mavi

[s0nnielvr]

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . Hello! You can calll me Mavi, 22 ⋆˙⟡ part-time writer, full-time stressed architecture student ᯓᡣ𐭩 she/her . ݁₊ ⊹ swagapino . ݁₊ ⊹ men/minors dni

OT6 katseye ⋆⭒˚.⋆

requests are open :D

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[s0nnielvr]

ANGELEYES — she’s gone m.i.a

sophia laforteza x f!reader

syn. ‎‎An intern at an architectural firm was assigned to perform a site visit at an undergoing construction located in Makati City, which happens to be owned by the company of the most well known family in the Philippines— the Lafortezas. ‎ warnings. use of y/n, slowburn, intern!reader, ceo!sophia, work-related stress, anxiety, profanity, some architectural teminologies status: ongoing

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On the other end of the line, a voice spoke—faintly audible in the quiet space of the car—and Y/N's eyes widened as she caught the words before the line abruptly went dead.

"And you need to know your place."

Who even was that?

Y/N had never heard of any personal enemies or rival companies her client had, so she had absolutely no idea what that meant. But, of course, this was not her business to meddle with.

She risked a glance to her left, only to see Sophia’s brows furiously furrowed as her manicured thumbs aggressively typed on her phone. Y/N had never seen the woman like this before. Then again, how could she have? It had only been—what? Two? Three weeks? Y/N quickly reminded herself that she didn’t actually know Sophia personally.

But then, of course, she remembered Yunjin. What was the assistant doing right now? That cheeky, knowing smile on Yunjin’s face the night before when Sophia had emailed her implied that the woman knew something Y/N didn't. She pondered on this in agonizing silence.

Then, just as quickly as she had been invited into Sophia's ride, Y/N was dropped off.

The following week brought the exact same routine. Same site visits, same site logs—luckily with no further architectural distractions or falling lumber beams.

But Sophia had gone completely radio silent.

Instead, Yunjin was the one constantly accompanying Y/N during the site checks. Y/N didn’t question it. Yunjin was an assistant; it only made sense. To her, at least.

I mean, right? Sophia was a busy woman. Of course she couldn't come to a dusty construction site all the time. She's handling a multi-million dollar company known across the globe. Of course, it only made sense. Why would a billionaire care about her buildings being constructed when she had massive boardroom meetings to attend to? Why would she care about Y—

No.

Why would she care, period.

"Laida!"

A hand waving frantically in front of her face snapped Y/N out of her spiraling thoughts.

"Oh! Yes!" Y/N blinked, looking around the site. She hadn't been checking the site thoroughly, hadn't inspected a single detail—she wasn't being herself at all. "Everything's good, I suppose."

Yunjin frowned, looking down at her clipboard. "Huh? We've only been here for an hour?"

"Yes, exactly! And in that hour, I've gathered that... well... it's all good!"

Practically tripping over her own boots, Y/N rushed Yunjin out of the site and toward the assistant's car.

Yunjin opened the driver’s door, pausing to cast a highly questionable look at her. "Are you sure you're good?" looking at yn like she had grown two heads.

"Yes, all fine!" Y/N let out a loud, forced laugh, trying to make the statement sound playful, like a big joke. "Now, go!"

Y/N stood completely still on the curb, her forced smile dropping into a blank, hollow stare as Yunjin’s car smoothly merged onto the road. Slowly, she pulled out her phone and opened her group chat, typing out three heavy words:

yn lets drink, tonight

Long day, long week. What am I even thinking? she muttered to herself, rubbing her face in exhaustion. Waiting for some billionaire to email me, to tell me how the project is doing? It's literal delusional-person behavior.

She forced herself back into the yard, finished her remaining duties, and immediately hailed a moto-taxi straight to Poblacion.

Whenever Y/N was in situations like this—stressed out of her mind, overthinking, and completely overwhelmed—she texted her friends those exact same words. And, of course, they already knew where and what time. It was an unspoken tradition between them.

The moment she arrived at their usual underground bar, the bouncer let her right through. The bouncers, the waiters, and the local bar-goers all knew their group by heart. As a stressed-out architecture student whose university was practically surrounded by nightlife, it wasn't a rare occurrence.

"Kuya Tony!" she greeted the bouncer at the door.

"Y/N! Long time no see!" Kuya Tony chuckled, checking the guest list. "Kala ko ba bagong buhay na?" (I thought you were starting a new life?)

"Nako, kuya. Ang hirap mag-bagong buhay pag ganito kahirap ang panahon ngayon," Y/N groaned. (Gosh, it's hard to start a new life when times are this tough.)

"Sinabi mo pa," the bouncer laughed, swinging the heavy doors open for her. (you tell me,)

Y/N stepped into the dimly lit venue, greeted instantly by the heavy bass and a crowd of hot, sweaty bodies packing the dance floor. She bypassed the main floor and headed straight up to the mezzanine area, where she immediately spotted her friends talking directly to the club's manager.

In the famous words of Laida Magtalas from It Takes a Man and a Woman: "Connections." Lara had a massive network of them. Being best friends with a smart, fiercely extroverted girl really got you places—and the money? Well, James could easily handle that.

Lara saw her first, immediately cutting her conversation short to run over and wrap Y/N in a tight hug. "Y/N, oks ka lang ba? I know you wouldn't have called us out like this if you were fine, so don't even try to lie to me." (are you ok?)

Y/N hugged her back tightly, letting her heavy head rest completely against Lara’s shoulder. "I don't know, Lara. The woman hasn't emailed me. She's gone completely M.I.A., and I don't know why I'm even noticing her absence like this. It's not like I ever had a chance anyway," Y/N mumbled, her voice muffled against the fabric of Lara's top.

Lara gently pulled out of the hug, framing Y/N's face with her hands, looking genuinely startled. "Wow... Y/N..."

She was completely taken aback by how utterly devastated her best friend looked over the absence of Sophia Laforteza—who, lest anyone forget, was just a client.

Lara hid a sigh. This girl, she thought to herself. She really falls so easily. Give her an ounce of undivided attention, and she’s falling at your knees, waiting for every praise, every move, every single breath. She shook her head affectionately. Y/N really was some sort of attention-starved puppy.

"Oh, Y/N, I know just the thing," Lara said softly.

"Shots!" James suddenly materialized beside them, with Daniela trailing close behind, holding a silver tray laden with a handful of shot glasses and a dark bottle of whiskey.

The moment she heard the word, Y/N detached herself from Lara, practically marching over to join James at the high table. Without a second thought, she slammed down one shot—and immediately reached for a second.

Daniela sat back in her stool, utterly baffled and alarmed by the frantic way Y/N was drinking. Normally, Y/N would babysit a single cocktail until the end of the night. But this? Daniela blew out a sharp breath, shaking her head. This was the look of a woman who had problems. Massive ones.

Of course, Daniela didn't voice it aloud. She might be the designated jokester of the friend group, but she cared deeply about Y/N. Y/N was the most innocent, soft-hearted one out of all of them. She was always getting her heart broken by girls who only wanted her for temporary attention; whenever those relationships fell apart, Y/N was always left on the backburner.

Granted, it had only happened twice before, but those two times had been an absolute nightmare to witness as her friends. Y/N would fall completely behind on her architectural plates and university projects. Thankfully, she had managed to reach her fourth year without failing a single subject. The heavens must really love this girl, Daniela thought.

Now, Y/N sat heavily at their table, already noticeably tipsy. None of them uttered a single word about her project, her client, or her problems.

They knew Y/N didn't want to talk about it tonight. Tonight, she just wanted to forget—and they let her.

But in the blink of an eye, Y/N was gone.

Daniela and James immediately looked around, panicked. "Where's Y/N?!" the two exclaimed, their eyes frantically darting across the crowded club.

Lara, on the other hand, remained perfectly calm, taking a slow sip of her drink as if their little Y/N hadn’t just vanished into thin air. "Relax, she's over there," Lara said, gesturing toward the packed dance floor.

Through the strobe lights, they could see Y/N dancing mindlessly with a random girl she didn't even know.

"She's fine, don't worry," Lara reassured them. "We've got her Life360, Find My, and her AirTag connected to our phones, remember?"

Growing up, Y/N had been strictly sheltered, barely allowed to step foot outside. But the moment she tasted freedom in college, she became a carefree, adventurous wanderer. She would explore every corner she could walk to, often getting completely turned around in clubs, on the street, or whenever they hung out. As a solution, her parents had practically strapped an AirTag to her so they could trace her whenever she forgot to text. After surviving freshman year all the way to their fourth year together, her friends had full tracking access on their iPhones too.

Meanwhile, out on the floor, the heavy bass was pounding, but the alcohol was finally catching up. Feeling suddenly parched, Y/N slipped away from the random girl, weaving through the sweaty crowd toward the main bar to grab a glass of water.

She wasn't looking where she was going. She stepped backward, bumping right into a solid shoulder.

"Sorry—" Y/N began, turning around, only to freeze entirely.

Sophia.

Sophia Laforteza? Her terrifying client? The billionaire CEO of Laforteza Holdings? That Sophia?!

No. What? Why on earth would Sophia be in a club?

Y/N’s eyes wide with shock, her gaze instinctively darting to the person standing right next to the CEO. It was a guy, bordering six feet tall, with a neat, handsome face and side-swooped hair held together flawlessly by styling gel. A charming smile plastered his face, and his arm was draped casually, possessively, around Sophia’s shoulder.

Ah... Y/N thought, a sudden, cold lump forming in her throat. That.

Desperately wanting to bolt out of the club right then and there, Y/N frantically waved down the bartender, pleading internally for her drink to arrive faster.

"Y/N."

Fffuuuck. Y/N mouthed the word silently to the liquor shelf before forcing her features to rearrange themselves. She turned around slowly, plastering a heavily tipsy, entirely fake smile across her face. "Hiiii!"

Sophia looked at her, her expression unreadable. "Please, call me Sophia when we're off the clock."

"Sophia," Y/N repeated, her smile not reaching her eyes at all.

Inside, she was screaming, silently praying for Lara, Daniela, James—literally anyone—to come sprint across the mezzanine and rescue her from this agonizing encounter. But to no avail. No one came. No one interrupted.

"What are you doing here?" Sophia asked, her sharp eyes scanning Y/N’s flushed face and relaxed posture. She looked genuinely shocked to see her usually rigid, stuttering intern in this state, let alone at a loud nightclub.

"I—well, I wanted to go out for a night out since my friends and I haven't hung out in like, forever," Y/N stammered out.

Great save, Y/N thought to herself, desperately clutching the edge of the sticky bar counter as she waited for Sophia's response.

"Ah. That's good, Y/N. Have fun," Sophia said, her voice unusually tight.

Before Sophia could say anything else, the guy beside her tightened his grip on her shoulder, murmuring something smoothly into her ear as he began pulling her away toward the VIP lounge. Sophia let herself be led away, but not before throwing one last, lingering, highly intense glance over her shoulder straight at Y/N.

Y/N stood frozen by the bar, the loud club music suddenly sounding like white noise as she watched the two of them disappear into the crowd.

Y/N couldn't believe her eyes. Sophia was here—and she was with a man.

After weeks.

Weeks of absolute silence, of not seeing her.

None of the corporate emails she had once complained about.

None of the project meetings she usually dreaded.

She didn't even know this man. She might look him up later, but right now, her mind was entirely clouded by an emotion she couldn't even name. Was it frustration? Anger? Jealousy? Whatever it was, it had her hands shaking as she gripped her bottle tight.

It wasn't like Sophia had ever flirted with her. They weren't in a situationship, and they had never been anything other than client and intern. Yet, Y/N felt incredibly, inexplicably heartbroken by what she had just seen.

Numbly, she walked back up to the mezzanine, her voice flat and monotone against the loud, heavy bass vibrating through the floorboards.

"Sophia's here."

"What?!" all three of them exclaimed in unison.

Lara shook her head in disbelief, Daniela instantly jumped up from her seat, and James leaned forward, his jaw practically dropping.

After a heavy second of silence—letting the shocking information marinate in their brains—Daniela suddenly stepped forward and held out her hand.

"Come with me," Daniela ordered.

Y/N blinked, looking utterly confused as she reluctantly reached out. "What is happening?"

Lara and James exchanged identical looks. "Yeah, what is happening?"

"We're going to dance," Daniela shrugged, entirely unbothered, as she began dragging Y/N back toward the crowded floor.

Up at the table, Lara and James just shook their heads, instantly realizing exactly what Daniela was plotting. Lara technically disapproved, but James... well, James was on the side of whatever worked.

The thing about Daniela was that she was a natural inciter of chaos, and putting her and Y/N together was like pouring gasoline on a fire. They wreaked havoc on whatever ground they stepped on. If Daniela had a plan, Y/N followed through—and Y/N was dangerous when following through because she never backed down from a challenge. Ever.

Once, Daniela had devised a chaotic plan to make an ex-girlfriend jealous. Since Lara refused to play those petty games, Daniela had gone to Y/N for help. Boy, the look on that ex’s face when they successfully pulled it off was legendary. After that night, Lara had sworn never to let those two orchestrate a scheme together again.

But this time? This time, Lara was going to allow it. Especially considering the way Y/N had just looked up at her, her soft eyes welling with unshed tears.

"Come on, Y/N!" Daniela shouted over the music, pulling her straight into the thick of the crowd and immediately moving to the beat.

Huh? Y/N thought, her tipsy brain trying to keep up.

Before she could question it, Daniela reached out, gently grabbing the back of Y/N’s neck to pull her close, whispering directly into her ear: "I have a plan. Just go with it, please."

Daniela pulled away, giving Y/N a distinctly pleading face. How could Y/N possibly refuse? It wasn't that she was a total yes man in these situations, but really... when your beautiful best friend drags you onto a dark dance floor with a look like that, how do you say no?

So, Y/N danced along, finally feeling the full, heavy hit of the drinks she had slammed down earlier. She began to move freely. Suddenly, Daniela spun around, her back facing Y/N as she flushed her body flush against Y/N’s front.

Daniela reached back, her hand anchoring at Y/N’s nape as she slowly rolled her hips. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her mind going into a complete daze as her lips brushed against the warm skin of Daniela's neck. Her breathing turned heavy, completely swept up in the rhythm as Daniela continued to press back against her.

While Y/N was completely focused on dancing, what she didn't know was that a pair of sharp, dark eyes was watching her every move from the VIP section.

Sophia’s gaze was lethal enough to melt right through Daniela and Y/N. If she were Superman, the dance floor would have been reduced to ash by now, given how intensely she was staring down the two of them.

"Sophia!"

The man beside her cut through her thoughts, his voice dripping with easy familiarity. Sophia snapped her head toward him. Her expression hardening, "What is it, Leon?"

Ever since Sophia had gone radio silent on Y/N, she had been forced to handle this guy. Leon. Supposedly, he was "good for PR"—whatever that meant. Sophia wasn't an idol or a celebrity; she was a corporate executive, the CEO of a multi-million dollar company, for christ's sake. Why the hell did she need a public relations stunt?

Apparently, the board believed this temporary public pairing would bolster the company's image ahead of the next quarterly merger. How? She didn't know, and frankly, she didn't care.

That urgent phone call she had answered while Y/N was in her SUV last week had been from the PR firm. They insisted she and Leon needed to be seen out together in public for at least a week to satisfy the press. For the past seven days, Sophia's entire agenda had been finding a tactical way to destroy this arrangement and get rid of him.

As far as Sophia was concerned, her work spoke for itself. This ridiculous idea of Leon's—to bring her to a loud, chaotic nightclub in Poblacion for "visibility"—pissed her off to no end. There was absolutely no logical reason for it. Down in the city, Yunjin had already been working overtime, handling confidential legal calls to softly erase Leon from Sophia's public image. After tonight, his contract would be terminated, and he would no longer be her problem.

She could finally go back to focusing on her business. Her routine. The construction site. ICON+ Studios. Y/—

Y/N.

Right. That girl.

Sophia snapped back to reality, stepping away from the VIP railing and turning to Leon with a cold, detached mask. "I'm going outside."

A lie.

She had been lying a lot these past few days. If she were Pinocchio, her nose would have grown at least the physical distance between her and Y/N right now.

She wasn't going outside for air. Seeing Y/N and Daniela flush against each other, moving seamlessly to the heavy beat on that crowded dance floor, had lit a dangerous fuse deep inside her chest.

Sophia Laforteza was absolutely fuming.

On the dance floor, Y/N couldn't handle Daniela’s plan anymore. For the past minute, she had completely run out of ideas on how to react to her best friend's proximity.

Did Daniela even know what she was doing right now?

Y/N had been gripping Daniela’s waist tightly, but between her heavy drunken haze, the flashing strobe lights, and having Daniela this close to her, it was simply too much. She was becoming entirely overstimulated.

Muttering a quick excuse that was completely swallowed by the bass, she excused herself and broke away from the crowd.

Sophia saw the entire scene unfold from the mezzanine and immediately followed her down.

Y/N practically burst into the bathroom, rushing straight to the sink. She turned the faucet on high, splashing freezing water onto her flushed face. She grabbed a paper towel to dry herself off, but just as she was pressing it to her skin, she heard the sharp, distinct click of the bathroom door locking shut.

Slowly, she lowered the paper towel. Her eyes locked onto the mirror, and her heart stopped.

Standing right behind her was none other than Sophia.

Y/N crumpled the paper towel, tossed it into the bin, and immediately buried her face in her palms. Please let this be an alcohol-induced hallucination, she prayed.

After an agonizing stretch of silence, Sophia spoke first, her smooth, velvet voice cutting through the quiet room. "Y/N."

Fuck.

Y/N was still completely trapped in the daze that Daniela had triggered, so right now, she had to focus entirely just to process the words. "Sophia," she mirrored, her voice a breathless whisper.

Sophia stepped a little closer, though she maintained just enough distance in case Y/N decided to bolt.

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat incredibly dry, and forced out a stuttered response. "Yes?"

Sophia inched forward again, her heels clicking sharply against the tile. "You hadn't mentioned you have a girlfriend."

A girlfriend? Y/N’s brain short-circuited in confusion until the pieces finally clicked together. Sophia must have seen her and Daniela on the dance floor. Suddenly, the true genius of Daniela’s chaotic plan dawned on her. That cheeky, brilliant girl.

"Girlfriend?" Y/N responded, a sudden spark of boldness hitting her. She wanted to see exactly how Sophia would react.

