but you didn’t give me answers—you gave me home. you gave me safety, joy, laughter i didn’t know i needed. i love you, y/n. all of you. and i’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much.”

you kiss her like it’s your first and last time.

the wind dances around you.

you fly out two days later, in island villa over crystal blue water. just enough distance from the world to make it feel like paradise.

your days are sun-soaked. mornings with lazy breakfasts, late afternoon swims, dinners barefoot in the sand. azzi wears oversized sunglasses and your shirts as cover-ups. she’s never looked more at peace.

but the nights? the nights belong to you.

you take your time.

that first night, she’s in black lace, skin glowing from sun and champagne. you press her against the glass doors of the villa, the moonlight catching on her ring.

“i married the most beautiful woman in the world,” you whisper, lips trailing down her throat.

she moans. “prove it.”

her back hits the bed with a soft thud, legs parting on instinct as you crawl between them. azzi looks up at you with wide, expectant eyes, lips already parted, chest rising and falling with anticipation. she’s already breathless, and you haven’t even touched her properly yet.

your hands trail slowly down her sides, fingers teasing the hem of her shirt before pulling it over her head, revealing smooth skin and toned curves you’ve craved all day. she bites her lip when you lean in, mouth ghosting over her collarbone, not quite kissing—just letting your breath skim her skin until she shivers.

you smirk. “so needy already.”

azzi nods, flushed and eager. “please…”

you take your time stripping her, peeling off her shorts, then her underwear, slow and deliberate. she lifts her hips to help you, her thighs already twitching as your fingers graze the inside of them. you press a kiss just above her mound, and her fingers instantly knot into the sheets.

one long lick. that’s all it takes to have her gasping, her hips jolting up into your mouth.

you don’t let her set the pace.

your hands grip her thighs, holding her open as you flatten your tongue against her, dragging it in slow circles that have her moaning your name like a prayer. every time her hips buck, you press her down harder, forcing her to take it your way. her taste is addicting, sweet and slick, and every whimper she lets out just drives you deeper.

you swirl your tongue over her clit, then suck it between your lips until she cries out, legs trembling. she’s already close—you can feel it in the way her body tenses, the way her breathing stutters. but you don’t let her go over the edge just yet.

you pull back, fingers replacing your mouth. you slip one inside her, then two—tight, warm, soaking. she clenches around you hard, her hips grinding into your hand as you curl your fingers just right, stroking the spot that makes her eyes roll back.

“more,” she begs, barely able to speak.

you grin. “i’ve got you, baby.”

you reach for the strap, already harnessed and slick with anticipation. you tease her with it first, dragging the head through her folds, making her squirm and whine. then you press in, slow at first, inch by inch until she’s full, until her nails dig into your shoulders and her head drops back, jaw slack.

you set a rhythm that’s all dominance—deep, steady thrusts that leave her a moaning mess beneath you. her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you in harder, and you give her everything she wants. the sound of skin slapping, her desperate gasps, the creak of the bed—it’s all fuel.

you reach down to rub her clit again, syncing your thrusts with the motion of your fingers, and she’s gone—screaming your name as she cums hard around you, shaking and breathless.

but you don’t stop. not until her body’s limp and her voice is hoarse from moaning. not until she’s completely wrecked, ruined by your touch, your control.

and when you finally collapse beside her, she curls into you, lips brushing your shoulder, still trembling.

“god,” she whispers, “you’re gonna kill me one day.”

you just smirk, wrapping your arm around her. “only if you’re lucky.”

her breath is still shaky, skin flushed and damp as she tries to recover, her thighs trembling from the aftershocks. you don’t give her long. you slide your hand slowly up her stomach, fingers trailing lazy circles just under her breasts, watching her twitch under your touch.

“already done?” you murmur, voice low and taunting as your fingers skim back down to her inner thigh. “didn’t think you’d give out this fast.”

azzi’s eyes flutter open, dazed but defiant. “i’m not… done.”

you raise an eyebrow, pleased. “good girl.”

you kiss her—slow, deep, possessive. she moans into your mouth, her body already arching toward you like she’s begging for more. you don’t make her wait this time. one hand slides between her legs again, fingers slipping through the wet heat you left behind. still so sensitive—her whole body jerks when you touch her, but she doesn’t stop you. she spreads wider.

“such a mess for me,” you murmur against her throat, biting gently at the skin just beneath her ear.

she gasps when you push back in with your fingers—this time three—and her nails claw at your back as you set a slow, torturous pace. you feel every twitch, every squeeze, as you curl your fingers deep and press your palm right against her clit, keeping that pressure steady.

“f-fuck—” she pants, legs kicking a little.

you glance down, watching your fingers disappear into her over and over, her slick coating your skin. she’s dripping, her body reacting like you never stopped touching her. you lean in, lips brushing hers.

“you’re gonna take more.”

she nods before the words are even fully out of your mouth. you pull your fingers out with a wet sound and stroke them against her entrance once more before grabbing the base of the strap again. she barely gets a second to breathe before you're inside her again—deeper this time, rougher.

the rhythm is fast and hard, her body bouncing with every thrust. her legs are spread wide and trembling, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room. she’s completely undone—moaning nonstop, voice cracking, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes from the intensity.

you lean over her, one hand gripping her throat—not squeezing, just holding. just letting her feel your control. her eyes roll back when you start rubbing her clit again in quick circles, all while the strap pounds into her harder, deeper.

“i—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“again,” you growl, keeping the pressure on. “give it to me again.”

her back arches and she screams your name, body going rigid before falling apart in your arms. her whole body spasms through the second orgasm, her nails digging into your shoulders like she’s holding onto reality.

you don’t stop until her legs are shaking uncontrollably, until her whimpers fade into soft, overstimulated cries and her hands are pushing weakly at your chest.

then you slow. you pull out carefully, gently. she’s wrecked—flushed and soaked and twitching. you kiss her cheek, her shoulder, her chest, letting her breathe again.

azzi looks at you through heavy lashes, her voice hoarse. “you’re insane.”

you laugh softly, pulling her close. “you love it.”

she doesn’t even try to deny it. she just nods, curling into your chest, her fingers weakly gripping your side like she never wants to let go.

she’s sprawled out, thighs parted, skin slick with sweat and arousal, chest rising and falling like she just ran a marathon. her cheeks are flushed, lips kiss-swollen and slightly parted. you hover over her, watching her body twitch with aftershocks, your hand tracing lazy circles over her belly as her breath stutters beneath your touch.

“you done?” you whisper, voice low and teasing.

azzi shakes her head slowly, even though her legs are still trembling. “no… i want more.”

you grin, dark and hungry. “that’s my good girl.”

you don’t waste time. your fingers return to her swollen, dripping cunt—slicker than before, throbbing, oversensitive. the second you brush over her clit, she whines—high-pitched, desperate—but doesn’t pull away. she arches into you, aching for it.

“look at you,” you murmur, dragging your fingers through the mess between her legs. “this pussy’s soaked. so needy. still not satisfied?”

“n-no,” she stutters, face contorting as you press down on her clit with your thumb, making her hips jerk. “please—please, fuck me again.”

you grip her thighs and flip her effortlessly onto her stomach. her ass is round, flushed, begging for attention. you give it a sharp slap and she moans into the mattress, pushing back against you.

“goddamn,” you mutter, palming her ass as you guide the strap back to her soaked entrance. “you’re unreal.”

you slide it in again, deeper this time—different angle, fuller. her moan rips out of her like it’s been building, her hands fisting in the sheets as you bottom out inside her.

you don’t give her time to adjust. you set a brutal rhythm right from the start, snapping your hips forward, the sound of skin-on-skin bouncing off the walls. she’s a mess—drooling into the sheets, crying out with every thrust.

your hand comes down hard on her ass again, then you lean over her, your chest pressing against her slick back, lips brushing her ear. “say my name.”

she gasps, voice breaking. “y/n.”

