C

she/her 18+

[yearnmachine]

bad idea, real good time; l. raj ꄗ

ᥫ᭡ i’m a couple minutes out from relapsing into you… oh fuck it baby, I love it ᥫ᭡

lara raj x fem!reader (college au)

word count: 8.5k

summary: lara had been a terrible girlfriend to you, and you're glad to have moved on from her after your definitive breakup months ago. so then, why does it feel like your knees are about to give out every time you see her? and what happens when she shows up at the same party as you and tries to break the distance you’ve kept so carefully?

tags: college au, ex gf!lara (she's a menace), bi!reader, r is dating a man, r and said man get physical, cheating, toxic dynamics, tipsy sex, consent is there but it's not the most explicit of things, dom!lara, sub!reader, dirty talk, degradation, use of strap-on, spanking, rough sex, oral, rimming, (reader receiving), idk what else, mdni.

a/n: here's this. and before you ask yes i did use love island names...

You’re lying on a familiar dorm room bed, eyes roaming over empty white walls except for a single poster of some baseball player with his bat held up in the air, hanging on the wall to your right. You’ve become well accustomed to it, being the only thing you can stare at while being here. The corners of the paper curling, the colors of the man’s outfit, the flex of his legs, the concentration on his features.

Rob, your boyfriend, is lying on top of you while pressing short kisses on your neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. In theory, it should be enjoyable, except his lips feel too dry on your skin, and he moves them hastily over random spots of your neck, lacking any technique.

You know he’s aiming to make you horny, hoping he can slide his dick inside you without need for spit or lube if he dedicates a few minutes to foreplay. But really, the kisses feel awkward on your skin, his body feels heavy on top of yours, he keeps rubbing his clothed erection on you so forcefully it’s nearing painful, his hair isn’t long enough to fully grip, and he lacks any passion that could actually turn you on.

You think it might be unfair to him, sometimes, or at least your friends tell you it is. He’s, unknowingly, constantly being compared to your ex who, apart from being a mind-blowingly good fuck, you also used to love with your entire heart.

Which is why you don’t go hard on him—don’t tell him his dick might leave a bruise on your thigh tomorrow if he keeps dry-drilling his boner into you like that, compliment the stupid fade haircut he pays way too much money for, pretend you appreciate how bulky and strong he is just as much as he does, go to all his games and get excited when he scores…

It’s all worth it, in the end. He might not be a sex god but he’s good to you.

He always sends kisses your way during his games, his muscly arm wrapped around you makes you feel secure, he takes you to nice restaurants, he doesn’t take away too much of your time since he spends most of his in practice or with friends, and he hasn’t cheated on you.

“You’re so fucking hot babe.” His voice is hoarse, affected by his arousal as he mutters the words before resuming his kisses, and you feel his hand sneak his way between your bodies to unbuckle his belt.

You do like him, you think, he’s handsome and he makes you laugh sometimes. His personality is unexceptionally average, but he’s sweet.

Girls look at you with envy when they see you with him, guys respect him enough not to hit on you because you’re his, and Lara… that’s probably the best part: Lara tries her hardest to hide the bitterness that comes with her possessiveness over you, but she fucking sucks at it. You can always see how tense her jaw gets when she sees you with him, how quickly her mood sours, the furrowed eyebrows and consistent eyerolls—

The thought makes you surge to kiss Rob with vigor, closing your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you, and bask in the feeling of his hands on your hips moving to the waistband of your shorts. Sex with him isn’t all that bad, when you have an annoyed version of Lara in your mind to coax you through it.

The dining hall is quiet at this time in the morning. You sit with a couple of your friends, poking at your breakfast with a fork as you halfheartedly listen to the conversation.

“…Oh, we should totally go this weekend! I need new clothes desperately.” Your eyelids feel heavy as you take a sip of your coffee, your chin resting on your hand as you finally look up at them and try to get involved in the conversation to avoid falling asleep on your plate. It’s too early for you, but at least the place isn’t that packed.

“Isn’t Becca’s party this weekend?” You ask. You remember Rob mentioning how excited he was that there was a party outside of campus because he was tired of the same frat house crowds.

“Shit, you’re right. Perfect excuse to go shopping then, I used up all my slutty outfits already and I need to get laid.” Liv, one of your friends, answers.

You laugh, rolling your eyes half-heartedly. “Fuck off. You look hot in everything.”

“Thanks babe, but guys don’t think like that. They need to see exactly what I’m offering so that they’re interested in buying.” She explains, with a silly, overexaggerated wink as she takes a sip of her own coffee.

Serena, your other friend, lets out a short laugh, “that makes it sound like they’re gonna pay for your services or something, Liv.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” Liv retorts, giving Serena a light swat on the arm.

Serena stares at you for a moment, noticing how bored you seem by the conversation, and decides to involve you further. “Anyway, you must be glad you don’t have to worry about any of that anymore, huh? You got Rob wrapped around your finger.” Serena teases you with a smile and a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Oh, for sure, definitely.” You don’t notice how thrown off they both look by your indifferent answer, distractedly taking a bite of your food while they share a confused look.

“You sure?” Liv asks you, eyes squinting with suspicion.

You let out a heavy breath, looking up at them again. “Yeah. I mean, we barely slept last night, so…” You say with a shrug and a small smile, hoping that would be enough to shut their suspicions about your ‘perfect’ relationship.

They both begin teasing you, drawing out ‘oooh’s’ while laughing, and making you laugh too. “That explains the hickey you tried to cover up on the side of your neck there. Terrible job, by the way.” Liv mentions, nodding toward the spot on your neck with a playful grin.

“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely visible baby. We’re so happy for you though, you deserve it.” Serena says, grabbing your hand on the table. You give her an honest, grateful smile, squeezing her hand back. “I gotta know, tough…” She begins, barely able to hold back her smirk at whatever she’s about to ask.

You let out a small laugh as you look at her, already anticipating a dumb question. “What?”

“Is Rob like, y’know… skillful like that? Is he like, a down-and-dirty kind of guy or is he more like, gentle?” She inquires. Both of them look at you with interest, curious to know about the illicit details.

You lick your lips, look down toward your plate and then back up, thinking of what to say. “Uhm, well I guess he’s like a…” You’re about to go on a tangent about how he’s somehow a perfect blend of both of those options and a secret third one too, when a loud group of people at the entrance catch your attention.

Rowdy, boisterous laughter fills the dining hall as they come inside. Backwards caps, dripping hair from recent showers, sneakers squeaking against the floors; fucking Lara and her stupid fucking friends.

You have to swallow when you spot her, and God knows you should look away at once, but maybe you’re more stupid than all her stupid friends because you don’t. You can’t.

You see her laughing and joking around, a wet strand of hair sticking to her forehead and her nose ring gleaming, and it feels like your eyes have fallen into a glue trap and are now helplessly stuck staring at her.

It’s just been a while, since you were able to get a glimpse of her. You’ve both been so good at avoiding each other, sticking to the silently established rules that prohibited you both from attending the same parties as the other. Or the same restaurants, or the same theaters, or the same malls. You’ve been torturously good at it.

You make sure not to let Rob take you to the same places you used to go to with Lara, say that the food is bad or the music they play sucks. You mention places nearby instead, and silently hope that Lara had the same idea as you did and you’ll run into her there while she’s on a date too.

It’s dumb. Everything you do when it comes to Lara is dumb, you become the most foolish version of yourself. You know you would hate to actually run into her while she’s on a date with someone else, you’d avoid her like a plague and probably drag Rob someplace else.

You still do it every time. Chase her shadow around, but with enough distance that she doesn’t notice, and that you never catch her.

Lara looks in your direction suddenly, as if she felt you looking, and you drop your gaze with shame, cheeks burning hot. Serena and Liv both turn their heads to see what exactly has you almost drooling and blushing like this, and roll their eyes promptly when they realize who it is.

“Okay, you gotta stop.” Serena tells you with a stern tone.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” You mutter, resuming your prodding around your plate.

They’re both aware of the history you share with Lara Raj. You would never say they’re well aware though. No one really is, except for you and her. You met during first year, and what started as a romantic, passionate pursuit of your heart, developed into a toxic but exhilarating give-and-take cycle.

Break up, then take Lara back when she begs for forgiveness, then break up again when you see her flirting with someone else, then get back together when she picks you up from a bar, break up when she sees you chatting with a random girl and calls you a slut, and back together again once you knock on her door and kiss her as soon as she opens it.

It was years of your lives and while yes, it was painful, you remember those first months. How genuinely giddy you got every time her name was brought up, how many bouquets of flowers Lara bought for you, all the silly couple pictures you took, the cheesy letters you used to write for her… and even later, when it turned toxic. You remember those moments perfectly well too.

How good she fucked you, how loved you felt when she got possessive, the excitement of making her upset on purpose so she would be rough with you in bed, and the comfort of knowing she could take care of your needs just as well when she was feeling romantic and let her hands caress instead of squeeze, her mouth kiss and not bite.

You know you’ve never loved anyone the way you loved Lara. Still, you persevere in the effort to focus on healthier dynamics for your own good, considering that the good times were really good, and that the bad times were really bad.

Sometimes you get a cold or you yell too much during one of Rob’s games, and your throat gets sore. It always makes you think about how sore your throat used to get over all the screaming you did. The salt-stung, dry skin around your eyes from all the crying, how she used to switch so fast it gave you whiplash, going from yelling at you to holding you in her arms and telling you she loved you. It was a mess.

“Just… think about how good Rob is. You’ve never knocked on my door crying because of him.” Serena reminds you, interrupting your thoughts.

“I know, I know… I wasn’t doing anything.”

“So, how are we getting to Becca’s?” Liv asks, changing the subject. Lara and her group of friends are walking by your table; you can see her out of the corner of your eye. It’s good for you both that she’s informed of your confirmed presence at that party, so that she follows the rules and doesn’t show up, look for a different party or maybe stay in her dorm for once.

“Rob can take us.” You mention—maybe out of bitterness—as she’s still walking by, and your friends decide not to tell you how hard she’s staring at you from her own table across the room once she sits. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, right?

As promised, Rob gives you a ride to the party. You don’t ask for permission before taking full control of the aux to blast 2000s hits and belt your lungs out with your girlfriends, the pregaming you’d done beforehand already hitting.

The party is buzzing when you guys arrive, already settled into a lively groove that immediately puts you in the mood for more. You part ways from Rob as his friends wave him over for a game of flip cup and your girls drag you to the dancing crowd.

You accept a drink from Liv and let the minutes pass by as you dance, unworried about any real cadence to your clumsy moves.

There was no one worth trying to impress, anyway. Before you started dating Lara you would always try to catch her attention, swaying your hips the right way, or dancing too close with a random stranger just so she would grab your wrist and make you dance with her instead.

You don’t have to worry about that anymore, at least. You can let yourself act a fool on the dance floor because you know Rob doesn’t care. Or you don’t care whether he likes how you dance or not, don’t care about making him want you because it doesn’t mean much.

Lara wanting you meant a sharp thrill for the unknown: not knowing whether she was going to drive you guys out of wherever you were without even letting you say your goodbyes, or maybe fuck you in her car, or in the bathroom, or start touching you right there in the middle of the crowd. It used to be worth it, paying special attention to what she liked so you could press all the right buttons and feel excited for what was to come your way.

With Rob, well… making him horny doesn’t represent much for you.

Feeling his arms wrap around your figure an hour later, strong, warm and accompanied by the scent of his cologne and the beer on his breath, doesn’t mean much more than the fact that you have to turn away from your friends to give him your attention.

You smile automatically when you hear them drunkenly whoop and cheer behind you. Just as automatically as you lift your arms to wrap them around his neck, that’s already sweaty from the time spent in the heated place.

You feel his hands caress your waist, his eyes roaming across your body and then glancing back up at you with a grin. “I fucking love this dress on you.”

You grin back, feel the muscles of your cheeks force themselves into position to make sure he knows you appreciate the compliment even if it makes you feel nothing. “Thanks, baby.” You say before leaning in to press a short peck to his lips.

He says nothing else, just stares at you with a smile, and you’re sure he thinks it’s romantic, staring at you like a drunk idiot and expecting you to think he’s cute or something. You think nothing of the sorts.

You think he should try harder, instead of just smiling at you. He should ask you questions, say something funny so you laugh, try to actually get to know you, ask someone—anyone—for advice so he gets better at fucking and you get to stop thinking about your ex while he does so.

But he just stares. Maybe the alcohol is making you too cranky. Eventually, you let out an awkward chuckle while looking down, ask him, “what?”

“Nothing. Just… you look so hot babe.” You guess all he wanted was an opening to indirectly ask you to have sex because his face is in your neck all of a sudden, and his hands are moving to grip your hips and pull you closer, but he can’t even properly ask for it. You let out a short sigh—you’re not nearly drunk enough for this, actually.

Your hand still moves up to run your fingers through his hair uninterestedly while you look around, distractedly watching random people dance around you. The party is at a full swing by now, having reached the peak where everyone is stupid drunk, sweaty and loud as their drugs take effect and couples begin occupying empty rooms.

That’s when you notice her.

Your face goes slack as you spot her across the crowded room, as if your brain had a spotlight just for her and everything else went dark and blurry as your focus fell on her, annoyingly cocky as she takes a sip from her beer and locks eyes with you. Fucking bitch.

You wonder how long she’s been watching you, if she noticed how miserably bored you were while your boyfriend held you, and what the fuck is she even doing here? With her baggy jeans and her fitted, cropped top that let you and everyone else admire her toned abs, and the muscles of her arms and— fuck.

Of course, she shows up at the right exact time too, when the mood is just right and it feels like the entire party was just waiting for her, like she was the missing piece to make the night feel complete. You think you maybe hate her while you watch her laugh around, run a hand through her hair, nod at random people as they greet her, let a girl hold her arm and wrap her own around her waist, all while looking at you.

You swallow, force yourself to look away and glance toward the empty cup on your hand. You get Rob’s attention by scratching the back of his neck softly, and he moves his head away from your neck to look at you.

You kiss him immediately, let your free hand move up from his shoulder to his face and grab his cheek as you keep him close, let your lips linger on his. “Get me a drink?” You ask him, moving your hand with the empty cup between your bodies to push it lightly against his chest.

He sighs, but nods and kisses your lips one more time before grabbing the cup. “Sure. Be right back.” You watch him as he walks away and makes his way between people dancing, and once you lose sight of him, you allow yourself to turn your attention back to where your entire body screams for you to watch. Lara’s already staring at you with a small smirk, nodding your way before gulping down her beer while that same girl is still glued to her.

You think you might’ve seen her around, might be her girlfriend. You wonder if she had previous plans to bring her to this party or if she called her and asked her to join once she knew you were coming. You shake your head, let out a small laugh over how stupid your thoughts sound.

Contrary to you, you doubt Lara’s life still revolves around you. You don’t doubt that she’s genuinely moved on and has no reason to try to make you jealous or to piss you off like she used to. But why is she here then? You wonder.

Oh well, just Lara being Lara, completely selfish and probably forgetting that you were going to be here in the first place. She was so fucking infuriating. Always thinking about herself and never once thinking about you, or what you might need. Just like she used to when you were dating.

She always made sure to keep you around whenever things were easy but was never around herself when you actually needed her. Not to fuck, not to fight, not to party, just to be there for you when times were rough and you needed someone to comfort you.

You still think about that time she said you were too emotional and sensitive during one of your breakups, always crying over everything. In fact, the words follow you constantly and you think they will for a very long time. You make sure to never cry in front of Rob, never complain or call him when you feel alone. You know that the wounds she inflicted on you still bleed, and you know you should hate her for it.

The fact that you actually don’t makes you hate yourself even more.

It’s unfair.

It’s so fucked up how the minute you catch a glimpse of her you get a tingling feeling between your legs. Even more wrong how you know Lara can sense it, and somehow just knows you’ve spent months without gratifying sex and your body is screaming for her like a bitch in heat.

Lara isn’t strong enough either. No matter who was by her side, she had never been strong enough to resist the temptation of your fevered eyes across any room, even if she wanted to.

Because she knows how wrong it is to be here and disrespect the quiet distance you’ve both decided to take from each other, as boring as other girls are to her. Once she set her eye on you in the dining hall earlier in the week though, hearing you talk about your boyfriend right after looking at her like that, she knew she had to do something.

You don’t notice when she makes her way to you, having resumed your dancing while you waited for Rob to return, being more focused on actively keeping your eyes off Lara than actually enjoying the music.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Until you feel a hand on the back of your waist and someone’s presence behind you, and you know it’s her without delay. You recognize the exact weight of her hand, the rings on her fingers, the warmth of her skin, the smell of her perfume, the subtle delicacy that comes with her and not many can notice; you know it all too well.

Before you can turn around, you feel her breath against your ear. “Come upstairs with me,” is all she says. No hello, how are you, I’m sorry, nothing. She probably knows she doesn’t have much time before Rob comes back with your drink.

You finally turn around, and look at her from up close for the first time in months. A breath escapes your lips and you see her licking hers, tilting her head in silent questioning, will you be coming with her or not?

And really, what are you supposed to do? Say no to the woman you once promised forever to? Yank her hand off your waist when she starts guiding you to an empty room without even waiting for a proper response? Not walk inside the room when she holds the door open for you? No, you both knew there was no getting away from this.

Lara is so aware of it in fact, that she doesn’t even let you say a word or turn on the light after closing the door before she’s attacking your mouth with kisses, pulling you closer to her with a tight grip on your waist.

You let out a small hum of protest, yet your hands move up to clasp your fingers together at the back of her neck anyway.

“Later, yeah?” She mutters against your lips in order to keep kissing you, pushing a chat for a ‘later’ that will probably never come.

God, you’ve missed her voice so much. You nod a little too eagerly and keep kissing her. Her lips are desperate and hurried, like she has somewhere else to be after this and just needs to cross this off from her agenda for the night. The thought makes you try to slow the pace, let your lips linger against hers and move your face for a different angle.

It doesn’t work. Lara pushes her face impossibly closer to yours, grabs your ass and pushes your body closer to hers too, walking you toward the bed. Unsurprisingly, it turns you on how eager she seems to touch you. Maybe she missed you just as much as you missed her.

You sit on the foot of the bed when the back of your knees hits it, and she breaks the kiss momentarily to sit beside you and resume making out. Your hand moves up to cup her cheek and caresses her cheekbone and it makes her kisses rougher. It’s like she has something to prove, like she needs you to know she’s above tenderness. You’re glad you know she’s not, so you keep your hand there.

You jump slightly in surprise when you feel her cold hand touching the bare skin of your thigh, palm cool from the beer she was holding earlier. The touch is insistent as she keeps gliding her palm up your leg, the fabric scrunching around her wrist and sliding up along with her hand, giving her access to more of your skin.

Things are moving too fast and you realize you should probably take things easier, think a little about what you’re doing.

She’s kissing you so ardently, you’re still kind of tipsy, her hand keeps moving higher up, you haven’t properly talked to her, and it’s not a random person you’re in a stranger’s room cheating on your boyfriend with, it’s Lara. The person who has hurt you the most in your entire life, the person that betrayed your trust, made you feel small, used you and broke your heart. Yet, you can’t stop kissing her.

The thought of having to reach for her hand and stop her, or take your hand off her cheek, or move your mouth away from hers… it all kind of makes you want to cry a little. Yes, everything about this is wrong, it’s all too fast, it’s extremely stupid. And you want it so badly.

Outside, the music is still playing, it booms faintly against your ears. The world keeps spinning, even if you’re here with Lara, so, who cares? Why should it matter so much, if you allow her hand to move higher up? If your lips are tingling with how forceful she is with her kisses, like she knew she didn’t need to be careful with you? Who cares if you like it? Who cares if you ache for more, and who cares if you actually get more?

Because inside the room, the sound of Lara’s heavy breathing and your small, pathetic whimpers feel louder and way more important than anything else going on outside, and that’s all that matters.

Lara is trying her absolute hardest to ignore the tenderness with which your thumb is caressing the skin of her jaw. It’s so contrasting to how intensely she’s kissing you and how little breath she’s allowing you to get between kisses, how her hand is squeezing your thigh without care.

The thought of being softer with you barely crosses her mind. Instead, her solution is to grab your wrist and move your hand away from her face, guiding it to her crotch without breaking the kiss to snap you out of the softness. You don’t complain.

In fact, you compliantly let her guide your hand, let her smirk against your lips when she feels no resistance, and moan when she bites your lip right when you feel the strap she’s packing under her jeans.

“Wore it for you." She whispers between kisses. Her breath hits hot against your wet, already swollen lips.

You should be pissed. You should get up and yell at her, for planning to do this tonight and for being so confident that you were going to agree. It should make you feel stupid, knowing she was counting on you whoring yourself out for her while you were dating someone else.

You should tell her it’s not okay to go around breaking your promise to stay apart whenever she feels like it, because you’re not strong enough to resist even if giving in guarantees you ending up alone in a stranger’s bed right after, feeling like the worst person in the world. You still could never say no to her, and she only takes advantage of that.

You don’t say any of those things. Instead, you let your hand squeeze the bulge in her pants, pulling her closer by the shoulder with your other hand when she nuzzles her face into your neck and leaning your head back to expose more of your skin to her. You bite your lip, thinking of how good her lips feel on your neck, instead of R—

“It’s your favorite. The black one, remember? Haven’t fucked anyone else with it since that last time at my place.” She mutters against your neck, and you’re glad the mark he left last week has faded, not because you wouldn’t like to see Lara’s probably hot reaction to it, but because you don’t want any reminders that you’re not hers tonight.

She’s scattering feathery kisses all over skin that shouldn’t be as familiar to her as it is. Unfortunately, she’s well acquainted with it, knows all your sensitive spots and where to find your pulse and where to place hickies so they’re not as blatant.

“You remember that night? How loud you kept begging for me to fuck you harder?” She adds.

“Fuck, Lara.” A needy sigh escapes your lips as memories of that night begin to fill your mind. How she took you without fear of you misinterpreting things, and allowed herself to claim you as hers, only to take it back the next day.

You still remember the softness of her sheets, though, the music she put on when you arrived that stayed as background, and how she tried to go soft before you begged her to speed up. It all makes your hands fly to unbutton her jeans with haste, making Lara chuckle as she looks down to see your fingers dragging the zipper down, licking her lips.

You don’t even worry about pushing her jeans down, you only make enough room for your hand to sneak inside and pull the strap out of her pants. You bite your lip at the sight, looking up at her for a second to catch her dilated pupils.

You move your hand up to your mouth, about to spit on it to lube up the silicone when Lara grabs your wrist again and stops you. You have to hold back from not letting out a desperate whine.

She doesn’t keep you waiting much longer, though, even lets her thumb caress your wrist once when she notices the defenselessness in your eyes. “Get on your knees?” Her voice is low and raspy as she asks, already just as affected as you.

You open your mouth for a moment, about to answer, but soon realize that there are no better words to agree to her suggestion than your own actions. Also, your brain feels like it’s somewhere else and you barely feel capable of forming coherent worded answers.

You nod, and Lara cups the side of your neck to give you a peck on the lips before you move down to kneel in front of her. She’s immediately opening her legs and dragging her butt closer to the edge of the bed, moving her crotch closer to your face.

She’s not as obvious as you are when it comes to showing how needy she is and how much she’s missed this, which is why you make sure to put on a good show for her. You want her to like it, want to get a good reaction out of her.

You want her to touch herself to the memory of this when she’s by herself, and to make her so needy right now that she has no other thought in her mind but to fuck you to oblivion after it.

You look up at her as you drag the jeans down her legs, make sure to keep a mental image of her focused face and the way she gulps, her hands gripping the comforter by her sides, probably to hold herself from shoving the silicone dick down your throat right now.

Once you’ve taken her pants off, you give her a small smile before pressing a few light, open-mouthed kisses to the tip, grabbing it by the base to keep it close to your mouth when you start kitten-licking it teasingly.

Lara only bites her lip as she watches you, and you revel in how harshly she’s biting it, how her hips already seem to be struggling to stay put, how labored her breathing already sounds.

You position your tongue at the base and run it up to the tip, taking it inside your mouth afterwards. The sight makes Lara moan like she could feel your mouth on her. Or maybe it was more the fact that you cared enough about her to be on your knees for her, in a stranger’s room while your boyfriend was downstairs. “Yeah, suck that dick—just like that.” She whispers.

She lets you do your own thing for a while, enjoys the sight as you go up and down the strap and take pauses to kiss the tip every once in a while, your hand covering the part of it that you can’t fit into your mouth. That is until you can.

You let your hand grip her knee instead and drop your head all the way down to her pelvis, your nose touching her lower abdomen as you deepthroat her. “Fuck, good fucking girl. Get it nice and wet for me.” It makes her sit up straighter, grab a fistful of your hair in appreciation as she begins guiding your pace.

She sits there, hissing and moaning as you keep relaxing your throat for her, trying your hardest to be good as she holds your head down when you take her deep. “Bet you don’t even need the spit, huh? Bet you’re so wet you could take it with no prep.” She mutters, entranced by watching you blow it just as her hand on your head dictates.

She makes you deepthroat her a last time, only sets you free when she hears you’re choking on the strap, and lets out a deep groan when she sees all the spit drooling from the side of your mouth. You moan when she drags you away from her dick, pulling you by the hair softly to get a better look at you.

