pairing :: daniela avanzini x g!p actress reader ;; wc 852
synopsis :: you got invited to make a cameo in an mv in your girlfriends group, & tensions definitely rise
( rated x !! ) tags :: smut, oral (r receiving), handjob, dani has a âmamiâ kink, domdani, jealousdani, not proofread
â song rec :: bathroom by montell fish
you whimpered. really whimpered. you couldnât even put up your defences anymore.
she dropped down to her knees, pulling down your pants and boxers in one smooth motion, releasing your pulsing length.
you were hard, tip leaking in need.
âso hard for me, arenât you?â she spoke, staring at your eyes with hunger and want.
she took you in both of her hands, pulling a loud moan from your throat as you gripped the sink behind you.
she smeared the bead of precum all over, her hands sliding up and down, crucially slow.
âplease, dani, moreâ fuck.â you whimpered, your cock throbbing in her hands
âuh-uh. bad girls donât get what they want.â she smiled, licking a stripe from the base to the tip, ever so slowly.
you whined, your hand flying to her hair for more stability.
she opened her mouth, taking you inside fully, gagging around you before sucking the tip, lapping you up.
her hand stroked whatever her lips couldnât take.
you gripped her hair harder, moans slipping through your lips like chants.
âplease, please, im so fucking close dani.â
her ears perked up, the begging soaking her panties even more than they already were.
her lips popped off with a wet noise, her hands dragging up and down your cock, steadily.
âplease what, cariño? i canât hear you.â
you knew what she wanted. you wanted to cum so bad, to make up for your bad actions, you would do anything.
âplease mami, please let me cum, please,â you whimpered, her thighs clenching. thats all she needed.
she stroked you faster, her hands and lips pumping you in unison.
you came with a broken cry, your thick cum flooding her throat, leaking out of her lips. she kept sucking, her hand sliding up and down your base.
as you finally came down, she popped you out of her mouth, her lips smeared in your mess.
âyou gonna be a good girl from now on?â she spoke.
âyes, i promise.â you panted.
you definitely werenât gonna.
â pairing :: daniela x masc!freader \\ wc 1.3k
synopsis :: at a party, you see your ex, daniela, with her new boyfriend jonah. after what seems to be an argument, she decides youâre what she wants, and you canât resist.
( rated x !! ) tags :: smut, making out, car sex, down bad dani, dom reader, not proofread
song rec :: desire by kili
you downed another shot, the warm tequila coating your throat, a stinging sensation.
you'd only arrived 20 minutes ago but lara was taking her sweet time, and you needed this.
not just the alcohol, but the thumping of the bass in your ribs, the heat radiating off of the bodies that surrounded you, and the escape.
your eyes were already hazing, and your limbs already felt like pins and needles.
âhey you.â lara called out from next to you, speaking loudly into your ear as to allow you to hear her over the blown out speakers.
âjesus christ, youâre already fucked up, huh?â you chuckled, your throat still buzzing with harshness.
through your hazed eyes, you saw a familiar face pass by in the living room. it was your ex, daniela. you couldnât mistake that curly hair for anybody else.
you felt your chest tighten in a familiar way, but you didnât hate it this time.
âdaniâs here?â you managed to get out groggily, clearing your throat with a cough. âoh right, i forgot to mention that.
sheâs here with some guy, jonah. do you wanna leave?â lara spoke.
her voice was laced with concern, and genuine care.
she was the one of your only friends from university to stay close by your side after breaking up with daniela.
âno, no, itâs okay. you go have fun, iâll go get some fresh air.â you said, flashing her a smile that didnât feel remotely real, but she accepted it anyway.
she slipped right into the crowd, mixing in with the sweat and laughter almost immediately. she thrived in environments like these.
you moved swiftly through the ocean of people, making your way to the backdoor, where your car was parked.
through your foggy vision you saw her through the condensation of the glass. you heard her tooâ something that sounded like yelling.
a man was there, pacing around the grass. seemed to be her boyfriend, jonah.
you watched, steadily. it was as if the buzz from the alcohol completely went away.
you wanted so badly to walk up and wipe the door down, to get a proper view. but you hesitated. trying to make out any words you could.
the door suddenly swung open, jonah walked through with haste you hadnât seen before. your eyes followed him around the room until your focus locked back on her.
she stood, palms covering her face as the cold night air brushed her curls over her shoulders. something sparked inside you, and you stepped out before your mind could even keep up with the thought.
your footsteps sounded lazy in the grass, bringing her attention to you ever so gently.
âyouâre here?â she said through the cracks of her fingers.
âwhat was he so mad about?â you questioned, avoiding her question like the plague. part of her missed your constant teasing. the other part of her was filled with tequila and questions. you stood there staring at her nonstop, unable to look away.
somehow, the air felt thicker between the two of you than it did inside. she strided up to you ever so lightly, her glassy eyes looking at yours.
âi miss you.â she chanted, over and over again, before resting her head against your chest.
your hands buzzed with nerves, but they still wrapped her in a hug she didnât know she needed.
âis he your boyfriend?â you spoke into the quiet air. it felt like shattering a piece of brittle glass.
âi donât care about him now. i want you.â she said, and that was all it took to break the tension.
you lifted her chin up, and kissed her lips softly. it was warm, and tender. intimate. she tasted like the vanilla gloss that was now smudged between your lips.
your hands moved feverishly against her waist, latching onto her in any way you could.
she broke it, looking up at you gasping. she took you in again.
her tongue worked against yours. you kissed each other like it was a battle to the death between your mouths.
you picked her up by her legs, her knees hooked around your toned forearms as you carried her to the backseat of your car.
it felt cramped and hot inside, the backseat making the air feel heavy and dense.
she rocked back and forth on your lap as your mouth worked tenderly against hers, her nails digging into your shoulders leaving marks you could never mind.
your hands snuck up the hem of her shirt, the skin to skin contact giving the both of you goosebumps instantly.
you slid her shirt off ever so gently, revealing her curves, the way her toned abs glistened under the light of the dark moon.
âi missed you. i missed how well you know me,â she spoke so softly, you almost couldn't make it out.
her words felt like promises in the air that she was supposed to keep to herself, but she couldnât when she was flush against you in your car.