“louder.”

“y/n! fuck—don’t stop!”

you reach around her body, fingers back on her clit, and she loses it. her body spasms, legs shaking, her moans growing louder, messier. you don’t ease up. you keep fucking into her hard, fucking through her orgasm as she thrashes beneath you, completely undone.

you pull her up by the hair, just enough to whisper against her mouth. “one more.”

she whimpers, nodding furiously. “yes—yes—please—do it.”

you shift again, pulling her into your lap as you sit back on your knees, keeping the strap deep inside her. you grip her hips and bounce her on it, hard and deep, her body limp and pliant in your arms. she’s so far gone—crying, moaning, begging—nothing left but want.

her head falls back on your shoulder as she grinds down, desperate to feel every inch of you.

“good girl,” you whisper, biting at her neck. “cum on my cock again. let me ruin you.”

and she does—again.

harder than before, louder than before. screaming your name, body convulsing, hips jerking erratically. her whole body tenses in your arms, then collapses completely. she falls forward, chest to the bed, shaking and soaked.

you pull out slowly, letting the strap fall against your thigh, then gently turn her over. she’s flushed, sweaty, lips parted, legs still twitching.

totally. fucking. wrecked.

you lean in and kiss her slow, soft, like a contrast to everything you just did.

she breathes against your lips, voice barely there. “i can’t move.”

you grin, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. “that was the point.”

you run your fingers down the inside of her thigh, watching her flinch at even the lightest touch. her pussy’s red, used, still leaking from the last orgasm—and you’re not done watching it tremble for you.

her eyes flutter open just enough to look at you, dazed, soaked in sweat, lips swollen from moaning your name for what must be the hundredth time.

“color?” you ask, hand paused right above her inner thigh, even though you already know the answer.

she nods, voice rough. “green.”

“good.”

you kiss her neck, soft and slow—contrast to the way your fingers dip back between her legs. she gasps, the sensitivity making her jolt, but she spreads her thighs again anyway. you hum in approval.

“still so good for me,” you whisper, sucking a fresh mark into her collarbone as your fingers circle her clit again—barely any pressure, just enough to make her body twitch. “still letting me have this sweet pussy.”

she lets out a shaky moan, back arching off the bed.

you press two fingers inside her—tight, so tight, even after taking you over and over. she clenches like her body’s not sure it can handle more, but her hips move, desperate for more depth. you give it to her slow this time—just your fingers first, curling deep, scissoring gently, dragging the swollen heat from her all over again.

“sensitive?” you ask against her ear, licking the shell of it.

she nods, but her legs still try to wrap around your waist. “i don’t care.”

you pull your fingers out, slow and wet, then suck them clean while she watches. her breath catches in her throat.

then you reach for the strap again.

this time, you flip her onto her side, spooning up behind her, sliding the tip between her folds. she whines, body shivering from head to toe as you tease her entrance.

you push in slowly. every inch dragging against oversensitive walls. her mouth drops open, no sound even coming out this time.

“shhh,” you murmur into her ear, hand sliding up to her chest, gripping a breast while your hips start moving. “you can take it. you were made for this.”

your thrusts are deep and angled perfectly. one leg slung over yours, her ass pressed right up against you. you slide your arm under her neck, cradling her as you fuck into her slow and punishing.

your hand drops between her thighs again, rubbing slow circles around her clit in sync with every thrust.

she starts crying.

not from pain. from being absolutely, thoroughly destroyed.

“please,” she sobs. “please, i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” you growl, thrusting harder now. “you’re gonna cum again for me. you’re gonna soak my cock like the filthy little slut you are.”

her whole body shakes.

you bite her shoulder as your pace builds, the slap of your hips against her ass getting louder, faster. her pussy tightens around the strap, and you feel it—she’s right there again. her cries grow high and choked, her legs spasming uncontrollably.

then she screams.

you hold her tight as she convulses in your arms, another orgasm ripping through her so violently she nearly pushes you out. but you hold her there. deep. still. letting her shake around you, her nails digging into your arm, tears wetting the pillow.

and finally—finally—you slow. you gently pull out, her body twitching at the loss, her legs unable to close.

you shift her onto her back, brushing the hair from her face. her eyes are barely open, lips trembling. she looks absolutely ruined. blissed-out. used in the best way.

she tries to speak, but all that comes out is a broken, “f-fuck…”

you kiss her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose.

“you’re perfect,” you whisper, stroking her stomach softly now, letting her finally come down. “all mine.”

she nods weakly, voice barely audible. “yours…”

the first thing you notice is the sunlight creeping across the sheets.

the second is azzi, curled into your chest, naked, her leg thrown lazily over your waist. her skin’s warm against yours, her cheek soft where it rests on your shoulder. you let your fingers trace lazy shapes into her hip, brushing over the faint red marks you left there the night before.

she stirs a little when you shift, letting out a soft, sleepy whine that turns into a broken, “mmm… don’t move.”

you smile. “didn’t think you had energy to complain.”

azzi groans, burying her face against your neck. “i don’t. everything hurts.”

your hand slides lower, brushing over the curve of her thigh. she tenses when your fingers graze the inside of it—still sore, still so used.

“you okay?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

she nods, but her voice is hoarse. “i’m wrecked. my legs feel like they don’t work.”

“mm. wonder why that is,” you murmur, dragging your knuckles slowly along the inside of her thigh, right up to where she’s still slightly sticky between her legs.

she flinches. “y/n…”

“sensitive?”

“you’re evil.”

you chuckle, kissing her cheek as she squirms in your arms, trying to pull the sheet up higher to hide her face. but you don’t let her go. you roll her gently onto her back, sliding your leg between hers and leaning over her. she’s all flushed again, body remembering everything you did to her last night with every shift of her hips.

your hand glides down her stomach, and she catches your wrist—not stopping you, just holding you there.

“i can still feel it,” she whispers, not meeting your eyes. “you. inside me. i swear it’s still there.”

you hum, low and satisfied, kissing just beneath her jaw. “it should be.”

her breath hitches when your fingers drift lower, teasing again—just light pressure, not even pushing in. her whole body tenses.

“god, i’m so sore,” she mumbles, but her legs part anyway, muscles trembling.

you glance down at her—messy hair, love bites scattered across her chest and neck, thighs still flushed and twitching. she looks perfect.

“you want more?”

she bites her lip. “i want… a shower. and breakfast. and maybe… later.”

you grin and kiss her softly. “later, huh?”

she arches an eyebrow at you with a sleepy smirk. “maybe.”

you pull her into your chest again, hand still resting low on her hip, your fingers casually stroking the curve of her ass.

“we’re not leaving this bed for a while,” you say, voice low in her ear. “you’re not even ready to stand up.”

azzi groans, burying her face in your neck again. “don’t remind me. you broke me.”

you hum, satisfied, brushing your lips against her temple. “damn right i did.”

coming home feels… different now.

not because anything’s changed about the house—your keys still stick a little in the lock, the laundry’s still piled in the guest room, and the kitchen smells faintly of that candle azzi always lights when she bakes—but because you’re different.

married. still freshly sun-kissed from spending the days under the golden light. still catching yourself staring at her ring when she gestures in conversation.

still in awe.

azzi steps into the house first, barefoot, suitcase dragging behind her. she turns to look at you over her shoulder, eyes soft, mouth tilted into that half-smile you fell for.

