—𓆩[something Worse]𓆪—

Caitlin Clark 👓 talking offseason for the Fever

this picture made me choke on my hibachi and hyperventilate😋😋

ate this up😋😋

:p savage starlight

you and ellie, for some reason, never got along very well. you would say you two pretty much hated each other. ellie would say you're the prettiest thing she's ever seen the same. and today you two got paired up for patrol.

warnings: enemies to lovers , loser!ellie , nerd!ellie , sub!ellie , nipple sucking (e!receiving) , clit rubbing (e!receiving) , thigh riding (r!receiving)

◇

"come on! we gotta go..." ellie is impatiently knocking on your door. when you open it with a grumpy expression, she sighs. "hey, dumbass, we're patrolling together today."

"why the fuck do they keep pairing us up together?" you mumble as you start to walk with ellie right by your side.

"don't know, don't care, i could just go without you." ellie says and that's an absolute lie. patrolling with you is the best part of her week. she doesn't want you to know that.

you just roll your eyes at that as you both keep walking in the streets of jackson.

ellie stays silent for a few seconds. "i just realized something. you suck" she blurts out like you asked.

"oh, yeah? why?" usually you'd just ignore her but today was a boring day so she might as well be useful and entertain you.

"yeah." she stated plainly. "i can name a thousand reasons why you suck."

you let out a snicker. "go on..."

"alright. number one. you're an annoying little shit with a punchable face." ellie blurts out with a bland expression. she was hoping this could get a reaction out of you. like some curses being thrown at her. she was kinda into it. she also doesn't want you to know that.

you chuckle at her words. you think she's actually kind of funny. you dont want her to know that.

"number two. you're always making dumbass statements that piss me off." ellie's eyes are focused on every little movement of your face.

"really?" you raise an eyebrow "name one."

"well for starters, when we first met you said that a dinosaur with horns called 'triceratops' was a unicorn." she narrows her eyes at you.

"who cares..." you let out a dramatic sigh. "they're all fucking dead anyways"

"i care. number three. i want to punch you in the face when you give me that dumb look of yours." she says, rolling her eyes.

you snicker. you really do give her a dumb look sometimes. pisses her off. at least that's you think. "anything else?"

"of course. i have a list of your habits in my notebook that annoy me." she snarks.

"i think you a crush on me ellie... did you ever think about that?" you whisper in teasing tone and give her a smug grin like you just got her.

"god no. number four. the way you walk pisses me off." she's not looking at you this time.

"just admit it... it's obvious you're obsessed with me." your eyes sparkle with mischief. "didn't you just say you write about me in your little love diary or whatever?"

"notebook. i said notebook." she says as her breath starts to hitch.

"yeah, yeah... notebook, diary.... whatever" you roll your eyes. "doesn't change the fact that you think about so much that you have to write about it."

she turns a bright shade of red and suddenly stops walking. "can you... just shut up? your voice is annoying. that'd be number five."

"that's pathetic, you know that? you liking me" you tease as you watch her face getting even more flushed.

"dude. i dont like you. i literally can't stand you. shut up." she mumbles as she looks away.

"ok. so you totally despise me, right?" you whisper as you slowly walk closer to her.

ellie feels like she's about to pass out. you smell so good. your skin looks so soft. your lips- "y-yes." she stutters. "i hate you." she can't even look you in the eyes anymore. her gaze is glued to the ground.

you can't help but chuckle. god, was she a mess. "yeah?" you hold her chin with your index finger, making her look at you.

ellie blushed profusely. she was unable to utter any words as she look up at you, her face flushed.

"pussy." you whisper against her face.

she turns her head away again and closes her eyes hard. "shut up." she mumbles.

"can't even admit it to yourself..." you gently caress her cheek. "tell me the truth."

she stays silent for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. "...i've liked you ever since you said that a triceratops was a unicorn."

"that's cute." you smile at her. it wasn't a mocking grin like she'd usually get from you. it was a true soft smile that made ellie's heart beat faster.

"um... shut up..." she mumbles awkwardly. she can't belive she just said that to you.

"is that the best comeback you could come up with?" you gently brush her hair out of her pretty face.

ellie blushes at your soft touch and finally looks up at you again. "maybe it is. i'm not very good with comebacks. or anything, really."

"you were good at roasting me back there." you twirl a lock of her hair in between your fingers. "but i guess you had a lot of time to think about it beforehand..."

"yeah. i... to be honest.. i think about you a lot." she whispers and closes her eyes at your gentle touch.

oh, she was cute. her cheeks were still pink and her pretty lips were slightly quivering from the tension in the air.

you gently press your lips against her cheek. "what do you think about?"

when she feels your soft lips on her skin she really really has to try her best to hold in a moan. "well usually, i think of, uh." she seems hesitant to say anything."i think of how pretty i think you are." she continues, now looking up at you. "sometimes, I think about how much i want to kiss you."

the corners of your mouth slightly curl up in a little smile. "yeah? what else?"

"i uh.." ellie is speechless for a moment. then, she begins to speak quietly. "i think about how much I love hearing your voice."

"i'm pretty sure you said my voice is annoying..." you tease but a soft smile is still plastered on your face.

ellie looks down at the ground. "i mean...your voice is annoying when you say stupid things." she teases back, in a attempt to hide her blush. despite her best efforts, her face was still red. "but, your voice sounds pretty when you say certain things."

"what things?" you start to trace little invisible circles on her cheek.

"well, um.." she begins to whisper, softly. "your voice is pretty when you say my name."

"really?" you press a kiss on her cheek. "ellie." a kiss on her forehead. "ellie." a kiss on her temple. "ellie." a kiss on her chin. "ellie..." you stop right in front of her lips.

she couldn't speak for a moment, as your touch made her even more flustered. "yeah... it's pretty when you say it like that." she whispers softly.

"do you want a kiss?" you whisper in a tone just as soft.

"what-" she's taken aback by the question and she feels herself blush even more. "uh, yeah?" she managed to whisper, very quietly.

you gently lock lips with her and ellie instantly whimpers when she feels your hot tongue against hers. she gently holds your face with her hands as you caress her hair during the kiss.

when you both pull back out of breath you see her lips wet with saliva as she's trying to recompose herself. she looks way too cute... you're only human. you get closer to her again and gently suck on her bottom lip.

ellie let out a noise in between a groan and a whimper at this. "can i... can i have another one?"

"yeah... you can... later... when we're back... " you plant a soft peck on her cheek and start walking. "there's something i want to give you."

she looks extremely flustered with all of this. "oh... okay." she tries to hold back a smile when you offer your hand to her. she takes it. "what is it that you want to give me?"

you couldn't wait. "just walk..." you say in a soft voice.

◇

"uh... make yourself at home." ellie awkwardly says as the both of you get to her room. that was your idea, of course.

"nice place..." you whisper as you look around. comic books, video games and little action figures were all over the place. god, she was such a nerd.

"thanks..." she's nervous and you can feel it. you have to do something about that.

"oh... savage starlight, huh?" you dont know who the fuck savage starlight is but ellie, on the other hand, has tons of these comic books lying around.

her eyes shine. "oh yessss!" she smiles excitedly at you. "do you read that too?"

you shake you head and can't help but smile with her. so cute. god. "no... is it cool?"

ellie grabs a few comic books and pat the spot on the bed right by her side. "so cool... here. let me show you"

when you sit by her side you notice a pair of glasses at her nightstand and your heart beats faster. she wears glasses. oh. my. god.

ellie notices you looking. "ah yeah... i have to wear those when i read... helps with headaches."

you grab the glasses and gently put it on her face. "since you're reading now..."

ellie blinks and swallow hard. "y-yes... so savage starlight..." she starts talking. "it's about her adventures in space... i like it because starlight is pretty cool." ellie then turns to you, tilts her head and adds in a small whisper. "kind of like you." she said and then continued. "also..."

you had to fuck her. all that talk about her nerdy stuff, and how she looked with those glasses, and how her fingers traced the pages of the comic book, and...

"...and then she discovered like... a way to travel faster... with a jump drive..." ellie keeps talking and don't even notice your lustful gaze at her.

you lay your head on her shoulder and pretend to pay attention the comic book. "a jump drive, els?" you whisper softly.

"yeah... and the bad guys are called the t-" her voice cracks when she feels you planting a hot kiss on her neck." the travelers...."

"yeah? what else?" you bury your face on her neck.

ellie takes a deep breath. "they're like... aliens..." she bites her lip hard when she feels another kiss on her neck. "a-and... they want to..."

you sit in her lap, straddling her thigh. "they want to...?"

she stares up at you with the most miserable look ever known to man plastered on her face. "...want to destroy... the earth..."

you start to firmly massage her shoulders that are really tense. "so savage starlight is going to beat them up?"

ellie presses her lips in a thin line, scared to let any noises come out. then she starts talking again. "yeah... her name is daniela star... she's... a doctor..."

"hmmm..." you peck her jaw.

"and... and then..." she takes a deep breath.

"and then what?" you slowly start to move your hips on her thigh, back and forth.

ellie's hands immediately get to your hips and she buries her head on your shoulder. she takes another deep breath. god, you're evil. "and then... like... the travelers have this technology..." you suck hard on her neck and she groans.

"and... starlight... is now friends with..." ellie's voice is whiny, shaky and breathy. "...with this one guy... he's the captain of...."

you slide one hand down her body and cup her pussy.

"....nngh... a... s-spaceship..." she shuts her eyes hard.

you lick your lips. "spaceship, huh?" you squeeze her chest as you bite her neck.

ellie digs her fingers into your hips. she's panting, her face is hot and she feels like she's about to faint. "....u-um..."

"keep talking, els... im interested..." you smile against her neck.

"t-the spaceship... crashes... but they survivenngh...." her voice turns into a whine when you start to rub your clothed cunt against her thigh even harder. "o-oh... i... i like the-the way... i-i, i-i like... i-i like th-that you're u-up on m-me... right now."

"yeah? you like it? can i make you like it even more...?" you press a kiss on her ear. "hm?"

"y-yes... yes please..." she whines.

you lock lips with her and ellie let out a noise again. you're full on feeling her up now, yours hands touching, cupping and squeezing every part of her body.

"is this okay?" you whisper softly as your hands start to slowly lift her shirt up. "how far can i go?"

she takes a deep breath so her words won't be sloppy. "you can do whatever you want with me..."

you feel your pussy clench at her words. "whatever i want?" you whisper in a breathy tone. she was getting to you.

ellie nods. she wrap her arms around you, bringing your body even closer to hers as you're in her lap. "anything..."

"i... wanna take this off..." you gently tug at the hem of her shirt. "and maybe this too..." your fingers trace the buttons of her jeans.

ellie nods again, eagerly. she takes her shirt off and your gaze is now glued to her small perky breasts.

"oh..." you take her pink hardened nipple in between your fingers and she whimpers. "god..." your mouth starts to water.

you push her back in the bed, still mounting her hips. "els... you're too pretty..." you take her nipple into your mouth and gently suck on it.

ellie mewls. her hips start to buckle up against yours. she never felt anything like this before. of course she would rub one out from time to time... maybe every night... when you sat too close to her... and she could smell the scent of your shampoo... and your knee accidentally touched hers... she had no choice. it's your fault. somehow she'd always end up there, in her bed, late at night, biting the pillow with two fingers moving back and forth inside her tight cunt. but it never felt this good...

"els..." you whisper and she looks down at you with glossy eyes, her glasses almost slipping off her nose. "wanna fuck you..."

she can't even say anything anymore. she just nods eagerly again as little gasps escape her lips.

your body is completely on top of hers, you hips lined up with her left thigh. "lets do it like this..." you start kissing her neck again as your hand slips under her jeans. "raise your thigh..."

ellie is complete mess right now so it takes a while for her to take your words in. she raises her thigh, pressing it against your cunt.

"mmh...yes... im gonna fuck myself on your thigh... and touch this pretty pussy of yours, ok?" you whisper breathlessly in her neck.

ellie whimpers at your words. "y-yes... so... g-g..."

you whimper with her. "so good, right, baby?" you're pressing your clothed cunt against her thigh and gasp when ellie moves her body with you, her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

ellie is a whimpering mess when you slowly start to rub her little clit with a light amount of pressure. her hips are trembling and she has her face buried in your neck, her lips brushing against your skin.

you're desperate. it feels too good to be close to her like this. you wanna make her cum. you wanna cum. and just like that, like she was reading your mind, ellie presses her thigh even harder against your pussy and you moan.

you quicken the pace of your fingers on her clit and she cries out. her veiny hands grip hard on your hips moving them on her thigh. you cry out too.

ellie starts babbling. "want... you to... fucking... sit... on my face... wanna taste your pussy... so fucking bad..." she rolls her hips against your hand.

"yeah?" you whisper in breathy tone cause now you can't stop staring at her pretty lips without picturing them wrapping around your clit and sucking it.

"nngh... yeah.... so bad..." she grunts. "oh fuck... im g-gonna cum" her eyes are tearing up when she throws her head back. "cum with me... please..." she whimpers.

you nod desperately as you grind you pussy against her thigh even harder, the fabric of her jeans rubbing right on your clit. "im c-close, els..."

"shit... are you?" she whispers with the same desperate expression as you. "please babe... cum with me..." she grabs your ass and presses your pussy against her thigh even faster.

you bite her shoulder when you feel your orgasm hitting you and that was all ellie needed. she came hard on your fingers with a loud curse leaving her lips.

you're both panting as you take your slick covered hand off ellie's jeans. her gaze is following your every moment so when you take your fingers inside your mouth and moan she moans with you. you kiss her lips with your fingers still inside your mouth.

it's kinda nasty... and disgusting... and everything else on the book but ellie doesn't mind. in fact she seems very eager to do more of these nasty things with you in the future. and so are you.

◇

cold feet

caitlin clark x black!reader

A/N: this isn't my first time writing, just my first time writing and publishing it publicly like this! hope you guys enjoy it!!! let me know what you think!

-

you stood attempting to block the glare of the sun from your eyes with your bouquet in hand. 

“kate it’s fucking hot. why did we let her choose to have a wedding in hell’s kitchen?” you questioned, leaning toward the blonde who suppressed a laugh.

“stop it. caitlin’s literally getting married. hold the jokes in for 10 more minutes.” she whispered, elbowing you lightly as you rolled your eyes playfully, looking toward your best friend who stood in a white wedding gown with her hair pinned behind her ears. 

she looked stunning 

“do you connor mccaffery take caitlin elizabeth clark to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest questioned as you stood just a few feet away, a heavy feeling in your chest suddenly. 

caitlin turned around, glancing at you and kate with a small smile, her face being struck with something as she turned back around. 

“i do. i really do.” he said, looking toward you as your body stiffened. you never really liked him, and frankly he triggered your fight or flight, but caitlin was you best friend, so as long as she was happy, you stood by her. 

“and do you, caitlin elizabeth clark, take connor mccafferey to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“i-“ she began, pausing briefly and glancing to her parents and brothers who sat in the audience, your eyebrows knitting in confusion as she hesitated. 

“caitlin?” the priest questioned as she dropped connor’s hands, whispering before backing away and running down the aisle, the train of her dress in her hands. 

“wait what the hell just happened?” you questioned aloud, looking toward connor as he ran his hands through his hair, turning toward the groomsmen as you look between kate, anne, and brent.

-

you stood outside the bridal suite, kate, caitlin’s parents and brothers behind you as you knocked lightly. 

“coco? it’s just us, let us in! are you okay?” you asked softly, leaning against the door, hearing sniffles from the other side. 

“honey, we just wanna talk. what’s going on?” anne questioned, stepping closer as you listened to a sob escape from her mouth. 

“i don’t wanna talk mom. just- leave me alone!” you heard, her voice receding as you assumed she walked away from the door. 

“caitlin. we just wanna help. if it’s just cold feet-“ kate began, a sudden bang being heard against the door, heavy enough to be a shoe.

“go away! leave me alone!”

“okay, well i’m not dealing with her bullshit today. i stood out in the sun for her. kate hold my flowers.” you spoke, shoving them into the girls chest as you ripped a bobby pin from your hair, leaning down to pick the lock. 

hearing the click, you swing the door open, stepping into the room and scanning with your eyes. 

you spot her curled up on the balcony, her legs pulled to her chest. 

