S.LAFORTEZA ⋆: curiousity killsthecat fucks the pussy
੭ 𝓼ypnosis throughout the relationship—sophia has always been gentle, patient, picture perfect ‘vanilla’ girlfriend for you. or that’s what you thought. behind the camera, she’s someone else entirely. MASTERLIST
you had only been gone for twenty minutes. you'd been halfway to meet your friends when the realization hit you like a physical blow your wallet. you couldn't leave without it, so you'd turned around and jogged back to the apartment you shared with sophia, feeling a little guilty for the interruption.
the apartment was quiet when you first walked in, but as you approached the bedroom door, you froze.
you heard it before you saw it. soft, wet sounds. rhythmic. and then her voice that sweet, melodic voice that always sounded like honey when she told you she loved you. but now, it was strained. broken.
"ngh... ah... fuck... please..."
your heart hammered against your ribs. you knew that voice. it was sophia. but she never sounded like that. she was the girl who made you pancakes on sunday mornings, who read poetry to you before bed, who held your hand with such gentle reverence. she was softness incarnate.
you leaned closer, your breath catching in your throat as you pressed your eye to the crack in the door.
your brain couldn't process what you were seeing. the bedroom lights were dimmed, replaced by the harsh, clinical glow of a ring light. sophisticated camera equipment was positioned on tripods, angled perfectly toward the bed. and there was sophia.
she wasn't wearing the oversized sweaters or the floral dresses she usually wore around you. she was bare, her skin flushed pink under the lights, her dark hair fanned out across the pillows. she was propped up on her elbows, her legs spread wide apart. her eyes were half lidded, glazed with a kind of hunger you had never seen directed at anyone before.
and she was fucking herself.
she was holding a thick, silicone dildo, slowly sliding it in and out of her soaking wet pussy. the wet, squelching sounds filled the quiet room as she pushed the toy deep inside herself, her hips rolling involuntarily. every time the toy bottomed out, she let out a whimper that made your toes curl despite the shock paralyzing your body. her free hand was buried between her thighs, fingers working frantically at her clit while she stared directly into the camera lens with a look of raw, unadulterated need.
you backed away from the door like you'd been burned, your chest heaving. your mind was spinning. the sweet, romantic girl you loved was... she was a performer. she was showing herself off to strangers. she was doing that for an audience.
you couldn't stay there. you couldn't confront her while she was mid act, exposed like that. your instinct was to flee, to run out of the apartment and pretend you never saw anything. but you couldn't leave without your wallet.
trembling, you retreated to the living room. you sat on the couch, your hands shaking so badly you had to tuck them under your thighs. you waited. you counted the minutes, the silence of the apartment feeling heavier than usual.
exactly five minutes later, you heard footsteps.
when the bedroom door opened, sophia walked out. she looked perfect. she had somehow managed to compose herself in minutes; her hair was brushed back, her skin looked clean, and she wore a simple silk robe that made her look like the angel you thought she was. there was no trace of the filthy girl you'd just seen through the door crack.
she smiled at you as she approached, that gentle, warm smile that always made you feel safe. "hey, baby. you forgot something?"
she held out your wallet. her touch was light when her fingers brushed yours, the same careful, tender touch she always used.
you took the wallet, your fingers ice cold. you looked up at her, searching her eyes for any sign of deception, but she just looked concerned. "are you okay? you look really pale. did something happen?"
you swallowed hard, your throat feeling like it was full of sand. you we’re shaking after seeing her like that. after seeing how her body moved when she thought she was alone.
you lied. you told her you just had a headache. you let the day pass, but nothing was the same.
the weeks that followed were a slow descent into a private hell. you became a ghost in your own home, watching her from the shadows. you started noticing things you had been blind to before. the way she would disappear into the bedroom for hours at a time, claiming she needed 'quiet time' to read or work. the way strange, unmarked packages would arrive at the door small boxes that she would slip into her bag with practiced stealth.
and then there were the sounds. every night, as you lay in bed beside her, you would hear it. muffled moans through the wall, the distant hum of a vibrator, the wet slap of skin against skin. she would lie next to you afterward, smelling of lavender soap and tenderness, kissing your forehead with lips that had just been wrapped around toys. the irony was suffocating. she was so good at being the perfect girlfriend that you almost convinced yourself you were imagining it. almost.
until the night you finally broke.
it happened after a particularly long session where you'd heard her climaxing on the other side of the door screaming names that weren't yours. you couldn't take the silence anymore. you couldn't take the duality.
you were sitting on the edge of the bed when she walked in, looking soft and composed in her silk nightgown. she went to lean down to kiss you, but you flinched away.
"what's wrong?" she asked, her brow furrowing with genuine concern. "did something happen today?"
"i know, sophia," you said, your voice trembling. you finally looked her in the eye, searching for any trace of the performer. "i know about the cameras. i know about the toys. i know about the videos."
the air left the room. the gentle smile didn't shatter; it simply evaporated. her expression went blank, her features smoothing out into something unreadable, something colder. the sweetness drained from her face like water down a drain.
"you've been watching me," she said. it wasn't a question. her voice had lost its honeyed lilt. it was flat. precise.
"i saw you weeks ago," you confessed, tears finally spilling over. "and i've been watching you ever since. why? why would you lie to me like this? you act like this so soft, so sweet and then you go and do... that for strangers."
you grabbed at her wrist, your voice rising in desperation. "what do you even do in those videos? how far does it go? what exactly are you doing to yourself when i'm not around?"
sophia didn't flinch. she didn't apologize. instead, she let out a slow, dark laugh that sent shivers down your spine. she stepped closer, looming over you, the gentle girlfriend gone, replaced by something possessive and predatory.
"you want to know what i do in those videos?" she whispered, her hand moving to the drawer of her nightstand. she pulled out something long, dark, and intimidating a double ended dildo, slick with lube. "you want to see exactly how messy i get when i'm performing?"
she grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at her. her eyes were dark with something that wasn't love it was hunger, mixed with a cruel need to punish your curiosity.
"since you're so interested in my little performances, baby... i think it's only fair you get a front row seat. you're going to learn exactly what i do."
the click of the nightstand drawer closing sounded like a gunshot in the silent room. you wanted to pull away, to scramble off the bed and run, but her grip on your chin was iron. she wasn't being gentle anymore. there was no softness in her touch, no tenderness in her gaze. her eyes were fixed on yours with a terrifying intensity, pupils blown wide.
"you've been spying on me, haven't you?" she mused, her thumb dragging roughly across your bottom lip. "peeking through doors. listening through walls. wondering what your sweet little sophia does when she's all alone."
"i-i just wanted to understand.." you choked out, but she cut you off with a harsh laugh.
"understand? you want to understand?" she grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back with one hand, forcing your chest to arch forward. she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear, but her breath was hot and demanding. "then stop asking questions like a child and start taking what you wanted to see."
she shoved you back onto the pillows. you felt helpless, overwhelmed by the sudden transformation of the woman you thought you knew. she moved between your thighs with practiced ease, the double ended dildo gleaming wickedly under the dim bedroom lights. she grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand, the sound of the liquid sloshing against the plastic making your stomach twist with a mix of fear and arousal.
"you asked what i do in those videos," she whispered, straddling you. she began to coat the toy, the wet sounds filling the space between you. "you asked how far i go."
she didn't wait for an answer. she grabbed your legs, forcing them apart until you felt like you might break. then, she pressed the first end of the dildo against your entrance.
"look at me," she commanded.
you tried to close your eyes, to block out the sight of her the girl who read you poetry now looking at you like prey but she slapped your thigh hard. "i said look at me. if you're going to watch my show, you're going to watch every fucking second of it."
you opened your eyes, tears blurring your vision, as she pushed. she didn't ease in. she drove the toy into you with one smooth, relentless motion. you let out a strangled cry as you felt yourself stretching, the thick silicone filling you completely, stretching your walls to their absolute limit.
"baby..ah—fuck," she moaned, but it wasn't the desperate sound from before it was triumphant.
she began to move, but not just with you. she held the other end of the dildo against her own clit, grinding it rhythmically. she was using you as part of her performance. you could feel the vibrations through the toy as she worked herself at the same time she fucked you. it was disorienting, a sensory overload that made your head spin.
"see how good it feels?" she taunted, her hips slamming against yours. "see how much i love being filled up? this is what i do. this is what i crave."
every thrust was deeper than the last. she was relentless, her movements precise and punishing. she wasn't trying to make you feel good she was trying to make you feel *everything*. she wanted you to feel the weight of her secret, the reality of her hunger.
you were sobbing now, your body betraying you as pleasure and pain blurred together. the friction was intense, the double ended toy working both of you simultaneously. you could see the way her muscles tensed, the way her throat moved when she swallowed hard. she looked magnificent and monstrous all at once.
"say it," she hissed, leaning down until her sweat slicked skin pressed against yours. she thrust hard, bottoming out inside you so forcefully you felt it in your bones. "say you understand now. say you know exactly who i am."
"i know," you gasped out between sobs, your hips involuntarily bucking against hers. "i know, sophia... please... i know."
"good girl," she whispered, and for a split second, that old tenderness flickered in her eyes but it was twisted, corrupted by the need to dominate.
she picked up the pace, her movements becoming frantic, unhinged. she was close, you could tell by the way her breathing shattered into ragged gasps. she grabbed your hair, tilting your head back so she could watch your face as she reached her breaking point.
"watch me cum," she commanded.
with one final, devastating thrust that felt like it would split you open, she climaxed. you felt her body convulse against yours, her grip on your hair tightening as she screamed your name into the empty room. at the same time, the stimulation of her climax sent you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing through you in waves of helpless, shaking ecstasy.
as you both collapsed, panting and wrecked, the silence returned to the room. but it wasn't the comfortable silence of before. it was the silence of something broken, something irrevocably changed.
sophia rolled off you, lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. she looked like the angel again pale, beautiful, composed. but as you looked at her, you knew the truth. the sweet girl was gone. she had shown you what lived beneath the surface, and there was no going back.
synopsis: it does not matter where they are, sophia has to remind her girlfriend who she belongs to
warnings: 18+ smut, making out, exhibitionism, oral sex (both receiving), blowjobs, fingering, unprotected sex, coming inside, needy and possessive soph, reader uses she/her/hers
word count: 5.8k
[12:57 pm]
It should be illegal to look this hot while organizing the bookshelves.
[Y/N] has heard that countless times ever since she applied for this side job.
She doesn’t understand how doing simple tasks makes her attractive. During library duty, she is in charge of placing books back in their respective spots in the shelves.
That’s it.
She only signed up for this job to fill in the wait time between her classes instead of sitting around and wasting her time. It’s a good way to earn some money on the side, as well. At least she gets paid for being a tall gal and organizing books for a couple of hours. The compliments are just unwanted tips.
[Y/N] pretty much got used to the constant ogling and flirting. A lot of people would just ask (flirt) with her for assistance. What bothers her the most is that they don’t care if she’s busy or not; they’ll still shoot their shot. Other times, it keeps her entertained because people tend to use different tactics and pick-up lines to win her heart.
It’s even more entertaining when her girlfriend is supervising her.
[Y/N] would jokingly flirt back just to raise their hopes and then crush them later. Again, she only does it when she knows her girlfriend is watching. She knows it’s an asshole move, but that’s how she is.
At a table nearby, her girlfriend sits alone with a book in her hands. Sophia is (obviously not) reading the novel for her English class while keeping tabs on the taller girl in case she gets sidetracked by other people.
