་༘࿐NEWJEANS✮ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

[camdunez]

It’s Never Over | s. laforteza

Song Playing: Lover, You Should’ve Come Over — Jeff Buckley | decode — paramore

paring: sophia leforteza x gn!reader summary: you had left sophia in LA to start a band with your close friends. she stayed leaving you voicemails, hoping you’d pick up. this voicemail was no different.. but she drops not so small surprise at the end. genre: angst, hurt/comfort, estranged relationship word count: warnings/tags: use of “yn”, college student!sophia, rockstar!yn, brief ningning x yn if you squint, yn’s so hayley williams coded, sophia misses you so much. a/n: might as well add onto the mom!sophia agenda. and can you tell i'm in love with paramore? expect more paramore au content soon!

hey, yn.. i don't know why i'm still leaving voicemails.. it's not like you're listening to them anyway.

but i hope you're doing okay.. i haven't heard from you since your little band dropped riot. i guess living that rockstar life's got you busy, huh?

i heard that track you guys did for that vampire movie in the grocery store yesterday. dani said you're growing more angsty with every song you put out.. but i'm proud of you regardless.

[sigh]

i feel like i'm stalling so let me just cut to the chase..

i had something to tell you the night you left for new york to start that band of yours...

remember when i told you i was sick that one time?.. that stomach bug i caught from eating manon's food?..

it really wasn't a stomach bug, yn..

[pause]

i was pregnant... just a few weeks then..

i had the baby when you were on tour for that first album.. and ironically, one of your songs came on the radio at the hospital.

[chuckle]

...

her name's salem..

she's about four years old now.. has your eyes.. your laugh.

she knows who you are.. she always tells people that you're her star.

[a longer pause]

i heard you're in LA for a show.. maybe i can drag the girls with me.. show my face and what not.

...

i miss you, yn. call me back when you get the chance..

the hallway was loud, but yn couldn’t hear anything.

not really.

they sat hunched in the greenroom, phone still pressed to their thigh, sophia’s voice still clinging to the insides of their skull like cigarette smoke. their in-ear monitors buzzed faintly from the tech table beside them. they were due on stage in seven minutes.

but time felt stuck.

like a pick jammed between strings.

“yo, we’re on in—” yizhuo’s voice cut in from the doorway, but the second she saw yn’s face, she stopped short. “hey.. you good?”

yn blinked. their eyes stung.

they should’ve known. or at least checked. all those voicemails — ignored, deleted, skipped. that whole year sophia kept calling, leaving breadcrumbs in the dark while yn lit match after match to burn their way forward.

they rubbed a hand down their face. “yeah,” they said. “i’m good.”

yizhuo didn’t move. “is it her?”

yn nodded once.

then, barely above a whisper: “i have a daughter.”

the silence stretched. even the hallway seemed to hush.

“oh,” yizhuo breathed. she stepped in slowly, crouching down in front of them. “you wanna bail? i’ll cover. i’ll fake a stomach bug... hell, i’ll pull the fire alarm.”

yn let out a weak laugh — the first crack of something real in their chest. “no. i need to do the show.”

“sure?”

“I have to.”

because what else was there to do but play?

to pour every feeling — the grief, the longing, the regret, the hope — into the mic and hope Salem would hear it one day and understand.

yizhuo pressed her forehead to theirs for a second, quick and grounding. “then go give ‘em hell.”

yn stood. shoulders squared. jaw set.

the lights were already dimming beyond the stage doors.

and somewhere in the crowd, maybe behind the barricades or just outside the venue, sophia was there. with salem.

waiting.

the first chords hit like muscle memory.

pressure bled into emergency, then into misery business, and YN tore through each song like they were exorcising something — sweat-slicked, breathless, cracking at the edges.

but focused.

tight.

every scream, every note curled off their lips like a confession. the crowd was a blur of lights and hands and mouths yelling lyrics back at them, and somewhere between the third and fourth song, yn finally let their shoulders drop.

the music held them.

it always had.

they hit the break before the final track and stepped forward, fingers flexing around the mic stand, eyes squinting under the pulsing stage lights.

“this last song,” yn started, voice still hoarse from the verse they’d just shredded, “is a little different from the others. we wrote it for a movie about vampires.”

laughter, cheers.

“yeah,” YN smiled a little. “didn’t think we’d ever be on a soundtrack... let alone that one. but when we wrote it, i was thinking about how hard it is to understand the people you love — even when you think you do. especially when they change. or when you do.”

their eyes scanned the crowd absently, words tumbling like muscle reflex.

“so... this is decode. hope you feel it.”

the guitars came in slow, simmering. the synth rippled like dusk over water.

and then—

a flash of pink hair in the front section.

a girl on someone’s shoulders, tiny headphones clamped over her ears, grinning like she owned the sky.

and Sophia.

holding her from behind, eyes wide.

manon was beside her. dani, lara, and yoonchae too — all of them watching, some with hands clasped over their mouths, some just swaying gently with the crowd.

but yn could only see her.

Them.

salem’s eyes — their eyes — stared back.

sophia’s mouth moved around the lyrics, barely audible, but yn didn’t need sound. they knew them already.

i’m screaming I love you so.

the words punched out of their chest harder than they expected.

every strum, every line, cracked with new meaning. years of longing rewired themselves mid-song. and as they reached the bridge, yn stepped closer to the edge of the stage, gaze locked with sophia’s, salem’s hands reaching out.

their voice trembled, but they didn’t stop.

how did we get here when I used to know you so well?

and for the first time in a long time, YN didn’t feel lost.

they felt seen.

they finished the song with a quiet, shaking exhale.

and the crowd roared.

as soon as the last chord faded, YN was moving.

they didn’t wait for the encore chants or the half-hugs from bandmates. they tore the in-ears out, shoved their guitar at a startled tech, and bolted past the backstage corridor like their body knew where it was going before their brain could catch up.

the hallway blurred. someone called their name. they didn’t stop.

out the side doors. Into the humid LA night.

the parking lot buzzed with post-show energy — crew unloading gear, fans screaming behind fences, neon venue signs flickering above.

and then—

there.

by the streetlamp near the side gate.

sophia.

still in that soft sweater from the photo she sent yn about a year ago. her arms were around salem, who was propped up on manon’s hip, babbling something between yawns and giggles.

manon was the first to see them.

she nudged daniela, who turned, then elbowed lara. then yoonchae looked up from her phone and blinked like she couldn’t quite believe it.

“soph,” manon murmured, nudging her gently. “look.”

sophia turned.

her breath caught so visibly it felt like the whole parking lot exhaled.

she didn’t move at first — just stood there, frozen, like if she blinked yn would disappear again.

“hi,” yn managed.

their voice cracked. their whole chest cracked.

sophia stared for another second. then another.

then she walked.

fast.

by the time she reached them, yn’s hands were already out, fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to land — her arm? her shoulder? her cheek?

but sophia didn’t give them the chance.

she shoved her hands against their chest and said, half-laughing, half-sobbing, “you asshole.”

then she threw her arms around their neck and held on.

and yn — dizzy with every scent and warmth and weight they thought they’d lost — hugged her back like it hurt.

which it did.

because this wasn’t a dream.

because she was real.

because she came.

salem’s little voice piped up behind them. “mommy said you were magic.”

yn pulled back just enough to see her — still on manon’s hip, squinting curiously at them.

And yn swore their heart stopped.

“hi, salem,” they whispered.

salem grinned. “i saw you! you screamed a lot.”

they choked on a laugh. “yeah… i do that.”

“sometimes I scream too,” she said proudly. “wanna hear?”

before she could demonstrate, sophia kissed her daughter’s head and gave her a gentle look. “let’s give them a second, baby.”

manon shifted salem into yn’s arms with a practiced ease. “she’s heavier than she looks.”

yn didn’t even notice. didn’t feel anything but salem’s arms around their neck and the tiny heartbeat thudding against theirs.

“you gonna say something profound?” dani teased, nudging sophia gently. “or just keep crying into their hoodie?”

“shut up,” sophia sniffled, laughing a little as she wiped her cheeks.

lara linked her arm with yoonchae’s. “we’ll be by the car.”

the girls gave them all a moment — drifting away slowly, but not without a few meaningful glances and soft smiles over their shoulders.

and then it was quiet again.

just them.

sophia. yn. salem.

and all the time they thought they’d lost.

they walked without speaking at first.

sophia beside them, her arm brushing yn’s every few steps. salem curled in yn’s arms, thumb in her mouth now, her cheek smushed gently against yn’s chest. the adrenaline of the show was gone — replaced by something quieter. heavier. more sacred.

the sidewalk was slick with night air, streetlights casting gold across the parked cars and backstage fencing.

“you know…” sophia finally said, her voice low, rough around the edges, “you have some explaining to do, yn.”

yn swallowed hard.

she didn’t sound angry.

worse — she sounded tired.

“i know,” they said softly.

sophia stopped walking, turned to face them. “you had to know something was wrong when I told you I was sick that night.” she said, referring to the voicemail she had left them.

“i did.”

“but you left anyway.”

yn looked down. salem stirred slightly in their arms, her breath even and warm against their neck.

“i didn’t want to go,” they said. “but i thought… i thought it was just nerves. or food poisoning. i didn’t think—”

“that I was carrying your daughter?” she cut in, not sharp, but precise.

yn flinched.

sophia’s eyes glistened under the streetlight. “I called you, yn. for weeks. i left voicemails until my voice gave out. i went to every show announcement page just to track where you were. i watched bootlegs of your sets, just to feel closer... all while i was bleeding in a hospital bed. alone.”

iI’m sorry,” yn said, hoarse. “i was scared. and selfish. and i thought… maybe not hearing your voice would hurt less than hearing it and knowing i couldn’t come back yet.”

“did it?” she asked quietly.

“no.”

silence stretched between them again.

“you missed so much,” she whispered.

“i know.”

“i had to be strong every day, even when i didn’t want to be... i had to be mom and dad.. a nurse and grown-up, even when i was still just a stupid college girl with lecture notes in her diaper bag... and still i played your music for her. i let her fall in love with you.”

yn looked up sharply at that. “why?”

sophia smiled, but it was sad. “because I never stopped loving you.”

that broke something in them.

yn stepped closer. not too close. not without permission. “i want to know her. i want to know you again, soph. if you’ll let me.”

sophia blinked slow, like she was holding back everything her body wanted to do. scream. cry. collapse. forgive.

she reached out and brushed her fingers across salem’s hair. “let’s start small, rockstar.”

then she looked up at yn.

“you can walk us home.. my apartment's not that far from here.”

sophia’s apartment was smaller than yn remembered.

or maybe they had just grown too much — in distance, in guilt, in time.

the space was warm, lived-in. a scatter of children’s books on the coffee table. a pink hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch. fairy lights strung up around the window, dimmed low now, like even they didn’t want to intrude.

salem had fallen asleep halfway through the walk. she was still curled in yn’s arms, her fingers fisted into the fabric of their hoodie like she knew exactly who she was holding — like she'd always known.

“here,” sophia whispered, pulling the soft gray blanket off the back of the couch. she draped it carefully over salem after yn laid her down.

for a long moment, they both just stood there — watching her breathe.

sophia crossed her arms over her chest. “she likes when you sing.”

yn’s lips parted, startled. “you really play my stuff for her?”

sophia’s gaze didn’t leave salem. “yeah. at bedtime sometimes. when she’s scared. or after a tantrum.”

she smiled faintly. “the softer ones. not the ones where you're yelling about feeling the pressures and all that crazy shit.”

yn snorted quietly. “fair.”

a beat passed.

then sophia walked over to the kitchen counter and poured herself a glass of water. she didn't offer yn one. she didn’t have to. it wasn’t hospitality tonight. it was survival.

“do you know what it feels like to fall asleep next to a voicemail?” she asked, not turning around. “to let someone’s ghost read bedtime stories to your daughter because the real thing never called back?”

yn’s throat closed.

“i don’t expect you to forgive me,” they said quietly.

“good,” sophia replied, taking a slow sip. “because i haven’t.”

she turned then, eyes shining in the low light. but there was no rage there. only grief. only bone-deep tiredness.

