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hereforuconnwbb · 24 days ago

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Foul Play - Chapter 1

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 4.2k

warning: language

hey guyssss heres a new series im starting (unless it's ass and i wanna delete it and not do it anymore)😭 yes ik i havent finished 'the study of us' yet but i will do it eventually !! but anyways this is series is basically js paige transferring to uconn from sc for her fifth year eligibility and azzi is apart of the uconn women's soccer team. nth really special in this first chapter but this is gonna be an enemies to friends to lovers series !! anyways i hope its good enough otherwise imma js delete it BSHASHAHSBA anywayssss hope u guys enjoy !! 🫶🏽

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“BREAKING: NCAA CHAMPION PAIGE BUECKERS TRANSFERS TO UCONN FOR 5TH YEAR”

The words flashed across every tv screen in the uconn athletics facility, bold and glowing like someone had set fire to the sports world. On social media, the reactions ranged from stunned emojis to full-on chaos in the comments. Everyone had something to say. ESPN reposted it within seconds. Bleacher report added an edit with Paige’s highlights from South Carolina which had a halfcourt buzzer-beater, a no-look assist, a chase-down block. Comments flooded in. “uconn is stacked now.” “why didn’t she just go pro ?” “this is insane.” “huskies r winning it all this szn.”

Azzi ? She barely glanced at the screen.

Her cleats scuffed against the turf as she paced toward the goal during a water break, twisting her hair into a tighter bun. The girls around her, though ? You’d think God had just descended onto campus.

“Bro. Paige Bueckers. Here. At our school. That’s fucking wild,” said sophomore winger Angel. She was leaned up against the goalpost, grinning at her phone.

“Deadass. Like… she’s literally the face of women’s basketball,” Destiny added, eyes wide, her thumb hovering over her screen like she couldn’t believe what she was reading. “I thought she was gonna go pro for sure.”

Across the field, a group of freshmen huddled in a noisy pack near the bleachers. They were loud, obnoxious, and painfully obvious.

“Oh my god, she’s so hot. Have you seen her arms ?” one of them squealed.

“Wait, wait—look at this video,” chimed in another. “She dropped thirty on lsu last year with a sprained ankle. That’s like… fucking mythical.”

“Her eyes are literally blue like ice water,” said another.

Azzi rolled her eyes as she jogged toward the group, water bottle in hand. She caught Caroline and Kaitlyn stretching near midfield, overhearing everything too. Caroline looked like she was already over it. Kaitlyn had that smirk which was half amused, half irritated.

“You guys gonna start foaming at the mouth or what ?” Azzi called out, mostly to mess with them.

“Can you blame them ?” Kaitlyn shot back, straightening up and brushing turf pellets from her knee. “It’s Paige fucking Bueckers.”

“Who ?” Azzi asked flatly, wiping her face with her forearm.

Caroline let out a dramatic gasp. “Don’t embarrass us like that. You really don’t know who that is ?”

“Should I ?” Azzi asked, deadpan. She wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, it just wasn’t her world. She only watched basketball when Marcus played. And even then, she barely paid attention unless he was on the court and made a 3 or yelled her name from the bench.

Caroline gasped. “Dude, she won 2 nattys with SC. She torched every team in the bracket. People call her the next DT. She’s been in Nike campaigns. She was literally on the fucking cover of slam.”

“She’s a walking highlight reel,” Kaitlyn added. “Smart, unbothered, stone-cold on the court. And lowkey ? Too good for this school.”

Azzi squinted up at the clouds. “So why’d she transfer ?”

“No one knows,” Caroline said with a shrug. “Rumours are she had beef with the South Carolina staff, which I’m pretty sure they cleared that rumour. Some people say it’s about the w draft timing. Or nil stuff.”

“Whatever it is, we just got a legend,” Kaitlyn said, then leaned closer. “And we finally have someone on campus who isn’t Marcus Reed.”

Azzi blinked. “You’re not a Marcus fan now ?”

Caroline scoffed. “Az, you know we love you. But your man’s a walking turnover with a midrange game from hell.”

“He’s got no court vision,” Kaitlyn added with a snort. “If he passes to a teammate, it’s by accident. Even Paige’s high school mixtape looks way better than his best college game.”

Azzi held back a laugh. “You guys are haters.”

“We’re just honest,” Caroline said sweetly, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “And if Marcus knew anything about passing, he’d pass you the ball once in a while.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She wasn’t about to start defending him—not here, not to them. Marcus was complicated. Her boyfriend, sure. But lately, he’d been so far up his own ass about the upcoming season that he barely asked about her own games.

Back across the field, the group of freshmen were still going off.

“I’d let her cross me up and dunk on my soul,” one sighed dramatically.

“Bro ion even think she dunks,” another laughed.

“She could dunk on my heart tho,”

Azzi shook her head and looked toward the facility across campus, where the basketball players would be later on. Where the blue-eyed transfer apparently was going to be.

“Hope she knows what she’s walking into,” Caroline muttered beside her, watching the frenzy.

Kaitlyn grinned. “She doesn’t. Not yet.”

Azzi smirked. “You guys sound obsessed.”

“We are,” Caroline said simply. “Because Paige Bueckers ? She’s that bitch.”

And just like that, the season had officially changed. No one knew what was really coming.

—---------------------------------------

Azzi was walking back to her dorm, airpods in, shin guards shoved halfway into her backpack, still sweating from drills.

She rounded the path toward the side entrance of her building, swiping sweat off her brow, when she nearly crashed straight into someone dragging a suitcase and a duffel bag up the kerb.

“Shit—watch it,” the girl muttered, stepping back just before their shoulders clipped.

Azzi blinked. “Maybe don’t take up the whole sidewalk.”

The blonde looked up, jaw tense, her eyes a piercing, icy blue and had that unmistakable air of someone who didn’t give a single fuck.

“Didn’t realize I needed a permit to exist here,” the girl said flatly.

Azzi took out one earbud. “You always this friendly, or is it just me ?”

The girl scoffed, not even looking at her as she yanked her suitcase over the edge of the path. “You ran into me. But sure, let’s make it my fault. That tracks.”

Azzi folded her arms, her temper flickering to life. “Ok, relax. It’s not that deep.”

“Right. God forbid I mess up your little jog home.” The girl finally looked her full in the face, and there was nothing kind about her stare. “You done ?”

Azzi raised a brow. “With what ? Existing near your suitcase ?”

“You sound real proud of that attitude for someone who can’t walk in a straight line.”

Azzi blinked, then actually laughed—sharp and humourless. “Ok, what’s your deal ?”

“You tell me,” the blonde fired back. “You act like you own the sidewalk and then pick a fight when someone doesn’t roll over for you.”

Azzi stepped forward. “I didn’t pick anything. You’ve got a whole attitude like you’re too good to be here.”

“I am,” she said, voice cool and even.

Azzi stared. “Geez. You’re dead serious.”

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, taking her in now—tall, loose-limbed, unimpressed. Her hoodie said UConn Women’s Basketball, and something clicked in her brain.

“No way,” she muttered. “Wait—are you Paige ?”

The girl looked at her like it was none of her business. “Depends. Are you someone important ?”

Azzi’s jaw locked. “No. Just someone who lives here. Someone who goes here. Unlike you, apparently.”

“Congrats.” Paige said it like a punchline, shifting her bag over her shoulder. “Now if you’re done measuring your ego, I’ve got shit to do.”

Azzi stepped in front of her, blocking the door. “You know, I don’t care who you are. Transfer, champion, whatever. You’re not the only one who works their ass off here.”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Cute speech. Maybe you should save it for someone who asked.”

The silence was tight, electric.

“You’ve got a hell of a mouth for someone who just got here,” Azzi said.

“And you’ve got a hell of an ego for someone I’ve never heard of,” Paige shot back.

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “Go to hell.”

Paige brushed past her, barely glancing back. “Already been. uconn’s just the next stop.”

The door slammed behind her with a sharp bang.

Azzi stood there for a second, stunned, jaw clenched. Her heart was still racing. She didn’t even know why. All she knew was 1 thing for sure:

She hated her.

And Paige ? She hadn’t even bothered to ask her name.

—---------------------------------------

Paige let the door slam shut behind her, the echo bouncing off bare dorm walls as she dropped her stuff with a thud. The room smelled like fresh paint and cheap pine cleaner, and everything about it felt unfamiliar, too clean, too quiet. New school, new room, same weight on her shoulders. Fifth year. Whole different battlefield.

She hadn’t even made it inside for 5 minutes before someone knocked.

“Paige ! Open up, it’s me,” came a voice from the other side.

She yanked the door open, still annoyed, and there was Aubrey, grinning like her whole day had just been made.

“Hey,” Aubrey said, practically bouncing. “Word is the women’s soccer team is already foaming at the mouth over you.”

Paige rolled her eyes, stepping aside. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Aubrey tossed her bag onto the chair and laughed. “Nah, I’m serious. Apparently half of them were drooling during practice.”

“Geez bruh,” Paige muttered, walking over to the bed and dropping onto it. “I already had one of them come at me outside just now.”

Aubrey blinked. “Wait, for real ?”

Paige nodded, pushing her hair back, still annoyed. “Yea. She almost ran into me, then acted like it was my fault. Got all up in my face like she was better than me.”

Aubrey’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god. Was she like kinda your height but a lil shorter ? Body is fit ? High bun? Brown eyes ? Tan skin ?”

Paige looked at her like she was psychic. “Sure. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention to her biography.”

“That was Azzi,” Aubrey said, like it was obvious. “She’s like their golden girl.”

Paige scoffed. “Well their golden girl’s got a stick up her ass.”

Aubrey snorted. “What’d you say to her ?”

Paige leaned back against the wall, smirking despite herself. “Told her I’ve already been to hell. UConn’s just the next stop.”

Aubrey howled. “You’re such a menace.”

“She started it,” Paige said dryly. “Came at me like I owed her rent for walking near the building.”

Aubrey shook her head, still grinning. “God, this school is not ready for you.”

Paige stretched her legs out, her tone cooling again. “I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to win. That’s it.”

“Yea, well… you might end up doing both,” Aubrey said, eyes gleaming. “KK’s been pacing around like it’s christmas morning. Ice nearly jumped out the damn window when she saw your locker.”

Paige let out a short laugh. “At least somebody’s normal.”

Aubrey nodded. “Speaking of not normal—practice today’s a joint one.”

Paige sat up. “With who ?”

“The guys.”

“Fucking hell,” Paige muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “You deadass ?”

“Yea. You good with that ?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her jaw clenched, then loosened. “Whatever. I’ll survive.”

Aubrey gave her a long look but didn’t push it. Paige appreciated that.

“Anyway,” she said, heading for the door, “next time you run into Azzi, try not to murder each other.”

Paige smirked without humor. “No promises.”

Once she was alone again, Paige leaned back against the mattress, her arms folded behind her head, eyes on the ceiling. She wasn’t here to make friends. She didn’t need them.

—---------------------------------------

The walk to the basketball facility was quiet, and full of muscle memory Paige hadn’t realized she still carried. Same bounce in her step. Duffel slung low on her shoulder. Same pre-practice tension tingling in her limbs. Only this time, she wasn’t wearing gamecock colours. She was now a Husky.

The doors to the facility swung open automatically, a blast of cool air hitting her flushed cheeks as she stepped in and that’s when she saw him.

Marcus Reed.

He was walking in from the opposite side lot, headphones around his neck, gym bag slung low, hoodie bunched around his elbows. His jaw tensed the second their eyes locked across the lobby.

Fucking perfect.

Paige didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Just kept walking. And of course, he slowed his steps, timing it perfectly so they hit the entrance hallway at the exact same moment.

“Wow,” Marcus said, voice dry and low. “Look what the fucking wind dragged in.”

Paige smiled tightly, not stopping. “I could say the same about you.”

Marcus huffed a laugh, stepping sideways to block her path just before the double doors to the gym. “Still acting like you’re better than everybody, huh ?”

“I am better than you,” Paige shot back. “Always have been.”

He scoffed, stepping even closer. “Yea ? Then why you here ? Coulda gone pro. But nah you just had to crawl to uconn for more attention, huh ?”

Paige’s jaw twitched. “You think I give a fuck about your little theories ?”

“I think you’re desperate. Washed up, maybe,” Marcus said, leaning in like he wanted her to flinch. “You ain’t special anymore, Bueckers. You’re old news.”

“Right,” Paige said, biting down a bitter smile. “That why your dumbass still riding the bench half the season ? You’re so busy tryna be Steph, but you shoot like Shaq.”

That wiped the smirk off his face fast.

He stepped in again, voice lower, angrier. “You’ve always had a fucking mouth on you.”

Paige didn’t back down. “And you’ve always had your dick in someone else’s girl.”

His face hardened.

There it was.

Years of buried shit, shoved under their old Hopkins jerseys, under the fake smiles at aau tournaments, under all the “yo, that’s my bro” posts and inside jokes.

All gone the second she found out he was sneaking around with her now ex-girl. Back when they were both still dumb enough to think that kind of betrayal could stay secret forever.

“You still salty over that ?” he said, fake-casual. “That was senior year.”

“You were supposed to be my fucking bestfriend.”

He shrugged. “She wanted me, not you. Don’t be mad at me cause you couldn’t keep her.”

Paige’s fists clenched before she even realized it. Her jaw locked so tight it made her temples throb.

“God, you’re such a fucking fuckwit,” she muttered.

“And you’re still a soft bitch who thinks rings make you untouchable.”

Paige stepped into his space now, just enough to make his smug mask falter. Her voice dropped into something colder, flatter, dead calm.

“If I ever catch you talking shit about me again, I swear to God, I will embarrass you so bad that they’ll take your name off the fucking roster.”

