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bueckets · 8 months ago

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The Prophecy | Part 1

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

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

Description: They call her The Prophecy—basketball’s impossible phenomenon, rewriting what it means to be perfect on the court. With a near-flawless shooting record and a mind just as sharp in aerospace engineering as it is in breaking down defenses, her name sparks awe, envy, and relentless scrutiny. But perfection has its cost.

But even legends have weak spots. When a high-stakes matchup against LSU draws the attention of Paige Bueckers—the golden face of college basketball—The Prophecy’s flawless world starts to crack. On the court, they’re rivals, locked in a battle for supremacy. Off the court, late-night texts and shared moments blur the lines between competition and something much harder to define.

WC: 11.9k

Authors Notes: Slow Burn, Competitors to Lovers, SLOW, I'm heavy into world building so expect a lot of story, SMUT in next chapter. I've like proof read 70% there's already 40k words written and I've changed shit up like 40 times by now lol

They say there are two kinds of impossibilities in basketball: the ones you laugh at, and the ones that make you hold your breath. Your entire career has been about the second kind.

The numbers shouldn't exist: 847 shots attempted in college. Two misses. A percentage that makes statisticians check their math and then check it again. The first miss was a seventy-footer your freshman year that hit the rim so perfectly the sound echoed through the arena like a bell. The second? Sophomore year, caught an elbow to the face that had blood streaming down your jersey—the shot still almost went in.

Two misses in three years. They call you The Prophecy because watching you miss is like seeing a meteor strike, so rare that people mark their calendars by it.

Every sports network has tried to explain you. ESPN did a special called "The Prophecy: Breaking Down Basketball's Perfect Player." Sports Illustrated put you on the cover: "The Future Came Early." The New York Times ran a feature: "Harvard's Double Threat: Engineering the Perfect Game." They all tried to capture what makes you different. None quite managed it.

Because how do you explain someone who turned down every basketball powerhouse in the country—UConn, Stanford, South Carolina—to study Aerospace Engineering at Harvard? How do you rationalize someone who spends mornings in advanced fluid dynamics classes and afternoons making impossible shots look like a simple routine?

Your teammates get it, though. They've nicknamed you "Rocket”— partly for your major, partly for how you launch yourself through defenses. You're the heart of a Harvard team that's won three straight championships, turning the Ivy League school into a basketball dynasty that no one saw coming.

But that legacy isn't built on game days alone. It’s forged in moments like these: the hum of anticipation, the camaraderie, the banter that cuts through the tension as the team gets ready to take the court.

They say the silence before a storm is the loudest. But whoever said that never sat in Harvard's women's basketball locker room before a big game.

"I swear to god, if you try to explain zone defense using thermodynamics one more time—" Sierra launches a rolled-up sock across the room that you catch without looking up from your pre-game ritual: left shoe, right shoe, double-knot both, check laces twice.

"That was ONE time," you protest, but Maria's already cackling.

"One time? Girl, last week you tried to break down UNC's press using some dynamic—“

"And it WORKED, didn't it?"

The locker room erupts in laughter, the kind of easy joy that only comes from three years of championships, late-night practices, and inside jokes that no one else would understand. Taylor's already started your pregame handshake sequence; each title has added new moves until it's practically a full choreographed dance.

"Speaking of Carolina," Jasmine pipes up while adjusting her headband, "did y'all see their point guard tried to claim she's almost as accurate as you?”

"How'd that work out for her?" Sierra grins.

"Shot 3-for-15 against Duke." Taylor shakes her head. "Meanwhile, our girl over here—"

"845 for 847," the team chants in unison, then breaks into laughter again.

You roll your eyes but can't hide your smile.

"Yo, check this out though," Sierra's scrolling through her phone. "LSU's talking mad shit on Twitter. Their center says she's gonna 'expose the myth’ tonight."

Tonight's game against LSU has been circled on calendars since the schedule dropped. Defending national champions versus the team that's rewriting what's possible in college basketball.

The banter continues as everyone goes through their pregame routines. Maria's got her headphones in, mouthing the same Drake lyrics she's been using since freshman year. Taylor's meticulously re-taping her ankles for the third time. Jasmine's practicing her crossover in front of her locker, adding a little extra flair each time.

That's when Coach Matthews steps in, game face already set. The room doesn't exactly go quiet- this team's never been good at that, but the energy shifts— focuses.

"Ladies," she begins, but Sierra can't help herself.

"We know, we know, sold out crowd, national TV, time to show them why they call us the best team in the country."

The locker room buzzes with the easy confidence of a team that knows what they're capable of. You've all been together three years, grown from underdogs to unstoppable.

Coach tries to look stern but fails. "I see three rings have made you cocky."

"Nah, Coach," Jasmine grins. "We were cocky before the rings. Now we’ve just proven that we were right all along.”

The team cracks up again, but you catch something in Coach's expression, a mix of pride and concern. Her eyes find yours across the room. You know what she's thinking: LSU's not here just to play basketball. They're here to make a statement. To prove that Harvard's dynasty, your perfect record, all of it, is just smoke and mirrors.

You peek out at the arena as you head to warm-ups. Every seat filled, signs everywhere:

"The Prophecy Has Spoken: Harvard by 20"

"845/847 ≈ Perfection"

"Future WNBA GOAT"

"Rocket Science + Basketball = 🐐"

The student section erupts with enough thunder that you’d think there was an earthquake outside as you step onto the court. Three years, and the roar still hits different every time. Your teammates spread out for warm-ups, but you can feel every eye in the arena tracking your movement.

"Remember freshman year?" Sierra bumps your shoulder as you start stretching. "When you were still trying to convince everyone you were just 'pretty good' at basketball?"

You laugh, remembering that first practice. You'd shown up in glasses and a Harvard Engineering t-shirt, trying to downplay the high school highlights that had ESPN calling you the next Sue Bird. Then you went 50-for-50 in shooting drills.

"Pretty good," Taylor mimics, feeding you the ball. "Meanwhile Sports Center had a ticker counting your made shots."

The ball feels alive in your hands as you start your warm-up routine. Crossover, behind the back, step-back three. Swish. The Harvard crowd counts each made shot, a tradition that started your freshman year. They're at "thirty-seven" when a murmur ripples through the stands like a shift in the air pressure.

That's when you see them.

The entire UConn women's team, filing into their seats behind your bench. Their presence is magnetic, commanding, like the world has suddenly shifted to center on them. Your breath catches for just a moment, but you keep moving. Eyes forward, muscles loose. Don’t look. Don’t look.

Your gaze flickers up, and that’s when it happens. Paige Bueckers—UConn’s golden child, the face of their dynasty—locks eyes with you. The briefest of seconds, but it feels like a spotlight on your skin. She's not just watching; she's studying. Calculating.

Without breaking stride, you add a little extra spin to your next move. A crossover that’s sharp enough to slice, a step-back three so effortless it’s almost insulting. Swish.

"Showing off for UConn?" Maria teases, but her voice feels distant, barely cutting through the thrum in your chest. You don’t answer. The crowd is at "forty-two" now, and so is Paige. You can feel her counting.

"Please," you roll your eyes, draining another three. "They're the ones who showed up to our house."

The arena's practically vibrating now. LSU's warming up on the other end, trying to look unbothered. Their coach keeps glancing your way, everyone knows their game plan will revolve around stopping you. Good luck with that.

"Rocket!" Jasmine calls out. "Give them the space shot!"

It's another team tradition. End of warm-ups, you launch one from near half-court, high enough to clear the International Space Station. The crowd holds its breath as the ball arcs through the air—

Bucket.

The place goes absolutely nuclear. Even some LSU players stop to watch the replay on the jumbotron. You don't celebrate, just turn and jog back to the bench, but you catch Paige Bueckers leaning forward in her seat. Yeah, she felt that one, too.

In the huddle, Coach Matthews keeps it simple. "They're going to try to get physical. They're going to try to get in your heads. But what do we do?"

"Let the scoreboard talk!" the team responds in unison.

You look around the circle—these girls who've become family. Sierra, who's never met a defensive assignment she couldn't lock down. Maria, whose no-look passes seem telepathic. Taylor, who crashes boards like gravity's just a suggestion. Jasmine, whose trash talk is almost as legendary as her three-point shooting.

The starting lineups are announced. LSU's players get scattered applause, but when they call your name, the sound is deafening. "At guard, a junior from Boston, Massachusetts, averaging 32.5 points per game, shooting 99.8% from the field—The Prophecy!"

You high-five down the bench, each teammate adding their own flourish to the routine. The crowd's chanting now:

"M-V-P! M-V-P!"

But you're already in game mode, that familiar calm settling over you. You can feel Uconn’s members watching from the stands, feel the weight of every expectation, every camera, every scout with an NBA team's future in their hands.

The referee holds the ball at center court. LSU's center—all six-foot-five of her—tries to stare you down.

You just smile. They have no idea what's coming.

The game opens exactly how LSU planned: double-team before you even touch the ball. Their guard and forward shadow your every move, leaving gaps all over the court. Rookie mistake.

You catch Maria's eye, give her the smallest nod. She drives right, drawing attention, while you slip backdoor. The defender realizes too late—you're already airborne, catching the lob one-handed. The rim's still shaking as you get back on defense.

"That's my point guard!" you shout, giving Maria her props. The crowd's already going wild, and you're only thirty seconds in.

LSU tries to establish their post game, but Sierra's having none of it. She strips their center clean, and suddenly you're off to the races. The ball finds you at the three-point line. One defender recovers, rushing at you with a hand up.

Time slows. You see every option: the drive, the pass, the shot. But there's something poetic about making the hardest choice look easy. You rise up, release. The defender's hand grazes your wrist—doesn't matter. Swish.

"And The Prophecy strikes first! Two possessions, two baskets!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "She's making this look like a shoot-around!"

Your teammates are feeding off the energy. Taylor's owning the glass, Jasmine's picking pockets, and Maria's threading passes through impossible angles. By the six-minute mark, you're up 18-7, and LSU calls their first timeout.

"They can't guard you for shit!" Sierra laughs as you huddle up. She's right—they've tried three different defensive schemes already.

Coach Matthews keeps it tactical. "They're getting frustrated. Gonna start trying to bump you off your spots. Stay composed."

You nod, taking a quick swig of water. Your eyes drift to the UConn section. KK Arnold shoots you a smile which you return. Sierra’s shown you enough of her Tik Tok’s for you to recognize the Freshman.

Back on court, LSU switches to a box-and-one. Four players in a zone, one dedicated to face-guarding you. Cupcake stuff compared to what you see in practice.

You set up on the wing, let them think they've got you contained. The defender's playing so tight you can smell her shampoo. Maria starts her drive, draws the zone's attention. You wait... wait...

Then it happens. Quick as thought, you plant your back foot, cut hard to the corner. The defender's still turning when you catch and release in one motion. The ball hasn't even hit the net before you're heading back on defense.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" The announcer's losing it. "The Prophecy with another! She's 5-for-5 to start the game!"

The Harvard student section's going ballistic. Even your teammates are shaking their heads—three years, and you still find ways to surprise them.

LSU's getting chippy now. Their forwards are throwing elbows on screens, talking under their breath. You've seen it before: when skill isn't enough, they try to get physical.

"Yo Rocket," Taylor mutters after a particularly hard screen. "They're hunting."

You just nod. Let them hunt. You didn't get here by backing down.

With two minutes left in the first quarter, they try to trap you at half-court. Two defenders, both bigger, trying to muscle you into a mistake. You hit them with a crossover so nasty the crowd gasps. Split the double-team, euro-step around the help defense, and finish with a finger roll that looks like it defies gravity.

The LSU coach is screaming now, face turning purple. Nothing's working. Every scheme, every adjustment, every physical play, you've got an answer for all of it.

Ten seconds left. You let the clock drain, waving off the screen from Taylor. Your defender's in perfect position, textbook stance. Doesn't matter.

You rise up from NBA range, the defender's hand right in your face. The ball arcs high, the crowd holding its breath—

Swish. At the buzzer.

Harvard's bench explodes. Your teammates mob you as you head to the sideline, perfect quarter in the books. 15 points, 6-for-6 shooting, 3 assists. Just another day at the office.

"Show off," Sierra teases as you sit down.

"Actually," you grin, slipping into your best professor voice, "according to my calculations, that was just the warm-up."

The team cracks up. This is what the cameras miss, what the stats can't show. The joy of playing the game you love, with people you love, at a level few have ever reached.

But LSU's huddle looks different now. There's an edge to their expressions, a darkness in their eyes. They're not just losing—they're being embarrassed on national TV.

You've seen that look before. It usually means someone's about to do something stupid.

Second quarter opens with LSU trying something new: they're running a full-court press, getting extra physical on every possession. Their coach has clearly given them the green light to push boundaries.

"They big mad now," Jasmine laughs as she inbounds the ball to you.

You weave through the press like it's a morning jog, finding Maria with a no-look pass that has the crowd buzzing. She drains the three, and you make sure to flex for the LSU bench on the way back. Their coach calls for a substitution, sending in Williams—their enforcer, known for walking the line between aggressive and dirty.

"Heads up," Taylor mutters as she runs past you. "Number 32's got that look."

You've seen players like Williams before. They show up in every big game, thinking they'll be the one to throw you off your rhythm. They usually learn.

The next possession, Williams tries to bump you off your cut. You absorb the contact, spin away like water, and catch the ball in perfect position. She's still recovering when you rise up for three. Nothing but net.

"That's 20 for The Prophecy!" The announcer's voice carries over the roar. "Still perfect from the field!"

The Harvard student section starts a new chant: "YOU CAN'T GUARD HER!"

You spot some NBA scouts courtside, furiously taking notes. There's already talk about you leaving early, being a top pick. But that's future stuff. Right now, there's just this game, this moment, this next possession.

Williams is getting frustrated. Each bump gets a little harder, each screen a little later. The refs are letting them play physical, and LSU's taking full advantage.

"Yo Rocket," Sierra says during a free throw. "Want me to accidentally trip her?"

You shake your head, smiling. "Nah. I got something better planned."

Next play down, you call for a clear-out. Everyone knows what's coming, your teammates, the crowd, even the UConn section leans forward. Williams squares up, trying to look tough.

The move is pure poetry: crossover so quick it looks like the ball's on a string, between the legs, behind the back. Williams lunges, trying to stay in front. That's when you hit her with the step-back, creating just enough space to rise up.

The shot is perfect before it leaves your hands. Williams can only watch as it drops through, pure silk. The crowd absolutely loses it.

"SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!" Jasmine screams, running past Williams, tongue out in mockery. "But not for her!"

Even some of the LSU players are trying not to smile. What else can you do when you're watching someone operate on a different level?

That's when you notice Paige Bueckers isn't just watching anymore—she's studying. Taking in every move, every counter, like she's downloading your game for future reference. You catch her eye for a split second and there's something there: not just respect, but recognition. Game recognizing game.

The half continues like a highlight reel. You're seeing everything in slow motion: every cut, every screen, every defensive rotation. It's like playing basketball in IMAX, everything crystal clear, every possibility visible.

With three minutes left in the half, Harvard's up 45-28. The game's starting to feel less like competition and more like an exhibition. That's usually when things get dangerous.

You see it coming in slow motion: Sierra bringing the ball up court, Williams setting up for what looks like a normal defensive position. But there's something in her stance, something in her eyes.

Williams launches herself at Sierra, sending her crashing into the scorer's table with a sickening crack. The crowd gasps as Sierra crumples, blood already streaming from her nose.

The arena goes dead silent.

Then everything happens at once. Your teammates rush to Sierra. Jasmine gets in Williams' face. The refs are blowing whistles. But you, you're standing perfectly still, a different kind of calculation running through your mind.

Three years of friendship. Three championships. Countless late-night study sessions where Sierra helped you with orbital mechanics homework while you ice your knees. All those moments flash through your mind in an instant.

You start walking toward Williams, and something in your expression makes everyone—teammates, refs, even the crowd—go quiet.

The silence in Lavietes Pavilion is deafening. Blood drips from Sierra's nose onto the hardwood—each drop echoing like thunder in your ears. Your teammates are surrounding her, but your focus is laser-locked on Williams, who's still trying to act tough, shoving Jasmine.

"Get the fuck out my face," Williams snarls, pushing your teammate back.

You cross the court in long, measured strides. Your teammates part like the Red Sea, something in your expression making them step aside. Williams turns just as you reach her, and for the first time tonight, you see fear flicker across her face.

The crowd holds its breath. Every phone is up, every camera pointed at this moment. Even the refs seem frozen, waiting to see what happens next.

You step right into her space, close enough that only she can hear you. Your voice comes out low, deadly calm. "Touch my teammate again," you say, each word precise as a scalpel, "and I promise you'll regret ever stepping foot in this fucking gym."

Williams tries to maintain her tough act, stepping forward. "Oh yeah? What you gonna—"

"Try me one more time," you cut her off, voice even quieter now, "and when I catch you outside this gym I’ll make sure you don’t get back up.”

The refs finally restore order, whistles blaring. Technical fouls all around. As you check on Sierra—her nose definitely broken but she's insisting she can play—you hear the murmur rippling through the crowd. Nobody's ever seen you like this. The Prophecy's always been about grace under pressure, about making the impossible look easy.

This is something else entirely.

Coach sends you to the bench to cool off. You end up near the Harvard section, your teammates who aren't on the court surrounding you like a protective wall. Behind them, the UConn section hasn't made a sound, but you can feel their attention like a physical weight.

"I've never seen you like that," Taylor whispers, a mix of awe and concern in her voice.

"Nobody touches our people," you say simply, eyes locked on the court where LSU is shooting their free throws.

Sierra's getting patched up beside you, tissues stuffed up her nose. "You know I've taken worse hits in practice," she tries to joke.

“That’s beside the point." Your voice is still deadly quiet. "They came into our house thinking they could punk us. Thinking what—because we're Harvard we're soft? They can suck my dick.”

The energy in the arena has shifted. Your teammates are fired up, talking amongst themselves. The crowd's still buzzing, cameras alternating between you and Williams. But you're not playing for them anymore. This isn't about highlights or SportsCenter or draft stock.

When the buzzer sounds for you to return, your teammates stand as one. "Light them the fuck up," Sierra says through her swollen nose, and the team erupts in agreement.

You step back onto the court, and the ball finds its way to your hands like it's meant to be there. Williams tries to meet your eyes, but she flinches when she does. She knows what's coming.

They all do.

The ball leaves your hands before their defense can set. Swish. 34 points.

Maria screens Williams hard—legally, but with extra emphasis. You curl around it, catch, release. Swish. 37.

"The Prophecy is taking no prisoners now," the announcer's voice carries over the chaos. "This isn't just basketball anymore, folks. This is personal."

Each possession is a message. No more fancy moves, no more style. Just pure, devastating efficiency. Catch and shoot. Drive and score. Again and again until the numbers blur together and the only sound in the arena is the whisper of the net.

Williams tries to guard you on a switch. You look her dead in the eye as you rise up. She knows it's good before you even release. 45 points.

The fourth quarter becomes a massacre. Not just because of your scoring, but the way your whole team moves now—like sharks that have tasted blood. Every screen is a statement. Every cut is a challenge. Harvard basketball isn't just winning anymore; they're sending a message.

With thirty seconds left, Harvard up by 35, Coach tries to sub you out. You wave her off. There's one more thing to do.

You catch the ball at the opposite baseline—ninety-four feet from your basket. The crowd realizes what you're about to attempt and rises as one. Williams is still trying to guard you, bless her heart.

You don't even look at the basket as you launch it, eyes locked on hers the whole way. The ball soars through the air, high enough to scrape the rafters. Time seems to stop as 4,000 people hold their breath.

Swish. As pure as a layup.

The arena explodes. Your teammates storm the court as you take off on a victory lap, tongue out, arms spread wide. The Harvard band is playing, the student section is losing their minds, and somewhere in the chaos, you catch Paige Bueckers standing up, shaking her head in amazement.

December hits Boston like a cold slap to the face. Three months since the LSU game, and Harvard's still undefeated, 12-0, ranked #2 in the country. Tonight's the game everyone's been circling: #1 UConn at Harvard. The Game of the Year, ESPN's calling it. Every headline is the same story in different words: you versus Paige, like the rest of the teams are just here to watch.

You haven't spoken to any of the UConn players since that night in your locker room. Sure, you see the occasional Instagram story when Jasmine reshares KK's posts (they're dating now, apparently, something that started with DMs and turned into weekend visits), but, that's about it. You don't even follow Paige Bueckers on social media. Why would you?

"Earth to ____,” Sierra waves a hand in front of your face during warmups. "You good?"

"Yeah," you snap back to reality, draining another three. "Just locked in."

The arena's packed to the rafters, twice as loud as the LSU game. During layup lines, you catch glimpses of the UConn players, especially Paige, who moves with that same fluid confidence you remember. She's got that look in her eyes, the one you recognize in your own reflection: the quiet certainty of someone who's never doubted their greatness.

Your pregame outfit, fitted black turtleneck under your warmups, gold chain catching the light, has already made its rounds on social media. “She looks SO good!!” is trending on Twitter, complete with fire emojis. Not that you care about that stuff. (But okay, maybe you spent an extra minute on your appearance today. Professional reasons only.)

The game starts like a prize fight, both teams trading blows, neither willing to blink first. Paige opens with a three; you answer with a step-back jumper. She hits a floater; you counter with a drive that leaves her defender spinning. It's not personal, you tell yourself. Just basketball.

By the first TV timeout, you've both got 8 points and the crowd's already losing it. The energy's different from the LSU game, no cheap shots or trash talk, just pure, elite basketball. Almost like you're speaking the same language, even if you're on different teams.

"Yo," Maria whispers during a free throw, "is it just me or is Bueckers playing extra hard when she's guarding you?"

"Everyone plays hard against me," you shrug, but you've noticed it too. The way she locks in, the extra intensity in her defense. Like she's got something to prove.

The second quarter is where you start to take over. UConn tries everything, double teams, box-and-one, even a triangle-and-two. Nothing works. You're seeing the game in slow motion again, every passing lane, every defensive rotation crystal clear. By halftime, you've got 24 points on perfect shooting, and Harvard's up 48-39.

In the tunnel heading back out, you pass Paige. There's a moment— brief but loaded— where your eyes meet. She gives you this little nod, competitor to competitor. Nothing more. (But why does it feel like something more?)

The second half is a masterclass. You're not just scoring anymore; you're conducting an orchestra. No-look passes to Sierra for corner threes. Behind-the-back feeds to Taylor for breakaway layups. And when UConn makes their inevitable run in the fourth, you shut the door with a sequence of moves so filthy they'll probably end up on SportsCenter's top 10.

Final score: Harvard 89, UConn 78. Your stat line: 38 points, 9 assists, still haven't missed a shot this season. The handshake line is respectful, none of that LSU energy, and when you reach Paige, her grip is firm, professional.

"Good game," she says simply.

"You too," you respond, and mean it.

After the media obligations, your phone buzzes. It's Jasmine: 'Bar. Tonight. Both teams. No excuses.'

You consider begging off, you do have that Thermodynamics problem set due Monday, but something makes you change your mind. Professional courtesy, you tell yourself. Networking.

The bar is one of those trendy spots where the grad students pretend they're not drowning in student debt. You show up fashionably late in black jeans, a cream-colored silk shirt, and boots that add an extra inch you definitely don't need. The teams are separate at first, Harvard at one end, UConn at the other. Only Jasmine and KK bridge the gap, wrapped up in their own world.

You stick with your teammates initially, nursing a Moscow Mule and trying not to notice how Paige looks in a baggy jeans and a button up when she arrives with some of her teammates. The groups slowly start to mix as the night goes on, pulled together by Jasmine and KK's gravitational field.

