Cleyari

"Shit— oh, Y/n— God, you feel so good, baby"

Megan's jaw dropped.

It was Daniela moaning your name.

YOUR NAME.

She could recall that yesterday you were being insulted by Daniela because of your stupid minecraft shirt and now here she is moaning your name?!

"Fuck— yes, baby— love your big, thick, loser cock— fill me up, you fucking nerd" then she heard a crisp slap.

Megan dares to move another step forward, catching a glance of Daniela riding you wildly, her ass slamming on your thighs, leaning forward and also gripping your head to catch your lips into a heated kiss.

She watches how Daniela's breasts are pressed against yours. How your cock slips in and out of Daniela's pussy. How the two of you fuck like bunnies.

She could feel herself getting wet as Daniela devours you with her mouth— her tongue licking your face, then travelling to your neck to leave hickeys.

"You feel s'good— s'tight, Dani— fuck" your words slurring, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling Daniela's walls pulsating around your throbbing cock. "I'm gonna cum, baby"

In such a short time, Megan could already feel how drenched she was and it didn't help hearing Daniela cackle and ride your cock unbelievably faster.

"Already? You're so easy, Y/n— dios mio— is my pussy too much to handle for you, daddy?" Daniela reels seeing your face crumple to pleasure.

"Please— let me cum, Dani— please" you whimper, your hips buckling, thrusting up to Daniela's cunt and she moans, her head thrown back.

Daniela growls, pulling you to sit up, she pushes your head to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around you, "Cum now and you'll never fuck me raw again. Now, suck my tits"

Megan whined hearing your whimper, her hand travels down to her center, rubbing her clit through the layers of fabric, trying not to moan.

"Your cock is so big— gosh— should have fucked you the moment I saw your cock bulging through your pants that day during presentation" Daniela pants, her fingers threading to your hair, cooing as you obediently suck her breasts. "I'm so sorry you had to wait a little longer to fuck this pussy, daddy"

You whined yet again, rutting your hips, you pulled away from Daniela's breasts, spit dribbling on your chin, feeling the heat in your stomach too hot to bear. "Dani— Dani, please let me cum— let me cum, please, baby"

"So messy, daddy— all f'me?" Daniela bites her lip, as she grinds on your cock, her arms wrapped around your shoulder, looking deeply at your hazy eyes, giggling seeing you nod like a kicked puppy.

"Yes— yes— all f'you, Dani, please" you cried, your cock straining, you grope her ass till it turns red, matching your thrusts to her animalistic riding pace.

Daniela spits at your open mouth, her hand grabbing your chin open, smiling when she sees you swallow her spit. "You're so good for me, daddy. Let go— cum f'me"

You groan, filling your cock inside Daniela's sex to the brim— your mouth opens to a silent moan as you fill her spurt by spurt, your orgasm never stopping as Daniela milks your cock.

It doesn't help that Daniela didn't stop riding you, laughing at your limped state, she jumps on your cock, her mind growing numb as she feels you fill her up with your sperm, and she follows, squirting jets and jets of her liquid, splashing your cock and your stomach, and ultimately soaking the bed. "Fucking shit— oh— you always fill me up so— fucking— good"

Megan's eyes roll to the back of her head, her own orgasm happening, staining her denim shorts and the carpeted floor.

She exhales, hastily removing her shorts and underwear before inserting her fingers inside her pussy again. Her other hand tending to her plump tits begging for attention.

Her eyes trail to your cock slowly slipping out of Daniela's cunt. She gasps seeing your size— you are so fucking big.

"God— let me suck that cock, daddy"

She watches Daniela go to a prone bone position in between your legs, she notices how Daniela's hand barely covers your cock, and how her mouth stretches to its absolute limit.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head, her hand that was playing with her tits is now in her mouth. Her tongue swirled around her fingers, she imagined it was your cock inside her mouth— pulsing, throbbing, leaking.

"You taste s'good— I love your pathetic cock, daddy" Daniela spits on your cock, her hands stroking it before she sucks on it again, her head bobbing up and down, greedily choking and gagging on your dick.

"Oh— Daniela— oh, baby" you moan, gripping her hair, you thrust upwards to her throat, gasping as you feel your tip hit the back of her throat.

Daniela pulls away from your cock, coughing, she sits up and pushes you on the bed. She straddles your head, facing your cock, then lowers her pussy on your awaiting mouth.

Megan couldn't bear it, she thrusts her fingers faster in her cunt, her juices splashing on the stained carpet floor, her legs wide open— she wants to be fucked by you too.

"Yes! Work that tongue— fuuuck— God, I love that mouth" Daniela moaned through her mouth full of your dick.

You spit at her pussy and then licking it, lapping all the way to her puckering hole, your spit on it too, then you probe it with your tongue before Daniela smears your face with her pussy again.

"I love it when you eat my ass, daddy but fuck— I need it in my pussy"

Megan cries— she would be grateful if you ate her out, ass or pussy.

"Fuck— fuck— wait a minute baby, need your cock again" Daniela rolls over, her hands spreading her legs wide open for you. "Fuck my pussy, bitch"

You nozzle your head between her breasts, slamming your cock inside her greedy cunt, you grips her thighs as you fuck your cock into her.

"Thank me— thank me for letting you fuck my pussy, daddy" Daniela pants, wrapping her arms around you like a vice as she clenches around your cock.

"Thank you— thank you so much Daniela— I love your pussy so much" you moan, pounding her cunt harder.

Oh what Megan would give for you to pound her cunt too— but she's stuck in front of your open door, touching herself.

"Harder— harder, daddy— yes! Puta— oh"

Daniela's hips thrusts upwards, greedily swallowing your cock inside her. "God— you're s'big, baby— can't believe you fit inside me"

Daniela grabs your hands and places it on her bulging stomach, "see that? That's you— ngh— you fill me up s'well baby. You're gonna give me more cum, right?"

You nod in her neck, ramping up the pace in your thrusts, feeling your stomach burn both in soreness and in heat.

"Yes! Yes, baby— my good girl" Daniela drools, her eyes roll to the back of her head as she feels your cock penetrating her cervix. "You fuck me s'well, daddy"

Her arms wrap around you affectionately as she whispers dirty things to your ear. "Cum, baby— give it all to me— I'll be your cum dump, amor"

You gaps, cumming inside her cunt but never stopping your thrusts— too focused on making her cum.

"FUCK! YES! THAT'S IT— FILL ME UP" Daniela screams, thrashing on the bed she squirts.

Megan squirts too, her juice spilling all the way to the entrance of Daniela's room.

"Oh— oh— don't stop! Don't stop, daddy" Daniela's moans turn animalistic, laughing as you slam your cock inside her. "Yes, baby! Oh— God— I love that loser cock"

"Daniela— shit"

"Mmmhm— God, your voice is so hot"

Megan could moan your name like that too.

"I love you— I love you so much, Daniela Avanzini" you pant, your tongue finding hers, never stopping your abuse on her used pussy.

"I love you too, nerd" Daniela drools, her mind turning into a mush, her orgasm nonstop and so is yours. She's basically purring as you fill her up with more of your cum. "God— you're gonna get me so pregnant, baby"

You moan, burying your cock inside her cunt to the brim. "Fuck, baby— I'd suck your tits all day"

Megan could only do nothing but whimper— she could be your cum dump too. Make you fill her up with your cum, let you suck her tits dry, let you fuck her pussy with a probing belly.

"Cock s'good— God— this cock was made for my pussy, daddy" Daniela slurs, pulling your mouth on hers, exchanging saliva, the two of you looking like you're eating each other's faces.

"Fuck yeah it is" you spit on her mouth and the suck her tongue, you now slowly thrust your hips, angling your cock to her most sensitive spots.

"Ngh— God— could do this forever" she explores your mouth like a madman, scraping every single saliva inside your mouth— swallowing it.

Megan's a mess. The carpet under her is drenched, her tits are spilling out of her tank top, and her bottom is bare, her shorts are thrown on the side.

She should be the one getting her brains fucked out by you, not Daniela.

"C'mon— fill me up with your cum— more!" Daniela screams, her hunger only growing heavier as you fill her up with more cum even though her body screams stop, her pussy clenches on your cock tighter in overstimulation but her hunger never seems to satiate.

You fill her up with your hot spunk, thanks to your condition, you basically could cum and fill a cup.

"God— yes— love this dick— need your dick all day, everyday" Daniela laughs, her back arching like a bow.

Sweat and sex fills the room, somehow the two of you never notice Megan fleeing away from your room, clutching her shorts, and the carpet thoroughly soaked.

"Shit— we doing this the whole break, daddy"

"Fuck, Dani" you could only muster a groan, feeling another orgasm building up.

"FUCK, DADDY" Daniela moans, squirting on your cock, her body thrashes and spasms. "GOD— DON'T STOP FUCKING ME, BABY"

"Stupid, big, fat, loser cock, filling my pussy up" Daniela enunciates every word, meeting your thrusts.

Megan could only writhe in her bed, hearing the sounds of sex and its stench fill the house.

"This cock is yours, baby— only yours" you whisper, your forehead on hers as you fuck her sensually.

"Yes— God, yes" Daniela whispers back, she brushes your hair out of your face, looking at your eyes full of devotion. "I'm yours, Y/n"

The two of your orgasm together, gasping, trembling, "I'm yours Dani— I'm yours"

The two of you didn't sleep till the clock struck 2 o'clock in the morning.

daniela was everything, everything you’ve ever dreamed about even before knowing what you wanted, she made you hers with such naturality that you believed you were born for it, born to meet her, to be in her arms. of course, that was a lifetime ago, you were a girl.

now, the sun didn’t warmed your blood in the office of a therapy doctor, it was too… white, unpersonal, a comfortable couch you were sat on beside daniela — a safe distance between you —, a leather chair across it, a few plants around the office, a weak attempt to make it more comfortable, more alive, perhaps it would work if the tension between you and your ex wife couldn’t be cut with a knife.

neither of you dared say a single word, you knew where it would lead — screams, yelling, tears, or anger, that was the only way it always ended with daniela.

“avanzinis…” the man sat down the leather chair spoke, he was in his late 40s, glasses on the top of his big nose, he smelled like expensive cologne for men a few good years younger than him, but his face was gentle somehow, it made you feel at ease. if google had said he helped a thousand couples and ex couples how to cooperate, who were you to say otherwise?

and you couldn’t let daniela think she was right in rejecting the idea of therapy at first.

“not avanzinis. she’s avanzini, but we had a divorce a few months ago.” you interrupted. he looked over the paper he was holding. daniela sighed in annoyance.

“okay.” he said simply, a smile reached his lips, a careful smile. “maybe the first names will do it then, y/n? good for both of you?” he said.

the mention of your first name added a personal feeling to the whole session, to the whole thing both of you and daniela considered bullshit, but what wouldn’t you do for the 7 years old girl who you loved more than life itself? the little girl who carried a smile with a few missing tooth, daniela’s dimples and curly hair, who carried the color of your skin and the taste of your ex wife for sports. nothing. there’s probably nothing you wouldn’t do for elena avanzini, including spending a weekly hour with her other mother trying to deal with the fact that you have a kid with the person you hate the most.

doctor bennett spoke again, putting the folders down his lap, instead adjusting the notebook, his tone became serious. not harsh, not mad, but serious.

“for starts, i must know the dynamics of your relationship.” the worst possible — you thought, but didn’t say a thing. “you both are quite younger than most people i attend to, i must say.”

“we are. classical story, knocked her up at sixteen.” daniela said, her tone was light… too light. you hated how at ease she looked, wasn’t she nervous to speak about her marital problems to a random man for an hour? wasn’t she nervous to be there with you? did she feel nothing at all?

“you have to say it like that?” the words left your mouth before you could stop yourself, you hated the way she spoke so crudely, as if it was a funny story, it wasn’t, not even close to be.

daniela looked at you, your tense figure, square shoulders, sun dress of light blue — her favorite color. had you dressed like that during your marriage? if you did, she probably would have worked harder to keep you happy by her side.

“don’t fucking start.” she said, her words were final. but you had no intention of obliging.

doctor bennett interrupted you before you could even start.

“you have a daughter, right?” the question was for you, and you tore your angry eyes from daniela to look at him, your shoulders relaxed a bit, and your head nodded proudly before you find your voice.

“i do. we do. elena.” you said.

“we’re here because of her, doc.” daniela spoke, this time her voice didn’t annoyed you. “we can’t be in the same room without wanting to kill each other, but for elena… we must do it, so we want to learn how to… cooperate.”

you would explain it much better, you would use better words, but you held your tongue. the doctor hummed and wrote down something on his notebook before looking up again.

“i see, well, that’s good to hear. she’s more than reason enough for you guys to want to make it work.” every single one of his words were true, remembering the way elena looked at you after you argued with her mami was enough for you to remember why you were there. daniela stayed silent too. she thought the same, probably. “i will make a few questions, and i do hope it doesn’t end in another petty argument. it’s simply for me to understand the dynamics between you.”

you held your breath.

“how did you met?”

suddenly, you were back in first grade, so many years earlier.

the classroom had a few colorful drawings around the walls, flowers, butterflies, cars and sunny days. mrs. mitchell had a soft, sweet smile as she introduced the new students, you had your eyes wide as you watched them walking in, maybe some of them could be your new friends, maybe they wouldn’t laugh at your missing tooth and your messy drawings.

“i’m jacob, i’ve came from california.” a boy said, blonde hair, blue eyes, he was tall, taller than most boys in your class, he was athletic you could tell, he had dimples and the girls by your side whispered to each other something that you thought was compliment about his looks. he was cute.

but your eyes were much more glued to the girl next to him, a messy curly hair, dimples and earrings, yellow shirt with a jeans jacket and shiny hazel eyes.

“i’m daniela. i’m from atlanta.” she said, naturally, she wasn’t shy, she looked at everyone, standing there before the whole class, and she didn’t tremble, she didn’t flinch, her voice was loud enough and her little hands didn’t fumble with the rope of her backpack. she was steady, she was confident. “hi.”

a smile touched your lips and you waved at them both, as the rest of the class, but your eyes were on her. daniela.

daniela and you didn’t become friends as you wished at the time. she was too confident and soon enough she was friends with the most popular kids. you weren’t bullied, you weren’t a weirdo or a nerd, you were just you. a few friends, a few interests, everyone knew you, but no one cared particularly. including daniela.

until you reached sixteen.

you took off the braces and started to brush your hair in the right way before school, you learned a little about makeup and your tits started growing a bit, you got your nails and your eyebrows done, you started to have a sense of style, and suddenly, everything wasn’t about who would sit next to who during break anymore, it was about who had kissed who. and people wanted to kiss you.

suddenly, boys came to you like moths to a flame, kids that you knew for your whole life looked at you in the hallways and whispered about you to each other. you caught daniela’s eye.

daniela had let her curly hair grow and died it blonde, she started playing on the soccer’s female team and now attracted more attention of the girls than jacob ever dreamed of, but her confidence stayed the same, just as the dimples on her cheeks, the freckles on her nose, the smile on her face. she was still daniela.

she threw a paper ball at your head during history class, ms. wilson put a boring war movie on the projector and most of the class was half asleep. you looked back at her, with furrowed eyebrows, daniela smiled, your heart beat faster and you looked at the screen again.you felt her presence behind you a minute later.

“hi, y/n.” she whispered, you heard some nerd hissing a “shh” a few seats from you both. daniela didn’t paid attention.

“hi, dani.” you said back, and looked at her again. she already had a smile on her lips.

“you going to jacob’s party tonight, right?” her voice was low and her eyes were on your lips, making your cheeks blush. daniela knew what she was doing, she knew it all too well.

“party? i wasn’t invited.” you said, and again, the nerd said shhh with a little more energy. daniela rolled her eyes, ignoring it.

“what do you need? a written letter? i’m inviting you, pretty.” she chuckled. your heart made a happy flip. your cheeks were painted red and you bit your lip to suppress a highschool girl chuckle.

turns out that “jacob’s party” was nothing more than a few stupid teenagers sneaking in an old basement to drink cheap beer, listen to music and pretend they were cool. turns out that daniela found you really, really pretty and ended up kissing you before you went home.

and now, eight years later, there you are, not in a partially lighted basement that smelled like weed, but in an impersonal, white room, being analyzed by an older man because you didn’t have anything in you to respect the same woman who kissed you that night, the same woman you raised a child with.

it felt weird. a strange, building feeling blooming in your chest, the affection you felt for daniela was nowhere to be found now, but the memories still comforted you, somehow, the careless laugh and the brush of her shy fingers on your hair, the memory still warmed your blood like the very sun that bathed your skin.

“how much time after you started dating you got pregnant?” doctor bennett asks. you were taken away off your mind, daniela had answered the previous question for you.

“only a few months.” you said.

“so… you were really young, I see.” he said quietly, writing something down in his notebook, before looking up at both of you again, his expression analyzing both of you. “how did you first react to the pregnancy?”

the office walls faded away… in their place, it was the hallway of your school. you stand alone, hands hugging your own body as if you could make yourself smaller, small enough to disappear. you waited for daniela’s practice to end, your heart beat so fast against your ribs that you felt like you had ran a marathon.

but it wasn’t you who ran around the field for two hours straight, making every goal and dribble with every fiber of her being, wondering why her girlfriend – who made it clear it would be going to watch her play – hadn’t shown up yet.

when the practice had ended, all the exhausted girls moved to the lockers, daniela was a step behind, stretching her neck, checking the bleachers, trying to see you.

she saw you in the hallway. the other girls already in the locker, it was only both of you.

daniela stepped before you, she had a bun on her hair, sweat dripping down her face and a bottle of cold water in right hand, she had worried eyes as she saw the state you were in, red eyes, angst in your expression, your lip almost bleeding by how much you had been biting it non stop.

“what’s wrong, baby?” daniela takes a step further and you almost melt, clinging to her shoulders as she holds your waist.

“you… dani… i…” it took ten minutes for you to manage to tell daniela; you were pregnant. two positive tests, late period, morning sickness. every sign was right there.

daniela blinked a few times, she looked away from your face, almost if she was thinking, almost if looking at you could hurt her, see you cry and scared, when she could do nothing to change the situation, or maybe she was annoyed at your crying voice, at your words, at the way you had just changed the path of her life. for a few seconds, she avoided to look at your face.

“dani… dani, say something.” you murmured, you grabbed her face with both hands, you made her look in your eyes, her own were teary now, but as she took in the desperation attached to your gaze, her face softened.

“it’s okay.” daniela whispered, perhaps to you, perhaps to herself. “it’s okay… it’s okay. it’s gonna be okay.”

you hugged her tightly, both arms holding her as tight as you could, your face pressed against her sweaty shirt, and after a second you felt her arms around you, too, weaker than yours, more unsure, but it was there. daniela let you cry on her chest, she kept whispering in a scared, insecure voice that everything would be fine, so much that you started to believe her.

you believed her.

perhaps that was your second mistake, you believed daniela and the lies she told you to make you feel better. perhaps that was the reason you ended up in the doc’s bennett’s white office, sat an inch away from her, avoiding to look at her.

“it wasn’t easy. but it worked.” daniela finished.

“for a while.” you added. “but we’re not here to relive the past, doc, we’re here to move forward.”

you could almost physically feel daniela rolling her eyes at the way you spoke.

“yeah, move forward, because imagine living with someone who thinks that knows more about therapy than a doctor. imagine that.” her tone was just as light as if she was talking about the weather.

“yeah, because living with someone childish enough to speak about me as if i wasn’t there was fucking easy.” you chuckled ironically, you saw daniela’s eyes sparkle. you always had a way to make her mad, it really could amaze her sometimes, after all this time.

“it was easy to live with me, i wasn’t yelling at you for every minor mistake like a bitch.” her tone was flat, like the absolute true, a fact, not an offense, you looked at her with offended eyes and said under your breath trying to control your voice, trying to sound calm.

“you can’t control this big mouth of yours, can you?”

daniela laughed, crossing one leg over the other.

“well, there was a time you didn’t use to complain about my mouth on you, mami-”

the doctor interrupted her before your cheeks could go completely red.

“well, clearly i can know a thing or two about your dynamics now. same time next week?”

taglist . . . @peanutbutterlover03 ; @wtfisthisnoclueman ; @fein4lararaj ; @mseilishmwah ; @spiderpunkmanon ; @caitlynsrighteye ; @cantlandonmyfeet ; @jenfolks ; @xflixer7 ; @dnvzindrellrnt ; @marieilish1823 ; @bbanghanni ; @lifeforsimp13 ; @queenofdisasterrr13 ; @ro2w ; @watersapple ; @billieavanzini23 ; @azu21things ; @sisisierrasblog ; @rninne ; @ririhatesmen ; @bitchesbrokenpromises ; @ironpenguinwombat ; @sarahsonya78 ; @gtfoiydlyj .

That didn't stop her from reaching out again, this time with plans. No empty, "Can we talk?", "Princess, I'm sorry", or [dick pic].

It was past midnight. Moon was up, lights were out and streets were empty besides the night owls going for a drive. A light drizzle raining down from the sky covering the stars and the aching beat in her chest that was louder than any thunder that clapped outside her window. She zipped up her jacket and threw on a baseball cap to protect herself from the rain. Her car already running as she hops behind the wheel. She checks her phone:

   Yesterday 5:46pm |      C_Kiramman: I'll be there tonight, 1:30. Be ready.

   (read)

No response, but she knew you were waiting. A poor damsel in distress, soft finger tips dragging along the glass window of your castle in silence, yearning for your knight in shining armor.

She sets her phone in the cupholder and drives off. Luckily you weren't too far away. No matter the distance, she'll still travel lengths to get to you.  By the time she pulled in front of your place you were already locking the front door behind you. Hoodie over your head as you rushed to the passenger side of her SUV. Neither of you said a word, just a quick peek into each other's eyes before quickly looking away.

Caitlyn puts the car in drive again. The radio silent as you both listened to the droplets of rain hitting the windshield. She would often glance your way while your attention was on the scenery outside. She slid her hand to your thigh which you immediately smacked away. You heard her sigh in irritation and let the tension linger as she took you to where you both use to go to get away. Back when things were romantic and intimate.

A forest preserve away from the city. It was quiet, peaceful, and freeing from the noise. The sound of her seatbelt recoiling ruins the peace of the pitter-patter against the car. She turns to you and reaches a hand back to your thigh, feeling you flinch just slightly, but not swatting her away. Her thumb rubbing slow circles on the ball of your knee, the fabric of your pants slightly damp.

"You going to sit there and pout or...?"

"Shut up, Caitlyn," you counter. "Just because we're here doesn't mean I'll forgive you," you say referring to the place she picked.

She eyes the trees ahead of you, biting the inside of her cheek before looking back to you. Barely able to keep her blue-eyes off of you. It's been a month since she's last seen you and though you weren't prettied up like you usually were—wearing her hoodie, sweats, a pair of sneakers, hair messy, framing your face, but in the perfect way—the look Caitlyn gave you carried more weight than the words she could say. You were perfect, it only took her to mess up to realize.

The air felt heavy. Air-conditioning on low with her hand still on your thigh, anxiously pinching your pants in between her fingers. Your arms crossed, one knee up by your chest. You were curled in the seat like you had a shell waiting to be cracked (no pun intended). Walls protecting your sanity.

Her other hand gripped the wheel, breaking the silence again. "Why are we even here then? So you can tell me how much of a douchebag I am?"

"Oh, so you're aware?"

"Yes and-"

"That was rhetorical."

She sighs, sitting back into her seat, removing her hand from your leg to rest on the center console. 'Of course if was,' she thought. She took a moment to figure out what to say, something to make you sway. "If you want me to say sorry again, I can," she turns her head back towards you. You sit unresponsive. So she tries again, moving in her seat to face you once more, hand going to your hood to get a better look at your face. "Hey," her voice soft. Fingertips grazing the loose locks of your hair before---

SLAP!

You slap her right across the cheek. The sting in your palm abiding and the prominent redness growing on the side of her face. Her eyes wide in shock and you body completely turned in her direction, finally facing each other fully for the first time in the past month.

You're panting, desperately trying to slow your breathing and holding back the tears that wet your eyes while she stared in them, hand upon the soreness of her cheek. The expression on your face filled with anger, resentment. Just before she could say another word you grabbed her from behind the neck and kissed her. Capturing her lips in a harsh kiss which she reciprocated a couple seconds later, deepening it.

She holds onto your cheek, pulling you closer. Tongues tangling, breaths clashing. Her hand comes down to grab your neck, holding it where you like, knowing your body better than her own. You softly moan into her mouth before pulling your lips away. Her hand still on your throat as you move, giving you those bedroom eyes that almost make you fumble your words. "I don't need an apology," you say. So quiet it could be considered a whisper.

She looks into you deeply, fingers pressing into your skin. "What is it you need then, Darling?"

You lean in, noses grazing. You glance to her lips, licking your own before meeting her eyes again. "I need to stop wanting you."

She chuckles, lips curling into that dumb smirk you missed so dearly.

You kiss her again, entangling your hands in her hair and grabbing at her jacket while her hands roamed underneath your hoodie, feeling the softness of your warm skin, comforting to the chilled car. You hook a finger to the waistband of her jeans, nipping at her bottom lip, pulling and continuing to eat each other's faces. She pulls back, foreheads pressed together. "I won't be able to hold back." she says.

"Then don't," you touch her lips with yours, not kissing just grazing. "Make me forget everything, even if its for a moment." Your body is already halfway slumped over the console, fog beginning to form on the windows as you mess with the buttons on her jeans, brushing your palm along the fabric and feeling her harden under your gentle graze. She's quick to help you, taking her pants and boxers down to her knees, allowing enough room for you cock to be released.

There she was, fuck you missed her. You didn't spare a second before swiping your hair behind your ear and leaning forwards into her lap, sucking up her tip that laid half-hard on her thigh. Her eyes rolled back with a groan, instinctively grabbing your hair for leverage as you began to bob your throat on her, feeling her grow and harden inside your mouth. Throat feeling fuller by the second.

"Fucking... hell~" Caitlyn gasps. She missed the feeling of your throat taking her, like you had the best damn mouth in the world. So warm, wet and fuckable. Trained and skilled to take her size. Spitting and slobbering all over her inches to make it easier to glide and gag on the muscle, a ring of you saliva gathering at her base, thick strings of it connecting your chin to her pelvis. Her tip hits the back of your thought, causing your gag reflex to trigger. Her hips rising to meet your pretty lips. Using the handle on the seat to adjust it backwards, laying almost completely supine.

