Lala Luna

You heard about the "fight" Caitlin had gotten into with her coach last night, and saw the video circulating this morning. Before you'd made your coffee with the espresso machine she'd bought "for the two of us" (you knew it was a cheer-you-up gift, but she'd never admit to that), you were surprised it got so much traction.

But as you drank down the bitter, chocolately flavor, you remembered who exactly your girlfriend was. Caitlin Clark. The "savior" of women's sports—not even just basketball—sports.

Sometimes you resented it. Not Caitlin, never her. But the title. Women's sports were growing at an unprecedented rate—your sport was growing at an unprecedented rate. Your hockey team had just set the attendance record for the entire PWHL at their finals home games. Over sixteen-thousand people had come to watch your team play hockey. Admittedly, they were also there to watch Marie-Philip Poulin, but that was beside the point. Women's sports were doing just fine, thank you very much, but… it was kind of cool seeing just how popular she was. No one outside of your circle had even a million Instagram followers let alone three. The places she'd gotten you into on short notice left your jaw dropping—until she'd trained you not to overreact, of course. And despite everything, she was still your Caitlin. Nothing about how famous she was or how many eyes were on her changed the fact that you'd cuddle up on the couch together and watch stupid movies after one of your practices, or that her birthday cards to your parents were never a day late despite them living in a different country. Plus, it did feel a little good seeing your teammates' faces when you told them you were dating Caitlin Fucking Clark, as your captain, Brianne Jenner so eloquently put. It didn't even really matter that she wasn't out to anyone besides a few trusted friends and teammates. You could live with that.

No, the bad part was the social media discourse. If Caitlin had a bad game or the Fever weren't playing well, suddenly everyone with a Twitter account was calling for her to quit basketball forever because she wasn't actually very good (she was very good, you just knew how to use your eyes). She'd nearly taken your phone away during last season when seemingly every analyst started claiming the Fever were better with Caitlin on the bench just because her body couldn't keep up with the training regimen she'd implemented thanks to the same analysts arguing that she couldn't handle the W's physicality despite winning the Rookie of the Year award...

"Babe, you can't respond to every single troll—" Caitlin tried, her slender fingers reaching out to the phone in your grasp.

"Watch me! My season's done. I have all the time in the world," you replied, shifting on her lap to keep typing out a response that contained enough expletives to make even the oldest veteran on your team blush.

Of course, as with anything that didn't go Caitlin's way, she escalated. "Stop typing or I'll tickle you to death," she said, her fingers already ghosting along the hem of your Ottawa Charge hoodie. "You can't possibly respond to all *of them."

Shivers ran down your spine as the memory flitted through your mind. God you missed Caitlin. Her road trip was only five days, but you hadn't been able to see her as much as you would have liked with your team's deep playoff run coinciding with the start of the WNBA season, and then you stayed home with your parents for a few days to visit, and suddenly this was only the second time you'll be seeing her since your finals loss and...

You missed her.

You missed her so much that you nearly didn't catch the clink of the deadbolt sliding and the door opening and the sound of her voice saying, "Baby? You home?"

"Cait!" you exclaimed, rushing over to sweep your girlfriend up in your arms. It felt incredible to feel her against you again; all the stress and disappointment and sadness sloughed off as you filled with joy knowing you could hold her like this for almost three straight days. But even as her arms snaked around your torso, you could feel the exhaustion deep in her muscles. You furrowed your eyebrows as her head sagged onto your shoulder. You knew what was wrong, but that didn't stop you from asking, "You okay?"

She pulled back just far enough for you to see the bags under her eyes, not to mention the fire that was usually ever-present behind her hazel eyes was doused in a way you hadn't seen since after the Connecticut last year. "Yeah. I'm just exhausted," she said, giving you the sort of strained smile you'd come to expect when she wasn't being entirely truthful. "But I'll feel better after some time at home with my wonderful, beautiful girlfriend."

And there it was. That cool, unabashed confidence that you'd grown to love. "Well," you started, pausing long enough to meet her lips with your own for a much needed kiss, "I'm sure that can be arranged." You stepped back, taking Caitlin's suitcase as you began walking to your bedroom. "How was your trip?"

"Fine."

You couldn't see her, but you knew from the tone of her voice it was a stupid question. Maybe something lighter. "How was the Indy 500? It looked like you had a lot of fun."

"Good."

You sighed, stopping abruptly in the hallway and turned around to face Caitlin. "Caitlin… Can we talk about what happened? You're clearly upset, and I don't like when my Cait is upset."

