Theology courses should never be a mandatory class.
At least that’s what Sophia Laforteza thinks. She believes in God, but having theology as a required subject feels useless — especially when she’s forcibly paired with someone like Y/N in this new seating arrangement.
Y/N, as annoying as their name is, has always been painfully mediocre, academia wise. Sophia has never understood how they still pass their classes when all they do is sleep, laugh, talk, and — undeniably — make the rest of the class laugh with them. Her conclusion is simple: the professors are annoyed enough (like she is) that they let you pass just so they won’t have to deal with them again next semester.
She’d admit to herself that she has little to no fun in and out of class.
But Y/N?
They have far too much of it.
—
As class begins, the professor starts preaching about sins as if he’s never committed one himself. Sophia likes to think she’s rational, grounded, and maybe too logical that she likes to admit. Yet she can’t erase the quiet fact that her faith still exists for reasons she can’t properly dissect.
She is logical, just not when it comes to emotions.
“Can I borrow a pen?”
Sophia sighs the moment she hears Y/N’s whisper while Mr. Paul continues droning on.
“Why can’t you just buy your own pen, Y/N? You’re old enough to attend class but not old enough to buy a pen?”
“Jesus, I just need a pen. Besides, remember Romans 15:2? ‘Each of us should please our neighbours for their good, to build them up.’ It means that—”
“Whatever. Just take this pen.” Sophia then handed them a black biro pen that she always gives to people who she knows won’t return the pen.
“I knew I could count on you. May the Lord—”
“Just shut up. Oh my God, you talk too much.”
“Ha! Do not use the Lord’s name in vain, Sophia,” Y/N says sarcastically as she takes the pen.
Not even a minute has passed before your mouth starts moving again, producing nothing but noise to annoy Sophia.
“Also nice colour-coded notes. Do you have a certain purple highlighter for random educational thoughts or that’s a yellow highlighter job?”
“Can you like shut up or something?”
“I’ll choose ‘or something’, so is it a yellow highlighter type of job? Honestly, I don’t blame you. Yellow seems to be the right colour for thoughts. Wait, do you know about those trends about yellow fonts? I honestly think it’s supposed to be called yellow helvetica, cause you know that’s the name of the font they usually used. But like, I think I could be wrong to because I think—”
“Oh my God, do you not shut up? I don’t care about the yellow font trend, and no I don’t use yellow highlighter for thoughts, I used blue. Now shut up.”
“Ok…
…but blue seems kinda dumb. Because when you think about it, blue isn’t—”
Sophia closed her eyes as she sighs. May all the Gods that everyone worship come down and help her shut you up. She can’t help but rethink all her life choices and how she ended up in this very specific moment. Her thoughts filled with “God, I’ve been nothing but faithful. What have I done for this to happen to me?”
It’s an unspoken understanding that Mr. Paul paired them together for this exact reason. What that reason is, Sophia doesn’t know. Maybe he believes opposites sharpen each other.
Or maybe he just enjoys watching her suffer.
—
Sophia is everywhere and she knows it. From theatre performances, student council campaigns, academic decathlons, and school-wide assemblies where microphones somehow always end up in her hand. The lists are always printed the same way, pinned to cork boards with careless thumbtacks:
Sophia Laforteza
Hanni Pham
Jennifer Huh
The order hasn’t changed in three years. At this point, people don’t even look at the board anymore. They’ve basically memorized it. The same women leading the school, which makes Y/N wonder how after academia, men suddenly lead mostly everything. It was understandable how Sophia remains at the top. You never really question it since the answer is painfully obvious. But it becomes more apparent when you start seeing it first hand.
Whenever you enter theology class, Sophia is already there, sitting upright as if she’s the professor herself. She arrives before class starts, a purple water bottle and pencil pouch already occupying more than half the desk. It’s annoying, almost territorial, but you never complain — mostly because you bring nothing useful to class aside from yourself. Her handwriting looks almost printed. Like it could be turned into a font. She also claims there is nothing logical about theology classes, yet she aces every assignment.
One thing you know is that Sophia always tries. And somehow, she always succeeds. Which you can’t help but admire the woman even more.
—
By the fourth week of class, Sophia’s schedule becomes heavier. Theatre rehearsals stretch longer. Student council meetings multiply. Group projects demand more structure. She had formed an almost perfect routine. Almost because it somehow unsettles her when she starts seeing the same face outside theology.
Y/N.
At first, it’s easy to dismiss. They’re in the hallway handing out flyers for an upcoming fundraiser. They grin when they spot her but say nothing. She thought it’s nothing but a coincidence. But suddenly, they’re backstage during theatre rehearsal, crouched beside the sound system, fiddling with wires like they apparently know what they are doing.
Sophia pauses mid-line when she notices.
“What are you doing here?” she asks during break.
“Volunteering,” Y/N shrugs. “Hanni mentioned that you guys need help with the audio system.”
“We have a sound team.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s just Hanni has a lot on her plate now. I want to help out.”
“Well, as I said we have a sound team. So we’ll be fine.”
—
Every time the class finishes, you always wait outside the class as if waiting for someone. Sophia assumes you just have a question for the professor about the current lecture but she notices that you only continue to walk away from the door right after the student leaders left the class, which definitely includes her. And if that isn’t enough of a suspicion, you started volunteering everywhere. And Sophia means it when she says everywhere. She can’t help but wonder how you, Y/N, someone who rarely cares or participated or better yet volunteers in school events suddenly gets involved in all of it, all together? Sophia’s not egotistical, but she’s logical so pattern is something she’s good at recognising. So when you started appearing in whatever she’s in, she recognised it immediately.
Later that week, at a student council event, she spots you again — carrying boxes, adjusting banners, laughing with committee members like you’ve always been part of it. But what unsettles her more than their presence is the pattern. The events she attends, the meetings she leads, the rehearsals she looks after. You are there. Not beside her, thankfully, but there. Always watching, and Sophia, who has always been the centre of attention without asking for it, assumes what has always been true.
People admire excellence, people orbit excellence. So she knows why Y/N suddenly orbits her.
And by the end of the month, Sophia has compiled a mental file.
“Since Y/N’s everywhere, Y/N probably likes me.”
She smiles at the thought, rolling her eyes at herself. It’s ridiculous honestly. Of course you like her. Who wouldn’t like her? The absurdity is almost fun. Almost. She catches herself imagining the worst, like what if you start to make a move on her? She doesn't know what she’ll do. She never thought of actually being with you, but the thought doesn’t seem so bad after weeks of interacting with you. And in all honesty, you aren’t too bad yourself. You’re attractive, she’ll give you that but academic wise, that’s a different story.
—
As the class continued, it was apparent to Sophia that Y/N liked her. With the progression of the class, Sophia notices how Y/N suddenly always attends the class, how they always smile at her softly, how they always arrive in class on time, and most importantly how they never bring their own pen. Sophia thought that it was Y/N’s way of interacting with Sophia on a daily basis, which Sophia didn't mind. She actually thought it’s cute how you find small ways to at least interact with her, like right now.
“Hey sorry, but can I borrow your pen real quick?” you whispered, silently trying to grab her attention.
Sophia didn’t say anything. She just took out one of her rollerball pens from her purple pen pouch and handed it to you. And you noticed it immediately, the upgrade from a standard biro to a rollerball pen makes you smile.
“Thank you, I’ll definitely give this back after class.”
“You don’t have to. Just make sure not to lose it.”
“Yeah, for sure. Like Ruth 2:12 from the New International Version, “May the Lord repay you for—”
Sophia rolls her eyes as she smiles at you. “Shut up. I don’t need to hear about it.”
“I’m just blessing you with verses as you always bless me with your presence. I genuinely enjoy this class because of you.”
Sophia blushed as she shook her head. “Whatever, just shut up. That’s the best thing you can do for me.”
You nodded as you both continued to listen to whatever Mr. Paul preach about.
—
The theatre rehearsal has been going on for weeks and Sophia hates to admit it but you do know what you’re doing with the sound and the light system. She can’t help but personally ask for your help before rehearsals begin, in which you always answer with a big grin and a yes. In fact, you started becoming part of the theatre team, not only that but you have started helping around more in school events preparation. And in every rehearsal or event, you always give her a cup of strawberry matcha, always accompanied by a drink carrier. She never really questions why it’s always in a drink carrier as she’s too joyous at the thought of receiving a drink from you.
This went unnoticed to everyone, except Yunjin. During one of their rehearsal breaks, she stopped fixing the script and went over to Sophia with a teasing grin.
“So… You and Y/N, what about it?”
“What about it?”
“Stop this nonsense, they have been helping around… which is unusual for someone who has been in this school for years yet didn’t bat an eye on the previous events that we had?”
Sophia shrugged as she muttered. “I don’t know, they’ve been a huge help so why not bring them in more.”
“And theology class? You do know that we are all in the same class right? I see you two all the time.”
“They’ve been less annoying. That’s it.”
Yunjin gave her a quick smirk, as she went back to fixing the scripts. Sophia’s eyes searched around the theatre hall searching for a figure until it fell on you. You were scratching your head with a soft smile, casually talking to Hanni about whatever topic you two had. And Sophia knows — if God were watching you right now, there would be a verse written just for you. Not just a passing line, but something deliberate and tender, something inked with such aching devotion that even a skeptic would pause and feel it. And that is what frightens her most because if heaven itself could justify loving you, what excuse does she have left to pretend she doesn’t?
She then shook her head. It’s probably the stress of everything that’s happening. There is no way she’s thinking all that just because she saw you.
—
As the school year progressed, you and Sophia grew closer in and out of theology class. You noticed how Sophia excelled in English, which never really occurred to you even if she’s a theatre person herself. You’ve been around her in every other event there could have been and you couldn’t help but gift all three women that lead the school with something every time you are present. Specifically, two strawberry matcha for Sophia and Yunjin, two ice cold coffee for you and Hanni, and a bread for Hanni too. You always give a piece or more of bread to Hanni, as she once mentioned loving bread and because she’s the reason why you are helping around.
—
It was a random Thursday after rehearsals when you were left in the theatre hall with the other student leaders. As you sit beside Sophia, she can’t help but look at you as your eyes gaze upon the stage with a soft look and a timid smile. Your eyes then met hers, your smile never leaving your face.
“The play is happening in a few days.”
Sophia hummed as she smiled back. “Yeah, are you excited about it?”
“Honestly? I am. I’ve seen almost all the rehearsals and it’s great. Have you seen the light and the way the audio just sounds absolutely phenomenal?” You softly teased.
“Not too much on the audio system. I personally think that’s going to be the worst part.”
“Well, you got a sound team for that right?”
“Oh my God, you’re too much.”
“Hey, don’t use God's name in vain.”
“I didn’t even do such thing!”
Both of your laughs filled the hall as you shook your head. “On a serious note, I’m sure you guys would do so well. I’ve also read the script which is apparently mostly written by Miss Laforteza herself. It’s genuinely amazing Sophia.”
You continue, “It’s so beautifully written and I just… I hope you don’t mind me asking for a favour.”
Sophia’s eyes linger on you for a while — the way your smile curves, timid yet unbearably endearing, now directed at her instead of the stage.
She tells herself it’s ridiculous, almost sacrilegious, but when you look at her like that, she can’t help but think that if the Bible were still being written, there would be a verse about this moment — about the way you look at someone as if they are worth believing in.
And that is what terrifies her most, because she’s beginning to understand how devotion starts. Sophia’s beginning to look at you the same way believers look at something holy.
“Uh sure. What is it about?”
“I just want to write a love letter. Well, not entirely a love letter but you know something actually nice. I have actually written something for the past few weeks and I just need some help polishing it up.”
Sophia looks at the paper handed, her smile starts to widen as she reads the letter. A logical mind like hers starts to make connections, but she needs to make sure her assumptions are right first.
“I think you need more adjectives or something like metaphors. Tell me more about this girl.”
You smile at her as you look around the room, checking to see if someone sees you two being this close. You clear your throat, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the paper.
“Okay, first — she’s really smart. Like, genuinely smart. I admire how she tries and somehow always succeeds, like excellence is just her default setting. She may look a little unapproachable at first, but when you actually talk to her…” You hesitate, smiling to yourself. “She’s soft and kind. She listens like your words matter.”
Sophia keeps her expression neutral but her pulse betrays her.
“She’s responsible. Steady. She’s the kind of person people rely on without even realising they do.” You exhale softly. “God, it’s like… if wisdom were a person, it would borrow her voice.”
Sophia’s fingers tighten slightly on the paper.
“I don’t know how to explain it without sounding dramatic,” you continue, quieter now. “But admiring her feels theological. Like the way people study scripture — not because they’re forced to, unfortunately unlike us, but because they’re convinced there’s something sacred hidden between the lines. She’s not loud about who she is. You just… discover it slowly. And the more you do, the more you realise she was extraordinary all along.”
You glance at her, unaware of the storm you’re causing.
“She’s the kind of person that makes you want to be better. God, it’s not even out of fear nor out of obligation. But because standing next to her feels like standing near something holy and you don’t want to be careless with that.”
Sophia swallows.
You laugh softly, almost embarrassed. “I know that sounds insane.”
It doesn’t. Because to Sophia, it feels dangerously accurate.
And what terrifies her most is this. She has spent her life believing admiration was a rational response to merit. Like it’s earned, it’s measured, and it needs to be explained.
But the way you speak about this girl — about her — sounds less like logic and more like reverence. And she is starting to understand that love, at its core, has always been a form of worship.
“Ok sorry, is that too much? I guess I do talk too much.”
“No…I—wow that’s actually beautiful. You should write more about that.”
Your eyes start to wander around the room again, checking to see if eyes are on you two before you nod.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking but… do you think someone like you would like someone like me?”
Sophia pauses, mind sharpening out of instinct. She has studied logic, probabilities, even theology with all its careful doctrines and tidy conclusions — yet none of them prepared her for a question that feels less like inquiry and more like confession.
She exhales softly.
“If I were to answer that logically,” she begins, voice steady despite the quiet riot in her chest, “I’d say admiration isn’t a hierarchy. It’s not something reserved for equals on paper.”
Her fingers tighten slightly in her lap.
“And if we’re speaking theologically… Scripture is full of unlikely pairings. The whole point, I think, is that worth isn’t measured the way we measure it.”
She finally meets your eyes.
“So yes,” she says, almost clinical in tone, though her gaze gives her away. “I think someone like me could.”
She then muttered softly, afraid you’ll hear it.
“Especially if someone like you keeps looking at me as if I’m something worth believing in.”
You softly smile at her, giving her a small nod, like she’s just confirmed something you wished you knew all along.
“People like you,” you say softly, “are easy to worship. People who are quiet, unassuming ones who undo you without trying — the kind of people who don’t ask for reverence, yet somehow make even the faithless learn how to kneel.”
“Anyway, thank you. I appreciate the help.”
—
The theatre play is nearing, but Sophia’s mind is occupied with things that are not related to the play. Specifically, related to you. She can’t help but think when will you ever give the letter to her and what she should do when you give it to her. It’s numbing actually but she can’t help—
“Sophia”
“Y/N, hey”
“I’ve finished the letter, I just want to thank you for helping me write it. Everything just started flowing once you mentioned metaphors and all that stuff. You’re such a great help.”
“That’s great to hear. I’m sure the person who will receive it will love it.”
“Jesus, I sure do hope Hanni would love it.”
“Hanni?”
Sophia’s eyes nearly bulged out of her skull. The realisation hit her like a cold, physical weight, shattering the careful logic she had used to build her own pedestal. In an instant, the “mental file” she had meticulously compiled over the last few months didn’t just close, it got shredded. She realised with a sharp, stinging clarity that she hadn't been the destination of your devotion, but merely a bystander to it. The strawberry matchas, the sudden volunteering, and the tireless help weren't offerings to her excellence — they were labors of love performed solely to lighten Hanni’s burden. It was the ultimate theological error: she had mistaken a servant's work for a believer’s worship, assuming she was the deity when she was only the witness. She had mistaken the intercessor for the deity, assuming all this worship was directed at her when she was simply the one standing in the way of the altar. Every word of "reverence" she’d felt from you wasn't a mirror reflecting her own worth, but a prayer you were breathing for someone else entirely. She wasn’t the "something holy" you were afraid to be careless with; she was just the person holding and providing the pen while you wrote a psalm for another woman.
What a year, am I right? (it's only March) dropping by to disappear again probably. I miss njz, twice, katseye, and especially you guys. Hope you guys like this one :]
Synopsis: "Everytime you try to forget who I am, I'll be right there to remind you again, you know me"
Warnings: angst, fluff, use of you/they/them and y/n, violence (not too much), tell me if I forgot to mention something
Notes: This one is requested but I changed it up a bit (a lot I think) so I'm sorry if this is not what you asked for. It's quite rushed cause I feel bad that it always takes me so long to actually write something up. Not proofread. Sorry for any grammar and/or spelling mistakes.
Being Lara’s ex is somewhat of a curse in disguise.
It didn’t ruin your life all at once, but it slipped quietly into all the corners you thought you’d swept clean. When you two broke up, the aftermath was somewhat gentle. No screaming was involved, there was no broken furniture or dishes. And when you left her place, no doors were slammed. You both knew that you were adults, sitting across from each other admitting that life had grown too loud, that distance had crawled into your beds and made a home of itself instead of you.
The part that made it worse was that you ended it mutually — like people who still loved each other but had run out of hours and excuses for each other.
But such kindness and silence made ghosts harder to kill.
And months later, when you received an invitation to a party thrown by Megan — Lara’s closest friend, a girl with a whisker smile and someone who always laughed too loud and hugged too tight — you told yourself that you had to stop overthinking it. You told yourself that it had been months since you two talked and there’s a high chance that she had someone new. Not like it’s hard on her part, but you knew she could, and maybe she already had found someone to replace you. You were fine with it. At least that’s what you told yourself.
But you were wrong. You knew you were wrong the moment you saw Lara from across the room.
—
Lara hadn’t changed at all.
It’s not that you expected her to have such a significant change within a couple of months, but when you saw her from across the room, it felt like it was the same Lara you used to go home to.
She still had that dark yet soft, feminine warmth that seemed to glow even in dim lighting. She was the type of girl whose jewellery always caught the light at the right angle. She wore bold-coloured clothes, yet they made her look effortlessly expensive. There’s just something about Lara that captures you before you even enter the room she’s in.
You did notice that her hair was slightly longer, but her necklace was still peeking out — or maybe your eyes just always noticed her necklace.
Lara touched it whenever she felt uncomfortable. She rubbed her thumb over the pendant subtly, and you noticed it whenever an interviewer asked her invasive questions, when someone leaned in too closely, and when you two used to argue before your relationship ended.
Tonight, she was touching it too much.
And the reason was painfully clear.
A man stood in front of her. He was towering over her, leaning too close, and smiling like he owned the damn room. He chuckled too loudly at something she didn’t mean to be funny. When he placed a hand on the wall behind her head — a move so cliché you couldn’t help but roll your eyes — you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the place being too packed and hot, or just basically everything happening right now, but your feet, like they had a mind of their own, walked you towards Lara and the man.
Lara’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She shifted her weight, she pulled her wrist back a little, and her thumb was over her necklace, caressing it carefully.
“Hey, buddy. You might want to back off a little,” you demanded as you pulled the man by his shoulders.
A sudden figure appeared behind the man — Lara — and her eyes widened when they met yours, the same eyes you used to see every morning when you woke up. Her thumb stopped moving, and her smile widened.
“What—who are you?”
“None of your business.”
The man furrowed his brows as he turned his body to fully look at you.
“Relax, sweetheart. We were just talking.”
“Well, this conversation of yours looks one-sided. She’s clearly uncomfortable with you.”
“You’re thinking too much. Just get the fuck away from—”
And before you knew it, all you saw was red.
—
It happened too fast for clarity but too slow for any regret.
Your fist connected with his jaw and before he could even stand up, you couldn’t help but start throwing more punches at him. Suddenly, a hand grabbed your shoulder, which caused him to hit you in the face. The stinging sensation spread through your cheek, but that didn’t stop you from getting closer to him, and that’s when you started throwing more punches.
Until you felt a familiar hand at the back of your neck, trying to pull you away from the man.
The man croaked, “What the hell is wrong with you—”
“Hey. No. Stop this shit, Y/N — you’ve done too much,” Lara snapped as she examined your face for any bruises or wounds.
“How the fuck is it my fault? He’s literally making you fucking uncomfortable,” you snapped at her as she pulled you somewhere else far from the fight scene.
“Well, you didn’t have to fucking punch him everywhere,” Lara snapped back. She then muttered, “Come with me,” and you couldn’t help but follow her.
—
Megan’s guestroom was spacious. It smelled faintly of some perfume an old lady would use. Lara closed the door behind you and immediately took your hand, turning it over gently.
Blood smeared across your knuckles, streaking up your forearm, and Lara couldn’t help but inhale sharply. But before she could say anything, you cut her off with a shrug.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” she said, voice cracking, fingers trembling as she stood up and reached for the first aid kit she found beneath the sink.
“I just did what I know is right. You know I’d do it for anyone else.”
“That’s a lie. You hate confrontations.”
You looked away. “You were uncomfortable. I saw it.”
“You always see it,” she whispered and even if Lara hates to admit it out loud, you do know her better than anyone else.
Silence stretched between you two as she disinfected the cuts carefully, avoiding your eyes. Her hands were warm against your skin — warm enough to undo entire months of healing.
When she finally spoke again, the words were soft enough to bruise.
Her hands slowed. “You know, you didn’t have to punch him right?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady. “Were you maybe jealous?”
Your throat tightened. You didn’t answer.
She let out a soft breath. “So you were jealous. Look, green looks good on you but not this way.”
You didn’t know what to say, but you felt her eyes on you, warm and searching in a way that made your chest ache. She placed the cotton pad down gently and reached for the bandages.
“He’s leaning too close,” you murmured, more to yourself than her.
“And he wasn’t allowed to?” she asked, her tone almost challenging.
“No.” The confession slipped out before you had the chance to hide it. “He wasn’t.”
“And why is that?” she whispered.
You hesitated but then met her eyes. “You know why.”
She smirked, the bandage half-wrapped around your knuckles. The air shifted heavily.
Her gaze softened. “Then say it.”
You swallowed hard, pulse loud in your ears. “Because I still want you.”
Lara’s breath hitched. The necklace sat against her skin, rising and falling with every uneven inhale. For a moment she didn’t speak, she just stared at you like you’d said something she’d been waiting months to hear.
“Y/N…” Her voice wavered, her fingers brushing lightly across your cheekbone, the same touch you’d memorised without meaning to. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“You asked.”
“God, you’re too forward sometimes.”
Silence wrapped around the both of you, like a cozy blanket on a rainy day. Her thumb drifted across your cheek again, slower this time.
“I still—” She stopped herself, biting down on her bottom lip. “I still want you too.”
“But wanting wasn’t enough back then,” she whispered. “And I don’t know if it’s enough now.”
You leaned forward slightly, not touching her yet, but close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes. “I know but I’d like to believe we know what’s better now.”
Lara exhaled shakily, her hand leaving your cheek only to settle over your heart instead her hand deliberate press through your shirt.
“This,” she murmured. “This is what scares me.”
Her voice dropped, turning fragile. “Because when you get angry like that… when you fight like that… I don’t know whether to pull you away or hold you tighter.”
You lowered your head. “I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m angry,” she said, but she didn’t move her hand from your chest. “I’m angry because I love you, but you’re doing wrong in a way I cannot condone.”
Your breath broke.
She sighed, eyes softening. “But I’m also angry because I hate you but you were being wronged in a way I couldn’t stomach either.”
You let out a shaky laugh — partly disbelief, partly relief. “That’s… confusing.”
Lara finally smiled. “Everything with you always was.”
She finished wrapping your hand, her touch lingering longer than necessary. Her fingers trailed down to your wrist and stopped there with a slow and deliberate touch that made your pulse thrum against her fingertips.
You squeezed lightly, answering her without words.
Lara stepped closer — close enough that her knees brushed yours, close enough that her perfume curled around you and settled warmly at the base of your throat. The air thickened between you, heat blooming in the narrow space that used to be effortless.
“Don’t do something so reckless for me again,” she whispered against your jaw. Her breath grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your neck.
“I can’t promise that,” you whispered back. Your voice came out lower than you meant, yet it made her cheeks feel warmer.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned her forehead against yours. The tip of her nose brushed yours, barely-there, enough to make your stomach drop.
“I know,” she murmured.
Your hands lifted to rest gently against her hips, but she reacted like it was an anchor — her breath stuttered, her fingers curling in the fabric of your shirt as if steadying herself. Her body fit against yours with shocking ease, like you’d never stopped learning each other.
Her voice was a whisper against your mouth, each word brushing your lips. “Y/N… what are we doing?”
You brushed your thumb against the hem of her shirt, feeling the warmth underneath. “I don’t know.”
She tilted her head up, lips brushing yours with the barest trembling pressure — a soft scrape of heat, enough to chase thought from your mind. It wasn’t a kiss yet, but it made your heartbeat throb in your ears.
“But I don’t want to stop,” you breathed.
Lara swallowed, her hands sliding up your arms — slow and careful, like she was relearning every inch — until they looped behind your neck. Her body pressed fully into yours now, chest to chest, breath to breath.
“Then don’t.”
Her lips met yours.
Soft and warm but more intense than any first kiss had the right to be. She kissed you like she’d been holding herself back for months — controlled at first, then melting, then pulling you closer with a tiny, helpless sound that went straight through you.
Your uninjured hand cupped the side of her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. She reacted immediately — her fingers tightening in your hair, her body rising onto her toes to meet your mouth more fully.
The kiss wasn’t rough or rushed.
It was slow, deep, and familiar in a way that made your knees go weak.
When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling, both of you unsteady.
Her fingers slid down from your hair to your jaw, tracing the line of it with a touch so gentle it almost hurt.
“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered.
You let out a shaky breath. “In this room?”
“In Megan’s guestroom,” she giggled softly. “Please.”
You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded — and her entire body relaxed, like she’d been waiting for that answer since the moment you walked through the door.
And for the first time in months since the separation, the ghost between you two felt like it finally stepped aside.
—
“I’m never throwing a party again,” Megan exhaled as everyone returned to the music, while she tried cleaning some of the spilled drinks from the fight. She looked at the dent in her wall, sighed dramatically, and muttered to herself,
“Next time I’m never inviting exes again.”
Then louder, to no one in particular, “And who the hell punched my drywall? I swear to God I’m charging entrance next time.”
This one is requested through dm. I'm sorry for going absolutely m.i.a but I've been exhausted lately lol. I might go m.i.a again after this but I'll try to be active asap. Also I got this line here so there's that. Hope you guys like this one :)))
Synopsis: After a construction accident, you wake up to find Sophia refusing to leave your side. Recovery in her penthouse should feel safe, but everything changes when someone, walks back into your life.
Warnings: fluff, angst, use of you/they/them and Y/N, sugar mommy Sophia, dialogue heavy
Notes: Gender neutral reader but masc leaning. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes.
Or… not the sound itself. More like the memory of it—blurred and trapped beneath layers of cotton and the steady hum of machines. Everything felt washed-out, dim, cold, and far too white. When your eyes finally focused, the ceiling above you was unfamiliar. It is nothing like your bedroom.
That’s when it sank in.
You were in a hospital.
Panic tightened in your chest, a sudden sharp pull beneath your ribs. A dull ache bloomed there, pulsing like a bruise that you don’t remember having. Your arm felt heavy, secured with some tapes and bandages. IV lines tugged at your skin each time you breathed.
You turned your head and instantly regretted it.
A nurse stood by the heart monitor, adjusting something with the absent and effortless precision of someone who could do it in her sleep. She noticed you stirring and turned, giving you a polite and practised smile that all nurses seemed to master by their second year on the job.
“Well,” she said gently, “good to see you awake. You took quite the hit.”
Your voice scraped your throat when you tried to speak. “...What happened?”
“You were brought in from a construction site,” she explained. “Part of the scaffolding gave way. You fell a few feet, and something clipped your ribs on the way down. No fractures, thankfully—just bruised ribs and a mild concussion. One of your co-workers called an ambulance straight away.”
You blinked up at her, brows pinching together. “Huh?”
She continued, “We also contacted your emergency contact.”
Your stomach dropped like a stone.
Emergency contact.
The memory struck you in fragments. From Matt’s panic state, people shouting your name, hands trying to keep you still, and Matt insisting that he was calling an ambulance. And you are aware that with an ambulance came paperwork. And with paperwork came a phone call.
A phone call to someone you had absolutely not wanted hearing about this.
Your heart thudded hard.
“You guys didn’t call—”
The door burst open.
Sophia stood at the threshold like she’d sprinted the entire way, hair slightly mussed, breath uneven. You hadn’t seen her look like that since the day she caught you being scolded by the foreman on-site. But even her fury back then wasn’t like this—
This was a concern sharpened by fear.
And despite the blinding lights doing no one any favours, she still looked devastatingly beautiful.
When her eyes locked onto you, everything else in the room just disappeared.
She crossed the room before the door even swung shut, heels clacking unevenly on the tile, her pace too urgent yet still so graceful. The nurse stepped aside, receiving only a distracted, half-formed nod from Sophia as she reached your bedside.
“Y/N.”
Your name left her mouth like she’d been holding it in her throat for hours.
You tried to sit up but pain shot through your ribs like a warning flare.
You can’t help but hissed which caused Sophia’s hand to immediately but gently gripped your shoulder, trembling ever so slightly.
“Don’t,” she said, voice cracking around the edges. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m fine,” you whispered—a terrible lie.
You shrugged your shoulders to demonstrate, then winced.
Sophia let out a sharp, disbelieving scoff. “Do not,” she warned, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t fool around.”
She sank into the chair beside you as if her legs couldn’t hold her anymore. One hand curled around the metal rail of your bed, knuckles pale, gripping like the world might tilt if she let go.
For several seconds, she said nothing. She just looked at you, her eyes tracing every bruise, every wince, and every uneven breath.
“I told you to be careful,” she murmured, voice heavy with worry.
“I am,” you insisted weakly.
“Clearly not enough.” Her jaw tightened. “Look at you.”
Before she could spiral further, you reached for her hand. Slow, hesitant, and half expecting her to pull away.
She didn’t.
Her fingers slipped from the metal railing to yours, warm against your chilled skin.
“...I’m sorry,” you whispered.
She shook her head immediately, sharply. “No, mahal, don’t—”
The endearment slipped out, before she realised it which caused her to freeze. Sophia drew in a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a moment to gather herself.
“When the hospital called,” she said quietly, “they only told me there’d been an accident. That you were unconscious. And that you’d been taken by ambulance.”
Her breath stuttered.
“You could’ve been hurt worse. You could’ve—” she swallowed, voice thinning, “I don’t want to think about it.”
Your brows knit. “How did they know to call you?”
Her eyes softened—something shy blooming beneath the worry.
“You listed me as your emergency contact.”
You blinked as heat crawled up your neck as you remembered exactly why you had panicked about Matt calling. But before embarrassment eats you further, Sophia lifted your joined hands, brushing her thumb across your knuckles as though committing the shape of them to memory.
“I’m still mad at you,” she whispered, “but that’s unbearably cute.”
Your cheeks grew impossibly warm.
“I forgot I’d done that,” you admitted. “It was… a while ago.”
“But you still did.” Her voice was gentle. “And I’m glad.”
You swallowed around the flutter rising behind your ribs.
She leaned back slightly, finally allowing herself to breathe. Her thumb traced slow circles over your skin as she looked around the room, then back at you.
“You scared me,” she said softly.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” she whispered, lifting your hand and kissing the back of it gently. “But I was terrified.”
You couldn’t help the small smile pulling at your lips.
“Sophia… I’m glad you came.”
Her eyes warmed instantly. “I would have come,” she said. “No matter what.”
She lifted her chin in decision.
“And I’m taking you home when they release you.”
Your eyes widened. “Sophia, I can go to my place—”
“No.”
“But I can—”
“No.”
“Sophia—”
“No,” she insisted again. “I know you. You’ll pretend you’re fine and then do something stupid the minute I’m not watching.”
“But you’re busy. And I don’t want to be a burden, and—”
“Let me take care of you.”
You inhaled softly.
“…Okay.”
Her shoulders finally relaxed, relief washing through her posture like a slow exhale.
She dragged the chair closer until her knee brushed the side of the bed.
“Try to rest,” she murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And you did. Your eyelids grew heavy. Sophia didn’t move—not even to check her phone. She simply held your hand between both of hers, thumb stroking gently every time your breath hitched.
You drifted into sleep with her watching over you, her presence warm and protective.
For the first time since the fall… you felt safe.
Because Sophia wasn’t letting go.
—
You woke again to the soft tap of knuckles on your door.
This time the fog had lifted enough that the world didn’t feel quite so distant. Your ribs still throbbed, and your head pulsed dully, but things were clearer.
Sophia Laforteza hadn’t moved.
She was still in the chair right beside you, one leg crossed over the other, elbows resting on her knees as she scrolled through her phone with the sharp focus of someone doing everything possible to stay awake. A few strands of her dark hair had slipped loose behind her ear, and her usually immaculate blouse was creased—clear proof she hadn’t left your side once.
When the nurse entered with your file, Sophia’s head snapped up instantly.
“Is everything alright?” Her voice carried enough authority to make the nurse straighten reflexively.
“All good,” the nurse said warmly. “We’ve completed your assessments. The doctor’s approved your discharge—provided you’re supervised for at least the next forty-eight hours.”
Sophia stood, her posture crisp. “I’ll be supervising them.”
The nurse nodded at Sophia’s answer.
You cleared your throat. “I can supervise myself, actually.”
“No,” both women said simultaneously.
Sophia gave you a look that made you shut up.
“Don’t.”
The nurse smiled while checking your blood pressure. “You’ll feel dizzy on and off for a bit. Nothing dangerous, but you’ll need rest. We’ll send you home with pain meds and concussion care instructions.”
Sophia straightened like she was memorising a briefing. “What medication? How often do they need it? What can they take with it? And also what can’t they take with it?”
“Sophia,” you whispered, heat creeping up your neck. “I’m not dying.”
“Well, not on my supervision,” she said sharply.
The nurse stifled a laugh. “Your partner seems pretty intoxicated still.”
You choked but Sophia didn’t.
“They are,” Sophia said smoothly.
Your brain short-circuited.
The nurse moved on as if this were all perfectly ordinary. She handed you the small bag of your belongings. Sophia helped you sit up slowly, holding your arm with careful, deliberate gentleness.
You attempted to prove you were fine by pushing yourself upright—but pain speared to your ribs which caused you to hissed instantly.
Sophia’s “I told you so” expression was immediate and merciless.
“Let me help you,” she said quietly.
This time, you didn’t argue.
She assisted you in changing out of the hospital gown, respectfully averting her gaze when needed, steadying you when dizziness washed over you. Her touch remained warm, firm, and impossibly careful. Every accidental graze of her fingers sent heat crawling up your neck.
By the time you were dressed, exhaustion was already pulling you back under.
“Alright,” she murmured, slipping her arm around you. “Lean on me.”
You wanted to protest— but then the hallway wobbled. You can help but clutch her instinctively. You wished that you had asked for a wheelchair.
Sophia tightened her hold, her voice sinking into a whisper edged with fear.
“This is why you’re coming home with me.”
“I could’ve taken a taxi,” you muttered.
“And what?” she said sharply. “Faint in the back seat? Fall on a slippery step in your building? Hit your head again?”
You blinked. “Sophia… calm down please.”
She shot you a look filled with heat and fear and something heartbreakingly earnest.
“I thought I was going to lose you today,” she whispered.
Everything inside you went quiet and you know better than to argue after that.
—
You let her guide you through reception and out the sliding doors. The late afternoon air hit your face. A sleek black car waited at the kerb—one of the luxury models you’d seen used whenever she visits the site. The driver, a sharply dressed man in his forties, immediately stepped out and opened the back door.
“Ma’am,” he greeted with a respectful nod. “The hospital called ahead. Everything is ready.”
“Thank you,” Sophia said, all business again—until she turned back to you, her entire expression softened.
She helped you into the back seat, keeping one hand steady on your waist. The driver closed the door gently once you were settled.
Sophia climbed in after you, sliding close enough that her thigh brushed yours.
“You alright?” she murmured.
“Yeah, just a little tired.”
“Then rest,” she said. “I’ve got you.”
The car pulled away smoothly.
Sophia took your hand without thinking—an instinctive, protective gesture. Her thumb stroked slow circles across your knuckles as though making sure you stayed grounded and conscious.
You drifted in and out of sleep, your head eventually tipping toward her shoulder. Sophia shifted, as she guided you gently, and let you rest there.
She didn’t move her hand from yours the entire ride.
—
The familiar silhouette of the building came into view first, sharp against the fading sky. The place you’d never forget—the previous nights, the first time your lips had brushed hers, trembling and tentative. Memory clung to the corners of the walls like dust in sunlight.
Sophia guided you through the lobby, her hand firm on your arm, steadying you despite your protests. You had never realised how grounding her touch could be, how much weight it carried—not just her strength, but her care.
Once inside, the door clicked shut behind you. The penthouse was quiet, dimly lit, warm from the day’s sun and lingering city hum. She stopped, eyes sweeping over you slowly, taking in the bruises darkening your ribs, the slight curve of your posture, the hand pressed against your side as though shielding yourself.
Something inside her broke.
It only takes three steps and then she was close, hands hovering over your jaw, over the seam of your shirt where a bruise peeked.
“Can I?” she whispered.
Before you could respond, she pulled you in. Arms circled your shoulders, her head resting against your neck, her nails grazing lightly against the fabric of your shirt as if to anchor herself. The contact was gentle, careful—but there was fire behind it, a certain intensity of someone who had nearly lost you.
You exhaled against her hair, sliding your hands around her waist. She was warm, solid, but trembling just enough that you could feel the unspoken words in her chest.
“I’m here,” you murmured.
A hum against your neck, soft and relieved.
“For a moment,” she whispered back, voice low, “…I thought I’d lost you. Not knowing—when they couldn’t even tell me how bad it was…” Her fingers dug into your shirt unconsciously.
You leaned down, forehead against hers. “I’m here,” you said softly.
Her exhale was long, shaky, as she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Can I—I need to see the bruises,” she murmured, vulnerability threading through her words.
“You just saw them.”
“Please,” she whispered. Something raw and pleading flickered in her eyes. You didn’t argue. You lifted the hem of your shirt, and her breath hitched, fingers tracing the dark marks with reverent and careful movements. Light, almost fleeting, but intimate in a way that made your chest constrict.
Her touch was feather-light, barely there, but the intimacy of it burned hotter than anything harsh could.
“This looks bad,” she murmured.
“Shhh…I’m okay,” you said.
“You could have—” She stopped herself again. “Just… sit down.”
She guided you toward her bedroom with a hand braced at the small of your back, careful not to apply pressure. The air in her room smelled faintly of jasmine and cedar, the same scent from the night you first kissed her.
It made something in your chest stir painfully.
Sophia helped you sit on the edge of the bed, then dropped to her knees before you.
You startled. “Sophia—”
“Stay still.”
Her fingers are warm and confidently rested on your knees as she looks up at you. The position should have felt scandalous, almost suggestive, but there was nothing seductive in her expression.
She looked somewhat terrified.
“If you are hurt anywhere else,” she said, voice lower, “I want to know.”
Your throat tightened. “It’s mostly my ribs.”
“And your shoulder,” she added quietly.
“Maybe.”
Her hands slid upward, slow and careful. They traced your thighs, thumbs sweeping along the muscle like she needed to reassure herself you were whole. She stopped at your hips, squeezing gently, grounding herself in the physicality of you.
“You’re still warm,” she murmured. “That’s good.”
The sensation of her hands on you — your hips and your thighs was almost overwhelming. You held your breath, unsure if you wanted to pull her closer or push her away to avoid combusting.
Sophia’s eyes flicked up to yours.
“Breathe,” she whispered.
You obeyed.
She rose gracefully to her feet and cupped your jaw, her thumbs stroking your cheekbones, her palms guiding your face upward as though she needed you angled just right.
Her lips hovered inches from yours—not kissing you yet, but close enough that you felt her breath on your mouth.
Close enough that it hurts to not close the distance.
“Tell me if this is too much,” she murmured.
“It’s not.”
Her forehead pressed to yours, her breath shaky. “Good.”
Sophia pulled away before either of you crossed a line you weren’t ready to name. She grabbed clothes—hers and yours—then returned to you.
“You need a shower,” she said.
You tensed. “Sophia, I can—”
“No,” she said, firm. “You can’t. And I’m not letting you slip, fall, or be stubborn about this.”
Her tone brooked no argument. You let her help you stand, leaning on her slightly as the ache in your ribs flared. You then looked at her, letting your eyes tell her things both of you aren’t ready to speak into existence yet.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered.
“Like what?”
“Like…I don’t know, just don’t.”
“You’re so bossy. I was just looking”
“And you are injured. Which means I win.”
She opened the bathroom door, steam already rolling gently from the shower she’d started earlier. The warm light and soft tiles contrasted against the cold shock of your memory—scaffolding above you, Matt shouting your name, the sky spinning too fast.
Sophia must have seen the flicker of something in your expression because she stepped closer.
“Hey,” she murmured, her hands finding your arms. “It’s over. You’re here.”
You nodded, swallowing past the sudden tightness in your throat.
Sophia took your shirt between her fingers.
You raised a brow. “Should I be nervous?”
“Why?” she said. “I don’t think you should.”
She helped you undress—slow and deliberate, trying to avoid every bruise with the precision of someone handling glass. Her eyes roamed your body not hungrily, but attentively, searching for signs of pain. But despite it all, Sophia can’t help but admire how heavy lifting and dangerous labour do to a body, specifically yours.
“You really are hurt,” she whispered.
“It’ll heal.”
“I know.” Her voice cracked. “But I don’t want to see you in this bruised up state again.”
You didn’t think but your hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath caught and for a moment, something charged passed between you—something bright and dangerous.
Sophia took a small step closer.
“Into the shower,” she said softly with a smile.
She guided you inside, rolling up her sleeves again. The steam kissed her skin, making her hair curl faintly around her temples. You clenched your jaw because she looked unfairly beautiful like that, and you were in no state to be thinking about anything but survival.
The water ran warm down your back as Sophia’s hands moved through your hair, massaging shampoo gently into your scalp. Her fingers were careful.
“You’re trembling,” she murmured.
“Am I?”
She gave you a look that pierced straight through you. “Yes.”
“Maybe I’m cold.”
“You’re lying.”
You swallowed thickly. “Maybe I am.”
Sophia’s hands slid down to your shoulders, fingers pressing lightly against the knots of tension there. Her touch was firmer now and definitely more certain. The air between your bodies thickened.
Her voice dropped. “You scared me.”
“You said that already.”
“I’ll say it again,” she whispered. “I was terrified.”
You closed your eyes.
Her hands slid down your arms, reaching your wrists—thumbs brushing the faint indentations where the hospital tape had stuck.
“You’re safe now,” she murmured. “With me.”
When she finished rinsing your hair and washing your upper body, she stepped away just enough to grab a towel and wrap it around you with gentle, practiced movements. Her fingers lingered at your shoulders, your chest, and your ribs.
And then just when you thought she’d pull away, her lips brushed your collarbone. Her lips burned your skin like a vampire being exposed to the sun.
You inhaled sharply which caused her to freeze.
Her eyes lifted—slow, wide, and searching your face for regret.
“You okay?” she whispered.
You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Her fingers curled in the towel. “Tell me to stop.”
“I won’t.”
Something flickered through her expression—heat, relief, and a certain hunger she couldn’t hide. But she stepped back anyway, controlling herself with a precision that made your knees weak.
“We should get you dressed,” she said, voice trembling slightly despite her composed expression.
She helped you into soft clothes—one of your shirts (that you left from your previous stays), and sweatpants she’d brought out for you. Her hands were steady, but her breathing… her breathing wasn’t.
She guided you back to the bed, tucking you in like you were something breakable. And when she finally sat beside you, her thigh brushed yours but she didn’t move away.
And neither did you.
“You’re something else,” you murmured.
Sophia scoffed. “You’re the one making it difficult to think.”
You blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” She glared at nothing in particular. “Sitting here looking like… that.”
“Like what?”
She refused to answer.
Instead, she leaned forward and pressed a hand to your chest—right over your heartbeat.
“You’re staying here,” she whispered. “I need to know you’re safe.”
“Here? But I usually sleep in your guestroom?”
She didn’t answer. Her hand stayed there a moment longer before she slid it down, fingers brushing your sternum.
You can’t help but exhale, your breath catching.
Sophia drew back slowly, eyes lingering on your lips for a half-second too long.
“Get some rest,” she said quietly. “Before I do something stupid.”
You smiled faintly. “Stupid how?”
Her jaw flexed. “Don’t test me.”
You smirked.
She groaned softly into her hands. “Stop being impossible.”
But her hand found yours under the blanket, fingers intertwining like instinct. Letting her thumbs draw circles on your skin, as her other hand plays with your hair, softly making your eyelids too heavy to stay open.
Because Sophia stayed awake, thumb tracing your knuckles, watching your breathing settle—guarding you like something sacred.
—
You woke to warmth that didn’t belong to you.
Not sunlight—Sophia rarely let the penthouse blinds open past a modest sliver. Not blankets—you were swaddled in a softness far too expensive to ever exist in your own apartment.
It was warmth shaped like a person.
Sophia was tucked against your side, half draped over you in a way that made your ribs ache but your chest soften. Her forehead rested against your shoulder, her breath feathering over your collarbone. One of her legs had somehow hooked over yours, pinning you like a small, furious guard dog disguised as a goddess.
You didn’t remember her clinging to you like this.
But you didn’t need to because it felt natural.
You moved to adjust the blanket, and immediately a hand shot to your waist.
“…Don’t,” she mumbled, voice low and sleep-rough and dangerously soft. “Don’t move.”
You blinked. “Sophia—”
“No.” Her eyes were still closed, brows furrowed. “Stay.”
“I’m literally just trying to—”
“You’re injured,” she muttered. “Be still.”
You stared at the ceiling, fighting a smile. “You’re very bossy even if you're half-asleep.”
She groaned and finally cracked open one eye, glaring up at you from where she lay against your chest. Her voice, however, remained soft, just slightly hoarse from sleep.
“Don’t provoke me before breakfast.”
“Breakfast? You’re cooking?”
Another groan. She buried her face back into your shoulder. “Unfortunately.”
“I can do the cooking, you don’t—”
“No.” she mumbled. “I want to cook.”
You swallowed.
It was stupid how much that simple sentence warmed you.
When she finally pushed herself upright, she didn’t fully let go. She hovered close, watching you carefully the way someone watches a candle flame, afraid it might flicker out.
Her fingers brushed your hair back. “Any pain?”
“Just a bit sore.”
She gave you a long, unamused look. “Don’t downplay it.”
You sighed. “…My ribs. And my shoulder.”
Sophia nodded once, as if filing the information away into categories she intended to address later. Then she stood slowly, stretching quietly.
And that’s when you realised something else.
She was wearing your shirt.
It was slightly too big on her, hanging loose over her frame, sleeves pushed up her forearms. She sensed you looking and paused mid-stretch.
“What?” she asked.
You shook your head. “Nothing.”
Sophia squinted. “You’re lying.”
“I said nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“Is it bad? I’m just… appreciating.”
That made heat bloom under her cheeks. Pink, soft, and quickly straightened out by sheer willpower.
She crossed her arms. “Well… it was the closest thing to the bed.”
“You have an entire closet.”
“I didn’t want to walk that far.”
You raised a brow. “You dressed yourself in my clothes because your closet was too far?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
You tried not to smile but failed miserably.
Sophia rolled her eyes and pointed toward the bathroom. “Go wash up. But slowly. And call me if you feel dizzy.”
“You’ll hear if I fall.”
Her lips twitched with amusement. “I’d rather hear you call me than hear you hit the floor.”
You met her eyes. “I’ll call you.” accompanied with a playful wink as she helps you stand up.
Relief, warmth, and something tender she wasn’t ready to name yet flickered across her face as she nodded. “You better.”
You washed up, careful of your ribs hitting the sink, and when you returned, you found Sophia already in the kitchen.
The sight almost stopped your heart.
Sophia—hair slightly messy, your shirt swallowing her frame, apron tied neatly around her waist, sleeves rolled to her elbows—was frying something on the stove with focused concentration.
She moved with softness layered underneath, each motion slower than her usual sharp efficiency.
“You’re watching me,” she said without turning.
“Wow, I guess you’d survive a usual horror scene.”
“It’s because I can feel you staring.”
You leaned against the counter. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
She glanced over her shoulder, lips curling slightly. “I don’t cook for many people.”
“I’m honoured then.”
She looked fully now, her eyes warm, honest, but playful.
“You should.”
For a moment, the room felt too small.
You swallowed around the heat spreading across your chest. “Sophia…”
She turned back to the stove. “Sit down. Breakfast is almost done.”
Of course you listened.
She made a plate for you first, setting it gently in front of you, then sat across from you with her own. The food smelled good—better than you expected from someone who claimed she didn’t cook often.
The first few minutes were quiet and comfortable but then you cleared your throat softly.
“Sophia?”