“we’re home,” she says quietly.

you shut the door behind you and drop your bag. “we are.”

the first few days back are quiet. peaceful.

you wake up late, tangled in sheets and her limbs. you make coffee slowly, watching her dance around the kitchen in one of your oversized training shirts. you water the plants you forgot to set timers for before leaving. you rest.

there are no press tours. no practices yet. no calls you can’t ignore.

just her. just you.

one afternoon, you both sit on the living room floor with wedding photos spread out across the rug.

azzi’s in your lap, her head on your shoulder, scrolling through the digitals on your laptop. you hold one of the polaroids in your hand—one her grandmother snapped at the ceremony. the one where you’re looking at azzi like she’s the sun.

“i still can’t believe we did it,” she murmurs.

you glance down at her. “married or survived your mom’s guest list?”

she snorts, nudging your side. “both.”

you kiss her temple. “best decision i’ve ever made.”

she tilts her head up to kiss you, slow and full of quiet joy. the kind that lingers.

training resumes.

you return to the pitch with angel city, sharper than ever. the staff welcomes you with soft smiles and cheeky grins—everyone saw the ring. no one says a word. respect.

azzi’s season is winding down, playoffs approaching, but she still shows up to your practices with smoothies and baby carrots and that proud look she always wears when watching you play.

you find each other in between the chaos.

late-night facetime calls when she’s traveling. her falling asleep on your chest after your matches. cooking together in silence. folding laundry with music playing. sunday mornings spent reading on the patio, legs tangled under the same blanket.

everything feels like a shared rhythm now.

even your space.

you were already living together technically. but this?

this is your first time in your shared home as wives.

there’s a slow reverence to everything now—unspoken meaning behind the little things. when you rearrange the mugs, when she organizes the books by color. when you hang framed wedding photos in the hallway. when you both look at the guest room and wonder if maybe, soon, it’ll be something more.

one night, you’re curled on the couch, both in sweats, sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching a documentary neither of you are really paying attention to. azzi’s head is on your chest.

“you know,” she says softly, “i never thought i’d have this.”

“this?” you ask.

she looks up at you. “this love. this life. a home. a future.”

you press a kiss to her forehead. “i didn’t either. but now i can’t imagine anything else.”

your home is louder now.

years has passed.

tiny feet run through hallways. giggles echo off walls. cartoons hum faintly from the living room.

you and azzi are moms to two beautiful children—your daughter, ava, and your son, zion. ava has azzi’s big eyes and your strong jaw. zion has your dimples and her curls.

your lives have changed—but the love? that’s only grown.

you still wake before sunrise for training. azzi still shoots hoops in the driveway with zion on her hip. ava already kicks a football around with frightening precision.

the world still watches. but you’ve built something untouchable.

until now, you’ve never confirmed your relationship publicly.

no statements. no interviews. just love in private.

but today, you decide it’s time.

@azzi35 & @yourinstagram “our greatest win. our forever team.”

[first photo]: you and azzi on your wedding day, foreheads pressed together, tears in your eyes. [second]: a quiet beach shot from your honeymoon—her laughing in your arms. [third]: you two in your home, ava between you, zion on your hip, the sun pouring through the windows. [fourth]: ava in an angel city kit and zion in a sparks jersey, both wearing custom “#1 mom” caps. [last slide]: your hands, fingers intertwined. her ring shining. yours next to it.

@/sportsqueens: azzi fudd and y/n have kids. kids!!! i didn’t even know they were dating and now i’m crying over a family i didn’t know i needed.

@/lesbianhoopsfc: we’ve been shipping them since that nike campaign and now they have two babies and a house and rings? i’m emotionally wrecked.

@/ballonbabes: when y/n said “forever team” i actually ascended.

@/wnbaxnwslfamily: this is what sports power couples should look like. loyalty. legacy. love.

you read the comments with azzi curled against your side, zion asleep on your chest, ava drawing nearby.

she looks up at you, smiling.

“you happy we posted it?”

you nod. “we’ve never hidden—but it feels good to share. on our terms.”

she kisses your jaw. “we deserve to be seen.”

and you are.

by the world. by each other. by the two beautiful kids who call you mama.

it’s not just the end of a love story.

it’s the beginning of a legacy.

#paige bueckers x reader #azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader #azzi35 #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #ucon wbb #lesbian #wlw #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #wuh luh wuh #ncaa wbb #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #꙳¤*٭⁎﹡꙳＊ 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 ＊꙳﹡⁎٭*¤꙳

452 notes · View notes

o-sachi · 6 months ago

Text

Blue Lock Filo! AU Headcanons

𖤓 feat. isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, barou, nagi, reo, sae, rin, karasu, otoya, hiori, shidou, oliver, yukimiya 𖤓 tags: college au, filo au, crack (kinda), sfw, written in Taglish because ???, not proofread lel

note: I'm sorry if your uni isn't here. My knowledge of universities in the country is limited to the big 4 and some others that participate in uaap sobbb

note 2: Send me your own hcs too plspls

note 3: filo moots sana magkaron haha what if

Isagi

He goes to UST and will correct you (nicely) about how to pronounce "Thomasian"

Goes to church with his family every Sunday without failure

He's close with his extended family too, especially the grandparents.

Golden child. Siya yung bata na example ng nanay mo na dapat gayahin mo raw.

A fan of indie Pinoy bands and watches indie Pinoy films.

Cup of Joe fan lol

Too shy to ask anyone out for the Christmas event sa UST (sorry limot ko na ano tawag).

Is in UST, but probably not taking up medicine. Parents were supportive of it though.

Mabilis mag-reply. He uses the 👍 and 😊 unironically

Friends with a lot of questionable/cancelable guys, but he's still genuinely the nice one among them

When he visits a friend's house, he's always chatting up their parents and helping around the house without being asked

Generic sinigang enjoyer :shrug:

Pretty much an average guy. Though he is definitely nicer than most. It shocks you.

(Sorry wala na ko maisip pero basta green flag siya).

Bachira

Goes to UP Diliman for fine arts

A manic pixie dream boy that girls gush about when they see him hanging out at the sunken gardens

Knows all the brainrot and even the Pinoy brainrot

Does the "Ha? Halaman" and says "Sinong nagtanong?"

Loves Jollibee because it's cheap and it tastes good

Spaghetti and Jollihotdog enjoyer

Social anxiety fears him. He'll do mostly everything you ask him for 20 pesos (sometimes for free)

Celebrated his 4th birthday at Jollibee and has a picture with the mascot lol

Bardagulan enjoyer

Has been casted in plays before and is genuinely good at acting

See him running in campus because he's always late to class

Puts too many songs in the karaoke but never finishes the songs because he gets bored halfway through

Runs a FB meme page...

Actually dresses nicely. Hindi mukhang pakboi

Not afraid sumabit sa jeep. Either sa tabi siya ni manong or sabit

Chigiri

Went to some fancy all boys like Brent, then is now in Ateneo

Could be studying business ??

Not conyo. Just straight up English with a really good accent

imessage lang daw mode of communication niya

Always wearing a button up, khaki pants, and loafers na Sperry or sandals from Birkenstock

Was featured in a commercial when he was younger

His mom was very active in the PTA. Their family was often the topic of chismis because yk maraming inggit sa paligid.

Does not listen to OPM or watch Filipino movies because 'corny' daw 'yun

Mabagal mag-reply since he's always busy doing something

Calls people 'baduy' or 'jologs' or 'jejemon' because he can

MATARAY SI ATE KO

Will never catch him on a dating app because, again, it's so baduy daw

Kunigami

I dunno but... UP Baguio vibes siya lol

Will always always always post on his story of him running along the campus

May post palagi ng gym progress at Strava stats niya

People think he's thirst trapping, but really, he's not

Also very close with family and they celebrate all holidays together no matter what

Karinderya food enjoyer (same)

Loves anything na lutong bahay tbh. He's not picky with food.

