#sonia citron

[akaz2908]

[lyricii]

the list

pairing: washington mystics!sonia!all star!dating x wag!reader!dating

wc: 4.0k

request: y/n

anon asked: Heyy can u write a Sonia citron x gf smut maybe about Sonia gets all star news?

summary: the coaches don't pick friends but they pick who they're scared of and when sonia's name shows up on the list for the second year in a row, you're the only one who gets to see what it costs her to act like it's no big deal.

🏷️:  @timunhater, @marleymarleymarleymarley, @yourmom-25s-blog, @sammiejane22

the text comes in at 9:47 on a monday morning, which is how you know it's real, because sonia does not text you during shootaround unless something has gone very right or very wrong. don't say anything. i mean it. not even to the group chat. especially not the group chat then, four seconds later: i made it again.

you're sitting on the counter of your kitchen with a mug of coffee going cold in your hand, and you read it twice before you understand what it means, and then you have to set the mug down because your hands aren't steady enough to hold it.

second year in a row reserve spot the coaches vote for players, not popularity, and they picked her again, and she is telling you three hours before anyone else on this earth knows, in a text messonia she probably typed with her thumb while standing in a hallway at the practice facility, trying not to smile in front of her teammates. i'm so proud of you, you type back. i'm not going to cry in this kitchen alone but i might.

please don't tell kiki i told you first she will actually kill me

your secret is safe. what time are you home

not until late. media stuff. i have to sit there and act SURPRISED when they announce it publicly later. i am going to have to fake my own reaction to my own news

you'll be great at it. you're great at hiding things from me all the time

i'm literally not

soni. you hid a whole all star selection from me for THREE HOURS

that's different and you know it

it isn't, really, but you let her have it, because you can feel the adrenaline coming off her even through text, that particular electric hum she gets when something has gone right and she doesn't have anywhere to put it yet. 

you know this feeling of hers the way you know the sound of her keys in the door you have spent two years learning the specific grammar of sonia’s joy how she deflects it, undersells it, turns every good thing that happens to her into something she has to be talked into believing is real.

you set your phone down on the counter and you sit there for a second in the quiet of your kitchen, coffee cold, and you let yourself feel it too all-star second year running you think about the summer before the draft, when she used to stay up too late replaying film of guards she was scared she wasn't as good as, and you think, not for the first time, that you have been given a strange and specific privilege to watch someone become exactly who they always suspected they might be, from the closest possible seat.

you do not tell anyone not even when your best friend texts you an hour later asking if you've heard anything, fishing, because everyone in your shared orbit knows sonia's phone was buzzing all morning. 

you say nothing you go about your day with the news sitting in your chest like a low coal, and every time you think about tonight about her walking through that door already knowing, and you already knowing, and the two of you finally getting to just look at each other about it the coal gets a little hotter.

the league announces the reserves publicly at 2pm. you watch it happen on twitter like everyone else, even though you've known for five hours, and you still feel your throat go tight when her name scrolls across the graphic. sonia citron guard washington. second consecutive selection. 

the caption underneath says something about her being the only returning all-star to raise her scoring, her assists, and her rebounds all in the same season, and you read it three times, thinking; that's her. that's mine. that's the girl who falls asleep with her hand on my stomach and complains that i steal the blankets.

you don't reply to any of the texts blowing up your phone from mutual friends you let sonia have her public moment, the interviews, the team group chat probably going insane, kiki no doubt screaming into a locker room somewhere you send her one text around four: saw the news. very proud of #22. very cool girl. 10/10 no notes

she sends back a single laughing emoji and: home by 8. don't wait up if you're tired; you are not going to be tired you have never in your life been less tired.

she gets home at 8:40, and you hear her keys in the lock and you are already standing in the middle of the living room like an idiot, arms crossed, trying to arrange your face into something casual, and it does not work, because the second she walks through the door and sees you standing there she just stops. bag still on her shoulder, one shoe still on. "you look like you're about to say something annoying," she says.

