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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.

---

the call. I (sevika + vi)

SYNOPSIS: reddit: a place for thought-dumping and being horny [college au] WORD COUNT: 9.5K WARNINGS: this was supposed to be dark but its very crack-ish, sevika and vi play rugby(kinda minor plot tbh), oc is a crazy redditor and wears skirts, STALKING, 90% SMUT MDNI(fingering + phone sex + munching + mult orgasms + dirty talk, tensionnnn) brief mentions of grief and loss bc me, recreational drug use, JUST TOXIC, abby makes an appearance later A/N: WROTE THIS WITH MY BABY!!! @trackinglessons art by lottie my love my light my everything this is a product of #OVULATIONWEEK and the #ARCANETAKEOVER

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       3y

no one likes me. 

i [f18] don’t have any friends. at all. i don’t have anyone that’s not family that likes me and sometimes im convinced my family regrets keeping me adound. i just moved cities for uni and haven’t been able to have a valuable conversation with anyone and im starting to think i’m the reason why. to be honest i’ve always been the “weird” one or whatever ppl at school called me. but i don’t think im weird at all. I think i’m nice but ppl treat me like a germ lol they just stare and whisper to each other but i know they’re talking about me

does anyone have any advice on being more approachable? or whatever i’m not even sure what to call it tbh.

kewlio313 • 3y

Everybody’s weird in college! You’re young and finding yourself. Join some organizations and put yourself out there! It’ll work out kid 

     artkiller OP • 3y

     i wish there was a chess club lol 

Margie • 3y

how do you go about approaching people? 

      artkiller OP • 3y

      i just walk up and start talking about myself

      Margie • 3y

      Okay… and what’s their reaction? 

      artkiller OP • 3y

it’s different every time. sometimes they just leave, sometimes they laugh then leave, other times they’re outwardly mean. one guy told me to ‘shut the hell up bitch’ and i immediately wanted to commit a federal crime(not murder)

      Margie • 3y

      Goddamn lol. Maybe u r weird 

miKrophone • 3y

shut up hoe

     artkiller OP • 2y

     ?? :/

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       2y

Advice Needed

how do you know if you’re mentally ill?

hello fellow redditors. lol. i’m finally back… very odd first term i think i got ghosted or whatever it’s called by some dude on the hockey team but yeah i plotted homicide. i’m pretty sure that situation sent me into a spiral. i think im sick. 

i’m not sure what’s going on with me but my thoughts have been really dark recently. not necessarily suicidal or harm inflicting(on myself) but… yeah… prettyyyy dark. idk. it’s weird what my brain conjures up sometimes. i guess im curious why my brain thinks the way it does. i’m not a bad person and i know that, but my brain makes me believe that i am. idk what to do at this point. i’ve never been to a professional and tbh i don’t think i should because i don’t wanna be admitted somewhere lol 

kewlio313 • 2y

Welcome back kid. It’s often better to seek help even though it can be fucking horrifying, especially in adulthood. Get help and you’ll be fine

     artkiller OP • 2y

     and if i’m not fine? what do i do then? 

     kewlio313 • 2y

To be frank, I'm not sure. I’ve been through alot and even I don’t have clear direction on life. I’ve been allowing my intuition to guide me for some time. Just try it and see what happens. Rooting for you

     artkiller OP • 2y

     thank you 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       2y

Advice Needed

am i a lesbian?

i [f19] think im attracted to females. i can’t stop staring at their tits. i always assumed my middle school peeping was from jealousy or whatever the hell twitter said but now that i’m grown i think i wanna fuck girls. or like. girl adjacents??? idk the terminology or whatever. 

PetersJoker • 2y

go eat some pussy and find out

     artkiller OP • 2y

     no fuckhead

kewlio313 • 2y

… Girl adjacents? Females? Are you actually 40? 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     is this a dig

     kewlio313 • 2y

     You crack me up. Have you experimented before? 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     i never passed a science class

     kewlio313 • 2y

     … Alright. 

 I meant hooking up. Have u kissed a girl before? Slept with one? Or whatever you youngins say these days? 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     no. i’m not a slut lol i hardly go outside 

     kewlio313 • 2y

Finding out what you like isn’t being a slut. You’re in college for fucks sake. Find you someone to lay with, ya loser. 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     or i should just shoot myself. less complicated then sex

     kewlio313 • 2y

     Maybe so, but they’re equally as messy. 

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Questioning is usually the first sign. Lol

     artkiller OP • 2y

     fuck me

     ButchesForChrist • 2y

     Well

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       2y

what does sex feel like? (wlw)

[f19] just watched scissor porn for the first time. what the fuck was that. (i need it)

MisandristInTraining • 2y

the work of demons aka men

     artkiller OP • 2y

     i drink their blood

     MisandristInTraining • 2y

     Lmao

OnHorseback • 2y

Feels like dying but emotionally • 2y

     artkiller OP • 2y

     i wanna die physically 

     OnHorseback • 2y

     I’m sure some dirty fuck can set that up for you

     artkiller OP • 2y

     lit

kewlio313 • 2y

Welcome to the dark side. 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     flirt a little harder oldhead 

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Ready to come out? 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     of where

     ButchesForChrist • 2y

     Bitch…..

—

__

__

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       2y

home sweet home. 

hello found family. been mia bc fuck school but i’m back… and i think im a sadist. 

does anyone know where rugby originated from? i like watching large women be physical w each other and i wish they would harm me in similar ways. pls push me to the floor and stomp me out(specifically directed to one pink head) i’ve been thinking dirty things all day i need her so fucking bad. is this why ppl r so obsessed with sex? bc of hot people? i get it now. i need her to bend me over and put her cleat on my neck

lezziesthatembezzle • 2y

good morning to u too bitch

     artkiller OP • 2y

     big muscly girls pls rail me from da bck 

     lezziesthatembezzle • 2y

     someone muzzle this thot

Accuntress • 2y

A dyke’s pride and joy: large women. 

kewlio313 • 2y

This is crazily your most normal post. Missed ya. Do well in school

     artkiller OP • 2y

     :3 🩷

[deleted] • 2y

The cards are in my favor 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     would you like to sex through private message? 

     [deleted] • 2y

     What the fuck you crackhead

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       2y

Advice Needed

sex addiction while a virgin? 

is this possible? i shouldn’t have watched ppl with big clits trib. quite criminal. even more criminal when i’ve  imagined the girl i’ve been following around for the past 2 weeks doing it to me

[deleted] • 2y

is this who we are…. 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     obviously. 

kewlio313 • 2y

This is my last straw. 

     artkiller OP • 2y

     hugs xD

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       6mo

i’m confessing. 

idc anymore. i don’t give a FUCK. i am in love. i [f21] am in love. the deepest kind i think. love at first sight truly. it’s the kind of love that’s painful. it kills and leaves behind trails of misery if betrayed or lost. whenever i see her, i cry from happiness. her joy is my joy. her hurt is my hurt. our hearts are forever intertwined no matter the distance. i’m writing this for her. if you ever see this: i love you, darling. there’s not a second that goes by where you’re not at the forefront of my mind. i’ll treasure everything we’ve built thus far, and promise to never take it for granted. i hope to die by your side. 

i love you. i love you so much. 

even if we’ve never spoken. 

kewlio313 • 6mo

Yup… she’s lost it, folks. Very deep sigh. 

     ButchesForChrist • 5mo

     That’s part of being a lesbian. She’ll live. Trust me

—

—

—

“Violet! … VIOLET!”

Why’s Sev always so loud in the goddamn library? The receptionist already has tacks on her behavior chart like some kindergartener. “I heard you! Jesus Christ, I’m sitting right fucking next to you—“

“I wouldn’t haveta fucking scream if you woulda answered me when I asked 3 days ago! Are you coming on Saturday?” 

How does she tell Sev fuck no bitch I don’t wanna go in a polite manner? It’s the first weekend after Christmas break and quite frankly, she's already sick of being on campus. Vi loves her friend to death but holy fuck does she wish she had an off button. 

“Just come the hell on and stop—“

“Dude, I—“

“You know it’s not gonna be fun if you’re not there! Half the bitches are comin’ for you! Plus… I think you could use a fun time after… y’know.” Sevika softens — only a bit, she's still Sevika. Hard ass. 

She does know. At this point, who doesn’t? Her last year of university started on a bad foot when her family home caught aflame with her little sister and father still inside, but the icing on the cake was when her long term, blue-haired girlfriend sent her the can we talk? important text. Now she’s single with corpses for relatives(she thinks her sister would’ve found that funny). Her teammates returned to campus with her; eyes mournful and hearts sunk to the bottom of their stomachs, so prepared to shield and coddle when needed. Sev was one of them: through every breakdown and anxiety attack and hungry but nauseating night. 

“I’m not tryna bring up old shit. You been through a lot and deserve some fun. That’s all I’m sayin’. Get your last bit of jitters out before the season starts.” 

Vi nods. She gets it. Losing her sister was just as much of a loss for Sev as it was for her, but somehow, she was able to ease back into herself. Become… normal again. Socializing takes so much energy outta Violet, now. She’d rather go lift or go sock the shit outta rich person. In some ways, she wishes she had as much willpower as her friend. 

She knows why Sev wants her to go. New pussy, new me, her and Abby once told her, but she’s not in the mood to smash right now. She’ll probably start crying if they don’t kiss both her cheeks before her nose like… Ugh. She shivers in disgust… and extreme longing. She misses her ex like crazy. 

“I know. I’ll, uh, think about it.” 

“M’kay… now what the fuck is epitactic theory.” 

“Girl…” 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       12mi

Advice Needed

how crazy is it to ask for a threesome from two ppl that don’t know you? 

[f21] i’m currently in my campus library watching my girlfriend study with her teammate from my stiff ass beanbag and i need them both like crack. how do i bring intercourse up without making it awkward or uncomfortable? help asap pls

also i might c her this weeknd she’s going out and i wanna go

CreamTeam • 5mi

Wait … so is she your girlfriend or not?? 😭😭 

     artkiller OP • 2mi

     we have a complicated relationship🩷

     ButchesForChrist • 1mi

     Aka she’s stalking her. Scroll down a little

     artkiller OP • 30s

     stay out my business 

     CreamTeam • 1s

     What the fuck

kewlio313 • 2mi

I thought we were better than this, honey. 

     artkiller OP • 30s

     you prob are. im not

     kewlio313 • 4s

     Deep sigh. 

