lizziee-olseen

[lizziee-olseen]

— , SECRET4U | MEGAN SKIENDIEL 2 ᯓ★

↡

a week had passed since megan had developed a hearty, though almost unattainable crush on the sister of her groupmate. sophia's "no dating" policy still applied in every aspect possible, and with your busy college life and megan's ridiciously tiring schedule, it made it impossible to see one another as often as you had wanted to. you were only able to manage a short, late-night meeting the night of her flight back home, one that made your awkward hearts flutter lightly.

warnings?: laforteza!reader, fluff

wc: 4400+

a/n: guys this is so rushed and so bad i’m so sorry but i needed to post something so…

part one

...

days had gone by since that day, full of unexpected heart flutters and senseless, lowkey flirting. while megan and the girls went by day-by-day in their hotel rooms, out at every time of the day for work—whether it be photoshoots, interviews, or lives—you remained focused on your studies for finals, occasionally going with a couple of friends to an open gym for quick games.

however, between the two of you's time-consuming schedules, it was without a doubt that the day you first met replayed periodically in your minds. the scenery, attraction at first sight, with a late-night walk full of quick flirts and mindless conversations felt as if they were right out of a rom-com. it almost made you laugh sometimes, but what wasn't funny was how you hadn't texted her.

it wasn't like megan could text you—no, because she gave you her number, and not the other way around. rather, the girl would die than ask sophia for your number, already on edge with the filipina since that night. coming home, flushed cheeks with her sister's jacket wrapped around megan, how it stayed on her the day after, and how she left the house wearing the jacket and you didn't stop her—you gave it to her.

it made her ponder, because that was your favorite jacket.

you had received it as a gift over three years ago, and between every other photo taken since then, at every outing and in every frame, it clung to you relentlessly.

you went as far as to address the situation to your dad, lying that you had gotten someone's number from an open gym session and you hadn't texted them in days, and he could only speak the filipino translation of 'you're fumbling; get it together.' you had only hoped megan hadn't taken offense to your lack of communication, and she necessarily didn't, but she did feel disappointment in the pit of her stomach.

nobody noticed her rushing to check her phone after rehearsals, photoshoots, or anything work-related that forced her to be away from her phone for long periods of time, hoping that an unsaved number would text her any sort of familiar words. it hadn't come yet. it had been a week since that night, and it was a solemn confirmation on the phone one night that their schedules wouldn't allow them to return to the house as previously anticipated.

you could only blame your hesitations on college and volleyball, but you knew better. even on days that consisted of back-to-back classes, studying, quick open gym sessions, and maybe a late-night party or two, you still managed to find gaps of time to text your friends and family. megan had a busier schedule than you, even, and she would've texted by now.

even the other girls—lara, manon, and daniela—were utterly confused. normally, whenever this happened, they'd choose to hate the person for a 'ghosting matter,' but the wide range of filipino snacks you bought that they had yet to finish was enough to keep their love for you alive. add on to the fact you were not only sophia's sister but genuinely nice; they chose to chalk it up to you being nervous, which megan didn't believe.

it was only then, six days after that initial day, that you sat at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, pondering if you should send your message.

too nonchalant, nothing like you. [LOUD BUZZER]

too simple, sounding as if you were avoiding the fact that you had texted her six days overdue and she was probably fuming at you. [LOUD BUZZER]

you drafted a couple more ideas, all of them sounding too lame or unlike you, and it made you angry after a while. who knew texting a girl could be so complicated—you usually never hesitated.

to extract your stress, you chose to put on the mindset of ‘whatever you type, just send it. what’s done is done.’ while it wasn’t the greatest idea, it lessened the burden of overthinking and analyzing every letter you were sending to her message inbox. with this, you were unaware that you were recharging your texting yap, individually sending messages that could’ve been crammed into one paragraph.

it only took you one reread of the messages to mentally facepalm yourself, cringing at the words you sent and hoping you could unsend them and praying she never saw the notifications. however, she did.

on megan's side, the girl had let out a loud squeal, nearly waking the sleeping figures by her. while the squeal itself didn't wake the figures—manon and lara—up, megan continuing to scream while jumping on their beds surely did the trick. half past 11, the girls jolted awake in utter shock, only to be met with the sight of a jumpy girl hovering over them.

"holy fuck, megan! don't do that!" lara immediately sat up after megan had jumped over to her bed, head in turmoil as she turned and saw manon rubbing her eyes, having played victim to the ginger's antics as well. "she texted me!"

deeming her attempts successful, megan plopped down on the end of lara's bed, opening the chat from an unknown number and shoving the phone into the girls' faces. "a triple dipper, sure makes up for the week of no acknowledgement."

“don’t call her a triple dipper just ‘cause you’re hungry, give me.” lara motioned for the phone, to which megan handed it over while manon looked at the girl, offended, muttering a small, “i meant texter.” lara looked through the texts once more, almost snorting at the emojis, before typing out a small draft.

“hii, i’m doing well, hbu?” lara spoke as she typed the words, earning an immediate ‘no’ from manon before she ripped the phone out of the indian girl’s hands. “you gotta be petty; she left you on ghost for six days, how about…”

“about time you texted.”

lara reached for the phone once more, grabbing it with her right hand and hitting the girl’s thigh with her left. “absolutely not, manon. megan wants to attract, not scare her into not texting again.” megan looked between the two, her phone switching between their hands as they bickered about a situation she was technically supposed to solve herself. she could’ve taken the phone away from them, saying she’d figure it out herself, but she knew she’d end up leaving you on read for a matter of days, if possible.

lara was the go-to for writing break-up texts, having written daniela’s for her stupid ex-boyfriend that dared to try and limit what she wore and who she hung around, and it was a matter of a short-and-sweet text by daniela lara that put him in his place. if she could excel in break-up texts, she certainly could honor her pedestal in flirtatious texts, even if the girl was constantly rewriting a simple greeting message.

megan chimed in, fingers fidgeting in small rubs, “guys, if you could speed up the process, that’d be great.” the two girls stopped their bickering in an instant, both looking at her with a glint in their eyes that said ‘really? we’re trying to help you.’ that made megan gulp. “i just… have my read receipts on, that’s all.”

"in that case," lara snatched the phone from manon once more, sending off a text or two that she didn't bother to read out loud. as if wind started to blow, both megan and manon dove at lara—more specifically for the phone—and the phone landed in megan's hands, pushing the other girl back with a yelp of, "it's my phone!"

megan scanned the screen, her eyes wide as she read off the two short messages before slumping back. "okay... not bad. phew," she chuckled, throwing her phone to the side as if she were the one to have solved her problem. manon, with a roll of her eyes, was already crawling back into bed while lara gave the ginger a shove. "you're welcome."

"oh yeah, thanks than—agh!" megan jumped at the sound of a notification coming from her phone, plopped on the edge of lara's bed. with a reach, lara grabbed the phone, reading off, "p. manager."

she threw the phone down, crawling back over to the front of her bed, where she lay, while megan sat in the corner. "it's just grant telling you to practice your leg oversteps more."

with a groan and a covered face via one of lara's pillows, megan ended up falling asleep on lara's bed after not receiving a text back, figuring you had fallen asleep and taking it as a sign for her to hit the hay as well. "you know you have your own bed, yeah?"

"yes, but you guys wanted to play mismatch roommates this time, and dani's a mouthbreather." she laughed at that, covering her mouth while muffled snickers could be heard from manon's bed, the girl laughing with a short, "must've forgotten her mouth tape."

the next couple of days were some of megan's brightest while in the philippines, and everyone noticed. especially sophia, who only managed to put two and two together on why both megan's and her sister's moods suddenly brightened after you were screensharing on the phone one night, showing sophia a video you had taken, and a message from 'megan' had popped up.

between short breaks in rehearsal, when sohey would be guiding one of the girls on how to properly do a move, she would sneak her phone and text you. in between classes, as you were on your commute, you'd text. while in the makeup chair, megan texts you and pretends her favorite stylist wasn't looking over her shoulder and making 'ooh' sounds. you'd text her in between volleyball sets, sometimes purposely aiming your hit at someone when a set took longer to finish so that when the game would pause to check on their welfare, you'd sneak your phone and send off a quick reply.

it carried on for the remainder of the week, and it took countless self-reminders for you to remember that she wasn't going to be here forever, and you certainly weren't going to let her leave without seeing her again.

with a short persuasion to your parents, who, despite your age, still wanted you home by 9pm on a weekend, you set out into the city late at night and made your way to a high-end hotel in the heart of the city. on the other side, megan had slipped out of her room after daniela had knocked out, holding onto her shoes as she walked by sophia and yoonchae's hotel room, careful not to attract any unwanted attention.

outside, you sat in one of your mom's jeeps, sneaking it after she had gone out in another car—not like she'd notice amongst the several other cars the lafortezas owned—and upon seeing megan, jumped out of your seat before rounding the car as she walked closer. megan was better prepared this time around, sporting baggy, thick jeans with a black fitted shirt that was mainly covered by your zipped-up jacket.

you didn't really prepare for what you'd say, figuring it'd just come to you as it always did with anyone else. you didn't take into your mental calculations that she was the only one who made you nervous to be around, and so instead of perking up a simple greeting, you looked at her, mouth slightly agape, as she stood in front of you.

she could only take a mental selfie of your face that stared at her like she was the most ethereal thing to exist—so much so that it left you speechless—letting out a quiet giggle that showed off her faint whisker dimples, "nice to see you too, i guess?" that knocked you out from your daze, eyes refocusing on the girl in front of you, face illuminated by the car's headlights.

"sorry..." you gave the girl an awkward smile, moving around her to the passenger seat of the car, giving her a slight nudge on the way, and opening it. she took the hint, giving you a small thanks before stepping inside the car, and you made sure she was comfortable before closing the door. it was the one time megan didn't flinch at the shutting of a car door, bleak reminders of when lara tried to play "boyfriend" for a day and slammed the passenger door so hard it shook her entire car.

as you settled into the driver's seat, momentarily acting busy between turning on the car and adjusting the interior lights, you finally spoke, "you're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"why, are you gonna slingshot me off a skyscraper?"

"yeah, i'm gonna buckle you up and shoot you across manila. no-" you joked back, catching yourself in a laugh before you could continue your sentence, and megan let out a genuine laugh at your reciprocal sarcasm, grabbing the dashboard for light support. "no, just... there's this rooftop I like."

"ah, very casual place to hang out then, hm?" megan kept teasing you, wanting to continue seeing the slight blush that reddened your cheeks and the way you had to bite back a smile. "nooo, just memorable, that's all."

soon enough, you found yourself outside of the small building by the water, off a short coast that you knew pretty well. "you said this building's memorable, yeah?" you nodded. "how come?"

"it's my grandfather's. he had nothing to do with himself come the end of his life, and he had enough funds, so he opened up this bake shop." having made sure megan got out of the car fully, you locked it behind you before stepping onto the sidewalk. "funny thing is that he wasn't truly a baker of any means, he just gave recipes to his workers that my dad had given him."

you opened the door to the small shop, holding it open for megan, who spoke a small 'thank you' before walking in, and you trailed behind. the place smelled like sweet bread and raspberry, with nobody at the counter, given that the time was beyond open hours. you had asked the owner to leave it open, knowing that you would come by, and his only wish was that you'd close the shop for him once you were done. a gold, rusted key sat on the table nearest to the door, and you pocketed it. it wasn't the safest thing to do; anyone could've come in, robbed the place of its memorabilia, or damaged the place, but it wasn't that long after the last worker had left that you came in.

"when he died, my dad wasn't able to oversee the shop, and really, neither was anybody able to in our immediate family, so he gave ownership to one of his lead bakers. for him, it was still like giving ownership to family, even if they weren't bonded by blood." megan was able to multitask, taking in your words while also scanning around the area, eyes darting from empty shelves where bread would be showcased in only a couple of hours again, to pictures and paintings on the wall, eyes scouring over a family frame of the laforteza's. you were standing by your grandfather with a small grin on your face—you were noticeably younger. she also noticed a small sophia, cheeky, wide grin plastered on her face that megan would make a note to take a photo of before she left.

megan's words were mindless, eyes still darting around the place as you eventually began to lead her to an upstairs compartment. "for someone like you, you do have a way with words."

"really?" you laughed, guiding her up the stairs until you reached the fire exit at the top, holding down the button beside the door so the alarm wouldn't go off. megan was quick to rebut her words, realizing that the words could be taken out of context, although you didn't seem offended. "i mean like... i don't know, you don't seem geeky."

"to speak well is to be geeky now?" you genuinely laughed once more, and megan fell more into a short-circuited distress. quick fumbles over her words made you turn around, catching her slightly reddened face and furrowed eyebrows. you moved to rest your hand on her shoulder, opening the door with the other and letting her through. "relax, i'm teasing you now. plus, i'm an english major. i can name you any piece of literature from the back of my head."

the rooftop is small, given the building's size itself. solar panels littered the edge of the building, and by the edge of the other side of the building, megan had noticed two chairs side-by-side, facing the water coast. the stars were vibrant in manila, a vast contrast to the night skies back in la, with white dots littering the dark night and possible constellations to be connected if she looked hard enough.

megan was the biggest constellations buff, coincidentally enough. she could tell you all the major constellations, from orion to her own zodiac sign, aquarius. you noticed the glint in her eyes as she looked up at the sky, walking forward slowly while still halting herself for you, waiting as you made sure to keep a stopper in the door. "quick guess."

megan turned to you, who stood beside her now, "huh?"

"quick guess on what you liked, you know," you pointed up, "the sky." but the truth was, you had texted lara after relentless begging to sophia while you two were on the phone one night, going from pleads that you and megan would remain 'friends'—which sophia knew was a total lie—to making baseless promises to your sister that she kept a reminder in the back of her head to keep.

"they're really pretty. i honestly don't remember the last time i actually just sat and looked at them." megan sat on the chair, gaze locked back on the sky and ultimately failed to notice the way you looked at her, stealing quick glances as if you were scared of getting caught. your eyes looked over the slope of her nose and the faint upper cheek indents from her natural dimples, with a daunting silence washing over you two. it wasn't that you were uncomfortable in the silence, but you were on limited time with the girl.

"what's so great about constellations- like, genuinely." you questioned, asking the question as if it were a more personal look into her life. lara didn't tell you why that was one of megan's fixations, and you couldn't tell whether it was due to lara not knowing either, or lara setting you up for a good conversation starter (which you'd later thank her for).

"it started with my mom. constellations is a part of chinese culture and it aligned with her beliefs, so she'd take me and my brother to these hills some nights to watch the stars, cause they're very prominent in hawaii. then we moved to la and the sky is clear as day there so it kinda stopped." megan laughed lightly, something she found herself doing a lot around you, and she couldn't tell if it was because the conversations between you two would spark something funny at times, or she was just too nervous.

she continued, able to see you now staring at her from her peripheral vision, "i'll still... uh, go out and see stars whenever we travel, but i hadn't done it here yet, even though this is my third time being in manila. i've always been too busy."

"so it's nice doing this," she turned to you, stomach lightly fluttering at the fact that you never looked at the stars—your eyes were always on her. it wasn't something megan had necessarily expected, with you being so focused on her. the night you two met, you were more nonchalant in a way, focused on her but also on yourself at the same time. now, you were solely fixated on her, eyes lurking on her face for a way of confirmation that she enjoyed being there, which she did. "so thank you, y/n."

your face remained red for the rest of the night that you two were together, only for about an hour or two, before you unfortunately had to drive her home before anyone could realize she was gone. as you walked side by side, boba tea in her hand after driving by a late-night boba shop only required the two of you to walk in. it was around 3am by that point, and megan had to be up in mere hours for her 10am flight.

the girl babbled on about something mindless, being more comfortable with you as the time flew by before you ended up in the hotel's elevator. "megan."

you had said her name in a gap of breath that she took, her head turning to face you as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. "this might some really corny, like out of a rom-com corny, but," you held your arm out to disallow the elevator doors from closing, inviting megan to step out first before you followed.

"when do i get to see you again?" you accentuated your words, looking at her with raised eyebrows. you never truly left manila for travel unless it was to the US to support sophia, but those trips were spontaneous and out-of-the-blue, coordinated by your family. you wanted a true, dotted event on your calender, a date that was something you could look forward to, if it didn't sound geeked of you enough.

megan was stumped for a second, thinking about the roadblocks that conflicted your schedules, before a lightbulb went off in your head. "are you free august third?"

you let out an over-exaggerated groan, "that's like three months from now!"

you were about to say something else before you heard the click of a door opening, figuring that you had just been too loud in your tone and someone was about to chew your ear out. instead, megan had noticed almost immediately that the door opening was her hotel room a couple doors down from where the two of you stood, and she froze.

"why is dani aw- oh, fuuuuuck..." the figure stepping out of megan's hotel room was none other than sophia, with furrowed eyebrows and an unfortunate cute face that gave an all too familiar look, one that showed she was a wrong word away from killing you. her hands rested on her hips while she took off one of her slippers and wedged it in-between the door to avoid its closure.

"jules called because she knows i'm always up late, told me that you weren't answering your phone because she needed to talk to you. so i went to your hotel room, knocked relentlessly until dani woke up and opened the door." sophia started off, body language tensed and she was one slipper down, and she was holding herself back from hurling her other one at you. "dani didn't realize you had left, and so i waited. i've been in your room for over an hour."

megan checked her phone and, lord behold, three messages and two missed calls from 'jules — manager' and over ten missed calls from 'fia'. her phone had been off the entire time, and on instinct, you had checked your phone as well. three missed calls from sophia, who knew you as a late-nighter as well—it was basically in your guys' genes to never be asleep at appropriate times—and one singular text message.

sophia didn't budge from her spot, only outstretching her hand. "i'm coming by the house in a couple of hours to say goodbye, so you," she pointed at you, and you bit your lip, "i'll talk to you then."

"as for you, right now." she directed her point at megan, who looked more than scared of her leader at that moment. "hurry up," and sophia went back inside of the room, leaving you two to say goodbye which you knew better than to prolong.

after a quick second of straight eye contact, which in your perspective felt like years, you started off. "so, ummmmm.... august, was it?" megan nodded, a short smiling grazing her face before she hesitated, then stepped forward and embraced you in a hug. unlike the first day you met, this hug had more feel to it, with the way she rested her head on your shoulder, and how your hands gripped the leather jacket like you didn't want to let go and be forced to wait for months.

and megan did get her ear chewed off by sophia, the filipina being loud enough to awaken a drowsy dani for the second time that night whilst going off about being out late at night and its irresponsibility and about you. her flurry of words only ended when dani became so agitated about being unable to fall back asleep, she began to shout at sophia to leave their room.

it was likewise for you. sophia stood on her words and visited the laforteza home once more before her departure, giving everyone hugs and a noogie to your guys' youngest brother while you stayed cooped up in your room, pretending to be asleep. her demeanor changed when she came face-to-face with your "sleeping" figure, going from a spark in her eyes as she said goodbye downstairs to a mean expression, pulling the blankets off of you and dragging you out of your bed by your ankles as she ripped you a new one.

what you didn't know was that when sophia had left the hotel an hour before everyone else, leaving yoonchae to do their checkout, she ran into a restless megan—who was quite literally restless from a lack of sleep—in her pajamas, your leather jacket clutched in her hand. "i forgot to return it for good yesterday. i figure she'd need it for next fall or something, since it's getting hot again, so..."

megan held out the jacket to sophia, expecting her to take it and leave the ginger with a death glare; however, sophia only pushed megan's outstretched hand back toward her body, leaving her confused.

"i know my sister, megan. if she gave it to you and told you to keep it, she wants you to keep it."

…

🏷️: @iamconfusedrightnow @cassiespoiler @katzzeye @skz-xii @megagayzone90 @vindevampir @tae4san

[lizziee-olseen]

Sick Days ❣ᨓ

✧ genre/au: megan skiendiel x sick!reader [she/her]. friends to lovers. mutual pining. sick day softness. casual intimacy. ✧ word count: 2.4k

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙𖦹

summary: you're running a fever, insisting you're fine, and megan shows up anyway—with gatorade, and no intention of leaving. she moves through your apartment like she belongs there. and maybe she does. it's quiet care, burned toast, forehead touches, and the kind of comfort you didn’t realize you wanted until she gave it to you.

━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

Your body felt like it had been dropped from the top of a six-story building, dragged through molasses, and then flattened under a semi-truck for good measure.

The fever was a relentless thrum behind your eyes, your throat burned with every swallow, and your muscles—usually strong and steady—felt like overstretched wires ready to snap. Your usual drive, the fire that kept you moving, felt soaked and smothered. You lay sprawled on the couch like a discarded towel, half-drenched in sweat, bundled in a mountain of mismatched blankets. Your phone sat precariously on your chest, screen dimmed, thumb hovering over a half-finished text to Megan.

> meg: how r u feeling?? > meg: seriously don't lie to me

you: i'm fine. don't come over. get some sleep

You hit send, wincing at the brightness of the screen, then groaned and turned your face into the nearest pillow.

A beat. Then another. You had maybe a minute of peace before the next vibration came.

> meg: babe. open the door.

Your brows furrowed.

you: what??

> meg: i'm outside.

There was a knock. You groaned again, this one louder, throat scraping as you dragged your aching body toward the front door.

When you opened it, you found Megan standing on your porch, cheeks flushed from the cold, strands of pink hair poking out of her hoodie, and a giant reusable tote bag swinging from her shoulder like she was prepping for the apocalypse.

"Megan," you croaked, leaning heavily on the doorframe, trying to look as annoyed as possible. "I told you not to come. I'm probably contagious. This is the opposite of being responsible."

She blinked up at you and gave a small, mischievous smile. "And yet here I am."

You attempted to block the door with your arm, but she ducked under it effortlessly, slipping into your apartment like she belonged there. She did, but still.

"You're unbelievable," you muttered, trailing behind her as she set the bag down on your coffee table. She was already unpacking before you could protest: orange Gatorade, saltine crackers, a digital thermometer, menthol rub, cough drops, and—for some reason—a single banana.

"What's the banana for?"

She didn't look up. "Potassium. Or morale. Haven't decided."

You sagged back onto the couch. "You should be in bed. You finally get two weeks off and this is how you want to spend it? Taking care of my gross, sweaty self?"

She glanced up then, expression unreadable. "You take care of me all the time. Literally all the time. Let me return the favor."

You hesitated, shoulders tensing. "Yeah, but that's... different."

She gave you a look. The kind that always made your arguments shrivel in your throat.

"You think being the strong one means you don't get to be taken care of?" she asked, standing now and walking toward you. She stopped just in front of where you sat, towering but slouched. "That's not how this works, babe."

You opened your mouth to respond but ended up coughing instead. A deep, chest-rattling kind that left you doubled over, gasping.

In a flash, Megan was next to you, hand on your back, murmuring soft nothings as she guided you into a more comfortable position. She tucked a pillow behind your head, then reached for the thermometer.

"You don't have to—"

"Shush."

She pressed the thermometer gently under your tongue. You glared at her, but the glare softened as soon as she brushed the hair off your forehead. Her touch was impossibly gentle.

When the thermometer beeped, she pulled it out, checked the number, and made a face. "One-oh-two-point-eight. No wonder you're acting like a vegetable."

"Meg," you rasped, eyes heavy, "don't get too close."

She smiled, and sat right next to you anyway, knees bumping yours. "Too late for that."

"You'll get sick."

"Then you'll take care of me after," she said simply, as if it was the most obvious arrangement in the world.

You wanted to argue, but her hand was already reaching for the heating pad laying around, tucking it gently beneath your hoodie.

"You really don't have to do all this," you mumbled, already sinking into the warmth.

She looked at you, eyes soft but firm. "You'd do it for me."

Of course you would.

You groaned when she pulled the blanket tighter around you, swaddling you like a burrito. "You're so bossy when I'm sick."

"I'm always bossy. You're just too tired to fight me this time."

You didn't answer. Mostly because she was right.

Megan disappeared into the kitchen. You could hear her shuffling around: the whirr of the kettle, cabinets opening and closing, a faint curse when something dropped. It should have annoyed you, but instead, it made you smile. She was in your space. Filling it with her presence. It didn't feel like an intrusion. It felt like warmth.

When she came back, she had a steaming mug and two slices of toast on a paper towel.

"Couldn't find the lemon honey packets," she said, settling beside you. "So I made a mess of your pantry. Sorry in advance."

You took the mug, your fingers brushing against hers. "Thanks," you murmured. "But seriously. Don't get too close."

She pulled her legs up under her and leaned back with exaggerated distance. "I'm sitting all the way over here, look."

You raised a brow. "That's still only like six inches away."

"Fine." She scooted another inch. "Seven."

Despite the heat in your face, you managed a chuckle. It felt good.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled. Megan scrolled through her phone and read aloud bits from the Katseye group chat—Sophia, Manon and Lara bickering about what counts as a real breakfast, Daniela sending blurry selfies with her dog, Yoonchae sending absolutely nothing as usual.

When you laughed, it turned into another cough, this one sharp enough to make you wince.

Megan was by your side in a heartbeat. She set her phone down, handed you water, adjusted the pillow behind you, and laid a cool hand on your arm.

"You okay?"

You nodded, breath shallow. "Just... hurts."

Her fingers curled around your wrist, thumb brushing back and forth. "You always take care of everyone," she said softly. "Even when you're falling apart. Let someone else do it for once."

Your chest ached for reasons that had nothing to do with the flu.

You turned your head toward her, eyes glassy from your cold. "I don't know how to let people do that."

Her expression didn't change. If anything, it softened.

"Then I'll teach you."

You let your eyes close. Her hand never left yours.

Megan stayed with you the entire night.

She sat beside you when your fever spiked, swapped cool washcloths every hour, rubbed gentle circles into your back when you woke from coughing fits. She whispered dumb stories, reminded you how Manon fell asleep mid-soundcheck and Lara had to wake her up, how Yoonchae had to be bribed to wear heels, and how Sophia tripped while practicing.

You drifted in and out of sleep, the line between dreams and her voice blurring in a way that felt strangely comforting. Every time you opened your eyes, she was still there—tucked into the side of the couch, or perched nearby with a blanket over her lap, eyes watching you like you were something fragile she wasn't willing to let go.