Marcus didn’t move. His jaw ticked. There was a flicker of something under the arrogance, maybe fear, maybe regret, maybe just plain ego getting bruised.

But he didn’t say anything.

Paige pushed past him, shoulder brushing his as she walked through the doors without another word.

Behind her, the air hung thick with everything they didn’t say. The broken trust. The years of silence. The scars that still stung.

Paige pushed through the doors of the locker room, her jaw still tight, fists still flexing like they hadn’t quite come down from the urge to swing.

Aubrey looked up from tying her laces, immediately catching the heat radiating off her. “Yo… wassup witchu ?”

“Nothing,” Paige muttered, voice sharp, heading straight to her locker.

Aubrey narrowed her eyes, standing up. “You sure ? You look like you’re ready to square up.”

Paige tossed her bag down, and started changing without looking up. “I said it’s nothing.”

“Mhm sure,” Aubrey said, dragging it out. “Nothing usually doesn’t make someone look like they’re seconds away from homicide.”

“I’m fine.”

Aubrey didn’t believe her but she knew better than to push when Paige’s voice got that tight. She gave her a small nod, grabbed her water bottle, and let it drop.

Minutes later, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside the locker room, followed by Geno’s voice booming through the corridor.

“Let’s go, ladies ! We’ve got a packed schedule and apparently, this is a historic day. So try not to trip over your egos on the way out.”

Laughter rippled through the room and the girls started filing out. Paige took a slow breath and followed, pulling her hoodie over her head, hair slicked back tight, expression tighter.

The men' s team was already warming up on the opposite end of the court. Paige clocked Marcus immediately but he wasn’t looking at her, but she could feel the weight of his ego lingering in the room like smoke.

“Alright, alright !” Geno clapped once and the entire group settled. “Since most of you already know what today is… for the two of you that don’t, it’s the start of the new pre-season, and yes, we’re doing something different this year.”

His eyes scanned the group until they landed on Paige. “This is Paige Bueckers, if any of you have been living under a rock. Two-time national champ, former naismith winner, first team all-american, and the newest addition to our team for her redshirt year. So treat her with respect, or don’t she’ll make you pay for it either way.”

There were a few low whistles, excited chatter from the sidelines. KK let out a whoop, Ice bumped fists with Paige.

Paige nodded once, silent, jaw still ticked tight. Geno continued like nothing was off.

“Today’s session is a combined run-through with the men’s team. Team-building, chemistry, a lil scrimmage. You know the drill. Play hard, play smart, don’t break each other’s ankles. And if I see any dumbass drama, I’m making you run suicides until your lungs give out.”

A few groans echoed, but everyone got into position.

Paige took her spot at the top of the key, dribbling lightly, just warming up. Her eyes flicked toward Marcus once, then back to the ball. Nothing else existed now. Not the tension. Not the history. Just the court.

“Let’s go,” she muttered under her breath, locking in.

—---------------------------------------

Both the teams were now mingled on the court, paired off for a coed scrimmage, jerseys flipped inside out to indicate teams.

Paige barely listened to the instructions. She didn’t need to. She’d run a thousand scrimmages like this, and it was all muscle memory by now. All that mattered was that Marcus was on the other team. And he was guarding her.

Of course he was.

Aubrey caught her eye as they lined up at center court. “You good ?”

“Never better,” Paige muttered, jaw tight.

The ball went up. The scrimmage started.

From the first play, Paige was already locked in. She caught the outlet pass, weaved through the defenders like she was floating, and dropped a clean jumper just inside the arc. Net. No rim.

Marcus smirked like he wasn’t fazed. “Cute. You practicing for open runs or tryna relive your glory days ?”

Paige didn’t answer and just jogged back with a stone-cold expression, already eyeing her next move.

On the next possession, Marcus got the ball at the wing. Paige switched onto him on a screen. His eyes lit up, cocky. He jab-stepped. She didn’t bite. He dribbled right. She mirrored. Tried to cross her but Paige poked the ball loose and snatched it with 1 hand before he could recover. Transition bucket. Layup. Easy.

“Oof,” KK muttered from the sideline, trying not to laugh.

Marcus scowled, jogging back. “You gonna reach all game ?”

Paige shook her head. “Only takes one when you’re that predictable.”

That lit something behind his eyes. On the next possession, he got her again, posting up high, trying to bully his way into the paint. Paige held her ground. He lowered his shoulder, tried to spin but Paige stripped him clean and took off the other way, no hesitation. Fast break. Pull-up 3.

Splash.

“Oh my god,” Ice shouted, hands to her head. “She’s cooking him so bad right now.”

Marcus’s jaw flexed so hard it looked like it might crack. He waved for the inbound, got the ball again, and called for an iso. Paige didn’t even blink.

“You sure you wanna try that again ?” she said, crouching low, eyes locked.

“Fuck around and find out,” Marcus gritted.

He dribbled hard left, crossed right, tried to get her off balance. Paige slid with him step-for-step. He rose for a jumper and Paige got a hand up, clean contest.

Clank.

Rebound.

As the ball swung back around to the offense, Paige caught it at the top again. She dribbled slow this time, baiting him. He was sweating now, jaw clenched.

“Thought I was washed,” she said casually.

Marcus didn’t answer.

She drove left, then stopped on a dime, hitting him with a snatch back that made him stumble a half step. Paige pulled up. Midrange. Money.

“Dayuuuuuummmm,” someone from the guys bench yelled.

The scrimmage didn’t stop. But everyone felt it now. This wasn’t just a practice anymore. This was war.

Next trip down, Marcus didn’t even wait for the offense to set, instead he barreled right into a drive, shoulder down. Paige stepped in to take the contact. Hard. Chest to chest. He knocked her off balance but not down. The whistle blew.

Offensive foul.

“Oh that’s fucken crazy,” Marcus snapped, spinning toward the ref.

“Lowered your shoulder,” Geno called out from the sideline. “Control your body or sit down.”

Paige shook out her arms, already walking it off. “Can’t guard me, can’t score on me. Anything else you wanna fail at today ?”

He turned on her. “You keep running your mouth like that, you’re gonna get humbled real quick.”

Paige’s smile was ice. “You had many years to do that. Still waiting.”

“Still mad over some girl ?”

She didn’t answer that time. Just stared at him like he wasn’t even worth words.

Ball in again. Paige caught it near the wing. This time, she didn’t wait for him to get set. She blew by him off 1 dribble, left him grabbing air, and kissed it off the glass with ease.

Another whistle. Timeout. Teams jogged to the sideline for water.

Marcus stomped past her, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his temples. “You think this proves something ?” he muttered under his breath. “It’s just prac.”

Paige didn’t even look at him. “Exactly. And you’re already getting cooked. Imagine if I actually gave a fuck.”

Aubrey slapped her shoulder as she came off the court. “Yooooo that was filthy.”

KK tossed Paige a towel, grinning. “I thought that boy was gonna cry.”

Paige exhaled, letting herself cool down for the first time in 10 mins. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, jaw finally unclenching.

Marcus was sitting on the opposite sideline now, bent over, elbows on knees, still breathing hard. He didn’t look at her.

Good.

Paige leaned back against the wall, heartbeat still steady. Let them talk. Let them whisper. She hadn’t come to uconn for headlines, for reunions, or for revenge.

But that last part sure felt good.

—---------------------------------------

The whistle blew again sharp, 2 quick blasts that echoed off the walls.

“That’s it !” Geno barked, clapping twice as the last possession wound down. “Good run, good energy, nobody died. I’ll call that a win.”

Groans and laughter spread through the court. SHoes squeaked lazily as the players came down from the intensity, sweat dripping, shoulders sagging. Someone tossed a ball up from half-court, missing the basket entirely and triggering a chorus of boos.

��Hydrate, stretch, and get the hell outta the gym before I remember y’all still owe me suicide drills from last season,” Geno added, already turning toward his clipboard.

The teams began to drift together toward the center circle, slowly exchanging tired fist bumps and high-fives, some still catching their breath. Paige stayed back a moment, tugging at her practice jersey, sweat slicking her temples. Her fingers still tingled with adrenaline. Her shoulders buzzed from the inside out.

She didn’t need to look over to know Marcus had kept his distance for the rest of the scrimmage. After that last blow-by, he stopped calling for her switch. Stopped talking. She’d taken the air out of him, point by point, play by play.

And everyone saw it.

As the group clustered at center court, Paige moved in, giving quiet nods, tossing lazy high-fives to her teammates, a couple of the guys she didn’t know yet. She gave Aubrey a crooked smirk and bumped her knuckles.

Then Marcus stepped forward, hand out, expression unreadable.

Paige’s eyes flicked to him for only half a second which was just long enough to acknowledge he existed then passed him. She didn’t break stride. Didn’t lift her hand. Just walked right by.

His hand hung in the air a second too long before he dropped it with a clenched jaw.

Aubrey caught it.

She glanced between them, mouth quirking like she wanted to laugh but knew better. She jogged to catch up with Paige, who was already halfway to the exit.

“Damn,” Aubrey said under her breath. “You really hit him with the ghosted high-five ? That’s cold.”

Paige didn’t look over. “Didn’t see him.”

Aubrey let out a low chuckle. “Bro, he was standing right there.”

“Nope,” Paige said, cool and calm. “Must’ve missed him. Just like he missed every shot.”

Aubrey wheezed. “Yo, chill—he might cry in the locker room.”

“Not my problem.”

The locker room was a blur of steamy showers and exhausted chatter. Paige peeled off her soaked jersey, her body humming with that familiar post-game fire. She didn’t say much. Just changed, grabbed her water, and dipped early.

As she stepped outside the facility, she paused, standing on the steps of the facility, eyes drifting toward the horizon as campus started glowing in that golden dusk haze.

She took a breath, rolled her neck out, and cracked a small, private smile.

Welcome to uconn.

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#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #ncaa wbb #wbb #wnba basketball #dallas wings

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wbbpls · 4 months ago

Text

Platonic Plus One

Chapter 6: Paige's POV

word count: 3,253

I tried to make this one a little longer for you guys! honestly pls go thank some of your favorite fic writers that always have the longest chapters bc damn its hard. anyway hope you like it!

Paige had no idea what came over her when she kissed Azzi. There was something about all the almost kisses and Azzi’s stunt in front of that bartender that Paige just couldn’t hold it back anymore.

This is all so fucking confusing because it feels so fucking real. How Azzi looks at her, how she stutters when she gets nervous, how she claimed Paige, and how her dimple seems to pop just a little extra make it feel too real.

It just doesn’t make sense how Azzi can fake this so easily, but I guess she is really desperate to have her family leave her alone about dating. And of course Jonathon was invited to this wedding. When they dated for a bit and went to prom together, Paige had just started to understand the depths of her feelings. Watching Azzi dress up for someone else and walk away with someone else felt like the world ending. All these years later, he’s back and interested in spending time alone with her Azzi. However, she isn’t really hers.

Paige still has her hand at the base of Azzi’s neck, and the only thing holding her in reality is the feeling of Azzi’s thumbs gently rubbing circles her hips. “You know you can move your hand now, Paigey?”

But she doesn’t want to. “Oh shit, my bad,” Paige replies nervously. Azzi commented on her hand placement as if she wasn't equally touching Paige. If anything, she left her hands on Paige a beat too long after Paige removed her hand.

Hours filled with laughter, splashing, and swimming went past before they knew it. Jessica and Brandon walk out, and everyone starts cheering. “Hi, everyone!” Jessica smiles and stops by the pool to say hi to the girls. “Hi, bridesmaid!!

“Hi, bride!”

With a mischievous look, Jessica moves her eyes to Paige and says, “And hello to you, Mrs. Bridesmaid.”

Paige chuckles and wraps her arm around Azzi’s waist. “Hey, Jess, this place is insane.”

“Just wait until you see the spa. Their couple massages are out of this world.”

“Baby, we should go! That would be so nice after being tense from all that running coach made us do.”

“You guys totally should! I’m going to keep doing rounds to say hi to everyone, but let’s catch up later!”

The girls say bye to Jess and fall into a newfound silence as everyone else disperses, unsure how to shift back after their kiss. It hasn’t even been a full day of this, and Paige’s brain is scrambling. So she talks about what she knows best, basketball. “You know I meant to tell you, Coach got all on my ass because I was shooting too many free throws. Who even gets mad at that? Like dude, I’m practicing.”

“He just doesn’t want you to overdo it, that’s all.”

“Nah, Big G doesn’t want me to miss my shots.”

“Okay, fine. Well, I don’t want you to over do it, so at least listen to me.”

“I’m good, Az, chill.” Paige isn’t good and hasn’t been good for over a month. Of course, Azzi would see that. The pressure of the season, the NIL deals, the growing responsibilities, and the lack of a national championship are closing in on Paige. She knows Azzi wants to help, but right now, the weight of the world is on her shoulders, and if she stops to rest, she knows everything will crumble.

“I don’t mean anything by it. I just, I don’t know, I hope you know I’m always here for you. That’s all.” The tension in her shoulders almost immediately resolved. If anyone, Azzi would let the ‘Paige Bueckers’ just be Paige, even for a night, despite the flaws and mistakes she carries.

“I’m sorry, Az. I know you are.” Paige reached out her fingertips to touch Azzi’s. “Hey, you wanna ditch and go watch Frozen?”

Azzi’s eyes brightened immediately.” Yes! Ugh, I miss that bed it was so comfy.” Paige fully grasps Azzi’s hand now and pulls her towards the stairs. “Aight, Princess, let’s get you dried off.”

Once they got near their chairs, Paige noticed Azzi’s goosebumps and slight shivering. She quickly grabbed the big towel, wrapped it around her shoulders, and opened her arms for Azzi to enter. Azzi smiled sheepishly but took the opportunity to rest her head on Paige’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around her waist. Paige makes sure Azzi is wrapped comfortably in the blanket and rubs one of her hands up and down Azzi’s back. Azzi sighs and leans deeper into her neck. “Mmm, sometimes I forget what a good hugger you are.”