Mabagal din mag-reply pero that's because he's not chronically online

Does not get internet memes or references. Lolo po siya.

A really good kuya! The type to intimidate his sisters' boyfriends if they ever come to visit their house.

Probably also plays basketball too. They used to live near a gym/ring. He played a lot with the neighborhood kids.

Watches NBA and Manny's boxing matches

Shot puno. Red Horse. San Mig.

Pag nalasing nag-dadrama tapos kakanta ng malungkot na song sa karaoke

Laging naka sando LOL

Barou

UP DILIMAN TOO AND STUDYING ARCHITECTURE

Makes insanely good plates

Laging napapagalitan ni lola kasi nakasimangot palagi

Lola's boy by the way

Gets insane road rage because of the god awful traffic

"Putangina traffic na naman." / "Parang gago 'to mag-drive." / "Sige. Singit pa, hayop ka." (sa naka-motor)

Fan siya ng F1

Malutong magmura lmfaooo

Also a gym bro but doesn't care about sharing it on social media

Barely any social media presence

Tutors his younger siblings

Isn't ashamed of taking food from parties, stuffing it in a tupperware, and heading his merry way home

Argues with people on FB because he can

"Anong sinasabi mo. Bobo ka ba?"

Term of endearment niya ay "Tanga"

Nagi

Parents always get mad at him kasi nga tamad.

Also because he was a picky eater as a child. Would rather starve than eat that one ampalaya dish (was always served at his household which pissed him off)

Wanted to go to the same university as Reo but Ateneo is too serious for him. So he went with sports science in NU

They make sure to meet up still

Always misses his stops because he falls asleep or zones out

He's the guy in class who always has his airpods on no matter what

Hoodie, baggy pants, dunks

Mahilig umutang, pa-unti unti, pero madalas nalilimutan

"Ah. May utang ako? Sorry, nalimutan ko siguro."

COD player na palaging may battle pass no matter what. Nainis siya isang beses kasi sinabihan siya ng PC MASTER RACE. Eh cellphone gamer lang siya

Obviously, he had his ML phase

Trashtalker siguro. "Tulog ka na. Bata," type shi

Teachers always forced him to join the events in the sports fest

Reo

Siyempre, Ateneo 'yan. Management Engineering pa. 'Di niyo kinayaaaa

CONYO 'YAN FOR SURE

He's in a bunch of orgs and stuff because he's a social butterfly like that

May nanay na judgmental sa ibang pamilya lmfao

Was in one of those interviews on campus asking students about their daily baon

"Ah. Isn't 1k a day normal? It's kulang pa nga eh since I live sa condo."

Ayun. Nakatira sa condo pala.

Goes golfing with his dad and posts his swing on IG stories

Crypto bro. Shares his crypto stats(?) sa IG stories

Humble bragger kahit saan. Personal or on social media

Same porma with Chigiri pero mas madalas naka-polo shirt siya

Ralph Lauren and Lacoste boy

Laging VIP seats sa concerts. May napila sa SM tickets para sa kanya

Lowkey a D-list or C-list celebrity

Friends with Filo actors and actresses

Sae

Also Ateneo (Sorry ang daming Ateneo. Alam ko. Pero those are the vibes eh.)

Definitely went for medicine and is planning to study even more sa foreign country

The golden boy of their clan. Always receives the most praise and pasalubong from relatives

He hates hearing the "Ang laki mo na!" greeting

Never engaged in the pagmamano and saying of "po" and "opo"

SURPRISINGLY, he enjoys the dirty ice cream they sell on a cone (it's not actually dirty btw, it's what we call ice cream sold by carts on the street. it's edible dw)

Possibly a frat boy

Gets so many message requests on messenger and insta but he ignores them all

Strava enthusiast din

You'll see him running in all of the best gear

Not conyo. He actually speaks mostly Tagalog but there's that slight 'maarte' accent there

Hates being called 'rich kid' kesyo baduy din daw LMAO

They have a driver, so many yayas, a gardener... ay basta kumpleto staff nila

Ayaw nung staff sa kanya kasi suplado

Drives a BMW

Rin

Went to La Salle and got into LeapMed just to spite his older brother and prove to them that he is better

Relatives always compare them

Even though they're rich, he probably got a lot of hand-me-downs from kuya, which pissed him off SO MUCH

Not a fan of Filipino movies, but he likes the horror movies. He says some of them are really well-crafted and gives a good scare sometimes

Unlike Sae, Rin likes homemade food. I see him liking Menudo lol (I mean, who doesn't?)

Refuses to commute. He's driving or he's being driven. No buts.

Mas gusto siya ng staff sa bahay nila lol

He grew up with a specific yaya. They're actually still close now. He's closer to her than his parents.

The conyo one. Mahilig mag-mura pero exclusively English 'yan.

Takes the longest to reply kaya 'yan walang ka-talking stage lol

100% has beef with the younger members of his extended family. He has that annoying cousin that he tripped once because why not

He hates family reunions, of course

Karasu

UPLB. Fo sho.

Chemical engineering definitely.

Halimaw yarnnn (heart eyes heart eyes)

Bro pulls up to class in a shirt, basketball shorts, and flip flops

Not a fan of the nightlife there, but is a certified manginginom LMAO

Can outdrink his dad and titos. Kahit lambanog pa 'yan

Extra respectful to the ladies in his family. Gets ultra pissed off when someone jokes about getting with his mom or older sister

Malutong din magmura

His personal favorite is "gago" HAHAHA

Medyo dry mag-chat, walang emojis (pero 'yun ang gusto ng mga babae apparently)

Not a fan of Manila (smells weird daw there)

Secretly makes fun of conyo people lol

Street food enjoyer. His favorite is probably isaw or squid balls. Matamis and maasim sauce please !

He can cook, but his mom cooks better, so taga-saing na lang siya ng bigas lol

Mahilig siya sa tapsilog siguro.

Lives off of energy drinks to survive the semester

Crush ko siya. Hala headcanon ba yan HAHAHAHA

Otoya (Oh boy oh boy)

Engineering as well, but at Mapua. Probably electrical engineering or industrial

Gwapo na mabango HAHAHA

VAPES. Onti na lang naka-lanyard na vape niya

Listens to Zild and Hev abi...

Araw-araw may IG story ng car niya, ng music na pinapakinggan niya, or panibagong soft launch

Fan siya ng American Psycho at Blade Runner kasi he is him daw (akala niya siya si Ryan Gosling na may pinagdadaanan...)

Nasa Tinder at Bumble. Bio reads: "Let's see where it takes us."

Na-cancel na sa Twitter before pero wala siyang pakialam (unbothered king?!)

Favorite song ang FE!N

Rap fan 'yan eh

Nako... may Telegram 'yan

Valorant e-boy. Kailangan may duo palagi.

Says he's into cute chinitas probably

Laging may note sa IG or sa messenger lol

"Kumain ka na ba?" texts (hala siya)

Of course, good morning at good night texts din

Frat boy siguro (may frat ba sa Mapua? sorry hindi ko knows)

Drinks a lot, but he can't handle his liquor. Gigising na lang siya the next day may video siya sa boy's GC na kung anu-ano ginagawa.

Hiori

Computer Science probably. Also in UPLB. (Ang probinsyano?? HAHAHAHA)

Studying? Why study when he can be at the computer shop? He lives there, pretty much

Dorms because he wants to get away from his family

Can't be bothered with org/frat culture

Tambay sa forums like freedom walls/reddit/etc

Sumasali siya sa e-sports tournaments

LoL and DOTA player, of course

Also plays a bunch of stuff on Steam as well though. Pero babalik at babalik pa rin sa LoL

Also plays Valorant. Smurfs for fun because he likes crushing the hopes and dreams of people. "Sala ka pa. Haha, tanga," type shi.