You’re a fucking mess already. Your eyes are all red and glassy, makeup smudged and drool dripping all the way to your neck and still, you look fucking satisfied, even if she hasn’t touched you yet. She damn near loses it.

“Fuck, come here.” She grabs your face, one of her palms can feel some of the drool in your face as she leans down to kiss you hungrily. She swallows a raspy whimper that comes out of your throat as her tongue forces her way inside your mouth.

You open for her without much resistance, letting her tongue hit yours as your head leans up to meet her in the kiss. Lara lets out a satisfied moan when you let her explore your mouth to her will, running her tongue against yours fervently.

Your hands rest at her knees to push yourself up, standing up in front of her. Lara helps you undress hastily from where she’s sitting in front of you and soon you’re sitting on her lap, naked, and kissing her again. Without much preamble you take a hold of her strap, positioning the tip against your wet entrance. You break the kiss to whisper against her ear, “can I?” and press a small kiss behind her ear after.

Lara’s strong hands grip your hips as she looks up at you, nodding. “Go ahead baby.”

You ignore the summersaults your heart makes at the pet name and bite your lip as you lower on the toy, slowly taking every inch inside of you while Lara just watches, stupidly turned on.

“Yeah? Big enough for you?” She asks, voice breathy and hoarse as her eyes move up from the sight of her strap burying inside your pussy to your blissed-out face, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finally take it all.

You nod your head, locking your eyes on hers as your arms wrap around her neck, taking some time to adjust to the size of the dick inside of you. “Perfect.”

Lara smiles at your answer, satisfied that the toy she bought for you is still better than your boyfriend. Definitely bigger, too. One of her hands stays on your hip as you begin grinding slow circles against her hips while the other rests on the bed, leaning her weight back on it as she watches.

She’ll let you do the work for now, she decides. If you want it, you can chase it yourself.

You decide to accommodate to Lara’s plans, having expected her to grab your hips and fuck her strap deep into you. Instead, you focus on chasing the pleasure that the stretching fullness is giving you while making sure to give her a nice sight, as you begin bouncing on the strap.

One of your hands moves to pull at the end of her top and she quickly discards it, throwing it somewhere close to her pants and leaving her in her sports bra. She chuckles when you start pulling on that too, and takes it off as well, leaving you both naked.

The room fills with the wet, lewd noises your pussy is making, along with your pitiful whines as you keep your hips moving. It’s not enough though, just having Lara watching you like this without doing anything. It’s not often you get to have her like this and you need more.

You need to feel that she wants you, that she’s just as desperate as you. You grab the hand that’s resting on your hip then, and guide it up, make sure to give her your best doe eyes as you move it to your neck and help her wrap her hand around it.

She takes the hint swiftly and chuckles as she lets her fingers curl around the curvature of your neck, squeezing the sides of it. “Such a fucking slut,” she says while laughing. There’s not much you can say, it’s not like you can deny it, so you just let out a whiny plead for more as you keep rocking your hips, faster now that you feel the soft pressure of her hand on your neck. “Play with your clit for me.”

Your eyes close in relief for an instant when you hear the instruction, glad that she’s finally taken pity on you and decided to give you more. You don’t waste time to sneak a hand between your bodies and start rubbing your clit exactly how you like it, matching the speed of your hips as they chase the feeling of the tip of Lara’s strap hitting your deepest spot.

The combined ministrations make your eyes close in bliss, and the lust makes all your inhibitions loosen as the room gets filled with your moans, your hips gaining speed as they bounce and your pussy starts forming a ring of cream around the base of the toy.

You can feel your climax getting closer with each movement of your hips, with each perfect rub of your fingers against your clit. “Missed you, so much Lars… hm, fuck—no one fucks me like you do… missed your cock, s-so much.” You begin blabbering out filthy words as your brain starts emptying out of logical thoughts. It’s only Lara, Lara, Lara.

Your words are already enough to make her want to thrust up into you to feel the base of the strap against her clit for some relief. The way you say it, like you’re not even thinking about it and it’s just slipping out of your mouth because you’re being fucked stupid, because her strap makes you feel so good that it turns your brain into mush, makes you dumb enough to talk to her like that and let her fuck you after how she’s treated you and with your boyfriend right outside... It makes all her self-resolve evaporate.

You aren’t expecting it when Lara repositions you suddenly, and in a matter of seconds has you on fours after some manhandling. She kneels behind you, immediately shoving her strap back inside of you with a grunt and resuming the pace you previously had. “Yeah? You missed this cock?”

She fucks you with a steady, strong rhythm, letting your hips chase her thrusts while she keeps her hand on your back. You can feel her groaning and huffing and it drives you fucking insane, making you try to speed up her pace by moving your hips quicker. You gasp in shock as you feel her heavy hand slap your ass twice, biting your lip as she squeezes the cheek afterwards.

“I missed this pussy, baby.” Lara mutters, pulling out and rubbing the head of the strap through your folds a couple of times. She pushes inside again without a hurry, lazily guiding your hips to meet her now slow thrusts, silently punishing you for trying to rush her. “Fucking made for me, look at you.” You swear there’s a small whimper after her words, but you don’t manage to really catch it since she smacks your backside again and you moan from the delicious pain.  

She gives you some slow thrusts before you’re rushing things again, chasing your high once more by meeting her hips faster and faster, not caring about the consequences. Lara doesn’t scold you or punish you for it this time, instead she lets you fasten the pace again while she keeps a hand gripping your hip (that you’re sure will leave imprints of her fingers) while the other caresses your back. “Wanna cum, princess?”

“So bad.” You nod, whimpering. Your arms give out, which forces you to hold yourself up on your elbows. The position only gives Lara a more satisfying arch of your back to look at as she fucks you, your ass jiggling each time it meets her hips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—wanna cum all over your cock, baby… please, more.” Your words are all slurred and jumbled together but Lara can understand you perfectly, can feel the trickle of her own arousal sliding down her thigh, losing her own mind over how affected you sound by how she’s fucking you, and she wonders why she ever let this go, feels stupid that she did.

She knows she could tell you, apologize and say it was dumb. But her ego tells her the most logical course of action is to make you feel dumb too, fuck you dumb on her cock just like this until your logic and thoughts are out the window, so that the only thing you can think about is begging her for more and take whatever she gives you. Because you’re hers—you always have been.

The shakiness of your words from the thrusts you’re receiving, the neediness in your tone… “Fuck.” Lara whispers, moving a hand up your back and grabbing a fistful of your hair to push your head down to the mattress. Your arms give out easily under you and soon Lara’s hissing and plowing into you from behind, keeping your face smushed against the bed as your arms lay limply on each side of your head.

Your moans turn into sobs that match with the rhythm of Lara’s thrusts into your pussy, but she’s relentless. The tears that run down your face wet the fabric underneath you along with your drool. “You like that?” She asks you, her breathless voice mixing with the creaking of the bed. “This what you need? To be fucked like a slut so you can cum?”

You obviously don’t mention that you were close to coming from the moment you dropped to your knees in front of her and just nod, or at least try to as best as you can with her hand still pushing your head down. Lara can still feel the movement under her palm, smiling at the state of you, the mess she’s made of you.

“C’mon, take this cock baby… so fucking sexy.” She mutters, breathless from the effort of plowing into you at a forceful, consistent pace, her words more for herself than you.

Lara lets the hand holding your hip slide between your body and the bed to play with your clit, letting her body weight rest on top of you fully as she keeps her hips moving to fuck you. The pace is slightly slower but her fingers on your neglected clit are earth-shatteringly good.

Her hand moves with difficulty, with the little space to move it has, and her fingers aren’t precise or very technical with the way they rub messy, quick circles over your nub. Still, it’s what throws you over the edge, making your pussy contract against Lara’s strap, juices coating it as your eyes roll back.

Lara slows down her thrusts gradually, skillfully letting her momentum help prolong your high as long as possible. She almost forgets she’s still stimulating your clit, only stops once you let out a spent, small mewl from the sensitivity and begin to move your hand to stop hers.

Lara stops before your hand can reach hers, kisses your shoulder apologetically and moves her hand from under you, gripping yours beside your head to keep you from moving as you both recover, breathing heavily with your eyes closed. You haven’t felt this protected in months, with Lara on top of you.

The quiet peace doesn’t last long, however. You feel soft lips press against your shoulder again, this time with more intent, leaving wet kisses on the heated skin of your back and downwards. You whine tiredly, moving your head to the side to try to catch a glimpse of her behind you.

You watch the top of her head descend progressively, feel her kisses trail down your spine. “Lara.” You rasp out admonishingly.

Lara just throws a short look your way, proceeding to ignore you as she moves further down, biting your ass cheek playfully. You hiss at the feeling but choose not to say anything else as she lays between your legs. She repositions your hips to expose your pussy to her, and licks a broad stripe over your slit that has you shivering.

She hums against your folds, lets the vibrations carry over to you. “Tastes so good.”

You hum back, unable to form any other word in appreciation for her praise. “Sensitive,” you explain with a small move of your hips, your voice weakened and soft.

Lara glances up at you again, throws a frown your way before kissing the spot where the marks of her teeth are reddening on your backside. “Shh, baby. You can take it… be a good girl and let me taste you, yeah?” She uses a soft tone while she says it that makes a part of you feel like she’s talking down to you… another part of you only wants to give her what she wants, be a good girl for her and make sure she enjoys you enough that she doesn’t just discard you again after tonight.

That even if she doesn’t call or text tomorrow, she’ll think about you and how you gave her everything she wanted and more, it’ll linger with her for longer than any other girl she fucks. So, you nod along with a pathetic, short whine.

“Words.” You can feel her breath on your core that’s already dripping again in anticipation for her mouth.

“Yeah. I can take it.” You catch a glimpse of her smile before your eyes close as soon as Lara’s tongue is on you again. Your moans are loud and raspy as she devours you with no regard for your sensitivity, clit buzzing in a pain-pleasure seesaw.

She keeps her tongue messy and insistent over your pussy, licking all over and giving special attention to your clit, moving her head side to side as she sucks to give you her best.

You’re a fucking mess. Your moans bounce loudly against the walls of the room, your hips thrash wildly against Lara’s face, squirming and not knowing whether to move away or push her closer. No, you definitely want to push her closer.

You don’t have time to move your hand down to her head before her tongue is suddenly slipping upwards, sliding over your folds and all the way between your cheeks. You gasp, shocked at the unexpected touch. “A-ah, Lara, wait.”

She lets out a small huff but listens to you, backing away slightly. “What, baby? Every inch of you belongs to me, isn’t that right?” Lara dives back in without waiting for a response, knowing that the best way to convince you is to show you just how good it can feel to have her tongue there, to let her have you completely, with no inhibitions or taboos to stand in the way.

She shoves her face close and starts running her tongue over your hole, letting spit cover the area and drip down toward your pussy as she stays between your cheeks. You have to bite your lip to hold a loud moan back. No one’s ever touched you there, not even yourself. You’ve never even considered the possibility, certain that you wouldn’t enjoy it.

Of course, leave it to Lara to make you enjoy anal play. Fuck. Your pussy is dripping and she’s ignoring it fully in favor of tasting you elsewhere, of devoting herself to another hole of yours. “Oh—yes, ‘m all yours Lars.”

Lara perseveres against the smirk that forms on her face at your words, keeping her focus on tasting you fully as her nose smashes into the crack of your ass to be closer. Her tongue licks and prods and her jaw aches from the effort but her attention is on pushing for more of you, of this new taste. “Yeah? Even this tight little ass belongs to me?” She asks between licks.

“Mm-hm,” is all you’re able to give her, brain blown away from the new sensation. You’re sure it’s because it’s Lara. It wouldn’t be anyone else between your open legs and their face buried between your cheeks but her.

She laughs a little, before going back to lick your ass vigorously, maybe as a reward for being so fucking horny and letting her do this. She always loved how lustful you got, how blinded it got you. “You like it, baby?”  

“S-so much, your tongue feels so good—missed it so much.” You answer honestly. She has you squirming and moaning sobbing with pleasure. You had missed her tongue. You had missed her. Will miss her again once the party is over, maybe even before that, because maybe she’ll leave right after she’s done with you and leave you to return to your boyfriend on shaky legs and exit the party how you left; without her.

But for now, you have her, and she has you. And that’s enough. “You’re my whore, baby. Only mine."

[santosfangs]

my blade is on the bird

trinity santos x fem!reader

summary: ever since you’ve been assigned to the night shift, you and trinity have been living on completely opposite schedules, living completely different lives. and it has started to take a toll on her.

wordcount: 2.5k

cw: angst, inaccurate medical descriptions and terms

now playing: blade bird by oklou

Trinity isn’t sure she’s ever felt so tired. Her elbows rest on either side of the keyboard at the nurses’ station, where she’s been catching up on charting for the past thirty minutes. Strangely enough, she’s been left alone by the rest of the medical staff in the ER during that entire time.

That almost never happens. Normally she manages to write two sentences before someone rudely calls her name. It feels good to be needed, but recently, for Santos, there has been no worse feeling.

Except for longing.

The relentless, gnawing feeling that something, someone, is missing. In the ER, in her arms, in her immediate vicinity. Trinity has never been much of a yearner. Or, she is, but she likes to pretend that she’s not.

She prides herself on being independent, unbothered, capable of handling things on her own. But lately she finds herself staring off into space, unfocused, and nobody pulls her back to reality.

It’s a painful reminder that you’re not around to ground her.

Not that you’re far away. Technically you’re just working a different shift. Your clothes are still in her closet, hell, you’re still in her bed, but Trinity hasn’t seen much of you since you were transferred to nights.

There had been a vacant spot ever since Dr. Jones left for North Carolina, and the night crew was already understaffed. The department had found itself struggling after losing yet another physician.

Dr. Abbot had asked you personally before speaking to admin, which you did appreciate. At least it hadn’t been sudden and unexpected. You had voluntarily agreed to the change. Still, he had managed to convince you after laying the praise on thick.

“I—well, we—really would like for you to be the one to join the team. Ellis and I think you’d be an excellent addition. It’s a change of pace, but I think it’s worth it.”

He had told you that during a shift change back in August. You had told him you’d think about it. By thinking, you really meant talking to your girlfriend about it. Trinity’s refusal had come quickly, much like you had anticipated.

“You really want to switch to nights.” She had that look on her face, the one that meant she strongly disagreed but refused to start an argument about it.

“I don’t want to, Trin. They need someone. Bad.” You had rested your head in your palm, sitting at the small kitchen counter in your apartment.

“And? Why does it have to be you?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the sink.

“Abbot asked me,” you shrugged, exhausted.

“Oh, Abbot asked you,” she replied, raising her brows sarcastically. You sighed quietly.

“So you don’t want me to switch to nights?”

There had been a pause before she answered.

“…Do whatever you want.” She had pushed herself off the sink, avoiding your pointed look.

“Trin.”

“What.”

“Don’t shut me out.”

That made her look at you. Really look at you. And suddenly you understood why she had taken it so personally.

Because to her, it was personal.

You were abandoning her. At least, that’s how she perceived it.

“I would like to try it. Only if you want me to,” you had said gently. “I’ll switch back if we can’t do it.”

Her eyes softened. After a moment, she nodded silently, agreeing to the condition. The tension in the room eased just enough for both of you to breathe again.

“i love you” you had said gently, breaking the silence with a quiet promise

“i love you” she’d replied, never adding the too, because she didn’t love you too, her love was whole, enough in itself.

That had been two months ago.

Two months since you had shared a car ride to work. Two months since the private lunch breaks on the empty floor upstairs. Two months since she had slept beside you for more than a night at a time.

And it was safe to say that nowadays, hell would probably be more enjoyable than work for Trinity.

Seeing you for only a few minutes during shift change had become a special kind of torture. Santos spent most of her days waiting for patient handoff, hoping she might steal a kiss or two in the breakroom if she was lucky.

Those moments were rushed between charts and alarms, but she had to convince herself that they were enough.

Today, though… today was different.

Your shifts overlapped for the first time in two months.

You were scheduled to come in a few hours earlier than usual to help with the increased number of traumas expected on Halloween. Trinity, exhausted as she is, is internally buzzing with excitement. She hates how much she’s looking forward to it.

She checks the clock for the seventh time that hour and sighs when she realizes only fifteen minutes have passed since the last time, which makes Dana look over.

“Watcha sighing about, missy?” the charge nurse asks.

Trinity straightens slightly.

“Just… tired.”

Dana smirks and nods towards the ambulance bay.

“If you’re bored, EMS just called in a GSW to the abdomen. Five minutes out.”

Trinity nods distractedly.

“Yeah, I’ll get on that.”

Her fingers hover over the keyboard. Four hours to go.

It’s 3:54 when you scan your badge at the door, clocking in for your incoming 12-hour shift. A sigh leaves your lips at the sight of the reception area and waiting room.

Packed, you think to yourself, eyes sweeping over the crowd before greeting Lupe with a nod and pushing open the doors to the ER.

The chaos isn’t unfamiliar to you as you take in the state of the department. The worst is probably yet to come, though.

With a quick glance at the board, you take notice of the urgent cases; chest pain in South 15, a possible stroke in Central 12. You tilt your head slightly, eyes scanning over the names.

“Finally coming back to day shift?”

You hear Dana’s voice before you see her, lowering your eyes from the board to look at her. She gives you an affectionate smile, extending her arm to give you a quick side hug.

“Hi, Dana.” You laugh softly, reciprocating the embrace.

“I miss working with you, kid.” She gives your shoulder a slight squeeze. “Although I think someone misses you more than me.”

The nurse glances over your shoulder, smiling. You follow her eyes, which are locked on Trinity, pulling on a pair of gloves as the trauma doors swing open. You smile at the sight of her.

She hasn’t noticed you yet, being entirely too focused on doing her job. She walks up to the nurse’s station without ever noticing you.

“Look who’s back.”

A low voice interrupts from the other side of the room. You follow the sound, finding Dr. Robby as the owner. He’s walking toward the nurse’s station with a tablet tucked under his arm, watching you with mild amusement.

“Thought the night shift kidnapped you for good.”

You smile politely, shrugging one shoulder. “Just visiting.”

Across the station, Trinity looks up. You take in her appearance. Her dark hair is still pulled half up, but a few baby hairs have escaped around her temples. She doesn’t look messy, just worn around the edges.

Even then, she’s still the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.

Her eyes land on you and stop.

For a moment, the noise of the ER fades. Something shifts in her expression; almost like relief. Jacket still slung over your arm, you look put together, and Trinity notices. Her gaze flicks over you quickly, like she’s trying not to stare too long.

There’s a pull in your chest when you look at her. You missed seeing her like this, moving through the department, completely in her element.

You’re about to say something when the sound cuts through the department. A stretcher rattling and voices raised just enough to mean something urgent is happening. The interruption comes quicker than you expect as the paramedics push through at full speed.

“Trauma coming through!” Your head turns automatically.

“Female, mid-twenties,” the medic continues quickly. “Hit by a sedan. GCS thirteen on scene, possible head injury, brief loss of consciousness.”

The moment disappears instantly. Robby is already turning toward the trauma bay.

“Dr. Santos, Mel, Princess, you’re with me.”

The whole team runs toward the trauma rooms in a rush of footsteps and rattling stretcher wheels. You step out of the way automatically.

You’re not needed in that room right now, not with an attending and two residents already there. So you take the moment you have and head down the hall toward the locker room to drop your jacket before the shift really starts.

You pull open your locker and hang your jacket inside when the door behind you swings open again.

“Look who finally left the dark side.”

You glance over your shoulder. Dr. Whitaker smiles at you, greeting you with a nod of his head.

“Hey Dennis.” you smile back

“I don’t see you much around anymore. Night shift treating you well?” He enters the code on the small padlock of his own locker.

“It’s a lifestyle.” You say it with a small sigh, taking your stethoscope from your locker and placing it carefully in your scrub pocket.

“Oof.” He offers you an empathetic smile, pressing his lips together in a line.

You laugh softly, closing your locker. “You just getting off?”

“Not yet. Just grabbing a snack.” He shows off his granola bar, then pauses, studying you for a moment.

“Did you see Santos?”

“Briefly.” You close your locker with your shoulder and turn to face him. Dennis makes a small thoughtful sound. Your eyebrow lifts.

“What?”

He hesitates like he’s debating whether to say something, then sighs. “She’s been… a little on edge lately.”

You lean back against the locker. “On edge how?”

“I’m serious,” he continues. “Past two months especially.”

Your stomach tightens slightly. “Since the night shift switch?” you ask softly.

Dennis nods. “She hates it.”

You look down for a moment. “I mean… the schedule sucks.”

“Not just the schedule. She barely sees you anymore.” His voice is gentle, but the words still land strangely in your chest. It doesn’t sound like he’s blaming you, yet something in his tone makes it feel like maybe he isn’t not blaming you either.

You frown slightly. It had been clear since the beginning of your night shifts that this wasn’t going to be easy on either of you. Still, hearing it from someone else makes it feel different, like something private between the two of you has been quietly spilling into the rest of the department.

Dennis shrugs.

“Anyway, she’ll survive. She can just be quite dramatic.”

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “That sounds accurate.”

He opens the door. “Oh, and good luck tonight.”

“Why?”

Dennis gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “She’s been in a mood all day.”

Then he disappears down the corridor. You linger for a second before heading back toward the department. The words sit strangely with you as you walk. Why wouldn’t she tell you this herself?

Usually Trinity confides in you about everything; little frustrations, long shifts, annoying consults, personal problems. The idea that Dennis heard about this before you feels wrong somehow, like you’re suddenly standing outside something you’re supposed to be part of.

As you round the corner near the medication room, voices drift down the hallway.

“Doctor Santos.” Robby’s voice echoes quietly.

You slow without meaning to.

“You’re moving too fast in there,” he says bluntly.

“I’m fine,” Trinity replies.

“You’re not fine. You’re rushing.”

There’s a pause.

“You missed a question from respiratory and Perlah had to repeat herself twice.”

“I heard her.”

“Then act like it.”

Another pause.

“Get your head back in the game, Doctor.”

The words land sharp. You hear Trinity exhale.

“I’m trying.”

“Well try harder,” Robby says. “Because this isn’t the kind of shift where you get to be distracted.”

Silence hangs there for a moment.

Then he adds, slightly quieter but still firm.

“Whatever’s going on, deal with it later.”

Your stomach tightens slightly.

You hear Trinity say something under her breath.

“What?” Robby asks.

“Nothing.”

“Santos.”

Another pause.

“It’s just the schedule thing,” she admits quietly.

Robby exhales.

“You two still doing opposite shifts?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he says,

“That sucks, but it’s no one’s problem but yours. Don’t let this affect patient care.” His shoes squeak on the tiles as he walks away.

You move again quickly before anyone can notice you standing there listening. Your chest feels strangely tight. You knew the schedule was hard on both of you, but having her admit it to someone else twice before even acknowledging the issue with you leaves a quiet ache behind your ribs.

By the time Trinity returns to the nurses’ station a few minutes later, you’re already sitting at a desk, jutting down some patient care information on a chart.

She stops beside you.

“You good?” Her voice is casual, but her eyes search your face like she’s trying to read something there.

“Yeah.”

“You just got here and you’re already charting?”

You shrug. “Occupational hazard.”

She studies you for a moment. “You’re quiet today.”

“Just busy.”

Before she can respond, someone calls her name again. “Dr. Santos!”

She exhales sharply. “Of course,” she mutters under her breath.

Then she glances at you again. “Come with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Where?”

“The stairwell.”

You follow her down the hall and through the heavy door. The noise of the ER disappears immediately. Trinity leans back against the wall and runs a hand over the back of her head. The motion loosens her hair slightly, and a few more baby hairs fall loose around her temples.

She exhales slowly. For the first time all evening, she looks less like a resident and more like the girl you go home to.

“You look nice,” she says.

The comment sounds almost annoyed.

You fold your arms.

“Thanks.”

She watches you for a moment.

“You’re acting weird.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I just overheard something interesting.”

Her brow furrows. “Like what?”

You hold her gaze. “Like you telling Robby the schedule thing is bothering you.”

The silence that follows is immediate. Trinity freezes.

“You-”

“Accidentally,” you say.

Her shoulders drop slightly. She rubs the back of her neck, clearly frustrated. “Great.”

“You didn’t want me to know?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

She exhales again. “I just didn’t want it to sound like I was asking you to change things,” she says quietly.

Your voice softens. “You should've told me baby.”

Her eyes lift to yours. “And what if you said no?”

You shrug slightly. “Trin, I told you I’d switch back if we couldn’t deal.”

Trinity studies you for a long moment. The tension in her expression finally cracks.

“I hate this schedule,” she admits.

Your heart stutters a little.

“I hate coming home when you’re leaving,” she continues quietly. “I hate that we barely see each other unless one of us is half asleep.” Her eyes drop to her sneakers, like she can’t quite bear to admit defeat while looking at you. Then she looks back up.

Her voice is softer now.

“Can you just come back to me?”

first fic what’s uppppp!!!

[yearnmachine]

I am certain that my life will start making sense again as soon as manon returns like her absence is what’s been causing all this havoc in my world

[kikovrs]

Parasite

Trinity Santos x Reader

Synopsis: Dana notices everything

Tags: Medical trauma depictions (blood, emergencies, surgery references). Mild workplace tension (rivalry, exhaustion). Romantic tension (implied kissing, secret relationship).

