» » SYNOPSIS: After her first post-grad job interview, Y/N gets stranded at a bus stop in the pouring rain without an umbrella. She calls her best friend and next-door neighbor, Sophia Laforteza, to come rescue her. Sophia rushes over without a second thought.
» » what's in here: neighbor Sophia, non-idol Sophia, fluff ending, lots of rain, mutual pining
» » author's note: I've kept this in my draft FOR MONTHS and I channeled my love for Filipina romcoms in this one 🙏🏻
The interview had gone well. At least, Y/N thought it did. It was hard to tell when her potential future boss was unreadable as a person but she'd answered every question without stumbling too badly and her handshake had been firm and confident.
That confidence evaporated the moment Y/N stepped off the bus.
Rain. Of course.
Y/N stood under the flimsy shelter of the bus stop, watching the downpour turn the street into a blur of grey. Fifteen minutes. That's all it would take to walk home. Fifteen minutes that would leave her looking like a drowned rat and she'd just washed her hair this morning, spent an ungodly amount of time making sure it looked professional and put-together.
Y/N pulled out her phone.
Sophia picked up on the second ring. “Hey! Y/N! How'd it go?”
“Good, I think? Listen, I need a favor.” Y/N hugged her free arm around herself, the temperature dropping with each gust of wind. “I'm at the bus stop on Saging and it's pouring. I don't have an umbrella. Can you—”
“Say NO more. I'm coming.”
“Bring a big umbrella! Or two!”
“On it. Don't move.”
The call ended and she settled onto the cold ceramic bench, drawing her knees up slightly. A few months out of university and already were calling her best friend for umbrella rescue. Very adult. Very professional.
But that was the thing about Sophia, she never made Y/N feel stupid for needing help. They'd known each other since high school, survived university together and they were actually neighbors since they were kids. If that wasn't fate, Y/N didn't know what was.
Y/N checked her phone. Five minutes had passed. The rain showed no signs of stopping.
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Sophia grabbed the first umbrella she saw in the stand by her door—the big striped one that had seen better days but still worked. She popped it open as she stepped outside, immediately feeling the rain drum against the fabric.
Fifteen-minute walk. More like ten if I jog.
She picked up her pace, dodging puddles and ignoring the way the hem of her sweatpants were already getting soaked. Y/N sounded tired on the phone and Sophia knew how much Y/N had been stressing about this interview. The least she could do was save her best friend from walking home in a storm.
The wind picked up as she turned the corner onto Saging Street.
Then it happened.
A gust, stronger than the others, caught the umbrella violently. Sophia felt it pull, tried to hold on but the old mechanism gave way and suddenly she was watching her umbrella cartwheel through the air, was a sad sight to witness.
She stood there, arm still raised, rain immediately soaking through her hoodie.
“You've got to be kidding me!”
For a moment, she considered chasing it. Then she looked down at herself, already drenched and she laughed. A short, disbelieving sound but slightly bitter that got swallowed by the rain.
Well. At least we'll match.
She started running again.
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Y/N was scrolling through her phone, trying to distract herself from the cold, when she heard it.
“Y/N!”
Her head snapped up.
Sophia was jogging toward her and even through the beads of rain, Y/N could see she was completely soaked. Her dark hair was plastered to her face, hoodie clinging to her frame and she was...
She was smiling. Very beautiful.
Everything seemed to slow down. The way she pushed her wet hair back from her face, the way the streetlight caught the rain on her skin, the way she looked at Y/N like running through a storm was the most natural thing in the world.
Oh.
The thought hit Y/N with the force of the wind currently battering the bus shelter.
Oh no.
“Your umbrella?” Y/N managed to ask as Sophia reached her, slightly breathless.
“Decided... it wanted to see the world.” Sophia grinned, wiping rain from her face. “Gone with the wind. Literally.”
Despite everything... the cold, the rain, the anxiety from the interview, Y/N laughed. “Sophia, we're so dead.”
“I know, I know. So...” She held out her hand and something in her expression softened. “Wanna make a run for it?”
Y/N stared at her outstretched hand. This was Sophia. Y/N's best friend. The person who knew Y/N's favorite side dish and knew Y/N's bad habit and had held Y/N's hair back once during a particularly alcohol tryout in middle school—Y/N threw up so bad.
Y/N's best friend, who had just run through a storm for her and was now offering her hand like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Y/N took it.
Her fingers were cold and wet but they curled around Y/N's with familiar warmth. “On three?” she asked.
“On three.”
“One... two... three!”
They both ran.
The rain was immediately worse than she'd imagined—cold and relentless, soaking through her interview clothes within seconds. But Sophia's hand was tight around Y/N's and when Y/N looked over at her, she was laughing, head thrown back, completely unbothered by the storm.
Y/N couldn't help but laugh too.
They dodged puddles together, nearly slipped on the same patch of wet concrete and when the wind picked up again, Sophia pulled Y/N closer, her arm wrapping around Y/N's shoulders as if she could shield her from the worst of it.
Their houses came into view and they both stumbled into the covered entryway of Y/N's house, gasping and dripping and still somehow laughing.
"That," Y/N panted, "was insane."
"That was fun," Sophia corrected, pushing her soaked hair out of her face again. She was still grinning, cheeks flushed from the run, eyes bright.
Beautiful.
The word appeared in Y/N's mind unexpectedly but she couldn't deny it. Sophia was beautiful. She'd always been beautiful but standing here, drenched and breathless and looking at Y/N like they'd just shared the world's greatest adventure—she was devastating.
“You okay?” Sophia asked, tilting her head. “You're staring.”
“I... yeah. Sorry. Just...” Y/N tried to find words that wouldn't give her away. “Thank you. For coming to get me.”
Sophia's expression softened and she reached out to tuck a strand of wet hair behind Y/N's ear. The gesture was casual, friendly and something she'd done a hundred times before.
So why did it feel different this time?
“Always,” Sophia said simply. “You know that.”
Y/N did know. That was the problem.
Because somewhere between high school and university and late-night study sessions and living next door to each other, Sophia had become more than Y/N best friend. She'd become the person you wanted to call first with good news. The person whose laugh could turn Y/N's worst days around. The person Y/N noticed in every room.
The person Y/N were, apparently, completely gone for.
“So,” Sophia said, breaking the silence. “How about we get into some dry clothes and you can tell me all about the interview? I'll make tea.”
“You're dripping on my doormat.”
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Y/N fumbled with her keys at the door, fingers still cold and clumsy from the rain. Sophia stood close behind her, both of them dripping ocean onto the doormat.
“You're shivering,” she murmured.
“I'm fine.”
“I'm fine~” Sophia teased back in the same tone.
The lock clicked open. Y/N pushed the door and stepped inside, turning back to say something, something light and deflecting, something that would put things back to normal—
But Sophia was already stepping in after her, close and before Y/N could find the words, Sophia's hand found Y/N's waist.
The air shifted.
Sophia pulled Y/N in gently, like she had all the time in the world, like she'd been thinking about this for longer than just tonight. And then she kissed Y/N—soft and unhurried, barely more than a breath against her lips.
Y/N's brain went very, very quiet.
When Sophia leaned back, it was only an inch. Just enough to look at Y/N. Sophia's eyes searched Y/N's, warm and careful, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth—like she was waiting to see what Y/N would do, like whatever Y/N did next, she could handle it.
Rain was still pattering against the windows.
The both of them still dripping on the floor.
And all Y/N could think was that she had been so stupid, for so long.
“Sophia,” Y/N whispered.
“Yeah?”
Y/N brought her hand up to Sophia's jaw, still cool from the rain and kissed her back properly this time. Sophia made a soft sound against Y/N's mouth and pulled her closer and Y/N felt Sophia's smile into the kiss before she melted into it.
When they finally broke apart, Sophia's forehead pressed against Y/N's and the Filipina couldn't hold back her smile.
“Took a while,” she murmured, a little breathless, “didn't it?”
Y/N laughed. A short, giddy, helpless thing that she was. "How long?"
She knew what Y/N were asking. Her smile widened. “High school. When you looked really good with your pony tail that afternoon.”
The two of them stood there in the doorway, soaked and laughing quietly and forehead to forehead.
Y/N thought that today was the best day ever. Her long time best friend, who is also her neighbor, just kissed her and confessed to her. She chuckled softly but it was shaky as she was nervous and she couldn't say anything else so she leaned in for another kiss. Arms wrapping around each other and Y/N knew that she belonged to Sophia only from that moment.
𝜗𝜚 Synopsis: A Pilates class between Jennie and you turns unexpectedly competitive, and what happens after on the empty studio mats tests your flexibility in ways the class couldn’t.
𝜗𝜚 pairing: Jennie x femme reader
𝜗𝜚 genre: smut, nsfw, oneshot
𝜗𝜚 word count: 3.9k
You and Jennie are already attached at the hip before you even step inside.
“Remind me,” she mutters, fingers laced tightly with yours, “why we decided to wake up at eight in the morning to voluntarily shake on machines.”
“You said you wanted a ‘toned but effortless’ look,” you reply sweetly.
Jennie narrows her eyes at you. “Don’t quote me.”
You squeeze her hand anyway. She squeezes back harder.
That’s the thing about the two of you — neither of you pretends to be cool about it. You walk into places holding hands. You sit pressed together. You share water bottles. You don’t know how to exist without touching.
Jennie drops onto her reformer dramatically, crossing her arms.
“I’m already tired.”
“You haven’t done anything yet.”
“I’m emotionally exhausted.”
You laugh and step closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ll survive.”
She tilts her head into your touch for half a second too long before remembering herself.
“Don’t baby me,” she says — but she hooks her pinky into yours as the instructor starts talking.
Five minutes in, Jennie regrets everything.
Her legs are shaking during the first set of slow lunges.
“This is abusive,” she breathes.
You, unfortunately, look composed. Focused. A little smug.
Jennie notices.
“Oh, so you’re good at this?” she huffs.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The instructor walks by and lightly adjusts your hips. “Engage your core here.”
Jennie freezes.
Her eyes flick to the instructor’s hands. Then to you.
Then back to the instructor.
You feel the shift immediately.
On the next set, she extends her leg higher than anyone else.
Her form is slightly wrong.
You lean toward her between reps. “You’re compensating.”
She glares. “Mind your business.”
“You’re going to strain something.”
“Maybe I want to.”
You bite back a smile.
—
Midway through class, things get worse.
The instructor introduces a core hold.
Thirty seconds.
Forty-five.
A full minute.
Jennie’s composure cracks first.
“Oh my god,” she groans. “This is criminal.”
You’re shaking too, but you glance sideways at her and whisper, “You look hot when you’re struggling.”
Her eyes snap to you.
“You’re disgusting.”
But her hips falter. Just slightly.
“Focus,” you murmur, softer now.
Her foot slips from the bar and she lets out an irritated sigh.
“Don’t look at me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
You step off your machine before the instructor can notice and walk over.
“Jennie.”
“I don’t need help.”
You’re already kneeling in front of her.
“I know.”
You gently place your hands on her waist to reposition her hips.
Her breath stutters.
Your thumbs press lightly at her sides, guiding her back into alignment.
“Engage here,” you whisper, close enough that your voice brushes her ear.
She goes very still.
Her hands slide up your arms briefly — like she needs to anchor herself — before she pushes you away lightly.
“Go back to your machine,” she says, but her voice is softer now.
You don’t miss the way her eyes follow you.
By the end of class, both of you are shaking.
Sweaty.
Breathless.
Jennie collapses onto the mat the second the instructor dismisses everyone.
“I’m never doing this again.”
You lie down beside her immediately. Shoulder to shoulder.
“Yes you are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She turns her head to look at you. “You liked it.”
You grin. “Maybe.”
“I knew it.”
“You liked it too.”
She rolls her eyes, but she shifts closer. Her leg drapes over yours. Her arm slides across your stomach.
She’s exhausted enough to stop pretending she’s not needy.
“You better carry me home,” she mumbles into your shoulder.
“You’re dramatic.”
“You’re obsessed with me.”
You hum.
A few weeks later, Jennie strides into the studio next to you with a noticeable bounce in her step. She's been practicing at home. Not that she's told you that. You grab her hand immediately as you both check in, threading your fingers together like always. She squeezes back but there's something different in her grip today. Something smug.
The first plank hold confirms it. Jennie's form is flawless. Her core is engaged. Her breathing is controlled. You, on the other hand, are struggling. Your arms shake at the forty second mark. Your hips dip slightly. Jennie notices. Of course she notices.
"Everything okay over there?"
You grit your teeth and force yourself to hold the position longer.
"Fine."
"You sure?" Her voice is light, teasing. "You look a little wobbly."
"Focus on yourself," you mutter.
She laughs. Actually laughs. The instructor calls time and you collapse onto the reformer with significantly less grace than usual. Jennie stretches beside you, looking annoyingly refreshed.
"That wasn't so bad."
"Shut up."
"Oh, someone's grumpy." She reaches over and pokes your side. "What happened to all that composure?"
You catch her hand before she can poke you again, holding it firmly. "Don't start."
"Start what?"
"Don't act like you're suddenly the queen of Pilates," you say, pulling her closer by the wrist until she's forced to lean toward you.
She grins wider. "But I am though."
"You've had three good classes."
"Four, actually. I came without you last Tuesday."
She says it casually, but you catch the glint in her eye. She wanted you to know. Wanted you to feel that little sting of being left out. You narrow your eyes.
"You came without me?"
"I needed to practice." She shrugs, all innocence. "Clearly it's paying off."
Your jaw tightens. "Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Next exercise."
After class ends, Jennie is already pulling you toward the back corner where the stretch mats are laid out.
"What are you doing?" you ask, but she's smiling.
That bratty, satisfied smile that means she knows exactly what she's doing.
"Stretching."
"We stretch at home."
"We're stretching now." She guides you down onto the mat with a hand on your shoulder, firmer than necessary. You go willingly, settling on your back with your legs bent.
"You're being weird," you say.
"Lift your leg."
You do, extending it upward. She catches your calf and push it gently toward your chest, deepening the stretch. "Ow, too much -"
"You can take it," she murmurs, leaning her weight into the stretch just slightly. "You always tell me to push through."
Your breath catches. Not from the stretch. From the way she's hovering over you. The way her hands are confident now instead of uncertain. The way she's looking at you like she's won something.
"Jennie."
"What?" She blinks innocently, but her thumb traces a small circle against your ankle. "Am I being too rough?"
"You're being a brat."
"I'm helping you stretch." She switches to your other leg, pressing it toward your chest with the same deliberate pressure. "Unless you can't handle it."
You glare up at her.
She's testing you now. Seeing how far she can push before you push back. "Other leg," she says, releasing you only to grab your opposite calf.
You let her guide it up, but this time you hook your free leg around the back of her knee and tug. She stumbles forward with a surprised gasp, catching herself with both hands planted on either side of your head. Now she's the one hovering. "Careful," you say softly.
Her eyes widen for just a second before the smugness returns. "You're competitive."
"You started it."
"I'm just better at Pilates ."
"For now."
She leans down and kisses you before you can say anything else. It's deliberate and a little mean, the way she presses her mouth to yours like she's proving a point. Like she knows exactly what she's doing. You make a quiet noise against her lips and she pulls back just enough to murmur, "That shut you up."
Your hands slide up to grip her hips, fingers digging in through the fabric of her leggings.
"You think you're so clever."
"I know I am."
She kisses you again, deeper this time, and you suddenly realize how wound up you've been for the past hour. Watching her move through those exercises with newfound confidence.
Watching the way her body bent and stretched in ways you hadn't seen before. The controlled strength in her movements. The little gasps she made during the harder positions that you couldn't stop cataloging in your mind. She shifts her weight, settling more fully on top of you, and you're acutely aware that you're still in the studio. That there are other people finishing up their stretches nearby. That anyone could glance over.
"We should go," you whisper against her mouth.
"Why?" She nips at your bottom lip. "Afraid someone will see?"
"Jennie.”
"You're the one who pulled me down." Her fingers trace along your jawline. "You started getting all worked up the second I touched you."
"I wasn't worked up," you protest, but your voice comes out breathless.
"Your pulse is racing." She presses her thumb against the side of your throat to prove it. "And you keep staring at my legs."
"I do not."
"You do." She shifts her hips slightly, making you inhale sharply. "You've been staring since that bridge sequence."
"That's called spotting. Making sure your form is correct."
"My form was perfect."
"It was adequate."
She laughs, low and dangerous. "Adequate?"
"Maybe slightly above average."
"You're such a liar." She leans down until her lips brush your ear.
"You were practically drooling when I did that side plank variation."
Your fingers tighten on her hips. "Keep talking and see what happens."
"What are you going to do about it?"
Before you can answer, Jennie's gaze flicks over her shoulder. Then around the room. Her eyes light up with something wicked. "Oh."
"What?"
"We're alone."
You turn your head to look. She's right. The studio is completely empty. Everyone else has filtered out while you were too busy arguing. Even the instructor is gone, probably cleaning equipment in the back room. When you look back at Jennie, her grin has transformed into something absolutely dangerous.
"This is perfect," she purrs.
"No." You try to sit up but she presses you back down with one hand flat against your chest.
"No what? I didn't even say anything yet."
"I know that look."
"What look?" She's already sliding her hand lower, fingertips grazing your ribs through your tank top. Your breathing shifts.
"We are not doing this here."
"Doing what?" Her voice is pure innocence but her touch isn't. She traces the waistband of your leggings with one finger. "I'm just stretching you out. You're so tense."
"Jennie."
"You always take care of me." She leans down again, kissing the corner of your mouth. Then your jaw.
"Let me return the favor for once." Her hips roll against yours in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your thoughts scatter. You let out a whine, half warning, half plea, and she does it again. Harder this time. More purposeful.
"Jennie, we can't."
"Can't what?" Another roll of her hips. She's not even pretending to be subtle anymore. "I'm just appreciating how good your ass looks in these." Her hand slides down to squeeze you there for emphasis. "I've been staring at it all class."
Heat floods through you. "You're insane."
"You love it."
She's not wrong.
She grinds against you for another long minute, watching the way your expression shifts from resistance to something hazier. Your hands have migrated from her hips to the small of her back, holding her there even as you keep protesting weakly.
"This is a terrible idea," you manage.
"The worst," she agrees, not stopping. Your head falls back against the mat and she takes the opportunity to kiss down your throat.
"Someone could walk in."
"Then we better be quiet." She punctuates it with another slow grind that pulls a strangled sound from your chest. Finally, she pulls back just enough to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide.
"Want to put those stretching skills to the test?"
Your brain struggles to catch up.
"What are you talking about?"
"How flexible you are." Her fingers trace patterns on your stomach now, slipping just barely under the hem of your top. "I want to see how far those legs can spread."
Your breath catches audibly. She tilts her head, all false innocence. "Unless you're not flexible enough anymore. All that shaking during planks, maybe you're losing your edge."
That does it. You flip your positions so fast she gasps, suddenly on her back with you hovering over her.
"You're really pushing it today."
"So do something about it."
The challenge hangs between you. Her chest rises and falls quickly, waiting.
You shift until you're reversed, your backside facing her chest. The angle is deliberate. Controlled. Something you've done before in the privacy of your bedroom, but never here. Never like this.
Jennie's hands immediately find your hips, gripping tight."God, yes."
You don't bother trying to shimmy out of your leggings or the compression layer underneath. There's something about the friction of fabric against fabric that you both love. The way it builds slower. The way every movement creates this maddening pressure that isn't quite enough but somehow feels like everything. You lower yourself until your hips meet hers, and she arches up immediately with a sharp inhale.
You start moving with your usual rhythm, rolling your hips down against hers with more force than necessary. She wanted to play games, wanted to act so smug about her newfound strength, so you'll remind her exactly who's in control. Jennie gasps beneath you, her nails digging into your thighs through the fabric.
"Fuck, wait."
"What's wrong?" You don't slow down. "Can't handle it?"
"I didn't say that."
Her voice is breathless already, strained in that way that means she's close to begging. You grind down harder and your quadriceps immediately protest. The burn from class hasn't faded yet.
Your rhythm falters as your muscles threaten to give out. The shaking that plagued you during planks returns with a vengeance, making your movements uneven and sloppy. Jennie notices immediately.
"Getting tired already?" Her voice drips with satisfaction. Before you can protest, she yanks your ponytail hard, forcing your back to arch. The sudden pull makes you gasp, and she uses the leverage to control your movements now, pulling you down onto her in sharp, punishing bounces.
"This what you wanted?" She yanks again, harder this time, and you can't help the whimper that escapes. "So confident a minute ago."
Your thighs are burning, shaking with exhaustion, but she doesn't let up. Every time you try to slow down or catch your breath, she jerks your hair and forces you to keep moving. The fabric between you creates delicious friction with every bounce, and you can feel how wet you both are despite the layers.
"Jennie," you gasp out, but it comes out more desperate than you intended.
"What?" She sounds so pleased with herself. "Thought you were going to show me who's in control."
You try to respond but she pulls you down particularly hard and the angle hits perfectly, making coherent thought impossible. Your hands scramble for purchase on her calves, trying to ground yourself.
"Look at you."
She releases one ponytail to slide her hand up the back of your thigh, squeezing roughly.
"Shaking apart on top of me. All that posturing and you can't even keep going."
The humiliation of it sends heat spiraling through you. She's right. Your legs are trembling so badly you can barely hold yourself up, and she's the one controlling everything now. Setting the pace. Making you move exactly how she wants.
"Maybe I should be the one on," she muses, voice husky. She punctuates it with another sharp tug that makes you arch further, pressing down harder against her. The pressure is almost too much. "Since you're clearly so tired."