Her mind's in a haze as you go down on her. Eye's half-lidded, watching your head move up and off her cock again and again. Lips popping off her tip just to swallow her whole, making the most devious sounds like those pov videos on her favorite porn site. Her deep groans turn guttural, core flexing and nerves growing sensitive against your tongue. She brings both hands to your head, keeping you balls deep in her lap, making you gasp and slap her thigh. Caitlyn plants her feet into the floormats and lifts your head before ramming you back down whilst thrusting upwards into your mouth.

Her eyes have rolled to the back of her head, practically able to see the mush her brain has become. Mouth falling open as she winces every few thrusts. "Holy!" she gasps hard, feeling your cheeks close around her shaft, tongue rolling into her tip with each swallow, the vibrations of your moans stimulating her to the max, feeling it deep in her lower stomach that tightens, coming closer to her release. "Shit! Fuck—taking me like a slut, yeah?" saying in between moans. She sheaths herself, fully disappearing in the warm walls of your bulging throat. Holding you still by the scalp and rutting her hips in your face. The gross slick sounds of you gurgling on her dick only makes your pussy throb, sticking a hand in your pants to slowly rub circles around your aching clit.

"Fuck yes...gonna cum," her pace is brutal. Quick shallow thrusts into your mouth as she approaches her climax. Her back arches off the seat when she came, head locking you in her arms while ropes of her seed shoot down your esophagus. "Swallow, Baby," you feel her convulse around you. Mouth filled, feeling it twitch and curve into your uvula, causing you to choke. Finally relaxing after her high she pulls you off her length, your lips leaving her tip with a soft pop before violently sucking in air to breathe. A string of spit and cum snapping in half the moment you moved away from her hips, cock standing tall, lubed and glistening.

"Oh fuck–mph!" she pulls you into a heated kiss, tasting herself on your tongue as she explores your mouth, kicking off her shoes and jeans while grabbing at yours.

"Take it off," she says in between kisses, tugging at your lip with her teeth, earning a gentle whine from you. You slip off the garments, the clothing piling on the floor of your seat. Kissing her, now on her knees in her seat facing you as she adjusts your position, placing your head on the armrest of the door, laying on the cushion of the chair, one leg propped on the dash while the other past her headrest. It's uncomfortable, but the way she slides two fingers on your vulva before plunging in knuckles-deep with ease was so gratifying, like an annoying itch being scratched.

You gasp, head backing into the door with a gentle thud. She pulls her body away, fingers still curling inside, leaning in to lick your juices that seeped into her palm and up your slit, flicking your clit with the tip of her tongue. Your moans are breathy, panting as you try to ground yourself. Tucking her loose hair behind her ear, adjusting her cap so its facing backwards instead of jabbing at your pelvis. Your hands cup her jaw as she makes you hers all over again. Suckling on your sensitive clit, adding a third finger, shoving them as deep as she could go, pressing into that sweet gummy spot inside that she knew all too well. Her eyes revel in the sight of you, spent and yearning as you hiss her name, using her free hand to lift your hoodie, finding you bare underneath, bunching it above your tits before grasping one in her hand.

"Cait.... shit~" Your eyes cross, watching her devour your pussy with the way she's been thirsting for you. She huffs, flattening her tongue on your bud. She has you again, pretty and begging underneath her. She curls her fingers again, hitting you directly in your g-spot, causing your back to arch and a buck of your hips, legs shaking around her head, the heel of your foot accidently hitting the horn on her steering wheel, making is honk.

After your breakup you both have slept with other people, filling the void, but never feeling the satisfaction of how you would stare into each other's eyes while being intimately interlinked, the gentle and rough sessions together, the chemistry foundation you both built, it was never the same with another.

She knew you were close, from the way your breath hitches to your thighs trying to close shut. "Fuck–fuck–fuck—" your mouth hangs open, eyes roll. Abusing your clit like she's starving and fingering you harder, slick sounds echoing off your cunt. You gush around her, "Augh–fuuck!" Hips jittering, legs squeezing her, hands against her forehead desperately trying to push her away as she rides you through your orgasm.

Pulling away from between your legs, sitting up on her heels, eyes scanning you up and down, admiring the after glow on your reddened cheeks and the glisten on your inner thighs. She cups under one of your calves, kissing your ankle, never breaking eye-contact. Your other foot closing in on her crotch, riding the underside of your foot along her shaft, more pre leaking at the tip. An arm slung over your forehead, your lip in between your teeth. Fuck. The tension made you throb.

"I hate you," you pant, still trying to catch your breath. She ignores you, gaze glued to your exposed skin, completely bare from tits down, beyond stunning.

"Sit up," she commands. You stay still, unfazed as she tries moving your limbs. You bring a knee up, keeping her at a distance. She blows through her tooth gap, tch, annoyed, yet amused. Looking at her through your lashes with a smirk so sly she feels weak.

"Hear me?" you ask like the smart ass you are.

She grabs you face, squeezing your cheeks in. "Open," your jaw slacks almost instantly, looking deeply into her blue eyes. She spits and you feel it land on your tongue, curling the muscle back into your mouth to swallow, lips curling, entertained from the raw emotion you're drawing from her. "I've been so patient with you..." she says lowly. "Fucking sit up, brat."

Caitlyn lets go of your cheeks, slapping it lightly and you adjust in your seat, reaching down to pull the lever and reclining it all the way till you're horizontal. Both knees to your chest, making room for her to step in on your side of the car. She pulls her jacket off, leaving herself only in her shirt and that stupid backwards hat, navy hair loose and perfectly framing her cheekbones. It was infuriating how good she looked considering you were trying to become the IT girl after your breakup.

Her legs too long where they have to be at a slight bend for her hip to meet yours. Her cock hard and leaking in between you two, looking right at you as you sat there pathetically, dripping, trapped under her and locked inside the heat that fogged the car windows. Both of you prepped and ready. Cait places a hand on the shoulder of the chair next to your head and puts the other under your bottom, scooting you to the edge of the cushion, where her tip dragged along the skin of your lower tummy. You flinched, feeling its heat, laying heavy as it twitches in anticipation of being inside once again.

You grab her length and pump it gently, the veins throbbing in your hand. She leans in, biting at your lips and kissing you hard. She lifts her hips and you help guide her to your entrance, using the tip to rub your clit before finding your gaping hole where she wastes no time in sinking in. Quickly sliding in half-way, causing you to break the kiss, eye shut tight and moaning while she grunts to the feeling of your walls squeezing around her. She winces, pushing deeper till her pelvis touches the round of your ass.

"Ah~ Cait...ngh!" Your finger nails dig into her shoulders. Her hips already moving at a quick pace. With every thrust deep in your gut your lower belly bulges, poking at your most sensitive spots. She grunts whenever she pressed back in, each time becoming easier and easier to slide inside. Riding her shaft within the soft velvet of your pussy, tip hitting your inner ring, pushing the air from your lungs.

"Mmh fuck!" oh she's fucking enjoying herself. "You open your legs so easy for me huh, Darling?" You didn't respond. How could you even fathom a response while she's rearranging your guts? "Taking me back just like that? Nobody fuck you good like I do, yeah?" Her thrusts become harsher. Just the thought of someone else using you this way, churned her heart. It fueled her with displeasure and animosity, and the need to make you forget the feeling of anyone else. By the end of this it'll only be her name you'll be calling out to like a prayer.

She fucks you hard. Hips ramming like a machine. Fucking your cunt till its gushing around her. Pushing your hoodie back up over your chest to take a hard nipple into her mouth, the mounds of fat rolling with each thrust. She marks you. You're hers and everyone will know it. The fabric tucked under your chin she brings her hand to your mouth, placing it in between your teeth for you to bite the area in the middle of her thumb and pointer, muffling your pleasured cries.

You felt a knot tighten in your core, lungs filling as you gasp, cumming and releasing as she fucks you through it. Squirting on her dick, some landing on your lower abdomen. Your legs shake around her waist, trying to close but she keeps you pried open. "Fuck! Cait!" The wet of your release only it made it easier for her. You squeezed her cock so good and tight, your face all red and pretty she can cum just from the way you look underneath her, taking her fully. 

Damn she felt close. Slipping in and out, pelvis slapping into yours with the matching rhythm of your gasps and whines. Then she pulls away, cock pulsing up towards her stomach the moment her tip withdrew, missing your sweet warmth. You whine, feeling the sudden emptiness. Legs conjoining like instinct next she alters your position, handling you roughly, flipping you over so your face down into the flattened chair. She put your knees to a bend and pressed your lower back down with her palm, arching you into a deep bend as she leads herself back into you, bucking inside with a singular thrust that felt as if the wind was knocked from you.

The stretch is brutal and so sweet at the same. You missed the way she felt the way she fucked. All your thoughts were gone by the time she continued her previous pace. Harsh, quick thrusts that made your pussy clench and your legs shake. "Fuuck~ Like that, huh? You're my fucking bitch," she gives you a hard smack on the ass and her free hand tugging at your hair, pulling you back. Her hot breath on your neck, her grunts. "You still on that pill?" she asks you.

You could only nod, eyes heavy and rolling whenever she grazed your spot, letting out a raspy, "Mhm." Your nails claw and grasp at the seat. Her climax nearing, using you like her toys at home, though the feeling of your tight wet cunt was far more impeccable than any silicone. Your juices glazing your lower skin, with each thrust came loud gush sounds. Her thick cock pushing every ounce of pride you had left.

"Fuck..." she grabbed your hips guiding you back and forth, meeting her harsh thrusts. SLAP SLAP SLAP. "Shit-shit—Gah!" You felt her spill inside you, coating your velvet in thick white. Moaning in unison. Ropes shooting out her tip, filling you with her cum till leaked and formed at her base as she kept going in shallow pulses. Her fingers digging in your skin as you arch further, taking everything she gave. Feeling her cock twitch inside as it finishes, relishing in the heat.

You're still, subtle jolts of muscle as she makes home inside of you. Tip parked in the deepest spot of your pussy as it leaks in between your thighs, low panting. "Fuck," she whispers, gently swiping hair from your fucked-out face. Bending forward to kiss you lips, still inside, throbbing.

The car rocked below, windows incapable to see out of and it was hot. So fucking hot, your throat felt dry, parched from the relentless mouth breathing of moans. You're straddled in her lap, bouncing on her dick like your life depended on it. Her view strained on your pussy that swallowed her girth whole, fucking and clenching her cock tightly. Your feet planted at her sides while she held your hips as you pistoned her shaft. Thick strings of cum stick to your inner thighs as you ride, most of it pooled on her pelvis creating a ring of gooey white. The palm of your hand sliding across the passenger window the other on her neck. You slammed your cervix against her tip, your bounces progressively became more aggressive with each pound to her balls, milking her dry till your belly is swollen.

Your thighs burned, sweat coating your skin. She's already cum inside you multiple times, sensitive and feeling her twitch in your cunt, but you won't spare her the sympathy.

Every grunt and moan she let escape made your pussy throb and your grip on her throat tighter. You'll make her forget any other bitch she's laid, how many undeserving pussies carried her DNA. Dropping down a certain angle, her tip hitting you somewhere marvelous, "Shit!" you cry out, watching her expression, the look in her eye knowing you're absolutely enjoying yourself considering the circumstances of your dynamic and being the one who's pleasing you. It pissed you off.

"Fuck you, Caitlyn," her say in between moans. Her brow raised, one-sided smirk and a huff.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Her bruising grip on your waist, helping keep your pace. You slap her across the face again. In a quick second she recovers from the hit and grabs your wrist. "Oh, think you can top me and slap me around like that, huh?" She pulls your chest down to hers and restrains both of your wrists behind your back, bending her knees further till their steady on the floor, then rolls her hips up to meet yours in one solid thrust. The moment you scream moaned in her ear your power was gone. She used your pussy. Pushed through her sensitive nerves to chase another delicious orgasm. Her sack covered in cum, each thrust sending splats of it on the glove box, the floor, the seat. It was messy.

Your pussy was on fire, it felt hot and swollen. To the touch it was warm, you winced in pain every time your vulva lips landed on her pelvis. She rammed inside, a blitz of stamina, giving everything she had. Tears welled in your eyes, rolling back with your mouth wide open as came again, barely slowing down after. Cum leaked from your aching hole. "Hng! Fuck. Fucking hell," she stopped, legs shaking, stretching to the floor as she seeped deep inside of you. Panting, but returning to position to fuck you more. Calculated thrusts that pushed you over the edge. Rolling your hips, clit rubbing on her slick skin, closing in on your own climax.

You stomach twisted and then released, basically pissing all over her lap from how much squirt she's fucked out of you. "Shit! Ughhhhh~" a high-pitched wail in her ears like the most famous orchestra in the world. Your body spasmed against her. She had let go of your wrists to hold you tight in her chest. Both of you easing from your finish, breaths quick, searching for air. The air-conditioning on blast, cold on your back. You feel her cock soften, shrinking inside. Your tummy full and swollen of her seed, every little movement you would drip.

Her hand cups your jaw, making you face her. With a quick knowing look into each other's eyes you kiss. A deep and slow lock of lips. When the kiss breaks neither of you say a word. Maybe out of fear or lack of understanding of what comes next. Your head on her shoulder, looking deeply into her blue orbs that you seen so many times before, yet could never grow tired from, using you fingers to move hair from her face with gentle care. You looked at her with satisfaction, a love you still had for her, but deep down it pained your heart knowing what she did and that you are more deserving than what's she's given.

You rest your hand on her chest, balling it into a fist, as if the gesture could tell her everything you wanted to say. The rain had died down, sound of the air coming in from the vents and your breathing is all that could be heard, besides the subtle beat of her heart you can feel underneath you.

"I'm sorry," she said. You look at her again, the light from a streetlamp lit her face in the dark car.

You wanted to cry in her chest, tell her how much she hurt you, but you fought back those tears.

You whisper, "Please just... shut up... for right now, Caitlyn." Closing your eyelids, to hide the glossy red behind. No amount of sex and apologies can fix what you both had, especially in one night.

Note: I had a vision for this... but now im sad...lmao

Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading lovelies<3 have a great day/night, muah!

You were new. Or maybe not new, just new to her.

You were always there early too, hunched over a thick paperback, your head down. There were no headphones she could see, just you and that book that looked heavy enough to bruise your wrist.

The first time Sophia Laforteza noticed the empty seat beside you, she thought it was a sign.

It was the first week of sophomore year, the humid days still clinging to the last shred of summer. Her bag was heavy with sheet music and a half-empty water bottle, her hair tied in a loose ponytail that never survived first period. She stepped into the classroom, humming something she’d half-written the night before. Maybe she’d slip it into the spring showcase if Mr. Ibarra, the choir director, gave her a solo.

Her eyes skimmed the room for a familiar face, Manon’s mop of locs nowhere to be found yet, Daniela’s head buried in the back row with Lara whispering over her shoulder.

And then there was that seat— third row, right by the window. Beside you.

Sophia didn’t know your name then.

She didn’t know anything about you, really, just that you always seemed to come in quietly, shoulders hunched, backpack snug against your chest like armor.

Maybe you were new. Maybe you were shy. Sophia liked shy people; they listened well.

So, she sat down beside you and smiled— because that was how she got people to warm up: start with a smile, then a hello, then a question about anything, really.

“Hi,” she said brightly.

You didn’t look up from your book. You didn’t even flinch.

Sophia leaned a little closer, eyeing the cover, a thick paperback with worn edges, pages highlighted in neat pastel lines.

She cleared her throat, louder this time. “Hello?”

Nothing. Not a glance. Not a twitch.

Sophia’s smile wilted at the edges. She sat back, staring at the chalkboard like it had offended her too. Was she invisible?

Rude, she thought. So rude. Who ignores someone like that?

She spent the rest of the period drumming her pencil on her desk, throwing side-eyes at you when she thought you wouldn’t notice.

But you didn’t notice anything at all— too busy flipping pages, mouth moving slightly like you were reading to yourself. Who does that? She texted Manon under the desk:

SOPHIA: New seatmate is an asshole.

MANON: LOL what’d they do?

SOPHIA: Ignored me. Flat out. Twice.

Manon didn’t reply immediately, probably too busy sketching hearts in her notebook instead of actual notes. Sophia shoved her phone away when the teacher finally walked in, pretending she didn’t care.

But she did. Oh, she did.

When the bell rang, she leaned forward and whispered to Daniela, two rows ahead.

“The new kid’s an ass.”

Daniela twisted halfway in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Who?”

Sophia jerked her chin toward you. “Book kid. Totally ignored me. Twice.”

Daniela only shrugged, flicking her curls over her shoulder. “Maybe they didn’t hear you?”

Sophia snorted. “They’re two feet away. What are they, a ghost?”

The next day was worse.

Sophia was determined to try again, maybe you just hadn’t heard her. Maybe you were having a bad day.

She took the seat beside you once more, dropping her bag a little louder this time. The thud echoed, earned her a glance from Daniela in the back.

“Hey!” Sophia chirped, leaning so close she could see her reflection in the window. You were still reading, though this time it was a different book— thicker, older, its pages dotted with sticky notes.

“Excuse me?”

Nothing. Not even a blink.

Sophia’s fingers twitched. She pressed her lips together, puffing out her cheeks before exhaling through her nose.

Okay. Fine. If you wanted to be that way, she’d let you. She turned her attention to the front, though her eyes kept darting back to you.

She waited for you to glance her way— just once, just a flicker of recognition.

When the bell rang, you packed your bag in slow, deliberate motions, slipped something small and silver behind your ear, a tiny, crescent-shaped piece she couldn’t quite see.

And then you were gone.

It should’ve ended there— a bad first impression, a bad second impression, a day of annoyance, done. But it didn’t.

By Thursday, Sophia’s annoyance sat heavy in her stomach. You sat in the same spot every day, same seat, same book, same vacant, faraway look.

She tested you on purpose now.

She “accidentally” dropped her pen, let it clatter to the floor. You didn’t move.

She cleared her throat dramatically, like she was about to launch into Defying Gravity right there. Nothing. Not even an eyebrow twitch.

Petty as it was, it stung. Sophia liked being noticed.

She needed it— the way other people needed breakfast or sleep.

She earned it, every note she hit, every solo she fought for. Being ignored felt like someone had turned her mic off in the middle of a spotlight.

By the end of the week, Sophia’s mood had curdled like milk left out too long. Her friends heard all about it.

It was Friday afternoon, the music room filled with the clatter of half-tuned guitars and warm-up scales echoing off the pale walls. Sophia sat cross-legged on the stage floor, her phone balanced on her knee as she recounted her tragic tale of the world’s rudest seatmate.

The sourness slipped into her conversations, the way a stray sharp note ruins an otherwise perfect chord.

One afternoon after practice, Sophia flopped onto the scuffed wooden stage beside Manon, who was bent over tying her pointe shoes. Lara lay sprawled near the prop closet, tapping on her phone. Daniela perched cross-legged beside the piano, humming aimlessly.

“I swear,” Sophia said, picking at a loose thread on her leggings, “that kid’s got an attitude problem.”

“Who?” Lara asked, not looking up.

“The one in Lit. Always reading. Won’t even look at me when I talk to them.”

Manon raised an eyebrow. “The one with the huge backpack?”

“Yeah.”

Lara hummed. “Yoonchae knows them, I think.”

Sophia blinked. “What? Yoonchae knows them?”

“Yeah. I think they’re friends with Megan too.”

Sophia’s fingers froze. Megan and Yoonchae were her people. Her default lunch table, her backstage family. If you were their friend… the sour taste curled sharper on her tongue.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

Lara shrugged. “Ask them.”

So she did, cornered Megan near the vending machines, Yoonchae trailing behind with a half-eaten energy bar.

“Megan. The book kid. You know them?”

Megan paused, eyes widening just slightly. “Oh— you mean Y/N? Yeah.”

“Y/N?” Sophia repeated. The name felt weirdly soft on her tongue.

“They’re sweet,” Yoonchae said. “Why?”

Sophia scoffed. “They ignored me.”

Megan blinked. “What? When?”

“Like, every day this week.”

Megan’s mouth formed a silent ‘oh.’ Then, carefully: “Sophia… they’re deaf.”

The word hit her like a dropped piano.

“No, they’re not,” she said automatically.

Megan gave her a look. “They are. Mostly. They wear a hearing aid. Sometimes.”

Sophia’s brain ran backwards, the days you hadn’t looked up, the way you sat turned away, the book swallowing all your focus. She hadn’t seen any hearing aid. Had she?

She turned the memory over and over. Maybe she had missed it.

She hated how her cheeks burned.

She hated feeling stupid even more.

Sophia wanted to believe her friends— of course she did, but some stubborn corner of her brain clung to that first sour taste.

Maybe they were just covering for you. Maybe they were messing with her, trying to humble the so-called drama queen.

She didn’t really believe it until the teacher paired you up.

It was Lit.

The worst class for her, not because she hated books, but because she hated reading them silently. She wanted stories out loud, sung at full volume. But for once, she perked up when the teacher called out your names together.

Sophia glanced at you. You didn’t glance back. Figures.

When the bell rang, you packed your things slower than anyone else. She lingered by the door, tapping her boot against the tiles.

Finally, you looked at her— really looked. Your eyes were careful, your voice softer than she expected.

“Wanna do the project after class?” you asked. Your voice had an accent, thick but gentle, syllables clinging together.

Sophia nodded before she could think twice. “Sure.”

“Okay.” you gave her a note containing your address, and then walked away. 

That was it. You slipped past her, bag slung over your shoulder. She caught a glimpse, just for a heartbeat, a flash of silver tucked behind your ear.

Hearing aid.

Guilt twisted low in her chest.

Your house was warm in a way Sophia didn’t expect.

Your mother answered the door before Sophia could knock twice. She was all laughter and gentle touches, hands fluttering to straighten Sophia’s hair as she pulled her inside.

“You’re Y/N’s friend?” she asked, eyes bright.

Sophia stammered, “I— we’re— project partners—”

“Friend!” your mother beamed, ushering her to the couch.

“Sit, sit! Do you want juice? Tea? Y/N will be so happy. They don’t have many friends, you know? Just Megan and Yoonchae. They met when Megan hit them with that… what do you call it— badminton thing.”

“Shuttlecock?”

“Yes! That one!” your mother laughed, wiping her hands on her apron.

“So silly. But they stuck together since then. I’m glad Y/N has good people. I worry, you know? It’s not easy for them. People don’t always… understand.”

Sophia’s throat felt tight. She looked down at her hands, fingers knotting in her skirt.

Your mother was mid-story about your favorite snacks when you appeared at the hallway’s end, hair pushed behind your ear. The hearing aid glinted under the warm ceiling light — small, unassuming, like a secret finally shown to her.

Sophia’s breath caught. You beckoned her with a small wave. “Ready?”

She nodded, pushing herself up from the couch, your mother’s voice following her down the hallway.

Your room was smaller than Sophia expected, but warm, lived-in, a little sanctuary of soft blankets and paperbacks stacked in gentle towers by your desk.

A corkboard above your bed overflowed with pinned notes, scribbled reminders, small doodles Sophia leaned in to see before you noticed and gently tugged her away.

“Sorry,” she murmured, flushing.

She perched on the edge of your bed while you pulled out your notes, laying them neatly across your desk.

There was a quiet hum in the room, the kind Sophia usually filled with her voice, but now she didn’t know where to begin. The silence pressed at her ribs.

You sat at the desk, turning the pages of your copy of The Crucible— the project was an analysis on how paranoia twists truth into tragedy.

Sophia hated The Crucible. She liked witches in musicals, not witches burned alive on dusty paper.

You looked at her expectantly, pen poised over a notebook. She realized, a beat too late, that you were waiting for her to say something.

“Oh— um. So I was thinking we could focus on Abigail?” she said quickly, words spilling over themselves.

“Like— how she uses fear. And how the townspeople just believe her, because everyone wants to believe a pretty lie instead of a hard truth. I can write the introduction, maybe. Or we can split it—”

You were writing as she spoke. She stopped, watching your pen dance over the page. Then you turned the notebook around:

“Yes. Good idea. Do you want to do the intro and conclusion? I’ll do the middle arguments. Then we can check it together.”

Your handwriting was neat, boxy letters, careful loops. Sophia stared at it a second too long. She met your eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, that works,” she said.

“Are you okay with me… talking? Or should I write it down too?”

Your mouth curved— a small smile that made her chest squeeze tight.

You tapped your hearing aid. “This helps. I can hear some. Just… slower is easier.”

“Oh. Okay.” She laughed a little, nervous. “Sorry. I talk fast.”

You shook your head, a tiny, gentle shrug. Then you tapped the notebook again, your pen hovering above it. You wrote something else:

“You have a nice voice. Don’t mind it.”

Sophia’s throat went warm. She glanced away, fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

“Oh. Thanks.”

You pushed another notebook toward her— blank, lined, an extra pen resting on top.

You gestured to the floor by the desk. “Sit here?” you asked aloud.

Sophia slid off your bed and settled cross-legged beside you, your knees almost touching.

Close enough that when you leaned over to underline a passage, she could smell your shampoo, fresh, a little sharp, something like green tea.

For a while, you worked in tandem. Sophia’s words came in soft waves, your pen catching them, splitting them into bullet points. Sometimes you spoke, voice low but clear— small things like “What if we add this quote?” or “Page thirty-six— the courtroom scene.”

Every time she caught a glimpse of your hearing aid, a sharp ache flickered in her chest.

The guilt still buzzed under her ribs, but it softened when you tilted the notebook for her to read.

When you paused to ask, “Good?” she nodded too hard every time.

Half an hour in, Sophia’s leg fell asleep. She shifted, wincing, hugging her knee to her chest. You noticed immediately, pushing your chair back.

“Want a break?” you asked.

She exhaled. “Yeah. Sorry. I don’t sit still well.”

You grinned, not big, but enough. You pointed at a small shelf by your bed, lined with mismatched mugs. “Tea?”

She blinked. “You make tea in your room?”

You shrugged. “Mom doesn’t like it but… it’s quiet here. I like it.”

So she watched as you filled a tiny electric kettle, measuring loose leaves from a tin. The steam curled around you, softening the sharp edges of your profile.

Sophia caught herself staring again— how your hands moved carefully, how you tasted the spoon before offering her the mug.

She cradled the warmth between her palms. “Thank you.”

You sat cross-legged on the floor beside her this time, notebook abandoned for a moment.

Sophia took a sip, sweet, floral, like chamomile but lighter. She didn’t know what to say with her mouth full of warmth and her heart too soft.

So she asked, “What’s your favorite part of the play?”

You tilted your head, thinking. Then you said, “When Proctor says — ‘Because it is my name.’”

Your voice dipped a little, almost whispering. “‘I have given you my soul; leave me my name.’”

Sophia’s breath caught.

She’d read that line a dozen times, but hearing it from you, quiet, reverent, made it bloom in her chest like a final note held too long.

