𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕒

ENTJ|| ‘01 ||🦁🐍||

[glassonionsoul]

heyy i love ur clarisse works omg!!! i would loveee if you could do another apollo!reader x clarisse fic but reader is more into music than the archery aspect of apollo cabin… maybe reader gives out guitar lessons to the kids at camp and sings at the campfire and clarisse finds herself warming to her.. 😋

TOWARDS THE SUN | PART.1

paring: clarisse la rue x daughter of apollo!reader

description: clarisse never understood what exactly was so special about you. you spent your days covered in paint, always surrounded by kids or with a guitar in your hands. to clarisse, you represented exactly the opposite of everything she valued. yet it only took one dislocated shoulder for the looks of contempt to start lingering longer, for the sound of that stupid guitar to begin echoing in her mind, and little by little, the hatred turned into an unexpected warmth.

warnings: english isn't my first language, sorry in advance!

a/c: this request ended up getting huge, so i decided to split it into two parts, but don't worry, part two is now available on my profile!

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Clarisse never understood what exactly was so special about you.

She now watched you from afar, arms crossed over her broad chest, covered by the bronze armor scratched from simulated battles. The afternoon summer sun beat down hard on the training field, making sweat run down the backs of the campers who clashed with swords and spears, the clang of metal echoing like a hymn to war. But you? You were there, sitting on the soft grass near the Apollo cabin, that worn-out guitar resting in your lap, fingers dancing over the strings as if the world around you didn’t exist.

Clarisse huffed quietly, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. Daughter of Ares, she lived for the controlled chaos of combat, the weight of the spear in her hands, the impact of shields colliding, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth after a hard-won victory. Her cabin siblings were like her: warriors forged in the fire of the arena.

They trained themselves to death day after day, running through the forest or facing the nocturnal harpies that patrolled the camp’s borders. It was the dirty work, the kind that kept everyone alive when the outside world threatened to invade with its mythological creatures. And you were the absolute opposite of all that.

She leaned against a nearby tree, eyes narrowed, fixed on you as you tuned the guitar with a patience that irritated her deeply.

Does she just do this all day? Clarisse thought, feeling a knot of contempt form in her stomach.

While the rest of them bled and fought, you sat there, perched like a princess on your throne of grass. Teaching guitar to the younger kids, those overly loud Hermes brats, or the Aphrodite kids who pretended interest just to flirt with you. Painting canvases in the cabin’s shadows or sketching portraits of campers, as if any of that mattered in a world where survival depended on a sharp blade, not a musical note.

Clarisse shook her head, feeling her curly hair stick to her sweaty neck. You weren’t like the other Apollo kids, the ones who at least deigned to step onto the battlefield with bows and arrows. Not even like the healers, who dirtied their hands with potions and bandages, saving lives in the heat of the fight. No, you were the embodiment of art.

But why? Why did the entire camp seem to adore you for it? Even Chiron smiled when he heard your voice echoing during the nighttime campfires.

“She’s nothing special,” Clarisse muttered to herself, kicking a loose stone on the ground that rolled down the packed dirt path. “Nothing that deserves all this worship.”

You were so peaceful. So serene amid the chaos. While she and her siblings dealt with sweat, pain, and the brutal glory of victory, you floated through the camp, handing out smiles and...kindness. Ew. That repelled her like nothing else. Every trait of yours that charmed everyone else, the gentleness in teaching a child to strum a string, the quiet focus while mixing paints on a palette, the voice that rose like a sunrise during sing-alongs, was like a blade against her warrior pride.

You represented everything she hated: weakness disguised as beauty, passivity pretending to be strength, the luxury of creating instead of destroying. In a world of capricious gods and starving monsters, how could someone like you be so loved? How could you, a daughter of Apollo, shine so brightly without ever dirtying your hands in the mud of battle?

Just as Clarisse took the first step to walk away from the tree, the sound of dry leaves being stepped on made her freeze. She turned her head sharply, neck muscles taut like bowstrings, and there was Silena Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite, with that sly smile that always seemed to know too much.

The afternoon sun lit up her dark, wavy hair, falling perfectly over her shoulders as if she’d stepped out of a beauty session instead of a day at camp. Silena wore an orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt, but somehow managed to make it look elegant, a delicate shell necklace tinkling softly in the breeze. Her warm brown eyes, the kind that could melt even the hardest heart, fixed on Clarisse with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“You’re doing it again.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes dramatically, huffing as if Silena’s mere presence was an unwanted interruption.

“I’m not doing anything,” she grumbled, voice low and rough, laced with the coldness she wore like armor.

She crossed her arms tighter, planting her feet like she was bracing for a fight, even though she knew with Silena the battles were always with words, not blades. The sun hit her back, warming the bronze armor, but she felt an inner chill, as if she’d been caught red-handed stealing candy from the Hermes cabin.

Silena laughed softly, a light, musical sound that carried through the air, making a few heads turn on the nearby field. She stepped closer, completely ignoring Clarisse’s defensive stance, and placed a hand on her hip with natural grace.

“Come on, Clarisse. Your eyes are gonna burn a hole through her head if you keep staring like that.”

Clarisse felt her face heat up, a mix of anger and embarrassment she hated admitting.

“None of your business, Beauregard,” she shot back, voice sharper than she intended, like the edge of a freshly sharpened spear. “Go braid your hair or whatever you Aphrodite kids do in your cabin.”

But Silena wasn’t the type to back down easily. She stepped even closer, the subtle scent of wildflowers, jasmine mixed with something sweet and indefinable, invading Clarisse’s space, forcing her to fight the urge to step back. Silena tilted her head, studying her friend’s face with genuine curiosity, lips curved in a mischievous smile.

“What was it this time?” Silena blinked, exaggerating innocence, and poked Clarisse’s arm lightly with her finger, as if testing the rigidity of a statue.

Clarisse grumbled something unintelligible, a low growl that sounded more like a hunting dog than a human reply. She kicked another loose stone, sending it flying into the tall grass, and crossed her arms even tighter, forearm muscles visibly flexing.

“You’re annoying, you know that? Worse than a hungry harpy. I was just looking. Strategy. Daughter of Ares and all that.” But her voice faltered at the end, and she knew Silena would notice.

Their interactions were always like this: a comedic dance of stubbornness and disguised affection, like two sisters fighting over an invisible toy. Clarisse was the unshakeable wall, and Silena, the breeze that found every crack.

Silena raised her eyebrows, feigning exaggerated surprise, and dramatically placed a hand over her heart.

“Strategy? Oh, of course! Because staring at an Apollo kid playing guitar is the peak of military tactics. Next step: invade Troy with a flute band!” She laughed again, louder this time, the sound bubbling like a fountain in the pavilion, and stepped to the side, circling Clarisse as if appraising a sculpture. “Spill it already. Why does every time she shows up you get that ‘who dared invade my territory’ face?”

Clarisse groaned, running a hand over her sweaty face, messy curls falling into her eyes.

“Fine, fine! Stop circling me like a damn fly!” She finally turned to face Silena head-on, shoulders relaxing just a fraction despite herself.

There was something about Silena’s cheerful persistence that always wore her down, like water eroding rock.

“Gods, look at her!” She pointed discreetly in your direction, where you were still immersed in the guitar lesson. “She’s sitting there playing little songs while we’re killing ourselves in training. Does that seem fair to you?”

Silena frowned slightly, her smile softening into something more thoughtful, as if reading between the lines of a poem. She crossed her arms, tilting her head to watch you in the distance, the wind lightly tousling her hair.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what actually bothers you, Clarisse. Training is training, but you don’t get like this with everyone who skips the arena.”

Clarisse groaned in irritation, a guttural sound that rumbled low, like an engine about to explode. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling frustration bubble like a badly brewed potion.

“For Ares’ sake… I just want to understand what’s so special about her that everyone seems to melt around her. Like, actually melt! Chiron smiles, the nymphs applaud, even the Hephaestus kids stop hammering to listen. It’s ridiculous!”

Silena couldn’t hold back the laugh this time, a genuine one that started as a muffled snort and turned contagious, making her shoulders shake. She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes dancing with amusement, while Clarisse stood there, annoyed, cheeks flushing with anger mixed with embarrassment.

“You’re hilarious when you get like this! Like a lioness growling at a butterfly.” Silena wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye, still laughing. “Maybe if you tried… I don’t know? Actually getting to know her? Then you’d understand. Who knows, you might find out she doesn’t bite, or at least not like you do.” She winked again, the teasing light and affectionate.

Clarisse slowly turned her face toward Silena, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and near offense, as if the daughter of Aphrodite had just suggested Ares was a peaceful god who liked flowers. Her lips parted, but no words came out right away; instead she blinked twice, as if trying to process the absurdity of it all.

“What?” Silena asked, tilting her head again, tone still light but now with a hint of genuine curiosity.

Clarisse let out a short, dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head as if Silena had said the dumbest thing in the world. She started walking, steps heavy and deliberate, kicking dry dirt with every stride as she headed back toward the training field path. She raised her voice just enough to be heard without turning her face.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that so our friendship can continue,” she said, tone dripping with cold sarcasm, as if declaring a unilateral truce.

Silena stood frozen for a second, mouth open, brown eyes wide in disbelief. She threw her arms out in an exaggerated “what just happened here?” gesture, her necklace swinging with the motion.

“Clarisse! I’m being serious!” she shouted, voice rising a pitch, mixing frustration and contained laughter.

She took two quick steps after her friend, but Clarisse didn’t slow down, in fact, she sped up, broad shoulders tense as if marching into battle instead of fleeing a conversation.

“Clarisse La Rue, you stubborn-headed girl, get back here right now!”

Clarisse didn’t bother answering. She kept walking, curly hair swaying with each firm step, until she disappeared a little among the trees lining the path. The sound of swords and training shouts already began to swallow her footsteps.

Silena stopped in the middle of the grass, hands on hips, staring at her friend’s retreating back. She huffed loudly, a frustrated and almost comical sound, as if dealing with a stubborn five-year-old instead of a nearly six-foot daughter of Ares made of pure stubbornness.

“What a stubborn girl,” she muttered to herself, slowly shaking her head.

The wind blew again, carrying with it the distant sound of your guitar melody, soft, insistent, as if mocking the tension that had just formed between the two of them. Silena ran a hand through her hair, letting out a long, defeated sigh, but with a stubborn little smile still curving her lips.

She turned her face toward you for a moment, watching you there, oblivious to everything, fingers still dancing over the strings while an eight-year-old girl tried to imitate the rhythm with adorable seriousness. Silena shook her head once more, then started walking slowly back toward the pavilion, her thoughts clearly still spinning around the friend who had run from her own truth.

A few days passed, and the summer continued relentless: the sun punishing skin, the air thick with dust kicked up by campers’ feet in runs and combats, the constant smell of scorched pine mixed with sweat and weapon metal.

Clarisse didn’t stop watching you.

It wasn’t something she’d admit out loud, not even to herself really, but every time she passed near the Apollo cabin or the central lawn, her eyes betrayed the habit. She saw you, always serene, always clean, always surrounded by light laughter and children who seemed to orbit you like satellites drawn to a private sun. And every time she saw that scene, the knot in her stomach tightened a little more.

That particular afternoon, the sky was dyed burnt orange by the sunset, and Clarisse had just come out of a particularly brutal training session. Her arms burned from lifting the spear so much, her thighs trembled from running the obstacle course, and there was a fresh smear of wet dirt on her left cheek where she’d fallen after a poorly calculated strike from a cabin brother.

The bronze armor was dirty, scratched, with bits of grass stuck to the plates; her curly hair, usually tied in a tight ponytail or braids, had come loose in rebellious, sweat-damp strands that clung to her neck and temples. She smelled of effort, hot metal, and turned earth. But she didn’t care how exposed she felt like this, dirty, sweaty, real, as she walked toward the Big House.

She climbed the wide wooden porch steps with heavy footfalls, intention clear: find Chiron, complain about some injustice in the patrol schedule, or simply vent the day’s accumulated rage. But she stopped on the last step when she saw you.

You were sitting on the porch swing, guitar in your lap like a natural extension of your body. The kids, five or six of various ages, were scattered around you on cushions and improvised rugs, some with small guitars in their hands, others just listening with bright eyes. You wore the simple orange camp t-shirt, clean and spotless, worn but impeccable jeans, and your loose hair fell in soft waves over your shoulders, catching the golden light of dusk.

Pure radiance. Irritating serenity. Everything Clarisse wasn’t in that moment.

You looked up when you noticed her presence. The movement was natural, unstartled, and a welcoming smile curved your lips. Clarisse felt her stomach twist, not from hunger, but from something she refused to name. Anger? Contempt? Envy disguised as disgust?

You stopped strumming the strings and tilted your head slightly.

“Want to try?” you asked, voice calm, almost gentle, as if offering a slice of cake instead of an instrument Clarisse considered useless.

Clarisse stood frozen there on the last step, staring at you with an expression that could freeze the canoe lake. Her arms crossed automatically over her chest, armor creaking faintly. She felt the contrast between the two of you like a punch to the gut: you, immaculate and luminous; her, dirty, sweaty, dirt on her boots and a fresh scar on her forearm dripping sweat mixed with dust.

“Music doesn’t rip a hydra’s head off,” she spat, voice low and cutting, loaded with disdain. Each word came out like a blade being sharpened.

For the briefest second, so quick almost no one would notice, the smile vanished from your face. Your eyes blinked, a shadow passed through them, something vulnerable and human. But then you regained control, the smile returned, softer, more restrained, as if nothing had happened.

“Then you must be looking for Chiron…” you said, voice still gentle, but now with a tone that acknowledged the wall Clarisse had built.

Clarisse didn’t answer right away. Her eyes scanned you up and down, the relaxed posture, hands resting on the guitar, the way the children around you seemed protected just by your presence. She shifted uncomfortably, transferring weight from one leg to the other, as if the porch floor had suddenly become too hot. Her arms stayed crossed, deep scowl marking her forehead, but there was something new there: a faint discomfort she couldn’t explain.

She nodded once, sharp and affirmative, without softening the scowl. You sighed softly, not in irritation, but in a kind of amused resignation, and jerked your chin toward the inside of the Big House.

“Playing poker with Mr. D.”

Clarisse snorted through her nose, a short, disdainful sound, but didn’t move immediately. She stood there another second, eyes still fixed on you, as if deciding whether it was worth saying anything else or just turning and walking in. The children around you started whispering, one nudging another and discreetly pointing at Clarisse, as if she were a mythological monster that had decided to appear on the porch.

Finally, Clarisse uncrossed her arms, turned on her heel, and climbed the last steps with a low grunt.

“Don’t waste time teaching those kids little songs when the world out there wants to kill them,” she muttered, more to herself than to you, but loud enough to be heard.

She passed by you without looking again, shoving the Big House door open harder than necessary. The creak of wood echoed across the porch, and the sound of the children’s giggles slowly returned, as if the air had been released from invisible pressure.

But Clarisse, already inside the house, felt the weight of that calm gaze on her back for much longer than she cared to admit.

[…]

The sun was already low enough that the arena looked bathed in blood and copper, the air heavy with the smell of hot sand, sweat, and heated metal. The clang of weapons had quieted a little; many campers were already finishing training, cleaning blades, wrapping makeshift bandages around bruised wrists, but there was still enough noise to drown out murmured conversations.

Clarisse stood in the center of the sword-training area, curly hair plastered to her forehead and temples in layers of sweat and dust. She spun the practice spear between her fingers, trying to keep Silena focused.

“One more time. Cross attack, I block with the spear and counter low. Don’t hesitate, Beauregard, or I’ll drop you again.”

“You’re killing me on purpose today, aren’t you? My arm already feels like jelly.”

“Jelly doesn’t kill monsters,” Clarisse shot back, dry. “Go.”

Silena advanced. The strike came better this time, faster, cleaner. Clarisse raised the spear to block, but her eyes betrayed her focus. They lifted, as always, to the bleachers.

You were there.

Full armor, polished bronze reflecting the sunset in shades of liquid fire. The breastplate molded to your body, greaves tight on your shins, bracers that never seemed to have taken a real scratch. The helmet rested beside you. You sat in the third row, legs crossed in lotus position, small notebook open in your lap. Your right hand held a pencil, making quick, sure strokes. Loose hair fell over one shoulder, catching the orange light and almost glowing. Your face was serene, concentrated, as if the chaos of the arena were just distant noise.

Clarisse felt her stomach twist. Why were you dressed for war if you weren’t going to fight? Why did you look so untouched? So clean? So distant from everything that actually mattered?

“Clarisse!”

Silena’s voice came too late.

Her foot hooked Clarisse’s ankle with cruel precision, exactly the low sweep Clarisse had taught her the week before. Poor weight distribution, gaze locked on the bleachers, everything conspired against her. Clarisse fell sideways, right shoulder hitting the packed sand first. The crack was sharp, audible, like a branch snapping. Pain exploded instantly, white and hot, shooting up her arm like poison. She rolled onto her back, air leaving her lungs in a rough, animal grunt, left hand flying to the dislocated shoulder.

Silena let the sword drop. The thud in the sand sounded too loud.

“Clarisse! Gods…” She clapped hands over her mouth, eyes wide with genuine horror. “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to hit like that! You were distracted again, I—”

Clarisse gritted her teeth, face twisted in a grimace of pain and fury. She sat up slowly, right arm hanging useless.

“You hit perfectly…” she managed between short, hissing breaths. “Congratulations… you… bitch…”

Silena dropped to her knees beside her in a blink, hands hovering, unsure where to touch.

“Let me see! Was it bad?”

“It was shit,” Clarisse growled, trying to lift the arm and stopping halfway with a low, guttural moan. “And it’s your fault, what the hell kind of sweep was that?”

“My fault?” Silena’s voice rose, indignant. “You were staring at the bleachers again! Again, Clarisse! Third time just today you got distracted.”

“Shut up, Beauregard.”

“I’m not shutting up! You almost lost your arm because—”

The argument rose in volume, voices overlapping in the middle of the arena. Some campers stopped to look, whispers starting to spread.

And then light footsteps in the sand.

Both of you looked up.

You were descending the bleachers with that same irritating calm as always. The armor clinked softly with each step, a delicate, almost musical sound that contrasted with the arena’s raw clang. The notebook was still tucked under your left arm, pencil held between the fingers of your right hand. You came close enough that Clarisse could smell the faint scent of fresh paint, scorched wood, and sun-warmed bronze. You crouched beside her without hesitation, knees sinking into the dusty sand, eyes going straight to the injured shoulder.

“Can I see?” you asked, voice low, gentle, without a trace of pity or superiority. Just practical curiosity.

Clarisse froze. Her whole body went rigid, not from pain, but from the sudden proximity. Your face was inches from hers. Eyes attentive, no judgment. Hands hovering, waiting for permission.

“I don’t need your help,” Clarisse spat, voice coming out more venomous than she intended. “Go away. Leave real wounds to people who know how to handle them.”

You blinked once, slowly. The expression didn’t change, remained serene, almost patient, but Clarisse saw the slight furrow between your brows, the subtle flash of hurt that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Silena exploded.

“Clarisse La Rue, stop this shit right now!” She leaned forward, pointing a finger in her friend’s face. “She came down here to help you, getting herself dirty in the filthy sand because of you, and you still act like she’s a plague? Your shoulder’s out of place, it’s not time to play tough bitch!”

“I said I can handle it myself,” Clarisse shot back, teeth clenched. She tried to shift away a little, but the movement made pain explode again. She hissed, face paling for a second. “I don’t need anyone’s pity. Especially not hers.”

You didn’t retreat. Instead, you slowly extended your hands, fingers hovering over her shoulder without touching yet.

“It’s not pity,” you said, low, almost a whisper. “It’s just… a dislocated shoulder. I know how to put it back. If you let me.”

Clarisse opened her mouth to tell you to fuck off, to curse loud enough for everyone to hear. But Silena was faster.

“Let her, you stubborn asshole!” Silena nearly shouted, eyes flashing. “You’re gonna sit there moaning in pain the rest of the day just to prove what? That you’re tougher than everyone? That you don’t need anyone?”

Clarisse shot Silena a murderous look, chest rising and falling fast.

“You don’t get to boss me around, Beauregard.”

“Someone has to, because you clearly have no sense!”

You seized the opening.

It was quick. Your hands closed around her arm and shoulder, one gripping firmly above the joint, the other wrapping the elbow with precision. Before Clarisse could react, you pulled in a sharp, controlled, practiced motion.

The crack echoed loud through the arena. Clear. Unmistakable.

Clarisse screamed, a short, surprised sound, more shock than pain. The arm snapped back into place with a strange sensation of immediate relief, like an overstretched rope finally released.

On pure instinct, she shoved you with her left hand.

You fell sitting in the sand, legs folded to the side, notebook flying open to a page full of lines.

Silence.

Clarisse stared at you, chest heaving, eyes wide. The pain was gone. The shoulder still throbbed, but it was bearable, muscular, not the lancinating agony from before. She moved the arm slowly, rotating the shoulder in small circles. It worked. Perfectly.

You stayed sitting there in the sand, looking at her with those calm eyes. No anger. No accusation. Just… waiting. A strand of hair fell over your face, and you brushed it away with sand-dirty fingers, leaving faint traces on your cheek.

“Damn.” Silena was the first to speak, voice low, almost reverent. “She fixes your shoulder and gets shoved.”

Clarisse swallowed hard. Felt her face burn, pure, hot, suffocating embarrassment. She looked away, staring at the sand between her boots.

“…Sorry,” she muttered, so low it almost got lost in the wind. The word came out scratched, as if it hurt more to say than the dislocated shoulder had.

You just gave a small, shy, almost invisible smile. You stood slowly, brushing sand from your armor with calm movements. You picked up the notebook, closed it carefully, and hugged it to your chest.

“It’s nothing,” you answered simply, voice soft as ever. “I recommend not straining it for a few days, it could pop out again.”

Then you turned and started walking back toward the bleachers, bronze reflecting the last ray of sun as if made of fire.

Clarisse watched your back until you disappeared among the upper steps. Silena crouched beside her again, now with a barely contained smirk mixed with irritation.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? Congratulations, Clarisse. Maximum stubbornness achieved.”

Clarisse didn’t answer.

But for the first time in weeks, the knot in her stomach wasn’t anger. It was shame mixed with something she still didn’t want to name. And that scared her more than any monster she’d ever faced in the arena.

“Shut up, Silena.”

The next day dawned gray and heavy, as if the clouds had gathered above Camp Half-Blood just to smother any attempt at light. The air carried a dense, almost solid humidity that clung to the skin and turned every breath into something slow and uncomfortable. The leaves on the trees hung limp, and even the smell of pine and salt from Long Island Sound felt muffled, trapped under the leaden sky.

Clarisse woke up earlier than usual, her body still programmed for the dawn of training, but her right shoulder, bound in a rough sling of faded orange linen, immediately reminded her why there was no reason to rush to the arena. The healer at the Big House had been emphatic, with that calm voice that only irritated her more.

“Four days without straining it, Clarisse. Minimum.” She had stormed out of the infirmary slamming the door harder than necessary, kicking pebbles along the gravel path as if each one was responsible for her frustration.

No spear. No shield. No training. The energy that normally burned through punches, runs, and shouts now built up like acid in her stomach, corroding from the inside. She walked through the camp with stiffened shoulders, jaw clenched, good arm balled into a fist. Every step was a silent protest. She passed the arena and felt her chest tighten at the sight of the other demigods already warming up, the distant clang of metal, the shouts of instruction, the smell of sweat and churned sand. All without her.

The path led her, almost unintentionally, to the clearing near the Apollo cabin. The grass there was lusher, the air a little less suffocating under the generous shade of an old oak. A long picnic table, covered in plastic tarps splattered with old paint, served as the base for organized chaos. Children, between six and ten years old, sat on low stools or directly on the grass, small canvases or sheets of brown paper in front of them, brushes dripping vibrant colors.

And you, in the center of it all.

Dark blue canvas overalls, one strap slipping off your shoulder, revealing the orange camp t-shirt underneath. Sleeves rolled up, forearms painted in ochre yellow, faded turquoise, rust red. Hair tied in a loose bun, damp strands stuck to your neck. A light green streak on your left cheek, another purple smudge on your forehead, as if the kids had decided to turn you into a walking work of art. Your hands were a map of colors: blue fingers, red palms, orange nails.

You leaned over a little girl with braids, guiding her brush with infinite patience.

“Like this, see. Keep it light. Like wind on the grass.”

The girl laughed, and the sound spread, light and contagious.

Clarisse stopped about ten meters away, half hidden in the shadow of the cabin’s column. Good arm crossed over her chest, the other immobilized, posture rigid as stone. She huffed low, almost a growl.