Sophia remained completely silent, her gaze unwavering.

Taking a tiny breath, Y/N continued, "Ah. You mean Daniela? She's not. She's just my friend."

Still, Sophia didn't say a word. She just stared, her sharp eyes intensely analyzing Y/N's features as she closed the remaining distance between them. Compared to before, where they were nearly three meters apart, Sophia was now standing a mere breath away.

Y/N was completely cornered against the marble sink counter. There was absolutely no way out now.

Driven by the liquid courage in her veins, Y/N finally said the exact words she had been bitching about all week. "You were gone. I thought I wasn't going to see you again."

Sophia’s stoic expression softened instantly at the confession. "I was. I had to deal with some problems."

"You mean that guy?" Y/N asked, tilting her chin up.

Sophia tilted her head in response, looking down at the intern. Although they were practically the same height, Sophia’s perfect posture and heels gave her a distinct two-inch advantage. A slow, incredibly dangerous smirk began to play on the CEO's lips.

"You mean Leon?"

"Ah. So that's his name," Y/N whispered under her breath, averting her eyes.

"Yes. He was the problem," Sophia murmured, leaning in closer until Y/N was completely trapped between her body and the edge of the counter. "I was working incredibly hard to get him completely out of my image. It's no joke, you know?"

"No," Y/N responded truthfully, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"So," Sophia whispered, her dark eyes dropping to Y/N’s lips before snapping back up. "Was it fun?"

Y/N blinked, her breath hitching. "Huh?"

"Was it fun? Grinding into your friend Daniela like that?"

Desperately wanting to pull some type of real, raw emotion out of the notoriously unbothered billionaire, Y/N looked straight into Sophia's eyes. A slow, playful smile spread across her face.

"Yeah," Y/N replied softly.

Well, truthfully... it had been fun.

Y/N saw Sophia’s jaw clench and unclench in a desperate attempt to keep her emotions at bay. But Y/N, thoroughly fueled by the alcohol and a week's worth of built-up frustration, wanted to push Sophia’s buttons just a little bit more.

​"In fact... I was planning to take her home after I got out of the bathroom," Y/N trailed off, letting the implication hang heavily in the quiet room.

​Sophia’s lips pursed into a thin, tight line, her pale face clearly showing the internal struggle to maintain her control.

​Y/N casually shrugged, leaning backward against the marble counter to steady her tipsy balance. "I mean, since my client went completely ghost on me, I had a lot of free time on my hands. Daniela knows exactly how to help me blow off steam."

​Sophia’s eyes darkened instantly. The word "client" tasted like ash in her mouth, especially since she had explicitly told Y/N they were off the clock. Her jaw tightened further, and every last trace of her subtle, satisfied smirk completely vanished.

​Instead of backing away, Sophia stepped so close that the crisp fabric of her expensive blazer brushed directly against the soft cotton of Y/N’s shirt. She slammed one hand firmly down onto the edge of the marble counter right next to Y/N's hip, effectively trapping her in place.

​"Blow off steam?" Sophia echoed, her voice dropping into a dangerously low, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down Y/N's spine. "So an entire week of my absence, and that is how you replace my time, Ms. Santos? By letting a 'friend' put her hands on you in public? You're incredibly reckless."

​"Says the woman who's got me trapped?" Y/N countered, her voice bolder than it had ever been. She brought a cautious hand up to Sophia’s shoulder, attempting to gently guide the older woman aside. "Daniela's probably waiting for me at the bar. I shouldn't keep her waiting."

​The physical touch was the absolute breaking point. The moment Y/N’s fingers connected with her, a jolt of pure electricity surged through Sophia—but the mention of Daniela immediately soured it into a possessive panic.

​As Y/N tried to take a tentative step past her, Sophia’s hand shot out with lightning-fast, executive precision. She gripped Y/N’s wrist, stopping her dead in her tracks. The grip wasn't painful, but it was entirely, fiercely unyielding.

​With a sharp tug, she pulled Y/N backward, flushing her right back against the edge of the sink counter.

​"Let her wait," Sophia commanded, her cold composure completely shattering as she stared down at Y/N with a raw, intense gaze that practically locked the air inside Y/N's lungs. "You're not going back out there to dance like that with her. Not tonight. Not while I'm here."

The heavy silence of the bathroom hung between them for three agonizing beats, Sophia’s chest rising and falling sharply as she stared down at Y/N.

​Then, right before the tension could snap into something completely irreversible, Sophia’s eyes shifted. She caught the slight sway in Y/N’s posture, the faint glassy glaze over her eyes, and the sheer heat radiating from her flushed cheeks.

​The fierce, possessive haze in Sophia's mind cleared instantly. She's drunk, Sophia realized, a quiet wave of realization hitting her. I am cornering a tipsy y/nin a club bathroom.

​With a sharp, internal pull, Sophia snapped herself completely out of it. She released Y/N’s wrist, stepping back two full paces to give her air. She smoothed down the lapels of her blazer, her cold, unbothered executive mask instantly sliding back into place, though her breathing was still a fraction too fast.

​"You've had far too much to drink, y/n," Sophia said, her voice dropping the dangerous edge and returning to its smooth, authoritative cadence. "Your judgment is completely compromised. We are leaving."

​Y/N blinked, her tipsy brain struggling to keep up with the sudden whiplash. "Wait... what? No, my friends—"

Y/n really could careless of her friends right now, right now what clouded her mind was sophia.

​"I will notify Yunjin to coordinate with your friends," Sophia interrupted smoothly, already pulling out her phone and tapping out a rapid text. She didn't mention that she also wanted an excuse to pull Y/N as far away from Daniela as humanly possible. "You can barely stand straight. My driver is outside. Let's go."

​Before Y/N could protest or try to push any more of her buttons, Sophia grabbed her by the elbow—not roughly, but with an unyielding, protective grip—and guided her straight out of the bathroom doors, ready to take her home.

​Y/N snapped entirely out of the alcohol-induced haze she had been drowning in. What the actual fuck? she thought, panic flaring in her chest as she was seamlessly steered out of the club by Sophia. She barely even registered Kuya Tony calling out a confused goodbye from the front doors before Sophia guided her straight past the velvet ropes and into the waiting backseat of her sleek black SUV.

​The heavy door clicked shut, completely sealing out the bass of Poblacion.

​The ride home was silent. Too silent. Y/N clutched her bag to her chest, her mind racing with a million terrifying scenarios. Fuck. Did I completely ruin everything? Did I just lose my internship? She risked a sideways glance at her client. Sophia was staring straight ahead into the rain-slicked traffic, her jaw tightly clenched and her posture impossibly rigid.

​Sophia, on the other hand, was losing her mind in the silence. She shouldn't have done that. She had let the sudden, white-hot fury of seeing Y/N dance like that with Daniela completely cloud her judgment.

​Frankly, she shouldn't have even been at that club in the first place. But as the streetlights flickered across the dark dashboard, a toxic, lingering question kept torturing her: What if she hadn't been there? Would Y/N have actually taken Daniela home? Would Y/N really have let her "friend" help her blow off steam? Sophia subtly shook her head, her fingers tightening against her knee to force the agonizing thoughts away.

​The SUV finally slowed down, pulling into a secure, heavily guarded underground parking structure.

​Looking out the tinted window, Y/N frowned. The towering, high-end skyscraper looked nothing like her usual apartment at makati. This definitely wasn't her home.

​She turned to Sophia, her mouth opening to nervously point out the mix-up, but before a single word could leave her lips, Sophia unbuckled her seatbelt in one sharp movement. Without saying a word, the CEO stepped out into the cool garage air, walked right around the hood of the car, and pulled Y/N’s door wide open.

The heavy, air-conditioned silence of the underground parking garage pressed in on them. Sophia stood holding the door open, her tall figure silhouetted against the bright fluorescent lights of the concrete structure.

Y/N stared up at her, the reality of the situation finally overriding the last traces of the alcohol. This wasn't Imus. This wasn't even close. The luxury high-rise, the strict security at the gate, the pristine elevator bays—they were in Bonifacio Global City (BGC). Sophia had driven her straight to her private penthouse.

Sophia knew she had already crossed a massive, dangerous line back in that club bathroom. She had let a lapse of personal control dictate her actions, pinning her intern against a counter out of pure, unadulterated possessiveness. But bringing Y/N here? To her absolute private sanctuary, completely detached from any corporate relation and the rest of the world?

It was a point of no return.

"Sophia..." Y/N's voice was small, echoing slightly in the quiet interior of the car. "This isn't my place."

Sophia’s expression remained an unreadable, elegant mask, but her fingers gripped the edge of the car door just a fraction tighter. She knew exactly what she was doing, even if she couldn't fully admit the depth of it to herself yet.

Taking Y/N to herapartment in this state—letting her go back to an empty room or, worse, letting her phone ring off the hook with texts from Daniela asking where she was—was something Sophia simply couldn't stomach. Under the clinical guise of "ensuring her girl's safety," Sophia was doing something entirely selfish: she was isolating Y/N from the environment that had just driven her to a breaking point.

"I am well aware, y/n," Sophia replied, her voice smooth, cool, and entirely unyielding as she extended a hand to help Y/N out of the vehicle. "You are in no condition to navigate a commute back to your apartment, and I am not leaving you anywhere alone. My penthouse has a guest suite. You will sleep there tonight."

As Y/N hesitantly placed her hand in Sophia's, feeling the sudden, intense warmth of the CEO's grip, the gravity of the shift hit them both. By bringing Y/N into her personal space, Sophia wasn't just managing a tipsy intern anymore.

She was actively letting her into her life, obliterating the last shred of professional distance left between them.

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[s0nnielvr]

ANGELEYES — miggy & laida?

sophia laforteza x f!reader

syn. ‎‎An intern at an architectural firm was assigned to perform a site visit at an undergoing construction located in Makati City, which happens to be owned by the company of the most well known family in the Philippines— the Lafortezas. ‎ warnings. use of y/n, slowburn, intern!reader, ceo!sophia, work-related stress, anxiety, profanity, some architectural teminologies status: ongoing

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The next morning, Y/N immediately rushed to get ready. But when she stood in front of her closet trying to decide which outfit to wear, she paused.

It was so difficult for her. Obviously, she wanted to look presentable given that their very first meeting consisted of her being in a frantic rush and looking completely haggard on a dusty construction site. She wanted to look like a "got-her-shit-together" kind of girl today, instead of some terrified intern who was about to explain a major supply chain mishap to a multi-millionaire client. She needed clothes that felt like armor.

In her difficulty of deciding, she quickly snapped two photos of her options and messaged her friends.

y/n guys T.T what screams "i got my shit together" [attachment 2 images] lara hmm dk, difficult decision

Y/N stared at her phone, truly baffled by Lara being sarcastic. She wasn't often like this, but then again, Y/N knew she was probably asking the most obvious thing.

lara its the second one, its giving i run this shit. who run the world, girls   james girls!   james you got this, yn!

Y/N set her phone down with a smile and finally got ready.

At the threshold of the Laforteza Holdings headquarters in Bonifacio Global City, Y/N finally crossed the line. Stepping through those massive glass doors, she was a nervous wreck, completely overthinking every single detail. She overthought her outfit, her appearance, and she even secretly sniffed her own wrist to make absolutely sure she smelled good.

The intimidating luxury of the building hit her all at once. The pristine, gleaming marble floors reflected the high ceilings, and the sleek security turnstiles made Y/N feel incredibly out of place in her carefully chosen corporate-casual armor.

“Ms. Y/N Santos?”

Y/N jumped slightly, turning to see a flawlessly professional and smooth woman holding a tablet.

“I’m Huh Yunjin, Ms. Laforteza’s personal assistant,” she introduced with a polite, practiced smile.

“Please follow me. The executive boardroom is on the fourteenth floor.”

Y/N swallowed hard, nodding mutely as she followed Yunjin toward the elevators. As the high-speed elevator shot upward, Y/N could feel her hands sweating. She was practically hyperventilating, her mind racing with a million different scenarios of how badly this meeting could go.

When the elevator doors smoothly glided open, Y/N was guided directly to the executive boardroom. To no surprise, Sophia was already there.

Of course she was.

She worked here.

Sophia sat at the head of the long mahogany table, looking effortlessly sharp, expensive, and completely unbothered in a perfectly tailored suit. Y/N had expected a massive, intimidating crowd, but the room was quiet—a highly focused environment specifically cleared to discuss this lumber mishap.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat and silently greeted her. Just as she opened her mouth to speak and break the tense silence, the boardroom door swung open, and someone interrupted them.

“Boss, the papers are here. They’re telling me to drop them by you and have you confirm them.”

Sophia darted a sharp, unyielding eye at the assistant, her aura instantly chilling the room. “Drop them by my desk,” she instructed coldly, “and close the door.”

As the assistant quickly scurried out and clicked the door shut, Sophia’s piercing gaze snapped right back across the table. The heavy silence of the boardroom rushed back in.

“Ms. Santos. Please, sit.”

Y/N carefully took the seat opposite her, keeping her spine perfectly straight.

“Have you brought the papers I asked you to?” Sophia asked, her voice calm but commanding.

“Yes, Ms. Laforteza,” Y/N replied, her voice remarkably steady despite the frantic racing of her heart. She opened her presentation folder and slid the document packet across the polished wood. “I already looked up alternative suppliers we can source from in the meantime. If the contractor comes in, I will inform him of the change immediately.”

Sophia pulled the documents toward her. She didn't give handouts, and she certainly didn't curve the grading scale for interns. Her sharp eyes scanned the neat columns of alternative lumber yards and timeline adjustments Y/N had meticulously prepared.

“Let’s see the structural schedule and your timeline assessment,” Sophia murmured, leaning forward slightly as her gaze locked onto Y/N's. “What are our options if the primary supplier extends their delay past forty-eight hours?”

Y/N took a quiet, deep breath, swallowing her lingering fear. She stood up, stepped toward the dual monitors mounted on the boardroom wall, and booted up the secondary timeline render. For the next fifteen minutes, she delivered the report flawlessly, walking through the material specifications and local delivery windows she had stayed up half the night researching.

Sophia watched her intently, her fingers tapping a slow, thoughtful rhythm against the edge of the mahogany table.

“Good,” Sophia finally murmured when Y/N finished, a microscopic softening appearing at the edge of her unbothered expression. “Further changes should be vetted by Ar. Valencia, but for now, this is a solid contingency plan. You hold your own well, Ms. Santos. Ar. Valencia chose his representative wisely.”

By the time the meeting officially wrapped up, Y/N felt like her knees were made of actual liquid concrete. She managed to gather her materials, offer a professional nod, and exit the boardroom before her composure entirely shattered. entirely shattered. Relief washed over her in dizzying waves the second she stepped outside the room, breaths coming faster as the reality of surviving the ordeal settled in. Pride flickered faintly beneath her exhaustion-she had gotten through it, and she hadn't crumbled-but anxiety still buzzed at the edges of her mind, shadowing her relief with questions of whether she had truly impressed Sophia. Still, she clung to the fragile sense of accomplishment, holding it close like a secret talisman as she moved down the hall.

Stepping out of the Laforteza Holdings building and back onto the bustling Bonifacio Global City sidewalk, the adrenaline rush finally caught up to her. Her hands were shaking violently as she whipped out her phone and immediately fired a message to the only panel capable of handling her current state of mind.

y/n ahhhhhhhhhhh I survived the boss, but I think my soul is permanently left on the 14th floor.   james Bro actually made it out alive??   lara tell us everything did the outfit work? were u giving boss bitch by doja?   dani holy sssave

Y/N let out a massive, exhausted laugh, leaning against the side of the concrete pillar. She was still terrified of the sheer scale of the project, but as she looked up at the towering glass skyscraper, she realized the crushing weight of the office didn't feel quite as heavy as it did yesterday. Something inside her had shifted-after facing her fears head-on in that boardroom, she felt braver, steadier, maybe even a little bit proud. For the first time since starting, she could see herself not just surviving here, but maybe even belonging.

Before she could even reply to Dani, her phone buzzed with an incoming call from Lara, the screen lighting up with her friend's contact photo. Y/N answered it before the second ring, not even letting Lara say hello before she gasped out, "Lara, you don't understand. She didn't even blink when she told her assistant to get out. I honestly thought I was going to be executed right there on the mahogany table."

Lara chuckled on the other end of the line. "So, how was it?"

"I swear, I thought I was having a literal Miggy and Laida moment when she told her assistant to leave the documents and lock the door," Y/N replied, pacing frantically on the sidewalk.

She went straight into a wild tangent about just how terrifyingly hot her client was—completely lost in her own rambling—until she instinctively turned around.

Her words caught squarely in her throat.

Standing just a few feet away was Yunjin—Sophia's assistant.

Yunjin was offering her a polite smile that slowly morphed into a thoroughly amused smirk. That woman heard everything. Y/N's soul threatened to leave her body for the second time that day.

Finally, Yunjin spoke up, her tone dripping with playfulness. "Miggy and Laida? A Very Special Love? You know what... I actually agree."

Y/N squeaked, nearly dropping her phone. "Y-you agree?"

"Yes," Yunjin said, stepping closer and giving Y/N a reassuring but deeply teasing pat on the back. "I mean, the big boss can definitely be a little bit like that Miggy guy—totally closed off, rarely smiles, high standards. I think it’s a perfect fit. So... yeah, I agree."

Yunjin followed up seamlessly, "Honestly, I like you, Y/N. Give me your phone."

Y/N stared at her, completely confused, her brain still short-circuiting from the Miggy and Laida comment.

"I'll put my number in," Yunjin clarified, holding out an expectant hand.

"Ah. Okay," Y/N muttered, quickly handing the device over.

While typing her details into the contacts app, Yunjin glanced around the bustling bonifacio global city street. "So, what are you waiting around here for anyway?"

"Oh, just... I was trying to book a Move It rider, but no one’s accepting my requests," Y/N explained, gesturing helplessly to her screen.

Yunjin let out a sympathetic hum. "Ah, that... I hate to break the news to you, but almost no mototaxi riders accept bookings around this specific block during peak hours."

Y/N let out a quiet, defeated, "Ffffffuck."

"Yeah..." Yunjin chuckled, handing the phone back to her with a sleek new contact saved. "You know, you could just hitch a ride with me?"

Y/N blinked, caught completely off guard. "Oh? A-are you sure?"