“hey guys, give me a minute. i wanna see something.” you say softly, receiving nods of approval, shutting the door behind you. 

“caitlin?” you ask, watching as she jumps noticing your figure.

“how’d you get in here? get out!” she exclaims, rising to her feet as you show off the pin in your hand. 

“you taught me how to pick a lock, if there’s anyone to blame, it’s you.” you joked, registering the runny makeup on her face as a smile formed on her face. “what’s going on coco? if you won’t talk to your parents, talk to me.” you encourage, moving some pillows from the couch and sitting down as she cautiously makes her way toward you. 

“promise you won’t tell?” she ask, her attitude a bit lighter as you give her a knowing look, patting the seat beside you. 

“i haven’t told a soul your secrets since grade school clark. start talking.” you said leaning back as she began to pull pins from her hair, getting frustrated as you moved to help. 

“i just. i hesitated. i have love for him, but when it came down to saying i do. i mean, i don’t think i can marry him. so many thoughts flashed through my mind. i know he’s not your favorite person in the world, and he made me happy for so long. my family loves him, and he loves me. i know that. but it just went through my mind that he can’t be it for me.” she said, twiddling with her hands, a nervous habit of hers as you placed a hand on top in comfort. 

“do you think there’s any chance of this being cold feet? you’ve been so excited. you had me up at 6AM picking out flowers, i flew out to new york to pick up your dress because you had a game. i’d do it all over again a million times, because i love you. but are you sure?” you ask, watching as fresh tears brim in her eyes

“there’s also been something else on my mind, and it’s kind of scary to think about. but um, i’m not sure how long it’s been a thing for me. but i just haven’t found him attractive, in like any way lately. i’ve had the shortest fuse, and we brushed it off as wedding stress, but i don’t know.” she said, letting out a sigh, laying across your lap. 

“so you guys are in a rough patch. that happens, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t marry him. you do love him caitlin.” you reassure as her body shoots up, her eyes shifting toward you, red and puffy. 

“what no- i don’t. i realized i don’t love him the way that i love you.” she responded, biting at the skin on her lip as you felt your breath get caught in your throat. “i thought. maybe it was the same type of love that i had for kate, but it was just different because i've known you since we were kids. but i love you. i realized that at the end of the day, i want to be with you, always. when we’d talk about kids, our kids separately started to become our kids. i want to grow old with you, and do life with you. i want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up in them. i miss that. i miss that feeling that i got back in high school during sleep overs, not realizing that that same feeling is what i felt croatia.” she spoke, your mind rewinding to the summer in croatia where you along with most of the team got pretty tipsy, caitlin included.

you believed yourself to be a pretty decent drinker, being able to handle your alcohol, but there was something about croatia that had you waking up the next morning with a naked caitlin curled into your side. 

you had talked about it, remembering bits and pieces, but came to the conclusion that it was drunken curiosity. 

“i’ve thought about that night, or at least what i can remember, every night since it happened. i can’t get it out of my mind, and i honestly don’t think i ever wanted to. i can’t marry him, because im in love with you.” 

“so what do you want to do?” you questioned, caitlin scooting closer as you took a breath, processing the information. 

“do you love me? in that way?” she asked, her voice barely audible as you suppressed a smile, giving a slight nod. 

“yeah i do. i’ve loved you since we were 15. but you’ve had a pretty solid record sheet with guys and showing me that you’re straight, or so i assumed. so i just accepted it and let it go.” you stated transparently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned into your hand. 

“you have no clue how happy that makes me. i also don’t care if you’re not ready for marriage yet, i know i said yes to this whole thing, but i feel like it’s because i felt like i needed to. i’d walk down the aisle with you in a second, but i get if you’re not ready.” 

“im not. but i think i will be sometime soon. what do we do from here?” you question, a lot of the tension in the room subsiding, watching her brown eyes roam the room. 

“come here.” was said as you’re pulled down to the floor in front of the couch, a giggle escaping your lips as she crawled in her dress across the room, grabbing a stack of papers from the coffee table. 

“what are you doing? you have people waiting for you to get married, or at this point announce that you’re not.” you say, reprimanding the girl as she rips the paper apart, rolling up small pieces. 

“just give me a second. okay, give me your hand.” she demanded, offering a hand before slipping a makeshift paper ring on your empty ring finger. “there. it’s like high school, but instead of promising to be each other's best friends, i’m promising to give you more than that.” a smile on her face as a knock is heard on the door. 

“caitlin? babe?” is heard as your eyes widen, watching her breath intake sharply. 

“is it bad that i forgot about him?” she questions, a fearful look on her face as you smile, standing to your feet. 

“talk to him, talk to your parents. i’m going to go talk to kate, and we’ll let everyone know there will be no wedding.” you say, helping her to her feet with a smile, turning on your heel. 

“hey. wait.” she said quickly, turning toward her as she presses a kiss to your lips, grasping your face with both hands before pulling away. “i love you”

-

you sat awkwardly in the lounge, kate staring at you from her spot on the couch. caitlin had bought her family and connor in at the same time to talk to them and the guests were dismissed from the ceremony but invited to enjoy the catered food they had planned on serving.

you felt anxiety in the pit of your stomach, shifting in your chair as kate continued to stare, her eyes narrowing. 

“kate stop looking at me like that.” you demanded, frustration in your tone as she churned her head, smiling softly. 

“you guys fucked in croatia didn’t you?” she questioned, your eyes widening at the question. 

“KATE!” 

“i knew it! you were both walking around weird that morning, the tension on that plane ride was crazy. but i’m assuming her calling the wedding off was for more than just a one night stand?” the blonde quizzed as you nodded silently. 

“she loves you, doesn’t she?”, another nod of the head. 

“i kept telling her she was gay, she kept denying it. i was right! but seriously, i think this will work out. maybe not right now with everything going on, but it will.” 

you heard the door open, turning to watch as connor stormed out, his face red as you could tell he’d been crying, followed by caitlin whose face was also tear stained and her family trailing behind her.

“so are you guys getting married or did i buy this suit for nothing?” colin jokes, walking and plopping down next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulder as he leaned against you, pressing a soft kiss against your head. 

“colin leave her alone. this is definitely news, but you’re still family and we don’t love you any less. if you guys are happy, then that’s all we can pray for. it’ll take some getting used to, but i feel like it’ll feel like our normal in no time.” anne speaks, offering a smile as she places a hand on your shoulder, brent nodding along. 

“and hey, i don’t have to sit through a boring reception dinner. no offense cait honey.” brent says, caitlin waving him off as she grins at you. 

“i think we should go see what’s left from the catering, and go back to the hotel. also let’s make sure connor isn’t starting world war 3 on twitter and try and relax.” kate suggest, standing and squeezing caitlin’s shoulder as she smiles at you. 

 “ i think that sounds good.” you agreed, standing to your feet as caitlin mirrored you. 

-

you stood staring at the different options, the room pretty empty except for you, kate, caitlin, and her immediate family. there were still some stragglers, but it looks like most people either just left, or took food to go and were on their way. 

you felt a hand on your lower back, turning to see caitlin standing beside you, a soft closed smile on her face as she leaned into the crook of your neck. 

“thank you. for everything.” 

“of course, you’re one of my favorite people in this world.” you say, her hair falling down your shoulder as she hugs you. 

“do you think connor would be okay with me taking you to australia over him?” 

“i don’t think he really gets a say if you and your family paid for most of the wedding.” 

“wait you’re so right. where’s my phone?” she questioned as you gave her a warning look knowing her notifications would be a war zone themselves. 

“let’s just get some cake right now. yeah?” you suggested in place as she pulled away, a bit of a pout on her face as she agreed to your statement, picking up a plate of her own. 

“hey. i love you. like a lot.” she says, a smile resting on your face as you hummed. 

“i assumed you did, otherwise i don’t think you would have left your fiancé at the alter for me.” you joke, hearing her laugh loudly in response as she presses her forehead to yours, a bright grin on her face. 

“i’m glad we figured out it wasn’t just cold feet.” 

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ AFLAME !

pairing : firefighter!ellie x rescued!reader

synopsis : your apartment goes up in flames and you're unlucky enough to have been on the top floor, your front door blocked by fire. thankfully, a certain firefighter finds you before it's too late

a/n : ok this literally took so long to write i cannot ,, but im so excited to finally be posting it bc i feel like u guys will like it !

wc : 7.7k

your back is pressed against the wall of your kitchen as you clutch your cat in your arms. she mews in your hold, growing more restless by the second. you can hear the frantic shouting of firemen running up and down the halls of your apartment, rescuing your neighbors one by one. but your door is engulfed in flames, making it impossible for you to show them any sign of you being trapped in here.

oxygen is slowly depleting as your breaths become less like breaths and more like sharp gasps of air. your throat burns and your skin stings with the heat.

your cat, amber, shifts in your arms, wanting to move and breathe without struggle. you hush her, fighting tears as you begin to lose hope in ever being rescued. amber continues to meow loudly, her voice becoming more raw by the second. you shush her, not wanting her to waste her breath on trying to get your attention.

you run a gentle hand down her back, coughing as you try to comfort her. tears run down your cheeks as her mewing doesn't cease. your hand begins to shake as you caress her fur.

sirens can be heard from the street, muffled by your closed window and thin walls. your initial thought had been to open your window for air, but you knew better than to feed the flames with oxygen, so you settled in your kitchen as far away from the fire as possible and fell to your knees with amber against you.

firefighters continue to walk down the hall, calling out things you cannot hear. you recognize the croaky voice of your neighbor. silently, you're glad she managed to get out safe. she'd always been a very kind old woman to you, offering you burnt cookies and warm stories of her grandchildren.

amber continues to scratch and paw at you. you blink away tears and give her a weak smile, feeling the lack of oxygen begin to get to your head. you're delirious and in pain. you'd hurt your arm when you pulled amber out of the debris that'd become of the bathroom. you cut it open on the splintering door, the wood digging right into your forearm without mercy. you can feel the warm blood running down your arm and between your fingers where you hold amber firm against your chest. you try not to focus on the pain, though, rather directing your attention to managing your low source of air.

you hear footsteps begin to descend down the staircase and you can't help the tears that begin to pool down your face at the thought of being left up here. your shoulders tremble as you sob into amber's fur.

you can't go anywhere near the door without being burnt alive. you can't open any windows without your entire apartment exploding with you inside. you can't scream for help because you know nobody would hear you anyway.

the sudden sound of someone pounding on your door brings your mind away from its decent into despair. you instantly sit up straight, amber still restless and eager for play. you watch with blurred vision and a throbbing head as someone bangs on your door. after a moment, it flies off its hinges as a red boot comes barreling through the wood.

"in here!" you shout, staggering to your feet as the firefighter enters your apartment. your body sways on your feet due to exhaustion as the person follows the sound of your voice into the kitchen.

they enter, a gas mask covering their face. they say something to you, but your ears are ringing with the disbelief that they were able to find you. their hands reach forward, offering to hold amber.

see, you know it's unfair and you know you shouldn't, but you refuse. you shake your head, holding amber closer to your chest. she'd always been your dearest possession, and is now your only possession as the rest have been burnt to char. the firefighter nods, not thinking it wise to put up a fight with you.

"ah, shit, your arm." the firefighter mutters. their feminine voice points out that they are, apparently, a woman. "okay, okay. listen, you hold your cat and i'll carry you."

you blink, "what? i don't⎯"

"don't be difficult, now." she orders, crouching down before you can deny her the chance. she puts one arm under your knees, the other across your back. then, bridal style, she hauls you into her arms.

the room swims around you, your head throbbing and your throat raw. not to mention the indescribable pain in your arm. everything swirls and blurs under your delirious gaze. you lean back into her chest, amber meowing loudly at the stranger holding you.

the woman walks toward the front door, making sure to cover your face with her gloved hand as she passes through the flamed doorway. you cough when you're in the hallway, your chest constricting with the amount of smoke in your lungs.

"shh, you're fine. you're okay, i got you." the woman mutters as she begins to descend the concrete stairway. and, for some reason, you believe her.

you turn your focus toward her, staring at what you can make out of her face through her blackened gas mask. you can see her pale green eyes narrowed as her lashes blink repeatedly as she rushes down the steps whilst simultaneously trying not to jostle you too much. her lips are pursed in concentration, the bridge of her nose catching the light as she turns a corner at a landing.

"how'd you know i was in there?" you ask, your words slurred and your voice groggy.

"ma'am, please. just rest." she instructs, her gaze flicking down to your face for a split second before looking back forward. "we don't need to make conversation when you're clearly disturbed and in pain. just relax."

"i can't rest. my head hurts too bad." you say, shaking your head. "just⎯ answer my questions and i promise to leave you alone."

"okay fine." she sighs. "i knew you were in there because your elderly neighbor was a rather feisty woman. she threatened us with her butcher knife, saying she'd stab us and sue our company if we didn't make sure to save you and your cat."

a small smile tugs at your lips. you shut your eyes, tipping her head back. "mm, sounds like her."

"she's quite terrifying." the firefighter comments.

"she's a good person, most the time. she has a huge family and cares for them deeply, she just⎯ she knows i don't have anyone so she treats me like a part of her family." you murmur.

if you weren't so high in delirium, there's no way you'd be saying all this to a random stranger. frankly, you're a rather private person. you only open up to those you're close with and feel comfortable confiding in. take your neighbor for example. you've lived beside her for the past three years.

when you open your eyes, the woman is gazing down at you. her footsteps have become less frantic as she watches you with parted lips.

the two of you have now reached the foyer. a few other firefighters are seen with hoses and blankets for the rescued residents. the woman carries you across the linoleum flooring, the heels of her boots thudding loudly as she crosses the space to get to the large glass door.

once you're outside, you can feel amber relish in the fresh air. her incessant mewing ceases and she begins to purr. your heart clenches as the sound, pitying the fact that she's so happy about something so little such as fresh air.

"williams!" a voice calls out as the woman ⎯ who is apparently named williams, though you're fairly certain that's her last name ⎯ carries you over to a nearby ambulance. "what the hell took you so long!? we were worried sick!"

"oh calm down." williams replies, easing you down onto the edge of the ambulance where the back doors are open.

a paramedics rushes up to you with a roll of gauze. with you now tended to, williams turns away from you to focus on the man in front of her. still, despite the attention you're getting from the paramedic, she refuses to stray too far from where you sit.

after a moment of you swaying back and forth gently as someone wrapping bandages painfully tight around your arm, you hear your neighbors shrill voice call out for you from across the parking lot.

"oh, dear!" she shouts as she rushes toward you, her floral shirt tattered and covered in debris, her grey hair laced with ash. overall, she appears unharmed and you relax a bit at the sight. "oh, i haven't been able to rest until i knew you were okay, but⎯" her eyes trail down to where blood is seeping through the gauze around your forearm. "turns out you're not unharmed."

"it's just a cut, agnes." you insist, still holding amber in your lap as your arm throbs with even more pain than before now that the paramedic has wrapped the bandage far too tightly around your skin. "i'm fine⎯"

"oh, you always say that." she waves a hand at you dismissively.

she then turns to williams, recognizing her to have been the woman that she'd forced into rescuing you earlier. anges tugs on her arm to get her attention, causing williams to turn to face her. she removes her gas mask to be more respectful when speaking to a resident. at the sight of williams' uncovered face, you nearly faint. she looks as though she'd been chiseled from stone and created by a sculptor who was desperately in love with their muse.

"yes, ma'am?" she inquires, turning to agnes with a raised brow.

"i told you guys to get her out of there unharmed!" she reprimands, seething with rage as she gestures toward where you're being tended to. the paramedic is now offering you pills and water for your headache.

williams blinks, taken aback by the blame suddenly pointed toward her. "i don't⎯"

"it wasn't her fault," you interrupt, "i hurt myself trying to save amber."

"still. had the firefighters been there sooner, you wouldn't have had to save your poor cat all on your own." agnes points out, insistent on blaming the woman in front of her.

