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bueckets · 7 months ago

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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.

844 notes · View notes

tikitakatia · 3 months ago

Text

Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"The Taste of Champagne"

WC: 4.3k

Summary: Your wife keeps sending you pieces of the past like they’ll make the silence feel whole again. But the present has its own anchor now, even if you still don’t know what to call it.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 , Pt. 3

You told yourself you weren’t going to check.

That you were fine.

That people got busy, that not every night had to be a lifeline. That silence didn’t always mean abandonment.

But the silence still sat wrong.

You curled into the corner of the couch, Tofu at your side like an emotional support loaf, and opened the app anyway.

Nothing. No message.

No “you up?”

No metaphors. No poetic confessions. No “dream soft.”

Just the last thing you’d said, still waiting at the bottom of the screen for a reply.

You set your phone down. Picked it up again less than a minute later. Scrolled back through the thread like you hadn’t memorized half of it already.

The dumb jokes. The movie arguments. The softness you hadn’t let yourself feel in months. The feeling of being held without hands and being seen without effort.

You laughed once. Quietly. At a typo from three days ago. Then immediately hated yourself for it.

Because Alexia had texted too.

Ale: I dreamt about you today. You, me, and our little gremlin child. I miss you.

And you hadn’t replied.

Not because you didn’t want to.

Because you didn’t know what version of yourself to send back.

Because every word felt dishonest now.

You kept your phone in your hand. Let it warm your palm while you stare at the app icon like it might blink on its own.

You thought about texting first.

“Hey. You there?”

“I'm sorry if I was too much.”

“Or not enough.”

You typed them all. Deleted them all.

Tofu let out a groan and rolled into your thigh. He didn't care that your heart was unraveling. He was just happy to be touching you. And god, that was the thing. That soft little weight. That simple nearness. It made you realize how long it had been since anyone had made you feel like this without asking you to earn it first.

It used to be Alexia. And now it was a stranger who didn’t even show up tonight. You stared at the blank chat window like it had betrayed you. Or maybe like you’d betrayed yourself by needing it this badly.

You closed the app. Opened it again.

Still nothing.

You poured another glass of wine. Let it sit untouched.

You didn’t cry. You just… folded. Quietly. Like a house without lights. Like something was still standing, but barely.

You fell asleep with the phone still in your hand.

Screen dimmed. No messages. No dreams.

Just you, and a dog who loved you without knowing what you’d done.

The silence stretched for most of the day.

You didn’t check the app first thing this time. You made yourself wait. Poured coffee. Fed Tofu. Stared at the fridge like it might open a portal out of your body.

The couch felt colder without a new message waiting. You didn’t say that out loud. You answered Alexia’s latest text about Tofu’s vet appointment. One word. Then muted the thread.

By 4PM, you were fully spiraling again. Quietly. Calmly. With the intensity of someone trying very hard to not care.

And then..

Buzz.

[go4goald2]: I AM SO SORRY. I didn´t mean to disappear. Work exploded, I didn't even breathe properly for like 36 hours.

You didn’t realize you’d exhaled until you saw the message and your body unclenched.

[go4goald2]: I missed you. Stupidly. Even though it’s just a screen. Is that pathetic?

You smiled.

[lostinthecrowd]: Only if I'm pathetic too.

Pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: Deal! We’ll be pathetic together.

The laugh that slipped out felt like relief. Like letting yourself come up for air after holding it too long.

[lostinthecrowd]: I know it’s dumb but… I was worried. I thought maybe I pushed too far.

[go4goald2]: NO. Not at all. Ugh, never. I wanted to be here. I just couldn’t be.

There was something about that phrasing, “wanted to be”, that sat warm and bittersweet in your chest.

You typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: I’m glad you’re back.

[go4goald2]: Me too.

And just like that, the air in the apartment shifted. Tofu hopped up beside you and flopped onto his back like the drama queen he was, one paw flung dramatically over his chest. You scratched his belly absently, phone still warm in your hand.

You weren’t stupid. You knew this was complicated.

But right now? It was simple.

They were back. And you weren’t alone.

It was late morning, Tofu chewing the corner of a throw pillow when your phone buzzed.

[go4goald2]: Quick: Favorite smell in the world. Go.

You grinned.

[lostinthecrowd]: Clean laundry. Toasted bread. Alexia’s shampoo

You froze. Backspaced.

[lostinthecrowd]: Uh laundry. Bread. Books. Not necessarily in that order.

[go4goald2]: Weak answer, mine’s rain hitting hot pavement. Also, movie theater popcorn. Cleaning products too.

[lostinthecrowd]: You’re such a freak. I respect it.

[go4goald2]: Thank you. Your turn. Favorite feeling?

You thought for a second.

[lostinthecrowd]: When someone reaches for me first.

You didn’t expect to send that. It just came out.

The reply took longer this time.

[go4goald2]: That’s a good one. That’s a really, really good one.

You looked down at Tofu, who had abandoned his pillow and was now curled against your shin. You reached down and scratched behind his ears.

Your phone buzzed again, but this time, not Chattr.

Alexia.

You almost ignored it. Almost.

But the preview caught your eye.

Ale: Check the front door.

You frowned, got up and opened it.

And there it was.

A small box, neatly wrapped in butcher paper. No card. Just your name scrawled on the top in handwriting you knew by muscle memory. You went back to the couch and opened it.

Inside?

An old photo.

The two of you at the beach years ago, sunburned and beaming, your face scrunched mid-laugh, her hand on your back, sunglasses crooked on her nose. One of your favorites. One you thought was lost.

And behind it, folded carefully was a note.

I know I can’t undo the space between us. But I remember this day like it just happened. And I still want to be the person who made you smile like that.

– A.

You stared at it for a long time.

Then your chest cracked open.

You didn’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the photo. Maybe the memory. Maybe the way her handwriting still looked like a promise you weren’t sure you could believe.

Whatever it was, when you started crying, you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even breathe properly. The kind of crying that feels ancient. Like grief that finally got tired of being patient. Tofu lay down beside you, warm and solid, his chin on your knee like he knew there was nothing to fix, just something to witness.

At some point, the tears stopped. Or maybe you just ran out of them. You must’ve fallen asleep, curled on the couch, the photo still in your lap, the blanket wrapped too tightly around your shoulders.

When you woke, the light had shifted and your phone screen was glowing softly beside you.

Chattr.

Three unread messages.

[go4goald2]: Hey.

[go4goald2]: Everything okay?

[go4goald2]: Kinda worried, you disappeared.

You started typing quickly.

[lostinthecrowd]: Sorry I was gone. Got distracted by a very needy puppy.

[lostinthecrowd]: Also, someone reminded me of a version of myself I forgot. It kinda hurts.

[go4goald2]: Maybe that means it still matters.

You didn’t answer because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure who you were supposed to open your heart to.

Later that evening, after the sun dipped low and the apartment turned lavender and quiet, you sent a text to Alexia. Just one.

“Thanks for the photo. I didn’t know you still had it.”

You expected a delay. A simple “you’re welcome” or a heart emoji.

Instead:

Ale: I almost deleted it once. Felt too far away from who we are now. But I couldn’t. I think I always hoped it would still mean something to you.

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Not really. So instead, you opened the fridge, fed the dog, and sat on the kitchen floor like it was the only place that didn’t feel too full of ghosts.

Later, when your fingers weren’t shaking quite so much, you sent another.

“It does. I don’t know what to do with that. But it does.”

Alexia didn’t reply right away. But she didn’t ghost either. She sent a picture of her hotel dinner tray: dry chicken, too much parsley.

Ale: Can I still be someone who knows how you like your food?

It was the softest thing she’d said in weeks. Maybe months.

You let your forehead rest against the cabinet door behind you, Tofu already half-asleep against your thigh.

And then, because you were already mid-collapse, you opened Chattr.

The screen lit up like it had missed you.

[go4goald2]: How’s your night?

You hesitated. For the first time in a while, you hesitated.

But then:

[lostinthecrowd]: Complicated. But less lonely than it used to be.

You didn't mention Alexia. You didn’t have to.

The guilt was already pulling at your ribcage like an anchor.

But god, it felt easy with them. Still.

[go4goald2]: Tofu still chewing everything you love?

[lostinthecrowd]: Yes, including my will to live.

[go4goald2]: What an icon.

You smiled. You couldn't help it.

Then, half on a whim, half because your chest felt too full:

[lostinthecrowd]: Do you like piña coladas?

A beat.

[go4goald2]: …Getting caught in the rain?

You snorted.

[lostinthecrowd]: God, those two idiots could’ve just talked to each other instead of writing anonymous ads in the newspaper.

[go4goald2]: Maybe it’s easier to be honest when no one’s looking at you.

That one stung a little more than it should have.

But you didn’t say that. You just typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah. Maybe that’s the point of strangers. You get to tell the truth without the weight of history.

There was a pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: But what happens when the stranger starts to feel like the only place that feels like home?

You stared at the screen. You didn’t answer right away.

Not because you didn’t know what to say.

But because you felt it hit bone.

What happens when the stranger starts to feel like home?

You locked your phone. Set it face down on the couch. And suddenly, it was too quiet.

You got up. Washed a cup that didn’t need washing. Fed Tofu again even though his bowl was still half full. You moved like someone trying not to be found guilty of something that hadn’t quite happened yet.

And then, because your heart was beating too loud and your head was full of words that didn’t feel like yours, you opened the other thread.

Alexia’s.

There was a message waiting. Not a follow-up, not a guilt trip. Just a photo. She was crouched on the curb outside a café, still in her training kit, flushed and tired, her hair half-pulled back and falling out at the sides. She held a coffee in one hand, giving the camera a crooked, almost shy grin. Not the kind she gave to the press. Just the one you remembered. The text below reads “I found the only place here that serves oat milk and didn’t judge me for asking for extra cinnamon. Thought you’d be proud.”

You stared at it longer than you meant to. That version of her, the soft one, the real one, was hard to look at. Because that was the one you’d loved before everything got hard.

Somewhere down the hall, Tofu barked. One sharp, accusatory yelp. You went to check, and there he was on the bed, standing on your pillow like it was a podium, chewing on the strap of your favorite canvas tote bag with the determination of someone proving a point. You sighed and snapped a photo before pulling the bag out of his mouth. Then, without thinking too hard, you sent it to Alexia with the caption: “He’s got your energy, swear to god.”

Her response came almost instantly.

Ale: So you’re saying he’s our tiny, unhinged child? Because I accept that.

And you laughed. Out loud. Small and surprised.

“He’s feral,” you wrote back.

“Completely untrainable. He bites my slippers and stares me down like he’s the main character.”

Ale: So me?

She said, just two words, soft and certain.

You paused. Then typed: Basically.

Tofu returned to the couch like a conquering hero and flopped into your lap, warm and heavy and unbothered. You rested your hand lightly on his back. He sighed like he owned the apartment.

Another ping.

Ale: I don’t want to push you..

Ale: I just miss laughing with you. Like this. Like… us.

You didn’t reply right away. But you didn’t leave either. You sat there with your hand on the back of the stupid, soft dog she gave you, and let yourself imagine what it might feel like to try again.

Not all at once. Not completely.

Just… maybe.

The next morning, the apartment was still. Not quite like emptiness, just calm. Like the kind of silence that comes after the crying is done and the air is finally still enough to breathe.

You didn’t open Chattr right away.

It wasn’t on purpose.

You just… didn’t.

Instead, you made coffee. Not in a rush, not distracted. Real coffee. You even took the time to add a little sprinkle of cinnamon. You pretended like you weren’t sure why.

Tofu padded across the tile, sleepy and dragging his favorite destroyed sock behind him like a war trophy. You let him curl up at your feet while you answered a few emails. Sent a few messages, one of them to Alexia.