She looked up mid-bite, humming in question.
You poked lightly at your plate, trying to sound casual. “Yesterday—the whole hospital thing.”
Her chewing slowed. She set her fork down. “Right.”
“I was out cold half the day,” you said, attempting a smile. “You handled everything while I was unconscious, yeah?”
She gave a small, polite eyebrow raise. “I did.”
You nodded, staring at your food a bit too intently. “Okay, so… where do I pay the bill?”
Sophia didn’t blink. “You don’t.”
Your fork stalled halfway to your mouth. “Sorry—what?”
“You don’t have to pay for it,” she said simply, as if she were informing you something casual like the weather.
You let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “Sophia. Please tell me you didn’t.”
Her gaze held steady. “I did.”
“Soph—”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me—”
“No.”
You dropped your cutlery with a soft clink and leaned back. “It’s my responsibility.”
“Your responsibility,” she said calmly, “is to rest. Mine is to take care of you.”
“That’s not—” You scrubbed a hand over your face. “It’s too expensive.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do.”
Something shifted in her expression—barely, but enough. Her jaw tightened and her eyes cooled to something guarded.
“Why?” she asked quietly.
You swallowed thickly. “Because I don’t want to… take advantage of you.”
For a heartbeat, she didn’t move at all. Then her knife slipped from her fingers and clattered softly onto her plate.
She stood.
The scrape of her chair against the floor was soft but startling, and then she was beside you, her presence warm and close. She touched your jaw with gentle firmness, tilting your face up to hers.
“You think that’s what this is?” she murmured.
“No—I just…” Your voice cracked. You forced a breath. “You already do too much for me.”
Her expression darkened. She’s not angry, but wounded in such ways that make your stomach twist. She looked at you straight into your eyes, her hand still holding you in place.
“Listen to me,” she said quietly, each word grounded and steady. “You being hurt is harder for me than any bill could ever be. Do you understand that?”
Your chest tightened. “…Sophia—”
“I paid it,” she said, thumb brushing your cheek in a slow, calming stroke. “And you’re not going to worry about it. End of discussion.”
She was close enough for you to feel her breath on your skin.
You let out a shaky exhale. “You can’t always win.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I can. And I do.”
“You’re so stubborn.”
“You’re injured.”
You huffed out a laugh. “Are you going to use that against me forever?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “Though I’d prefer not to have the excuse for long.”
Her hand lingered a heartbeat more—warm and grounding, before she finally stepped back and returned to her seat, as though the room hadn’t just tilted on its axis.
—
You ate in silence for a moment before another thought surfaced.
“I should go back to work tomorrow.”
Sophia’s fork froze mid-air.
Slowly, she lowered it.
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me—”
“No.”
“Sophia, I can’t just skip—”
“No.”
You threw your hands up. “You can’t keep saying no!”
“Yes, I can,” she said, calm and infuriating and yet beautiful. “And I will.”
You glared. “I’m capable of working.”
“You have bruised ribs.”
“I can walk.”
“You can barely lift your arm.”
“Yes I can.”
“Right.” she said as she rolled her eyes.
“I can still do basic tasks.”
“You fainted yesterday.”
“I didn’t faint—”
“You were unconscious.”
“It was an accident—”
“You fell,” she snapped, voice sharper now. “And I wasn’t there. And I won’t allow that to happen again.”
Silence.
You swallowed. “Sophia…”
She closed her eyes, breathing in slowly, softening her tone. “You can’t go back yet. Not until you’re healed.”
“But—”
“No,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t fight me on this.”
The “please” made you look at her in defeat.
You deflated. “…How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She met your eyes. “I know.”
You leaned back in your chair. “You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”
“No.” A pause. “But I am telling it to you nicely.”
Something in her voice—low, vulnerable, and pleading beneath the steel—broke you a little.
“…Fine,” you said quietly.
Sophia exhaled. Relief flooded her posture.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
You studied her—her tension, her worry, the way she stared at her plate like she was trying to regain control of her breathing.
You couldn’t help it.
You reached across the table and touched her hand.
Sophia looked up and the air shifted again.
Her fingers turned, sliding between yours.
—
Sophia insisted you stay on the couch after breakfast, which you did… for exactly five minutes.
Five.
Then you spotted one of her throw towels slightly crooked, the edges not lining up. You reached to fix it, stretching carefully—
“Absolutely not.”
You flinched. “Soph— what?”
Sophia marched out of the kitchen with a damp towel in her hand, eyes narrowed, footsteps sharp like small thunderclaps across the penthouse floor.
“You,” she said, pointing aggressively toward the cushions behind you, “sit.”
“But the towel was—”
“Sit.”
“I’m just straightening—”
“Sit.”
You crossed your arms. “Are you going to command me like a dog all day?”
“Yes,” she answered instantly, without shame.
You blinked. “Sophia—”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t a yes or no question—”
“Yes.”
You groaned and sank back into the couch, head falling against the cushion. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know,” she said calmly as she walked over. “Lean back properly.”
“I am leaning back.”
“More.”
“More?”
She put a hand on your chest and pushed gently. “More.”
You huffed, but let her position you exactly how she wanted, which is reclined, supported, and completely immobile.
“That’s better,” she murmured, satisfied. “Stay.”
You exhaled deeply. “I’m not a child.”
“No,” she said, lifting your arm to adjust the pillow under your ribs. “You’re worse.”
You snorted. “How am I worse?”
“You’re reckless,” she replied. “And stubborn. And you never listen.”
You raised a brow. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
Sophia paused, eyes narrowing. “…Don’t test me.”
The tension between you sparked instantly—quiet but electric, threading through the air. Her hand was still on your chest, fingers splayed lightly over your collarbone, her thumb brushing once—absentminded, thoughtless, intimate.
It sent a warm ripple straight through your stomach.
She realised a second too late what she was doing and snatched her hand back, clearing her throat sharply.
“You should rest,” she said stiffly.
You smiled. “You always get flustered when—”
“I’m not flustered.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“You’re pink.”
“I’m not.”
You grinned. “Sophia…”
Her lips pressed into a line a little too tight to be calm.
“…Shut up,” she muttered.
You laughed quietly, and something in her posture softened—like your laughter was a sound that she’d involuntarily want to play in her head.
Sophia walked away to fold the towel and you watched her move. Looking graceful and composed.
And wearing your shirt.
It made something deep in your chest tug gently, warm, and possessive.
She took care of you so intensely, so vehemently, that it stirred something primal in you—something that wanted to take care of her back.
But not like she did—with commands and sternness.
No.
You wanted something quieter. Something intentional. Something softer, but no less deliberate.
The idea simmered, settling heavy and sweet under your ribs.
—
Sophia stayed in the kitchen longer than necessary.
You could hear her — cupboards opening, the fridge shutting, the brief clatter of dishes. None of it sounded messy enough to be accidental. She was keeping herself busy, you realised. Busy in the way people do when their emotions have nowhere to go.
You shifted carefully on the couch, wincing when your ribs protested. The blanket she’d tucked around you earlier had slipped slightly down your waist.
Before you could reach for it, Sophia’s voice carried from the kitchen.
“Don’t you dare move.”
You huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t—”
“You were thinking about moving.”
“How would you know that?”
Her footsteps approached again, slow but precise, and she appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, her eyebrows raised in a way that made your stomach flutter.
“I know you,” she said.
And that was the problem.
She crossed the room and tugged the blanket back up, smoothing it over you with meticulous care. Her fingers brushed your side for half a second too long, and she must’ve felt the way your breath hitched because her hand froze.
Sophia swallowed and stepped back, clearing her throat.
“You need to rest.”
“You need to sit down,” you countered gently.
Her brows knitted. “I’m fine.”
You tilted your head. “Are you?”
Sophia’s lips parted as if to retort, but she closed them again. She stood there for a moment, perfectly still, as her eyes trained on some point near your shoulder as if debating something.
Then she moved.
She quietly sank onto the couch beside you — leaving enough space to be polite, but not enough to be indifferent. Her shoulder hovered a few centimetres from yours, as though she wasn’t sure touching you again would be the right call.
You watched her hands as they kept fidgeting.
Sophia Laforteza — corporate-warfare queen, stone-faced perfection, composed even while scolding a foreman in front of the entire site is fidgeting.
You can’t help but soften at the thought itself.
Carefully, you reached out and took her hand.
Her fingers stilled instantly, her breath catching the way it did earlier when she thought you might fall in the shower. She didn’t pull away. She only looked at you, eyes wide, her pupils softening around the edges.
“…You okay?” you asked quietly.
Sophia’s mouth opened, then closed again. She looked away, jaw working like she was trying to find the right version of the truth.
“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” she said finally. The words were small.
“I know.”
“It makes me feel…” Her voice dipped, almost ashamed. “Helpless.”
You squeezed her hand. “You’re not helpless.”
“I felt like it,” she confessed. “When the call came. When the nurse told me you’d been unconscious. And they didn’t know how bad it was.” Her fingers tightened around yours. “I don’t ever want to feel that again.”
You leaned your head back. “Sophia… you can’t control everything.”
She huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh or a broken sigh. “Don’t tell me that.”
“But it’s true.”
She finally turned to face you properly, eyes sharp but vulnerable beneath the surface. “I know it’s true,” she whispered. “I just… I don't like it.”
Silence settled between you.
Slowly, carefully, you lifted your free hand and brushed your knuckles against her cheek.
“Let me take care of you too,” you said softly.
“I don’t know how to let people do that,” she admitted, voice barely audible.
“Then we’ll start small.”
You reached out and gently smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear — the same way you did last night. Sophia inhaled sharply, eyes closing for a moment as if grounding herself in the touch.
When she opened them again, her gaze was softer than you had ever seen it.
“…hmm,” she hummed quietly.
You confirmed by gently kissing her forehead.
Her hand rose hesitantly — as if moving through water — and rested on your chest over your heartbeat.
“I’m still in charge,” she said, voice steadying again.
You smirked. “Of course you are.”
“But…” she added, her fingers brushing slightly. “I can try.”
You felt something warm bloom under your ribs — gentler than fear, brighter than pain, and deeper than gratitude.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured.
Sophia exhaled, long and slow, almost trembling with relief as she leaned into the couch, her shoulder finally settling against yours.
For the first time since the accident, she let herself relax.
And you stayed there beside her — letting her feel your warmth, your breathing, your presence — caring for her in the quiet way she didn’t know how to ask for yet.
—
Manon Bannerman did not arrive at the penthouse by accident.
That was the part Sophia would replay later, trying to pinpoint the exact moment the woman had slipped past her guard. But for now, the two of you were still on the couch, the lamplight soft and low, her shoulder pressed to yours with a closeness she was still pretending was unavoidable.
You could feel her breathing — steady, but not quite relaxed — a certain quiet rhythm of someone who had only just admitted they didn’t want to lose you.
You shifted slightly and Sophia’s hand twitched, as if ready to steady you before you even leaned. Her gaze flicked down to the careful rise and fall of your chest, checking, which she always does.
You smiled at this gesture but she pretended not to notice.
A vibration buzzed from somewhere behind the couch.
Sophia stiffened again. “Your phone.”
You blinked. “My… oh.”
Right. She’d tucked your phone onto the charging dock on the side table earlier, muttering about you forgetting everything unless she did it herself.
You reached for it, ribs tightening with the movement. Sophia’s hand shot forward automatically, fingers brushing yours as she steadied you without thinking.
The contact was warm and brief, a little too intimate not to feel.
And as you unlocked your phone, you saw three messages from one name.
Manon Bannerman - Statistics 210
Sophia leaned in slightly — not to snoop, but because she always leaned toward you now, like gravity was a choice she was making out of stubbornness.
“Who’s that?” she asked casually
Except nothing about her tone was casual.
“Just a uni mate,” you said, opening the first message.
hey trouble, just found out we are in the same class again.
im in the city today. you at that tiny flat of yours or somewhere else? gotta drop some stuff off.
You frowned.
“She says she needs to give me something?”
Sophia’s eyebrows narrowed just a fraction. “What kind of something?”
You scrolled.
also, saw your name on the uni system. TA said you accidentally submitted the wrong version. i fixed it for you, but i need you to sign the cover sheet. uni’s closing early today. ;)
Sophia exhaled quietly.
You typed back quickly.
I'm not at my place rn. Staying at a friend’s.
Manon responded instantly.
cool. drop me a pin.
You hesitated.
Sophia saw.
“No,” she said firmly. “Do not send her my address.”
You snorted. “Sophia…”
“I’m serious.”
“It’s just a uni classmate.”
“Fine, but we will meet her at the lobby.”
Still, you didn’t send the exact pin — mostly because you genuinely weren’t sure if Sophia would combust and of course, to respect her privacy.
Instead, you typed:
here. [location]
meet me downstairs. lobby.
Manon replied within seconds.
on my way.
Sophia’s expression sharpened. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Then she’ll think I’m ignoring her.”
“I don’t care what she thinks.”
“Soph—”
“You’re injured.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh. “I can walk to the lift.”
Sophia’s glare said absolutely not, but you were already pushing to your feet — carefully testing your weight.
She rose with you automatically, close enough that you felt her presence like heat along your side.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m coming with you.”
“Sophia, I can walk. I won’t just trip and die.”
“You won’t,” she said. “But you need supervision.”
You grinned at her comment but she glared harder.
—
The trip to the lift was quiet except for the soft echo of your footsteps along the marble floor. Sophia stayed beside you the whole way — matching your pace, stealing glances at you, at your breathing, at any sign you were pushing yourself too far.
When the lift doors opened, she subtly wrapped her hands around your arms, guiding you in like you might collapse.
You didn’t. But you didn’t move her hand either.
The lift descended. The city flickered past in the glass — gold streaks of traffic, late sunset bleeding out behind the skyline.
Sophia stared straight ahead, jaw tight. You caught her reflection in the glass — the faint crease between her brows, the tension ticking in her throat.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
“I’m fine.”
“Lying.”
She didn’t look at you. “I don’t like strangers knowing where you are.”
“She doesn’t know. She’s meeting us in the lobby.”
“That isn’t better.”
“She’s harmless.”
“We’ll see.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Sophia”
Sophia’s reflection stiffened.
“No,” she said, quickly, too quickly. “I simply don’t trust people.”
“Mhm.”
She shot you a sharp side-eye. “Wipe that look off your face.”
You smirked as she scowled — but the corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting something warmer.
The lift chimed softly. The lobby of the building was all polished stone and quiet air-conditioning, staff moving with smooth, unobtrusive grace. You spotted her immediately.
Manon Bannerman had never been subtle a day in her life.
Manon is the kind of wealthy that didn’t advertise itself. She is care-free, outgoing, and quietly intimidating. Her family money came from old businesses, old land, old connections. Not as explosive or enormous as the Laforteza empire — Sophia’s generational dynasty that practically owned half the city — but still powerful in ways that made people treat her differently. But that doesn’t stop Manon from being as approachable as she is.
She stood near the front desk, leaning against the marble counter like it had been placed there solely for her to drape herself over. A fitted jacket hugged her frame, dark curls tumbling over one shoulder. Her presence was magnetic and bold in a way that drew eyes without even trying.
She saw you before she saw Sophia.
Her face lit up.
“There you are.”
Her gaze swept down you deliberately, slowly trailing over the bruise beneath your collarbone, the bulk of your shoulders, the way you were slightly stiff on one side. “Wow. Construction’s really been sculpting you, huh? Hiding all these in a hoodie too.”
Sophia went absolutely still.
Manon pushed off the counter and strode toward you, confident as a tide. She whistled low under her breath.
“Look at you,” she murmured. “Didn’t realise you filled out this much since last semester.”
Your face burned. “Manon—”
Then her eyes shifted to Sophia.
“Oh,” Manon said, smile widening. “You must be the friend.”
Sophia didn’t blink. “Sophia Laforteza.”
Manon’s smile sharpened. As if she recognised the name.
“Bannerman,” she said. “Manon Bannerman.”
Sophia didn’t take the offered handshake.
And Manon didn’t look offended. If anything, she looked thrilled.
“So,” Manon said, stepping slightly closer to you, “Just saw your name on the class system. Next thing I hear, you’ve taken a fall and landed yourself in hospital. Impressive commitment to avoiding the tutorial.”
You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t on purpose.”
“Mhm. But look at you recovering in style.” She glanced around the penthouse-grade lobby. “Didn’t know you were staying somewhere else.”
You cleared your throat. “It’s temporary.”
Sophia’s hand found your elbow. “They’re staying with me.”
Manon’s eyebrow lifted in interest. Her gaze dropped to the place Sophia was touching you.
“Oh,” she said again, slower this time. “I see.”
Sophia’s grip tightened.
Manon lifted the folder she’d been carrying. “Anyway. This is yours. Cover sheet needs your signature. Don’t worry, I fixed the formatting. Your original submission was… adorable.”
You winced. “Was it that bad?”
“What no,” she said. “It was worse.”
You groaned.
She laughed. It was the delighted and wicked kind that made you want to sink into the floor.
Sophia did not laugh.
You stepped forward to take the folder, wincing when your ribs pulled. Manon’s hand darted out, catching your forearm — fingers wrapping around the muscle there.
“Hey,” she murmured. “Careful.”
Sophia’s voice went sharp.
“Let go.”
Manon turned slowly, still holding onto you. Her eyes sparkled with dangerous amusement.
“Or what?”
Sophia stepped forward — just enough to be close but not enough to be unprofessional. Her voice dropped low, quiet enough that only the three of you could hear.
“Or I’ll remove your hand myself.”
You froze.
Manon’s smile spread.
“Oh, you’re fun,” she whispered.
Sophia’s jaw flexed. “I’m not joking.”
“And I’m not touching anywhere inappropriate,” Manon replied lightly. “Just helping them stand up straight.”
“Move,” Sophia said.
Manon held your gaze for a long moment before releasing your arm slowly, as if reluctant. Her thumb brushed your skin on the way out.
You inhaled sharply.
Sophia noticed.
Manon did too.
She clicked her tongue. “Relax, I’m not stealing your—” she paused, eyes flicking between the two of you “—whatever they are to you.”
Sophia said nothing.
You prayed for the ground to swallow you whole.
Manon winked. “Yet.”
“Manon,” you hissed.
“What?” She smiled innocently. “I’m just appreciating good construction work. And good construction workers.”
Manon continued, unbothered. “So. About that signature. You good to do it now?”
Sophia stepped between you before you could answer. “They’re not doing anything that strains their ribs.”
“It’s literally a signature.”
“No.”
Manon blinked. “What, are you going to sign it for them?”
“If I must.”
You groaned. “Sophia, it’s okay. I can sign it.”
She turned to you, eyes fierce. “...Fine.”
Manon laughed — loud enough the receptionist glanced over.
“You two are hilarious,” she said. “Anyway, if you need help with the next paper, shoot me a message. Or if you wanted a study buddy. Or if you just want company. I’m pretty flexible.”
You swallowed. “Right. Thanks”
She leaned in, as she whispers in your ear. Even Sophia couldn’t move fast enough.
“Recover soon, trouble,” she murmured.
Your entire body went warm.
Manon stepped back with a satisfied smirk. “See you around.”
She walked toward the exit, coat swaying behind her, curls bouncing, and her confidence trailing like perfume.
Sophia stared after her, expression carved from stone.
As the glass doors slid shut.
Sophia didn’t move.
You waited.
One second.
Two.
Five.
Then—
“…Trouble?” she said finally.
You groaned into your hands. “Don’t. I can explain. It’s because of that one Statistics class that—”
Sophia’s voice was tight. “And she touched you.”
“Soph—”
“And she looked at you like—like—”
“Please don’t finish that sentence.”
“She was practically climbing you.”
You laughed weakly. “She was not.”
“She would’ve if the lobby wasn’t public.”
You choked on air. “Sophia!”
Her cheeks reddened. Her frustration cracked.
“I don’t like her,” she muttered.
“I figured.”
“She shouldn’t talk to you like that.”
“She’s just like that and I didn’t even flirt back.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said, pacing now. “She was doing it for both of you.”
You leaned against the wall, still stunned. “Are you… jealous?”
Sophia froze mid-step.
Her eyes snapped to yours.
“No,” she said.
You smiled, slow and warm.
She glared, cheeks darker now. “Shut up.”
—
The next morning began with Sophia standing over the bed like she’d been rehearsing a speech for hours. Her blouse was crisp, hair pinned up neatly, makeup subtle yet impossibly perfect — but her eyes were tense that told you she hadn’t slept much.
You blinked awake and she softened immediately.
“Good morning,” she murmured, brushing your fringe aside. Her fingers were warm. “How do you feel?”
“Good,” you admitted, stretching carefully. “A little sore.”
Sophia nodded once, as if this confirmed something she had already decided hours earlier.
“Good. Then this makes the next part easier.”
You groaned. “Sophia…”
“You are not going back to the construction site,” she said firmly.
You pushed yourself up against the pillows. “Soph—”
“No. Not now. Not for a while. And definitely not until you can lift your arms without wincing.”
You opened your mouth again, already ready to argue, but her glare cut through your protest like a laser.
“Sophia, I need the job,” you insisted. “I can’t just sit around in your penthouse eating your expensive fruit.”
“Firstly,” she said, crossing her arms in that precise, terrifying Laforteza way, “my fruit is none of your concern.”
“Soph—”
“Secondly,” she continued, “you’re still enrolled at uni. That, I’ll allow. Classes only. No heavy lifting, no dangerous machinery, no falling scaffolds.” She exhaled sharply. “You can go to your lectures. That’s it.”
You hesitated. “…That doesn’t pay anything.”
Sophia’s eyes softened — only slightly.
“I’ll handle it,” she murmured. “All of it.”
“Soph—”
“No arguing. I’m not asking you to stop working forever. Only until you heal.” Her voice softened even further. “I won’t lose you again.”
Your chest tightened.
She stepped closer, hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Please.”
It was that word — please — that undid you.
“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll… I’ll focus on uni for now.”
Relief washed over her face like a slow tide.
“Good.” She pressed a light kiss to your temple — barely there, almost accidental. “Thank you.”
You tried not to melt.
Sophia straightened, all business again.
“After class,” she continued, “you’ll text Alex.”
“The driver?”
“Yes. He’ll pick you up the moment your lecture ends.”
You blinked. “Sophia. I can catch the bus.”
“You can. But you won’t.”
“Do I even have a say in this?.”
“No,” she countered easily. “Text Alex.”
You sighed. “Fine.”
Sophia smirked in quiet victory.
She left soon after for a meeting, pausing only to send you a text, lecturing you about hydration, medication, and for you to not move vigorously.
—
University felt strangely normal — like the accident had happened years ago instead of some days ago.
You managed to sit through your lectures without passing out, which felt like a victory. You attended a few tutorials, asked your professors what to catch up on. And honestly, you did just about everything you could to pull yourself back on track.
When class ended, you stepped outside, pulling your phone out to text Alex.
Y/N: Hey, classes are done
Y/N: Outside the usual entrance please. Thank you.
Alex: On my way, 5 minutes.
You straightened your shirt as if that would magically make you look less exhausted.
As you waited, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, a smooth, amused voice drifted in from behind you.
“Trouble.”
Your spine tingled.
“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”
You turned.
Manon Bannerman strolled up the pathway with confidence that made people turn their heads without understanding why — sharp in every step, her jacket thrown over her shoulder like she’d stepped out of a magazine shoot.
She smiled as she approached you.
“Fancy seeing you again, my trouble.”
You tried not to react.
And failed.
“Manon,” you said, forcing your voice steady. “Didn’t expect you here today.”
She grinned. “I only had two lectures today. Was planning on skipping both but thank God I didn’t — look where it led me.”
You chuckled. “I’m amazed at how you skip class yet pass everything with ease.”
Manon smirked, delighted. “I try, you know. We should definitely go out sometime… Just to study, of course.”
You snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
Manon stepped closer, head tilted. “How’re the ribs?”
“Sore but better.”
“Mm.” Her eyes travelled deliberately across your shoulders, chest, arms. “Still strong enough to bench press me, though.”
Your ears burned.
She laughed quietly, clearly entertained.
“And you’re very well kept today,” she teased. “Trying to impress someone?”
“Are you saying I looked bad before?”
“Mm-hm.” She twirled a curl around her finger. “Maybe. Or maybe I just always have the urge to dress you up myself.”
You tried not to smile. “Well, Sophia is—”
But before you could finish, Manon drifted closer — not quite touching, but close enough that you felt the heat of her.
“You looked good yesterday,” she murmured. “Even half-conscious.”
Her voice dipped. “But you look much better awake.”
Your throat tightened. “Right—”
She lifted a hand and gently brushed a bit of lint off your collar.
Heat shot up your neck.
“There,” she whispered. “Perfect.”
You froze like an idiot.
Manon smirked.
“Relax. I’m just messing with you.”
She wasn’t. And she knew it.
Then her eyes flicked past your shoulder.
She smiled like she had just heard a private joke.
“Oh. Well. That complicates things.”
You turned—
—and your heart stopped.
A sleek black car had pulled up to the kerb. Alex had opened the back door at the exact angle he always used for Sophia — unobtrusive, but revealing enough to see who sat inside.
In the dim interior, Sophia sat motionless.
Eyes locked on you.
Expression unreadable.
But her gaze…
Her gaze could’ve cut stone.
You heard your own gulp.
Manon leaned in slightly, voice a whisper against your ear.
“You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was picking you up.”
“Yeah, um—”
“She looks like she wants to kill me.”
“…yeah.”
Manon grinned. “This is fun.”
Sophia did not blink.
Alex helped Sophia step out — but she merely shifted, refusing to leave the car entirely, spine straight, hands folded, like a queen on a throne surveying the battlefield.
“Y/N,” he said gently, “Ms. Laforteza is ready for you.”
Manon let out a low whistle. “Go on, my trouble.”
You silently winced but nodded. “I’ll see you around, Manon.”
She stepped back, hands in her pockets. “See you around, sweetheart.”
Sophia’s jaw clenched at sweetheart.
You took a hesitant step toward the car.
Manon called out—
“Don’t forget to text me when you get home safely, yeah? I’d hate to miss our conversation.”
You froze.
Sophia’s eyes twitched so sharply you could feel the tension in the air.
You climb into the back seat, and you can feel the atmosphere thick enough to chew.
Sophia didn’t look at you.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet — but soaked in jealousy, sarcasm, and suppressed fury.
“‘Don’t forget to text me when you get home safely.’ Right. Because apparently I should’ve let you limp to class on your own, or hell, let you go back to the construction site instead of university.”
You exhaled slowly. “Soph—”
“Oh, no, please. Don’t let me interrupt your… conversation.”
“Sophia.”
“And sweetheart?” she scoffed under her breath. “Original.”
You touched her hand, tentative but confident. You held her fingers gently, your thumb brushing the back of her hand.
“You know she’s just being Manon,” you said quietly. “But I’m going home with you.”
That one soft sentence cracked her armour.
She squeezed your hand once, full of emotion she didn’t know how to show properly.
The rest of the ride home was silent but calmer.
—
The penthouse door clicked shut behind you.
For a moment, everything held still.
Sophia didn’t speak. She didn’t pace. She didn’t throw a lecture at you the moment you stepped inside like you half-expected.
She just… exhaled. Like the day had wrung her out, and she had nothing left except the need to be near you.
Sophia walked straight to the living room, kicked off her heels with two sharp flicks of her ankles, and sank onto the couch.
Her head tipped back against the cushions, her hair loosening from its pin, and her eyes fluttering shut.
You hovered in the doorway for a few seconds before padding over, sitting beside her. Without thinking, you gently guided her legs across your lap.
Sophia cracked one eye open — only half. Just enough to see you.
“…hi,” she murmured, voice lower than usual.
You huffed a soft laugh. “Hi.”
Your hands moved instinctively, thumbs tracing slow circles along her calves.
She inhaled sharply but not from pain.
Her head slid from the back of the couch to your shoulder, cheek pressing against you, breath warm against your jaw.
“You’re too desirable," she whispered, eyes closed.
“And you’re too stressed,” you answered softly.
Sophia hummed, shifting again — closer, her hand drifting to your thigh as if she didn’t realise she’d done it.
Or maybe she did.
Her breathing grew steadier, your thumb brushing slow strokes along her shin, then her knee, then the top of her thigh.
Then — so softly you almost missed it — she asked.
“Do you like her?”
You stilled.
Sophia’s eyes stayed closed, but her fingers curled a little tighter against your leg.
You cupped her cheek gently with one hand, guiding her gaze up to yours.
Her eyelashes fluttered open, dark and stubborn and so much more vulnerable than she wanted to be.
“I’m here,” you murmured. “With you.”
Something uncoiled inside her — tension melting, worry fading, replaced by something warmer, deeper, and hungrier.
Sophia pushed herself upright, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact.
Her knees slid to either side of your hips, straddling you as naturally as breathing.
You swallowed.
“Soph—”
Her hands framed your jaw, grip firm but trembling ever so slightly.
“Do you know,” she murmured, leaning close enough for her breath to ghost your lips, “how insane you make me?”
You barely managed a nod.
Sophia’s lips brushed yours — barely there, a tease, maybe a test.
Then she kissed you properly.
It wasn’t soft.
It was hungry.
Days and weeks of self-control dissolving into one heated, breath-stealing moment — her hands sliding to the back of your neck, your fingers digging into her waist, the two of you pulling each other closer like being apart even an inch felt unbearable.
Her kiss deepened, slow but desperate, like she’d been waiting all day — all month — for the chance to finally taste you without restraint.
When she finally pulled back, your breaths tangled in the small space between you.
Her forehead rested against yours.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Don’t make me jealous again.”
Your thumb traced her lower lip, still warm from the kiss.
“I’m sorry.”
Sophia let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. She is breathless, relieved, and completely undone.
She kissed you again, slower this time, gentler, but no less intense.
Her fingers tangled in your shirt. Yours pressed into her hips.
And for a long, perfect moment, the world narrowed to the warmth of her body and the taste of her mouth.
She pulled back only when she needed air, cheeks flushed, eyes dark.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
“Of course, mahal.” You whispered back.
And when she curled into you afterwards, warm and soft against your chest, it felt like the world had finally learned how to be kind.
Happy December!!! Lowkey feel like I've mixed Amped Hearts reader's personality with Steel and Silk reader's personality but hey here's a Steel and Silk part 2, yey!!! Honestly, I didn't expect for this to be so long (longer than the part 1) but sugar mommy Sophia really hits different. Hope you guys like this one :)))
Synopsis: Megan was born to shine, her life measured in spotlights and applause, but loving you was a script she never rehearsed. Torn between the career she’d built and the heart she couldn’t hide, she learns some choices leave scars no stage can erase.
Warnings: angst, use of you. Also an oc for the plot. Let me know if there's more that I forgot to mention. A little bit of Lara x reader too.
Notes: Inspired by CC7 lol. I don’t really know how casting or anything like that works so I’m sorry if there’s some mistakes about that. This is quite short and rushed just cause I’ve been struggling to write anything lately but I really feel bad for this ask which has been sitting in my inbox for weeks now. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Not proofread :((
Even as a child, she carried the room in her gaze before anyone else spoke, and the cameras followed her like moths to light. Being a child actor meant understanding early on that nothing was truly yours—not your time, not your privacy, not even the way people saw you. You were moulded constantly, trimmed and polished until you fit the industry’s idea of perfection. Some days, it felt like your whole childhood had been borrowed. Some days, you didn’t mind, not when the pay checks kept the lights on and not when you saw your mother finally relax after opening bills she no longer had to fear. Everything was a performance, not just for the camera, but for life itself. And somehow, somewhere between those days, you and Megan had grown up side by side.
You met Megan Skiendiel before you even understood what “stardom” truly meant. She had been the one in the audition room humming to herself, dangling her feet off a plastic chair, looking unbothered by anything at all. You were trying desperately to appear calm, aware that someone with her aura could swallow the room in a glance. She noticed you anyway, of course, and grinned like she had just received a gift.
“You’re new,” she said, swinging her legs, one shoe tapping against the floor.
“Yeah,” you looked at her with anxiousness as she observed you.
Her giggles cut through the quiet of the room, bright and unguarded. That giggle marked the beginning of years spent side by side, navigating early call times, late nights on set, and the constant hum of a life under scrutiny.
—
By the time you were ten, the two of you were on the same show. Side-by-side dressing rooms, shared snacks, whispered secrets between takes, and handshakes nobody else understood. You grew together, not just as friends, but as co-survivors of the child-actor life, from early mornings, late-night shoots, and constant pressure to smile when your body wanted to collapse. Megan had always been effortless at it. You were careful. You observed, you mimicked, you measured every word, and you learned from it.
Somewhere around thirteen, something about you began to change. You cut your hair short, stopped wearing pastel jackets, preferred flat shoes that clomped solidly against the studio floors over heels. Piercings appeared—first eyebrow, then your second lobe—and tattoos, small and hidden beneath sleeves. You lifted weights, built muscle, not for the show but because it grounded you, it helps you forget about the constant pressure of the media, and to feel solid in a world that always felt like it was trying to pull you apart. The reflection staring back from the mirror finally felt like someone you recognised.
And of course, Megan noticed.
She noticed the way your arms flexed without effort, the subtle shift in the way you moved through space, the quiet confidence that made the camera pause on you for just a fraction longer than usual. It was confusing, and she hated that it was confusing. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way—she had a career to protect, a public image to maintain but some part of her mind could not stop cataloguing every new detail, every new inch of you that became undeniably, irrevocably you.
—
It was late one afternoon, when the set was empty except for the two of you. You were sitting on the edge of a crate, script loose in your lap, the sunlight slanting through the studio windows. “Megan” you said, voice low, tentative. “I… I like girls.”
Her chewing paused. She swallowed, eyes locking on yours. “Okay,” she said flatly.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay,” she repeated, shrugging, a flicker of something unnameable in her gaze. She didn’t turn away. She wasn’t supposed to be studying you like that, yet she did, tracing the lines of your jaw, the subtle tension of your shoulders, the way your arms flexed even when relaxed. Megan didn’t notice herself noticing.
From then on, things shifted in small increments. Secret glances across rehearsal rooms, fingers brushing while exchanging scripts, leaning too close in quiet hallways. You noticed, of course, and sometimes your chest would tighten at the awareness that her attention lingered on you in ways it didn’t on anyone else. But she was careful. She had to be.
—
Over the next months, her attention changed subtly. She watched you differently, not professionally, not like a friend who was waiting for her cue, but like someone noticing every inch of you. You tried to ignore it. Pretending was something you had been doing your whole life but Megan had never been good at ignoring things she wanted.
The first kiss happened backstage, the first time it was just the two of you in the dim space between the painted sets. Your scripts were loose in your hands, and the lights from the stage cast long, thin streaks across the floor. She stepped close, brushing her shoulder against yours.
“You look… different these days,” she said.
“Bad different?” you murmured, cheeks warm.
“Good different.” Her eyes flicked to your bicep flexing casually. “I like it.”
“Thanks,” you said again, unsure if she meant the muscle or something else.
She stared at your mouth. Your pulse thudded. “Megan—” you started.
She closed the inch between you. Your breath caught. Time spun strangely. The kiss was soft first, then firmer when she realised you weren’t pushing her away. Fingers tangled with fabric, breaths mingled in quiet urgency. And then it was done. But it wasn’t the last time it happened.
Secret kisses became the norm—closets, stairwells, empty hallways. You both learned to hide in plain sight, smiling as cameras rolled, only to collide in shadows. But Megan could not hide her composure completely. She smiled for the cameras beside her co-stars but lit up differently around you. When you weren’t looking, she followed, watched, and wanted.
—
Everything fractured when Lara Raj joined the cast.
Lara was a whirlwind, impossible to ignore, and incredibly flirtatious. She laughed too loudly, leaned too close, admired your tattoos openly, teased your muscles with a wink and grin that suggested she knew exactly the effect she had on people. She sat close during rehearsals, brushed against you accidentally (or not), leaned too close during blocking, sat closer than necessary when you studied your lines together, and laughed at jokes (specifically yours) nobody else would understand. The fans online noticed, the editors noticed, and of course Megan noticed.
Megan’s jealousy began small—a hitch of her jaw, a sharper tone when you smiled at Lara’s jokes but it escalated quickly. One afternoon, Lara tossed her hair over her shoulder and grinned at you, lips curved like she knew she had you cornered. “You lift?” she asked casually, brushing her fingertips along your forearm as if it were incidental.
You shrugged, trying to maintain neutral ground. “Sometimes.”
“Mm, sometimes? You’re too humble” Lara teased, voice low and playful. “I like it though. Makes it more charming.”
From across the room, Megan stiffened. She was behind a prop wall, pretending to check her lines, but her fists clenched so tightly she could feel her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to storm in, to yank you away, to stake her claim, her words trembling on her lips but she didn’t.
Later, she found you alone in the costume room. “Stop laughing at her jokes so much,” she hissed, eyes blazing. “She’s not even funny. And she’s not even that good with her lines.”
You blinked. “Megan, she’s just… friendly.”
“Friendly,” she spat the word, venom-laced and trembling. “Friendly doesn’t have her randomly touching you up, or cuddling up with you. You don’t know how bad it makes me feel.”
Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I… I can’t stand it. I can’t stand seeing her on you, touching you, looking like she owns a piece of you I’ve had first.”
You caught her hands before they could move closer, and her eyes widened, cheeks flaming. “Megan…”
“Stop” Megan immediately says as she sees your cheeky smile starting to appear. “I’m not jealous,” she whispered, her cheeks all red. “It’s not. It’s—” She inhaled sharply, voice cracking. “It’s that I like you. I’ve always liked you. And now I see her doing what I could never do, and I’m—”
“I’m sorry ok? I didn’t know it makes you feel like that. Please don’t be mad.” you said softly, heart thudding.
“No. I’m furious,” she admitted, voice breaking. “But I… I can’t—don’t. Not here. Not like this. You’re mine. You understand?”
It was the first real confession, and it scared both of you. She kissed you then, fiercely, desperately, just enough to remind both of you that she claimed you in private, even if the world couldn’t know.
—
Days blurred into one another on set, each framed by bright lights and the hum of cameras. Lara’s presence was like a storm swirling around you. She leaned against the same prop wall you studied against, head tilting with that half-smile that made everyone else in the room invisible. “You’re a little too serious today,” she teased, jokingly trying to cover you from seeing your script. “Loosen up. Smile for me just a little.”
You couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at your lips. “If I smile for you, will you stop covering my lines?”
“Maybe,” she said, eyes glinting, her hand brushing past yours almost casually.
And Megan noticed, she always does when it comes to you.
From the corner of the room, she could feel her chest tightening. She clenched the script in her hands until her knuckles turned white. She wanted to storm over, snatch you from Lara’s side, to pull you into a hallway and claim you for herself. Instead, she stepped forward, voice casual, masking the storm inside.
“Can you please stop messing around? I’m reading my lines,” she said lightly, nudging Lara with her shoulder but the edge in her tone didn’t go unnoticed.
Lara laughed, leaning back like Megan hadn’t even existed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Superstar. Didn’t realise we were too loud.”
Megan’s jaw tightened. She exhaled sharply, then tugged you toward the corner, close enough that Lara’s perfume lingered faintly in the air. “I told you… don’t let her do that,” Megan whispered, voice trembling despite the calm mask she plastered on. “I don’t like her.”
You blinked at her. “Megan, it’s fine—we talked about this. Lara… she’s naturally like that but she means no harm. She’s just affectionate.”
“No,” she hissed, gripping your wrist lightly but firmly. “I said I don’t like her, personally. Yes, she’s a good actress but she’s too much.”
The words came out sharp but low, intimate, and for a moment, it was only the two of you in that corner. Megan’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and the edge of panic in her eyes was raw. She leaned in close, brushing her nose against yours. “You’re mine,” she said almost pleadingly, “even if the world doesn’t know yet.”
—
Later, when Lara left for a meeting with the director, Megan sank into the empty set, slumping against the wall with a hand over her face. She’s so bold, so fearless, Megan thought. And I’ve always been behind some kind of glass, watched, admired, and contained. Why does it feel like she’s taking you from me without even trying?
She remembered the first time she noticed your tattoos, the way your arms curved with muscle, the way your hands moved with ease. Every time you laughed, every time Lara’s hand lingered on you, Megan’s chest ached with possessive longing.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. She replayed every moment you’d ever touched her, every secret glance you’d shared. She wondered if you knew, if you realised, how much she adored you. The thought of losing you, even temporarily to someone like Lara is unbearable.
Despite Megan’s possessiveness, she also softened when it mattered. She would pull you aside, tone gentle and teasing, “You’re making everyone insane. Not just me. You’re too much.”
You would laugh. “Too much?”
“Yes. Too much. Stop being so…so you. Your fans are going wild, and Lara keeps hovering. I can’t—” Her voice broke before she could finish. And before you know it, she kissed you lightly on the cheeks and whispered, “Mine. Just mine, okay?”
—
And then Tyler came into her orbit.
Tyler was easy to talk to, charming, dependable, and the kind of co-star Megan could lean on when she needed reassurance about her lines or blocking. Tyler is different, he had no piercings or tattoos, he’s what the media would love to be paired with someone like her. His presence was different from Lara’s; it wasn’t a storm, it was steady sunlight. But every moment she spent with him reminded her of what she had chosen to protect her career. Lara remained a constant, a tantalising presence, always flirting with you, laughing too loudly, and touching too much. Megan’s reactions oscillated between snappy, possessive remarks, and desperate, heart-thudding attempts to claim you in private.
One evening, during a late-night shoot, Megan was sitting on a crate, reviewing her script while Tyler leaned against the wall. “You okay?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Yeah,” she said quickly, voice light, but her eyes darted toward where you were rehearsing lines with Lara. Tyler noticed the shift, he didn’t comment, just let her gaze wander.
“You’ve been… distracted,” he said finally. “Everything alright?”
Megan swallowed. “I’m fine,” she said again, a little too quickly. But Tyler, perceptive as he was, didn’t press. Megan’s mind wandered back to you, to the brush of your fingers with Lara, the smile you gave that wasn’t meant for her. I chose my career, she thought bitterly. I can’t—won’t—lose it. Not even for this.
—
The next day, during a break, Lara sidled up behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder as you read through lines. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, breathing warm against your ear. “Seriously, everyone notices. You’re… perfect.”
You laughed nervously, pushing her slightly away, but she only grinned and leaned closer again.
Megan appeared from the corner, practically stalking the room. Her eyes narrowed, jaw set. She marched over, grabbed your wrist firmly, and tugged you toward a side hallway. “Stop,” she said, tone sharp, voice low enough that Lara wouldn’t hear. “Stop letting her do this.”
You froze. “Megan…”
“I mean it,” she hissed, pressing a finger against your chest lightly, almost desperately. “You’re mine and I’m sorry that I couldn’t claim you as loudly as she can. I’m trying ok, it’s just my career matters to me more than anything. You understand that.”
Her hair fell in front of her face, shadows from the lights catching the sharp angles of her jaw. Her eyes, wide and earnest, were almost childlike in their intensity, but the edge of fire, jealousy, fear, desire was unmistakable.
You didn’t answer immediately. The tension hung between you, tight as a wire. “Megan… I—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, pressing a brief kiss to your lips before stepping back, smoothing her expression, forcing herself to appear calm. Then she walked away, leaving you trembling in place, the warmth of her lips still lingering.
—
Megan and Tyler had a rehearsal that required private scenes. She found herself smiling professionally, leaning into him, blocking lines, practicing intimacy for the camera—but each laugh, each shoulder brush, reminded her painfully of the moments she wasn’t sharing with you. She loved the craft, yes, but every choice that pushed you away left a pang she couldn’t quite ignore.
But Tyler is different. He is a quiet harbour in a storm, the kind of person the headlines would celebrate her with. And yet, as much as her heart belongs to you, there is a love she cannot deny—her love for the stage, for the spotlight, for the lights, for the life she was born to live. She was made to shine. And yet, as the days stretch into nights, she begins to feel something fragile, something unexpected: perhaps she was never born to love you… and yet, somehow, she has.
Megan’s inner world was a storm—she adored you, she needed you, she feared losing you, and yet she had chosen her career path, chosen to be professional, chosen to let the world see her as untouchable, while every private moment with you became both refuge and temptation.
—
The confrontation came one quiet afternoon, long after rehearsals had wrapped. The studio was empty, lights dimmed, the air still buzzing faintly from the day’s activity. You found Megan leaning against the side of the set, arms crossed, jaw tight, and something in her expression finally cracked the dam.
“Megan…” you began, voice soft, almost pleading. “I don’t understand. Where do I stand with you? You pull me close, you kiss me, yet you smile at Tyler like it’s nothing. What am I to you?”
Her head snapped up. The sudden vulnerability in your tone made her chest constrict. She opened her mouth, closed it again, searching for words she didn’t have.
“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, voice trembling. “ I love my career and you know that. Tyler is safe and you’re… you’re you.”
You froze, the air suddenly thick, heavy. “Me?” you whispered.
“Yes,” she said, voice breaking. “It can’t be you. It can’t. Not publicly. Not with—” she gestured to you, your jawline, your stance, your tattoos, your piercings, the air of defiance you carried that the media loved to twist. “They’ll say things. They’ll ruin everything I’ve built. I can’t— I can’t risk it.”
“Megan—”
She shook her head, voice shattering into a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
The silence stretched between you, filled with all the words neither of you could say. And just like that, the fragile intimacy you had shared collapsed, replaced by distance that no whispered apology could mend. You walked away, slowly, each step carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things.
As the show progressed, the tension threaded through every glance, every whispered word, every touch in secret. You became distant in small ways after the confrontation about where you stood. Megan, for all her love and longing, had chosen to maintain the image, and Tyler remained her on-set partner, the safe choice for her career.
After multiple scenes and the hours Tyler and Megan spent together, it was expected that rumours of them being together started circling the set. Not that it bothers you, but you can’t help but wish it was you. And as much time Megan spent with Tyler, you remain alone or spend it with Lara.
—
The show ended. The set was dismantled, scripts discarded, and the costumes were packed away. You drifted into new auditions, new projects, leaving Megan and the world you’d grown up in behind. She remained with Tyler as her partner, her co-star, professional and precise, each smile rehearsed, each interaction carefully contained. And in the quiet, private corners of your memory, you remembered the warmth of her fingers, the brief touches, the stolen moments.
Years and years passed. You moved on to new sets, new roles, new cities. But life has a way of circling back. One afternoon, on a rare trip back to your old neighbourhood, you found yourself walking past the familiar streets, the old houses, the same old neighbourhood. And then, there she was.
Megan, taller now, her features sharper, her gaze calm but carrying a depth that made your chest tighten. She smiled when she saw you, genuine and warm, and in that moment, she was the same girl you had known, yet entirely new.
“Megan?”
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey,” you replied, surprised at how naturally your voice carried.
“You look…” she started, then swallowed. “You look good.”
“Thanks. You look... amazing”
Megan can't help but blush at the compliment given.
You talked for a while, reminiscing about old times, laughing quietly at memories of sets, and auditioning, carefully ignoring everything else. Eventually, your curiosity got the better of you. “I haven’t heard from you for a while. Any new shows you've been in?”
She shook her head, the soft curve of her lips betraying a hint of nostalgia. “I’m not auditioning anymore.”
You blinked, shocked. Megan Skiendiel, the actress you’d grown up with, choosing to step away from the career that had defined her? “What… why?”
Her eyes glimmered with something you couldn’t name. “I’m… pregnant.”
The world paused in that moment. You swallowed, unsure what to say. “With him?” you asked carefully.
She nodded. “Tyler.”
You exhaled slowly, the surprise still clinging to your chest. “That’s… that’s big. So… what happens to superstar Megan now?” you asked, voice soft.
She smiled, a quiet, steady smile. “I chose my family. Over everything else. Over the career, over—” Her eyes flicked briefly to yours, then away. “Over the rest of it. I had to.”
You blinked, taking it in, and a small, genuine smile lifted your lips. “Congratulations. I… I’m happy for you.”
She watched you for a long moment, and in her eyes, there was something unspoken longing, affection, a flicker of regret—but she held it inside. “Thank you,” she said softly.
As you turned to continue walking down the familiar street, Megan called after you. “Wait.”
You turned, curious, expecting some forgotten question or last-minute remark.
A flicker of hesitation and vulnerability is seen in her eyes. She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head. “Nothing,” she said finally, voice soft and fragile. “Have a good day. See you around?”
You nodded as you walked on, leaving Megan behind, yet carrying with you the echoes of stolen kisses, quiet jealousy, and the unspoken truth of what had been, and what might have been. And somewhere behind you, she stood for a heartbeat, hoping you would understand everything she never said.
The sunlight hit the street at an angle, long shadows stretching behind you both, the world moving forward even as memories lingered, delicate and unbreakable, like the weight of something sacred that could never be reclaimed but could never be forgotten.
Done and dusted. I don't really plan on writing for Megan just cause I feel like she's too young but here's this lol. I personally would not want to write anything too suggestive for Megan, but I don't know honestly. I'll try to write some fluff for her too so trust. Requests are open but I write really slow so please if I don't respond to your ask immediately, that doesn't mean that I'm ignoring you, I'm probably writing it. Also please give me some details on what you want cause I don't know what you guys would like to see more.
