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EMERGENCY CONTACT

SUMMARY! in which luke finds out that he’s not his girlfriend’s emergency contact and instead it’s jack which makes luke jealous and upset

INVOLVED! luke x reader 

WARNINGS! mentions of anxiety & meds

BEFORE YOU START! don’t know how the hughes act irl this is just an imagination!

extra! some more luke blurbs bc i’ve been enjoying writing it!

find my masterlist → here!

You don’t even remember what started this conversation. One moment you were cooking breakfast for you and your boyfriend, the next moment he was on the verge of tears over something you didn’t realize was quite so deep.

I guess it all started when Jack gave you a phone call over some directions that the doctor had told him (something that happened everyday) and he had the responsibility of passing it onto you. You had been in and out of hospitals for your entire life– due to you being anemic and low-iron as well as taking anxiety meds, so it wasn’t normal for multiple people to check in on you and your medications. 

“Hey, Jack,” you sang into the phone, putting it on speaker so you could continue making your breakfast.

“Hey,” Jack called back. 

“What’s up?” you asked the older Hughes boy, looking up as you heard your door open and saw a sleepy Luke emerge from the bedroom.

“The doctor called me this morning,” Jack said, his tone turning more serious. “You need to call them back whenever you can. They told me they had a few questions about how you’ve been feeling with the new meds and what not.”

“New meds?” Luke asked from across you, clearly listening to the conversation.

“I’ll tell you later,” you explained, trying to listen to what Jack was trying to say.

Luke sat on one of the barstools surrounding the kitchen island and looked at you with a confused face.

“Anyways, the nurse kept telling me to make sure I keep doing these daily morning check-ins with you until the end of next week just to see if there are any changes.”

“Yeah, I mean I’m fine. I’ve been taking them every night before bed just because I’ve noticed I just get more tired if I take it during the day so that’s been the only change so far. I’m good though and the meds are really helping,” you absentmindedly told Jack while fixing a plate for Luke. 

Your boyfriend had narrowed eyes as you continued chatting with Jack. The two of you said your goodbyes so you could finally pay attention to Luke who was picking at his food.

You couldn’t notice, but Luke’s head was swimming in hurt and disbelief.

“What was that all about?” Luke asked, clearly hurt about not being kept in the loop with whatever was going on with his girlfriend. 

“Jack’s been checking up with me every morning for the past few days now,” you mentioned, sitting next to Luke. 

“Why?” Luke scoffed out.

You were confused at his odd behavior. The two of you were secure in your relationship and Luke knew better than to get jealous over his older brother.

“What’s wrong, Luke?” You asked him, turning your seat to look at him.

“Well I just want to know why my brother knows that you’re on new meds and I as your boyfriend don’t,” Luke grumbled out, crossing his hands over his chest.

“He’s my emergency contact,” you said, not thinking much of it. “I just got upped my dosage for Zoloft and the doctors just want to make sure that it isn’t affecting my anemia medication. Just a small precaution. Nothing to worry about.” 

Luke’s face went blank and you could tell something was off.

“Luke?”

“Why is he your emergency contact?” Your poor boy choked out. “Why isn’t it me? For god’s sake I live with you and your my girlfriend. Shouldn’t I have a better idea of how you’re feeling on a regular basis instead of Jack?”

You couldn’t understand why he was upset over such a small matter.

“Luke,” you said, trying again to reach out to the boy who was clearly spiraling over not being your emergency contact.

“Do you not trust me?” Luke asked, his voice breaking.

“Is that even a real question? Of course I trust you,” you said, trying to calm him down.

“Then why is he your emergency contact and not me?” Luke asked once more, his eyes red and tears fighting to fall down his face.

“Oh baby. Jack’s been my emergency contact even before we were dating,” you said, trying to soothe the poor boy. “I moved to Jersey not knowing anyone besides Jack and I really needed someone to make sure that I would be taken care of if something ever were to happen to me,” you explained, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“When we started dating, it was your rookie year and Jack and I both came to the understanding that you were under too much pressure with hockey and I didn’t want to burden you with all my issues. Jack offered to continue taking me to the hospital and my check-ins.”

“How many times did need to go to the hospital without me?” Luke asked, his voice raspy from holding back his tears.

“Just once,” you said. 

“You could have called me,” Luke shouted. “I would have dropped everything to take you to the hospital. I would do anything to make sure you were going to be okay.”

“Yes and I understand that, Luke,” you said, grabbing his hand and intertwining it with yours. “But you need to realize I just wanted you to not worry about me and just focus on yourself.”

“You still left me out of the loop, y/n.” Luke mumbled out, still clearly upset.

“I know and I’m sorry but I thought it would be for the best if you didn’t know your girlfriend had passed out and had to be rushed to the hospital,” you mentioned, haphazardly. 

Luke’s eyes shot up to meet yours.

“You passed out and the ambulance was called and no one called me?” Luke whispered out.

“They called Jack,” you said, wincing at your own confession. “They called Jack and I told him not to tell you.”

“When did that happen?” Luke asked, concerned and furious over the fact no one even bothered to tell him that you had a serious emergency.

“Remember that time when Jack had to leave during day one of media training?”

Luke nodded as he tried to remember the reason Jack gave him for leaving.

“Jack told me that something happened to his apartment complex and he had to evacuate his stuff,” Luke said. “I didn’t think anything of it, but he was clearly panicked and he seemed like he was hiding something.”

You waited patiently as Luke started to connect the dots.

“The hospital called him, huh?” Luke asked.

All you could do was nod.  

“I’m sorry for keeping you out the loop, Luke.” You apologized. “I didn’t know if you cared about all those emergency contact stuff.”

“You’re my girlfriend. You’re my biggest priority,” the boy said. “I need to know these things just to make sure that you’re alright,” Luke said. 

“I know,” you sighed out, dragging your hands over your eyes. 

“And you need to let your doctors know that they need to keep me in the loop as another emergency contact,” he said.

He wrapped you into a hug as you snuggled into his arms.

“I’ll put you down as an emergency contact,” you said, grabbing your phone to call the doctor’s office.

- - -

“Hi I was just calling to list another emergency contact down under my name,” you said to the receptionist, the phone being on speaker for Luke to hear.

You have her your information and it took a second for her to find you in the system.

“Under your emergency contact field, we have a Jack Hughes and a Quinn Hughes listed already. Would you like to add one more?”

You winced after she said Quinn’s name– forgetting that Quinn was also listed as your emergency contact from way back then. 

Luke shot you a look after hearing not just one of his brothers was listed as your emergency contact, but both were.

You shot him an apologetic look before rattling off Luke’s information and thanking the sweet lady before hanging up.

Luke’s arms were crossed once more.

“So you’re telling me that not only Jack was listed as your emergency contact, but Quinn was also listed?” Your boyfriend sassily asked.

“Ummmmmm,” you muttered out, clearly stalling, trying to think of an excuse.

You were definitely going to get another earful from Luke.

WC: 1.3K

Steamy - Sam Monroe Smut

Summary: Sam has been your best friend since you were kids. When he starts avoiding you and acting strange, you decide to take matters into your own hands and things get steamy…

Warnings: penetrative sex, shower sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (Sam receiving), handjob (Sam receiving), teasing, voyeurism, masturbation (Sam receiving), inexperienced!Sam, Sam finishes too fast, multiple orgasms (Sam receiving), thigh-fucking, nipple play?, slight dacryphilia, subby!Sam, edging, Sam whimpers a lot, maybe a smidge of degradation, Sam is down-horrendous.

Masterlist

Sam rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall as he relentlessly fucked his fist. His eyes were squeezed shut, trying to block out the guilt as his mind raced with perverted thoughts.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He hadn’t intended on showering in your bathroom as an excuse to touch himself. You had just decided to wear one of his old t-shirts today and that…that had sent him over the edge.

Sam had been fighting off these feelings for a long time. If he was honest with himself, they’d always been there. When you were kids, it was easier. He didn’t understand the mechanics of all of it. He just knew he liked being around you more than anyone else, so he spent all the time he could with you. You were best friends, after all. That was normal.

Then, puberty happened. You developed tits and he developed an innate need to see them, touch them, taste them, anything.

It was harder now. You were both in college and still spending all of your time with each other. Every waking moment of Sam’s was spent thinking of you, watching you, imagining all of the ways he wanted to be with you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be your friend — he loved being your friend. You were the only person in the world that ever actually saw him for who he was. It was just that he couldn’t escape these desires that grew stronger and stronger every time you smiled at him or batted your lashes or laughed or…

Yeah, he was fucked.

He knew that he needed to get his feelings for you in check. His biggest fear was doing some dumb shit to lose you. That’s why he’d been trying to create just a little distance lately. He only resorted to that when he felt like he wouldn’t be able to control himself around you. It just so happened that, lately, that was almost all of the time.

When he’d gotten to your place today, he had told himself that he wouldn’t let his attraction get the better of him — that he’d be normal — but, the minute he saw you in his shirt he felt like he could’ve melted into the earth. It was so cute, hugging your frame perfectly and just barely covering those tight ass shorts you had on underneath.

He’d tried to contain himself, he really had. He tried looking anywhere else but at you, tried thinking of every unsexy thing his mind could possibly dream up, but his efforts were all in vain. No matter what he did, his gaze would eventually wander back over to you. His mind would run wild with different scenarios. You in his shirt with nothing underneath. Him bending you over, lifting the material up just enough to take you from behind. Giving you more of his clothes to wear so that everyone knew you were his.

He hadn’t even realized how painfully hard he had gotten or how labored his breathing had become until you asked, “Are you alright, Sammy?”

Fuck, he almost came in his pants from the sweet sound of your voice as you said his nickname that he only allowed you to call him.

He felt his face flame as his eyes widened and he pulled the covers from your bed further over himself to make sure his erection was hidden.