It was after midnight when you woke again, skin clammy but cooler, breath easier. Megan had curled herself onto the floor beside the couch, one hand still clasped loosely in yours, her cheek pressed against your arm.

You stared at her for a long time.

You had always thought of yourself as the protector. The strong one. The steady one.

But tonight, Megan made you feel safe in a way you didn't know you could crave.

You squeezed her hand gently, eyes fluttering shut again.

For once, you weren't the one holding the world together.

And it felt okay to rest.

━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

The scent of something vaguely burnt stirred you from a half-doze.

You cracked an eye open, your throat still raw but your fever clearly broken—the cotton-stuffed fog in your head had thinned just enough to notice the early-morning light painting soft stripes across your ceiling. It took you a second to realize Megan was no longer near you.

Then came the clatter.

A metal-on-metal clang from the kitchen. A drawer slammed. The unmistakable *sputter* of a stove burner refusing to cooperate.

You sat up slowly, body protesting every movement. Even in recovery, you still felt like someone had steamrolled your spine. But concern—or maybe love—moved faster than pain.

"Megan?" you called, voice still low and scratchy.

A beat.

"No peeking!" her voice chimed back from the kitchen, followed by a not-so-subtle curse under her breath.

You dragged yourself to your feet, the sleeves of your hoodie swallowing your hands, your socked feet making almost no sound as you padded down the hallway. The closer you got, the more your chest filled with something warm.

There she was.

Your girlfriend stood in front of the stove in one of your hoodies, the hem of it skimming her thighs. Hair tied up in a messy puff, brows drawn in concentration, Megan looked so determined and so goddamn soft you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling out loud.

There were two eggs sizzling awkwardly in a too-small pan. A slice of bread had been slightly... scorched in the toaster. A mug of tea waited nearby, steam curling toward the ceiling.

You leaned on the doorframe, voice hoarse. "Babe."

Megan startled, nearly dropping the spatula. "I told you not to peek—"

"You're gonna burn my apartment down."

She huffed and put the spatula down. "You're supposed to be in bed."

You took a few steps closer, wrapping your arms around her from behind, your larger frame easily enveloping her. Your chin came to rest lightly on her shoulder.

"And you're supposed to let me help before you destroy my pans," you mumbled, your voice low and gravelly.

Megan leaned back into you without hesitation. "I was trying to be romantic."

"You are romantic," you murmured into her neck. "Just not a five-star chef."

She elbowed you gently, laughing under her breath. "Shut up and let me scramble these eggs."

You grinned and loosened your hold, stepping beside her. "At least let me toast the bread. You're banned from anything with a heating element for the next ten minutes."

She mock-saluted you. "Yes, ma'am."

You glanced down at her in your hoodie, the sleeves far too long for her, and the hem hitting mid-thigh. She looked so small in it. Adorable. You nearly kissed her right there.

Instead, you nudged her aside with your hip, grabbing the bread and resetting the toaster dial with a knowing look. "You were about to cremate it."

She watched with a playful pout. "I was going for... rustic."

The two of you moved around the kitchen like it was muscle memory—passing mugs, sliding plates, brushing shoulders in the quiet morning hush. Every so often, her hand would graze your forearm or she'd rest her head against your arm while you stirred the eggs, and you'd pretend your heart wasn't stuttering like a freshman on their first date.

When you finally sat down together at the small kitchen table—Megan's leg pressed against yours, your hand cradling the warm ceramic of your tea—you let the silence settle.

She looked at you sideways, soft-eyed. "You're feeling better."

You nodded, chewing a bite of slightly-overcooked egg. "Thanks to you."

Megan reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering for a beat longer than necessary. "You scared me last night."

"I'm not used to being taken care of," you admitted, voice low.

"Yeah, well," she smiled, eyes shining, "get used to it."

You looked at her then, really looked at her. There was a smear of egg on her cheek. The hoodie hung off her shoulder. Her hair was a mess. But she was glowing. And she was here.

And you wanted this morning to last forever.

She nudged your foot with hers under the table. "Don't get all sappy on me now."

You scoffed softly. "I'm not."

"Liar."

You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest with a smirk. "You love it."

Megan grinned, standing to collect the plates. "Maybe I do."

As she turned, you caught her wrist gently, rising from your chair. She blinked up at you.

"Thank you," you said again, quieter this time.

Then, unable to help yourself, you dipped your head and kissed her. Just once. Soft. Barely there.

She melted into it instantly, hands finding the hem of your hoodie and tugging you closer.

You rested your forehead against hers when you pulled away, noses brushing.

"You still owe me real pancakes when I'm not dying," you teased.

Megan giggled. "Noted. I'll even Google how to not burn them."

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around her again, letting her settle into your chest. Your hands found the curve of her back, and hers looped around your waist.

And for a long while, neither of you moved. The world stayed soft. The morning stayed warm.

Because sometimes love wasn't some grand declaration.

Sometimes, it was your girlfriend standing in your too-big hoodie, trying not to burn the eggs.

Sometimes, it was the way she rubbed the sleep from her eyes while stealing glances at you like she couldn't believe you were still here.

Sometimes, love just looked like her setting two mismatched plates down with too much noise, beaming like she'd just won an award.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't neat. But it was real.

And that morning, with the tea cooling between you and your knee bumping hers under the table, you realized this could be it.

Not just a moment. Not just a fluke.

It could be the start of something that felt like home.

━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

[lizziee-olseen]

「 Never Getting off my Mind 」

l. sophia x f reader ✎𓂃 Everyone loves Sophia Laforteza—she’s basically the golden girl of the school. But for some reason, you’ve never really liked her, and the feeling seems mutual. You’re close with her friends, somehow always around without actually being part of the group. The two of you clash constantly, especially in Student Committee meetings. People say you’d make a great pair, but it’s hard to tell if that’s a compliment or a warning.

word count ! 11.8 k

tags ! enemies to lovers, dom! reader, top! reader, bottom! sophia, switch! sophia, jealous! sophia, overstimulation, rough sex, fingering (s! receiving), oral (s! receiving), cunnilingus, heavy making out, usage of many pet names, a little degradation, teasing, praise

author's note ! fic inspo is this song and if u haven't seen the mv for this... its simple but effective for the wuh luh wuh is all ill say 🥰

also like dont be quiet! comment, reblog, send anons IDC LETS BE FRIENDS PLS #lonelyandnofriends

Riuscita University is a world-renowned school, producing some of the best in multiple fields, and having a successful alumni. A school that thrives and encourages its students to be plausible mentors of their crafts in due time.

Normally, students disliked school. It can be boring, hectic, soul-crushing, and cause crashouts. Yet, almost 90% of Riuscita students love the school.

The campus has this ultra-modern look, multiple buildings, large fields, and the atmosphere is always lively. Many people would describe the school to be similar to Pepperdine University or, commonly known as, Pacific Coast Academy of Zoey 101.

A dream school for many and a goal for most to achieve, only a handful get picked to become a Riuscita student.

Though a successful group of students are Sophia, Manon, Daniela, Megan, Lara, and Yoonchae. Many people knew the girls who always emphasized that ‘blood is thicker than water’ for them. 

It started with Sophia and Manon, who were friends from their previous high school, then Daniela, who joined the duo when she met Manon in a Psychology class. Lara was from the same high school, and Megan met Dani in her first year in Dance. Yoonchae, the latest addition, is a freshman who just clicked with the five girls.

It’s reality, but the girls somehow made their reality become a movie experience. 

They’re the diverse popular girls of campus, from students wanting to be their friend, students wanting to be them, or students wanting to date them. Some people wanted all three—that’s how much influence they have.

Everyone had their role, and all six girls seemed to ‘play’ it well. 

Sophia, who is the evident ‘leader’ amongst the girls, holds the most power. The Student Government President of Riuscita is adored by every single person to exist on campus, and that alone made her the jolliest girl.

“I’ve been wanting to try a hot stone massage on someone—if anyone's down at least,” Daniela spoke, her eyes on her iPad, then looking at her friends who sat around the circular table.

“Hot Stone Massage?” Megan perks up at the info, Dani nodding at the younger. “Is that for your massage therapy class?” Lara asks, and while the Latina happily nods, Manon chuckles.

“I can’t believe that’s an actual class here. How do you even get graded? Massaging your Professor? Because that would be weird,” Manon gives her two senses, and the younger sticks her tongue out.

“It’s an easy class, and we’re graded by tests and participation, party pooper.”

“I may need that massage,” the words escape Sophia’s lips, her acrylic nails clacking on the keyboard of her laptop while her eyes flash across the screen multiple times. She shuts the computer as she finishes, staring at Dani with tired eyes, “Student Government is going to be busy, and I need all the mental fortitude I can get.”

“Cause the semester just started?” 

Sophia nods at Yoonchae’s question, the younger girl tossing some chips into her mouth. “The last president planned so much for the student welcoming that we have events the entire month.” Lara’s lips pursed, a look of confusion in her eyes, “Can’t you just rearrange or cancel some of them? You are this year's president after all.”

“And be the girl who ruined everyone’s fun this year? Yeah, no can do,” Sophia says matter-of-factly, her shoulders raised at the dilemma. 

“You have good staff this year—I’m sure they’ll have your back on everything,” Manon tells her, but Sophia could only tell herself that once, then fail to believe it every other time.

Oh, and Sophia being adored by everyone?  Yeah, the fact is somewhat false.

Because there is one person who doesn’t.

“Oh look! I guess Y/n already started posting on the school page,” Lara says excitedly as she shows Megan the post.

Sophia could only roll her eyes at the sound of your name.

Y/n L/n. Part of the student government as the social media manager, all-rounder in every aspect, and super involved in Riuscita’s activities.

It could be argued that you and Sophia are the most adored students on campus, but the Filipina wouldn’t dare admit to that. Because you were the only one who didn’t like her, and you could say the feeling is mutual, with her not liking you either.

There isn’t an exact sequence of how it all happened, but Sophia always recalled why it started in the first place. During her second year, Sophia began building this sophisticated, intelligent, and leader-like brand, which is why she’s in the position she is today.

That year was when she first met you, when you became a shadow for the previous social media manager.

Sophia had the intention of making sure she was friends with everyone, no matter what the cost was. But none of those efforts worked on you—none at all.

When Sophia bought the student government food, you wouldn’t eat the food or thank her; you’d just eat a snack from the school’s vending machines. When she helped make you the homeroom representative during the third year, there wasn’t an ounce of gratitude. When the school had an awarding ceremony and you didn’t shake her hand while on stage.

The last straw for her was when you became Yoonchae’s big sister in the buddy program, then proceeded to find out all the girls were friends with you… other than her.

Sophia couldn’t even express her rage and irritation with you in peace because the other five constantly defended you.

“Y/n helps a lot of the students in the wellness club. She’s honestly so helpful.” —Manon

“She did the choreography for dance club—during the 2 weeks I sprained my ankle.” —Daniela

“The coach called me boring, and Y/n helped me get better!” —Megan

“Gosh, I struggled writing lyrics yesterday, and Y/n stayed with me after club hours to complete it!” —Lara

“Oh yeah, I helped Y/n-unnie cook some Bulgogi for Cultural Awareness! She’s a really good cook.” —Yoonchae

That wasn’t even the end of it all, but Sophia had trained herself to have selective hearing when it came to you. She often zoned out when you became the topic of conversation, because even if you weren’t friends with her, you had become this looming, phantom 7th member of the group.

And oh, how she fucking hated that.

Sophia made up her mind about you. Unfortunately, she thought about it quite a lot—why you didn’t like her, why you didn’t interact with her, or how you became her friend’s friend.

She jogged it up to the two of you being completely different people, and you would think, due to her smarts, that she knew what the real reason was. But she’s just plain wrong.

“Oh shit, my class starts in five minutes.” 

Sophia gets brought back to reality when she hears Megan’s chair scrape the concrete, her body fleeing away before she could even comprehend her words.

“I have class in thirty, but it’s also across campus, so I need to start walking,” Manon tells the four left, leaving them to make her way to one of the farther buildings of the school.

The Filipina’s eyes drift to the time on her phone, finding the time to be 9:15, “Ugh, I have a meeting, so I gotta go. Kill me now.” Lara giggles at the attitude, while Yoonchae and Dani wave the older off.

Sophia made her way to the school’s main building, her plain Mary Jane shoes thumping on the floor, and took the elevator to her respected floor. Both her devices were held close to her chest, hugging them so they wouldn’t slip, while her shoulder had a large purse placed on it.

While entering the spacious room, many of the students inside straightened their posture, and whoever sat down immediately stood up. You're the only exception, leaning against the wall with the window open, staring at your phone.

Sophia noticed the focus on your face, brows scrunched together as your thumbs tapped away.

Staring straight at you, she raises her voice, “Everyone, take a seat please, let’s get this meeting started!”

Everyone scrambles to their seat while you don’t even flinch, just turning off your phone and walking over to the opposite side of the meeting table. She could only hold back the urge to roll her eyes, taking a seat while looking through her tablet.

“Gabriella wanted to do six projects before the end of this month for a proper school welcoming,” Sophia says while everyone begins typing through their own laptops, using Google Docs for notes or a group spreadsheet.

When looking up, she finds you scrolling through your phone again, luckily, everyone’s focused on listening to her words as she successfully rolled her eyes in a discreet way this time.

“Are we able to complete the baking fundraiser, the car wash fundraiser, the welcoming party by the end of this month, two career fairs, and a guest lecture?”

This time, Sophia’s worried tone has you turning your phone off, looking at everyone else in the room who nods.

You shift in your chair, leaning forward with your elbows on the table while suggesting a proper schedule. “Can I suggest a schedule?”

Sophia bit her tongue, only nodding her head to let you proceed.

“Everyone expects a fun time at school, so we should begin with the baking fundraiser. It’ll help students get acquainted with delicious baked goods. We also already have a bakery in mind from an alumnus who's willing to provide the food for us.”

You then take out your phone, staring at the calendar for dates. “We should then spread out everything. The second week can be the fundraiser and career fair for earlier students. The guest lecture and the second fundraiser should follow next week. Last week should be the car wash, it’ll generate more money on a Monday since students and staff would be driving in for the entire day. Then the last Friday should be the party, so almost everyone won’t have work the next day.”

Instead of acknowledging the plan, Sophia turns to the vice president, assistant, and event coordinator, “Does that seem doable for us?”

“Other than the fact that we’ll have to slow down events the next month, then it's doable.”

“That’s fine, club activities will probably happen by then. I’ll have Laurence oversee that.” 

The Club Activities Manager stiffens when she says his name, and you press your lips together to stifle a laugh. While everyone seems to their panties in a bunch around her, you could almost just laugh while everyone looks like they’re about to piss themselves.

The Student Government Assistant, Kayla, who would suck up to Sophia, smiled at her. “I’ll start adding events to the calendars and sending everyone their jobs by the end of tonight.”

Sophia grants this graceful smile while the younger girl gets right to her job. “Is the guest speaker going to be ready by the following week?”

“We’ll get in touch with them and keep you updated.” “Budgets and decorations?” Sophia’s eyes flicker to the other end of the table.

“We have a budget of twenty thousand for all six events from school funds and backers. We’ll make sure to make do with what we can.”

“The first fundraiser should happen within two days time, reach out to the bakery before closing time,” she tells the vice president. Everyone nods along while you just think about how muscular your feet are about to be by the end of the month, with all the walking.

“I’ll have Kayla send everyone any extra details. I’ll be here until 12, so please reach out to me if anything is needed,” Sophia tells everyone, adjourning the meeting. You try to exit the room as quickly as possible, but Carl stops you first, that friendly smile he always gave you easing the annoyance.

“I think I’m gonna need some help with the clubs for next month,” he gives you these puppy eyes, and you cackle, catching Sophia’s attention.

“I’ll list possible events some groups have, then I’ll report it to you by the end of this month.”

Carl squeals, like his usual self, and gives you a tight hug, “You're the best Y/n!”

While Carl tries to crush your bones, you catch the glare that Sophia gives you from afar, eliciting a smile from you.

“Piss off,” the Filipina mutters and focuses back on speaking to Kayla and the vice president. 

You leave the room, heading to your first class of the day, which is luckily in the same building. The hallways were a bit warm due to multiple students crowding in their own little groups. You slip through the side entrance of the Life Sciences wing of the building, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

It was the first real week of the semester, but luckily, most of your professors seemed laid back. You went to the third floor for your Aging and Chronic Illness class, happening in one of the building’s newer lab-style classrooms. It’s one of your final requirements to graduate as a Gerontology major, and the content wasn't so bad. Professor Cho, who had a gentle grandma energy, made sure of that.

You walk in and immediately make your way to the front row, second seat from the left. “Damn, early again?”

Raya’s voice comes from behind in a teasing manner. She’s holding two protein bars in one hand, and she tosses one at you before pulling out her chair. “Thanks,” you mumble, catching it with one hand. You tear off the wrapper and toss your bag under the table in a smooth motion.

Raya plops into the seat beside you, crossing one leg over the other. “So... how’s your morning been? Anyone try to fight you yet?”

You snort. “Close. Sophia gave me another one of her death stares during the meeting.”

Raya rolls her eyes. “Again?”

“Yeah,” you deadpan, chewing your bar slowly. “I think her brain almost exploded when Carl hugged me.” Raya leans forward with her arms on the desk, grinning like she already knew where this was going. “You love pissing her off.”

You shrug. “I don’t love it. It’s unintentional.”

She gives you a look of, ‘Oh, be for real right now.’ “You act so different with her compared to literally everyone else. Like, I’ve seen you sit with freshmen crying over their GPA, and you’re all comforting and ‘here’s a snack, it’s okay,’ but then Sophia breathes and you look like you want to stand in a lane with fast cars.”

You raise a brow. “She ‘started’ it.”

Raya snickers and shakes her head, clearly amused. “You are the weirdest social butterfly I’ve ever met.”

“She just… rubs me the wrong way. Like we’re oil and water.”

“You say that like you haven’t thought about it enough,” she teases, half-turning toward you. “Is it really just a vibe thing?”

“Of course.” You don’t meet her eyes. “I mean, yeah. She’s fake and controlling and… I don’t know, I just don’t like her.”

“That actually seems like a fair statement to make, but you don’t even know her,” she says softly, her voice sing-song.

Before you can argue or give her another look, the door swings open, and Professor Cho walks in. Raya pulled her notebook out while you took out your own. The professor clicks the projector on, the screen behind her lighting up with a slideshow labeled: “AGING AND CHRONIC ILLNESS – WEEK 2: Psychological Perspectives on Aging”

“Good morning, everyone,” she says, her voice calm. “Today we’re going to start looking into how the aging process affects cognition, behavior, and emotional development, especially in relation to chronic illness.”

You zone in, but Raya bumps your arm lightly with her elbow before class fully starts.

"Wanna bet you and Sophia will be friends before graduation?"

You give her a death stare and scoff. "I’m not wasting my money, but also not happening."

“Pussyyyyyy~”

“Oh, be quiet and focus, please.”

Two days went by quicker than expected, and it was finally time for the first event of the Student Government.

The central courtyard, normally home to passer-by students and people doing assignments, had been transformed into an outdoor bakery.

White booths lined the concrete path, decorated with royal blue streams due to the school colors. The air was full of sweet scents—sugar, cinnamon, and warm butter that could make anyone salivate. Banners hung from light poles, proudly reading, ‘Welcome Back Fundraiser!’ and ‘Butter & Bloom Bakery here today!’ 

Clarisse, class of 2012 and former culinary student, was something of a legend on campus. Her bakery had since expanded to three cities, and the fact that she came back for this event had half the culinary majors geeking out.

Over 5,000 baked goods had been delivered by truck early that morning by her catering team. From lemon poppyseed madeleines to boxes stacked high with ube-stuffed croissants, the bakery had sent a variety. There were eclairs piped with vanilla cream, matcha macarons in pastel boxes, and yes, an entire glass display case for multiple cupcake flavors.

The school took 30% of the proceeds for their various club and scholarship funds, while the bakery kept the remaining 70%, though she promised to donate back a large portion “just because.”

The booths had been open since 9 in the morning. By 11:30, Sophia was sitting on a sun-warmed bench near the fountain, her dainty fingers holding a glazed lemon tart with brûléed sugar on top, and a candied slice of lemon perched right in the center.

“Okay, I get it now,” she says after the first bite, eyes wide in delight. “This is insane.”

“I told you Clarisse wasn’t playing around,” Manon hums, pulling apart a chocolate-hazelnut cruffin. Daniela, beside her, got a cinnamon-apple twist, sticky with glaze. “If I die today, bury me in one of these.”

“You’d attract ants,” Yoonchae pipes up, munching on a ube cookie while giving a disgusted look. Lara, the most practical of the six currently, is carefully using a fork and knife to eat a tres leches cupcake on a paper plate. “Did you guys see the brownie cheesecake hybrid thing? I couldn’t even look at it.”

Megan nods, her fingers brushing powdered sugar from her lips as she finishes a strawberry mochi donut. “I took a pic of it for my insta. I think I fell in love.”

Sophia, basking in the rare moment of calmness, let herself lean back slightly to take in the sun, legs crossed at the ankles, the hem of her skirt brushing her thigh. “This was a good idea,” she admits, almost begrudgingly. “The turnout’s great, Clarisse looks like a celebrity, and everything is functioning.”

Somewhere across the courtyard, a loud laugh pierces the air. Students shuffle between booths, and the music playing from the outdoor speakers continues to blast with soft pop music.

Sophia glances up toward the crowd.

You were doing laps around the event like a trained soldier. Wearing your usual plain white tee, camera slung around your shoulder, and a phone in one hand, you were busy directing shots, snapping crowd photos, close-ups of the pastries, and even artsy scenery pictures of the decorated campus.

You were exhausted, being there since 6:30 that morning, helping set up banners, guiding Clarisse’s team, and making sure the layout was symmetrical enough for the drone shots the school planned on using later.

But finally—finally—you had time for a small break.

You made your way to the cupcakes because they were calling your name as soon as you saw them that morning. There were a variety of flavors, ranging from plain vanilla to even a red bean-flavored sweet.

You picked a red velvet cupcake since it was your favorite flavor, tapping your phone screen to snap a quick picture of it before paying, and finally, letting yourself enjoy something sweet for once.

“Y/n!”

You turned your head to see Megan approaching, her drink in hand—something lavender-colored in a tall plastic cup with tapioca pearls. Could only assume it was taro bubble tea from the milk tea stand.

“Hey,” you said with a tired grin, your voice a bit hoarse from hours of talking.

“Don’t tell me you just now got something to eat,” Megan says, half-scolding.

“I did. Needed to make sure I got the best shots before sundown.”

Megan laughs, standing beside you as you unwrap the red velvet cupcake. “You work too hard. But you looked cool doing it, not gonna lie.”

“I always look cool.”

You show her the screen of your phone—a short boomerang of Clarisse handing out mini boxes to students, followed by a gallery of vibrant pictures. Some pastries lined in neat rows, smiling students mid-bite, and a close-up of the welcome banner swaying with the wind. Then you swipe to your camera—a DSLR that gleamed with how well taken care of it was.

“Some of these are getting passed off to the editor.”

Megan leans in and gasps softly. “Wait, go back— that one!”

You scroll back two photos—a candid shot of Sophia holding the tart earlier, eyes bright, smile wide.

“I’m gonna need you to send that to me,” she declares instantly. “You’re so talented, it’s actually annoying,” she says, nudging your shoulder. “Anyway, I should get back before they send out a search party.”

“Tell Sophia I’m still alive,” you joke, waving her off as she heads back toward the bench.

When Megan returns to the group, she’s practically bouncing. “I just saw Y/n!” Sophia doesn’t look up from her phone, but her brows twitch ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah?” Lara asks, licking some frosting off her fork.

“Yeah, she was by the cupcake stand. She got such pretty photos—like, she showed me some? They're so good, it made me want to scream.”

“She always has that eye,” Daniela adds, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I saw some of the shots she did for the Spring Gala last year, and they looked like they should be in a magazine.”

“She took this one of Sophia,” Megan says, holding out her phone with the picture you had just sent from your phone. “Look how good it is—like she’s glowing.”

The girls crowd around to look, and Manon lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s actually stunning. You look like you’re in an ad.”

“Of course it looks good,” Sophia says, voice tight, her tone sharp enough to cut. “It’s literally her job.”

The comment has the other five girls pause, turning to her slowly. “Damn, who pissed in your latte?” Dani mutters under her breath.

Manon raises a brow. “You okay over there, Supreme Leader?”

Sophia glares. “I just don’t think we need to throw her a parade for doing what she’s paid to do.”

“She’s not paid, unnie,” Yoonchae chimes in, “She’s technically on scholarship.” Sophia presses her lips together. “Same thing.”

Megan tries to lighten the mood. “I’m just saying—she’s got talent, okay? And taste. You should’ve seen the shot she got of me. I looked gorgeous.”

“I’m sure,” Sophia mutters.

“I mean, she made you look extra good,” Manon teases, sipping her iced coffee with a smirk. “Maybe you should ask her for a photoshoot.”

Daniela snorts, taking her last bite while saying, “She’d start a fight before that ever happened.”

“You guys are so annoying,” Sophia groans, standing up abruptly, the remains of her lemon tart left in a cute container.

The girls erupt into laughter. “She’s blushing!” Lara exclaims, pointing at her. “I’m not!” Sophia snaps, already walking away.

“I’ll ask Y/n to take a couple of shots of you next time,” Manon calls after her. “Maybe you’ll stop hating her if she gets your good side.”

“Every side is my good side,” Sophia fires back, but her cheeks are pink. The girls are still giggling when she disappears into the crowd.

Sophia didn’t understand the hype around you despite everyone’s admiration. Sure, you were involved in multiple school activities, but that didn’t mean you were on her level.

That’s what Sophia told herself, at least.

But if you asked everyone on campus, everyone would say you two are alike, even if either of you didn’t admit to it. You had a similar charm and a natural-born leader-like aura, even if you only had minor roles within the activities you participated in.

