summary. You fell in love with the wrong person, Lara. You forgave what you shouldn't have, and she broke you in ways you didn't know existed. But even when everything is in pieces, there's always someone who fixes what they didn't break, Sophia.
content. g!p lara, g!p sophia, p in v, unprotected sex, orgasms, dirty talk, bit of angst, cheating
You and Lara met in the hell of rehearsals for Katseye's world tour.
Ever since you were little, you loved to dance, so now that you were dedicated to it, when the call for backup dancers for the world tour came out, you didn't hesitate for a second. You were selected. And the first time you saw Lara in person, you felt the air escape from your lungs.
You had never believed in love at first sight. In desire, maybe. In physical attraction, sure. But this was different. Lara had something magnetic, something that went beyond her obvious beauty. It was the way she moved, the way she occupied space, the way she made everything around her orbit around her without her making the slightest effort.
The first rehearsals were an exercise in emotional endurance. You had to dance close to her in several choreographies, and every time her hand brushed your hip to adjust a position, every time her breath grazed the back of your neck while she corrected a step, you felt the ground soften beneath your feet. Lara seemed to notice because she would seek you out during breaks, offer you water. And you, naive, thought it was just kindness.
Until one night, after a rehearsal that stretched until two in the morning, she found you alone in the dressing room, taking off your pointe shoes.
"Do you always stay late?" she asked from the doorway, arms crossed and with that smile you were starting to know.
"I'm a perfectionist," you replied, shrugging. "I want everything to go well."
"I like that," Lara said, and she crouched in front of you, taking your hands away to untie the ribbons of your shoes herself. When she finished, instead of getting up, she stayed there, on her knees, looking into your eyes. The silence stretched, dense and hot.
"Y/n?" she said, her voice lower than you remembered.
It wasn't romantic. It was urgent, almost desperate. Her mouth found yours before you could answer, and the first kiss was wet. She grabbed you by the nape of your neck, tilted you back, and kissed you as if she'd been wanting to do it for years. When she finally pulled away, you two were breathing hard, she smiled.
"I'd been wanting to do that for weeks," she admitted, and her thumb stroked your cheek. "Is that wrong?"
You shook your head, still speechless.
"Then," she said, standing up and reaching out a hand to you. "Let me take you home."
That night, nothing else happened. She left you at your apartment door with a kiss on the forehead and a "see you tomorrow" that sounded like a promise. But the fire was already lit.
The first date came a week later. Lara picked you up in her car and took you to a rooftop restaurant at a hotel you couldn't afford even in your wildest dreams. The lights stretched out below you like a blanket of artificial stars, and Lara, with a glass of red wine between her fingers and her gaze fixed on you, made you feel like the most important person in the world.
"Tell me something I don't know about you," she asked, leaning back in her chair with an innate elegance.
"I don't know. Something that scares you. Something that makes you happy. Something only you know."
You thought. And then, without knowing why, you told her things about your family, about how much you missed your mother and how she always supported you in your career. Lara listened without interrupting, and when you finished, she reached her hand across the table to intertwine her fingers with yours.
After dinner, she took you to her apartment.
"Do you live alone?" you asked, running your fingertips over the spines of the books on her shelf.
"Yes. I used to live with Megan, but we were too much chaos together." She stood behind you, so close you could feel the heat of her body. "But sometimes I think it's good to have space in case someone wants to stay."
You turned around. Her eyes were dark, her pupils dilated, and her mouth slightly open. This time she didn't ask. This time she kissed you slowly, savoring you. Her hands went up your back, down your hips, and when she lifted you effortlessly, you let out a muffled squeal against her mouth.
"Easy," she murmured, walking toward the bed. "I've got you."
She let you fall onto the black sheets carefully, as if you were made of porcelain, and stayed looking down at you. Her chest rose and fell.
"Never," she said, unzipping her pants, "had I wanted someone like this before I met you."
You didn't know if it was true or not. You didn't care. That night, Lara made love to you with an intensity that left you shaking until dawn, and when the sun began to filter through the curtains, you were still in her arms, with her member still wet between your ass cheeks and her warm breath on the back of your neck.
"Stay," she whispered. "Stay forever."
And you, idiot, believed her.
The following months with Lara were just as perfect as that first day.
No, perfect is not quite right. Perfect is too small a word for what you felt. The months with Lara were like living inside a honey bubble.
There were routines that settled into your lives with the naturalness of things that had always been there. Sunday mornings were sacred. No rehearsals, no obligations, just the two of you and Lara's bed.
"You look like an angel when you sleep," she said drowsily and kissed you. The kiss stretched on until breakfast burned in the kitchen and you had to order delivery again.
On bad days, Lara showing up in your dressing room with your favorite coffee without you having to ask. Her waiting for you after rehearsals with the car on and the heat on because she knew you always came out cold. Lara whispering "I love you" in your ear during a choreography, so low that only you could hear it.
She made you feel like you were hers.
Because you were eight months in when the first real fight happened.
You hadn't wanted it to come to that. The perfect months had given you a false sense of security. But that night, sitting on her couch with your stomach clenched and your hands sweating, you felt the first crack open.