Caitlin avoided your gaze, preferring to look at your team photo from media day this year (You absolutely did not want it hung in the hallway—or even framed—but Caitlin did it anyway). "I told you I'm fine. Just tired—"

"Sweetheart. You're clearly not fine," you said, stepping closer to her. "And you're allowed to not be fine. I don't know if you're just putting on a brave face for me because of my team's finals disappointment, or if you just think you're not allowed to be sad, or angry, but I'm a big girl, and I can handle it. I'm here for you, baby, just let me in."

A deep forceful sigh left her nose as she slumped against the wall, her eyes sliding shut. You were almost convinced she was just going to ignore you until you let it go. You were about to not let it go before she finally spoke up. "I'm tired—"

"Caitlin…"

"No, let me finish," she said, her soft gaze finding your eyes for what felt like the first time since she'd gotten home. "I'm tired of everything I do being under a microscope. If I were anyone else, that video would have gotten no attention—it probably wouldn't have even been recorded."

You'd always known how much pressure she'd been under, and you'd never heard her complain, even last year, so it was nice to finally hear her say just how much this had been bugging her. You slid closer, leaning against the wall with her, taking one of her hands in your own as a show of support.

"And I know I haven't been playing that good—" You disagreed, but that could wait until later. "—but there's only so much I can do when Coach seems to be getting us to play a form of basketball that we aren't good at, and it's hard to even try and learn it when I barely trust my own body still, and…" Another sigh slid from her lips, her body visibly sapped of even the little amount of energy she'd had before.

"Oh, Caitlin…" you whispered, squeezing her hand gently. "I'm sorry you're going through all this. It's not fair that you're held to such a higher standard, and it's not fair that you can't just play basketball, but…"

"But?" she asked, a smirk starting to form on her lips. You never were good at just offering support without trying to also be helpful.

You swatted her arm as she started to giggle at you. "You're also an inspiration to countless girls and women across the globe—including me—and overcoming adversity is exactly why they look up to you. Time and time again you've proven that you won't just roll over and quit when things get hard."

Her giggling only got worse as you swatted her again and said, "Hey! I'm trying to be inspirational, Ms. Dirty Mind."

"Sorry, sorry," she said, almost certainly not apologetic at all. "Finish your speech."

You narrowed your eyes, nearly refusing to indulge her any further, but nevertheless, you continued, "Unfortunately, it's the price we pay to play the sports we love at the highest level, but even if you were to never score another point, you'd still be the same Caitlin that I can't wait to get home to. The same Caitlin that I love, each and every day." You held Caitlin's hand and placed a kiss to her slender fingers. "But I know you'll figure it out, because you always do."

Caitlin smiled, her gaze falling to the floor as she squeezed your hand back. "Thank you, baby. You always know what to say, even if I'd like to be mad a bit longer than you let me."

"I know," you said, smiling as you gently tugged her towards the bedroom, "but that's why you love me."

"Yeah, I suppose it is," she replied, falling in behind you as you led her to your bed.

"Now," you started, relishing the way her eyes trailed down your frame as you kicked your pants off and slid under the covers. "Come nap with me. I'm tired, and so are you."

You had to stifle your laugh as she pouted and said, "But what if I want to do something else…"

"There'll be time for that later, I promise." You patted the mattress beside you. "Now come and sleep, sweetheart."

Despite the fact that your first priority was getting Caitlin to just nap for once, you couldn't stop yourself from drinking in the sight of her stripping out of her sweats. It had been a while, and the sight of her legs was sending a gentle heat straight to your belly. When she finally curled into your side, her head resting on your shoulder, you both let out sighs of relief that might have been embarrassing in any other context.

"I love you," Caitlin said, sleep already slipping into her voice.

by the time you're tipsy, your mood has started to shift from i-need-to-go-home-and-kill-myself to i-wouldn´t-mind-getting-ran-over-but-this-isn't-the-worst-thing. i mean it's still bad, but the alcohol is settling within you nicely and you're making eye contact with a cute blonde and. yeah. it's not the worst thing ever.

the blonde woman makes her way over to you slowly, which is kind of given since it's genuinely so packed in there. you're not even sure how so many people have managed to squeeze together in one space without it being like, some kind of violation, but you also don't really care. i mean, it's Indy. weird place.

you finish your drink with a large gulp, the blonde already caressing your arms and laughing at something you'd said, something that was definitely not worth laughing at. you throw yourself into a flirty conversation with her, your eyes trailing to her lips every so often. fuck, you've missed, whatever the hell this is. pretending like what the girl was saying was interesting or pretending like there wasn't a deep pit in your stomach? the stranger's makeup is kind of smudged, but it's fine. she's fine. not your usual type, not really someone you'd approach, but fine nonetheless and, fuck. now you've made it weird for yourself again.