The list is quite surprising, actually. You are the Student Government’s social media manager, part of the Buddy Program, a member of the cultural awareness club, music club, wellness club, vice captain of the school’s dance team, and have helped out with fundraisers.

You made sure to get all the experience you could while being on a scholarship, and all the efforts paid off after four years. Everyone recognized your efforts, even Sophia did deep down.

“Ugh, get out of my head,” she groans quietly, trying to make sure no one sees a stressed version of Sophia Laforteza out in the wild.

Although to her luck, the one person she would’ve liked to avoid stopped in their tracks at the sight of her gripping her dark locks.

You held the camera right to your chest, looking toward the left, where you found her behind one of the booths.

Sophia’s face morphed into disappointment. “This cannot be happening right now,” she muttered. 

She sees this amusement in your eyes, the same look you gave her when you successfully annoyed her. There's this tension that feels forbidden to speak of, and all Sophia can do is push past you.

The shove of her shoulder lingered on your own, hand caressing the targeted spot while the other made sure the camera didn’t fall and break.

“Can’t believe my major role in life is to piss off the student president,” your eyes shimmered, but your voice laced with sarcasm.

There’s Sophia’s point of view in this entire “rivalry,” but what about yours?

It was simple. Much simpler than the Filipina made it out to be.

You believed Sophia was a fraud since day 1.

Initially, you thought that the woman wanted to make friends. The way you remembered the first meeting with her is a complete 180 from what she remembers. Because her first interaction with you was when you met her during your prerequisite class during your sophomore year of college, not in the student government.

Sophia’s position at the time was assistant to both the vice president and the student body president at the time. She sucked up to the older girls, making sure she looked good and outshone others.

That’s not how she portrayed it, but that's what it felt like, and you hadn’t liked her ever since. Through the years, there wasn’t any evident change to Sophia’s character, but it made her predictable.

Like when she bought everyone food, gave you a class rep position, hell, even her moving up in the school’s ‘political’ hierarchy made sense.

You simply didn’t like her, completely aware that the feelings were mutual.

The similarities in personalities and work ethic are uncanny between the two of you. Yet the biggest difference was that you have all your friends, connections, and even assignments through effortlessness, while Sophia made it feel like she had to plaster her face on the walls to make sure people paid attention to her.

It’s probably harsh to say, but because of how blunt you are, that’s just how you feel.

You doubt that will ever change, either.

There’s another world or dimension where you and Sophia didn’t know or hate each other, but not in this timeline. Because the next few weeks were about to be you and her spending a lot of time together with all the events happening.

Especially since you took photos of anyone and anything, there was no way she could avoid you.

Just when she didn’t think it could get any worse for her, the world decided to go against her during the second fundraiser.

Sophia knew that you had a persevering and determined work ethic, willing to get work done and to help. She wasn’t aware of what lengths you’d go to help, though.

That day, she could only stop by the parking lot due to a busy schedule and some assignments needing to be done. Once she made it, there were loads of cars lined up—some being rinsed while others were lathered in soap.

Kayla stood next to her, handing the Filipina a clipboard to check if things were running smoothly. Her eyes traveled down to a list of volunteers, where she found one of the wash girls had not made it.

“Didn’t we have 15 students on the list? Why didn’t Giovanna show up?” Sophia squinted behind her shades, and Kayla straightened her posture at the question. “She recently sprained her ankle during soccer practice, so she couldn’t make it.”

“Well, who replaced her?” Before Sophia can finish her question, the younger student points at the red car currently being washed, where she finds you in a cami top and skimpy, low-waisted denim shorts.

Thank the heavens for her large shades. Sophia blinked furiously as if her vision blurred, and one she coughed once, her cheeks almost turned pink through her makeup.

She had never seen this side of you. This hot, sensual one. The white cami you wore had practically gone see-through from the water, the fabric soaked top clinging onto every curve on your body. The denim shorts showed off your legs, how they glistened in the sun like diamonds, covered with water droplets on them.

Don’t even get her started on the midriff she saw peaking through. You rarely ever wore crop tops, at least at any given moment while Sophia’s around. So when she sees your defined abs, the wet top molding into them, she covers her mouth with the palm of her hand at the shock.

“What the hell…?”

“Is she doing here?” Kayla tries to finish the question, Sophia only nodding her head in surprise. “Y/n finished posting on all the socials, so she decided to help out when she saw one team had missing members.”

The older person could only mumble, “What about the high-end cars from larger customers?” “She dries her hands and takes pictures with her phone instead of the camera.”

Sophia can’t even respond, her eyes never leaving you, no matter how busy you were. The strands of your hair are obviously wet, losing their volume as some of it clung to your exposed skin. The way your top had become see-through, the dark blue bra you wore was vibrant through the now sheer top.

Her breath hitches when you flick your hair back upward, making sure it isn’t in front of you. It looked like those movie scenes where the hot girl flings her hair upward while leaving the pool.

…Safe to say that Sophia couldn’t believe that’s actually you.

She had only ever seen you in the professional light, and seeing you like this? Had heat pooling low in her stomach.

The best course of action was to walk away, and she did just that, Kayla following her trail yet falling back due to Sophia’s pace despite in heeled boots.

“Uhm, Sophia? Where are we going?” she hears a trembling voice behind her, and Sophia’s brows furrow, not at the question, but at the fact that her brain couldn’t stop thinking of you.

“I want to check out venues for the welcome party.”

“Outdoors is an option.”

“No. We did the bakery outdoors, and the fact that students and staff will likely be drunk, we can be liable for any mishaps. I’m not taking that chance, Kayla.”

There was urgency in her voice as she walked toward the campus housing office, eyes full of fury as she tried to get her mind off you.

Once Sophia and Kayla got into the room, the younger student began doing what was asked of her while Sophia sat in the waiting area. The blonde had brought a list of usable houses, trying to see which one fit the needs of MANY students.

“Every house isn’t fit for multiple students in the school; the list is pretty much comprised of outdoor venues other than one.”

“The modern-looking house in Beverly Hills?” Kayla nods, and she hears a groan from the senior. “I want a change of scenery and a spot easily accessible for students without cars.”

Before her assistant can respond, Sophia is already standing and walking over to the desk with a formidable walk.

Her hands slam down on the table, causing the employee at the front desk to flinch. Trying to keep her image intact, Sophia gives the man a friendly smile, her nails drumming on the counter. “Julian, right?”

The boy just nods, and she begins to give a very believable performance. “The newly built dormitory just passed the inspection, right? I was hoping we could use it for the welcoming party for students and staff this upcoming Friday. We can restrict it to only the first floor with all the amenities.”

“I’m sorry, Sophia. I’m not sure how doable that’s gonna be.”

Kayla, who does well in acting as her counterpart, leans over the counter with an evil smile, “Get Joe in here, please?”

The boy can only nod, scared to piss off the two, and runs to the back room. About five minutes later, Julian comes out with Joe behind him, who's evidently exhausted from all the work he’s doing.

“Ah, Laforteza. What can I do for you?”

“New dorm as venue for the welcoming party?” Her voice is high-pitched while she speaks fast, in hopes it will get him to agree. Yet she’s well loved by everyone, so why would he say no?

“Done, I’ll fax over the papers of me approving it—I’m sure the dean and principal will sign. If not, and that’s a really low chance, I’ll look for a place that fits your needs.”

“Cool, Kayla, send him the details.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sophia’s charms, unsurprisingly, did their damn thing with Joe.

Technically, the school’s Residential Director, who pretty much operated more like a cool uncle who wandered campus with a hippie shirt on, had successfully made everyone agree to the girls' wishes. One little meeting, a couple of compliments about the architecture of the newly-built Verano Dormitory, and a perfectly packaged proposal from Sophia herself, and the man had agreed.

By Friday night, the lower level—bigger than even some of the academic buildings—was converted into a party den. String lights flickered along the ceiling beams, the color-changing LEDs wrapped around pillars bathed everything in soft blue and gold. 

There were food trays near the shared kitchen, music pumping through the large tower speakers, and enough students packed into one building to classify as a slight fire hazard. But amid the music, laughter, and chaos, Sophia sat neatly curled into the corner of one of the velvet couches in the common lounge, back perfectly straight, one arm draped over the cushion.

Manon, Daniela, Lara, Megan, and Yoonchae were on the same couch—three of them well into a couple of drinks by now. Megan and Yoonchae, on the other hand, sat cross-legged in their spots, nursing cans of soda and passing around a pack of gummies.

“Remind me to never mix hard seltzer and Soju again,” Manon muttered, nearly falling into Dani’s lap. “That’s literally what I said when you started mixing them,” Dani giggles, poking her side with a painted nail.

Sophia sipped lightly from her cup—a citrus cocktail someone had made that tasted like melted sugary fruit—and scanned the room like a hawk, making sure she watched everyone.

“I still can’t believe Joe gave us the dorm,” Lara said through a hiccup, tilting her head up. “Like, this space is huge. Do you see that staircase?”

“Do you see how tipsy you are?” Megan asked, snickering.

Sophia smiled a little, only half-listening, her eyes drifting across the room every few seconds. “Presidential duty,” she said earlier, when they asked why she chose the corner seat. “I should be able to observe everyone from here.”

Then a quick, bright flash and shutter sound caught her attention.

You were standing about six feet away from the group, camera raised, snapping a quick photo, hands swiftly clicking the button, looking way too good in a semi-casual fit that made her think something she absolutely shouldn’t.

You didn’t even say hi— just capturing them mid-laughter, unaware until you pulled the camera away from your face. Dani looked up first, waving with a smile. “¡Y/n! ¡Ven acá!” she shouted above the music, motioning you over.

With no hesitation, you look over to the group who considered you a good friend of theirs, of course, other than Sophia.

Sophia didn't move or bat an eye as she glared at you.  Dani leaned back slightly, cheeks flushed from drinking and how warm the corner was. “¿Aprendiste la nueva coreografía del club de baile ya o no?” (Did you learn the new choreography from the dance club yet or not?)

You gave a small laugh, nodding as you replied, “La aprendí, sí. Pero también le agregué unas partes nuevas para la segunda mitad. Si quieres, podemos practicar este fin de semana para presentarla.” (I did, yeah. But I also added a few new parts for the second half. If you want, we can practice this weekend to present it.)

“¡Eso me encantaría! ¡Mañana o el domingo?” (I’d love that! Tomorrow or Sunday?)

“Lo que te sirva más. Yo me adapto.”(Whatever works best for you. I can adjust.)

You looked effortlessly cool while speaking to Danila, the other, picking up that the conversation was between the captain and the vice captain of the dance team. But while you talked, Sophia felt like her drink suddenly had much more alcohol in it.

Because hearing you speak Spanish shouldn’t have been anything. But it was smooth and fast. Dani laughed again at something you said, and Sophia just stared. She barely caught half of it, but it didn’t matter. The way you became more relaxed while speaking in another language—it had her all nervous in a way that pissed her off.

It wasn’t fair—she’s supposed to hate you. And yet, here she was, borderline malfunctioning over a few fluent sentences.

You glanced over and caught this unfamiliar look in her eye.

It wasn’t her usual look that silently read condescension or superiority complex. No, Sophia looked caught red-handed for some reason.

You furrow your brows slightly, unsure of what to make of it. Was she drunk? Was that just the lighting? Was she—

“I should let you guys hang out,” you muttered, pulling your camera strap higher onto your shoulder. “I’ll see you all on Monday.”

“Wait!” Yoonchae piped up suddenly from her spot on the couch, eyes wide. “Unnie, don’t forget the buddy scrimmages tomorrow! Volleyball, 1 PM. You’re my partner!”

You groaned sarcastically but smiled anyway. “I didn’t forget. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” she said, all proud and chipper. You gave the group a final nod before slipping back into the crowd, blending in with a group headed toward the refreshment table.

Sophia blinked once—then twice. Her drink was now untouched for the entire interaction. Megan leaned over and nudged her arm. “You good?”

“Huh?” Sophia snapped back. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Mm,” Megan said, raising a brow. “You’ve been real quiet since Dani pulled Y/n over. Just sayin’.”

“Don’t start.”

“You sure? Because you were practically drooling when she started talking.”

“I wasn’t drooling,” Sophia snapped, her voice a little too high-pitched to be believable. “You kind of were,” Manon slurred a bit, lifting her drink with a laugh. “But it’s okay. She’s pretty.”

“She is,” Dani agreed, sighing wistfully. “And she dances so well. Like her body control? Ugh. She could step on me and I’d say thank you.”

“Oh my God,” Sophia muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

“I’m just saying,” Megan grinned. “You’ve got that look again. You only get that when you're obsessed.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Sophia snapped, cheeks burning.

“Then why are you still staring at the spot she was just standing in?” The girls howled.

Lara spilled her drink on her own leg from laughing so hard. Yoonchae was half-giggling, half-mouthing “Unnie has a crush” in Dani’s direction.

Sophia groaned, hiding her face with one hand. “I hate all of you.”

All of her conflicting feelings made her unsure of how she felt about you. 

Before she can make up her mind, Sophia wants to figure out a couple of things first.

You walked through the party, gripping your camera while trying to get to the table full of drinks. Successful enough to get a fruit punch, you take a sip, deep in thought about the look Sophia gave you. There was this interest or longing in her eyes that you’ve never seen before. She’d never been the kind to be shy about her distaste for you—or at least, that’s how it felt. 

“Hey.”

You turned, mid-sip, and found a girl named Cynthia who is in your sociology class. Her hair was styled in a sharp bob and gave you a cheery grin. She distinctively always wore those vintage-style earrings and kept an extra highlighter tucked behind her ear while in class. Tonight, though, she was dressed in a cropped blouse, high-waisted pants, and just the right amount of eyeliner. 

“Hey,” you greeted, polite but a bit confused at the encounter. You lowered your camera and sipped your drink again, scanning the space for new shots. Cynthia, however, wasn’t going to let the moment pass.

“I saw you across the room,” she said, stepping in just a little closer. Her subtle perfume was sweet and filled your nose. “You look really good tonight.”

You chuckled lightly, giving a modest shrug. “Yeah, well, school made me bring out the big camera. Can’t fully enjoy the party.”

“Well, the camera suits you,” Cynthia replied, head tilted. “But I think it’s unfair that you’re behind it instead of in front.”

You smiled, unsure how to respond without sounding rude or leading her on. She clearly meant well, and you didn’t want to embarrass her. “That’s kind of you to say.”

She leaned slightly into your space, eyes sparkling in the low lighting. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you more. You always seem so focused in class.”

“Focused or sleep-deprived,” you joked.

“Both can be hot,” she shot back easily, and you let out a startled laugh. Cynthia was bolder than she seemed in the classroom, probably the liquid courage coursing through her veins.

In the other room, Sophia had excused herself to the bathroom, needing a breather from the relentless teasing of her friends and actually needing the bathroom. She made her way through the hallway, heels clicking, her eyes roaming as she navigated the groups of people clustered near the stairs. On her way back, she cut through the side of the common area and paused.

There you were, leaning against the table, camera resting on your hip, soft smile on your face as you talked to Cynthia.

Her heart stalled a bit. She knew she wasn’t jealous, that much she knew. But maybe curiosity, concern, annoyance? She isn’t really sure about what it was. But it made her stop walking altogether, partly shielded behind a group of students in front of her, who were stuck in their own conversation. She watched as Cynthia laughed too loudly, as she touched your arm too comfortably, as you gave a tight smile and shifted your weight, but didn’t move away. 

You looked stuck as Sophia squinted. Your body language was hesitant, but like her, you were probably too nice to tell the girl off. Still, Cynthia kept leaning in, twirling a piece of hair and batting her lashes.

Sophia didn’t know why it made her jaw tense, but her body seemed to walk forward on its own.

Cynthia was saying something else flirty—something you were clearly not paying attention to, but she didn’t get the memo. It took all your restraint not to choke on your punch at comments that surprised you.

“Hey,” Sophia said, breezy but loud enough to stop the conversation. You and Cynthia both turned. “Sorry to interrupt. You’re needed back on coverage Y/n. Joe wants a couple of story shots from the east side before people start heading out since it's getting late.”

You blinked. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

Sophia gave a closed-lip smile. “Now, preferably.”

Cynthia took a small step back, lips pursing at Sophia’s intimidating aura. “Oh, right. Of course… School stuff.” Her voice lost some of its luster.

You nodded apologetically, lifting your camera. “Rain check,” you told her with a polite tone.

“Maybe,” she said, but the flirt had drained from her smile.

Sophia didn’t wait for either of you to say more. She turned and started walking, clearly expecting you to follow. And you did, adjusting your strap and catching up.

Once out of Cynthia’s earshot, you glanced sideways at her. “Did Joe really say that?”

“He didn’t have to.” Sophia didn’t look at you. “That’s what you're on Student Government for.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Are you my supervisor now?”

“No,” she said. “But it looked like you needed help.”

You gave her a long look. “Is that some concern I’m hearing, Pres?”

Sophia finally met your gaze, but her expression was unreadable. Her voice was cool, but softer. “I don’t like distractions.”

“I wasn’t distracted.”

“Cynthia was being obvious.”

“Not my fault, she wanted to talk.”

Sophia didn’t respond immediately; she only walked ahead until you both reached the east side of the common area. You raised your camera and began taking the shots she claimed were ‘needed.’

After a minute, Sophia spoke again, just blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “She’s not your type.”

The camera is frozen in your hands, and you turn slowly. “You think you know my type?”

“I know what kind of girls you look at.”

“Really?” Your voice dipped, teasing but quiet. “And which kind is that?”

Sophia crossed her arms, eyes flicking toward the ceiling for a moment like she regretted starting the conversation in the first place. But then she tilted her head and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “The intense kind. Driven. Maybe a little too controlling.”

You smirked and told her, “Sounds familiar… but you definitely don’t know me at all.” The comment was meant to be serious, but it came off more playful, probably for the better.

Sophia rolled her eyes, but there was no heat to it. “Get your shots. You have fifteen minutes until you're finished for the night.”

You lifted the camera, but not before whispering in a teasing manner, “You were watching me.”

Sophia turned to leave without answering, but her ears were red. Later, when she rejoined the girls on the couch, Dani noticed immediately. “Where did you disappear to?”

“Bathroom,” Sophia replied.

“Definitely longer than a bathroom break. Did something happen?”

Sophia sat back in the corner spot. “No one important,” that just slipped out.

“Huh.” Manon sipped her drink and grinned. “Because Cynthia came back muttering ‘dammit, Sophia’ while distraught.”

Sophia didn’t reply, but her smile was smug, “good.”

“That sounded evil,” Lara pointed to the older, and Sophia rolled her eyes for like the fourth time tonight.

“Bet it’s about Y/n, again!” Megan practically cheers, and Yoonchae nods. “For sure, unnie always talks about that girl staring at her… a little too clueless that she’s crushing on her.”

“That reminds me, I have to text her about something,” Dani says while whipping out her phone. As much as Sophia wanted to probe, her brain wouldn’t let her, but luckily, the rest were friends with you, right?

Manon, who's sobering up a bit, shifts in her spot with a confused look, “About?”

“She wants to get more cardio in at the gym and wants a regimen for it. I offered to help.”

Megan’s brows furrow together, not understanding why, “Isn’t she like… already ripped?” “Says she’s lacking stamina,” Dani just shrugs, always supportive to help a friend out. “Stamina’s lacking, but she’s always running around events for photos without getting tired easily.”

Lara nods at what Manon points out, but all Sophia can think about is how much work you do within a week. It did intrigue her as to how you found the time for yourself.

One other thing about the President, she’ll make sure she finds out.

The sunlight filtering through the tinted windows of the Student Government office was soft and golden. It stretched across the meeting table. Sophia slumped over, writing furiously in her planner, because her day was pure shit. Her head was pounding, a dull ache blooming behind her temples.

Three meetings back-to-back, including a long one with the Dean, who somehow managed to turn a five-minute update into an hour-long guilt trip. Plans for community partnerships, reports about last semester’s scholarship funding discrepancies. Not all of it was about her duties, but all she could do was sit down and listen without being disrespectful.

The dean even had a field trip proposal from the Environmental Club to review by next week. Some homecoming committee budget approvals, a contract negotiation email is waiting in her inbox with “urgent” flagged twice.

And then, to add to it all, she had Communications.

Professor Mendelsohn had his usual peppy attitude during class that afternoon, announcing a new project. Something about personal brand audits, analyzing online presence across platforms, conducting peer reviews, submitting a report, and presenting findings to a mock "corporate board" made up of your classmates in exactly one week.

Just pain, without any extension because, as he would say, “Making deadlines for work without extra days is part of life.’

Sophia had clenched her jaw the entire walk back to the Student Gov room. Her famous heels had clicked furiously against the tiled flooring of the hallway. By the time she got there, she was already at capacity. Already tired of pretending to smile at people asking for favors or dropping in to “chat” about updates they could’ve easily emailed her.

She’d snapped at two underclassmen who forgot to clean up after a lunch break they had. Her voice had raised high pressure and tension in the air. A junior trying to propose a small charity event had blinked at her and awkwardly mumbled, “Maybe next week.”

Now, finally alone in the office, Sophia was breathing unevenly, her planner open, but her pen hadn’t moved once. She hated being like this, but it kept happening as it came with the position she worked hard for. 

No one gives you a rule book on how to be a Student President; if someone did, Sophia would’ve been reading it nonstop by now.

She ran a hand through her hair and leaned back, the room echoing slightly with her sharp sigh.

The door then suddenly creaked open, you walking in like it was nothing—quite frankly, it was no big deal. But with the mood Sophia was in, she was about to make it one.

You causally sauntered in, looking around the room and not minding her presence one bit. Just your phone in hand and a slight wrinkle in your brow that probably meant you were annoyed.

“Sorry—” you started, already heading toward the corner cubby. “I left something.” Sophia didn’t look up. “Of course you did.”

You paused, blinking. Her giving you attitude was nothing new, but in a space where it was just the two of you, the comment felt more personal.

There was a moment of silence between you, but then, finally, your voice—deadpan. “Was that supposed to mean something?”

Sophia closed her planner with a loud thud and leaned her elbow onto the desk. “Ugh. Not you right now.”

That earned her a sharp look, your arms crossing against your chest. “Is there a problem, Laforteza?” you asked.

‘Oh. Oh, you really wanted to do this right now,’ was the first thing she thought.

Sophia straightened, her face twisted in something between disbelief and exasperation. “You wanna know what my problem is?”

You arched a brow, “That’s what I asked.”

“My problem,” she snapped, “is that I’ve been going nonstop since 7 A.M. I’ve been in meetings about scholarships and event budgets and field trip insurance, I got called into the Dean’s office because apparently no one else knows how to handle the sustainability grant forms, and then Mendelsohn gave us a comms project due in seven days where I have to dissect my entire online existence and pitch it like I’m applying for Shark Tank.”

You walk around the table, nearing her as she continues to rant, not seeing how any of her reasons had anything to do with you.

“And then,” she added, voice rising, “I come here, to the one place that’s supposed to be quiet now because everyone’s gone, and guess who walks in acting like the world owes her space?”

“I didn’t know your whole world revolved around me,” you shot back, tone calm but standing your ground.

“Oh my God,” Sophia muttered. “You are—infuriating. You’re friends with all of my friends, but you never talk to me unless it’s sarcastic or condescending or to give me that little fake smile like you’re above all this.”

“I don’t give you fake smiles.”

“You don’t give me anything,” her head snapped toward you, now standing as she glares. “You talk to everyone else like they’re human, and then you look at me like I’m nothing.”

A brow raises unconsciously as you listen to her.

“I don’t even know what I did to you,” Sophia went on, eyes shining with something sharp. “But you always have an attitude when you speak to me, like you’ve got me all figured out and you hate what you see. You hate me, and I don’t even know why.”

The room was quiet, and your eyes didn’t leave hers. “I don’t hate you.”

Sophia’s breath hitched at the short sentence, her stance faltering slightly.

“I don’t hate you,” you repeated. “But I hate the version of you everyone sees. The perfect student body president. You're like a PR girl. The nice voice, the hand on the shoulder, the polished laugh.”

Sophia’s arms slowly folded over her chest, her face blank now. “I hate how fake it feels,” you continued. “Because your friends? They’re real. They don’t portray themselves the way you do. You sound and look rehearsed in every way—no one sees through it.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice just enough to force her to listen. “But I do.”

Sophia couldn’t breathe properly, listening to the longest conversation the two of you have had since you’ve met. “You try so hard to be liked,” you murmured. “And I think you hate that I’m not one of the people who gives it to you.”

She swallowed hard.

There was a heat in the air now, like the moment before all the chaos. Her fists clenched, eyes darting across your face like she was looking for something other than your honesty to feel better about herself.

But she couldn’t see anything else.

“I’m not fake,” she finally said, her voice low, shaky.

“I didn’t say you were,” you replied. “I said the version you show everyone is.”

She stepped forward, but you didn’t move back. “You don’t know me.”

“Then show me the version that doesn’t talk like a LinkedIn profile.”

That comment, despite being a joke, irked the girl. Sophia’s jaw tensed with her perfectly manicured fingers curled, then straightened—and then one sharply dug into your chest as she pointed.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“No,” you said, eyes flicking to her lips, “you hate that I don’t pretend with you.”

Her expression didn’t waver, her nostrils flaring with anger. If cartoon smoke were something you could see in real life, you were sure you would’ve seen it coming out of her nose and ears by now.

She hated that you were able to say the right things to get this version of her. The one that’s all riled up, strands of hair tousled, her outfit looking wrinkled from the busy day—this is the real Sophia you were talking about.

Her eyes gleam under the bright light while holding back the brimming tears, pouty lips trembling slightly. 

“This is the real you, huh?” You murmured.

She let out a short, almost broken laugh—like you’d caught her off guard for the first time all day. Her fingers curled slightly into your shirt. You didn’t even flinch.

“You’re such an asshole,” she breathed.

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from thinking about me.”

There was a pause, Sophia seeming to calm down yet not responding to anything you said.

She then repeated, “You don’t know me, Y/n.” Your head tilts, head leaning back a bit, while your hand rests in the pockets of your joggers. “Then if you want me to be friends with you so bad, you're gonna have to show me, Sophia.”