It had started as always: you waiting for Lara to come back from the studio. She had said she'd be back by eight, then nine, then a message saying she'd been delayed a bit. When she finally opened the door, it was almost ten-thirty.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, dropping her keys at the entrance and coming over to kiss you. "The producers kept asking for last-minute changes. It's crazy."
"It's okay," you replied, because you didn't want to be that type of girlfriend. Because Lara didn't want you to be that type of girlfriend.
You ate something quick — Lara ordered delivery while you heated up the soup you'd made three hours earlier — and sat on the couch to watch a series. Lara put her head on your lap, you stroked her hair, and everything seemed normal. Until her phone started vibrating.
Once. Twice. Three times.
It was a constant beeping.
"Aren't you going to check?" you asked, your voice neutral. Or trying to be.
"Leave it," Lara murmured, her eyes closed. "I'll check it later."
It vibrated again. And again. And again.
"It just won't stop," you said, and you couldn't help your tone sounding tenser than you wanted. "Is it the producers again?"
Lara opened her eyes. She sat up, turning to look at you, and her expression had changed. Something colder.
"Maybe it's important," you replied, shrugging. "It's ringing a lot."
"It's ringing because I have work, Y/n." Lara picked up the phone, she sounded irritated, annoyed, like someone trying to hide something. She looked at the screen, then put it down again, this time face down on the arm of the couch. "I don't understand why it bothers you so much."
"It doesn't bother me. I was just asking."
Silence settled between you. Tense. You felt your throat tighten, that feeling of uncertainty. You weren't doing anything wrong, you had just asked. But Lara was looking at you as if you had crossed a line.
"You know what?" She got up from the couch, leaving a cold space where her warmth had been. She walked to the window, her back to you, and her voice sounded tired. "It's always the same. Every time the phone rings, you make the same face. And it's exhausting, Y/n. Really."
"I don't make any face," you protested, standing up too. The couch suddenly felt too big without her. "I just…"
"I just want to know. I'm not asking you to give me your password or show me your messages. But you always put your phone face down when I'm near, and when it rings you go to the bathroom to answer, and…"
Lara turned around then. And her completely cold laugh pierced you like a needle. You never understood how she could go from acting so sweet to being a complete stranger in 5 seconds.
"Really? Are you really saying this?" She took a step toward you, and for a moment you saw her eyes full of annoyance. "Do you realize how you sound?"
"Like a crazy person." The word fell between you, heavy. "Do you hear yourself?"
Your eyes started to burn.
"I'm not jealous," you said, and your voice trembled slightly. "I just want you to trust me. For you not to have to hide things from me."
"I'm not hiding anything," Lara replied, and her tone softened. She took another step toward you, and another, until she was so close you could smell her perfume. Her hand went up to your cheek, and her thumb stroked your cheekbone with a contrasting tenderness. "Really, Y/n. There's nothing to hide. Do you understand?"
"Then why do you get like that?" you asked, your voice barely a thread.
"Sorry if I went too far. It's been a really long day and I'm on edge. But you have nothing to worry about. You're the only one, princess." She tilted her head and kissed you. A soft kiss, almost chaste.
You swallowed. The tears were still there, threatening to fall, but there was no reason, right?
"Come here," Lara said, opening her arms. And you, like a little child, let yourself fall against her chest. You hugged her tightly, so tightly it hurt, and she held you just as tight. "I love you, Y/n. I swear I love you. This is all nonsense. Okay? Don't listen to me when I say you're crazy. It's the stress. I don't mean it."
"I know," you lied. You didn't know. But you wanted to believe it.
The second big fight came three weeks later.
You no longer remembered how these things started. Or maybe you did, but you preferred not to think about it. The dynamic had become unbearably installed: Lara did something that bothered you, you pointed it out, she called you crazy or jealous or intense, then she apologized, fucked you or hugged you, and you forgave her. It was a cycle.
The problem this time was that Lara disappeared.
Not that she had gone to another city. Not that you didn't know where she was. The problem was that for an entire day, she didn't answer a single message.
You texted her at eight thirty wishing her a good morning. Nothing.
Then at seven. Two missed calls.
And then at nine, when the silence had become unbearable, you decided to get in the car and go to her apartment.
Lara opened the door with wet hair, a towel around her shoulders, and a face that looked like she had just gotten out of the shower two seconds ago.
"Y/n," she said, as if it was a surprise to see you there. "What are you doing here?"
"I've been calling you all day," you replied. Your voice came out more broken than you wanted. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, of course, I'm fine." Lara stepped aside to let you in, and you entered the apartment you already knew by heart. "It's been a really heavy day."
"Yeah. Rehearsals, meetings, production. I haven't stopped."
"You could have answered me," you said, not looking at her. Your hand rested on the counter. "One single message. To know you were alive."
"I know, I'm sorry." Lara came up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders. She pressed with her thumbs, trying to relax the tension she clearly noticed. "I'm really sorry. It's been a horrible day."
"Then why didn't you answer?"
"Because…" Lara sighed, and her hands stopped moving. "Because my phone died."
You turned around. You looked her in the eyes.
"Yes. It ran out of battery in the middle of the morning and I didn't have my charger. I was without it all day."
"You could have asked any of the girls. Megan always has her charger with her."