“Y-yeah, fine,” he sputtered, trying to will himself to get a fucking grip.

“Are you sure?” you asked, reaching your hand out to touch his forehead. “You look flushed.”

He had to fight not to moan as your skin came in contact with his, so soft and tender. Your eyebrows were scrunched up in that adorable way they did whenever you were worried about him.

He wanted to see them scrunched up for other reasons, for all the pleasure he knew he could give you if you let him try. He wanted to hear you say his name like a plea of desperation, begging him for more, more, more.

“I think I just need to take a shower,” he muttered, quickly getting up and rushing to the bathroom before you could see any evidence of his arousal.

He paced in the bathroom, fisting at his hair as he tried to calm down. This was getting a bit pathetic. He couldn’t even be in the same fucking room as you without being embarrassingly close to coming untouched.

He stripped down, tossing his clothes to the floor as he stepped into the shower and shut the glass door behind him. He turned the water on to the coldest setting, cringing as he stood beneath it.

C’mon, this needs to work, he thought to himself as he shook from the cold. The icy water caused goosebumps to erupt on his skin, but did nothing to calm the raging hard-on that was still standing proud and aching. He groaned in frustration, hitting his head against the wall as he tried his best to fight off his arousal.

Finally, he gave in and wrapped his fist around his cock. He gave himself a few slow, guilt-ridden strokes as he squeezed his eyes shut. He hissed at the feeling, relief slowly flooding through his abdomen.

He knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. Touching himself to the thought of you was already bad enough, but touching himself to the thought of you while you were in the next room? If only you knew how fucked up he truly was. You’d never look at him again…

He fought the urge to moan at the thought of your hand replacing his, or better yet — your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered, biting his bottom lip as he thrusted into his hand.

He needed to get this over with. He needed to handle his problem and get back out there before you started to suspect that something was wrong.

He was desperately chasing his release but, despite how badly he wanted it, his own touch wasn’t getting him there this time.

He needed more.

You had worn his shirt on purpose.

You were tired of him avoiding the situation — avoiding you.

It hadn’t taken you long to figure out why he’d been acting so strange lately. You’d noticed the way his eyes would linger on your form, the way his face would flush when you called his name, the way he’d try to discretely adjust himself in his pants when you’d get too close to him.

You’d always wondered why he’d never had a girlfriend. It wasn’t that girls didn’t desire him. He had just always been oblivious to their advances.

In actuality, you’d realized, he was just too focused on you.

You’d always harbored feelings for Sam. Ever since you were kids. He was your first childhood crush. You’d never told him, though, too scared that he’d tease you relentlessly for it. It wasn’t until lately that you realized those feelings had been reciprocated.

Once you’d made the realization, you’d started trying to push him further and further. You’d hoped that he would snap, finally admitting to you what he’d been feeling.

He never did, though. In fact, he did the opposite. He kept avoiding you, frustrating you to no end.

You huffed out a sigh, looking over at the clock on your bedside table. He’d been in the shower for almost twenty minutes. You gnawed on your lip, contemplating your next move.

Finally, with a newfound determination, you got up from your bed and walked toward your bathroom. You were tired of waiting for him to get the hint. He’d left you no choice. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

You opened the bathroom door, shutting it behind you as you called out, “What’s taking you so long in here, Sammy? I have to shower, too, ya know?”

Sam yelped, startled at your entry. You could only barely make out his figure behind the frosted glass, but it made your heart race nonetheless.

“J-Jesus, don’t you knock?” Sam sputtered, his voice laced with nervous energy.

“It’s my house,” you retorted, crossing your arms as you leaned against the sink.

You heard Sam sigh before he said, “I’ll be out in a minute just…give me a second.”

You began undressing before you could talk yourself out of it. This was a bold move, even for you, but you knew that Sam needed something to be shoved in his face for him to realize what was right in front of him.

“You’ve already been in here for twenty minutes and I have things to do later,” you grumbled, pretending to be inconvenienced. “I’m just coming in.”

“W-what?!” Sam stuttered, his voice nearly jumping up an octave.

You opened the glass door, stepping into the shower as you tried to appear nonchalant. Sam quickly covered himself with his hands, his entire body flushing red as he looked up at the ceiling to avoid looking at your naked frame.

You took this time to unabashedly look him over. His cupped hands only left little to the imagination. You bit your bottom lip, drinking in the sight of him. Arousal immediately began pooling between your thighs as you stepped underneath the water.

You yelped at the temperature, jumping back and adjusting the valve.

“Christ, Sammy, why the hell is it so cold in here?” you asked, despite knowing exactly why he’d been taking a cold shower.

“I-I just like it cold, okay?” Sam retorted, attitude biting with his words.

You turned the knob until the water ran hot, letting the steam fill the confines of the shower. You sighed, contentedly, stepping back under the water.

“Much better,” you breathed, practically moaning as the warm water washed away the tension in your muscles.

As the steam filled the air, Sam’s head was spinning. It was suffocating. He was surrounded by your scent. It took everything in him to keep his eyes glued to the ceiling. Even the glimpses he caught of your body from the corner of his eye were nearly enough to make him fall to his knees.

He had a difficult enough time keeping it together around you when you were fully clothed, how could he be expected to keep his composure when you were naked and wet a foot away from him?

He could feel his still-hard cock pulsing beneath his hands as he tried his best to cover himself. He felt like he’d somehow entered one of his wet dreams. Confusion and arousal fogged his mind as he tried to make sense of what was happening. The two of you had never even seen each other naked, much less showered together.

He refused to let himself believe that this could mean that you wanted him the same way he wanted you. He wouldn’t give himself that kind of false hope. He could only pray that he’d be able to get through this without making a complete fool out of himself.

You reached for the shampoo, lathering it into your hair. You smirked when you heard Sam breathe in a little too deeply. Glancing back at him, he still had his head facing toward the ceiling.

“You don’t have to break your neck trying not to look at me,” you laughed, rinsing the shampoo from your hair. “It’s not like you’ve never seen tits before.”

“I’ve never seen yours…” Sam mumbled, quietly, a new blush rising to his cheeks.

“Mine are just like any others,” you shrugged, brushing your conditioner through your hair with your fingers.

Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from responding that nobody could be like you. He was fighting so hard to keep his gaze averted but now you were practically inviting him to look at you. Even on his strongest day, there was no chance he could pass up the opportunity. He’d just look once, he told himself. Just enough of a glance to embed the image into his brain for when he jacked himself off to the thought of you.

He took a deep breath before stealing a quick look over at you. He involuntarily squeezed his dick, trying not to come on the spot. None of his fantasies could’ve prepared him for the way you’d look standing naked in front of him, water dripping from your body.

He forced himself to look up at your face instead of your tits — your goddamned perfect tits — but that didn’t help his situation in the slightest. Not when you were smirking at him like you were privy to some secret that he was not. Or when you were batting your lashes, sending water drops down your cheeks. Then you bit your lip and Jesus fucking Christ he felt every cell in his body burn at the sight.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the way his eyes fought between looking at your face and looking at your chest. You could sense the stress he was putting himself through, and almost felt bad for what you were doing. You weren’t going to stop, though. Not when you finally had him right where you wanted him.

You moved to grab the bottle of soap, intentionally letting it fall from your grasp. Out of instinct, Sam reached out to catch it. You gasped quietly at the sight of his erection springing forward into view.

He was big. Bigger than you’d expected. He was hard and leaking, his tip red and aching. He followed your gaze down, his eyes widening as he realized what you were looking at. He quickly handed you the bottle of soap back, moving to cover himself again.

“You know,” you started, smirking as you poured the soap into your hand, “if you need to take care of that, you can. I don’t mind.”

“W-what?” Sam coughed, his face a deep shade of red. “No! No way.”

“It’s natural, Sammy,” you shrugged. “I do it all the time. Besides, it looks real painful. I won’t watch if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sam wanted the earth to swallow him whole in that moment. He didn’t think his skin could burn any hotter than it was right then. You were teasing him, torturing him.

He didn’t know which part was worse — the way you said his name, the mental image of you touching yourself, or the attention you had paid to his predicament. His body felt like it was going to erupt into flames at any given moment.

You had to know. You had to. There was no way that all of this was just some random coincidence. The two of you had never breached that line of friendship and now, here you were, telling him to touch himself in front of you.

He couldn’t do that. There would be no coming back from that. There would be no way that he could recover. He’d come the minute he touched his dick if your eyes were on him, and how would he explain that?

However, you had said you wouldn’t watch…and he did really really need the relief…

Sam bit his bottom lip, breathing heavily as he contemplated his options. He knew that he shouldn’t, but the offer was so tempting…

“You promise you won’t watch?”

Your smirk grew as Sam gave in to his desires, just like you knew he would. You crossed your heart with your finger and Sam squeezed his eyes shut as his gaze was unintentionally brought back down to your chest.

Giggling, you turned back around to face the other side of the shower. You didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes travelled down to your ass as you did. You began lathering the soap into your skin as you heard the wet sounds of his fist stroking his dick over the hum of the shower.

You bit your lip, focusing on the way he let little breaths escape him. You could imagine how hard he was trying to refrain from making any other noises. You wanted to hear him, wanted to know exactly how he was feeling.

Curiosity and the need to push him further getting the better of you, you asked, “Are you always this quiet when you jack off?”

He sucked in a breath and sputtered, “Jesus, fuck, you…you can’t talk to me right now.”

You stifled a giggle, feigning innocence as you said, “Why not, Sammy?”

“Don’t say my name,” he practically pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought it would help,” you laughed, done beating around the bush. “Don’t you usually imagine me saying your name when you do this?”

You turned back around to face him, cocking your head to the side. His eyes widened and his hand stopped moving as his mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

Your mouth practically watered at the sight of him, chest flushed and heaving, his fist squeezed tightly around his erection.