You looked at her then— really looked, your eyes clear, patient, waiting for her to speak.

Sophia’s words tangled for a second before she let them spill, gentle this time.

“Hey. I’m sorry I… I didn’t know. About… you know.” She gestured vaguely toward your ear.

“I thought you were ignoring me. I was kind of… mean. In my head.”

You watched her, unblinking. Then your lips curved. You nudged her knee with yours— a tiny tap.

“It’s okay,” you said softly.

“You’re here now.”

Sophia smiled small, real, like a note just for you.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice steady.

“I’m here.”

That week fell into a rhythm Sophia didn’t expect.

School ended, she’d come over. You’d open the door before she could knock twice— sometimes with your hair still damp from a quick shower, sleeves pushed to your elbows.

She’d slip off her shoes by your door like she’d always belonged there, your mother waving from the kitchen, the smell of ginger tea or warm rice drifting down the hallway.

Your bedroom floor turned into a little island for just the two of you. Books fanned open like stepping stones, highlighters rolling off cushions, your handwriting layering page after page in that boxy, careful script.

Sophia sat cross-legged across from you, knees brushing, her voice filling the small space like a song half-hummed under breath.

At first, it was only about the project— The Crucible, quotes underlined and themes scribbled into margins. But by the third day, Sophia’s voice drifted to other things, like it always did.

One afternoon, she told you about the showcase. She balanced her chin on her knee, pen tapping the page between you.

“I don’t know if I should even try for Éponine again,” she murmured, the pen clacking against her notebook.

“Mr. Ibarra says I’m too sunny. Too… bright. Says I don’t look tragic enough. Whatever that means.” She made air quotes, rolling her eyes.

“But I love her. She’s the best part. The sad girl no one sees until it’s too late.”

You tilted your head, watching her lips, catching the words in pieces. You lifted your notebook and wrote:

“You’d be good. You have her voice.”

Sophia let out a breath of a laugh — softer this time. “Her voice?”

You nodded, writing slower this time:

“She’s the loudest silence. People forget her, but she’s the one you remember when it’s done.”

Sophia stared at you, her throat tight.

She wanted to say something— a joke, maybe.

Instead, she just nudged your knee with hers. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

You only shrugged, that small smile she’d started to crave now curling at the edge of your mouth.

Another day, she taught you a bit of choreography.

She tugged her phone from her pocket, tapping until the tiny speaker fizzed with tinny musical notes, a chorus line from Les Miserables, of course. She stood up, wobbling on your soft carpet, motioning for you to watch.

“Okay— so it goes step, flick, spin. Like this—” She demonstrated, nearly knocking her elbow into your corkboard.

You caught her wrist before she could topple your stack of paperbacks.

She laughed so hard she nearly sat on you.

“Your turn!” she said, breathless.

You shook your head, cheeks warming.

But she grabbed your hands anyway, pulling you up. Your room was too small for dancing but that didn’t stop her— she hummed the notes under her breath, counting out steps with her fingers on your wrist.

You stumbled over the spin. She caught your elbow. When you steadied, she looked at you, really looked, eyes bright, grin easy and warm.

“There,” she said softly. “You’re a natural.”

You huffed out a laugh, but it slipped out louder than you meant— startled, unguarded. It bubbled in your chest and tumbled out whole.

Sophia’s hands stilled on your arms, her eyes wide with something like surprise, or maybe delight.

“That,” she said, voice quiet but sure.

“I’m stealing that. Best sound in the world.”

Thursday, the rhythm slowed.

You were both exhausted from a pop quiz and an argument Sophia had with Mr. Ibarra about solo auditions.

She came over anyway— dropped her bag by your door, sank onto your floor with her head resting on your pillow like it was hers.

You sat beside her, half-turned, watching her lips as she rambled about how everyone thought Manon would get the solo but she knew she could do it better. Halfway through, her words trailed off.

You nudged her foot with yours. “Keep going.”

She blinked up at you, lashes brushing her cheeks. Then she sighed. “Why do you even listen to me rant?”

You shrugged. After a second, you scribbled:

“Your voice makes everything sound beautiful. Even rants.”

Sophia reached over, tugged your notebook out of your hands. She wrote back, letters big and looping:

“You’re too nice to me.”

You leaned over, close enough to smell her shampoo— something soft, like honey and chamomile.

You tapped your ear, then her shoulder, a small gesture to catch her eyes.

“Not too nice,” you said, careful with the shape of it.

“Just… honest.”

Sophia’s throat bobbed. She looked at you for a long moment, her fingers still curled around your pen. Then she tucked her chin into your pillow, a smile curling sleepily at the edges of her mouth.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Then don’t stop being honest.”

You didn’t say anything more. You didn’t have to.

The room was quiet but full, paper forts, scattered pens, a half-drunk cup of tea going cold by your desk.

Sophia’s voice hummed under the silence— softer than her stage, but somehow louder too, because here, it was only for you.

And when she left that night with shoes half-laced, bag slung over one shoulder, she turned back at your doorway, hair loose from its ponytail, and signed the only word she’d bothered to learn so far.

Thank you.

It was crooked, clumsy, but you understood.

And so did she.

—☆

The empty seat beside you changed everything.

Sophia used to think the stage was where she felt most alive the lights in her hair, the hush before the first note, the moment when everyone leaned in just to hear her. She used to think that was enough.

And then she met you— or didn’t, at first.

The week the project ended, Sophia thought maybe she’d find her old routine again.

She’d stay late at the auditorium with Manon, Daniela, Lara, fixing costumes, reblocking scenes, singing until her voice was raw. She’d go home with her throat tired but her head light, like she’d poured out every word she’d needed to say.

But it didn’t quite happen that way.

She tried, at first. Tried to slip back into the old rhythm.

She’d catch herself in the mirror during rehearsal breaks— hair pinned back, costume half-zipped, stage makeup smudged where she’d wiped sweat away.

Manon would laugh at her for humming lines backstage even when she wasn’t needed. Lara would tug her by the wrist to help paint set pieces after hours.

Daniela would threaten to steal her solos if she didn’t stop singing “On My Own” in the bathroom, letting the notes echo off the tiles, the words catching in her throat a little more every week.

It should’ve felt like enough. It always did before.

But she’d catch herself glancing at her phone, seeing your name in her messages, a quiet ping that somehow hummed louder in her chest than a full orchestra pit. Just a single text: Did you get home safe? Or You left your pen here. Or Want to come by again?

Sophia knew the lines of your house now better than she knew some parts of her own. She knew how your hallway smelled faintly like soap and pencil shavings, how your desk lamp made your hair shine soft at the ends, how your mother would offer her snacks she’d pretend to refuse before caving five seconds later.

Sometimes, when rehearsal ended too late and she was too wired to sleep, she’d find herself whispering your name in the wings— just to hear how it sounded by itself. Just to feel the echo of it on her tongue.

The project should have ended it. But Sophia found herself waiting for you in corridors, at your locker, by the courtyard bench.

She’d talk your ears off— literally. She noticed the way you’d rub your ear sometimes, the overstimulation, but you’d never say stop.

So, she didn’t. Because the truth was, she liked hearing her voice curl around you.

And maybe— just maybe, you liked it too.

One Wednesday after practice, the cast drifted to the milk tea shop down the street. Sophia squeezed into a booth with Manon, Lara, and Daniela. Their bags were piled under the table, cups sweating sugar onto napkins. The air smelled like syrup and fresh gossip.

Lara was halfway through some scandal about a junior dancer hooking up with a lead when Manon elbowed Sophia.

“You haven’t said a word. You dead?”

Sophia blinked. “Huh?”

Daniela smirked. “She’s daydreaming. She’s been like this all week.”

“Spill it,” Lara demanded. “Is it about the ghost?”

Sophia’s straw paused halfway to her mouth. “…Who?”

“Y/N,” Lara sing-songed. “The Book Phantom. Don’t pretend we don’t see you creeping out after class.”

Sophia sputtered. “I am not creeping.”

“You like them,” Daniela teased, sing-songing it under her breath. “Sophia’s got a cru-ush.”

“Do not!” Sophia snapped. Too fast, too defensive. The girls just laughed.

“It’s okay,” Manon said, softer. “They’re good for you. You’re… I dunno. Quieter.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes. “I’m not quiet.”

Manon grinned. “Not quiet. Softer. It’s nice.”

Sophia sucked her drink too fast, pretending she didn’t like how that sounded.

It became little things.

She started noticing how often you were just there.

By the lockers when she was untangling her earbuds. By the bike rack when she was balancing three costumes and a spilled coffee. By the hallway mirror when she was pinning her hair up before a club photo.

Always there— reading, waiting, half-looking up if you caught her eye.

One Friday she left her script in the library by accident. When she went back for it, you were there, cross-legged by the window, flipping through the pages.

“You read my lines?” she asked, half-accusation, half-laugh.

You shrugged. “Wanted to see if I’d understand it.”

Sophia stood over you, sunlight warming her neck. “And?”

“I think Epopine’s lonely.”

Sophia’s throat went tight. “Yeah?”

You glanced up— quiet, careful. “Are you?”

It wasn’t even about her. She knew that. You asked because that’s how you listened. Like you were reading a note under her words she hadn’t meant to sing out loud.

She almost said yes. Almost.

Instead she sat down next to you, knees brushing yours, and asked you to read it out loud with her. You stumbled through the lines.

She didn’t care. She liked the shape of her words in your mouth, even clumsy. Maybe especially clumsy.

She’d heard it in the careful way you spoke— how you sometimes paused to find the right shape for a word. How you’d press your lips together if a syllable didn’t land the first time, then try again until it did. She never told you how much she loved that. How much it made her listen closer.

She shifted, tucking her legs under her. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

Your eyes flicked to her. “What?”

“Talking.”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged again. “Sometimes. Not with you.”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t say anything for a long second— just watched your fingers trace invisible patterns on your knee.

When she finally spoke, her voice trembled at the edges. “I like your voice.”

You glanced at her, startled. “Yeah?”

She nodded, staring at your mouth instead of your eyes. “Yeah.”

—☆ 

By March, the project had long been graded. They got a B. Sophia didn’t care. She still found herself at your gate once a week. Sometimes twice.

She brought her homework. Or said she did.

Half the time it stayed untouched while she sprawled across your rug, feet tapping the air, telling you how Lara almost dropped the barricade prop on her foot again, how Manon tripped Daniela during warm-ups by accident, how the new drama teacher had a meltdown when the fog machine stained the stage curtains purple.

You’d nod, or smile, or laugh in that soft way— the way that made her want to fill the silence with every word she’d ever hoarded for herself.

Sophia didn’t notice how close she’d gotten until Megan cornered her one afternoon backstage.

“You like them,” Megan said, arms crossed, voice light but too sharp.

Sophia bristled. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

Megan raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t?”

Sophia opened her mouth— then closed it. She hated how warm her cheeks felt. “I didn’t say that.”

Yoonchae drifted over, leaning against a painted column. “It’s okay, you know. Y/N likes you too.”

Sophia’s head snapped up so fast she almost knocked her hair clip loose. “No, they don’t.”

“They do,” Megan said simply.

“They listen. They don’t do that for just anyone.”

Sophia’s throat closed. She felt fourteen again, knees knocking backstage before her first solo. She wanted to run. Or sing. Or both.

“They shouldn’t,” she mumbled, half to herself.

Yoonchae’s smile was small. “Too late.”

It was a Thursday when the theatre club locked up too late and the streets were slick with early spring rain. Sophia stood outside the side door, script bag slung over her shoulder, hair frizzing at the edges where the mist caught it.

She wasn’t waiting for anyone; she told herself that. She wasn’t. She could walk home. Or call Lara, who still owed her a ride for stealing her strawberry milk last week.

But her thumb hovered over her phone screen, tracing the same name she’d been pretending not to check for days now.

Y/N: You get home safe?

You’d sent it before— every time she left your house.

Every time she lingered in your doorway until your mother called you inside. Every time she pretended her bus stop wasn’t just down the block so she could see you wave from the window.

She typed: Are you still awake?

A pause. Then: Yeah.

Another pause. Her heart did that annoying thing— the quick skip, like a bad note in a perfect run.

Wanna come pick me up? she typed before she could stop herself. It’s raining.

No hesitation this time: Okay.

Fifteen minutes later you were there, hoodie pulled up, bike leaning against the curb. You handed her your spare helmet wordlessly.

Your hand brushed hers. It wasn’t warm. But it made her whole chest feel like someone had left a spotlight on inside it.

She climbed on behind you, hands tentative at first where they hovered over your sides. She told herself it was just cold when she finally let them rest against your ribs. She told herself she didn’t lean closer just to hear your heartbeat under her cheek.

You didn’t say anything. The rain softened around you both, the hum of the wheels the only sound in her ears.

When you dropped her at her gate, you didn’t say goodnight. You just waited until she’d stepped inside the porch light’s circle, your eyes following her until she signed thank you through the drizzle.

After that night, everything Sophia touched felt too loud, the metal clank of lockers slamming shut, the buzz of the lights in the wings, the roar of the audience when they peeked in on an open rehearsal.

She found herself flinching at her own volume sometimes, catching her voice echo off the tiled walls too sharp, too big.

She’d glance at you across the hallway, where you sat by the vending machines, back to the wall, eyes on a book that looked too heavy for your lap. When you lifted your head, it was never startled— just soft, like you’d known she’d be there all along.

“Where’s your voice?” Daniela asked once during warm-ups, when Sophia barely half-belted her scales.

“Lost it,” Sophia lied, rolling her eyes.

Manon pulled her aside backstage a few nights later. “Soph. Be honest. Are you scared of this one?”

Sophia scoffed. “Scared? Of what? It’s just Éponine. I’ve sung her since I was twelve.”

Manon’s look was so gentle it made something twist behind Sophia’s ribs. “Not the song. Them.”

Sophia turned away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But she did. They all did.

It changed things— knowing it, admitting it. It made her reckless.

She found herself drifting to you more often, falling into the orbit of your quiet world. You’d sit in the courtyard at lunch, and Sophia would drop beside you with her tray.

She’d talk about her rehearsal, about her lines, about how Manon forgot her solo and improvised a dance break instead.

You’d listen. Always listening.

Sometimes you’d touch her hand, a brief brush when you needed her attention, when you wanted to sign something you couldn’t quite say out loud.

Sophia learned, too. Megan taught her the basics— your name, ‘thank you,’ ‘I like you.’ She practiced in her mirror at night, over and over until her fingers cramped.

She didn’t tell you. Not yet.

It was the little things that made her fall— your notes in the margins of your books, the way you’d tilt your head when music leaked from her headphones.

Once, she caught you humming. Barely a note, more like a memory. It made her chest ache in ways she couldn’t name.

The turning point came one Thursday afternoon.

You sat on the steps outside the theatre room, Sophia’s bag between your knees.

She was talking— something about costumes, about the final act of the spring showcase. Her voice spilled like water over stones, rushing and rushing.

You watched her, really watched her. Your eyes soft, mouth parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t yet find the word.

When you finally did, your voice was hoarse. “Fia.”

She stopped mid-sentence. “Yeah?”

“My ears hurt,” you said, tapping your hearing aid gently.

“Do you… trust me enough that I can hear you without this?”

Sophia’s throat closed up. She nodded, breath trembling. She didn’t trust her voice to hold steady— not when her heart was pounding like this.

You took the hearing aid out, tucking it into your pocket. The silence wrapped around you both like a warm blanket.

She leaned closer, letting her words spill out in gestures, in touch, in the shape of her mouth. You watched her like she was the only sound you needed.

Those moments happened more often after that.

She’d sit beside you, brush your hair back behind your ear just to feel the quiet settle between you.

She’d talk softer, sweeter, her secrets slipping out like confessions she could only say when she knew you couldn’t hear them all the way.

Those were the moments she liked best, when you’d tilt your head, watching her lips like you were studying them, not just listening.

She’d lean in closer, talk slower. Sometimes she’d sign tiny words you’d taught her— clumsy but trying. Sing. Show. Yours. Mine.

And sometimes, she’d run out of stories. She’d lie on her back on your floor and let the quiet stretch long between you.

And you’d just watch her, eyes soft, careful, wide open in a way that made her chest twist up in notes she didn’t have a song for yet.

The rain hasn’t stopped for hours, soft patter against your window, steady as a lullaby.

Your desk lamp glows gold in the corner. You sit cross-legged on the floor, back to the bed, your pencil moving over a doodle half-finished in the margins of a notebook.

Your hearing aid rests in its case by your elbow. You took it off when the thunder started— too much for your head tonight.

Sophia’s behind you on the bed, blanket over her legs, her cheek pressed to her knee.

She watches the rain crawl down the glass, pretending you can’t feel her eyes on you.

She knows you can’t hear her now. She checked. She’s learned the soft click of the aid snapping free, the way you rub behind your ear after you set it down.

It’s the sound she trusts.

So, she says it, soft, quiet enough the storm could swallow it whole.

"You’re dangerous, you know that?"

She lets her toes curl under the blanket, fighting a smile only she can see.

"You make me want things I don’t have the guts for."

You tap your pencil. You don’t look up.

She keeps going.

"I wish I could keep you like this. No words back. Just… you looking soft like that, like you don’t know how much you ruin me every time you smile."

She buries her mouth in her sleeve, laughs once.

The thunder cracks— you flinch, glance back at her, puzzled, but she just shakes her head.

"Never mind. Not your business, huh?"

You shrug, half-grin, half-confused, and turn back to your sketch.

She watches the rain, lets the secret stay safe between the storm and her bones.

It was two weeks before the slip when Sophia almost did it— almost cracked the silence open herself.

They were backstage after final dress, the props crew yelling about misplaced barricade pieces, the orchestra tuning half a floor away.

The girls were fixing their hair in a single cloudy mirror. Sophia was pretending to hum On My Own under her breath while Lara pinned a stray curl back into place.

You were there. You’d come to help Yoonchae run lines.

You leaned against a stack of dusty risers, reading something she’d printed out. You looked so out of place, no costume, no makeup, no frantic script folded under your arm, but somehow more right than half the cast.

Sophia caught herself watching you in the mirror, how you’d glance up when someone brushed past, how your fingers tapped out a silent rhythm on your knee.

She wondered if you did that when you read her voice too— if your brain turned her vowels into music you carried with you when you left.

She slipped away while Manon and Lara bickered about hair gel. Slipped around the risers, leaned against the other side, close enough to brush your sleeve.

You looked up. Your eyes went soft immediately, like a light turned on just for her.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey.”

She almost said it. Right there.

The words sat on her tongue like a note at the edge of her range— just out of reach but begging to be hit. I like you. Stay. Let me keep you in this soft quiet where nothing else gets to live.

Instead she ducked her head. Picked at the hem of your sleeve.

“You cold?” she asked. Stupid. She wanted to bite her own tongue.

You shook your head, the tiniest smile at the corner of your mouth. “I’m good.”

She leaned her forehead to your shoulder for just a second, just enough to feel your warmth. Then she pulled away before the stage manager could come looking.

It’s late.

The echo of the cast’s laughter still clings to the rafters but the hallway outside the wings is empty now— just her, you, and the ghost light left burning on the scuffed stage.

Your backpack is your pillow tonight, you’re stretched out on the cold boards, hoodie hood tugged halfway over your face, eyes closed.

The tiny box of your hearing aid is zipped into your pocket, she watched you put it away after you said, “Too much noise today.”

She didn’t blame you. She loves the noise. But tonight, she loves the quiet more— because you can’t hear how her voice cracks open when you’re like this.

She sits next to your shoulder, legs crossed, fingers drumming lightly on her knee. Her eyes trace your face, the soft slack of your mouth when you sleep near her, the way your lashes tremble when you dream.

"Sometimes I wish I could keep you right here," she whispers.

"I’d stand center stage every night if I knew you were waiting for me in the wings. Even if you never heard a single word I sang."

You exhale— slow, dream-heavy. You don’t move.

Sophia’s hand hovers just above your hair, she wants to brush it away from your brow but doesn’t dare. Instead, she curls her fingers back into her palm.

"It’s stupid, huh? Talking to you like you’d ever hear any of this. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s safer if you never do."

She bends forward, so close she can feel the warmth off your cheek, but not enough to wake you.

"Goodnight, Y/n," she breathes, the smallest, softest confession.

"Stay here. Stay mine for a little longer."

The Saturday, a week before the spring showcase, Sophia arrived at the theatre an hour early— half because she was eager, half because she wanted a moment alone with the stage before everyone else filled it with their chatter and warm-ups.

The school’s old auditorium smelled like sawdust and old velvet curtains. Sophia dropped her bag beside the front row, stepping barefoot onto the cool wooden stage.

She tilted her head back and let her voice slip out, soft at first, then louder as it rose to fill the shadows clinging to the rafters.

“Every light I hold inside, every note I let collide…”

She didn’t notice Megan slipping in through the side door until the second verse.

Megan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Rehearsing your solo without us?”

Sophia squeaked, the last note warbling. “Jesus, Meg! I could’ve broken my neck.”

“Uh-huh.” Megan pushed off the wall, clapping slowly. “You sounded good, though.”

Sophia stuck her tongue out. “Obviously.”

Megan’s grin softened as she stepped closer, brushing invisible lint from Sophia’s sleeve. “So… you and Y/N.”

Sophia rolled her eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything. Just— you’ve been humming all week. You only hum like that when you’re daydreaming about something stupid.”

Sophia looked away, heat blooming at the tips of her ears. “It’s not stupid.”

“Then tell them.”

“It’s not—” Sophia cut herself off, twisting the hem of her T-shirt.

“I do. I mean… I have. Sort of.”

Megan raised an eyebrow. “Sort of?”

Sophia’s shoulders slumped. “When they take their hearing aid out. I say things.”

Megan’s smile faded a little. “Sophia—”

“I know, okay?” Sophia snapped, then softened.

“I know. It’s— it’s easier when I know they can’t hear everything. I don’t mess it up.”

Megan’s hand found her shoulder, squeezing once. “You won’t mess it up.”

The days inched forward.

The show dates crept closer, tech runs, half-finished set pieces, costume racks so full they looked like thrift store chaos backstage.

Sophia lived at the theatre those days, sleeping half on Lara’s shoulder during breaks, scribbling last-minute lyric corrections on her palm before curtain call.

But you showed up anyway.

The first time, she nearly tripped over her own feet when she spotted you in the last row. No program, no snacks— just you, hoodie sleeves tugged over your knuckles, eyes trained on the stage like you were trying to catch pieces of her she kept throwing out to the crowd.

After rehearsal, she found you sitting alone in the back row, tracing your finger over the scuffed armrest.

“You didn’t have to stay,” she said, voice softer than it ever was on stage.

You shrugged, glancing up. “Wanted to.”

She sat beside you, feet propped on the seat in front of her. It felt too quiet without the orchestra tuning up, the stage lights humming overhead.

“You catch any of it?” she teased, nudging your arm.

You smiled— small, sheepish. “Some.”

She leaned her head to your shoulder. Whispered so the empty seats wouldn’t echo it back: Good. It was for you anyway.

Another day, another accidental hush. It’s her routine now.

She finds you in the far corner of the library, old history books piled around you like barricades.

Your hearing aid is nowhere in sight, she watches your head bent over the page, your pencil tapping out a silent rhythm she pretends she can’t read.

Sophia sits opposite you, chair turned backward so her chin rests on the top rung.

For a while she pretends to study too— pen moving half-heartedly over highlighted lines she won’t remember later.

Then she looks at you. Really looks.

The curve of your ear, the steady line of your brow, the way your lips move soundlessly as you read. You look so peaceful it aches.

She leans forward, cheek on her folded arms, mouth so close to the wood she can feel it vibrate when she lets the words slip.

"You know you’re the only reason I still show up here, right?"

You keep reading. Oblivious. Safe.

"You make this whole world quieter. And it’s so damn loud everywhere else, you know? I’d burn it all down just to stay here with you, hush and all."

Her foot nudges yours under the table, you glance up, confused. She smiles too wide, too bright, her secret safe behind her teeth.

"Never mind. Go back to your page, ghost. You didn’t hear a thing."

And you didn’t. And you don’t.

And she hopes it stays that way— until the day it doesn’t.

It happens on a Tuesday, when the sky bruises purple too early and the air tastes like rain through an open window.

Sophia’s bag is dumped by your door, half-open, scripts spilling out. She’d come over after rehearsal, promising she’d only stay long enough to fix her solo sheet music you’d offered to help annotate. But hours later, the music sits untouched on your desk.

The only thing marked up is the margin where you’ve doodled tiny butterflies, the same ones she’s found pressed between your notebooks when you’re not looking.

You’re lying on your bed, back propped against the wall, legs stretched out so your socked foot nudges her thigh every time you shift. Sophia’s on the floor, leaning back against your mattress, knees bent, hair slipping from its pin.

Your hearing aid hums softly behind her, but she doesn’t think about it. She’s too full of you, the shape of you in this room that’s become half hers in the hours you let her stay.

You’re reading. Or pretending to.

She knows your eyes have drifted down to her twice— three times now, but you haven’t said a word. You don’t have to. She feels you listening, the way you do, even when you don’t hear.

And maybe that’s why she does it. Maybe that’s why she lets herself lean forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, letting her forehead rest against her clasped hands.

She turns her back to you, your soft warmth behind her shoulder, and lets out a breath she’s been holding for weeks.

Quietly. So quietly— she says it:

"I wish you knew how easy it is to love you when you don’t hear me."

She closes her eyes. The words slip out like water through a cracked dam.

"I wish I could tell you how every time you look at me I forget how loud I’m supposed to be. How you make me want to stay quiet, just so I can keep you looking at me like that."

She laughs under her breath— small, cracked open in the middle. Her voice is just above a whisper now, barely moving the air.

"You ruin everything, you know that? You make me want things I shouldn’t want. Things I don’t know how to say on stage. Things I only know how to say when you can’t hear them back."

Her shoulders shake. She presses her palms together, as if prayer could seal it all back inside.

"And I love you, I love you, I love you, I—"

She stops.

Because your breath catches behind her. A soft, startled inhale that freezes her spine straight.

She turns. Slowly. As if the quiet might break if she moves too fast.

You’re sitting up now, book forgotten, resting against your knee. Your eyes are wide, your hearing aid still tucked snug behind your ear.

Your lips part like you’re about to speak. They close again.

Sophia’s mouth opens— useless— then shuts.

“Oh,” she says, the single syllable tumbling out too late, too raw.

“Oh—”

She looks at your ear, at the tiny device she’d forgotten to notice. She wants to laugh. She wants to run. She wants to bury her face in your pillow and never come back up.

Instead, she sits there— breathless, trembling, her heart rattling in her throat like an encore she didn’t rehearse.

