jupitermoonbaby

Latest Posts by jupitermoonbaby

i check my tumblr as soon as i wake up as if it's the morning newspaper

𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅, 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 & 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

nika mühl x teammate!fem!reader

DESCRIPTION/ while at a game you’re getting particularly targeted by the opposing team and it eventually gets out of hand but..nika don’t play about her girl

WARNINGS/ light descriptions of shoving & hitting, hateful words, descriptions of a bloody nose, cursing, spitting

Lost count of words but this is kinda short, more of a blurb (I think don’t quote me on that🌝)

THERE’S 3 THINGS NIKA DONT PLAY ABOUT, HERSELF, HER MONEY OR HER GIRL…you’ve always been independent and Nika knows you’re tough and can handle yourself but one of y’all’s relationship dynamics is you saying “I can do it myself” and Nika saying “I know you can but let me” She’s always been protective over you especially in games.

It’s the only the first quarter but you can tell that the opposing team was on your ass. You didn’t blame them at first, you where a menace on the court if you’re left un-guarded you would be quick to shoot. But it got the point where you where LITERALLY getting pushed around with multiple technical fouls getting called on the other team. Sure this was a contact sport but you where getting insanely targeted. You pull yourself together & get your head back in the game.

One of the opposing players had the ball, she sprinted down the court. She was on a mission but so where you. You block her shot and steal the ball passing it down to Nika she shoots and gets a three. The opposing player looked livid “that was just a fucking lucky play” the girl murmured at you and Nika. Both of you quick to snap your head around, you where pissed but held your tongue, Nika did the talking for you “How about you say it with your chest next time” she just rolled her eyes and continued the game.

As the game went on it only got worse the shoves got more personal, little snarky comments, the bitchy looks. It didn’t bother you as much as it did now, the refs not calling fouls on the other team for obvious techs only added fuel to the fire. Nika was fighting back for you giving back the same energy to them. The ball was in your hands and suddenly you got dogged on a girl trying to snatch the ball from you causing y’all both to fall to the ground you didn’t give up tho you snatched it right the hell back, “fucking bitch” she said getting all in your face. The whistle blew and a technical foul got called ONLY on you, you rolled your eyes as your teammates helped you up “bullshit” you exclaimed at the ref, Nika holds you back patting your back “Come on bebo they’re assholes I know but don’t get another unnecessary foul just fight them with your plays alright, make ‘em shut there mouths”

As the next quarter rolls around you just try to keep your head up, Nika having your back being aggressive with them & standing up for you. The balls back in your possession you go to make a shot but the same girl that pushed you down goes to “block”, her elbow hitting your nose knocking you down to the ground. The whole room felt like it was spinning there was a ringing in your ears. Once you felt a little more grounded you look down seeing blood on your jersey, you brought your hand up to your throbbing nose feeling the blood gushing down. The whistle blows a foul getting called on the opposing team fina-fucking-lly

“The fuck is your deal?” you see Nika yelling at the girl that elbowed you. “It’s a contact sport, if she can’t handle a little contact then she should pick a different sport” she bites back, Your teamates helps getting you to the medic. Nika scoffs at the girl. “maybe you should watch your damn mouth, getting all petty because you’re shit at basketball so you have to get fouls just to make a single shot” the girl shoved Nika and that’s when she lost it. Nika shoved her right back causing her to hit the ground. “Foul on Mühl” the ref called.

“keep my girls name out your fucking mouth” she spit on the girl. With another foul called on her she got dragged court side, she had been benched for this quarter of the game. She sat next you, her gaze immediately softening “Hey pretty girl, you okay?” she moves a lose stand of hair that fell from your ponytail out of your face. you nod “i’m fine nika..but you shouldn’t have got into a physical altercation now you’re ben-“ she cut you off “I wasn’t just gonna stand there and let you get dogged on, you know i got your back always..besides it’s just this quarter of the game” she cups your face gently “I wasn’t gonna let some bitch touch what’s mine and get away with it”

After a lecture from the couches & the refs they let Nika & you back in the game for the last quarter. Y’all played like y’all’s life depended on it. You already know you guys secured that win. You celebrated once y’all won. Nika pulling you into a tight hug “That’s my girl!..hell yeah see bebo I told you just let your plays do the talking” she winks “says the one who yelled and spat on a girls face” you laugh, she kisses you to shut you up, she smiles against your lips “And i’d gladly do it again for you, besides I play better when i’m pissed”

A/N pissed off Nika is so hot so yk I had to write about it mhm mhm 🙂‍↕️this is my first blurb so please be kind! writing tips & suggestions are always appreciated & requests are open🫡

love you always thanks for reading,

wish signing off 🪽

What am I, If not the best?