"So," UConn's shooting guard, Emma, ends up next to you at the bar. "You always play like that, or were you just showing off?”

You arch an eyebrow, a light smile tugs at the corner of your lip. "Just playing my game."

"Right," she smirks, ordering another drink.

You change the subject, asking about their upcoming schedule. Basketball is safe. Basketball makes sense.

The night continues, groups shifting and reforming. You end up in a conversation with some UConn players about the WNBA draft, carefully maintaining your distance when Paige joins the discussion. But you can't help noticing things: how she commands attention without trying, the way her laugh carries over the bar noise, how she seems to know exactly where you are in the room at all times.

Or maybe that's just in your head. Maybe, you’re just down bad.

"Paige is single, you know," KK says later, appearing at your elbow with the subtlety of a brick through a window.

"Good for her," you say neutrally, even as something flutters in your chest.

"Good for you, you mean," KK mutters, dodging the half-hearted shove you send her way before melting back into the crowd.

The night winds down, groups splitting off for Ubers, some players already making plans for late-night food. You're standing near the door, tugging your coat tighter around you against the Boston chill seeping in, when you hear your name.

You turn, and there she is, bathed in the hazy glow of the bar's neon sign, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. For the first time all night, it's just the two of you, the noise of the bar fading into a distant hum.

"Good game tonight," she says, and it’s almost funny how understated it sounds after the week of media buildup and ESPN countdowns.

"Thanks." You pause, letting the silence stretch. "You too."

Her smile tilts, like she knows exactly what you’re doing. "You don’t have to play it cool all the time, you know."

"Who says I’m playing?" you counter, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, quirking up just enough to give her the edge.

Paige steps closer, the space between you shrinking but still electric. "You’re good, Rocket. Even better than the headlines give you credit for."

"Don’t tell me you came out here just to boost my already inflated ego," you say, leaning back just enough to keep the balance of power from tipping entirely her way.

"Maybe," she says lightly, though the way she holds your gaze feels heavier than that. "Or maybe I just wanted to see for myself what all the hype’s about."

"And?"

Her smile deepens, slow and deliberate. "I wasn’t disappointed."

The air between you crackles, her words lingering in a way that feels deliberate, intentional. But before you can decide what to say—or if you should say anything at all—one of her teammates calls her name from the curb.

She glances back, then at you again.

"Don’t overthink your game plan," you say.

"And you don’t underestimate mine," she calls over her shoulder, her voice light but the glance she throws you anything but.

You stay there a moment longer, the cold biting at your skin but your chest feeling oddly warm. As you finally step outside, something about the night feels unfinished—like a play halfway through its best scene.

As you slide into the car, you realize your heart's racing—and it has nothing to do with the cold.

Maybe KK was right. Maybe this is good for you.

Later that night, lying in bed, you find yourself replaying moments from the game. Just the game, you tell yourself. The way she moves on court, like water finding its path. Her defensive intensity. Her competitiveness that mirrors your own.

Your phone buzzes: a follow request on Instagram from Paige Bueckers on your private Instagram.

You stare at it for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen. Finally, you press accept. No big deal. Just professional courtesy.

But you can't help smiling as you set your phone down.

March suddenly feels very far away.

That night, sleep feels impossible. The win keeps looping in your mind—every play, every shot, every moment after the final buzzer. You’re still riding the high, but it's the interactions off the court that keep replaying, too. The way Paige’s eyes locked on yours during the game, that quiet intensity between you two. It was almost like there was something unspoken, an invisible thread pulling you together.

You try to shake it off as you lay in bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Eventually, you post a late-night story: just you in your Harvard champion sweatshirt, hair a little messy, looking tired but satisfied. Caption: “some nights hit different 🏀✨"

You're not thinking about anyone in particular when you post it. Really. No, seriously.

But a couple of minutes later, your phone lights up with a notification: "paigebueckers viewed your story."

You freeze. Your heart does that annoying skip, the one you wish you could ignore. You try to play it cool, but the small smile on your face gives it away.

Before you can stop overthinking it, another story pops up from Paige. It’s her on the team bus, the weariness on her face somehow just makes her look even more perfect. Caption: “good games make you better. great games change you. ��"

You stare at the story longer than you should. Three times, maybe four. Then you catch yourself. No, you're not doing this. You’re being professional. Totally. You swipe past it, but not before watching it once more—just for, you know, "research purposes."

Wednesday practice, you’re on the floor with Sierra, trying to explain orbital mechanics while stretching out your legs. The routine’s familiar, your voice calm and focused, like you’re explaining a simple layup. "So basically, if you account for gravitational force and initial velocity—"

"Rocket," Sierra interrupts, "you've been checking your phone every thirty seconds."

You look at her, feigning confusion. "Have not," you protest, but your fingers are already reaching for your phone, like they’re on autopilot. You can’t help it. Paige posted a drill video this morning, just pure basketball content—nothing that special, just her hitting a perfect jumper, maybe some footwork drills, nothing groundbreaking. You dropped an eyes emoji in response. Professional admiration only. That's it. Nothing to see here.

"Right," Sierra raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "And I'm sure you've watched every other point guard's practice clips fifteen times too."

You give her a deadpan look. "I have no idea what you're talking about," you say, reaching for your foam roller and throwing it at her.

Thursday afternoon finds you in Advanced Fluid Dynamics, usually your favorite class. The equations and concepts feel like second nature to you, but today, your thoughts keep drifting elsewhere. You keep finding yourself thinking about basketball — about how certain players move like water, finding the path of least resistance, flowing through defenses with a grace you can’t help but admire.

You’re not sure if it’s the subject of the class or the strange pull you’re feeling, but your mind is elsewhere.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glance down discreetly. It's a notification from Instagram: Paige has liked your last three posts.

Including one from six months ago.

You blink. The screen feels like it’s glowing too brightly in your hand. You immediately glance around, making sure no one saw you checking, before quickly hiding your smile behind your textbook.

Because yeah, you definitely didn’t mean to feel this giddy. But here you are.

Friday night, you're in bed scrolling through film when you get the notification. Paige posted a new story: her at the gym, late night shooting session. Caption: “late-night grind. gotta stay sharp for what’s ahead. 😤"

Before you can overthink it, you reply: "living rent free in that head huh? 😌"

Three dots appear immediately. Your heart rate picks up.

just practicing for march 😘

You stare at that emoji for a solid minute. Professional rivals don't use kiss emojis. Right?

Saturday morning practice rolls around before you can even process what happened last night. Your mind’s still buzzing, trying to dissect the interaction with Paige, but you push it aside. Focus. You can think about that later.

As you’re stretching before drills, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When Coach catches you grinning at it, she narrows her eyes.

"Whatever’s got you distracted better help us win games."

You quickly stuff your phone back in your bag, fighting to keep a neutral expression. "It’s just a text. No big deal."

"Sure, sure." Coach raises an eyebrow, unconvinced.

You try to shake off the grin still tugging at your lips. Definitely not in the middle of a debate with Paige about whether Kobe or Jordan had the better footwork. No. Definitely not.

Sunday night in the library, you're supposedly working on your Thermodynamics problem set. But your eyes keep flicking back to UConn's schedule page, calculating when they’ll be back in the northeast. You try to focus, but you find your thoughts drifting back to Paige.

A message pops up: "Shouldn't you be solving rocket equations or something?"

You bite back a smile, tapping out your reply: “shouldn't you be working on your left hand? Saw that weak drive yesterday 😴"

A few seconds pass. The dots appear, then disappear. You try not to let your heart race.

Finally, the response comes: “wow. and here i was about to say your last IG fit was 🔥"

You stare at your screen, biting your lip. The banter is easy, but there's something else there—something electric. Your pulse thuds louder than usual as you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keys. It feels like there's more hanging between you than just jokes. Did she feel it too? You quickly swipe back to your notes, trying to shake the feeling

Something that makes your skin buzz.

Tuesday, 2AM. You can’t sleep. Again. But this time, it’s different. The nervous energy swirling in your stomach isn’t from the game. It’s... something else.

Your phone lights up with a message:

you up?

Your breath catches in your throat. Two words. That’s all it takes.

You hesitate for just a second, fingers poised over the screen, and finally reply: “depends who’s asking 👀”

A beat. Three dots.

just your future march matchup.

You feel a grin tug at your lips, even as you try to keep your response cool.

bold of you to assume you’ll make it that far.

guess you’ll have to wait and see.

You can’t help the quiet laugh that slips out. There’s something about these late-night exchanges that feels different.

You roll over, pulling your blanket tighter, trying to convince yourself it’s just another game, just another rival. But when your phone buzzes again, you’re already looking forward to her next message.

A month after the game, your phone buzzes again as you’re reviewing game film late at night. You glance at the time—1:47 AM. Too late to be analyzing, but you can't help it. The game keeps replaying in your head. Then another message appears:

you always study film this late?

You glance at the reflection of your laptop in the dark screen of your phone. It’s like she knows. You smirk, replying.

how'd you know i was watching film?

saw your laptop reflection in your glasses in that last story

Something warm settles in your chest. You didn't think anyone had noticed those details.

stalker much? 🤨

just scouting the competition 😌

You're about to reply when three dots appear again.

want company? i'm looking at our clemson tape

Your heart skips a beat. You weren't expecting this. You pause before responding, a nervous twinge running through you. "facetime?"

Seconds later, the call comes through. You almost hesitate, but there’s something about it that pulls you in. You accept, suddenly hyper-aware that you're in your oversized Harvard hoodie, glasses perched on your nose, hair tossed into a messy bun.

When her face appears on the screen, you’re momentarily struck. She’s wearing a UConn sweatshirt, hair tied back, no makeup. She’s raw, real—like you’ve caught her in an unguarded moment, and for some reason, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"So," she starts, then seems to lose her train of thought. "Um. Basketball?"

You laugh, some of the tension breaking. “Uh-huh.”

"Listen," she grins, "I'm better at talking with a ball in my hands."

The conversation shifts easily into basketball, the two of you sharing screens and breaking down film together. She catches things you miss, and you point out nuances she hasn’t noticed. The back-and-forth flows—something about it feels natural. Like you’ve been doing this for years.

Hours pass without you even realizing it, and suddenly you’re talking about other things: favorite movies, worst recruiting stories, childhood dreams.

"Wait," she's saying through laughter, "you really wanted to be an astronaut AND a basketball player?"

"Still do," You shrug, trying to play it cool, even as something inside you aches with the lightness of the moment. "Who says I can't be the first WNBA player in space?"

Her expression goes soft for a moment. "You know what? If anyone could do it..."

There's something in her voice that makes your skin tingle. You clear your throat. "Anyway, uh, it's late."

"Yeah," she says quietly. "This was... this was nice."

"Yeah," you agree, not quite meeting her eyes through the screen. "Maybe we could do it again sometime y’know?”

"I'd like that."

Neither of you moves to hang up. The silence stretches, full of things unsaid.

Finally, she breaks it: “Well, goodnight, Rocket."

The nickname hits different in her voice at 4AM.

"Night, Paige."

You end the call, staring at your screen for a moment before you finally fall back onto your bed. The silence is deafening, but your mind is racing. You force yourself to calm down, to let your heart slow to a normal pace.

Then your phone buzzes again:

sweet dreams 🌙

You definitely don’t replay the entire call in your head. Definitely not.

And you certainly don’t dream about the way she looked when she laughed at your space joke.

Definitely not.

You’re sprawled on the couch in the apartment you share with Jasmine and Sierra, supposedly reading your Aerospace Engineering textbook. Actually, you're doing everything you can to avoid looking like you're grinning at your phone. The cursor keeps blinking in the reply box, like it’s daring you to type something stupid.

"earth surface temps are literally insane rn"

"why are you even awake?"

"says the girl who's also awake 🤨"

"homework doesn't count"

"nerd 🤓"

"bet you won't say that to my face"

"bet i will. next time i see you"

"when's that gonna be? 👀"

A part of you knows you should be focused on the problem set in front of you. But instead, your thoughts keep drifting back to the screen, to her messages. You bite your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. There's something different about this—about her—that you can't quite put into words. Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast for it to just be casual.

"Oh my GOD," Jasmine’s voice startles you, making you jolt and nearly drop your phone. She's leaning over the back of the couch, eyes twinkling with that grin that’s a little too knowing for comfort. "You're texting Paige!"

"What? No, I'm—" you fumble your phone, nearly dropping it. "I'm doing homework."

"Mmhmm." Jasmine vaults over the couch to land beside you. "That's why you're making the same face I make when KK texts."

"I do not make a face."

"You literally look like this—" Jasmine demonstrates an exaggerated dreamy expression that makes you throw a pillow at her.

"I'm going to KK's this weekend," she says after dodging the pillow. Her voice is deliberately casual. "UConn has a home game Friday. You should come."

Your heart does a little flip. "I have that Physics midterm Monday..."

"Right, because you definitely weren't just texting about wanting to see her."

"I wasn't—" you start, but your phone buzzes again, Paige’s name lighting up the screen in a way that makes it impossible to ignore.

"Girl," Jasmine says, softer now. "It's okay, you know? To want something besides basketball."

You stare at your phone, fingers hovering again over the keys as those three dots show up. Paige is typing, and your chest tightens. Your heart’s racing now, too fast for this to just be some rivalry. You’ve never felt this way about an opponent before.

"It's complicated," you finally manage, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.

"When is it not?" Jasmine squeezes your shoulder as she gets up. "Think about it, okay? KK says the whole team's been asking about you anyway."

Later that night, Sierra finds you on the roof of your building. It’s your thinking spot—the place where you go to clear your head when the world feels too loud or when the equations refuse to make sense. Tonight, though, the equations have nothing to do with physics.

"Spill," Sierra says, sliding down to sit beside you.

"What?"

"You've been different lately. Good different, but different." She bumps your shoulder. "And I saw you smile at your phone six times during practice today."

You let out a long breath. The city lights blur below you, and somehow it feels easier to talk without making eye contact.

"I think... I think I like her," you say finally. The words feel huge in the quiet night air. "Paige, I mean."

"No shit," Sierra laughs softly. "I figured that out when you watched her coffee story four times."

You blink, feeling caught. "You saw that?"

"Girl, everyone saw that." She pauses. "The question is, what are you gonna do about it?"

You lean back against the roof, your gaze on the stars that are barely visible through the light pollution of the city. "I don’t know. It’s complicated," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "We’re rivals, and we’ll probably face each other in March. If the media got wind of us, it’d be a circus. Not to mention—" You cut yourself off, because it sounds even worse when you say it out loud.

"Okay, forget all that for a second." Sierra interrupts, her voice quieter now. She turns to face you, her eyes soft. "How does she make you feel?"

Your breath catches in your chest. How does Paige make you feel? You think about those late-night video calls that always start with film study but end with laughing over something stupid. About how she remembers little details about your life—like your favorite late-night snack, your favorite places on campus, or how you sometimes still get nervous before big games.

"Like I can be both," you say finally, the words tumbling out before you even realize their weight. "Like I can be The Prophecy, but also just... me."

Sierra's quiet for a long moment. Then: "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you've spent three years being perfect. Maybe it's time to be happy instead."

You stare at the stars, trying to find your footing in this new reality that feels both foreign and exciting. "I don’t know if I’m ready for that."

Sierra nudges you, her tone playful again. "Then at least try. You deserve it."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and for a moment, you forget about everything else. You pull it out, heart skipping when you see the name on the screen: Paige. The message.

miss watching film with you

Sierra leans over to peek at the text, a grin spreading across her face. "Smooth," she says, barely suppressing a laugh.

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Is that why Jasmine invited you to Connecticut this weekend?" Sierra asks, an eyebrow raised.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "She told you?"

"Girl, I’m not blind," Sierra says, standing up. "Please. She’s been planning this whole setup for days. And you know what? You should go."

You look up, your gaze meeting hers. "I don’t know. The physics exam is coming up, and—"

"Physics will still be there when you get back," she interrupts, her voice light but serious. "But this? This might not be here forever."

You chew on that for a moment, the weight of it settling in.

"She’s waiting for you to say something," Sierra says quietly, her gaze flicking between you and the screen.

You hesitate, then smile softly to yourself. This is your chance.

You type back: "guess you'll have to come study in person sometime."

Sierra gives you a teasing look. "Oh, it’s on now."

Your phone buzzes again, and this time, Paige’s response comes quickly: "is that an invitation?"

Your fingers hover over the keys for a moment, and then, with a deep breath, you reply: "maybe. you gonna show me around campus?"

The message comes back almost immediately: "only the important spots. like where i practice my weak left hand drives 😏"

You can’t help it. You burst into laughter, your heart light and carefree for the first time in what feels like forever. Sierra shakes her head, smiling fondly at you.

"You’re totally down bad, huh?"

"Shut up," you laugh, feeling the warmth of it rush through you. But even as you tease her, you feel it too—this rush of excitement, the anticipation of something new, something that could change everything.

Sierra heads for the roof door, pausing just before she goes inside. "Hey Rocket?"

"Yeah?"

"Just... be careful, okay? Not because of basketball or rankings or any of that stuff. Just... because your heart's on the line too."

You nod, your chest tight as the weight of her words settles in. "I will."

She gives you one last look before disappearing inside, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your phone, and the lighthearted texts you’ve been sending all night.

Another buzz from Paige lights up your phone: "but seriously. come this weekend? i want to see you."

Her response makes your whole body warm: "can't wait 💫"

You stay on the roof a while longer, letting the night air cool your flushed cheeks. March feels both too far away and too close, but right now, in this moment, you let yourself focus on a different kind of countdown:

Three days until Connecticut.

The minute you step onto UConn's campus, you remember why being The Prophecy is complicated.

"Oh my god," you hear someone whisper. "Is that—"

"Holy shit, that's really her—"

"The Prophecy is here—"

You pull your hoodie up, hoping for some anonymity, but it’s futile. Jasmine’s already ditched you to find KK, leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos, awkwardly clutching your duffel bag. You check your phone, hoping for a distraction, when you see a text from Paige.

how’s campus so far? are you surviving the hype? 😂

You type back quickly, trying to act casual.

surviving. But UConn is like a zoo. 🙄

Before you can put the phone down, a text buzzes again.

i’m in the quad, come meet me? i’ve got your escape route ready 🏃‍♀️

You smile at her message, your nerves a little lighter now, but that doesn't make the reality of the situation any less surreal.

"Should I just text her when I get there?" you mutter to yourself, typing out a quick reply:

on my way. see you soon.

The crowd's whispers grow louder, and as you move through the sea of students, your phone buzzes again, this time with a message that makes your heart skip a beat.

turn around

You turn, and there's Paige, looking unfairly good in joggers and a UConn hoodie. For a second, you both just stare at each other, all those late-night texts and video calls suddenly feeling very different in person.

"Hi," you manage, hyper-aware of the growing crowd pretending not to watch. "Um. Nice campus."

"Thanks, I—" she starts, just as you say, "Should we—"

You both stop. Laugh nervously. God, where did all your game go?

"Yo, Paige!" some guy calls out. "Is that The Prophecy? Can we get a picture?"

Before either of you can respond, the crowd swarms in like a tidal wave. Students materialize from every direction, phones out, voices overlapping, and it’s all happening too fast. You’re caught in the whirlwind of questions and flashes.

"Can you sign my jersey?"

"Is it true you haven't missed a shot since high school?"

"Are you really majoring in rocket science?"

"Can you do the space shot right now?"

It’s nothing new. You've done this a thousand times, but today, it feels different. You're hyper-aware of Paige standing there, watching, her gaze unreadable. Her eyes flick from the crowd to you, amusement playing at the corners of her lips, but there’s something else there too.

You keep your composure—signing autographs, taking selfies, answering questions—but it’s harder when she’s so close. You try not to look over at her too much, but you catch her looking at you once. And her smile? It makes the whole world feel lighter, even in the chaos.

Then someone from the crowd asks, “Yo, did you come to see Paige?”

You freeze. All eyes are suddenly on you, the crowd waiting for your response.

“Just checking out the competition,” you say smoothly, though your heart skips a beat. But then you catch the subtle curve of Paige’s lips as she tries to hide her smile.

“She's already kicked our ass once,” Paige adds, her voice playful. “Maybe I’m trying to learn her secrets.”

The crowd laughs, and the tension in the air eases. You finally manage to break free from the swarm, and Paige leads you out of the madness, pulling you toward a quieter part of campus. She glances over at you as if to gauge how you’re holding up, and then says, “Sorry about that. I probably should’ve warned you… You’re kind of a big deal here.”

“Here?” You raise an eyebrow. “Not just at Harvard?”

She rolls her eyes with that charming little smirk of hers. “Please, you know what I mean.”

She bumps your shoulder lightly, and for a second, you’re both frozen in that little moment, and then—quickly—she steps away, as though surprised by the contact. She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly before continuing, “The perfect record? The space shot? Your major? You’re like basketball mythology at this point.”

The words settle over you, like a weight that makes you stand a little straighter. It's odd, but you can't deny the truth in what she’s saying. You pass a group of girls, and they absolutely squeal when they spot you. One of them is wearing a t-shirt with your number and "The Prophecy" written on the back, and it's like you’ve stepped into some weird alternate reality.

"That's..." you start.

"Weird?" Paige offers.

"I was gonna say flattering, but yeah, weird works too."

She chuckles, a little breathless, as you continue walking. You can’t help but notice how she looks at you—like she’s caught between admiration and something else.

By the time you reach the athletics center, the crowd starts to thin, but there's still a palpable buzz in the air. Students part for you like you're some kind of celebrity, whispering as they pass.

"—never misses, like ever—"

"—turned down every WNBA scout—"

"—heard she's already got a NASA job lined up—"

"—next GOAT for sure—"

You can’t hear it all, but enough of it sticks to your skin. You make eye contact with a few of the UConn players as you pass, and they do double-takes. The whispers don’t stop. The world still hasn't figured out how to react to you, and you’re still trying to wrap your head around it yourself.

When you get inside the locker room, you spot KK, draped over Jasmine on a bench. She sits up as soon as she sees you, and a wide grin spreads across her face.

“The Prophecy graces us with her presence!” KK announces, her voice carrying through the room.

You and Paige both turn to each other, saying “Shut up” at the same time. You exchange a glance, and immediately, you both look away, your cheeks heating up.

“Oh my god,” KK stage-whispers to Jasmine, her voice dripping with mischief. “They’re actually awkward. This is adorable.”

“I will literally murder you,” Paige threatens, but her face is flushed, the playful tone in her voice not matching her serious words.

You drop your bag, trying to act casual despite your racing heart. "So, this is where the magic happens?"

"Something like that," Paige responds, her voice quieter now. Then, her tone shifts, just a little, as she adds, ��Want to see where I practice those trash left-hand drives?”

Her smile is nervous but hopeful, and something in your chest flutters in response. You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes meeting hers.

"Lead the way, Bueckers."

The gym is quiet, empty this late—just the two of you and the space stretching out around you like a vast, hollow echo. The squeak of your sneakers against the court floor seems louder than usual, and the rhythm of the ball bouncing between you is a steady heartbeat in the silence.

You grab a ball, the motion automatic, instinctual. Some habits don’t break just because your heart’s doing backflips.

"So..." you start, dribbling slow, almost hesitant. Your palms feel too hot on the ball, like everything about this moment is too much, too close, but you can’t pull away.

"So..." she echoes, her voice low, mirroring your movements with a fluid ease that makes your pulse pick up a little faster.

"This is..." you trail off, looking for the right word. Something that fits the electric tension hanging in the air.

"Weird?"

She raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. "I was gonna say nice," you add, voice a little softer, but still trying to brush it off, to keep control. "But yeah, weird too."