Paige feels chills going down her spine. Not because of Azzi’s sweet words, but because of her lips gently touching Paige’s neck as she spoke. “Well then, maybe you should hug me more.”

“Well, maybe I will.”

“Is that a threat?” Paige smirks down at Azzi.

“It’s a promise.” Without even thinking, Paige kisses Azzi’s forehead. “You ready to go up, Az?”

Azzi softly smiles, and that softness travels up to her eyes. “Yeah, P.” God, this might be one of her favorite Azzi smiles because this smile is only for Paige. Azzi might not be hers, but that beautiful smile is.

They gather their stuff, and Paige grabs both their bags. As they walk towards the door, Azzi yells over to Katie, “Hey, Mom, we are gonna head up for a nap. Call if you need anything!”

“See ya, girls!”

Paige opened the door for Azzi and watched her walk in. She would open every door for Azzi if it meant less work her favorite girl needed to put in. But honestly, Paige partially does it because it gives her a unique opportunity to appreciate Azzi’s body without her noticing. A key part of Azzi being her sexual awakening was also Paige realizing she was definitely an ass girl. Can you blame her?

====================================

The walk back to their room is filled with laughter and inside jokes. Once they reach their door, Azzi opens it and jumps onto the bed. Man, she’s cute. “Ugh, I love hotel service when they make your bed.”

Paige chuckles as she sets their stuff down. “I’m getting into cozies with or without you, Az,” Paige says as she strips off her shirt. She notices Azzi glancing down appreciatively at her abs for just a moment.

Azzi dramatically gasps, “You wouldn’t!” Paige just smirks and grabs fresh clothes before heading into the bathroom. She changes into boxers, a sports bra, black sweatpants, and an old, oversized team USA basketball shirt. Opening the bathroom door, she walks to Azzi, pouting in her sleep shorts and a sports bra.

Paige lays down on the best and sighs in relief at the comfort of the bed. She pats next to her to signal for Azzi to come lie down. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

“You!”

“Me? Me what?”

“I wanted to wear that shirt.” Now, Azzi is standing over Paige with her arms crossed.

“It’s my shirt, Azzi.”

“No, it’s my shirt, Paige.” Okay, she might be right there, but that's not the point.

“You’re really gonna make me change right now? I just got comfy.”

Azzi sits on her knees next to Paige, making her pout even bigger. “C’mon Paigey, please?”

“Ugh, fine.” Paige would give Azzi the shirt off her back, both figuratively and literally, as you can tell. Paige whispers under her breath, “Such a brat,” as she takes her shirt off.

“Hey!” Azzi takes advantage of her vulnerable position and tickles Paige as the t-shirt is over her head.

“Azzi, stop!” Paige started laughing and squirming under her, trying to gain the upper hand. Azzi grabs the t-shirt, giving Paige the perfect opportunity. Paige grabs Azzi’s hips and flips them, straddling her legs over Azzi’s waist and pinning both hands above her head.

“You are such a brat.” They are both breathless from their tickling match.

“Hmm, but you love me.” Azzi flashes a big smile, moving her hands to lace her fingers with Paige’s.

Time slows down. “Yeah, I do.” And Paige meant it. Their eye contact is too intense to stay in, yet too intense to leave. Suddenly, Paige is very aware of them both not wearing a shirt and how close their faces are.

Azzi’s eyes flash to Paige’s lips, then whispers gently, “I do too.”

No one is here but them. They don’t need to fake anything for anyone. They don’t need to be this close, and they definitely don’t need to be one move away from kissing. Suddenly, she can hear KK in the back of her head again, telling her to be careful. She’ll never tell KK, but she’s right. She can’t lose Azzi because of some stupid feelings. Paige takes in a deep breath and resets. Azzi’s face flashes with disappointment as Paige swings off of Azzi. “Ready for your little snowman dude to sing to you?”

“His name is Olaf, and yes, very much so.” Azzi slips on the team USA basketball t-shirt with a smug face, knowing she won this round. Paige leans back with her right arm resting behind her head while she searches for the movie with the remote in her left hand. Azzi gets herself comfortable, leaning her head on Paige’s shoulder. She already seems sleepy, so seeing how long Azzi even makes it will be interesting.

Paige doesn’t even like this movie that much. It’s not bad. Her opinion of it doesn't match how often she has seen it. But it became Azzi’s comfort movie, so somewhere along the way, it became Paige’s too.

Before Olaf could even sing about what he’d do in the summer, Azzi's breathing got heavier, indicating she was either about to fall asleep or already asleep. Throughout the movie, she kept readjusting to get closer to Paige. She wrapped her arm around Paige’s bare stomach and intertwined their legs. Azzi was absenmindidly drawing circles on Paige’s stomach, making Paige sleepy too.

Azzi’s mumbles wake Paige up the slightest bit as she rubs her back. “I love to cuddle you, baby.” Baby. She just called her baby.

Paige freezes for a moment. There is no way normal best friends say things like that to each other. The line of faking is becoming harder and harder to distinguish, especially as Azzi is slipping out pet names in her sleep. Paige squeezes Azzi a little tighter, appreciating this moment together before falling asleep soon after.

====================================

Paige wakes up to the sound of Azzi’s phone vibrating on the side table. Paige tries to cover her eyes from the light and block her ears from the noise with her pillow. Azzi leans over Paige to grab her phone and then rests right back where she was. “Hi, Mom, what’s up?”

“Oh shit sorry did I wake you guys up?”

“Yeah, but we should probably be getting up soon anyway. Did you need anything?”

“I was wondering if you and Paige wanted to join Dad, me, and the boys for dinner. Some cute restaurants in the main town are not too far from here.”

“Sounds good to us. Meet in like an hour?”

“Perfect, see you both then.”

Paige heard the whole conversation but was trying to enjoy her last little bit of sleep. Azzi begins to drag her fingers up and down Paige’s abs. “Wake up, P, we gotta get ready for dinner.”

“I am ready.” Paige mumbles groggily.

“I don’t think the restaurant or my parents would agree that sweatpants and a sports bra are considered ready to go.”

“Well, they should.”

“Alright, sleepy, pick clothes for dinner tonight.”

“For me or you?”

“Uh, both?”

Paige teases Azzi for always stealing her clothes, but in reality, she loves it. Something about it feels so domestic. “Aight, wear those short shorts with the pink crop top.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Paige changes into light green pants, a white crop top, and an open black button-up with zig zag patterns. Her sneakers have a small platform, giving her an extra inch over Azzi than usual. She takes her hair out to leave down with a nice wave, knowing Azzi will play with her hair a little extra.

“Love when your hair is down like that, P. You look so pretty.” God, the power this woman has over Paige is honestly unnecessary.

“Thanks, Az.”

“Aww, you’re blushing!”

“What? No! I’m probably just, uh, s-sunburnt.”

“Sure you are, P.”

“Aight, whatever, let’s go before your dad blames me for you making us late.” Paige grabs Azzi’s hand and pulls her out of the hotel room, leading them to the elevator. Because everything is a competition for them, they race trying to press the button before the other. Azzi makes a lead by pushing Paige against the wall. Just as Azzi was about to press the button, Paige came up behind her, wrapping her arms around her stomach, picking her up and spinning her around.

Azzi squeals and kicks her feet in the air. “Paige!! Put me down. This isn't fair!”

Paige stretches her arm out to press the button. “Nah, winning is winning, princess.”

The elevator dings open, and the groosman are packed in there. “Hey, Azzi! Paige!” Jake waves them in. Paige moved her hands from Azzi’s stomach to her lower back to lead her in. The girls say their hellos and shuffle into the center of the elevator. Everyone keeps chatting, but one of the guys, Matt, lingers a little too long on Azzi. Paige should have told her to wear sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt.

Jake broke the tension, “Oh, by the way, we are thinking of throwing a party in our room tonight. You guys down?”

Of course, Matt feels the need to chime in with his gross smirk. “Yeah, Azzi, it would be awesome to see you there.”

Paige can’t stand guys like him, especially when it comes to Azzi. She took advantage of their fake dating situation, wrapped her arm possessively around Azzi’s waist, and ignored Matt. “We’ll both be there. Thanks for the invite, Jake.”

The doors open, and they all make their way out. “We’ll see you guys tonight!” Of course, Azzi is always nice. In the lobby, the Fudds are waiting for them.

“Took you long enough, Bueckers.”

“Woah, woah, pause. I was ready. Azzi was the one making us late!”

“Not even true, Paige.”

“You expect me not to believe my own daughter?” Tim crosses his arms, towering over Paige.

“No, sir. Sorry we’re late,” Paige mumbled and walked towards the door. Azzi giggles and leans in to hug her Dad.

Jon laughs and mumbles, “Simp.”

A van is waiting for them out front, and Paige stands next to the door, waiting for Azzi. She offers her hand for Azzi to take as she steps in, “For you, Princess.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“C’mon Paige, hurry up, we’re hungry,” Jose grumbles.

“Damn, y’all are some hangry Fudd’s.”

====================================

After a car ride filled with laughter, they safely arrive at the restaurant, slide into their booth, and order drinks. Katie was the first to break the silence. “Well, this is our first dinner with Paige as the girlfriend, not the best friend. So everyone has permission to interrogate her.”

“Woah, wait, was this a trap?!” Azzi giggles and puts her hand on Paige’s thigh as she tries to apologize through her laughs.

“Paige, what are your intentions with my sister?” Jon narrows his eyes at Paige.

“Seriously, dude?”

“Actually, I do have a question, if you girls don’t mind.”

“Sure, Mom, what’s up?”

“Well, I’m curious, Paige. When was the moment you knew you loved Azzi as more than just a friend?”

“Oh man, y’all gettin’ right down to it.”

“Yeah, Paigey, tell us alllllll about when you fell in love with me.” Paige gulps, trying to calm her heart down.

“I think the moment it really clicked for me was when you came to visit for my birthday freshman year. Like I had plenty of moments before that I knew I saw you as more than a friend, but when you were there, it felt like everything just fell into place, I guess. And we were all making cookies in my apartment, and you just fit in so easily, watching you laugh and smile with all our friends. That moment, I knew I was in love with you and couldn’t see a part of my life you don’t fit in.”

Azzi looked at Paige in awe, squeezing her thigh a little tighter as she spoke. “I didn’t know that.”

“Learn something new every day, I guess.” Paige slipped her hand into Azzi’s. “That was really when it all changed for you? That long ago?”

“Yeah, Az, probably even sooner.” Paige didn’t have it in herself to look Azzi in her beautiful brown eyes and lie. Even if this is all a facade at the end of the day, at least she can honestly say she told Azzi Fudd when she fell in love with her.

After that confession, Azzi was even touchier than usual. She needed some point of physical contact with Paige at all times. When she really got touchy was whenever the waitress came around.

“Is there anything else I can get for the table?” She addresses everyone, but her eyes seem to think only Paige exists. She’s been complimenting Paige or looking her up and down all night. Of course, Paige was oblivious to it, but even Tim caught on to his daughter's annoyance and became the distinct voice for the table. “We’re all set for now, thank you.”

Just a few minutes later, the waitress returned with another Dirty Shirley, placing it in front of Paige. “This is for you, hun.”

“Oh, I didn’t order another one.”

“I know, that one’s on me.” The waitress says in a flirty tone and winks at Paige. Azzi’s grip on Paige tightens and Paige hears Jon and Jose say “Oh shit.” She looks between the brothers, Azzi, and the waitress, confused and overwhelmed.

Azzi leans into Paige, reaching over her to take the drink. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll have it.” Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi and chuckled at her not-so-subtle hint at the waitress. Azzi looks the waitress dead in the eye as she takes a sip from the straw. The waitress looked uncomfortable and unsure where to go, so she quickly left to address another table.

“Oooooh, Azzi is jealoooooooous!”

“Shut up, she was just annoying. Like take a hint.” Azzi rolled her eyes at her brothers, and the conversation naturally flowed to something else.

“Did you want a taste, Paigey?” Azzi pushes the drink towards her, and when Paige moves to take a sip, Azzi pulls it back and moves her mouth to Paige’s ear. “I never said how you’d get to taste it.”

Paige has never been turned on so fast in her life. Her mouth drops open, and red creeps up her neck while she grips Azzi’s hip.

Tim must have noticed. “Cat got your tongue over there, Bueckers?” Paige has never been turned off so fast in her life.

Azzi bursts out laughing at Paige’s frozen and shocked face before she places her head in her hands. Azzi moves her blonde strands out of the way as Paige mumbles, “I shoulda stayed home, man.”

Azzi leans in with her hand on Paige’s back and whispers, “Well, I’m really happy you’re here, P.”

Paige can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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rosemariiaa · 5 months ago

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~Caffeinated Crush~

𐙚- pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚-synopsis: Paige works at a bookstore, and Azzi is the girl who comes in every day but never buys anything. When a spilled coffee incident occurs, she learns Azzi is sketching her in a nearby cafe.

𐙚- this is so cuteeeee, yes i am still currently working on chapter 3 of RMH so you’ll have that soon, but for now enjoy these cuties! happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚-themes: fluff, au

𐙚- taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @juspeaks @imaginespazzi @pbaz7 @bueckersbitch @xxloveralways14 @d3arapril @lupinqs @pazzilover101 @ashortyluvsports @absolutelydreadful

enjoy!!!

I should’ve never let Nika get in my head.

My thumbs hover over the screen of my phone as I scroll through yet another endless TikTok, airpods blasting maybe the best R&B playlist handpicked by the queen. Anyway, the store is empty—of course it is. It’s barely 10 a.m., and no one is running to a bookstore this early unless they’re sixty or a morning person.