A/n: I apologise for the delay, I'm in the middle of my final exam. hope you enjoy this read!

Dana’s POV

I've been a nurse at The Pitt for thirty two years. I've seen gunshot wounds, cardiac arrests, a guy who tried to fight a forklift and lost. I've held dying patients' hands and celebrated saves that made the whole floor cheer. But nothing has tested my sanity like being in the same room as those two.

It started in their intern year. You could feel it from day one, this weird electrical charge whenever they were within ten feet of each other. Not romantic. At least, not then.

Dr. Y/N called it a parasitic relationship.

I remember overhearing her once in the break room, voice sharp enough to slice through an apple.

“Her existence is like a parasite, just makes me want to—ugh.” She jabbed a plastic fork into the cafeteria salad. “Every time I see her, I want to stab her, you know?”

Poor Javadi, cornered between the fridge and the table, nodding like a man trying not to get caught between a crossfire.

I pretended to check my phone, my eyes flicking over the notifications while my ears strained for every word.

“And yet,” Cassey said carefully, like she was testing something fragile, “you always know where she is in the ER. You checked for her three times during that last code.”

Dr. Y/N froze mid-stab. “I was making sure she stayed out of my way.”

“Sure,” Cassey murmured.

The funny thing is… she wasn’t wrong about the parasite part. Santos did drain her dry. She’d steal her ideas during rounds, take credit for her catches, leave her the scut work when she thought no one was looking. Watching it made my teeth grind. More than once, I pictured conveniently “tripping” with a full cup of coffee on her.

But here’s the thing about watching people for thirty-two years, you learn to spot the cracks in the story.

I noticed Santos only pulled that performance when eyes were on her attendings, seniors, whoever could feed her ego. When it was just her and Dr. Y/N, though, she acted differently.

I saw it one night. 

Bad car wreck. Teenagers bleeding out faster than we could transfuse. Dr. Y/N was focused as ever, steady, voice clipped but calm. And Santos? She wasn’t competing. She wasn’t talking over her. She was listening. Really listening. When Dr. Y/N reached for a line kit, Santos was already there, handing it off without a word. Anticipating her actions like she’d memorized them.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. It was like watching a really screwed-up dance.

Afterward, when the kid was finally stable and rolling off to the ICU, I saw them in the hallway. Dr. Y/N was slumped against the wall, scrub top streaked with blood, exhaustion carving shadows under her eyes. Santos passed by, slowed, and set something on the bench beside her.

A cold energy drink. Her favorite. The one you could only get from the third-floor vending machine.

She stared at it, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was fighting back a smile.

Santos was already walking away.

I pretended to be very interested in a chart.

The double shift from hell started like any other Tuesday. Overcrowded waiting room, three traumas in the first hour, and a sinking feeling in my gut that said today’s the day you finally snap.

I was assigned to Dr. Y/L/N’s case. Great. Love that for me.

She wasn’t in her usual form, snapping at a med student for handing her the wrong size tube, running on what looked like four hours of sleep and caffeine. Santos was across the room, handling her own chaos, but somehow they were still aware of each other. I kept catching Santos glancing at Y/N like she was checking her vitals from a distance.

Around hour ten, we got the call. Multi-casualty incident. Bus vs. delivery truck. ETA five minutes, at least eight patients, three critical.

The next four hours were a blur of blood and beeping monitors and shouting. I lost track of how many patients we pumped through. At some point, Dr. Y/L/N and Santos ended up in the same trauma bay together, worst possible scenario, right?

Wrong.

It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

They moved like they shared a brain. Santos would be assessing the rhythm, and Y/N would already have the ultrasound positioned for the FAST exam. Y/N would call for pressure, and Santos would be at the bedside, hands ready to take over compressions. No fighting. No sniping. Just pure, efficient, life-saving coordination.

The patient, a middle-aged woman with a crushed chest and internal bleeding, made it to surgery. Barely. But she made it.

And when the bay went quiet, when the gurney was wheeled out and the chaos moved on to the next room, they just stood there. Breathing hard. Staring at each other across a floor covered in bloody gauze and empty packaging.

For once, neither of them had anything to say.

Then Santos did something I’d never seen her do before. She looked away first.

“You missed the tamponade,” she said quietly. Not accusing. Just… stating.

“Caught the hemothorax, though,” Y/N replied, just as quiet. “You would’ve missed it without the ultrasound.”

Santos huffed something that might have been a laugh. Or a rattle. Hard to tell.

Then she walked out.

Y/N stayed behind, staring after her. For a second, I thought that was it, until her gaze dropped to Santos’s empty coffee cup on the counter, the one she’d abandoned hours ago. Y/N picked it up, rolled it between her fingers like maybe she could still feel her grip on it. Brought it halfway to her lips. Then set it down again.

I cleared my throat. She jumped about a foot.

“Jesus,” she said, hand over her heart. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you two should just get a room and save the hospital the therapy budget.”

Her face did something complicated, flushed, then pale, then flushed again.

“It’s not—we don’t—”

“Mmm.” I grabbed a new bag of saline and started restocking. “You know, enemies don’t bring you energy drinks. Or cover your patients when you forget to eat. Or know exactly how you like your coffee.”

Silence.

I glanced over my shoulder. She was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“What are you talking about?”

“Three weeks ago. Peds code. When you were having an existential crisis. She took your next two admits so you could have ten minutes in the locker room. Told Robby you were helping with a procedure.” I shrugged. “I was getting supplies. Saw the whole thing.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“That doesn’t mean—”

“And last month, when you were convinced you’d missed that early sepsis and nearly talked yourself into quitting? She left a printout of the patient’s follow-up labs on your desk. Highlighted the normal values. No note. No signature. Just… evidence that you didn’t screw up.”

Her face went completely still.

“How do you know about that?”

“Because I’m the one who printed it for her.” I met her eyes. “She stood at the nurses’ station for fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to work the printer. Looked like she was defusing a bomb. When I finally helped her, she made me swear not to tell you.”

The silence stretched. You could hear a monitor beeping. A patient moaned. Normal hospital sounds.

“Honey.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been doing this job a long time. I’ve seen hate. I’ve seen rivalry. I’ve seen two residents go at it so bad security had to separate them.” I squeezed. “That’s not what this is.”

She looked toward the doorway where Santos had disappeared.

“What is it, then?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I know you two just saved a woman’s life because you work better together than anyone else in this hospital. And I know she’s been in love with you since intern year.”

She choked. Like actually choked. I had to pat her on the back.

“She is not—”

“Girl. Please. I watch people for a living. The girl can’t look at you for more than three seconds without her face doing something embarrassing. She’s just also an idiot who doesn’t know how to handle feelings except by being a complete asshole.”

She leaned against the counter, looking dazed. Like someone had just told her the sky was actually green.

“What do I do with that information?”

“Not my problem.” I handed her a fresh pair of gloves. “But maybe next time she steals your idea in rounds, or any of the other bullshit, ask yourself if she’s actually trying to make sure everyone knows it was you.”

She was quiet for a long time.

Then, slowly, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The first genuine one I’d seen from her in weeks.

“She really struggled with the printer?”

“For fifteen minutes. It was pathetic. Endearing, but pathetic.”

She laughed. And when she walked out of the trauma bay a few minutes later, she wasn’t heading to the locker room or the break room.

She was heading toward Santos.

I didn’t mean to catch them.

I was just looking for a spare suture kit and an unbroken pen. The supply-closet door was cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the dark hallway. I nudged it with my shoulder.

“You know we have to be more careful,” I heard her whisper. Her voice. Close. Too close.

“Huh? What did you say?” Santos’s voice, low, answered from inside.

My hand froze on the handle of the door.

“I said we have to be more careful,” she repeated, a little laugh tucked into the words. “Dana’s catching up.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

A soft thud. Fabric brushing fabric.

“What’s wrong with you?” she murmured.

“Uh,” Santos said, and this time there was a smile in it. “Just trying not to kiss you again when we’re ten feet from the nurses’ station.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sound of breathing. I didn’t need to see to know what was happening. You work long enough in hospitals, you know what it is.

I pushed the door open, trying to peek through the tiny gap.

They were standing way too close, Y/N’s back almost against the shelves, Santos’s hand braced by her hip, their faces inches apart. Guilty as sin. Happy about it.

“Ahem,” I said.

They jumped apart like teenagers caught by a parent. Santos nearly tripped over a box of IV tubing. Dr. Y/N’s hair was a little mussed, lips a little too flushed.

“Jesus, Dana,” she snapped,“Do you mind?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I said, folding my arms. “I’m just thrilled we can finally retire the ‘parasitic relationship’ metaphor.”

Santos’s ears went red. “This isn’t—we were just—”

“Doing an in-depth study on symbiosis?” I offered. “Looked very hands-on.”

Y/N made a strangled noise. Santos stared at the ceiling like she was praying for the floor to open up and swallow her.

I let them squirm for a second. I’d earned it.

“Relax,” I said finally. “I’m not reporting you to HR. As long as you don’t start making out in the middle of the ER, we’re fine.”

Dr. Y/N let out a breath she’d been holding for what sounded like weeks. Santos glanced at her, then at me, then back at her again, like maybe this was the moment everything fell apart.

Instead, I smiled.

“For what it’s worth? You two are disgusting together,” I said. “But you also just saved a bunch of people because you’re a ridiculously good team. So… maybe don’t hide it so hard you drive each other insane.”

They both stared at me.

“You knew?” Y/N asked, soft.

“Honey,” I said, stepping past them to grab my suture kit. 

“I knew before you did.”

[udkwhatfreedomis]

[yearnmachine]

The anon stuff going on is so crazy to me like mf get a hobby… anyway spread kindness around here we don’t need all this bs, reality is already tough enough and we all come on tumblr to escape from that for a while. Spreading love is the coolest thing any person can do actually.

[yearnmachine]

valentine; m. bannerman ♔

ᥫ᭡ i’ve lost all control of my heartbeat now ᥫ᭡

manon bannerman x fem!reader

word count: 4.6k

summary: the world fucking sucks. luckily you and manon have each other to make it all better when the day is over.

warnings: smut, little to no plot, established relationship, cursing, cunnilingus (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), tribbing, mdni.

a/n: in my mind this is the celebrity!reader from i love you and this happens long before the break up, but you don’t need to read that for this!! this is an indulging little standalone that i hope u like :)

Your feet are exhausted as you make your way to the door of your apartment.

The world is too harsh on you.

Or maybe you’ve just gotten used to gentleness. You’ve become spoiled.

The air is too cold against your cheeks, the traffic seems never-ending on your way home, the people on the streets are bitter and take it out on others.

You’ve gotten used to the warmth of a home of two with coffee, blankets and shared showers. To the swiftness with which time passes when you’re driving and she’s in your copilot seat singing to Beyoncé. To the tenderness with which she treats you; the delicate way she holds your face, her quiet you okay’s? each time you go out, how her eyes soften every time she looks at you like you’re something precious.

You used to think allowing yourself to get used to it would only make you weak. You tried to fight it for a while, before realizing it was a losing battle. She was your sanctuary, the one thing that brought you genuine peace, the place where you could unwind because there was no fear of being hurt.

You’re glad you decided to trust her, because now you get to do life with her, and suddenly nothing seems impossible because you have her on your side.

You unlock the door to your place and make your way in, placing your keys on the key bowl. “Baby? You home?” You hear Manon’s muffled voice coming from the bedroom promptly, as you shrug your coat off.

“I’m home.” Your voice comes out tired without permission. The heaviness of your day weighs on you too much to hide it. Also, you missed her.

She comes out of the bedroom while you’re taking your shoes off, already sporting a smile. Her curls sit loose and unruly on her head, and she wears a black tank top with a strap sliding off her shoulder and loose grey sweatpants.

Your smile is instant when you see her walk towards you with her arms extended and a loopy grin. She wraps her arms around your shoulders and like magnets, yours wrap around her waist. “You napped without me, Manz?” You ask her, noticing her puffy eyes.

Manon rests her forehead against your shoulder to hide her laugh in shame, although you can still hear her. “I’m sorry. I swear I was waiting for you when I fell asleep.”

You kiss the side of her head, “tough rehearsals?” You were well aware of how Manon exhausted herself for perfection when it came to her own work.

She shrugs, nuzzling her face to the side of your neck to inhale your familiar scent. “Jus’ long day.”

You sigh, running the palm of your hand up and down her back. “Same.”

“Yeah?” Manon faces you again, her eyes scanning your features worriedly.

You nod, pressing a small kiss to her lips after. “But it’s good. I’m here now.”

She stares at you for a little longer, bites her bottom lip as she notices the dark circles under your eyes. She wishes you didn’t work as hard as you did, but that would be hypocritical of her, “you hungry?” she asks instead.

You shake your head. “Not really. Are you?”

She shakes her head too. “Already ate.”

You hum, press your forehead against hers. “Movie?”

Her nose scrunches. “Which one? You always pick the most boring shit.” She says as she finally detaches herself from you, walking to the bedroom with the assumption that you’ll follow her. You trail right behind her immediately.

You scoff, grabbing her by the hips once you’re inside the room to halt her steps. “Excuse me? I have great taste in movies. I just don’t wanna watch Twilight every night.”

She chuckles, grabs your wrists to wrap your arms fully around her and press the back of her body against you. “Why not, dork?” She asks as you rest your chin on her shoulder.

You gasp with fake offense, and she laughs. “You’re calling me a dork? You’re the dorkiest girl I know.” You protest, pressing a small kiss to the side of her neck. You know you’re definitely the dorkiest one out of the two of you, but you also love arguing with Manon about stupid things.

“Bullshit. You’re the dorkiest girl I know.” She retorts while caressing your forearms.

“So mean… napping without me, insulting my taste in movies and calling me a dork.” You mutter against her neck, words brushing the side of her throat. She starts rocking your bodies side to side, her hips moving goofily with yours without rhythm. Just to feel you close.

“And you still love me,” is all she says, smiling.

“And I still love you.”

She turns around then, to look at you again. She loves you so, so much. Her heart feels like it’s about to burst. It’s heavy with adoration for you. For how easily you let her get away with dumb things like choosing the movie you’ll watch and for how much you care about her. You’re her girl.

You kiss her softly, letting your lips press against hers for a moment before moving away, just enough to be able to whisper, “so much.”

Manon has to swallow down when she looks into your eyes again and gets hit with bright tenderness all at once. “You look so pretty today.” She tells you, moving her hand up to play with your necklace. A gift from her.

You smile, wrap your arms tighter around her. “Fine. We can watch Twilight.” You retort with a defeated tone, suggesting she’s just complimenting you to get away with choosing.

Manon rolls her eyes, laughing softly. “Stupid.” She mutters before kissing you again, moving you closer by holding the back of your neck. It’s slow and soft; familiar. “I mean it.” She says between kisses.

“I know.” You mutter back.

She keeps kissing you like that, hand warm on your neck and lips gentle with their pace. It doesn’t take much longer for you both to get lost in it.

You blindly walk both of you forward to the bed, until the back of Manon’s legs hit the edge of it and she lowers on it without much care, with you following. Her tired muscles thank her as she lays down on the mattress, and you’re quick to lay on top of her, holding your weight with your forearms and knees.

She hums, keeps both hands on the sides of your neck as you keep kissing her. “Are you still tired?” You ask against her mouth, kissing her again right after. You want her. You’re exhausted, yes, but not enough. And you want to make sure she’s not tired enough either.

Manon only mutters out a negative ‘mh-mh’ and continues kissing you, her lips soft and languid with their kisses, but heavy with want.

Her hands make way inside your top, caressing the skin of your back and riding the fabric up in the process. “Off.”

You break the kiss, separating from her to rest your weight on your knees and take your top off. She stares for a moment, her hands touching from your waist, along your ribs and to your bra. She squeezes your chest over the fabric, biting her lip to contain a smile.

You let out a huffed laugh when you see her. “Why are you laughing, Meret? Are my tits a joke to you?” You ask playfully.

She lets out a chuckle, shaking her head immediately. “No baby, they’re perfect.” She leans up to leave a small kiss on the skin of your left breast that’s peeking right above the bra. “You’re so hot, come here.”

You lay back down, resting your forearms on the sides of her head again. She kisses you and takes no time to force her tongue inside your mouth this time, swallowing the small sound you make at her eagerness with a satisfied smirk.  

Manon explores your mouth like a starved woman, lets her teeth clash against yours carelessly and runs her tongue against yours, letting the pink muscle massage yours teasingly. She lets herself be imperfect with you; kiss you with fervor and feel like a horny teenager without worrying about you judging her.

When you break the kiss, your lips are all damp. You move down to her neck, pressing kisses down the side of it until you reach the string of her top. Manon lets out a broken, soft moan, and lets her hand caress your shoulder approvingly.

You’re sure she’s enjoying it, which is why you don’t expect it when she flips your positions suddenly, and you find yourself lying on the mattress with her on top of you. “Let me, sweetheart.” She murmurs before pecking your lips.

Her lips hover over the skin of your cheek as she rubs them against your skin tenderly, before pressing a small kiss against your jaw. Then she moves to your neck where she lets herself taste you, sweat and perfume combined on her lips while she presses open-mouthed kisses. Your hands rest at her hips securely, her body heated on top of you.

Her tank top has ridden up slightly, which allows you to feel the skin of her abdomen on yours. Her mouth is even hotter, you can feel her desire to please you as she makes sure to cover the entire area of your sensitive neck with kisses.

“Meret…” You sigh out. Your hand moves up her back to tangle in her curls, keeping her close.

But it’s not enough.

She knows it when you start tugging at her hair softly and your sighs turn into quiet, frustrated whimpers. “So needy,” she teases.

You huff out a laugh, pulling at her hair slightly harder. “Fuck off.”

She laughs too, moves up to peck your lips like second nature. “I’m joking. I love how needy you get.” Her voice is playful while she says it, but it also sounds raspy and cocky and it makes heat roll straight between your legs.

You roll your eyes. “Just fuck me already.”

Manon laughs again, bites her lip while she stares at you lovingly, “see?”

You smile up at her and let your hand that’s on her hair fix some curls sticking out. She leans close to kiss your temple, then asks against your ear. “My mouth?”

You nod, turn your head to the side so you can look at her. “Yeah. Please.” You whisper. She smiles, kisses you again before she’s moving down to get rid of your pants. She slides the fabric down your legs and throws it to the side carelessly. Then her fingers sneak between your skin and your underwear, and she slides them off you too.

Her mouth presses right above your mound, making your hips involuntarily thrust up in anticipation. She smirks, mutters “needy” under her breath, and then she’s gripping your hips and running her tongue flat against your pussy.

You let out a broken moan, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better view of her. She laps at your slit a few times, getting all of your juices to coat her tongue. “So wet for me,” she murmurs, her voice fragile with appetite, “right?” She asks, looking up at you.

You nod instantly, hand moving to rest on her hand reassuringly while you stay propped up on your elbow, holding eye contact with her. “Only for you.”

It makes Manon smile, satisfied. “Good.” She moves back down to your cunt then, resumes with kitten licks as she readjusts your stretched legs so that your feet are planted against the mattress, knees flexed.

One of her hands caresses your outer thigh while she starts focusing the ministrations of her tongue on your clit. You can’t help your louder whimpering when the tip of her tongue circles it precisely right, slowly.

“God, Manz.” You whine out, biting your lip while you admire her working on making you cum. You can see the slight furrow of concentration between her eyebrows. It softens when she switches her approach to kissing.

Her lips are soft as they cover your puffy, sensitive petals, letting her tongue peak out every so often to further taste you. Her kisses seem reverent, full of care and attention as she lets them play with your sex, looking at you to occasionally to gauge your reactions.

Then, those kisses turn to gentle suctioning. Your breathing gets more labored when it happens, when she begins allowing her lips to close around you and suck for a second or two before moving away, back to just kissing.

“More, please, baby.” You sigh out, and she answers by sneaking the hand that’s not occupied holding your thigh between your legs. She separates her face from your core momentarily, to run two fingers up your slit.

The pads of her fingers collect your wetness before she positions them on your entrance. She lets a glob of her saliva fall on your pussy from her mouth for extra lubrication (not that you needed it, but it was still hot, thinking of her fingers and her spit inside of you), and you let out a whiny moan when her two fingers slide inside you.

“Hmm, shit.” You moan, and she smirks while holding eye contact with you as she starts moving her fingers in and out of you.

“You take my fingers so well.” Manon murmurs, barely audible under your moans, but you hear it anyway. Soon, her lips are on you again. This time she suctions your clit with more force and her tongue flickers against it eagerly. It makes your vision go blurry.

“Ah-ah, holy fuck, Manz! Just like that.”

She squeezes your thigh at your encouragement, moving her fingers rhythmically at the speed she knows drives you crazy, and curling them just right to hit your most sensitive spot. The combined efforts make the feeling of pleasure heighten, and you feel your orgasm approaching.

“I-I’m gonna cu- gonna make me cum, Meret, gosh.”

“Good- fuck, cum for me then, baby.” Manon’s words come out muffled, her mouth still half-glued to your pussy.

Everything hits just right, at the exact correct moment; her fingers filling you up, her mouth devouring you, her hand gripping your thigh, the vibration of her words against you, the fact that she’s getting you off, yes, but you’re pleasuring her by letting her. That this is as much yours as it is hers. Your eyebrows furrow and you cum with a drawn-out, satisfied groan, your muscles stiffening as it hits you at once.

Manon is eager to receive the evidence of your pleasure on her tongue, as she keeps moving her fingers steadily to prolong your orgasm. When your muscles untighten, her movements begin to slow and her fingers move gently until they finally leave you empty, and she drags her tongue through your folds a couple more times to make sure she’s gotten everything.

Then she’s giving a small rub to your thigh before moving up your body, planting both hands on each side of your head to support her weight as she looks down at you. Your hair splayed freely on the duvet, apples of your cheeks all reddened, lips swollen from her kisses, chest heaving up and down, and that stupid, perfect smile on your face.

“How was it, hm?” She asks, lowering to kiss your warm cheek as her smile mirrors yours: silly, impossible to fight off, satisfied. It makes her feel all mushy inside, her instincts telling her to hide before someone can see her like this. All weak for you.

And, well, she doesn’t necessarily have to ignore her instincts. She could just hide her face on your neck, let your heartbeat soothe her so she can remember it’s okay, when it comes to you. She’s safe with you.

But she doesn’t want to listen to those thoughts, not tonight, she doesn’t want to hide from you. The fear of missing out on a reaction from you overpowers every concern or doubt. Because, what if your smile tilts a little? What if it turns into one of those smirks that drive her crazy in the best possible way? What if you shift and your hair falls differently on the duvet? What if you decide to bite your lip and it’s sexy? Or worse, what if you bite your lip and it’s goofy and she can’t laugh with you?

She can’t miss a thing.

So she stays put, right above you as some of her curls tickle your collarbones, and watches you as she waits for an answer.

It comes in a beautiful form and she’s glad she’s there to see it. Your smile grows into a grin, an impossibly louder red paints your cheeks, and your eyes close. You’re being shy. Fuck, you’ve known each other for years and you still get shy around her and it still makes her heart race.

You rasp out a little sound of agreement, your throat dry after all your moaning, “so good.” You confirm in a whisper.

Your eyes open then. Manon has to swallow down. Your eyes are all bright and happy and in love, crinkling at the corners from your smile, and it’s because of her. You’re looking right at her, like that.

She lowers herself to the mattress too then, right beside you, feels the relief in her arms from not having to hold her weight anymore as she lays on her side facing you. You mirror her position.

Her hand moves up to cup your cheek and she lets it linger for a moment, lets her thumb run against your cheekbone in quiet bafflement, when had you become hers? And what had she done right, to deserve it?

You move your head, press a kiss to her palm. “You okay?” You ask her softly.

Manon nods, takes her hand off your face to place it on your bare hip and gives you a light smile to reassure you. “Yeah. I just love you a lot, that’s all.” She declares. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth afterwards as she stares at you. It’s a bad habit she’s been trying to break for a while now, and you know it.

Which is why you let your thumb naturally gravitate toward her face, where you can pull her bottom lip from the grip her teeth have on it. “Don’t.” You whisper mindlessly, eyes trained on her mouth as you rub the pad of your finger against the surface of her lip soothingly.

Manon just keeps staring at you, silent.

“I love you too.” You mention after a few seconds, like you just remembered she had said it and you had to say it back. You say it with a small laugh, rub the side of your face against the duvet tiredly after.

Maybe a different person would’ve been upset that you forgot for a moment, but Manon knows you didn’t.

She knows that you never forget about your love for her. You carry it with you all the time, everywhere you go. She knows that your thumb on her bottom lip is evidence of it. The way you’ve learned her habits, and how you look after her.

It’s part of the reason why she lets her jaw fall open to the point where she can take your thumb fully into her mouth, rest the pad of it on her tongue and wrap her lips around it without breaking eye contact with you. It’s also partly because she’s still horny.

Either way, she gets your attention; a small, needy sound escapes your throat involuntarily after the action. Your eyes are clouded over with lust now as you stare at her, hooded and fixed on how her lips envelop your finger, and how warm her tongue feels.

You lick your own lips, take a deep breath as you push your thumb a little deeper, experimentally. It makes Manon smirk. She sucks the digit deeper into her mouth, and lets her tongue run circles around it as she moves off of it, releasing it with a pop.

