I was born sick, but I love it / Command me to be well – Sophia Laforteza [18+]
genre: smut, sophia laforteza x fem!reader, dom!sophia, bottom!reader, loser!reader, possessive!Sophia, emotional sex, angst, high school au, secret relationship, choking, kinda kinky, fwb but they aren't friends, reader catches feelings.
summary: sophia laforteza was just a girl in your class until she'd become something holy you'd worship behind closed doors but walk past in the hallway without even granting a glance at each other. (2.8k Words)
You don't know when it happened exactly, when you became prey to the predator that was one Sophia Laforteza. When exactly did she rewire your brain and molded your heart into something fragile, permanent, and entirely hers, until loving her felt less like a choice and more like an instinct you’d adapted in order to survive.
It never began as a relationship, because calling it that would have required rules, clarity, and a name neither of you dared to give it. You slept together, yes–but it wasn’t friendship, and it certainly wasn’t love, at least not in any honest or survivable way. You existed in the space between labels, where desire passed itself off as coincidence and longing learned to stay quiet. Sophia Laforteza– the straight-A student, the girl with discipline stitched into her spine– was never meant to become someone you wasted afternoons with, tangled in crumpled sheets. Because that wasn’t her, not because you didn’t want to.
You don’t remember how it started. Not really. There’s no single moment you can point to–no handshake, no look, no decision that marks the beginning. One day you were just… there, and the next she was everywhere: in your thoughts, in the way your chest tightened when you imagined her, in the ache you carried like a secret confession. She became something holy, a presence you could barely touch without feeling unworthy, a force that made your own flaws feel like immovable stains. And she knew it. She always knew. The way she laughed softly at your awkwardness, the way her eyes flicked to yours when you stumbled over words or dropped something, reminded you constantly that you were hers to look down on and, somehow, hers to let linger.
Somewhere between shared silences and bodies memorizing each other better than faces ever could, she became a habit. Not a choice you made, but one you drifted into. You didn’t go looking for her; you simply stopped leaving. Your free time bent itself around her presence, your hours reshaped by the weight of her on top of you, the way her name began to sound like relief. Whatever this was–this quiet, aching arrangement–it asked for everything while promising nothing, and you gave it anyway, because wanting her had already started to feel like a kind of surrender.
You didn’t remember a time you didn’t notice her, or at least feel her presence hovering just beyond reach. She was always there, impossible to ignore, and you were always elsewhere—just existing alongside her, invisible in ways that made your chest ache. You weren’t friends. You couldn’t be. She was too luminous, too polished, too impossibly herself for someone like you to touch. And Daniela… Daniela made sure you never forgot it. Attached to her like a shadow to light, laughing at your awkwardness as if it were part of the scenery, reminding you constantly of the distance you weren’t meant to cross.
Daniela was Sophia's proclaimed best friend. They were attached at the hip—Sophia, the straight-A student, and Daniela, the cheerleader. Everyone either wanted to be them or wanted them. Daniela knew this and relished it. You could tell by the way she walked with her chin up, or by the way she’d snicker as she’d walk past you in the hallway mumbling something to her friend that made it clear she thought she was better than you.
You wondered, at times like this, what would Daniela think if she saw her best friend hunched over your lap, her hands around your throat as she ground her hips into yours. Her raven hair cascaded around her face, dark waves brushing against her cheeks and neck. Her eyes were closed in pleasure, maybe yours should be too but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from her face. the way her eyebrows furrowed, how she arched her back and threw her head back when she got closer.
You reached out your hand and tucked her strands behind her ear so that you could get a better look at her face. She opened her eyes and guided your hands to her hips, you latched them onto her curves feeling the subtle heat of her against your palms, the quiet weight of her pressing into you. She didn’t pull away, she let you hold her, let you linger, as if daring you to believe this was allowed. Your heart hammered, loud enough that you were certain she could hear it, and for a fleeting, intoxicating moment, the rest of the world vanished.
she was close and she knew you were too, she could feel it, your grip was tightening and your thrusts were becoming frantic. She rested both of her palms against your chest, as if to soothe you. it’s okay, i’m here with you. she looked into your eyes and she knew the power that she had, she smirked as she continued to chase her release.
you slid your hand down the slope of her stomach and rubbed the bundle of nerves you found- too eager, too demanding.
“Oh… baby… just like that.”
You could feel her pressing closer, her heat searing against you, and every brush of her skin made your fingers tighten, as if you could anchor yourself to her that way. And you continued because her wish was your command, and maybe because watching her fall apart had become your favourite drug.