She’d texted something small. A picture of a storefront, hand-painted signs and soft yellow curtains in the window.

Ale: Saw this and thought of you. You used to say you wanted a bookshop with plants in the windows and a dog under the desk.

You didn’t overthink it. Just typed:

“Still do.”

Her reply came back fast.

Ale: Maybe one day. I’ll be the one getting distracted and forgetting to charge the register.

You smiled gently, and let the moment stretch. It wasn’t intense. It wasn’t a grand gesture. But it felt… safe. Familiar. Like brushing fingers across something that used to be yours.

Around late morning, your phone buzzed again. Another message from her.

Ale: Please witness this.

Attached was a photo of a small white dog in a violently pink sweater. Hooded and with pom-poms dangling from the ends and a sparkly “PRINCESS” across the back in rhinestones. The dog looked vaguely furious. Possibly plotting something.

You choked on your coffee.

“Tofu’s cousin from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Ale: Tofu’s cousin from the drama school.

“That dog has a diary and writes about the betrayal.”

Ale: They have a publicist and a spray tan appointment.

The laugh that came out of you was too loud and sudden. Tofu startled and made an offended noise, then immediately climbed into your lap like how dare you forget I’m the star here. You scratched his head without thinking and smiled into your mug.

It was easy, that exchange. Stupid and good. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were holding your breath talking to her.

It wasn’t until almost noon that you finally checked Chattr.

The message had come in last night. A quiet ping, nothing dramatic.

[go4goald2]: Sleep well?

You stared at it for a few seconds too long. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Eventually.

There was no follow-up right away. You didn’t mind.

Later, when Tofu knocked over your water bottle trying to dive headfirst into your laundry basket, you laughed. Not as hard as yesterday. But still.

You picked up your phone without thinking and opened the last thread, not Chattr.

“He’s trying to sleep in the dryer now. This is your fault.”

Ale: He takes after his mother.

You didn’t know which one of you she meant. You didn’t ask.

The day passed gently. Not in a blur, just soft. Tofu snored on your lap during a bad movie. And somewhere in your other inbox, the typing bubble came and went.

You didn’t check it until much later. And when you did, your chest tugged. Not a lot. Just enough to remind you it still mattered. That it still made you feel something.

But today, you weren’t looking for complicated.

Because for the first time in a awhile, Alexia wasn’t making things worse.

It was only hours later that you opened Chattr again.

No wine. No candles. No desperate breath held in your throat. Just Tofu snoring on your feet and the last half of a very mediocre rom-com on TV.

Still, the message was already waiting.

[go4goald2]: What’s your take on fruit in salad. Violently opposed or live laugh love?

You smiled. Automatically.

[lostinthecrowd]: Depends on the fruit. Mango is elite. Strawberries are okay. Grapes are war crimes.

[go4goald2]: I feel like that last one came from personal trauma. Did someone hurt you with a grape once?

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe someone I loved trusted a raisin salad once and now I have trust issues.

There was a pause. Not long. Just enough to feel like breathing space.

[go4goald2]: I like it when you joke. makes me feel like you’re here with me.

Your fingers hovered over the keys. Usually, you'd have said something dumb in return. Or maybe something soft.

But tonight, your chest stayed quiet.

[lostinthecrowd]: Long day. Sorry if I’m quiet.

[go4goald2]: Don’t apologize. I just miss you a little, that’s all.

You stared at that one.

Because you knew what it meant.

Not big love, not declarations. Just… absence. Noticing.

[lostinthecrowd]: I'm still here.

You meant it. Even if it didn’t feel as loud as before.

Tofu shuffled in his sleep. You looked down at him: messy, needy, entirely your responsibility now, and thought, briefly, about how you´re starting to let Alexia back in.

Not fully.

Not all the way.

But enough that you noticed the difference when it came time to talk to someone else.

The next message blinked through.

[go4goald2]: Tell me something good about today, even if it’s small.

You hesitated. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: A dog in a sweater made me laugh.

You didn’t mention it came from your wife. You didn’t have a reason to.

[go4goald2]: That’s good. I hope it was a ridiculous sweater.

[lostinthecrowd]: It was, had pompoms.

You let the conversation fade after that because something in your chest felt tangled. And you weren’t ready to unravel it yet.

The next day started with a video. A short one, blurry and too zoomed-in, but unmistakably Alexia’s voice narrating the sky. “You always said this was the best part of the day,” she said quietly. “I never used to get it. But I do now.” You watched it twice. Then three times. Her voice was still low and sleepy in the background, not performing, not polished. Just real, it even cracked a little when she said your name.

Then came the photo of the market: a fruit stand draped in fabric, oranges piled high, a dog curled under a chair in the sun. “You’d love it here,” she wrote. “They sell those weird dried apricots you always made me carry in my bag.” You smiled at your phone and hated yourself for it.

Tofu barked at the wall like he’d seen a ghost and then flopped over like he’d solved the mystery of grief. You rubbed the spot between his ears and stared at the screen. Didn’t reply. Not yet.

Alexia followed up an hour later. A selfie. Hair tied back, sunglasses on her head, a little smudge of something across her cheek like she hadn’t noticed it yet. The caption read: Bought a keychain with Tofu’s face on it. I’m either losing it or trying really hard to make up for being the worst. Probably both.

You laughed, quiet and unexpected.

Your thumb hovered. Then tapped out:

“Let me see the keychain.”

She sent it immediately. Tofu’s dumb little gremlin face stretched across a tiny acrylic oval. His eyes looked wild. His ears crooked.

Ale: He looks like he’s about to ask for financial compensation.

You grinned. You actually grinned.

And then immediately felt sick about it.

Because it felt good. Because she felt familiar.

Because it was easy again.

And that terrified you.

You responded slower this time:

“He’s a menace. I caught him dragging a towel into the shower today. He stared me down the entire time.”

Ale: Ha, asserting his dominance. I support it.

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to. God, you did. But because suddenly, your phone felt heavy. Like two versions of yourself were fighting for the same spot inside your chest.

You opened Chattr.

The last unread message sat there waiting.

[go4goald2]: You good today? Haven’t heard from you.

The timestamp was hours ago.

You locked your phone and set it on the coffee table. Then turned your attention to Tofu, who was currently attempting to scale the couch arm like a mountain goat. You reached out and caught him mid-fall. He blinked up at you like you were the center of the universe.

You wished the decision was that simple.

The message came mid-morning. You weren’t expecting it, not because she didn’t text anymore, she's gotten a little bit better at it, but because this one was different. Thoughtful. Preemptive. The kind of message Alexia would’ve sent years ago, before the silences, before the one-word replies.

Ale: Things are about to get a little busy over here cariño, travel, press, media stuff. I might go quiet for a few days. Didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.

You sat with it. The softness. The effort.

Then another message blinked through.

Ale: There’s a package on the way. Nothing huge. Just… some things I thought might make your week easier.

You blinked. Stared. Didn’t respond right away. Then:

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Her reply came fast.

Ale: I know. That’s kind of the point.

Later that afternoon, the package arrived. Small and neatly packed.

Inside: A blanket she knew you always stole from her side of the bed that smelled like her. A bag of your favorite snacks, the obscure brand that’s only sold in like, two stores. A new chew toy for Tofu shaped like a dinosaur. A handwritten note.

Just in case the couch gets lonely. And so Tofu stops trying to eat your socks. I love you.

— A.

Your throat went tight.

You didn’t text her right away. Couldn’t.

Not because it wasn’t kind. But because it was.

Tofu immediately attacked the toy as you sat on the edge of the couch, blanket over your lap, pretending you weren’t unraveling.

You didn’t mean to open Chattr. You really didn’t.

The apartment was quiet again and Alexia’s absence had left behind that weird echo of effort. Her blanket still folded neatly on the couch after you spent hours cuddled in it, the new toy Tofu had already half-destroyed. The note from the package had been tucked away in a drawer like a secret you weren’t ready to let go of, but also couldn’t look at too long.

You told yourself you were just going to scroll. Just going to peek.

But the message was already waiting.

[go4goald2]: Okay, critical question. If you could only keep one: garlic bread or fresh-out-the-dryer hoodies?

You smiled before you even realized it. Your fingers moved without thinking.

[lostinthecrowd]: Wow, cruel and unusual punishment.

[go4goald2]: I never said this game was fair. Pick one, coward.

[lostinthecrowd]: Hoodies, because I can survive emotional starvation but not physical cold.

[go4goald2]: Okay poet, calm down.

You laughed. Quiet and genuine.

Tofu yawned loudly, then climbed into your lap like he belonged there. You reached for your wine and settled in, heart beating a little softer than it had all day.

[go4goald2]: What’s something that always makes you feel better during your tough days?

You thought about it. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Dumb sitcom bloopers. You?

[go4goald2]: Videos of raccoons stealing food and running away like they know they’ve committed a crime.

That made you snort into your glass.

There was a pause after that. A few minutes where neither of you said anything. Then you typed, slower now.

[lostinthecrowd]: My wife’s trying. Like… actually trying. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Silence.

You wished you hadn’t sent it. You wished you could take it back.

Then the typing bubble appeared.

[go4goald2]: That’s a lot. Do you want to talk about it?

You hesitated.

Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: She sent me a blanket. Some snacks. A toy for the dog. Told me she’d be busy, but didn’t want me to feel alone. And it’s like… All the things I used to need from her. And now they’re here. and I'm just…

You stopped typing. Started again.

[lostinthecrowd]: I'm scared to trust it. I want to. I just don’t know if it’s real this time. And if it is, I don't know what that says about me because maybe I've changed too much to go back.

The response didn’t come right away.

When it did, it was simple.

[go4goald2]: You don’t have to go back. Maybe the person you are now deserves something forward.

You froze.

Because god. That felt like the truth.

[go4goald2]: And whatever happens, the version of you right now? She’s enough. Even if you’re scared. Even if you’re unsure. You’re still someone worth showing up for.

Your eyes burned before you could stop them. You didn’t even know what you were crying for. The effort? The loss? The fact that it felt so good to be seen, and so awful not to know where you belonged anymore?

Tofu snuffled in his sleep beside you. You wiped your cheek and typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Thanks. I think I needed to hear that.

[go4goald2]: Then I’m glad I said it. I mean it.

You stared at the screen long after the message stopped glowing.

You didn’t know who this person was.

But they made you feel like maybe you weren’t breaking everything by trying to hold both things at once.

Pt. 5

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas imagine #woso fanfics #fcbfemeni x reader #woso blurbs #woso imagine #barcelona femeni #woso fic #woso community #woso one shot #woso imagines #fc barcelona femeni #woso soccer #fcbfemeni

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mountttmase · 5 months ago

Text

Just For Us

Note - happy valentines pookies 🩷 I’ve been sitting on this one for a while so I hope you like it 😘 thank you to @saltyheartnightmare for always providing me with ideas and letting me run with them 😂 feedback would be appreciated xoxo

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 6k

Warnings - fluff and angst

Another week over you told yourself as you shut your laptop down. Sighing as your eyes fell to the window that overlooked the garden next to you but it was pitch back outside and all you could see was your own reflection staring back at you. A tired and grumpy version of you that you were starting to not recognise.

You hadn't heard anything going on in the house, the time just ticking past 5pm and you knew you were still all alone in here. The thought of walking out of your home office into a dark and empty home upset you more than it should have, but then again everything was upsetting you at the moment.

Mason had promised he’d be here, letting you know that training would be over around 3pm and he’d make sure to get home at a reasonable time so you could spend your first valentines living under the same roof together, but once again he was nowhere to be seen.