"Yeah, why not?" Yunjin smiled, turning toward the parking layout.

"It looks like we're going to be seeing a lot of each other for a long time anyway."

Meanwhile, back on the fourteenth floor, Sophia stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the executive boardroom. The sweeping view of the Makati skyline usually offered her a sense of absolute control, but right now, her sharp gaze was tracked entirely on a small figure in a corporate-casual outfit stepping onto the bustling sidewalk far below.

Y/N looked incredibly small from this height, clutching her presentation folder like a shield. Sophia’s lips twitched with the ghost of an amused smile, recalling the sheer, unadulterated panic in the intern’s wide eyes just twenty minutes ago—and the surprising, fiery competence that had taken over the moment Y/N stood up to present the alternative supply timeline. The girl had backbone. It was a refreshing change from the usual yes-men who populated these offices.

But the faint smile vanished instantly when a second figure emerged on the sidewalk, stepping directly into Y/N’s space.

It was Yunjin.

Sophia adjusted the crisp cuffs of her tailored suit jacket, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. From this height, she couldn't hear a word, but she didn't need to. She watched as Yunjin stepped playfully close, delivering a familiar, easy pat to Y/N’s back. Down below, Y/N’s shoulders relaxed, her posture turning animated and comfortable as she handed her phone over to the assistant.

A quiet, unreadable flicker of irritation crossed Sophia's face, her chest tightening with an unfamiliar, cold spark.

Y/N had spent the entire morning stuttering, blushing, and walking on absolute eggshells around her. Yet, within a mere three minutes of stepping out of the boardroom, the intern was already sharing easy smiles and exchanging contact details with her assistant.

Sophia’s composed executive aura shifted into something altogether more intense, a dark, heavy gravity settling over her shoulders. She didn't like it. Y/N was her direct contact for the structural scheduling of the development. If the girl was going to drop her shy defense mechanisms and get comfortable with anyone under the Laforteza banner, it shouldn't be with the administrative staff.

Noticing the sudden, irrational direction of her own thoughts, Sophia let out a sharp, quiet breath. She shook her head to dismiss the ridiculous wave of possessiveness, genuinely annoyed at herself for letting a tiny intern disrupt her focus. Turning smoothly on her heel, she walked back to her heavy mahogany desk.

She picked up her tablet, but as her eyes scanned the spreadsheets, her mind remained stubbornly fixed on the image of a certain corporate-casual outfit down on the street. Y/N was proving to be a highly distracting variable, and Sophia hated variables she couldn't completely predict.

With all her frustrations mounting, Sophia sat down heavily at her desk, pulled out her phone, and instantly messaged her inner circle.

soph guys, alert   megan alert, huh?   soph not you soph: manon!   manon yes? i hear a desperate call for help an expert one at that   soph shut up theres an intern thats handling the project logs for my makati building   manon i dont see the concern… go on   soph yes yes, so look see we had a meeting today and my go she looked just exquisite   megan lolool you got a crush on the intern ur such a loser   manon sophia, i still dont see the call for alert?   soph just then, yunjin talked to her. saw them heading to the parking lot. probably bringing her home?   manon loololol your assistant got to her first would you look at that sophia dont got it yoonchae ooh ur jelly   soph yoonchae this a grown ups conversation so anyways   megan 😂   manon if you want her to look at you the way she looks at yunjin, maybe stop acting like a literal glacier at 10:00 AM? just a thought   soph I am a client maintaining professional boundaries   megan yeah, sure. whatever helps you sleep at night, "boss."

Sophia slammed her phone face-down on the mahogany desk, her cheeks burning slightly with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. Her friends were entirely useless.

Back in the executive suite, Sophia stared at the face-down phone for a full minute before her competitive nature entirely took over. ‘Sophia don't got it?’ Please.

She was a Laforteza.

She flipped her phone back over, pulled up her email, and deliberately bypassed Ar. Valencia entirely. She typed out a direct message straight to Y/N’s corporate inbox:

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Urgent: Alternative Supplier Verification - Makati Development   Ms. Santos. Regarding the alternative lumber yards you proposed today, I require a physical site-log verification of their current inventory by tomorrow afternoon. Prepare to coordinate directly with me. — S.L.

Sophia hit send with a definitive, crisp click of her mouse, a small, victorious smirk playing on her lips. Let’s see how many casual text messages Y/N would be sending Yunjin when she was completely buried in material procurement logs.

Down in the passenger seat of Yunjin's car, Y/N’s phone let out a loud, professional ding—the unmistakable sound of a high-priority Outlook notification.

Y/N pulled her phone away from her face, her thumbs pausing mid-type on the group chat. When she read the preview on her lock screen, her entire body went rigid. The color completely drained from her face.

"Everything okay?" Yunjin asked, shifting the car into drive as they smoothly exited the Laforteza Holdings basement parking. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Worse," Y/N whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she stared at the glowing screen. "I just got an email. From the big boss."

Yunjin integration-tested her brakes at the exit light, throwing a curious glance over. "From Sophia? Directly to you? What does it say?"

Y/N read the text aloud, her voice trembling more with every word. "...Prepare to coordinate directly with me. S.L." She turned her head toward Yunjin, her eyes wide with sheer panic. "oh my god, what did I do wrong? Was my presentation that bad?"

Yunjin stared at the email preview over Y/N's shoulder. For a split second, the assistant looked genuinely surprised. But then, as her eyes drifted to the timestamp and the fact that Sophia had entirely bypassed the supervising architect, a slow, incredibly knowing smirk spread across Yunjin’s face.

Oh, Sophia, Yunjin thought, holding back a massive laugh.

You are so incredibly transparent.

"Relax, Y/N," Yunjin said smoothly, stepping on the gas as the light turned green. "You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, I'd say you made a very... lasting impression. But you might want to cancel whatever plans you had for tomorrow afternoon. The boss doesn't like to be kept waiting."

The next afternoon, the weather in Makati seemed to perfectly match Sophia Laforteza’s mood: unpredictable, oppressive, and heavily overcast.

Y/N stood at the entrance of a massive, dusty commercial timber yard just off the highway, coughing slightly as a forklift drove past, kicking up a cloud of sawdust. She was wearing her most practical "on-site" outfit—denim, steel-toed boots, and a hard hat—and clutching a digital tablet to her chest like life support.

Her phone buzzed.

Sophia Laforteza I am outside. Where are you?

Y/N’s heart did a violent flip. She jogged toward the main security gate, wiping a streak of dust from her cheek, only to stop dead in her tracks.

Parked right beside the rusted iron gates was a sleek, pristine black luxury SUV that looked like it belonged in a high-end Makati showroom, not a gritty industrial yard. The rear passenger door clicked open, and out stepped Sophia.

Even on a dusty construction supply site, the woman looked like a walking editorial. She was wearing a structured beige trench coat over crisp trousers, her dark hair perfectly styled, sunglasses shielding her eyes from a sun that wasn't even shining. She looked entirely out of place, incredibly expensive, and utterly terrifying.

"Ms. Santos," Sophia murmured, sliding her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to fix Y/N with a piercing gaze. "You're on time."

"Good afternoon, Ms. Laforteza," Y/N squeaked, bowing her head slightly. "Yes, I've already cleared our access with the site manager. The lumber logs for the structural grade timber are in the main warehouse."

"Excellent. Lead the way."

As they walked down the gravel path, the silence between them was deafening. Y/N cleared her throat, trying to channel her inner "got-her-shit-together" girl. "Um, I was actually surprised you came personally, Ms. Laforteza. Usually, procurement verification is handled by—"

"By my assistant?" Sophia interrupted, her voice smooth but laced with a distinct, icy edge.

Y/N blinked. "Uh, yes. Or a junior project manager."

Sophia stopped walking, turning her full attention to Y/N. She crossed her arms, looking down at the intern with a cool, calculating expression. "I prefer to have a hands-on approach with the Makati development, Ms. Santos. I don't like relying on intermediaries. Especially when administrative staff have... other distractions to tend to."

Intermedi— what? Do not speak to me in fancy words, I am easy, Y/N thought desperately to herself, her brain completely short-circuiting under Sophia’s heavy glare.

Down in the city, Yunjin was probably laughing over a cup of iced coffee, but right here, Y/N was sweating right through her denim jacket.

"Right, of course," Y/N mumbled, quickly tapping random folders on her tablet just to hide her bright red face. "Let's... let's check the inventory logs first."

Sophia watched the flustered intern scurry ahead, a tiny, deeply satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Let the pettiness begin. If Y/N was going to be animated and comfortable around anyone on this project, Sophia was going to ensure she earned that right first—one grueling, dusty inventory log at a time.

The dust inside the warehouse was thick, turning the afternoon light into long, hazy beams that cut across the towering stacks of structural timber. Y/N completely tuned out Sophia’s intimidating presence the moment her professional instincts kicked in. Holding her tablet in one hand, she began manually verifying the inventory against the bill of quantities, her eyes sharp as she cross-referenced the wood grades.

Sophia stood a few feet back, her expensive trench coat carefully pulled away from the dusty shelves, watching Y/N work. She expected more stuttering. Instead, she got an intern who was completely in her element, muttering technical specifications under her breath.

"Twenty-four... twenty-five..." Y/N murmured, stepping slightly closer to a high stack of heavy local hardwood.

She didn't notice that the bottom pallet was slightly uneven.

With a sudden, sickening crack, the structural balance shifted. A heavy, loose timber beam from the upper rack slid forward, tumbling straight down toward Y/N.

"Y/N, watch out!" Sophia’s voice lost every ounce of its icy, executive composure, turning into a raw, panicked shout.

Thwack!

The heavy wood struck Y/N right across the shoulder and the side of her head. Thankfully, she was wearing her proper safety gear—the fiberglass hard hat took the brunt of the heavy impact with a loud slam, and her thick denim jacket protected her skin from the rough, splintered bark. She stumbled backward from the force, gasping as the tablet slipped from her hands.

Before Y/N could even process what had just happened, a pair of manicured hands gripped her shoulders with incredible force.

Sophia practically threw herself forward, violently pulling Y/N completely out of the danger zone and dragging her back toward the main aisle. Sophia’s hands were shaking as she gripped Y/N’s face, her expensive sunglasses discarded somewhere in the dust.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Sophia breathed heavily, her chest heaving as she scanned Y/N from head to toe, her face completely pale. "Did it hit your head? Can you see me? Look at me, Y/N!"

Y/N blinked, utterly stunned—not by the fallen lumber, but by the fact that the multi-millionaire CEO of Laforteza Holdings was currently holding her face, looking absolutely terrified.

"I-I'm fine, Ms. Laforteza," Y/N squeaked, her heart racing a mile a minute. "The hard hat caught it. It just... it just startled me." clearing her throat,

Sophia froze, suddenly realizing how tightly she was clutching the intern, her thumbs resting right against Y/N's burning cheeks.

In a fraction of a second, she snapped out of it. Sophia stood up abruptly, smoothing down the front of her expensive trench coat with a sharp, aggressive tug. The raw terror on her face vanished, instantly replaced by her usual mask of cold, unbothered elegance. She picked up her sunglasses from the dusty floor, wiped them with a pristine tissue from her pocket, and slid them back onto her nose.

"Good," Sophia said, her voice completely flat, as if she hadn't just screamed Y/N's first name like her life depended on it. "Laforteza Holdings has a strict zero-tolerance policy for workplace injuries on our partner sites. The paperwork is tedious. Make sure you don't do that again, Ms. Santos."

Tedious?! I almost got crushed and she’s worried about forms?! Y/N thought, utterly baffled by the whiplash.

"Right. My apologies, Ms. Laforteza," Y/N muttered, rubbing her bruised shoulder through her denim jacket. She picked up her tablet from the dirt, dusted it off, and went right back to checking the inventory against the bill of quantities. She had a job to do, and she wasn't about to let the boss think she was weak.

When Y/N turned around a few minutes later to report the final count, Sophia was nowhere to be found. The space near the warehouse entrance was empty.

She hadn't left the site, though. Far from it.

Over in the main administrative office, Sophia was currently chewing out the supplier’s big boss, completely tearing him to shreds.

"Do you have any idea what a structural failure like that says about your quality control?" Sophia's voice was a dangerous, low hiss, her posture commanding and lethal as she leaned over the manager's desk. "You are storing premium structural timber on uneven pallets. An asset representing my development was nearly compromised under your roof because your yard workers cannot execute basic safety protocols."

The supplier's boss was sweating profusely, bowing repeatedly, and offering every apology in the book. Sophia didn't care. She spent the next twenty minutes absolutely talking his ear off, ensuring that by the time Y/N walked out of that warehouse, every single piece of lumber would be handled like fragile glass.

Of course, Sophia didn't let Y/N see her completely tearing the manager's ear off. She was a master of maintaining a perfectly detached, professional image.

When Y/N finally stepped out of the heavy warehouse doors a little later, she was thoroughly confused. The entire energy of the timber yard had shifted. The rough-looking yard workers, who had barely paid her any attention earlier, were now hovering around her like she was made of fine porcelain.

"ma'am, please step to the side, baka madumihan po kayo (you might get dirty)," one worker said quickly, gently guiding her away from a small puddle.

"ma'am, kami na po magbubuhat niyan (we'll carry that for you), just tell us the code," another rushed over, bowing slightly as he took a sample piece of wood she was inspecting.

Y/N blinked, utterly baffled, holding her tablet tightly to her chest. What is happening? Did I accidentally reveal I'm the secret heir to an empire? She had gone from a stressed, dusty intern to a VVVVVIP guest in the span of thirty minutes.

"They're finally executing basic safety and hospitality protocols, I see."

Y/N jumped slightly as Sophia suddenly appeared at her side again, seemingly out of nowhere. The multi-millionaire client was standing there flawlessly, her sunglasses back in place, looking completely unbothered as if she hadn't just spent the last twenty minutes threatening a supplier's entire corporate existence.

i swear this woman is some sort of vampire

"Oh! Ms. Laforteza," Y/N breathed, her heart doing that familiar, nervous flutter. "Yeah... everyone is suddenly being incredibly nice. I don't know what happened."

Sophia didn't blink. She merely adjusted her trench coat, her sharp gaze tracking a forklift that was now moving at a comically slow, ultra-cautious speed, while fixing her expensive suit. "They simply realized the gravity of their subpar organization, Ms. Santos. Now, is the inventory verification complete?"

"Yes, miss ," Y/N replied quickly, showing her the finalized digital log. "Everything matches the bill of quantities. The alternative supply line is officially cleared on my end."

"Good," Sophia murmured, a microscopic, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. She turned toward the exit gates where her sleek black SUV was waiting. "Then our work here is done. Let’s go."

The late afternoon rain began to drizzle over the highway, casting a gray, humid mist across the Makati landscape. As Sophia settled into the plush leather interior of her luxury SUV, she glanced out the tinted window and spotted a very familiar figure standing near the guardhouse.

It was Y/N.

The intern was hunched over her phone, her thumb frantically refreshing the screen as she tried to ignore the raindrops beginning to damp her hair.

Sophia’s sharp eyes locked onto the screen's bright glow. Even from a distance, she recognized the interface of a ride-hailing app. Y/N was trying to book a ride—and based on the frantic way she kept tapping, no one was accepting.

A sudden, sharp spark lit up in Sophia’s chest.

The memory of Yunjin easily patting Y/N’s back and taking her phone in the BGC parking lot flashed vividly in her mind. 'Sophia don't got it?' Her friends' teasing words echoed in her ears. Well, Yunjin wasn’t here today. This was her perfect chance to completely counteract her assistant's moves from the day before and re-establish proper executive dominance.

Sophia rolled down the electronic window just an inch, her voice cutting smoothly through the sound of the rain. "Ms. Santos."

Y/N jumped, nearly dropping her phone into a puddle as she looked over at the sleek black vehicle.

"Oh! Ms. Laforteza!"

"Get in," Sophia commanded softly, clicking open the lock of the rear passenger door.

Y/N blinked, looking from the luxurious, pristine leather interior to her own slightly dusty denim jacket. "Ah, no, it's fine, miss! I'm just... I'm waiting for a rider. I don't want to get your car dirty."

"The app will not find you a driver out here in this weather, Ms. Santos. Don't make me repeat myself," Sophia said, her tone dripping with unyielding, cool authority, though internally, her heart gave a competitive thump.

Realizing she had no choice, Y/N sheepishly climbed into the back seat, closing the door behind her. The interior smelled of expensive cedarwood and leather, completely shutting out the noise of the highway.

"Where to?" Sophia asked, not looking at her as the SUV smoothly pulled out into the traffic.

"Um, just near ayala park triangle, miss," Y/N muttered, clutching her bag tightly on her lap, feeling incredibly small next to the elegant woman.

"Fine." Sophia folded her hands over her knee, staring straight ahead as a small, deeply satisfied smirk finally broke across her face. Take that, Yunjin.

The SUV glided smoothly through the rain-slicked streets of makati, the quiet hum of the engine and the soft patter of droplets against the glass creating a heavy, almost suffocating intimacy in the backseat. Y/N stared fixedly out her window, her mind completely racing. She was sitting mere inches away from Sophia Laforteza—smelling her expensive perfume, watching the elegant rise and fall of her shoulders—and she had never felt more out of her depth.

Sophia, meanwhile, remained the picture of absolute, unbothered poise. She casually pulled out her phone, her manicured fingers flying across the screen as she opened her secret group chat.

soph I am currently driving her home. Just so we are clear, I "have it."

She didn't even wait for her friends' inevitable, chaotic replies before flipping the device screen-down on her lap, a quiet, triumphant victory settling deep into her chest.

"So, Ms. Santos," Sophia murmured, her smooth voice cutting through the silence of the car. She didn't turn her head, but her sharp gaze caught Y/N's reflection in the tinted window. "Since we have a long drive ahead of us, let's discuss your little... performance yesterday. Yunjin told me all about your conversation outside the building."

Y/N froze, the air instantly leaving her lungs. Oh my god. Yunjin told her.

"S-she did?" Y/N squeaked, her hands tightening so hard around her bag that her knuckles turned white.

"She did," Sophia replied smoothly, finally turning her head to fix Y/N with an unreadable, intense look that made the intern's heart do a violent, erratic somersault. "Particularly the part where you compared me to a specific fictional character. What was it again? A movie?"

