not sure whether this was just a statement (cause yes🤤) or a request, but using this prompt anyways as an excuse to write this lil thing i’ve been thinking about since the animal mv came out..
pairing: daniela avanzini x masc!girl reader
content: slight nsfw(?), suggestive, jealous!dani, possessiveness, dani being a tease, reader being oblivious, petnames, dom!dani, praise, condescension
word count: 2.2k
daniela loved shopping.
she loved running around the mall all afternoon, trying on different outfits, testing different perfumes, and getting free makeovers in sephora.
you hated shopping.
you loved getting new clothes, but you much preferred buying your stuff online. you always got way too tired, way too fast at the mall, and all you wanted to do was grab a pretzel from auntie anne’s, maybe a new video game from gamestop and get the hell out of there.
of course, daniela wouldn’t have that. for some reason, out of all of the kats, she had made you her designated shopping buddy, so she’s always dragging you there whenever she gets the chance. you would’ve hated it, if it wasn’t for the way daniela’s eyes would light up every weekend when you would begrudgingly agree to go with her.
you figured it was only because you drove her, held all her bags for her, and offered to pay for everything no matter how much she protested. sometimes she even picks some stuff out for you from the stores you like, which makes you feel good, like a little doll daniela likes to play with.
you had no idea about the real reason behind daniela’s behaviour, until one particular saturday afternoon shopping spree.
“come on, don’t be such a baby,” dani pouts, gripping onto your bicep as you trudge across the marble floors. the bright lights are starting to give you a bit of a headache. “one more store, i promise, and then i’ll buy you a pretzel. my treat!”
you smiled despite yourself, and nod, easy to please. “the little cinnamon bite ones?”
“yes,” daniela chuckles with a humourous roll of her eyes, “whatever ones you want, now come on–” she tugs your arm roughly, dragging you into the next store, almost knocking all her bags out of your hand with the force.
“there is a human body attached to that arm by the way—” you retort, but she’s ignoring you now, already fawning over something on a rack in the corner. you look up from where you were rubbing your arm to look for her, and your throat dries as you realise where you are. daniela has brought you into a lingerie store.
and now she’s holding up a pair of lacy red panties, looking over at you expectantly. “y/n? did you hear me?”
“huh?” you manage out, your voice hoarse. you could not handle this today. or any day, for that matter.
daniela looks at you as if you’re dumb. “i asked you what you think of these.”
you blink rapidly. you don’t think you’re going to survive this. the image in your head of daniela’s round ass and tanned thighs cushioned by the thin lacy fabric makes you go a little insane.
“um, they’re nice..” you manage out, the tips of your ears flaming red.
daniela raises a brow, eyes flitting over your blushing face. “is that it?”
“sorry, you’ll look good in them. i like it.” you quickly add, trying to make your voice sound as even as possible despite how fast your heart is beating in your ribcage.
“but do you think they’ll make my boobs look good?” she almost looks like she’s testing you now.
the image of that does nothing to help your current situation. “obviously—” you splutter out. “probably, i don’t know?”
dani blinks at you, tilting her head to the side in confusion and feigning innocence.
“uh, i’m not the best person to ask..” you shove your hands into your pockets, wanting the floor to just swallow you up already.
“you’re acting weird.” dani says simply, before turning around back to the displays. you don’t notice the self-satisfied smirk on her face as she turns away from you.
she spends a couple minutes longer looking through some different sets, but ends up settling on that red one that seemed to make your brain go to mush just from the idea of her wearing it.
“i’m gonna go try this on, okay?” she says, squeezing your arm as she moves past you towards the fitting room. “don’t go anywhere.”
“uh, okay.” you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you watch her disappear behind the curtain. when she’s gone, you can finally breathe easy for a couple seconds— until you realise the fact that she’s literally stripping out of her clothes behind that very same curtain in that exact moment, and you flush again.
you tell yourself to stop being such a pervert. she’s your bestfriend— but you can’t help it. you can’t help but think about what she looks like in that very moment, the delicate fabric molding around her smooth skin, holding her breasts together, how her nipples are probably visible through the sheer material– fuck, y/n, stop.
she’s probably buying them for that weird guy who’s been hanging around her recently, like a fly that won’t go away. his face irritates you. lara agreed with you when you brought it up last week. the thought of him seeing her in that set and not you makes your stomach turn a little, but you figure it will go away once you get to be the one that pays for them when she’s done.
you’re finally dragged out of your wandering thoughts by a girl’s voice– not daniela’s, an unfamiliar one.
“hey, there. are you lost?” the girl asks, giving you a coy smile. she’s around the same height as dani, but her hair is lighter, and tumbles down her shoulders.
“what?” you frown, confused.
she looks down at your slumped frame, black polo and baggy jeans with the band of your calvin klein boxers peeking out the top. you realise how much you stand out amongst the other customers. “are you shopping for yourself?”
“oh- uh, no!” you say quickly, shaking your head. “i’m here with someone, she’s just trying some stuff on i think.”
“i thought so, you look more like a nike sports bra kind of girl.” she grins, tilting her head to the side.
“yeah, you would be correct on that one.” you smile back, and your shyness starts to dissipate a little. “i’m just the bag holder.” you gesture down to the numerous shopping bags in your hands.
“that’s cute, is it your girlfriend?” the girl asks, looking a little hopeful about your answer.
you start blushing again, and chuckle nervously. “uh, no, not my girlfriend.” you wish.
the girl’s eyes light up, looking satisfied with your answer, and even more interested in the conversation. she touches your bicep lightly with her fingertips, which is flexing from the weight of the bags. “so you’re just a gentlewoman, then?”
you don’t know how to answer that, and shrug bashfully. “i don’t know about that..”
“i’m gabriela, by the way.” she steps a little closer to you, her eyes racking over you like she’s hungry. her perfume was so strong, and it made you dizzy– or maybe it was the fact that you had been walking around the mall for almost five hours, without even a bite to eat (thanks alot, dani). “what’s your name, cutie?”
“y/n,” you say, and turn your head towards the fitting rooms. what the hell is taking daniela so long?
“while you wait for your friend, do you think you could help me? i’m kinda stuck between the pink or the purple.” she holds up two lingerie sets. “which one do you think would suit me better?” gabriela bats her eyelashes as she watches you, waiting.
“uh,” you take a moment to consider it, not sure why this random stranger is asking you of all people for advice, when it's clear you don’t know a thing about—
“—y/n!” daniela calls, poking her head out from behind the curtain. “can you come here?” she sends a dark look to the stranger talking to you, her eyes narrowed. if looks could kill, gabriela would have burst into a ball of flames by now.
was she listening this whole time?
“i need your help with the clasp. come.” dani says, but she looks irritated. she’s still glaring at gabriela.
“i was just talking to—”
“now, y/n.” daniela says shortly, and you’re surprised with how firm her tone is. she never usually speaks to you like that, unless she’s exhausted and hangry from rehearsing all day.
you don’t waste another second, sending gabriela a polite nod and rushing to the stall daniela’s in, despite how jellified your legs feel at the implicit knowledge of what’s behind the curtain.
when you enter the cramped space, you stay as close to the wall as possible, your breathing picking up at the sight of daniela’s toned back in front of you. it takes you alot of strength not to fall to your knees in front of her. the red bra fits perfectly, and you almost salivate at the sight of how the lace stretches around the swell of her breasts.
you look up and down between the bra and the panties as if you can’t decide between them which you like more, before remembering what you were invited back here for. and it wasn’t to ogle at your best friend like some horny teenage boy.
you fix your gaze back onto her back, looking for the so-called clasp you were supposed to fit for her. you’re surprised to see it’s already done up and in place. “wait, what did you want me for?” you ask, confused.
dani turns around to face you. she’s been watching you admire her from your reflection in the mirror, and loving every second of it. “you’re so clueless, baby.” daniela tuts, looking up at you as she reaches out and scratches her nails across the back of your neck. “can’t even tell when a girl is clearly all over you?”
your whole body trembles under her touch as if you’re the one who’s half naked right now.
“just wanted to get you away from that girl.” she says lowly, and there’s an edge to her voice you’ve never heard before. “didn’t like the way she was talking to you.”
“come on, dani, she was just being nice..” you protest weakly, a shiver running down your spine as her nails dig a little harder into the nape of your neck, her touch possessive and claiming. you weren’t sure whether this was really happening, or whether you had died when you saw daniela in that lingerie set, and this was your version of heaven.
“nice?” daniela scoffs. “she was practically throwing herself at you. i leave you alone for five minutes, and look what happens. you know how much i hate when girls act so desperate over you.” she trails her fingers higher up your neck, so they thread through your hair, and she tugs lightly, a flash of something territorial in her eyes.
“i wasn’t- i wasn’t flirting with her,” you offer weakly.
“i know you weren’t, puppy. you’re such a good girl like that.” daniela hums, trailing her hand down your shoulders. “you understand that i don’t like to share you, don’t you?”
you blink. that was also something that you hadn’t considered. dani picks up on your surprised expression, and she pouts.
“oh, y/n. i thought you were smart.” she shakes her head. “i’m so disappointed in you. here i was, going to buy these panties just for you, and you didn’t even realise.”
“for me?” you feel like you’re about to explode now.