She laughs—just a soft sound, but it breaks something between you. You feel your shoulders loosen, and the tightness in your chest starts to ease. "Want to play? Or are you scared I'll ruin your perfect record?" Her words are light, playful, but there’s an edge of something else there. Something beneath the surface.

"Please," you scoff, but the words come out softer than you expected, a little breathless. "You couldn’t guard me with a restraining order."

Her smile widens, but her eyes stay locked on yours, sharp, like she can see right through you. "Big talk from someone who's been stalking my coffee stories."

You nearly drop the ball at that. "I— that’s not—" You choke on your words, heat rushing to your cheeks, the sudden shift in conversation throwing you off-balance.

"Four views," she grins. "I counted."

"Professional research," you manage, trying to ignore how your face is burning.

"Right." She steps closer, her body moving fluidly, effortlessly, still dribbling the ball with that same steady rhythm. "And all those late-night texts?"

"Scouting reports," you shoot back, but your voice cracks, betraying the lie.

"The two-hour video calls?"

"Film study," you mutter, voice barely a whisper.

"And coming to Connecticut?" Her tone shifts—lighter, but with a question in it now. A challenge in her eyes, daring you to say something.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding against your chest. "Would you believe advanced aerospace research?"

She's too close now. You can smell the faint scent of her perfume, feel the heat radiating off her as she steps forward just enough to close the space between you. The ball’s still bouncing, the rhythm matching your heartbeats, and you can hear the beat of her pulse too—steady.

"Try again." Her voice is soft, but the challenge in it is unmistakable.

You take a breath, the air thick with something unspoken. "Maybe... I just wanted to see you."

The ball stops bouncing. It’s almost like everything around you freezes for a second. The echo of the gym fades out, and all you can hear is the steady thrum of your heartbeat, racing now, too fast, too loud.

Her eyes search yours, the gold flecks in them catching the light, and for a split second, everything feels suspended. She doesn’t move. You don’t either. There’s a moment between you, raw and exposed, like you’re both just standing there, waiting for something to happen.

Then, her phone buzzes, breaking the stillness—KK, asking where you both disappeared to. The moment shatters, and you both step back, like you’ve both just been jolted awake.

"We should..." she starts.

"Yeah," you agree quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Team dinner, right?"

"Right." The word comes out like a sigh, a soft release, but neither of you move for a beat.

You both head back toward the locker room, but it feels like the distance between you has doubled, despite being only a few feet apart. You’re careful to maintain some space, but the air around you still crackles with the memory of the moment.

Just before you reach the door, you feel the lightest touch on your wrist. It’s a shock to the system, warm and soft, and you freeze.

"Hey."

You turn to face her, heart still thundering in your chest, your breath caught in your throat.

"I'm glad you came," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air between you, heavier than anything she’s said so far.

You open your mouth, but no words come out, your mind a blur, trying to make sense of the shift in the air between you. Before you can speak, though, she’s through the door, vanishing into the locker room, leaving you standing there, breathless.

You stand there for a moment, your heart still racing, trying to collect yourself. The touch of her fingers on your wrist is still warm on your skin, like an electric spark that lingers long after the contact ends. You can still feel the weight of her gaze on you, the way she looked at you just before she left—open, vulnerable, and for a second, everything in you just... paused.

You’re so fucking screwed.

Inside, KK takes one look at your face and starts laughing immediately. "Oh yeah," she says to Jasmine, her voice full of knowing. "March is gonna be interesting."

You throw a towel at her, but you can't help smiling. Because yeah, March is going to be complicated. But right now, watching Paige try not to look at you while she gets ready for dinner, you can't bring yourself to care.

Some things are worth the complication.

The team’s already piled into the upscale Italian place, the kind of restaurant where the hostess gives your group a double-take, eyes wide as she tries to figure out if you’re all really who she thinks you are. Emma starts giggling beside you, and you can’t help but let a laugh slip too. The entire UConn starting five, plus you, Jasmine, and a couple of bench players, fill up the space like a small parade. The table’s enormous, but somehow, fate—or possibly KK—decides that you should sit next to Paige. You know it's not her doing, but the thought of it makes your stomach do flips. Definitely not subtle.

Your knees brush under the table, and you both jerk away so fast it feels like a live wire just zapped both of you. It’s... a weird moment, but it’s over quickly.

"So," Caroline leans in, practically smirking with that devious look of hers. "We finally get to hear how The Prophecy got her name."

"Oh god," you groan, sinking back in your seat, hoping to disappear into the padded booth. But Paige perks up next to you, eyes lighting with interest.

"Wait," she says, "I don’t know this story."

You shoot Emma a glare, but she’s already opening her mouth, ready to spill the beans.

"Nobody tells it," you warn, but Emma's already launching in.

"Freshman year," Emma begins, her voice a little too loud in the suddenly quiet room, "first practice. Coach put her through this insane shooting drill—"

"It wasn't insane," you protest.

"Hundred shots from five spots," Emma continues, undeterred. "Most freshmen hit, like, sixty percent if they’re lucky. She goes perfect. Coach thinks it’s a fluke, makes her do it again. Perfect again."

You can feel Paige’s eyes on you, her attention sharp and focused. You don’t know how to feel about it, but you try not to squirm under her gaze.

"Third time," Emma's building to it now, "Coach says 'What are you, some kind of prophecy?' And right as she says it, this girl—" she points at you, "—sinks a half-court shot backward without looking."

"I was stretching!" you defend, but the table's already losing it.

"The name stuck," Caroline finishes. "Even before the no-miss streak."

"Speaking of," Tessa jumps in, her voice suddenly a lot more serious, "how do you actually do that? The never-missing thing?"

The entire table quiets down, all eyes suddenly fixed on you. Even the waitress, hovering nearby, pretends not to listen, but you catch her glancing over every few seconds.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of everyone’s attention on you, but the pressure isn’t all bad. You glance over at Paige—she’s still watching you, her expression unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to focus. She shifts slightly closer, and it makes your heart race.

"I just..." You pause, unsure of how to explain the weird, inexplicable thing that happens when you’re on the court. "I guess I see it differently. Like, you know how some people have perfect pitch in music? They hear things that other people can’t even pick up on?"

Nods around the table.

"I see angles that way," you continue, trying to sound more confident, but you’re still not used to talking about it. "Trajectories, force vectors... like physics and the feel of it—they just... merge in my head, I guess?"

Jasmine, who’s been watching you this whole time, cuts in with a smirk. "She’s being modest. Yesterday, I watched her solve a quantum mechanics problem while sinking thirty straight threes."

You roll your eyes. "Multitasking," you mumble, but Paige’s knee brushes against yours again. This time, neither of you pulls away, and your concentration goes from laser focus to absolute mush. You feel heat rising in your chest, but you try to keep your voice steady.

The conversation shifts, but you’re barely listening anymore. Every little movement from Paige, every time her hand brushes your arm as she reaches for her water, every time she leans in a little closer to hear you speak—your mind is barely keeping up. Her perfume is subtle but intoxicating, making it impossible to think straight.

"Y'all should see her in class," Jasmine's saying. "Professors literally use her as an example in physics."

"One time!"

"Three times," Jasmine corrects. "Remember when Dr. Peterson used your jump shot to explain projectile motion?"

KK, who’s been silently watching you both like this is her personal reality TV show, grins. "No wonder half the team has a crush on you."

You nearly choke on your water. Paige freezes next to you, and you can feel the shift in the air.

"I mean," Caroline chimes in, clearly trying to smooth over the tension, but only making it worse, "who wouldn’t? Best player in the country, genius-level IQ, and look at her—"

"Okay!" Paige cuts her off, a bit too loudly. "Who wants dessert?"

The change in pace is enough to shake everyone out of the sudden tension. But as dessert menus are passed around and people start laughing again, your mind is still racing.

Later, as the group walks back toward campus, you notice how easily the team starts to scatter. KK and Jasmine vanish into the distance almost immediately, making some excuse about practice. The rest of the team drifts off to their own plans—study groups, dorms, whatever—but you and Paige end up walking together, side by side in the cool night air, the sound of your footsteps the only thing breaking the silence.

"So," Paige says, her voice soft but a little uncertain, "the hotel’s that way."

You glance at her. "Yeah."

Neither of you turns toward it.

"I have, um," she starts, then stops. Takes a breath. "I have a single. In my dorm. If you wanted to watch a movie or something."

Your heart goes into overdrive, doing flips and twists like it might just leap out of your chest. The words feel stuck in your throat, but your mind is running wild.

"Or something?"

Even in the dim streetlight, you can see her blush. "I didn't mean— I just thought—"

"I'd like that," you cut off her rambling, and the smile she gives you makes your knees weak.

Her room is exactly what you'd expect - basketball posters, team photos, neat desk with game notes spread out. What you don't expect is how intimate it feels, being in this space that's so completely hers.

"Make yourself comfortable," she gestures to her bed, then immediately looks panicked. "I mean, you can sit— I'll take the chair—"

"Paige?"

"Yeah?"

"Breathe."

She laughs, some tension breaking. You sit on her bed, back against the wall, and after a moment she joins you, careful to leave space between you.

"So," you say.

"So," she echoes.

"Half the team has a crush on me, huh?"

She groans, covering her face. "KK has the biggest mouth—"

"Just half though?" You're pushing it, you know you are, but something about the way she's blushing makes you brave.

She lowers her hands, looks at you directly for the first time since dinner. "You know exactly how many people have a crush on you."

"Do I?"

Her eyes drop to your lips for a fraction of a second. "You must."

The air feels thick, charged. Your hand is on the comforter between you, and slowly, so slowly, her pinky finger hooks over yours.

Just that small point of contact sets your whole body on fire.

"Paige?"

"Hmm?"

"I didn't come to Connecticut for film study."

She turns her hand, letting her fingers intertwine with yours properly. Your breath hitches.

"I know," she says softly.

You sit there for what feels like hours, neither moving except for her thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles. The touch is so light, so careful, but it feels like the most intense thing you've ever experienced.

"I should..." you start reluctantly.

"Stay," she says quickly, then blushes harder. "I mean, it's late, and the hotel's far, and—"

"Okay."

She blinks. "Okay?"

You squeeze her hand gently. "Okay."

Later, lying in her bed (she insisted, taking the floor despite your protests), you stare at the ceiling in the dark. Your hand still tingles where she touched it.

"Rocket?" her voice comes softly from below.

"Yeah?"

A pause. Then: "I'm really glad you're here."

You close your eyes, smiling into the darkness. "Me too."

Neither of you mentions March. Neither of you talks about rankings or rivalries or what any of this means. For now, there's just this: her steady breathing in the quiet room, the lingering warmth of her touch, and the feeling that something huge is beginning.

Just before you drift off, you hear her whisper something that might be "perfect." But you're already falling asleep, wrapped in her blankets that smell like her, dreaming of basketball and physics and the way her hand felt in yours.

Some equations, you think hazily, don't need solving.

Continue to part two.

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inotaku-talkz · 23 days ago

Text

she put my name with yellow hearts

Your shadowy memory lures me in, I will never live you down.

SPOILERS AHEAD!!

taglist: @meadowfics, @countyourfreckleslikestars

Reader’s plaryer number is 57, mostly proofread

Red was always your least favorite color. It was the color of rotten meat and spilt blood. You gulp down the urge to throw up your breakfast.

You feel Dae-ho’s eyes on you as you walk to the red side. His blue vest stood out in the sea of green.

You never liked blue either, it was the color of the vast, dark ocean where your darkest fears exist and play.

Now, Yellow.

Yellow was your favorite color.Yellow reminded you of sunflowers and the warm rays of sunshine.

You were given a box, a ‘gift’ they called it. They explained the rules.

Red has to kill one blue team member to advance to the next game.

And Blue has to hide and wait it out or find the exit.

When you were told that you could switch sides if the other player consented.

You kept your haze on Dae-ho as he went from red player to red player trying to switch colors to be with you.

You make your way over to Dae-ho, but you watched as he marched towards Gi-hun. He grabbed his vest, screaming at him.

You quickly grabbed his arm, trying to separate him and Gi-hun. “Dae-ho, stop! It’s not worth it! Think about us!”

He doesn’t stop until a guard points a gun to his back.

“Dae-ho, switch with me.” You beg him to. So that way Gi-hun won’t hunt him down, so he’s safe.

“No. I won’t switch with you. Someone will just hunt you down instead.” He’s cupping your face and pulling you in, lips crashing together. Very reluctantly pulling away slowly.

“First, secure your spot then come and find me.”

You nod as Dae-ho is forced to take a spot in line and walk out to the arena.

2 minutes.

“Mr. Seong…”

“Please don’t kill him…it wasn’t his fault. His attack—“

“It is his fault, [Name].”

”But Mr. Seong—“

Then the announcement came.

“Red team members, please make your way to the arena.” You watched as Gi-hun stood and made his slow stalk to the arena, to your Dae-ho.

“Fuck.” Your tears brim your lash line after every step you take.

“Stop! I have a son! He’s only 8, he loves dried squid and choco pies!” The woman you’re chasing babbles to no end.

You bust through open, unlocked doors and weave through bloodied bodies to reach her. You chase her into a corner and she’s fumbling with a key that won’t fit.

As you slowly step forward, she’s lashing out. A knife.

She must have pick it off the ground by a dead red player.

She’s swinging at you uncontrollably, with no clear goal in mind. She’s just trying to keep you back.

You lunge forward, tackling her to the ground. You manage to sit up and straddle her before a hand grabs at your hair and you’re pulled back.

As you’re dragged back, you see player 333 swiftly stab and stab at your target.

You’re left in silence as your only chance was taken from you.

You can barely hear the antagonistic comments of player 124. You barely register the retreating footsteps.

You start to stand up when you hear it. A cough.

The woman wasn’t dead, she managed to survive 333’s assault.

You crawled towards her, she’s mumbling to herself.

“He loves…dried squid and c-choco pies…”

Her gaze is nearly gone when you held the blade just over her heart.

“He’s only—“

‘Player 077 eliminated, player 057 pass.’

Five minutes. Five minutes to find him.

You hear the sounds of struggle, you quickly make your way over at the sound of his voice, his struggle.

“Mr. Seong! Please!” You bag and cry, scrambling to reach them.

Sobbing.

You hear unbroken, unfiltered sobbing. Rounding the corner to the sick, sight before you.

Gi-hun crying against a wall, guilt and shame written, dancing in his eyes.

and next?

Dae-ho on the ground, unmoving.

You’re at his side in seconds. “Dae-ho, I’m here now…come on let’s get out of here.”

Nothing.

“Why are you ignoring me? Come on, we have to move!”

Slowly, you put your head on his chest.

Nothing.

“No…no, no, no! No!”

Your Dae-ho isn’t dead! He can’t be!

“Mr. Seong where is Dae-ho? He…this isn’t him…”

He looks up at you. You study Dae-ho’s face, then you notice bruising on the neck.

“You!” Your punch connects to Gi-hun’s jaw. “You! You fucking killed him!”

Blow after blow, insult after insult.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite! The rebellion was your idea! Mr. Jung-bae is dead because of you! You should have listened when he tried to tell you about Mr. Young-il!”

He’s done fighting, he knows killing Dae-ho wasn’t going to change anything. He ended another man’s life, just to protect himself from the truth.

“They’re all dead because of you!”

You grab at your knife, aiming for him square in the heart.

A shot knocks the knife out of your grasp as guards fill the space.

They bring a coffin and you throw yourself over Dae-ho, screaming at any guard who stepped too close.

“No, he’s not dead! He’s alive, he promised!”

You’re thrashing and wriggle as the guards pry you and the cold body of Kang Dae-ho apart.

You keep screaming and crying, praying that it was a lookalike.

Just how Gi-hun stared at Dae-ho, you stared right back.

The same burning pit of hatred, you gave it back to Gi-hun ten-fold. You managed to get the guards to let you keep Dae-ho’s jacket.

The jacket reeks of blood and sweat, but his scent is stronger.

But soon the scent will fade with time.

It was lights out. The granny talking to him had already left.

You sit right in front of him.

“It’s all your fault.” Your voice was soft, but harsh.

“Mr. Jung-bae, and everyone else who followed you because you want to play hero.”

“Is it fun? Playing hero?”

His eyes snapped towards yours, he’s familiar with those words.

“Hit a soft spot? Good.”

“Everywhere you go, death follows. Like it did three years ago, when you first played the game.”

He’s covering his ears now, breath heavy and quick.

“You deserve to be dragged down to the deepest pit of hell.”

“I can’t wait to watch from heaven, earth even hell. Where even they decide to put me.”

The lights come on and you’re sitting up.

“He lied… he was never a mar—“

“Shut up!” You kick his chest.

“You even mock him now! Dae-ho would never lie like that! He’s a true man, honest and noble! He’s my man!”

You just kept kicking him in the face. You didn’t stop even when the guards pry you away.

The guards lead you up to the game room, keeping distance between you and Gi-hun.

You keep your gaze forward, looking back if you see Gi-hun you might just kill him.

The announcements state the rules of the game.

Jump across, make it in time. Don’t look dow—

Fuck.

You looked down, didn’t you?

You saw green everywhere, covered in orange, white and…

yellow.

yellow flowers. Your favorite color.

You look up at the track, it seems thinner now.

The game already started. Players discuss and agrue who should go first. Player 125 breaks through the crowd and tossed the necklace that Player 124 is so attached to.

Player 124 unfortunately stops as he reaches his necklace and he’s tripped.

‘Player 124 eliminated.’

By the time the game ended, you were moving on autopilot. Slumped against the giant plastic shoes of the boy doll, you watched as Jun-hee stepped off the edge.

“Another to die by you, another life destroyed.” You whisper as you start walking towards the exit.

Seong Gi-hun.

he is not a man, he is a monster. He destroyed the only thing that brought you meaning, brought you longing.

Love.

You love Kang Dae-ho.

“[Name].”

That’s…

“[Name], please come with me.”

Dae-ho called to you. You peer over slightly, Kang Dae-ho is waving you down.

Your man is waving you down.

Your man is in a sea of your favorite color waiting for you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.” He’s holding out his arms for you. You’re overwhelmed and overrun by emotions.

A hand on your shoulder stops you. You look back and meet the broken eyes of Gi-hun.

“Don’t. He’s waiting for me…” Your voice is small, fragile, and delicate. He slowly steps back, cradling the baby of 222.

You held the jacket with the fading scent close to you as you lean backward.

For a few seconds of you being in the air, you closed your eyes.

When you open, he’s holding you. Cradling you like a newly wedded bride. He smiles wordlessly, just begins to walk away towards that beautiful light your grandfather talked about.

You glance back to the spot where dae-ho caught you. There’s a body there, she’s got another player’s jacket on.

“Don’t look back.” Dae-ho pulls your attention back to him.

To you, you got your happy ending. To others, you were a girl who collapsed under the stress of a dead lover.

They see your body. It’s all broken and blood spilling from your body.

You’re in peace now. Along side your man.

‘Player 057, eliminated.’

#dae ho smut #dae ho x reader #dae ho x you #dae ho #dae ho squid game #squid game 2 #squid game season 3 #squid game fanart #squid game x reader #player 388 #player 388 smut #player 388 x reader #kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #kang daeho #kang daeho x reader #kang ha neul #kang ha neul x reader #kang haneul

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p1astr81 · 1 month ago

Note

Hello!

Have you ever thought about making a part two of oscar × reader (with sexually pressuring ex) when they start getting intimate and he's all reassuring and gentle and just pure love...

Thanks in advance and a lovely evening!😊

smut 18+, soft sex, piv (use protection guys🙏)

“You’re okay?” He whispered the question, his forehead rested against yours.

You nodded.

A kind smile stretched at his lips. “I want words, love.” He encouraged with a small squeeze to your side.

“Yes.” Your fingers twirled in his hair at the back of his neck. His gentleness was so adorable, but the ache between your thighs—despite already having came on his face—was too unbearable to ignore. “And I need you really bad.” You confessed quietly.

He didn’t make a show of it. Didn’t even flinch. Just a careful, “are you sure? We don’t have to.”

A nod, and the you remembered he wanted words. “Yes I’m sure. I want to and I trust you.”

Trust. That meant everything to him. “Okay. You’re in control here. If you want to stop at any point just tell me.” He nodded, your face cradled in his palm like a fragile piece of porcelain art. He adjusted his position in order to take his dick in his hand. He noticed your gaze. “I’ll go slow.” He reassured. “If at any point-“

“I know. I’ll tell you.” You nodded, head tipped back in anticipation.

His thumb stroked your cheek. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You shifted your hips toward him. A mewl. “I want you.”

He let out a shaky breath. “Shit, okay,” he breathed, tip poking between your folds. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Slow, yeah?”

You hummed and nodded, eyes bouncing from his to where he was guiding himself into you. You gasped as the tip breached your hole, sliding slowly in.

Unsure, he paused.

“No, keep going.” You urged before he could ask.

And he did, slowly, centimeter by centimeter until he was fully inside of you. He sighed. “You’re in control here. So whenever you want me to move, just say so.”

Your chest heaved, eyes closed. You waited for the pain of the stretch to settle, and then you had to remind yourself that Oscar wasn’t your ex. You’re in control. He didn’t shift his hips. Not even a twitch. The only part of his body that moved was his thumb on your hip, soothing, gently reminding you that you were safe.

Finally, you nodded. “Okay,” you sighed.

“I need more than that, love.” He encouraged softly.

You opened your eyes, finding his brown ones. You melted under his warm gaze. “I want you to move.” You nodded.

He smiled. “There we go,” He encouraged, his voice low.

He started with small rolls of his hips. He watched your face for any sign of discomfort, strained his ears for any sound that could be mistaken for displeasure. When nothing came, he moved to slow thrusts.

A moan cracked through your throat and your hand gripped his bicep.

He paused. “Are-“

“Fuck, Oscar don’t stop,” you sighed, your voice walking the line of frustration.

Your body became a song to him, like one of those that instructed you through a line dance. The buck of your hips instructed him to speed up. The subtle shake of your head told him it was too much, not so hard. The increasing frequency and pitch of your voice told him you were nearing the brink, aided by a small squeak of, “close,”

Your orgasms came in tandem. Your silent moans and his high pitched whine of your name.

When it was all settled, and after a trip to the bathroom, he pulled you into his arms. “Was that okay?” He asked quietly.

You smiled up at him and pecked his lips. “Absolutely. Thank you for doing that.”

His smile mirrored yours. “Don’t thank me. I’d do anything for you.”

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #f1 x you #op81 #f1 smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri blurb #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri

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studiogrimm810 · 3 months ago

Text

Yes, Ma’am

// Est. Dean Winchester x afab!you

summary: after a night out with dean, someone gets a bit touchy with him and you need to reassert yourself in his eyes so he knows exactly who you are to him // 2.7k //quick content: MDNI!!! smut, submissive dean, car sex, kinky sex, dominate woman, eventual praise, make up sex, pwp

A/N: this was a request!! based off of the songs miss possessive and sports car, pleeeease i LOVE submissive dean and i love getting a man to his knees, that is ALL

p.s. im back bitches :]

You knew better than to bring him here. Really, you did. But all you wanted was to dance with your man in a sea of drunk people having the time of their lives. You loved clubbing in your college days- the beat in your chest, dancing until you’re breathless, meeting new people, drinking your paychecks and when you were out of cash, you’d get some poor fucker to buy you a drink under the guise of getting you naked. You knew the moves and it’s easily recognized as the tiny thing with pretty blue eyes, and an outfit you wouldn’t necessarily sport yourself, slithers up to Dean’s side with a pearly grin.

A building bubble of annoyance pressed against your sternum as you wait for the bartender to get done with your drinks. The girl is definitely here on spring break and is using a classic girl-move on your man.