“W-what…I don’t…I haven’t…” Sam stuttered, trying to come up with some kind of denial to your statement.

“Oh, come on,” you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully. “I’m not oblivious and you aren’t exactly subtle.”

Sam’s face turned an even deeper shade of red as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Relax, Sammy, it’s okay,” you said, beginning to slowly lather the soap into your skin. “Keep going.”

“What?” He gulped, eyes shooting open as they focused on the way your hands moved across your body in an agonizingly tempting motion.

“Keep going, Sammy,” you repeated, not taking your eyes off of him.

He released a shuddered breath, licking his lips as his eyes locked back on yours. Slowly, he began to move his fist again.

His jaw fell slack as his gaze followed the motion of your hands, teasing him as you trailed suds across your chest. His hand moved faster, his eyelids fluttering as a strained noise sounded from his throat.

“Is this what you think about, Sammy?” you taunted, moving your hands lower down your stomach.

Sam gasped, nodding his head as he muttered, “Uh-huh.”

His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his hips thrusting into his fist. His hooded eyes were dark with desire as they traveled over your body. His movements became sloppy, his brows knitting together.

You could tell he was close, soft sounds involuntarily escaping his lips. His muscles were visibly tensing as his breaths started to come out in short spurts.

You’d had enough of being a bystander. Every nerve in your body was alight with desire and you wanted to close the distance between you two. You were done playing this game. If he was going to come, you wanted it to be by your hands.

Sam let out an involuntary whine of protest as you grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from himself. His eyes widened as you moved him until his back was pressed against the cold shower wall.

“W-what are you…what’s happening…oh, fuck.”

Sam’s questions were silenced the minute you pressed yourself against him. He gasped, clenching his fists by his side, seemingly using all of his restraint to keep from touching you.

He looked down at you, his gaze pleading and questioning as he asked, “What is this?”

“I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move,” you shrugged, grabbing his face.

His brows furrowed, confusion etched into his features. His mouth opened and closed, as if trying to form the words he wanted to say.

“Waiting for…what do you mean?”

“God, you’re so oblivious,” you mumbled, pulling his face down to yours and pressing your lips against his.

He immediately buckled, leaning into the kiss. He couldn’t help but groan into your mouth, a sound that betrayed the intensity of his arousal. The pressure building in his groin grew, his need growing at an unbearable pace. He arched his hips forward, desperate for contact. You pulled back, biting your lip as you peered up at him.

Sam held his breath, the moment teetering on the edge of ecstasy. His heart hammered so loud that it threatened to drown out the sound of the shower. His eyes were dizzy and unfocused as he looked down at you. This was both the most exhilarating and most terrifying moment of his life. The anticipation was agonizing, maddening.

You glanced down at his pouted lips, as if daring him to make a move. His tongue darted out, flicking across them as his gaze moved between your eyes and your mouth.

Finally, after working up the courage, he leaned forward. You grinned as you tilted your head back, keeping your lips just out of reach. He furrowed his eyebrows, releasing a shaky breath before trying again. You let his lips barely brush against yours before you dodged him again, smirking at the teasing game you were playing with him.

He looked at you with pleading eyes, desperation etched into his features, as a needy whine sounded in his throat. He whispered your name, fists tightening as every muscle in his body tensed with longing.

“Please,” he whispered, his jaw clenching with the effort to keep his composure.

With that one word, he completely crumbled your resolve. His eyes were dark and glassy with desire and unshed tears and you were prepared to give him anything he asked for.

You tangled your fingers in his wet hair, pulling him into a heated kiss. His lips immediately parted, devouring your own. He kissed you like he was starved, like you were his only source of oxygen after he’d been suffocating with need.

There was still a hesitancy in his actions, a part of him that was restraining himself. Whether it was out of fear or lack of knowledge, you didn’t hesitate to guide him.

Your fingertips trailed down his arms, causing him to shiver. You grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips. He moaned into your mouth, his touch instantly beginning to wander.

The urgency in his kiss increased, his hands roaming your back, your sides, your legs. Years of built up tension came bubbling to the surface as you both began to drown in each other.

Sam’s voice was low and husky, barely coherent against your lips as he whispered, “Don’t stop.”

The pressure between his legs was a stinging reminder of his desperation. The need within him was leaking with each touch, each kiss. He reveled in the control you wielded over him. Sam’s mind was lost in a sea of lust. This was a moment he’d dreamed about for years. The thought of it was almost too much, the entire situation overwhelming.

You guided his hands up to your chest and Sam wasted no time in palming your tits. He squeezed gently, kissing you with blazing fervor. When his thumbs experimentally swiped across your nipples, you let out a sigh of pleasure against his lips.

Sam’s brain short-circuited the minute he heard your reaction. His hips surged forward, pushing his aching erection between your clenched thighs. He had been so worked up and the pressure provided just the right amount of friction. He gasped, letting out a strangled moan as he clutched onto you. His eyes rolled back as an orgasm ripped through him, instinctively continuing to thrust between the plush skin of your thighs.

Sam panted, slowly opening his eyes again as he came down from the high. His entire body flushed at the revelation of what had just occurred. He took in your amused expression, groaning in embarrassment as he buried his face into your neck.

You stifled a giggle, gently rubbing his back as you whispered, “It’s okay, Sammy. It happens.”

He whimpered against your skin, wrapping his arms around you. He was torn between wishing he could disappear, never having to face you again, and wanting to stay in this moment forever.

“Besides,” you smirked, leaning down to pepper gentle kisses across his shoulder, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Sam inhaled, sharply, his breath hot against your neck. His body instantly responded, his arousal already stirring again at the prospect alone.

You grabbed his face, lifting his head back up to meet his gaze. His cheeks were still tinged pink, bringing out the bright blue of his dilated eyes.

You traced his swollen lips with your thumb and asked, “Do you think you can do it again for me?”

“Mhm,” he responded, nodding eagerly. “I’ll do anything for you.”

You grinned, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Promise?”

He pulled you into him, closing the gap between you so that you couldn’t pull away again. He kissed you passionately, groaning as you bit down on his bottom lip.

“Promise,” he mumbled into the kiss, “anything you want.”

You reached up to grab his chin, tilting it to the side as you slowly kissed down his neck. His eyes fluttered shut, his body quivering at the tender attention. He cradled your head with a trembling hand, urging you on as your lips made their way across his skin.

Sam whimpered when you nipped at his pulse point, the hand in your hair tightening as you gently sucked a dark mark into the pale skin. You kissed across his chest, letting your hands run down his sides. He gasped as your teeth grazed over one of his nipples.

Your lips continued their descent down his body as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him. Sam let out a shaky breath, whispering your name as his legs nearly gave out.

You blinked up at him, water drops coating your lashes, as you rubbed your hands up and down his thighs.

“You’ll do anything I want?” you asked, kissing across his hips.

“Uh-huh,” he rasped, licking his lips as he nodded his head. “Anything you want. I swear it.”

Your mouth watered as you sat eye-level with his dick that was steadily twitching back to life. He gasped as you took him into your hand, his fists clenching tightly by his sides. You slowly began to stroke him, watching as he bit his lip to try and hold back the sounds threatening to spill from his lips.

“Then I want to hear how good it feels, Sammy,” you told him, pressing a teasing kiss to the tip.

“Shit,” he cursed, hardening again in your grip.

Your tongue traced a line up his shaft, slowly circling it around the head of his dick before taking him entirely into your mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, panting as he gripped the shower wall for support. “That’s…a-ah…that’s really good.”

The sight of you was overwhelming. He had only ever pictured you this way in his dirtiest dreams. You, on your knees with your lips wrapped around his cock, gazing up at him like the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, peering down at you through hooded lids. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You watched his chest heave as you worked him, using your hand to cover what your mouth couldn’t fit. His fist was still tangled in your hair, but he didn’t dare attempt to control your movements.

Sam’s eyes rolled back as he felt himself hit the back of your throat, the sensation causing his hips to stutter. You swallowed around him and his entire body threatened to crumble. Strings of lewd moans and whimpers escaped his lips as his back arched off of the wall.

“Oh, god,” he panted, throwing his head back against the shower wall, “I’m…fuck…I’m gonna…”

You pulled off of him and he let out a whine, thrusting to desperately chase your lips. You grabbed his hips, holding them still as you rose back up to your feet.

“Why’d you stop?” Sam pouted, scrunching his eyebrows together in desperation. “I was so close.”

Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath it, as you looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d want to stop before getting to be inside of me, but if you’d rather settle for my hands then I can keep going,” you taunted, cocking your head to the side.

“No,” he croaked out, his voice breaking off into a desperate moan at the mere thought of that privilege. “I wanna be inside you. Please, let me be inside of you.”

He clutched at you, pulling you into him as he crashed his mouth against yours. You immediately responded to the kiss, parting your lips and tasting his tongue with your own.

Without breaking the kiss, you pulled him forward and switched your positions so that your back was now pressed against the shower wall.

You reached down, grabbing his dick and stroking it as you lined it up with your entrance. He gasped, breaking apart to rest his forehead against yours. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he looked down between your bodies, watching you tease them finally joining together.

“Please, don’t keep teasing me,” he begged, his voice hoarse with need. “I can’t take it.”

You wrapped a leg around his waist and Sam held his breath, his mouth falling open as you guided his hips to slowly sheath into you. As his length filled you, stretching you out with a delicious burn, you couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan.

Once he was buried to the hilt, his hips flesh against your own, he finally released his breath in a strangled whimper.

“You’re so tight, fuck,” he breathed, unable to take his eyes away from the sight of you wrapped around him.

“Fuck me, Sammy,” you whispered, watching as his gaze snapped up to meet yours.