It was a challenge. A challenge that rapidly took over Sophia’s brain and body.

There wasn’t a thought that took over her, but something did as she tugged on your shirt hard, pulling you in as your lips crashed onto hers.

Processing everything wasn’t going to happen, especially when you see her eyes shut, hands gripping your shirt even harder, like she wanted to rip it off. Your hands started up with your elbows up, not understanding what was going on. 

You didn’t hate it, but it caught you off guard.

Once you noticed that Sophia wanted to prove herself by not letting go, your shoulders relaxed as your hands fell onto her slim waist. She feels how your hands rested on the fabric of her sheer button-up, the touch warming up her body.

You thought, ‘Hey, this isn’t so bad!’ Which quickly changes when you feel her hands releasing your shirt. 

Thinking she had enough, you almost back away until Sophia presses her chest against yours, no space left, and her fingers combed through your hair—gripping with all her might.

The feeling has you groan against her lips, arms fully wrapping around her waist to balance her from falling back. You feel how her back arched, torsos touching each other as a muffled moan escapes her lips. There was no space between you, just the feeling of temperatures rising as you kissed back.

One of her hands begins caressing your back, and you turn a slight angle to raise her up, leaning her on the table. Having Sophia seated, she feels your fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Lips begin to trail down to her neck, and a trembling moan comes out of her lips.

“This is the real version you wanted to show me?” You tease, and Sophia practically hisses at the comment, “Shut up.”

“Shut up?” You questioned, lifting her up swiftly to turn her over, her upper half now pressed onto the large table. “Let’s hope we don’t argue during this, hm?”

The comment is harmless, but as your hands roam from her back onto her thighs, her body goes rigid. You lift the skimpy skirt over her ass, being given a good view of the thong she’s wearing.

“Isn’t it a good day for me?” she hears you mumble, pressing a finger on the clothed core. Sophia lets out a high-pitched whimper, the warmth of one of your fingers already having her aching down below.

The small line of fabric slowly became damp, and she heard this low chuckle from you. “Who knew Miss President could be so… slutty?”

Sophia wanted to respond, but the feeling of the fabric being pulled to the side had her shuddering as she felt the cool air brushing against her wet cunt.

You kneel down, ready to dig in, but hear a knock that has both of you pause.

… The damn door isn’t locked, and both of you were now staring at it in case the knob began to turn.

“Sophia? You in there?” The voice is too recognizable, and both of you seem to relax a bit when hearing it’s Kayla.

“Yes!” Sophia shouts softly, but sees how the doorknob begins to turn slightly, making her yell, “Don’t come in!”

The franticness in Sophia’s voice has you smirking, deciding to take matters into your own hands. You inch forward, face right in front of her pussy, and give a small lick. She bites her bottom lip, afraid any sound she makes would be heard by her own assistant.

Kayla’s voice is worried behind the door, “Is everything okay?”

There was this quick silence, because past those doors, your tongue plunged into Sophia’s soaking core. You hum against her, her heels kicking up from time to time as a hand covered her mouth. “You should answer before she walks in,” you mumble, loud enough for only Sophia to hear.

As she moves her hand, Sophia practically grits her teeth trying to answer, “I’m fine, Kayla, j-just need some alone time.” The girl stuttering makes you chuckle, taking a long stripe against your tongue out of amusement.

“Is there something I can bring you to help? I know you had a rough day.”

The concern almost makes Sophia break, her mouth agape as she feels your tongue doing laps over, and over, and over again. “Look at how caring she is towards you. I wonder how she would feel if she found her role model and crushed bent over for me.” Sophia’s hand finds the top of your head, gripping your hair again, “she doesn’t like me.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” You stand behind her, adding a finger and feel Sophia tightening around it. “Must wanna trap me here, huh?”

She wants to say something, with freedom, but Kayla’s voice keeps interrupting, “Sophia?” “Uhm,” she lets out one sound, and you add another finger, you move with aching patience, fingers slipping back and pressing in. Sophia almost chokes a yelp, covering her mouth with a hand to quickly recover.

“I’m f-fine. Get some rest, Kayla!”

“You sure? Because you don’t sound too good?” She tries to respond in a friendly manner, but there's a switch in tone when you begin curling your fingers deep into her slit.

“I’m fucking fine, Kayla! Go home!”

Your brows raise, and you look at the wooden door; luckily no frosted windows to show the inside. There’s a heavy sigh. “Sure, have a good night, Sophia.” Both of you hear her footsteps fade away, and using whatever strength she has in her position, Sophia pushes you back with a hand.

You back up, and she flips over, knees apart with her pussy full on display for you. Her eyes are dark, looking a bit annoyed. “There’s no way you just did that.”

“And did,” you simply tell her, pressing your fingers back in as you thrust at a slow pace. You could feel her clench around them, greedy for more. 

The eye contact you made with her only made Sophia want to kiss you again. You were so consistent while watching every reaction she gave you. The sounds of her cunt squelching made you chuckle, biting her lip as she watched you.

“Your ‘dear’ Kayla is probably so heartbroken right now.” You inch closer, picking up the pace that made Sophia whine profusely. “How her favorite person in the world is being fucked by someone deemed as her enemy,” you whisper against her lips, foreheads touching as you make her lean forward more. She feels how your breath grazes against her mouth, the warmth making her even wetter.

You, once again, curl your fingers, hitting the exact spot that has Sophia giving you a loud moan. “What if she walked in? She’d probably be crying at the sight.”

You add another finger, Sophia’s pussy clenching around all three. Her head hangs back at the sensation of feeling full, while you're successfully hitting her G-spot with every thrust and curl.

You quicken the pace just a bit more, and Sophia’s gasping for air. “Kayla would see how well your slutty cunt took my fingers.” Sophia feels you pressing a thumb on her clit, and her thighs begin to quiver. 

“Fuck, Y/n, just like that.”

“She’d see you at your worst behavior, how you're just letting me use you,” You hiss while feeling how slick and messy she was becoming undone on your fingers. Pulling them out, you begin to rub her cunt with her juices coating each finger.

The circular movements at rapid motions have her thighs tensing, “I wanna cum,” she breaths out. You hum and shrug a bit, “Go for it.”

Not stopping her, Sophia’s thighs squeeze around your arm, keeping up the pace as her eyes roll back. You had no intentions of stopping, and she could only hold your forearm to slow you down.

“You must like the possibility of someone walking in, huh?” You take out your hand, flicking them downward to shake off some of her juices.

Sophia thought she had had enough; she couldn’t even respond to you as she took deep breaths. But when you took each finger, sucking each one clean, your tongue sticking out before you put one in… she wanted more.

Her hands trail on the button on her top, quickly undoing it as she sits up from her spot. You're a bit surprised at her course of action, but follow by lifting up your shirt slowly.

“You seem too tired to go on,” you admit, bunching up your shirt and throwing it to the other end of the table. She unclips her bra, staring you down with her eyes full of hunger, “I want you to use me.”

Your hands land on the table, your body leaning forward as your eyes look at her chest rising and dropping quickly, her pussy all swollen from you fucking her, and the way her petite mounds were fully out and hard.

“I-I need you to use me.” She revises her statement, and despite the stutter, it came out with full confidence. You tilt your head, amused by how different this was from her, and effortlessly take off your sports bra.

“So dirty, Laforteza,” the way her surname rolled off your tongue had her spiraling as she spread her legs wider for you. “Use me, Y/n.”

With the demand, you climb on top of her, Sophia feeling your nipples brushing against each other as your fingers go to work. You rub all five fingers against her leaking slit, moving with every intent to make her go crazy.

“This want you want?” You grunt, and Sophia shook her head against the table, “m-more.”

The invitation has you pulling her up to stand, her ass pressed on the edge of the large table as you kneel again. It gave Sophia such a pretty view of you, how the bottom half of your face had a like shine from her juices.

You lick at first, flicking her clit up, and Sophia hunches over slightly. She feels your hands pressing her thighs apart to give yourself more room. “You're so pretty like this,” you blurt against her, then sucking on her clit while one hand thrusts a finger up.

“See how wet you are for me? Such a good girl—doing so good for me,” you admit, but while talking, Sophia just feels the vibrations coursing through her body, leaving her mouth agape with aching moans.

“S-shit, too good,” she licks her lips, becoming dry from how much noise she was making. Her knees buckle slightly, her hand holding her up on the table as you. There was nothing gentle in the way you mouthed at her, tongue plunging deep as she sounded like she was about to sob.

“Y/n, I can’t-” You feel her legs closing, squeezing your head in between. She feels how you shake your head against her, standing and replacing the feeling of your mouth with plunging three fingers in instead.

She’s trying to lift her body away, but you pull her flush against your body, arm wrapping tight around her waist as your fingers never leave her sopping pussy. “Don’t run now—this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Sophia’s trembling at your words, using your body as balance, as she gasped. “Keep those legs open. I’m not done.” Each roll of her clit sent her hips jerking upward, trying to pull away, only to be dragged back in. "You said you could take it—so take it."

She’s biting her bottom lip, her upper teeth tugging hard as she tries to gain any sense of composure. You look at her, a gleam in your eyes as she holds onto your arm.

“Don’t you wanna be a good girl? “I wanna be good—please—let me be good—” She yelps, not being able to finish her sentence when your hand begins rubbing on her clit. You loop your arm around her back and under her arm, folding with her tit, rolling her nipple between your two fingers.

The begging and overstimulation have tears slowly gliding down her face, the slick sounds getting louder, wetter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sophia mumbled repeatedly against your shoulder, head leaning against you like it would help her case.

You feel her legs twitching, sobs turning into breathless whimpers as she comes again with the way your fingers keep plunging in, curling deep.

Feeling bad, you slow down as Sophia’s entire weight leans on you. The moment felt serious and exhausting for both, yet you feel Sophia’s head shaking and her chuckles against your skin.

“Is that enough about me?”

You burst out laughing at the question, the sudden comedic relief hurting your abs. “It’s definitely one version of you.”

She does her best to stand up straight, still using you as somehwat of a crutch while her legs feel like jelly. “Wanna know more?”

Sophia’s clearly looking up at you, deer-like and pleasing as her swollen lips pout like she wants you to spoil her.

“How so?”

Even with you just fucking her, she smiles and wraps her arms around your neck, “Take me out?” 

The question was supposed to come out with the intention of commanding you to do it, but it comes out more uncertain than she wanted. You found it adorable, giving a small peck on her nose to make the moment a little cuter.

“Your wish is my command, President… so like now or?” 

Sophia slaps your arm and the joke, wrapping her arms around your waist this time to give you a hug. “Oh, shut up.”

“You like telling me to do that when you know I won't listen.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever L/n.”

A/n: I used the little Spanish knowledge I had from hs and google translate for that Dani convo SO PLS IF IT ISNT GOOD AND DOESN'T MAKE SENSE kindly tell me pls and ty 🥹

[lizziee-olseen]

idol | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: radar - lil hero ⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon ⁍ genre: idol!megan x actor!reader. slowburn fluff, jealous megan, loser!megan ⁍ a/n: thank you for requesting this, anon! sorry for the delay in getting this out. i hope this is what you were looking for. ⁍ w.c: 17k ⁍ warnings: curt language, a little bit nsfw(?), more so just suggestive. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n, an up-and-coming actor in korea, casually let slip on a variety show that she might have the *tiniest* crush on a particular girl group member, megan skiendiel. lucky for her, she was already on megan's radar.

“it was only a matter of time before you did something to make your pr team cry,” yunjin said, her voice thick with amusement as she leaned forward in her chair. “but god, y/n. i didn’t think you had it in you to be that bold.”

you didn’t bother to look at her. instead, you kept your focus on the half-empty iced americano in your hands, the straw poking at the lid like it had something to say too. “yeah yeah,” you muttered, tone dry. “keep it coming. get it all out.”

yunjin’s laughter filled the small recording studio, bouncing off the walls like an echo that didn’t know when to quit.

the first time you met her, you were rushing to a meeting at the hybe building, five minutes late and in no mood to reschedule. the elevator was almost closed when a hand slipped between the panels, smooth and effortless, like it was something out of a k-drama. yunjin stepped in a moment later, casual as anything, earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, eyes flicking toward you.

she didn’t register who you were right away. not until she caught the outline of your face in the elevator mirror and did the most obvious quadruple take known to man. she grinned like she’d just won a bet. you raised an eyebrow. the doors shut.

your name had been climbing headlines at the time, especially after that marvel debut. you were still adjusting to the spotlight, to the way people started speaking about you like you were a headline first and a human being second. they called you the face of the next generation, a once-in-a-decade talent. you still weren’t sure what to do with that.

to her credit, yunjin didn’t immediately spiral. she told you later she’d nearly recited your entire filmography then and there but had somehow restrained herself. instead, she said, “you’re taller than i thought,” with a sort of breezy charm that made you laugh before you could stop yourself.

the novelty wore off quickly. by your third hangout, she was yelling at her flat iron over facetime and blaming you for jinxing her hair before mcountdown. the pedestal had crumbled, and in its place was something much better.

you adored her, truly. but right now? right now you wanted to strangle her.

“you do realize the internet’s having a meltdown, right?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder while fiddling with the dials on the studio mixer. “megan’s stans are going full detective mode. they’re gonna find the exact thread count of your bedsheets if you’re not careful.”

of course you knew. how could you not?

‎ 

‎it had all started at weekly idol. you and your costar, eunwoo, were the guests that day. minhyuk and hyeongjun were hosting. bright-eyed, energetic, and way too charismatic for nine in the morning. the moment you stepped on set, they bowed with exaggerated reverence and gasped like they’d seen ghosts.

“wow… everyone, protect the cameras,” minhyuk said, turning to the staff with mock urgency. “no way this equipment survives the visuals of both our guests at once.”

you laughed, cheeks heating despite yourself. the nerves hadn’t gone away even after a hundred interviews. your knee had bounced nonstop in the makeup chair. your hands wouldn’t sit still in your lap. you didn’t know why you were this on edge. it wasn’t like this was your first time.

eunwoo had noticed. he always noticed. he didn’t say much, but before your cue to enter, he gave you a quiet nod, a calm smile. just enough to settle the buzz in your chest.

the shoot went smoothly. laughter came easy. there was a moment you and eunwoo broke into an absurd duet of the show’s theme song, something so horrifically off-key that it ended up trending for twelve hours. and yet, what really caught fire was that one particular question.

“…so, y/n,” hyeongjun had said, reading off a laminated card with all the flair of a seasoned variety host. “you’ve caught the eye of the entire country. but has anyone caught your eye?”

you paused. of course you did. your manager’s disapproving face flashed through your brain like a warning siren, but you could already feel the words rising. the answer had been sitting with you for months now, quiet and patient.

you thought of coachella. of watching a failed backflip send some poor guy crashing to the ground mid-performance, which made you laugh for far too long. and how somehow, down that spiral of linked videos and fuzzy 420p livestreams, you ended up watching three girls play roblox with him. that’s when you saw her. megan skiendiel. orange wig, infectious laugh, that strange but graceful way she moved that made you look twice.

she was stunning. but it wasn’t just that. it was the way she felt. vibrant. sincere. like she wasn’t trying to be anyone but herself.

you could still remember the way your cheeks felt warm when you finally answered.

“uh, well, i don’t usually think about stuff like that,” you said carefully, then smiled despite yourself. “but i think katseye’s megan is absolutely gorgeous. i mean, i’d love to meet her. she seems fun. like the kind of person you’d want to be friends with.”

innocent enough. 

‎ 

or so you thought.

now, here you were, spinning idly on a swivel chair in yunjin’s recording booth, trying not to meet her smug eyes.

“you should’ve said nothing,” she said, clearly enjoying herself. “or lied. something. anything. instead, you went full disney channel crush monologue.”

“i thought it was harmless,” you argued, voice climbing in pitch. “i didn’t think the entire internet would spiral into an fbi task force over a throwaway comment. seriously, doesn’t anyone have jobs?”

“you’re y/n,” yunjin shot back, twirling a pencil between her fingers. “you know people hang onto your words like they’re stock tips. you practically lit a flare above her name with that answer.”

“i didn’t even say anything that bad! i called her pretty and said she seemed fun. i said the same thing about you last week on dex’s fridge.”

“right, but you didn’t look like you were about to pass out from heart palpitations when you said it about me. you didn’t blush. you didn’t pause like you were imagining your wedding vows. babe, you looked like you were one blink away from writing her poetry.”

“you’re being so dramatic.”

“am i?” she raised an eyebrow. “because you may as well have held a ‘simp’ sign and worn a megan skiendiel stan shirt. even sungchan has more chill than that. sungchan, y/n.”

you groaned at the mention of your tall, hopelessly clumsy mutual. “low blow.”

“i’m just saying.” she shrugged, biting back a grin. “even you know i’m right.”

and unfortunately, you kind of did.

“okay, but for real,” yunjin said, dragging her chair over with a squeak that made you wince. she rested her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, looking at you like she was about to stage an intervention. “what are you gonna do if she actually reaches out?”

you blinked, caught off guard by the shift in her tone. “what do you mean?”

“i mean, say she dms you. or tags you in some story. or, i don’t know, shows up at your next premiere with a bouquet of roses and a sign that says ‘hi crush.’ what then?” she asked. “you gonna freak out and melt into the floor? you gonna invite her to karaoke and try to play it cool while secretly dying inside?”

you turned away and took a long, pointed sip of your coffee.

“no, but seriously,” she pressed, clearly not letting it go. “you like her, don’t you?”

you snorted. “i’ve never even met her.”

“not what i asked.”

you sighed, letting your head fall back against the wall with a soft thud. “i don’t know. maybe.”

yunjin tilted her head. “that’s a yes.”

“it’s not a yes,” you said, but your voice was too quiet to sound convincing. “i just think she’s… interesting.”

“gorgeous, fun, interesting,” she ticked off on her fingers. “mmhmm. yeah. sounds like someone’s caught feelings off vibes and roblox streams alone. that’s powerful.”

you groaned again and rolled your eyes, but the sound that left your throat was somewhere between embarrassment and reluctant laughter. “you make it sound so unhinged.”

“it is unhinged,” she said without missing a beat. “but it’s also kind of cute. in a really stupid, romcom kind of way. you, falling for a girl you’ve never met because she made you laugh through a pixelated camera while dressed like a traffic cone.”

you narrowed your eyes. “it was a very good orange wig.”

“never said it wasn’t,” she said with a shrug. “you’re just proving my point.”

you exhaled slowly, running a hand down your face. “look, i didn’t mean for any of this to happen. i just answered the question honestly. i wasn’t trying to stir up some whole thing.”

“but you did,” she said gently. ”and maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.”

you looked at her, unsure how to respond.

“she could be into it,” yunjin said, her voice lighter again. “she should be into it. if i was her, i’d be clearing my schedule and calling my stylist for a camera-ready fit. do you even know how many people would kill to be publicly flirted with by you?”

“i wasn’t flirting.”

“girl, you might as well have asked for her ring size.”

you groaned again and flopped forward, burying your face in your arms as yunjin broke into another fit of laughter. somewhere beneath the teasing and the noise, though, was something quieter. something you didn’t say out loud.

you kind of hoped she did reach out.

even just to say hi.

__

the dorm was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of pipes behind the walls. manhua pages rustled faintly in the room next door, probably sophia flipping through her latest haul before bed, but otherwise the place had settled into a kind of hush that only came after midnight. the rest of the girls had turned in after rehearsals, legs sore, voices hoarse, the kind of tired that sank into the bones. megan had stayed behind in the living room, half-sprawled across the floor with a pillow hugged to her chest and a cold bottle of pocari pressed under her jaw.

she was still in her practice clothes, oversized hoodie and bike shorts, skin sticky with the last remnants of sweat she hadn’t bothered to wipe off properly. her hair was clipped up haphazardly, strands falling into her face as she stared down at her phone, blue light painting her features in a soft, ghostly glow.

she wasn’t really expecting anything when she opened twitter. just a quick scroll before bed, a way to shut her brain off after a day of hitting choreography until her ankles burned. but then she saw the video. saw her name. and froze.

“Y/N CONFIRMS SHE’S A FAN OF KATSEYE’S MEGAN 🫢🫢🫢”

she clicked it.

the clip wasn’t long. maybe thirty seconds, a little more. it was some variety show. she recognized eunwoo immediately, bright-eyed and relaxed in the way only he ever seemed to be on camera. y/n sat beside him, posture a little straighter than usual, nerves twitching under the surface despite the easy smile on her face.

megan watched the moment unfold. the way the question was asked. the pause. the sheepish smile. 

“i think katseye’s megan is absolutely gorgeous.”

the words shouldn’t have done anything. people said things like that all the time. fans. hosts. stylists brushing out her hair before a shoot. it wasn’t new. but the way y/n said it, quiet, thoughtful, almost like she was holding back something bigger… it sat heavy in megan’s chest as the clip ended and replayed itself automatically.

she watched it again. and then a third time.

her notifications were already a mess. katseye’s name trending alongside y/n’s, clips being reposted with fan captions and edits, screenshots of the moment paired with captions like “megan better WAKE UP” and “y/n join the line babe”. she should’ve laughed. part of her did. but underneath it, something shifted. something warm and unsure and a little bit dizzy.

y/n had been on her radar for a while, if she was being honest. megan wasn’t the type to crush easily, but there was something about her. it started with a film. some sci-fi action thing that megan only half paid attention to until y/n showed up on screen and suddenly everything was more interesting. after that, it was interviews. behind the scenes clips. a fan edit that popped up on her for you page one morning and made her miss a whole subway stop because she got too caught up in it.

and now this.

megan opened y/n’s instagram without really thinking. her thumb hovered over the follow button. she stared at it for a long second, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

she didn’t press it.

not yet.

instead, she set her phone down on the floor beside her and let her eyes drift to the ceiling. her heart was beating faster than it had any right to.

“gorgeous,” she murmured under her breath, voice barely audible. “fun. wants to be friends.”

maybe she could work with that.

‎ 

sleep didn’t come easy to her that night.  before she knew it, the night shifted to morning and she had to get up. the studio called her name, as it seemed to relentlessly the past month and some change. 

sophia, daniela, and yoonchae were already mid-run-through when megan walked into the practice room, the tail end of the “gnarly” chorus echoing faintly from the speakers. sophia’s voice cut clean through the track, daniela’s movements sharp and deliberate. yoonchae was quiet, as usual, but every step she made was crisp, clockwork precise.

megan had barely stepped into the center of the room when she heard it.

“so.” lara didn’t even look up from where she was sitting, stretching her legs out and leaning back on her palms. “anything you wanna share with the class?”

megan blinked. “what?”

manon turned her head slowly from where she was sitting several notches away, a teasing gleam in her eyes. she answers as if it’s obvious. honestly, it really was. “y/n.”

megan tensed immediately. “oh god.”

“yup,” lara said, like she had been waiting all morning for this. “you’ve been blowing up on stan twitter since seven a.m. and don’t think we didn’t notice how fast you saved that clip on the shared account”

“i didn’t save it,” megan muttered, grabbing her water bottle a little too fast. “i just… happened to see it. once.”

“megan,” manon said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “you’ve been quiet all morning. the last time you shut the fuck up was when you saw scarlett johanson do the splits in that one captain america movie. don’t lie to us.”

lara laughed under her breath. “she said you were gorgeous, wanted to be friends. oh, how romantic. i bet you probably watched it ten times over.”

“i did not,” megan said, practically choking on her water. “i just didn’t expect it, okay? i wasn’t mentally prepared.”

“mentally prepared for what?” manon said, raising a brow. “a compliment? you’ve been in magazines. people compliment you all the time.”

“not her,” megan said, before immediately realizing what she’d just admitted out loud. she froze. “i mean. not like. you know. never mind.”

lara clapped once, too loud. “that’s it. someone get her phone. we’re crafting a dm.”

“absolutely not,” megan said, panic already bubbling in her chest. “i’ll die.”

“what are you gonna do?” manon said. “wait until she magically appears in the dorms living room?”

megan buried her face in her hoodie. “maybe.”

“this is tragic,” lara said. “you have the golden opportunity of a lifetime and you’re out here acting like she’s a tax bill.”

“can we please change the subject,” megan mumbled, voice muffled in fabric.

“nope,” manon said, standing up and walking towards her. “group vote says you’re dming her.”

lara held out a hand. “seconded.”

from across the room, daniela raised a hand mid-step. “thirded.”

megan didn’t even look up. “yoonchae. please. save me.”

yoonchae just gave a small shrug, barely breaking from the choreo. megan groaned into her sleeve.

yep. she was on her own. not even sophia batted an eyelash, the filippinas glossy lips tilting up into a small grin where she was by the mirrors. 

megan sat down cross-legged on the floor with her phone clutched in both hands like it might explode. her back was hunched, eyes glued to the screen, and the expression on her face hovered somewhere between total focus and a full-blown identity crisis.

“you haven’t even opened instagram yet,” manon pointed out, sitting behind her and peering over her shoulder.

“i’m getting to it,” megan muttered.

lara flopped down next to her with a dramatic sigh. “this is painful to watch. if you go any slower, we’ll be here until yoonchae turns twenty-seven.”

megan unlocked her phone with a resigned swipe. “what do i even say? like. what do people say when they’re trying not to sound weird?”

lara took a breath. “okay. let’s start simple. ‘hi y/n, thanks for saying i’m pretty on tv—”

“i’m not saying that.”

“‘you have great taste in women’—”

“lara.”

“‘let’s be friends (or more if you’re free saturday night)’—”

megan covered her face with both hands. “why did i think listening to you was a good idea.”

manon leaned her chin on megan’s shoulder. “fine. try this. ‘hi, this is super random but i saw the clip from weekly idol and just wanted to say thank you. that was really sweet of you. hope we can meet someday!’ short, polite, friendly. not scary.”

megan peeked at her. “…that’s not terrible.”

lara squinted. “it’s boring.”

“it’s safe,” manon said, grabbing megan’s phone and typing it out with quick thumbs. “she’s not asking her to elope, she’s just acknowledging it.”

megan took the phone back and read it over like it was a contract. “…what if she doesn’t reply?”

