sypnosis: when campus it girl and self proclaimed straight girl Daniela Avanzini claims she's dating someone new to finally get her annoyingly persistent jock ex (Jonah David) off her back, the last person she expects to drag into the lie is Y/n Sinclair, the openly lesbian troublemaker she can barely tolerate. with a deal in place and a relationship to fake, all they have to do is convince everyone they're in love. easy enough... until the line between pretending and wanting becomes impossible to ignore.
warnings: SET IN THE PHILIPPINES, college au, fake dating, enemies to lovers, identity questioning, ex drama, suggestive content, jokes, slight angst, mutual pining, use of Y/N, Jonah mentioned, eventual smut, happy ending(???)
pairings: popular!daniela x troublemaker!fem reader
author's note: First smau kinda nervy.... PLEASE DON'T TAKE ANYTHING SERIOUSLY!!! And don't mind the timestamps
characters: the golden trio. | the midnight club.| others.| them.
CHAPTERS:
ARC I
1. the ex
2. the deal(Written)
3. since uh when?!
4. sinclair and curls
5. soft launch?(Mixed)
6. friday plan
7. the date(Written)
8. hard launch
9. boy, you messy damn
10. uh oh(Mixed)
10.1 uh oh(Written with slight text)
11. consequences(A bit of mix)
12. stu(dying)(Written)
13. baby
14. front row(A bit of mix)
15. something sour(Written)
16. afterparty(Written)
17. the kiss(Written)
18. girls just wanna have fun
19. drunk texts
20. the morning after(Written with slight text)
21. real sweet but I wish you were sober (Written with texts)
22. caught in 4k
23. childhood bff(Mixed)
24. "lover's" quarrel(Written with texts)
24.1 "lover's" quarrel(Mixed)
24.2 "lover's" quarrel(Slightly written with texts)
25. study session gone wrong(Written with slight text)
26. a shoulder to cry on(Mixed)
27. repost(Slightly written)
28. • the trip(Written with slight text)
• it's a bad idea, right?(Written with texts)
29. welcome to Puerto Galera(Written)
30. beach day(Written)
31. golden hour
32. jenga(Mixed)
33. on the floor(Written)
34. competitive spirit(Written)
35. bonfire(Written)
36. the deal is dead(Mixed) SMUT MDNI
37. that's suspicious
38. the text
39. too good to be true(Written)
40. end of beginning(Written)
ARC II
41. the girl who never looked back(Mixed)
42. the girl who kept dancing(Mixed)
43. the rockstar & the model(Written with slight text)
But I'm your girlfriend? - 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍
Synopsis: You unboxed their Beautiful Chaos album, yet pulled everyone’s photocard except your girlfriend. What follows is pure dramatic whining, pouty threats, and jealous rants, while you remain shamelessly unbothered, teasing her relentlessly until love wins over the cardboard betrayal.
Pairing: KATSEYE X FEM! READER.
- Megan
- Yoonchae
- Lara
- Daniela
- Manon
- Sophia
A/N: Another episode of me talking to myself because the editing app hates me! okay so don’t mind the typos, the unsent that was obviously unintentional, and the editing! also please request if you have anything in mind, I’m open for requests! 😚
pranking your girlfriend by suggesting the worst possible names for your baby
content: fem!reader, pregnant!reader in manon, sophia, and daniela's part & then it's a hypothetical in megaras and a teddy in yoonchae's, humor, crack, cursing, really badly spelt names, gay jokes bc i'm a #ally ss count: 14 note: coming up with names for these was so funny.... hopefully none of you are called these....