His breath hitched as he nodded, his body trembling with nervous anticipation. He pulled back, almost completely out of you, before pushing back in with a slow, experimental thrust.

You both gasped at the feeling, moaning into the shared air between your mouths. He repeated the motion again, familiarizing himself with the way your body practically pulled him in.

His thrusts got faster as his lips found yours again in a heated kiss. You clutched onto his shoulders for support, feeling every nerve in your body ignite in flames of pleasure.

“You feel so good,” you mumbled, arching into him. “Such a perfect fit.”

Sam groaned against your lips, his hips picking up the pace. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, the dam of his emotions suddenly breaking as he fucked into you. “I-I dreamed about you, every day. You were all…ah…I ever wanted.”

“I know, Sammy, I know,” you panted, reaching up to kiss him again. “I’ve always felt the same way, you were just too blind to notice.”

He whimpered at the revelation, his thrusts becoming more urgent. He grabbed your waist, using it as leverage as his hips snapped up into yours.

“Fuck,” he whined, breathing out your name. “I-I’m getting close. I’m not gonna be able to last.”

“I need you to hold on just a little longer, Sammy,” you told him, earning a desperate whimper as his eyes grew glassy again.

You grabbed one of his hands, guiding his thumb to your clit. You moved it in slow circles, showing him how to touch you. He picked up the action quickly, moving his fingers on their own accord.

You moaned at the added stimulation, feeling Sam’s hips stutter as you squeezed around him. Ragged breaths wracked through him as he tried desperately to hold on for you.

“Wanna hear you, Sammy,” you prompted.

A single tear drop fell down his cheek from the sheer effort of keeping his climax at bay as he began to mindlessly ramble.

“You feel so good. Squeezin’ around me all tight and warm. Could just stay buried in you forever. Never wanna stop. I’ll do anything to satisfy you. Anything you want. I’ll get on my hands and knees if you ask me to. Just wanna make you happy. Just wanna keep feelin’ you like this.”

He kissed down your neck, needing to occupy his mouth. He buried his face against your chest, gasping and whimpering as his movements chased the high he desperately craved.

“No one else gets to have me like this,” you promised, feeling that familiar knot of pleasure tightening in the pit of your stomach. Each stroke of his thumb against your clit, paired with the tip of his dick repeatedly brushing that spot inside of you, pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re the only one I want, Sammy. The only one who can make me feel this way.”

He let out a strained cry against your skin, his fingers gripping the plush skin of your waist tighter.

“Please, I need to come,” he begged, the desperation making his voice raw. “I need it, baby, please.”

The sweet sounds of his pleading was the final thread that unraveled the knot.

“Come for me, Sammy,” you breathed.

You felt the white hot pleasure course through your veins as you tightened around him, feeling your climax wash over you in a tidal wave.

He came with a cry of your name, clutching onto you as he continued to thrust into you. His vision seemed to black out as he finally let go, giving you everything.

The world around you seemed to fade as you both came down from the mutual high. Sam’s body relaxed into yours, his hands still trembling as you both tried to catch your breath. You settled into a blissful haze, engulfed by the warmth of the shower.

You held him close to you, running your fingers soothingly through his hair as you smiled lazily, “You done avoiding me now?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, grinning sheepishly. He nuzzled into your neck, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Never gonna avoid you again.”

“Good,” you responded, “it would be a dick move to avoid your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Sam asked, his head snapping up as he looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Well, yeah,” you grinned, biting your lip. “Unless you’d rather this just be a one time thing.”

“No!” Sam interjected, quickly, shaking his head. “I want this to be an all the time thing. Every day. Multiple times a day, if possible.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling as you playfully shoved him. He laughed, his entire face lighting up with joy and relief as he hugged you to him.

“You know, it was kind of a creeper move to barge in on me in the shower,” he joked, looking down at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Hey, you were the one jacking off to me in my own house!” you argued, laughing as you poked his chest.

He grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before grabbing your face and sweetly kissing your lips.

He hummed softly and whispered, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

You beamed up at him, feeling your heart flutter in his embrace. You used up the remaining hot water to actually shower off, tending to each other as you did. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was how it was always meant to be.

Maybe it’s true what they say. Everything happens for a reason.

BFF's Brother's BFF

prompt: Trevor has a thing for Quinn's best friend

word count: 3,056

warnings: mentions throwing up

“You got everything,” Quinn asks closing the trunk of the car. I give him and nod and follow him up the driveway and to the lakehouse. This is my first year as a guest here, it only took months of begging Q for him to invite me. We met on a blind date set up by Brock that ended up just not working out. In just a few short weeks he had become my very best friend. I knew the reason he wasn’t over the moon about me being here had nothing to do with me, and all to do with his brothers and friends. 

He warned me that the guys were a lot and that if any of them did or said anything to let him know. Quinn very quickly settled into the role of big brother in my life, he could just be a tad overprotective. My thoughts were interrupted by yelling and a loud thud. I shoot him a look and he just shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Still wanna spend two weeks here with these idiots,” he asks opening the door and letting me step in first. 

It takes the guys a second to notice us, but when they do the room becomes eerily quiet. One of them smacked another,” Jack you didn’t say Quinner was bringing a girl home.” Quinn puts a hand on the small of my back and leads us to the staircase,” ignore them.” I take one more look at the couch full of guys and they all watch us go up the stairs. “Here we are,” he says ushering me into a room. After doing a quick look around I noticed a few framed pictures on the dresser. Dropping my bag on the bed, I pick up a picture of the three Hughes boys when they were younger. “Q you were so cute,” I gush showing him the picture. “What like I’m not now,” he jokes which results in me throwing a pillow at him.

“Sorry we have to share a room, it’s just I had no idea they were gonna stay longer,” he started but I quickly cut him off. “Quinn it’s fine. It’s not like it will be the first time we have shared a bed before. It may be the first time when we are both sober though,” I laugh and start unpacking some of my things. “Depending on how these goofs act I may not be sober tonight,” he sighs walking into the bathroom and turning on the shower. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he yells. “Okay sounds good,” I yell back. After thirty seconds I am bored and decide to check out the rest of the house. 

My steps on the stairs alert the packed living room and nine heads all snap in my direction. I give them a smile and walk into the room settling on the floor next to a guy wearing a habs hat. “So what are you guys playing,” I ask looking over at them. “Mario Kart. I’m Cole by the way. I’m one of Jack’s friends,” the boy next to me says holding his hand out and I give it a gentle shake. “I don’t know if Quinn told you but I’m Y/n,” I say more to the group. “He in fact did not,” the guy behind me said and I leaned my head backwards to see his face. He gives me a wide smile which I return. Even upside down, he was cute.

“Uhm no ma’am. Nope. Not happening,” Quinn says coming into the room and making a beeline for me. “What did I do,” I ask confused. “It’s not you. Quinn and Z have a love-hate relationship,” Jack laughs. “Yeah Trev loves Quinn and Quinn loves to hate Trev,” Luke jokes causing the whole room to erupt in laughter. “Trevor move,” Quinn says standing waiting beside the couch giving him a stern dad look. Laughing and rolling his eyes Trevor does get up and move but not before leaning down and whispering,” We will continue this later,” followed by a small wink. 

“No, you won’t. Anyway, Y/n these are the idiots you will be coexisting with the next two weeks. You already know Jack and Luke. This is Alex, Cole, Mark, Ethan, Dylan, and Mackie. And I see you’ve already met Trevor,” he sighs. Even though he may act like it, I can see a brotherly type of love between the two. After a couple more rounds of the game, we all decide to head outside and hang out. “C’mon Mackie be my partner,” Mark whines looking at the curly-haired boy who just laughs. “No way. Do you remember the last time we teamed up in beer pong,” he asked the tall blonde. Mark gives him a very confused face and shakes his head no.”Exactly. We were too drunk to remember because you suck.”

“I’ll be your partner. That is if that is okay with you,” I say walking up to the table. “Really,” he asks excitedly. I have enough time to nod my head once before he pulls me into a bear hug. I laugh and wrap my arms around him hugging him back. “You’ll have to excuse Mark. His love language is physical touch,” Ethan says coming up and standing by us. “No problem. Mine is too. It’s nice to be around someone else because it takes almost everything to get Quinny to cuddle with me,” I joke staying tucked into Mark’s side, more like trapped but I didn’t complain. “Whatever,” I hear Quinn grumbled from one of the lawn chairs near the table. I give him and smile and wink at him. He laughs along with Alex, Cole, and Jack who are all seated near him.

“Okay so me and Duker versus Y/n and Mark,” Luke says setting up the cups. I’m handed the ball first because “ladies first.” I laughed at a bunch of college hockey players being so persistent on the rule. Lining up my shot I take a deep breath and sink the ball into the red plastic cup. Everyone gives me a shocked look, except Quinn and Mark. Q knew that I was good at this and Mark was just happy about maybe winning a game for once. “She literally went to a party college,” my best friend points out. “Why didn’t you tell us that before,” Luke groans drinking the warm beer from the cup. There was no telling how long they had sat in the hot sun before we started the game. His older brother sent him a shrug,” You didn’t ask.”

After several scores from both sides, it was time for hopefully the final shot. Duker and Luke had two cups left in front of Mark and me, while we had one cup in front of them. Mark stands behind me and gives my shoulders a rub like a coach would his prized boxer. I couldn’t help but laugh at the younger boy who shushed me. “Hey, this is important Y/n. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I have won one of these games,” he starts out with a serious face and then lets out one of the loudest laughs I have ever heard. Ignoring all the guys I move forward to take my shot and sink yet another ball. 

The cheering would have made you think someone had won the Stanley Cup. I am quickly picked up and swung around. “You are my permanent partner,” Mark jokes finally putting me down. “What about when school starts back,” I ask laughing at the boy. “You’ll just have to come back with me. You can take my room I’ll sleep on the couch.” I shake my head at him,” All to win a game of beer pong.”