"i don't know what you're talking about."

"you have your proud face on. i hate your proud face."

"i don't have a proud face."

"you have had a proud face since 9:47 this morning, i've been getting texts from you all day laced with proud face energy—"

you don't let her finish you cross the room and you get both hands on her jaw and you kiss her, hard, before she can deflect this into a joke the way she deflects everything, and for a second she makes a small surprised sound against your mouth and then her bag hits the floor and both her hands come up to grip your waist like she's been waiting all day for someone to stop asking her to be modest about this.

"hi," she says, when you finally let her breathe. her voice has gone lower already. "that a congratulations?"

"that's a you did it again and i watched you fake surprise on television and you were terrible at acting surprised, by the way, everyone could tell."

"i was not terrible—"

"soni. your eyebrows went up like a cartoon character's. kiki looked more surprised than you did and she already knew."

she laughs the real laugh, not the interview one, the one that cracks a little in the middle and drops her forehead against your shoulder, and you feel the whole day come off her in one long exhale, all the performing and posing and pretending she'd learned about it for the first time on camera, all of it just leaving her body in your front hallway.

"second year," she says, quiet, into your shoulder, like she's telling you a secret instead of something forty thousand people watched announced on a graphic today. "i wasn't sure they'd do it again."

"i was sure," you say, and you mean it, and you feel her arms tighten around you. "you don't know anything about basketball."

"i know you. that's a better metric." she pulls back enough to look at you, and there's something in her face that's not the adrenaline from this morning anymore it's slower, warmer, the thing underneath the coal. "you kept it a secret all day. from everyone. i know your friends were texting you."

"i'm an excellent secret-keeper."

"you are not. you told me you cried at a commercial last week."

"that's different, that commercial was evil—" she kisses you this time, cutting you off, one hand sliding up into your hair, and you feel the shift in the room the way you always do the exact moment where teasing becomes something with a current under it. 

she tastes like the mints she chews before interviews, and she's still got her jacket half on, one arm free, and you tug at it until she shrugs the rest of the way out of it without breaking the kiss, like she's done this exact motion a hundred times, because she has. "i want to hear you say it," you murmur against her mouth. "out loud. not to a camera."

"say what."

"that you're proud of yourself. i've listened to you talk yourself out of every good thing that's ever happened to you for two years, sonia, i want one night where you just own it."

she goes still for a second, and you watch something in her expression crack open, the deflection dropping away, and when she speaks again her voice doesn't have the joke in it anymore.

"i worked really hard for this," she says, low. "i wanted it. i wanted it so bad i couldn't sleep for like a week before the announcement. and i got it. two years in a row." a breath. "i'm proud of myself."

"there she is," you whisper, and kiss her again, softer this time, and she makes a small sound against your mouth like relief.

"okay," she says, breaking away just enough to look at you, eyes dark now, that competitive glint sliding into something else entirely. "you wanted me to own it. i'm going to own tonight too. that alright with you?"

your whole body answers before your mouth does. "yeah. that's alright." she doesn't say anything else she just takes your hand and walks you backward toward the bedroom, unhurried, like she has all night, because she does.

she undresses you slow, which is not her default her default, most nights, is fast and a little clumsy and laughing about it, both of you racing to get out of your clothes like teenagers tonight is different.

tonight she peels your shirt up over your head like she's unwrapping something, and she watches her own hands do it, and then she just looks at you for a second, the way she looks at film, cataloguing, like she's trying to memorize an angle. "what," you say, half self-conscious under the attention.

"nothing." she runs a thumb along your collarbone. "just had a good day and i want to remember all of it."

she kisses down your throat, unhurried, and you feel her smile against your skin when your breath catches, feel her notice it, the way she notices everything on a court where the gap is, where the give is. 

she gets your bra off with the practiced ease of two years of practice and she takes her time with your chest, mouth and hands both, until you're arching up into her and biting back a sound, and she pulls off just to say, low and smug: "you don't have to be quiet tonight. no games tomorrow. no early flight."