Thanks to [Y/N]’s attractive looks, Sophia finds her gaze drifting away from the book and staring at her tall backside. Her perfectly fit white dress shirt is tucked inside her pants, and whenever [Y/N] reaches for anything above her head, it stretches and shows off the contours of her back muscles. Her slender hand easily slides the books into the slots where they belong. Those long, ringed fingers remind Sophia of last night and this morning when they were in between her thighs.
Reminiscing about the memory causes Sophia to cross her legs underneath the table as she straightens her back, shaking off any inappropriate thoughts before she loses her sanity. Most of the time, she has strong self-control to keep her from jumping the tall girl—except for this morning.
[Y/N] was almost late to her class because Sophia couldn’t control her hormones.
Meanwhile, [Y/N] has no clue about the dirty ideas filling her girlfriend’s mind as she finishes up one stack of books on the cart.
“Hi, [Y/N].”
To her right, a blonde girl approaches her, and she does that little twirl to look like a schoolgirl in love.
[Y/N] merely glances at her without a care as she wheels the cart to the next section. She proceeds to fill the gaps in the bookshelf. “Hey…”
“Marilyn,” she responds in case she forgot her name (which she did).
“Marilyn, right,” [Y/N] mutters without a care.
The interaction alerts Sophia. She observes the blonde girl with a skeptical glare over the top edge of her book. This is the fourth girl who has approached [Y/N] just this shift alone. Her narrowed eyes drill into the side of blonde’s head as if she’s burning holes through her skull.
If Blondie pulls a funny trick, she’ll get a piece of her mind.
“Is there anything you need?” [Y/N] asks in a rehearsed tone.
Marilyn twirls a wavy strand of blonde hair around her finger. “Hmm… aside from you, I need that book up there.” She points at the dark blue book on the highest shelf of the bookcase.
[Y/N] nervously chuckles, glancing at the black-haired girl behind her to make sure she didn’t hear Marilyn. Sophia’s death glare says otherwise. [Y/N] clears her throat uncomfortably, “I’ll get it for you.”
[Y/N] thanks her genetics every day for being tall enough to reach the highest places. She quickly grabs the book and hands it to Marilyn, hoping that she’ll walk away.
However, the stubborn blonde stays put.
“What are you doing after your shift?”
[Y/N] internally prays that Sophia keeps her cool and won’t drag the girl by her hair if she does shoot her shot.
“I have a literature class,” she replies calmly.
“After that?”
“Um…” [Y/N] scratches her cheek and tries to think of an excuse. “I’m hanging out with my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” Marilyn scoffs. “Since when did you get a girlfriend?”
“A while ago,” she answers, now growing more annoyed with her persistence.
“I’ve never seen you with her.”
“Really?”
[Y/N] finds that hard to believe. Either Marilyn is in denial or she’s legally blind because Sophia is always attached to her like an extra limb. They’re always seen walking around campus and going on dates. Sophia shows her off like a prized possession. She even likes to post [Y/N] on her social media accounts with every chance she gets.
“She’s not here,” Marilyn points out, even though she doesn’t know what this ‘girlfriend’ looks like. “She doesn’t have to know about us hanging out. Tell her something came up.”
A book getting smacked shut startles her.
Marilyn looks in the direction of the noise and finds Sophia setting the book down on the table while glaring at her. With a fake smile and a tilt of her head, Sophia waves at her while her eyes scream murder.
“I suggest you walk away if you wanna keep your original nose,” [Y/N] warns under her breath, continuing her task without another glimpse at the blonde.
Marilyn makes a smart choice by not putting up a fight. Hugging the book to her chest, she steps back and leaves [Y/N] alone to her duties. She scurries past Sophia, afraid she’ll get caught in her trap.
Sophia: 4
Other girls: 0
Dating an attractive woman like [Y/N] isn’t so easy and peaceful. Sophia is getting sick and tired of sitting back and watching these girls eye [Y/N] like she’s a piece of candy.
Fed up, Sophia abandons her stuff on the table and strides toward the unbothered girl immersed in the books. She slides her arms around her waist and presses the side of her face between her shoulder blades. [Y/N] flinches at the contact, but relaxes when she glances over her shoulder and sees the top of Sophia’s head.
“What’s the matter, Fia?” [Y/N] inquires quietly, sliding another book into the gap.
“Nothing,” Sophia sighs, tightening her arms around [Y/N]’s waist. For someone with a cold heart, her body is sure warm and cozy.
It took them a while to date.
It didn’t help that they were too stubborn about admitting their feelings to each other. It was a long game of pushing and pulling—uneasy about being in a committed relationship. Deciding to pull the trigger, [Y/N] confessed first, and then Sophia reciprocated her feelings. Sophia made it loud and clear that [Y/N] had only one chance, and if she screwed it up, they’re over. Sophia doesn’t like giving second chances to many people; she finds them unnecessary and a waste of time.
After they started dating, they hardly displayed pda.
They did not want to be that lovey-dovey couple that made everyone cringe and throw up in their mouths from the excessive pda. They still have the same dislike of public affection. The most they’ll ever do is hold hands to certify their relationship. Although, Sophia would take it up a notch and cling onto [Y/N]’s arm or kiss her cheek when it was necessary—like the other girls lusting over her in the library.
“Why aren’t you reading?” [Y/N] muses, breaking Sophia out of her thoughts.
“The book got boring.” Sophia can hear her chuckle vibrating in her ribcage.
“Well, you’re gonna have to finish it sooner or later.”
“I’d rather do something else,” she whispers into her shirt, but [Y/N] heard her loud and clear.
“Like?” [Y/N] drags out, adding the final book into the space.
Slowly, Sophia’s hands run down her torso, feeling the linen material of her blouse, until they stop at the waistband of her pants. [Y/N] lets out a quiet groan, instantly figuring out her intentions.
“Again?”
“You rushed this morning,” Sophia complains.
“You almost made me late to class,” [Y/N] bites back.
“Still not satisfied.”
“I’m working here.” [Y/N] checks the cart for any more books. There is a short stack left, and it’s a genre that people barely read.
“I think you deserve a break,” Sophia suggests, her fingers idly tracing the hem of [Y/N]’s pants.
“Yeah, from you,” [Y/N] mutters.
Sophia hates [Y/N]’s witty remarks whenever they are directed towards her; they make her feel stupid.
Sophia steps around [Y/N]’s body until she’s in front of her, tilting her head back to stare at the taller girl. Despite wearing heels, she is still shorter than [Y/N] and barely reaches her eye level. Her arms lock around [Y/N]’s neck as she presses herself closer to her front. It’s hard to break down her stone walls, but Sophia knows every trick.
“Ten minutes,” Sophia bribes, touching her neck with her lips. She leaves a pink lipstick mark on her skin without [Y/N] realizing it. Hopefully, it’ll teach girls to back off.
“No,” [Y/N] flat out rejects her without hesitation.
“Nine.”
[Y/N] knows Sophia won’t stop until she gets what she wants. So, [Y/N] puts her hands on Sophia’s hips and gently pushes her away to create some space between their bodies. “I can’t waste any time, Fia.”
Sophia scoffs, cocking her eyebrow. “So you think I’m a waste of time?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.” Sophia smirks when her [e/c] eyes roll into the back of her head. “It’ll be super quick,” she whispers hastily.
[Y/N] doesn’t have a chance to object when Sophia grabs her hand and drags her to the most secluded and darkest area of the library. Being a bookworm, Sophia knows the place like it’s the back of her hand. She also knows which genre is the least popular among students, and those books hardly ever get checked out.
They end up in the philosophy section where [Y/N] is supposed to work in. Even though [Y/N] is annoyed for getting dragged away, she’s secretly glad for this quick break from work and random girls.
“What’s so important that I have to pause my work?” [Y/N] complains. She already knows what Sophia has planned in her devious mind. It’s just that she likes to tease the Filipina by acting oblivious and testing her patience.
Sophia pushes [Y/N] against the shelf, leaving her startled for a second at her abrupt strength. She hooks her arm around [Y/N]’s neck and brings her face closer. Her lustful eyes study her stern yet pending ones.
[Y/N] clears her throat quietly, trailing her bigger hands up and down Sophia’s waist. “I don’t know if people wanna see the president’s daughter doing sinful things in the library…”
“I don’t care,” Sophia whispers in [Y/N]’s ear before kissing down her jawline. She connects their lips together and gently moves against her, hypnotizing the taller girl under her control. Her hips slowly buck forward and discreetly grind against [Y/N]’s center, earning a short gasp from the latter.
Sophia has to live up to a pristine reputation since she is the daughter of the university’s president. Almost everybody knows that she is the sacred daughter with excellent grades and elegance. Dressed in designer outfits and carrying herself with the utmost self-respect and confidence, she is a role model among students.
With a name and face like hers, she is untouchable.
Imagine the surprised looks on people’s faces when they learned that Sophia decided to be in a relationship with a lowlife like [Y/N].
Despite being in college, [Y/N] still had that urge to cause trouble and be a jerk towards everyone. Sophia had tried to change [Y/N]’s ways, but the stubborn girl didn’t want to. Instead, she warmed up to the Filipina and charmed her way into her heart, making her forget about her controversial personality.
After dating for a few months, [Y/N] had started to behave like a mature adult. Rather than vandalizing the school’s property, she started helping around in the library. Instead of skipping classes, she started attending them so she could have study dates with her girlfriend.
Having Sophia in her life changed her for the better.
Now, if someone were to pass by this aisle and catch Sophia grinding against this troublemaker, her clean image would be tarnished. Not only that, if word gets out, her father can expel [Y/N] from this school and ban her from ever seeing her again.
It’s hard to resist this bold girl, especially when she makes daring choices that can risk them getting caught. Then again, [Y/N] doesn’t care; she loves the thrill.
Sophia pauses her movements and trails her hand downward to feel the prominent bulge on her inner thigh. [Y/N] inhales a sharp breath when Sophia palms her and strokes her through her pants, fingers spread on either side of her cock.
[Y/N] presses her lips together to stifle a groan.
“It’s so easy to control you,” Sophia giggles lightly against [Y/N]’s mouth.
[Y/N] rolls her eyes, annoyed of her teasing already. “Shut up…”
Regardless, [Y/N] bucks closer to Sophia’s hand. Her pants are becoming uncomfortably tight against her groin, and the desire to have a release grows stronger. She will lose her mind if this brat leaves her hanging there with a painful erection for the rest of the day.
“Relax, baby,” Sophia breathes, giving [Y/N]’s tense shoulder a squeeze.
Sophia captures her lips in a heated kiss, eagerly moving against her with hunger. They bite and lick into each other’s mouths like they didn’t just spend this morning making out like hormonal teenagers. [Y/N] runs her palm up Sophia’s thigh and slips under her pleated skirt to graze against the smooth curve of her ass. She squeezes it softly, milking out a sweet moan from Sophia’s throat.
“You’re dangerous,” [Y/N] chuckles.
“But you love it,” Sophia snarks, kissing down [Y/N]’s jawline and leaving more lipstick marks on her skin, but [Y/N] doesn’t mind.
Sophia gives [Y/N] one final kiss on her lips before sinking to her knees on the carpeted floor. Her sickly sweet smile makes [Y/N]’s heart flutter because she knows the meaning behind it.
Sophia’s nimble fingers work on her leather belt, the buckle jingling loudly in the silent aisle as it dangles loose. She jerks the zipper down and pulls her trousers down to her thighs. Being the teasing brat she is, Sophia takes her time testing [Y/N]’s patience by tracing the outline of her length through her underwear, the tip of her sharp nail causing a ticklish sensation.