"i sincerely apologize, ma'am, but you must know that⎯"

"i don't want to hear it!" she interrupts her, holding a hand out to stop her from speaking any further. "to make it up to her, you're now responsible for finding her a place to stay."

"but⎯"

"no buts!"

williams snaps her mouth shut, likely remembering the image of when agnes held her at knifepoint and threatened her entire career. you smile to yourself at the idea of such a sweet old lady scaring the shit out of some buff firefighter.

agnes turns to face you with a soft expression. "you don't worry about a thing, dear. she will figure it all out for you. she'll make sure you have food on your plate and a roof over your head. if not, i'll make her regret it."

she places a gentle hand on your shoulder as she speaks, the last sentence laced with passive aggressiveness to williams, who stands off to the side with furrowed brows. after her assurance, agnes trots off with her infamous prideful stride. the other residents of your apartment scowl at her as she walks by, nobody being a fan of her fiery personality aside from you.

williams sighs, turning to you with a raised brow. "a good person, huh?"

"i said most the time." you point out with a playful smile.

no longer losing a significant amount of blood or with a throbbing headache, you're far less feverish, now able to speak without slurring or letting random facts about yourself slip.

williams sits down beside you, allowing her head to tip back. you stare shamelessly, enraptured by the way her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths or the bits of ash and dirt smudged across her skin. after a moment, she turns to you, removing her gloves and pulling her phone from her pocket. "suppose i should start looking for nearby hotels for you, right?"

you scoff, "you don't need to do that. she was just being protective."

"no, no." she insists. "she was right about one thing. and thats the fact that you wouldn't have been hurt if i got there sooner."

"don't blame yourself, williams, i'm fine."

"ellie." she corrects you with a brow raised in amusement.

you narrow your eyes at her. "what?"

"my name." she tells you with a light chuckle shaking her chest. "call me ellie. only my coworkers call me williams. it's for formality's sake. and, quite frankly, i hate it."

"oh, i'm sorry. i just heard someone call you that and i⎯"

"its fine." she tells you with a small smile. she shakes her head and turns back to her phone, typing for a place to stay in the search bar.

she scrolls through the options for a few minutes. while she does so, you busy yourself with checking amber for any possible wounds or marks. you hold her in the air, making sure to put most of her weight on your uninjured arm as your other still aches with residual pain.

the paramedic didn't give you any ointment or stitches, though you likely needed them. he'd simply wrapped your arm, albeit painfully tight, handed you some pills, then sauntered off to the next wounded resident.

"damn it," you hear ellie mutter under her breath. you turn your attention back to her. she feels your eyes on her and she explains. "none of the hotels accept cats and all the motels are closed."

"i told you i'll be fine." you tell her, a pang of guilt shooting through you. "anges is just⎯"

"protective, i know." she finishes for you. she turns off her phone and stuffs it back into her pocket and turns to face you with brows furrowed in thought. "and don't you dare tell me not to worry after you just told me that you have no family. i know you have nowhere else to go."

you tense at the mention of your family, instantly feeling embarrassed and a bit ashamed even. you shakes your head, "still. it's not your issue to concern yourself with."

"it's literally my job." she points out.

you sigh, knowing you won't win this argument against her. she turns to face forward, staring at the starry sky in thought. meanwhile, you turn toward the opposite direction, seeing that the aflamed building has now been put out. despite that, it pains you to see the apartment you lived in for the past few years in shambles. not all the neighbors were as kind as agnes, but you still called that place home. and now it's gone.

you hold amber tightly against you, her warm fur serving as comfort against the chill of pain that traces up your spine. she purrs against you, nestling deeper into your chest for more pets.

"i have an idea." ellie suddenly blurts out. you turn to look at her, seeing her expression now overcome by newfound determination. "stay with me."

you're instantly taken aback by the proclamation, your brows shooting up as your lips part in shock. "what?"

"my house isn't far from here. come back with me to the fire station so i can change and pick up my car, then we can head over there and you can stay with me for as long as you need until you find yourself a place." she says, her tone making it sound as though it were obvious all along.

"you mean it?" you ask, voice small.

"of course." she confirms. "plus, how could i say no to such a cute cat?"

she reaches out and pets amber gentle behind her ear. she leans into the touch, shutting her eyes and purring loudly. you smile, allowing the two of them a moment to connect. especially considering that you have no idea how long you'll be staying with ellie for.

"this means a lot to me." you say, causing ellie to lift her head and peer up at you, still gently caressing amber. your entire body is overcome with a sense of gratitude for ellie williams and the unintentional safety her presence provides you with. "i mean it."

***

twenty minutes later, you find yourself amid chaos. you rode with ellie back to the fire station and now you're standing awkwardly as everyone files out of their respective trucks. some of them are covered head to toe in soot and grime. others appear unscathed. ellie herself is somewhere between the two ⎯ in need of a shower, but not repulsing in her uncleanliness. you, on the other hand, are extremely dirty and bloody and gross.

amber sleeps in your arms are you press your back against a nearby brick wall and watch the firefighters all bound around the space. some of them are changing right there in the locker room ⎯ which doesn't have a door, by the way, though it's around a corner. others are rushing to the parking lot, desperate to get home.

"sorry," ellie apologizes as she rushes up to you. she no longer wears her hat, short brown hair askew atop her head. she runs her hands through it, giving you a sincere look. "i forgot how hectic it can be to someone who's not used to this."

you have a hand, "ah, it's fine."

secretly, you're dying inside. not only because your headache is beginning to reform at the sudden mayhem, but because ellie looks so fucking good right now. she saved your life and you know it's likely disrespectful to be so attracted to her, but you can't help it. you know what it feels like to be held in her arms and looked at with delicacy and you can't stop yourself from yearning for more.

"you sure?" she ask. "because if you're fine with it, i might just⎯"

"woah there, williams!" one of her coworkers calls out, walking up and draping his arm over her shoulders playfully. "you kidnapped one of the residents?"

she rolls her eyes, though a small smile can be seen on tugging at her lips. "haha, very funny. no, asshole, i didn't kidnap her. she needs somewhere to stay so i offered my place."

the man raises a brow at this, intrigued. he removes his arm from her shoulders and peers down at you curiously. though, once his eyes land on the sleeping cat in your hands, he breaks out into a wide grin. he holds out his hands. "oh my god! please, please, please can i hold him?"

you shoot the man a scowl, turning amber away from his sight. "not a chance. and she's a girl."

his eyebrows shoot up at your protectiveness. he turns to ellie, waiting for her to defend him. she crosses her arms, shaking her head with a chuckle. "she loves her damn cat, man, can't do anything about that."

he sighs, but says nothing to win your favor. he simply grumbles under his breath about being filthy and scurries off to the showers, already stripping his shirt off on his way there.

with him gone, ellie turns to you with a smirk. "glad to see that i'm not the only one who's denied touching your cat at first."

"of course not." you say. "nobody gets to touch her after the tough day she's had."

"that's fair." ellie agrees with a light laugh. after a moment, she says, "anyway. i was going to ask if you're okay with me showering and changing here instead of waiting until we're back home. that way, once we get back, you can have the shower all to yourself while i prepare you a place to sleep."

you nod, "yeah, of course. do whatever works best for you, ellie, i'm not picky."

"okay." she replies, seeming grateful for your flexibility. she glances over her shoulder toward where the locker rooms are. "okay, yeah. you wait on the bench over here, i'll come out and get you when i'm done."

she gestures toward a wooden bench. it's rather ragged and positioned in the very center of the chaos, but you nod regardless. ellie is offering you a place to stay for an undecided amount of time. refusing her orders would be incredibly rude at this point. so, instead, you nod and walk over to the bench whilst she walks over to the women's locker room.

you cross your legs, allowing amber to sleep in your lap as you wait. you can hear the low hum of people talking from deeper within the building ⎯ likely where the offices and more professional rooms are located ⎯ along with the gentle flow of water from the showers down the hall. people are laughing loudly within the locker rooms, the sound of boots and hats and clothes hitting the floor easy to pinpoint.

you allow your eyes to examine the space around you. the floor is concrete, stained with random spills and dirt. hoses and ladders line the brick walls, hung up as high as they can go. then, on the ceiling, large industrial lights sway gently back and forth. the showers are down the hallway, the men and women's locker rooms on either side of the hall.

suddenly, a loud rumble is heard as the huge garage door is lifted up via pulley. your head snaps toward the sound, watching as a bright red truck pulls into the space.

another wave of firemen bustle into the building once a truck shows up and they're able to pile out of it. they rush in different directions, splitting up in groups of those wishing to change and clean and those who wish to go home as soon as possible.

you avert your eyes down to look at amber as the people walk around you, trying not to draw attention to yourself. though, that's rather inevitable as you stick out like a sore thumb. everyone else is in their uniforms while you're in normal clothes, ash and dirt on your skin with a bloodied bandage wrapped around your forearm that you're trying your hardest to ignore.

and, unfortunately, amber draws quite a bit of attention as you hear a few people murmur and coo in awe of the sleeping cat. you tell yourself to ignore it, uncomfortable with the attention.

"hey," someone says. you look up to see a man standing in front of you with two of his friends on either side of him. he's covered in dirt, the stench of fire filling your nose as he nears you. "cute cat."

"thanks." you say shortly, narrowing your eyes at him defensively.

"oh c'mon, i'm not gonna bite." he says with a laugh. you only deepen your glare at this, already able to know what type of guy you're dealing with here. "what's your name, little lady? come here alone? y'know, i could take ya home if ya need a warm bed for the night. we could share."

he takes a step closer, his knees knocking with your crossed ones. he hunches a bit to reach his hand toward amber. you instantly slap it away, not thinking before using your injured arm. you wince a bit, but fight not to show the pain it causes you. he yanks his hand back as though he'd been burned.

"fuck off." you snap. "at least have the decency to ask before touching her."

"watch it." he sneers. "i've been out saving people all day. i don't need some ungrateful bitch to tell me what i can and can't do."

you roll your eyes. "clearly you do, seeing as you can't tell for yourself what's acceptable."

"how dare you!" he gapes.

his friends both step closer, the three of them crowding you. your arm aches at your side from having used it so carelessly to slap him away. you don't falter, though, knowing that's exactly what they want you to do. instead, you hold your ground and scowl up at him, holding the man's gaze without blinking.

"it's common fucking etiquette to not touch someone without asking." you tell him.

"i didn't touch you, dumbass." he says, his voice growing louder with each word. a few people are beginning to turn toward the commotion, nosily wondering what's going on. "i touched your cat. big fucking difference, there."

"the principle still stands." you point out, keeping your expression neutral and your voice perfectly level ⎯ which only serves to make him more irritated. "you're supposed to ask before reaching your grimy ass hands toward me."

"fuck you!" he shouts, now gaining the attention of everyone around you. "i already fucking told you⎯"

"what the hell is going on here?"

all four of you turn to see ellie standing with her arms crossed. her jacket is off, a thin black tank top covering her top half while her baggy uniform pants cover her lower half. her hair is wet, chin dripping water droplets to the cement floor.

at the sight of her, the two friends seem to no longer be interested in the conversation as they suddenly disappear from the scene. the man in front of you frowns, taking a step away from you though his chest continues to rise and fall with angered breaths.

"answer me, smith." she demands, voice laced with venom. "i asked what the hell is going on here and i don't like being ignored by lower ranks."

"i asked to pet her cat and she⎯"

"no he didn't." you interrupt, the entire left side of your body engulfed in pain after having hit the guy's hand. and you didn't even hit him that hard, damn. "he reached out to touch her without asking. not to mention his horrible flirting."

ellie listens to you intently before casting her gaze over to the man, smith. "so you lied to me?"

"what? n-no! i just⎯" he stammers, eyes flicking between you and ellie, frantic for his coworker to understand. "why are you taking her side over mine, williams? we've worked together for⎯ what? two years?"

"yeah, and you're renown for being a complete asshole." she scoffs.

"but she⎯"

"she is a civilian. and it's our job to protect and respect them, is it not?" she points out, raising her brows as he nods, ashamed. "that includes not cursing at them, calling them bitches, or touching them without permission."

"it wasn't her!" he exclaims. "it was just the damned cat!"

"don't touch her fucking cat, man." calls out the guy who ellie had talked to earlier. the one she seemed to actually enjoy being around. he appears to have just gotten out of the shower, naught but a towel around his waist to substitute as clothing.

"gee, i had no idea." smith grounds out through clenched teeth, his fists balled at his sides. "i can fucking see that now. thanks."

"anytime, buddy." the other man says with a wink before disappearing back into the locker room.

ellie continues to stand behind smith her her arms crossed, her thin tank top showing off every muscle in her torso. you have to force yourself not to stare, distracting yourself by petting amber's back delicately.

"apologize." ellie demands.

"what? me?" he asks, confused. "but⎯"

"i'm not fucking asking, smith." she threatens. "apologize to the pretty lady or i tell miller about this whole thing and you lose your damn job."

apparently, the mention of miller seems to snap smith into obedience as he quickly nods his head and turns to you with a scowl. his fists continue to shake at his sides, his anger balled between his fingers there.

"i'm. sorry." he grunts.

you should accept it, you know you should. but you were never good at doing what you're supposed to. so, instead, you tilt your head innocently and ask, "sorry for what exactly?"

he appears on the edge of insanity as he clenches his jaw and rushes out a quick explanation. "i'm sorry for trying to touch your cat."

"without..." you trail off, allowing him to follow.

"without asking." he finishes.

you smile victoriously, nodding to ellie as to allow her to dismiss him. she obliges, turning to him and giving him one last lecture on respect and obedience before allowing him to make the walk of shame back to the locker room full of men who just heard that entire encounter.

when he turns the corner, ellie walks up to you with a playful grin. "damn, you surely stood your ground there."

"of course i did." you agree. "not just anyone can touch my cat."

she huffs out a laugh, shaking her head at you fondly. "c'mon, lets get out of here. the shower was freezing anyway. all these assholes stole the hot water before i even had a chance."

"okay." you smile, shifting amber in your arms before standing from the bench.

the two of you walk out of the fire station and into the parking lot. the moon hangs high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the parked cars. you watch ellie as she pulls her keys from her pocket and unlocks her vehicle. the moonlight illuminates her skin with a soft hue, her wet hair clinging to the back of her neck.

you reach the car and enter the passenger's seat, holding amber in your lap as ellie puts the key into the ignition the car rumbles into motion. she backs out of the parking space and heads down the road, one hand on the wheel as the other is lazily draped over the center console between the two of you.

you watch through the window as the city passes you by in a blur, cars and shops reflect the moon's glow, everything cast under its resplendent coloring. you turn to ellie, deciding to fill the air with conversation.

"so you're a high rank firefighter?" you ask. "sure looked like those guys respected the fuck out of you."

she chuckles, "i'm ranked high, yes. but they only listen to me because the boss will always take my side over any of theirs and they knows that."

"miller?" you question, recalling the name she'd spoken.

"yeah. joel miller." she confirms. "he's an intimidating man and you'd have to be a fool not to be scared of him."

"are you? scared of him, i mean."

"i was." she says. "but after a few years of working under him and getting to know him as a person rather than just his position of authority, i feel i know him too well to be scared of him."

you hum, "that sounds nice, though. you have power over everyone else."

"yeah. sometimes i wish they'd just respect me without joel's reputation looming over my every move." she confesses with a sigh, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel lightly. "most of my coworkers would rather die than respect a woman, though, so i'm a bit out of luck there."

"well, fuck them." you say. "if they can't see your worth outside of your relationship with miller, their opinions don't mean shit."

her eyebrows shoot up at this, shocked by your sudden ferocity. once the initial shock dwindled, though, she laughs. a full-chested laugh that fills the car. your heart clenches at the sound, musical and luminary in its significance.