You lifted your face first, sensing the weight of the gaze before even hearing the snap of a dry leaf under her boot. Your eyes met hers, quickly scanning the sling, the closed expression, the tense shoulders. Hesitation passed over your face, but you wiped the brush on a cloth hanging from your belt and spoke, voice soft, almost careful.

“Hi. Need anything?”

Clarisse looked away for a second, then back, taking in the whole scene: the kids, the canvases, the paint smudges, you in the middle of it all looking… comfortable. As if the world wasn’t falling apart just because she couldn’t fight.

“No,” she answered curtly, voice rough with contained bad mood. “Just passing by.”

She spun on her heels, ready to leave, jaw tight. But you were faster.

“If you want to stay… you’re welcome.”

The words came out low, without pressure, but with a tone that said I won’t force you, but the door is open. Clarisse froze mid-turn. Something in her chest twisted, irritation, maybe, or the beginning of something worse: curiosity.

She turned slowly, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t paint, daughter of Apollo.”

You shrugged, a small, almost indifferent gesture, but your eyes sparkled with something amused.

“They’re here exactly to learn.” You looked at the kids and added, in a conspiratorial tone: “Aren’t they cute?”

The children lifted their heads immediately, several voices overlapping:

“Yeah, Aunt Clarisse!”

“Aunt Clarisse, stay!”

“Come paint with us!”

Clarisse blinked, incredulous. Aunt. Them calling her aunt. As if she were someone who… belonged there. She looked at you, searching for mockery, but found only a low, contained laugh escaping your lips as you shook your head.

“You guys want Aunt Clarisse to stay?” you asked the kids, eyebrows raised, smile growing slowly, a light, genuine smile that lit up the paint smudges on your face and made something strange and warm stir in Clarisse’s chest.

The kids shouted in chorus.

“YES!”

Clarisse rolled her eyes so hard she almost felt dizzy. She huffed loudly, crossed her good arm over her chest again, jaw so tight it hurt.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone.

But her feet didn’t move toward the exit.

The silence stretched. The kids looking at her with big, hopeful eyes. You waiting, without pushing, just absentmindedly cleaning the brush on the cloth. Clarisse felt the weight of that collective gaze like a chain, not of anger, but of expectation. And she hated admitting that part of her didn’t want to disappoint.

After long seconds, she gave in.

She took three heavy steps, as if each one physically hurt, and sat on the stool farthest from the table. Whole body rigid, face closed, sling rubbing uncomfortably against her t-shirt. She crossed her good arm over her chest and stared at everything with the expression of someone who would rather be anywhere else.

The nearest kids shrank a little. A little girl with braids dropped her brush on the grass. Another blinked fast, as if expecting a shout.

Clarisse noticed. And, for the first time that entire day, one corner of her mouth lifted, almost imperceptible, almost a real smile, tinged with irony.

“What?” she grumbled, voice rough, but with a tone that wasn’t exactly a threat.

You laughed softly again, shaking your head as you went back to helping one of the kids with a shade of blue.

Clarisse stayed there, sulky, scowling, shoulders tense… but without getting up. The knot of anger in her stomach loosened, just a little. The gray of the day still weighed, but for the first time in hours, it hurt a little less.

And you, from the corner of your eye, noticed. You said nothing.

The silence that settled wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either. It was the kind of silence that happens when everyone is waiting for the next move from someone who doesn’t usually play by other people’s rules. The kids gradually returned to their brushes and papers, but their glances still darted to Clarisse from time to time, quick, curious, as if she were a wild animal that, by some miracle, had decided to sit at the table instead of attacking.

Clarisse kept her posture rigid, good arm crossed over her chest like a barrier, gaze fixed on an undefined spot on the table where yellow paint had dried in irregular drops. She tried to ignore the tingling at the back of her neck, the weight of those childish little eyes on her. Tried to pretend she didn’t notice.

But one of the girls, the same one with tight braids who had dropped her brush earlier, couldn’t hold it in. She was about seven, big brown eyes too large for her skinny face, and a courage that probably came from surviving monsters before she even learned to tie her shoelaces properly. She tilted her head, looking straight at the faded orange sling that held Clarisse’s arm against her chest.

“What happened to your arm?”

The question came clean, direct, without malice, just pure curiosity. The kind of question kids ask because they haven’t yet learned that some things aren’t asked.

Clarisse froze. Her mouth opened a little, but nothing came out right away. She blinked fast, surprised, as if she’d taken an invisible slap. Jaw locked, then unlocked, and she tried to form a reply, something rude, something to end the subject, something to return her to the safe territory of rudeness.

“I… it was… a stupid accident, that’s all. It’s none of your—”

But you were faster.

“Aunt Clarisse got hurt fighting a monster to protect the camp.”

Your voice came out calm, almost casual, as if you were telling a bedtime story. You didn’t even stop brushing the canvas while speaking; you just lifted your eyes to Clarisse for a fraction of a second, a quick flash of complicity, or maybe provocation, before returning your attention to the canvas in front of you.

The kids stopped everything. Brushes suspended in the air. Mouths half-open. Eyes wide, shining with pure admiration.

“Really?” whispered a freckled boy, as if he couldn’t believe his own luck at being in the presence of a real hero.

“What monster?” asked another girl, the one with pink paint on her hands, leaning forward as if expecting a battle told right there, on the picnic table.

Clarisse slowly turned her face to you. Her eyes were confused, not angry, not exactly. It was a strange mix: surprise, distrust, and something more vulnerable that she hated letting slip. As if, for the first time in a long while, someone had told a version of her that wasn’t just anger and brute strength. A… heroic version. Protective.

She opened her mouth again, but no words came out. Instead, she just held your gaze for long seconds. If by “monster” you meant a treacherous sweep from Silena during a grumpy training session, well… you didn’t need to clarify. The way you said it turned the humiliation into glory without effort.

The kids didn’t wait for an answer. They exploded with questions and exclamations:

“Was it a hellhound?”

“Or a drakon?”

“Did you kill it, Aunt Clarisse?”

“Did you use your awesome spear?”

Clarisse blinked again, stunned. Heat rose up her neck, not from anger, but from something that felt like embarrassment mixed with… pride? She huffed low, trying to regain control of the situation, but the sound came out weaker than usual.

“It wasn’t… anything big,” she grumbled, looking to the side, avoiding the kids’ shining eyes. “Just… a monster. Like always.”

But the tone wasn’t the usual one. It didn’t have the venom. It was almost shy.

You gave a small smile, contained, no teeth showing, but it lit up the paint smudges on your face. You said nothing. You just handed a clean brush to the little braided girl and murmured:

“Maybe Clarisse will tell us how it happened another time?”

The kids vibrated with excitement, returning to their drawings with renewed energy, now sketching monsters, spears, a tall strong figure with an orange sling fighting shadows.

Clarisse kept looking at you for a while longer. Eyes still confused, but now with a different spark. As if she were trying to decide whether she hated or… liked that version of herself you had created. She shifted on the stool, uncomfortable, but didn’t get up. In the end, she just grumbled, low enough for only you to hear.

“You’re weird.”

You laughed softly, a light sound that blended with the kids’ noise, and answered without looking at her:

“I just tell the truth. Or… a better version of it.”

Clarisse huffed again, but this time the corner of her mouth lifted. Just a little. She stayed there. Sulky, scowling, sling rubbing, but she stayed.

The second day of immobility dawned even more oppressive than the first. The sky remained gray, but now with a fine, insistent drizzle that turned the gravel paths into slippery mud and stuck to hair like damp spiderwebs. The air smelled of wet earth, pine, and the faint metallic scent of ozone that always hung before a real storm.

Clarisse woke up grinding her teeth. The shoulder throbbed less, the healer had applied some herbal ointment the night before, but the frustration was the same: a contained ball of fire that needed an outlet. She dressed angrily, shoving on the orange t-shirt and then the sling, and left before the breakfast bell rang.

In the morning, she went to the arena. Not to fight, that was out of the question, but to yell. She stood at the edge of the sand circle, boots planted in the wet grass, good arm crossed over her chest, and bellowed orders as if she were the general of a wartime army.

Her siblings obeyed quickly, half intimidated, half proud. She corrected postures with her voice, pointed out flaws, shouted praise when someone landed a decent strike. It wasn’t the same as holding the spear, but at least it was something. At least the sound of her own voice echoing in the arena muffled the silence inside her head a little.

After lunch, Silena dragged her to the Aphrodite cabin.

“You need to relax, Clarisse. Your face is creating permanent wrinkles.” Clarisse rolled her eyes, but went. She sat in an overly cushioned chair, let Silena apply green clay masks, cucumber on the eyes, cream smelling of roses and lavender. It was torture. Every minute felt like an eternity. But when it was over, she ran her fingers over her face and… damn. It had never been so soft. It felt like betrayal to admit, but she admitted it only to herself.

Before dinner, boredom hit full force. The drizzle had stopped, leaving the air fresh and heavy with humidity. Clarisse felt that if she didn’t get out of there she would explode. She grabbed an old jacket and walked toward the forest.

The trail was wet, fallen leaves forming a slippery carpet. The sound of boots crushing dry twigs mixed with the slow dripping from the trees. She walked without a defined direction, just wanting distance from the voices, the laughter, the entire camp. The path took her to the stream that cut through the forest, a trickle of clear water running between mossy stones, murmuring low as if trying not to wake anyone.

Clarisse stopped at the bank, good arm hanging at her side. She sighed deeply, frustrated, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Cold air entered through her nostrils, came out hot through her mouth. She tried to imagine the shoulder healed, the spear in her hand, the impact of a perfect strike. But reality returned: sling, boredom, impotence.

Then she heard the voice.

“Rough day?”

The sound came soft, almost part of the stream’s murmur. Clarisse jumped back, whole body going into defense mode. Legs bent, good arm raised as if to block an invisible blow, eyes wide searching for the source of the voice.

You were there.

Casually sitting on a tarp stretched between two large stones, back against an exposed root of the oak that curved over the stream. Wearing only thick gray wool socks, boots tossed aside at the foot of the tarp. Jeans rolled up to the ankles, revealing goosebumped skin from the cold. In your lap, the acoustic guitar turned face up.

But you weren’t playing. You were writing.

A black-covered notebook open on your thighs, black pen in your right hand, tip flying fast across the paper. Strands of hair escaping the improvised bun fell over your face, and you bit the corner of your lower lip while reading what you had just written.

You lifted your eyes slowly, without startle. As if you knew she would come. As if this were the most natural place in the world to meet Clarisse La Rue.

Clarisse lowered her arm slowly, heart still hammering in her chest. The defensive posture relaxed just a little.

“You… what are you doing here?” The voice came out rougher than intended, almost accusatory.

You shrugged, a small gesture, and closed the notebook carefully, tucking the pen between the pages as a bookmark.

“Writing. Thinking.” You looked at the running water, then back at her. “And you?”

Clarisse huffed, crossing her good arm over her chest again. She took two steps to the side, kicking a pebble that rolled into the water with a dull plop.

“None of your business.”

You nodded slowly, as if you had already expected a similar answer. You didn’t ask anything else right away. You just patted the tarp lightly beside you with your palm, a silent invitation, no pressure.

Clarisse hesitated. She looked at the tarp, at you, at the guitar, at the closed notebook. Then looked at the stream, as if the water could give some answer. She sighed again, longer this time.

“You always stay here alone?”

“When I can. Sometimes the kids come along, but today… I needed silence.” You gave a crooked little smile. “Or almost silence. You showed up.”

Clarisse huffed again, but this time the sound came out lighter. She took one more step, then another, until she stopped right at the edge of the tarp. She gritted her teeth, but sat. Carefully, because the shoulder protested when she bent her body. The tarp was simple, soft, smelled of moss and damp earth. She stretched her legs out in front, boots almost touching the water.

They stayed in silence for a while. Just the stream talking, leaves dripping, light wind moving the treetops. Clarisse felt the cold climb up her back, but didn’t move. It was… good. Strange, but good.

After a minute, or five, she lost count, you spoke again, voice low.

“Shoulder feeling better?”

Clarisse glanced sideways at you.

“It’s getting better.”

You nodded, drumming your fingers on the guitar case. You looked at the instrument and then picked it up, resting it slowly beside you. You set it down carefully and picked up the notebook again, opening it to the page marked by the pen. The gray light of dusk filtered through the high leaves, tinting everything in a cold, damp silver. The air smelled of wet moss, earth turned by the recent drizzle, and a faint pine scent rising from the taller trees.

You took a deep breath, as if choosing your words with the same care you used to choose notes on the guitar, and tried.

“So… how was morning training?”

Clarisse didn’t turn her face right away. She kept staring at the water, where small ripples formed and vanished in seconds. The voice came out low, monotone, almost mechanical.

“I yelled. They obeyed. That was it.”

You waited a second, maybe two, like someone testing if more was coming. And before she could even threaten to say anything else, Clarisse crossed her good arm over her chest harder and huffed.

“You talk too much,” she said suddenly, voice sharper now. “Seriously. Can we have a little silence?”

You stopped mid-sentence. The pen hung in the air for an instant. Then, slowly, you raised both hands in surrender, palms open, fingers slightly curled, a gesture of someone who knows when to back off.

“Okay, okay. Silence.”

And you went back to the notebook. The pen tip touched the paper again, and the light scratching sound began, rhythmic, almost hypnotic, like the stream itself.

Time dragged slowly. Minutes stretched into layers of silence broken only by the occasional sound of a drop falling from a high leaf, by the soft run of water between the stones, by the wind passing and making the treetops whisper. Clarisse, restless, began searching for pebbles on the bank. She chose the smoothest, flattest ones, spun them between the fingers of her good hand before throwing. The first skipped three times before sinking. The second, four. The third hit the surface and vanished at once, as if angry.

She continued like that. Stone after stone. The movement was mechanical, almost meditative, the only way she found to burn energy without using the injured shoulder. But gradually, without her noticing, the throws slowed. Her eyes began to drift from the stream.

And landed on you.

You wrote concentrated, body slightly leaning forward, shoulders relaxed against the oak root. A strand of hair escaped the loose bun and fell over your face. You blew it lightly, without taking your eyes off the paper. Then you bit the lower corner of your lip, a small, unconscious habit, frowning as if arguing with the words you had just written.

One moment, you raised your eyebrows in an “oh, no, that won’t do”; the next, a crooked little smile appeared, satisfied, before being erased by another grimace of dissatisfaction. It was as if you were fighting with yourself in there, and your whole face told the story without needing a voice.

Clarisse watched all of this in silence, almost without blinking.

What’s so special about you? she thought, the question forming clear and uncomfortable in her mind. It wasn’t obvious beauty, even though she admitted you were beautiful; it wasn’t strength, it wasn’t anything she knew how to name or fight. It was… quietness? Patience? That way of existing without demanding anything from anyone? Or was it just the fact that you could stay still without seeming dead inside, while she felt like exploding every second of inactivity?

She didn’t know. And that irritated her more than any monster she had ever faced.

You kept writing for a few more minutes, the scratch of the pen, the occasional low sigh, the wind moving the pages. Until, without lifting your eyes from the notebook, without changing your posture, you spoke:

“You’re staring.”

The voice came out calm, almost distracted, as if it were a casual comment about the weather. Clarisse startled. The pebble she was holding slipped from her fingers and fell to the grass with a dull sound.

“I’m not,” she shot back too quickly, defensive, tone already loaded with irritation. She turned her face to the stream hard, as if she could convince herself too.

You finally lifted your eyes. Slowly. Without hurry. Without judgment. You looked straight at Clarisse, eyes sharp, attentive, with a soft gleam of someone who knows they won an argument without needing to raise their voice.

"Yes," you said simply, the corner of your mouth lifting in a minimal, almost imperceptible smile. "You are."

Clarisse grumbled something unintelligible, a guttural sound, half growl, half impatient sigh, and turned her face to the stream with exaggerated determination. She picked up another pebble from the bank, spun it between the fingers of her good hand as if it were the most important thing in the world, and threw it with too much force. She picked up another. And another. The movement was mechanical, repetitive, a clear attempt to occupy her body and mind with anything other than the weight of that gaze she still felt burning on the side of her face.

You sighed.

It wasn't a dramatic sigh, the kind that begs for attention. It was low, resigned, the type of sound that escapes when someone gives up fighting a wall that won't give way. Clarisse recognized it instantly. It was the sigh of defeat, the same one she herself let out when a fight was lost but still hurt to admit.

She stopped mid-throw. The pebble hung between her fingers for a second before falling back onto the damp grass.

"Look," you said, voice low, almost embarrassed. "I really don't know what I did wrong."

Clarisse turned her face slowly. She studied you, shoulders now slightly hunched, the notebook still open in your lap but forgotten, hands still over the pages. She raised one eyebrow, that incredibly well-drawn eyebrow, arched with natural perfection, that always gave her an air of someone who already knew the verdict before the trial even began.

"What are you talking about?" The voice came out weaker than she intended. Softer. Almost hesitant. As if the question had slipped out before she could dress it in thorns.

You shrugged, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. You bit the lower corner of your lip again, the habit returning strongly, and the fingers of your left hand began to play with the cloth bracelets on your wrist. There were several, thin, colorful, tied with clumsy knots, probably handmade, maybe by you, maybe by some child who adored you. They tinkled softly when you spun them between your fingers, a discreet sound that contrasted with the heavy silence that had settled between you.

"I mean…" You hesitated, looking at your own hands as if they could answer for you. "It doesn't take much to know that you hate me."

And then you laughed. A short, humorless, embarrassed laugh. The kind of laugh that tries to disguise discomfort but only makes it more evident. You shook your head lightly, as if scolding yourself for saying it out loud.

Clarisse laughed too. But her sound was different, ironic, cutting, loaded with a bitterness she didn't even try to hide.

"Oh please." She huffed, throwing her head back for an instant before fixing her eyes on you again. "Everyone worships you in this camp. I'm sure my validation doesn't change anything in your life. Deal with it."

The words came out sharp, as always. But there was something cracked in them, a tiny fissure through which doubt escaped. As if she were testing, waiting for you to retort with the same strength as always.

You didn't retort.

Instead, you wilted.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone not paying close attention. Your shoulders dropped a little more, the embarrassed smile disappeared completely, and your fingers stopped playing with the bracelets. You looked at the notebook, but without really seeing the words. The voice, when it came out, was low, almost a whisper that the stream nearly swallowed:

"That's not what it's about."

The stream continued its indifferent murmur, as if none of it affected it, neither the silence that stretched after those words, nor the way Clarisse's shoulders stiffened again, nor the way you seemed to shrink a little more with every second that passed without a response.

You took a deep, slow breath, like someone gathering courage to cross a minefield.

"It's not about validation," you continued, voice low, almost swallowed by the sound of the water. "It's not about what others think of me, or how many kids follow me, or how many smiles I get along the way. It's not that."

Clarisse didn't answer right away. She kept staring at the spot where the last pebble she threw had disappeared, the water's surface still rippling slightly. Then she let out a short, dry, humorless laugh.

"So what is it?" she shot back, tone cold, almost cutting. "I still don't get what the drama is."

You lifted your eyes to her, not with anger, not with challenge, but with a quiet sadness that Clarisse hated seeing. Because sadness was vulnerability, and vulnerability was something Clarisse didn't know how to handle without attacking.

"It's about the fact that you look at me like I'm a threat," you murmured. "Like I've done something unforgivable just by existing the way I do. And I… I don't know what that something is. But it hurts to try to understand and only find a wall."

Clarisse huffed, shaking her head slowly. The corner of her mouth lifted in an ironic smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"It's not about what you did wrong," she said, voice low and drawn out, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "It's about what you have that makes everyone surrender to your charms. Why the hell does everyone drop their guard for you?"

You blinked, surprised. Then laughed softly, a small, almost inaudible laugh tinged with disbelief and something more fragile.

"You think I have some kind of charm?"

Clarisse rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. She crossed her good arm over her chest again, as if to protect herself from her own admission.

"You know that's not what I meant."

The silence returned, but this time it was different, denser, more charged. The stream seemed to speak louder now, filling the spaces the words couldn't occupy. You lowered your eyes to the bracelets on your wrist, spinning one slowly between your fingers, as if you needed something concrete to anchor yourself.

Clarisse felt her chest tighten. She didn't want this. She didn't want the guilt starting to form somewhere deep, nor the strange ache that came with it. But she also couldn't get up and leave. Not this time.

"Look…" she began, voice lower, almost reluctant. "I'm not good at this. At… talking. At admitting things. But it's not that I hate you. It's that you make me… uncomfortable. Because you're fine with everything I hate. Staying still. Smiling at kids. Writing in the middle of nowhere. Being… light. And I can't. I never could."

You lifted your gaze again, slowly. Your eyes shining a little more than before, not with tears, but with something close.

"And you think that's charm?" you asked, voice so soft it almost got lost in the wind.

Clarisse huffed again, but the sound came out tired.

"I think it's dangerous," she admitted, almost in a whisper. "For me, at least."

And for the first time, there was no irony in her voice. Just raw honesty, stripped of armor. Clarisse felt the air grow heavier suddenly, as if the stream itself had stopped murmuring to listen. Her chest tightened in a way she couldn't name, it wasn't anger, not exactly, but something close to panic, disguised as irritation. She hated that feeling of being exposed, of having said more than she intended and now not knowing how to take the words back.

She took a deep breath, straightened her back with a brusque movement that made the injured shoulder protest. She stood in one motion, almost military, as if ending a battle she didn't want to fight.

"Okay," she said, voice rough and cutting. "I've said too much. I need… to go back. There are things to do."

She turned her back without waiting for a response, already starting to climb the slippery bank, boots sinking into the damp earth. Each step was an attempt to put distance between her and that conversation that had spiraled out of control.

But then your voice came, louder than usual, cutting through the air:

"I'm going to sing at the campfire tonight…"

Clarisse stopped mid-motion, one boot still raised. She turned slowly, almost against her will.

You were standing now, the tarp crumpled behind you, the notebook clutched to your chest like a shield. Your fingers fidgeted nervously with each other, intertwining, releasing, spinning the cloth bracelets on your wrist. Your face was slightly flushed, maybe from the cold, maybe from something else. Your eyes met hers, hesitant but firm.

"If you want to show up," you added, voice lower at the end, almost as if you were afraid the invitation might sound forced.

Clarisse stood there, a few meters away, looking at you. The cold forest wind messed up the loose hair from the bun, and the thick socks were dirty with earth at the tips. There was something vulnerable in that posture, shoulders slightly hunched, restless fingers, that contrasted with the image Clarisse had always had of you: someone who seemed to float through the camp effortlessly, as if the world adjusted around you.

She said nothing. Just nodded once, a short, almost imperceptible movement. Then turned again and kept walking, without looking back.

The walk back was silent, except for the sound of boots crushing wet leaves and dry twigs. The fine drizzle from earlier had started again, fine enough to wet without really bothering. Clarisse kept her face forward, jaw locked, trying to ignore the echo of that phrase in her head.

I'm going to sing at the campfire tonight… If you want to show up.

She knew that invitation wasn't casual. It wasn't the kind of thing you said out of politeness. You knew Clarisse avoided campfire nights like someone avoiding a trap. All that circle of demigods singing, laughing, sharing stories, hugging each other… it was too much. Too much friendship commotion, too much display of affection, too much that Clarisse didn't know how to receive without feeling suffocated. She always made excuses. Extra patrol, night training, headache, and disappeared to the Ares cabin before the flames started rising.

But as she walked back along the narrow trail, the phrase repeated. And repeated. And repeated.

She reached the camp when the sky was already starting to darken. She passed the empty arena, the lit Big House, the cabins starting to fill with movement for dinner. She ignored the calls from some siblings who wanted to know if she was eating with them. She entered the Ares cabin, threw herself on the bed, and stared at the splintered wooden ceiling.

She couldn't stop thinking about it.

Clarisse huffed at herself, irritated with her own head. She turned to the side, trying to convince herself she wouldn't go. That she didn't need to. That no campfire was worth the discomfort.

But the image wouldn't leave.

You singing. The fire crackling. The kids maybe sitting around you. And the empty space where she could, or could not, be.

She closed her eyes tightly. She still didn't know if she would go. But for the first time in a long time, the idea of going didn't seem so unbearable.

[…]

Night fell heavy over Camp Half-Blood, but the central campfire burned with a hunger that seemed to defy the damp cold still hanging in the air. The flames rose high, golden and orange, spitting sparks that danced in the light wind before fading into the dark. The smell of burning wood mixed with the sticky sweet of toasted marshmallows, the faint alcohol of diluted nectar that the older campers passed hand to hand in improvised mugs, and the subtle scent of herbs someone had thrown into the fire to keep mosquitoes away.