Dean seems unimpressed but he isn’t shooing her away, damn his charm and people-skills. You know he isn’t intentionally flirting, but with a face like that, any attention will be taken as a praise of itself.

With drinks in your hand and a confident posture, you walk back to your shared table and set down his drink in front of him.

“Oh hey, are you lost?” You ask with a head tilt while fingering the straw of your martini to your vibrantly painted lips. The girl seems to deflate some but you can tell she’s persistent.

“Gabby here was just telling me about some friend of hers who saw a ‘monster’,” Dean emphasizes and you squint slightly at his insinuation of a case.

“Yes! Okay,” the girl, Gabby, takes a spare stool and slides in, her chest on full display as she leans in. Honestly you can’t blame her, the dress you chose hugs your ass just at the crease and the breast support in the damn thing could stun a room of men. Under different circumstances, you could see having a fun night out with Gabby, but for the introduction she had in your night, you’re already done with her presence. “My friend swears she saw some crazy shit. Now I haven’t taken shrooms myself, but I was there and when I tell you she was totally freaked!” Gabby laughs, moving her hands as she talks- hands that end up on Dean's arm casually, as if they’re close like that or something.

Dean rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his old fashioned, realizing the girl was just full of it.

“Right,” he nods, giving you a look that says ‘girl is a waste of time’ but you barely acknowledge it as you stare daggers at Gabby- her hand not moving.

“You two ever take any crazy stuff? Most I’ve done is a line that barely made it up my nose, shit burned,” she groans as she pouts, looking up at Dean. “You look like you could take it though.” She bumps him softly, pressing into his side.

“I don’t need substances to act irrationally,” you say before you mean to, alcohol making you overly confident. Gabby just gives you a ‘wtf, girl?’ look but your stone doesn’t shift. Dean just chuckles, seemingly oblivious to the girl’s advances, which pisses you off you may add.

“That’s my girl,” Dean hooks his arm around your waist, bringing you in and kissing your jaw. The height difference of your heels and him sitting on a barstool is just enough to give you a guard-dog mentality. Your lips lift into a claiming smile as Dean kisses your skin, your eyes still locked on the girl.

She sighs, starting to get the hint that maybe she can’t win this one, but damn is she confident.

“You guys could join me and my friends? We know some cool spots, we always come to the city when we’re out of school,” she suggests with a small shrug that hugs her cleavage tighter. Her eye contact remains on its priority of Dean’s emerald gems.

“We’re fine,” you decide, looking down on her, your heel advantage letting you loom over her as well. She looks frustrated at this point and you can tell Dean is enjoying the dominance you have over the situation. It makes you wonder if he entertained her attention just so you could intervene.

“He can speak, yaknow,” Gabby cringes as she folds her arms over her chest.

“Oh, she speaks for me,” Dean plays into it, leaning back and taking another sip of his drink. Gabby works her jaw, squinting up at you.

“Whatever,” she stands, “you both seem toxic anyways,” she scoffs, slithering back into the crowd of nameless dancers and forgotten faces.

Dean chuckles into the rim of his glass, his breath fogging the crystal. You take another sip of your drink, a ring of your lipstick stained to the straw.

“The hell was that?” You ask, setting your drink down and looking over at him, your frustration finding its second victim. He looks over at you, sweet mossy eyes shimmering as he takes in your form, a lazy smile showing sharp canines.

“She was harmless,” he shrugged simply, warm eyes relaxing in your shine.

“She was a pest,” you bite, eyes carrying back to where she vanished to make sure she wouldn’t reappear.

“She’s gone,” he sets his glass down, grabbing your waist and pulling you between his knees. “Relax, baby, she’s just drunk and I thought she would bring us a case,” he says, looking up at you, club’s lights reflecting off his eyes like fireworks.

It’s hard to just forgive and forget, to move on like the jealous rage in your chest didn’t scream at you to assert your claim over your man. I mean, the audacity she had to just come out of nowhere and touch him. She pouted up at him. She was trying to get him to fawn over her and take her home or offer her a drink. You don’t realize the grip on Dean's thigh is just about bruising until he speaks up and brings you out of your graying cloud veined with lightning.

“I’m all yours, baby,” his fingers dig into your hips and he wets his lips. Your eyes draw to his lips, heart racing and throat full. You’re pissed.

You grab the stem of your martini and discard the straw, downing the drink and grabbing Dean's hand. He gets the memo pretty quickly so he finishes his drink swiftly, letting you drag him out of the club.

The bumping music blares from the now abandoned building as you make your way back to Dean's Impala that’s parked along the street. Dean maneuvers in front of you to open your door and help you in. He rounds the car and settles in the driver's side. He looks over at you to gauge your mood and your folded arms as you look out the window doesn’t prove his innocence in your mind, but he can’t help but drool a bit at the skin puffing over the neckline of your dress.

He opens his mouth to speak but you instruct “just drive”. He listens.

Music plays and the engine purrs as Baby runs the paved roads to take you far away from her. God, you just couldn’t get the situation out of your head. The overstepping, the butting in, the pouty face, the touchy hands.

“There,” you point to an empty parking lot behind a closed breakfast spot. Dean raises a brow but follows your instructions. You don’t even know what your plan is- yell at him? Yell about her? Have him explain himself? He didn’t really do anything wrong though, but fuck you just felt misplaced by the whole thing. Like you need to reinsert yourself back in his eyes.

Like you just needed to…

“Is she still bothering you? Sweetheart, I promise you, I don’t have eyes for anyone else,” he leans over after putting Baby in park. You look over at him, arms still folded and a scowl still contorting your features.

Before he can try and speak again, you pounce, grabbing his collar and claiming his lips back. It was unexpected by both of you, that much is obvious, but Dean still melts into your kiss, his hands roaming your body. You slide closer, kicking off your heels and straddling his lap. Your ass hits the horn and Dean chuckles into the kiss but it only pisses you off more. He leans down, hissing along your neck and down your jaw as he reaches for the lever to move the bench back.

Once the seat is shifted back, your manicured nails grip the roots of his dirty blonde hair and he gasps in surprise, his sharp teeth glinting as you take in his gaped mouth.

You bring him back to you, scooting closer and taking his lip between your teeth and he… whimpers?

Did Dean Winchester just whimper under you?

Your fury mends with something darker and it only fuels your need.

His hands hold your ass, running up the curve of your back and right back down, squeezing hard and keeping you close. You can feel him try and settle you on your back but you’re locked on top of him and refuse to move. You can feel his dick pressing into your barely clothed core and the hem of your dress rides up as you grind into him to show the hooks of your thong resting up to your waist. His fingers mess with the strings.

Your grip in his hair reforces and tugs him back so you can kiss along his jaw. The kisses are wet and sloppy, leaving a glistening trail of your mark. You make your way back up to his ear, whispering warm breath over his sensitive flesh.

“That was ridiculous,” you deem softly, taking his earlobe between your teeth and pulling another whimper out of him. God, that sound really melts that anger deep in your chest, but it isn’t enough just yet.

“Sweetheart-.”

“Don’t,” you warn, dropping your hold on his skin and pressing your lips to the other side of his neck as you force his jaw to open for you. He holds back another whine. “Don’t hold back, show me who you fucking belong to,” you demand before biting the skin just under his ear, sucking in his scent and pulling a low moan from him.

You can’t stop your lips from claiming him over and over again, especially as his trapped cock can only barely feel the brush of your distant lips, he can only rely on memory to ease his need.

“Look at me,” you push up, letting your ass rest on his dick with your full weight and his head is thrown back in a loud, whiny moan. You grab his jaw, pulling him back to you and the pressure parts his lips and his eyes are wide and observant, ready to listen.

“Apologize,” you instruct, your face a stone of foreshadowed repercussions.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he rushes out shaking his head and digging his nails into your hips to press you into him more. His eyes dip down to your tits as they threaten to spill past the low-v of your dress at any moment.

“I didn’t say look there, I said look at me,” you tighten your grip, a drunken haze puppeteering your limbs like an Irene Adler wannabe. You lean in like you’re about to kiss him but you stop, watching as he tries to arc forward to meet you, “I don’t believe you.”

A small, pathetic whine tugs out of his throat and he swallows, looking up at you again. You maneuver your body off of him enough to push him so that he’s laying down in the front seat. He stares up at you, his hands finding any opportunity to hold your hips.

“Baby, I promise, I only want you,” he pleads, looking up at you, panting and flushed. You straddle his waist, running a teasing hand up his chest and latching it between the buttons of his shirt. You manage to rip it open completely and trace your fingers down his chest.

“Those are just words,” you point, your eyes following your fingers but you can still feel his eyes on you. “I need something else,” you meet his gaze again and he practically melts with anticipation as you finally look at him again.

Your eyes on him makes him feel like the most powerful man in the world.

“Anything, gorgeous, anything you want,” he quickly abides, making you smile down at him. It’s a smile that makes him warm inside like he’s done something right.

“Scoot,” you flick a finger for him to move down as you lift off him to do so.

He listens without hesitation, even if his legs don’t have enough room on the driver's side.

“You’re gonna do me a favor and prove to me that I’m the only woman you see,” you reach a warm hand to cup his cheek, speaking softer than you have all night.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirks, his eyes still wide and lustful, panting and so fucking ready for whatever you have in store.

You pierce an acrylic stiletto through your thong to snip off the fabric that you can easily replace later. He watches your movements, trying to guess what you’ll do next. You reach behind you to unfasten his belt. It’s a little tricky to do without seeing it, but you manage. Dean eyes stay glued to your tits as they ripple with your movement.

He groans as his dick springs free, throbbing in the steamy air of sex in the Impala. He wants so badly to reach down and touch himself but he’s guessing, based on your current control over the night, that it wouldn’t end well for him.

You stuff your shredded thong in his hand and scoot up closer and closer.

“You’re gonna take care of yourself while you take care of me, you got it? Show me how you live to make me happy,” the words leave your lips like a sweet commandment, like a vow he’d happily plead to to keep you smiling.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers, repeating the only words he can think of besides your name.

He lets out a low groan as you hook yourself over his shoulders and plant your pussy right at his lips, trapping him between your heat and the squeaky leather seat.

When you decide enough has been enough, you settle fully, allowing him to bury himself in your lips. He’s needy and hungry but he knows your body and knows what you need to feel pure ecstasy. He’s holding back and you can tell.

“Good boy,” you ride, digging your nails into the leather and bracing your left arm on the dash. The praise sends a shiver to his dick as he strokes himself with your thong still in hand.

He moans into you, the hum prickling your sensitive skin and warming you up just right. His nose presses against your clit but he holds still, letting his tongue build you up until you’re right there.

Right on the edge, he waits until he can feel the tremble in your thighs and the squeak in your moans. Right until you grip onto his roots and show him you're ready. His tongue keeps steady and consistent as he now moves his face to circle his nose around your clit, ripping a melodic moan out of your throat.

The feeling is unlike any other and you don’t think you could ever even think straight enough to attempt to put it in words that would never give it justice.

Your body wracks with quaking pulses, and your senses are overstimulated as he moans into you with his own release and you can’t help but grind into him to spasm just right.

You settle back onto his chest, legs still hooked around him and thighs flooding along his face like a lonely island.

His lips shimmer with you and his smile basks under your eyes. His face is hugged by your plush skin and his cock is emptied onto your panties.

This man is yours.

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>> check out my other works here

#supernatural #fanfiction #fandom #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut

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wileys-russo · 3 months ago

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party 4 u II a.putellas

idk what this is other than being fueled by a charli xcx lover with a tiktok fyp full of those 'how it feels to hear party 4 u' edits party 4 u II a.putellas

you always started the morning with the same little set of rituals, the war torn practices you'd perfected over years of self indulgent behaviors that left you waking up with a pounding headache and a mouth as dry as the sahara.

the same step by step process that you sought out to heal you of your demons, the little devils which sat on your shoulder of an evening jeering and snarling at you, picking at every emotional scab they could peel back, words like lemon juice spat on an open wound.

that was how you'd find yourself with phone in hand and sending out a barrage of eager messages, already pouring yourself a stiff drink and settling against the headboard of your bed, your little friends now quieter though their sneering still rang in your ears as you waited for someone to respond they were free.

then once you had even a slight sniff of a plan you'd get begin to get ready, necking down at least another three drinks in the process, your head now silent and buzzing like it was filled with bees, ears stuffed with cotton and a warmth spreading through your stomach that felt invitingly pleasant.

your nights were filled with dancing until your feet might fall off and drinking until you wondered if your liver might follow suit.

bumping into strangers and friends alike though none who really knew the real you or whose faces you might ever see outside of a bar or a nightclub.

whom you'd never share a genuine conversation or a sincere thought with, all relationships you suffocated yourself with containing the same surface level connection where they merely existed to fulfill your need for acceptance, attention and adoration.

but all that had changed the night you met her.

when you'd met alexia you'd hardly been in a sober state of body or mind, hunched over the sink crying your eyes out over your latest situationship who'd left you for something newer and shinier, a pattern you should have been used to considering the type of girls you pulled into bed with you of an evening.

but you never learned, why would you?

not when you could keep repeating the same patterns that left you miserable which went hand in hand with the self destructive habits that lead you craving those short fast connections and the touch of a warm body pressed against your own in the first place.

you'd had far too much to drink with far too little in your stomach to process it, mind spinning from a profound lack of hydration despite how many kamikaze shots you'd downed, and a headache right behind your eyes just starting to set in.

when you'd felt the hand on your back your head shot up instantly, almost pathetically hoping it would be your ex girlfriend up for one more night of fun before she dissipated back into the abyss of the party scene in barcelona.

but instead you were greeted by a new face, kind brown eyes with bore into yours and left you feeling completely stripped bare even if you were very much still fully clothed.

her eyebrows curved downward with concern and there were little dimples either side of her mouth where pale pink lips pursed into a thin line, a frown not filled with disappointment but something else, something softer.

but ultimately, with one small look and a simple touch this stranger had you feeling more vulnerable than when you'd been crying your eyes out in a dimply lit restroom, and you found yourself dabbing at your eyes as if that would make your makeup look any less smeared.

"¿Estás bien?"

little did you know, after that one easy question you'd be the furthest thing from okay you'd been in years.

at first you worried she'd grow bored of you but your usual attempts to fling money or gifts at the problem fell flat, and though the rejection hurt you could see why she'd said no to your less than subtle advances.

you weren't okay, and the connection and acceptance and love you craved came from a place of isolation, and a lack of self acceptance and doubt, from a childhood spent raised by anyone but the woman who gave birth to you or the stranger you'd never known who helped it happen.

you had slips ups, weeks where you'd disappear off the radar and fall back into the welcoming embrace of blocking your feelings with uppers and downers alike, anything to get rid of the reality of being left alone with your thoughts and forced to process them.

you'd never liked feelings despite how much you craved to pull them from others, how many beds you'd woken up in over the years and nameless faces you'd left behind that morning.

still despite all of that, and still to this day you didn't know quite why or how, alexia remained a constant in your life.

picking you up when you were down, yelling at you when you needed a dose of reality and praising when you finally took a step toward your fears instead of running away.

she was the best friend you ever had, maybe even one of the only ones who'd actually cared for more than just your last name and the material and financial assets which came from it, not to say she couldn't pull a pretty penny for herself with her status.

you knew nothing about football aside from that whenever barcelona played, men or women, you'd stumble into any bar along the strip and the game would be broadcast on every tv it could be.

but once you met alexia you learned everything there was to know, throwing your addictive tendencies into studying the rules, the leagues, the competitions, wanting to support her even half as much as she'd supported you.

you showed up to games, met her family, friends, were pulled into the inner circle and for the first time in years finally felt you had a place in life, something to wake up and look forward to of a match day, belong to a community.

you'd long harbored your true feelings for alexia since her initial rejection, recognizing that if you let them get too close to the surface both of you would end up hurt, and the last thing you would ever want to do is push her away or give her a reason to go.

so you lied to yourself, gaslit your own mind that the emotions weren't there, pushed them down and down and focused on other things, you'd almost convinced yourself they were gone.

it had been a few years now and you were yet to realise that they were anything but, that just because you no longer thought about what it might feel like to kiss her or tortured yourself with the endless wonderings of what might be if you just asked her again, they were still there.

you were finally happy, finally okay, finally had genuine friends and hobbies and ways to fill your time that brought sincere fulfillment, finally had the life you'd wanted since you were a child playing alone and talking to imaginary friends.

but there was always something missing, a type of love that none of that brought you that you knew you wanted but didn't have the first clue how to unlock the box it seemed to be stuck and held away from you in.

always something missing, until the night of alexia's thirtieth birthday.

you'd worked alongside her sister and her friends to organise alexia a surprise party, the ridiculously humble captain insisting she didn't want a fuss, didn't want a big party, was happy just to go out to dinner to a nice restaurant, allow one round of singing her happy birthday and call it a night.

though instead the restaurant she'd wanted to dine at was booked out for a private event, all of her closest loved ones gathered and laid in wait for her to walk through and yell out with a cheer.

but when they did, when you were squished inbetween her uncle and her cousin, the last thing you expected was for her ex to be beside her, and for her lips to press against alexias as suddenly it felt like the air was being sucked dry from your lungs.

you hadn't even known they were still in touch though you'd hardly had anything to do with the guest list which alba had full control over.

it was like time stood still as alexia was enveloped in a cocoon of her innermost circle, pushed from hug to hug, reminded she was another year older again and again, toothy cheshire grin plastered ear to ear.

but all you could feel was the uppercut to your stomach that left you winded from seeing her kiss someone else, someone that wasn't you, and all of those feelings you'd been in pure denial of and refused to process, came screaming and hurtling to the surface.

you didn't even flinch as the canons went off and the gold and silver confetti came raining down, feet glued to the floor and those pesky little devils slowly climbing up onto your shoulders again from where you'd flicked them off long long ago.

but before they could whisper anything, confirm the insecurities which were already sounding in your ears, you shook them off and hurried for the door, missing the brown eyes which flickered around the room to find you, and only you.

finally able to exhale as you burst through the double doors and were smacked in the face by the cool evening air, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and head ringing from the cheers in the large room which had shrunk to feel like the smallest of cubes.

you'd never been claustrophobic but you suddenly had a whole new respect for the feeling of everything closing in, desperate to get as far away from this hidden humiliation as you could, maybe even send your therapist a text to see if she could bump your appointment up any earlier.

then you felt it, the hand on your back, almost dropping your phone as you turned and without meaning to pushed her away from you, not missing the hurt and confusion which flashed across her face.

but before you let her speak you took off, heels clacking against the pavement as you sought to put as much distance between the two of you as you could, pretending you couldn't hear her calling after you.

though of course the professional athlete wasn't one who'd be ran away from, another touch now this time clamping around your wrist like a vice, causing you to spin around and almost drop your phone yet again.

she caught it effortlessly because of course she did, though when you reached for it back you exhaled when she held it out of reach and gave you a look that had your cheeks burning up again and wishing the ground might swallow you up.

"alexia-" "no. no por favor, just listen."

it was rare to hear her beg and yet the hints of desperation to her tone had you pausing, walls still up in full defense but you offered a curt nod, the excuse you'd been about to vomit out about not feeling well and heading home not fooling her even before you said it.

"i did not know jenni would be there. i had not asked her to dinner but clearly she was late to that, and i saw her outside and she said-" "alexia really you do not need to -" "no. listen! por favor, i need you to hear me."

at that you once more fell silent, another small nod and she was taking a deep breath before starting again, taking you by surprise again as she took your hands in hers, rings cold against your own fingers which were for once bare.

"jenni is a friend, nothing more. i do not have those feelings for her, there is someone else that i have always-" at that you tried to pull your hands away but she held on tighter.

"alexia no really you-"

this time you were silenced once more though this time it wasn't with a curt look or a pleading word, this time it was pillow soft lips pressing against yours and hands which were once holding yours moving to find home against your hips, drawing you impossibly close.

when finally she pulled away you were left stunned, head reeling and a moment of regret flashing across her face before her features hardened and her hands moved again to gently cup your cheeks.

"you. amor it has always been you."

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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anki-of-beleriand · 7 days ago

Text

The Best Kept Secrets Ch. 1

Summary: Wanda was on the verge of breaking down when she was called to attend her brother's engagement party. Alone and unable to keep up with her mother's expectations she makes a deal with the devil that would lead her to discover a side of her that may either destroy her or bring the happiness she so craves for herself.

Pairing: Female!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: au, Moder setting, No powered charcaters, cheating, idiots in love, unrequite/requited love, jealousy, drama, angst, broken hearts, homophobia, more warnings as chapters come in.

Author's Note: Hello guys! I know I have seen this before but thi time around I will take my time but ill force myself to write through this and finished it. This is the new, improve, version of a story that will tell you what happened to Reader in her everyday life. I hope you like it.

Thank you for reading, and giving me the chance to share this with you. Remember English is not my mother tongue, so apologise in advanced for any grammar, spelling or funny mistake you may find in here.

Chapter 1

On a fateful evening

Electric blue broke into the sky falling with a single jolt of energy on the land.

The thunder rumbled with waves of sound crashing against the glass of the windows, the world around the villa trembled just as darkness consumed the room. The lights flickered once, then twice, and finally they gave in leaving the house in complete darkness breaking into gloomy shadows that danced into the night.

Time stood still.

The silence was broken by the wind and the drops of heavy water breaking into the land.

The Weather Channel had announced the storm early in the morning, and while you had not been averse to the idea of being trapped in such an Aegean paradise, you were not overly fond of being trapped in such a place with her.

Wanda Maximoff.

Your heart trembled at the sight of her deep, forest eyes. The frailty of her expression was accompanied by the beauty that had always charmed those around her.

You never thought you would see her again.

Not after she broke your heart.

And you decided to disappear.

A year Ago

- Kent, England, King George's Club.

Morning light poured through the tree lines surrounding the golf course.

The wind from the sea was fresh, with a salty taste that usually made her relax and think of better times. There was not a single sound that could distract her from her goal, her hands closed tightly around the club with her eyes narrowed slightly as she pointed to the fifth hole. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her arms, turned her torso and then swung to the left…

…missing the golf ball for mere inches.

“FUCK!”

Kate Bishop winced, it was Wanda’s fifth attempt to hit the ball and the exercise was not going well for someone that had won several golf championships since she was 14 years old. Wanda grasped the club tightly, her body trembling with bad contained rage her eyes glaring at the ball as if the small, white object were to be blamed for her failures. The morning glided through the land slowly, the heat turning into a freezing wind as the clouds changed into grey, darkened mounds in the sky.

Wanda stood frozen for a moment, her mind filled with memories of what had been a complete farce. The tears clouded her sight, she held her sobs tightly while her body trembled under the weight of the memories that brought heartbreak.

Wanda had loved Jarvis from the moment they had met.

She had fallen in love with his mind, his smile, and his lies. From the very first moment, Wanda had known it was a forbidden relationship, but the naive part of her heart hoped for a glimpse of something that would never be.

Wanda had loved him so much (she was still pretty much in love with him).

This was the reason why his deception had hurt so much.

Jarvis had betrayed her. He had used her. He had broken her in ways Wanda didn’t think possible to recover from.In the middle of the golf court, and without a warning, Wanda broke into painful sobs, her body trembling under the weight of her emotion she had been trying to hide from the world.

In the middle of the golf course Wanda finally gave in, crying her heart out at the unfairness of the situation. She cried with the golf-club falling from her hands just as she wrapped her arms around herself; Wanda had her eyes closed with tears rolling down her cheeks and was ignorant of the young woman that was hesitating a few steps away from her.