“then you delete your account and we pretend this never happened,” lara said. “easy.”

“lara,” manon sighed.

megan stared at the message for a long moment. her thumb hovered. then tapped. then hovered again.

“just hit send,” daniela called from across the room, not even looking up from her stretching. “we can feel your hesitation from over here.”

“seriously,” sophia added, “you’re vibrating.”

megan sucked in a breath through her teeth. and then, with her eyes closed and her stomach in her shoes, she hit send.

silence.

lara let out the longest, slowest gasp. “it’s done.”

manon patted her back. “you’re very brave.”

megan immediately flopped backward onto the floor like she’d just run a marathon. “i need to lie here forever. let me perish in peace.”

lara just grinned and offered her a thumbs up. “she’s gonna love it.”

megan covered her eyes. “i hate everything.”

never in a million years would she have expected that one simple action to change everything. 

__

the cafe was warm in that familiar, lived-in kind of way. wood-paneled walls framed by climbing ivy, soft light filtering through dusty windows, and the scent of espresso baked into the air like it had nowhere else to go. outside, a quiet drizzle tapped at the glass, slow and steady, painting the sidewalk in watercolor streaks. inside, the soft clatter of dishes and hum of conversation made everything feel just far enough from the noise of your schedule to breathe.

you were at a small table near the back, the kind that rocked a little if you leaned on it wrong. yunjin sat across from you, one leg thrown over the other, straw bent at an aggressive angle in her lemonade. beside her, sungchan had his jacket slung over his chair and a look of mild betrayal on his face as he stared down at the salad yunjin had goaded him into ordering.

“i’m just saying,” she said, picking a piece of arugula off his plate like it belonged to her, “you can’t order a burger four days in a row and then complain about your skin breaking out.”

“it’s called balance,” sungchan muttered, dragging his fork through the greens with the resigned air of someone deeply offended by roughage. “i had a banana this morning.”

“oh wow,” she deadpanned. “one whole banana. call the olympic committee, this man is the pinnacle of health.”

he gave her a flat look. “didn’t you eat instant tteokbokki at two in the morning and then text me about your stomach cramps like it was my fault?”

“okay, first of all, you’re my emotional support contact when i make poor life choices. second of all, i still looked hot while doing it.”

you blinked slowly, chin in your hand, eyes fixed on the screen of your phone where the message sat.

hi, this is super random but i saw the clip from weekly idol and just wanted to say thank you. that was really sweet of you. hope we can meet someday!

megan had sent it two nights ago. you’d seen it the moment it came in, heart tripping over itself in the dark quiet of your bedroom. you didn’t answer. not right away. you told yourself you were busy, that you had scripts to review, meetings lined up. you told yourself it wasn’t ghosting if you intended to respond eventually.

but even now, hours and hours later, you were still here. still staring. still unsure what to say.

you had never been this nervous to talk to someone before.

“okay, this is depressing,” yunjin said, snapping her fingers in your direction. “hey. eyes up. you look like someone just broke up with you via powerPoint.”

sungchan leaned in a little, squinting at you. “are you sick? you’re weirdly quiet. usually you’d be insulting us by now.”

“i’m not sick,” you said quickly, locking your phone and setting it face down on the table. “just… thinking.”

“thinking about what?” yunjin asked, tone tilting toward nosy in that way only close friends could get away with.

you hesitated.

“oh my god,” she gasped. “you’re in love.”

“i’m not in love,” you said, too fast, which only made sungchan snort into his water.

“that’s what people say right before they confess they’re in love,” he said, dabbing at his chin with a napkin like he hadn’t just inhaled half a slice of garlic bread. “who is it?”

“nobody,” you said.

yunjin leaned forward with the exact expression of someone who knew they were right. “it’s megan, isn’t it?”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t have to. the look on your face gave you away.

sungchan let out a low whistle. “oh. that megan. the ‘gorgeous, fun, would love to be friends’ megan.”

you groaned, resting your forehead on your palm. “do you all memorize everything i say or are you just stalking my interviews for sport?”

“yes,” they said at the same time.

“okay but seriously,” yunjin said, nudging your phone with one perfectly manicured finger. “she messaged you, right?”

you nodded.

“and you didn’t reply because…?”

you sighed. “i don’t know. because it’s her. because i don’t want to mess it up. because what if she’s just being nice and this whole thing is way more casual to her than it is to me?”

sungchan tilted his head. “you mean what if she’s cool and normal and not secretly writing fanfiction about you the way you’re doing about her?”

yunjin grinned. “do you want us to help you write back? or are you planning to keep having an existential crisis over a very cute dm?”

you glanced at the screen again. your reflection looked back at you in the black glass, soft and unsure.

“i’ll write back,” you said quietly.

“good,” yunjin said, leaning back in her chair with a pleased expression. “because if you didn’t, i was gonna pretend to be you and do it myself.”

“you’re terrifying,” sungchan said, which she accepted as a compliment.

you looked back at the message one more time. your heart was still beating a little too fast, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. maybe it meant you actually cared. that it mattered.

you took a breath. opened the keyboard.

and started to type.

your fingers hovered for a second too long over the keyboard. the blinking cursor stared back at you like it knew you were stalling. you could feel yunjin’s eyes on you, sharp and expectant, like she might actually snatch the phone from your hands if you hesitated any longer. sungchan, mercifully, had gone back to his salad, occasionally picking at it like it was an alien lifeform.

hi megan! sorry for the slow reply, things have been a little hectic lately. i saw your message and honestly it kind of made my whole week lol. thank you for reaching out :)

you paused. read it again. deleted the smiley. retyped it. added a second sentence.

i’d really love to meet too if you’re ever free.

then you stared at it some more.

“this is painful,” yunjin muttered. “just hit send. what’s the worst that could happen?”

“she leaves me on read and i spontaneously combust from shame,” you said flatly.

“dramatic,” sungchan mumbled, chewing like a cow. “but valid.”

“she won’t leave you on read,” yunjin said, more gently this time. “she messaged you first. that counts for something.”

you looked down at the screen one last time. your thumb hovered over the send button. your stomach turned a slow, clumsy flip. and then, before you could second guess yourself again, you pressed it.

message sent.

you didn’t breathe for a full five seconds.

“there,” yunjin said, smug now. “look at you. being brave.”

“i already regret this,” you mumbled, locking your phone again and pushing it away like it might explode.

“do you want a cookie?” sungchan asked, peering at the dessert menu. “i feel like this moment deserves a cookie.”

you blinked at him. “why do you always want to eat after stressful emotional events?”

“because i am a man of simple needs,” he said, deadpan. “and also because cookies are comforting.”

“he’s not wrong,” yunjin said, flagging down the waiter with the kind of unearned confidence that came from growing up with three older siblings and no shame. except, she didn’t. “three chocolate chip, please. and a round of iced americanos. she’s going to need the caffeine.”

you sank back into your seat, still feeling the rush of adrenaline buzzing under your skin. outside, the rain had picked up a little, streaking the windows like silver threads. inside, everything smelled like sugar and espresso and something warm baking in the oven.

you didn’t know if megan would reply. maybe she’d be busy. maybe she’d forget. but for now, you’d done the hardest part.

you’d answered, and that felt like enough for today.

that was, at least, until your phone chimed.

the sound sliced through the moment like a needle popping a balloon. all three of you froze. your eyes shot to the screen where the notification banner was still lingering like a ghost.

megan skiendiel: that sounds perfect :) when are you free?

yunjin let out an actual gasp, loud and dramatic enough to make the table behind you glance over. sungchan dropped his fork.

“no way,” yunjin hissed, already leaning across the table to see. “no actual way. she replied that fast? is she a robot?”

you didn’t say anything. you just stared. your heart had lodged itself somewhere in your throat, beating so hard it made your ears ring. megan had replied. not just replied but enthusiastically. and with a smiley. the exact one you had almost deleted from your own message.

“hello?” sungchan waved a hand in front of your face. “earth to y/n. what did she say? is it something scandalous? are we finally getting to live vicariously through your love life?”

you shoved your phone toward them without speaking.

yunjin read the message out loud like it was a line from a sacred text. “‘that sounds perfect. when are you free.’” then she looked up at you with her mouth already forming a wicked grin. “she wants to hang out. like, actually hang out. she’s asking you out.”

“not asking me out,” you said quickly, the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “just… asking when i’m free.”

“same thing,” sungchan said, picking his fork back up and pointing it at you like it was a weapon. “in celebrity speak that is basically a confession of love. i’ve seen the charts.”

“you made those charts,” you reminded him.

“and they’re scientifically sound.”

“okay but seriously,” yunjin cut in, phone still in hand, “when are you free? do you have a day off coming up?”

you blinked, trying to force your brain back into scheduling mode. “uh… friday afternoon? maybe?”

“perfect,” she said, already typing something. “tell her friday. tell her you’re free after lunch. keep it casual. breezy. like you’re not obsessively analyzing every possible outcome of this conversation.”

you shot her a look. “i am obsessively analyzing every possible outcome of this conversation.”

“which is why you need us,” sungchan said with his mouth full of cookie. “we’re here to keep you from imploding.”

your phone buzzed again.

megan skiendiel: i’m free friday after seven. wanna grab coffee? i can send you a spot i like

you didn’t even get a chance to reply before yunjin squealed.

sungchan raised both hands to the sky. “oh my god. it’s happening. it’s actually happening.”

you stared at the message, barely breathing, heart thudding like a drum inside your chest.

coffee. with megan.

you were either about to make a new friend or absolutely ruin your entire life trying.

weirdly… you couldn’t wait to find out which.

__

friday showed up before you were ready for it.

“i feel like a dad on prom night,” sungchan said, flopped across your couch like a man waiting for judgment day. he hugged a pillow to his stomach like it might shield him from the chaos. “except hotter. and younger. and not emotionally repressed.

“you’re eating chips with your shirt inside out,”chaewon deadpanned, looking sungchan up and down judgmentally.. “you look like a walking identity crisis.”  

then she turned, peering around the corner into your bedroom.

“y/n, i can’t believe you’re finally going on a date. talk about a breakthrough.”

yunjin sat cross legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone like she wasn’t the one who casually mentioned your date in front of everyone. the very second chaewon heard, she practically chomped at the bit, begging yunjin to bring her along to watch it all unfold. to say your love life was a spectacle among your friends would be an understatement.

“for the record,” you called from your room, still getting ready, “i said no to bringing chaewon.”

“for the record,” chaewon shouted back, “we overruled you. this is a democracy.”

“it’s so not.”

you stepped out, halfway dressed, holding up two completely different tops.

“black or white?”

“ooh,” yunjin said, squinting like she was inspecting a rare museum artifact. “black is hot. white is sweet. depends on the vibe you’re going for.”

“the vibe is ‘i want to look cute but not like i tried too hard because if i think about this too long i will throw myself into traffic’.”

“black,” chaewon and sungchan said in unison.

you sighed and nodded, disappearing back into the room. the air buzzed with the sound of sungchan crunching loudly and chaewon whispering to yunjin like they were spies on a mission.

“lets make a bet. ten dollars says she has a breakdown before she even leaves the house.” chaewon whispered.

“twenty says she embarrasses herself throwing up in megan’s car.” yunjin whispered back.

“guys,” you said, poking your head out again. “i can hear you.”

“we know,” they all said at the same time.

your phone dinged again.

megan skiendiel: on my way. i’ll be at your door in a minute. also, did you know your bellhop likes our music? he almost fainted when he let me up lol

you stared at the message for two full seconds before the others caught the change in your face like wolves spotting weakness. you barely had time to blink before the room exploded.

“oh my god,” sungchan shot up from the couch like someone yelled ‘fire!’. the chip bag in his hands crinkled louder than a car alarm. “was that her? is she outside? do we hide? do we have a code word if things go sideways?”

“wait, she’s coming up here?” chaewon gasped, already rising with a dramatic flair. “this place is a disaster zone!”

“i cleaned for you people,” you hissed, throwing a pointed look at the water bottles on the coffee table and the lone sock draped suspiciously over the lamp.

“yeah, and we immediately undid all of it,” yunjin said, waving a hand at the chaos like it was a museum exhibit. “you’re welcome.”

sungchan grabbed his phone, replacing the cushion he clutched. “this is it. our little baby’s first date.”

“shut up,” you muttered, cheeks heating like you’d just been called out in front of the world. “and put that damn phone down. if i see you take even one photo, i’ll beat your ass. besides, it’s not a date.”

three pairs of eyes locked onto you in unison.

“coffee with the girl you’ve been thinking about nonstop for two weeks,” chaewon said, crossing her arms with the confidence of a daytime talk show host.

“wearing the ‘hot top’, nervous enough to sweat through your socks,” yunjin added, giving you an appraising look.

“with three unpaid emotional support staff waiting at home,” sungchan finished, voice thick with mock solemnity.

your gaze snapped back and forth between the three of them, and you cringed inwardly. okay, they were right. this was definitely a date.

then, knock knock knock.

you froze for a second, heart thudding so loud you were sure they could hear it in the next room. you opened the door, and there she was.

megan stood on the other side like a vision in the hallway light, hair catching the glow just right, a smile that was equal parts warm and mischievous.

behind you, the trio froze mid-move like they’d just been caught doing something they definitely shouldn’t. they exchanged shiteating grins that barely hid how badly they were eavesdropping. yunjin quickly pulled out her phone like she was suddenly very interested in something, but her eyes kept darting toward the door. chaewon leaned against the wall, looking way too relaxed for someone who was clearly dying to say something, and sungchan sprawled on the couch with the kind of lazy cool that screamed i’m totally innocent. when megan’s eyes flicked over to them, they all waved with big, overly casual smiles like innocent bystanders who just happened to be hanging out, except no one was buying it.

but then megan’s eyes locked onto yours and suddenly everything else around you faded into the background. your breath hitched without warning and your brain scrambled like it was trying to process a beautiful glitch in reality.

you’d only ever seen her through a screen before. live streams where she smiled like the sun was just for her, short clips where she moved with effortless grace, and that one quick instagram deep dive you’d done when she messaged you. but now, here she was in real life, and she was something else entirely.

her skin caught the soft light of your penthouse, glowing like it had its own quiet radiance. her eyes were bigger and deeper than you expected, dark and shimmering like they held a secret you wanted to know. the way her hair fell in loose waves around her face softened her sharp cheekbones and made her look both fierce and kind at the same time.

she wasn’t just pretty. she was the kind of stunning that made you forget words and wish you could rewind the moment just to stare a little longer. standing there, frozen with your mouth slightly open, you realized this was the first time you were seeing her. not a filtered version, not a quick snapshot. but the real her. and it was breathtaking.

“hi,” megan said, and the word came out with a lopsided grin that cracked through the tension in your chest like sunlight through a fogged-up window. her voice was warm, lilting, a little too casual for someone who had just walked in looking like a daydream in denim baggy jeans and a bomber jacket. she rocked slightly on her heels and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, like she was fighting the urge to do a small nervous dance.

“hi,” you replied, except it sounded more like a squeak than anything human. your throat betrayed you. of course it did.

then her eyes flicked over your shoulder, and that grin stretched even wider.

“hey guys!” she waved, cheerful like she’d just walked into a party of old friends instead of three people very poorly pretending to mind their own business. “love the casual surveillance vibe you’ve got going on in here.”

“we’re chill,” sungchan said, lounging so awkwardly on the couch he almost slid off it. 

“so chill,” chaewon added, nodding solemnly from her place at the wall, where she’d become one with a houseplant.

“this is how we always sit,” yunjin said, phone upside down in her hand, gaze glued directly to megan’s face. “completely normal. zero eavesdropping. you can’t prove otherwise.”

megan let out a laugh, scrunching her nose as she looked back at you. “your friends are amazing.”

“they’re something,” you muttered, grabbing your bag before your legs could decide to walk without you.

“so,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck and bouncing slightly on her toes. “you ready? or do you need a few more minutes to, like, peel them off the furniture?”

you gave a quiet laugh, trying not to show that your hands were already clammy. “nope. ready.”

megan smiled again. softer this time. like she was seeing you for real. “cool. let’s go, then.”

and with that, you stepped out into whatever this was going to be, your heart doing cartwheels the entire way.

‎ 

truthfully, megan’s car wasn’t what you’d expected. some part of you, the part still convinced the universe had a twisted sense of humor, had pictured something absurd. maybe a crop duster or even the rusty tow truck from cars. something loud. chaotic. entirely un-date-like. instead, it was a sleek black suv. understated but sharp, just like her.

from the passenger seat, you couldn’t help sneaking glances. megan’s focus was fixed on the road, her jaw tense, her hands gripping the wheel like she was bracing for impact.

“you look nervous,” you said, a little too gently.

“o-oh, well. you know.” her voice cracked slightly as she coughed into her shoulder, eyes flicking toward you before immediately darting back to the windshield. she gave you a crooked grin, brief and almost sheepish. “i am. honestly, i feel like i’m going to vomit.”

you laughed before you could help it. light, surprised. “vomit? that’s dramatic.”

“i mean, maybe,” she said, her eyes narrowing playfully for half a second before softening again. “it’s just… i didn’t expect to actually be here. with you. not in a bad way. in a surreal way.”

you felt the flush creep across your cheeks before you even registered it, a warmth that pooled somewhere in your chest. still, you tilted your head toward her, teasing. “i can’t tell if you mean that as a compliment or not.”

megan practically panicked. “no! no, no no, not at all. god, please, that’s the silliest thing i’ve ever heard.” her words came out too fast, tripping over themselves. she shook her head like it would help untangle the knot in her thoughts. “i’m just nervous, okay? i keep overthinking it. like, what if i say something dumb, or do something weird, or—”

her voice dropped slightly, and she added, almost under her breath, “you’re so pretty i can’t think straight.”

then she froze, eyes widening as if realizing she’d said it out loud. her face goes red, a grimace pulling across her lips. she lifts a hand off the wheel to gently facepalm herself, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “please ignore me. i’m begging,”

you could only watch. you don’t know when the fond grin crossed your lips. when your heart skipped a beat, when her endearing clumsiness had you relaxing in your seat. perhaps knowing that she was just as, if not more, nervous as you made you feel relieved. after a beat, you laughed. soft. her eyes lit up as she glanced at you from her peripheral, the short noise drawing her from her thoughts.

“you’re fine,” you said, quiet but real. “i’ve been looking forward to tonight too.”

“really?”

“yeah. do you think i’d let my friends invade my house all week just for fun? they’ve been insufferable, harassing me all week. i guess i maybe haven’t made it all that secret that i’ve been interested in you for a while.” then you shake your head. “interested in meeting, that is.”

this time it was megan’s turn to crack a stupid grin.

whatever nerves you felt immediately disappeared the longer you talked to each other. truth be told, you were worried whether you’d get along as well as you hoped you would. part of you worried that once you saw each other, it’d be awkward. quiet. instead megan somehow managed to fill the silence with conversation. she asked about your family, about your day, about your friends. in turn you asked about hers.

she laughed at something you said. not even something that funny, really, just a small comment about the gas station snacks you liked. but the way she laughed, like she meant it, like she wasn’t just being polite, made your chest feel lighter. her voice filled the car, soft but certain, and the road hummed under the tires like it was part of the conversation.

you glanced over at her. she was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. her thumb tapped along to the music playing low through the speakers. some indie band neither of you had heard before but had both agreed sounded “pretty good.” it was easy. easier than you expected.

you didn’t have to think too hard before speaking. there was no second guessing. no awkward pauses that made you reach for your phone or pretend to check the map. she asked about the book in your bag and you told her it was something you started three times but never finished. she admitted she did that too, more often than she’d like to admit. you both laughed again.

the sky outside started to shift, the blue softening into a hazy gold. you weren’t sure how long you’d been driving, only that time felt different in the car with her. stretched out. slowed down. kinder.

it didn’t take long for her to park outside a cafe, but neither of you moved to get out. instead, you agreed to order to go. that’s how you ended up here. still in her car, windows slightly cracked, the warm scent of coffee filling the space between you. your drink sat snug in the cupholder, hands curled around it for warmth, and a half-eaten bagel rested in your lap. just outside the windshield, the lights of seoul shimmered across the han river, soft and golden against the night.

she didn’t seem in any rush to leave, and neither were you.

after a long sip of coffee, the next question came out without much thought.

“how long are you in korea for this time?”

“another week, give or take,” she said, eyes flicking to the skyline, like she was already counting down.

“do you miss home?”

“i do. yeah. i miss my car, mostly. it’s my baby. a bmw m3.”

you looked at her, eyebrows raised. “whoever handed you the keys to a sports car must have had a serious lapse in judgment. you drive this suv like you’ve got a personal vendetta against the speed limit.”

she let out a laugh, head tipping back slightly. “what can i say? i like to go fast.”

“sure. until we’re airborne.”

“oh, come on,” she grinned. “you weren’t complaining when you were riding shotgun, all cozy and content, full-on passenger princess mode.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “i was holding onto the door for dear life.”

“you were vibing,” she said.

“i was surviving,” you shot back, but it was playful, light.

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it was the kind that settled easy between two people who’d already found a rhythm.

megan reached for her own cup, nearly knocking over the paper bag between you in the process. the bagel inside gave a sad little flop onto the console. she froze.

“whoops. that was... not smooth.”

you laughed, nudging the bag gently back toward her. “you’re a menace behind the wheel and a danger to pastries. noted.”

she gave you a sheepish smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “yeah, i’m really killing it tonight, huh?”

“actually,” you said, voice a little softer, “i’ve had a really nice time.”

she blinked at you, surprised. “yeah?”

you nodded, looking out toward the river before meeting her eyes again. “i was kinda nervous. not because of you, just... sometimes people are different in person. it doesn’t always click.”

megan was quiet for a second, then gave a small, crooked smile. “i was worried about that too. i overthink everything. i even tried to pick a good playlist just in case the conversation died and we needed... filler noise or something.”

you laughed. “is that why i’ve been listening to three hours of sad indie girls?”

“they’re emotionally articulate,” she said, pretending to be offended, but her grin gave her away. “besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

you leaned back against the seat, stretching your legs out a bit. “yeah. it really did.”

the city lights danced in her eyes when she looked at you, soft and a little uncertain, but there was warmth there too. the kind that made the car feel smaller, safer.

“you’re easy to talk to,” she said after a moment, quieter than before.

you smiled, heart tugging just slightly at her honesty. “so are you.”

a comfortable silence settled again, the kind where neither of you felt the need to fill it. the engine ticked softly as it cooled, and in the background, another melancholic song hummed through the speakers.

“i was gonna try and act all chill and collected,” megan said eventually, gaze fixed on the skyline. “but then i fumbled, almost crashed into that curb, and now my bagel is probably in pieces.”

“you’re doing great,” you said, trying not to smile too much. “like, truly elite first impression.”

she turned to face you, eyes bright despite the dim light. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

and just like that, the nerves that had once lingered in the corners of your chest felt like a distant memory.

__

after that night in the car, things shifted. not in a big, dramatic way. no sudden declarations, no fireworks. just small things. steadier things.

your conversations moved from instagram dms to real texts. it felt natural. seamless. one day she asked for your number like it wasn’t a big deal, like she hadn’t already been in your head more than you cared to admit. and you gave it without hesitation, like it wasn’t a risk. like you already knew she’d treat it right.

when she left korea, it was quiet. no big goodbye, no emotional scene. she texted you from the airport, a blurry photo of her and a coffee she swore was going to keep her awake through the flight. from there, the messages kept going. even with the time difference, she found time to talk. random updates. sleepy selfies. voice notes with a little static in the background because she always seemed to be walking somewhere, or in a van, or waiting backstage. sometimes she’d send a song with no context. sometimes just a “this reminded me of you” followed by a meme that made absolutely no sense.

you talked about everything and nothing. the shows she was doing. the tiny hotel rooms she was crashing in. how much she missed sophia’s dog, chanel. how lara had started sleep talking again. how yoonchae had near cried when she had to say goodbye to her parents again when they returned to california.

you told her about your week, the upcoming film you’re wrapping up shooting, your friends, the late-night ramen run that ended in rain and ruined shoes.

some nights, the conversations lasted until one of you fell asleep mid-text. other nights, it was just a good morning or goodnight, quick but never careless.

somehow, she made the space between you feel smaller.

it didn’t take long for others to start noticing your budding friendship, either. 

if there was one thing you should know about megan skiendiel, it’s that she’s stubborn. fiercely so. once she feels something, she clings to it with both hands. no disguises, no apologies. she doesn’t know how to be subtle and doesn’t try to be. her heart shows up before she even walks into the room.

and lately, her heart had a habit of mentioning you. probably more than it should have.

the first time was during a casual sit-down with a popular youtuber. the question had been harmless enough.  “did you meet anyone interesting in korea?” 

megan didn’t even blink before your name tumbled out of her mouth.

behind her, manon practically doubled over laughing while lara muttered something about “bad timing” and “inside jokes.” the clip went viral within the hour.

eyekons weren’t buying the act. they knew.

especially after that solo live.

‎ 

megan sank into the couch with a sigh, stretching her legs over the coffee table as she adjusted her phone. It’d been a long day. dance practice ran overtime, vocal lessons left her voice raw, and all she wanted was to collapse into bed. but she had promised her fans a live, and the guilt of leaving them waiting weighed heavily on her.

she brushed  her hair back as the screen flickered to life. a wave of comments flooded in immediately, the chat scrolling too fast to keep up.

she smiled, a familiar warmth settling into her voice. "hi, everyone. It's been a while, huh?"

the dorm was quieter than usual. yoonchae and daniela were still at the studio, finishing up some recording. lara, sophia and manon were off doing who knows what. 

megan answered questions between sips of water, laughing as fans teased her. she talked about her love for food, and her habit of getting lost in airports. the conversation was easy, natural. she talked about practice, her favorite songs lately, and the games she'd been playing. it felt comfortable, like a casual late night talk with friends.

then, suddenly, the energy shifted. the comments exploded into chaos. fans were spamming messages faster than she had ever seen before.