And you’re looking at her like that.

Like you’ve been waiting to hear her this whole time.

—☆

The show opened on a Friday night.

The whole cast buzzed like shaken soda cans, makeup smudged, hair half-falling from braids, Manon muttering curses when her pointe shoe ribbon snapped seconds before call time.

Sophia stood in the wings, fingers pressed to her ribcage like she could pin her heartbeat down, stop it from rattling out of her chest.

She peeked through the curtain gap— and there you were.

Fifth row, aisle seat, hands folded in your lap, that small bouquet pressed so careful against your knee like it might slip right through your fingers if you didn’t hold tight enough.

She told herself she wouldn’t look for you once the lights came up, that she’d stay Éponine for two hours and nothing else, let the whole world shrink to painted cobblestones and borrowed rain.

But she lied to herself.

She found you every time her eyes drifted to the dark— your silhouette in the warm wash of stage lights, your eyes catching hers when you thought no one could see.

When she stood there under the false rain, singing On My Own with Paris behind her and thunder in her throat, it didn’t matter that the auditorium was full. It didn’t matter that applause was waiting on the other side.

For three minutes, it was you— only you.

She sang every word like it was yours to keep. And when the final note died, when the lights cut out and the curtain fell heavy as a heartbeat, she knew she couldn’t outrun it anymore.

It was half-past midnight when she knocked on your door.

Her stage makeup was half-smudged; mascara streaked down her cheek where tears had done what the rain machine only pretended to do. Her hair still pinned up in pieces like a crown slipping loose.

You opened the door like you were still half-dreaming her, the night caught behind your eyes, the ghost of her song still echoing there.

You didn’t ask why she was here. You just stepped aside. Like always.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

She came in. Dropped her bag on your floor, the soft thunk of it loud in the quiet.

She sat on your bed, knees pulled to her chest, her fingers worrying the hem of her skirt raw.

You sat beside her— close, but not close enough.

Your presence humming in the space between your shoulders like a chord waiting to be struck.

She breathed in, sharp, shallow, a gasp that felt like it might drag her ribs with it. Her voice was rough when it finally broke free.

“Do you remember,” she said, half-laugh, half-wrecked, “when I used to say things to your back?”

You nodded. Slow. Careful. You remembered.

She laughed again, small, broken open.

Her eyes glistened where the stage lights couldn’t find them now.

“I used to think it was safe,” she whispered.

“Telling secrets to the quiet. To the part of you I thought couldn’t catch me.” Her fingers twitched, reaching up, hovering by your ear, the tiny silver curve tucked there like a promise.

She brushed it, soft, reverent. A shiver ran through her fingers when her skin touched yours.

“No more quiet,” she said.

Her voice cracked on it, but she didn’t pull back. Her hand pressed a little firmer against your ear, like she could push the words straight through your skin.

“No more hiding. Not from you.”

You watched her— the tilt of your head, the softness around your eyes, the way your breath caught like you were afraid any sound might break the moment wide open.

She leaned in, close enough that her forehead nearly touched yours, her hand cupping the side of your face now, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

Her other hand fisted in the blanket between you, grounding her here with you.

“Can you hear me?” she asked. The words trembled right out of her chest, fierce, desperate, fragile all at once.

“Please— tell me you can hear me. I need you to hear me.”

You nodded, once, sharp. But she pulled back an inch, her eyes searching yours, breath shaky like she was singing through a storm.

“No — say it.” Her voice cracked like thunder under her ribs.

“Say you hear me. I need to know it’s not just the walls. Not just the empty space. I need— I need you to hear this. You. Not the quiet. Not the dark. You.”

"Let me hear you."

Your breath shook against her palm.

You pressed your forehead to hers, eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat, then open again, locked with hers like you’d tether her there if you could.

“I hear you,” you said, soft, clear, the words almost unsteady under the weight you gave them.

“I hear you.”

Her breath broke on a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, more a sob turned inside out.

The hand in your hair trembled as she pulled you closer, so close your noses brushed, so close your hearts had nowhere left to hide.

“I like you,” she whispered, voice shaking but stronger now, a raw song in the hush of your room.

“I love you. I want you in every quiet I filled with other people’s words because I was too scared to say my own. I want you when you can hear me. Especially when you can hear me. And if my voice breaks tomorrow— if I can’t sing a single note — I want you to remember it sounded like this tonight. That you heard all of it.”

Your hand found hers— fingers slotting between hers like a promise you didn’t need an audience to believe.

Your other hand covered hers where it still rested against your hearing aid, pressing it there like an anchor.

“I hear you,” you said again, firmer now, voice steady where hers trembled.

“I hear you.”

And when she let out that last breath, that small, wild, unstoppable sound— she knew it wasn’t just her voice you heard.

It was everything she’d kept knotted behind her ribs, every note she’d hidden under stage lights and stolen curtains and the quiet that used to feel so safe.

You heard her.

the sun was too bright, the kind that made you squint even with sunglasses on. you were just cutting through the park, not looking for anything more than a shorter way home. that’s when you heard it. a small, hiccupping cry.

a little girl, no older than three, was sitting alone on the edge of the sandbox, tears making clean tracks down her dusty cheeks.

“hey there,” you said, your voice soft. you knelt down, keeping your distance. “what’s wrong?”

she just cried harder, clutching a little plastic shovel. you didn’t touch, just talked. “did your shovel stop working? mine does that all the time. it’s very frustrating.”

a sniffle. she looked at you with big, wet eyes. “wanna make castle.”

“oh, i see. a castle is a big job. you need a good team.” you looked around. “where’s your team?”

that’s when you heard fast footsteps on the path. “lily! oh my god, lily, i turned around for one second!”

you looked up. a woman was running toward you, her dark hair pulled back in a messy but stylish bun, her face a mask of panic that melted into relief when she saw her daughter was safe. she was breathtaking, even flustered.

“i’m so sorry,” she said, out of breath. she scooped the little girl—lily—into her arms. “she’s faster than she looks.”

“no problem at all,” you said, standing up. “we were just discussing the structural integrity of sandcastles.”

a gorgeous smile broke across her face. “a serious topic.” she bounced lily on her hip. “did you thank the nice person for keeping you company?”

lily buried her face in her mom’s neck.

“she was perfectly lovely company,” you said.

the woman’s eyes didn’t leave you. they were dark, intense, and they traveled over you in a way that felt like more than just a grateful glance. it felt… hungry.

“i’m sophia,” she said. her voice was lower now, smoother.

you told her your name.

“well, yn,” she said, shifting lily to her other hip. “i feel like i owe you a drink. or a coffee. or… something.” she bit her plump lower lip, her eyes flicking down your body once more. “can i give you my number?”

your heart did a little flip. “i’d like that.”

she rattled off the digits, and you put them in your phone. “text me,” she said, her voice a low promise. “so i have yours.”

“i will.”

“good.” she gave you one last, smoldering look before turning to leave. “come on, lily. let’s go find some better sand.”

you stood there for a full minute, your phone feeling hot in your hand.

—

a week later, you were standing on sophia’s doorstep. you’d texted. she planned a dinner date. she’d said she’d dropped lily off at her other mom’s house for the night. the whole evening was stretching out in front of you, empty and full of potential.

you smoothed down your dress and rang the bell.

the door swung open almost immediately. sophia was there, leaning against the frame. she wasn’t in going-out clothes. she was in soft, grey lounge pants and a simple black tank top. her feet were bare. she looked even better than you remembered.

“wow,” she breathed out, her eyes wide. “you look… wow.”

“thanks,” you said, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “so do you. are you ready to go?”

she didn’t answer. she just reached out, her fingers wrapping around your wrist. her skin was warm. she gently pulled you inside, kicking the door shut behind you.

the house was quiet, still. “lily’s really gone for the night?” you asked, your voice a whisper.

“mmhmm.” sophia didn’t let go of your wrist. she stepped closer, her body just inches from yours. “all night.” her free hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb stroking your bottom lip. “i had all these plans. a nice restaurant. quiet conversation.”

“sounds nice,” you managed to say, your breath catching.

“it does,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to your mouth. “but the second i opened that door and saw you… all i could think about was how you looked that day. so kind. so gentle with her.” she leaned in, her lips brushing yours as she spoke. “it made me feel things. hard things.”

you could feel the truth of her words pressing against your stomach through her soft pants. a thick, undeniable heat. your eyes widened slightly.

she saw your look. “is that… okay?” she asked, her voice husky but unsure for the first time.

you answered by closing the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. it wasn’t a soft, first-date kiss. it was all hunger. her tongue met yours, and a low groan rumbled from her chest. her hands were everywhere, pulling you flush against her, sliding down your back to grip your ass.

“fuck dinner,” she gasped against your lips, breaking the kiss. her eyes were black with want. “i need you. right now. is that alright?”

“yes,” you breathed. “god, yes.”

she didn’t need to be told twice. she kissed you again, walking you backwards until the back of your knees hit her couch. you tumbled onto it, a mess of limbs and desperate hands. she was on top of you, her weight perfect, pressing you into the cushions.

her mouth left yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. her hands pushed your dress up, bunching it around your waist. her fingers hooked into the sides of your panties.

“these have to go,” she whispered, and you lifted your hips so she could pull them down your legs and toss them aside.

her hands slid up your bare thighs, pushing them apart. she knelt between your legs, just looking down at you, exposed and waiting for her.

“so pretty,” she murmured, her voice full of awe. “all for me.”

she leaned down, but not to kiss your mouth. she kissed a trail down your stomach, lower, until her breath was hot against your center. her tongue, soft and slick, licked a slow, torturous stripe up your slit.

you cried out, your back arching off the couch. she did it again, and again, until you were writhing under her, your fingers tangling in her hair. she licked and sucked, finding a rhythm that had you seeing stars, your hips moving against her face.

“soph... i’m close…”

she pulled away, her chin glistening. “not yet,” she said, her voice rough. she sat back on her knees, her own need obvious, straining against her pants. “i need to be inside you when you come.”

she tugged her pants and boxers down just enough to free herself. she was thick, veined, and glistening at the tip. she stroked herself slowly, her eyes locked on yours.

“look at you,” she said, her voice a low growl. “all wet and open for me.”

she positioned herself at your entrance, the head of her cock pressing against your wet heat. she pushed in, just an inch. you gasped at the stretch, the delicious fullness.

“you feel that?” she asked, her voice strained. she pushed in another inch, and another, until she was buried to the hilt inside you.

you could only moan, a long, drawn-out sound. she filled you completely.

she started to move, a slow, deep rhythm that made you see stars. each thrust hit a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. her eyes never left your face, watching every twitch, every expression of pleasure.

“you take me so good,” she grunted, her hips snapping a little faster. “so fucking good.”

one of her hands slid under your ass, tilting you up to meet her thrusts. the other found your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles. the dual sensation was too much. pleasure coiled tight in your belly, ready to snap.

“i’m gonna come,” you whimpered, your nails digging into her shoulders.

“look at me,” she demanded.

your eyes, which had squeezed shut, fluttered open to meet her intense gaze.

“i want to put a baby in you,” she breathed, her thrusts becoming frantic, losing their rhythm. “wanna see you round with my child. wanna see you like that. can i? please.”

the words, so raw and desperate, pushed you over the edge. your orgasm crashed over you, a blinding, white-hot wave that clenched around her, milking her as she shouted your name, her own release flooding into you, hot and deep. she collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing like you’d run a mile.

after a long moment, she shifted her weight off you but stayed close, still inside you. she nuzzled your neck.

—

It's not everyday your would be summoned to the Sheriff's office. When you were, an assignment was entrusted to you. After a day of drills you'd earn a pat on the back.

Tonight though, Sheriff Kiramman herself asked for you. After hours.

The station was cold after dark. All of the other enforcers had gone home for the night and there you stood in the unlit empty hall outside of her office, a candle can be seen illuminating the room from behind the blinds. You inhale a deep breath, a bead of cold sweat forming at your temple as your hand trembled on her doorknob.

"You may come in, Officer," her voice rang behind the door causing you to pause. The hairs on the back of your neck standing in surprise. You don't waste another second in stepping inside her office, quickly adjusting the collar of your uniform to look somewhat presentable for your superior.

Kiramman is seated at her desk, ink pen in hand writing away the stacks of papers that keep her busy from dusk till dawn. The deep blue of her curtain bangs flowing perfectly at the sides of her face, reading glasses hanging on the tip of her nose, and her hat discarded on a coat rack nearby. You didn't mean to look, but your eyes wandered down and noticed a few undone buttons of her shirt, exposing the sharp of her collarbones.

She greets you without lifting her attention from her paper and you stiffen your posture, a way to solute the sheriff of Piltover in their presence.

"You asked for me, Sheriff?" You asked her, your eyes following the movement of her hand on the pen. She put it down and meets your eyes with hers. The glow of the candle lamp at the edge of her desk reflects of her cerulean lenses, making them look fierce and burning with need. You gulped. The sound of crickets outside and the sudden tension in the office stilled you.

She stands from her chair and walks around her desk, taking slow strides towards you, her height looking taller with each step closer. The closer she got the more you backed away. It was till your back bumped into the office door you could feel the warmth of her breath on your neck, sending shivers.

Her hand reached for the doorknob. Locking it and gently says, "You're aware that I've grown a liking to you, right? A favorite of the bunch?"

Your breath hitches, oblivious of what to say. Then you feel her hands on your hips, holding you in place and that's when you grip at her forearms in defense, out of instinct.

"Oh, there's no need for that, Darling," she huffs in your ear, biting at the lobe and lightly tugging it in between her teeth.

Though broken breaths you ask, "W- what are you saying?"

Caitlyn laughs. "I see the way your eyes stare me down whenever I give instruction. The way you bite your lip at any slight movement I perform. I am not oblivious, Darling."

You didn't know what to say. She was right. You've been staring at her all day while running drills like a pervert and she looks absolutely fed up with the hunger that was so noticeable in your gaze like your eyes were made of clear glass.

"I...I-," you tripped over your words. Worried.

"Poor thing... you'll have to prove to me that you can handle what I have to offer before you can think of all those dirty thoughts again," after that you hear a click click click and the feeling of cold shocking your skin. You lean your head down to find your wrists handcuffed behind your back. You rattle it's metal chain trying to free your hands but it's no use. 

You gasp at the feel of her hand sliding up your front and cupping one your tits in her hand, while her other ghosts over the wavy fabric of your cunt.

Your knees buckled at the touch. The feel of her hands on you, just like in your day dreams, the thoughts that run through your mind during the day, was all happening to you right now. She chuckled under her breath when she finally touches your lower parts, noticing the heat pooling in between your legs behind that enforcer skirt. The back of your head hits the door wincing from the touch of her hands.

She removes her hand from your breast and captures your chin in her fingers, turning your gaze towards her. Eyes meeting before she leans in and latches lips. A kiss surprising you and making you fall deeper in her grasp. Your enforcer cap falling off your head and onto the wooden floor.

Feels like the hat just barely hit the floor, but in no time she already had you on your knees in front of her as she sits back into her desk chair.

You groan when your knees hit the floorboards. "Cait-" you began, but she was quick to grab your face and tug you closer.

"That's Sheriff, to you," she corrected, aggressively releasing your puffed out cheeks. You stretch your jaw after her grip on your face and gaze back up to her where she rested her chin on her knuckles, arm propped on the armrest, one leg over the other as she stares daggers into you.

She gives you a moment of silence while you sit in suspense of what's to come next. Will she give you what you've dreamed?

She uncrosses her legs, spreading, and your eyes land on the tent rising in her pants. Your eyes go wide in surprise, never leaving the sight of the fabric that was growing tighter. "I love the way you critique your peers, Officer. During drills you put your foot down and take command. Reminds me of myself in a way," she reaches a hand out, moving strands of your hair that stuck to your skin behind your ear. "Now..." She pauses for a moment then speaks once more. "Show me what else that pretty mouth can do, Darling," this was not a request, it was an order. 

You breath is caught in your throat. You sit frozen, but her patience grows thin. She taps her boot on the floor causing you to take action, about to reach with your hands only for them to stay linked behind your back. "Ah ah ah," she teases, reaching around your head to grip your hair. "Your mouth."

Her tone was more stern than before. You scooted closer to where you're kneeling in between her inner thighs and lean in to the belt around her waist. Your teeth sinking into the leather as you try your best to unbuckle it.

She hums. "Good girl," making your thighs clench together. The Caitlyn Kiramman, the woman you've idolized for so long, making you her personal plaything. To the outside view it could be seen as a kind of enslavement, but you found it enticing. The want to please her and thank her for inspiring you to become an enforcer.

After the belt, its the zipper. Her uniform becoming wet from your saliva and the feel of the clothed cock on your chin. It only made you more excited. She lifts her hips to assist you, the pants and undergarments falling to her ankles and her cock is sprang free. With wide eyes and a tight jaw you stare. Cock standing tall like her height itself wasn't enough. It was big. Throbbing veins and precum already beading at the pink tip. You gulped a lump down your throat.

She wraps her hand around the side of your neck inching you closer. "Look at you. Look so innocent with those eyes, but I know what you fantasize about," the white under your irises were quite noticeable. Giving that sweet puppy stare as you lean forward. Nose barely grazing her tip as your tongue breaks loose from your lips, flattening, licking a straight line up the downside of her shaft. Passing each and every vein that pulsed under the wet touch. She groans, eyes gleaming through the lens of her glasses.

You drop down again and latch your lips on the side, sucking the skin gently causing her to flinch. Hips jerking just slightly. She grips your hair again, with a rough tone she says, "I'm waiting," encouraging you to take her inside.

You wince through the burn on your scalp, "I don't know if I can."

She used her other hand and grabs her shaft, tapping her tip against your soft lips. Whispering soft praises and reassurance, but that just the sugar coating on top of what she want to do to you. The fourplay before you're sopping wet and ready. As if your pussy wasn't already throbbing.

So you take in her tip, sucking it inside your warm mouth that sends sparks. Caitlyn sighs, urging you further on her thick cock. You only fit a couple inches before your throat flinches and gags, your eyes turning red and glassy. You cough and tighten around the flesh that you could fit by default. Bobbing your head on just those few inches, circling her puffy tip with your tongue.

You gag again violently, beginning to remove yourself from her. She takes both her hands behind your head and pull you back before you had the chance to breath. She drags you all the way down, taking her in entirely. You gag and groan with your mouth full of flesh. Tears streaming down your eyes. She keeps your lips at the base, hips meeting to bottom out as much as possible. Your body tenses and shakes, trying to detach from her lock on you.

Caitlyn just moans and throws her head back slowly, taking in the pleasure of your gags that sends her nerves on a thrill. "Fff~uuuckk," her hips jolt, pulsing to go impossibly deeper. Her thick tip sunk deep in your throat and her hard girth painfully curving down that tunnel. "Breathe through your nose, Darling," she huffs, wincing when you swallow around her. A hand goes to your throat, feeling it bulge. "Straighten your neck for me."

She adjusts herself in her chair, sitting at the edge while you scoot your knees further back, bending down 90 degrees for that perfect angle to fuck your mouth. You begin to move. Tongue dragging up then back down to the hilt, sheathing her dick over and over, gagging babbles of moans, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth and dripping down your chin. It was wet and sloppy. Enough for the Caitlyn Kiramman to roll her eyes back and drop her jaw in awe. It was fucking obscene and your pretty noises just made it exceedingly better.

"Oh fuck~ your mouth feels brilliant- shit!" she leans over you, standing enough for her ass to come off the cushion, hand leaving your throat to find leverage on her desk. She starts to thrust. Fucking your struggling throat. She'll fuck till your throat's sore and your jaw locks. Your wet mouth was the perfect fuck hole and after a long day she needed this.

Your hair is pulled in a makeshift ponytail, her balls slick with your spit as they continuously ram into your chin, it was intoxicating. Your eyes have gone white, rolled to the back as she uses you. Your pussy ached and drenched your slutty lace panties.

Her core tightens. "Fuck! Gonna cum," she moans and that was her warning before filling your sore throat with her thick seed. You'd cough and her release would drip at the corner of your mouth. Your face was a mess and it turned her on. As she came she watched you take it. Face slick in all kinds of wet: cum, sweat and tears with the bonus of sticky saliva.

Her spasm finished and she stayed parked in your throat like it was home. Warm and welcoming. Maybe one day she'll make you cock warm, but for tonight she had other plans. She pulls out of your mouth, leaving her gasping for air. Your throat burned and it hurt to cough. She fixes her lopsided glasses and falls back in her chair.

Your lungs finally refilled, circulating oxygen and carbon dioxide after being blocked with a mouth full of heavy cock. Your hair was tangled and the lower half of your face a complete wreck, but still a sight to see for the Sheriff. Her cock lays heavy and still hard on her thigh. She motions her pointer finger towards her. You painfully swallow again, struggling to stand with your hands still cuffed. You stand in between her legs while her hands roam your now wrinkled uniform.

She loosens the cuff on your neck, unstraps the leather belts of your shoulder pads. Removing the belt from your waist and sliding the dress part of the uniform up your body, bunching it over your tits and commanding you to hold the fabric in your mouth and to not let go. You stand like a display for her in the cold room. "Gorgeous body, Officer," she feels around your exposed skin. You whimper when she gropes your tits gently and plays with the waistband of your panties. "You're soaked."

Caitlyn takes two fingers and circles your clit above the cotton, randomly applying pressure to the bud. You whimper in response, biting down on your uniform. "Getting off from blowing me like a slut? You're naughtier than I imagined," she says. She uses both hands and tugs your panties down you legs, telling you to step out of them while you still wore your heeled boots. She commands to you to straddle her. Your heels digging into the chair at her sides, squatting above her lap as her cock twitches, aching to be inside you again.

Her hands on your hips to assist, holding you right above her length that aims directly towards your pussy. Like a target and her rifle. It's intimidating, you've never taken this big before. Your thigh muscles ache, so the only way to relieve is to go down.  The tip of her cock slips on your arousal and flicks your clit, earning Caitlyn a sweet moan to leave your lips. A lot softer to hear when your not choking on the Kiramman pipe. She chuckles, removing a hand from your hip to her girth, keeping it steady as you settle your weight onto it.

The round mushroomy tip almost fills the crevice of your vulva itself. Lifting the ego of Sheriff Kiramman. She massages her tip against your entrance, teasing the sopping hole. You drop your head on to the broad of her shoulder, breathing heavily as your prepare yourself to sink down. Once you do, only the tip at first. You gasp at its stretch, feeling your pussy begin to tear at the seam. 

"Ohh fuck— hng~," you huffed and pouted. "I can't... I can't," with your spit dripping from your chin and her lips pressed against your ear, she shushes you. "Hush darling, I know you can take it. Be good and allow me to use you."

She forces you down on her again. The pain almost too unbearable as her cock instantly rides your slick walls and rams your cervix. You throw your head back, gasping for lost air as it's just been pushed from your lungs. She fills you completely, lower tummy bulging from the thickness inside. She hums contently, biting her lip at the sight. She liked having you like this, a mess and a warm cock sock to fill.

"Bloody hell, you're stunning taking my dick like that," your body twitches in response. Incoherent mumbles leaving your lips as your insides pulse around her shaft. Squeezing her in a rhythm that drives her insane. She curses, lifting you by your hips and easing you back down, taking her to the hilt each time. "You're so tight," she groans.

You whine, feeling her cock drag deep inside, stretching your gummy walls. "S-Sheriff...sheriff," you chant, dropping the dress from your mouth.

"Did I say you can drop it?" she sternly asks. You sob, shaking your head. You disobeyed her and the only way to correct your actions is to make you bounce faster. Her fingers dig into your hips, surely to leave bruises the next day and pounds your pussy on her lap. You cry out gasps and moans. You ass slapping against her thighs. She had you right where she wanted.

More tears shed from your eyes as she becomes rougher with your. You pussy aching from the abuse, you insides screaming. She groans and flexes under you. Taking her hands off your hips for one to wrap around your waist and reach both of your wrists while her other holds the nape of your neck so your chest to chest. With this new leverage she can easily bounce you. Shallow but quick strokes of her cock fucking the living daylights out of you.

She's close. She moaning in your ear, whispering dirty things as you clench harder around her. The rim of your cervix being brutally slammed by her tip. Her hips move to meet each thrust, inching her closer to her climax. With one more swift lift off her lap and ramming you back down she came. Holding you tightly against her as she releases inside your pussy. Eyes rolling and toes curling. You moan, feeling her hot arousal fill you till it leaks, flowing down her veins towards her tensing sack.

You pant shallow breaths on her shoulder. You're barely given time to recover before she's standing, taking you with her and placing your on top of her hard wood desk to continue fucking your soaking wet pussy. If she dropped you any harder the candle would've fallen off her desk. 

This time her thrusts are calculated. Testing each and every thrust to see what arouses you more. She watches your reactions, admiring the look on your fucked-out face. The slick of her cum inside you making it all so much easier to glide through you, making you feel like your being split in two. Your head and eyes thrown back, your mouth agape, screaming the most pretty noises that rung in Cait's ears. Her hands on either side of your waist, feet shoulder width as you hips move at an agonizing pace. Whenever you uniform would fall over your chest she would adjust it, tucking it by your neck so she can watch all of you bounce to her movements. For your own leverage your cuffed hands grabbed the edge of her desk under your butt, grounding yourself.

The moment she found that sweet spot deep inside you, the soft gummy spot curving slightly up towards your stomach she used it. Your body was shaking, especially your legs that were spread wide and would press into her waist. Aiming just right to hit the jackpot.

You spasmed around her, squeezing her just right. She couldn't get enough. Cum fell from your pussy and onto floor. A lot of it coating her cock to the base, lubricating her pubes in white goo. You felt your lower tummy tighten, you body goes tense and your jaw falling slack as you arch your back off the desk, a second later releasing a high-pitched shriek from your throat. You came hard around her cock, taking every thick inch, length and girth. Your once struggling body now fully capable of taking such a beating. It was beautiful.

She came again, hips jolting and bottoming out as you both slowly come down from the high. She falls on your chest, breathing heavily. You both take that time to rest, bodies throbbing and sore. She stands, pulling out of you, causing a little exhausted groan from you.

Caitlyn fixed the hair that covered your face. Using your uniform to wipe the residue around your mouth. "I think this deserves a promotion."

Note: another long awaited fic :,) hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!! Enjoy more and stay tuned for upcoming works. I'll be writing another right after this one! ♡

Have a good day/night♡♡

You said the same thing. You said it was just for fun, after all, Daniela knew what to do when you were alone, she knew where to kiss your neck to make you weak in her hands, eager to do whatever she asked, and you did, you liked it, you asked for more and she didn't stop until you both were too tired. But afterwards, when you fell onto the bed breathless, your body still sought her affection, your eyes still wanted to see her eyes closing, the silly smile on her beautiful lips, her arms around your waist, her breath on your neck. Your pleasure was also that, it went beyond wanting her inside you, you wanted her scent always on your pillow, her careless laughter echoing through the room, you wanted her hand intertwined with yours when you went out. But it wasn't like that with Daniela, it was never like that.