Always down for the early morning runs to 7-11 or whatever's open at that hour

Puro pancit canton kinakain. Puro Mountain Dew iniinom.

He and his friends always talk about PC specs...

"Hindi, pre. Mas maayos pa rin 'yung ano..."

Shidou

Also from La Salle maybe? Not the Taft branch though. Hindi kasing yaman nung iba siguro.

Fine arts student! May art account siya sa IG

Napalabas siya sa McDo dati kasi masyadong maingay

Would probably vlog a day of his life at La Salle

Posts all the unhinged shit on their freedom wall and fucks with the people from the Taft branch lol

The reason why their group chat cannot be leaked under any circumstance AT ALL

Always has the weirdest nickname in their messenger group chat

Somehow I get the vibe that he enjoys inihaw lol (same)

Napunta rin minsan sa computer shop. But very rarely because he gets too heated and starts making a ruckus there (mapapalabas na naman)

Expert commuter. Baha has nothing on him. Waterproof siya.

Would probably engage in frat culture, but only for fun

A party animal. 10 seconds niya yung Cuervo ez

Oliver

Umm UP Manila Political Science? Maybe?

Always nominated for council positions or other important roles in university organizations lol

Major kuya vibes kasi

ANONG VAPE VAPE? DIRETSO MARLBORO RED NA

Which is giving out first? His liver or his lungs? Abangan.

Unlike Otoya, he doesn't really date girls at the same time, but more so, he moves faster than what you'd expect (may rebound palagi kumbaga)

Posts on his IG story always with the intention of capturing the attention of someone lol (lagi siya humahakot haha)

"It's not you. It's me."

Bro thinks he's the male lead of a Filipino indie romance film

Cannot shut up about I'm Drunk I Love You

Frequents BGC clubs as well. Aspired to be a DJ once

Lahat ng messaging apps meron 'yan. Replies very fast too.

Search up BGC Boy playlists on Spotify. That's what he does, at least.

Yukimiya

Maybe goes to Normal U. because he wants to be a teacher/professor

The typical softboi you see at a cafe reading a book or typing away on his MacBook

So many girls like him, but he's the type to be in a long-term relationship with a high school sweetheart or something

Most of his stories are of him studying (his notes, his coffee with his notes, his laptop screen)

Ben&Ben listener LMAOOO

Possibly also a lifestyle vlogger or podcaster

Keeps getting offers to model for local brands

Possibly religious (his whole family is)

He looks like he would like adobo. 'Yung may toyo, hindi ung tuyo (ANG RANDOM BAHAHAH)

Munimuni listener (he was sad when the vocalist left)

Wants to win a Carlos Palanca award eventually

Looks like the type to advocate for the local culture and is against colonial mentality

My brain ran out of ideas that's why some are shorter than the others lol

299 notes · View notes

grimm909 · 4 months ago

Text

Red Phone - Part 2

I ended up forgetting to include a very important fact here the first time I posted RP! It turns out that the story, in part, is inspired by a South Korean film called "The Call." I highly recommend watching it if you like horror and drama. It's even in the Netflix catalogue! I will also include this information in the first part and then in the third part.

I don't want to take too long here, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the comments you made! This always encourages me and makes me happy ☺️💖

Also thank you generously for your support @ryebread0605 😘

As always, english is not my native language. So I apologize if there are any errors.

Happy reading!

WARNINGS: age difference, non-con, kidnapping, horror, mental breakdown, murder, forced pregnancy

The red phone rings at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sitting at your desk doing your college homework, you put your notebook aside and answer the phone that was on the table.

“Hello, Floyd!” You greet him happily after answering the call.

“Hey, you seem excited.” He notes your good cheer, while he himself continues to use a more relaxed and meek tone. “Did anything good happen?”

“Almost that, yes.” You momentarily remember the night you spent with Ace, but as quickly as that thought came, you immediately pushed it aside. “But also because I’m glad you called me.”

“Hey, I told you, didn't I? Would call to find out more about the future.”

“Of course, I remember.” You respond complacently and with your other free hand pull the notebook back in front of your face. “What do you want to know?”

“Hmmm…” The boy seems thoughtful on the other end of the line, faced with the infinite possibilities. “Who is the most famous player in the NBA today?”

“Do you like basketball?” You ask, pressing the keys.

“Yeep~” Floyd states in a more humorous tone, indicating that you had hit the right spot. “I also play. It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”

“Do you think about playing professionally?”

“I've already thought about that, as I've thought about many other things. But I know it’s a matter of time before it gets boring.”

“Ah, I understand what this is. I consider myself someone who is adept at several things, but can easily get bored of them and move on to something else.” You say, remembering the various things you liked to watch or play, before simply putting them aside after they became repetitive, boring or after finding something much more interesting.

“Eehh~ you read my mind.” He agrees excitedly.

“Another coincidence, then.” You play around and then go on to read information about some of today's most famous players, listening to Floyd humming happily on the other end of the line. “What else do you want to know?”

“About Jade.” He responds immediately. “What else did you find out about him?”

“In addition to what I said about him being a partner in that restaurant, there were many photos of natural landscapes. However, more specifically…”

“Mushrooms.” Floyd finishes his reasoning before you can finish it yourself. His annoyance on the other end of the line was noticeable in the tone of his voice full of disgust, as if each syllable of the word 'mushrooms' was already cursed in itself. “I thought this was just temporary"

“Let’s change the subject then.” You quickly think of an alternative, not wanting to ruin his good mood. “What kind of music do you like?”

“I like different styles, but lately I've been listening to some rock bands.”

“Cool, I like it too.” You say, and then a brilliant idea springs from your mind. “Tell me a band you like and I’ll show you a new song from them!”

"Serious? Hehehe!” Floyd seems ecstatic at the idea, laughing happily on the other end of the line. “It looks like we’re going to get along really well~”

[…]

You stayed talking to Floyd for over two hours, only hanging up when you told him you needed to study. He didn't seem happy about it, insisting that you continue talking about future events. However, you were firm in your decision and reassured him by saying that he could always call you the next day. Despite himself, the boy agreed because he couldn't force you to do anything. Floyd was just a voice from the past, after all.

The study, however, was a blatant lie. You had received a message from Ace on your digital cell phone, in which he asked you to go to a specific address to be together again. And now, with your mind a little more balanced without your hormones getting in the way of your reasoning, you weren't sure if you should do this.

A part of you felt quite dirty and a little guilty about having sex with a married man. To make matters worse, in the bed he shared with his wife for years. However, another part of you, that selfish and perverse part that existed in the darkest corner of your mind, felt terribly excited at the idea of meeting Ace in secret and spending quality time with him again.

It was so wrong and exactly for this why it was so good.

Ace had given you his word of a future divorce and you clung to that as a safe haven, to try and convince yourself that this wasn't as bad as it seemed.

You still pondered for a few minutes, before responding to him with an “ok” and stating that you would meet him in an hour.

Without wasting any more time, you took a shower, put on one of your best clothes and put on makeup in a simple way with just a reddish lipstick on your lips and dark shading. Not wanting to pamper yourself too much, you knew that later your makeup would be completely smudged for not very holy reasons.

When you went downstairs, your parents obviously asked where you were going all dressed up and your answer was to say that you would meet some friends, without an exact time to arrive. Your father was even kind enough to offer you a ride, but you immediately declined the offer, saying the meeting place was nearby.

It was a lie.

After walking a few meters to trick your parents, you had to call an Uber to take you to the address. It wasn't a surprise when you realized the meeting place was at a motel.