A choked whine tears from your throat, raw and needy in a way that strips away any pretense of control. Your hips move without conscious thought now, chasing the friction desperately even as your muscles scream in protest.
"Please," you hear yourself whisper, and you're not even sure what you're asking for anymore.
Jennie's grip on your ponytail loosens suddenly. Her other hand stops squeezing and starts stroking instead, gentler now, almost soothing.
"Baby," she breathes, and there's something different in her voice. The smugness has cracked wide open, replaced by something softer and more urgent. She sits up abruptly, positioning herself between your legs.
Her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you up against her chest. "I've got you," she murmurs into your shoulder, kissing the sweaty skin there.
"Let me." She guides your movements now but without the harsh control from before. Her hands slide from your waist to your hips, helping support your weight as she rocks you both together in a steadier rhythm. You lean into her gratefully, letting her take over completely.
"That's it." Her lips find the side of your neck.
"Just let go." One of her hands slides up under your tank top, palm flat against your stomach, holding you close. The other stays on your hip, keeping you moving. The change in angle has you both gasping.
Your flexibility gets tested in ways Pilates never could as you hook one leg back over her shoulder, opening yourself wider. The new angle makes you both cry out, higher pitched and desperate. Jennie's hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
"God, right there," she whimpers against your neck.
You adjust again, leaning forward to brace yourself on the mat while she holds you steady from behind. The stretch in your hamstrings borders on painful but the pressure between your legs makes it worth it. You grind down and up simultaneously, finding a rhythm that has you both making embarrassingly loud sounds.
"Please, please," Jennie babbles, and you're not sure if she's begging you to keep going or stop because it's too much.
Her hips jerk up erratically, meeting your movements with increasing desperation. You shift your weight to one arm, reaching forward to tangle your fingers in her hair. She turns her head to bite at your wrist, muffling her own moans. The wet fabric between you has become almost obscene, clinging and sliding with every motion. Your other leg trembles violently but you force it to stay extended, toes pointed in a position your instructor would probably applaud if the context weren't so wildly inappropriate.
"Can't, I can't," you whimper, but you don't stop moving. If anything, you grind harder, faster, chasing something that feels just out of reach.
Jennie's breathing turns ragged against you. Her hands roam frantically now, one sliding up to cup your breast through your sports bra while the other grips your hip bone possessively.
"Don't stop, don't you dare stop," she gasps. The desperation in her voice sends electricity down your spine.
You twist slightly, changing the angle yet again. Your core muscles engage in ways they haven't all class, supporting your weight as you arch and roll. Every point of contact between your bodies feels like fire, the compressed fabric creating friction that borders on unbearable.
"I'm so close," Jennie whines, her forehead pressed hard against your chest.
Her teeth find your neck, not quite biting but applying enough pressure to make you gasp. The sensation pushes you closer to the edge. Your movements become erratic, losing all sense of rhythm as your body chases release. She matches you thrust for thrust, her hips snapping up to meet yours with bruising force.
"Jennie, I'm - "
The words dissolve into a moan as she pinches your nipple through the layers of fabric. Your leg slips from her shoulder and she catches it, holding you open as she grinds down with renewed urgency. The new position lets you feel everything, the way she's moving ontop of you, how wet you both are despite the barrier of clothes.
Sweat drips down your temple, mixing with the flush spreading across your cheeks. The studio mirrors reflect your tangled bodies, but you can't focus on the image. All you can process is the building pressure, the way her breath hitches in that particular rhythm that means she's seconds away from falling apart.
"Look at me," she demands suddenly, somehow managing to sound commanding even while whimpering.
Her pupils are completely blown, lips parted and swollen from biting them. The raw need on her face nearly undoes you right there. She slides one hand from your breast down between your bodies, pressing hard against where you're joined.
The pressure of her palm against both of you simultaneously shatters whatever restraint either of you had left. Your vision whites out as your orgasm crashes through you, making your entire body lock up.
Jennie follows a heartbeat later, her cry muffled against your neck as she convulses ontop of you. Your leg finally gives out completely and you collapse backward onto the mat, taking her with you in a graceless tangle of limbs.
She doesn't let go, arms still wrapped tight around your waist as you both shake through the aftershocks. For several long moments, the only sound is your combined ragged breathing echoing in the empty studio. Reality starts creeping back in slowly.
The cool air conditioning against your overheated skin, the sticky discomfort of your workout clothes plastered to your body. The faint ache in muscles pushed well beyond their limit.
Jennie nuzzles into the back of your neck, her breathing still uneven.
"Okay, so maybe you are pretty flexible."
You huff out a laugh that sounds more like a wheeze. "Shut up."
"Make me."
There's no heat in it though, just satisfied exhaustion. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on your stomach, slipping under your tank top to touch bare skin. The gesture is pure comfort seeking, the neediness that defines her manifesting in softer ways now that she's gotten what she wanted. You flip over carefully, every muscle protesting the movement.
Her face is flushed, hair stuck to her forehead in damp strands. You brush them back gently and press your lips to the space between her eyebrows. She sighs contentedly, eyes fluttering closed. When you pull back, she catches your jaw and brings you down again, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth with such tenderness it makes your chest ache.
Her thumb strokes along your jawline as she peppers soft kisses across your face. You let yourself sink into it for another moment, memorizing the weight of her beneath you and the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat.
A door slams somewhere in the building, jolting you both back to awareness.
You scramble off her with significantly less grace than you'd like, your legs protesting every movement. Jennie sits up and immediately reaches for you, fingers catching your wrist even as you're trying to stand.
"We should," you start, but she's already pulling you back down for one more kiss. It's slow and sweet, at odds with everything that just happened, and you let yourself melt into it for three precious seconds before logic wins out.
"Class starts in twenty minutes," you whisper against her lips.
She groans dramatically, finally releasing you. "Why do we have lives? Why can't we just stay here forever?"
You extend your hand and haul her to her feet, steadying her when she wobbles.
"Come on, before the instructor shows up early." You grab both your water bottles, tossing hers over.
She catches it, still looking rumpled and dazed in the best way. "I need five more minutes to feel my legs again."
"Should've thought about that before you decided to be so competitive." You lean in close, dropping your voice to barely a whisper.
"Besides, we have a shower at home that's much more private."
Her eyes light up immediately, exhaustion forgotten.
𝜗𝜚 Synopsis: Rosé and you are girlfriends who can't get enough of each other, equally needy in multiple ways. After you both have a rough day, you discover a new way to tend those needs.
𝜗𝜚 pairing: Rosé x femme reader
𝜗𝜚 genre: smut, nsfw, fluff, one shot
𝜗𝜚 word count: 3.5k
It doesn’t take long for the cuddling to shift.
It always does.
Because with you and Rosé, closeness is never just still.
It hums. It builds.
She’s still draped over you, but now her fingers aren’t just resting — they’re tracing.
Slow lines beneath your shirt. Aimless at first.
Then deliberate.
You feel it in the way her breathing changes.
“You’re doing that thing,” you murmur.
“What thing?” she asks softly, though she knows.
“This.” Your hand tightens slightly at her waist.
“When you get quiet.”
She lifts her head just enough to look at you. Her eyes are darker now. Not dramatic. Just heavy with want — the kind that’s more emotional than physical.
“I just like touching you,” she says.
And that’s the thing about you two.
Your intimacy isn’t driven by hunger alone. It’s reassurance. It’s proof. It’s a physical way of saying: you’re here, you’re mine, you’re not disappearing.
Your thumb brushes over her bottom lip. She leans into it instantly.
Needy.
Always leaning in.
“Sometimes I think,” she whispers, “if I could just crawl under your skin, I would.”
You laugh softly, but your chest tightens at the same time. “That’s intense.”
“You love that about me.”
“I do.”
Her knee slides between your legs — not aggressively. Searching for more contact. More pressure. More warmth.
You react without thinking, hips shifting closer.
There’s no choreography to it. No calculated seduction.
It’s instinct.
She kisses you differently now.
Like she doesn’t want the kiss to end because the space between lips feels like loss.
Your hands slide into her hair and she melts instantly, a quiet sound escaping her throat.
“You need me,” you breathe against her mouth.
She nods before you’ve even finished the sentence.
“Yeah.”
There’s no embarrassment in it.
That’s what makes it intimate.
You roll slightly, shifting so she’s beneath you now, but you don’t pin her — you hover, giving her the option to pull you back down.
And she does. Immediately. Arms wrapping around you, pressing you flush against her like she’s afraid you’ll drift away.
“You’re not allowed to tease and then pull away,” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw.
“Wasn’t teasing.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“Maybe.”
She grips your sweater tighter.
“Don’t,” she whispers.
And that’s where your dynamic lives.
In the soft panic of wanting more at the same time.
Your foreheads rest together. Your breathing syncs without trying.
Her fingers slide under your waistband just slightly.
You shiver.
She smiles faintly. “See?”
“See what?”
“You’re just as bad as me.”
You don’t deny it.
Because when your mouth trails slowly down her neck, when you pause just to feel her pulse under your lips, making her gasp your name so you can hear it.
So you know she needs you too.
Rosé's hands slide beneath your shirt properly now, palms flat against your ribs, thumbs stroking upward in slow, deliberate motions that make your breath catch.
You retaliate by tugging at the hem of her sweater, pulling it up just enough to expose the soft skin of her stomach.
She arches slightly into your touch. "That's not fair," she murmurs.
"What isn't?"
"You touching me like that." Her voice has gone breathy. "Makes me want to take everything off."
"So do it."
She bites her lip, considering. Then she sits up slightly, forcing you to shift back.
For a moment you just watch each other.
Then Rosé hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants and pushes them down her hips, taking her underwear with them in one smooth motion.
She kicks them off carelessly, leaving herself bare from the waist down except for the pale pink fuzzy socks that bunch slightly at her ankles. Your throat goes dry. Her oversized sweater falls to mid-thigh, covering just enough to be maddening. She looks soft and vulnerable and entirely herself.
"Your turn," she says quietly, eyes fixed on you.
You don't hesitate. You shimmy out of your own pants and underwear, the cool air hitting your skin before you settle back onto the couch.
Rosé reaches for you before you've even fully sat down, pulling you back against her with a desperate little sound that goes straight through you.
The feeling of her bare skin against yours makes everything sharper, more immediate.
She kisses you like she's been holding back for hours instead of minutes, her mouth urgent and needy, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your head spin.
You press closer, one hand sliding up under her sweater to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple. She gasps into your mouth and her hips lift involuntarily, seeking friction that isn't quite there yet.
"Please," she whimpers between kisses, and you're not even sure what she's asking for.
Neither is she, probably. Just more.
Your own breath comes out broken and whiny as you shift, positioning yourself so your thigh presses between her legs. The heat of her against your skin makes you dizzy. She responds immediately, rolling her hips with a soft cry that sounds almost surprised by its own desperation.
"God, you're so wet," you breathe against her mouth.
She doesn't answer with words. Instead she hooks a leg around your waist and grinds harder against your thigh, her hands fisting in your sweater like she needs something to hold onto.
The friction sends sparks through both of you. You find yourself rocking against her hip in return, chasing the pressure, the warmth, the overwhelming need to be closer even though there's no space left between you.
"Wait, I need - " Rosé's voice breaks off into a whimper as you grind down harder, and she shudders beneath you.
Her fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements, pulling you closer even as she's trembling. You're both making sounds now, breathy and high and unrestrained. Every roll of your hips against each other draws out another moan, another gasp. Her thigh is slick where you're rubbing against it, and you can feel how soaked she is against your own leg. The sweaters have ridden up, fabric bunching between you, but neither of you stops to adjust them.
Suddenly Rosé's hands grip your shoulders hard. "Floor," she gasps out. "I need - off the couch. Now."
Before you can process what she means, she's already sliding down, pulling you with her until you both tumble onto the carpet in a tangle of limbs and oversized sweaters. The sudden shift makes you both laugh breathlessly, but the laughter dies the instant she spreads her legs and pulls you back down on top of her. The new angle is different. Better. The floor is firmer beneath her, giving her leverage to thrust up against you with more force. You brace yourself on one elbow, your other hand sliding up under her sweater to palm her breast again.
Her back arches off the carpet, fuzzy socks sliding uselessly against the floor as she tries to find purchase.
"Like this," she breathes, adjusting until your hips slot together differently, more direct contact that makes you both cry out. The change in position means you can feel everything now, the slick heat of her pressing directly against you with nothing in between. You rock together instinctively, finding a rhythm that has both of you gasping. Her hands roam frantically under your sweater, nails scraping lightly down your back, then gripping your ass to pull you harder against her.
"You feel so good," you whimper, and she responds with a broken moan that turns into your name.
Your movements become more frantic, more desperate, but something shifts. The friction isn't quite enough anymore. You can feel Rosé chasing something she can't quite reach, her hips stuttering in their rhythm. Your own body aches for more, for something deeper.
"I need your fingers," she gasps suddenly, voicing exactly what you're thinking. "I need - inside."
"Me too," you whimper back, and the admission makes her groan.
But neither of you moves to make it happen. Because that would require one of you to hold yourself up, to take charge, to stop being held. And right now you're both clinging to each other like lifelines, sweaters tangled together, legs intertwined.
You try to adjust, shifting so you can slide your hand between your bodies, but the angle is wrong and you lose the warmth of her pressed against you. She makes a sound of protest, pulling you back.
"No, don't go."
"But you said - "
"I know, but I can't - " Her voice cracks slightly. "I don't want you to move away."
You attempt it from a different position, rolling to your side so you can reach her while still holding her close, but then she can't reach you properly and her hand flails awkwardly between you before she gives up with a frustrated whine.
"This isn't working," she says, and there's a tremor in her voice that makes your chest tight.
"I know." Your own voice sounds dangerously close to tears.
The ache between your legs is almost painful now, but worse is the overwhelming need to be touching her, holding her, being held by her, all while getting what you both desperately want. It feels impossible. Rosé makes a choked sound that's half laugh, half sob. She presses her face into your neck for a moment, breathing hard. Then suddenly she pulls back, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.
"Okay. Wait." She reaches for her phone on the coffee table above you, fingers shaking slightly as she unlocks it. "There has to be a way."
"What are you doing?" you ask, confused and still trembling with need.
"Lisa sent me something a while back. Or maybe it was Jennie?" Rosé's voice is still shaky as she scrolls frantically through her messages.
"One of them. They were making fun of me for being clingy but then they actually sent this video about - " She stops, staring at her screen. Her cheeks flush darker. "Found it."
You lean over to look, your curiosity momentarily overriding your frustration. The video thumbnail shows two women in an intimate position you've never quite considered before. Rosé taps play and you both watch in silence, still pressed together on the floor, sweaters askew and fuzzy socks tangled.
"Oh," you breathe as the demonstration continues.
The angle becomes clear as the video progresses. Both women lying flat on their stomachs, heads turned toward each other, close enough to kiss. Each reaching behind themselves to touch the other, fingers disappearing between legs from that vulnerable, trusting position. They can rest. They can be held by the floor beneath them. They can kiss and whimper into each other's mouths while still giving each other exactly what they need.
"Oh my god," Rosé whispers, and you can hear the relief in her voice. "This could actually work."
You're already nodding, your body thrumming with anticipation. "Yes. Please." She tosses her phone aside, sliding somewhere across the room, as you both scramble to rearrange yourselves. There's nothing graceful about it.
You both end up giggling nervously as you try to figure out the positioning, adjusting and readjusting until you're lying side by side on your stomachs, heads turned toward each other. The carpet is soft beneath you, and your sweater bunches up slightly as you settle. Rosé reaches back first, her hand sliding along the curve of your ass before dipping lower. The moment her fingers find you, slipping through your wetness, you let out a sound that's embarrassingly loud.
"Okay?" she asks softly, her face so close you can feel her breath.
"Yeah. God, yes." You mirror her movement, reaching back to find her.
Your fingers slide through her slickness and she gasps, hips jerking forward involuntarily before pressing back into your touch. The angle takes a moment to adjust to, your arm stretching behind you in a way that feels strange at first, but then your middle finger finds her entrance and slides inside easily. She's so wet that there's no resistance at all.
"Oh fuck," Rosé breathes against your lips, and then her own fingers push inside you. The sensation makes your eyes flutter closed. It's different like this, the angle unfamiliar but somehow more intense. You can feel every subtle movement she makes, every curl of her fingers, every slight adjustment of pressure.
The position creates an intimacy you hadn't expected, cradling each other while your other hands work steadily between each other's legs. A whine escapes your throat as she adds a second finger, stretching you in a way that makes your toes curl inside your fuzzy socks.
"Like that?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Just like that." You match her rhythm, curling your fingers inside her the way you know she likes, and she rewards you with a breathy moan that ghosts across your lips.
Her hips start to rock back against your hand, pushing your fingers deeper, and you follow her lead, finding a rhythm that has you both panting. The wet sounds of your fingers moving inside each other fill the quiet room, obscene and perfect. Rosé's grip on your waist tightens, her nails digging in slightly through your sweater.
"Faster," she whimpers, and you're not sure if she's telling you or herself. You increase your pace and she matches it immediately, pumping into you with more urgency. Your face feels hot, flushed with arousal and exertion. Every thrust of her fingers sends pleasure radiating through you, building steadily.
Sweat beads at your hairline despite the coolness of the room. Rosé's face is equally flushed, her pupils blown wide as she stares at you from inches away.
"You're so tight," she gasps, working a third finger into you. The stretch makes you cry out, your own rhythm faltering for a moment before you recover. You add another finger to her as well, and the sound she makes is broken and desperate.
Her forehead drops to rest against yours, both of you breathing the same air now, mouths open and panting. You can feel her thighs trembling against yours, her whole body starting to tense.
"I love you so much," Rosé whimpers against your mouth, the words tumbling out helplessly between gasps. "I need you all the time. It's too much sometimes."
"I know," you breathe back, curling your fingers inside her until she moans.
"I'm the same. I can't ever get enough of you." Her fingers thrust deeper and you can't stop the confession that spills from your lips.
"Sometimes I want to crawl inside your skin. Want to live in your lap."
"God, yes." She kisses you sloppily, all tongue and desperation.
"I hate when you're not touching me. Even for a second."
"Me too. I always want your hands on me."
"You're perfect," she whispers, and there's something raw in her voice that makes your chest ache even as pleasure builds between your legs. "The way you need me. I love it. I love that you're just as bad as I am."
"Worse," you manage to gasp out, your fingers working faster inside her. "I'm worse. I can't think about anything but you."
Rosé's thumb finds your clit and the sudden direct pressure makes you cry out sharply. Your hips buck back against her hand, seeking more. She circles it steadily while her fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside you. "Tell me again," she whimpers. "Tell me you need me."
"I need you."
The words break something open inside you. Tears spring to your eyes suddenly, overwhelming emotion mixing with the intense physical pleasure until you can't separate them anymore.
"I need you so much it scares me," you sob, your voice cracking. "Every single day. I don't know how to be okay without you."
Rosé makes a choked sound and you realize she's crying too, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks even as her fingers never stop moving inside you. "Don't stop," she gasps through her tears. "Please don't stop touching me."
"Never," you promise, your own hand maintaining its rhythm despite the way your vision blurs. Your thumb finds her clit and she keens, high and desperate.
"I'm close," Rosé sobs, her whole body shaking against yours. "I'm so close, please." You press harder against her clit, fingers curling to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Her legs start to shake uncontrollably, her hips jerking erratically against your hand.
"Come for me," you whisper wetly against her lips. "Let me feel it." She breaks with a sound that's half scream, half sob, her body clenching rhythmically around your fingers. The sight and sound and feel of her falling apart pushes you right to the edge, but you can't quite tip over.
"Please," you beg, your voice breaking on the word. "Rosé, please, I need to come. I need you so bad." Your tears are flowing freely now, mixing with sweat as you rock desperately back against her fingers.
"Please don't stop, please, I can't - " She kisses you hard, swallowing your pleas even as her fingers work faster inside you, her thumb circling your clit with perfect, steady pressure.
"I've got you," she whispers against your mouth, her own voice still shaky from her orgasm. "I've got you, baby. Come for me. Let go."
"I love you," you sob.
The pleasure crashes through you with devastating force, your body seizing as waves of release roll through you. You cry out against Rosé's mouth, your fingers still buried inside her as she works you through every pulse and tremor.
Your vision whites out for a moment, every nerve ending singing. When you finally go limp, boneless and shaking, she gently withdraws her hand. You do the same, both of you too sensitive to maintain contact any longer.
Your bodies sink further into the carpet, the soft fibers cushioning your weight as you collapse completely. The exertion and emotion have left you both glowing, skin flushed and damp with sweat. Rosé shifts slightly, pulling you closer with the arm still wrapped around your waist.
Your limbs feel heavy and loose, pleasantly exhausted. Neither of you speaks for a long moment, just breathing together in the quiet aftermath. Her thumb traces lazy patterns against your lower back through your rumpled sweater.
"That was," Rosé starts, then stops. Her voice is hoarse.
"Yeah," you whisper, not needing her to finish. Your eyes are still wet with tears, though you're not crying anymore. Just overwhelmed in the best possible way. She nuzzles into you, pressing a soft kiss to your damp temple.
"We should thank Lisa. Or Jennie. Whoever sent that." A laugh bubbles out of you.
"Absolutely not. That would be the most mortifying conversation of my life."
"You’re just embarrassed to tell them how needy you are," you tease, your voice still breathless. "Admit it."
Rosé gasps in mock offense, but the effect is ruined by the smile tugging at her lips. "I am not the only clingy one here. You literally just cried because you needed me so badly."