âiâll never know anybody like i know you.â you said in the crook of her neck as you unclasped her bra, revealing her already hardened nipples.
she gasped when she felt the air hit them. she whimpered even more when she felt you take one to the mouth, your free hand working to unbutton her pants.
your tongue worked around the peak easily, like taking a familiar path on a map youâve memorized. she whimpered against the shell of your ear, sending sparks flying down your spine.
her pants fell down her thighs, her panties already soaked with anticipation.
âplease, please, i miss you so much, sâmuch,â she whispered into your ear. you wanted to drag this on for as long as you could, but sheâd only make it harder.
you wrapped one finger into the hem of her panties before pulling them down, her slick folds gleaming in your eyes.
you swiped your finger through her once, a breathy moan echoing out of her throat and off the inner walls of the car.
the windows fogged up as you two gasped against each other. you pressed your finger against her clit, rubbing gently, making another moan echo through your ears.
you rubbed feverishly now, applying just enough pressure. it was nothing but absolute bliss, daniâs whimpers blasting into your ears just like you remembered.
âneed you inside me, pâplease, need it badâ she said shaking, only making you giggle.
you slowly traced her entrance, before letting one digit sink into her, her insides clenching around you almost instantly, pulling a guttural cry from her.
âmoreâ please, more,â she cried out, and you obliged. there was no fighting you could possibly do. you weâre surrendered to her, not even able to utter a word.
you added a second digit, hitting her walls just right as she rocked her hips quickly down onto your fingers.
tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, her nails digging even deeper into you. you knew she was getting close. you remembered her.
she rode down onto you harder, he high coming to her faster than she could hold for. âi missed you so much dani, come for me,â you spoke into her neck, and that was all it took for her to break.
her orgasm washed over her with a sudden pulse, her insides fluttering around you.
you curved your fingers upwards inside of her, hitting all the right spots to carry her through the aftershocks.
she was clinging onto you, panting as she came down. âfuck jonah. i just want you.â she said out loud, almost like a secret she was never meant to tell.
it made you laugh, something you needed. you thought you were over daniela, but its the opposite. shes what your heart wanted.
âthatâs good to hear.â
a quiet tattoo artist meets lara raj, and she keeps coming back. with every session, they grow closer, sharing small moments and laughter. over time, the friendship becomes something more, and they finally take a chance on each other.
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masterlist
black baggy jeans worn soft at the knees, heavy boots scuffed beyond repair, loose tees or tanks that show the ink climbing your arms and disappearing under fabric like unfinished sentences. silver rings you forget to take off. chains sometimes, when you remember. your hair is always doing its own thing. kept short enough not to get in the way, long enough to fall into your eyes when you lean over your work.
your body tells its own story.
tattoos layered over years: bold linework across your forearms, shaded pieces up your biceps, old flash mixed with personal designs. some of them are yours, some done by friends, some by people you trusted once and never saw again. none of them are delicate. all of them are intentional. clients clock it immediately. ink recognizes ink.
you move with the quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly what theyâre doing with their hands.
this isnât the first time lara raj has been on your table.
the first time, she came in quiet.
hood pulled up, shoulders slightly hunched, like she was trying to disappear into the space instead of take it over. the shop was loud that day. someone laughing in the front, machines buzzing, music bleeding from another room. but she moved through it like she was underwater. when she sat down, she folded her hands neatly in her lap and waited for you to notice her.
you did. eventually.
âwhatâre we doing today?â you asked, voice even, professional.
she hesitated, then tucked her hair behind her ear. âa scorpion. back here.â she pointed just behind her ear, delicate but sure. âsmall.â
âzodiac?â you guessed, already pulling on gloves.
she smiled, slow and sharp at the edges. âobviously.â
you tilted her head gently to the side, fingers light but confident. she didnât flinch. that part stuck with you. the immediate trust, the way her body relaxed under your hands like sheâd decided you were safe without needing proof.
you didnât notice how long she stayed after it was done. didnât clock the way she hovered by the counter, asking what music you liked, watching you clean your station like it was interesting. you wrapped her tattoo, gave aftercare instructions, nodded politely when she thanked you.
you thought that was the end of it.
the second time, she was different.
brighter. louder. rings stacked on her fingers, confidence crackling off her skin. she sprawled into the chair like she owned it, kicked her boots together absently.
âring finger,â she said. âzzz.â
you raised an eyebrow. âsleep thing?â
âcats,â she corrected, already pulling out her phone. âthree of them. they nap like itâs a their job.â
she showed you pictures. blurry, overexposed, ridiculous. you nodded like this was completely normal behavior from a client.
âyou donât think itâs weird?â she asked, eyes flicking to your face, searching.
ânah,â you said honestly. âpeople get worse for less.â
she laughed, too loud, too delighted, like youâd just validated something important.
after that, she kept coming back.
the stars were next. scattered carefully across her hand, mapped to resemble the taurus constellation. she came in quieter that day, energy muted. brought references printed out, carefully folded. when you asked about placement, she shrugged.
âitâs for my grandmother,â she said eventually. âshe was a taurus. she loved the stars.â
you slowed down after that. measured twice. checked symmetry again and again. while you worked, she told you small things. how her grandmother used to braid her hair, how she smelled like incense and old books. she didnât cry. she didnât dramatize it. she just let the memories exist between you.
when you finished, she stared at her hand for a long time.
then she squeezed your wrist. âthank you,â she whispered, like the shop might overhear.
you assumed gratitude explained everything.
somewhere between that tattoo and the next, she asked for your number.
âfor scheduling,â she said, too casual, eyes glued to her phone like it didnât matter.
you gave it to her without hesitation. you always gave clients your number.
what you didnât expect was the text later that night.
lara: hey itâs scorpion girl
lara: hope thatâs okay lol
you replied. polite. brief.
then she sent a meme.
then a picture of one of her cats stretched impossibly long across a couch.
from there, it snowballed.
the wrist came next. love is life and life is free, written in two different handwritings. she played erykah badu softly from her phone while you worked, humming under her breath, eyes closed. afterward, she texted you the song link like you hadnât just shared the moment.
you listened to it again anyway.
habibi followed. upper forearm. matching with her family. she came in glowing that day, telling you who had it where, laughing about group chats and inside jokes. she brought pastries. insisted you eat one even though your gloves were still on.
you sat on the curb outside afterward, knees almost touching, talking about music and childhood and how weird it is to grow up fast. she asked about your first tattoo. you told her more than you usually told anyone.
paranji came next. tamil again. her thathaâs name, resting on her shoulder. she was quiet during that one. jaw tight. breath careful. she held your hand harder than necessary.
later that night, she sent you a long message thanking you for being gentle.
you stared at it longer than you meant to.
after that, it stopped being just about tattoos.
coffee dates that werenât dates. late-night texts from studios where she sounded tired and soft. voice notes you replayed more than once. you sent her photos of flash sheets you werenât sure about. she hyped you up like it was her job.