“yes baby, why do you think i always invite you out shopping with me? i just wanna get you alone in here, but you always get so shy.”
you blush, looking down at your shoes. daniela tilts your head up gently to look at her, and hooks her fingers onto the waistband of the lacy panties, toying with them to see how much she can tease you before you combust. “remind me never to leave you alone again, okay? i’m the only girl i want you looking at like this, got it?”
you swallow, to busy drinking in the sight of her so all you can do is nod.
“good. now why don’t you show me how much you like this set on me?” she tugs you closer by the collar of your polo, and you can no longer hold yourself back, hands reaching out to grip at her ass through the lace panties. her toned abs brush against your torso as your bodies connect and you groan a little under your breath at the feeling of her body in your palms.
“there we go,” daniela hums approvingly against your mouth, your grip firm and tracing delicately over the fabric. “would you like to touch me? is that something you might like, puppy?” her nails trace slowly up her chest, curling around the strap of the bra, and pulling it down her shoulder sensually.
your eyes catch on her collarbones and you lick your lips, nodding desperately. it’s like your wet dreams have come true in front of your eyes. “y-yeah. yes dani, i’d like that.”
“i thought so.” she gives your cheek a firm pat. “how about you tell me who you belong to first, and then i’ll let you do anything you want to me, does that sound good?”
synopsis ˎˊ˗ you and your girlfriend spend a warm summer evening together in brazil, and things turn out a little differently than you expected. inspired by the hootie frutti mv.
warnings : smut minors dni. porn with little plot, shower sex, g!p reader, fingering, anal, multiple climaxes, dirty talk, praise, teasing.
a/n: creds to @deadpoolps who has a pretty similar fic go read :) other tags: @cleoisbroke @miagamegirl
you let out a sigh as you felt the cold aircondition hit your sunburnt skin as you walked into your hotel room.
you and daniela had spent almost the entire day at the beach, tanning in the warm sun.
daniela followed right behind you, closing the door and collapsing on the bed almost immediately.
“god, i’m so warm.” daniela murmured, closing her eyes gently.
a chuckle left your mouth at your girlfriend’s words, lying down on the bed beside her.
“me too. i don’t think ac has ever felt so good before.” you sighed out.
daniela smiled, slowly reaching her hand towards you, touching your cheek.
you leaned into her touch instinctively.
“i think a cold shower right now would be perfect. you wanna join me?” she asked.
you could only nod quickly.
daniela giggled at your eagerness, standing up and gently dragging you with her.
when you reached the bathroom together, daniela’s lips pressed against yours, her tongue eventually pushing into your mouth.
you melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around her as your mouth kept moving against hers.
daniela slowly started to undress you, pulling your t-shirt over your head and your shorts down your legs before doing the same with your bikini top.
it didn’t take long before you both were completely bare.
the sun was going down outside, sunlight from the golden hour streaming through the windows.
it casted her body perfectly, making her tan stand out and look like it was glowing.
her soft skin pressed against yours as you moved into the shower, your free hand reaching for the shower handle to turn it on.
cool water streamed down on your bodies, making daniela shiver lightly.
you laughed softly, pulling her closer to you, asking “too cold?”.
daniela laughed too, shaking her head before she kissed you again. “no. just need to get used to it.” she muttered against your lips.
you smiled into it before pulling away shortly, only to press soft kisses to her neck while one of your hands moved down her body.
daniela let out a breathy moan, closing her eyes at the feeling. her hands moved to your hair, starting to play with the damp strands.
your fingers reached even lower, feeling how wet she was both from the water and arousal.
you slowly began rubbing her clit, still kissing her neck while the water dripped down your bodies.
“just like that…” daniela sighed out, barely audible over the sound of the shower.
two of your fingers entered her slowly, letting her adjust to them before starting to move quickly, curling them deep inside of her.
“fuck, wait-“ daniela’s grip tightened around your back, feeling your fingers inside of her and how they hit every spot just right.
you could feel how close she was already by the way she clenched a little around you, growing tighter while her thighs started shaking slightly.
“already? you’re so easy f’me baby.” you teased, kissing her throat a little more harshly, surely leaving marks.
daniela nodded her head quickly before resting her forehead against your shoulder.
“y-yes, only for you. please don’t stop.” she whined out.
you continued your motions just as she asked, setting even a faster pace while she held onto you.
the knot in her stomach finally snapped, making her cry out as she came on your fingers.
you helped her ride out her orgasm, your fingers not stopping until a few more moments before carefully pulling them out.
daniela wasn’t done though.
her lips crashed onto yours once more, kissing you deeply before turning around.
she steadied herself on her palms against the cold shower wall, bending over slightly.
you bit your lip at the sight of how she presented her body to you, soaking wet while her hazy eyes looked over her shoulder, practically begging to be fucked.
“you want more huh?” you asked as you stepped behind her.
you slowly and gently pushed inside of her, moaning quietly at her clenching around you.
she let out a sharp gasp, getting used to the feeling, but growing impatient of your teasing.
“please… please move.” daniela begged, pushing slightly back towards you.
you chuckled at her eagerness, starting to build a rhythm and moving your hips.
“so needy. such a good girl.” you praised as you landed a slap on her ass, making daniela moan loudly.
the sound of water running and your skin slapping against each other could be heard, along with your loud moans as you plowed into her.
she felt so tight and warm around you, her walls gripping around your hardness just right.
one of your hands moved up to her breast, squeezing lightly while her hand placed over yours.
you adjusted a little, the angle now making you go even deeper than before.
“s-shit, i’m cumming-“ you warned, thrusting into her one last time before your climax hit you like a wave.
the feeling of your release filling daniela up made her follow not long after, her body shaking slightly against yours, both of you moaning loudly.
the both of you breathed heavily as you eventually came down from your highs, exhaustion filling your limbs.
you gently kissed daniela’s shoulder before resting your head against her back, carefully wrapping your arms around her from behind.
“you okay?” you asked softly, caressing her toned stomach.
“yeah. that was amazing…” she hummed, leaning her head back just a little to press a small kiss to your lips.
you smiled slightly, pulling away only to rest your forehead against hers.
──── ( 🍑 ) summer is always a hot topic of conversation, as people are always divided when it comes to talking about it: there are those who love it with all their heart and swear it’s the best season of all, while some people despise everything related to high temperatures because they hate feeling hot and everything that comes with it. for your part, you don’t find the summer so unbearable because you can always take refuge in your apartment with cool drinks and anything else that saves you from the unbearable heat, but everything turns horrible when your air conditioner breaks down because of your roommate daniela, and summer feels hotter than hell.
𝓟aring. switch!best friend!daniela avanzini x switch!best friend!fem reader.
𝓒ontent 𝓦arnings. arguing, bitting, body worship, clit play, cum eating , cunnilingus, degration, dirty talk, face sitting, face fucking, fingering, food play, gropping, hair pulling, humiliation, ice play, multiple orgasms, nipple play, pet names, power play, praise, scissoring, squirting, temperature play, titsucking.
𝓦ord 𝓒ount. 7,1k.
𝓜asterlist.
the air conditioning in the supermarket didn’t work. or, more accurately, it was losing a losing war against the ninety–eight–degree humidity pressing its fat shoulders against the glass doors every time someone dragged them open.
you stood in aisle four’s overflow, your right arm hooked through the plastic handles of a red hand–basket that felt, by the third minute of standing still, as though it were lined with lead shot. inside it sat two nectarines with skins like taut velvet, a tub of semi–soft goat cheese, a bunch of basil that was already beginning to sweat inside its cellophane sleeve, and a single, fat yellow tomato. no–cook food. the only kind of food that made sense in a week where turning on the oven felt like an act of domestic terrorism.
ahead of you, the checkout snake moved with the majestic, glacial indifference of continental drift.
every cart in your field of vision was piled to the chrome rim with the white gold of july: twenty-four-packs of bottled water wrapped in slick blue plastic, ten-pound bags of tube ice sliding around like white-bellied fish, half–gallons of vanilla bean ice cream with the corners of their cardboard lids already going damp and gray from condensation. it was a mass migration toward anything that had spent the last twenty-four hours within three feet of a compressor.
you could feel your hair starting to get wet again. it had been reasonably fresh when you stepped out of the shower twenty minutes ago—cool water, eucalyptus soap, a quick towel–blot that left the ends damp and curling against the nape of your neck. now, the dampness was entirely different. it was heavy, oily with humidity, the kind of sweat that doesn’t evaporate so much as it just sits there, gluing stray strands of hair to your forehead and the sides of your face.
a single droplet broke free from your left temple, tracked a slow, tickling path down the side of your nose, and hovered at the tip. you didn’t have a free hand to wipe it; your left arm was balancing the basket, and your right was buried in the pocket of your denim cut–offs, clutching your apartment key like a talisman.
do i smell? the thought arrived unbidden, sharp and paranoid. you shifted your weight from your left foot to your right, your bare shoulders sticking momentarily to the cotton straps of your gray ribbed tank top. you smelled yourself—or at least you tried to, sniffing cautiously down the front of your shirt like a terrified terrier. laundry detergent, faint traces of hotel–sample shampoo, and something metallic and hot that was entirely, unpleasantly human. you imagined yourself radiating a miasma that said disgusting gym dude who forgot deodorant after leg day, and you curled your toes inside your rubber flip–flops, wishing the linoleum floor would open up and swallow you down into the cool, dark belly of the municipal water mains.