Not me, though. I’m here because Nika decided to call me lazy last week and the whole team agreed. Said all my NIL deals made me too comfortable, like I didn’t just have the Big East Scholar of the Year award, not to be cocky or anything but doesn’t that mean i’m smartest to ever exist? Exactly. But no, she just still had to run her mouth, so now I’m working this dumb part-time job at “Bound and Brew,” where the only exciting thing is the smell of cinnamon wafting in from the café next door.

Speaking of which, I mentally add a bagel to my lunch break checklist. Asiago, toasted, extra cream cheese—don’t judge me.

I glance at the clock on my phone. Still early. My chin rests in my palm as I lean on the counter, half-heartedly refreshing the store’s Instagram page. No new likes. Big surprise. God, I have practice tomorrow, and for what?

My earbuds buzz with a notification, but before I can check, the door chimes.

My eyes flicker up, and there she is. The girl with the brown, coily hair.

She’s been coming here for weeks now. Never buys anything, just walks around, poking through shelves like she’s on some personal treasure hunt. I’m pretty sure she works at the café next door—I always see her there, either taking orders or perched by the window with a book in one hand and a green matcha latte in the other. Matcha. It’s alright, I guess, but I can’t help the silent judgment. gatorade > tea.

Her eyes meet mine as she steps inside, and I clear my throat, pulling out one earbud. “Hey, what can I do for you?”

She smiles softly, the kind of smile that’s more polite than warm. “You’re fine. I don’t need help yet.”

Her voice is quiet, soft enough that it almost doesn’t match the confidence in the way she carries herself. She’s bundled in a gray puffer coat, her pink sweatpants tucked into winter boots. The UConn shirt under her jacket catches my eye.

She goes to my school? Weird. I’ve never seen her on campus.

I nod, going back to my phone, but I can’t help the way my eyes track her as she moves through the store. Her hands graze the spines of books, pausing occasionally to pick one up, read the back, then put it back in place.

She doesn’t rush. There’s something careful about the way she lingers in each aisle.

I shouldn’t be looking (staring) at her like this.I really shouldn’t, but her hair is just…nice. Thick curls that spring with life, framing her face like something out of a painting. And her skin? Smooth, glowing, the warm tone almost golden under the soft overhead lights.

Wow. I’m really gay.

I snap my attention back to my phone, pretending to scroll. My heart’s doing that annoying thing where it skips.

When I glance up again, she’s at the door. Leaving already. She didn’t pick up a book or anything again.

The door chimes softly as it closes behind her, and I’m left staring at the empty space where she just stood.

She’s really, really pretty.

And just like that, I’m shaking my head, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Get it together, Paige.

This is supposed to be a job, not some secret queer daydream.

By the time my lunch break rolls around, I’m practically counting down the seconds.

The café next door is my safe haven. Warm, cozy, and always smelling like cinnamon and espresso. It’s everything the bookstore isn’t. I step inside, stomping the snow off my sneakers, and head straight for the counter.

There’s no line, which is a small miracle, but then I see her pretty face again.

Brown curls, her same shirt, pink sweats, and those same bright eyes. She’s standing behind the counter, tying an apron around her waist.

Oh.

I knew she worked here! Scholar of the year i told you.

“Hi,” she says when she spots me. Her voice is just as soft as before, but there’s something about the way she looks at me that makes my stomach flip.

“Hey,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “Can I get an asiago bagel, toasted? Extra cream cheese.”

She nods, her hands already moving to jot down the order. “Anything to drink?”

“Just a black coffee,” I say. “Simple.”

She glances up briefly, the corner of her lips quirking like she’s amused. “Simple’s good.”

Her gaze lingers a second too long, and I feel the faintest heat creeping up my neck. There’s something about the way she’s looking at me, like she’s trying to figure me out but doesn’t want me to notice. I definitely noticed.

I glance at her name tag, needing some kind of distraction. “Azzi,” I murmur under my breath. It suits her.

She catches me looking, her cheeks tinting the slightest pink as she fiddles with the pen in her hand. “It’ll be ready in a minute,” she says quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thanks, Azzi.” Her name rolls off my tongue easier than I expect, and the way her eyes widen just a little makes it worth it.

Azzi ducks her head, pretending to check the order screen, but I can see the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. She’s shy, reserved even, but there’s something so genuine about the way she carries herself. It’s almost refreshing.

As I wait, I glance around the café, the hum of chatter and clinking mugs filling the space. A few students are hunched over laptops in the corner, and there’s an older couple sharing a slice of cake by the window. The atmosphere is cozy, intimate, like something out of a movie.

“Bagel and coffee,” Azzi calls softly, placing my order on the counter.

I step forward, and for a split second, our hands brush as I reach for the tray. Her fingers are warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside, and I swear I see her inhale sharply before quickly pulling away.

“Thanks,” I say again, trying to meet her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, like she wants to say something else, but instead, she bites her lip and busies herself wiping down the counter.

As I turn to leave, I catch her glancing at me again, her gaze lingering on my face before quickly darting away.

I smirk to myself, holding back a chuckle. So she does notice me.

Sliding into a seat by the window, I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes drifting back to Azzi. She’s leaning against the counter now, flipping through what looks like a notebook, nah definitely a sketchbook. Her curls bounce slightly as she moves, and there’s a faint smile on her lips, like she’s lost in her own little world.

For some reason, it’s hard to look away.

I finish my bagel way too fast, but instead of leaving, I sit there for a while, pretending to check emails on my phone while sneaking glances at her. She’s busy now, taking orders and chatting with customers, but every once in a while, her eyes flicker over to me.

It’s subtle—barely noticeable—but it’s enough to make my chest tighten.

When I finally get up to leave, I make a point to walk past the counter.

“See you around, Azzi,” I say, letting her name hang in the air.

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Yeah, uh—see you,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing as she fumbles with a stack of napkins.

I chuckle to myself as I step back into the cold, the warmth of the café lingering in my mind.

This job might not be so bad after all.

—

The next morning, Paige finishes practice, her muscles aching but her mind buzzing with anticipation. She now knows Azzi works morning shifts, and though she tells herself she’s just stopping by for breakfast, there’s no denying the extra pep in her step as she drags Nika along with her to the café.

As they walk in, the comforting aroma of coffee and freshly baked goods fills the air. Paige’s eyes scan the room, immediately finding Azzi at the counter, focused on a stack of receipts. Her heart skips a beat.

Paige shrugs off her hoodie, tossing it onto the back of a chair at an empty table by the window. She and Nika sit down, glancing over the breakfast menu. Paige tries to act casual, but Nika, ever observant, leans in.

“Calm yourself down and find something to get.” Nika pipes up.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, burying her face in the menu.

Just then, Azzi glances up and notices them. Her expression softens, and she waves, a shy smile spreading across her face.

Paige beams back, her cheeks tinged pink as she waves back.

“Hi,” Azzi greets, approaching their table. Her soft voice makes Paige’s heart flutter.

“Hey,” Paige responds, a little too quickly.

“What can I get you guys?” Azzi asks, pulling out her notepad.

“I’ll have eggs and a croissant,” Nika says, glancing between Paige and Azzi with a knowing smirk.

“I’ll take some pancakes,” Paige says, handing Azzi the menu.

Azzi jots down their orders and looks up. “What would you like to drink?”

“Orange juice,” Nika answers.

“And—” Paige starts, but before she can finish, she and Nika both say in unison, “Coffee, black.”

They burst into laughter, and Paige sneaks a glance at Azzi, whose dimples appear as she smiles.

“Got it,” Azzi says, gathering the menus and walking back toward the counter.

Paige’s eyes linger on her retreating figure, her gaze drifting downward until Nika snaps her fingers in front of her face.

“Yo twin, is that the girl you keep talking about in your sleep?”

Paige’s head snaps toward Nika, her eyes wide. “What? In my sleep?”

Nika leans back, smirking. “Yeah, I heard you last night saying her name over and over again. ‘Azzi, Azzi,’” she mimics, feigning a dreamy voice.

Paige’s face flushes. “Shhh! I don’t—whatever, I just say random stuff when I’m sleeping.”

“Sure, sure,” Nika says, winking. “But you keep staring at her. And she keeps looking over here.”

Paige shrugs, slipping into her usual cocky demeanor. “Well, I mean, it’s me. Can you blame her?”

Nika rolls her eyes. “Cocky ass.”

A few moments later, Azzi returns with their food. She sets Nika’s plate down first.

“Thank you,” Nika says with a grin.

As Azzi places Paige’s plate in front of her, she hands her the coffee. But before Paige can grab it, another worker bumps into Azzi from behind, sending the coffee spilling onto Paige’s shirt. Azzi stumbles forward, gasping as she falls right into Paige’s lap.

“Yo!” Paige snaps, turning to the worker. “Can’t you watch where you’re walking? You just made her fall.”

The worker mumbles an apology and scurries off as Azzi scrambles to her feet, her face burning red.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Azzi stammers, her voice shaking.

Paige brushes it off, trying to calm her down. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. But I do need a new shirt now.”

Azzi looks stricken. “I—I think I have an extra one in the back. Come with me to the bathroom?”

Paige stands, turning to Nika, who is smirking like the Cheshire Cat.

“Shut up,” Paige warns, flipping her off as she follows Azzi.

In the bathroom, Azzi motions for Paige to wait while she fetches a shirt. As soon as she leaves, Paige peels off her stained hoodie, leaving her in a sports bra and sweats. She grabs a paper towel, wets it at the sink, and wipes the remaining coffee off her stomach.

When Azzi returns, she pauses for a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly hands Paige a black t-shirt.

“Sorry again,” Azzi murmurs.

Paige grins as she pulls the shirt over her head. “You’re good. Thank you.” She smooths the fabric and gives a playful twirl. “See? Good as new.”

Azzi giggles, her dimples deepening.

Paige’s expression softens. “You have a really pretty smile.”

Azzi ducks her head, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” she says softly. “We should probably head back before my boss notices.”

“Lead the way, Miss Azzi,” Paige says, motioning dramatically toward the door.

As Paige returns to the table, Nika raises an eyebrow. “Everything good?” she asks, smirking.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, sitting down.

Once they finish eating, Nika and Paige pack up to leave. As they’re about to walk out, Paige glances around, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Azzi. When she doesn’t see her, she sighs and heads for the door.

Just as she steps outside, she feels a light touch on her back. Turning, she finds Azzi standing there, holding a folded piece of paper.

“Hey,” Azzi says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to say sorry again about your shirt.”

“I told you, it’s okay,” Paige says, smiling. “Things happen. And I love my new shirt.”

Azzi smiles nervously, then holds out the paper. “Okay, um, don’t think this is weird, but it kinda is? but it’s also- anyway I wanted to give you this.”

Paige takes the paper and unfolds it, her eyes widening at the detailed sketch of herself.

“Woah,” she breathes.

Azzi shifts on her feet. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. I just did it for fun.”

Paige fakes a pout. “And here I thought you did it because you liked me.”

Azzi blinks, her cheeks flaming. “Well… that too,” she admits quietly.

Paige grins, her confidence swelling. “This is so good I could literally kiss you right now.”

Azzi’s voice drops to a whisper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Paige steps closer, her hand cupping Azzi’s cheek as she leans in. Their lips meet, soft and tentative at first, before deepening into a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

When they pull apart, snowflakes drift around them, settling in their hair. Paige grins. “So, if I asked you on a date right now, would you sketch me again?”

Azzi laughs, her dimples showing. “Maybe.”

“Pretty please?” Paige pleads, pouting dramatically.

Azzi rolls her eyes playfully. “Fine fine. Since you’re begging.”

Azzi glances over Paige’s shoulder, spotting Nika in the distance, pumping her fist in the air and yelling, “Go gays!”

“Isn’t that your friend?” Azzi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “I don’t know her.”

#pazzi #fic talk #pazzi fics #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #rosie’s works 🎧⋆｡ °⋆#rosemariiaa

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 months ago

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Chapter 36: Homeward Bound

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: UConn Huskies Women’s Basketball

Summary: Overwhelmed by life, an unexpected trip home—planned by Paige—brings comfort, clarity, and the warmth of true love.

Welcome to the chapter 36 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

Reader’s POV

Having a few days off should’ve felt like a blessing.

Instead, it felt like a weight.

Between schoolwork piling up, backlogged edits for the team’s social account, and my grandma not answering my calls as often, I’d been walking around in a fog.

My brain refused to stay in one place—constantly ricocheting between upcoming deadlines, what filters to use for a video I was halfway through editing, and the gnawing ache in my chest every time I thought about home.

Paige noticed.

Of course, she did.

She noticed when I picked at my eggs and toast two mornings in a row. When I zoned out mid-conversation. When I kept my AirPods in but wasn’t actually listening to anything. She noticed when my sighs were a little too heavy, and my responses a little too short.

And Paige?

She doesn’t do nothing when she notices something’s wrong.

It started with KK poking her head into Paige’s dorm room after being let in my Jana, “You pack yet?”

I looked up from my laptop, brow furrowed. “Packed for what?”

She shrugged with fake innocence. “For the flight.”

I blinked. “What flight?”

That’s when Paige walked in, holding a perfectly packed duffle bag—my duffle bag.

“Your flight to Georgia,” she said, way too casual, like this wasn’t the most unexpected thing I’d heard all week.

I just stared. “…Huh? Wait when did you get my keys to my dorm?”

She walked over, setting the bag down beside me with that soft little smirk she only ever uses when she’s trying to fix me.

“I grabbed them when you were braiding Jana’s hair. Plus, I know you’ve been worried about your grandma. All while dealing with school and filming basketball. So… you’re going home.”

My throat tightened. “But—”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said quickly, clearly anticipating my protest. “I’ve got a ton of NIL stuff this weekend anyway. You being home will actually help me focus.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, completely caught off guard.