"You cried first!" you counter, poking her side.
She squirms, which makes you poke her again, and suddenly you're both dissolving into helpless giggles. The laughter shakes through both your spent bodies, making your muscles protest weakly.
She tries to catch her breath but keeps breaking into fresh peals of laughter every time she looks at your face. You're not much better, burying your face against her shoulder as you giggle uncontrollably.
Eventually the laughter subsides into occasional snickers, leaving you both limp and grinning stupidly at each other. The carpet beneath you has lost some of its softness, your hip starting to ache slightly from the pressure.
Rosé's hair is a complete disaster, half fallen out of her ponytail and sticking to her damp neck. You probably look just as disheveled. Time passes in comfortable silence, your breathing slowly returning to normal.
Your stomach chooses that exact moment to growl loudly. At the exact same second, Rosé's does too. You both freeze, then burst into fresh giggles.
"I'm starving," you both say in unison, then laugh harder at the synchronization.
"Okay, we have to eat," Rosé says, though she makes no move to get up. Her arm is still firmly wrapped around you.
"Takeout?" you suggest.
"God, yes. I don't think I can stand long enough to cook." She shifts slightly, finally releasing you so she can roll onto her back. You immediately whine at the loss of contact.
"Don't go far," you mumble, reaching for her.
"I'm not," she promises, catching your hand and lacing your fingers together.
"Okay. So who's ordering?" You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at her.
"You should. You're closer to your phone."
Rosé turns her head to stare at you incredulously. "My phone is literally on the other side of the room. Yours is right there on the coffee table."
"That's like, three whole feet away," you protest. "I just came so hard I can't feel my legs. You do it."
"Oh, and I didn't?" She tugs your hand pointedly. "I came first, actually, which means I used more energy. You order."
Synopsis: Y/N could see that Sophia isn't happy with her anymore. So, she did what she thought was best, to finally let go.
Words: 2k+
Warning: ANGST! TOO MUCH ANGST!
A/N: I know. I know. I said I was gonna write a story inspired by a Ben&Ben song but this song was just stuck in my head. So, what better way than to break everyone's heart, right?! Let me know your thoughts!
You were in one of the Lafortezas house parties. They always throw grand parties whenever your girlfriend, Sophia, comes home to visit. She just got back from her schedules with Katseye. You could see how happy she was with her family, her friends— Him.
You don't know when it started, or how it even happened. All you knew was that one day, she started acting different towards you. She started distancing herself, started making excuses not to talk. It frustrated you at first. You didn't know what was going on. You just wanted to be with your girlfriend, even for just a second of her time.
Then, slowly, you saw it. How Sophia was with him. You watched, silently, intently. At first, you were mad. It infuriated you.
But slowly, you started to accept it. You know deep down that whatever you do, you'd always choose her. You'd choose her happiness over yours. And right now, you have made a decision that would break you into pieces. But you know, she would be happy. And that's what you've always wanted.
To make her happy. Even without you in it.
You wanted to run away. But that didn't sit well with you. You've made a promise that whatever happened, you would never leave her without saying goodbye.
As you were watching, you could see how happy she is with him. You could see the way her eyes lit up whenever she's talking to him, how she would subtly touch him whenever she laughs, how comfortable she is with him.
It broke you. But at the same time, there's a sense of relief within you because finally, she's letting herself be free.
You could feel your heart break, you could feel every fiber of your being torn.
"Y/N, anak? Are you alright?" You heard, a small hand settling in your back.
You turned to look at who it was. Tita Carla.
You smiled, feeling a single tear fall from your eyes.
"Tita." You chocked. "I'm happy."
You know she didn't believe that. She could see you break right in front of her. Tita Carla didn't speak. She just pulled you in a tight hug, rubbing your back in a soothing manner.
You let yourself fall, silently crying in her shoulder. She didn't have to say anything. She just lets you cry your heart out.
You pulled out of her hug, turned your back to her and wiped your tears, composing yourself. You turned back to her, smiling.
"I'll be going, tita. Please tell her I left. But I'll see her tomorrow. Thank you, tita. For everything."
With those, Tita Carla pulled you in another tight hug. She hugged you like it was the last time. Like she knew.
You left the house quietly, with a heavy heart. You drove to the place where you asked Sophia to be yours. Bottles of beers in your hands. You watched the night sky. It was like that day, clear skies. The city light illuminating the place. It was so beautiful, like the time she said "yes".
You stayed there, reminiscing everything. This was your favourite spot.
The next day, you texted Sophia. Her replies were dry. But you took no mind to it. You focused on making this day the best. You reserved a table on your favourite place, you wore your best clothes, you sprayed the perfume she loves the most.
When you got to her house, she was already waiting for you, dressed in a beautiful sundress. You smiled, remembering the time you told her she looked gorgeous wearing a dress. She started wearing dresses whenever you go out together and it made you feel special.
"You look so beautiful, mahal." You tell her, kissing her lightly in the cheek.
She smiled, holding your hand.
"Where are you taking me?" She asked, excitement oozing in her voice.
If only she knew.
She looked so beautiful that it pains you to think this would be the last time you're gonna be with her, as her girlfriend.
"It's a surprise, love. You're gonna have to wait and see."
Sophia's smile widen. She loves when you do surprises. She always told you, you never miss a beat. That your surprises are the best.
"Y/N, anak." Tita Carla called out when she saw you.
You smiled at her. Went to her and gave her a tight hug. You made sure you cherish that hug.
"I'm taking Sophia out, tita. But I promise she'll be home before curfew."
Tita Carla smiled, but not the same smile she always gives you. It was a kind of smile that tells you she knew.
"You take care, okay? I love you." Tita Carla says.
You both heard Sophia giggle behind you before you felt a hand holding yours.
"You sound like this is gonna be the last time you'll see her. She's gonna be here for dinner, mom." Sophia says, leaning her head on your shoulder.
Tita Carla smiled, holding Sophia's cheek and caressing it gently.
"You two take care. We'll see you at dinner. Enjoy." Tita Carla says.
You smiled and nodded, looking at Sophia. You felt your heart break again. But you stayed strong. You can't be breaking down. You still have the entire day with her to spend.
"Alis na po kami. I love you, tita."
Tita Carla nodded and let the two of you go. Sophia excitedly sat on your passenger seat. You smiled, staring at her.
"So, where to, mahal?" She asked with that beautiful smile of hers.
The two of you spent the entire day together, going to your favourite places. She was so happy. She looked immaculate. She couldn't help herself be giddy. She just kept on talking about everything. Her members, her family, her friends. You noticed she never once mentioned him.
You just watched with a smile on your face. She looked so happy. She looked so care free.
It was breaking you, but you know this is all going to be worth it. For her.
"You know what, mahal, you should really go to one of our concerts. We're going to have a western concert tour soon but there's going to be an Asia tour and I want you to be there." She says with a smile, excitement never leaving her voice.
You smiled, nodded. "I promise I'll be in every show whenever I can."
She pouted. She looked so cute. "You promise?"
You nodded, holding out your pinky finger. You saw how her smile brighten when you did that. She knows how sacred that is.
She hooked her pinky finger with yours, clasping it together. You pulled your fingers to your lips, kissing it gently.
She smiled. The most beautiful.
When you pulled back, it felt like every memory of the both of you came crushing down. How you first met, how you took the courage to introduce yourself to her, how you started having feelings for her, how you confessed, how you started dating, how she said yes, how your life became happier and lighter with her in it.
Even when she started becoming a trainee, when she entered Dream Academy, when she won the show, how she ran to you after and told you she was so happy you could be there to celebrate her win.
Everything, all at once. And it broke you that this would be the last time.
It was 6 in the evening when you finally got the text from him.
"I'm here."
You smiled, replied you were on your way before putting your phone back inside your pocket. You turned to Sophia who was happily watching the sky with an ice cream in hand.
"You ready for our last stop for the day?"
Sophia turned to you, still smiling beautifully. She nodded.
"Lead the way."
You guided her to your passenger seat, made sure she was wearing her seat belt before you drove off.
She was still yapping about everything and anything. You just smiled, listening to her.
You love when she yaps. That's one of her charms. She could blow your ears off and you'd still think she's the most beautiful.
The two of you got out of your car after you parked. Your hands intertwined with her. You could feel your heart start to crack with every step. But you knew this was what you needed to do.
The place looked wonderful. You didn't know how it would turn out but you thanked the heavens that it all looked in place. You're in one of your favourite restaurants. This place was a number one for you and Sophia.
You called the place this morning and asked if they could reserve it. You made sure it looked wonderful. And here it is.
Sophia stopped as soon as she saw who was seated at one of the table. He was patiently looking around, quietly waiting.
You stopped, turned back to her with a smile.
"Let's go. He's waiting." You say, gently pulling her with you but she pulled back, shaking her head.
"What are we doing here?" She asked, looking scared. It's like she knows what's going to happen.
You smiled "He's waiting for you, Sophia. Come on." You say as gently as you could.
"No." she says.
"Sophia..." you tried but she stepped back.
"Elizabeth! I'm Elizabeth to you." Sophia's eyes turned misty. She was shaking her head.
"Sophia." you called out again, gently.
"Y/N, please. Let's just go home, okay? Mom and dad are waiting for us." She tried, her voice breaking while trying to get you to go back with her.
You shook your head, smiling despite the pain you're feeling.
"Sophia..."
"No!" she finally broke down, tears falling down her cheeks. "No, mahal, please. Let's just go home, okay? Let's just have dinner at home, please, Y/N." she cried.
You smiled, your tears falling as well. It broke your heart to see her like this. But you can't turn back now.
You held her face and wiped her tears. "Do you remember what I promised you when you said yes?" you asked, still wiping her tears. "I promised that I'll do anything and everything to make you happy. And I want to keep that promise."
"Let's go home, please. Mahal." she cried.
"I can't be selfish with you, Sophia. I can't do that. I saw... how you looked at him, how you're happy with him. And God..." you chuckled, broken. "I want to hold you, keep you to myself..."
"Then do it. Be selfish." her voice raised.
"I can't do that." you chocked. "I can't keep you in a cage, Soph. I can't watch you be miserable just so I could keep you."
"Y/N, please..." she pleaded, her voice broken.
You kept your smile, wanting to be strong for the both of you. "You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be free. You don't deserve to be tethered to someone you don't love."
"No." she says, still shaking her head.
"It's okay. I'm going to be okay. All I ever want was for you to be happy. Even if it's not with me." She finally stayed still at what you said. Your smile never leaving your face. "Now, I want you to wipe your tears for me. We can't ruin your beautiful make-up, that dolled up hair and that beautiful dress."
Sophia stared at you. She knows whatever she does by now, it was worthless. You have set your mind to it and she knows she can't change that. And so, she turned her back to you, wiping her tears despite the heartbreak.
When she turned to you, she gave you a forced smile.
"Okay." She finally says.
You smiled, offering your hand to her. She took it, held it like a life line and lets you lead the way to him.
With every step, you could feel how Sophia's grip tightens. You know she wants to run for it, take you away from here.
But that would be harder for the both of you.
When you entered the place, Leon immediately stood up as soon as he saw you. He looked confused. Then his confusion turned to worry when he saw the girl behind you.
"Leon." You say, greeting him with a smile.
"What's going on here?" he asked, looking worried.
You turned to Sophia, then back to him. "I just drove her here."
His brows are furrowed at this point. He looked confuse.
"Sophia." He called out.
You pulled Sophia gently towards him, finally letting her hand go.
They really do look good together. You smiled, watching them for a moment before you spoke.
"Take care of her, okay? Take her home before curfew."
You say, trying to keep your voice from breaking. You looked at Sophia, a painful smile still displayed on your lips.
"Let yourself be free, Sophia. You deserve this." You say, holding her hand to which she gripped yours. You smiled, then turned to Leon who finally caught up with what's happening.
You took his hand, putting Sophia's on top of his.
"Don't hurt her." you say, pleaded.
"Y/N..." he called out.
You smiled, finally letting their hands go. You watched as Leon held Sophia's hand. It amazes you how their hands fit so well together. And with one final look at Sophia, you stepped back.
"I'll see you guys around." you say, finally turning your back to them.
You were already at the door when you heard Sophia call out to you. You willed yourself to look back at her, gripping the handle tightly.
"I love you." She says, tears falling down her eyes.
You smiled. "I know."
You walked back to your car with a heavy heart. You didn't dare look back. You drove back home broken, but satisfied. You knew to yourself that it was the best thing to do. You have finally let go of her.
Synopsis: Y/N could see that Sophia isn't happy with her anymore. So, she did what she thought was best, to finally let go.
Words: 2k+
Warning: ANGST! TOO MUCH ANGST!
A/N: I know. I know. I said I was gonna write a story inspired by a Ben&Ben song but this song was just stuck in my head. So, what better way than to break everyone's heart, right?! Let me know your thoughts!
You were in one of the Lafortezas house parties. They always throw grand parties whenever your girlfriend, Sophia, comes home to visit. She just got back from her schedules with Katseye. You could see how happy she was with her family, her friends— Him.
You don't know when it started, or how it even happened. All you knew was that one day, she started acting different towards you. She started distancing herself, started making excuses not to talk. It frustrated you at first. You didn't know what was going on. You just wanted to be with your girlfriend, even for just a second of her time.
Then, slowly, you saw it. How Sophia was with him. You watched, silently, intently. At first, you were mad. It infuriated you.
But slowly, you started to accept it. You know deep down that whatever you do, you'd always choose her. You'd choose her happiness over yours. And right now, you have made a decision that would break you into pieces. But you know, she would be happy. And that's what you've always wanted.
To make her happy. Even without you in it.
You wanted to run away. But that didn't sit well with you. You've made a promise that whatever happened, you would never leave her without saying goodbye.
As you were watching, you could see how happy she is with him. You could see the way her eyes lit up whenever she's talking to him, how she would subtly touch him whenever she laughs, how comfortable she is with him.
It broke you. But at the same time, there's a sense of relief within you because finally, she's letting herself be free.
You could feel your heart break, you could feel every fiber of your being torn.
"Y/N, anak? Are you alright?" You heard, a small hand settling in your back.
You turned to look at who it was. Tita Carla.
You smiled, feeling a single tear fall from your eyes.
"Tita." You chocked. "I'm happy."
You know she didn't believe that. She could see you break right in front of her. Tita Carla didn't speak. She just pulled you in a tight hug, rubbing your back in a soothing manner.
You let yourself fall, silently crying in her shoulder. She didn't have to say anything. She just lets you cry your heart out.
You pulled out of her hug, turned your back to her and wiped your tears, composing yourself. You turned back to her, smiling.
"I'll be going, tita. Please tell her I left. But I'll see her tomorrow. Thank you, tita. For everything."
With those, Tita Carla pulled you in another tight hug. She hugged you like it was the last time. Like she knew.
You left the house quietly, with a heavy heart. You drove to the place where you asked Sophia to be yours. Bottles of beers in your hands. You watched the night sky. It was like that day, clear skies. The city light illuminating the place. It was so beautiful, like the time she said "yes".
You stayed there, reminiscing everything. This was your favourite spot.
The next day, you texted Sophia. Her replies were dry. But you took no mind to it. You focused on making this day the best. You reserved a table on your favourite place, you wore your best clothes, you sprayed the perfume she loves the most.
When you got to her house, she was already waiting for you, dressed in a beautiful sundress. You smiled, remembering the time you told her she looked gorgeous wearing a dress. She started wearing dresses whenever you go out together and it made you feel special.
"You look so beautiful, mahal." You tell her, kissing her lightly in the cheek.
She smiled, holding your hand.
"Where are you taking me?" She asked, excitement oozing in her voice.
If only she knew.
She looked so beautiful that it pains you to think this would be the last time you're gonna be with her, as her girlfriend.
"It's a surprise, love. You're gonna have to wait and see."
Sophia's smile widen. She loves when you do surprises. She always told you, you never miss a beat. That your surprises are the best.
"Y/N, anak." Tita Carla called out when she saw you.
You smiled at her. Went to her and gave her a tight hug. You made sure you cherish that hug.
"I'm taking Sophia out, tita. But I promise she'll be home before curfew."
Tita Carla smiled, but not the same smile she always gives you. It was a kind of smile that tells you she knew.
"You take care, okay? I love you." Tita Carla says.
You both heard Sophia giggle behind you before you felt a hand holding yours.
"You sound like this is gonna be the last time you'll see her. She's gonna be here for dinner, mom." Sophia says, leaning her head on your shoulder.
Tita Carla smiled, holding Sophia's cheek and caressing it gently.
"You two take care. We'll see you at dinner. Enjoy." Tita Carla says.
You smiled and nodded, looking at Sophia. You felt your heart break again. But you stayed strong. You can't be breaking down. You still have the entire day with her to spend.
"Alis na po kami. I love you, tita."
Tita Carla nodded and let the two of you go. Sophia excitedly sat on your passenger seat. You smiled, staring at her.
"So, where to, mahal?" She asked with that beautiful smile of hers.
The two of you spent the entire day together, going to your favourite places. She was so happy. She looked immaculate. She couldn't help herself be giddy. She just kept on talking about everything. Her members, her family, her friends. You noticed she never once mentioned him.
You just watched with a smile on your face. She looked so happy. She looked so care free.
It was breaking you, but you know this is all going to be worth it. For her.
"You know what, mahal, you should really go to one of our concerts. We're going to have a western concert tour soon but there's going to be an Asia tour and I want you to be there." She says with a smile, excitement never leaving her voice.
You smiled, nodded. "I promise I'll be in every show whenever I can."
She pouted. She looked so cute. "You promise?"
You nodded, holding out your pinky finger. You saw how her smile brighten when you did that. She knows how sacred that is.
She hooked her pinky finger with yours, clasping it together. You pulled your fingers to your lips, kissing it gently.
She smiled. The most beautiful.
When you pulled back, it felt like every memory of the both of you came crushing down. How you first met, how you took the courage to introduce yourself to her, how you started having feelings for her, how you confessed, how you started dating, how she said yes, how your life became happier and lighter with her in it.
Even when she started becoming a trainee, when she entered Dream Academy, when she won the show, how she ran to you after and told you she was so happy you could be there to celebrate her win.
Everything, all at once. And it broke you that this would be the last time.
It was 6 in the evening when you finally got the text from him.
"I'm here."
You smiled, replied you were on your way before putting your phone back inside your pocket. You turned to Sophia who was happily watching the sky with an ice cream in hand.
"You ready for our last stop for the day?"
Sophia turned to you, still smiling beautifully. She nodded.
"Lead the way."
You guided her to your passenger seat, made sure she was wearing her seat belt before you drove off.
She was still yapping about everything and anything. You just smiled, listening to her.
You love when she yaps. That's one of her charms. She could blow your ears off and you'd still think she's the most beautiful.
The two of you got out of your car after you parked. Your hands intertwined with her. You could feel your heart start to crack with every step. But you knew this was what you needed to do.
The place looked wonderful. You didn't know how it would turn out but you thanked the heavens that it all looked in place. You're in one of your favourite restaurants. This place was a number one for you and Sophia.
You called the place this morning and asked if they could reserve it. You made sure it looked wonderful. And here it is.
Sophia stopped as soon as she saw who was seated at one of the table. He was patiently looking around, quietly waiting.
You stopped, turned back to her with a smile.
"Let's go. He's waiting." You say, gently pulling her with you but she pulled back, shaking her head.
"What are we doing here?" She asked, looking scared. It's like she knows what's going to happen.
You smiled "He's waiting for you, Sophia. Come on." You say as gently as you could.
"No." she says.
"Sophia..." you tried but she stepped back.
"Elizabeth! I'm Elizabeth to you." Sophia's eyes turned misty. She was shaking her head.
"Sophia." you called out again, gently.
"Y/N, please. Let's just go home, okay? Mom and dad are waiting for us." She tried, her voice breaking while trying to get you to go back with her.
You shook your head, smiling despite the pain you're feeling.
"Sophia..."
"No!" she finally broke down, tears falling down her cheeks. "No, mahal, please. Let's just go home, okay? Let's just have dinner at home, please, Y/N." she cried.
You smiled, your tears falling as well. It broke your heart to see her like this. But you can't turn back now.
You held her face and wiped her tears. "Do you remember what I promised you when you said yes?" you asked, still wiping her tears. "I promised that I'll do anything and everything to make you happy. And I want to keep that promise."
"Let's go home, please. Mahal." she cried.
"I can't be selfish with you, Sophia. I can't do that. I saw... how you looked at him, how you're happy with him. And God..." you chuckled, broken. "I want to hold you, keep you to myself..."
"Then do it. Be selfish." her voice raised.
"I can't do that." you chocked. "I can't keep you in a cage, Soph. I can't watch you be miserable just so I could keep you."
"Y/N, please..." she pleaded, her voice broken.
You kept your smile, wanting to be strong for the both of you. "You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be free. You don't deserve to be tethered to someone you don't love."
"No." she says, still shaking her head.
"It's okay. I'm going to be okay. All I ever want was for you to be happy. Even if it's not with me." She finally stayed still at what you said. Your smile never leaving your face. "Now, I want you to wipe your tears for me. We can't ruin your beautiful make-up, that dolled up hair and that beautiful dress."
Sophia stared at you. She knows whatever she does by now, it was worthless. You have set your mind to it and she knows she can't change that. And so, she turned her back to you, wiping her tears despite the heartbreak.
When she turned to you, she gave you a forced smile.
"Okay." She finally says.
You smiled, offering your hand to her. She took it, held it like a life line and lets you lead the way to him.
With every step, you could feel how Sophia's grip tightens. You know she wants to run for it, take you away from here.