The circle of cut logs was full. Younger kids ran around the fire, marshmallow sticks in hand, shouting when the sweet caught fire and turned into a bluish ball of flame. Laughter exploded in groups, monster stories were told out loud, someone tried to imitate a drakon's roar and ended up coughing from laughing so hard. The older teens spread out in relaxed positions, shoulders leaning, lazy gazes on the flames, low conversations punctuated by sips and satisfied sighs.

And in the center of it all, you.

Sitting on a larger log, guitar resting on your knee, body slightly leaning forward as if embracing the instrument. The firelight painted your face in warm tones: the outline of your jaw, the soft curve of your cheeks, the strands escaping the loose braid and sticking to your forehead damp with heat. Your fingers danced on the strings with a naturalness that seemed innate, and when you began to sing, voice low and clear, rising slowly like smoke, the entire camp seemed to hold its breath.

It wasn't all at once. It was gradual. A child stopped running, the marshmallow forgotten on the end of the stick. An older boy lowered his mug. Conversations died slowly, as if each note from your throat were a thread tying everyone there. Even the laughter quieted. It was as if the fire, the night, the air itself had decided nothing else mattered but that voice.

Clarisse arrived late.

She stopped at the edge of the clearing, half hidden behind a column of tall pines, body partially covered by shadow. She didn't approach the circle. She stayed there, arms crossed, the good one over her chest, the other still in the sling, jaw locked, shoulders tense as if ready to flee at any moment. The heat from the fire reached her in waves, but not enough to chase away the cold she felt inside.

She saw you finish the song. Saw the last chord dissolve into the air. Saw the silence stretch for a full second before the explosion of applause and whistles began. Kids shouting "again!", teens clapping in rhythm, someone yelling "one more!"

And then she saw your eyes.

You lifted your face, still smiling with the warmth of the praise, but your eyes scanned the clearing, quick, searching. They swept the circle, the logs, the shadows behind the flames. Searching for something. Someone. And when they didn't find it, the smile faltered. It was subtle, a slight drop at the corners of your mouth, a longer blink, but Clarisse noticed.

It was her. Of course it was her. You had invited her. And so far, Clarisse hadn't shown up.

The kids started running again, the older ones asked for new songs, someone shouted the name of an old Hermes tune. You laughed, that sweet, light laugh that seemed made of honey and light, and raised your hands in a calming gesture.

"Easy, easy… one at a time."

And then, from the dark, came the voice.

"Sing something by the Beatles."

Low. Rough. But clear enough to cut through the chatter and fall straight into the silence that formed around it. You froze. Your fingers stopped on the strings. You lifted your gaze slowly, searching for the source of the voice.

And found it.

Clarisse was stepping out of the shadow now. Slow, deliberate steps. She crossed the edge of the clearing, ignoring the curious looks that turned to her, and sat on an empty log on the other side of the fire. Facing you. The flames dancing between the two of you, distorting the view, making her face flicker in shades of orange and gold. The faded orange sling looked almost part of the fire. Her dark eyes fixed on yours, unblinking.

Something hit you, relief mixed with surprise, hot like the flames licking the air between you. Your chest rose and fell faster. You swallowed hard, but the smile that appeared was genuine, soft, almost shy.

"Any specific one?" you asked, voice low, almost whispered, as if the rest of the camp had disappeared and only the two of you remained.

Clarisse glanced around for an instant. She noticed the sudden silence. No one spoke. No one requested a song. Everyone looked at her, at you, at the space between the two of you that the fire seemed unable to truly burn.

She brought her eyes back to you.

For several seconds too long, she got lost there.

In the way the fire illuminated your face, highlighting the light freckles on your nose, the wet gleam in your eyes, the soft curve of your lips that trembled slightly, not from cold, but from something deeper. In the way you held the guitar like an extension of your body. In the way you waited, without pushing, without judging.

Clarisse felt her chest tighten in a way that wasn't pain, but something close: a pang of something new, fragile, that she didn't know how to hold without breaking.

"No," she said finally, voice soft, almost a whisper barely audible above the crackling wood. "Just… play Beatles."

You nodded slowly. Your fingers returned to the strings, but this time there was a new hesitation in them, not from insecurity, but from care. As if every note you were about to play now carried a weight that hadn't existed before.

And when the first note of Blackbird began to sound, slow, vibrant, the entire camp seemed to breathe together.

But Clarisse didn't hear the rest of the world. Only the voice crossing the flames. Only the gaze finding hers from the other side of the fire. Only the sweet and painful tension of something being born there, in the silence between the notes, that neither of you yet knew how to name.

But that already hurt beautifully.

Clarisse stayed there, sitting on the rough log on the other side of the fire, the flames licking the air between you like a living barrier that couldn't truly burn what was happening. The heat came in irregular waves, warming one side of her face and leaving the other cold, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on you, didn't dare look away, as if any blink could make the scene disappear.

Your voice came out clean, effortless, as if the notes had been stored inside you for years and now simply escaped. Each verse seemed to curl in the air, cross the fire, and wrap around her chest.

And you looked straight at her.

It wasn't a constant, dramatic gaze. It was subtle. Between one line and the next, your eyes rose from the guitar, met hers for a second too long, and then returned to the strings. But Clarisse felt each of those looks like a physical touch, warm, insistent, disconcerting. As if you were singing only for her, even with the entire camp there, breathing together.

The feelings inside her were a mess she didn't know how to untangle.

Part of her wanted to stand up and leave. Run from that vulnerability growing like a fire too low to be controlled. Because staying there, being seen like that, was dangerous. It was admitting that something inside her was moving, opening, and Clarisse La Rue didn't open. She struck. She shouted. She destroyed. But she didn't open.

Another part, smaller, more treacherous, wanted to stay. Wanted to let the voice in, let the gaze linger, let the heat of the fire and those notes melt a little of the shell she carried like armor. Because it felt good. It was strange and good. It was like breathing after holding the air for too long.

She felt anger too. Anger at you for achieving all that effortlessly. Anger at herself for not being able to truly hate you. Anger at the fire for illuminating your face like that, highlighting the soft lines, the shine in your eyes, the slight smile that appeared when you hit a perfect note. Anger at how gentle it all was. Pure. Untouchable.

And underneath it all, a pang of something like longing, for something she had never had and that, suddenly, she wanted.

She didn't even notice Silena approaching. The daughter of Aphrodite sat beside her with the silent grace of someone who knows how to move without being noticed, the light dress brushing the log, the scent of strawberry and vanilla mixing with the smell of smoke. Clarisse kept looking forward, at you, as if the whole world had shrunk to the space between the flames.

Then came Silena's low voice, almost a conspiratorial whisper:

"So… figured out what's so special about her?"

Clarisse didn't turn her face. Didn't blink. She just answered, voice rough and low, almost inaudible above the music:

"Not yet."

Silena rolled her eyes, Clarisse felt the movement even without looking. The typical eye-roll of someone who knew her stubbornness better than anyone. But before Silena could retort with some sharp tease, Clarisse continued, even lower, almost as if the words had escaped without permission:

"But I think I'm starting to see."

Silena froze. The eye-roll died midway. She turned her face slowly to Clarisse, genuine surprise in her eyes, because Clarisse La Rue didn't admit weaknesses. Didn't admit doubts. And there she was, admitting something she didn't even know how to name.

At that exact moment, the song reached its end. You played the closing solo, slow, delicate, each note hovering in the air like smoke. A little girl with braids, maybe the same one from the painting lesson, sat at your feet, resting her head on your knee without ceremony. You didn't stop playing. You just lowered your eyes to her, smiled, a sweet, unhurried smile full of a tenderness that didn't need to be earned.

It was gentle.

It was pure.

It was everything Clarisse could never be.

It was you.

Clarisse felt her chest tighten in a way that wasn't pain, but something close: a mix of envy, admiration, and a confused desire to approach that light without extinguishing it. She hated it. Hated how you managed to be all that effortlessly, without armor, without anger. Hated how it made her want to be different, just a little.

But she also hated it less than she thought.

The last note died in the air. The silence stretched for a full second before the applause started again, softer this time, as if no one wanted to break the spell.

Clarisse didn't applaud.

She just kept looking.

The fire still crackled in the background. The flames, now lower, cast shadows on the nearby trees. Clarisse felt all of it like extra weight on her shoulders, the residual heat of the fire on her face, the sharp cold on her back, the muffled sound of laughter and conversations returning to fill the circle now that the music had ended.

But none of that mattered. Not really. Because inside her, something was breaking.

Her eyes burned first. A subtle heat, as if someone had blown hot ashes into them, rising from the lower eyelids and spreading to the temples. She blinked fast, once, twice, trying to push the sensation away, but the burning only grew, now wet, treacherous, like tears refusing to be contained.

Her hands, at least the one from her good arm that had been resting on her knee until then, began to tremble. A fine tremor, almost imperceptible at first, but that spread through her fingers, her wrists, climbing her forearms like a faulty electric current. It wasn't the cold. It wasn't fatigue. It was something more dangerous: a crack in the armor she had built over years of anger and brute force.

And that scared the hell out of her.

Clarisse La Rue didn't tremble. She didn't cry. She didn't allow herself. She was a daughter of Ares, made of impacts, screams, bloody victories. But there, sitting on the rough log, with the fire crackling between you and your gaze still echoing in her mind, her body betrayed her. Her chest tightened as if an invisible hand were crushing it, and the tremor in her hands threatened to spread to her entire body.

She felt the panic rise in her throat, raw, irrational, as if she were facing a monster she couldn't strike with a spear.

She cleared her throat loudly, a rough, forced sound that tore through the air like a warning. She nodded once, a short, almost mechanical gesture that didn't reach her eyes. She stood up in a rush, legs obeying on instinct but faltering for a fraction of a second. The log creaked under the weight leaving it, and she turned her back to the fire, to the circle of curious faces, to you. The first steps were firm, deliberate, cutting through the damp grass of the clearing as if she could step on her own vulnerability and crush it.

You noticed immediately.

The smile that still lit up your face, a remnant of the music, the applause, the brief connection that had formed through the flames, froze. Your eyes followed her silhouette: the tense shoulders, the sling swaying slightly with each step, the rigid posture screaming escape. Confusion passed over your face, eyebrows furrowed in a thin line, mouth half-open as if a question had gotten stuck on your tongue.

Your heart raced in your chest, a mix of worry and something more urgent, more instinctive.

Without thinking twice, you grabbed the guitar by the neck and held it out to Grover, who was sitting beside you, face illuminated by the fire, a stick with five marshmallows at once forgotten in his hand.

He blinked, goat eyes widening in confusion, ears twitching slightly.

"Take over from here," you murmured, voice low and hurried, already standing up. "I'm… going to get some air."

Grover extended his hands hesitantly, taking the instrument as if it were something alive and unpredictable.

"But I don't—"

You were already in motion. Already running across the clearing, feet sinking into the damp grass, cold wind hitting your face and messing up the strands now practically loose from your hair. The laughter in the background sounded distant now, muffled by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears.

"…know how to play," Grover finished, staring at the guitar with an expression of pure desperation, as if he expected the instrument to explain itself.

The trail to the Ares cabin wound between the trees, dark and silent, lit only by spaced torches that flickered like candles in the wind. The air there was colder, denser, carrying the smell of damp pine and earth wet from the recent drizzle. Clarisse walked with firm, almost martial steps, jaw locked, fist of her good arm clenched as if she could punch the air.

Each breath came out heavy, clouded in the night's cold, and the tremor in her hands still hadn't stopped completely. She tried to convince herself it was just fatigue, just the injured shoulder, just the idiocy of having gone to the campfire in the first place. But deep down, she knew it was more. Much more.

Then came the voice.

"Clarisse!"

Loud enough to cut through the darkness, breathless, loaded with urgency. She stopped mid-step. Her heart gave an involuntary leap in her chest. She turned slowly, eyes narrowed in the dim light.

You were standing about ten meters away, hands braced on your knees, body bent forward as you caught your breath. Face flushed from the effort, cheeks pink. Your chest rose and fell quickly, and your hair, now completely loose from the slack braid, fell in messy waves over your shoulders. You lifted your gaze to her, eyes wide and worried, searching her face for something to explain the sudden flight.

Clarisse stood there, watching all of it without knowing what she felt. Anger at being followed? Relief at not being alone? Fear that you would see the tremor still lingering in her hands? Everything mixed into a confused knot in her stomach.

"You okay?" she murmured, voice low and rough, almost reluctant, as if the words had been dragged out.

You straightened slowly, starting to approach, but still breathing heavily, one hand pressing your chest as if you could calm the racing heart.

"I'm the one asking," you answered, voice soft but firm. "You just left out of nowhere."

Clarisse shrugged, the movement slow, almost indifferent, but her eyes betrayed her, darting to the ground, to the dancing shadows of the torches.

"It's no big deal. Just… the shoulder hurting, I don't know." The voice came out gentle, too soft for her usual standard, without the habitual venom, but still carrying that unmistakable Clarisse essence: a wall of words hiding what really mattered.

You stopped less than three steps from her, and silence fell then. A heavy silence, full of unspoken things, broken only by the wind whispering in the leaves above and the distant crackle of the campfire. The torches flickered, throwing intermittent lights on your faces, hers rigid and shadowed; yours still pink and open, waiting.

After long seconds that felt like minutes, you looked at her. Really looked: tracing the tense face, the eyes avoiding yours, the defensive posture. And then you laughed softly, an embarrassed, almost shy laugh that broke the silence like a raindrop in a calm lake.

"Well… I didn't think much about what I'd say, so… I guess I just ran after you because I didn't want you to leave thinking that… I don't know. That it was something I—."

Clarisse cut in before you could get lost in the words. Her voice came out low, almost a whisper, as if she were confessing a secret she didn't even want to hear herself.

"It's the only memory I have of my mother."

You blinked, surprised, the laugh dying on your lips.

"What?"

Clarisse was staring at nothing now, at the blackness beyond the trail, at the shadows swallowing the path ahead. Eyes glazed, as if revisiting an old scene, faded by time. Her voice continued, low and distant, carrying a raw emotion she rarely let escape.

"The Beatles. It's the only thing I remember about her. When I was eight… she had this old cassette tape, the kind the car almost chewed every time you put it in. All the Beatles songs in there, scratched, skipping in some parts. She let me put it in the player. I'd sit in the front seat and sing wrong along with her. 'Yesterday' turned into a mess, 'Hey Jude' I'd get half the words wrong. But she laughed. She sang loud, tapping the steering wheel, and I thought it would last forever."

She stopped. Her voice faltered at the end, a subtle tremor echoing the one in her hands. Her chest rose and fell faster, and her eyes shone now, not with spilled tears, but with a Herculean effort to hold them back. The knot in her throat tightened, and her nose itched with the damp smell of the night.

Then she realized. She felt the burning in her eyes intensify, the tremor return to her hands. She laughed mockingly, a short, bitter sound that echoed on the dark trail like a final defense. She wiped her nose with the back of her good hand, sniffing loudly, trying to disguise what was obvious.

"And I have no idea why I'm telling you this. But you… I don't know, the words just jumped out. No brakes. So that must be what you have. That thing of… comfort. And it pisses me off. It pisses me off a lot."

Her voice rose at the end, loaded with frustration, but without the usual venom. It was anger mixed with something more vulnerable, a reluctant admission that perhaps that irritation was just fear in disguise. She sniffed again, wiping her face with the sleeve of her t-shirt, eyes still glazed but now fixed on yours, as if daring you to say something that would break that moment.

The silence returned, denser now, full of raw emotion hanging in the air like mist. The night felt colder, quieter, as if the entire camp had held its breath along with you.

Clarisse held the gaze for one more second, long, heavy, as if deciding whether those words she had just released into the air could still be taken back. The wet gleam in her eyes had already dissipated, but the trace remained: a subtle redness at the edges of her eyelids, the nose still pink from so much sniffing. She took a deep breath, chest visibly rising and falling in the trail's silence, then let the air out slowly, like someone saying goodbye to something she didn't want to admit existed.

"We'll talk tomorrow."

The phrase came out low, almost inaudible, loaded with a reluctance that wasn't anger, but something more fragile. It wasn't a promise. It was a minimal surrender, the acknowledgment that, after all that, running away for good no longer seemed like a viable option. She didn't wait for a response. She didn't look back. She just turned her whole body, shoulders stiffening again as if putting the armor back on, and started walking.

Her steps echoed on the dark trail: firm, rhythmic, the sound of heavy boots crushing wet leaves and thin twigs. The light from the nearest torches cast long, flickering shadows ahead of her, stretching her silhouette until it seemed bigger than it really was, an unconscious attempt to appear invincible. But you knew she wasn't. Not that night.

You stood planted there.

Feet glued to the ground as if rooted in the wet earth. The cold forest wind blew against your back, goosebumping the exposed skin of your arms, but you barely felt it. Your heart was still racing from the run, from the effort, from those words Clarisse had poured out like they were too hot stones to hold. You opened your mouth once, as if you wanted to call her back, but no words came out. You just watched.

Her silhouette grew smaller in the dimness of the trail. She passed the last torch before the curve leading to the Ares cabin. Clarisse climbed the porch steps without hesitation, pushed the door with her good shoulder, and disappeared inside. The door closed with a dry, final click.

And then the silence returned for real.

You felt a tightness in your chest, not exactly sadness, but something like anticipated longing. As if, after everything that had been said, the space between you had become bigger than ever, even though, for the first time, it didn't seem insurmountable.

You ran a hand over your face, brushing away a damp strand that the wind had stuck to your cheek. You looked at the dark path for a few more seconds, as if hoping she would come back. But she didn't.

In the end, you turned slowly. The walk back to the clearing was slow, almost reluctant. The guitar was still with Grover, abandoned on the ground beside him, untouched, and the fire still burned, but the circle seemed smaller now, emptier, even with everyone there.

You didn't play again that night.

You sat on the same log as before, picked up the guitar without saying anything, and stared at the strings as if they could explain what had just happened. The kids kept running, the older ones kept talking, but you barely heard. Your mind was still on the trail, on her rough voice saying we'll talk tomorrow, on the way she had fled without truly fleeing.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt that something had changed irreversibly.

You didn't know what. You didn't know how. But you knew that tomorrow, when the sun rose gray over the camp, Clarisse La Rue would no longer be the same person you had met in the forest two days earlier.

And neither would you.

[part.2]

[themercifulwriter]

Let's Make Love Tonight — Jennie Kim

synopsis: jennie and y/n decided to take a trip to paris on her break.

pairing: idol!jennie x younger!fem!reader

content/warnings: suggestive, Y/n is 7th member of IVE, kissing, hickeys

wc: 3.3k

a/n: happy late birthday post for nini! this was also based on a dream i had of her..

Y/n and her girlfriend, Jennie, just arrived in Paris. Y/n already knew the jet lag was gonna kill her due to her inability to sleep on the plane. But the moment she sat in a taxi she called with the little French she knew, she wanted to fall asleep. The comfy leather seats on the black Mercedes and her girlfriend leaning into her side was coaxing her to doze off.

Y/n got a notification from her phone, she pulled it out seeing Wonyoung's message.

vicky: hope you arrived safely, give Jennie unnie our thanks! and RELAX you robot

The taller girl felt a pair of lips make contact with her cheek, grabbing her attention. Jennie was smiling up at Y/n as she was laying on her shoulder, "Who's messaging?"

"Just Wonyoung." Y/n said, "She says thanks and how I better relax on our trip."

Jennie softly smiled, "Speaking about relaxation, do you wanna sleep for a little bit when we get to the hotel? It's still early."

It was five a.m. when the two of them landed in Paris from South Korea. She recently finished up her shows and wanted to spend some time with Y/n. The Korean girl surprised her with tickets to Paris, promising her that she will only have her utmost attention.

"No it's okay." Y/n smiled, but it couldn't hide the tired eyes and dark circles from the lack of sleep on her face.

Jennie sighed, "I'm going to make you sleep, you can't say no. You were restless on the plane."

Y/n let out a small breath, thankful that your girlfriend was so understanding. She tried not to fall asleep during the car ride, trying to be patient enough to pass out on the hotel bed.

When they finally arrived, the two of them thanked the driver before leaving and getting their luggage out of the trunk. Y/n put on her mask to prevent from getting recognized as her and Jennie have not gone public yet.

It's not that Jennie wanted to hide her girlfriend. If anything, she wanted to tell the world that she was taken by Y/n. But the anxiety Y/n had behind having so many people looking at the two of them felt insurmountable at that time. However recently, Y/n gave Jennie the 'okay' to reveal it whenever she wants to. As long as she lets you know beforehand of course. The two of you then made your way to the hotel entrance, Jennie telling them her name.

She handed you two a keycard before the two of you went to the elevator and went up. She clung onto your side ever since you left the airport. You can't remember the last time you have been able to spend this much time with each other. You're relishing every moment of it.

The elevator dinged that they reached their floor. Y/n and Jennie made their way to the hotel, opening the door with their room key. Y/n quickly brought all their luggage, even the ones out of Jennie's hands, "Let me."

She scrambled into the room with Jennie laughing and closing the door behind them, "What are you doing?" Jennie looks at Y/n unzipping everything and organizing everything in their hotel, "Baby," she puts her hands on her girlfriend's wrist, "Stop."

This made Y/n look up at her girlfriend, the look on her face making Jennie's heart melt, "Baby, just sleep. I can handle a bit of unpacking." The kpop idol insists.

Y/n only sighed, standing up and launching herself on their shared bed. She sighed at the soft, silk sheets beneath her fingers as the chill spread throughout her body. The good kind. Jennie laughs at her girlfriend's antics as she starts sorting through their stuff. The Korean woman saw how Y/n didn't move from the position she originally launched herself into their bed.

Jennie playfully pouted even though the taller girl couldn't see, "Baby, you won't tuck yourself in."

No response, Jennie's face fell. Was Y/n really sleeping with her legs hanging off the mattress and hands flat against the bed? Yes, yes she was.

The idol sighed, shaking her head. She stood up from the floor and moved Y/n's long limbs.

She curses God during these moments for making her girlfriend be 5 '10.

Y/n eventually moved under the covers herself, too tired to even laugh at how cute Jennie looked trying so hard to move her body. This makes the Korean smile, tucking Y/n in before sitting on the edge of their temporary shared bed. She lightly caresses her face with the back of her hand, kissing her on the forehead, "Don't worry about anything. I got you. I love you."

She took Y/n's phone that was also on the bed and charged it before unpacking everything Jennie needed to. The idol really didn't lie whenever she told Y/n she should sleep. She also knew she had been working hard between sponsorships and her trying to build a career in the States.

Jennie placed all their skincare in the bathroom along with their travel size shampoos. She decorated the place with their belongings except their clothes. She also cuddled up to Y/n underneath the sheets, who she was met with warmth, making her sigh and cuddle closer to Y/n. And unconsciously, the younger girl wrapped her arms around Jennie like a magnet, making the older woman smile.

Jennie tucked her head under Y/n's neck before falling asleep to the feeling of her chest rising and falling along to her heartbeat.

-

Y/n was the first to wake up, rubbing her eyes to try to wear off the sleepiness. She yawned, covering her mouth before looking down at the body below her.

She melted at the sight of Jennie. Despite their age difference, she swears that her and the Korean had no age difference sometimes. Especially in these moments, just a tiny little kitten who wants to cuddle. Just in human form, of course.

Y/n tiredly smiled, cuddling closer before reaching at Jennie's phone she placed on her beside table.

8:48 a.m.

She sighed, relieved that they had most of the day to spend together. She placed a kiss on the older woman's forehead, making her shift. This made the younger idol smile, "Baby, let's get up."

Jennie cuddled further into Y/n's body until her face was between her boobs, slightly humming. This made her laugh hysterically, making her chest go up and down.

The older woman whined, "No, five more minutes."

Y/n started peppering kisses on her face, wrapping Jennie's arms around her waist, trying to coax her awake, "Come on baby…" She huskily sighed, making a shiver go down Jennie's spine. She put her arms around Y/n's neck as she sighed in content. Y/n smiled against her jaw, "Let's enjoy this morning together."

She placed her lips on Jennie's, making her eyebrows go up. She melted into Y/n's warmth, moving her lips lovingly against the younger idol. She couldn't remember the last time she could do this, be in her arms and not count down the minutes she had to get out of them to get ready.

Y/n pulled away, eyes watery from sleep, "Let's change and get breakfast downstairs."

Jennie nodded, "Wait…" She grabbed Y/n's jaw and pressed one more long, passionate kiss against her lips. She moaned before pulling away, "Now we can get ready."

She pulled the covers over her, making her way to their suitcases so she could pick out her outfit. This left Y/n flustered, cheeks flushed and mouth opened. Her eyebrows furrowed from shock of what just happened. Her girlfriend's duality will never fail her, she can be so sexy and sultry one second then all cute the next. It made her so confused but she would never trade it for anything.