She whimpered again, soft, sharp, almost pleading, and it sent a jolt through you—a wild, trembling awareness that she could unravel you without even trying.
You held her there, memorizing every shiver, every inhale, every sharp intake of breath, as though capturing it would make it yours forever. And she leaned into you, letting herself sink a little, letting her need be obvious, letting you drown in it. The world narrowed until there was nothing but her–her scent, her curves, her whispered whimpers.
“I can feel how close you are.” She whined softly, barely keeping her eyes open, searching for yours as if finding them would anchor her.
her thrusts grew, not with force but intent. Each movement was measured, deliberate, a claim she knew she had over you– testing, teasing, drawing you deeper into the space she owned.
seeing the surrender in your eyes–the quiet, willing obedience you’d already given her tipped her over the edge taking you with her.
Her hips never faltered, moving with a deliberate rhythm as she rode the edge of her pleasure, chasing the insatiable need she felt for you. Every pulse, every shiver, every twitch of your body beneath her fed her obsession, and she reveled in it– watching you unravel under her command was its own kind of thrill, one she craved just as fiercely as the rest. That– your helpless, exposed response—was her kink.
She leaned over you, planting her forearms on either side of your head, her eyes searching your face for any hint of reaction. A twitch of your brows, a tremble of your lip, a string of soft, quivering moans– all of it made her chest tighten with a sharp, delicious satisfaction. Each small sound you made, each subtle shiver, confirmed what she already knew: you were utterly hers in that moment, helpless to resist, and completely consumed by her.
Every flicker of your expression drew a slow, deliberate smile across her lips. She hovered there, close enough that the heat radiating from her pressed into your chest, letting you feel every intention behind her gaze. You didn’t move, didn’t resist–couldn’t resist.
It was as if you had been paralyzed, and then, as she slowed the movement of her hips, your senses returned all at once. Your hands trailed up–one holding her waist, the other cradling her cheek–as if she were something sacred, something worthy of worship. And then you kissed her, pressing your lips to hers with a reverence and desperation that mirrored the ache she had already awakened in you.
all thought and air stripped away, leaving only the pull of her.
“Dani will be here soon, you gotta heave… she can’t see you.” she murmured against your lips.
She turned her face to the side and let out a sigh as your face pressed into the curve of her neck, your hands sliding over her slender arms, along the swell of her waist, tracing absentmindedly, trying to etch the memory of her body into your brain. How soft and delicate her limbs were, her stomach taut and smooth beneath your fingers, every subtle curve and shiver imprinting itself onto your senses.
Her hips absentmindedly started to move, slow and deliberate.
You hissed against her lips, your dick inside of her still sensitive. Each shift pressed her closer, grounding you in the pull of her, reminding you that she was in control and you were entirely at her mercy.
Your hands gripped onto her hips once again, trying to ground yourself, your breath coming out in short, ragged gasps that matched the slow, deliberate sway of her movements. Every subtle shift, every brush of her skin against yours, sent tremors through your body, leaving you dizzy with need and awe. And you could feel it–her gaze burning into your face, drinking in every flicker of expression, every shiver and gasp, reveling in the way you reacted so completely to her.
A soft, teasing smile curved her lips as she leaned slightly closer, her hips moving with languid precision. You were aware of nothing else but her–the warmth, the subtle weight of her body, the way she held you captive without a word.
She caressed your face with the gentle sweep of her palm, lingering in a touch that both grounded and unraveled you.
“aking mahal.” she murmured against your lips, the words soft and deliberate, carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. The intimacy in her voice, the deliberate ownership in that simple phrase, sent a shiver through you. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t think beyond the pull of her, helplessly entwined in the gravity of her presence. Every movement, every sound, every whispered word belonged to her–and you existed only to respond.
She knew exactly how to undo you. How to loosen the screws you kept tightly wound, how to press in just the right places until you forgot where you ended and she began. You were pliable in her hands, responsive in a way that felt humiliating and holy all at once.
Her thumb brushed your cheek again, slow, deliberate, and you felt yourself give. She watched it happen, watched the way your breath hitched, the way your eyes softened, the way your body betrayed you before your mouth ever could. There was something indulgent in her expression then, something satisfied.
you were hers. Her favorite toy. The one she knew best.
She pressed closer, not rushed, not desperate–measured. Intentional. As if she were testing how far she could take you this time, how completely she could unmake you with nothing more than touch and attention.
And you let her. You always did. Because being chosen by her–even like this, even as something to be handled and wound up and undone–felt better than being untouched at all.