Y/N’s entire life flashed before her eyes. The Miggy and Laida comment. The joke about the locking of the door. The absolute tangent about how terrifyingly hot her client was.

"Ms. Laforteza, I can explain—" Y/N stammered, her face bursting into a furious, bright red blush.

Before Sophia could reply, her phone vibrated aggressively on her lap. It wasn't the group chat. The screen lit up with an incoming call, the caller ID flashing a name that made Sophia's teasing, smug expression vanish in an instant.

Her entire posture went rigid. The cool, playful aura she had been projecting completely shattered, replaced by a sudden, striking look of genuine tension.

Sophia stared at the ringing phone for two agonizing seconds before sliding the bar to answer. She pressed the device to her ear, her voice dropping into a tense, incredibly cold whisper.

"I told you never to call this number again," Sophia said directly into the receiver, her eyes darting sharply toward Y/N, filled with a sudden, dark gravity.

On the other end of the line, a voice spoke—faintly audible in the quiet space of the car—and Y/N's eyes widened as she caught the words before the line abruptly went dead.

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˚. ᵎᵎ taglist (open 7/50) 

@martyyy7 @yournextdooralien @chalced0ny @nokpopnolifee @aoeiurgnmddk @dice2smooth @skz-xii

[s0nnielvr]

rebound 彡 ✦ lovebomber!manon x loser!reader

⤷ cw. lovebombing, emotional manipulation?, miscommunication, unrequited feelings, angst, hurt/no comfort, brief mention of pet death, and grief

♫ Oh, kay bilis namang, Magsawa ng puso mo ♫

You were a self-proclaimed nobody, perfectly content with blending into the background. For the entirety of your freshman year, manon— popular, gorgeous, and completely out of your league— never acknowledged your existence. Not a glance, and definitely not a text.

But for some magical reason, sophomore year starts with your phone suddenly lighting up.

manon (from class) y/n, do you have the answer for math? y/n No, I'm just starting it now. manon (from class) You got it, y/n! Lmk if you got them already I'm stuck on the first question.

At first, you find her completely annoying. Why is she suddenly messaging you like this? Why is she invading your quiet, comfortable personal space? You’re honestly pissed. But really, what can you do? She’s literally your classmate, and avoiding her in a small room is impossible. Still, out of pure kindness and the sheer innocence of your heart, you finish the homework and send her the answers.

y/n [attachment 1 image] Here, you should really listen when our prof is discussing. manon (from class) Ugh, u are heaven sent, y/n T.T Thank you And no, never lol y/n I won't be sending you answers all the time.

manon, of course, does not take that boundary seriously. In fact, she treats it as an invitation to bother you even more when you're just trying to mind your own business.

The next day, you’re sitting in the back of class, hunched over your notebook, when a familiar shadow falls over your desk. manon stops by before you can look up.

“What’re you doing?” manon's voice chirps, entirely too bright for this early in the morning.

“Nothing, just scribbling some drawings,” you mutter, instinctively shielding the page with your arm to hide it away from her.

“Really? Let me look!”

Before you can protest, she starts peeking over your shoulder, crowding into your personal bubble with a scent of expensive perfume that completely throws you off. You brace yourself as she stares at your messy notebook.

“Wow!” she gasps.

You freeze. You genuinely can't tell by the tone of her voice if she’s being real or just incredibly sarcastic. Still, you feel obligated to reply anyway. “I-it’s nothing much... just some scribbles.”

“No, it's great! This is a masterpiece, y/n,” she says, leaning back and beaming down at you.

She has a huge, dazzling smile.

That pretty smile.

And just like that, your irritation melts. Her smile makes it impossible to stay mad, and you’re left completely defenseless.

You knew people like manon didn't just notice people like you for no reason. A part of your brain screamed that she was just using you for answers or some sort of dare by her friends. But as she walked back to her seat, leaving behind the faint scent of her expensive perfume, you looked down at your messy drawing. The thought still lingered, but so did her smile.

​The line between classmate to acquaintances to friends, and whatever this was had completely blurred.

Last night, manon had called you out of nowhere. You didn't expect to stay on the line for long, but she kept talking, her voice dropping into a soft, sleepy murmur until the two of you fell asleep together on the phone. When you finally woke up the next morning, you realized the call was still connected. Heart hammering against your ribs, you quickly ended it, staring at the screen in disbelief. You were exhausted after being awake for hours, so you pulled the covers over your head, desperately about to drift back to sleep.

Ring. Ring.

Your eyes snapped open. manon’s caller ID flashed on your screen again. You answered it, pressing the phone to your ear, but all you could hear was heavy silence, followed by the faint rustling of sheets.

Then, you heard a sharp, ragged sniffle.

Panic instantly surged through you. You sat upright in bed, your voice tight. “manon? Are you there?”

“M-my dog died...” Her voice cracked, followed by a harder, choked-up sniff.

You froze. You weren’t one for handling big emotions. Hell, you didn’t even know how to properly comfort a regular person, let alone a girl like her. You had never encountered this type of situation before, and your brain was completely short-circuiting.

In a clumsy, desperate attempt to show sympathy, you stammered, “I-it’s okay, I—... what happened?”

Inside, you were violently panicking. It’s okay?! Why did I say it's okay?! Her dog just died! You wanted to punch yourself.

“She j-just died,” manon sobbed into the receiver, completely oblivious to your awkwardness. “She was so cute, too... look.”

Suddenly, your phone started buzzing rapidly against your ear. Still fresh from your sleep and completely overwhelmed, you pulled the phone away to see her spamming your lock screen with pictures of her dog—fluffy, happy, and full of life.

You stared at the flood of notifications, your heart aching for her, but your socially awkward mind was still running blank. You were trapped in her grief, unsure of what to do next, and suddenly aware that she had chosen you to cry to.

​The next day at school, manon’s usual vibrant, overwhelming energy was completely gone. She looked exhausted, her bright smile replaced by a heavy, hollow expression that made your chest tighten whenever you glanced across the classroom.

When the lunch bell finally rang, the lecture hall emptied out. You packed your bags slowly, your stomach rumbling as you headed for lunch, expecting the campus corridors to be packed.

But as you walked past a quiet, secluded corner near the end of the hallway, you spotted a familiar figure.

It was manon.

She was sitting by herself on a concrete bench, completely isolated from her usual crowd. There was no food near her, no loud laughter, and no expensive iced coffee. She was just staring blankly at her phone, her thumb mindlessly scrolling through what you guessed were the same dog photos she had spammed you with last night. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and if you hadn't been paying close attention, you would have missed the quiet, silent sniffles escaping her lips.

You froze in your tracks, clutching the straps of your backpack.

Your head screamed at you to keep walking.

Her popular friends will probably show up any second. Don't make it weird.

But then you remembered her cracked, sobbing voice over the phone at 5:00 am. You remembered how she had chosen your line to hold onto until the sun came up. That memory pulled you forward.

Your feet moved before your brain could talk you out of it.

You walked over, the squeak of your shoes on the floor tiles sounding incredibly loud in the empty hallway. As you approached the bench, you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. You still didn't know the first thing about comforting someone, but seeing her like this—stripped of all her usual confidence—made you forget about your own insecurities for a split second.

"manon?" you said softly, stopping a few feet away.

She flinched slightly, her head snapping up. Her eyes were red and puffy, completely devoid of their usual makeup, making her look incredibly small. For a second, she looked embarrassed to be caught, frantically wiping at her cheek.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice terribly raspy. She tried to force a tiny version of that pretty smile you were defenseless against, but it crumbled instantly. "What... what are you doing here?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart doing a nervous flutter at how small and fragile she looked. You still didn't know the right words to say, but you couldn't just stand there and watch her break down.

Slowly, you reached into your bag and pulled out the lunch you had just bought, along with a small, familiar bright plastic packet.

Gummies.

Ever since she had started randomly texting and bothering you, you had developed this unspoken, awkward habit. Whenever she would sit at your desk or talk your ear off until your social battery drained, you would silently slide a packet of gummies over to her. It had become a habit between you two.

You set the food and the colorful candy down on the concrete bench right next to her.

"You need to eat," you muttered, looking anywhere but directly at her face so she wouldn't see how flustered you were. "And, uh... I brought these. In case you needed something sweet."

manon stared at the lunch container, her eyes lingering on the little packet of gummies. A soft, shaky breath escaped her lips. For a second, you worried you had crossed a line or made things weird, but then she reached out, her fingers brushing against yours as she took the candy.

"You brought me these?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Yeah. You always eat them when you're annoying me in class, so..." You scratched the back of your neck, your face burning. "I just thought it might help. I don't really know how to do this whole comforting thing, manon. But I'm sorry about your dog. Truly."

The silence hung in the hallway for a moment, and you were just about to apologize and awkwardly walk away when manon suddenly let out a tiny, wet laugh. She clutched the gummy packet tight against her chest, looking up at you through her tear-stained lashes.

"You're not bad at it at all," she murmured, a genuine, soft warmth returning to her eyes. She patted the empty space on the concrete bench beside her. "Stay with me? Just until the next period starts. I don't want to be alone right now."

Your brain screamed at you that sitting with the school's prettiest girl in a lonely hallway was a terrible idea for your sanity. But looking at her now, completely stripped of her usual overwhelming character and just being real with you, you found yourself sitting down right next to her.

"O-okay," you stuttered, your voice barely a squeak as you sat down on the cold concrete bench next to her.

​For the next few days, it felt like the universe had completely shifted. manon didn't just give you her usual attention—she practically glued herself to your side. She walked with you to your lockers, sat next to you in every single lecture, and loudly shut down anyone who tried to question why she was suddenly hanging out with the class "loser." She even started carrying a little bag of those exact gummies in her purse, flashing you a secret, knowing smile every time she pulled one out.

For a brief, beautiful week, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that you were actually special to her. You were hopelessly, dangerously hooked.

Then, the weekend hit. And the line went completely dead.

No morning texts. No late-night facetimes. No tiktoks sent at 12:00 AM. You spent two agonizing days staring at your phone, a heavy, sinking feeling growing in your gut as you replayed every conversation, wondering what you did wrong.

By Sunday night, you were staring blankly at your bedroom ceiling, your chest aching with a familiar, miserable loneliness.

Buzz.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You scrambled across your bed, tearing your phone off the charger. It was a text from manon. Your fingers trembled as you unlocked the screen, ready to forgive her the second she gave you an excuse.

Instead, the words on the screen made your stomach violently drop.

manon I still want him it's always been him

You stared at the glowing text, the words burning into your eyes. There was no context. No "hey." Just a raw, agonizing confession meant for someone else— or maybe meant to break you.

The reality hit you like a physical blow. Your chest tightened as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. You replayed every late-night call, every moment she had leaned on you with her grief, every sweet smile over the stupid gummy candies—realizing suddenly, horribly, that none of it meant what you'd wanted it to mean. It wasn't because she liked you.

She just needed something, someone to fill in the empty space left by someone else. You felt heat rising in your face, a mixture of anger and humiliation prickling beneath your skin. Part of you wanted to scream at her for using you, to throw your phone across the room, but all you could do was sit there, numb and empty, letting the truth settle in. She was lonely, hurting from a breakup, and you had only ever been the safe, easy place she could hide until she was ready to go back to him.

You were just the convenient distraction. The quiet nobody who was safe because you'd never reject her.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your throat tight and your eyes stinging. You didn't even know who "he" was, but you knew one thing with terrifying clarity: you were just a rebound— a placeholder.

You never replied to that text. You just turned your phone face down on your mattress, pulled the blanket over your head, and let the quiet bitterness take root in your chest.

In the weeks that followed, the silence between you and manon became deafening.

You went completely cold. Every ounce of your awkward, gentle kindness was swallowed up by a sharp, defensive wall. You didn't just stop texting her back—you actively altered your entire daily route to make sure your paths would never cross.

Whenever you saw the unmistakable, loud laughter of her group echoing down the hallway, you immediately spun on your heel and took the long way around campus. If you saw her sitting at her usual bench, you kept your eyes glued to your shoes, your jaw clenched tightly. You stopped sitting anywhere near the back of the lecture hall, choosing instead to bury yourself in the very front or the exact opposite corner—anywhere that kept her out of your peripheral vision.

Her popular friends, the ones who had briefly pulled you into their circle during lunch, went right back to looking through you as if you were made of glass. And manon? She didn't fight for your attention. She didn't chase after you, send panicked texts, or slide into your desk.

You became deeply, quietly bitter.

You hated how easily you had fallen for it. You hated that you had stayed up until 5:00 AM listening to her breathe. You hated that you had spent your own lunch money to buy her food and those stupid, childish gummies just to make her smile when she was crying over her dog.

Most of all, you hated that you actually missed her.

One afternoon, you were sitting alone in a quiet, isolated corner of the library, staring blankly at your notebook. Your hand instinctively reached into your backpack, your fingers brushing against an unopened packet of gummies you had bought out of habit weeks ago.

Your grip tightened around the plastic wrapper, a wave of resentment washing over you. With a hollow feeling in your stomach, you tossed the candy deep into the bottom of your bag, swearing to yourself that you would never let someone like manon make a fool out of you again.

[chrissv4mp]

⸝⸝ EXPECTATIONS ˖ ࣪ sophia laforteza

❛ 𝗂'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇' 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾. ❜

synopsis. "don't hate the player, hate the game." it's a phrase almost everyone has heard before, and if sophia laforteza hadn't, maybe she never would've become the host of one of the biggest football podcasts in the state. sideline sessions covers all things football—the good, the bad, and everything in between. whatever happens on sunday, sophia is talking about it on monday. she's also made a bigger name for herself through one long-running tradition: trashing the los angeles chargers whenever the opportunity presents itself. so when the teams quarterback starts following the podcast, liking clips, and laughing along with her insults during interviews, sophia is understandably confused.

after all, why would her biggest target be her biggest fan?

pairings. sophia laforteza × tmasc!reader

content && warnings. fluff & angst, one-sided enemies to lovers, childhood enemies to lovers, justin herbert & matthew sturniolo as reader's faceclaims, online gossip, internet stalking, slow burn, profanity, mentions of past relationships, football stuff, mutual pining, (written, half-written, social media), mentions of reader's transition, flashbacks, suggestiveness but no real smut, nothing in this smau is meant to be an accurate representation of anyone mentioned—everything in this smau is purely fictional.

status. ongoing

tags (open: 28/50). @meiyokstarr @h0llyy @starless-spidey @miagamegirl @modanisgf @young-mc @wuhluhwuhloser @bitchesbrokenpromises @arandomperson407 @ijustlovemaths @iviza @everygayhere @ky-012 @yournextdooralien @rninne @ijboljae @urmom2314 @jojifolklore @itz-0kay @jxhjxba @skz-xii @softskiendel @ctrlamira @d1-manonglazer @x-d4cvalentine-x @eyekonic-cunteee @laraseyekon @zzskullzz

❛ 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌! ❜

featuring. justin herbert as reader's football player faceclaim, matthew sturniolo as reader's regular faceclaim, katseye, madison beer, christopher sturniolo (not mentioned as reader's brother/twin)

profiles. hostess(es) with the mostess | imagine dragons

act one

i. professional hater ii. real mature iii. incompetence, per usual (written)

iv. "research purposes" (written) v. stockholm syndome vi. aaand i'm already pissed off vii. passive aggressive?

viii. address me ix. rude! x. tba

act two

xi. tba xii. tba xiii. tba

[s0nnielvr]

forza ferrari ── .✦ wag!daniela‎

pairings. wag!daniela x f1 driver!reader

cw. Y/N is sebastian vettel’s daughter, tiny bit of jealousy, media is mean, paparazzi, some f1 terminologies

⤷wag!daniela, who never misses a Grand Prix. As the girlfriend of the reigning World Drivers' Champion, she masterfully balances her own busy career as a model with life in the fast lane.

⤷wag!daniela who, beneath her cool front, is the type who triple-checks your tire strategy notes before every race out of a secret fear she might jinx the outcome.

⤷wag!daniela who carries a tiny lucky charm in her bag, one that she never admits to believing in, but never leaves behind either. No matter the track or the timezone, fans can always spot her in the back of the garage, eyes glued to the monitors, watching over you from the sidelines.

⤷wag!daniela, who makes a game of learning the local words for "good luck" in each new country, whispering them under her breath just before the lights go out. For Daniela, these rituals are her way of feeling close to you, part of the high-stakes world that pulls you both across continents, always reminding herself that every second spent trackside is a choice she makes out of stubborn, wholehearted love.

​

⤷wag!daniela, who is always your very first stop the second you climb out of the car after a win, which, lately, is almost every single weekend. The moment your eyes meet hers, the chaos of the track fades, replaced by a rush of relief and joy that makes your heart race in a way no podium ever could.

Sometimes your hands still shake when you pull her in for a hug, overwhelmed by the weight of the crowd's gaze, all the cameras pointed at you both, searching for cracks or spectacle. You’ve both laughed about the amount of edits on tiktok of your post-race hugs paired to that one Taylor Swift song.

​

⤷wag!daniela, who insists on being the one in the driver's seat the moment you step off the grid. And boy, does she drive. She handles civilian roads like she’s running from the cops, taking corners with so much speed and confidence that you regularly swear she must have a secret double life as a stunt driver.

“i got this feeling on the summer day when you were gone,” daniela screams along to “i love it” by charli xcx as the music blasts from the speakers. You, well…. You were also singing along with her.

​

⤷wag!daniela, who acts as your anchor after a brutal race weekend. This time, it was Monaco, where a penalty in the final laps snatches away what should have been a comfortable podium, and the headlines the next morning are merciless. The exhaustion from long hours behind the wheel clings to your body, leaving you hollowed and raw. You replay the late pit stop, that one desperate radio message, the moment you brushed the barriers.

The radio recording plays “Ah, my breaks!” and your engineer immediately responds to you, with a heartbreaking message “Y/N, retire immediately.”

Your thoughts race anxiously, every imperfection magnified under glaring lights and dissected before millions by the media, the press, and relentless critics, who accuse you of failing to live up to your father's legacy.

⤷wag!daniela, who notices the fatigue in your eyes and the tension locking your shoulders. In that moment, the urge to withdraw and escape is overwhelming, yet her presence grounds you. She quietly takes your phone from your trembling hands, dims the lights, shutting out the world and gently insulating you from the sting of toxic remarks.