“oh, (y/n) honey,” a voice rasped from somewhere near your left elbow. “don’t even get me started on the eggs.”
you stiffened. you didn’t need to turn your head to know who it was. the sharp scent of white shoulders perfume—a scent that somehow smelled both powdery and rancid in the heat—preceded her by six inches.
it was mrs. gable from 3b. the lady who lived directly below you, whose television was either permanently tuned to the home shopping network at three in the morning or broadcasting legal dramas with the treble turned all the way up.
“i went to three different places this morning,” mrs. gable continued, leaning in as if you were old cellmates sharing contraband. she was wearing a turquoise muumuu that looked like it had been quilted out of a vintage shower curtain. her hair was set in lavender rollers she hadn’t bothered to take out, presumably because she considered the street a permanent extension of her vanity table. “three! not a carton under four dollars. and the shells? thin as tissue paper. you crack them and they just shatter, dear. you’re baking?”
she peered down into your red basket, her small, watery blue eyes squinting through bifocals that were fogging up from the ambient steam rising off a cartload of frozen pizzas.
“just... some fruit.” you muttered, staring intently at the nape of the man:s neck two people ahead of you. he had a mole shaped like arkansas just below his hairline. you concentrated on the mole. you willed arkansas to detach itself and crawl away.
“fruit doesn’t keep in this, my love.” mrs. gable said, patting the air with a hand that wore three chunky silver rings shaped like howling wolves. “not with the humidity the way it is. my kitchen feels like a laundry room. i had to throw out half a pound of butter yesterday. just slid right off the dish into a puddle. like grease. you got your fan on?”
“yes,” you lied. you had a small, white plastic oscillating fan that rattled like a box of dry bones every time it hit the far–right oscillation stop. you hadn’t turned it on yet because you were afraid the motor would catch fire if the ambient temperature rose another degree.
“you need two,” she advised, nodding sagely. “one for the front, one for the back. create a cross–breeze. my mother always said—”
the line lurched forward six inches. you took a half–step, your flip–flop slapping the floor with a wet thwack. you didn’t answer. you just stared at arkansas with an intensity that bordered on the clinical, praying for mrs. gable to be swallowed by the dairy coolers, praying for the cashier to have a sudden revelation about the meaning of life that caused her to abandon her station and run screaming into the parking lot. anything to stop the voice. the voice was a physical weight, pressing down on your crown like a lead skillet.
when you finally paid—fourteen dollars and twelve cents for two peaches that would probably be mealy in the center and a piece of goat cheese that was already sweating through its wax paper—you didn’t say goodbye. you grabbed the plastic bag by its handles, hitched the basket over your elbow to return it to the stack, and bolted through the sliding doors before mrs. gable could finish her sentence about her mother’s copper tub.
the walk home was a theological argument against the existence of a benevolent creator. the sidewalk wasn't just hot; it was radiating. the asphalt had absorbed every kilowatt of solar energy since noon and was now giving it back in slow, shimmering waves that warped the view of the brownstones across the street. your flip–flops—cheap rubber things you’d bought in a three–pack at a drugstore three summers ago—seemed to be softening underfoot. every step involved a slight suction sound as the heel pulled away from the melting blacktop.
by the time you reached the red brick facade of your building, your tank top was soaked through at the small of your back, forming a dark, cold triangle against your spine. your breath came short and shallow, as if the oxygen had been burned out of the atmosphere and replaced by eighty percent liquid nitrogen and twenty percent car exhaust.
you pushed open the heavy iron lobby door, expecting the blessed, cave–like chill of the vestibule. there was none. the hallway smelled of stagnant mop water and someone’s fried fish from two hours ago.
you walked to the bank of mailboxes, your keys already out, and reached for the call button of the elevator. the little brass indicator light above the door—the one that had flickered amber since the previous administration—was dead. not even a ghost of a glow. next to it, a handwritten note on lined looseleaf paper was taped with yellowed scotch tape: “elevator out of order. parts on order. sorry.”
you stood there for five full seconds, staring at the cursive scrawl. sorry. the word looked small and stupid against the dark green wainscoting of the lobby.
ten floors. you lived on ten. the top floor. the one right beneath the tar–ann–gravel roof that spent twelve hours a day acting as a solar cooker for the entire six–story, four–unit–per–floor architectural mistake known as the meridian.
“no,” you said aloud to the empty hallway. you turned around, as if there might be a secret second elevator hidden behind the umbrella stand. there wasn’t. just a stack of old telephone directories and a rusted radiator that looked like it hadn't carried steam since the eisenhower administration.
you started climbing. the first three flights were manageable, though your thighs began to protest with a dull, lactic–acid burn. by the sixth floor, the stairwell had lost all ventilation. it was a vertical chimney trapping every bit of rising heat from the lower apartments, mixed with the smell of old wool and floor wax. your flip–flops made a rhythmic slap–skid, slap–skid on the concrete steps.
on the eighth floor, you had to stop on the landing, setting the plastic grocery bag down on the metal grating of the fire escape door. you leaned your forehead against the cool, grease–filmed glass of the narrow slit window. your heart was knocking against your ribs like a trapped bird. your vision had grayed slightly at the edges, little pinpricks of light dancing in the corners of your eyes like gnats.
just two more, you told yourself. two more and you can lie face down on the linoleum.
when you finally reached the tenth–floor landing, your knees felt like wet cardboard. your left hand was shaking so badly it took three tries to get the key into the deadbolt of 10c. you threw your shoulder against the door—it always stuck when the humidity swelled the frame—and tumbled into the apartment like a sack of damp laundry.
the apartment didn’t feel like a sanctuary, instead, it felt like an oven that had been turned off twenty minutes ago but still retained enough heat to bake a loaf of sourdough.
“daniela?” you called out, your voice cracking from dryness.
“don’t,” a voice groaned from the direction of the kitchenette. “don’t even say my name unless you brought ice.”
daniela was sitting on the linoleum floor with her back propped against the base of the lower cabinets. she looked like she had just crawled out of a shipwreck. her dark, thick hair—usually a mass of defined, bouncy curls—was half-escaped from a yellow plastic claw clip, sticking to her damp neck in oily ringlets. some strands had plastered themselves across her cheeks like wet seaweed. she was wearing an oversized men’s undershirt that had gone gray at the armpits and a pair of blue denim cut-offs whose frayed hems were curling upward. she was barefoot, one ankle crossed lazily over the other, and she was holding a wooden spatula like it was a scepter of mourning.
“i didn’t bring ice,” you said, dropping the plastic bag onto the formica counter with a dull thud. the nectarines rolled out, thumping against the canister set. “the line was twenty people deep and mrs. gable cornered me by the dairy case.”
daniela didn’t look at you. she kept her eyes fixed on the white plastic box sitting on the small folding table in the corner—the window unit air conditioner you and she had split fifty–fifty back in november when the hardware store was clearing out inventory at eighty percent off. it was a heavy, slate-gray monolith with arctic-aire stamped across the front in peeling chrome letters. it sat there like an unexploded bomb, plugged into the wall, its green power light flickering with a pathetic, intermittent stutter.
click. whir-r-r-r... click.
then nothing. the fan inside would give one half–hearted shudder, as if a squirrel were trying to turn a bicycle wheel with its paws, and then die back down into silence.
“it’s not pulling enough juice,” daniela muttered, her voice thick with exhaustion and a strange, bubbling fury. “the wiring in this building is from nineteen–twenty. i told the landlord last month. i said, ‘frank, the breakers are going to blow if we run a toaster and a hair dryer at the same time.’ and you know what he said?’
*i don’t care what he said, daniela,” you snapped, reaching past her toward the narrow, yellowing refrigerator. your throat felt like it was lined with coarse sandpaper. “i just want some water.”
you grabbed the handle of the fridge, yanked it open, and braced yourself for the wave of artificial winter.
nothing came out.
the interior light was a dim, jaundiced yellow. on the top shelf stood a row of three glass pitchers and four plastic dasani bottles.
you picked one up. it was light. you unscrewed the cap and tilted it over your mouth. two drops of lukewarm, slightly metallic water hit your tongue. then the bottle went dry. you picked up the second. empty. the third. empty. the pitchers—which you had filled with tap water two nights ago—contained about an inch of liquid each at the bottom, warm enough to brew tea, with a faint white ring of lime scale around the rim.
you looked down into the vegetable crisper. the two remaining plums were soft on one side, their skins wrinkled like old knuckles.
you stood there with the refrigerator door open, the yellow bulb beating down on your face like a tiny, domestic sun.
“daniela,” you said, and your voice was no longer tired. it had an edge to it now, sharp as a box cutter. “why are there five empty bottles in the fridge?”
daniela didn’t move her head from the cabinet base. she just rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. ”i was thirsty.”
“you were thirsty?”
“i was hot, okay? i woke up at noon and my hair was literally dripping into my eyes. i drank two bottles. then i filled them up and put them back? no, wait, i didn’t. i left them on the counter because i was going to wash them.”
“you were going to wash them.” you turned around, leaning your hips against the edge of the counter, your wet tank top sticking to the plastic. “when? next tuesday? when we’re both mummified in our sleep? there is not a single drop of cold water in this entire apartment, daniela. not one. i just walked up ten flights of stairs because the elevator is broken, i nearly passed out behind a woman wearing a shower–curtain dress, and i come home to empty plastic bottles because you’re too lazy to walk three steps to the sink?”
daniela’s head snapped up. her dark eyes, usually warm and slightly distracted, were hard as flint now, rimmed with pink from the heat and salt.
