#megan

[hanavbara]

everything’s GNARLY 💚 #KATSEYE

[meganswhxre]

uptown girl

pairings: city girl!daniela avanzini x country!gp!reader

tags: smut, dry humping, handjob, r is strong(ish), inexperienced r, kinda bratty dani

a/n: this is my first fic in so long, and also the longest one i've ever written! not proofread, so sry for mistakes! also my first time writing gp

it was the last semester of senior year, and daniela had already gotten in to her dream college, so she had nothing to worry about.

as one of the popular girls of her school, part of a clique called the kats, she was anything but well behaved.

she’d been careful, of course, always respectful and polite to her teachers to ensure she got the highest grades, but when school got out, she was a different story.

daniela and her friends had thrown a party at her house, or better yet, her mansion, while her parents were out of town. they all got drunk and wiped out in the living room, and unfortunately were still there by the time her parents got home.

broken bottles, abandoned cups, random socks, and even a few condom wrappers littered the grounds of her house, both inside and out.

to say her parents were furious was an understatement. she gets into trouble a lot, usually always related to drinking or breaking curfew, but this time her father had enough.

so that’s how, on her first day of summer break, she wound up waking at 5 in the morning to make the long drive out to the country side to go stay with her father’s best friend and his family.

she had met the man, mr. l/n, when she was a little kid, and she faintly remembered him having a kid around her age, not that she could remember anything more than that.

“daniela, when we get there, you must show mr. l/n respect, ok?” her father said, stern, his hands gripping the wheel of his bmw suv tightly. 

“but dad—“ she started to protest before he cut her off.

“ah, ah, ah. i don’t wanna hear it, young lady, you’re lucky enough that your mother and i aren’t sending you to military school. or something” before he could lecture her any farther, he was turning the truck down a worn gravel road.

dust flew up with each slow movement of his tires, and he’d definitely have to get it cleaned to get the dirt now clinging to his shiny black paint job off.

“but dad—“ you started, to which you were promptly cut off.

“look, it ain’t your fault she’s coming here, ok? but i told mr. avanzini we’d take care of his daughter”

“but don’t you remember, when we were kids, she used to take my hat and throw it in the dirt just ‘cause i called her pretty?” you tried to remind your father, now somewhat scared to meet this girl you hadn’t seen since you were about 9 years old.

he chuckled, patted your back, and looked out the window. “they’re here, best be polite to ‘em, you hear me?”

“yes dad”

the two of you walked out front of the country house. it was two stories and white with pale blue shutters around each window, the paint fresh since you had redone it about 3 months ago, simply because you were bored. you step onto the wraparound wooden porch with a soft thud of your boots, making your way to the top of the gravel driveway just in time to see a fancy car pull in.

you take your hat off out of respect, and the moment that door swings open, your hat falls to the ground.

you had been expecting some mean looking girl with frizzy curls and a bright red dress, because that’s exactly what she looked like last time she met you.

what you weren’t expecting was…. this.

daniela stepped out of the car, each curl meticulously coiled and laid upon her shoulders in a way that looked effortless but must’ve taken hours. 

she had dressed for the occasion, or at least had tried to— she wore designer knee high boots, the smallest light wash jean shorts you’ve ever seen, and a white baby tee that barely covered her chest, something written on it in red rhinestones.

she pulled her sunglasses off, placing them on top of her head as she looked around. you took her in, noticing how tall the heel of her boots were, meaning she’s probably a lot shorter than you are even with her shoes on. 

you didn’t have long to look at her before you were snapped back to reality by her scoff, reminding you to pick up your fallen hat.

“dad, this is funny, i get it, i fucked up, lets go home now” she said, clearly thinking this was some kind of joke.

her father stayed silent, walking around the trunk of the car and opening it to pull out her louis vuitton suitcases. 

“daniela, come help with these” 

she walked over, each step planned and perfect, her head held high. by the time he had helped her bring her luggage to the porch, with the exception of the one small duffel she was holding, you were being engulfed in a bear hug.

you pat mr. avanzini’s back awkwardly as he yammered on about how much you’ve grown up, and then luckily, his attention shifted to your father and they were already walking off to go have a look around.

you watched them head off until you felt something being pressed into your chest.

you looked forwards and saw daniela giving you her duffel bag, letting go the moment your arms reached to steady it. 

“don’t drop it” was the only thing she said before walking into your house, the heels of her fancy boots clicking on the wooden floors.

you stand there, dumfounded and holding her bag, which was way heavier than it looked.

after a few paces she turns back to you, rolls her eyes, and says “are you gonna show me around or what? cmon farm girl, i don’t have all day”

the next morning, she comes down around noon when you’re already having your lunch, your boots dusty from the horses.

her curls fall over her shoulders in ringlets, messy but somehow still perfect. she was in a white tank top that made it obvious she had no bra on under and a pair of sleep shorts that barely covered her ass.

you do what you can to restrain yourself from looking, trying to stop the blood from rushing straight down to your dick as you look at your plate, which is empty apart from the crumbs.

“i was hoping you’d be up soon” you say with a smile, trying your best to treat her kindly because, at the end of the day, she was gonna be here. for a while. 

“the horses are about ready, if you’d like to go for a ride” you tell her, standing to wash your plate off in the sink.

she scoffs, a sound you’ve become familiar with in the past 24 hours. “isn’t there anything better to do around here? like a mall or something?”

“the closest mall is about an hour away… and it’s more of a… collection of stores along the side of the road” you answer.

she groans in annoyance, sitting down in one of the chairs at the dining table. 

“if you wanna get dressed, i was serious about taking you out with the horses” you offer again, a part of you hoping she’d say yes.

“absolutely” daniela says, smiling in a way that’s too good to be true.

“really?” you say, face lighting up in excitement

“yeah, when hell freezes over!” she says in that same cheery voice with the fake smile before grabbing her phone and heading back up the stairs.

it takes her about a week to finally give in.

you were outside, brushing the sides of your favorite horse. he was brown with white around her hooves, and a light colored mane and tail. you had just finished doing the other 3 horses, so you were sweating and your boots were already dirty.

you were in some old white t shirt that was a lot closer to being cream now, and a pair of dark wash jeans that were tattered at the ends, a red worn baseball hat on top of your head.

your father had announced he was going into town for the day and would be back tomorrow, something about one of his friends visiting, so the house was empty and daniela was bored. 

she walked in, wearing a pair of flare jeans with a flannel top that was tied in the middle of her chest over a white crop top, and announced herself with a simple “god, it stinks in here”

“that would be the horse shit” you answer, not taking your eyes off the brush or bothering to turn and see her, assuming she was here to bother or tease you like usual.