Lara blinked. Her jaw tensed slightly, such a small movement that if you didn't know her so well you would have missed it. "Well, she didn't have it. I don't know what to tell you." She stepped back, leaving a cold space between you. She leaned against the fridge with her arms crossed. "Are you accusing me of something?"
"I'm not accusing you of anything." But your voice was trembling. And you knew it. And she knew it. "I'm just saying it's weird."
"Weird?" Lara frowned. "It's not weird. My phone died, Y/n. It's something that happens. It's not a conspiracy against you."
"I didn't say it was a conspiracy."
"Yes," Lara insisted, and her voice hardened. "You always do the same thing. If I don't answer in five minutes, you're already making up stories."
"I'm not saying there's something behind it," you replied, and this time yes, this time tears started to show. "I'm saying I worry about you. And if you don't feel like talking to me, you don't have to make up an excuse…"
"That's an excuse?" she asked, already more defensive than she should have been, as if she were savoring every word. "An excuse, Y/n?"
"Yes, you did." Lara straightened up, and suddenly she was taller than you, or at least she seemed it. Her presence filled the kitchen, made you feel small. "Do you think I'm lying to you?"
"I don't know, Lara, I just…"
Lara shook her head. And then, to your surprise, she didn't get angrier. She softened. She sighed, ran a hand through her still-wet hair, and walked toward you with slow steps.
"Listen to me," she said, and her hands went up to your cheeks. She held your face with a tenderness that hurt. It was always the same with her — she acted like an idiot and then apologized as if it were the lightest thing in the world. "I'm not cheating on you. I'm not with anyone else. My phone died, I spent all day without being able to charge it, and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I didn't want you to worry."
"Okay…" you said. And you didn't add anything else, because you didn't know what to add.
Lara pulled you toward her. She hugged you tightly, your face smashed against her chest, and her hand stroked your back up and down, up and down, in a gesture meant to be calming.
"I love you," she murmured against your hair. "I love you so much, Y/n. I can't stand seeing you like this. And I know it's my fault, I know I've been a disaster today. But I swear there's no one else."
You stayed in her arms, eyes closed, breathing in her scent of shampoo and lies. Because deep down, in the deepest part of your being, you knew something didn't add up. But you were so tired of fighting, so tired of doubting, that you decided to stay quiet and keep feeding on those small moments where she "loved you."
That little peace lasted only three weeks.
"I had a shitty day," Lara said, pushing you onto the bed. "I needed this so badly."
Her body was already on top of yours, and her mouth found yours urgently. Lara's hands moved down your body with a haste you knew well, unbuttoning buttons, pulling down zippers, yanking off clothes.
"I needed you too," you replied, helping her undress you, arching your back so she could take off your bra. Her nipples brushed against yours and you moaned, hooking your legs around her waist. "I've been thinking about this all day."
Lara smiled against your neck, biting softly, and her hand moved down to your crotch. She touched you over your underwear, feeling the wetness already soaking the fabric.
"Always so ready for me," she murmured, her voice rough, deep. "Such a good girl."
She pulled off her pants and underwear in one tug, and her cock appeared, already erect, the tip swollen and slightly dripping. She spread your legs with her knees and positioned herself between them.
"Come on," you begged, pushing your hips upward. "Please."
Lara pushed. Her cock entered you with an ease that made you moan, filling you completely, occupying every empty space. She stayed still for a second, both of you breathing together, and then she began to move.
The rhythm was fast, intense, but not rough. Lara knew exactly how to move her hips to drive you crazy, what speed you needed, what depth. Her hands held your hips, her fingers digging into your skin, and you clung to her shoulders.
"It feels so good," you moaned. "Don't stop."
"I'm not going to stop," Lara replied, speeding up. Her cock went in and out of you with a wet, obscene sound that filled the room, and each thrust brought you a little closer to the edge. "You squeeze me so tight."
"You're my slut, you know that?" Lara panted, speeding up more, sweat beading on her forehead, her breath ragged. "My favorite slut. God, how you squeeze, Y/n."
You couldn't answer. Just moan. The pleasure was blinding. You were about to come, the orgasm so close you could almost taste it. You closed your eyes, letting go, whispering her name like a prayer.
"Lara… Lara, please… I'm going to…"
That's when Lara leaned her torso over your back. Breathless, sweaty, her cock buried inside you. Her lips brushed your ear, her hot breath on your skin, and she whispered:
"Yes, just like that. Come for me, Jade."
The orgasm died before it was born. The pleasure turned to nausea, and the nausea to a cold that ran through your veins like liquid ice. You opened your eyes. You blinked. At first you couldn't believe it. Your brain refused to process the information, as if you were dreaming, as if it were a sick joke.
"What did you say?" you asked, and your voice sounded strange, dangerous. It wasn't the voice of Y/n, the submissive girlfriend. It was someone else.
Lara lifted her head, confused. Her cock was still inside you, but she had noticed something was wrong. She blinked, and on her face appeared first confusion, then recognition.
"What?" she said, shrugging, as if nothing had happened. "I just got confused, baby, come on."
You felt rage rise in your chest. It wasn't sadness anymore. It was fury. Pure, liquid fury boiling in your veins.
"A mistake?" you repeated, your voice a thread of ice. "Calling me by another bitch's name while you were fucking me is a mistake?"