"sonia—"

"i want to hear you." she says it plainly, not as a demand, just a fact she wants stated between you. "i've had a very good day. let me have a very good night too."

you don't have much of a comeback for that, not with her mouth already moving lower, tracing the line of your ribs, your stomach, her hands pressing your hips into the mattress with an ease that's never stopped doing something to you she's strong in the specific, functional way of someone whose whole career runs through her body, and she has never once used that strength for anything but exactly this, careful and deliberate and entirely for you.

she gets your underwear off and settles between your thighs like she's got nowhere else to be all night, and when she looks up at you before she starts, there's a question in her face even though you both already know the answer.

"go," you breathe, and her mouth is on you a second later, and every thought in your head that isn't her

just empties out.

she's good at this the way she's good at reading a defense patient first, feeling out where you tense, where you shift, adjusting before you even have to ask, and you have your fingers in her hair within a minute, not guiding, just holding on, and she makes a low sound against you that you feel more than hear. 

she takes her time, she's not chasing anything fast tonight; she's savoring it, the same unhurried attention she gave your collarbone, like tonight of all nights she wants proof that she can make you feel as good as she's feeling.

"sonia—" your voice cracks around her name, and she hums against you, and the vibration of it nearly finishes you right there, but she eases back, just enough, dragging it out, and you swear under your breath and feel her laugh, low and wicked, against your thigh.

"not yet," she murmurs, dragging her mouth up to your hip, pressing an open kiss there. "i told you. i'm having a good night. i get to enjoy this part."

"you are evil—"

"i'm an all-star baby," she says, and you'd laugh at the cockiness of it if you weren't so far gone, if her mouth wasn't already back on you a second later, less patient now, like she's decided she's teased you both enough. 

you feel the shift in her, the moment restraint gives way to want, and her grip on your thighs tightens, and this time when you say her name it's not a warning, it's a plea, and she doesn't make you wait for the rest.

you come with her name half-formed in your mouth and her hands anchoring your hips to the bed, and she doesn't stop until you're pulling gently at her hair, oversensitive, and even then she presses one more slow kiss to your inner thigh like she's savoring the last of it before she finally lifts her head, chin shining, looking unbearably pleased with herself.

"there we go," she says, voice rough. "that's the reaction i wanted from twitter today. no offense to twitter."

"i hate you," you manage, breathless, and she grins and crawls back up your body to kiss you, unhurried, letting you taste yourself on her mouth, and something about that the shamelessness of it, the ease has heat pooling low in you again already.

"my turn to hate you," you say against her mouth, and she raises an eyebrow, a challenge, and you use the moment of her distraction to flip your weight and get her under you instead, and she goes willingly, laughing, arms coming up loose around your neck. "oh, this is happening," she says.

"you don't get to have all the good ideas tonight."

you take her clothes off with none of the patience she showed you you're too worked up for patience, and she doesn't seem to mind, arching up to help you get her out of her shirt, her bra, laughing when you get impatient with a clasp until she reaches back and does it herself. "i could've had that in two seconds—"

"shut up and let me function."

she goes quiet fast once you're actually touching her, though sonia talks through almost everything, deflects with a joke or a comment, except this, except the moments right before she falls apart, when the running commentary finally cuts out and it's just her breath, ragged, and her hand fisting in the sheets.

you know her body the way she knows a scouting report where she's sensitive, where she needs pressure instead of lightness, the exact rhythm that has her hips lifting off the bed within a few minutes, chasing your hand. 

you kiss down her stomach the way she kissed down yours, unhurried at first, and she makes a sound of protest, hips shifting.

"you don't get to be smug and then also make me wait," she says, breathless, half-laughing, half-desperate.

"i absolutely do. you invented this rule twenty minutes ago."