âi believe in you,â she texted once, unprompted.
you told her she was dramatic.
she sent a heart anyway.
the scorpio symbol on her ribs hurt. april v beside it hurt more. she joked through it, laughed when she swore, told you she trusted you with her life. fairy on her inner bicep. angel in gothic lettering joining the stars on her hand.
by then, you were friends.
real friends. the kind who knew each otherâs coffee orders. the kind who texted good luck before big days. the kind who sat in silence without needing to fill it.
you still didnât see it.
so when she comes in this time, it feels normal.
white tank top. bold graphic. hair loose. glossy lips. she settles into the chair like she belongs there. like she always has.
âsame drill?â you ask.
âyou know me so well,â she says.
you place the stencil carefully. her name in tamil. centered. clean. meaningful.
âtell me if itâs crooked.â
âitâs perfect,â she says immediately. then softer, âyou always make things feel like they belong.â
youâre focused on alignment. symmetry. breathing.
the machine buzzes. she listens when you tell her when to breathe. she talks about missing home, about music, about how she feels safest in places where she doesnât have to explain herself.
âlike here,â she adds.
you nod, thinking she means the shop.
when itâs done, you bandage it gently. her name rests there like itâs always lived in her.
she looks at it for a long time. âi wanted this from you.â
you shrug. âi was available.â
she laughs, then goes quiet.
âhey,â she says.
you look up.
âare you always this oblivious,â she asks gently, âor just with me?â
your stomach drops. âto what?â
she exhales, half-laughing. âiâve been flirting with you for months. i text you every day. i come here even when i donât need a tattoo.â
heat floods your face. âi thought we were just⊠friends.â
âwe are,â she says quickly. âi just want more.â
you swallow. âyou mean⊠a date?â
âyeah,â she says, suddenly nervous. âif you want.â
your heart stumbles. âyeah,â you say. âi do.â
she steps closer. waits.
you meet her halfway.
the kiss is soft. brief. warm. her hand settles at your waist like itâs always known where to go. it feels easy. right.
when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours.
âtext me when you close,â she whispers.
you smile, still stunned. âi will.â
the door chimes as she leaves.
your phone buzzes almost immediately.
lara: so⊠does this mean i get to flirt openly now?
on a sun-drenched getaway to the dominican republic, you and daniela escape the noise of the world and slip into something softer.
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the beach smells like salt and ripe fruit and sunscreen thatâs been warming on skin all morning. the sand is pale and fine, sticking to your calves as you walk, the sun sitting heavy but kind on your shoulders. somewhere behind you, palm leaves rustle, a dry whisper against the steady breath of the ocean.
daniela is already there when you reach the towel.
sheâs stretched out on her side, one knee bent, skin glowing like sheâs holding sunlight just under it. the bikini sheâs wearing catches the light in small flashes, tiny reflections that blink every time she shifts. her hair is slicked back, still damp, dark against her neck. she looks relaxed in a way you donât get to see often. no cameras, no schedules, no one pulling her attention in ten different directions.
sheâs holding a pineapple in one hand, cut and hollowed out, a straw sticking from the top like something out of a postcard.
you stop for a second just to take her in.
she notices.
âyou gonna stand there all day?â she asks, lips curling into a lazy smile.
you snort. âmaybe. itâs a nice view.â
she laughs, soft and warm, and pats the towel beside her. âget over here.â
you drop down next to her, the sand warm through the fabric, and she immediately shifts closer, her thigh pressing into yours like it belongs there. you feel it settle into your bones, that quiet rightness that always shows up when sheâs close.
she lifts the pineapple toward you. âtry this.â
you take a sip, the juice cold and sharp and sweet. it tastes like summer, like heat and laughter and no responsibilities. you hum in approval.
âdamn,â you say. âokay. you were right.â
âiâm always right,â she replies easily, reaching out to brush her thumb along your jaw. her touch is casual but deliberate, like she knows exactly what it does to you.
you lean into it without thinking.
the day stretches out slowly, like it has nowhere else to be.
the ocean pulls daniela back first. she stands, brushing sand from her hips, offering you her hand. you take it, her fingers warm and sure around yours as she tugs you toward the water.
the first wave hits your ankles, cool and teasing. daniela doesnât hesitate. she wades in like the ocean has been waiting just for her, laughing when the water reaches her waist, then her ribs.
you follow, rolling your shoulders as the water climbs higher, the heat of the sun finally easing its grip. when a wave catches daniela off guard, she stumbles back, splashing you both.
âhey,â you protest, even though youâre smiling.
she grins at you, unapologetic. âmy bad.â
then she does it again on purpose.
you lunge for her, water churning around your legs as you grab her waist. she squeals, the sound bright and unguarded, and wraps her arms around your shoulders as you both go under for a second.
when you come back up, sheâs laughing, breathless, forehead pressed to yours. droplets cling to her lashes, slide down her cheeks.
for a moment, the world narrows.
the noise fades into the background, just water and warmth and the steady rhythm of your breathing. youâre aware of her hands resting on you, thumbs tracing slow, absent-minded circles.
âi needed this,â she says quietly, like sheâs admitting something sheâs been holding for too long.
you nod. âi know.â
you float together for a while after that, letting the waves carry you. sometimes she drifts a little farther out and you keep a hand on her wrist, anchoring her without either of you saying it out loud. sometimes she pulls you closer, legs tangling with yours, her head resting against your shoulder.
the sun shifts. time passes.
back on the sand, daniela lies on her stomach, chin propped on her hands, watching the shoreline like sheâs memorizing it. you sit beside her, knees drawn up, scanning the horizon.
âyou ever think about disappearing?â she asks suddenly.
you glance at her. âlike⊠permanently?â
she shakes her head. âno. just⊠like this. somewhere quiet. somewhere warm. no expectations.â
you consider it. âyeah,â you say. âbut i think iâd still want people. just⊠the right ones.â
she turns her head to look at you, eyes soft. âme too.â
later, you wander down the beach, barefoot, the sand cooler now. daniela stops every few steps to pick something upâshells, smooth stones, a piece of sea glass she holds up triumphantly.