so with ur megan one maybe you could do it where she posted a photo with reader in it on her public by accident and its sorta supposed to be private and not allowed in that sense to show it on a company acc (if that makes sense)
TEXT MESSAGES PT. 16
✮ Megan Skiendiel x Fem!Reader ✮
Synopsis: Megan soft launching you on spam? Shit, that was actually on her main
Warnings: suggestive (when is it not??), idol!megan, mentions of death, use of “y/n”
AN: I have so many shows I want to watch and things I want to read but yet I never do… Also more diversity representation so there’s multiple photos
⋮ ⌗┆ megan is always taking pictures of you, but honestly, who are you to complain? okay well, maybe you have, once or twice . . . fem!reader & gf!megan fluff language . . . (filler while i work on other stuffff)
january 3 — second floor bathroom — iphone 15
megan says it’s because the lighting in here is better, but you know it’s really just because theres only one (comfortable) place to sit, and she likes having you on her lap.
she’s on the closed toilet seat, elbow resting loosely on your thighs, and you’re perched carefully on her with one leg firm on the tile so you don’t completely crush her. your makeup bag is exploded across the sink. theres already foundation on her sleeve because you “just needed somewhere to wipe your hands for a second,” completely ignoring the box of tissues behind her.
“don’t mess this up,” she says, trying to sound serious.
“i literally do your makeup every time.”
“yeah but today i have to look extra good.”
you narrow your eyes playfully. “for who?”
she just smiles up at you. “for you! and for the camera.”
you playfully roll your eyes but your hand is steady when you tilt her chin up. “don’t worry, you will no matter what.”
she goes quiet immediately when you focus, which is funny because five seconds ago she was being a little annoying. now she’s just watching your face like you’re doing something extremely important instead of just blending out some concealer.
her hands settle on your waist, thumbs pressing absent circles like she needs to do something while you work.
“baby stop moving,” you mumble.
“im not.”
“your hands are distracting me.”
“mm that sounds like a you problem.”
you lean down closer to do her eyeliner and she inhales you, her grip tightening a little. you pretend not to notice because if you acknowledge it you’ll mess up the wing and she will absolutely never let you hear the end of it.
you chuckle softly. “megan, if you blink—”
“i’m not blinking.”
she blinks.
you gasp dramatically. “oh my god.”
she starts laughing, which makes it worse, and now you’re half straddling her properly because you need a better angle and she is zero help. at some point your thigh is fully between hers and she’s just looking at you with this smug little expression.
“you’re enjoying this too much,” you accuse.
“uhhh i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
you grab her jaw gently to steady her and she goes still instantly. it’s kind of funny how fast she listens when you do that. you finish the wing perfectly and lean back to admire your work.
she doesn’t look in the mirror first.
she looks at you, then grins.
you look at her kind of confused and notice out of the corner of your eye that her phone is propped against the sink, recording the whole thing.
“megan…”
“yes baby?”
“why is your camera on?”
she winks. “for memories.”
“my side profile—my posture! oh my god delete it—”
“no.”
she wraps her arms fully around your waist before you can get off her lap and pulls you down for a quick kiss, probably to distract you from grabbing her phone. it works, unfortunately.
later she posts the photo, you mid-concentration, her just looking at you with those eyes, and captions it casually.
but ever since then, she insists you sit like this every time you do her makeup.
september 19 — county fair — canon g7x
you pointed at the game booth as a joke. the one with the little water guns and the clown targets that look slightly haunted. you said, “wait that’s kinda cute,” about the baby blue elephant hanging from the top row.
maybe you should’ve just kept on walking.
“you want it?” megan asks, already reaching for her wallet.
“i mean, i was kidding—”
“no, no. i got it.”
and suddenly she’s standing at the booth while the guy explains the rules like she’s about to compete in an olympic sport.
“it’s just for fun,” you whisper.
she glances at you. “totally.”
it is not just for fun. at least for her.
the first round starts and she’s locked in immediately. like jaw set. you’ve seen this look before at practice. she leans forward, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek as she lines up the stream of water.
she loses.
barely. but still.
you clap anyway. “you did so good!”
she narrows her eyes at the target like it offended her personally.
“again,” she says.
by the third try she’s talking to herself under her breath. something about pressure control or strategy. you don’t really know, but you’re trying not to laugh because she looks like she’s calculating wind speed at a literal carnival booth.
when she finally wins, it’s very dramatic.
the bell dings. the target fills first. the booth guy looks mildly surprised cause he thought it would literally never end. megan turns around with this victorious grin.