[Y/N] shudders, tipping her head back. “Princess…” Her voice drops to that low, rumbling pitch that gets her dripping.
The endearing term sends frenzy sparks to Sophia’s core.
Sophia has expressed her hatred towards it whenever [Y/N] would use it on her. In the beginning, [Y/N] used to taunt her and call her a ‘princess’ because she acted like one, especially being the president’s daughter. However, it all depended on how [Y/N] delivered it and the intention behind it. Sophia soon warmed up to the term after learning [Y/N] only used pet names on her lover.
And so far, she is the first and last girl who’s ever earned that nickname.
Sophia peers at [Y/N], whose head is thrown back against the bookshelf as her throat bobs. She roams her hands up her thighs and takes her time feeling the fabric of her underwear under her fingertips, wandering a little too close to the area [Y/N] needs her the most.
“Hurry up, Fia,” [Y/N] grits out impatiently.
“And I thought I was the needy one,” Sophia mumbles under her breath.
She leans closer to [Y/N]’s groin and sticks her tongue out to lick a long, wet stripe over her clothed length. She feels [Y/N]’s firm thighs tense under her palms as she inhales sharply. Her cock twitches against her mouth, a dark spot forming on the fabric where the tip would be.
“Look at me,” Sophia demands in a whisper.
Swallowing hard, [Y/N] tips her head forward and immediately makes eye contact with Sophia. The black-haired girl curls her fingers over the elastic waistband of her underwear and slowly pulls it down. The anticipation is killing [Y/N] on the inside as she keenly watches this devious brat tease her. Ringed fingers tangle into her black locks just the way Sophia likes it.
Chills run down [Y/N]’s spine, and goosebumps rise on her skin when her dick is set free. It’s all veiny, and the flushed tip is embarrassingly leaking a lot.
“God, you’re so sensitive,” Sophia teases, wrapping her hand around the base.
[Y/N] is about to make a retort until her breath gets stuck in her throat when Sophia starts stroking her lazily from the base to the swollen tip, her thumb pressing into the slit. She presses a small kiss on the underside of the head before licking a stripe, moaning at the taste. She can feel the taller girl throb under her touch.
“Soph…” [Y/N] pants out, her eyebrows knitted together.
Sophia ignores her as she takes her time pleasuring her. She swirls her tongue around the tip and licks up the pearly bead accumulating on the slit. She fondles her balls and tugs on them gently. [Y/N]’s grip on her hair tightens, not pushing but holding on. Sophia’s doe eyes hold her hooded gaze as she wraps her glossy, plump lips around her girth, taking in as much as she can into her warm mouth. Both hands dig into Sophia’s hair and gently massage her scalp, causing her to hum in delight. The vibrations in her throat make [Y/N] quiver and curse under her breath.
“So pretty,” [Y/N] growls lowly in pleasure, admiring the obedient princess on her knees before her. It’s hard to suppress the noises when the sight is sinful and delicate. “All for me, right?” she muses with a snarky grin. Sophia moans her answer and continues her work of pleasing her.
[Y/N] will make sure to reward her later—double the efforts.
If Sophia was still with her ex-boyfriend, she wouldn’t be thinking about doing unholy things with him in public. She was so pristine and well-behaved that her sex drive was nonexistent. But once she got a taste of this troublemaker, something inside of her shifted. The risk of being caught doing rebellious things made her crave for more. The adrenaline pumping through her veins felt like drugs.
It didn’t matter how many times her father had scolded her for breaking up with the most perfect boyfriend; it only drove her closer to [Y/N]. And even though her father hates [Y/N] to the core, he’ll tolerate her, as long as she makes his daughter happy.
And right now, Sophia is more than happy.
Her mouth is full of her lover, and her panties are wet. She has [Y/N] putty in her hands. She glances up and notices the erratic rise and fall of her chest, meaning she is getting close.
Unfortunately, they’re on a time limit. [Y/N] would love to let loose in Sophia’s mouth, but right now, she wants to worship her girlfriend more than anything.
[Y/N] forcefully pulls Sophia off with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva between her bottom lip and her cock. “Stop, stop…” she rasps in a strained voice.
Sophia looks up at her in confusion, eyebrows furrowed and her glossy lips twisted into a pout. Before she could question what’s wrong, [Y/N] helps her stand up on her feet and cups her cheeks to pull her in for a short, sweet kiss, not caring if she tastes herself on Sophia’s tongue.
“Why’d you stop me?” Sophia whines.
“If I’m gonna cum, I’d rather do it inside of you.”
Sophia rolls her eyes. “You were gonna do it inside me—in my mouth.”
“Not in that way,” [Y/N] says, adding another kiss on her cheek.
[Y/N] slips her hand between Sophia’s legs under her skirt, cocking her eyebrow at the warm wetness soaked through her panties. “You’re wetter than this morning,” she comments, dragging her fingers across her clothed slit. Sophia’s hips automatically jerk toward her touch as she grips onto her broad shoulders.
Sophia moans quietly when [Y/N]’s long fingers nudge her panties to the side and glide along her slick heat. A small shiver crawls up her spine when the rims of [Y/N]’s cold rings come in contact with her burning skin. [Y/N] spreads her wetness up toward her clit and circles it slowly, the motion making Sophia’s thighs twitch as her back curves. A breath catches in her throat when those fingers dip inside her and press against her soft walls.
Sophia tilts her head back, and [Y/N] steals the opportunity to sensually kiss her throat, mouthing at the soft skin there. [Y/N] is glad that Sophia decided to wear an off-shoulder top today so she can kiss more of her shoulders and collarbones. [Y/N]’s teeth bite at a sensitive part of her neck, and Sophia hisses quietly, finding it difficult to suppress the noises down her throat, especially when [Y/N] adds another finger and curls them deeper. [Y/N] is careful not to leave a hickey on her neck since Sophia still has to go to her classes and meet other people.
Today would be [Y/N]’s funeral if Mr. Laforteza were to find it.
Her possessive nature wants to, but her rational side opposes it.
Instead, [Y/N] focuses on showering kisses and teasing nips onto Sophia’s neck and collarbones. Her nose drags along her thumping pulse, and she breathes in the new floral perfume she had bought last week during their shopping date. Sophia has an extensive collection of perfumes and colognes. Each one has a different scent for different occasions, and [Y/N] loves every single one.
While she loves tasting her skin, she’d rather taste something else.
Sophia whines at the interrupted pleasure when [Y/N] detaches her lips from her neck. In a swift motion, [Y/N] flips their positions and pins Sophia against the bookcase with a soft thud. She drops to her knees and bunches her miniskirt higher so she can see more of her. She peppers kisses along her inner thighs, mumuring how Sophia is so perfect, so cute, and so delicious.
“[Y/N]… Quit stalling,” Sophia complains in a high-pitched voice. She squeaks in surprise when [Y/N] yanks her panties down her legs, forcing her to step out of them so she can pocket them. “Pervert,” she comments with a scoff.
“Only for you.” [Y/N] smiles cheekily at her.
[Y/N] noses along the inside of her thigh, very close to her center, but she doesn’t kiss her there just yet. If she can’t litter marks on her neck, she might as well do it where nobody but her can see them. She sucks on her thigh gently and paints her clean skin with her personalized love bites.
Sophia can’t stand still. She trembles and jerks whenever her girlfriend lingers a little too close to her cunt.
“I got you, princess,” [Y/N] whispers, reassuring her with one last kiss on her thigh. Her lustful eyes lock onto her bare cunt, all slick and swollen. She leans in and puffs a hot breath against her core, making Sophia flinch. She smirks at the reaction and uses her hand to hold her hip steady.
[Y/N] flicks out her tongue and drags a slow line from her entrance up to her clit, gathering her wetness as she groans at the taste. She dives in deeper and seals her lips around her clit to suck gently. She pulls on it hard enough to make the Filipina’s hips jolt from the bookcase.
Sophia’s hands fly to her [h/c] hair as an anchor before her legs give out and collapse on her. She tangles her thin fingers around the strands and pushes [Y/N] closer. She tries her hardest to stay quiet, even though they are hidden in a secluded part of the library. But nothing is ever guaranteed.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” [Y/N] groans, keeping Sophia’s hips still when she starts to squirm. Her mouth grows greedy, licking and sucking like she hasn’t eaten in days. She presses tender kisses on her clit, and then sticks her tongue in between her folds. Her nose bumps against the sensitive bud with each plunge, adding friction that has Sophia moaning her name.
She’s not rushing any of it; she’s savoring it.
Sophia’s cheeks flush red as her chest heaves. “God, [Y/N]…”
Her senses are on cloud nine.
Ecstasy flows through her veins.
She is about to reach her peak.
Until a sound reverberates from the other end of the library.
Sophia snaps her eyes wide open, almost breaking her neck at how fast she looks in the direction of the noise. Pleasure vanishes as anxiety flares up. She feels [Y/N] pause her ministrations when she tenses up.
“W-Wait, [Y/N],” she stammers, weakly nudging her head away.
[Y/N] pulls back slightly to look at her girlfriend, her chin glistening in her arousal. “What?” she questions breathlessly.
“I think… I think I heard something.”
“Oh, now you care about that…”
“I’m serious!” Sophia hisses.
They wait for a few moments to listen for any more noises, but nothing happens. It was probably the creak of the old building or a book falling on its side. [Y/N] dismisses the Filipina’s paranoia and resumes her work.
[Y/N] pushes two fingers inside her and curls them immediately, stroking along her sensitive walls. Her mouth works on her swollen clit relentlessly, providing enough stimulation to inch Sophia closer to the edge. She can already feel the black-haired girl fluttering around her fingers as her noises grow louder.
“C’mon, Fia,” [Y/N] moans lowly, pumping her fingers faster. “Lemme feel you cum on my face.”
Sophia responds with a shaky mewl as her body involuntarily jerks against her mouth. Her orgasm crashes over as she clamps a hand over her own mouth to silence the cry that rips out of her throat. Her hand grips onto [Y/N]’s hair like a lifeline.
[Y/N] doesn’t stop licking her as she draws out every spasm until Sophia calms down. She cleans her up as best as she can before she eases back and stands back up to hold her girlfriend in her arms.
Sophia looks up at the taller girl and blushes at how swollen and shiny her lips are. She unconsciously bites on her lip and swallows the saliva that’s been building in her mouth. Chuckling, [Y/N] tips her chin back up and steals her for another kiss. They both moan into each other’s mouths at the bittersweet taste.
Sophia feels her cock poke her inner thigh and something wet smear against her skin. She glances down and is somewhat surprised at the sight. “You’re hard again,” she remarks, eyeing the appendage that has sprung back to life.
“We’re not done yet,” [Y/N] says between kisses.
“No?”
[Y/N] grips her hips firmly. “You still up for one more round?”
“Mmmhm.”
“Turn around.”
Sohpia complies and spins around to face the bookcase, hands gripping the shelf as her back curves beautifully under the dim lighting. [Y/N] bends her forward and nudges her legs further apart before stepping right in between them. She pulls her hips back, and her cock slides between drenched folds.
“Ready?” [Y/N] breathes out, burying her face in her shoulder.
“Just do it,” the princess seethes out.
Nipping at her bare shoulder, [Y/N] holds herself steady and pushes against her entrance gently. Her slickness allows her to enter with ease as she sinks all the way in until their hips are flush. Sophia bites on her fingers to silence the desperate moan as she feels every inch inside of her. Silky walls stretch around the thick length that makes her feel full. God, she has missed the connection between their bodies badly.