“oh, i’m sorry!” she shouted, her voice bouncing off the low kitchen ceiling with painful resonance. ”i didn’t realize i was the designated water-butler for the household! did you check your schedule, your highness? did it say daniela must ensure the princess has chilled fiji water the second she graces the threshold?”
“don’t start with that,” you hissed, stepping toward her. “it’s basic math, daniela. there are two of us. we live in a box with no cross–breeze. if you finish the water, you fill the bottles. that's the deal we made when we moved in together. or did you forget that part while you were sitting here staring at the broken air conditioner like it’s going to magically start blowing liquid nitrogen because you glared at it?”
“at least i was here trying to fix it!” daniela scrambled up from the floor, her bare feet slapping the linoleum with a sharp smack. she stood up to her full height—about an inch taller than you—her chest heaving beneath the gray undershirt. “you ran away! you went to the store for fifteen minutes of air conditioning while i’ve been sitting here listening to this stupid machine click and die for three hours! you don’t care about the apartment. you don’t care about anything except whether your hair looks cute when you go out for your little five-dollar fruit snacks!”
“my fruit snacks?” you laughed, a high, ugly sound that had no humor in it. “i bought nectarines because i didn’t want the kitchen to reach four hundred degrees! but sure, let’s talk about how you contribute. when was the last time you took out the recycling? when was the last time you bought dish soap instead of just adding water to the bottom of the bottle and shaking it until it foams?”
“oh, fuck off!” daniela took a step forward, her finger jabbing the air between your faces. “you’ve been bitching about everything since june first! every time i breathe too loud, every time i leave my shoes by the door, you act like i’m a personal insult to your goddamn aesthetic! if you hate living with me so much, why don’t you pack your little gray tank top and move back in with your mother?”
“maybe i will!” you screamed back. “at least her refrigerator has water in it!”
“yeah, and probably a better roommate!”
the words hung in the stale, thick air between you like grease smoke. for three seconds, neither of you breathed. the only sound in the tiny kitchen was the rhythmic click–whir of the arctic–aire trying, and failing, to turn over one last time.
you were chest–to–chest now, the heat radiating off each other's skin like two space heaters pushed together in a closet. you could see the individual beads of sweat tracking down the hollow of daniela's throat, settling in the small indentation just above her collarbone. you could feel your own jaw locked so tight your molars ached. you hated her. right then, in that five–by–eight kitchen with the smell of old onions and damp cotton, you hated her more than mrs. gable, more than the landlord, more than the ninety–eight–degree sun beating down on the black tar roof ten feet above your heads.
and then—the refrigerator light flickered. once. twice.
a low, deep–throated hum that had lived in the walls since the building was constructed—the building-wide transformer behind the basement meter room—stopped dead.
the yellow bulb overhead went out with a tiny pop.
the arctic–aire gave one final, pathetic shudder, the green indicator light dying instantly into blackness.
the silence that followed was absolute. it wasn't the ordinary quiet of an apartment at four in the afternoon; it was the sudden, hollow absence of every mechanical thing. the refrigerator compressor died. the hum of the hallway fluorescent lights died. down on the street, even the low, constant rumble of traffic seemed to recede, swallowed by some larger, municipal failure.
in the sudden darkness, the heat seemed to rush in from all sides at once, filling the kitchen like warm soup.
daniela didn’t move. you didn’t move.
in the dim gray light filtering through the kitchen's small, unwashed window, you could see her lower lip trembling slightly—not from anger anymore, but from the sudden, stupid weight of it all. the tenth floor. the broken elevator. the empty bottles. the dark, dead box of the room.
“are you kidding me right now? seriously?” daniela’s voice cuts through the dark, dripping with immediate irritation. you can hear her pacing, the floorboards creaking under her feet. “of course this happens tonight. it’s sweltering in here and now we’re stuck in the dark.”
she kicks something lightly, probably a shoe and you hear her sigh heavily. “did you forget to pay the electric bill again, (y/n)? or did you leave something running that blew the whole system?”
“don’t you dare pin this on me, daniela! i paid my half last week, maybe if you didn’t spend all your money on those stupid vapes and cigarettes, you’d actually contribute something useful for once instead of just lounging around looking hot and being useless!”
daniela scoffs loudly, the sound echoing off the walls in the pitch black apartment. you can practically feel her heat radiating off her as she storms closer to where you’re standing.
“useless? excuse me?” her voice drops to a dangerous, husky growl. “i contribute plenty, sweetheart. maybe if you spent less time nagging me and more time actually enjoying yourself, you wouldn’t be so wound up all the time.”
the summer heat is oppressive, making the air feel thick and sticky. in the darkness, you hear her footsteps stop abruptly, right in front of you. even without seeing her, you can sense her proximity to the faint, familiar scent of her perfume mixed with a hint of sweat.
“you’re always picking fights when it’s this hot,” she murmurs, her tone shifting from anger to something more predatory and challenging. “is that what this is about? or do you just like seeing me pissed off?”
you can feel her breath on your skin as she closes the distance between you. the darkness makes every other sense sharper: the hum of the distant city outside, the sticky sweat clinging to your skin, and the sudden, intense awareness of daniela’s body mere inches from yours.
“well?” she challenges, her voice dropping to a near whisper that sends a shiver down your spine despite the heat. “say something, (y/n). or did you finally run out of things to bitch about?” you can hear her smirk in her voice, that same cocky, infuriating smile she always wears when she knows she has you off balance.
the tension snaps like a rubber band. instead of words, a frustrated noise escapes your throat as you shove her shoulder hard, pushing her back against the wall.
“oh, you want to go there?” daniela snarls, but there's a twisted grin playing on her lips even in the dark. she grabs your wrists, but instead of holding them still, she twists, using her momentum to shove you back toward the couch. the argument instantly dissolves into a chaotic tangle of limbs and heated breathing.
it’s not a graceful fight; it’s messy and desperate, fueled by the oppressive summer heat and months of pent up frustration. you manage to land a solid smack against her arm, and she responds by grabbing your waist to haul you off balance. you both crash onto the cushions, rolling around as you try to pin each other down, claws scraping at fabric and skin.
“you think you’re so tough?” daniela pants, her voice strained as she manages to get on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head against the pillow of the couch. her chest is heaving against yours, sweat slicking both your bodies together in the sweltering dark. “admit it, (y/n). you love this.”
she grinds her hips down against yours, the friction between your sweat slicked bodies igniting a different kind of fire that has nothing to do with the summer heat. her grip on your wrists tightens, not painfully, but possessively, as she leans down until her lips are brushing against your ear.
“fight me all you want, baby,” she breathes hoarsely, her lips grazing your sensitive skin. “but we both know exactly where this is going to end.”
daniela’s grip on your wrists loosens, but she doesn’t move away. instead, she rolls off you onto the couch beside you, both of you panting heavily. the darkness feels like it’s pressing down on you, heavy with the scent of sweat and adrenaline. suddenly, she barks out a laugh, sharp and mischievous.
“this is stupid. we’re literally melting alive,” she pants, rolling onto her side to face you. in the dim light filtering from the streetlamp outside, you can see the wicked glint in her eyes. “i have an idea. a better way to deal with this heat.”
before you can ask what she means, she’s already scrambling up, her bare skin sliding against the cushions. you hear the fridge door open and close, and a moment later, she’s back, dragging something cold against your ankle. you shriek as the shocking temperature hits your skin.
“daniela! what the hell—”
“shhh.” she purrs, crawling back onto the couch. she’s holding a bowl of ice cubes and a platter of chilled watermelon and grapes. “we need to cool down. properly.”
without waiting for permission, she presses a large, dripping ice cube against the hollow of your throat. you gasp as the frigid water runs down your chest. daniela watches you intently, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “you’re way too hot, baby. let me help you.”
she begins to explore your body with the ice, dragging it slowly down your stomach, over your ribs, and down the inner curve of your thighs. every touch sends a jolt through you, part shock from the cold, part electricity from her attention. the ice melts rapidly against your heated skin, leaving slick trails of water that she follows with her mouth.
the dynamic shifts instantly. the anger from the fight evaporates, replaced by something far more primal. daniela sets the bowl aside and picks up a slice of ice cold watermelon. instead of eating it herself, she presses the sweet, frigid fruit against your lips, then slides it inside. “eat,” she commands hoarsely.
as you bite into the fruit, she leans down, capturing the juice with her own mouth, tasting the sweetness and the cold off your lips. her hands roam freely over your warm form, her palms slick with melted ice and sweat as she traces every curve.
daniela’s eyes darken as she watches you squirm beneath her touch, the cold water from the melting ice dripping between your bodies. the playful mischief in her expression has sharpened into something far more hungry and deliberate. the heat of the apartment feels like it’s intensifying, not from the weather, but from the friction of skin against skin.