"Of course it is," Lara replied, with that damned calm, as if she were talking to a spoiled child. "Jade is no one. It's not a big deal. Relax, princess."
"Don't call me princess."
You sat up abruptly. Lara was thrown backward, her cock slipping out of you with a wet sound. You didn't care. You sat on the bed, fumbling for your clothes.
"Y/n, don't be like that," Lara said, sitting up too, still naked, her cock half-soft between her thighs. "It was just a mistake. It's not a big deal."
"It's not a big deal?" You pulled your shirt on by force, without a bra, not caring how you looked. "I've been putting up with your shit for six months, Lara. And now you call me Jade while you fuck me. And you tell me it's not a big deal?"
Lara sighed, with that tired gesture you hated so much.
"You're exaggerating. Like always. You create drama where there is none."
"I'm not creating anything," you replied, putting on your pants. Your hands were still steady. "You're the one who's been lying to me. You're the one who did all this. And I, stupidly, let you. But it's over."
Lara blinked. For the first time, her smile disappeared.
"What do you mean 'it's over'?"
"I'm leaving," you said, and headed for the door.
"Y/n, wait." Lara got out of bed, naked, and grabbed your wrist. "Don't leave like this. Let's talk."
You turned to look at her. You saw her there, naked, with wet eyes and a trembling jaw, and for a second you felt pity. But only a second.
"There's nothing to talk about," you replied, pulling your hand free. "We've talked too many times already. And you always end up doing the same thing."
You walked out of the bedroom. You walked toward the apartment door, and Lara followed you, still naked, still begging.
"I love you," she said, her voice broken. "I swear I love you, Y/n. Jae is nothing. It was a mistake, a fucking mistake, and I'm not going to do it again. Please don't leave."
You stopped at the door. Your hand on the handle. Your back to her.
"I just…" you said, and your voice was starting to tremble. "Just let me think about it for a few days, please."
You opened the door and walked out with your heart in your throat.
The days following the fight were a gray territory you didn't know how to navigate. You hadn't broken up, but you weren't okay either. You hadn't talked, but you hadn't stopped talking either.
Three days ago, the last time you had really talked, it had been in Lara's dressing room after a particularly hard rehearsal. You had gone to get your hoodie, and Lara took the chance to stop you.
"Y/n," she had said, and her voice didn't have its usual arrogance. It was lower, more insecure. "I don't want to pressure you. But this… this between us… can't go on like this."
You had kept looking for the hoodie without looking at her, even though you knew perfectly well where it was. On the back of the chair, to your left. But you didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing you.
"I told you I needed time, Lara."
"I'll give you all the time you want," Lara said, and her voice had softened, something that didn't happen often. "But don't leave me. Please. Don't leave me."
That night you could barely sleep remembering those words.
But three days later, you arrived at the rehearsal studio like every morning. It was eight o'clock, the sun was starting to filter through the windows, drawing quadrilaterals of golden light. The group of dancers was already warming up.
You didn't know exactly what at first, but the looks would dart away when you met them. There was an uncomfortable silence that didn't fit with normal mornings.
"What's going on?" you asked, dropping your bag on the floor with a thud that sounded louder than you wanted. Your voice cut through the general murmur like a knife.
"Hey, what the fuck is going on?" you insisted, a knot starting to form in your stomach. Clearly something was wrong and it had to do with you.
One of your friends stepped forward, you could see his eyes full of restrained pity. "Y/n…" he started, and hesitated. His lips pressed into a thin line. He held out his phone with a trembling hand. "Better if you see for yourself."
The screen showed a photo. Blurry, taken from far away in the darkness of a bar. But there was no doubt. It was her.
In a corner, with her tongue shoved down the mouth of a blue-haired girl. Her hands on the other's hips, her fingers digging into the fabric of her pants. Her smile, the one she once promised was only for you, shining even in the dim light on someone else's lips.
"This has been circulating on social media since this morning. They say it's from last night."
You didn't answer. Your eyes stayed fixed on the screen. On her hands on another's hips. On her mouth pressed against another mouth. On her lie.
"Where is she?" you asked, and your voice sounded strange. Dead. With all the anger you had held in for so long just not to lose her. "Where's Lara?"
"She hasn't arrived yet," someone behind you answered. "But you should wait to—"
Then the studio door opened.
Lara walked in with her backpack over her shoulder, her hair tied in a high ponytail, her headphones on. She was humming something until her eyes met yours.
"Princess," she said, taking off her headphones. "Glad I see you. I've been calling you, you know? You weren't answering and I thought—"
"Come with me," you interrupted.
Lara raised an eyebrow, confused, but she followed you as you headed toward the dressing room hallway. You walked to the end of the hallway, where the light became dimmer and the echo of footsteps resonated off the walls.
Lara was smiling from ear to ear. "I knew you couldn't stay mad for long," she said, taking a step toward you. "I've missed you so much, Y/n. These days without you—"
"—have been awful, really. And I know I asked you for time, but I swear not being able to talk to you, not being able to touch you—"
"Shut the fuck up for once, Lara."
Lara stopped. Her smile wavered, but she still leaned toward you, closing the distance to just a few centimeters. "Come on, princess. Don't punish me anymore. You're over being mad, right? I've missed you too much. I need you."