"yeah." she says between laughter. "yeah, fuck them."

you laugh along with her, the conversation falling into an easy rhythm. you get to know ellie better and she gets to know you, the both of you simultaneously coming to the decision that it'd be best to get the small talk out of the way before you live together for an undetermined amount of time.

amber remains curled up in your lap, her fur still covered in ash. not like you're much better yourself, though, as your hair is coated in soot and your skin has a thick layer of filth atop it.

when ellie pulls into her driveway, you're shocked to see the house. it's a small cottage-styled building, made of cobblestone and white shudders. the sidewalk is framed with bushes and flowers that have clearly been tended to by their owner. if you were completely honest, you'd expected ellie to live in some sort of industrial building, hardened and dark like her personality.

she shuts off the car and you both exit through your respective sides of the vehicle, amber jostling awake in your hold. ellie unlocks the front door before allowing you entry, the lock clicking as she turns the handle.

you walk inside, the space small but cozy. one bedroom, one bathroom, an open layout for the kitchen and living room. the flooring is wood, antique carpets laid out over the larger spaces. plaid blankets are draped over chairs and couches, available to the user.

"this is cute," you say, looking around, "didn't take you for a homey decor type."

she chuckles, shutting and locking the front door behind herself. "well i've gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

you laugh, placing amber on the floor to allow her time to roam and stretch her legs. in an instant, she's disappeared and won't be found for the next few hours. ellie leads you to the bathroom, allowing you time to clean off.

the bathroom is small as well, a tiny sink surrounded by a messy counter beside the toilet and tiny shower. if you're being completely honest, you love the house. it's so small and yet so comfy and warm. the disheveled nature to the house makes it feel more like a home, lived in and used. you love it. ellie, on the other hand, has been subtly tidying up as you guys walk through the space. while you examine the shower, she stacks up the messily placed contents of the countertop. when you turn back around to face her, she instantly stops, quick to cover up what she'd been doing. you find it oddly endearing.

"well," she murmurs, "i'll leave you to it."

with that and nothing more, she exits the bathroom. she'd already showed you how to use the shower and where to find towels so you're well prepared to wash off. but, as you strip your clothes off, a fiery pain shoots down your arm and up your side. you wince, looking down at the bandaged wound. it's bleeding through the material, your fingers beginning to feel numb from how tight it's wrapped.

you ignore it and step into the shower, trying to wash off without any thought for the searing pain in your limb. you wash your hair and scrub your body with your uninjured arm, the scent of ellie filling the air. her shampoo and body wash now coats you, a certain intimacy to the domestic act of sharing bathroom supplies. for some reason, the flutter in your heart is harder to ignore than the physical agony in your forearm.

you finish showering and wrap yourself in the towel ellie had set out for you. water drips onto the tile flooring, creating a puddle around you. you hug the towel closer to your body, not wanting to make a mess in ellie's home. but your arm suddenly aches at the way you tighten your grip.

with a groan, you decide to unwrap the wound and check on how it's doing. seeing as ellie is a firefighter, you're sure she's got some bandages under the sink. you undo it, instantly grimacing at the sight of the gore. you wince as cold air touches the open wound.

"fuck," you mutter, taking in the lack of care the paramedic put into helping you. there's no way you should have walked off without stitches or some kind of cleaning.

you crouch down to the cabinet under the sink and begin rummaging through its contents. you feel horrible for going through ellie's belongings in such a way, but you assure yourself it's for a good reason. you eventually find a first-aid kit and you crack it open.

unfortunately, you have no experience with medical care. half the things in the kit are foreign to you, random rolls of gauze and unlabeled ointments. you frown, the pain in your arm only growing as more time passes. eventually, you decide to just bite the bullet and ask ellie for assistance. you stand from the floor and close her cabinet before calling out to her.

"ellie! can you come in here for a sec?" you shout, sitting down on the closed toilet seat with the first aid kit in your lap. within seconds, she's opening the door, now changed into a pair of shorts and a random band tee.

"hey, what's—" her words instantly cut off when her gaze lands on your bloody arm, the wound no longer wrapped and now reopened. "holy shit, what are you doing?"

she rushes over to you, her voice laced with concern and desperation to help you. your eyes sting at the sound, never having heard someone so worried about you. you blink it away, looking down as you struggle to explain yourself. "the paramedic didn't wrap it well and— it, uh, hurt really fucking bad, and—"

"shh, shh," she walks over to you with soothing tones and gentle hands, "you're okay, let me see."

you hold your arm out to her, allowing her to examine it. she holds your wrist delicately in her hand, turning your arm over to look at the wound. she sucks in a breath at the sight. you frown, "is it that bad?"

"no, just," she sighs, "don't worry about it, okay? i'll fix it as best i can."

she crouches in front of you, taking a few things from the first aid kit. you watch as she picks out a specific ointment, her knowing exactly what to grab despite them not having labels. she then grabs a roll of gauze and a bottle of something, but the label is faced away from you. she sets the ointment and gauze aside, uncapping the bottle.

"this is gonna hurt." she warns you as she grabs a rag from the disarrayed countertop and pours a bit of the liquid onto the fabric. when she places the bottle aside you manage to read the name of it. hydrogen peroxide. she notices your wary gaze and gives you a reassuring smile. "it's a disinfectant, it'll clean the wound to prevent any infections."

you nod, sighing through your nose as you hold your forearm out to her. she watches you with furrowed brows as she places the rag over the open wound. you instantly stiffen, wincing through the pain. your jaw clenches as the liquid seeps into open flesh. you squeeze your eyes shut, "fuck that hurts." you pant.

"i know, i know," she whispers, gentility laced between the threads of her tone. "it's okay, you'll feel better soon, just— just breathe,"

you try to do was she instructs, but your breath comes out choppy and uneven. you open your eyes to see her staring up at you with pursed lips and a knitted brow. the sheer worry in her gaze adds weight to the air that suffocates you. it presses down on your chest and further constricts your lungs, which only serves to deepen her worry.

you force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the wall behind ellie's head. you stare at it intently, though you remain unable to shake the queasy feeling that comes with knowing ellie's eyes are on your face, tracing every feature that adorns it.

finally, she removes the rag from your arm and you're flooded with the relief of no longer being burned from the inside out. she sets the cloth aside and grabs the ointment, squeezing a small dot of it onto her forefingers.

"will this hurt too?" you ask tentatively.

she shakes her head, "no, this will soothe the pain."

"okay." you nod. "i'm far more excited for this part then."

"i don't blame you," she says with a light laugh.

she then leans forward holding you arm with an indescribably delicacy. you find yourself yearning to lean into her touch, wanting to collapse in her arms. but, somehow, you find the strength to hold back and remain sitting upright on the toilet seat. she runs her fingers down the soft part of your forearm, coating you torn skin in an off-white salve. the cool temperature instantly soothes the pain and you let out a soft sigh at the feel of it.

"oh yeah, this is so much better," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your mouth.

she looks up at you through her lashes, head remaining downcast as she carefully adds more ointment. "how'd this happen anyway? you just took the wrap off?"

"the paramedic wrapped it too tight." you explain. "my fingers were going numb and i could feel my heartbeat in my forearm. he didn't add any of this fancy shit you're adding either."

she chuckles, "ointment and disinfectant, you mean? it's hardly fancy. i'd have thought a paramedic would be smart enough to know that." her teeth grit slightly as she clenches her jaw around the mention of the incompetent medic who handled you earlier. she shakes her head, "i should've stayed with you and made sure he'd done his job right."

"that's not you obligation, ellie." you remind her. "and look. you're helping me now far better than any medic would have. i almost prefer it this way."

"oh really?" she asks, unconvinced. "you prefer to have some strange woman attempt to fix you up in her messy bathroom than a licensed and highly qualified paramedic in an ambulance?"

you shrug, "well he apparently wasn't that highly qualified."

"true," she agrees with a laugh.

she finishes coating on the ointment and twists the cap back onto it before setting it on the countertop beside the discarded rag and peroxide. she grabs the roll of gauze and begins to unravel it.

you watch her with lidded eyes, the events of today beginning to catch up to you. it's hard to believe you'd woken up this morning thinking it'd be a normal day. you'd just gotten back from work when you smelt smoke from one of your neighbor's apartments. the though didn't click in your head until you saw flames beginning to crawl into your home. one thing lead to another, and now you're here. in the house of someone who you hadn't known five hours ago.

"still," you murmur as she starts to wrap the gauze, "i prefer you helping me because you actually care about my wellbeing and not just making as much money as possible. you're kind, ellie. i'd be a fool to prefer a medic over you."

she lifts her head to meet your eyes, her movements coming to a sudden halt. her pale green eyes bore into your own, something sensual and momentous passing between the space that separates you. the bathroom is enveloped into a long wave of silence, nothing done nor spoken.

the weight of your situation presses down on you both. ellie, in her baggy shorts and stained band tee, having invited a wounded stranger into her home ; you, in naught but a towel, feeling more at home in ellie's vicinity than you ever did anywhere else.

a tether is tied between you as you feel the weight of the world pull you toward ellie. you lean in, just barely, ready for something you can hardly even process at the time being. she does the same, completely disregarding the gauze and pinning every ounce of her attention to you and the closing gap between you.

your noses brush and a spark ignites deep within you, something in your soul screaming that this is correct. a celestial puzzle clicks into place when your lips meet hers, the stars in the sky and the soil under mother nature screaming with victory as the two of you connect.

she tastes of fire and desperation, you of toothpaste and exhaustion. your wounded arm means nothing to you when you shift forward to wrap them both around ellie's neck and tug her closer. she does, rising to her knees as she places her hands on each of your hips, only a thin white towel separating her hands from your bare skin. she leans into you, allowing her hands to feel and memorize the curves of your poorly covered body.

"wait," she mutters against your mouth, "wait wait wait."

you pull back, staring at her with curiosity. her pupils are blown, cheeks flushed, lips wet. everything in you begs to lean back in, but you force that feeling down and oblige by her wishes to part. "what is it?" you ask.

"just—" she cuts herself off with a sigh, staring into your eyes with naught but adoration behind her irises. "i really like you and, uh," she looks down, blinking harshly as she tries to voice her thoughts without fucking it all up. your heart melts at the sight, remaining patient as she sorts through her jumbled mind. "i want to take my time with you. i don't want this to just be some fling. i respect you more than that."

you continue to stare at her, your eyes doing all the talking when your mouth is out of words to say. after a long moment, you finally say, "that's fine, ellie. we can do whatever you're comfortable with."

her shoulders relax at the sound of her name on your tongue, spoken with such careful delicacy that it sounds like music, like it should be praised and studied for hundreds of years to come. not only that, but she softens at your words as well, eternally grateful for your understanding.

"we can still kiss though," she's quick to add.

you laugh, shaking your head fondly at her rush to make sure that's out of the way. you lean in, still smiling as your lips touch. everything falls into place around you, nothing aside from ellie mattering to you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 taglist : @luvsturniolo @zombieegirl @elliestunna

Miss Possessive (Luke Hughes)

Warning(s): jealousy, light smut, swearing, little angst, spitting

Summary: Y/N isn't usually one to get protective over her boyfriend... but when one girl who acts like her friend pushes things a liiiittle over the edge, she shows why she shouldn't be one to mess with

BABY BLUES, UNDRESSING HIM. FUNNY HOW YOU THINK THAT I DON'T NOTICE IT

ACTING LIKE WE'RE FRIENDS, WE'RE THE OPPOSITE

"I'm back and I brought the good stuff!" Jack shouts over the loud music, holding a tray filled with everyone's drinks.

Luke lets go of Y/N's waist for a second, reaching over to grab both his and her drinks. She smiles warmly up at her boyfriend as he hands her the cool glass, the pair immediately turning their attention back to Nico's story he was telling about Monday's practice mayhem.

The girl tried to keep her attention on the story, peeking around every so often to check to see if her friends had arrived yet.

Her eyes lit up as she let out an excited and buzzed squeal, seeing the three girls rushing their way over to their group in the busy club crowd. "My girls!" she shouts out, leaving Luke's hold to go embrace them all.

"Finally, the party can start! I've only been looking forward to this all weekend," her friend, Maya, says as she snags the drink from Jack's hands as he is about to sip it. He rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in defeat.

"Maya's here everyone!" he sarcastically announces, earning a smack to his chest. Y/N laughs while pulling away from hugging her other friend, Peyton. They all watch the pair bicker per usual, knowing they'd end up in his bed by the end of the night.

As she goes to embrace and greet Mary, she notices her staring over her shoulder with a certain look in her eyes.

Y/N's eyes follow her stare, turning behind her to see exactly where her eyes were met. Which were staring right at Luke, who at the time was sitting on the couch with his legs spread, drink in hand while the other arm lay across the top of the couch as he conversed with one of the boys.

Y/N squints her eyes in a knowing manner, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue. She looks back at Mary with a smirk, clearing her throat to catch the girl's attention.

Mary's eye snap out of their daze, putting a fake smile on and squealing while pulling Y/N in for a hug. "I've missed you oh my gosh!" she says, Y/N just humming in response.

They pull apart quickly after, Mary squeezing past her to slyly take a seat next to Luke. Luke looks over at Mary, his face dropping when he notices it isn't his girl. He puts on a fake smile and greets Mary, immediately pulling his arm away that sat on the top of the couch and puts it in his lap.

Y/N rolls her eyes, downing the rest of her drink before looking over at Peyton who is talking with Ethan.

She goes up and wraps her arm around Peyton, smiling graciously when the girl looks over at her. "How about we go get some more drinks?"

I'LL BE NICE, UP UNTIL I'M NOT. I'M TELLING YOU , YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE 1 A.M. SIDE OF ME

WHEN I'M TWO DRINKS IN AND YOU JUST CAN'T LEAVE ME AND MY MAN ALONE

Y/N thanks the bartender as she grabs her third drink of the night, feeling more tipsy as the prior shots began to hit. She began to make her way back to her group, seeing as they're all dancing to the flow of the music booming through the club.

Peyton sees her coming over, holding her hand out to make Y/N spin around in a twirl while bopping to the song playing, taking a sip of her drink.

She sees her tall pretty boyfriend, heading his way. Once she is close to him, she wraps her free hand around his back while sipping and nodding along to the song. He looks down and finds her eyes, letting a light smile form on his lips before pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"You add it to my tab?" he asks over the loud music, his lips barely touching her ear, but enough to send chills down her spine. She nods, swaying her hips around.

Luke places her in front of him before continuing his conversation with Nico next to him, his hands roaming the sides of her body as he let her dance in front of him. She sang aloud with the girls, letting Maya dance her way over and take Y/N's hands to have her join her girls.

They danced together, sometimes dancing on one another or next to each other while singing the lyrics out loud. Y/N could feel the alcohol buzzing through her bloodstream, letting her hands run freely up and down her body, then along Maya's whom began dancing against Y/N's front.

She let her eyes close and her head fall back with a laugh as her friends began to grind against her, happily playing along. She ten snapped out of it when she feels a squeeze on her arm, seeing Peyton point towards where their group is standing.

Y/N's face falters, a knowing look spreading across her face as she watched Mary try to have Luke dance with her. She could see the disinterest in his face as she would hang on him and take his hand to act if he was trying to spin her around.

"She needs to learn her place," Peyton says over the music and Maya agreeing before they both try to make their way over, only to be pulled back from Y/N.

She just smirked at the girls. "You guys keep dancing with your boys, I'll be back." is all she says before leaving, and walking towards the group.

Luke must've felt her stare, because his eyes find hers and he looks more annoyed than scared. She could see the pleading in his eyes to help, and she just keeps her stare on him as she walks over.

Once Y/N makes it in front of him, Mary immediately looks at her with a fake smile. "Oh my gosh I was starting to worry where you went! Figured I'd keep him company for you!" she says so innocently, Y/N just rolls her eyes and looks up at Luke.

She immediately lets her hands trail up his own hands and to his forearms, slowly backing towards the dance floor as he slowly follows her.

His eyes never left hers, as if he was in some sort of trance. The only time it broke was when she turned away from him, only to lead him through the crowd and towards her friends that were getting close on the floor with their men.

She halts when she's where she wants to be, immediately taking his hands, one hand empty and one holding his almost empty drink, wrapping them around her front. He lets his head lower towards her neck, close to the soft spot behind her ear. Chills forming along her skin.

Y/N can feel the smirk that comes onto his face, letting his lips meet the soft spot, she slowly begins to sway against him. She lets her body roll back into his, following the music and the flow it gives, hearing sighs leave his lips as she moves.