But that would be harder for the both of you.
When you entered the place, Leon immediately stood up as soon as he saw you. He looked confused. Then his confusion turned to worry when he saw the girl behind you.
"Leon." You say, greeting him with a smile.
"What's going on here?" he asked, looking worried.
You turned to Sophia, then back to him. "I just drove her here."
His brows are furrowed at this point. He looked confuse.
"Sophia." He called out.
You pulled Sophia gently towards him, finally letting her hand go.
They really do look good together. You smiled, watching them for a moment before you spoke.
"Take care of her, okay? Take her home before curfew."
You say, trying to keep your voice from breaking. You looked at Sophia, a painful smile still displayed on your lips.
"Let yourself be free, Sophia. You deserve this." You say, holding her hand to which she gripped yours. You smiled, then turned to Leon who finally caught up with what's happening.
You took his hand, putting Sophia's on top of his.
"Don't hurt her." you say, pleaded.
"Y/N..." he called out.
You smiled, finally letting their hands go. You watched as Leon held Sophia's hand. It amazes you how their hands fit so well together. And with one final look at Sophia, you stepped back.
"I'll see you guys around." you say, finally turning your back to them.
You were already at the door when you heard Sophia call out to you. You willed yourself to look back at her, gripping the handle tightly.
"I love you." She says, tears falling down her eyes.
You smiled. "I know."
You walked back to your car with a heavy heart. You didn't dare look back. You drove back home broken, but satisfied. You knew to yourself that it was the best thing to do. You have finally let go of her.
Synopsis: You carry trays and soft glances, she carries roses from someone else—two souls brushing past in a world that was never built for them to meet, only to notice.
Warnings: angst, fluff (?), use of you
Notes: Inspired by Parokya ni Edgar’s Pangarap Lang Kita (song and music video). Usual parallel type of connection. One’s poor and the other one is rich. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes.
Your body wakes before the sky does—used to the rhythm now, the quiet rituals of surviving, splashing water on your face, two-day-old coffee from a mug with a chipped handle you didn’t throw out, last night’s rice pressed into shape with your palms and wrapped in plastic. You slip on your shirt—worn soft at the seams and grab your board or bike, depending on the weather, and slip into the dawn like a shadow with somewhere to be.
This morning, it's the board. The streets are still yawning, the wind a little sharper than you expected. It pushes against your collar like it knows you're not supposed to be out here this early, like it's trying to send you back to bed you don't really own.
But you roll forward.
The city at this hour feels like it’s holding its breath. Empty sidewalks, closed storefronts, a single jeepney turning the corner with a sleepy groan. Your wheels whisper secrets to the asphalt with every push, and you think, maybe, this is the only time you feel like you’re not falling behind.
At the second stoplight, you see him.
A boy, maybe eight, maybe less. Hands too small for the world he’s been thrown into. He’s standing in front of a black car that doesn’t belong here—shiny in a way that doesn’t fit the chipped sidewalk or the wires tangled like regrets overhead.
The boy says something you can’t hear.
In the driver seat, a man in a crisp polo shirt and impatience coiled around his jaw barely glances. He waves the kid away with a flick of his fingers, like brushing off ash. The boy lingers, unsure, like he’s waiting for the world to change its mind.
And then the passenger shifts.
You only catch a glimpse, but it snags something in your chest, a woman, her face framed by long, straight hair and the gold glint of earrings you know cost more than your rent. Her hands rest on her lap, folded like a prayer. She doesn’t look at the boy. She doesn’t look at you. She looks ahead, out the windshield, like none of this is worth noticing.
You don’t stop.
You push off again, harder this time, as if you can outrun the twist in your stomach. The wheels under your board rattle over a crack in the road, and for a second, you think, what if I had been born on the other side of that car window?
But you don’t chase the thought. You let it drift behind you, like so many other things.
By the time the restaurant sign comes into view—its faded red letters crooked from the last typhoon, you’ve already folded that moment into the back pocket of your mind, tucked next to unpaid bills and daydreams you don’t name anymore.
The scent hits before you open the door.
Soy sauce, garlic, and a hint of something sweet trying to survive the oil in the air. It’s warm inside, not the kind that comforts, but the kind that clings to your skin, sits heavy in your shirt, and lives in your hair for the rest of the day.
Someone’s dropped a tray in the back. Someone else is shouting about table numbers. You don’t mind. Chaos is familiar. Chaos pays you hourly and offers free staff meals if the shift manager likes you.
You slide your board into the staff cubby, clock in, and turn. There she is.
Sophia.
The owner's daughter.
She stands near the register, looking through a clipboard, lips mouthing silent words as she reads. There’s a pen tucked behind one ear. Her nails are painted the same shade as the sky before it rains—elegant and expensive. She shouldn’t be here, not in this world of chipped tiled floor and lights that flicker.
The first time she looks up, it feels like a mistake.
You’re halfway through setting the tables—silverware slightly crooked, napkins a little too thin to fold right—when your eyes flicker up, drawn by something quieter than a sound. And there it is.
Her gaze.
Not directed to you but it lands on you like morning sun through half-open blinds—unexpected, sharp, warm.
For half a second, you wonder if your shirt's stained so you glance down. It's not but still, you tug at the hem.
Sophia doesn’t look away right away and that’s what catches you off guard. Her eyes settle—curious yet calm but unreadable.
And then, just as easily, they move on.
You shake your head. Not to dismiss the moment, but to dislodge it—like a song you don’t want stuck in your head.
She was just looking around. Of course, nothing more.
You tuck the thought somewhere deep as you return to work. Hands moving on instinct now—lifting pitchers, wiping tables, sliding into the rhythm of lunch rush.
But your mind, traitor that it is, keeps drifting.
You don’t know much about her, not in any real sense.
She comes in most days around eleven, stays through lunch, sometimes dinner. Helps with inventory, counts the till, answers questions from confused tourists trying to order sinigang that is not sour. She’s not cold, not rude, just perfectly above it all. Not in a cruel way, but in a softer way, like she’s not really here, like her mind is always somewhere softer than the clatter of plates.
Sometimes she wears blue, sometimes soft pastels. Today, it's a dark red top with a small logo from a brand you're too poor to recognise and a low-waisted jeans. The kind of outfit that doesn't wrinkle, that costs more than a week's worth of your hours, that says, I do not lift things. I am lifted.
And yet she does. She lifts trays, wipes menus, helps Miranda tape a broken pepper shaker just an hour ago.
It doesn’t make sense.
None of it does.
So you stop trying to figure her out.
You continue working.
And yet.
Every now and then, when you’re not thinking, you find yourself looking. The way someone looks at light through water. Unfocused but wanting.
You carry trays like they’re shields. You take orders like you’re memorizing lines. You keep your voice soft, even when customers raise theirs.
And today, for some reason, they’re noticing you more than usual.
The girl at table four, a tourist probably, keeps asking for things she doesn’t need. A spoon when she already has one. More water when the glass is full. You offer her a polite smile, the kind you wear like an apron, useful and meant to be taken off at the end of the day.
She smiles back like she’s never seen someone be gentle before.
“Do you have an Instagram?” she asks, as if she’s ordering dessert.
You blink. “Sorry?”
She laughs. “You’re cute. Thought I’d shoot my shot.”
You chuckle, the way you’re supposed to. “I don’t really use it,” because it’s half-true and more polite than “I’m not interested.”
She slips a napkin across the table anyway. “In case you change your mind.”
You take it. Only because it’s easier than saying no a second time.
You turn around, only to find Sophia watching.
She’s by the kitchen now, half-hidden behind the swing door. Arms crossed, one foot tapping against the tile like she’s measuring time.
Her eyes aren’t unkind. But they aren’t soft either.
You meet her gaze for a second—long enough to feel it crackle between you, silent static.
She looks away first this time.
But it’s not the same as before.
There’s something else sitting in her chest now. Something that didn’t used to be there.
You can’t help but feel uncanny at the thought of being perceived as lacking off, so you immediately did some more work.
Back inside the kitchen, Sophia told herself she’s just curious.
That’s all it is.
You’re interesting. Quiet, reliable, and always on time. Never really a headache. You move like you’ve memorized the room. You listen when people speak. You carry yourself like someone who doesn't know they're being watched.
She doesn’t like you like that. That’s too much.
It’s not a serious crush. Maybe close proximity? She guessed.
Sophia has known crushes. They’re louder and flashier, or that's what she's used to. They come with heart scribbles on notebooks and texts answered too quickly.
This isn’t that.
This is noticing.
That’s all.
She tells herself this even as she peeks through the kitchen window again and sees the napkin still tucked in your apron pocket.
Her chest feels a little tight but she blames the heat that is suffocating her coming from the kitchen.
You’re wiping down the last table near the window when you see him again.
The same kid from earlier—the one the man in the car waved off like smoke. He’s sitting now, legs pulled up to his chest, back against the utility pole across the street. His chin rests on his knees, eyes unfocused, as if he’s staring into a world that forgot to open its doors to him.
He doesn’t look up.
You hesitate, cloth still in hand.
You’ve seen him before, not just this morning. A couple of times—near the bakery, by the jeepney stop, sometimes curled behind the gas station at dusk. He never begs. He just waits, hoping someone will notice without needing to be asked.
“Hey!” Vinci calls from the kitchen. “We’re tossing the leftover pancit, can you please grab the bin?”
You nod, eyes flicking back to the boy before slipping into the kitchen.
The scent of oil is heavier here. The kind that sticks to your skin long after you clock out. Vinci’s already scooping the noodles into a silver tray. There’s half a fried chicken thigh sitting off to the side, slightly overcooked but untouched.
“This is still good.” you murmur almost to yourself.
Vinci shrugs. “No one’s eating it.”
You reach for a takeout box, plastic utensils, and a cup of water.
From the far side of the restaurant, Sophia watches.
She hadn’t meant to. She’d come to drop something off at the register but her eyes had followed your figure out the door, the way one might follow a melody drifting out of a passing car. She saw the box, the crouch, and the encounter.
You don't mind being scolded for giving some food away.
You didn’t do it to be seen.
You didn’t do it to mean anything.
You just saw someone who needed something. Something to hold onto, even if only for one meal.
That’s all. As much as you wanted to give the kid some spare change, it was also something you don’t have yourself.
You wash your hands at the back sink. The water runs too hot making your skin turn pink at the edges.
You don’t notice.
You're thinking about the way the boy looked at you. You never like the thought of standing in front of him, it feels condescending, like you are above him. It was never that, you were never above anyone, you were once a kid who struggled too.
You pass by the front counter again twenty minutes later, heading toward table six with a tray of halo-halo. Sophia is there with a paper in hand, eyebrows lightly drawn together in thought. You don’t mean to glance at her. It just happens.
She doesn’t look up, but her hand stills on the page.
And for the second time today, your heart tries to remind you of something you won’t let it finish saying.
The man from the car—the one who waved off the kid like an inconvenience, like dust on his collar. Now he’s stepping into your workplace like he owns something.
And in a way, maybe he does.
He carries that kind of presence. The type that doesn’t ask if he belongs. He just assumes he does. His watch glints, his scent trails behind him, expensive and sharp. He wears confidence like cologne, loud, unmistakable and painstakingly annoying.
“Is Sophia here?” he asked Miranda, and her name bends to his voice like it’s been taught to.
You don’t need to be close to hear it.
And she comes.
She steps out from behind the counter where she’d been double-checking inventory, her pen tucked behind one ear, hair a little loose now from hours of real work.
Still, she walks like she’s in a movie scene. More so, she’s the movie itself. The climax everyone in the cinema had waited for.
She sees him.
Her smile is soft, rehearsed, but just maybe. Or just polite. She doesn't light up but she doesn’t flinch either.
One of his assistants reaches into a bag. Produces a bouquet—big, too big for this setting. Roses, of course. Wrapped in thick white paper with a satin ribbon knotted perfectly around the stems.
And then the assistant passed it to you.
“Mind passing this to him?” he says, voice light, like he’s asking someone to refill his wine.
You blink.
You look down.
You hesitate for a breath too long, but then what choice do you have?
So you took the bouquet.
It’s heavier than you expect. Damp near the stems. Too many petals, too many thorns. It doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a transaction wrapped in ribbon.
You hold it for a second longer than necessary.
And just for a breath—you imagine it.
Imagine offering it to her yourself, without being told. No middleman. No errand. Just a simple and sweet, I saw these and I thought of you.
The look on her face, curious.
Her fingers brushing yours as she takes them.
A thank you. Maybe even your name in her mouth covered in softness your mattress can't compare.
But then he reaches forward and takes them from your hands like the moment never happened.
And offers them to her instead, like what’s intended to be.
And you watch—because that’s all you’ve ever been allowed to do. Not like you can afford such flowers.
They talk quietly near the register. He says something that makes her raise an eyebrow. She doesn’t laugh, she shakes her head, eyes darting to the floor before drifting back up. Her fingers tighten around the bouquet.
Then she looks at you.
Enough to know she noticed.
Enough to know you were there.
And enough to mean nothing at all.
You give her a tight smile. To Sophia it looks like a smile of encouragement but to you, its one of those kinds of smiles.
He opens the door for her. She thanks him and her voice is quieter now, like she’s halfway out of the moment. They disappear into the night, roses swaying slightly in her hands.
And that’s it.
No explosion. No fight. No confession.
Just a quiet exit from a life that doesn’t include you.
There’s still some rubbish to take out. A few tables to wipe. Vinci asks if you can help prep for the morning.
You say yes. Because you always say yes, not that you want to but you need to.
Because the restaurant is the only place where you matter. Where your hands are worth something. Where your name isn’t forgotten.
And even if Sophia is gone, you’re still here.
And the kitchen light still flickers when it gets too hot. The sink still leaks if you twist the knob too far. And the mop still leaves streaks on the tile no matter how many times you rinse it.
And none of that changes just because your heart feels too heavy in your chest.
With brooms scraping tile, the hum of the refrigerator kicking in too late, and the scent of vinegar and oil still clinging to your shirt like the last thing you haven’t let go of. Vinci yells something half-hearted about the trash. Miranda waves goodbye without looking up from her phone.
You stay behind just long enough to sweep what’s left of the night into the corners.
Sophia never came back.
And that’s fine.
She had roses in her hands, after all. Someone else’s story folded around her like lace.
You have the floor cleaner, the mop handle splintered from use, and the quiet knowledge that you were here—just long enough to witness her orbit someone else’s sun.
Each push sounds like punctuation on a sentence only you understand.
You glide past sleeping storefronts and windows lit by blue TV light. Past someone’s laundry swaying gently in the night breeze. Past the little corner where the boy sat earlier, empty now.
Everything moves.
Except you.
You’re not angry. You’re not sad, either.
You’re just awake and breathing.
And you know—deep in your chest—that there are people like Sophia who glide through life on polished floors and soft light. And there are people like you, who move through back doors and carry trays and learn how to smile without showing too much of your soul, not that they consider you of having one anyway.
Sorry for not posting anything but happy September. Storyline is cliché once again so sorry for that. Will make a Sophia fluff as soon as I can. Hope you guys like this one :)))
a game with your friends turns into something a lot more deadly when your girlfriend decides to play with you instead.
warnings: 18+ smut mdni, masc & gp!reader, horny!dani, pwp, use of 'daddy' once at the end because she's the biggest tease
word count: 1087
author's note: i do NOT play cod idk what im talking ab in this fic icl
"check your corners, man," you groan into your headset, as megan gets shot again.
"i hate this fucking game!" she rages into your ear, and you hear the familiar smashing of her keyboard. you wince at the mic feedback. theatrically, blood splatters onto your screen from your partner's gruesome death.
"that was an avoidable death," you mutter as you reload your gun, firing and finishing off the enemy.
"yeah, since it's soo fucking easy, why don't you just carry our team next round," megan taunts with that lilt in her tone that tells you it's a challenge. well, you were never one to back down.
"alright, loser," you respond easily, adjusting your headset. time to lock the fuck in, you say internally, but a soft hand on your shoulder makes you jump.
"what you playin', baby?"
you turn briefly to be greeted with the sight of your girlfriend dressed in one of your band tees, about two sizes too large on her, manicured nails tracing the back of your neck.
instinctively, your hand reaches out to squeeze at her waist, a smile taking over your face. "black ops," you respond, half-focused on the screen, but daniela's eyes never leave your face. "i gotta show megan how much she sucks, then i'll be with you, baby."
megan's infuriated response gets lost in translation as daniela leans down, a soft hand tilting your chin up, sealing your lips in a breathtaking kiss. you sigh into the kiss, game momentarily forgotten.
"babe," you mumble as you pull away first, dani regarding you with a cocked brow. "five minutes, okay?" you ask softly.
"five minutes my fuckin' ass," megan interrupts loudly, and you nearly jump. "can you stop whoring out for your girl for one moment, because you're literally about to die."
"shit!" you curse, swivelling around to see that you're on critically low health. for the next minute, you're fending for your life, managing to steal a kill somewhere in between.
a movement next to you catches your attention momentarily, and you freeze when you see your girlfriend literally crawl under your gaming desk. "dani," you warn, but she settles on her knees between your legs, humming playfully.
against your will, the sight makes your cock twitch in your boxers, and daniela has a second sense for these things, because she smiles devilishly as she strokes the growing bulge in your pants.
"something wrong, baby?" she asks, batting her lashes, and you swallow tightly, throat drying up. this was a challenge. and oh, you were once again so susceptible.
you clench your jaw, looking back up at the screen, continuing the game. you spot the first enemy ducking behind a pile of rubble, and a clean headshot ends their brief lifespan.
daniela's face hovers dangerously close, and you swear you can feel her hot breath fanning your eager member.
with a lot more difficulty, you get up the stairs to sneak in on the enemy hideout, tanking some hits as your girlfriend rakes her nails down your tensed thighs. third kill.
just as you adjust uncomfortably in your seat, daniela wickedly tugs your boxers down fully, and you can't help the gasp that tears from your throat as your erect cock is suddenly freed.
your girthy length nearly slaps your girlfriend in the face. angrily red at the tip with veins protruding down to the base, daniela licks her lips with unbridled hunger.
"you okay?" megan asks, crackling over your headset.
"y-yeah." you answer with no lack of strain in your voice, a detail that doesn't go unnoticed by daniela.
as you aim for your final kill on the round, through the lens of your sniper, daniela drags a molten-hot tongue around your tip.
you shoot. you miss.
"you suck!" megan roars, stealing your kill, while daniela actually sucks, sucks you off like she means it.
and she probably did, as you defeatedly slam your mute button down, throwing your head back as inch after inch disappears down your girlfriend's throat.
with only slight struggle, daniela hollows her cheeks and fully bottoms out on your cock. you can feel her throat constricting as your blunt head pushes deep.
she gags deliciously, eyes watering as your hand on the back of her head holds her head in place. daniela's nails dig into your thigh, and you're too overwhelmed with pleasure to wince.
"good girl," you sigh, spreading your legs wider to accommodate your girlfriend.
when she starts moving, head obediently bobbing up and down on your length, you fall into an abyss of pleasure.
all too soon, you're approaching your high at a dangerously fast pace, edged on by dani's insistent movements. you throw your head back as the orgasm hits.
"fuck!" you growl, as your girlfriend's lips wrap around your base, her nose pressing against your skin. your arch up, knees hitting the desk, and daniela's mouth follows. pulsations of your white liquid heat get swallowed down by her willing throat, pure tightness enveloping your every need.
"shit, shit, fuck," you groan, bending forward as the pleasure coils up in your lower belly, aftershocks rippling through your body.
with a slick 'pop' sound, daniela pulls back, looking up at you through lowered eyelids.
she looks like aphrodite incarnate, except in a downright scandalous state of debauchery: her pink-flushed cheeks still slightly hollowed out, lips parted but connected with a string of her saliva and your load, dark irises blown so wide that her hypnotising eyes look almost all black.
"look at the mess you've made, daddy," daniela purrs provocatively, hand still slowly pumping your girthy length, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on your swollen cockhead.
"mhm, all for you, princess" you answer lazily, grinning back a sleazy smile like you hadn't just finished deep down your girlfriend's throat.
you loosen your grip on her hair, briefly sagging into your chair. your still-hardened length seems to have other ideas, responding beautifully to daniela's relentless ministrations.
a notification ping causes you to look up at your computer, the game long lost and forgotten.
@m_skiendiel987 [9.12pm] ??? dude whered u go
@m_skiendiel987 [9.12pm] u lost btw :P
@m_skiendiel987 [9.19pm] ok i get it
@m_skiendiel987 [9.27pm] say hi to dani for me
@m_skiendiel987 [9.35pm] still?? UGH u lucky fucking bastard
you smirk, fingers flying over the keyboard to fire back a quick response. and then, you willingly get dragged away by your devastatingly, enchantingly, femme-fatale-esque girlfriend. to the bedroom, of course, where more sinful debauchery was sure to ensue.