And you agreed: no feelings, it was just fun.

And once again, as always happened on Thursday nights, a message appeared on your cell phone.

“Dani: I miss you.”

“Dani: What time can I pick you up?”

Your fingers hovered over the screen for a few seconds before typing the reply, with nothing but the time, in two hours.

And two hours and a few minutes later, there she was, in her modern, bright red car, silent, parking in front of your building but not honking. Her curly black hair was loose, falling over her shoulders in beautiful curves, her light makeup highlighting her eyes, the mischievous and sincere smile you longed for so much. You slid into the passenger seat, putting on your seatbelt as she started to drive, already leaving your street.

“You smell good,” Daniela complimented you. She always had a different compliment for you, always noticing everything. “Want to grab something to eat first?”

The question was so casual, so sincere, that for a moment you paused, looked at her, one hand on the wheel, her eyes on the road, her tanktop, her relaxed posture... for a moment you imagined she was yours, the question so natural on her lips, but Daniela wasn't yours, and you forced yourself to remember that.

“Like a date? I thought we were just going to your place,” you said, in an amused tone, but it wasn't funny.

Daniela shook her head with a smile, turned a corner, licked her lips.

“Whatever you want,” she said.

But it couldn't be the way you wanted it to be, it never could. You wanted Daniela entirely, and she was only willing to give you a part of her, a small part, the part that came from a heartless love, short hugs and long kisses, stolen glances and early morning outings. Nothing with her was certain, nothing was definite, and above all, nothing was committed, even though you slept every day waiting for a message from her, longing for a little affection, even if it was meaningless.

Soon, you arrived at her house, an apartment in the center, it was perfect, it had that way of being little habited, Daniela was usually busy and in her free time she preferred clubs and parties instead of staying at home, except of course, when you went there.

It was strange to try to act as if everything was casual when you knew that no one else in the world interested you after she appeared, but Dani was magnetic. She had an energy of her own that left you at peace, calmed your mind. You only saw her and nothing else, only felt her lips on yours, her clever hands undressing you with ease, her warm skin, always naturally warm against yours. Sometimes you would wake up cold at night, and Daniela would be there, always so warm. You would snuggle up close to her, and in those moments, it was just the two of you. Daniela, between sleep and consciousness, would hug you tight, let you lay your head on her chest, sometimes even kiss your forehead. It was genuine and warmed you up. Then she would cool down when she took you back home, with no promises of calling you back later, with nothing.

“Are you okay, beautiful?” Dani stopped, her lips on your neck, you could feel her flowing curls tickling your skin, feeling her hands pulling down your shorts. They were short, just how she liked them, but she still preferred you without nothing on.

You decided to do what you always did, ignored your heart, that warning that told you not to let yourself get carried away once again, succumbed to the longing your body felt for what it shouldn't, kissed her mouth, your hands slid under her tank top, pulled it up in one go, Dani wasn't wearing a bra, her breasts were beautiful, the brown nipples you kissed and sucked, making her hand grab your hair, but she pressed your head down a little, she needed you so much down there.

You obeyed, kneeling in front of her, seeing the bulge in her sweatpants, pulling the fabric down. Daniela throbbed for you, she was big, veins standing out along its length, the head already drooling with pre-cum, eager for your mouth. A needy little moan escaped her lips and you couldn't resist any longer. With your hand at the base, you guided her to your mouth. She tasted a little bitter, but she felt perfect in your mouth. You felt her weight on your tongue and felt every spasm. Her hand, intertwined in your hair, tightened a fraction.

“Suck it all, come on, you can take it, I know you can take it, you're my little slut, aren't you?” she says, her voice now an octave lower, hoarse, dying of lust after nothing more than a few wet kisses. And you were no different, her dirty words were like fuel, you swallowed her deeper, choked, your eyes watered, Daniela's hand on the back of your head wouldn't let you back out, you knew she would stop if you wanted her to, if you gave any sign that you weren't enjoying it.

But of course you didn't give any sign, even with tears running down your cheeks, smudging the mascara you put on just for her to notice, even with your throat contracting every time you choked a little, you looked at her with devotion, letting her force your head down until the tip of your nose found her crotch.

“Damn, you’re beautiful... you're beautiful like this,” she murmured, very softly, you could barely understand. It sounded like a declaration.

Soon, you felt her release your head, which naturally fell back, her cock slipped out of your lips, you were already breathing deeply and quickly, Daniela pulled you up, wasted no time kissing your mouth and finally pulling your shorts down and your shirt up your head, undressing you completely, gently pushing you to lie down on her spacious leather sofa, she took off your panties without hesitation too, sliding the lace fabric down your legs, making you let out an amused giggle, finding her desperation funny. It was only the first of many rounds, and she already seemed ready to ruin you.

Daniela noticed your giggle, a silly smile appeared on her lips too, she slapped your thigh loudly as a warning, you spread your legs so her body could fit between your thighs, you felt her cock against your pussy, already dripping wet, you wanted her, you wanted her so badly, it was a delicious friction, Dani began to move her hips, letting you feel her against you, pulsing, so hard, wet... You had to beg her, between your passionate kisses, against her lips.

“Come on... I want you inside me.” The words were demanding, but the tone was sly like a kitten, you also arched your back like one, Daniela didn't need to hear it twice, she pulled your leg to the side to open you up more for her, and guided herself inside you, forcing herself in before your pussy welcomed her so well, Daniela let out a curse against your cheek, kissing your face as she entered you, feeling her open you up, little by little. You looked into her eyes when you felt she was all inside you, your eyes already wanting to tear up again. She was so big, a type of pain so delicious that you knew it would remain until the next day and maybe for days more.

But there was something different in Daniela's honey-colored eyes this time... vulnerability. You could see it in her face, something that went beyond the pleasure you both felt when she started fucking you, something more intense, like a genuine, real feeling. You both noticed it. You couldn't take your eyes off hers, they were locked together. You placed your hands on her face, and Dani kissed your palm instinctively, an instinct of affection that came from deep within her chest, rarely seen by you. Daniela was more aggressive in bed, putting you in the position she wanted, fucking you until your legs went weak. That was how she did it, how you were sure it was casual, but now? She was different.

“Don't look at me like that, damn it...” she whispered, you were feeling her silver chain hitting your chin, her hands on either side of your head, your legs naturally closing around her hips, pulling her deeper, Daniela moaned, bit her lip, and said more seriously, more quietly. “Don't look at me like that, you hear me?” she repeated. “Or I'll never let you go, princess, I'll never let you look at anyone else like that, no one but me.” And then she kissed you again.

You didn't realize what she said. A declaration, perhaps. Because soon she started to go faster, brought your leg up above her shoulder, she wanted more access, more speed, her body moved on its own, now it was harder, much harder, your moans echoed off the walls of the apartment, along with the sound of her body colliding with yours, with such force.

Her cock reached that spot inside you, which made you almost roll your eyes and squeeze your thighs together reflexively, which made your fingertips turn white from the force you gripped the fabric of the sofa, which made your eyes water and your mouth go dry by the noises you kept making.

A layer of sweat began to form on your skin, and on Daniela's too, making everything more intense, pleasurable, intimate. Dani leaned in to kiss you once more, your leg still on her shoulder. You were so open to her in that way. Her cock kept hitting your spot, giving you so much pleasure. You felt her hand move down to your clit, her fingers began to play with it, stimulating you, making your back arch against her. You could barely kiss her because of the sounds of pleasure that kept coming out of your mouth. This was exactly how Daniela liked you.

You could already feel the pressure building in your belly when you heard her voice.

“Come for me, c’mon,” she murmured against your mouth, her fingers became more agile, her thrusts faster. “Come for me, you're my slut, aren't you? Then obey me, come for me.” You could only nod and moan louder as you squeezed her inside you, and you obeyed her, coming so hard around her cock, your legs trembled and your head tilted back, Daniela didn't stop, kissing your neck as she continued her movements, her cock continued to fuck you but her fingers slowed down, even so, it was too much for you, your body writhed, your legs trembled.

“Dani... Dani!” you cried softly, she let out a little laugh, but you could hear how affected she was, so close too. Still, she stopped, panting, a few curly strands of hair sticking to her forehead. “It's okay, princess... I already ruined you, hm?” she laughed proudly, slowly releasing your leg, and then pulling her cock out of you, very, very slowly, you let out another nasal moan. Her cock glistened with your sweet juices, and she sighed through clenched teeth as she watched your pussy close around nothing.

“Shut up... not yet, the night is far from over,” you said, slowly regaining your strength.

“I know.” Daniela collapsed on the couch, tired too. “Want some water, baby?” she said affectionately, her sweaty hand reaching for your thigh in an innocent caress, a casual question, knowing that the next round would come soon, and worrying about you. But you were also worried about her.

“No... I want to make you come,” you said, giving a last sigh of recovery before getting up to mount her lap, sitting on her thighs before wrapping your hand around her cock to bring her back to your entrance, sitting down slowly. Daniela was tough, but now she was so needy that she could only put her hands on your ass and watch your pussy swallow her cock again. You were still so sensitive and sore, you let out a little cry and she looked into your eyes. “Take it slowly so it doesn't hurt you, love.”

love.

You looked at her face too and ignored the advice, going hard, faster, you didn't know what Daniela had today, treating you like a girlfriend instead of what you were... just a fuck. but you liked it too much, and it was dangerous. Daniela moaned when you started riding her, your little waist moving up and down, back and forth, rolling your hips a little before sitting down hard, making her grab your ass harder, leaning over to kiss your breasts, your neck, everything she could reach. You could only grab her shoulders and keep going. It hurt in such a good way, you didn't want anything else.

“That feels so good, ride me just like that, you're so good, you drive me crazy,” she said against your skin, her trembling, drawn-out voice betraying how close she was to filling you up completely. “You're so fucking hot, don't stop, I'm almost there, damn it, baby, your pussy feels so good.” She always had a particularly dirty mouth when she was close to coming, and after giving you such a delicious orgasm, you weren't going to tease her for getting there so fast. So you went faster, if she wanted to come inside you calling you love, then so be it, you squeezed her every time she was all the way in, just to sit down again and again, Daniela didn't take long.

She kept whispering that she was going to come in a messy way before finally getting there. You could feel her coming inside you, it was intense and so warm, one jet after another, dripping down her cock before you stopped your movements. Daniela kept pulsing inside you as you let your exhausted body fall on top of her.

Your sweaty skin was almost one now. You hid your face in her neck and heard her giggle, without provocation, it was just genuine, almost cute laugh. “You're amazing,” she said, turning her face to leave a kiss on your cheek. You opened your eyes and there was that look again, the same as before, too affectionate, too sincere. This time you hid your face again, you couldn't let her see how much it affected you, you couldn't deceive yourself by confusing it with feelings. Maybe she was just more affectionate today, and that was all.

profiles: the fart knuckles ; the kitties pt1 ; the kitties pt2

1: gator toes

2: dream crushing academy (written)

3: release me

4: preshow jitters (half written)

5: not a bitch

6: hello?

7: new beginnings

8: just friends

9: peacocking

10: memories (written)

11: the drive pt 1 (half written)

12: the drive pt 2 (fully written)

13: go for it dani!

14: muy tóxica

15: drew was here

16: even the mean girls

17: grovel, grovel, grovel

18: i’m scared (half written)

19: i’m no wuss (written)

20: epilogue

tags ; @moonpheus @pizzachicken @evs-h @simp4wom3n @iitsroxks @arandomperson407 @bitchesbrokenpromises @fein4lararaj @roryspariss @macsmadness @thgh1 @skz-xii

the roar of the engines faded into a distant hum as sophia stormed out of the pit garage, her helmet clutched tightly in her hand. a DNF—her first DNF (did not finish) of the season. a mechanical failure, they said. bullshit. it was the team's fault, the strategy, the pressure. her blood boiled, every muscle in her body taut with unreleased fury.

she hated losing, hated the helplessness of it all. but she wasn't about to let it consume her. not yet. not until she got home. the drive back was a blur of clenched fists on the steering wheel and muttered curses under her breath, the city streets passing by in a haze of traffic lights and honking horns.

you were waiting for her in the dimly lit apartment, and you’d watched the race on TV, watched her car spin out on the final lap, the commentators' voices rising in shock as the screen showed her vehicle skidding off the track. you knew what that meant. sophia wasn't one to vent with words. she bottled it up, let it simmer until it exploded in the most intimate ways.

you heard the door slam shut downstairs, the echo reverberating through the building. then, her footsteps—slow at first, deliberate, as if she was trying to compose herself, but growing heavier as she climbed the stairs. the apartment door creaked open, and she stepped inside, her presence filling the room like a storm cloud.

she didn't say a word as she entered the bedroom, her eyes locking onto yours with a soft intensity. and in that moment, sophia didn’t know which urge was stronger—the need to collapse in your arms or to let her frustration spill out.

you didn’t move at first. you just watched her silently, softly. your head resting against the doorframe, arms crossed, concern lingering in your eyes. sophia glanced away, tongue pressing against her cheek before letting out a quiet, almost self-mocking chuckle under her breath.

shaking her head, sophia looks back up. forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. she took a deep breath, the sound heavy in the still air before she murmured,

“angel… c’mere,” she patted her lap—in invitation, or maybe in surrender.

you pushed off the frame and slowly padded towards sophia, nibbling on your bottom lip nervously. when you finally reach her, she leaned back slightly.

sophia’s arms find their way around your waist, gently pulling you into her lap. you break your silence, “i saw the race, mahal…” you mumble carefully, fidgeting with your fingers.

sophia hums, burying her face into your neck. “know you did.”

you frown, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “you did good, sophi… so good,”

“not good enough, apparently.” she says, not looking up.

“baby. look at me.” you command softly, cupping sophia’s face with both hands—forcing her to look at you. her jaw tightened, but her eyes gave her away—glassy, tired, breaking just a little at the edges. you could see every word she wanted to say but couldn’t.

“i hate losing,” she finally whispered, her voice small.

you pause, just holding sophia there for a second. your thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

“you don’t have to win to be perfect. and you don’t always have to win, or be perfect.” you muttered softly.

“you’re allowed to just… be, sophi.”

sophia’s eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up again. her expression softening.

and then, that’s when you finally felt it. that’s when you could feel sophia surrender.

“mahal… kiss,” sophia pleads, slightly pouting.

you leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, soft kiss. you deepen the kiss, shifting your position before guiding her to lie back on the bed. sophia followed your lead, her hands resting on your hips as you straddled her.

“sophi, s’this okay?” you ask softly, wanting to make sure that she wants this as much as you do.

sophia nods quickly, her grip on your hips tightening. “mhm… please, baby- need you,”

you nodded, gently tugging at sophia’s half-undone racing suit before taking it off slowly. your fingers hook onto the waistband of her boxers, carefully pulling it down. you quickly take off your top, then your shorts—leaving you in just the panties and lacy bra sophia had bought for you as a set in paris.

“fuck, angel… you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” sophia groans, her hands roaming around your body.

you giggle softly, “i love you, mahal…” you press a small peck on her cheek as your hands inched down further, swiftly removing sophia’s underwear in one go—letting her length spring free.

you take a deep breath, taking in the sight in front of you. “s’ big, sophi…” you whimper.

“s’okay, mahal… you can take it. you’ve taken it before, right, angel?” sophia smiles softly, guiding your hands to her shoulders.

you bite your lip in deep thought, nodding in agreement. with sophia’s encouragement, you carefully align the tip to your entrance, slowly sink yourself down on her length. “o-oh- sophi,” you gasp softly.

“take your time, baby… m’right here,” she rubs soothing circles on your hips and pulls you into a kiss, swallowing your moans before pulling away.

“s’okay… jus’ lay back- please, sophi? wanna take care of you…” you insist, a pout forming on your lips.

sophia laughs softly, “angel, you already are…”

“but i wanna make you feel good…”

“you’re already doing that too, mahal.”

you look up at sophia with a frown, earning another laugh from her.

she kisses your forehead, “alright, alright… i’ll lay back.”

you smile softly, slowly starting to move up and down her shaft—drawing soft moans from you and sophia.

“mhm, that’s it… keep going, angel-“ she praises, letting you do all the work by yourself this time. “can feel you tightening up… you close, baby?”

you nod shyly, biting your lip.

“yeah? i’m getting close, too… where d’you want me, mahal?”

“inside, please, baby… ‘m on the pill,” you mumble softly in between breathy whimpers, your hands tightening on sophia’s shoulders.

“okay… fuck- ‘m cumming, angel-“ sophia finishes inside you as your walls clamp down on her length, coating it in your juices. you slump against sophia, resting your head on her chest, your body still slightly shuddering from the intense orgasm. she stays buried inside you, holding you close.

“love you s’much, sophi… forget about the race, okay?”

hey y/n,

it’s been years since i’ve tried to reach out. i guess i can’t really blame you for blocking me—i probably would’ve done the same. still, i figured an email might actually get through, so… here i am.

i just wanted to say that i miss you. i think about you more often than i probably should. sometimes i drive by the old treehouse—the one we said we’d fix up—and it’s still standing, somehow. i go there when things get too loud. it feels quieter there, even now.

people in town told me you left a long time ago. they wouldn’t say where you went, though. maybe that’s for the best.

we promised we’d come back for each other, remember? i keep wondering if you ever meant it the way i did. are you happy now? married, maybe? i hope someone’s making you laugh the way you used to with me.

or maybe this is me being delusional again, holding on to something that’s long gone.

still… if you ever feel like it, write back. no pressure. i’d like to know you’re okay.

megan

7 YEARS AGO.

the night was soft with noise — laughter spilling from every direction, the smell of fried dough, the glimmer of cheap lights that made everything look golden. you were with your friends after exams, finally letting go of the week that had dragged you down.

you weren’t supposed to be here. your parents thought you were having a calm night out — a movie, maybe dinner. definitely not a carnival. but here you were, in sneakers and jeans, with claire’s arm looped through yours and sugar on your fingertips.

brian leaned closer. “do you want me to take you home later?”

you smiled politely, slipping out of his reach. “no thanks. claire’s got me.”

“she sure does,” he said, reaching for claire’s cotton candy and getting smacked for it.

“don’t touch my food!”

“you know she hates that,” you said, laughing as the two of them bickered their way toward the spinning teacup ride.

after a few dizzy minutes on the ride, your head felt like it was floating — the world spinning in flashes of color and laughter. brian sat beside you, his arm draped a little too close for comfort as the teacup twirled faster. claire and manuel were laughing across from you, trying to make the cup spin even harder, and you held onto the edge just to stay steady.

“you okay?” brian shouted over the music, his voice a little too eager.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you said, laughing softly but leaning away when he tried to steady you by the shoulder. his touch lingered a second too long, and your smile faltered.

he grinned, mistaking your silence for shyness. “you know, i could hold you if you’re scared.”

“i’m not scared,” you said quickly, eyes on the spinning lights beyond the ride’s fence. “just dizzy.”

“that’s cute,” he teased, inching closer.

you rolled your eyes and pretended not to hear him. he kept talking—something about how the lights made your eyes look nice—but the words slid right past you. you didn’t want to be here with someone who treated you like a dare.

the ride finally slowed, the spinning fading into a blur of blinking bulbs and night air. you let out a breath of relief when the latch clicked open. claire stumbled off laughing, clutching her stomach, and manuel was already teasing her about turning green.

“that was insane!” claire said, wiping tears from her eyes. “i think i left my soul somewhere back there.”

brian chuckled, stretching his arm again—that same move, that same hint of something you didn’t want. “want to go on the ferris wheel next? just the two of us?”

you forced a polite smile. “no thanks, i think i need a break.”

“come on, just one ride,” he said, trying again. “you might actually enjoy being close to me for once.”

claire groaned audibly. “brian, stop. she said no.”

you exhaled, grateful for her interference. “i’m gonna grab something to eat,” you said, stepping back before he could respond.

he shrugged, pretending it didn’t sting, but you saw the flicker of disappointment cross his face. you didn’t feel bad about it. you just wanted space — air that wasn’t full of forced laughter and unwanted closeness.

as you walked away, the sounds of the carnival grew softer — replaced by the smell of butter and caramel drifting from a small stand by the carousel. the lights there were warmer, gentler. something about it felt grounding, a quiet break from the noise and the spinning world you’d just left. the popcorn stand was tucked between two rides, its warm light cutting through the dark. you walked up, fishing a few coins from your pocket, when a voice stopped you.

“hey there,” someone said, low and teasing.

you looked up.

the girl behind the counter smiled, and for a moment, you forgot where you were. she was tall, with wind-tangled hair streaked faintly pink, her sleeves rolled up, her eyes bright beneath the glow of the bulbs.

“you want popcorn?” she asked, leaning slightly forward, that grin still there, being playful. 

“yeah,” you said quietly, handing over the coins.

she scooped a bag full and passed it to you, her fingers brushing yours. “you from around here?”

“yeah. why?”

“just wondering,” she said, tilting her head. “you don’t look like you belong at a place like this.”

“and you do?”

“maybe not. but i make a mean bag of popcorn.”

you smiled despite yourself, shaking your head. “thanks for the popcorn.”

“wait—” she called out as you turned to leave.  “you’re really just gonna leave like that?”

you stopped, turning halfway. “you’re a stranger selling popcorn.”

“an interesting stranger,” she said easily. “come on, one date. i’ll even buy you something that’s not carnival food.”

is she serious right now? the thought hit you before you could even stop it. who just walks up to someone and asks them out like that—no introductions, no small talk, just straight to a date? it was ridiculous, completely impulsive, and yet... there was something disarming about it.

you studied her for a second, half expecting her to laugh and say she was joking. but she didn’t. she just stood there, that confident little grin on her face, as if she knew something you didn’t. her eyes were steady, bright, and full of something playful that made it hard to look away.

you could feel your heart beating faster, and it annoyed you—you weren’t the type to get flustered over a stranger, especially one who worked at a popcorn stand and flirted like it was second nature. still, there was something magnetic about her, like she carried her own gravity and you’d somehow stumbled too close.

“no thanks,” you said finally, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the way her smile made you feel. you tried to sound firm, but your voice didn’t quite cooperate. there was a tiny waver in it and by the look on her face, she noticed.

“why not?” she asked, stepping out from behind the stand. she had that same stubborn energy that made you both nervous and curious.

“because i don’t know you,” you said, trying to sound rational. “and because you’re being kind of—”

“persistent?” she cut in, smiling. “yeah, i get that a lot.”

you sighed, trying not to smile. “you really don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

“not when i see something worth saying yes to.”

you froze and tried to look away, but you couldn’t. something about her voice—light, teasing, a little rough around the edges—made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect. you could play this game all night if you had to.

you turned away first, trying to hide the grin that kept tugging at your lips. “you really don’t give up easily, do you?”

“not when i see something worth chasing,” she said, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

you started walking, half hoping she’d drop it—or maybe hoping she wouldn’t. the sound of her footsteps followed close behind, quick and unhurried.

“hey,” she called out. “you didn’t even tell me your name! that’s not fair.”

you glanced back at her, your amusement slipping through before you could stop it. “maybe i don’t tell strangers my name.”

“then let me stop being one,” she grinned, stepping closer, her hand outstretched. “i’m megan, by the way.”

you hesitated, then shook her hand firmly. “hi megan. i’m y/n. now go, because i won’t say yes to you.”

her smile widened. “you sure? you sound like you’re still thinking about it.”

“i’m not,” you said, even though your heartbeat begged to differ.

“come on,” she laughed softly. “one date. not even a date, really—just a walk, maybe a coffee, a conversation. worst case, you find out i’m crazy and you never see me again.”

“i already think you’re crazy.”

“perfect,” she said. “so the hard part’s over.”

you sighed, shaking your head as she matched your pace. she had this maddening way of making everything feel easy—like it wasn’t weird at all that she was flirting with you out of nowhere, that she was looking at you like you were the only thing in the carnival that mattered.

“you don’t even know me,” you said, trying one last time to sound firm.

“then let me,” she replied simply. “give me a chance to.”

the silence stretched between you for a moment—just the faint hum of music from the carousel, the scent of butter and sugar in the air.

“you’re impossible,” you finally muttered.

“i’ll take that as a yes.”

you huffed, trying not to laugh. “fine. but only because i want to prove you wrong.”

she grinned like she’d just won something important. “i’ll take what i can get.”

you handed her your phone, watching as she typed in her number, saving it under her name with a little cherry emoji. she handed it back and winked. “now you can’t pretend you don’t know me.”

and just like that, she started to walk away—slow, casual, like she had all the time in the world. but halfway down the path, she turned around, still moving backward, her hands tucked into her pockets.

that grin of hers was still there—that dumb, heart-twisting smile that made her look both like a douche and a little bit reckless. the carnival lights flickered over her face, painting her in gold and pink and blue, and for a moment, everything else faded: the music, the chatter, even the cool night breeze that brushed past your skin.

she kept her eyes on you the whole time, walking backward through the crowd like she didn’t care who bumped into her. you wanted to tell her to watch where she was going, but the words got lost somewhere in your throat.

you tried to play it off, to look unaffected, but your face betrayed you. you could feel the warmth rising in your cheeks, creeping up until it reached your ears. it was ridiculous—blushing over a stranger who’d spent ten minutes teasing you and somehow left you completely off-balance.

she laughed quietly, like she could tell, like she knew exactly what kind of mess she’d just made in your chest. and just before she finally turned around to go, she called out—her voice soft but sure, cutting clean through the noise of the carnival.

“i’ll see you soon, y/n!”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. you just stood there, heart still beating a little too fast, watching her fade into the crowd—the taste of popcorn and her laughter still hanging in the air.

a voice behind you broke the spell. “seriously?” claire said, disbelief dripping from every word. “you gave your number to her?”

you turned, startled. “you saw that?”

“everyone saw that. y/n, she’s not one of us. she’s literally working a popcorn stand. what are you even doing?”

you frowned. “she’s a person, claire. not a category.”

“i’m just saying,” claire pressed, lowering her voice. “you could do better.”

you looked down at your phone, her contact name glowing back at you like a secret. then, quietly, you said, “maybe i don’t want better.”

“what does that even mean?” claire asked.

you smiled to yourself, unable to stop it. “it means she’s cute.”

claire groaned, throwing her hands up. “whatever, this is your life.”