𝜗𝜚 — pinterest is my favorite thing to doomscroll on.

I'm so fucking stupid at math

𝚍𝚘 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞? || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which she forgets but fate doesn't

The hospital lights are always too bright.

Sterile. Cold. Clinical. Nothing like the warmth you used to feel wrapped up in Paige’s arms after a long day, her voice soft against your ear, whispering about dreams and game plans and how lucky she felt to have you.

But now, the only sound that echoes in the room is the beeping of monitors. A rhythm you’ve come to hate because it means she’s alive—but not whole.

She’s been awake for three days.

Three long, agonizing days since the doctors told you the words you never thought you’d hear. Partial retrograde amnesia. A fancy way of saying: She doesn’t remember you.

She remembered basketball. Her coach. Her teammates. Her stats.

But not you.

Not the woman who held her through every injury. Not the woman who kissed her forehead before every game. Not the woman who stood in the stands with her jersey on and tears in her eyes every time she made history.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even seem to want to.

Every time you tried to talk to her, to offer something—anything—to make it come back, she would shrink further into herself. Polite, but distant. Guarded.

You told yourself to be patient. To give her time. Love is supposed to wait, right?

But then her parents pulled you aside.

Her mom couldn’t meet your eyes. Her dad’s voice was gentle but firm.

“Maybe it’s best,” he said, “if you give her some space.”

“She’s overwhelmed,” her mom added. “She’s trying to focus on healing. And you being here… it’s a lot.”

You felt like your heart had been ripped out and handed to you in a sterile hospital hallway.

“But I—” you started, but your voice cracked.

“She doesn’t remember you,” her dad said softly. “Maybe it’s time you start healing too.”

And just like that, you were being erased.

You left UConn a week later.

You couldn’t stay. Not in that gym where you used to shoot around after practice together. Not in that dorm where her laughter used to echo through the halls, tangled up with yours.

You entered the transfer portal.

A week after that, you were headed to UCLA.

New coast. New team. New life.

Except it wasn’t really a life at all.

Because every morning you woke up without her. Every night you fell asleep trying to forget the way she used to whisper I love you against your shoulder.

And Paige?

Paige healed.

She recovered. She rejoined practice. And every now and then, she’d ask her parents, “Hey… that girl that used to sit by my bed. Who was she?”

Her parents would smile too tightly. “Oh, just someone from school,” they’d say. “Don’t worry about it.” “Focus on your future.”

So she tried. She buried the questions. Tried to push past the shadow of a memory she couldn’t reach.

It’s been a year.

Final Four. UConn vs. UCLA.

Of course it comes down to this. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You spot her across the court during warmups.

Paige Bueckers. Back in form. Confident. Deadly. Beautiful in a way that still makes your chest ache.

She doesn’t see you. Or maybe she does and doesn’t know what you mean.

You play your heart out. Every cut, every drive, every shot—there’s fire behind it. But it’s not enough. UConn takes the win.

And then it’s the handshake line.

You don’t know what’s worse—the idea of touching her again, or the idea of not.

She reaches for your hand. Her fingers close around yours.

You look up.

Her eyes meet yours. And something flickers.

A spark. A ghost of recognition. A heartbeat caught in her throat.

“Good game,” she says automatically, her voice hoarse from emotion.

You nod, lips trembling. “You too.”

You try to let go first, but she holds on a second longer. Like maybe she doesn’t want to let go.

Like maybe she knows.

But you pull away with a small smile and walk off.

You don’t look back. You can’t. Because the tears are already falling.

That night, Paige can’t sleep.