@ilovemygffinalboss [9.38pm] ill text u tmr lil bro
@m_skiendiel987 [9.38pm] FUCK YOU
okk first katseye fic for miss daniela avanzini
leave a heart or reblog if u wanna see more content like this!
anong pake ko dyan sa boyfriend mo, ako ang gusto mo? ⋆˙⟡
g!p sophia x cheater fem!reader
listening to . . . wag ipagsabi & need ya.
summary ✧˖ : you meet sophia at a party to ease your mind with relationship problems, little did you know she plays dirty games with you, knowing the consequences, it’s only a matter of time before you’re in her bed ‘till morning.
content/tags ✧˖ : nsfw, filo-dirty talk ( like fuck it we ball ) unlabeled relationship, flirt!sophia, doggy style, popular player!sophia,sub!fem reader, college parties, filo!au, unprotected sex, BIG breeding kink, praise/degrading kink, blowjobs, drunk sex lowk, alcohol mention, mention of sex tape, deepthroating, facefucking body worship, one night stands ( shes obsessed with you tho ), college bsf!daniela avanzini
notes ✧˖ : i’ve thought abt sophia doing filo dirty talk for a long time and it’s so yummy. so good. YET SO CRINGE. so hang in tight for this fic thats full of filth… or keep gripping the sheets from pleasure.
the night is lonely, dark dim lights, your dorm room. the ac that keeps you cool, the overview of your balcony, your eyes are full with the stars that light softly, and the faint view of the moon you slowly take a glimpse of. it runs through your mind when the silence hits, you want something to change and it’s right now.
you’ve never been to an actual party, not even once, maybe in your dreams you’ve thought about it, but it never came across your mind, until your bestfriend dani invites you to this college house party.
you weren’t fond of parties, loud music blasting your ears, people making out, and most importantly the drinks. anything could happen to you, and you wouldn’t want your significant other to worry what you’ve been doing, especially with risky situations like these that could get you involved with much worse trouble.
you and your partner haven’t been on the best terms lately, arguing, almost every time something upsets you both and it’s unhealthy, on and off conversations that get messy, petty little things that time for yourself is definitely what matters right now to you, and you’re accompanied with daniela anyway, nothing wrong could happen with your bestfriend.
right?
excusing yourself, you shortly make up the decision to not tell your partner about it. to show your confidence off, get it down “low” like dani always tells you, some spare time could be surely spent on this party, a night to finally remember.
you grab your car keys, emitting lights when you unlock it, fastening your seatbelt, driving over to the address daniela sends you. the grip on your steering wheel gets a bit tighter from nervousness, your first time ever attending any party could either be fucked or a vibe, for time to tell with ever tick.
keeping up with your phone’s map directions, it wasn’t the best idea to drive in a dark area where you’re not familiar with, but you gladly make it safe on the way there. efficiently arriving, parking your car you finally see a familiar face, it’s dani. outside of the house on her phone, presumably waiting for you.
locking your car, and making sure you’re all set, you walk faster towards daniela, approaching her and give her a comforting hug. “y/n! i’m soo glad you made it, first time hmm?” she shoots a wink at you, you giggle a bit with a hint of still being nervous for what to encounter. already hearing muffled music coming from inside, looking at people leaving and coming in simultaneously.
“oh god, i hope this won’t be a disaster atleast..”
pushing the doors as you enter the party, filled with typical party lights, a small look at a sliding door with people swimming in their pool. it’s tons of people. you fiddle with your thumbs, dani patting your shoulder and assures you that you’ll be okay, not to stress about it that much since it’s common for places like these.
observing the place, you walk over to an organized bar with a few people sitting down , to start off the night well for the time being, “you alright on your own?” daniela asks, you nod and give her that signal you can handle the situation and enjoy the night.
all that entered in your head was a mumble of– “text me when you need me” from dani, then soon after that she was away from your side and you were in silence with your thoughts, a tiny ounce of guilt that pounces to your heart when you think about your partner in this moment.
you know you shouldn’t be here, still insisting to stay, it’ll be one hell of a night right now to stop thinking about them.
drinks are served regularly while you’re away from that overwhelming heavy music, sitting down comfortably, a strawberry-soju cocktail sounds like heaven to your tastebuds right now, sweet yet bitter. hints of your own secretive guilt with every sip you take, you weren’t too quick to finally take harder liquor, shot after shot, glass after glass. sitting just in between your hands.
soon then your head feels heavy, tipsy but not drunk, looking forward to even better experiences you could have at this party, swallowing all your guilt, forgetting you have someone who’s probably waiting for you at home.
though, someone stops you, a hand on yours diverts your attention and your pacing uneven thoughts, startled when soft and slender fingers place against the liquor and glasses filling the table, brushing against your hands. it’s a party, not a drinking competition.
“what do you think you’re doing? mag-isa ka lang and nagpapakalasing?”
( you’re on your own and getting yourself drunk? )
you look to your right to see the sophia laforteza. the famous girl on your college campus, active on social media and high honors. everyone idolizes her, you forgot most of these people are definitely from your school aswell, seeing her felt dizzying. your eyesight getting blurry, but you manage to look at her clearly.
you couldn’t believe she was there right next to you,
“tama na dyan–“, gradually moving your hand away from your glass. “i still want to, why?” eyebrows furrowing from her quick glance at you.
“this is my house.” you gulp, throat tightening when she says it in a firm tone. you didn’t know this was her party at all— being noticed by her while in your pathetic state meant you could get kicked out just for something simple like this.
“i have people who ensure this party won’t be a threat, but do look out for your surroundings, be careful sweetheart.” she says, you could hear mumbled chatter between the bartender and her, leaving things from there, unsettled between you and her when she fades away from your sight.
yet the only thing you could think of is her petname that she called you. it made you feel something, different. needy. not able to distinguish between if it’s all just because of the liquor you’ve been consuming,
you’re still upset over your recent argument and relationship bullshit you don’t want to handle. every sip you take again, you swallow. hard. it isn’t the pain that fuels you, it’s the way you’re fed up from the way life treats you. an escape to be freed was exactly this.
a shitty situation that left in your head for days, no contact, ghosting, unnecessary drama. every second you thought of it made your blood boil.
you didn’t leave the bar, drinks were still served when you wanted your aching heart to go away.
in a flash, it was sophia, again. her hand places on your back when you feel even more unsteady, the bass of the music is the only thing keeping you there,
“come here na muna, i don’t want you to be in risk of danger, baby.”
helping your body maintain its composure leading you to somewhere quiet, music getting further away from you, her room. vibrant blue lights on her ceiling, soft ac that both hits your faces. you held on to her tight, her warmth felt so cozy when she put her arm over your shoulder on the way to her room.
when she let you sit on her bed, eyes fluttering you could feel the tension between you two, heavy but so intimate, “tubig ‘oh,” pointing out, giving it to you. although you yearned for something else.
pulling her arm, you lean in for a kiss with her, her body just spoke right to you, dropping the water bottle, she cups your face and not able to resist the tension and heat anymore, it’s messy. sloppy.
the way you kissed her wasn’t like you thought it should be, it felt euphoric, you haven’t experienced anything like this in so long especially after this, tongues clashing when she pins you down on the bed, holding your shirt tightly, sliding her hands slowly to your waist, feeling your soft skin.
then cupping your tits with both of her hands, caressing them passionately, moaning so lightly in the kiss as she teases your nipples with her index finger. she pulls away from the kiss and her hands slowly move away from your shirt.
“shit– may jowa ka na diba?” her hand holding her neck near her face. her fingers right against her lips when she presses down on your body for her own support, her figure complimenting with the warm lights. her knees pressing against the sheets.
you barely knew sophia, you met her this night, a few hours ago, worried for you. but your lips were already obsessed with the way hers felt, lightly pressing against yours, her soft and tender, lush lips that you badly needed more of, it wasn’t just something you wanted for fun.
you desired her.
it came to your realization she knows your partner around, same hobbies as her, at most, it’s a coincidence, they’re only in a few classes together. you nod at her response, “kilala mo nga pala siya, i forgot, you guys are close right?” a subtle feeling of guilt rushed through your heart. aching once again.
“anong pake ko sa’kanya? you’re mine for the night.” tugging on your shirt harshly, to be met with another wet, messy makeout session. the way she held you felt extraordinary, and you could feel your body heat up more when your arousal starts to get more intense, with each press of her lips you could feel yourself get wet.
“who knew you were such a dirty slut for me.”
laying down near you, just right above your face, her fingers running gently through your hair on top of you. you shake from her words and whimper lowly, thighs close together from how aroused you are just from her seductiveness. “you’re what i need, sophia, bigay mo na sa’kin.”
“on your knees, chupain mo ‘ko– please baby.” those were all of the right words you needed to place yourself on your knees that painfully hit the wooden floor, you couldn’t care less about your partner when you already start to pull down her sweats, and her erect and lengthy dick that bulges through her boxers.
finally pulling it down to her ankles, her cock sprang forth as her breath hitched, biting her lip when she puts her hand on your head, you slowly lick her shaft then to her tip, then guiding it all into your mouth slowly.
she takes her pace with her hands that guide your head, you look up at her, desperate and weak on your knees. you could’ve sworn your knees were going to be bruised by the time you get home, exposed that you were fucking someone you just met entirely in one singular night.
“fuck… ang sarap– shit, subo mo pa.” whining out in pleasure when you take her in a slow pace, her hand pushes you even further for your mouth to take in all of her girthy cock, she brings out her phone out of her pocket, hearing that familiar recording sound when she assists your head down to take her all in your mouth.
“ganyan lang, steady.. good girl… do you like it when you feel like a pathetic whore?” fucking your throat even faster when she hit the record button, choking on her cock yet you love feeling this way towards her, to be owned, that enticing feel of adrenaline of what would happen if she sent it to everyone, worse, your partner.
her hips also start to move to thrust even more inside your mouth, ruthlessly pounding into your mouth, saliva dripping down from your chin, her thrusts turn messy, approaching her orgasm, “ilalabas ko na sa loob, fuck— cumming already—“ her words come out of breath.
ropes of cum lay against your tongue inside, hitting the roof of you mouth and directly to your throat. you could hear her heavily breathing, her hands grip on her phone has gotten worse from thrusting harder into you, fixing the angle, “open your mouth, baby.”
showing the camera of her messy cum that stay on your tongue, zooming in. “lunukin mo, ‘yan.. so fucking good.” patting and caressing your head once again carefully.
“pakita ‘ko talaga to sa jowa mo na gustong-gusto mo talagang kinakantot ka, huh?”
( i’ll show this to your lover that you really love being fucked, huh? )
you brain fucked and dizzy from being used, but you fucking love it. you whisper out, “para sa’yo lang magpapakantot…” your needy eyes that look up at hers, not at the camera, but for her only. her pleasure mattered the most to you. she stops recording and lays her phone on her night stand.
the party wasn’t the one that mattered anymore, nor your lover. the muffled music that drowns out when you take her, laying on the bed, next thing you know your panties just on the side, other pieces of clothing tossed around anywhere they could be.
the tip teasing your entrance so painfully, your vision getting blurry or closing your eyes shut when she playfully only inserts the tip inside your pussy. “mm, pasukin ko na sa loob, love?” smirking when she almost thrusts her full length in just to slip it out once again.
“please– sophia, i’m begging you.”
it was the only thing she needed to hear before flipping you over and ready to fuck you from behind. your head buried in her pillows, her length fully covered with your wet and tight cunt.
“tangina… shit— ang sikip mo..” she throws her head back while her hands settle on your waist, with shallow thrusts she makes, your moans. muffled. you couldn’t risk being caught in a situation like this, even though you knew it wouldn’t happen. feeling every inch of her cock made your walls tighten even more.
your phone rang and rang. you didn’t answer at all, it was daniela, 12:42 AM. your partner knew you were at a party and kept texting you.
it made sophia furious with each thrust she increases, it made her want to pick up and all that could be heard was your slutty, desperate moans for her. but she couldn’t, not if she has you for her own.
slaps echo the room when she fucks you even harder, your ass red covered in marks, every time she hits the right spots and makes your walls even more wet. you craved more than just this night.
“fuck ang sarap…fuck— ipuputok ko ba ‘to sa loob?”
( so good.. should i cum inside you? )
biting on the fabric of the pillows when your pussy feels entirely used by her, you want it. her. each little whine you make and her groans, you love every bit of it. ignoring annoying texts popping up on your phone, thinking about her filling you up made you aroused, you couldn’t speak properly with her loud thrusts, letting a breathy, almost screaming ‘yes’ when she finally comes to her messy thrusts that turn into slower ones.
your walls tighten when you feel her warm cum spill inside you, holding you close and tight, riding out your high. you felt your guilt consume you when it came to a silent stop.
you didn’t care. you wanted sophia.
next thing you know, you’re awake. don’t know where you’ve been and what you did, checking your phone in a whim with 99+ calls and messages. the morning sun that shines on your face, a note on the nightstand with your breakfast.
“thank you, y/n. but i’ve got a bit more than you to fuck.”
Woohoo! Ang — 🤤 would wanna do this pero flipped. g!p reader 😵💫 uh... would write it as well (sana) 😁 eniweiz.... hhhmmm... may interesado ba? (is anyone interested?) 🤔
Synopsis ::: Sophia Laforteza keeps her g!p partner teased and cockwarmed for hours, pushing their patience to the absolute limit. When the tension finally snaps, the g!p reader takes control, giving Sophia relentless, filthy backshots.
Paring ::: Sophia Laforteza x g!p reader
Warning ::: ( smut ). This contains 18+, cockwarming, backshots, rough sex, prolonged teasing, orgasm denial, cum inside, explicit language, dom/sub dynamics. Don't be silly wrap that willy.
A/n - such a tease! || masterlist
Sophia had been teasing you all night without even trying.
It started when she climbed into your lap while you were working at your desk, claiming she was “cold” and wanted to sit with you. You didn’t think much of it at first — she often liked being close, curling up in your arms while you typed. But then she shifted, straddling you fully, her skirt bunching around her thighs, and guided you inside her with an unhurried roll of her hips.
No preamble. No foreplay. Just the warm, wet squeeze of her pussy swallowing you whole before settling down to sit pretty.
“Mm… just wanna stay like this,” she’d whispered against your neck, a little smile on her lips. “You don’t have to move, promise.”
Except she knew exactly what she was doing.
Minutes turned into nearly an hour, your cock buried deep in her heat while she sat there reading something on her phone, occasionally shifting her hips in tiny, torturous movements that made you throb inside her. Every so often she’d squeeze around you deliberately, as if to remind you she had all of you, then pretend she was still completely focused on whatever she was scrolling.
“You okay, baby?” she asked sweetly at one point, glancing at you over her shoulder.
You only grunted, jaw tight.
When she finally slid off your lap, you thought it was over — until she bent forward across the bed, stretching like she had all the time in the world, her skirt riding up to reveal the slick mess between her thighs.
“Actually,” she said with a mischievous tilt of her head, “you can put it back in if you want.”
That was it.
You moved behind her in two strides, grabbing her hips and sliding into her in one rough thrust that made her gasp. She barely had time to brace herself before you started driving into her — deep, sharp backshots that made the bed frame thump against the wall.
The cockwarming patience was gone; now you were fucking her like you’d been holding back for hours, your hips slapping against her ass in hard, steady rhythm. Sophia moaned openly, gripping the sheets, her voice breaking with every deep stroke.
“F-Fuck—” she gasped, looking back at you with glassy eyes, “—you’re so rough—”
“Shouldn’t have teased me,” you growled, thrusting harder, watching the way her ass bounced with every hit.
Her walls clenched around you, the filthy wet sounds between you growing louder as you pushed her toward the edge. When she came, it was loud and sudden, her back arching, pussy gripping you like a vice — and you fucked her through it, chasing your own release until you spilled deep inside her, hips pressing hard to keep every drop in.
When you finally pulled back, she collapsed forward onto the bed, hair messy, skirt still bunched around her waist. She glanced over her shoulder with a dazed grin.
Synopsis: In the quiet between what was and what could have been, two souls meet again—holding onto memories that never fully fade, yet must be let go.
Warnings: angst, fluff (?), use of you
Notes: Inspired by Camila Cabello’s All These Years hence the title. I put that song on repeat so if the streams went up, sorry/welcome Camila. Again sorry for the delay and for any grammar mistakes.
It’s still framed by tall grass and crooked pines, still glinting under a lazy afternoon sun like it didn’t know how to age. It looked like it had been pressed in time, a moment sealed behind a glass, untouched by the years that had come, gone, and bruised everything else. The sky above it had the colour of overripe fruit — orange melting into wine-red, softening into dusk. It looked just like it did in the years she used to call this place home.
Manon stood at the edge of the clearing and took it in slowly, like it might vanish if she moved too fast. The wind tugged gently at her hair, carrying the same scent she remembered from summer ages ago, fresh pine, big rocks, and smoke from old bonfires. Her shoes sank slightly into the dirt in that soft, nostalgic way that made her feel rooted and lost. But it looked smaller now. More finite. Less like a whole world and more like a still frame in a film she used to star in.
The shirt she wore wasn’t special.
Just a soft, well-fitted cotton button-down in brown. The kind of brown you once told her made her skin look like earth and smoke and long August afternoons. The kind that used to make you do a double-take in summer light — earthly brown, you called it once, when you were seventeen and reckless with words. The sleeves were rolled up, precise but not perfect, just casual and effortless.
As if she hadn’t tried.
But she had. She did.
The lip gloss was the same one she used to wear when you shared earphones and cheap mint gums. Clear with a light cherry shine. She hadn’t touched it in years. Not that she couldn’t, she just didn't. Manon had told herself that it didn’t matter. Like it won’t matter as if it's a casual hang out. It was nothing.
But standing in front of the mirror minutes before she left, wind curling around her collar, she knew exactly what she looked like. Like a girl hoping to be noticed. Like she’s someone preparing to haunt and be haunted. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She hadn’t even realized how tense her shoulders had gotten until now.
Everyone else was already here — a handful of her friends, sprawled out near the fire pit like no one had grown up, like it was just another late July and someone’s mom would call them in for dinner in a few hours. Their voices were louder than she remembered, or maybe it was her that had gotten quieter over time.
And then she saw you.
You were leaned back against the tree. Your tree.
Not officially, but in her head, it had always belonged to you — the one with your initials carved so faintly they were almost invisible now. Side by side. Never in a heart. Never underlined. Just two capital letters, cut into bark by hands that didn’t yet know how permanent they could be.
You stood in the golden light like something preserved in amber.
You hadn’t changed much. Not in the way that mattered. You still carried yourself like you belonged to the background until someone looked long enough and realised you were the entire scene. Your hair is longer now. It curled at the ends, a little uneven like you’d let someone cut it on a whim and didn’t care how it turned out. There was still quietness to you, but the kind that made space instead of silence. As you still took up space without trying but in the way you looked at the lake, like you were waiting for it to say something back.
You hadn’t seen her yet.
She wasn’t ready to be seen anyway, at least not yet.
Because seeing you was like walking into a kitchen and finding candy on the counter right after you’d been told to brush your teeth. Not the kind anyone was supposed to leave out — just sitting there, sweet, obvious, and dangerous. It tempted like a trap. Something too easy to want. Too risky to reach for.
She stood there a second too long.
Then you looked up. Your eyes met hers.
You blinked once, like you didn’t trust what you were seeing.
“Meret” you said, voice low, almost reverent.
Your voice hadn't changed, maybe it had, but the shape of it in her name was still the same. She hadn’t heard it spoken aloud in a while. “Manon” had taken over everything — posters, interviews, magazine credits. Her other name swallowed who she was back then, but you said “Meret” like it belonged to you. Like it still lived in your mouth.
Then the flicker of self-correction comes.
“I mean — sorry. Manon”
The syllables felt sterile on your tongue. Like an unfamiliar coat.
She walked forward, smile barely there.
“Meret” she said quietly, like offering a secret.
Her voice was a thread, a quiet welcome. A welcome back. And when your shoulders dropped just slightly, she knew you understood. You still had permission to say her name like that, like it has always been yours to begin with.
The others were already halfway into beers and old stories. The past tossed around in laughter like nothing had changed. She smiled when it was expected. Nodded when someone clapped her on the back. She even took a drink from whatever was being passed around.
But her eyes kept finding you and yet you never looked back.
Like a compass pulling toward a storm it was tired of chasing.
You weren’t distant, just careful. Present, but not loud. You let the others fill the space with memories while you lingered at the edge of the firelight, where the shadows still knew your name. You always do that, letting others fill the silence with words cause you fill it with your presence.
She felt nineteen again.
Every time she glanced at you, she was that girl — elbow-deep in dreams, eyes full of what ifs, standing on the edge of everything, of a thousand unsaid things.
Neither of you moved. Without needing to agree, you both stood up and sneaked out of the room as you two walked to the lake.
That night the moon sat full and indifferent in the sky, watching as you sat close, shoulders brushing. The water was still and reflective.
“Sometimes I think we were something I didn’t know how to name.”
Her breath caught as she watched you.
You sat on the grass, hands around your knees.
And she knew, right then, she’d never look at someone the same way again.
The moonlight painted your skin like a memory that hadn't happened yet. You turn towards her with a smile.
Manon can’t help it. She leaned in, as her lips met yours, it felt like lighting a match in a room full of oxygen. It was brief, sharp, and it burned much more vigorously than it should’ve been. Like she knew it was final.
You kissed her back.
She remembered the taste — sun-warmed ChapStick and the ghost of a cheap gum from some dairy nearby. She remembered the press of your palm on her cheek, the way you didn’t pull her in — just let her come closer.
Like an invitation. Not a promise.
And it ended when she broke it.
You let her.
Because you always knew how to let her go before she did.
But she shook her head. “No. It’s not. I should’ve told you. I should’ve said I wanted you to ask me to stay.”
Your hand moved slightly closer to hers.
“I wouldn’t have” you admitted. “As I said, you’re meant for more than this town. And you are, you proved that.”
She looked down.
“I still looked for you,” she whispered. “In other people. In late-night train windows. In songs I wrote but can't be released.”
Then she said it, voice trembling, not with sadness, but with truth.
“I think I’ll spend the rest of my life falling a little bit in love with people who remind me of you.”
You reached for her hand and you held it.
Not tightly. Not like you wanted her to stay.
You stood as she followed.