You got out of the car and immediately saw Ace in front of the establishment, waving at him.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” He is surprised to see you, taking a long and blatant look from top to bottom, for a moment focusing on the neckline that left part of your breasts exposed, before looking back at your face.

"Thanks." You respond shyly and feel your cheeks heat up, clearly having a weakness for sincere compliments. “Can we go in soon? I don’t want someone I know to see me.” You look around worriedly, immediately wrapping your hands around Ace's arm to pull him towards the motel's glass door.

“Wow, someone is really in a hurry.” Ace mocks with a mischievous smile, still standing in the same place like a statue. He just moves to wrap arms around your body and pull her against his chest. You shiver when you feel the redhead warm breath against the sensitive skin of your ear. “Was our fuck the other day that good?” Ace whispers mischievously, his husky voice giving you awkward sensations.

However, the trigger for your face to explode red is when you feel a suggestive pinch on your ass. “Stop playing with me!” You scream, even though you weren't really angry, but rather embarrassed.

You move away from him and stamp your foot on the ground, upset by Ace's cluelessness. He was the one who should be most worried about being discovered or recognized by someone. Instead, here was Trappola, mocking your caution and messing with you to boot.

“Hahaha. Okay, okay.” He raises his hands up in surrender, but still laughing at your energetic reaction. “I promise I’ll behave.”

It was an obvious lie, but you still believe him.

Without further ado from Ace, he affectionately wraps a hand around your waist and walks with you into the establishment. The receptionist who was inside, behind a marble counter, takes a long and not at all discreet look at the two of you, visibly judging the obvious age difference. It didn't help that you looked more like a sixteen-year-old teenager than a twenty-year-old adult.

“Did you see the way that woman looked at us?” Ace asks in the middle of the room corridors after making payment and receiving the key.

“She was probably thinking about whether or not she should call the police.” You joked, giving a lighthearted laugh.

Ace snorted in annoyance at the joke, but he soon followed up his morally dubious humor with a chuckle as he looked at you.

“It’s here.” He says as he observes that the label glued to the key had the same number as the door, unlocking it and gesturing for you to do the honors of entering. “Ladies first.” Ace winks in amusement and you innocently fall for his joke, before walking through the door and feeling a second pinch on your ass.

“Ahh!” You let out a scream of surprise, but quickly composed yourself as you made an annoyed expression and turned to face Ace, who was laughing behind you like a stupid teenager. “You said you would behave.”

“Of course, but that’s outside.” He enters the room and locks the door behind him. “There’s no one else here for you to be scared of, right?” He asks in a whisper full of cynicism, as he slowly approaches you.

“Don't make fun of my face!" You scream, pretending to be angry to try and hide the embarrassment that spread across your face.

Ace was a damn smartass who wouldn't keep quiet until someone shut him up. And, apparently, you had no choice but to be that “someone.”

Going on the attack, you grab his shirt and pull him towards you, silencing him with a sudden kiss before another provocation leaves your lips. Ace seems surprised at first, but kisses back by opening his mouth and allowing both tongues to meet.

The warm kiss only lasts a few seconds before you pull away from Trappola and ask him to sit on the bed, who promptly does so with a palpable expectation of what you would do next.

Although you were shy at first, you need to swallow this feeling reluctantly to get closer to him and bend your body until you were close to the redhead's ear: “Take off your belt."

As expected, Ace did so quickly and let him fall to the ground, opening his legs in anticipation of what would happen in a few seconds. He stares at you with obvious longing, biting his lower lip as he waits patiently for you to make your next move.

Without wasting time, you kneel in front of Trappola and take your inexperienced hands to the fly of his pants. When you open it, Ace slightly lifts his hips so you can pull down his pants along with his white underwear with a heart print.

A giggle escapes your lips and you decide that you couldn't let this opportunity pass you by. “Little hearts? How cute." You scoff, feeling refreshed when you notice the blush that immediately appears on Ace's cheeks.

Revenge has never been so sweet.

You bring your mouth closer to his already half-hard cock and give Ace's glans a short lick. This one, who couldn't help but notice her pink lips as they approached the tip of his cock, the small and simple touch was able to make him let out a small sigh. He imagines beforehand, how your little mouth wrapped around his dick, would be so perfect to relieve him.

You slowly start to shelter Trappola's penis and taste it more intensely, realizing that the taste wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. A little more relaxed in light of this fact, you close your eyes and begin to make initially slow movements back and forth, only sucking half of his length. Of course you had never done that in your entire life, but at least you were aware that you shouldn't use your teeth under any circumstances. That had to be worth something.

Ace closes his eyes and subtly throws his head up when he feels that half of his member has been sheltered. And it got even better with those back and forth movements you started to make. Although slow, they were like a massage on his penis.

You looked up and enjoyed seeing him being so resigned, completely at the mercy of your whims. You also loved hearing him moan, and as much as Ace's beautiful sighs were similar to a beautiful symphony to your ears, you longed to hear more.

With that thought in mind, you used your tongue to focus on the most sensitive point, licking the glans greedily and from this action feeling a salty liquid in your mouth, which you identified as pre-cum. Your back and forth movements also became a little faster than normal, which made you get what you wanted as soon as the redhead's moans intensified.

You were doing your best not to interrupt the blowjob, but you weren't yet experienced enough to be able to breathe through your nose and suck Ace so eagerly. Inevitably, after a few seconds, you had to separate your lips from the redhead's cock to take a few sips of air.

“Don’t stop.” Ace dictates with the heavy breathing.

You quickly understand that it wasn't a request, but rather an order when he abruptly grabs your hair to bring you back towards his cock, forcing the entire length down your throat in a single thrust inside.

Poor, foolish thing you were, who mistakenly thought were in control of the situation.

You patted Ace's knee to make him let go of his head, but he wasn't paying attention, or was simply categorically ignoring you. Definitely the latter, as he starts to force his dick down your throat several times.

As you choked on his penis, Ace let moans and sighs louder than the previous ones escape your mouth, revealing the pleasure he felt in an explicit and exclusive way for you. And realizing that there was no way to get his dick out of your mouth without making him cum first, you have no choice but to try to relax your own throat so you can take him in.

Lost amidst thoughts of lust, possession and desire, Ace had nothing to complain about. The speed was incredibly perfect, frantic, and his tongue made the right movements to make him intoxicated to the point of disconnecting from the world and just moaning more and more, muffled but still loud. The redhead could feel that he was getting closer and closer to the peak, all through that inexperienced and delicious little mouth of you.

Holding his bottom lip with his teeth, Ace allows himself to melt into the mouth that he has come to love even more. Such pleasure is felt by the redhead, that he feels his vision become slightly blurred and dark, letting those fantastic spasms grace every cell of his body.

You swallow every drop of his semen, completely unwillingly. It wasn't horrible, but it was far from good. And after using your throat as a cum dump, Ace lets go of your hair and you finally free yourself from his cock, moving away from it and breathing heavily, tired after all that exercise you had done with your mouth.

“Ace, you’re an asshole.” You cursed him after normalizing your breathing, visibly upset. “Did you want to choke me with your dick?”

“Hey, I will reward you.” Ace smiles suspiciously gently, before grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into a kiss, not seeming to care about the taste of himself present in your mouth.

You feel like biting him as a form of revenge, but end up giving up because you do not want to break a contact as intimate and pleasant as that.

“Now it’s my turn.” Ace says seductively after breaking the kiss, licking his lower lip in clear provocation.

Oh, heavens, you were going to hell because of this man.

[...]

Floyd called you at two o'clock the next day, with just one more day to go until his probable death.

“Have you fixed the bike yet?” It was the first thing you said after answering the call.