“how do you even ride one of those?” daniela asks with a scoff, trying to sound less interested than she is. 

“why, you interested?”

you smiled, finally turning to see her, your eyes raking up and down her body subconsciously.

she leaned back against the stall door, the fabric over her chest stretching tighter, and she couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t checking you out either.

the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed dryly from just the sight of her, a reaction she was used to from the people she interacted with at school but somehow felt different coming from you. the way your hands were splayed over the brush, the sleeves on your arm clinging to the muscle there, the sweat dripping off your temple…

“it can’t be that hard, can it?” she finally said when she was done looking you over.

“i can teach you” you say, genuinely getting excited again though mentally preparing yourself to get shot down like usual.

“ok”

“look, i know you think horses are— wait, what?” you say, freezing and nearly dropping the brush.

“i said ok, it’s not like i just told you that you won the lottery or something, relax” she rolls her eyes and starts walking to you behind the horse.

“woah, woah, woah! rule one, never do that!” you say, quickly pulling her away from the back so that she doesn’t get kicked. 

you guide the horse out of the stall, hitching it to the post outside the barn as you lay the saddle pad and then the actual saddle. 

you grab the stool from the corner of the room and position it next to the side of the horse, offering her your hand that wasn’t holding the horse.

she reluctantly steps forwards, putting her hand in yours as she steps up the stool. her mind goes fuzzy for a moment, thinking about nothing other than the way your hand felt against hers— large and calloused and warm— until she’s snapped out of it by you saying “you have to take another step to get on the horse”

by the time she’s finally on, you undo the tie and kick the stool aside, swinging yourself onto the horse effortlessly, sitting behind her. you have the reins in your hands, making your arms brush against her sides with each adjustment you guide the horse to do.

the horse starts moving, faster than daniela had anticipated, causing her to lean back into you without meaning to.

she tries to ignore the weird feeling in her stomach as you go, attempting to focus on the dirt on your arms instead, but her mind keeps drifting to the fact that she actually likes the feeling of you close to her like this.

you lead the horse through the trees that start at the edge of your fields, and she hates the way her hands rest over your forearms, tightening every time the horse jolts or steps on a rock.

after about what felt like an eternity for her but was really 20 minutes, you reach a small river and stop for the horse to drink.

you dismount, then help her off and tie him to a tree. you kneel next to the river, dipping your hands in and bringing some to your face to wash off the sweat, sighing in relief of the cool water.

“cmhere” you say with a small laugh, head turning to face her.

“absolutely not” she says, though she can’t fight the smile tugging onto the corners of her lips.

“it feels good, i promise” you say, smiling, and using one of the rocks for leverage to stand.

you offer her your hand, and just as she’s about to take it, you slip.

it happens so quickly, the fall, the splash, your cry of pain.

and just as fast as it happened, she’s running over. daniela forgets her nice clothes and the fact that she’s supposed to hate you and steps into the edge of the river.

you start righting your body, but it’s clear you’re in pain, your hand clutching your wrist.

she reaches for you, her small hands finding their way to your waist in an attempt to steady you. “y/n, are you ok?” she says, helping you out of the water, her voice distressed as she guides you to sit on the ground underneath a tree.

you wince before saying “i’m fine, promise”

“don’t lie to me, i can see you’re in pain” she says, crossing her arms as she kneels next to you. her voice softens before she adds “please, let me help”

your eyes meet hers and see something you’ve never seen before— gentleness and care, and you almost can’t believe that daniela actually cares about you. you give her your hand, and she holds it tenderly, and still you hiss with pain.

“i can still ride, let’s just” another wince “let’s just get home, ok? we can take care of it there”

the moment you two step in the house, she drags you up to your bedroom and pushes you gently by the shoulders to sit on the edge of your bed.

you don’t protest, too dazed from the way she’s handling you to care.

she comes back with a wrap from the first aid box you keep in the kitchen and begins wrapping it from the base of your wrist up your hand and back down, fastening it with a pin.

“do you think it’s broken or something?” she asks, standing between your legs as you stay seated.

“no, it just feels sprained” you pause, flexing your wrist and then immediately wince at the action, regretting your movements “pretty badly though”

“you ok?” she asks, softer than before.

“mhm” you say, eyes fighting to stay on your hand instead of her.

she tilts your chin to force you to look at her, not hard, but enough that you understand she’s serious.

“look at me” her nails press into your jaw, not intentionally or painfully, but you feel it. “why are you being so weird?” she mumbles, eyes searching yours.

you swallow as she stares at you, trying to will all the blood in your body to stop from rushing straight downwards, but it’s no use.

her eyes follow the column of your throat as you swallow and continue downwards until they land on the crotch of your jeans. 

“oh” she whispers, a smile forming on her face, but it’s not like the ones you’ve seen before— the ones that signal her about to cause trouble or do something, this is a genuine one.

daniela’s hand moves to fully cup your cheek now, her other one resting on your shoulder as she looks into your eyes once more. 

your face is red now, the heat creeping from the tips of your ears down your neck.

“is that from me?” she whispers, her voice lower with something that you can’t seem to understand— desire?

you look away from her eyes but nod, blushing even more if that was possible.

she turns your face back to her “i thought i made it clear i wanted you to look at me”

your eyes meet hers once more and she notices the way you look at her. she had always assumed it was just physical attraction, like the way everyone else used to look at her, but she sees genuine care in you.

she moves both her hands to your shoulders and then straddles you, her pristine jeans brushing against your dirty ones, and your brain short circuits, hands hovering in the air awkwardly.

her fingers move to play with the hair at the nape of your neck as she leans in, breath fanning across your lips as she whispers “you’ve never done this before, have you?

you shake your head no.

she uses one hand to guide yours to her waist, and you wince as your sprained wrist touches her skin. 

“shit, i forgot, are you ok?” she says, snapped out of her mood and now worried about you.