You wrapped your arms around her — slow, deliberate, like the world had paused just long enough to let it happen.
Her head rested against your shoulder. Your breath was steady against her temple.
It didn’t last long but it lasted long enough for the both of you to understand.
When you pulled back, your smile was soft.
“Maybe we weren’t meant to be a love story or a love song” you said. “But I hope you never stop writing music like we were.”
That broke her but not enough to make her cry. Her heart cracked so quietly it didn’t echo yet it shattered just the same.
You leaned forward and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Goodbye, Meret.”
And this time, she didn’t say it back. Not because she didn’t want to but because she knew you’d already heard it, every time she had looked at you like that.
She watched you walk away — into the firelight, into the night, into the part of her that would always stay nineteen in some small, sacred place.
Wow I had fun writing this one. Sorry if the phasing feels fast or wonky, I definitely have to work more on that part. Again, I made the font small. Read all my drafts only to realised how much I like using the words "enough" and "like", so I'm sorry if that bothers you. I do hope you guys like this one :))
Reader waking up to giselle already riding her in silence... Soft and wet sounds, sleepy kisses, her pussy swallowing reader’s cock with no warning 😩
pairing. dom!giselle x sub!gp reader.
content warnings. somnophilia, riding.
even when you sleep, you can’t be at peace because giselle always needs to have her hands on you all the time. whether it’s romantic or sexual, giselle doesn’t accept “no” as an answer when it comes to having any kind of contact with you! not the affectionate, loving type, but the kind that seems to drool all day and needs to be all over you, in either sense! anyone would think she’s just a loving girlfriend who loves physical contact, but she’s more of a shameless pervert who needs to grope you all the time <3
and when you think you have a moment of peace to take a warm and quiet rest… well, no! not even sleeping can save you from giselle, but that’s something you always have to keep in mind, it’s just a shame that sometimes you forget and things like this end up happening! i mean, giselle using your body for her pleasure whenever she feels horny, but unfortunately you decided to sleep when she’s at her worst… she could use her own hands or toys to satisfy her needs, but how could she do that when you are sleeping so beautifully next to her?
you wake up super confused and a bit sleepy, but you quickly snap out of it when you notice she’s on top of you, bouncing on your cock 😵💫 you can’t try to say something about it or want to act because she’s faster than you, taking your face with both of her hands and silencing you with a kiss on the lips, giselle smiling victoriously against your mouth as you can’t help but whimper at how she’s fucking herself on your cock — it doesn’t matter if you have the cock, giselle is the one who dominates and will always be on top or giving the orders no matter the position or situation, which makes you always be her cute toy who will always be willing to be at her disposal no matter what.
giselle finds it adorable how you can have the cock but not the one who doms 🥺 always being a cute obedient baby to her, letting gigi do whatever she wants with your body and use you to satisfy her needs, never opposing or refusing because you are always willing to please you girlfriend! she loves the adorable look you give her when you seem to be fully awake, whimpering slightly as you writhe beneath her, feeling more than sensitive and dirty seeing how both your thighs and giselle’s are wet with her juices, revealing that she has been doing this for more than a while... she doesn’t even say anything about it because she’s in her own world, her eyes closed and head thrown back, giving you the only option of continuing to sleep or getting up and doing something about it.
//Hanni Pham x Reader//Very mini series//College AU//
Listening to: Pare Ko by Eraserheads
⋆.˚ Masakit mang isipin, kailangang tanggapin.
Kung kailan ka naging seryoso
— Saka ka niya gagaguhin ⋆.˚
⟡ WARNINGS: FEM READER, cliffhanger???, WEEED (reader sells it lol), Angst, too long to proofread ngl i got lazy and fell asleep, Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong™, psych!student!reader, manipulation, Wony’s kinda evil here (I love her pls don’t hate me) inspired by 10 things i hate abt u (watch it if u havent yet)
⟡ SYNOPSIS: Hanni Pham is busy. Like really busy. She has five deadlines, three group projects (which she’s carrying, obviously), and a scholarship to keep. She does not have time for distractions. Especially not the annoyingly attractive psych major who keeps showing up whereves she goes and calling her “pretty girl”.
So why does it bother her that you suddenly stopped?
⟡ GENRE: College AU · Fake Dating · Second Chance Romance
⟡ WC: 9.4K
Parts: [1]|[2]
a/n: I like psych majors idk, oh ymhofgddd i miss them sm im ognna cry huu
What does it take to make Saint Hanni Pham crack?
Hanni Pham.
How do you even describe her?
Academic weapon. Future summa cum laude. Probably has a five-year plan and a separate five-year plan in case the first one fails.
She’s got a full-ride scholarship. The professors practically drool over her. Admins adore her. The student orgs have practically declared her a patron saint.
So naturally, someone wanted to ruin her life.
Enter, Jang Wonyoung.
Tall, pretty, rich, and absolutely deranged about being second place.
She’s been gunning for Hanni’s spot since freshman year and losing every single time. In grades. In recognition. In awards.
Wonyoung even joined Model UN once because she heard Hanni was in it. Guess who walked away Best Delegate?
Not Wonyoung.
After the third time losing out on an academic grant to Miss Perfect Pham, Wonyoung did what any normal, rational girl would do.
She bribed someone else who could distract the girl.
But who in their right mind would have the guts to mess with Saint Hanni?
Simple.
You.
A broke psych major with a questionable work ethic and even more questionable income sources
A hundred bucks. To ruin her concentration, break her little routine, distract her just enough to knock her off the top. Just a tiny academic tragedy in exchange for a slightly less broke bank account on your end.
Did you feel a little bad?
Yeah. Maybe.
Did you take the money anyway?
Duh.
You figured: how hard could it be? Just annoy the golden girl until she starts slipping. That’s light work, right?
Right?
-
it wasn’t.
It was hell.
No, really. Absolute, exhausting, mind-numbing hell.
Getting through to Hanni Pham was like trying to chip away at a marble statue with a fucking spoon.
It wasn’t just that she was smart; because everyone knew that. The girl could recite case studies and philosophical theories like she was reading them off the back of her hand. It wasn’t just that she was diligent. Because, again, no surprise there.
No, What made it hell was how nice she was about shutting you down.
Her smile, her polite nod, every “Sorry, I really have to go,” or “Maybe some other time?”—it was like being rejected by sunshine itself. You couldn’t even hate her for it. She was so infuriatingly kind. So endlessly patient. So... untouchable.
You tried everything.
You tried compliments. She’d thank you, genuinely, and walk away before you could tack on a flirt.
You tried being bold. She’d laugh. (that pretty little laugh that did not help)
You tried casual conversation. She’d entertain you for maybe a minute and then someone would ask her to help with their notes, or she’d remember a deadline, and she was gone.
And with every failed attempt, you were getting tired. Bone-deep tired.
Honestly, you weren't even trying to flirt anymore. You were trying to break into a fortress made of fucking netherite.
And for what?
The money.
That stupid hundred bucks.
Every day, you told yourself: one more try. One more fail. Then I’m done.
And yet—here you were. Again.
Although... lately, you’d started to notice something. There was this faint tightness in her jaw. Her hands tapped her pen too fast. The smiles didn’t come as quick
You didn’t know what was up. Not yet.
But maybe that’s why she snapped today.
-
“Hey pretty girl.”
“Are you seriously following me again, L/N?”
You raised a brow, leaning against the edge of the table. “Got your panties in a twist already?”
She looked up, finally, just to glare. “Don’t for one minute think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.”
“Then what did I have an effect on?”
Hanni shut her laptop with a snap. “Other than my gag reflex? Absolutely nothing, L/N.”
She packed her things in quickly, swung her tote over her shoulder, and then walked off without a second glance.
-
“And then she just left!” you groan, collapsing onto Wonyoung’s bed and hugging an otter plushie.“I’m giving up.”
“Oh my god,” Wonyoung gasps, clutching her heart “You? Giving up on a girl? What did you do to the Y/N L/N I used to know?”
“You know what-” You squint at her. “Why don’t you do it.”
Wonyoung rolls her eyes “I would—except I’m not her type.”
You squint. “And how the hell do you know her type?”
“She said she likes mysterious people,” Wonyoung shrugs. “You’re mysterious enough.”
“I sell weed behind the chem building.”
“Exactly,” she says, then pulls a book out of her tote and chucks it at you.
You catch it. The cover’s light pink with a doodled heart on the front. Gross.
You wrinkle your nose. “Is this... romance? Wony, I’m not reading your Wattpad bullshit—”
“It’s Hanni’s diary, dumbass.”
You stare at her. “That’s... so illegal.”
“And so is your side hustle.”
You sigh, flipping it open. “Ten bucks or I’m shutting this whole thing down.”
She doesn’t blink. “You’re extorting me with stolen property?”
“Capitalism, Wony.”
“Fine. Fuck you.”
You grin. “That’s extra.”
-
"Y/N L/N, that’s the fifth time this week. Honestly, just say it if you wanna fail."
You wince and give a half-assed shrug. “Sorry, Miss—I missed the bus.”
A lie. But saying “I had to convince my landlord not to throw my stuff on the sidewalk this morning” didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
She clicks her tongue and gestures toward your seat. “Sit down.”
You exhale and shuffle to your seat. Your claimed seat. As in: you claimed it by threatening the actual seat owner a week ago.
You look over. “You got a pen?”
She doesn’t look up. Just hands one over like muscle memory. You recognize the little cat paw on the cap—it’s the third time you’ve borrowed this exact one.
You uncap it and start doodling on your notebook. You glance at her sideways. “Ever think about how generous you are to known degenerates?” you say, tapping the pen.
“Ever think about shutting up?” she replies, still not looking at you.
Okay. try again.
A beat passes. Then—
“How do you keep showing up thirty minutes late and still walk out with just a warning?”
You smirk. “Ouu… getting curious about me now, Pham?”
That earns you a look “don’t flatter yourself.”
“Relax” You lean back in your chair, arms crossed. “I dunno, maybe she just finds me charming.”
“More like concerning,” she mutters. “You’re late. You never bring anything. Your attendance is shit. But she doesn’t even write you up.”
“She’s human,” you shrug. “She has favorites.”
“And you’re one of them?” She snickers, but doesn’t argue. Instead, she turns back to her notes.
…
You tap the desk with the pen. “Tell you what. I’ll spill everything after class.”
Her head tilts slightly. Skeptical. “And why would I waste time on that?”
“…There’ll be bread?”
She hesitates. Not long, Like a little skip in her brain before she catches herself.
“I’m busy.”
Plan B(read) fail.
—
They say food is the way to the heart.
Hanni’s not sure who “they” are, but—okay, maybe it’s a little true. She’s never said no to free food. But free food from a stranger?
Yeah, no. Stranger danger. She’s seen documentaries.
And yet… it’s not like you’re a total stranger. You’re just always…there. The cafeteria. The library. The hallway outside her 10 a.m. gen lecture even though you’re definitely not enrolled. She's tried to ignore it.
It’s probably a coincidence. Campus isn’t that big.
Or maybe—
No. No, no. Hanni doesn’t do fate. Or signs. Or whatever hopeless romantics call this kind of thing.
Gross.
She sighs, lightly strumming the guitar resting on her knee.
What do you even want from her?
Her gaze wanders, unthinking. The window beside the rack of acoustic guitars, and beyond it is the street, hot in the summer heat. A couple walks by. Someone’s skateboarding across the path. Another student ducks under the awning to avoid the sun.
She isn’t really looking for you.
But then—there you are.
Across the courtyard, in the building across from the shop, framed perfectly by the bookstore’s wide glass. You’re leaned slightly against the counter, holding a paper bag. Laughing. She sees your profile tilt, your mouth moving with something mid-sentence, your hand pushing back a strand of hair.
It’s weird.
How quickly her stomach flips.
You’re annoying.
She blinks. And right then, like you felt it, you turn.
Your eyes meet hers and maybe she looks away too quickly.
And right then—
Plink.
She looks down. The high E string has snapped. It curls like a loose thread off the fretboard. For a second, she just stares.
She sighs. Carefully sets the guitar down, but moves a little too fast. Her finger catches the broken string. It stings.
“Ow…”
Tiny dot of red.
Awesome.
She brings the guitar to the front, holding it by the neck. Her voice comes out softer than she wants it to.
“Hey, Tom…”
The old man behind the register looks up from his stool, smiling behind his glasses. “Ah, Hanni, kid! What’s up?”
“I think I snapped a string,” she says. “Sorry—I wasn’t really… I wasn’t being rough, it just—”
He waves it off, already getting up. “It happens. I’ve broken more strings than I’ve played, I swear.”
“No, no—let me pay for it. I’ve got it.” She starts rummaging through her tote bag.
Receipts. Crumpled tissue. A pack of gum.
Wallet.
She flips it open.
Empty. Just an old exam schedule and a faded sticky note reminding her to buy printer ink.
Her throat tightens. She knew she forgot something. She was supposed to withdraw cash this morning, but then they had that last-minute group meeting, and then Minji sent the wrong file, and the chem lab printer wouldn’t scan—
“You don’t have to, kid,” Tom says kindly.
“No, I got it—”
Another voice. Closer.
“I got it.”
Hanni turns slowly and you’re there. Right there. Just behind her, like you’d been standing there the whole time as you slip a bill onto the counter.
The bell above the door must’ve rung earlier. That’s what she’d heard.
“Y/N!” Tom grins. “Been a while!”
Hanni stares, not saying anything. She’s too busy reading your face, trying to figure out if this was planned, or just another coincidence in the ever-growing list of them. The list she’s starting to hate.
Tom gestures between the two of you. “You two know each other?”
You smile, casual. “We’re schoolmates.”
“Unfortunately,” Hanni mutters, quieter than she means to.
Your brows lift. “Hmm?”
She clears her throat. “I said thank you.”
You smile wider. Too wide. “No problem.”
She grabs the receipt Tom hands her and already starts reaching for her bag again. “I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”
“How about now?”
She blinks. “I haven’t withdrawn—”
“No, I mean...” you tuck your wallet away. “Dinner.”
Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
You laugh, “I’ll pay. Think of it as you accepting your payment.”
She glances at Tom like he might save her.
He raises both hands and shrugs like, Hey, don’t look at me. But there’s a little smile playing at his lips that says he’s seen this kind of scene before.
Hanni’s fingers brush the edge of the counter. Her heartbeat is annoyingly loud in her ears.
Why is she so nervous?
She licks her lips. Clears her throat.
“Where?”
—
“Aren’t you full already…?” you asked, watching as a crumble of crust clung to the corner of her lip, then tumbled down onto her sweater sleeve.
“Answer the question.”
You sighed and leaned back in your seat, the plastic of the café chair creaking beneath you. The air smelled like burnt sugar and old books “Miss Park used to be my tutor.”
“That’s it?” she asked, words slightly muffled, the pastry was doing half the talking.
“That’s all,” you said with a shrug, like it didn’t matter. But she narrowed her eyes at you, chewing slower now. Not suspicious—just… curious. Still, she gave a small nod and let it drop.
She licked a crumb off her thumb. “And Tom?”
You clicked your tongue. “Nuh-uh. Only one relationship question per pastry.”
Her brow lifted. “Says who?”
“Says me. My turn.” You pointed a lazy finger at her. “Why are you always so… annoyingly studious?”
She stared at you. “I’m the one asking questions here.”
“Fine, dictator,” you muttered, reaching for your drink. It had gone cold. Tasted like watered-down chocolate and regret.
She grabbed a napkin and dabbed the corner of her mouth with mechanical precision, then flicked her gaze back at you. “Why do you sell... that stuff?”
You tilted your head. The hum of the ceiling fan filled the space between you.
“I need the money,” you said eventually, voice low.
The words just sat there. Not heavy. Just… true.
You picked at the edge of your cup. “Also… it helps people,” you added, quieter. “Helps them chill out. Get through the day. Makes things feel a little less… sharp.”
She didn’t reply right away. Just raised an eyebrow, skeptical but not judgmental. “By getting them addicted?”
“They don’t always get addicted,” you shot back, a little fast. A little defensive. Then, with a shrug: “It’s just… calming.”
She tilted her head at that. Thoughtful.
“Is it good?” you asked her eventually.
She nodded, finishing the last bite of her pastry. A beat passed. Then, wordlessly, she tore a piece from her third carp bread and held it out to you.
You smiled, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”
Her hand hovered for a beat longer than necessary, then she popped the piece into her own mouth. “Your loss,” she said, lips tugging into the faintest smile.
—
“Good morning, Miss Pham,” you say as you drop into the seat across from her—voice laced with that fake cheer you save for people you enjoy annoying. Or people you... whatever. Doesn't matter.
Hanni doesn’t even bother looking up. Just sighs. “It’s too early for you to be this loud.”
You smirked. No immediate roast today. Progress.
“It’s the perfect time,” you replied, sliding your bag under the table. “What are you even studying for? Exams aren’t until next week.”
She flips a page, still not looking at you. “Didn’t think you’d know that.”
“Wow,” you say, pressing a hand to your chest. “I dabble in calendar literacy, thank you very much.”
“This isn’t for the exams,” she added, eyes still scanning text. “Regional competition.”
“Obviously.”
She finally looks up, eyes sharp and amused in that way that makes your stomach shift a little too much. She expected that reaction out of you.
“What about you?” she asks. “Studying?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Do I look like someone who studies?”
She doesn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth twitches.
“I mean,” you say, stretching your arms behind your head, like the ceiling’s ever done anything interesting, “if I actually tried, I’d probably beat you.”
That gets her. She looks up properly now.
“I’d like to see you try.”
And you should’ve just laughed. Should’ve brushed it off like you always do.
“Challenge accepted,” you say, trying to recover. “You want competition that bad?”
“No.” Her voice softens, just barely. “Seriously.”
A pause.
“I think you could do it.”
Your smirk falters. Just a second.
“What,” you say, trying to lace your voice with a joke that doesn’t quite land, “you recruiting your next academic rival or something?”
“Maybe,” she says, and this time, she closes the book gently. Doesn’t shove it aside. Just lets her fingers rest on it as she’s still holding the thought. “Study with me.”
Your instinct is to say no. Because that’s the plan.
Keep distance.
But she’s looking at you like she means it.
Why?
You exhaled silently.
“…Fine,” you say. “One session.”
You don’t say that your stomach’s doing that fluttery thing again.
Or that for a second, you almost forgot you were supposed to be playing her.
You don’t remember when you last studied seriously.
Not studied like skimming a page with your eyes half open.
Not studied like rewriting a bullet point just to feel like you tried.
Was it for the entrance exam?
No. You barely even read the first page. You just sat there chewing on the pen cap until the taste of metal and ink sat bitter at the back of your tongue.
Was it in middle school?
Or sixteen—when you moved in with your aunt and uncle, into a house where the dinner table was always quiet but the silverware loud, and the bathroom always smelled like mildew, lavender, and cold ceramic that never warmed up under your feet?
Or maybe it was when they got divorced two years later—like some part of you had been waiting for the final crack in the drywall to split the whole thing open.
You don’t remember. And you think you’ve stopped wanting to.
But what you do remember is— you’ve always hated studying. Always. Hated the way it wanted silence from you, the way it asked for stillness you never really had. Hated sitting there under the ugly stale yellow light of your night lamp, scratching notes into your notebook. So you used headphones. Not for music at first—just to mute the noises. Mute the verbal war going on downstairs, the sound of forks clinking against plates followed by the usual “You always…” “You never…” “Can’t you just…”
Though, at some point, elementary or middle school maybe, you kind of liked it. The praise. The novelty of being good at something. Your mother used to beam when she saw your report cards. You remember the folder stuffed fat with awards, papers curling at the edges, certificates with your name spelled in big, proud letters. She used to call you her little genius. You don’t remember when she stopped.
But she did.
Eventually, the compliments turned into expectations, and the expectations turned into pressure, and the pressure became your whole identity. It was never enough. You were never enough. Not unless you were holding something at least; a medal, a ribbon, something that could be shown off at a dinner party while she laughed and said, “She gets it from me.” You swore once, when you were nine, that you’d be a doctor. That you’d make her proud. She cried when you said it and hugged you too hard. You felt her ribs in that hug. You felt her joy, and you thought, maybe this is what love is.
But it wasn’t.
It was what she wanted. And that’s different.
You started noticing that everything you wanted had to come second. Or third. Or never. That being “gifted” wasn’t a gift at all. It was a small glass room. You were the display, the fragile object in the center that everyone clapped for, but no one let out in fear that it might get damaged. Outside, kids your age played in the rain. You weren’t allowed to join. You watched them from the window with a pencil in your hand, your back aching from sitting so straight.
You remember, once, sneaking out when your parents were both working. You went to the playground and you thought, maybe someone will let me be a kid.
They didn’t.
You remember standing by the swing with the missing broken seat. You remember the stares. Not mean, just confused, they knew you didn’t belong. They sat together at the seesaws like atoms and you were the outsider molecule.
There was a girl, though. Pink party hat, carp bread in her hand. You remember her wide lopsided smile, her bangs stuck to her forehead from running too much. She handed you the bread in its crinkled plastic wrap and said, “My mom gives me food when I’m sad. It helps.”
You remember thinking: What does that even mean? You remember looking up at her and, for the first time, wondering what someone else was thinking.
“Where’s your mom?” the taller girl behind her asked.
She got smacked for it.
“Don’t ask her that!” Pink Hat said, turning to you with a sincere apology on her face.
And then the rain came like it had been holding its breath all day and finally exhaled.
They ran. Moms rushing toward them with umbrellas and jackets. Kids laughing, slipping, squealing.
You stood still.
The rain poured onto your hair like it was trying to wash something off of you.