The younger idol eventually got up and picked out her outfit before leaving and getting out of these gross airplane clothes.

-

It was now 30 minutes later, Jennie and Y/n both did their makeup and are now in the elevator. They were holding hands, the Korean woman leaned against her girlfriend as she happily talked about their plans.

They would go get a croissant and a few other pastries for breakfast, then go shopping for a bit. It was Jennie's favorite activity to do while they were in Paris. But Y/n was more of an artist type that wasn't in fashion. Her fans, dives, knew her passion for her art and often posted about the art museums she went to so they would go to one later on today as well.

But for some part of the day, the IVE member hoped she could sneak off and get a bouquet of flowers for Jennie. She knew how much the older woman liked her flowers, always showing off the giant blue bouquet on Instagram that her mom would send her on her birthday. So, this was an opportunity for Y/n to design her own bouquet for Jennie.

"Honey, are you listening?" Jennie asks, making the taller girl turn her head towards her.

Y/n smiled, "Yeah, I'm just excited to spend today with you."

The older woman giggled, going up on her tippy toes to kiss Y/n, "Aren't you just the sweetest?"

The elevator dinged, neither of the women flinched at all. Jennie led Y/n out of the elevator and out of the hotel.

It wasn't that cold in Paris yet even though it was February. The sun was shining and people were walking. They made their way to Jennie's favorite bakery as they talked about anything and everything. But mostly the idea revolves around marriage.

"I'm getting older, baby… I'm turning thirty and I know you're still young—"

"Hey." Y/n cut off, cradling both her hands with her own, "If I wasn't all in I wouldn't be in this with you." She comforted, eyes wide and full of reassurance.

Jennie sighed, "I know… I just don't want to hold you back."

Y/n was a '02 liner, making her six years younger than Jennie. The younger woman sighed, pulling Jennie to the side, kissing her forehead and pulling her close. Jennie laid her hands on her girlfriend's chest as she closely spoke, "You aren't holding me back from anything." She pressed another kiss to her temple, "You're more than supportive. I've never once felt otherwise."

Jennie looked up at Y/n, smiling at her words. This made Y/n breath out in relief, Jennie pecked the IVE member once more, "Okay let's go get our breakfast."

The two entered the bakeshop, Jennie looked around at what they had as Y/n looked at their drinks menu. She didn't particularly enjoy coffee, and Jennie hasn't drank coffee in years. So she decided with two hot chocolates.

She tapped Jennie's shoulder, getting her attention. The older woman turned to Y/n with curious eyes, making her heart stutter, "Can you get two hot chocolates also?"

Jennie nodded, patiently waiting for her turn to come. She always loved Paris. Whether she would come here for fashion week, a concert, promotions, interviews, whatever it was, she was in love with it all. But now, more than ever. Being here with the love of her life, Y/n, made her heart warm all over.

Y/n realized this could be her only chance to be away from Jennie for a few minutes. She wrapped her arms around Jennie, hugging her from behind before placing a kiss on her head, "I'm gonna go out for a bit. See if there's anywhere else we should go to after we eat."

"But where are you going? I don't wanna spend a second apart from you." She pouted.

"I know my love…" Y/n tried so hard not to give into those precious eyes, "But I'll only be gone for a few moments, I promise."

Jennie sadly nodded, "Okay… just come back soon. I love you."

"I love you much more." She kissed her goodbye before leaving the bakery.

Y/n quickly ran to the nearby florist, heading inside. She actually ordered a few days before they landed if she could arrange a bouquet. The shop sent a photo and she was glad it was how she pictured it.

A lady appeared up front to the cashier, "Bonjour, comment puis-je vous aider?"

Y/n shyly smiled and quickly showed the kind lady her order history on her phone. The florist immediately nodded, "I'll get those right out for you."

Y/n bowed, smiling politely, "Thank you."

She admired the shop in the meantime. It was quite quaint. Flowers adorned every corner with bright colors, most she hasn't seen before. Then again, she wasn't a florist, but man did she appreciate them.

The French lady came out again, placing down the bouquet on the counter, "Wrap?"

Y/n nodded, patiently waiting for her to wrap it. Another notification came through on her phone, she turned it on, seeing Jennie's message.

nini 💌: i got everything, are you coming back soon?

Y/n smiled.

yeah, i'll be back in a few moments. Y/n typed back.

The lady finished up wrapping, she looked up at the IVE member, "Thank you for ordering from us. I hope whoever is receiving this will love it."

"I hope so too." Y/n said, thanking the florist once more before leaving with the bouquet in her hands.

She couldn't help but have a stupid grin on her face as she walked back to the bakery she left Jennie in. Her heart was racing the closer she got, probably from the anticipation and a tiny bit from nervousness.

The younger idol saw the Korean woman waiting outside with a bag in her hand, patiently waiting. She was bouncing a little from her heels in anticipation of seeing Y/n, lips pursed and eyes wide. If Y/n could take a picture of the sight, she would.

Jennie looked at the direction Y/n came from, smiling already but then realized what she was holding. Her smile faltered for a second, before she carefully wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. The IVE member also opened her arms before embracing Jennie, kissing the top of her head.

Jennie then pulled back, her eyes glassy. Y/n nervously smiled, slightly tilting the flowers she got towards her, "I hope you like them…"

"Like them?" Jennie asked, looking at them then up towards Y/n, "I love them. I love you."

She pecked Y/n a few times before taking the flowers and putting them on an outdoor chair outside the bakery. The two then sat down together. Jennie sighed, letting out a small chuckle, "I wanted to get you flowers too…" She confessed shyly.

Y/n suddenly blushed, rubbing the back of her head, "I'm glad you thought of me."

"There's never a day that goes by that I don't think of you."

Jennie set up the table. The array of pastries she got them with the two hot chocolates, which Y/n opened the lids of to show off. Jennie pursed her lips together, phone in one hand and the other making sure everything was in place for the picture Instagram story.

The IVE member was gonna post something else later on. The two women are now at a point in their relationship that they don't care about the rumors anymore. They wanted to remain private, but not secret.

Jennie snapped a few pictures, making sure a tiny bit of Y/n's hands could be seen. She smiled, knowing she could show off even just a tiny bit of her girlfriend.

She then posted it onto her instagram, putting a red heart as a caption. Y/n yawned, catching Jennie's attention, "Are you still tired?"

The younger woman smiled, "I'll be okay. Let's just eat."

The two started eating. No words exchanged at all. It was a site to behold, really. But nonetheless, the two women enjoyed each other's presence.

Y/n winked at Jennie when she was drinking out of her hot chocolate cup, making the older woman choke. She set her cup down, smiling without control and swallowed the warm chocolatey goodness.

Once she did, she started giggling like a school girl. This made Y/n smile too, smiling gleefully at her effect on the older woman.

- It was now later. The two women decided to have a calm day and decided to stay in the area they were staying in. Which doesn't say much considering how their hotel room had a view of the Eiffel tower from their balcony.

They were getting dressed tonight, Y/n already was in her outfit. She just had a simple denim, matching jacket and jeans. She was waiting for Jennie while she fixed herself up in the mirror. The older woman looked flawless in the younger girl's eyes, white cardigan, short black miniskirt, tights and black heels.

Y/n stood up and looked in another mirror in their room. She noticed a part of her neck more red than usual. The IVE member sighed as she looked into her reflection, "It looks like I have a hickey."

She looked over at Jennie, suddenly feeling bold, "Do you wanna make it a real one?"

Jennie paused in the mirror, before gaining her composure back, "Of course." She smiled.

The older woman walked over to Y/n in her heels, pulling her closer to her before pressing her lips to her girlfriend's. Jennie wrapped her arms around the younger girl's shoulders as Y/n snaked her arms around the older woman's, making the Korean sigh against her lips.

Jennie kissed her passionately, pressing her lips hard against the younger's. Y/n's lips were warm and soft, just like how she liked it. She then trailed her kisses down to Y/n's chin, across her jaw, and down her neck. Jennie always loved how serious her girlfriend took care of her skin, making it that much better kissing her, especially below.

The sudden transition from feeling Jennie's lips from her jaw to her neck made Y/n feel tingly inside, she always did whenever Jennie was kissing her with purpose. The younger idol's chest fluttered rapidly as she unconsciously squeezed the shorter woman closer to her.

Jennie was first laying featherlight kisses on Y/n's neck before she start laying open mouth kisses, making her girlfriend let out a moan. The warmth emitting from her tongue made Y/n clutch harder onto Jennie's white cardigan. She smiled against her neck from the reaction she was getting from the younger girl. Her tongue grazed the spot that always made the IVE member more needy.

She then started to make a hickey on the red spot on her neck. The sounds of sucking could be heard, making Y/n feel hotter as her face began to flush. Jennie gripped her shoulders tighter, making sure the mark was evident before she gave it one last kiss and pulled away.

The sight of Y/n was something to behold. Her eyes were dilated, face was crimson, and her expression was something that made Jennie want to jump her bones. Y/n was now breathing heavily, Jennie left her girlfriend for a few moments to grab her purse. The younger idol had hooded eyes when the older woman came back, walking over to her and wrapping her arms on her waist from behind.

Y/n kissed her ear, "Let's not go to our reservation and spend the night here." She said in a hoarse voice.

Jennie rolled her eyes in ecstasy as Y/n started kissing down her ear. Her purse started slipping out of her hands as they went up to tangle in her girlfriend's hair. She sighed, "Baby we can't, we need to eat-"

Y/n suckled a tiny bit on the side of her neck, "But I want to eat you."

Jennie turned around and grabbed Y/n's hands, "Let's go baby." She pecked her lips before picking up her purse, making the IVE member slump her whole body and pout.

[goofymickeyr]

Worshipping the goddess

[katseyeexe0-deactivated20260425]

Divided (3)

Sophia and Leon's wedding was set. When the news reached you, everything went blank. Godfrey had to watch his daughter cry herself to sleep every night until he finally decided enough is enough.

Warnings: Mentions of firearms, threats, Carla finally being put in her place (kinda), slight angst.

GP reader

Non Idol Au!

Part 3

Those words were all Carla needed to hear. The next few weeks were spent preparing for a grand wedding. The son of the Barretto Family and the daughter of the Laforteza family. Sophia was absolutely devastated yet she was in no place to do anything.

She received a text from you one morning and her heart did those stupid flips it always did.

She wasn't sure how she'd tell you, what she'd say but she needed you to move on. It wasn't fair to either of you.

She waited with Aya in her arms, the baby's soft coo filling the backyard. The wind was cool, blowing her hair in her face. When she saw you practically sprinting towards her, grass in your hair (from you falling earlier), she had to bite back a smile. "So-soph...hey.." You panted, hands on your knees.

"Hey..Take a seat," she gestured to the chair. Before you sat down, you placed the money on the table infront of her and looked at the baby. Sophia always knew what you wanted without you even using words. Aya was then carefully placed in your arms and she guided you to sit.

Aya fit so perfectly in your arms, her tiny rose bud lips parted ever so slightly, her little body wrapped in a fluffy pink blanket. Sophia knew you wouldn't even listen to her once you had Aya but she still started anyway.

"Y/n...I um..." she swallowed, not sure how to tell you.

"Are you okay, Phia?" You asked gently, a forward on your face. Oh god if you could've hear how her heart fluttered, if you could've seen the butterflies erupting in her stomach because despite everything that went down, the Laforteza girl didn’t want to believe you cheated.

"I'm not sure anymore... I'm getting married y/n."

She watched as your frowned turned into utter heart break, watched as your eyes welled up.

"What-this has to be a joke right? Right? You're lying...right?"

She shook her head, extending her hands to show you a massive diamond ring on her engagement finger. "I'm getting married to Leon. You know, Leon Barretto?"

Of course it was him. It was always him. Every single time you went over to her house, Carla would compare you and Sophia would often reassure you that you were enough. She even promised she'd never ever have any sort of relationship with him, except being friends.

"But you promised- I know! But what can I do?!"

At her sudden outburst, Aya began wailing in your arms. "Shh its okay baby..my love..its okay...I'm here.."

Sophia's grandmother came out and took Aya away. Normally you would've protest but the news made you forget that you hardly ever saw Aya.

"It's time for you to move on y/n... we were never meant to be together, you and I both knew that," she said.

"No. No there has to be a way."

"You cheated! You cheated on me!"

"I didn’t!"

"My mother can't just photoshop you and some random bitch kissing!"

"Well maybe she did! Sophia please you know me. You know I wouldn't do that." Sophia's eyes welled up with tears and she turned to the side because deep down, she knew you wouldn't but the proof was there.

"I'm sorry y/n but it's officially over." She left you in the backyard, staring at the table like it owed you money whereas you were just processing everything. Why wouldn't she just believe you?

Sophia ran into her bedroom, locked the door and began crying. Loud angry sobs, snot running down her nose. That night, Godfrey held her while she cried herself to sleep. She was his only daughter and he loved her to death. Her happiness was all he ever wanted and now her own blood was keeping that happiness away. It wasn't fair. Definitely wasn't.

It was around 12 in the night when you heard a knock on your apartment. You weren't asleep but who could be knocking on your door in the middle of the night?

As soon as you opened it, you immediately recognized the man infront of you. "Mr. Laforteza? What are you doing here?"

"Hey y/n. Sorry for showing up in the middle of the night. May I come in?"

"Of course of course. Please do." You led the man inside and locked the door. He took off his hood and motioned for you to sit down.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" He asked softly.

You look at the ground for a minute before looking back up. "I...I don't know...it was so sudden when she told me and I...I feel like I'm losing everything you know? When she marries leon, he's going to be around Aya more than me and soon Aya will grow up with the two of them as parents. She won't even need me," your voice cracked at the last sentence because just the thought of your baby girl growing up with another person filling your role, it hurts deeper than a stab.

Godfrey sighed. "If it was up to me, I would've already encouraged Sophia to take Aya and run away with you. But as long as she's under that woman's wing, she won't leave that house. Not to mention she's already convinced Sophia that you cheated."

"Wait Mr. Laforteza..are you saying you believe I didn't cheat?"

Godfrey laughed- not a mocking laugh, but one that said he's seen enough to know what's true and what's not. "Carla will go to whatever length she has to just to destroy someone's life. She did it once with our oldest son's relationship. From then I became suspicious."

Those words felt like everything you needed to hear just to breathe again. "We will find out what happened, y/n. I promise."

It felt impossible, knowing how dangerous Carla was, yet somehow you needed to cling to those words. They were the only source of comfort after all.

With a shaky sigh, you nodded. Godfrey and you spent the rest of the night discussing a plan. You told him about the girl and how she followed you for days and finally cornered you in a hotel you spent a night in.

The next two days were spent tracking down the woman. When you finally found her in a sketchy corner of the streets, Godfrey and you took her into an alley way. With a toy gun you had found, you pointed it to her as Godfrey began questioning her. The gun looked real and Godfrey had a hard time trying to hold in his laughter.

When the woman refused to speak, you shoved the gun in Godfrey's arms and grabbed the woman's collar, eyes wide with rage. "Don't you fucking tell me you don't know! You know what she did! She paid you! Admit it! Admit it!"

"Okay! Okay! I admit! She paid me!"

Godfrey let out a loud exhale, one of frustration and hatred. How did his wife turn into this witch?

The woman had tears streaming down her face. "I needed the money...my-my kid is in the hospital and needs surgery and I couldn't afford it..."

Somehow, your eyes softened a fraction. She did it for her kid while also destroying yours. "Do you have any idea how you ruined my life? I haven't held my kid. She's a month and two weeks old. I only know her name is Aya. I lost my fiancée because of this..because of you."

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry please forgive me." She knelt down and hugged your leg, violent sobs wrecking her body.

"Its up to you now y/n," Godfrey said quietly. You thought for a moment before smirking.

"Alright. I'll forgive you only if you come with me tomorrow morning and admit everything to Sophia."

The woman looked up and nodded enthusiastically. "And I'll pay for your child's surgery," Godfrey said.

She thanked you both profusely and went with you the next morning to the mansion.

Everyone-The Laforteza and the Barretto family sat in the living room. Rich laughter, the clinking of glasses filled the air and the occasional coos could be hurt.

Godfrey opened the door with you and the woman trailing behind. Carla shot up, panic filling her eyes. Sophia also got up, jealously and hate burning in her eyes too. "What the hell are you doing here?" Carla spat, ignoring Godfrey and the woman.

Sophia walked to her mother's side. "How dare you bring that woman infront of me?" She whispered.

"I brought her to tell you the truth. Go on Samara, tell her."

The woman- Samara, began telling Sophia and everyone else what exactly happened. "Carla came up to me one night, handing me a few grand to try and seduce y/n. She told me she needed enough evidence to break up her daughter's engagement since y/n wasn't good enough. I didn't have a choice. I needed the money so I followed y/n for days and finally caught her in a hotel room. We didn't kiss, but I was close enough so it looked like we did at a certain angle- that's where Carla took the pictures."

Leon spat out his drink and the rest of the Barretto family got up and left immediately. Carla tried to stop them but Godfrey grabbed her hand pulling her back. As soon as she opened her mouth to intervene, a loud slap echoed through the hallway. Even a subtle wince could be heard from Sophia's little brother.

"Mom..you...you lied to me. You lied. How could you? You wrecked my relationship. You tried erasing y/n from I and Aya's life." She was in utter disbelief. Never in all her years of living would she have expected that. Or maybe she did and chose to ignore her mother's red flags.

Carla kept her head casted down before finally shaking her head. "Yes. Yes I did that. I did it to protect your rep-to hell with fucking reputation!" Godfrey exclaimed, his hands balling into fists.

"I watched you destroy our son's relationship. His first relationship. And now you destroyed Sophia's one. You were always like this. Wealth and power has clouded your mind woman. Blinded you to the things that are important. Our family. Our children's happiness. But it stops today. It fucking stops." He turned to Sophia and took her hand, kissing both of it. "I'm sorry I never said anything Sophia...I was a fool. A coward. But that night when you cried yourself to sleep in my eyes, I finally made up my mind and that night I snuck out and went to y/n's house and we made a plan."

By then, tears were streaming down Sophia's face and all she could look at was you. And you were trying to hold it back but the minute she crashed into you arms, your tears flowed like a waterfall, arms wrapping so tight around her waist she was lifted off the floor. She tried to speak, to apologize but all that came out was even more sobs.

For a moment, every zeroed out. Sophia was back in your arms, she was there. Holding you. Hugging you. And nothing else mattered. Well, except the sound of Aya's coos. Once that baby was placed in your arm, with Sophia clinging onto you, you felt like you had the entire universe in the palm of your hand and honestly, you did.

Tag list: @meganseyekon @dallssi @eyekonfic @lethal-minds @reicorded @deuxae @maskedguytobi

[badbutterf1ies]

Stop dropping your numbers!

Summary: Sophia goes live after not being on one for a while and accidentally reveals her relationship in a moment of panic…

(This idea came to me after seeing TikTok clips of ppl leaking their numbers during a sophia live)

(Words in red is sophia reading and talking during the live. Words in blue are from fans. Words in pink are text messages from y/n)

(Im new to writing…be nice…I apologize in advance for any mistakes I’m dyslexic. Also sorry for the cringe😵‍💫😟)

Sophia got a message from Missy telling her that HYBE wanted her to go live after fans started complaining that their leader’s last live had been months ago.

So a few days later after a Weverse post and a Katseye Official tweet, Sophia was finally live after 3 months and the chat was blowing up with excitement from the Eyekons.

MY LEADER! YOU’RE BACK!!!

SOPHIA I MISSED YOU

IT’S LIKE SEEING AN EX

BLACK HAT SOPHIA! MY LEGS ARE SPREAD

“Hi, Eyekons! I heard you guys missed me! I’ve been so busy with… stuff,” Sophia said, her eyes moving up and down as she read the chat.

“Yes, guys! We go on tour soon. We’re so excited to see all of you.” Sophia said, reading a question about Katseye’s upcoming tour

Sophia, what have you been up to?

What city are you most excited to perform in?

I can’t wait for tickets to go on sale

Sophia, if I drop my phone number can you call me???

“I’m excited to visit every state, every city. The girls and I have already talked about what we’re looking forward to the most, we have a new video dropping soon about tour updates! Stay tuned for that!!”

Wait, we should drop our numbers and hope she’ll call us

DROP YOUR NUMBERS SO SOPHIA CAN CALL US

Y’all are crazy! Don’t do that

SOPHIA CALL US

Sophia whose attention was off the live for a moment, was to busy answering a message from ‘loml’ didn’t realize the live chat was filling with phone numbers

×××-××××-××× CALL ME SOPHIA

Here’s mine! Call me ×××-××××-×××

×××-××××-××× ME TOO

×××-××××-××× my phone is waiting

×××-××××-××× here’s mine!!!

Sophia only looked back at the live after Y/N messaged her about what was happening.

“WHAT?!?!?!”

“GUYS, WHAT THE HECK—STOP!”

‘Guys don’t do that! It’s not safe!’

But of course the chat didn’t listen as more numbers were being leaked on the live stream

×××-××××-×××

×××-××××-××× I want to hear your voice on my phone!!!

×××-××××-××× Sophia call me pls!!

Y’ALL ARE CRAZY! SHE’S NOT GONNA CALL YOU

Sophia was now in full panic. Hundreds of people were leaking their numbers on her livestream.

“Stop dropping your numbers! I’m not gonna call you, bro! SAVE YOURSELVES!”

Now Sophia’s phone was being blown up with messages from her band members—and her…fiancée

“GUYS, STOP! MY WIFE IS GONNA THINK I ASKED FOR THIS!”

Wait, what?!

SOPHIA, YOU’RE MARRIED??

DID SHE JUST SAY WIFE

LMFAO SOPHIA EXPOSING HER LOVE LIFE

It took a second for Sophia to realize what she had just said.

Her wife.

Sophia had just outed her secret relationship on livestream.

“Wait—ignore that! Keep dropping your numbers—wait, NO, don’t do that. I don’t know, this is crazy! IM PANICKING”

Sophia, hun, we know what you are

Sophia being in a relationship was not on my bingo card

Sophia, who’s the lucky girl?

Does this mean we have to stop thirsting?

Do the girls know about this?

Sophia’s eyes widened as she read the chat, while listening to the nonstop pinging of her phone.

“ANYWAYS—bye!! Tour tickets go on sale soon! Bye, Eyekons! Change your numbers!”

Within seconds, the live was cut. Sophia leaned back in her chair.

“Oh my God… what just happened?” she muttered to herself.

loml: well that was hectic. numbers leaked, relationship leaked. how you feeling, baby?

loml: missy texted the live has been deleted.

loml: I texted the girls. they’ll be there in a few minutes for support. my flight home has been delayed

loml: text me when the shock wears off. I love you!

Sophia just sat there, looking at her laptop. After a while she closed the laptop, and finally looked at her phone.

Loml: also stay off twitter…you’re trending💕!

[hrtbannerman]

Another Day || Megan Skiendiel

Pairing: Megan Skiendiel x 7thMember!Reader, (Previously; Daniela Avanzini x 7thMember!Reader)

Summary: You spent years nursing a one-sided crush on the only straight girl in the band. Daniela discovered your feelings for her and said she could never like a girl. Months later, she shows up 8 a boy who's practically your copy. Meanwhile, Megan has always been in love with you. Seeing how Daniela broke your heart over a boy, Megan decides her time to act has finally come. (Which leads Daniela to realize she actually liked you too—only now, you're looking at Megan the same way you once looked at her).

Note: English is not my first language.

Warnings: Unrequited Love (Reader & Daniela), Compulsory Heterosexuality (Daniela), Megan in love with the Reader (Reader falls harder), and Lots of Comfort/Fluff!

Katseye Masterlist

The room smelled of sea salt and dried tears. Manon had opened the window an hour ago, but the fresh late afternoon air couldn't dissipate the dense mist of sorrow that hung over the bed. You were curled up, a human ball in grey sweats, your head resting in Manon's lap. You were still trembling, almost imperceptibly, like a leaf about to fall.

Sophia sat on the floor, her back against the door, her eyes fixed on the hallway like a sentinel. Her body was a taut wire of anger, ready to snap if the wrong silhouette appeared. She chewed her cuticle, a nervous habit that only surfaced when her fury was too big to contain.

And Megan watched. Seated at the study chair, legs tucked against her chest, she watched the scene with a knot in her stomach that was part anguish, part a persistent flame of hope. She had been watching for years. First, on that very first day at Dream Academy. She remembered with painful clarity: you near the door, wrapped in an oversized shirt that swallowed your shoulders, your hair forming a curtain between you and the new, frightening world. Megan knew, in that precise and naive instant, that she was lost. Her heart, still scarred from old ruptures, gave a disobedient leap and offered itself whole.