Kate bit her lower lip with her right hand hovering closer to the crying form of Wanda, she could hear the sheer pain behind the other woman’s sobs. The way Wanda trembled while holding onto herself was enough to break Kate’s heart. She stepped closer unsure on how to approach the situation without creating more pain or desperation to her best friend.

“Hey, Wands,” Kate all but whispered, stepping closer until she offered the only comfort she could at the moment.

Wanda welcomed the hug, hiding her face from the world in the crook of Kate’s neck, shaking as she sobbed and let go of all the pumped up emotions she had been holding for far too long. Kate closed her eyes wishing she could do something, anything, to heal her friend and to make the man pay for his transgressions.Kate rubbed Wanda’s back, brushing her hair soothingly as she held her close.

“It’s okay, Wands, it is gonna be okay, I promise you.” The word left Kate’s mouth before she could stop them, but even if she didn’t know how or when, she found it in her to promise Wanda a glimpse of hope for the future.

For what seemed like an eternity, Wanda cried and Kate held her tenderly allowing her to pour her heart out the way they had done so since kindergarten.

Kate had met Wanda at a younger age, and while she had been boisterous and loud and always competitive, Wanda had been the most logical and cautious one, always the voice of reason. The both of them had been together for the first love, and the first heartbreak, Wanda had been by Kate’s side when her father died, and Kate had been there for Wanda when the young woman had almost lost her brother. They had been through so much that, now that they are adults facing the real world, Kate didn’t know how to handle this situation. She didn’t know why she allowed the relationship between Wanda and Jarvis to spiral out of control, to get in the way of their friendship and, ultimately, to break Wanda the way it had done so.

“I am so stupid, Kate, so stupid…” Wanda whispered squeezing Kate tenderly before letting go, Kate hesitated stepping back her hands on Wanda’s arms, Wanda had her eyes closed and she was speaking to her friend as much as she was speaking to herself, “I should have known, I should have seen it…you warned me, everyone who knew warned me.”

Wanda knew she should have seen it from the very first moment they met. He had been in a relationship at that time, and ever since that first day Wanda had always been a shadow. A secret. The other woman. A lover, never a girlfriend, never a partner. Wanda should have done many things, and she should have known how things would end up; still a part of her had always hoped he was what Jarvis wanted, a part of Wanda had been so naïve into thinking they were meant to be together and that, by the end of everything, Jarvis would choose her.

How wrong she had been.

“Wanda…” Kate started hesitantly, she trailed off seeing the broken stare on her friend’s eyes.

“I should have known, Kate.” Wana sounded broken, detached from all emotions running through her.

Before Kate could do or say something, Wanda shook her head standing up while wiping her tears away.

“I think this is enough golf for today, don’t you?”

Kate opened and closed her mouth, she stood up locking eyes with Wanda. For a brief moment, Kate played with the idea of saying something, but the empty glance Wanda shot her way told her she just needed to forget for the time being. With a heavy heart, Kate nodded, trying to give Wanda the time she needed it to finally open up and tell her everything that had happened between her and Jarvis.

“Yes, I think you are right, it is almost midday and we should eat something for lunch before going back to the flat and get ready for Stark’s Gala tonight.” Kate mumbled, Wanda winced remembering the social event she was obliged to attend that night.

“I forgot about it,” Wanda passed her hand through her hair, wiping away the tears from her cheeks, “mother expects me to go and use the dress she got for me.”

Kate snorted knowing Wanda’s mother had been trying to control the social life of Wanda ever since she came of age and decided to be celibate and single. It was quite obvious, Wanda had been anything but celibate and single, but no one was to know that Jarvis had been the one Wanda had been dating; they were supposed to be friends nothing else nothing more. But since the relationship had been a secret Wanda’s mother, Natalya Maximoff, had tried to set her daughter up with the young single men in high london society.

“So, she is also setting you up on a date tonight?” Kate asked, trying to divert the mood into more familiar, and mundane situations, Wanda rolled her eyes getting into the golf cart with Kate.

“No, not today, dad forbid her to continue the quest of hunting for a boyfriend or a husband for me.” Wanda said, shaking her head, if it hadn’t been because of her father she was pretty sure she would be going to the Charity event with some dumbass her mother thought appropriate for her.

Kate pursed her lips for a moment, her eyes diverting to the grass and the trees before turning to Wanda.

“I guess…well, if you think about it, perhaps this could be your chance to…to finally meet someone new?” Kate ventured, she lifted her right hand opening the palm in a signal of peace, “I know it is too soon, but maybe you could think about it?”

Wanda sped up the golf cart while grabbing the wheel tightly in her hands, Kate yelped almost falling down understanding that her comment had been unnecessary. . At least, for now. The morning glided away with the sun touching the land with a cold embrace, the golf cart travelled down the camp swiftly leaving behind the many players that had just started the morning routine in the club. Kate grabbed the handler on the front while shooting Wanda a warning glare.

“You know this cart is not going to kill but probably just injures us?” Kate huffed. “I was just…it was just an idea, Wanda. You really, this situation is…I just want you to be happy.”

Wanda winced, taking a deep breath knowing that Kate wanted nothing more than for Wanda to be happy. To finally break the toxic cycle she had entered with Jarvis during their tumultuous relationship.

“I’m sorry, I just…not yet, I am not ready yet.” Wanda whispered, slowing down her driving while taking the golf cart to the main building inside the Club..

Kate shook her head leaning back in the seat, “I know, Wanda. Look, I know it is not easy, and I know it is not fair but…you can’t let this situation get over your head. You can’t let him win.”

“I don’t want him to win,” Wanda mumbled, turning left and leading the golf cart towards the court parking lot. “This is just…too much. And I haven’t even had the time to mourn properly, to actually face what happened, to talk to him I mean…”

The place was already packed with societal crowds, Wanda trailed off trying to act as if nothing but bad luck had disturbed her golfing morning. Kate followed her inside the country house towards the showers, both of them offering polite and practical smiles to the people they encountered on their way to the changing rooms.

The place was not empty but at least in their chosen space they could continue their private conversation. Wanda sat fixing her socks and shoes while furrowing her brows, her words still hanging heavily above their heads.

“I don’t understand why you haven’t blocked him or stopped talking to him.” Kate finally blurted out, the question burning inside her mind since the relationship between Wanda and Vision exploded.

Wanda shrugged, focusing her attention on the make-up, “we are supposed to be old friends, no…we were not supposed to be anything else. If he stopped talking to me, it could be suspicious.”

A heavy silence fell upon them.

This admission shattered any argument Kate was ready to present to her friend, the deep implication of such a statement finally made sense of the puzzle the young Bishop had been trying to put together since Wanda had broken up things with Vision.

“We better hurry up, I am hungry and we need to get ready for tonight.” Wanda straightened up while glancing at her reflection, her forest eyes gleaming with unshed tears and heartbreak.

The table was already occupied by Jessica Jones and Gwen Stacy waiting for them, Wanda felt dizzy, her face drained from all colour and her eyes opened big as she set her them on the woman that had meant her downfall. Kate placed a single hand on her friend’s forearm, her eyes opening lightly as she led in.

“Wands, sorry i didn’t know…” Kate started, but Wanda clenched her jaw shaking her head.

“It’s okay, I know…let’s get this over with.” Wanda said though her voice had lost its usual bite and emotion. “I have to act normal, remember?”

This last part was said with a bitter smile, and Kate had to wonder just how many times had Wanda put on an act inorder to cover her relationship with Jarvis. How long had Wanda submitted herself to be a simple shadow of the woman she really is. For the very first time, Kate could say that she felt actual hatred for someone, hatred for the man that had broken her best friend, her sister, in such a systematic and cruel way.

Jessica’s eyes lit up when she saw Wanda and Kate, the four of them had met during their High School years and their friendship had lasted since then. Wanda winced when Jessica wrapped her arms around her asking about her day and her life until then, Wanda tried to be polite and friendly, but it was obvious that something was bothering her. Gwen and Jessica interchanged knowing stares and they offered Kate and Wanda sympathetic smiles.

“I know what you guys are thinking about,” Gwen was the first one talking to Kate and Wanda, “but I know soon you will find the right man and in no time it will be me and Jessica, the ones all excited to be the maid of honour in your wedding.”

Kate almost choked on her water, Wanda rolled her eyes patting her softly on the back.

“Right, now I mean…we are happy for you two.” Kate said cleaning the water from her chin, she looked at Wanda out of the corner of her eye before turning her attention to Gwen. “But we are fine just being…maids of honor, right, Wanda?”

“Uh, yes, totally fine.” Wanda replied, forcing a tight smile that Jessica and Gwen didn’t buy.

“Look, Wands, I know Jarvis is your best friend, and that you were just as surprised as I was when he proposed to me but..”Jessica started while Wanda tried to conceal her emotions, “but you are also my friend and while the dynamic is going to be different, I want you to know that well, nothing has to change between us, and between you and Jarvis, he has been down as of late since you haven’t called him.”

Wanda sat there unable to form any words or even to react at what Jessica had stated so innocently. Kate placed a hand on Wanda’s thigh, a comforting gesture as he tried to take over the conversation.

“Pietro is also a little down since you haven’t been responding to his calls,” Gwen said furrowing her brows, “are you guys fighting or something?”

“No!” Kate exclaimed louder than was probably necessary, several people turned to her before she gave a sheepish smile and turned to the other two women, “It is my fault, I…I have been down since I found out Gwen will be married in two months, and Jess got engaged last week, I was dragging Wanda with me in an emotional comfort trip.”

Jessica and Gween soon turned their attention to Kate, their words meant to comfort the brunette in her role in their lives and the plans they could still make to enjoy their time together. Soon the conversation took an unexpected turn and Gwen was distracting everyone with the latest preparations for her wedding, Jessica was an avid listener taking notes to start the preparations from her own nuptials.

In all this time, Kate could tell Wanda was holding it together by sheer will power but that, as the time passed and they kept hearing the fairytale narrated by Jessica and Gwen’s relationship the young woman would explode. And, just as predicted, the explosion came due to Gwen’s intervention.

“Pietro was fretting due to the amount of people being invited, but your mother and I tried to calm him down and explained to him the importance of a nice pre-wedding dinner, overall for those who are not invited to the main event.” Gwen fixed her hair giving a lighthearted giggle.

The conversation could have died there, no more was necessary but Gwen had always been naive and just a little dense about the reality of the world. She settled her grey eyes on Wanda, a twitch of the woman's lips told Kate she should intervene before Gwen said anything, but she was too slow to react.

“By the way Wanda,I have heard from a very good source that Victor Von Doom will be there, and your mother has already made arrangements for you to be escorted by him to the reception.” Gwen leaned forward placing her hand on top of Wanda’s one mistaking her dumbfounded glance for one of shocked nervousness.

Kessica opened her eyes with pure glee in them, she turned to Wanda with a smile, her face completely changed into one of happiness, the same expression Gwen was wearing while giving these news.

“Oh, Wanda, that’s fantastic!! Victor is such a handsome man, and he is a good man too.” Jessica said giddy by the news, “perhaps he is your knight in shining armour, I know Victor has been trying to get into business with your father, and this could be more than just business.”

Gwen nodded smiling, “I know Victor has tried to reach out to Pietro to ask properly to get you on a date. You know they both studied in the same Universityand Victor respects your brother and father.”

“Oh, asking for permission? How romantic…”

Kate watched the world crumble under her in seconds, she turned to Wanda and could see the red on her cheeks and the glint of anger in her eyes.

“Excuse me?” Wanda couldn’t hide the anger in her voice, her eyes gleaming with animosity at the audacity coming from Jessica and Gwen.

She knew Victor Van Doom, the man was a complete jerk and he had tried to get into her family for years. Wanda despised him, he was an arrogant jerk who could care less about her desires or her feelings. The fact that her mother had been dragged into this situation, and that she was planning to get the man into a party that she would potentially attend was insulting and quite frankly disturbing.

Gwen and Jessica blinked confusedly, they were taken aback by the obvious anger coming from Wanda. Kate could see Gwen and Jessica were not only confused but slightly hurt by this reaction, a flash of concern crossing their eyes, and Kate couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. They were really honest in their words, but the sheer innocence and naivety from them had always been a sore point for Wanda.

“Van Doom is an imbecile whose reputation has been tainted by his inability to hold a business standing,” Wanda stood up, whatever frustrations she had been experiencing in the last month finally getting the best out of her. “Frankly I pitied the woman that fell into his hands, now Gwen, Jessica, if you excuse me I have an event to attend and I am already late to get ready for it.”

Wanda stood up leaving the table in a rush, Gwen sat there furrowing her brows torn between being offended and perplexed. Kate stood up as well, she shot Gwen and Jessica a smile placing her hand on top of Gwen's one.

“You better don't invite that man to the party, Gwen. Wanda really hates him, and the fact her mother is messing around to try and set her up with him is only going to end up really bad. I know Pietro would be against the idea of Van Doom coming to your party..”

Gwen shifted frowning, “Kate, I'm looking out for her. It has been so long since she dated someone, we all are getting either married or have a relationship going on whereas she is…alone. It's not right. I was just trying to get her to meet someone, perhaps dated and have a family on her own?”

“Kate, what we are trying to say here is that we are worried about you and Wanda,” Jessica continued pursing her lips. “We want you guys to experience the same excitement and happiness we feel with our boyfriends. To be loved and to actually have a future…”

Kate lifted a hand furrowing her brows for the first time, she turned her eyes to Jessica then to Gwen, they both had always been too naive for their own good. Kate straightened up wanting to leave her message pretty clear before going after Wanda.

“I understand your concern, I do.” Kate measured her words, pride in herself for being so good at being a grown up. “But you can’t expect us to be happy because you set her up with a man she obviously despises, or that all we want in life is to be in a relationship and get married. I get that for you guys it is the best thing ever, but Wanda, and even me, we are just fine the way things are.”

Then, Kate turned to Gwen, “you know Wanda wants to be happy, she is always looking for that spark, that one person that will change her view of the world and make her feel love. This is not what she wants.”

“Wanda wants to fall in love. To be loved and loved back.” Gwen nodded as if finally understanding, she softened her features, a flash of urgency growing in her grey irises. “Oh, no! I messed it up, didn’t I?I didn't want to…”

“I know, but Gwen you need to start listening to others and start listening to yourself and stand for what you think is right or not,” Kate hesitated before giving Jessica and Gween a hug. “It was good to see you guys, we…will talk later.”

“Please, tell Wanda I'm sorry and I will make sure no one she doesn't like is invited to my engagement.”

Kate walked away from the place rather relieved to know Gwen found a real man that cherished and loved her dearly. She didn't want to think what would have happened if a different individual had approached Gwen when she was younger. With determination behind her strides, Kate strolled down the halls towards the parking lot. In no time she found the car, Wanda was looking gloomily to the horizon, detached from what was happening around her while the tears gleamed under the thunder breaking into the sky. Kate huffed running under the rain before going into the car.

“Gwen and Jessica said they are sorry.”

“Hn, okay.”

Wanda turned the engine on, she grabbed the wheel tightly, breathing deeply. Her face fell for a moment, then with a tired stare she turned to Kate.

“Will you go with me tonight?”

Kate nodded shifting in the seat, “you know I will.”

“Thank you.”

And with that, the both of them drive out of the club and into the highway leading to London.

The sky bringing rain and a wind of change Wanda had been ignoring all day.

______________________________________________________________

- Oxford University, Bodleian Library -

The Bodleian Library was one of the oldest libraries in Europe, an architectural and intellectual marvel, the building was located one hour away from London at the heart of Oxford University.

The Library didn’t need to be at the center of the Oxford complex, to be the heart that led investigations in social studies, politics and international relations. In busy times, the building was always filled with students,investigators, workers and even tourists, it was a mixture of people from around the country and the world and it tended to be far too overwhelming. However, with Winter so close and Christmas vacations around the corner, the library became a silent sanctuary for those who were too absorbed in their studies to care for human interaction.

That was the reason as to why this library was your favorite place in the whole world.

It felt like home for you.

The main room in the library was empty, there was only the librarian who was sitting on the far corner cataloguing some books. You sighed while stretching out while turning on the music, you grabbed the next book with your notebook filled with doodles and notes; you have been working on your thesis for more than four hours, not food or drinks, just you and the books. A pang of sadness went through your heart at the bitter reminder that regardless of the work you have done so far, you had yet to receive a proper job proposal. You frowned, lowering your gaze to the book you have been reading, ignoring your thoughts and your phone you tried to go back to your notes.

“You know you look hot acting all nerdy and interesting like this?” You jumped at the sudden irruption in the silent setting, turning around you find yourself looking directly into the green eyes of one Natasha Romanoff.

The young woman was smirking at you while taking the sit beside you, she tilted her head grabbing the book you have been reading before grabbing your phone while pausing the music. You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips at the other woman’s antics.

“Romanoff.” You tried to greet with a serious, non-sense tone of voice that your friend dismissed with a wave of her hand.

“Y/L/N.* She repeated just as formality, her grin growing winking at you. “So, what are you doing, hot stuff?”

You leaned back on the chair, your eyes drifted around the library before setting on Natasha. The brunette had been the first woman you met in the country, she had offered you friendship and companionship and for over six years, Natasha Romanoff was the best friend anyone could ask for. She had been there in the good and the bad, her friendship had saved you in ways you were not sure Natasha was aware of.

“I was finishing a mandatory reading for the lecture I am preparing.” You stretched out letting out a yawn while your stomach grumbled remembering you about your missing lunch.

Natasha lifted brow , chuckling at your red cheeks, “seems like you are hungry, wanna grab something to eat? I am pretty sure you are not forgetting to feed yourself or I will be very mad.”

You winced at the sudden change in the woman’s voice, she really was like a sister to you and Natasha took the role very seriously.

“I was too distracted, and I really wanted to finish this lecture.” You said softly, Natasha softened her feature winking at you while helping you put everything away.

“Come on, we can grab something to eat and then some coffee, in that place you like so much.”

You stopped what you were doing turning to a very eager Natasha, you narrowed your eyes at her until the young woman stiffened offering a guilty smile.

“Why are you being so considerate and helpful?”

Natasha was a kind person, she could be protective and the person to go to if you needed help. But this kind of kindness, the fact that she came all the way to the library, and the sudden guilt in her eye and smile told you there was more to this impromptu visit that she led on.

“Can I be a kind soul with my best friend in the whole world?”

“Now, I know there is something wrong with you, what is it?” You asked, narrowing your eyes once more.

Natasha winced, grabbing your backpack while shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her explanation came short as your stomach grumbled and soon you were blushing at the embarrassing sound. Natasha smirked once more, recovering her confidence while hooking her left arm with your right one.

“Come, I am pretty sure you haven't eaten anything at all since the toast Yelena left you this morning.”

“Well, I mean…I did have a coffee.” You mumbled trying to defend yourself, Natasha rolled her eyes while walking with you to the exit of the building.

“You really need to take care of yourself, Y/N.!” The cold breeze from the Oxford afternoon rushed through your face, wrapping your jacket tightly around your body and fixing your scarf as you followed Natasha down the stairs towards the yard.

A few minutes later the both of you were entering the café crossing the street from the main University building, the place was packed with students and professors while you two chose the only empty table inside. Natasha sat down tilting her head with her eyes on you, the young waitress that took your order let her eyes linger on Natasha before disappearing down the establishment.

“Lady killer, eh?” You chuckled, shaking your head before leaning in. “So, Nats, what do you want?”

Natasha laughed leaning back while placing her right hand on her chest faking surprise and indignation all in a single pout, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You offend me, Y/N. I come as a friend to ensure you eat something instead of drowning in self-pity and books.” She said resting her cheek on her palm, her lips curling into a more sincere smile, her eyes gleaming with understanding and the knowledge that you had been beating yourself as of late for your lack of job offers. “How are you feeling? I wanted to talk to you this morning, but you weren’t there.”

You shifted chewing your lower lip while furrowing your brows, “I didn’t wanna talk.”

“I know.” You lifted your eyes to see Natasha offering a half smile, you snorted nodding. “I just…I tried so hard.”

Natasha could detect the defeat in your voice, she knew you had been affected by the lack of invitations and job offers that most of your classmates had already received. The program for your Master’s degree had opened the gates of private companies, organisations and even government organizations to reach out to the brightest minds in the program. You had been the number one student in the program, but you had been the only one who had not received a job proposal yet.

“I know you think you are not good enough, or that you are not ready, but Y/N, you are.” Natasha put her hand on yours, squeezing tenderly while offering a tiny smile, you tried to smile back but your lips faltered.

“I just…I have worked so hard.” You mumbled keeping your mouth shut as the young waitress placed the food on the table, Natasha kept her eyes and hand on you waiting until you could finally let it go.

“I worked hard everyday, I studied and I know I am smart.” You said but your voice lacked conviction, and Natasha knew right there and then that your poor opinion on yourself was getting in the way once more.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Natasha said firmly, “you are smart, you are the smarter person in that program, You will get what you need because it would be the one thing to get you to the place you are needed the most. I know it is hard, but you need to be patient.”

You snorted nodding, you knew that speech by heart.

It was easier said than done, and you sometimes didn’t have the patience to wait for what you needed or wanted. You started eating and, as soon as the food touched your mouth you gave in to the hunger you have been feeling all day. Natasha observed you in silence, you ate glancing everywhere but at the woman sitting in front of you, finally when you were focusing on your coffee she took over the conversation once more.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but you really need to be patient.” Just then Natasha put from her pocket a white envelope, you frowned, grabbing the object while turning questioning eyes to her. The young woman shrugged before explaining, “Tony sent the invitation yesterday, but since you didn’t come home I couldn't give it to you until now.”

You grabbed the invitation with trembling hands, this was an event prepared for some investors, students, and teachers of the different faculties Stark Industries worked with in the scholarship program. The same program you had earned 8 years ago, with trembling hands you grabbed the envelope and read the invitation.

Natasha offered a half smile, she finished her coffee and waited for you to talk.

“This may be your chance to actually get to know some important figures that can be interested in your job, don’t you think?” Natasha leaned forward pointing to the invitation, “and look at that.”

In the lower part of the invitation you read your name and then…

“Miss. Y/L/N and guest you are cordially invited…” You read he last part before glancing at a grinning Natasha, the woman had a glint of triumph in her eyes tha told you she had not only won her argument about you needing to be patient, but also she had gotten something out of the situation. “So, this is what you brought me here?”

You waved the invitation, Natasha leaned back her smile still in place.

“Yes, and no.” She stated softening her features. “I meant every word, Y/N, and that invitation shows Stark also believes in you, he knows you would hate for him to intervene, so he is giving you a chance by inviting you to a place where you can make connections.”

You snorted, shaking your head, your heart shrank with the cheer weight of your emotions.

“So, all I have to do is go to the party…with you?” You asked furrowing your brows, “why are you so interested in going?”

You couldn’t help but frown at the sudden change in attitude by Natasha, the young woman was suddenly shy, her eyes downcast leaning forward as if to tell you a secret. Now you were interested, this was the first time you saw Natasha acting all bashful and hesitant.

“Carol is going to be there.” Natasha was straightforward knowing by this point you didn’t need for her to pretend, and Natasha was really wanting to make you understand the great opportunity this party was going to be.

You opened your eyes in realization at the name of the Captain of the Royal Air Forces; this time around the blush in Natasha’s face was unmistakable and you couldn’t help but laugh. Natasha grumbled throwing her napkin at you rolling her eyes at being exposed so easily.

“So, you want me to go with you because you wanna get laid!”