Your phone drops from your jittery hands and into your lap, screen glowing with every disappointed reply from fucking Kewlio who you’ve grown to love. You like to call them a friend. A faceless, emotionally intelligent, oddly attractive friend who you’ve never met. 

The love of your life is right there, as always. Exactly 34 steps away, past the shelves littered with history novels and biographies, sat at the table surrounded by Liberal Arts textbooks and her star-littered laptop. Black jacket, black shirt, ripped black jeans, hair dyed black: that’s new. Still streaked with pink and somehow you’re even more hungry for her. She’s looked a mess recently: beaten and bruised, coming to class with black eyes and bandages across her pretty nose. It makes you wanna burn down the entire Arts and Sciences building with everyone inside of it. 

She’s annoyed with Sevika, you can tell. They’re talking about something. Maybe her sister, rest in peace. Or piss if she sucked. Whatever. A small part wishes you listened a little closer when she talked about Jinx(weird ass nickname, but okay) so you’d know exactly what to ask. She can take out any aggression or sadness on you anytime. In here, outside. You’d drop ‘em for her wherever. 

Kewlio is a dirty liar. You’re not a stalker. You’re a fan, an admirer, a lover. Your girl’s simply unassuming… How the fuck is that your fault? 

She won’t be like that for long, though. 

Vi lost her cleats a few days ago. Her black and blue ones that are worn the hell down and hanging at the seams, but she loves them. Wears them almost every match despite how unsteady they make her on the field. They’re her lucky charm, besides you, of course. 

Her lucky charm found her lucky charms. 

And by found, you mean broke into her gym locker with the code you memorized 2 years ago and snagged ‘em. She should really get those locks changed before someone takes something important. 

The explanation of how you found her cleats exactly? You’re not sure and you’re not dwelling. She’ll be so relieved that you found them that it won’t even matter. Might even drop to her knees and praise you like a God. Is she religious? One of the minor details you don’t know about her. 

But you’ll find out soon enough. No worries at all. 

You wonder how Caitlyn is doing. 

—

Rabbit holes are either your best friend or worst enemy. Today, they’re straddling the fence. Your brain never shuts off when you're in a crisis. You’re ovulating, overstimulated, and searching for a cure from someone you’ve never said hello to. 

The internet can solve your problems though. Especially if they’re sex-deprived millennials. Their long-term lack of human contact makes for some hilarious stories and useful what-not-to-dos. 

how to finger a vagina 

vagina g spot where is it

where is clit vagina

vagina map

scissoring hacks positions

lesbian sex how to

can lesbians do anal 

is mommy kink a trauma response

Reddit searches are always on your side. All answers to the world at the tip of your fingers. You love the media! Squirting is not pee evidently. PornHub comments are not a reliable source. You should ask your girlfriend if she squirts. 

Caitlyn would know. Fucking BITCH!

how to make girlfriend come

Mansplainer misogynists geeking about making their wives do housework while they sit on their asses and flirt with young Discordians. ‘I clap and she appears’

…

You should craft a bomb that only targets cis-het men because what the fuck is going on right now. 

how to make girlfriend cum

‘[M48] I’ve never made my wife climax and we’ve been together for 15 years and have 2 children’

Your eyes are fucking burning. Is it bad to wish death on a person? Cursed imagery. Your fingers attempt to salvage the last bits of your sanity. 

how to make girlfriend orgasm wlw

date ideas lesbian

am i crazy quiz

insanity quiz

You’re normal you’re okay you’re literally fine. 

mental illness signs for lesbians

what does dying feel lik

“Ma’am.”

You gasp sharply. Librarian. Fuck oh shit

“Hi. We’re, uh, lockin’ up, so…” 

You’re still at the library. How much time has passed? How many rabbit holes have you fallen into? Where’s your girlfriend? Her and Sev are gone… 

But you know where to find your g-spot! Hooplah!

“Oh ye— Yeah! Uhh… bye.” You stand so fast you get whiplash. Your backpack beats against your back when you adjust the straps on your shoulders. Headphones on, music blasting, and just like that, the world is off and you’re on. Right into the darkness of the city. 

You love a stripper’s playlist in times like these. 

You love Reddit in times like these. 

You walk and walk with an extra skip in your step. Time to drive Kewlio crazy. 

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       1s

guys im happy

the joy that i feel rn is unmatched. i love my life. im so excited for the future. thank you god and or universe for these blessings

And post. Nothing could wipe the smile off your face. Nothing nothing nothing you love it here! You love school. You love your girlfriend and her friends and her sport!

“Oof—“

“AH—“

Your back connects with the angles of your hardcovers and fuck you hope your laptop survived that drop. There’s not nearly enough cushion in your bag to cover that fall fuck your life you hate everyone—

“YOU FU—“

“Holy fuckin’ shit I’m so sorry are you ok—“

And your mouth zips. Oh…

Oh. 

Your girl’s in running shorts. Squeezing her thighs good ‘n tight and she glistens with sweat, brows pulled down in concern as she eyes you from above. If the sun was still out, the rays would dress her head like a halo. A heavenly sight. You’d die here… but not before a drop of her sweat falls on your face. You need that at least once. Zooweeema—

“Are you oka— fuck, gimme your hands, up ya go, c’mon—“

Oh she’s talking. And grabbing you. 

Your hands are warmed by skin and your spine tickles when you’re pulled to your feet like a feather. The pain in your back and shoulders don’t fucking matter anymore. Life works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?

“Hi, Vi.” 

“I’m— hey, uh… do we know each other?” 

We love each other actually! 

“No— I uh, sorry! I go to watch your matches and all that. Kinda a fan… Sorry if that’s weird—“

“No no no no, not weird at all. Uh, very flattering actually. ‘Preciate it.” 

You’re gonna fucking pass out. 

“Are you okay though? Nothing hurts, right?” And your knees wobble when a squeezing hand lands on your shoulder, gauging you for pain. No pain. Just deprived. Needy. Desperate. Touch me some more. 

“M good.” 

“Cool…” Her hand drops and you nearly screech like a banshee, “And your name? Sorry bout t—“

You interrupt with yours and she smiles. Nice to meet you, she says with gravel and your heart grows another heart inside of another heart. Holy fucking you’re boutta

“I like rugby.” 

Kill yourself. You’re boutta kill yourself. 

Vi’s eyes widened before nodding in agreement, “Yeah… me too. If it wasn’t obvious enough. It’s a great… stress reliever.” 

So is sex, according to Sexcopedia.edu. Do me. 

“Really? It looks painful sometimes.” 

She sighs with tension, “It is. We gotta lot of aggressive people playing against us so we have to always… do more. I guess, I dunno. But whenever I’m mad it’s great. Very useful.”

“Are you mad often?” 

“Are you studying psychology?” She pins with an arched, slit brow, but her eyes remain light and friendly. It’s funny, she doesn’t appear to be this approachable with her grunge-ness.  

“Nah. I need to, though. Could do me some good.” 

Her laugh is hearty. Genuine. “Shit, me too. Help me out.”

“Do you wanna be my friend?” 

She seems stunned and you don’t know why. Doesn’t banter create friendship? Whatever. Fuck it. She can say no. You don’t care. You still got her shoe—

“Gimme your phone—” 

Your heart drops to the floor, through the concrete, right into the center of the Earth’s crust waiting to burn and cease to exist. She’s got you figured out. You’ve been exposed and she’s gonna fry you in the middle of the damn street

“—I’ll put my number in.” 

… Oh.

You meticulously make sure your notis are deleted and OFF before handing her your device with the keypad on display. Her fingers are pretty and nimble. Flexible with how slender they are. Pretty hands. Pretty, blue veins and you're instantly reminded of her ex. You hate the color blue. 

She hands your phone back, “That’s me. Hit me up when you get… wherever you’re going. And lemme know if I need to cover your medical expenses for spinal cord surgery.” 

You laugh. Really fucking loudly and she flinches, but smiles after. She’s so fucking cute! Is this flirting? 

“Y-Yeah, I will.”

Her head tilts fondly, “Cool.”

“Cool.” 

She gives you one last look before plugging her earbud in to continue her jog. You check her contact to make sure it’s real and fuck you have her fucking number! Fuck fuck fuck fuck

You leap like the happiest frog in the pond when she’s out of your line of view and a sharp pain whips through your shoulder blades. 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       3mi

lads i just got proposed to. spring wedding in sweden

number collected. so it begins. 

kewlio313 • 48s

Christ help us all. 

CreamTeam • 10s

Ring pics. 

     artkiller OP • 3s

     cawk ring pics***

     CreamTeam • 1s

     Should’ve fuckin known. I hate you genuinely 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       30s

when’s a good time to text the girl you’re obsessed with? 

[f21] soooo i’m laying in bed lookignat her contact and idk what to do. i’ve fantasized about this so many times and now its in my lap… im so used to shit going wrong that idk how to react to it going right. it’s kinda late but i really wanna talk to her but idk she might be sleep or whatever. 

should i scale her building and check if she’s awake? :(

—

Vi doesn’t know why there’s a pit in her stomach. She sits on her teammate’s fluffy rug with a smoked out Sevika who patiently waits for her green light, but it hasn’t come. She feels an oncoming breakdown and she needs a babysitter just in case. 

“Finish this for me?” A roach floats in front of Vi’s face before she pushes it away. 

“No.”

“Buzzkill.” 

Sev and Vi sit in silence for 12 seconds before the roach is stolen and hit by the latter. Sevika snickers. Vi drops her head on the couch and exhales her worries through clouds. Stressed, anxious riddled, maybe not the best headspace to get high but fuck it. 

“Whatcha thinking about?”

She shrugs, “Everything.”

“Talk ta me. What’s happening.”

Vi’s face burns when her mind plagues with you. Your giant bifocals and smudged mascara and acrylic-stained hoodies. You had a backpack on… Could be a student here. You might be a freshman. Vi hates making assumptions about strangers but you seemed a little… 

Immature? Your eyes were too shiny to be a senior. 