“Don’t listen to them, cariño. You’ll always be my number one.” “I just don’t get it. They expect me to be exactly like my father. Ever since I was old enough to kart, everyone assumed I would follow in his footsteps, make the same choices, win the same way. Sometimes it feels like I am racing with his shadow right next to me, and nothing I do is enough unless it matches what he did. I try my best, Dani. Is that not enough?” “Of course it is, amor.” She doesn't push any further, knowing when to offer words and when to just let you sit in the quiet. After a long, heavy silence, you finally lean into her shoulder, your voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Dani. For always being here.”

⤷wag!daniela, who now has a permanent spot on your racing gear after a quiet evening in your shared bedroom. It started when she burst through the door, calling your name, trailing off intentionally to leave you hanging before finishing her thought: “What if you include my actual kiss mark in your official helmet designs?”

​

“And what could have possibly brought you to this line of thought, baby?” You chuckled, gesturing for her to come over and sit beside you on the bed. She slid over, turning her phone to show you a thirst edit of you on TikTok before looking up with a playful, possessive smirk. “So the whole world knows exactly who you belong to,” she said, her sharp eyes piercing right into your soul. You let out a soft chuckle, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her close. “They already know, Dani. But if it makes you happy, I’ll wear your mark every time I hit the track.” And that you did, ensuring her kiss mark was included on every single helmet from that moment on.

​

⤷wag!daniela who soft launched your relationship to the public by posting a series of carefully chosen photos on Instagram, like those pictures of you on the yacht with your back to the camera. One post, in particular, stood out: Daniela snapped a candid shot of herself in oversized sunglasses, her sun-kissed legs tangled with yours, all but your hand visible, intertwined with hers. The caption was just a single heart emoji and the word "adventure." Fans immediately zoomed in on the reflection in her sunglasses, trying to spot any clues about your identity. Within hours, the comment section exploded with theories, edits began circulating on tiktok, and the topic trended for days on twitter.

⤷wag!daniela whose fans instantly speculated in the comments about your identity, searching for clues and rallying around hints she dropped in her captions. Daniela kept things just mysterious enough to tease everyone, choosing this approach to protect your privacy at first while still sharing little glimpses of your life together.

​

⤷wag!daniela who at first kept things low-key, posting only hints and glimpses on social media to protect your privacy. But everything shifted after you both decided to make it official— posting your first official couple photo together after a big race win. The nerves were real for both of you, but there was also a sense of excitement and relief in finally sharing your relationship openly.

⤷wag!daniela who you made a permanent part of your public life, bringing her up in almost every interview, every press conference before and after the race. Not a single moment has her name gone unsaid.

​

⤷wag!daniela also proudly mentions your name whenever asked about you publicly or to tabloids. After revealing your relationship publicly, you both faced a crowd of flashing cameras and shouting reporters, eagerly waiting outside your hotel. She takes your hand, raises it between you, and, with a radiant smile for everyone to see, announces,

"I'm so proud of her, always." The crowd erupts and, in that moment, everyone knows exactly how much you mean to each other.

[s0nnielvr]

Ahhhh 400 likes thats insane! thank yiu

[smd04]

Happy birthday to my overly sexy extra fine shit

[s0nnielvr]

off the record ⌢ ⟡﹒ interviewer!daniela x f1driver!reader

✦ syn. daniela got a chance to interview y/n Vettel, the daughter of a 4-time world champion, now following in her father’s footsteps. ✦ cw. suggestive, reader is sebastian vettel’s daughter and a carbon copy of Sebastian Vettel, use of y/n, based on that one seb interview that I vaguely remember. not proofread

✦ wc. 3.5k

requests open!! :))

Ever since Daniela heard about Formula One through TikTok, she had been completely sucked into the sport. While scrolling late one night, she came across a clip of Sebastian Vettel— the retired four-time World Drivers’ Champion— talking proudly about his daughter, Y/N, who was busy taking over the world of Formula 1.

Having such a famous name was never easy. When Y/N joined the grid as a teenager, the media pressure was intense. People often said she was only there because of her last name. Y/N tried to act unbothered, but sometimes, when the criticism got harsh or she saw her reflection before a race, doubt crept in. She wondered if people would ever recognize her own talent. Her father had faced the same tough media, hostile crowds, and critics who doubted his titles. He taught her how to block out the noise, even when it was hard.

​In fact, when the official announcement dropped that Y/N had signed a massive multi-year contract extension as Ferrari’s driver, Sebastian had sent her a simple text.

Dad Remember what we practiced. Eyes forward.

Fascinated by the story, Daniela pitched an exclusive, season-long profile on Sebastian Vettel’s daughter. Daniela was intrigued not only by Y/N’s legacy and the associated drama, but also by the striking parallels between her subject’s experience and her own. Y/N embodied both ambition and effortless confidence yet remained undaunted by immense expectations— a quality Daniela deeply admired.

Y/n’s defiance against the pressures of her famous surname became, for Daniela, a mirror reflecting her own struggle to assert her individuality and credibility as a journalist in a media landscape that often dismissed her voice.

Daniela had pitched her idea to he magazine editors loved the idea and approved it immediately.

​A few weeks later, Daniela was walking through the productive paddock of her very first race weekend. She was completely awestruck by the hospitality homes, the roaring sounds of impact wrenches, and the massive scale of the event. Because she was looking around instead of watching her step, she walked straight into a solid shoulder.

oof

​“Sorry, miss, are you okay?”

​“I’m fine,” Daniela said. She looked up to see who she had collided with, only to find herself staring into a pair of striking hazel eyes filled with genuine concern.

​“Whoa,” a voice cut through the brief silence. Daniela realized she had been staring just a second too long.

​“Y/N?” Daniela blurted out. She immediately felt stupid.

Of course it was Y/N.

They were standing right outside the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality building.

​Y/N straightened up at the mention of her name, a sudden, familiar smirk playing on her lips. “You know my name? Didn’t take you for a Formula One fan.”

​Y/N extended a hand, tilting her head confidently. “Y/N Vettel. And you are?”

​Daniela quickly smoothed down her shirt, trying to regain her professional composure. She hadn’t expected to meet the driver this early, let alone crash into her. “Daniela Avanzini. I’m a writer for Blabla Magazine.”

​“Ah. So… not a fan, then.” Y/N’s smirk faltered slightly. She slowly brought her hand down, scratching the back of her neck and internally cursing herself for assuming Daniela knew her from a race broadcast.

​“A bit of a fan, actually, I just—”

​“Y/N! Garage, now!” her manager’s voice boomed from down the path, cutting Daniela off.

Y/N sighed playfully and glanced back at Daniela, trying to mask her mild disappointment at having to leave so abruptly. "Sorry, duty calls. It was really nice meeting you, though… Daniela."

​Leaving Daniela standing there completely stunned, Y/N jogged away to catch up with her team.

​“A magazine writer is here; did you know that?” Y/N asked her manager as they walked.

​“Ah, yes. Apparently, management cleared an all-access pass for them to interview you throughout the season.”

​“Is that so?” Y/N glanced over her shoulder, but Daniela had already disappeared into the crowd.

Interesting.

From then on, the paddock felt a lot smaller. Over the next twenty-four hours, Daniela kept catching Y/N stealing glances at her from across the pit lane, a silent, playful game developing between them.

​Right before Qualifying on Friday, a sharp knock echoed through Y/N’s private driver room. She opened it to find her manager standing there with a serious look on his face, gesturing for her to follow.

​Stepping out into the corridor, clad in her full, vibrant red Ferrari race suit, Y/N spotted a familiar face sitting on the bench near her helmet shelf.

​“Y/N, this is Miss Daniela,” her manager introduced, gesturing toward her. “She writes for the magazine and will be shadowing your media blocks for the rest of the season.”

​Y/N offered a polite smile and walked over to greet her properly. “Nice to meet you, Daniela. Again.”

​“Nice to meet you again as well, Y/N,” Daniela replied, her tone professional but light.

​They shook hands, and Y/N immediately settled into a classic driver stance—hands resting firmly on her hips. It was a total NPC posture that the drivers always did, but after a few years in the sport, Y/N had unconsciously adopted it too.

​“I’ll be conducting a few one-on-one interviews and recording them for our digital features, if that’s alright with you?” Daniela asked, holding up a sleek digital voice recorder.

​“So… just me?” Y/N teased.

​“I’m sorry?”

​“You’re just interviewing me? Singular?”

​Daniela rolled her eyes subtly, a small grin tugging at her lips. “Yes, Y/N. The public is highly interested in your trajectory. You debuted with Ferrari at just eighteen, you’ve already broken records as one of the youngest world champions in history, and the list goes on.”

​Y/N leaned back slightly, her smirk returning full force. “If I didn’t know you were a journalist, Miss Daniela, I would’ve mistaken you for a fan.”

​Her manager’s eyes widened. He quickly nudged Y/N’s elbow as a silent warning to stay professional. Y/N’s smirk dropped for a fraction of a second as she glanced at her, clearly amused.

“And if I didn’t know you were a Formula One driver,” Daniela countered smoothly, keeping her voice completely calm, “I would’ve mistaken you for an asshole.” Daniela let out a quick laugh, her eyes sparkling to show she was teasing.

​There was no real bite to the insult, and Y/N couldn’t help but let out a genuine chuckle. “Ah… good one.”

​Her manager looked between the two of them, completely bewildered by the sudden banter. Realizing he was entirely third-wheeling his own driver’s media meeting, he gave a quick nod and pulled an Irish goodbye, slipping out of the room without another word.

“Just like her father,” the manager mutters under his breath while shaking his head.

The atmosphere on Sunday afternoon was electric, charged by the thunderous roar of engines and the persistent hum of anticipation that saturated the pre-race grid walk.

The air was dense with layered sounds: the screech of impact wrenches, hurried shouts from mechanics, bursts of laughter and conversation from celebrities, and the pointed questions of media personnel weaving between the chaos. Vibrant team colors and the flash of camera bulbs filled Daniela’s peripheral vision.

She navigated the narrow pathways as if she had committed every turn and marking to memory the night before; she probably had, her camera crew closely trailing as they sought the unmistakable flash of red that marked Ferrari’s presence, the car standing out vividly in the shifting sea of people and machinery.

She spotted Y/N standing by the nose of her car, casually sipping from her driver’s bottle while her engineers conducted final vehicle status checks. Y/n noticed Daniela approaching through the crowd, and that unmistakable, cheeky Vettel grin spread across her face.

Daniela stepped up, raising her microphone as she fought to be heard over the hum of the tire warmers. “Live from the grid with Ferrari’s star driver, Y/N. You’re starting P2 today right behind your championship rival. What’s your strategy going into Turn 1?”

Y/N dropped her drink tube. Instead of looking through the camera lens, she shifted her gaze entirely to Daniela, ignoring the millions of viewers watching at home.

“Well, Daniela, the strategy was to get a clean start,” Y/N said smoothly into the microphone. “But honestly? I’ve been completely distracted for the last five minutes.”

Daniela blinked, trying to maintain her professional composure despite the sudden warmth in her cheeks. “Distracted? By the track conditions? The car’s adjustments?”

Y/N stepped slightly closer to the microphone, tilting her head toward Daniela. “No, by a very stunning journalist walking down the grid in a red media lanyard. It’s a massive hazard for my concentration, really. I might have to lodge a complaint with the FIA.”

A small, surprised chuckle escaped Daniela’s lips before she quickly caught herself, bringing the mic back to her mouth. “I’m sure the stewards will tell you to keep your eyes on the track, Vettel. But seriously— your father won on this track three times. Are we going to see the famous Vettel index finger pose on the top step of the podium today?”

Y/N raised her right hand, playfully holding up her index finger right in front of the camera, perfectly mimicking her dad’s iconic post-race celebration.

“If I win,” Y/n murmured, her hazel eyes locking onto Daniela’s, “you have to agree to an exclusive post-race interview. No manager, no PR team, no cameras. Just you, me, and a quiet dinner. Deal?”

Daniela managed a knowing, amused smile and gracefully turned the microphone back to herself to wrap up the segment. “A bold strategy, Vettel. Let’s see if you can execute it on the track.”

As Daniela stepped back to let the mechanics wheel away the tire blankets, Y/N gave her a quick, confident wink before pulling her fireproof balaclava over her face.

“Wish me luck, Miss Daniela!” she called out as she pulled down the balaclava.

Daniela shook her head, a smile lingering on her lips. The unbothered, relentless charm of a Vettel— she really shouldn’t have expected anything less.

The grid cleared, the engines roared to life, and twenty minutes later, Daniela was huddled in the media center, her eyes glued to the monitors. Y/n hadn’t just executed her strategy— she had dominated the grid.

Although she faced some complications at Turn 1, making Daniela hold her breath for the entire lap, she quickly made up for it.

The monitors flashed a radio message from Y/n,

Ferrari “Made you panic, did I?” Vettel

Daniela could hear the smirk in Y/n’s tone; she wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or her race engineer, but either way, she nodded in response.

Though she hadn’t officially agreed to Y/n’s deal, she found herself rooting for the Ferrari driver to win. Deep down, she knew not to worry about that.

By lap forty, the red Ferrari was leading by a staggering seven seconds. Y/n was driving smoothly. When the checkered flag finally waved, the broadcast immediately cut to Y/n climbing out of her car in parc fermé, holding up a single index finger. Her cheeky smile and wink directed right at the main camera tracking her.

She knew exactly who was watching.

Daniela smiled at that.

While making her way through the media pen for a quick debriefing, one of the reporters asked Y/N, “Y/N! You're looking extra happy today; is it because of the win?”

Y/N paused from sipping her drink, smirking as she turned to the reporter. “Yeah, let’s say that.”

“Ah,” the interviewer responded, puzzled by Y/N’s answer, but continued the interview anyway.

Back in the quiet of the media lounge, while the other journalists were frantically typing out their race recaps, Daniela’s phone buzzed on the desk. It was an unknown number, but the text message left no doubt about who it belonged to.

​Unknown P1 There’s a quiet Italian place twenty minutes outside the circuit. Pick you up at 8?

​Daniela looked down at the screen, a slow smile spreading across her face as she typed back,

Daniela Didn’t know I agreed on the deal? Y/n no? the look on ur face says otherwise, miss daniela

Daniela’s brows scrunched up at that, and she immediately looked up from her phone, only to see Y/n already looking at her, with a stupid smile on her face.

Daniela shook her head with a smile and immediately texted Yn.

Daniela What should I wear?

Twenty minutes past eight, Daniela stood just outside the paddock gates, the cool evening air a sharp contrast to the blistering heat of the afternoon track. A low hum broke the silence as a dark car pulled up to the curb, the passenger window rolling down to reveal hazel eyes and a familiar, crooked smirk.

"Get in, Miss Daniela," Y/N said, unlocking the door.

Daniela didn’t need to be told twice. She slipped into the passenger seat, the heavy thud of the car door instantly shutting out the ambient noise of the lingering circuit crowds. The interior smelled faintly of expensive leather and the crisp, clean scent of Y/N’s cologne.

Y/N didn't waste a second. She slotted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb with a smooth, effortless acceleration that reminded Daniela exactly what this woman did for a living.

"No Ferrari race kit?" Daniela teased, glancing over. Y/N had swapped the vibrant Ferrari red for a relaxed, simple white shirt and slacks, her hair still slightly damp from a post-race shower.

"As much as I love Ferrari, it doesn’t really scream 'private post race interview' attire," Y/N replied, keeping her eyes on the winding Italian road. The dashboard lights cast a soft, sharp glow over her profile, highlighting the lingering traces of adrenaline still buzzing in her veins. "Besides, I promised a quiet dinner. If I showed up in full Scuderia gear, we'd have a line of Tifosi blocking the restaurant entrance in five minutes."

"So, you can be sensible when you want to be," Daniela noted, shifting in her seat to face her. "I thought a Vettel's default setting was to incite chaos?"

Y/N let out a low chuckle, a rich sound that filled the quiet car. "Hey, that’s strategic genius you're talking about. My dad always said, "If you can't convince them, confuse them." Works like a charm in press conferences."

"And on journalists on the grid?"

Y/N briefly took her eyes off the road, flashing a quick, lethal wink. With playful emphasis, she added, "Especially on journalists with red lanyards."

The car navigated a sharp bend with effortless precision, the headlights cutting through the darkening countryside as they moved farther from the track and closer to the hidden place.

Daniela leaned her head back against the headrest, a slow smile pulling at her lips. For someone who had only known the sport through a phone screen a month ago, she was starting to realize that the view from the inside was infinitely better.

The car slowed to a halt in a gravel lot surrounded by overgrown olive trees, completely hidden from the main road. The place was tiny—just a warm glow spilling from a single window and the rich scent of garlic, rosemary, and slow-simmered tomatoes drifting through the cool night air.

Y/N killed the engine, but neither of them moved to get out immediately. The sudden silence inside the cabin made the space between them feel instantly smaller.

"The owner is an old friend of my dad's," Y/N explained, turning in her seat to look at Daniela, her arm resting casually over the steering wheel. "No cameras, no press, no autograph seekers. Just real food."

"Sounds like heaven for someone who lives their life at three hundred kilometers an hour," Daniela said softly, turning to face her.

"It is," Y/N admitted. The cocky, media-trained smirk was entirely gone, replaced by something much more genuine. "Usually, after a win, my schedule is planned down to the minute. PR debriefs, sponsor dinners, media pens... It’s exhausting." She paused, the weight of it all flickering across her face.

"Honestly, sometimes I come home so late that I collapse on the couch, helmet still in hand, and realize I haven’t spoken to anyone outside of racing in days. There are moments when the silence feels deeper than winning ever did."

She hesitated, searching for words. "After Abu Dhabi last year, I sat alone in my hotel room, surrounded by trophies, and just stared at the walls, trying to remember the last time I’d shared a meal without the presence of cameras or PR people. In that room, I felt the weight of isolation more intensely than any pressure from a race. It’s not just physical fatigue—it’s that sense of disconnection that creeps in after the adrenaline fades."

A small, tired laugh escaped her. "It can get lonely, despite all the noise around me. But tonight, I just wanted a normal conversation. With someone who doesn’t want to talk about my plans for winning the championship— just to be seen for a moment as myself, and not as a driver."

Daniela smiled, the professional barrier she had been trying to maintain all weekend slipping away completely. "I think I can manage that. Though I might still have a few questions about your driving."