Anyway, sorry for not being active and I hope you guys like this one! :)))
Synopsis: Megan was born to shine, her life measured in spotlights and applause, but loving you was a script she never rehearsed. Torn between the career she’d built and the heart she couldn’t hide, she learns some choices leave scars no stage can erase.
Warnings: angst, use of you. Also an oc for the plot. Let me know if there's more that I forgot to mention. A little bit of Lara x reader too.
Notes: Inspired by CC7 lol. I don’t really know how casting or anything like that works so I’m sorry if there’s some mistakes about that. This is quite short and rushed just cause I’ve been struggling to write anything lately but I really feel bad for this ask which has been sitting in my inbox for weeks now. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Not proofread :((
Even as a child, she carried the room in her gaze before anyone else spoke, and the cameras followed her like moths to light. Being a child actor meant understanding early on that nothing was truly yours—not your time, not your privacy, not even the way people saw you. You were moulded constantly, trimmed and polished until you fit the industry’s idea of perfection. Some days, it felt like your whole childhood had been borrowed. Some days, you didn’t mind, not when the pay checks kept the lights on and not when you saw your mother finally relax after opening bills she no longer had to fear. Everything was a performance, not just for the camera, but for life itself. And somehow, somewhere between those days, you and Megan had grown up side by side.
You met Megan Skiendiel before you even understood what “stardom” truly meant. She had been the one in the audition room humming to herself, dangling her feet off a plastic chair, looking unbothered by anything at all. You were trying desperately to appear calm, aware that someone with her aura could swallow the room in a glance. She noticed you anyway, of course, and grinned like she had just received a gift.
“You’re new,” she said, swinging her legs, one shoe tapping against the floor.
“Yeah,” you looked at her with anxiousness as she observed you.
Her giggles cut through the quiet of the room, bright and unguarded. That giggle marked the beginning of years spent side by side, navigating early call times, late nights on set, and the constant hum of a life under scrutiny.
—
By the time you were ten, the two of you were on the same show. Side-by-side dressing rooms, shared snacks, whispered secrets between takes, and handshakes nobody else understood. You grew together, not just as friends, but as co-survivors of the child-actor life, from early mornings, late-night shoots, and constant pressure to smile when your body wanted to collapse. Megan had always been effortless at it. You were careful. You observed, you mimicked, you measured every word, and you learned from it.
Somewhere around thirteen, something about you began to change. You cut your hair short, stopped wearing pastel jackets, preferred flat shoes that clomped solidly against the studio floors over heels. Piercings appeared—first eyebrow, then your second lobe—and tattoos, small and hidden beneath sleeves. You lifted weights, built muscle, not for the show but because it grounded you, it helps you forget about the constant pressure of the media, and to feel solid in a world that always felt like it was trying to pull you apart. The reflection staring back from the mirror finally felt like someone you recognised.
And of course, Megan noticed.
She noticed the way your arms flexed without effort, the subtle shift in the way you moved through space, the quiet confidence that made the camera pause on you for just a fraction longer than usual. It was confusing, and she hated that it was confusing. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way—she had a career to protect, a public image to maintain but some part of her mind could not stop cataloguing every new detail, every new inch of you that became undeniably, irrevocably you.
—
It was late one afternoon, when the set was empty except for the two of you. You were sitting on the edge of a crate, script loose in your lap, the sunlight slanting through the studio windows. “Megan” you said, voice low, tentative. “I… I like girls.”
Her chewing paused. She swallowed, eyes locking on yours. “Okay,” she said flatly.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay,” she repeated, shrugging, a flicker of something unnameable in her gaze. She didn’t turn away. She wasn’t supposed to be studying you like that, yet she did, tracing the lines of your jaw, the subtle tension of your shoulders, the way your arms flexed even when relaxed. Megan didn’t notice herself noticing.
From then on, things shifted in small increments. Secret glances across rehearsal rooms, fingers brushing while exchanging scripts, leaning too close in quiet hallways. You noticed, of course, and sometimes your chest would tighten at the awareness that her attention lingered on you in ways it didn’t on anyone else. But she was careful. She had to be.
—
Over the next months, her attention changed subtly. She watched you differently, not professionally, not like a friend who was waiting for her cue, but like someone noticing every inch of you. You tried to ignore it. Pretending was something you had been doing your whole life but Megan had never been good at ignoring things she wanted.
The first kiss happened backstage, the first time it was just the two of you in the dim space between the painted sets. Your scripts were loose in your hands, and the lights from the stage cast long, thin streaks across the floor. She stepped close, brushing her shoulder against yours.
“You look… different these days,” she said.
“Bad different?” you murmured, cheeks warm.
“Good different.” Her eyes flicked to your bicep flexing casually. “I like it.”
“Thanks,” you said again, unsure if she meant the muscle or something else.
She stared at your mouth. Your pulse thudded. “Megan—” you started.
She closed the inch between you. Your breath caught. Time spun strangely. The kiss was soft first, then firmer when she realised you weren’t pushing her away. Fingers tangled with fabric, breaths mingled in quiet urgency. And then it was done. But it wasn’t the last time it happened.
Secret kisses became the norm—closets, stairwells, empty hallways. You both learned to hide in plain sight, smiling as cameras rolled, only to collide in shadows. But Megan could not hide her composure completely. She smiled for the cameras beside her co-stars but lit up differently around you. When you weren’t looking, she followed, watched, and wanted.
—
Everything fractured when Lara Raj joined the cast.
Lara was a whirlwind, impossible to ignore, and incredibly flirtatious. She laughed too loudly, leaned too close, admired your tattoos openly, teased your muscles with a wink and grin that suggested she knew exactly the effect she had on people. She sat close during rehearsals, brushed against you accidentally (or not), leaned too close during blocking, sat closer than necessary when you studied your lines together, and laughed at jokes (specifically yours) nobody else would understand. The fans online noticed, the editors noticed, and of course Megan noticed.
Megan’s jealousy began small—a hitch of her jaw, a sharper tone when you smiled at Lara’s jokes but it escalated quickly. One afternoon, Lara tossed her hair over her shoulder and grinned at you, lips curved like she knew she had you cornered. “You lift?” she asked casually, brushing her fingertips along your forearm as if it were incidental.
You shrugged, trying to maintain neutral ground. “Sometimes.”
“Mm, sometimes? You’re too humble” Lara teased, voice low and playful. “I like it though. Makes it more charming.”
From across the room, Megan stiffened. She was behind a prop wall, pretending to check her lines, but her fists clenched so tightly she could feel her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to storm in, to yank you away, to stake her claim, her words trembling on her lips but she didn’t.
Later, she found you alone in the costume room. “Stop laughing at her jokes so much,” she hissed, eyes blazing. “She’s not even funny. And she’s not even that good with her lines.”
You blinked. “Megan, she’s just… friendly.”
“Friendly,” she spat the word, venom-laced and trembling. “Friendly doesn’t have her randomly touching you up, or cuddling up with you. You don’t know how bad it makes me feel.”
Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I… I can’t stand it. I can’t stand seeing her on you, touching you, looking like she owns a piece of you I’ve had first.”
You caught her hands before they could move closer, and her eyes widened, cheeks flaming. “Megan…”
“Stop” Megan immediately says as she sees your cheeky smile starting to appear. “I’m not jealous,” she whispered, her cheeks all red. “It’s not. It’s—” She inhaled sharply, voice cracking. “It’s that I like you. I’ve always liked you. And now I see her doing what I could never do, and I’m—”
“I’m sorry ok? I didn’t know it makes you feel like that. Please don’t be mad.” you said softly, heart thudding.
“No. I’m furious,” she admitted, voice breaking. “But I… I can’t—don’t. Not here. Not like this. You’re mine. You understand?”
It was the first real confession, and it scared both of you. She kissed you then, fiercely, desperately, just enough to remind both of you that she claimed you in private, even if the world couldn’t know.
—
Days blurred into one another on set, each framed by bright lights and the hum of cameras. Lara’s presence was like a storm swirling around you. She leaned against the same prop wall you studied against, head tilting with that half-smile that made everyone else in the room invisible. “You’re a little too serious today,” she teased, jokingly trying to cover you from seeing your script. “Loosen up. Smile for me just a little.”
You couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at your lips. “If I smile for you, will you stop covering my lines?”
“Maybe,” she said, eyes glinting, her hand brushing past yours almost casually.
And Megan noticed, she always does when it comes to you.
From the corner of the room, she could feel her chest tightening. She clenched the script in her hands until her knuckles turned white. She wanted to storm over, snatch you from Lara’s side, to pull you into a hallway and claim you for herself. Instead, she stepped forward, voice casual, masking the storm inside.
“Can you please stop messing around? I’m reading my lines,” she said lightly, nudging Lara with her shoulder but the edge in her tone didn’t go unnoticed.
Lara laughed, leaning back like Megan hadn’t even existed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Superstar. Didn’t realise we were too loud.”
Megan’s jaw tightened. She exhaled sharply, then tugged you toward the corner, close enough that Lara’s perfume lingered faintly in the air. “I told you… don’t let her do that,” Megan whispered, voice trembling despite the calm mask she plastered on. “I don’t like her.”
You blinked at her. “Megan, it’s fine—we talked about this. Lara… she’s naturally like that but she means no harm. She’s just affectionate.”
“No,” she hissed, gripping your wrist lightly but firmly. “I said I don’t like her, personally. Yes, she’s a good actress but she’s too much.”
The words came out sharp but low, intimate, and for a moment, it was only the two of you in that corner. Megan’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and the edge of panic in her eyes was raw. She leaned in close, brushing her nose against yours. “You’re mine,” she said almost pleadingly, “even if the world doesn’t know yet.”
—
Later, when Lara left for a meeting with the director, Megan sank into the empty set, slumping against the wall with a hand over her face. She’s so bold, so fearless, Megan thought. And I’ve always been behind some kind of glass, watched, admired, and contained. Why does it feel like she’s taking you from me without even trying?
She remembered the first time she noticed your tattoos, the way your arms curved with muscle, the way your hands moved with ease. Every time you laughed, every time Lara’s hand lingered on you, Megan’s chest ached with possessive longing.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. She replayed every moment you’d ever touched her, every secret glance you’d shared. She wondered if you knew, if you realised, how much she adored you. The thought of losing you, even temporarily to someone like Lara is unbearable.
Despite Megan’s possessiveness, she also softened when it mattered. She would pull you aside, tone gentle and teasing, “You’re making everyone insane. Not just me. You’re too much.”
You would laugh. “Too much?”
“Yes. Too much. Stop being so…so you. Your fans are going wild, and Lara keeps hovering. I can’t—” Her voice broke before she could finish. And before you know it, she kissed you lightly on the cheeks and whispered, “Mine. Just mine, okay?”
—
And then Tyler came into her orbit.
Tyler was easy to talk to, charming, dependable, and the kind of co-star Megan could lean on when she needed reassurance about her lines or blocking. Tyler is different, he had no piercings or tattoos, he’s what the media would love to be paired with someone like her. His presence was different from Lara’s; it wasn’t a storm, it was steady sunlight. But every moment she spent with him reminded her of what she had chosen to protect her career. Lara remained a constant, a tantalising presence, always flirting with you, laughing too loudly, and touching too much. Megan’s reactions oscillated between snappy, possessive remarks, and desperate, heart-thudding attempts to claim you in private.
One evening, during a late-night shoot, Megan was sitting on a crate, reviewing her script while Tyler leaned against the wall. “You okay?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Yeah,” she said quickly, voice light, but her eyes darted toward where you were rehearsing lines with Lara. Tyler noticed the shift, he didn’t comment, just let her gaze wander.
“You’ve been… distracted,” he said finally. “Everything alright?”
Megan swallowed. “I’m fine,” she said again, a little too quickly. But Tyler, perceptive as he was, didn’t press. Megan’s mind wandered back to you, to the brush of your fingers with Lara, the smile you gave that wasn’t meant for her. I chose my career, she thought bitterly. I can’t—won’t—lose it. Not even for this.
—
The next day, during a break, Lara sidled up behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder as you read through lines. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, breathing warm against your ear. “Seriously, everyone notices. You’re… perfect.”
You laughed nervously, pushing her slightly away, but she only grinned and leaned closer again.
Megan appeared from the corner, practically stalking the room. Her eyes narrowed, jaw set. She marched over, grabbed your wrist firmly, and tugged you toward a side hallway. “Stop,” she said, tone sharp, voice low enough that Lara wouldn’t hear. “Stop letting her do this.”
You froze. “Megan…”
“I mean it,” she hissed, pressing a finger against your chest lightly, almost desperately. “You’re mine and I’m sorry that I couldn’t claim you as loudly as she can. I’m trying ok, it’s just my career matters to me more than anything. You understand that.”
Her hair fell in front of her face, shadows from the lights catching the sharp angles of her jaw. Her eyes, wide and earnest, were almost childlike in their intensity, but the edge of fire, jealousy, fear, desire was unmistakable.
You didn’t answer immediately. The tension hung between you, tight as a wire. “Megan… I—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, pressing a brief kiss to your lips before stepping back, smoothing her expression, forcing herself to appear calm. Then she walked away, leaving you trembling in place, the warmth of her lips still lingering.
—
Megan and Tyler had a rehearsal that required private scenes. She found herself smiling professionally, leaning into him, blocking lines, practicing intimacy for the camera—but each laugh, each shoulder brush, reminded her painfully of the moments she wasn’t sharing with you. She loved the craft, yes, but every choice that pushed you away left a pang she couldn’t quite ignore.
But Tyler is different. He is a quiet harbour in a storm, the kind of person the headlines would celebrate her with. And yet, as much as her heart belongs to you, there is a love she cannot deny—her love for the stage, for the spotlight, for the lights, for the life she was born to live. She was made to shine. And yet, as the days stretch into nights, she begins to feel something fragile, something unexpected: perhaps she was never born to love you… and yet, somehow, she has.
Megan’s inner world was a storm—she adored you, she needed you, she feared losing you, and yet she had chosen her career path, chosen to be professional, chosen to let the world see her as untouchable, while every private moment with you became both refuge and temptation.
—
The confrontation came one quiet afternoon, long after rehearsals had wrapped. The studio was empty, lights dimmed, the air still buzzing faintly from the day’s activity. You found Megan leaning against the side of the set, arms crossed, jaw tight, and something in her expression finally cracked the dam.
“Megan…” you began, voice soft, almost pleading. “I don’t understand. Where do I stand with you? You pull me close, you kiss me, yet you smile at Tyler like it’s nothing. What am I to you?”
Her head snapped up. The sudden vulnerability in your tone made her chest constrict. She opened her mouth, closed it again, searching for words she didn’t have.
“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, voice trembling. “ I love my career and you know that. Tyler is safe and you’re… you’re you.”
You froze, the air suddenly thick, heavy. “Me?” you whispered.
“Yes,” she said, voice breaking. “It can’t be you. It can’t. Not publicly. Not with—” she gestured to you, your jawline, your stance, your tattoos, your piercings, the air of defiance you carried that the media loved to twist. “They’ll say things. They’ll ruin everything I’ve built. I can’t— I can’t risk it.”
“Megan—”
She shook her head, voice shattering into a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
The silence stretched between you, filled with all the words neither of you could say. And just like that, the fragile intimacy you had shared collapsed, replaced by distance that no whispered apology could mend. You walked away, slowly, each step carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things.
As the show progressed, the tension threaded through every glance, every whispered word, every touch in secret. You became distant in small ways after the confrontation about where you stood. Megan, for all her love and longing, had chosen to maintain the image, and Tyler remained her on-set partner, the safe choice for her career.
After multiple scenes and the hours Tyler and Megan spent together, it was expected that rumours of them being together started circling the set. Not that it bothers you, but you can’t help but wish it was you. And as much time Megan spent with Tyler, you remain alone or spend it with Lara.
—
The show ended. The set was dismantled, scripts discarded, and the costumes were packed away. You drifted into new auditions, new projects, leaving Megan and the world you’d grown up in behind. She remained with Tyler as her partner, her co-star, professional and precise, each smile rehearsed, each interaction carefully contained. And in the quiet, private corners of your memory, you remembered the warmth of her fingers, the brief touches, the stolen moments.
Years and years passed. You moved on to new sets, new roles, new cities. But life has a way of circling back. One afternoon, on a rare trip back to your old neighbourhood, you found yourself walking past the familiar streets, the old houses, the same old neighbourhood. And then, there she was.
Megan, taller now, her features sharper, her gaze calm but carrying a depth that made your chest tighten. She smiled when she saw you, genuine and warm, and in that moment, she was the same girl you had known, yet entirely new.
“Megan?”
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey,” you replied, surprised at how naturally your voice carried.
“You look…” she started, then swallowed. “You look good.”
“Thanks. You look... amazing”
Megan can't help but blush at the compliment given.
You talked for a while, reminiscing about old times, laughing quietly at memories of sets, and auditioning, carefully ignoring everything else. Eventually, your curiosity got the better of you. “I haven’t heard from you for a while. Any new shows you've been in?”
She shook her head, the soft curve of her lips betraying a hint of nostalgia. “I’m not auditioning anymore.”
You blinked, shocked. Megan Skiendiel, the actress you’d grown up with, choosing to step away from the career that had defined her? “What… why?”
Her eyes glimmered with something you couldn’t name. “I’m… pregnant.”
The world paused in that moment. You swallowed, unsure what to say. “With him?” you asked carefully.
She nodded. “Tyler.”
You exhaled slowly, the surprise still clinging to your chest. “That’s… that’s big. So… what happens to superstar Megan now?” you asked, voice soft.
She smiled, a quiet, steady smile. “I chose my family. Over everything else. Over the career, over—” Her eyes flicked briefly to yours, then away. “Over the rest of it. I had to.”
You blinked, taking it in, and a small, genuine smile lifted your lips. “Congratulations. I… I’m happy for you.”
She watched you for a long moment, and in her eyes, there was something unspoken longing, affection, a flicker of regret—but she held it inside. “Thank you,” she said softly.
As you turned to continue walking down the familiar street, Megan called after you. “Wait.”
You turned, curious, expecting some forgotten question or last-minute remark.
A flicker of hesitation and vulnerability is seen in her eyes. She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head. “Nothing,” she said finally, voice soft and fragile. “Have a good day. See you around?”
You nodded as you walked on, leaving Megan behind, yet carrying with you the echoes of stolen kisses, quiet jealousy, and the unspoken truth of what had been, and what might have been. And somewhere behind you, she stood for a heartbeat, hoping you would understand everything she never said.
The sunlight hit the street at an angle, long shadows stretching behind you both, the world moving forward even as memories lingered, delicate and unbreakable, like the weight of something sacred that could never be reclaimed but could never be forgotten.
Done and dusted. I don't really plan on writing for Megan just cause I feel like she's too young but here's this lol. I personally would not want to write anything too suggestive for Megan, but I don't know honestly. I'll try to write some fluff for her too so trust. Requests are open but I write really slow so please if I don't respond to your ask immediately, that doesn't mean that I'm ignoring you, I'm probably writing it. Also please give me some details on what you want cause I don't know what you guys would like to see more.
Anyway, sorry for not being active and I hope you guys like this one! :)))
Synopsis: Some were born to be adored, others were born to be hidden — and somewhere between their worlds, they collide. When desire tastes like rebellion, even love begins to draw blood.
Warnings: angst, fluff, use of you/they/them and y/n, some suggestive tones and a little bit of sexual jokes but nothing too serious. Also an oc for the plot.
Notes: First time using Y/N, so I hope I give its name some justice lol. Gender neutral reader but masc leaning, not implied but assumed. I didn't get into deep with the boxing part just so you guys won't get bored reading it. Also please read the note at the end. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. not proof read :((
Three pillars that hold the world up, or at least the one Lara Raj walks on.
Lara Raj is not just a name; it’s a statement that makes the air still. Born into wealth so old it doesn’t shout—it whispers cause her life has always been a symphony of untouchable privilege. Every new luxury release is already in her hands, often gifted before it even hits the market. Her parents operate on the simple belief that giving their daughters everything is part of the job. In their house, credit cards are nothing but shiny rectangles waiting to be swiped.
They tried to teach their daughters humility, sure. But while their eldest daughter, Rhea, eventually learned to accept the world’s limitations by finding satisfaction in the almost, Lara operates on a different, more absolute code. Lara never settles for almost, only absolutely.
If exclusivity has a face, it’d be Lara’s. Everything about her is specifically just her. At sixteen, she crashed a Benz and didn't lose the privilege, she just earned a newer one. Basically, the universe, as if hypnotised, keeps handing Lara things in the palm of her hands.
So when the rich date the rich, no one is surprised. It’s less of a romance and more of a natural pathway for them. Which is why society barely blinked when Lara Raj was first seen with Matthew Astor — the first-born son of boxing royalty, and the known heir to the Astor legacy.
Matthew Astor is a man who took pride in his name. He honours his father’s name with so much pride and grace that he’ll do anything and everything to prove to his father that he would be the only successor he ever needed. From his father’s hobby, lifestyle, even love, he’ll do anything just to prove to his father that he is an Astor, and not just any Astor but a well-respected and notable man like his dad.
Matthew is every inch his father’s shadow, from being charming, well-practiced, and hungry for acknowledgment. Mr. Astor sees it too. That desperate, dangerous glint in his son’s eyes is something he is aware of but he lets it burn. A father’s pride, after all, often confuses destruction for drive.
—
“Mom, I told you, I could not care less about this,” Lara muttered, scrolling through her phone. “If I wanted to spend my time or money, it wouldn’t be in some underground gym. And you know that.”
Mrs. Raj sighed with patience. “Lara, this is for the greater good. Aside from the media seeing you in a better light after… the previous incidents, it’s also good for tax optics. You chose this one yourself, helping small boxing gyms to honour the Astors.” Lara rolled her eyes, looking toward her father as if he might rescue her. And as expected his father immediately went beside his wife to add his two cents.
“Lara, my baby,” Mr. Raj said, stepping beside his wife with an indulgent grin. “Just swing by the place, smile a little, wave a little, say something about ‘giving back.’ I’m sure they would love to see someone as beautiful as you in such place. One hour, tops. Then you can do whatever you want. You always do anyway.”
Lara groaned but couldn’t help a small smirk. “Fine. But I expect something in return, Dad.” And as she left, Mrs. Raj sighed softly looking at her husband with a glint in her eyes. “You raised her like a princess.”
Mr. Raj just smiled in return, kissing her forehead, "Because she’s our princess, love.”
—
The car rolled to a stop in front of a building that barely holds its ground. A little graffiti crawled up its walls; the somewhat metal doors were scarred with age. From inside came the muffled rhythm of gloves hitting bags. And as Lara stared out the tinted windows of her car with an unreadable expression, her driver suddenly asked with the same judgement.
“Are you sure this is the right place, Miss Raj?” her driver asked carefully.
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as a fighter’s groan echoed from inside. “How am I supposed to know, you’re the driver so you should’ve known it.”
But before the driver could stammer an apology, she pushed the door open and carefully walked in front of the gym. The air hit her, her perfume clashed with the thick, heavy, and sweat smell of the gym. Every head in the small lobby turned to her like she’d walked in a wrong building. Her heels clicked against the worn floor, each step sounding almost arrogant against the soft hum of the somewhat broken ceiling fan. She was a diamond in a place built from such grit.
Someone rushed over – a local coordinator, cheeks flushed and their hands fidgeting. “Miss Raj! We are so honoured, truly truly honoured that you’re here. I can’t believe you chose us. We didn’t expect—”
“Perfection?” Lara muttered as her eyes looked around the gym, smiling back at the coordinator without warmth. “I can tell. You never do.”
The coordinator laughed awkwardly, not used to someone like Lara, guiding her further inside. The gym was loud and alive, bodies were moving in rhythm, gloves colliding, voices echoing between metal and dust. And then, in the middle of that noise, Lara noticed something still.
At the far end of the room, a lone figure was wrapping their hands unbothered by the chaos around them. Lara didn’t know their name yet, but her eyes locked on them as if they’d been waiting for her. There was something so magnetic, hypnotic, and mesmerising about their movements. The rest of the gym felt borrowed; they felt inevitable.
As the coordinator led her through the tour, Lara couldn’t help glancing back. The same fighter, now sparring, drew her attention like gravity. The sound of gloves connecting, the heavy exhales, the rough groans that echoed through the space, all of it left her oddly entranced, and maybe a little bit something that she wouldn’t really speak into existence just yet.
“How is this place holding up?” she asked suddenly.
Startled, the coordinator blinked, then smiled. “Through donations, Miss Raj. From generous people like you. We give space to those who can’t afford proper gyms, a place to train, prepare for fights, even teach the basics to kids who want to learn. Some of our fighters donate back when they can. We really depend on kindness.” Lara hummed, eyes still tracing the same figure in the ring. “And how do I know my money will actually help this place and not end up being pocketed by someone else?”
The coordinator nodded quickly, understanding her tone. “We’ll provide full transparency, Miss Raj, I assure you—” But Lara wasn’t listening anymore. Her gaze had already drifted–again– to the fighter. Sweat glistened on their skin, their chest rising and falling with each breath. She caught the faint glint of their tongue grazing their lip, and the sight made something sharp twist in her stomach. And as if the universe just loves giving Lara what she wants, the eye contact happened. Those eyes met hers and yet those few seconds were enough. By the time they looked away, Lara realised her pulse had quickened. That fleeting exchange had made her entire trip so worth it.
She turned back to the coordinator, her voice calm but edged with command. “I’ll be sending the donation immediately,” she said. “And I’ll be visiting this place again—unannounced. I expect to see improvements.” The coordinator’s eyes widened, mouth opening before they quickly nodded — too fast, too eager. Lara squinted slightly. “Good. I’ll come whenever I want.”
—
That night, the chandelier light from the Raj estate caught on every imaginable surface. Everything gleamed, but Lara couldn't see any of it. Her reflection on the dining table’s polish was perfect, and yet her thoughts kept drifting somewhere dirtier…
“Babe, Did you hear what I said?”
Matthew’s voice cut through her thoughts. He was sitting across from her at the long dining table, with a good posture and a genuine smile that always made her feel a little claustrophobic. “I was saying,” he continued, “Dad’s gala is in three weeks. You should come, my mom loves you — she keeps saying how you’re the only one who can keep me from working myself to death, given my profession, you know?”
Lara blinked, slowly raising her eyes from her untouched glass of wine. “Oh” she said softly, “that’s really flattering.” Matthew chuckled, misreading her disinterest for shyness. “You’re incredible, you know that? Everyone thinks so. You walk into a room and suddenly everyone forgets I’m there. They forgot that an Astor is there.”
“That’s not true,” she said with a rehearsed smile. “They know you. And they remember you.” He laughed again. God, he really was trying and Lara can see through it. There was a tenderness in his eyes that might’ve moved someone else, someone capable of wanting him back. But Lara’s mind wasn’t here. It was still inside that underground gym. Continuously wanting to hear the same groans and pants, still replaying the moment those eyes met hers.
Matthew reached across the table, his hand brushing hers. “You’ve been awfully quiet all night. Long day?” Lara shrugged as she replied. “Charity visit of some sort. Sweaty people with loud noises. I chose a gym to honour someone like you, you know?”
He smiled, oblivious to the weight behind her tone. “Well, I’m glad you went. Dad would’ve loved that. And I’m really happy that you chose something related to an Astor.” Lara hummed, swirling the wine in her glass. “Of course, a notable Astor like you.”
He didn’t get her tone and her answer, but he nodded as he smiled lovingly towards Lara. “I need to go, practice calls.” And when Matthew left, Lara’s phone buzzed almost immediately.
Daniela Avanzini
“Lara Raj,” came Daniela’s voice with a tinge of teasing. “I heard you actually attended some charity event. I nearly fainted.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Lara drawled, leaning back in her chair. “It wasn’t entirely voluntary.”
“So was it awful as expected?” Daniela asked. “Did you have to approach and pretend to like people?”
Lara laughed. “Worse. I looked at them.”
Daniela gasped theatrically. “That’s tragic.”
But Lara went quiet for a moment, thumb tapping the rim of her glass. “There was someone there.” Daniela’s ears perked up, interested in where this conversation was heading. “Ohhh someone?”
“A fighter,” Lara said, her voice dropping, afraid of someone suddenly hearing what she’s about to say. “They were so ugh. You won’t get it, you have to see them. My words won’t do justice to how good they look.”
“Ohh,” Daniela hummed, totally believing her friend. “Tell me more.”
Lara smiles as she continues talking. “And we made eye contact Dani. Eye contact. I bet you, they think I look so good, they can barely hold it. But I am not playing around Dani, I hate sweaty people, but the way their skin glistened, I want to jump in their muscular arms so badly. Don’t even get me started on their gorgeous face, cause I would do any—” Before Lara can continue, Daniela’s laugh filled the line.
“Okay, okay. I understand Lara. But you have to remember you have Matthew.” Lara’s smile curved slowly as she rolled her eyes. “Of course Daniela.”
And when the call ended, Lara found herself staring at her reflection in the dark window. Her perfectly lined lips, the diamonds on her wrist, the faint smear of wine on crystal, and all the things she used to think only mattered. But all she could think about is someone’s eyes.
—
Noon light spilled into Lara’s room through curtains, catching on the mirrored surfaces and glass perfume bottles that lined her vanity. Everything around her shimmered like a display — everything except her.
The first thought that greeted her wasn’t about her schedule, her upcoming appearance or even Matthew. It was that damn fighter from the underground gym and it haunted her until now. She exhaled sharply and turned to her phone. A message from Matthew blinked on the screen,
M: Good morning, babe. Dinner tomorrow?
She tried typing back but then deleted it. She rolled her eyes as she was unable to think of an answer which caused her to toss her phone aside. As if on que, an idea popped into her head, she immediately stood up and picked her phone back and clicked on her driver’s number.
L: The boxing gym.
L: Now.
—
The gym looked even smaller in daylight. The sun exposed every imperfection — peeling paint, cracked concrete, rust creeping along the edges of the metal doors. Lara stepped out of the car with her heels that absolutely didn’t belong in places like this. She moved like she was immune to dirt, though her eyes moved everywhere already searching for someone. The same coordinator from last time stumbled out to greet her, breathless and shocked at her visit. “Miss Raj! We weren’t expecting—”
“I told you, I’ll come whenever I want. Did you not hear me last time?”
The coordinator muttered an apology as they nodded quickly. “Would you like to see the improvements? We ordered new—”
“Later. I need to ask you something.” Her gaze already scanning the room. “Do you have a list of fighters here? I’m sure you do. I need them right now.” As the coordinator is scrambling trying to walk towards their makeshift office, Lara stops them as her eyes land on the person she’s been wanting to see.
“Who are they?” Lara eyes stared at your figure, casually walking towards the ring talking to a slightly older man, who she assumed is your coach, about whatever it is. The coordinator looks in the same direction, finding you. “Oh them? That’s Y/N Y/LN, Miss Raj. They’ve been training for more than a year, well for as long as I can remember. Honestly, a great fighter Miss. They are also one of those fighters who helps children with the basics of boxing. Beside them is their coach or their father, both are really kind, great, and helpful boxers.”
Lara listened carefully at the coordinators description, nodding to all the information being given to her. “You say so?” Lara asked the coordinator as her brow raised. “Are they open for sponsorships?” The coordinator looked confusedly towards Lara. “Well Miss, I don’t thi—”
But before they can finish, Lara is seen walking towards your direction. You were so busy wrapping your hands with your handwraps, that you didn’t notice a figure approaching you. As you glance up from your sitting position, you are met by an expensive smell of perfume and a woman with a smirk.
“So,” she began, her voice smooth but uncertain on what to say next, “you come here often?” For a second, she wanted the floor to swallow her. Of all the things she could’ve said and of all the times she should’ve been in her best, life decided to embarrass her in front of you. You blinked, a half-smile tugging at your lips. “I guess so,” you said, voice even. “Do you come here often?”
The tease made her freeze before she let out a short, breathy laugh. Something in her chest fluttered. You finished wrapping your hands, testing the fit. “Can I help you with something?” As much as Lara wanted to say you absolutely can, she straightened instead, folding her arms to mask her restlessness. “I’d like to sponsor you. I’m donating to this gym with pure intentions by the way.”
That pulled your gaze to hers. “That’s great Miss. But sponsor me?” you asked unsure?
“Yes.” She tilted her chin slightly higher, ignoring her racing pulse. But you shook your head, a small polite smile still on your face. “I don’t take sponsors. And I don’t think I have anything to offer you in return.”
Her mouth parted just a little because no one, and Lara means it when she says that no one had ever declined her. “You’d be surprised what I want.” Lara smirked at you feeling her confidence sips through her body. “And I’m sure you have a lot to offer. Especially with things that I would definitely want.”
You didn’t react, only reached for your gloves. “Then maybe that’s a problem because my answer is still no.” Lara smiled at your persistence, “You do know that I usually get what I want, right?” She’s standing too close for your liking now. The coordinator and your coach looked at her with questioning looks.
“Well, good luck with that.” You replied as you stood up, skin slightly brushing hers as you walked towards your coach preparing for some warm-ups. Lara's smile faltered, before she turned and looked at the coordinator. She whispered towards them with a dangerous tone. “I’ll be back.”
—
As she walked out of the gym, the heat of the place still clung to her skin — the scent of sweat, rubber, and something else she couldn’t name. Her heels echoed too loudly against the cracked pavement, a sound that somehow mocked her. No one had ever told her no before. Not her parents, not her sister, not the press, not even Matthew, and certainly not anyone. But you did, and it frustrates her that you did it so politely.
The air outside was too bright and too ordinary for the kind of chaos that was happening inside her chest. She opened her car door with a little more force than she meant to, sliding with a sharp exhale. The second the door shut, she pulled out her phone and hit Daniela’s name. It didn’t even ring twice before her best friend’s lazy drawl filled her car.
“Lara Raj. To what do I owe this honour?” Lara leaned back against the seat, staring blankly out the window as her driver quietly drove. “They said no.”
“Who said no?” Daniela asked, instantly intrigued.
“Y/N” Lara’s voice was low, almost disbelieving. “The fighter that I told you about. Their name is Y/N. I offered them a sponsorship and they refused. Politely. Like who refuses someone like me? Are they insane Dani?
There was a pause — and then Daniela laughed. “Someone told you no? Oh, sweetheart, that’s historic.”
“I’m serious Dani,” Lara snapped, though her tone lacked real anger. “They didn’t even hesitate. Just— no. Like I was offering them… nothing.”
“Well, maybe they’re not impressed by money.”
Lara scoffed softly, her nails tapping against her thighs. “Everyone’s impressed by money. Dani, you know that.”
“Apparently not everyone.”
The words lingered in the air. Lara looked at her own reflection in the rear-view, her perfect hair, perfect lips, her perfect everything. “I don’t think you understand,” she said after a moment, her voice softening into something more dangerous.“It wasn’t just a no. It was the way they looked at me while saying it. I’m telling you right now, Dani. If it wasn’t for that face, body, and that stupidly charming smile, I would’ve burned the gym down.”
Daniela hummed, suddenly quiet. She knew that tone — the one that meant Lara was already hooked. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
A faint smirk curved Lara’s lips. “Oh Daniela, you know me too well.” There was a beat of silence before Daniela sighed, half-laughing. “Just don’t get obsessed.” But the call ended before she could answer, and Lara sat there in the silence of her car, her reflection staring back from her screen. The faintest trace of a smile ghosted across her face.
“Too late,” she whispered.
—
The restaurant was glass and gold. Matthew Astor had reserved the best table in the house, as he only wants the best for his woman. Lara sat across from him, her chin resting on her hand, her expression unreadable as he spoke. “So, about this charity thing,” Matthew said between bites of steak. “Dad mentioned it made the rounds online. The youngest Raj honouring something about the Astors. That’s pretty good press babe, right?”
Lara hummed, swirling her wine before taking a sip. Her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder. “Right. Definitely” He smiled, missing the distant look in her eyes. “I’m really glad that you picked a boxing gym. That’s really perfect. Though, you should visit my gym more often than that gym.”
Matthew leaned forward, the candlelight catching the sharpness of his jaw. “You know, Dad has been really up my ass lately. Something about more of this and that, I’m really glad that you’re here with me. You just… let me be happy without boxing involved.” Matthew was about to lean forward when Lara stopped him.
“Not right now Matthew. I don’t want another drama with the press. We literally got caught walking next to each other last time yet I got hated the most for basically walking with you.” Lara exclaimed with exhaustion. “Just don’t, not right now Matthew. I’m sorry.”
Matthew nodded with understanding, he held her hand tighter as Lara let him so. “I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up about that. It’s just I’m afraid my image—”
“Stop it Matthew. Forget it ok, let’s just have a nice night.”
—
The Astor’s private gym was quieter at night. The hum of the lights above, the rhythmic sound of Matthew hitting the bag and sweat rolled down his temple, his breath steady but strained.
“Your footwork’s sloppy,” came the voice from behind him.
He turned, panting, to see his father leaning against the ropes. Mr. Astor, as always, stood tall and composed. He still radiates that quiet authority that used to fill stadiums.
“I’ve been working on hooks and jabs.” Matthew said, half defensive.
“All that would mean nothing if you don’t know how to and where to stand properly.” Mr.Astor stepped closer, adjusting Matthew’s stance with a firm hand. “Do better Matthew. A name can’t make you better than your opponent.”
Matthew’s jaw clenched. “I know that.”
“Do you?” His father’s eyes narrowed, then softened slightly. “I can’t see it yet. I know you’re hard on yourself Matthew but you have to remember that you can and will be better. Don’t make my career the end goal, at least be better than me.”
Matthew froze, he stood there not knowing what to say. “You’re still young, but you do need to train harder. Remember Matthew, someone’s best might be a bare minimum to you, but your best can also be someone’s bare minimum.”
And as Mr. Astor left, Matthew turned back to the bag, hitting it harder this time — the sound echoing like frustration.
—
Lara stood in front of her father’s desk, dressed in white, her expression calm but her mind racing. Mr. Raj looked up from his desk, brow raised. “What can I do to make my princess happy?” She smiled sweetly as her father acknowledged her. “I was thinking of upgrading some of the facilities at that boxing gym we are donating to. It’s… pitiful, really. The equipment’s outdated, and the floors, those pitiful dirty floors.” She sighed dramatically. “Dad, it’s so awful. When I visited the place, I almost tripped and died. You don’t want that, right?”
Mr. Raj chuckled. “Of course not. And what would you know about boxing gyms?”
“Enough to see danger,” she said, tone cool but precise. “Besides, wouldn’t it look good for us to invest more immediately? Cameras love a follow-up success story.”
Her father studied her, tapping his pen. “Fine. Send me a list of what you think they need. I’ll have the funds transferred by next week.” She looked at him with confusion. “Dad, next week? I’m visiting the day after tomorrow, so I need it finished by tomorrow. You don’t want me to trip over right?
Mr. Raj can’t help but just nod. He immediately stopped what he was doing and contacted someone to arrange his daughter's request. And as Lara sees her father doing what he asked him to do, she smiled sweetly and kissed her dad’s head as he hugged her. “Ughh, dad you are the best. I’ll see you later.”
“Of course sweetheart, anything for you.”
—
The next morning came with the sound of drills and hammering echoing through the gym. You arrived earlier than usual, your duffel slung over your shoulder, only to stop dead at the entrance. The air smelled different, it’s somewhat cleaner. The peeling paint on the walls was gone, the ring had been rewrapped with new ropes, and the worn-out mats had been replaced. Your coach whistled low beside you. “Well, would you look at that.”
“Where did all this come from?” you asked, setting your bag down.
“Apparently,” he said, crouching to test the new mat, “our little charity partner decided we needed an upgrade. The Raj family pulled some strings overnight. I don’t know how, but I’m not complaining. Not one bit.”
You nodded, confused on how this charity thing works with the Raj. People who donate usually just give the funds and let the coordinator do the work but this felt like more than generosity. You can’t help but smile as your coach appreciates the new things around you.
As your eyes lingered around, the doors opened and in came Lara Raj.
Lara stepped in with a smile on her face as though she were seeing her creation for the first time. “Oh good, just what I was expecting.” she said, voice honeyed and casual. “You’re here.”
You blinked, tugging at your handwraps, as you smiled towards Lara. “You guys work fast.” She smiled wider, stepping into the gym. “I like it fast Y/N. I guess you should know that.” Her eyes swept over everything — the new equipment, the faint smell of varnish, the sheen of effort and polish that hadn’t existed before. “Looks better, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, thanks for that.” you said simply, adjusting your wrist. “Though, we were doing fine before.” Lara smirked as she nodded. “Fine is such an uninteresting word.” She moved closer, the click of her heels echoing softly on the fresh mats. “You really shouldn’t settle for fine. So does this convince you about the sponsorship?”
Your eyes softened as you looked at her. “No but you really should offer it to someone who genuinely needs it.” Your coach, oblivious to the undercurrent between you, came over with a grin. “Miss Raj, this is all very generous. The team’s beyond grateful.”
“Good,” Lara replied, her gaze flicking briefly back to you. “That was the idea.” Your coach looked at Lara with a smile as he asked her, “Anything else you’d like to add, Miss Raj?”
“So about that sponsorship, any thoughts? Your fighter over here turned me down two times. And you see, I don’t really like being rejected, in fact, I was never rejected at anything at all.”
You decide to intervene before your coach can say anything. “My answer is final, Miss Raj.”
And as much as Lara hated that you turned her down, she loves the way you said her name. “Hmm fine.” Her tone sounded too innocent for your liking but you decided to nod at her direction acknowledging her answer. “Thanks Miss Raj. I really appreciate your offer but I think someone deserves it more than me.”
—
The hum of the gym had become background noise to your mornings — the dull rhythm of gloves against bags, the grunts, the sharp squeak of soles on the mat. Everything was the same, until the ‘charity’ or ‘donation’ from the Raj happened. The gym looked too clean now. It’s too polished and the floors didn’t smell like sweat anymore. It’s not bad, you are happy that the gym is better for the fighters but it’s starting to feel and smell like money. Specifically her money.
You noticed it immediately. New ropes, new mirrors, new gloves stacked neatly in a cabinet with golden Raj logos on the corner. Even the vending machine blinked digital now, its touch screen glowing like something so out of place.
“You dig the upgrades, huh?” The coordinator called, trying not to sound too thrilled seeing you looking around. “A few more sets of gear that I also ordered, and uh something for you.”
You frowned. “For me?”
They handed you a long, matte-black box with a gold monogram. You didn’t need to look twice to know who it was from but still, you opened it and sighed. Inside sat a pair of new boxing training gloves, specifically a 14 oz Cleto Reyes black gloves. Now, you are grateful but how did this woman find out the literal brand that you like? A small card rested on top:
‘Bet you’d look good in this.’ – L.R.
You stared at the words for a long second before muttering, “Unbelievable, I’m not keeping this” and tossing the lid back on. “Give this back to her, tell her I don’t like it.”
—
Across town, Lara sat behind her father’s desk, scrolling through her phone, her smile barely contained as she casually waited for the updates.
“Miss Raj,” her father’s assistant said politely. “The gym renovations are almost complete. The fighter’s custom gear was sent this morning, and your name’s been added to the sponsorship wall.” That made Lara stop scrolling as she smiled toward the assistant.
“Good,” Lara said, not looking up. “And Y/N’s response?”
“They decided to give the gloves back, Miss Raj. They said, and I quote, ‘Give this back to her, tell her I don’t like it.’ ”, her father's assistant fidgets as the youngest Raj’s smile turns into scowl. She angrily looked at her father’s assistant. “Did you get the wrong brand? I told you guys to get the right brand and the right colour.” Lara stood up as she paced around the room with her hands on her forehead. “You guys got one simple job. Is it the wrong colour or wrong weight? I swear to God, you guys can’t do anything right.”
“I’m sorry Miss Raj, but that’s what the coordinator told us.” The assistant carefully muttered. Lara can’t help but think of another way to get closer to you.
—
When you arrived at the gym the very next day, something felt off. Conversations quieted as you walked in. A few people were huddled around the new corkboard near the entrance of the gym. And there it was, your name. Printed in bold beside the Raj’s logo.
Y/N Y/L — Sponsored Athlete, Raj Foundation.
You froze. Your chest tightened as you reread the words. And by the time Lara Raj walked in, you were already waiting — jaw set, pulse loud in your ears.
“Take it down.”
She stopped mid-step, sunglasses perched in her hair, a faint smirk already forming. “Excuse me?”
“I said take it down. We had a talk, I am not agreeing to your fucking sponsorship. I specifically told you to give it to someone else, didn’t I?”
“And I said, I don’t take no for an answer.” Lara tilted her head, eyes glinting.
“This is pure bullshit. Stop bothering me for fuck sake.” Your face turns red due to anger and embarrassment. As your eyes look around the gym, some people are witnessing your bothered state.
“You should be flattered.”
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You don’t get it. I don’t do this for attention. I don’t like it. I don’t want my name on some board or under your logo. I’ve stayed in underground gyms for a reason.”
“Oh?” Her voice softened mockingly. “And what reason is that?”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you. Just take it down. Now.”
Lara’s eyes glint, she can’t wait to tell Daniela all about this. She can’t help but admire how angry you look. Now, Daniela might think Lara’s crazy for liking this but in Lara’s defense, you can’t really blame her. She can imagine it. You and Lara, some fancy night out after she made you jealous, you teach her some lesson, or maybe you won’t even make it out of the restaurant, maybe the paparazzi would see you two doing it, her assistant and PR team scrambling around yet she couldn’t care less or maybe—
You exhaled, forcing patience. “Take your sponsorship down, Lara. You don’t get to decide things for me.”
She stepped closer — not enough to touch, but enough to make the air change. “Then give me something else.”
“Like what?”
“Your number.”
And the laugh that escaped you was short and disbelieving. “You’re impossible.”
“What? Too serious? Maybe your socials then if you’re not ready for that.” You looked her dead in the eye. “I don’t have socials. Just stop this nonsense” Lara, too amused to answer you, begins to look you up and down. “That’s insulting, doesn’t mean that you don’t like me, you make a fool of me by saying you don’t have some social media account, ok? You know that’s not really nice. I’m literally giv—”
You rubbed a hand over your jaw, already tired of this game. “I really don’t, but fine,” you said at last. “Here’s the deal.”
Lara straightened, eyes lighting up like she’d just been handed a secret.
“Remove that sponsorship, you stop interfering with me, you stop intervening by giving gifts, you stop interrupting my training. Do what you want with the donations or charity or whatever you wanna call it, but do it for the gym and only for the gym. Don’t ever involve me again.”
“And what do I get?”
“You get my number,” you said dryly. “That’s the trade.”
Lara’s smile was slow, victorious, and infuriatingly satisfied. “Done.”
“I mean it, Lara.”
“I know,” she then held out her phone, perfectly manicured fingers extended. “Type it in.”
You hesitated, then gave in, quickly entering your number. Minutes after you handed it back, her phone buzzed in her hand. She read the text you sent aloud, amused:
Y/N: Now leave me alone.
Her laugh was low, sharp, and too pretty to be harmless. “See, that sounds like an invitation.” She turned to leave, pausing by the doorway, her perfume still clinging to the air. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” she said, looking over her shoulder with that grin that always seemed to win. “I’ll keep my end of the deal. For now.”
As the door shut behind her, you exhaled, pressing your palms against your duffle bag. But even as you focused on the rhythmic sounds of training — the thuds, the distant chatter, you could still smell her perfume and still hear her voice.
And somehow, you already knew this wasn’t over.
—
The arena lights burned hot against the polished floor. Cameras flashed, commentators buzzed, and a thousand eyes followed Matthew Astor as he entered the ring – every movement practiced. The Astor heir was there to prove to himself, his father, and everyone that he is the only Astor successor. And sitting in the front row is his parents, there to support him. Sitting a few rows back, tailored black and pearls, was Lara. She’s smiling perfectly, hands folded neatly in her lap.
On camera, she looked effortless. The fitted black dress, the minimal jewelry, the smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Every flash of the camera caught her at just the right angle — the ideal power couple image.
“Smile a bit wider, Miss Raj,” one of the photographers murmured before the match. To anyone watching, it was perfect. Every few minutes, the jumbotron would flash to her face, the crowd would be cheering louder and the press ate it up. But Lara wasn’t watching. Her eyes tracked the timer, her leg bouncing impatiently. She’d seen Matthew fight a hundred times. Every punch calculated, every expression rehearsed.
That wasn’t what made her pulse quicken anymore.
“Miss Raj, the photographers want a few post-fight shots after the match,” one of the assistants whispered.
“Tell them I’ll be right there,” she said automatically, eyes already sliding toward her phone. She saw a text from the coordinator telling her that your match is about to start. And as the timer hit indicating that the current round just finished. Matthew landed another perfect hook, the crowd roared and Lara stood up.
“Miss Raj?” the assistant asked, startled.
She smiled faintly, slipping her purse over her shoulder. “Tell Matthew I said he did amazing as always. Emergency call. Something important occurred.”
“But the photographers—”
“Cancel them or tell them I got sick. Do something about it, that’s your job.” And with that, she walked out, heels clicking against floors as the noise of the arena dimmed behind her.