“i missed you every single day,” she said. “but i had to grieve you like you were dead... necause you were gone. and now you’re standing in my living room, holding her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I don’t know whether to fall apart or push you out the door.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” yn said, stepping closer. “not this time.”

she didn’t speak.

instead, she walked past them — slow, deliberate — and sat on the edge of the couch, beside salem. her fingers brushed the little girl's curls from her forehead. her whole body softened just from the contact.

yn sank to the floor in front of them. they looked up, chin resting on the couch cushion, studying sophia like a prayer they were scared to say out loud.

“i want to help,” they whispered. “whatever that looks like... i know i have no right to ask for a second chance... but i want to be here. for her, for you. even if i have to work my way up from the sidewalk.”

sophia looked at them for a long time.

and for a second, she looked like she might cry again.

instead, she whispered, “she calls the moon her ‘nightlight star.’”

yn blinked. “that’s beautiful.”

“she gets that from you,” sophia said. “she says it sings to her... like you do.”

the silence between them filled again — but it wasn’t heavy this time.

it was more sacred.

sophia leaned back on the couch and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “you can crash here tonight. the couch pulls out.”

“okay.”

“i’m still mad at you.”

“i know.”

she looked at them again — really looked.

but there was a softness now. a thread of something old, something forgiving, maybe not fully healed, but not as shattered as before.

and under the blanket, salem shifted in her sleep. a quiet hum left her lips.

“sing to her?” sophia asked softly. “like you used to.”

yn nodded.

they hummed a familiar tune under their breath as they moved closer to sophia, resting their head on her leg.

and as they sang, salem sighed in her sleep, curling deeper into the couch.

sophia stayed seated beside her.

listening.

eyes closed.

just like old times.

except this time, yn was here instead of in salem's radio.

[masturbasiannn]

CHAPTER TWO: Bruises You Can’t See

Enemies to lovers AU — Megan Skiendiel x fem!reader

The atmosphere in the library was dead quiet— too quiet. The small dust particles hovered in beams of afternoon sunlight, and every breath felt too loud in your chest. The Megan Skiendiel, most popular girl in the school, sat across from you, arms crossed, mouth twisted into something between a smirk and a snarl. Her knee bounced beneath the table like she was trying not to explode.

You didn’t speak first. You never did anymore.

“You gonna pretend you’re actually here to tutor me today?” she said finally, leaning back in her chair with that casual venom she wore like cologne.

You finally met her eyes. “You’re the one who showed up late. Again. Might I add.” You sneered.

“Maybe I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t have to see your face for that long.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose and looked back down at the textbook between you two. “Funny. You always find an excuse to be near it.”

It came out before you could stop yourself. You didn’t even fully know what it meant— only that Megan’s jaw twitched, and her eyes flickered like she’d just been slapped.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. Then:

“Page seventy-four,” you said flatly.

“Already did it.”

“Wrong.”

She kicked your shin under the table. It hurt a bit, but you didn’t flinch. You just turned the page and pushed it toward her.

She didn’t look at the book. She looked at you.

“You think I’m stupid?”

You sighed. “I think you’re just scared of trying and failing.”

Her lips parted, breath caught. Then she scoffed and shoved the book off the table with one sharp movement. It hit the floor with a excruciatingly loud thud, echoing through the giant empty room.

And still, you didn’t flinch.

“God, you’re so— ugh,” she broke off, jaw clenching hard. “You always act like you’re better than me!”

You stood up slowly, your chair scraping the floor. “No. I act like I care and you hate me for it.”

She stood too, less cautious than you and her eyes narrowed. “You don’t care. You left.” She spat out with venom

You winced.

There it was again— sixth grade all over. The moment everything cracked and split between you two. When she stopped being your best friend and became your worst nightmare. When you moved away without any warning. And no matter how many times you tried to explain, Megan never believed it wasn’t your choice.

You bent to pick up the textbook. “You think if you hate me hard enough, you won’t miss me anymore.”

“I don’t miss you,” she hissed. You looked at her. Really looked. And for a moment, her expression crumpled— just a little.

“You’re bad at lying sweetheart,”

Something in her snapped.

She trudged over to your side of the table and grabbed your wrist, flipped you to face her and slammed you back against the edge of the table—not hard, but hard enough that your breath caught. Her face was close now, her grip tight against your wrist, her touch feeling like fire to the surface of your skin.

“You think you know me?” she said, voice low and shaking. “You think because we were once friends you still get to say things like that?”

You swallowed in nervousness. “I think you’re angry because it hurts. Because you never let yourself say it out loud.”

Her mouth was a straight line. Her eyes were burning into yours.

And then— like a fuse lit and no one could stop it—she kissed you.

Hard.

Messy.

Furious.

It wasn’t soft or careful. It wasn’t about love. It was about everything unspoken. The pain, the jealousy, the betrayal. It was how Megan always was— bold, unrelenting, like she wanted to consume or destroy you, whichever came first.

You kissed her back because you didn’t know how not to. When she finally pulled away, her hands were still clenched in your sleeves. She buried her face into your neck. Too embarrassed to look at u in that moment.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone,” she whispered.

Your heart thudded wildly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then she stepped back, breathing hard and uneven. “Same time tomorrow,” she muttered. And then she left.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The next day, she wasn’t late.

Neither of you mentioned the kiss. But her eyes kept flicking to your mouth. Her knee brushed yours under the table. When you passed her a pen, her fingers lingered too long.

It became a pattern. Argue. Snap. Tease. Touch. Repeat.

You hated how your body reacted to her. How every insult sent heat curling low in your stomach. How you craved the next sharp word like it was a promise.

And Megan— God, Megan was cruel in ways that felt intimate. She’d whisper degrading things in your ear when no one was watching, corner you in empty hallways just to press you against a locker and say things that made your legs shake.

But in public? She ignored you. Or worse, she was mean. On purpose.

One morning she made a joke in front of a crowd about how you must be desperate to tutor people for cash. That you’re a little broke nerd. The whole hallway laughed but you just stared at the floor.

That night, she showed up at the library with her hoodie pulled over her head and her eyes downcast.

You didn’t say a word. Just sat back, arms crossed.

She looked at you. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you asked coldly.

“Look at me like that.”

“You humiliated me.”

She blinked. “I know.”

Silence stretched. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No,” you snapped. “You were thinking just fine. You always know exactly what to say to hurt me.”

Her face twisted. “And you don’t?” That shut you up.

Because you did. You both did. And that was the worst part. She came around the table slowly, and something in you braced.

“Why are we like this?” you asked, voice small.

Megan’s hands hovered over your shoulders, then dropped to her sides. “Because it’s easier than being honest.”

You looked up at her. “With me?”

“With myself.” Her voice cracked a little at the end.

You stood. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I can’t stop wanting you.”

And she kissed you again.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It got worse before it got better. More secrets. More touches that left bruises. More words you didn’t mean but said anyway.

There were moments she’d pull away too fast, mutter something cruel like “You’re nothing to me,” and storm off.

Then three days later she’d show up at your locker after hours, kiss you so hard you forgot your name, and disappear again.

You knew it wasn’t healthy. You knew it was ripping you apart. But God, it felt like the only time either of you breathed. You tried, once, to bring it up. In the quiet between everything.

“Do you even like me?” you asked. She froze. “What kind of question is that?”

“A real one.”

“I don’t do feelings,” she muttered.

“That’s not an answer.”

She grabbed your face, kissed you like it would erase the question.

It didn’t.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

By week four, you were a complete mess.

You weren’t sleeping well. You snapped at your friends. You flinched every time someone said Megan’s name. Because part of you still loved her, and part of you hated yourself for it.

After tutoring one day, you shoved your notes into your bag angrily. Megan watched you, quiet.

“You okay?”

You shot her a look. “Do I look okay?”

She stepped closer. “What happened?”

“You.”

That made her flinch. You almost felt bad. Almost.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said just above a whisper.

“And I did?” She looked away.

You hated the silence.

“You only want me when no one else is looking,” you said “You act like I don’t exist unless we’re alone.”

She hesitated. “I’m not ready.”

“For what exactly?”

“To feel it.”

There it was. Raw and awful.

“But you already do, you just can’t see it. You’re an idiot,” you whispered.

She turned her head, but you stepped past her. “Don’t come back if you’re just gonna keep breaking me.” Your voice cracked on the last word. You didn’t care.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

She didn’t show up the next day. Or the day after that, you told yourself it didn’t matter, but it did. It really did.

On the third day, she walked into the library as you were packing up. Her eyes were bloodshot red. Her voice was low. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You swallowed. “But you did.” She nodded slowly. “Because hurting you is easier than admitting I miss you.” And then, for the first time, she didn’t kiss you to end the conversation.

She just sat beside you and cried.

Quietly. Fists clenched. You put your hand on hers.

No words.

Just the truth of it.

Messy. Ugly. Yours.

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 .

       ⊹ ࣪ ˖ you give yourself three rules as you make it onto the women’s volleyball team: 1. don’t fail any classes, 2. don’t get kicked off the team, and 3. don’t fall in love with any of your teammates. the first two are easy enough. but after meeting the team’s broody, guarded team captain, you realize you’ll have to try very hard not to fall in love with sophia laforteza.

            ˎˊ˗  🌌  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  ୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: volleyball captain!sophia laforteza x f!volleyball player!reader.

         ➴ genre + wc: 15k, slow burn, onesided rivals to lovers, angst and fluff, ice queen sophia, she turns mommy so fast, reader is lowkey a big dork.

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: pov - ariana grande. ♫

            ┈─★ a/n: my first sophia fic <3 long overdue and now i'm lowkey addicted i fr miss being a sophia bias..... hope you guys enjoy, lmk what u think!! <3

“cyclones’ beloved libero retiring due to injury.”

you remember reading the article, at the end of your first semester in community college. your best friend put the idea in your head. malibu is a 6 hour drive from your small town, but you hop on the bus with a crazy, stupid idea, and pray it’s crazy enough to work.

you step into the gym and let out a deep breath. this is your ticket into something bigger.

“hi, um, y/n y/ln,” you greet the coach, recognizing her from all the articles you had read. “i emailed you guys.”

the assistant coach perches his arms on his hips and gives you a look of disbelief. “a walk on?”

you swallow down nervously. it’s not ideal, to be infiltrating this practice before their season has even started, a shot in the dark in the hopes that they haven’t already started training up a new libero. what even is your game plan? waltz up, show off your skills, and pray they see your potential enough to recruit you on the spot?

(well, yes, that is the plan, but it doesn’t make it any less intimidating to have all these eyes start to draw to you, as if you’re invading their secret space.)

you try to avoid the attention your presence is bringing to you and stay focused on the conversation with the two coaches.

“freshman?” they ask.

“sophomore,” you clarify, before clearing your throat nervously. “i play libero.”

“why didn’t i see you during the off season?” he asks.

“i played club, i was homeschooled,” you explain simply, as they both turn to each other to review something between themselves. you feel so awkward, an outsider, dressed up to play, to beg for a chance to join a team that’s already got so much synergy between them.

“i remember you—” the coach says, but before he can say anything else, there’s the sharp crack of a ball landing directly in between the two of you. you jump back in shock, looking up to meet the intense gaze of a dark haired girl, eyes fixed on you. you swallow down nervously, and she walks up with a calculated coldness that makes your chest tense.

“this team hasn’t had a walk-on in years,” the girl says sharply. you’re shocked about how much she’s heard despite you guys talking quietly. did the coaches mention you and your impromptu tryout today? you try to flash her a smile to indicate you’re no harm, but she instantly sharpens her eyes at you. “not sure why you’re smiling. arrogance isn’t cute.”

her thick, dark hair is pulled back into a perfect ponytail, kept out of her eyes by a wide headband. her eyes are dark, intense, and feel like they’re looking through you. everything about her screams composure— her kneepads are in perfect condition, her shoes are perfectly unscuffed, her tshirt tucked perfectly into her shorts in a way that makes you almost confused as to how she doesn’t have a single wrinkle. everything about this girl just looks so unrealistically perfect.

“no, yeah, totally,” you stammer, watching as she picks the ball up off the ground. you shake your head. “not trying to be cocky. sorry.”