“You’re gonna laugh…” 

“I’ll always laugh at your stupid ass,” She snickers. “What happened, though, seriously.” 

Wafts of smoke curl around her words, “I almost bulldozed a girl earlier.” 

Sevika scrabbles to her knees with a slack jaw, “WHAT THE—“

“Oh my fucking god can you be normal for—“

“BITCH BULLDOZED? WHAT THE FUCK FREAKY ASS BITCH—“ 

“NOT LIKE THAT!” Vi scoffs, “I went on a run and bumped into her! Fucking WEIRDO!”  

Sevika slumps back on her ass, clearly disappointed, “… Oh.”

Vi tends to the roach until her fingertips burn, stubbing out the burnt paper on Sevika’s ashtray. When she looks up, she finds a very intrigued looking fox. Here she fucking goes. 

“She hot?”

Vi’s sigh is littered with agitation at her friend while she laughs, “I hadta fucking ask! Tell me! She smell good?” 

“I don’t fuckin’ remember! We talked for like… 2 minutes!” 

“2 is enough time to check her out. Show’a hands, how fat were her tits? Like this?” Sevika mimes holding watermelons that are too goddamn heavy and Vi cringes. 

“You fucking disgust me.” 

Sevika relaxes back onto her elbows, legs extended in front of her. Her brow quirks when she catches Vi’s gaze drop to her waist, “Meh. You like that about me.” 

“Sometimes. Not when I’m in a crisis.”

“Meeting a girl is a crisis now?” 

“Yes! I don’t fucking know, she was…” 

Honestly, Vi’s unsure how to describe you. 

“Does she at least go here! You’re not giving me shit to work with.” 

“I DON’T KNOW—“

“DON’T FUCKING YELL AT ME—“

Vi groans with her palms in her eyes, “She just asked to be friends. She told me she watches us play and that she’s—“

“Back the fuck up,” Sevika raises up again, “Do you not see what’s happening here!” 

“…” 

“You’re actually fucking stupid, wow,” She scoffs, “You know she set all that up, right?” 

“… What in the fuck are you talking abou—“

“She ran into you on purpose! She’s a fan bitch!” Sev reaches for her phone on the coffee table, “What’s her Instagram?” 

Vi whines, “I don’t know—“

Before Sevika can cuss her out for the 40th time, she bursts, “I GAVE HER MY NUMBER!”

“… Did you get hers?” 

“…” 

“BROTHER—“

“Shut up! I’m not… I don’t flirt! I don’t know how, not anymore! She caught me off guard honestly.”

“What's her name?” 

Vi sheepishly mumbles your title; it’s slimy the way it curls on her tongue. You were so nice and now she’s setting you up to be pestered by her best friend. 

It’s silent for 3 minutes, only the pittering of Sevika’s fingers on her device while she hunts for you. Another 4 pass before she tosses her phone in annoyance. 

“You sure you weren’t hallucinating? Nothing’s poppin’ up.” 

“You’re so annoy—“

WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAAACK, WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAAACK

Vi’s phone screen glows gray with an unsaved number across the top… One with their area code… Sevika watches the number scroll like a hawk. The smile that grows on her face is crooked. And knowing. 

It’s 11PM. It’s not you. It couldn’t be you. 

“That’s your ringtone?” Sevika snorts. 

“Shut up.” Why’s she so anxious all of a sudden? Her sweaty palms aren’t enough to stop her from reaching for the device, though. 

She answers and puts you on speaker. 

“Hello?” 

“…Hi. It’s me.” 

Sevika’s brow lifts in questioning. Is that her? She mouths and Vi nods. Her eyes roll when her friend whispers, cute voice.  

She’ll never say, but Sevika’s presence re-energizes her. Makes her a little more playful, so she teases, “Me who?” 

A beat of silence passes before you start mumbling to yourself, “I’m gonna fuckin’ throw up is this the wrong per—“

Sevika’s hand flies over her mouth to smother her laughter while Vi coddles you; laughs that she’s joking and that she was waiting on your call. Her cheeks burn when her teammate throws her an accusatory look. 

“Do you mean it?” 

“Mean what?” 

“That you’ve been waiting on me?” 

Before Vi can answer, Sev raises up onto her knees and mimes fucking somebody from the back, face slack with faux and exaggerated pleasure. She ignores the sinful jolt in her tummy and flings a throw pillow right at her face. 

“Yeah, ‘course I was…” 

And then it’s silent again. Her muscles freeze with every deep breath you take over the phone. Sevika waits expectantly, talk to her, she says with flapping fingers. 

“Whatcha up to?” 

“… Uhh… nothing?”

Your laugh is featherlight, “Are you asking me?” 

“Maybe?” 

Sevika’s had enough of the tomfoolery. She wiggles over and hits the mute button with a heavy slam. Leans in close while she whispers, 

“Dude, she’s tryna fuck—“

“No, she isn’t—“

“Yes she is, dodo, did you hear how she was talkin’?” Her tone heightens in pitch, mocks seduction, “You were waiting on me, baby?—“

“H-Hello?” Your mumble is drenched with insecurity. Sevika doesn’t give a fuck. 

“See?” She nearly screams, “She’s DJin’ right now—“

Violet shoves her back before unmuting, “Sorry, m’here…”

“… Was it a bad time to call?” You’re quieter now. Ashamed sounding. Embarrassed. 

“Not at all! Sorry, I was smoking earlier, makes me lose my train of thought.”

“It’s okay…” 

“You make it home safe?” 

“Mhm. I was about to fall asleep but then I remembered to call, so…”

Vi catches her smile before her friend can bully her for it, “So, you called…” 

“Yes,” said excitedly. She can hear your smile. Very puppy-like. Cute. Vi jolts when Sev starts snoring obnoxiously fucking loud. She flicks her forehead. 

“Is someone there with you?” 

Both their eyes widen. A sharp hand raises to slap Sevika, but she flinches before it lands, “Sorry. Just my stupid ass roommate.”

“Hi, Sevika.” 

You’re oddly calm…. But why wouldn’t you be? You had no other intent for this phone call other than keeping your promise. They still share a look though; a brief flash of intrigue and skepticism. How’d you know…

It’s not pondered on for long by Sevika before she sings, “Hey, sweetheart.” 

You sound like the wind has knocked outta you. “H-Hi.” 

Sev singles for Vi to pass the phone over to her. She obliges with a hard stare, “I was just passing through, but while I’m here, I gotta couple… questions. That good with you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. You single?”

“Mhm. For forever, sadly.”

“Great. Are we at the same school?” 

“Duh. I’m at every match. We’re, uh… graduating together if everything goes as planned.” 

So definitely not a freshman. Just when Vi thought it was impossible to finish college without a chip on your shoulder. You seem to have made it through just fine. 

Despite Sevika’s reputation of being cold-hearted and abrasive with wicked flirtation skills, she speaks to you like you’ve been in her life for years. Gentle. Inquiring. She lays flat on her stomach with her feet kicked up behind her, “What’s your major?” 

“Architectural engineering. What’s yours?” 

“You’re so smart. ‘M doing mathematics. You should tutor me when you getta chance.”

“Sure. Just lemme know when. I’m always in the library, so.” 

“Well, what a fucking coincidence, so are we! You coulda dropped by and said hello if that was the case.” 

“I’m trying to do that now… Am I doin’ okay?”

“Just fine actually. Aren’t you sweet.” 

“I taste sweeter.” 

Sevika drops the phone on the plush rug beneath them. Sits upright with urgency. Gawks at Vi whose jaw is nearly in her lap. There’s hardly any air in her chest. She squabbles for her phone and ensures that the volume is all the way up. Holds the device right in between them. 

“… Swear? I don’t think that’s possible.” Sevika hums at you, holding her roommate’s gaze while her tongue traces over the dryness on her lip. 

“You could find out… Both of you can if you wanna.” 

“‘S that easy?” Sevika rasps, and Vi flinches when her breath hits her mouth. Leans in a bit closer to feel more on her face. 

“Why do you sound like that?” Vi huffs at your genuine curiosity. You’re so fucking cute, fuck. 

“Because you’re turning me on, hon,” Her gaze washes over Vi and her skin burns with trails. “Both of us.” 

“Oh… cool.” You exhale unsteadily. They can’t help but laugh at you. “Cool?” Vi repeats. 

“Yeah. Awesome. I’ve never done that to someone before.” 

“You a virgin?” 

“Yup.”

“FaceTime us.”

“I have a Samsung.” 

Both girls explode into laughter, “We’ll call you, then, Jesus—“ Vi sends an eager finger towards the small camera before you mumble, 

“Who says I’ll answer?” 

Sevika tuts, “You don’t wanna watch us kiss?” 

“I’d rather watch in person.” 

Sevika throws Vi a look and she’s instantly reminded of Abby. Usually, that glance — filled with an equal amount of tenderness of filth — is shared between her teammates and she’s forced to endure whatever nonsense they plan to take out on somebody together, but now she’s here. Sevika’s including her in such a sacred ritual. She’s suddenly skittish, “You’re killing me, baby. Whatcha doing this weekend?” Sev quiets, timbre amorous. 

“Playing Overwatch.” 

“Fuck that shit. Come to Kappa on Saturday. Everybody’s goin’.” Sevika snips down at Violet, and she whines while her fingers dig into her roomie’s tank top. A little closer, and they’re kissing. Just an inch—

“What’s Kappa?”

Vi giggles, “House,” Sevika mumbles against Vi’s mouth, “Frat house. Right off 16th. It's bright blue, can’t miss it.”  

“‘K, I’ll go. See ya there.”

“Wh—“

Three dial tones break through the smoke in the air before the screen goes dark, both girls left stunned and… very tempted to track your location. Maybe pop a titty for your RA in exchange for your room number. Wouldn’t be the first time…

… Is that too much? 

It could be, but you didn’t hesitate to drop bomb after proposition, and the selfish part of her heart can’t help but think you wouldn’t mind two ravenous strangers at your front door. The knowledge that they’d give you everything you needed would be enough for you to allow them entry. 

And the way Sevika’s staring at her… Craving, but careful. She’s so patient. 