—
The underground gym was nothing like Matthew’s arena. There were no cameras following her, and she somehow likes that. Lara’s heels clicked once against the concrete before she switched to sneakers she’d stashed in her car. Her assistant had begged her to come back to the arena again, but Lara ignored the calls. Because there you were — in the middle of the ring, breath sharp, eyes alive, body coiled like every movement had purpose. No bright lights, no photographers, just you and the sound of gloves meeting flesh. You didn’t fight like Matthew. You didn’t care about who was watching. You didn’t care if your opponent messed your face up, though Lara believed no punch could ever ruin a face like that. You weren’t performing, doing some sort of choreography, you were fighting.
Something about it hit Lara in the chest. And when the fight ended, you didn’t celebrate. You didn’t smile for some press, you didn’t promote anyone. You just approached your coach and thanked the people around you. You unwrapped your hands and disappeared into the back like it was just another day for you.
That indifference only made her smile wider.
—
By the time Lara got back into her car, her phone rang as Daniela’s name displayed on her phone screen. As she answered the call, she was met with Daniela’s scream. “You didn’t even make it through Matthew’s second round,” Lara slid her sunglasses off, her pulse still uneven. “He had it handled. And I watched it hundreds of times before Daniela.”
“Do you realise what people are going to say when they notice you disappeared during his match?”
“I don’t care,” Lara said simply.
“Of course you don’t,” Daniela muttered. “Where are you anyway?”
Lara didn’t answer yet. She just scrolled through her phone — a single photo she’d secretly taken of the ring’s corner, where you sat as your coach pats your shoulder, telling you something she can’t decipher. Daniela groaned. “Lara. You are literally sneaking out on your supposed boyfriend’s televised fight. You better tell me where you have been.”
“Dani, I watched Y/N’s fight. Happy now?” Lara exclaimed as she admired your photo in her phone. Suddenly Dani’s voice got louder.
“And you didn’t invite me? I thought I’m your best friend. I could’ve helped you walk out. Lara, I’m serious here. I could literally orchestrate the best excuse but no you decided to not tell your best friend about this. Great job Miss Lara Raj. Amazing job as always. I’m literally made for something—"
“Ok Daniela Avanzini, I love you but you praised yourself too much. It was unplanned ok. I got the coordinators text just hours before Matthew’s fight. And I just have—”
“And you decided to watch them over Matthew so you can add something on your spank bank? You know what, I admire that. I bet you took a photo too.”
Lara smiled, as annoying as Daniela could be she can’t help but admit how much this woman understands her. “I did not. Maybe I did a few but still, you can’t be saying that out loud.”
“Ohh I know you, you dirty woman. Anywayyyy, you want to tell me everything?”
As her driver drove away from the underground gym, Lara told Daniela everything that happened that night.
—
As if watching your fight was not enough, Lara finally found the courage to send you a text. She doesn't know why it took her days, why it took all her confidence to send you a simple message, she also doesn’t know why she has to call Dani to formulate the “right words” for her first message. Honestly, she doesn’t know why she’s so anxious. All she ever wants is—
Y/N: Now leave me alone.
—----------------------------
L: Hi
Y/N: Hey
Lara nearly jumped over the sound of her phone. She can’t believe it, she needs to message Dani again.
L: Dani, they replied. They said “Hey”
D: Hey? I thought I told you to send them a message about you asking them for some brunch or something?
L: No, I said “Hi”
D: Girl
D: You are hopeless
Lara can’t help but groan, Daniela is no help at all. She took a deep breath as she sent you another message.
L: We’re going to dinner tomorrow.
Y/N: 👍
—----------------------------------------
L: Dani, they sent me a thumbs up emoji.
D: Ok Lara, I guess that’s something.
—
The same day, Lara picked a restaurant that you sure is the type of place you will never be seen in once. It was too luxurious for you, you don’t plan on coming but you don’t want someone like Lara crashing out on you, again. So you dress in what you think is your best outfit.
You wore a decent hoodie, as you weren’t expecting to be in this place, hands stuffed into your pockets. Lara was already there when you arrived, her black dress again, minimal jewelry, a glass of wine untouched. When she looked up and saw you, something in her eyes flickered. A sign of relief and maybe disbelief.
“You actually came,” she said, smiling faintly.
“I’m a person of my word.”
“You sent me a thumbs up emoji, that’s not a word. But you know what, I'll remember that.” Lara winked at you as you rolled your eyes.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you wasn’t exactly comfortable — but it wasn’t hostile either. The waiter appeared, all polished smiles and posture, asking if you wanted wine. You asked for water. Lara didn’t correct him when he looked mildly surprised.
“So,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “I love your recent fight.”
“How’d you know?”
“Let’s just say I watched it. Remember the gloves that I gave you? You could’ve used that instead of your beat up gloves. And new shoes too, maybe a mouthguard too.”
“I don’t want to.”
Lara’s expression softened. “You really don’t care who I am or what I give you, do you?”
“I told you,” you said simply. “I don’t care about money, or names, or sponsorships. I love boxing and that’s the only thing that matters. I used my winnings to fund myself, that’s it.”
“And that’s enough for you?”
“It has to be.” You glanced down at your glass, tracing the rim with a thumb. “I didn’t exactly grow up with options.”
Something in your tone made Lara tilt her head. “What do you mean?” You hesitated. You didn’t owe her anything — but something about the way she asked, quiet and careful, made the words slip out before you could stop them.
“I was a mistake. Accident happens. My mom used to work for someone. Someone who… wasn’t supposed to have a family.” You kept your eyes on the glass. “He made sure we didn’t starve, but we weren’t allowed to exist loudly either. So, I stopped trying to.”
Lara didn’t speak. The restaurant buzzed faintly around you, muted by the soft hum of your surroundings. “I don’t use his name,” you said faintly. “It’s not mine to use.”
Lara’s hand twitched against the tablecloth. For once, she didn’t know what to say. No witty remark, no clever quip. The air is filled with quiet understanding. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Don’t be,” you replied. “It’s not your fault.”
But the words sat heavy between you — and for Lara, it wasn't a pity she felt. It was something else. Admiration, or maybe guilt. The sudden urge to protect something she didn’t understand. She took a sip of wine, eyes lingering on you over the rim of the glass. She wanted to reach for your hand, maybe hold it to give you comfort, but she knows you aren’t comfortable with that yet. “You know, you make it sound like that’s nothing,” she said. “I bet your mother is proud of you.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh. “She doesn’t really like the thought of me in the ring. But I can’t help it, I just love the feeling. Though I understand how sensitive she gets about it sometimes, especially when I’m getting some sort of spotlight.”
You pushed your chair back slightly, preparing to leave. “Thank you for this. I’m sorry for ranting this out of nowhere.” But before you could stand, her voice softened again — quieter, almost pleading.
“Y/N.”
You looked at her, waiting. “Thank you,” she said. “For telling me.”
You didn’t reply. You just nodded once and left.
—
As time passed, the connection between you and Lara changed to something more dangerous. What started as annoyance turned into tolerance then to whatever this is. She texted you more often now, not about money or gifts, but about training routines, favourite matches, stupid memes Daniela sent her. She’d drop by the gym with “donations” that somehow always included things you specifically used, though you pretended not to notice. Sometimes, you’d catch her watching your sparring sessions from a distance, sunglasses on, smile unreadable. More often than not, she loves wearing your hoodies. You once told her how your dirty hoodie is ruining her outfit, but she shrugged it all off. In fact, she stole that one hoodie that you wore the night you two went on a dinner or date as Lara calls. And somewhere between all that, your anger faded into something quieter. You still didn’t trust her fully but you’d stopped trying to push her away.
Meanwhile, Matthew Astor noticed.
He wasn’t stupid. Lara had always been a little aloof. She’s busy, independent, untouchable in that effortless way only the Rajs seemed to manage. But lately, it felt different. She’s more detached.
She used to text him before fights, a simple “I know you’ll knock them out.” Now he gets nothing. Sometimes his messages stay unread for hours. During training, his coach would catch him glancing at his phone between rounds. During press days, the questions came sharper, asking him about her. If she’ll be coming, or why she’s not coming at all. Matthew forced a laugh every time, brushing it off. But the sting never faded. He told himself she was just busy. That this was temporary. That she’d show up again, front row, like she always did.
But she didn’t.
Lara, on the other hand, didn’t even notice the distance she was creating. At least, not consciously. Whenever her phone buzzed, her first thought wasn’t Matthew anymore — it was you. She’d tell herself she was just checking in, that it was harmless, that it didn’t mean anything. But then she’d catch herself replaying the way you’d said “I love boxing, and that’s the only thing that matters.”
It stayed in her head — that quiet conviction, that raw honesty she could never fake. With you, it was never about the name, it was boxing itself. At night, when she and Matthew would sit through another charity dinner, she found herself zoning out mid-conversation. His voice faded, replaced by echoes of yours. She can’t help but compare everything. Both Matthew and you are fighters but the fire behind your eyes is so much different. Both stem from hunger, but Matthew’s hunger stems from the validation from his father, the crowd, and everything in between but yours, God you were so different. Sometimes, Matthew would reach for her hand under the table, and she’d pull away too quickly — pretending to fix her napkin, pretending she hadn’t noticed.
And the first person to call her out on it wasn’t Matthew.
It was Daniela.
“You know, you’re not very subtle,” Dani said one evening, sprawled on Lara’s couch with a glass of red wine in hand.
“About what?” Lara asked, not looking up from her phone.
“About you know who,” Daniela corrected, smirking. “Matthew’s PR team called me earlier. Apparently, you’ve ‘been difficult to reach.’”
Lara sighed, locking her phone. “They’ll survive.”
“You used to care, though. Remember? You’d drag me to his matches just to get good press photos.”
“That was business,” Lara muttered.
“And Y/N isn’t?” Daniela teased, tilting her glass.
Lara paused. She looked at Daniela with a hint of blush present on her cheeks.
“No,” she said finally. “They’re not.”
Daniela raised a brow. “That sounded dangerously close to sincerity, Miss Raj.”
Lara only smiled faintly. “Don’t get used to it.”
Daniela smiles, she had known Lara all her life and the last time she remembered Lara being this happy about something not money, status, or power related is when Rhea, Lara’s older sister, drove Lara around town after getting scolded for throwing a tantrum and "accidentally" pressing the school fire alarm so she can leave class.
But even Daniela could tell, this wasn't just fascination anymore. Whatever connection you and Lara have, it’s changing Lara in a good way. Something was changing, and Daniela knew that Lara wasn’t trying to stop it.
“Just be careful ok?”
—
The room smelled like champagne and sweat — another post-fight event that Lara barely remembered agreeing to attend. Photographers swarmed near the stage, flashes bouncing off Matthew’s championship belt as he gave practiced smiles, reciting the same lines his PR team drilled into him. When he finally stepped offstage, he found her.
“Lara, babe.”
Her name came out sharp, not angry, but desperate. She turned, a smile already plastered on, ready for the cameras that were still nearby. “Matthew. Congratulations.”
He blinked. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“You won,” she said simply. “You should celebrate.”
He studied her — the way her phone never left her hand, the faint glow of a notification lighting up her face before she quickly locked it. “We should celebrate.” Matthew huffed as he asked another question. “Who’s got you so distracted lately?”
Lara’s expression didn’t flinch, but her jaw tightened. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m just asking why you left before my previous fight ended. Why you’ve skipped every press dinner, every training event—”
“I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
She met his eyes. “Something real. Don’t intervene.”
Matthew froze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
But she didn’t answer. She just smiled, that same polished smile that used to make him fall, and walked away — leaving him standing there, applause still echoing faintly in the background.
—
It happened a few days later.
Matthew’s phone pinged mid-drive. A shared location alert, specifically Lara’s. He hadn’t asked for it; she’d left it on from weeks ago. He stared at it, frowning. The pin wasn’t near her parents house, or her house, or any of the usual places she’d haunt. It was near the industrial side of town. The one with the rundown buildings and the underground gyms his father used to warn him about.
He didn’t think twice. The drive there was quiet except for the pulse in his jaw.
When he finally stepped inside the gym, the air hit him like a wave — metallic, raw, and alive. A few heads turned, recognising him. The heir of the Astor name had no business being here.
And then he saw her.
Lara Raj, sitting near the ring, sunglasses in her hair, leaning forward as she watched someone spar inside the ropes. Someone oddly familiar. He has seen your face before, probably from his father’s desk cabinet where he was specifically told to never open but he did anyway.
You.
He froze. You were in the middle of some light sparring, movements sharp and polished but powerful. Something his father had trained him to be, something his father has always wanted him to be. You didn’t notice him, not yet. But Lara did. Her eyes widened slightly, just enough to betray surprise before she stood up quickly, smoothing her dress.
“Matthew,” she started, but he wasn’t looking at her.
He was looking at you. “Of course,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Of course it’s you.” The sound of his voice made you turn, breath still heavy, confusion cutting across your features.
“Matthew?”
He laughed, a short, hollow sound. “Wow. My father must be proud. Two of his kids are chasing the same woman.”
The gym went quiet.
You stared at him, frowning and confusion written all over your face. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on,” he snapped. “Don’t play dumb. You really didn’t tell them, Lara? That the person you’ve been sneaking around with is his mistake?”
You froze. Lara’s breath caught. “Matthew, stop.”
“No, let’s finally say it,” he said, voice rising. “You’re the bastard. The secret. The fucking mistake. The reason my mother almost left. And now you’re doing what your filthy mother did — ruining someone else’s relationship, someone’s family. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”
It was like the air got punched out of your lungs. For a long moment, you didn’t move, didn’t speak. You just looked between the two of them — Matthew’s trembling anger, Lara’s guilt bleeding through her composure.
“Is that true?” you asked quietly, you hopped off the ring, your voice steady but cold. “You’re seeing him?”
Lara’s silence said everything.
You nodded once, jaw tightening. “You were with him. And you still came here.”
Lara stepped forward. “I didn’t— not like this. I didn’t plan—”
“You knew,” you repeated, voice sharper now. “And you let me tell you everything anyway.”
The room seemed to shrink. Lara’s eyes were glassy now, her words stumbling. “Y/N, please. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean for this to—”
“Are you playing with me? Is this some grand scheme that you’ve been planning for him? Is that the reason why you so badly want to put me in the spotlight? To humiliate me?”
“No, Y/N listen.” Lara’s voice trembled. “This is not— I didn’t—. Please listen to me. I didn’t know about this thing. I didn’t know about this. Please trust me. I don’t have any connection with the Astor’s or anything like that. Y/N please. I’m begging you just, please hear me out.”
You exhaled, forcing calm into your voice even as your chest burned. “Stop. You got what you wanted.”
“Y/N, please—” She reached out, but you stepped back.
“Let go,” you said quietly. “And don’t ever look for me. I don’t ever want to see you again, Lara.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Lara stood there, tears welling up but refusing to fall. Matthew looked between you two, his anger dimming into something bitter and hollow.
“They're not worth it,” he muttered, voice low. “People like them never are.”
You didn’t respond. You just grabbed your bag, slung it over your shoulder, and walked out. Lara watched until the door closed — the sound final, like a bell.
And for the first time, the girl who always got what she wanted realised she’d finally lost something she couldn’t buy back.
Welp, there's that. This is the last of my “rich x broke” trope 'series'. I needed to released this one out immediately so I'm so sorry if it feels so rushed and not polished. Also this is supposed to be a Mean Girls 2004 movie vibe, but I gave Daniela the Regina George on Amped Hearts so I have to re-do this all over again. I did keep Lara's attitude kinda mean (maybe meaner than intended) but that has always been the plan for my Lara stories. Also sorry about the title, almost all the title of my story is mixed up words that I think matches the whole story. So Sorry if it's so ass.
I'll be editing some of my older works, I won't be editing the stories but I'll be adding the masterlist link at the top so you guys can easily navigate through all my other works.
Anyways, sorry again and I hope you guys like this one! :)))
Pairing: Regina George!Daniela Avanzini x Rodrick Heffley!masc!gn!reader
Synopsis: In the fading chords of a dying garage band, a desperate guitarist, you, reaches for the untouchable Daniela Avanzini, igniting a slow-burning symphony of pride, longing, and the quiet unraveling of a girl who was never meant to fall.
Warnings: fluff, use of you/they/them
Notes: Hi this is from here. I saw an edit of Regina x Rodrick and I decide to change the route of the whole fic. Rodrick plays drums but I don't know anything about drums so I decided to use guitar here. Also hint of maphinz lol. Please read the note at the last part. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. If there's any obvious mistake, do tell me :))
It isn’t a loud, dramatic implosion, but a quiet, fraying decay, like the duct tape on your Vans giving up one thread at a time. It is a sickness of silence in the group chat. It’s the way Matt tunes his bass with a little too much force, a prelude to a snap. It’s the résumés Jess leaves open on her laptop screen, tiny white flags of surrender. It’s the way Alex looks bored whenever you play in your garage, his eyes glazed over with the future he’s already accepted. It’s a slow death by a thousand paper cuts of reality.
Daniela Avanzini is not a girl who makes sense in your life. She's a girl who gets picked up in black cars with leather seats, who drinks iced coffee through glass straws, and walks like the hallway owes her rent. Her hair always looks professionally blown out. Her bags are leather-bound fortresses that cost more than your last three paychecks combined, and her perfume leaves a ghost in the air, a whisper of jasmine, coffee, and expensive choices. She is a carefully curated masterpiece, and from every angle, it feels like the world bends its own rules just to keep her in a perfect light.
And you? You are a walking afterthought, a dog-eared page in a pristine book. You live in a uniform of a hoodie layered over a flannel, sleeves perpetually too long, a shield against a world that feels a little too sharp. Your fingers are a roadmap of calluses from guitar strings, your shoes held together by hope and some shoe glue. You are the lead guitarist and reluctant heart of your band, a garage rock band that’s one missed rent payment away from becoming a ghost story you tell your future, more sensible self. You fold records into paper bags at a grimy store after school, the cash you earn a flimsy bridge to new strings and late-night cartons of ice cream that you share with your bandmates in melancholic silence.
So the idea, the grand, tectonic-shifting plan to approach her, feels like an act of madness. It’s like asking the sun to light a single, flickering candle. But desperation is a language of its own, and you are fluent. You love your band with the same fierce, all-consuming fire that Daniela seems to reserve for her position as cheer captain. The thought of it all turning to ash in your hands is unbearable. You have to believe that somewhere, beneath the layers of gloss and brand names, there’s a flicker of understanding. That’s the hope you cling to as you jog to catch up to her pace, a frantic smile plastered on your face.
“Hey Avanzini, I would—”
“—No.” The word is a razor blade sharp. She glances at you, a fleeting inventory of your entire being, and her eyes are unreadable pools of obsidian. The disgust isn’t overt yet, just a subtle tightening at the corners of her perfect mouth. She repeats herself, as if for a child. “No.”
That’s it. A full stop carved into the air between you. There is no follow-up and no room for a question. She hasn’t even let the sentence leave your mouth, and she’s already buried it. The single syllable is a physical blow, a punch to the gut that leaves you winded. Embarrassment crawls up your neck, but you swallow it down and keep walking beside her, like a satellite caught in her orbit.
“Okay, I get it, no means no,” you start, the words feeling clumsy and loud next to her composed silence. “And I know you have no idea who I am, but just… listen. You donate to charity, right? Think of this as a charity case. One gig. I’ll owe you for life. I’ll be your personal errand-runner. I’ll—”
Daniela stops dead in her tracks. The motion is so abrupt you nearly stumble. She turns, and the look she gives you could curdle milk. This time, the disgust isn't subtle. Her eyes do a slow, deliberate crawl from your worn-out shoes to your messy hair, and you feel every frayed edge, every stain, every imperfection catalogued and dismissed. In that moment, the chasm between your worlds feels vast and uncrossable. A faint, cruel smirk touches her lips as she sees you falter, your words dying in your throat.
“No.”
And then she’s gone, a mirage of perfection walking away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway like a piece of forgotten luggage.
—
Maybe starting with the queen was a tactical error. You should have approached the court first. Someone familiar. Someone like Manon.
The first time you ask Manon for a favour, it’s not a big deal. At least, it doesn’t feel like one. Not when it’s over cheap coffee from a nearby coffee shop and a mutual understanding of shared tiredness. Manon is easy to talk to, easy in the way someone becomes when you’ve shared a bench, a detention, or an unspoken moment of knowing school is eating everyone alive, just in different flavours. You met Manon in a gig you had with your band, she complimented your music and from then on, she became one of your friends.
Manon, bless her heart, doesn't even flinch when you ask her. She just tilts her head, her curls bouncing a little, as she says, "You're asking me to get your band into one of Daniela's parties? That Daniela? My Sophia’s friend Daniela?" You know it’s ridiculous, but that’s your only solution for now. It’s not like you can come up with one, in a snap of a finger.
The question hangs in the air, smelling of burnt coffee and absurdity. But it's your only rope.
You nod, lips pressed around a straw poking out of a bottle of off-brand cola. Your hoodie sleeves are pushed up to the elbows, stained faintly with something from a part-time shift. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but we’re on life support here. I'm losing money on booking for gigs. Alex is about to go full solo acoustic artist on us, Jess is planning our funeral, and Matt keeps sending me short compiled videos of failed musicians who now design spreadsheets for a living. I’m at the end of my rope, Manon. We just need one shot. One night for people to hear what my bandmates can do.” You take a breath, the desperation tasting like rust in your mouth. “I tried talking to her. She looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe.”
Manon laughs, a genuine, chest-deep sound that makes you feel a little less insane. “Alright, you tragic musician. I’ll talk to Sophia. And Sophia will talk to Daniela. But I’m making zero promises. You know Daniela’s music taste is… curated. She doesn’t really do… well, you.”
“She doesn’t listen to anything that wasn’t played at a Chanel runway,” You mutter under your breath, but Manon hears it. She smirks, shrugs, and finishes her drink. “Look I’ll try ok? I love your band, I’ve told Sophia about you, but Daniela is a different story.”
And that’s the beginning.
—
The text from Manon is short and not at all sweet. “Sorry. It’s another no.”
The week after becomes less a montage and more of a series of strategic, nerve-wracking skirmishes. You decide that if you’re going to be a ghost in Daniela’s periphery, you might as well be a noisy one.
On Monday, armed with new intel from your network of two (Manon and Sophia), you skip lunch. You find her in the library’s quietest corner. You walk up to her table holding a venti iced coffee and a single, perfect dandelion—her favorite flower, according to Sophia. You place them directly in front of her and slide into the opposite chair, breaking the sacred silence. She looks up from her textbook, her eyes flashing with fury. She whispers, her voice low and dangerous, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“A peace offering,” you whisper back, leaning onto the table. “I’ll leave after this, just hear me out. One performance. Three, maybe four songs. After that, we’ll vanish. You can even unplug the amp mid-song if you think we’re horrible. Which we’re not.” You let the desperation show in your eyes, a raw, unedited plea. “Avanzini, just one performance and that’s it. I will never bother you ever again. I promise. And I always keep my promises.”
You see it then—a flicker. A subtle shift in the tectonic plates of her composure. She sighs, a sound of profound weariness, and closes her book. “How did you get my order and how did you know I’d be here?” she asks, taking a deliberate, slow sip of the coffee. Her eyes, fixed on yours over the rim of the cup, wait for your answer.
“I was curious so I asked Manon, who asked Sophia, who is your frien—”
“Okay, stop. I get it,” she says, waving a hand. “Do you think a drink and a flower will get you what you want? You’re a musician, correct?” A challenge enters her tone, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Is this how musicians persuade people now? I know you can do better than this. Especially for me, right?”
Your mouth goes dry. Being this close to her is like standing too near a bonfire, all heat and dangerous, hypnotic light. Her eyes, a complex shade of brown flecked with gold, make your stomach feel like a mosh pit. The sharp line of her jaw, the way a single strand of hair falls across her forehead—it’s a masterpiece in motion. The gig is the goal, the mission, but a treacherous little thought whispers in your mind, maybe a chance with her…
“Jesus Christ, are you even listening to me?” Daniela says, her perfect eyebrows knitting together. The spell is broken. “Whatever, I’m leaving.” She scoffs as she packs her bag, but you watch, stunned, as she carefully takes the dandelion and tucks it between the pages of her book before grabbing the coffee. You stand, ready to follow, but she stops and fixes you with a look that freezes you in place. “Don’t even think about it.”
You don’t. You just watch her go.
—
On Wednesday, you take her advice. You decide to do better. After asking Sophia for the cheer schedule, you make your way to the parking lot. And as Daniela emerges from the gym door, you stand by her car, your acoustic guitar in hand, and you start to strum a familiar, haunting melody, from her favourite song, according to a reluctant Lara. But before you can sing a single word, she’s on you, grabbing the front of your shirt as she pulls you closer, her face inches from yours. “Are you insane? What do you think you’re doing, again?” she silently shouts, her voice a furious whisper.
Being this close, seeing the fire in her eyes, smelling the faint scent of rain on her skin from the gym’s air conditioning, it makes you smile, a real, stupid, genuine smile. “Really, Avanzini? I was just about to serenade you. To show you how worthy we are. I took your advice. A musician persuades with music. And I even picked your favourite song, because you said I could do better.” Your cheeky smile widens.
Her grip loosens, confusion clouding her anger. “And who told you about my favourite song?”
“Lara. I tried asking you yesterday, but you told me to, and I quote, ‘shove my guitar up my ass.’ Not very nice, by the way.” You feign an innocent, wounded look. “Avanzini, just one performance. That’s all my band needs.”
She sighs, a long, ragged sound, and glances around. A few people are starting to stare. It’s one thing to be the centre of attention. It’s another to be the centre of a scene with you. The discomfort is plain on her face. She’s not used to being seen with someone whose edges are so frayed.
“Look, don’t ever pull a stunt like this again, you hear me?” she says, her voice low. And in return you just nod, still smiling. Whatever she’s saying with those pretty lips, you’ll agree.
“Meet me tomorrow. Same time, library. And no grand performances, okay? Now go.”
You nod again, opening her car door for her like a valet. “Bye, Avanzini. Take care.”
Maybe this time, the answer will be different.
—
“No, you are not performing at my party,” Daniela says flatly the next day. Her voice doesn’t rise, but the edge in it is diamond-cut. You’re standing outside the library, hands full, her signature iced coffee in one, and the other in the strap of your backpack. The words hit you like a physical blow.
“But why?” you ask, your voice hollow, trying to hold her gaze but already bracing for the next blow.
Daniela rolls her eyes, but something flickers behind the gesture. “Because I don’t even know what your music sounds like,” she says, a flicker of logic in her cold tone. “Why would I let you perform if I’ve never heard you?”
Your face lights up. The hope you thought was dead comes roaring back to life. You hand her the coffee and dig through your backpack, pulling out a jewel case adorned with random, cut-out letters from magazines, like a punk-rock ransom note. Inside is a CD and a piece of paper with a handwritten tracklist.
“I’m so glad you asked,” you say, a triumphant grin spreading across your face. “Here. We burned a few copies. There are only five in existence. One for each of us, and lucky you, you get the last one.” You give her a theatrical wink. “And if you want a live performance, we have a small gig tonight at The Dive, you know? The open bar nearby. We can dedicate a whole set to you. An exclusive, curated just for Daniela Avanzini.”
Daniela stares at the CD like it’s something contagious, then carefully, she takes it from your hand. Her fingers brush yours for a second and you swear you see her stiffen. She then mutters something under her breath.
“Sorry?” you asked her with genuine confusion written on your face.
“I said…” she clears her throat “What time?”
Your lips part in surprise, then curl into a slow, stunned smile.
“Eight. We go on at eight.”
She nods once, turns away, and walks to her car — the CD still clutched tightly in her hand.
She doesn’t say she’ll come. But she doesn’t say she won’t.
—
Daniela tells herself she won’t listen. She tells herself she’s just going to throw the CD in her glove compartment and forget about it. And yet, the moment she’s alone in her car, she slips the CD into the player. The first track crackles to life, it’s loud, messy, and your guitar sounds like a beautiful scream. She drives with it playing, the windows cracked just slightly. The scent of jasmine from her wrist mixing with the sharp tang of your guitar distortion, she tells herself that it’s not her cup of tea, but as the track ends, she doesn’t switch it off.
Daniela also tells herself that she’s not going, not because she doesn’t have time or she’s occupied for the night, but because this, you, and your band, is a pure glitch in her world. And yet later, she’s standing in front of her closet with five outfits on the bed, Lara on her phone asking for some outfit advice, and one thought repeating like a hook in her chest. “What is wrong with you Avanzini?”
—
The Dive smells like old wood, cheap beer, and ambition. At 7:38, she’s there. The lights are low and golden, the floor sticky in places, and the crowd a strange mix of flannel, glitter, and borrowed eyeliner. Daniela slips in through the back, sunglasses still on, even though it’s nearly dark inside. She keeps to the shadows at first, tucked in a booth alone. And then she sees you.
You’re on stage, tuning your guitar, your forearms looks veiny as you twist the tuning pegs, sweat already clings to your back. Your shirt is a little too tight in the shoulders and arms. Your eyes then flick up sensing someone looking at you, and as you scan the room, she swear your gaze lands on her.
She looks away first, removes her sunglasses, then the music starts.
It’s louder than she expected. Gritty and imperfect but there’s something beneath the feedback, something that threads itself under her skin, a kind of ache that blooms in her ribs. You’re not the vocalist, but you move like someone feeling everything. Each chord you play is a strike, it’s deliberate, tender, and feral. When you close your eyes, your whole body leans into the sound. You don’t perform like you want attention all to yourself. You’re performing like you’re trying to survive.
And that’s what draws her in, because in her world she’s used to being the centre of every room. But in this chaos of yours? You are the gravity that pulls her in. Something sharp twists inside her chest. A kind of envy she doesn’t have a name for. A kind of wanting she doesn’t want to admit. And when the set ends and the applause swells and when your eyes flick across the crowd and land on her, she forgets to breathe.
You genuinely smile at her. Like a silent thank you, and she felt like she’s the only person in the room who matters. She hates how much she wants to chase that smile all the way backstage.
—
When you walk toward her after the set, your bandmates close behind you, her whole body tenses. She’s planned a dozen things to say, something witty or cold but all of them dissolve when you stop in front of her, cheeks flushed, shirt damp with sweat, and eyes bright.
“Avanzini,” you say breathlessly, still buzzing. “Thanks for coming. This is Alex the vocalist, Matt the bassist, Jess in sticks and—”
She barely nods at them cause her eyes don’t leave yours.
“Can I borrow you for a second?” she asks too quickly.
You nodded as you looked at your bandmates with a tight smile and in exchange they looked at you with teasing ones. You then follow her outside into the cool night air. “So, did we pass the audition?” you ask, leaning against the brick wall. And when she doesn’t answer right away. Her arms cross over her chest like she’s holding herself together, you waited for her with no expectations.
“You were loud,” she says, avoiding your gaze. “And you sweat a lot.”
“But that’s rock, well garage rock. And I don’t sweat a lot, it's the condensation of the room, not me.”
She finally looks at you, an unguarded expression on her face. “Why?” she asks. “Why do you care so much, you know, about this?”
You looked at her with confusion until it dawned on you. You’re not ready for the question, but you answer honestly. “I told you,” you say, your voice serious for the first time. “They’re my family. Music is the only thing that’s ever felt like home. And home is about to be foreclosed on.”
She’s silent for a long moment. Daniela looks at you intently, she’s used to memorising dance routines, in fact it only took her minutes to memorise the cheer routine yet she can’t seem to memorised you. Not that she’s incapable of it, but maybe she doesn't want to, maybe she’d rather look at you all the time, let it all sink in and come again.
“Saturday,” she says finally. “My party. One set. Three songs. And for God’s sake, try to look presentable. Don’t embarrass me.” She turns to leave, but you call after her.
“Hey, Daniela?” She pauses.
“Thank you.”
She doesn’t look back, but you see her shoulders relax just a fraction.
—
The night of the party, you play like your heart might never beat again. You wear your best or what passes for it not just for the stage, but in the quiet hope that Daniela might see you differently tonight. Performing has always been your sanctuary, your home. You thrive in the exchange of energy, the way the crowd rises and falls with each strum, each lyric. But tonight, your eyes catch hers and everything else slips into static.
Daniela is luminous. Effortlessly divine in a cropped top and loose, low-slung pants, she moves with the kind of grace that makes time stutter. A drink in one hand as she nods along to the music, and you find yourself playing louder, like your guitar could be the language she understands. And when she smiles, the whole room is just a backdrop. In that moment you knew, you’re done for. That’s it. You're head over heels for Daniela Avanzini.
You could write a hundred songs from this one look. You want to and you know that you would. Every chord, every lyric, every breath, just hers.
But then you see him.
Some frat guy in a white polo and jeans, confident in that glossy, effortless way. He leans in too close. She turns away from you and toward him. Her smile now belongs to his joke, not your melody. Their laughter, shared like a secret, that cuts sharper than any guitar string ever could. You try to shrug it off, try to lose yourself in the rhythm, but there’s a bitter knot curling inside you. Jealousy? Insecurity? Both, maybe. Whatever it is, it burns.
You keep playing. The crowd jumps, sways, sings. But your gaze keeps drifting back, like a song stuck on repeat. They look good together, in a magazine kind of way, polished and untouchable. And maybe you always knew. Maybe you’ve always known. Daniela Avanzini belongs to a different orbit. One with velvet ropes and perfect lighting. One where you’re not a performer, you’re a cause. A charity case she took pity on for one night.
You thought you cracked something open that night at The Dive. You thought maybe she saw you. But now she’s back in her world, and you’re still on the outside, watching her from the stage like a dream you were never meant to hold.
—
You don’t wait for the applause to fade. Even before the final chord stops humming in your bones, you’re slipping your guitar over your shoulder and mumbling something about feeling sick. Your bandmates nod, a mix of concern and post-show adrenaline dulling the edges of your lie. You don’t wait for questions. You move through the crowd like smoke, brushing past smiles and laughter, heading for the back door where the night air waits, cool and quiet. You offer Manon, Sophia, and Lara a small wave, one they barely catch, before disappearing into the dark with your guitar in hand and your heart dragging behind you.
Inside, Daniela is still glowing from the set. Something about the way you played, the way you looked at her, it sparked a warmth she doesn’t quite know what to do with. There's a wild, nervous energy in her chest, an urge to say something real. To tell you that you weren’t just “nice.” You were electric, magnetic, and impossible to look away from.
Tucked behind her back, she’s holding a bouquet of dandelions, a little soft offering. Similar to the gesture that you did in the library. Something about it felt right, maybe even romantic. But when she finds Sophia talking with your bandmates, you’re already gone.
“Oh they left early,” Sophia says. “Said they weren’t feeling great.”
Daniela blinks, the words hitting like cold water. She hadn’t expected that. She’d thought you’d stay. Maybe find her in the crowd. Maybe ask her what she thought. Maybe just talk to her once more. The disappointment comes quietly, a somewhat sharp ache she wasn’t prepared for.
She presses the bouquet into Jess’s hands with a forced smile. “For the band,” she says, brushing it off like it’s nothing. But it was something.
And after that, the rest of the night feels dim. The lights are still flashing, the music still loud, but it’s all gone grey. She finds herself scanning the door more times than she wants to admit, but you’re gone. And somehow, so is the rhythm.
—
You spend the next week treating her like a fire alarm, seen, heard, and avoided. Because every time you spot Daniela Avanzini across a hallway, every time her laugh cuts through the noise, the feelings from the party come rushing back, that bitter cocktail of being out of place, out of reach, and far from enough.
You’ve caught something worse than a crush, a full-blown, no-cure, deep-in-the-bone affection for a girl you were never supposed to have a chance with. And you know better. You know it’s a hopeless cause. So you pull away. You keep your head down. You become absence in motion.
Until one day, she finds you.
It’s lunch. Your sanctuary of invisibility. And then, a hush falls. The cafeteria buzz quiets like prey sensing a predator. You hear the scuff of expensive boots. And suddenly, she’s standing at your table.
Daniela Avanzini.
Unlike the time you ambushed her outside the gym, guitar in hand and heart on sleeve, she doesn’t flinch at the crowd. She wants them to watch. She wants it known that she’s looking for you.
“Why are you ignoring me?” she says, voice low but cutting. A blade wrapped in velvet.
You glance up, startled, mouth halfway to your soda straw. “How’d you know I was here?”
“I asked Sophia. Who asked Manon,” she replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Her arms are crossed and her expression is pure offense.
You look down at your tray, as if food can shield you from the truth. “I’m not ignoring you,” you lie. “I kept my promise. We performed. I said I’d leave you alone after that.”
For a second, her face softens. Then out of nowhere the bratty armour clicks back into place like she’s afraid of being seen too clearly. “That’s the stupidest promise I’ve ever heard,” she scoffs, loud enough for the nearest tables to hear. “And Sophia once promised during a party not to make out with Manon in my guest room again, so that’s saying something.”
You blink. “What?”
“Whatever. I’ll see you after class. Don’t even think about hiding or running somewhere, Manon gave me your schedule.”
She spins on her heel and vanishes into the cafeteria like a storm. You sit there, stunned, chewing air and regret.
—
Later that day, your class ends. You’re at your locker, trying to shove a broken zipper back into place when it happens, a proof that your band’s set at the party meant something. A girl from your Maths class approaches, the kind of pretty that feels like sunlight through blinds, warm and not overwhelming. She compliments your performance, asks about your next gig. For a moment, the ache in your chest eases. You smile, laugh, crack a dumb joke, and feel a little lighter.
Then the air shifts. The shadow arrives before the voice.
Daniela Avanzini. Again.
“What’s this?” she asks, tone dipped in poison. Her gaze sweeps the girl from head to toe, all judgment and sharp angles. “Shopping for a groupie?”
The girl, who you didn’t even catch her name, falters. Her confidence crumbles under Daniela’s stare, and she mutters a quick excuse before slipping away, flushed and flustered.
You whip around, jaw slack. “What was that?!”
Daniela crosses her arms, defiant. “So I guess musicians really are players. Especially guitarists. Moving on fast, huh?”
“What are you talking about?” you say, exasperated. “Moving on from what? There’s nothing to move on from!”
She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes narrow. “I leave you alone for an hour and you’re already charming other women?”
You’re speechless. And she took advantage of it as she steps in closer.
“So I guess the party meant nothing to you, huh?” she says.
“Remember charity work, right?” she says, stepping even closer. Her voice drops into something quieter — not softer, but more dangerous. “You said you owed me. You said you keep your promises, correct?” You’re stunned silent. She’s too close.
“So,” she murmurs, her words curling around your ribs like smoke. “Take me on a date tonight.”
You blink once or maybe thrice, just enough to make you aware that you are not dreaming.
“What?”
“You heard me right. I don’t like repeating myself.” She leans in, eyes alight with challenge. “Did I make myself clear?"
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Good. I’ll see you at seven.”
And before your brain can catch up, before your heart can slow down, she turns and disappears into the crowd once again, like a storm retreating just before the sky breaks open. But then, halfway through the hallway she pauses. She turns struts back like she forgot something. She then stops in front of you again, her perfume threading through your breath.
“Oh,” she adds casually, making sure people around the hallway can hear her voice. “For tonight, make sure to wear that shirt you had on at my party. The black one. It’s my favourite. Okay?” she adds as she uses her fingers to tap you under your chin.
You’re left standing there, pulse roaring in your ears, certain of only one thing. Whatever Daniela’s saying with those pretty lips, you’ll agree.
I’m so sorry to the anon who requested this! I misread the prompt, I saw masc!reader instead of masc!fem!reader, so I ended up using they/them pronouns instead of she/her. Also, sorry that this took so long to finish. I've actually had this sitting in my GDocs for a while now because I’ve been planning to work on my “rich x broke” trope 'series'. It includes 'Steel and Silk' which was originally meant to be Daniela's, 'Separate Worlds' is Sophia's, and the last one which I haven't finished yet, will be for another member. But since Sophia fits the sugar-mommy-ish vibe more, I ended up giving her "Steel and Silk" instead. So, this story became my way of finally including Daniela.
I’ve got tons of stuff sitting in my drafts, so don’t worry — I’ll try to release them once I manage to finish it lol. It’s just that my imagination only seems to kick in when I’m somewhere I really shouldn’t be writing fanfics.
Anyway, sorry again and I hope you guys like this one! :)))
Synopsis: In the quiet space between the past and present, she carried your memory like an unfinished stamp card, one mark away from forever.
Warnings: angst, use of you/they/them
Notes: Somewhat connected to Second Love but can be a stand alone. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes, not proofread. Also this is very short so sorry for that too.
Your obsession with stamp cards was something else.
The joy you felt when a barista pressed that tiny square stamp onto your card—God, it was cosmic. Like the universe had winked at you, whispering, “You’re one step closer.” Daniela always laughed about it. She never liked coffee much, but she loved how your face lit up when you got your card back. She thought it was silly, maybe even pointless, having to order from the same cafe over and over just to earn something as small and mundane as a free drink, but she never complained about it. She’d go with you every time, ordering the same drink and sitting at the same small table by the window. If it meant watching you smile over that dumb little stamp, she’d do it over and over again.
She even teased you for it, “You’re really committing to drinking this overpriced stuff ten times just for something free?” And you’d grin, replying something dumb like, “It’s not about the free drink. It's dedication.” or “You only live once Daniela, might as well enjoy the journey.”
And Daniela believed you like she always did.
—
Daniela was the bookworm between you two, but she knew your imagination ran on a different current. You were the philosopher, the one fascinated by what holds people together and what tears them apart. Death didn’t scare you. You talked about it like it was just another stop on a long train ride. Sometimes you even wondered out loud how it might come, accident, illness, quiet, maybe sudden. Despite it all, Daniela would roll her eyes calling you paranoid, but you’d only smile and say, “I’m not afraid. It’s called being aware. Bet you haven’t heard of that.”
“Just live your best life,” you’d add. “You never know when it’ll be your last.” And she’d swat your arm, laughing, “You’re so dramatic.”
—
Maybe the universe was listening a little too closely.
Because when it happened, it wasn’t cinematic. It wasn’t expected. It was just over. And of all the people it could’ve been, Daniela never imagined it would be you.
Daniela had imagined a different ending. She used to joke that she’d go first. That you’d be the one left behind, stubbornly finishing both your lives out of sheer force of will, maybe out of dedication. She imagined a life that unfolded like your stamp cards, something slow, predictable, and full of tiny joys. You’d get married, maybe have pets, then kids or kids before pets, it didn’t matter as long as it's you, growing old together and laughing at the same stupid jokes.
You’d collect your stamps, one by one. A free drink here, a little perk there. Somewhat fancy, just love printed out in small, consistent rewards.
But life, cruelly, stamped its final mark before the card was full.
Nine out of ten.
She thought you’d reach the end together and maybe that’s what haunts her now, the way your last card stopped at nine. One stamp shy of the reward. One heartbeat away from everything you both were still waiting to build, but never get to.
—
Daniela lives differently now. She’s quieter, more careful, and still breathing. There are days when she’s surrounded by noise, random people talking, dishes clinking, laughter spilling through rooms and yet a silence presses just beneath the surface. It’s the space you used to fill. A shadow that never quite lifts.
People ask her if she’s okay, and the answer would always be the same, accompanied with a smile. Sometimes she even believes it but there are moments, especially in the early mornings or the late hours of night, when your name slips into her mind like a breath, living with her like a second skin.
And she still sees you in everything.
At random cafes, in cups of coffee going cold, and in songs you never got to share. In the way autumn winds blow through the city catching your hair, making you complain about it. She can’t help it, you weren’t just her first love. You were her greatest love, her always.
And though life has pulled her forward, made her laugh again, allowed her to carry on in pieces, there’s still a space in her heart that belongs to you. A quiet corner untouched by time, not even grief could steal it. Not even death could erase it.
Maybe some loves don’t fade, they just stop growing and start echoing.
So Daniela carries the card you never got to finish. It might appear as just a little piece of paper, but it's a little piece of you.
This is honestly inspired by that one stamp card I got from a bubble tea shop that I never get to finish cause they decided to close the branch near me. I wasn't even aware cause they didn't put any signs that they are closing. I've visited the same one every Friday and it's always close. And the fact that I'm three stamps away from getting a free drink, irks me. I didn't even get to claim any of the free perks cause I tend to use those when I'm about to finish the card. It's honestly so frustrating. I'll make something fluff after this, trust. Hope you guys like this one :)))
Synopsis: In the spaces between new love and old memories, she lived half in the present and half in the echo of a name she could never quite let go.
Warnings: angst, use of you/they/them
Notes: Written in Daniela’s partner’s POV-ish. I decided to use ‘he/him’ for her partner so there is less confusion between you (they/them) and the partner (he/him). Also sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes.
And as the old saying goes, first love carves a place in the heart no time can erase. It wasn’t a secret to anyone who knew her. From her family, her friends, even strangers who caught glimpses of her past, how you still held that quiet throne in the corner of her soul. The love she carried first, and always.
But years, like rivers, have a way of changing courses. Daniela, despite herself, decided to open her heart again. It wasn’t a grand plan, not a storm of passion or sudden clarity. It was gentle set in motion by clumsy attempts from well-meaning friends, awkward dates like scattered leaves falling into the wind. And then, like a slow sunrise over a quiet horizon, she found her way to someone new. Her partner, her spouse.
You are known to him, always the shadow in the room, the ghost in quiet conversations. He has seen the way your memory lingers in her eyes, the way it blooms like a faded photograph pressed between the pages of her life. He tried, God he tried, how he always tried to be the warmth she needed, the steady hand that might guide her beyond you. He took her to new places, coaxed her to step into new stories. Sometimes to places you two once loved, hoping that with enough light and laughter, she might begin to write new memories on the same worn pages but this time with him.
—
Years passed, and the house filled with the sound of children’s laughter, two small lives meant to weave joy into the fabric of her days. The smiles were genuine, the family complete by all outward measures. But those who loved her best knew something subtle had shifted. Daniela was happy, yes, whole in a way that made others breathe easier, but it was a happiness tinged with a quiet longing, a soft shadow that even the brightest moments couldn’t chase away.
If you asked Daniela, she’d smile, steady and sure, and say she was happy, she is happy. How could she not be? But her partner saw the cracks beneath that smile, the faint tremor in her voice whenever your name slipped into their arguments like an invisible thread pulling her back.
Because sometimes, in the heat of a disagreement, the words came like a whisper from another time.
“If it was them, we wouldn’t be fighting like this. We wouldn’t be fighting at all.”
Those words would hang in the air long after she said them, thick and heavy, pressing down on everything else because it was true, in a way. The fights weren’t about the present. They were about what had been lost. About the love she still carried beneath the surface.
Her partner would close his eyes, take a breath, and try to remember the first time he saw her. How her laughter filled a room, how her eyes sparkled even in the smallest moments. He tried to be the person she needed, not a replacement, someone who could hold her steady when the past got too loud, when the memories with you got too loud.
He took her to places she’d never been, promising new memories and new stories. But sometimes, when the sun dipped low and the sky turned a soft bruised purple, Daniela would look out the window and her thoughts would drift elsewhere. And as hurtful for it to admit to himself, it is you. It drifts back to the thought of you. It drifts back to you.
—
The house was alive with the small chaos of children, laughter bouncing off walls, toys scattered like breadcrumbs of joy. Daniela was the centre of it all, moving between rooms with a grace that made the house feel like home. She was present, fully there, but not entirely.
Her partner watched her from the doorway one afternoon, the sunlight catching the gold in her hair. She was humming softly to herself as she folded laundry, a faint smile playing on her lips. But then, suddenly, the smile would fade, her eyes clouding with a shadow no one could touch.
He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap he could see but never quite cross. The silence between them was often louder than words. He didn’t ask what she was thinking, not directly, as he’s too afraid of the answer or too scared to know that the answer has and will always be the same. He knew some memories were too sacred to disturb.
Yet sometimes, in the quiet corners of the day, Daniela’s voice would rise in the softest of confessions.
“I remember when we used to come here” she’d say, pointing to a cafe, “They’d laugh about the way the wind would catch their hair like they were part of the sky. And those stupid stamps they’ll happily collect in exchange for something mundane is so silly.”
Her partner would smile, nodding, trying to catch the warmth in her eyes, but knowing it wasn’t for him. It never had been. And maybe, it never will be.
They had tried everything. Road trips to the coast, late-night drives chasing stars, weekends lost in tiny towns with crooked streets and cozy cafes. He wanted to see her light up, to chase away the shadows that clung to her.
But sometimes, even in the brightest moments, Daniela’s thoughts would drift.
He would hold her hand, feel the tension in her fingers, and know she was holding onto something beyond reach.
—
One night, after dinner, the two of them sat on the porch, the children asleep inside. The air was cool and smelled faintly of rain. Daniela’s eyes were distant, watching the sky.
“I’m sorry if I’m a little distant sometimes.” she said quietly, “I hope you know that I tried, still am. You know? To forget them.”
Her partner squeezed her hand, voice gentle but firm.
“Who?”
“You know,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He swallowed hard. The moment had come again, like it always does.
“I know” he said.
Daniela turned to look at him, eyes shining with something fragile and fierce all at once.
“I try to live in the now. I do. With the children and especially with you. But it’s like, they're always there, on the edges of my world.”
He nodded. “I see that and I understand.”
Because it wasn’t easy loving someone who carried the past like a second skin.