âlook,â she says. âfor you.â
you smile. âyouâre gonna run out of pockets.â
âworth it,â she replies.
a vendor passes by with drinks, and daniela buys two without asking, handing one to you like itâs the most natural thing in the world. coconut water drips down the side, cold against your fingers.
you sit on a low rock near the water, waves breaking just short of your feet. daniela leans back against you, her spine fitting easily to your chest. you rest your hands at her waist, thumbs brushing over warm skin.
she sighs. âpromise weâll do this again.â
you kiss her temple. âyeah. i promise.â
the afternoon light turns golden, everything softened at the edges. daniela stands at the waterâs edge, facing the sea, her back to you. the thin ties of her swimsuit sway against her skin as the breeze moves through.
you watch her wade in alone this time, water climbing slowly up her legs. she crouches, hands in the surf, letting it rush around her knees. from behind, she looks peaceful, small against the vastness of the ocean, and still so strong.
something in your chest tightens.
you walk down to her, slipping into the water behind her, and she glances over her shoulder when she senses you there.
âhi,â she says, like you just arrived.
you crouch behind her, your knees on either side of her hips, arms coming around her loosely. she leans back into you without hesitation, resting her head against your shoulder.
the ocean moves around you both, cool and steady.
âthank you,â she murmurs.
âfor what?â
âfor loving me the way you do.â
you swallow. âalways.â
the sun dips lower, the sky streaked with orange and pink. you stay there until the light fades and the air cools, until the beach starts to empty and the day feels complete.
that night, after showers and fresh clothes, you sit on the balcony together, feet propped up on the railing, the sound of waves carrying up from below. daniela curls into your side, one of your shirts hanging loose on her frame.
she traces patterns on your arm with her finger. âthis trip feels like a pause,â she says. âlike i can breathe again.â
you rest your cheek against her hair. âmaybe itâs not a pause. maybe itâs practice.â
she hums, considering. âi like that.â
you talk until the stars are sharp overhead, until the day unspools itself into memory. when you finally head inside, the ocean still hums beneath everything, a reminder that itâll be there in the morning, waiting.
the next days follow the same gentle rhythm.
beach. water. laughter. quiet moments that feel just as important as the loud ones.
daniela wears that same easy glow, like the sun is doing something extra for her. sometimes she sprawls on the towel with her pineapple drink again, skin shining, eyes half-lidded. sometimes she disappears into the waves, swimming farther than you expect, then turning back with a grin when she notices you watching.
one afternoon, she convinces you to lay back and let her braid your hair, fingers careful and focused. you close your eyes, listening to her hum, feeling the weight of her attention like a gift.
âyou trust me,â she says softly.
âyeah,â you reply. âi do.â
on one of your last days in paradise, the morning comes soft.
sunlight spills across the bed in pale gold stripes, warming your skin before youâre fully awake. daniela stirs first, shifting slightly, her knee sliding over your thigh. she hums, low and sleepy, pressing her face into your neck.
âmorning,â she murmurs.
you smile without opening your eyes. âyou drool.â
she lifts her head immediately. âi do not.â
you laugh, opening your eyes just in time to see her roll them. ârelax. i like it.â
she snorts, then leans down to kiss you, slow and unhurried. itâs not desperate or heated. just soft lips, warm breath, the kind of kiss that says iâm here, iâm not going anywhere.
she pulls back, studying your face like itâs her first time seeing you. âyou look good like this,â she says.
âhalf asleep?â
âat peace,â she corrects.
you sit up together eventually, shoulders brushing as you drink bad hotel coffee and watch the beach wake up below. vendors setting up. early swimmers slicing through the water. birds skimming the surface of the sea.
daniela rests her chin on your shoulder. âletâs not do anything today.â
you raise an eyebrow. ânothing nothing?â
ânothing important,â she says. âjust⊠exist.â
you nod. âi can do that.â
by midday, youâre back on the sand.
daniela wears that same bikini again, the one that catches light in tiny flashes, and you canât help noticing the way people glance at her before quickly looking away. she notices too, but she only shifts closer to you, hip bumping yours lightly.
âyou good?â you ask.
she nods. âyeah. i just like being near you.â
you set up your towels close, your bags tangled together. she lies back, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other resting against your leg. you feel her presence constantly. warmth, weight, reassurance.
time slows down in fragments.
you feed her pieces of mango, juice sticky on your fingers. she wipes sunscreen across your shoulders, hands firm and careful. you trade quiet jokes, inside ones, the kind that donât need explanation.
at one point, she props herself up on her elbows and watches you instead of the ocean.
âwhat,â you ask.
ânothing,â she says. âjust⊠i forget sometimes that i get to have this.â
you meet her gaze. âhave what?â
âsomeone who chooses me without trying to own me.â
your chest tightens. you reach out, brushing your thumb along her cheek. âi donât want to own you. i just want to walk with you.â
she swallows, nodding once. âyeah. that.â
the heat drives you back into the water again.
this time, the waves are gentler, rolling in slow and steady. daniela wades out ahead of you, then turns around, water lapping at her hips. sunlight glints off droplets on her skin.
she holds her arms out. âcome on.â
you step toward her, and when you reach her, she wraps her arms around your neck, legs brushing yours under the surface. you rest your hands at her lower back, grounding her as the water shifts around you.
she rests her forehead against yours. âyou ever feel like the ocean knows things?â
you smile. âall the time.â
she closes her eyes. âi think it knows iâm happy right now.â
you stay like that, swaying slightly, letting the water move you. nothing else matters. not the future, not the noise waiting back home. just this exact moment.
later in the afternoon, clouds gather, soft and slow, shading the beach. the light turns muted, cooler, and the air feels thick with the promise of rain.
daniela stretches out on the towel again, this time on her stomach, chin turned toward you. you sit beside her, tracing lazy patterns into the sand.
âwhen i was younger,â she says suddenly, âi used to think happiness was loud. like⊠big moments. stages. applause.â
you listen.