Her hands leave his as they sat lowly on her hips as he was leading them to roll back against him, her hands trailing up her own body before they fly back behind her.

She lets them grip onto the back of his neck where his curls poked out from his backwards hat, earning a groan from her in the process.

"You are trouble." Luke chuckles.

The pair rolled against each other as if it was just them, her blood pumping through her ears. She felt herself weaken when he let one of his hands trail up from her hips, up her stomach, making sure to take his time caressing her breasts before it finally made its way to her neck. At first he let it sit there, but then he tightened his grip and pulled her straight back against him.

She lets out a breathless laugh, biting her lips to keep from a full out smile forming onto her lips. She is snapped out of her trance when she feels someone bump into them a few times, looking over to see Mary grinding up against someone herself, her eyes looking at Luke's the entire time.

But her eyes narrow as she realizes that Luke is so entranced by Y/N to notice her. Mary then sees Y/N's caught her, soon trying to act as if she wasn't just trying to make Luke to jealous.

Y/N just rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the said girl who is trying to hard for a man who is taken.

Look at the floor or ceiling, or anyone else you're feelin

Take home whoever walks in, just keep your eyes off him

The boys all went and sat down for a break, Y/N and her girls all going to get refills on their drinks.

Y/N was beyond annoyed.

She didn't know what else she had to do to get Mary off of Luke, or away from him.

"Girl how have you not put your hands on her yet? I would've when thought it was okay to try and steal Luke while y'all were dancing." Peyton says, thanking the Bartender.

"I don't fucking know," Y/N scoffs with an amused smirk. "She's insufferable. It's not like I don't trust him because I can tell he is just as annoyed. She just can't take no or take a hint."

"If she were all over Jack, I'd be dragging her out by her long ass fake lashes." Maya says, making the girls laugh as they all sipped on their drinks.

"You may just have to fuck him in front of her to get her to leave y'all be," Peyton shrugs, making Y/N almost spit her drink out.

"You're unbelievable!" Maya laughs loudly, playfully pushing Peyton.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head as she laughs, her face heating up from the comment made. "I can't stand her. She doesn't know how to keep her hands or eyes off of him."

Maya nods and points towards their group. "Especially now."

Y/N looks behind her and towards where Maya is pointing, her joking demeanor falling from her face.

Mary was slyly sitting so close to Luke that she was basically almost on his lap, her legs dangling over his thighs, seeing Luke shrug them off as her face leans against his shoulder.

"If you don't drag her out of here, I fucking will." Peyton says.

Y/N turns back around and downs her drink, asking the bartender for a lemon drop shot. "Girl I don't think another shot is the answer right now. She is basically trying to kiss up on your man right now." Maya says, her eyes staying behind them and staring at Mary and Luke.

"Trust me if there's anything that's going to get Luke going," she thanks the bartender for the shot, and hold it up. "It's this."

"What's a lemon drop shot gonna do?"

"You remember the first night we went out to a party together at the Michigan Hockey house?"

"The night where he basically fucked you on the beer pong table?"

"it's because of the one thing I did that got his jealous ass to catch a hint."

Maya raised a brow. "I'm so confused."

Peyton cut in. "She shotgunned a shot into his mouth while everyone watched."

Maya's eyes widened. "Oh he ate that shit up, I remember that clearly now that you say it."

Y/N nods. "Exactly. Just watch how Miss Possessive works." She takes the shot with her, walling back to their section, watching as Luke shrugs Mary off for the fiftieth time of the night.

Y/N's eyes caught Luke's, the complete relief he felt seeing her face making itself closer to him made him feel loads better.

He saw her holding a small glass in her hand, her eyes leaving his to look at Mary. The girl was watching as she threw a leg over his lap so she sat with them on both sides while facing him. His hands immediately coming to rub alongside her thighs.

"I've never been more happy to see you," he says as he blows out a breath. Her eyes still were looking at Mary, keeping the eye contact as she downs the shot and sets the glass behind her.

That's when Y/N's eyes find Luke's, he sees that she didn't swallow the shot and held it in her mouth. "You good baby?" he asks, his hands rubbing his thighs under her dress.

She says nothing, her hands coming up to lean his head back fully. She takes one of her thumbs and presses it against his bottom lip to have him his mouth, her own head leaning down and over his.

Y/N had one hand resting on the front of his neck, feeling his Adams apple bob, while her other hand sat against his jawline with her thumb pulling his bottom lip down to open his mouth fully.

Luke's eyes became lidded, his pants becoming tighter as he knew what was coming next. Y/N puckered her lips, spitting the shot slowly from her mouth and pour into his own mouth. Once it all emptied into his mouth, Luke watched her bite her bottom lip as she took her thumb and pushed his mouth closed slowly.

"Swallow baby" she says lowly, making his face heat up and listen to her orders. He watched as a drop fell down from her bottom lip, his pants feeling tighter than they have been.

Y/N snaps out of her gaze with Luke, her eyes snapping towards Mary whom looked embarrassed and avoided the pair.

"Damn where can I get me a Y/N?" Nico shouts playfully, earning a chuckle from Y/N.

"Very funny," she says, going to stand from his lap, but is stopped as Luke's hands place a harsher grip on her hips. Her eyes fall back towards the boy, who still has his head back against the couch top and his eyes closed.

"Don't move right now," he says, earning a smirk from Y/N.

"You alright honey?" she jokes, watching him huff out a breath.

Before she knows what's happening, he's sitting up, then stands with her still in his grip. his hands traveling to her ass as he adjusts her. She wraps her legs around his torso, the boys all looking at him with amusement on their faces.

"We're heading out a bit early," Luke says to the boys. "Not feeling too well."

"Yeah I'm sure that's what it is." Jack calls out. Luke squints his eyes at his brother, his eyes looking over at Mary who is looking at Y/N with so much envy and jealousy. So he thought why not add fuel to the fire?

Luke's eyes find his brother's once again. "Fine. I'm turned on, and I'm taking my girl home. Might fuck in the car too. Who knows." Luke says, making Y/N's toes curl at his words.

Jack's eyes widen as Luke smirks, walking away from the crowd yelling out a 'goodnight' as they disappear to exit the club.

"You are a troublemaker, love." Luke says as they make it down the sidewalk.

"Needed to show you're mine." she says, placing kisses down his neck as she grips his curls.

Luke groans, his hands gripping her ass harshly in which causes her to moan against his skin. "You sure are miss possessive huh?"

Y/N's face leave his neck to look up at him with the eyes she knows always make him go crazy. "So what if I am, baby?" she says lowly, his eyes dart from her lips to her eyes multiple times, biting his lip as he smirked.

"Yeah we're not making it down the road before I fuck you in this car."

heyyy maybe you could do a fic where the reader and gavi met and fell in love while she was on her foreign exchange year and when she has to leave, she tells pablo that she’s staying for one more year <3333 tyyyyy💕💕

Destiny

People say things happen for a reason, and you couldn’t agree more. It took you months to convince yourself to take a gap year and do an exchange program in Spain. Right now, you couldn’t imagine your life if you haven’t came to Barcelona and met your man, the infamous footballer Pablo Gavi.

Pablo met you accidentally while ordering himself some breakfast on his way to training seeing you work at the small bakery in town.

It was your way of having money to spend without having your parents send to much but also practicing Spanish.

“Um..para tu café.. quieres um..how to say sugar???” You were struggling badly hoping your boss doesn’t hear since you claimed to be fluent.

“I’d like some sugar, please guapa” Pablo smirked in amusement when he saw your shocked expression that he understood English.

“Umm..o..okay.” You mumbled hearing him call you “guapa” over and over again while avoiding to look into his eyes not wanting to blush like a tomato.

“Do you watch fútbol?” He asked when you brought his coffee and the rest is history…he invited you to once of his games and your story started from there.

From time to time, Pablo still teases you about that day since now you’re fully fluent after speaking to him, friends and his family.

“Cállate cabrón!” You acted annoyed and be would hug you giggling into your neck while leaving open mouth kisses.

“Your cabrón amorcitoo!!!” He said as you cuddled up on the couch giggling to his comment together.

This time with you passed so quickly for Pablo. He would make sure to see your face every single day even if sometimes it had to be just for few minutes before bed. He just wanted to savor that you were close to him not knowing how long that will last. He was scared of asking you to stay..to be with him..to move in finally.

“When is she moving back?” Pedri brought up the question in training and since then Pablo was annoyed whenever he would think about you leaving him so soon.

"What did I say???" Pedri asked Ansu who told him to shut up about that topic around Pablo knowing how secretly sensitive his best friend is.

"He needs to get used to it cause she's leaving soon" Ferran added and when Pablo heard that he felt nauseous rushing back into the dressing room where he sat down crying into his hands.

A few days later, you noticed Pablo feeling unusually sad all the times wondering what's gotten into him so suddenly.

“Hopefully you didn’t forget English, you will need to use it soon” Javi said without thinking during one of the dinners you had with him and Aurora.

Pablo got up walking to the balcony and you looked after him sadly while his sister hit her boyfriends shoulder.

“You had to bring it up huh!??” She said snd Javj apologized but I told him it was all right and that you will bring Pablo back.

“Amor? Que pasa contigo??” You walk up hugging him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder as he sighed heavily.

“Maybe we should speak English, so you practice for when you leave me…” he said annoyingly and you knew this was his defense mechanism. You walk around snaking your arms around his neck and going on your top toes to kiss his lips.

“Is that what makes you my angry bird, cariño..huh?” You smile excited to tell him the news but decided to do so when you are alone tonight.

“I don’t want you to leave…I’m so used to you now and I just…” he looked so sad and you couldn’t help kissing to shut him up.

“Te amo!!!” You smile and he does as well although weakly since he was still thinking about you being so far away so soon.

“Yo te amo muchisimo princesa” you he said kissing your forehead as you took his hand and walked back inside.

“I’m sorry hermano, didn’t mean to make you sad” Javj said and Pablo nodded saying that it’s not his fault.

“My girl is leaving so soon…” he says and you couldn’t wait anymore hating to see him so sad.

“I’m not leaving cariño…” you say taking a bite and he froze starting at you in disbelief while you chuckled looking at Aurora who was getting excited now.

"W..what???" he said and you giggled asking him to take a sip of water first since he was indeed getting pale and anxious.

"Are you staying!? Tell us hermana!" Aurora was just as impatient and you giggled nodding your head while Pablo was still silent just staring at you in disbelief.

"You can kiss me now cariño..." you said but Pablo was still frozen which was so adorable especially when his gorgeous eyes filled with happy tears. That's all he wanted to hear for so long..that you'll stay..that you won't leave him..that he was your home.

"Unless you don't want me to stay?" you ask and he immediately snaps out of it rushing to your side and grabbing your face before crashing his lips onto yours passionately making everyone giggle.

"Um..um..h..how long?" he was crying now and you were drying his tears kissing his cheeks, nose and finally lips.

"Forever..I got into one of the universities here and I accepted their offer. I want to be here with you Pablito..." you said and couldn't add anything else since he was kissing your again happily.

"Will you stop eating her face so I can hug her too!?" Aurora hit her little brother's head and he got up rolling his eyes at her smiling tho when she hugged you too kissing your cheek happily.

"Thank you for not leaving me with the angry bird Gavira!!! I love you hermana." Aurora said and you both laughed while Pablo groaned rolling his eyes at the little remark. You would always call him 'an angry bird' when he would throw his tantrums but he loved to hear it when it came from you...because you were the only one who could deal with his angry bird.

"My handsome angry bird..." you walked up to Gavi who snaked his arms around your waist while you held his face smiling at his bluhsing cheeks before going on your tip toes and capturing his lips into a sweet kiss.

"Um..I know it might be sudden..and it's totally fine if you eanna keep living alone..but..but..um..would you..maybe wanna live with me instead?" Pablo asked and Aurora smiled wide cheering with Javi while everyone looked at you now waiting for a response.

You just smiled nodding your head and jumping into his arms with your hands snaked around his neck and he spun you around happily thanking god you said 'yes' or he might have made fool of himself.

"Te amo muchisimo!!!" Pablo kept saying in between kisses and you giggled nodding your head trying to say it back but his kisses wouldn't let you talk.

"Congrats hermano!" both Javi and Aurora congratulated you before deciding to leave early and let you enjoy some alone time you both obviously desperately wanted right now.

You were cleaning up the dishes while he took out the trash coming back and snaking his arms around your waist resting his head on your shoulder leaving little kisses on your neck.

"Now that this is our home...I can do this much more often" he said and you blushed nodding you head happy for the future you will share together.

"Stop distracting me Pablito!!!" you said and he giggled promising to behave while you get your work done although you both knew that was not going to last long.

"Thank you for not leaving amor...te amo" he said and you smiled finishing the last plate before turning around and hugging him back before you both started kissing and moving towards your shared bedroom.

You were currently laying with your naked chest glued to Pablo's while he played with your hair and you nuzzled your face into his neck taking in his strong familiar scent. This felt like home...

"It's destiny..." he said and you looked up

"What is amor?" you ask and he leaned down to kiss you sweetly.

"You not knowing how to say sugar in Español..." he teased you per usual and you hit his chest before he laughed getting on top of you and kissing you deeply.

"I hate you!!" you say and he tickled you until you gave up and said "te amo Pablito!!!" which made him let you breathe and pull you close for more cuddles before sleep. ❤️❤️❤️

Hope you enjoyed!!!

Prophecy | Finale

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One | Two | Three (you're here)

Description: Following the viral video of Paige and Azzi, you spend the next three months redefining what perfect means. Each shot becomes a statement, each swish echoing with something colder than precision. Your teammates watch you stay late every night, turning heartbreak into headlines, until even UConn's dynasty seems breakable.

The game approaches like destiny. Harvard versus UConn in the Final Four, a collision course that ESPN calls "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For." Twenty thousand tickets sell out in minutes. The whole sport holds its breath.

You haven't spoken to Paige since that night in the snow. Haven't read her texts or opened her letter. Instead, you let your game speak - 47 against Princeton, 51 against Yale, perfect shooting in both. They call it The Revenge Tour, though you never bother correcting them.

Now Dallas looms like a storm on the horizon. One game to prove that some things break you, and some things make you unbreakable.

This is the story of which one you become.

WC: 11k

WEEK ONE

After that night in the gym, you don’t miss. Not once.

Every shot is a calculation, a release, a fury of physics and heartbreak. Each arc is perfect, each swish feels like vengeance. The ball obeys because it has to. Because it’s the only thing left that makes sense.

Paige’s texts come in like a storm. Desperate, raw, and relentless:

Monday (3:47 AM): please just let me explain.

Monday (4:15 AM): it wasn't what it looked like.

Monday (4:22 AM): i miss you.

Monday (4:45 AM): please answer.

You sit on your bed staring at the ceiling, the blue glow of your phone lighting the room like a taunt. Sierra grabs it from your hands and sets it face down on your desk. “Nope.”

By Tuesday, the messages get sharper, more frantic

Tuesday (2:13 AM): i know you’re mad. i’d be mad too.

Tuesday (3:01 AM): rocket, please. you mean everything to me.

Tuesday (3:45 AM): i never meant to hurt you. i’d do anything to take it back.

By Wednesday, she calls. Seventeen times. Sierra’s thumb hovers over the block button. Jasmine glances at you, but you just lace up your shoes and head for the gym.

Thursday, the texts shift to something softer, almost pleading:

"i know you're reading these."

"just tell me you're okay."

"god, i miss you."

"please just talk to me"

Sierra and Jasmine take turns deleting the messages before you can see them, but you know. You always know.

“She’s hurting,” Jasmine says carefully one night, her voice soft like she’s walking a tightrope.

"Good," you respond, and sink another three.

WEEK TWO

The texts get longer, more rambling.

"i know i screwed up. i don’t even know how to start fixing it. all i know is that i want to."

"i miss how you made me feel like the best version of myself. like i could do anything."

"i miss you solving equations while watching film. i miss your voice. i miss you."

"rocket, i love you. i don’t care if you don’t believe me right now, but it’s the truth. i love you."

"please just tell me to fuck off or something. anything is better than this silence."