"i'm rescinding it—"

"too late. i'm an all-star's girlfriend, i have some pull now." that gets a real laugh out of her, breathless and surprised, and you use the distraction to finally close your mouth over her, and the laugh breaks apart into something else entirely, her hand flying to your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding herself.

she's vocal when she finally lets herself be quiet at first, breath catching, and then less quiet, your name and something unintelligible and her thighs trembling against your shoulders, and you don't let up, you've learned the exact place she needs you to stay and you stay there until she's right on the edge, and then you slide two fingers into her, curling them the way you know undoes her, and her back arches clean off the bed.

"i'm—" she doesn't finish the sentence she doesn't need to you feel it happen, her whole body drawing tight and then breaking, her voice cracking around a sound that's almost a sob, almost a laugh, pure relief, and you ease her through it slow, the way she eased you, until she's boneless underneath you, chest heaving, one arm thrown over her eyes.

"okay," she says finally, voice wrecked. "okay. you win. whatever this was. you win."

"i wasn't aware we were competing."

"we're always competing. i'm an athlete. everything is a competition." she peeks out from under her arm, grinning, wrung-out and soft in a way she almost never lets herself be outside this room. "you just won something, though. i don't know what. but you won."

you crawl up to lie half over her, and she wraps both arms around you loosely, and for a second neither of you says anything, just breathing each other in, her heartbeat still too fast under your ear.

"second all-star selection," you say quietly, into her collarbone. "how's it feel now that it's had a few hours to sit."

she's quiet for a second, and you feel her chest rise on a breath. "good," she admits. "really good. like maybe i get to stop being scared it was a fluke."

"it was never a fluke."

"i know that now. i think i actually know that now." her hand comes up to stroke through your hair, absent, thoughtful. "you made me say it earlier. that i'm proud of myself. nobody's ever made me say that out loud before."

"somebody should've been making you say it for years."

"yeah," she says softly. "well now i've got you."

you don't stay still for long sonia has never in two years been able to lie quietly after either of you comes for very long, some restless competitive current in her that needs an outlet even in bed, and within twenty minutes her hand is trailing down your spine again, testing, and you laugh into the pillow. "you cannot possibly—"

"i had a good day," she says, entirely unrepentant, rolling you onto your back. "i'm allowed a good night. you started this, technically. you're the one who wanted the proud speech."

"i didn't know the proud speech came with a rider clause."

"everything with me comes with a rider clause. you should know that by now." she settles over you, braced on her forearms, and there's less urgency now, more of the slow warmth from earlier, both of you soft and unhurried in the aftermath she kisses you long and easy, and you feel her smile against your mouth.

"i keep thinking," she murmurs, between kisses, "about you sitting on that counter all day knowing before everybody. keeping it from your own friends. for me."

"it was your news to tell."

"i know. i just—" she pulls back to look at you, something almost shy crossing her face, which is rare enough on her that you go still to receive it properly. "i liked that it was ours first. before it was anyone else's. before it was the league's, or twitter's, or my mom's, even. for like five hours this morning it was just you and me knowing something good was true."

"that's my favorite kind of secret to keep," you say, and mean it, and she kisses you again like the words did something to her.

this time when her hand slides between your thighs again it's slower, less about winning some invented game and more about just wanting to be close to you, and you let her take her time, let the two of you move together without any hurry at all, her forehead pressed to yours, her breath mixing with yours, both of you murmuring things that don't quite qualify as sentences anymore.

when she finally lets herself go still afterward, tucked against your side with her leg thrown over yours and her hand splayed flat on your stomach — her favorite place to fall asleep touching you, always has been you feel her yawn against your shoulder, all the adrenaline of the day finally spent.

"you have to be up early," you murmur into her hair. "media availability, right? about the selection?"

"mm. ten a.m. i have to go be professionally humble about this all over again." she sounds half-asleep already. "you should come. sit in the back. give me the proud face. i've decided i don't hate it as much as i said."

"i thought you hated my proud face."