âbut this?â she gestures vaguely between the two of you, the beach, the sky. âthis feels more real.â
you nod. âloud things fade. quiet things stick.â
she smiles at that. âyou always say stuff like that.â
âoccupational hazard,â you joke.
she reaches for your hand, threading her fingers through yours. âiâm serious, though. i donât feel like i have to perform here.â
you squeeze her hand. âgood. you donât.â
the first drops of rain hit the sand, darkening it in small spots. daniela laughs, pushing herself up.
âround two?â she asks.
youâre already standing.
the rain comes fast, warm and sudden, drenching you both in seconds. the beach empties quickly, but you donât run. you spin daniela around, her laughter bright against the sound of rain. she grips your shoulders, steadying herself, eyes shining.
she kisses you again, rain mixing with salt and joy, and for a moment it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you under a gray sky.
eventually, soaked and breathless, you retreat inside.
you towel her off first, careful and slow, hands lingering just enough to feel intimate without crossing into urgency. she watches you the whole time, expression soft, trusting.
âmy turn,â she says, taking the towel from you.
she dries you with the same care, fingers brushing your skin, grounding you. it feels like love in its simplest form: attention.
that evening, you order room service and eat barefoot on the floor, sharing bites and stories. daniela talks about her family, about music she wants to make someday that sounds like this place feels. you tell her about dreams you havenât said out loud before.
she listens. really listens.
when night settles in again, you sit by the window, watching the rain fade and the moon rise over the ocean. daniela leans into you, quiet now, content.
âpromise me something,â she says.
âwhat?â
âthat we wonât forget how this feels when things get busy again.â
you kiss her hair. âwe wonât. weâll come back to it. to each other.â
she exhales, satisfied, and rests her head on your shoulder.
outside, the ocean keeps moving. inside, you hold her close.
and for the first time in a long time, the future doesnât feel heavy.
an exchange student in seoul grows close to her neighbor yoonchae, even with a language barrier and yoonchae stealing her clothes. a few years later they meet again in la, where yoonchae is now an idol. the old feelings come back, and the two finally get together.
word count: 1.9k
masterlist:
you didnât expect your exchange semesters in korea to make you rethink your entire personality, but moving into a tiny apartment complex where the walls were thin enough to hear your neighbor sneeze definitely humbled you.
your neighbor, by the way, was yoonchae.
as in: bright-eyed, quick-moving, talks-fast-even-when-you-understand-nothing yoonchae.
you met her your first week in seoul when she caught you struggling to open your mailbox like it was a boss fight. sheâd stepped up beside you, pressed something, twisted something, and the box popped open.
sheâd pointed at it proudly and said something in korean that your beginner-level textbook brain classified as: âi helped you. applaud me.â
you bowed too many times. she laughed. warm, a little shy, and way too cute for someone who just watched you lose a fight to a metal box.
you learned quickly that she didn't know much english.
she learned even quicker that you didnât know much Korean.
it was a recipe for disaster.
and, somehow, friendship.
most evenings youâd find her outside the building practicing dance moves, or eating ice cream even when it was freezing. when she noticed you passing by, she always waved frantically like you were a celebrity instead of the foreign kid who regularly got lost between the convenience store and home.
one day she pointed at your oversized hoodie, made a little âoohâ sound, and then, without explanation, walked into your personal space and tugged gently at the sleeve.
âíŽì€âŠâ she said.
you had no clue what that meant, but she was holding your wrist, so you said yes to whatever she wanted (you always do). she gestured for you to take off the garment, snatched it from your grasp, and then tugged the hoodie over her head and gave a satisfied smile.
âyou just⊠stole that,â you said, helplessly amused.
she didnât understand, but the grin said she absolutely did.
and that was the beginning of the âborrowingâ era.
sweatpants.
your dodgers hat.
your black tee that looked like a dress on her.
one time, somehow, your slippers that were too big for her.
you tried teaching her the phrase âcan I borrow this?â
she learned âborrow,â but used it like a threat.
âborrow,â sheâd say, pointing at your closet.
âno,â youâd answer.
âyes.â sheâd take it anyway.
you attempted to teach her basic english, because sheâd asked, pointing to your notebook, to herself, to you, saying in broken english, âplease⊠teach?â
you tried.
you were terrible.
you explained phrases badly.
you pronounced things too quickly.
you used slang.
you got impatient and drew pictures.
she still learned exactly zero things from you.
your korean? somehow worse.
you once tried to tell her you were âgoing to eat dinnerâ and instead said, confidently, âi am becoming dinner.â
she laughed so hard she fell sideways on your couch.
communication between you two existed in the space between words. gestures, expressions, stupid little noises when something was cute or funny. you didnât need to understand every word to like her. and you did. way more than you should.
but then she got accepted to dream academy, a chance to pursue her dream of being an idol.
the morning she left, she knocked on your door wearing your hoodie again, her favorite victim of theft. when you opened the door, she did her usual little wave. but she looked⊠nervous.
she said something in korean that was too fast for you. You caught only bits. thank you, maybe. fun. something that mightâve been friend.
then she pressed something into your hand. your old keychain sheâd been stealing off your backpack for months because âcuteâ, and smiled.
you said, âtext me,â even though you werenât sure she understood.
she nodded like she did.
after she left, your hallway felt weirdly quiet. your apartment, colder. your hoodie rack in your closet? empty. you stared at the space where the hoodies should hang and thought: well, at least itâs getting more use with her.
she messaged sometimes. pictures from training, blurry selfies, sometimes selfies where she looked exhausted. her english improved by maybe five percent. your korean improved by two.
you cheered her on as best you could, even if time zones murdered you. When she debuted with katseye, she sent you a message that simply said:
âi⊠made it :)â
you saved it.
and then you graduated.
youâd gotten used to korean convenience stores and tiny apartments and hearing yoonchae rummaging in her room next door. going home felt like being unplugged from a world youâd just learned how to navigate.
but you packed up and moved back to california anyway for university.
your parents greeted you with loud hugs and loud questions and louder cooking.
you slept in a bed that didnât shake every time the subway rolled underground.
you showered in a bathroom where you had elbow room again.
and you missed korea anyway.
you missed being lost.
you missed the noise.
you missed yoonchae.
she was in los angeles now with her group. you were also in los angeles too, starting school at ucla. but los angeles is huge, busy, chaotic. you figured you might never run into her unless destiny was feeling dramatic.
you wouldnât have recognized her if she hadnât looked up the exact second you walked inside.
hwe eyes widened so much you thought she might scream.
you froze with your hand still on the door handle.
she stood.
you stood.
someone behind you asked you to move because you were blocking the door, but you literally could not move.
then she scrambled toward you, nearly tripping on the rug, grabbed your arm, and shook you like she was confirming you were real.