“i’m fine” you say softly, hands resting on her waist fully now, even though it hurts a little bit.

“if you’re hurt, we don’t have to—“ she starts, then cuts herself off mid sentence “oh my god, how did i forget? god, your hand, i—“

“dani” you say softly, and your voice brings her out of her ramble “i’m fine, i promise”

you tentatively rest your forehead against hers “i’m ok” you whisper.

your eyes are shut, and you’re so close she can feel each breath and beat of your heart. before she can overthink it, she presses a featherlight kiss to your lips.

you don’t move your lips, unsure what to do, but your fingers curl into her skin.

she keeps her lips pressed against yours, soft and still, until you pull her closer by the waist.

daniela’s hands tangle in your hair as she starts to move her lips against yours, and you clumsily reciprocate.

if she wasn’t so insanely attracted to you, not just in this moment but in general, mixed with the way she cares about you, she’d probably stop you and correct your technique, but she couldn’t care less in this moment.

she licks your bottom lip, then gently moves her tongue into your mouth. you let out a low groan at the feeling and pull her impossibly closer, her clothed core pressing against the buckle of your belt.

she pulls away, gasping for air.

“was i… did i do it right?” you whisper, breathless and holding her close.

“fuck, you--" she takes a deep breath, trying to act like the consistent pressure of you holding her onto your belt buckle without meaning to combined with the feeling of you hard underneath her isn’t driving her crazy.

“dani?” you say softly, releasing your grip a bit as you start to worry.

“just kiss me” she mumbles, kissing her again as she presses closer, trying to signal you to hold her tighter again.

somehow her signal gets through to you, and you hold her close.

she grinds down onto you, and both of you moan at the sensation. she keeps rubbing herself over your buckle, the metal pressing up against her clit through her jeans.

you forget the sprained wrist you have and gently help her move on you, your strength making it almost effortless. she relaxes into your touch, trusting you fully as your tongue explores her mouth with inexperience.

she feels a little guilty, knowing she should be taking care of you, but lets you continue, knowing how pent up she’s been since she got here over a week ago.

you’re stronger than you think you are, so you’re pulling her onto the belt with so much pressure it makes her dizzy in the best way possible.

after a few more of these movements, her thighs start to shake and she grips your shoulders, breaking the kiss.

“don’t stop, please, don’t stop” she moans against your lips, head falling back as she trusts you to make her feel good.

you’re eager to please her, so you follow her words and don’t stop, until she cries out, body tensing, and she cums in her pants.

her nails dig into your shoulders, leaving marks as she grips you like her life depends on it.

she falls limp in your arms, and you release your hold on her waist, wrapping your arms around her instead to hug her.

you ignore the wetness seeping through her jeans onto yours, holding her close and gently stroking her back as she calms down.

once she’s stable enough, she pulls her head back a bit to look at you. you’re sweating a bit, cheeks flushed, a small but proud smile on your lips.

she can’t resist you, pressing another kiss to your lips simply because she can. “you’re cute, you know that?” she whispers, fingers tracing your chest.

you nuzzle into her neck, holding her close, pressing a gentle kiss to the base of it.

her hand trails down your chest to your stomach to rest at the top of your jeans.

“you don’t have to” you whisper, nuzzling closer. “i know you’re tired”

“i want to” she replies, kissing the top of your head “can i?”

“yeah” you mumble into her neck.

her fingers gently unbuckle your belt, then undo the button of your jeans, and then the zipper.

“lift your hips” she says gently, and you do, helping her get your pants down to your ankles, leaving you in your boxers.

she kisses you, softly this time, and her hands toy with the hem of your shirt before tugging on it, silently telling you that she wants it off. 

you break the kiss, pulling it over your head. her lips attach to yours again as her nails gently scrape down your hard stomach, and one of your hands gently moves to her shirt.

“can i?” you whisper, and she nods, pulling back.

she takes the flannel off first and then the crop top, leaving her in a lacy white bra that contrasts with her tanned skin. your breath hitches, and you gently bring one hand up. she nods at you for consent, and your hand cups her boob tentatively.

“that’s it, baby” she murmurs, pressing her lips to yours again before pulling your boxers down enough to free your length.

her hand wraps around the base, slowly pumping it once. you let out a low groan, head immediately dropping to rest on her shoulder as she strokes you.

you squeeze her hip with one hand, the other still on her boob. you try to adjust to the feeling of a hand other than your own on your length as she pumps a few more times, thumb moving to spread the precum that’s leaking out of your slit.

“you’re bigger than i thought you’d be” she says softly, her other hand in your hair, scratching your scalp softly. “my poor baby doesn’t know what to do with it, huh?” she coos.

you nod weakly, moaning into her shoulder as her thumb presses your slit.

“don’t worry, baby, we have all summer, ok?” she kisses the top of your head as her hand speeds up.

“dani, i’m close” you whisper into her neck, mixed with another groan. the coil in your stomach gets tighter and tighter as you try to hold yourself back, embarrassed to be so close to cumming in such a short amount of time.

“already?” she says, laughing softly. “it’s ok, baby, i like knowing that i affect you this much”

you hide your burning face even more in her shoulder as she feels your cock twitch in her hands.

“you wanna cum, baby? go ahead” 

that’s all it takes to push you over the edge you had been teetering on, your vision whiting out at the sides as you groan, low and loud, face pressing into her shoulder as you spill ropes of cum onto her hand and your stomach.

“fuck dani” you groan as she pumps you through it, both hands now on her waist to squeeze as the blissful feeling takes over your body.

she pulls your face out of her neck and presses gentle kisses to your sweaty temple and flushed cheeks.

“thank you” you whisper, repeating it over and over again as you finally come down from your high.

“no need to thank me” she says softly, scratching your scalp softly again, her cum covered hand resting on your thigh.

“how long are you staying with us?” you murmur softly, not letting go of her waist as you hug her close.

“the rest of summer” daniela whispers, and you smile softly, knowing that she’s yours for another month and a half.

[blossomcola]

𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

INCLUDES. all these videos are for female or afab readers, except where it is g!p for obvious reasons. you don’t like it = you don’t interact.