After winning two more games I excuse myself from the guys and walk towards the house. I stop by Quinn on the way,” You need another beer while I’m up.” He just nods and gives me a smile while still listening to Cole tell a story. Stepping inside I head to the kitchen where I see Trevor sitting on the counter eating a piece of watermelon. “You plan on sharing that or just hiding in here eating it all,” I laugh scaring him. “Shit. You scared me I didn’t hear you come in,” he says putting down the fruit and placing a head on his heart. I roll my eyes at his dramatics and walk to the fridge grabbing out a drink for me and Quinn’s beer. Turning around I walk towards the counter Trevor is on and lean against it.

“I guess I’ll share with you. But just don’t tell the guys because it will be gone in like 0.2 seconds,” he laughs and his bright blue eyes crinkle when he does. I take a small piece from him and pop it into my mouth. “Oh my god. This is so good,” I almost let out a moan at how sweet it was. “Right. It has got to be like the top ten I have ever had,” he says handing me another. “More like top three,” I smile up at him. After staring at him for a second I nod my head towards the door,” I should get Q his drink before he sends a search party.” He nods and slides off the counter moving to hold open the back door for me. “Why thank you, kind sir,” I say with a terrible British accent. “What kind of gentlemen would I be if I let a pretty girl hold her own door,” he smiles down at me. 

Red rushes onto my cheeks as we make our way to join the group at the firepit. Quinn spots us walking up and pats the seat next to him. “Here you go,” I say passing him his beer while making eye contact with Trevor who was sitting directly across from me. “So Y/n you never told us how you and doofus met,” Jack smiles at his brother before turning his attention to me. I immediately laugh and try to cover it with my hand before anyone hears it. “Don’t you dare,” Quinn looks down at me and pinches my calves that are thrown over his legs. “C’mon Quinny. It’s not that bad. We’ve talked about this,” I tell him rubbing his arm. “Oh now we have to know,” Duker says leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees all zoned in.

I glance at Quinn, who is hiding his face behind his hands. “I live in the same apartment building as Brock right? So one day he told me about this teammate he has that he wanted to set me up with,” I started and was cut off by the oohing and ahhing of everyone around us. “Anyway he sets up the date and tells me when and where to meet Q. Everything was going fine, he was a total gentleman, made me laugh, and all that cutesy shit. After that is when it went downhill,” I say while locking eyes with my best friend, silently asking if I could continue. He nods and rolls his eyes preparing for the bullying.

“So we were walking around this park and all of a sudden I noticed Quinn stop. I turn around and see that he is super pale-looking and sweaty. As I reached up to feel his forehead, he tried to stop me from getting too close but it was too late. He puked all over my legs and shoes,” I laughed remembering the look on his face when he finally stopped. He was so sad and embarrassed. “I ended up taking him back to his place and taking care of them for the whole night and most of the next day,” I finish my story taking a sip of my drink. “Them,” Ethan asked from beside me. “Oh yeah, it ended up being some kind of bug that was going around the team. He and Petey were all miserable in their room while Brock was all laid out on the couch. Three grown men who were acting like babies,” I joke nudging Quinn with my foot. 

After five minutes of laughter and chirping from the guys Quinn finally stops them. “Okay okay, I get it. I ruined a date with a pretty girl by throwing up on her,” he sighed. “But you got a new best friend out of it,” I smile. He nods his head,” Yeah any person who will take care of a guy she just met who also puked on her is best friend material,” he jokes. “You are way too good of a person,” Alex says causing a chorus of agreement. “Seriously. I probably would have left him in the street,” Luke laughs. I shake my head at the guys. “Well if we are telling bad first date stories, let me tell you guys about Mackie’s last date,” Ethan laughs trying to take some of the heat off Q. I reach over and give his hand a squeeze as a silent thank you.

Slowly everyone started to turn in, leaving only Jack, Trevor, and I outside. “You know what. I’m glad my brother puked on you,” Jack exclaims swaying as he stands up. I lean forward in case he falls, he had just a few too many tonight. “Oh really why is that,” I ask watching the brunette slowly stumble towards the house. “Because without it we wouldn’t have met you duh,” he yells from the porch and says goodnight. Trev and I share a look and burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh, he was so far gone,” I say getting up and moving to the seat Jack had just left, right next to the ducks player. He turns in his chair to look at me better. “That is nothing. You should have seen him at his 21st,” he says telling me all about how they had to talk the cop out of arresting Jack for petting a police horse while drunk.

The later that we stayed outside the cooler it got. The fire was starting to die down but the conversation wasn’t. I was learning that Trevor was a really easy person to talk to and I was really enjoying getting to know him. I shiver and I lean down and set my drink on the ground wrapping my arms around myself. “You cold,” he asks concerned. “A little but it’s fine. I’m pretty much always cold. Ask Quinn he keeps blankets and jackets everywhere so he doesn’t have to hear me complain,” I try to laugh off the shivers. He leans forward shrugs off his Team USA hoodie and holds it out towards me. “No Trev I can’t take this. I don’t want you to get cold,” I say lightly pushing it back to him, “Either you put it on or I’m putting it on for you.” I think about his words almost telling him to do it, but hearing a small voice in the back of my head telling me this was a bad idea. The voice sounded a lot like Quinn's. 

“You know I’m really glad Q brought you,” he says looking out towards the dock and watching the water. “Yeah me too,” I smile at him. “You know even though he gives you a hard time he really does love you,” I say standing up and stretching. “Yeah,” he asks following suit and standing up checking the fire for any embers. “Totally. He gets so excited when you come to town and play him. Also, he talks about you just like he does Jack and Luke,” I confess as we walk into the house. “I don’t have an older brother, I’m the oldest. So he has kinda become that for me,” he whispers as we make our way into the kitchen throwing the empty bottles away from tonight.

“Yeah me too. He’s my best friend but he looks out for me like an older brother,” I say quietly washing the few dishes from dinner. Trevor slides in next to me bumping my hips with his as he takes them from me to dry. “So hypothetically if I wanted to see you again maybe when I come to town and play Q again what would you say to that,” he asks looking down at me. His eyes look even prettier in the dim kitchen light above the sink. “Hypothetically I would wonder why we have to wait that long when I am here now for two weeks,” I smile. He blushes and nods. “But that’s only hypothetical of course,” I lean up and give his cheek a small peck, then turn to walk upstairs. “Goodnight Trev,” I say turning around to see him in the same spot I left him in. “Goodnight,” he whispered almost too low for me to hear it.

I make my way into the room and climb into bed next to Quinn. He shifts in his sleep and throws an arm out pulling me into his chest and cuddling. I can’t help but smile at him and just let it happen, “Thank you for coming. The guys all really like you. Mom’s already texted asking to come down to meet you because of Jack and Luke’s praise,” his voice deep with sleep. “It would be an honor to meet Queen Ellen. I have so many questions,” I laugh into his chest falling asleep.

The next morning I wake up and head downstairs coming into the kitchen. “Morning,” I say to a room full of half-asleep hockey players. “Morning Y/n. Hey, who’s hoodie is that,” Quinn asks coming over to where I sat at the counter and handing me a cup of coffee. “Yours,” I respond with a quick glance to Trevor. “No. Mine is back in Van remember Milo used it as a chewing toy. His eyes look down at the hoodie and then over to the table. “Oh my gosh Y/n. Of all people Trevor seriously,” he whines hitting his head against the fridge lightly before looking up at me. “Guess you’ll be seeing a lot more of me during the year Quinny,” Trevor says walking over and throwing an arm around the Canuck’s player.

Geno said the hug hit him so hard cause in the 5 years Paige has been at UConn, he has never seen her cry. It just blows my mind because of how much hardship she’s been through. She’s unshakeable. 🐐

caitlin clark x reader where the reader is very feminine and people don’t realize that shes 💅

She likes girls . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: although you’re a raging gay, you don’t typically look the part. if you had a nickel for every time you and caitlin got mistaken for beings besties or sisters, you’d be rich

A/N: thought this would be a cute little blurb, so anon, if you want me to edit this and make it longer, please message me :)

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“i don’t know maybe i’m doing something wrong?” you asked caitlin, legs draped over her lap. it was a sunday afternoon spent on the couch, relaxing after brunch with her family.

“baby” she patted your leg “you’re not doing anything wrong!”

“then why do people not take us seriously?” you were incredibly frustrated “if someone treats us like we’re best friends one more time i’m going to lose it”

it happened often, definitely more than you wished. you would be mistaken as caitlin’s sister or her best friend constantly. at first it just started when you started dating publicly. you’d receive comments like “you and your friend have a nice day!” or “she’s a good friend, keep that one around!”. it was sweet at first, but then cait introduced you to her team. they thought she was kidding when she announced you as her girlfriend. it wouldn’t necessarily have been a big deal, but it hurt your feelings that they didn’t genuinely believe that caitlin would date you. even when you met her family, the entire lot of them thought caitlin was bringing home a roommate for the holidays.

“i’m so sorry! you just don’t…look gay” her mom would exclaim, trying to apologize. you tried to not look hurt, you understood even.

“mom” caitlin interfered, already knowing how you were upset once again that you were mistaken for a friend. “it’s ok, but can we just drop it? please?”

now, today at brunch, the waitress asked for caitlin’s number right in front of you. while her parents and brothers were talking about work and school and while you and cait were discussing plans for next week, the young woman scurried over to hand caitlin a napkin with her number on it. caitlin had one arm around your shoulder, another fiddling with the rings on your fingers, and the waitress still didn’t catch a hint. after unfolding the crumpled napkin and seeing the bold black numbers, caitlin immediately declined and motioned to you, she was taken.