“we’re still wearing too many clothes,” she murmurs against your collarbone, her breath hot despite the ice cubes scattered between you. “how are we supposed to cool down if we’re still trapped in this fabric?”
her fingers work with practiced ease, tugging at the straps and fabric until your clothes are discarded in a crumpled heap on the floor. now, there is nothing between you but the slick residue of melted ice and the oppressive summer air. daniela settles between your thighs, her bare skin sliding against yours with a wet, heated friction that makes your breath catch.
she picks up another grape, chilled to the bone from the fridge, and holds it between her teeth. she leans down, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that tastes of sweet fruit and cold water. as you bite into the fruit, she swirls her tongue around your lips, catching every drop of juice that escapes. her hands roam downward, her palms slick as she traces the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, deliberately dragging a stray ice cube along your hip to hear you gasp.
“better?” she whispers hoarsely, her hips grinding slow and deliberate against yours. “or do you need more help getting cool?”
she moves with a predator’s grace, using the chilled fruit to explore every inch of you, pressing cold melon against your stomach before soothing the sting with the heat of her mouth. the contrast is maddening: the shocking bite of the ice followed immediately by the searing wetness of her tongue. she’s not just trying to cool you down; she’s trying to make you lose control completely, her body working in perfect rhythm with yours as you both writhe together in the dark, slick apartment.
daniela’s lips never leave your skin, her mouth moving from your throat down to the swell of your breasts. the cold watermelon juice drips down your torso, creating slick rivulets that daniela follows with lazy, deliberate licks. each pass of her tongue sends waves of conflicting sensations through you the frigid sting of the fruit followed immediately by the scorching heat of her mouth.
her hands are everywhere at once, one gripping your hip to pull you flush against her bare stomach, while the other picks up a stray ice cube from the bowl. she presses the ice cube against your nipple, watching with undisguised hunger as your body arches involuntarily at the shock. “look at you,” she breathes against your skin, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “so sensitive.”
the apartment is silent except for the wet sounds of your joined bodies and the ragged rhythm of your breathing. daniela shifts, straddling you fully now, her thick thighs slick with melted ice as she grinds against you. the friction is maddening, a wet, sliding heat that makes your hips roll upward instinctively. she leans down, capturing your mouth again, but this time the kiss is deeper, more desperate. she tastes like cold grapes and salt, her tongue tangling with yours as she claims you.
she pulls away just enough to whisper against your swollen lips, her eyes locked onto yours in the darkness. “i told you we’d find a better way to spend the night.” without breaking eye contact, she slides an ice cube down between your bodies, letting it melt between your grinding hips, before she replaces the cold with the searing, wet heat of her tongue.
her tongue finds your most sensitive spot, working with a relentless rhythm that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the couch. the ice has melted into a slick, frigid lubricant that only heightens the intensity when her warm mouth replaces it, creating a sensory overload that has you gasping for air. daniela’s hands slide down to cup your ass, pulling you harder against her as she drinks in every moan you make.
“that’s it, (y/n)... give in to me,” she growls against you, her voice vibrating through your entire body. the summer heat outside is forgotten, replaced entirely by the feverish burn building between your thighs. she picks up a handful of crushed ice from the bowl and scatters it across your stomach and inner thighs before diving back down, using the fragments to tease and torment you until you’re sobbing her name.
the fragments of ice scatter across your skin like tiny diamonds in the dim light, each one leaving a trail of freezing water that daniela immediately chases with the scorching heat of her breath. she knows exactly how to play you, alternating between the biting sting of the cold and the overwhelming wetness of her tongue until your hips are bucking against hers in a desperate search for release.
“that’s it, baby... just like that,” she murmurs against your inner thigh, her voice thick with arousal. “don’t hold back.”
she increases the pressure, her tongue working with a devastating precision that makes your vision blur. the slickness of the melted ice makes every movement effortless and impossibly smooth, creating a friction that builds like a storm. you can feel the climax building deep in your core, a tidal wave that threatens to crash over you at any second. daniela notices the change in your breathing, the way your fingers dig into her bare shoulders, and she grinds her hips down harder against yours, urging you over the edge.
“give it to me, (y/n)! show me how much you want it!" she commands, her own breathing coming in ragged, desperate gasps.
when the wave finally breaks, it’s violent and all consuming. your body arches off the couch as you cry out her name, your muscles convulsing in waves of pure ecstasy. daniela doesn’t pull away; instead, she holds you tight, riding out the tremors with you, her mouth pressed against your sensitive skin as she drinks in every sound you make. as you gradually come down from the high, collapsed and panting in the sweltering dark, she rolls up to press her forehead against yours, both of you slick with sweat, ice water, and the undeniable evidence of how far you’ve both gone.
daniela’s pupils are blown wide with arousal as she watches you come down from your climax. the playful teasing with the fruit and ice has been replaced by something far more dominant and demanding. she doesn’t want to be the one receiving pleasure anymore; she wants to own yours, and she wants to feel you worship her.
“my turn now, mi amor.” she breathes hoarsely, her voice dropping into that dangerous, command driven register. before you can even catch your breath, she shifts her weight with practiced agility. the slickness of the melted ice makes her movements effortless as she crawls upward, straddling your torso until she is positioned directly over your face.
you feel the overwhelming heat of her bare skin pressing against your nose and cheeks. the scent of her salt, sweat, and that faint trace of tobacco fills your senses as she lowers herself down. “open up for me, (y/n).” she murmurs, her hands gripping your shoulders to steady herself. “i want to feel you.”
without hesitation, she settles herself completely, pressing her swollen, wet cunt directly against your lips. the contact is electric, the residual chill of the ice fragments clinging to her skin clashing with the searing fever of her arousal. you taste her immediately: salty, sweet, and intoxicatingly hot.
daniela arches her back, grinding her hips down in slow, punishing circles that force you to take all of her. “eat it, baby. every fucking drop,” she growls, her fingers tangling in your hair to guide your movements. she begins to ride your face with a ruthless rhythm, her hips bucking up and down as she forces you to swallow her arousal. each time she presses down, you’re met with the overwhelming fullness of her, her slick folds sliding against your tongue and lips.
she’s relentless, her breathing coming in ragged, guttural moans as she uses your mouth like her own personal toy. she leans forward, putting more of her weight onto you, making sure you can feel every twitch of her muscles. “yes... just like that. suck it, cariño. show me how good you are at this.”
the friction is maddening. the wet, squelching sounds of your mouth working against her fill the dark apartment, mixing with the distant hum of the city. daniela’s hips move faster now, her movements becoming more desperate as she nears her own breaking point. she’s clawing at your shoulders, her body tensing as she rides your face with increasing intensity, pushing herself down harder and harder until she’s screaming your name into the sweltering night.
her climax hits with the force of a physical blow. daniela’s entire body goes rigid as she shudders violently against your mouth, her hips stuttering in rapid, desperate pulses. she throws her head back, a raw, uninhibited scream tearing from her throat that echoes off the walls of the darkened apartment. her fingers dig painfully into your shoulders, anchoring herself as she rides out the waves of pleasure, pouring herself into you.
for several long seconds, the only sounds in the room are her ragged, broken gasps and the wet slap of her skin against yours. when she finally collapses, she doesn’t move away. instead, she slumps forward, her sweat slicked chest pressing against your face as she breathes heavily into your hair. the oppressive heat of the summer night feels different now, no longer suffocating, but charged with the aftermath of what you’ve both done.
as the aftershocks of daniela’s climax begin to fade, she doesn’t pull away. instead, she rolls onto her side, pulling you with her until you are both facing each other, naked and slick with sweat and melted ice. the air between you is charged with a desperate, unfinished hunger. daniela’s eyes lock onto yours, dark and blown wide, reflecting nothing but pure arousal.
“i’m not done with you,” she pants, her voice a wrecked whisper. “not even close.”
she shifts position with fluid grace, hooking one of her legs between yours, forcing your lower bodies together. the wetness between your thighs makes the contact instant and electric. without words, she guides you until you’re both straddling each other, your bodies forming a perfect, grinding fit. the friction of your slick skin sliding against each other creates a wet, rhythmic sound that fills the quiet apartment.
daniela’s hands slide down to grip your hips with bruising intensity, pulling you flush against her as she begins to move. this isn’t the gentle teasing from before; this is raw and demanding. she starts to grind her pelvis against yours in powerful, deliberate thrusts. each roll of her hips sends a jolt of lightning through your nerves as your clit rubs directly against her swollen folds.
the sensation is overwhelming. the friction builds with every thrust, each slide of skin on skin generating a searing heat that makes you whimper. daniela responds to your sound by increasing the pace, her hips moving faster and more frantically. “feel that?” she growls against your lips, her breath hot and ragged. “feel how much i need you?”
she rocks her hips in a grinding motion that targets your most sensitive spots with devastating accuracy. you find yourself responding instinctively, your own hips bucking upward to meet every downward thrust she makes. the wetness between you acts as a slick lubricant, making every movement feel impossibly smooth and intense. you can feel the muscles in her thighs tensing and releasing as she works to drive you both over the edge.
the world outside the heat, the darkness, the power outage ceases to exist. there is only the friction, the sound of your combined breathing, and the building pressure between your grinding bodies. daniela’s movements become increasingly desperate, her hips stuttering in short, rapid pulses that send waves of pleasure crashing through you. she’s chasing something, her teeth grazing your neck as she grinds against you with everything she has.