"Is that so?" Y/N leaned in just a fraction closer, a playful glint returning to her hazel eyes. "What do you want to know, Miss Daniela?"

"Just wondering if you're always this relentless when you want something," Daniela countered smoothly.

Y/N’s gaze dropped to Daniela's lips for a lingering second before rising back to meet her eyes. The atmosphere in the car shifted instantly, the casual warmth evaporating into a heavy, thick tension.

"Always," Y/N murmured, her voice dropping an octave, losing all its public facade. She reached out, her fingers trailing slowly over the console until her knuckles brushed against Daniela’s knee.

As they got closer to each other, someone knocked at the car's window, interrupting them,

“Y/n, is that you?”

“W-we should go, I'm sorry.”

Daniela straightened up and snapped out of it and chuckled at Y/n's embarrassed look.

“Yes, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Y/n says to the stranger.

Y/n steps out and opens Daniela's door for her.

As they made their way toward the small restaurant, the stranger accompanied them, her animated voice carrying a stream of rapid Italian that Daniela could not decipher. Despite the language barrier, the tone and cadence suggested a firm, but affectionate reprimand directed at Y/n, the lively exchange adding a distinctly authentic energy to their approach and situating Daniela within the vibrant, familial atmosphere that characterized the restaurant’s arrival.

As they sit at the small restaurant, Y/n apologizes again.

“Daniela, I'm so sorry about that.”

“It's fine, Y/n.” Daniela doesn't ask who that is right away, not wanting to intrude.

“That's Giulia, my dad's friend,” Y/N explained, the fondness returning to her tone as she spoke about her almost like family. “She recognized the car and came over to check on us.” From the way Giulia had fussed over them and gave Y/N a half-serious lecture, it was clear she had looked out for her since she was a kid.

The restaurant was empty save for the two of them, tucked away in a quiet corner booth that smelled of old wood and fresh basil. Giulia set down a bottle of house red and two plates of steaming, homemade pasta before disappearing back into the kitchen with a knowing wink, leaving them in absolute privacy.

For the next hour, the conversation flowed with a dangerous kind of ease. Away from the flashing cameras, Y/N was captivating. She shared ridiculous stories of her dad trying to teach her how to drive a manual road car as a kid, and in turn, listened intently as Daniela talked about the world of magazine publishing.

But as the plates were cleared and the wine bottle emptied, the easy banter began to stretch into heavy, lingering silences.

Daniela traced the rim of her wine glass, her eyes dropping to the way Y/N’s strong, veiny hands— hands that controlled an absolute rocket of a car at unbelievable speeds— were casually resting on the dark wood of the table. When she looked up, she found Y/n already watching her, her hazel eyes dark and intensely focused under the dim, warm amber lighting.

"You're not asking any more questions, Miss Daniela," Y/n murmured, her voice dropping to a low, quiet register that seemed to vibrate straight through the space between them.

"I'm off the clock," Daniela replied softly, her heart hammering against her ribs at the sudden shift in the air.

"Good." Y/N slid her hand across the table, her long fingers slowly wrapping around Daniela's wrist, her thumb pressing right over the racing pulse point there.

"Because I've spent the last hour trying to focus on dinner, when all I really wanted was to have you to myself. No more waiting?"

Daniela's heart hammered against her ribs, but there was no hesitation as she leaned forward, closing the remaining distance between them. "No more waiting."

[s0nnielvr]

something about daniela and ferrari, really clicks

[s0nnielvr]

T.T why must it rain on mornings where i have to go to work bruh

[s0nnielvr]

if u do accept anon requests, I wonder if you could do lara raj x proskater!reader who’s like… the total opposite of her… 👀👀👀

Sk8r girl ⟢ ₊ lara raj x proskater!reader

⟢ cw. fluff / romance, proskater!reader, competitive reader, mentions of anger/frustration, opposites attract,

⟢ an. tried my best about the skating terminologies

requests are open ﾟ ˖

The public loves a good narrative, and in pro-skating, they cast you as the villain. It is a bit of a stretch, honestly. You’re not hostile; you are just intensely passionate, competitive, and entirely unapologetic about it. Still, sometimes you wonder if people see past the facade, and the whispers about being 'the bad guy' can linger longer than you'd ever admit.

You remember once, after a particularly heated semi-final, overhearing a group of younger skaters at the edge of the park, their voices low but sharp.

"That's the one people warned us about," one muttered, their eyes darting away when you caught their glance.

The words stung more than you expected, especially in the quiet that followed once the crowd faded. That night, lying awake, you wondered whether every fierce comeback or frustrated glare was just adding bricks to a wall that might end up boxing you in completely.

​

And then there's Lara.

Lara is the absolute opposite of your world: gentle, soft-spoken, and grounded. To the media, you two make no sense. But to the two of you, it makes perfect sense. With her, you feel seen in a way you never do on the ramp or in front of the crowd, like when she instinctively knows how to calm you after a rough meet, just by slipping her hand into yours and giving you a look that says,

I get it.

Sometimes, you catch her watching you skate, a small, proud smile tugging at her lips, and later she'll say she admires how fiercely you fight for every trick and moment. For all your rough edges, Lara always insists she fell for the person behind the reputation, not because of it. Around her, the noise fades, and you remember there is more to you than just the persona everyone thinks they know.

​

Lara loves to dress up when she goes to your competitions. She always argues that since the cameras are on her, she might as well look sensational. You, on the other hand, are the complete opposite.

When you’re competing, you're usually dressed in heavily distressed jeans, worn thin and frayed from repeated falls on the concrete, paired with a set of beat-up Vans and an old, oversized hand-me-down t-shirt from your dad. It’s become something of a running joke between you two— on the mornings of competitions, Lara will eye your outfit with mock horror, saying, "You know you own shirts without holes, right?"

You always grin and reply, "Yeah, but how else would they know I work hard?" She’ll laugh and promise, "One day, I’m going to stitch a flower onto that t-shirt just to see if you even notice." You tell her, "If you do, you’ll have to skate for me," which only makes her snort. Your differences in style have turned into playful banter, both of you secretly loving the contrast of your looks when you stand side by side.

​

Despite her love for fashion, Lara has a notorious habit of stealing your worn-out clothes.

​

One afternoon, your friends text you about a random skate park they’ve just discovered, sending you into a frantic rush to get out the door. You tear through your closet, desperately searching for one of your absolute favorite vintage tees to skate in, but you come up entirely empty-handed. Defeated, you send a quick text to your girlfriend:

​

Y/N Lara, have you seen my Tony Hawk tee??? Lara Idk babe, sounds familiar tho 🤔 Y/N Okay baby, but if you happen to find it please let me know. It’s literally one of my favorites Lara [Attachment: 1 Image]

You open the picture to find Lara sitting comfortably on your bed, wearing the exact oversized, faded graphic tee you've been looking for, giving the camera a sweet, innocent smile.

Y/N Baby… you look amazing. But isn't that literally the shirt I'm looking for? Lara Oh, is it? Huh. Weird.

You can’t help but chuckle at her silliness, the initial frustration of losing your shirt completely melting away.

​

Lara always calls your first meeting a "meet-cute," and for all your tough exterior, you completely agree. It happened back at Venice Beach, where golden sunlight shimmered on the water and the air buzzed with the slap of wheels against concrete, shouts, and laughter.

You were running through your usual, mundane skate routine, catching air with the wind stinging your face and feeling your heart pound in your chest. Then, in a blink, your momentum carried you straight into someone. The impact sent a sharp jolt through your body, your board scraping noisily on the pavement and a dissonant clang echoing around you as bodies collided.

For a split second, you caught the salty tang of sweat and sunscreen, heard the distant crash of waves against the pier. All you registered was the sudden burst of heat where her arm bumped yours, the soft rustle of fabric, and the muffled gasp of surprise. The contact seemed to freeze time, the noise of the world dropping away until only the aftermath of the collision remained— breathless, bright, and oddly electric.

Looking up to apologize, you were met with a pair of oversized sunglasses and a warm, amused smile. Even behind the shades, Lara’s energy instantly defused your usual defensive walls. You apologized genuinely; she laughed it off, and just like that, the skater and the sweetheart clicked.

​

When the public finally found out about the two of you, the internet did exactly what the internet does. Almost immediately, countless clips from your past competitions resurfaced online.

Suddenly, countless clips from your past competitions resurfaced online. TikTok was flooded with fan-made edits that showcased the contrast in your life. The videos almost always followed the exact same formula: it would start with a footage of you at some skate yard— smashing your board in pure frustration or fiercely staring down a competitor— before suddenly transitioning into a soft, clip of you completely melting for Lara.

The contrast was staggering. One second you looked ready to fight the concrete, and the next, you were willingly carrying her designer bags, looking down at her with literal puppy-dog eyes.

Naturally, the edits didn't stay hidden in the algorithm for long. Soon, both Lara’s friends and your own group of friends flooded your group chats with the links, using them to constantly tease you about being totally whipped. You tried to defend your reputation, but it was a losing battle, especially since Lara didn't help your case at all, openly admitting she found the edits absolutely sweet.

“But look, babe , you look so cute here.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes at all the teasing, you could never completely hide the way your chest warmed each time you saw how happy those videos made her. There was something unexpectedly nice about letting your guard down and seeing yourself through her eyes, even if it meant everyone else got a good laugh out of it.

[s0nnielvr]

ANGELEYES oneshot ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ raining in manila

Sophia laforteza x f!reader

syn. ‎‎its raining and you forgot to bring an umbrella, luckily sophia is there to save you

cw. some tension, mild profanity, and discussions of work-related stress, sophia is in denial, reader is respecting boundaries

wc: 2.4k

an: this is not a continuation of chapter 2, instead this is just a little moment in between the lines

angeleyes masterlist

A sudden afternoon downpour hits the city just as you're leaving the Laforteza Holdings building, and you realize with a sinking feeling that you forgot your umbrella. Bracing yourself to sprint through the rain toward the main road, you freeze when a sleek black luxury sedan pulls smoothly up to the curb.

​

The heavy tint of the rear window rolls down, revealing Sophia.

​

She takes one look at your desperate state and your completely empty hand, sighs softly, and pops the door open from the inside. “Get in before you ruin your clothes.”

​

The moment you slide into the passenger seat, the damp chill of the afternoon is replaced by the warmth of an interior that smells of leather and expensive perfume. Without a second thought, Sophia slips off her plush, dry blazer and hands it to you.

​

“Here.”

Slightly damp from your brief dash to the car, you accept the fabric, looking at her shyly. “I-I'm sorry, Ms. Laforteza. You really didn't have to.”

​

“And let you walk in this rain? No.”

​

You watch her from the soft seat, a sudden blush warming your cheeks at her piercing, unyielding tone. Compared to the intimidating figure she presents at meetings, her posture is relaxed, and the harsh edge in her expression has softened.

​

“Where do you live?” she asks as she follows the flow of traffic. It’s a stark contrast to the ruthless image portrayed in the tabloids, and you can see that clearly right now.

​

You quietly give her your address, pulling her blazer tighter around your shoulders. “You really didn't have to go out of your way, Ms. Laforteza.”

​

“Sophia.”

​

You look at her, startled. The car halts at a red light, and she turns her head to meet your gaze, her piercing eyes no longer carrying the stern, unbothered look she usually reserves for the office.

​

“H-huh?”

​

“You can drop the formalities outside the office. You can call me Sophia.”

​

You blink, wondering for a wild second if you've hallucinated the instruction. Why on earth would a billionaire CEO let an intern call her by her first name? There is a flicker of uncertainty in Sophia's eyes. Letting you in on this small break from formality seems to mean more to her than she wants to admit.

Has she spent so long being scrutinized and guarded that every personal connection feels like a risk? For a moment, an emotion you cannot quite name hesitates in her expression. She, too, appears to be daring herself to let her guard down. The possibility makes your heart skip.

​

“Sophia,” you echo back tentatively, testing the weight of it.

​

“What were you thinking, getting ready to soak in the rain like that?” she asks, driving the car ever so smoothly.

​

“No one would accept my booking on any of the mototaxi apps because of the weather,” you admit sheepishly. “I was going to try a regular taxi or check the main road.”

​

“And you didn't think to check the forecast and bring an umbrella?”

​

“N-no, Ms.—” You stutter, catching yourself just in time. “No, Sophia.”

​

“Bring one next time. You know it’s going to rain 'til Friday, right?” She looks at you briefly, taking in your shy, small demeanor, when the absolute worst happens: your stomach lets out a loud, traitorous grumble.

​

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying to whatever god is listening that she didn't hear it.

​

But just as the sedan nears the turn toward your apartment complex, Sophia makes a quick decision, and the car smoothly re-routes.

​

“Sophia, you missed the turn to my—”

​

“We're getting dinner,” she cuts you off cleanly.

​

You turn your head toward the window, silently mouthing a silent, “Fuck.” You were hoping to get home fast and escape the embarrassment of this day, but the universe clearly has other plans.

​

As the car glides through the rainy streets, you notice she doesn't mention the project site logs or business at all. For a moment, you almost expect her to bring up a topic about the project, but instead she keeps her eyes fixed on the windshield, one hand relaxed on the steering wheel while the other drums absently against the leather. In a rare, almost tentative gesture, she glances sideways at you, as if weighing words, she chooses not to say, then looks away quickly as though afraid to let herself slip.

The silence is gentle, unhurried, and a breath you didn't know you were holding escapes in a quiet sigh. Honestly, you needed this break. The pressure has been relentless; you’ve been completely overwhelmed these past few days, with your supervising architect constantly emailing you for updates.

As the noise of your anxieties slips into the hum of the car engine, something shifts. You catch a glimpse of Sophia out of the corner of your eye— her jaw unclenched, her posture far softer than it ever is during meetings. She doesn't fill the silence with reminders or project updates; instead, her hand drums a gentle rhythm on the leather, and her gaze, when it meets yours, is merely curious rather than assessing.

The weight of her blazer around your shoulders is surprising— luxuriously heavy, lined with an almost buttery softness that seems to trap the warmth of Sophia's body. The subtle scent of her expensive perfume lingers in the threads, something floral and heady, curling into your senses and grounding you in the moment.

You find yourself unconsciously smoothing a hand over the textured fabric, the sensation oddly comforting. Slowly, the tension in your shoulders begins to dissolve, and the protective wall you've kept up at work flickers uncertainly. But right now, Sophia isn't the client.

​

The car pulls up to the grand entrance of a high-end restaurant.

​

Sophia's voice pierces through the quiet. “We're here.”

​

She steps out first. A valet smoothly opens your door, and you step out carefully, still practically engulfed by Sophia’s tailor-made blazer. Sophia hands her keys to the valet and waits for you to catch up to her side. Together, you walk up to the hostess.

​

“Ms. Laforteza, a pleasure to have you back. Please follow me to your table.”

​

Without Sophia even having to speak, they guide her straight to a secluded booth. Wow, she must come here all the time, you think, following a step behind her.

​

Your heart skips a beat when Sophia reaches out, pulls a chair back for you, and signals for you to take a seat.

​

“Oh. T-thank you, Sophia.”

​

A gentlewoman, you think as she glides into the seat opposite you and effortlessly picks up her menu.

​

Keeping the atmosphere light, she glances up from the leather-bound menu to start a casual conversation. “Y/N, do you actually have an umbrella at home?”

​

You freeze. The hell? Why is she asking that? Do I look THAT broke?

​

“Y-yes,” you stammer quickly. “I just happened to forget to bring it today. I didn't expect the downpour.”

​

“Good,” Sophia murmurs smoothly.

​

You blink, entirely lost. Huh? What does she mean by 'good'? That I actually own one? What was she planning to do if I didn't? The questions crowd together before you can sort them out.

​

Gathering your courage, you look across the table. “Sophia... may I ask why you're asking?”

​

“If you didn't have one, I’ll have my assistant send one to you,” she says simply, turning a page. “I don't like seeing hardworking people struggle, because they're too stubborn to ask for help.”

​

She looks up then, her sharp, captivating eyes searching yours across the small table. “You're allowed to ask for help, Y/N. Especially from me.”

​

You swallow hard, your face burning hotter than the ambient lighting of the restaurant. You glance down at the heavy material of her blazer still draped over your shoulders, completely at a loss for words. Hearing a woman of her level say you're allowed to ask her for help feels baffling, but strangely comforting.

​

“I... thank you, Sophia,” you manage to murmur, your voice soft.

​

A rare, incredibly subtle smile touches the corners of her lips— so fleeting you almost think you imagined it— before she turns her attention back to the menu, leaving you quietly stunned.

​

“Now,” Sophia says, her usual composed demeanor sliding back into place, though the softness remains.

“Let’s order before you starve to death. Wouldn’t be a good look for me if I let you.”

​

Well, would you look at that— the woman has humor?

​

Over a beautifully prepared dinner, the suffocating professional distance between a high-profile client and an intern completely melts away. For the first time, you let yourself simply enjoy her company, even though a tiny, anxious voice in the back of your mind wonders what others might think if they saw you both like this. If anyone in the office— or worse, the tabloids— caught wind of the two of you sharing a meal like friends, you can almost imagine the rumors and consequences that could follow, for both your career and hers.

Still, Sophia doesn’t ask you a single question about the project. Instead, she rests her chin on her hand and fixes you with an intent gaze. "So, what's the worst experience you've had pulling an all-nighter for class?" she asks, a trace of amusement coloring her voice.

You groan, rolling your eyes. "Last month, my laptop crashed at 2 a.m. I lost three hours of drafting and had to rebuild the whole model from memory. I almost fell asleep in front of the class the next morning."

Sophia laughs quietly, her eyes crinkling at the edges.

For the first time, you see the real Sophia Laforteza— not the cold, unapproachable CEO of the public eye, but a dedicated, surprisingly thoughtful woman who just happens to shoulder the weight of her family’s reputation on her shoulders. As you sit across from her, laughing at a quiet joke she made, you realize the nervous fluttering in your chest isn't fear anymore. It’s something entirely different.

​

By the time the sedan pulls up to the curb of your apartment complex, the rain has finally slowed to a soft drizzle.

​

You unbuckle your seatbelt and gently begin to slip off her blazer, but Sophia reaches out, her hand lightly resting on your forearm to stop you. Her touch is warm, sending a sudden jolt straight up your spine.

​

“Keep it,” Sophia says softly, her eyes holding yours inside the dim interior light of the car. “It’s still cold out. You can return it to me at the next site visit.”