“easy, soph,” the coach waves her off, before turning back to you. “y/n, join us for practice today. we’ll do a scrimmage at the end and see if you’re up to snuff.”

you nod appreciatively, and all you can feel are the harsh eyes of this girl burning a hole in the side of your head. 

the coach motions for you to go get stretched, and you jog over to the other girls, waving as politely as you can manage. much to your relief, they welcome you warmly, encouraging you to warm up with them. you try to avoid looking back behind your shoulder, out of fear that the girl is still glaring you down.

you join the girls as they all get into their first warmups, and you end up directly behind this girl in the line to practice setting. you want to extend an olive branch, to express that you’re excited to get a chance to practice with them, that you’ve admired their team for a while and you recognize her as one of the best setters on the west coast conference.

she doesn’t give you a chance, shooting an icy gaze over her shoulder at you.

“don’t get in my way,” she warns simply, running up as the ball comes her way to make the first set. 

“i’ll do my best,” you breathe. 

-

by the time their practice ends, you’re dripping sweat, but it’s been fun to enjoy playing with a team like this all over again. your community college team was nothing in comparison, these girls are elite on several levels above what you’ve ever seen. but it excites you, and it makes you hopeful that with how good you’ve gotten over the years, you can convince them this is where you belong.

the assistant coach waves you over, and you comply immediately. 

“what were your grades like?” he asks, looking over something on a clipboard.

“good,” you say quickly, your eyes widening. “why?”

the head coach interrupts, smiling broadly. “wanna play volleyball for me?” 

“no way,” you breathe. “if you’re joking that’s super mean.”

“you’ll be our newest cyclone,” she beams, holding out her hand to you for a shake. “i’ll figure out application stuff with you. scholarship might not come until you’ve completed the season, but academics might be enough to get you through the first semester. welcome to the team.”

“thank you for the chance,” you breathe, feeling the emotion bubbling in your chest. “you have no idea how excited i am.”

you know most of the girls are looking at this point, but you feel one set of eyes harsher than the rest of them. you try to ignore it and not let it ruin this moment for you.

-

you get moved into campus and set your mind to ensure that the next practice you go to, you give it your all, eager to prove yourself to the girls on this team. you try to show up to the court early, and you quickly realize making friends might not actually be impossible, considering a majority of the girls are extremely friendly and even more eager to welcome you than you are to introduce yourself. 

“y/n, hey!” they call out excitedly, waving to you where you’re already stretching.

you spend the next chunk of warmups small talking with your new teammates, doing your best to memorize their names and whatever quirks you pick up about each of them.

“were you seriously homeschooled?” manon, a junior, tilts her head at you curiously.

“it made it easier to focus on volleyball,” you smile. sure, it’s kind of lame you didn’t get to have the same high school experience as most other people, but you got the chance to travel all over with your club team, and the skills it gave you were obviously good enough to land you here, so you can’t be too upset at how it panned out for you.

“people ask me if i was homeschooled,” megan, a chatty brunette, blurts. “whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

lara lets out a laugh. “oh, you know exactly what it-”

“look busy,” daniela warns quickly, cutting you all off as her eyes go wide.

you’re not quite sure what she could mean by that, but the moment you look up, you realize someone is coming towards you.

sophia laforteza, you quickly learned her name. the no-nonsense, scarily-intense team captain of the malibu state university cyclones. 

by the time you realize why daniela freaked out, you look around to realize the rest of them have jumped into very serious stretches. you quickly reach for your knees and pull them up to your chest, trying to look like you’re actually stretching. 

“supreme leader sophia,” manon nods. you think the interaction is harmless enough, but somehow, it’s enough to set the captain off.

“bannerman, go take a lap,” she snaps quickly. manon groans but complies, standing up and starting to jog around the court. your palms start to sweat, but sophia eyes your group and moves on, and you breathe a little easier as the distance between you increases.

“so serious,” lara mumbles under her breath.

“is she always like this?” you ask, eyeing her nervously as you all keep stretching.

“no. she’s playing it up for the newbies,” daniela rolls her eyes.

“uh yes, yes she is always like that,” megan pushes back, shaking her head. “strict as hell.”

sophia’s voice cuts in from several yards away where she stands.

“you can take a lap too, skiendiel.”

“fuck,” megan groans, standing up. “how the fuck can you even hear me, leader?”

you bite back a laugh at megan’s nickname for the captain. you had heard manon call her that too, leader, but figured it was a teasing thing. not something all the girls joined in on.

“i have a sixth sense for complaining,” sophia says dryly.

as if sophia’s warmup drills weren’t enough, practice itself is absolutely grueling. you realize this team is no joke, and if you’re going to keep up, you’re going to have to take this extremely seriously.

“bro, my asscheeks,” megan whines as you guys reach the end of the 2 hour practice, each of you dripping in sweat. your legs are shaking and you wonder how the hell you’re planning to keep up with such an intense team.

but sophia laforteza waltzes by, her skin barely glistening with sweat, not a single hair out of place in her ponytail.

“more complaining, damn. if you’ve got the energy for that, then you’ve got another lap in you, skeindiel,” sophia grins, almost devilishly. you want to laugh— she seems borderline insane, but you can tell it doesn’t come from a place of true intent to harm. 

“oh yeah? what if i fucking die, then what?” megan pushes back, tossing her head back in exhaustion.

“so dramatic, megan, you know it’s okay to shut up every once in a while?” manon groans, sensing where the youngest girl’s complaints are about to land them.

you can sense it too, after having witnessed sophia’s reaction earlier, and as predicted, sophia’s eyes sharpen as megan responds.

“i think we’ll all take an extra lap, just to show megan some support,” sophia announces, whistling quickly to catch the team’s attention. you hear a collective groan from everyone, and your coaches simply laugh at you all. you can tell that sophia’s ability to keep you guys practicing is something they’ve approved— all her power is clearly given from the people in charge, probably for good reason. 

“meiyok, i’m going to fucking kill you,” daniela grits irritatedly.

“you like seeing people suffer,” manon groans at sophia as she stands up from where she was laying and begins to jog off.

“walk-on can handle it,” sophia says, pointing at you, surprising you that she’s chosen to bring you into it. “that’s the only person i hear not complaining, actually.”

you can’t help but find the nickname endearing. maybe it’s the worst timing possible, but it brings a smile to your face.

“walk-on?” you tilt your head. “is that supposed to be me?”

sophia arches a brow, turning her head to orient towards you. “problem?”

“surely you could have come up with something more creative?” you grin. 

you hear a collective gasp from your teammates. something tells you that trying to banter with sophia laforteza is a very big, very dumb mistake.

“you know, maybe you, megan, and manon can finish with some burpees while the rest of us cool down,” sophia says, her jaw hardening. “see if that helps your attitude problem.”

i don’t have an attitude problem, you want to push back by saying, but you realize this girl is probably on a rampage, and getting in her way is a death wish. you bite your tongue and start the last lap, mentally preparing for the extra task sophia has given you.

“damn,” you gasp for breath, collapsing on the floor after the three of you finally finish.

“that was rough,” manon groans, only for megan to gag and dry heave in response.

“i’m going to puke and the season hasn’t even started yet,” the youngest whines.  

“she usually loves the newbies,” dani says in surprise, having waited for you guys with lara as the rest of the team headed off to the locker room. “not sure what you did to her.”

“you replaced—” megan starts, but manon quickly cuts her off.

“oh shit,” manon nods. “that makes sense.”

“the old libero,” lara realizes, looking at you. “they were really close.”

“where is she now?” you ask curiously.

“she took a gap year,” megan tells you, and the others look amongst themselves anxiously. “mommy sophia’s been sensitive about it. those two did everything together.”

“mommy sophia?” you laugh, but they gloss over it, clearly dead serious.

“megan…” lara warns.

“what? she hasn’t always been this angry,” megan holds her hands up to defend herself. “serious, yeah, intense, yeah, a little scary, also yeah, but not this flat out angry.”

“no, i get it,” you shake your head, trying to empathize. “i wouldn’t want my business all out there either. not a great look. we don’t have to keep talking about it.”

the small group gives you a look of approval as you all head towards the locker room.

“i miss the old sophia,” megan admits quietly under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear. 

——

your dorm isn’t perfect, but the malibu state campus is absolutely gorgeous, and being a 10 minute walk from the beach is enough to make up for your broken window and slightly unnerving roommate that won’t say a word to you. sure, you miss your home city, but it isn’t the end of the world, and the girls on your team are so friendly, it makes the homesickness even easier to handle than you imagined.

(at least, most of the girls on your team are friendly.)

you spot her on the first day of class, sitting alone at a 2 person table in your humanities class. you approach her without hesitation, just how you would for anyone else you know. 

“hey! we have a class together. just my luck, huh?” you beam, excited to see a familiar face, dropping your backpack down on the table with a thud. “can i sit here?”

she looks perfect, as she always does, somehow making a black hoodie and gym shorts look elegant. her long dark hair is tucked back behind her ears, and her lips are so gorgeously glossy. sophia is naturally gorgeous, infuriatingly so, but you’ve never been the insecure type, more so just grateful to exist at the same time as people this pretty so you can admire them.

her eyes narrow at you, something dark and unreadable in them.

“you just did,” she says simply, staring at the backpack in front of her.

“i guess i should have asked before i parked my ass,” you realize, grinning sheepishly as you take up the seat next to her. “good point.”

“y/n,” she says firmly, looking back at the front of the room.  “i can’t hear, and i need to focus.”

you were too busy trying to get on her good side that you didn’t even notice the professor had started introducing herself. you sink into your seat, trying to rush to get your laptop out.

“totally. sorry.”

she says nothing. she doesn’t even look back at you for the rest of the class. she doesn’t say “bless you” when you sneeze loudly in the middle of class, she doesn’t laugh like the rest of them when you introduce yourself and admit you have zero fun facts about yourself because you’re painfully incapable of self-reflection to know anything about yourself. when it’s her turn to introduce herself, she simply says her name and that she plays volleyball, sitting back down without so much as a smile. she doesn’t say anything when your computer dies halfway through the lecture and you have nothing left to take notes on, even though she’s siting next to the outlet and seems to have the same type of laptop as you do.

you’re not brave enough to ask her anyways.

class ends, and she doesn’t bother looking in your direction.

“don’t be late to practice,” she says simply, swooping up her backpack over her shoulder in a quick, graceful motion. “we need to win our first away game. sets the tone for the season.”

that’s it. you watch as she walks off unceremoniously, almost as if you didn’t exist except to inconvenience her.

“jesus christ,” you whisper under your breath.

———

your season starts a month later, and your first away game gives you a taste of what to expect. 

“who’d you get roomed with?” you ask the small group of 5 that you had grown particularly close to as you guys cram into the uber to your hotel. you’ve missed traveling for volleyball, and the anticipation in your bones for tomorrow’s game makes you even more eager.

“i always get manon,” daniela says. 

“and nobody else can handle megan’s mess but lara,” manon grins. 

“hey, whatever,” megan whines from the back seat, where she’s been stuck in between all your bags of luggage. 

“i got sophia,” you breathe quietly, thinking back to the email of the hotel roommate arrangement your coaches had sent out that morning. “should be fine, right?”

“walk-on, you’ll be quick to learn that supreme leader sophia is a drill sergeant with lipgloss,” manon laughs.

“very shiny, very pretty lipgloss,” you defend her.

“she’s a junior,” lara informs you, as if it puts some things into perspective for you. “for her, it’s time to start stressing about the real world next year.”

as a sophomore, you know you’ve got another 2 full seasons coming for you.

“second to final season,” lara goes on. “mommy sophia’s trying to make the most of it.”

you laugh again at lara and megan’s stupid nickname, as if “supreme leader” wasn’t bad enough.

you guys get to the hotel and your coaches send a group text warning everyone to be in bed by 9pm. you part ways with your group once the uber drops you off and go up to your room, only to find sophia has beat you there. she’s taken the bed closest to the window, her bag set up neatly. she’s wearing a facemask and a set of earplugs, eyes quickly flickering up to acknowledge you as you enter the room.

you can’t help but hope that this is your chance to break through her icy facade.

“hey! want to plan for breakfast together?” you beam, tossing your bag onto the floor in front of what sophia has decided is your bed. “i love hotel oatmeal. something about it is so gross i can’t stop craving it.”

she doesn’t bother to look up at you, slipping into her bed without another glance in your direction. “i need to sleep.”

“okay, no worries,” you blink, watching as she reaches for the light switch. “when should i wake us up?”