“oh my god,” the waitress said “i thought you guys were like friends or something i’m so sorry”

you weren’t surprised.

“i feel like something IS wrong though!” you reply to caitlin, running your hands through your hair in annoyance. “i hate that people don’t even see me as your girlfriend and it sucks!”

“i know, but we’re together either way and that’s all that matters” her words of reassurance were doing little to change your mind.

“maybe it’s the way i dress? i know i’m very feminine and stuff, so maybe that’s the issue”

caitlin laughed “YN, it doesn’t matter how you dress, ok? just because people assume we’re friends or assume you’re straight doesn’t mean that it changes your identity at all. i love the way you dress and i don’t want you to change just because people are blind.”

“you’re right, i just want people to know that we’re together” you sighed.

“me too,” she agreed “but at the same time, i really like saying ‘she’s my girlfriend’ to people”

god she was so sweet, “i really like that too”

Are u kidding me? My heart. Her sobbing in geno's arms

And ofc azzi just sitting down lmao

Congratulations Paige

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.

Ellie asking you if it tastes good while you eat her out!☝🤓

Her pajama shirt is pushed up, over her tits. Your hand reaches up and gropes the cold flesh. Smiling against her clit, you look up, meeting her eyes. Look at that...Her pretty green eyes squinting and staring down at your face, her lips pouting, nose scrunched, and your mouth filled with her essence. Its dribbling down your chin with mixed in drool. "Oh fuck yeah..." She groans, grinding up into your tongue. You moan against her cunt. "Oh god" she sighs, reaching down to grab your hair and shove your face further into her pussy. "Yeah- fucking take it." She huffs, grinning down at you. "Tastes good? Ugh fuck" she moans, bucking her hips up. "Ah- I'm gonna cum" she whines, grinding against your tongue till her back arches and you feel the pearly cum drool into your mouth. You crawl back up her body, smiling so fucking prideful.

lukey pookie💗🫠🌷😜

You owe me.

Pairing: BBF!Ellie williams x Reader

(Mondern AU, Brothers best friend AU)

Minors DNI

(Warnings, 18+ ONLY): Subby!Ellie, Smut, Readers Brother is mean lol, slight angst at the end?, can my horrible writing be a warning? Don’t think there’s more, but lemme know!

Word count: 5,432

The moment your brother came knocking on your door earlier that evening saying that him and Ellie called dibs on the living room tonight, and to ‘not come in there unless you want to die,’ you just knew that you needed to fuck with him.

You’ve met Ellie a bunch of times, but your words were always cut short because your brother never liked you talking to her.

She liked talking to you though, you could tell. And that made you feel good. You enjoyed her just as much back.

Thinking of making your brother mad in front of Ellie made a small smirk crawl onto your face. She never let him get away with treating you bad, she would always stick up for you. That made you want to do it even more, knowing you’d both team up on him.

Biting your lip at the thought, you thought that maybe now was the perfect time to go and mess with him. Sighing, you get up from your bed and walk across the room to your door.

Opening it as quietly as you can, you peek down the hall to see if anyone was there. Once you see that the coast is clear, you start padding down the hall on your tippy toes, so as to not make any noise. You reach the living room and sneak a look around the corner to see what they were up to.

Your brother and Ellie take up the couch. Ears filling up with the sounds of their obnoxious laughs as they have their feet kicked up on the coffee table, showing each other random videos on their phones.

“Dude! He totally fucking broke his neck, look!” Ellie cackles, shoving the phone into your brother's face while chomping on chips.

He follows it with a wheeze. “Wait wait wait, no. Look at this one.” He snickers. It goes quiet for a moment as they look at whatever he’s showing. The room fills with a loud ‘OH!’s’ a second later as they react to the impact of the video.

Holding in your groan, you roll your eyes, you knew you shouldn't have expected much. Your shoulders begin to slouch in boredom as you wait for them to start doing something else that was worth interrupting.

After waiting for another minute, you hear Ellie speak up. “Hey wait, I thought we were supposed to be watching that one movie.” Her words have you smirking devilishly.

“Oh fuck, you’re right!” You watch him shuffle forward with a grunt, reaching for the remote on the table. “Ehh actually man, I’m kinda hungry, the chips aren't doing much. Maybe we should get something first.” She says.

Resting your arm up on the wall nonchalantly, you speak up. “I could go for something to eat.” Both of their heads dart over their shoulders to look at you, making your lips turn up into an innocent smile.

Ellie’s eyes widen as she sees you. She tilts her chin up and gives a small wave. “H-hey.” She says.

Raising a brow in amusement, you flutter your fingers at her. “Hey there.” Your voice is low.

“I thought I told you to not come in here.” Your brother grunts at you as you drop your arm from the wall, walking up to the couch.

“And no. We’re getting something, not you.” Her eyes stay on you as you finally reach the couch. “C’mon man, she can get something too.” Ellie defends you, shooting him a glare.

“Yeah, I can get something too asshole.” You snark down at him, which makes her huff a laugh. He looks back at her and smacks her knee.

“Hey!” She frowns. “Don't laugh dude.” He scolds her. In return, you bring your hand up and swat the back of his head. “Don't hit her, you jerk.”

“Ow!” He turns to you and rubs the back of his head. “You don't even have any money, and I'm not paying for you! So no,” He turns to look at Ellie, “She can’t get anything.” He shakes his head. A sour look takes over your face as you cross your arms.

“Fine. Then I'll pay for her, you big baby.” She shrugs coolly, her words are full of spite. “You’ll pay for her, but not me? I ask you all the time!” He sulks.

“Exactly. You ask me ‘all the time’ dumbass. She didn't ask me, I offered.” She says slowly. “I just don't get why I always have to pa-” Ellie groans in annoyance, letting her head fall back against the couch. “Jesus, i’ll fucking pay for you, just shut up!”

Your brother’s sulking body completely changes, now it exudes excitement. “Hell yeah! Pizza it is.” He celebrates as he brings his phone back to his face.

Shaking your head, you click your teeth in disagreement. “Hmm, no. I don't want pizza. I’m really in the mood for some cheesy fries though.” You say with enthusiasm.

“Well I want pizza and it's not up to you.” He snorts, continuing to scroll and find something to order.

Honestly, you didnt care what they got. You just didn't want your brother to be happy.

Thinking fast, you look at Ellie, who’s already looking at you. Bending to lean your hand on the back of the couch, you pout. “Ellie, can we get that one place? Y’know that one that has the really good mozzarella sticks and cheesy fries? It sounds really good right now and my tummy’s growling.” Hope shoots from your eyes to hers as you plead.

“Fuck no-”

“-Yeah. We can.” She nods at you. Turning his head quickly to her, he waves his hands angrily. “Why does she get to pick?” Rolling her eyes, she runs a hand through her short hair.

“She’s not picking, I am. I could go for some fries. And since I'm paying, I get to choose.” Ellie smiles.

A big groan fills your ears as he throws himself back against the couch. “But that stupid place doesn't even deliver anymore. And I don't want to go pick it up.” He whines annoyingly.

“Aw that sucks. I guess we’re not getting anything.” She says simply, bringing an arm up to lay over the headrest of the couch.

Ellie knows that your brother would never give up the opportunity for free food. “Really!” He cries out. She doesn't say anything, just flattens her lips and shrugs.

After a moment of sitting there contemplating, he huffs. “Fine asshole. Let's go.”

He grunts as he pushes himself off of the couch, walking around the armrest and nudging his shoulder rudely into yours.

You stumble back, frowning. Your eyes go directly back to Ellie, pouting dramatically. Tilting your head at her, you try to silently beg her not to go.

Somehow she easily caught on, her mouth turning into a small ‘o’, as she blinked at you.

“Uh, Nah. I’m comfy, man. You don't need me to go with you, just …get me whatever you get i guess. I’ll cashapp you.” Ellie responds, continuing to lounge lazily.

“Why are you being such dick tonight?” Your brother grumbles at Ellie as he steps his sock covered feet into his slides.

He walks across the room and picks up his keys. “Would you just shut up and go get it? I wanna watch the movie.” He shuffles across the wooden floor, heading towards the door, grumbling along the way.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. I’ll be back soon. Come lock me out, idiot.” His eyes dart to you as he unlocks the door and opens it.

You walk yourself up to the door with a pep in your step, you squint and smile sarcastically. “You already know what I want.” Finishing it with a snide “Obviously.” Grabbing the handle to close it after him, he turns and puts his hand on the door, stopping it.

“Dont fuck with my friend, go wait in your room or something. I don't want to come back to her saying she wants to dip because of you.” He scowls.

“Just go get the fucking food you douche.” Giving a bright smile, you finish it off with a, “Don't crash!” You flip him off and slam the door closed in his face, locking it.

Walking back up to the couch, you bend your elbows on the headrest to look down at her. A second later you hear the sound of a car door opening and then slamming shut. The buzz of the ignition starting up fills the silence. “Hey again.” You hum out.

Her head shoots up, looking at you with wide eyes. “Yeah.” She blinks. You furrow your brows in confusion, your face turning into a ‘what’ look. Fluttering her lashes she lets out an awkward laugh, “I-i mean, ‘yeah’ as in ‘hey’.” She tries playing it off.

“Uh, alright.” You answer back with a small laugh. Your ears perk up as you hear the car pull out of the driveway.

Clearing your throat, “So.” You look down at the seat that once had the company of your brother in it, “Can I sit?” You ask her sweetly, shrugging. She nods straight away, pulling the bag of chips up from the side of her, sliding it on the table.

“Of course! It’s your couch.” She goes to swipe at the seat, ridding it from all of the crumbs that have accumulated.

You walk around and sit down, almost shoulder to shoulder with her. You feel her try and leisure back. She lifts her hand and places it behind her head, trying to seem cool. As you look at her, she gives a sheepish smile back.