It’s been such a long time — two years since they’ve had any physical connection. Drunken nights, quickies in the locker room showers— the distractions from grief were all put on the back shelf when Vi got into her relationship. Sevika’s a sleaze, not a homewrecker — most times, so she kept her hands to herself out of respect, no matter how many times Violet would catch her staring where she knew was off limits. 

Vi can't get to you, but she can get to Sevika. 

So she yanks her close, dissolves the space between them as their mouths collide with heat and a newfound ache for you in the middle. Sevika’s just as rough as she remembers — pushes her down so her back molds to the floor, entangles a cinched hand in her hair to pull and expose her neck to the attacks. She’s got blotches and teeth marks on her throat — the unrestrained and possessive and her stomach flips. She gasps at the ceiling when her nightshirt shreds under a forceful hand. 

She hasn’t had the heart to have sex in months — propositions were turned down on dozens of occasions because her mind couldn’t focus on enjoying. Every second of euphoria gets overshadowed by hollow, unforgiving guilt. 

You sparked something in her with your forwardness, that curiosity that left her aching to read your mind. Her best friend, too, evidently. 

Every movement is fast. She crawls down her torso with intent — fangs sharp where they leave blood down her sternum. Vi’s fingers pry Sevika’s shirt off, her tongue separating from her waist for mere seconds before reattaching. An eager hand fondly moves her friend’s hair out of her face. 

You want it? Sevika’s eyes read. 

Yes, I want it, please. Vi says aloud. Eager with a twisting hand in her scalp. 

Sevika sends waves through Vi with every wrestle her tongue devotes to her clit. She can’t think of anything but Sevika and you and both of you at the same time; on top of her — you sat on her face while Sevika’s fingers drove inside her. She wants her tongue inside you; unrelenting and feverish until you scream and soak her tongue in your sweetness. 

Sevika eats like she’s hungry. She eats like she misses having her like this and that wounds Vi up tight; it sends shockwaves down her legs. Makes her twitch, but Sevika forces her still with a tight grip on her waist. 

Vi curses with fluttery eyes when a finger — then two, circles around the entrance that aches for a stretching. 

They’re heaven sent when they push in. She’s getting fucked like she’s hated and she loves it. She deserves to feel like nothing; her walls are selfish where they encase the digits that bring her to the sun, massage against every sensitive ridge just how she needs. Her mouth spills with whatever energy she has left within her; slurred and drooled fuck yes yeses. She can barely conjure a warning when her core locks tight, right before she explodes. 

There’s wetness everywhere while she pulses through her pleasure, thighs squeezing around Sevika’s head with every satisfied moan that vibrates on her clit. Tells Violet to give her more and to take it take it take whatever she gives her like she knows she can. 

It’s not until Violet starts sobbing and Sevika’s mouth is dripping wet that she pulls out and separates from her completely. She kisses her pussy gently before shifting to help unlock Violet’s knees. She shivers with every peck that’s trailed up her torso to her chest to her neck. 

Sevika laughs when Vi does, choked and clogged, but elated and genuine. It’s been so long since her body’s felt this light. 

“You needed that. Ya look better already,” Sevika cackles. “Can you stand?” 

“Fuck off, gimme a sec.” Vi shoves playfully at her chest. 

—

—

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       3s

guys. 

i love being a liar. it makes me feel alive never let a bitch tell you lying is wrong it literally makes life so much easier!! wishing everyone a good night. 

everything’s going as planned. just one more tally on the board and we’re set

—

—

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       20mi

Advice Needed

it’s been 24 hours and my girl who’s not my girl has been texting me nonstop. 

[f21] hello. im in a crisis but a good one? if that’s possible. long story short im in love but not dating the girl im in love with yet. i took some of y’all’s flirting advice and i think it worked. im betting my life that yall do witchcraft. i barely said anything to her and now she won’t me😝😝😝 and tbh… i think her friend won’t me too!!!!! she’s always asking about my day and asking if i ate and if id wanna eat with her but i always decline bc im not ready physically mentally like i’m gonna combust the second she walks up to me i barely survived our first interaction…… but her friend invited me to a party tomorrow night…….. wtf do i wear to that i’ve never been outside before LOL

might get a train ran on me…… WE’LL SEE FRIENDS 

adding her undies to the shrine🩷 yaaaay

CreamTeam • 14mi

bro is she your girlfriend or not? It’s been years at this point. 

     artkiller OP • 12mi

     yes i mean no or yes :)

kewlio313 • 7mi

Wear something that you wouldn’t wear to your parents funeral. Good luck dear 

     artkiller OP • 5mi

     i would whore out if my family died

     kewlio313 • 2mi

     Good God. 

—

What does genuine happiness feel like? 

You’re unsure how long you’ve been on your beanbag, but Violet and Sevika have been laughing since you sat down. They’re so relaxed around each other, content with silence. Accepting of failure. 

You’re not a jealous person at all. Far from, actually, but something furies from within whenever you see them — or people, in general, gleeful; the desperation to feel. You haven’t had the privilege. Maybe that’s why you cling to whatever you have with Vi. She has birthed a wanting inside you. A desire for connection after spending decades comforted by the sound of your own voice. Or comments under your posts. 

Violet makes you happy. And Sevika might, too. Just as long as she doesn’t get too close to your light. 

You’re standing right behind Sevika. She can’t see you, but Vi can. Her fear is swiftly overshadowed by delight. She greets you with a smile that makes your heart throb. 

Sevika’s gaze wanders down to your legs, that remain exposed despite the weather, 

“You’re not cold?” She asks. Not exactly the introduction you were expecting, but that makes you giddy. Vi must tell her about you! 

“Yes,” You say with ease, “Y'all should come to my room. It’s warmer there.” 

Vi nods after gawking, 2 books immediately tucked to her chest with her bag on her back. Sevika just laughs. She gets it. You like that. 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       1s

Advice Needed

how do i mentally prepare for sex? (virginity)

literally fucking freezing walking to my room rn with two burly butches that i want to throw me around and i think they’re going to bc they’re not talking to me but the y are very close i don’t want them to see my screen guys im about to have a threesome pls fucking help me

—

“Cute room.” Violet says, inspecting your horror movie posters and stuffed animals. 

“Thank you.” You smile. 

I hid the 14 polaroids of you that I had taped to my door. Hope that makes you more comfortable! 

“It’s just you in here?” Sevika chimes, eyes glued to the small bed up against the wall, right next to your PC setup. You should ask if they game afterwards. 

“Yes.” 

Violet takes her jacket off and hangs it on your doorknob. 

“Already takin’ off your clothes?” You plop down onto your freshly made mattress. Both girls look very stiff in your space; Is that normal? Maybe they’re nervous. 

Both girls laugh the same. “Not like that. It is warm in here.” Sevika follows in Vi’s lead, removing her hoodie and her undershirt is squeezing her and yup those arms are still there those muscles are popping out yup yup yup—

“Yeah. I can’t sleep in the cold.” You pat your bedspread for them to sit… and they do. On either side of you. Vi brought her notebook and pencil. Sevika brought her heavily ringed hands. 

She scoffs, “Me neither. Immune system is worse than a newborn’s.” 

“Do you get sick easily?” 

“Yes. I just got over it last week.” 

“Damn…” 

“Almost got me sick,” Violet pins playfully, skimming through her pages. She erases before rewriting. So so so so smart; too bad both her answers were wrong. You’ll show her the way soon enough. 

“Coach would hate me. Her star pupil’s under the weather, what ever shall we do,” Sevika mocks and you both chuckle. 

“The season starts next week. Y’all nervous?” 

“No—“ “Yes—“

“I’m nervous for games, not practice,” Vi corrects, “I can’t find my fuckin’ shoes.” 

“What shoes?” 

“My cleats. My sister got ‘em for me a while ago, wear ‘em every match for good luck. I don’t remember where I fucking put them though.” 

“Aww, ‘m sorry.” 

Sorry for keeping them in my closet. 

“S whatever. Just gotta get new ones.” 

Small talk is boring as fuck, but it continues between you and Vi. Sevika’s quiet as a mouse; every glance in her direction is met with hooded eyes. She’s very focused on your nightstand drawer. Can she see what’s inside it? You hope so; Maybe your unworn thongs will motivate them to move this along. 

“Awww! Wait, you used to play soccer?” 

You already know all this. It’s on her fucking Instagram for fucks sake! 

“On the junior team when I was like… 10! I was—“

Trash. I kept tripping over the fuckin’ ball—

“—And forgetting to tie my shoes. It was a hot fucking mess!” 

Yup. Same as the caption. 

The laughter between you finally quiets. You count 12 seconds in your head. You raise a hand to place it on the Hello Kitty bandage directly under her eye. 

“What happened here?” 

Sevika’s breathing is very calming. 

“Got in a fight,” Vi mumbles. Poor things embarrassed! “Got socked in the eye.” 

“Sorry,” Your hand rests in your lap, “Did I hurt you?”

“You’re good… still stings though. They gotta good one in.” 

“How’d it happen?” 

“Don’t remember honestly.”

“Oh okay.” 

The conversation ends. Another 12 seconds. 

“So… Did you guys fuck after I hung up?” 

Sevika smiles and Vi chokes in shock. They’re so different. No wonder they’re so close. 

“I— sorry, thought we were studying—“

“Who said we were gonna study?” You stare at Vi quizzingly. 

“No one did. We mighta fucked.” Sevika shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Oh… was it fun? Whatever it was.”

“Ask her.” She nods in direction of the girl whose face is beet fucking red. How cute! 

“Vi… was it fun?” 

Her eyes droop to the pencil in her hand before flicking it nervously. 

“… I guess.” 

“You guess?”

“That’s what I said.” 

“… Okay.” 

Vi sets her book and pencil on your nightstand before releasing a stuttered sigh. 

“Tell me what happened if ya wanna,” Softness wafts off your tongue. 

Vi swallows, “I… uh…”

“Mhm?”

“We… I didn’t…”

“I gave her head til she cried.” Sevika whispers right in your ear; tickling against your lobe and you’re suddenly winded. Vi’s legs twist until one crosses over the other. 

Gave… Oh…

This isn’t new information. You’re 79% sure Sevika was Vi’s first kiss… or you heard something like that in passing, so why does the sudden confirmation make you wanna hide? Curl into your blankets and shield yourself from both of them? 

“Oh… fun.” Your face burns underneath the skin.