“i’ll be up at five.” her hand flicks the lights off, leaving you both in the dark. “good night.”

“good night,” you respond quietly, trying to feel your way around for your bed. you suck in a breath. this feels like it might be a very long few days.

—---

sophia is gone before you wake up.

you don’t hear her alarm, but you also don’t hear yours, and you’re just lucky that you can hear megan banging her fist against the wall, screaming for you stupidly and asking if you can hear her through the wall. you can vaguely hear lara yelling at her for being so annoying, but megan’s antics keep you from sleeping in too late, so you’ll thank the goofy sophomores some other time.

you don’t see sophia at breakfast, but by the time you come back to your room, she’s heading into the shower, freshly sweating in her workout clothes. you realize she’s probably already fit in a morning workout while the rest of you were barely waking up. you’re impressed, but frankly not surprised, by her work ethic.

by the time the game starts, it’s your first time in the cyclones uniform, and you feel a strange sense of nervousness wash over you in a wave. your warmups are simple enough, and sophia gathers you all in a team huddle after your coaches debrief you all.

“stay focused, stay confident, don’t let them see you sweat,” sophia states, voice cold, neutral, and self-assured. her icy disposition can be quite scary, but you can see why she’s captain— she’s intense, and something about her demeanor being so laser-focused fuels you with an equal amount of confidence. 

“uh, leader, what do i do if i’m already sweating?” megan blurts anxiously. lara reaches over to smack her on the back of the head, and sophia keeps going.

“keep your hits unreadable. their back line is tough but we should be able to break through if we stack clean and aggressive. stay focused,” she emphasizes, eyes looking over at her two main hitters, dani on opposite and megan on outside. “i’ll feed whoever’s eating."

“i like that,” you grin, the metaphor tickling you for whatever stupid reason.

you almost regret it as soon as you say it, but sophia’s eyes aren’t hostile as they meet yours. you realize this may be a first. 

“cyclones on three,” you blurt out, and sophia shoots you a sharp look, but doesn’t seem fully annoyed. 

“one, two—” she starts, and the rest of the girls jump in for the finishing chant. by the time your team takes to the court, your body is buzzing. 

time to shine.

the opposing team is no joke, and you wonder where the hell they got girls this fucking huge. they tower across the net from you, and you can’t help but swallow down anxiously. sophia walks back from the coin flip with an approving nod, and chooses to serve first. your old team always opted to pick the side of the court, but sophia takes to her serve with extreme confidence, and as you watch her two handed jump float, you realize just why she is the face of the team. 

the girls on the other team blink in shock at just how high sophia leaps into the air to send her serve. when you played, setters weren’t exactly known for power, but the sharp boom that leaves sophia’s hand as it slams into the ball, shooting through the air to speed straight at the other girls makes you realize what a force this girl is. sophia laforteza, as scary and intimidating as she is, is the perfect face of the malibu state university cyclones for that exact reason— she scares the shit out of anyone who lays eyes on her.

much to your shock, the serve sinks directly into the wood. your first point, an ace serve of all things. lara and manon high five from their positions and daniela lets out a loud cheer, but sophia is focused as ever. she doesn’t so much as crack a smile as she returns to her serving position, reaching out for the ball as it gets passed to her. you look over and see the opposing team shaking their heads, clearly trying to regain their composure. another boom, and the ball is in play. your stomach flutters at the thought of sophia’s phenomenal talent, and how grateful you are to play on the same team as such a talented girl. 

(maybe you don’t mind the batshit crazy attitude when she can back it up with skills like this.)

the set goes on and your team only goes up from there. you’ve forgotten how much you enjoy diving around a court like this, making quick work to get the ball back in the air each time it goes too far out of reach for the rest of the girls, hopping back up to your feet after every dive with a smile on your face. it’s part of what made you love the libero position in the first place— it was the perfect place to put all your boundless energy.

your team loses possession of the ball when megan misses her one-handed set to daniela, the opposing team using the opportunity to send the ball directly to where she should have been. you’re not fast enough to save it, but there’s no time to lose moping about it before those massive walls of women are preparing for their own serve on the other side. 

the other team’s serve rockets straight into an empty gap where lara isn’t expecting, leaving it up to you to protect the back line. you focus in on where sophia is standing and dive, ensuring wherever you land, the ball hits you and soars high enough for sophia to set easily. and she does, and you witness megan and daniela stack so inanely fast, you almost can’t perceive where the ball ends up or who ends up with the kill. all that matters is that the ball slams into the ground at lightning speed, dani and megan high fiving each other excitedly, and that’s when you realize your team has insane synergy. 

manon and lara with you, megan and dani eager to take on whatever sophia feeds them, and sophia, level-headed and sharp-eyed, keeping everything moving on the court. 

it’s back to back, and the pace makes your blood race in your veins. the thud of the ball against your skin is a dull burn at this point, and your elbows ache from all your digs, but your adrenaline is at an all time high, especially as the first set ends and you guys are riding the high and sailing towards taking over the second set as well.

your heart thuds even more powerfully in your chest when after a particularly good save, sophia comes to tap fingers with you, her eyes lighting up even if her face is still stern.

“your serve receive is phenomenal,” she tells you breathlessly, and you can’t tell if you’re more shocked by the compliment, or by the first high five she’s given anyone all game. 

“thank you,” you beam. “easy when i have such a good setter ready for me.”

sophia blinks, as if she’s surprised by her own compliment, or by yours, but you can’t read into it. “don’t get cocky.”

you smile back even brighter. “i think we’re flirting, leader.”

she shakes her head and returns to her position, but it’s the most positive interaction you two have had since you joined the team. maybe you overdid it with your joke, but sophia is unphased, and you guys end up winning the game in a blowout win over the other team, so it’s a win for the night overall in your book.

-

“hi,” you greet the captain, coming out of the shower after getting back to the hotel. you’re only going to get a few hours of sleep before your guys’ flight, and the routine starts all over again with practice in the morning. the grind for the msu cyclones clearly never stops.

“hey,” she greets back simply, and you’re just grateful she acknowledges you at all. she’s packing her bag, still in the uniform, clearly waiting her turn for the bathroom.

“great game!” you chirp excitedly, but you immediately regret it as she stares you over, a gaze that tells you she’s thinking, she’s studying, she’s got something prepared in her head. 

but what she says next surprises you.

“you’re good. i misjudged you.” you almost can’t believe that she’s complimenting you, but it suits her— she’s not looking at you, she isn’t smiling, and she follows it up with a piece of critique. “but weak on your left side.”

“i hurt myself a few months ago, before the summer. still recovering,” you explain simply.

“oh,” is all she says in response.

she’s comfortable with the silence, obviously, but you’re not, so you blurt out the first thing you think to ask: “they’re serious, about the whole leader thing?”

“they call me that instead of captain,” sophia says after a beat. “manon was being stupid and then it just stuck with the rest of them.”

you smile, realizing she lets it happen. “it’s hilarious.”

“i’m glad you find it funny,” she deadpans.

“you don’t?” you raise a brow.

“no,” she says plainly.

you let out a laugh, shaking your head. “then you must hate what megan and lara call you.”

you see her gaze narrow, and she finally looks up to acknowledge you. “what?”

you grin, realizing you’ve caught her attention with that one. something the girl doesn’t know. you can see how it drives her crazy, and it makes sense— sophia is so in the know, so perfectly in control of everything around her, it must feel disorienting to have something occurring that she’s not aware of, much less on the team that she runs like a military commander.

“good night, leader,” you say simply, tucking into bed and letting your head hit the pillow. she says nothing and slips into the bathroom as quietly as she can manage.

-

you guys fly back and you’re already itching for the next practice, eager to keep improving as a team. the high of the first game’s win is addicting, and you’re not about to let that energy slip through your fingers.

at the end of practice, the coaches come and debrief you all, dismissing you for the morning. but you’ve quickly learned that the girls all wait for sophia’s approval, in case she has any final words or thoughts before you guys head to the locker rooms.

you all huddle around sophia, whose unreadable features have stopped unnerving you as badly. sure, she’s still terrifying, but a little less now that you know she’s actually capable of being something other than annoyed and pissed off.

she spins one of the balls in her hand, casually and comfortably, but her voice is cold and serious as ever.

“who came up with it?” she asks, eyes fixed on the ball in her hand. “mommy sophia?”

you hear the girls go collectively silent. 

“oh fuck,” you hear lara whisper under her breath. 

“who was it?” she repeats, her gaze unreadable as she simply keeps the ball spinning. “i can wait all day. i’ve got nowhere to be on a saturday morning."

you can hear a pin drop. finally, one of the culprits bravely admits to her crime.

“t’was i…” megan raises her hand sheepishly. 

“hm.” sophia stares her over, and you can feel the collective terror of the team as they realize their captain is preparing to make an example out of megan.

but then sophia surprises everyone, instead of verbally berating megan or making her run laps until she throws up, she simply points to one of the scaffolds in the gym, motioning to megan for her to come up to it. “we’re having a pullup competition.”

“what the fuck?” megan asks in disbelief.

“she’s not gonna kill her in front of everyone?” manon asks in pure shock. 

“maybe she’s turned a new leaf,” you offer. 

“if you beat me, practice ends,” sophia explains the conditions. “i beat you, and we all run two extra miles. full extension, chest to bar, no fakies.”

“megan, i’ll fucking murder you,” daniela glares at her. it dawns upon everyone— the weight of how your practice ends rests in the mildly-incapable hands of megan skiendiel.

“no pressure,” megan mumbles under her breath as she approaches the bar.

the competition starts, and the silence erupts into a rush of screams and cheers as the two race to see who can outlast the other. it’s stupid, good-natured fun, and you know there’s a two mile run on the line, but you can’t help but love how silly the whole thing feels. you didn’t think sophia was capable of something like this, but you feel the scene quickly becoming a core memory.

“come on, you useless so-cal wasian!” manon screams, standing directly underneath megan to count her reps. “all that time lifting boxes in your little boba shop for what?! you could have been training shoulders that whole time instead!”

“i’m fucking trying,” megan sobs, her arms trembling after hitting 15. “i was at the boba shop trying to get bitches.”

“you were too useless to get a single number the whole summer you worked at that fuckass boba shop,” daniela screams laughing.

“oh my god, shut up guys,” megan groans. 

“light work from supreme leader,” lara sighs, standing underneath sophia to count her reps, who leads at a steady 16 and shows no signs of slowing down. “chat, we’re cooked.”

megan is strong, but she’s growing unsteady with each increasing pull up. sophia, as expected, is barely breaking a sweat, face tensed in concentration.

you feel the back of your neck flush as you watch the way her arms move in the tank top, the way her eyebrows furrow together, the slack of her mouth and the quiet breaths she lets out with each movement. you mentally chastise yourself for the images that come to your brain and try to soothe your raging hormones by cracking a joke, clapping your hands at her. 

“looking good a little too good, laforteza,” you tease her, shaking your head with a smile. “you make it look easy.”

in a true blink and you’ll miss it moment, you spot it— sophia laforteza, forever unshakable, lets her cheeks go pink.

you’re in shock at the reaction, and you half wonder if it’s just her straining to pull herself up again, but she simply drops from the bar, the girls all screaming excitedly as megan does one final pullup to surpass sophia by one. whereas sophia calmly reaches for her water bottle, megan collapses onto the ground, painting heavily.

“go shower,” she waves you all off. “get some sleep. good game, megan.”

she reaches out to tap fingers with the younger girl, who looks up at her with bright, excited eyes, clearly in shock to have beat the captain.

megan gets to her feet and pumps a victorious fist in the air. “i’d like to thank my mom, and then god, and then lebron james, in that order.”

“what does lebron have to do with this?” daniela questions. 

“dude, what doesn’t he have to do with this?” megan answers too easily, and you simply shake your head laughing as you see them walk off.

you reach for your gym bag to follow them, and spot sophia watching you. she turns away as soon as she’s caught, her eyes avoiding yours. you smile to yourself and chase after your friends.

———

the next day, you’re off on your own in the dining hall getting something for dinner. you’re prepared to scroll tik tok as you scan around for an empty table to sit alone at, but something catches your attention. the perfect cascade of long, dark hair waterfalling down the shoulders of a familiar figure. she’s eating alone, a book in hand, and without thinking, you run over to join her. 