“But—”

“That’s why I’m going with you,” KK cut in, tossing her backpack onto the couch like this had always been the plan.

I turned toward her. “Wait, what?”

Paige nodded. “She’s your official travel buddy. I didn’t want you flying solo.”

KK grinned. “Could be worse, right?”

I blinked again. “When did y’all even plan this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Paige said, grinning.

My heart was doing somersaults, and I didn’t know if it was from the nerves or the fact that I was so overwhelmingly grateful I didn’t know what to do with it.

“I can’t believe you did this.”

Paige leaned down, brushing her thumb along my jaw with that look she saves just for me. “Believe it.”

I didn’t say anything. I just stood and threw my arms around her.

She hugged me back instantly, arms warm and familiar and safe.

KK, of course, couldn’t let the moment pass.

“Damn. Y’all about to whisper sweet nothings or should I step outside?”

“Shut up, KK.”

The next morning, Paige insisted on driving us to the airport, her hand resting on my thigh the entire ride like she needed to keep me grounded.

At the curb, she helped unload our bags and handed me a little travel bag filled with snacks, gum, and a mini Polaroid picture of the two of us.

It was from the last home game—me with the camera, her with the win, both of us laughing.

“Text me when you land,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I will,” I whispered, heart thudding. “Thank you.”

She leaned in for a kiss—brief but lingering—on my lips, pulling away slowly like she wasn’t quite ready to let go. Then she turned to KK with a pointed look and a raised brow. “You have one job. Protect her peace.”

KK mock-saluted, already falling into the role. “On it, cap’n. Scout’s honor.”

Inside, we barely made it through pre-flight check-in before a group of girls—teenagers, maybe high schoolers—recognized us.

One nudged her friend so hard it nearly knocked her over, eyes wide with recognition.

“That’s them,” she whispered loudly. “From TikTok and UConn. That’s KK… and Paige’s photographer girlfriend!”

I blinked, mid-yawn.

“Y’all mind if we get a quick pic?” another girl asked shyly, clutching her phone like it was a backstage pass. “You guys are like… actual soft sister goals. My little sister watches all your edits.”

KK grinned, already throwing an arm around me. “Come on, y’all. Let’s make it quick before TSA thinks we’re hosting a meet and greet.”

Two of the girls were clearly younger—maybe ten or eleven—and wore matching braids and sparkly backpacks.

One of them looked up at me and whispered, “I wanna be a photographer like you one day. I follow the WBB page and your videos are so cool.”

I felt my heart melt right there.

“Aww,” I said, crouching down to their height for the photo. “You should! The world always needs more girl creators.”

We snapped a few selfies, signed a couple of phone cases and one beat-up Polaroid camera, then waved goodbye as they squealed and practically skipped off toward security.

As KK and I made our way to our gate, she elbowed me lightly. “Look at you. Inspiring the next generation.”

I chuckled. “You’re just mad none of them asked for your autograph first.”

“They did eventually,” KK huffed. “Don’t play me.”

Once we boarded, I slid into the window seat and immediately pulled out my laptop. I had a film assignment due by midnight, plus an edit for the WBB account I needed to queue for the weekend—something light, a ‘best of practice mic’d up moments’ reel.

To my surprise, I found my groove fast.

The white noise of the plane, paired with KK’s occasional commentary on the safety demonstration, made the perfect background.

By the time we hit cruising altitude, I had finalized my assignment and was syncing clips for the Huskies post.

Midway through the flight-thanks to airplane Wi-Fi, I checked my phone and saw we were already tagged in a couple posts—a TikTok from one of the girls and a carousel of photos captioned “Met the coolest duo before our trip!! Thanks KK & Y/N!!”

I smiled, heart warm. I reposted it to my story with the caption: Our lil airport crew. Thanks for the love! and dropped a purple heart emoji for good measure.

KK leaned over and peeked at my phone. “Oh, you’re famous-famous now. Paige better watch her back.”

“She’s got nothing to worry about,” I said with a soft laugh, before looking out the window, heart full from the most unexpected start to this trip.

By the time the plane touched down in Atlanta, I had submitted my project and uploaded a new highlight reel captioned: The Huskies got that dog in them.

KK approved.

KK and I landed in Atlanta just as the sun dipped behind the skyline, bathing the airport in soft, orange light.

The moment we stepped off the plane, that familiar Southern warmth wrapped around us—humid, sticky, but oddly comforting.

It smelled like honeysuckle and jet fuel.

Home.

As we walked toward baggage claim, I spotted her—my mom, standing there in her usual outfit: jeans, a patterned blouse, and her church sandals, like she’d come straight from choir rehearsal.

Her arms were already open.

I didn’t even hesitate. I dropped my duffle and ran right into her hug, burying my face into her shoulder as if I hadn’t needed that hug for weeks.

“Oh baby,” she breathed, holding me so tight I thought she might never let go.

When she pulled back, her eyes went straight to my hand. Her brows raised.

“Oh. Is that what I think it is?”

I knew exactly where she was going. I sighed, already rolling my eyes.

“Ma, don’t—”

She grinned, reaching for my hand. “A promise ring, huh? Paige really got you wrapped around her little basketball finger.”

KK snorted behind me. “She’s down bad, ma’am.”

I turned around to glare at her. “Why are you talking?”

Mom cackled and opened her arms to KK, pulling her in like she was one of her own. “It’s good to see you, baby.”

“You too,” KK said, grinning. “Thanks for letting me crash the family reunion.”

“As long as you eat what I cook, you’re always welcome.”

Honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next morning, we walked to my grandma’s house—just next door to my childhood home.

She insisted on keeping her independence, but living next door meant we could check on her without her feeling like we were hovering.

She was already outside, sitting on her wraparound porch, her Bible open on her lap and a blanket draped over her legs. Sunlight filtered through the old trees above, dappling her rocking chair and giving her that soft glow that only grandmas seem to have.

When she spotted me, her whole face lit up.

“Well, look who finally decided to visit.”

I practically leapt up the steps and into her arms. “I missed you, Grandma.”

She hugged me back with all her strength. “Missed you too, baby girl.”

We sat together for a while—just catching up, laughing about nothing, talking about the weather like it was breaking news.

She waved off my questions about her health, but I noticed the small tremor in her hand, the little pause before she stood.

It wasn’t urgent. But it was enough.

Enough to make me grateful Paige pushed me to come home.

KK gave us space, posted up on the couch inside with whatever rerun of Living Single was on, but eventually wandered out with her phone in hand.

“Yo,” she called, stepping out onto the porch. “Paige wants to FaceTime.”

I raised a brow. “Already?”

KK grinned. “She’s down bad, bro.”

I sighed like I wasn’t already reaching for the phone. “Gimme that.”

The moment Paige’s face popped up, I felt my whole chest warm.

“Hey, babe,” she said, her voice low and soft. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Just catching up with Grandma.”

“She hanging in there?”

Before I could answer, Grandma cut in with a smirk.

“She’s fine. Wearing that ring like it’s a badge of honor, though.”

Paige laughed. “As she should.”

KK chimed in. “She’s been showing it off to everybody, even the cashier at Waffle House.”

I groaned. “Y’all are so dramatic.”

“You love it,” Paige teased.

And… yeah. I did.

After leaving Grandma’s house, my mom decided we needed to make a grocery run before dinner.

Which somehow turned into me and KK pushing a half-broken cart through the store while she added random snacks I hadn’t eaten since high school.

“Why do we need three different types of Oreos?” I asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“In case of emergencies,” she said seriously.

My mom walked ahead of us, flipping through her list on her phone, while KK and I bickered in the snack aisle.

As I turned into the next aisle to grab elbow macaroni, my phone buzzed. Paige.

I picked up immediately, holding it up for a quick view of the cereal section.

“You miss me that bad?” I teased.

Paige’s face popped onto the screen, looking too pretty for someone doing brand work. “Just wanted to see your face. What aisle are you in?”

“Pasta. KK’s being a menace.”

“I’m boosting morale,” KK called.

My mom peeked over my shoulder. “Is that Paige? Hi, baby!”

“Hi, Ma,” Paige said, smiling. “Y’all cooking tonight?”

“Mac and cheese. Real mac and cheese,” she added, giving me a pointed look.

“Don’t start, Ma,” I groaned.

Paige smirked. “Bet KK’s gonna fight you for the first spoon.”

I narrowed my eyes. “She better not.”

Spoiler: she absolutely did.

Later that evening, the smell of baked mac and cheese hit us like a wave the second we stepped into Grandma’s kitchen. Golden crust, bubbling cheese, crispy edges—heaven.

“Back away from the oven,” I warned KK as we hovered nearby.

“I just wanna look, jeez.”

The second Mom pulled it out and set it on the counter, we both lunged.

“Back up,” she said, holding the spoon like a sword. “Y’all can’t both be first.”

So naturally, we settled it the only way mature young adults do.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” I said, cracking my knuckles.

“Best two out of three,” KK shot back.

We squared up. Tension thick. Stakes high.

I threw rock.

She threw paper.

Twice.

“NOOOO,” I groaned, collapsing in defeat as she gleefully dipped into the gooey center.

“One bite!” she crowed, dancing around the kitchen. “That’s all I needed!”

Dinner was loud and warm, just like the best ones always are. We ate on Grandma’s porch under the glow of the porch light, bowls full, laughter louder.

She leaned back, content. “This right here? This is everything.”

And I couldn’t have agreed more.

The next morning, I brought my personal camera with me, determined to document the little moments with Grandma.

She was in good spirits, so we spent the whole morning talking on the porch before wandering out to the fields behind the house.

I took pictures of the old oak tree, of her hands resting gently in her lap, of the way the sun hit her skin just right.

Shortly after I saw the flowers she and I planted the last time I was here-home and I decided to take pictures in and of the fields.

Knowing they would be a distant memory one day.

KK’s POV

Granny was already on the porch when I got there, wrapped in her favorite quilt with two mugs on the table beside her like she knew I was coming. She didn’t even look up when she said, “Come sit.”

I shuffled into the rocking chair next to her and took the mug without asking what was in it. Didn’t matter. If Granny made it, it was good.

“Mornin’, Granny,” I said, stifling a yawn.

“Mornin’, baby,” she said, warm as ever. “Now, y’all can’t be wrestling over mac and cheese like that no more.”

I chuckled, leaning back. “She started it.”

Granny smiled, shaking her head, but there was something quieter behind it.

A knowing softness.

We rocked for a moment in silence before she spoke again.

“She’s been lighter lately,” she said, not looking at me.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“That girl loves hard,” she continued. “But she holds a lot in. You keep her grounded, KK.”

I blinked, a little taken aback. “Me?”

“She talks about you like the little sister she never got to have. You keep her laughing. You keep her steady. Don’t let the spotlight swallow her, you hear?”

I swallowed, throat tightening. “Yes, ma’am,”

Granny finally turned toward me, her eyes sharp and warm all at once. “And don’t let nobody dim your light either, Ms. Girlypop—or however you say it.”

I huffed a small laugh. “Yes, Granny.”

She reached over and patted my knee. “Y’all are good for each other. All kinds of love in the world—don’t gotta be romantic to be real.”

I didn’t say anything else. Just sat there, rocking gently, holding onto the warmth of her words like they were gold.

Y/N’s POV

I came back to the porch and found KK and Grandma mid-laugh.

I lifted my camera and took a quick shot of them before sitting between them on the swing.

My favorite two girlies.

KK threw an arm around me. “Group pic.”

I set the timer, on kk’s phone and it balanced on the porch rail.

With a rock behind it of course.

Later that day, KK posted the photo on Instagram.

my home away from home. 🏠💜

And somehow, those few words said everything I’d been feeling but hadn’t yet found the space to say.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @iwasbored-okay .... (more to be added)

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slinkythecoffeekid · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter One || You Know What They Say About New Guys

Updates: Hi everyone, I'm back! I've been binge-watching Ted Lasso (because I was gifted some Apple+ for the holidays), and honestly, Jamie and Roy have been all over my reels and stuff, so I wanted to finally watch it. Let me tell you, I was inspired!

Chapter 1/? of the "Standing Again" pairings: unsure at the moment Rating: T for teens word count: 6.2k Warnings: mentions of injuries, anxious behavior, depressive episodes, swearing, self-esteem issues. Notes: pretty sure I made this GN, but if I missed something let me know

Synopsis:

You used to be a professional footballer. That was until you got injured with a torn ACL at the height of your career in the final match of a championship run. It's been three years since you've played competitively (let alone at all). You've been offered a job at AFC Richmond Football Club as their new nutritionist. Accepting the position to move on from your past, you find yourself dealing with one of the most chaotic teams in the Premier League in their day-to-day and your own healing from your past.

playlists are 10 songs per chapter!

“Well, Arlo, we have two minutes left of the ninety, and Man City is up one nil to Crystal Palace in this game.”

“Yes, well, Chris, it comes down to how many shots on goal. Man City goalie number 13 (Y/N) (y/l/n) has battered down and blocked everything that has been thrown their way. They're on quite the defensive hot streak today.”

“The ball is with Sharpe, Sharpe passes to Blanchard, Blanchard to Weerden, and Weerden lines up for the shot! And- It's blocked by the goalkeeper! Another brilliant save by Man City's own (Y/N) (y/l/n)”

“Listen to the roar of that crowd! Crystal Palace won't have time to score another goal.”

“Not that it would help besides tying the game; excellent save on Man City's part.”

“Yes, well- Wait, somethings wrong on the pitch… it looks as if the goalkeeper is down.”

“Well, they are holding their leg in pain; perhaps they tore something.”

“Medical has come out to assist them off the pitch… They are taking them off the field on a stretcher.”

“ Hopefully, it's not too serious.”