“God, you drive me insane.” You groan out, grabbing Manon’s face to pull her in for a kiss. She answers eagerly, hands sliding up your torso to sneak under the fabric of your bra and knead at your breasts while she’s kissing you back.

You moan against her lips, desperately pulling at the flimsy fabric of her tank top. You need to feel her. Manon, craving it just as much as you, pulls away from you to yank her top off and goes back to kissing you without delay.

Her warm hands move up your back until they reach the clasp of your bra, undoing it and pulling it off you fervently. You’re so fucking glad she’s not wearing one because you can finally feel her pressed to you; the skin of her stomach, her tits soft against yours, her hardened nipples rubbing on your skin. She hums at the feeling, arches her back to press herself closer.

She gets rid of her sweatpants and her underwear in one go swiftly, barely breaking the kiss as she drags the fabric down her legs. Her bare leg is wrapping around your hip an instant after, pushing you closer with the heel of her foot against the back of your thigh.

Her fingers brush against your nipples teasingly as her hands make their way to your shoulders, holding them as means to pull you closer into her. You comply without much protest, arching your back and angling your hips to press toward hers.

Manon can feel your hands gripping her hips, holding her and keeping yourself glued to her, can feel the intake of breath you take each time you break the kisses as well as your exhales hitting her lips. The AC is making a gentle hum across the entire apartment, your lips taste faintly of your strawberry chapstick, and she can feel your muscles and your bones move under your skin when you switch positions to straddle her and her hands stay on your shoulders.

She’s so in love with you it hurts. She loves her life, but home with you is everything she needs. Having you like this, knowing you like this, touching you like this… well, she’s not sure what she would do without it.

She feels you adjust yourself on top of her, moving your hips and your legs so that your thigh is between her legs and her thigh is right between yours. She moves her hands then, grabs your face for a moment before dragging them down to your hips.

Your forearms rest on each side of Manon’s face, and you break the kiss only to watch as you start moving gently. Your hips grind, and your thigh drags, and both your mouths are opening in quiet pleasure at the same time.

You smile at the synchronization, while Manon’s eyelids drop when you keep moving. It’s a slow grind, lazy and tame, but she’s so fucking turned on. You can feel her wetness smearing your thigh, revel in it as you think about being stained by the proof of her lust for you.

You press a kiss to her cheek and keep moving, your cheek pressed against hers. Manon’s breath hastens and her grip on your hips becomes steadier, guiding your movements smoothly. “Look at me.”

You move promptly to face her. Her entire face screams desire, eyes heavy-lidded and darkened and heavy exhales. “You love me, baby?” She asks to get you talking. She wants to feel your body, to see your face, to smell your perfume, to hear you speaking to her.

“I do, so much.” Your voice comes out whiny, already feeling the ripples of the friction on your still-sensitive pussy. “Wanna make you cum so bad.”

The words make Manon let out a small groan, speeding the grinding of your hips with the guidance of her hands. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration and she licks her lips as she watches how your body moves to pleasure both of you. “Yeah? You sure you don’t just wanna make yourself cum?” She asks teasingly.

You shake your head earnestly, then drop your head so your forehead touches hers. “No. I can stop if you want.” She can tell by your voice you don’t want to. You’re worked up again, already chasing friction with hunger as you move striving for all the right angles. But, she also knows you would, because you would do anything she asks.

“No, don’t.” She decides without difficulty, “I like to see you like this.”

“Like what?” You ask breathlessly.

“All desperate for me. Made a mess by me.” She huffs out, a little breathless too as the pleasure that the grinding is causing heightens.

The words make you grunt desperately, your hips moving faster as you feel your own wetness seeping out of you. “Yeah, yes. Fuck, I love you so much. I need you so badly.” You blabber, moving your forehead off hers to readjust, trying to focus on making sure that Manon was also being stimulated by your movements.

She moans once you find the right angle for your thigh, eyelids dropping for a second in pleasure. “Fuck, yes, just like that. Stay just like this.”

She grips your hips firmly, keeping you angled exactly as she needs you and speeding up your grinding while she starts moving too, chasing her high by buckling her hips so that her core can catch your thigh better each time you move.

The room is filled by the sounds of your heavy breathing and your insistent moaning, and Manon is certain, as she lays there in your bed beneath you, that there is no better feeling than this. No better way to get tired than to make each other feel good. One of her hands moves to grip the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss.

It’s heady, all hasty as it matches your breathing and your moves, and only lasts so long before you’re breaking the kiss to moan freely. “I’m so close, Manz.” You say, voice breathless, and lean your forehead against hers again.

She makes sure to keep you there this time, holding the back of your head and tangling her fingers on your hair to have a grip on something. “I’m close too. Please, just keep- Ah!” Her peak reaches her unexpectedly as you apply a heavier pressure to your thigh’s ministrations, and it prolongs as you keep them steady while she grunts and lets out a dragged out “fuckkkk.”

The warmth travels all over her body until it settles easily at her stomach, muscles relaxing and sounds rushing back into her ears after the high settles. She watches then, in bliss, while you finally focus specifically on your own pleasure and ride her thigh shamelessly, orgasming after a few more jerky movements.

You look at her after, quiet and breathless until you’re not, until you’re laughing and she’s laughing with you, feeling the shake of your body as you drop your head on her shoulder tiredly.

“Fuck.” Manon sighs out, breath still recovering. You adjust yourself so you can lay more comfortably on her chest, and her arm wraps around your waist soothingly. She moves her arm behind her head, resting it on her hand, and her mouth rests on your head. “I love you so much.” She whispers.

“I love you too.” You mumble back, voice already sleepy again.

Manon chuckles softly. “Let’s go get cleaned up before you fall asleep.”

You groan, snuggling further into her neck and moving to cuddle more comfortably. She can feel your necklace against her own chest. “Just stay like this a little longer. I had a long day.”

[yearnmachine]

best part; m. skiendiel 🜼

ᥫ᭡ when we wake up and then we make love, it makes me feel so nice ᥫ᭡

megan skiendiel x 7th member!f!reader

word count: 4.6k

summary: you and megan shower together during a slow morning at a hotel room.

warnings: smut, established relationship, lowkey unhealthy levels of attachment, cursing, nipple play, fingering (megan receiving), mdni.

a/n: just a lil something for this cutie, I hope u like it!!!

There's nothing quite like the feeling of Megan's body pressed against yours, her weight on top of you.

Her skin, soft and warm, bare and touching yours.

Her chest, pressed against yours and breathing in when you breathe out.

Your hands, splayed on her back as your finger writes your names together over and over, like a promise that's sacred because it's being forged on her skin.

Your legs, intertwined with hers on the bed as she traps you with them. You would never go anywhere anyway.

The white sheets, fresh and clean covering your bodies, a layer of protection from the outside world. Because while, yes, you are all alone in the hotel room, the moment still feels too intimate and precious to not try to protect further.

"Hmmm, I don't wanna get up." Megan's voice is groggy against your ear; it almost makes you shiver. Memories of last night replay in your head, of the way her raspy moans bounced against the walls of the room, and heat blooms up your cheeks. You're glad she's still half asleep and can’t see you or else she’d be teasing you already.

"Sophia's gonna start bombarding our phones soon." You argue. Your words scream logic. You should get up and get ready… but your body screams the opposite, as your fingers tracing figures on Megan’s back lure her into further relaxation, her body limp on top of yours.

"She knows where we are. We can take a little more time."

Sophia did know where you were, as did the rest of the girls. They had all teasingly whooped at you two when Megan started getting too tired and clingy last night, and decided to pull you away by the hand, guiding you to her room while flipping them off.

Management really should stop booking individual rooms for you two. Megan would share anything with you, if you asked. Fuck, she didn't even need a toothbrush of her own.

Okay, maybe that was an overstatement. But she has let you steal a lot of her clothes, she lends you her charger, and every bed she sleeps in becomes yours too.

She supposes it has something to do with how close it makes her feel to you, when you guys share. What is hers is yours, and what's yours is hers. She doesn't need anything that's 'only hers' if it means separating from you.

Maybe it's not the healthiest thing in the world. Some people might say you guys ‘lack boundaries’ or whatever, but frankly she couldn't care less.

What you have is special, and it belongs to you two exclusively.

The thought makes her anxiety rest when she remembers. It's just you and her, and you get her. There's no need to try and make other people accept it, or understand.

It's private, and it's sacred, and it's yours.

You press your lips to Megan’s shoulder, and she forces herself to get out of her still-sleepy state. She pushes herself up on her hands, laying right above you, and she has to bite her lip to suppress a smile.

Your hair is all messy and your eyes still hold memories of last night as there’s still makeup clinging onto them. You blink slowly, like you’re trying to fight off the tiredness too.

Maybe you should’ve slept more yesterday. Her eyes fall to a mark that her teeth left on your chest and she thinks, no, yesterday was worth it. As is any night with you. Or afternoon, or morning, or whenever you decide to fuck.

You smile up at her, closing your eyes for a while. When you open them back her smile grows bigger, and you move your hand to push some of her hair behind her ear and see her face better.

“You’re so annoying, how do you look so pretty in the mornings?” Your voice rasps out. You can feel her chuckle rumble against your own belly at your comment, which makes you feel proud for making her laugh. Already a great start to your day.

“I don’t.”

“You so do.” You push, grabbing her face in your hands. You stare, with a soft smile, and she stares back. Megan sighs and lets her forehead fall against yours, her eyes closing again and her long hair cascading and enveloping your faces like curtains. You wish you could stay like this longer.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” Oh, you swear by the fact that Megan can read your mind sometimes. In rehearsal, at parties, during events, at the shows. There are occasions where she doesn’t even need to speak it out loud.

She looks at you and you look at her. and you know; she knows what you’re thinking.

And really, you don’t think it’s that crazy of a thing to say at all. She knows you, intrinsically, better than anyone. Knows all your tells, your weird habits, your needs, your mannerisms, your limits and all your wishes.

She knows your heart. Her soul is married to yours. They must’ve married sometime in the past or something, because you’re sure you and Megan are meant to be.

You guys think you must’ve met in a past life, when she was a sailor and you were a lighthouse keeper or something. It doesn’t really matter how it was back then, because you’ve found each other here.

“I was literally thinking that.”

“Oh, I know.” Megan says cockily, opening her eyes, and you laugh. She laughs with you, resting her forehead on your collarbone. “Ugh… we should probably get up, actually.” She groans out after a few seconds, responsibilities sinking in.

You know you were the one saying you guys needed to get up but you still feel the regret deep in your bones when you feel her body separating from yours.

Her warmth lingers in the sheet that’s still covering you but it’s not the same, and the sheets are unquestionably not as soft as her skin. You lay there for a while, watching her bare back as she sits by the edge of the bed, looking down at her phone.

You’re not thinking much when you lean forward to press a kiss on her shoulder blade. You don’t have to think anymore, when it comes to showing your love to her. It comes naturally, like breathing or blinking.

Your love for her is a part of who you are, and you don’t function normally without it anymore. Your heart beats, your body shivers when you’re cold, you yawn when you’re tired, and you love Megan Skiendiel.

“We have two hours.” Megan tells you while she answers some texts. You press your forehead to her back, sighing tiredly. “You okay?” She asks when she hears you.

“Yeah, just tired.” You explain, moving to get your own phone from the table on the other side of the bed.

Megan locks hers, putting it down on the bed and turning to look at you. There are times when you don’t speak with words anymore. It just takes a look for her to know there’s something up with you.

She feels so fucking lucky, that she’s the one that knows you this well. That you’ve allowed her to get so close that she understands you to a level that could be concerning to others, but only feels soothing to her. No walls to put up or to break down, when it comes to you.

And, well, it makes sense that she gets you so well. You are going through some really crazy experiences together, so she knows, when it’s all too much. She feels it too.

Sometimes, she’s glad you two met the way you did. Glad she made it into the band because yes, it’s obviously her dream come true, but also because there’s no one in this world except for you and her that understands (the girls do too but it’s different). No one could replace her, or give you what she offers.

Like right now, she knows what you need. Because she needs it, as well.

It happens often, this sharing of needs or thoughts. It makes her belly tighten up with warmth when she thinks about it. Makes her feel a little insane, how much she loves how the differences between you keep diminishing.

Makes her feel really fucking insane sometimes because when she thinks about it, she finds that she wouldn’t mind being tied up to you, glued together. Sometimes she feels like being as close as possible to you isn’t enough.

That’s when she takes your clothes off, hoping that maybe the fabric is what’s making her feel like you’re not close enough. But it’s never that. She has come to understand that what she wants is to make space for a home under your skin.

When the world is too loud and all she wants is to quit, she wants to burrow herself beneath any layers that separate her heart from yours, let them beat together.

She told you this one night, under the covers and whispering to you like she was scared someone else might hear. She could barely see your face in the dark, but she could have sworn she saw your eyes light up the more she spoke. You kissed her once she finished, said it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you, and then made love to her.

So yeah, she loves you.

Therefore, she knows that all you need is a little more time away from the world. A few more borrowed minutes where it’s just you and her in this hotel room you stepped foot in for the first time yesterday, but already feels like it’s yours. Because anywhere with you is home.

“I’m gonna go shower,” she says, keeping her eyes trained on you. They’re still a little puffy from sleep. “You wanna join me?”  

You look up from your phone at your words, your eyes brightening. “Yeah?” Megan doesn’t think you meant to say it as a question but it’s still cute, how you sit a little straighter on the bed and your voice tints with cheeriness at the prospect.

She nods, smiling at you. “Yeah, we can save some time, right?”

You nod too, already moving to get out of bed. You wrap the sheet around your body as you make your way to the restroom with no time to lose, turning your head to throw her a wink. Your hair is all messy and you have to rush your walk because the floor is too cold for your feet, but she looks at you and all she sees is forever.

She’s going to marry you at some point in her life, she’s sure of it. She doesn’t tell you, but there are times she thinks of you and her brain just assumes ‘wife’. She feels silly when she realizes but part of her knows why it happens.

Her brain, and her heart, and her body and soul already know it will happen, eventually.

She gets up to follow you, laughs along with you after you shriek dramatically once she catches up to you and pulls at the sheet. You let it fall without much resistance. Then, she makes sure the water temperature is just as you like it, giving it some time to reach the sweet spot.

“Okay, yeah.” She mutters under her breath once she’s satisfied enough with it, shaking the water off of her hand.

“Good?” You ask, waiting patiently. She nods and you peck her cheek in gratefulness.

Megan follows you into the shower, carefully stepping inside with a hand supporting your lower back as you walk in front of her. She watches for a few seconds as you let the water hit your face, pushing your hair away.

The water droplets immediately begin running down your shoulders, against your back, your ass, your legs, and all the way down to your feet, and your hair begins flattening as it dampens. You don’t let her enjoy the sight for much longer, as you turn and pull her in by the waist.

Her eyes close when she feels the warm water on her, feeling her muscles relax further and letting her head fall back slightly. She feels your hands push some of her hair off her face. “Pretty,” you whisper under your breath.

Her eyes open and she smiles when she sees you staring at her fondly. “Is the water good?” She asks you, just to make sure, ignoring the heat on her cheeks.

You nod, pressing a quick peck to her lips. She wishes you would’ve lingered a little longer. “It’s perfect.” She wants to kiss you again, wants to feel your body as it’s wettened by the water, but you turn away to grab shampoo.

She watches as you squeeze some on your hand, making sure to emulsify between your palms. “Turn around.” Despite her wishes, she listens and turns to face away from you.

A pout forms in her face unconsciously, disappointed that she doesn’t get to see your face anymore. But it doesn’t last long, as she feels your hands on her hair. A small sound escapes her throat when you begin massaging her scalp, carefully working the shampoo everywhere on her head, your fingers moving gently to really make sure to clean properly.

It was heavenly.

She hears you chuckle softly at her reaction but barely registers it. Her brain is elsewhere, all softened and mushy and unfit. All she could think about was how well you took care of her, how perfectly your fingers made way in her hair.

After a while you moved her a little closer to you, leaned her head back to rinse off the shampoo.

You’re about to grab the conditioner bottle before she stops you with a hand on your wrist. “Hold on.” She turns around so she can face you again, positioning the both of you under the water stream. “Can we just…” her arms wrap around your waist and she presses her body against yours, enjoying how the water feels between you, “stay like this a little bit? Like, hold me for a second.”

Your arms wrap around her shoulders, letting her hide her face on your neck. She stays like this for a little bit, just basking in the safety of having her arms wrapped around you.

After a while, though, she realizes it’s not enough.

Megan takes a deep breath, then dips her face closer to your neck to kiss it gently. It’s just pecks at first, all over the side of your neck. You don’t really react, just keep holding her.

That’s when she moves her face to the other side of your neck, makes it her mission to make you aware of exactly what she wanted. Although she was sure you knew, you just liked making her needier.

Her kisses turn heavier, her lips pressing open-mouthed and sucking gently at your pulse point, making sure not to leave marks. She hears you hiss and smiles, moving off your neck to face you. “Why’d you stop?” You ask. Your voice is so soft that it’s almost drowned out by the sound of the water hitting the tiles.

Megan doesn’t answer. Not verbally, at least. She just leans in to press her lips against yours, shoulders tightening as she immediately moves her head for a deeper angle.

Her shoulders come back down when your hands rest on them, keeping her close to you as you kiss her back, answering to the familiar fervor in her kisses by trying to slow her down, letting your lips linger for longer and rejecting her tongue.

You hear a defeated whine but other than that, Megan accepts your pace, grabbing your hips to pull you closer and matching you, allowing herself to get lost in the rhythm in which you’re kissing.

It’s easy, this give-and-take, especially since she knows it’s you, and you know exactly what’s good for her. If you want to kiss her slowly, it must be for good reason. And if you allow her hands to travel down your back to squeeze your ass, well, she won’t complain.

It’s then, that you finally give her tongue entrance, weakening when you feel her hands squeeze the skin with little to no hesitation. Your body is hers too, to some extent. You like that she knows that, and feels safe enough to touch you without indecisiveness.

You’re hers, as much as she is yours.

Your tongues play together, getting lost in the sensation of closeness. You’re here, bare bodies pressed together, tongues meeting each other (hers almost down your throat) and it’s still not enough.

Your arms wrap around her shoulders then, hugging her close. Her arms do the same at your waist before she breaks the kiss for air, leaving your mouth still warm from hers, lips still tingling and a string of her spit connecting you to her. The water breaks it before any of you can.

Megan lets her forehead rest against yours, catching her breath. You close your eyes, and only listen distantly when she sighs out an, “I love you.”

Your eyes open then, finding her already staring at you. You smile, because you can’t help it. “I love you too, baby.”

She kisses you again, hoping to make you understand the things you do to her, when you tell her you love her. Hoping that somehow, the tremors in her chest can make her way up her throat and to her mouth, so you can feel them too.

She lets herself be fervent this time, squeezing your hips and sucking your bottom lip harshly.

Thankfully you let her, wrapping your arms around her neck and forgetting about everything. It’s just Megan right now, demanding your attention as she kisses you eagerly, giving you little to no time to breathe while she attacks your mouth lovingly.

There’s no way it gets better than this, you think. The water is the perfect temperature (thanks to her) and it’s hitting you like it’s a massage, relaxing your muscles. Megan is in your arms, her torso touching yours, and her hands are insistent on squeezing you. And her lips, god, her lips.

Her kisses always found a way to make you forget about everything, to empty your mind in the most heavenly of ways, demanding that you’re there, with her.

She’s yours. Sure, some fans think she belongs to them, there are friends that she loves deeply, family that she will always be loyal to. But in your soul, you know that the woman you’re holding is yours. The love of your life, your other half, your best friend, your soulmate.

You know that she will be with you, in your heart, even long after you die. The love you have for her will probably outlive you, you think, will linger in the air of the cities that were witness to you two like golden dust.

Megan inhales sharply when she feels your leg sneak between hers, your thigh pressing against her core. You find her wet, feel how warm she is against your skin, and how she focuses on not stopping the kissing. It makes you press with a little more force.

She moans, breaking the kiss to bite her lip and suppress the sound. You move your hand to hold her cheek and release her lip with your thumb. She kisses the pad of your finger. “Do we have enough time?” She asks.

Megan is rotating her hips gingerly, trying to hide the way she’s chasing friction against you. She slides easily against your thigh, the water and her own wetness making every move feel smooth.

You smirk faintly, caressing her cheek. “Time for what?”

She huffs out a laugh, resting the crown of her head against your mouth momentarily as she looks down. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me beg?” She wonders a little breathlessly, her hips still moving.

You shake your head, now grabbing her face with both of your hands and forcing her to look at you again. “No. Just wanna hear you say what you want.” Your leg presses further against her, and she has to bite her bottom lip again.

She stares at you, steam from the shower all around her and her eyes cloudy with want. She sighs, lets herself stare at your lips for a second while she thinks. You see her gaze light up when an idea comes to her mind, and then she’s moving to whisper against your ear, pressing a kiss on the shell of it. “Want you inside me.”

It makes you smile tenderly and shiver at the same time. “Yeah?”

Megan faces you again, nodding as a smirk takes over her face. She leans in then, runs her tongue up against your mouth teasingly. You laugh before crashing into her lips again. She meets you with hunger, one of the hands at your hips moving up to the back of your neck to keep you close to her.

It’s then that you let your own hand slide down her body, tracing the middle of her toned abdomen slowly, lightly, all the way down to the skin above her center. She shivers when she feels your fingers there, kisses turning sloppier.

She bites at your bottom lip as a way to rush you, and you finally let your hand move down, placing your ring and middle fingers outside the inner lips of her cunt. You feel more than hear her let out a little shaky breath between kisses.

You roll her clit softly between your fingers, swallow a moan when her mouth falls open and you seize the moment to shove your tongue on her mouth.

The kiss turns clumsier, but Megan can’t care less. Not when you’re playing with her clit like that, when the back of your neck is so warm against the palm of her hand, when she can feel your head move along with the pace of your kiss.

It’s not the easiest task to kiss you back while you’re touching her, but she still tries her hardest for you. It turns into a sloppy, wet mesh of tongue and lips that she wouldn’t change for the world.

Her tongue plays with yours mindlessly and she’s pretty sure her saliva is dripping down a corner of your mouth, sounds of wet smacks filling the shower. It’s perfect.

Soon after, you let your middle finger glide down her pussy, grunting softly when you feel the wetness that has accumulated by her entrance. Megan whimpers when she feels you there, grabbing at your shoulder with her other hand to support herself.

She breaks the kiss, looking at you pleadingly when you let your finger loll around without entering her. Her lips are pouty, eyes all soft and you almost drop to your knees right then. But you know she wants you close, wants to be able to hold you.

“I need you...” Megan’s voice is almost a mewl when she speaks.

You swallow a moan after hearing her voice, then push your middle finger inside her, feeling as her warmth immediately engulfs it.

She lets out a broken moan, throwing her head back.

Seeing her throat exposed like that makes you instantly press your mouth to it, covering her neck in airy kisses. Once your finger adjusts inside her you add a second one.

The stretch makes her groan, and you feel the vibration against your lips. You run your tongue over the skin then, down to her collarbones.

Your pace stays slow, caressing her insides with a caring rhythm. It makes her dizzy. A hand goes to grab at your hair, and she allows herself to let out intermittent whines each time you hit that spongy spot inside of her, “ah-ah-ah.”

When your mouth moves down to her chest she can feel how affected you are by this too. You allow yourself to nibble and suck at the skin there, that stays hidden from the cameras and strangers, and leave a reddening mark above her nipple. Megan notices your labored breathing against her chest, knows that this means as much to you as it means to her.

It makes her heart rush, knowing the effect she has on you without even touching you. You love her enough that pleasuring her gets you out of breath.

She smiles at the thought, but the expression is soon replaced by an o-shaped mouth when your lips wrap around her hardened nipple. Her back arches and she whimpers, pushing your head closer to her.

You’re eager in the way you run your tongue against it, suckling messily and stimulating it with flickers of your tongue. “Hmm- shit, that’s so good.” She moans out.

You move to her other breast then, this time gentler, your mouth matching the rate of your fingers inside of her. Megan’s eyes close, allowing herself to revel in the tenderness. You have time. There’s always time, when it comes to you and her.

Who cares, if you have to rush after you’re out of the shower, or if your manager looks at you disapprovingly in the lobby? Right now there’s only you and her, and you’re pampering her with your love, all soft and warm and just for her. So of course, she’ll indulge.

She feels you move up after a while, press a soft kiss to the back of her ear, and whisper an “I love you.” You’re about to move your head back down but she stops you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

You’re closer to her now. It makes moving your hand slightly more demanding, but it only makes Megan more turned on to have your body pressed to hers. So you push through the cramping  of your wrist, fasten your pace, and let your thumb start caressing her clit.

“O-oh my god, baby, fuck! Just like that.” Megan moans out, resting her chin on your shoulder. Her eyebrows furrow in pleasure, eyes closing to focus on the feeling.

You hold her. Your free arm wraps around her waist and you keep moving your fingers in and out of her, constantly hitting her g-spot while you stimulate her clit. You know she’s close; her pussy starts contracting against your fingers, her breathing becomes labored, and her moans start becoming breathier.

Megan’s hips begin twitching, her back arches and her arms squeeze you tighter. “I’m so close.” She whines out.