You don’t read them, but Sierra does. She updates you with clipped summaries: “She’s still apologizing. Still desperate.” You just nod, focusing on your form. Release. Swish.

“She says she loves you,” Sierra says one day, her voice careful.

“Doesn’t matter,” you reply, grabbing another ball.

WEEK THREE

Thursday evening, it snows. Heavy, wet flakes that stick to the ground and blanket campus in white. You’re in the gym, as always, the only sound the steady rhythm of the ball hitting the floor, then the net.

Sierra bursts in, out of breath, snowflakes clinging to her jacket.

“She’s here,” she says, voice strained.

You pause mid-shot, the ball resting heavy in your hands. “What?”

“Paige,” Sierra says. “She’s outside. Just standing there. She’s not leaving until you talk to her.”

You blink, your pulse quickening. “In the snow?”

“Yes. In the snow,” Sierra snaps. “Want me to handle it?”

You glance at the door, at the faint glow of the snowstorm through the windows. Your chest feels tight.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly.

Sierra looks surprised but doesn’t argue. “You sure?”

You nod, dropping the ball onto the rack. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

You push open the gym door, and the cold hits you like a slap. The snow is coming down hard now, heavy flakes swirling in the wind and catching in your hair, on your lashes, melting instantly on your skin. The air bites at your face, sharp and unforgiving, and you pull your sweatshirt tighter around you as you step into the storm.

Paige is there.

She’s standing under the dim glow of the parking lot light, a lone figure against the blanketed white. Her coat is too thin for this weather, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if that could keep the cold out. Snowflakes dust her hair, her shoulders, even her lashes, sticking there like delicate glass. Her nose and cheeks are red, raw from the wind, and her breath comes out in uneven clouds that catch the faint light before disappearing.

Your heart pounds as you take her in. It’s not fair, how seeing her still makes your chest tighten, how her very presence feels like it could knock you off balance. You feel your feet ache against the frozen pavement, the sting of cold air in your lungs, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your chest.

She looks up as you approach, her eyes locking onto yours immediately. They’re red, glassy, the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears making them glisten. She uncrosses her arms, her hands trembling, and takes a single step forward.

“Rocket,” she says, and her voice cracks. Just that one word, and it’s enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You stop a few feet away, planting your sneakers firmly into the snow to keep steady. Your throat feels tight, your tongue heavy. For a moment, you can’t speak. You just stare at her, the silence between you as thick as the snow falling all around.

“What are you doing here?” you manage finally. Your voice is sharper than you intended, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to sound anything but cold.

She shifts, wiping her hands on her coat as if that’ll stop them from shaking. “I—I had to see you,” she stammers. “You weren’t answering, and I just—” Her voice breaks again, and she swallows hard, trying to steady herself. “I just needed to try.”

The words hang in the air, weighty and raw. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay grounded, to not let your emotions spiral. The wind picks up, whipping snowflakes against your face, and you blink hard against the sting.

“You’ve said enough,” you say, your voice flat.

“I know,” she says quickly, stepping forward again. Her boots crunch against the snow, and the sound feels deafening in the quiet. “I know I’ve said everything wrong. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to say. I just—” She takes a shaky breath, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I need you to know how sorry I am. How I got into my head leading up to it. I was scared. I’m sorry. For everything. For ruining us.”

Your breath catches at that, and your chest tightens even more. Her words hit like a weight, heavy and suffocating, and for a moment, you don’t trust yourself to respond. You feel the sting in your fingers, the way the cold air pinches your ears, the dull ache in your feet from standing still too long.

“It wasn’t just a mistake, Paige,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound steady. “It was trust. It was everything we had.”

She nods quickly, tears finally spilling over. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, trying to hide it, but her hands are shaking too much. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I know I broke it. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you.”

The tears keep falling, streaking down her red cheeks, and she doesn’t bother wiping them anymore. Her shoulders shake, but she doesn’t look away from you. You want to turn away, to stop seeing her like this, but you can’t. Your eyes burn, your throat feels raw, and the weight in your chest only grows heavier.

“I loved you,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Her breath catches audibly, and you see her shoulders slump further, like the words are knives she’s been bracing for.

“I love you,” she says, her voice breaking entirely. “I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

The snow falls harder now, coating everything in a thick, suffocating white. You feel it collect on your shoulders, your hair, melting down your neck. Paige shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, her breaths coming out in ragged clouds.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you as you stare at Paige. The snow falls heavier now, landing on her lashes and melting against her flushed cheeks. Her nose is red, her hands trembling as they clench at her sides. The cold bites at your skin, your ears pinching, your feet aching, but none of it feels as sharp as the weight in your chest.

“Go home,” you say, your voice cracking slightly despite your attempt to sound firm.

Paige doesn’t move. Her wide, red-rimmed eyes stay locked on yours, brimming with fresh tears. Her lips part, but no words come, just a soft, shaky breath. Then:

“Please,” she whispers, barely audible over the wind. Her voice is raw, broken, and it hits you like a punch. She takes a step closer, her boots crunching in the snow, her hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she can’t. “Please,” she says again, the word shaking with everything she’s trying to say but can’t.

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening as you force yourself to stand your ground. “Paige,” you say, softer now, almost pleading yourself. “Go home.”

She flinches, like the words physically hurt, but she doesn’t argue this time. She nods slowly, blinking hard against the tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders slump as she turns away, her steps hesitant, dragging in the snow like she’s leaving pieces of herself behind with every step.

You watch her walk toward the far end of the parking lot, her figure blurry through the curtain of falling snow. She stops once, just for a moment, her back to you. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but the motion is weak, almost futile. Then she moves again, trudging toward the lone car parked under the faint glow of a streetlamp.

The driver’s side window rolls down as Paige approaches, and you see KK leaning out, her face a mix of concern and frustration. KK says something—low and sharp, the words lost in the wind—and Paige shakes her head, opening the passenger door and climbing in without another glance in your direction.

The car idles for a moment, exhaust puffing into the frozen air, and you catch a glimpse of KK glancing your way, her gaze hard but questioning, like she’s debating whether to come out and say something. But she doesn’t.

The brake lights flare as the car shifts into gear, and then they’re gone, disappearing down the snow-covered road.

You stay rooted to the spot, the cold seeping through your clothes, the sound of their departure fading into silence. You don’t move for a long time, staring at the empty space where they’d been, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

You stand there long after the car disappears into the swirling snow, the cold seeping into your bones. Your feet ache from standing still, your fingers sting from the frost, and your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. You force yourself to turn, your legs heavy as you walk back toward the gym, the door looming like a safe haven you don’t feel like you deserve.

The moment you push it open, the heat rushes out to meet you, thick and suffocating. It hits your face like a wall, and suddenly, you realize how cold you were—how raw your skin feels, how your ears throb with the warmth sinking in. You blink against the hot air, your vision blurring, and that’s when you feel it. The damp streaks on your cheeks, the burning in your eyes.

You were crying.

The thought stuns you for a moment, but there’s no time to process it. Your feet move automatically, carrying you deeper into the gym. The echo of your footsteps bounces off the empty court, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness. You make your way to the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber hitting you like a memory you didn’t ask for.

Inside, Sierra and Jasmine are waiting. They’re sitting on one of the benches, their expressions tight and unsure, like they don’t know what to say—or if they should say anything at all.

Your eyes meet Sierra’s first, and the look she gives you is soft, pitying, like she’s trying to hold you together with just her gaze. Jasmine looks away quickly, her hands fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, her shoulders tense with unspoken guilt.

Neither of them says a word.

You don’t either. You don’t have the energy.

You walk past them, your legs threatening to give out, and sink onto the bench in front of your locker. The cold from outside is still in your body, lingering in your muscles, making everything ache. You press your hands to your knees, trying to ground yourself, but the weight in your chest is too much.

It breaks.

You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as the sobs finally come. They tear out of you, raw and uncontrollable, and you can’t stop them even if you wanted to. The locker room fills with the sound of your crying—ugly, unfiltered, and nothing like The Prophecy at all.

Sierra shifts behind you, and for a moment, you think she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Neither of them does. They just sit there, giving you space to break apart, their quiet presence the only thing holding you from completely falling apart.

Your tears soak into your palms, your breath coming in gasps, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel the full weight of it all. The cold, the betrayal, the way her voice cracked when she said, “I love you.” It crashes over you, relentless and unrelenting.

And you let it.

Because in this moment, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to calculate the pain away or turn it into fuel.

For now, you just let yourself break.

WEEK SIX

Her last attempt comes in the form of a letter. Handwritten. Twelve pages. Sierra finds it slipped under your door one gray morning, the paper just slightly bent, as though it had been clenched tightly before being left there.

“Want me to burn it?” Sierra asks, holding it up like it’s fragile, like even touching it too long might do damage.

You don’t answer at first, your eyes fixed on the envelope. Your name is written in Paige’s handwriting, unmistakably hers—soft, looping, careful. It looks like she spent a long time on just that one word. The ink is smudged in places, faint blotches where you know she must have paused, maybe wiped her eyes.

“Rocket?” Sierra asks again, her voice gentler this time.

You reach out, hesitating before your fingers brush the paper. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding every unsaid word she couldn’t force into those desperate texts, every plea she couldn’t voice the last time she saw you.

“No,” you say quietly, your voice firm despite the knot in your chest. “Don’t burn it.”

Sierra doesn’t press. “What should I do with it?”

You swallow hard, still staring at the envelope like it might crack open on its own. “Keep it,” you murmur finally. “For after March.”

The corner of her mouth twitches in a faint, understanding nod. She tucks the letter carefully into her bag without another word.

Because that’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? Every ignored call, every perfect shot, every breath you’ve taken since that night in the gym has been leading to one thing: March.

Two weeks later, the bracket drops.

Harvard vs. UConn. Sweet Sixteen.

You hear whispers everywhere—teammates speculating, reporters asking veiled questions about how you feel about the matchup. You stay quiet, dodging the noise with an unshakable focus that keeps the world at bay.

Paige doesn’t text. She doesn’t call. But one night, you see it.

It’s subtle, so subtle you almost miss it: a photo on her Instagram story.

She’s sitting on the floor of her dorm, the soft golden light of a bedside lamp pooling around her. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her head resting on her arms. There’s no caption, no obvious sign of you. But in the corner of the frame, hanging off the back of a chair, is your Harvard hoodie.

The air leaves your lungs.

It’s so small, so quiet, but it feels loud in your chest.

Sierra notices you staring at your phone and gives you a sharp look. “Don’t,” she warns.

“I’m not,” you reply, locking your phone and sliding it across the table.

And you aren’t.

Instead, you lace up your sneakers and head to the gym.

30 DAYS TO MARCH MADNESS

The bracket predictions start rolling in. Every analyst has the same storyline: Harvard and UConn are destined to meet in the championship.

ESPN calls it "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For."

You don’t watch their coverage. You don’t need to. You just shoot.

Paige’s last text comes at 2 AM:

“i still miss you.”

You delete it without reading. (Sierra tells you about it later anyway.)

25 DAYS

“Did you hear?” Jasmine says as she slides into the locker room after practice, her voice quieter than usual.

You don’t look up. “Hear what?”

“Paige was at some party last night. Someone saw her with... someone.”

You pause mid-lace, your fingers tightening. “And?”

“She’s... moving on. Or trying to.”

Later, Sierra shows you the photo: Paige with her arm around a tall blonde, both laughing like the world doesn’t hurt them.

You close your phone, drop it in your bag, and hit the gym for 200 straight shots. Each one lands, clean and precise, but your chest tightens with every swish.

At midnight, Sierra finds you still there. “She’s doing this on purpose,” she says softly.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to make you feel what she’s feeling.”

You grab another ball, square your shoulders. “Bold of her to assume I still care.”

(You do. God, you do.)

20 DAYS

Your game is evolving. Whatever limits you thought existed don’t anymore. You’re not just making shots—you’re erasing boundaries.

Reporters ask Coach about it after Harvard crushes Penn by 30 points. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

She shakes her head, her voice filled with awe. “She’s playing like someone who has nothing left to lose.”

Because you don’t.

15 DAYS

Another photo surfaces: Paige dancing at a club, the same blonde close enough to blur the line between friendly and intimate. The image spreads through whispers, not headlines, but it’s enough to reach you.

The next morning, Jasmine deletes all your social media apps. “Focus on what matters,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

So you do:

47 points against Princeton.

51 against Yale.

Perfect shooting in both games.

The whispers around you grow louder. People call it The Revenge Tour, though you don’t bother correcting them.

You let your game speak for itself.

10 DAYS

Harvard enters March Madness ranked #1 for the first time in school history. UConn is #2.

The narrative writes itself:

Ice vs Fire.

You hear the buzz but tune it out. Paige posts a hype video for the tournament. There’s no sign of you in her clips, but you don’t need to be.

That night, you shoot until your arms shake. The sound of each swish reverberates through the gym, the echoes cutting through your chest like heartbreak.

5 DAYS

The tournament begins, and you burn through the first two rounds like wildfire:

45 points against Florida State.

52 against Tennessee.

You still haven’t missed.

UConn advances too. Paige plays like she’s on fire, dropping 38 against Duke and 41 against LSU. But she misses. She stumbles. She’s human. She’s flawed.

You tell yourself that’s why she couldn’t keep you. Because perfection is lonely.

2 DAYS

The Final Four is set: Harvard vs. UConn. The matchup everyone’s been waiting for.

Your teammates feel the weight of it, the buzz of history swirling around them, but you stay quiet. Focused.

“Are you ready?” Coach asks after practice.

You glance at her, your expression steady. “Always.”

1 DAY

The press conference is brutal. Every question is a thinly veiled attempt to dig into the drama. Paige. The rumors. 

You give them nothing.

“I’m here to play basketball,” you say flatly. “Nothing else matters.”

Later that night, alone in your hotel room, you stare at the letter Sierra saved weeks ago. It sits on the desk like it’s daring you to open it.

Your hands shake as you unfold the pages.

The first three lines hit harder than you expect:

"I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I broke something perfect. I know I lost the best thing that ever happened to me."

You stop reading. You don’t need to see the rest.

The paper burns easily in the sink, the edges curling in on themselves like the words are folding into ash.

Tomorrow isn’t about forgiveness.

It’s about proving that some things break you.

And some things make you unbreakable.

Time to show her which one you are.

THE FINAL FOUR: HARVARD VS UCONN

The arena in Dallas feels alive, like it has a pulse of its own. Twenty thousand fans pack the stands, and the roar of the crowd is more than sound—it’s energy, crackling in the air, vibrating through the floor. You can feel it in your chest, in the way your heart beats a little faster as you stand in the tunnel, waiting.

This is the game. The one people will talk about for decades.

“Harvard vs. UConn,” ESPN’s voices echo faintly from the screens overhead, carrying over the din “The Game Women’s Basketball Has Been Waiting For.”

“Harvard’s perfect season against UConn’s dynasty.”

“Two programs. Two stars. One unmissable collision course.”

You don’t look at the screens. Don’t let the noise creep in. You focus instead on the rhythm of your breathing, the weight of the ball in your hands, the perfect arcs playing out in your mind. Force vectors, trajectories, momentum. The physics of what’s about to happen.

Sierra steps up beside you, her face all business, her game face as sharp as you’ve ever seen it. “You good?”

You nod once. She doesn’t ask if you’re sure. She’s seen you these past weeks—seen the extra hours, the obsession, the way you’ve turned heartbreak into something almost unrecognizable. She’s seen you rewrite what’s possible when perfect turns to steel.

“They’re out there,” Jasmine says quietly, stepping up on your other side.

Your stomach tightens, but you don’t let it show. 

“You’re sure you’re good?” Sierra presses, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m perfect,” you say flatly, the word cold and sharp.

The crowd’s roar deepens, and you know UConn must be taking the court for warmups. You can picture it without looking: Paige leading them out, her stride confident, her expression poised. She feeds off this energy, always has, like she was built for these moments.

You think about everything—every ignored text, every late-night practice, every time Paige’s name appeared on your phone screen and you turned away. You think about the letter, folded and burned, its words turned to ash: "I know I broke something perfect."