âyouâhereâwhy?!â she burst out in english so good it startled you.
âyou speak!â you answered, pointing in disbelief.
she nodded proudly. âi learn. a lot.â
you laughed, stepping back to look at her. she was wearing your hoodie. or, well, her hoodie now. youâd accepted its fate long ago.
âdid you seriously keep that?â you asked.
she tugged the sleeve like she used to and nodded. âis mine.â
you sat with her at a small corner table, because apparently you were too stunned to say no to anything. she pulled her mask down and studied your face like she was memorizing it.
âsoâŠâ you said. it was all you had.
âso,â she echoed, smiling with her whole face.
conversations worked now. not flawlessly. her english still had gaps, your korean still had chasms, but you could actually talk. she told you about debut life. about the moving. about LA traffic. about sore feet and long nights and missing the little apartment hallway in korea.
âyou never visit,â she teased.
âi didnât know you lived so close to my campus!â
she gasped. âreally?!â
âreally.â
she sat back, processing, then grinned. âthen⊠we can meet more.â
âyeah,â you said softly. âwe can.â
she looked at your outfit then, eyes narrowing in that familiar mischievous way.
âborrow?â she asked, pointing at your jacket.
âno. absolutely notâ"
she slid the jacket off your shoulders anyway.
somethings never change.
over the next weeks, she found excuses to see you.
âpractice is near you.â
âfilming is near you.â
âi am hungry near you.â
sheâd finish schedules tired but still show up outside your dorm wearing one of your shirts. though now, at least, she asked before taking something⊠most of the time.
her english got better with every conversation.
your korean got better because she corrected you constantly.
âitâs not âëë ë°„ìŽë€,ââ she said once, giggling.
âwhat did I say?â
âyou said âi am rice.ââ
you threw a pillow at her. she dodged easily.
once, after a long day, she leaned her head on your shoulder during a car ride. one of the managers had agreed to drop you both off. she mumbled something that you barely caught.
âmussed you,â she slurred sleepily.
you pretended your heart didnât explode.
another time she showed up at your apartment wearing your sweatpants. your huge sweatpants, and said, âthese are good,â like sheâd discovered gold.
âthatâs because theyâre mine,â you said, pulling at the waistband.
she swatted your hand away and held the pants like they were precious.
âno. mine,â she insisted.
when she posted on instagram a few weeks later. selfie, hair cute, caption full of hearts, and she was wearing your hoodie again, you nearly dropped your phone.
your friends texted you instantly.
âbro is that YOUR hoodie??â
âare you dating a celebrity??â
âexplain or i kill you.â
you did not explain.
mostly because you had no idea how to explain anything.
the truth was: neither of you had ever labeled it.
you just⊠drifted toward each other. first in korea, now in los angeles. she wasnât subtle, but she also wasnât reckless. she touched your sleeve when she talked. she grabbed your hand when crossing streets. she pouted whenever she had to say goodbye. but she never actually said the thing.
then one evening, you were walking her back to the group dorm. she was wearing, predictably, your jacket. she kicked a pebble on the sidewalk and said, very quietly:
âso we are⊠what? friends?â
you blinked. âi mean⊠what do you think we are?â
she stopped walking, tugged the jacket sleeve over her hands, and looked up at you with that same nervous expression sheâd had the morning she left for dream academy.
âi think⊠i like you,â she said. âbefore. in korea. now. still.â
you breath caught. it felt like the city quieted for a moment, even though los angeles never shuts up.
âi like you too,â you admitted. âi mean, i thought it was obvious.â
she puffed her cheeks. âno! you donât say!â
âi thought the stolen clothes made it obvious.â
âthat is just fashion,â she argued.
âyou stole my slippers, âchae.â
âfashion,â she repeated, dead serious.
you laughed, and she smiled like sheâd won something.
âsoâŠâ she said, stepping closer. âcan I be⊠girlfriend? your girlfriend?â
your heart dissolved. âyeah. yeah, you can.â
she nodded firmly, satisfied, then tugged on your sleeve. âgood. then thisââ she pointed at the jacket she was wearing ââis even more mine.â
you groaned. âiliterally just gave you the title and you alreadyâ"
but she grabbed your hand, swung it between you both, and said, âletâs go,â as if the world had always been this simple.
and maybe with her, it kind of was.
because even with the languages and the distance and the hoodie theft, she always came back around to you. walking beside you, stealing parts of your wardrobe, smiling like she meant it.
borrowing things.
borrowing time.
never borrowing feelings. those were returned, always.
ang when she leaned her head on your shoulder again as you walked, you didnât need a shared language to understand anything.
ok, wait, so the spirit of festivities is getting to me, and you asked for prompts so here we go,
first of all established!maphinz, they are at a big house, all together to celebrate the holidays, split into three rooms, yoonara, meizini and maphinz are sharing rooms(as long as we have the maphinz room the other pairings arenât that important) sophia got every member presents except for manon without any explanation, when they get to their rooms for the night they make out, manon asks her about it naturally, sophia tells tells manon sheâs been naughty, and naughty girls donât get gifts, and when manon tries to initiate sex sophia stops her, prohibiting her from touching her as punishment (basically mutual masturbation with dom!phia and holiday flare)
olympic snowboarder reader agrees to be megan skiendielâs fake girlfriend to keep her ex away, but navigating l.a., public appearances, and âpracticeâ kisses turns pretending into something dangerously real.
word count: 2kish
masterlist
you donât expect to be fake-dating an international pop star when you fly to l.a. for a weekend.
you especially donât expect that pop star to be megan skiendiel from katseye. charming, infuriatingly confident, and currently pacing in front of you like sheâs plotting a heist in the katseye dorm.