—
The children asked questions sometimes, it was innocent and curious. Why did their mother look at old photographs with such longing? Why did she sometimes whisper a name before falling asleep?
Daniela’s partner would answer with the gentlest of words, careful to honour both past and present.
“It’s because she loved someone very deeply before,” he’d say. “Sometimes, love doesn’t leave us even when life moves on.”
The children were young, but even they could sense the tenderness and the quiet ache in their mother’s heart.
There was no bitterness. Not even jealousy. It’s a quiet understanding that some loves don’t fade. They live beneath the surface, shaping the heart in ways no new love could erase.
Daniela’s partner learned to live in the spaces between. To hold her gently when she reached for memories, to be the steady hand in moments when the past pulled her away.
And when the last chapter came, the one they all knew was inevitable. They were ready.
He stood at her side, holding her hand as her breath slowed, and the world quieted.
In those final moments, with tears tracing silent paths down their cheeks, he whispered to the stillness.
“I’m just happy she’s finally with her first and greatest love again.”
Sorry, this is a short one. I'll be releasing another Daniela one after this. Also sorry if there are still some use of they/them for Daniela's partner, the change to he/him is a last minute kind of thing. Again, sorry for not posting anything. Hope you guys like this one :)))
Synopsis: In the dust and steel of a life half-built, you never expected to catch the eye of a woman made of power and perfume but Sophia Laforteza doesn’t ask for things, she simply claims them.
Warnings: fluff, use of you, kinda sugar mommy sophia
Notes: Gender neutral reader but kind of masc leaning (?) it's not super implied but more of assumption. Googled construction/business lingo that might be wrong so I’m sorry about that. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Bad transition so sorry about that too.
The world is dark and quiet. You lie still for a moment, listening to the low hum of something old in the walls — like the building itself is still dreaming and you’re there to interrupt its peaceful sleep.
3:39 am.
You dress in silence. Shirt from the back of the chair, jeans on top of the same chair, and boots that always fight you when you pull them on. They’ve moulded to your steps like tired dogs — loyal, worn, always aching.
In the kitchen, the air is cold and still. You eat what’s left of last night’s dinner, rice that’s gone stiff and a half-boiled egg that tastes more like rubber than food. You have no time to taste it anyways, you only need it to fuel you for half of the day.
The bus arrives with a sigh.
You ride it half-asleep, forehead against the glass, watching the city go from shadow to silhouette. Streetlights blur into halos. Traffic lights flicker out as dawn crawls slowly and reluctantly. You feel it settle in your bones — the weight of another day you're borrowing time from.
4:46 am.
As you reach the site, the gate yawns open like a mouth too tired to speak. Inside, the skeleton of a future high-rise stretches into the pale sky. Steel ribs, concrete bones. A building still figuring out how to exist and you’re here to help figure it out.
You clock in, pull on your gloves, and head toward the east lift zone. Your boots leave faint prints in the dust.
As a few minutes passed by, silence shifted.
A car rolls up — not loud, not flashy. It’s clean, black, and smooth like water over stone. It’s the kind of car that does not belong here, even a blind person can see how out of place the car is. The kind of car that knows where it’s going and expects the world to move around it.
As it parks, the door opens like it’s been trained to be open at a certain angle.
A woman steps out.
She moves like a blade. Such sharp lines with smooth edges. She’s wearing a long coat, tailored to precision. Her sunglasses worn before the sun even rises. Her boots hit the ground with intention, even the gravel knows better than to scuff them, so much difference than your beat up boots.
You think she’s someone from the city. Possibly an investor or PR of some sort. You don’t think she belongs on-site, but that’s not your call. She looks like she belongs somewhere out of this place.
She walks straight toward the scaffolding.
Straight under a suspended beam — not yet locked, still swaying slightly in the air. The crane above hums low. One gust of wind and it could twist wrong.
You drop the cable in your hands as you calmly step forward.
“Ma’am, you need to move. Now.”
Your voice slices through the early noise. You tried to not be rude, but the half-boiled rubbery egg just makes you cranky. You started to wish you had just eaten a packed noodle.
She turns after she pauses.
She looks at you like she’s checking the small dust accumulated on her coat, too calm but curious.
You nod toward the overhead beam.
“That’s an active load. Step back before it swings.”
A beat of silence passed, with a neutral face, she then took two steps back. Both steps are controlled and calculated.
The foreman rushes over, red in the face as he purposefully apologise for what happened. You step away before you hear her name.
You can hear people muttering behind you, though you didn’t catch it. It doesn’t interest you.
“So stupid, don’t fucking sue me if you die. Who even wears a coat like that on construction sites?” you annoyingly muttered as you picked up the drop cables and continued walking to your station.
But she catches your eyes before you leave.
Only for a second — like a match struck in the dark.
And the morning returns to its regular shape, except now, the air feels heavier.
Like something’s shifted, and you don’t know it yet.
You’re back at the site, same routine. Worn out gloves on and boots grinding against loose gravel. Sweat already clinging to your neck and the sun barely up.
You’re setting steel with one of the older guys on the team — Matt, maybe. You’ve worked next to him three times and still haven’t learned his name. He’s the kind of guy who always keeps a cigarette behind his ear even though he’s not allowed to smoke on-site.
He nudges you with his elbow.
“You’re lucky she didn’t get you fired.”
You blink. “Who?”
He snorts. “Seriously? The lady yesterday. The one you told to move. That’s Sophia fucking Laforteza.”
You pause mid-step.
“Uh? Who?”
He looks at you like you just said the sky was green. As if you suddenly grow another head the exact moment you asked who Sophia Fucking Laforteza is.
“Chairwoman. Laforteza Holdings. She owns part of this building and probably the one across the street. And the construction company. And the crane company. Hell, for all we know, she owns the damn sun.”
You stare at him, heart skipping once.
He laughs when he sees your face.
“You really didn’t know?”
You shake your head.
He whistles low. “Well. Good thing you didn’t piss yourself. Everyone else was terrified.”
You go back to work, but it’s harder to focus. The steel in your hands feels heavier somehow. Your gloves tighter. You keep replaying yesterday in your head. The look she gave you like she was deciding something. Thank God she didn’t decide to fire you that day.
This is your part-time job. Your permanent shifts are only on the weekends, you take some shifts when you are free, and you can’t afford, well anything, but you can’t afford to lose this job.
Unlike last time, it was early noon when she arrived. No warnings or any ceremonies to welcome her. She arrived with the same black car, same assistant, same sharp coat that looks more expensive than your tuition.
She’s standing by the temporary blueprints near the site office when you spot her again. You’re carrying a crate of fasteners across the lot, minding your own business, when her eyes find you.
She doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave, doesn’t budge. She watches you like you’re an air that just passed by.
You look away as you keep on walking. Drop the crate by the lift shaft and stretch your back, feeling the crack run up your spine.
Behind the metal container wall, someone’s talking — loud enough to hear over the hum of a generator.
One of the junior engineer, standing with a clipboard.
“Who signed off on this angle? The rebar cross-bracing is off by two centimetres — again. These projections are barely up to code.”
You sigh as you wipe your hands and answer without thinking.
“It’s because they keep cutting corners with the steel. They’re compensating with layering instead of correcting the load.”
The guy turns to you, startled. You weren't part of the conversation, it’s not your fault their voices are so loud that it feels like you’re part of it anyway.
“Sorry” you add, brushing past him. “I just work with it every week and well you start to notice things.”
You don’t see her standing behind the shipping container until you round the corner.
Sophia Fucking Laforteza.
Leaning back slightly against some metal, her arms crossed.
She’s wearing a black blouse today. Slacks that look like they were made to sit perfectly on her hips. No hard hat, no clipboard, just an unreadable expression on her face.
You stop short.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She doesn’t move.
“You work with rebars?” she asks.
You nod “When they need me.”
You can’t help but sweat more. Your mind is racing with thoughts on how stupid you are. If you lose this job, your next solution is to jump over one of the unfinished railings or just dig your own grave on the site itself.
“You were right,” she says, eyes flicking toward the incomplete cross-beam overhead.
“The load is uneven. I reviewed the specs this morning. They're cutting steel to lower cost. It’s affecting the tension distribution. This is honestly dangerous.”
You blink at her. “They don’t usually care about that unless something cracks.”
She hums.
“No. They don’t.”
She doesn’t say much else. She just keeps looking at you. You can’t tell if it’s judgment, interest, or something between the two.
“Do you always speak like that?” she asks.
You frown. “Like what?”
“Like you’re not afraid of anyone.”
You hesitate.
“Um well, I didn’t know I was supposed to be. I just shared my thoughts.”
Something shifts in her face. A twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she’s amused by a private thought.
Then she nods once, turns, and walks away.
You’re left standing there, hands dusty, heart doing something strange in your chest.
You try to shake it off. Go back to moving panels and tying brackets. Pretend her eyes aren’t still lingering on your skin like the heat of a sun that’s already set.
You’re halfway through your next task when you tug too hard on the wire loop, and the seam of your glove finally gives.
Right at the thumb — the same place you patched last week with electrical tape and frustration. It splits open like a mouth too tired to keep lying, exposing raw skin beneath.
You flex your hand once. A thin sting blooms across your palm, red and shallow.
You swear under your breath.
Out of instinct, you look up — toward where Sophia stood minutes ago.
The next morning, as you start your morning break there’s a pair of gloves waiting near your bag.
No box or tag. It was folded neatly like someone took the time to smooth them out after setting them down. They're heavier and sturdier than your old pair. The kind of gloves built to last through storms, not just shifts.
And tucked into the right cuff, barely visible is a strip of yellow construction tape.
Your name, written in capital letters. No flourish. No signature.
You run your fingers over the tape. The ink’s dry. The message is quiet, but it lands heavy.
Some mornings, you have to fight not to fall asleep standing up.
Your body moves out of routine — bus, clock in, scaffolding — while your brain stays two blocks behind, still trying to finish the calculus paper due at midnight.
You're balancing both lives by the teeth. Part-time construction grunt, full-time college student. One world in steel-toed boots, the other in answer sheets and black coffee. You're not that much younger than some of the junior architects, really. Just on the wrong side of the paycheck but on the right side of burnout.
You take the bus and pack your own lunch. You patch your jeans when they rip and rotate through two jackets because the zipper on the third one broke last semester.
You’ve been getting by.
Until now.
It starts with the boots.
You’re heading off-site, still wearing your safety vest because you forgot to take it off, when the site coordinator stops you at the gate.
“Hey kid. You got a package. The office dropped it off for you.”
You frown knowing that you did not order anything. “What package?”
He shrugs and gestures to the fold-out table behind him.
And there it is. A matte-black box, sleek and out of place among the chaos of paperwork and rust-stained clipboards.
You open it.
Brand new work boots.
No, not just any boots — custom-fit looking. Premium leather. Waterproof. Shock-resistant. Steel-toe reinforced. Hell, the laces probably cost more than your entire breakfast budget for the week.
Your name is on a little tag tucked inside the box. And again, as usual. It has no message or some note, just your name.
You close the lid slowly as you close your eyes with a sigh.
She shows up again on a Saturday, then again the following weekend.
Always early. Always alone or with only one other person. Clipboard guy, sometimes an engineer, sometimes her assistant.
No announcements of some sort, no new big changes or big plans. She just walks the site. At least talks to one or two people. She watches the crew. Sometimes for twenty minutes or sometimes for two hours.
And more often than not — she’s watching you.
It’s subtle. You’ll be lifting something or speaking to a junior architect, or adjusting safety harnesses — and you’ll look up to find her across the lot.
With her usual neutral face. Just watching you like she’s trying to evaluate you.
And well the others start noticing it.
Matt leans against the scaffolding one morning and says it casually, like he’s commenting on the weather.
“She’s been here every Saturday for three weeks now.”
You grunt in response, wiping sweat off your neck.
“Doesn’t she have, like, a boardroom to be in or something?” another guy adds.
“Why’s she hanging out here so much?”
Someone else snorts. “Maybe she’s scoping us for layoffs.”
You roll your eyes. “If she wanted to cut us, she’d do it from a penthouse, not the dirt.”
Matt watches you for a beat.
“She ever talk to you again? You know after you told her to move out of the way.”
You hesitate. “I guess.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Did you talk back again?”
You shake your head. “It’s not like that. I was respectful”
He doesn’t say anything. Just smirks and turns away.
You’re about to head home — it’s a long day, your shoulders are aching, your hoodie is soaked through with sweat — when the site coordinator flags you down again.
“Yo, someone left this for you in the office.”
You groan internally.
“Another box? I swear I’m not ordering them.”
“Nah, you’re good,” he says. “It’s uh sent here a while ago, just sayin' for you.”
He points behind you.
You turn with eyes wide open.
It’s a jacket.
Hanging neatly on the back of a folding chair, set just inside the trailer. It’s dark and sleek. Utility-cut but obviously expensive. Like if fashion and function had a perfect, stupidly overpriced baby.
And in the inner pocket?
Your name again. Sharpie on a folded sticky note. Tucked clean.
The next time she sees you in it, she doesn’t even speak.
She just passes near the lift, glances at your jacket, and gives the softest, most satisfied nod you’ve ever seen. Like she’s ticking another box.
You corner her that same day.
You don’t know why. Maybe it’s pride, it’s panic or maybe you just don’t want to feel like you're being led into something without knowing where the hell it goes.
She’s walking toward her car again. Same driver, same sleek black car, and the same angle on how the door is open.
“Was that you?”
She stops as she tilts her head.
“Was what me?”
You gesture. “The boots. The jacket. All of it.”
Her expression is unreadable but calculated.
“You needed them.”
“But I didn’t ask for them.”
Her mouth twitched as she replied with interest.
“I also didn’t ask for you to move me from getting crushed by a beam but you did that anyway, didn’t you?”
You exhale. “You can’t just do that.”
“Do what?”
“Buy people. Fix their problems with money. That’s not how—”
She cuts you off, gently. “It’s exactly how I do things.”
You blink and she takes a step closer.
“You were working in torn gloves. A jacket with a broken zipper. You weren’t going to say anything. No one was going to help you. So I did.”
You try to hold your ground.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Not yet.”
Your jaw clenches. “Is that what this is? Some—some project? Some toy you’re picking up to feel good about yourself?”
“No,” she says softly. “Would you prefer I bribe you with time instead?”
You got a free day today so you ever so kindly asked for an extra shift, which was happily given to you. As you sat down ready to listen to your podcast, your sweet silence is interrupted.
“Do you drink coffee?”
Sophia asks you this like she’s asking about the weather with one eyebrow arched like she already knows the answer.
You’re halfway out of your vest, face still damp with sweat, and the sun is slicing orange across the site like it’s trying to burn the workday down.
You blink at her. “Yeah?”
Her mouth curves. “Good. I’ll send a car.”
You don’t agree. You just stared at her retreating figure with disbelief.
Honestly, you think about cancelling but you don’t, well you couldn’t.
Mostly because the car does show up early — and it’s the kind of black, silent, luxury machine that looks like it shouldn’t be allowed on regular pavement. You catch your reflection in the tinted window before the driver opens the door for you.
You look tired and fidgety. Like you haven’t slept — because you haven’t. You ironed your best shirt twice and still left the collar wrong. Your shoes are clean. Your throat’s dry and you have no idea what you’re doing.
She’s seated at a table by the window, tall glass overlooking some part of the city that doesn’t feel like yours. There’s warm light painting the bones of her face, and she’s framed like something deliberate. A centerpiece. An apex predator in silk.
She doesn’t wave you over. She just lifts her eyes as you approach.
You hesitate but she then gestures toward the seat across from her, her voice velvet.
“I don’t bite.”
A pause.
“Unless you want me to.”
You nearly trip over the chair leg.
The place is quiet and clean. It's subtle in the way money always is when it’s very sure of itself. Soft piano filters in through the walls. The menu doesn’t have prices — just names. You feel out of place.
Sophia doesn’t seem to notice or maybe she does, and she likes it. Her eyes linger just a fraction too long as you sit down like she’s studying you.
She suddenly speaks up. “You clean up well.”
You scoff under your breath. “I’m still wearing work jeans.”
She shrugs. “Better lighting then.”
“Why am I here?” you ask, trying to anchor yourself to the table before you drown in the floors, the walls, her.
She doesn’t look up from her espresso.
“Because you said yes.”
A beat of silence before she adds, eyes flicking up. “And because I wanted to see you clean.”
Your breath catches as she smiles — slow, indulgent, like a glass of something poured too smooth to be legal.
The server brings something to the table without being asked — some artisanal pastry, flaky and golden.
A second cup of espresso appears next to it.
She gestures at it.
“Eat.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you order for me?”
Sophia hums. “I considered it but you strike me as someone who’d spite-starve themselves just to prove a point.”
You smirk, reluctantly.
The pastry’s good.
You finish it before realizing how hungry you actually were.
The conversation drips between sips.
She doesn’t talk about business. Instead, she asks what you’re studying. How long you’ve worked construction. Not rapid-fire interrogation — just soft, occasional prompts between sips of espresso, like she wants to hear you talk.
You answer because it's easier than thinking about how expensive the glassware is.
At one point, she leans forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table.
“You know,” she says, gaze steady, “you don’t have to keep pretending this isn’t happening.”
Your stomach twists. “Pretending what isn’t?”
She doesn’t blink.
“That I’m interested.”
You swallow. “In what?”
Her voice lowers.
“You.”
You try to laugh. You try to wave it off but she doesn’t budge.
She just watches you with that same, infuriating calm, the kind that makes you feel like the floor’s shifting under you, but she’s been standing on solid ground this whole time.
You lean back, arms crossed.
“You don’t even know me.”
“That’s what this is for,” she replies smoothly. “So I can.”
You exhale sharply through your nose.
“Is this a game to you?”
Her expression softens. The smallest crease at the corners of her eyes.
“If it were a game, you wouldn’t be winning.”
You don’t know what to say to that.
You didn’t speak, you just stared at her trying to figure her out.
She lets the silence settle, then lifts her espresso again, graceful and unbothered.
“Remember you can walk away anytime,” she adds, echoing the words from the week before. “I won’t chase you.”
Another pause.
“But I’ll keep inviting you. Until you stop saying yes.”
She leans forward, chin resting gently against her knuckles.
Her voice, now almost a purr, “I want to take care of you.”
You blink. “Why?”
“Because I can.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s my reason.”
You stare at her.
She stares right back.
“What do you want from me?”
You don’t mean to sound breathless and yet you do.
You leave the restaurant with your head spinning, your chest too tight, your legs moving on muscle memory alone.
She doesn’t walk you to the car but watch you go, like she’s letting you leave early from something you’ve already signed up for.
The driver doesn’t speak.
You stare out the window the whole ride home, palms open in your lap. It’s still rough, dust-stained, callused, and tired. But maybe, this time it’s ready to be held.
Just heat, volume, and a voice cracking like a whip across the site’s early haze, bouncing off steel and scaffolding and the morning groan of machinery trying to shake off sleep.
You’re crouched over a busted crate of conduit fittings near the supply trailer, hands deep in the mess, when the voice cuts through the buzz of generators.
“completely fucking useless—"
Another shout. Loud footsteps. Someone slamming a clipboard onto the portable table.
You let the sigh escape your chest before you stand up.
This can only mean one thing.
Something went wrong.
And someone’s looking for a throat to wring.
You round the corner, half-expecting a routine dispute but the tension in the air says otherwise.
A group has gathered around the foreman. His neck is flushed red, temple ticking, finger jabbing at a screen on his tablet like it's personally offended him.
“This reroute makes no goddamn sense,” he says to a junior guy and then turns, eyes locking on you.
“You.”
You blink.
“What?”
He holds up the tablet. “You signed off on this cabling shift Saturday. Is this how you install lines now? Like a fucking bowl of spaghetti?”
A few guys chuckle but you don’t. You know you’ll be damned if you let out a noise that is not an apology.
You wipe your hands on your pants. “I didn’t touch the foundation cabling. I worked beam bracing that day. Check the log.”
“I did,” he snaps. “It shows your name.”
“On reinforcement brackets, not wiring. Someone updated that file after my shift—”
He cuts you off. Loud. Over the top. “Stop making excuses. You’re here twice a week. You think you know more than my full-time crew?”
You try to stay calm, you did but your fists curl.
“I know what I worked on.”
“And I know I can have your ass out of here before lunch.”
You feel the air shift. People watching. Waiting for something.
And just as your mouth opens—ready to tell him exactly where he can shove his stupid tablet—
“Try it.”
It’s not your voice.
It’s hers.
Everything stops.
You don’t even need to turn. You feel her before you see her.
The stillness she carries. The kind of authority that doesn’t have to raise its voice to be obeyed.
Sophia Fucking Laforteza.
She’s standing near the steel frames, sunlight curling off her shoulders, a black coat draped open like it knows it belongs to someone untouchable. Her assistant hangs back a few paces behind, silent and still as a shadow.
She walks forward, slow and measured, like she owns the ground — and maybe she does.
“Who’s in charge of this crew?” she asks.
The foreman blinks. “I—I am.”
She looks at you, then back to him.
And says, without flinching
“If you lose them, you lose me.”
You see the foreman’s mouth open but Sophia keeps going.
“Laforteza Holdings holds partial interest in this structure, complete oversight of the upper levels, and a direct stake in the contractor managing this site.”
She’s calm and icy like a knife made of breath.
“If you make one more decision based on ego rather than facts and evidence—” she steps closer, voice velvet and steel, “—you’ll find yourself explaining to ten board members why we pulled out before your next invoice cleared.”
Silence.
She doesn’t shout cause she doesn’t have to and yet everyone clears.
The foreman mutters something like an apology and disappears like smoke.
You’re left there — standing with dust on your boots, and something in your chest tightening with every breath.
Sophia looks at you as she mutters quietly, “You’re not hurt, are you?”
Your pulse flares as you answer, “No, not physically.”
Her gaze lingers then she turns and heads to her car.
You watch her get in the car. You don’t even think before you follow.
You sit in the back seat beside her, silence thick like storm air. The leather feels too clean under your skin. The city unfolds outside the tinted windows — grey steel and passing light.
You expect her to speak. To explain or maybe at least justify things.
But she doesn’t. She never does.
She just looks out the window, fingers tapping once against her thigh.
Waiting.
You realise, in a strange, quiet way, that she’s waiting for you to decide how mad you are.
The car slows outside a building that looks like it should be illegal for how expensive it feels. Even the glass looks like it cost more than your entire student loan debt.
The elevator is silent.
No music, just the soft hum of old money. You stand beside her, all tensed up with whatever feeling you can think of right now.
When the doors open — she leads you into her penthouse. A goddamn penthouse. Marble floors, quiet art, floor-to-ceiling windows and lighting that feels like it was imported from France or somewhere else.
There’s an intimacy in how sharp it all is. Like every angle was chosen to impress, not comfort.
Except here you are — dirt under your nails, boots still dusty, standing in the middle of it all.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say, finally.
She doesn’t take off her coat. She turns, one brow raised. “You would’ve preferred being fired?”
“No but I would’ve preferred not needing you to intervene.”
“Is that what that was?” she asks, stepping closer. “Intervention?”
You stare at her.
“Yes.”
She hums. “No. That was possession.”
Your pulse stutters.
She closes the distance between you — measured, unhurried — and when she stops, she’s close enough that you can smell her perfume, it sticks to you that it burns.
Subtle but expensive in a way you can’t name.
“You don’t need saving,” she says.
You nod, throat tight. “Exactly.”
“But I want to,” she adds.
You take a breath — but she’s not done.
“You think I buy gear for every part-timer I meet?”
She brushes her fingers across your wrist —were the new gloves she bought you usually wraps.
“You think I spend my weekends circling a construction site just for fun?”
She tilts her head.
“You think I take people home because they’re convenient?”
You open your mouth.
“I know you hate asking for help.”
She steps closer.
“I know you’re tired.”
Your chest tightens.
She’s in front of you now. She’s far enough to not touch you but close enough that her voice drops.
“And I know you think wanting things makes you weak.”
You shake your head. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
You didn’t say anything, you looked at her expecting something. You were expecting to be pushed, to be laughed at. You were expecting the worse of everything.
“You don’t want my money.”
She slips her fingers under your collar — just brushing your skin.
“Fine.”
Her mouth twitches, not a smirk, not a smile.
“But I’m still going to give you everything.”
You stare at her. Your heart is pounding, you’re afraid that she can hear it.
You whisper, “Why?”
She exhales.
Like the answer is obvious.
“Because you’re mine.”
And that’s when she kisses you. It’s slow, she’s not demanding for your lips, she’s claiming it. Her hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.
For the first time since you started this job, this life, this mess — you stop fighting.
Not in person. Not even a glimpse of her at the site.
Just the echo of it — over and over in your mind — playing in fragments. Her fingers curled in your shirt. The press of her palm on your jaw. The heat that bloomed behind your ribs. The moment her mouth met yours like she’d been holding back since the second you told her off under a beam.
And you?
You let her.
You let her kiss you. You let yourself kiss her back. Like you wanted it.
Because you did.
God, you did.
You told yourself afterward that it didn’t mean anything.
That it was a heat of circumstance. That your brain was scrambled from the shouting and the adrenaline and the way she looked at you like she was ready to burn down the world if anyone touched you wrong.
You told yourself she’d disappear.
That Sophia Fucking Laforteza — chairwoman/owner of three or so more companies, whose coat probably costs more than your tuition — would snap back into her cold, professional world and leave you behind.
Some fundraising-meets-networking thing hosted in a local art museum. It was an invite only type of event and your friend from university has a connection through an internship, and you were tagged along for companionship. Well also for the free food and the hope of snagging a business card or two. But before you know it, they went wandering off, you probably should have too. At least try to make some connections with a few higher ups.
You’re trying not to stand out in your best white thrifted button-up and half-scuffed shoes.
You see her before she sees you or maybe she sees you first and pretends she didn’t — hard to tell with Sophia.
She enters the space like she owns it, and the answer to that is she probably does. The click of her heels on tiles, the way her coat shifts as she walks, the way conversations dull into a background hum when people realise who’s arrived.
Sophia Laforteza commands presence like other people breathe.
And you feel it — hard.
Because it’s not just that she’s beautiful. It’s not just the body-hugging dress or the slit at her thigh or the collarbone glinting under soft lighting.
And this time, she doesn’t pretend. Her eyes find yours across the room like a current snapping to life. It pins you. Like you were a stray thought in her head and she just remembered you were real. You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around your wine glass. You’re not sure if she’s going to acknowledge you.
She does.
But not with words.
She crosses the room slowly. Everyone shifts out of her way like water parting for something ancient. You swear the entire atmosphere shifts around her — people pulling back, voices dipping — until she’s standing right in front of you. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until she stops in front of you.
Up close, she’s more devastating than you remember.
She smells like expensive perfume and cold clarity. Like the night you kissed her wasn’t an accident. Like she hasn’t stopped thinking about it either. God you’re so stupid, you should’ve at least talk to someone or drink something stronger to boost your confidence.
She doesn’t speak right away.
And neither do you.
Until she does with her voice too soft.
“You’re avoiding me.”
Not a question. Not an accusation. Just a truth laid bare.
You force a breath. “I thought maybe, I don’t know, you needed space.”
Sophia raises an eyebrow.
“After kissing you?” she asks, voice low and amused.
You cough as you blush. “After all of that.”
Her mouth twitches. A smile this time.
“You kissed me back.”
“I know.”
She leans in slightly, enough that you feel her voice at your neck.
“You liked it.”
You swallow hard.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
“I did.”
She raises one hand, slowly, without needing to ask, and brushes a wrinkle from your shirt. Sophia hums as she looks at you with a sparkle in her eyes.
It’s quieter now. Intimate in a way it shouldn’t be, considering how many people are around.
“You think I regret it?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “I’m not exactly”
You glance around. The suits and the polished shoes. The money in the air.
“what you usually go for.”
Sophia’s expression sharpens.
“Don’t assume you know what I go for,” she says. “I could buy the neighbouring building tonight and set it on fire just because you told me you feel cold. You think I’d waste time on someone I didn’t want?”
She guides you toward a quieter part of the room. People watch, but try not to be obvious about it. Some recognise her. A few glances at you. She leans close, low enough that you feel her breath by your jaw.
“Are you uncomfortable?” she asks.
You shake your head. “Not with you.”
Her hand lingers at your arm a second longer than necessary. She then steps beside you, looking out at the room like it’s hers to dismantle. Her fingers brush your hair, tracing down to the edge of your collar — slow, absent, like she’s thinking out loud.
“I hate seeing you out there,” she murmurs. “Out in the sun. Lifting steel. Covered in dust, looking all rugged.”
You glance at her, surprised.
She doesn't meet your eyes. Her gaze stays fixed on some distant corner of the room — but her fingers stay on your collarbone.
“But then you have to look like that.”
A smirk appeared on her lips as she spoke.
“Sweating through a shirt. Shoulders flexed. Gloves barely hanging on. Boots all cuffed up.”
She exhales, quiet — almost a sigh.
“And I think, maybe I’m selfish. Because you look so good it makes me want to ruin a whole project just to keep watching you work.”
You blink.
She finally looks at you then — calm, cool, but with that unmistakable gleam behind her eyes.
“It’s inconvenient, really.”
You try not to choke on your own saliva as you stare at her.
Her eyes drift down your face again. Like she’s memorising it. Like she’s already bought the next moment and is letting you live in it before the receipt clears.
You clear your throat. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to act normal.”
Sophia leans in — not too close, just enough that you feel the shape of her body in your peripheral vision.
“Why would I want you to act normal?”
You open your mouth to answer, but nothing coherent comes out.
She hums again, pleased. Then shifts just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours as she looks over the crowd.
“They don’t know what to do with you.” Her voice is soft. “You don’t flinch. You don’t pester. You don’t ask for anything.”
You glance at her, confused. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
Sophia turns to face you more fully with a hum.
“It makes me want to give you everything.”
You feel them in your throat, in your chest, in your knees. You look away.
She doesn’t press. Instead, she lets the moment sit between you. Tension without urgency. Heat without demand. Like she’s letting you decide whether to step closer or stay still.
Eventually, she says, almost idly. “I’ll have my driver wait by the south exit. You know what to do.”
You blink at her.
She doesn’t explain. She doesn’t ask. She just watches you like she already knows the answer.
Then she smiles knowingly as she walks away.
People part for her again.
You stay rooted to the spot, heart caught in your throat.
It’s not until she disappears around a corner that you finally exhale.
The sheets are too soft. The air smells like citrus and money. You’re wrapped in a blanket that probably costs more than your weekly rent — and for a second, you forget where you are.
Then you spot the skyline, floor-to-ceiling windows spilling light across marble floors and designer furniture. A record plays somewhere in the distance — something low and jazzy, curling through the space like incense.
Sophia’s penthouse.
You’re on the guest room, but someone’s thrown a blanket over your shoulders. Someone who probably doesn’t lift steel beams for a living. Someone who smells like expensive perfume and danger disguised as care.
You rub your face and groan softly.
You have class in two hours and a shift later tonight.
Yet you have no clue what you're still doing here.
Suddenly you smell coffee.
Fresh. Dark roast. Frothed milk.
“You wake up so grumpy,” Sophia says lightly as she walked in.
You sit up too fast and groan again, blinking at her. She’s barefoot, hair loose around her shoulders, wearing an oversized white button-down that looks like yours and nothing else you can see. She looks annoyingly good for this hour of the day.
“What time is it?” you ask, voice rough.
“Too early for you to be stressing,” she replies, gliding toward you with two mugs in hand.
You blink at the cup she hands you. “Is this bribe coffee? What did you do this time?”
“It's an apology coffee. For spoiling you without permission.”
You squint, then you look down near the bed.
A brand new pair of shoes and another box. Your exact size. There’s a post-it note stuck to the side of the box.
Written in clean handwriting,
“Get rid of the old ones. These won’t kill you.”
– S.L. <3
You groan and gently flop back against the bed trying to not spill the coffee. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m practical.”
“You’re spoiled.”
Sophia lifts her coffee. “I was raised with taste.”
You can’t help but glance at the box again.
“What else is in that box?”
She grins, slow and predatory. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
You stare at her. “You’re the worst.”
She shrugs. “I’m rich.”
You’re halfway through your cup when you check your phone.
Three notifications from your university group chat. A class reminder and calendar ping about your shift tonight.
Sophia watches your face shift.
“Don’t tell me you’re about to leave.”
You glance at her, guilty. “I’ve got class and work later.”
“Skip,” she says instantly.
You blink.
“What?”
“Just today,” she says, like it’s obvious. “The foreman won’t know. I’ll make a call if they do.”
You stare at her.
“Sophia.”
She shrugs, unbothered as she starts playing with your fingers. “I’m powerful. Use me.”
You sit up straighter, sipping again. “You want me to skip class and call out of work so you can feed me coffee and bully me about my shoes?”
“Yes,” she says. “Also, we have brunch reservations at eleven.”
You nearly spit your drink.
“Brunch?”
“I ordered a table. Waterfront view.”
You stare at her. “That’s two hours from now.”
“Exactly. You’ve got time to shower. I laid out a shirt. It’s tailored.”
You glance down at your thrifted clothes then back at her.
She doesn’t tell you that she spent half the night watching you sleep — the soft rise and fall of your chest, the crease between your brows that didn’t ease until after your second dream.
She doesn’t say she’s already sent her assistant a list of brands in your size or made a call to have your shift quietly removed from the schedule.
Instead, she hands you a pastry.
Warm. Flaky. Apricot and something expensive.
“Eat,” she says.
You do, like it was the first time she “asked” you out.
An hour later, you’re in her guest bathroom — which is still somehow larger than your entire apartment — trying to figure out how you ended up here.
You towel off. You pull on the clean, tailored shirt from the hanger she left by the door. And when you catch your reflection in the mirror, you have to admit.
She has taste.
And maybe — just maybe — you like being cared for like this.
Finally Sophia fluff. Honestly didn't expect for this to be long but something about sugar mommy Sophia hits so I'm sorry about that. Hope you guys like this one :)))
Synopsis: You carry trays and soft glances, she carries roses from someone else—two souls brushing past in a world that was never built for them to meet, only to notice.
Warnings: angst, fluff (?), use of you
Notes: Inspired by Parokya ni Edgar’s Pangarap Lang Kita (song and music video). Usual parallel type of connection. One’s poor and the other one is rich. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes.
Your body wakes before the sky does—used to the rhythm now, the quiet rituals of surviving, splashing water on your face, two-day-old coffee from a mug with a chipped handle you didn’t throw out, last night’s rice pressed into shape with your palms and wrapped in plastic. You slip on your shirt—worn soft at the seams and grab your board or bike, depending on the weather, and slip into the dawn like a shadow with somewhere to be.
This morning, it's the board. The streets are still yawning, the wind a little sharper than you expected. It pushes against your collar like it knows you're not supposed to be out here this early, like it's trying to send you back to bed you don't really own.
But you roll forward.
The city at this hour feels like it’s holding its breath. Empty sidewalks, closed storefronts, a single jeepney turning the corner with a sleepy groan. Your wheels whisper secrets to the asphalt with every push, and you think, maybe, this is the only time you feel like you’re not falling behind.
At the second stoplight, you see him.
A boy, maybe eight, maybe less. Hands too small for the world he’s been thrown into. He’s standing in front of a black car that doesn’t belong here—shiny in a way that doesn’t fit the chipped sidewalk or the wires tangled like regrets overhead.
The boy says something you can’t hear.
In the driver seat, a man in a crisp polo shirt and impatience coiled around his jaw barely glances. He waves the kid away with a flick of his fingers, like brushing off ash. The boy lingers, unsure, like he’s waiting for the world to change its mind.
And then the passenger shifts.
You only catch a glimpse, but it snags something in your chest, a woman, her face framed by long, straight hair and the gold glint of earrings you know cost more than your rent. Her hands rest on her lap, folded like a prayer. She doesn’t look at the boy. She doesn’t look at you. She looks ahead, out the windshield, like none of this is worth noticing.
You don’t stop.
You push off again, harder this time, as if you can outrun the twist in your stomach. The wheels under your board rattle over a crack in the road, and for a second, you think, what if I had been born on the other side of that car window?
But you don’t chase the thought. You let it drift behind you, like so many other things.
By the time the restaurant sign comes into view—its faded red letters crooked from the last typhoon, you’ve already folded that moment into the back pocket of your mind, tucked next to unpaid bills and daydreams you don’t name anymore.
The scent hits before you open the door.
Soy sauce, garlic, and a hint of something sweet trying to survive the oil in the air. It’s warm inside, not the kind that comforts, but the kind that clings to your skin, sits heavy in your shirt, and lives in your hair for the rest of the day.
Someone’s dropped a tray in the back. Someone else is shouting about table numbers. You don’t mind. Chaos is familiar. Chaos pays you hourly and offers free staff meals if the shift manager likes you.
You slide your board into the staff cubby, clock in, and turn. There she is.
Sophia.
The owner's daughter.
She stands near the register, looking through a clipboard, lips mouthing silent words as she reads. There’s a pen tucked behind one ear. Her nails are painted the same shade as the sky before it rains—elegant and expensive. She shouldn’t be here, not in this world of chipped tiled floor and lights that flicker.
The first time she looks up, it feels like a mistake.
You’re halfway through setting the tables—silverware slightly crooked, napkins a little too thin to fold right—when your eyes flicker up, drawn by something quieter than a sound. And there it is.
Her gaze.
Not directed to you but it lands on you like morning sun through half-open blinds—unexpected, sharp, warm.
For half a second, you wonder if your shirt's stained so you glance down. It's not but still, you tug at the hem.
Sophia doesn’t look away right away and that’s what catches you off guard. Her eyes settle—curious yet calm but unreadable.
And then, just as easily, they move on.
You shake your head. Not to dismiss the moment, but to dislodge it—like a song you don’t want stuck in your head.
She was just looking around. Of course, nothing more.
You tuck the thought somewhere deep as you return to work. Hands moving on instinct now—lifting pitchers, wiping tables, sliding into the rhythm of lunch rush.
But your mind, traitor that it is, keeps drifting.
You don’t know much about her, not in any real sense.
She comes in most days around eleven, stays through lunch, sometimes dinner. Helps with inventory, counts the till, answers questions from confused tourists trying to order sinigang that is not sour. She’s not cold, not rude, just perfectly above it all. Not in a cruel way, but in a softer way, like she’s not really here, like her mind is always somewhere softer than the clatter of plates.
Sometimes she wears blue, sometimes soft pastels. Today, it's a dark red top with a small logo from a brand you're too poor to recognise and a low-waisted jeans. The kind of outfit that doesn't wrinkle, that costs more than a week's worth of your hours, that says, I do not lift things. I am lifted.
And yet she does. She lifts trays, wipes menus, helps Miranda tape a broken pepper shaker just an hour ago.
It doesn’t make sense.
None of it does.
So you stop trying to figure her out.
You continue working.
And yet.
Every now and then, when you’re not thinking, you find yourself looking. The way someone looks at light through water. Unfocused but wanting.
You carry trays like they’re shields. You take orders like you’re memorizing lines. You keep your voice soft, even when customers raise theirs.
And today, for some reason, they’re noticing you more than usual.
The girl at table four, a tourist probably, keeps asking for things she doesn’t need. A spoon when she already has one. More water when the glass is full. You offer her a polite smile, the kind you wear like an apron, useful and meant to be taken off at the end of the day.
She smiles back like she’s never seen someone be gentle before.
“Do you have an Instagram?” she asks, as if she’s ordering dessert.
You blink. “Sorry?”
She laughs. “You’re cute. Thought I’d shoot my shot.”
You chuckle, the way you’re supposed to. “I don’t really use it,” because it’s half-true and more polite than “I’m not interested.”
She slips a napkin across the table anyway. “In case you change your mind.”
You take it. Only because it’s easier than saying no a second time.
You turn around, only to find Sophia watching.
She’s by the kitchen now, half-hidden behind the swing door. Arms crossed, one foot tapping against the tile like she’s measuring time.
Her eyes aren’t unkind. But they aren’t soft either.
You meet her gaze for a second—long enough to feel it crackle between you, silent static.
She looks away first this time.
But it’s not the same as before.
There’s something else sitting in her chest now. Something that didn’t used to be there.
You can’t help but feel uncanny at the thought of being perceived as lacking off, so you immediately did some more work.
Back inside the kitchen, Sophia told herself she’s just curious.
That’s all it is.
You’re interesting. Quiet, reliable, and always on time. Never really a headache. You move like you’ve memorized the room. You listen when people speak. You carry yourself like someone who doesn't know they're being watched.
She doesn’t like you like that. That’s too much.
It’s not a serious crush. Maybe close proximity? She guessed.
Sophia has known crushes. They’re louder and flashier, or that's what she's used to. They come with heart scribbles on notebooks and texts answered too quickly.
This isn’t that.
This is noticing.
That’s all.
She tells herself this even as she peeks through the kitchen window again and sees the napkin still tucked in your apron pocket.
Her chest feels a little tight but she blames the heat that is suffocating her coming from the kitchen.
You’re wiping down the last table near the window when you see him again.
The same kid from earlier—the one the man in the car waved off like smoke. He’s sitting now, legs pulled up to his chest, back against the utility pole across the street. His chin rests on his knees, eyes unfocused, as if he’s staring into a world that forgot to open its doors to him.
He doesn’t look up.
You hesitate, cloth still in hand.
You’ve seen him before, not just this morning. A couple of times—near the bakery, by the jeepney stop, sometimes curled behind the gas station at dusk. He never begs. He just waits, hoping someone will notice without needing to be asked.
“Hey!” Vinci calls from the kitchen. “We’re tossing the leftover pancit, can you please grab the bin?”
You nod, eyes flicking back to the boy before slipping into the kitchen.
The scent of oil is heavier here. The kind that sticks to your skin long after you clock out. Vinci’s already scooping the noodles into a silver tray. There’s half a fried chicken thigh sitting off to the side, slightly overcooked but untouched.
“This is still good.” you murmur almost to yourself.
Vinci shrugs. “No one’s eating it.”
You reach for a takeout box, plastic utensils, and a cup of water.
From the far side of the restaurant, Sophia watches.
She hadn’t meant to. She’d come to drop something off at the register but her eyes had followed your figure out the door, the way one might follow a melody drifting out of a passing car. She saw the box, the crouch, and the encounter.
You don't mind being scolded for giving some food away.
You didn’t do it to be seen.
You didn’t do it to mean anything.
You just saw someone who needed something. Something to hold onto, even if only for one meal.
That’s all. As much as you wanted to give the kid some spare change, it was also something you don’t have yourself.
You wash your hands at the back sink. The water runs too hot making your skin turn pink at the edges.
You don’t notice.
You're thinking about the way the boy looked at you. You never like the thought of standing in front of him, it feels condescending, like you are above him. It was never that, you were never above anyone, you were once a kid who struggled too.
You pass by the front counter again twenty minutes later, heading toward table six with a tray of halo-halo. Sophia is there with a paper in hand, eyebrows lightly drawn together in thought. You don’t mean to glance at her. It just happens.
She doesn’t look up, but her hand stills on the page.
And for the second time today, your heart tries to remind you of something you won’t let it finish saying.
The man from the car—the one who waved off the kid like an inconvenience, like dust on his collar. Now he’s stepping into your workplace like he owns something.
And in a way, maybe he does.
He carries that kind of presence. The type that doesn’t ask if he belongs. He just assumes he does. His watch glints, his scent trails behind him, expensive and sharp. He wears confidence like cologne, loud, unmistakable and painstakingly annoying.
“Is Sophia here?” he asked Miranda, and her name bends to his voice like it’s been taught to.
You don’t need to be close to hear it.
And she comes.
She steps out from behind the counter where she’d been double-checking inventory, her pen tucked behind one ear, hair a little loose now from hours of real work.
Still, she walks like she’s in a movie scene. More so, she’s the movie itself. The climax everyone in the cinema had waited for.
She sees him.
Her smile is soft, rehearsed, but just maybe. Or just polite. She doesn't light up but she doesn’t flinch either.
One of his assistants reaches into a bag. Produces a bouquet—big, too big for this setting. Roses, of course. Wrapped in thick white paper with a satin ribbon knotted perfectly around the stems.
And then the assistant passed it to you.
“Mind passing this to him?” he says, voice light, like he’s asking someone to refill his wine.
You blink.
You look down.
You hesitate for a breath too long, but then what choice do you have?
So you took the bouquet.
It’s heavier than you expect. Damp near the stems. Too many petals, too many thorns. It doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a transaction wrapped in ribbon.
You hold it for a second longer than necessary.
And just for a breath—you imagine it.
Imagine offering it to her yourself, without being told. No middleman. No errand. Just a simple and sweet, I saw these and I thought of you.
The look on her face, curious.
Her fingers brushing yours as she takes them.
A thank you. Maybe even your name in her mouth covered in softness your mattress can't compare.
But then he reaches forward and takes them from your hands like the moment never happened.
And offers them to her instead, like what’s intended to be.
And you watch—because that’s all you’ve ever been allowed to do. Not like you can afford such flowers.
They talk quietly near the register. He says something that makes her raise an eyebrow. She doesn’t laugh, she shakes her head, eyes darting to the floor before drifting back up. Her fingers tighten around the bouquet.
Then she looks at you.
Enough to know she noticed.
Enough to know you were there.
And enough to mean nothing at all.
You give her a tight smile. To Sophia it looks like a smile of encouragement but to you, its one of those kinds of smiles.
He opens the door for her. She thanks him and her voice is quieter now, like she’s halfway out of the moment. They disappear into the night, roses swaying slightly in her hands.
And that’s it.
No explosion. No fight. No confession.
Just a quiet exit from a life that doesn’t include you.
There’s still some rubbish to take out. A few tables to wipe. Vinci asks if you can help prep for the morning.
You say yes. Because you always say yes, not that you want to but you need to.
Because the restaurant is the only place where you matter. Where your hands are worth something. Where your name isn’t forgotten.
And even if Sophia is gone, you’re still here.
And the kitchen light still flickers when it gets too hot. The sink still leaks if you twist the knob too far. And the mop still leaves streaks on the tile no matter how many times you rinse it.
And none of that changes just because your heart feels too heavy in your chest.
With brooms scraping tile, the hum of the refrigerator kicking in too late, and the scent of vinegar and oil still clinging to your shirt like the last thing you haven’t let go of. Vinci yells something half-hearted about the trash. Miranda waves goodbye without looking up from her phone.
You stay behind just long enough to sweep what’s left of the night into the corners.
Sophia never came back.
And that’s fine.
She had roses in her hands, after all. Someone else’s story folded around her like lace.
You have the floor cleaner, the mop handle splintered from use, and the quiet knowledge that you were here—just long enough to witness her orbit someone else’s sun.
Each push sounds like punctuation on a sentence only you understand.
You glide past sleeping storefronts and windows lit by blue TV light. Past someone’s laundry swaying gently in the night breeze. Past the little corner where the boy sat earlier, empty now.
Everything moves.
Except you.
You’re not angry. You’re not sad, either.
You’re just awake and breathing.
And you know—deep in your chest—that there are people like Sophia who glide through life on polished floors and soft light. And there are people like you, who move through back doors and carry trays and learn how to smile without showing too much of your soul, not that they consider you of having one anyway.
Sorry for not posting anything but happy September. Storyline is cliché once again so sorry for that. Will make a Sophia fluff as soon as I can. Hope you guys like this one :)))
There will be a part two for this and then a round 2 for this game as well so stay tuned!
Warning: Sexual content, sexual questions and sexual game
WC: 9k
“Who would you pick to give you a hand job?” Sam asks as she kisses my neck and grabs my cock over my shorts and boxers.
I moan as she does this. We just finished dinner and were hanging out on Sam and I’s room and we’re drinking a little and getting a bit handsy and bold.
“Mm fuck…” I moan, I smile and look at Sam. “Are we really gonna go through with this?” I ask.
Sam and the girls giggle at my comment. “Yes we are. Or are you too chicken to go through with it?” Sam asks, teasing me.
“Mm I would pick Mackenzie.” I say moaning as Sam continues to rub and tease my bulge over my shorts and boxers.
I smirk as Kenzie gets on her knees. I look around the room and blush even more as the girls get undressed and get naked.
Kenzie grabs the waistband of my shorts and pulls my shorts and boxers down my legs as tosses them off to the side.
Kenzie bites her lip and checks out my cock once it's freed from its confinement. "Fuck baby your huge."
I smile. "Thanks baby."
I take off my shirt and sports bra and toss them off to the side Kenzie stands back up, I bite my lip and giggle as she pushes me back onto the bed.
Kenzie smirks and locks eyes with me as she slowly strips her shorts and panties off and tosses them off to the side. Kenzie smirks, she strips her shirt and slides her sports bra off and tosses them off to the side.
"Like what you see daddy?" Kenzie asks teasing me.
I smile and nod and bite my lip. "You're beautiful babe." I say.
Kenzie smiles at my comment. "Thank you baby." Kenzie says.
Kenzie joins me on the bed. Kenzie smirks and spices it up, she sits on my chest with her back to me.
Kenzie leans down and spits on my cock. She wraps her hand around my cock and slowly strokes my dick.
I moan and squeeze her ass, Kenzie giggles and moans as I squeeze her ass and strokes my dick faster.