“Come for me, Mei.” Her orgasm crashes with a sharp inhale. She bites at your shoulder to keep herself from moaning out too loudly. You ignore the pain and keep your fingers moving inside of her while she rides her high.

She comes down from it slowly; her breathing coming back to normal, her muscles twitching slightly as they unclench, her arms softening your hold on you. You remove your fingers from her cunt then, and she kisses the bite on your shoulder before facing you.

“That was…” She tries to find the right word for a while, which makes you laugh. She laughs too, pushes your shoulder playfully. “Shut up! That was insane.”

You hum, pecking her lips. “Good.”

Her hand wraps around your hand, bringing it closer to her face. You watch as she wraps her lips around your fingers, pushing them inside her mouth in hopes that the water hasn’t washed off the taste of her fully.

She makes sure not to break eye contact with you as she moves her head down your fingers, releasing them with a wet pop and a smirk coloring her features.

“We should probably finish showering.” You mutter, your voice lacking conviction. Megan nods, “yeah,” before leaning in to kiss you. You let out a tiny sound when you taste her on her tongue. Maybe you can take like, five more minutes for yourselves.

[yearnmachine]

i love you; m. bannerman ♔

ᥫ᭡ even if the tears fall and my heart hates me ᥫ᭡

manon bannerman x celebrity!f!reader

word count: 6.3k

summary: manon broke up with you a year ago, trying to anticipate to the distance that would come with both of your careers growing. She didn't anticipate how much she'd miss you, and she definitely didn't expect to run into you at a party and have those complicated feelings resurface.

warnings: angst, smut, cursing, clothed sex, cunnilingus, spit, praise kink, questionable choices, unresolved feelings, reader being butthurt asfff but also obsessed, mdni.

a/n: first post kinda nervous!! lmk what you think but do it gently bc im delicate

The air was cold.

That’s what you remember most from that party. Or at least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself you remember most.

There are many small details from that night that you’ll try to erase for months, to no avail. And yet you’ll keep trying. Trying, as exhausting as it is, seems less painful than letting all those memories replay in your head candidly. Maybe you’d be able to get some sleep if you made them go away.

Once you realize the efforts are futile, you’ll pretend. But that you’re used to.

You’ll pretend you don’t keep the date pinned in your brain like the events will repeat themselves next year; November 12th. You’ll brush it off when someone asks why you left early that night, lie and say you were too bored or too drunk to remember much. You’ll ignore the ache in your chest when flashes of her eyes come and go as you try to sleep. Pretend it doesn’t hurt when you hear her words rumble in every corner of your body as you lay awake in bed, too late to do anything but to wallow in the absence of her.

Nothing happened, that night. At least, no one has any record of it. Not even you. Not a picture, not a note, not a mark in your body, not a garment left as souvenir. Nothing.

Or at least nothing that serves as proof that something happened. No paparazzi pictures, no background of someone else’s instagram story. No one saw you talking on the rooftop. No one saw you leave together. No one saw how she grabbed your hand on the way out.

It’s yours, and yours only.

Part of you wishes you could forget. Erase any trace of it from your memory so that it could be like it never happened. So you could keep getting by the same way you were before you saw her again. However, a different part of you fears that your body would remember.

That somehow, after the memories are all gone from your brain, you’ll still feel the phantom touch of her fingertip tracing your moles. Your scalp will remember the gentle slide of her nails against it, along with the not-so-gentle way she pulled on your hair. Your neck will somehow understand that sometime in the past, warm breathing used to hit it rhythmically as she slept close to you.

Your hands will feel empty, and they’ll remember that they used to touch the softest gold of a nameless skin. Your back will feel empty without scratches of acrylics. Your mouth will know it tasted something luxurious once, and never again.

And so the absence would persist, only it wouldn’t even have anything to name it by. To serve as an explanation for why it hurts so terribly. And that seems torturous.

So, even though it hurts, you decide you’ll keep pretending you just don’t remember. You’ll keep it as a secret for yourself. You’ll bask in the fact that everything your body misses and aches for has a name. A name that once loved you.

A name that once called for you.

“Y/N.”

You stood alone on the rooftop, having stepped out of the party to get some air. The night was cold and that’s all you remember. Except you remember every detail:

“Meret.”

The name leaves your lips without a second thought when you see her. You realize within a second you made a mistake.

Only those closest to her call her that, and even though she’s standing right in front of you for the first time in a year, you know you’ve never been more apart from each other. It’s stupid. It makes you want to hit yourself in the face.

Yet all she does is smile, teasing eyes glued to yours like no time has passed, like it’s amusing that you slipped up. It hurts more than it should. Makes you think about all the times she laughed off something you thought was serious, making you feel dumb.

“Hey. You look…” Manon’s voice hesitates as her eyes run up and down your body, taking you in. It makes you feel judged. The fondness in her eyes goes unnoticed by you, as you’re too busy staring back.

Her black dress is hugging her figure perfectly. That’s who Manon is now: flawless, effortless. The fabric ends mid-thigh, which gives you (and anyone that looks her way) an ample view of her toned legs. Her posture is impeccably straight, like she’s ready for someone to take her picture at any moment. Her hair is pressed. Her edges are laid neatly. Her skin shines and reflects the artificial lighting on the rooftop. A coat rests on her shoulders to protect her from the cold.

She looks beautiful. The sight genuinely takes your breath away a little (you blame it on all the time apart), which makes you let out an involuntary sigh. Manon catches it and smiles faintly, and you feel stupid again.

“You came up here to smoke?” She asks with a playful tilt to her voice, like what she’s saying is part of an inner joke that only you and her can understand. You want to tell her no, you’re not the only one that knows I smoke, it’s not some big secret, I have friends and a life outside of you and other people know me like you used to so you’re not special!

You shake your head instead.

“I quit a few months ago.” The look on her face gives you some sort of satisfaction, even if momentary. Surprise colors her features. Faint, but it’s there. There’s something she doesn’t know about me. She didn’t take everything with her. There are still parts of myself here with me.

You clear your throat, snapping out of your thoughts to focus on the conversation. “Why did you come up?” You ask before taking a sip of your drink.

You knew why you were up there. You needed air after noticing her on the dance floor with a couple of her friends. They used to be your friends too, not too long ago when your lives were still intertwined. You went up the stairs to get some air, drink in hand as you excused yourself from your conversation, unaware of brown eyes following you.

And now, some minutes after, you were here. Alone, with the woman you loved for what felt like a lifetime.

“I saw you and figured I’d say hi, y’know, catch up… It’s been a year! How’ve you been?”

The phrasing makes your stomach hurt. You know it’s been a year. You’ve counted the days since she left and hoped she would come back so you could hit play to your life again. What does she gain, pretending she cares about how you’ve been when she decided to leave?

But you just answer, because you understand she owes nothing to you. She’s not the same person you could once say whatever was on your mind to. She’s a stranger now. “I’ve been good.” You take another quick sip of your drink in hopes it might numb you. “What about you?”

You’re expecting a specific answer, waiting for her happiness to hit you like a bucket of cold water.

You’ve seen how well she’s been doing since she left you. It’s hard not to, really, what with Katseye being everywhere lately. You’re happy for her, of course you are. How could you not? The woman you loved was finally getting the recognition she deserved from the entire world.

Still, you didn’t really want to hear it. It would mean hearing her say, in different words, that she was right. That she made the right choice the day she left your shared apartment and ignored your pleas not to leave and try to make things work.

You were convinced you couldn’t live without her. You knew you would prefer to have the worst version of her every single day than to not have her at all. She was an essential part of you, she grounded you and made you the only version of yourself you could bear.

Manon, on the other hand, became bigger than the relationship. Her projects became more and more important, and you became less and less of a priority. You always admired her grit when it came to work, but those last months before the breakup were torture. Scheduled calls missed, scarce texts here and there, and only knowing what she was up to from other people’s posts because she forgot to tell you.

You became so worried trying to collect any fragments of her before she vanished, that you let your career and relevance fade into the background. It seemed worth it since your relationship was much more important to you than popularity, and it was dying. To Manon, the sacrifice didn’t make sense.

She saw the way you looked at her, like she was your entire world. It used to make her believe she would never need anything else, but at some point it started feeling suffocating. Your love for her left no space for her to grow.  She wasn’t going to let anyone drag her down, even if she loved them.

With tears in her eyes, Manon packed her bags and parted from you with a kiss on your forehead, assuring you it was the right thing for the both of you.

It haunts you. The way she decided for you, and how she pretended that it was about you both when she was only thinking about herself. She never thought about you, because if she did then she would understand that there’s nothing more important to you than her, nothing you could ever need or want more.

You’ve seen how happy she is without you because it’s nearly impossible not to. She’s everywhere, so you’re nowhere.

She’s in every friend group hangout, so you’re not. She’s on every trip, so you’re not. She’s in every award show, so you’re not. You’ve stopped existing for her. Sometimes you’re certain it’s worth it, when you see the smile on her face on an Instagram story or listen to her song on the radio. Other times, you can’t help but hate her for being so much better without you, and for taking so much from you.

Manon doesn’t answer your question like you were expecting her to. And really, you should’ve known. She’s not your Manon anymore, you can’t read her mind and anticipate her words like you used to.

She just sighs, looking down at the floor. She seems to be really thinking about your question, and you use the opportunity to take in her face fully. She hasn’t changed much.

After a while she simply looks up and shrugs, giving you a tight-lipped smile. It makes your face fall.

You were bracing for her to gloat. To see her eyes shine in excitement as she told you all about her new adventures, and to see her smile bigger than she ever did with you.

“What do you mean?” The question leaves your lips a little breathlessly, as you look at her in confusion.

You watch as her face mirrors yours, her eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean, what do I mean?” Manon asks back, slightly taken aback.

“What- like what does that answer mean?” you ask, putting your glass down on the floor and gesturing to her shrug with your now empty hand, “are you not happy?”

She scoffs out a forced laugh, her smile dropping immediately after. Then she crosses her arms defensively. “I- I didn’t say that.” Her voice is unsure and you can hear it within the first letter. It makes your blood boil. Is she or is she not happy, then?

“So say you’re happy! Tell me you’re happy right now.” You demand. To an outsider you might have sounded childish, but for Manon, the demand makes her mouth open and close a couple of times only to come up with nothing. “Say you’re happy Manon!” You raise your voice.

“I am! I am happy!” She yells back at you, taking a step closer. She’s angry; her eyebrows are deeply furrowed, her face is reddened, her hands are getting shaky and her eyes are watery. “I’m happy.” She repeats, more for herself than for you.

Finally. The admission makes you let out a relieved breath.

It only takes a couple of seconds of sitting in the silence of the aftermath for you to start feeling stupid. Your heart feels like you just ran a marathon and you’re pretty sure your face has reddened too.

Manon looks at you, then. Her eyes soften as she stares, and the moment your eyes meet hers, you know what she wants to ask. She used to be able to ask things from you without even having to speak, and you would always obey.

When she realizes you won’t talk, she asks the question out loud for you. “Why?” It comes out in a whisper, like she’s scared that if she uses her voice fully, it will break.

You swear that, somehow, you can feel the knot in her throat like it’s on yours instead of hers.

You gulp to get rid of the feeling, looking away for a moment. It’s a nice view. Big city, flashing lights, tall buildings. It only manages to keep your attention for a few seconds before your eyes naturally fall back to the woman in front of you.

Her eyes are soft, glassy and pleading. You understand what she’s asking of you, and you know you’ll give it to her. You could never not try to give Manon what she wants. And right now she wants an explanation for your outburst.

“I need-” You start, but your voice breaks in the middle of the sentence. It’s awful how weak she makes you feel sometimes. “I need it to have been for something.”

You look at her right after, hoping to see a flash of appreciation. For you having done what she wanted you to do. Having laid your pathetic intentions bare for her to see.

There’s nothing. Naturally, you keep trying.

“That… that I’m without you for good reason, y’know? That it was the right choice and the pain is worth it because you’re happy.” You explain.

Finally, it gets Manon’s eyes to soften in that familiar way. When they turn glassy a part of you feels relief. You still have some effect on her and she cares, on some level. You stare at her eyes for a while, and your chest hurts when you realize you can’t read them, can’t anticipate her next move.

It’s sudden and unexpected when her hand goes up to cup your cheek. Yet it’s like a dormant part of you wakes up, and it knows her. It wakes at her touch and immediately feels at home and safe, and makes you lean into her touch. Not consciously, but because part of you will never forget her, will always be programmed to respond to her.

Her thumb rubs at the skin of your cheek. You can only look at her silently. The breath she lets out after feels like giving up, like all her efforts of staying strong and away from you are left at the door now that she’s arrived home.

Manon lets her forehead lean against yours, feeling tired of ignoring the urge to do so. “I miss you.” She whispers. You don’t like how scared she sounds to say it.

You say it back anyways.

“Do you wanna take me home?” is the next thing she says. Her voice is raspy yet sweet, dipped in honey. Your eyes are lidded as you nod against her, foreheads still touching. Despite everything, she smiles.

You leave quietly.

The girls look at her as she whispers something to them. You try not to stare too much, in fear of being obvious. They simply nod and smile at her, kissing her cheek in goodbye. You know she lied to them because you know if she told them her true intentions for the rest of her night, they would tell her it’s a terrible idea.

You say your quick goodbyes as well. After all, there’s no one in the building more important than the prospect of leaving with Manon. You walk to your car with your heartbeat on your ear and her hand intertwined with yours. When you open the passenger door for her you feel younger, like years have been taken off you and there’s a new lightness in your body.

How you didn’t get photographed or spotted, you’ll never know. Paparazzi were around the area, and you didn’t try hard enough to hide. It was a miracle that you arrived to your apartment with no one knowing. Not your friends, not her friends, not management, not fans.

Maybe you should’ve known then. Taken it as an omen of sorts. Once it ended, you were both going to pretend the night never happened because you’ve gotten used to thinking things are only real when they’re under the flashlight.

Manon waits silently as you get the apartment keys out, and watches as you push the door open for her and let her step inside first. You walk behind her, watch as she takes in the state of a place she used to call home.

Not much has changed. Some pictures have been taken down but the walls are the same color, the furniture is all the same, even the smell is familiar.

It’s tidy.

Tidy enough that when she takes her heels off, she feels a silent, pressing urge to hurry and place them on the empty shoe shelf. You’ve always been orderly, but she used to be the one to break that. You picked up her shoes after her, washed her dishes, put her scattered makeup in its place.

She used to laugh it off, say she forgot and kiss your cheek in appreciation, but she secretly felt bad about it. How disciplined you were and how little she cared about those things. She never told you because she was certain you would find a way to feel guilty about it even if it was on her.

Despite being so clean and ordered, the place still felt off. Goosebumps prickled her arms as she took her coat off, and though it had everything a house could need, it felt empty. A particular piece missing. Maybe you should put up some photos or something, she thought.

Manon is broken out of her thoughts when she hears ruffling behind her as you take your own coat off, grabbing hers off her hands to hang it. “Drink?” You ask, walking past her to head to the kitchen.

Even though she used to live here only a year ago, it still feels like she’s walking to the unknown as she follows you. She leans her hip against the countertop, trying to seem relaxed. “Sure. Thanks.” Her stare lingers on your hands as she watches you uncork a bottle of wine (you still drink her favorite one) and grab two glasses, “place looks nice.”

You only hum.

Your fingers graze each other when you hand her the glass, and she notices how you try to hide a smile as you take a sip of your own. “Sorry,” you say after, looking at her, “this feels weird.”

“Yeah?”

“A little.” You shrug, looking down at your glass as you swirl the liquid inside. “It doesn’t feel weird to you?” You ask, mirroring her stance as you lean your hip against the countertop too, standing in front of her.

Manon shrugs too, smiling. She decides, for tonight, it’s better to lie. “Not really.”

Your eyebrows rise and you smile. A tightness in her chest unravels when she sees you. The smile is familiar. In fact, a lot of things about the situation feel familiar. You, in front of her, in your kitchen, drinking her favorite wine, and you smiling at her like you do when you don’t really believe her but don’t want to break her bubble.

She thinks it’s that feeling that makes her put the wine down, lean in and press her lips against yours.

There’s a small sound that comes from the back of your throat. You weren’t expecting her kiss. It worries her how quickly the sound makes her dizzy.

It’s not long before she can feel you untense and kiss her back, your free hand landing at her waist warm and intimate.

Her hands grab your face, and she notices how softly you’re kissing her, letting her set the pace. Your lips feel plushy on hers and she can feel your jaw move against her hand and your hands shake slightly by her waist. She basks in the sweetness, lets it linger for as long as she can.

At some point, when air becomes insufficient, you pull away, licking your lips and placing your glass down on the countertop. She can practically see the gears turning in your head. “Manon, I…” you rub your eye as you think of what to say. She fights the urge to stop you like she used to, and only watches as you accidentally smudge your makeup.

You don’t even know what you want to say, or what you should say. You just know this is wrong. You know she’ll leave in the morning, leave you bleeding while she gets to walk away with her dignity intact, as you lay in the empty bed chasing the warmth her body will leave on your sheets for as long as you can. It’s pathetic. You should stop it.

Manon only looks at you. Her eyes make you weak, they always have. You feel an urgent need to kiss her again and it’s intoxicating.

When she sees your hesitance to speak, her arms wrap around your neck. “If I ask you to stop thinking tonight… you think you could do that?” Her voice makes its way inside you, soft and slightly raspy. You know what she’s doing, trying to lure you into getting what she wants. You know she’ll succeed.

Your hands go to her hips. “Can I ask you a question first?”

Manon nods, her eyes lingering on your lips before looking back up to your eyes. “Anything. You know that.”

You ignore how fake that feels. How long it’s been since that was the case. “Other people you’ve been with since we broke up...,”

She lets out a small laugh and rolls her eyes, looking away, and you relish the reaction. You miss her, and so you miss her happy, you miss her annoyed, you miss her angry, you miss her upset. Her tongue pushes against her cheek while you finish your question, “have they been better than me?”

“Why do you wanna know that?” She asks, her eyes narrowing incredulously, as her hand makes its way to the hair above your neck.

You smile, shrugging as you wait for an answer.

She could be a bitch about it, say yes, she has a really nice sex life, thank you very much, not that it’s any of your business at this point. Luckily, she knows you. She sees the hesitance in how you look at her, sees the fear in what her answer might be in the way your foot moves anxiously against the floor.

You used to be a sucker for her nice words, she remembers that. You liked when she acknowledged you, made you feel appreciated. And she remembers how you used to say it was pathetic. She remembers all those times she reassured you, said she liked it too.

Her nails begin scratching at your scalp as she looks at you faintly. “You want me to say you’re the best fuck I’ve had? Is that it?” She asks you, her voice playful and smooth.

You tilt your head, pretending to be annoyed by her answer as you look down and bite the inside of your cheek. She sees the way you swallow, though, sees your cheeks redden.

“Baby…” Manon calls out, her nails going down to scratch at the back of your neck. Suppressing a shiver, you look up at her again. It’s so unfair how she uses pet names against you. “What if you remind me? Prove to me how good it used to be?”

She watches your eyes darken at her words, your hands squeezing at her hips unconsciously. You falter at the smallest opportunity to please, to put in work for her and prove to her that you’re still good. Manon wishes she could enjoy the thought of that, but it makes her feel sad.

She ignores the feeling when your eyes trace all over her face, like you’re looking for a sign that will tell you she’s joking. “Yeah?” You ask when you find none, the sound of your voice is barely there, and you have to clear your throat after.

Manon only nods, smiling.

Your hand cups the side of her face as you kiss her, with less softness this time. It’s like you’re trying to erase the time you’ve spent apart with the strength of your kiss. A small, small part of her wishes you could.

Her hands come up to rest at your shoulders while she kisses you back, feeling the smoothness of your skin brush against her fingers as she plays with the straps of your dress. Your other hand moves from her hip down to her thigh and squeezes the toned flesh there. She bites your lip in response and smirks when you groan.

“D’you wanna move to the bed-” Manon tries to offer while she slows down her kisses, but she’s interrupted by a worked-up shake of your head and your lips smashing back on hers, your eagerness lighting up a fire in her lower stomach. Soon after, she’s getting lifted and placed to sit on the countertop.

She detests how it easily it comes for her to have her hands rest on your neck and her mouth occupied kissing yours, how insanely fucking uncomplicated it is to get lost in this small, huge thing. As your hand caresses the skin of her thigh, her brain barely registers it, it’s like she’s on another dimension. She forgot how much she missed this.

Manon stops herself from whining when your mouth parts from hers, and that’s when you start dragging your lips down from the corner of her mouth to her jaw. Your thumb pushes faintly below her jaw to push her head back, and she obeys eagerly, giving you more space.

The kisses are sloppy, it feels like you’re trying to cover every inch of her skin, to make sure there’s not a single inch of her neck untouched by your lips. The warm feeling a heavy sigh out of her, and when she tries to squeeze her thighs together unconsciously, you make sure to push them apart to stand between her legs.  

“You change your perfume?” You ask against her neck between kisses. Her eyes are closed, her head thrown back in bliss, and she barely hears the question, so she only nods her head distractedly.

“Why?” Your voice is muffled by Manon’s skin, she feels your breath hitting hot against her throat, and you need to stop asking stupid questions.

She huffs, and you get the message.

Your lips slide down. She encourages the decision by tangling her fingers in your hair. You hum against her and she lets out a satisfied breath at your responsiveness. When your lips reach her collarbone, you stop, move up and plant a kiss to her lips again. “Can I taste you?” You ask quietly.

You’re breathing hard, she can feel it hitting her mouth. You’re too sweet. So gentle, caring, respectful. She misses you and she hates herself for coming home with you. She’s so fucking selfish.

The way you asked though, god. It makes her heady with lust. She can’t not kiss you fervently after that, hold the back of your neck to press you closer to her, her teeth clashing with your lip.

You hiss softly after the impact but keep kissing her, caressing her hips mindlessly with your hands. “Please.” You whisper against her mouth.

In that moment, you wish so strongly you could tell her you love her. It feels so right, as she shoves her tongue into your mouth while you feel the sting on your lip still. You love her. You wish and pray that she leaves bruises tonight.

You can’t smell anything but her new perfume, and even though you miss her old one you know you could get used to it. You could adjust yourself to her new life, no matter if it wasn’t what you were used to. You just need her.

You know you can’t say it, so you just keep kissing her, letting her take the lead and explore your mouth freely while your hand slips between her legs and caresses her inner thigh. She moans quietly, her kisses becoming sloppier.

“Please, baby.” She whispers between kisses, dragging you impossibly closer to her body. You feel her chest against yours and fear she will feel how fast your heart is breathing. You guess it’s not really a secret, though, how affected you are and have always been by her.

You sigh out a small “fuck,” under your breath at the pet name, sucking her bottom lip between yours as your hand finally goes up to trace her slit with your thumb, over her underwear. She moans instantly, biting at your lip again and grinding her hips closer to your hand.

You hum, moving to kiss her cheek as you feel her up. The fabric is thoroughly soaked, and it clings to her pussy as you reexplore the shape of her with your fingers. You cup her core against your palm and she lets out a desperate little whine, resisting the urge to rush you.

You can feel her clenching against your palm. You feel how wet she’s gotten because of you, how pliant her body feels, how she arches closer to you, and you want to tell her you love her again.

It used to soothe you so dramatically, quieting this need you felt to tear your chest apart to be able to reach inside it and tear your heart out to hand it to her. You said ‘I love you’ and you knew she understood everything it meant, so the need quieted down. You have no right to say it now, so you just kiss her temple and remove her underwear, slowly slipping the fabric down her legs.

You drop to your knees right in front of her, looking up while she waits for your next move, and grasping her underwear on your fist tightly, without even realizing. Suddenly, the cold apartment feels like home to you again. You press a small kiss to her ankle, let the underwear fall to the floor, and move your head to press open-mouthed kisses up her inner thighs.

Manon hums feebly, enthralled watching you as her fingers tangle in your hair. The sight makes her gulp, nostalgia hits her suddenly and she feels a knot in her throat not for the first time tonight.

She won’t ruin her chance to have you again tonight, though. She knows if you see her cry, you’ll stop, so she just focuses on guiding you. “You look so good on your knees.” When she feels your smirk against her thigh, Manon calls it a mission accomplished.

Your kisses become more desperate, hungrier, and you’re finally inching up to where she really needs you. Your hands push the fabric of her dress up to rest around her hips, and you take a pause to look up at her, “I always look good,” you joke, smiling up at her as your chin rests on her leg.

She chuckles, running your fingers through her hair as she watches you fondly, her gaze softening.

The look on her eyes scared you a little and so you rush to move your head back between her legs.

You place your mouth over her pussy, your tongue running up all the way to her clit, and you swear something breaks within you. The noisy, sharp moan she lets out is muffled in your ears, since she squeezes her thighs against the sides of your head, effectively trapping you in place. Your hands move to rest on her legs but let her keep squeezing you.

The taste of her is electrifying. As soon as her wetness hits your tongue you’re a different person. Not the one you were a few hours ago before you saw her again, but not the one you were a year ago when you tasted her daily either. You know you’ve been changed because a new wound has been opened and you’re not sure you’ll be able to hide the bleeding this time around.

You’ll never be complete without her, and even though she’s letting you be fulfilled tonight, tomorrow you’ll lose her again. You’ll see her walk out of an apartment that already feels like it belongs to the both of you again for the second time. The thought is unbearable.