âokay, hear me out,â she says, her voice lilting slightly when sheâs excited. âif you pretend to be my girlfriend for, like, two weeks, maybe three, jonah will finally get the message.â
you blink at her, trying to process. âyou want me to be your fake girlfriend⊠so your real ex-boyfriend stops stalking you?â
ââcrazy exâ is a little dramatic,â she says quickly, then sighs. âactually, no. itâs exactly right. heâs been showing up at the studio, the hotel, the gym.â she throws her hands up. âlike, bro, iâm trying to do squats in peace.â
you canât help a laugh, even though sheâs serious. âand you think me, some random girl from colorado, will fix this?â
her eyes narrow, studying you. ânot random. youâre an olympic snowboarder, remember? half the internet thinks youâre made of ice and caffeine. jonah will freak if he thinks iâve moved on with someone who could probably bench-press him.â
you snort. âthatâs flattering, but you realize the only thing i bench-press is my board bag.â
megan grins. âstill counts. youâve got that wholesome âmountain girlâ vibe. snow suit, freezing-to-death aesthetic. totally opposite of what jonah thinks i go for.â
you cross your arms, pretending to be offended. âso basically iâm your decoy?â
she grins wider. âmy very cute decoy.â
you ignore the heat creeping up your neck. âyou realize people are going to notice, right? your fans. the internet. and iâm not exactly ready for global chaos.â
megan shrugs, her dark ponytail bouncing. âweâll keep it low-key. a few âaccidentalâ sightings, some couple selfies. easy.â
âright,â you say dryly. âbecause fake dating never spirals out of control in every single rom-com ever made.â
âexactly,â she says with mock sincerity. âweâll be the exception.â
you stare at her for a long beat. she looks at you with those disarmingly confident eyes, the kind that make you forget sheâs a pop star and remember sheâs also the girl who once tripped over her mic cable during rehearsal and laughed harder than anyone else.
âfine,â you say finally, pointing at her. âbut i have ground rules.â
megan leans forward, smirking. âoh, i love rules. hit me.â
âone: no weird pda in public. iâm not a prop.â
she nods solemnly. ârespect.â
âtwo: you tell your team. i donât want to get ambushed by pr.â
âdeal.â
âthree,â you say, hesitating just a second too long. âno actual kissing. this is fake dating.â
her smile falters just slightly, then she recovers, teasing. âwow, youâre no fun. what if jonahâs watching? what if we need to make it look real?â
you roll your eyes. âweâll cross that bridge when weââ
âpractice,â she interrupts, eyes glinting.
âpractice?â
âyeah,â she says with exaggerated innocence. âyou know, to make it believable.â
you groan. âyouâre insufferable.â
âand yet,â she says, stepping closer, her grin softening just a little, âyouâre still here.â
the air between you tightens for a moment, enough that you can feel the energy shift before one of her bandmates yells from down the hall, âmegs! you left your phone in the fridge again!â
you both break into laughter, the tension snapping.
she grins at you over her shoulder. âwelcome to the fake-girlfriend experience, colorado.â
âcanât wait, hawaiiâ you mutter, already regretting every life choice that led you here.
but when she winks and disappears around the corner, you realize, your heart is beating way too fast for someone whoâs just pretending.
ârelax, colorado,â she says, tugging on the zipper until itâs crooked again just to mess with you. âall we have to do is grab coffee and smile once. easy pr.â
âright,â you mutter. âbecause paparazzi photos are the definition of easy.â
âyou handle olympic judges,â she says with a grin. âyouâll survive a few cameras.â
you snort. âat least judges donât hide in bushes.â
her laugh spills out, light and genuine. you shouldnât notice how it warms the cool morning air, but you do.
when the barista calls your names, megan insists on paying. âmy treat,â she says, winking at the fans already pretending not to stare. âmy girlfriend gets only the best overpriced caffeine.â
you choke on a laugh. âyouâre enjoying this way too much.â
âof course i am,â she says sweetly. âitâs the first time iâve dated someone who can land a 900.â
you give her a side-eye. âyou googled snowboard terms, didnât you?â
âmaybe,â she admits. âi also learned what a âstomp padâ is. youâre welcome.â
you shake your head, smiling despite yourself. somewhere behind the counter, a phone clicks. someoneâs taking pictures. megan notices too and instinctively threads her fingers through yours.
her hand is warm, confident. you remind yourself this is acting. a performance. still, your pulse betrays you, racing ahead of the script.
later, in her car, sheâs scrolling through social media. âlook at this,â she says, holding up her phone. â#l/niendiel is already trending.âÂ
you groan. âthat sounds like a bad christmas movie.â
âexactly! weâre iconic.â
âyou mean ridiculous.â
she nudges your arm. âsame thing.â
thereâs a beat of silence, comfortable but charged. then she says, more quietly, âyou did good out there. thanks for⊠not running away.â
you shrug. âhey, iâve competed at the olympics. public humiliation is kind of my hobby.â
she laughs, then glances at you sideways. âyou know, if weâre going to keep this up, we should maybeââ
âdonât say âpractice.ââ
she grins. ââwork on our chemistry.â
you roll your eyes, but sheâs already leaning closer, her expression teasing yet cautious. âjust so it looks natural,â she adds.
your heart thuds. you can smell her vanilla perfume and faint traces of espresso. you tell yourself itâs acting, that youâve trained for higher-pressure moments.
but when she stops an inch away and whispers, âweâll practice later,â before turning the ignition, you realize youâre in far more danger here than on any mountain.
by midweek, los angeles is buzzing, and meganâs worried. fans are starting to speculate, and jonahâs occasional sightings in the city arenât helping.
âyou know, colorado,â megan says, flopping onto her dorm bed, âpeople are starting to think weâre more than friends. and jonah⊠heâs definitely noticing.â
you groan, leaning against her desk. âsuspicious? weâve only held hands twice and gone for a coffee. thatâs it.â
âand yet,â she smirks, âwe need to make it convincing. which meansâŠâ she wiggles her eyebrows. âkissing practice.â
your eyes widen. âmegan, weâre in your dorm room. iâm an olympic snowboarder, notâŠwhatever this is!â
âitâs just a peck,â she says, grinning. âfake, believable, and absolutely necessary. for jonah.â
you hesitate, but she pats the bed beside her. âcome on, pretend girlfriend. letâs make him jealous⊠convincingly.â
you sit down awkwardly, heart racing. megan leans in. âclose your eyes. totally fake. totally platonic. no feelings involved.â
you do, and then she pecks you on the lips. quick. light. perfectly âfake.â
except your heart doesnât get the memo.
pulling back, you stare at her. âthat⊠that was a thing.â
âa thing?â she laughs, brushing a strand of hair from her face. âadorable, maybe a little dangerous for your heart.â
âdangerous?â you mutter. âitâs just acting!â
she tilts her head, smirking. âif it feels real⊠thatâs part of the plan. for jonah.â
you shake your head, breathless. âyouâre impossible.â
âand yet,â she teases, leaning closer, âyou keep coming back for more.â
and just like that, pretending starts to feel dangerously real, and itâs all for jonah.