"you from here?" she asks, voice way too breathy and. well. you have a suspicion that she might want to take things further and you're not sure you're up for that. your shorts are definitely too short, for sure. has it always been this hot in here? you shake your head and try to force a careless smile that probably comes off as a grimace when you tell her you'll go get another drink. she huffs a breath, but doesn't really seem to care. a little path has been created to towards the bar, but it's a struggle. someone elbows your side and you're so done with this.

you shoot a dirty look at the general direction where the attack could've came from and suddenly feel insanely claustrophobic. maybe it's because you're sweating your fucking tits off. your top is clinging to your back uncomfortably and you pray to whichever god is listening that your armpits haven't created a sweat stain on your shirt. someone elbows you again and. seriously, isn't this amount of people packed into one place some kind of health hazard?

your friend meets you halfway to the bar and gives you the brightest smile like this whole ordeal isn't affecting her in the slightest.

"hi! you having fun?" she asks, way too excited and, yeah, she's up to something. but you don't have the willingness to press it, so you just hope she doesn't make it your problem.

"yeah, this is fucking spectacular. i love being packed in together with people from Indianap-" she steps on your heel-covered toes to shut you up.

"ow, what the fuck, dude? that hurt-"

your friend interrupts you like she hadn't even heard you. very possible, considering the music is basically piercing your eardrums. "people are so hot here. i was just talking to a guy. he's like, actually six feet tall. like actually, not like 5'11 and rounding up, y'know? and his muscles, oh my god. he has a beard and shit, i was like, genuinely about to combust." she rambles on as you order your drink (something with a dumbass name, but that will definitely make you forget this night), until she cuts herself off with a gasp.

"oh my god, i forgot to tell you! guess- literally guess who came up to me?" she nudges your arm and forces you to look up from the spot you'd been focusing on so you wouldn't do something dumb, like throw up all over the bar and-

fuck no.

immediately no. no, just a full-stop no. because caitlin fucking clark is standing at the opposite side of the bar you happen to be leaning against and. yeah, fuck no.

you hadn't seen her since last year. not since you'd stupidly, foolishly stopped the whole messing around thing you guys had created during her rookie year. it had started on a night out, where you'd thought it had been a good idea to kiss her in the back of the uber, which had turned into fooling around for half an year, a period of time where you'd convinced yourselves that whatever was going between you guys was strictly a "friends-with-benefits" situation which just. hadn't been true. at all.

not when most nights had been spent with caitlin's fingers deep inside you, her voice right next to you ear, trading confessions of love like it was the most natural thing in the world. like it just had to happen, whether you guys had wanted it to or not. problem was, you'd wanted. had wanted so much that the thought of ever losing her became so terrifying that you'd wake up in the middle of the night just to feel her, to make sure you still had her. caitlin had soothed you back to sleep, wiped the tears from your eyes, promised to never leave while her skillful mouth had worked against you-

but that's in the past. you shove the memory so far back on your mind so you don't ever have to recall how her hazel eyes had shined when you'd broken it off, how she hadn't put up any fucking fight. like the idea of losing you - of losing this, was the most natural thing in the world. like it just had to happen, whether you guys had wanted it to or not. you don't realize your friend is still going on about the fucking loss of your life, too lost in your own thoughts that hadn't ever been really untangled. you've started to wonder if leaving them alone for such a long time had been the smartest decision.

"-she looks so different, like she lost weight or something? oh, or maybe she got a surgery, her ass does seem kinda fat-"

"what the hell does she want?" you ask, your tone way too mean, your drink half empty way too fast. your friend smirks in the corner of your eye and you already know it's gonna be bad.

"well, i don't know. maybe you should like, go ask her?"

of course. sure, yeah. she's delusional, frankly, for thinking that you'd ever talk to her again. not after she never contacted you, after half a year of not speaking, not even texting. you'd stopped going to parties after it, even the thought of seeing her face making you nauseous.

"you know damn well i'm-" you begin, your tone way. too. mean. but your friend cuts you off with a scream of-

"caitlin! she's here, if you wanna talk!"

you're going kill her. because of course, of-fucking-course, the brunette's head turns and those stupid, stupid hazel eyes meet yours, like she didn't completely shatter your- oh you don't know, will to live?

(you ignore the fact that it was you who'd called it off and instead focus on not committing heinous crimes against your friend.)

your head turns so fast, you swear your neck might snap.