You grip her thighs tighter and lap at her clit languidly, sucking it between your lips after and humming as you relish the temporary bliss. “Oh my- fuck!” Manon’s hips thrash against your face at the vibration, smearing your face. You move away for a second to spit at her pussy and watch as your saliva slides down and mixes with her own juices.

You feel like saying I love you again.

Instead, you press a gentle kiss to her clit before you teasingly run your tongue over her entrance. She moans, pushes your face closer desperately, and you take pleasure in ignoring her as you keep licking around her entrance. She needs you. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt something as nice as being needed by Manon Bannerman.

Your gentle hand turns harsh suddenly, and it grabs a fistful of your hair to push your face away from her pussy. You let out a pathetic moan at the force. Another one dies in your throat at the sight of her looking down at you, eyes lidded and fire in her eyes.

Your throat is exposed and so, naturally, she wraps her other hand around it, just holding you. She feels you gulp and smirks faintly. It sends a shockwave directly between your legs.

Her hand sneaks up to your jaw slowly and presses at your cheeks, and your mouth falls open like you’re a programmed toy. It waters at what’s to come. You feel greedy, like you’re asking her for too much, and the fact that you’re not even asking, that she’s offering all of this to you, it makes your heart rush.

She leans down closer to your face, her mouth closer to your mouth. Your eyes fall shut and the next thing you feel is the weight of her spit, heavy on your tongue. A small whimper escapes your throat at the feeling, and Manon watches satisfied as you close your mouth and swallow.

“Be good for me, okay?” She asks, caressing your cheek. You nod while you lick your lips.

“Mkay.” Your mind feels like it’s cotton candy, all messed up by her presence. She’s always known exactly what buttons to push with you. It’s what makes sex with you so much better than meaningless hookups with strangers. You know what she likes. She knows what you like. You know her body. She knows your weaknesses. It makes her feel like a professional. She’s the best at something, at least.

You kiss and lap up at her folds messily for a while before finally letting your tongue push past her entrance. She hisses in bliss, her eyes closing. “Fuck. That’s a good girl.” Her hand pulls at your hair to position your face so that your nose can rub her clit just right.

Your efforts increase as your tongue moves faster, ignoring the ache of your jaw and chasing the moment when you’ll feel her come undone for you again. “Oh, that’s so- I’m so close baby, fuck!” Manon moans out, biting her lip to avoid making too much noise. She still remembers all the neighbor complaints you used to get.

She comes quietly; her eyebrows furrowing, her mouth opening in a silent scream, her limbs tensing, her stomach tightening, her eyes closing. You watch, as you keep your ministrations going to prolong her orgasm.

After, you clean her up gently with your tongue, not wanting to let a drop go to waste. You feel Manon push your face away after a while, overstimulated. You get off your knees to stand in front of her, running a hand against your face to clean yourself off some of her juices, and smiling as you see her blissed out face. She smiles back, letting out a small laugh. You lean in to kiss her nose.

“Good?” You ask, pressing another kiss to her neck before looking at her expectantly, moving a strand of hair away from her face. She just kisses you, humming at the taste of her on your lips while nodding and wrapping her arms around your neck.

Your hands find their place on her hips again, and her legs wrap around you like it’s second nature.

It’s not over yet. You know, and she knows the night is far from ending. It’ll never really be over. The memories will find life in your heart forever, will insist that you look for her in every crowded room, that you go smoke on every rooftop hoping to find her again. Your heart, bruised and bloody and incomplete, will always look for her, unaware of your brain trying its hardest to move on.

Maybe next year, you'll stop loving her.

[herlondonboy]

21. my dearest, y/n

synopsis: the summer i turned pretty au sorta

pairings: sophia laforteza x y/n mendoza, sophia laforteza x elliot mendoza (oc)

21. it’s no use jo

previous | master | next

taglist (48/50)

@thevisionofafeline @meizinisloverboy @wwwlpgs @iluhwomen @solarzbeam @spid3rmil3s @siderealspark @andyyyyy14 @yournextdooralien @gablmk @cazeeee @cookispark @bookkeepersnook @rosiesauriostuff @uconnwbbluvr @jhgifdbki @spideycat13 @awkwardtoafault @itz-0kay @pizzachicken @skz-xii @iviza @aeriyism @h0llyy @rxdeleon09 @levilash @kianthegirlkisser @andyyyyy14 @gabsrevival @trintrillakilla @whoasukiii @everygayhere @lethal-minds @givewandahugspls @antisocisworld @scarly07 @multistann32 @whoasukiii @idkbriiiii @insufferable-yapper @notheroverthinker @mirrawave @prosnale105 @astr-0-wrld @aloneinacity @pitchperfectislife @staxkmj @aliteralrandomperson

taglist open!

[herlondonboy]

punisher

synopsis: in which exes manon and y/n bump into each other after two years apart, stirring up old memories.

pairings: manon bannerman x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of parental death

chapter 18 -> i love you, im sorry

The apartment was too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the kind that made every sound feel louder than it should have been, the hum of the refrigerator, the faint traffic outside, the ticking clock over the stove that Y/N had never bothered to replace because it sounded too much like a heartbeat.

Manon sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together, posture stiff like she was afraid of touching anything. Like the space itself might reject her. She hadn’t been here before. This apartment was new, sterile in comparison to the old one in Zurich. White walls. Minimal furniture. No photos.

Y/N stood by the window for a long time, her back to Manon, arms wrapped around herself.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you here,” Y/N said quietly. “When I moved.”

Manon swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d talk to me after Emily’s party.”

Y/N let out a humorless laugh and finally turned around. Her eyes were already red, though she hadn’t started crying yet. “Yeah. Well. I surprised myself too.”

They stood there, staring at each other like strangers who knew each other’s souls too well.

Manon opened her mouth, probably to apologise, probably to explain, but Y/N spoke first.

“Do you remember when we were fifteen?”

Manon nodded immediately. “Of course I do.”

“My mom died that year,” Y/N continued, her voice steady in a way that felt practiced, rehearsed. “And everyone says shit like, ‘you’re so strong’ or ‘she’d be proud of you’ or ‘time will heal’. But you know what I actually remember?”

Manon didn’t answer. She already knew.

“I remember sitting on my bedroom floor,” Y/N said, “with my back against my bed, and I couldn’t breathe. I thought if I inhaled too hard, something inside me would just… collapse. And my dad was in the other room, crying so quietly like he didn’t want me to hear him fall apart.”

Her voice cracked for the first time.

“And you were there,” she said, pointing weakly at Manon. “You didn’t try to fix anything. You didn’t tell me it would be okay. You just sat with me. You held my hand. You let me cry until my throat hurt.”

Manon’s eyes filled with tears.

“You were the only person who didn’t leave,” Y/N whispered. “Everyone else went back to their lives eventually. But you stayed. You stayed for years.”

They were both crying now, silently.

“And that’s why,” Y/N continued, voice trembling, “when you broke up with me two years ago, on the fifth anniversary of her death, it felt like the universe was laughing at me.”

Manon shook her head, tears spilling over. “I didn’t plan—”

“I know,” Y/N snapped, then immediately softened. “I know. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.”

She dragged a hand down her face.

“That day already felt cursed. Every year it feels like I’m fifteen again, standing in a hospital hallway that smells like disinfectant and loss. And then you looked at me and said you couldn’t do this anymore.”

Y/N laughed bitterly. “And suddenly I wasn’t just grieving my mom. I was grieving you too.”

She paced the room now, restless.

“I honestly thought… that was it. That I was completely alone in the world. The one person who had seen me at my worst, who knew what that loss did to me, you were gone.”

Manon tried to speak. “Y/N—”

“I went to your house,” Y/N said sharply.

Manon froze.

“One day I just… snapped. I needed to see you. I needed answers. So I went, like an idiot, and your mum answered the door.”

Manon covered her mouth.

“She told me you weren’t there,” Y/N continued, voice shaking with anger and pain. “And I asked where you were, and she wouldn’t tell me. She just smiled politely like I was some random girl you used to know.”

Manon whispered, “I told her not to—”

“Then I texted Sophie,” Y/N went on, not stopping. “I thought she’ll tell me. She had to. She was my friend too. But she didn’t. She danced around it. Changed the subject.”

Y/N stopped pacing. Her shoulders slumped.

“And that’s when it hit me. None of you were going to tell me. I wasn’t part of your world anymore.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I went back to that house in Zurich. It still smelled like my mom’s perfume because I refused to throw anything away. My dad was still grieving. We were just two ghosts living in the same house, pretending we were fine.”

She laughed shakily. “And I felt so stupid. So pathetic. Comparing a breakup to my mom dying. Like, who does that?”

Manon shook her head desperately. “It’s not the same, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt—”

“I packed my bags last year,” Y/N said. “I couldn’t stay there anymore. Every corner reminded me of her. Of you. So I moved back here. Zurich to Los Angeles. I thought maybe distance would help.”

She looked at Manon then, really looked at her.

“And then one night, I was scrolling through Netflix. Just… numb. And there you were.”

Manon’s breath caught.

“Your face,” Y/N said softly. “On a show called Pop Star Academy: KATSEYE.”

She let out a broken laugh. “And it suddenly clicked. Where you went. Why no one told me.”

Her voice turned sharp with old anger. “I hated you for that. Not because you left, but because you didn’t just tell me. You let me think I wasn’t worth an explanation.”

Tears streamed freely now.

“I cried for days. Like ugly, can’t-get-out-of-bed crying. And then I couldn’t escape you. Billboards. Parties. Screens. TikTok. You were everywhere.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “And that’s when I realised something worse.”

Manon looked at her.

“I never stopped loving you,” Y/N whispered. “Not for a second. And it hurt so bad I thought I might die. I didn’t want to exist in a world where you were everywhere and nowhere at the same time.”

The room felt unbearably heavy.

Manon stood up, stepping closer. “Y/N, I am so—”

“I don’t want you to apologise.”

The words were firm, final, and made Manon freeze.

“I don’t want excuses,” Y/N said, voice shaking but resolute. “I don’t want apologies. I just want you to know how I feel.”

They stood there, both crying, the past sitting between them like a third presence, uninvited, unavoidable.

Manon didn’t think about it. She didn’t hesitate or weigh whether she had the right. She just crossed the distance.

It was only a few steps, but it felt like years collapsing in on themselves. Y/N barely had time to react before Manon’s arms were around her, warm, familiar, trembling. The scent hit her first, something achingly recognisable, something that lived in muscle memory rather than logic.

And that was it.

Y/N broke.

The sound that tore out of her chest wasn’t pretty. It was raw and cracked and full of every year she’d spent swallowing her grief so it wouldn’t choke her. Her hands fisted in Manon’s jacket like it was the only solid thing left in the world, and she pressed her face into Manon’s shoulder, crying the way she hadn’t let herself cry in a long time.

“I miss you both so much,” she mumbled, words muffled and messy. “I miss you so much. I miss her. I miss everything.”

Manon tightened her grip immediately, one hand cradling the back of Y/N’s head, the other rubbing slow, grounding circles into her back. She nodded over and over, tears soaking into Y/N’s hair.

“I know,” Manon whispered, voice breaking. “I know. I’m so sorry. I know.”

They stood there, swaying slightly, like the world had narrowed down to the space between their bodies. Like nothing else could reach them here.

“I’m not going anywhere ever again, Y/N,” Manon said, pressing her cheek to Y/N’s temple. “Okay? I swear. I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

Y/N nodded against her shoulder, breath hitching violently. She pulled back just enough to speak, her eyes red, her face wet and exhausted.

“I can’t lose you again, meri.”

The word hit Manon like a punch to the chest.

“Oh,” she breathed, forehead dropping to Y/N’s. “You won’t. I won’t let that happen. I promise.”

Y/N’s hands slid up to Manon’s shoulders, still clinging, still afraid this was something that could disappear if she loosened her grip. “You don’t get to promise things you can’t keep,” she said weakly.

“I know,” Manon replied softly. “But this one? This one I can keep.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Crying ebbed and flowed, waves crashing and receding. Manon didn’t rush her. She never had. She let Y/N fall apart in pieces, catching every fragment as it came loose.

Eventually, Y/N’s sobs softened into shaky breaths. Her body was heavy with exhaustion, grief wrung out of her like a soaked cloth.

“I used to talk to my mom about you,” Y/N admitted quietly, still leaning into Manon. “After you left.”

Manon stilled.

“I’d sit on my bed and just… talk out loud,” Y/N continued. “Tell her I didn’t understand why the two people I loved most were gone. I felt stupid doing it. But it was the only way I didn’t feel completely insane.”

Manon’s throat tightened painfully. “What did you say?”

“That I hoped she was with you somehow,” Y/N whispered. “That she was haunting you.”

Manon let out a broken laugh and hugged her tighter. “I think she listened. You’re all I ever think about.”

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—

taglist (31/50)

@bootsnic @urwavvy @spiderpunkmanon @sarahsonya78 @carlito07 @itz-0kay @zeraaaat @tormaa1 @yournextdooralien @okbutmanon @gmailhacking @whitewidowswife @lethal-minds @spiderx18 @weepingmanon @pitchperfectislife @bellecanelle @iviza @multistann32 @fandomhoppershxt @cherrys-adelinebow @h0llyy @thgh1 @daysareslow @outsidr-arch @spideycat13 @gablmk @ghghjbghk @needmeganskiendiel @ginathegrimm @trintrillakilla

[herlondonboy]

15. my dearest, y/n

synopsis: the summer i turned pretty au sorta

pairings: sophia laforteza x y/n mendoza, sophia laforteza x elliot mendoza (oc)

15. chasing pavements

The hotel room was dark and quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed too hard against Sophia’s chest.

She stared at the ceiling, phone face-down beside her, the faint glow of the city leaking in through the curtains. Yoonchae was asleep, she could hear the soft rhythm of breathing from the other bed, the occasional shift of fabric.

Tomorrow night, they’d be gone. Manila would be over. This, whatever this was, would be over.

Sophia squeezed her eyes shut.

All she could see was Y/N.

The way they laughed in the arcade. The way they still tilted their head when they were thinking. The way their voice said her name like it had weight.

She sat up abruptly.

“Stupid,” she whispered to herself.

But she was already pulling on a hoodie. Already slipping her shoes on quietly, careful not to wake the seventeen year old. She scribbled a quick note in case Yoonchae woke up while she was gone, went for air, back soon, and eased the door shut behind her.

The night air was warm, humid, alive. Manila at 1 a.m. felt softer somehow, less noise, fewer eyes. Sophia walked fast at first, then slower as the familiar streets gave way to memory.

She knew this route. She’d walked it a hundred times before.

When she reached Y/N’s dorm, her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure it would give her away. She stopped in front of the door, the same one, same scuffed wood, same faint mark near the handle.

Sophia lifted her hand, paused, lowered it.

She swallowed, lips dry, then turned around.

This is stupid, she told herself. You’re stupid. Go back.

She took three steps away before the door opened.

Sophia froze.

“Sophia?”

She turned.

Y/N stood there in their pajamas, hair messy, phone and wallet clutched in one hand like they’d been halfway out the door themselves. They blinked, clearly just as shocked.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked quietly.

Sophia’s breath caught. She hadn’t planned for this part.

“I…” She hesitated, then exhaled. “I can’t sleep.”

Y/N studied her for a second, not mentioning the distance between the hotel and their dorm, then nodded slowly.

“Me neither,” they admitted. “Do you want to go for a walk? I was gonna go to 7/11.”

Sophia’s shoulders relaxed just a little. She nodded. “Yeah.”

They walked side by side through the quiet campus, footsteps echoing softly. Their hands brushed once, twice, and neither of them said anything about it. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with everything unsaid.

At 7/11, Y/N grabbed snacks without asking, things Sophia liked, things they remembered. Slushies too, even though it was late and probably a bad idea.

Sophia smiled at that.

They found a small park a few blocks away and sat on a bench beneath a flickering streetlight, sipping slushies and tearing open wrappers.

Sophia felt happy.

She’d missed this. Missed them. More than she’d ever admitted, to herself or anyone else.

“So,” Y/N said after a while. “How’s LA?”

Sophia leaned back, staring up at the sky. “It’s nice. Sunny. Busy.” She laughed quietly. “But living in a house with five feral teenagers is chaotic.”

Y/N laughed, the sound easy and familiar. “I can imagine.”

“They’re great,” Sophia continued. “I love them. It’s just… loud. Always. And everything moves so fast.”

She glanced over at Y/N, who was listening intently, eyes soft in the low light.

“What about you?” Sophia asked. “You seem different.”

Y/N shrugged. “Older. Wiser. You know how it goes.” Sophia didn’t look impressed with their joke. “I’m tired. Still figuring things out.”

Sophia nodded, watching the way their hands moved as they spoke, the way their brows furrowed slightly.

She felt eighteen again. Felt like time had folded in on itself. Without realising it, she leaned in.

Just a little.

When Y/N noticed, they startled, standing abruptly and stepping back, creating space like they’d touched something hot.

Sophia snapped back into reality immediately.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I, I didn’t mean to—”

Y/N frowned, confused. “What are you doing?”

She laughed weakly, shaking her head. “I just—” Her voice wavered. “It felt like we were kids again. I’m sorry.” She paused, then the words spilled out before she could stop them. “Did you really not—” she swallowed, eyes shining, “—not love me?”

Y/N opened their mouth.

Nothing came out.

Sophia nodded slowly, the answer sinking in anyway. She stood, brushing at her eyes angrily.

“You’re dating Elliot, Sophia,” Y/N said finally, voice breaking. “I can’t—I can’t—”

Sophia scoffed, tears spilling despite her efforts. “You couldn’t before I was dating Elliot, either.”

Y/N said nothing to defend themselves.

That hurt more than anything else.

Sophia wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie and took a shaky breath. “I should go back to my hotel.”

She turned away.

“Wait,” Y/N said quickly. “Let me walk you back. Please.”

Sophia hesitated, then nodded.

She led the way, steps steady even as her chest ached. Y/N followed close behind, the distance between them small, but impossibly wide.

The night swallowed them both as they walked, side by side, carrying years of love they’d never learned how to say out loud.

The hotel loomed quiet and elegant at this hour, glass doors reflecting the streetlights like a second, softer city. The lobby was nearly empty, just the low hum of air-conditioning, the muted glow of recessed lights, the night desk clerk half-asleep behind the counter.

They stopped a few feet from the entrance.

Sophia shifted her weight, hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, gaze fixed somewhere just past Y/N’s shoulder. The walk back had been silent, thick, careful, like both of them were afraid one wrong word would shatter what little composure remained.

“Sophia,” Y/N said softly.

She paused but didn’t turn.

“I’m sorry.”

Sophia let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but not quite, and shrugged. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault you don’t love me.”

The words landed between them, quiet and final.

Y/N’s chest tightened painfully. They opened their mouth. They so badly wanted to say it.

I do. I do love you. I always have. I always will.

The words crowded their throat, desperate and burning. But fear, old and familiar, won.

Sophia turned around.

For a moment, they looked at each other. Really looked. Her eyes were red but steady, her expression composed in the way only someone who’d cried themselves empty could manage.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” she said.

“Goodnight,” Y/N replied, barely audible.

She walked toward the elevators without looking back. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and she stepped inside, shoulders squared like she was bracing herself for something heavier than the ride up.

The doors closed.

Y/N stood there, unmoving, as the numbers above the elevator ticked upward.

2…

3…

4…

Until the light disappeared. Only then did Y/N finally turn away.

They stepped back into the night, the hotel doors sliding shut behind them, cutting off the warmth, the light, her.

The walk back felt longer than before.

Their phone buzzed once in their pocket, but they didn’t check it. The city was quiet again, uncaring, steady. By the time they reached their dorm, the sky was beginning to lighten at the edges.

Y/N sat on their bed, still in their pajamas, staring at the wall.

They pressed a hand to their chest.

“You fucking coward.”

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taglist (47/50)

@thevisionofafeline @meizinisloverboy @wwwlpgs @iluhwomen @solarzbeam @spid3rmil3s @siderealspark @andyyyyy14 @yournextdooralien @gablmk @cazeeee @cookispark @bookkeepersnook @rosiesauriostuff @uconnwbbluvr @jhgifdbki @spideycat13 @awkwardtoafault @itz-0kay @pizzachicken @skz-xii @iviza @aeriyism @h0llyy @rxdeleon09 @levilash @kianthegirlkisser @andyyyyy14 @gabsrevival @trintrillakilla @whoasukiii @everygayhere @lethal-minds @givewandahugspls @antisocisworld @scarly07 @multistann32 @whoasukiii @idkbriiiii @insufferable-yapper @notheroverthinker @mirrawave @prosnale105 @astr-0-wrld @aloneinacity @pitchperfectislife @staxkmj

taglist open!

[sourmeiyok]

💭 party4u ───── manon bannerman

syn after kissing Manon once and being shut down completely, y/n spends weeks enduring quiet rejection, until her birthday proves the distance was intentional

i only threw this party for you (manon x 7thmem!r) cw: little angsty manon doesn’t know what she wants

a/n: listening to Charli put me in the mood to write som bullshit so enjoy

You didn’t fall in love with Manon all at once. It wasn’t some big moment you could point to. It was gradual. Quiet.

You noticed her during the survival show before you even realized what it meant. She had this way of listening that made it feel like she was actually paying attention, not just waiting to talk.

When you finally spoke to her for the first time, you expected nerves. Instead, it felt easy.

Like you’d known her longer than you actually had.

You became friends fast. The kind that gravitated toward each other without planning to. Sitting together during evaluations, whispering comments under your breath, sharing snacks when staff wasn’t looking. When your name was called as the seventh member, you didn’t even think, you just broke.

You cried and jumped straight into Manon’s arms.

She held you tight, like she’d been waiting for it, and when the rest of the girls piled in for the group hug, she didn’t let go of you until staff told you to move.

After debut, it got worse. Or better. Depending on how you looked at it.

Fans clocked you immediately. The duo that was always together. You sat next to each other in interviews, stood close during fan events, leaned into each other on instinct.

During rehearsals, Manon would refill your water bottle without asking, press it into your hand before you even realized you were thirsty. She reminded you to eat. Fixed your mic pack when it slid.

Adjusted your in-ear like it was second nature. Sat next to you every break, no matter where you ended up.

You told yourself it was just how she was. That she was like this with everyone.

But she wasn’t.

Outside of idol schedules, you hung out too. Cafes, late night convenience store runs, sitting on the dorm floor listening to music. That’s where it started to hurt. Because sometimes, more often than you wanted to admit—

Manon would cancel.

Sophie this. Sophie that. Plans she “forgot” to tell you about. Tickets Sophie already bought. You told yourself not to be jealous. They’d known each other forever. You were the new addition. It made sense.

Except it kept happening.

You asked her to get dinner—

she already had plans.

The next day you suggested a movie—

basketball game with Sophie. Another time, she said maybe, then didn’t text back until the next morning with a casual sorry.

You still wanted her. Worse, you felt like she wanted you too. The way she looked at you sometimes. The way she lingered. The closeness kept tightening until it snapped.

It happened at a party. You drank more than you should have. She did too. Music loud, lights low, everyone careless. You kissed her. She kissed you back.

And then she pulled away.

She told you it couldn’t happen again. That we crossed a line. That it was a mistake.

After that, she disappeared.

Not physically. Just… from you.

No more water bottle. No more sitting next to you. She stopped asking if you’d eaten, stopped touching your mic pack, stopped fixing things she knew you could fix yourself. During rehearsals, she chose spots far from you. During breaks, she sat with Sophia. Or Lara. Or anyone else.

She only spoke to you when she had to. On stage. On camera. In front of fans.

It hurt worse because you knew exactly what you did.

You tried to talk to her. Every time, she found a way not to be alone with you. Headphones in. Phone call. Walking faster. Turning the other direction. Like if she avoided eye contact long enough, the problem would disappear.

Sophia noticed first. You vented to her one night, words tumbling out too fast. She talked to Manon for you. Later, Sophia told you Manon said she was just stressed. Tour pressure. Everything piling up.

You said you understood. You pretended you believed it.

But stress doesn’t explain cruelty.

Weeks passed like that.

Lara noticed Manon stopped sitting next to you, how she used to rush to claim the seat by your side and now avoided it entirely.

Daniela noticed you stopped joking around, stopped jumping into conversations, stopped answering interview questions unless directly asked.

Megan noticed the dark circles under your eyes, how you looked exhausted even after days off.

Yoonchae noticed you stopped playing music in the dorm at night, stopped singing softly like you used to.

You told her you didn’t want to disturb anyone.

Manon stopped sleeping in the shared dorm altogether. She’d come in late or leave early, anything to avoid being there when you were. When she did show up, she’d grab something before disappearing again to Sophie’s place.

It felt deliberate. Like punishment.

You stopped reaching out. Stopped trying. It hurt too much to keep getting ignored.

Then your birthday came.

You thought, maybe stupidly, that this would fix something.

The girls threw you a party. They dressed you up, teased you, made it feel normal. Daniela smoothed your hair. Megan joked about you turning twenty-two. Sophia rushed everyone out so you wouldn’t be late.

Manon wasn’t there yet.

You told yourself she was just running late. She wasn’t at the apartment earlier, so maybe she was out. Maybe she’d show up when the cake came out. Maybe she just needed time.

You watched the door all night.