“did you let megan win that pullup competition?” you blurt quickly, setting your tray down in front of her.

sophia remains silent. she doesn’t look up from her book to acknowledge you, but she simply raises her brows, as if to greet you. it’s not much, but you’ll take it. 

“i watched this documentary today in my anthropology class,” you tell her, unphased by her silence. “where the adult lions pretend to cry out and lose their fights when the cubs are learning how to play. so the cubs build confidence.”

she shrugs as if she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “i’m just here to keep the team in one piece.”

“i’ve never met someone so passionate about this sport,” you breathe, admiring her pretty face since she’s not even bothered to look at you. you pick boredly at your dinner, much more interested in getting something, anything out of this mystery of a girl. “how’d you start?”

she pauses, her eyes flicking to your hand briefly, before she focuses back on her book. it’s a long bout of silence, but you hold your own, staring at her. as if she finally realizes that you’re not letting up, her voice softens. she finally gives you something.

“i played beach volleyball, as a kid,” she says slowly, hesitantly. “on the actual beach, in the philippines.”

“really?” your eyes light up at the piece of information. like a piece of a puzzle, giving you a chance to see the bigger picture that is sophia laforteza.

“i grew up there. didn’t have a ton. volleyball opened up every door i’ve ever had,” she goes on, but you can tell she’s picking her words carefully.

“you’re pretty far from home,” you acknowledge, tilting your head. “do you miss it?”

sophia says nothing. in the silence, you get an idea.

“c’mon,” you reach for her wrist, grabbing your phone to call up a few of your new favorite friends. “let’s go get lara and megan. two v two.”

“i have homework,” she pushes back instantly, looking down at your grip on her arm.

“homework will be there,” you reassure her with a smile. “come on, leader.”

to your shock, she relents. her eyes are hesitant and untrusting, but she follows behind you without a further complaint.

-

you all pile into lara’s car, and you’re on the beach within the hour. you haven’t played beach volleyball in a while, but you get the hang readily and when your partner is as good as sophia, there isn’t much of a learning curve. she doesn’t resist, getting into the game quickly and easily as you all enjoy the fall-time breeze and the beautiful golden hues of the setting sun against the ocean.

sophia spikes another ball straight into a gap where megan should have covered. the two girls groan as you’re up by another point against them.

“okay, my game is off. i have sand where sand isn’t supposed to be,” megan whines. 

“meg, you are such a loser, lock in i am begging you,” lara gasps in exasperation. “there’s girls watching.”

sophia peeks over her shoulder and spots a small group of girls, your guys’ age, sitting on their towels admiring you guys as the game goes on. she arches her brows at you, in concern, but you wave her off, knowing it’s all in good fun.

“shirts vs. skins?” you suggest playfully, motioning over to megan and lara. 

“see that, meg? that’s how you pull,” lara nods in approval. “see how she’s setting us up for success?”

megan quickly pulls her shirt up off of her head, and lara follows suit to do the same. the two play in their sports bras. sophia eyes you questioningly, but you reassure her once again with a smile that you know what you’re doing. 

“do you guys want to play?” you offer, motioning to the girls watching from off-sides.

“we’re good watching,” they wave back appreciatively. “none of us are very good, anyways.”

“lara’s a really good teacher,” you encourage them, “and megan’s—”

“i love women,” megan blurts. 

“oh lord…” sophia brings a hand to her face. 

megan blinks a few times before trying again, her big puppy dog eyes wide and round. 

“uh, i mean, i love women’s sports and i love getting people into women’s sports. do you guys like sports? we do, of course we do ‘cause we’re players for the university. not like, players players, as in like we pull a ton, i mean some of us do but some of us don’t, i meant like we play volleyball—”

“it’s painful to watch,” you whisper to sophia. she laughs and nods in agreement. the sound of her laughter makes your entire chest rumble with warmth. 

“i think we should put her out of her misery and go home soon,” she mumbles back to you. 

“at least give lara a chance,” you grin. 

and pull through, lara does! the afternoon ends with the girls joining lara’s team, leaving you all in a 2 v 6, but even with the extra man power, you and sophia are truly no match. granted, none of the strangers play volleyball, and lara is too busy flirting while megan stammers her way through a half response, but sophia, true to herself, doesn’t take the game any less seriously. 

lara drops you guys off one by one near your dorm buildings, and you and sophia realize you’re just a few buildings apart. you wave her off and head in your own direction, but you’re stopped by a movement that nearly shocks you. 

sophia laforteza, ice queen, grabs you by the wrist. 

“thank you,” she tells you softly. “the beach was… it was nice.”

“of course,” you smile back. “i can’t imagine being a whole world away from my family. you must get homesick pretty easily.”

her mouth tightens. “i have a hard time unwinding.” 

“i can tell,” you laugh. “you deserve to smile too.”

“i forget that part, sometimes,” she breathes, offering you a quiet laugh in response. “i had fun watching megan fail at flirting.”

“she’s so, so clueless,” you shake your head. 

sophia pauses for a second, contemplating. you can’t help but admire how deep those gorgeous brown eyes are, how easily you lose yourself in them. 

“sorry if i’ve been short with you,” she finally says after a beat. 

“i’ve been told you’re usually not this grumpy,” you say back simply. 

“i wasn’t always,” she admits. “people used to think i was cheerful, actually. too cheerful.”

“i missed an iconic era, it seems,” you smile, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. “but i think we met each other exactly when we were supposed to.”

another victory— you make sophia laforteza smile. 

“maybe we did,” she says simply, before letting go of you. “good night, y/n. see you.”

—

your season goes on, and you fall into a comfortable rhythm with the girls. your season hits a few rough patches, but each time you hit the court with those girls, you’re forever more and more grateful to have convinced yourself to try out. your friendships are deeper, your days brighter, and you can’t help but feel like this is what the dream college experience is supposed to be like.

your teammates are admittedly a little more girl-crazy than you’d initially have expected, but you’re too busy trying to keep up to focus on much else. between classes, practice, traveling for games, and just general team shenanigans, you feel more than content enough. not having a love life doesn’t feel like it affects you in the slightest.

(and, should you ever get the itch, it’s always kind of fun to banter with your very hot, very serious team captain.)

you know nothing is going to come of it, and it’s absolutely harmless, but something about the way you and sophia go back and forth sends butterflies through your stomach. you know it’s all in good fun, and it isn’t hurting anyone, so what’s the harm in laying it on a little thick for the girl you know isn’t taking it personally?

plus, sophia’s been warming up to you, much to your surprise. sure, she’s still mostly quiet around you when you join her in the dining hall or sit next to her in class, but at the very least, she’s not glaring at you. she’s not mean, just focused, and the fact that she’s not icing you out is a huge win. you wonder what she used to be like, before she was this serious, and you get small glimpses especially when she’s on the court and playing like she was built for this and this alone. you see her defenses fall whenever that whistle blows, the way her eyes light up as soon as the ball leaves someone’s hand, the way she eagerly watches to see who scores.

and you love, love, love the attention she gives you for being a good fucking volleyball player.

“you’re amazing,” sophia had beamed under her breath at your last game, in awe at your sprinting dive to save what had nearly been a match-point, saved only by your quick feet.

“knock it off with the rizz while i’m playing, you’re distracting me,” you tease her, grinning widely, but you can’t deny the warmth it brings to your cheeks.

she shakes her head, but she’s smiling, watching you in admiration, and if you could feel any more vulnerable, it’d be under the beautiful gaze of a smiling sophia. she’s so radiant like this in front of you, burning almost as bright as the sun. you wonder what possibly could have happened to burn her out like this, to dim her light, and your heart aches at the thought.

your team wins your game, and instead of everyone scattering to try and get some rest, they all seem eager to shower and get dressed up for something. you follow dani’s directions to wait for a ride outside of the student center after you’ve gotten ready, and as much as you’d like to be curled up in bed and massaging your sore muscles, the enthusiasm from the girls is enough to get you going.

“ride with me and lar!” megan pleads, motioning for you to hop in the car as soon as they spot you exiting your dorm. 

“where to?”

“it’s a surprise,” lara grins. you guys chat absentmindedly as she drives you guys up through the city, and before you realize it, you’re parking in front of a giant building plastered in neon signs.

“what’s this?” you ask, spotting other girls from the team arriving at the same time as you all.

“team karaoke,” lara fills you in excitedly. “oh, nobody told you? we do it to celebrate the halfway-point of the season.”

you grin bigger than you thought was possible. god, you love this team.

they lead you to the private karaoke team and introduce you to yoonchae, coach’s daughter who’s about to graduate high school and will be soon joining your team next year. there’s no drinking, mostly due to the underaged attendees, but also considering how insane half of the team is, there’s little more you guys need to get started than someone playing “thinking of you” by katy perry before you’re all screaming along at the top of your lungs.

you almost don’t notice when sophia slips into the private room, her hair softly falling over her shoulders. it’s your first time seeing her outside of her gym or campus clothes, and even though she’s still casual, you can’t help but admire how stunning she looks in the pretty black top and jeans she’s in. plus the silver-framed glasses you never get to see her wear, and you realize you’re going to have a very hard time not staring tonight.

“sing a little ditty for us, leader,” megan begs, hooking an arm around her neck and shoving the microphone in her face. 

“filipino throat chakra!” lara hollers at the top of her lungs.

“so-phi-a,” manon chants. “so-phi-a.”

the girls all join in in the rambunctious cheer, and sophia simply presses a loving kiss to the top of megan’s head and waves them off. she sits down in between daniela and megan, but keeps one hand on the microphone. sophia may be a lot of things, but the one thing you’ll give her is that you can see how clearly she loves every single girl on that team, some ways more warm than others, but love nonetheless.

“queue lala lost you,” lara tells daniela, who’s been helping yoonchae queue up the songs as the girls all take their turns.

“you could hear sophia blasting this shit through the walls of the dorms all summer training camp,” megan laughs, pushing the microphone to her face. “i know you’ve got it in you, leader!”

sophia hasn’t said a single word since she’s walked into the room, but the moment she locks eyes with you, blatantly staring at her, her eyes soften.

“get off of me, meg,” she laughs, shoving the girl away. “i need a little space to hit these runs.”

“that’s our leader!” manon screams, leaping out of her seat to cheer the girl on as the song starts. between all of your cheers, you’re all almost louder than the speakers, but sophia’s voice rings out loud and clear as soon as the music hits. 

she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t seem nervous, doesn’t even so much as clear her throat before simply starting the song. that’s what you’re realizing is the way sophia operates— confident, certain, straightforward, not one to sugarcoat or do anything extra.

and it doesn’t hurt that her voice is absolutely gorgeous. you find it extremely hard to understand how people don’t just fall in love at the mere sight of her, much less the sound of her angelic siren’s call. she’s so focused, so precise, so impressive in everything she does, so capable. 

(not that you’re in love with her or anything, definitely not the case.)

she’s not smiling until the end of the song, where she takes a small bow after the final note and lets megan scream in her ear about how beautiful the whole experience was.

“encore!” manon goads her on.

“i’m thirsty,” sophia shakes her head, reaching for her water. “it’s dani’s turn.”

“oh say less,” daniela chirps happily, pointing at yoonchae. “yoonchip, queue gasolina by daddy yankee.”

“no twerking on the table, megan,” sophia warns knowingly.

“you are literally no fun,” megan throws her head back.

“you broke their table last time,” sophia reminds her, laughing. “we had to put coach’s credit card down for them to not ban us from ever coming back.”

“that was not my fault,” megan pouts. 

“i’m going to go get some air,” the captain stretches her arms over her head, taking her water with her as she heads towards the door. “yoonchae’s in charge.”

“what the hell?” manon protests. 

“as i should,” yoonchae nods. 

“sweaty, leader?” you joke, realizing the girl had worked up the slightest glint of a shimmer on her skin from the song in this cramped room.

“oh, like a pig,” sophia teases back.

“lechon queen,” manon laughs.

“oh fuck, this is like the perfect opportunity for a—”

“no spit roast jokes,” sophia holds a warning finger up.

“you’re no fun!” dani rolls her eyes.

sophia’s eyes are shining with something that makes you think for as much as she pretends to be annoyed with these girls, they keep her entertained. she reaches for the door and excuses herself. “i’ll be back.”

dani’s halfway through her second song when you realize sophia still hasn’t come back. you slip out the door and seek her out, finding her outside the front door, leaning against the wall, admiring the malibu sunset. you approach her quietly, as to not scare her, and lean on the wall next to her. 