But then, the universe shifted. Your world didn't revolve around its own sun. It orbited Daniela. All your rays of attention, all your shyest smiles, all your most careful worries, were for Daniela. Megan saw the brightness in your eyes when the Latina laughed, the soft blush on your cheeks when she praised you during a rehearsal. It was an admiration so pure, so resigned, that it hurt more than any petty jealousy. It hurt because it was beautiful. And because it was unattainable for you.

And now, here they were. The object of your devotion had turned into the dagger. Daniela had found out, through a malicious whisper or a sudden observation, the secret everyone in the group already knew: you loved her. And her reaction wasn't one of gentle embarrassment, or delicate gratitude. It was harsh. It was public, enough that Manon and Sophia had to intervene. She spoke of violated respect, of tainted friendship, as if you, the most respectful and restrained person Megan had ever known, were capable of forcing something on someone. As if you didn't know, with a daily and silent pain, that Daniela "didn't like girls." The great, painful, and ironic mantra.

"Sweetie, it's not your fault." Manon's voice was a balm, a whisper trying to stitch the edges of the damage. She ran her gentle fingers through your hair. "Daniela is an idiot for thinking you would ever be disrespectful to her. She doesn't deserve a single one of your tears, okay?"

You sniffled, a small, broken sound that made Megan clench her fists. Your face was hidden, but she saw your white-knuckled fingers gripping the fabric of Manon's pants. You didn't deserve this. You, who always knew how to love from a distance, who transformed passion into silent acts of service—helping with vocals, staying up late practicing a choreography, making tea when Daniela was hoarse. You deserved poetry, you deserved declarations in the sun, you deserved to be the center of an orbit, not an abandoned satellite.

Sophia let out a guttural sound. "I'm going to talk to her. Again. This time she'll listen to me." "Soph, it doesn't help," Manon murmured, but there was a weariness in her voice.

It was then that Megan unfolded her legs. Her bones ached from being still for so long. She stood up and crossed the small space of the room, landing softly on the edge of the bed. You didn't move. She reached out, with a courage she didn't know she had, and covered your clenched fingers with hers.

"Hey," she said, and her voice sounded firmer than she expected. "Daniela is an idiot for not wanting someone like you, sweetie."

You shuddered, but you didn't pull your hand away. On the contrary, your icy fingers intertwined with Megan's, seeking an anchor.

"We're here, okay?" Megan continued, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. A touch meant to say I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. "Me, Soph, Manz, Lara, and Yoonchae. Your team. Your constellation."

You finally moved. You turned your face to the side, emerging from the hiding place of Manon's lap. Your eyes were swollen and red, your skin blotchy, your lips trembling. But you looked at Megan. And for the first time in years, Megan saw your gaze focus on her not as a colleague, not as a background friend, but as a safe harbor. A fixed point in a universe that had just collapsed.

You nodded, weakly. And then, something shifted. It wasn't an earthquake, nor a flash. It was a subtle deviation in trajectory. The warmth of Megan's hand, different from Manon's maternal affection or Sophia's protective fury, was a warmth that promised something more. It was a warmth that said, "I see you too, and what I see is wonderful." A warmth that, you realized with a dull shock amidst the pain, you didn't know you needed, but that now seemed vital.

Megan held your gaze, offering a small smile, sad but solid. Behind your pain, behind the tears for Daniela, a tiny seed of a new truth began to germinate: perhaps love didn't need to be a distant altar. Perhaps it could be a warm hand in the coldest moment. Perhaps it could be in Megan's brown eyes, which had always watched you, waiting for their turn.

The universe hadn't righted itself. It was reordering. And at the center of the new cosmos pulsating painfully in your chest, the star called Daniela began, very slowly, to cool and drift away. While another, long waiting in the periphery, warmed up with a soft and steady glow, ready to guide you home.

And Megan, feeling the faint pressure of your fingers, knew. Hope was no longer a timid flame. It was a tide, rising. The time for watching had passed. The era of acting, finally, had begun.

[🎸]

Healing didn't come in a day. A broken heart isn't mended with kind words or chamomile tea. It's patched up, slowly, with patience and new habits. And your new habit was Megan.

In the following days, Megan didn't become omnipresent. She was subtle. She was the cup of hot chocolate left in your locker before the 6 a.m. rehearsal. She was the playlist called "Songs That Don't Hurt" shared at 3 in the morning. She was the silent company on the balcony when the longing for Daniela, or, more precisely, for the idea you had of Daniela, squeezed too tight. She didn't speak ill of the Latina, nor did she try to erase her memory. She just… was there. A solid, calm counterpoint to the internal turbulence.

And you began to notice.

You noticed how Megan's brown eyes darkened with worry when you arrived too tired at rehearsals. You noticed her infinite patience while teaching you a difficult English pronunciation, her fingers gently tracing the syllables on paper. You noticed her courage, a courage different from Sophia's; it was a quiet courage, that spoke softly in meetings but defended her friends tooth and nail when necessary.

The deviation in trajectory became a new orbit. You found yourself looking for Megan in the room. Your smile, when she told a silly joke, began to emerge from an easier, less painful place. The brightness in your eyes, once reserved only for Daniela, began to flicker for other things: for a success of Lara's, for a cute moment from Yoonchae, for Sophia's tight hug, for a late night with Manon. And, with increasing frequency, for Megan's quiet patience.

The one-sided passion was deconstructed, brick by painful brick, and in its place grew something organic, something mutual. The "I love you" you silently screamed for years to Daniela turned into an "I like being with you" said out loud to Megan during a walk in the park. Then, into a "I miss you" texted when Megan went to visit her family. And, on a rainy night, leaning together on the common room sofa watching a movie, it became a whisper against her shoulder: "You make me feel at home."

Megan always responded in kind, but with an extra touch, a touch that said, "I waited for this, and it was worth every second." Your hands found each other more naturally. Your gazes held for seconds that were worth hours. The universe around the two of you seemed to acquire brighter colors, sharper sounds.

The first kiss wasn't in a grand moment. It was after an exhausting rehearsal. Everyone had gone to their rooms, and the two of you stayed in the kitchen, washing the last cups. You were complaining about a sore foot, and Megan, without thinking, knelt in front of you to massage it, joking that it was her "secret recovery technique." The gesture was so intimate, so unexpectedly tender, that the air left your lungs. You looked down at the crown of light brown hair, at the shoulders curved with such simple devotion. And something in you snapped.

"Megan," you called, your voice a thread.

She looked up, her eyes questioning, still with a silly smile.

You leaned in. It was a slow movement, giving her all the time in the world to pull back. She didn't pull back. Your lips met in the space between the sink and the refrigerator, under the fluorescent kitchen light. It was a sweet kiss, salty from rehearsal sweat, laden with years of waiting on one side and discovery on the other. It was the period at the end of an old sentence of pain and the capitalized beginning of a new chapter.

From then on, there were no more disguises. You didn't make a fuss, but you didn't hide. Hands intertwined in the hallways, your head on her shoulder during trips, the private smile exchanged during interviews. The whole group saw, smiled, supported. It was obvious to everyone, except one person, that something beautiful and strong had blossomed from the ashes of a broken heart.

Daniela noticed last.

She had been distant for weeks, immersed in her relationship with the guy who, according to Sophia with her contained fury, was "a cheap, masculinized copy of you." Perhaps it was a reflection, a familiar comfort she couldn't name. But when she saw, it was in the most common moment.

It was during a full rehearsal for a showcase. You had just finished a complex choreography, everyone panting. Megan slipped slightly while stepping off the simulated stage, and you, in an instant reflex, reached out to hold her by the waist, pulling her against you. It wasn't the gesture itself. It was what came after. Megan laughed, breathless, and you stared at her. And Daniela, who was drinking water in the corner, saw.

She saw the brightness.

It was a brightness she recognized. It was the same brightness you had dedicated to her for years. Only now, it was different. It was more intense. It was deeper, less worshipful and more… possessively in a good way. It was a brightness that didn't just admire, but that knew. That had seen the tears, the bad mornings, the insecurities, and chose to stay. It was a brightness of reciprocity, of complicity, of love that had strong roots because it had sprouted in the fertile soil of friendship and care.

An icy knife entered Daniela's chest. The boy next to her, the copy, said something and she didn't even hear. Her world, which for years had revolved comfortably with you in its orbit, suddenly stopped violently. The realization was a wave of nausea: that brightness was hers. It should have been hers. You loved her for years. She was the sun.

But the sun had moved.

And worse: seeing that brightness now directed at Megan, a radiant, secure, loved Megan, Daniela understood, too late, what that silent adoration really meant. It wasn't just the comfort of being loved. It was the absence left by your constant presence, your unshakable loyalty, your smile reserved only for her. It was the void the boy-copy had never filled. It was a love that she, in her tangle of compulsory heterosexuality and fear, hadn't known how to see or name until she saw it illuminating someone else.

She saw you whisper something in Megan's ear, who blushed and rested her forehead against yours, in a moment so intimate it hurt just to watch.

Daniela's world, which once orbited its own axis with you as its brightest satellite, crumbled. Now, she was a lonely planet, watching from afar a new solar system where you and Megan revolved around each other, in a perfect and closed dance, shining with a light she never knew she could lose.

And the sharpest pain wasn't jealousy of Megan. It was the late self-recognition. It was the "I liked you too" that echoed in her mind, mute and useless, as she watched you, her former moon, transform into the radiant sun of a new love, a love that, in her eyes, completely outshone any feeling that had ever existed for her.

[goofymickeyr]

[artistwitchgirl-deactivated2026]

Katseye x Percy Jackson

Starring: Katseye members

"This hell is better with you We're burning up together, baby, that makes two"

“The members of Katseye as the daughters of the gods of Greek mythology, and their adventures as they struggle to survive in a world not designed for demigods.”

"Get in bitch, we're going on an adventure"

Content: fluff and crack mainly, maybe some angst, maybe romance, jealousy, rivalry, adventures, love, and more.

A/N: English is not my first language <3

MASTERLIST

Manon, Daughter of Poseidon

In terms of personality, she is very similar to her father: volatile, impulsive, protective, generous, and a bit vengeful and competitive. Her personality reflects the unpredictable nature of the sea. She is reserved and somewhat shy, and finds it hard to trust, but once you enter her heart, she will be loyal to you.

She was raised by her mother, but she was always close to her father and his kingdom; she does not fear the depths of the sea.

She has some supernatural physical traits such as gills, pointed ears, and claws.

She can control water with ease, can speak with aquatic animals, and the naiads consider her their protégé.

When she turned 16, her father gave her three gifts: a blue cap, which hides her true form from monsters and can send a signal to the sea whenever she needs help; a white horse that can take her to the gates of the three realms (Olympus, the sea, and the Underworld); and a ship to safely navigate her kingdom.

Sophia, Daughter of Athena

Like her mother, she is intelligent, cunning, prudent, and compassionate. However, she does not like war and is not vengeful either. She has a big heart and loves helping and guiding people. She is quite flirtatious and helpful, something her mother does not approve of at all.

She grew up between Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter.

She has a brilliant mind and supernatural strength; when her emotions are disturbed, her eyes turn golden.

She can speak to and command any bird, and she gets along well with most of the gods because she has done many favors for them.

When she turned 16, her mother gave her three gifts: an owl, which allows her to communicate with anyone on any plane of reality; a suit of armor, although Sophia does not use it much; and a golden crown that makes her invisible and protects her mind from the powers of other creatures.

Daniela, Daughter of Ares

She has exactly the same personality as her father: impulsive, irritable, reckless, fierce, with an insatiable thirst for competition, but also brave and determined in battle. And like her father, she is passionate and protective of women and children. When she loves someone, she becomes extremely jealous and protective of that person.

She grew up at Camp Half-Blood, but her father constantly took her with him to train and spend time together.

She has all her senses enhanced, feels emotions twice as strongly, and possesses great physical strength and agility. She knows a wide variety of combat styles and can control any weapon you give her.

She can bend people’s will with her voice, even if only in a very subtle way.

When she turned 16, her father gave her three gifts: a spear she has trained with since she was little; armor that she uses whenever she can; and a chariot pulled by immortal horses that can take her anywhere.

Lara, Daughter of Aphrodite

She was born in the sea, like her mother. She is incredibly beautiful, her beauty almost rivals that of the gods. She is passionate, loves love in all its forms, has a big heart, and is capricious, clever, flirtatious, and mischievous. But since her mother is also a goddess of war, Lara has an intimidating presence and can sometimes be vengeful.

She grew up with her father but was always watched over by her mother. When she turned 16, she learned to control her supernatural side.

She has an intense aura surrounding her and eyes that reveal what a person is attracted to.

She can hypnotize any person or creature who is not in love with anyone, not even with her. Her voice can tame any beast, and she has great physical strength.

When she turned 16, her mother gave her three gifts: a dove, to communicate with her mother and her brother Eros; a mirror that reveals people’s true intentions and desires; and a bracelet that transforms into a whip so she can protect herself.

Megan, Daughter of Apollo

Like her father, she is multifaceted and embodies beauty, harmony, and physical and mental perfection. However, she can be strict and inflexible when she is disrespected. She loves all forms of art, especially music and fashion. She also loves being loved and receiving attention from others.

She grew up with her mother, but the Muses of her father frequently visited her to teach her everything she needed to survive.

She has a radiant aura surrounding her, and the streaks in her hair change color depending on her emotions.

She can play any instrument you give her, is a great athlete, and can foresee the future. She also has healing powers, and her body can glow in the dark.

When she turned 16, her father gave her three gifts: a bow and arrows for self-defense; a lyre to practice her skills; and a laurel crown that helps her control her chaotic thoughts.

Yoonchae, Daughter of Hades

She was born in the Underworld and is very similar to her father in personality. She is reserved, intimidating, introverted, and stern, but very loyal and affectionate once you earn her trust. She is also very wise and just. She enjoys spending time alone.

She grew up between her father’s realm and Camp Jupiter, and she is very close to her stepmother, Persephone.

She has eyes that can see the spirits inhabiting the worlds and is hypersensitive.

She can teleport at will to her father’s realm, cannot die like a normal person, and can speak with the dead and make them help her.

When she turned 16, her father gave her three gifts: a helmet that makes her invisible to monsters; a hellhound that protects her; and a camera that transforms into a scepter for defense and to guide her when she is lost.

Their Story

Daniela and Sophia grew up together. Despite their parents’ rivalry, they became very close, although Sophia loves to tease Daniela. And Daniela loves fighting with Sophia because she is the only one who can keep up with her. Sophia is the only person Dani listens to, as she has a soft spot for her. And Dani is one of the few people Sophia would become violent to protect. Their parents are not very happy about this, but they accept it nonetheless.

Additionally, Sophia and Yoonchae also grew up close, as they met at Camp Jupiter. They are very similar, and people often think they are sisters.

Yoonchae and Daniela met thanks to Sophia and became friends very quickly. Despite being very different, they connected due to their hypersensitivity to emotions. Yoonchae taught Daniela how to control her emotions so she would not feel overwhelmed.

Megan and Lara met at a party organized by their parents, which both attended. They instantly connected because they had very similar personalities and loved playing with people’s hearts. From that moment on, they became inseparable.

Manon, Megan, and Lara met on the coast of the sea, as Lara always celebrates her birthday near the waters where she was born. Manon was surprised to see that Megan and Lara were able to see her true form, and due to their mischievous personalities, the three became friends. They grew up together.

After the lightning bolt was stolen, they all had to remain permanently at Camp Half-Blood. Manon became the center of attention as the daughter of Poseidon, and Sophia decided to be her guide, growing fond of her instantly. This caused Daniela’s jealousy, which sparked a rivalry between her and Manon that only Sophia could calm.

Yoonchae also became the center of attention for being the daughter of Hades, but since she was so intimidating, no one dared approach her, no one except Lara and Megan, who were fascinated by her, as she was the only one able to resist their charms. As a result, it was very common to see the three of them together everywhere.

One-shots:

Headcanons:

Thoughts and drabbles:

Pt. 1,

A/N: You can send any thoughts and headcanons that you have about this version of Katseye x Pjo. You can also request drabbles, headcanons and oneshots. And ships between the members are allowed and more than welcome (poly ships too, specially Sodanon and Lameichae <3). Questions about this project are also welcome :3

Taglist: comment to be added. @lesbianfxckinganthem @wishing-in-space @pumpkinstuffss @miagamegirl @sapphos-butch-daughter @bitchesbrokenpromises @realpolitiksgirlienot @fandomhoppershxt @toof3rs @certifiedsushilover @kaidowashere @thatonerandompan @anonxoxo02 @yournextdooralien @pagodnapagod @mashup-writing @evs-h @kianthegirlkisser

MASTERLIST

[coolwyous]

  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan, lara, and dani all raised their kids side by side as their own little found family, along with some other members of their college hockey team. now, as their teens enter their final years of high school, they just have to make sure to help them stay out of trouble til college comes around. sounds easy enough. right?

       ˎˊ˗  ❄️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairings: hs hockey coach!megan x english prof!tutor girl reader (married) — student athlete therapist!lara x physical therapy girl reader (married) — college hockey coach!dani x coach's daughter reader (divorced) — oc x oc!

   ➴ genre + wc: found family/parenting w the kats, high school au! for their kids. fluff, angst, humor, hockey!! jock x tutor slow burn, academic rivals enemies to lovers, best friends slow burn/forbidden. basically their whole friend group is just gay and chaotic tbh. this au is set in the hockey!kats "dittoverse," so you are highly encouraged to read those fics to be in the loop of what's happening in this series <3 pinterest here.

   ➴ status: written portions to be dropped, hc's active!

   ➴ characters: coach megan & auntie tutor girl (i & ii & iii) — auntie lara & dr. auntie (i) — coach dani & tia mami (i & ii) — introducing the baby kats!

   ➴ chapters:

to be announced! <3

template credit to hesperides, dividers to aquazero

[pamrak]

Right now, you're not alone anymore… because you've got me.

CLAIREBELL, EP8

[goofymickeyr]

Zoom into the rings

Brb gonna cry

[khaoala]

And the award for best product placement goes to:

PANGJIE PAPHAVARIN as BELL LALITA episode 8 of CLAIREBELL

[goofymickeyr]

[gl-saveme]

I'd better put your name on these, so nobody dares to steal them. // You already wrote my name on yours. Now I want to write yours on mine.

CLAIREBELL (2025) | EP 8

[goofymickeyr]

The best one ever 😭

[spiderb00]

WISDOM TEETH, a fam!out blurb

"Sophia gets her wisdom tooth removed. And you discover a new side to your girlfriend"

warning - I saw the video Sophia made after having her wisdom teeth removed, and it inspired me, idk :/

fam out masterlist

The smell of disinfectant and chemicals was strong when you entered the clinic. You read all the magazines in the waiting room, answered all your important emails, and even watched a bit of a random movie on Netflix on your phone screen. The minutes seemed to pass slowly, the seconds almost dragging by on the analog clock on the office wall.

“Sophia Laforteza's companion!” The receptionist's voice sounded slightly muffled in your ears, forcing you to wake up from what was beginning to be a nap.

Getting up, you grabbed the bag—which your girlfriend had asked you to carry—and walked over to the counter, rubbing your face before giving the attendant a polite smile. “That's me.”

“Sophia is on the second floor, office 3. The procedure was a success, you just need to sign here and go get her.” Quickly reading the paper the woman pushed in front of you, you signed, seeing that it was just a liability waiver. “She may be a little out of it, so don't take what she says too seriously.”

You laughed. “Okay, thank you.”

“You can go up now, Sophia's dentist will be waiting for you.” You gave the woman one last smile.

The elevator took you quickly to the second floor, and office 3 was just a few doors away from you. The private clinic was extremely clean and organized, and you looked around quickly before knocking on the door.

You turned the doorknob when you heard a muffled “Come in.” The doctor was finishing up with her patient while her girlfriend was still lying in the reclining chair typical of a dentist's office.

“Yn, right?!” The doctor asked, raising her eyebrow as if she had just made a very good guess.

“Yes, it's me.” You laughed awkwardly.

“Sophia talks about you a lot.” The woman laughed softly, letting the tension dissipate. "Well, we removed her wisdom teeth, as you know. The procedure was a success, there are few recommendations. Just keep her from talking too much, she can eat some cold things to relieve the pain, and if there is bleeding, I recommend that you come back here so we can see what happened. But don't worry, everything will be fine."

You listened carefully to each of the dentist's recommendations, oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend was making a full video for Weverse right now. You asked about singing, or how long she would be excused from rehearsals and things like that, just gathering enough information so that you had no doubts.

When everything was clear, you thanked the dentist, got up from the chair, and put Sophia's bag on one of your shoulders, mentally preparing yourself to take a very stoned Sophia to the car.

"Look, everyone, this is my strong, beautiful, tall girlfriend. That's right, the one you're all drooling over. Yes, I see all your comments!" Her voice sounded slurred, and for a second you didn't know whether to laugh or convince her to hang up the phone.

“Let's go home? You need to rest a little, Mahal.” Sophia closed her eyes, leaning her head back in the chair and sighing audibly.

“Will you carry me to the car? I can't walk.” Her voice was convincing enough, and maybe she really believed it.

“You can walk, Phia. You just had your wisdom teeth out.” Laughing, you watched your girlfriend pout before her eyes filled with tears.

“Don't you love me anymore?” she asked. Her hand was still raised, the camera still pointed at you.

“What?”

“Yeah! You don't love me anymore! You spend hours at the gym lifting stupid weights, but you can't carry me to the car!” Her choked voice began to worry you, shocked that she was actually about to cry.

“No, I don't. Phia, for God's sake.” Her lips trembled, and the way she looked at you made you feel bad. “ All right. Let's go.”

Sophia's sleepy smile broke out when you lifted her up, settling her in your arms while still trying to balance the bag strap on your shoulder. Seeing the whole scene, the dentist laughed, opening the door for you to pass with your girlfriend. You said goodbye with a strange smile, your cheeks slightly flushed and your ears burning.

Sophia, however, was still recording everything she could with her phone camera. Her arm stretched out as she showed herself in your arms, one of her hands wandering from your neck to your ear.

“Look Eyekons, my strong and beautiful girlfriend is taking me home!” You tried not to laugh, just so as not to encourage the woman any further.

“Mahal, you know you can't post that, right?!” You replied, even though you knew it was futile.

“Of course I can, it's just me and my beautiful girlfriend. The Eyekons will love it.” She said, smiling at the camera before looking at you again. “And I need to make it clear that you're mine! You know, for certain people.”

You laughed. Sophia didn't always behave like this—at least not in public. The needy, clingy Sophia was more familiar to you when you were alone, in the comfort of the home you shared. But now, here was your girlfriend, recording videos proudly declaring that you were hers and hers only.

Putting Sophia in the passenger seat was a difficult task, but driving with her by your side was even harder. Her hands ran through your hair, occasionally moving down to touch some part of your face—as if it were the coolest thing in the world.

“Hey, baby! Don't do that, you're distracting me.” Your voice was soft, as if you didn't want your highly anesthetized girlfriend to misinterpret you.

It didn't work very well.

Tears began to stream down your girlfriend's face, as if you had just told her you wanted to break up with her.

“Don't you love me anymore?” Sophia's pout was visible from miles away, and you quickly shook your head.

“It's not that, Mahal. I'm driving, I need to pay attention to the road.” You tried, as gently as possible.

Sophia shook her head. “But I want you to pay attention to me!”

The Filipina kicked her feet, tears streaking her cheeks and her nose beginning to run. Her words were still slurred—because of the gauze in her mouth—but you knew her well enough to understand what she was saying.

Sighing, you let go of the steering wheel with your right hand and placed it on her thigh. Your thumb ran across her skin as you glanced briefly at your girlfriend for comfort.

Looking at your hand, Sophia glanced sideways at you, wiping away her tears before surrendering and placing her hand on top of yours. The drive home was quiet—just the sound of the music Sophia had chosen playing in the background and a few sighs.

When you finally arrived home, you took care of everything, from taking off Sophia's shoes to taking her upstairs to rest. Hearing all the commotion, you saw Yoonchae quickly appear in your bedroom, laughing and recording the sleepy Sophia who was sprawled across the bed you shared.

“I'm going to put this on Weverse,” the maknae said, laughing as she watched the video she had just recorded.

You looked over her shoulder, the video being basically one big ragebait. Yoonchae poking Sophia and making the Filipina turn over in bed. She babbled incoherent words and called out for you when she started to get really annoyed.

Yoonchae looked at you.

“Good luck with her.”

And then, as if on cue, you heard Sophia's perfect voice running through the house.

“MAHAL! I NEED YOU HERE!”