"what the hell do you think you're doing?" you whisper-shout at your friend, but it's too late. she's already signaling caitlin to come closer and.

and you're going to kill her. truly end her life. you envision how you'd do it, breaking a bottle and slicing her throat open and hiding her body so nobody would ever know it was you-

"hi caitlin! we were just talking about you, right, babe?"

no, actually, you wouldn't hide her body. you'd stand on top of it until the police arrested you so everybody would know you were the one who-

"um, yeah, hi. long time no see, huh?" caitlin's voice interrupts your thoughts and you're. screwed.

because her voice is low, barely carrying through the music blasting, maybe a little raspy, in a way that seems unintentional, and that somehow makes it even hotter.

fuck you, caitlin clark, for never trying and still being the hottest person you'd ever have the displeasure of meeting.

your friend takes that as an invitation to not shut the fuck up and to start going on about what has happened during the last six months of your lives. you stand there sipping your drink and trying to act like you're disinterested in all of this, like the reason you've lost sleep during said six months isn't standing mere feets away from you. you fail. miserably. in a way that will bring shame to your family's name for centuries to come. your traitorous eyes dart to her every now and then and. fuck.

caitlin's wearing high-waisted jeans, which cover a frustrating amount of her skin (not that you care, or anything), but she makes up for it with the cropped shirt she's wearing. the pale skin of her stomach shines through and your eyes track the way her abs flex when she takes a breath. you try not to think about how these are the same abs that have glistened with your slick, the ones you've marked up until she'd dragged your head down to relieve the ache between her thighs and fail. severly. again. god, aren't you just on a roll today?

her neck has a dark patch on it, and your eyes widen, because. is that a fucking hickey. the realisation hits you so suddenly, that she might have been fucking someone else when you weren't seeing her and then you're done. absolutely fucking done. your friend is still running her mouth but you're just so tired and way too drunk and just so, so done with all of this.

"i need to- i'm going outside, nice seeing you and. yeah. i'm. yeah, i'm gonna go now, thanks!" you say, to particularly no one, with as much cheerfulness as one can muster in such situation (see: an absolutely zero amount of it) and practically run out. well, try to run, anyway. you squeeze through the crowd of people and desperately wish death on Alexander Ralston and Elias Pym Fordham.

and then you're finally outside and you could throw up from how good it feels to not have a billion people pressed up against you, and maybe also because it's been a really overwhelming night and it's just so difficult, to exist with a deep sense of longing all the fucking time. and it doesn't help that caitlin seemed to have moved on so easily. you hadn't realised how much you truly missed her until you had her at an arms reach yet again.

wanting and not getting can get tiring very, very easily.

you don't know how long you stay against the wall outside of the club or how long it takes for caitlin to find you there. you also don't know when or how you've started crying. after a moment of silence between the two of you, you fold.

"you're staring, by the way. it's rude. didn't your mom teach you manners?" you aim for a teasing-but-serious tone but end up with weirdo-whose-voice-cracks. caitlin just laughs, never the one to turn the situation awkward even though she has every right to.

"can't i just prefer silence?"

"no, actually, you can't. speak, loser." you rub your eyes, probably smudging your mascara in the process. it's so easy to be like this with her, a total mess. it's stupid and maybe you're being too rough considering it's the first time you've talked in months (well, besides the Bar Incident earlier), but it's so easy.

her mouth opens, then closes. when she does get some words out, you immediately regret demanding her to. "i miss you so much that two months ago, i threw up during practice because somebody wore your perfume." silence. pure, deafening silence.

you don't even really register what's coming out of your mouth before you're saying it.

"fuck off, caitlin. seriously, fuck right off. you dare to tell me that with a fucking hickey on your neck?" her eyes widen and her mouth opens to argue, but you cut her off.

"no, you don't get to march back into my life and tell me that you miss me after you fucked me over. you have the nerve to act like you couldn't have just fucking called me, even once-"

"oh, i don't get to march back? how about you, the person who made it crystal-fucking-clear that she never wanted to speak to me again? and- a hickey? seriously?" she shoots back and you'd forgotten how stupidly annoying she could be.

you're aware you're no better. "yeah, seriously. and you're acting like i wanted you dead when i just wanted to be friends instead of, whatever the fuck we were." caitlin groans in frustration and you're very happy that she feels how you've felt for months.

"oh my god, it's probably fucking bronzer and you know that's not what i meant. do you genuinely have to be so difficult about this? can't you just admit you missed me too?"