“yeah,” you murmured, slipping your phone into your pocket. “it is mine.”

you didn’t tell anyone where you were going—especially not bert. you asked your driver to drop you off two blocks away, pretending it was because you wanted a walk, but really, you just didn’t want him to see you meeting another woman. it was easier that way.

the city was quiet in the evening—the kind of quiet that only new york could manage, where silence still carried the faint hum of life. when you reached the met, you spotted her instantly.

she was sitting on the steps—legs crossed, paper bag in her lap, sipping from a soda cup like this was her idea of fine dining. for some reason, the sight made your chest ache a little. you thought she’d be the kind of person to pick a fancy restaurant, but this… this was real. simple. maybe even better.

you smiled before you even realized it.

“i never thought you’d take me here,” you said, walking up to her.

she looked up at you with that grin—the one that could undo you completely “hi,” she said, handing you the extra paper bag like it was a peace offering.

“hi yourself.” you peeked inside. “is this—”

“burger and fries,” she interrupted proudly. “the finest cuisine this city has to offer. care to eat the unhealthiest meal on the museum steps with me?”

you raised a brow. “wow. in and out?”

“sorry,” she said with a little laugh, brushing her hair under her cap. “you were probably expecting something fancy—candles, champagne, a rooftop view—”

“i like this,” you said before she could finish. and you meant it. “it’s… different.”

her grin softened. “different good?”

“different good,” you nodded. “but really? you want to eat here?”

“yeah,” she said, already unwrapping her burger. “trust me, this is the best burger you’ll ever have.”

you laughed quietly, sitting beside her. “i can’t believe i let you talk me into this.”

“you’re welcome,” she said with a mouthful of fries, completely unapologetic.

you took your first bite, and the grease and salt and warmth hit you all at once—maybe it was the food, or maybe it was her sitting this close, her shoulder brushing yours.

you looked at her cap pulled low, her hair peeking out beneath it, her eyes bright even in the faint wash of moonlight. she looked so ordinary like this, so far from the way you met her just last night. “you look happy,” you said softly.

she glanced at you, lips curved around a bite of her burger. “that’s because i am.”

you smiled. “why?”

she shrugged, swallowing. “because you came.”

“for a flirt like you, i didn’t think you’d say something that sincere,” you teased, taking a bite of your burger. the salt and grease lingered on your tongue, and you hummed softly, trying not to smile too much. “so, where do you live?”

“queens,” she said, taking a long sip from her soda cup before glancing sideways at you. “you?”

“manhattan.”

“ah.” she clicked her tongue, leaning back against the steps. “so you’re rich.”

you grimaced at that. it wasn’t like she said it to hurt you—just a fact stated plainly—but it still landed in that awkward place between truth and misunderstanding.

you grew up comfortable, sure. two parents who loved you in their own complicated, overprotective way; a house too big for the three of you; a life where the word no never really meant no. people called it privilege. you just called it expectation. and you did your best to carry it well—studying hard, keeping yourself together, trying to be the kind of person they could be proud of.

“i guess so,” you admitted, tracing a thumb along the edge of your paper cup. “but it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

“oh, poor little manhattan girl,” she said with a grin that softened the teasing.

you rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “do you always sell popcorn at the carnival?”

“nah,” she said, shaking her head. “only when it’s in town. the rest of the time i help out at the lawn near my place—mowing, cleaning, sometimes fixing fences. whatever pays.”

“that’s nice,” you said honestly, turning to look at her. “i’m sure your parents appreciate that.”

“i’m actually the one who’s grateful,” she said, smiling down at her burger. “it’s cash i need, for later.”

“for later?”

“yeah.” she tilted her head back, eyes finding the stars that barely peeked through the city haze. “i’m saving up to leave.”

“leave where?”

“no clue,” she said with a small laugh. “maybe california. somewhere where i could be truly happy.”

you smiled faintly. “sounds like a plan.”

“yep.” she turned to you, her grin returning—soft, a little messy, with a streak of mayo at the corner of her mouth.

you noticed it instantly. your first instinct was to reach out and wipe it away, thumb brushing against her skin, but you stopped yourself halfway. the thought alone made your chest flutter. she’d probably think it was weird.

so you just smiled instead, trying not to stare too long.

“new york isn’t for me anyway,” she said finally, her voice gentler now. “people here want too much.”

“what do you want?” you asked quietly.

she looked at you then, her eyes bright and searching. “something authentic.”

and for a moment, the world felt quieter than it should have.

it was already past one in the morning when your phone started buzzing again—your mother’s name flashing across the screen for the fifth time. her texts came in one after another, each one more urgent than the last. you ignored them all. you didn’t want to leave. not yet.

the night air in central park was crisp, the kind that carried every small sound—the distant rush of cars, the quiet chirp of crickets, the soft rhythm of your footsteps beside megan’s. she kept brushing her hand against yours, not quite holding it, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of her skin each time your fingers grazed.

it was perfect—the kind of night that felt untouchable. you didn’t want to break the spell by looking at your phone again. you just wanted to stay here, with her.

megan was talking about her life, her voice soft but steady. you listened to every word—the stories of her mom working late shifts, her brother trying to help however he could, the years when they lived on food stamps just to get by. there were moments she laughed, and others where her voice cracked just a little. you didn’t know what to say sometimes, but she didn’t seem to mind. she just liked that you listened.

“things are better now,” she said eventually, kicking at a pebble on the path. “not great, but better. we’re managing.”

“you’ve been through a lot,” you murmured.

“everyone has,” she replied, smiling faintly. “some of us just hide it better.”

you reached into your pocket, pulling out a small keychain you’d bought on a whim at school the week before—a tiny metal charm shaped like a star. “here,” you said, pressing it into her palm. “for luck.”

she looked at it like it was made of gold. “this is the first time i’ve received a gift from someone.”

“not even from a friend?” you laughed.

she shook her head, her smile curling into something teasing. “i mean… from someone i like.”

you felt your chest tighten, warmth blooming behind your ribs. you were about to say something back—something half-shy, half-bold—but your phone started buzzing again, the sound breaking the moment apart.

“i should probably go,” you sighed, pulling it out. “my driver’s waiting.”

she nodded slowly, her smile faltering just a little. “right. of course.”

you started to turn away when you felt it—her fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. it wasn’t rough or desperate, just enough to make you stop.

“wait,” she whispered.

you turned back, confused, and before you could ask what she was doing, she tugged you closer. the world seemed to still right then—the distant city noise fading, the air holding its breath—just long enough for her to lean in and kiss you.

it was soft, hesitant at first, like she was asking for permission without words. but then you kissed her back, and it deepened, the kind of kiss that made time feel irrelevant. it wasn’t perfect—your noses bumped, you both smiled halfway through—but it felt magical, and that was enough.

when you finally pulled away, your breath came out uneven. she was smiling, that same dumb, giddy smile that made your heart feel too full.

“that was…” you started, still trying to catch your breath. “that was the best kiss of my life.”

her eyes softened, and she leaned her forehead against yours. “good,” she whispered. “because i want to see you again.”

and before you could respond, your driver honked from the curb—loud, impatient, pulling you both back to reality.

you looked at her one last time, her hands still lingering at your wrist, and smiled. “text me,” you said.

“i will.”

and as you walked away, you swore you could still feel the ghost of her lips on yours—the warmth of her hand, the way she said again like it was already a promise.

ever since that night at central park—since that kiss that left you dizzy and breathless—you and megan had been inseparable. it wasn’t perfect, not even close. you argued sometimes, mostly over stupid things, like when you could see her or how long you’d stay. she’d tease you about your curfew, you’d snap at her for being reckless, and then somehow, the fight would end the same way every time—with her voice softening, her fingers brushing your cheek, and your lips finding hers again like you’d been waiting your whole life.

the world outside your little bubble didn’t make it easy. claire and manuel wouldn’t stop talking about her. you could even hear claire saying, “she’s nobody, y/n,” claire said once, her voice sharp as glass. “what if she’s just using you?”

you wanted to believe their words didn’t matter. but sometimes, late at night, they found a way to echo in your head anyway. what if she was right? what if this was just infatuation? what if you were falling too fast?

but then you’d see megan again—her messy hair, that dumb grin, the way she said your name like it was something holy—and all those doubts would just... vanish.

so one afternoon, you decided to surprise her. you asked your driver to drop you off near the field where she worked—some neighborhood lawn, full of kids running and the smell of cut grass. she didn’t see you at first, but when she did, her face lit up so bright you could feel it from across the street.

“y/n!” she called out, throwing her gloves aside before sprinting toward you. she caught you in her arms and lifted you clean off the ground, spinning you around while you laughed into her shoulder. her skin smelled like sun and grass and something purely her.

“i can’t believe you’re actually here,” she said, still laughing, still holding onto you like she wasn’t ready to let go. then she kissed you—quick at first, then longer, like she was trying to make up for every second you’d been apart.

“i missed you,” you breathed, forehead pressed to hers. “and you promised me something.”

she smirked. “yeah? what’s that?”

“you said you’d take me to the lake.”

“did i?” she teased, brushing her nose against yours. her coworkers started cheering and whistling from behind her, and she turned around, rolling her eyes. “oh, shut up! i’ve missed my girlfriend.”

she laced her fingers with yours, tugging you toward the trail that led down the hill. “come on,” she said. “you’re getting that lake day.”

the air grew cooler as you reached the water, the sun dipping low over the trees. the lake shimmered gold, still except for the soft ripple of wind across its surface.

“you’re not serious,” you laughed, watching her strip down to her tank top and shorts.

“dead serious,” she grinned, stepping backward into the shallows. “come on, baby. water’s fine.”

“megan, no—” you started, but before you could finish, she splashed you, laughing loud and wild.

“oh, you’re so dead!” you shrieked, running in after her, the cold hitting you like a shock.

you splashed back, both of you laughing until your sides hurt, your screams echoing across the water. it was messy, stupid, perfect—two people forgetting the world for a while. it almost felt like you were stupid—stupid in love.

after what felt like hours, you both crawled out of the lake, soaked and breathless, collapsing onto the grass. you lay beside her, your heart still racing, as the sky above painted in streaks of pink and gold.

she tugged you closer until your head rested against her chest. her heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, grounding you. she traced lazy circles on your shoulder with her fingertips.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she murmured against your hair, her voice barely more than a breath. she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, lingering there for a moment like she was afraid you might vanish if she moved too fast. “i can’t believe you’re really here with me.”

you smiled, eyes half-closed, your heart aching in the best possible way. you couldn’t believe it either. somewhere in another version of your life, maybe you would’ve ended up with brian—someone predictable, someone who made sense. but megan? she was chaos wrapped in warmth, sunlight tangled with storm. and somehow, she made you feel alive in a way no one ever had.

her hands moved slowly up and down your arms, tracing the shape of you like she was trying to memorize every inch. the warmth of her touch spread through your chest, grounding you. was this what love was supposed to feel like? the calm between heartbeats, the ache in your ribs, the quiet realization that you didn’t want to be anywhere else? if it was, then you never wanted to leave.

“i can’t believe you’re here either,” you whispered, your voice playful but soft, meeting her gaze with a crooked grin.

she smiled back, that lazy, radiant smile that always made your pulse quicken. then she pulled you closer, her lips finding yours in a kiss that started gentle but deepened until everything else blurred away—the taste of her, the sound of her breath, the world spinning quietly around you.

she pulled back only when she needed air, her forehead pressed to yours, her voice trembling just a little. “don’t go,” she whispered.

you blinked, still dazed. “w-what?”

“don’t… disappear,” she said, her hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your skin like she was afraid you’d slip through her fingers. there was something in her eyes then—something raw, almost pleading. “i want you here, okay? i want you to be mine for a long, long time.”

you reached up, covering her hand with yours. “hey,” you said softly, your smile gentle, steady. “i’m not going anywhere, megan. i promise.”

and just like that, her face broke into that ridiculous, golden-retriever grin—the one that always made your heart do that stupid flip. she laughed quietly, kissed you once more, and whispered against your lips, “good. because i don’t think i could let you go even if i tried.”

“megan?”

you whispered her name as you stepped through the trees, your shoes crunching against the dry leaves. the night air was cool, filled with the faint hum of cicadas. she stood ahead of you, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the greatest surprise in the world.

when you got close enough, you finally saw it—the treehouse. it was old, a little crooked, wood darkened by time and weather. you froze, your eyes wide, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

“are you fucking kidding me?” you gasped.

“calm down,” she said with a breathless laugh, throwing her hands up. “trust me, baby. this isn’t sketchy at all.”

“yeah, but this thing looks like it’s about to collapse!”

“hey,” she smirked, reaching for your hand. “you scared of a little adventure?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing as she led you up the creaky ladder, her grip firm and warm. once you climbed through the small opening, you stopped again—this time, not because you were scared.

the inside was small, but cozy. she’d laid out a blanket across the floor, a single candle flickering softly beside a box of takeout and two bottles of soda. the air smelled faintly of wax and her perfume. she sat down, patting the spot beside her, her smile proud and shy all at once.

“what do you think?” she said, leaning back on her hands. “i think i’m a romantic.”

you laughed, sitting down next to her. “i think you’re crazy,” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “but this is amazing. thank you.”

“five months,” she murmured, wrapping her arm around your shoulders. “five months with you.”

you leaned into her side, smiling. “time flies, huh?”

she hesitated for a second, then reached into her pocket, pulling out something small. when she opened her hand, you saw it—a thin silver ring with a tiny knot in the middle.

“what’s this?” you asked softly.

“a promise ring,” she said, her voice quieter now. “i know it’s stupid, but… i wanted to give it to you tonight.” she reached for your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger. “it’s a promise, yeah? that no matter what happens, you won’t let me go. and i won’t let you go either.”

you stared at the ring, then at her, your throat tightening. you know that megan did probably spent a week trying to find a perfect ring, because you know her too much—she would actually make things perfect so that you could be happy. 

“megan…”

“say it,” she whispered. “promise me.”

you nodded, your eyes glassy under the candlelight. “i promise,” you said, your voice barely above a breath.

she smiled then—soft and trembling—and before you could say another word, she leaned in. the kiss started slow, tender, like she was testing the edges of your promise. but then her hand slid up the back of your neck, and something in you both shifted.

it deepened, the air between you thick and charged, your heart pounding as she kissed you like she’d been waiting forever. you felt her fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, her touch feather-light but enough to make you shiver.

you gasped softly, but you didn’t pull away. her lips trailed down your jaw, back to your mouth again, desperate and sweet all at once.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” she whispered against your lips, her breath shaky, her forehead resting against yours.

“i love you,” you whispered to her—which you were surprised to yourself. you and megan have never let those little three words out, and you were shocked that you were the first person to say it. she looked at you deeply with her brown eyes, curving into a smile with her teeth showing. she kisses you again and pulls you much closer to her body.

“i love you too,” she mumbled as she trails her mouth on your jaw, then to your neck as you let out a tiny moan. “i love you, baby.”

you and megan kept kissing like you couldn’t get enough, her lips always finding their way back to yours. her hands wandered up your body until her fingers brushed against your chest, pulling a quiet moan from you. you drew back slightly, breath trembling.

“a-are we ready?” you whispered.

“i’m ready,” she murmured, her touch moving lower as her lips found your skin. “are you?”

and for the first time, you truly were. you’d been with someone before, but this—this felt like your real first time. better. different. you nodded and pulled her into another deep kiss, your back pressing against the wooden floor beneath you.

you and megan moved closer, the space between you disappearing as your lips met again, slower this time. her hands trembled slightly when they found the edge of your shirt, and you helped her, your fingers brushing over hers as you pulled it over your head. the air felt different—softer, charged—and she looked at you like she’d never seen anything more real.

she hesitated for a moment, tracing small circles on your skin, and you did the same, your fingertips brushing over her shoulders before sliding down her arms. neither of you said anything; you just kept kissing, deep and unhurried, like you were learning each other all over again.

the sound of your breathing filled the quiet of the treehouse, the old wood creaking beneath you as she whispered your name against your lips. it wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t planned—it was gentle, nervous, and full of the kind of love that felt too big for words.

you watched as megan's cock grew harder and harder, her chest heaving with every deep breath she took. your eyes met again, and you couldn't help yourself, pulling her down into a passionate kiss. you tugged at her, trying to get her to lie back on the wooden floor with you again.

she pulled back reluctantly after a few moments, her hand going to her cock, stroking it in an almost jittery rhythm. she spread your legs open wide, the cool air hitting your hot, wet core and making you shiver.

"you're so beautiful like this," she whispered, her voice rough with desire, leaning down to lick and suck at one of your nipples. you mewled and whined, scratching at her back as your hips lifted of their own accord, the tip of her cock brushing against your clit and making you throb. "baby..."

"please," you whined, trembling with need as she pushed your hips back down, her cock dragging over you again, making you shudder. "please, megan, put it in…

"yeah?" she teased, her voice breathy and playful, lining herself up with your entrance. she rubbed the head of her cock against you, making you whimper and squirm. "do you like it?"

"yes," you gasped, your hips twitching. "yes, i love it, please, megan, give it to me..."

she grinned, the tip of her cock finally sliding into you. she went slow, letting you feel every inch of her as she pushed in. you were dripping wet, your body more than ready for her, but she still felt huge like this, stretching you open in the best way.

"Oh fuck," she breathed, her arms trembling on either side of you. "you're so tight..."

you could only moan in response, your head thrown back, your body shaking underneath her. she worked herself all the way in, not stopping until she was buried to the hilt. the feeling of being so completely filled up, of having every inch of her inside you, was enough to leave you breathless and dizzy.

she gave you a moment to adjust, kissing up and down your neck, nibbling at your pulse point until you were squirming underneath her again. "ready, baby?" she asked.

you just nodded, whimpering a little, your nails digging into her shoulders.

she started slow, rocking her hips against yours, letting you feel every inch of her dragging in and out. she hit your g-spot with every thrust, making your toes curl and your back arch. you met her thrust for thrust, the two of you quickly finding a rhythm.

"you feel so good," she groaned into your ear. "you feel so fucking good."

"faster," you moaned, your hips snapping up to meet hers. "harder, please—"

“you want me like this?” she taunted as she kisses you again, her tongue lapping against yours as she sets a slow but rough pace, like she was in a hurry or something. “i love you so much.”

megan started moving faster, her hips slamming against yours, skin slapping against skin. you reached up, grabbing her face and pulling her down into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting her sweat and letting her taste yours.

"you're so big," you moaned into her mouth, making her shudder. "no one's ever taken me like this before."

she made a low, needy noise, her hips stuttering. "can i turn you around?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes dark with lust. "i want to see your back."

you could only nod, your whole body feeling like it was on fire. you let her turn you over, lying flat on the floor. she grabbed your hips, yanking them up until you were on your knees, your face pressed against the wood.

she didn't waste any time, thrusting back into you, fucking you harder than before. you could feel every inch of her as she worked herself in and out, your bodies pressed together. she might have been inexperienced, but she was learning quickly.

"i've never felt like this before," she panted, her hips snapping against yours. "god, baby, you feel so good."

"you want me like this?" you asked, echoing her earlier tease.

she moaned, long and low, bending over you to kiss the back of your neck. "i love you so much," she breathed against your skin, setting a slow but rough pace, like she was in a hurry to feel you come undone around her.

megan fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back and crashing her lips down onto yours. she kissed you deeply, messily, moaning into your mouth with every thrust. you could feel her sweat-slicked chest sliding against your back, her hard nipples dragging over your skin.

"don’t let me go," she mumbled into your mouth, punctuating her words with a particularly hard thrust—she was begging, and you’ve always hear her beg. but not like this. "i love you, y/n. d-don’t let me go."

"i love you too," you sobbed, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed with pleasure. "i love you, please, harder, i need more."

she obliged, snapping her hips against yours with enough force to jolt you forward. she was moaning almost constantly now, the sounds muffled by your mouth. you never thought this would happen to you, making love to someone whom you’re crazy about, underneath the stars in the sky while the heat is running through your body—her hands all over you, her grunts against your ear. it was mere perfect, so fucking perfect.

megan spun you around again, pulling you onto her lap. she lifted you up and slammed you back down hard and fast on her cock. you screamed, unable to stop yourself, feeling your breasts bouncing wildly with every rough thrust. she stared on them, dark with lust. you grabbed her face, forcing her to look up at you. "do you love me?" you whispered, your voice shaking.

she nodded frantically, licking a stripe up your shoulder, her hands tight on your ass. "i love you so—fucking—much," she stuttered, fucking you with every word. her voice was wrecked, broken, like she could barely think straight.

you whimpered, her words sending shivers down your spine. you leaned in, kissing her hard, messy and desperate. she moaned into your mouth, the sound high and needy, her fingers digging into your skin.

"i love you," you gasped, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "i love you, i love you, i—"

she cut you off with a moan, yanking you down and rolling her hips, fucking you as deep as she could. you could feel her cock twitching inside you, feel her getting close again already, and it was enough to send you hurtling over the edge.

"i-i'm close," megan grunted, her eyes rolling back as she palmed your left breast, squeezing it roughly. "i need to cum, i—"

"me too," you panted against her lips, rolling your hips to pull yourself off her cock. you could see it glistening with your wetness, and it sent a thrill through you. she took the tip of her cock and started jerking it fast and hard against your clit, staring at you with desperate, needy eyes. "baby, i'm almost—"

"take me in again," she whimpered, begging you, and you were helpless to resist. you sank back down onto her cock, taking her all the way inside you. she held you close, her arms wrapped tight around your body like she never wanted to let you go. "cum around my fucking cock."

you came hard, your whole body tensing, your nails digging into her shoulders hard enough to leave marks. you clamped down on her cock, your walls pulsing around her as you tried to milk her for all she was worth. she was only a second behind you, shouting as she came, her hips bucking wildly, as she fucks you through both of your orgasms. you could feel her filling you up, her cum hot and thick inside you, and you moaned her name once more, your hands fisted tight in her hair.

"fuck," megan whimpered, her hips jerking as she chanted your name. "oh fuck." 

she pulled out, watching as her cum dripped out of your cunt, her eyes rolling back with pleasure. she set you down on the floor, spreading your legs, and you panted heavily, pushing sweat-slicked hair out of your face.

you watched, dazed, as megan tried to calm herself down, jerking her cock slowly, cum still oozing from the tip. you giggled, covering your face with your hands. "i can't believe you aren't done yet," you whispered.

megan laughed breathlessly, her hand still on her length. "i can't help it," she said, sounding wrecked. "you wore me out."

as if to demonstrate, she held your thigh, spreading her cum all over your skin. you moaned, watching as she jerked herself, her eyes dark with lust. she was still hard, her cock twitching with every stroke.

eventually, after she was done, she cleaned your thighs with a small rag as she lied down beside you, her arms wrapped around your naked body. she kisses you lazily, pushing your sweaty hair from your face as she giggled. you rolled your eyes and whispered, “what?”

“i love you,” she whispered, her voice rough around the edges, as if the words had been waiting a long time to be said. she pulled you close, tucking your head under her chin, her heartbeat loud and steady against your ear. “i never thought it could feel like this.”

you smiled faintly, still catching your breath. “like what?”

she hesitated, her eyes searching yours in the dim candlelight. “like something real,” she said finally, her words barely above a whisper. “i’ve been close to people before, but it never felt like this. not like us.”

you reached up, brushing your thumb across her cheek. “that’s because this isn’t just some moment, megan. this is us.”

she grinned a little, leaning her forehead against yours. “you’re gonna ruin me, y’know that?” she said quietly, the words carrying both laughter and fear.

you laughed softly and as soon as you were about to say something—a noise broke through the stillness. distant at first, but growing clearer: a voice calling your name. your mother’s voice.

your stomach dropped. how on earth did she find you?

“oh no,” you muttered, sitting up, panic already rising in your throat.

megan blinked, confused. “what—”

“my mom,” you hissed, eyes darting toward the small window. “she’s here.”

her eyes went wide. “shit,” she whispered, fumbling for her shirt. both of you scrambled to gather your clothes, bumping into each other in the cramped space, hearts pounding so loud it felt like the whole forest could hear.

“y/n!” your mother’s voice echoed from below the treehouse, sharp and furious. “you better come down right now!”

you froze, looking at megan helplessly. she reached for your hand, squeezing it once. “hey,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “it’s okay.”

but it wasn’t.

you climbed down the ladder, your hands shaking, the cold air biting your skin. the moment your feet touched the ground, your mother was there—eyes blazing, her face pale under the headlights of her car.

“mom, wait—” you started, but the words died the instant her hand struck your cheek.

the sound cracked through the night.

you gasped, your hand flying to your face, eyes stinging with tears you didn’t want to let fall.

“how dare you sneak out like this?” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “do you have any idea how worried i was?”

you opened your mouth, but she wasn’t finished. her gaze shifted past you—and landed on megan, who was halfway down the ladder, frozen.

your mother’s expression hardened. “and this is who you’re with?” she said coldly. “this girl?”

“mrs. l/n,” megan began softly, but your mother cut her off, her voice sharp.

“don’t speak to me. i know who you are. your family can barely keep a roof over their heads, and this is what you think is good enough for my daughter?”

“mom, stop it!” you shouted, stepping between them, your voice breaking.

megan stood silent behind you, her fists clenched, jaw tight—but her eyes were glassy, humiliated. of course, you didn’t want megan to feel like this. you knew this day was about to come, but not like this—not when megan is about to get humiliated.

and your heart aches because of it.

“you don’t know her like i do,” you said, pleading now. “she’s good. she’s good, mom.”

“good?” your mother spat. “she’s trouble. and if you don’t end this, you’ll end up just like her.”

for a moment, no one moved. only the wind moved through the trees, brushing against your skin like a warning, and the old treehouse above you creaked softly as if it, too, understood the weight of what just happened.

your cheek still burned from your mother’s slap, but that wasn’t what hurt most. it was the look on megan’s face—the way her shoulders shrank, the way she couldn’t even lift her gaze from the ground.

“mom,” you said, your voice trembling, eyes glassy with tears. “how could you talk to her like that?”

your mother turned sharply, her expression unmoved. “because someone needs to talk sense into you. you don’t belong here, y/n. and she—” she gestured toward megan with a cold flick of her wrist “—she’s not the kind of girl you should be sneaking out to see.”

you felt something twist inside your chest, something heavy and raw. “you don’t even know her,” you said, your voice breaking. “you don’t know what she’s been through, what she’s like when she laughs, or how hard she works, or—” you stopped yourself, choking on your words. “she’s kind, mom. she’s real. and she makes me feel alive.”

“alive?” your mother snapped, stepping closer. “she’s going to ruin you. this little fantasy you have—it’s beneath you, y/n.”

you stared at her, stunned, your throat tightening. “beneath me?” you whispered. “you think she’s beneath me because she’s poor? because she doesn’t live in some penthouse or wear the same clothes as us?”