You got why he was always in late, he was almost done with his recovery and had been staying later most evenings in order to get himself into a good place but you missed him and with everything else going on in your life right now all you wanted to was to be wrapped up in the arms of the man you loved.

You hadn't lived with Mason long, moving in at the end of November so you were approaching the three month mark but you felt like everything had taken a downturn for you since then. It was nothing to do with Mason himself, he was a dream most of the time and was looking after you just like he’d promised but it was everything you’d left home that was bringing you down.

Manchester was so far from everything you knew, having grown up in London you never envisaged living so far away when you had everything you needed right there but there was one thing your favourite city didn’t have anymore, and that was the boy you were in love with.

It wasn’t often you thought back to how you first met Mason, but since it was valentines day and you were in your feels a bit you let your mind wander back to that cold but sunny morning. It was your favourite type of weather on your favourite day of the year, pumpkin picking with your best friend, and as you reached for the last wheelbarrow your hand brushed against someone else’s as they did the same.

‘Oh shit, sorry. You take it, I can wait’ you heard, turning to your right to see quite possibly the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen and the sight of him filled you with nerves.

‘Oh n-no please you have it’ you stuttered, your face warming as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest but you could see the tops of his cheeks turning pink too and you thought he looked adorable.

‘It’s fine’ he laughed, motioning for you to take it but you knew you’d mess up somehow now if you had to try and get it out in front of him and you weren’t up for embarrassing yourself whilst he watched on.

‘No please, I’m not even sure I know how to use this thing properly and I’ll just end up taking someone’s legs out’ you joked and as you both shared a giggle, a worker came with a new batch of clean ones.

‘Here let me grab you one, these look smaller’ he nodded as he walked over to get one for you and you used the time he was facing away from you to give him a once over. You most definitely liked what you saw and as he turned back to face you, you wondered if he’d caught you staring at his bum. You gave him a warm smile though as he placed it in front of you but you were trying to stall as you still felt awkward pushing it in front of him.

‘Thank you…’

‘I’m Mason’ he smiled, nodding his head shyly before he gave you a look as if to silently ask what your name was and you had to swallow a nervous lump before you told him.

‘Y/n’

‘Well y/n, if you see me running away from you please don’t take any offence, I’m just protecting my ankles’ he joked and you covered your mouth with your hand as you laughed at his silly joke.

‘I’ll keep that in mind’

‘Mase? You coming’ you heard, looking over to a woman with two kids in tow and you felt yourself deflate. Of course he wasn’t single, look at him, and as he called over that he wouldn’t be a second you kept your eyes on the floor.

‘Sorry I best get going, I don’t wanna upset the nieces’ he laughed and your eyes flashed up to meet his. Relief ripping through you at the knowledge that was presumably his sister. ‘See you out there?’

‘I hope so’ you whispered. Your answer taking him by surprise a bit as his blush deepened but you just just picked up your wheelbarrow and went in search of your bestie so you could crack on with your day.

It was like you couldn’t get away from each other, him joining the line behind you for food, your eyes constantly catching as you browsed the little pumpkins in the wooden crates and once you’d made it out into the main field it felt like he was following you. Always in the same section and your friend had seemingly picked up on the way you kept looking at each other and would steer your wheelbarrow in his direction.

It was fun watching him play with the two little girls, posing for pictures with them and helping them pick out ones for them to carve and he looked as though he was having as much fun as them. Not caring how goofy or silly he looked, he just wanted to make them smile and from the constant giggles it was clearly working.

‘You need a hand with that one?’ You suddenly heard from behind you. Mason's voice shocking you slightly but as he brushed up next to you and you could tell he was looking at the same pumpkin you were.

‘Do you think it’s too big?’ You asked and you knew it was a stupid question. It was one of the biggest ones in the whole field but it was perfect and you just needed one person to tell you it was okay to have.

‘Nah, you need to measure pumpkins with your heart’ he told sincerely. ‘If you want it, I’d say get it’

‘You know what, you’re right. I’m having it’

‘Here let me’ he offered. Picking it up effortlessly and placing it in your wheelbarrow for you before dusting himself off as he was now covered in dirt be he didn’t seem to mind.

He stayed with you for a bit as you spoke. His sister had taken the girls to the loo so he had a few minutes spare and he started off by asking if you’d taken anyone’s legs out yet. Seeming dissatisfied when you told him no but there was always time and you were lucky enough to see that heartbreaking smile of his again as he laughed before he caught sight of the girls coming back.

‘You’re really good with them’ you told him honestly and you could see him getting shy again as he laughed nervously.

‘I don’t live round this way anymore so I like to make it count when I’m here’ he told you and you wondered how far away he was now. You knew you wouldn’t get to ask or find out though, your bestie was standing like a lemon a few steps away as she pretended to look at the pumpkins and with his family coming back over you presumed you’d be torn apart again but before he returned to them he faced you a little more ‘Listen, at the risk of sounding like a crazy person, I took a picture of you earlier and I was wondering if I could send it you?’

‘You what?’ You laughed, watching his cheeks redden more than you’d ever seen to the point the bridge of his nose was also glowing.

‘Sorry, I saw you posing for some your friend was taking and I just thought you looked nice and wondered if you’d want a more candid one’ he mumbled shyly. ‘Shit, sorry I shouldn’t have said anything. I can’t delete it if you-‘

‘I guess I should give you my number then’ you whispered with a smile, holding your hand out for him to place his phone in and the look of relief that washed over his face made you chuckle.

As soon as you handed it back he had to go but you knew it was coming so you bid him a quick goodbye and not even five minutes later you felt your phone buzz in your pocket

It was a fairly brazen comment from you, but it seemed to do the trick and the pair of you were messaging for the rest of the day and well into the night. All tucked up in bed later as you giggled into your pillow and when you got onto the topic of where he lived now, since he’d mentioned not being here anymore, things took a bit of a turn.

You’d had no idea he was a footballer, you had never met one in your life and had no idea what it even all meant but he told you he didn’t want you to think of him as any different than you had done earlier. He was still the same guy, he just has a slightly strange job compared to the average person.

He was right though, coming across to you as just like any normal guy and as the weeks passed you could feel yourself starting to slip under his spell. It was never your intention to speak to someone who lived so far away and you knew that seeing him again would be difficult, even if he wanted to see you anyway, but you couldn’t help your feelings towards him no matter how much you told yourself nothing would amount to anything.

You didn’t expect him to go in fully and dress up exactly like him but when he showed you his onesie on face time his enthusiasm excited you. You’d never had a boy to do a couples costume with before and you weren’t even sure he that’s what he wanted when he was asking for costume ideas but you’d decided to shoot your shot and thankfully it had paid off.

He was staying with a friend but just as he promised, he came to get you from your house. You thought it might be awkward, the pair of you only seeing each other in person once but as soon as you saw him again it was like no time had passed. Him knocking on your door fully dressed up and you giggled as he gave you a kiss on the cheek after a big hug.

You didn’t live too far away thankfully and after 20 minutes or so in the car with him, he was pulling up to his friends house. It was unlike anything you’d seen and you tried not to let it show that you were that impressed so you just took his hand and let him lead you through. You felt awkward instantly though as you looked around as it was full of gorgeous girls in barely there outfits whilst you stood there in a big pink t-shirt and your hair in bunches. Mason picked up on you straight away though and pulled you closer to him by your waist.

‘You good?’

‘You could have told me it was that type of party’ you laughed, hiding your face in his neck but he just squeezed you and bumped the side of your head with his nose so you’d look at him.

‘What do you mean?’ He smiled, rubbing your back a little bit as he was confused and you were finding it hard to be mad at him.

‘Mason, there are girls here who look like they’ve just stepped off a runway and I look like… well this’

‘You look perfect’ he whispered, kissing your forehead gently. Your cheeks warming instantly as even though he was being pretty touchy this was the first proper bit of intimacy you’d had from him. ‘I’m not looking at what anyone else is wearing anyway’ he reassured you and you felt your face heat even more at how lovely he was being.

His hand very rarely left yours and if it did it was just so he could hold your waist or wrap his arm around you and considering it was his friends party filled with people he didn’t see too often you were surprised at how much he didn’t want to mingle. That every conversation you joined you wouldn’t stay in long as he’d ask you something and soon enough you’d be in your own world again and when you asked him why he just smiled brightly.

‘I know those boring bastards, but I don’t know you yet. Not as much as I’d like to anyway’ he teased as his eyes flickered all over you and you felt your knees go weak as he bit his lip.

He was the perfect gentleman, getting all your drinks for you and letting you know he’d look after you. Mason himself wasn’t drinking as he wasn’t allowed but you noticed all his friends were and you figured it was just because he’d promised to take you home and was making sure he could. Mason seemed like the type to have a great time without drink though however you were thankful you’d had a few to loosen you up a bit.

As the night came to an end, you both knew you didn’t want to part but as you still lived with your overbearing parents it made things difficult. It had taken you enough time to convince them to let you come here tonight so staying out all night was completely out of the question and when the house began to empty out you knew it was time.

‘I think I need the loo before we go’ you told Mason, and his sad smile told you all you needed to know.

‘I’ll show you where it is’ he smiled, taking you by the hand upstairs and when he pulled open a random door and flicked the light on you were met with a bright and airy guest bedroom. ‘Just through here. Everyone’s been using the main one so this should be cleaner’ he laughed and you popped a quick kiss on his cheek as you passed by.

Once you were out you waited for him whilst he popped in there. Having a look at yourself in the mirror to make sure you looked somewhat acceptable and he was out quicker than you thought he’d be so he caught you checking yourself out.

He was quick to come over and wrap his arms around you from behind whilst taking his phone out of his pocket to hand to you. Instructing that he wanted you to take a few photos of the pair of you together to commemorate your first Halloween but soon enough you stopped taking any pictures and he was just holding you.

‘Come on’ he huffed. Removing his arms from around your waist and you could tell he was deflated just from the sound of his voice.

‘What’s wrong?’ You asked as you turned to him and the playful pout on his face made you feel a little bit guilty.

‘I’ve been dreading this part all night’ he chuckled, pulling you into his chest now so he could hug you properly and when he tucked his head into your neck you couldn’t stop your smile. ‘Sulley doesn’t want to say goodbye to his Boo’

‘Oh Mase’

‘Stay with me tonight’ he whispered, pulling back to look at you pleadingly and you almost gave in then and there. ‘Please, boo’

‘Mase.. I can’t’ you breathed, shaking your head ever so slightly. ‘I’m sorry-‘

‘No I’m sorry, I’m being way too forward. It’s just I’m not here long and I want to spend as much time with you as I can’

‘I want that too’

‘But?’

‘My mum will kill me’ you laughed, realising how ridiculous you sounded but Mason seemed to understand and quickly popped a kiss on your cheek. ‘Maybe I could come up to Manchester soon and visit?’ You asked, shock taking over his face at what you were suggesting and you were certain yours looked the same as you hadn’t even thought about the words before they’d come out of your mouth.

‘Yeah? You’d want to’

‘Yeah of course. I’ve never been before’ you told him and the smile he sent you made your heart race. ‘I just think it might be a bit too soon for you know … all that. I’ve never-‘

‘No you’re right’ he laughed as he cut you off. ‘Sorry I’ve just been getting a bit ahead of myself I think. I don’t know if I’ve made it that obvious but I really like you’ he told you as his cheeks flushed and you knew yours were doing the exact same.

‘Really? I had no idea’ you teased but you knew you needed to be honest with him too. ‘I like you too’

It was the longest three seconds of your life. Watching his eyes flicker down to your lips as he moved closer to you and you were powerless to stop anything. Tilting your face up to meet his and before you knew it his lips were on yours.