"no i can't, actually. i'm not admitting shit to you until you apologise, caitlin." and, well. see, the thing is, you do genuinely expect her to fight you on this, to maybe roll her eyes and very colourfully express how not-sorry she is.

what you don't expect is her quiet "i'm really sorry, baby. really, really sorry." and the way her hand flexes at her side is. definitely helping her case. she's standing really close to you, anyways. and you're unsurprisingly easy, so it's only given that you lean up to press your lips against hers. it's not really a conscious action, it's just, the most natural thing in the world for you, something that just has to happen, whether you want it to or not.

it takes her as a shock, clearly, given she doesn't necessarily react immediately, just letting your mouths stay pressed together, like a prolonged peck. you make a noise, something that actives her and okay, yeah. that seems to work.

the brunette's mouth moves against you, tongue lapping against yours messily and suddenly it's fast and she's kissing you like she's trying to make up for lost time. caitlin breaks contact between your mouths, just to dip her head back down to reconnect them again and you momentarily understand how shitty of an idea this is, but you can't bring yourself to stop, not when caitlin whines into your mouth when you entangle your hands into her hair.

you pull back and she chases your mouth, like she's not fully in control of her body and it's hot in a way that makes your body go warm all over.

"not- not here, right? you got a car or, like a house or something?" you're starting to slightly regret that last sip of your drink you had and you'd be embarrassed by how sloppy the kiss was if caitlin didn't look so utterly wrecked. maybe she was being truthful about missing you, after all.

"baby i don't- fuck, we came with an uber." and you could cry. again. you're finally allowing yourself all of this, all of her and now your options are fucking outside, where anyone could see or inside a terrible club's bathroom and caitlin must see how frustrated you are because her hand comes to cup your face.

"it's okay, i'll call us a car, baby. it's fine, we can still kiss and then we'll go home and i'll make you feel good, yeah?" she emphasises her point by capturing your mouth with hers again and, yeah. she did miss you, because she's fucking desperate, her hands trailing down from your face to your waist and she squeezes, maybe a little harder than is necessary but it's fine, as long as she keeps her hands on you, it's fine.

the palms of her hands drag from your waist to your ass, and she gropes you and when you pull back there's a string of saliva connecting you and it would be gross, it is gross- but caitlin's eyes are half-lidded and she looks seconds away from fucking you against the concrete wall, so you wrap your arms around her and squeeze, hugging her while resting your face against her chest to try to like, calm the situation down or something. and it's stupid but what's even stupider is that caitlin hugs you back, her shoulders relaxing for the first time that night.

she obviously ruins the moment by opening her big mouth. "did you wear this for me?" she says, while palming your ass.

"wear what? my ass?" caitlin rolls her eyes, but her hands stay where they are.

"smartass. no, i meant the shorts. or like, this piece of fabric you call shorts."

"you are so full of yourself, oh my god-" caitlin laughs, cutting you off completely.

"i mean, shit, you look good. and these are the shorts i like, y'know?" she emphasises her point by - maybe accidentally - positioning her left thigh inbetween yours. the fact that one of her thighs is atleast twice the size of yours makes you dizzy.

"no, i didn't wear these for you. i wore these for myself, thanks for asking." you shoot back, suddenly very aware that you're still horny.

and caitlin is still going on about the shorts. "oh yeah? they don't exactly scream 'for myself'."

"what about you tell that fucking driver of yours to hurry up and i could be screaming for 'someone else'?" your tone is probably bordering on cruel, but it seems to really work for caitlin, because she groans, letting her head fall back against the wall.

it takes her a long time to be able to speak again.

"you can't just say stuff like that. jesus, i think i almost fainted." which makes you giggle, which, in turn, makes caitlin smile and the realisation that she finds joy in your joy makes you surge up to kiss her again.

it's messy and it's incredibly unsexy how her teeth drag against yours, the friction sending a shiver down your spine. this is definitely, surely not what works for you.

caitlin, on the other hand, has no shame in indulging herself in it. she gasps when your nails dig into her scalp, mouth opening wider for you to explore. your mouth detaches from hers for a second and you soak in how fucked-out she already looks like.

"we're not gonna do anything here, cait." caitlin nods, but she's found the sweet spot on your neck and is currently busying herself with marking it up the best that she can. overachiver.

"have you even- cait, stop, wait. a sec. have you even like, ordered the car?" she shakes her head.

"caitlin."

"what? i'm busy. wait. a sec." she throws your own words back at you and you scoff, loud enough to make her laugh. she calls her driver and you busy yourself with fixing your shorts, not wanting to look like you've already gone three rounds against a fucking wall. caitlin's eyes stay on you, her hand slightly reaching for you anytime you move. your eyes roll but you let her hand find your waist.

you let her press a kiss on the top of your head, and you let her cup your face and get in the stupid car.