She never walked in.

Lara eventually pulled you aside and told you Manon couldn’t make it. Something “too important to miss.” Lara looked annoyed. Almost angry for you.

They brought out the cake. Everyone sang. You smiled when you were supposed to. Blew out the candles. Made a wish you already knew wouldn’t come true.

Manon helped plan the party.

She just couldn’t be there for it.

And that’s when it finally hit you—

she wasn’t pulling away because she was confused.

She was doing it because she didn’t want to choose you.

TAGLIST(CLOSED): @fruityg0rl @notheroverthinker @northclairo @skz-xii @ctrlamira @vivinquisha @eriesera @secretranchhoagiefestival @whyamihereidkanymore @omgitsadragonn @vivinquisha @aloneinacity @spiderpunkmanon @urwavvy @nadialosv @rdfgfv @nwestra @macsmadness @kams-corner @meisodanon @sandewich @ziantopss @yujiminists @ktuffcentral @aeriyism @sandewich @willowves @itsstavy13 @prioritizemypleasure @meizinihuh @roansverse @marvelwomen-simp @dilanisfruity @thevisionofafeline @stormwitchsimp @wtafits @futureheartstour @bootsnic @lottieculttews

[herlondonboy]

04. my dearest, y/n

synopsis: the summer i turned pretty au sorta

pairings: sophia laforteza x y/n mendoza, sophia laforteza x elliot mendoza (oc)

04. team jeremiah or team conrad

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taglist (32/50)

@meizinisloverboy @wwwlpgs @iluhwomen @solarzbeam @spid3rmil3s @siderealspark @andyyyyy14 @yournextdooralien @gablmk @cazeeee @cookispark @bookkeepersnook @rosiesauriostuff @uconnwbbluvr @jhgifdbki @spideycat13 @awkwardtoafault @itz-0kay @pizzachicken @skz-xii @iviza @aeriyism @h0llyy @rxdeleon09 @levilash @kianthegirlkisser @andyyyyy14 @gabsrevival @trintrillakilla @whoasukiii @everygayhere @lethal-minds @multistann32 @scarly07

taglist open!

[rhiannonsknife]

transfem natalie with a sensitive dick :(

she always acts cocky ! like she isn't sooo easy. but then you take it out and she gets hard with a few strokes:(

and she tries to act like she's not flustered but then you brush your thumb over her tip and she whines and bucks her hips up <3

natalie who loooves fucking your mouth, whimpering when the tip hits the back of your throat

natalie who likes to feel herself in your stomach when she fucks you

natalie who is such a service top, begging you to let her put it in as she's humping your leg <3 begging you to let her go faster and harder, begging you to let her cum inside so she can see her cum dripping out 🤭

» nat scatorccio x fem!reader.

— warnings: transfem!natalie. nsfw content. mdni. handjobs. dry humping. cumming untouched. blowjobs. unprotected p in b sex. breeding kink.

nat who, as your chosen leader, has to act tough & strong all day long, somehow keeping everyone (including shauna!) in check. and while she does struggle, obviously, it still surprises even you how well she keeps up the act, especially compared to how natalie behaves behind closed doors: she’ll pretend to be in control, then falls apart in your arms as soon as you’re alone in your shared hut.

“please…” nat rasps lowly. she’s straddling your hips, humping your thigh with little thrusts that drag the growing bulge in her pants over the length of your leg. even through nat’s shorts & her underwear, you can feel how her cock is twitching, painfully hard already. having mercy on her (and remembering that one time nat literally came in her pants while riding your thigh), you tug down the zipper and quickly pull her cock out, gently wrapping your fingers around it as you watch nat’s head tip back. “oh, yes!” she groans, angling her hips so that she’s fucking your fist. “yes, like that, uh-huh-” smiling up at her, you twist your wrist, stroking nat from the base up to the swollen tip. on the upward stroke, another spurt of precum dribbles down her shaft, and her cock twitches wildly in your grip. nat whimpers, eyes shut tightly, clearly trying to hold back and not cum just yet. “nat…” you murmur and, with her dick still in your hold, lean forward to kiss up the side of her exposed throat. “come on, i know you want to…” you swipe your thumb over her tip, circling it to pick up some of the slick and coat her shaft in it, knowing that nat can never resist that. predictably, she whines and bucks her hips. two more times, she manages, before her cock starts spilling ropes of cum all over your hands, and she slumps against your shoulder.

nat, who definitely came in her pants before...who’s had multiple such incidents, where she simply couldn’t hold it in, too sensitive for whatever you thought she could take. only palming nat’s erection over her clothes can and will end with a warm, wet stain in the fabric of her pants, and her dick going soft before it really started. even just grinding your hips over her cock in her boxer shorts is enough to send her over the edge, and what you think is her leaking pre, at first, is actually nat spilling cum until the fabric turns translucent and you can see her thick tip throb.

nat, who sometimes hates how sensitive she is. for all that sensitivity, she absolutely loves the feeling of your mouth, and wishes she were able to last longer and properly relish the sensation of your lips, wrapped around her girth, instead of cumming within the first few seconds of being encased by their warmth :(

nat could come as soon as her tip nudges against the back of your throat, all of her length resting heavy on your tongue. she can feel herself leaking, your throat working around her cock to swallow the precum that dribbles from her slit. in an attempt to make this last, nat’s hands are balled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she pants above you. knowing how fast nat tends to cum, you hold her down by the hips, preventing her from fucking your mouth. you sigh softly around her shaft, your nose buried in the coarse hair above nat’s dick to inhale the musky scent. “shit,” she curses, twitching in between your lips. “s-slow down, it’s- fuck-” you’re hardly even doing anything yet, just holding her in your mouth, but even the smallest movement is more than enough to send her over the edge. realizing that there’s no drawing it out, you finally start bobbing your head along, setting a fast pace to at least suck her off properly while nat cums. with your cheeks hollowed out and your head tilted, you quietly gag as nat’s dick flexes, all the way at the back of your tongue. before you know it, her cum fills your mouth, spurting straight down your throat, the hand at the back of your head forcing you to swallow every last drop while she whimpers & whines above you.

nat who can go multiple rounds in a row…she might not last long, cumming prematurely more often than she’d like to admit, especially when it’s you touching her (though i’m also thinking nat, who can’t even last on her own, who cums all over her fist after a couple of strokes, because the thought of you pushes her over the edge within mere seconds), but at least she’s got stamina, and despite the sheer amount of cum she releases with every climax, you can easily work nat back into full hardness after an orgasm.

using nat’s cum as lube…? despite having the stack of coach’s condoms, and despite the risks of not using protection (the last thing you need is another pregnancy), nat loves fucking you raw. and, more importantly, you love it, too. nat still tries to act responsibly by keeping the condoms in your hut, but when it comes down to it, you both prefer to do it without them, making up some piss poor excuses as to why it’s not that bad, insisting that she can always just pull out, etc.

you’re straddling nat, only jerking her off so she’ll get hard, yet before long, she’s shutting her eyes tightly, and cum starts spurting from her tip, even as you let it slide from your grip, as if that would stop her from cumming. nat’s cock slaps against her stomach, releasing untouched but barely going soft, even after the climax has washed over her. “jesus, nat,” you playfully scold, watching as her hips buck up to ride out the pleasure. “did you just come from that?” to be fair, you don’t really need nat to answer that: the slick that’s covering her thighs & her stomach really speaks for itself, here, and she whines accordingly, stammering “s-sorry,” thankfully still hard. you smile and scoop up some of the cum, bringing your stained fingers down to wrap them around her cock again, slicking it up with the makeshift lube before you lift your hips. “fucking- shit-” nat groans as you line her up with your cunt, tapping its cum-slick head against your clit. precum gushes from her slit, spilling against your clit and your slick folds. “please!” you grind yourself across her length a few times, feeling it twitch as your cunt wraps around it, a mixture of your arousal & nat’s cum drawing obscene squelching sounds from where your bodies meet. nat throws her head back when, with the next roll of your hips, her tip catches on your entrance, and you gasp, the first stretch catching you off guard. with only the head inside, enveloped by the tight heat of your cunt, nat has to bite down on her tongue to keep from cumming a second time, trying to be patient as you lower your weight and take inch after inch of her cock. it slides inside smoothly, of course, given how slick everything between your thighs is, from your folds to her shaft. once your hips meet and your legs are nestled together on the furs, she can no longer control herself. with how your cunt flutters around her hypersensitive shaft, nat can’t even warn you before her eyes roll back and she cums again, pumping her hips up to feel her in your fucking stomach, despite the risks of that, which her irrational, horny brain struggles to comprehend for the time being. as soon as you feel her, filling you up, you move along, riding it out with nat by bouncing on her throbbing cock. you make sure to clamp your walls down extra hard, your own eyes rolling back when it milks even more cum out of her inside your cunt. you don’t stop moving until you’re both utterly spent, and natalie’s release starts dripping out from between her legs, her cock now soft inside you.

[sillymommy6969]

𝓻iding the 𝓽ide, 𝓶etkayina!manon x 𝓸maticaya!sully!fr

࿇ avatar!au & na’vi!katseye ⓘ mostly fluff, slight nsfw † ✞︎ ♱ ✟ pandora’s eye universe. (masterlist to be made) ⌖ catalogue > part 2 maybe?

“𝓼ince when were you an expert at spear-handling?” lo’ak scoffed, leaning against his own forked into the sand.

you chuckled softly, fastening the leaves tethered around the wooden handle. it was such a stupid question, you were the eldest, the one who made neytiri a mother, and gave jake sully something he never thought he would have on earth. you were what made them a family; a five-fingered, browless, brave and beautiful half-blooded replica of your mother. you were bred in war and conflict, raised under corporal jake sully. if you could cradle a gun, you could handle a simple spear.

“years before you learnt to climb, skxawng.” you teased, tossing the spear briefly in your hand before thrusting your body with your throw. it pierces through a shell dangling from a tree afar. “it’s like shooting the bow instead of its arrows.”

“you’re the skxawng,” he scowled under his breath, turning to pick his spear up, but you yank his tail. “ow--bitch!”

you laughed, holding your arms up defensively, but before he could pounce on you, your ears twitched at the channel of whistles and yips sounding from the distance. you snapped your head up first, expression now controlled and your shoulders squared, a sharp reflex graved into your bones from your ex-marine father’s lessons in hunting. your brother glanced up at you with a questioning grimace, feeling your hands fall from his arm before following your line of sight.

a shoal of ilu broke through the water’s rippling surface, necks craned to let the salty air kiss their scales.

their riders emerged with them, water seaving through their braids, dripping from their chins as they hauled in their catches of the day. as they docked ashore, you see familiar faces guide the younger hunters to where the woven baskets were.

your eyes caught a certain metkayina girl’s, she smiled back.

“tsiyera doesn’t like them desperate, lo’ak.” you teased, knocking his head with your palm to shake him from his daze. he groaned, jogging to catch up to you walking towards your spear. “if you keep staring like that, she’ll think you’re slow.”

“says you?” he scoffed, “i’ve been watching you and manon play eye tag all week. maybe you’re the slow one, bro.”

“you better watch that mouth before i hang you for target practice.” you hissed, bearing your fangs playfully. he just stuck his tongue out, nose scrunching and his amber eyes narrowing like he did when the both of you were children.

you grabbed hold of your training spear, pulling it from the tree bark with a grunt. lo’ak held his over his shoulder, standing with a hand on his hip like he hadn’t almost forked his foot in two trying to hurl his spear mere minutes ago. you noticed his gaze snap towards the young hunters now and again, knowing he couldn’t keep his eyes off the chief’s youngest daughter.

you hear your names be called, and your brother’s posture quickly straightened, chest puffing out and his chin held high. you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh behind the back of your hand, before the two of you stood faced with the sisters.

“lo’ak, will you come look at our catch today?”

lo’ak cleared his throat, not even bothering to glance at you for permission like he used to. he ran a hand along the side of his tied braids, nodding with a subtle smirk. “yeah, sure.”

tsiyera offered you a warm smile, you nod back at her politely before she dragged your brother towards the baskets.

now, stood on this side of the reef, you were alone with her.

“how was your day, tsakarem?” you ask softly, taking in her appearance; her hair twisted in princess braids, shells and beads punctuating each row. her septum ring shimmered from the sea’s generous glaze, her full lips grinning at you. and her eyes, sweet eywa, her eyes bore into yours. your warrior resolved melted in seconds, thin tail swaying lightly at your proximity. you could smell the herbal aroma of her mother’s practices clinging to her beaded fringe top, it soothed you.

she giggled at the formal title, a high-pitched, breathy sound you could recognize amidst an entire clan of na’vi.

“come on, ‘daughter of the great taruk makto’,” she mocked, “kissing ass will only get you so far, so drop the formalities.”

she reached for your spear, you held your arm up instinctively. her fingers traced the dents your hands had molded since you began training. she inspected the tool carefully, before her eyes fell back upon yours, which were already staring back.

she smirked, flipping her hair. “your grip is still too tight.”

you tilted your head, watching her every move, committing them to memory. the way her ear twitched every so often to flick the dried sand mudding at the tips, how the teal beads from her stomach chain jingled with each breath she took.

maybe the reef wasn’t such a bad place to live after all.

“really?” you say. you knew it was, and you knew well it gave you a familiar hold. but you never argued with her, you couldn’t. “how do i change that, ma karyu (my teacher)?”

her smile widened, before she began walking away.

“you wield spears like they serve you, but they are more than slaves to your intentions.” she joked, your spear still clutched loosely in her hand. you followed suit, longer limbs making it easier to keep up with her. you let her guide you towards the village bustling to fix the catch the young hunters hauled in, families and children making their way around the nets. “maybe you’re not quite the warrior they say you are, sully.”

you nod politely to those who greet, most of whom do so as an extended courtesy of paying respect to the olo’eyktan’s eldest. still, your father said to make peace with the people, and having the future oleykte favour you had its benefits.

“you’re starting to sound like lo’ak,” you smiled, a genuine one, “and here i hoped tsireya’s kindness would rub off on him.”

“are you implying i’m unkind?” she scoffed, feigning offence, her thick tail smacking the side of your leg. you hiss, yelping as you hopped, clutching it. she laughed, the corners of her eyes creasing, flashing the pearly fangs sitting imperfectly between her lips. the sound dotted with the rustling of her beads. “serves you right, you forget you’re a guest here sometimes.”

“oh my eywa, how are you guys allowed to walk around with those fucking things.” you nudged her playfully, catching the tiny smile lingering on her lips. “you are one cruel princess.”

“let’s see what your tail looks like, dumbass.”

manon was popular, you knew she would be even if she wasn’t the chief’s daughter. she was admired in a way tsireya wasn’t; she spoke her mind, was blunt, never scared to cut you with her words when she thought you deserved it. she was always gentle with the children, soft-spoken and mature when they showed her their collection of shells. she knew just what to say to make their little faces beam, and you liked that about her.

she was indescribably breathtaking, meaning every time your eyes had the pleasure of taking her frame in, you swore to eywa it was good karma for all the war and destruction that plagued the forests you knew back in hometree.

still, you noticed she didn’t respond when rotxo or the boys made fun of her and tsireya for keeping you and your brother as “pets”, she only hissed, ignoring their tasteless behaviour.

she hated when people referred to her as future chief, as the heir, using her duties against her. she hated when people called her that, oleykte (chief), she never wanted to be more than just manon. and that’s what you saw beyond that beautiful shell casing her strong heart. but she never minded when you would tease her for it, knowing she hated it.

you liked that, how she never needed to satisfy anybody’s expectations of her. you wished you had the same luxury.

“are you done spear-handle training for the day?” she asked.

you tilted your head: a spitting image of your father from this angle, manon noted. the two of you sauntered through the village along the lines of shore, sun peaking through tears in the mauri tops. “well, i was supposed to be helping lo’ak, but he’s become a little…” you glanced over your shoulder, at tsireya frantically pawing at your brother’s arm to bring his attention between different fish sitting in the baskets. his body is tense, and you couldn’t help but grin. “occupied.”

“so, what i’m hearing is a ‘yes’?” she pursed her lips together, spinning on her heel so she would walk facing you. each foot swung backwards gracefully, her balance impeccable, despite the tsap’alute bounding lightly with each step. you still had yet to grow accustomed to this feeling.

“yes.” you repeated, wetting your lips. your chest tightened when her stare lingered on your eyes longer than it should.

“good.” was all she said, before her hand slipped into yours.

your heart betrayed your composure, you felt her fingers brush against the point along your wrist where your nerves drummed against your skin. they don’t stay there, but she made the touch evident. you don’t pay attention to the looks and whispers peppering your figures as you walked.

your eyes trailed along the kurti marked all over her body. the intricate strokes, detailed lines carefully needled into her supple skin by hand. you had learned she loved the art of tattooing, and you were certain nothing could ever put you onto something that symbolically turned against your omaticaya heritage. but if she ever offered to give you one, you wouldn’t trust yourself to have the courage to refuse.

the interior of the chief’s mauri came into view.

per usual, no member of the family was inside, off scattered across the reef to fulfill their duties this time of day.

manon let go of your hand, before making her way to her mat, where her singing bowl was tucked away in. she gestured at one of the cushions by their fireplace, and you do as told, sitting on your knees, eyes never straying from her.

“i finally learned the new meditation tune from my mother.”

you nodded along, nose welcoming the close, comforting scent of her again. she set the bowl down, eyeing you again.

“i want to show you something… will you let me?”

you nodded again, lips parted to let out the gasp you swore came straight from her taking her breath away.

“close your eyes.” she instructed. and you do just that. “i want you to breathe, let the air within you become one with that around you.” she continued, watching you inhale deeply through your pursed lips. “just like i taught you.”

manon would never admit this aloud, but she found you the single most fascinating thing her eyes had ever laid on.

she had never seen an omaticaya na’vi before you arrived, but none of the other members in your family vexed her quite the way you did; taller, slimmer build than neteyam, tail strung a little longer than your younger siblings, and like your father, you carried four fingers on each hand. rotxo and au’nong always called you names, ‘tree monkey’, ‘half-blood’, ‘demon’, but all she could think about was how soft and gentle your fingertips danced whenever you reached for her hand. she loved how your hands had no trouble encircling her flared wrists, how an extra finger meant you wrapped around her hand better.

there was nothing demonic in the way you touched her--like she was fragile, something worth worshipping. she was never one to seek joy in dominance over others, but the way you looked up to her like she was a god whose name you preach, she could only see you as that--her angel.

the mighty daughter of taruk makto, jake sully and the heart of pandora, neytiri. forged to be a warrior, the only one of your siblings allowed to ride with your father on your ikrans.

it didn’t matter your skin was a different shade of blue, if your hair differed from hers in texture, or if you couldn’t hold your breath longer than a couple minutes every time you dove with the young metkayina hunters. she wanted you.

but manon knew better than to rush things. she wanted to savour it, every moment she stole you away from whatever you were devoted to. you never said ‘no’, and she was exploiting the absolute hell out of how badly you wanted her attention.

“good,” she purred, your ears twitched against your will at the sultry tone she took on. the reflex doesn’t go unnoticed, she glanced down at the bowl in her lap, smiling. “relax, ma uokx (my flower). i can see the tension in your shoulders.”

your breath hitched, you were now hyper-aware of how loud each exhale was. you swallowed, letting your shoulder loose, you hadn’t noticed how hard you were holding them until she had pointed them out, and warmth flushed to your cheeks. you thanked eywa the hut was dark, tarps shielding the bright pandora sun from exposing your fluster around her.

then, the singing bowl sounded. a singular, clean echo.

the elongated ring made your right ear flutter, like you could feel the sound travel through your ear cavity into your brain. the hairs on the back of your neck raised, still blinded to what she was doing, where she was looking. it made you nervous.

“imagine the forest breathing with you--tall trees stretching upward, roots deep in the earth, the air cool and green as it fills your lungs, every sound layered like it’s meant to hold you.”

it caught you off guard, the sudden visual of your home flickering through your mind like an invasive parasite.

“picture light filtering through the leaves, dappling your skin, and with every exhale let the noise in your head fall away, because here you are safe, you are seen, and you are allowed to rest and relax without performing for anyone.”

every word sounded sharp, a screech to your ears like talons across squeaky bark. it was such a beautiful image, your home among the forest, but you had tried so hard pushing the memories down. the scent of sap and sweet citrus fruits that wafted at the very edge of the reef, where the sand blurred into the dirt of the island forest. it struck a part of your heart you couldn’t name, it stung every time you thought to reach for a branch and just climb one of the trees. it wouldn’t be the same.

another echo from the singing bowl rang across the mauri.

manon noted every single jerk of your body: your nose twitched like you could smell the wet leaves and soaked soil, ears pinned back against your head like you could hear the ikrans shriek, your hands shook lightly, tense, like you were pouncing from tree to tree in that thick imaginative state.

the familiarity you found in the forest was now soured; or rather, a tang too salty from the ocean washing over it.

“and if you get lost,” she added softly, letting you lose yourself in the thoughts of your lost home. and you do, gradually, the pain of reaching for something no longer there turned into a reminder of why you fought. why you needed to leave. hometree, and all those who inhabit it were innocent. such beauty, such purity, needed to be preserved. and as long as you carried the sully name, you knew it meant fighting a war you never asked for. “just remember the forest doesn’t rush you--it waits, it welcomes you back every time… and so do i.”

your eyes shot open, pupils widening against the warm amber it drowned in. manon was already staring at you, singing bowl half-gone from her mind as it sat poised in her crossed lap.

she seemed to be the only one who could knock you off your feet, knock the air from your chest. of all the gunfire, all the death, grief-stricken arrows, and sorrowful glares you had seen, this was what crumbled you. her.

she takes the initiative to tear through the tension, her hand reaching out to place it lightly against your chest, over your garments. you exhaled deeply, like she pushed it straight out from your lungs. she scooted closer, knees brushing against yours as she sat facing you. your hand instinctively gloved hers, cradling it tightly against your heart, like it would pain you to move it away. and honestly, it just might.

“they look up to you, your siblings,” she said, “but they see you. like your parents. they see you, ma uokx.” she bit back a word, before sighing softly. “i see you.”

you smiled, squeezing her hand. eyes darting down to her lips.

“thank you,” you whispered, “you spoil me, tsakarem.”

she laughed, teeth bearing as she knocked you back with a gentle push to the chest. she stood, grabbing her singing bowl and tucked it back in her mat. you smiled at the sound of her laughter, soothing you more than any singing bowl could.

“what? you do! i think the boys are getting jealous.”

she rolled her eyes at the mention of her friends, the same ones who judged before they had understood you.

“you deserve more than they ever could. i mean, you pull half the weight of their hunting, i think ao’nung’s been getting told off for losing to the newcomer.” she said, approaching the opening of the mauri. you hopped to your feet, following suit. “besides, i’ve noticed lo’ak getting better since your extra lessons began. you’re very patient with him, i don’t think i can be quite as nice to someone as stubborn.”

you chuckled. “try teaching him how to shoot an arrow. it was how my father punished me growing up.”

a comfortable silence fell over the both of you.

you follow her lead, letting her take you to a little tide pools somewhere by the strip your family’s designated mauri was.

your ears catch every tiny clink her belly chain makes as she bent down to pick at the shells and rocks lining the pools. you knew nothing about shells and such, but you pretended to be interested every time she went off on something regarding them. you listen, but never retain what she says, distracted by how her pupils widen as she ranted on about them.

you hear your father’s voice shout your name from your mauri, where your mother was looking from. “family meeting! now!”

manon hoped to spend some more of her afternoon with you, but she concealed her disappointment with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, only nodding towards your parents waiting when you shot her an apologetic look.

“i’m sorry, tsakarem.” you said softly, hand squeezing the side of her arm. “excuse me, but i’ll be as quick as i can.”

“no, no, i have duties with my mother in a while anyways. i’ll see you tomorrow… perhaps after your diving training?” she asked, a courtesy question, knowing you wouldn’t refuse.

“of course.” you grinned. “anytime you wish. just call for me.”

with one last brush, you pulled away, much to your body’s dismay. she stood, fiddling with the necklaces around her chest. she watched you retreat into your mauri, your father following after you. she sighed, sauntering off for a swim.

shame… she’ll break you some other time then.

when the morning rolled around, you were dragged off to the shore like you were every morning. tuk had made it her mission to be your personal alarm, pouncing all over your mat until you caved and awoke to accompany her in her hunt for shells scattered overnight along the shallows.

by the time your little sister had exhausted herself into her afternoon nap, you were back on the docks to hear yet another earful of ao’nung trying to teach you about riding ilu.

“shit, well, i have to grab the saddles… stay here. i need to fetch the skxawng-proof ones since you all are…” he glanced between you, and you hear rotxo and some of their friends laugh under their breath. “…amateurs.”

there, left alone by the shoal of ilu just swimming about encircling around the dock, were you and your siblings.

“so when can i beat this asshole’s face in?” lo’ak asked.

“stop. he’s giving us a chance to ride with them. don’t say anything to agitate him.” neteyam warned, earning an eye roll from the younger brother. “besides, it’s time we were able to go beyond the corals. your spearing has been… suboptimal.”

“hey!” lo’ak nudged you with his elbow, you scow at his antic. “my spearing is not that bad, right? tell him!”

you shrugged, smirking down at him. “i don’t know, you’ve scared more fish in the waters than you’ve hit shells.”