“Fuck, princess. You always feel so good around me,” [Y/N] moans, squeezing her hips. “So fucking tight…”
“S-Start moving,” the Filipina exasperates, pushing back against the taller girl.
With deep breaths, [Y/N] starts moving against her with smooth and tiny thrusts to get used to the feeling. The soft sounds of their clapping echo down the empty aisle, the prospect of getting caught turning them on. Sophia clenches down harder as her heartbeat races. More arousal gushes out of her, wetting her dick and thighs.
[Y/N] clenches her jaw tightly to not let a single noise slip out of her mouth since they are still in a quiet environment. She partly focuses on the ragged breaths exhaling through her nose and the low groans rumbling in her throat. She leans forward to plant a small kiss on the pulse point under Sophia’s jaw.
“You’re already getting tighter,” [Y/N] grits out. Her hand comes around and starts rubbing her clit to stimulate more pleasure.
Sophia throws her head back, veins becoming prominent from her sounds. She whimpers a little too loud for [Y/N]’s liking. Growling, she clasps a hand over Sophia’s mouth to muffle her cries.
“Quiet, princess,” [Y/N] warns, checking their surroundings for any unwanted witnesses.
Delirious, Sophia moans sharply into her palm, blindly gripping onto the hand that’s over her mouth. Her cunt flutters around her cock as it hits the deepest spots in her, making her vision blur with tears of pleasure. Molten heat stirs in her lower abdomen.
[Y/N] makes out the ‘harder’ plea from Sophia, and she happily complies with quicker and deeper thrusts. She ruts into her relentlessly with an end goal in mind. Thank God she has her hand over Sophia’s mouth because she starts letting out little shrieks at the sudden change in energy. Sophia’s eyes roll to the back of her head as her fingernails dig into [Y/N]’s wrist once her senses heighten to their peak.
“Let go, Fia. I can feel you tensing,” [Y/N] urges, shifting the angle of her hips lower to prod at the sweet spot.
Ecstasy clouds her mind as Sophia feels her orgasm approaching at a dangerously rapid pace. Her shaky hand comes down to rub her slippery clit, and that does it.
Sophia’s body convulses against her as she holds onto [Y/N] and the bookshelf for dear life, hips stuttering and ragged breaths muted underneath her palm. She reaches her climax and finally lets loose of the tension in her core. Her warm walls choke her cock before spilling her release.
“There we go,” [Y/N] coos, slowing down her pace as she helps her girlfriend ride out her orgasm. She adores the sweet moans and cute whiny noises from Sophia as she experiences euphoria.
Once Sophia is calmer, [Y/N] pulls her hand away and sees spit and lip gloss smeared all over her palm. Her own hips stutter in rhythm as the tight knot coils in her lower stomach, feeling her balls contract. [Y/N] buries her face into Sophia’s neck and groans her name.
“Baby, I’m close,” she sighs.
“Inside,” Sophia breathes out.
“You sure?”
Sophia nods jerkily.
Soon after, [Y/N] pumps her hips a few more times before burying herself to the hilt as her cock pulses one more time, stuffing her womb with her creamy essence. Sophia moans at being filled while feeling her cock throb inside of her. [Y/N] rests her forehead against Sophia’s shoulder, letting out a huge sigh of relief. Every now and then, she twitches from the overwhelming pleasure while regulating her breaths.
They both pant in a comforting silence, exhausted but satisfied. [Y/N] wraps her arms around Sophia’s waist and holds her in a warm hug. Sophia melts into her embrace, resting her head back against her shoulder. She looks back to catch a glimpse of her flushed and sweaty face. Giggling, she lazily kisses the corner of [Y/N]’s mouth in gratitude.
“Are you happy now?” [Y/N] asks hoarsely, wiping the sweat off her face.
“Hm… about 78 percent,” Sophia replies.
[Y/N] furrows her eyebrows at her weird answer. “78? What about the rest?”
“It was rushed…” Sophia sends a pointed glare over her shoulder. “…again.”
[Y/N] rolls her eyes and groans out loud, not caring if someone else hears her. “I had to pause my shift just to hear that you aren’t satisfied—I even made you cum twice!”
“Make it up to me later,” Sophia says before kissing her chin and easing herself out of her grip. She hisses at how sensitive and sore she is when her soft cock slips out, some of her cum sliding down her inner thighs. She fixes her outfit and combs down her messy hair to appear normal again.
[Y/N] curses under her breath at how worn she is. She picks up her pants and tucks herself back in her underwear, hating the way the suffocating fabric sticks to her damp skin. She is considering skipping class so she can clean herself up again.
That gives her an idea.
While Sophia checks her makeup through her phone’s front camera, a hand squeezes her butt under her skirt. Sophia yelps in surprise. [Y/N]’s tongue licks a long line on Sophia’s neck before whispering in her ear, “Come to my place right now.”
Sophia swallows the small whimper as the tall girl walks away. “B-But I have class.”
[Y/N] turns around, continuing to walk backward, and shrugs her shoulders. “Your loss.”
“[Y/N]—”
“Fine. I’ll go ask Blondie,” [Y/N] says, trying so hard not to laugh at the way her face darkens.
Sophia stomps towards [Y/N] and snatches her wrist, dragging her out of the library without letting her finish her shift.
pairing » nepobaby!megan skiendiel x academic weapon!fem!reader
synopsis » you’re forced to tutor megan, the dean’s daughter you can’t stand. somewhere between flashcards and lingering looks, resentment turns into something softer, and by the final, you realize you’re not just helping her pass
warnings » making out?? idk
wc » 3.4k (60% dialogue LMFAOO)
you hate her.
it’s not intense. it’s just resentment. the kind that tightens in your throat when you hear her laugh in spaces you had to earn and she didn’t.
because everyone knows who she is.
the dean’s daughter.
it follows her like a shadow, unspoken but ever-present. doors open easier for her. mistakes soften into “learning experiences.” people smile at her like she’s already proven something just by existing. you’ve watched professors unconsciously straighten when she speaks, watched administrators linger a second longer when she walks by.
you tell yourself you don’t care.
but you do.
because nothing in your life was handed to you. you learned early how to earn space, how to justify your presence with numbers and results and late nights spent in labs. you clawed your way here, molecule by molecule, while she was born with a silver spoon so polished it still gleams.
and then there’s her friend group.
loud. entitled. sprawling across lecture hall rows like the rules don’t apply to them. never respecting the classes you had together, scarce as they were given the difference in your fields.
you’re in biochemical engineering. your days are kinetics, pathways, failure modes that don’t announce themselves until three weeks and four essays later. she’s finance. spreadsheets, projections, clean answers. worlds apart. different buildings. different expectations.
so why is she here?
advanced biotech isn’t a requirement for her track. it’s barely an elective. the first day you clock her name on the roster, you assume it’s a mistake. maybe she clicked the wrong course code.
but she stays.
and that, more than anything, gets under your skin.
because she’s good at the wrong things.
her reports are immaculate. perfect headers, pristine formatting, cost analyses that make the professor nod approvingly. she knows how to sell an idea, how to stand at the front of the room and sound like she believes in what she’s saying even when you can tell she doesn’t fully understand it.
but put her in the lab and she falls apart.
she doesn’t trust the process. she rushes steps that require patience, second-guesses protocols. when things don’t work, she looks around like someone else must’ve done something wrong.
you notice. of course you do.
you also notice when her grades start slipping.
it’s subtle at first. a comment here. a deduction there. then a meeting request after class, her shoulders stiff as she listens to feedback she clearly didn’t expect. by mid semester, it’s obvious. she’s drowning, and she doesn’t know how to tread water in a lab that refuses to bend to her confidence.
the withdrawal deadline passes quietly.
and then, during office hours you didn’t plan on attending, your professor drops the bomb.
“i’m assigning tutoring,” she says gently, hands folded like this is a kindness. “megan’s performance suggests she needs additional support.”
you feel it before you understand it. the slow, sick realization settling in your stomach.
“you’re the strongest student in the course,” the professor continues, smiling at you like this is a compliment. “and you explain concepts very clearly. i think you’d be a good fit.”
you don’t hesitate. that’s the worst part.
you nod. tight-lipped. agreeable. the image of competence you’ve curated since freshman year refuses to crack now.
“of course,” you say. “happy to help.”
across the room, megan looks anything but happy. she doesn’t look smug. she doesn’t look relieved. she looks irritated. her jaw set, eyes flicking away the second she realizes you’ve noticed her watching. there’s color high on her cheekbones, and you can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or anger.
something about that makes your blood boil.
your personal hell starts immediately.
after class, she approaches you like she’s bracing for impact.
“hey, tutor—”
“library,” you cut in, already packing your bag. you don’t look at her. you don’t give her the satisfaction. “by two. if you’re late i swear to god.”
there’s a beat of silence. then a sharp, incredulous laugh.
“wow,” she mutters. “guess we’re skipping the pleasantries.”
you finally glance at her then, eyes cool, expression unreadable. “this isn’t social hour,” you say. “if you want to pass, meet me there.” you turn away before she can respond, heart pounding harder than you’d like to admit.
behind you, megan watches you go.
and for the first time since the semester started, she doesn’t say a word.
—
you exhale a breath of relief the moment you spot her.
megan’s already sitting at one of the long library tables, backpack slung carelessly on the floor, laptop open. her back is to you, shoulders slightly hunched, not relaxed, not performative. for once, she doesn’t look like she’s waiting to be entertained.
you approach quietly, stopping just behind her chair.
your brows knit together when you realize she’s actually working. not scrolling or texting. she’s staring at a graph, chewing on the end of her pen. the numbers on the screen are…wrong. painfully wrong. but they’re attempts.
that alone throws you off.
you point at the screen before you can talk yourself out of it.
“your growth curve isn’t wrong because the bacteria failed,” you say. “it’s wrong because you treated it like a straight line.”
she jumps slightly, then frowns, tapping her pen against the table. “it followed the projection.”
you laugh before you can stop yourself.
she turns in her chair, eyes narrowing. “okay. rude.”
“they don’t care about your projections,” you say, unfazed. “they grow when they grow. it’s exponential, not linear.”
she huffs, muttering something under her breath as she adjusts the graph, but she listens. that’s new too.
enzyme kinetics is worse.
so much worse.
“why does it matter if the reaction still happens?” she asks at one point, genuinely confused. “isn’t the end result the same?”
you close your eyes for half a second.
you explain it once. then again. then slower.
“km is the substrate concentration at which the reaction rate reaches half of vmax.”
you look up, and freeze.
megan is staring at you like you just switched languages mid sentence. lips parted slightly. eyes blank. not mocking. just utterly lost.
you roll your eyes. “okay. forget it.”
she bristles immediately. “hey!”
you sigh, already tired. “think of vmax as the maximum return a market can physically handle,” you say. “km is how much capital you need invested before you start seeing real movement. low km means it responds early. high km means you have to pour in a lot before anything happens.”
her gaze drops back to the graph, slower this time. thoughtful. she redraws the curve, hesitates, then nods faintly to herself like the numbers finally agreed to behave.
“oh,” she murmurs. “that’s…annoying.”
“biology usually is,” you say flatly.
megan groans, dropping her head back against the chair with a dramatic huff. then she looks at you again, then a smile you couldn’t quite decipher the meaning of spread on her face. “you know,” she says, tilting her head, “if you talked to people like that at parties, they’d think you’re hot instead of terrifying.”
your lips flatten instantly.
you roll your eyes, again. “just when i thought you were starting to care.”