That was when your hand moved.
Your hand opened and your palm hit her cheek with a dry slap that echoed through the hallway like a gunshot.
Lara stepped back, her hand instinctively going to her face. The mark of your fingers was starting to redden on her skin. "What the fuck…?"
"You're an idiot!" you shouted at her. Your voice trembled with rage. A rage you had been drowning. "Do you think this is about you?"
"What are you talking about?" Lara frowned, her hand still on her reddened cheek. The confidence was starting to crack. "Come on, what did I do now?"
You pulled out your phone. You opened the photo. You held it in front of her face.
Lara looked at the screen. She blinked. Her expression changed completely — there was no trace left of that stupid smile she'd held the whole way to the hallway.
"That…" she started. "I was drunk. I don't even remember that. It doesn't mean anything."
"It doesn't mean anything?" you repeated, full of rage. "Kissing someone else doesn't mean anything?"
"I was drunk," Lara insisted, shrugging, and that gesture disgusted you more than anything else. "Everyone does stupid things when they drink. Besides…" She paused, and her eyes turned harder. "Didn't we agree that I was giving you your space? That you needed time?"
The low blow left you breathless for a few seconds.
"I'm not blaming you," Lara said, even though her tone said the opposite. "But if you ask me for time and pull away, and I'm sad and I drink and I do something stupid… it's not entirely my fault."
"We hadn't broken up, you idiot," you said, and each word came out with effort, as if you were tearing it from somewhere very deep. "I can't believe how shitty you are."
Something in Lara's face changed. For a moment, you saw something like shame. But it disappeared quickly, replaced by that defensive attitude you hated so much.
"Okay, I'm sorry. Alright? I'm sorry. It was a mistake. But it's not that big of a deal…"
"Not that big of a deal?" Your voice rose a tone. "How would you feel if I kissed someone else?"
Lara fell silent. Her jaw tensed. And when she spoke, her voice was colder than you had expected. "I'd go crazy. You know I would. You know I couldn't stand seeing anyone touch you."
Lara lifted her chin. Her eyes narrowed, and her smile returned. "Look," she said, with a calmness that only increased your anger, "I know this isn't right. But you and I know how this works. You're not going to leave me."
"What the hell is wrong with you, god?"
"But in the end, you always come back. Because you can't live without me, Y/n. And you know it."
The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
"What did you say?" you asked, full of disbelief, unable to believe that this Lara was the same Lara you had fallen in love with.
"That you can't live without me," Lara repeated, slowly, as if she were savoring each word. "You're crazy about me. You've been putting up with shit for months and you're still here. So why are you making this drama? You're going to forgive me, like always."
"Fuck you. You're sick," you replied, and your voice trembled with rage and with something that felt like liberation. "It's over, Lara. Really over."
"I mean it very seriously."
That was when Sophia appeared. "What's going on here?" she asked, with an authoritative voice.
"Stay out of this, Sophia," Lara said, without taking her eyes off you. "This is between Y/n and me."
"You've been arguing in a hallway where everyone can hear you for ten minutes," Sophia replied, stepping forward. "And the photos have already started reaching the production groups. So yes, I'm getting involved."
Lara turned to her, her eyes bloodshot.
"And I said yes." Sophia didn't flinch. Her gaze went from Lara to you, and in her eyes you saw something you didn't expect: concern. Concern for you. "Are you okay, Y/n?"
You didn't answer. You didn't know how to answer.
"Go away, Sophia, this isn't your problem," Lara intervened, stepping toward Sophia, getting between the two of you. "I'm her girlfriend, we're just—"
"Her girlfriend?" Sophia laughed, a short, bitter laugh. "The girlfriend who kisses other people in bars while her partner is at home? That girlfriend?"
For the first time that day, Lara's face crumpled.
"You don't know anything about us," Lara snapped, her voice trembling with fury. "Don't get involved in my relationship. You don't know what we've been through, you don't know what I feel for her, you don't know—"
"I know you've made her cry more times than you should," Sophia cut in, her voice hardening. "I know everyone in the studio has seen how you treated her. I know the whole dance team has had to comfort her today. And I know Y/n is too good for you."
"What do you know about what's good for her?" Lara took another step toward Sophia. They were almost face to face now, the tension between them electrifying the air. "Do you think because you're the leader you can come here and tell me how to love my girlfriend?"
"She's not your girlfriend," Sophia said, her voice becoming dangerously calm. "Not after this."
"That's not for you to decide!"
"It's for her to decide. And from the way she looks, I think she's already decided."
Both of them turned to you.
"Y/n," Lara said, her voice suddenly softer, as if she could fix everything with that tone. "Don't listen to what she says."
You looked at her. And for a second, just one second, your heart twisted.
But then you saw the photo again in your mind. Her hands on the blue-haired girl's hips. Her mouth on someone else's. The name Jade whispered in your ear, sounding so familiar on her lips, as if it weren't the first time.
"Go away, Lara," you said.
"This isn't over," Lara said, pointing a finger at Sophia. "This isn't over."
"Lara, it's over. Go away," Sophia replied, unflinching.
Lara turned and left. Her footsteps faded down the hallway, and you stood there, trembling, not knowing what to do with everything that had just happened.