"i lied. i love your proud face. i want it in the room tomorrow when i have to lie about being surprised again."

"you're terrible at lying."

"i know," she mumbles. "that's why i need you there. remind me how it's supposed to look."

she's asleep within another few minutes, the particular deep sleep she only gets after a day that took everything out of her, good or bad, and you lie there for a while longer with her weight warm against your side, thinking about the morning — the text at 9:47, the four seconds of silence before i made it again, the whole quiet, electric day of carrying a secret that wasn't yours to spend, just yours to hold.

you think about the graphic on the league's twitter this afternoon, her name scrolling past under a stat line that took a whole season of six a.m. gym sessions and film nights and games where she came home too wired to sleep, replaying every possession out loud until you learned to just listen instead of trying to follow the basketball logic of it. you think about how she said i worked really hard for this like it was the first time she'd let herself believe the sentence all the way through.

second all-star selection you turn it over once more in your head, quiet and pleased, the way she'd let you see the whole shape of her pride tonight instead of the deflected, joking version she gives everyone else. you think: i got the version nobody else gets. i got to watch her actually believe it, just for tonight, just for me.

you fall asleep like that, her hand still splayed warm over your stomach, and somewhere around four in the morning you half-wake to feel her press a sleepy kiss to your shoulder and mumble something that might be your name and might just be a sound, and you tug her closer instead of asking her to repeat it, because you already know, more or less, what it means.

in the morning she'll put the joking mask back on for the cameras she'll do the interview, underplay the achievement, deflect every compliment into a comment about the team, about kiki, about how much work is still left this season. 

you'll sit in the back with your proud face on, exactly like she asked, and nobody watching will know that you already heard the real version last night, said out loud, meant completely i worked really hard for this. i'm proud of myself and that you're the only person on earth who got to hear it before she learned to make it sound modest again.

that's the part nobody else gets that's the part that's just yours.

[foxgloves335]

Soni being straight was genuinely such a loss to the gay community

[fuddeckers535]

Now how tf is this bih straight

[prettygirl-gabi]

Velcro Baby

Pairing: Y/N x Velcro Girlfriend!Sonia Citron

Fandom: WNBA-Washington Mystics

Summary: Sonia clings to you all day—literally, even in bathrooms.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @liloandstitchstan , @kaliblazin , @marleymarleymarleymarley

Sonia’s first day off in two weeks and what does she do?

Follows me everywhere like a human-sized, emotionally needy golden retriever in socks.

I’m not complaining.

Much.

“Sonia,” I say, halfway through brushing my teeth, “you can’t seriously be standing there staring at me while I floss.”

Her arms are around my waist from behind, cheek pressed to my back, lips pouting dramatically.

“I can and I am,” she mumbles, muffled by my hoodie. “It’s my day off. I deserve to be in your bubble.”

“You’ve been in my bubble since we woke up,” I say, trying not to laugh. “You followed me into the bathroom again. That’s, like, three times.”

“I missed you while you were in the shower,” she says shamelessly. “You were behind a curtain.”

“You were brushing your teeth next to me,” I remind her.

“But you weren’t touching me!” She whines, turning me around to face her, her hands sliding into mine like magnets. “Do you want me to shrivel up and die of no affection?! Is that what you want?!”

I snort, toothpaste still in my mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

Sonia blinks dramatically. “I’m in love. Let me be dramatic in peace.”

After I finish rinsing, she drags me back to the couch, insists on watching trash TV with her legs over mine, her head on my shoulder, and our fingers laced like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

Every time I so much as shift, she adjusts to keep some part of her glued to me.

“I thought we were gonna go do something today,” I tease, running a hand through her hair.

“We are doing something,” she says seriously. “We’re cuddling.”

“You said we’d go to Trader Joe’s.”

“We can go later. As long as I can stay attached to you like this.”

“Like a Velcro koala?”

“Yes. You’re the eucalyptus of my soul.”

I groan, but my heart is gooey and warm.