“enough.” your mother’s voice was like a blade. “get in the car.”

you shook your head, tears spilling freely now. “no. not until you say you’re sorry.”

“excuse me?”

“say you’re sorry to her,” you said, turning to megan, who still stood there, small and silent under the dim light of the car. “say you’re sorry for talking to her like she’s nothing.”

your mother brushed you off as she stomped herself into the vehicle, hearing the door shut loudly. you turned around to megan with tears in her eyes, trying to wipe them with the back of her hand. you shook your head as you cupped her face, your voice sobbing. 

your mother’s car door slammed shut, echoing through the quiet night like thunder. the sound made you flinch, but you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. your heart was fixed on megan—standing there, her hands shaking, her eyes red and wet as she wiped at her face like she could erase what just happened.

“megan,” you whispered, stepping closer, but she only shook her head, taking a step back.

“don’t,” she said, her voice cracking like a snapped branch. “please, don’t.”

“what are you talking about?” you said, your voice breaking as you reached for her hand. “you didn’t do anything wrong—”

“yes, i did,” she interrupted, pulling her hand away. “y/n, i shouldn’t have brought you here. i shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

you stared at her, stunned, your breath catching in your throat. “what are you saying?”

“i’m saying i don’t belong in your life,” she said, louder this time, her chest rising and falling as her tears started to spill again. “look at me, y/n. i sell popcorn for a living. I—fuck, i work at the fucking lawn.  i live in a house that leaks when it rains. i can’t give you anything—nothing like what you’re used to.”

you shook your head furiously, stepping closer to her, your voice trembling. she was wrong, she was wrong about this. “that’s not true—”

“it is true!” she snapped, tears streaming down her face now. “you come from money, from… people who expect things. i can’t fit in that world. i wouldn’t even know how to. and you—” she pointed at you weakly then at her. “you’ll get tired of this. of me.”

“megan, stop,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“i do,” she said, her tone collapsing into a sob. “god, i do. i’ve been trying not to, but i do. your mom’s right. i’m not good for you.”

“don’t you dare say that,” you cried, grabbing her face in your hands as your tears fell onto her cheeks. “don’t you dare believe that, mei! you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. you’re—”

“stop it,” she said, pulling your hands away from her face, her own fingers trembling as she did. “don’t make this harder.”

you stared at her, eyes wild with heartbreak. “harder? you think walking away is going to make it easier?”

“yeah,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “for you.”

“no,” you said fiercely, shaking your head. “not for me. not even close.”

she laughed bitterly through her tears, looking away. “you’ll see. in a few weeks, you’ll forget about me. you’ll meet someone who fits into your world, who doesn’t make your mom glare at you like you’ve done something wrong.”

“stop saying that!” you screamed, your voice shattering. why was she saying this? so she could push you away? everything was starting to hurt, you could even feel it in your bones. “you don’t get to decide that for me, megan. you don’t get to tell me what i’ll feel.”

she looked at you, her eyes were full of love and grief all at once, like she wanted to memorize your face but couldn’t stand to keep staring.

“you deserve more than me,” she whispered, her voice trembling like she could barely hold herself together. “someone who can take you to dinner, not sneak burgers by the met steps. someone who can buy you flowers, not pick them off a lawn they’re supposed to mow.”

“i don’t want that,” you said, stepping closer, your voice cracking. “i don’t want any of that. i want you.”

you knew you sounded delusional, but you coudn’t help it. because right now, you could possibly lose the actual love of your life, the girl who moved you—the girl who would move the world for you.

but it seemed like everything was fake, like it was a facade. what if she did use you? no, you couldn’t believe that. megan is not like that.

she shook her head, her lip quivering as she whispered, “you say that now.”

“and i’ll say it again tomorrow,” you said, your voice breaking. “and the day after that. and the day after that.”

she let out a sob that tore through the silence, clutching at her hair before covering her face. “god, y/n, why are you making this so hard?”

“because i love you!” you shouted, the words ripping out of you before you could stop them. “i love you, megan, and i don’t care if we’re different or if the world doesn’t make sense. i just—i love you.”

“don’t say that,” megan whispered, her voice breaking apart. she looked at you like she wished she could take the words back, but it was too late.

“why not?” you shot back, your tears spilling hot down your cheeks. “it’s the truth, megan. i love you. i love you!”

“stop!” she shouted suddenly, the sound echoing through the night. “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“don’t tell me what i know!” your voice cracked, trembling with hurt. “god, why are you doing this? why are you pushing me away?”

“because i have to!” she yelled, clutching her hair, her voice breaking apart. you follow her as she takes a few steps back, staring at you with her red eyes from crying. “because it’s the right thing to do!”

“no, it’s not!” you screamed back. “you’re just scared! you’re scared of loving me because you think you’re not enough, but you are, megan—you are!”

her jaw tightened, her eyes glossy and fierce. “you don’t understand, y/n. i’m not good for you. i’ll mess everything up. i already have.”

“bullshit,” you said, stepping closer, your voice shaking. you hit her chest, and she lets you, and keep hitting her until she tries to stop your hands—but you were too angry, too angry at this world, too angry at your mother. 

“stop,” she whispered to you as you let out a sob, slapping her chest hard. “stop this!”

“you are such a fucking liar,” you say angrily as you cried. “you are a liar!”

“fine!” she yelled as she hits her face, and you immediately stopped her hands. she removes herself from you as she shouted, “what?! now i can’t hit myself?”

“you don’t get to decide that. you don’t get to tell me who’s good for me.”

“you’ll regret this,” she said, her tone shaking but sharp. “you’ll wake up one day and realize i was the mistake.”

“then let me make it!” you shouted, your voice breaking under the weight of it. “let me make that mistake, megan! because i don’t care—I’d still choose you!”

choose me, you thought to yourself—like it was a chant. you were going to lose her, whether you liked it or not. but how could you make her stay? how could you make this right?

she let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, her tears falling freely now. “god, y/n, you make everything so fucking hard.”

“then stop pretending you don’t want me!” you yelled, stepping so close your breaths were colliding. “stop pretending you don’t love me when you do!”

she froze—her lips parted, her eyes softening for just a moment. and then her voice came out in a whisper, small and trembling. “i do love you,” she said. “that’s the problem.”

you stared at her, and for a second the world tilted off its axis. everything—the wind, the chirping night, the sound of the cars somewhere far away—faded into nothing. it was just her. her trembling lips. her tear-streaked face. the quiet breaking of the only thing that ever felt real.

your breath hitched, a sharp, aching sound that scraped the back of your throat. you could feel it happening—the slow, unbearable pull of her slipping away from you, like sand running through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.

your chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. you wanted to say something—anything—to stop her from walking out of this moment, out of your life. but the words wouldn’t come. all you could do was look at her and know, with a clarity that cut straight through your ribs, that you were watching the person you loved the most become someone you’d have to live without.

it felt like the kind of loss you didn’t recover from. like every version of your future suddenly blurred and rewrote itself without her in it.

and still—you couldn’t stop looking. because how do you turn away from the person who just took your heart with them?

“then why are you doing this?” you whispered, your voice breaking completely.

she looked away, her voice shaking. “because loving you means ruining you. and i can’t do that. i won’t.”

the silence that followed hurt more than any scream could. your heart felt like it had cracked clean in two.

“so that’s it?” you asked softly, barely managing to keep your voice steady. “you’re just… letting go?”

megan’s lips trembled. “i don’t want to,” she whispered, “but i have to.”

you took a step forward, your tears unstoppable now. “then don’t,” you said, your voice fragile and shaking. “please don’t.”

but she didn’t move. she just stood there in the middle of the dirt road, tears streaming down her face, her hands trembling as if she didn’t know what to do with them anymore. your mother’s voice cut through the silence—sharp, impatient. “get in the car.”

you hesitated, your hand still hovering near megan’s, the space between you humming with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t. your throat burned, your heart felt too big for your chest, and all you could manage was a whisper that never reached her.

then, with your mother’s voice rising again, you turned—slowly, like moving through water—and climbed into the car. the door shut with a hollow thud that felt final.

as the engine started and the car rolled forward, you looked back through the window. megan was still there, her face buried in her hands, her body shaking as she cried into the night. you pressed your palm against the glass, wishing somehow she could feel it—that she’d know you didn’t want to leave, that none of this was what you wanted.

the headlights cut through the trees, and soon she was gone from view, swallowed by darkness. but the image of her—crying, breaking, still standing there—stayed burned behind your eyelids long after the car had driven away.

seven years later, the world looked different. the city skyline was sharper, the lights brighter, and the silence of your apartment heavier than you remembered it ever being. you sat curled on the couch, a mug of coffee gone cold between your palms, half-listening to the tv humming in the background while your mother flipped through the channels beside you.

“you’re on your phone again,” she said absently. “you’re supposed to relax on weekends, not edit drafts.”

“it’s not work,” you lied, your eyes glued to the glowing screen of your phone—emails, deadlines, models to approve. being the youngest editor at lumine magazine had its privileges, but it left you little space to breathe.

“fine,” she said, pressing the remote. “at least watch something decent with me.”

you nodded as you placed your phone onto the cushion, glancing at the television. but then your world stopped—as if you couldn’t breathe. it couldn’t be—

you froze, your head snapping up before your mind caught up.

there she was. megan skiendiel. onstage. confident, radiant, and rather alive.

she stood under the stage lights, mic in hand, her hair a different color now—a gleaming black hair with strands of pink within instead of the soft dark brown you used to thread your fingers through. she wore an outfit of red, shimmering under the spotlight as the crowd roared her name. the screen cut to the title card: “katseye – performing ‘garbiela’ live at the VMAs.”

your heart slammed against your ribs.

“oh, she’s lovely,” your mother murmured, adjusting her glasses. “wait—” she squinted, leaning closer to the screen. “that’s the girl from your old town, isn’t it? what was her name again?”

you swallowed hard, your throat dry. “megan.”

“yes! megan.” she smiled faintly, unaware of the storm unraveling inside you. “didn’t she use to help her parents at the lawn? i can’t believe she’s on television now.”

you could barely breathe. every note megan sang hit something inside you—something that hadn’t been touched in years. she moved like she was born for that stage, her voice low and raw in a way you’d never heard before. and yet, beneath all that polish, beneath the glamor and the lights, you could still see her. the girl who once took you to the lake and made you promise you’d never let go.

your chest tightened, that old ache returning as memories began to spill back like rain—her laugh, her hands, the way she looked at you under the flicker of candlelight in the treehouse.

“she always said she wanted to be a performer,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

your mother looked at you then, puzzled by the softness in your tone. “you remember that?”

you nodded slowly, a small, sad smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. i do.”

on screen, the camera zoomed in close—megan’s eyes glistened under the lights, her expression fierce yet familiar, and for a heartbeat, it felt like she was looking straight through the television. straight at you.

you looked down, unable to hold her gaze even from a world away.

“she made it,” you whispered. “she really did.”

your mother hummed in agreement, already reaching for her tea. “seems like she found where she belongs.”

but you weren’t so sure. because as the last note of garbiela echoed through the room, you realized that a part of you still belonged to that girl—still waiting in the past, by that lake, whispering promises neither of you ever managed to keep.

you tried to move on. god knows, you really did. you built a life, piece by piece, until it looked almost whole again. for seven long years, you let the memory of megan fade into the background noise of your mind—something bittersweet that lingered, like an unfinished song. after your family moved back to jersey, you focused on what you could control: finishing your degree, working your way up from unpaid internships, writing articles that no one read until suddenly everyone did. you became the writer you never thought you’d be, and later, an editor people actually listened to.

and yet, every night before bed, your thoughts drifted to her—megan skiendiel, the girl who kissed you like the world was ending and loved you like it might’ve been saved. you wondered sometimes, when you visited your old town, standing beneath the rotting frame of that treehouse, if she ever thought of you too. if maybe, in some other version of the world, your parents didn’t intervene, and you two grew up side by side—reckless, in love, and unstoppable.

but she never called again.

and you never answered, even when she did.

you had blocked her number after that night. it felt right at the time—a clean cut from a wound that never healed properly. but the silence that followed became its own kind of ache.

then one rainy afternoon, sitting alone at your favorite corner table in a coffee shop downtown, you found her again. you were scrolling through your inbox, half-distracted, sifting through press releases and submissions, when a name stopped you cold. your breath caught as you frowned, hovering over the search bar, heart hammering as you clicked.

200 emails, all unread.

your fingers trembled as you opened the first one.

hey… i don’t even know if this is still your email, but i just wanted to tell you i auditioned for something. a show. a survival one. i don’t think i’ll get in but… i just needed to tell someone who used to believe in me.

you swallowed hard and opened the next.

i made it, y/n. i’m actually in the lineup. i cried when they told me. god, i wish you were here. i wish you could see it.

another.

we debuted today. i can’t even describe it. i think i almost fainted during rehearsal, but it’s happening. i’m in a girl group. a real one. i wish i could tell you everything, but you probably don’t want to hear from me anymore.

and another.

we won something. not big, but it means a lot to me. i used to dream about stages and lights, and now they’re mine. i hope you’re doing okay. i miss you.

your head was spinning as your mouth dried up, covering it with your fingertips.

we finally made enough money to buy a house for my parents. it’s small, but it’s ours. i think you’d love the kitchen—it has those stupid yellow tiles you always talked about. i thought about that when we signed the papers.

and then one, sent at three in the morning, subject line: i can’t sleep again.

it’s been years, and i still think about you every night. i don’t know why i’m writing this, maybe because it’s the only way i can talk to you now. i see your face in crowds sometimes, i hear your laugh when i’m alone—i tell myself i’m fine, that i’ve moved on, but then i close my eyes and i’m right back in that treehouse, holding you, feeling your heartbeat against mine. you ruined me in the best way, 

y/n. i still love you. i always will. i just wish you knew how much.

by the time you reached the last email, your coffee had gone cold.

if you’re still out there, i just hope you’re happy. i don’t know if we were meant to last forever, but i think about you every time i sing that one song i wrote years ago. you know the one. the one about the lake.

you sat there, silent, tears stinging your eyes as the world moved quietly around you. the barista called out names, the grinder buzzed, a couple laughed near the window—but all you could hear was her voice, echoing through seven years of distance and unread words.

you pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to steady your breathing. she had written, over and over again. she had tried. she had never stopped.

and now she was out there, shining on a stage you once promised to stand beside her on—while you were here, finally realizing that you’d spent all this time trying to forget someone who never once forgot you.

before you could close your laptop, a shadow fell across your table. you looked up—half expecting the barista—but your breath caught midair. standing there, framed by the soft glow of the café lights, was megan. she looked different now, older, steadier. her hair was longer, a little darker, and she carried herself like someone who had finally found the ground beneath her feet. in her hand was a cup of coffee, steam curling upward between you like a secret.

“you’re still so beautiful,” she murmured, the words almost swallowed by the low hum of the café. you couldn’t tell if she meant to say it out loud, but it slipped through anyway, tender and trembling.

you stood up so quickly your chair nearly tipped. the sight of her—so real, so heartbreakingly familiar—knocked the air out of your lungs. you didn’t even think. your body just moved, arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. she melted into you instantly, like she had been waiting for that exact moment, that exact breath. her face pressed into your neck, her coffee still clutched awkwardly in one hand as the other found its way to your back.

you felt her exhale—shaky, relieved—like she’d been holding that breath for years.

“i never thought i’d see you again,” you whispered, your voice breaking into her shoulder.

she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes glistening. “i didn’t either,” she said softly, a smile trembling at the corners of her mouth. “but waiting was worth it.”

then she leaned in, and before you could think, she kissed you.

it wasn’t desperate like before—it was deep, slow, and sure, like something rebuilt after years of distance and ache. her hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin as if to make sure you were real.

you kissed her back, letting the world around you fade into a blur of warmth and memory and everything you had both lost and found again. when you finally parted, foreheads resting together, she whispered, breathless, “you have no idea how many times i imagined this.”

you smiled through the tears you didn’t realize were falling. “megan,” you breathed, almost laughing from disbelief. “you’re really here.”

“i am,” she said, her voice steady now, like a promise. “and you’re never leaving again.”

outside, the city moved on as if nothing had changed—but for you, it had. for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like something was missing. she was right there, warm and real in your arms, and suddenly, the waiting, the silence, the ache—every bit of it made sense.

A Park in Seoul, Soccer Field

“Why am I here?” Jennie muttered under her breath, oversized sunglasses shielding half her face as she sat on a folding chair under a shaded umbrella.

“Because you love me,” came the familiar voice behind her.

Jennie rolled her eyes, trying not to smile as Y/N came trotting off the field, jersey clinging to her body, cheeks flushed, sweat running down her temple. Her cleats kicked up small puffs of grass as she stopped in front of Jennie, water bottle in one hand, soccer ball tucked under her arm like it was her sixth limb.

“Baby,” Y/N grinned. “Did you see that goal?”

Jennie tilted her head, pushing her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to look over them.

“You mean the one where you slid across the field like you were auditioning for a Gatorade commercial?”

Y/N chuckled, reaching over to steal a grape from the small container in Jennie’s lap.

“I had to sell it. Gotta keep the fans entertained.” She winked.

Jennie looked around at the nearly empty field and deadpanned, “What fans?”

Y/N gasped in mock offense. “Ouch.”

Jennie smirked, leaning back in her seat. “I’m just saying. You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re all sweaty and disgusting.”

Y/N leaned down slightly, getting closer. “So you do think I’m cute when I’m sweaty.”

Jennie scoffed. “I didn’t say that.”

Y/N grinned. “But you implied it.”

Jennie stood up, brushing grass off her skirt. “I implied that you’re tolerable at best when you’re sweaty. Don’t push it.”

But the truth was—Jennie was absolutely, shamelessly obsessed with sweaty, messy, athletic Y/N. She’d never admit it out loud, but something about the way Y/N’s shirt clung to her back, or how she always jogged over with her hair stuck to her forehead and that goddamn boyish smile—yeah, it did things to her.

“You’re staying for the rest of the game, right?” Y/N asked, grabbing her hand casually as Jennie moved to adjust the umbrella.

“I’m contractually obligated, I think,” Jennie replied dryly. “Girlfriend clause. Must attend sporting events and pretend to care.”

Y/N laughed, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jennie raised a brow. “How, exactly?”

Y/N shrugged. “Victory lap. Shirtless.”

Jennie blinked. “You are not doing a shirtless victory lap.”

Y/N wiggled her brows. “Why not? You like my abs.”

Jennie turned away fast. “I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t have to,” Y/N teased, voice lower now as she stepped close. “You look at me like you’re undressing me with your eyes when I’m like this.”

Jennie narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“But hot,” Y/N grinned.

Jennie sighed, muttering, “God help me.”

After the game, Jennie had insisted she was “just going to drop by for a minute,” but here she was—perched on Y/N’s kitchen counter in one of Y/N’s oversized shirts, watching her move around the kitchen in nothing but athletic shorts, her skin still warm from the shower.

“You know what’s sad?” Jennie asked, swinging her legs idly. “You’re good at, like… every sport.”

“I’m a gifted idiot,” Y/N said proudly.

Jennie chuckled. “And I can’t even serve a tennis ball.”

Y/N came over and stood between her legs. “That’s okay. You cheer better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Jennie quirked a brow. “That sounds like a backhanded compliment.”

“Not at all,” Y/N smiled, hands resting on Jennie’s thighs. “You show up. You yell my name. You glare at the referee when they don’t call fouls. That’s love.”

Jennie studied her quietly, lips parted. “You’re such a loser.”

“And yet, you’re wearing my shirt.”

Jennie looked down and sighed. “It smells like grass and sunscreen.”

“And me,” Y/N added.

Jennie bit her bottom lip, gaze flickering up. “I might be into that.”

Y/N leaned in, slowly. “Say that again?”

Jennie looped her arms around Y/N’s neck, eyes mischievous. “I said… you smell good.”

“Mm, that’s not what I heard.”

Before Jennie could argue, Y/N kissed her—slow, warm, steady. One of those post-game, post-adrenaline, full-body kind of kisses that Jennie always pretended she didn’t crave.

Y/N deepened the kiss, hands gripping Jennie’s hips, pulling her closer on the counter. Jennie let out a soft sigh against her lips, her fingers tangling in damp hair.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Jennie looked up at her through heavy lashes.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice soft. “Maybe I do like sweaty you.”

Y/N grinned. “Knew it.”

The post-kiss glow hung in the air like steam after rain, heavy and humming with warmth. Jennie stayed perched on the kitchen counter, fingers still curled loosely in Y/N’s shirt, her legs casually bracketing Y/N’s hips as if she had no plans to move. And honestly, she didn’t.

Y/N leaned her forehead against Jennie’s. “You wanna shower first? Or do you want me to toss you a towel and we go full domestic and bathe together like in those slice-of-life anime you love?”

Jennie snorted. “Tempting. But if we shower together, we both know we won’t make it out before dinner burns.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Jennie pulled back just slightly, eyes narrowing playfully. “No. Because the last time we ‘showered together’ I didn’t get clean. I ended up sitting on the counter again, barely standing by the time you were done.”

Y/N raised her hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

Jennie finally slid off the counter, letting her toes touch the floor with a small sigh. “I’ll shower first. You go sit on the couch and pick something to watch. Something good this time.”

“Baldur’s Gate cutscene compilations are good,” Y/N pouted.

Jennie gave her a look. “No.”

Y/N grumbled, padding away dramatically. Jennie rolled her eyes and walked toward the bathroom, swatting Y/N’s butt as she passed.

“Hey!” Y/N yelped.

“Pick a romcom,” Jennie called over her shoulder. “Something that won’t rot my brain.”

Jennie re-emerged twenty minutes later in one of Y/N’s old varsity sweatshirts, hair damp, skin glowing from the heat of the shower. She found Y/N sprawled on the couch in joggers and a tank top, controller abandoned on the coffee table, a movie paused on the screen.

“You picked 10 Things I Hate About You?” Jennie asked with a small smile.

Y/N looked up. “Thought it’d be cute.”

Jennie plopped beside her and curled into her side without a word, resting her head on Y/N’s shoulder.

“You always smell like cedar and warmth,” Jennie mumbled.

Y/N kissed the top of her head. “You always smell expensive.”

They stayed quiet for a beat, letting the movie play in the background. Jennie’s hand found its way under Y/N’s shirt again, purely for warmth—or so she told herself. She gently dragged her fingers across Y/N’s abs, feeling her twitch slightly.

“I know I make fun of it,” Jennie whispered, “but… I like watching you play.”

Y/N turned her head. “Soccer?”

“Everything. Sports, games… You get this look when you’re in your zone. Like the rest of the world disappears.”

“You mean the dumb concentration face?”

Jennie grinned. “Exactly.”

Y/N nudged her gently. “You’re weird.”

Jennie shrugged. “And you’re hot.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait. Say that again?”

Jennie gave her a smug smile. “Nope. You get it once a day. That was it.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back dramatically. “Unfair. I pull three muscles for you on the field and you won’t even call me hot twice.”

Jennie laughed, then turned, gently crawling on top of Y/N, straddling her hips.

“You want me to say it again?” she asked softly.

Y/N’s hands instinctively found her waist. “Please.”

Jennie leaned down, brushing her lips over Y/N’s. “You’re hot.”

She kissed her.

“You’re annoying.”

Another kiss.

“You’re talented.”

Another.

“And I love it.”

This time, she didn’t pull away.

Their kisses grew deeper, slower—lazy but hungry. Jennie pressed closer, fingers tangled in Y/N’s hair now, her breath catching when Y/N’s hand slid under the back of her shirt to rest against her spine.

The tension melted into the cushions, into each other, into the faint hum of the TV and the dying sun bleeding orange through the curtains. They didn’t need fireworks—they had this.

the door to your shared room clicks shut behind you, a lot softer than you’d intended. it’s late. the practice room was stuffy, and all you want is a shower and your bed.

but then you hear it.

a soft, choked-off sound from megan’s corner of the room. the harsh rustle of sheets. a low, shaky breath.

you take a silent step forward, peering around the divider she uses for privacy.

and you see her.

megan, on her bed, headphones on but not blocking the tiny, pathetic whimpers escaping her lips. her eyes are squeezed shut, her head thrown back against the pillow. her free hand is tangled in her hair. the other is moving in her lap, under the black lace of your favorite panties.

your panties. the ones you couldn’t find this morning.

she’s got them stretched over her cock, her fist pumping up and down the length, the lace dark with her wetness. she’s fucking into her own hand, using your stuff, lost in a fantasy. she looks so desperate. so needy.

a hot, sharp feeling spikes in your stomach. not quite anger. something hotter.

you lean against the divider. “enjoying yourself?”

megan’s eyes fly open. her whole body goes stiff. she scrambles, yanking the headphones off, trying to pull the covers up, her face showing pure panic. “oh my god. i—i didn’t hear you come in. i’m so sorry, i—”

“you’re sorry?” you cut her off, your voice low and flat. you take another step into her space. “you’re sorry you got caught. that’s all. you’re not sorry you were doing it.”

her mouth opens and closes. no sound comes out. she looks so small, curled in on herself, trying to hide the obvious bulge under the sheet. her cheeks are flaming red.

“those are mine,” you say, pointing at the lace still peeking out from under the blanket.

“i know,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “i’m sorry. i’ll wash them. i’ll buy you new ones.”

you shake your head, a slow, easy movement. you’re in control here. you can feel the power humming in the air between you. she’s utterly at your mercy.

“that’s not the point, is it? you didn’t just want any pair. you wanted mine. you wanted to smell me on them while you touched yourself. didn’t you?”

a broken sound escapes her throat. she nods, her eyes wide and terrified and… excited.

“use your words, mei."

“yes,” she breathes out. “yes. i did.”

“why?” you press, moving to sit on the edge of her bed. the mattress dips under your weight.

she trembles. “i don’t know. i just… i think about you. a lot. your smell. the way you look at me sometimes. it drives me crazy.”

“so you stole from me.” you let the accusation hang in the air. “you’re a little thief. a pervert.”

she flinches like you’ve struck her, but her cock twitches under the sheet. a traitorous, honest reaction. “yes.”

“show me.”

her head jerks up. “what?”

“you heard me. you were so eager a minute ago. show me what you were doing with my things.”

her hands are shaking as she slowly, so slowly, pulls the sheet down. your panties are a mess, soaked through, stretched tight around the base of her cock. she’s so hard it looks painful, the tip flushed a deep red and leaking. she’s completely exposed. utterly pathetic.

“go on,” you command, your voice dropping to a whisper. “show me how you fuck yourself thinking about me.”

a tear rolls down her cheek, but her hand wraps around her shaft again. she gives a slow stroke. a moan rips out of her, raw and unfiltered.