“i do care,” she protests, laughing. “i’m just so fucking bored and we haven’t taken a break all session.”
you stare at her for a beat. then you sigh and snap your laptop shut. “we’re done for today.”
her smile drops just slightly. “what—fine, no need for a break! what are you—?”
“we’ve done enough,” you say, already packing up. “revise the topic before our next meeting.”
“are you serious?” she mutters. “fine.”
you sling your bag over your shoulder.
“give me your number.”
you stop.
slowly, you turn to look at her, eyebrow arching. you’re not sure what annoys you more—the audacity or the confidence.
“what?” she says innocently. “how are we supposed to communicate?”
you roll your eyes again. “i guess you’re right.”
you hand her your phone.
she takes it, thumbs moving quickly, far too pleased with herself. she hands it back a second later.
“i’ll text you the details soon,” you say. “bye, megan.”
“byeee, y/nnnn,” she sings, dragging out your name.
you don’t respond. you just walk out.
halfway down the library steps, curiosity gets the better of you. you glance at your phone.
favorite student ever 💗
you scoff, locking the screen immediately.
and yet—
a small smile tugs at your mouth before you can stop it.
you hate that too.
—
the next day, you’re sprawled on your dorm bed, staring at the ceiling.
your phone rests in your hand, unlocked, her contact open.
you don’t know why you’re thinking so hard about it.
megan is annoying. megan is loud. megan is the classmate you’re forced to tutor because the universe apparently has a sense of humor. there is no reason your thumb should be hovering over the keyboard like this means something.
you scoff at yourself, shake your head, and type anyway.
you roll your eyes, but you don’t stop the faint smile that pulls at your lips.
—
the next couple of sessions blur together in a way you don’t expect.
she starts showing up early. actually prepared. asking questions that aren’t just panicked attempts but genuine efforts to understand. you catch her taking notes the way you do, color coded, margins full of arrows and definitions.
and you start noticing things.
the way her nose twitches slightly when she’s confused, or the way her tongue peeks out between her lips when she’s focused, brows furrowed in concentration. the way she leans closer when something finally clicks, eyes bright and wide.
you wonder, absently, if she’s noticing things about you too.
“hello?” she says, waving a hand lightly in front of your face. “y/n?”
“huh?” you blink, snapping back into the room.
she’s looking at you with raised brows, amused. “i asked why high purity isn’t always better.”
heat creeps up your neck, sharp and unwelcome. you clear your throat, annoyed at yourself for getting caught staring instead of listening.
“because every purification step costs you something,” you say quickly. “you lose product. time. resources.”
you gesture vaguely at the notes between you. “chasing perfect purity tanks your yield. sometimes what you gain in cleanliness, you lose in amount.”
you hesitate, then sigh, softer this time. “it’s like squeezing every last cent out of an investment and killing its growth. looks good on paper. terrible in reality.”
she doesn’t look back down at her notes.
she watches you for a second longer than necessary.
“why do you look like that?” she asks.
“like what?”
“like i startled you,” she says, quieter. “did i?”
you hesitate. “no.”
she tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “you sure? because you’re blushing.”
you groan, dropping your head back. “i’m not blushing! you’re just seeing things.”
she smirks. “sure i am.”
you catch yourself smiling, soft, unguarded, and tilt your head. “you’re not as stupid as people say you are.”
her face falls instantly. “people say i’m stupid?”
you giggle before you can stop yourself, shaking your head as you flip back to your notes. “okay, drama. focus.”
“hey-!” she mutters, pouting exaggeratedly.
you straighten, tone shifting back into serious mode. “okay, megan. our next session’s gonna be the one right before the final, so you’ve gotta lock in.”
she freezes. “wait—our final isn’t for, like, three weeks.”
“i have my own finals to study for, mei,” you say without thinking. the nickname slips out easily. too easily.
megan perks up instantly. “mei?”
you stiffen. “…yeah?”
she smiles with her annoyingly adorable whisker dimples. “cute.”
you ignore that. “we’ll have one session before the final. that’s it.”
she sighs, then looks up at you with those stupidly big puppy dog eyes she definitely knows how to use. “how am i supposed to study if you’re not there with me?”
“exactly why i told you to lock in.”
you soften despite yourself, tilting your head. “don’t worry. i trust you. i know you’ll be able to do it.”
she exhales slowly, biting her lip.
you notice it then—how she always does that when she’s nervous. without thinking, you reach out and rest your hand over hers. she stills.
“i’ll revise with you,” you say gently. “i promise.”
for a moment, neither of you moves.
and for the first time, the silence between you doesn’t feel like tension.
-
during the three weeks you emptied out to study for, megan lingers.
you’ll be knee deep in pathways, eyes burning, brain fogged with mechanisms you’ve memorized six different ways, and suddenly you’ll wonder if she’s studying. if she’s confused. if she’s staring at a graph with that little crease between her brows, nose twitching while she tries to make sense of it.
you shake your head every time. physically reset. refocus.
she’s fine, you tell yourself. she’ll figure it out.
then ten minutes later, you’re thinking about her again.
—
your last session comes faster than you expect.
megan insists it be at her dorm. says all her notes are there. all her books. you agree without thinking too hard about it, only realizing how stupid the excuse is as you walk toward the building she texted you.
you knock once.
the door swings open almost immediately, like she was standing right on the other side.
“hi,” she breathes. something about the way she says it, soft, almost relieved—makes your chest tighten.
“hey,” you smile, lifting a hand in a small wave.
she steps aside quickly, ushering you in, and leads you to her desk. she closes her laptop a little too fast.
you stop.
“megan,” you say slowly. “was that—did i just see you open chatgpt?”
“no you didn’t.”
you groan, dropping your bag onto the floor. “megan, come on.”
“i swear i studied,” she says, defensive but smiling. she flips open her notebook and shoves it toward you. “look! i wrote notes!”
you scan the page despite yourself.
they’re messy and imperfect. but there.
“okay,” you sigh. “fine. as long as you’re actually understanding.” she nods too quickly. “i am.”
you pull out your stack of flashcards. “okay. i made some flashcards to quiz you on all the topics.”
her shoulders tense slightly.
“but,” you add, gentler, “don’t worry. i’ll revise with you first, okay?” her eyes widen just a little, like she hadn’t expected the kindness.
“okay,” she says, barely above a whisper.
you start reading. your voice settles into that familiar flow, steady, clinical. growth curves. saturation points. variables behaving exactly how they’re supposed to. this is your comfort zone. this is where things make sense.
halfway through an explanation, you notice the quiet.
you glance up.
megan isn’t looking at the cards. or the notebook. or even your hands.
her eyes are fixed on your lips.
intent. unblinking. like she’s listening to something other than the words.
you keep going. one more sentence. then another. your voice slows despite yourself, each word suddenly heavier.
“megan?”
she doesn’t look away.
your throat tightens. “i asked if you understood.”
she blinks, breath hitching like she’s been caught doing something dangerous. “yeah,” she says quickly, finally lifting her eyes to yours. “i do. i just—”
she stops. shakes her head. “i do.”
you nod once, sharply, too aware of how close she is now. closer than before. closer than necessary.
you try to keep going. you really do.
you flip the next card, explain it slower, clearer, like focus alone could fix whatever this is.
but her eyes don’t move.
they stay on you.
on your mouth.
following every word like it matters in a way that has nothing to do with biotech.
something in you snaps.
or maybe it finally gives.
you don’t remember deciding to move. you just do. one moment you’re staring at her mouth like it’s the only thing tethering you to the room, and the next you’re leaning in, closing the distance you’ve been pretending not to measure all night.
your lips meet hers.
“mmph—!”
her eyes widen in pure shock, hands freezing at her sides, and for half a second you’re already pulling back, heart slamming against your ribs, panic crashing in all at once.
what did i just do.
you’re ready to apologize. ready to ruin everything properly.
but then she softens.
her lips move against yours, tentative at first, then surer, like she’s been holding herself still this entire time and finally let go. the sound she makes is quiet and breathy and unmistakably not a protest.
you pull away only when you need air.
she follows you without thinking, chasing your mouth until there’s space again, eyes dark and unfocused.
“i—” you start, breathless, words tripping over each other. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have—”
she shakes her head immediately. “don’t,” she says, just as breathless. “don’t apologize.” her voice drops, softer. “i liked it.”
your throat tightens. your teeth catch your lower lip before you can stop yourself. then you nod. “i did too..”
there’s a beat where neither of you moves.
the air between you feels thick, charged, like the moment right before a storm breaks. her gaze keeps flicking to your lips, then back to your eyes, like she’s waiting to see if you’ll take it back. you don’t. instead, you inhale slowly, steadying yourself, forcing your hands to do something normal before you lose the last thread of control you have.
you pick the flashcards back up, hands just a little unsteady now.
“okay,” you say. “focus.”
she tries. she really does. but when she stumbles on the next question, when her attention drifts again, you exhale slowly, eyes flicking from the card to her lips.
“how about this,” you say quietly. “every question you get right…i’ll give you a kiss.”
her breath hitches. the room feels like it tilts. “that’s not fair,” she says. you meet her eyes. “then work harder.”
and she does.
every right answer earns her a kiss—soft at first, then slower, deeper, each one lingering longer than the last. your control slips incrementally, piece by piece. by the fifteenth flashcard, the word focus has lost all meaning. your lips are swollen, heat blooming under your skin, breaths uneven every time you pull away just long enough to ask another question. megan’s answers are sharp now, desperate almost, like she’s chasing something that has nothing to do with grades.
you smile knowingly as you read the next card. “why is exponential growth not linear?” megan rolls her eyes. “because,” she starts, clearly pleased with herself, “exponential growth accelerates as the population increases. it’s not a straight line.” she smiles, proud. “right again, smartie.”
she bites her lip, eyes darkening, losing that soft edge they'd held moments before. your pulse thrummed in your ears, matching the way her chest rose and fell a little too fast.
“no more little pecks,” she murmured, her voice low and edged with hunger.
“wh—”
before you could finish the word, megan snatched the flashcards from your hand, tossing them aside without a care— they scattered across the desk and floor. her fingers gripped your waist, firm and insistent, pulling you forward until you tumbled onto her lap. your thighs straddled hers, the sudden closeness pressing your bodies together, heat radiating through your clothes. she smashed her lips against yours, not gentle this time, but fierce, demanding.
the kiss exploded like a dam breaking. her mouth claimed yours with a raw intensity, lips parting to let her tongue slide in, tasting you deeply. you gasped into her, your hands flying to her shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt as you steadied yourself. the world narrowed to the slick slide of her tongue against yours, the way she sucked lightly on your lower lip before biting down just hard enough to send a jolt straight through your spine. your body responded instinctively, hips shifting against her lap, seeking more friction.
she broke away only to trail her lips down, hot and wet, along your jawline. each press of her mouth dragged a shiver from you. you tilted your head back, exposing your neck, and she took the invitation without hesitation. her lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, sucking gently at first, then harder, teeth grazing the pulse point that hammered wildly under her touch. a soft sigh escaped you, turning into a low moan as her tongue flicked out, lapping at the skin she'd marked. the sensation burned, a mix of sting and pleasure, your hands sliding up to tangle in her hair, holding her there.
her body arched up to press closer, her hands roaming your back, pulling you flush against her chest. you could feel her heartbeat racing, syncing with yours, the shared rhythm amplifying every touch.
her mouth returned to yours, slower now but no less intense, lips molding perfectly as she kissed you like she was memorizing every curve. tongues danced again, deeper, her flavor— sweet from the gum she'd chewed earlier, mixed with the faint salt of your skin— intoxicating. her hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm and calloused against your bare back, nails scraping lightly in a way that sent sparks racing down your spine.
the flashcards stay forgotten. and neither of you makes any effort to remember them.