Eventually, we do make it to the store.

Once in the store I walked-and Sonia she just shuffles along like she’s afraid I’ll abandon her in the produce aisle.

She holds my hand the whole time, insists on pushing the cart with one hand so she can wrap the other around my waist, and mutters things like “don’t stray too far” when I go to grab a loaf of bread.

We’re mid-freezer-section when I spot a trio of preteens near the end of frozen section, whispering and glancing our way.

I nudge Sonia. “Fans.”

She looks around, alert. “Where?”

I tilt my head subtly. “Over by the pizza bagels. They’re trying not to be awkward about it.”

Sonia’s eyes light up.

But she doesn’t move.

I know she’s feeling shy—despite her game face on the court, she’s still the softest when it comes to fan interactions.

So I lean into her ear, brushing my lips against the shell just enough to make her shiver.

“If you go up to them first,” I whisper, “I’ll let you trap me in cuddles for the rest of the night. Bathroom included.”

She gasps.

“You’d let me hold your hand while you pee?”

“If you approach them right now.”

She doesn’t even hesitate.

The cart is left abandoned. She strides over, that friendly Sonia smile turned on full wattage.

I watch from a distance, proud and a little amused as the girls squeal and fumble for their phones.

Sonia signs something—probably their receipts—and even pulls me into a group photo when they recognize me from her Instagram stories.

“Say ‘Mystics!’” one of the girls giggles.

We do.

Once we get home, Sonia’s promise redemption begins the second the groceries are put away.

I barely sit down before she’s draped across me, one leg hooked over my thigh, her arms tucked around my waist, her head right against my chest.

“You’re not moving for the rest of the night,” she hums. “I’m going to fuse with you.”

“You make it sound romantic and concerning.”

“Perfect combo,” she mumbles sleepily.

Later that night, when she’s fully conked out in my arms, her hair a little wild and a hint of drool on my sweatshirt, I take a photo.

I post it to Instagram, caption simple, affectionate, and accurate.

my Velcro baby 🖤🤍 @soniacitron

She doesn’t see it until morning.

Her only comment?

“I better be your lock screen now.”

I change it on the spot.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[caitified]

could you write for sonia x reader where sonia is so not nonchalant when it comes to her partner like down bad and doing thoughtful things for them and it shocks everyone how different she acts when they’re around ? or something like that ! it’s okay if not :)

nonchalant

sonia citron x reader

this kinda sucks but more requests for sonia appreciated

people always describe sonia as chill.

she’s the girl who doesn’t really react to trash talk, the one who keeps her face blank when the refs make a bad call, the one who never looks too hyped or too crushed after games. her teammates joke she has “mildly interested” as a default setting.

except—apparently—that’s not her default at all. not when it comes to you.

you didn’t really notice it at first, but everyone else did. the first time you came to a practice, she was suddenly not just “interested,” she was borderline performing for you—diving for loose balls, taking shots she’d normally pass up, glancing at you after every make like she needed to check if you’d seen it.

when practice ended, instead of her usual slow stroll to the locker room, she practically jogged over, grabbed your hand without hesitation, and introduced you to everyone like you were royalty.

“this is them,” she said, smiling so big it made your chest warm. “my partner.”

the reactions were subtle—wide eyes, exchanged glances, the kind of silent “woah” you can hear even without words.

and it didn’t stop there.

sonia, who never lingers after events, started sticking around just to walk you to your car. she’d bring you random little things she saw during the day—a pastry you mentioned liking once, a hoodie she swore you’d look cute in, a pack of your favorite gum.

once, during a road trip, she mailed you a handwritten note because “texts don’t feel the same.” she even tucked a polaroid of her hotel view inside.

everyone noticed.

on the team flight, one of the vets leaned over to you and whispered, “she’s never like this with anyone. what did you do to her?”

you just shrugged, but the truth is, you don’t do anything except be there.

the funniest part is watching how she’s not even trying to hide it. she’ll kiss you on the cheek mid-conversation with her coach, drape her arm around you in front of reporters, or text you between drills. it’s not performative—it’s just her, but only with you.

at a game last week, you were sitting courtside, and after she hit a clutch three, she didn’t high-five the nearest teammate. she pointed right at you, grinning.

later, someone posted a clip of it online, and the comments were full of people saying they’d never seen her smile like that in a game before.

and when you teased her about it in private, she didn’t even deny it.