She’s tossing and turning in the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, the handshake replaying in her mind on a loop.

Then she starts seeing flashes.

Not highlights. Not plays.

You.

Laughing in the passenger seat of her car, your hand hanging out the window. Falling asleep on her chest after late practices. Sneaking out of hotels for midnight milkshakes before big games. Crying in her arms after your first big loss together. The way she used to kiss the inside of your wrist like it was sacred.

Your voice echoing in her head:

"You make everything feel lighter."

And then— Pain. Sharp and raw. Like her heart’s been waiting all year to remember and now it finally does.

She sits up with a gasp, chest heaving.

And she remembers everything.

The accident. The look on your face when she didn’t know your name. The way you held her hand even when she pulled away. The way you loved her even when she forgot.

And the day you left—eyes red, voice shaking, whispering, “If you ever remember me… I hope it’s the good parts.”

She buries her face in her hands and sobs. Gut-wrenching, soul-breaking sobs.

Because she remembers now. She remembers you. And she let you walk away.

She remembers everything now.

It hits her like a freight train the moment she wakes up, drenched in sweat and tears, clutching the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering her to the world.

You.

Your laugh. Your touch. The way you used to whisper “we’ve got this” before every game like you were casting a spell.

She remembers the accident. The way you used to sit by her bedside, silently praying for a miracle.

She remembers the confusion in your eyes every time she said, “Do I know you?” The way your shoulders slumped just a little more each day.

And then— Your goodbye. Your eyes red. Voice cracking. That whisper— "If you ever remember me… I hope it’s the good parts."

She needs to find you.

Now.

She jumps out of bed, heart racing, hands shaking as she fumbles with her phone.

Instagram. Blocked. Twitter. Blocked. TikTok. Blocked. Message. Green bubble. No profile picture. No read receipts. Just a wall where there used to be warmth.

She searches your name again, as if something might’ve changed in the last five seconds.

Nothing. You’re gone.

She stares at the screen like it might apologize.

Like it might undo what her silence, her forgetting, has cost her.

She runs to her parent’s hotel room like she’s being chased, the ache in her chest growing with every mile. The moment she steps through the door, her mom’s face pales.

“You remember,” her mom says softly.

Paige nods, jaw tight. “Everything.”

Her dad shifts uncomfortably. “Paige, we didn’t mean to—”

“You told her to leave, didn’t you?” Her voice is hoarse now. Breaking. “You told the love of my life to walk away from me.”

“You were overwhelmed,” her mom defends gently. “You didn’t recognize her, and she was—”

“She was mine!” Paige snaps, the tears already welling in her eyes. “She waited by my bed every day, and you treated her like she was some stranger trying to mess with me.”

Her mom’s lip trembles. “We thought we were helping—”

“You weren’t. You took her from me.”

She’s crying now. Full-on sobs she can’t control. Her knees buckle and she sinks to the kitchen floor, head in her hands.

Her dad kneels beside her, reaching to touch her shoulder, but she flinches away.

“She left because she loved me,” she chokes out. “And now I’ve lost her for good.”

Championship night.

It’s everything she dreamed of.

Confetti falls from the rafters. Cameras flash. Reporters crowd the court. The trophy’s heavy in her arms, shining under the lights.

But all she feels is empty.

Because you’re not there.

Not in the stands wearing her jersey. Not on the court, jumping into her arms. Not waiting in the tunnel with your arms wide and your smile even wider.

You’re nowhere.

She stands there, holding the championship trophy, and the moment the cameras pull away, she breaks.

Sinks to the hardwood, sobbing so hard her chest shakes.

Azzi and KK rush to her, but there’s nothing they can do. Nothing anyone can do.

Because she won it. The dream you built together. The thing you used to whisper about under blankets and after practice and in quiet corners of the world. “We’ll win one together. Just wait.”

You waited. You believed. And she forgot you.

And now you’re gone.

Later, alone in the locker room, she scrolls through your old messages.

The ones she didn’t delete. The ones she couldn’t.

"I believe in you always." "You’re not alone. Not ever." "We’re going to make it, babe. I promise."