“It is not because of sex, you idiot.” Natasha straightened up allowing the waitress to place the food and coffee on the table, once the young woman was gone Natasha continued. “Y/N she is…look last time it went awful, I just wanna have a chance to apologize and tell her…well, I just think I can…”

It was always funny seeing Natasha trying to grasp her language functions to explain exactly why she wanted to see Carol Danvers all over again after their failed attempts at a romance. You couldn’t blame Natasha, though, Carol was not only beautiful she was smart, and funny, and one hell of a woman. Natasha had been smitten from the beginning but her insecurities and past trauma, and past ex-girlfriend, had come in the way of her building something nice with the blond-haired woman.

You thought about this for a long time, when you heard about the Stark Industries Gala you dismissed the idea of going to such an event. You knew it was important, Tony had told you as much, indicating this would be the right place to start making contacts and get into the world you were so reluctant to be a part of. It was a necessity if you wanted to continue with your studies and get a respectable job, but you never thought you received a formal invitation or that your best friend would be so eager to go. Looking over at Natasha you knew you wouldn’t say no to her so, with a sigh you nodded curtly.

“Very well, we can go to function. But you better get me something nice to wear to this thing.”

“YES!! I love you!” Natasha exclaimed grinning like a fool, you chuckled rolling your eyes while the redhead steals some of your fries. “Let's finish this and go back to my place, I am pretty sure Yelena has something that can work on you.”

You shifted on the seat nodding, “hn, okay, I guess.”

“You don’t have to sound so excited,” Natasha gauged your expression before clearing her throat, “Look, I know you don’t like these things, and that this is not your main focus but…Tony is right, Y/N, you need the contacts and you need to start working on a network for your work This could be a chance for you to meet new people.”

“I don’t like meeting new people!” You exclaimed dramatically, Natasha shrugged.

“I know but it is not so bad and, who knows? Perhaps this is the place where you would finally meet the right person.”

You furrowed you brows grabbing one of Natasha’s fries while glancing at the smirking woman.

“The right person? I already know Stark, I think he constitutes the right person alright.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “not that kind of person, dumbass, I am talking about the person that would finally make your heart beat just a little.”

You snorted in disbelief, while Natasha shrugged in a gesture that told you she was really considering this party to be everything you might need in life.

______________________________________________________________

Home House was a private club located at the heart of aristocratic London.

A palace built by James Wyatt under the orders of King George III. The palace was designed and built with high society in mind, the eccentric and intellectual class of early Eighteenth century England that was in the search of knowledge and conquest. With time, the Palace changed its history moulding itself as the beacon of culture, knowledge and power of the Empire transforming the world of Academics and cultural heritage; with the blessing of Queen Victoria, Home House entered the Twentieth Century as the meeting place for those who had the power to shape the world.

Thus, that Tony Stark had chosen Home House as the venue for the Annual Stark Enterprise Gala was not a complete surprise.

Known as a genius, billionaire, married and philanthropist, Tony Stark was a man of business at heart. The preparation of his Annual Gala had taken careful planning, leading to a select group of guests that would lead the fields of politics, economics, and international relations for the upcoming year. Tony and his wife Pepper Potts had selected the Front Parlour alongside the Private Garden in the exclusive club to house the 200 guests they had invited over.

Tony oversaw the event in person, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he observed those brilliant students that had earned the Stark Scholarship mingle with the high class and Europe leaders that may help them move forward in their careers.

The Club was filled with soft, classical music filled the room with the tender light of candelabra. The place was warm, and a great marquee was located in the garden to protect the guests from the rain; everything had been set up for students, investigators and investors to meet and talk about money and opportunities.

So far the Gala had been a complete success, people were mingling around and making good use of the new connections while some others had given in to the temptation of the free bar and the soft swing of the music.

Natasha had kept her word by getting you a dark cocktail dress that complemented your tone of skin and highlighted your honey-laced eyes. The high heels Natasha had chosen helped you look taller, but at not being used to that kind of footwear, your feet were hurting and you were holding yourself from the torture of walking around with such elegant hazards.

So far the party had not been that bad, you got a chance to talk to several people and mingled around in interesting conversations. By the time Natasha left your side to join Carol, you had to face some eager, young men that had tried to give you a shot at flirting, with some cringe you let them down before moving out of the spotlight and hide In that little corner. The only one allowed to come at you was the cute waitress that had been your source of alcohol all through the night.

Your eyes fell on the form of Tony, the man had his flirty smile on talking with every single person present in the room. His eyes darting around as if looking for someone, you winced knowing full well he had been looking for you most of the night. So far you were winning the hide and seek game Tony didn't know he was playing with you.

Why did she accept to come to this event?

You set your eyes on Natasha who was wearing the most revealing red dress she could find while talking with a blond-haired woman that at the moment seemed to be wearing her military uniform. You rolled your eyes, Natasha Romanoff was the reason you came to this party. Natasha Romanoff and her impossible libido, you snorted, emptying your champagne and looking around for your favorite waitress.

“I surely hope, dear, that you didn't think I wouldn't find you before the night was over.” The voice of Tony Stark caught you by surprise, you winced turning around to see the man glancing at you amusedly, one eyebrow lifted with his hand nursing a glass of whisky.

“Tony, I wouldn't even dream of hiding from you. That would be too childish of me.” You said softly, Tony snorted, shaking his head while offering his right arm to you, after a moment of hesitation you took it and the both of you started walking around the room.

“I'm glad you came, even if you only did it to help Romanoff with Captain Danvers.” Tony spoke beside you leading you towards the garden.

You shrugged offering a tiny smile, “she really is quite smitten, and well.. I could use the distraction.”

Tony snorted, shaking his head, from the moment he had found you in the room he could see how uncomfortable you were and the pain you were enduring by wearing those high heels.

“How are you doing, Y/N? Are you faring well with your studies?” He cocked his head, and those eyes gleamed with a tenderness you had seen just a couple of times.

“I am fine.” You finally said without much conviction, Tony raised a brow but didn’t press the matter.

With a roll of your eyes you continue, “I could be worse.”

This time around, Tony did laugh shaking his head while stopping the stroll facing the garden beyond the marquee.

“And, what about university? How about your investigation?” He asked genuinely.

“It is going just fine, to be honest. I am just…you know?” You shifted uncomfortably, you were not used to accept help or even ask for it, you had learnt a long time ago that accepting help would allow others to have control over you.

“No, I don’t know, that was one of the reasons I was asking you how you were.” Tony replied half amused and half exasperated.

“You know how I feel, why do you ask me these questions?” With a huff you turned your attention back to the party, your eyes wandering around the beautiful form of a brunette that seemed engrossed in a conversation with another brunette with the most entrancing green eyes. You frowned, those eyes looked familiar. Tony cleared his throat and you returned your attention to him blushing lightly and being caught checking-out the other woman.

“Pepper missed you last weekend.” Tony stated, you flinched looking away.

“I know, she wrote me.” You mumbled letting out a heavy sigh. “Tony, look…I…I will end my studies pretty soon, and I will turn in my investigation, afterwards, I just…”

Tony waited patiently while you mumbled and babbled until you swallowed the lump on your throat.

“I haven’t received any formal invitation to join any…anything.” The words came rushing out of your mouth, and you clenched your jaw refusing to let the tears fall down. “I know that one of the conditions for my visa is to have a work, but apparently I am…not good enough.”

The sound of conversation, laughter and music became too much, you shifted on your feet while wincing with pain at the high heels. Tony placed a hand on your forearm; he had his brows put together shaking his head in a silent reproached that was mixed with amusement and exasperation. You blinked tilting your head at the reaction of the man in front of you, a man you had considered your big brother from the day you two met.

“You are good, Y/N, you are a genius in your area of expertise.” Tony smirked at you leading you into an adjacent room, you grew confused while your eyes settled on the open door leading to a balcony.

“I know, but…I mean, it doesn’t matter if I don’t get a proposal, or…” You trailed off narrowing your eyes at Tony. “What did you do?”

Tony lifted his hands in defence shaking his head, though his smirk only grew.

“I didn’t do anything; I merely offered myself to bring you over and introduce you to your new boss.”

“Tony…” You stated warningly standing still before following Tony any further, you glared at him. “Explain!”

Tony rolled his eyes standing in front of you, “I received a call a couple of days ago, they were asking for personal and professional reference from you. When I found out who was behind this credentials validation, I have to be the one to introduce you to your future boss.”

You stood there with a hammering heart, and sweating hands.

You were about to finish your investigation, by now every single one of your classmates had received an invitation or proposal to join some company, organization, or governmental agency. A part of you grew restless, and the doubts that had always plagued your confidence and self-esteem, had come back with a dark cloud that settled above your head and heart. Seeing the childish enthusiasm in Tony’s face told you the man wasn’t joking, but what it he…

“I didn’t intervene.” Tony was quick to read the unasked question, “I was asked to give references, nothing else.”

“Tony, I…” The words tangled in your throat, a lump forming in there that made it impossible to talk. You offered a shaky smiled that Tony returned with full confidence.

“Now, suck it up, kiddo, and let’s meet your new boss.” He said fixing your hair and dress making sure he didn’t mess with the makeup while leading you towards the balcony.

—------‐—-

The moment Wanda Maximoff set foot on the club she knew the party would be a disaster.

The first sight that greeted her as soon as she entered the main room was that of Jarvis and Jessica hand in hand with Jessica showing on her recently acquired engagement ring. Wanda felt her world shattered when her eyes met those of Jarvis, the man smiled brightly at her approaching Wanda with Jessica by his side.

“Wands, looking good.” Jarvis leaned in but stopped when he noticed the glare coming from Wanda and the tension on her shoulders.

“Thank you, Vi…Jarvis.” Wanda tried to sound casual, to not raise any suspicions, but it was obvious Jarvis had caught up with her mood.

“Are you alright?” Jarvis asked tenderly, Wanda clenched her jaw, her eyes gleaming in disbelief.

Before anything could be said or done, Kate Bishop came saving the day. There young woman flashed a bright smile that didn't reach her eyes, Jarvis winced drifting her stare from Kate to Wanda, realization dawning on him.

“Oh, Jarvis-Jar,” Kate smirked at the twitch coming from the man, he hated that nickname. “Looking good, congratulations to you and Jess, may the both of you have a happy marriage, full of fidelity and love.”

“Oh, Kate, that's so sweet.” Jessica giggled finally joining the group of friends, Kate offered a half smile before dragging Wanda away.

“Sorry, guys, Wanda and I have a commitment and we cannot be late!”

Before either Jarvis or Jessica could say anything, Wanda and Kate disappeared in the ocean of people looking for an exit to the garden.

The cold wind from the night was like a sharp caress on Wanda’s sensitive skin. She had her eyes closed taking a deep breath, aware of Kate’s eyes on her.

“Wanda,” Kate started tentatively, Wanda offered a crooked smile no her eyes in the distance.

“I should have known he would be here,” Wanda said closing her eyes to try and regulate the beating of his heart.

Kate hesitated for a moment before she set a hand on top of Wanda’s one, the young woman shook her eyes, and by the time she opened her green eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“I can’t do it, Kate.” Wanda mumbled brokenly.

Kate step closer but stop herself, if she were to hug her friend she was pretty sure Wanda would start crying. Wanda offered a crooked smile before emptying the glass of whisky she had grabbed from a tray; Wanda wished she could drink some more but she was a light drinker and it was not the moment nor the time to drown away her sorrows. Kate worried her lower lip on her teeth, before she too drank her glass of whisky making a face that brough a real smile to Wanda’s face. After a moment of hesitation, Kate decided to talk again.

“You know, we came and people already saw us, if you want, we can go.” Kate gauged Wanda’s reaction, she was hoping for her friend to just give in to get out of the place and not having to see Jarvis more than they should, however, just as Kate was about to pursue the topic some more Wanda’s eyes gleamed strangely.

“What? What is it?” Kate turned around, her eyes going wide before she turned to Wanda.

“Whose that talking to Stark?” For some reason, Wanda got her abdomen knotting at the sight of the young woman. There was something familiar about her, but…

Kate glanced up then back at Wanda, “I think she…I mean, it couldn’t be, but you know, perhaps?”

Wanda rolled her eyes, her lips curving into an exasperated but pretty honest smile.

“You didn’t say anything at all,” Wanda said raising a brow before nodding to the woman with Stark. “You know her?”

Kate winced torn between telling Wanda who was that woman, or letting her friend spiralled even more into depression because of Jarvis.

“Well, you remember last year? Halloween?” Kate said tentatively, as soon as she said Halloween Kate could see the glint of recognition on Wanda’s green eyes.

“Yes! God, that little…”

“Wanda.”

Before Wanda could react or actually said anything at all, a man in a wheelchair came to her. He was offering a kind smile and his eyes had not left those of Wanda as she smiled back, with a hint of confusion in her posture.

“Uncle Charles, I thought you wouldn’t come to this event.” Wanda leaned in hugging the man who broke into a content smile.

“Well, I have an extenuating circumstance that needed my attention.” He glanced from Wanda to Kate, the other woman waved a hand to Charle before stepping back.

“Right, nice to see you, Mr. Xavier, I think I will be around.” Kate said walking backwards, Charles Xavier turned to Wanda and soon both of them were smiling.

“So I take it I am your extenuating circumstance?” Wanda observed as Kate was approached by a young woman, Wanda then returned her attention to Charles.

“Partially, yes. I also came here to meet with someone, now help an old man and take me to the other room, we need to talk.”

Wanda couldn't hide her wince, this sounded like one of those serious conversations she was not fancy to have any moment now. With a sigh and one last glare to the woman talking to Stark, Wanda took Charles out of the garden into the adjacent room .

—------

The universe had a strange way of working its design.

Your first real meeting with Wanda Maximoff was a complete disaster. You stepped into the balcony with Tony by your side, the young woman stood by Carles Xavier who directed his stare to the newcomers. Wanda had her green eyes on you, with a slight twitch on her eye and a fiery stare, you understood Wanda had recognized you. And she remembered you. Wanda narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips while you offered a half smile, full of amusement and challenge.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Maximoff herself,” You said rather impressed, laughter tainting your words, “isn’t it weird we always meet at parties? Hopefully this won’t end up like the last Halloween party, eh?”

The slap caught everyone by surprise, Wanda took a deep breath, her eyes growing big at her sudden reaction. She could see the flash of anger in your eyes, as well as the incredulity at what had transpired. But before anyone could do or say anything at all, Wanda clenched her jaw and left.

There was a moment of incredulous silence, before Tony turned to you with questioning eyes. You winced, pursing your lips while placing your hand on your cheek.

“I mean, I probably deserve that.” You said lamely, Charles Xavier laughed lifting his eyes to Tony then back at you.

“You are going to be surprised when you meet her,” Charles said, glancing at Tony, “that was what you told me when I asked you about Miss. Y/L/N.”

Tony chuckled, shrugging, “I think it is good to say we were all surprised.”

You chuckled nervously, your eyes drifting from Tony to Charles, blushing as you tried to explain.

“it wasn’t my intention, I swear I thought she probably…” You trailed off as whatever you could say about the topic would mean you would be in the spotlight for something you actually didn’t think necessary to mention at the moment.

“It is perfectly fine,” Charles said kindly, “my goddaughter has quite the temper, and I am pretty sure that whatever the story behind this circumstance is, I am sure it is not what you two had come to me to talk about.”

You had to agree with Charles, the reason behind the slap was not something you should be discussing at the moment, but you mind keep nagging you with memories of what had happened moments ago. Soon, Tony came forward stretching the hand of Charles before he pointed at you.

“As promised, this is my protegee Y/N,” Toney made a face and you stepped forward offering a tentative smile.

“A pleasure to meet you, sorry about…” You trailed off gesturing with your hands, Charles shared a laugh while Tony rolled his eyes.

“I was keen to meet with you, Miss. Y/L/N. I have heard of you from your teachers, the Oxford research team and of course, from Tony.” Charles then smirked, his eyes gleaming mischievous. “Now I have to add Wanda to the list of recommendations.”

You blushed mortified, but the older man merely snickered tilting his head with deep, sharp eyes pinning you to the spot.

“Very well, Y/N, let's talk about business.”

It was past midnight by the time you found Natasha talking with Carol in the parking lot. Your friend was looking satisfied, and rather smut when she caught sight of you. You couldn’t help the matching smile, a single brow lifted in a non-verbal communication with your best friend.

“Did you drink too much?” Natasha asked, passing you the keys of the car, you snorted, shaking your head.

“A couple of champagne shots, nothing else.” You let your eyes drift to the blond-haired woman waiting patiently, then back to Natasha who was grinning like mad. “So, you will have a good night?”

Natasha shifted hiding her blush before locking eyes with you.

“You are one to talk, you disappeared most of the night.” Natasha chuckled at your reaction, placing her hand on your forearm. “Everything okay?”

This time around there was a genuine hint of concern, her green eyes gleaming lightly. You opened your mouth until your eyes found those of Carol then you turned back to Natasha.

“Yeah, go back to your date, we will talk later today.” You shrugged, “lunch at the pub?”

“Count me in, be careful on your way back home.”

“I will, careful and…do everything I will do, Natasha!” You screamed, waving at Natasha who was glaring at you before guiding Carol to her car.

They disappeared into the night, with Carol Danver driving a luxurious car with Natasha sitting comfortably on the passenger seat. You stood in the parking lot long enough to see Wanda Maximoff stumbled out of the adjacent building leading to the garden.

You stood frozen in place, the young woman seemed to be tumbling over her own footsteps. Just before she crashed against the ground a pair of strong arms held her tightly, Wanda blinked a couple of times before her head lifted to meet a pair of honey eyes.

“You!” Her words came with a slurred, and you were not sure she was looking at you or someone else to your right.

“Wanda!”

You turned towards the newcomer, it was the same brunette you had seen Wanda with early that night. The young woman narrowed her eyes at you before rushing to Wanda.

“She almost fell down.” You tried to explain, your heart hammering against your chest when Wanda pressed her body against yours.

“I know you.” She all but whispered, her index finger drawing the edges of your chin.

You opened your eyes in panic glancing to Wanda and then to the other woman who came in wrapping her arms around Wanda.

“Wanda, come…” Kate was not a rival to a drunk Wanda, and she almost lost her footing if you hadn't intervened.

Kate found your eyes, there was a hint of apology in her dark irises, and all you could only offer a half smile.

“She is quite a handful eh?” You commented, this time around you could see a ghost of a smile on Kate's face.

“Not handful, no loove able…” Wanda slurred leaning against you, her face resting in the crook of your neck. “Mm, jus’ ‘ired.”

Tears poured into her green eyes, and soon you had Wanda crying on you. You had stopped breathing, your eyes wide open while Kate merely winced waving her hand to a blue car parked at the other side of the parking lot.

“Can you help me out? I don't think I would be able to carry her on my own.” Kate all but mouthed with a hush whispers so as to not interrupt Wanda’s sobbing babbling.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes drifting to your car then to Kate’s car and finally to the young brunette crying on your shoulder. With a heavy sigh, you nodded and soon you and Kate were taking a crying Wanda to the car making sure she was secured on the passenger seat before Kate closed the door letting out a huff.

“Thank you.” Kate stretched her hand your way, a single smile adorning her features. “Kate Bishop.”

You snorted, taking her hand, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

Kate locked her eyes with yours, for a moment you saw a spark of recognition that was soon replaced by polite gratefulness.

“Thank you for helping me with Wanda. She…” Kate trailed off, not sure how to explain the situation without giving out Wanda’s secrets.

“No problem,” you said hesitating before glancing at the brunette that was now snoozing inside the car. “Are you sure you and her are going to be fine?”

Kate winced, nodding hesitantly. “Yes, I think we will, I live with another person so I guess we could handle her if necessary.”

“If you are sure.” You said stepping back, your eyes never leaving the sleeping form of Wanda. With a sharp jolt of concern shooting through your mind straight to your head you took another step back.

“I guess…drive safe, then.” You mumbled glancing as Kate hesitated for a moment before going into the car and driving away with Wanda.

You stood there for what seemed like an eternity, the cold air of the night sneaking into your clothes making you shivered. For a moment, all you could see was the saddened expression of the brunette, the warmth of her body against yours, the tears and the drunkenly babbling. Then, memories of Halloween night almost a year ago came crashing back and you shook your head frowning.

Wanda Maximoff was a bitch.

That much you remembered.

Then, without another thought, you walked towards your car getting rid of your high heels while sitting on the driver's seat. With a heavy sigh, you turned on the engine and drove into the night towards the flat you shared with Natasha.

The night was finally over.

But your life had already changed in ways you could barely imagine.

______________________________________________________________

AN: So, this is the first chapter, i hope you guys enjoy it! tell me what you think and don't forget to like and share it you so want it!

#fanfic #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #Modern AU #wanda marvel #bottom wanda maximoff #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff fluff #Wanda Maximoff x reader #Wanda Maximoff x female!Reader

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pinkboaclub · 3 months ago

Text

Coachella

Summary: You and your friend group go to Coachella, when your very flirtatious friend, Harry, gets a little too touchy, and you get a little too horny, you decide to stop by your tent to blow off some steam.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, exhibition, casual sex, Harry is kind of a sleaze, not proofread

You and your friend group trudged through the sweltering desert heat, the Coachella crowd was vibrant with life, a sea of colorful clothes dancing to the rhythm of the musicians that had just started to play. The air had an intense scent of sunscreen and weed.

You had chosen an outfit carefully, a very short pink skirt that barely covered your ass with every step. Above it, you wore a crop top that hugged your body tightly, with a glitter scattered across your chest and hair.

Your friend, Harry, couldn't help but stare at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your body as it swayed in the crowd. You had noticed his flirty behavior before, the way a smirk would immediately land on his face when you walked into a room, and lingering glances that followed your every move.

But, he had done that with everyone. You had seen that smirk on his face when other women walked by, the way he would look other girls up and down like he would you. So you never gave him the time of day. You brushed off all of his advances as just another cheeky remark.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Harry's flirty comments grew more frequent, his eyes locked on the bare skin of your legs that your skirt exposed. He leaned in closer, shouting over the music, "You look amazing in that skirt, you know that, right?" His breath was warm against your neck, and the scent of his cologne filled your nostrils.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore him. "It's just a skirt, Harry," you yelled back, though you couldn't deny the thrill that shot through you when his eyes lingered on your thighs. "There's plenty of other girls wearing them here, why don't you go compliment them?"

But Harry wasn't easily deterred. He stepped closer, his hand grazing your bare skin as he leaned in to be heard over the pounding bass. "Just thought I’d let you know." he said, his voice low and filled with a hunger you hadn't noticed before.

You turned to face him, your arms folded across your chest as the crowd surged around you. "How many girls have you said that to tonight?" you shot back, your voice tinged with skepticism. Harry chuckled, you couldn't tell whether that was a conformation or a denial.

Truth was, it had been a while since you'd slept with anyone. You had been busy with work, and the last guy you had been with was...less than satisfactory. Though you normally wouldn't give it a second thought, tonight, the thought of Harry's hands on you, his mouth, sent a shiver down your spine.

You looked back at him as you swayed to the music performance you were watching. He looked down at you and gave you a slight smile and an eyebrow raise. You kept shifting, almost uncomfortable in your skin as the thought overtook your brain. His hands going up your skirt, then up your shirt, fucking you relentlessly. Maybe just one night with him wouldn't hurt.

Turning around, you leaned in and whispered into Harry's ear, "You're not so bad yourself, you know." It was cheeky and flirty, a playful smile playing on your lips. You felt his body stiffen in surprise before his hand found your lower back, pulling you closer, your hips now swaying in sync with his. The tension between you grew palpable, the music seeming to pulse with every beat of your racing heart.

Your mind wandered to your hotel room…though you wouldn’t be seeing it for another three days. Your friend group had splurged on Coachella camping passes, instead of long drives back to a hotel you’d be camping out in the desert. But...you can still have sex in a tent...and surely there wouldn't be that many at the campsite while there were performances...