“I’m ready,” you say, voice steady.

Coach nods. “Good.” She turns to the team. “Ladies, listen up. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to tonight. They’re bigger, they’re stronger, and they’ve got more banners in their gym than we’ll ever see. But we’ve got something they don’t.”

She looks at you, and there's something fierce in her eyes.

"We've got perfect."

The team huddles up, hands in. But before they can do their usual chant, you speak. It's the first time you've addressed them all day.

"When we take that court," your voice is quiet but carries weight, "you're going to hear a lot of noise. They're going to talk about everything except basketball. But that's not why we're here."

Your teammates lean in closer.

"We're here because I made you all a promise three years ago. That we'd make history. That we'd show the world what Harvard basketball really is. That we'd be perfect when it matters most."

You look each of them in the eye.

"Tonight, we keep that promise."

The tunnel erupts in fierce agreement. Your teammates are ready for war.

"One minute!" calls the official.

You close your eyes for a moment, center yourself. Think about all the shots that led here. All the nights in empty gyms. All the physics problems solved between free throws. All the moments that built The Prophecy.

And yes, you think about her. About early mornings in her dorm. Late nights watching film. The way she said your name like it was something precious. The way she looked at someone else the same way.

The anger rises, cold and precise. You use it, let it sharpen your focus until everything else falls away.

The tunnel lights flicker as the official signals. It’s time.

"Ready?" Sierra asks one last time.

You step toward the light of the arena, toward the noise, toward destiny.

"Perfect," you say.

And then you emerge into madness.

The sound hits you like a wave the second you step onto the court. It’s not just noise; it’s a force, a physical thing that presses against you, vibrating in your chest.

"THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY!"

The chant rolls through the arena like thunder, swelling as the crowd rises to their feet. Signs wave above the sea of faces:

"PERFECTION WEARS CRIMSON"

"847-2: THE PROPHECY SPEAKS"

Your entrance stops UConn's warmups cold. Every player freezes mid-drill, even the legendary Geno Auriemma turns to watch. You catch Paige's reaction in your peripheral vision—the way she stumbles slightly, ball slipping from her fingers. But you don't look at her. Won't give her that.

The Harvard section is delirious, but it's more than that. The neutral fans, the media, even some UConn supporters are on their feet. This is what happens when you spend three months turning heartbreak into headlines, when you take "perfect" and make it look easy.

Your teammates hit the court, their warmups sharper, fueled by the energy of the crowd. But your routine is different. Quieter. Singular.

You start at the three-point line, the ball resting in your hands. The noise fades as you focus, your heartbeat steadying. One shot.

Swish.

The explosion of noise is deafening. You don't react. Just catch, shoot, swish. Again. Again. Again.

On the other end, UConn's trying to maintain their composure, but you can feel their eyes on you. Feel the way their usual swagger has been replaced by something else. Something that looks like doubt.

Your teammates are feeding off the energy now. Sierra drills a corner three, the ball cutting through the net with a satisfying snap. Jasmine blocks one of Taylor’s layups in a mock defensive drill, both of them grinning fiercely.

"Focus on our game!" Geno barks, but even he keeps glancing your way.

The media's having a field day. Every camera in the building is trained on you, catching every perfect shot, every ice-cold expression. ESPN's commentary carries over the speakers:

"We're watching something unprecedented here, Rebecca. The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she's transcendent. Look at the way UConn's players are watching her. They're supposed to be the dynasty, the standard-bearers, but right now they look shook—"

And still, you don’t look at Paige.

The crowd's volume keeps building, impossibly louder with each perfect shot you make. NBA players sitting courtside are shaking their heads in disbelief. Olympic champions in the stands are filming on their phones. This isn't just a warmup anymore—it's a statement.

Finally, mercifully for UConn, the buzzer sounds to clear the court for final preparations. As the teams head to their benches, you allow yourself one glance at their side. Just one.

Paige is standing near the sideline, her hands resting on her hips, her gaze fixed on you. For a split second, your eyes meet. Her expression shifts—shock, pain, something that might be regret.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer, then turn away, your face unreadable.

You turn away, face impassive. But inside, the cold fire burns hotter.

Because this isn’t about her anymore.

This isn’t about heartbreak or revenge.

This is about showing the world what happens when perfect stops trying to be loved.

And starts trying to be legendary.

The starting lineups are about to be announced, and the arena hums with anticipation, the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms stand on end. It’s not just loud—it’s electric, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Every cheer, every chant, every flash of a camera feels sharper, brighter, heavier. History is about to be made.

The announcer’s voice booms, reverberating through the cavernous space, calling out names that blur into the roar of the crowd. You barely hear them—don’t need to. You’re locked in. You can feel the ball’s weight in your hand even though you’re not holding it, the phantom rhythm of your dribble steadying your pulse.

The Prophecy is about to speak.

And everyone—Paige, UConn, the world—is about to listen.

Sierra wins the tip with authority, the ball snapping to Maria like it’s been rehearsed a thousand times. Harvard’s ball. The crowd leans forward collectively, the sound dropping to an expectant hum as you cross half court, their energy feeding into the moment.

UConn’s defense is already set. You see it as soon as you step over the timeline: box-and-one. Four players sagging into a tight zone, leaving Paige on you.

Of course they’d make her guard you. Of course.

She’s close, closer than you expected, the kind of tight defense that borders on personal. Her eyes flicker for a moment, uncertainty bleeding through her usual focus.

“Please…” she whispers, so quiet it almost gets lost in the noise. “Can we just—”

You don’t let her finish.

A crossover—quick, precise, lethal—cuts her off mid-sentence. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath, as Paige stumbles, her footing faltering for just a second. But a second is all you need.

You rise up from 25 feet, the motion as natural as breathing. Perfect form. Perfect rotation.

Swish.

The crowd detonates.

3-0 Harvard.

"THE PROPHECY STRIKES FIRST!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "ICE COLD FROM DEEP!"

UConn pushes the ball upcourt fast, their transition game as polished as ever. Paige has that look now—the one that used to make your chest tighten, the one that once made you believe she could do anything. Now, it’s just data to process, another variable in the equation you’ve already solved.

She drives hard to the right, her speed and body control flawless. She’s counting on you to back off, to avoid contact, to give her just enough room for the pull-up jumper she’s perfected.

But you don’t.

Your body stays with hers, every step mirrored, every shift anticipated. When she rises for the shot, your hand is already there, contesting at the perfect angle. The ball leaves her hands, spinning slightly off-axis.

Clank.

The sound of the ball hitting the rim feels louder than it should, the miss reverberating through the arena like a misstep in a symphony.

“REJECTION!” The crowd erupts again, their voices rising to a fever pitch. “THE PROPHECY WITH THE PERFECT DEFENSE ON THE PRINCE!”

Maria grabs the rebound and pushes the break. You trail deliberately, your movements fluid, waiting for the play to unfold. The ball swings to you on the wing. Another catch. Another perfect release.

Swish.

6-0 Harvard.

Geno Auriemma doesn’t hesitate. Timeout, 47 seconds in. His voice carries across the court, sharp and commanding as he pulls his players in, trying to steady a ship that’s already rocking.

The ESPN commentators are incredulous. “I’ve never seen anything like this! The Prophecy isn’t just scoring—she’s controlling the entire game. And having Paige Bueckers guard her it’s psychological warfare at its finest.”

In the huddle, Coach Matthews stays calm, her voice steady amidst the chaos. “Keep executing. They’re rattled.”

Your teammates nod, feeding off her composure. You don’t say anything, don’t need to. The look in your eyes says enough.

Back on the court, UConn shifts their defense. KK Arnold takes over guarding you, her physicality immediately apparent. Paige shifts to Jasmine, but you feel her eyes on you anyway, like a weight pressing against your back.

You make her pay for it.

A quick backdoor cut—sharp, timed to perfection—leaves her a step behind. Maria sees it instantly, the lob arcing perfectly into your hands. You lay it in cleanly, barely breaking stride.

8-0 Harvard.

The UConn section is restless now, the nervous energy rippling through their chants.

From the crowd you hear, “She's not that special! Lock her up!"

The next time down, you catch the ball at the top of the key, KK’s hand pressing into your hip. You rise anyway, unfazed. The ball barely brushes the net on its way through.

11-0 Harvard.

Geno is furious, calling out defensive adjustments. But there's something different about UConn's energy—they're not just trailing, they're shook.

Paige tries to take over, driving hard to the rim with an intensity that feels more desperate than controlled. Her first step is sharp, her movements calculated, but there’s something frantic in the way she moves—like she’s trying to match you shot for shot, trying to prove something to herself as much as to the crowd.

Her floater arcs high but catches the back iron and rolls out.

The crowd groans, the sound rippling through the UConn section like a wave of disbelief. Paige’s jaw tightens as she sprints back on defense, but you’ve already moved on, focused, untouchable.

On the next possession, she pulls up for a three. It’s a clean look, her form textbook, but the ball rims out again, drawing a gasp from the fans and a loud clank that echoes through the arena.

Then she drives again, barreling into the paint, trying to force her way through Sierra’s perfect positioning. The ball pops loose, Sierra’s quick hands stripping it clean, and the Harvard section explodes in cheers.

Meanwhile, you’re somewhere else entirely.

Athletes talk about it, but few ever get there: the space where time slows, where the game feels less like competition and more like art. The roar of the crowd fades into a low hum, the edges of the court softening as everything sharpens around the ball in your hands.

It’s not just instinct—it’s control, precision, the physics of perfection in every step. Each shot feels inevitable, each movement unfolding like an equation you’ve already solved.

On defense, you can feel the tension radiating from UConn, their movements tighter, their communication louder. When Emma finally scores off a put-back—muscling through a sea of Harvard defenders—the UConn section celebrates like it’s a game-winner.

11-2 Harvard.

You glance at the scoreboard, then at your teammates, your calm focus unshaken. They know what’s coming next.

You show UConn what victory really looks like.

KK Arnold presses into you as you bring the ball up the court, her hands swiping aggressively, trying to throw you off balance. You shift your weight left, plant your foot, and cross over so quickly it sends her stumbling, her arms flailing for balance as the crowd gasps.

You take one step back, rising effortlessly over Caroline’s outstretched arms as she contests, her fingertips barely brushing the air beneath the ball.

Swish.

16-2 Harvard.

The Harvard bench leaps to their feet, arms raised, while the UConn section sits frozen, unsure of how to react. Geno is pacing now, barking orders to his team, his sharp voice cutting through the tension.

"We're watching history," the announcer's voice trembles with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just winning—she's rewriting what's possible in this sport."

Paige is pressing harder, trying to shoulder the burden of momentum, but it’s slipping through her fingers. She forces another drive, this time straight into Sierra, who holds her ground like a wall. The whistle doesn’t blow, and Paige stumbles as the ball goes loose again, Maria scooping it up and feeding you on the wing.

The moment your hands touch the ball, you already know what’s going to happen.

Perfect rhythm. Perfect form. Perfect swish.

UConn tries everything: double teams, traps, full-court pressure. Nothing works. You split defenders like they're standing still, find teammates for open shots when they sell out to stop you, and when they give you any space at all.

The quarter ends with one final dagger. UConn tries to hold for the last shot, but you read Paige's eyes—you always could read her eyes—and jump the passing lane. The steal leads to a breakaway with three seconds left.

Most players would lay it in. Safe. Smart.

But The Prophecy isn't most players.

You take off from just inside the free-throw line, rising up as the buzzer sounds. The ball leaves your hands at the perfect angle, with the perfect spin, following the perfect arc.

Swish. As time expires.

29-10 Harvard.

The arena absolutely detonates. Your teammates mob you as you walk calmly to the bench. Even Coach Matthews cracks a smile.

In their huddle, you can see Geno gesturing frantically, see Paige's head hanging.

But none of that matters.

Because this isn't about them anymore.

This is about perfect.

And perfect is just getting started.

The second quarter opens with UConn desperate to change the momentum. Their energy is sharp, frantic, the kind that comes from a team not used to being punched first. Geno has abandoned the box-and-one, switching to a triangle-and-two defense. It’s designed to suffocate you—two defenders shadowing your every step, cutting off your air, daring the rest of your team to beat them.

You glance at Paige and KK as they close in, their feet shuffling in sync. Paige’s jaw is tight, her expression unreadable, but there’s tension in her shoulders, the kind you’ve seen in every film session this week. KK is louder, her movements brash, barking orders at the rest of the defense.

The first possession, you take the ball at the top of the key, waiting for the defense to swarm. KK gets there first, her hands low and active, trying to force you left. Paige closes in immediately after, her presence suffocating.

You don’t flinch. You shift just enough to pull both defenders with you, then flick a no-look pass to Sierra cutting baseline. The ball drops into her hands, and she lays it in cleanly, untouched.

31-10 Harvard.

"The Prophecy showing she can dominate without scoring!" ESPN's excitement builds. "This is basketball genius at its finest!"

Then it happens.

Four minutes into the quarter. Harvard up 37-15. You shake loose from the double team, slicing through the defense like a knife through fabric. Sierra's screen creating the perfect angle of separation (47 degrees, optimal for catch-and-shoot scenarios), your feet set precisely shoulder-width apart, knees bent at the textbook 110-degree angle.

The ball feels good leaving your hands—perfect, even. The rotation is clean, the arc flawless, the trajectory straight out of a physics textbook. It’s the kind of shot you’ve made thousands of times. The kind of shot you don’t even need to watch to know it’s good.

But sometimes, the universe has other plans.

The ball hits the back rim, bouncing straight up, a little too high, a little too slow. It hovers for an agonizing second.

The entire arena holds its breath. Twenty thousand people frozen, watching the impossible happen. The ball hangs there, defying gravity for one more precious second, before falling away.

You’ve missed.

The UConn bench explodes, their cheers wild and unfiltered, like they’ve just won the championship. Their fans echo the celebration, chants swelling and overlapping.

"SHE’S HUMAN! SHE’S HUMAN!”

Paige takes a step toward you, instinct guiding her more than logic. It’s the same look you’ve seen in practices, in dorm rooms, in quiet moments when her guard was down. She wants to reach out, to say something, to bridge the gap between who you were to each other and who you are now.

But she stops herself. Her foot hovers for half a second before she steps back, her hand falling limp at her side. She remembers where she is. Who she’s supposed to be to you now.

And still, everyone waits.

Your teammates glance at you nervously. They’ve seen what happens when you miss. They know the last time you broke. They know why.

But you're not the same person who broke in that dark gym.

Instead of shattering, you do something no one expects.

You smile.

It’s small, controlled, more ice than warmth, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the arena. The silence shifts into something sharper, heavier.

The message is clear: Missing doesn’t break me anymore.

Nothing does.

"Oh my," the ESPN announcer’s voice is barely above a whisper. "That might be the scariest smile I’ve ever seen in basketball."

Next possession.

You take the ball at half court, KK and Paige closing in again. Their energy is different now—more cautious, less certain. They’re waiting for you to pass, waiting for you to hesitate, waiting for the doubt to creep in.

But it doesn’t.

You glance at the defense sagging just slightly, expecting hesitation, and then you do the thing no one else would.

You rise from the logo, the shot pure and effortless, the ball spinning through the air like it was destined to fall.

Swish.

40-15 Harvard.

The arena erupts.

Your teammates are screaming, their hands raised in disbelief. Coach Matthews stands for the first time all game, clipboard forgotten, her face a rare mix of awe and pride.

"THAT'S HOW YOU RESPOND TO ADVERSITY!" ESPN's voice cracks with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she’s unstoppable!"

UConn calls timeout, but it's too late. They've lost whatever psychological edge they thought they'd gained. The rest of the quarter becomes a masterclass:

You hit threes over double teams.

Thread passes through impossible angles.

Turn their defense into a highlight reel of broken ankles and shattered hopes.

By halftime, the score is 52-27 Harvard. You've got 31 points, 8 assists, and a message that's louder than any perfect streak:

Some things break you.

Some things make you unbreakable.

And sometimes, becoming unbreakable is better than being perfect.