WARNINGS. clit play, cunnilingus, face sitting, fingering, hair pulling, humiliation, nipple play, scissoring, titsucking, toys.

manon bannerman

always a meanie.

evil when she has the strap.

fucking her with your strap.

having fun alone.

her body.

playtime.

scissoring with her.

she misses you.

touching her but she is always greedy.

using her face as your personal seat whenever you need it.

sophia laforteza

giving her the good fuck she deserves. (g!p reader)

good artists deserve a demonstration of appreciation for their hard work. (g!p reader)

receiving her after a wonderful performance at an awards ceremony. (g!p reader)

she loves teasing you.

trying new toys.

daniela avanzini

getting all freaky with her at a party moments after she told you she’s straight.

scissoring with her and taking the opportunity to grope her body.

lara raj

blindfolding you and using your body for her own pleasure.

fun in the backseat of her car.

giving you backshots to break in her new strap.

grinding against her.

having a little fun time with you in her car while you guys are at a red light.

her favorite toy.

riding her strap.

sending you videos of the new toys she bought to try out with you once she finishes the promotions with her group.

megan skiendiel

being a good puppy girl.

breaking in your new strap.

grinding against her pillow at the thought of you.

her oral fixation.

teasing her through her cute panties. (g!p reader)

she doesn’t mind being treated like a whore.

videos for you.

[meretmanons]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH LARA & MEGAN!

[trans10s]

Megan

[bobby-apples]

Megan’s biggest fan

[luluvrs]

𓏲࣪  secret harmonies

pairing » megan skiendiel x fem!reader synopsis » megan promised never to fall for a fan, until she met you, and the rule didn’t stand a chance. » fluff to angst to fluff wc » 4k

rule number one of the idol handbook, seemingly etched in stone and repeated by management until it was white noise in the back of her mind: do not fall in love with a fan.

it was logical. it was professional. it was meant to protect the boundary between the artist and the admirer. for megan, it had never been a difficult rule to follow. she loved her fans—she adored the eyekons with her whole heart—but that love was platonic. it was a gratitude for their support, a shared energy during performances, a collective bond. she had never looked into the sea of lightsticks and felt her heart stutter with genuine, terrifying romantic attraction.

that was, until the los angeles show.

it had been three weeks ago. the adrenaline was high, the bass of "touch" was vibrating through the floorboards of the stage, and megan was doing her part, scanning the front row. that was when the stage lights swept over section b, row 1.

there you were.

you were wearing a hot pink crop top and a matching skirt, an outfit that demanded attention, but it wasn’t the clothes that made megan miss a step in her choreography. it was your face. you were singing along, eyes shining with pure joy, and when you locked eyes with megan, you didn’t just scream like everyone else. you smiled a soft, genuine smile that seemed to cut through the chaos of the arena.

megan had spent the rest of the concert unconsciously gravitating toward your side of the stage.

later that night, on the tour bus, she couldn’t shut up about it.

"i’m telling you, daniela, she was literally glowing," megan had insisted, scrubbing her makeup off with a wipe while staring at the ceiling. "she had this pink outfit on. section b. did you see her?"

daniela had rolled her eyes. "meg, there were two thousand people in pink. it’s our concept color half the time."

"no, but this was different," megan groaned, frustrated that she couldn't articulate the magnetic pull she had felt. "she was... pretty. like, intimidatingly pretty. i felt like i should have been asking for her autograph."

manon had laughed from the seat next to her. "careful, megan. you know the rules. don't go falling for the front row."

"i'm not falling," megan had scoffed, throwing the makeup wipe into the trash. "i just... i know i won't see her again. and that sucks."

she was wrong.

the fan sign event was in full swing. the room was buzzing with the low hum of chatter, the shutter of cameras, and the occasional shriek of excitement. the air smelled of expensive perfume and permanent markers. megan was seated between yoonchae and sophia, smiling until her cheeks hurt, signing album after album, answering questions about her skincare routine and her favorite snacks.

she was grateful, she really was, but her social battery was draining. she took a sip of water, adjusting her headband, and looked up to see who was next in the queue.

her heart stopped. it actually stopped, then slammed against her ribs with the force of a sledgehammer.

it was you.

you were wearing a different outfit today—a soft denim jacket over a white dress—but the face was unmistakable. it was the face that had haunted her dreams for the last three weeks. you were standing about five people back in the line, clutching your album to your chest, looking nervous.

the fans in the front row noticed the change instantly. megan, who had been slouching slightly in her chair, suddenly straightened up. her eyes widened, losing that glazed-over 'idol autopilot' look and sharpening into intense focus. a few fans whispered, wondering what had caught her attention, but megan didn't care.

she was counting down.

four. a nice girl who asked about megan’s dance training. megan answered politely, but her eyes kept darting over the girl's shoulder.

three. a guy who wanted a high-five. megan gave it to him, tapping her foot impatiently under the table.

two. a fan who was crying. megan held her hand, offering comfort, but her internal monologue was screaming, she’s right there. she’s right there.

one.

and then, you were standing in front of her.

up close, you were even more devastating. the harsh fluorescent lights of the venue usually washed people out, but you looked radiant. you placed your album on the table, your hands trembling slightly.

"hi, megan," you breathed out, your voice soft.

megan felt a grin split her face, wider and more genuine than anything she’d offered the cameras all day. "hi," she replied, her voice dropping an octave, becoming something softer, intimate. "i remember you."

you blinked, looking stunned. "you... you do?"

"la show. three weeks ago," megan said immediately, leaning her elbows on the table to bridge the gap between you. "section b. you were wearing that pink two-piece set. the skirt and the top?"

your jaw dropped slightly, a lovely shade of red blooming across your cheeks. "i... yeah. that was me. i can't believe you remember that. there were so many people."

"hard to miss you," megan murmured, uncapping her marker. she didn't break eye contact. "i actually told the girls about you afterward. i wouldn't shut up about the 'pretty girl in pink'."

you let out a breathless laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "you're lying. there's no way megan skiendiel was talking about me."

"ask daniela," megan challenged playfully, tilting her head. "i was distressed. i thought i’d never see you again."

she looked down at the album page, opened to her solo photo. the staff member behind megan tapped her shoulder, a silent signal to hurry it up, the line was long. megan ignored them.

she started signing, but she didn't just sign her autograph. she began writing a message. a long one.