[spiderb00]

♚ POLO & PRADA, S.L

"You always knew that your wife liked to show off everything she had built, displaying her entire fortune as if it were the greatest prize in the world. But you should know that she doesn't mess around when it comes to you."

warnings - smut w plot, MDNI, 18+ | g!p reader, Sophia is a spoiled socialite (AU), cunnilingus, mommy kink, breeding kink, blowjob (really quick), dacryphilia, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap that willy)

now playing - Buttons, by The Pussycat Dolls

"Sayin' what you gon' do to me, but i ain't seen nothing"

You remember your childhood.

You remember your best friends—some of whom are still with you today. You remember going to one of the best schools in the area, thanks to your parents' money. You remember being an exemplary student, both in theoretical and practical subjects. And you certainly remember the day you met Sophia.

It seems like yesterday, the day a little girl with straight hair and slanted eyes, carrying a pink—definitely too expensive for a child to be using—bag and perfectly clean shoes, decreed that you would be her “girlfriend.”

You remember perfectly how little Sophia looked at you, analyzing you from head to toe three times before smiling and pulling you by the arm—taking you away from your friends and interrupting your playtime on the playground.

You remember that on that day, you started doing everything Sophia wanted.

You always had to wait for her at the classroom door. You could never sit down first; she would have to choose your seats. At snack time, you would stay by her side the whole time! It didn't matter if your friends were on the playground throwing dirt at each other.

You belonged to her! And you had to act like it.

In high school, things didn't change.

And that's when you understood. Sophia wasn't just a spoiled, bossy child, she was a person, a human being, someone who was born to boss around and be spoiled by someone else. And if that someone wasn't her parents, it would be you.

As a teenager, Sophia already had both of your lives all planned out! You were always the best students, with good grades, perfect attendance, medals, and awards for anything the school could come up with.

Everyone said you both had a bright future ahead of you, that you were perfect together, that you would have a lot to be proud of. Sophia clung to that tightly, sleeping every night embracing people's words and the plans she had made. Dreaming of the day when she could squander everything she had, everything she had built from scratch.

And that day came.

Smiling at the expensive dressing table mirror was your wife. Sophia finished applying her lip gloss, as if she had just signed the contract for world peace. She felt beautiful, powerful, successful, she felt like a queen in her own castle, ready to show off all the riches her kingdom had to offer.

Her moment of peace was suddenly cut short by a high-pitched scream, the scream of her eldest daughter, to be specific.

Taliah Laforteza stomped into the room, arms crossed and a frown very similar to Sophia's. The Filipina always bragged to you that her 10-year-old daughter was her spitting image.

“Mom, Steph won't let me finish getting ready!” the eldest raged, stopping in front of Sophia. “He's taking all my tiaras and hiding them in his room!”

As if on cue, Stephen stormed into the room like a hurricane. His shirt was untucked, his hair slightly messy, and he was laughing like the mischievous six-year-old he is. Unlike Taliah, Stephen looked more like you. Perfect teeth and the smile of a child about to blow up his house.

Sophia remembered how you used to be restless, just like him. Playing games throwing dirt at others and hiding your classmates' pencil cases.

That is, of course, before she set you straight.

“Stephen, give your sister's tiaras back, right now!” Sophia's firm voice echoed through the large room, making the boy laugh and run towards his room. “AND CALL YOUR MOTHER!”

Sophia's scream seemed to have triggered the cause. The moment the Filipina's voice echoed, Stephen tripped over you, bumping into your legs and grabbing you so he wouldn't fall.

“Hey little man, what's with all the yelling?” You asked, picking up the boy in your arms, tickling him as he desperately tried to break free.

Leaving the room, your daughter tossed her hair, sometimes you are startled by how much the little girl resembles your wife.

“ Mama, we're going to be late, come on!” It was the only thing she said before passing you, leaving you speechless. “STEPHEN, I WANT MY TIARAS! NOW!”

The scream made you and your son jump. Dodging you, the boy ran to the bedroom, ready to return the tiaras to his older sister. And you sighed, preparing to enter the room and face whatever your wife was presenting you with.

The bedroom was large, like the rest of the house where you and your wife had built your home. Sophia was standing in front of the dressing table, smoothing out the black dress she had chosen herself. You remember perfectly the day you bought that dress. A few million dollars and many kisses from your wife.

You would do anything to see her happy. Even if it meant taking a few screams from your incredibly spoiled wife from time to time.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” Your hands reached around Sophia's waist, kissing her neck and pulling her closer to you.

Sophia's smile was reflected in the mirror as her hands rested on top of yours. Her fingers smoothed the pure gold wedding ring on your finger as she looked at your bodies pressed together in the mirror.

“You look beautiful too, my love!” Sophia bit her lip, turning toward you and taking a good look at your outfit.

The formal attire she had chosen for you fit like a glove. You knew Sophia always had the right way to make you look beautiful, so you just let her take charge with a smile on your face.

“We have to go, I don't want us to be late!” The Filipina patted your chest. Walking towards the bag on the bed. “I'm sure that exhibitch Gabriela will be there! Urgh! I can't stand that girl!”

Throwing the bag into your arms, Sophia left the room. You laughed at the pun, following her like the lady's lapdog you always were.

Gabriela never stood a chance. The girl always seemed to be in fierce competition with Sophia. Who got the best grades, who got into more colleges, who had the best cars, the best bags...

Sophia always seemed to win at everything, a smile on her face when she saw that Gabriela could never leave her behind. There was only one thing that upset Sophia, and that was Gabriela's crush on you.

It was never a contest, because Sophia always had you, from the very first second! But none of that seemed to get through to either woman. You didn't know why Sophia hadn't blocked Gabriela from her social media, since she was always complaining about how the woman liked all the photos Sophia posted of you.

Whenever you asked, Sophia would say, “Keep your friends close, and your bitches even closer!”

It was common knowledge that this war had started many, many years ago, and it probably wasn't going to be resolved now. So you did the only sensible thing to do: make sure your wife knew that she was the only one who had ever entered your heart. Always!

“Mom, how do I look?” Taliah asked, throwing herself into your arms the second she got out of the car.

The parking lot of your old school was full, several luxurious and expensive cars parked there like a gathering of rich and snobbish people. You couldn't say you liked it; in fact, you would have preferred to stay home. But once again—proving that opposites attract—Sophia insisted on coming, since she loves this kind of thing.

“You're the most beautiful little princess in the world, my love!” Your daughter smiled when you kissed her forehead.

Sophia, who watched the scene with a dreamy look, gave you a pout when your eyes met hers.

“And me, Mommy, how do I look?” Your wife’s voice was low, a whisper that only you heard.

Sophia's hands tugged lightly at the collar of your shirt, and you froze at the gesture and the nickname. Sophia loved to tease you; she always loved the power she had over you.

“Sophia...” You tried to warn her, but it only resulted in a mischievous smile. “You are my queen. And the most beautiful woman in the world.”

The Filipina's smile widened as she threw her hands over your shoulders, pulling you into a kiss full of love and possessiveness.

“Very good, puppy.” Patting your cheek twice, Sophia pulled away, leaving you stunned. “Come on, my loves! I want to make a big entrance!”

The hall was full of expensive clothes, overpriced drinks, fake laughter, and people who clearly exuded wealth.

Sophia had always been a safe haven in the midst of it all. Of course, you couldn't deny that she fit in very well with it all. But Sophia knew how to behave in every little place, and as much as she liked to pretend and show everyone everything she had achieved and built, you knew that the Sophia who came home with you at the end of the day was the one you would always love.

No matter how spoiled she is.

The evening was going well, you and your school friends catching up, Sophia hanging on you as if you were the prize she had won at the end of the race of life, conversations about companies and business, and some compliments about how your children had grown up big and healthy.

You had to get away for a bit.

You certainly wouldn't have done so if you had known the chaos it would cause for the rest of the night.

You went to get a drink, that's all. A distraction for your head, tired from all the success speeches you had heard so far. Your shirt already had one or two buttons open, and your sleeves were already pulled up to your elbows. Sophia let you go away from her as long as you promised you'd be back quickly and without any trouble, and then she kissed you with too much lust for someone who is in front of other people.

The whiskey slid across the counter, a thank you escaped your mouth, and the bartender gave you a friendly nod. The taste was good on your tongue, pure, strong, just the way you always liked it.

“Look at you!” The voice interrupted your appreciation of the drink you took, the liquid seeming to tear down your throat—suddenly.

Gabriela.

She was there, standing next to you, her hair loose and flowing, her eyes predatory as you remembered, and that smile that always seemed about to get you into trouble. The woman who always found a way to get under Sophia's skin, who never stopped competing with her, who never stopped teasing her about you.

She was right there, in front of you.

“You look so different, yn!” The woman approached, her arms circling your neck without even giving you a chance. “You're stronger!”

You let her hug you, putting your hands behind your back as the woman moved away from you, running her hands over your arms.

“Gabriela! What a surprise to see you.” You tried to remain polite, looking around, searching for your wife, knowing that this situation could get you into trouble.

And nothing was worse than ending the night fighting with your spoiled wife.

"I'm the one who's surprised to see you. I thought Laforteza had locked you away in a tower far from society. You know I always thought Sophia was a little controlling for you, she never let you breathe like a normal person.“ Her laugh was sarcastic, and you followed with a weak laugh. ”I didn't see her here. Trouble in paradise?"

The bold question came with another step from the woman in your direction, practically cornering you at the bar counter. Fortunately, your older guardian angel came to your rescue.

“ Mama! Mom Sophia asked you to help me with my shoes, they’re hurting my feet!” Your daughter raged.

“Do you have other shoes in the car, Mahal?”

“No, but Mama said you can carry me for the rest of the night.” Holding out her hands, the girl waited patiently for you to lift her up.

You searched for Sophia one last time in the crowd, crouching just enough so you could indulge your daughter's wishes.

“Your mom sent you here, didn't she?” You whispered to the girl, who just smiled and whispered back.

“You won't like the answer, Mama.”

You were screwed!

“Aww, how cute.” Gabriela interrupted your silent conversation. “You're a beautiful princess, aren't you?!”

Taliah didn't even flinch.

“Of course, I'm just like my mom.” Throwing her hair over her shoulders, Taliah watched Gabriela's smile gradually fade. “She was prom queen in high school, you know?! No girl stands a chance against her!”

Oh, you definitely knew an undercover agent when you saw one, and Chief Sophia had sent this one on an extremely important mission.

“Isn't she cute?!” Your wife's voice interrupted the conversation, making Gabriela's frown intensify. “She reminds me of myself when I was a child.”

Gabriela gave a fake smile, Sophia looked at you in a way that sent shivers down your spine, and Taliah took advantage of every moment to take notes on how to be more and more like her mother.

Yeah, you were really screwed.

“How has life been treating you, Gabriela? Last time I saw you, you were marrying Dylan.” Dylan, the school football captain, you didn't know much about him, but he definitely wasn't the kind of guy you wanted to be around.

“We're fine, I'm working at a good company and he's trying to get a job as a coach at this school.” The woman turned to you again. “ Actually, I’d like to talk to you about a possible business partnership, yn.”

Sophia didn’t even give her a chance.

“Oh, honey, we don’t partner with unknown brands, sorry.” The smiles on the two women’s faces made you feel like you were in the middle of a shootout in the Wild West.

“Our company has great numbers!” The woman said, trying to maintain the smile that was beginning to fade.

“Yes, numbers like a normal company. Our brand has multinational company numbers, we are very demanding with our partnerships.” Sophia had that provocative tone that you knew could make people tear their hair out.

“Last time I checked, you didn't work with Yn, Laforteza.” Gabriela put her hands on her hips, trying to strike a more intimidating pose. “Aren't you just a trophy wife or something?!”

You closed your eyes, Sophia smiled, and Taliah clung tightly to your neck.

“Well, actually, I manage my wife. I manage everything she does, it's a very difficult job, you know?!” The Filipina smiled, the kind of smile that came before a catastrophe. “Actually, forget it. Of course you don't know. That's why your husband is unemployed now while you try to throw yourself at my wife, isn't it?”

Gabriela's mouth opened and closed, not knowing what to say or how to respond to what Sophia had said. She was caught off guard; she hadn't expected Sophia—after all these years—to finally end their little game of provocation and tell it like it is.

She had hoped to sneak a win, at least once.

"You always thought you were the best at everything, didn't you, Sophia? Let's see if your wife will think so when you're old and all you have left is your difficult personality." The woman's words made Sophia's eyebrows rise.

You took a step forward, opening your mouth only to be silenced by your wife's hand rising in the air. A clear sign for you to stay out of it.

You obeyed.

“You know, Gabriela, it's very sweet of you to think she'll ever look at anyone else.” Sophia looked her up and down. “It's even sweeter to think it will be you.”

Before the woman could say anything, a cheerful scream was heard, followed by the shrill voice that you and Sophia knew so well.

“MOM, THEY'RE GIVING AWAY FREE ICE CREAM!” Sophia always tells the boy not to run, but maybe now she doesn't care so much.

Losing his balance, Stephen stumbled, the boy's small body falling forward and causing the pot of expensive gelato to fall almost strategically onto Gabriela's white silk dress.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT! MY DRESS! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!” The woman's screams attracted the attention of the entire room.

Getting up, Stephen dusted off his clothes and approached Sophia, only to see her mother with a funny smile on her face.

“Mom, can we get more ice cream?” Sophia grabbed the boy's hand, looking at you with a smile that meant trouble.

“We can get whatever we want!”

You sighed as you entered the bedroom after kissing the children goodnight and grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen. Your button-down shirt was now completely open, your dress pants belt long forgotten on the sofa, and you would have to remember to retrieve it later.

The door creaked slightly when you opened it, and the sight that greeted you as you entered the bedroom made your legs go weak.

Sophia was sitting in the armchair near the bed, the dress she had been wearing long since discarded, probably thrown into the huge closet she occupied all by herself. She wore white lingerie—which you remember having charged to your card—that hugged her body softly and sensually. Her hair was loose, slightly tousled by her restless hands. And her Louboutin high heels were on display in all their glory.

You didn't even have a chance.

“You know, it's always so funny how people think you run this family.” Sophia crossed her legs, adjusting her posture slightly in the armchair and looking at you with that look that made your spine tingle. “How they see me as a spoiled, boring wife who will probably bankrupt you one day.”

A laugh escaped her lips. You opened your mouth, trying to say something, only to be silenced.

“I don't blame them. I mean, I let them think that way.” Picking up the wine glass from the table next to the armchair, Sophia took a sip, enjoying the drink while you tried not to faint right there. “But you know how things work here, don't you, Mahal?!”

Nodding quickly, you closed the door, the soft click echoing through the room.

“Lock it.” She didn't have to say it twice.

Another click was heard, louder, a little longer. You were so tense that you swore you could hear the lock turning.

“Good girl.” Sophia smiled. “Come here.”

Your wife's soft voice didn't fool you. After so many years together, you knew that calm voice meant nothing. The storm was yet to come. You walked silently toward her, your footsteps light on the wooden floor, and Sophia didn't even wait for you to be in front of her to throw more commands at you.

“On your knees, puppy.”

You fell.

Without thinking twice, your knees and hands on the floor, crawling closer to her until your head was practically between her thighs.

With a smile, Sophia spread her legs. Without resisting, your eyes wandered down your wife's body, passing her collarbone, her breasts, her abs, and finally the wet spot on her panties. Sophia smiled, lifting her torso from the armchair just to grab your chin and make your eyes move back to her face. She wanted you to see the cruel smile she had, she wanted you to feel like a small prey about to be devoured.

You felt it.

“Look at you... imagine if people saw you like this. On your knees, just for me.” Her free hand moved up, her fingers combing your hair back, as she taunted you with a fake pout on her lips. “Do you want people to know that you're just a pathetic little puppy for your wife, Mahal?”

You denied it with your head, it was all too much. The room was hot, your shirt was sticking to your shoulders, your arms were starting to hurt, and you swore your cock had never been as hard as it was now.

“No, mommy.” Your voice was weak.

“Why not, puppy?” Sophia laughed at you.

“Because...” You tried to lower your head, only for Sophia's fingers to grab your chin more aggressively.

“Do that again and you won't cum for a week.” She warned. “And then...”

“'Cause people wouldn't take me seriously...” Your voice came out low, almost as if the words were dragging themselves out.

Sophia laughed, leaning back in her chair and releasing her grip on your chin. “You're so pathetic, puppy.”

You stared at the floor, a glimpse of Sophia swinging her legs passing through the corner of your eye, and you heard her sigh dramatically before speaking again.

“I built you, Mahal.” Sophia's heels pushed your shoulder, your hands off the floor as you supported yourself only on your knees. Facing her. “But today, I'm going to destroy you.”

You nodded, agreeing sheepishly as you waited for your wife's next order or move. Sophia's gaze wandered over your body, from your abs exposed through the fabric of your shirt to the outline of your erection visible through your dress pants.

She smiled once more. Laughing for what was probably the tenth time that night, laughing at your misfortune and savoring your despair like an expensive wine. Leaning back in her chair once more, Sophia beckoned you with her finger. Your eyebrows rose before you moved closer to her like the little puppy you always were.

Her heels were on your chest before you could get too close. Just far enough away that you could touch her ankles. “Ah, ah. Take it easy, puppy. I don't want any desperate dogs on top of me.” Sophia lowered her leg, silently allowing you to approach—more slowly this time.

You didn't dare touch her. You knew how Sophia's rules worked, and unless you wanted to be punished, it was best to keep your hands to yourself for now. Your eyes were fixed on the fabric of her panties, the wet spot on the fabric driving you crazy to taste her.

"Go ahead, Mahal. Take it off me.“ Sophia's voice entered your ears like a soft choir of angels. But when your hands rose, all you got was a slap that pushed them away. ”No, not with your hands. With your mouth, like a good little doggie!"

Surprised, you looked into your wife's wicked eyes. You weren't even sure what you had done to upset her so much that night. Was it jealousy? Was it the power dynamic? Was it the way Gabriela challenged Sophia's authority? Either way, none of it was directly your fault, so everything you were getting now was technically very unfair.

A terribly exciting injustice.

“But, Mahal...”

“But?” Sophia's voice interrupted you, your body trembling as you tried not to show her how affected you were.

Obviously, you failed.

“Are you really going to finish that sentence, puppy?” And there it was, that same treacherous smile.

You denied it, leaning down and resting your head on Sophia's thighs. Sighing in anticipation, knowing that this would be your death sentence.

Your lips slid down Sophia's thigh, moving up to the waistband of her panties that hugged her curves. You left kisses on her lower abdomen, relaxing a little more when you heard Sophia laugh, starting to run her hands through your curls. Opening your mouth, you finally bit the fabric, being careful not to touch Sophia's skin. The Filipina watched your delicate movements closely, smiling as she played with strands of your hair. Sophia watched you pull the fabric down, your heavy breathing tickling her skin, you were clearly struggling, and she enjoyed it.

You managed to pull the fabric down to her knees, finally leaving her intimacy free for your gaze. Looking up, you asked for silent permission, the kind of communication that you and your wife understood instantly, years of relationship creating codes that only you could decipher. When Sophia nodded, your hands ran down her legs, sliding the fabric off her body as your lips left desperate kisses wherever you could reach.

The scent of Sophia's arousal entered your mind, and you swore you were dizzy for a few seconds, your hands clenching her thighs as if it were stopping you from attacking her, while you tried your best not to think about how heavy your dick was inside your pants.

“Mommy, please. Can I? Please?” Sophia raised her eyebrow, tilting her head to the side as if she were evaluating you completely—savoring every moment of you being so submissive to her.

“What do you want, Mahal?” Her hands reached for yours, her thumbs caressing the bulging veins on your hands as she waited for you to beg a little more.

“I need to taste you, please! I've been a good girl for you, please.” You tried, your eyes filling with tears as you watched your wife just roll her eyes at your request.

Fuck, you were sensitive, you just needed anything, anything Sophia wanted to give you, you would accept!

“I don't know...” Sophia's answer made your chest tighten and shoot up in despair. Moving closer to her, your hips sought friction with something, failing miserably when nothing gave you the relief you wanted.

You sobbed, lost in the pain of the huge bulge in your pants and the despair that Sophia wouldn't let you relieve yourself in any way. “I swear I didn't know she was going to come up to me! I'll never leave your side at events like this again, please! I just want to taste you, please!”

Sophia's sarcastic smile made you sob even louder, the unbearable pain in your pants impossible to ignore. Sophia's thumb wiped the tear that fell from your eyes, and all you did was lay your head on her lap in shame.

“Please, please, please...” You continued whispering tirelessly into your wife's skin. Closing your eyes tightly and praying to all the gods that the woman you love most in the world would let you have a piece of the paradise that is her body.

“All right, puppy. If that's what you want...” Your head rose quickly at the sound of Sophia's voice. “Go ahead, and don't disappoint me.”

You went into a trance. Your brain didn't even follow you, the movement of your hands, or the movement of your body. All you could hear was the little scream your wife let out when you grabbed her thighs and dove into her intimacy. Your tongue worked hard on Sophia's folds as you looked like a thirsty woman, as if you had just walked in the desert and Sophia was the only source of water you needed.

“Damn, you really are a desperate puppy, aren't you, Mahal?!” You didn't even care.

Her moans were music to your ears, and her taste made you transcend. It was poetic, it was erotic, it was perverted. Every sound, every little moan, every sensation. Your body felt like it was burning like a bonfire on an already hot day, Sophia's body trembling under your grip made you feel a small taste of the control you knew you never had. The bittersweet taste stuck to your tongue like a vivid reminder that you belonged to her, and that nothing and no one would change everything Sophia had built.

“Keep going, Mahal. Be a good girl and make mommy cum for you.”

She had you tied to a leash, and her hands in your hair reminded you of that. Each tug on your scalp reminding you exactly of the firm control she always had over you. Your hips still sought friction, the failed impulses only generating frustration in you. You were intoxicated, lost in the torturous fog of pleasure Sophia had put you in. Suddenly, you felt your wife's thighs tremble harder against your grip, her moans intensifying as you continued your work with your tongue.

“I'm cumming, baby.” Sophia's nails scratched the back of your neck in an attempt to pull you—impossibly—closer to her.

Her nails sliding across your skin brought a new sensation to you, who was already too overstimulated to take any more. Your wife moaned as her body trembled, her juices smearing your chin as her nails continued to run down your neck. The scratches sent signals through your sensitive body, making you arch your back and moan loudly—your head still buried between your wife's legs.

You paused for a second, thinking about what had just happened. Sophia's breathing was ragged, as was yours, and you thought that maybe she hadn't noticed the mess you had just made in your pants.

You were so wrong.

“You really are pathetic, aren't you, puppy?!” Sophia laughed, that kind of drunken laugh bathed in cruelty.

Her legs were still shaking slightly, but she spared no effort to push you away from her. You fell to your knees at her feet, the cold wooden floor embracing your body like a cold shower. All you did was support yourself with your hands, breathing heavily without any shame—you already knew you were too screwed.

Sophia looked at you, dry tears on your cheeks, red and downcast eyes, messy hair, your mouth still dirty with her cum, irregular breathing, shirt stuck to your shoulders, breasts rising and falling still trapped in your bra, and the wet stain on your new pants.

You were exactly the way Sophia wanted you, completely destroyed.

“You couldn't control yourself, little doggie?” The little voice Sophia used to talk to you made it clear that it wasn't over, and all you could do now was beg for mercy. “Oh no, don't cry. Mommy isn't mad at you.”

You didn't even notice the tears streaming from your eyes. You knew you must look pathetic now, but honestly, you didn't care anymore.

“I'm sorry, I can't do this.” You sobbed, crawling closer to your wife, seeking the safe haven she always gave you. “I'm sorry about tonight, I know you wanted it to be perfect.”

Sophia frowned. “Mahal, do you think I'm punishing you?” Sophia ran her hands through your hair, grabbing your shoulders to pull you back onto her lap.

Your head rested on her thighs as if it had always been there.

“Aren't you?” Looking up at her, Sophia could see your eyes, smiling tenderly at how vulnerable you looked.

“Mahal... of course not.” Sophia held your chin. “You're such a good girl to me.” Your expression softened, happy that she wasn't really mad at you. “Believe me, if it were punishment, you'd know.”

You swallowed hard, not even wanting to imagine the things she would do to you if she really wanted to punish you. That was the truth, you had always been good to Sophia, the perfect, calm wife who always dealt with her exceptionally well, who had had plenty of time to learn how to deal with every little mood swing she had. You could see now, she wasn't angry with you, she was just reaffirming to herself everything she had, everything she possessed.

And that was you.

“Now, you've made a mess. Do you think you can handle another one?” Your wife's question made your ears perk up, and you nodded so fast that Sophia laughed. “Get up.”