This wasn’t like any kiss first you’d ever had before. It was slow and sexy and you both hummed into each other's mouths as his tongue brushed against yours playfully. Your heart racing in your chest as he ever so carefully moved his lips against yours and you knew you’d never be the same again after this.

‘Come on, I’ll get you home’ he whispered against your lips after you’d parted but you felt deflated instantly. You didn’t want to leave him now, not after the best first kiss you’d ever had but you knew it was the right thing to do.

‘Are you sure it’s okay? You know-‘

‘I can wait. You’re worth it’ he confirmed quietly and you didn’t realise how much you needed to hear those words. ‘I mean I got to kiss you, that's more than enough for me. I’m just being greedy really’ he winked and your heart felt lighter as you both giggled.

‘You’re right, you need to be cut off’ you joked but when he lent down to kiss you again you let him.

y/n

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y/n Happy spooky season 🧡

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masonmount wow whoever took that first one has got a great eye 👀

y/n thank you my sulley 🩵💜

Going to Manchester to see him was the beginning of the end for you. You loved it up there and you loved your time with Mason just as much to the point you’d just sob the whole way home each time you had to leave him and you knew he was always just as down as you were about it. Each time it getting harder and harder to say goodbye so when next Halloween came and Mason wanted to celebrate your first anniversary together you jumped at the chance to spend some quality time with him.

Moving to Manchester after just a year of dating was a risk, and you both definitely knew it, but when Mason brought up wanting you to move in with him at your anniversary dinner you wanted to jump at the chance. You knew in your heart you were going to be with Mason for a really long time and the thought of starting your lives together up there really excited you. Your mum took it pretty hard but she knew you’d have to leave home eventually but neither of you could have guessed it would have been so far away.

You mostly worked from home in London anyway, only needing to visit the office twice a month so after a quick chat with your manager about different options, she told you keeping you was more important and that working in Manchester would be no different than London so she was happy for you to make the move.

Mason seemed to be the most excited. Letting you pick out any spare room you wanted to turn into your office and you picked the one at the back that overlooked the garden. The main reason being that in the summer you knew you’d be able to watch him training out of the window, but you told him it was because it was near the kitchen and downstairs loo so you didn’t have that far to walk.

It was lonely sometimes, spending all day at home on your own and when work was finally done not having anyone to talk to. At home at least your mum would be there so you could talk about your days as you fought over what to cook, but the house being empty did nothing to cure the ache of loneliness that would settle in your tummy until Mason was with you.

You hadn't been here long enough to make friends of your own and the ones you’d left behind did nothing to help you feel less lonely. Carrying on like you didn’t even exist and going to all your favourite places without you as well as new places you’d always wanted to try. You tried not to take it to heart too much as you didn’t want them to stop living their lives but you thought it was funny how as soon as you were gone they suddenly had time for all the things you wanted to do when they never had before.

Not wanting to be a grump for too much longer you quickly glanced at your phone when you were finally ready to get up. No text or update from him to let you know he was going to be home later than planned and usually it wouldn't have mattered but you thought with it being Valentine's Day he would have made a touch more effort as you were meant to be having dinner together. Your tummy hurt as your sadness migrated into every fiber of your being and you knew it wouldn’t be disappearing anytime soon.

All the lights were off when you eventually made your way out of your office. Traipsing through the silent house to the front so you could look out onto the drive, however it only upset you more to see that his car wasn’t there and suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. Wanting nothing more than to get into bed so you could sleep this awful mood away, but there was something that stopped you as soon as you made it upstairs.

You noticed the warm glow coming from the bathroom as soon as you reached the landing. The door was ever so slightly cracked open and you knew you hadn't left it like that so the light confused you. In the end you took a few cautious steps over so you could peek around the gap and the sight before you made your heart flutter.

There was Mason, hunched over the bath as he swirled his hand around the soapy water that was topped with rose petals. The scent of your favourite bubble bath filling the air as he checked the water temperature before he was standing back up and reaching for a lighter so he could continue to light the candles he’d set up in a row on the window. Watching and waiting until he’d grabbed a fresh towel to place on the warmer until you couldn’t help but open the door a little more and step inside.

You felt instant regret as soon as you did. This was clearly meant to be a surprise for you and you’d just marched in on him but the smile he gave you after the initial shock of seeing you made your eyes sting and as your face began to crumple, he was over to you in a flash.

‘What’s wrong, boo?’ He asked softly. Hands holding the tops of your arms as you tried to wipe your eyes but it was pointless as more tears came falling seconds after.

‘I didn’t know you were h-home’ you hiccuped, sounding completely ridiculous as you broke down into sobs, but just like always he took you as you came and listened intently. ‘I t-thought you’d be late a-again’

‘Well I’m a lot later than I wanted to be’ he told you softly. ‘I only got in about five minutes ago’

‘Where’s y-your car?’

‘I got a fucking flat tire, didn’t I’ he laughed but you could tell he was pissed off underneath. ‘Had to leave it at training cause I couldn’t get anyone out to fix it and then Luke dropped me home’ he explained before his face softened again and his voice came out in just a whisper. ‘Baby, tell me what’s wrong’

‘Sorry’ you blubbed. Covering your face with your hands again so you could hide yourself and thankfully he knew not to try and make you look at him. Simply wrapping his arms around your shaking body so he could pull you into his and when you felt his lips on your forehead shushing you gently you nearly lost it again.

He always knew what you needed, and right now all you needed was a big cry whilst he held you and whispered that everything would be okay until you found enough courage to take your hands away from your face and wrap them around his body.

‘You think I can’t tell that something’s been going on with you?’ He whispered, pulling back to look at you but when he realised you weren’t budging he just rested his cheek on the top of your head with a sigh. ‘I notice everything, boo’

‘I’m sorry’ you croaked, not even too sure what you were apologising for but it just felt like the right thing to say for hiding your emotions from him.

‘Don’t say that’ he told you as he squeezed you a bit tighter but you still weren’t ready to look at him. Holding him back just as tight as he rubbed your back and you could feel the love from him pour into you. ‘You gonna tell me what’s up?’

‘I don’t know, I just feel a bit down’ you mumbled, shrugging your shoulders as you wondered what you should say to him but you realised there was no point giving him half truths. ‘I've just been a bit homesick I think, it gets lonely in this house when you’re not here and I know you’ve been working really hard to get back into the team but I thought you’d forgotten about me tonight’

‘I’m sorry’ he breathed. ‘I know I haven’t been around as much lately and I know that hasn't helped with how you’re feeling. That’s why I wanted to get home early so I could do something nice for you and I couldn't even get that right’ he laughed. ‘And I know you miss your family, I miss mine too so I know how you feel and I know I’ve been a bit wrapped up in myself but I promise I’ll make it up to you. Starting tonight, yeah?’

‘What’s all this?’ You asked, finally pulling away as you could look at him and the sympathetic look on his face almost set you off again, but Mason was quick to kiss your forehead and look at you softly again.

‘Well I thought you deserved a bit of relaxation while I cooked for us’ he confirmed. ‘Happy valentines, boo’

‘Happy valentine’s, Masey’ you smiled, reaching up to give him a soft and sweet kiss. ‘What are you making?’

‘I’m not sure yet’ he laughed. ‘Any requests?’

‘Well I was hoping you would stay with me in here, I’ve missed you’ you told him shyly. ‘We can always order food’

‘Yeah? Okay let’s do that’ he nodded shyly. ‘C’mere, let’s get you in’

Mason helped to undress you so you were ready for your bath. Kissing your skin gently as he carefully removed each piece of clothing and helped you into the perfectly warm water as you felt all your troubles melt away into the bubbles.

He happily sat on the floor next to you as you chatted away and you finally opened up to him about how your friends had been acting with you lately as well as everything else you’d already mentioned. He sympathised with you as he sometimes felt that way himself and apologised for neglecting you for the last few weeks.

‘Come get in with me?’ You asked after 15 minutes or so, watching his eyebrows raise in shock as his cheeks turned pink but now you’d said it all you could think about was relaxing your body into his.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah why not’ you laughed. ‘I wanna feel close to you’ you pouted and you could see his blush deepening from a mile off. Watching him gently standing up so he could whip his clothes off and you shuffled down the tub a bit so he could slide in behind you.

You didn’t ask for it, but as he began to massage your shoulders you could have melted into the water. You didn’t realise how uptight and tense you were until his fingers began to work away at your knots and it felt so good a shiver ran up your spine. The warm water of your bath felt like a safe blanket lapping against you and you didn’t know what you’d done to deserve this type of treatment.

‘That okay?’ He murmured into the side of your head but it was like you could barely string a sentence together and your whole body felt like it was floating.

‘That’s perfect’ you mumbled, feeling more relaxed and loved than you had in weeks and you knew he was laughing at you as you felt his chest rumble against your back.

‘I’m not very good at this, but I’ve picked up a few tricks from having them done so often’ he laughed but soon enough his hands were traveling down your arms and holding you around your waist so he could hold you close and talk to you without any distractions. ‘So listen I need you to pack a bag tonight’ he mumbled in your ear and you turned your head to look up at him questioningly.

‘Are you kicking me out?’

‘No’ he laughed. ‘But I bet after that you could do with a proper massage, right? Well I’ve booked us into a spa for the weekend with a slightly delayed valentines dinner tomorrow night. It’s in London though so we’ll have a bit of an early start if that’s okay’’

‘I thought we weren’t making a fuss’ you whispered, your face breaking out into a smile so wide your cheeks hurt but he was looking back at you so lovingly it was like you could feel him coursing through your veins.

‘I know, but you deserve it’ he affirmed. Kissing your forehead softly as he stroked his thumbs over your skin ‘Then Sunday we’ve got lunch with your parents. I organised it the other day so I think that’s worked out pretty well’ he winked, feeling tears well in your eyes again for the millionth time that night but this time it was for a whole different reason.

‘What? Really’

‘Yes’ he nodded. ‘I knew you must have been missing them and since we’ll be down there I thought we could make the most of it’

‘Thank you’ you gulped. Reaching up to kiss him properly and it was like you were having your first kiss all over again, carefully kissing each other like you had all the time in the world.

When you were both ready to get out, Mason jumped out first to grab your towel from the heater before walking you back over to your shared bedroom to get changed. A huge bunch of red roses on the bed waiting for you and you had to tell yourself to hold it together as you’d you’d done tonight was cry.

Mason grabbed you a pair of shorts and one of his favourite comfy tops that you loved to wear for you to change into and while he was putting in your food order, you grabbed an overnight bag and began to pack.

‘Where are we going for dinner tomorrow night, Mase?’ You questioned as you fingered through some of your nicer things on your rack but you didn’t want to be overdressed if it was somewhere more casual.

‘It’s a surprise’

‘But I need to know what to pack’ you pouted, hoping you’d be able to get a little more from him than that but he seemingly didn’t want to give too much away.

‘Something nice’ he shrugged, locking his phone before standing up to join you and you placed your hands on his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

‘Those new pjs you got me for Christmas are nice, maybe I’ll just wear those’ you teased, hoping you could taunt him into telling you and from the way he rolled his eyes you knew it was working.

‘Okay fine’ he laughed. ‘You should pack that black dress, you know the one you’ve been saving for a certain restaurant’

‘You didn’t’ you breathed, not knowing if he was just messing with you or if he’d actually got the pair of you into the restaurant you’d always wanted to try but from the nod of his head you knew he was making your dream come true. ‘Mase’

‘I know you were meant to go there with your girlfriends and I know I was meant to get you a table and never did cause I’m a rubbish boyfriend and I forgot’ he laughed, bumping his nose against yours as you both giggled before his face got serious ‘but I know they’ve been trying all the places you wanted without you so I thought we could keep this one just for us’

‘Thank you’ you pouted, reaching up to kiss him gently and he deepened it straight away. You hadn’t kissed each other like this in days and you could have quite easily taken it further but it was Mason who pulled away first much to your dismay.