​

You look at the jacket, then back at her, a tender smile automatically tugging at your lips. “Okay. Thank you for dinner, Sophia. Drive safely.”

​

“Goodnight, Y/N. Get some rest.”

​

You step out into the cool night air, the plush blazer shielding you from the damp breeze. You pull the fabric a little tighter around yourself, wrapped in the lingering scent of her expensive perfume. The grueling, stressful week suddenly doesn't feel so heavy anymore, and for the first time in days, you actually find yourself looking forward to tomorrow.

​

I need to debrief with the panel, the panel being her friends.

​

Sophia watched through the rain-streaked window of the sedan as Y/N walked toward the apartment building's entrance, the oversized lines of her fitted blazer still draped over the intern's shoulders. Y/N looked small in it, but there was a quiet, lingering warmth in the way she pulled the fabric tightly around herself against the damp breeze.

​

Only when Y/N safely disappeared through the lobby doors did Sophia look back ahead and drive away.

​

The car's silence returned, but the atmosphere felt entirely different from how it had been two hours ago. The headaches of the company’s projects and the constant pressure to protect her family’s legacy usually left her completely drained by this time of night. She was used to being surrounded by people who wanted something from her— businessmen, the public, assistants anticipating her moods, and executives measuring her every word.

​

But dinner with Y/N had been... completely effortless, and that ease lingered.

​

Sophia rests her head back against the leather headrest, a soft, uncharacteristic smile adorning her lips in the dark interior of the car. She remembers the look on Y/N's face when the car first pulled up, the way the girl had stuttered over her name, and Y/N’s face when her stomach betrayed her. It was unfiltered, real, and completely devoid of the daily hectic corporate setting that Sophia dealt with on a daily.

For the first time in a long while, Sophia wondered what it would be like to be a little braver with her feelings outside of this one rain-soaked night. She had spent so many years shaping herself into the unyielding daughter, always keeping her walls untouched.

But something about Y/N— the openness in her eyes, the gratitude in her voice—made Sophia want to reach beyond her own boundaries. She felt a startling desire to let herself be seen more often, even if only in small ways.

​

Ever since they first met, Y/N had caught her eye. Initially, Sophia was almost amused by the intern's clumsiness and frantic energy, but beneath the surface, she found herself watching with growing intrigue.

The girl was panicked and clearly over her head as an intern, yet her dedication to her job was impressive. Sophia was surprised by just how much curiosity welled up inside her in that moment; she had expected to see another intern falter, but instead, she watched Y/N rise to the challenge.

It made Sophia's heart pound a little faster than usual, equal parts pride and a strange feeling she hadn't felt in years.

“No,”

Sophia shakes her head at the thought; she was just proud of the intern, that's all.

​

Over dinner, watching Y/N gradually relax, shed her shy demeanor, and confidently complain about her architecture classes had been the most interesting conversation Sophia had experienced in months. For a couple of hours, Sophia didn’t feel like Sophia Laforteza— the CEO; she had just been Sophia.

angeleyes masterlist

˚. ᵎᵎ taglist (open 6/50) 

@martyyy7 @yournextdooralien @chalced0ny @nokpopnolifee @aoeiurgnmddk @dice2smooth

[s0nnielvr]

forza ferrari ── .✦ wag!daniela‎

pairings. wag!daniela x f1 driver!reader

cw. Y/N is sebastian vettel’s daughter, tiny bit of jealousy, media is mean, paparazzi, some f1 terminologies

⤷wag!daniela, who never misses a Grand Prix. As the girlfriend of the reigning World Drivers' Champion, she masterfully balances her own busy career as a model with life in the fast lane.

⤷wag!daniela who, beneath her cool front, is the type who triple-checks your tire strategy notes before every race out of a secret fear she might jinx the outcome.

⤷wag!daniela who carries a tiny lucky charm in her bag, one that she never admits to believing in, but never leaves behind either. No matter the track or the timezone, fans can always spot her in the back of the garage, eyes glued to the monitors, watching over you from the sidelines.

⤷wag!daniela, who makes a game of learning the local words for "good luck" in each new country, whispering them under her breath just before the lights go out. For Daniela, these rituals are her way of feeling close to you, part of the high-stakes world that pulls you both across continents, always reminding herself that every second spent trackside is a choice she makes out of stubborn, wholehearted love.

​

⤷wag!daniela, who is always your very first stop the second you climb out of the car after a win, which, lately, is almost every single weekend. The moment your eyes meet hers, the chaos of the track fades, replaced by a rush of relief and joy that makes your heart race in a way no podium ever could.

Sometimes your hands still shake when you pull her in for a hug, overwhelmed by the weight of the crowd's gaze, all the cameras pointed at you both, searching for cracks or spectacle. You’ve both laughed about the amount of edits on tiktok of your post-race hugs paired to that one Taylor Swift song.

​

⤷wag!daniela, who insists on being the one in the driver's seat the moment you step off the grid. And boy, does she drive. She handles civilian roads like she’s running from the cops, taking corners with so much speed and confidence that you regularly swear she must have a secret double life as a stunt driver.

“i got this feeling on the summer day when you were gone,” daniela screams along to “i love it” by charli xcx as the music blasts from the speakers. You, well…. You were also singing along with her.

​

⤷wag!daniela, who acts as your anchor after a brutal race weekend. This time, it was Monaco, where a penalty in the final laps snatches away what should have been a comfortable podium, and the headlines the next morning are merciless. The exhaustion from long hours behind the wheel clings to your body, leaving you hollowed and raw. You replay the late pit stop, that one desperate radio message, the moment you brushed the barriers.

The radio recording plays “Ah, my breaks!” and your engineer immediately responds to you, with a heartbreaking message “Y/N, retire immediately.”

Your thoughts race anxiously, every imperfection magnified under glaring lights and dissected before millions by the media, the press, and relentless critics, who accuse you of failing to live up to your father's legacy.

⤷wag!daniela, who notices the fatigue in your eyes and the tension locking your shoulders. In that moment, the urge to withdraw and escape is overwhelming, yet her presence grounds you. She quietly takes your phone from your trembling hands, dims the lights, shutting out the world and gently insulating you from the sting of toxic remarks.

“Don’t listen to them, cariño. You’ll always be my number one.” “I just don’t get it. They expect me to be exactly like my father. Ever since I was old enough to kart, everyone assumed I would follow in his footsteps, make the same choices, win the same way. Sometimes it feels like I am racing with his shadow right next to me, and nothing I do is enough unless it matches what he did. I try my best, Dani. Is that not enough?” “Of course it is, amor.” She doesn't push any further, knowing when to offer words and when to just let you sit in the quiet. After a long, heavy silence, you finally lean into her shoulder, your voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Dani. For always being here.”

⤷wag!daniela, who now has a permanent spot on your racing gear after a quiet evening in your shared bedroom. It started when she burst through the door, calling your name, trailing off intentionally to leave you hanging before finishing her thought: “What if you include my actual kiss mark in your official helmet designs?”

​

“And what could have possibly brought you to this line of thought, baby?” You chuckled, gesturing for her to come over and sit beside you on the bed. She slid over, turning her phone to show you a thirst edit of you on TikTok before looking up with a playful, possessive smirk. “So the whole world knows exactly who you belong to,” she said, her sharp eyes piercing right into your soul. You let out a soft chuckle, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her close. “They already know, Dani. But if it makes you happy, I’ll wear your mark every time I hit the track.” And that you did, ensuring her kiss mark was included on every single helmet from that moment on.

​

⤷wag!daniela who soft launched your relationship to the public by posting a series of carefully chosen photos on Instagram, like those pictures of you on the yacht with your back to the camera. One post, in particular, stood out: Daniela snapped a candid shot of herself in oversized sunglasses, her sun-kissed legs tangled with yours, all but your hand visible, intertwined with hers. The caption was just a single heart emoji and the word "adventure." Fans immediately zoomed in on the reflection in her sunglasses, trying to spot any clues about your identity. Within hours, the comment section exploded with theories, edits began circulating on tiktok, and the topic trended for days on twitter.

⤷wag!daniela whose fans instantly speculated in the comments about your identity, searching for clues and rallying around hints she dropped in her captions. Daniela kept things just mysterious enough to tease everyone, choosing this approach to protect your privacy at first while still sharing little glimpses of your life together.

​

⤷wag!daniela who at first kept things low-key, posting only hints and glimpses on social media to protect your privacy. But everything shifted after you both decided to make it official— posting your first official couple photo together after a big race win. The nerves were real for both of you, but there was also a sense of excitement and relief in finally sharing your relationship openly.

⤷wag!daniela who you made a permanent part of your public life, bringing her up in almost every interview, every press conference before and after the race. Not a single moment has her name gone unsaid.

​

⤷wag!daniela also proudly mentions your name whenever asked about you publicly or to tabloids. After revealing your relationship publicly, you both faced a crowd of flashing cameras and shouting reporters, eagerly waiting outside your hotel. She takes your hand, raises it between you, and, with a radiant smile for everyone to see, announces,

"I'm so proud of her, always." The crowd erupts and, in that moment, everyone knows exactly how much you mean to each other.

[s0nnielvr]

angeleyes oneshot wip! woo!

[eyekonliving]

HAPPY 24TH TO THIS BEAUTIFUL ICON

[s0nnielvr]

ANGELEYES - emails i loathe

Sophia laforteza x f!reader

syn. ‎‎An intern at an architectural firm was assigned to perform a site visit at an undergoing construction located in Makati City, which happens to be owned by the company of the most well known family in the Philippines— the Lafortezas. ‎ ‎or Y/n is an architectural student at De La Salle University working as an intern at a small firm in Makati. What happens when Y/n catches the attention of a certain Laforteza?

warnings. slowburn, intern!reader, ceo!sophia, work-related stress, anxiety, profanity

status: ongoing

an. did u catch the title :D emails i cant send reference,,

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.ᐟ.ᐟ

After the hectic events of yesterday, Y/N lay awake in bed, staring blankly at the popcorn texture of her apartment ceiling. The room was bathed in the dim, grayish-blue light of dawn, and the steady, low hum of her window-type air conditioner was the only sound cutting through the early morning quiet. She was entirely motionless, tangled in her duvet, simply waiting for her alarm to sound.

Usually, her brain would be running through a checklist of her strict morning routine– calculating down to the exact minute how long she could afford to let her coffee steep or how many seconds she could spend perfecting her eyeliner. But today, her mental calendar was completely blank.

Instead, her mind kept drifting right back to that brief, exhausting interaction at the site.

Specifically, to her.

That damn, unbothered tone. It had been so effortless, so smooth, carrying the kind of heavy authority that made Y/N feel like she was standing in front of a college dean rather than a client.

Those captivating, sharp eyes... even hidden behind those expensive, dark designer lenses, Y/N could feel the weight of their gaze. It was the kind of look that felt like a test she hadn't studied for.

And her fucking thick, glossy lips.

They were perfectly painted, perfectly shaped-- no she is a client. Y/N rolled onto her side, burying half her face in her pillow as she remembered the crisp, concise way those lips had pronounced her own name. Sophia. It sounded expensive just saying it.

Those damn lip—

Ding.

The sudden, sharp chime of her phone shattered the silence of the room, cutting her train of thought.

“The fuck?” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep.

She blinked against the sudden glare, blindly reaching across the nightstand and knocking over an empty wrapper from last night’s fast-food dinner before her fingers finally clamped around the device. Who on earth was messaging this early in the morning? It wasn't even seven o'clock yet. Her immediate, panicked thought was that Ar. Valencia was deploying her to another early site visit.

But as she swiped the screen open, the tight knot of anxiety in her chest instantly unraveled. A smile automatically tugged at her lips when she saw the string of messages flashing on the group chat notification.

Ah, it’s just them.

James Yowww, we doing site visit today wbu guys? Yn Beat u to it, brother James The helly, when? Yn Already done it just yesterday Lara No wayyy Tf is wrong with my company? Lmaoo They havent deployed me yet Put me in coach, put me innn Dani  Loll thats so unfortunate lmao Yn Dani, dont act like youve already done something..... Dani That was classified information,,  I TOLD U THAT IN CONFIDENCE Lara Wait what is it? Yn Our sweet precious dani here Has not been handed any actual arch. Drawings She only helped add some furnitures on the 3d plans Dani :( youre mean bro Yn Well ur not asking them if u can help with anything else, how else are they supposed to know? Lara  Yea danii u should try asking ur supervisor? Dani I will i will Ill gather confidence James  Goodluck guysss!

Y/N smiled, locking her phone. For a split second, she felt a nagging sensation that she was forgetting something, but she shrugged it off. Right on cue, her alarm finally blared, cutting through the silence of her apartment. She rolled out of bed and immediately began executing her strictly timed morning routine– determined not to let today turn into a disaster.

Later that afternoon, the morning rush was a distant memory. Y/N was completely locked in, hunched over her desk with her headphones on, adding the final touches to a 3D interior model for a residential project she had been assigned. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, executing shortcuts flawlessly.

Suddenly, a sharp ping echoed in her ears as a desktop notification popped up in the bottom right corner of her screen.

Curious, she clicked it open. It was an email from Ar. Valencia.

Good morning Y/N, Hope this email finds you well. I am currently handling multiple major projects right now alongside Miss Laforteza’s. With that in mind, you are now officially in charge of drafting the daily site reports and emailing them directly to Ms. Laforteza. Any succeeding revisions will also be discussed directly with you, the revisions on the other hand, should be vetted by me. Please CC me on all daily site reports, along with revisions. Thank you, future Archi! Best regards, Ar. Valencia

Y/N stared blankly at the screen, her soul practically leaving her body. Just like in a Tom and Jerry cartoon when a character gets flattened and their spirit slowly floats upward strumming a harp, she could swear she saw the gates of heaven opening up right above her monitor.

I swear to God, every email I receive while I'm in this office is cursed.

Directly emailing the client? Shifting multi-million peso project revisions to a literal fourth-year incoming-fifth-year intern? And worst of all– that name again.

Y/N shuddered, rubbing her arms vigorously as a fresh wave of goosebumps broke out across her skin. “I just got chills,” she whispered to herself in the quiet office.

An hour later, Y/N was staring at a blank Microsoft Outlook window, the recipient, [email protected]. Just looking at the letters typed out in the "To" bar made Y/N’s stomach do a nervous flip. 

She began typing

Dear Miss Laforteza, I hope this email finds you in pristine health–

No, the fuck? Pristine health? What am I, a Victorian poet? Y/N aggressively smashed the backspace key.

She tried again:

Good day, Sophia. Attached herewith is—

Sophia?! Are you insane? You're just an intern, use her last name!

Y/N aggressively slammed the backspace key, mashing it like the font had personally insulted her entire bloodline. She hit the key so hard that her deskmate actually jumped, pausing his own rendering to check on her.

“Who are you even emailing?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Is she a god or something?”

“Ms. Laforteza,” Y/N responded, her voice hollow, her eyes fixed blankly on the blinking black cursor.

Her deskmate’s expression instantly shifted from curiosity to pure pity. He silently backed his rolling chair away from her desk, slowly lifting a hand. “Ah... good luck,” he murmured, offering a grim thumbs-up before turning back to his own screen to stay out of the danger zone.

Y/N took a deep breath and tried again.

Dear Ms. Laforteza,

She typed out a super formal paragraph, read it over, and immediately deleted it because it sounded like a robotic legal brief. She tried a slightly more casual approach, only to delete that too when she remembered Sophia’s sharp, intimidating eyes from yesterday. She found herself checking her grammar over and over, rewriting the same sentence three different ways.

After about an hour of psychological warfare against her keyboard, Y/N had finally constructed what she believed was the perfect— well, for her, at least— email in the entire history of human existence.

Everything was going smoothly, and she was seconds away from freedom, when she hit a massive roadblock.

The sign-off.

She got completely stuck. Warm regards? No, that felt weirdly intimate, like they were friends who grabbed coffee. Best regards? Probably the safest bet. It sounded professional and corporate. But during the fifteen minutes she spent agonizing over those two little words, her sleep-deprived, panicked brain briefly went rogue. She almost typed: Respectfully yours, Y/N (The girl who mixed concrete).

Blinking rapidly, she quickly deleted the intrusive thought before she actually sent it. Exhausted, defeated, and completely tired of staring at the unmoving, terrifying email draft on her desktop screen, Y/N gave up.

She pulled out her phone, opened the group chat, and prepared to text her friends for an intervention.

Yn Guys T.T how to email a scary, also hot, boss? Dani Hot, u say? Yn I see blank messages for some reason Lara  Loll, why Y/N? who are you emailing? Dani Yea who is this ‘hot boss?’ Yn Oh its just sophia laforteza My supervising architect is handling her building in makati rn James  … Lara  .. Dani .?!! Yn Uhh Guys whats happening? James  Bro just casually emailing, THE sophia laforteza Lara  SOPHIA LAFORTEZA, as in laforteza holdings??? Dani Im shocked as to how casually ur reacting y/n You dont know the lafortezas?

y/n stares at her phone and wonders, she does not know a single thing about this woman except from what she’d seen yesterday and the day before. She should've googled her really, but with these tasks being given to her, she was tunnel visioned into just finishing them already.

Yn ….no James  Look her up, y/n T.T

After entering Sophia's name into the search bar, she was stunned by the number of results that appeared. She chose the first one that caught her eye,

GODFREY LAFORTEZA HANDS OVER LAFORTEZA HOLDINGS TO DAUGHTER SOPHIA

MANILA, PHILIPPINES — The public was sent into frenzy yesterday after renowned businessman and industry figure Godfrey Laforteza officially announced that his daughter, Sophia Laforteza, will assume the position of Chief Executive Officer of Laforteza Holdings.

By Kim Chaewon · Author · September 7, 2025

Yn Well, shit

And well, shit indeed. Because now that she actually knew Sophia’s terrifying reputation, Y/N wanted nothing more than to cower in fear. What had started out as a vent session and rant to her friends had instantly turned to a gossip session, leaving her tucking her tail between her legs like a terrified puppy.

Of course, a professional would just ignore the tabloids and keep treating Sophia like any other client. But how on earth was she supposed to do that? She was a mere intern, tasked with compiling daily site logs, and on top of that, if there were any revisions, Y/N was the first to be contacted.

I am starting to think this firm was NOT the right choice, she thought, glaring at her dual monitors. They should be thankful I was desperate enough to apply here.