The teams head to their locker rooms, but the story of the second quarter isn't the score. It's the smile after the miss. The logo three that followed. The moment when The Prophecy proved that she's not just a perfect player.

HALFTIME

The locker room feels like it’s vibrating, the energy practically bouncing off the walls. Your teammates are loud, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of disbelief and celebration. Sierra’s pacing, too hyped to sit, while Jasmine reenacts your logo three for the tenth time, miming your shooting form with exaggerated flair.

"DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?" Sierra's practically dancing. "When you smiled after that miss? I thought they were gonna pass out!"

"That logo three was DISGUSTING," Jasmine adds, mimicking your shooting form. "The disrespect!"

You let their voices wash over you, grounding yourself in the chaos without joining it. Sitting on the bench, you pull a water bottle to your lips, its coolness a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your skin.

But Coach Matthews raises her hand for quiet. "They're going to come out desperate. Geno's never been down this much in a Final Four. Expect everything."

You nod slightly, her words steadying you. She’s right. The storm is coming. You can feel it brewing beyond the walls, the hum of the arena like distant thunder.

Through the locker room door, the halftime show filters in faintly. ESPN’s voices carry over the noise of the crowd:

“Harvard leads UConn 52-27 in the most lopsided first half of a Final Four in recent history…”

“31 points, 8 assists, 12-of-13 shooting, 5 steals. These aren’t just numbers; they’re history in the making…”

“And it’s not just the stats. That smile after the miss? That was the moment The Prophecy stopped being perfect and became something more. Something immortal.”

Sierra catches you listening and grins, holding up her phone. “You’re trending worldwide. Again.”

You wave her off. You don’t care about that. You’ve never cared about that.

But then Jasmine nudges you, her expression shifting from playful to serious as she shows you another text. This one’s from KK.

Paige is crying in the bathroom. Whole team’s shook. 

Good.

THIRD QUARTER

The second you see UConn retake the court, you can tell they’ve changed. There’s a new energy to them—sharper, more desperate. Paige’s eyes are slightly red, a telltale glint betraying her earlier tears. But there’s also something dangerous in her expression, the kind of desperation that makes even the best players reckless.

Geno’s thrown everything at the wall. UConn opens with a full-court press, their defenders swarming like bees, aggressive and chaotic.

It’s laughable.

You slice through them on the first possession like they’re standing still. A quick pass to Maria in the corner. Perfect release.

55-27 Harvard.

Paige tries to respond immediately, driving hard to the basket with her head down. The play is pure determination, her shoulders hunched as she barrels into the lane, but you’re ready.

Sliding over, you plant yourself perfectly, your feet set, your body immovable. When she crashes into you, the impact reverberates through your chest, but you don’t budge.

The whistle blows. Offensive foul.

Paige hits the floor hard, her hands slapping against the hardwood. For a split second, instinct kicks in—the memory of a hundred practices where you’d help her up, offer her a hand, a joke, a smile.

But that was then.

Now, you simply turn and walk away, your expression colder than the ice under her feet.

“Ice. Cold,” the announcer breathes, the disbelief palpable.

On the next possession, Paige picks you up full court, her body language bristling with frustration. She presses in close, practically stepping on your toes, her voice low and cracking.

“Please,” she whispers. “Just look at me. Just once.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you hit her with a combination that feels less like basketball and more like poetry:

Crossover right.

Behind the back left.

Through the legs.

Step-back three.

The crowd doesn’t even wait for the ball to hit the net. The moment Paige stumbles backward, they’re on their feet, screaming.

The shot, of course, is perfect.

58-27 Harvard.

The UConn section is dead silent now. Even Geno has stopped pacing, his arms folded as he stares helplessly at the court. Paige glances toward their bench, her eyes briefly meeting Geno’s, but he has no answers either

Next possession, you wave off the screen, motioning for everyone to clear out. The court feels impossibly wide as Paige crouches in her defensive stance, her body coiled with tension. You can see the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, the way her breathing hitches as she exhales.

Time slows.

Can see the tears threatening at the corners of Paige's eyes.

Can feel twenty thousand people holding their breath.

Perfect isn't about not missing anymore.

Perfect is about what you do next.

The move is pure poetry.

Crossover so quick the cameras barely catch it.

Through the legs at half speed, letting her think she's got you.

Then the acceleration – zero to legendary in a heartbeat.

Paige lunges, trying to stay in front.

The crowd rises as one.

But they don't matter.

Nothing matters except the physics of this moment.

You rise up from 30 feet, Paige's hand right in your face.

Time stops.

The ball arcs through the air like destiny.

Swish.

The arena detonates.

Your teammates mob you as you jog back, their faces alight with disbelief. Even the referees exchange glances, one shaking his head like he’s just witnessed the impossible.

61-33 Harvard.

Paige doesn’t move. She stays rooted to the spot where you left her, her head bowed, her hands on her knees. The weight of the game—of the moment—presses her into the hardwood.

The UConn bench looks like a graveyard.

Perfect breaks back.

The quarter ends with Harvard up 73-41. You've got 45 points on a shot chart that looks like abstract art. Each bucket more impossible than the last. Each move designed to teach them all the same lesson.

FOURTH QUARTER

Ten minutes left in the biggest game in women’s college basketball history. Harvard up 73-41. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, sensing the inevitable.

Paige opens the quarter like someone with nothing left to lose. Her movements are sharper now, more fluid, like she’s untethered from the weight of expectation. There’s desperation in her eyes, but also glimpses of what made her special.

What made her yours, once upon a time.

She hits a deep three. Then another. Her teammates respond, pressing full court, fighting for every inch, clawing for one last stand.

On the next possession, UConn doubles you at half court, but you see the opening before they do. A quick bounce pass threads the needle, hitting Sierra in stride for an uncontested layup.

75-44 Harvard.

The press comes hard again, but you stay poised, letting it collapse around you before sending a no-look pass over your shoulder to Maria in the corner. She drains the three, and the crowd explodes.

78-44 Harvard.

Paige tries to answer with a contested jumper at the other end, and it rattles in. She’s pressing now, forcing every play, trying to drag her team back into a game that’s already slipping away.

Back on offense, you hesitate near the arc, drawing in the defense before flipping a behind-the-back pass to Jasmine cutting baseline. The ball barely touches her hands before it’s in the net.

80-46 Harvard.

Coach Matthews calls timeout to sub you out with 1:32 left. The ovation is deafening—every single person in the arena on their feet, cheering until their voices crack. You’ve got 34 points, 15 assists, and 7 steals, but the numbers barely scratch the surface of what just happened.

You jog to the bench, your teammates mobbing you, their hands slapping your back, their voices a chaotic blur of celebration.

As you pass Paige one last time, there are no words. No need.

You both know what this moment is.

The final buzzer sounds: Harvard 89, UConn 51.

Confetti falls, a blizzard of crimson and gold, as your teammates tackle you in a storm of laughter and tears. Cameras flash everywhere, their lenses capturing history in real time.

You stand at center court, calm amidst the chaos, the weight of the moment settling over you.

Because you did it. You won.

The locker room is a storm of joy, the kind that only comes from rewriting history. Music blasts from a speaker in the corner. Sierra’s leading a conga line with the championship trophy hoisted high. Jasmine and Maria are filming every second, screaming into their phones about being “FINAL FOUR CHAMPIONS, BABY!”

You should be reveling in it. You are, to an extent—smiling as Sierra shoves a bottle of sparkling cider into your hands, laughing as Jasmine accidentally sprays half the team with the foam.

But deep down, there’s an itch you can’t scratch.

You made the statement. You dominated the game. You won the war.

But the battle inside you—the one that started long before tonight—is still unresolved.

Later, when the celebration starts to wind down, you find yourself leaning against a corner of the locker room, still clutching the now-empty bottle of cider. The room feels quieter, though the energy still hums faintly in the air. Your teammates are scattered—some FaceTiming family, others sprawled on benches in blissful exhaustion.

Sierra catches your eye from across the room. She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her head slightly, a silent question.

You shake your head. Not yet.

An hour later, you’re back in your hotel room, the championship hat still perched on your head, your phone buzzing endlessly with texts and notifications. Most are from reporters, friends, family. A few from Jasmine and Sierra, who are probably still partying somewhere downstairs.

You scroll through them aimlessly, not sure what you’re looking for until you see her name.

Paige.

She hasn't texted. Not since before the game. Her name sits there like a ghost in your messages, daring you to make the first move. To break the silence that's grown between you like a wall.

For a while, you just sit there, staring at the empty message thread. You replay every moment of the game in your mind—the way her voice cracked when she guarded you, the way she pressed harder and harder as the score slipped further out of reach. The way she nodded, warrior to warrior, as if she knew what you’d just written into history.

And yet, it doesn’t feel complete. Not entirely.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

you can come by if you want

The message is simple. No explanations, no context. You don’t even wait to see if she reads it before tossing your phone onto the bed and heading to the bathroom to wash off the night.

When you come back, the screen is lit with her reply:

where?

Your heart stumbles over itself as you type the room number. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, trying to ignore how your pulse picks up with each passing minute.

The knock, when it comes, is so soft you almost miss it.

For a second, you just stare at the door, your pulse thudding in your ears. The part of you that has spent months building walls tells you not to answer, not to let her in.

But tonight isn’t about walls.

You open the door.

She’s standing there, still in her UConn travel gear, hair tucked under a beanie. Her eyes are tired, rimmed with dark circles, but there’s something in them—something vulnerable, tentative—that catches you off guard.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi.”

You step aside to let her in. She moves hesitantly, as if unsure whether she belongs here.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken words, with everything the game couldn’t settle.

“You played…” Paige starts, then stops, biting her lip. “You were unbelievable.”

“Thanks.” You cross your arms, leaning against the desk. “You weren’t bad yourself.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound awkward and raw. “I tried.”

Silence stretches between you again. The words you want to say stick to the back of your throat, stubborn and heavy. You watch her hands fidget with the strings of her hoodie, a nervous tell you used to find endearing. Now it just makes your chest ache.

Finally, it’s Paige who breaks the tension.

“I thought it would feel better,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. “Losing, I mean. Seeing you win. It’s like I needed you to win. I needed you to be okay without me. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

Her honesty feels like a gut punch. You unfold your arms, suddenly unable to stay distant. “Paige…”

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, words tumbling over themselves.“For all of it. For hurting you, for not fighting harder, for—”

“I know,” you cut her off gently, your voice quieter now. “I know.”

She looks at you, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Do you?”

You nod, stepping closer. “Yeah. I do. And I…” You take a shaky breath. “I’m tired of being angry. I don’t want to carry it anymore.”

Her shoulders slump, the tension leaving her body all at once. “I don’t either.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of everything unsaid filling the room.

And then, slowly, you reach out, your hand brushing hers. She looks down at the contact, her lips trembling, and you feel something shift.

Forgiveness isn’t instant. It’s not easy. But it starts here, in this quiet room, with the two of you trying to find your way back to something that feels whole.

“Sit,” you say softly, gesturing to the bed.

She hesitates, then sits down, and for the first time in months, the space between you feels less like a chasm and more like a bridge.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to cross it.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her shoulders hunched like she’s bracing for something. You grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge, needing something to do with your hands.

“Want one?” you ask, holding it up.

Paige glances at you, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You hand it to her, and your fingers brush—just for a second. It’s such a small, fleeting touch, but it makes the air between you feel charged, like something fragile and important is hanging there.

She twists the cap off the bottle but doesn’t drink, just stares at it like it holds answers. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually let me in,” she says softly.

“Neither was I,” you admit, sitting down beside her. The bed dips slightly under your weight, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of the small space between you.

Her lips curve into a faint, rueful smile. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken things. You look at her out of the corner of your eye—the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds the water bottle, the way her hair falls messily over her shoulders, the way her shoulders rise and fall with each shallow breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Paige murmurs, breaking the silence. “You were… unbelievable tonight. I mean, you always are, but tonight…” She trails off, shaking her head like she can’t find the words.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“I wasn’t just talking about the game,” she adds, her voice quieter now. “The way you handled everything—the pressure, the expectations, even me. It was like watching someone I didn’t even know existed.”

You glance at her sharply, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice. “You know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did,” she says, her lips twitching into something that’s not quite a smile. “But I think I only knew the parts of you that let me in. And I don’t think I earned the rest.”

Her words hit something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to bury. You look down at your hands, twisting the cap on your water bottle. “You didn’t need to earn it,” you say quietly. “It was always yours.”

She turns her head to look at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and you can feel her staring, feel her trying to read between the lines of your words.

“I should’ve fought harder,” Paige whispers. Her voice cracks, and she drops her gaze back to her lap. “For us. For you. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you interrupt gently, surprising even yourself with the softness in your tone. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’ve already forgiven you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping like a weight has just been lifted. “Really?”

You nod, your throat tightening. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sound of her breathing fills the room, slow and uneven, and the faint hum of the city outside filters in through the window.

“It’s weird,” you say after a while, breaking the silence. “I thought beating you tonight would feel like closure. Like I could finally move on. But it didn’t.”

Paige looks up at you, her brows furrowed. “What did it feel like?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Like I was still waiting for something.”

She doesn’t ask what, doesn’t press, but the way she looks at you tells you she knows.

The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different—like the space between you is slowly shrinking, like the air is shifting.

You shift slightly on the bed, your knee brushing hers. The touch is small, accidental, but neither of you pulls away.

“Do you want to stay?” you ask suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them.

Paige blinks, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“Stay,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “Just for tonight.”

She looks at you, searching your face for something—hesitation, doubt, anything that might make her say no. But she doesn’t find it.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, standing up and grabbing a spare blanket from the closet. “You can take the bed. I’ll—”

“No,” she interrupts quickly, shaking her head. “I mean, we can… share. If that’s okay.”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod again. “Yeah. Okay.”

The bed feels impossibly small as you both lie down, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. You’re on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how close she is. Paige shifts slightly, the mattress dipping under her weight, and you catch the faint scent of her shampoo.

You try to focus on anything else—the faint hum of the city outside, the muffled sound of someone laughing in the hallway, the rhythm of your own breathing. But your mind keeps circling back to her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers after a while, her voice tentative in the dark.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…?” She trails off, and you turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are wide, uncertain, the soft light from the window catching the gold flecks in them. “Can I hold you?”

The question catches you off guard, but only for a second. Then you nod, shifting onto your side to face her.

She hesitates, like she’s still waiting for you to pull away, and then she closes the space between you. Her arms wrap around you carefully, like she’s afraid you’ll break, and you feel the warmth of her body settle against yours.

You exhale slowly, your head resting against her shoulder, your hand curling slightly against her chest. Her heartbeat is steady, grounding, and for the first time all night, you feel your own racing pulse start to calm.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her breath warm against your hair.

“Yeah,” you murmur, letting your eyes close. “It’s okay.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you like a cocoon, the world outside fading into the background. You focus on the small details—the way her fingers trace absent patterns against your back, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way her cheek brushes against your temple.

“I missed this,” she whispers, the words barely audible.

You don’t answer right away, your throat tightening with emotions you’re not ready to name. Instead, you shift closer, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. “Me too.”

Her arms tighten slightly around you, and you feel the faintest press of her lips against your hair. It’s not a kiss, not really—just a gentle, fleeting touch, like she’s afraid to ask for more.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. But for now, it’s enough. Enough to share the silence, to let yourselves be close again, to let the cracks start to heal.

“I don’t want this to be the end,” she says quietly, breaking the silence.

You open your eyes, your gaze meeting hers in the dim light. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

The faintest smile tugs at her lips, hopeful and tentative, and you let yourself smile back.

For now, it’s enough.

For tonight, it’s everything.

The End

A Note from the Me

Thank you for following The Prophecy's story through these three parts. Your comments, messages, and support have meant the world to me. You've helped shape this story of what happens when perfect meets human, when physics equations meet matters of the heart, when being unbreakable becomes more important than being flawless.

Thank you for being part of this journey (cornball moment lol). If enough people want I can do a 6 year time jump as a short story where they're married.

mark looks like the type of guy to say he’s drinking coffee but is actually drinking hot chocolate w extra marshmallows

rare picture: all 3 hughes brother smiling at the same time