“Very.” 

“Yup…” 

“You’re shy now? After all that?” Sevika almost laughs when your eyes drop to the floor. 

“It’s uh, easier to talk when no one’s actually there.” 

“We coulda been if you’d answered the fucking phone.” 

“… Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, baby.” 

Sevika’s captain of the team for a reason; a leader by nature and Vi allows her to despite her anticipation. She's much closer now, the respectful distance she kept up upon arrival now completely shut, her shoulder touching yours, nearly straddling your leg. 

There’s a light tickle on your thigh; Sevika’s index finger barely grazes the skin exposed beneath the hem of your skirt. 

“You’re so stiff,” She whiffs tender against your neck and you choke a noise. 

“I’m … ‘mscaredtobreathe—“

“Don’t be scared,” Sevika’s whole hand caresses your knee, eases you into her, all while Vi mouths at your neck. “Here, wanna know a secret?”

You release the air in your lungs, “Sure…” 

She’ll never tell, so I will. Your head bobs so encouragingly. 

Vi told me something after she showered that night. 

With every buttery brustle against your shoulder, Vi’s hands gently attack wherever they can reach; the plush of your hips, on your thighs, grabbing at your tummy over your hoodie that takes up too much fucking space for her liking. You can’t stop squirming with every taut pull at the pit of your stomach. 

I was sitting on my bed and she came in, and she smelled so good. I was trying to roll up again, but she took my tray and put it on my dresser… 

Roll up? Tray? What what what the fuck is she saying—

And she got on her knees in front of me… and she looked so fucking cute just staring up at me like that, like she’d do anything to make me happy… She’s sweet like that if she’s in the mood. 

She said ‘may I practice on you, please?’… And I said okay… So she pulls down my underwear and treats me so well. You wanna know who she was practicing for? 

Yes, yes, please—

It was you, baby. She kept telling me how good she wanted to make your first time. 

A strained noise chokes from your throat, and Vi smiles against your ear before her lips close around your lobe and it’s too much they’re too much—

Uh huh, and her tongue felt so fucking good on me. Almost impressive… and she loved every second of it. 

Please… please, I’m— 

Listen to that, Violet, she’s so fucking cute, isn’t she?

So sweet, too. Bet she tastes so fucking good. 

She’s so hungry for you, baby, Sevika coos at you, Gonna stop teasing and give us what we want? 

You agree obediently — desperately, with every thrumming cell you can use at the moment. 

Vi’s benign hand rests on your cheek to turn you towards her before kissing you softly. A gentle peck before she pulls away. It’s overstimulating; Vi kissing and touching you like you’re made of glass while Sevika sucks large bruises on the side of your throat. Your nails dig into the muscular thigh that hardly shakes at your grip in attempts to ground yourself, but they fail because you’re about to faint. 

Your sun kisses you deeper, holds your face tighter to keep you where she needs to tongue at your lips. You’re trying to keep up with her, to use the muscle like she uses hers, but you’re falling behind. They don’t seem to mind, satisfied with the fact that they’re gonna devour you regardless. 

And when Vi lays you back nice and cozy against your pillows while Sevika kisses all over your face, you know you’re fucked. 

—

Sevika and Vi take turns kissing you. 

It’s a messy and uncoordinated mess of teeth and saliva, mainly because of you, but you like it. You love it. You hope they do, too. The warmth of their bodies beside you resonates deep in your core. Whenever one of them pulls away, the next is more than open to take her place, over and over. Your thighs are already shaking. 

Your hoodies raised up thanks to Vi’s wandering hands, tucked right above your rib cage. Your stomach jolts when a feathery finger teases at the band of your skirt. 

“You ticklish?” Vi mutters against your cheek. 

“… Nope.” 

“Yes—” She swipes the same finger against your exposed skin and you jump with a giggle, “you are. Liar.”

“Fuck you!” 

“Yeah… I really, really want to.”

She doesn’t give you time to think of a response; just kisses you one last time before climbing onto her knees. Meanwhile, Sevika’s struggling to get comfortable in your bed. She’s essentially on top of you, both her legs wrapped around one of yours. 

“Fucking — small ass mattress! I forgot how much I hate these!” 

“S-Sorry! Couldn’t afford anything else — mmh!”

Sevika reconnects your mouths while the bed dips beside you. Then there’s lips on your tummy. 

Laughter explodes outta you; Sevika can’t help but laugh into your mouth while Vi nibbles at your pudge. Her grin glows on your skin before her tongue glides on your hip. Her attention stays there; sloppy noises from above and below, your gasps swallowed with every bite Vi gives you. 

You hardly register her pulling your skirt down. You’re just colder. And fuzzier in the head. Sevika breaks away to ask, 

“How wet is she?”

Huh— oh she’s not talking to you yup yup—

“Come see.” 

Sevika rises from position and you’re even colder. When she whistles at the spot on your underwear, your thighs squeeze shut… for 000.3 seconds before she pries them open again. 

“Stop I’ll fucking cry—“

“Cry about what? That’s so fucking hot. You’re so cute, baby.” 

“Bro I wanna die—“

Sevika rolls her eyes, “Bust one last time at least, damn.” 

“Can we make it quick please I’m already on the verge—“

“Of cumming?” Sevika purrs.

“Of suicide—“

Vi’s in hysterics. You shouldn’t be this fucking funny. She watches you and Sevika go back and forth with tears in her eyes. 

You bite, “Wonky ass foreplay—“

“I’ll strangle you—“

“I’ll like it—“

Both of you are fucking stupid. Neither of you notice Vi tugging your panties down. She almost starts drooling at the sight of your pussy. Swallows down the lump of saliva before it can drip down her chin. You’re wet and throbbing and pretty and you smell like heaven. 

You gasp when two curious fingers separate your sticky lips; strings of slick cling to Vi’s digits. Sevika watches with an insatiable hunger.

“What do you like?” Vi whispers, and you shrug. 

“I dunno, I’m new here.” 

She rolls her eyes, “I mean what do you do when you touch yourself? 

“I don’t do that.” 

“Never?” Both girls exclaim. 

You shake your head. “I tried once and nothing happened so I just ate spaghetti and went to bed.” 

“Were you wet?” 

Vi’s forbearing with her inquiries, but still, you’re on the fucking spot and you might start sneezing from anxiety. They’re too patient with you; Maybe you’ve been misreading how they were in bed this entire time. You were expecting them to be knuckles deep in every available hole by now. 

You’ve never been so nervous, and for you, that’s saying a lot. “I don’t remember, it was years ago.” 

“You’ve never used toys or anything?” 

“I… No.”

Sevika stares at Vi, and Vi at Sevika, and you at the wall. 

Your thighs twitch when velvet nuzzles at them, Vi’s voice deep as the ocean. “I’m gonna try something, tell me if you like it and I’ll keep going… okay?” 

You can’t formulate a response but your head bounces in approval. A finger applies the gentlest of pressure on your clit and you expel a wheeze. 

“Okay?” Sevika hums from above you, a hand easing underneath your hoodie to massage your breast. 

“Ye-ah—“

“Sit up for me, honey,” She whispers and you obey so she can creep in behind you, your back resting against her chest. Both her hands rub at your chest this time, her fingers massage your nipples while Vi strokes your clit in slow, teasing circles. 

“How’s this feel, babe?” 

“G— good! Great… h-hooray?” How do pornstars dirty talk so eloquently? You’re literally fucking dying right now. Sevika laughs to herself in your neck and your chest burns. 

“Yeah? And this?” She utters right before pressing in, flicking you from side to side and your core squeezes tight. You’re dripping and she watches so closely. 

“Oh fuck—“

“There she is, good girl, just feel what she’s givin’ you.” Sevika rasps against your shoulder. 

You are feeling and it’s too much for your body to comprehend. Your brain’s never been this focused on one thing. On one feeling, especially one this enjoyable. It’s so good it’s so good you love your fucking girlfriend—

“Tell me when you’re gonna cum?” Vi says against your soft skin

“Uhh…? I— oh god—“

“Getting there, baby? Feel how tight you’re getting? I can see it.”

2 ragged inhales and your eyes roll back and your jaw slacks and your nose tickles oh shit—

“Yeah, yeah, give it to me, c’mon—“

ACHOO!

Your thigh squeezes shut when euphoria overtakes your entire system; thighs clamping shut around Vi’s wrist while she giggles and rubs out your pleasure with ease because she’s stronger than you. Your initial efforts of staying as silent as possible were in vain because you’re squealing your little head off. Sevika rests back on her hands and watches like a hawk while you thrash and clench and leak all over her roommate’s hand. 

“Good job. Felt nice, hm?” 

You struggle to nod because you’re still cumming so hard and her fingers won’t cease on you. Your thighs stick together with your wetness. 

“I’m still eating you out, you know that, right?”

Your whines of approval sound wounded. 

You couldn’t see it, but when Vi finally pulled her hand from you, slurping noises swiftly followed, alongside Sevika’s hums of satisfaction. 

Mentally preparing for your burial. 

—

Vi might be obsessed with you. 

She’s back in her original position between your thighs — with Sevika this time because she’s greedy — and fuck she’s never been so antsy to give head. She loves it and she loves getting it even more… at least she thought so. The aliens could come crashing down from the clouds and her first focus would still be getting you to soak her face. 

You’re fully undressed now, minus a sock; its twin slipped off some fucking where but she couldn’t give a fuck. She’s so desperate to touch you again. It plagues her mind; stuffed with everything that she’s learned about you thus far. You sneeze before you orgasm for fucks sake that’s the cutest shit ever —

Can I?

She’s asking you and you’re whispering yes, please and fuck you moan so pretty when she first glides her tongue on you. Sevika allows her to ease you into the feeling, but she stays close enough to see every drop of slick that glides on Vi’s tongue. You’re so noisy and she loves that. All she can think about is how loud you’d be with your face in her pillow and your hands behind your back while she —

Vi! Violet! I’m cumming again! 

You’re a fucking dream. An insane fucking freaky ass dream. 

If anyone were to walk past your room right now, they’d be appalled at the ruckus that permeates through your space; sloppy sucking noises and encouraging praises and dehumanizing name calling that makes you grind your hips faster. You’re nearly riding her fucking face. 