âcolorado,â megan says as you both walk past a line of brunch-goers on a street, iced lattes in hand, âremember: casual couple energy. totally believable. weâre practically professional.â
you groan. âcasual couple energy? megan, iâm an olympic snowboarder. i deal with snow, altitude, and gnarly courses, not⊠this.â
âand yet,â she teases, bumping your shoulder lightly, âyouâre doing it anyway. see? progress.â
across the street, jonah casually leans against a food truck, sipping a smoothie. his gaze lands on you two, and he raises an eyebrow.
âperfect timing,â megan whispers, sliding her hand into yours. âfor appearances.â
you feel the familiar flutter in your chest, but you play along. megan leans in for a quick peck â light, deliberate, and perfectly convincing. jonahâs jaw tightens, and you resist the urge to grin.
âsee?â megan murmurs, brushing a hand along yours. âtotally believable. totally real to him.â
you roll your eyes but secretly admit: it feels real anyway. every laugh, every accidental brush of fingers, every teasing glance in the la sun is setting your heart on fire.
âyou know,â megan says, tossing a throw pillow at you as you flop onto her bed, âthis whole pretending-to-be-a-couple thing? itâs way more stressful than i thought.â
you laugh softly, rubbing your eyes. âstressful? thatâs one word for it. heart-racing, stomach-flipping, completely distracting⊠yeah, thatâs another.â
she smirks, rolling onto her side to face you. âyou know, colorado⊠sometimes i forget weâre pretending.â
you blink. âwhat do you mean?â
âi mean⊠i like you,â she admits quietly, voice soft but steady. ânot for appearances. not for jonah. me. i like you.â
your chest tightens. you stare at her, words caught in your throat. âi⊠i like you too,â you whisper, voice barely audible. âand i think iâve been pretending less than i thought.â
for a long moment, you just look at each other, the weight of the week, the laughter, the awkward kisses, and the late-night talks all hanging in the air.
then, slowly, almost cautiously, megan leans closer. you donât pull back. your lips meet in a tentative kiss, soft at first, testing the waters, but then deeper, more certain, more real.
itâs clumsy, a little awkward, and completely perfect. hands brush, fingers intertwine, and you realize that all the âpracticeâ was just a warm-up for this moment.
megan pulls back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, grinning. âsee? told you pretending could get messy.â
you laugh softly, heart still hammering. âmessy? thatâs one word for it. but⊠yeah. real feels a lot better than fake.â
she nods, her eyes shining. âmuch better.â
for the first time all week, you stop thinking about jonah, the cameras, or appearances. itâs just you and her, in her dorm room, and the unmistakable truth that what started as a fake relationship has become something real. something neither of you wants to end.
âand just so weâre clear,â she teases, brushing your hair back, âall future âpracticeâ sessions are completely optional.â
you shake your head, smiling. âoptional, huh? iâll hold you to that.â
she winks. âgood. because i donât want to go back to pretending. not ever.â
and in that dorm room, with los angeles sparkling outside the window, you realize the line between fake and real doesnât exist anymore. because this, you, her, the laughter, the kisses, is completely, undeniably, real.
tokyo airport smelled faintly of coffee, disinfectant, and jet fuel. a mix that always made y/nâs shoulders tighten. the terminal was a blur of chatter and camera flashes, but her eyes stayed fixed on manon. pale under her mask, hood up, airpods in, trying to melt into anonymity. she wasnât doing great, anyone could see that. covid recovery had left her thinner, slower. still, manon was stubborn enough to walk through arrivals instead of taking the damn cart you had arranged.
you followed a few feet behind, broad frame cutting through the crowd like a ship through water. your black t-shirt strained at the shoulders; you had been mistaken for an athlete more than once, and you didnât correct them. her job wasnât to talk, it was to watch.
then it happened, it as sudden, silent. one second manon was upright, the next her knees buckled. the thud of her bag hitting the tile punched through the noise.
âshit, manon!â
you were at her side before the first gasp rippled through the crowd. manonâs face had gone slack, color draining fast. you yanked out an airpod, faint sound from a tiktok still leaking from it , and felt her pulse. weak, but there. people shouted in japanese, someone ran for help, another splashed bottled water onto her cheeks.
manonâs lashes fluttered. her first words, slurred and barely audible: âmy⊠tiktok stopped.â
you almost laughed, except your chest was still pounding. âyou fell,â you said gruffly. âyou scared the hell out of everyone.â
within minutes, airport medics appeared with a wheelchair. y/n scooped up manonâs dropped passport and bag, walking beside her and megan as they rolled her toward the medical bay. people crowded, it didnât matter. you shot one look over your shoulder and the crowd parted.
when you reached the medics office, megan was pacing, phone glued to her ear.
âwhat happened? i saw that she fainted in lineâ oh my god, manon, are you okay? you look like a ghost! sophiaâs gonna kill us!â
manon gave a weak thumbs-up from the chair. âjust⊠forgot i was human for a sec.â
meganâs face twisted in half worry, half relief. âyou forgot? girl, you passed out in immigration. thatâs not forgetting, thatâs international drama.â
you stood off to the side, arms crossed, still trying to steady your pulse. your eyes met manonâs, hazel against dark brown, and something passed between them. not quite gratitude, not quite apology. just tension, old and electric.
âi told you to let me push you,â you muttered.
âand i told you iâm not eighty,â manon shot back, though her voice wavered.
megan groaned. âoh my god, can you two not flirt while sheâs half-dead?â
you turned away, hiding the faintest smirk. âwasnât flirting.â
âsure,â megan said, smirking now herself. âand iâm not about to send this in the group chat.â
manon laughed. a small, real sound, and your shoulders finally dropped an inch. the worst was over. for now, at least.
but as they wheeled manon toward the car, you kept a hand hovering just above her shoulder. steady, protective, unwilling to admit she cared more than you should.
because bodyguards donât get attached.
except sometimes, they do.
origamiaround
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