"wait, what's happening?" she mumbled, eyes flicking over the chat, trying to make sense of the flood of messages.

then she saw it. a single line of text that had a dumb grin permanently etching itself across her face. 

y/n:  have you ate today? you look so cute with those glasses on! 

her eyes scanned the screen again just to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. but no. it was still there. your name. your message.

she dropped her hands into her lap and beamed, full teeth, no restraint. her cheeks were already tinged pink, and now they burned. she didn’t care.

“hi, y/n,” she said, voice soft but electric. “you’re really here, huh?”

the chat lost its mind. it was like someone had thrown gasoline on a bonfire. hearts, exclamation marks. 

megan didn’t even try to hide it.

“i wasn’t expecting that,” she said, practically bouncing in place now. “like, i thought maybe you’d be busy or… i don’t know, being famous and cool and doing actor things.”

she laughed a short, nervous little burst,  then leaned closer to the screen, like it might bring her to you.

“i did eat, by the way. i wasn’t gonna wear the glasses, but my eyes were tired and they help with the light. but… i’m glad you think they look nice.”

it wasn’t subtle. none of it was subtle.

she was glowing. lit from the inside out with the kind of joy that couldn’t be faked. and even though thousands of fans were watching, even though the chat was an overwhelming blur of reactions and chaos.  for that brief moment, it was like no one else existed. no one but you. 

‎ 

the third, perhaps most notorious time, was two weeks later.

‎ 

it was meant to be a harmless segment. a fluff piece for some new cosmopolitan youtube show. the kind with silly games and awkward dares and an entire soundboard dedicated to exaggerated gasps. katseye had been invited to promote their upcoming showcase, and the host had them lined up in pairs, facing each other in a game of “who knows who better.”

megan had been paired with sophia, which was dangerous from the start. the two had a history of throwing each other under the bus for the sake of comedy, and neither had a filter to speak of.

“okay, last round,” the host grinned, holding up a cue card. “this one’s just for fun. megan, sophia — name one person your partner talks about way too much.”

“oh no,” sophia said instantly, already grinning like the cat who got the cream.

megan groaned, head falling back dramatically. “don’t do this to me.”

“i have no choice,” sophia replied solemnly. “i’m under oath.”

the buzzer sounded and both girls scribbled their answers down on whiteboards. megan wrote slowly, trying to be clever, trying to think of a joke that would dodge the obvious. but when the timer buzzed again, she sighed and held it up.

so did sophia.

your name. in big, bold letters. twice.

the studio burst into laughter, and the host clutched his chest like he’d just witnessed the reveal of the century.

“wow,” he said, eyes flicking between the two of them. “not even a hesitation.”

“because it’s true,” sophia said, smug. “she’s in her ‘y/n era.’ we’re just living in it.”

megan was pink from ear to ear, trying — and failing — to hide behind her board. “that’s not true. okay, maybe a little true.”

“a little?” manon called from off-camera. “girl, you made us watch one of her movies three nights in a row.”

“it was for the plot,” megan shot back.

“uh-huh,” daniela deadpanned. “plot named y/n.”

the clip made the rounds before the show even finished airing. fancams popped up with captions like “megan being the president of y/n’s fan club for six minutes straight” and the internet did what it does best. spiral.

‎ 

through it all, megan didn’t deny a thing.

she couldn’t. not when her whole face lit up like a summer skyline every time your name came up. not when her bandmates had stopped teasing and started treating your existence as something inevitable, like the rising sun or the way manon always stole everyone’s chargers.

 by then, you weren’t just someone she mentioned.

in an industry known for silence, for secrecy and statements about “valuing privacy,” hybe was practically rolling out a red carpet. in korea, relationships in the spotlight were often treated like scandals waiting to happen. but the western fans? they were eating it up. every clipped interview, every suspiciously timed instagram like, every passing mention of your name on a live. it was all free press, and hybe knew it.

so they leaned in. quietly, strategically. no denials. no damage control. just subtle nudges that said, yeah, keep watching.

and it was driving her crazy. 

__

you weren’t exactly sure when it happened. when the feeling settled in your chest and decided to stay. maybe it had been there all along, hiding underneath the comfort of familiarity and the ease of your friendship. or maybe it grew slowly, in the quiet moments you never thought to mark.

it could’ve been during the weeks she was gone, promoting outside of korea. the distance was supposed to make things simpler. safer. but instead, it just made her absence louder. knowing you were still the first person she messaged in the morning and the last one she talked to before sleep made your chest ache in a way you didn’t have a name for yet.

or maybe it was that one night, the one where you called her just to vent about a costar who had spent the entire day getting under your skin. you were halfway through a breathless rant when you noticed it. the way she was watching you through the screen. how she wasn’t just nodding politely or checking her phone or letting her attention drift. she was listening. really listening. her eyes softened when you got frustrated, lit up when you said something funny. when your voice cracked just a little from tiredness, she didn’t interrupt. she just stayed with you. present and still. like holding space for you was the most natural thing in the world.

and somewhere in all of that, it hit you.

you were in love with megan skiendiel. painfully. undeniably. fully.

at first, you were terrified. quietly, achingly scared. because what were you supposed to do with a feeling like this? loving megan had crept up on you, soft and slow, the way a sunset slips past the horizon before you even realize it’s gone. and now that it was here, fully formed and impossible to ignore, you didn’t know how to carry it.

megan had become a constant. someone who felt less like a friend and more like a fixture. someone you could turn to at any hour, knowing she’d listen without judgment, laugh at your bad jokes, sit in silence if that’s what you needed. she never made you feel like too much or not enough. she just saw you. and the last thing you wanted was to ruin something that good with feelings you didn’t know how to manage.

so you kept it quiet. buried it under casual texts and late-night calls. told yourself it wasn’t the right time. told yourself maybe it didn’t need to be said at all.

but then the girls were coming back to korea. six months had passed since their last visit, and the moment megan found out they’d be landing soon, she called you. not texted. not waited. called.

you’d picked up on the first ring.

and now, you were standing at your front door, fingers still curled around the handle, staring at the very girl who had been living rent-free in your head for months.

before you could even speak, megan threw her arms around you. the force of it almost knocked you back a step. her dark brown hair smelled like travel and lavender shampoo and something unmistakably her. she held you like she’d been counting down the days to this moment. like she’d been holding her breath all the way across oceans and could finally breathe again now that she was here.

her arms were warm and tight around you, her face tucked into the crook of your neck. for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. and for the first time in weeks, your heart didn’t feel so loud.

“you smell different,” megan mumbled, voice muffled against your shoulder.

you blinked, startled. “um. thanks?”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands still resting on your waist. “not bad different. just… like laundry detergent and success.”

you snorted. “you’ve been on korean air for fifteen hours and that’s what you open with?”

“i missed you too,” she said, and there was no hesitation in it. no theatrics. just honesty, plain and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say.

you felt the corners of your mouth twitch, trying hard not to smile like a complete idiot. “i figured. what with the fifteen missed calls.”

“okay, first of all,” she said, stepping fully into the apartment now, shrugging off her jacket, “ten of those were because i forgot the time difference and thought you were ghosting me.”

“you forgot the time difference?” you repeated, crossing your arms with a skeptical look.

megan turned around, eyes wide and unconvincing. “yes?”

you stared.

she caved. “no. i panicked. sue me.”

you closed the door behind her, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you like it,” she said without missing a beat, flopping dramatically onto your couch.

you didn’t deny it. instead, you walked over and stood behind the couch, arms draped loosely over the back as you looked down at her.

“so what’s the plan now that you’re back?” you asked.

megan grinned, tossing her head back to look up at you. “coffee. your favorite ramen place. a movie i’ll definitely talk through. and if you’re really lucky, maybe i’ll even let you win at mario kart.”

“bold of you to assume you’d be letting me win,” you said.

“bold of you to think you could beat me,” she fired back, eyes sparkling.

you met her gaze, heart stuttering, voice softer now. “i’m really glad you’re here.”

her grin faltered just a bit, and something gentler settled into her expression. “me too,” she said. “more than you know.”

for a moment you just stared at her, the moment truly settling in. you really did miss her. texting and phone calls were one thing, but seeing her in person was another. her goofy smile, the way she locked in like she didn’t just drop the funniest bomb known to mankind, the way she laughed as if she didn’t care who was watching. she was just one girl and yet, she consumed the space so beautifully without even knowing. 

you almost did it then. almost opened your mouth and let the words tumble out. but you didn’t. instead you settled on a small smile. 

you were about to ask megan if she wanted water when your phone buzzed against the counter. you didn’t need to look to know who it was. you’d spent the entire night before (and entire day honestly) lighting up your text chain with yunjin. sure enough, when you unlocked your screen and peered down, there she was. 

yunjin [7:13pm]: is she there yet or did she ghost you after all that build-up

yunjin [7:13pm]: respond right now or else i’ll think you confessed and blacked out from emotional overload. 

you rolled your eyes and typed back quickly with one hand while grabbing two glasses with the other.

you [7:14pm]: she’s here. no blackouts. yet.

yunjin [7:14pm]: yet???  i’m counting the minutes. btw u should ask her to come to the party tn. i think sungchan wanted to introduce u to someone too, so ur contractually obligated to show up. 

the idea of sungchan wanting to introduce you to someone made your blood run cold. the last time that happened, you ended up stuck in a corner with shindong rambling about crypto, diet tips, and the “glory days” of SM for thirty painfully long minutes.

still, you swallowed the groan bubbling up in your throat and slipped your phone into your pocket before yunjin could fire off something even more unhinged. when you turned back toward the living room, megan had curled herself sideways into the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, her head tilted back like she was trying to make sense of the ceiling tiles.

“was that yunjin?” she asked, grinning like she already knew the answer.

“unfortunately.”

“what’d she say? wait, don’t tell me. something dramatic, slightly invasive, and definitely teasing.”

you handed her a glass of water with a dry look. “spot on. she wants to know if you’re real or just a figment of my imagination.”

megan raised an eyebrow. “and what did you tell her?”

“that you’re here.” you smirked. “look at miss nosey over here.”

she raised both hands in mock surrender, barely hiding her smile. “hey, what can I say? i’m working on a phd for not being able to mind my own damn business.”

you laughed, shaking your head. the kind of laugh that came easily around her. and then, remembering the rest of yunjin’s message, you leaned your weight against the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly on the cushions.

“she’s throwing a party tonight,” you said. “something about celebrating a new album drop. you should come. bring the girls.”

megan sat up a little straighter, sipping her water with the kind of dramatic flair that made you snort. “a party? are there going to be snacks?”

“probably.”

“alright, i’m in. but only if there are snacks and minimal small talk. and maybe karaoke.”

“so you want snacks, bad lighting, and a mic. noted.”

“see, you get me.” she beamed, already reaching for her phone. “i’ll text the girls. we’ll make it a proper entrance.”

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. your heart was too full for your own good. “god help us all.”

__

the drive over was chaotic in the way only megan’s presence could make it. she’d managed to wrangle sophia and daniela into coming, predictably the two most likely to say yes to the word “party” before even hearing the rest of the sentence. manon and lara had tapped out almost immediately. yoonchae hadn’t even bothered pretending she was considering it.

megan drove, one hand lazily on the wheel, the other dancing over the radio dial every five seconds. you sat in the front passenger seat, watching her in the glow of passing streetlights.

sophia leaned forward from the back. “so, y/n,” she started, voice thick with mischief, “how’s it feel being megan’s favorite girl?”

“sophia,” megan warned without looking away from the road.

daniela snorted, flinging a gummy at the back of megan’s head. “what? it’s true. we’ve heard more about y/n in the last six months than we have about anyone else.” then she turned to you, leaning forward besides sophia. “i was starting to think she made you up.”

“my god, you guys are worse than lara and manon.” megan muttered, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. she glanced at you, caught the smile playing on your lips, and groaned. “you’re both so annoying.”

“say you love her and we’ll shut up,” daniela sang from the backseat.

“i will crash this car,” megan said flatly, but her ears were pink.

you turned in your seat, raising an eyebrow at the two girls behind you. “this what you do on every drive?”

“only when the company’s good,” sophia grinned.

by the time you walked up to the le sserafim dorm, the music could already be heard before you even reached the front door. the air outside buzzed with voices and laughter. 

you barely had time to step over the threshold before you heard it. 

“there she is!”

yunjin materialized out of the crowd like she owned the place. which, sure, she basically did. it was her party afterall.  she practically skipped the last few steps toward you. before you could get a word in, she grabbed your hand, pulled you into a hug that was half tackle, half dance spin, and leaned back to look you over. “hi, hello, love you, you look disgustingly hot—don’t even try to run, i’ve got plans for us tonight.”

you barely had time to laugh before she clocked the girls behind you. “megan!” she called, eyes lighting up as she pulled you into the house. “and you brought the fun ones! hi, sophia. hi, daniela.”

“you act like we don’t always show up,” sophia said with a grin, accepting the hug yunjin offered.

“it’s not a real party unless daniela’s threatening to outdrink everyone,” yunjin replied.

“not a threat if it’s true,” daniela said, winking.

megan held up her hands in mock surrender. “i told them to behave.”

“why would you do that?” yunjin laughed. “no, i want full chaos tonight. come find me later, i’m kidnapping y/n for a minute.”

you looked back at megan just as yunjin tugged you into the crowd, her hand firm in yours. megan simply grinned, the light catching her face just enough to make your heart skip.

and then the music swallowed you whole.

some part of you couldn’t help but feel a little bit annoyed. truth be told, you’d have rathered been home with megan. caught up on lost time and put on a movie. maybe stepbrothers, because you know it’s one of her favorites from one of your many late night conversations. 

instead, you were here. loud music, dim lights, and the kind of packed crowd that made it hard to think. it wasn’t awful. yunjin’s parties never were. her friends were warm and welcoming, even if chaewon had greeted you with a smug “so where’s megan?” the second you walked in. but still, your eyes kept drifting.

you caught sight of her across the room, laughing at something sophia said, a hand tucked into the pocket of her baggy jeans. daniela was already halfway into a dance battle with some guy in a bucket hat. megan wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. she was just… being. but somehow, that was enough to pull your gaze every time.

you tried to focus on the conversation happening around you. tried to lean into the easy rhythm of old friends and new music. but your mind had already wandered. back to the idea of megan beside you on the couch. back to her laugh. back to the quiet. back to her. always her.

eventually you took a step back when the cup yunjin shoved into your hands was getting empty. 

“gonna get a refill.” you shouted lamely over the music. you didn’t wait for her to respond before you were stalking your way to the kitchen. 

it was in that space you were able to truly look around. you didn’t miss the curious glances shot your way, no, that would’ve been impossible. it felt incredibly vain to acknowledge that you were an idols idol, but you knew. 

you were halfway refilling your cup with some kind of soju concoction when a voice cut through the air. 

“y/n!”

you looked up and immediately locked eyes with a familiar pair of browns. a tall, handsome figure weaved through the crowd toward you, his shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes just enough to make him look like he hadn’t planned a single part of his night. sungchan grinned, all coy charm and childish mischief. you groaned the second he pulled you into a rough side hug, the unmistakable scent of alcohol clinging to his clothes like cologne. still, your arms came up automatically, returning the hug without a second thought. for all his nonsense, sungchan had always been a good friend.

“i want to introduce you to someone.”

you turned just as sungchan stepped aside, and there she was. karina.

you had never met her in person before, but you might as well have. her face was everywhere. it lit up across high-rise billboards in gangnam, looping through luxury brand ads on the subway monitors, popping up on your explore page whenever you so much as breathed near the fashion or idol tag. you remembered the way jaewook had bragged about her back on set a year ago when the dispatch article dropped. he had shown his phone to his costar like it was breaking news, grinning like he had just won something. you had rolled your eyes, walked off to get coffee, and told yourself it wasn’t your business. it wasn’t, until now.

karina was even more stunning in person. her beauty wasn’t the kind that made a scene or demanded attention. it just existed, like it belonged there. her gaze met yours and stayed, unwavering.

it wasn’t rude, or even intense in a threatening way. just… focused. present. like she wasn’t just seeing you but actually registering you.

you were suddenly very aware of your posture, your hands, your everything.

“it’s so nice to meet you!” she called over the music, her voice warm and clear even with the bass thudding through the walls. she stepped just a little closer, enough that you could hear her without leaning in. “i love your stuff. seriously. i’ve been asking sungchan to introduce us for ages, but he’s always chickened out at the last second.”

sungchan made a wounded noise, hand over his chest like she’d just stabbed him, but before he could fire back, wonbin came stumbling past, arm slung around his neck with all the grace of a wrecking ball. they disappeared into the crowd in a tangle of laughter and chaos.

you rolled your eyes and turned back to karina, only to find that her gaze hadn’t left you once. her eyes held yours with that same calm, curious steadiness, like she wasn’t in a packed party but somewhere quieter. somewhere smaller.

you offered a small smile. “likewise. though to be fair, i think he just gets intimidated around pretty girls.”

her lips curved. “pretty, huh?”

you blinked, brain catching up three seconds too late. “oh god, sorry. i don’t know why i said that. yunjin handed me a cup earlier and i don’t even know what was in it. she could’ve poisoned me for all i know.”

karina laughed, the sound easy and low. “knowing her, it’s probably something criminal. you’ll wake up with a hangover and a new life philosophy.”

you laughed too, but it faltered slightly when she leaned in, just enough for her shoulder to brush against yours. it was nothing, a light touch, but it grounded you instantly.

“don’t worry,” she said, voice softer now, “i think you’re pretty too.”

your heart stuttered.

you opened your mouth, but whatever you meant to say vanished the second her smile deepened.

“not to be dramatic or anything,” karina said, lifting her cup for a slow, nonchalant sip, “but i think we’re being watched.”

you blinked. “watched?”

“mhm. i can feel her eyes burning holes into the back of my head. like a laser pointer. i’m actually a little afraid to turn around.”

you tilted your head, letting your eyes scan the room until you found her. megan, standing across the floor. at some point sophia had shoved her cup into megan’s hands and joined daniela on the dance floor. the chinese girl clutched the cup in both hands like it might leap out of them if she didn’t keep a death grip on it. her expression was neutral, but her stare? not subtle.

you cleared your throat. “who, megan? no, no, she’s—”

“look at the way she’s holding that cup,” karina cut in, a grin already pulling at her lips. “you’d think she just watched the most annoying man on earth walk in and ruin everyone’s mood.”

you huffed. “reminds me of a certain six-foot-something actor with a god complex.”

karina snorted, her eyes flashing with recognition before she laughed for real this time, head tipping back for just a second. she knew who you were talking about almost immediately. the one man you had in common besides sungchan happened to be her very tall (very annoying) ex. 

“right. i forgot you know jaewook.”

you raised an eyebrow. “unfortunately.”

“hey,” she said, still grinning. “he’s not that bad. underneath all the bravado he’s actually kind of sweet.”

“sure, you don’t need to convince me.”  you shrugged, completely deadpan. “if the dick’s bomb, it’s bomb.”

karina choked, hand flying to your shoulder as she doubled over in disbelief. she was laughing harder than before, and you felt a little thrill run down your spine at the sound of it.

when she straightened up again, she wiped at her eye and shook her head. “you’re going to wake up tomorrow and regret ever opening your mouth.”

“without a doubt,” you said, already sipping to forget.

“i think i want some of what you’re having,” karina said, eyes glittering with mischief as she swirled the liquid in her cup. “it’s my cue to go find the woman of the hour. but before i do…”

she leaned in, slower this time. you thought she was going to say something else right away, but then her mouth dipped lower, her breath warm as it ghosted the curve of your jaw. you stiffened in surprise, the proximity making your pulse stumble. her lips came dangerously close to your ear, just barely brushing your skin when she spoke.

“that girl. megan.” her voice dropped to something sly and sweet. “she wants you. it’s written all over her face. she hasn’t stopped staring since i walked over. so how about you use some of that liquid courage and do something about it?”

your breath caught, cheeks burning with the kind of heat no drink could explain. karina pulled away just as slowly, and her smile was soft but wicked. it said a hundred things at once. 

 i’m glad we met, good luck out there, don’t screw this up.

then she was gone, slipping into the crowd like she had always belonged to it. her red solo cup bobbed above the sea of people as she drifted toward the corner where yunjin and chaewon were doubled over in laughter.

you didn’t even have time to process it before someone else stepped into her place.

megan.

her arm brushed yours, then stayed there, her hand wrapping gently around the bend of your elbow. she was close. so close. close enough that you could smell the perfume on her skin,  something cool and soft, mint layered with warm vanilla. it hit you all at once that it was yours. a bottle that had disappeared from your vanity six months ago before katseye left korea. and now here it was, clinging to her in the most dizzying way.

your body flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the music or the alcohol. your eyes traveled up, taking in the sheen of sweat along her collarbones and the way her skin glowed under the lights. her crop top clung to her in all the right places, her stomach taut from dancing. you could still see the echo of her movement in the way her breath rose and fell, chest barely brushing yours.

you finally looked at her face again. she was already staring.

her eyes were darker than you remembered, shadowed and unreadable, fixed on you with something that felt like pressure and want and restraint all tangled up into one look. her lips were drawn in a line, neither smiling nor frowning, but firm with intent.

the air between you thinned.

you weren’t sure who would speak first. or if either of you had to. not with the way the tension folded in and around you like the bass from the speakers. not with the way her fingers curled just slightly against your arm, like she wasn’t ready to let go.

“oh. hey. you doing okay?” you asked, voice raised slightly over the music pulsing around you.

megan didn’t answer right away. her eyes stayed locked on yours for a beat too long, and just when you thought she might finally say something, her gaze dropped. slow and deliberate. it traced the line of your jaw and landed just beneath your ear. her expression shifted. something flickered across her face, subtle but sharp. a furrow of her brow that sent a wave of nerves crashing down your spine.

before you could speak again, she brought her thumb to her lips and wet it. then, without hesitation, she reached forward and pressed that same thumb to your neck. her touch was warm, careful. a soft swipe against your skin.

your breath caught.

“she left lipstick on you,” she murmured, quiet but clear enough to cut through the noise.

your hand shot up on instinct, palm flattening over the spot just beneath your ear. you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, blood rushing too fast under your skin.

“o-oh. yeah. was an accident,” you stammered, the words clumsy as they left your mouth.

megan didn’t respond right away. she just hummed.  low, unreadable. then her hand slid down from your elbow, fingers grazing your forearm like she couldn’t quite decide if she wanted to hold on or let go. eventually she settled, her grip tightening just enough that you felt the weight of it. like an anchor. like a warning. like something unspoken passing between the two of you that neither of you had the guts to name.

not yet, anyway.

for a long second, she just stood there, saying nothing. she didn’t blink, didn’t move. only stared.

you shifted on your feet. “did… did i do something wrong?”

her voice was steady, but low. “let me drive you home.”

you blinked. “oh. okay.” it came out softer than you meant, a whisper carried easily between you. she heard it all the same.

‎ 

you weren’t sure how much time passed between then and now. one moment you were alone in the kitchen of yunjin’s dorm, the next megan was muttering something to sophia and daniela under her breath,  a rushed string of syllables that made them blink once, twice, and nod. she grabbed your hand without waiting for an answer and pulled you toward the door. you felt the weight of every pair of eyes that followed you on your way out. yunjin’s brow arched with thinly veiled amusement. sungchan mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “what did you do.” and karina… she didn’t say a word. she just winked.

now you were in the passenger seat of megan’s car, the inside dim and quiet save for the faint hum of the engine and the soft patter of rain beginning to hit the windshield. your buzz had all but faded, replaced by something heavier, something laced with nerves. megan’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. the jaw that was so often relaxed with laughter and teasing was now set and stiff.

you turned to face her fully. “megan. what’s going on with you?”

she didn’t look at you. her gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead as if it held all the answers she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud.

“when did you and karina get so close?” she asked, too casual to be convincing.

you tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “are you jealous?”

there was a beat of silence. then she scoffed. 

“no!…. yes. fuck, y/n, i don’t know. i don’t know what i feel. all i know is that seeing her in your space like that just— it just drives me crazy.”

the car hummed beneath you, megan’s hands gripping the wheel like she was holding onto something more fragile than the leather beneath her fingers. she floored it the moment she pulled onto the main road. fast, reckless as always. the first time you rode passenger princess in her car, you practically grabbed onto the seat for dear life. except tonight, you didn’t even mind. you couldn’t look away. her jaw clenched tight, the faint pulse at her temple a rhythm you felt in your own chest.

the car sped down the dimly lit road of your penthouse’s underground parking, tires echoing against concrete walls. megan didn’t slow until she pulled into a quiet corner, the only sound the engine’s low hum. just the two of you now.

her jaw was tight, eyes sharp. “karina,” she spat, voice low and rough. “she was all in your space like she owns it.”

you met her glare, feeling the heat rising between you. “megan, i just met her.”

 her hand clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles went white.

“yeah, well, she sure didn’t act like it,” megan bit out. “in your ear, touching your arm like you’ve been hers for years. you think i didn’t see the way she looked at you?”

you blinked at her, pulse quickening. “why does it even matter?”

megan turned to you then, full body, her eyes blazing. “because it does. because you’re not just some friend i joke around with anymore, y/n.”

the silence that followed was thick, pressing. you stared at her, at the curve of her jaw clenched in frustration, at the way her chest rose and fell like she’d just run a sprint. her brows were furrowed, but beneath the frustration was something else. something that made your stomach twist and your fingers curl tight around your seatbelt.

“megan…”

she exhaled hard, dropping her head back against the headrest for a second like she was trying to force the words out. then her voice came, rough and low. “i can’t stand seeing someone else touch you like that. it makes me feel like i’m gonna lose my mind.”

you reached out, hand hovering before it found hers on the console between you. her fingers twitched under yours, like she was deciding whether to pull away or pull you closer.