Turning back to Harry, you leaned in and whispered in his ear again, "I'm not really into the next few performers. Are you willing to miss some?...Go back to the tents for a bit?" You knew exactly what you were implying, and from the way Harry's eyes darkened, he knew too. He nodded eagerly and took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers.

"I'm going to my tent for a bit, to drink some water and cool off." You whispered in one of your girlfriends ears before walking through the crowd of people with Harry, still hand in hand.

The journey through the festival grounds to the camping area felt like forever, people would look at you two, you wondered if they knew what you were doing. Harry walked closely behind you, one hand in yours, his other hand on your lower back as you led him through the maze of tents. You could feel his breath against the back of your neck, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine.

As the music faded, you felt your excitement grow, as did Harry's, his touches and kisses to your neck. You decided to get him a little more excited...lifting the hem of your skirt just enough to show a hint of your lacy underwear, and let it drop before he could get a good look. Harry's eyes went wide, and his grip on your hand tightened.

You turned around and looked at him with a mischievous smile, "What?" you asked, playing coy. Harry laughed and shook his head, his walking pace now becoming quicker.

Once you reached the tent, you didn't bother with the zipper, you practically ripped it open and pulled Harry inside. Harry's hands were everywhere, on your thighs, your waist, your breasts, as you kissed him deeply, your sloppily tongues dancing together.

The tent was hot, a stark contrast to the cool night air outside. Harry's jeans were tight, his erection pressing against you. You could feel him growing harder with each passing second as you were grinding yourself against him.

Your kisses grew more desperate, your hands reaching down to stroke him through his pants. He groaned into your mouth, his hands cupping your ass, pushing you closer. "What made you change your mind? Couldn't resist me any longer?" Harry asked as he pulled away from your lips.

You chuckled at the clear display of his massive ego. "Oh yeah...definitely" you replied sarcastically, your breath hot against his cheek. Harry didn't need to hear another word. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in for another deep kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

Breaking away from the kiss, you playfully pushed him down to the makeshift bed in the tent. The air was thick with desire as you straddled him, your skirt riding up even further, giving him a clear view of your barely-there underwear. You started to sway your hips to the rhythm of a distant stage, giving him a mini lap dance, your hands moving seductively over your own body, teasing him.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Harry's breath hitched as you began to palm him through his pants, feeling the heat and hardness growing beneath your touch. His eyes were glued to your movements, watching as your hands danced closer to the bulge in his jeans.

The tent was dimly lit by the distant festival lights, casting a soft glow over your bodies as you began to rock your hips against his, teasing him with every grind. Harry's eyes were hooded with lust, his hands reaching up to grip your waist as he watched you move. You could feel his cock pulsing with every beat of the music that echoed through the fabric walls.

With a seductive smirk, you slithered down his body, your hands working at the button of his jeans as you went. You slid the zipper down with a slow, deliberate motion, revealing the prize you'd been eyeing. Harry's cock sprang free, thick and eager, straining towards you. You took him in your hand, feeling the weight and heat of him, and brought your mouth closer, letting out a soft moan that sent a tremor through his body.

Your eyes locked with his as you took him in your mouth, your tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweetness of his skin. He was so hard, and the feel of him filling your mouth was intoxicating. You took him deep, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag just a little. Harry's eyes filled with surprise and pleasure, his hands gripping the sheets as you began to bob your head up and down, taking him in deeper each time.

You felt the warmth spread through your cheeks, the stretch in your jaw, as you deepthroated him, the sound of your gagging mixing with the festival's music.

Harry's grip on your hair tightened, his hips bucking up slightly as you worked him over. His moans grew louder, and you felt a thrill knowing that you were the one giving him this pleasure. You could feel his muscles tensing, his breath coming in ragged gasps as you bobbed your head up and down, taking him to the edge.

But you weren't done teasing him yet. You pulled back, letting him slip almost entirely out of your mouth before diving back in, taking him deep again. Each time you hit the back of your throat, you'd pull back just a bit, letting him feel the tightness of your throat before plunging back down. Harry's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making you wetter than ever.

The sound of your gagging grew louder, mingling with the distant music, as you worked his cock with vigor. You felt powerful, like you were the one in control here, despite being the one on your knees. His hips began to thrust upward, meeting your mouth, urging you to take more of him. You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through his body.

"Fuck, I need you to fuck me," you breathed out, your voice hoarse from the effort. Harry's eyes blazed with desire as he reached into the back pocket of his tight-fitting jeans, pulling out his wallet. "Of course you carry one around," you murmured, a hint of amusement in your voice. He chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. You took the condom from his hand.

With a seductive smile, you held the foil packet between your teeth and ripped it, sending a jolt of excitement through Harry's body. You took the condom from the packet and held it up, watching his eyes follow your every move. He swallowed hard as you reached for his cock, now glistening with your saliva.

Slowly, you rolled the condom down his length, savoring the feel of his skin under your fingertips. Harry's eyes never left yours, the anticipation building.

"Turn around," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. You complied eagerly, turning away from him to present your ass, your skirt hiked up to expose the lacy underwear that matched the bra you had been teasing him with all night. He took a moment to appreciate the view, his hand coming up to trace the curve of your cheek before smacking it lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

With a swift movement, Harry yanked your underwear down, the fabric catching on your thighs before dropping to the floor. "M'not going to let this pretty skirt go to waste." He said, letting you keep the garment on.

He positioned himself behind you, his cock nudging against your wet entrance as you balanced on your hands and knees. The anticipation was unbearable, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest as you waited for him to fill you up.

With one swift movement, Harry entered you, his cock sliding in deep, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion. The feeling of his skin against yours was electric, and you couldn't help but push back into him, urging him deeper.

He took the hint, gripping your hips as he began to pound into you, the sound of your bodies slapping together mixed with your breath panting was the only thing you could hear.

Each thrust was deep and hard, his cock filling you up completely. You bit your lip to keep from screaming out his name, the sensation was overwhelming, like nothing you've ever felt before. The tent was bouncing slightly with each slam.

Looking back at Harry with a seductive gaze, you reached back with one hand to palm your own ass, giving him the full view of your body. His eyes widened at the sight, and he groaned, his strokes becoming more erratic. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure.

You felt your orgasm building, your pussy clenching around his cock as he hit just the right spot. The friction was unbearable, and you could feel your body shaking with the effort to hold off. "I'm going to cum," you warned him, your voice a breathless whisper.

"Then do it," Harry urged, his own voice strained with pleasure. "Let me hear you scream."

With a fiery determination, you threw your head back and let go. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you with an intensity that left you gasping for breath. "Harry!" you screamed, your voice hoarse from the effort as your body convulsed around his cock. He didn't slow down, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you, pushing you through your climax.

Once the peak had passed, and your energy came back up, you turned back to him again, still on your hands and knees, your skirt now hiked up around your waist. Harry's eyes were dark with lust, his movements more urgent as he just watched you come down from your high. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmured, his own orgasm clearly on the horizon.

"I want to feel you cum on me," you whispered, turning around to face him, your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of the tent floor. Another smirk pulled at Harry's lips, the biggest one he had ever given you. "I want to be a mess, Harry. I want to wear your cum on my back."

The words sent a shockwave through Harry's body, his grip on your hips tightening. He thrust into you with renewed vigor, his eyes locked onto your face, watching as the pleasure built in your eyes. Each movement grew more erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Fuck, yes," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "You're going to be so dirty for me."

With one hand still gripping the bed, you reached back with the other, running your fingers up his abs. The feel of his firm, sweaty skin beneath your fingertips was intoxicating. You traced the lines of his six-pack, feeling the muscles tense and flex with each of his thrusts. "You like that, don't you?" you whispered, your voice filled with a seductive edge. "I want your cum so bad, baby. Want you to paint my back."

He didn't reply, your words leaving him speechless. The only sound was the music outside, the occasional shout of a distant festival-goer, and the slap of your bodies coming together. His eyes were focused on yours, watching the lust and desire build in their depths.

With a final, powerful thrust, Harry pulled out, his cock glistening with your arousal. You felt the loss of his warmth and the sudden coolness of the desert air, making you shiver slightly. "Move your hair," he ordered, his voice thick with need. You complied, arching your back and pushing your hair to one side, exposing your bare skin to him.

You watched as he stroked himself, his hand moving rapidly up and down his length. The sight was mesmerizing, the way his hand moved with such precision, the way his forearm muscles flexed with each stroke. You bit your lip, unable to look away.

Without warning, Harry spurted, ropes of white-hot cum that landed on your bare back. You gasped as the warm liquid painted your skin, a thrill shooting through you that was almost as intense as your orgasm. He continued to cum, both of you watching, a look of pure ecstasy on his face as he watched you become a canvas for his pleasure.

You felt a sense of satisfaction as he finished, his breathing heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching the last droplets land on your skin. "Looks like your hard work of constant flirting paid off." You couldn't help but smirk, feeling a sense of power as you saw the desire still in his eyes.

Without missing a beat, you reached back with one hand, gathering a glob of his cum on your finger. You brought it to your mouth, the tangy taste of him hitting your taste buds. Harry's breath hitching as you licked your finger clean with a deliberate, almost theatrical flick of your tongue. "It's a good thing we're in a tent," you said with a smirk, "Otherwise, everyone would know what a slut I just was." You joked, referring to your loud screams (that everyone in a close radius definitely heard) before giving him a shirt to wipe the rest off your back.

You both lay there for a moment, panting, the sticky mess between your legs the only evidence of what had just occurred.

"Same time tomorrow?" Harry murmured against your neck, his voice low and teasing. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little shaky from the aftermath of your orgasm.

"If my legs can handle it," you replied, your voice thick with sarcasm. Harry chuckled, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed your neck. You both lay there in the tired, sticky mess.

You both knew that you couldn't stay in the tent forever, everyone would wonder where you were, though you definitely could.

tag list !

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh @tchlamqtsgf @maudie-duan @gilwm @mads3502 @girlslovejahseh

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plutosillywrites · 5 months ago

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neighbor!price x reader except she’s moving in to the house next door and needs help from the strong man next door..

fyi: oral f! receiving, age gap (not explicitly mentioned), praises, sweet talk

it’s hot, and your sundress is not helping at all to elevate the burn on your skin, your hair is tied pretty up in a bun, and your carrying probably one of the heaviest boxes known to man.

you set it down right before the stairs to your porch and groan, “fuck, my back hurts.” you comment, your hand resting on your lower back.

you look to the house next door, it’s beautiful. blue, and white adorned the whole house, the trim of the windows and doors being white and the rest being blue. you notice a man sitting on a chair on his porch— hat tugged so you can’t see his eyes, and a cigar between his lips. (and he’s so hot you could drool.)

you look to the rest of the heavy boxes and bite your lip, you’d hate to be a bother— but, you really can’t lift all these alone. you walk towards the edge of his yard, your soft voice ripping through the silence. “i’m sorry, sir?” you ask, his head lifts to get a better look at you. “yes, ma’am?” he responds, and you feel an odd flutter— he was being nice for the love of god!

you fiddle with your dress a bit before saying, “will you please help me load these boxes inside? i’d hate to bother you— and i’ll give you anything you want for helping!” you say, quite innocently, it’s unfortunate for you that john has a dirtier reward in mind.

he goes to stand, a grin plastered on his face. “i wouldn’t mind helping a pretty girl like ya’self anyday.” he says, and you thank god that it is sunny and you are already burning red— or else your blush would be way more noticeable.

you smile and go towards the boxes to help before john just coughs and scoots you out of the way. “you’re all right love, sit down and look pretty for me, yeah?” he smiles before grabbing the box in front of you. “don’t want you to hurt ya’self lifting these heavy things.” (they don’t seem very heavy to him.)

you laugh and nod, move to sit on the steps of the porch. you fluff and play with your hair, smiling at john so sweetly he works twice as hard loading these boxes inside.

when he’s all finished, he wipes his hands together and smiles. “all done, pretty. now.. can i get my treat for helping you so kindly?”

you smile, standing to go make him a nice drink, thinking all too literal of his request. “of course.. you worked so hard! thank you— what are you wanting?” you ask, entering your home and gesturing for him to come with.

“oh, i’m in the mood for something a little..” he comes close to you, closing the front door with his foot. “.. sweet, like a delicious cupcake.” he says, but you notice his face is a lot closer to you now. you have to resist the urge to bite your lip and tell him the cupcake is standing right in from of him—

“of course, let me get the cupcake tin—“ as you turn to go open the boxes, he slides behind you, hands resting lightly at your sides— allowing you to move away from his advance if you didn’t like it.

“oh.. you’re so sweet..” he says, having leaned close to the shell of your ear. “clearly i was too vague.. you’re the cupcake, darlin’.” you smile, and giggle from nervousness, turning to meet his gaze. “really? you— me?” he laughs, loudly and boisterously before meeting your eyes again.

“have you looked at yourself? especially in that pretty lil’ dress you have on..” his fingers dance along your sides, wanting to get closer but not daring to cross a line. “let me have a bite?”

you leave him no more room for talking as you pull him down to your lips, your mouths in a synchronized wave, the kiss is leaving you wanting more— harder, faster.

your arms wrap around his neck and at some point he lifts you, setting you atop the kitchen counter, breaking the kiss only to pant and try and catch yours and his breath.

“you look so pretty..” you tell john, slipping his hat off, and sliding your hands down his chest. “i’m just a little jealous of your eyes..” your mumble, leaning up to capture his lips in a searing kiss again, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

he smiles into your lips, slowly tugging the hem of your dress upwards his hands feeling so big on your thighs, sliding them back and forth. “should be calling you pretty, baby..” he mumbles in your lips, his fingers softly nudge your legs apart.

one hand slides down to where your clothed core is, fingers making slow figure 8’s as you moan into his mouth, pulling away just so you can look down and watch him work. “does that feel good, lovie?” he asks, his fingers speeding up when you whimper out a “yesss….” .

he smiles, before his hand grabs the hem of your panties and tugging them down your knees and off completely. you gasp at the cold air touch your slick cunt, you grab the hem of his jeans before unbuttoning his them. “not fair if i’m the only one..” you say, tugging his pants down but john stops you with a smile.

“need to have a good excuse to see you again, and again..” he says, before moving his hips away from you and sliding his fingers up and down your cunt, before slowly inserting one.. then two fingers. pumping them with want and desire, rubbing in a spot deep inside.

he laughs pitifully at your quiet whines and cries, “poor baby.. not enough hm? i’ll fix that..” he leans down to his knees, his mouth face level with your pearl and hole, (which is squeezing his fingers harder cause he’s so close.)

he leaned close and sucks gently on your pretty little bud, slow but getting faster quickly. you whine and moan under his incredible feeling attack, “fuck- fuck!” you cry out, hips moving on their own.

before you know it, there’s a tight bundle of heat twisting and turning, exploding at its peak which has you crying out johns name and sagging slightly on the table. “so perfect.. just for me now, yeah?” and you nod dumbly.

maybe you won’t be moving into your house, you’ll be moving into his.

an: oh my i hope you enjoy this yummy treat, i’m so eepy so i will be crashing as soon as this posts so not a proof read (they never are..)

#john price x reader #john price #neighbor!john price #blue collar!johnprice #tf 141 #cod mw2 #john price x you

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croquettish · 4 months ago

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Why Henry pushes Hans away at first

I keep thinking about Henry pushing Hans away after he kisses him and why he might do that. After much rumination I think I might have figured it out (though anyone is welcome to chime in with their own ideas!!!).

Apologies in advance-- this got quite long, as it analyzes Henry's view of Hans' romantic behavior through both games and the DLCs (expect spoilers).

ETA: I've expounded a bit on all of this here and here as well!

Henry, better than just about anyone, knows that Hans is a massive flirt.

In Next to Godliness, Hans justifies his desire to go to the bathhouse by mentioning Klara and how pretty she is:

Upon arriving at the bathhouse, Henry learns that Hans hired a bathhouse wench and did his best to undress her via dice before failing and thus recruiting Henry into it.

Zdena tells Henry that Hans regularly goes about such behavior there, so much so that the other girls there are used to it:

We get other little nudge nudge wink winks from Hans who is very determined to show off his masculinity and just how straight he is:

At this point Klara enters the picture, and we learn due to the events that follow that she's the one woman at the bathhouse who doesn't act as a sex worker there in any capacity. Henry would most likely take notice of the fact that the one woman who doesn't let Hans have what he wants is also the one that he likes best.

He then declares that Klara deserves flowers and asks Henry to get her some. Now, if that ain't blurring the lines already...

Fast-forward to The Amorous Adventures of Sir Hans Capon when Hans declares passionate love of a woman he barely knows but who he again insists is different from other women:

He insists that secret courtship is all the rage right now in France and as a result he just has to get in on that trend. Nothing about this sounds sincere to Henry, but Hans is very insistent that no, she's the one! There's no station but the heart! So much so that he wants to gift her his great-grandmother's necklace.

When Henry delivers the necklace, Hans informs him that he already knew of this happening after the fact on account of his spies having informed him of this already.

He insists that he wants her feelings to grow naturally and that he's not planning on doing all of this too fast:

Henry is to get him a potion that'll guarantee his success because Karolina is just that worthy of his affections. He further insists that even if that potion makes every woman faint at his feet, he's only interested in one.

Things don't go entirely according to plan and quite frankly, a lot of this could be seen through the gayest lens possible, but at one point while headed to the rendezvous point, Hans asks Henry about his conquests, prompting Henry to have the option to deflect. Hans surely has had so many more conquests than he, after all!

Wow! Hans must be very invested in this!

Along the way to Karolina's house they come across another, and Hans makes this comment, which might have tipped Henry off to a certain extent (if he hadn't been already tbh) just how in love Hans really is:

So... what you're saying, Hans, is that if she was available, we'd be doing this same song and dance with her?

Huh!

Things go... uniquely over at Karolina's house with Henry feeding him lines of poetry from a bush (to varying degrees of success), and we're treated to these lovely line from Hans:

Depending on which lines Henry fed him, the quest can either end successfully or not. If it is successful, Henry checks on him again the next morning and asks him how things went. He declares:

Well! That sure sounds promising. And so magnanimous of you, Henry! He asks when Hans will see her again and is told the following:

Henry is, understandably, baffled at this.

Hans insists that he had good reason for just ditching the love of his life, namely the fact that she turned out to be illiterate:

Personally, the Hansry shipper in me absolutely thrives at this because oh, Henry is worthy of his poetry? He's giving bawdy poetry to Henry? This could not possibly gayer! (said tam from the past, who had not yet experienced just how gay KCD2 would get)

(Mind you, the poetry is fucking godawful, as we later see again in KCD2 when he actually does write poetry about Henry.)

We fast-forward again.

After their breakup in KCD2, Henry finds him again at the wedding (if not sooner), at one point having what looks like a date with a woman he has given another affectionate nickname:

And then keeps flirting with this girl right in front of Henry's salad after a bit more drama:

As soon as Henry leaves, he goes back to his date.

In other words, Henry knows Hans. He has had his number since early in the first game.

In his eyes, based on the knowledge he has, Hans is an incorrigible flirt who doesn't take love seriously whatsoever. As my gf pointed out, this vibe of "love? I never knew love till now!" [five minutes later] "love? I never knew love till—" can be VERY indicative of queerness. Of course you haven't found the right girl because you're not looking for a girl at all!

Even in his godawful poetry in the second game, Hans admits that

He's a flirt, he sleeps around a lot, he claims that any given woman is the love of his life one moment before being discarded the next...

To Henry, this could easily look like something Hans did on impulse and based only on the fear of losing Henry. Something he didn't mean. Something that could fuck up both of their lives just because of one of Hans' whims. Worse yet, what if he did it just because he was horny and wanted to let off some steam in light of all the anxiety surrounding the circumstances of that moment?

Knowing Hans, he could have kissed him for so many reasons that aren't just that he wanted to kiss Henry because he's hopelessly in love with him.

So Henry pushes him away (for his own good, most likely), walks away, and then--

Hears how genuinely distraught Hans sounds. If his Amorous Adventure with Karolina fails, he knows what Hans sounds like if he's rejected. And it's sure as shit not like this. Things like that usually just don't seem to affect him at all, rolling off him like water off a duck's back.

He expected Hans to brush this off and for him to move on more or less instantly. To scoff at Henry's rejection.

But he doesn't.

And faced with a remorseful and distraught-sounding Hans, he locks the door and turns around. Doesn't even hesitate for one second longer.

#hansry #kcd #SORRY THIS GOT SO LONG #kcd spoilers #kcd2 spoilers #hans capon #henry of skalitz #kingdom come deliverance #kcd meta

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duskidolsmut · 3 months ago

Text

Minju is Broken

Tags: Submitted slutty actress, Confessed cock slut, Final triple penetration, Vibrator in pussy, Handcuffs and orgasm, Cum and wine mixed, Hot red lights, Whorehouse mansion, Domination and ecstasy, Fetish night Seoul

The sky over Seoul is starry, shimmering above the skyscrapers. On a hill far from the city’s noise, a sleek mansion with glass and wood walls casts soft light into the night. Sexy music and muffled laughter spill through the windows. It’s the kind of place where secret things happen.

Minju arrives smiling, in a cream satin dress that bares her shoulders and the curves she’s just begun to own. As she steps inside, the scent of jasmine and sweat hits her. Chaewon—hair in a loose bun, black dress clinging—pulls her into a tight hug. “Minju, you goddess!” she laughs. Yena dances in the living room, wineglass in hand, swaying like no one’s watching. Eunbi mixes drinks at the open kitchen island, her red dress’s neckline barely containing her breasts as they shift with every move.

“Welcome to your night, star,” Chaewon purrs, handing her a pink cocktail. “Debutante Spritz. Sweet and addictive… just like you.” Minju laughs, clinking glasses with the girls. The room is pure luxury: white leather couches that cling to her thighs, a marble table stained with spilled red wine like drops of blood, incense curling smoky tendrils through the air. The R&B music—sultry vocals, throbbing bass—makes the room pulse. Red lights in the corners throw sensual shadows on the walls, like bodies tangled in corners. Minju swears she hears moans from upstairs, but chalks it up to the alcohol.

Hours blur, and the drink warms Minju’s veins. She dances with Yena, her dress riding up, wine dripping onto Minju’s neckline. “Oops, let me clean that,” Yena giggles, licking the liquid off her breasts, tongue hot enough to make Minju blush and squirm. “Yena, stop!” she protests—but doesn’t pull away. Eunbi, pouring another drink, drags her fingers up Minju’s nape, slow and deliberate. “Relax, star. The night’s just starting,” she murmurs. Minju feels heat pooling—and it’s not just the alcohol.

On the couch, Minju collapses into Chaewon’s arms, laughing, the leather warm against her thighs. “You’re all amazing. I’m so happy,” she slurs. Chaewon trails black-nailed fingers down her arm, raising goosebumps. “You’ve always been the good girl, Minju,” Chaewon whispers, breath hot against her ear. “But tonight, we’ll meet the slut hiding inside.” Minju’s throat goes dry, heart hammering, her pussy throbbing at Chaewon’s voice.

Yena kills the lights, plunging the room into shadow. Eunbi locks the front door, the click echoing. Chaewon stands, her black dress gleaming, and lifts a pearl necklace. “A gift for the debutante,” she says, clasping it around Minju’s throat, tugging her hair back to expose her neck. “Each pearl is a rule you’ll break tonight.” Minju giggles—until she sees Chaewon’s gaze, dark and dangerous. “Close your eyes,” Chaewon murmurs, gripping her hand. “Trust me?”