“of course i’m different with you,” she said, like it was obvious. “you’re my person.”

and honestly? she says it so matter-of-fact that you almost forget the rest of the world’s still catching up to the idea of sonia citron—cool, collected sonia—being so completely, hopelessly gone for someone.

[pbreezyhuskies5x7]

I missed PB hoops badly. good news she’s still a menace to everyone 😭😂 “damn y’all good”

[toughbae-fong]

Cling. Repeat.

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 : W! Sonia x W! Reader

𝗪𝗖 : 1.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 : none

𝗔/𝗡 : It's a bit short since I only have limited idea for this and this is a part 2 of Hold me Down but lmk if you want me to do more sonia x reader and send me the ideas! I'm a bit rn so I'd be doing 2 stories each week! I'd still try my best to post more if I can. (Requested by 🏷️ @jupitermoonbaby )

PART 1

The soft morning light started creeping through the blinds, hitting your face in those little stripes that made everything look warmer than it actually felt. You blinked a few times, groggy, stretching out your arms when you noticed movement beside you on the couch bed.

There sat Sonia, hunched over like a grumpy little marshmallow, completely swallowed by her oversized hoodie. Her hood was pulled up so far it nearly covered her eyes, and her phone was clutched dramatically in both hands. The look on her face? Pure horror. Like someone had just told her her favorite sneakers were discontinued.

You squinted at her, still half-asleep, and let out a little snort. "Babe? Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? Or… did the Mystics trade you to the Globetrotters overnight?" Your voice came out all scratchy with sleep, but your curiosity was awake now.

She didn’t even answer right away, just stared down at her phone, eyes wide like she was reading her own obituary.

You shuffled over, peeking at her screen, and there it was.

Your Instagram post from last night.

The picture practically radiated chaos. Sonia clinging to you like an overgrown koala, arms and legs wrapped around your body like she was practicing to be a backpack, her face buried in your neck with the most content little smile on her lips. It was soft, cute, absolutely illegal levels of clingy, and all over the internet now.

Your sleepy brain caught up a second later and you lost it, throwing your head back with laughter that bounced off the couch. You clutched your stomach, tears already prickling your eyes from how ridiculous she looked right now, still curled up like she was contemplating life choices.

She finally glanced your way, cheeks flushed pink. "This isn’t funny," she grumbled, but the dramatic way she tried to pull her hoodie even further over her face betrayed her. She looked like a little turtle trying to retreat into her shell.

You grinned wide, nudging her knee with yours. "It’s hilarious. You look adorable. The world deserves to witness your clingy koala form."

Sonia groaned, flopping back against the couch cushions with a defeated sigh. "I can never show my face in public again. This is it. My legacy is ruined. I’m the clingy girlfriend now."

You couldn’t stop laughing. "Please. You’ve been the clingy girlfriend. I’m just providing photographic evidence."

She shot you a betrayed look but couldn’t keep the smile off her face, even as she buried it in her hoodie again. "I swear, if anyone brings this up today…"

Spoiler alert, they did.

An hour later, you were home alone, scrolling through your phone as your notifications exploded. Likes, comments, memes, people were having an absolute field day with the koala content. To top it off, the official WNBA account reposted it with the caption, “Find someone who hugs you like Sonia hugs her girl” complete with heart emojis and laughing faces.

Your phone buzzed aggressively again. Sonia sent you a message.

This is your fault. I’m getting roasted alive over here.

You nearly dropped your phone laughing, already picturing her suffering in real-time.