"Mm fuck." I moan in pleasure.
The girls giggle and watch as Kenzie gives me a handjob. I moan loudly in pleasure and grip the sheets as Kenzie continues to stroke my dick.
*Kenzie’s pov*
I squeeze my thighs together and bite my lip as I get wet. I giggle as some of her precum leaks out. I can feel her throbbing. She really needed a release Lip. I bite my lip as Y/n grabs my ass.
Y/n cutely moans and grips the sheets. "Mm fuck Kenzie baby I'm close." Y/n cutely moans.
I smirk and play with her balls as I stroke her dick faster. "F-Fuck I'm gonna cum buckets if you keep doing that." Y/n moans in pleasure.
"Cum baby girl. Be a good girl and cum for us." I say.
The girls smile and bite their lips as they watch me stroke her dick and play with her balls.
Y/n moans loudly in pleasure. I smirk and giggle as cum spurts and oozes all over my fingers and hand.
Some cum lands on Y/n's lap and some lands on my thigh and on the sheets.
"Woah look at that. Fuck that was a sexy cumshot baby." I giggle and lick her cum off my fingers and wipe the rest of her cum off the sheets.
I giggle and get off her. Y/n lays there and moans as cum slowly oozes out of her dick as she comes down from her high.
*Y/n's pov*
I blush darkly as I come down from my high. I was still trying to comprehend that I had just got a handjob from Kenzie.
Kenzie giggles and kisses me. I smile against her lips and kiss back. Kenzie smiles and looks back at me.
“Who would you pick to give you a blowjob?” Kenzie asks.
I smile and look at Charli. “I would pick Charli.”
Charli smirks and joins me on the bed. I blush and bite my lip as she lays between my legs. I bite my lip and watch as Charli licks my dick and swirls her tongue around my tip.
I moan as Charli spits in my cock and takes my dick in her mouth. I moan and run my fingers through her hair as she slowly bobs her head and locks eyes with me.
Charli chokes and gags a bit as my tip hits the back of her throat. I moan as she bobs her head faster.
"Mm fuck Charli your mouth feels so good." I moan in pleasure as I lean my head back against the headboard behind me.
She swirls her tongue around my tip as she continues to suck my dick and plays with my balls with her other hand.
I moan and grip the sheets as she bobs her head faster and faster than before. Charli lets my dick pop out of her mouth as she kisses my inner thigh and smiles.
"Mm you taste amazing." Charli moans.
I giggle and moan as she takes my dick back in her mouth immediately deep throating me causing me to be a moaning mess.
Charli locks eyes with me and hums against my dick seeing the reaction she was getting from me.
"I'm gonna cum buckets if you keep doing that." I moan and close my eyes.
I gripped the sheets with one hand and held the back of Charli’s head with my other hand. She was making me closer and closer to cumming.
My balls tighten as my dick hits the back of her throat. "Fuck Charli I....."
*ThroatPie*
I moan firing Charli’s hair pushing her head further down in my cock as I explode in her mouth. Sweat dripping modem from my forehead, my legs shake and buckle.
Charli lifts her head up and swallows my load. I bite my lip as Charli sucks me dry, getting every drop of my cum and swallowing it.
My dick falls from Charli’s mouth and falls limp. Charli giggles, she kisses my inner thighs and kisses my dick.
"Mm you taste amazing daddy." Charli says. I blush darkly at her comment.
"Thank you." I moan.
Charli giggles and kisses me. I moan in the kiss as I taste myself on her lips and kiss back. Charli gets off the bed.
“Who would you fuck in doggy?” Charli asks.
I smile. “I would pick Caitlin.”
Caitlin giggles, she bites her lip and gets on the bed and gets on all fours.
“Mm I get to fuck Caitlin Foord in Doggy.” I bite my lip and squeeze her ass.
Caitlin giggles and moans at my comment. Cailtin giggles and shakes her ass. "Please. Y/n I need you." Caitlin begs.
I bite my lip, and check out her ass as she shakes it. I smirk, I get up and get behind her. I slap her ass, Caitlin moans and jumps as I slap her ass.
"Fuck daddy I love when you spank me." Caitlin moans.
She moans as I slap her ass again. I smirk and rub my dick through her cum filled pussy.
"Such a good slut." I moan as I slide my dick back inside her cum filled pussy.
We both moan, I place my hand on her hip. I grab her hair with my other hand I wrap her hair around my hand.
I slowly thrust in and out of her as I pulled her hair.
"Fuck....fuck....fuck." Caitlin squeaks out with each thrust.
"Like that baby? Daddy's dick deep inside you stretching you out?" I ask, teasing her.
Caitlin moans and nods. "Fuck yes, I love your dick deep inside me stretching me out."
Caitlin moans and throws her ass back against me as I continue to fuck her cum filled pussy faster and faster as I pull her hair. I pull her close to me. We both moan as this causes my dick to go a bit deeper inside her. Shit this is so good I'm balls deep inside her.
"Shit I don't think I'll last long, babe. Ugh, your grip is amazing." I moan loudly in pleasure.
Caitlin giggles and moans throwing her ass against me sliding back and forth on my dick faster helping me out.
"I guess I should help you out and make you cum deep inside me huh?" Charli moans.
I moan loudly as I feel myself getting closer to cumming. Fuck her pussy was tight and warm and felt like heaven.
"Mmm I'm close." I moan.
"Ugh shit....me too." Charli moans.
I moan loudly, my balls slapping against her skin as our moans fill the room. I moan loudly in pleasure as her walls clench around my dick.
Charli throws her ass back against me as she slides back and forth on my dick faster and faster. Fuck shes really gonna make me cum.
"Ahh Charli baby I'm close." I moan in pleasure as I feel myself getting closer.
Charli moans and goes faster and harder. I moan in pleasure as I feel myself getting closer and closer to cumming. Charli screams in pleasure and squirts again. Charli squirts all over my dick, and on the bed sheets.
"Baby, I'm really close." I moan.
I feel that all too familiar feeling in my balls as Caitlin goes faster and faster.
*Creampie*
I can't take it anymore, I bust my load deep inside her. Caitlin moans and cums all over my dick. We both moan as I shoot ropes of thick sticky cum deep inside her painting her walls white.
"Fuck I feel so full." Caitlin moans.
I smirk, I help Caitlin ride out her high. Once we both come down from our highs, I slowly pull out of her. Cum oozes out of her and glazes her folds and drips down her thighs and onto the bed.
I slap her ass again. Caitlin moans as I slap her ass, I lean down and kiss her ass. Caitlin giggles and bites her lip as she looks back and watches me kiss her ass.
Caitlin giggles. “Mm that was amazing baby.” Caitlin looks at Hayley and giggles. “I think Hayley wants some of this cock as well.”
I giggle and bite my lip. “Mm I think she does too.”
Caitlin smiles. “Who would pick to fuck in missionary?”
I smile and look at Hayley. “I would pick Hayley.”
Hayley bites her lip, she blushes darkly and strips her clothes. Hayley bites her lip and lays on the bed. She bites her lip and cutely smiles and motions me over with her finger.
"Come on baby I need some of that cock." Hayley says seductively rubbing her clit with her fingers.
I join her on the bed. I smile and hover over her and kiss her. My boner rubs against her soaking folds, Hayley moans as my tips rubs against her soaking folds.
"Fuck babe, you're so wet." I say.
"All for you daddy." Hayley moans. “Please I need you inside me. I need more of you.” Hayley begs.
Hayley leans in and kisses me. She lowers her hand and slowly strokes my dick as we make out. I moan in the kiss. Hayley lines my dick up with her pussy and guides me in.
We both moan in the kiss, I break away from the kiss and rest my head against hers.
Hayley moans and takes a moment to adjust to my size. "Mmm okay you feel huge inside me." Hayley gasps.
I giggle and smirk. "Tell me when to move baby. I'm gonna pump you full of cum."
Hayley moans as I say this. "Fuck yes please, pump me full of your cum."
Hayley takes a moment to adjust. I giggle and kiss her. "M-Move."
I slowly thrust in and out of Hayley’s tight pussy. Hayley moans in pleasure, she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me in closer to her. This causes my dick to go deeper inside her, we both moan.
"Fuck you're really deep in there." Hayley moans.
I smirk and thrust in and out of her a bit faster. Hayley moans in pleasure as I pick up the pace. I kiss her neck and suck in it leaving hickys as I fuck the day lights out of her.
"Fuck baby you feel so good clenched around me." I moan in pleasure.
"Fuck you feel so good stretching me out." Hayley moans.
I pick up the pace and pound her pussy faster and faster. My balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room.
"Fuck.....fuck.....fuck." Hayley squeaks out with each thrust.
I smirk, I gently grab her throat and choke her. This makes Hayley go crazy, I choke her as I thrust in and out of her faster and harder.
"Fuck yes, choke me as you fuck my brains out." Hayley moans out In pleasure.
I smirk, I choke her as I continue to pound her pussy. "Ugh fuck." I moan as I feel myself getting close to cumming.
"Shit, you feel so good inside me." Hayley moans as I continue to fuck her.
I smirk and go at an angle and hit her g spot. Hayley screams in pleasure as I pound her g spot.
"Fuck! Fuck yes right there. Holy shit you're gonna make me squirt." Hayley screams in pleasure.
"Mmm maybe I should just keep doing it then." I moan and kiss her. Hayley moans in the kiss. I pick up the pace, and pound her g spot at an angle.
Hayley screams in pleasure and squirts all over my dick, abs and thighs. I smirk and continue to fuck her brains out. Hayley’s eyes roll to the back of her head as I continue to fuck her.
"Fuck....fuck....fuck." Hayley squeaks out with each thrust.
I moan and pound her pussy faster and harder. My balls slapping against her skin as our moans fill the room. I moan loudly in pleasure as I feel myself getting close.
"Ahh shit....I'm close." I moan.
"Yes daddy, cum in me. pump me full of your cum." Hayley moans.
I continue to pound her faster and faster. Hayley moans as I pin her to the bed as I continue to fuck her.
"Fuck this feels so good." I moan.
"So fucking good. Don't stop until you drain your balls in me." Hayley moans.
Fuck Hayley is so sexy when she's demanding. I didn't know that she was a bottom. I moan as I go faster and harder.
"Ugh I'm gonna cum. Get ready." I moan.
*Creampie*
I can't take it anymore, I bust my load deep inside her. Hayley moans and cums all over my dick. We both moan as I shoot ropes of thick sticky cum inside her painting her walls white.
"Fuck there's so much." Hayley moans.
I moan and continue to pump her full of cum. I help Hayley ride out her high, once we both come down from our highs I slowly pull out of her.
Thick cum oozes out of her and coats her folds and drips down her thighs and onto the bed.
I giggle and run my finger up her folds and scoop up whatever cum I can and slip in back inside her pussy Hayley giggles and moans as I do this.
“Mm there you go baby.” I smile.
Hayley smiles and kisses me. I smile against her lips and kiss back. Hayley pecks my lips and smiles and plays with my hair as we lay on the bed.
“Who would you fuck in Cowgirl?” Hayley asks.
I smile and think for a second as I look at Sam, Steph and Katrina weighing my options.
“Mm I would pick Steph.” I reply.
The girls giggle, Steph giggles and blushes darkly. Steph giggles and pushes me back onto the bed.
I giggle and squeal as she does this. Steph joins me on the bed and straddles me.
Steph straddles me she lines my dick up with her pussy. Steph puts my tip in her and slowly sinks down on my dick taking my length deep inside her.
We both moan as I'm deep inside her pussy. Steph grabs my boobs and takes a moment to adjust to my size.
"Fuck I feel so full with you deep inside me." Steph moans. Me and Steph both moan as she slowly slides up and down on my dick.
"Mmm fuck, so wet and tight." I moan in pleasure. Steph slides up and down on my dick faster and faster.
"Mmm fuck daddy you're really deep in there." Steph moans. Her skin slaps against mine as our moans fill the room. I moan and spank her ass. Steph moans and goes faster and harder.
"F-Fuck." I moan in pleasure.
Steph moans and massages my boobs as she keeps riding my dick going harder. "Gah fuck, it feels so good." Steph moans.
"Mmm you Like that baby? Daddy's dick deep inside you stretching you out?" I ask.
Steph moans and grips the top of the head board. As she goes faster and faster. "Fuck daddy, I love it. I love you stretching me out." Steph moans.
I moan loudly as I feel myself getting close to cumming. "Gah Steph, slow down a bit. I'm gonna cum." I moan in pleasure.
Steph cutely giggles and moans. "That's the point baby. I'm gonna drain your balls and collect every drop of your cum." Steph says.
Fuck that may have been the hottest thing I've heard. I moan and watch Steph as she continues to ride me.
"You close baby? You gonna bust your load deep inside my pussy?" Steph asks seductively.
"Mmm I'm gonna pump you full of cum." I moan in Pleasure.
Step grips the head board tightly and rides my dick faster and harder. I moan loudly in pleasure as I feel myself getting close to cumming.
"Stephy baby, I'm gonna cum." I moan Loudly in pleasure.
*Creampie*
I moan in pleasure. I can't take it anymore, I bust my load deep inside her.
Steph moans and cums all over my dick, we both moan as I continue to shoot ropes of cum inside her and paint her walls white. We both moan as I continue to pump her full of cum.
Steph gasps and moans as I continue to cum inside her. "Mmm fuck there's so much." Steph moans.
I help Steph ride out her high, once we both come down from our highs Steph closely climbs off my dick.
Thick cum ooze and pours out of her and drips down her thighs and drips onto my lap, my dick and onto the bed and sheets.
"Mmm fuck." Steph moans as my cum continues to ooze out of her.
I smile and kiss Steph. Steph moans in the kiss as my cum continues to ooze and drip out of her and onto my abs and onto the bed.
Steph smiles. “Mm I’ll pick the next question.”
Steph looks at me and smiles. “Who would you fuck in reverse Cowgirl?”
I look over at Alanna and smirk. “I would definitely pick Alanna for this one.”
I lay on the bed, Alanna joins me on the bed I lay her on top of me her back to me tits.
I spread her legs with mine. I smirk as she's now in reverse cowgirl.
Alanna moans and shudders as I rub her clit with my dick. "Mmm fuck." She moans. I smirk as her legs shake and buckle in pleasure as I do this.
"Put it in. Put it in daddy." Alanna cutely begs.
"Mmm yeah slut? You want daddy's dick inside you?" I ask, teasing her.
"Mmm fuck please daddy, Ive been such a good girl. I'm such a slut for your dick and cum. Please, I want more." Alanna says.
I smirk and grant her wish. I slide my dick inside her, Alanna moans as she takes all 11 inches deep inside her.
I moan as her walls immediately clench around me.
Alanna moans and leans back against me as my dick is back inside her cum filled pussy. I place my hands on her hips, I spread her legs a bit more with mine and slowly thrust up into her pussy.
"Mmm fuck, right there. Ugh just like that." Alanna moans.
I moan in pleasure and thrust up into her faster. My balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room, fuck her pussy felt so good. She had an amazing grip, her pussy felt like heaven. Mmm so Wet and warm.
"Fuck baby you're so tight and warm." I moan.
I thrust up into her faster and harder. Alanna screams in pleasure and grips the sheets, I make her look at me and make out with her. We both moan in the kiss as I continue to bottom out in her pussy.
We break the kiss, we rest our heads against each other's. "Feels so good, you're not pulling out babe, you're not pulling out until you cum in me." Alanna moans.
I smirk. "Yeah slut? You want more, such a naughty girl."
We both moan as I thrust up into her pussy faster and harder. "Fuck, I'm gonna squirt!" Alanna screams in pleasure
I smirk, I slap and tease her clit. Alanna moans and shudders as I do this, Alanna moans loudly in pleasure and squirts. I smirk as I feel some of her juices go on my thigh. She squirts on the blankets and sheets.
We both moan, I continue to thrust up into her faster and harder. I moan as I feel myself getting closer to cumming.
"A-Alanna baby I'm close." I moan.
"Me too. Don't stop, don't stop." Alanna moans.
My balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room. I rub her clit with my thumb at a fast pace.
My breathing gets heavier letting Alanna know that I was close to cumming.
"Yes cum in me, cum in me." Alanna moans.
I moan loudly In pleasure as I feel that all too familiar feeling in my balls.
*Creampie*
I can't take it anymore, I thrust up into her and bust my load deep inside her. Alanna moans and cums all over my dick. We both moan as cum oozes and spurts inside her painting her walls white.
I slowly thrust up into Alanna. I helped Alanna ride out her high. I slowly thrust up into her as the last of my cum oozes and spurts inside her.
I moan and slowly pull out of her, my dick falls limp. Cum immediately pours out of her. Cum coats her folds and drips onto the blankets and sheets.
I smile and kiss her. Alanna smiles against my lips and kisses back.
Alanna smiles and pecks my lips again. “Mm who would you pick to give you a titjob?”
I smile and think for a second. “Mm I would pick Katrina. Katrina smiles and blushes at my comment.
Katrina giggles and massages her tits watching this makes me hard. “Mm yes please.” I moaned as I slowly stroke my cock and check out Katrina’s tits.
I lay on the bed. Katrina joins me on the bed. I sit on the bed and lean back against the headboard. My length still rock hard, Katrina lays between my legs and kisses my dick.
Katrina spits on my tip letting her drip down her length. She smirks and wraps her tits around my cock. I moan as she slowly strokes my cock with her tits.
"F-Fuck Katrina just like that." I moaned as I began to play with her right nipple.
Katrina began to speed up pressing her tits tighter and tighter around my cock covering it in spit as she continued to stroke my dick with her tits.
"Mm f-fuck Katrina. I'm gonna cum buckets if you keep doing that." I moaned as I gripped the sheets underneath me.
She didn't slow down as she kept going. She began to play with my balls with her right hand.
"Cum babe." Katrina giggled from the way she was seeing my facial expressions change.
Somehow I could feel my length getting harder as I became closer to cumming.
A feeling I had never felt before, Katrina spits on my cock once more and went as fast as she could as she began to moan at the precum she could feel leaking out.
"Katrina….oh m-my." I moan in pleasure.
*Cumshot*
Cum fired out of my cock going everywhere. Cum shoots all over Katrina’s face, tits, some even shoots in her mouth. My biggest cumshot yet.
Katrina and the girls giggle as I cum. Katrina stops tit fucking my and lciks the cum off her face and tits.
I moan and watch Katrina do this. Katrina smiles and plants a "Thank You" kiss in my lips.
Katrina smiles and pecks my lips. “Mm who would you pick to do anal with?”
I sit there for a moment thinking of my question. Shit is there anyone on the team that’s into anal?
I look at Kenzie. “Mm I would pick Kenzie.”
Katrina giggles and whispers in my ear. “Good choice baby. Kenzie loves anal.”
I blush darkly at her comment. Kenzie giggles. “Come on daddy.”
I smirk and grab kenzies hand and make her bend over the arm couch. I bite my lip and place my hand on her ass and tease her asshole with my tip.
"Put it in daddy." Kenzie says.
Kenzie gasps and moans as I slide my cock inside her ass. I moan as her walls immediately clench around me.
Fuck her ass was so tight, I could cum just from being in her ass. Kenzie moans and moves around a bit and grips the couch taking a moment to adjust to my size.
"Tell me when to move babe." I say.
Kenzie nods. "M-Move."
I place one hand on her ass and one hand on her hip. We both moan as I slowly thrust in and out. I moan and spank her ass, Kenzie moans as I spank her ass I moan and thrust in and out of her ass faster.
"Mm fuck, right there. Ugh fuck." Kenzie moans.
I lean down and kiss her neck. "Mm fuck your ass is so perfect baby. I might cheat and give you another creampie after this one." I whisper in her ear.
Kenzie smiles and bites her lip. "Fill up my ass as many times as you want babe. Be quiet when you cum so they don't know." She whispers back.
I smile against her cheek, I moan and continue to thrust in and out of her. I moan and grip her ass and back.
"Fuck this is amazing, ugh you feel amazing." I say as I grip as I grip her ass.
I moan and go faster and faster. Kenzie moans and grips the couch cushions. Watching her as her ass ripples with each thrust her ass bouncing off my thighs was a view I've dreamed of seeing.
I move my hands and grip her hips and pull her back into me. This causes me to go deeper inside her ass making us both moan loudly in pleasure.
"Kenz I feel like I'm going to explode already." I moan, my thrusts becoming slower.
"Keep going baby don't you dare stop." Kenzie moaned, sweat dripping down her back.
5 minutes passed, the only sounds in the room were our moans and my balls slapping against her skin.
"Mm please daddy please use me for your release." Kenzie moans in pleasure.
I moan loudly in pleasure and grip her hips as I continue to thrust into her ass. "I'm gonna cum so hard. You're so tight, baby." I moaned, spanking her ass again and gripping it tightly.
"Do it daddy, cum in my ass. Fill it up." Kenzie begged.
I kept going thrusting faster and harder -: I could hear the effect, the feeling I was putting Kenzie through.
"F-Fuck Kenzie... I'm gonna-"
*Creampie*
I'm not able to warn Kenzie in time as I shoot my cum deep inside her ass. Filling her to the brim, some dripping out and down her leg.
"Fuck baby I'm sorry I couldn't warn you. I've filled you up so much." I giggled at the sight I had created inside her ass giving her ass one last spank.
"Mmm I feel so full... thank you daddy." Kenzie moaned.
I giggle, I lean down and kiss her neck and back receiving little giggles from Kenzie. We both moan as I slowly pull out of her.
Kenzie moans as my cum oozes out of her and drips down the arm of the couch and onto the floor and onto my cock.
I bite my lip, I squeeze her ass and giggle as I admire the sticky mess I left behind inside her. Kenzie moans and lays there panting and catching her breath as my cum continues to ooze out of her and drips down the couch and onto the ground.
The girls gasp and moan and check out the sticky mess I left behind in Kenzie’s ass.
“Fuck that was so sexy to watch.” Charli says.
“Fuck Y/n you filled her ass so well.” Sam says.
I giggle and kiss Kenzie one last time. “Mm your ass is amazing.”
Kenzie giggles and pecks my lips. “Mm thank you.”
Kenzie smiles and kisses me deeply, I giggle against her lips and kiss back.
“Who would you eat out? Who’s the lucky girl you’ve dreamed/ fantasized about eating out?” Kenzie asks.
I blush darkly and look at Hayley. “I would p-pick Hayley.”
Hayley blushes darkly at my comment as the girls giggle and tease us. Hayley bites her lip and lays on the bed. I smirk and join her on the bed.
I smirk and tease her I spit on her clit and slowly lick her clit tasting her sweetness and how wet she was for me.
*Hayley’s Pov*
I moan as Y/n spits on pussy and licks my clit turning me on even more and rating how wet and turned on I was for her.
"Mm Please.... Please eat me out, I need to cum so bad. I need you so bad." I say.
I moan and run my fingers through Y/n’s hair as she kisses and sucks on my inner thighs leaving hickys. I moan and push her to where I need her the most.
Y/n swipes her finger up my folds, collecting my juices on her finger. I moan as she does this.
"Fuck baby, you're soaking wet." Y/n says.
"Mm all for you baby." I moan.
Y/n smiles and licks my folds. I moan in pleasure, Y/n spits on my pussy. She slips a finger and slowly fingers me as she begins to eat me out.
"Mm fuck Y/n just like that." I moan in pleasure.
Y/n rolls her tongue on my clit adding different amounts of pleasure. I moan as Y/n slips in a second finger and fingers me a bit faster as she continues to eat me out.
"Mm fuck, right there. Right there." I moan, I lay my legs on her shoulders as she continues to go to town on my pussy.
I moan and grind against her face and fingers desperate for a release. I moan as Y/n fingers me faster as she continues to eat me out.
I moan as I feel that familiar knot forming in my stomach.
"Mm Y/n, baby I'm close." I moan in pleasure.
Y/n sucks harshly on my clit as she curls her fingers and continues to finger me going faster as she eats me out. I gasp and moan as she does this.
I moan loudly in pressure as the urge to cum gets stronger. I can't take it anymore, I let go and cum on Y/n’s face, in her mouth and on her hand.
Y/n helps me ride out my high. She licks and cleans up my sticky mess. I moan as she slowly slides her fingers out of me.
I moan and watch as she licks and sucks my juices off her fingers. "Mm you taste like heaven baby." Y/n says.
I blush darkly, I moan in the kiss as I taste myself in her lips. I smile against her lips and kiss back, I break the kiss and blush.
*Y/n’s Pov*
Hayley smiles. “Who would you pick to deep throat you baby?”
I blush darkly. “I-I would pick Kyra.”
Kyra blushes and smirks. I giggle and squeal as Kyra pulls me back onto the couch. Kyra smirks and strokes my dick.
I blush darkly, Kyra leans down and takes my dick in her mouth. I moan and sit up and watch her as she bobs her head taking my 11 inches in her mouth.
I moan and grip the sheets as she slowly bobs her head. Sam smirks and walks over to us, she grabs Kyra's head and shoves it down on my dick making Kayra take my dick in her throat.
I moan in Pleasure as Sam makes Kyra do this. "Mmm fuck." I moan and lay back as Sam helps guide Kyra deep throat me.
"That's it slut. Take it deep down your throat." Sam says.
Kyra chokes and gags, as she takes my length down her throat. Sam smirks and helps Kyra slowly bob her head.
"Guck....Guck...Guck." I moan and watch as Sam helps Kyra give me head.
"Mmm good slut, take every inch." Sam says. Kyra chokes and gags by now spit and drool drips down her chin and mouth and onto my thighs and onto her tits.
Kyra wraps her arms around my thighs as Sam bobs her head up and down faster on my dick.
Kyra taps my thigh, Sam gets the hit and lifts Kyra's head off my dick.
Kyra coughs and gags. "...Fuck." Kyra gasps and strokes my dick.
I smirk. "Mmm you really know how to give a girl head." I say and gently rub her chin.
Kyra smiles at me. Kyra catches her breath and takes my dick back in her mouth.
I moan as Kyra bobs her head. Sam smirks and shoves Kyra's head further down onto my dick again.
"Gah fuck." I moan.
Sam smirks and holds Kyra's head down on my dick for a couple seconds making Kyra deep throat me. Kyra chokes and gags.
Sam smirks and helps guide Kyra's head and makes her bob her head faster and faster.
I moan as I feel myself getting close to cumming. "Mmm I'm close." I moan in pleasure.
Sam smirks and bobs Kyra's head even faster than before. Spit and drool leaks from Kyra's nose and coats her face and drips out of her mouth.
"Mmm fuck." I moan and grip the sheets as Kyra continues to suck the soul out of my dick and massages my balls. I moan loudly in pleasure and lay back in the bed and close my eyes.
Fuck this is definitely one of the best blow jobs I've gotten so far. I moan and grip the sheets tighter as Kyra chokes and gags and sucks the soul out of my dick.
My legs shake and buckle in pleasure as Kyra continues to give me head. Pleasure waving through my body.
"Mmm fuck.... Ky baby I'm gonna cum." I moan as the urge to cum gets stronger.
"Cum baby, disgrace this sluts throat. Make her swallow your load." Sam says as she makes Kyra deep throat my length and bobs her head.
Katrina smirks as she sees the sight of Spit and drool leaks from Kyra's nose and coats her face and drips out of her mouth and coats her tits. I moan and grip the sheets.
*throat pie*
I can't take it anymore, I bust my load in Kyra's mouth. Kyra chokes and gags as I cum in her mouth and down her throat.
Kyra swallows my loads and sucks me dry getting every last drop, my dick falls from her mouth. I moan and smile coming down from my high, Kyra smirks, she licks the rest of my cum up and swallows the last of my cum.
"Mmm you taste really good baby." Kyra moans.
Kyra smiles and kisses me, I moan in the kiss as I taste myself on her lips. I lay back on the bed, Kyra giggles and lays with me.
"You okay Y/n?" Kyra asks.
I moan. "Yeah that was amazing."
Kyra smiles and kisses me lovingly.
I smile against her lips and kiss back. Sam giggles and kisses us, she walks away and sits back down.
Kyra giggles and pecks my lips. Kyra smiles and thinks for a second. “Who would you fuck and cum on?”
“Mm I would fuck Charli and cum on her.” I reply. I smirk as Charli giggles and blushes at my comment.
I smirk and look at Charli. "Get on the bed and get on all fours." I ordered.
Charli gets on the bed and gets on all fours. "Mm give me that ass." I say and move behind her. Charli moans as jumps as I spank her ass.
"Please please fuck my ass Y/n." Charli begs.
Without an answer I slip my hard cock into her ass. I grab her hair and pull it, allowing me to go deeper inside her.
I spank her ass and firmly pull her hair as I slowly thrust in and out of her. "F-Faster." Charli cutely begs and moans in pleasure.
I moan and thrust in and out of her faster. My balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room. My eyes locked onto the sight of her ass rippling with each thrust. Her ass was huge and the way it moved was memorizing.
The best view to look at. I move my hand to my boob and roughly massage my tits as I continue to thrust in and out of her a bit faster.
I moan as the urge to cum gets stronger. "Y/n baby, I'm gonna cum." Charli moans and cums on my dick.
I moan as my balls tighten, I quickly pull out and quickly make Charli lay on her back and stroke my dick.
Cumshot:
I moan, cum shoots out of my dick. Cum shoots and spurts onto her tits, stomach and Abs. Charli giggles and bites her lip.
"That's it, let it out." Charli says.
I moan and slowly stroke my dick the last of my cum oozes and spurts onto her stomach and abs. Charli smiles, I lean down and kiss her. Charli smiles against my lips and kisses back.
Charli smiles she scoops up some of the cum off her body and licks it off her finger.
“Whose ass would you eat?” Charli asks.
“I would eat Caitlin’s ass.” I reply.
Charli smirks as Caitlin blushes darkly at my answer. Caitlin moves onto the bed and gets on all fours.
I loved anal and I heard that Caitlin was into anal as well so she was the perfect girl for this task.
*Caitlin’s Pov*
I bite my lip as Y/n rubs my clit, I moan as Y/n begins eating my ass. I moan and tightly grip the sheets as Y/n eats my ass and fingers my pussy.
"Mm F-Fuck." I moan in pleasure.
I moan and push my ass back against Y/n’s face as she continues to eat my ass. Y/n slips in a second finer and fingers me faster than before.
"Fuck...Fuck Y/n just like that." I moan in pleasure as the urge to cum gets stronger. I moan and squirt all over Y/n’s Fingers on her hand and all over the sheets.
It's only been 10 minutes and I'm already close to cumming. My legs shake and buckle a bit as Y/n continues to eat my ass and finger me.
"Y-Y/n baby I'm close." I moan in pleasure as I feel that familiar knot forming in my stomach.
I moan loudly in pleasure, I can't take it anymore. I let go and cum on her face and fingers.
I moan, my legs shake and buckle as I cum. Y/n helps me ride out my high, she licks and cleans up my sticky mess.
Y/n kisses and squeezes my ass. I bite my lip and moan in pleasure as she does this, I lay on the bed and pant trying to catch my breath.
Y/n smirks, I moan and bite my lip as I watch her lick and suck my juices off her fingers. Y/n smiles and kisses me, I'm shocked at first but kiss back.
We break the kiss, once I catch my breath I smile and look at Y/n.
Caitlin giggles and looks at me.
“Whose ass would you fuck and cum on?”
I blush darkly at the question but smile. “Mm I would pick Steph.”
Steph giggles and shakes her ass. I giggle and grab her ass, I spank her ass and give it a slight squeeze.
"See the desk over there?" I questioned.
Steph blushes and nods. She takes off her panties, she makes her way over to the desk and bends over the desk giving me full access to her ass.
I bite my lip and smirk and slap her ass. Steph moans and giggles as I slap her ass. I slowly began to tease her asshole with my tip, slowly getting her prepared for my length.
I place my hand on her back and slowly enter her ass. Steph moans and grips the desk.
"F-Fuck, Y/n you're massive." She yells in a mix of pain and pleasure.
I moan and speed up my thrusts and move my hand from her back to gripping her hair, pulling it allowing me to go even deeper inside her.
"Fuck this is amazing. You feel amazing, babe." I say softly as I use my spare hand and grip her ass.
The view of Steph fidgeting from the pleasure, trying to grip any part of the desk she could as I continued to fuck her made me go even faster.
Watching as her ass rippled after each thrust, her fat ass bouncing off my thighs was a view I've dreamed of seeing.
I move my hands and grip her hips and pull her into me. This causes me to go deeper inside her, making us both moan loudly in pleasure.
"Steph I feel like I'm going to explode already." I moan, my thrusts becoming slower.
"Cum all over my back. I want you to make a mess on my back." Steph moaned, sweat dripping down her back.
5 minutes pass, the only sounds in the room were our moans and my balls slapping against her skin. I moan as I slowly reach my high, I feel the sudden urge building up as I quickly pull out of Steph’s ass.
"It's coming Steph." I moan, and stroke my dick fast as I roughly grip her ass.
Cumshot:
"F-Fuck." I moan, ropes of cum spurt and shoot out of my dick and coats Steph’s back. "Fuck Steph." I spank her ass. "Your back is covered in cum baby." I giggle.
"Fuck I love the way you painted my back." Steph giggles, she gets off the desk. Her back was still covered in my load.
The girls moan as they see Steph’s back painted with my seed. Caitlin moans and bites her lip.
"Put it back in daddy. Fill her ass up with your load." Caitlin moans.
Steph smirks and looks back at me. "You heard her." Steph giggles and shakes her ass. "Fill my ass up daddy."
I smirk and nod. I giggled and set Steph on the bed and set her on her hands and knees slapping her ass as she wiggled her ass.
"Fuck Y/n I need you now, don't make me wait" Steph begged as I placed one hand on her back and one on her hip.
"I won't baby" I said immediately slamming into her.
The way Steph moaned I'd never heard her moan as loud as she did as she got used to my length.
I continued to thrust in and out of her, hypnotised by the way her ass rippled after every thrust.
"Fuck baby your ass look incredible baby" I moaned and added a spank
Her ass became a light shade of red from the amount of spanks she was receiving but she wanted them more and more, the spanks turning her on.
"Pull my hair baby" Steph moaned looking back at me over her shoulder.
I smiled as I took grip of her hair immediately as she requested and pulled on it lightly.
"Fuck your so deep in there now baby" She moaned even louder then before.
I couldn't say anything in response from the pleasure I was getting but she was right, I felt so deep inside of her. The feeling I had was that she was so tight around my length.
That feeling as-well as gripping her ponytail was incredible. My thrusts became faster and faster, harder and harder.
"Need your cum baby please" Steph moaned looking back at me.
*creampie*
I was already so close but when Steph looked back at me, said what she said with such desperation I couldn't contain it.
I'd never felt my balls tighten so much as I exploded inside of her painting her insides white.
"There you go, fuck, there you go baby" I moaned as I gripped her ass again as my cum carried on leaking inside of her.
"Needed that baby, needing all your fucking cum" Steph giggled. "Mm I love it when you fill me up"
I smile, I kiss her and slowly pull out of her. The girls moan as my cum drips and oozes out of her and drips down her thighs and drips onto my cock and into the sheets.
Sam moans and rubs her clit. "Mm fuck. Much better, you filled her to the brim Y/n."
I giggle at Sam's comment. I smile and kiss Steph, Steph smiles against my lips and kisses back. We continue playing the game.
“Whose tits and clothed pussy would you kiss?” Steph smiles and bites her lip.
“Mm I would kiss Kyra’s tits and clothed pussy.” I reply.
Kyra blushes darkly at my comment. Kyra puts her shorts and panties back on for this task.
I blush darkly at her dare. I've always had a thing for Kyra so I immediately get wet and turned on by the task and get turned on.
Kyra smirks and sits on the bed. Kyra lifts her sports bra giving me better access to her tits. Kyra bites her lip and quietly moans as I kiss and suck on her tits.
"Mmm fuck Y/n." Kyra moans.
I lay Kyra on the bed and continue kissing and sucking on her tits. Kyra moans and runs her fingers through my hair.
"Y/n, ugh fuck.. you’re such a tease. K-Kiss my pussy already." Kyra cutely moans and squirms under me.
I giggle. "Sorry baby your tits are so perfect I can't get enough of them." I say as I roughly massage her tits.
Kyra moans as I do this. I giggle and stop, I move down and start placing kisses over her clothed pussy. Fuck she was really wet, I could feel and tasted her juices through her shorts and panties.
Kyra moans in pleasure. I giggle and stop, Kyra blushes darkly. She sits up and collects herself.
Kyra smiles. “Mm which 3 girls would you pick to suck your cock?”
I smile and tap Kyra’s butt with my fingers. “Mm I’d pick Cailtin, Katrina and Kenzie.”
They smile and blush at my comment. Kenzie was up first. I blush and lay on the bed, Kenzie smirks and joins me on the bed.
Kenzie lays between my legs. Kenzie licks her lips and kisses my inner thighs. I blush darkly and bite my lip as I watch her do this.
"Mm I want your cock in my mouth." Kenzie Moans biting her lip as she checks out my length.
I smirk. "Are you gonna be a good girl and take all of it?" I question as she spits on my cock.
"I'll take all of it, be your good girl." She moaned as she slowly began to jerk me off. Spitting on my cock her spit traveled down my cock.
I bite my lip as Kenzie takes my cock in her mouth. Her mouth is so warm around the tip of my dick.
"Such a good girl." I moaned as I gripped her pony tail. I moaned as Kenzie bobbed her head.
"Mm f-fuck." I moan in pleasure.
Kenzie hums against my cock and bobs her head faster knowing the effect she had on me. Allowing my cock to slide all the way down her throat.
Kenzie chokes and gags at the sudden feeling. "F-Fuck Kenzie do that again please." I begged, feeling my eyes roll to the back of my head from the sensation.
Sweat dropped down from my forehead. Kenzie did as I pleaded, repeating what she did allowing my dick to once again slide all the way down her throat causing her to Gag again.
Her spit sputtered everywhere covering my length moving her hand to play with my balls.
The way she was playing with my balls began to make them tighten up combined with the speed she was bobbing her head.
She was pushing me closer and closer to exploding in her mouth. "Fuck Kenzie if you keep doing that I'm gonna cum buckets." I moaned as I repositioned my grip on her ponytail guiding her head up and down on my length.
I could feel my precum leaking out of my cock and into her mouth letting her know that I was getting closer to my release.
She hummed against my dick in response as well as the new taste she was experiencing as she gripped onto my thighs to further up her speed.
"Ugh f-fuck Kenzie slo...."
*throatPie*
I couldn't take it anymore. Her mouth was too good, without any warning cum came oozing into her mouth causing her to choke and gag. I kept hold of her head as she took my load swallowing it.
"Mm good swallow all of that up?" I moaned as I pushed her head slightly down making her take my full length one more time.
Releasing her head Kenzie took a deep breath to help catch her breath. Her eyes watering her face was a mess from all her spit and drool.
"Fuck Kenzie, your Face is suck a mess." I moaned as I leaned back taking in the view I was partly responsible for. Kenzie giggles and kisses me. I moan as I taste myself in her lips.
Kenzie breaks the kiss and looks up at me. Katrina giggles and moves Kenzie out of the way hungry for my cock. Kenzie and I giggle as Katrina does this.
Katrina smirks and slowly strokes my cock. “Mm Caitlin and I are gonna give you a double blowjob.”
I bite my lip and moan. “Mm wait are you waiting for then?”
I bite my lip and blush as Caitlin makes me lay on the bed, I bite my lip as Katrina and Caitlin lay between my legs. I moan as Caitlin sucks my balls and Katrina licks my dick and swirls her tongue around my tip.
"Mmm fuck." I moan.
Caitlin slips a finger in my ass and slowly fingers my ass as she sucks my balls as Katrina takes my dick in her mouth and slowly bobs her head making me a moaning mess.
"Mmm f-fuck." I moan.
Katrina locks eyes with me as she bobs her head a bit faster I moan as she sucks me off for 2 minutes and then stops. Caitlin takes my cock in her mouth and immediately starts bobbing her head as Katrina sucks my balls and fingers my ass a bit faster.
"Ugh fuck." I moan loudly in pleasure. I moan and massage my tits as they continue to team up on me and give me a double blow job.
Caitlin hums against my dick as she sees my facial expressions changed from the pleasure.
Caitlin sucks me off for another 2 minutes and then stops. I moan loudly in pleasure. It's only been 5 minutes and the urge to cum was getting stronger and stronger.
"Ugh fuck, I'm close." I moan. Katrina and the girls giggle and moan as they hear my comment.
Katrina hears this, her and Caitlin push their faces together and bite their lips and they look at me with pleading eyes begging for my load. Caitlin fingers my ass faster as Katrina strokes my cock. I moan as my balls tighten.
Cumshot/ Facial:
Caitlin and Katrina smile and giggle as ropes of warm thick cum shoot into their faces.
Cum coats their foreheads, cheeks, chins, noses and eyes. Some of the cum goes in their mouths and on their tongues. They smile and swallow my cum.
Katrina giggles and continues to slowly stroke my dick helping me ride out my high as the last of my cum oozes and spurts on their faces and tits. Katrina and Caitlin make out and lick my cum off each other's faces.
The girls moan and watch as Katrina and Caitlin make out and lick my cum off each other's faces getting every drop of cum.
“Mm we’ll count that one as the three of them sucking your cock.” Kyra says.
Synopsis: In the quiet between what was and what could have been, two souls meet again—holding onto memories that never fully fade, yet must be let go.
Warnings: angst, fluff (?), use of you
Notes: Inspired by Camila Cabello’s All These Years hence the title. I put that song on repeat so if the streams went up, sorry/welcome Camila. Again sorry for the delay and for any grammar mistakes.
It’s still framed by tall grass and crooked pines, still glinting under a lazy afternoon sun like it didn’t know how to age. It looked like it had been pressed in time, a moment sealed behind a glass, untouched by the years that had come, gone, and bruised everything else. The sky above it had the colour of overripe fruit — orange melting into wine-red, softening into dusk. It looked just like it did in the years she used to call this place home.
Manon stood at the edge of the clearing and took it in slowly, like it might vanish if she moved too fast. The wind tugged gently at her hair, carrying the same scent she remembered from summer ages ago, fresh pine, big rocks, and smoke from old bonfires. Her shoes sank slightly into the dirt in that soft, nostalgic way that made her feel rooted and lost. But it looked smaller now. More finite. Less like a whole world and more like a still frame in a film she used to star in.
The shirt she wore wasn’t special.
Just a soft, well-fitted cotton button-down in brown. The kind of brown you once told her made her skin look like earth and smoke and long August afternoons. The kind that used to make you do a double-take in summer light — earthly brown, you called it once, when you were seventeen and reckless with words. The sleeves were rolled up, precise but not perfect, just casual and effortless.
As if she hadn’t tried.
But she had. She did.
The lip gloss was the same one she used to wear when you shared earphones and cheap mint gums. Clear with a light cherry shine. She hadn’t touched it in years. Not that she couldn’t, she just didn't. Manon had told herself that it didn’t matter. Like it won’t matter as if it's a casual hang out. It was nothing.
But standing in front of the mirror minutes before she left, wind curling around her collar, she knew exactly what she looked like. Like a girl hoping to be noticed. Like she’s someone preparing to haunt and be haunted. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She hadn’t even realized how tense her shoulders had gotten until now.
Everyone else was already here — a handful of her friends, sprawled out near the fire pit like no one had grown up, like it was just another late July and someone’s mom would call them in for dinner in a few hours. Their voices were louder than she remembered, or maybe it was her that had gotten quieter over time.
And then she saw you.
You were leaned back against the tree. Your tree.
Not officially, but in her head, it had always belonged to you — the one with your initials carved so faintly they were almost invisible now. Side by side. Never in a heart. Never underlined. Just two capital letters, cut into bark by hands that didn’t yet know how permanent they could be.
You stood in the golden light like something preserved in amber.
You hadn’t changed much. Not in the way that mattered. You still carried yourself like you belonged to the background until someone looked long enough and realised you were the entire scene. Your hair is longer now. It curled at the ends, a little uneven like you’d let someone cut it on a whim and didn’t care how it turned out. There was still quietness to you, but the kind that made space instead of silence. As you still took up space without trying but in the way you looked at the lake, like you were waiting for it to say something back.
You hadn’t seen her yet.
She wasn’t ready to be seen anyway, at least not yet.
Because seeing you was like walking into a kitchen and finding candy on the counter right after you’d been told to brush your teeth. Not the kind anyone was supposed to leave out — just sitting there, sweet, obvious, and dangerous. It tempted like a trap. Something too easy to want. Too risky to reach for.
She stood there a second too long.
Then you looked up. Your eyes met hers.
You blinked once, like you didn’t trust what you were seeing.
“Meret” you said, voice low, almost reverent.
Your voice hadn't changed, maybe it had, but the shape of it in her name was still the same. She hadn’t heard it spoken aloud in a while. “Manon” had taken over everything — posters, interviews, magazine credits. Her other name swallowed who she was back then, but you said “Meret” like it belonged to you. Like it still lived in your mouth.
Then the flicker of self-correction comes.
“I mean — sorry. Manon”
The syllables felt sterile on your tongue. Like an unfamiliar coat.
She walked forward, smile barely there.
“Meret” she said quietly, like offering a secret.
Her voice was a thread, a quiet welcome. A welcome back. And when your shoulders dropped just slightly, she knew you understood. You still had permission to say her name like that, like it has always been yours to begin with.
The others were already halfway into beers and old stories. The past tossed around in laughter like nothing had changed. She smiled when it was expected. Nodded when someone clapped her on the back. She even took a drink from whatever was being passed around.
But her eyes kept finding you and yet you never looked back.
Like a compass pulling toward a storm it was tired of chasing.
You weren’t distant, just careful. Present, but not loud. You let the others fill the space with memories while you lingered at the edge of the firelight, where the shadows still knew your name. You always do that, letting others fill the silence with words cause you fill it with your presence.
She felt nineteen again.
Every time she glanced at you, she was that girl — elbow-deep in dreams, eyes full of what ifs, standing on the edge of everything, of a thousand unsaid things.
Neither of you moved. Without needing to agree, you both stood up and sneaked out of the room as you two walked to the lake.
That night the moon sat full and indifferent in the sky, watching as you sat close, shoulders brushing. The water was still and reflective.
“Sometimes I think we were something I didn’t know how to name.”
Her breath caught as she watched you.
You sat on the grass, hands around your knees.
And she knew, right then, she’d never look at someone the same way again.
The moonlight painted your skin like a memory that hadn't happened yet. You turn towards her with a smile.
Manon can’t help it. She leaned in, as her lips met yours, it felt like lighting a match in a room full of oxygen. It was brief, sharp, and it burned much more vigorously than it should’ve been. Like she knew it was final.
You kissed her back.
She remembered the taste — sun-warmed ChapStick and the ghost of a cheap gum from some dairy nearby. She remembered the press of your palm on her cheek, the way you didn’t pull her in — just let her come closer.
Like an invitation. Not a promise.
And it ended when she broke it.
You let her.
Because you always knew how to let her go before she did.
But she shook her head. “No. It’s not. I should’ve told you. I should’ve said I wanted you to ask me to stay.”
Your hand moved slightly closer to hers.
“I wouldn’t have” you admitted. “As I said, you’re meant for more than this town. And you are, you proved that.”
She looked down.
“I still looked for you,” she whispered. “In other people. In late-night train windows. In songs I wrote but can't be released.”
Then she said it, voice trembling, not with sadness, but with truth.
“I think I’ll spend the rest of my life falling a little bit in love with people who remind me of you.”
You reached for her hand and you held it.
Not tightly. Not like you wanted her to stay.
You stood as she followed.
You wrapped your arms around her — slow, deliberate, like the world had paused just long enough to let it happen.
Her head rested against your shoulder. Your breath was steady against her temple.
It didn’t last long but it lasted long enough for the both of you to understand.
When you pulled back, your smile was soft.
“Maybe we weren’t meant to be a love story or a love song” you said. “But I hope you never stop writing music like we were.”
That broke her but not enough to make her cry. Her heart cracked so quietly it didn’t echo yet it shattered just the same.
You leaned forward and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Goodbye, Meret.”
And this time, she didn’t say it back. Not because she didn’t want to but because she knew you’d already heard it, every time she had looked at you like that.
She watched you walk away — into the firelight, into the night, into the part of her that would always stay nineteen in some small, sacred place.
Wow I had fun writing this one. Sorry if the phasing feels fast or wonky, I definitely have to work more on that part. Again, I made the font small. Read all my drafts only to realised how much I like using the words "enough" and "like", so I'm sorry if that bothers you. I do hope you guys like this one :))
Synopsis: What if the quietest love was the one you carried without knowing, until it stood at your door at 2 am?
Warnings: angst (not really), fluff, use of you, mentions of a 'she'
Notes: Cherry Flavoured by The Neighbourhood and Manon’s face keeps me going when I was writing this. Sorry for the delay and for any grammar mistakes.
It’s not about fitness, not really. And it’s not about some superiority complex, though you wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking so. It’s about simplicity. Maybe predictability. The comfort of a small choice you get to make every day — one that keeps the world quiet for just a bit longer.