"so," megan said, keeping her tone casual but her eyes flirting dangerously with yours. "what's your name? or do i just keep calling you 'pretty girl in pink' in my head?"

"it's y/n," you managed to say.

"y/n," megan tested the name, smiling as she wrote it down. "suits you. pretty name for a pretty face."

the management’s rule echoed in her head: do not fall in love.

megan looked up at you, taking in the way your eyelashes fluttered, the way you were biting your lip nervously, the way you looked at her like she was the sun.

i have been instructed to not fall in love with any fans ever since debut, but how could i not fall for a face as pretty as yours?

she finished writing the message. beneath her signature, in smaller, messier scrawl, she had written a series of digits.

"you know," megan said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she slid the album back toward you. "i'm usually really good at following rules. i'm a model employee."

you took the album, your fingers brushing against hers. the contact sent a jolt of electricity up megan's arm that she was sure you felt too. "are you?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"usually," megan smirked. her eyes flicked to the staff member who was now glaring at the clock, then back to you. "but for you? i think i'm about to become a problem child."

you looked down at the album, your eyes widening as you realized what the numbers were. you looked back up at her, shock written all over your features. "megan, is this...?"

"shh," megan winked, putting a finger to her lips. "don't get me fired before i get to take you out on a date."

the staff member stepped in. "moving along, please."

you grabbed your album, clutching it like it was a holy relic. you began to stand up, your legs looking a little shaky. megan watched you go, a pang of desperation hitting her. she needed to make sure.

as you turned to leave the table area, passing behind her chair to head toward the exit, megan pretended to drop her marker.

"oops," she said loudly.

as she leaned down to "retrieve" it, she reached out with her left hand, catching your attention. you paused. in a swift, practiced motion, something she must have learned from a spy movie, she slipped a small, laminated card into your hand.

it was a backstage pass. the 'family & friends' all-access laminate.

you froze, the cool plastic pressing against your palm. you looked down at her. megan was already sitting back up, smiling brightly at the next fan in line, but she cut her eyes toward you for one brief second.

she bit her lip, raising her eyebrows in a silent challenge: come find me.

you bit your lip back, nodding once, a flush rising on your neck. you quickly tucked the card into your pocket and walked away, trying to look casual, but megan saw the bounce in your step.

megan turned her attention to the next fan, "hi there! what's your name?"

inside, she was screaming. the rule book had been thrown out the window, burned, and scattered to the wind.

the laminate card felt heavy in your pocket, burning a hole through the fabric of your denim jacket. the security guard at the end of the hallway had barely glanced at it before nodding you through, his indifference a stark contrast to the frantic pounding of your heart.

you found the door marked megan. you took a breath, smoothed your dress, and knocked.

the door opened almost instantly, as if she had been standing right on the other side waiting. megan pulled you inside, shutting the door quickly behind you. the dressing room was surprisingly empty; the other girls must have been in hair and makeup or catering.

"you came," megan breathed out, leaning back against the closed door. she was still in her stage outfit, glittering under the vanity lights, sweat making her skin glow.

"you gave me an all-access pass, megan," you teased, trying to find your footing despite the fact that your knees felt like jelly. "it would have been rude to waste it."

megan laughed, a breathless, airy sound. she stepped closer, invading your personal space with an ease that made your head spin. "i was worried you’d think i was crazy. writing my number on an album?"

"it was a little crazy," you admitted, looking up at her. "but i like crazy."

"good." megan’s gaze dropped. she wasn't looking at your eyes anymore. her dark eyes were fixed firmly on your lips. the air in the room shifted, becoming thick and charged with static.

"megan," you murmured, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"hmm?" she hummed, not looking up.

"you’re staring at my lips."

megan’s eyes snapped back up to yours, but she didn't look embarrassed. she looked hungry. she took another half-step forward, her thigh brushing against yours. "i’ve been thinking about them since the la show," she confessed, her voice low and raspy. "it’s really hard not to stare when you’re standing right here."

you felt a blush creep up your neck, but the boldness of her admission gave you courage. you let out a soft giggle, the sound breaking the heavy tension just enough to let you breathe. "you are dangerous, skiendiel."

"i try." she reached out, her fingers grazing the fabric of your denim jacket, hesitating as if she wanted to pull you closer but was restraining herself.

you checked your watch, feigning responsibility. "i should probably go. if the rest of the group comes back and finds a random fan in the dressing room, you’re going to be in so much trouble."

megan groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "i hate that you're right. i hate logic." she looked back at you, intense and serious. "text me? tonight?"

"i will," you promised.

the text came at 11:42 pm. how she found your number, you dont know and maybe you don't really care.

megan: my ears are still ringing from the show but all i can hear is you giggling in the dressing room.

megan: did you make it home?

you: safe and sound. you were amazing tonight, by the way. even from the back of the room.

megan: next time you’ll be front row again. or side stage. i prefer you within reaching distance.

that text marked the beginning of a two-month blur that felt like a movie montage.

-

dating an idol was... complicated. it meant late-night facetime calls where megan was removing her stage makeup in a hotel room in tokyo while you were eating breakfast in la. it meant dates that happened in the back of tinted suvs with takeout food, or in private karaoke rooms where you spent more time talking than singing.

you learned that megan was funny, genuinely, sarcastically funny. you learned she was affectionate, constantly needing to hold your hand or rest her head on your shoulder whenever the coast was clear.

it was two months in, sitting in her car parked specifically in a blind spot behind a 24-hour diner, when she asked.

she had been quiet for a few minutes, just tracing the lines on your palm with her thumb.

"y/n?"

"yeah, meg?"

"i don't want to hide this anymore," she said softly, looking at your joined hands. "i mean... i know we have to hide it from the public. but i don't want to be 'just talking' or whatever this is. i want to be yours. officially." she looked up, her eyes vulnerable. "will you be my girlfriend?"

you had squeezed her hand, leaning over the center console to kiss her cheek. "i thought you’d never ask. yes."

one month later.

the dorm was silent. a rare, golden miracle.

everyone was out and the house was empty. megan had texted you the all-clear code: eagle has landed. nest is empty.

you had arrived ten minutes later.

now, the air in megan’s bedroom was hot, smelling of her vanilla perfume and the friction of movement.

you were straddling megan’s lap on her desk chair, the wheels locked in place. the chair groaned slightly under the movement, but neither of you cared. megan’s head was thrown back, her hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you anchored against her.