“which one?” he asks.
she doesn’t even look at the prizes. she looks at you.
you point at the baby blue elephant again, mostly to be annoying.
she hands it to you like it’s fragile. like she didn’t just nearly start beef with a twelve year old over it.
“for you,” she says. she might as well curtsy right then and there.
you squeeze it dramatically. “oh my hero.”
she rolls her eyes but she’s smiling.
you think that’s the end of it, but it’s not.
because then you make the mistake of saying, “wait that grey one is kinda cute too.”
she looks at the grey elephant.
then at the booth.
then back at you.
“no—no it’s okay,” you say immediately.
“what?”
“don’t.”
“you said it’s cute.”
“no i—megan.”
she’s already walking back up to the counter.
this time she wins on the first try.
she doesn’t even celebrate. just nods once, like yeah, obviously.
when the guy hands her the grey elephant, she holds both for a second before turning to you.
“okay but this one is technically mine,” she says.
“oh my god.”
you reach for it and she lifts it above your head like you’re five. you jump, miss, glare at her. she’s laughing so hard she almost drops it anyway.
eventually she gives in and hands it over, but not before pulling you in by your belt loop with her free hand.
“i just need it to be clear,” she says quietly, “i could’ve won all of them.”
“there are like forty.”
“exactly.”
you end up walking around the fair holding both elephants while she carries nothing. she claims it’s because you “earned them emotionally.” whatever that means.
later, when you’re sitting on a bench sharing funnel cake, you catch her staring at you. not even subtly either. just looking at you with the softest expression while you make the two elephants “talk” to each other in stupid little voices.
“you’re ridiculous,” she says.
“you love it.”
she shrugs, pretending to think about it. then reaches over and fixes the ear on the grey one because it’s folded weird.
“yeah,” she says finally. “i do.”
and she definitely goes back later to win you one more.
just in case.
may 7 — living room sleepover — canon EOS (but
technically not mine)
you two were just babysitting her cousin for the night and somehow the pullout couch turned into “the studio” because she found megan’s old camera in her bag and decided she was now a professional photographer.
and you, you were her muse.
you’re sitting cross-legged on the pullout couch bed, still in the oversized sweater you plan on sleeping in, hair slightly messy, smiling at her like she just told you the funniest joke in the world (which she probably did). something about how adults don’t know how to pose properly.
“no, no,” she says very seriously, tiny hands gripping the camera. “smile, but not too much.”
you nod like this is high stakes. “okay. like this?”
“more princess-y.”
you straighten up immediately. “like this?”
“yes. but prettier.”
megan is in the kitchen pretending to get juice but she hasn’t moved in three minutes because she’s just watching the entire thing happen.
you are taking direction from a six year old.
“chin down a little,” the kid says.
you tilt your chin down.
“perfect.”
click.
the flash goes off even though it’s already bright in the room. you blink but keep smiling because you’re committed to the bit.
“one more,” she says, climbing onto the couch beside you so she can get a “different angle.”
you automatically scoot over to make space. she leans against you and lifts the camera again.
megan finally gives up pretending she’s not invested and sits on the arm of the couch.
“you look very professional,” she comments.
you glance over. “i’ve been told i have range.”
“yeah?” she smirks. “let’s see serious.”
without missing a beat, you drop the smile and give the most dramatic, model off-duty stare at the camera. the little girl gasps like she’s witnessing art.
“that one!” she squeals.
click.
megan actually laughs out loud.
it’s not even a quiet laugh. she leans forward and covers her mouth because she’s trying to contain it.
“why are you laughing?” you ask, offended but still in character.
“because you’re taking this so seriously.”
“i have a reputation to maintain.”
the kid nods. “she’s very talented.”