“who hurt you?” you laugh. “that song was haunting.”

sophia simply smiles knowingly.

“how much time do you have?” she says after a second, much to your surprise, even if she is joking.

“all of it, for you,” you tell her instantly, smiling back at her.

“you’re doing too much,” sophia shakes her head.

“i’m gonna be so transparent,” you tell her, raising your hands in the air like you’ve been caught. “i get such a rush when i make you smile. it’s like crack to me.”

“that’s sweet,” sophia laughs, her eyes avoiding yours as she stares down at something invisible on the ground. “i can promise you all that is not worth it.”

“for you?” you question. “no, i think you’re super worth it.”

sophia clicks her tongue, continuing to avoid your gaze. you can hear something soften in her voice— still playful, still firm, but something seeking more. “you don’t even know me.”

“not a ton, sure.” you lean the tiniest bit closer, your shoulders brushing together as you lean into her. “but i like what i know so far.”

“you’re weird,” she pushes you off, but her eyes are warm. she doesn’t entirely hate it as she’s trying to pretend.

“you’re smiling,” you call her out, poking her in the cheek. “i made leader smile!”

“y/n,” sophia says quietly, and you half wonder if she’s going to reprimand you, but then you realize that she’s leaning back against you. the two of you stand, shoulder to shoulder, the gentle warmth of her body sending a wildfire along your skin at the proximity.

“yes, leader?” you tease playfully.

the girl’s eyes finally come up to meet yours, twinkling with something indescribable. 

“you can just call me sophia.”

you nod, caught up in the warmth of her incredible brown eyes, and smile back broadly in response.

“sounds good, sophia.”

—

your team flies out to the next game a week later, and as you board the plane, you notice an empty seat next to sophia. learning your lesson from your first week of school, you approach her carefully, waving a hand in her face as she takes off her headphones and arches a brow up at you.

“hey!” you greet, pointing to the middle seat next to her, where she’s positioned by the window. “can i sit here?”

“no,” she blinks flatly.

“oh,” you feel the back of your neck burn awkwardly.

but then her eyes light up again, meeting yours, and you see it. the stupid sophia laforteza smile that sends a thunderstorm through your chest.

“i’m kidding,” she reassures you, moving her bag off of the seat. “all yours. i was saving it actually.”

“for me?” you ask in disbelief, slipping into the seat.

she tilts her head at you. “for whoever was brave enough to ask.”

you settle into the spot and the two of you coexist in a peaceful silence as the airplane takes off. but you and your stupid mouth can never keep your cool around sophia laforteza, and you find yourself rambling soon enough, disturbing what you can only assume is the peaceful silence she’s seeking.

“megan told me something sweet the other day. after our last game,” you inform her, wondering if the tidbit of information will catch her attention.

and it does. sophia’s brows knit together in curiosity as she turns to face you. “what’s that?”

“she says we make a good team.”

“we do,” sophia nods. “our positions kill when we work well together, and we work well together. i agree with her.”

“i could die happy,” you beam, pretending to fan yourself. “a compliment from the sophia laforteza.”

“hey!” she rolls her eyes. “don’t start. i’ve given you plenty.”

“i’m greedy,” you wrinkle your nose at her playfully. “sorry not sorry, i want more.”

“compliments are overrated,” sophia pushes back.

“oh, for you i bet they are,” you laugh, tossing your head back in disbelief. “what compliments could you possibly need? you’re brilliant, you’re confident, you’re super talented, and you’re insanely pretty. you’re perfect. people literally use ‘sophia laforteza’ as a synonym for perfection.”

“you’re doing too much, again,” sophia shakes her head, her eyes now avoiding yours.

“and you sing like a fucking angel,” you add. “and you smell amazing all the time.”

“not true,” sophia wrinkles her nose. 

you’re about to look over and keep rambling, but in that moment you see it in her eyes. something about the way you’re talking to her makes her uncomfortable. 

“and you’re actually so fucking nice,” you add, your voice softening, curious as to why the compliments are making her recoil like this. “like the nicest ever. just protective of what you care about.”

“that’s sweet,” she mumbles.

“i mean it. all of it, soph,” you press, reaching over to take her hand in yours. it’s a brave, probably stupid move, but as soon as your fingers touch, she looks up at you with those soft beautiful eyes.

“i’m sorry if i was tough on you, when you first joined,” she says quietly, her eyes digging into yours as if to emphasize her regret. “i couldn’t go easy on you. i have a lot riding on this team.”

“i forgive you,” you reassure her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “have to keep up the whole tough team captain thing.”

“thanks,” she smiles softly.

“can i tell you something?” you whisper, leaning in as the plane cabin lights turn off, leaving you guys in the quiet glow of the airplane.

she arches her brows, beckoning for you to go on.

you smile. “i like knowing you’re a softie.”

something in her face changes, and you can see it. the warmth.

you rest your head on her shoulder, and she lets you, her gentle breaths keeping you comfortable the rest of the flight.

—

you and sophia become inseparable. 

the next away game, you’re brave enough to invite her to come watch tik toks with you, and she’s bold enough to wriggle her way under the blankets, and before you realize it, the two of you are in your bed, cuddled up, staring at your tiny screen.

you try not to overthink it. your semester is going perfectly, you couldn’t ask for better friends, and the more time you spend with sophia, the more grateful you are to just know the girl. she’s incredible— so smart, so talented, and so, so thoughtful. someone like her shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be this perfect, shouldn’t be this close to you giggling at something stupid on your phone.

you don’t get more time to overthink. megan is bursting through your hotel room door, barging in as she seeks out a spare set of kneepads considering she left her lucky ones back home.

“it smells like fritos in here,” she says plainly, snatching your extra pair out of your bag. 

“you have to be the weirdest person i know,” sophia groans, throwing her head back against the pillow. 

“my mom says frito smell comes from a yeast overgrowth,” the girl goes on, clearly not realizing she’s intruding. “y’all baking bread?”

“i don’t even think she realizes she’s talking sometimes,” you laugh, nudging sophia in the shoulder. “the noises just come right out of her.” 

she grins back at you and checks the uber eats notification on her phone. “stay there. i’m gonna go pick up our food.”

she slips out of the door and megan simply watches, before looking back over at you.

“you guys look close,” the girl arches her brows knowingly.

“she’s been opening up,” you inform her.

“oh i bet she has,” megan nods, pursing her lips into an ‘o.”

“megan, ew,” you shake your head, throwing a pillow at the girl who has quickly become one of your best friends.

“i dunno dude, you’re mighty comfy. looks sus for two people just to be friends and be that all up on each other.”

“whatever,” you roll your eyes. you watch as the girl lets herself out. 

sophia comes back and lands herself right back in your lap. something about how she fits so comfortably besides you feels too easy. megan’s words ring through your head, and you shake them off.

sophia falls asleep in your bed, and you don’t mind. you don’t mind one bit.

—

the semester goes on, and you and sophia only grow closer. wherever she goes, you’re sure to follow, and people become painfully aware of your newfound friendship.

“y/n,” sophia beams, waving you over as the girls all sit together for breakfast out on the grass of the quad. “come sit.”

you do as you’re told, looking in surprise as the girl hands you a drink. you’re usually one to skip breakfast in favor of getting more sleep, so the fact that sophia, a notorious early riser, already has a drink for you makes your stomach flip.

“i got you a matcha,” she beams proudly, unwrapping the straw for you and placing it in your hand.

“how did you know i liked the sesame one?” you question.

“you ordered it last time we went,” she responds simply.

“the whole team went,” you say in disbelief. “you noticed my order?”

“of course,” she says, too confidently, as if it’s obvious. 

“such a gentlewoman,” you smile, pressing your head into her shoulder appreciatively.

megan, who has been eyeing the both of you since your arrival, simply blinks, before blurting out the only thing on her mind: 

“sophia, you are so down bad.”

“not even,” she shoves megan away, rolling her eyes.

you’re blushing, and you hope sophia doesn’t notice. but what makes this even more difficult is that you realize she probably did notice, because sophia laforteza cares about those little tiny details. 

—-

as it turns out, being this close to sophia laforteza is not only super enjoyable, but super fucking confusing. you promised yourself you’d focus on school and volleyball when you moved to malibu at the beginning of the semester, but whatever you’ve got going on with sophia starts to feel like this weird third thing, past friends but not quite somewhere beyond that. it’s nameless, it’s confusing, but worst of all, you can’t imagine stopping.

she opens up little by little, letting you have tiny pieces of her as if she’s testing how trustworthy you are. she tells you little stories of her island, reminisces about singing with her grandparents, reveals that she plays piano in the common room of her dorm late at night when no-one is around when she’s stressed. her favorite subject is english even though she’s studying public health to run her own pediatric resource clinic for low-income families. she likes disney and she’s afraid of bugs.

and she sings, all the damn time, as if she’ll die if she doesn’t get a tune out. at first it’s quiet, a gentle hum or a whistle, but with the sheer amount of time you two are spending together, the more comfortable she gets with your presence, the more she lets it out. by the time your season is ending, she’s around you and beaming like the clouds came out from in front of the sun, warm, bright, and so melodic. she sings at the top of her lungs whenever you two are alone, studying, watching a stupid movie, at the gym together getting in a stupid extra practice.

you feel kind of pathetic, but you’d do anything to spend more time with her, more time basking in her light, in her beautiful warmth. whether it’s joining on her on her morning runs, or hanging out at your dorm to watch game recaps, she’s reaching out to you, and you’re not about to let her slip through your fingers. each time she invites you to anything you say yes, and any time you think she may even remotely like something, you invite her. your days are starting to revolve around spending time with sophia laforteza, like you can’t get enough of her, but why would anyone want to be apart from her? she’s perfect, and if she’s picked you to be her new best friend, you’ll consider it the biggest win in the world.

the sleepovers didn’t start until your season starts coming to an end. you’re about to enter your first playoff game, and sophia invites herself over as you guys prepare for your flight the next day. you lose track of time packing, chatting mindlessly, sharing stories and making sure you’re both in the right headspace before the game, but quite frankly, any ounce of access to sophia that you get will have you exactly as focused as you need to be.

you’re not sure how you end up there, but you’re admittedly a little too close for comfort, curled up together in your bed. she’s in a cozy hoodie and shorts, those stupid glasses that look way too good on her perched on the tip of her nose as she shows you another stupid brainrot tik tok that made her laugh that day. somehow, you’ve ended up with your head on her shoulder, a common occurrence for the two of you lately, but the way you’re cuddled into her arm, feeling the warmth of her body against yours, close enough to see the shimmer of the lipgloss in the light of the phone screen, is a little too close for you to ignore.

you suck in a deep breath. you figure it’s now or never, and even if you get nothing out of it, you’ll feel better knowing you’ve at least made the effort to get some clarity.

“sophia,” you say gently. 

“hm?” her head tilts in your direction, but she doesn’t look away from the phone screen.

your chest tightens, but it’s too late now. “what are we doing?”

“what do you mean?” her face stays neutral, forever the queen of composure.

“i mean i don’t even know what to call you,” you breathe.

“my name, duh,” she wrinkles her nose at you, and you shove her back gently. of course she’d choose now of all times to be a smart ass.

you let the silence rest for a few moments longer, but the feeling gnaws at you. you have to be honest, with her, but first and foremost, with yourself.

“sometimes it feels like we’re dating,” you finally admit.

you know sophia at this point to see her micro-expressions: the curl of her lip, a small shift, or in this case, the twitch of her brow. she doesn’t look at you— a habit you’ve realized that she takes up when she’s thinking. 

“oh,” is all she says.

“yeah,” you breathe back awkwardly.

“we’re not,” she tells you.

you squint at her. “i know that.”

she pauses again. you wait her out. you’ve gotten good at it— realizing her silence isn’t hostile, it’s just contemplation. sophia, perfect sophia, takes a second to pick the exact words she wants to say in that exact moment. it’s part of what you’ve come to adore so much about her, how purposeful she is, her attention to detail.

“y/n…” she muses quietly, her lips parting to show her teeth as she sucks in a quiet, thinking breath. “i don’t know how to ask this.”