Cheeks flushed, Minju obeys. The jasmine thickens; the music slows. Then—in the dark—a zipper parts. Leather and metal scent the air. The icy click of handcuffs snaps around her wrist before she can react.

Eyes still shut, Minju’s heart pounds loud enough to burst. The cuffs bite her skin; jasmine twists with sweat and leather, dizzying. A side door slides open with a soft click. Heavy footsteps echo on hardwood—not one man, but many, their rhythm deliberate, an army advancing. The R&B’s bass thrums low, vibrating the air, and Minju’s pussy clenches, even as fear sparks down her spine.

“Open your eyes,” Chaewon coos—sweet, but laced with something that chills.

Minju’s eyes flutter open, and what she sees makes her choke.

Nine Black men stand in front of her, lined up like some fucking fantasy parade. They’re tall—six-two, six-three—with broad chests, muscular arms, and abs carved like stone. They’re only wearing black leather pants, unbuttoned at the front, their cocks—thick, veiny, half-hard—hanging heavy, tips glistening with moisture. Minju freezes, air trapped in her throat, knees weak.

“What the fuck?” she whispers, voice trembling.

She tries to stand from the couch, but her legs betray her, white leather sticking to her sweaty thighs. Heat pools between her legs, and she hates how her body reacts before her mind catches up. She staggers toward the door, but Eunbi is there, turning the key with a metallic click as she leans in. “Easy, star,” Eunbi purrs. Minju swallows hard, eyes darting to Chaewon. “What are you doing?” she demands, trying to sound angry, but her voice comes out weak.

Chaewon—black dress clinging, pearl necklace gleaming against Minju’s throat—smirks. “Giving you your awakening, Minju,” she says, eyes glittering like she knows a filthy secret. Yena, half-drunk, slouches against the wall, wine glass nearly slipping as she giggles. “Relax, diva. It’ll be better than any movie.”

The men start moving, slow, like predators circling prey. Minju stumbles back, hands groping the couch, heart hammering. One of them—skin smooth as polished ebony—steps closer and brushes her cheek, his touch scalding. “Relax, princess,” he murmurs, voice deep, an accent that makes her shiver. “Just feel.” Minju turns her face away, panting, her cream dress tightening over nipples gone hard. “I can’t… this is insane,” she stammers, but her body disobeys. Knees shaking, white lace soaked, she feels the heat of the men closing in.

Another man presses against her from behind, his bare chest burning into her back. His breath on her neck is pure fire, his strong hands gripping her waist. “You want this, Minju. We see it. Feel it,” he growls, his cock grinding against her ass even through the dress. Minju bites her lip, panic twisting into wild arousal—fear melting into lust. Chaewon, Yena, and Eunbi watch, silent, as if this is a ritual.

“Just… don’t hurt me,” Minju whimpers, too weak to fight, her voice a moan.

The man in front laughs, teeth flashing. “Hurt you? No, princess. We’re gonna make you come like fucking crazy.”

With a yank, he rips Minju’s dress open. The fabric falls like paper, leaving her in nothing but white lace lingerie, panties drenched. Her breasts heave, nipples pebbled, eyes wide with shock, shame, and a hunger she won’t admit. The nine men surround her, cocks fully hard now, dragging over her skin—thighs, ass, face. Minju tries to cover herself, but Chaewon leaps from the couch, wrenching her arms behind her back, exposing every inch. “Don’t hide, Minju,” Chaewon snaps. “They already know what you are.”

Hands are everywhere. One kneads her breasts roughly, fingers digging in. “You came out of curiosity, slut? Or ’cause you know you need Black dick?” he taunts. Minju moans, shaking her head. “I’m not… like this—” Another man cuts her off with a dark laugh. “Bullshit. Even your voice is begging. Where’s proper little Minju now?” The words hit deep, her pussy throbbing, body betraying every denial.

All nine touch her at once. Fingers pinch her nipples, wrenching a gasp. Cocks smear over her lips, leaving salt behind. Others grind between her thighs, her panties ruined. Voices hiss filth: “Gonna swallow every inch, princess,” “This cunt’s starving for cock,” “Look how she arches.” Minju is drowning in them—heat, weight, the pearls around her neck heavier now, a reminder of Chaewon’s “rules.”

The tallest guy, with a dragon tattoo spanning his chest, steps forward. He’s holding a diamond-studded leash, the black leather gleaming, pendants catching the red light. “You want me to put this on you before or after we wreck that virgin ass?” he asks, his voice so deep it rumbles like thunder. Minju doesn’t answer, her throat dry, but her body betrays her—her hips tilt up slightly, almost involuntarily, and the guys laugh, the sound echoing through the room. Chaewon, Yena, and Eunbi watch. Minju’s trapped, aroused, and utterly fucked, surrendered to a hunger she never saw coming.

Minju’s eyes stay shut, her chest rising and falling fast, the cold cuffs biting into her wrists. The mansion’s jasmine scent mixes with sweat and leather, and she shivers as a side door slides open with a click. Heavy footsteps hit the hardwood—not one man, but many, the sound marching like an army. The low throb of R&B pulses in the air, bass vibrating, and Minju’s pussy clenches, even before she knows what’s coming. The pearl collar around her neck weighs heavy, each bead a reminder of the “rules” Chaewon drilled into her.

“Open your eyes,” Chaewon says, her voice sweet but laced with venom.

Minju obeys, slow, and the sight freezes her. Nine Black men stand like statues of sex gods, lined up before her. Towering, between 6’1” and 6’3”, with chests broad as shields, muscled arms, and abs carved like stone. They wear only black leather pants, unbuttoned, and their cocks—fuck, their cocks—are massive, thick as beer cans, veins bulging, half-hard and hanging heavy. Tips glistening with wetness. Minju’s breath vanishes. “Holy shit, they’re huge,” she whispers, mouth dry, eyes wide.

“What the hell is this?” she demands, voice shaking, trying to sound angry.

She tries to stand, but her legs are jelly, the white leather couch sticking to her sweaty thighs. Heat pools between her legs, and she hates how wet she is just from looking. She bolts for the door—but Eunbi’s already there, turning the lock with a click. Her tits, barely contained in a red dress, sway as she turns, the cleavage swallowing the room. “Easy, starlet,” Eunbi purrs, grinning, her chest rising as she crosses her arms. Minju whips toward Chaewon, desperate. “Chaewon, what are you doing?” But the words come out weak, nearly a moan.

Chaewon, her black dress painted on, smiles like she’s orchestrated everything. “Giving you your awakening, Minju,” she says, eyes glittering. Yena, half-drunk, leans against the wall, wine dripping from her glass, laughing. “Relax, diva. This’ll be better than an Oscar.”

The men advance, slow, circling Minju like wolves. She scoots back, palms on the couch, heart in her throat. One—skin smooth as ebony—traces her cheek, his touch burning. “Relax, princess,” he murmurs, accent thick enough to melt her. “Just feel.” Minju turns her face, panting, nipples hard under her cream dress. “God, look at the size of it,” she whimpers, staring at his cock, thick and glistening, swaying as he steps closer. “I can’t… this is insane,” she protests, but her body rebels—legs trembling, panties soaked.

Another man presses behind her, chest hot against her back. His breath on her neck is fire, his hands gripping her waist. “You want this, Minju. We see you,” he growls, his cock grinding against her ass through the fabric. “Fuck, this dick is monstrous,” Minju thinks aloud, face flaming, and the men chuckle, like they know the power they wield. Chaewon, Yena, and Eunbi watch, silent as a fucking church service. Eunbi bites her lip, tits rising with each breath, savoring the show.

“Just… don’t hurt me,” Minju whimpers, voice breaking, already gone.

The guy in front, with a short beard, laughs. “Hurt you? No, princess. We’re gonna make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

With one sharp tug, he rips Minju’s dress apart. The fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but lace-white lingerie, her soaked panties glistening under the red lights. Her chest heaves, nipples hard, eyes wide with shock and a denial-twisted lust. “Oh God, they’re all so fucking big,” she whimpers, staring at the nine thick cocks now erect, brushing against her skin—her thighs, her ass, her face. She tries to cover herself, but Chaewon leaps from the couch, yanking Minju’s arms behind her back. “Don’t hide, Minju,” Chaewon purrs, voice sharp. “They already know what a slut you are.”

The men swarm her, hands everywhere. One grips her tits roughly, fingers digging in. “Did you come out of curiosity, bitch? Or ‘cause you know you need black dick?” he taunts. Minju moans, shaking her head. “I’m… not like th—” But another guy, eyebrow pierced, cuts her off. “Bullshit. Your voice is shaking. Where’s proper little Minju now?” The words slap like flesh, and she feels her pussy throb—her body betraying her.

Then, chaos. The oldest, silver-haired and broad-chested, shackles her wrists, the cuffs clinking as he pins her down. Another, dreadlocked and grinning filthy, crashes his mouth onto hers, tongue stealing her muffled moans. She tries to bite, but he fists her hair, exposing her neck, and sucks a bruise into her skin. “Fuck, what a pretty mouth,” he growls, his cock dragging over her stomach. “I can’t even believe the size of these things,” Minju whimpers, dazed, staring at the monstrous lengths surrounding her.

Suddenly, the youngest—tattooed arms, a troublemaker’s smirk—drops between her legs. Without warning, he plunges two fingers inside her, twisting like he’s carving space. Minju’s scream drowns out the music. “So fucking tight… How long since someone fucked you proper?” he mocks, fingers pistoning, the wet slap-slap filling the air. Her hips jerk, grinding against his hand before she can stop herself. The men laugh, dark and low. “Look at her, already begging for more,” one says, rubbing his cock over her lips, the musk thick on her tongue.

All nine touch her at once. Hands maul her tits, pinching nipples until she cries out. Cocks smear precum over her mouth while others slide between her thighs, her torn panties falling away. Voices hiss: “Gonna swallow every inch, slut,” “This pussy’s dripping,” “Look how she sucks on my thumb.” Minju’s lost, bodies smothering her, the pearl choker burning her neck. “God, they’re all so huge,” she babbles, watching the cocks sway—each thicker than the last, like some wet, twisted dream.

Chaewon lounges nearby, black dress shimmering, laughing softly. Yena, wineglass in hand, shouts: “Go on, diva, show ‘em!” Eunbi, leaning against the bar, watches with tits nearly spilling from her red dress, biting her lip like she’s itching to join. Minju tries to speak, but a cock smears over her cheek, another pinches her nipple—“Fuck, look at this one,” she gasps, staring at a shaft thicker than her forearm.

The tallest, a dragon tattoo spanning his chest, steps forward. He dangles a diamond-studded collar, leather gleaming. “Want this on before or after we wreck that virgin ass?” he rumbles. Minju doesn’t answer, but her body does—her hips tilt back, just slightly, and the men roar with laughter. Chaewon claps slow, Yena whistles, Eunbi’s smile says the night’s just starting. Minju’s trapped, fucked-out, and drowning in desire.

"Swallow, princess," the Leader commands, shoving his thick cock into her face. It’s massive, veins pulsing, the wet tip smearing her lips. Minju hesitates, but another sharp slap on her ass—harder this time—makes her mouth fall open. His cock pushes in, heavy, stretching her throat. She gags, drool dripping as the Leader fists her hair, yanking her head forward. "Fuck, what a hot mouth," he growls, while the others laugh: "Look at our movie star turning into a slut!" Minju tries to breathe, spit slicking her chin, the salty taste flooding her mouth. "His cock’s so thick…" she moans, voice muffled, "it’s getting even bigger… I can’t take it…" But the Leader thrusts deeper, laughing. "Yes, you can, you little whore."

As she sucks, another man—a scar running down his chest—kneels behind her. "Your holes belong to us," he says, and without warning, yanks her panties aside and slams into her ass, no lube. The pain is electric, a burning tear that makes Minju scream, the sound choked by the cock in her mouth. She struggles, but the cuffs hold her tight, and the man behind her fucks her hard, his thick shaft splitting her virgin ass. "Fuck, she’s tight!" he shouts, and Minju sobs, tears mixing with drool, her body shaking. "It hurts…" she whimpers, but the Leader tightens his grip on her face. "Shut up and suck, bitch." The pain is insane, yet a strange heat coils in her pussy—as if her body loves it, even as her mind screams stop.

Chaewon leans against the wall, smirking. "Look at her. Minju, finally in her place," she taunts. Yena cackles, nearly spilling her wine. Eunbi murmurs, "You love it, don’t you, starlet? Always been a hidden slut." Minju wants to deny it, but the cock in her mouth and the one in her ass silence her. The man behind cums first, hot jets filling her ass, and the Leader pulls out of her mouth only to paint her face with his load. Semen drips, thick and warm, clinging to her cheeks, nose, lips. Another man cums, then another, until her face is a sticky mask—marked as theirs. Minju cries, gagging on the salt, but then murmurs, almost against her will: "It feels so good… being used like this… degraded and filthy."

The men laugh, one pinching her nipples through the torn lace. "Fuck yes!" she moans, voice ragged, then confesses in a whisper: "Was I always this hungry?" The Leader wipes cum from her face with his thumb and shoves it into her mouth. "You’re ours now," he says, and Minju—ass burning, face branded—feels shame battle with need. Chaewon, Yena, and Eunbi watch. Minju is broken, humiliated… but part of her craves more, even as the pain splits her open.

"Swallow, princess," the Leader commands, shoving his thick cock into her face. It’s enormous, veins pulsing, the wet tip smearing her lips. Minju hesitates, but another sharp slap on her ass—harder this time—makes her mouth fall open. His cock pushes in, heavy, stretching her throat. She gags, drool spilling down her chin, eyes brimming with tears as the Leader fists her hair, yanking her forward. "Fuck, what a hot mouth," he growls, while the others taunt her: "Look at the movie star turning into a slut!"

Minju struggles to breathe, spit slicking her chin, the salty taste flooding her mouth. "His cock’s so thick…" she moans, voice muffled, "It’s getting even bigger… I can’t take it…" But the Leader thrusts deeper, laughing. "Yes, you can, you little whore."

As she sucks, another man—a scar running down his chest—kneels behind her. "Your holes belong to us," he says, and without warning, yanks her panties aside and rams his cock into her ass, no lube. The pain is electric, a burning tear that makes Minju scream, the sound choked by the cock in her mouth. She tries to squirm, but the cuffs hold her tight, and the man behind her fucks her hard, his thick shaft splitting her virgin ass. "Fuck, she’s tight!" he snarls, and Minju sobs, tears mixing with drool, her body shaking. "It hurts…" she whimpers, but the Leader tightens his grip on her face. "Shut up and suck, bitch."

The pain is unbearable, yet a strange heat blooms in her pussy, as if her body craves it even as her mind screams stop.

Chaewon leans against the wall, smirking. "Look at her—Minju, all proper and perfect," she sneers, while Yena cackles, nearly spilling her wine. Eunbi murmurs, "You love it, don’t you, starlet? Always been a closet slut." Minju wants to deny it, but the cock in her mouth and the one in her ass silence her.

The man behind cums first, hot jets flooding her ass, and the Leader pulls out of her mouth, painting her face with his release. Semen drips, thick and warm, down her cheeks, her nose, her lips. Another man cums, then another, until her face is a sticky mask, branded as theirs. Minju cries, choking on the salt, but then whispers, almost involuntarily: "It feels so good… being used like this… degraded and filthy."

The men laugh, and one pinches her nipples, hard under the torn lingerie. "Fuck, yes!" she rasps, then confesses in a shuddering breath: "Have I always been this hungry?" The Leader wipes cum from her face with his thumb and shoves it into her mouth. She sucks, the taste mingling with tears. "You’re ours now," he says, and Minju—her ass burning, her face marked—feels shame battle with arousal.

Chaewon, Yena, and Eunbi watch. Minju is broken, humiliated… yet part of her craves more, even as the pain splits her apart.

Then, the worst comes. The tallest guy—the one she’d seen holding the leash earlier—kneels behind her. His cock is the biggest, like a fucking monster, veins pulsing. “Your holes belong to us now,” he growls, and without lube, he slams into her ass, already burning from the first. The pain is like fire, tearing her apart, and Minju convulses, her body shaking as if electrocuted. She screams, but the cock in her mouth muffles it, and the guy behind her fucks her hard, her tight ass yielding with every thrust. “I’m splitting this virgin ass wide open,” he snarls, and Minju sobs, tears mixing with drool, her body in shock. “It hurts… please…” she whimpers, but the Leader tightens his grip on her throat. “Shut the fuck up, slut. You love this.”

Three cocks are inside her now—mouth, pussy, ass—fucking her in different rhythms, as if determined to break her. The guy in her mouth cums first, hot jets flooding her throat, and Minju gags, coughing, the salty taste burning. The one in her pussy follows, his cock pulsing as he fills her, liquid dripping down her thighs. The monster in her ass takes longer, each thrust torture, until he finally erupts, the scalding heat making her scream from pain and… something else. Minju floats, her mind hazy, a puppet in their hands. Reality vanishes—only heat, pain, and an inexplicable hunger remain.

Chaewon steps closer, heels clicking. “Look at Minju, all fucked out,” she taunts, and Yena laughs, spilling wine on the rug. Eunbi purrs, “Always knew you were a starved little slut, superstar.” Minju, body trembling, murmurs, voice barely there: “It feels so good… being split open like this…” The men laugh, one pinching her nipples, hard under the torn lingerie. “You’re just a whore now,” he says, and Minju confesses in a moan: “I’ve always wanted this… to be used until I break.” The Leader wipes cum from her lips with his thumb, forcing her to suck it clean. “Good girl,” he praises, and Minju—ass and pussy throbbing, face sticky—feels her body convulse, trapped between pain and a sick, slick pleasure.

The nine black-clad men circle her, cocks hard and wet, leather pants discarded. Chaewon stands poised, her black dress clinging, smiling like a demon. Yena, drunk, spills more wine, laughing wildly. Eunbi, lounging on the sofa, licks her lips as if ready to join the orgy.

Minju stays on all fours, her ass and pussy burning from the earlier triple penetration, her throat raw from gagging. She tries to speak, but only a weak moan escapes. The Leader—dragon tattoo coiled around his arm—grips the thickest cock of them all, a monstrous thing, girth like a fist, veins bulging. “Time to break you for good, slut,” he says, and without warning, rams into her pussy, stretching her until she feels pure fire. Minju lets out a primal scream, like a wounded animal, the sound tearing through the room. His cock is so big it feels like it’s splitting her in half, pushing so deep she swears it’ll pierce her stomach. “It burns… it’s fire!” she shrieks, but the Leader laughs, yanking her hair. “Shut up, cunt. You’re our toy now.”

Another guy, with dreads, kneels in front of her and thrusts his cock into her mouth, blocking her throat. Minju can’t scream—only gag, drool spilling, her eyes brimming with tears. His dick is thick, suffocating, every thrust stealing her breath, her head spinning. “Suck it right, you slut,” he growls, while the others mock: “Look at the movie star turning into a cock-sucker!” At the same time, a third guy—the one with the thigh scar—grabs her ass, still sore, and slams another huge cock inside, no lube. The pain is insane, like her ass is splitting in half, stretched beyond what she thought possible. Minju convulses, body trembling, but the men don’t stop, fucking her in brutal rhythms.

All three holes are full, stretched to the limit. Her pussy and ass feel torn, her throat denying her air. The men switch positions—one leaving her mouth to fuck her pussy, another moving from her ass to her mouth, cum and blood mixing with sweat. “Your holes belong to us,” one snarls, and Minju, tears streaming, stops fighting. Her mind collapses, her body becoming an object, a doll for collective use. She floats, as if she’s no longer herself—just a piece of meat being used. Pain is everything, but a forced pleasure grows, her body learning to crave the torture.

Chaewon steps closer, heels clicking. “Look at Minju, completely wrecked,” she taunts, and Yena laughs, nearly stumbling. Eunbi adds, “You were never the good girl, were you, star? Just a slut begging for this.” Minju, muffled by the cock in her mouth, whimpers: “I’m broken… it’s so good to be nothing…” The men laugh, and the Leader pinches her nipples, hard under the tattered lingerie. “You’re just a fucked-out whore now,” he says. Minju confesses in a ragged moan: “I always wanted to be split open… used until I disappeared.” The guy in her ass cums, hot jets filling her, followed by the one in her pussy, liquid dripping down her thighs. The cock in her mouth explodes, flooding her throat, and Minju gags, coughing, the salty taste mixing with tears.

The Leader pulls out of her pussy and cums on her face, hot semen marking her skin like a tattoo. “Good slut,” he says, wiping a finger through it and forcing her to suck. Minju’s body burns, her mind in fragments, the diamond collar heavy on her neck like a chain. Chaewon, Yena, and Eunbi watch. Minju is broken—a desire object, lost between pain and a pleasure that swallows her alive.

On the mansion’s rug, her body trembles, a wrecked ragdoll. Her white lingerie is shredded, the diamond collar glinting at her throat, wrist cuffs red from struggle. The jasmine scent is drowned by cum, sweat, and raw sex, the air thick. Red lights paint the glass walls, Seoul glowing outside as if the city knows about the orgy. The low pulse of R&B mixes with her hoarse moans. The nine Black men stand around, cocks still hard, gleaming from use. Chaewon, in a tight black dress, smirks like she’s won. Yena, drunk, shatters a wine glass laughing. Eunbi lounges on the sofa.

Minju can barely move—her pussy and ass ache just from breathing. Her throat is raw, face sticky with cum, nipples so hard they could cut glass. The Leader, with his dragon tattoo, kneels before her, his monstrous cock still dripping. “Think it’s over, whore?” he laughs. Minju, tearful, shakes her head. “No… I want more…” Her voice is so ruined it’s barely audible. The men cheer, and Chaewon steps forward, heels striking. “What did you say, Minju?” She yanks Minju’s hair back, exposing her marked face.

Minju swallows hard, the diamond collar tightening. “I want more… Chaewon, Yena, Eunbi… give me more,” she begs, eyes blazing with a hunger she’s never known. “I’m a cock slut… I always wanted this… never knew…” The confession is a scream, and the men clap, jeering: “Damn, the star’s a true whore now!” Yena cackles, nearly falling, while Eunbi rises, her red dress straining. “Knew you were a bitch deep down, star,” she says, pinching Minju’s nipples, making her wail.

Chaewon, Yena, and Eunbi join. Chaewon strips to black lingerie, grabs a vibrator, and buzzes it against Minju’s pussy. “You want more? Take it,” she hisses, shoving it inside. Minju shrieks, body seizing. Yena pours wine on Minju’s tits and licks it off, teasing: “Delicious, diva!” Eunbi grinds her wet pussy on Minju’s face. “Lick, slut,” she orders, and Minju obeys, lapping eagerly.

The men return—two fucking her pussy and ass again, Chaewon ramping up the vibrator. The Leader rams his cock down Minju’s throat, and she chokes but sucks desperately. “I’m cumming… I’m a cock whore!” she screams when he pulls out, her orgasm tearing through her. The men finish inside her, filling her, Chaewon laughing as she removes the vibrator. “Look at Minju—wrecked and loving it.” Yena toasts: “To our slut!”

Minju collapses, exhausted, mind blank. The men step back, laughing, while Chaewon, Yena, and Eunbi stroke her spent body, gentler now. “You were perfect, star,” Eunbi murmurs, breasts brushing Minju’s arm. Minju smiles weakly, tears and cum on her face. “I never knew… I wanted to be this… a cock slut.” Chaewon kisses her forehead. “Now you do.”

Hours later, Minju stares into the mansion’s bathroom mirror. Her face is clean, but another woman looks back—not the flawless actress, but one who crossed an abyss. Seoul glows outside, and she knows nightlife will never be the same. The film set awaits, but the “cock slut” she discovered lingers, hidden in her eyes.

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