-
the exam hall is loud in the way only silence can be.
before you split off, before proctors start pacing and papers are handed out, you find her hand. you squeeze it once, firm and reassuring, like muscle memory.
“you’re going to do great,” you tell her quietly.
she squeezes back, nodding like she’s holding onto that sentence for dear life.
you take your seat. she takes hers.
and then it’s just you, the paper, the pen moving almost on autopilot. the questions are familiar. almost kind. you work through them methodically, confidence settling in with every page.
you finish first. of course you do.
you hand in your exam, step out into the hallway, and wait.
when the door finally opens again and students start trickling out, your eyes find her instantly.
megan lights up the second she sees you. she rushes toward you without hesitation, arms wrapping around you in a soul crushing hug that steals the breath right out of your lungs. you melt into her, forehead pressing against her shoulder, relief washing over you in waves.
“how—” you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at her. “how’d you do, mei?”
she grins. “i got at least one question right.”
your hands fly to her shoulders, pushing her back just enough for you to stare at her, eyes wide, already halfway to scolding
“i’m kidding!” she laughs, quick and bright, cupping your jaw before you can get a word out. “i’m kidding.”
you groan softly, then laugh despite yourself.
“i don’t think i would’ve done it without you, y/n,” she says, quieter now. sincere. “seriously.”
heat creeps into your cheeks.
before you can deflect, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips.
“let me take you out,” she says when she pulls back, smiling. “a real date. you deserve it.”
pairing » megan skiendiel x fem!reader
synopsis » megan promised never to fall for a fan, until she met you, and the rule didn’t stand a chance.
» fluff to angst to fluff
wc » 4k
rule number one of the idol handbook, seemingly etched in stone and repeated by management until it was white noise in the back of her mind: do not fall in love with a fan.
it was logical. it was professional. it was meant to protect the boundary between the artist and the admirer. for megan, it had never been a difficult rule to follow. she loved her fans—she adored the eyekons with her whole heart—but that love was platonic. it was a gratitude for their support, a shared energy during performances, a collective bond. she had never looked into the sea of lightsticks and felt her heart stutter with genuine, terrifying romantic attraction.
that was, until the los angeles show.
it had been three weeks ago. the adrenaline was high, the bass of "touch" was vibrating through the floorboards of the stage, and megan was doing her part, scanning the front row. that was when the stage lights swept over section b, row 1.
there you were.
you were wearing a hot pink crop top and a matching skirt, an outfit that demanded attention, but it wasn’t the clothes that made megan miss a step in her choreography. it was your face. you were singing along, eyes shining with pure joy, and when you locked eyes with megan, you didn’t just scream like everyone else. you smiled a soft, genuine smile that seemed to cut through the chaos of the arena.
megan had spent the rest of the concert unconsciously gravitating toward your side of the stage.
later that night, on the tour bus, she couldn’t shut up about it.
"i’m telling you, daniela, she was literally glowing," megan had insisted, scrubbing her makeup off with a wipe while staring at the ceiling. "she had this pink outfit on. section b. did you see her?"
daniela had rolled her eyes. "meg, there were two thousand people in pink. it’s our concept color half the time."
"no, but this was different," megan groaned, frustrated that she couldn't articulate the magnetic pull she had felt. "she was... pretty. like, intimidatingly pretty. i felt like i should have been asking for her autograph."
manon had laughed from the seat next to her. "careful, megan. you know the rules. don't go falling for the front row."
"i'm not falling," megan had scoffed, throwing the makeup wipe into the trash. "i just... i know i won't see her again. and that sucks."
she was wrong.
the fan sign event was in full swing. the room was buzzing with the low hum of chatter, the shutter of cameras, and the occasional shriek of excitement. the air smelled of expensive perfume and permanent markers. megan was seated between yoonchae and sophia, smiling until her cheeks hurt, signing album after album, answering questions about her skincare routine and her favorite snacks.
she was grateful, she really was, but her social battery was draining. she took a sip of water, adjusting her headband, and looked up to see who was next in the queue.
her heart stopped. it actually stopped, then slammed against her ribs with the force of a sledgehammer.
it was you.
you were wearing a different outfit today—a soft denim jacket over a white dress—but the face was unmistakable. it was the face that had haunted her dreams for the last three weeks. you were standing about five people back in the line, clutching your album to your chest, looking nervous.
the fans in the front row noticed the change instantly. megan, who had been slouching slightly in her chair, suddenly straightened up. her eyes widened, losing that glazed-over 'idol autopilot' look and sharpening into intense focus. a few fans whispered, wondering what had caught her attention, but megan didn't care.
she was counting down.
four. a nice girl who asked about megan’s dance training. megan answered politely, but her eyes kept darting over the girl's shoulder.
three. a guy who wanted a high-five. megan gave it to him, tapping her foot impatiently under the table.
two. a fan who was crying. megan held her hand, offering comfort, but her internal monologue was screaming, she’s right there. she’s right there.
one.
and then, you were standing in front of her.
up close, you were even more devastating. the harsh fluorescent lights of the venue usually washed people out, but you looked radiant. you placed your album on the table, your hands trembling slightly.
"hi, megan," you breathed out, your voice soft.
megan felt a grin split her face, wider and more genuine than anything she’d offered the cameras all day. "hi," she replied, her voice dropping an octave, becoming something softer, intimate. "i remember you."
you blinked, looking stunned. "you... you do?"
"la show. three weeks ago," megan said immediately, leaning her elbows on the table to bridge the gap between you. "section b. you were wearing that pink two-piece set. the skirt and the top?"
your jaw dropped slightly, a lovely shade of red blooming across your cheeks. "i... yeah. that was me. i can't believe you remember that. there were so many people."
"hard to miss you," megan murmured, uncapping her marker. she didn't break eye contact. "i actually told the girls about you afterward. i wouldn't shut up about the 'pretty girl in pink'."
you let out a breathless laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "you're lying. there's no way megan skiendiel was talking about me."
"ask daniela," megan challenged playfully, tilting her head. "i was distressed. i thought i’d never see you again."
she looked down at the album page, opened to her solo photo. the staff member behind megan tapped her shoulder, a silent signal to hurry it up, the line was long. megan ignored them.
she started signing, but she didn't just sign her autograph. she began writing a message. a long one.
"so," megan said, keeping her tone casual but her eyes flirting dangerously with yours. "what's your name? or do i just keep calling you 'pretty girl in pink' in my head?"
"it's y/n," you managed to say.
"y/n," megan tested the name, smiling as she wrote it down. "suits you. pretty name for a pretty face."
the management’s rule echoed in her head: do not fall in love.
megan looked up at you, taking in the way your eyelashes fluttered, the way you were biting your lip nervously, the way you looked at her like she was the sun.
i have been instructed to not fall in love with any fans ever since debut, but how could i not fall for a face as pretty as yours?
she finished writing the message. beneath her signature, in smaller, messier scrawl, she had written a series of digits.
"you know," megan said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she slid the album back toward you. "i'm usually really good at following rules. i'm a model employee."
you took the album, your fingers brushing against hers. the contact sent a jolt of electricity up megan's arm that she was sure you felt too. "are you?" you asked, your voice trembling.
"usually," megan smirked. her eyes flicked to the staff member who was now glaring at the clock, then back to you. "but for you? i think i'm about to become a problem child."
you looked down at the album, your eyes widening as you realized what the numbers were. you looked back up at her, shock written all over your features. "megan, is this...?"
"shh," megan winked, putting a finger to her lips. "don't get me fired before i get to take you out on a date."
the staff member stepped in. "moving along, please."
you grabbed your album, clutching it like it was a holy relic. you began to stand up, your legs looking a little shaky. megan watched you go, a pang of desperation hitting her. she needed to make sure.
as you turned to leave the table area, passing behind her chair to head toward the exit, megan pretended to drop her marker.
"oops," she said loudly.
as she leaned down to "retrieve" it, she reached out with her left hand, catching your attention. you paused. in a swift, practiced motion, something she must have learned from a spy movie, she slipped a small, laminated card into your hand.
it was a backstage pass. the 'family & friends' all-access laminate.
you froze, the cool plastic pressing against your palm. you looked down at her. megan was already sitting back up, smiling brightly at the next fan in line, but she cut her eyes toward you for one brief second.
she bit her lip, raising her eyebrows in a silent challenge: come find me.
you bit your lip back, nodding once, a flush rising on your neck. you quickly tucked the card into your pocket and walked away, trying to look casual, but megan saw the bounce in your step.
megan turned her attention to the next fan, "hi there! what's your name?"
inside, she was screaming. the rule book had been thrown out the window, burned, and scattered to the wind.
the laminate card felt heavy in your pocket, burning a hole through the fabric of your denim jacket. the security guard at the end of the hallway had barely glanced at it before nodding you through, his indifference a stark contrast to the frantic pounding of your heart.
you found the door marked megan. you took a breath, smoothed your dress, and knocked.
the door opened almost instantly, as if she had been standing right on the other side waiting. megan pulled you inside, shutting the door quickly behind you. the dressing room was surprisingly empty; the other girls must have been in hair and makeup or catering.
"you came," megan breathed out, leaning back against the closed door. she was still in her stage outfit, glittering under the vanity lights, sweat making her skin glow.
"you gave me an all-access pass, megan," you teased, trying to find your footing despite the fact that your knees felt like jelly. "it would have been rude to waste it."
megan laughed, a breathless, airy sound. she stepped closer, invading your personal space with an ease that made your head spin. "i was worried you’d think i was crazy. writing my number on an album?"
"it was a little crazy," you admitted, looking up at her. "but i like crazy."
"good." megan’s gaze dropped. she wasn't looking at your eyes anymore. her dark eyes were fixed firmly on your lips. the air in the room shifted, becoming thick and charged with static.
"megan," you murmured, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.
"hmm?" she hummed, not looking up.
"you’re staring at my lips."
megan’s eyes snapped back up to yours, but she didn't look embarrassed. she looked hungry. she took another half-step forward, her thigh brushing against yours. "i’ve been thinking about them since the la show," she confessed, her voice low and raspy. "it’s really hard not to stare when you’re standing right here."
you felt a blush creep up your neck, but the boldness of her admission gave you courage. you let out a soft giggle, the sound breaking the heavy tension just enough to let you breathe. "you are dangerous, skiendiel."
"i try." she reached out, her fingers grazing the fabric of your denim jacket, hesitating as if she wanted to pull you closer but was restraining herself.
you checked your watch, feigning responsibility. "i should probably go. if the rest of the group comes back and finds a random fan in the dressing room, you’re going to be in so much trouble."
megan groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "i hate that you're right. i hate logic." she looked back at you, intense and serious. "text me? tonight?"
"i will," you promised.
the text came at 11:42 pm. how she found your number, you dont know and maybe you don't really care.
megan: my ears are still ringing from the show but all i can hear is you giggling in the dressing room.
megan: did you make it home?
you: safe and sound. you were amazing tonight, by the way. even from the back of the room.
megan: next time you’ll be front row again. or side stage. i prefer you within reaching distance.
that text marked the beginning of a two-month blur that felt like a movie montage.