“come for me, (y/n)... fuck, just come for me now!” she demands, her voice breaking. her grip on your hips tightens until her knuckles are white, her entire body vibrating with the effort as she drives her pelvis against yours in one final, relentless rhythm. the friction becomes unbearable, a white hot tension that coils tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, sending you both crashing into a mutual, screaming climax that leaves you both gasping for air in the sweltering dark.
both of you collapse onto the couch in a tangled heap of limbs, your hearts hammering against each other’s ribs in the sudden silence. the only sound left is your shared, ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city beyond your window. sweat drips from your brows, pooling in the small spaces between your bodies as the adrenaline slowly begins to recede, leaving behind a heavy, satisfied languor.
daniela shifts slightly, rolling onto her back but keeping you pulled close to her side. her skin is flushed and slick, her fingers tracing idle, lazy patterns along your hip. “fuck,” she breathes out, a genuine laugh bubbling up in her throat one that sounds softer, less performative than her usual cocky smirk.
she pulls you closer, tucking your head beneath her chin. the apartment remains sweltering, the absence of air conditioning making the air feel like a warm blanket wrapped around you both, but neither of you moves to escape it. in the darkness, daniela kisses the top of your head, her lips lingering there for a long moment. for once, the sassy girl persona has slipped away, replaced by something quiet, raw, and unexpectedly tender.
daniela lies there with you, her breathing gradually slowing from ragged gasps to steady, heavy exhales. the silence of the apartment feels different now, no longer tense with anger or the oppressive weight of the heat, but thick with the aftermath of what you both just shared. her skin is still damp with sweat and the residue of the ice, making every small movement she makes against you feel slick and intimate.
her fingers continue their lazy exploration, tracing idle circles along your hipbone. the cocky, untouchable persona she carries at college has completely dissolved in the dark. here, stripped bare and exhausted, she seems almost unguarded. she shifts slightly, rolling onto her side to face you properly, bringing her nose to yours so you can feel her warm breath.
“you’re quiet all of a sudden,” she murmurs, her voice rough and low, carrying a trace of that familiar smirk despite her exhaustion. “what’s the matter? cat got your tongue?”
she reaches up, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. her thumb lingers on your lower lip, which is still swollen from her kisses. the playful challenge in her tone is there, but underneath it is something softer: a genuine curiosity. she’s looking at you not as a target or a conquest, but as something she actually wants to keep close.
“we should probably try to find some water before we pass out from dehydration,” she whispers, though she makes no move to get up. instead, she pulls you tighter against her bare chest, her legs intertwining with yours. the heat of the summer night presses in around you both, but wrapped in her arms, it feels less like a burden and more like a cocoon.
“actually... forget the water for five more minutes,” she breathes against your temple, her grip possessive even in her tired state. “just stay like this. don’t move.”
daniela’s chest rises and falls against yours in a slow, steady rhythm. the cockiness that usually defines her the bravado she wears like armor, has been completely stripped away along with everything else. in the darkness, she feels different: softer, more vulnerable, though her grip on you remains possessive and firm.
her thumb continues to trace idle patterns across your skin, moving from your hip to the sensitive dip of your waist. every touch is lazy and unhurried, as if she’s trying to memorize the feel of you through touch alone while her sight is limited by the blackness around you. the sweat pooling between your bodies makes you feel like one single entity, fused together by the heat and the adrenaline.
“you know,” she murmurs, her voice vibrating through your chest where you’re pressed against her, “most people would have run for the door halfway through that fight.” s small, genuine chuckle escapes her throat, warm against your skin. “but you... you’re something else entirely, baby.”
daniela tightens her hold on you just slightly, as if afraid you might slip away. “stay right here,” she whispers, more of a plea than a command this time. “just like this.”
she shifts closer, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck. her breath ghosts over your skin, sending tiny tingles down your spine despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. the silence that follows isn’t awkward; it’s heavy and comfortable, filled only with the sound of two bodies gradually returning to normal. the oppressive summer heat still clings to the room, but the anger that started the night has been completely incinerated, replaced by a strange, charged intimacy.
pairings: sophia laforteza x fem!singer!reader
synopsis: when sophia finds love in someone else, y/n chooses distance over confession, letting the years they spent as each other's safe place fade into memories neither of them know how to forget. what sophia mistakes for growing apart is really the quiet heartbreak of y/n learning how to let go.
usually love stories begin with saying “i love you” theirs begin when neither of them does.
“you were all at once 'til the fade to black. 'til the yellow glow turned a little sad.”
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mila has been staring at her for way too long.
sophia lowers her cup with a confused smile.
''what?''
mila blinks and looks away, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red.
''nothing.''
sophia groans and kicks her lightly beneath the table, making the other girl laugh.
''violent.''
''you're being weird.''
mila smiles and looks down at their hands on the table. her fingers have been tangled with sophia's for the majority of their time together. sophia glances down at them too, watching the way mila's thumb absentmindedly brushes over the back of her hand.
''it's just..''
mila trails off and sophia waits, for once not making a joke.
she rubs her thumb across sophia's knuckles.
''we've been doing this for a while.''
''doing what?''
mila looks up at sophia, immediately noticing the faux innocent smile on her face.
''sophia.''
''what are we doing, mila?''
''going on dates.''
''right.''
mila narrows her eyes at the dark haired girl.
''you're enjoying this.''
''a little.''
''i hate you.''
''no you don't.''
mila laughs but the nervousness doesn't quite leave her face, which makes sophia soften.
she gently squeezes the blondes hand, giving her fingers a small reassuring squeeze.
''hey.''
''mhm?''
''what's up, mila?''
''are we still just saying we're dating, soph?''
''what else would we say?''
mila gives her a look and it takes sophia about two seconds before she gasps.
''oh.''
''yeah.''
''oh.''
''please stop saying oh.''
sophia can already feel herself smiling and mila can't help the grin that grows on her face before she looks down.
for a moment, neither of them says anything. mila's fingers tighten slightly around sophia's, like she's trying to gather enough courage to say whatever's been on her mind.
before mila can rethink the words she's about to say next, she lets out a shaky breath.
''can i call you my girlfriend?''
and for once sophia doesn't have anything sarcastic to say. she just looks at her and mila immediately starts panicking.
''you don't have to, obviously. i just thought because we've been seeing each other for a while and i really like you and-''
''mila.''
''-and if you're not ready, that's completely fine-''
''mila.''
she stops.
sophia squeezes her hand.
''yes.''
mila blinks in surprise.
''yes?''
sophia giggles at the faint blush covering the blondes cheeks.
''yes, you can call me your girlfriend.''
mila's entire face lights up.
for a second, sophia just looks at her. there's something endearing about how happy she looks, like those words had meant more to her than sophia realized.
something warm spreads through sophia's chest at the sight.
''my girlfriend.'' mila says with a goofy smile on her face.
sophia grins at her and leans over to kiss her cheek.
mila turns toward her before she can move away, their noses nearly bumping.
sophia laughs and mila kisses her.
it's quick. sweet. easy.
when she pulls back, sophia is smiling at her again, and mila's still looking at her like she can't quite believe she's allowed to.
sophia thinks she could get used to this.
sophia snaps out of the trance mila put her in as her phone buzzes on the table.
she looks down automatically as the screen lights up with a notification.
for one second sophia thinks of y/n, not because anything is wrong. not because she wishes y/n was here. just because this is important and important things have always made sophia want to tell her.
the thought comes so naturally that she doesn't even question it.
she turns her phone face down.
she'll take care of it later. she wants to stay with her girlfriend a little longer.
olivia finds her exactly where she said she would.
still at the studio.
still in the same chair.
she walks over and puts the food down beside her.
''hi''
y/n looks up and tries to smile at olivia.
''hi''
olivia pulls the other chair over, sitting close to y/n.
y/n turns back to the screen, not blinking.
neither of them says anything. for once olivia lets the silence between them stay and y/n appreciates it.
she thinks she does anyway, until the silence starts making everything louder.
sophia has a girlfriend.
she presses her lips together, looking everywhere but at olivia.
''they're official''
''yeah''
''she told me before she posted it, which is nice''
olivia looks at her. y/n lets out a dry laugh.
''it is''
''she was really excited''
''i'm sure''
''like really excited''
her voice breaks on the last word.
barely. but enough for olivia to notice.
y/n immediately looks up at the ceiling, biting her lip.
''fuck''
olivia doesn't move, she just looks at her friend.
''stop looking at me''
''i kinda do that when people talk to me''
y/n laughs again. this one sounds worse.
she presses the palms of her hands into her eyes.
''this is so fucking stupid''
''y/n''
''i knew''
her hands drop and her eyes are already wet.
''that's the fucking stupid part. i knew this was going to happen.''
olivia's expression softens.
''i know''
''they've been going on dates, she likes her, mila likes her. this was literally the most predictable outcome possible.''
a tear slips down before she can stop it. she wipes it away too quickly.
another one follows.
''so why am i crying?''
she shakes her head and looks back at the laptop, but the screen blurs almost immediately.
''she's happy.''
her voice comes out small, utterly broken.
''yeah''
''and mila's good to her''
''yeah''
''she's nice''
''yeah''
''i can't even fucking hate her.''
olivia's mouth twitches, but she knows better than to laugh right now. y/n does anyway. one awful, broken sound.
''it would be so much easier if i hated her''
''probably''
another tear, then another and suddenly wiping them away becomes pointless.
y/n folds her arms over herself, trying to make herself smaller.