"god, y/n," megan gasped against your neck, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "i missed you so much."

"i saw you yesterday," you teased breathlessly, your hands tangled in her dark hair, guiding her face back to yours.

"too long," she mumbled against your skin.

she captured your lips again, the kiss deeper, messier than the ones before. you ground down into her lap, the friction sending a jolt through both of you that made megan’s breath hitch audibly. a low moan vibrated in her throat, a sound that you felt more than heard.

"meg..." you whined, the sensation overwhelming.

megan didn't waste time. her hands moved from your hips, sliding up under the hem of your shirt. her palms were warm against your bare skin, tracing the curve of your waist before moving to the center of your back. her fingers danced along your spine, pressing firmly, pulling you impossibly closer until there was zero space left between you.

you broke the kiss to gasp for air, resting your forehead against hers. her eyes were blown wide, dark and hazy with lust.

"you're so beautiful," megan whispered, her hand splaying out on your back, her thumb rubbing circles against your skin under the shirt. she bucked her hips up slightly, an instinctive response to the pressure, and you let out a shaky, needy sound, biting your lip to keep from being too loud.

"we're alone, right?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"completely," megan promised, leaning up to bite your bottom lip gently. "just you and m—"

the bedroom door slammed open.

"megan! do you have my black boots? the ones with the—"

it was manon.

time seemed to freeze.

manon stood in the doorway, holding a shopping bag. she looked at the desk. she saw the chair. she saw you. she saw you on top of megan. she saw megan’s hands clearly under your shirt. she saw your swollen lips and flushed faces.

for a solid three seconds, there was absolute silence.

megan froze, her hands still under your shirt. you froze, looking like a deer in headlights, mid-grind.

manon, ever the quiet one, let out a scream that could have shattered glass. she slapped her hands over her eyes, spun around, and ran directly into the doorframe before scrambling out into the hallway.

"oh my god! oh my god! my eyes! i'm blind!"

megan scrambled to push you off, panic setting in. "manon! wait!"

you stumbled off megan’s lap, yanking your shirt down and trying to fix your hair, your heart hammering so hard you thought you might die of embarrassment right there.

from the hallway, you heard the front door open and a cacophony of voices. the others were back early.

"who is screaming?" that was sophia’s voice. "is there a bug? manon, why are you on the floor?"

"megan!" manon wailed from the hallway. "megan is... in there... with the pretty girl in pink... and they were... they were..."

"they were what?" daniela’s voice piped up, sounding amused.

megan stood up, her face bright crimson. she looked at you, panic warring with hilarity in her eyes. "i think we're busted."

"you think?" you hissed, frantically wiping lipstick off your chin.

megan walked to the door and poked her head out. "guys, can we just—"

daniela pushed past megan, barging into the room. she took one look at you, disheveled hair, swollen lips, standing awkwardly by the bed, and then looked at megan.

"finally!" daniela threw her hands up. "i owe yoonchae twenty bucks. i bet you guys wouldn't hook up for another month."

"you bet on us?" megan shrieked.

"we all bet on you," sophia said, appearing in the doorway, looking calm but amused. she looked at you and offered a polite wave. "hi, y/n. nice to see you again. sorry about manon. she's... sensitive."

megan covered her face with her hands, groaning into her palms. you couldn't help it. you started laughing. you walked over and wrapped an arm around megan’s waist, pulling her hands away from her face.

"well," you said, smiling at the terrifyingly supportive group of girls staring at you. "i guess the secret is out."

megan looked at you, saw the humor in your eyes, and sighed, leaning into your touch. "yeah. guess so." she glared at manon in the hallway. "knock next time!"

"lock the door next time!" manon screamed back.

-

but no relationship is perfect.

you knew what you signed up for.

that was the mantra you repeated to yourself in the mirror every time you had to duck into a bathroom stall to avoid a paparazzi camera. it was the sentence you whispered into your pillow when megan had to leave your bed at 4:00 am to get back to the dorms before management did a headcount.

i knew what i signed up for.

but knowing the terms of the contract didn't make the fine print hurt any less. you knew about the secrecy. you knew about the busy schedules. you knew about the pressure. but you didn't know about the feeling of shrinking. you didn't know that loving megan skiendiel meant slowly becoming invisible.

it had started small, cancelled dinner plans because a practice ran late, a movie night interrupted by an emergency meeting. you were understanding. you were the "good" girlfriend. you were supportive.

but then came the incident at the boba shop.

it was a tuesday, a rare afternoon off. you were both wearing masks and hoodies, trying to be normal people getting bubble tea. you were laughing at something she said, your hand instinctively reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"megan?"

the voice shattered the bubble. a fan, phone already out, eyes wide with recognition.

megan flinched. it was a physical reaction, a recoil that sent her stumbling a step away from you. her demeanor shifted instantly from 'girlfriend' to 'idol'. she straightened her spine, put on the practiced smile, and waved.

"hi!" megan chirped, though her eyes were darting nervously around the shop.

the fan looked at megan, then looked at you, eyebrows furrowing. "oh my god, i love you so much. is this your friend?"

you opened your mouth to speak, maybe to say yes, or cousin, or old classmate.

"no," megan said quickly. too quickly. she stepped in front of you, effectively blocking you from the fan's view. "she’s just a staff member. she’s helping me run some errands today."

staff member.

not a friend. not a distant relative. not even an acquaintance. you were an employee. a nameless, faceless assistant.

the fan lost interest in you immediately, looking through you as if you were made of glass. "oh, cool. can i get a picture?"

"quickly," megan said, ushering the girl away from you.

you stood there, clutching your cold tea, feeling the shame burn hot in your cheeks. you weren't angry that she hid the relationship; you were angry at how easily she discarded your humanity to protect her image.

that was three weeks ago. since then, she had cancelled three dates back-to-back. first, it was an unexpected interview. then, she was "too tired" and afraid she’d look bad on camera the next day. then, a choreography change.

you were reaching your breaking point. megan sensed it.

"baby, please," she had begged over the phone two days ago, hearing the hollowness in your voice. "i know i’ve been terrible. i know. but i’m going to make it up to you. i promise."

"you always say that, meg."