“Do you wanna-” Her voice cracks awkwardly. Ellie brings a fist up to her mouth and coughs to clear her throat. She winces, “I mean, do you wanna watch something? Till he gets back, I mean.” Her voice is filled with embarrassment as she gestures to the TV.

You don't mention that little awkward moment, instead you agree happily to her offer. “Sure! But nothing too scary though, I'm going to bed soon.” You squint your eyes and point at her playfully. “Cool cool.” She nods stiffly back.

After a few minutes of looking through movies wordlessly, your voice cuts through the silence. “So, how's your day been?”

“Um uh, good.” She gives a tight lipped smile as she stops scrolling through the TV. As you look at her, you can't help but shamelessly stare. You really did feel a little dazed by her.

Ellie’s big green eyes to her dark and pretty freckles, all the way up to her nice little wolf cut, makes you feel a little dizzy in the head.

You can’t help but think why someone so fucking hot could ever be friends with.. Your brother.

Your thoughts make your face cringe up. While you do it, you don't realize that you’re still staring directly at her.

“Uh.. Is something on my face? Sorry.” She wipes at the corner’s of her mouth quick, assuming there's still chip crumbs there.

“Oh no no! Sorry I just.. Couldn't help but think about you and my brother?” You trail off, tapping your thigh in wonder. “What do you mean?” Ellie’s face pulls up in confusion.

You shrug. “Like.. you being together?” Ellie nearly gags at your words. “What? Hell no. I’m definitely not into that.” She shakes her head. “My first crush growing up was literally Stephanie from Lazy town.” She laughs for a second and then suddenly stops to cringe at herself.

Bingo.

Gasping, you bring your hand up to lay on her shoulder. “Thank god! I was gonna fucking lose my shit if i found out that my brother was seeing someone as hot as you.” You scoff in amusement as you linger your hand on her.

Her breath hitches at your subtle compliment, looking away quickly. “Uh yeah, we-um, it's.. not like that.” She huffs a laugh, scratching her head. “Cool. Cuz you’re way too hot for him.” You giggle, rubbing over her shoulder.

Ellie’s head turns to stare at your hand, you watch her throat bob and her jaw clench. She doesn't say anything as you continue to rub her through her sweatshirt, her eyes flick away.

A light-bulb abruptly flashes in your head. You trail your hand down her arm, feeling her toned bicep through the baggy clothing.

“Oh my god Ellie! You’re so strong.” You tilt your head with wide eyes. “What are you hiding from me under there, huh?” You flirt shamelessly. Her cheeks tint pink from that, she laughs.

“Oh uh, nothing really. I just lift a little bit I guess. I mean sometimes, not like, all the time or anything i just go randomly. More like every so often, honestly. I went yesterday actually. I should probably go more but i don't have-” She stops, snapping her lips shut.

Ellie nods at herself, realizing that she’s rambling. “Yeahhh.. i'm gonna shut up now.” She trails off.

“No! Oh my god, It's ok. I like hearing you talk. Your voice is..” You trail off. “I don't know.. Really attractive?” You lean to the side, putting your temple to the headrest, keeping your eyes on her. She scoffs at that. “No.” she shakes her head. “It's not.”

“Now why would I lie to you?” You tap her cheek. As she looks over at you, your eyes climb up her face, landing on her messy head of hair. Biting your lip with a smile, your eyes roam over her hair.

“I like it.” Tipping your head at her. “Huh?” Ellie asks.

Lifting your hand, you push her hair back behind her ear with the tips of your fingers, gently. “Your hair. I like it. It looks good on you.” You smile, shrugging cutely. “Oh, Thank you.” She nods bashfully.

You ponder innocently, “So since you’re not into my brother, are you seeing anyone?” You perk up as you hear her scoff loudly. “What? Me? No..No way.” Ellie follows it with a laugh, like your question was unbelievable.

Oh, you were so gonna fuck her.

“I'm sorry! I was just curious, that's all.” Smiling sweetly, you shrug nonchalantly.

Looking down at yourself, you eye the oversized T you’re wearing, only accompanied by your underwear underneath. Your mind wanders, thinking of the practicality of whenever your brother would pop up again.

“Hey, how much longer do you think he’s gonna take?” You question, bringing your hand down to rest on her thigh. “Uhhh..” she becomes stiff as she spreads her legs wide at your touch. Fumbling with her phone, she taps it to turn on.

“Like uh, um- like 30 minutes? Probably? He takes forever to figure out what he wants, even though he always gets the same shit anywhere he goes.” She lets the phone fall on the couch.

Her chest raises heavily as she continues to stare down at your hand, which now starts to massage her.

“Oh, Good.” You hum, smiling. Staring at her, you put it simply. “Wanna fuck?”

It was like you knocked the breath out of her. “What?” Her voice raises as she breathes out loudly. Rolling your eyes, you pick up her hand and set it onto your bare thigh.

“I said, ‘Do. You. Want. To. Fuck.’” You spread the words out for her.

“I-i don't think that's a good idea.” She mumbles nervously. You scoff with fake offense. “What. Do you not find me attractive? Is that it?” You raise your brow as your lips turn up into an amused smile.

“No! No! Of course not! Y-you’re very pretty.” She rushes out. “Very.” Her eyes widened.

Smirking, you move in and give her a lingering kiss on her cheek. You stay close, almost nose to nose now. “Then what's the problem?” You tease. “It's just-your brother.” She says it like it was obvious.

“Hm? My brother? What about him?” You murmur, looking over the room, pretending to search for him. “I don't see him around.” You snicker to her mockingly. “Do you?” Ellie rolls her eyes, huffing heavily.

“It's not funn-” You interrupt her by planting hot open mouth kisses onto her jaw.

“I'm not laughing.” You continue to kiss and nibble along her skin. Her hand comes up to grasp at your hip, gripping you tightly. “Fuck..” She whispers, then bites her lips. “Mmm.” You hum against her. “You like that?” Your voice is low, only to where she can hear.

“Yeah.” She sighs out.

Ellie’s phone suddenly vibrates, knocking her out of the trance you put her in. “Goddammit.” Her hand pushes you back and away from her. You scowl, looking at the side of her face.

She picks her phone up quickly, looking at the screen. You peek at it, seeing your brother's nickname pop up.

Rolling your eyes, you hunch over and read his spammed messages.

‘Cashapp me idiot.’ Ding. ‘C’mon, I'm not paying for this shit.’ Ding. ‘HURRY UP’ Ding. ‘UR ALWAYS ON UR PHONE DUDE. LETS GO’

You sit up, huffing in annoyance.

“Shit.” Ellie whispers. “I forgot to send the money.” Beginning to unlock her phone, you snatch it from her, push the notification button off and let it drop onto the coffee table. “Who gives a fuck?” Shaking your head, you toss your body onto her, connecting your lips messily with hers.

“Wait.” She murmurs in between the kiss, making you pull back with a frown. “What?” Ellie’s face looked nervous, scared even. Her emotions made your face drop. “Are you a virgin or something?” You question with wide eyes.

Not really wanting to take someone's virginity like this, you go to pull off of her.

“No! I’m not!” Ellie stops you, her hands hold you by your waist. Those words put you at ease, making you fall back into her, “Then why not baby?” You mutter.

“It’s just.. Like I said, it's not a good idea.” She says breathlessly. Frowning, you shake your head. “It's nothing serious.. We’re both adults here.”

Ellie looks away, contemplating your words.

“C’mon.” You murmur hotly in her ear, pecking at her jaw. She doesn't answer as her head falls back into the couch. “Just let me touch on you a little. I’ll make you feel so fucking good.”

“I dont know..” Ellie trails off, making you whine.

You shake your head, pouting. “That’s so mean.” Pulling back, you plant your hands onto her chest for leverage. You begin rocking your hips against her toned thighs. “So, so, mean Ellie.” You whisper as you let your eyes fall closed.

“Jesus.” She groans as she opens her eyes to look down at where you grind down onto her. Gasping, she whispers, “Please.” Smiling widely at the ceiling, you bow your head down shyly. “So you do want me to touch you?”

“Fuck yeah. Of course I do.” She gasps. “But you’re my best friend's-” Her voice is completely conflicted. “little sister.” Staying quiet for a moment, you sigh heavily. “Mmm-Yeah. But that's ok.” You reassure her with a giggle.

“No. No it's not. He’ll kill me if he finds out.” Her voice trembles.

Palming her shoulders, you try calming her down. “He wont find out, unless you tell him dummy. What he doesn't know, won't hurt him.” You assure her, grinding down harder.

She sighs out as her own hips start moving up. “I would never. You promise not to tell?” Moaning, you nod. “It’ll be our little secret.” Ellie groans against you as you bring your mouth back to hers.

You pull back for a second, her lips chase after you while her eyes stay shut. You give a breathless laugh while reaching down.

Curling your fingers around the edge of her sweatshirt, you pull it up and over her head. Her hair fluffs up, going askew. She swipes her hair out of her eyes quickly to see you.

Throwing it on the floor, you look over her body. She only wore a sports bra underneath, which was so thin it looked like second skin. Moving your eyes over her toned arms and hard abs, you nearly drool as your gaze catches onto her tattoo.

“Holy shit Els, you really were hiding all of this from me, huh?” You coo at her as you run your hands up and down her arms.

Ellie grits her teeth while looking up at you, she grabs your hips again, moving you rougher against her. Bending, you latch onto her lips again. “So big.” Peck. “And strong.” Peck. “Makes me so fucking wet. Y’know that?” You kiss messily down her mouth, her chin and down to her neck.

“F-fuck, really?” Your hands fall down to palm at her tits. Nodding, “Sooo, wet.” You purr, beginning to pluck at her nipples through the fabric, forcing them to harden.