The alarm next to your bed buzzes to life next to your bed, on the table it sits on, raising you to some form of alertness as you reach over and smack it before rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling, and letting out a heavy sigh before looking back at the clock, 5:25 am—a routine you had set in you for long before now. With one last sigh, you kick the warm covers from your body and force yourself to brace the cold that is your new and albeit bland Richmond flat. You look around the room and check your phone for any new notifications. The same ones you have yet to clear from old friends and family, sending you hundreds of messages you'll never open. There's no point in removing them, but it is far too late to respond to them. Dropping the phone back onto your bed, you head out of your room to your tiny kitchen.

The entire flat was small and bland, much like your bedroom was; it's not like you moved many things into this place, just the basics of what you would need. It was meant to fit one person, and you are one person. Walking to the stove, you grab the kettle and fill it with water. Then, you walk to the fridge and grab an apple from the bottom. Taking a bite out of it, you look out the adjacent window. The city was dark because it was still so early in the morning. The street lights were still lit, causing a gentle fuzzy yellowish-orange glow on the rest of the world; it had rained the night before, so the reflection of the light bounced in the puddles and water droplets that hung off the windows. It was peaceful and quiet. You used to enjoy the quiet time of early morning; it let you get your thoughts together. You liked it less now; being alone with your thoughts leads to thinking about things you found unpleasant.

Finishing your apple and tea, you head back into your room and to your wardrobe to get dressed.

Getting dressed in plain black joggers and matching black shirt, you grab crisp white trainers and some socks before putting them on, grabbing your phone before walking to the bathroom to brush your teeth and pull your hair up and out of your face, holding a white baseball cap to match your shoes. Checking the time, it was 6:07. Normally, you would leave for the Man City Club House at this point, but that was three years ago, and you couldn't kill the habit of wanting to be training early this morning. You may not be a pro footballer anymore, but you could still go for a jog, correct? You head out of your bathroom one last time, shutting off the lights as you go, grabbing your watch off the bedside table as you pass it to head towards your front door. At your front door, you hold the keys and work bag you'll need for this next chapter in your life. Slinging it over your back, you head outside, looking back at your new flat, and give it a rueful smile before locking the door and putting your headphones in to provide you with something to listen to on your morning run.

I don't wanna let it pass through the pressure in my head

I don't want to marinate in it, in it again and again

And if I let it into me, I get a rod in there, and it's gonna ring through me again and again

Half of me is melting away. Half of me never goes away, away.

Your run takes you through all of Richmond; you've always felt the best way to visit a city was by planning a jogging course and taking that run every day. The only difference was Richmond was going to be your home now. You would have to change up your routes every so often. Still, that thought gave you something to be happy about as you smiled to yourself as you managed to jog into the car park of your new place of employment. AFC Richmond Football Club. Checking your watch, it was 8:05, which is still early for your first day. The car park was still pretty empty, with a few cars here and there, a grab bag of luxury and economy class type cars; knowing how male footballers are, you knew most of those sports cars belonged to team members. Heading inside, you head straight to your new boss's office. Jogging up the posh stairs, you stop to take your headphones out before the office door, smoothing your jumper and adjusting your hat. Taking a deep breath, shaking the jitters out.

Were you nervous? Fuck yes, you were, are, and probably will be for a while. This wasn't just some new club owner; you could handle the old men who owned some clubs. This is Rebbeca Fucking Welton. One of four women in a position of high power in football, a gorgeous woman who could ruin your career and take your husband, and you'd apologize to her. Her divorce didn’t change your view of her, and you wanted to impress her; besides, she hand-picked you to be the new nutritionist for the team. Though you still were quite unclear as to why she had picked you. Sure, you knew football; you played all your life, your brothers played too, and your dad- well, you didn't like thinking about your dad and football. Even after your injury, you still tried to be present in football, became a registered dietitian, and worked for several footballers independently. Maybe word of mouth hit Rebecca's ears, and she felt the team needed someone to keep them on a decent diet? Who the hell knows?

Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh before shaking the jitters out of your whole body. Then, knocking on the ajar door before you, you hear a clear voice, like the Bells of London, chime out, “Come in.”

Stepping into the office, you look around; it's a posh office, very sleek and minimalist, the windows overlooking the pitch, but what really caught your attention was none other than Rebecca Welton, with her platinum blonde hair and her perfect work suit she wore in charcoal grey and her strong jawline. There also is another person sitting in a chair across from her. The man who had been all over the news, Ted Lasso, looked like what you’d seen on the table, with a warm smile that reached his eyes and definitely reminded you of an uncle in the best way possible. Your focus was broken when Rebecca raised an eyebrow and called out to you once more.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Her concern was polite, but it didn't matter; you kept your boss waiting for your response.

“Sorry, I was just observing; you have a lovely taste in decor.” You chuckle awkwardly, rocking back on your heels ever so slightly, hands jammed into your pockets and balled up as you let out an awkward “so…”

Sensing the absolute thick fog of anxiety, Ted slapped both of his knees with a midwestern ‘welp’ and stood up and turned to you with the happy smile he seemed to always be wearing before speaking to you. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay, I do have to head downstairs and make sure everyone makes it in, but later, you should come to my office. Come in and know me better, man!” Ted tried to imitate a British accent towards the end of his sentence. Still, it failed as he couldn't beat his own Kansas accent, tipping an imaginary hat as he got up and headed towards the door.

“Alright, ghost of Christmas present,” you retorted just before he got out of sight. All you could hear was “Yes! They got it!” before a loud ow and what sounded like possibly running downstairs to catch himself or the tumbling of a body. Honestly, you were unsure you wanted to tell the difference for this coach.

You sat across from Rebecca, who, unfortunately, or fortunately, was enjoying the biscuits that Ted had brought her since it was ‘Biscuits with the Boss’ time. Clearing her face and desk of any crumbs, she clears her throat and ensures she has finished her biscuits before speaking. She smiles at you ever so gently. “I'm so glad you accepted the invitation (Y/N). Our PR mastermind has been trying to get me to hire a ‘life coach’ for the team, but none of them know football the way you do, dear.” she stands, “did you want anything to drink?” she asks you as she walks to get tea for herself.

“Yes, please,” you realize you hadn't had too much to drink after your run, as the last time you stopped to get water was a while ago; yes, you had your water bottle, but you drained that of its contents a while ago. Looking at the bookshelf behind Rebecca's desk brought a small smile to your lips, seeing all her achievements on the shelves and the books. Looking over your shoulder as she offers you a glass of water, you provide a soft “thank you” and take a sip before speaking. “I've seen Keeley on Instagram and Twitter, and I have seen the team's social media presence since she took over, and I’ll admit she's done wonderfully.” You give a kind smile before clearing your throat, “So you want me as the dietitian for the team? Do you have a list of things for me to keep in mind or-”

“Oh nononono, as this is a newer addition to our clubhouse, I feel it most important for you to get to know the boys and learn about them yourself. Of course, I understand setting up diets for twenty people is quite a lot. Still, you'll have the coaching staff to help you, and hopefully, the team will be quite flexible to help you, and you’ll have Leslie to help you with anything you need as well.” She gestures to the door where one Lesslie Higgins, who wears a brown tweed suit and a tan and maroon striped tie with a beige button-up shirt, makes himself visible to you, enters the room, and offers a hand to shake.

Shaking your hand, he politely smiles at you before looking at Rebecca. “I can show her to her office if you do not mind.”

Rebecca shakes her head as she returns to looking at some information on her computer. " That would be lovely, Lesslie. The team should be out on the pitch now as it is.” She looks so incredibly focused on her work that she doesn't even notice when you and Higgins exit the office and head down the stairs together.

Higgins gives you a detailed tour of the clubhouse and the team's history over the years, looking at the history of the clubhouse and nodding as Higgins imparts you with many tidbits of obscure soccer knowledge you'd pocket in a mental file somewhere for a rainy day. Higgins also showed you where everything was, from the locker rooms and medical rooms to the training room, the bathrooms, and even the copy room. He showed you everything you would need for your job in great detail. The only thing you two had missed on your tour was the pitch. However, you didn't mind too profoundly. Your tour ended with Higgins holding the door handle to one last room, and he cleared his throat before adjusting his tie with his free hand. This concerned you, and you raised an eyebrow, watching this jovial older man seem nervous about opening a door that you assumed was an office or corridor.

“Right- before we go in, I must warn you that Keeley, ah yes, the sweet woman she is, might have gone a tad overboard when making sure you had everything you would need to feel comfortable. If she did, please don't hesitate to ask us to remove or exchange items."He had yet to look back at you as he fumbled with his key ring before unlocking the door to this space; when he did, he slipped in, shutting the door in your face. But not before reopening it for you with a nervous smile. Letting you step inside to the ample space.

The space you had stepped into was a large state-of-the-art kitchen. It reminds you a lot of the ones from the American Hells Kitchen. The floor was nonstick sleet linoleum, and the light grey walls and the counters were all stainless steel. Still, they had built-in appliances; this kitchen had not one, not two, but three fridges, and you assumed equal freezer space. And you had suddenly become a woman who had five ovens in your kitchen. If it wasn't for the fact that this was your workspace, you'd just be living in your new office. Then you noticed all the kitchen gadgets linked up on your counter space, blenders, stand mixers, hand mixers, hell, even a bread maker, all in a neat row on your counters. Could you even call them yours? The semantics of the matter would have to wait as you finally cracked a small but visible smile. Walking through the kitchen and checking every cabinet for its contents. Whoever came before you was organized, but you knew this setup wouldn't work for you. You pull a notebook from a small compartment in your backpack that sits at the small of your back and a pen from the same pocket and start writing down notes about the kitchen. Engrossed in your work, you had failed to notice Lesslie leaving and leaving the key with you.

After looking everything over in your kitchen space, you decide to head to your actual office; it was a small room right off the kitchen, with a window to see into the kitchen. It had a desk, bookshelves, and a desktop for you to use, not personalized to your taste but standard practice, and that was fine enough for you. You set your backpack down in the chair and open it, pulling out your things. You had cookbooks and recipe cards to put up on the shelves, cords to plug in so you didn't steal your home chargers, and the small but important things to get through the day. But the most important things you'd brought from home were two picture frames that you put on either side of your computer.

The photo on the left was from your childhood, and you and your two siblings were in the photo. Both of them are in their secondary school kits and taller than you. You stood in the middle of them with a broad, slightly toothless grin. All three of you holding a football in your hands. Your kit was covered in dirt and grass stains, as were theirs; it was the first day that all three of you had a game, and your parents couldn't have been any prouder. Your sibling's numbers are their favorite numbers; yours is 13. The other photo to the right was from your debut season. You played as a goalkeeper sub for Man City in your debut year, number 13, and it's still your number. You had come to thrive with 13 as your number; people found it unlucky. Unlucky thirteen people used to say, but that was until they watched you play. It became fast learning that Man City's opponent was unlucky if you played keeper.

Reminiscing, you failed to notice that anyone was in the kitchen as it was closed off to the rest of the world, but jumped violently at the knocking at the doorframe, “jesus-fucking-shit!” you turn to see who was at your door. Still, it was none other than the coach Ted Lasso, his eyes wide with panic, probably from scaring him by scaring you.

“I didn't mean to startle you there. (y/n) thought you heard me, though if you swear that much, I'm sure you and Roy will make fast friends.” He smiles at you. His recovery was smooth enough to make things less awkward. “Can I come in?” he asks, gesturing to your office.

“What? Oh yeah, yeah, come in!” quickly trying to steal your racing heart, you drop your bag to the floor and sit down in the chair across from Ted, who looks like a labrador looking at his owner with a treat. Calming yourself, you sigh and put on a polite smile. " Hello, Coach Ted. What can I do for you?” you ask him to settle into your chair.

Ted gave a soft ‘oof’ as he let himself fall into the chair across from you and crossed his right knee over his left, holding it in his hands and looking off into the distance before looking back over at you with that Ted Lasso smile you've learned well from the internet, “well first off I wanted to come down and say hello and introduce myself again before you are fed to the wolves. so please just call me Ted” he chuckles at his own little joke before continuing, “secondly I wanted to apologize for scaring the bejesus out of you, you jumped so high I thought you might be a cat!”

The concern made you laugh; you'd think he'd seen them jump from being startled, or maybe it was the goalkeeper phenomenon that all goalkeepers jumped in strange ways to protect their goals. Still, you shake your head in response, “I'm fine, Coach Lasso- I mean Ted, I'm sure this won't be the last time I get startled in my corner of the world. And I appreciate the concern about meeting the players, but I'm sure I will be just fine.”

Ted makes the face that can best be described as the dad equivalent of ‘OK, bud, if you're sure’ before setting both his feet on the ground, smacking his knees aggressively, and hoisting himself up and out of the chair. " Welp, if you're sure about that, how bout we go for a walk so you can meet them?” He heads towards the door and holds it open for you.

You sigh, forcing yourself out of your chair. It's not that it was comfortable, but it gave you the relief of being off your feet for the first time in a few hours. “Sure, why not?” you head out the door, following Ted towards the locker room. Ted stops you outside the locker room before stepping in and returns a few moments later to find you looking at your phone. He waves to catch your attention before waving you in with the excitement of a toddler. You roll your eyes and pocket your phone before walking into the locker room where every team member is sitting in their locker cubbies; most decent, a few people topless, but no one was in a towel. You walk to the center, where the other coaches stand in a line and wait.

“Now, alright, everyone. This is (in) they’re joining us as the team's new dietitian, like Jenni Craig but better. So you guys need to let them know all your diet things so they can help you be the best you can be. Do you all understand?” Ted introduced you to the team, but they just seemed more confused by who Jenny Craig was, and honestly, you were a bit too.