Vi wishes she could see you in entirety; memorize every thrust and wriggle you give into her face, drowning her in your scent and juices and everything she could ever want in this moment. You’re exactly what she needed; a pliant distraction. You turn her mind off so easily. 

Sevika’s greedy and selfish as she raises one of your legs up with ease. You fall back onto the mattress with your back arched to the skies, a cracked wail squeezing from your lungs when another tongue smushes against your clit. Sevika sucks hard at your clit when Vi’s tongue swirls down to meet your entrance. The eager muscle wastes no time to shove inside and catch whatever bursts from you. 

She moves on autopilot; eases one finger past your pulsing heat and your legs start to shake. The digit curls deep inside, plunges into you with vigor and determination to get you there, hits a spot that almost lands her a kick in the back of her head, but she catches you; curls an arm around your thigh to keep you still. 

And the night — or afternoon or morning, none of you remember, continues like that until you’re drained completely dry and your body contracts from memory. 

Hours pass when Sevika and Vi finally start tonguing each other down for your viewing pleasure, and it starts all over again. 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       1s

2 butches are sleeping next to me rn… 

never let a hoe tell you to stop following your dreams. i’ve been following mine for almost 3 years and now they’re sleep next to me…. 

#HAPPYPRIDE

---

—𓆩[something worse]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Tobias Eaton (Four) x Fem! Dauntless Born! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - smut, fluff

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 2K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - You and Four had been together since he chose Dauntless, especially because you were one of the Dauntless born pulled into training. You both had never put a label on your relationship because it never seemed right, but everyone knew that you both were a couple, except the newest tributes you both were training, no matter how obvious you both made it. It seems you both have to make it a little more obvious.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - so sorry I was writing this during a final and it might suck I’m sorry 😭 || cursing || unprotected sex || creampie || oral || fingering

You were used to wandering eyes, you really were, your partner was literally the hottest man in Dauntless. It didn’t really matter about wandering eyes though when they knew you both were together, label or not, but it seemed to be difficult to get through the mind of one of the new initiates.

You weren’t born Abnegation like either of them, you were a bitch and you made sure everyone knew it. You were a lovable bitch though, that’s why you were being fucked every night by the hottest man in all of the factions.

It passed through your mind to just show her, get Four to tell her something is going on in a certain area just to pull him there to fuck you. You passed it through Tori just to make sure, and she said no though, so you decided not to go through with it.

Maybe that’s why you were watching Four fix Tris’ position because she wouldn’t stick with it when Eric did it. It made your skin crawl, staring at the two of them. Maybe it did feel right that he was with someone from his home faction, didn’t he like selfless people? You were selfless in your own way, right? He knew that.

“Hey, you okay?” Uriah asks you, a smile quickly making its way to your face.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, thank you. I’m going to go see how some of the kids are doing, you mind telling Four?” You start collecting your stuff, inhaling deeply as Uriah follows you.

“He’s coming over here.”

You shoot up as Four stands in front of you, his brow raised. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go do my time at the school,” you say, smiling slightly. “I just… haven’t seen King in a while.”

Four sighs. “Well… I can go with you in a minute, okay? King likes me, right?”

You laugh, slowly lifting your arms to wrap your arms around his neck before pausing. Public displays of affection were never really your thing, but you really wanted to.

Four saw you pause, leaning down to wrap his arms around your waist as you smiled and wrapped yours around his neck. “Everyone likes you, Four,” you teased, giggling. “But I love you.”

He smiles back, leaning down for a soft kiss as you tugged on his hair. “I love you too.”

You pulled his hands closer to your form, pulling his face into your neck as you looked over his shoulder just enough to wink at Tris before pulling away. “Let’s go see King.”

He nods, letting you lead him out of the training area and to the school. Dauntless didn’t teach like Erudite did, but they made sure that the children of the faction learned things needed to survive in the faction. King was a child of two Dauntless soldiers who had died exploring beyond the wall, and as a result, you both took him in sort of like your own.

Seeing you with a child really made Four want to give you a child, especially with how good you were with kids, but it never really seemed to be the right time.

That was until he saw you twirling another boy in your eyes, King cleaning one of Four’s guns while the older man oiled up one of the other ones. The younger boy was named Chris, someone whose parents got caught up in a mission and you both took him home just for a while.

“She looks good with a baby, right?” King asks, smiling. “Y/N was always good with kids. She was good with me,” he mumbles now, smiling. “I’m doing well in my training. She said that.”

“You are,” Four said with a smile. “You’re doing really well. Ranked third, kid, you’re doing good,” he leaned forward and ruffled his hair with a laugh. “Want you to get that first spot, though.”

King grins. “I will.”

Someone knocks making you fix Chris on your hip, quickly walking toward the door as Four stands. “Stay there,” he orders to King as you open the door, raising a brow when you see Tris. “Who is it?”

“Uhm… can I help you?”

She inhaled. “I just… I’m here to see Four.”

“Four, honey!” You yell out, the tall man coming behind you and settling a hand on your hip. “One of the trainees wants to speak with you.”

Four raised a brow. “Everything alright?”

Oh, the Abnegation was coming out.

“Y-Yeah, everything’s fine-”

“Perfect,” Four smiles, taking Chris from your arms and setting him on the ground. “King, come here!”

The older boy quickly walks over, standing just like Four. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you take Chris down to eat? Tris will join you both,” Four says making King’s nose scrunch. “What?”

“Don’t forget I sleep here too.” King takes Chris’ hand, looking back just a bit. “Don’t forget I have a bed! That’s my bed!”

“Bye, King!” You laughed as Four grinned, closing the door as his other hand held your waist.

You couldn’t stop smiling, giggling as you stared up at him. “You did that, didn’t you?”

His smile grows, just a bit. “Yeah, I did. Uriah kind of… hinted it to me.”

You hummed. “Good, because I would've done something worse,” you said, slowly stepping back and pushing your hands into his tight black shirt. “I was this close.”

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?” He asked, smiling as the back of your knees bumps against the bed. His rough hands slip under your shirt, rubbing against your back as though he could feel the black ink you had gotten tattooed.

“Was gonna make her catch us fucking in the corridor,” you giggled as Four slipped off your shirt, humming as he leaned down. “Who said we always have to fuck on the bed? You like that idea?”

He nodded into your shoulder, lips pressing soft kisses to your skin as you started to lean back, his hands securely catching you before you could fall back fully. Carefully, he sets you down, his mouth pressing hot kisses to your neck down your chest. “I fucking love that idea,” he mumbled, his hand slowly rubbing circles against your thigh. “You want to go do that now?”

It was a tempting offer, but you shake your head. “No,” you say, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “You already got me here. Why move?”

He smiled even wider, leaning down as his hands moved to your hips to slowly tug at the tactile pants you wore. “I was thinking,” he whispers as you pull him down to press kisses to his neck. You could see the black peeking out from his shirt, pulling it off of him easily as he pulled away just to slip it off before pulling off your own. “You looked good with Chris on your hip.”

You paused, looking up at him. “You think so?”

He nodded, his hands tugging at your sports bra as your hands dragged down his back. He kneels over your body, pressing kisses down your neck to your chest. “I know so. You’re a natural with kids, angel, you’re fucking perfect.”

The slight husk in his voice made a shiver run up your back, your stomach twisting and heat flooding into your underwear as he lets his hot mouth suck at your lower stomach. “D-Does that mean something?”

He smiled, looking up at you. “Did I just get a Dauntless-born to stutter?”

You blushed madly, looking away. “Don’t let it get to your head, Four.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your pelvic bone before he slowly starts to pull your underwear off, his fingers dancing along your thighs as you squirmed, gasping as he pressed a firm kiss to your clit. It makes you squirm, his fingers replacing his lips as he kisses lower and lower.

“F-Fuck,” you whimper as the tip of his fingers slowly prod against your cunt, his mouth sucking and licking around his fingers as your hands push into his hair. “F-Four, you’re being too nice.”

He laughs, pulling away just for a minute as he slowly pushes a thick finger into you, watching as your hips buck into the air and your back arches. “Maybe it’s the Abnegation?”

You shook your head, reaching a hand down to push his fingers deeper into your pussy. It makes you whine, a gasp coming from your lips as he pulls them out just for a second to add another finger. “Abnegation is selfless, my darling, maybe it’s the Amity? J-Just, don’t stop.”

He laughs, popping a kiss to your cunt before pushing his fingers deeper into you, watching as you squirmed. Moans fall from your lips as he pressed firm circles against your clit, the sensitive bud making you whine loudly, hips bucking.

His fingers curl inside of you, pushing his tongue into you with his fingers as you tug on his hair and your other hand finds his cheek.

You felt your stomach twisting, hips bucking uncontrollably as you attempted to ride his fingers. You gasped as his fingers curled inside of you, attempting to find that one soft spot inside of you that made your eyes roll back. It didn’t take him long to find, especially because he’s memorized your body over the years and he groaned as you clenched around him.

“Come on honey, cum for me. Want to watch you cum.”

Your eyes rolled back, whimpering as he pushed his fingers knuckle deep into you to watch your pussy flutter. Your stomach twists, loud groaning falling from your lips as your stomach twists. Your hips buck, eyes rolling back as he sucked on your cunt, swallowing loudly as he pulled out his fingers.

He pulled away, sitting up as he pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his cock, hissing as you raised your legs to wrap around his waist. He grunts as he slowly pushes into you, eyes rolling back as he leaned down to hold himself up with his elbows, pulling you in for a kiss. “Fucking hell, I want to see you with my kids so bad,” he groaned, gasping as you pulled him down for a kiss. “Want to see you pregnant over and over again.”

You whined, his hips moving quickly as the bed pounded into the wall, your nails dragging down his back. His cock rammed into your pussy, strong thrusts making your eyes roll back as he pressed his lips to your neck. “You want that honey? Want to be fucked, round and full with my kids?”

You nodded, whining loudly. “Yes! Yes, I do!”

He grunts loudly, slamming into you just to feel your pussy clench along his entire shaft, a broken moan leaving his lips as you cum again around him. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, fuck! Four!” You yelled out as he reaches down to rub firm circles into your clit, rutting his hips just a few more times as he came inside you for the first time without protection.