A minimum of twenty-four steps to the third floor. The hum of old building lights above you, a chipped handrail under your palm, your bracelet clinking softly against the metal as you climb. No neighbours brushing past you. No forced small talk. No sharp whiff of someone else’s perfume lingering too long in a small metal box.
Before 6:00 pm, the elevator becomes fair game — by then, too many people are trudging home, too tired to take the stairs, too likely to make conversation. But after that? You claim the elevator like it's yours.
Routine is a language you’ve learned to speak fluently.
Your bag hangs off one shoulder as you reach the landing, keys already in hand before your shoes hit the top step. The hallway is dim, dull, and beige. It greets you with the usual soft scent of microwaved food and fabric softener. Nothing changes here. You like it that way.
Except lately. One thing has.
She’s been here for a while now. Long enough to recognise her footsteps before you see her. Long enough to know the lilt of her voice even when it’s coming from behind a closed door. Apartment 3D. Just across the hall from yours.
Manon
You wouldn’t say you know her — not really. But she talks like she does know you. Or at least, like she wants to. She’s a familiar face from somewhere, long before she moved in, but you can’t quite place it. Honestly, you’re impressed by how nicely persistent she is about getting to know you.
You tried not to give her the wrong idea at first. You were polite and civil. Always answering, never asking. Just enough for a hello in passing. But she made herself known. Not loudly. Not forcefully. Just there. In a way that stuck.
Some days she greets you on your way out — already outside her door, fumbling with her phone, a half-eaten pastry in hand. Other days, you’ll catch her walking in at the same time you’re walking out, coffee in one hand, hair neat as always, talking to someone on her phone.
She’s bright without being loud. Friendly without being nosy. One of those people who can say, “Hey, you’re early today,” and make it sound like she’s known you for years.
Today is one of those days.
You’re halfway down the hall, sweat lightly dampening your collar from the afternoon sun, when her voice catches you.
“Early out?” she asks from her open doorway, iced drink in one hand, her phone in the other. Her feet are planted casually on the threshold, like she’s waiting for something.
You glance over. She’s leaning against the doorframe, relaxed. Worn T-shirt, loose joggers. No makeup. No pretence. Her dark hair is tied up loosely, the way someone does when they’re finally home — not hiding, just soft around the edges. She looks like an undone version of herself. Not careless, not messy — just unguarded. Like late sunlight through sheer curtains.
Beautiful, in a way that’s easy to miss if you aren’t paying attention, but you always are. Still, she’s too bright for you or maybe you’re just too used to the dark.
“Not really” you say.
“Mm” she hums, sipping through her straw. “You usually come up at what? 6:05?”
You blink, confused, and she laughs softly, waving a hand.
“Don’t worry. I’m not timing you or anything weird like that” she says. “You’re just, you know, consistent.”
You don’t answer. Just shift the keys in your hand until they click against your door. She doesn’t mind the silence — if anything, she seems to understand it.
She doesn’t say anything further, just watches you with a soft smile, biting the edge of her straw.
“Just waiting for my delivery to come, you know. Have a great night.”
You let out a breath through your nose — something almost like amusement and shut the door behind you. Inside, your apartment is still, safe, and peaceful. Dim with late-afternoon light, just the way you like it.
You then drop your bag, press your back against the closed door, and exhale fully this time.
You never told her your routine but she noticed anyway.
It’s 6:10 pm, which means the elevator is all yours.
The air in the lobby hums with late-day stillness. You step into the metal box just as the doors begin to part — slow, mechanical, familiar. The fluorescent lights flicker softly overhead, casting pale lines across the dull metal walls. It’s not beautiful, but it’s yours. A pause. A breath. A brief moment between the noise of the world and the quiet of home.
You press the button for the third floor and settle into the silence, eyes fixed ahead.
Then—
“Shit—fuck—hold on, wait!”
The voice cuts the stillness. Familiar. Breathless. Close.
You glance up just in time to catch Manon rounding the corner in a rush — her arms full to the edge, two bulging paper bags nearly splitting at the seams. Her hair’s come loose from whatever attempt was made to tie it up, strands clinging to her cheek. Her phone is awkwardly tucked between her cheek and shoulder as she fumbles for something she clearly doesn’t have a hand free for.
You don’t hesitate. You just press the “door open” button again. The metal groans in protest but halts. You step aside and wait. She stumbles into the elevator with a huff — bags tilting dangerously, keys somewhere in the mess, breath coming uneven.
“May God bless you” she breathes, somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze. “Remind me next time that two trips aren’t a suggestion. They’re a lifeline.”
Her tone is light, but her breath’s uneven. Her fingers fumble as she tries to balance everything into place. She tries to adjust her grip. One bag gives a small, foreboding fold.
You move before she does. No words spoken, just a step forward, your hand reaching out and steady. Predicting its outcome.
You take the heavier of the two bags from her arms, catching it before the bottom collapses. Your grip is careful, as if this were a routine you’ve done a hundred times before. Like it’s always been part of your muscle memory.
She freezes for a moment, caught off guard by your quiet certainty.
There’s something in her face that softens — just a bit.
“You really didn’t have to” she says but it comes out softer than it should. Less of a protest, more of a truth she’s still wrapping her arms around.
“I know” you answer, your voice low. The bag rests comfortably in your hand now.
The elevator doors glide shut in front of you. Inside, the air changes — a faint click as the floor count lights up above you, slow and methodical.
Neither of you speak for a moment.
There’s not much space between your shoulders. The lights overhead cast your shadows close together on the walls — side by side, briefly merged in passing. You look ahead. Her gaze tilts sideways — toward your hands, the curve of your wrist under the paper bag, accompanied by a familiar bracelet. A memory begins to settle in her chest, faint but warm.
“You always do this kind of thing” she says quietly, almost to herself.
You glance at her — not confused, but searching. Like the words mean more than they let on.
She doesn’t explain. Just watches the numbers change like she’s watching time go backwards.
“You did this before too” she continues, eyes forward now, lips tugging into something quieter than a smile. “I don’t think you even realised.”
Your brow knits faintly but she doesn’t elaborate. Only smiles faintly at the doors, like they’re showing her something you can’t see. Like she’s watching a film only she remembers the ending to.
The elevator dings. Third floor.
You step aside and let her go first. Her pace is slower now — not tired, just hesitant. Like she’s caught between where she is and where she was.
Outside her door, she turns. Her hands move toward the bag, and you offer it back without a word. Your fingers brush — brief, but enough. Enough to remind her.
Her voice is softer now. The kind of softness that happens when the rest of the world fades.
“Thank you” she says. “Really”
You don’t smile, not exactly. Just a quiet shift in your posture. A nod that means more than it sounds.
As you unlock your door, she doesn’t move right away.
Her keys dangle loosely in her hand. The grocery bag is still pressed against her chest, the paper warm now, a little damp where her palms have held it too tightly.
You step inside, quiet as always, and the door clicks shut behind you.
But she stays still.
The hallway hums with early evening — golden light spilling lazily across some linoleum flooring, the soft whirring sound of an overhead bulb aging into static. She shifts her grip slightly, and the texture of the paper bag catches against her fingertips.
And suddenly, it isn’t groceries she’s holding.
It's 2 am memory.
A paper cup passed into her hands by someone who didn’t ask questions. Someone who never said much, but always knew when to offer something warm.
She closes her eyes, just briefly, and lets the weight of the bag anchor her in both places at once — here, in this hallway and there, in the soft-lit kitchen of a dormitory long gone quiet.
A hallway.
A quiet kindness.
A version of you who probably didn’t even know what it meant.
But she did and she still does.
And before she even opens her door, the memory is already there — tucked neatly into her chest, like it never left.
Not the soft kind. Not the kind that gently taps on glass and whispers you home. This was the kind that roars — relentless and heavy, like it had something to prove. The streets blurred. Her eyeliner ran, her dress stuck to her knees. And by the time she staggered into the residence hall, barefoot with her heels dangling from her fingers and a buzz fading fast, she looked like she’d just crawled out of the sea.
The clock on the hallway wall blinked at her.
2:03 am.
She was supposed to sneak back in unnoticed. Just another night, just another party she left too late. No one was around. Quiet. Forgettable.
But the kitchen light was on.
She paused.
The corridor smelled like mint gum and someone’s instant noodles. Old air and academic exhaustion. That light — it meant someone was still awake.
You
Not a roommate. Not a friend. Just you. The quiet one from a few doors down. Always in the same seat, under the same flickering bulb, notebook open, pen steady. You looked like part of the furniture by now — not because you were invisible, but because you were constant.
She paused, her body dripping water onto the floor, her breath still caught in her throat. You glanced up, calmly, not startled. Not judgmental. Just a casual present.
Her voice came out smaller than intended. “Surprise downpour” she offered, her voice awkward and damp, like the rest of her.
You didn’t respond right away. You didn’t smile. Didn’t ask if she was okay — maybe because you could already tell. Instead, you stood up as your gaze softened, walked over to the tiny kitchenette and began boiling water.
She watched. Shivering, dripping, not quite sure why she hadn’t bolted back to her room yet.
You moved without fanfare — grabbed a paper cup, that kind with the soft, ridged texture that didn’t quite fold but always felt delicate in your hands. Something disposable, temporary, yet serves you right when you need it. You poured water. Mint tea. No sugar.
You handed it to her like it was nothing. Like it was obvious. Like it was routine. Like she was always meant to arrive at that hour, drenched and unspoken, and be met with kindness.
“Thanks” she whispered, fingers curling around the warmth.
You just nodded and returned to your seat. You sat back down as you returned to your notes as if she wasn’t dripping puddles beside you.
No questions. No noise. Just pen scratching your paper, sometimes twirling around your fingers. The tick of a wall clock and the soft steam curling out of her cup.
That was the first night.
But not the last.
It became a pattern.
A rhythm. She’d leave parties earlier or wander the halls under the excuse of “couldn’t sleep” or “I just needed air” but really, she started seeking the glow of the kitchen light. The soft scrape of your chair. The smell of tea steeping at ungodly hours.
You never asked why she was awake. Never asked why she was out but you always made room.
And maybe that’s what undid her.
As she — in all her mess and motion, found herself orbiting closer.
You became her checkpoint.
Her quiet sign that she was safe. That she’d made it home.
Her little lighthouse at the end of every night.
She’d started noticing things.
The way your notebook margins were always ruled in a faint colour. The way your pen hovered for a second before every sentence, like you weighed each word before it existed. How your bracelet — thin, silver, unremarkable — tapped lightly against the table every time you reached for your drink or whenever you think. That sound, soft and rhythmic, became a rhythm in her chest, becoming as familiar as her own breathing. A metronome for 2 am. She never said it out loud, but it became a comfort.
She noticed because she didn’t know where else to look. Your eyes, they were too much. They made her feel too seen. So she watched your hands instead. The way your fingers curl around paper cups. The careful way you poured, not out of formality but out of muscle memory.
Kindness, as a routine.
She told herself it wasn’t a crush.
It wasn’t. Not exactly.
It was just a silly habit.
A little ritual.
A silly comfort at 2 am.
A little comfort carved out of borrowed time.
But then came the night she found herself waiting. Not in the kitchen — but by her door. Silent. Barefoot. Holding her breath as if it might make you appear.
She didn’t even have a reason. She just hoped.
Because if you were there, then maybe things were okay. Then maybe the spinning inside her chest would slow. Then maybe she could rest — not sleep, but truly rest — just for a moment.
The first day she moved into the apartment, the air was heavy.
February heat clung to the building like a second skin. Her shirt was sticking to her back, her keys kept slipping from her fingers, and her patience — already frayed — one wrong buzz away from snapping.
She took the elevator to the third floor expecting nothing. Maybe an empty hallway accompanied with silence.
Instead—
You.
Stepping out.
Same bag over your shoulder. Same unhurried steps. Earbuds in. Neutral as always.
But older now. Sharper. Quieter. You didn’t pause. You just nodded as you passed, fingers already spinning your keys the way they used to twist your pen.
And then—
She saw it.
The bracelet.
Same silver glint. Same worn edges.
Her breath caught. Her heart stopped.
Because it wasn’t just a bracelet anymore.
It was proof.
That you were real. That the quiet presence who handed her tea without asking and taught her what stillness could feel like, wasn’t something she imagined at 2 am.
You were here.
Living across from her.
Still quiet. Still thoughtful. Still moving through the world like kindness was your default setting.
She stood frozen in the elevator as you took the stairs, a moving box digging into her hip, the texture of the cardboard suddenly indistinguishable from the paper cups you used to hand her. Rough. Familiar. Soft at the edges. But temporary.
Her chest filled slowly — not all at once. Like something long-held had been unlocked.
Because that bracelet? It wasn’t just something you wore.
It was something she remembered.
And you weren’t just someone she missed.
You were the checkpoint. Her checkpoint.
The small, steady kindness she never got to thank properly. The reason she stayed up late for no reason.
The reason she started liking tea over coffee.
And now, somehow, unbelievably — You were home again. In a new hallway, under new lights, but still you.
And her heart didn’t just flutter.
It folded.
Softly. Carefully.
Like a memory placed into a drawer you never meant to reopen. And yet found exactly where you left it.
The hallway stretches quietly around her, soft and golden with early evening light. The paper bag pressed against her chest feels heavier now—not with groceries, but with the weight of memory. She shifts slightly, fingertips grazing the rough, familiar texture of the bag. The coarse crinkle of paper echoes in her mind like the ridges of a paper cup from a long-past 2 am —warmth passed quietly between two hands in a dim dorm kitchen.
The fading light spills across the linoleum floor, casting long shadows that seem to reach toward her, folding the moment inward like a secret tucked between the walls.
Outside, the distant hum of the city blends with the gentle creak of the building settling, a symphony of small, unnoticed sounds that only the quiet can hold.
She breathes it all in, letting the memory and the present blur together—the weight of that silent kindness settling deep inside her. Her fingers loosen their grip on the bag, but her heart tightens, caught between what was and what might be.
Finally, with a soft sigh, she steps forward and unlocks her door, the cool metal key turning smoothly in the lock.
Inside, the familiar sanctuary waits, but outside something has shifted.
You begin to notice her more—not with the sudden spark of infatuation, not with the loud crash of realisation, but in the quiet, slow way that a melody lingers after the music stops, threading itself gently through the silence. It is not something planned or deliberate; it is more like a secret unravelling of routine, a soft loosening of the everyday patterns you’ve both moved through without thought—until now.
The way she greets you changes, imperceptibly at first. It’s gentler, almost amused in a way that says she remembers the conversations you once shared but chooses not to bring them up again. The subtle humour in her eyes carries a tenderness you hadn’t noticed before, like a small spark hidden in the quiet. You catch her hand sometimes, hesitating at her door handle as you pass, as if she’s weighing some unspoken thought, holding it tightly between her fingers but never daring to voice it. She never mentions that night in the elevator again. Never let the moment hang between you. Yet, sometimes—just sometimes—you catch her looking. Not glaring or staring, but with a quiet, searching gaze that feels like she’s trying to read the spaces between your words.
Maybe it’s you too. Maybe it’s how your fingers hover a little too long over the elevator buttons, like you’re waiting to hear her voice again, or maybe it’s the way your eyes drift instinctively to her door—just once, just briefly—before you unlock your own, like a secret ritual you didn’t know you’d started.
There is a shift now. A gentle tilt in the air. So faint you might miss it if you blink too fast. But it is there.
And then you begin to offer her small signs of acknowledgment—a nod when your paths cross in the hallway, a fleeting smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but softens the edges of your face. Not a broad, flashing grin, but something quieter—a slight upward pull of your lips, the shadow of a laugh that you forgot how to say aloud. The first time she catches it, Manon freezes—not in a showy or dramatic way, but in that intimate, internal pause that hearts know all too well when something impossible settles inside them. Like the Earth itself held its breath for a heartbeat, remembering a song it thought it had lost.
Because she has seen your face for months—heard your footsteps in the hall, memorised the cadence of your steps—but you’ve never looked at her like this. Not really. Not until now.
She carries that moment with her for days. Like a secret wound or a fragile hope she doesn’t dare name.
Then it happens.
A random Thursday afternoon, unremarkable in every way but for the small fracture it leaves behind.
You come home earlier than usual—just after five—and there she is, standing by the mailboxes, arms full of letters and bills she doesn’t even bother to open. The elevator doors open beside her, and you step out—not with the usual glaze over your eyes, not with your headphones blocking out the world, but with something lighter, softer—a smile.
Not for her.
For the woman beside you.
Someone new. Not a neighbour. Not the old landlady you sometimes joked about. Just a girl. Her age, maybe younger, with a laugh that spills out like sunlight, warm and easy. You hold the elevator door with a casual hand stretched across the frame, and you say something low and brief to the girl. She laughs again, tossing her head back like the sound is the sweetest thing she’s heard all day.
And Manon?
She doesn’t move.
She doesn’t blink.
Her fingers tighten their grip around the mail, the edges of paper biting into her skin. The veins on her wrist stand out, pulsing from how hard she clenches. Her breath catches in a way you cannot hear, but it feels like the world slowed down just for her.
You don’t notice her. You’re too caught up in that effortless conversation, that ease you never showed her.
The girl bumps your shoulder playfully. You laugh, quiet but genuine. And that is what breaks her.
Because it’s the same smile you gave her once, or maybe it’s softer, more open—lingering longer—and suddenly, it feels like everything mattered only to her. Like all those nights, the soft lingering gaze, the small silences in your apartment hallway—they were seconds borrowed from something bigger, moments she treasured even when you didn’t.
She doesn’t know who that girl is. She doesn’t want to know but her chest aches anyway.
The smile she thought was hers is now worn on your face for someone else.
And the cruellest truth?
It looks good on you.
God, she hates it.
Hates how much she wishes she were the reason behind that smile.
Before the elevator doors close again, before you even glance her way, before that soft-laughing stranger can see the storm breaking behind Manon’s eyes, she’s already walking away—shoes with mismatched socks, swallowed by the quiet, leaving the hallway colder than before.
The apartment is too still, too silent, as if it’s holding its breath alongside her. Her thoughts echo louder than footsteps ever could. The air feels thick—not with cold, but with everything she never said, everything she bottled up and shoved down to avoid the pain of admitting it.
By 1:37 am, she’s barefoot on the cold kitchen tiles, pressing her palms flat against the countertop, the smooth ceramic cool and unyielding beneath her hands. She hopes the cold will anchor her, but it does nothing to steady the storm inside.
Because this ache isn’t just jealousy. It’s something older, deeper—a raw hunger for something she had once and lost without realizing it. A recognition of wanting. Of needing. Of a quiet yearning that aches in the bones.
Her sweater, thin and threadbare, is pulled tightly around her—barely a shield from the chilly night air slipping in through cracked windows, but enough to hold her together, if only just. Her mismatched socks crawl up her calves like mismatched feelings, symbols of how different she feels from the person she wants to be in your eyes.
By 2:03 am, she is at your door.
No umbrella, no carefully crafted excuse. Just breath, sharp and uneven, and the soft hush of her sock feet on the linoleum hallway floor.
Her hand hovers over your door, trembling—an echo of the chaos inside her.
And then—
She knocks.
Once.
Twice.
A third time, softer, almost apologetic.
There’s a pause.
And then you answer.
Half-asleep. Your hair tousled, your eyes slow to focus, wearing that faded T-shirt you always seem to live in. But the second you see her—really see her standing there with arms crossed like a fragile shield and jaw tight with a feeling neither of you can quite name—you wake up.
“Manon?” Your voice is low. Careful. Full of questions you don’t dare say aloud. “Is everything—?”
She shakes her head once. Not as an answer, but as a permission.
“Can I come in? Just for a bit?”
You nod, stepping aside, heart beating slower than hers, but steady.
The apartment is dim and familiar. The single bulb above the stovetop hums softly, casting a pale pool of light over the counters—reminding her of that dorm kitchen, the nights filled with mint tea and silence that never quite made sense but always felt right.
You gesture toward the couch, but neither of you sits.
Instead, you move to the kitchen and put on the kettle.
When the whistle hums, you pour hot water into a mug—a ceramic mug, heavy and warm—not a paper cup tossed aside carelessly after a single sip, but something real. Something steady. Something that’s not temporary.
You hand it to her.
She holds it like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
But she doesn’t drink.
Not yet.
Finally, she speaks.
“I saw you today” her voice is low, trembling with emotion she barely keeps in check. Raw, unfiltered. “With her”
You don’t respond.
She’s not looking for answers, not yet. She just needs the words out—needs to breathe them into the quiet between you.
“I told myself it shouldn’t matter” she continues, voice breaking just a little. “We’re neighbours. Barely that. A few conversations, a handful of elevators. I don’t get to be upset.”
She swallows, gripping the mug tighter. The warmth seeps into her fingers but does nothing to quiet the tremble in her chest.
“But it did. It does. I hated how easy it was. The way you smiled for her. The way you let her in, like it was nothing—like it didn’t mean something when you held the door for me. Like I imagined the way you started looking at me.”
You hold her gaze, still, present—something soft stirring behind your eyes.
“I didn’t mean to hold on” she whispers, voice cracking. “But I did. Because you were kind. Because I remembered you. Because you gave me tea once and didn’t ask for anything in return. Because I thought maybe, maybe that meant something.”
Silence settles between you.
Then you say it, quietly but firmly:
“It did.”
The words fall like thunder into her chest, loud and deep and impossible to ignore. Similar to the first night where she saw you in the dorm kitchen.
Manon blinks, eyes wide, searching your face like she’s trying to find the proof she’s been longing for.
“I remember you” you say again. “From that night. From all those nights. The kitchen. The tea. You walked in like a storm that didn’t know it was beautiful.”
A breath escapes her—half laugh, half sob.
“I’m sorry” she whispers, voice soft and raw. “I didn’t mean to, you know, show up like this.”
“No, I—” you say, stepping closer, the space between you shrinking into silence.
The air thickens—not with tension, but with everything you left unsaid, everything you both wanted but never dared to claim.
“I didn’t know what I wanted back then” you admit quietly. “I just knew I wanted you to be okay. You never asked for anything. But I found myself waiting for you, like it was part of my routine. Like you were.”
She sets the mug down slowly, like it might shatter.
“I kept coming back to that kitchen,” she says, voice breaking. “Because I wanted someone to see me when I wasn’t pretending. I didn’t know how to ask for that. But you—” her eyes shimmer “—you just, you just offered it.”
You close the distance enough to touch her hand.
“It was never just about the tea, was it?” you murmur.
“No” she whispers back, eyes glistening. “It was always about you.”
This time, when your fingers brush, neither of you pulls away.
And in the stillness of your apartment, bathed in soft light and heavy with memories, it feels like you are living inside a moment caught between what was and what could be—fragile and fierce and achingly real.
This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning neither of you ever dared to ask for.
Honestly, this is hard to write so I'm sorry if it took me days to finish. I tried making it not so cliché since the storyline is, but hope you guys like it. I made the font small too, but if you guys prefer the regular one I can change it back. I'm not really a fluff writer so sorry if this isn't fluff enough. I'll also write more for the other members, trust.
synopsis: trying to divorce your wife has been disrupted by the sudden reveal of an evil outsider plotting on the demise of your marriage. you and sophia try navigating what you mean to each other despite nearly clawing each other apart...
pairing: (ex-ish) wife!sophia x cowgirl!reader
tags: angst, slow-burn, fluff, g!p reader (don't like, don't read), alcohol, mentions of rehab, tension, marriage troubles, cheating but also not really cheating, slight religious themes, cowboys/cowgirls, a-list-celebrity!sophia, manon, more…
wc: 7.4k
(part 1, part 2)
there’s two things sophia wants more than anything else in the world.
for thomas moore to be sent to hell and disintegrate.
for you to stop looking so hot.
now, sophia’s not one to make statements that were false, at least not if she could help it. but the way you kept cooing and tossing anna into the air, pretending to drop her. instead gracefully swinging her kid around both made her want to smack you upside the head and messily kiss you.
she couldn’t decide.
her mind was going crazy. crazy for a piece of you. maybe it was all the damning feelings coming back like an open waterfall or maybe you were so damn hot that sophia had to contain her desires.
it wasn’t like she was advertising wanting another kid. no. seriously, anna was more than enough for now.
but the way you keep flashing that million dollar smile and would make anna chase sophia. it clenched her heart too hard, and maybe even somewhere else.
and you were considerate above everything. the last couple years have been hard on both of you, eating at the love that once blossomed so unabashed, you were hers and she was yours. truly and indefinitely, until she made her biggest life regret, disappearing from your life.
a part of her still feels the guilt gnawing at her bones. trying to solidify in her soul that she’s an unworthy partner. the hurt, the turmoil, the unnecessary torment. all of it had hit sophia like a truck, nothing truly mattered more to her when the nights got cold and her heated mansion couldn’t contain the chilly feeling of loneliness.
it was painful, returning to a world where she promised herself she was going to become something, only to be squashed by none other than the evilness that permeated the industry. lara had warned her, signing to big name agency had all the glamour and networks to get you where you wanted. but you had to pay the hefty price of losing yourself in the process.
sophia doesn’t know how she can even regain that feeling of being invincible again. crushed like a roach under thomas’ snobby rich trust fund kid lifestyle.
but a little piece of her was hopeful, she kept the waves of hopelessness and misery at bay for her only daughter, born out of pure love and the desire to preserve something true to her real self.
her love for you.
and truthfully, that was all she needed, but God and his works had a way of redefining sophia and your future. and bless lara’s soul, she always stood ten toes behind sophia, they understood each other fundamentally.
lara admired the softness that was the undertone of sophia’s character. behind the sharp and obsessive want to become a well known actress was a girl who begged to play in local theatres and sing her heart to anyone who would hear. they were born from the same cloth, but held different personalities.
even when sophia let it all out one night, in her drunken stupor, bottle in hand and waterproof mascara barely holding her face together. sophia had spilled everything, how she left you behind. it was the one piece of sophia that lara could never place.
often begging sophia to tag along for double dates or nights out at the club. sophia never let anyone close enough, even with the charismatic smiles of men and women. or the more confident athletes who vied for her attention, it didn’t seem to make her eyes divert at all.
lara couldn’t tell if she was hung up on somebody or truly had let go of dating. and when questioned, her answers were elusive and dismissive at best. of course in her all too charming way too.
but one night, a particular night after several weeks of sophia’s disappearance. lara had asked the right question, and it made everything flow out of sophia.
like a confessional booth, lara sat there like a holy priest. watching and listening to sophia sob through the pain of being torn away from you.
it had offered an insight into sophia’s previous life, and despite everything, lara stuck by her side. she knew what sophia had gone through were the horror stories that people heard about online.
the pursuit of becoming a star with puppet strings bound to your hands and mouth. every word and action, monitored and controlled by another person.
with the conviction of being a fiercely loyal best friend, lara had set in stone a plan to set her best friend free.
the three phase takedown that was thomas moore’s entire career and life.
phase I:
blind item #2
This big shot director’s son is pulling daddy’s name and connection with a A+ list actress to coerce her into a divorce from her hidden spouse. and the reason? said son is securing his fortune by marrying this actress and hiding that he never went to rehab. A+ list actress has since disappeared from the starlight to settle her messy divorce, rumors of a hidden child?
it clearly wasn’t the best gossip piece sophia’s heard of herself. but it was tacky enough to garner the attention of hundreds of people online to talk.
the “anonymous” send in was led by lara pr manager and sophia’s manager. both using this as a tester for how the public would react, and it seems most were empathetic towards the mysterious actress.
and then lara started leaking photos to different gossip columns, different photos for each team. it was efficient this way, no one point to trace to, and lara was smart.
she had already utilized her PR team to deal with needy gossip columns. each leaving up to 50 voicemails asking who this mystery pairing was.
lara didn’t care if it eventually all lead back to her, as long as the effect wasn’t in vain. and as the weeks came, lara became more confident in her actions. then she started leaking some information, summarizing thomas’ hidden reality and his manipulative ways.
it almost blew up in lara and sophia’s face. thomas immediately got antsy when a tmz segment came out, dropping possible names that fit the description and he was brought up.
the tmz crew were tossing random names out, pictures were floating around the internet. and slid into the hands of tmz. lara knew he would go under soon.
and so he did, he watched the segment in horror. the second he heard his name spoken in the clip he vibrated like a chihuahua in fear. fear and anger consumed him, throwing the tablet and smashing the screen.
immediately dialing sophia’s number.
“the fuck did you do?” his voice was heavy, like a gong that hit against your ears.
“hello thomas, to what do i owe the pleasure?” sophia was sitting at brunch with lara. both girls went quiet when they saw the name flash on sophia’s phone. a reminder that he was still very present and aware of their every move.
“pleasure? there’s no pleasure in what you’re trying to do here. the blind item. you did this.” he continued to let out his venomous tone, dripping with malice and disgust. “you’re leaking everything aren’t you? you whore. of course you would, trying to ruin someone like me. i have the wo-”
“thomas, please, save the self entitled speech for someone else. you sure it wasn’t one of your supermodel bimbos?” sophia scoffed, and lara rapidly started jotting down comments on a napkin.
deflect and distract. stab at his ego. lara pointed with her pen, and sophia nodded. continuing to listen to his tyrannical venting.
“and i know its you, only you would want to ruin my hard work. it’s so clear that you’re jea-”
“you’re so full of yourself, i have no clue what you’re talking about.” sophia played her best nonchalant neutral tone as possible, pulling the acting skills to mask the anxiousness.
lara continued to nod, repeatedly pointing at the text on the napkin. underlining deflect several times.
“sophia, no one knows about me not going to rehab.” he bit out. “you’re the only one that knows, so of course you leaked it. i’m going to sue you for defam-”
“i’m going to stop you right there. you even try to sue me for defamation over something that didn’t happen, and i’ll drag you five rounds of litigation like you fought rocky.” sophia bit back, she wasn’t the best at listening to commands and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be intimidated by this fool of a man. “and you will lose.”
“you fucking bitch, after everything i did for you. you want to sue me?” the shock in his voice was evident, the anger and frustration still amped up.
“yeah, try me, i dare you. one misstep and it all comes crashing down. don’t ever call me again.”
“is that a threat?” he narrowly throws out.
“not a threat, a warning.” and with that sophia hits the red button. to say she was anxious was an understatement. she hadn’t expected him to catch up until much later. but of course his lega-no, his dad’s legal team were the top of the line. letting thomas moore jr. fail meant a disgrace on thomas moore sr.’s work and effort.
and shit, sophia did not want to deal with thomas moore sr.
“lara i feel like i’m going to puke.” sophia leaned back in her chair, trying to calm her nerves. taking a sip of her water to stabilize herself. the last thing she needed was to be seen having a meltdown in the middle of a restaurant.
“hey, come on, breathe and relax. it’s all going to be okay sophie.” lara puts her hand over sophia, calming her down in the process.
there was still this terror within sophia, one that she knew came from the constant monitoring from thomas, the fear that he could take everything away from her.
he could take you, anna, her acting. all of it could be stripped from her if she misstep or said something too bold. and even with the weariness of what he’ll do next, sophia had begged to God, prayed that whatever happened next would bring her happiness.
the rest of the meal went smoothly, lara spoke lightly of the legal team she was pulling together in the slim chance thomas went crazy and did decide to drag sophia down with him.
sophia tried stomaching the rest of her meal, a slight weight lifting off her crushed soul.
--
“hi anna, want to see something?” you had toyed with a play horse in front of anna. her grabby hands reaching for it and snatching it from you. clearly more interested in it than you.
anna made a noise of content when she began smashing the horses against each other. clearly delighted in the destruction of the horses.
you grabbed one too, slamming it into another horse, watching anna squeal out of pure happiness. a little worried that you were teaching her that violence was okay.
so instead you patiently placed the horses together, pretending they were clopping together in tandem. anna flickers her eyes between the horses and you, curiosity burning.
she had your gaze, it almost felt like looking at a mirror. and sometimes it scared you how real this all was. you had a daughter, with the same woman that stole your heart all those years ago.
and anna was everything, she was bright and funny in her toddler way. constantly trying to explore the world around her. especially the kitchen, trying her hardest to steal snacks when she could.
so here you were, sat in sophia’s large mansion, filled with decor that costed more than your entire life savings. taking care of a daughter that you wanted desperately to know and live with. and sophia let you, so you pushed.
maybe it was always easier to sleep knowing sophia was close. you didn’t have as many nightmares that woke you up from anxiety. the calmness that continued to stay as long as you stayed slept near her.
moving out of the presidential suite was easy, you had little luggage, it was more of the reality that you would be moving into sophia’s place.
temporarily of course.
both of you didn’t say it openly, but the way she kept lingering when the night talks got long, the way she continued to cook for you even if you offered.
how laundry got mixed together, and she naturally bought you a toothbrush and moved her bathroom products to one side of the counters.
she never let you stay too far either, with a big mansion you could have any bedroom, even one far away from hers but she didn’t let you. she claimed that checking on anna in the middle of the night would be easier if you were nearby. how she felt safer if you were closer.
it was a slight twist of the truth, she wanted you closer than just a bedroom away. she wanted you next to her, safely tucked under her arms. away from the evil crutches that wanted to destroy what you two “had”.
but you didn’t cross that boundary, it was better this way, close enough to know that deep down you two were still very much in love. but the safety of still having a way out if she were to completely destroy you once more.
it was a love that was resurfacing. both of you offering a way in but not swinging the door wide open.
anna continued to play throughout the afternoon, dragging you upstairs where she had her favorite books and stuffed toys. it was cute, your daughter was so cute. excitement at introducing you to all her plushies. and in the corner of her bedside table was a photo.
it was you, sophia and anna huddled together, way early on when you first learned about anna. you were busy smiling and looking at anna with adoration blooming that you didn’t even notice sophia staring fondly at you two. only anna with her wide smile facing the camera.
sophia must have set it up, a reminder that this was anna’s family. that you were sophia’s other mother.
night quickly fell, and anna had fallen asleep mid reading a book. well, more like pointing and laughing at the pictures and flipping through them repeatedly.
and with a yawn you left the room, leaving her night light on and the door slightly ajar. you spent the rest of the time waiting for sophia to get home. apparently talks had gone long in sophia’s team about how to deal with thomas.
you abhorred the man, how cruel he was to tear sophia away from you. how he used his power for evil and manipulation. it wasn’t just the conversation the morning after. it was the long nights filled with white wine and spilled feelings and fears that drove your hatred like a nail in the coffin.
the man dripped with malice. his heart turned black with a mind that churned ideas that he deserved greatness. he deserved the bows at his feet. he deserved to be revered as more than thomas moore sr’s son. and worse he believed he was never in the wrong.
each action or inaction against sophia made him revel in his power, that it was his birthright to subject people to his whims and desires. and he basked in the results, seeing sophia heartbroken and still under his clutches made him laugh with glee.
and the lack of support that sophia had, it made you so powerless. you weren’t her proud wife who didn’t take shit from everyone. you weren’t the brazen cowgirl from new mexico that had a quicker shot than anyone down south. the brash woman that would’ve taken care of thomas moore with so much as a whisper had he said something unpleasant to your wife.
you felt the shame build, from the lack of presence as a parent to anna, to the woe is me mindset that made you blind to sophia’s looming puppet master. everything grew to be too much, you internalized the feelings, not sure where to direct them but sophia still sat with you. explained each feeling of distress with calm energy and a soft hand resting atop of your shaky ones.
she wasn’t going to let you take the blame for the wrongdoings of a man that overstepped his power.
weeks gone by and you convinced yourself that it wasn’t your doing. that you didn’t shove her further into the arms of a man that had nothing but pure evil in his soul.
a sudden voice pulled you from your thoughts, sophia with tired but warm eyes coming into your view.
“hi, i’m home.” she walked in, plopping her bag on top of the kitchen counter. you hadn’t expected her, still stirring your pot of soup. adjusting the taste with a slight pinch of salt.
she smiled at how cute you looked in her pink strawberry apron. a slight mess on the counters but she could tell you were trying. smudges of random sauce on your cheeks.
she crosses the kitchen, grabbing a small towel, dabbing off the sauce and watching your goofy smile glow. you always had a penchant for sophia doing small favors for you.
“hi fia, long day?” you let her arms drop to her sides. her eyes aren’t as sharp, but she still watches you with admiration.
“yeah, legal team’s been building up a case, it’s like they’re ready for war.” sophia continues to watch you, an old habit she had when days were long on the ranch and all she wanted was your comfort.
“i’m glad they are. that piece of shit should die. now go sit, i cooked dinner for us.” you ushered her away, watching her drop into a chair, exhaustion deep set in her mind. she needed a drink and probably deep sleep at this point.
“how was anna today? give you any problems?” sophia absentmindedly start clearing the table, shuffling some mail over.
you grabbed a bowl of soup for sophia, setting it down in front of her. immediately releasing the tension from her shoulders, clearly held together with frustration and exasperation for hours on end.
“she was amazing, kept wanting to learn about horses and made me sit when she read her books.” you offered a recount of the day, the long hours spent between playing and cooking for your daughter.
sophia laughed and inquired with each particularly funny moment. it felt…domestic. perhaps a flash of a possible life that was meant to be.
you two continued to talk through dinner, spanning from discussions of you selling your ranch, and buying a ranch not too far from sophia’s place.
at most an hour drive out the city, and it reminded her how real this was all becoming.
you had made quick plans to transfer over your ranch and possessions over. it took up much of your time, traveling between the two states and a fatigue that sank into your body, but your heart had never been so open before. a frequent reminder that sophia wasn’t divorcing you out of hatred. she still deeply loved you, cared like she held herself to the vows she made to you, under God.
you vowed to try too, giving small bits of your heart again, in small gestures of light compliments. it was treading the line of affection without placing your heart on an open target.
and sophia didn’t push, she didn’t ask when conversations got hard and you shut down.
when sophia reached for you, searching for reassurance of a love that once was, you offered it the best way you could. the best way someone could offer love with a mangled past and an even more complicated factor of being parents.
cooking dinner, setting aside time for anna: all of it was a physical reminder that you cared. you wanted to work out the mess of a relationship that was yours and sophia’s.
but truly it was your and sophia’s relationship. not yours, sophia and thomas. not your, sophia and the public’s relationship. you and her with the addition of anna, your beloved daughter.
that night sophia gave you a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into her bedroom, a slight flush of the cheeks when she could tell it caught you off guard.
both of you haven’t set the record straight about your relationship. but you could tell in due time, it would all work out.
--
phase II:
it was quick and it was sudden, especially intentional to give no time for him to prepare. lara’s avenger level legal team had pulled together records, text messages, recordings, photo evidence, copies of contracts. anything and everything that was even remotely incriminating.
they threw it all on the table. and as thomas moore was lounging in his malibu mansion, a glass of wine in hand, he walked to the end of his driveway.
a sleek black suburban parked right outside his gated home. he opened the gate, excited to get his brand new car. when he realized suddenly, this wasn’t that. in fact it was the second spell of disaster for him.
“sir, are you thomas moore?” the man had a thick accent, standing roughly at 6’4 and a simple black and white suit, sunglasses pressed up against his nose bridge.
“i am, how can i help you?” the last time thomas got visited by a burly tall man, he had nearly signed away his house to get out of gambling debt, not before shoving a couple cases of cash he had withdrawn from his daddy’s bank account.
“you’ve been served.” and then he shoved a manila folder into his hand.
a sudden outrage piercing through his head.
“you’re fucking joking.” thomas ripped apart the folder, the burly man already walking away from him. driving away from the house quickly.
and with a quick read of the front paper, he immediately dialed sophia’s number.
the number you are trying to reach is unavailable.
throwing his glass against the ground, the shards all shattered on the asphalt. he couldn’t contain his anger, letting it boil over and explode out.
meanwhile, sophia was in her head, all of the moments leading up to today was grueling and tiresome. she had barely anytime to herself between magazine shoots and interviews.
and with the growing demands of the public, she felt like she was spread thin. pulled tight like a rubberband, ready to snap at one more pull. but in an instant she relaxed.
it was a small gesture. something small that had caused the collapse of all the tension held tightly in between sophia’s shoulders.
you strolled into her office, cool and a light smile on your face. and sophia relaxed instantly at the sight, you held a bag in your hand, calmly grabbing an extra chair and sitting next to her.
“hope you don’t mind me joining you.” you flashed her a warm grin as you began opening the bag. placing sandwiches onto her office table and water as well. sophia smiled at the gesture, she hadn’t eaten all day. forgotten breakfast as she rushed out the door to get more paperwork filled out.
“is this supposed to be a date?” sophia chuckled lightly, watching you unwrap her sandwich and place a small napkin by her side. and then opening your own sandwich.
“could be, would you like this to be a date?” you couldn’t help but lean in close, trying to taunt her with your eyebrows, raised and wiggling in front of her. she burst into laughter, pointing at you like the laughing stock before settling for eating her sandwich instead.
you pout a bit, wanting to hear her say yes, but instead she continues to eat her sandwich.
“fia,” you whine a bit, scooting closer to her. it’s comical how desperate you are for an answer, nudging and sliding your leg next to hers. “is this a date?”
sophia just nods, still chewing on her sandwich, watching you relax into your chair. letting out a dramatic sigh of relief before giggling out loud.
“you’re going to have to do more than sandwiches and water for this to be a serious date though.” sophia cocks one eyebrow as she watches you unveil something else from the bag.
“i knew you would say that so i prepared this for us.” and you pulled out a booklet, it was a surprise gift you were planning on giving to sophia before she left.
but now, given everything that’s transpired. you feel renewed to show her something that was crafted from you, a gift from you to her.
it was a collage book of your photos. spanning from early day photos of you two when you weren’t dating yet. hidden glances at each other and an itch to get closer together. to photos of you two at bonfires together, sophia wearing your flannel and your bracelet with her initials tied around your wrist. to the day you two got married, gorgeous smiles and warm love exuding from the photos.
at some point, sophia grabbed your hand, stopping you from explaining the next one. holding onto it as she tried not to cry, you instead turned to wipe off the tears. giving her hand a careful squeeze, and dipping down for a kiss and she continued to cry into the kiss.
she eventually wrapped her arms around your shoulders. hugging you tightly as lunch was forgotten. and as time continued, you offered her light kisses as she played with your wedding band. dipping down to kiss it gently.
--
phase III:
eventually it came out that thomas had been blackmailing sophia for his personal gain. the paparazzi swarmed his and her house like flies. each reporter trying to capture even a glimpse of the two people. and you swore you never felt as protective of sophia before.
hiding her and anna at your house while news headlines spread like wildfire. lara did her best to direct the attention to thomas, denying commenting on the scandal of the year.
and then the court hearings started. sophia was stuck in courtrooms for hours, and when things got hard you held her like she was all that mattered. offering her comfort and a listening ear when she wanted to vent.
then you got subpoenaed to the stand. thomas involvement in your and sophia’s “divorce” came to light in court. you did your best to give the best account that you could. how he showed up to your ranch, tracking sophia down and forcing her to leave with him.
the defendant tried, they really did. trying to paint your relationship as one that was already dying, that his involvement was nothing more than a mere coincidence. you nearly wanted to shout at the defense, what they were insinuating was disgusting and cruel.
the defense didn’t get the riled up and unstable account that they were hoping for. instead you stood firmly behind your words, speaking them for what they were. letting reality do its talking and reminding everyone who the true villain was.
and sophia tried not to cry in your arms when you both went home. this case was clearly affecting her more than she’d like to admit. she only hoped the jury saw the truth to her misery.
but at the end of the night, when both of you were spent from the long day at court, you held her closely, soft kisses to her forehead as she slept deeply in your arms. a reminder of how you once were who she ran to when things got hard.
and within the span of weeks, the world had lifted its weight from sophia’s shoulder. the jury had decided and the decision went in sophia’s favor. the courtroom erupted in claps as thomas’ head hung low.
sophia could be free from him and his clutches, no longer was she almost close to losing you and her acting career. and to top it all off thomas would never be able to step even near her ever again.
sophia swear she could see the world looking prettier by the end of it. waltzing out of the courtroom with her head held high and paparazzi swarming the steps outside. what people didn’t expect to see was you.
hand held firmly with sophia’s, strongly pulling her towards the car, away from the shouting crowd and bright flashes. hat tipped down and an arm blocking out from anyone was too close.
“fia, stick close to me.” you pulled her in closer, arm wrapped around hers in an attempt to protect her from the swarming hands. one nearly got to her, another almost knocked their camera in her face. so you quickly crossed the red carpet, bringing her into the big car.
the door quickly closing behind you two as flashes still tried to capture photos of you two behind tinted windows. reality is that sophia was tired. grew tired of not being able to call you hers in public, strangled by thomas’ control, and the worry of the opinions of others. but sophia was over it.
she needed the world to know that you were proudly hers, and she was proudly yours. and in the span of seconds, social media began flying out with posts about you two. everyone questioning who the mysterious cowgirl was. paparazzi was running headlines like crazy, ever the devil’s advocate.
exploring possible hidden truths of who you were and why you were close to sophia. people were swarming the internet, making comparisons of old photos of sophia and the truth started popping up.
instead you held her hand as the car rolled along the road, giving small squeezes of reassurance as sophia’s manager and media time continued to manage the spark of the scandal of the year. it didn’t matter how much sophia was the one on that was hurt throughout the unveiling of the lawsuit. there would always be vultures, excited to tear through every bit of her, from her appearance, to her character, and even what she chose to wear.
so she kept her head clear, choosing instead to keep away from the internet during this difficult time. even when her phone was definitely blowing up from acquaintances and colleagues checking in on her.
exactly 1 hour after leaving the courthouse, sophia had planned her announcement of your relationship with her,
masterfully she instead released one singular post.
two photos.
first was an old photo of you two when you first got married, cheeks wide from the joy of tying the knot.
second was a more recent photo, a photo of you two riding buckeye and honey and anna sitting in front of you. running along the water and hats sat tightly on top.
with a red heart emoji and a ring emoji, added with a caption of “with my forever cowgirl, love you to the end of time”
the post nearly broke the internet, hardcore fans speculating the identity of the mysterious woman that had made her way onto the instagram of this A list actress. comments flooded the post, people were reposting and sharing the post like it was hot potatoes. it was exhilarating and insanely redeeming to be able to freely announce the love of her life to the public.
to not live in fear of losing you, and rebuilding a relationship that stood the test of time and trust you had for each other.
--
the gentle lull of the windchimes continued to ring in the early morning. you were busy rocking anna in your arms, the young toddler had tired herself out playing with charlie all day yesterday. dedicated herself to walk all the perimeters of the ranch with charlie by her side. you laughed when anna came back with her report. a small salute from her before disappearing into the ranch house.
she looked so much like sophia, it warmed your heart. but her eyes were all yours, the familiar wild eyes that always wanted to explore, curiosity that was hard to tame.
she was going to be a tough one, if she had any of your fire or drive.
you continued to rock her, occasionally brushing the hair out of her face, the warm sunrise keeping you company. charlie was busy swishing his tail, yawning every so often.
you eventually got up, tucking her into her bed, placing a gentle kiss across her forehead. she was a heavy sleeper like sophia, had to poke and prod her until she finally would comply with the morning routine. so you let her doze off again, this time hugging her plushie tightly to her chest.
after, you descended down the stairs. pulling your boots and holster on. like clockwork charlie was waiting outside, tongue lolling out as he happily trotted next to you. he knew that anna sleeping meant it was work time.
you gave him a light pat on the side before opening the chicken coop. peering in to check for eggs and anything that looked out of place. the chickens were already clucking loudly near you, one trying to peck at your boots.
you laughed a bit, side-stepping the chicken and checking the troughs for enough feed. taking a hose to fill with water in the many pails that stood in the chicken coop.
charlie was busy chasing one chicken, he loved chasing that one. you had an inkling that he didn’t like the way it would look at him. eventually you walk away, grabbing the pail and setting it on the outside.
then a car honk got your attention. head snapping up and a smile broke out on your face. the familiar sight of the red jeep in front. you walked up to the car, pearly whites shining when you leaned into the car, windows rolled down and a hand reaching out to touch your arm.
“anything i can help you with ma’am?” you asked with amusement in your voice, taking your cowboy hat off, tilting it a bit.
“sure can, can i get my morning kiss?” she smiled as she took off her sunglasses, grabbing you with the front of your shirt, pulling you into a messy kiss.
hm, she missed you?
you smiled against the kiss, capturing her lips in yours. she pulled at your hair a bit, liking the way you kept going for me, like you couldn’t get enough from her.
you pull away, much to her disapproval.
“hi fia, good morning.” you unlock the door, taking her hand as she hopped out the jeep.
“good morning to you too, you look good.” she eyed your shirt, more fitted and tight around your torso, a gift from her from last weekend. she lightly touched the fabric with her manicured fingers, light touches dancing across your body.
“yeah? what do you like about it?” you shake your head, offering an easy smile. you lean into the car, killing the ignition and locking the car. swiftly turning around to her already waiting for you. a warm smile on her face when you opened your hand for her.
“that i bought it.”
she slides her hand into yours, giving it a light squeeze as she walks with a grin on her face.