‘Easy there, boo. We’ve got food on the way and there’s nowhere near enough time for me to do what I want with you’ he told you lowly, his voice thick and warm like honey and it made your insides quiver. ‘I’ll make it worth your while if you wait’

‘You always do’ you winked and you noticed how he blushed at your words.

‘Come on boo, we’ll go set the table yeah? Eat like proper humans for a change’ he laughed as he took your hand and you laughed along with him as he led you out of your room. Your mood a lot lighter than it was just over an hour ago and you couldn’t wait to finally spend your first Valentine’s Day under the same roof with the boy you loved most in the world.

y/n

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y/n quick trip home for some well needed downtime and a visit to somewhere I’ve always wanted to go with my valentine ♥️

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masonmount anything for my girl ♥️

y/n love you sm 🥰 🤭

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sweetimpurity · 9 months ago

Text

💓 day 23!! I have been waiting for this one and the next three days!! this is a continuation of THIS sweet thought that everyone was asking for a part 2 of!

So the next three days are gonna be a mini series off of that!! I recommend reading that before you read this so it makes sense!

cw: yandere themes, obsession

PART 1

Earth-731

Mig’s been watching you for months. Managed to tap into the feed of multiple Miguel’s across the multiverse. Connections to his dimension are tricky since a rogue anomaly came a while back and threw off the timeline only slightly. So things are glitchy. He feels glitchy all the time. Like there’s a flicker in his head and in his bones. Searching for the thing that would make everything right again, make him feel okay, and he can only look to you. Perfect you. You don’t exist in his timeline. Yet in almost every other dimension, you’re there with a version of him that’s much luckier than he’s ever been.

It’s obsessive at this point. He watches you all day long. Watching you with your Miguel. Or rather watching you get left behind. He watches Miguel-928 miss out on important events, forget anniversaries and birthdays, watches you going to bed alone for nights at a time. But he also watches the good times, the nights in, date nights you two share together, the laughs, the love. Forcing himself to turn the feed off when it seems your version of him will get even luckier.

It’s torture. To have fallen for you when he’s never even spoken to you before. But you love him in another timeline right? So why couldn’t you love him in this one?

“Hah…” He sighs, running fingers through his hair and getting up from his seat. Pacing around his office in Alchemax. In this dimension, he’s not the leader of the Spider Society. He’s a geneticist working for a tyrant CEO in a bright sterile lab in Nueva York. And not a single person knows of his genetic predisposition.

He wakes up, goes to work, overworks, goes home, checks the police feed he’s hacked into and listens to where he’s needed. Going out in the night to catch crooks and criminals because that’s all he can do. He hasn’t been able to figure out how to jump dimensions since the anomaly left his timeline glitching and cut off. But religiously he watches back a video feed he captured of another Miguel on Earth-378, constructing a portal generator.

Since he doesn’t have the instructions himself, he’s dissected and analyzed this video over and over for months. Trying to copy it to the letter and make a portal generator of his own so he can finally get out of this place. He’s collected parts and worked countless hours in his apartment trying to make this work.

Originally his destination in mind was anywhere but here. But ever since he found you while combing through multiversal feeds, he knows you’re his first stop. He’s taking you with him no matter where he goes. Your Miguel doesn’t treat you right anyway.

Heading home, he stumbles through the door carrying a new discarded piece of machinery from work. There’s a circuit board with a specific wiring he thinks will be the right piece for the generator. Lugging it down the hallway to the spare bedroom which is now his makeshift lab. His half constructed generator on a bench there. Putting the piece down and flicking a few switches to bring the lab to life. Lights flickering on and some machines humming. Multiple screens on his computer awaken and he walks right over to one, scanning his fingerprint. Pushing up his glasses and typing on the screen to bring up the feed labeled with your name. Pressing on it and tuning in to see what you’re doing.

He sits down, focusing on the screen and zooming out to see you’re still at work in your dimension. Looking so pretty and perfect. His heart flutters just seeing you after the long day he’s had. He wishes he could talk to you.

He sits at his desk, fiddling with the machine to remove the parts and watching the feed like TV. Listening to your voice through the screen and seeing you leave work, street cameras picking up your route home. His eyes lock on any suspicious characters on the street and making sure you get there safely. Even though he’s dimensions away, he always watches to make sure you get home safe.

And almost like it’s his favorite part of the movie, he leans forward, waiting for the surveillance in your apartment to pick up your expression as you enter the door. A smile on his face, admiring you adoringly at that relief in your expression. That gladness he knows you feel being home after a long day. It’s a good thing your Miguel installed all that surveillance in the apartment. Because now he can watch you worlds away. He’d probably do the same thing if he knew if could keep you protected.

The night goes on and clearly your Miguel isn’t coming home until late again. Most likely on patrol all day or at the Society Headquarters like he always is. Hardly seeing you at all in a day. Mig watches you make dinner for yourself. He watches you watch a show for a while, listens to you singing to yourself as you do the dishes, watches the bathroom door when you’re taking a shower and then switches the feed to the empty kitchen while you’re getting changed in the bedroom. All the while he’s working on removing the pieces from this machine, finally getting it undone by the time you’re calling your Miguel to ask when or if he’ll be home tonight. You’re already in your pajamas ready for bed and he’s not even back yet.

“Shit… damn it..” Mig huffs when the circuit board doesn’t fit where he needs it. All that work and now he’ll have to find a different piece in scrap somewhere. He sighs, forcing himself not to chuck the piece across the room, instead discarding it calmly in the junk metal bin. He huffs, sitting down at his desk and running his hands through his hair again. He stays that way for a few minutes. He’s tired.

Sitting with his head in his hands and hearing the sounds of you getting ready for bed. His eyes closed and listening to you brush your teeth, wash your face, do all the things he watches you do every night. And then the sheets when you’re getting in bed. Feeling heavy himself.

Your moans fill his ears, infiltrating his mind. Your body which could only be soft and warm and plush. Under him and accepting him over and over. His cock hugged and loved through your tight walls, his tip kissing your sweet spot every single time. Making you tremble, making you moan for him. Moaning his name. “Mmmmiguel!” You gasp and it makes him shiver. His face dipping into your neck and inhaling your scent which he can only imagine is so sweet and pleasant.

Finding your hands with his and lacing his fingers with yours. Hands entwined above your head, as close as he’s always yearned to be. Pumping you full with everything he’s been keeping for you. Your cunt he’s longed to taste, to fill. Your sweet soft skin he’s needed to kiss and bite. Kissing down your jaw, your neck, your sternum and finding your perked mound, sucking the hardened nip into his mouth and sucking. Drawing the sweetest, most erotic sounds from your lips he can even imagine. Your shaking legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him deeper, is that’s even possible. Like he could never be separated from you. Even though he’s never not been separated from you before.

“Oh please Mig!” You sigh, and he looks up at your face, your features quirked in pleasure. He keeps with the rhythm, knowing it’s bringing you pleasure, bringing you closer to orgasm. And he wants to feel you come apart on him. He’s wanted it for so so long.

“Come on sweet girl…” He whispers, but the sound doesn’t leave his chest. It rumbles but it stays. Like the words won’t reach the air.

He shakes awake when his elbow knocks a tool off his desk. The metal clanking and ringing through the room. “hah!” He flinches, lifting his head from where it was resting in his hands. Having fallen asleep watching you sleep. It was a dream. No it was a tease. His mind taunting him with what he will never have.

Except your moans don’t cease. They don’t stop. That’s not in his head. He looks up at the screen. Seeing the time, trying to decipher what’s going on. Your desperate cries coming in through the monitor. And there you are in bed. Your Miguel finally returned home from wherever he was all day ignoring you. The two of you having loud sex under the blankets. He’s confused. Caught off guard. Slamming a few buttons and shutting the feed off. That’s enough taunting for one night.

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship @opalwitchart

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

plus those who requested a part 2:

@d3stin7 @laysmt @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @marshhbs

@twwcs @resident-clown @haveclayeveryday

@fullmetal-spiderling @grumpyahjumma

@lxverrings @lazyjellyfish300

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fvcking-moon · 2 months ago

Text

⋆⭒˚.⋆ - Just Stay -

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. | Genre: Soft Romance

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. | Si-eun x F! Reader

───────────୨ৎ──────────

I have a part-time job at a small café-library near Eunjang High. I usually work after school and sometimes on weekends. It’s not the most exciting place—quiet, slow, a little lonely—but I need the money to help my mom, so I don’t complain.

Every now and then, a few students from Eunjang come in to study. One of them is always the same: Yoo Si-eun.

He comes in quietly, usually after school, orders a tea, and takes the same seat by the window. Head down, books open, silent.

I stand behind the counter, waiting for someone to order cake or coffee, when I hear the familiar voice.

“The usual, please,” he says, his tone low, eyes tired.

“Sure—just a second,” I reply with a small smile, already starting the water for his tea.

Once it’s ready, I place the cup gently on the counter.

“Here you go,” I say.

He pays without another word and walks to his seat. My eyes follow him without meaning to. He’s… interesting. There’s something quiet about him, something that pulls me in.

His presence is calming, even from across the room—and for some reason, that makes my cheeks warm.

As I watch him, I notice bruises on his neck and arms. Faint, but visible. I want to ask about them—but I don’t.

He seems like the kind of person who doesn’t like questions.

The next day, he comes again. Same seat. Same book.

I know that book. It’s dense and complex—probably not the easiest to understand. Since I work here, I know there’s another version that explains everything much more clearly.

Without thinking too much, I grab the simpler book and walk over to him. I place it gently on his table.

“Here… this one’s easier to follow,” I say softly.

He looks up at me. His eyes meet mine—dark, tired, unreadable.

He stares for a moment, as if trying to figure out what I want from him.

A small, nervous laugh slips from me.

Then he nods. “Thanks.”

I walk back to the counter, my face heating up again.

Why do I feel this way around him?

Later that day, it starts to rain. Si-eun is just about to leave when he opens the door.

“Wait,” I call out and walk over to him, holding out an umbrella.

“Here… I don’t need it.”

He pauses. Looks at me, then the umbrella. For a second, it feels like he’s debating whether or not to accept it.

Then, slowly, he reaches out and takes it.

He doesn’t smile—but he nods once.

“Thank you.”

And then he’s gone.

Days pass. We talk a little more now. He listens when I ramble about random things, and even though he doesn’t say much, I can tell he’s really listening.

One day, he finally tells me his name: Si-eun.

He starts staying longer, sometimes glancing up from his book to look at me when he thinks I’m not watching.

I bring him a cookie now and then, or a tea—on the house.

Then, one afternoon, I find a small folded note on the counter. No name. No handwriting I recognize.

I open it.

“You’re my only sense of peace.”

My heart skips. My cheeks burn.

I glance over to his usual seat—but it’s empty.

Is it from him?

The rest of the day, I can’t stop thinking about Si-eun. And that one, quiet sentence that now echoes louder than anything else.

The next day, I waited the whole afternoon for Si-eun to walk through the café doors, to sit in his usual spot like always… but he didn’t come.

Maybe the letter wasn’t from him after all.

I kept glancing at the door every few minutes, my heart quietly hoping—but nothing. The hours dragged on, and by the time my evening shift ended, I was exhausted from waiting and thinking.

I locked up the café, wrapped in silence, and started walking toward the bus station. The sky was already dark.

That’s when I saw it.

Down a narrow alley, barely lit, blood smeared across a brick wall—and him.

Si-eun.