“sophia laforteza, tongue tied? our eloquent leader?” you tease her, poking her in the cheek. maybe it’s a poor time to be messing with her, but this is your bad habit, making jokes at the worst possible times to try and diffuse the tension. “what’s today, the end of the world?”

but she doesn’t laugh. she doesn’t even smile.

she finally turns her head, she finally looks at you. her voice low and serious, as it always is. 

“y/n, i want to kiss you.”

“oh.” you blink. “oh.”

“you can tell me it’s a bad idea,” she tells you slowly, forever the gentlewoman, but the way her eyes flutter down to focus on your lips makes you absolutely dizzy, “or that you don’t want to.”

“i um,” you feel your stomach in knots, jumping at the sight of how she stares you down. “neither of those are true.”

she pauses, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. the movement leaves her lip even shinier, which you didn’t think was even possible, but it is and it makes you absolutely sick at how easily the movement unnerves you. her voice drops, just slightly, but it’s enough for you to notice the rasp in her tone.

“y/n, do you want to kiss me?” 

sophia is so painfully confident, so direct and straightforward, it makes your teeth hurt with how attracted you are to her. 

you nod, dumbstruck and incapable of forming any more words, and her hand drops the phone onto her stomach. she turns to reach for you, her hand cupping you by the cheek. the feeling of her grasp on your face, the closeness of her body, her breath on your nose is nearly too much for you.

“i’m going to kiss you now,” she tells you gently, moving closer and closer with each passing second, her eyes never leaving your lips. “don’t move.”

you do as you’re told, and sophia laforteza is a woman of her word. she’s slow, painfully gentle as she bridges the distance between you both, and you lose yourself in the perfect smell of her hoodie, the softness of her perfect mouth, the perfect sweetness on her tongue as it brushes softly against your bottom lip. the only word you could ever use to describe sophia, the only word that even starts to do her justice— she is absolute perfection.

“you’re not real,” you breathe, staring at her in disbelief. you’re an idiot for breaking the kiss, sure, but if you didn’t pull away to take a breath, you might’ve actually passed out. your head is so, so dizzy— in no reality, when you had first met this girl, did you ever picture she’d let you get to know her, to be this close to her, to kiss you.

“very real,” she pushes back, reaching for you once more. she turns to lean on top of you, resting her elbows on either side of your torso, hovering over you. she reaches up to brush some of your hair out of your face, her fingertips against your skin feeling like electricity. her eyes are so dark, so intense, so focused. “gonna kiss you again. don’t move.”

you wrap your arms around her neck and nod eagerly. she won’t have to tell you twice.

—-

making out with sophia laforteza for 3 hours the week of your first college playoff game is definitely not something you could have predicted on your sophomore year bingo card, but you’re not about to get greedy. 

she falls asleep cuddled up next to you after you guys mutually agree to wait until after playoffs to get distracted by anything else, and you have half a mind to tell her that you’re already extremely distracted when she’s this close to you, but you’re able to keep those thoughts to yourself. 

unfortunately, sophia is a creature of routine no matter how badly you beg her to sleep in and keep cuddling you, and gets out of your bed as gently as she can manage to go on her morning run. you’re not exactly thrilled, but she presses a gentle kiss to your temple as she slips out of your room and promises that you’ll talk more when she gets back. the combination of the two is a true win in your head, so you make your way to breakfast with a few of the girls and hope nobody asks why you can’t stop smiling even at 7 in the morning.

(of course, it would be just your luck that it’s megan who clocks you immediately— somehow clueless to literally everything except for whatever is between you and the team captain.)

“y/n, why do you keep acting like nothing’s going on?” she blurts, eyeing you suspiciously. you’ve looked down at your phone a million times that morning, eager to see if sophia has any thoughts about the development between you two, and of course, your teammate didn’t let it go unnoticed. “you’re clearly into her.”

you take a cue from sophia’s playbook and stay silent, reaching for your breakfast oatmeal in the hopes they’ll drop it. you know yourself, prone to oversharing, and you’re not sure that sophia would want something between the two of you to leave between the two of you. manon and daniela eye each other from across the table, lara giggles to herself, and megan doesn’t let up.

“are you guys dating?” she asks bluntly, narrowing her eyes at you.

“um…” you choke on your oatmeal, but try to play it off. “i don’t know how to answer that.”

“oh holy shit,” manon beams, her eyes lighting up. “it’s not a no! you always deny it!”

“it’s true,” lara grins. “this is your first non-answer.”

you feel your cheeks burn, but before you can hide your face, you can tell dani has already seen you blushing. the three of them burst into coos, clearly thrilled to hear things have moved along.

“dude, it’s so sweet,” dani chirps excitedly.

megan nods, and you can tell she’s about to start rambling, but it’s megan, and she means well, so you let her. 

“no, dude, you have no idea how good this is for us. she’s like, finally smiling again! our sophia! angry, serious sophia. she even laughed at one of my jokes last practice. my joke. do you know how long it’s been since she’s laughed with me, bro? all it took was y/n to warm her back up. it’s like the ice age is melting or something. i haven’t seen her this happy since marquise—”

you see all 3 of the girls seize up at the exact same time at the mention of this name. a name you have never, ever heard before, and yet got each of these girls to freeze with the exact same reaction. your stomach drops.

“megan—“ manon says harshly, a tone she never uses, which only tells you this is extremely not good. whatever megan has just touched on was clearly not for your ears to hear.

“who’s marquise?” you try to ask, but the three ignore you, locked onto each other.

“megan skiendiel,” daniela says it like a punishment, and megan only sinks further into her seat, her eyes wide like a puppy that’s just been scolded for chewing something up that she wasn’t meant to. you guys are the only ones at the dining hall that early in the morning, but even then, you feel like the whole world around you is spinning, in the worst way possible.

“guys. freaking out here,” you remind them, still left in limbo with nothing more than a name and 0 context. “who the hell is marquise?”

then, as if on cue, a voice cuts in from behind you. a familiar, cold, firm voice. too perfect.

your stomach sinks. you can feel it about to crumble around you. 

sophia laforteza, too perfect, too dreamy, too good to be true. 

“marquise is my ex.” her voice is neutral, factual. you can’t bring yourself to look at her, but you can see her figure in the corner of your eye. she’s got her arms crossed over her chest, so composed, so eternally the picture of calm and control. “megan wasn’t supposed to mention that.”

you feel your stomach twist into a knot. “oh.”

“saw you guys through the window,” she explains simply, motioning out to the side of the table. you can see your table directly from the window facing the running trail. “thought i’d join you guys for breakfast.”

the tension is palpable. megan is the first to speak up, but her voice is quavering and weak, like she knows the gravity of what she’s done. “soph, i’m sorry…”

sophia moves into your view and presses her lips into a fine line. “they’re freaking out because we’re on a break. marquise gets back to the US in two months.”

“oh,” you say simply, dropping your gaze to the table. “oh wow.”

“we’re gonna go,” lara says, clearly sensing the danger in lingering much longer. she scoops dani in one arm and grabs megan by the hoodie, yanking her along roughly.

“y/n, i’m really sorry,” the youngest girl tells you, her voice shaky, and a part of you feels the tiniest bit better that her guilt comes not just from spilling sophia’s secret, but from not telling you something sooner. it softens the blow somehow.

“she played libero,” sophia tells you once the girls walk away. she sits down across from you in the booth. you can tell she’s treading carefully, wanting to be close but not wanting to overdo it, and you appreciate that she has the common sense to give you space and follow your cues.  “she’s the one that got injured last year.”

your throat goes dry at the realization. 

“i replaced her,” you finally say out loud. it stings even worse hearing it than it does thinking it.

“i wanted to tell you.” her voice is still even, still composed, but you can hear the quiet rasp of something more, like she’s straining herself. she’s speaking slowly, picking her words carefully as she does. “but i didn’t want to lose you.”

“you knew it was wrong,” you call her out shakily.

“i didn’t want you drawing your own conclusions,” she tells you. “after we kissed, i knew i had to say something. i wanted to. i was going to.”

“i don’t mind being a girl with a one-sided crush. hell, i don’t even mind if we don’t work out on our own.” your voice is shaky as you look down at your hands, trying to even out your breathing to avoid crying, but fuck, this hurts. “but i do mind being a rebound if you’re not over someone.”

“i am,” she presses quickly, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard her rush her words, as if she’s trying to speak over you. it doesn’t irritate you, if anything, you’re grateful to hear that she’s got some humanity left in her, but it doesn’t help soothe you. she tries again, letting out a breath to steady herself. “we haven’t talked literally at all since she left. i’m going to tell her that things are completely over between us. i can promise that i am 100% over her.”

you won’t look up at her, but you can see her hands on the table. she’s picking at her fingernail, and the movement surprises you. sophia never fidgets, never moves nervously, never even cracks a sweat. but here she is, picking at her nail, and it makes your heart ache. you want to comfort her, but you feel sick even thinking about how much you feel for her.

“that’s the problem with being dishonest, sophia. and i know you weren’t even dishonest, you just didn’t tell me the whole truth, but it’s still a problem,” you admit, swallowing down a lump in your throat. “‘cause now, i don’t know if i believe you. i don’t know if i can trust that you’re telling me the truth.”

she says nothing, and that seals your fate. you feel the first few hot tears drop from your eyes as you shield your face and get out of the dining hall as fast as physically possible, rushing to your dorm to try and compose yourself without sobbing in public like a mess.

sophia doesn’t follow after you. you feel stupid for ever thinking she would.

—-

megan comes over a few hours later after you miss practice, too embarrassed to face sophia after everything collapsing around you. 

the younger girl sits on the edge of your bed, staring at one of her textbooks in confusion, but you know she’s only faking studying until you say something. you can tell she wants to apologize, she wants to say something, but if you can appreciate anything, it’s that megan is showing some restraint and stopping herself from crashing out in the middle of your dorm room.

you play mindlessly with your laptop as a specific email catches your attention. you had read it weeks ago, but archived it. the cyclones were your whole life at this point. this team had filled your heart with such a sense of belonging and wholeness, you didn’t even consider the idea that other schools could be eyeing you. you didn’t want any of them, you wanted sophia—

you clamp your eyes shut instantly as you realize your mistake, grimacing. you wanted malibu. you wanted to be a cyclone.

your stomach aches, thinking about the team captain. maybe this mindset of unconditional devotion was the thing truly holding you back.

so you go back to the email, and blurt it out to megan.

“UCLA is interested in me,” you tell her. “after this season.”

she looks up at you instantly, her brows tensing, but you see her instantly try to relax her face and be supportive. “oh whaaaaat? no way. that’s sick.”

you stare at your screen, feeling the ache in your chest and wishing you could just will it away in an instant.

“and since i’m still technically a walk-on, and not scholarshipped yet, i could transfer.”

“you’d leave?” megan asks softly, her eyes falling. “but we just got you, y/n. we’re about to win a championship together. you’d really leave?”

you hear the crack in her voice, but you can’t bear to look up at her. the idea sounds appealing, just a few more months and transfer over to a new school once the semester ends. move, start over, make new friends. you stop yourself from thinking about her again, pushing all thoughts of sunshine and lipgloss and singing out of your mind.

you blink a few times more, trying not to be swayed by just how fucking sad megan’s little sniffles are from her corner of your room.

“what if i don’t have anything keeping me here?” you ask, but you’re not quite sure the question is for megan any more.

—-

megan goes back to her own dorm a little bit later, after the silence gets to be too much, and you spend the rest of the evening staring up at the ceiling. you don’t have practice on sundays, so you’ll finally get a chance to sleep in, and you start to look up the forms you might need for a transfer if you opt to follow through with this. three schools in less than two years might not look great, but if it’s what’s right for you, you’ll figure out a way to explain it on a transcript.

you’re asleep with your laptop on your chest when a quiet knock on your dorm room door wakes you. you check your phone for any messages, and there’s no recent ones as you realize it’s nearly 1 am. you feel your eyelids getting heavy once more, but that knock comes back, gentle, evenly spaced, quick.

a perfect knock on the door, straight out of the movies. your stomach sinks. how fucking annoying to be so perfect, it’s recognizable, even in a knock.

you want to ask her to go away, and considering you just ditched practice for the first time all season just to avoid her, you figured she’d understand. but there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you suck in a deep breath to try and prepare yourself for what comes next as you get out of bed and finally give in, swinging the door open.

perfect sophia laforteza has messy hair.

it’s not insane, of course even her messiness is so coordinated, but it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her hair not silky smooth falling in waves over her shoulders. it’s a little frizzy, the tiniest bit unruly, thick and admittedly even a little poofy. she has some baby hairs sticking out of her headband, her bangs pulled back. your heart thuds at the sight— sophia, in her hoodie and her shorts, and her super cute, imperfect hair that’s somehow still perfect to you, as much as you wish it wasn’t

“megan called me crying,” she says simply, her eyes dark and seeking as they look up into yours, her hands tucked into her pockets as she stands in front of your door in the middle of the hallway, “saying you wanted to leave.”

you blink at her, and honestly, you’re not quite sure what to say next.

her lips press into a tight line at your lack of response. 