“well all the more compliments to you then.”
you both walked up to the ranch house, hand in hand with charlie making light yips as he tried climbing on sophia’s legs. begging for pets and then eventually waiting by the ranch door. you push open and let sophia and charlie in.
a slight wait as you watched her, not knowing that she could feel your gaze on her. you close the door behind, trailing after her as she went straight to anna’s room. charlie continued to pad against the floor, deciding now was a good time to chase after his own tail.
you follow sophia into anna’s room. sophia sitting on the bed, lightly brushing the hair out of her face. adjusting the blanket and singing a lullaby to her as she tapped against her hand.
it was everything you wished for, and you were here to see it. you sat down as well, and sophia gave you a warm smile. you leaned closer, resting your head atop of sophia’s shoulders.
“tired?” she let your hands wrap around her in a tight hold. and you gave a silent nod, happy to have her so close, it felt like home.
sophia couldn’t help herself, placing a gentle kiss at your temple and leading you out the room.
“i think she’s growing up too fast.” you mention to sophia quietly, following her downstairs into the living room. she gives you an inquisitive look, urging you to continue.
“why do you say that?” she settles onto the couch, grabbing her bag and shuffling through the flaps, pulling out a manila packet from her bag.
“yesterday she told me she found old tapes of me bull riding when i was younger. told me she wanted to try it out.” you continued to stare into the ceiling, thinking about the passage of time as well as how far life has come.
“i think she looks up to you,” sophia eventually pulls out a stack of paper, setting it on the coffee table. “it’s sweet, she sees you as a superhero.”
“it’s sweet but i want her to grow up like you.”
“like me?” sophia cocked an eyebrow.
“you know, smart and ambitious.” you admit quietly, it was a growing feeling in your chest. how you wanted anna to be someone who would shine. even if it wasn’t acting, you wanted her to have sophia’s grit and perseverance.
“you don’t think you’re smart and ambitious?” sophia realized what this was about. how you always shied away from talking about your hopes and dreams, opting instead to hear her talk about it.
it made you feel small at times, a lack of direction or goal. you didn’t have this overtly grand dream, you just wanted to be with sophia, growing together and living your lives together.
“sometimes, i wish i was more ambitious.” you explain, slightly adjusting yourself on the couch. “like i wish i did more with my life.”
“do what?”
“i wish i stuck with bull riding and went nationally.” you can feel sophia’s gaze as she observes everything. the slight fidget or how your fingers tap against your buckle.
“did you forget that you almost died?” she leaned in, soft fingers that found comfort on the side of your face. a reminder that she almost lost you once, to a bull that bucked too hard at the wrong time.
almost trampling you in the process, broken and bruised ribs, fractures that ran through your ragged body. she was by your bedside every moment she had, helping you recover at the time.
“i’ll never forget that, but i still…i wish i did more.” you give a grunt and nod, sliding down the couch more, feeling the tiredness kicking in. “it was just a silly thought, don’t pay any attention to it.”
you always had a way of exiting the conversation when feelings got too strong. an exit strategy when your feelings ran deeper than you’d like to admit.
wanting to divert your attention, sophia taps your leg,
“hm?”
“i’m thinking of taking a break from acting.” she said it like she set a boulder down, weighted exhaustion released from her shoulders. like she ripped off a curse that had been casted on her.
“what? you can’t, that’s your dream.” you sat up, surprise exploding across your face. even in the end, despite sophia leaving you and your life behind the first time. you would never want her to quit her passion, you know how hard she fought for her place in the industry.
countless nights after your heart broke, maybe it was because you wanted to make sure she was still real, that you hadn’t manifested her existence.
you watched every acting part that she was in, all the movies, all the tv shows and all her interviews during the press tours. she sparkled under the limelight, acting was and still is her passion. it was clear as day, the way she had explained all her thoughts on playing these characters, her undeniable pursuit of greatness. it casted this warm glow on your heart even if she took your heart with her.
it hurt and it hurts even more to know she wants to stop acting.
“right now it’s too much of a commitment, i want to be with you and with anna.” she continues, giving you a small smile even though you heavily disagree. you want to see her shine, want her to continue to mold her talent.
“to make up for lost time.”
“you sure? you know i’ll always support whatever decision you make. but i don’t want you to have to give up acting.” she slid closer, letting her head fall just in the junction between your head and shoulders.
a gentle but somber smile on her face.
“i know you do, it’s what i love about you. but i need to do this, i’ve already done so much damage by prioritizing acting, i want to be here, right now, with you and with her. that’s all i need.” she played with your hand, particularly the wedding band that fit snugly on your finger.
“you can’t get enough of me?” you grin smugly, enjoying her lurch back, eyes rolling and gasping as she leaned away from you.
“as if…” she instead crossed her arms, letting you chuckle to yourself, sliding yourself onto her lap. head looking up to her. enjoying how she’s still unable to look at you. a hint of amusement behind her frown, and you simply let yourself rest on her lap.
her fingers start threading through your hair, a gentle massage against your scalp. a faint smell of her perfume coming close to you, you basked in the softness of her massage and light floral elements in her perfume.
“fia, i’ve been thinking about this for a while. do you want to move in with me?” you had thought about it for a while. with the current arrangement, anna always wanted to sleep over, often staying for extended periods of time on your ranch. and with that came sophia’s constant visits.
anna would be over for weeks at a time and sophia missed her daughter, and you. but that led to sophia staying over too, often falling asleep in your bed together, a reminder of a faint but distant memory of you two together.
you tried to not push her, to force both of you together again. but the familiarity of living together and the added proximity of your daughter, drove you mad. the question was begging to be released, held back by your tongue in hopes that you could quell your deeply rooted desire for her presence.
you knew that you had it bad one afternoon, anna was committed to picking up all the eggs from the coop with sophia. you watched sophia and anna together, charlie lightly licking anna’s face whenever she leaned down, high pitched squeals ringing through the air.
sophia still looked so beautiful, long flowing hair tucked in her cowboy hat, a flowy sundress that paired well with her cowboy boots. you were reminded how the smallest things made your heart beat in your ribcage.
you swear that night you didn’t leave her side once, heart happy to have her so close. you kissed her goodnight that night, an impulse that had you blushing before you fell asleep.
“i would have to sell my house.” she comments, already churning ideas in her head. “and where would i sleep?”
you knew she was toying with you, trying to get a confession out of you. you’re more than happy to provide the confession. an admission that you wanted her where she wanted you.
“with me. in our bed. obviously.” you opened one eye, watching her gaze at you intently. almost like the feelings were overwhelming her.
“hm, i’ll think about it.” she joked, letting you play petty when you turned away from her towards the tv.
sophia continued to thread her fingers through your hair as you fell asleep. a content smile on her face, kissing your forehead every so often.
things would work out, she believed that it would. she had to believe in you and her because that’s all that mattered to her. and you knew that no matter what threw at you two, you two would stand together as a unit together.
--
a/n: ...and here it is!!! i sincerely apologize that this final part took so long to get together. i had an insane amount of trouble getting the pacing, and writing a plot that would make sense while still preserving the relationship i was trying to write for this entire piece. i hope that you've enjoyed this final part, it was an absolute pleasure to write it stay safe and stay healthy everyone!
(This is a rewrite of the original gaming fit. Let me know what you guys think of it. Do you guys like the original version more? Or do you guys like this version more?)
England, Australia and Ireland are all staying in the same hotel this camp. Some of the girls from the teams decided to hang out since we have the next 3 days off to settle in.
We have been hanging out and exploring the city. Lucy, Sam and Katie have been talking about a new modern warfare game. I decided to cut them off and shut them up and spice the talk up more.
“Okay the best way to settle this is to play all three of you guys in a game and see who’s the champion.” I say.
They look at me shocked cause it’s the first thing I’ve said in 15 minutes throughout their conversation.
Lucy smirks. “Deal, I’ll destroy you…” I smile and cut her off holding my finger to her lips shutting her up.
“Shhh save it for the game.” I say.
Lucy blushes darkly as I do this. Sam and Katie giggle as I do this. I smirk, we finish eating lunch and head back to mine and Lucy’s room.
“Oh yeah I forgot to tell you guys the A/c is broken.” Lucy says.
Katie and Sam nod. “So what have you guys been doing then since the A/c is broken?” Katie asks.
“We just lounge around in our Sports bras and underwear.” I reply.
Sam and Katie nod. “Okay.” We get everything set up and start playing the game and start our little competition.
Sam and Katie lay one bed, Lucy and I lay on the other bed. I open the window to let a breeze in. I lay back down on the bed and load the game.
I mess with the settings and start the game. It was getting hot in the room. We paused the game and stripped into our boxers and sports bras.
We lay back down on the beds and continue playing the tournament. I win the first 2 games, the third game we are tied, Lucy breaks the score and ends up winning the third game.
After 6 games I give up and stop playing as Katie, Sam and Lucy continue playing the game.
I sat on the bed behind Lucy, I couldn’t help but check out her ass. I bite my lip and rub my cock over my shorts as Lucy, Katie and Sam continue playing the game.
Lucy looks in the mirror and smirks as she catches me checking out her ass. She locks eyes with me in the mirror and gives her ass a little shake.
‘Touch it baby.’ Lucy mouths to me.
I smirk, I bite my lip as I place my hand on her ass and give it a little squeeze. Lucy quietly moans, Katie and Sam look at us and smirk as they see me touching and massaging Lucy’s ass.
“Mm is this all for me baby?” I ask as I slap her ass.
Lucy giggles and moans as I spank her ass. “Mm yes all for you daddy.” Lucy giggles and moans and shakes her ass.
Lucy giggles and bites her lip as she looks back at me. Lucy moans and bites her lip as I lean down and sexily bite her ass and leave teeth marks on her ass.
"Mm I wanna taste this thick fat ass Luce. So thick just looking at it makes me hard and makes me go crazy." I moan.
Lucy giggles as she notices my massive boner. “I can tell baby. You're very hard.”
Lucy giggles and wiggles her ass. "Go ahead daddy. Make me yours."
*Lucy’s pov*
The girls and I giggle as Y/n slides off my boxers and tosses them off to the side. I bite my lip as Y/n rubs my clit, I moan as Y/n begins eating my ass.
I moan and tightly grip the sheets as Y/n eats my ass and fingers my pussy. I moan as I play the game. Fuck her rubbing my clit and eating my ass was really distracting me from the game.
I moan and look over at Katie and Sam. They both were blushing darkly and touching themselves as they watched Y/n eat my ass.
“Mm F-Fuck.” I moan in pleasure.
I moan and push my ass back against Y/n's face as she continues to eat my ass. Y/n slips in a second finer and fingers me faster than before.
"Fuck...Fuck Y/n just like that." I moan in pleasure as the urge to cum gets stronger. I moan and squirt all over Y/n's Fingers on her hand and all over the sheets.
It's only been 10 minutes and I'm already close to cumming. My legs shake and buckle a bit as Y/n continues to eat my ass and finger me.
"Y-Y/n baby I'm close." I moan in pleasure as I feel that familiar knot forming in my stomach. I moan loudly in pleasure, I can't take it anymore. I let go and cum on her face and fingers.
I moan, my legs shake and buckle as I cum. Y/n helps me ride out my high, she licks and cleans up my sticky mess.
Y/n kisses and squeezes my ass. I bite my lip and moan in pleasure as she does this, I lay on the bed and pant trying to catch my breath.
Y/n smirks, I moan and bite my lip as I watch her lick and suck my juices off her fingers. Y/n smiles and kisses me, I'm shocked at first but kiss back.
We break the kiss, once I catch my breath Y/n wastes no time and moves me back onto my stomach.
*Y/n’s Pov*
I smile, I flip Lucy over and move her back onto her stomach. I strip off my boxers and sports bra and toss them off to the side.
I join Lucy and hover over her and rub my tip through her folds. Lucy moans as I do this. "Mmm Y/n don't tease just put it in." She moans.
I look over and smirk as I see Sam eating out Katie. Katie moans and throws her head back as Sam spits on her pussy and continues to devour it I giggle as I see Katie’s legs shake and buckle in pleasure as Sam eats her pussy.
I giggle at her comment and slowly slide my cock inside her. I moan as her walls immediately clench around Me. Lucy moans as she takes all 11 inches deep inside her.
"Mm fuck, you're really deep in there." Lucy moans.
"Mm so wet and warm." I moan in pleasure.
By now we turned off the game cause we got really horny. Lucy takes a moment to adjust to my size. "M-Move."
I move her hair to the side and lean down. I kiss her neck. Lucy moans as I slowly thrust in and out of her. I kiss her neck and slowly thrust in and out of her.
Lucy moans and grips the sheets tightly as I slowly thrust in and out of her tight wet pussy.
"Gah fuck, right there." Lucy moans.
I moan and thrust in and out of her a bit faster. My balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room. I moan and go faster and faster.
"F-Fuck it feels so good." Lucy cries out in pleasure.
"Fuck Lucy you have amazing grip." I moan.
"F-Faster... fill me... up." Lucy squeaks out with each thrust.
I thrust into her faster and harder than before. "Fuck yes! Right there! Right there!" Lucy screams in pleasure.
I moan in pleasure as I feel myself getting closer to cumming. "L-Lucy babe I'm gonna cum." I moan in pleasure.
"Y-Yes, fill me up daddy." Lucy moans in pleasure.
I grab Lucy's hair and pull it. Lucy moans and gasps as I pull her hair, I smirk and tilt her head back, I slap her cheek and gently choke her. I spit on her face and spit in her mouth.
Lucy moans and swallows my spit. I moan loudly in pleasure and continue to bottom out In her pussy.
"Fuck baby your grip is amazing. Ugh I don't think I can last much longer." I moan.
Lucy giggles and moans. "Let go babe. You've earned this, relax and cum you deserve a release." Lucy moans.
I moan in pleasure. I place kisses on her backs. I moan as I feel myself getting closer and closer to Cumming.
My breathing gets heavier letting Lucy know that I'm about to bust my load inside her.
"Yes cum in me, cum in me." Lucy moans.
I moan as my balls tighten. Lucy moans and cums all over my dick, Lucy cumming sends me over the edge. After one last thrust I cum.
*Lucy’s 1st Creampie*
I can't take it anymore, cum shoots out of my dick and fills up Lucy's entrance filling her up to the brim. We both moan as I slowly thrust in and out of her helping us ride out our highs.
"Mmm fuck. There's so Much." Lucy moans.
The last of my cum oozes and spurts inside her and paints her walls white. I moan and slowly pull out of her. Cum glazes her folds, Lucy moans as my cum oozes out of her.
Cum drips down her folds and oozes onto the sheets. I smile and spank her ass. "Fuck." I giggled. "I filled you to the brim." I say.
Lucy giggles and flips us around as I sit on the bed.
Lucy giggles and bites her lip. "Oh we're not even close to being done daddy we're just getting started." I giggle at her comment and kiss her.
Lucy giggles and kisses me. I giggle as Sam immediately joins me on the bed and makes me lay back on the bed.
“Mm can I suck your cock?” Sam asks, moaning as she checks out my length.
“If that's what you want to do baby I wouldn't stop you." I giggled.
“Just want to feel your cock in my mouth." She smiled as she shuffled her way between my legs sorting out her pointy tail for me to hold onto.
“Are you going to be a good girl and take it all?" I questioned as she spat on my dick.
“I'll take all of it, be your good girl." She moaned as she began to slowly jerk me off, spitting on my tip as her spit traveled down my length.
Slowly Sam lowered her head and began to give me head. Her mouth is so warm around the tip of my dick.
"Such a good girl." I moaned as I grip her ponytail just like she wanted me too.
She began to bob her head faster, knowing the effect she had on me, allowing my dick to slide all the way down her throat. Sam chokes and gags at the sudden feeling.
"Fuck Sam, do that again please." I begged, feeling my eyes roll to the back of my head from the sensation.
Sweat dripped down my forehead.
Sam did as I pleaded, repeating what she did, swallowing my dick to once again slide all the way down her throat causing her to gag again.
Her spit spluttering everywhere covering my length moving her hand to play with my balls. The way she was playing with my balls began to make them tighten up.
Combined with the speed she was bobbing her head, she was pushing me closer and closer to exploding in her mouth.
"Fuck Sam, if you keep doing that I'm gonna cum buckets." I moaned as I repositioned my grip on her ponytail guiding her head up and down on my length.
I could feel precum leaking out of my dick and into her mouth telling her that I was getting closer to my release.
She hummed against my dick in response as well as the new taste she was experiencing as she gripped onto my thighs to further up her speed.
"Uuuhh F-Fuck Sam S-Slo...."
Throat pie:
I couldn't take it anymore. Her mouth was too good, without any warning cum came oozing into her mouth causing her to choke and gag.
I kept hold of her head as she took my load, swallowing it all.
"Good slut. Swallow all of that up." I moaned as I pushed her head slightly down making her take my full length one more time.
Releasing her head, Sam took a deep breath to help catch her breath. Her eyes watering, her face was a mess from all her spit and drool.
"Fuck baby, your face is such a mess." I moaned as I leaned back taking in the view I was partly responsible for.
"You like my face being a mess?" Sam smirked.
“I love it. Hehe shows how much of a slut you are for cock.” I giggle.
Sam giggles at my comment and kisses me. I moan in the kiss as I taste myself on her lips.
“Mm my turn.” Katie says.
I giggle at Katie’s comment. “Okay.” I say.
I moan as Katie spits on my cock and slowly strokes my cock. “Mm f-fuck.” I moan in pleasure.
Katie takes my length in her mouth and slowly bobs her head. She continues to bob her head slowly looking into my eyes. I moaned and placed my hand on the back of her head as she kept sucking going a bit faster.
"Fuck Katie your mouth feels so good." I moaned as I leaned my head back onto the headboard.
She swirls her tongue around my tip as she keeps sucking, playing with my balls with her other hand.
"Mmm fuck, Katie you really know how to give head." I moaned. She let my dick pop out of her mouth as she kissed my inner thigh with a smile.
"I know." She whispered as she took my dick back in her mouth immediately deep throating me, causing me to become a moaning mess.
She looked into my eyes as she hummed against my dick seeing the reaction she was getting from me.
"I'm going to cum buckets if you keep doing that baby." I moan and close my eyes.
I gripped the sheets with one hand. The other hand on the back of Katie’s head as she was making me closer and closer to cumming. My balls tighten as my dick hits the back of her throat.
"Fuck Katie I...."
Throatpie 2:
I moan gripping Katie’s hair pushing her head further down on my cock as I explode inside her mouth. Sweat dripped down my forehead, my legs buckled and began to shake. Katie lifts her head up, swallowing my load.
I bite my lip and moan as Katie sucks me dry. My dick falls limp from her mouth, Katie smiles and licks my dick getting every last drop.
I giggle. "Fuck baby you sucked me dry and got every single drop."
Katie cutely giggles and kisses me. I moan in the kiss as I taste myself on her lips.
"You taste like heaven babe." Katie says.
Lucy giggles and moves Katie out of the way impatiently. “It's my turn now baby. I wanna suck this cock.” Lucy says.
Lucy bites her lip and strokes my cock. “Mm so big and hard for us.” Lucy moans as she checks out my length.
“Mm yes, you guys are really attractive.” I moan as Lucy strokes my cock.
Lucy giggles and strokes my cock faster. I moan in pleasure as she does this, once I’m hard Lucy takes me in her mouth and slowly bobs her head.
"Mmm fuck." I moan.
Lucy hums against my dick and bobs her head a bit faster as she starts playing with my balls. I moan in pleasure and run my fingers through her hair.
"Mmm shit." I moan.
The tip of my dick hits the back of her throat, I moan and hold her hair up in a ponytail as she continues to give me head.
"F-Fuck." I moan as she bobs her head faster. "Fuck Lucy, just like that." I moan.
Lucy sucks the soul out of my dick and bobs her head faster and massages my balls, I moan in pleasure as I feel myself getting closer to cumming.
"Luce baby, I'm close." I moan in pleasure.
Lucy continues to give me head, I moan as I feel my balls tighten.
Throat pie 3:
I can't take it anymore, I bust my load in her mouth. Lucy chokes and gags a bit as I cum in her mouth, Lucy swallows my load and sucks me dry.
Lucy collects every last of my cum. My dick falls from her mouth, Lucy smiles and shows me a mouth full of cum. Some of my cum drips down her chin.
I smile and rub her chin. "Swallow my cum baby."
Lucy smiles and swallows my cum. "Mmm daddy you taste good." Lucy says.
I smirk and look at Katie and Sam. “Lose your clothes. We are only getting started.”
They giggle and blush darkly and quickly strip their clothes. I giggle as they quickly strip their clothes, eager for my cock.
I smile and grab Katie’s hand and lead her to the couch. I smile and set her on the couch. Katie giggles as I sit her on the arm rest of the couch. Katie lays back on the couch her legs up in the air.
“You ready baby?” I ask as I tease her clit with my tip.
“Y-Yes baby hurry up. Stop teasing.” She said full of pleasure I was sending through her body.
I didn’t tease her for much longer as I spat onto her pussy and slide my cock inside her tight pussy. We both moan as she takes my cock deep inside her.
I moan and wrap my arm around her thighs and hold them. I moan as her walls clench around me.
“Mm fuck Katie, you’re so tight and wet.” I moan.
Katie’s breath hitches as I begin to thrust in and out of her I moan, I grip her ass with my spare hand as I thrust in and out of her.
Katie moans in pleasure. “Fuck babe. You feel amazing.” Katie moans.
Sam smiles and massages Katie’s tits as she watches me fuck Katie.
I smile and moan. “I can make you feel better.” I moan as I hold her thighs, I grip her ass and pull her closer to me allowing me to go deeper inside her pussy.
I moan and kiss her thighs as I thrust in and out of her even faster.
“Fuck Y/n this feels so good please keep going. Keep fucking me like the slut I am.” Katie yelled in pleasure sweat dripping from her forehead.
Her body fidgeting giving me the sense she was getting close to cumming.
“Oh Katie you’re fucking amazing. Mm you feel so good.” I moaned as I grip her ass and kiss her thighs. I moan and kept going speeding up my thrusts seeing the effect I was sending Katie through.
Her tits bouncing around as she throws her head from side to side.
“I’m going to cum. Please keep going.”
She moans loudly. “Mm fuck your slamming it so deep inside me.” Katie moans.
I smile and continue to bottom out in the Ireland captains pussy. “Mm y-yes breed my pussy.” Katie moans.
I moan and thrust faster and harder. “Who owns this pussy?” I moan.
“You own this pussy!” Katie screams in pleasure. Katie moans in pleasure and cums all over my cock.
I moan as my balls tighten. I hold onto her thighs and kiss her thighs. I let go of her ass and rub her clit with my thumb. I giggle and smile as Katie’s legs shake in pleasure, Katie’s moans grow louder.
“Fuck I’m gonna squirt!” Katie shouts in pleasure.
I moan and rub her clit with my thumb faster. Katie screams in pleasure and squirts all over my balls, cock, the arm of the couch, on my thighs and on the floor leaving behind a mess.
I moan as my precum leaks inside her. Katie moans and smiles. “Come on I feel it.” Katie moans. “Pour your load deep inside me.” Katie moans.
I moan, her words pushing me over the edge.
*Katie’s 1st Creampie*
I didn’t have time to warn Katie as Cum oozes and spurts deep Inside her painting her wall white and filling her up.
“I’m cumming Katie, mm fuck I’m filling you up.” I moaned as cum continues to ooze and spurt inside her.
I moan, I finish unloading my seed inside her and slowly pull out of her. We both moan and sigh at the same time from the pleasure.
Katie moans as our mixed cum drips and oozes out of her and drips down her folds and onto the arm rest and onto the ground.
“Mm fuck.” Katie moans.
I giggle, I lean down and kiss her. Katie smiles against my lips and kisses back. Sam giggles and kisses Katie. Katie smiles and kisses back, I smile as I watch them make out with each other for a little while.
They break the kiss. I smile and look at Sam and kiss her, Sam smiles against my lips and kisses back.
“Lay on the bed baby.” I say.
Sam Lays on the bed and lays on her back, she spreads her legs apart and hangs them off the bed. I smile, I put one of my legs between her thighs.
I bend my knee a bit and rest my leg on the bed next to her ass. Sam throws her leg and foot over my shoulder and places her hand on my thigh.
I place my hand on her leg. I spit on her pussy and slowly stroke my cock, once I’m hard I slowly slide my cock inside her tight wet pussy.
I moan as her walls clench around me. Sam gasps and moans as she takes my cock deep inside her.
“Mm fuck.” I moan.
“Ugh you’re really deep in there.” Sam moans in pleasure.
I giggle and moan. “Mm you’re so wet and warm.” I moan.
Sam moans and takes a moment to adjust to my size. “M-Move.” Sam moans.
Sam moans as I massage her tits and slowly thrust in and out of her. I grip her leg a bit.
“Mm fuck.” I moan in pleasure.
We both moan as I slowly thrust in and out of her dripping wet pussy. “F-Fuck you’re so tight baby.” I moan.
“Mm all for you baby.” Sam moans as she turns her head and kisses me. I’m shocked at first but immediately start kissing back.
We both moan in the kiss, my balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room.
Sam breaks the kiss and moans. “Fuck.. Ah you’re stretching me so good.” Sam moans.
Once I knew Sam was used to my size I pick up the pace and thrust in and out of her faster. Sam moans loudly in pleasure and grips my thigh.
I moan and grip her ass with my spare hand forcing a moan out of Sam’s mouth. We both moan in pleasure as I thrust in and out of her faster.
Sam screams in pleasure as I go at an angle and pound her g spot. “Fuck I’m gonna squirt!” Sam screams in pleasure.
I bite my lip, I moan as I continue to bottom out in her pussy. Sam gasps and moans in pleasure as I rub and tease her clit.
Sam moans loudly in pleasure and squirts all over my cock, thigh and all over the sheets. I moan in pleasure as the urge to cum gets stronger.
“Oh my god…please don’t stop.” Sam moans. “Uh fuck I’m gonna cum.” Sam moans in pleasure.
I smile and kiss her thigh and calf. “Let go baby.” I whisper, I kiss and suck on her thigh leaving a few hickys.
Sam moans as I do this. “Let go baby. Let go and cum.” I whisper.
We both moan loudly in pleasure as I thrust in and out of her faster and faster. Sam gasps and moans in pleasure as I rub and tease her clit.
Sam moans loudly in pleasure I giggle and moan as Sam squeezes my thigh. Sam smiles and bites her lip as she feels my precum ooze inside her.
“Mm I can feel you throbbing. Are you gonna cum? Do it, cum in my daddy.” Sam moans.
Sam moans and cums. Sam cumming sends me over the edge.
*Sam’s 1st Creampie*
I couldn’t take it anymore. I moan and let go, cum oozes out of my dick filling up Sam’s pussy filling her to the brim.
We both moan as I slowly thrust in and out of her helping us ride out our highs as I unload the last of my seed inside her.
Sam giggles and moans as I spank her ass and squeeze it. We both moan as I slowly pull out of her. Cum leaks out of her pussy and onto the bed sheets.
“Fuck Sam, you’ve made such a mess all over my thigh and the sheets.” I giggle.
“Mm sorry daddy.” Sam moans as she rubs her clit admiring the sticky mess I left behind in her pussy.
“Mm that’s a lot of cum just for me.” Sam smiles and moans.
I giggle at her comment and kiss her. Sam smiles against my lips and kisses back.
“Mm that was so good.” Sam moans.
I smile and peck her lips. “Yes it was.” I smile.
Lucy smiles and pushes me back onto the bed. Lucy straddles me. We both moan as Lucy guides my length inside her.
I moan and place my hands on her ass. Lucy smiled and kissed me, we both moaned in the kiss as Lucy slowly twerked on my dick.
Lucy breaks the kiss, she rests her head gassing mine. She moans from the friction and twerks a bit faster.
"Ugh f-fuck." I moan in pleasure.
Lucy moans and continues to twerk on my dick. I moan and spank and squeeze her ass. Lucy giggles and moans as I do this, Lucy moans and continues to twerk on my dick.
I bit my lip, I could feel how wet she was as her pussy swallowed me up perfectly. We both moan Lucy goes a bit faster.
"F-Fuck Lucy." I moan and lay my head on the pillow behind me.
Lucy and the girls giggle at my comment. "Mm fuck feels so good." Lucy moans.
I smile and bite my lip as I feel her juices on my dick. Fuck the urge to cum was getting stronger and it's only been 10 minutes.
Lucy giggles and moans as she feels my cock throbbing and my precum leak inside her and drips down her folds.
Lucy smiles. "Someone close?" She teases.
I moan in pleasure. "Ugh I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fill you up Lucy." I moan and squeeze her ass.
Lucy giggles and moans. Lucy moans in pleasure and twerks in my dick going faster and faster than before. We both moan in pleasure Lucy moans and cums.
*Lucy’s 2nd Creampie*
I moan and let go. Cum shoots out of my cock and fills up Lucy’s entrance filling her up to the brim. Lucy gasps and moans as I paint her walls white.
Lucy moans and slowly twerks on my dick collecting the last of my cum inside her pussy.
I bite my lip as some of my cum oozes out of her and drips down my cock. Lucy moans and slowly slides off my cock. Lucy moans as my cum immediately oozes out of her.
Cum drips down her folds and thighs and drips onto my abs, thighs, cock and all over the sheets. I giggle and spank her ass. Lucy giggles and moans as I spank her ass.
Lucy moans and lays on the bed panting and trying to catch her breath as my cum continues to ooze out of her. I smile and kiss her lips, Lucy smiles against my lips and kisses back.
Katie smiles and gently grabs my hand. I look at Katie. Katie smiles and makes her way over to the window/ sliding door leading to the balcony.
"I want you to have my pussy baby, pushing me up against the window under the sunlight." Katie requested extremely turned on and craving more.
"Are you sure? People might see." I say biting my lip as I check out her ass in front of me.
"Then why don't we put on a show for them." Katie giggled in response getting in position.
"If you say so." I giggled.
The girl knew what she wanted and all I had to do was give it to her. Getting off the bed, I made my way over to Katie. Her tits up against the window, I kiss around her neck and her back teasing her soaking wet folds with my tip.
I insert my length inside of her, she gasped a the sudden full feeling. Her legs buckled slightly as she stabilized herself standing as she began to lean forward and backwards riding my dick as she stayed pinned against the window.
"Fuck baby you like the risk of people seeing you?" I moaned, gripping slightly at her ponytail, pulling her hair so she was looking at me.
"Fuck baby I love it so much, love the way you'rere having me against the window." She moaned.
I begin to speed up my thrusts, moving her hands against the window so she could hold herself up, her entire body now pressed against the window.
Giving anyone who walked past the window an amazing view. The sight of Katie’s ass bouncing began to push me to the edge slightly, my balls getting closer and closer to releasing a load of cum.
"I'm getting close baby, are you going to be a good girl and be ready for my load?" I grunted, gripping her ass tightly.
"Yes baby, I'm going to be such a good girl. Give me all that cum, fill me up like the slut I am." She yelled clearly being turned on all the more by the thought of me filling her up.
Her pussy felt like heaven, tightly gripped around my dick. Her grip is only getting tighter.
"Fuck Kate I-I'm....."
*Katie’s 2nd Creampie*
I couldn't take her tight grip anymore. My hands pushed her against the window as I filled her pussy up with my white sticky cum.
"Oh my fucking god Katie, you're filled to the brim." I moaned as I looked at the mess I had left behind inside her. Some cum slowly dripping out, down her leg and onto the carpet.
"Fuck Y/n, look at the imprint of my body on the window." She laughed, her hair a mess from me pulling it.
I looked at the window laughing to myself.
"Fuck baby, would have loved to see your boobs pressed up against the window from the other side." I moaned, pulling her into me, gripping her ass. I smile and kiss her, Katie giggles and kisses back.
I look at Sam and smile, I lay on the bed. Sam smiles and joins me on the bed. I lay her on top of me, her back to my tits.
I spread her legs with mine. I smirk as she's now in reverse cowgirl. Sam moans and shudders as I rub her clit with my dick. "Mmm fuck." She moans. I smirk as her legs shake and buckle in pleasure as I do this.
"Put it in. Put it in daddy." Sam cutely begs.
"Mmm yeah slut? You want daddy's dick inside you?" I ask, teasing her.
"Mmm fuck please daddy, Ive been such a good girl. I'm such a slut for your dick and cum. Please, I want more." Sam says.
I smirk and grant her wish. I slide my dick inside her, Sam moans as she takes my 11 inches deep inside her. I moan as her walls immediately clench around me.
Sam moans and leans back against me as my dick is back inside her cum filled pussy. I place my hands on her hips, I spread her legs a bit more with mine and slowly thrust up into her pussy.
"Mmm fuck, right there. Ugh just like that." Sam moans.
I moan in pleasure and thrust up into her faster. My balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room, fuck her pussy felt so good. She had an amazing grip, her pussy felt like heaven. Mmm so Wet and warm.
"Fuck baby you're so tight and warm." I moan.
I thrust up into her faster and harder. Sam screams in pleasure and grips the sheets, I make her look at me and make out with her. We both moan in the kiss as I continue to bottom out in her pussy.
We break the kiss, we rest our heads against each other's. "Feels so good, you're not pulling out babe, you're not pulling out until you cum in me." Sam moans.
I smirk. "Yeah slut? You want more, such a naughty girl."
We both moan as I thrust up into her pussy faster and harder. "Fuck, I'm gonna squirt!" Sam screams in pleasure.
I smirk, I slap and tease her clit. Sam moans and shudders as I do this, Sam, moans loudly in pleasure and squirts.
I smirk as I feel some of her juices go on my thigh. She squirts on the blankets and sheets.
We both moan, I continue to thrust up into her faster and harder. I moan as I feel myself getting closer to cumming.
"S-Sam baby I'm close." I moan.
"Me too. Don't stop, don't stop." Sam moans.
My balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room. I rub her clit with my thumb at a fast pace.
My breathing gets heavier letting Sam know that I was close to cumming.
"Yes cum in me, cum in me." Sam moans.
I moan loudly In pleasure as I feel that all too familiar feeling in my balls.
*Sam’s 2nd Creampie*
I can't take it anymore, I thrust up into her and bust my load deep inside her. Sam moans and cums all over my dick. We both moan as cum oozes and spurts inside her painting her walls white.
I slowly thrust up into Sam. I helped Sam ride out her high. I slowly thrust up into her as the last of my cum oozes and spurts inside her.
I moan and slowly pull out of her, my dick falls limp. Cum immediately pours out of her. Cum coats her folds and drips onto the blankets and sheets.
I smile and kiss her. Sam smiles against my lips and kisses back. Lucy lays on the bed, she lays on her back. Lucy props herself up on her elbow and lifts her upper body a bit.
Lucy keeps her legs straight but spreads them a bit.I join Lucy on the bed, I hover over her and slowly slide my cock inside her.
We both moan as her pussy swallows me up, I moan and slightly grip the sheets as Lucy’s walls clench around me as she takes me deep inside her.
I smile, I hover over her out tits touching. I lean in and kiss her neck as I slowly thrust in and out of her.
“Mm fuck.” Lucy moans as I thrust in and out of her pussy slowly.
I moan and suck on her neck leaving hickys. “Faster daddy faster.” Lucy moans.
“Fuck my pussy.” Lucy moans.
I moan, I hide my face in her neck as I thrust into and out of her faster. “Mm f-fuck, you’re so deep inside me.” Lucy moans.
“Mm so wet and warm.” I moan in pleasure.
I moan against her neck and kiss her neck as I thrust into her faster. Lucy screams in pleasure and grips the sheets tightly.
“Gah fuck, right there.” Lucy moans loudly in pleasure.
I moan and thrust into her faster and faster. “Oh my god!… please don’t stop.” Lucy cries out in pleasure.
“Ugh fuck.” I moan. “So fucking good.” I cry out in pleasure as I continue to stretch out her wet warm pussy.
I moan my balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room.
I moan and go even faster. “Mm f-fuck, yes you’re stretching my pussy so good.” Lucy cutely moans and shudders in pleasure.
“Fuck baby, your grip is amazing.” I moan.
“F-Faster… fill me…. up.” Lucy squeaks out with each thrust.
I moan, I lean down and kiss her. We both moan in the kiss as I thrust into her faster and harder. Lucy breaks the kiss and rests her head against mine.
“Fuck yes! Right there right there!” Lucy screams in pleasure.
I moan in pleasure as the urge to cum gets stronger. “L-Lucy baby… I’m gonna cum.” I moan in pleasure.
“Cum in me daddy.” Lucy moans.
I moan, I make her look at me. I Gently slap her cheek and gently choke her. Lucy moans and smiles as I spit on her face and in her mouth.
Lucy moans and swallows my spit. We both moan as I continue to bottom out in her wet pussy.
“Mm fuck. I don’t think I can last much longer.” I moan.
Lucy giggles and moans. “Cum in Me. Fill up this pussy, I know you want to.” Lucy moans. “Fill me up…. Plant your seed deep inside me.” Lucy giggles.
“Claim my pussy.” Lucy says seductively moaning in pleasure.
I moan and kiss her neck. I moan as my balls tighten. Lucy moans and cums all over my cock.
*Lucy’s 3rd creampie*
I can’t take it anymore, cum shoots out of my cock and fills up Lucy’s entrance filling her up to the brim. We both moan as I slowly thrust in and out of her helping us ride out our highs.
The last of my cum oozes and spurts Inside her and paint her walls white. I moan and slowly pull out of her. Cum glazes her folds, Lucy moans as my cum oozes out of her.
Cum drips down her folds and drips and oozes onto the sheets. I smile and rub her clit.
“Mm hehe I filled you up so well.” I say.
Lucy giggles and moans as I rub her clit. Lucy smiles and bites her lip as she watches my cum ooze and drip out of her.
“Mm fuck.. creampies are the best.” Lucy smiles as she rubs her folds.
I giggle and kiss her. Lucy smiles against my lips and kisses back. “Mm you're so good in bed bronze.”
Lucy giggles at my comment. “Mm, so are you babe.”
Next up was Katie. Katie Lays on the bed and lays on her side. Katie smiles and holds her head up with her hand. Katie bites her lip and slightly massages her tits and bends her legs slightly.
I smile, I bite my lip and move behind her. We both moan as I slowly slide my cock inside her. Katie moans as she takes my cock deep inside her.
Katie moans and takes a moment to adjust to my size. “M-Move.” Katie moans.
We both moan as I slowly thrust in and out of her. “Mm fuck your so big.” Katie moans. “Mm you’re throbbing so much inside of me.” She moans. “Mm so deep inside me.” Katie moans loudly in pleasure.
I moan and massage her tit as I continues to thrust in and out of her. My balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room.
I smile, I lean down and kiss her. Katie smirks against my lips and kisses back. I break the kiss and grip her ass and massage her tit rougher as I thrust in and out of her faster.
“Mm f-fuck you’re stretching my pussy so good.” Katie moans in pleasure.
“Mm fuck Katie.” I moan. “So tight and wet.” I moan in pleasure.
I moan and thrust into Katie faster and harder. “Ugh fuck! Yes just like that.” Katie screams in pleasure as I continue to thrust in and out of her.
I moan and grip her ass a bit rougher as I continue to thrust in and out of her faster and faster.
*Katie’s Pov*
I moan as Y/n thrusts in and out of me faster and faster. We both moan as her balls slap against my skin as our moans fill her room.
Fuck she was so deep inside me, I smile and moan as I feel her massive cock throbbing inside me.
“Mm I’m feeling a lot of throbbing in there.” I moan.
Y/n moans and continues to thrust in and out of me. I moan in pleasure, my tits bounce around as Y/n continues to pound my pussy.
I smile and moan as Y/n grips my ass and massages my tits a bit rougher. I giggle as Y/n cutely moans in pleasure, my legs shake and buckle in pleasure.
I moan as my walls clench around her cock. It’s only been 20 minutes and I was already about to cum.
“Mm f-fuck.” Y/n moans.
I smile and bite my lip as her precum oozes inside me letting me know she was close to cumming inside me.
“Come on baby. I feel it.” I moan. “Give it to me, pour load deep inside my pussy.” I moan.
Y/n moans and locks eyes with me. “F-Fuck your pussy is so good.” Y/n moans in pleasure.
I gasp and moan loudly in Pleasure as Y/n goes at an angle and begins to pound my g spot as she continues to stretch out my pussy.
“Y/n….oh fuck I’m gonna squirt!” I shout in pleasure.
I moan loudly in pleasure and squirt. I squirt all over the sheets, Y/n’s cock and on her thighs.
I moan as I feel that familiar knot forming in my stomach. “Y/n….Ugh shit, I’m gonna cum.” I moan in pleasure.
I can’t take it anymore, I let go and cum all over Y/n’s cock. Me cumming sends Y/n over the edge.
*Y/n’s Pov*
Katie moans in pleasure as I go at an angle and pound her g spot as I continue to stretch out her pussy.
“Y/n…oh fuck. I’m gonna squirt!” Katie screams in pleasure.
Katie moans loudly in pleasure and squirts all over the sheets, on my cock and on my thighs.
I moan as the urge to cum gets stronger. “Katie…..Ugh shit. I’m gonna cum.” I moan in pleasure.
Katie moans and cums all over my cock. I moan as my balls tighten.
*Katie’s 3rd Creampie*
I can’t take it anymore, I slam my cock deep inside her and bust my load deep inside her. We both moan in pleasure as I slowly thrust in and out of her.
“Mm fuck, so much Cum.” Katie moans. “Mm you’re filling me up so much.” She moans and smiles.
We both moan as I slowly thrust in and out of her as I unload my seed inside her.
“Mm give me all of your seed.” Katie moans.
I smile, we both moan as I slowly thrust in and out of her slowly as I ride out my high the last of my cum oozes and spurting inside her pussy filling her up to the brim.
We both moan as I slowly pull out of her. “Mm fuck Katie.” I giggle and moan. “I filled you up so much.” I moan as I grip her ass and spread her ass cheeks admiring the sticky mess I left behind inside her.
Katie moans as our mixed cum oozes and drips out of her and drips and oozes onto the sheets. I smile, I lean in and kiss her. Katie smiles against my lips and kisses back.
“Mm I feel so full.” Katie moans.
I giggle and slap her ass. Katie giggles and moans and I slap her ass. I smile as Sam moves onto the bed and gets on all fours. I smile and move over to Sam. I giggle and spank her ass, Sam moans and jumps as I spank her ass.
I get situated behind her, I line my dick up with her pussy, a thought comes to mind as I reach around Sam's body taking grip of both her wrists and place them behind her back so her face was against the mattress.
"Ready baby? Ready to get destroyed?" I whispered as I gripped her wrists tighter and slammed my cock deep inside her pussy.
She let out a mighty scream filled with pleasure as I bottomed out inside of her pussy, not slowing down.
I moaned as I carried on destroying her entrance. Sam tries to reply to which I press her face into the pillows muffling whatever she tried to say.
The sight of her ass rippling against me after every thrust was a sight I loved to see.
Sam trying to move her hands but couldn't from the grip I had on them seemed to send her into overdrive. Her moans became louder, sweat dripping down her back as she began to get closer to her orgasm.
"That's it let it out." I whispered, I leant forward placing delicate kisses to her back.
As soon as my words left my mouth Sam exploded. Noises coming from her mouth I had never heard before.
Sam squirts all over my stomach, as I felt her walls tighten around my cock immediately making my balls tighten.
*Sam’s 3rd Creampie*
"Fuck." I yelled as I began to cum at the same time as Sam. I could feel my cum oozing inside of her, not being able to warn her in time. Us both moaning together as we reached our highs, filling her pussy to the brim.
One final spank to her right cheek, I let go of her hands to which she fell onto the bed exhausted. I planted a kiss on her ass before moving up the kisses up and down her back receiving little giggles from Sam.
Synopsis: "What if the person who saw you best never even looked at you?"
Warnings: angst, use of you/they/them
Notes: Inspired by Infrunami by Steve Lacy but I made it literal lol. I remembered a story similar to this but I can’t remember the name of it so credits to that too. Also not proofread so sorry about that.
The world once had shape — not just outlines, but colour and texture. The way rain danced on the pavement. The way puddles rippled. The way traffic lights glared too brightly. The way faces shifted — how brows furrowed in traffic or softened when people got distracted by their phones. All of it taken for granted, right up until the day it started to fade.
Now? There are only echoes, earthy smells, and bitter tastes. The rough texture of your cane. Sounds, sensations, memories — all with no anchor. And silence. Heavy, waiting.
You didn’t notice her getting on at first.
The bus was late. It was one of those humid mornings that pressed against your skin and made every breath feel thick. You were already seated — first row, left side, window seat. The one behind the sign that reads “Reserved.” It used to mean nothing. Maybe it once meant something, but not for you. Now it felt like a quiet declaration, a sign of weakness, and you hated it.
You hate how it makes you feel vulnerable. So, you avoid it. You avoid sitting in that chair, in that specific area — but you're too afraid to sit far from it. Too afraid of being a burden to others. As much as you are to yourself.
You wore your sunglasses like armour. Thick black frame, smooth across the temples, the kind people assumed were for style, a fashion choice, or shielding the world to see how tired your eyes are. You sit still, sunglasses in place, hands resting lightly on your lap as you put your folded cane inside your bag.
It was easier that way. Letting people think what they want. You prefer it.
“Good morning”
The seats creaked beside you, accompanied with a soft voice. Too soft, like they aren’t sure if the person, you, can see them.
You hated it, it makes you feel seen, maybe you don’t want to be seen. Out of all the places they could choose, why beside you?
You turned your head slightly towards the voice. “Morning”
You can’t help but judge their voice, their presence, her presence. Both soft, light, and calm. Too calm. Their scent, almost floral. It reminds you of the flower stalls outside that old church you used to go to. The one where you begged for your sight to come back.
It didn’t.
You hate the smell. You hate how familiar it is, despite everything.
“I almost missed this bus” she added after a pause. “Didn’t hear it coming until it was too close.”
“Yeah” you replied. “Happens to me sometimes too. Almost happened to me a while ago.”
Another small pause. She laughed lightly. “Guess we’re both lucky today then.”
The bus moved. The city passed in heat and muffled sounds. She didn’t speak much — not at first. But the woman filled the silence gently, like someone careful not to spill anything.
“It’s hotter today than usual, don’t you think?”
“It is” you say. “Feels like hell.” You hope that ends the conversation.
But she laughs, shifting in her seat to create space between you. “I prefer this over rain though. I wouldn’t want to be soaked this early. And umbrellas are annoying.”
“Yeah. That can be a hassle.”
You hate the rain too. It reminds you of everything you’re missing. Of how you used to bet on which raindrop would reach the bottom of the window first. Of headlights slicing through puddles in the dark. Now everything’s just fog. Too grey. Too nothing.
As the conversation goes on, you keep your answers vague. Simple. Polite. You don’t want to lean too far in. Strangers on a bus aren’t supposed to feel familiar.
But she does.
“I’m Sophia” she said suddenly, like the thought had been waiting in her mouth for too long.
You hesitated. “Nice to meet you.” but you didn’t offer your name.
Sophia didn’t ask and you liked it.
She keeps talking, but never says anything too exact. Just soft observations and passing thoughts. As if you’re both walking through the same dark hallway, too afraid to reach for the other’s hand. You stay on the surface — two voices rippling over water, never daring to dive.
Suddenly the bus slowed down, you can feel the tires screeching. The sound of the bus door opening, letting you hear the sound of the city. You felt the seat beside you creaked once again, but this time the heat on your left side is gone.
“This is my stop. Have a good one,” she says, her voice barely above the hum of traffic.
She stepped off the bus and disappeared into the sound of the city. The doors closed behind her.
A few seconds passed as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Suddenly, a voice from behind can be heard. It’s unfamiliar, rough, and manly. Too close to you for your liking. Making your skin crawl due to its proximity.
“She’s a pretty young girl, don’t you think?”
You nod without thinking.
Oh how you wish you could have seen her. Even just a glimpse. Something to hold onto. Something visual to remember. Because something about her had made you feel — not better, exactly. But less alone. Thinking how beautiful she must be to accommodate and take her precious time for someone like you. How beautiful she must be to see something in you, to see you. How beautiful she must be to see –
“It’s a shame” he cuts in. “She had a cane. Eyes looked grey. I even waved when she got on but she ignored me. Definitely a shame.”
You went still.
The pieces click. Your fingers grip the edge of your seat. Your heart sinks.
You think back to the way she talked, the way she described things, how careful she was with her words. The pauses. The softness. The way she never assumed.
Like she was stepping through a world she couldn’t fully see.
Just like you.
Similar to you. Familiar to what you do.
It wasn’t just polite vagueness. It was understanding. It was familiarity. It was two blind strangers speaking in code, neither willing to say it out loud.
Now it all makes sense. The conversation wasn’t vague.
It was honest.
It was shared.
Two people, pretending not to recognize what the other was. Pretending not to know. Because sometimes it's easier to pretend you're just tired. That you almost just missed the bus. That you’re not navigating a world built for someone else.
You lean back.
The world feels quieter. Smoother. Muted.
You don’t know why it hurts this much. Just that it does.
Maybe it’s because, for one brief moment, you felt seen. Not pitied. Not asked to explain.
Seen.
Like you could see again, even just for a second.
And maybe it’s because you didn’t realise it until she was already gone.
This is a hard one ngl since it focuses more on the other senses which means imagery is not much of an option. This is also shorter than I expected so sorry for that. Overall I had fun writing this while Infrunami played on repeat. Hope you guys like this one. I'll try to write some fluff and for other members next time :)))