It was an odd feeling, but filling as he groaned loudly, your cunt continued to clench around him to milk him of everything he had. It was warm, and if you could feel sticky-ness inside of you, it would be this. You whimper as he starts to pull out, trying to reach forward to pull him back in before he grabs your legs, pushing them back so your knees were on your shoulders.

“You don’t think we’re done yet, do you? Gotta make sure this sticks.”

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© asterias-record-shop

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not knowing if you want becky on your team or not is ridiculous

Now, I’m not saying anything bad about Twila, but saying that she didn’t want to make a decision about Becky’s future with the team and then giving two new players their first caps seems like a contradiction, right? Or am I wrong and off base?

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“I dare you to steal his clothes.”

Mattheo, Enzo, Blaise and Theo

Luna dares you to steal his clothes while he’s showering. I mean what can possibly go wrong… *wink wink*

Warning: smut, making out and the guys are fully naked

Mattheo and Theo picture source: https://pin.it/4GWiiih

I’m back with more low quality, cheap smut. Feedback is rewarded with my love, like even a small typo, just please let me know.

You were sitting in the slytherin common room. It was late and the party was dying down but your friends refused to go to their dorms.

“Truth or dare?” Luna asks as she tries to focus on you but she’s clearly too drunk to manage that.

“Dare.”

Luna tries to get her brain to come up with a good dare, something fun. It is then that she sees a certain slytherin holding a towel and heading for the bathroom.

Mattheo Riddle

“I dare you to steal Mattheo’s clothes while he’s showering.” You groan, you preferred to stay as far away from him as possible, but then again if you were sneaky enough he would probably never figure out it was you.

You had managed to sneak in without making any noise. You were relieved there was only one person in the bathroom. You tiptoed towards the pile of clothing and just as you were reaching for it you noticed that the water had stopped running.

“Accio.” Is all you heard before being pulled backwards straight into Mattheo. His strong arms immediately wrapped around you and pushed you against his still wet body.

“You were dared to do this, weren’t you?” Mattheo whispers in your ears, his voice is calm and amused. You swallow and lick your lips in an attempt to calm yourself. “Yes.” You murmur as you try to wiggle your way out of his arms, but he just tightens his grip more. The water droplets on his body are sinking into the fabric of your shirt.

You sigh. “Just let me go. And like, lend me your tie or something so they know I tried. I don’t want them to think I chickened out.” Mattheo leans in closer to your neck, his warm breath on your skin makes your whole body heat up. “Riddle.” You wanna complain but it comes out desperate.

“I have a better idea.” Mattheo says right before he spins you around. Your back clashes with a wall as he pushes you against it with his whole body. His amused smirk gives you mixed feelings of worry and desire. “Just the tie is fine.” You protest as his face inches towards you. You fear that if Mattheo actually kisses you, you will lose all sanity and he will have you begging in no time.

You can feel his hardening member between your legs. A not so subtle reminder that he’s naked. Mattheo’s hand lingers on your leg gently making his way up under your skirt. Your body tenses under his touch. “You can always leave. Or you can stay and maybe I’ll let you walk away with my clothes.”

As you consider your options he watches your face and slowly leans into you, his pleased grin never faltering. After a moment of quiet sexual tension Mattheo grabs your ass and lifts you up without warning. A soft noise leaves your lips and Mattheo sees your parted lips as an open invitation. His mouth is on yours and his tongue immediately starts exploring.

His hard cock teases your pussy through your panties. Out of desperation you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, searching for more sensation. He breaks the kiss and admires your flustered face. “Look at you. Always acting like you're better than me and now I’ll have you calling me daddy in no time.” His arrogance turns you on as much as it infuriates you.

Mattheo grabs your chin to angle your face right, leaving your neck exposed. He starts kissing and nibbling at your sensitive spot, while his hips rock into yours. Your fingers entangle in his beautiful dark curls but only for a moment. You are not an easy prey.

You tugg his hair so he pulls away from your neck. “Not happening, Riddle.” His arrogant smug face starts cracking and he clenches his jaw. “You’re pretty entertaining, but I’ll not be calling you daddy.” You say trying to sound brave while you unwrap your legs. With dark eyes he lets you slip out of his hands so you land on your feet. “No tie for you, you’ll fail your dare.” You smile at his attempt to persuade you.

“Don’t worry about me Riddle, worry about the little fella between your legs.” You take a step and reluctantly he lets you walk away. Now that there’s some distance between you two your eyes fall on his hard thick member and you bite your lip, slightly impressed by his size. When you’re near the door Mattheo can’t help but try one more time. “My roommates are going to be out for a few more hours, just so you know, in case you change your mind.” You lick your lips as you're holding the door. “Sorry pretty boy, it’s going to be you and your hand tonight.”

As you close the door behind you Mattheo looks around clearly frustrated that he got played like this. An annoyed huff leaves his lips. You had already caught his eye but now you were definitely on his radar. He urgently needs another shower to cool down.

Meanwhile you walked back to your friends still shaking from all the things Mattheo had you feeling. When they see you walk in they stop talking and stare. “Yeah, it didn’t go as planned.” You say with a soft voice and a flustered face. Suddenly Luna points, clearly still out of it. “Is that a hickey?” Your eyes widen as your hand covers your neck. “Oh. My. God.” Pansy’s dramatic voice draws even more attention, while Hermoine eyes show flashes of pure panic.

Enzo Berkshire

“I dare you to steal Lorenzo’s clothes while he’s showering.” Your eyes widen and you blush. You wondered if Luna dared you to do this because she had somehow figured out you had a crush on the Slytherin.

Either way you were currently standing in front of the bathroom door. You quietly open the door and tiptoe inside, while scanning for his clothes. However, Enzo already noticed you before you managed to spot his clothes. “Did they dare you to join me in the shower? Because you are more than welcome, darling.” You turn around with red cheeks and see Enzo with a bright smirk.

But honestly your eyes don’t linger on his face for very long. They immediately drop down to his very naked body and his dick. “Enjoying the show?” He asks and you quickly turn around. “Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice.” You stammer, making Enzo chuckle. “If you stare for as long as you did, you’ve definitely noticed everything.” He emphasizes the last word. “I was dared to steal your clothes.” You confess, hoping he won’t think you’re some pervy girl.

“That’s just boring. I dare you to join me for a shower, I will help you wash.” You feel your whole body heat up. “You can’t just dare me, I can still pick ‘truth’.” You hear him walk towards you, but you don’t dare to turn around assuming he’s still naked. “You’re right. So, truth then: did you like what you saw?” Your mouth falls open and suddenly you feel his breath on your neck. His eyes carefully watching your red face.

“You are unbelievable!” You try and take a step to put some distance between you two, but he wraps his arm around you. “Unbelievably hot? Handsome? Long? Big?” He teases you while his face nestles in his hair. “You know if you’re not going to tell me then you’re going to have to shower with me.”

***

“So strange, it’s been an hour and (y/n) still hasn’t come back.” Luna asks with a very confused tone. Hermoine smiles, having her suspicions. “Maybe she just got a little distracted while trying to steal Lorenzo’s clothes.”

Blaise Zabini

“I dare you to steal Zabini’s clothes while he’s showering.” You swallow. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” Convincing drunk Luna was impossible. So here you were sneaking around in the Slytherin boys bathroom gathering Blaise’s scattered clothes like some weirdo. You had finally collected every piece and tiptoed your way to the door. However, you were still only halfway when you were spotted.

“Hey, hey, what do you think you’re doing, little smooth criminal?” You hear Zabini shout as you're holding all of his clothes. “Nothing.” You instinctively answer. He wants to say something but is distracted when he sees your eyes scan down his body. “Princes, my eyes are up here.” You let out a nervous laugh as you glue your eyes to his. It has never been so difficult to not look at something.

You don’t dare to take your eyes off his face as he walks towards you. When he stops right in front of you you feel like you’re turning into pudding. He slowly leans in, his eyes never leaving yours. Then suddenly he pulls out a towel from behind you and wraps it around his waist. You sigh relieved that you can let your eyes wander again.

“Can I have my clothes back, little thief?” He asks with an adorable smile plastered on his face. “No, I’m stealing them for a dare.” You explain like you now have every right to steal his clothes. He tilts his head, not satisfied with your excuse. “I really need them.” You urge and you earn yourself a baffled expression from him. “So do I.”

“Clothes are overrated. You can go naked.” Blaise quirks an eyebrow. “I mean you have your towel.” You gesture to his slutty low hanging towel and when he looks down you head for the door. Unfortunately, you don’t get very far as he grabs a hold of your wrist. You stumble and fall into him, making you drop some of the clothes you were holding and causing his towel to loosen and fall down. As soon as you notice that his rather large member is revealed again you glue your eyes back to his. “Your towel.” He’s so amused with your flustered face that it really doesn’t bother him anymore.

His lips catch yours by surprise, but it doesn’t take long for you to relax into the kiss. Things heat up quickly. Your hands snake around his neck and he starts exploring your entire body, squeezing and cupping your breasts while gripping your ass and pulling you into his hips. You never stop touching each other as he walks you towards the shower. “I’m going to have to steal your clothes.” He explains as he pulls your shirt over your head. “Understandable.” Is all you say.

After more than an hour you return to your friends. “Did you take a shower?” Hermoine questions when she notices you walk in with wet hair. “Who cares! Did you get his clothes?” Luna screams in excitement about the dare. “Damn, I forgot about that.” You sigh and Luna looks confused. “Then what have you been doing all this time?” “Me.” You hear Blaise say as he passes you and your friends on his way to his room. You glare but his smile doesn't fade.

Theodore Nott

“I dare you to steal Nott’s clothes while he’s showering.” You roll your eyes as soon as you hear his name. All of your friends were convinced that you had a thing for him and you definitely admired his looks but you just couldn’t stand his smug face.

“Run in, grab his clothes and run out. Easy.” You whispered to yourself before slamming the door open with zero tact and running in. He of course immediately notices you. You spot a pile of clothes on the other side of the room and sprint towards it. When he realizes what you’re up to he steps out of the shower and heads towards the door.

You quickly hug the pile of clothes against your chest and turn around with the intention of running out, but there’s a flaw in your plan. Well, more like a very naked Theo leaning against the door. “I’m assuming you were dared to do this?” He raises an eyebrow. “Duh, why else would I be running around stealing clothes?” You were annoyed with his question and he was annoyed with your answer.