He stood there, bruised, pale, barely steady on his feet. In front of him, three boys lay unconscious on the ground.

“Si-eun…?” I called, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turned slowly, his eyes wide for a moment in shock. Then he looked down, avoiding my gaze.

“I’m sorry you had to see this…” he murmured, almost too quietly to hear.

I didn’t know what to say. My chest tightened with worry, but I didn’t ask what had happened.

Instead, I took my bag, pulled out a water bottle, and handed it to him.

“Sit down,” I said softly.

He obeyed, his body giving in. He took a few sips of water while I crouched beside him. I carefully cleaned the blood from his skin, gently placing band-aids over the worst parts. My hands were trembling, but I didn’t let it show.

No words. Just silence.

And somehow, that silence said everything.

Once he could stand again, I helped him to his feet and walked him home. Still no questions. Still no answers. Just… presence.

When we reached his apartment building, he looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. I only gave him a small smile, then turned and walked home.

The next day: Saturday

Si-eun never came on weekends, so I kept my expectations low and focused on work.

Until I heard it.

“The usual, please.”

I looked up—and there he was.

My heart lifted. “Hey… sure!” I smiled, quickly getting started on his tea.

As I prepared it, he spoke—his voice softer than usual.

“About yesterday…”

And then, for the first time, he told me everything.

About the fights. The bullying. Why he does what he does.

I listened—no interruptions, no judgment.

“Hey,” I said gently once he finished, “Saturdays are always quiet around here… we could sit and keep talking, if you want.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, to my surprise, a small smile formed on his lips.

“I’d like that,” he said.

So we sat down—no counter between us, no silence this time.

We talked.

About him. About me. About things that hurt and things that made us laugh.

Time faded around us. The café, the world—it all felt far away.

By the time we noticed the clock, it was already 7:30 PM.

He looked into my eyes—serious, a little unsure.

“Can I stay… even if I’m not good with… closeness?”

I smiled softly, my voice warm and steady.

“You don’t have to be perfect… just stay.”

───────────୨ৎ──────────

Hi everyone!

This is my first time writing a story, and I really hope you enjoy it. I’ve always loved Weak Hero, so I wrote a soft Si-eun x reader story that’s close to my heart.

Thank you for reading and supporting! >⩊<

Masterlist: here

#weak hero class 1 x reader #Si-eun x reader #weak hero

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mixingandmelting · 2 months ago

Text

Trouble

Summary: how he acts when he's in trouble/ "Men are from Mars, Women are from Miley Cyrus" Meme

Owen: “I should’ve bought you flowers”/“I can buy myself flowers”

A double dozen of Heirloom roses in one hand, a box of chocolate from Charbonnel et Walker in another - only the best of the best for you. Nervously he stands in front of the door before releasing a puff of air and opening the door.

His first words should’ve been “I’m sorry” or “babe, I got you something”. But he sees flowers and chocolates already in your hands.

“Who gave you those chocolates and flowers!?”

“…Me, myself, and I.”

…Well, crap.

“Oh, uh, what a coincidence. I got you flowers and chocolates too!” His smile strains, beads of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

Your expression couldn’t get any flatter was what he had thought when heard how pissed you were from Camila. Obviously, he’s proven wrong as your eyes start resembling the void.

Slowly he places his gifts on the table and raises his hands in the air.

“…So, I can explain-“

The next few minutes get spent with him making all sorts of excuses as to why he had decided to suddenly take a “surprise” to South Korea. Too bad for him you don’t buy any of it, calling him out for each one. And to make things worse, you reveal it’s both from Noah and Shelly (Noah, he sort of expected but Shelly? Shelly????) you found out about it in three days since he left the UK, both complaining to you about him bothering them.

“-think about your team and how much trouble you’re causing them! Also quit bothering that rookie, Jay! It’s clear he likes Shelly and intends to be good to her!” Instantly he snaps his head up.

“You like him too-!?”

When he makes an appearance later that day at the training facility, no one makes a comment about his bad mood or why he keeps grumbling about taking down a certain cyclist.

Jay: “And Held your hand”/ “I can hold my own hand”

He slouches on the bench, gloom filling the air around him.

The whole day he tried to hold your hand. But somehow and some way you manage to always keep them full. Break time? Helping carry supplies to the classroom for the teachers. Lunch? Holding your phone and ID.

Hell, this morning when he woke up from the impromptu sleepover, he found you holding your own hand. In your sleep.

Minu and June tried to comfort him, patting his back and telling him you won’t stay mad for long. when he asked how they knew, the two of them refused to make eye contact with him. He didn’t need to be told anything else, the silence shared the next few seconds filled with camaraderie of dealing with their s/o’s wrath.

To be fair, he was being honest when he told you about traveling to the US all of sudden and that he had fun with the guys. Just… minus the extra, little tidbits of him getting threatened with a gun. Then kidnapped. Then dealing with a drug case.

he practically forgot how easy it was for you to pick on the existence of missing pieces as you corner Dom during yesterday’s group study/sleep over to fess up everything since you knew he was going to keep it to himself.

“I knew you’d be here.” Snapping his head up, his eyes wide. You stand in front of him, your hands are on your hips. “Next time you pull something like this, it’s forty-eight hours. Got it?”

Starting by wrapping a finger around yours, he happily grabs hold of your hand as he mutters a sorry and promises not to do it again.

The two of you end up being given disapproval looks the next day at school, the girls telling you you should’ve been harsher while the guys gave crap to him for getting off the hook so easily.

Pole: “Should’ve gave you all my hours”/ “I can talk to myself for hours”

He sits on the couch, his arms wrapped around the same leg he’s using to prop his chin as you sit next to him watching some rip off version of Love Island.

“Um, so listen-“

“Oh, that’s so funny!”

“Look, I just want to say-“

“Wait what? Stewart cheated on Samantha?”

“Babe, please-“

“That scumbag. That trash! That mother trucker-!”

…So, he may or may not have messed up.

He swears up and down it wasn’t on purpose. He was simply overly excited that Oliver finally, in how many years, agreed to join his crew Gold Rush leading him to talk to the blue-haired male constantly for a few days. All while ignoring the signs of you trying to grab his attention and your texts. Perhaps even a few phone calls on top of that.

So what do you do? Not talk to him. You texted with your friends, had phone calls with people both you are mutuals with. You talked to yourself. All regardless if he was there or not including now where he’s now up and stands between you and the screen. Every time you tilt your head so you’d be able to continue watching, he shuffles to block your way. When you sigh, he kneels and wraps his hands around you.

“Please talk to me, I’m sorry-!” He whines, stubbornly keeping his head on your lap while you try to shove him off. “Please!!!”

It’s quiet for a moment, him giving you the kicked-puppy look while you blankly stare at him.

“…I can’t believe this.”

Despite his ears bleeding from hearing your rant about how he had the audacity to brag Oliver’s ears off about you when he was ignoring you, it ends up being worth it as he was able to talk to you again along with having a snuggle session.

Wooin: “Take you to every party”/ “Take myself dancing”

He finally loses it, watching you stuff your phone and go back dancing. You didn’t blink or consider answering; just one glance and done.

Okay, fine. He should’ve been more truthful about where he was and what he was doing the night of Vinny pointing a broken glass bottle at his neck, especially after you had warned him about his business was going to “bite him back in the ass” because he’s “too mean” to people.

Did he expect you to be mad when you found out about it? Yes. For you to go clubbing by yourself, without him, during the whole weekend? No.

Slipping through the crowd with ease and expertise, he reaches you right on time to witness the one moment all boyfriends hate.

“Come on, I promise it’ll be fun.” There’s no exception. That loser hitting on you? That guy’s dead, one way or another.

Or that’s what was supposed to happen. When or how you realized he’s there, he has no idea, completely catching himself and the group around you off guard as you turn and kiss him.

“No way. I told you I was taken!”

His brain doesn’t go back online until the two of you are a distance away from the club and you let go of his hand.

“I’m never doing that again…” You grumble, crouching down while going on a tangent about how much you hate nightclubs.

His tempers flares and he clicks his tongue. “Yeah? And what made you think it was smart to go alone?”

Another regret is born as he quickly learns you weren’t out drinking while dancing on the floor - you were actually very much sober. Add that to you also being the only one so far that could out-smart him when arguing, he faces your (nagging) rage wordlessly. At least it doesn’t take long nor that bad, you calling it even since he did save you by appearing when you were getting hit on and kissing him on the cheek as thanks.

#windbreaker manhwa #windbreaker webtoon #yoo wooin #jay jo #owen knight #poel reynolds #wooin x reader #jay x reader #owen x reader #windbreaker poel

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gloomy0x0phantom · 1 year ago

Text

Nightmare chapter one

ʚ synopsis ɞ You haven't been able to sleep for a while, and Bepo has the solution to your problem. As you develop a friendship with the polar bear, you fail to notice the jealousy of a certain captain.

pairings : Bepo & Fem!Reader / Trafalgar D. Water Law x Fem!Reader

words count : 5.2k

content : fluff, a very tired reader, mention of nightmares.

note : Here's the rewrite of the first chapter of Nigthmare! I hope you like it ♡ I decided to keep the old version up cuz I don't want to lose all the nice comments 😭 A huge thank you to WesNest for being my beta reader!! English is not my first language

Next chapter // Chapter index

In the middle of the ocean, on a small island lost in thick fog, lay the crews of the Straw Hat and Heart Pirates. Once again their paths crossed, much to Trafalgar Law's misfortune and Monkey D. Luffy's delight. Despite having seen each other a few weeks ago, Luffy insisted that this umpteenth encounter should be celebrated with a big feast, a bonfire, and music. The Hearts, equally fond of a good night's drinking, gladly accepted the offer without consulting their captain, who had expressed reservations about the idea. Although Law was hesitant, his crewmates knew he didn't harbor animosity towards the Straw Hats and that he would be unable to resist an evening with them. Why? Well, let's just say they were well aware of their captain's weak spot... a weak spot concealed within the opposing crew.

A cheerful melody of violin fills the night air. Between the beach and the tropical forest, a towering fire illuminates the faces gathered around it. Luffy, Penguin, Shachi, Usopp, Bepo, and Hakugan dance enthusiastically around the flames, waving their arms and reveling in the moment. Even after a hearty meal the guys find the energy to twirl and celebrate. Chopper, his belly full, peacefully dozes in Robin's embrace while she talks with Jean Bart and Jinbe. Brook plays the violin while Franky joins in with an old tune. Nami, Zoro, Uni and Clione are competing to see who can best hold their liquor, with the redhead taking the lead of course. After completing his cooking duties, Sanji approached Ikkaku, expressing that he doesn't have the opportunity to see her often and desires to cherish every moment in her delightful company throughout the evening. Although unimpressed by the blond's flattery, the young woman allowed him to continue to be around her. Leaning against a tree, Law observes the pirates with a bored expression, yet a faint smile betrays his true feelings. And you? You sit slightly apart from the others, quietly observing the festivities.

The others made efforts to include you in their activities, and you almost succumbed to Usopp's invitation; however, you opted to take it easy instead. Despite your desire to join the dance, you feel too drained to participate. While you find the drinking competition entertaining to watch, your distaste for alcohol prevents you from taking part. Although you enjoy listening to Robin's stories, there's a risk of nodding off while she speaks. Right now, despite your body craving it, sleep is the last thing on your mind.

You're glad to see your friends unwinding and enjoying themselves; everyone needs it. It's a relief that the Sunny has stopped at a deserted island. Since leaving Wano, you've encountered one unpleasant situation after another with pirates who believed they can defeat Luffy. Additionally, you've had to hastily depart from the last three islands as the Navy was covertly lying in wait for you. It feels like the crew's every move is being meticulously tracked. Nami insisted on searching the Sunny in case a camera had been planted on board. Thankfully, nothing was found, but it's clear that every member of the crew is exhausted. Meeting the Hearts provides the much needed distraction to unwind.