"this time is different," she insisted, her voice thick with desperation. "friday night. i have the whole evening cleared. i’m going to take you somewhere special. a private room, no masks, just us. the most romantic date ever."

you hesitated. "i don't know..."

"please," she whispered. "be ready by 8:30. don't ask questions. just look pretty, and i’ll handle the rest. i love you."

and because you were in love, and because hope is a dangerous thing, you agreed.

-

friday. 8:15 pm.

you stared at yourself in the full-length mirror. you had gone all out. you were wearing a slip dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, the fabric shimmering under the warm light of your bedroom. you had spent an hour on your makeup, achieving that perfect, dewy look that megan always complimented. your hair was curled to perfection.

you sprayed a cloud of perfume—the vanilla scent she loved—and stepped into it. you felt beautiful.

8:30 pm.

you sat on the edge of your couch, careful not to wrinkle your dress. you had your purse in your lap, phone in hand, waiting for the text. i’m outside. or come down.

the clock on the wall ticked.

8:45 pm.

traffic. it was friday night in the city; traffic was inevitable. you checked your lipstick in your phone camera. still perfect. you sent a quick text.

me: hey, just checking in! no rush, just letting you know i'm ready :)

9:15 pm.

no reply.

you stood up and paced the living room. maybe she was driving. if she was driving, she couldn't text. that was responsible. but anxiety began to gnaw at your stomach. the silence in the apartment felt loud.

9:45 pm.

you sat back down. you checked megan’s fan accounts on twitter/x. nothing new. no sightings. that was good, right? it meant she wasn't stuck at a public event.

you called her. it rang. and rang. and rang.

“hi, you’ve reached megan. leave a message!”

you hung up. "okay," you whispered to the empty room. "maybe her phone died. or she’s surprising me by knocking on the door."

10:30 pm.

the hope had curdled into something sour and heavy in your throat. the apartment was dark, save for the streetlights filtering through the blinds. you were still sitting on the couch, but your posture had slumped. the purse had slid to the floor.

you felt foolish. you felt like a child who had dressed up for a party that no one else was attending. you thought about the expensive primer you used, now settling into the fine lines of your frowning face.

10:55 pm.

it was over. you knew it.

11:00 pm.

your heart didn't shatter all at once; it cracked slowly, painfully.

you stood up, your legs stiff from sitting in one position for hours. you walked to your bedroom, the click of your heels on the hardwood floor sounding like gunshots in the quiet apartment.

you stood before the mirror again. the girl staring back didn't look beautiful anymore. she looked pathetic. she looked like a fan waiting for an autograph that would never come.

tears welled up, hot and stinging. you didn't wipe them away. you watched them track through the foundation, leaving streaks of ruin down your cheeks.

"stupid," you choked out, your voice breaking. "you are so stupid."

you unzipped the dress. it fell to the floor in a pool of silk. you didn't bother hanging it up. you kicked it aside. you took a makeup wipe and scrubbed your face, harsh and angry motions that turned your skin red. you scrubbed away the contour, the blush, the hope.

you put on an oversized t-shirt, one that wasn't hers, you refused to wear hers right now, and crawled into bed. you curled into a ball, hugging your knees to your chest.

you couldn't sleep. you just stared at the wall, feeling the hollowness in your chest expand until it consumed you.

1:00 am.

your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

the light was blinding in the darkness. you squinted, your heart doing a painful flip in your chest. it was her.

megan: baby i’m so sorry, we had a vocal session that was way longer than any of us expected to be.

you stared at the words. a vocal session.

megan: we have an album we need to release before the end of the year yk that..let me make it up to you, i’ll be there in 20 okay?

something inside you snapped. it wasn't a loud snap. it was the quiet death of your patience.

she didn't forget. she just prioritized. and she didn't even have the decency to text you during the session to tell you to take off the dress. she let you wait. she let you sit there for four and a half hours because she assumed you would always be there waiting.

your fingers trembled as you typed. you didn't scream. you didn't use caps lock. you didn't send a paragraph.

me: don’t bother, i really don’t wanna see u rn megan

you watched the read receipt appear instantly. the three dots began to bounce. she was typing.

you turned off your phone. you placed it face down on the nightstand. and then, finally, you cried yourself to sleep.

-

you woke up with a headache that throbbed behind your eyes. the sun was streaming through the curtains, offensive and bright. your eyes felt swollen and gritty.

you shuffled to the kitchen to get water, your body feeling heavy, like you were moving through molasses.

knock. knock. knock.

you froze, glass in hand.

knock. knock.

"y/n? i know you're in there. please open up."

it was megan. her voice sounded wrecked.

you didn't want to open it. you wanted to crawl back into a hole. but the anger, that cold, hard anger, propelled you forward. you walked to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open.

megan stood in the hallway. she looked terrible, which gave you zero satisfaction. she was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her face bare, dark circles under her eyes prominent. she looked like she hadn't slept.

"y/n," she breathed out, stepping forward, reaching for you.

you took a sharp step back, putting the door between you and her. "don't."

megan flinched, her hand dropping to her side. she looked at you. she saw the swollen eyes, the red-rimmed lids, the absolute exhaustion radiating off you.

"i came as soon as i woke up," megan said, her voice trembling. "i tried calling you all night. why was your phone off?"

"because i was sleeping, megan," you said, your voice raspy and devoid of warmth. "unlike you, i don't operate on idol time."

"i said i was sorry," megan pleaded, her desperation rising. "it was the producers. they wouldn't let us leave until the harmony was perfect. i couldn't check my phone. you know how strict they are."

"i don't care," you said flatly.

"you don't care?" megan blinked, looking hurt. "y/n, it's my career. it's the album. you know this is my dream."

"and what am i?" you asked, the question cutting through the air like a knife. you finally looked her in the eyes, and the intensity of your gaze made her stumble back. "am i a hobby? am i a pastime? or am i just a staff member you keep around for when you're bored?"

megan’s face paled. "that... that isn't fair. you know why i said that."

"i waited for five hours, megan." you laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "i sat on my couch in a dress i bought specifically for you, for five hours. do you have any idea what that feels like? to sit there and realize that i am not even worth a five-second text message?"

"i didn't have my phone!" megan raised her voice slightly, frustration leaking into her tone. "i’m trying my best here! i’m trying to balance the biggest career of my life and this relationship, and i’m doing it alone!"