Meanwhile, across the city at the team lunch, Sonia walked into the restaurant looking like her usual intimidating, tall, tough self — or, at least, she tried to.

“OH MY GOD, look out, it’s the emotional support koala!” Emily practically shouted, laughing and clapping her hands while pointing at sonia.

The entire table erupted into chaos, giggles, whistles, phones already snapping pictures of Sonia trying (and failing) to disappear under her hoodie.

Jade leaned in with a smirk. "Sooo… how’s life without your human tree? Feeling stable? Or do we need to get you one of those baby slings?"

Sonia groaned so loud it could’ve passed for a dramatic movie soundtrack, dragging her hand down her face. "I hate all of you."

Sykes tossed a bread roll at her playfully. "Bet she didn’t even let her girl breathe this morning. You probably had her in a sleeper hold, huh?"

"Shut up," Sonia mumbled, blushing so hard it made her ears red. She yanked her hoodie strings tighter, sinking into the fabric like she was about to evaporate.

She texted you again under the table.

"I’m deceased. They’re relentless. You’ve ruined me."

You grinned, typing back as fast as your fingers would let you.

"You’re iconic, babe. They’re just jealous. Not everyone has their own personal koala."

You hit send, still laughing to yourself, picturing her pouting behind her phone. You leaned back into the couch, heart full, ready for round two of teasing later when she came home, probably attached to you like a koala again.

By the time Sonia finally got home, it was almost evening. You heard the front door creak open and then slam shut with the kind of dramatic energy only someone completely done with the world carries.

You didn’t even have to look up from your phone to know it was her, you could practically feel the pout radiating through the walls.

“Before you say anything,” Sonia called from the door, “I’m still mad at you.”

You grinned, setting your phone down, pretending to be all innocent. “Oh no, what did I do? Expose your snuggle addiction to the world? Guilty.”

She appeared in the doorway, still in her hoodie, hair a little messy from the hood being up all day. She looked tired but also like she’d been trying not to smile the entire car ride home.

“They made me a koala meme.” Her voice was flat, but her eyes betrayed her, glinting with that familiar amusement she always tried to hide when she was "annoyed" with you.

You couldn’t help it. You burst into giggles again, patting the spot beside you on the couch. “Come here, my little koala. Let me comfort you.”

Sonia groaned dramatically but shuffled over, practically flopping onto you like a weighted blanket. “I hate you,” she mumbled, already half-curled in your lap, arms sliding around your waist, legs tangling with yours like second nature.

“You hate me,” you teased, running your fingers through her hair, “but your koala instincts say otherwise.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but she nuzzled her face into your shoulder anyway, the tension in her body melting away the second your arms wrapped around her. She was basically a koala. for real. The clingiest, poutiest koala ever.

You pressed a kiss to her temple, feeling her sigh softly. “Rough day being the internet’s new meme?”

"Emily changed my contact name to ‘Clingy Koala’ in the group chat," she grumbled. "Jade kept making tree jokes. I couldn’t drink my smoothie without someone asking if I needed it ‘hand-fed by my tree girlfriend.’"

You were losing it, trying so hard not to laugh directly into her hair. “That’s… honestly iconic. We should make you a merch. Little koala hoodies with your face on them.”

She groaned again but didn’t budge from your lap. If anything, she snuggled in closer, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your side. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you’re still glued to me,” you teased, pulling the blanket over both of you.

There was a pause, then her voice softened, just a little. “You make a really good human tree though.”

You smiled, heart warm and full, brushing your nose against her cheek. “You make a pretty cute koala. Cling on as much as you want, babe.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Within seconds, she was completely tangled around you, limbs locked in like she was preparing for a hibernation session.

“You realize I’m not moving for the next three hours, right?” she mumbled sleepily.

You laughed, kissing her forehead. “Good. Neither am I.”

The teasing could wait. Right now? It was you, your clingy koala, and a couch, exactly how it should be.