“Ikaw ay aking mahal,” she muttered, the words curling at the edge of her smile–possessive, certain. Not a question. Not a promise. A statement of fact.
Her hand lingered at your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt your face upward, forcing your eyes back to hers. There was something reverent in the way she looked at you, something dangerous too, as if she were both worshipping and claiming you in the same breath. You felt small beneath that gaze–not insignificant, never that–but kept. Held exactly where she wanted you.
And the most devastating part was that you didn’t resist.
You softened.
You gave.
Because if being hers meant being unmade, then so be it.
Your voice broke around her name, unfinished, useless. It was all you could manage before she hushed you with a look alone, eyes dark and knowing, as if she’d been waiting for that sound, for the moment you finally cracked. Her smile softened—not kinder, just more assured—as though your unraveling confirmed something she’d always known.
She leaned in close, close enough that you could feel her breath, steady and unshaken, so unlike yours. There was no urgency in her, no doubt. Only intention. And in that quiet imbalance—your need against her certainty–you felt yourself slip further, willingly, into the space she’d made just for you.
Her lips curved into that slow, knowing smile, eyes tracing every flicker of your expression. She leaned closer, letting her hand rest lightly against your jaw, tilting your face toward hers.
“Tumingin ka sa akin… Tumingin ka sa akin pagdating mo”
Every nerve in your body hummed with the pull of her command. You were hers–helpless, trembling, and entirely undone by the simple, possessive command.
Your arms wrapped around her body, pulling her impossibly close as a shiver ran through you, helpless and uncontained. She moved against you with a deliberate intensity, each shift and roll of her hips rough and unforgiving, and every pulse of her body drove you further into yourself. You trembled, every quiver and gasp answering the unspoken command she had laid over you.
She leaned into you, pressing close, and even in her relentlessness there was a cruel precision–she knew exactly how far to push, exactly how to unravel you without letting go. Every small movement, every sharp intake of breath, reminded you that you were entirely hers, utterly powerless to resist, and utterly, achingly addicted to it.
Her movements became more deliberate, each roll and press of her hips a quiet assertion of control, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge, entirely at her mercy. Every tremble, every ragged breath that escaped you only seemed to delight her more, and the way she watched—eyes dark, lips curved with possession–made your pulse hammer in your throat.
You clutched at her, not to guide her, not to resist, but simply to stay connected, to anchor yourself to the only constant in the storm she’d become. She leaned down, brushing her lips across your ear, her whisper low and intimate: "Halika para sa akin."
The words hit you like a command, soft but absolute. You had no choice but to respond, to follow, to surrender completely. Every fiber of your being pulsed with her, trembled for her, begged silently under the weight of her presence. And she knew it. She always did.
Her hands traced along your shoulders, down your arms, every touch a precise tug on invisible strings, drawing you further into the orbit she controlled. You were hers–helpless, aching, and utterly consumed.
She held you there, watching as your composure dissolved under her attention. There was no cruelty in it–just certainty. She knew what she was doing to you, knew how thoroughly she had undone you, and the calm satisfaction in her gaze told you she would do it again without hesitation.
You clung to her like she was the only solid thing left in the world, your forehead pressed against her shoulder, your breath uneven and exposed. She let you stay there, let you take what little comfort you could from her warmth, her presence–never quite giving enough to make you whole again.
Because that was the point.
She brushed her thumb along your jaw once more, grounding you just enough to meet her eyes. And in that look—steady, possessive, knowing—you understood the truth you’d been circling since the beginning:
She didn’t just want you.
She wanted you like this.
And you, trembling and open and completely aware of it now, didn’t want to be anything else.
Her eyes lingered on you, slow and consuming, as if she were memorizing the way you came undone under her attention. Her hands followed soon after, tracing, holding, claiming with a familiarity that felt earned. She leaned in, unable—or unwilling—to hold back, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your skin, close enough to your mouth to steal your breath before drifting to your cheek, then lower, trailing warmth along your jaw and down the curve of your neck.
Each kiss felt deliberate, unhurried, as though she were sealing something unspoken between you. Not urgency. Not need. Possession. And you stayed perfectly still beneath her touch, letting her take her time, letting her remind you—again and again—exactly where you belonged.
Then, softly, almost cruelly, she spoke:“Now.. go.”
She drew back slowly, deliberately, as if she wanted you to feel it.
You were left bare beneath her gaze, dazed and unguarded, your body still confessing to her absence. She didn’t need to say mine—you were already marked by the way you couldn’t move without her permission.
She chuckled softly, brushing past you without looking back.
“Don’t get lost,” she murmured, as if the thought of you wandering without her was laughable.