"you're not doing it alone!" you yelled back, the dam finally breaking. "i am the one hiding in cars! i am the one being called 'staff'! i am the one sitting alone in an apartment waiting for scraps of your time! i am doing all the compromising, megan!"

megan stepped into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind her.

"you think i want to hide you?" megan shouted, her hands balling into fists. "you think i like lying to people? i am doing this to protect us! if they find out, it’s over. the group, the tour, everything! i am under so much pressure, y/n, i feel like i can’t breathe half the time!"

"then stop dragging me down with you!" you screamed, your voice cracking, tears hot and fast returning to your eyes. "if it’s too much, then let me go! because being your dirty little secret is killing me! i am a person, megan! i have feelings!"

"i know you have feelings!" megan stepped closer, her face contorted with stress and anger. "but you knew! you said you understood! you said you could handle the lifestyle!"

"i thought i could handle the lifestyle!" you countered, gesturing wildly around the empty apartment. "i didn't think the lifestyle meant being stood up until 1 am while you pretend i don't exist! i didn't think it meant loving someone who puts me second every single time!"

"i don't put you second!"

"yes, you do! every single day! the fans come first. the company comes first. the girls come first. and i get whatever scraps are left over!" you were sobbing now, your chest heaving, the headache pounding against your skull. "i'm tired, megan. i'm so tired of being invisible."

"i am trying to build a future!" megan yelled, her voice raw. "for me! for us!"

"there is no us if you’re never here!"

the words hung in the air, vibrating with the force of your scream. megan stared at you, her mouth slightly open, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

you wiped your face aggressively with the back of your hand, sniffing loudly. you looked at her, and for the first time, you didn't see the idol. you just saw a girl who was hurting you.

"i’m just so..." you trailed off, your voice dropping to a broken whisper. "i'm done. i'm done fighting for your attention, megan."

the silence that followed was suffocating.

megan paused. her angry stance faltered. she blinked, and suddenly, the adrenaline that had been fueling her rage evaporated, leaving behind a cold, stark terror.

she looked at you. really looked at you. you were shaking. your face was wet with tears. you looked broken.

megan reached up to touch her own face and was startled to find it wet. she hadn't even realized she was crying. her fingers came away damp with tears she hadn't felt falling.

but that wasn't what stopped her heart. it was what you said. i'm done.

those two words echoed in her head, louder than any cheering crowd. done.

"what..." megan’s voice was a ghost of a whisper. "what do you mean... you're done?"

you didn't answer. you just looked at the floor, hugging yourself as if trying to keep your pieces together.

megan felt the floor drop out from under her. the anger was gone, replaced instantly by a panic so sharp it nearly brought her to her knees. she realized, with terrifying clarity, that she was about to lose you. not just for a date. not just for a night. but forever.

she thought about her life without you. no late-night texts. no giggling in dressing rooms. no one to hold her when the pressure got too much. just empty hotel rooms and screaming fans who didn't know her.

"no," megan whimpered. "no, you can't... you can't mean that."

she rushed forward, closing the distance between you, but she didn't grab you. she didn't pull you in. she collapsed.

megan skiendiel, the girl who danced on stages in front of thousands, dropped to her knees on your living room floor.

"y/n... baby, please," she sobbed, reaching out to take your hands. her grip was desperate, her palms clammy. "don't say that. don't say you're done. please."

you tried to pull your hands away, but she held on tight, pressing her forehead against your knuckles.

"i can't lose you," she cried into your skin. "i can't. i swear to god, i can't live without you. you're... you're everything. you're the only real thing i have."

you bit your lip, looking away, trying to steel your heart. "megan, get up."

"no!" she shook her head frantically against your hands, looking up at you. "i won't get up until you tell me you're not leaving. i'll fix it. i swear, i'll fix it. i'll tell them to back off. i'll make time. i'll scream it from the rooftops if you want me to. just... just give me time. give me one more chance."

you looked down at her. her eyes, those big, dark, expressive eyes, were swimming with tears. her eyelashes were clumped together. she looked terrified. she looked like a puppy that had been kicked.

it was your weak spot. it always had been.

your resolve, which had felt so solid moments ago, began to crumble. you loved her. god help you, you loved her so much it hurt. you saw the sincerity in her face, the sheer panic at the thought of a life without you.

you let out a shaky breath, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. "i can't keep doing this, meg. i can't keep waiting."

"you won't have to," she promised, squeezing your hands. "i'll be better. i'll be the girlfriend you deserve. i'll be greedy with my time for you. just... please. don't go."

you closed your eyes, tilting your head back. the silence stretched, heavy and fragile.

"just one chance," you rasped out, your voice barely audible.

megan let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. she scrambled up from her knees and immediately pulled you into her arms. she buried her face in your neck, holding you so tightly it was almost hard to breathe.

"thank you," she wept against your shoulder. "thank you, thank you. i love you so much. i'm so sorry."

you slowly brought your arms up to wrap around her, your fingers threading into her hair. you cried together, standing in the hallway, the fight draining out of you until only exhaustion remained.

-

the rest of the day was spent in silence, but it was a healing silence.

you didn't go out. you didn't open the curtains. megan led you to the couch, and you both collapsed onto it, tangling your limbs together under a throw blanket. she refused to let go of you. even when she had to use the bathroom, she made you promise to stay right there.

she kissed your swollen eyelids. she kissed your forehead. she kissed your knuckles. every touch was an apology.

eventually, exhaustion took over. you fell asleep with your head on her chest, the rhythm of her heartbeat lulling you into a dreamless nap.

megan stayed awake. she watched you sleep, tracing the line of your jaw with her eyes. she looked at the puffiness of your face and hated herself for causing it. she thought about the fear she felt when you said you were done. she never wanted to feel that again.

she carefully reached for her phone on the coffee table, trying not to disturb you.

she opened her messages. she found the contact labeled manager.

her thumb hovered over the keyboard. she looked at you one last time, sleeping peacefully in her arms. she made her choice.

megan: schedule a meeting with missy for tomorrow. it’s important.

megan: we need to talk about my schedule and my contract terms. it can't wait.

a/n: first post HOW R WE FEEEEELINGGG 😛😛

a/n₂: pt.2