When the sound of her footsteps disappeared, Sophia turned to you. Her expression softened.
"No," you cut her off, raising a hand. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want your pity."
She stayed by your side, not touching you, not pushing you. Just waiting. The hallway was silent now.
But something had broken inside you.
You didn't speak to Lara again after that. Not because she didn't try — she did, at first, with the ferocity of someone not used to being told no — but because you decided you had nothing left to say to her.
The first few days, the messages came in waves. Her name appeared on your phone screen over and over again.
"Forgive me." "I still love you." "I can't lose you." "Give me another chance." "Are you going to throw away everything we built over one drunken night?"
Lara also tried to get close during rehearsals.
The first few days, she would plant herself next to you during breaks, with that smile that used to melt you and now seemed fake. She'd offer you water, ask how you slept, try to start conversations as if nothing had happened.
Then, something changed in her.
It wasn't a sudden change. It was gradual, almost imperceptible. One day she arrived at rehearsal with her head high, her hair in a high ponytail, her headphones on. She didn't look for you with her eyes. She didn't come to your side. She walked past you as if you were invisible, as if the space you occupied was empty.
She had gone from begging to completely ignoring you.
And that, to your surprise, hurt more than you expected.
Because silence hurts too. Because emptiness weighs too. Because when someone who claimed to love you suddenly acts as if you don't exist, you wonder if you ever really existed at all.
But even though it hurt, you weren't going to give in.
You had made a decision in that hallway, and you were going to get over her. Because the world doesn't end because of one girl.
So you focused on work. On dance. On the steps you knew by heart and yet kept practicing because, when the music filled your entire brain and left no room for thinking, you could forget you had been hurt. You could forget you were still bleeding.
Your dance partners hugged you on bad days. They invited you to eat after rehearsals even though they knew you'd say no. They told you absurd stories to make you laugh, and sometimes it worked.
Sophia, especially, became your silent shadow. She started coming closer slowly. She didn't say big things, didn't try to fix you or give you deep advice. She just sat by your side in silence, and her presence was a small anchor in the middle of the storm.
Weeks passed. Weeks turned into a month, and the month into almost two. Lara kept ignoring you, and you started to feel that maybe, just maybe, you were better off.
And when a message would come — once in a while, one, late at night, an "I miss you" or an "I'm sorry" or an "I still think about you" — you had the strength not to reply. You'd read it, feel a small tug in your chest, but you wouldn't reply.
You thought you were better.
You thought you had moved on.
The dancers' dressing room was on the ground floor, right next to the main backstage area. It was a small room, with mirror lights, metal racks, and a smell of makeup and sweat that had become familiar to you after so many years.
Tonight Katseye was performing at Lollapalooza, so the pressure was higher than usual. Dancers running back and forth, some doing makeup, others stretching, and you were starting to feel overwhelmed, so you decided to step out to get some air.
The hallway was dark. Poorly lit, full of equipment boxes stacked against the walls, sound cables crossing the floor. You moved carefully, dodging obstacles, counting your steps so you wouldn't trip over anything.
That's when you heard a sound.
A moan. Low, muffled, barely audible above the hum of the festival. And then a laugh. An intimate laugh, conspiratorial. A laugh you knew all too well.
In the darkest corner of the hallway, almost hidden behind a stack of amplifiers and a prop cart, was Lara.
And she had a girl pressed against the wall.
You had spent two months believing you were better. Two months building a shell of rehearsals and music and colleagues who told you "she's not worth it." Two months telling yourself that Lara no longer mattered to you, that you had gotten over her, that everything was fine, that you were finally healthy.
The world crumbled around you. The noise of the festival became a distant buzz, irrelevant. Then you ran.
You reached your private dressing room with your breath ragged and your hands shaking. You went in. You locked the door. The bolt slid with a click that sounded final, like the closing of a box where you've put something you never want to see again.
You let yourself fall to the floor, your back against the wooden door, your legs pulled up to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. And then, for the first time in two months, you cried.
You cried because you had been stupid. Because you had believed that two months of distance were enough to forget a year of love and lies. Because you had believed all her "I love yous."
But then, between the sound of your sobs and the festival, you heard three knocks on the door.
Sophia. Her voice had become so familiar these past months.
"Y/n?" she repeated, more softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal, as if afraid that any sudden noise might make you run. "I know you're in there. I saw you come out of the hallway. I saw you… what you saw."
"Open the door, please," Sophia said, her voice heavy with concern. "I don't want you to be alone right now. Please, Y/n. Let me in."
Your hands trembled as you got up. You walked to the door, slid the bolt with an effort that cost you more than it should, and opened it.
"I saw her," you said. You felt so fragile, so pathetic. "I saw her. Again. Kissing someone else."
"I know," Sophia said, almost in a whisper, and her eyes didn't leave yours.
Then, without asking, she stepped into the dressing room. She closed the door behind her with a soft, noiseless movement, and stood in front of you, at a prudent distance, giving you space.
"Are you okay?" she asked, even though you both knew it was a stupid question.
"No," you replied, and your voice broke again. "I thought I was. But I'm not."
Sophia nodded, as if that were the only correct answer. As if anything else would have been a lie.