“Yep~”

“You’re not going out with her tomorrow, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay at home all day.” He soothes. “The only way I could end up dying in my own house is if a meteor hit it.”

“Be careful, okay?” You ask, afraid that something else might happen. “I really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You’re so cute, worrying about someone you barely know.”

"Really? I don’t think that, I consider you a friend.” You admit it honestly.

“Eeehh, so you called yourself my friend without my consent?” The boy lets out a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Bad girl.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You speak awkwardly, the regret of your own words knocking on the door. Maybe it was too early to put a title on the relationship you had with the voice on the other end.

“Hehe, you took my joke too seriously.” Floyd comments relaxedly after noticing how worried you seemed. “I’m just kidding, kidding.”

“Phew.” A sigh of relief leaves your lips.

“Nee, nee~ what do you think will happen when the future changes?” Floyd asks, excited about the possibilities. “Do you think you’ll still be living on here?”

“Hard to say. But if your parents only moved because of the tragedy, then they will probably still be here.” You comment, not thinking much about it at first. “And me, well, in my old house or somewhere else. That's what I think at the moment, changes in the past can cause infinite possibilities in the future or even a time lapse, who knows…

“Boring~” Floyd grumbles. “You’re a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd.” You defend yourself, outraged by the boy's derogatory comment. “I just love time travel movies. You never watched-…”

Your words die in your throat, a sudden, silent astonishment that makes you pale from one second to the next.

You finally realize that realizing an alternate future would mean never meeting Ace. Even the memories of the two of you together could be erased from his mind, as if they had never occurred. And in fact, they wouldn't happen.

From the beginning you knew that things could change and you hadn't cared so much about it, but now it was different. Maybe you didn't love he yet, but you definitely felt something for him that went beyond physical attraction, even before you had sex with Ace.

“Hey, you okay? You were suddenly quiet.” Floyd asks, his tone showing genuine concern.

“I need to hang up, sorry.”

You don't give Floyd enough time to ask why, before quickly hanging up the phone on him. You would apologize later, especially now that the boy would have all the time in the world to live a happy and comfortable life, at the expense of his memories with Ace.

Wait, were you really starting to regret possibly saving a life, just because of a passion that would predictably, one time or another, go wrong?

When you realize this, you feel even worse. It wasn't right to choose between the two, but here you were, which in the most disgusting part of your core you were rooting for, practically praying, that the next day nothing would change, even if it meant never getting any calls from your friend Floyd again.

You shake your head in denial, hating your own thoughts. It was still better to let go of his unspecified relationship with the redhead than to let someone die out of pure selfishness.

You weren't like that, you didn't want to be like that.

You drop the red phone on your desk and decide to leave the house to get some fresh air, convinced that this could clear your mind.

[...]

You were sleeping when the red phone rang at midnight.

Groggy with sleep, you struggle to get up from your warm and cozy bed, walking towards the desk where your phone rested.

you catch him, but don't answer. Possessing the knowledge that it must be that strange voice, it is your preference to not want to talk to him anymore after the incident with the doll.

“If you keep going, he’ll come get you.”

You remember the warning she gave and an unpleasant sensation rises throughout your bone marrow. You immediately decline the call and place the phone on the table again, returning to bed.

The moment your head hits the pillow, that's when that damn device resonates again. Annoyed, but also afraid, you get up again and this time open the back of the phone to remove the battery from inside, aware that this way no one else could disturb your rest or test your sanity.

You rest both objects on the surface of the desk and turn your back to go back to sleep, thus having a wonderful night's sleep without any further interruptions.

Or…

That would be the case, if the ringing of that cursed telephone hadn't resounded through the room again.

Your breath comes out ragged in sudden astonishment and your eyes widen in clear terror, remaining stagnant in place with nothing but the most genuine feeling of fear, almost as if that old device would swallow you whole if you dared to face it again.

But you have no choice.

Fearfully, you turn around, finding nothing more than the red phone itself continually beeping. Next to it, the battery that was supposed to stop it working when removed, but apparently not serving its purpose.

There were no monsters on here, but your terror doesn't calm down when you notice your bedroom window is open. And you don't remember leaving her like that.

You swallow hard and approach the window, looking through it to see if someone was snooping around your house. Luckily, finding nothing more than just the emptiness of the night.

You quickly walk away and close the window. In addition to locking it, cover the windows with the blind.

Turning your attention to the phone that continues to ring incessantly, from inside your wardrobe you take out a sweatshirt and use it to wrap the object, then storing it inside one of the desk drawers.

You go back to bed and try to ignore the muffled ringing, which persists for the rest of the night.

[...]

Floyd would die today.

Although you searched the internet for more information about his death, the time of the accident had not been specified, only the date and how it occurred. You could just wait for the boy's phone call or simply for an alternative time, in which you would end up waking up in your old house and perhaps with no memories of any of it.

Honestly, a phone call was much more desirable, despite the scare you experienced the night before because of it.

However, it is better to forget about past events and start checking your window every night before going to sleep, or you would become paranoid. In the end, a phone working even without a battery wasn't even as bizarre as the idea of talking to someone from the past.

Your digital cell phone rings with a message notification and you realize it's from Ace, who once again asked you to meet him, this time at his house. You are quick to respond.

2: 14 PM And your wife?

2:14 PM Ace: She's at her parents' house with Alice. We can spend some time alone, what do you think?

14h14 PM Shouldn't you be working?

2:15 PM Ace: Day off, baby

14h15 PM It's okay then. I'll be there in thirty minutes

2:16 PM But be quick to open the door when I ring the doorbell! My parents can't see me coming into your house >.<

14h16 PM Ace: Ok

A huge smile adorns your lips and you let out small laughs of happiness, ecstatic at the idea of being able to see him one last time before the weather probably changes.

But maybe you would still receive some calls from Floyd, so it would be appropriate to take the red phone with you to Ace's house. So, you do it, placing it inside a small black bag next to your digital cell phone.

You dress up in an average way so as not to arouse suspicion and then go downstairs, telling your mother that you were going to the library to study a little. Believing your lie, she just tells you to take care of yourself and releases you without any questions.

You walk through the front door, before checking to make sure your mother isn't close behind and running to the other side of the street. You ring the bell at the redhead's house, and it doesn't take him more than five seconds to open the door for you.

“I feel like I’m committing a crime.” You say in an amused tone, quickly stepping inside his house and feeling less alert the moment you hear him close the door.

“I missed you.” Ace states as he places both hands on your waist, inducing you to turn around and face him.

“It hasn’t even been that long since we were last together.” You refer to the day at the motel, involving your arms circling around Ace's neck. He leans in to press his lips to yours and you close your eyes in anticipation, receiving a gentle, loving peck. It takes a lot of your self-control not to give in when the redhead brushes his tongue against your lower lip, because you knew that he clearly already had ulterior motives in wanting to spice up that kiss. You would end up in his bed again, if you weren't more cunning than that naught guy. And although it was a really tempting idea, you didn't want all your romantic moments with him to be summed up just in sex, especially this moment, which could be your last. Therefore, you push him away by, gently pushing his chest and taking distance from his lips, looking him directly in the eyes. “Can we just watch a movie or something?”

Ace looks surprised at first, almost disappointed. But he's quick to cover it up, by softening his expression and giving you a smile so you wouldn't notice, even though it was a little late.

“Okay, fine.” Ace removes his hands from your waist, but he doesn't move away. Quite the contrary, the older man wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding your to the sofa. “It’s not like I’m just with you for the sex.”

Although in a joking tone, the comment opens a hole in your head, making you wonder if that was precisely why he was with you.

A young, childless and disciplined girl.

In the middle of a scorching desert, you were like an oasis for Ace.