“thank you,” you say solemnly.
megan just shakes her head, looking at you like you’re the most absurd person she’s ever met.
at some point the roles switch and the little girl climbs fully onto the couch next to you, insisting on taking a selfie of the two of you together. you wrap an arm around her instantly.
and that’s when megan quietly grabs her own camera.
because there’s something about the way you lean your head slightly toward the kid, like you’re making sure she’s fully in frame. the way you look completely unbothered and happy and so natural with her.
click.
you don’t even notice.
later, when the kid runs off to show everyone her “portfolio,” megan sits down next to you.
“you’re very cute, you know that?” she says, nudging your knee with hers.
“because i’m photogenic?”
“because you let a six year old boss you around for twenty minutes.”
you shrug. “she has vision.”
megan looks at the photo she took again. you on the pullout couch, smiling like that, a tiny photographer sitting proudly beside you.
she saves it immediately.
“what are you smiling at?” you ask.
“nothing,” she says, way too quickly.
but she keeps looking at you like she just discovered something new.
and she absolutely makes that picture her lockscreen later.
august 14 — living room movie night — iphone 15
it was just supposed to be a simple movie night. you’re both in jeans after just coming back from a night out, too lazy to change into something more comfortable. the lights are off except for the lamp in the corner, and you come back from the kitchen holding your container of chocolate haagen dazs.
she’s already on the couch with hers. strawberry, of course. you sit down beside her and immediately clock it.
“that was your choice?” you ask.
she looks down at her container like she’s confused. “yeah?”
“over chocolate?”
“yeah.”
she peels the lid off slowly, dramatically. “strawberry is elite.”
“strawberry has chunks.”
“exactly.”
“that’s not a good thing.”
she gasps like you just insulted her entire bloodline. “well—chocolate is boring.”
“what! chocolate is classic.”
“classic is code for basic.”
“basic is good.”
“basic is predictable.”
“basic is comforting. or can be”
she narrows her eyes at you while taking her first bite, making a point to look way too satisfied. “mm. superior.”
you take a bite of yours just as aggressively.
“i bet that’s bland,” she mutters.
“it’s delicious actually.”
“mid.”
“you’re mid.”
she laughs at that but doesn’t back down. “strawberry just has a better taste.”
“but it also has seeds.”
“those add texture.”
“more like a pain in the ass.”
the movie preview is playing but neither of you are watching anymore. you’re both leaning slightly toward each other like this is a real debate that needs to be won.
“you just don’t understand nuance,” she says.
“you’re acting like strawberry ice cream is better than everything that’s ever existed.”
“maybe it is.”
you roll your eyes but you’re smiling. “i can’t believe i’m dating someone with these opinions.”
“i can’t believe you don’t appreciate fruit.”
“i appreciate fruit. not strawberry ice cream over chocolate.”
she goes quiet for a second and takes another spoonful.
you look down at her container.
the strawberry is bright and soft, perfectly smooth except for the little chunks. she’s taken a few neat bites from one side, leaving the middle untouched.
you look at your spoon.
then at her ice cream.
then back at her.
“what are you doing,” she says immediately.
“nothing.”
“don’t.”
you lean over before she can move it and scoop directly into the center of her strawberry ice cream.
“hey!”
“relax.”
“that was a clean surface.”
you ignore her and start shaping the scoop carefully.
“you cannot just attack my ice cream because you’re losing the argument,” she says.
“i’m not losing.”
“you absolutely are.”
“you’re just scared,” she says.
“of what.”
“of admitting i’m right.”
you roll your eyes so hard this time it’s actually a little impressive. “just pass it.”
she pauses. “why...”
“for research.”
“oh my god.”
but she hands it over anyway, holding onto the side of the container like she doesn’t fully trust you. you scoop a bite of her strawberry, making direct eye contact while you do it.
“don’t take a big one,” she warns.
you taste it.
and unfortunately.
it’s good.
like actually good.
you try not to react at first but she’s staring at you, waiting.
“well?” she presses.
you take another smaller bite. just to confirm.
“it’s… fine,” you say carefully.
she grins. “fine?”