“you’re not gonna lose your mind,” you said quietly. “you’re just finally saying what we’ve both been thinking.”

she didn’t reply. didn’t need to. you swallowed, heart hammering. this wasn’t the easy conversation you’d expected. it was raw, jagged, real. her eyes locked onto yours, wild and fierce. for a moment, you could almost feel the weight of everything she hadn’t said hanging between you.

without warning, she leaned in, closing the space with a fierce urgency. her lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding, like she needed to prove something. your breath hitched, caught off guard but all in.

it was messy, desperate, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission. your hands found her hair, pulling her closer. she growled low, the tension snapping as the lines between friends and something more shattered.

it was a blur after that. megan barely killed the engine before the two of you were out of the car, walking fast and too close as you made your way through the quiet underground garage. her hand hovered at your back, not quite touching, but you could feel the heat of it through your shirt. the elevator ride was silent, charged, her reflection burning holes into yours through the metal walls.

the second your door swung open, you were on her again. the lock clicked behind you as you pressed her up against the door, mouths crashing together like you’d both run out of time. your hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, greedy for skin. she kissed you like she needed you to breathe.

“y/n,” she breathed out, but whatever she was going to say got lost in the next kiss, your name drowned out by the low thud of her back hitting the hallway wall.

you didn’t even think, just grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the bedroom, feet stumbling, laughter breaking through the tension for a split second. she followed without hesitation, eyes locked on you like she was trying to memorize the way you looked at her now. 

as soon as you hit the threshold of the room, your mouths found each other again. she kicked the door shut behind her without looking, hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt like she’d waited too long for this. 

she pulled away after a moment to simply stare. 

megan looked at you. the kind of stare that could melt ice. her gaze traces the lines of your body like she was hungry, yet still she said nothing. she swallowed, her lips pursing together as she weighed her own thoughts in her mind. her eyes trailed up and down before finally they settle themselves again on yours. it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what she was thinking in this very moment. you could practically read her through her silence. the way she practically itched to say something funny, to break the tension with a lighthearted joke in true megan fashion. but she couldn’t. her body was reacting as much as yours was. she trembled slightly, her chest rising up and down as if she was struggling to take in air. but it was pure anticipation. when she talks her voice is careful, hesitant, like she was afraid that one wrong word would break the quiet you slipped into. 

“how do i tell you that i want you without making a fool of myself?”

your breath hitched when suddenly she moved. she took a step closer, and instinctively you take a step back. the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you’re falling back. the only thing you can do is sit stupidly and stare up at her as she stares down. she was already tall, but now she loomed over you. 

she was so unlike herself. just ten minutes ago she was fumbling over her own feet, giggling between kisses as her fingers clumsily trailed up and down the warm skin on your back. now, she was confident. like she was looking at you through the lens of someone who realized in the span of a quick ten minutes that they were standing before something holy. 

you hum. “you say it. tell me, megan.”

she doesn’t hesitate. she nudges your legs apart so she’s standing between them now, your legs trapping her in. her hands instinctively raise to the back of your head, one idly playing with the baby hairs on the nape of your neck while the other gently grabbed your chin. she didn’t ask, just simply gripped your chin between her thumb and index finger and tugged. she leaned down slightly , so close that you could feel her hot breath hitting you. when she talks, her voice is quiet. 

“i want you, y/n.”

she moved one inch closer, and her lips brush yours. it was faint. a feather light touch, but it sent shivers down your spine all the same. her eyes dropped back and forth between your eyes and your lips, the grip she had on your chin tightening momentarily before she let go. her hand lazily drifted down from your face and to your chest, fingertips just lightly grazing your skin. and then, she moved the other hand. the hand that once played with the hairs on the back of your neck now moved to the front, fingertips dancing along your throat. she hums. her voice dripped like venom, tantalizing and dangerous all in the same breath. 

“you have no idea how bad.”

you swallow, and megan feels it against the hand she held to your neck when her fingers gently reach out and clasp. nothing tight. but she doesn’t say anything. she simply stares. her eyes dark, her face unreadable save for only the pure want clear in her words. through the grip on your throat, you reply. your voice fell to a whisper, though just as confident as her own. 

“then show me.”

she didn’t need to be told twice. the grip she held on your neck tightened just slightly before she relented. her lips which once grazed yours finally surged the small distance. she kissed you, every emotion she pushed to the back of her mind finally coming out in full force. she tilted her head, a soft sigh of relief escaping her when you met her kiss with equal fervor. 

this was it. the moment where finally, she’d let herself cave. the moment where megan would lose her inhibitions and finally be true to both herself, and to you. being so close to you in this moment made her full body vibrate. you were intoxicating, and she was addicted.

 megan deepened the kiss, her tongue gently swiping across your bottom lip. when you don’t open your mouth, she bites your lip. taking advantage of the gasp you let out, her tongue darts in. without words, her intentions were clearer than daylight. 

she wanted you, and she wanted bad. 

the grip on your neck only tightened until eventually you needed to pull back for air. a string of saliva coated your lips when she pulled back, her grip on your throat relaxing. but she doesn’t mind. she lets you breathe, feels your chest rise and fall beneath her full hand as she trails open mouthed kisses down from your swollen lips to your jaw, and then your neck. she littered kisses around the area her hand clasped around only moments ago, soothing the dull feeling of a phantom grip. 

through your haze and a short gasp, you couldn’t help but tease her. 

“who knew you had that in you, huh, skiendiel?”

megan answered with a simple bite to your neck. a nibble, soothed over with a faint swipe of her tongue immediately after. it was enough to shut you up, if even for a moment. she hummed. 

“can’t help myself. you’ve no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this.”

this time it was your turn to raise a hand and gently play with her hair, her mouth still working at your jaw and throat. you sigh, your fingers clasping around a clump of her dark hair. you shake your head. 

“what, are you trying to tell me this is the only reason you asked for my number all those months ago?”

she knew you were joking, that you were being facetious. still she couldn’t help but frown. she dropped fully to her knees now between your legs, still fully trapped by your legs on either side of her. from this angle as she pulled away from your neck, she looked up at you through her sleepy eyes and pink bangs. 

“maybe this part was wishful thinking. but no, not the only reason.” her hands trailed down again, finding your skin beneath your shirt. her hands were so numbingly cold despite the warmth in her gaze. her hand pressed against your lower stomach, feeling the way your abdomen clenched slightly against her cold palm. she looked at you with her half lidded eyes and all you saw was sincerity. she continues. 

“you’ve no idea how hard it is to keep my hands to myself when you’re you. but fuck, look at you now.” her other hand reaches for the hem of your shirt and now she tugs, her touch gentle despite the bite in her words when she says her next words. “you’re mine, baby.”

the words set something off in you. something that lit a fire in the deepest pits of your stomach, begging to be addressed. and megan knew it. 

and so, she did. 

__

you weren’t sure at what point you fell asleep. all you knew was that when you woke up, you were in your own bed. the blankets were pulled up beneath your chin but it wasn’t their warmth that clung to you like it was moulded for your body, and yours only. 

your eyes trailed over to the sleeping girl besides you. megan’s arm wrapped around your torso, holding you close. her bare body pressed against yours had a chill running down your spine. you could already feel the hickeys forming on your neck, the bruises on your thighs. you could feel the phantom feeling of her nails scratching down your back and her coaxing whispers lingering in your ears. 

megan had practically transformed into a completely different person. the memory of her eyes, dark and dangerous, had you inadvertently shifting closer to her. the slight movement was enough to wake her. a deep, sleepy groan pulled from her lips as she subconsciously nuzzled herself closer into you. when her eyes fluttered open and they landed on you, the difference was night and day. 

she was nervous. shy. she practically hid her face in your neck only to turn red in embarrassment when she was met face to face with the marks she left on your throat. when she speaks her voice is low, awkward. 

“i-i, uh, you know. i’m so sorry. too much? probably. oops.”

despite the situation, you couldn’t help but laugh. the sound alone made her groan, her head digging even deeper into you as if the action alone would hide her from your teasing. a classic ‘if i can’t see you, you can’t see me’ kind of thing. 

“it’s okay, megan.”

she looked up at that, her cheeks still flushed red. but there was no mistaking the way her shoulders relaxed. she looked back at you and it’s then the events from the night before seemed to finally settle in. it’s in this lighting that you realized, again, just how gorgeous she is. the way her hair framed her face even when she was ridden with bedhead. the way her soft lips pouted involuntarily, the way her sleepy eyes looked up at you through her lashes. she was so, unbelievably beautiful without even needing to try. you couldn't help but wonder if she knew this as well as you could see it. 

with a newfound sense of confidence, she suddenly leaned forward. her lips found yours and unlike the fit of messy kisses she gave you the night before, now she takes her time.  when she pulls away, pink dusts her cheeks. 

“i can’t believe we did… that.”

you raise a brow. “oh? pray tell why you’re so surprised.”

megan’s eyes practically blow wide. “seriously? you’re not even the slightest bit shocked and overwhelmed and- a-and, i don’t know, lowkey kinda freaking the fuck out? i mean jeez. you’re you!”

before you can reply she’s already continuing. her arm around your torso tightens, a look of pure shock and elation cemented across her face. 

“do you have any idea how scared it makes me knowing that you’re practically in a league of your own? i mean, shit, you walk into a room and everyone stares. i walk in and everyone waits for me to break my own leg! you’re you. and i’m me. and this just doesn’t make any sense, a-and-“

you turn slightly so you’re facing her fully, her arm around you not slipping but loosening just enough. you shake your head, a hand reaching up gently to swipe her hair from her vision. her pink bangs covered her eyes just slightly, hiding the state of pure frazzle in their depths. you can’t help but chuckle softly. 

when your lips tilt up at the corners, a small grin gracing your face, megan stopped rambling. she was so, completely, irrevocably enamored by you in a way that it hurt her brain. 

when you leaned forward just enough to seal her lips with your own, her breath catches in her throat, silenced. for a moment you both lay there. her arm around your torso now moving to lightly grip your waist, her fingers digging in just barely as if she was grounding herself in the moment. your hand cupped her jaw, the kiss deepening just a second longer. when you pull away, her eyes are blown wide. she stares back at you in equal parts awe, and fear. she was completely undone by you. 

“relax.”

the simple word was all she needed. she nodded her head stupidly and obediently, her lips pursing so tight together as if you’d given her a command she’d follow til her last breath. 

your grin softens into a small smile. “you’re such a loser, megan.”

megan grimaced. the kind of look that was half part an awkward smile, and half part an embarrassment pout.  she burrows her head into your chest with a drawn out groan. she feels the way your body vibrates when you chuckle, hears the way your heart skipped a beat with her ear pressed to your bare chest. and in that moment, she decided. 

no amount of embarrassment would ever outweigh the pride she felt in knowing that it was her you were holding that very morning. 

__

a month passed. 

megan hadn’t planned on going live. it was one of those quiet nights that felt heavier than it should have. the dorm was calm. daniela had vanished into her room with a face mask and a bowl of cereal. sophia had crashed early. the silence made everything feel louder.

so she pulled on an oversized hoodie (your hoodie) and went live from her bed. nothing fancy. just her and her phone, legs tucked under her, the soft yellow light from her nightstand casting a warm glow across the screen.

“hi,” she said, voice soft with that slight rasp it always had when she was winding down. “i couldn’t sleep.”

the chat exploded immediately. hearts, greetings, inside jokes, fans asking about everything from what she had for dinner to her favorite stage outfit from the last comeback. she answered a few, laughed quietly when someone asked if lara still sleep-talked. her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the sleeve of her hoodie as she scrolled.

“what’s the weirdest dream you’ve had recently?” she read aloud, smiling. “okay, so i had this one where i was back in high school, but for some reason all the desks were made of jello, and sophia was my teacher? yeah, no idea. my brain is a strange place.”

another wave of hearts. more laughing emojis. the mood stayed easy, casual, soft around the edges.

then came the question. fast, buried in a sea of others, but megan’s eyes caught it and held.

“who’s that in the background?”

she blinked.

then turned, just slightly, to glance behind her.

there, on the edge of the bed, barely in frame, was you. hoodie half-zipped, face makeup-free, curled against a pillow and blinking slow from the comfort of just having woken up from a nap you hadn’t even meant to take.

megan looked back at the camera, lips tugging into a smile that was both shy and completely unbothered.

“guess the secret’s out,” she said, voice low but steady.

the chat exploded again, this time in full-blown chaos. some fans caught on immediately. others were in denial. a few begged her to clarify, but she didn’t.

instead, she leaned back against the headboard, reached over, and laced her fingers with yours. you blinked blearily, took a second to realize what was happening, then gave a soft laugh.

“hi,” you murmured, just loud enough to be heard. “sorry, i kind of knocked out.”

“it’s okay,” megan said, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “you’re cute when you sleep.”

the live didn’t last much longer after that. she answered one or two more questions, gave the usual love you guys and get some rest, then signed off.

but the clip stayed. it spread fast, faster than either of you expected. screen recordings, gifs, screenshots, fan theories shifting into confirmed realities. by morning, your names were trending side by side.

and just like that, it wasn’t speculation anymore.

it was real. it was official.

it was you and her. finally.

[lizziee-olseen]

prank'd — katseye

ot6 katseye x female reader – you ignore your members for 24 hours as a prank – 3384 words

sophia was the first to greet you that morning, practically glowing as she peeked her head into your room. 

“good morning!” she chirped with a bright smile.

you glanced at her briefly, blinked once, then turned your head back to your phone without saying a word. her smile faltered immediately. 

“oh…” she said quietly, backing out. “i—okay. i’ll, uh… give you some space.”

you already felt bad. sophia had clearly woken up in a good mood—probably already planning breakfast or some dumb joke to start the day with. she respected you, though, so she didn’t push. instead, she made her way to the kitchen, where most of the girls were already hanging out.

manon, who had just woken up and was still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, didn’t think much of it as she padded down the hall toward your room with the intent to steal one of your hoodies. she pushed the door open, walked in with her usual confidence, and greeted you with a quick, “you up?”

you didn’t even flinch. instead, you stood, grabbed your charger, and walked right past her without a word.

“hello?” she said, turning to follow you with her eyes as you walked out and let the door shut quietly behind you.

manon stood there frozen for a solid ten seconds before heading to the kitchen for an explanation on what they did to you.

“okay—what is going on with her?” she demanded.

“she’s just… not in the mood today,” sophia told her.

“she straight up walked out on me.”

“should we do something?” daniela asked, chewing on her lip. “maybe like, set up one of those little comfort stations she likes?”

“i don’t know,” megan said. “if she doesn’t want to talk, maybe we should respect that.”

“i say we give her a couple of hours,” lara offered. “if she’s still quiet after lunch, we bombard her with love.”

“i just hope she’s alright,” yoonchae said softly.

meanwhile, you were sitting in the sunroom with your camera propped up, whispering into the mic with a grin. “i’m like five minutes into this, and i already feel awful. sophia looked like i kicked her puppy.”

you sighed and leaned your head back, debating how long you could actually keep this up.

later in the day, you headed to the kitchen to grab a snack. you passed by the girls again, and they all went quiet the moment you walked in. lara gave you a small smile, yoonchae looked worried, and sophia watched you like she wanted to say something but held herself back.

you grabbed a banana and turned right back around.

“she didn’t even look at us,” yoonchae whispered once you were out of earshot.

“okay, i’m not gonna lie,” manon said. “i’m taking it personally now.”

“same,” daniela muttered. it was kind of hard not to take it personally when you were walking around the house talking on the phone with your friends—like everything was perfectly fine. you were laughing, making plans, even talking about going out, all while completely ignoring the people you actually lived with. 

then you started vlogging. you filmed yourself in the mirror, giving little updates like, “currently pretending i can’t hear the six women i live with. so far, so good.”

you even got ready to go out. you made sure to march into megan and lara’s room, clearly grabbing something you didn’t actually need, just so you could keep talking to the camera and stir the pot..

“where are you going?” megan asked, stepping directly into your path.

you tried to sidestep her, but she moved with you, eyes narrowed.

“seriously?” she said, arms crossing. “so you can talk to everyone but us.”

you glanced at the camera and whispered dramatically, “anyways, i feel like people are speaking to me, but i don’t see anybody. i think my house is haunted.”

“put that thing down,” megan gave you a look.

you just looked down at your camera, “it’s like there’s a presence blocking me from leaving, right now.”

“so this is how you’re acting now,” megan said as she finally caught on to what you were doing.

“you need me to drive you?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she studied your outfit.

“umm, so like i’d probably ask one of my members to drive me,” you said to the camera, flashing a smile, “but luckily my friends decided to pick me up today.”

“that’s good, you look nice today,” megan added casually. you could tell she was fishing for a reaction, but you weren’t folding that fast.

you took the opportunity to slide past her and exit the room without a word—except you weren’t so lucky, because lara was walking in just as you were walking out.

“where are you going dressed up like that?” she asked, tilting her head suspiciously.

“so yeah,” you said to your vlog camera, “i think i’m going crazy with all these voices i’m hearing today.” you brushed past her quickly, using her confusion over your outfit to your advantage.

back in your room, you did a final mirror check, fixing your hair and adjusting your accessories while keeping the camera rolling.

“i’m going to dinner with some of my friends at this place we’ve been wanting to check out for a while now,” you told the vlog confidently as you made your way out.

“oh—do you feel better now?” sophia asked gently, clearly hoping you were done with the whole cold shoulder act.

“then we’ll probably do something nearby afterwards, whatever they decide,” you continued to the camera, moving past sophia without sparing her a glance.

you stepped into the living room where daniela was sitting, and of course, sophia was still trailing after you.

“the fuck?” daniela muttered, her and manon’s eyes locked on you as you walked past like they weren’t even there.

“so we’re just gonna let her go out wearing that while ignoring us?” sophia asked, baffled.

“i think i look really good today,” you said, adjusting your camera angle.

“you do,” daniela chimed in without hesitation.

“so yeah, i’m probably just gonna enjoy my day and then come back home and pass out,” you said, now halfway out the front door.

“we weren’t mentioned in those plans at all,” sophia pointed out with a sad laugh.

“hopefully, i’ll stop hearing these voices when i get out of here,” you added with a smirk.

“that’s crazy,” daniela said, shaking her head.

even though you knew they all had your location, you made sure to loudly announce to your vlog, “i’m heading out now!” just to annoy them more before leaving.

you’d actually made plans with friends already, so this wasn’t just part of the prank—you really were going out. and true to the bit, you ignored every one of their calls and messages the entire evening. they went from confused to concerned to just straight-up annoyed… but you’d deal with the consequences later.

when you got home, you were completely spent, physically and mentally. for a second, you actually forgot about the prank entirely. so when you spotted manon lying on the floor, your instinct was to walk over and flop down beside her like usual. you were close to dropping next to her when it suddenly hit you again: the mission.

you straightened up mid-step, heart pounding slightly at how close you’d been to slipping. instead of joining her, you turned on your heel and went straight to your room. being alone seemed like the safest option if you wanted to get through the rest of this without folding.

it didn’t take long before they started sending in reinforcements.

“y/n, can we hang out?” yoonchae poked her head into your room, eyes wide, voice soft.

you immediately knew what they were trying. smart, but not slick, and you weren’t falling for it. still… it was yoonchae.

you couldn’t bring yourself to fully ignore her, so instead you shifted over in your bed, wordlessly making space for her to slide in next to you.

“i hope you talk to one of us eventually,” she said as she got comfortable beside you. yeah… the reinforcements were working a little too well.

time passed quietly. the two of you stayed like that for a while, scrolling on your phones in silence.

later that night, there was a knock, and then daniela peeked her head into the room.

“you wanna get food?” she asked.

“yeah,” yoonchae nodded.

“i would ask y/n if she wants to come as well,” daniela added, eyes flicking to you, “but she doesn’t wanna talk to us today.”

“i think i’m hungry,” you said, finally standing up and stretching.

“of course you are,” daniela muttered under her breath with a small smirk.

“are we leaving now?” yoonchae asked, already halfway to the door.

“we can,” daniela said.

“okay then,” yoonchae said, grabbing her phone and heading out.

the car ride was quiet on your end. daniela and yoonchae made casual conversation up front while you sat in the backseat, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. you felt a little left out, more than you thought you would, but this part was necessary; just a little longer.

once daniela pulled into the drive-thru and started ordering, you leaned forward and silently extended your phone between the seats. your order was typed neatly in the notes app.

she glanced at it, then laughed. “what makes you think i’d order you food after you’ve ignored us all day?”

you sucked your teeth and flopped back in your seat dramatically.

still, when the food came, daniela handed you your bag without a word.

“do i not even get a thank you after that?” she scoffed.

you opened your notes app again, typed something quickly, and then pressed the little speaker icon.

“i’m gonna take that as you talking to us,” daniela said with a grin as she started pulling out of the drive-thru.

the drive home was quiet but less tense. when you finally got back to the house, you headed inside together, the sound of keys and footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

you walked into the kitchen and nearly bumped into lara, who was standing by the stove stirring something in a pot.

“y’all got food?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at the bags in your hands.

then she paused, glancing between all of you.

“is she still ignoring us?” lara asked, eyes narrowing in your direction.

yoonchae stepped to the side, trying not to smile. daniela walked past without saying much, dropping the food on the counter.

you looked at lara for a beat before silently pulling out your phone to type.

“oh no,” lara said immediately. “you better use your words to talk to me.”

you turned your phone around and showed her the screen: “nice to see you, chef lara.”

lara blinked once and flipped some of her hair over her shoulder. “unbelievable. i hope ghosting your entire house was worth it.”

“i think she missed us,” yoonchae said quietly.

“she better have,” lara said. “because the way she’s been walking around here acting like we don’t exist is wild.”

daniela laughed a little, settling in with her food. “she broke when she used the voice feature.”

“i’m proud of us,” yoonchae added.

you sat down at the counter, pulled out your food, and started eating without a word. you didn’t say anything, but the small smile on your face gave you away.

lara caught it right away. “look at that—she’s cracking.”

“it’s about damn time,” daniela said, grinning.

“and honestly,” lara added, grabbing a fry from your bag, “if you’re gonna sneak into my kitchen like this, at least bring something to share.”

you nudged the bag closer to her, still quiet; you still had some time left on this prank.

the four of you stayed in the kitchen for a while—daniela, lara, and yoonchae chatting like usual while you quietly listened. every now and then, one of them would say something about you and you’d instinctively lift your head, ready to respond… but you had to catch yourself and look away. you were so close to making it.

after finishing your food, you cleaned up your trash and slipped out of the kitchen. all that was left was to do your night routine, go to bed, and wake up tomorrow like none of this ever happened.

but when you came back from washing up, you opened your door and froze. sophia and manon were already inside, casually sitting like they’d been waiting for you. you wanted to ask how long they’d been in there, but obviously, you couldn’t. so instead, you just cleared your throat and kept walking past them, pretending they weren’t even there.

“i can’t believe you actually went the whole day without saying a word to us,” sophia said.

“honestly? i’m impressed,” manon added, leaning back a little.

you shook your head with a quiet sigh, grabbing your camera like it was your escape route. you held it up and hit record, your voice soft but teasing. “i’m about to go to bed, but i hope y’all enjoyed today. honestly… i think some cuddles from my girlfriends would be real nice after all the random voices i’ve been hearing around the house.”

manon didn’t miss a beat. “calling us ‘random voices’ and then asking for cuddles is insane behavior.”

sophia scoffed dramatically. “we should just vanish again—since apparently we’re invisible.”

you grinned into the camera. “i mean… i didn’t say i hated the voices. they were actually kinda comforting today.”

“she wants us bad,” manon said with a smug little laugh.

sophia gave you a mock-sweet smile. “we should make her talk for real. but lucky for you, we’re generous.”

you shook your head, still playing along. “anyway… i’m exhausted. gonna clock out now.” you waved lazily at the camera. “goodnight, y’all.”

you hit stop and set the camera on your desk—where manon just happened to be sitting. as you passed her, you let your arm brush against hers deliberately, a silent way of acknowledging her without fully breaking character.

then you turned off the lights and crawled into bed. they weren’t far behind.

sophia slipped in first, curling up beside you, and manon followed, sliding in on the other side. their bodies pressed close, and you didn’t resist it.

“since you’re letting us do this i’m gonna assume you’re not mad at us,” sophia mumbled, her voice muffled as she nuzzled into your shoulder.

“she’s just stuck in her ‘2016 youtuber era,’” manon teased from your other side.

you had to cover your mouth to stop from laughing, pretending it was just a yawn instead.

“she tried to ignore us completely,” manon added, lips brushing your jaw before she kissed it lightly. “almost made it.”

“how long you think until she cracks?” sophia asked, her voice lower now as she pressed a few kisses to your neck.

“i don’t know… she’s holding on tighter than i thought,” manon said.

you stayed still, letting them touch you, but not saying a single word. you were so close to finishing this day out.

“damn, i’m actually kinda tired,” sophia mumbled, settling against you with a quiet sigh.

“same,” manon agreed, already pulling the blanket up over the three of you.

soon it was quiet again. their breaths slowed as they fell asleep, warm and pressed up against you. you stared up at the ceiling for a second, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

at least you’d made it through the day. 

the next morning, you blinked awake to soft morning light slipping through your curtains. you rolled onto your side and found manon already half-awake, her eyes lazily opening to meet yours.

“good morning,” you said, your voice low and scratchy.

“oh? we’re speaking now?” manon gave you a small smile,

you stared at her, then nodded once like it wasn’t a big deal. “guess i am.”

“wow. i feel honored. first words of the day go to me,” she laughed, stretching a little. 

“you just happened to be the first person i saw this morning,” you let out a sleepy sigh. 

from behind you, sophia groaned and buried her face into your back. “you’re talking already? i thought we were gonna drag it out a little longer.”

you smiled at that,“i decided i won.”

“and what do you win?” sophia peeked over your shoulder.

you turned to glance at her, pretending to think. “i got an amazing video, cuddles, and even food bought for me.”

“as long as you’re not mad at us,” manon said, already pulling you a little closer.

“you’re lucky i’m still sleepy or i’d start arguing,” sophia let out a muffled noise. 

“please don’t,” you mumbled. “let me have one peaceful morning before you two start being yourselves.”

“alright,” manon said. “let’s get up. i’m starving.”

“then make us food,” sophia said, still not moving.

“i thought i won breakfast,” you mumbled into your pillow.

manon stood up and stretched dramatically. “fine. one breakfast. but only because you broke your silence for me.”

“she thinks she’s special,” sophia rolled onto her back and sighed. 

“let her. it’s kind of cute,” you smiled again, eyes still closed.