Obeying her, you finally allowed yourself to stand up, your knees aching a little from the minutes they had been punished. Sophia's hands wandered over your abs, pushing your button-down shirt back, a clear signal for you to take it off. You had barely gotten rid of the fabric when you realized that Sophia was already unbuttoning your pants, her hands quick to slide the fabric down your legs—taking the boxer briefs you wore with them.

Your cock sprang out, the tip red and furious, still dripping with your cum, the bulging veins making your wife want to lick each one, and she did. A moan escaped your mouth as Sophia's tongue slid along your length. The Filipina revelled in your taste and joined you in the symphony of moans, the salty taste lingering on her tongue for a moment before she licked again.

“Phia, please!” you begged - for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Sophia smiled. “Someone's desperate.” Looking into your eyes, your wife kissed the tip of your cock, laughing when a drop of semen dripped from the head.

You didn't even have time to respond when you felt Sophia's mouth on your dick. The warmth of her throat warming your tip in a way that was too good to be true, closing your eyes, you could feel every movement of her tongue, while one of her hands jerked off what she couldn't fit in her mouth.

You were close, too overstimulated to hold back any longer. And Sophia noticed it.

A snap echoed through the room as your wife let go of your cock, getting up from the floor and running her hands over your body. Sophia's hands reached your back, roaming over your tense muscles before letting her fingers work to unhook your bra.

“You're so beautiful, Mahal.” Her eyes intimidated you in a way that made you want to show yourself more and more, just to see what she would do to you next. “I need you to fuck me. Do you think you can do that?”

You nodded eagerly. Sophia followed your movements and nodded along with you. Her eyes were soft toward you.

“Yes, mommy.” You teased. The Filipina smiled at you.

Taking your hands in hers, Sophia turned to face the armchair, pulling you with her. Climbing onto the leather furniture, the Filipina brought your hands to her waist, positioning them exactly where she wanted them.

“Come on, Mahal... be a good girl for me, uh.”

You were mesmerized, there, bent over your favorite armchair, was your wife, waiting for you to take her the way only you knew how.

“I love you, Mahal.” You wasted no time.

Your hips moved closer to hers, your hands sliding down to her butt, giving it a firm squeeze before finally deciding to bury yourself inside her.

Your moans filled the room, the pleasure divided equally when your bodies finally connected. Your wife's soft, warm walls welcomed you deliciously, and for a moment you thought about just staying there forever.

Moving even closer—entering her gently—you left wet kisses on Sophia's shoulders, wanting her to feel as good and comfortable as you did. The Filipina moaned shamelessly, throwing her head back and fitting perfectly into the curve of your neck. Her hands rose and found their way into your hair, her back arched in a way that let you go deeper into her, and you both loved the feeling.

"Damn, baby. You're so big!“ Sophia's voice came out shaky, choked with a moan that cut off in her throat. ”I love you, Mahal."

Trying to control your breathing, you began to thrust slowly, feeling the sensation of your wife's walls accommodating your sensitive member. You were pretty sure you wouldn't last long, especially with everything Sophia had put you through. But even so, you tried.

Your hands traveled from Sophia's hips to her back, unbuttoning the bra she was still wearing, only for your hands to travel to her boobs, playing with her nipples and holding them both in your hands as your thrusts began to get faster and deeper.

Sophia's moans filled the room, and the grunts she was hearing you make were making her wetter. Knowing that even after so many years, she still elicited the same sighs and moans from you made her feel like she was on cloud nine.

“Damn baby, you're so hot! I don't think I can take it anymore...” You clenched your jaw, moaning when you felt her throw herself back at you.

“Are you going to cum already, baby?” Sophia's giggle made you cringe, only to nod pathetically as you continued thrusting inside her. “Are you going to cum inside me? Do you want to put another baby inside me, Mahal?”

Sophia's words made your eyes roll back, and she swore she felt your cock throb furiously inside her.

“Phia, please!” Your choked voice satisfied Sophia, and her laughter was cut short by a moan as you quickened the pace of your thrusts even more.

The Filipina swore she could feel you deep inside her, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, she was about to beg you to make her pregnant.

“Mahal...” Whatever Sophia was going to say was drowned out by a loud moan that escaped her mouth.

You thrust deep inside her, jets of your cum painting her walls white—just as she wanted—before you began to leak out in a completely messy way.

Exhausted, you let your body fall on top of your wife's, using the last of your energy to kiss her neck gently.

“Phia... are you okay?” The question answered itself when you heard your wife's drunken laughter.

Sophia's hand reached back, pushing you and forcing you out of her. The loss of contact made you both moan, and you held on to the arm of the chair to keep from falling when you felt your legs go weak.

Sophia sat up straight, throwing her head back and raising her hands toward you, opening and closing them as a clear signal to pick her up.

“Seriously? My legs feel like jelly right now.” You complained, already letting her wrap her legs around your waist.

“Shut up, you're not the one who just got pregnant until next year.” Sophia murmured in your neck, tightening her grip on your shoulders when she felt the soft mattress behind her. “We haven't had sex in so long, how did you have so much cum to get out?”

You frowned.

“Dude, don't talk like that, it makes me sound like a disgusting pervert.” You hissed as you felt a hard slap on your abdomen. Finally pulling away from your wife.

“Call me dude one more time and you won’t have any balls left.” Your eyebrows rose at the threat as you nodded and grabbed her ankles, gently removing the heels that were still on her feet.

While massaging Sophia's feet, you heard your wife sigh, “I'm going to take your card to buy things for the baby tomorrow.”

“Baby?” That was all you could ask.

“Mahal, I think it's almost impossible that I'm not pregnant now. You really were starving...” She pulled you down to lie with her, laughing when you blushed with embarrassment.

“Okay, okay! I get it.”

Sophia laughed, kissing your chest before snuggling up to you. The sigh that escaped your lips was one of relief. The truth that you would never leave this woman hit you hard. Not only because she had you wrapped around her finger, but also because you knew she was the woman of your life. The spoiled and bossy mother of your children,

The love of your life.

OMG, WHO WROTE THAT???

[goofymickeyr]

[goofymickeyr]

Umm hello why about my sanity ? 😭😭😭

TikTok - Make Your Day

[willowves-deactivated20251226]

Behind the booth | S.L yn has had a crush on sophia for as long as she can remember, starting her freshman year of college. Now it’s junior year and nothing has changed. Until that fundraiser happened and the kissing booth blew up. sophia didn’t mean to kiss her but she did, and now everyone is freaking out. Twitter is in chaos, and the whole school is in shambles. yn finally thinks she has a chance… until that rumor breaks out. 

Chapter 13 — Family business

➴ TOC | Back | Next !  ◞౿

a/n: happy late birthday to my ride or die <3 @kams-corner

➴ TAGLIST (50/50): @avanzinii @awkwardtoafault @kianthegirlkisser @nocturnalmars @aeriyism @donthave2guess @redroomgraduate @usagimygoatfr @runm3over @wwwlpgs @alleyangelss @angelwings-fly @eyekonic-cunteee @vivinquisha @iluvyuandme @amaliu007 @fandomhoppershxt @idkbruhdoyou @lafortezasboy @hotluvlet @falling-intoo-deep @kams-corner @camiraeken @wntrsgf @marvelwomen-simp @dreamingst99 @northclairo @evs-h @notheroverthinker @vivinquisha @strip3z-12 @voldexz @spiderpunkmanon @loofat @isaleia @thenightcralwers @kwtseye @bitchesbrokenpromises @prosnale105 @spiderx18

[katzgotsecretz]

Overdrive (the second installment of the Formula One x Katseye series) Masterlist

new season, new format, new drama, same sport.

an old yet familiar face comes back to haunt Sophia as she tries to defend her title against the rest of the drivers, to prove to the world she is capable of filling up the void left behind by her former teammate, and to prevent her relationship from crumbling against the public eye.

with all the pressure going on, would she finally break down or would she dare cross the finish line again?

(read the first installment of the series here.)

2025 FORMULA ONE TEAM LINE-UP

MERCEDES-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team

Driver 07 | Sophia Laforteza

Lara Rajagopalan, Manager for Driver 07

Manon Bannerman, Race Engineer for Driver 07

Jeung Yoonchae, Performance Engineer for Driver 07

Oracle Red Bull Racing

Daniela Avanzini, Race Engineer for Driver 28

Megan Skiendiel, Garage Gunner

Y/N L/N, Performance Engineer for Driver 28

2025 FORMULA ONE CALENDAR

Welcome to the 2025 Season: F1 75, Live at The O2 (coming soon!)

Race 01 - Australian Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 02 - Chinese Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 03 - Japanese Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 04 - Bahrain Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 05 - Saudi Arabian Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 06 - Miami Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 07 - Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 08 - Monaco Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 09 - Spanish Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 10 - Canadian Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 11 - Austrian Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 12 - British Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 13 - Belgian Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 14 - Hungarian Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 15 - Dutch Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 16 - Italian Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 17 - Azerbaijan Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 18 - Singapore Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 19 - Las Vegas Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 20 - Mexican Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 21 - Brazilian Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 22 - Qatar Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

Race 23 - Abu Dhabi Grand Prix (still warming up the engines!)

paddock vip passes: @goofymickeyr, @jusnough, @twinkletoes0333 , @jhgifdbki, @gh0stypost, @donsheep, @antagonistzini, taglist still open!

[goofymickeyr]

[gottencents]

29 Pearls In Your Kiss - Jennie Kim

pairing. spiderman!jenniekim x populargirl!reader

synopsis. quiet college student jennie kim leads a double life as spider-man, the only time she can truly connect with her untouchable crush, y/n. between nightly walks, subtle rescues, and stolen kisses in y/n’s penthouse, their slow-burning attraction ignites into a passionate and undeniable bond.

main masterlist. blackpink masterlist. navigation.

Jennie Kim was used to being invisible.

She didn’t mind it, not really. In the classroom, invisibility was safety no professors singling her out, no curious classmates prying into her life, no whispers of judgment when her answers weren’t perfect. In the cafeteria, invisibility meant nobody noticed her sitting alone, earbuds tucked in, half-listening to the buzzing social lives she didn’t belong to. Jennie had built her life on the edges, existing quietly in the background. But at night, everything changed.

The city opened itself to her in a way the world never had before. From the top of a skyscraper, New York wasn’t just noise and chaos it was breathtaking. Neon lights, traffic glows, windows that looked like stars scattered across steel towers. Jennie swung between them with nothing but a web and a heartbeat, laughter spilling from her chest even when her ribs ached, even when her knuckles were raw.

The mask turned her into someone else. Someone loud. Brave. Daring. Someone unforgettable. And in that mask, people looked at her. They saw her. Even if they didn’t know her name, they knew what she stood for.

But even Spider-Man had secrets ones Jennie clutched tight against her ribs like a wound. The biggest one? Y/N.

Y/N, with her glittering smile and sharp eyes, who always seemed untouchable. The kind of girl everyone wanted a piece of, yet nobody could keep. Jennie remembered watching her at freshman orientation, standing at the center of the room like gravity bent around her. By sophomore year, she was a campus legend Miss Popular, queen of the cheer squad, the girl professors remembered, the girl classmates adored, the girl who collected admirers like petals trailing behind her.

And Jennie? Jennie was just another nameless face in the crowd. The kind of girl Y/N probably didn’t even see. Jennie told herself she was fine with that. Crushes happened. They fizzled out. You moved on.

Except she didn’t.

Every time Y/N’s laugh echoed down a hallway, Jennie’s chest tightened. Every time Jennie spotted her across campus hair shining in the sun, uniform hugging her figure, that commanding stride that dared the world to keep up Jennie’s pulse stuttered. And when Y/N’s gaze accidentally brushed over her once or twice, Jennie found herself looking away too fast, as if stolen glances could burn. So Jennie buried it. She buried it deep. Because Jennie Kim, invisible and awkward, would never have a place in Y/N’s spotlight.

But Spider-Man? Spider-Man did.And maybe that was why Jennie broke her own rules. She wasn’t supposed to get personal as Spider-Man. No favorites, no attachments. Swing in, save the day, vanish before anyone asked too many questions. That was the deal.

Except… she found herself waiting for Y/N. Every night, after cheer practice ended, Jennie perched on the rooftop across from the gym, heart hammering as she watched for that familiar figure to step outside. She timed her swing perfectly descending just as Y/N reached the crosswalk, like coincidence, like fate. And every night, she offered to walk her home.

It wasn’t in the job description. But Jennie made an exception. Because for Y/N, she couldn’t help herself. And somewhere, deep down where Jennie didn’t dare touch the thought, she wondered if Y/N already suspected who was behind the mask.

The first time Jennie offered to walk Y/N home, it had been on impulse. She hadn’t planned it. She was supposed to be swinging downtown, checking the usual alleys for trouble. But then she saw Y/N leaving the gym in her cheer uniform, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, earbuds in. Alone.

Something about the way the streetlamps hit her casting golden shadows across her hair, lighting up the sharp set of her jaw pulled at Jennie’s chest.

She’d swung down before she could stop herself.

“Evening,” Spider-Man said, trying for casual, though her heart thudded like a drum.

Y/N blinked, tugging her earbuds free. “Oh. Uh hi?”

Jennie scratched the back of her masked head, realizing how awkward this was. “Just, you know… patrol. Making sure the streets are safe. New York and all that.”

Y/N tilted her head, clearly amused. “And the safest place in New York tonight just happens to be… my walk home?”

Jennie froze. “…Yes?” A laugh burst out of Y/N then bright and surprised and Jennie swore it echoed in her chest longer than it should have.

“Fine,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “You can tag along. Just don’t expect me to be entertaining. I’m exhausted.” Jennie followed, her steps unusually human instead of bounding across rooftops. For once, she wasn’t Spider-Man the spectacle. She was Spider-Man the… companion.

And it didn’t stop after that night. It became routine. Every evening after practice, Y/N would glance up as though expecting her. And Jennie without fail would swing down with a half-grin hidden under the mask.

“Back again?” Y/N teased one night, her gym bag bouncing against her hip.

“What can I say? You’re my favorite patrol route,” Jennie shot back, her voice steadier this time.

“Lucky me,” Y/N replied, smirking as she adjusted her ponytail. “New York’s friendliest stalker.”

Jennie stumbled a step. “Stalker?! Excuse me, I prefer the term ‘dedicated bodyguard.’”

“Dedicated, huh?” Y/N’s eyes sparkled. “And how much are you charging me for this service, Spider-Man?”

Jennie grinned under the mask. “One smile per block. Non-negotiable.”

Y/N laughed louder this time, genuine. “You’re ridiculous.” And Jennie thought, If I could bottle that laugh, I’d never need sleep again.

But the more walks they shared, the less ridiculous it felt.

Some nights, Y/N talked endlessly about cheer drama, about annoying professors, about her parents’ latest business trip overseas. Jennie listened, adding little jokes here and there, soaking in every detail Y/N revealed.

Other nights, they walked in comfortable silence, the sound of the city filling the gaps between them. Jennie found herself memorizing the curve of Y/N’s profile in streetlight, the way her expression softened when she thought nobody was looking. And then there were the nights when Y/N surprised her.

Like the time she glanced at Jennie and asked softly, “Doesn’t it ever get lonely? Doing what you do?” Jennie faltered, nearly missing a step. Nobody asked Spider-Man that. People asked for selfies, or for her to move out of the way. Nobody asked about her feelings.

“I guess,” Jennie admitted finally, her voice low. “But… then I get nights like this. And it doesn’t feel so bad.” Y/N looked at her for a long moment, her smirk fading into something gentler. Something Jennie wasn’t ready for.

“You’re weird, Spider-Man,” Y/N murmured, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. But her voice was warm, and her shoulders brushed Jennie’s just slightly as they walked the rest of the way.

Jennie pretended she didn’t notice. By the third week, it wasn’t even a question anymore. Every night, Jennie walked her home. Every night, Y/N let her. And every night, Jennie felt herself falling deeper into something she couldn’t possibly have. it started small. Barely noticeable. At least, Jennie hoped it was. One night, Y/N’s duffle bag slipped off her shoulder as she crossed the street, the strap tangling around her ankle just as a taxi blared its horn.

Jennie reacted before she thought web shooting out, pulling Y/N back onto the curb a half second before the bumper could’ve grazed her.

“Careful,” Jennie said, trying to sound cool even as her pulse thundered.

Y/N’s chest heaved, eyes wide. She grabbed Jennie’s forearm through the suit, grounding herself.“You ” Her voice broke for a second, then steadied. “You saved me.”

Jennie forced a shrug. “Part of the job.”

But Y/N didn’t let go right away. Her hand lingered on Jennie’s arm, her gaze narrowing like she was searching for something under the mask. “You always show up right when I need you.”

Jennie felt heat crawl up her neck beneath the mask. “Lucky timing.”

“Mm.” Y/N’s lips quirked. “Or maybe you’re watching me.”

Jennie’s stomach dropped. She can’t know. She can’t.

“…Maybe I just like the view,” Jennie blurted before she could stop herself. Silence. Then Y/N laughed light, surprised, almost disbelieving. She shook her head and finally let go of Jennie’s arm. “You’re trouble.”

Jennie told herself she should’ve kept her mouth shut. But the way Y/N’s smile lingered all the way to her building made it worth it. After that, the “close calls” stacked up.

A skateboarder barreled down the sidewalk too fast Jennie snagged the board mid-air before it could clip Y/N’s knees. A drunk guy staggered too close outside a bodega Jennie’s web tugged his sleeve just enough to send him stumbling the other way.

A falling flower pot from a third-story balcony nearly smashed against the pavement Jennie caught it inches above Y/N’s head, placing it carefully down before she even noticed. Y/N wasn’t oblivious. By the fourth or fifth time, she crossed her arms and fixed Jennie with that knowing stare. “Do you… have a tracking device on me or something? Because this is getting suspicious.”

Jennie raised her hands, palms out. “Hey, don’t flatter yourself. I save lots of people from… uh… runaway skateboards.”

“Uh-huh.” Y/N arched a brow. “Funny how those lots of people just happen to be me.”

Jennie scrambled for a comeback, panic clawing at her ribs. “Maybe New York just… really hates you.”

Y/N snorted, bumping her shoulder against Jennie’s. “Or maybe you really like me.” Jennie nearly tripped over her own feet.

Y/N smirked, clearly entertained by her reaction. “Relax. I’m kidding.” Jennie laughed weakly, praying her mask hid the flush crawling up her face. Still, the suspicion didn’t fade.

Sometimes, when Jennie swung down from a lamppost or appeared around a corner, Y/N’s eyes would flicker with something sharp. Not fear never fear. Just curiosity. Like she was putting puzzle pieces together. Like she was close to figuring out what Jennie didn’t want anyone to know.

And yet, every time Y/N could’ve pressed, she didn’t. She’d just slip back into her usual teasing, letting Jennie breathe for now. But Jennie couldn’t shake the thought: What if she already knows? And what if she doesn’t care? it happened on a Friday night.

Jennie had done the usual swing down just as Y/N stepped out of the gym, exchange a few playful jabs about who was protecting who, and walk her along the familiar route to her building. But when they reached the marble entrance of the penthouse tower, Y/N didn’t stop like she always did.

Instead, she turned, arms crossed, her expression unreadable under the warm halo of the streetlamp.

“You know,” she started, her voice softer than usual, “you don’t have to keep ditching me at the door.”

Jennie tilted her head, trying to play dumb. “Well, that’s kind of the point. You’re safe once you’re here.”

Y/N stepped closer, her smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “My parents are gone for a week. Tokyo. Business trip.” Her gaze flicked over Jennie sharp, assessing. “You don’t have to… rush off, Spider-Man. You could… come up.”

Jennie’s throat went dry. “Up?”

“To the penthouse.” Y/N’s tone was casual, but there was a glimmer in her eyes something more dangerous than casual. “Unless you’re scared of heights.”

Jennie almost laughed at the irony. Scared of heights? She’d swung across half the city that night alone. But this this was different. This was scarier. Still, she nodded. “Lead the way.” The elevator ride was torture. Jennie stood rigid in the corner, hands stuffed into the suit’s gloves, while Y/N leaned back against the railing, watching her with that same mischievous glint.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Y/N teased, breaking the silence. Jennie cleared her throat. “Maybe I don’t have any jokes left.”

“Impossible.” Y/N grinned. “You never shut up when you’re walking me home.” Jennie couldn’t argue with that. She stayed silent, willing the elevator to speed up. Finally, the doors slid open, revealing the penthouse. It was huge.

Floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed the skyline, glittering towers stretching as far as the eye could see. Sleek white furniture, polished marble floors, artwork Jennie was sure cost more than her entire apartment building.

But Jennie barely registered any of it, because Y/N had already kicked off her sneakers and flopped onto a sprawling king-sized bed in the middle of the open room, limbs sprawled carelessly, like she was inviting Jennie to follow. Jennie lingered awkwardly by the window, tugging at her gloves. “This is… nice.”

“Nice?” Y/N scoffed, propping herself up on her elbows. “That’s all you’ve got? My parents spend millions decorating this place and Spider-Man calls it ‘nice.’”

Jennie shrugged. “Guess I’m not easy to impress.”Y/N’s smile softened, just a little. “Good.” For a while, they just… talked. About the city. About Y/N’s future her dreams of either running her parents’ company or ditching it all to carve her own path. About Jennie’s “plans” as Spider-Man, which Y/N pried at like she wanted to peek under the mask.

“Do you ever think about life after college?” Y/N asked, lying on her side, her head resting on her hand. Jennie hesitated. Nobody asked her that. Nobody cared about the girl behind the mask, the one with overdue assignments and cheap instant ramen dinners.

“…I guess I never thought I’d get that far,” Jennie admitted quietly. Y/N’s expression softened in a way Jennie hadn’t seen before less sharp, less teasing. Gentle. “That’s sad.” Jennie shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just busy thinking about the present.”

“Fair enough.” Y/N’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer than they should have. Then she rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Still. You should think about it. I bet your future’s brighter than you realize.”

Jennie wanted to believe that. But all she could think about was how dangerously close they were sitting. How much easier it would be to lean forward. How badly she wanted to. And how wrong it would be to want it this much. She never expected what happened next. Because one second, they were talking about future plans, and the next Y/N was tugging at the edge of her mask, pulling it up just far enough.

“Wait, what are you ” Jennie stammered, her breath catching.

“Relax,” Y/N murmured, her smirk returning as she leaned closer. “Just curious.” And before Jennie could stop it, Y/N kissed her.

Y/N’s lips were softer than Jennie had imagined in all her secret daydreams warm, insistent, tasting faintly of cherry lip balm. Jennie froze for half a heartbeat, every nerve in her body sparking at once. She wasn’t Spider-Man now, not really. She wasn’t Jennie Kim either. She was just… herself. Mask slipping up, walls slipping down, Y/N’s mouth pressed against hers.

By the time Jennie remembered to breathe, Y/N had already shifted closer, cupping her cheek through the mask, deepening the kiss like she’d been waiting for this moment far longer than Jennie had dared to believe. Jennie’s hands hovered uselessly in the air, trembling. She wanted God, she wanted but fear pinned her in place.

Y/N felt it. She pulled back just enough to whisper, lips brushing Jennie’s, “Relax. You’re allowed.” And that broke Jennie open.

She kissed back, hesitant at first, then hungrier, matching Y/N’s rhythm. Her gloved hands found Y/N’s waist, gripping lightly, almost reverently. “There you go,” Y/N murmured against her mouth, smiling into the kiss.

Minutes blurred. Kisses stacked, slow at first, then faster, rougher, until Jennie found herself lying back on Y/N’s bed, Y/N climbing over her, pinning her gently against the silk sheets. Every nerve in Jennie’s body burned.

Y/N’s mouth left hers only to trail lower along her jaw, her neck soft kisses that grew sharper, teeth grazing skin. Jennie gasped when she felt the first sting, followed by the heat of Y/N’s mouth sealing over it. “You ah ” Jennie stuttered, her voice breaking.

“Shh.” Y/N smirked against her skin, kissing harder, leaving a mark just below Jennie’s ear. “You’ll thank me later.”

Jennie shivered, realizing exactly what Y/N was doing: leaving evidence. Love bites. Hickeys. Proof Jennie couldn’t hide. Her mask suddenly felt stifling, heat pooling everywhere Y/N touched.

Then Y/N’s hand slid up over Jennie’s chest, to her neck. Her fingers curled gently, squeezing not enough to hurt, just enough to make Jennie’s breath hitch. Jennie’s eyes fluttered shut. She’d never felt anything like it: the thrill of being trapped and cherished all at once.

“You’re shaking,” Y/N whispered, her voice velvet-soft but edged with fire. Jennie swallowed hard. “I I don’t…”

“You don’t have to ask,” Y/N cut in, pressing another kiss to her lips. “I’m giving you permission. Touch me, Jennie.” Jennie’s heart stopped. Her name. On Y/N’s lips. She didn’t question how Y/N knew she couldn’t. She just obeyed.