-
dating an idol was... complicated. it meant late-night facetime calls where megan was removing her stage makeup in a hotel room in tokyo while you were eating breakfast in la. it meant dates that happened in the back of tinted suvs with takeout food, or in private karaoke rooms where you spent more time talking than singing.
you learned that megan was funny, genuinely, sarcastically funny. you learned she was affectionate, constantly needing to hold your hand or rest her head on your shoulder whenever the coast was clear.
it was two months in, sitting in her car parked specifically in a blind spot behind a 24-hour diner, when she asked.
she had been quiet for a few minutes, just tracing the lines on your palm with her thumb.
"y/n?"
"yeah, meg?"
"i don't want to hide this anymore," she said softly, looking at your joined hands. "i mean... i know we have to hide it from the public. but i don't want to be 'just talking' or whatever this is. i want to be yours. officially." she looked up, her eyes vulnerable. "will you be my girlfriend?"
you had squeezed her hand, leaning over the center console to kiss her cheek. "i thought you’d never ask. yes."
one month later.
the dorm was silent. a rare, golden miracle.
everyone was out and the house was empty. megan had texted you the all-clear code: eagle has landed. nest is empty.
you had arrived ten minutes later.
now, the air in megan’s bedroom was hot, smelling of her vanilla perfume and the friction of movement.
you were straddling megan’s lap on her desk chair, the wheels locked in place. the chair groaned slightly under the movement, but neither of you cared. megan’s head was thrown back, her hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you anchored against her.
"god, y/n," megan gasped against your neck, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "i missed you so much."
"i saw you yesterday," you teased breathlessly, your hands tangled in her dark hair, guiding her face back to yours.
"too long," she mumbled against your skin.
she captured your lips again, the kiss deeper, messier than the ones before. you ground down into her lap, the friction sending a jolt through both of you that made megan’s breath hitch audibly. a low moan vibrated in her throat, a sound that you felt more than heard.
"meg..." you whined, the sensation overwhelming.
megan didn't waste time. her hands moved from your hips, sliding up under the hem of your shirt. her palms were warm against your bare skin, tracing the curve of your waist before moving to the center of your back. her fingers danced along your spine, pressing firmly, pulling you impossibly closer until there was zero space left between you.
you broke the kiss to gasp for air, resting your forehead against hers. her eyes were blown wide, dark and hazy with lust.
"you're so beautiful," megan whispered, her hand splaying out on your back, her thumb rubbing circles against your skin under the shirt. she bucked her hips up slightly, an instinctive response to the pressure, and you let out a shaky, needy sound, biting your lip to keep from being too loud.
"we're alone, right?" you asked, your voice trembling.
"completely," megan promised, leaning up to bite your bottom lip gently. "just you and m—"
the bedroom door slammed open.
"megan! do you have my black boots? the ones with the—"
it was manon.
time seemed to freeze.
manon stood in the doorway, holding a shopping bag. she looked at the desk. she saw the chair. she saw you. she saw you on top of megan. she saw megan’s hands clearly under your shirt. she saw your swollen lips and flushed faces.
for a solid three seconds, there was absolute silence.
megan froze, her hands still under your shirt. you froze, looking like a deer in headlights, mid-grind.
manon, ever the quiet one, let out a scream that could have shattered glass. she slapped her hands over her eyes, spun around, and ran directly into the doorframe before scrambling out into the hallway.
"oh my god! oh my god! my eyes! i'm blind!"
megan scrambled to push you off, panic setting in. "manon! wait!"
you stumbled off megan’s lap, yanking your shirt down and trying to fix your hair, your heart hammering so hard you thought you might die of embarrassment right there.
from the hallway, you heard the front door open and a cacophony of voices. the others were back early.
"who is screaming?" that was sophia’s voice. "is there a bug? manon, why are you on the floor?"
"megan!" manon wailed from the hallway. "megan is... in there... with the pretty girl in pink... and they were... they were..."
"they were what?" daniela’s voice piped up, sounding amused.
megan stood up, her face bright crimson. she looked at you, panic warring with hilarity in her eyes. "i think we're busted."
"you think?" you hissed, frantically wiping lipstick off your chin.
megan walked to the door and poked her head out. "guys, can we just—"
daniela pushed past megan, barging into the room. she took one look at you, disheveled hair, swollen lips, standing awkwardly by the bed, and then looked at megan.
"finally!" daniela threw her hands up. "i owe yoonchae twenty bucks. i bet you guys wouldn't hook up for another month."
"you bet on us?" megan shrieked.
"we all bet on you," sophia said, appearing in the doorway, looking calm but amused. she looked at you and offered a polite wave. "hi, y/n. nice to see you again. sorry about manon. she's... sensitive."
megan covered her face with her hands, groaning into her palms. you couldn't help it. you started laughing. you walked over and wrapped an arm around megan’s waist, pulling her hands away from her face.
"well," you said, smiling at the terrifyingly supportive group of girls staring at you. "i guess the secret is out."
megan looked at you, saw the humor in your eyes, and sighed, leaning into your touch. "yeah. guess so." she glared at manon in the hallway. "knock next time!"
"lock the door next time!" manon screamed back.
-
but no relationship is perfect.
you knew what you signed up for.
that was the mantra you repeated to yourself in the mirror every time you had to duck into a bathroom stall to avoid a paparazzi camera. it was the sentence you whispered into your pillow when megan had to leave your bed at 4:00 am to get back to the dorms before management did a headcount.
i knew what i signed up for.
but knowing the terms of the contract didn't make the fine print hurt any less. you knew about the secrecy. you knew about the busy schedules. you knew about the pressure. but you didn't know about the feeling of shrinking. you didn't know that loving megan skiendiel meant slowly becoming invisible.
it had started small, cancelled dinner plans because a practice ran late, a movie night interrupted by an emergency meeting. you were understanding. you were the "good" girlfriend. you were supportive.
but then came the incident at the boba shop.
it was a tuesday, a rare afternoon off. you were both wearing masks and hoodies, trying to be normal people getting bubble tea. you were laughing at something she said, your hand instinctively reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"megan?"
the voice shattered the bubble. a fan, phone already out, eyes wide with recognition.
megan flinched. it was a physical reaction, a recoil that sent her stumbling a step away from you. her demeanor shifted instantly from 'girlfriend' to 'idol'. she straightened her spine, put on the practiced smile, and waved.
"hi!" megan chirped, though her eyes were darting nervously around the shop.
the fan looked at megan, then looked at you, eyebrows furrowing. "oh my god, i love you so much. is this your friend?"
you opened your mouth to speak, maybe to say yes, or cousin, or old classmate.
"no," megan said quickly. too quickly. she stepped in front of you, effectively blocking you from the fan's view. "she’s just a staff member. she’s helping me run some errands today."
staff member.
not a friend. not a distant relative. not even an acquaintance. you were an employee. a nameless, faceless assistant.
the fan lost interest in you immediately, looking through you as if you were made of glass. "oh, cool. can i get a picture?"
"quickly," megan said, ushering the girl away from you.
you stood there, clutching your cold tea, feeling the shame burn hot in your cheeks. you weren't angry that she hid the relationship; you were angry at how easily she discarded your humanity to protect her image.
that was three weeks ago. since then, she had cancelled three dates back-to-back. first, it was an unexpected interview. then, she was "too tired" and afraid she’d look bad on camera the next day. then, a choreography change.
you were reaching your breaking point. megan sensed it.
"baby, please," she had begged over the phone two days ago, hearing the hollowness in your voice. "i know i’ve been terrible. i know. but i’m going to make it up to you. i promise."
"you always say that, meg."
"this time is different," she insisted, her voice thick with desperation. "friday night. i have the whole evening cleared. i’m going to take you somewhere special. a private room, no masks, just us. the most romantic date ever."
you hesitated. "i don't know..."
"please," she whispered. "be ready by 8:30. don't ask questions. just look pretty, and i’ll handle the rest. i love you."
and because you were in love, and because hope is a dangerous thing, you agreed.
-
friday. 8:15 pm.
you stared at yourself in the full-length mirror. you had gone all out. you were wearing a slip dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, the fabric shimmering under the warm light of your bedroom. you had spent an hour on your makeup, achieving that perfect, dewy look that megan always complimented. your hair was curled to perfection.
you sprayed a cloud of perfume—the vanilla scent she loved—and stepped into it. you felt beautiful.
8:30 pm.
you sat on the edge of your couch, careful not to wrinkle your dress. you had your purse in your lap, phone in hand, waiting for the text. i’m outside. or come down.
the clock on the wall ticked.
8:45 pm.
traffic. it was friday night in the city; traffic was inevitable. you checked your lipstick in your phone camera. still perfect. you sent a quick text.
me: hey, just checking in! no rush, just letting you know i'm ready :)
9:15 pm.
no reply.
you stood up and paced the living room. maybe she was driving. if she was driving, she couldn't text. that was responsible. but anxiety began to gnaw at your stomach. the silence in the apartment felt loud.
9:45 pm.
you sat back down. you checked megan’s fan accounts on twitter/x. nothing new. no sightings. that was good, right? it meant she wasn't stuck at a public event.
you called her. it rang. and rang. and rang.
“hi, you’ve reached megan. leave a message!”
you hung up. "okay," you whispered to the empty room. "maybe her phone died. or she’s surprising me by knocking on the door."
10:30 pm.
the hope had curdled into something sour and heavy in your throat. the apartment was dark, save for the streetlights filtering through the blinds. you were still sitting on the couch, but your posture had slumped. the purse had slid to the floor.
you felt foolish. you felt like a child who had dressed up for a party that no one else was attending. you thought about the expensive primer you used, now settling into the fine lines of your frowning face.
10:55 pm.
it was over. you knew it.
11:00 pm.
your heart didn't shatter all at once; it cracked slowly, painfully.
you stood up, your legs stiff from sitting in one position for hours. you walked to your bedroom, the click of your heels on the hardwood floor sounding like gunshots in the quiet apartment.
you stood before the mirror again. the girl staring back didn't look beautiful anymore. she looked pathetic. she looked like a fan waiting for an autograph that would never come.
tears welled up, hot and stinging. you didn't wipe them away. you watched them track through the foundation, leaving streaks of ruin down your cheeks.
"stupid," you choked out, your voice breaking. "you are so stupid."
you unzipped the dress. it fell to the floor in a pool of silk. you didn't bother hanging it up. you kicked it aside. you took a makeup wipe and scrubbed your face, harsh and angry motions that turned your skin red. you scrubbed away the contour, the blush, the hope.
you put on an oversized t-shirt, one that wasn't hers, you refused to wear hers right now, and crawled into bed. you curled into a ball, hugging your knees to your chest.
you couldn't sleep. you just stared at the wall, feeling the hollowness in your chest expand until it consumed you.
1:00 am.
your phone buzzed on the nightstand.
the light was blinding in the darkness. you squinted, your heart doing a painful flip in your chest. it was her.
megan: baby i’m so sorry, we had a vocal session that was way longer than any of us expected to be.
you stared at the words. a vocal session.
megan: we have an album we need to release before the end of the year yk that..let me make it up to you, i’ll be there in 20 okay?
something inside you snapped. it wasn't a loud snap. it was the quiet death of your patience.
she didn't forget. she just prioritized. and she didn't even have the decency to text you during the session to tell you to take off the dress. she let you wait. she let you sit there for four and a half hours because she assumed you would always be there waiting.
your fingers trembled as you typed. you didn't scream. you didn't use caps lock. you didn't send a paragraph.
me: don’t bother, i really don’t wanna see u rn megan
you watched the read receipt appear instantly. the three dots began to bounce. she was typing.
you turned off your phone. you placed it face down on the nightstand. and then, finally, you cried yourself to sleep.