“i’m sorry if that’s because of me,” she breathes, quieter now.

“i’ll text megan in the morning to apologize for stressing her out. i forget how sensitive she is,” you force a smile, your forever bad habit of trying to smooth things over with anyone and everyone. you drop your eyes, unable to keep looking at her any longer without the ache in your chest roaring back to life. “i need to go to bed, good night.”

you move to close the door, but to your surprise, the door doesn’t budge. 

sophia has her foot against the base, her hand around your wrist, anchoring you there. 

it reminds you of that day, on the beach, your first glimpse into something more in sophia besides her cold stares and her unobtainable standards of perfection. the first time she ever reached out to grab you, you saw it— sophia laforteza, as perfect as she is, is also human, just like you.

her voice surprises you. 

“please don’t go.” it’s soft, and she’s avoiding your eyes again, but you hear the rasp, the crack in her voice as she pleads with you. “please hear me out.”

you can feel the burn in your chest at how small she looks, how unfamiliar this version of her is to you. “sophia…”

“i can’t um...” she clamps her eyes shut, and it physically pains you to see just how badly she’s struggling to get the words out. how badly she wants to be vulnerable with you, how hard it is for her. “i just got used to doing it alone. for a really long time. even when my ex was there, i just never could see myself as someone...”

she trails off, and you see it again in her face. that day on the airplane, where you had complimented her, how uncomfortable it seemed to make her to hear so many nice things said about her. you feel your heart shatter for her in that very moment. she doesn’t believe it. 

“and then you came in, and i tried to push you away, but you insisted on being kind to me even when i wasn’t worth being kind to, and now i have feelings for you.” she bites down on her bottom lip, the words spilling out almost rushed, as if she’s trying to get them all out at once. “so here i am, pouring my heart out, hoping you’ll stay.”

you blink back, your heart racing. “you have feelings for me?”

“i don’t need you to say it back,” she shakes her head, her brows furrowing. “i just need you to know how pissed i’ll be if you leave after i started to like you. even if it’s just as friends.”

“i didn’t know you’d care if i was gone,” you laugh, feeling your eyes water. it may be a little later than you would have wanted, but she’s trying, and you can see just how hard it is for her. 

“you’re ridiculous,” she wrinkles her nose, as if it’s obvious. “i get leaving me might be easy—”

you stop her there, feeling yourself get angry at the way she talks about herself. “no. stop that. no way.” 

she presses, insisting. “no, you don’t have to lie. i know how i get. i can be difficult, and a perfectionist—“

“sophia, you’re an incredible captain,” you cut her off, your voice full of conviction. “and a warm, thoughtful friend. people admire you.”

“they’re scared of me, y/n,” she breathes quietly. 

“they respect you,” you insist. “you’re incredible.”

she pauses, looking at you, and you let yourself look back at her. something in her eyes change, softening, warming. like the stormclouds parting to reveal the sun. 

“i didn’t believe any of that, until i met you,” she admits to you, shakily. “it was like you saw me differently. i believed it because you believed it. you treated me like i was worth it.”

“you are,” you press, before you remember something that might help convince her. “soph… the team, we made you a gift.”

she blinks back at you in shock. “what?”

you motion for her to follow you into your room, and reach under your bed to pull out a scrapbook you guys had worked on between all of you, keeping it in your room as you guys all worked on the finishing touches. the idea was to give it to her after playoffs were over, to celebrate her if you guys won and to cheer her up if you guys lost, but you figure the girls will forgive you for giving it to her a little early. 

“when i first heard you were feeling homesick, we started putting it together.” you put the book in her hands and she opens it, immediately seeing all the printed photos of your team together. your days at the beaches, the practices you all bonded over, the photos of you all traveling for games, some of the random shenanigans you’d get into like karaoke. sophia turns the page and realizes that each girl on the team had written her a note about how much they appreciate her as a captain and as a friend, and paired their heartfelt notes with a photo of themselves with her.

(unfortunately, you had waited a little too long to work on your note considering you were working through a massive crush on her, but you hope she won’t mind that you’re the only person on the team who doesn’t have a page in the scrapbook.)

“this is how we see you,” you continue, watching as sophia flips through each page, reading over each and every word with unmatchable focus. “i know you have a skewed vision of yourself. you’re so, so hard on yourself. so we wanted you to have this, so you could see what the world sees. how we see you.”

“this is incredible,” sophia whispers, her eyes welling up with tears. 

you’re incredible, you stop yourself from saying, letting you guys continue in silence as she reads the rest of the pages. 

“megan spelled ‘gratitude’ wrong,” she laughs, wiping a tear from her cheek as she points to the mistake. 

“okay, cut the girl some slack, she could barely stop crying long enough to get the words down. she was so sad thinking about how lonely you’ve been,” you laugh with her, pointing to the dried tear stains on the page. “literally sobbed all over the page and lara had to help her pull it together to finish and sign her stupid name. at this point i’m surprised there’s no snot.”

she smiles and wipes again at her cheek, clearly trying to stop herself from crying in front of you. “i’ve been a little less lonely, ever since you walked on.”

you want to reassure her that you don’t mind the tears, that you don’t mind her being human. that you adore every part of her, exactly how she is, perfect imperfections and all. you try to open your mouth, but the words get caught in your throat. 

she beats you to it. 

“i’m sorry if i confused you,” she sighs. “it was unfair. i’d be pissed if i was you. getting all caught up before someone had their shit together.”

“i’m not mad at you any more,” you reassure her, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. “maybe a little hurt, maybe a lot jealous.”

she lets out another laugh, and the sound warms your bones. the idea of UCLA seems so, so silly now, as you two look at the book together. this is where you belong. playing libero with the most incredible group of girls you’ve ever known. wingmanning for lara, laughing with dani, clowning manon, trying to keep megan from a near-daily crashout. 

basking in the light that beams from sophia laforteza. reminding her every day that she is the sun in human form, twice as bright and just as warm. reminding her especially on the days she has a hard time believing it.

“i understand if you just want to be friends after this,” she tells you quietly, so infuriatingly thoughtful. “i totally get it. i’d love to be your friend.”

you let out a soft breath. 

“i think friends a good place to be.”

sophia smiles, and you smile back. you stop yourself from reaching for her hand. her eyes twinkle as they look back at you. you watch her like she’s the sunset against the beach, and you let it warm you. 

sophia laforteza smiling is your favorite view. 

[masturbasiannn]

CHAPTER ONE: “You Shouldn’t Have Come Back”

Enemies to lovers AU — Megan Skiendiel x fem!reader

There was a time when Megan Skiendiel would’ve sat beside you, knees bumping, laughing so hard her face went red over something absolutely no one else found funny.

Now, when she walks into the library and sees you sitting at the back table, her smile isn’t soft— it’s razor sharp.

“Oh!” she says, tossing her bag down and not even trying to hide the amusement in her voice. “It’s you.”

You don’t look up from your notes on the table.

“Take a seat,” your jaw clenched, already dreading her presence.

“I thought they were assigning actual tutors. Not… emotional baggage.”

You pause. Slowly lifting your eyes to meet hers. “Are you done yet?”

She smirks. “Not even close sweetheart.”

You could say something clever. You want to, but you won’t give her that satisfaction. She thrives off reactions— off of making you flinch. But you’re not like that anymore.

But God, seeing her like this again?

It’s like the years apart never even happened— like you’re still those two little girls in a sleeping bag under fairy lights, whispering secrets and dreams into the darkness, except now, that glow is gone. Replaced by something extremely bitter.

And burning.

She pulls out a chair with the loudest possible scrape ever and she slouches into it like she owns the place, manspreading to the utmost extent. She’s wearing a black fitted long-sleeve top, headphones hanging around her neck, her nails painted a chipped crimson. Her lip gloss is a little too perfect— like she knew she’d see you tonight.

“So, tutor me,” she says, pulling a pen from behind her ear and twirling it between her fingers. “Go on, make me smart again.” She teases.

You blink. “We’re reviewing exponents and logarithms. Try to keep up.”

“Try to be less boring McSmarty-pants,” she mutters, flipping open her textbook lazily to a new page.

You spend the first few minutes walking her through problems. Her eyes wander. She sighs. She draws tiny daggers in the margins of her worksheet and then flips it around for you to see.

Her own masterpiece

You, stabbed— and smiling.

“Real mature,” you mutter, pushing it back. “Real easy target,” she lulled. You take a deep breath. “Why are you even here?”

She shrugs. “Coach said if I fail math, I’m off the team. You’re my punishment.” She smirks at you deviously.

“I’m not the one who doesn’t know how to isolate x.”

She leans forward, close enough to smell her perfume— something soft and sweet, like cherries and vanilla.

“So you think you’re better than me now, huh?”

You look her dead in the eye. This lasts forever, like an undeclared staring contest. Until you speak again. “No. I’ve always been better than you.”

Something shifts.

Her smile falters— just for a second.

And then it’s back. Darker. More dangerous.

She leans closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. “You really came back acting brand new. Like we don’t have history. Like I don’t know you.”

“You really don’t,” you say quietly, leaning closer.

“Not anymore.”

The table between you feels smaller now. Like it could collapse under the weight of everything unsaid.

She taps her pen once.

Twice.

Then she says, low and deliberate;

“You used to tell me everything. What happened?”

“You changed.”

“You ran.”

“I had to.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

Her voice hits you harder than it should. You clench your fists under the table.

You hate that she still gets to you. You hate that her eyes flick down to your lips when you’re quiet too long. You hate that she smells the same. That she talks the same. That there’s still that thread— frayed, and fragile— connecting you to her.

“You think I liked watching you disappear?” she snaps suddenly.

The question lands like a punch to the stomach.

“You acted like I didn’t exist for months, what are you on about?” You retort.

Her laugh is dry. “Yeah. Because if I didn’t push you away first, you were gonna leave anyway.”

Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to rewrite what happened.”

“You don’t get to act like you didn’t break me first.”

You freeze.

She looks at you then— really looks at you. Like she’s just now realizing you’re real. That you came back. That she has no idea what to do with that.

The silence is thick now. Heavy.

Daring.

You’re both sitting in a war neither of you declared, but both of you keep fighting like you’re scared of what peace would mean.

You push back from the table. “This was a mistake.”

But as you gather your things, she stands up too.

“Megan,” you warn.

She moves in close— too close, her hand catching your arm, not rough but enough to stop you. Her voice is quiet but sharp. “Why’d you volunteer for this if you hate me so much?”

You swallow. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“Still stayed.”

You stare at her. Her eyes are wild — not angry, exactly. More like desperate. Like she wants to rip her chest open and hand you every messy piece but doesn’t know how without burning it all down.

And then, something in her breaks.

Not loudly. Just… slips.

She shoves your folder off the table, grabs your jaw with both hands, and kisses you.

Hard. It’s not romantic.

It’s pent-up years of silence and shouting and things you never said. Her lips crash into yours with zero grace, all fire. Her ring catches against your cheekbone, cold and sharp. She tastes like cinnamon gum and regret. Her hands shake like she’s scared of what this means. Like she’s only allowing it because it’ll ruin her anyway.

You kiss her back.

For one breath. One second. One undeniable truth.

Then you shove her off.

You both stand there, breathing hard, staring at each other like two girls standing in the wreckage of a home they burned down together.

“I hate you,” You pant.

Megan’s mouth twitches. “I know.”

And yet neither of you move.

[biherbalwitch]

[masturbasiannn]

So real