“that’s it,” you murmur, watching her hand move. “you’re so desperate for it. look at you. you can’t even wait your turn. you have to steal and hide like a little whore.”

“i’m sorry,” she sobs, but her hips are starting to move, fucking up into her fist. “i’m so sorry, please.”

“please what?” you lean closer, your lips almost brushing her ear. “you don’t get to come. not until i say you can.”

her rhythm falters. “no. please. i’m so close.”

“you’ll do what i say.” it’s not a question. you reach out and wrap your fingers around her wrist, stilling her movements. she whines, a high-pitched sound of frustration. “you don’t get to decide. you lost that privilege when you took what was mine.”

you guide her hand away. she’s trembling all over, her whole body tense and begging for release. you take hold of your panties, pulling them down her length, peeling the wet fabric away from her skin. she gasps at the sensation.

then your hand replaces the lace.

you wrap your fingers around her cock. it’s hot and hard and perfectly fits in your grip. she cries out, her back arching off the bed.

“oh god.”

“shhh,” you soothe, but your grip is firm, your strokes starting slow. “this is what you wanted, right? you didn’t want the panties. you wanted me.”

“yes,” she chokes out, her hips bucking into your touch. “you. i wanted you.”

you speed up your hand, twisting your wrist on the upstroke the way you know feels good. her eyes roll back. she’s babbling, a stream of “please” and “yes” and your name, over and over.

“you’re such a mess for me,” you say, your voice hot against her neck. “look at you. can’t even form a sentence. just a needy, leaking mess.”

you can feel the tension coiling in her stomach, her balls drawing up tight. she’s right there. on the very edge.

and you stop.

you let go completely.

her eyes snap open, wild and confused. “no! why did you stop? please, i need to—”

“i know what you need,” you interrupt. you push her back onto the bed, swinging your leg over her hips to straddle her. you’re still in your practice clothes. you guide her cock to your entrance, already wet for her. you sink down onto her in one smooth, slow motion, taking her all the way inside you.

the sound she makes is pure relief. her hands fly to your hips, her nails digging into your skin.

“you don’t get to come until i’m finished with you,” you say, beginning to move, rocking your hips in a slow, grinding circle. “you’re just here for my use. understand?”

“yes,” she moans, her head thrashing side to side. “anything. use me. please.”

you set a brutal pace, riding her hard, using her body for your own pleasure. the room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, her choked sobs, your own sharp breaths. you watch her fall apart beneath you, her pretty face scrunched up in overwhelming sensation. you lean forward, putting your weight on her, and whisper right into her ear.

“you’re nothing without me. just a pathetic little thing who needs permission to come.”

she’s sobbing openly now, tears mixing with the sweat on her temples. “i’m nothing. i’m yours. please, can i—can i please—”

you feel your own climax building, a tight coil of heat low in your belly. you grind down on her, clenching around her cock, and that’s all it takes. you come with a sharp cry, your body shuddering around hers.

the feeling of you pulsing around her tips her over the edge. she screams, a raw, broken sound, as her own orgasm crashes through her. her body goes rigid beneath you, her cock twitching deep inside you as she empties herself.

you collapse on top of her, both of you breathing heavily. you can feel her heart hammering against your chest. you shift just enough to look down at her.

her eyes are glazed over, completely wrecked. a slow tear tracks down her cheek.

Daniela Avanzini is not a girl who makes sense in your life. She's a girl who gets picked up in black cars with leather seats, who drinks iced coffee through glass straws, and walks like the hallway owes her rent. Her hair always looks professionally blown out. Her bags are leather-bound fortresses that cost more than your last three paychecks combined, and her perfume leaves a ghost in the air, a whisper of jasmine, coffee, and expensive choices. She is a carefully curated masterpiece, and from every angle, it feels like the world bends its own rules just to keep her in a perfect light.

And you? You are a walking afterthought, a dog-eared page in a pristine book. You live in a uniform of a hoodie layered over a flannel, sleeves perpetually too long, a shield against a world that feels a little too sharp. Your fingers are a roadmap of calluses from guitar strings, your shoes held together by hope and some shoe glue. You are the lead guitarist and reluctant heart of your band, a garage rock band that’s one missed rent payment away from becoming a ghost story you tell your future, more sensible self. You fold records into paper bags at a grimy store after school, the cash you earn a flimsy bridge to new strings and late-night cartons of ice cream that you share with your bandmates in melancholic silence.

So the idea, the grand, tectonic-shifting plan to approach her, feels like an act of madness. It’s like asking the sun to light a single, flickering candle. But desperation is a language of its own, and you are fluent. You love your band with the same fierce, all-consuming fire that Daniela seems to reserve for her position as cheer captain. The thought of it all turning to ash in your hands is unbearable. You have to believe that somewhere, beneath the layers of gloss and brand names, there’s a flicker of understanding. That’s the hope you cling to as you jog to catch up to her pace, a frantic smile plastered on your face.

“Hey Avanzini, I would—”

“—No.” The word is a razor blade sharp. She glances at you, a fleeting inventory of your entire being, and her eyes are unreadable pools of obsidian. The disgust isn’t overt yet, just a subtle tightening at the corners of her perfect mouth. She repeats herself, as if for a child. “No.”

That’s it. A full stop carved into the air between you. There is no follow-up and no room for a question. She hasn’t even let the sentence leave your mouth, and she’s already buried it. The single syllable is a physical blow, a punch to the gut that leaves you winded. Embarrassment crawls up your neck, but you swallow it down and keep walking beside her, like a satellite caught in her orbit.

“Okay, I get it, no means no,” you start, the words feeling clumsy and loud next to her composed silence. “And I know you have no idea who I am, but just… listen. You donate to charity, right? Think of this as a charity case. One gig. I’ll owe you for life. I’ll be your personal errand-runner. I’ll—”

Daniela stops dead in her tracks. The motion is so abrupt you nearly stumble. She turns, and the look she gives you could curdle milk. This time, the disgust isn't subtle. Her eyes do a slow, deliberate crawl from your worn-out shoes to your messy hair, and you feel every frayed edge, every stain, every imperfection catalogued and dismissed. In that moment, the chasm between your worlds feels vast and uncrossable. A faint, cruel smirk touches her lips as she sees you falter, your words dying in your throat.

“No.”

And then she’s gone, a mirage of perfection walking away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway like a piece of forgotten luggage.

—

Maybe starting with the queen was a tactical error. You should have approached the court first. Someone familiar. Someone like Manon.

The first time you ask Manon for a favour, it’s not a big deal. At least, it doesn’t feel like one. Not when it’s over cheap coffee from a nearby coffee shop and a mutual understanding of shared tiredness. Manon is easy to talk to, easy in the way someone becomes when you’ve shared a bench, a detention, or an unspoken moment of knowing school is eating everyone alive, just in different flavours. You met Manon in a gig you had with your band, she complimented your music and from then on, she became one of your friends. 

Manon, bless her heart, doesn't even flinch when you ask her. She just tilts her head, her curls bouncing a little, as she says, "You're asking me to get your band into one of Daniela's parties? That Daniela? My Sophia’s friend Daniela?" You know it’s ridiculous, but that’s your only solution for now. It’s not like you can come up with one, in a snap of a finger. 

The question hangs in the air, smelling of burnt coffee and absurdity. But it's your only rope.

You nod, lips pressed around a straw poking out of a bottle of off-brand cola. Your hoodie sleeves are pushed up to the elbows, stained faintly with something from a part-time shift. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but we’re on life support here. I'm losing money on booking for gigs. Alex is about to go full solo acoustic artist on us, Jess is planning our funeral, and Matt keeps sending me short compiled videos of failed musicians who now design spreadsheets for a living. I’m at the end of my rope, Manon. We just need one shot. One night for people to hear what my bandmates can do.” You take a breath, the desperation tasting like rust in your mouth. “I tried talking to her. She looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe.”

Manon laughs, a genuine, chest-deep sound that makes you feel a little less insane. “Alright, you tragic musician. I’ll talk to Sophia. And Sophia will talk to Daniela. But I’m making zero promises. You know Daniela’s music taste is… curated. She doesn’t really do… well, you.”

“She doesn’t listen to anything that wasn’t played at a Chanel runway,” You mutter under your breath, but Manon hears it. She smirks, shrugs, and finishes her drink. “Look I’ll try ok? I love your band, I’ve told Sophia about you, but Daniela is a different story.”

And that’s the beginning.

— 

The text from Manon is short and not at all sweet. “Sorry. It’s another no.”

The week after becomes less a montage and more of a series of strategic, nerve-wracking skirmishes. You decide that if you’re going to be a ghost in Daniela’s periphery, you might as well be a noisy one.

On Monday, armed with new intel from your network of two (Manon and Sophia), you skip lunch. You find her in the library’s quietest corner. You walk up to her table holding a venti iced coffee and a single, perfect dandelion—her favorite flower, according to Sophia. You place them directly in front of her and slide into the opposite chair, breaking the sacred silence. She looks up from her textbook, her eyes flashing with fury. She whispers, her voice low and dangerous, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“A peace offering,” you whisper back, leaning onto the table. “I’ll leave after this, just hear me out. One performance. Three, maybe four songs. After that, we’ll vanish. You can even unplug the amp mid-song if you think we’re horrible. Which we’re not.” You let the desperation show in your eyes, a raw, unedited plea. “Avanzini, just one performance and that’s it. I will never bother you ever again. I promise. And I always keep my promises.”

You see it then—a flicker. A subtle shift in the tectonic plates of her composure. She sighs, a sound of profound weariness, and closes her book. “How did you get my order and how did you know I’d be here?” she asks, taking a deliberate, slow sip of the coffee. Her eyes, fixed on yours over the rim of the cup, wait for your answer.

“I was curious so I asked Manon, who asked Sophia, who is your frien—” 

“Okay, stop. I get it,” she says, waving a hand. “Do you think a drink and a flower will get you what you want? You’re a musician, correct?” A challenge enters her tone, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Is this how musicians persuade people now? I know you can do better than this. Especially for me, right?”

Your mouth goes dry. Being this close to her is like standing too near a bonfire, all heat and dangerous, hypnotic light. Her eyes, a complex shade of brown flecked with gold, make your stomach feel like a mosh pit. The sharp line of her jaw, the way a single strand of hair falls across her forehead—it’s a masterpiece in motion. The gig is the goal, the mission, but a treacherous little thought whispers in your mind, maybe a chance with her…

“Jesus Christ, are you even listening to me?” Daniela says, her perfect eyebrows knitting together. The spell is broken. “Whatever, I’m leaving.” She scoffs as she packs her bag, but you watch, stunned, as she carefully takes the dandelion and tucks it between the pages of her book before grabbing the coffee. You stand, ready to follow, but she stops and fixes you with a look that freezes you in place. “Don’t even think about it.”

You don’t. You just watch her go.

—

On Wednesday, you take her advice. You decide to do better. After asking Sophia for the cheer schedule, you make your way to the parking lot. And as Daniela emerges from the gym door, you stand by her car, your acoustic guitar in hand, and you start to strum a familiar, haunting melody, from her favourite song, according to a reluctant Lara. But before you can sing a single word, she’s on you, grabbing the front of your shirt as she pulls you closer, her face inches from yours. “Are you insane? What do you think you’re doing, again?” she silently shouts, her voice a furious whisper.

Being this close, seeing the fire in her eyes, smelling the faint scent of rain on her skin from the gym’s air conditioning, it makes you smile, a real, stupid, genuine smile. “Really, Avanzini? I was just about to serenade you. To show you how worthy we are. I took your advice. A musician persuades with music. And I even picked your favourite song, because you said I could do better.” Your cheeky smile widens.

Her grip loosens, confusion clouding her anger. “And who told you about my favourite song?”

“Lara. I tried asking you yesterday, but you told me to, and I quote, ‘shove my guitar up my ass.’ Not very nice, by the way.” You feign an innocent, wounded look. “Avanzini, just one performance. That’s all my band needs.”

She sighs, a long, ragged sound, and glances around. A few people are starting to stare. It’s one thing to be the centre of attention. It’s another to be the centre of a scene with you. The discomfort is plain on her face. She’s not used to being seen with someone whose edges are so frayed.

“Look, don’t ever pull a stunt like this again, you hear me?” she says, her voice low. And in return you just nod, still smiling. Whatever she’s saying with those pretty lips, you’ll agree.

“Meet me tomorrow. Same time, library. And no grand performances, okay? Now go.”

You nod again, opening her car door for her like a valet. “Bye, Avanzini. Take care.”

Maybe this time, the answer will be different.

—

“No, you are not performing at my party,” Daniela says flatly the next day. Her voice doesn’t rise, but the edge in it is diamond-cut. You’re standing outside the library, hands full, her signature iced coffee in one, and the other in the strap of your backpack. The words hit you like a physical blow.

“But why?” you ask, your voice hollow, trying to hold her gaze but already bracing for the next blow.

Daniela rolls her eyes, but something flickers behind the gesture. “Because I don’t even know what your music sounds like,” she says, a flicker of logic in her cold tone. “Why would I let you perform if I’ve never heard you?”

Your face lights up. The hope you thought was dead comes roaring back to life. You hand her the coffee and dig through your backpack, pulling out a jewel case adorned with random, cut-out letters from magazines, like a punk-rock ransom note. Inside is a CD and a piece of paper with a handwritten tracklist.

“I’m so glad you asked,” you say, a triumphant grin spreading across your face. “Here. We burned a few copies. There are only five in existence. One for each of us, and lucky you, you get the last one.” You give her a theatrical wink. “And if you want a live performance, we have a small gig tonight at The Dive, you know? The open bar nearby. We can dedicate a whole set to you. An exclusive, curated just for Daniela Avanzini.”

Daniela stares at the CD like it’s something contagious, then carefully, she takes it from your hand. Her fingers brush yours for a second and you swear you see her stiffen. She then mutters something under her breath. 

“Sorry?” you asked her with genuine confusion written on your face.

“I said…” she clears her throat “What time?”

Your lips part in surprise, then curl into a slow, stunned smile.

“Eight. We go on at eight.”

She nods once, turns away, and walks to her car — the CD still clutched tightly in her hand.

She doesn’t say she’ll come. But she doesn’t say she won’t.

—

Daniela tells herself she won’t listen. She tells herself she’s just going to throw the CD in her glove compartment and forget about it. And yet, the moment she’s alone in her car, she slips the CD into the player. The first track crackles to life, it’s loud, messy, and your guitar sounds like a beautiful scream. She drives with it playing, the windows cracked just slightly. The scent of jasmine from her wrist mixing with the sharp tang of your guitar distortion, she tells herself that it’s not her cup of tea, but as the track ends, she doesn’t switch it off. 

Daniela also tells herself that she’s not going, not because she doesn’t have time or she’s occupied for the night, but because this, you, and your band, is a pure glitch in her world. And yet later, she’s standing in front of her closet with five outfits on the bed, Lara on her phone asking for some outfit advice, and one thought repeating like a hook in her chest. “What is wrong with you Avanzini?”

—

The Dive smells like old wood, cheap beer, and ambition. At 7:38, she’s there. The lights are low and golden, the floor sticky in places, and the crowd a strange mix of flannel, glitter, and borrowed eyeliner. Daniela slips in through the back, sunglasses still on, even though it’s nearly dark inside. She keeps to the shadows at first, tucked in a booth alone. And then she sees you. 

You’re on stage, tuning your guitar, your forearms looks veiny as you twist the tuning pegs, sweat already clings to your back. Your shirt is a little too tight in the shoulders and arms. Your eyes then flick up sensing someone looking at you, and as you scan the room, she swear your gaze lands on her. 

She looks away first, removes her sunglasses, then the music starts.

It’s louder than she expected. Gritty and imperfect but there’s something beneath the feedback, something that threads itself under her skin, a kind of ache that blooms in her ribs. You’re not the vocalist, but you move like someone feeling everything. Each chord you play is a strike, it’s deliberate, tender, and feral. When you close your eyes, your whole body leans into the sound. You don’t perform like you want attention all to yourself. You’re performing like you’re trying to survive. 

And that’s what draws her in, because in her world she’s used to being the centre of every room. But in this chaos of yours? You are the gravity that pulls her in. Something sharp twists inside her chest. A kind of envy she doesn’t have a name for. A kind of wanting she doesn’t want to admit. And when the set ends and the applause swells and when your eyes flick across the crowd and land on her, she forgets to breathe.

You genuinely smile at her. Like a silent thank you, and she felt like she’s the only person in the room who matters. She hates how much she wants to chase that smile all the way backstage.

—

When you walk toward her after the set, your bandmates close behind you, her whole body tenses. She’s planned a dozen things to say, something witty or cold but all of them dissolve when you stop in front of her, cheeks flushed, shirt damp with sweat, and eyes bright.

“Avanzini,” you say breathlessly, still buzzing. “Thanks for coming. This is Alex the vocalist, Matt the bassist, Jess in sticks and—”

She barely nods at them cause her eyes don’t leave yours.

“Can I borrow you for a second?” she asks too quickly. 

You nodded as you looked at your bandmates with a tight smile and in exchange they looked at you with teasing ones. You then follow her outside into the cool night air. “So, did we pass the audition?” you ask, leaning against the brick wall. And when she doesn’t answer right away. Her arms cross over her chest like she’s holding herself together, you waited for her with no expectations.

“You were loud,” she says, avoiding your gaze. “And you sweat a lot.”

“But that’s rock, well garage rock. And I don’t sweat a lot, it's the condensation of the room, not me.”

She finally looks at you, an unguarded expression on her face. “Why?” she asks. “Why do you care so much, you know, about this?” 

You looked at her with confusion until it dawned on you. You’re not ready for the question, but you answer honestly. “I told you,” you say, your voice serious for the first time. “They’re my family. Music is the only thing that’s ever felt like home. And home is about to be foreclosed on.”

She’s silent for a long moment. Daniela looks at you intently, she’s used to memorising dance routines, in fact it only took her minutes to memorise the cheer routine yet she can’t seem to memorised you. Not that she’s incapable of it, but maybe she doesn't want to, maybe she’d rather look at you all the time, let it all sink in and come again. 

“Saturday,” she says finally. “My party. One set. Three songs. And for God’s sake, try to look presentable. Don’t embarrass me.” She turns to leave, but you call after her.

“Hey, Daniela?” She pauses.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t look back, but you see her shoulders relax just a fraction.

—

The night of the party, you play like your heart might never beat again. You wear your best or what passes for it not just for the stage, but in the quiet hope that Daniela might see you differently tonight. Performing has always been your sanctuary, your home. You thrive in the exchange of energy, the way the crowd rises and falls with each strum, each lyric. But tonight, your eyes catch hers and everything else slips into static.

Daniela is luminous. Effortlessly divine in a cropped top and loose, low-slung pants, she moves with the kind of grace that makes time stutter. A drink in one hand as she nods along to the music, and you find yourself playing louder, like your guitar could be the language she understands. And when she smiles, the whole room is just a backdrop. In that moment you knew, you’re done for. That’s it. You're head over heels for Daniela Avanzini.

You could write a hundred songs from this one look. You want to and you know that you would. Every chord, every lyric, every breath, just hers.

But then you see him.

Some frat guy in a white polo and jeans, confident in that glossy, effortless way. He leans in too close. She turns away from you and toward him. Her smile now belongs to his joke, not your melody. Their laughter, shared like a secret, that cuts sharper than any guitar string ever could. You try to shrug it off, try to lose yourself in the rhythm, but there’s a bitter knot curling inside you. Jealousy? Insecurity? Both, maybe. Whatever it is, it burns.

You keep playing. The crowd jumps, sways, sings. But your gaze keeps drifting back, like a song stuck on repeat. They look good together, in a magazine kind of way, polished and untouchable. And maybe you always knew. Maybe you’ve always known. Daniela Avanzini belongs to a different orbit. One with velvet ropes and perfect lighting. One where you’re not a performer,  you’re a cause. A charity case she took pity on for one night.

You thought you cracked something open that night at The Dive. You thought maybe she saw you. But now she’s back in her world, and you’re still on the outside, watching her from the stage like a dream you were never meant to hold.

—

You don’t wait for the applause to fade. Even before the final chord stops humming in your bones, you’re slipping your guitar over your shoulder and mumbling something about feeling sick. Your bandmates nod, a mix of concern and post-show adrenaline dulling the edges of your lie. You don’t wait for questions. You move through the crowd like smoke, brushing past smiles and laughter, heading for the back door where the night air waits, cool and quiet. You offer Manon, Sophia, and Lara a small wave, one they barely catch, before disappearing into the dark with your guitar in hand and your heart dragging behind you.

Inside, Daniela is still glowing from the set. Something about the way you played, the way you looked at her, it sparked a warmth she doesn’t quite know what to do with. There's a wild, nervous energy in her chest, an urge to say something real. To tell you that you weren’t just “nice.” You were electric, magnetic, and impossible to look away from.

Tucked behind her back, she’s holding a bouquet of dandelions, a little soft offering. Similar to the gesture that you did in the library. Something about it felt right, maybe even romantic. But when she finds Sophia talking with your bandmates, you’re already gone.

“Oh they left early,” Sophia says. “Said they weren’t feeling great.”

Daniela blinks, the words hitting like cold water. She hadn’t expected that. She’d thought you’d stay. Maybe find her in the crowd. Maybe ask her what she thought. Maybe just talk to her once more. The disappointment comes quietly, a somewhat sharp ache she wasn’t prepared for.

She presses the bouquet into Jess’s hands with a forced smile. “For the band,” she says, brushing it off like it’s nothing. But it was something.

And after that, the rest of the night feels dim. The lights are still flashing, the music still loud, but it’s all gone grey. She finds herself scanning the door more times than she wants to admit, but you’re gone. And somehow, so is the rhythm.

—

You spend the next week treating her like a fire alarm, seen, heard, and avoided. Because every time you spot Daniela Avanzini across a hallway, every time her laugh cuts through the noise, the feelings from the party come rushing back, that bitter cocktail of being out of place, out of reach, and far from enough.

You’ve caught something worse than a crush, a full-blown, no-cure, deep-in-the-bone affection for a girl you were never supposed to have a chance with. And you know better. You know it’s a hopeless cause. So you pull away. You keep your head down. You become absence in motion.

Until one day, she finds you.

It’s lunch. Your sanctuary of invisibility. And then, a hush falls. The cafeteria buzz quiets like prey sensing a predator. You hear the scuff of expensive boots. And suddenly, she’s standing at your table.

Daniela Avanzini.

Unlike the time you ambushed her outside the gym, guitar in hand and heart on sleeve, she doesn’t flinch at the crowd. She wants them to watch. She wants it known that she’s looking for you.

“Why are you ignoring me?” she says, voice low but cutting. A blade wrapped in velvet.

You glance up, startled, mouth halfway to your soda straw. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I asked Sophia. Who asked Manon,” she replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Her arms are crossed and her expression is pure offense. 

You look down at your tray, as if food can shield you from the truth. “I’m not ignoring you,” you lie. “I kept my promise. Remember? After we performed, I said I’d leave you alone.”

For a second, her face softens. Then out of nowhere the bratty armour clicks back into place like she’s afraid of being seen too clearly. “That’s the stupidest promise I’ve ever heard,” she scoffs, loud enough for the nearest tables to hear. “And Sophia once promised during a party not to make out with Manon in my guest room again, so that’s saying something.”

You blink. “What?”

“Whatever. I’ll see you after class. Don’t even think about hiding or running somewhere, Manon gave me your schedule.”

She spins on her heel and vanishes into the cafeteria like a storm. You sit there, stunned, chewing air and regret.

—

Later that day, your class ends. You’re at your locker, trying to shove a broken zipper back into place when it happens, a proof that your band’s set at the party meant something. A girl from your Maths class approaches, the kind of pretty that feels like sunlight through blinds, warm and not overwhelming. She compliments your performance, asks about your next gig. For a moment, the ache in your chest eases. You smile, laugh, crack a dumb joke, and feel a little lighter.

Then the air shifts. The shadow arrives before the voice.

Daniela Avanzini. Again.

“What’s this?” she asks, tone dipped in poison. Her gaze sweeps the girl from head to toe, all judgment and sharp angles. “Shopping for a groupie?”

The girl, who you didn’t even catch her name, falters. Her confidence crumbles under Daniela’s stare, and she mutters a quick excuse before slipping away, flushed and flustered.

You whip around, jaw slack. “What was that?!”

Daniela crosses her arms, defiant. “So I guess musicians really are players. Especially guitarists. Moving on fast, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” you say, exasperated. “Moving on from what? There’s nothing to move on from!”

She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes narrow. “I leave you alone for an hour and you’re already charming other women?”

You’re speechless. And she took advantage of it as she steps in closer.

“So I guess the party meant nothing to you, huh?” she says.

“Remember charity work, right?” she says, stepping even closer. Her voice drops into something quieter — not softer, but more dangerous. “You said you owed me. You said you keep your promises, correct?” You’re stunned silent. She’s too close.

“So,” she murmurs, her words curling around your ribs like smoke. “Take me on a date tonight.”

You blink once or maybe thrice, just enough to make you aware that you are not dreaming. 

“What?”

“You heard me right. I don’t like repeating myself.” She leans in, eyes alight with challenge. “Did I make myself clear?"

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. 

“Good. I’ll see you at seven.”

And before your brain can catch up, before your heart can slow down, she turns and disappears into the crowd once again, like a storm retreating just before the sky breaks open. But then, halfway through the hallway she pauses. She turns struts back like she forgot something. She then stops in front of you again, her perfume threading through your breath. 

“Oh,” she adds casually, making sure people around the hallway can hear her voice. “For tonight, make sure to wear that shirt you had on at my party. The black one. It’s my favourite. Okay?” she adds as she uses her fingers to tap you under your chin.

You’re left standing there, pulse roaring in your ears, certain of only one thing. Whatever Daniela’s saying with those pretty lips, you’ll agree. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m so sorry to the anon who requested this! I misread the prompt, I saw masc!reader instead of masc!fem!reader, so I ended up using they/them pronouns instead of she/her. Also, sorry that this took so long to finish. I've actually had this sitting in my GDocs for a while now because I’ve been planning to work on my “rich x broke” trope 'series'. It includes 'Steel and Silk' which was originally meant to be Daniela's, 'Separate Worlds' is Sophia's, and the last one which I haven't finished yet, will be for another member. But since Sophia fits the sugar-mommy-ish vibe more, I ended up giving her "Steel and Silk" instead. So, this story became my way of finally including Daniela.

I’ve got tons of stuff sitting in my drafts, so don’t worry — I’ll try to release them once I manage to finish it lol. It’s just that my imagination only seems to kick in when I’m somewhere I really shouldn’t be writing fanfics.