''i'm happy for her''
''i know''
''i really fucking am''
''i know''
''then why does it hurt this fucking bad?''
there it is. the one question she's been carefully avoiding for weeks.
olivia moves her chair closer, not touching yet. just there.
y/n's face twists in pain. she covers it with both hands.
''fuck''
her shoulders shake and she tries to breathe through it.
that lasts maybe three seconds, then she's crying for real. not the pretty crying. not one tear she can wipe away and joke about later.
it hurts.
her chest hurts.
her throat hurts.
weeks of ''it's fine'' and ''she's happy'' and ''that's what matters'' seem to come apart all at once.
olivia reaches for her then and y/n lets herself fall into her arms without thinking.
she presses into her, forehead against olivia's shoulder, fingers gripping the back of her shirt, which is slowly becoming tear soaked.
''i'm sorry, liv''
''for what?''
''i don't know''
''then stop apologizing''
y/n laughs into her shoulder. it turns into another sob immediately.
olivia's face twists, her eyes watering. she holds her friend impossibly tighter.
''i think part of me really thought she'd figure it out''
saying it makes her cry harder.
because there it is. that embarrassing little hope she's kept despite everything else. she feels pathetic.
''i knew she liked mila. i knew that. i just thought maybe one day she'd look at me and it would just click''
olivia says nothing, gently rubbing her shaking back.
''or she'd call me and say something and suddenly i'd realize i wasn't imagining any of it.''
her breath catches and she laughs again.
''or they wouldn't work out''
her face twists with guilt.
''which is horrible''
''it isn't horrible, y/n''
''mila didn't do anything. i don't want her unhappy.''
''i know''
''i don't want sophia unhappy either''
''i know, baby''
''i just wanted..''
she can't bring herself to finish that sentence.
olivia does it for her.
''you wanted her to choose you''
y/n closes her eyes, another tear running down her cheek.
''yeah''
barely a whisper, slowly pulling away from olivia.
''just once''
that one hurts more than anything else. olivia pulls her back in before y/n can start pretending to be okay again.
she lets herself cry. really cry. until it starts becoming exhausting instead of unbearable. until her breathing slowly starts to calm. until the front of olivia's shirt is probably ruined.
''sorry about your shirt''
''there she is''
olivia smiles, the room going quiet again. a different kind of silence this time.
y/n sits back and looks at the screen of her laptop, reading over all the files. all the songs she wrote about the girl staring back at her.
''i think i've been waiting''
olivia doesn't ask what she means, waiting for her friend to continue talking.
''like even after mila. after all the dates. after sophia told me she liked her. i kept telling myself i wasn't''
she laughs softly.
''but i was.''
''waiting for what?''
y/n thinks about it, shaking her head.
''my turn''
the words make something ache all over again, but there aren't many tears left.
''i think i've been treating this like it eventually would be my turn, but she has a girlfriend now''
''yeah''
''and she loves having a girlfriend. she sounded so fucking happy''
a tiny smile, sad but genuine.
''so i need to stop''
''stop loving her?''
y/n looks at her immediately, almost offended by the idea, and shakes her head.
''i don't think i know how to do that yet.''
olivia nods.
y/n looks back at the screen.
''i need to stop waiting for her.''
there's a difference.
loving sophia is a feeling. waiting for sophia to love her has become a choice.
y/n can't control the first one, but she can do something about the second.
olivia nudges the bag of food toward her.
''eat.''
y/n shakes her head, not feeling hungry at all, despite not having eaten anything today.
the other girl glares at her.
''eat.''
y/n reaches into the bag. takes a fry. it's cold. she eats it anyway.
after a while, olivia starts talking about something completely unrelated.
y/n lets her, eyes still hurting, chest still hurting.
sophia has a girlfriend and y/n still loves her. none of that has changed.
but something has. something small. something she thinks she'll have to choose again tomorrow. and probably the day after that.
daniela was a problem. there was no other way to put it. she was a beautiful, gorgeous problem that never seemed to run out of steam, especially when it came to her fucked up kinks. she didn't just like public sex; she lived for the risk. she lived for the way your face would flush crimson when she'd slide her hand under your shirt in the middle of a conversation.
even when the whole group was together, she didn't give a shit. you'd all be sitting in the living room, just hanging out, and you'd feel her warm palm slide up your ribs, her thumb tracing idle circles against your skin beneath your blouse. it was constant. it was shameless.
"dani, stop it," you'd whisper, feeling your cheeks heat up as you glanced at the others. you'd reach over and slap her shoulder firmly. "people are right here.”
she'd just chuckle, that low, husky sound that always made your stomach flip. she wouldn't even look sorry. one time, when you were all watching a movie and megan was staring at you both with that knowing, amused expression, dani actually had the audacity to smirk and gesture toward you.
"she's extra sensitive tonight, meg," dani would drawl, her fingers squeezing your waist under your shirt. "you want a turn?" you'd practically choke on your own breath, slapping her shoulder again with more force this time. "daniela! shut up!" you'd hiss, though your heart was hammering against your ribs from the sheer boldness of her.
then there was that one night. you were absolutely exhausted, your body feeling heavy as you drifted off to sleep. you could hear dani moving around the room, probably thinking about getting you in bed, but you couldn't even open your eyes. you just wanted to sleep.
"baby, come on, wake up. i want you," you heard her mumble, her voice thick with desire. "go away, dani... i'm sleeping," you groaned into your pillow. you felt her sigh, then the sound of her laptop opening. you figured she was just going to watch something to wind down, but you didn't realize she was looking for something specific. you drifted back into a half conscious haze, feeling her hand find yours.
"please, princess. just let me use your hand for a second so i can sleep too," she whispered. you didn't even have the energy to fight her. you just weakly offered your hand, your eyes still closed, thinking it would make her leave you alone. but then you felt her fingers guide your hand downward. you heard the soft click of her laptop, and then you heard what she was watching the wet, filthy sounds of a couple fucking in the middle of a crowded grocery store aisle.
your sleepy brain couldn't process it fast enough. you felt your fingers wrap around something hot, thick, and throbbing. dani let out a choked noise when your hand closed around her cock. she started moving your hand up and down, her breathing getting ragged as she watched the video and felt your warm palm working her. she was using your unconscious body to help her cum, and by the time she let out a satisfied groan and slumped back, you were already dead to the world again.
the next morning, you woke up feeling strangely sore, but you chalked it up to bad sleep. but over the following week, dani became obsessed. every single day, she kept asking you the same thing.
"when are we going grocery shopping again?”
you finally gave in on a Thursday. you thought it would be a normal errand, but you should have known better with her. when you got to the store, you noticed something was off immediately. dani was wearing these loose black basketball shorts, but she wasn't wearing anything underneath them. you could tell because every time she moved, there was this weight swaying between her thighs.
as you walked through the produce section, she started her game. every time you passed an aisle, she'd shift closer. you felt something hard and warm brush against your hip. you glanced sideways, seeing her smirk as she deliberately leaned her cock against your side while pretending to examine some apples.
"dani, stop," you whispered, your face burning as you grabbed a bag of spinach. "stop what?" she asked innocently, though she moved closer again. when you bent over to reach for something on a lower shelf, you felt it. she didn't even try to hide it this time. she stepped up behind you, and you felt the unmistakable length of her cock naked and hot brushing against the back of your ass through your skirt. she was letting it ride free under that fabric just to torment you.
you spun around, your eyes blazing with embarrassment. "are you serious right now? we're in the middle of the store!" dani didn't look ashamed at all. in fact, she looked like she was enjoying your panic. she stepped into your space, trapping you between her body and the shelves of canned goods.
"you're so cute when you're flustered, princess," she whispered, her hand finding your ass and squeezing hard. "and you know what? i'm not stopping." she glanced down the aisle. it was empty, the lights overhead. before you could protest, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you deeper into the shadows of the pasta aisle. she hiked your skirt up in one motion, her tip already red and leaky.
"dani, someone will—"
"let them," she growled, lifting your leg and shoving her cock into your pussy in one devastating thrust. you let out a strangled moan, biting your lip so hard you tasted blood. the risk was terrifying the floor beneath your feet, the nearby sounds of shopping carts, the possibility of a stranger turning the corner but as she started fucking you right there against the shelves, the adrenaline made your pussy clench around her like never before. she fucked you with a desperate, filthy hunger, her hips slamming against yours while she whispered filthy things in your ear about how good you tasted in public.
the sound of her cock sliding into you was wet and obscene, echoing strangely against the metal shelves. every thrust made the canned goods rattle behind your back, a sound that terrified you but also made your clit throb with desperate need. you were clinging to her shoulders for dear life, your knuckles white, your head thrown back against a box of penne as you tried to muffle your screams.
"fuck, you're so warm," dani hissed against your neck, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin. she wasn't being gentle anymore; she was fucking you like she wanted to claim every inch of you right there on the store. "i've been thinking about this since that night you slept through me."
you let out a broken whimper, your hips involuntarily rising to meet her. "dani... please... someone..."—"let them see you like this," she growled, her hips slamming harder against yours. "let them see how wet you get when i fuck you in public. let them see what a good little slut you are for me."
the words should have hurt, but with your heart racing at two hundred beats per minute, they only made you wetter. the shame was melting into pure, unadulterated arousal. you felt her cock hitting your cervix with every punishing thrust, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up through your stomach. you heard the distant squeak of a shopping cart wheel somewhere two aisles over. you froze, your entire body locking up, your breath catching in your throat. dani didn't stop. if anything, she pushed harder, deliberately grinding her cock against your most sensitive spot while you were paralyzed with fear.