A coach to Ted's side, with a beard and wearing polarized sunglasses leaned into Ted's side. " They don't have Jenni Craigs, Atkins maybe.” With that comment, everyone on the team nodded and let out a collective ‘ah’ of agreement.

However, you did hear a scoff to your right; in the number 9 cubby sat a man who was probably, if not your age, definitely younger than you. The name above 9 was Tartt. Oh yeah, you knew who this was, Jamie Tartt; he used to play for Man City, was on loan, got shipped back, and then shipped right back to Richmond. You had never met him personally. However, you'd heard from others that he was less than delightful to deal with on a good day. However, that scoff was short-lived when a man standing near him smacked him upside the back of his head. Eliciting a hiss and an “ow, what was that for?”

The man was fit, physically muscular, had a black beard and bushy eyebrows, and wore a coach polo. You knew immediately this was Roy Fucking Kent; you’d have been stupid if you didn't know who this man was or if he was born in the last five to six years. And you were neither of those things. He was not having any of the young striker's behavior and glared down at Jamie, “shut it, Tartt,” he snapped at Jamie before turning his attention back to you. Still, his stoic, frowning face stayed the same.

Ted looked at you and gestured to the team, “Do you have anything you want to add? Anything at all?”

You shrug and look around the room, taking in each of the team members' faces. You'd memorize them eventually, but that wasn't the point of today. Clear your throat and readjust your shoulders, squaring them back and holding your chin high. Confidence is key when dealing with people you don't know or need to convince. “Names (y/n), I'm your new diet coach; I need an updated diet form; I'll send that out in an email by tomorrow morning; I need it by Wednesday to do orders. It's simple, I need your allergies, preferences, and restrictions. If anything changes, please try to tell me as soon as possible. I don't make a habit of killing my clients.” You knew it wasn't the most admirable introduction, but you were not the nicest woman either. You think briefly before remembering something important, turning to the coaches. “Kitchen is off limits to the team now if it wasn't before; if you need something from the kitchen, message me.” with that, you head for the door. “Cheers,” you wave before walking out of the locker room.

The locker room sits in stunned silence before everyone turns to Ted, and an amalgamation of voices hits Ted like a load of bricks before he raises his hand and raises his voice, “Hey! One voice at a time, I'm not the Complaint whisperer; that's Nate's job. Now, what's got all your ducks out of their rows?”

“They seem like a very knowledgeable coach; where did Ms Welton find them?” Sam asked with a raised hand so that he would be noticed.

“Probably the internet; that is how most people get hired in this economy,” Jan states from beside Sam. The others around him nodded in agreement, but a few tried to shush him.

“they seem fucking cheery, but as happy as granddad over there, fit though, ain’t they?” Jamie snickered, leaning back into his cubbyhole. He and a few others close by laughed at his comments as well.

Standing next to Coach Beard and Nate, Roy frowned before Ted smiled at the team, “Welp, you heard them. Ensure you promptly respond to their email, or you might end up on the menu.” His words fell on primarily deft ears, and with that, the coaches walked into the office. Roy shut the door behind them, and the locker room returned to its chaotic, chatty atmosphere behind them.

Ted plopped himself right down into his chair and stretched his arms up in the air before looking at the three other coaches, who looked right back at him with a dumbfounded look; all Ted could ask was… “What?”

“That's all we get. What?” Beard asked, putting his sunglasses on top of his hat. The boss hires a new person, and all we get is a what?” he asked before crossing his arms in his chair, leaning back as far as it would let him before falling backward out of it.

“Well, I don't know what to tell you guys. I just met ‘em this morning in Becca's office before practice. They seem like nice kids to me, honestly. Oh, but don't sneak up on them. When I spooked them earlier, they looked like Shaggy and Scooby getting ready to run away from a scary monster.” Ted looked to Nate and Roy for their input. Roy scowled like usual, and Nate nodded in agreement and understanding.

“Of fucking course they are- are you fucking stupid?” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose before putting his free hand out to stop Ted from responding, “Don't answer that. I already know the answer to that. Thats, (y/n) fucking (y/l/n)” seeing the deer in headlights look both coach Beard and Ted are giving him he lets out an exasperated sigh looking to Nate for some sort of assistance on this explanation.

“Oh-ah yes! Um, (y/f/n) they used to play for Man City about three years ago, but they retired due to a torn ACL at a finals match a few years ago and used to be an all-star goalkeeper. Also called unlucky 13 for a time,” Nate jumped onto the shelf behind him and crossed his arms, “a bit surprising that Ms. Welton would try hiring them even for a dietitian position.”

Ted's eyebrows rose at the mention of your former nickname, “because of their injury or before that?” curiosity in his eyes.

“Before that,” Everyone else in the room responded in unison.

“But it's not all that surprising; we've been missing someone to ensure everyone can eat healthy; young boys like that will eat whatever they want. Especially if they aren't being monitored,” Beard said, looking back into the locker room where the team, now unattended by the adults, was mucking about.

Ted nodded before getting up, “Welp, I will see you gents on the field, but I've been summoned for girl time in the office.” He pushed in his chair, waving his phone around as if to show them the text, “Now, if you'll excuse me.” With that, Ted left the coach's office, leaving the other three coaches confused and shaking their heads in disbelief.

Ted headed down the halls and bounded up the stairs before knocking at Rebecca's office, peeking his head around to make sure that people were inside, with his goofy smile, “knock knock.”

Rebecca looked up from the sofa she and Keeley were both sitting on, looking at something on Keeley's laptop, and she waved Ted in quite frantically, “Keeley, put that away. We will watch those later."

Keeley whines in annoyance, “Fineeee, but I want to watch more of them when we are done.” She closes her laptop, turning to Ted with a smile on her face. " Morning, Ted! What did you think of them? I think they are pretty stellar!” She is now leaning forward, her arms propped up on the arm of the sofa and her chin resting on the back of her palms.

Rebecca lets out a small chuckle, seeing Keeley's excitement about your employment, before clearing her throat: " Yes, that is why I brought you up here. I wanted to ask your opinion on (y/n). Based on my very little interaction, I don't fully understand them even if Higgins also gave me a report of his own.” She adjusts to sit with one leg over the other, expecting Ted's praise or lack thereof.

Ted nodded before leaning forward in the armchair, in that deep-thinking sitting position he was well known to do before looking between the two women in the room. “Welp, they seem straight to the point, I think they’re just not comfortable yet. If we give them a few weeks, they will be busier than a bee in spring and sweeter than the honey from it.”

His analogy was lost on the two women sitting across from him before Rebecca cleared her throat, “Right, yes, well… with that in mind. I wanted to discuss something with you, Ted, and Keeley. I would also like your input on the matter.” Rebecca had this glint in her eye, where she had something purely devilish up her sleeve.

Keeley looks over, adjusting herself to fully face Rebbeca, and nods thoughtfully, or as seriously as she can manage: " Absolutely, what are you thinking?” before smiling, seeing how serious Rebecca looked.

Ted nods, gesturing towards the space in front of them. “Floors yours, boss,” he gave her an encouraging smile.

Rebecca smiles a devious smile. “What I am proposing doesn't leave this office until we are ready to put it into motion.”

You had spent your entire afternoon doing tedious paperwork, sending out the survey email to the team, looking at cookbooks former staff had left behind, and double-checking the incoming order that would be arriving on Wednesday. Your afternoon was peaceful, being able to be by yourself and acclimate to your new environment. During your time in the kitchen, you found it was basically soundproof, so you could listen to whatever you wanted, and no one would know or even care. You had your music turned up for most of the day and listened to anything that could and would keep you distracted from thinking.

Finishing up your daily task list, you check the 5:30, a respectable time to leave work. Grabbing your bag, pack away anything you need to take home, like notebooks and order information. You look at the two pictures on your desk as you zip up your backpack and nod to them both. Standing up and putting on your backpack, you head out of your office and ensure the kitchen and office lights are off before locking the door behind you. You head towards the door and car park before you hear your name being called from overhead.

“(y/n)!” Standing there was Keeley, waving frantically and smiling. " Where are you goin’?” she asks as she runs down the stairs that lead to Rebecca's office. You hadn't ever met Keeley in person, but you'd seen her on Instagram and knew that she and Jamie Tartt dated at one point, but anyone in football knew that. You were not expecting Keeley to hug you very aggressively, much like a koala holding onto a tree.

You tense at the contact but relax quickly and return the hug, albeit awkwardly. “Hello, Keeley. Is this how you greet everyone you meet for the first time?” You blow her hair slightly out of your face, your voice strained from the hug.

She quickly lets go of the hug but still tightly gripping your shoulders and smiles, “No, but I've been so excited to meet you, but your office was locked, so…” she pouts slightly at the fact you had unknowingly locked her out. “No biggie, though! If you don't mind me saying love, your fucking fit! Your parents must be fucking gorgeous!”

You let out an awkward chuckle, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks. I'll be sure to inform my dad you said so. Sure, he loves that.” Sarcastically, you roll your eyes. " But to answer you, I'm heading home for the night. I have a lot of research to do.” You manage to get yourself out of Keeley's grip somehow.

“That's perfect! I'm heading home too! Did you drive? If not, I can give you a lift!”

You put your hands up, shaking them in a no gesture, “I didn't drive, but there's no need; my flat isn't too far from here.” it wasn't a lie; yes, your run was two hours, but that was nothing for you, and moreover, on purpose. Besides, the sun was still up, so there was no excuse for needing a ride. However, the pout on Keeley's face tugged at your moral compass, “Tell you what? If it ever rains, I'll let you drive me.”

Keeley's eyes lit up excitedly, and she let out a little squeal before hugging you again. “Oh, that sounds grand! You'll have to give me your number, or I'll message you on Instagram. You have one of those, right? " She started digging through her bag, looking for her phone. Once she found it, she began to type.

You nod, “It's (y/n)unlucky13.” You look down at your shoes sheepishly. When was the last time you said that out loud?

Keeley hums in response before tapping a button: " And done! I followed you, so now I can message you!” She looks at you and offers her arm to link with your own to walk outside. “Shall we then? Get our last glimpse of the boys on the pitch?”

You instinctively link arms with her and walk outside the car park lined up to the pitch. The two of you walk to the fence and watch the team doing the last bit of practice for the day. Keeley watched with the same eagerness as a small kid. Looking over at her, you smile before returning to the field. Your arms crossed, resting on the fence, and your head resting atop them, you watch in personal silence. You study the field, watch the goal, and look at everyone's movement. It wasn't long before the team headed towards the dugout for the end of their days. You stretch and let out a groan of relief from your stretch.

Keeley smiles, “Well (y/n), have a safe walk home.” She heads to her car, but before leaving, she rolls her window down, “See you tomorrow (y/n)! Send me your coffee order!” And with that, she is gone.

You stood there incredibly dumbfounded; how could someone make such fast friends with everyone? Was she now your friend? Actually, you liked the sound of that. You missed being surrounded by peppy people. You adjust your backpack and start your trek home for the night. Richmond in the evenings was not too much different from the morning. You passed children coming home from school, passing footballs as they went. Couples walking hand in hand, young and old. Parents running errands with their children. It reminded you of before. When you did this before in Manchester. You shake your head to force the thoughts out and return to your flat at around 6. You unlock your door, remove your shoes, and set your bag on the kitchen table.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, and you looked down to see a text from Coach Ted. You don't remember giving him your number, but you opened the message.

Ted Lasso

Hey Doc! Well, actually, you're not a doctor, are you? Calling you chef seems odd, too. I'm going to stick with Doc. Anyway, we are glad to have you. I think you'll work wonders for the team. Have a good night!

You reread the message repeatedly, whipping your eyes as tears rose, and put your phone back in your pockets. You decided you had no energy to cook, so you ordered some takeout. You worked on building a new diet regimen while eating your own meals into the late night hours. You looked over your phone, unlocked it, and decided not to leave Ted on read.

Thanks, Coach Ted; if you're gonna call me Doc, I'm calling you Coach.

You press send, clean up your food, and put your work back into your backpack, only to hear another ding from your phone.

Ted Lasso

Alright, Doc, have a good night!

You smiled, looking at the time. It was after 10, which was late, even by your standards. You shut the lights off in the kitchen and head to your room, changing into shorts and a t-shirt before brushing your teeth and brushing your hair from your hat hairstyle. Walk out and stare out the window before crawling into your bed, plugging in your phone, and watching. You check your phone one last time for the night and open Instagram to send Keeley a DM.

Hey, here's my order.

You attach a photo of your preferred drink and its modifications so it's easier to order in person. You put your phone down on the bedside table, missing the heart reaction Keeley gave your message. Hunkering down in your blankets, you let out a sigh of relief, and for the first time in a while, you felt your shoulders relax, your jaw unclench, and your muscles unclench. You drifted into a restful sleep for the first time in over three years.

Moving to Richmond may be good for you.

#Spotify #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #roy fucking kent #roy kent #ted lasso series #slinkywrites #slinkys last three brain cells talk #afc richmond #x reader #gn reader

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johnwickb1tsch · 6 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 19

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. credit to @sweetwolfcupcake for finding the perfect donaka pic for this chapter! 😘😘 all chapters

Nineteen. 十九

You enjoy the duration of the ride, all the way up to Causeway Bay. He pulls up to a towering building, one of so many on Gloucester Road.

“What’s this?” you ask, craning your neck as you look upward.

“I believe they're called skyscrapers…” he answers cheekily.

“Haha. I mean what are we doing?”

“Yum cha, of course.”

Your stomach starts to rumble almost on cue at the mention of this Hong Kong lunch-time tradition of tea and dumplings.

You're not sure why it surprises you when he passes the keys to a young valet at the door.

“Does it ever worry you, handing the keys over to a two-million dollar car?” you ask as you take his arm.

“Not really,” he answers. “It’s insured, and they know there would be consequences, if there was an incident.”