No, it wasn't the time to think that. You should enjoy the time you had left with him, poking this hornet's nest inside your mind was by far a stupid idea.

You sit on the couch, snuggled up against each other. Ace reaches for the controller on the coffee table and chooses a movie that he finds interesting enough that neither of you end up falling asleep.

Little by little, as the minutes of the film go on, you come to appreciate the moment of intimacy and your worries are quickly put aside. Every now and then Ace takes a strand of your hair to curl between his fingers, and if not that, he's stroking the top of your head in a gentle, affectionate stroke.

Although the content of the film is interesting, you can't fight the sleep that creeps into your mind. The previous night's poor sleep is one of the main reasons for this, but it doesn't help being so comfortably close to Ace, with your head resting on his shoulder.

In the end, both reasons are the right recipe for you to fall asleep.

[...]

You wake up by yourself after a few hours, for a moment disoriented about where you were and whether the time had already changed, until you realize that the ceiling you were looking at was Ace house and not your old house.

You notice that you are lying on the couch, without the redhead by your side.

“Ace?” You get up from the upholstery and raise your voice to call his name. Upon his call, it doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to appear at the kitchen door. "What time is it?" You ask worried, both because you know you can't get home too late, and because the redhead's wife could arrive at any moment.

“Five-fifteen.”

“Damn, I slept for almost three hours!?” You ask in a daze and quickly pull your digital cell phone out of your bag, seeing that there were some messages from your mother and three missed calls.

“You looked pretty tired.” The redhead says as he approaches you “Studying late?”

“More or less that.” You omit the truth. He would never believe that ridiculous story about talking to someone from the past. “I’m sorry, Ace.” You say, feeling guilty for not spending enough time with him. “I would like to stay with you, but now I need to go back or my mother will kill me.”

“Okay, we can be together next time.”

I don't know if we'll have one next time.

You think, still afraid of the possibility of forgetting him.

But Ace, oblivious to your problems, removes those thoughts from your mind — albeit temporarily — by getting close enough so he can press his lips to yours. Unlike the first time, you accept him willingly when he tries to intensify the kiss.

The contact of both tongues intertwining in an intimate union is quite fervent and passionate, but it also contains a small trace of desperation on your part, aware that perhaps this would be your last kiss with him.

You pull away after a while, both because you need to breathe and because you need to leave. Ace smiles at you and gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, before walking away to go towards the window, checking if there was anyone on the street who might catch you leaving his house.

“All clear.” Ace warns.

At the green light, you immediately go to the door and open it, saying goodbye to Ace with a sharp pain in your chest.

You wished this wasn’t the last time.

Crossing the street and opening the door of her house, her mother and father were already waiting for her on the sofa in the living room.

It went without saying how much your mother started arguing the moment she saw you stepping foot in the house, asking why you had a cell phone when you didn't even answer a damn message. Your father also sided with her, but in a milder way, just advising you to pay more attention and not spend so much time on the street.

After listening to all the complaints that your mother had to say to you, you went up to your room and took the red phone out of your bag after locking the door, checking if there was a missed call on it too. Nothing.

You placed it on the desk and sat in the chair, deciding to wait for a call from Floyd while killing time by scrolling through your laptop.

[...]

The red phone rings at midnight.

You don't answer, knowing it's that strange male voice, rather than your friend Floyd — who hadn't yet shown any sign of life.

Maybe it was already too late to wait for a call from him. Who knows, perhaps his death was accomplished, even after all the warnings and advice given.

This makes you feel really bad, feeling not only bitter and sad about the possibility that he really died, but also guilty for having for a moment wished for that to actually happen.

The feeling of remorse covers him like a heavy blanket. Sudden tears escape your eyes and you wonder how you could have done more to help him.

Even in mourning, the stranger on the other end of the line doesn't stop, much less respect your pain.

As the seconds pass, the tinkling becomes more and more unbearable, like a macabre orchestra playing the march of the gates of hell as they open.

You grab that cursed device and answer the call.

“What the fuck do you want?” There is no trace of fear in you, other than the purest and most genuine anger. When there is no response other than a panting breath on the other end of the line, you ask in a more shouty manner. “WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT!?”

When there is still no response, you lose patience and hang up the phone. To prevent the tinkling from bothering you, you do the same process as yesterday: wrapping it in a sweatshirt and throwing it in the desk drawer.

You lay down to sleep and the tears return.

[...]

The next day, you feel as exhausted as before, as if your body hadn't gotten enough rest. However, you were fully aware that all this fatigue was not from your body, but from your own mind, shaken by Floyd's death.

You had simply convinced yourself that he would never call again, especially after waking up and realizing that you were still in the house you bought a few months ago, without any sign of change in the present.

You try to let it go, try to convince yourself that you did what you could and that Floyd probably didn't listen to you enough, leaving on his motorcycle even after all the warnings.

Apparently, blaming the victim of the tragedy herself was the only way to feel better, to not feel as helpless and guilty as she was now.

You try your best to put on a neutral expression on your face, pretending everything was fine and heading downstairs to have breakfast, even though your stomach was upset and your throat was completely blocked. You needed to pretend or your family would ask what the problem was, not wanting to be pressured with questions.

Your eyes hover over your mother and father, who were sitting near the kitchen counter. You wish them good morning and sit next to your father, half filling the glass that rested on the table with orange juice, then taking a slice of toasted bread and bringing it to your mouth, biting a piece. It's the best you could eat, without probably ending up vomiting.

You can't taste anything after the stress of these last two days, which finally came to a head last night after all that shedding of tears. You try your best to focus on the taste, but you don't taste anything other than the sweetness of the bread and the sourness of the juice. Each swallow is forced, your throat vehemently refuses each bite and it hurts.

You look at every corner of the kitchen, trying to distract yourself — from the pain and the sudden urge to cry — with anything that is remotely interesting, so that your active brain can have some daydreaming.

Don't think about Floyd. Don't think about him.

You think about him, while you argue with your own mind not to do this, so that it gets distracted by something.

Get distracted by something. Something. Think of something. Start a conversation.

His eyes continue to move, like prey looking for a way to escape its hunter. However, you were not prey, as you were just trying to escape your own tears and bitter emotions.

The guilt continued to haunt you, already rooted in you like a dark stain embedded in soul, just like that strange stain above the ceiling.

Stain… dark?

“Mom, has the ceiling always been like this?” You ask, aware that you had never noticed that before.

“That question again?” You don't understand what she means by that, as far as you knew, you had never even noticed that stain. “Yes, it has always been like this. But I keep telling your father to fix this.” She expresses obvious annoyance, staring directly at her husband. This one, who just pretends not to hear it.

“And what happened to him?” You look more closely, the stain snaked its way across the ceiling to the kitchen door as if a very large and disgusting snake had passed through there and left a trail of soot.

“I already told you that too.” She looks at you like you're an idiot asking the same thing twice in a row. And, apparently that was it, although you weren't aware that you'd ever asked those questions. “Don’t you remember that the house was falling apart when we first came to visit?” No, the house wasn't falling apart as far as you remembered. It just looked abandoned, nothing more. “The purchase was cheap because of the state, but the renovation ended up costing a lot, anyway.”

As if your body is being controlled by invisible wires, you rise from your seat and are driven purely by morbid curiosity. Your feet walk on the ground while your eyes wander through the air, following that soot snake that goes far beyond the kitchen, realizing that it also spreads to the ceiling of the living room, climbing the walls of the stairs to the bedroom hallway. It's horrible.

Regardless of how inattentive you were sometimes, your house had never been like that.

It was as if it had simply changed overnight.

Thank you for reading this far! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

I will only be back in January or February.

Bye~💖

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