Whispering, “Take this off.” as you toy with her bra. As soon as she hears that, her hands fly away from you to rip it off, launching it somewhere behind you.

Ellie looks from your face and then down at herself, resting her hands flat on your thighs. “I.. it's not much.” She huffs humorlessly.

You shush her, “Stop it. They’re perfect.” Trailing your palms up her naked sides, you bring them up to mold around her small peeks. “So perfect baby.”

“Thank you.” She lets out a shaky breath as you squeeze them tightly. Running your thumbs over her nipples, you groan. “You really are so hot Ellie. You have no clue.” You shake your head with a furrowed brow.

Every few seconds, you dip down to kiss her. One hand smooths up her neck to entangle in her short hair. The other hand drops from her chest and past her belly button, beginning to play with the waistband of her sweatpants. You feel her belly clench up against your knuckles as you run along her waist.

Biting your lip, your mind races thinking about all the things you wanna do to her. You quickly lift your shirt over your head, leaving you bare besides your panties. Ellie’s mouth falls agape as she stares at your bare chest. “Wanna touch?” She nods vigorously.

You push your chest forward into her face a little more. “Then what are you waiting for?” Her rough hands crawl up your sides, finally engulfing your tits. “God. You’re so fucking pretty.” Ellie whispers.

Your fingers return to rubbing teasingly underneath the band of her pants. She hesitantly glides one of her hands down from your boob to run it over your thigh, nervously. Reaching down, you fiddle with your panties. Her eyes follow your movements.

“We should hurry.” Pulling the crotch to the side very slowly, “It’s ok. Touch me.” You purr, picking up her hand to bring to your dripping center.

You whimper as she glides her fingers through your lips, passing over your clit. You finally dip past her pants and into the front of her briefs. Your fingers pass her trimmed hairs, “Shit!” She stiffens up as she feels you slide along her slit.

“Already so wet. Is this all for me?” You giggle breathily. “Fuck yeah, All for you.” Ellie groans as you begin circling her clit. Her hand follows yours as she begins to roll over your nub tightly. Sighing, you rock your hips against her movements.

Your fingers slowly begin drifting down from her clit, starting to rub at her entrance. Her hips jut up as you push inside of her.

“Shhh.. I got you.” You whisper. Your pace is slow as you drag them in and out of her. She pushes her head back into the seat while trying to maintain the movements of her own hand.

After a few more slow pumps, her feet plant to the floor to ground herself, as she starts to become antsy.

“Please.” Ellie heaves out. Gazing at her, you bite your lip. “Please what?” You continue to move your hand leisurely. Her fingers slip down and push into you with one thrust, making you buck your hips in surprise. “Please just fuck me.” She groans as she starts to move her fingers.

“Aww. Y’just need it so bad huh.” You taunt, beginning to fuck into her a little quicker while rolling yourself on her thin digits. Her free hand comes to wrap around your wrist. She feels your hand flex with each piston of them sliding into her.

As you start feeling her own pace falter, you curl your fingers, beginning to slam them up into the ceiling of her cunt. “Oh Fuck! God, Ngh-right there. Just like that.” Ellie’s legs shake under you. The feeling of her trying to fight to keep them open makes your belly bloom.

“Louder baby, I love hearing you.” You whisper. Ellie’s mind buzzes, feeling as if she needs to swim for her thoughts. Your confession makes her groan, “I can’t believe this is happening.” She whimpers out.

“I can't believe it either.. I thought I'd have to play with you a little longer.” You respond, amused. Her eyes pop open to look at you, hooded with lust.

“What?” She questions you as you pull out to rub over her clit a few times, then push back in. Snickering, you answer her. “I mean, I thought I'd have to butter you up a little more.” You peck her on the lips, furrowing your brows. “But no. You were just too easy. Couldn't resist some ‘off limits’ pussy, right?”

“I’m sorry. Ugh-so sorry.” Ellie sobs out.

“Ellie, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to fuck you.” You sigh. “I.. I think about you all the time.” Ellie easily admits. Perking up, you stare at her face, your pace begins to pick up as your mind wonders.

“Yeah? Even when you fuck yourself?” Your fingers thrust harshly into her. “Yes!” She grits out. “Say it again.” Your chest heaves.

Ellie’s strength completely disintegrates, making her fingers completely stop their motions. “Think of you!” She hisses. You shake your head fast, “Nuh-Uh, use your words. What about me?” You bring your hand down to pull at her wrist, feeling as her fingers slip from within you with a soft squelch.

“Your pussy! I think of your pussy.” She cries. “How you smell, and t-taste.” Ellie whimpers as her hips try to move along with your thrusts. “Want you to stuff my face in your pussy and make me breathe you i-in.”

You laugh, bringing her hand up to her mouth. “That's what I wanted to hear.”

As she goes to speak, you stuff her wet fingers into her mouth. She automatically rolls her eyes back behind her lids as she tastes you on her tongue. Ellie huffs a sigh through her nose, her lips tighten around her fingers as her tongue dances over them.

Letting her own fingers go with a pop, her hand falls to your thigh, squeezing you with need. “Please-Oh fuck, please. Lemme taste you. Want it so bad.” Ellie begs. Her whiney voice makes your heart flutter.

The aching and burning of your arm starts to get to you, making your pace falter for a second. “Then you better fucking hurry, and cum.” You hiss out through the pain.

Ellie’s hand instantly flies down to rub at her clit at the same fast pace you continue to pound into her with, the loud squelches of her pussy were muffled behind her thick pants.

Planting your hand behind her head onto the head rest, you lean down to her ear. “I think..” You look down and then back up to her face. “I think this pussy’s mine. Don't you?” Ellie’s hips start moving aggressively against your hand, “Oh fuck yeah, this pussy’s yours.” She mewls. “S’all yours.”

“I’m fucking dripping for you, want you to lick me all up.” You moan as you feel her starting to tighten up around you. “Want you to grope me when you do it, and I don't want you to stop until it hurts.”

Her head turns to the side, shoving her face into your neck. Her hand slips around your waist, pulling you so that you’re chest to chest. “Please don't stop, please.” Ellie sobs out. “You close baby? You gonna cum, just for me?” Your voice is full of hope.

“Yes! Yes! I’m so close!” Ellie’s toned belly starts flexing harshly as she continues to gasp for breath.

Her noises become quicker as she rocks against your body, her legs begin to shake with each swipe against her pulsing bundle of nerves. “Take it. Take it. Take it.. Cum all over me.” You whisper huskily.

“Holy fu-I’m gonna-Oh.” She squeezes out through her tight throat. “I’m gonna fucking cum for you-” Suddenly, Ellie stiffens up underneath you.

With a loud overbearing groan, her walls squeeze you tightly, gushing all over your fingers. “Fuck! I’m cumming, I'm cumming..” Ellie chants as her walls twitch and flutter around you.

“So good for me baby. Takin’ it so good.” You don't stop hammering into her as she busts around you. The once soft wet noises now squelch loudly with your brutal pounds.

Thighs shaking violently, Ellie finishes with a spew of incoherent swears following with her body going limp under you. Your fingers come to a slow stop, and you gently pull out of her.

She hisses as you rub along her sloppy lips, twitching as you overstim her clit. You think it's cute, watching her twitch and shiver as you smear her cum up and down her slit.

Ellie doesn't stay quiet, every few moments she lets out a pained whimper. She lazily pulls her own hand out of her underwear, letting it droop lazily against her thigh.

Finally allowing Ellie to breathe, you pull out your hand from her pants. Wrapping your lips around your now sticky pruned up fingers, you moan at the deep musk she’s covered you in. You take your time sucking her cum off of them.

The shiney beads of sweat that roll down her temples catch your eyes. Letting your fingers fall from your mouth, you shuffle up closer to her while wiping your wet fingers on the couch. Dabbing at her hairline, you coo to her. “Shhh, I know baby. Came so hard for me.” You kiss her hot cheek.

Both hands come up to take a hold of your ass, kneading at them. “After this, I think I’d do anything for you.” She groans into your chest, kissing your collarbones. Sitting there while catching your breaths, you run your hand through her damp hair calmingly.

Ellie speaks up after a few moments. “You.. You never got to finish.” Timidness filled her tone. You hum,

“That's ok. Maybe we could go back to my room?” You try and persuade.

Sighing sadly, she thinks about it for a second. “He should be here soon. I don't think there’s ti-” The sound of a car pulling up into the driveway fills your ears. Suddenly, you’re harshly shoved off of her, landing in between the couch and the coffee table with a loud ‘Oof!’

“What the hell!” You grumble. “Fuck fuck fuck!” She says erratically, jumping up from the couch. Ellie stands and fixes her pants with one hand as she looks for her bra in a frenzy. Finding it, she slips it on with a quick swoop. “Get dressed!” She urges while waving her hand.

You use the coffee table as leverage to push yourself up, grabbing your shirt on the way. A loud slam of a car door makes a scared shiver run up your back. Ellie struggles to turn her sweatshirt inside out, throwing it over her head.

You rush up to her, gripping her forearm, “Come with me to my room, we can lock the door.” You repeat with a whisper, nodding. “What? No! Just go.” Ellie hisses. Taken aback, you scoff. “Oh, ‘Anything’ Huh?” You evilly squint at her as you tug your shirt back on.

When she hears your tone, she turns back to you quickly. “I’m sorry!” She cries, trying to pull you to her. Ellie bends to try and give you a swift kiss in apology, but you shove her back.

“You totally owe me, jerk.” You whisper angrily, running down the hall. The sound of an angry bang to the front door meshes with the slam to the one of your bedroom.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, there will probably be a second part to this. Or even maybe one a little less tame, and more on the darker side. Maybe Pervert!BBF!Ellie williams?

Don’t forget to reblog please! 😭

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