“okay, wait.”
you look down at the smooth pink surface of her ice cream. the little strawberry pieces. the way it’s already softening at the edges.
“…it’s kind of good,” you admit.
“kind of?”
“okay,” you sigh. “it’s good.”
“i told you.”
“don’t get ahead of yourself.”
but you’re still looking at the container.
then, without really thinking about it, you drag your spoon through the center.
she leans closer. “what is that.”
“wait.”
you smooth one side, then the other.
it kind of looks like a heart.
…kind of.
she squints. “that looks like a butt.”
“it does not.”
“it literally does.”
you pause. okay, maybe it does... slightly.
“hold on,” you mutter, scooping a little more from the top to define it better.
she’s trying not to laugh now, watching you fix it. you refine the edges, deepen the center just enough.
there.
a heart!
clearly a heart.
you lean back, satisfied.
then, without hesitation, you take a small bite from the side of it.
“tax,” you say.
“bro—”
you sit up at that. “did you just call me bro?”
she finally laughs, the tension completely gone. “you just took a chunk out of my heart.”
“literally or figuratively?” you smile.
she shakes her head but she’s smiling in the way she does when you’re being especially ridiculous.
then she grabs her phone.
click.
“are you serious right now,” you say.
“don’t move.”
“it’s melting.”
“that’s fine.”
she takes another picture, making sure both containers are in frame — her strawberry with the slightly uneven but very obvious heart carved into the middle, and your chocolate sitting smugly in your lap.
you watch her look at the photo, zooming in slightly on the heart.
“why are you smiling like that,” you ask.
“because,” she says quietly, “this is the dumbest apology i’ve ever received.”
“it’s not an apology.”
“it is.”
you shrug. “okay it might be.”
she looks back at her strawberry ice cream, then at you.
“for the record,” she says, “chocolate isn’t boring.”
you narrow your eyes. “don’t lie.”
“it’s very you.”
“…what does that mean.”
“i don’t know,” she shrugs, nudging your knee with hers. “it just is.”
you pretend that didn’t do anything to you and lean over to take another small bite from the side of her heart.
“tax,” you repeat.
“you already taxed.”
“umm… double taxation?”
she laughs and lightly shoves your shoulder, but she doesn’t move the container away.
by the end of the movie you’re both sharing anyway. her spoon ends up in your chocolate, yours in her strawberry, the heart slightly misshapen but still there in the center.
later, she saves the picture to her favorites.
because for some reason, a slightly lopsided heart carved into strawberry ice cream felt like the sweetest truce you’ve ever made.
november 22 — megan’s place — iphone 15
you’re both sitting on the floor in front of the couch because apparently the couch is just “decorative” and the dog is stretched out like he pays bills here, fully on his side, legs twitching a little because he’s dreaming about something important probably. you’ve been scratching behind his ear for a solid five minutes.
“watch this,” megan says, and you already know you’re about to be annoyed. then she leans forward slightly and just goes, “buddy.”
and this dog who has been acting like he’s in a coma suddenly lifts his entire head and his tail starts hitting the floor like he’s been activated by bluetooth.
you stop mid scratch.
“…oh.”
megan doesn’t even look at you, she just gives you that side smile. “yeah.”
you immediately sit up straighter because you think no, actually, that’s crazy. you literally buy his treats. you are the one who refills his water bowl without being asked. you are emotionally present.
“he was already awake,” you say, not knowing if it’s true or not.
megan snaps her fingers lightly and he rolls over. like instantly. you stare at him.
“are you kidding me. he never listens when i do that.”
megan laughs, reaching down to rub his stomach and he is absolutely eating it up, kicking his leg and everything. you feel this weird little sting of betrayal. you were just petting him.
“come here,” you say, patting your lap confidently.
the dog looks at you.
then looks back at megan.
megan makes eye contact with you and very calmly goes, “it’s okay buddy, you don’t have to.”
oh my god.
“why are you turning him against me.”
“i’m not doing anything,” she says, but she’s smiling in the most instigating way possible.
so it’s not about the dog anymore. it’s about ego.