You hid the bread under your shirt and sniffled but didn’t cry.
An orange cat sat beneath the tunnel slide, tilting its head at you like it wanted to understand. You walked toward it, shoes squelching in the wet sand. Sat inside the tunnel where the rain couldn’t touch you but the cold still did. You broke off a piece of the bread and handed it to the cat. It bit you, took the bread and ran with it.
You stayed. Arms wrapped around your knees, chin tucked down. You stayed until the sky dimmed and the swing outside creaked annoyingly.
When you got home, soaked, your mother didn’t ask why.
She just shouted — Why did you leave your books? She didn’t see your wet hair.
She didn’t see your hand bleeding.
She didn’t ask about the bite.
That was the day you started hating studying. Not just the act, but the whole idea of it. What it meant and what it had taken from you. You stopped pretending. Stopped thinking that studying was anything other than what it really was–Proof. Of being enough and being useful.
Though the orange cat kept coming back after that.
You’d see it outside your window, just sitting there like it was waiting for you to come outside to feed it. You fed it crackers, rice, leftover fish sometimes. It never bit you again. It started waiting at the gate when school ended. You’d pretend it was yours. You knew it wasn’t—the pink collar gave it away. Yet it still stayed.
Until the day you left.
You were putting your bags in the car, the driveway wet with last night’s rain, and you saw it. Sitting there. Not running up to you nor meowing. Just watching.
You opened the door but It still didn’t move.
And then it turned. And walked away.
You didn’t cry.
You should’ve.
Then came the rest. The move. The divorce. College. The feeling that everything breaks eventually.
—
But here you are, weeks later, in the library.
One session turned into three.
Then five.
At first, it was just for the money. You told yourself that. You sat across from Hanni Pham and made sarcastic commentary about the way her handwriting looked like a font. She mostly ignored you—except for the occasional sigh or dry remark that made your stomach twist in ways you didn't have the vocabulary to explain.
But then she started saving you a seat.
Not out loud, of course. She never said This is for you. But the chair opposite hers was always pulled out and the extra pen was always there.
It freaked you out, honestly.
Like—did she know?
Did she see through you?
Because you weren’t exactly subtle. Not really. You’d drop random references to Kant or Freud just to see if she’d look up. You’d poke at her note margins like you were teasing her, but really you just wanted to hear her laugh. Wanted to see that flicker in her eyes before she swallowed it back down again like she always did.
Some days you didn’t even talk. She’d have her notes out, and you’d have your half-assed attempts at pretending you knew what you were doing. She never called you out for it. Never asked what you were actually doing, she just let you sit there.
And you hated it.
Not her.
Just the fact that you started wanting to try.
Which was worse.
Because you were supposed to distract her.
But now you’re here, sitting across from her.
And you’re starting to really hate the version of yourself that said yes to all of this in the first place.
And then one quiet afternoon where the dust danced in the golden sunlight through the window that made everything feel softer.
You didn’t say anything at first. You just looked back.
“What?” you finally asked.
She blinked. Looked away. “Nothing.”
“Liar,” you said, leaning forward. “You were staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You so were.”
A minute passes
“I was just wondering,” she said, still not meeting your eyes, “how someone like you ended up here.”
“‘Someone like me?’” You laughed, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “What, a burnout?”
“No,” she said, and it was too soft to be anything but honest. “Someone who doesn’t believe they belong.”
And wow.
You hated that.
Hated how it was too accurate. Like she’d cracked your chest open and found the part of you even you pretend isn’t there.
“You think I don’t belong?”
“I think you do,” she said, finally looking at you. “But I don’t think you think that.”
It landed like a punch, even though her voice was gentle. She wasn’t trying to hurt you.
After a beat, you muttered, “I don’t actually smoke, you know.”
Her head tilted. “What?”
“I just sell it. For the cash.”
“Figured.”
No judgment?
She leaned back in her chair. “So what did you want to do?”
You didn’t answer immediately because the question felt heavier than it should’ve.
“I don’t know,” you said, then corrected, “...Actually, I wanted to be a forensic psych.”
That made her raise an eyebrow.
You shrugged. “I like knowing how people work. Why they do the things they do. Thought maybe if I understood the worst of them, the rest wouldn’t seem so impossible.”
She nodded, slowly. “That tracks.”
You didn’t say the rest. About the notes you kept in your old phone of the symptoms your mom never got diagnosed for. Or how your dad called you “overdramatic” every time you cried and still expected you to set the table. Or how deep down, you just wanted to stop people like them from becoming the reason someone else ends up in therapy.
“What about you?” you asked, voice softer.
“If med school doesn’t work out,” she said, fingers absently brushing her notes, “I’d want to be a vet. Or maybe a musician.”
That surprised you. “Musician?”
“Yeah,” she said with a small smile. “Guitar. Ukulele. Piano. I used to write songs in high school, but... I don’t know. Felt silly.”
“Doesn’t sound silly.”
The silence after that wasn’t awkward.
You started looking forward to the library.
And, against all better judgment, maybe to her.
—
The sun was relentless, but the game was somehow still going. Minji’s backyard wasn’t exactly pro court material, but the net was up, and no one had collapsed from heat stroke yet, so. Success?
Minji served again, cleanly and fast.
“How do you know if you like someone?” Hanni asked, like she was commenting on the weather.
Minji raised a brow mid-jump. “Why’re you asking that now?”
“Why not?” Hanni replied, feigning nonchalance.
“UNNIE, ARE YOU IN LOVE?!” Danielle gasped from across the net, hands flying to her face just as the ball bounced pathetically at her feet.
Hanni rolled her eyes and bent down to grab it. “No, Dani. I’m not.”
Danielle grinned. “Your face says otherwise.”
“Mhm, It’s kind of red,” Haerin added helpfully, lips curled into a smirk. She bumped the ball back to Minji, who caught it instead of spiking it.
“Could be the sun,” Hanni muttered.
“Could be something else,” Danielle sing-songed. “Or someone else—Ooooh, is this about—”
“It’s not about Y/N,” Hanni snapped, turning just in time to miss the ball Minji had tossed back lightly. It hit her square in the forehead with a soft thunk.
A beat of silence.
“…No one mentioned Y/N,” Haerin said, eyebrows raised, trying not to laugh.
Minji was already grinning. “That’s… kind of suspicious, no?”
From the bench in the shade, Hyein didn’t even glance up from her phone. “If you’re asking, you probably already like them,” she said flatly, thumbs tapping. “You just want someone else to say it first.”
The entire yard went quiet.
“Thank you, Hyein,” Hanni called, raising a hand like a distant high-five. “The youngest, ladies and gentlemen.”
Everyone else had gone home.
Hanni was still on Minji’s couch, arms crossed, hair still a little damp with sweat. The TV was on but muted, casting soft light across the living room.
“So…” she said, dragging the word out. “What was that earlier?”
Hanni blinked up at her. “What was what?”
The taller girl scoffed. “Don’t do that. Don’t play dumb.”
Hanni sighed and sank further into the cushions wishing to disappear. “I’m pretty sure I don’t like her.”
Minji raised both eyebrows. “Right. Is that why I saw you two at that café last week?”
Hanni groaned. “Okay, let me explain.”
“I’m listening.”
“I only said yes to that because Miss Park told me she’d bump my grade if I could convince Y/N to study, and because she did me a favor.” Hanni explained, hands moving animatedly. “That’s literally it.”
Minji paused. “Your grades are already good. Why would she—?”
“You’re missing the point.” Hanni leaned in. “Y/N’s late to class, like, every day. No detention. No warnings. Nothing. You don’t see it because you’re not in our class, but I swear, it’s weird. So I thought—hey, maybe if I get close, I’ll figure out what kind of deal she has with Miss Park.”
Minji blinked. “So what, you’re, like… spying?”
“It’s not spying,” Hanni muttered. “It’s… observing.”
Minji burst into a laugh. “Ohhh, and what about the part where you saved her a seat three days in a row? Was that just research too?”
“Shut up,” Hanni said, reaching out to shove her playfully.
Minji dodged just enough to avoid spilling her drink, grinning the whole time.
Then Hanni’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.
She glanced down and her breath caught—just a little.
You: are you free next week?
---
Everyone has a price.
You used to think yours was pride.
But pride didn’t pay rent. And rent had started speaking louder lately—well more like shouting, really, in the form of red notices taped to your door and your landlord’s punch-like knock echoing through the thin walls of your apartment.
Two weeks. That’s what he gave you. Fourteen days to shit out cash you didn’t have.
Gone would be the cracked ceiling you’d grown oddly fond of, the lukewarm showers you’d tolerated, the paper-thin walls that broadcast your neighbor’s stupid metallica addiction, the orange kitten that somehow gets in your home everytime you come home. And yet the thought of leaving didn’t feel like freedom at all.
You’d sat yourself in the back corner of the campus café, hunched low beneath your hoodie, nursing a tea you hadn’t paid for. Across from you, Wonyoung looked ethereal, her iced Americano sweating and ignored.
But she wasn’t here to hang out.
“So,” she said, eyes fixed on you like she was analyzing something under glass. “There’s this party.”
You didn’t look up. Just kept doodling in the margins of your notes. “Cool.”
“It’s next week.”
You nodded. Didn’t ask.
She leaned forward, arms resting on the table now. “You should bring Hanni.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the night before regionals.”
That made you pause.
“And?. You want her to be—what—hungover?” You gave a small laugh, more disbelief than humor.
Wonyoung didn’t answer. She just tilted her head, like she thought this part should be obvious by now.
Your eyebrows lifted.
“I'm not asking you to make her drink. Just…distracted. Off her game. Whatever works.”
“Wow,” you said flatly. “So casual. Want me to spike her drink while I’m at it?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
…
“...I’m not doing that,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “That’s not part of the deal anymore.”
“You said you’d help.”
“Not like this.”
“It’s one night.”
“She’s been preparing for weeks.”
“So have I,” Wonyoung snapped. For the first time, her voice cracked—just slightly. Then it flattened out again. “Look. You get her to come. Just keep her distracted. Doesn’t even have to be drinking. Just enough to make her tired or off her game.”
“No.”
“Y/N—”
“I said no.” The words tasted final in your mouth. “I’m done with this whole operation.”
Silence stretched between you.
Then Wonyoung leaned back in her chair, studied you like she was recalibrating. “You’re getting soft.”
You clenched your fists. “Or maybe I just remembered that she’s a person.”
She scoffed. “You weren’t saying that when you were ready to ruin her.”
She wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part. There had been a time—not long ago—when this entire scheme felt justifiable, But that was before study sessions turned into excuses to be with her. Before stolen glances started lingering. Before you caught yourself hoping she’d text first. Before it stopped feeling fake.
“I’m out,” you said, steady this time. “Do what you want, but I’m done.”
Wonyoung didn’t move. Just studied you for a long, quiet second, and you knew her long enough to know that she was running calculations in her head. Then her voice dropped.
“If you walk, I tell her.”
You froze. The shift wasn’t subtle. It didn’t need to be.
“I’ll tell Hanni everything,” she continued, “How this started. Who put you up to it. Why you talked to her in the first place.”
“She won’t even look at you after that,” Wonyoung added, almost bored. “You’ll still lose her. Just without the paycheck.”
A knot twisted in your stomach. One part anger, two parts fear.
“She won’t believe you,” you said, but your voice lacked weigh
Wonyoung didn’t argue. She didn’t need to. You both knew Hanni might.
“Fine” Then Wonyoung leaned in, voice soft now. Too soft.
“Three hundred.”
She let it hang. Knew it would. Knew what it meant to someone like you, someone with overdue bills and plastic bags used as garbage liners and a cracked screen too expensive to replace.
It rang in your head like a siren.
Three. hundred.
It sounded like safety. It sounded like two weeks of silence from your landlord. Like a month of not having to explain things to your aunt.
“I already said no.”
“I know,” she said. “But think about it, okay?”
You didn’t answer. You just picked up your phone and walked out.
Twenty minutes.
That’s how long you’d been sitting on the roof deck ledge, your legs half-asleep, the city humming low beneath you like it didn’t care whether you moved or not. The wind tugged lightly at your sleeves, and the air smells like exhaust.
You still hadn’t replied to any of the four notifications on your screen.
One from your landlord, something about next month’s rent.
Two from a friend asking if you wanted to go out that weekend.
One from your aunt reminding you to eat. Again.
And then, at the bottom is hanni’s contact.
Your finger hovered and tapped.
"Are you free in three days?"
You didn’t hit send.
Not yet.
Because how the hell did it end up like this?
You'd sworn you’d never be that kind of person. The kind that played with people. The kind that lied to someone’s face while secretly carrying a hidden motive. The kind that became the reason someone else stared at their ceiling at 3 am, wondering what they did wrong.
You always thought you'd be better than that.
And yet.
Here you were.
Sitting on a rooftop with a message you had no right to send and a heart that was far too involved for what this wasn’t supposed to be.
You hit send then locked your phone.
None of this was real anyway, right?
Even if, god forbid, some part of you wanted it to be.
-
You couldn’t sleep.
The sheets were too warm, tangled around your legs and god they might as well be trying to hold you hostage. You flipped your pillow over for the third time that hour, hoping the cold side would finally knock you into unconsciousness. It didn’t.
Your phone screen stayed dark on the nightstand. But you kept glancing at it anyway. Waiting for something.
This was stupid.
You weren’t even sure what you were waiting for anymore. An answer? Permission? A reason to back out?
You sighed. Pulled the blanket higher and closed your eyes.
Your phone lit up on the nightstand.
Your phone lit up.
Hanni.
Your breath caught.
3:04 a.m.
You scrambled for it, heart doing something weird in your chest. Thumb swiping before you could think too much.
“Up early, pretty?” you said, teasing—You started calling her that after she let it slip once. “pretty”. Said it under her breath when she thought you weren’t listening. You’d weaponized it ever since, just to see her squirm. She always rolled her eyes and told you to cut it out.
So, obviously, you kept saying it.
But this time—
“…Who is this?”
Not her.
The voice on the other end was wrong
“…Sorry—who?” you asked, suddenly very awake.
“This is Hanni’s father.”
Oh.
“…Right,” you said, voice cracking slightly. “Uh, sorry. Wrong—number?”
He didn’t answer.
You hung up. Fast.
The silence afterward was loud.
You dropped your phone face-down on the blanket and just sat there.
You hadn’t heard from Hanni since the call. She’s probably busy. But now you were waiting. Waiting for the moment you’d get hit with it—literally or verbally, you weren’t sure which.
It came the morning later, in the form of a textbook to the head.
"Ow—what the—?" You looked up from your laptop just in time to see Hanni drop her bag on the chair across from you, sliding into the library seat like she had every right to assault someone.
She raised a brow. “Good reflexes.”
You gawked at her. “You threw a book at my head!”
“Anatomy,” she said, like that explained anything. “Figured you needed to study up on nerve endings. Since you clearly don’t have any.”
You rolled your eyes.
“You.”
“Me?”
She leaned in, “Did you—or did you not—call me pretty over the phone?”
You paused. Slowly closed your laptop. “Okay, technically—yes. But—”
“At three in the morning.”
“It was meant to be a joke!”
“To my dad?” she whisper-yelled, eyebrows hitting maximum height.
You cringed. “I didn’t know it was your dad! I thought it was you, obviously. I wouldn’t flirt with a grown man at 3am —I have standards ew what the hell.”
“Do you also have a death wish?”
You tried to smile. She didn’t.
“Okay.”
She sighed like it physically hurt her. “He told my mom. Y/N.”
“They think you’re my girlfriend now.”
Your heart did a weird stutter. “And… you clarified, right?”
She tilted her head. “I tried. I said we’re just friends—you know what my mom said?”
You shook your head.
“She said, ‘It’s okay to be shy about it, Hanni. We think she sounds sweet.’”
Your lip twitched.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“I’m not!” you said, trying very hard not to smile. “I’m being respectful.”
“Respectfully shut up,” she muttered.
You pressed your mouth into a tight line. The corners still betrayed you.
“At least they’re not homophobic?” you offered carefully.
“Yes. that's amazing dude,” she said, deadpan. “Also not the freaking point.”
You cleared your throat, trying to recompose yourself. “Okay. So... what now?”
“They want to meet you.”
“Sorry—what?”
“Dinner,” she said, like it was a minor inconvenience. “Tomorrow”
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
You looked over at her, eyes squinting. “Why’d they even call me in the first place?”
“They got suspicious,” she said, pulling a notebook from her bag, “ About me coming home late after our study sessions, so they checked my phone.”
You frowned. “That’s lowkey invasive.”
“They’re my parents,” she said with a shrug. “I kinda don’t get a say.”
—
“Too slutty.”
You groaned as you returned to the room to pick another set of clothes, tossing the leather jacket onto your friend’s already chaotic bed. You pulled out a plain white button-up and stared at it in the mirror.
“Too boring,” you muttered. “I’m not trying to look like her professor.”
Your phone buzzed on the dresser. It was a text from Hanni
“How’s the outfit hunt going?”
“Terribly. Do your parents even like leather? Because that’s all I’ve got here.”
The reply came instantly
“Wear whatever man, Just… don’t look like a felon.”
You rolled your eyes. Easier said than done.
Ryujin peeked her head through the doorway, arms crossed and barely holding back laughter. “You know, for someone who sells weed for a living, you care way too much about impressing her parents.”
“It’s not her. It’s the deal. I eat at family dinner, and in return, she shows up at the party next week. Whatever, we both get what we want.”
Ryujin rolled her eyes but smirked. “This is different. you're too invested-.”
Ignoring her, you grabbed a sweater from your chair, pulling it over your head. “Better?”
Ryujin gave you a once-over and shrugged. “Passable. You look like someone who could… I don’t know, work a nine-to-five.”
“Ha! That’s what I’m going for,” you said, grabbing your sneakers. “’Stable and responsible.’”
As you’re putting on your shoes, Hanni sends a follow-up text:
“Are you sure you can pull this off? They’re going to ask questions.”
You replied:
“dw I’m great under pressure. Besides, your parents will love me😁👍”
Hanni:
“...That’s what I’m afraid of.💔”
“Anyways, head outside, I'm here, blue car.”
You sent a little thumbs up emoji as you hurried out sending a little thanks to Ryujin for letting you borrow her clothes
You squinted down the curb until you spotted the car and jogged toward it.
Sliding into the passenger seat, you turned to Hanniwith a smirk. "Well? How do i look”
Hanni barely spared you a glance as she pulled out of your driveway. "You look like someone who got lost on the way to their corporate job and ended up selling weed instead."
"Perfect. Thanks."
She let out a deep sigh, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Just… don’t overdo it, okay? My mom is wayy too excited to meet you, and my dad is already suspicious."
You raised an eyebrow. "Suspicious of what?"
Hanni shot you a deadpan look. "Of me going home late because of you. Of the fact that I suddenly have a ‘girlfriend’ and never mentioned it. Of literally everything. He’s a cop, by the way."
"A cop?"
"Ex-cop. Still terrifying."
You inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to throw yourself out of the moving car. "And you’re telling me this now??"
"Would it have helped?"
You opened your mouth, then shut it. Yeah, probably not.
—
The second you sat down, he leaned forward. “So. How did you two meet?”
Right…Straight into it, then.
You glanced at Hanni. She looked a little caught off guard too, but recovered quickly, her leg brushing against yours under the table.
“Oh,” you said, buying time, “We had a class together. Chem lab. One of those forced group activity things. We got paired up.”
It wasn’t a full lie.
Her dad nodded slowly. “And you’re taking…?”
“Psych,” you replied.
He didn’t nod nor smile “So, not medicine.”
You smiled anyway. “Nope. I’m more into the mind than the body.”
A pause.
“And what made you decide on that?”
You hesitated—not because you didn’t know, but because something about the way he looked at you made it feel like your answer might go on something like a permanent record.
“I guess I like… figuring people out,” you said eventually. “Why they do things. Even when it doesn’t make sense. It makes me slower to judge.”
Something shifted in his expression—almost approval. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Her mom smiled. “That's very thoughtful. Hanni did say you were insightful.”
Your eyes flicked to Hanni. She pretended to focus on pouring water.
Then came the next bullet.
“And how long have you two been… seeing each other?”
There was the briefest hitch in your breath.
Hanni turned to you slightly, mouthing: Say three months.
You nodded, whispered: Got it.
Then turned back to her parents with a bright, and very confident smile.
“A year.”
Hanni’s leg jerked under the table as she kicked you hard, and her dad’s head snapped to look at her—eyebrows raised in silent surprise.
You barely flinched. “Time flies when you’re in love.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet!” her mom gasped. “Hanni’s never brought anyone home before.”
“Seriously? I’m the first?”
That was… surprising. She was literally the most dateable person you’d ever met.
Hanni muttered, half into her napkin, “Unfortunately.”
Her dad didn’t let up. “And how exactly did you and Hanni… get together?”
You grinned. Oh, you had this one ready.
“She chased me.”
Hanni choked on her water. “I—excuse me?”
“Obsessed,” you added. “She kept texting me. Kept showing up wherever I was, super romantic stalker behavior, really.”
Hanni’s dad slowly turned his head to stare at her.
“She’s joking,” Hanni nervously laughed.
“Am I?” you said, winking.
Her dad raised an eyebrow. “Is she?”
You grinned.
Hanni looked like she was considering homicide.
Thankfully, her mom stepped in, placing a gentle hand on her husband's arm. “Oh, I just love young love.”
Then, with a sudden brightness, she perked up. “The roast! I think it’s done. Hanni, dear, would you get it from the oven?”