“you can’t make yourself the standard, you were trained.”

“i just adapt quicker, little brother.” you hooked an arm around his neck, locking him down against your stomach. he groaned, thrashing against you as the others shared a laugh. “maybe if you’d stop staring at tsireya so much when you should be eyeing the targets, you’d learn to spear better.”

“like you’re better? you show off whenever she’s watching.”

at the mention of her, your ears perked, your brother successfully slipped out of your grasp.

“i don’t show off. i’m just naturally better at things like that.”

“yeah? like you don’t get into that ‘warrior posture’ when you know she’s looking.” he stood straighter, smouldering in a pitiful attempt at mocking you. the others laugh along anyway. “you look exactly like dad when you do that bullshit.”

you wanted to snap back, but kiri beat you to it.

“you do have that whole marine thing going on,” she giggled, a hand over her mouth to conceal her amusement.

“you guys are crazy. i practice to be better, not to show off.”

“really? not to impress a certain girl…?” neteyam began with a tiny, knowing smirk; but, your glare wasn’t quite enough to snare his teasing before the others joined.

“perhaps the chief’s eldest daughter?” kiri raised an eyebrow.

“her name starts with ‘m’, ends with--ow!” you smacked the back of lo’ak’s head, harsh enough to let a muted thud punctuate the pained yelps that followed. “stop hitting me!”

“then stop acting like a skxawng!” you hissed, fangs bearing for a split second. your ears pinned back as they flushed.

“are we talking about manon?” tuk suddenly chimed.

she jumped onto your back, hands encircling your neck to let herself hang off your shoulders. you held her, but still, pinch her thigh in warning at the sheer volume of her voice.

“shush! yelling the tsakarem’s name isn’t polite, tuk.”

“but you talk about her all the time--” you slapped a hand over her tiny face. she whined, nipping at your fingers with her dull fangs, but you were used to it by now.

“what did i say about secrets?” you hissed in her ear.

“oh, come on, ‘evi (sister), don’t torture poor tuk because she’s honest.” kiri said, brushing your arm. you let the youngest go, and she practically leaped into the older’s arms. “it’s not a bad thing, you’re allowed to be happy here, y’know?”

you averted your gaze, swallowing. but you appreciated it.

ao’nung and the boys came back before you needed to address the statement, relieved, you let them set the saddles on the ilu, before the usual challenge arised.

“itan alu taruk makto (one who follows taruk makto),” he called, a smug smirk across his lips, “let’s see how you fair.”

you were going to refuse, not wanting to entertain the boy’s provocation. before a voice ceased your protest.

“ao’nung! i swear to eywa, i will cut your kuru.”

tsireya and manon stormed their way up to your group by the docks. tsireya halted just between lo’ak and neteyam, glaring at her brother in disapproval. manon brushed past kiri to stop before you, the back of her hand brushing yours in a brief pass over, wedging herself between you and ao’nung before staring down at the metkayina boy with her fangs bearing.

“we talked about this, asshole. without the proper lessons they need, they could drown.” she scowled, “are you serious?”

he sneered, scoffing. “they need to pull their weight.”

“they have been pulling their weight, they’ve had to learn to swim like our newborns. has your skxawng ass forgotten they were born to trees and forest?” she was now getting agitated, and you could feel her irritation bubble along her skin. her nose scrunched, septum ring swinging with each snarl. even then she looked like no other, but you were determined to defuse her temper before she scratched her brother’s eyes out.

you rested a hand on her shoulder, her head snapped towards your touch like you breathed life back into her.

“it’s okay, ao’nung’s right. we should pull our weight.”

you held a hand out, holding the latter’s gaze. his eyes widened, taken aback by the fact you were willing to take on the challenge. he hesitated, but you weren’t backing down.

defeated, he handed the ilu’s kuru over with a quivering lip.

manon grimaced, as if asking, ‘what in good great mother do you think you’re doing?’ but you gave her a reassuring nod.

“best way to learn something is to do it. trial and error, right?”

you carefully hauled yourself onto the animal, looking back at the worried expressions scattered across your siblings’ faces. you shot them a tight-lipped smile: evi fìran (older sister) will handle this. your arm raised over your head to drag your kuru forward, you held it up to the ilu’s, praying in your head it doesn’t reject you. as a familiar sensation struck up your spine, the tsaheylu engulfs both you and the creature beneath you.

you feel the water flushing around its fins like they were your arms, back tingling like someone sat on you. you feel curiosity bubble in you, and your hand caressed its side in answer.

you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. you let the bond linger.

your lips curled into a smirk, before your ilu dove into the water with one fell dive. your hand clutched onto the reigns of the saddle tightly, leaning forward as you see the older metkayina warriors do. you held your breath, adrenaline surging through your veins as your ilu darted wherever you thought it too. with an unspoken command, it surfaces, letting you take a brief breath of air before surging back into the water, swelling through the underside of the docks before you eventually slowed, guiding the animal slowly back where you started.

neteyam glanced down, smiling. lo’ak laughed aloud, hollering with tuk as kiri clasped her hands together in satisfaction at the flabbergast overcoming the metkayina boys. even tsireya sported a wide grin, and manon only watched with a smile.

you got off the ilu, severing your kurus before hopping back onto the wooden docks. water dripped from your skin, teal flecks glimmering under the high noon sunlight. you pushed your hair back, tongue flicking the salty droplets sliding into the corner of your mouth. your eyes never left ao’nung’s.

“now let’s see you ride an ikran.” you said, panting lightly.

“yeah, suck it, asshole!” lo’ak cackled, earning a light elbow from neteyam, but even the trophy son couldn’t contain his pride. you were glad you had done something to send the message; to not underestimate the sully’s, just because you weren’t birthed along the coast with webbed hands.

a humbled ao’nung is forced to behave under tsireya’s suprevisioin. you watched your siblings take their turns trying to tame ilus one after another. it was to no surprise when neteyam takes such challenge into his hands calmly, or when lo’ak’s almost flung across the dock when he hopped on just too eagerly. you smiled at the lightened mood, wringing your hair of the seaweeds and corals caught during your ride.

manon hadn’t taken her eyes off you since you got off your ilu.

her stomach churned at the sight of you soaked and glistening, entirely in your element despite it being your first time riding an ilu. perhaps you were proving her wrong, that you were the great warrior they all claimed you were. she liked that, how power and authority dripped from you. yet, you never flaunted it around. it sent her into a frenzy she couldn’t name, but she might as well be holding back a purr with the way she had her fingertip clamped between her teeth.

“is there anything you can’t do?” she asked, dragging a finger across your shining shoulder. she circled you, thick tail brushing across the back of your calves as she stopped facing you. her finger stopped at your chest, tracing the lines of your woven top. “maybe you were metkayina in a past life.”

“what a life that would’ve been.” you answered, chuckling softly. you gasped when you felt her tail drag up the inside of your leg. you tried not to stammer, breath hitching at her hand toying with the feathers hanging from the band of your loincloth. “i uhm--ahem, i just imagined riding my ikran.”

“yeah?” she hummed, biting her lip. she grabbed your hand, tugging you away from the docks slowly.

you glanced over your shoulder, everyone seemed occupied.

“you ever thought about riding… other things?” she asked, a knowing smile on her face. heat flushed to your cheeks, they darken into a deeper shade. you don’t answer, you couldn’t.

enthused, she brought you to a cove in one of the many caves that inhabit the reef. you glanced around, unfamiliar with the area, but still appreciative for how lively it seemed.

“y’know, i’ve been thinking about something.” she said.

she pulled you into the water, each step you took leaving an echoing swish. her ears relaxed, flicked backwards as her eyes fell hooded. she batted her lashes, fangs over her plump bottom lip. your eyes glanced between her eyes and her lips, unsure of where to fix your gaze.

she put one of your hands on her waist, the other on her cheek. her hand held over yours. your thumb caresses it on instinct.

she leant into your touch, eyes fluttering open and shut. your thumb caressed her cheek on instinct.

“tell me, tsakarem.” you murmured, feeling her breath against your lips as you tugged her closer gently.

“for someone as fearless as you, i can tell there are things you’re scared to say.” her voice dropped to a whisper, hands brushing hair away from your features, wanting to see your amber eyes in its full glory. “i’m worried you don’t… trust me.”

her tone pained you to hear. you hated how defeated it was.

“of course not.” you answered, all too quickly. “you have made this my home away from home.” her eyes now back on yours, good eywa, how could anybody sadden a woman as precious as her? “no na’vi on pandora can ground me the way you do.”

your hand on her cheek moved hers to your chest. all four fingers pressed her palm flat against your heart. it thumped, drumming against your chest. the longer you let yourself linger in the same presence as her. you closed your eyes, breathing her in. your heart slowed, until the only thing you could feel running through your mind was her.

“i see you.” you whispered, a firm and grounded promise.

her gaze softened, her pupils blowing just a tad wider than it was a moment ago. the corner of her lips quirked into a smile.

“not the olo’eyktan’s daughter, not the one teaching me and my siblings your way of life, i see you. manon.”

she seemed satisfied with that answer, smile spreading.

“o’le ngati kameie.” was the last thing you could mutter, before both hands cupped her cheeks firmly. you pursed your lips gently against hers, feeling her sigh softly into it. you hold her like a single wrong move would break her, and her hands trailing the sides of your torso. you’re gently swept onto your back, submerged into the shallow parts of the water.

you laughed, ears flicking the water seeping into them.

“is this a ritual? to kiss in the caves of the awa’atlu?”

“this isn’t just a cave, ma uokx.” the bioluminescent water circled your figures. manon glanced back at a glowing opening below the water at the edge of the cave. “i haven’t showed you the most sacred place on this reef.” she smirked, staring back down at you, fingers toying with the waistband of your tsko. “we are going to mate before eywa in the spirit tree.”

࿇ an: sorry yall this came to me like the angel gabriel to mary i could not stop thinking about the monster high clips and metkayina!manon. lmk what yall think im thinking of a neytiri!sophia and probably lo’ak!megan next…

© sillymommy6969 2025. all rights reserved.

[luluvrs]

𓏲࣪ once (ours)

pairing » manon bannerman x fem!reader  synopsis » you fall in love with someone the world won’t stop watching. but when they start watching you, too, things get heavy, and you walk away before it breaks you both. ᝰ.ᐟ wc » 3.3k

ᝰ.ᐟ: this wasn't supposed to be as long as it is 🫩

you always thanked god your relationship with manon was never hidden.

with katseye’s spike in popularity, hxg barely had the time, or the energy, to care about hiding your relationship. it was never a conversation that lasted long.

“just…be careful,” missy said once, rubbing her temple, already overwhelmed by something else.

manon never kept you hidden. it wasn’t secrecy, it was privacy. she never showed your face fully when she posted stories—always your back, your shoulder, your hand laced with hers. sometimes the side of your jaw, cropped just enough to keep you unrecognizable. it was a boundary she refused to let anyone cross.

because of that, dates were easy. sunglasses, a hoodie, maybe a hat if you were feeling dramatic. no disguises, no sneaking around. you walked beside her like you belonged there, because you did.

there was always that flicker of paranoia when manon took you somewhere expensive. high end restaurants with glass fronts and valets and paparazzi permanently stationed outside like vultures. you’d feel it in your chest while walking in, waiting for a camera flash, a shout, anything.

it never happened.

and every time it didn’t, you let yourself breathe, pretending that this balance, this fragile, careful normal, could last forever.

—

suddenly there was a…switch.

manon didn’t notice it. even you didn’t. it was quiet, almost harmless at first. but the fans started picking up on the hints manon always thought were too subtle to mean anything. things she assumed no one would ever connect.

they connected everything.

they dug deep. deeper than you thought anyone ever would. it was terrifying how easily they could build a real person from fragments—how a silhouette, a shadow in the corner of a photo, could turn into a name, a life, a target.

manon was buried in rehearsals for their upcoming coachella performance. long days, longer nights. you were drowning in your studies, deadlines stacking on top of each other. neither of you had the time—or the habit—of scrolling endlessly through your phones.

you didn’t see it happening.

while you were busy living, fans were slowly pulling you apart piece by piece. old photos resurfaced—pictures you forgot existed. you with manon’s friends, laughing, standing a little too close. blurry clips from parties, zoomed in until the pixels broke apart, your faces barely clear but familiar enough.

you were always in the background. never the focus. never meant to be seen. but they saw you anyway.

you don’t realize until one day.

it’s during one of your weekly dates, something manon insists on, no matter how busy things get. you’d just finished lunch, the two of you walking down the street toward an ice cream place, talking about nothing important, when you hear it.

the loudest scream. no, more like a high pitched screech, sharp enough to cut through everything else. you gasp softly and clutch at her arm, fingers tightening instinctively.

“what the—“

you don’t even get to finish. two bodies come sprinting toward you at full speed. your eyes widen, panic blooming fast and ugly in your chest. your heart starts racing as you look up at manon, expecting her to freeze, to tense, to do something!

she doesn’t. she’s smiling. soft, amused, completely unbothered.

you’re confused. how is she not terrified? two strangers are running straight at you, screaming at the top of their lungs like this is some kind of emergency and you’re the center of it.

then they get closer. the screeching isn’t random. it’s her name.

“MANON!! MERET MANON—YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!”

you snort despite yourself. the audacity of it almost feels unreal.

by the time they reach you, they’re bent over, heaving, hands on their knees, lungs clearly fighting for survival.“manon… i— we love you… can we take… a picture please,” one of them says between gasps.

manon giggles and nods easily, like this is the most normal thing in the world. she steps forward and gently nudges you behind her, positioning her body just enough to block you from view. she thinks it’s subtle.

it isn’t. it only makes it worse.

they clock it immediately. of course they do.

while they’re taking pictures with manon, they’re careful. every angle somehow includes you. a shoulder. your hair. your face, half visible. whether you notice or not clearly isn’t their concern.

they leave just as quickly as they came, giddy and breathless.

and the two of you, still completely clueless, link arms again and continue walking toward the ice cream place, smiling, unaware that something has already shifted beyond repair.

—

you always thanked god your relationship with manon was never hidden. but now you wished it was.

every click. every scroll. every swipe. you stared at your phone in complete disbelief, thumb hovering like if you stopped moving everything would undo itself. it wasn’t that bad. not yet. that’s what you told yourself, clinging to it like a lifeline.

then the days passed. and the fans got harsher. crueler.

to say you were ripped apart was an understatement. they dissected you with no hesitation, no guilt. your private account was found, ripped open and spread around like it was public property. screenshots, zoom ins, annotations. strangers arguing over pieces of your life like they owned it. hell, they even found the university you attended.

your name stopped feeling like it belonged to you. your face stopped feeling safe. everything that was once just yours became something for everyone else to consume, judge, and destroy.

and all of it traced back to the one thing you never thought would hurt you.

“baby? don’t worry, i’ll fix it, okay?” she says, pacing back and forth across her living room. her voice is trying to sound steady, reassuring, like this is just another problem she can smooth over with the right words.

daniela, sitting on the couch, is starting to get a headache just watching her. back and forth. back and forth. like a trapped animal.

“don’t worry?” you snap, phone pressed tight to your ear as you walk out of your lecture hall. your grip on your bag is white knuckled. “manon, are you seeing the shit they’re saying about me? the shit they found?”

“y/n, who cares what they have to say? they’re always making up rumors about—”

“y/n!”

you’re suddenly stopped short. two girls rush up to you, phones already in their hands, eyes dark with accusation.

“why didn’t you tell us you were dating manon from katseye?” one of them asks, offended, like you’ve personally wronged her.

your stomach drops. “i’m sorry, i’m in a hurry,” you mutter, not even waiting for a response. you push past them, your shoulder clipping one of theirs, and keep walking. faster. head down. out of the building. you don’t stop until you’re in your car, door slamming shut like it’s the only thing keeping the world out.

“ugh—stupid fucking fans, stupid fucking group, fuck this—!” you groan, forehead hitting the steering wheel. the sound is dull, painful, grounding. your phone is still on speaker in your lap, manon’s voice crackling faintly through it.

you take a deep breath. it turns into another groan.

“let me come see you—”

“what!? are you crazy!? you cut her off immediately, panic spiking. the thought alone makes your chest feel tight. “just—just let me drive to my apartment.”

there’s a pause. too long. you hang up before she can say anything else.

“fuck,” manon curses, the word sharp and ugly as she drags a hand down her face. the migraine is already creeping in, blooming behind her eyes. her phone is still in her hand, screen dark now, useless. “fuck!”

“are you good…?” daniela asks carefully, setting her own phone down.

manon lets out a harsh laugh. “does it look like i’m good, daniela?” she seethes. her voice cracks on the edge of something worse. “what the fuck do i do? she’s getting dragged for no reason.”

daniela sighs, rubbing her temples. “just relax for now, okay? you can’t do anything, and you’re making it worse by being angry.”

manon hates that she’s right.

she drops onto the couch beside her, the cushions sinking under her weight, and tosses her phone to the side with more force than necessary. it skids across the fabric and hits the armrest.

silence settles in the room, thick and suffocating.

meanwhile, you’re driving with the windows down, cold air slapping against your face, trying to keep you from screaming. every red light feels too long. every car next to you feels like it’s watching. your phone buzzes again and again in the cup holder. you don’t look at it.

when you finally get to your apartment, you lock the door behind you like someone might try to follow. you slide down against it, sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest. your phone is in your hand again before you can stop yourself.

notifications stacked on notifications.

your name. your face. your life.

people dissecting you like a case study. calling you names you’ve never been called before. accusing you of things you’ve never done. saying you’re using her. saying you’re ugly. saying you don’t deserve her. saying you should disappear.

you don’t cry. or you thought you wouldn’t. tears suddenly slide down your cheeks at an alarming pace.

and somewhere across the city, manon is sitting on a couch she suddenly hates, staring at the space where her phone landed, realizing that for the first time in her career, she can’t protect the person she loves.

and that realization hurts worse than anything the fans could ever say.

—

it’s been a whole week since that call.

a whole week since manon last saw you.

it’s starting to get to her in ways she doesn’t want to admit. rehearsals blur together. conversations go in one ear and out the other. she keeps checking her phone during breaks, thumb hovering over your name, rereading the same unanswered messages like maybe the words will change if she looks long enough.

she’s tired of not seeing you. tired of not hearing your voice without it breaking into an argument. tired of pretending this distance is temporary when it feels deliberate.

you feel the vibrations from the bed before you even open your eyes. your phone buzzing for what feels like the millionth time that minute. it’s relentless, angry, demanding. you groan and pat around blindly until your fingers finally close around it.

when you unlock it, the screen is overwhelming.

tags. comments. reposts. mentions stacked on top of each other like they’re suffocating the screen.

your phone is blowing up.

you drop it back onto the mattress like it burned you.

you can’t be seen with her. you can’t risk it. every post, every rumor, every picture already feels like it’s closing in. staying away feels like the only thing you can control.

for her sake.

for yours.

“y/n, what?” manon snaps immediately. her voice is sharp, strained. “stop spewing this bullshit and come here. to me.”

you sit up in bed, hair falling into your face, heart already pounding. “manon, are you not listening to me? i cannot be seen with you.”

“no, i heard you just fine the first ten times you said that,” she huffs, pacing again, you can hear it in her footsteps. “but i don’t care.”

“i care!” you shout, the sound echoing in your apartment. your blood is boiling now, hot and fast. “you’re not the one they’re hating on, manon!”

there’s silence on the other end for half a second. she understands. she knows. that’s what makes it worse. so why is she being so damn stubborn?

“what’s the point?” she fires back. “they know already. just get over here. it’ll be over soon—”

you don’t let her finish.

you hang up. the silence afterward is deafening.

manon stares at her phone. her jaw tightens, shoulders tense, chest rising too fast. she throws the phone onto the couch again, harder this time, like maybe breaking it would make the situation simpler.

it doesn’t.

on your end, you sit there staring at the dark screen, your reflection faint and distorted. your hands are shaking. your chest hurts. every part of you wants to grab your keys and drive to her place, consequences be damned. but you don’t.

—

it, in fact, wasn’t over soon. quite the opposite actually.

it got worse.

they started comparing you to everyone. every girl manon had ever stood next to. all her friends, old alleged relationships, random women she was photographed with once, anyone who’d ever been within five feet of her. side by side screenshots. polls. threads ranking you like you were an option instead of a person.

too ugly. too plain. too quiet. too much. not enough.

and what made it even more unbearable was that you were still refusing to see manon. she was pissed. not just at the fans but at you.

why don’t you want to see her?

why aren’t you letting her comfort you?

why are you pushing her away like she’s part of the problem?

those thoughts are running through her head on repeat as she unlocks her apartment door, shoulders tense, jaw tight, ready to explode at daniela about literally anything—

only to notice the door is already slightly open. “daniela—?” she calls out, brows furrowing as she steps inside. the tv is on. low volume. some random show playing.

but there’s no daniela. no curly dark hair. no sarcastic comment waiting for her.

instead, she sees you sitting on her couch.

“finally!” she blurts out before her brain catches up with her emotions. relief and anger crash together, messy and uncontrolled. “what, you realized you do actually need me—”

“someone spilled their smoothie on me.”

your voice cuts through her, small and unsteady. the quiver in it stops her cold.

she rounds the couch in two quick steps, and when she finally sees you properly something in her chest shatters. your nose, the one she always kissed without thinking, is red. your eyes, the ones she loved staring into just to watch them soften, are glassy and full. you’re holding yourself together by sheer force.

her heart breaks. completely.

she’s at your side instantly, hands on your face, cupping your cheeks like she’s scared you’ll disappear if she lets go. “hey—hey—” her voice drops, panic bleeding through. “what happened? baby?”

you thought you could take it. you really did. everything was online. words on a screen. nothing tangible. nothing that could actually touch you.

but this—

this is real.

her hands. her voice. the way she’s looking at you like you’re fragile and precious and hers. it’s too much.

your lips wobble. fresh tears spill over, sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them. your breath breaks, ugly and sharp, like you’ve been holding it for days.

“no, no, no,” manon murmurs immediately, guilt flooding her expression. “baby, i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

her eyes scan every inch of your face like she’s looking for injuries she can’t see. her thumb wipes under your eye, gentle, reverent. then her hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through it as she pulls you against her. flush and close.

your face buries into her neck and the sob that leaves you is raw, unfiltered. it shakes your entire body. she wraps herself around you without hesitation, arms tight, like she can physically shield you from everything that’s hurt you.

she holds you like this is where you’re supposed to be.

and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall apart, right there in her arms, because staying strong has finally cost you more than breaking ever could.

after you calm down, you slowly pull away from her. not all at once, just enough to breathe. your hands linger in her hoodie for a second before letting go. you take a shaky breath, stare at the floor like it might give you the words.

“i think… i think we need to distance ourselves just a little…”

holy shit.

her heart drops straight to her ass.

the second you push her hands away. slow, careful, like you’re afraid of hurting her—she panics.

she knows what that really means.

“no, please don’t do this—” her voice cracks immediately, ugly and raw. her hands hover in the air, unsure where to go, fingers trembling. “please. i can’t— i don’t know if i can handle it.” she looks destroyed.

“manon…” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks again. you sniffle, scooting back on the couch, putting space between you because you know if you don’t, you’ll fold. “don’t make this harder than it already is…”

her hands fly into her hair, gripping at it like she’s trying to keep herself together by force. she paces once, twice, breath uneven.

“y/n, i swear to god i’ll fix it,” she pleads, voice breaking completely now. “don’t leave. please don’t leave, please—”

you don’t answer right away. instead, you reach out.

your hand comes up slowly, hesitant, like you’re asking permission even now. your fingers cup her cheek, warm and familiar, thumb brushing under her eye where tears have spilled. she leans into your touch instantly.

you lean forward and press a soft kiss to her other cheek. brief and gentle.

it’s not rushed, it feels like goodbye.

she lets out a broken sound at the contact, hands twitching like she wants to pull you back but doesn’t dare.

then you pull away.

you stand up.

“i’m not leaving because i want to,” you say quietly, grabbing your bag. your hands are shaking just as bad as hers. “i’m leaving because i don’t recognize myself anymore.”

she freezes.

“everywhere i go, they know,” you continue, voice small but steady. “they look at me like i’m something they own. like i’m something they’re allowed to tear apart just because they love you.”

she steps toward you. you step back.

“please,” she sobs. “i need you. i need you here.”

you close your eyes. “i can’t be what you need right now,” you whisper. “and i can’t keep drowning just to prove i can handle this.”

she’s crying openly now. no pride. no image. just manon, shaking in the middle of her living room, watching the person she loves walk away.

you hesitate at the door. just for a second. you don’t turn around though. the door clicks shut behind you.

and just like that, it’s over.

weeks pass.

the internet moves on to the next obsession, the next target. your name fades from trending pages, but the damage stays. you stop posting altogether. you change your routines. you learn how to exist quietly again.

manon throws herself into work. interviews. stages. lights so bright they blur everything else. she smiles when she’s supposed to. laughs when it’s expected. no one notices how empty she looks when she’s alone.

she never deletes your contact.

you never block her.

but neither of you reaches out.

because loving each other wasn’t enough to survive being watched.

and some things don’t end with screaming or hate.

they end with distance. with silence.

with two people who still love each other, just not in a world that would ever let them be okay.

a/n: is it normal to hate everything u write 💔 omg what is this