-
you woke up with a headache that throbbed behind your eyes. the sun was streaming through the curtains, offensive and bright. your eyes felt swollen and gritty.
you shuffled to the kitchen to get water, your body feeling heavy, like you were moving through molasses.
knock. knock. knock.
you froze, glass in hand.
knock. knock.
"y/n? i know you're in there. please open up."
it was megan. her voice sounded wrecked.
you didn't want to open it. you wanted to crawl back into a hole. but the anger, that cold, hard anger, propelled you forward. you walked to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open.
megan stood in the hallway. she looked terrible, which gave you zero satisfaction. she was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her face bare, dark circles under her eyes prominent. she looked like she hadn't slept.
"y/n," she breathed out, stepping forward, reaching for you.
you took a sharp step back, putting the door between you and her. "don't."
megan flinched, her hand dropping to her side. she looked at you. she saw the swollen eyes, the red-rimmed lids, the absolute exhaustion radiating off you.
"i came as soon as i woke up," megan said, her voice trembling. "i tried calling you all night. why was your phone off?"
"because i was sleeping, megan," you said, your voice raspy and devoid of warmth. "unlike you, i don't operate on idol time."
"i said i was sorry," megan pleaded, her desperation rising. "it was the producers. they wouldn't let us leave until the harmony was perfect. i couldn't check my phone. you know how strict they are."
"i don't care," you said flatly.
"you don't care?" megan blinked, looking hurt. "y/n, it's my career. it's the album. you know this is my dream."
"and what am i?" you asked, the question cutting through the air like a knife. you finally looked her in the eyes, and the intensity of your gaze made her stumble back. "am i a hobby? am i a pastime? or am i just a staff member you keep around for when you're bored?"
megan’s face paled. "that... that isn't fair. you know why i said that."
"i waited for five hours, megan." you laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "i sat on my couch in a dress i bought specifically for you, for five hours. do you have any idea what that feels like? to sit there and realize that i am not even worth a five-second text message?"
"i didn't have my phone!" megan raised her voice slightly, frustration leaking into her tone. "i’m trying my best here! i’m trying to balance the biggest career of my life and this relationship, and i’m doing it alone!"
"you're not doing it alone!" you yelled back, the dam finally breaking. "i am the one hiding in cars! i am the one being called 'staff'! i am the one sitting alone in an apartment waiting for scraps of your time! i am doing all the compromising, megan!"
megan stepped into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind her.
"you think i want to hide you?" megan shouted, her hands balling into fists. "you think i like lying to people? i am doing this to protect us! if they find out, it’s over. the group, the tour, everything! i am under so much pressure, y/n, i feel like i can’t breathe half the time!"
"then stop dragging me down with you!" you screamed, your voice cracking, tears hot and fast returning to your eyes. "if it’s too much, then let me go! because being your dirty little secret is killing me! i am a person, megan! i have feelings!"
"i know you have feelings!" megan stepped closer, her face contorted with stress and anger. "but you knew! you said you understood! you said you could handle the lifestyle!"
"i thought i could handle the lifestyle!" you countered, gesturing wildly around the empty apartment. "i didn't think the lifestyle meant being stood up until 1 am while you pretend i don't exist! i didn't think it meant loving someone who puts me second every single time!"
"i don't put you second!"
"yes, you do! every single day! the fans come first. the company comes first. the girls come first. and i get whatever scraps are left over!" you were sobbing now, your chest heaving, the headache pounding against your skull. "i'm tired, megan. i'm so tired of being invisible."
"i am trying to build a future!" megan yelled, her voice raw. "for me! for us!"
"there is no us if you’re never here!"
the words hung in the air, vibrating with the force of your scream. megan stared at you, her mouth slightly open, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
you wiped your face aggressively with the back of your hand, sniffing loudly. you looked at her, and for the first time, you didn't see the idol. you just saw a girl who was hurting you.
"i’m just so..." you trailed off, your voice dropping to a broken whisper. "i'm done. i'm done fighting for your attention, megan."
the silence that followed was suffocating.
megan paused. her angry stance faltered. she blinked, and suddenly, the adrenaline that had been fueling her rage evaporated, leaving behind a cold, stark terror.
she looked at you. really looked at you. you were shaking. your face was wet with tears. you looked broken.
megan reached up to touch her own face and was startled to find it wet. she hadn't even realized she was crying. her fingers came away damp with tears she hadn't felt falling.
but that wasn't what stopped her heart. it was what you said. i'm done.
those two words echoed in her head, louder than any cheering crowd. done.
"what..." megan’s voice was a ghost of a whisper. "what do you mean... you're done?"
you didn't answer. you just looked at the floor, hugging yourself as if trying to keep your pieces together.
megan felt the floor drop out from under her. the anger was gone, replaced instantly by a panic so sharp it nearly brought her to her knees. she realized, with terrifying clarity, that she was about to lose you. not just for a date. not just for a night. but forever.
she thought about her life without you. no late-night texts. no giggling in dressing rooms. no one to hold her when the pressure got too much. just empty hotel rooms and screaming fans who didn't know her.
"no," megan whimpered. "no, you can't... you can't mean that."
she rushed forward, closing the distance between you, but she didn't grab you. she didn't pull you in. she collapsed.
megan skiendiel, the girl who danced on stages in front of thousands, dropped to her knees on your living room floor.
"y/n... baby, please," she sobbed, reaching out to take your hands. her grip was desperate, her palms clammy. "don't say that. don't say you're done. please."
you tried to pull your hands away, but she held on tight, pressing her forehead against your knuckles.
"i can't lose you," she cried into your skin. "i can't. i swear to god, i can't live without you. you're... you're everything. you're the only real thing i have."
you bit your lip, looking away, trying to steel your heart. "megan, get up."
"no!" she shook her head frantically against your hands, looking up at you. "i won't get up until you tell me you're not leaving. i'll fix it. i swear, i'll fix it. i'll tell them to back off. i'll make time. i'll scream it from the rooftops if you want me to. just... just give me time. give me one more chance."
you looked down at her. her eyes, those big, dark, expressive eyes, were swimming with tears. her eyelashes were clumped together. she looked terrified. she looked like a puppy that had been kicked.
it was your weak spot. it always had been.
your resolve, which had felt so solid moments ago, began to crumble. you loved her. god help you, you loved her so much it hurt. you saw the sincerity in her face, the sheer panic at the thought of a life without you.
you let out a shaky breath, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. "i can't keep doing this, meg. i can't keep waiting."
"you won't have to," she promised, squeezing your hands. "i'll be better. i'll be the girlfriend you deserve. i'll be greedy with my time for you. just... please. don't go."
you closed your eyes, tilting your head back. the silence stretched, heavy and fragile.
"just one chance," you rasped out, your voice barely audible.
megan let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. she scrambled up from her knees and immediately pulled you into her arms. she buried her face in your neck, holding you so tightly it was almost hard to breathe.
"thank you," she wept against your shoulder. "thank you, thank you. i love you so much. i'm so sorry."
you slowly brought your arms up to wrap around her, your fingers threading into her hair. you cried together, standing in the hallway, the fight draining out of you until only exhaustion remained.
-
the rest of the day was spent in silence, but it was a healing silence.
you didn't go out. you didn't open the curtains. megan led you to the couch, and you both collapsed onto it, tangling your limbs together under a throw blanket. she refused to let go of you. even when she had to use the bathroom, she made you promise to stay right there.
she kissed your swollen eyelids. she kissed your forehead. she kissed your knuckles. every touch was an apology.
eventually, exhaustion took over. you fell asleep with your head on her chest, the rhythm of her heartbeat lulling you into a dreamless nap.
megan stayed awake. she watched you sleep, tracing the line of your jaw with her eyes. she looked at the puffiness of your face and hated herself for causing it. she thought about the fear she felt when you said you were done. she never wanted to feel that again.
she carefully reached for her phone on the coffee table, trying not to disturb you.
she opened her messages. she found the contact labeled manager.
her thumb hovered over the keyboard. she looked at you one last time, sleeping peacefully in her arms. she made her choice.
megan: schedule a meeting with missy for tomorrow. it’s important.
megan: we need to talk about my schedule and my contract terms. it can't wait.
hii idk if this will make sense but you seem good with visual things!
could you write something about the katseye girls birthdays and reader gets them a cake and the girls spend time with reader in there room and what they would do? it can be fluff or suggestive however you see fit and what kind of cake and room you’d give them?
sophia gives romantic cozy. she’s such a helpless romantic honestly it can be her day and her focus would still be completely be on you. wants to make sure your comfortable before suggesting a movie so she could hold you. after dinner and some of the cake you got her maybe a small drink or two if your of age so by end the night she’ll be all over you with your permission. thats the gift she waited all day for you i can see the cake being vanilla and or blueberry. something that would surprise her since the outside is lavender and cream
daniela gives spontaneous but private i don’t think she would even be home probably rented a venue or a hotel on a high rise just to have a bed with that window view. after blowing them candles she’s distracted peppering you in kisses. she feels to many emotions to sit still she’ll be all over your lap. laying on your chest. probably doesn’t even get to the cake until the next day bc her physical wants came first. i can see the cake being vanilla or citrus. something tangy yet subtle
manon is so comfy and sweet :< her cake is definitely delicate like caramel cookie or apple honey. nothing fancy she would take you to her room and wants to take a bath with you instantly. being close to you bare and natural is the most intimate thing to give her on that day or any day. dosent even get dressed after she’ll be in a robe gushing over how the good the cake is. sleeps like a baby cuddling you. actually the only one that wouldn’t do bed related activity until the morning after when everything passes and sets in she treats you for it
lara would be a lowkey pillow princess for you. not that she’ll say it out loud but today she does love how you spoil her. doesn’t even have anything specific in mind at all just lets you surprise her. its a given that she’s a cuddlier you will definitely be laid on a lot. would take pictures of everything. herself you the cake you got her that she loves. i can see it being a half and half cake the black side vanilla the printed side chocolate. she would surly keep that tiara and pose with it all night
megan is megan just a little more emotional and attentive. she’s wouldn’t expect you to do anything big let alone get her such a pretty cake. she looks at it takes pictures of it hugs you. will do anything but wanna eat it bc its too pretty :< and its for her? she’s short circuiting. definitely takes you to her room its not even a thought in her head besides being as close to you as she possibly can. won’t be doing much sleeping. i see the cake being strawberry with small diced cherries in the middle
yoonchae has a soft spot for you after this. of all the cakes you could get the little dog genuinely tickles her. very giggly about it she can’t even hide it she likes it a lot. and the insides layered chocolates? you actually earned yourself a kiss. don’t rub it in tho just take it. she’s not fancy either would take you to her room to pull a little netflix and chill. it’s rare since she’s not usually touchy but she would lay againt your arm and let you hold her. probably falls asleep there so let her quietly
staying friends is safe (doesn't mean you should) [SMAU]
pairings: sophia laforteza x f!reader
warnings: yearning, everyone needs a hug, a lot of shipping, eventual smut, fluff.
sophia's got a new boyfriend, you'll always be stuck being the best friend. but sophia's yearner eyes are really hard to hide, and the feelings never fade.
CHAPTER 35: staying friends is safe (doesn't mean you should)
a/n: and that's a wrap. thank you SO much to everyone who showed up everyday, commented, read, left messages in my inbox, you've all truly made my day every single day, and i'm going to miss this SO Much. thank you for giving me this opportunity to write and share this silly idea with you. until then, please take care, and drink water. love you all 🤞
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