“okay well when he needs someone to take him on a walk at 7am don’t look at me.”
“i take him on walks.”
“name three.”
“yesterday.”
“…okay.”
you try again. softer this time. you scoot closer and start scratching his chest instead of behind his ear because maybe you’ve been doing it wrong this whole time and no one told you. and he does lean into it. slightly.
you look at megan, like “see.”
she raises an eyebrow and just says his name again, and this traitor lifts his head.
you physically gasp. “you’re such a dick.”
megan starts laughing and now you’re fully (fake) mad, crossing your arms and leaning back.
“this is insane. i contribute equally to this household.”
“household?” she repeats.
“yes. our son.”
she snorts. “our son.”
“don’t act brand new. i emotionally support him.”
“you baby him.”
“but he likes it!”
and then megan, because she’s evil, stands up and walks toward the kitchen without saying anything else.
and the dog immediately gets up and follows her.
you just sit there staring at the empty spot on the rug like you just got dumped.
“oh so that’s how it is,” you mutter to yourself, pushing yourself up and following them.
they’re both in the kitchen now. megan leaning against the counter, the dog sitting at her feet looking up at her.
you walk in and cross your arms. “tell your son to come back.”
megan loses it at that, actually laughing now. “so he’s my son now?”
“he clearly picked.”
“y/n you’re being so dramatic.”
“he didn’t even think about it. he just left.”
“because i said his name.”
“i’ve said his name.”
“not like that.”
what does that even mean.
you crouch down in front of him and grab his face gently. “who feeds you.”
his tail thumps.
“who buys you treats.”
more tail.
“exactly.”
megan crouches too and now you’re both face to face with this dog who looks deeply confused but happy about the attention.
“buddy,” she says softly.
his head turns.
you narrow your eyes at her. “stop using that voice.”
“what voice.”
“that one.”
and then because you refuse to lose, you stand up and walk back to the living room without looking back, very dramatic, like you don’t care anymore.
you don’t even call him. you just sit on the couch and grab the remote like fine. whatever.
there’s a pause before you hear his nails on the floor.
and then suddenly there’s weight jumping up next to you and he’s climbing into your lap, fully uninvited, settling down like he didn’t just embarrass you ten seconds ago.
you freeze.
don’t react too fast. you think. don’t scare him.
megan walks back in and stops when she sees him sprawled across you.
“…oh wow.”
you look up slowly, trying to act casual but your hand is already buried in his fur. “what.”
“interesting.”
“i guess he just needed space,” you say calmly, even though you are internally celebrating.
megan walks over and sits down on the other side of him, squeezing in so now he’s literally sandwiched between you both.
and of course he loves that even more.
his head is on your stomach but his back is pressed against her and his tail is hitting both of you like he physically cannot choose.
megan starts petting him too and now your hands keep bumping into each other over his back.
“he loves me more,” she says lightly.
“joint custody,” you immediately respond.
“supervised visits.”
“partial custody. alternating holidays.”
“you’re insane.”
“i’m being fair.”
and somehow you both end up leaning into each other because there’s not enough space and the dog is fully stretched out across both your laps like he successfully merged households.
you rest your chin on his head.
“he came back on his own,” you mumble.
megan nudges your knee with hers. “because i let him.”
you gasp. “you think you control him?”
she just smiles in that way that means yes.
you squeeze the dog tighter. “it’s fine. he can have two moms.”
“don’t say that.”
“why.”
“because now it’s true.”
you both start laughing again and you swear the dog sighs like he’s exhausted from the custody battle he didn’t sign up for.
by the end of it you’re both just squished together with him in the middle, still lowkey debating but not actually serious about it anymore, and you just quietly go, “i’m still claiming partial custody.”
megan doesn’t even argue this time. she just keeps petting him.
which is basically a win.
⋮ ⌗┆ im literally getting content labels slapped on every single one of my drafts BUT i managed to get rid of it so bless up 💯 anyway heres a little smth just to put out for now