She clutches her phone to her chest and cries again. The trophy sits on the bench beside her, shining quietly.

But it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

Because she won.

But she lost you.

It’s been a week.

Seven days since the championship. Since the confetti. Since Paige collapsed in the locker room clutching a trophy in one hand and her heart in the other.

She hasn’t stopped thinking about you. You, who should’ve been on the court beside her. You, who used to trace plays on her back with your fingers at night, whispering “When we win it all…” like it was gospel.

But you weren’t there.

And the silence is louder than any celebration ever could be.

She’s sitting in the back of a black SUV on the way to the WNBA Draft, staring at the world outside the window, eyes glazed over.

Azzi’s next to her, buzzing with nerves and excitement. Paige should be too. She’s projected to go first. Her dream is about to come true.

But her hands are cold. Her throat’s dry. Because the person she wanted to celebrate with most— Is gone.

And she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see you again.

You told yourself you wouldn’t come. You’d done the whole disappearing act flawlessly—blocked numbers, wiped socials, cut the thread before it could pull you back in.

But then the day arrived, and you couldn’t stay away.

So now you’re here.

Not in the front row. Not on the list. But tucked away in the back of the venue in jeans and a hoodie, hood up like maybe that’ll hide the way your heart is thudding in your chest.

You just wanted to see her one last time.

The lights dim. The commissioner steps up to the mic.

“With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Dallas Wings select…”

You hold your breath.

“Paige Bueckers, from University of Connecticut.”

The crowd explodes.

You’re on your feet before you know it, clapping with your whole soul, because God, you’re proud of her.

Because no matter the distance, no matter the heartbreak— You always believed in her.

She walks across the stage, hugs her parents, accepts the jersey, does the interview.

And for a moment, you let yourself imagine an alternate world. One where you're up there with her. Where she never forgot. Where you never left.

But you blink and it’s gone.

You’re halfway to the exit when the commissioner returns to the podium.

You pause.

Probably just the last few names. Filler. Nothing that concerns you.

“…and with the 30th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft…”

You check your phone, already mentally checking out.

“The Dallas Wings select…”

You look up absently.

“…Y/N L/N, from University of California Los Angeles.”

Your heart stops.

You freeze. Eyes wide. Mouth open.

No. That— That has to be a mistake.

You barely played this year. You didn’t go to any pre-draft camps. You only declared because your coaches pushed you to. You didn’t even think you’d get a look.

And now— Now you're drafted?

By Dallas?

The same team as Paige?

The same Paige who’s sitting with the commentators, still soaking up the high of being drafted first overall, smiling through interviews — until your name’s announced.

You see it in real time. Her whole body freezes.

The mic drops a little in her hand. Her head snaps toward the screen behind her, where your face flashes beside your name.

She doesn’t even blink.

Because she heard it. She felt it.

Just like you did.

After taking your picture, you’re pulled into a different room, mind still i overdrive, not being to comprehend much yet. As you walk in, there she was — looking beautiful in her suit.

You don't know what to expect. A handshake? A nod? Maybe just silence?

But as soon as you reach her— She steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

Tight. Shaking. Desperate.

And suddenly you're back in her arms, back in the place you never thought you'd be again.

"I prayed for a second chance," she whispers in your ear. "And you showed up."

You swallow the lump in your throat, gripping the back of her jersey like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

“I didn’t think I’d get drafted,” you murmur. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. There's glassiness there, but also something else—something soft and fierce and real.

“I’m not losing you again,” she says, voice thick with tears.

You can’t trust yourself to speak. So you just nod. Because maybe this time, fate is finally on your side.

i need a gf so bad its sickening

𝒽ℴ𝓅ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓂𐙚...

This but I have 4a/3c

your love is like a studded leather headlock ♡

I need a friendsip like theirs so bad

Me when some creepy accounts follow me and not coquette fawn angelic girlbloggers :(

I'm very happy that it has grown so much

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE TELL ME IM NOT THE ONLY ONE

It’s exhausting sometimes I want to be mysterious but talk to much

Seriously because if I am why are you looking at my chest anyways

BABY P!

( first pic has me dyinggg )

I’m unwell.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