Her hands, clumsy at first, slid under the hem of Y/N’s shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin. Y/N gasped softly, arching into the touch. “That’s it,” Y/N encouraged, threading her fingers into Jennie’s hair. “Don’t be scared of me.” Jennie wasn’t scared. She was drowning. The rest unraveled in a blur of heat and desperation.

Y/N kissed her again, harder this time, her hands roaming everywhere: along Jennie’s chest, down her arms, over the suit’s seams. Every inch she could touch, she claimed. Jennie responded with nervous, tentative caresses, emboldened only when Y/N sighed or whispered her name in approval.Their mouths crashed and parted and found each other again, over and over, until Jennie’s lips tingled and her throat ached from swallowing gasps.

By the time they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, foreheads pressed together, lips swollen, hearts racing like they’d run across the whole city. Jennie’s mask was pushed halfway up, hair sticking out messily, her neck littered with fresh marks. Y/N looked devastating and smug, a glint in her eyes as she brushed her thumb along Jennie’s jaw.

“You’re mine now,” she murmured, before stealing one last, lingering kiss. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint hum of the city through the penthouse windows.

Jennie lay back against the pillows, chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breath. Her mask was still crooked on her face, pushed up just high enough to expose flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. Her hair was a mess from Y/N’s fingers, strands sticking out every which way.

Y/N, meanwhile, looked utterly unbothered. She lounged at Jennie’s side, one arm draped lazily across her stomach, the other propping her head up as she stared down with a smile that was equal parts satisfied and dangerous. Jennie groaned softly, covering her face with a gloved hand. “That… wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Funny,” Y/N murmured, tracing idle shapes along the seam of Jennie’s suit, “because it sure felt like it was.”

Jennie peeked at her between her fingers. “You kissed me.”

“And you kissed me back.” Y/N’s smirk widened. “A lot.” Heat crept up Jennie’s neck again. She turned her face away, but Y/N caught her chin, tugging her gently back until their eyes met.

“Hey,” Y/N said, softer now. “Don’t hide. Not from me.” Jennie’s breath caught. The weight of it the way Y/N said it like a promise lodged itself deep in her chest. They lay like that for a while.

Jennie staring at the ceiling, Y/N’s fingers tracing light circles along her arm. The air was warm, still tinged with the sharp sweetness of adrenaline.

Finally, Jennie whispered, “You shouldn’t… want this. Me. It’s dangerous.”

Y/N shifted closer, pressing her forehead against Jennie’s temple. “Dangerous is half the fun.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Y/N lifted her head, her gaze fierce now. “I don’t care what mask you wear or what risks you take. You show up for me. Every night. You protect me when you think I don’t notice. And tonight, you didn’t run when I asked you to stay.”

Jennie swallowed hard. “Y/N…”

“You’re mine, Spider-Man,” Y/N whispered, brushing a kiss against the corner of her mouth. “Jennie. Whoever you are. You’re mine.”

Jennie’s chest tightened fear, exhilaration, something she couldn’t name. All she could do was nod, because words felt too small. And then, because Y/N never let a moment linger too long in seriousness, she tilted her head and smirked.

“So,” she teased, fingers trailing deliberately back to Jennie’s neck, squeezing just enough to make Jennie’s breath stutter again, “round two?”

Jennie let out a strangled laugh. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” Y/N pressed another kiss just below Jennie’s jaw, over one of the fresh marks she’d left. “But you like it.” Jennie bit her lip, trying not to let the shiver give her away. And Y/N, as always, noticed everything.

Jennie’s lungs still hadn’t recovered from the first kiss when Y/N leaned back on her elbows, smirking down at her like she had the whole city in her palm.

“You’re trembling again,” Y/N murmured, her thumb brushing the edge of Jennie’s jaw.

Jennie swallowed, heat prickling across her face under the mask. “That’s because you’re… terrifying.”

Y/N tilted her head, pressing a teasing kiss just beneath Jennie’s ear. “Terrifying… or tempting?”

Jennie shivered. “Both.”

“Good,” Y/N whispered, lips curving against her skin.

Jennie’s first instinct was to pull away, to tug the mask down and retreat to safety. But Y/N’s hand slid up, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist before she could move.

“Don’t,” Y/N said softly, gaze sharp enough to pin Jennie in place.

“I can’t ” Jennie’s voice cracked, panic bubbling up.

“You can.” Y/N leaned closer, lips ghosting over hers. “Because I already know.”

Jennie’s chest seized. “…What?”

“Jennie Kim,” Y/N whispered, the name rolling off her tongue like a secret she’d been holding onto for months.

Jennie’s heart stopped.

“I’ve known,” Y/N continued, watching every flicker of her reaction. “The way you laugh under the mask. The way you get quiet when you’re nervous. Spider-Man or not you don’t stop being you.”

Jennie’s throat tightened, shame and fear clawing at her ribs. “Then… why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was waiting,” Y/N said simply. “For you to trust me. For you to stop hiding.”

Her voice softened, hand sliding from Jennie’s wrist to her cheek. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. Not with me.”

Something broke loose in Jennie then something heavy she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.

With shaky hands, she tugged the mask up and off, tossing it aside. Her hair tumbled free, face flushed and bare, vulnerable under Y/N’s steady gaze.

Y/N smiled, slow and devastating. “There you are.”

Jennie barely had time to breathe before Y/N kissed her again deeper, hungrier, her hands threading through Jennie’s hair as if she’d been starving for this.

Jennie gasped, her body arching instinctively. Her hands hesitated, trembling at Y/N’s waist.

“Touch me,” Y/N murmured between kisses, guiding Jennie’s palms under her shirt. “Don’t hold back.”

Jennie obeyed, fingers brushing tentative paths along warm skin. Y/N rewarded her with a soft moan, arching into her touch, urging her closer.

The kisses grew rougher.

Y/N’s mouth trailed down her neck, sucking hard until Jennie whimpered. Heat bloomed beneath every mark, sharp stings melting into throbbing warmth.

“You’ll remember these tomorrow,” Y/N whispered against her skin, satisfied. 

“Everyone will know you’re mine.”

Jennie’s pulse raced as Y/N’s hand slid back to her throat, squeezing lightly just enough to make her breath hitch, her body trembling in response.

“Y/N…” Jennie’s voice was a broken plea.

“You like it,” Y/N teased, pressing another kiss to her jaw. “Don’t bother denying it.”

Jennie couldn’t. She was too lost too undone.

Her nervous hands grew bolder under Y/N’s encouragement, roaming up her sides, across her back, pulling her closer until their bodies fit together perfectly.

Y/N kissed her harder, everywhere she could reach her lips, her neck, her collarbone while her fingers traced hungry lines down Jennie’s arms, her waist, the curve of her hips.

Everywhere Jennie touched, Y/N pressed back twice as hard, as though she couldn’t get close enough. when their lips finally met again, messy and desperate, Jennie realized there was no line between Spider-Man and Jennie Kim anymore. No double life. No hiding.

There was only this , Y/N’s hands, Y/N’s mouth, Y/N’s claim. And Jennie giving herself over to it, piece by trembling piece.

Jennie woke to the soft light spilling through the penthouse windows, painting Y/N’s face in golden hues. Her head was still resting against Y/N’s shoulder, hair tangled, mask long forgotten on the floor. The memory of the night before made her chest tighten her heart still raced, her skin tingled where Y/N’s lips had left marks.

She sat up abruptly, panic flashing. “Oh no Y/N’s going to ugh, the marks!”

“Relax,” Y/N murmured, her fingers threading into Jennie’s hair as she tilted her head to look up at her. “They don’t matter. They’re… proof.”

Jennie froze, cheeks burning, hands hovering over the faint hickeys still visible on her neck. “Proof of what?”

Y/N smirked, brushing her thumb lightly across Jennie’s jaw. “Proof that you’re mine. And that I like claiming you.”

Jennie’s heart stuttered. “Y/N ”

“Shh,” Y/N whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Jennie’s temple. Her hands wandered over Jennie’s back, tracing gentle circles, over shoulders and down to her sides. “You don’t need to talk. Just… be here.”

Jennie let herself relax a fraction, leaning into the caresses. Her hands, nervous at first, tentatively grazed Y/N’s waist and shoulders. Y/N caught her hands, threading them together and pressing them to her chest.

“That’s it,” Y/N whispered. “Touch me anywhere you want. I won’t stop you.”

Jennie’s nervous fingers traced along Y/N’s ribs, over her collarbone, lingering where Y/N encouraged her. Each touch earned a soft sigh or a playful nibble from Y/N, who left faint love bites on Jennie’s neck when she leaned down to kiss her again. Jennie shivered, breath hitching.

“You’re… incredible,” Jennie murmured, trembling, unsure if she meant it physically, emotionally, or both.

Y/N smiled, squeezing her gently around the neck again not rough, just claiming. “You think so? You have no idea how perfect you feel to me.”

Minutes passed in soft touches and whispered words, a slow rhythm of intimacy that had nothing to do with the mask, nothing to do with Spider-Man. Just Jennie. Just Y/N.

And Jennie, for the first time, allowed herself to believe. She didn’t have to hide. She didn’t have to be invisible. Because Y/N wanted her exactly as she was.

[goofymickeyr]

Ah ah that Jennie tiktok edit ahh

Can’t find the exact one anymore but ah this would do

TikTok - Make Your Day

[gottencents]

PARTITION - Jennie Kim

pairing. idol!jennie x bpmember!reader

synopsis. After a night of undeniable chemistry in Ibiza, Jennie finally stops denying her feelings for Y/N, leading to a slow-burning, intimate night at her villa where confessions, lingering touches, and unspoken promises blur the line between friends and something much more.

main masterlist. blackpink masterlist. navigation.

The club was the kind of chaotic that only Ibiza could pull off  a haze of flashing lights, rolling basslines that rattled your ribs, and bodies moving in a way that blurred where one person ended and another began. The smell of saltwater still clung to the night air, sneaking in through the side doors every time they swung open.

Y/N leaned against the rail of the elevated DJ booth, taking in the crowd below. People were losing their minds to the beat, phones raised, drinks spilling over plastic cups. Beside them, Jennie was swaying slightly to the music, her hair catching in the glow of the LED lights above. She wasn’t paying much attention to the chaos  she was looking at Y/N.

They’d been here almost an hour, but Jennie hadn’t left Y/N’s side once. Every so often, she’d drift closer under the excuse of the loud music, her hand brushing against Y/N’s arm or resting for a moment at their lower back as if it belonged there.

“You’re drinking too slow,” Jennie said, leaning so close her lips were practically against Y/N’s ear. The words came out smooth but teasing, her tone threaded with a playfulness that didn’t quite mask the softness in her gaze.

Y/N smirked. “Some of us like to actually taste our drinks.”

Jennie tilted her head, feigning disapproval. “That’s boring,” she said flatly  though the curl of her mouth betrayed her amusement. Then she caught Y/N’s wrist and tugged them down toward the side counter behind the booth. “Come on. I’ll fix that.”

Before Y/N could protest, Jennie ducked down behind the DJ booth, dragging them with her. The world above blurred into muffled bass and flashes of light as they crouched together in the narrow space.

Down here, it was darker, the only glow coming from a strip of LEDs along the equipment case. The space was tight  unavoidably so  and when Jennie reached past them for a bottle, her shoulder brushed against Y/N’s chest. Neither of them moved away.

Jennie poured two shots with casual precision, her rings catching the dim light. She handed one to Y/N but didn’t let go of it right away.

“No, nolike this,” she said softly, her free hand coming up to the back of Y/N’s neck. Her fingers were warm, deliberate, and they guided Y/N’s head back just slightly. She tilted their chin with a care that made it feel less like a drinking game and more like something intimate.

“Is this your new bartending technique?” Y/N asked, smirking despite the way her touch had frozen them in place.

Jennie’s eyes didn’t waver from theirs. “It’s my way of making sure you finish it.” She pressed the rim of the glass to Y/N’s lips, her thumb brushing along their jaw as she watched them tip the drink back. Her gaze lingered long after the glass was empty.

And then Y/N noticed  Jennie had shifted without realizing it. She was practically in Y/N’s lap now, her thigh pressed firmly against theirs. Neither of them moved.

“You’ve been glued to me all night,” Y/N teased, voice low.

Jennie’s mouth curved. “And you’re complaining?” she asked, though there was an edge of sincerity hidden under the playful tone  like she was daring them to say they didn’t want her there.

Before Y/N could respond, someone shouted from above, calling Jennie’s name. She sighed, breaking eye contact, but instead of pulling away, she reached for Y/N’s hands, placed them deliberately on her waist, and gave a small nod.

“They belong here,” she said simply.

Back up in the booth, the world hit them full-force again  neon lights pulsing in time with the bass, sweat-slicked bodies in the crowd, the smell of perfume, alcohol, and warm summer air seeping through the side entrances.

Jennie stayed close. Too close, really. Every time Y/N shifted even an inch away to grab their drink or wave at someone, Jennie closed the gap again without thinking. It wasn’t aggressive  it was natural, instinctual.

At first, Y/N chalked it up to the noise and the press of people, but the longer it went on, the more they realized this was deliberate. Jennie’s hand found the back of their arm when she leaned in to say something. Her fingers brushed their side whenever she moved to the beat. She even hooked her pinky into their belt loop once, keeping them from stepping too far forward.

“You okay?” Y/N asked during a brief lull, leaning down so she could hear.

Jennie’s eyes flicked up to meet theirs, her lips parting like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Then she smiled  not the practiced stage smile, but something smaller, softer, as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

“Fine,” Jennie said, the word almost drowned out by the bass. “Why?”

“You keep…” Y/N trailed off, giving a half-smile. “Touching me.”

Jennie rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with a tiny upward twitch. “Maybe you just notice it more tonight.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Maybe you’re doing it more tonight.”

Jennie didn’t answer  instead, she took another sip of her drink, her gaze sliding away. But her hand, almost unconsciously, drifted to Y/N’s waist again, resting there like it belonged.

Minutes later, the DJ switched tracks, the lights dropping into a low, warm amber glow. It was enough to make everything feel just a little more intimate, like the crowd had faded into the background.

Jennie moved closer again, her head tilting slightly toward Y/N. Her perfume  something floral with a clean, sharp edge  mixed with the faint scent of tequila still on her breath.

“I was thinking…” she began, then paused, biting her lip. She didn’t break eye contact, and for a heartbeat, Y/N thought she might actually close the space between them.

“Thinking what?” Y/N asked, their voice lower now.

Jennie didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze flicked down to Y/N’s mouth, then back up, almost like she was gauging something. The beat of the music thumped in the background, but it was nothing compared to the sound of Y/N’s pulse in their ears.

And then

“Jennie! Come here!” one of their mutual friends shouted from across the booth, waving for a picture.

Jennie froze, her lips parting just slightly in frustration, before giving a small sigh and stepping back  but not without sliding her hand into Y/N’s, squeezing once before letting go.

They took the picture, laughed for a few seconds, but as soon as Jennie was free again, she was right back at Y/N’s side. If her fingers weren’t wrapped loosely around Y/N’s wrist, they were resting lightly at the curve of their hip.

At one point, Y/N reached for a bottle of water, and when their hand slipped away from her entirely, Jennie glanced down, frowned, and without a word, caught it and guided it back to her waist.

“You’re acting like I’m gonna get lost in here,” Y/N teased.

Jennie leaned in, her voice barely audible over the music. “You might.” Her tone was light, but the look in her eyes wasn’t.

It was the kind of look that felt dangerous  soft, warm, and like it held a thousand things she wasn’t saying.

For the rest of the set, it was a dance of interruptions  Jennie leaning in just close enough that Y/N swore she was going to kiss them, only for a camera flash or a shout from the crowd to pull them apart again. Each time, Jennie looked away like nothing had happened, but her fingers never left Y/N’s body for more than a few seconds.

The DJ’s set shifted gears, each track melting into the next until the crowd was moving like one giant wave beneath them. Y/N could feel the floor of the booth vibrating under their feet, the air thick with heat and sound.

Jennie stayed tethered to them the entire time. Sometimes her hand was at the small of Y/N’s back, other times resting on their thigh when they sat on the booth’s cushioned bench to sip a drink. And when she wasn’t touching them directly, she was leaning close enough that their shoulders brushed with every bass drop.

At one point, Jennie bent to say something in their ear. The warmth of her breath cut through the chill of the air conditioning vent above, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

“Look at them,” Jennie murmured, nodding toward the crowd. “Everyone’s losing their minds.”

Y/N glanced out at the sea of raised hands and dancing bodies, but they barely registered it  Jennie was still so close that if either of them moved even slightly, their lips would brush.

“Think you’re having more fun up here than they are,” Y/N said, smirking.

Jennie’s answering smile was slow and almost… knowing. “Maybe I am.”

Before Y/N could push that line of conversation further, the beat switched to a track that made the entire room roar. Jennie laughed and grabbed Y/N’s wrist, pulling them toward the front edge of the booth. She was moving to the rhythm without a second thought, hips swaying, head tipping back as she sang along to a few lyrics.

It would have been harmless  normal, even  if she didn’t keep brushing against Y/N every other second. Her arm slid across their shoulders at one point, fingers curling into the fabric of their shirt.

When a server ducked into the booth with another round of shots, Jennie lit up like someone had handed her a gift.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing Y/N’s hand again.

They crouched down together behind the DJ table to line up the glasses on a small counter. Jennie handed one over but kept hold of the other glass.

“Wait,” she said, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. “Tilt your head back.”

Y/N gave her a questioning look. “Why?”

Jennie grinned, stepping closer until her hand cupped the side of Y/N’s neck. “Just do it.”

Y/N let out a small laugh but obeyed, tilting their chin up. Jennie’s thumb brushed over their jaw as she held the rim of the shot glass to their lips, coaxing them to drink.

The moment was absurdly intimate  the press of her fingers at the base of their neck, the concentration in her gaze as if nothing else in the club existed. And when Y/N swallowed, Jennie’s lips curved into that same small, private smile before she downed her own shot.

They stood there for a second too long afterward, faces still close, but a sharp cheer from the crowd snapped them out of it. Jennie stepped back, though not far enough to lose contact entirely.

As the set carried on, the heat between them only seemed to grow. Y/N caught Jennie looking at them more than once  not a casual glance, but a lingering, open stare that made Y/N’s pulse trip. Her eyes had that soft, dangerous shine again, the kind that told Y/N she was thinking about things she wasn’t going to say out loud.

Twice, maybe three times, Jennie started to lean in like she might finally give in and kiss them. Each time, the universe seemed to conspire against them  a friend popping into the booth, the DJ pulling Jennie in for a quick photo, a sudden request for her to wave to the crowd.

But between every interruption, her hand kept finding its way back  to Y/N’s waist, to the inside of their elbow, or resting lightly on their hip like an unspoken promise.

By the time the last track began to fade and the DJ started thanking the crowd, Jennie still hadn’t let go.

When they stepped down from the booth into the dim, quieter hallway behind it, Y/N realized her fingers were still hooked into their belt loop.

“Don’t want to lose me?” Y/N teased.

Jennie didn’t smile this time. She just held their gaze for a beat too long before murmuring, “No. I don’t.”

The second the partition slid up and sealed them off from the driver, Jennie’s whole demeanor shifted. The easy party smile she’d been wearing all night melted into something heavier, hungrier  the kind of look that made Y/N’s chest tighten and their throat dry.

Jennie didn’t rush. She turned toward Y/N slowly, eyes tracking over their face like she was memorizing it. The soft glow of the car’s ambient lights caught in her hair, making the dark strands shimmer against her bare shoulders.

“Can I…” She hesitated, biting her lip, then tilted her head with a breathless little laugh. “I’ve wanted to do this since before the first song tonight.”

Y/N leaned back slightly, teasing, “Do what?”

“This.”

Jennie didn’t give them time to react. She climbed across the seat in one smooth movement, knees bracketing Y/N’s thighs so she was straddling them, the hem of her dress brushing dangerously high. Her hands came up to cradle Y/N’s jaw, her thumbs stroking along their cheekbones.

For half a second, she hovered there  their faces inches apart, her breath warm against their lips. Then she kissed them.

It started soft, like she was testing the waters, but Y/N could feel the tension coiled in her. When they kissed her back, that tension snapped. Her mouth moved against theirs with more urgency, her fingers sliding into their hair and tugging just enough to make Y/N exhale sharply.

The kiss deepened fast. Jennie shifted forward in their lap, pressing closer until there wasn’t a single inch between them. The car swayed gently with the motion of the road, but neither of them cared.

Jennie broke the kiss only long enough to whisper against their lips, “I’ve been telling myself not to want you like this.”

Y/N’s hands found her waist, pulling her tighter. “You’re doing a bad job of it.”

She laughed  low, throaty  and kissed them again, this time slower, deeper, savoring it. Her fingers trailed from their jaw down to the back of their neck, nails lightly grazing skin. Every movement screamed I can’t get enough of you.

When she finally pulled back, their noses still brushing, she rested her forehead against theirs. “Every time you stopped touching me tonight, I wanted to drag your hands back. I hate not feeling you.”

Y/N smirked and slid their hands from her waist to the small of her back. “Then don’t let go.”

Jennie didn’t. She leaned in again, this time kissing them with that dangerous mix of tenderness and need that made Y/N’s head spin. Between kisses, her breath came in quick little bursts, her perfume wrapping around them until the rest of the world disappeared entirely.

The driver might as well have been a hundred miles away. The only sounds in that space were the hum of the road, the soft rustle of clothing, and the quiet, unguarded noises Jennie made when Y/N’s lips found her neck.

By the time the car slowed toward the villa, Jennie was still in their lap, fingers laced behind their neck, lips swollen and eyes hazy. She leaned in for one more kiss, softer now, almost shy despite everything.

“Come inside with me,” she murmured.

Y/N didn’t even think before answering. “Lead the way.”

The car rolled to a stop in front of Jennie’s villa, its white walls glowing under the soft amber of the exterior lights. The night air was warm, the faint hum of cicadas in the background as Jennie slid off Y/N’s lap reluctantly, her hands lingering on their shoulders like she didn’t actually want to move.

She glanced toward the front door, then back at Y/N, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re coming in,” she said  not a question, but a certainty.

Inside, the villa was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock in the living room. The air smelled faintly of her perfume and fresh laundry, grounding and intimate after the pounding bass of the club.

Jennie kicked off her heels by the door, leaving them haphazardly in the corner. Y/N followed her down the hallway, their footsteps muffled by the plush rug.

The moment they were in the living room, Jennie turned, backing them up until Y/N’s legs hit the edge of the couch. Her hands went to their waist, fingers curling in the fabric of their shirt like she needed something to hold onto.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” she said softly, almost like it was a confession.

Y/N’s lips curled. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Jennie rolled her eyes, but the blush rising on her cheeks betrayed her. She stepped closer, until her body was flush against theirs, and traced lazy circles on Y/N’s waist with her fingertips. “You make it really hard to keep pretending I’m not questioning myself.”

Y/N chuckled low in their throat. “Maybe stop pretending.”

For a beat, Jennie just looked at them, eyes searching, like she was weighing every possible consequence. Then, with a sharp exhale, she closed the distance and kissed them again  slower this time, savoring it like she had all the time in the world.

They sank into the couch together, Jennie’s knees on either side of Y/N’s thighs, her hands roaming over their shoulders, their jaw, back to their waist. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss lingering just a second too long.

When Y/N’s fingers slid into her hair, Jennie let out the softest sigh, her forehead pressing briefly against theirs. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Y/N murmured, tilting their head to kiss along her jaw.

Jennie’s hands slipped under the hem of their shirt, palms warm against bare skin. She traced her nails lightly along their lower back, making them shiver. Y/N’s own hands wandered, mapping the curve of her hips, the small of her back, the line of her spine.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow-burning  the kind of heat that settled deep in their bones and refused to fade. Between kisses, Jennie’s lips would hover near their ear, her breath warm as she murmured things Y/N wasn’t sure she was even meant to hear.

“You’re addictive,” she whispered once, almost too quietly to catch.

Eventually, she curled up against them on the couch, her head on their chest, fingers idly tracing patterns along their stomach. The tension between them still buzzed like an unplayed note, but for now, she seemed content to just stay wrapped up in them.

After a while, she tilted her head up to look at them, her expression softer than Y/N had ever seen. “You’re staying tonight, right?”

Y/N smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Try and make me leave.”

Jennie grinned  a little mischievous, a little relieved  and pulled them back down for another slow, lingering kiss, the night stretching out ahead of them, full of unspoken promises.

[goofymickeyr]