You can sense that Law isn't pleased with this coincidence. At least he's smiling. You noticed it when your gaze landed on him. The fire casts such a beautiful glow on his skin. He's dressed in a white tank top that showcases his black tattoos. You're secretly admiring the artwork - well, you think you're being subtle, but you soon realize that Law is watching you. Caught red-handed, you quickly avert your gaze. Despite this, you can still sense his eyes on you, and it's embarrassing.

“Chronicler-san!”

You are surprised when you hear your nickname cheerfully shouted by the Heart navigator. The guys halt their dancing while Brook takes a break to stretch his bones. Bepo, exhausted and needing to catch his breath, settles down next to you. You greet him with a warm smile. The polar bear is someone you appreciate, even though you've never had time to chat for more than a few minutes. It's not as if you've had the opportunity in the past. You're constantly in dangerous situations or caught up in Law and Luffy's plans. Come to think of it, this is probably the first time you've all been together outside of a mission.

"It's a beautiful night!" he says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He's breathing hard, which is not surprising given his size, but he still takes the trouble to ask if you're okay between breaths.

"I'm fine, and you? Life with your crew isn't too hard?" you reply in a playful tone.

"I could ask you the same question about yours," he replies, laughing. "I'm fine, a little out of breath."

"A little?" you say, raising your eyebrows and smiling, gently teasing him. You've just witnessed him dancing for a solid thirty minutes. It was quite entertaining. It's a good thing everyone was dressed casually; otherwise, you're sure Bepo would have fainted. He might have even ended up in the fire. There's always something wild happening at parties.

Bepo usually chooses to be by his captain's side, so you get the impression that he hasn't come to see you by chance. You're curious about why he's here, but based on what little you know of him, you can tell he's likely searching for the right words. You choose to keep the conversation going.

"How's your journey been since Wano? I hope you haven't run into too much trouble with the new bounties, unlike us."

"We came across a few annoying cases, but Captain is so strong, he wiped them out in a heartbeat!" Bepo gestures animatedly as he speaks with such admirationI. It's cute. "To avoid drawing any attention, we stayed underwater most of the time. Otherwise, the Marines would have chased us too."

"Oh Bepo!" you gasp, and it's his turn to jump. "Would you trade places with me? I'd do anything to live underwater for a while and vanish from the Marines' radar!"

"I don't think the captain would be happy about losing his navigator!" He chuckles, glancing at Law, who once again looks your way, though you remain unaware.

"Don't worry, I've got a plan," you wink at Bepo and motion for him to lean in. As his ear draws near, you whisper, "I'm going to dress up as a polar bear, and you're going to wear a wig. No one will suspect a thing!"

Bepo straightens up with a laugh. "Do you even have any navigation skills?"

"No, but that's a detail!"

You both laugh at this outlandish idea. Pulling off such a plan would be next to impossible, but the thought of wearing a polar bear suit and casually strolling around the Polar Tang brings a smile to your face. You can imagine the amused reactions of the Heart Pirates, except for Law. As for Luffy, you know he'd be thrilled to have Bepo join your crew simply because he's a mink.

"What brought you out of hiding?" You ask.

“Hm?”

"Why did you surface and come to this island?"

"Oh! Um... Well... It's kind of my fault. I enjoy being on the Polar Tang, but after a while, I start craving some sun and fresh air. My body can't handle the heat of the submarine. Maybe I complained a bit too much to the captain, and he agreed to stop at the next island, which happened to be this one." The navigator scratches the back of his head, embarrassed.

"I'm sure the others wanted some fresh air too. Just look at them!"

The two of you take a moment to observe the Heart Pirates. All you see are smiling faces, including Hakugan's mask. To you, this scene appears ordinary, but for Bepo, it holds significant meaning. They spent months without their captain, wondering if he would come back alive. And when he did, they had to face two emperors, which could have ended badly. Bepo smiles proudly. Their captain is healthy, and everyone is safe. They emerged victorious.

"I was so relieved when I saw the Polar Tang in the distance." you murmur as you continue to look at the others.

"Really?" asks Bepo, curious to know the reason.

"Yeah... I'm tired of all the fighting. We haven't had a break in ages. When I saw the submarine, my body just relaxed. I know you won't harm us. I feel safe with you guys." You glance at Bepo with a wide smile and flushed cheeks. Suddenly, you realize the magnitude of your words. "B-But I know we're not... I mean, we're enemies."

“Right, enemies…”

As if you shared the same brain, your attention shift to Law and then Luffy. Finally, you meet each other's eyes and hold back a laugh. Yeah, enemies. Luffy can't consider Law a real enemy, not after all they've been through. And honestly, you'd like the alliance to be renewed, someday. It may never reach the same level as when Law lived aboard the Thousand Sunny, but having him as an ally is comforting.

"I'm glad you feel this way with us. I feel safe with you too!"

You're taken aback by his declaration, and even more so by the wide grin Bepo offers in return. You don't doubt his sincerity. Your heart races, and your cheeks ache from smiling so much. Then, you hear a small voice in the back of your head saying, "He shouldn't."

You look at the fire, and gradually your smile loses its brightness. Returning to the boat would be a wise choice. The conversation is enjoyable, but you shouldn't continue. You're enemies, despite everyone getting along well. It's only a matter of time before Law betrays Luffy again.

Bepo noticed the sudden shift. “Alright, now would be a good time to intervene,” he thought. But how? It's not for nothing that he decided to approach you. While he was dancing, he noticed that his captain was watching you intently. The subtle frown of his eyebrows meant he saw something wrong with you. And it must have been very important, given the tension in his shoulders and his clenched jaw. As his second mate, it was his duty to find out what was wrong with you, for the sake of his captain's sanity!

Now that he's close to you, he sees what his captain noticed.

"Are you sure everything's alright? Your dark circles are starting to look like the Captain's, and that's never a good sign," Bepo jokes, trying to lighten the mood with his question.

"It's a bit unsettling, isn't it?" you ask, with a dry laugh. "I don't sleep very well."

"B-because of the attacks?"

You hesitate for a moment. "Partly."

Bepo senses there's something more, but he's uncertain how to encourage you to open up without crossing any lines. Yes, he's eager to assist his captain, but... Bepo genuinely wants to help you. He's always held a fondness for you. He recalls your initial interaction: you were kind and appreciative. His mink instincts don't fool him; he's adept at sensing energies that humans might overlook.

"Captain could prescribe you some sleeping pills," he suggested in a hushed tone.

"I don't want to sleep," you confessed darkly.

Instantly, Bepo understands.

"Nightmares."

You nod in agreement. Bepo has known Law since childhood, and living with someone who suffers from chronic nightmares alters one's perception of sleep. For Law, sleep isn't refreshing. Bepo has seen him push himself to stay awake to the brink, and it's not a pleasant sight. So when you mention that you're reluctant to sleep because of nightmares, the navigator believes he can understand the root of the issue. However, he doesn't plan to pry further with any probing questions.

"As a doctor's assistant, I feel obliged to list all the reasons why sleep is important, but I suppose you already know them all."

You tilt your head slightly and regard him with curiosity. "You help Law during surgery? I had no clue! How long have you been studying medicine?"

"Oh, well, everyone in the crew knows how to assist the captain during surgery! It's crucial knowledge that enables us to handle situations both on and off the submarine. I've been learning for - You've changed the subject."

You look down, embarrassed.

“I did. Sorry…”

"N-no! I'm the one who's sorry!" Bepo attempts to reassure you, his tone gentle. He doesn't want you to think he's mad at you.

"Please, don't be. I'm the one who tried to fool you."

Bepo sighs, concern etched across his features as he observes you. He notices your trembling hands, the dark circles under your eyes... You don't resemble the vibrant young woman he met at Sabaody. Reflecting on it, even during your time in Wano, you seemed burdened by stress, much like everyone else.

"How many hours have you been awake...?"

"About... 60 hours, I think. Actually no, that's not true. I sleep 5 to 15 minutes every few hours, it's never a deep sleep. I wake up as soon as I hear a noise. The adrenaline rush from the fights keeps me going, pushing myself beyond my limits. But I feel strange. My heart feels like it's pounding everywhere, I can't focus on writing, food's lost its appeal, Sanji has saved my ass a few times during fights because I'm not paying full attention, sometimes my vision gets blurry and I see things in the corner of my vision. But otherwise I feel fine."

In one breath, you spill out your words, leaving Bepo staring at you with wide eyes, clearly shocked by your extreme lifestyle. He shouldn't be so surprised; enduring 60 hours without sleep is far from healthy, but for you, it seems, this is just another day in the life.

"Have you discussed it with the others...?"

"They're aware of my nightmares; that's nothing new. But I haven't brought up my current issue. It'd be foolish for Monkey D. Luffy to have a crewmate who can't sleep due to stupid nightmares... I don't want to embarrass him."

"Nightmares are not something to be taken lightly, especially the ones that are-" Bepo stops abruptly, his expression twisting into a grimace. "Uh.. Don't feel ashamed. Capt-," he halts once more, grunting in frustration. His lips clamp shut as he bites down on them, then he resumes, "I know someone incredibly strong and respected who dealt with nightmares. They'll never be seen as weak or a disgrace in my eyes. They're truly remarkable, destined to become the king of—" Bepo abruptly cuts himself off, covering his mouth with his hand. He's let slip more than intended.

The navigator's reaction is cute. It's clear he's referring to Law. You appreciate what he's trying to say. You understand why the Heart Pirates hold the polar bear in such high regard; he truly has a talent for making people feel at ease with his attentive listening and open-mindedness. You can't help but wonder if he also serves as a psychologist on board the submarine; it wouldn't be surprising.

Slowly, you lower your head, resting your elbows on your knees and concealing your face behind your hands, assuming a vulnerable posture. With your back bent and your shoulders trembling, it's a sight that catches Bepo off guard. Panic grips him, and he quickly scans the surroundings, ensuring that no Straw Hat crew member is watching. You're... You're crying. And he's the one to blame! He feels a pang of guilt wash over him. He's replaying what he said to you, he doesn't know what could have provoked such a reaction! He wouldn't dare hurt you on purpose!

Bepo's hands fidget nervously as he mutters a string of "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" His entire focus is on you, but he can sense his captain's frustration looming in the background, only adding to his anxiety. If you were part of his crew, he'd instinctively reach out to hug you, offering comfort and reassurance. But you're not part of his team, and he hesitates, unsure if such a gesture would be appropriate. After all, he doesn't know you well enough to gauge your comfort level with physical contact.

“Can I... hold her? Give her a hug?” Bepo's thoughts race frantically as he considers the consequences. “I've seen her snap a man's neck with one kick—I don't want to die!” But the fear of the Straw Hat discovering her tears fills him with dread. “If they see her crying, they'll know I'm the cause... they'll kill me!” He shudders at the thought of facing the wrath of the redhead. “I don't want to provoke her wrath, she's terrifying!” Panic grips him as he wrestles with his dilemma. “Oh no, what am I doing? WHAT AM I DOING??? I'M SO SORRY!”

Behind your hands, a sound that doesn't resemble crying catches Bepo's attention, halting his panic. He tilts his head, intrigued, and whispers your name. Swiftly, you unveil your face to reveal a broad smile, tears glistening in the corners of your eyes. You don't look sad, on the contrary, you're laughing! Relief floods through the navigator as he releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. For a moment, Bepo had feared the worst—walking the plank and sparking a conflict between Law and Luffy. But now, seeing your smile, he knows everything's alright.