"Do you want me to leave?" she asked, with that voice of hers that seemed capable of holding up the weight of the world without flinching.
"No," you replied, in a whisper. "I want you here."
"Lara doesn't deserve you," she said finally, and her voice sounded sure, as if she were saying something she had known for a long time. "She never did. And she's an idiot for not knowing what she had. A complete idiot."
"That doesn't make it hurt less," you replied, and another tear slid down your cheek. Your voice was a broken thread, fragile, like everything inside you at that moment.
Sophia nodded slowly. And then, without saying anything else, she moved a little closer to you. The heat of her body seeped through your clothes, and you didn't pull away.
"Y/n…" Sophia said, her voice so low it seemed more like a vibration than a sound. She sighed deeply. Her fingers brushed yours. A minimal touch, but one that ran through your entire arm. "I know this isn't the time…"
"Let me finish," she murmured. Now her fingers intertwined firmly with yours, with a gentleness that hurt but in a good way. "I know this isn't the time. But I've spent months watching you suffer for someone who doesn't deserve you. Months wanting to be the one to hug you, to tell you everything was going to be okay. And I kept quiet, because you were hers, because it wasn't my place."
She paused. Her hand let go of yours and went up to your cheek. Her fingers rested on your skin, wet with tears. Her thumb moved slowly, wiping away the traces of crying.
"I know I can treat you better," Sophia said, her voice barely a whisper, a secret shared in the dim light. "Better than she can. Better than anyone."
"Tell me no," she whispered. "Tell me you didn't feel these past months that connection the way I did. Tell me you don't feel the same, and I'll understand. I'll understand if you only see me as a friend. But tell me, because if you don't, I won't be able to stop thinking about you."
You tilted your head. You closed your eyes. And Sophia kissed you.
Sophia's lips brushed yours with a delicacy that contrasted with everything you had known until then. There was no pressure, no urgency.
Your hand went up to her neck, tangling in the black hair that had escaped her hairstyle. Your body moved toward her before your brain could process it. Sophia lifted you off the floor with ease, without stopping kissing you, and guided you backward until your back hit the dressing room wall.
The cold of the wall against your back made you shiver, and Sophia noticed. Her hand slid between your back and the wall, protecting you from the cold, and the gesture was so small and so big at the same time.
"Sophia," you whispered, pulling back just enough to breathe. Your lips were swollen, and your makeup was surely smudged from earlier tears. "I don't want you to do this out of pity."
Sophia rested her forehead against yours. Her eyes were closed, her breath ragged, and for a moment there was only the heat of her skin against yours, the shared rhythm of your hearts.
"It's not pity," she replied, her voice trembling, as she stroked your cheek as if holding something very fragile in her hands. "I swear it's not pity, Y/n. It's you. It's always been you."
Her mouth found yours again, and this time there was no softness. It was a deep kiss, wet, full of urgency held in for months. Her hands went down your back until they found the edge of your bodysuit, and her fingers slipped under the fabric, grazing your bare skin.
"Can I?" she asked, pulling back just enough. Her eyes searched yours, making sure you weren't uncomfortable.
When the bodysuit fell to the floor, leaving you completely naked against the wall, Sophia stepped back to look at you. She looked you up and down as if you were the only person in the world, as if she wanted to memorize every curve.
"Touch me, please," you replied, your voice sounding almost like a plea. "Please. Touch me, Sophia." And before she could respond, you were already on your knees.
Her mouth found your sex without warning, and the contact of her tongue directly on your clit made you arch your back, your head hitting the wall. Sophia held you by the hips, her fingers pressing into your skin.
It wasn't like Lara. Lara was always in a hurry, always treated your pleasure as secondary. Sophia, on the other hand, took her time. Her tongue explored every fold, every inch of you, as if she were learning you by heart.
The pleasure was intense, blinding. You felt the orgasm start to grow in your belly, felt your legs start to tremble. Then, with your hand, you pulled lightly on her hair, pulling her away.
"Wait," you said, your voice breathless. "Wait, Sophia."
Sophia looked up immediately. Her lips were glistening, her eyes were dark with desire, but in them appeared a flash of concern. She pulled away completely, sitting back on her heels, her hands going up to your knees.
"What's wrong?" she asked, slightly anxious. "Did I hurt you? Do you want me to stop?"
"No, it's not that. I want you to fuck me," you interrupted, your voice hoarse with pleasure. "I want to feel you inside me."
Sophia looked at you for a second, and a slow smile spread across her face, almost one of relief, as if you had just given her the best news of her life.
"That can be arranged," she said, and kissed you.
She got rid of her stage jumpsuit in one quick movement. The black fabric fell to the floor, and Sophia stood naked in front of you. Between her thighs, her cock was already erect. It was big. Bigger than Lara's. Much thicker.
"Sure," you replied. You grabbed her cock with one hand and guided it to your entrance. You were already soaked from her mouth, and the tip slid in easily. "Please."
The tip entered, and the thickness made you gasp. You felt it stretch you, felt your walls part to make way for it. Sophia noticed your tension and stopped, her hand going up to your hip to hold you.
"Does it hurt?" she asked, worried.
When her pelvis hit the inside of your thighs, you knew she was all the way in. You let out a moan that you were grateful for the festival outside for, because otherwise the whole crew would have heard it.