Hanni stood up like the chair was on fire, shooting you a final don’t fuck this up look before vanishing into the kitchen.
The moment she was gone, silence settled in.
“Y/N.”
Oh no.
You turned back to find her dad watching you—not coldly, but still very much in dad mode.
You straightened your back. “Yes, sir?”
He sighed, rubbed his thumb along the edge of his glass. “I hope I didn’t come off too harsh earlier.”
“She’s never brought anyone home before.” He continued,. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I just—”
“I get it,” you cut in gently. “You love her. You want her safe. You want the best.”
His eyes searched your face for a second, like he was testing if you meant it. Then, finally, a quiet nod.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“Thanks, Y/N,” he added, softer this time. “It’s… nice to see her with someone stable.”
You swallowed.
That part was almost funny.
“Mhm. Yeah.” You forced a small smile. “Though—if I may? Just an opinion.”
He gave a cautious look. “Go on.”
You glanced toward the kitchen, then back. “I think you should let Hanni… be a little more free. She knows what she’s doing. She’s smart. And careful. But she can’t breathe if the leash is too short.”
He didn’t respond right away.
“...You’re not what I expected.”
You tilted your head. “Is that a good thing?”
“We’ll see.” He smiled.
And from the kitchen came the sound of Hanni yelling “It’s fine, it’s just a little smoke!”
-
“See? I told you I got it,” you said, laughing as you leaned back on your hands.
Hanni groaned, dragging her palms down her face. “That was so embarrassing.”
“They loved me,” you teased, kicking at a loose pebble by your shoe.
She peeked at you through her fingers. “My dad looked like he wanted to run a background check.”
“He probably did.”
Hanni laughed. Briefly. Just a breath of it. Then her hands dropped back to her lap.
And maybe it was the way she went still for a second that made the next words come out the way they did.
“So… about the party?”
You meant it light—casual. But the air changed the second it left your mouth.
“Right,” she said, not looking at you. “The party.”
You didn’t press.
A breeze passed by, brushing her hair against her cheek. She exhaled.
“I… don’t think I can go.”
You paused. You kept the smile, but it felt wrong now—stiff at the corners.
“Oh,” you said. Tried to keep your voice from dipping. “Why not?”
“I know I said I would,” she added quickly. “And I meant it. I did. It’s just…”
Her eyes dropped to a chipped patch of wood near her feet. The porch creaked faintly as she shifted.
“Something came up?” you offered.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
You don’t believe her. Not fully. But you don’t push either. You just watch her thumb run over the same corner of fabric again and again, like maybe she thinks she can rub the moment away if she tries hard enough.
“I mean,” you said gently, “you don’t have to stay long. You can come late, leave early. I’ll walk you in. I’ll walk you out. Whatever makes it easier.”
She doesn’t look at you.
There’s this beat where it feels like something invisible’s pressing in around your chest.
“Why are you pushing this so much?”
You blinked.
“…What?”
She turned toward you a little, brows drawn but not angry. Just… searching.
“What’s in it for you?” she asked.
You blinked again, slower this time. The porch creaked faintly under your shifting weight.
“What do you mean?”
“This. All of this.” Her voice didn’t rise, but something in it curled tight. “Why do you want me at this party so bad?”
You straightened a little, suddenly aware of how your hands were resting in your lap, your thumb rubbing over the side of your palm like a nervous tic.
“Because I want you there,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. “Is that weird?”
She didn’t answer.
You kept going, “Do I need a reason to want to hang out with you? I thought that was kind of the point.”
Still, nothing.
You fumble for something else. Anything. “I just thought… I don’t know. It’d be nice. If you were there.”
And for a second, you think she softens.
But it’s not toward you. It’s not the kind of soft that says maybe she’s changing her mind. It’s like she already has.
She stands up. Slowly. Like she’s waiting to see if you’ll say something that changes the moment.
You don’t.
“I should go,” she says, quieter than before.
“Hanni—”
She turns, and the porch creaks. The door groans a little as you wait for the slam.
But it doesn’t come.
She closes it softly.
—
The clock blinked 12:00 in that soft, judgmental way only digital clocks can—like it wasn’t just keeping time but reminding her that she was still here, still stuck, still on the same page of the same notebook she’d been staring at since the sky was pink.
The page in front of her was a mess—ink smudges, arrows drawn and redrawn until they tore the paper, chemical formulas that no longer made sense under the dim light of her desk lamp, and at the very bottom of the page, almost invisible, a small dot where her pen had rested too long.
She let her head fall forward with a soft thud against the desk, cheek pressed to her open notes, breathing in that dry-paper scent, that weird combination of ink and highlighter and the faint, lingering smell of the strawberry lotion she applied earlier that day just to feel a little more like a person and a little less like a panic machine.
Was she being too much?
Too guarded, too reactive, too quick to assume the worst of someone who’d—God—looked at her like she mattered? Someone who'd laughed like she was easy to love and touched her guitar with careful hands and eyes full of awe, not like it was an instrument, but like it was an extension of her?
She didn't know. And she hated not knowing.
Uncertainty was an itch she couldn’t scratch. It crawled under her skin, filled the silence in her chest, made her legs bounce and her throat tighten and her hand reach, again and again, for the only thing that had ever calmed her down when her thoughts grew too loud.
The guitar was resting by the bed, just where she'd left it that morning, leaned against the wall like it had been waiting for her. It always waited.
She picked it up carefully, fingers brushing over the frets.
She tried to strum—just a chord, anything, but her hands didn’t want to move the way they usually did, and her brain wasn’t offering her the usual pour of melodies. It just gave her you.
You, watching her play with your chin in your palm and your eyes too bright for the dim room. You, nodding to her rhythm like it was something sacred. You, the soft exhale of breath after the last note, like you’d been holding it the whole time.
You, handing her a bunny bandage after she pricked her finger on a snapped string
And suddenly, even the strings didn’t sound right, God—even music had too much of you in it.
She sighed and placed the guitar back down, careful not to let it clatter. She’d scratched it once, two years ago, on the leg of her desk, and it still made her stomach flip every time she saw that shallow scar on the side—because she remembered crying after, like it was a person she’d hurt. Like it had feelings.
She sat on the bed for a while, not doing anything.
Her phone was beside her, lit up with unread messages. The one from earlier still sat there, unopened from an anonymous number.
“You really think she’s not playing you?”
She hadn’t responded. She didn’t know if she wanted to.
Should she show you? Should she say sorry for how quick she’d pulled away, for the look she’d given you when you asked about the party, like you were offering a trap and not a night to be near her?
She didn’t know. And she hated that, too.
The competition was in a week. She needed to study. Needed to focus. No distractions, no parties, no goddamn feelings.
And yet here she was, letting her whole night warp around someone’s stupid laugh and someone’s stupid stammer and someone’s stupid eyes that didn’t know how to lie.
Ironic, really. You’re a psych major.
You should’ve been better at lying.
She turned her head toward the shelf by the corner of the room, eyes falling on a pink party hat, that had crinkled at the edges and had tiny stars glued to it by a child’s hand.
It had dust on the tip.
She hadn’t touched it in years.
Minji’s birthday. That’s where it was from. She remembered the park, the cake, Minji’s mom tying the hat ribbon too tight under her chin, making her sound like a squeaky toy when she laughed.
And she remembered a kid.
A kid, just like her, who wandered a little too far from the picnic table and got bitten by a cat that didn’t want to be touched. She didn’t cry, though. Just sat there, hand pressed to her other bitten hand.
She had a Hello Kitty bag that day, full of nothing useful—stickers, crayons, a couple of mints she wasn’t supposed to eat—but she did have a Band-Aid. She remembers holding it in her hand, about to walk toward the kid.
And then the rain came down like the sky had decided to interfere, and Minji’s mom pulled her back toward the car, and the Band-Aid never made it past her fist.
She remembered watching through the foggy car window as the girl sat under the slide, ankle swelling, rain soaking the top of her head like she didn’t even notice.
And she remembered how, even then, she thought—I want to be like her.
The kid with the brave face and the quiet mouth and the line of medals that came later. Hanni clapped from her seat while you stood on the stage.
And then one day, she was gone. Disappeared between semesters like the girl were never there to begin with.
She remembered checking the park that summer. Looking for something familiar. But all she found was an orange cat curled up in the tunnel. Waiting, like it had been left behind, too.
Waiting for what?
She still didn’t know.
Like how she didn’t know whether to risk it.
Fine.
She’ll go to the stupid party.
---------------
a/n: if you made it to the end—WOWWIEE. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING I LOVE YOU. LET’S KISS.
alsooo if you’ve seen any of my unfinished series or smau lurking around… pls be fr… what do you wanna see continued 😭🙏 drop it in the replies or inbox pls i am weak for feedback ily fr tee hee
Ooohhh... The heartbreak that will follow 💔 I hate that 10TIHAY is a classic. Then I read something like THIS. With Hanni as the protagonist 😵💫 Julia Stiles x Heath Ledger bro 🙂 so... Part 2 when? 🤔 jaitunapie strikes again 😊
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 batman!reader x catwoman!sophia ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 headcanons!
.ᐟ cw: enemies to lovers, injuries, violence, kissing
mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: the elusive thief who keeps slipping through your fingers, the infuriatingly charming woman who wanders into your galas uninvited, stealing the spotlight (and occasionally your jewelry) just to see that flicker of frustration in your eyes.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who loves pushing your buttons because she adores the way you try so hard to stay composed—until one night, when she teases just a little too much, and you finally snap. and oh, she lives for it.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who loves dogs more.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who keeps stealing your enemies in the dead of night, the charming thief who loves making your job harder because she is helplessly, attracted to you and absolutely adores the way you get so righteously annoyed every time she does it.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who is your greatest thorn in Gotham, the infuriatingly skilled thief who loves stealing your weapons mid-battle because she is obsessed with getting a rise out of you—and absolutely adores the way you get so adorably frustrated searching for your missing gadgets.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who always notice when it comes to someone flirting with you, when some overconfident rookie cop or a flirtatious socialite tries to get too close. when a charming informant leans in a little too much, she’s suddenly at your side, draping herself over you with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. she would never admit she’s jealous, but the next time you see that poor fool, they look like they’ve had an unfortunate “accident” involving a conveniently misplaced tripwire—or a mysteriously emptied bank account.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: that always near your crime scene so that she could help you defeat your enemies whenever you get outnumbered.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who knows when you get hurt. the first to notice when you don’t move as sharply, when your breathing is just a little too uneven. when you stumble into your loft, barely able to peel off your cowl, she’s already there—silent as a shadow, waiting. she would never admit she broke in just to check on you, but the sting of antiseptic and the careful way she stitches your wound say otherwise. she never stays until morning, but you always wake up to fresh bandages, a neatly cleaned workspace, and the lingering scent of her perfume on your sheets.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who sometimes gossip with alfred whenever you're out of the house.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who gets pissed off—and unfortunately, sometimes takes it out on you. she always throw the first punch when her frustration bubbles over, when a deal goes wrong, when the world pushes her too far. she finds you on a rooftop, masked eyes flashing, and suddenly, you’re dodging her strikes instead of trading banter. she would never admit she just needed to let off steam, but the way her hits are controlled—never meant to really hurt—tells you everything.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: stage being badly hurt so you could take care of her.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who, despite her fury, she couldn’t stop tracking the one who nearly killed you. She’d never admit it, but seeing you so badly hurt made her blood run cold. Already halfway to Gotham’s underworld, claws out, she was ready to tear apart whoever put you in harm’s way. She didn’t need permission, didn’t wait to be told to calm down—but when she returned, anger smoldering but subdued, she watched you tend to your wounds. Only when you met her gaze did the last of her rage fade. She’d never admit it, but you were alive, and that was all that mattered.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: gave you a kitten to make sure you remember her everytime you see it.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who you caught singing on the rooftop of your building, her voice a rare melody that drifted through the night like a whispered secret. Sophia never sang—not in front of anyone, not even you—but tonight, the soft lull of her voice wrapped around you, lifting you as if angels themselves had taken hold. You weren’t supposed to be here, weren’t supposed to hear this, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, afraid that even the slightest shift would shatter the moment.
˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who, despite all your efforts to calm her down after a fight, still stormed around the room, her anger seething. words couldn’t reach her, and you were losing your patience. so, you did the one thing you knew would get her attention—without thinking, you grabbed sophia’s face, forcing her to look at you. before she could snap at you, you kissed her. it wasn’t gentle—it was forceful, raw, a way to take control of the moment. when you pulled away, she stood frozen, the anger melting from her eyes as she finally heard you, your lips still burning against hers. you didn’t need to speak to make her understand. your kiss said everything.
a/n: some random headcanon for catwoman sophia lolz. just read a spiderman!lara
Sorry the request got deleted but here it is as you requested,i hope that's what you are asking for..besides i think my tumblr got glitched or maybe because i am new here😔😔
"REKINDLE"
Tags:
g!p reader, exes to lovers, emotional reunion, soft smut, NSFW, gentle intimacy, soft dom reader, second chances, mutual pining,bathroom sex
The gala was everything you remembered high society to be — grand, indulgent, cold. The chandeliers glittered like stars overhead, crystal glasses clinked in the distance, and an orchestra played something so smooth it barely touched your senses.
You stood near the bar, half-bored, half-nervous, adjusting the cuffs of your deep blue suit. It fit you like a second skin — tailored to your leaner, taller frame. Time had changed you; you'd grown into yourself over the past year. The brown hair that used to be neatly cropped was now longer, falling in messy layers with sharp, feathered bangs skimming your brows. A few pieces curled loosely over your forehead, giving you an easy, effortless cool. Your body was more toned too — the subtle ridges of abs visible when you shifted inside your open blazer, the slouch of your posture casual, confident.
But none of that mattered when you saw her.
Jennie.
The room faded into a blur when she walked in. She was a vision of deadly grace — her figure hugged by a black satin dress, the kind that dipped low on her back and clung high on her thighs, a thigh slit showing just enough to drive anyone crazy. Diamond earrings caught the light every time she moved her head slightly, her dark brown hair falling sleek and straight down her bare shoulders. Her makeup was soft, glowy — warm tones on her lids, a subtle shimmer on her cheeks, her full lips tinted rose.
She looked... ethereal. Untouchable.
And yet your chest ached — because once, she was yours.
Your fingers twitched by your side as you caught her laughing, surrounded by the city's elite. She hadn’t noticed you yet.
Not until fate, cruel and mischievous, decided to play a hand.
You turned to pick up your drink — a simple whiskey neat — just as Jennie, talking animatedly with a friend, backed into you, a glass of champagne tipping dangerously from her hand.
In slow motion, the cold, sticky liquid splashed against your chest, soaking the white dress shirt underneath your suit jacket.
"Shit," you cursed under your breath, the chill biting into your skin.
"Oh my god—!" Jennie gasped, spinning around. Her wide eyes locked with yours — hazel pools swirling with instant recognition and a thousand unspoken things. Her lips parted, stunned. "Y/N...?"
You swallowed, heart in your throat. "Hey, Jen."
The nickname slipped out before you could stop it. You both froze for a moment — the weight of a year crashing down like a wave between you.
"I—I’m so sorry!" she blurted, cheeks flushing. Her small hands hovered uselessly at your chest, unsure whether to help or back away. "Let me—let me fix it, please."
You should’ve brushed it off. You should’ve made an excuse and walked away. But somehow, when Jennie grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the nearest bathroom, you let her.
---
Inside the luxurious restroom — all marble and gold — it was just the two of you. She locked the door behind her without a second thought.
"Take your jacket off," she said, voice soft but firm.
You obeyed wordlessly, shrugging the blazer off your broad shoulders. She bit her lip as she saw the soaked shirt clinging to your torso, the outline of your abs visible through the sheer fabric.
"Shirt too," she murmured, a little breathlessly.
You hesitated, watching her. The way her eyes darkened, flickered down your body and back up to your face. There was a tremble in her fingers when she reached out and started unbuttoning you herself.
"You've changed," she whispered, voice barely above a breath.
"So have you," you rasped back.
Her fingers brushed your skin as she peeled the wet shirt from you. You were burning inside, despite the cool air prickling against your exposed chest. Jennie’s hands ghosted along your ribcage, delicate and unsure. Like she couldn't believe you were real.
Once your shirt was gone, she grabbed a handful of paper towels, wetting them under the sink before returning to gently dab at your skin.
"I'm sorry," she said again, voice cracking slightly. "I didn't see you."
"It's fine." You cleared your throat. "Just a shirt."
But it wasn’t just a shirt. It was everything — the crash of your pasts, the reopening of wounds neither of you had healed.
Her hand froze against your stomach. Her lashes fluttered.
"You look good," she admitted, cheeks pinking deeper. Her gaze trailed the sharp lines of your abs, the V of your hips disappearing into your black slacks.
You reached out without thinking, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You look beautiful, Jennie."
Her breath hitched audibly.
There was a beat — a long, charged silence — before she leaned into your touch, her forehead pressing lightly against your chest.
"I missed you," she confessed, voice breaking, muffled against your skin.
You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of it — the year of longing, of regrets, of sleepless nights.
"I missed you too," you whispered.
When you tilted her chin up, your mouth found hers in a kiss that was desperate and trembling and sweet — nothing like the fiery, reckless ones you used to share.
Jennie kissed you like she needed to remember you — her lips soft and seeking, her small body fitting so perfectly against yours.
You backed her against the marble counter, lifting her easily onto it, standing between her thighs. She whimpered into your mouth when your hands gripped her waist, fingers pressing into the silky fabric of her dress.
Your forehead rested against hers as you panted, your heart slamming painfully against your ribs.
"Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice low and hoarse.
Jennie nodded, her eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. "Please," she breathed out, wrapping her arms tighter around your neck. "I need you."
You kissed her again — slower, lingering — tasting the faint hint of champagne still on her lips. Your hands were tender but sure as they slid down her sides, bunching up the silky material of her black dress.
You pulled it up higher, exposing more of her smooth thighs, the damp lace of her panties catching your eye. You couldn't stop the soft groan that escaped you at the sight of her — legs parted slightly, flushed cheeks, lips kiss-swollen.
Jennie whimpered when your fingers brushed up the inside of her thigh, featherlight, teasing. She tilted her hips forward instinctively, seeking your touch.
"You're so soft," you murmured against the corner of her mouth, your fingers slipping under the thin lace, feeling the wet heat between her folds.
She gasped sharply, her forehead falling to your shoulder, her body trembling under your hand.
Your fingers moved slowly, gathering her slickness and stroking through her folds with reverence, teasing her swollen clit in slow, deliberate circles. Her thighs quivered around your hips.
You smiled faintly against her hairline. "Learned a thing or two about love."
You pressed a slow kiss to the side of her neck, making her whimper and arch into you.
Her hands fumbled between your bodies, desperate, unbuckling your belt with shaky fingers. You helped her — your need almost painful — shoving your slacks and briefs down just enough to free yourself, your cock heavy, hard, leaking against your abs.
Jennie's breath hitched audibly when she felt you — the weight and heat of you, the slight tremble in your arms trying to hold back.
You lined yourself up against her entrance, your tip nudging at her soaked folds, dragging slowly through her slickness. Jennie let out a broken moan, her nails digging into your shoulders.
"Y/N—" she whimpered, "please..."
You kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips, whispering against her mouth, "I'm here. I’ve got you."
Slowly, carefully, you pushed into her, the tight heat of her walls stretching around you inch by inch. Jennie cried out softly, squeezing her eyes shut, her thighs trembling around you.
"Shh," you soothed, pressing your forehead to hers. "You're doing so good, baby."
Once you were buried to the hilt, you stayed still, letting her adjust, feeling her throb around you, her breathing ragged against your neck.
"God, you feel so good," you rasped out, voice wrecked.
"So do you," she whispered back, her voice barely holding together.
You moved slowly — deep, slow thrusts that made her gasp and cling to you, her body arching off the cool marble. Every glide in was deliberate, grinding against her just right, every pull out making her whine softly in protest.
Jennie’s sounds — soft, desperate whimpers — filled the small, echoing space, each one making you want to fall apart. Her hands gripped your messy brown hair, pulling you down to kiss her again and again, messy and wet, mouths dragging against each other.
You reached between you, your hand finding her clit, rubbing in tight, slow circles. Jennie cried out your name, muffled against your lips, her thighs squeezing around you.
"You're perfect," you whispered between kisses. "So fucking perfect."
Her body trembled harder, the wet squelch of your slow thrusts echoing obscenely off the bathroom walls. Her arousal coated you, making it easier to glide in and out, the friction dizzying.You felt her start to tighten around you, her moans growing higher, more frantic.
"Y/N—" she gasped, "I'm close—please—"
You didn’t speed up. You just kissed her deeper, letting your hand work her clit gently, coaxing her higher and higher with every deep grind of your hips.
"I love you," you whispered against her lips, raw and broken.
Jennie’s entire body seized, her orgasm crashing into her with a sob. She shook in your arms, clinging to you, her walls spasming around you so tight it nearly sent you over immediately.
"I love you too," she choked out, voice wrecked, as she rode her high.
You couldn’t hold back anymore — your hips stuttered, your release spilling deep inside her with a guttural groan. You held her tight, chest pressed flush against hers, forehead resting against hers as you both trembled through the aftershocks.
Neither of you moved for a long moment. You just stayed tangled up, breathing heavily, Jennie's hands stroking your hair softly.
There were tears in her eyes when you finally pulled back to look at her — not from sadness, but from something deeper. Relief. Love.
You kissed her again — slow, tender — before resting your forehead against hers once more, still inside her, still connected.
"I missed you," she whispered shakily.
"I missed you more," you whispered back, voice cracking.