“Hmm. Isn’t there a huge market for stolen luxury cars on the mainland? Like, don’t the Triads put them on speedboats and whisk them away in the dead of night?”

Donaka chuckles darkly down at you.

“What a morbid imagination you have.”

“I read it somewhere.”

“One of your dubious internet searches, no doubt,” he comments with a knowing smirk. “You really shouldn’t Google ‘how to get away with murder’ so cavalierly.”

This makes you pause as you are stepping over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. You almost teeter over in your high platforms, and you might have fallen if not for his steadying hand upon you.

You remember that thread of research–from a long time ago.

“It was for a book.” How far back did his sleuthing on you go?

“Sure it was. Not for the ex boyfriend who was heckling you?”

There had been a time when one of your exes had spammed you with messages on Facebook, asking you to hang out again with the poorly disguised intention of resuming your relationship, as though he hadn’t cheated on you with another backpacker in a hostel in Kathmandu. Murder was a bit drastic, but after the time he gave you before the cheating, the gaslighting, the degradation, and the way he would yell at you for utterly inconsequential things, you wouldn't have shed a tear if he'd been mauled by monkeys and fell off a mountain.

You realize that from now on you might as well assume Donaka has read every little detail of your online life, whether it was password protected or not. This doesn’t surprise you as much as it might have a month ago. In fact…you’re damn near resigned.

Rather than push you off balance, as usual, this time you merely roll your eyes. “Afraid I made my personal FBI agent clutch his pearls?”

“Undoubtedly.”

He smirks down at you, and you can tell by the glitter in his shark-black eyes that he is enjoying himself.

“Does my search history make you nervous, Mr. Mark?” you tease, knowing the likelihood is zilch to nil. He pushes your hair behind your ear, before tilting your head up with just a touch too much force to be considered polite.

“If you were going to try to kill me, y/n, you would have done it by now.”

You gape up at him, flummoxed as usual. Does this mean he thinks he’s worn you down…or do you dare hope…you’re finally safe? You grasp for this latter possibility with greedy hands before your higher brain slaps the foolish notion down.

Surely this man is only fucking with you, the way he has been all along.

You are not safe with him, that inner voice chides.

Why do you find it so hard to listen to it lately?

In the end, you have to ask. “Does that mean…you're going to be nice to me now?”

He snorts, ushering you inside with his hand utterly spanning the small of your back. He doesn’t answer until the doors slide closed, and he crowds you into the wall with his big body, caging you with his arms on either side of you. Your treacherous heart leaps into your throat, torn as usual between fear and absolute immolation. He looks down at you with the sharp hunger of a wolf as he informs you, “You haven't even seen my mean side yet, sweetheart.”

Your mouth goes dry, and for some stupid reason you can’t tear your gaze away from his lips.

You can only manage one pleading word past the tightness in your throat, your hand sliding over the hard plane of his chest, resting above his wicked heart. “Donaka…”

You don't really even know what you're asking him for? Mercy, or your final ruin?

The elevator dings at your floor. “Later.” He rights himself, taking your hand to lead you into the foyer of the restaurant. It’s a beautiful space, all dark high-polished wood and soft lighting. Backlit wooden screens bearing cutouts of undulating dragons and Chinese characters take up one wall. You wonder if it tells a story. The host addresses Donaka reverentially by name, and immediately ushers you to a table for two by the window.

The view of the glittering blue bay below teeming with boats is breathtaking from this high up.

If you knew nothing about Hong Kong, just looked at the teeny tiny green island on a map in relation to the mainland, and then to the whole world…it would seem hard to fathom what all the fuss is about. But there is a special magic to this place that you maybe sensed all along, yet had no hope of truly understanding, and you realize you still don’t. You wonder if that will ever change, or if this place will forever remain a dazzling mystery to you.

“You like the view?”

You simply nod, awed by the bustle below and your chic surroundings and the unlikely treat of being out in public with Donaka, you realize, for the very first time. Without thinking you find yourself reaching for his hand across the table, sliding your fingers into his. You feel him tense, as though you've actually done something to surprise him–or anger him. You meet his eyes across the table, and for a split second you get the odd feeling that you aren't the only one who is uncertain.

It passes so quickly you are almost convinced you invented it. His long fingers wrap around yours possessively, the corner of his mouth pulled upwards. You can't tell if he's smirking at you, like you're the butt of a joke you don't understand– or if he's simply pleased.

You’re not terribly proud of it, but it does not escape you that this man could show you a side of this city you never could have accessed before. Of course you always knew he was rich, but there is an upper echelon of of unfathomably wealthy people on this little island, and you’re beginning to suspect that Donaka might be one of them.

Not for the first time you marvel that this handsome, well-connected man could have anyone in the world–and yet he’s chosen you. But then you tell yourself, also not for the first time, that he never could have gotten away with what he’s done to you, if he’d taken someone who mattered.

He watches you intently as you are thinking about all of this; you do not know what he reads in your expression. Before he can ask the waiter brings tea. Your hands separate on the tablecloth, and you feel the absence of his grasp keenly as though a chasm has opened between you.

Annoyed with yourself, you dig your nails into your palm.

The waiter sets down the tea tray, arranging the cups on the table, pouring for you both.

Donaka chats with him genially in Cantonese, and you think about how morbidly fascinating it is to watch him interact with the public. He has such a commanding presence, and yet somehow he is always perfectly polite. You marvel at how people leap to please him. Do they have any inkling of the monster beneath the mask, or is it simply all charm?

You catch a few words of their discussion, but most of it goes over your head. You presume he’s ordered for you both, after the waiter trots off for the kitchen. You find, in this instance…you don’t particularly mind. Would you have objected, once? Is he changing you? Or are you just surviving? You find you’re not particularly sure about any of these questions, and you dig your nails into your flesh even harder, as though trying to wake up from a dream.

But this is no passing fancy of your sleeping brain. This is real, and you are living it–you have finally made it out of the house, and yet still, he has you. You realize it did not occur to you even once after the car stopped to make a run for it down the sidewalk, or solicit the help of a stranger on the street.

Has he truly managed to train you?

It’s not too late.

You could make a scene, in this beautiful restaurant with its three Michelin stars. (You saw the proud plaque on the wall on the way in). But you look at the man sitting across from you, who is watching you extra intently now, as though he senses that you are a horse that has just remembered she does not require the bit–and you feel the truth settle over you.

You do not want to run.

You would rather sit here with him, and share a tasty meal like normal people, and hope that maybe things will turn around for you after all.

You seek out his foot with yours, touching it lightly with your toe, and the question in his eyes seems to dissipate, at least for now. In fact, he looks downright pleased, and he tangles you up in his long legs under the table. He holds up his teacup in a silent toast, and gods help you, but you return the gesture and sip, the warm liquid sliding down your throat.

***

With an absolute feast of har gow and dim sum in bamboo steamer baskets filling the table, the two of you chow down. The table offers a taste of everything: succulent little dumplings filled with seasoned pork and shrimp, beef buns so delightful you could die. You even got to try bird’s nest soup for the first time, a delicacy that sounds strange to the Western palette, but something truly special.

It’s the most full you’ve been in a long time, and you think Donaka might have to roll you out of the restaurant. Playfully you fight over the last dumpling with your chopsticks. He wins, of course, but he offers you the morsel expertly from across the table. You’re sure it’s not exactly good manners, but you cannot damper your utter delight for this sweet gesture from your usually so forbidding paramour.

“I think I’m going to pop,” you confess, winning his quiet mirth from across the table.

“You liked?”

“Oh god.”

This only makes him chuckle more, and you know you are a ridiculous creature, but the sound is music to your ears. This pure delight makes him seem almost boyish, and you cannot stop yourself from gazing at him, wondering.

“What were you like, when you were young?” you ask, seemingly out of the blue.

He narrows his eyes at you, his brow furrowed, though you sense you have not actually displeased him. “Why do you ask?”

“I don't know,” you evade, setting down your chopsticks. “Maybe I wonder…if you were ever innocent.”

He lifts an eyebrow at this, and you shift in your chair, pressing your thighs together in an effort to relieve the sudden ache in your core.

“Probably not,” he admits.

“Were you ever…happy?”

“Not like this,” he admits, and he could have pushed you out of your chair with a fingertip at that moment.

“What did you look like?”

This makes him laugh, and he too sits back in his chair, bracketing you with his long legs. “Younger, one assumes.”

“Do you have any pictures?”

“On me right now?”

You giggle, intoxicated in the moment. “No. Just in general.”

“I’m not a sentimental man, y/n. It’s not something I would keep around.”

You shrug, not sure if you believe him, deep down. You think that maybe he holds on to things in his way, more than he would like to admit.

“Were you happy?” he counters. “As a child?”

“Not often,” you answer immediately. “But then…I didn’t know anything different.”

“What about now?”

You close your eyes for a few long moments, and you realize the answer, crazy as it seems…is yes.

You nod, and the half smile he pays you is more than just triumph. The hunger in his eyes makes you squirm in your seat–yet there is also a certain warmth that you’re not entirely sure what to do with.

In any other man, you would know exactly what it meant.

Donaka Mark, however…cannot be read so easily. You know it, deep down, even while a part of you dares to hope that maybe there is some genuine softer feeling in this man, just for you.

“I have to use the restroom,” you say, gathering your ridiculous new purse on your forearm. It's a perfectly normal thing one does after a meal, but you incline your head at your keeper, waiting. He nods, and you go, walking towards the front of the restaurant.

You can feel his eyes upon you as you walk away.

Yet after you do your business and step out you realize how close you are to the exit. You can see Donaka across the dining room, looking out the window over the water, seemingly not even paying attention to you. You think about how easy it could be, to just slip out of the restaurant unnoticed. Down the stairs, or even the elevator. Kick off these high-rise shoes and run. Make your way to the street, then your embassy.

Maybe finally make your way home.

You look again at the handsome man by the window waiting for you, and again you realize…you don't want to.

If he will treat you well…you could be happy. You could be happy with that terrible rogue, and your new found family of Mei and Mrs. Wong and the other people of his household who have become your fast friends. Even Jason, who undoubtedly knows how you tried to trick him, still treats you kindly. You care for them all, and losing them would hurt in a way you find you’re not prepared to endure just now.

He holds you hostage with kindness far more effectively than he ever did with fear. If he planned this day just to lull you into a false sense of security…he hit the mark dead on.

Knowing very well that you could be a lamb returning meekly to the slaughter, you slowly walk back to the table with a strange ringing in your ears. As you take your seat you look upon Donaka with new eyes.

You would have paid a king’s ransom in that moment, to know if any of this is real.

Donaka inclines his head at you as you settle in, reaching out to possess your hand across the table with a greediness that surprises you. “So. What made you decide to come back, tou zai yee?”

Little rabbit indeed.

You look out the window again, reluctant as ever to say it aloud.

He squeezes your hand in his, just this side of too hard.

“I’ll have it here, or at home with you bent over my knee, bunny,” he assures you, his tone low and dangerous as the warning growl of a tiger. You see the eager gleam in his dark eyes, and you know he’ll be happy either way.

Here he is, you think to yourself. The predator you knew lurked all along, beneath the genial facade.

Still, you answer in your stubborn way, “Why make me say it? You already know.”

You see it out the corner of your eye, when he smirks at you. “Do I? So I was right, you do have expensive taste.”

This almost feels like a slap. You’re sure he knows it too, but you rise to the bait anyway, fighting to keep your voice low in this public arena. “Donaka, you could have taken me to a street stall on public transit, and I’d still be feeling this way.”

“What way?”

“Hoping against hope that this side of you is genuine. Because I like you a lot, when you’re sweet to me.”

“Hmm. I think I’d bore you to tears, if I was always sweet to you.”

“Try me.”

This earns you genuine laughter; you covet it like a precious gem, knowing you’ll hoard it in your memory like a dragon guarding its treasure.

“Is that all?”

“No.”

“I thought not.”

You find yourself even more reluctant to admit the rest of the truth. It’s a fine blade you walk upon, confessing weakness to this man. It could lead to victory…or demise, with one tiny misstep. Yet like he knows, he waits, his dark eyes boring into you.

“Go on, y/n. Finish your thought.”

You make a small sound in the back of your throat that you know is no more threatening to this man than the posturing of a frustrated kitten. He squeezes you harder, and as ever, the strength in his hands never fails to make your insides flutter.

“Mei…is like a sister I never had,” you admit.

“You have two half-sisters.”

“Yes. But they hate me, and I…don’t like them much either.”

He seems to consider this, which for this man, is about as close to surprise as you can get.

“That girl means so much to you?”

You nod, still looking out the window, hoping this explanation is enough. You’re afraid if you admit to him that his entire household has become precious to you, he will only use it against you.

“Hmm. I suppose I can’t scold you for fraternizing with the help.”

You laugh shakily at that. Here you are, gone from housekeeper to kept woman–even if only as of today, somewhat according to your own will.

How the tables have turned.

Donaka nods, as though mulling this over. It’s interesting to you, that this is the thing that seems to perplex him.

“Very well, y/n. Ready to go home?”

There is a lightness in his tone that emboldens you.

“No. I want more adventuring with you.”

He chuckles at you, his eyes shining like high-polished onyx. “Oh really? Someone thinks she's tai-tai already.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your Cantonese is abominable.”

“I’m…working on it.”

He snorts at that, only gently derisive. “Not hard enough. Ask your friend Mei, next time you're gossiping when she should be working.” He says this with a little smile, and you decide he doesn't mind that you have a friend at home, or that you’re making demands to spend more time out with him.

“Fine. I will.”

He lifts an eyebrow at you amusedly, and damn him for the thrill it gives you.

“Very well. More adventuring. I know what you'll like.”

You can’t help but think that's been the problem all along.

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