As you walk towards him it’s harder for you to ignore his massive cock, like its size is almost bothering you. No wonder his ego is so massive, just like his dick. He licks his lips as he watches you stare at him for a second too long to go unnoticed. When you look up and see his smirk, you sigh. “Just let me pass, Nott.” He shakes his head. “You come running in here, try to steal my clothes and expect me to let you walk out. You really aren’t that bright.” You narrow your eyes at him. “But you’re pretty, so maybe we can arrange something.”

The only thing between you two is the pile of clothes that you’re holding against your chest. Theo tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Come on, if you get on your knees for me I’ll let you walk out of here with my clothes.” You consider your options, but he makes choosing easier by leaning in and kissing you roughly. He bites your lips and you open your mouth while simultaneously dropping his clothes. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you press yourself against him. He eagerly embraces your lust and lets himself lean against a wall.

Your hands roam his naked chest and slowly you make your way to his already harding member. When you finally wrap your hand around his thick cock he lets out a soft moan. Even though his eyes are shut he knows you're smiling against his lips. You start pumping his dick and stroking his tip. Theo's breaths become messy. He hates that you know how much you turn him on, but he can’t help himself. More than once, has he spent his time daydreaming about you going down on him and now your lips were slowly making their way down from his neck to his chest to…

“You’re already leaking cum for me.” You taunt him and he looks down at you. Fuck, seeing you on your knees holding his cock. It does things to him. “But if you think something is going to happen, then you aren’t very bright, Theo.” With those words you jump up and grab his clothes, running like your life depends on it.

Panting you reach your friends and hold Theo’s clothes up in victory. Luna cheers excitedly. Some time passes and you’ve all decided to play one last round, when suddenly Theo walks in wearing nothing but a towel and if looks could fuck, then.. you know, definitely fucked. The lust in his eyes was dangerously attractive. His eyes never leave yours as he gathers his clothes laying next to you. “I’ll get you for this.” He says with a husky voice and licks his lips. Hermoine frowns and laughs nervously. “Why do I get the feeling this is about more than just stealing clothes?” Your heart starts racing as you watch Theo walk away, you might have gotten yourself in trouble.

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you can see the moment she realizes she’s leaving kk i can’t THIS IS A SET, DO NOT SEPARATE omg

rare picture: all 3 hughes brother smiling at the same time

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˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

you’re gonna be ok (paige x reader)

summary: you’re going through a tough time and have pushed paige away but she finally realises something is wrong

content warnings: talks of depression and ed behaviours/language

requested by: @melpthatsme 💗

Your girlfriend was getting suspicious and rightly so. You had just given her another lame excuse as to why you couldn’t have dinner with her tonight. That was the third time this week.

At first it was ‘too much homework’, then a ‘headache’ and now it was your ‘period’. All lies.

As you lay curled up in your bed, all lights turned off, you sobbed silent tears until your pillow was saturated. You felt guilty lying to Paige but you couldn’t go out, especially not to eat.

You wasn’t entirely sure why Paige even wanted to be seen in public with you anyway, why she was with you at all actually. Paige was beautiful. Like the most beautifully perfect woman there ever was. Her eyes shone bright at all times and whether her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail or left natural and loose, framing her face, it looked immaculate. She was intelligent and athletic, maintaining an almost perfect GPA while simultaneously leading her team in back to back wins. Paige was everything and you, you were nothing.

You hated everything about yourself and you were usually good at hiding it. Painting on a fake smile and laughing when others laughed, mirroring your friends actions to make it seem like everything was just fine but it was getting harder to hide. You were drinking and smoking just to get respite from your thoughts. You were dragging yourself to gatherings just to count down the minutes until you could leave and be alone in your room where you could finally let your guard down.

You were proud at how long you had gone keeping this to yourself but it was almost impossible now. You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to leave the apartment. You didn’t want to eat. You didn’t want to see anyone. In fact, you didn’t want to see yourself. You had even gone as far to cover every mirror in your room just to avoid the reflection that made you sick to your stomach.

You felt like you had cried a river this past week but the tears wouldn’t stop, you thought there would be nothing left to give but you were a never ending pit of sadness.

You hear shuffling and muffled voices coming from your living room, your roommates must be home. You thanked yourself for keeping your lights off and closed your eyes so if they came into your room, they’d think you were sleeping.

A few seconds past before you heard a light knock at your door. You ignored it. Pressing yourself further into your mattress, wishing it would swallow you whole. Then came the click of the handle being turned and the door squeaking open.

You kept your body as still as possible, holding your breath in hopes that whoever was disturbing you would think twice but that doesn’t happen. Instead your bedroom light is flicked on and your door is closed with force, practically slammed.

“Why did you lie to me?” You recognise Paiges voice immediately and it’s a mixture of pissed off but also upset and you know it’s your fault.

“What?” You say, even though you heard her loud and clear.

“I know you’re not on your period. Our cycles are synced. They have been for months. Why did you lie?” Paige asks again and you feel so stupid for making such a rookie error.

Paige was right. Your cycles were synced, it happened often with women and girls that spent a lot of time together, so when you were on your period, she was too. She had caught you out in your lie.

“I don’t know.” You mummble into your duvet, still curled up tightly.

“You’ve blown me off three times this week. You barely answer my calls and texts, it’s like I have to force you to see me and now you’re lying to me and you can’t even be bothered to tell me why?” Paige rants and even though you still haven’t looked at her you can tell she’s pacing your room.

“I don’t understand what’s going on. I thought we were good but maybe not.” She says and you physically feel your heart brake at her words but you can’t bring yourself to say anything other than, “Maybe.”

“What?” She asks confused even though she was the one who said it first, “Y/N, can you at least fucking look at me?” She snapped and you know thats the least you owe her so you slowly roll yourself around so you’re no longer facing the wall and push yourself up into a sitting position but you can’t bring yourself to lift your eyes from your lap.

“I wanted to take you for dinner, spend some time with you. Just be with you and I thought you would have wanted the same but instead you’re in bed!” Paige continued and you just took her onslaught of words, you didn’t have the energy to argue or even defend yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, picking at the already raw skin around your nails.

“Will you just look at me? Do you want to break-” You finally look at Paige and she stops mid-sentence, “Have you been crying?”

You ignore her question because your heart is racing and more tears are threatening to fall at what she was about to ask, “Finish what you were about to say.” You whisper but she doesn’t need to, you knew what she was going to say. She was going to ask if you wanted to break up.

“What’s the matter? What happened? Why were you crying?” Paige asks all at once, any annoyance in her tone has been replaced with concern and her facial expression shifted from dark and frowning to soft and doe eyed.

“I wasn’t.” You lie, “Finish what you were about to say.”

“Yes you were. Your eyes are red and puffy, your skin is blotchy,” She walks towards you, “and your pillows wet. Why were you crying?”

“You want to break up.” You answer your own question.

“No. No, I don’t. But I don’t understand what’s going on with you, I thought maybe you did.” She says honestly sitting on the edge of your bed.

“I don’t.”

“Why were you crying baby? Tell me what’s on your mind.” She says placing a hand on your leg.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too much Paige. My mind is too much, it’s too dark. You don’t deserve that.” You begin to cry again and it quickly turns into sobs.

“Hey, baby, come here.” She whispered, pulling you into her chest and onto her lap, she wrapped her arms around your body and held you close, “You’re scaring me.” She admits, “Tell me what’s going on my love. I want to help you.”

“You deserve more than this Paige.” You choke out in between sobs, you’re hyperventilating now, your body shaking in your girlfriends arms but she continues to hold you tight and close.

“But I want you. I love you.” She pulls away from you slightly so she can look you in your eyes and she holds your face tenderly, a hand on each cheek, “You’re all I want, my beautiful girl.”

“Don’t say that.” You weep, jumping out of her lap.

“Don’t say what?”

“Don’t say I’m beautiful. Don’t say any of it. It’s not true.” You cross your arms over yourself wishing you could shrink down into the smallest dimensions and eventually disappear.

“Baby, what are you saying? What’s going on?” She reaches out for you but you pull away not wanting to be touched.

Paige properly looks around your room for the first time and you watch as she notices everything and you see the cogs turning in her head as her eyes fall to your mirror, covered by a sweater. She sees the paper taped to your wall with your weight written on it followed by the harshest of words that you thought about yourself. She sees the empty alcohol bottles on your dresser and the half smoked blunt on your bedside table. And when she finally looks at you, in your oversized clothes, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, her eyes were glossy and her forehead creased as she fought back tears of her own.

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I do know that I do love you and you are beautiful and I’ll tell you that everyday until you believe it.” She says as a tear slips down her cheek.

Paige walks over to you, taking you by your hands first and kissing both of them. She pulls on the sleeves of your sweater and you reluctantly let her pull it over your head so your just standing there in your bra. You close your eyes not wanting to see her reaction to your body, the thought of it made you sick. You felt her lips press to your stomach and she peppered kisses up your torso, “My beautiful baby.” She mumbled against your skin as she continued to kiss over your chest and onto your neck.

She took you to your bed, laying you down and she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your joggers, pulling them off, exposing your legs. You wanted to grab the sheet and cover yourself up but her mouth met your thigh and she pecked it gently, moving over the the other, “So perfect.” She breathed, the tips of her fingers trailing down your legs.

You lay on your bed, eyes closed, tears streaming out and you feel Paige hover above you, “Look at me baby.” She says softly, wiping the tears that soaked your cheeks. You flutter your eyes open and look up at Paige who’s looking down at you, eyes filled with nothing but love and care. “Please don’t shut me out. I’m here for you. Anything you need me to do, I’ll do it. I just want you to be OK. I need you to be OK. You’re everything to me.” She says, blue eyes locked on yours.

“Can you just hold me tonight?” You sniffle. “Of course.”

Paige lays on your bed, pulling you into her arms, she presses her lips to your head before her fingers find your hair and she runs through it gently, “You’re gonna be OK.” She whispers comfortingly. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: i wrote this so tired so forgive any mistakes 😭 already want to write a part 2 🥺🥺

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svech and jack in the same picture😧🙏

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