"Fuck," you whispered, your head falling back against the wall. "You're huge."
"Do you want me to stop?"
She started moving. Slowly at first, letting you get used to her size. Each thrust was deep, her cock almost coming all the way out before going back in. With one hand she held your hip; with the other, she went up to your chest and began to caress your nipple.
"Faster," you asked. "Fuck me."
Sophia obeyed. She sped up the rhythm, the sound of her pelvis slapping against you filling the dressing room. It was obscene. Her cock went in and out of you with an ease that drove you crazy.
"It feels so good," you moaned, squeezing your legs around her waist, pulling her toward you. "I feel you so deep."
Sophia grunted, a guttural sound that vibrated against your neck. Her hips moved with a perfect, calculated rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last.
"That's because no one has ever fucked you like me," she said, and her voice was rough, confident, but not arrogant. It was the confidence of someone who knows what they're doing. "They don't know how to treat a princess like you."
"No," you replied, and it was a moan, it was a cry, it was all you could say. "No one. Only you."
Her hand went down from your chest to between your legs. Her fingers found your clit, swollen with need, and she began to stroke it in circular motions while she kept thrusting inside you. The contact made you arch against her, a torn gasp escaping your mouth.
"Who makes you feel like this?" Sophia asked, her mouth pressed to your ear, her hot breath on your skin. "Tell me."
"Sophia. You, Sophia," you swallowed, the words broken by pleasure. "No one else."
Her fingers pressed your clit harder, and her hips sped up the rhythm, her cock going in and out of you with a speed that made you see stars.
"I'm going to make you forget her fucking name," she whispered, and her voice was hard now, sure. There was no doubt in her.
And it was true. In that moment, you knew nothing. Only she existed. Only Sophia existed.
"Sophia," you screamed, feeling the orgasm start to grow, fast and wild. "Sophia, I'm going to—"
"Come," she ordered. "Come for me, Y/n. I want to feel it. I want you to squeeze my cock when you come."
The orgasm shattered you into pieces. It wasn't like any you'd ever had before. It was more intense. You screamed her name as your pussy contracted around her cock in uncontrollable spasms.
"I'm going to fill you," Sophia groaned, broken by pleasure. "I'm going to fill you so well that the next time that idiot tries to get close, you'll still be dripping from me. Do you want me to come inside you, Y/n? Do you want to feel me inside you?"
"Yes," you replied, your voice a torn plea. "Yes, inside. I want to feel it, please."
That was all Sophia needed to hear.
A couple more thrusts and her body tensed against yours. A deep, guttural moan vibrated against your neck, and you felt her cock expand inside you, felt her heat spill in waves, filling you completely.
Sophia kissed you. Softly, as if time didn't matter, as if the festival could wait, as if the whole world could wait.
When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours with intensity.
"Y/n," she said, whispering. "Are you okay? Really okay? I don't want to—"
"I'm okay," you interrupted, running a hand through her hair, feeling the black strands slip through your fingers. "I'm better than okay."
Sophia frowned, as if she didn't quite believe you. Her hand, the one resting on your hip, went up to your side and then to your cheek. She held your face with a gentleness that contrasted with everything that had just happened.
"Sure?" she insisted, her thumb stroking your cheekbone. "Did I go too far? Was I too… I don't know… rough?"
"Sophia," you cut her off, and couldn't help but smile. She was so different from Lara. Lara never worried. But Sophia was there, naked, her eyes full of concern, asking if you were okay. "You didn't go too far. You weren't rough. It was perfect."
"Perfect?" she repeated, as if the word were foreign, as if she weren't sure she deserved it.
"Perfect," you confirmed, and rested your forehead against hers. "I swear I'm not just saying it. No one has ever made me feel like this. No one has ever treated me like this."
"I don't want you to think this was out of pity," she said, and her voice was firm now, though still low. "I don't want you to think I took advantage of you because you were crying, or because you were vulnerable. And I need you to know that."
"It wasn't pity," she continued, as if she hadn't heard you, as if she needed to get it all out. "This is because I love you, Y/n. Because I've been wanting you for months, and I can't keep pretending I don't."
The silence that followed was dense.
"I don't know if I'm ready for something," you said finally, and the sincerity of your own words surprised you. "I have so many broken things inside me that I don't even know where to start fixing them. Lara hurt me so much. It wouldn't be fair to you."
Sophia nodded. She didn't pull away. She just looked at you with those dark eyes of hers, deep, patient.
"I'm not asking you to be ready," she said. "I'm not asking you to promise me anything. I just want you to know that I'm here."
It wasn't an absolute certainty. It was something that needed time and care to grow. But it was there. For the first time in months, it was there.
"What are you thinking about?" Sophia asked, her voice so soft it felt like a caress.
"That it's been a long time since I've felt like this," you replied, and rested your head on her shoulder. "I feel safe."
Sophia pulled you against her. Her hand went up to your neck and held you, as if you were the most precious thing she had.
Neither of you said anything more. She just kissed the top of your head, and her lips stayed there, pressed to your hair, while the festival played on outside.
And for the first time in a very, very long time, you closed your eyes without fear.
Because for the first time in a long time, you felt loved.