Y/N still couldn't believe her seemingly nice, friendly supervising architect had done this to her. Ar. Valencia had always seemed like such a chill mentor, but now she was convinced he was plotting her downfall. That absolute devil. What an evil, evil man.

Y/N let out a heavy sigh and shook her head, staring at the unsent email draft. That man was definitely up to something, and she was the one walking straight into the trap.

After debating which sign off to use and having a breakdown, Y/N finally sent the email

Dear Ms. Laforteza, Good day! Please find below the summary of my site inspection conducted on June 23, 2026 at the Proposed Mixed-Use Building construction site located in Makati City.

And.. Send!

Y/N lets out a huge breath, not even aware that se forgot how to breathe as shes sending the email, and just in around 3 minutes she hears a sharp sound and a notification at the corner of her scene.

Received. Proceed with the next phase. - S.L. 

Y/N deflated instantly at the short, curt email Sophia sent back. This woman. She didn't even acknowledge me or anything.

As she sat there staring blankly at the incredibly straightforward response, she caught her deskmate peeking out of the corner of her eye.

“LOL, she’s so strict with it,” her coworker laughed out loud, leaning over to pat Y/N’s back in mock sympathy.

Y/N turned her head slowly, giving him a flat, deadpan look. “Fuck off.”

Sensing the dangerous energy radiating off her, the coworker slowly backed his rolling chair away. Again. Lmao, what a weirdo.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Makati, Sophia sat in her sleek executive office, reviewing an email she had received earlier that morning from Ar. Valencia.

Good Morning Ms. Laforteza, Hope this finds you well. Due to a heavy load of concurrent major projects, I have distributed the daily site evaluations and revisions for your project to Ms. Y/N Santos, our firm's intern. Moving forward, daily site evaluations and revisions will be directed to Ms. Santos. If you have any additional requirements, please feel free to contact me. Rest assured, all revisions will still be thoroughly vetted by me. I have already informed Ms. Santos of her role. Thank you. Best regards, Ar. Valencia Head Architect ICON+ Studios

Huh. Being handled by Y/N?

The name instantly brought a vivid image to mind: the flustered, wide-eyed intern who had arrived late, only to jump straight into mixing heavy concrete without a single complaint. Given the girl's surprising work ethic on-site, Sophia didn't mind the change at all.

She type out a brief reply: Noted, Ar. Valencia. – S.L.

Ar. Valencia must be genuinely swamped if he was delegating site visits and revision coordination to an intern. But as Sophia began to close the email tab, a voice cut through the silence of her office.

“Ms. Laforteza?”

Sophia looked up from her screen. “Yes?”

Her personal assistant, Huh Yunjin, stepped forward, holding a tablet. “The contractor handling the ongoing project in Makati encountered a supply issue. There's a delay on the lumber delivery. If it isn't resolved immediately, it might push back the entire construction timeline.”

Sophia frowned, her aura instantly sharpening. “Why did it get delayed?”

Yunjin quickly scanned the report. “According to the email, the supplier they order from is facing sudden manufacturing shortages.”

Sophia sighed internally. Why are they bothering me with this? shouldn't they handle this themselves? This is a contractor problem.

“Yunjin, please email the contractor back and tell him this needs to be resolved immediately,” Sophia instructed, her tone perfectly calm but entirely unyielding. “I do not want to be bothered by logistical errors.”

“Ah, yes, of course, Ms. Laforteza,” Yunjin replied smoothly, stepping back to deliver the message to the contractor

A couple of hours later, a new notification chime echoed in the quiet office.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Daily Site Inspection Report - June 23, 2026

Dear Ms. Laforteza, Good day! Please find below the summary of my site inspection conducted on June 23, 2026, at the Proposed Mixed-Use Building construction site located in Makati City. Project: Proposed Mixed-Use Building Location: Makati City Date of Visit: June 23, 2026 Time: 9:00 AM – 4:00 PM Site Progress Observations - The structural foundations on level 3 up to succeeding levels are currently ongoing.  - For Reinforcement installation and formwork preparation are observed in designated areas. - Concrete pouring activities were completed for selected structural elements and are to dry in 48 hours. - Masonry and finishing works have commenced on lower floors. Workforce and Equipment - 24 workers were present on-site during the inspection. - Active equipment observed included tower cranes, concrete mixers, welding machines, and material hoists. - Construction activities were proceeding as per the day’s schedule. Safety Observations - Workers were seen wearing the required protective equipment including hard hats, safety vests, and safety shoes. Issues/Concerns - A minor delay was noted in material deliveries for Lumber, which may affect scheduled activities if not addressed promptly. Photographs of the site progress and key construction activities have been attached for reference. Please let me know if further information or clarification is required. Thank you. Best regards, Y/N Santos Architectural Intern ICON+ Studios

Sophia let out a soft chuckle as she read through the document. So they do know about the delay.

The report was text-book perfect, written with an almost endearing level of excessive detail. She must think I’m incredibly strict, Sophia thought, leaning back in her leather executive chair. The tabloids and business journals always portrayed her as an uptight, strict boss. While that reputation wasn't entirely far from the truth, Sophia was only rigid because she refused to let her family's legacy suffer due to anyone's negligence.

Ever since she took over the reins of Laforteza Holdings, she had buried herself completely in her work. Managing multiple active developments at the same time was no joke.

Her father, Godfrey, checked in on her constantly, always making sure she wasn't drowning under the pressure. He had never forced her into the family business— it was a choice she made entirely on her own. Sophia had always felt a deep, innate desire to help her family in any way possible. And if that meant carrying the immense weight of the family business right here in the Philippines, she wouldn't hesitate for a single second.

Sophia stared at the detailed site log for a moment longer, her fingers tapping a thoughtful rhythm against the sleek surface of her mahogany desk. A minor delay was noted regarding material deliveries for lumber...

Unlike the contractor, who had given her a vague, generic excuse about manufacturing shortages, this intern had actually gone out there, counted the workers, noted the exact timeline, and flagged the issue precisely.

Sophia clicked reply.

Back in the ICON+ Studios office, Y/N had finally allowed her shoulders to drop. Her soul had successfully re-entered her body, and she was mindlessly clicking through a library of 3D furniture models, completely relieved that the emailing was over.

Ping.

The Outlook notification popped up.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Daily Site Inspection Report - June 23, 2026

Ms. Santos, I received your report. Regarding the lumber delivery delay mentioned under your issues and concerns, we will be holding a meeting tomorrow at 10:00 AM in the Laforteza Holdings executive boardroom to discuss the timeline impact, along with the alternative sourcing options. – S.L.

Y/N froze, her hand gripping her mouse so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Tomorrow morning?!

Y/N buried her face in her hands, letting out a muffled groan. Her deskmate, who was safely rolled away on the opposite side of the table, peeked over Y/N’s monitor with wide eyes.

“Did she reply?” he whispered.

“I am going to die in this office,” Y/N whimpered into her palms

With her heart hammering against her ribs, Y/N slowly lowered her hands from her face and stared back at the screen. The text of the email hadn't changed. The words Laforteza Holdings accompanied with the word meeting still gleamed under the harsh lights of the office.

Y/N let out one final breath and picked up her phone to send a string of panicked messages to the groupchat. As soon as Y/N puts her phone down, the countdown to the meeting began.

Yn ahhhhhhhhhhhh James  Huh? Lara Huh Dani weirdo

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˚. ᵎᵎ taglist (open 0/50) 

[s0nnielvr]

ANGELEYES - who is that girl?

Sophia laforteza x f!reader

syn. ‎An intern at an architectural firm was assigned to perform a site visit at an undergoing construction located in Makati City, which happens to be owned by the company of the most well known family in the Philippines— the Lafortezas. ‎ ‎or ‎ ‎Y/n is an architectural student at De La Salle University working as an intern at a small firm in Makati. What happens when Y/n catches the attention of a certain Laforteza?

warnings. slowburn, intern!reader, ceo!sophia, work-related stress, anxiety, profanity, workplace hierarchy, mild social embarrassment

an: whats up youtu-tu-tu tube, 'nother one for the road

Reblogs are appreciated :))

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The moment Y/N first stepped foot into Makati City, she was met by the oppressive heat of the sun beaming down through the cascading glass towers. Ahead of her lay her new job at a small firm called ICON+ Studios, nestled just adjacent to the lush greenery of the Ayala Park Triangle.

​Taking a deep, steadying breath, she crossed the threshold into the building’s air-conditioned lobby. Her first order of business was to approach the reception desk for instructions– exactly as the HR manager had advised in their emails.

​“Miss, ah... Mag-i-intern po sa ICON+ Studios,” Y/N said, informing the receptionist of her purpose. Miss, ah… I'm a new intern for icon+ studios

​The receptionist nodded, her fingers instantly flying across the keyboard, the rhythmic clacking echoing through the quiet lobby. While she waited, Y/N took the opportunity to assess her surroundings, her eyes wandering over the various project posters lining the walls.

​“Y/N Santos po?” the receptionist asked, breaking the silence. Y/N Santos? 

​Y/N nodded in confirmation. “Yes po.”

​As the receptionist went back to verifying her details, Y/N’s gaze drifted to a prominent plaque showcasing past awards. A specific name caught her eye: LAFORTEZA Associates.

​Laforteza... Y/N must have heard that name somewhere before. A tabloid article, maybe? Or a viral social media post? Media outlets these days would post absolutely anything just to get clicks.

​“Laforteza,” she muttered under her breath. The name felt strangely heavy on her tongue, almost familiar– like she was whispering the name of someone she used to be close to. A childhood friend, perhaps?

​No, Y/N mentally chided herself, shaking her head slightly. I must be delusional–

​“Miss Y/N?”

​The receptionist’s voice snapped her out of her daze. Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring blankly at the wall.

​“Oh! Yes, sorry. Ano po iyon?” Oh! Yes, sorry. What is it? 

​The receptionist smiled politely. “You can proceed to the second floor na po. Hanapin niyo na lang si Ar. Valencia.” You can proceed to the second floor. Just look for Ar. Valencia. 

​“Ah, sige po. Thank you po!” Y/N replied with a grateful smile. Ah, ok. Thank you! 

​Walking over to the elevator bay, Y/N pressed the button. Her hands were shaking slightly, nerves finally catching up to her. She quickly pulled out her phone, typing aggressively to distract herself from the fluttering in her stomach.

​Ding.

​The elevator doors slid open. Stepping inside, one foot after the other, Y/N leaned against the mirrored wall and let out a long, shaky exhale. Her busy woman era is officially beginning.

​Surprisingly, Y/N settled in quickly. The architect assigned to guide her wasn't strict at all; in fact, he was incredibly easygoing. Thank God for that, she thought. A terrifying boss had been at the top of her list of worries– well, one of them, anyway.

​Aside from her initial nerves, she navigated her first few hours smoothly, handling every task thrown her way. Still, every now and then, she felt a nagging urge to text her friends about a certain name.

​No, she muttered under her breath, catching herself.

​It was work hours. How could she waste time searching about a random name she was curious about when she clearly had an actual project to attend to?

​But just as her fingers hovered over her phone, tempted to type the name into a search bar, a notification popped up on her desktop screen. An email.

​Good Afternoon Y/N, ​I am writing to inform you that you will be visiting a project site tomorrow at 123 San Agustin St., Makati City. You will be accompanied by your supervising architect, Ar. Valencia. ​Please arrive at 9:00 AM sharp. Hard hats and reflective vests will be provided by the firm. ​Best regards, Ar. Kazuha

​A site visit? Already?

​Y/N stared at the screen, genuinely surprised by how early she was being deployed to the field. 

Honestly, she had assumed a small firm like this wouldn't have many active projects. She figured: small company = no work = infinite money glitch. Apparently not.

​Still, she was incredibly grateful. An opportunity like this on day one was a massive step forward in the architecture world for an intern.

​It wasn't until she was saying goodbye to the receptionist at the end of the day that the reality of a "site visit" actually sank in. A site. Visit. Meaning she would be out in the open. 

In the blinding sun. 

Surrounded by dust, 

dirt, 

and sand flying through the air.

Ugh! 

​Y/N climbed into her car, closed the door, and immediately let her head fall onto the steering wheel with a heavy thud.

Le is che. What about my gorgeous skin?

​With a heavy heart and the daunting thought of tomorrow's heatwave weighing on her mind, she started the engine and drove toward her temporary apartment. 

She had practically begged her parents to let her live alone for the duration of her OJT, determined to experience a taste of true independence. 

Right now, though, independence felt exhausting.

​Unlocking her door, she kicked off her shoes, ordered some fast-food delivery, and turned on the TV. 

She had missed the live broadcast of the Formula 1 race earlier, but thankfully, the full replay was already uploaded on YouTube.

After eating her dinner and shouting at the screen during a few overtakes, Y/N’s exhaustion finally caught up to her, and she drifted off to sleep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Y/N blindly reached across the nightstand, fumbling for her phone to check the time.

7:30 AM

Oh, no.

She scrambled out of bed, practically throwing herself into the bathroom to take a lightning-fast shower.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She absolutely could not screw this up. It was her very first site visit, and being late was not an option. Y/N despised it when her routine was broken. In her mind, an hour and thirty minutes was nowhere near enough time to properly execute her morning ritual.

The last time her routine had been disrupted was back in third year, on the day of a major design project submission. She had overslept catastrophically and only had time to shower. No coffee. No morning news. No nothing. Because of the rush, she forgot her school ID, rendering her unable to pass through the campus turnstiles. If her friend hadn't been kind enough to sprint down and hand her project to the professor just in time, she would have failed.

Since that day, it was permanently burned into Y/N's brain: break the routine, and disaster follows.

So, here she was, frantically applying her makeup with one hand while gulping down coffee and glancing at the TV news with the other.

Rushing out of her apartment, she instinctively patted herself down, checking her pockets for essentials. Just as she pulled the door shut, a cold spike of panic hit her. She reached for her collar— and grabbed nothing but air. Her company ID was still inside.

She let out a massive exhale. Thank God I haven't left the hallway yet.

Flipping open her phone to check the time as she grabbed the ID, the screen read 8:16 AM.

“Fuck!”

She ran down to the parking lot, jumped into her car, and sped off. But the moment she hit the main road, she encountered the ultimate boss of Manila: morning traffic.

Ring! Ring!

The dashboard screen lit up with her supervisor's name. She swiped to answer, immediately launching into an apology. “Ar. Valencia! I am so, so sorry, I'm—”

“Y/N, where are you?” his voice cut in, though he sounded more amused than angry. “You’re lucky the owner is also running late.”

“I’m almost there, po! Sorry po talaga!” I’m almost there, I'm truly sorry!

“It’s alright, just hurry up.”

The moment Y/N arrived at the San Agustin site, she threw on her high-visibility vest, adjusted her hard hat, and jogged over to where Ar. Valencia was standing.

“The owner beat you to it,” he whispered with a low chuckle.

Y/N followed his gaze. Standing a few meters away was a woman with her back turned. Tall, was the first word that popped into Y/N’s mind. When the woman turned around, that impression was instantly solidified. 

Even through a pair of designer sunglasses, her eyes were sharp and intimidating. She was dressed impeccably in a tailored black pantsuit, looking entirely untouchable despite the dust of the construction site.

Ar. Valencia gave Y/N a subtle nudge, signaling her to greet the client.

Taking a tentative step forward, Y/N plastered on her brightest, most professional smile—masking the fact that she had just survived the most stressful morning of her life—and extended her hand.

“Good morning, Miss! I’m Y/N Santos, the intern from ICON+ Studios.”

The woman remained entirely unmoving.

Y/N’s hand hung in the air, the silence stretching out painfully. Just as she was about to accept defeat and awkwardly drop her arm, the woman finally reached out. Her grip was firm, strong, and brief. A textbook power-handshake.

“Sophia,” she said, her voice smooth and businesslike.

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Huh?”

“Sophia Laforteza.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in sudden, jarring realization. The woman from the posters. That was her. The exact person she had resisted texting her friends about, the one she had actively restricted herself from looking up on Google. It was her.

Fuck. FUCK. I just embarrassed myself in front of Sophia Laforteza.

“M-Miss Laforteza,” Y/N stammered, trying to regain her footing.

“Were you the latecomer?” Sophia questioned, her tone entirely unbothered but carrying an underlying weight.

“Yes, Miss Laforteza. Please pardon my tardiness.”

Sophia offered a single, curt nod of acknowledgment before turning her attention back to Ar. Valencia, shifting seamlessly into a discussion about the building’s projected timeline.

Oh, right. The building.

Y/N had been so consumed by panic that she had briefly forgotten she was standing on an active construction site. While the they conversed, she took a moment to observe her surroundings. 

Nearby, a couple of laborers were mixing a fresh batch of cement. Honestly, ever since she was a kid watching roadside repairs, she had secretly wanted to try doing that.

She glanced back at Ar. Valencia. To her surprise, he was already looking her way, keeping an eye on his intern. Seeing the unvarnished curiosity on her face, he gave her a subtle, approving nod before returning to his conversation with Sophia.

Catching the signal, one of the workers smiled and handed Y/N the shovel. She took it and began pushing the heavy mixture, her muscles working against the thick concrete.

As she mixed, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to the woman standing a few paces away. So that’s what she looks like up close... Pretty.

To be completely honest, Sophia had caught her eye the second she saw that firm profile poster in the lobby. The radiant smile, the sheer confidence bleeding through the print— it had triggered an instant curiosity. 

Who is that girl?

While Y/N was busy focusing all her energy on pushing the heavy cement with the shovel, what she didn't see was a certain pair of eyes staring at her.

​Unwavering.

​Sophia’s gaze had drifted away from the technical blue prints Ar. Valencia was holding, her sharp eyes locking onto the intern instead. Behind her dark designer sunglasses, her expression remained entirely unreadable, but she didn’t look away. 

There was something fascinating about watching this girl– who had just arrived late, flustered, and full of frantic apologies– completely throw herself into manual labor without hesitation, unbothered by the dirt flying around her pristine skin.

​Y/N, entirely oblivious to the heavy stare fixed on her, wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a faint streak of dust across her cheek.

And Sophia wonders… 

Who is that girl? 

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[s0nnielvr]

we've hit 99 likes, that is so crazy!! just know im typing this with a big smile on my face rn, in celebration....

new chapter to be uploaded later :D