"don't stop moving, princess," she commanded in a low whisper, her hand sliding down to find your clit. she started rubbing you roughly, her thumb working in sync with her hips. "keep taking it. show me how much you love this risk." you couldn't help it. the combination of the fear of being caught and the overwhelming sensation of her cock filling you was too much. you started to cum, your pussy clenching around her in powerful, involuntary waves.
"oh god, dani " you gasped, your voice cracking as you felt the orgasm tear through you. the feeling of your pussy milking her pushed her over the edge. she let out a groan, her body tensing as she drove herself as deep as she could possibly go. you felt the hot, thick spurts of her seeds filling you up, flooding your pussy as she came hard. she held you there for a long moment, her forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting heavily in the dim light of the aisle.
she slowly pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and achy. she quickly adjusted her basketball shorts, looking as casual as if she had just been checking the expiration date on some pasta sauce. but her eyes were blown wide, dark with satisfaction.
"there," she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. her smirk returned, that wicked, shameless look that told you she was already planning the next time she'd take you somewhere risky. "now let's go get those groceries, baby." you stood there for a second, your legs shaking so badly you thought you might collapse, you could feel her cum dripping down your thigh. you wanted to slap her, to yell at her, to run home and hide under the covers but all you could do was follow her, your face crimson and your body still buzzing from the most dangerous errand of your life.
Summary: The longer you bond with the symbiote, the more you change without realizing it.
Pairings: Platonic OT6!Katseye x 7th Member!Reader, Spider-Woman!Reader, Black Cat x Reader(if you squint)
Warnings: You're lowkey an asshole
A/N: hi, kinda embarrassed cause multiple pf my close friends know i write fanfics now...
Series List
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ≽^•⩊•^≼ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the noise.
Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
Still half-asleep, you groaned and grabbed it from your nightstand.
Hundreds of notifications.
You frowned.
“Spider-Woman Stops Downtown Robbery.”
“Black-Suit Spider-Woman Saves Dozens.”
“Spider-Woman: Hero or Threat?”
You sat up.
“…Huh?”
You opened the first video.
There you were.
Spider-Woman.
Except you weren’t wearing your usual suit.
The suit covering your body was completely black, with the white spider emblem stretched across your chest. You watched yourself effortlessly tear through a group of criminals like they were barely worth your attention.
Another video showed you stopping a car chase.
Another showed you rescuing people from a burning building.
Another showed you standing on top of a skyscraper, looking down over the city.
You stared at the screen.
You didn’t remember any of it.
You should’ve been worried.
You should’ve been terrified.
Instead…
You smiled.
Slowly.
You replayed the first video.
Then the second.
Then the third.
“Wow.”
You looked down at your hands.
“I did that?”
There was something intoxicating about watching yourself move like that.
You weren’t struggling.
You weren’t afraid.
You weren’t hesitating.
You were unstoppable.
The thought made your smile widen.
For months, being Spider-Woman had meant constantly worrying about whether you were strong enough.
Whether you could save everyone.
Whether you would make a mistake.
But this version of you?
She didn’t worry.
She simply acted.
And apparently…
She won.
You climbed out of bed and walked toward the mirror.
Your reflection stared back at you.
You imagined the black suit covering your body.
For a moment, you almost felt like you were looking at something greater than yourself.
Something above everyone else.
A god walking among ordinary people.
You chuckled.
“Maybe I’ve been holding myself back.”
You turned your hands over.
The suit had made you stronger.
Faster.
More confident.
Maybe there wasn’t a single person in the city who could actually stop you anymore.
The thought wasn’t frightening.
It was exciting.
You grabbed the black suit from your closet.
It immediately crawled across your fingers.
You didn’t pull away this time.
Instead, you watched it spread over your hand with fascination.
“You’re pretty incredible, aren’t you?”
The suit shifted.
You grinned.
“Yeah.”
You looked at yourself in the mirror.
“I think we’re incredible.”
You flexed your fingers.
“I don’t think anyone can touch us.”
And somewhere deep inside you, something seemed to agree.
That was the dangerous part.
Because you weren’t a god.
You weren’t invincible.
You weren’t above everyone else.
You were still you.
Still human.
Still capable of making mistakes.
Still capable of losing.
But the black suit didn’t care about any of that.
It fed your confidence.
Your arrogance.
Your certainty.
And as you stared at your reflection, you didn’t see the warning signs.
You only saw power.
Unlimited power.
And for the first time…
You genuinely believed you could do anything.
Rehearsal was usually one of the few places where you could forget about everything else.
Not today.
You stood in the middle of the studio, arms crossed, watching everyone repeat the choreography.
“Again.”
The others exchanged glances.
Yoonchae frowned. “We’ve already done it three times.”
“And?”
Your tone was sharp enough to make the room go quiet.
Megan looked at you. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t really seem fine.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Can we just rehearse instead of wasting time talking?”
The room fell silent again.
You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, but you didn’t care.
Normally, you would’ve apologized.
Today, you couldn’t understand why everyone was making such a big deal out of it.
You were Spider-Woman.
You’d stopped criminals.
Saved people.
Done things none of them could even imagine.
And yet here they were complaining about your attitude because you were being impatient?
You scoffed.
“Seriously, you guys need to keep up.”
Lara finally stepped forward.
“Okay. What’s your problem?”
You looked at her.
“My problem?”
“Yeah. You’ve been rude to everyone since you walked in.”
“I’m just telling the truth.”
“No,” Lara replied. “You’re acting like you’re better than everyone.”
Your expression hardened.
“Maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m not.”
That made Lara pause.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
You grabbed your bag.
“Forget it.”
You started toward the door.
Lara followed.
“No. You’re not just walking away.”
You stopped.
Slowly, you turned around.
“Watch me.”
“You’re being completely different.”
“Maybe I’m finally being myself.”
“That’s not you.”
You laughed under your breath.
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
Lara stared at you, clearly hurt.
You didn’t care.
Or at least, you told yourself you didn’t.
You opened the studio door.
“I’ll see you guys later.”
And before anyone could stop you, you walked out.
The door slammed behind you.
For a moment, you stood alone in the hallway.
Your reflection appeared in the dark window beside you.
You smiled at it.
“Let them be mad.”
The black suit shifted underneath your clothes.
And somehow, that made you feel even more certain.
You didn’t need anyone to tell you who you were.
You already knew.
You were Spider-Woman.
You were powerful.
And, in your mind, that meant you couldn’t possibly be wrong.
The city looked different from above.
Bigger.
Smaller.
Almost insignificant.
You crouched on the edge of a skyscraper, the black suit blending into the night as you watched the streets below.
For once, you weren’t thinking about rehearsals.
You weren’t thinking about the others.
You weren’t thinking about what Lara had said.
You were Spider-Woman.
That was all that mattered.
You launched yourself from the building.
The wind rushed past you as you swung between skyscrapers, moving faster than you ever had before.
Then,
A figure landed on the rooftop ahead of you.
You stopped.
Black Cat.
Daniela stood there, one hand resting casually on her hip.
“Well,” she said. “Didn’t expect to run into you tonight.”
You landed across from her.
“Then you’re lucky.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That’s new.”
“What is?”
“That attitude.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Not you too.”
Black Cat studied you for a moment.
She wasn’t angry.
She wasn’t judging you.
That almost made it worse.
“I’ve heard about what’s been happening.”
You shrugged.
“People talk.”
“They do.”
She stepped closer.
“You've been different lately.”
You groaned.
“Seriously?”
“I’m not here to lecture you.”
“Good.”
“I’m not like those news reporters.”
You smirked.
“No, you’re not.”
Black Cat's expression softened.
“I miss you.”
Your smile faded slightly.
“What?”
“The old you.”
She looked at the black suit.
“The Spider-Woman who used to joke around while we were on patrol. The one who’d stop to help someone even if it wasn’t technically our problem.”
She paused.
“You used to care what happened to people.”
“I still care.”
“Do you?”
You narrowed your eyes.
Black Cat immediately raised her hands.
“I’m not trying to start something.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Talking.”
You scoffed.
“Everyone keeps telling me I’m different like that’s automatically a bad thing.”
“I don’t think it’s bad that you’re more confident.”
She stepped closer.
“But confidence isn’t the same thing as believing you’re untouchable.”
You stared at her.
“I can handle myself.”
“I know.”
There was no argument in her voice.
No challenge.
Just certainty.
“That’s why I’m not going to lecture you.”
You blinked.
Black Cat looked almost sad.
“I just wanted you to know that I miss my friend.”
For once, you didn’t have an immediate response.
The black suit shifted against your skin.
You looked away.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Black Cat gave you a small, disappointed smile.
“Maybe.”
She turned to leave.
Then stopped.
“But I hope you don’t change so much that there’s nothing left to get used to.”
She disappeared across the rooftops.
You watched her go.
You could’ve followed.
You could’ve called after her.
Instead, you stood there.
The city stretched endlessly beneath you.
And despite everything you’d told yourself…
Her words bothered you.
Not because she was right.
You refused to believe that.
But because, for the first time, you wondered if you actually missed the person she was talking about too.