You wipe away your tears of laughter and jest, "What kind of spell have you cast on me, Bepo? I never allow myself to broach this subject with my friends, yet here I am, spilling my heart out to you without a second thought!"

From the look on his face, you realize you've startled him. You let out a soft giggle and gently pat his back. Predictably, Bepo hangs his head and apologizes. Wanting to reassure him, you decide to do what comes naturally to you: offer a hug. You're not sure if he enjoys being cuddled, but he seems like the type who appreciates a good hug. After all, you've witnessed him embrace several members of his crew before.

Since the navigator towers over you by several heads, you have to stand up to reach his neck. Bepo quickly catches on to what you're trying to do and bends over slightly to make it easier for you, allowing you to control the strength of the embrace. As your arms encircle his neck and your face brushes against his fur, you freeze.

"B-Bepo..." you whisper.

The mink senses the tension in your body and quickly pulls away, fearing he's made you uncomfortable. But as he looks at you, he sees anything but discomfort in your expression. You stare at him as if he were your soulmate, as if he were an oasis in the desert, as if he were the most delicious treat in the world!

"Bepo!" you shout, disregarding the volume of your voice entirely. "You're... you're... so..."

"Y-yes?"

"You're so... FLUFFY!!!"

Once again, Bepo relaxes. "Thank you! We polar bear minks are known for having very soft fur," he responds, his tone tinged with pride as he puffs out his chest.

His pride comes to an abrupt halt when he hears you say, "Give me your fur!"

"Huh?! No way!"

You burst out laughing at his reaction.

"You can touch me, if you like. But you can't have my fur!"

"Really?" you say, hopeful.

Bepo nods eagerly, a wide smile spreading across his face, showcasing his beautiful, sharp teeth. Seeing his joy, you can't help but smile too. Driven by a sudden warmth in your chest, you decide to climb onto the polar bear and settle in his lap. It's impossible to wrap your legs around his waist, his stature is impressive, but that doesn't stop you from trying. You can't stop giggling like a child. Your fingers trace down Bepo's arms to his shoulders, and you even muster the courage to touch his round cheeks. It strikes you as surprising that this is the first time you've thought of cuddling him, and you find yourself wishing you'd done it sooner!

Struggling to remain composed, you fight the urge to cling to the navigator and squeeze him like a cuddly stuffed toy. It's not the first time you've had such an impulse. In the past, you nearly suffocated Chopper in your embrace when he donned a cow costume; and poor Karoo fell victim to your accidental feather-plucking. You've always been wary of approaching small animals (and even larger ones) for fear of inadvertently harming them with your overwhelming cute aggression.

You don't want to hurt Bepo, but you want him to know how much his fluffiness messes with your brain.

"You're so cute and soft! I want to bite you!"

Bepo flinches and lets out a little cry of fear. "Please don't!"

You squeeze him with all your strength and rub your face on his furry chest, releasing a high-pitched squeal of delight. Your statement catches him off guard; while he's accustomed to receiving compliments on his fur, being told that someone wants to bite him for it is a first. Unsure of how to respond verbally, Bepo reacts instinctively, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing his head against yours. The two of you share smiles and giggles, caught up in the moment. He couldn't be more adorable!

You let out another cry of joy, causing heads to turn in your direction. The music abruptly stops, and you feel a pang of regret for disturbing everyone. You hadn't realized you were being so noisy.

Suddenly, rubbery arms wrap around you and Bepo, pulling you both into an even tighter embrace. Luffy's body collides with yours, almost knocking the breath out of you. Like a true monkey, the young man clings to you, laughing gleefully in your ear.

"Oi bear, you are fluffy shishishi!"

As you catch your breath, Penguin, Shachi, Hakugan, Franky, and Brook all join the hug. You're completely crushed under the weight of all the men—and the skeleton—but you don't mind. It's a shower of love that you happily accept!

"Yohoho, your fur is so soft! Oh, but I can't feel it, I have no skin yohohoho!" exclaims Brook.

You roll your eyes, a gesture Brook can't mimic, at his classic skeleton joke.

"Bepo is the fluffiest!" declares Penguin.

"Yeah, he's the best mink!" adds Shachi.

The boys return to dancing and singing, leaving you alone with Bepo. His face is flushed with embarrassment, but there's also a hint of happiness in his expression knowing he caused this adorable moment. You're the last one to remain in his arms, cherishing the warmth of the embrace.

You release a long, contented sigh and allow your eyes to drift shut. Gradually, your body begins to relax. You immerse yourself in the sounds around you—the crackling of the fire, Bepo's steady heartbeat, Brook's music, the chatter of voices—and find the atmosphere to be perfect. Feeling a protective hand resting on your back, you take it as confirmation that Bepo doesn't mind your presence on his lap. Whatever worries you had earlier, they slip away from your mind. Normally, you'd muster the strength to snap yourself out of such a relaxed state, perhaps with a sharp slap to the cheeks, but right now, you find yourself unable to resist the pull of fatigue.

Before long, you fall asleep. It feels like being cradled by a giant teddy bear, shielded from the demons of the night. Bepo becomes your protector, kicking away any bad memories and nightmares, ensuring you're safe and sound in his arms. Almost unable to believe it, Bepo watches you sleep, feeling a sense of happiness wash over him. 60 hours awake... If you had continued, you could have slipped into psychosis.

A little further away from the duo, Law sits with his arms crossed and jaw clenched. He attempts to focus on the fire, seeking distraction, but his gaze inevitably returns to you. Your face is nestled against Bepo's chest, mouth slightly parted, hands grasping the bear's fur. A stray lock of your hair appears to tickle your nose; he has the urge to step forward and gently tuck it behind your ear, but refrains. Instead, the captain remains seated against a tree, determined not to retreat back to the submarine.

Of course, Bepo would notice your fatigue; it was obvious. It was the first thing Law noticed when you walked onto the beach.

You stepped off the Thousand Sunny with a radiant smile. You were looking at your feet, a habit he noticed, to avoid falling or running into someone else. Ikkaku took you in her arms, the lucky girl. That's when he saw it. Right there. Your hands, resting on the young woman's back, trembled ever so slightly. Were you that eager to see his crew? No, it couldn't be; when you're excited you tend to hop to your feet, and would have thrown yourself at Ikkaku to cuddle her. His suspicions were confirmed as you stepped back to chat with the brunette—your eyes were heavily bagged. So you were tired. When you're working on the logbook or writing a story, sometimes you get so immersed in your work, you end up pulling an all-nighter. Maybe you've been working a lot the last few days? While plausible, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it.

Law recalls something peculiar about your behavior earlier in the day. You frequently glanced behind you in a manner that appeared paranoid. Moreover, you seemed more on edge, visibly flinching when Clione tapped you on the shoulder and even when Sanji placed a glass down in front of you at dinner. Nami's earlier conversation with Shachi may shed some light on this.

"People are insane for wanting to test Luffy's power! Ever since his new, stupid poster came out, wannabe pirates have been constantly coming at us! One group even had the audacity to attack us during the night! Zoro was pissed. We thought we could rest on the next island, but nope! The Marine was waiting for us. Sanji didn't even have time to buy food; the boys had to fish every day! I'm sick of eating fish! The Marines pulled the same stunt two other times, but at least on the last island we had enough time to roam around for a few hours and stock up. I decided to change course completely, and that's how we ended up here. So if you attack us, I swear, I'll electrocute you all."

Your nervousness could be attributed to the constant presence of enemies. Yeah, that's likely it. Tonight no one's going to attack you—Law's going to ensure that.

In the ongoing competition, Nami and Zoro are the final contenders. The swordsman eyes the opportunity to pocket some money, and he's adamant about seizing it. Though he's never emerged victorious before, tonight might just be his chance. Meanwhile, Nami has no plans of letting him walk away with the prize without a challenge, but she enjoys seeing him give it his all until he eventually succumbs to sleep.

But, Nami suddenly stops drinking, leaving a glass half-full.

"What? Now you're going to give up? I knew you were going to lose," says Clione, clearly intoxicated.

The redhead doesn't seem to hear; she's bewildered by what she sees across the fire. Has she indulged in too much alcohol, leading to hallucinations, or is it actually you sleeping? Doubtful of her own condition to discern reality, she slaps Zoro's shoulder and gestures towards you. Gradually, the swordsman follows her gesture and frowns in confusion.

"Am I crazy or...?"

"You are crazy, but it's real," replies Zoro. He waves his arm to get his captain's attention. "Oi, Luffy."

The young man tilts his head to the side and stops playing with the guys. He follows the navigator's finger and a huge grin spreads across his face when he sees you sleeping in Bepo's arms. Finally!

"The party's over."

Brook and Franky immediately stop playing music, leaving only the sounds of the fire and nature. The Hearts are visibly intrigued by this drastic change of mood. When Luffy says the party's over, something's wrong.

"What's going on?" Ikkaku asks, a worried look on her face.

Robin stands up while keeping the little reindeer in her arms, gently stroking his head.

"The recent events have affected the sleep of the whole crew, but (y/n) is the one suffering the most. We've tried to help her by giving her chamomile tea and exhausting her with training, but it's not working. Bepo, would you be willing to spend the night with her?"

All eyes are on Bepo, who must deliver an answer quickly. He's feeling the pressure of the Straw Hats. Disappointing them is the least of his concerns; the navigator considers that he owes them nothing. The alliance has dissolved in Wano, and there's nothing compelling him to comply with Nico Robin's request, but... The thing, or rather the person, that makes him hesitate is just a few meters away. Bepo doesn't dare turn to his captain, as it might raise doubts, but he can sense a negative energy emanating from his direction.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Uh... S-she might wake up if I move."

"No problem; you just have to stay in this exact spot and not move a muscle," Nami replies, her arms crossed and a tone of finality in her voice, indicating she's not open to negotiation.

"Okay... B-but she might get sick if we stay outside!"

"Don't worry bro, I'll go get some blankets, no one will get sick." adds Franky with a thumbs-up.

Bepo lowers his gaze to your sleeping face. You look really comfortable... And with everything you've told him, it would be a shame to wake you up.

"Bepo, you have the right to refuse," Robin finally says, sounding sincere.

Did he truly have a choice? Because right now, he feels like murder will be committed if he refuses. Bepo doesn't mind sharing a sleeping space with you; you're not heavy, you smell good and he trusts you. Law is the problem. Bepo isn't the only one harboring this thought; Penguin and Shachi are visibly nervous as well.

"Bepo will stay with her," Law declares before anyone else can continue the conversation, thus putting an end to the negotiation.

"C-captain?" asks Bepo, uncertain and surprised.

"But only for tonight. My navigator is not at your beck and call," Law adds firmly.

"Of course, Torao." agrees Robin with a mysterious smile. "Franky."

"Yes! I'll be right back with the blankets, I'll be suuuuuuuuper quick!"

"SHH! You'll wake her up if you scream!" Sanji warns.

"Sorry! I'll be suuuuper fast!" murmurs Franky without losing his excitement.

"You're the one who's loud, shitty cook."

"What did you say mosshead!?"

"SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!"

"Sorry Nami-san!"

The pirates walk away, their voices ranging from hushed murmurs to boisterous chatter. The Straw Hats aren't good at going unnoticed - they never have been. In contrast, the Heart Pirates are accustomed to lurking in the shadows, making silence second nature to them. Most of them bid Bepo a good night, but Shachi and Penguin restrain themselves from voicing the myriad thoughts swirling in their minds. They know that uttering those thoughts could provoke their captain's wrath. They certainly don't want to risk being swapped for the night or, worse, dismembered. So, they remain silent, merely waving their hands in farewell.

And Law? He uses his power to return to the Polar Tang, without uttering a word.

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