“i’m glad we have you back now,” sophia said, her voice soft as the two of you lingered in the quiet comfort of the room.

“you never lost me,” you said, giving her a small smile.

“still. yesterday morning was kind of scary. i genuinely thought you hated us,” she admitted.

“i could never be mad at all of you at once,” you replied. “one or two of you maybe, but not the whole squad.”

sophia laughed and nudged your arm. “good to know.”

from down the hall, manon’s voice rang out, “are y’all coming or nah? i can’t promise there’ll be any food left if you wait much longer.”

“damn, can’t even be lazy for two more minutes,” you groaned dramatically.

“if i have to be up, then everyone has to be up!” manon shouted back.

you and sophia shared a look before reluctantly sliding out of bed and making your way toward the kitchen. the smell of toast, eggs, and something suspiciously buttery greeted you like a warm hug.

“sorry, some of us still believe in rest,” you said, rubbing your eyes for effect.

manon just rolled her eyes and passed you a plate. “eat before lara comes in and steals half of it.”

right on cue, lara walked in with a blanket still draped over her shoulders and sleep in her eyes.

“morning!” you greeted brightly, almost too brightly.

lara gave you a look. “i should ignore you right back for yesterday.”

“but you won’t,” you said with a grin, leaning back in your chair.

she narrowed her eyes, trying to hold her glare, but it cracked. “yeah, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“i am lucky,” you agreed, already scooting over to make space for her.

soon enough, everyone was up and enjoying the breakfast manon had made.

“that video better be worth all the stress you caused,” daniela pointed her fork at you.

“oh, it will be,” you said, biting into your toast. “it’s got everything the people could want”

“nah, now i’m nervous. what if i said something embarrassing while i thought you were mad at me?” yoonchae shook her head.

“you always say something embarrassing,” sophia said sweetly.

“rude,” yoonchae muttered, already reaching for the jam.

the rest of breakfast carried on in the way only mornings in this house could: filled with conversations, overlapping voices, and stolen bites off each other’s plates. at some point, you caught megan eyeing you with the softest smile, like she’d never really been mad in the first place.

you mouthed, “what?” at her.

“just glad we’re good,” she shrugged. 

“me too,” you smiled back.

lara leaned toward you suddenly. “by the way—don’t think this is over.”

“huh?”

“you prank us, you get pranked back. that’s the rule now.”

the others chimed in with murmurs of agreement.

“okay, okay! noted. but just… give me a little time before you traumatize me,” you said with a laugh.

“no promises,” daniela grinned.

and just like that, you were back. everything felt normal again—loud, messy, and full of love.

[lizziee-olseen]

— , SECRET4U | MEGAN SKIENDIEL ᯓ★

↡

being sophia’s, the KATSEYE leader, sister wasn’t the worst thing. you did all you could to remain away from her spotlight, to avoid how your guys’ brother was trended by ‘eyekons’ not long after their debut. none of the other girls had met you, didn’t even know what you looked like, badgering sophia to show them pictures. but she had respect for you and your privacy, never giving in to their repetitive pleas.

you thought all of the girls were pretty, but there was always a ginger head with the prettiest glow of skin you’d ever seen that always caught your eye. the problem? sophia refused to let any of the girls date any of her relatives.

warnings?: laforteza!reader, i miss my chinese ginger meg so pretend that she's still ginger in this present time, fluff.

wc: 6100+

a/n: a part 2 will be made to this.

...

being inducted into KATSEYE was sophia’s dream amplified ten times over. she grew to love and trust the girls with more than just her life. however, she knew of an audience, and she knew of her fellow girls’ orientations. that’s simply why she made only one thing clear—nobody dates her sister. it seemed simple enough to her; none of them had ever even met you. but sophia knew you, and she knew you were as captivating as the glossy look that beamed over your eyes as you stood in the sun and your toned figure from years of playing volleyball.

while the media thirsted over yours and sophia’s brother (weirdly enough), you remained anonymous for the most part. no instagram posts or highlights, a private twitter account, and a hand covering your face for every photo taken with sophia that you knew was going to be publicly posted. you were always considerably quieter in the family, and you planned to keep it that way for as long as you could.

the KATSEYE girls were all equally acquainted with the laforteza family, seeing your brothers on facetimes with smiles and jokes to be made, so much so that they would regularly forget that sophia had a sister, barely a year in age difference, until she would bring you up. the excuses were always the same: “she lives at home, but she's always on her college campus,” and “she’s never liked being in the public eye.”

“so much for frightening us with ‘my sister is off limits!’ if we’ll never get to meet her, it seems.” manon sat at your family table, chewing on snacks that your mom had prepared for the girls. The KATSEYE girls were in the philippines for promotions, and it didn’t even have to conclude with sophia’s badgering that they’d be in the infamous laforteza home.

“nanay, nasaan si y/n?” sophia caught her mom’s attention, to which her mom spoke a brief reply before returning to the food that was on the stove. “she could swing by today, for your information, manon. she’s at some open gym.”

lara sat across from sophia, quipping up, “open gym? she plays sports?” to which sophia nodded, becoming occupied in conversation as her dad sat at the table. the girls had a small break for the day, with a couple of other break days spread out around their philippines visit while they worked on promotions.

conversations continued smoothly until the opening of the front door sounded, noticeable by the door's small creak before it closed shut, and a quick, "home!" sounded throughout the house. sophia immediately darted up and ran out of the kitchen to where you stood, slinging your duffel bag full of equipment off your shoulder and setting it by the stairs. "aww, fi."

watching your older sister run toward you, you embraced her in your arms, chin resting on the side of her head from your small height difference. you had become blissfully unaware that you reeked of sweat and hints of vanilla bean until sophia pulled away, rubbing her hand on your shirt. "your back is sweaty."

"what else can you expect when i've been hitting a ball for three hours?" you laughed, combing baby hairs out of your face before sophia cocked her head up, as if a light bulb had just gone off in her head. "come to the kitchen so you can finally meet the girls!"

she grabbed your arm, beginning to pull you forward before you lunged back, pulling sophia in the process. "oh, absolutely not, fi. look at me." and looking at you, she did.

you wore tennis shoes with long socks rolled halfway, black shorts ending just above your knee, and a fitted black shirt with a couple dark patches alongside your back from your sweat. "i also smell like a dog. i'll say my greetings when i'm... proper."

"you smell fineeeeuh," sophia groaned, having waited what felt like years to finally introduce you. her facial expression then changed, raising an eyebrow up while she spoke in an accusatory tone, "now who exactly are you trying to get proper for?"

you clicked your tongue, eyes darting up at the ceiling as if you were in a train of thought. "i dunno... the ginger's got some pretty doe eyes." you winked, knowing about sophia's "no dating" policy, and ran up the stairs to evade her arm swinging at you like a maniac. "absolutely not, y/n!"

you ran up the stairs, laughing to yourself as you passed by your younger brother's room, eyes narrowing at the sight of him on his xbox. "hey, you."

he looked up to see you pointing at him from the doorway, head slanted like you had just seen him doing something bad. "you've got five pretty girls downstairs, and you're up here playing valorant?" the disbelief in your voice was evident, shaking your head in a "no" motion, to which he shooed you away, saying, "you know sophia's got them on lockdown. good luck trying to get with one of them."

you stuck your tongue out at him before venturing down the hall into your room, quick on your feet to get changed while sophia sat back down at the table downstairs, earning gazes from the other girls. "soooo..?"

sophia looked at lara, the indian girl giving her a questionable look, "y/n's here, but she's getting ready upstairs. she'll be down in no time... i hope." sophia trailed off, taking opportunity of the girls' attention on her to set a reminder. "she is absolutely off limits. if i find any of you so much as flirting, you're dead, and KATSEYE is becoming OT5."

the girls pushed themselves back into their chairs, putting their hands up and pretending they were scared, mimicking sophia's apparent overprotectiveness of her siblings. "well, no offense sophia, but uh..." megan finally spoke, the ginger off in her own world ever since she sat down, "i can't see myself trying to chase after someone that looks like you."

the other girls hummed in agreement at megan's words, to which sophia gave a fake-shocked look before swatting megan's arm. "well, you see, that's the problem. she looks like me... but she also doesn't. i don't know how to explain it properly; she's just different. plus, she's an actual good flirt—i can't name how many of my friends became like... captivated by her just because she wanted to mess with them."

and different you were, soon enough walking down the stairs slowly. it had only just hit you that you were going to be introduced to five gorgeous idols at once, and although you weren't shy, you still found yourself with a rather embarrassing track record when it came to girls. blue-light glasses rimmed your nose, pushing them up as you mustered your remaining courage and headed for the kitchen.

you had seen the girls everywhere, lurking on their media accounts and unintentionally coming across them on sophia's posts. they were all beautiful, just about drop-dead gorgeous, but none of them were exactly your type... except for one girl that crossed your search bar every now and then, the girl that had you in a trance as you once watched dream academy missions.

pretty doe eyes with hips that swayed like butter and a sultry, alluring dancing style that captivated you. she had light skin that glowed in the sun, and her laugh, which you'd hear in tiktoks the girls would make, was contagious. if you weren't rooting for your own sister, she was your number one pick. you could only brush it off as an on-screen crush, but as she debuted alongside your sister, you were aware that it was bound to change.

"finally." sophia groaned, standing up as you entered the kitchen area, quick to avoid eye contact with any of the girls who first came into your vision. "i took maybe 15 minutes, fi. you take 15 minutes just to do a lip combo."

sophia's mouth opened in offense, plunging her fist into your left arm as snickers erupted from the girls still seated. you took a look around, eyes first locking with the same ginger you joked about before—she was hard to miss. she's even prettier in person, you thought. large eyes looked up at you from where she sat, looking almost entranced by you at first glance.

you panicked on the spot and could only send her a small smile, unsure of how to act. megan didn't react properly, putting her head down as she felt heat creeping up in her cheeks. oh, sophia would kill her. why was she getting flustered all of a sudden?

was it the way she could tell you were fit even under your shirt—how broad your shoulders were—or how your eyes shone even under the fluorescent lighting as they bore into hers? sophia was right; you looked like her, but you didn't. your aura was different, and so was your style, not to mention the eyebrow piercing that sat on your face that almost amplified your look times ten.

with a notice in megan's shift, you immediately jerked your head away from her, trying your hardest to ignore how uncomfortable you had suddenly become at her reaction. you could only be thankful for daniela coming up to you first, pushing aside your outstretched hand to give you a warm hug, entrapped by a stronger vanilla scent compared to yours, to which she complimented you on your "good scent."

"wow, sophia was not lying." manon spoke a little louder than intended, earning a jab to her side from lara who was the next girl to come up to you. "sooooo nice to meet you; you don't understand how long we've waited to meet this mysterious younger sister." she teased you, not expecting for you to send her a sly wink that only she caught, "it's my pleasure to finally see you gorgeous girls in person."

sophia pushed you away, jabbing you in your arm whilst protruding a stern look on her face, to which you backed up, hands up in surrender. after that, manon and yoonchae arrived. manon's bear embrace smothered you, causing sophia to pull the girl away from you. you then gave yoonchae a side hug to make the shy girl feel more at ease.

then megan, the renowned socially awkward one of the group, was desperate to bury herself in your arms if it meant avoiding sophia's furrowed gaze at her sudden shyness, eyes darting everywhere but at you. the girl smelled sweet to you, a broad floral and woody scent filling your nose with a hint of vanilla (though you couldn't distinguish if it was her or you). her body was warm despite the cold air conditioning filling the house, and her head fitting snug in the crook of your neck felt perfect.

just as quick as the feeling came, it went away when she pulled back. sophia gave megan a look that she didn't catch, eyes glued to the floor, before sending one to you as well, which you shrugged at. the girls sat you down before you could look megan's way again, poking and prodding at you for details on your life that sophia refused to share. "off limits." the girl mumbed, almost a reminder to herself and a mental facepalm at how the words she spoke earlier dramatically came back to bite her in the ass.

small talk conversation with the girls, talkative and unintentionally funny, turned into hours of conversation, gaming, and eventual lounging in sophia's childhood bedroom as the sun began to fade away.

a loud growl sounded in the comfortable silence that was sophia's room. yoonchae and sophia were on their phones, playing multiplayer on some game they had downloaded. lara and daniela were in the connected bathroom, door wide open as they took mirror selfies with a life-size cardboard cutout of an SB19 member they found shoved in the back of sophia's closet. manon sat on the carpet floor, texting god knows who, and megan simply lay on the bed, her phone unable to cure any boredom she was feeling.

the girls all collectively turned their heads to the origin point of the clear stomach growl, the culprit none other than megan. "no way you're still hungry even after sophia's mom forced us to each have like three plates of food."

megan mumbled, rubbing her stomach. " i don't feel hungry... probably just a snack hunger." she picked her head up, looking at her members with a knowing glint in her eyes. lara and daniela immediately looked away, while the other three girls shared quick laughs before returning to their activities. "come on guys! please!"

"the sun's coming down, meg, and we have no car until tomorrow. there's a gas station close to here, but i don't need any of you girls walking out at night without any protection." sophia spoke motherly, annoying megan, who whined at her. getting filipino snacks was megan's favorite part of the trip every time they came, and with their busy upcoming schedule, she was afraid she wouldn't get the chance to buy them.

"if you need protection, then take stell!" daniela held up the cardboard cutout of the member, using it to dodge sophia's slipper that then came flying her way while one hand remained on the filipina's phone as yoonchae was urging her to "kill him, kill him!" the girls laughed, manon joining before abruptly stopping and looking up at megan with an unreadable look.

the last time manon gave anyone that look, it ended with daniela chasing her around the house after the girl had stolen her phone and texted brent faiyaz "luvvvv ur music <3 when are we getting married?" only realizing what manon had done after she had earned a reply from the artist.

"what if you just... ask y/n to accompany you?" manon finished her sentence and immediately ducked her head down, avoiding the look her leader sent her. sophia went as far as ignoring yoonchae's whines as she had set her phone down completely, obviously unamused at the idea.

"hmph, not an entirely bad idea." daniela emerged from the bathroom, setting the cutout aside as sophia directed her gaze to the curlyhead. "whaaaat? doesn't take someone with 20/20 vision to see that your sister is visibly lean. plus, she knows the area."

as if someone had a magician's hat and wand and said "poof!" you emerged in sophia's doorway, eyebrow raised as you looked between all of the girls. "get out of here nosy!"

"oh, god forbid i hear my name and get a little curious." you faked offense, looking around the girls that you had talked to with ease not long ago, quick for your original anxiety to disappear. megan shot up immediately when she registered that you had came into the room, pleading eyes darting to all of her members, almost saying "do NOT!!!!"

manon was quick on her feet, slipping out of megan's grip after the ginger had lunged forward to try and hold her back. "y/n! long time no see- listen, you busy right now?" manon slung an arm over your shoulder, quick to then retract it when she watched sophia's eyes narrow at the sight. you meekly nodded your head 'no' and gave an almost concerned look when manon beamed at the answer.

manon continued, "megan wants snacks, but your sister is denying her proper nourishment because nobody wants to go with her." she shook her head with a sad expression, trying to stifle a laugh at the thought of sophia's face. "i am not! all I'm saying is that there's nobody to go with her."

"and that's where you come in, y/n! interested in going with her?" manon looked at you like she was expecting you to say yes, causing you to drag out a long, "uhhhhhhhh," before sophia stepped in. "you're not gonna force my sister to go somewh-"

"i'll go."

"y/n!" sophia hissed, giving you the same shocked look that she had on her face for a minute at that point. you never really understood why sophia was so adamant about a "no dating" policy, if that was even the reason she opposed the situation, or if it had to do with the welfare of her friend. "what? you're acting like I'm gonna mug her myself."

"i... ugh! both of you, come here." sophia urged, megan wasting no time than to be right at her side as you reluctantly went over, bending down to meet eye-to-eye. "gas station, then come right back. no side quests, no dilly dallying, and if she comes back with so much as a scratch-" sophia turned to you and leaned forward, causing you to push yourself back, "you are never seeing the light of day again."

"so much positivity for your sister that you see every 3-6 business months." lara mumbled from the bathroom, causing manon to bend over the sink to stifle a laugh. sophia paid no mind to them, awaiting your answer, to which you responded, "fine by me. if she comes back with even a lick of hair gone, i'll buy you ten choc nut's."

...

the wind was breezy against your body, flushing your face from the slight cold that made the tips of your ears twinge slightly. you were prepared for the most part, your favorite black leather jacket on with semi-baggy jeans to help you combat the sudden cold. the same couldn't be said for megan, sporting a short-sleeved black shirt with linen-made pants that didn't protect her legs at all.

well... that was a mere couple of minutes ago. now, with some reluctance for your wellbeing, megan sported your leather jacket that you offered her while you remained in a plain t-shirt, wind blowing goosebumps onto your exposed arms as you two walked along the sidewalk, but that was the last of your thoughts.

"you're not this quiet in your interviews, you know." you spoke softly, the air tinging the tip of your nose a small shade of pink as you looked around the familiar area before you. megan's ears immediately perked up, shooting you a glance like she hadn't just been mindlessly wandering off into another dimension—mentally. "my interviews?"

"mhm," you hummed softly, careful to not make eye contact with the girl that way you could make sure she wasn't going to slam into anything up ahead, with those light brown eyes of hers boring into the side of your face. "you know, where you act all jittery like you just consumed three red bull's beforehand, and all... well..." you briefly turned to face her, pulling your hands up to the sides of your face before twisting them slightly whilst mimicking a face she knew all too well, the burden of one of her livestreams.

megan couldn't hold it back, "oh my goddd," and let out a true laugh at your knowledge of that moment. her hands were stuffed in the pockets of your jacket, formally entranced by your vanilla scent that surrounded her, filling up her nostrils as if you were indirectly hugging her. she couldn't pinpoint it—what it was about you that made her so fluttery. she never thought she'd have a type, really, but it was almost an awakening that if she did, you were exactly it.

it wasn't just your style and the way you looked, although they were key factors. it was the small gestures that you did, figuring the girl wouldn't pick up on, but just because she was quiet didn't mean she wasn't observant.

the way your hand hovered over her head as she bent down to pick up something earlier at the dinner table, careful as to not let her bump into anything. the quick offering of a blanket as you noticed her small shivers while you all sat on your living room couch, megan having sat where the air conditioning was hitting her directly—you then got up to turn it off. the way you had clothes in your hand, pajamas that you were likely ready to change into, as you entered sophia's room, and how quick you were to put them away to be at megan's service.

the patience you held as megan scoured the house for her shoes, unsure as to where she left them. how you redirected your walking stance, keeping megan on the inside of the sidewalk while you walked along the outer part. it only took her the lighest shiver for you to be stuffing your jacket in her hands, assuring her you wouldn't be cold while clear goosebumps began to litter your skin. all this, and you hadn't even known the girl for 12 hours. she couldn't decipher whether it was all an act to stay on your sister's good side or if you actually meant it, and she hoped the latter.

the apologies the ginger sent you as she found her shoes, putting them on while grabbing- did she grab it? did she... "oh, fuck!"

you whipped your head around, startled by the sudden yelp of the girl beside you. she put your hands in her hair, tugging slightly in a form of distress, and you could only step in front of her to pull her hands away as to not hurt herself. "what's wrong?"

"i fucking- oh, i'm so sorry, y/n! stupid... stupid..." she groaned louder this time, her body finding movement of its own in her frustration as her hands balled into fists and lightly hit your chest, hands remaining there before leaning forward and resting her forehead on her balled fists. "i completely forgot to grab my wallet that was on the table near my shoes, and i just got a new phone and i haven't added any of my cards onto it yet..."

she expected you to get upset, mad even, that you had to walk back to the house to retrieve the item—if you even wanted to go anymore. instead, you just laughed, megan feeling the way your chest lightly heaved while a hand came up to rub megan's back soothingly. "god, megan, you had me thinking you killed yoonchae or something."

frowning, she pulled away. "the cat," you clarified, but that wasn't what she needed clarification about. "you're not mad, even the slightest?"

"'course not, if anything it gives me an excuse to pay for your stuff. come on," you nudged her along, already seeing the faint tall sign of the gas station as you looked ahead. she swore up and down she could kiss you right there and then if the looming thought of sophia digging her grave didn't play in her mind. "i'll pay you back, i swear."

"hm, no need. i promise i've got enough." you eventually made it up to the gas station, holding open the door for megan who thanked you and went inside. you waved at the same cashier you saw nearly every day; if you didn't get along with the guy so well, you'd probably be embarrassed at the amount of times he saw you walk in and leave, paying with a filled basket.

while megan ventured toward the fridges, you stayed up front to scan the front bar for the choco nut's that your sister would die for. "hoy, may girlfriend ka?" [hey, you got a girlfriend?]

you smiled, nodding your head no, but your cheeks blushed at the thought. "isa sa mga kaibigan ni sophia, pero maganda siya, huh?" [one of sophia's friends, but she's pretty, huh?]

he nodded, chatting with you further until you eventually found megan in the chips aisle, deciding on what bag she could get despite unable to read the labels. "just get both." you shrugged, turning the corner slightly toward a freezer, grabbing a couple gatorades and energy drinks for your club game the next day. "i don't want to drain your bank account."

"you're acting like i don't have the most generous sister ever who will literally send me $500 'just because.' i promise, you're fine." it wasn't a shy thing to admit that you came from some wealth to begin with, whether it was from your parents' success or the simple acts from your sister to send you unnecessary, absurd amounts of money to make sure you were "well off."

"the same sister that looked like she wanted to murder me for coming out here with you? yeaaaahh, such a sweetheart, that girl." megan joked, laughing with you as she stuffed both the chip bags into her basket. if you were anything like sophia, you weren't taking no for an answer, so why fight it?

the more she stood around you, light chats filling the air as you guys continued to look for snacks, the more megan became more comfortable around you. it were as if she was seeing you in a brand new light, almost like you were more than just someone's sibling.

you noticed the whisker dimples whenever she laughed and how full her cheeks got, and she noticed the dotted dimples on your cheeks and the way your eyes crinked behind your glasses.

"this is weird." megan mumbled to herself, originally supposed to be an internal thought, but her small dissociations tend to betray her sometimes. you turned your head, watching her analyzing the cold aisle for whatever else may have attracted her. "what's weird?"

you heard that?

"i- well," megan stumbled over her words, scratching the back of her neck while walking past you, your eyes continuing to trail her. "i've known luke for almost two years now, since dream academy, and yet i can never see him as any more than 'sophia's older brother'." your eyebrows raised at the mention of your elder brother, unsure of where she was going with her words.

"but i've known you for maybe seven hours max, and i've only just now actually started talking to you and- you feel comfortable, as if i've known you forever." megan's eyes shot wide as she finished her sentence, already regretting the words as they left her mouth. "now, wait! i don't mean that to seem too overly heartfelt or anything, i just-"

megan turned around to face you, words jumbling in her throat as she saw you with a grin on your face, silently laughing at her quick flushness, and it made her want to shrink inside. "wo- i'm not bullying you by laughing, by the way." you helped clarify once more upon seeing the exasperated look the girl held. "it's cute how you rant, and i'm rather flattered at your indirect comment that you already like me more than my brother."

you teased her, sending over a wink that you mentally shamed yourself for once it happened, walking past the girl to grab a mango pack off the shelf. "plus, if you promise not to snitch..." you tossed the pack in the basket, turning to face megan now, "then i'll tell you that the conversations we've been having are my favorite compared to the past conversations i had with your group mates, but shh.." you put a finger up to your lips, shushing her with a light twitch at the corner of your lips, like you wanted to smile.

you turned away, starting toward the next aisle, and megan was paled as if she had just seen a ghost. "is she flirting with me?" the girl thought once more, feet pulling to catch up with you only to watch you turn around slightly, and she had already knew her body had betrayed her once more by making her internal thoughts verbal.

"if i were, would you snitch on me?"

the walk back home was exasperating, given that she had remained visibly flushed with tinted cheeks that she blamed on the cold air, but you knew better. she was so entranced by the time the two of you arrived home, thanking you for the snacks once more before walking back into sophia's room, which she would share with the girl herself and yoonchae while the others girl crashed in the guest bedroom.

"welcome back, me-" sophia looked up, halting her words immediately when she saw the new clothing accessory around megan's body along with the girl's rosy cheeks. she gave the younger girl a look that was hard to decipher. "is that y/n's jacket?"

with a small commotion later of sophia trying to force information out of megan and yoonchae trying to calm her elder down, megan abandoned her snacks for the night and trailed off to the guest bedroom in fear for her life.

she burst into the room, closing the door with a quick click and catching the immediate attention of lara, daniela, and manon who were on live. seeing megan's flushed state along with the muffled commotion they heard previously, lara muted the live as the ginger plopped down on the carpet floor. "please, if any of you love me... switch rooms with me."

"oh keep the live muted guys, i need to hear whatever information megan's about to rant out." manon got up from the bed and left the camera's view, plopping down on the carpet besides a drained megan.

"guys... hypothetically- and i mean hypothetically!" the girl practically yelled, startling daniela who was trying to read the chat's comment, confusion of the viewers on what was happening. "hypothetically... if you felt a mix of never-felt before emotions toward someone that you couldn't have, hypothetically, what would that mean?"

daniela yelped out a laugh, quick to cover her mouth as she spoke, "it hasn't even been a day and y/n's already got you on a hook. i knew something was up."

"hey, you only knew something was up when i proposed the idea of it earlier!" manon pointed at her roommate, who only held her hands up in a sarcastic manner, and lara opted to leave the camera's view completely, only adding fuel to the chat's confusion.

"oh, megan, honey." lara knelt down, pushing manon aside to be by the girl, circling the ginger's head onto her shoulder. "it means that, one, you're gay, and two, you're gay for y/n."

"i think that we've already covered that megan skiendiel likes girls." manon spoke matter-of-factly, giving lara a jab to the thigh for pushing her, "what i want to know is what happened."

megan only groaned again, body slumping into lara as daniela stared at her amused. it wasn't everyday that megan was a puddle of water over someone, the girl normally finding every male and female that came her way too absurd to be with. "well, we were walking and then wind came out of nowhere so it got cold, and she noticed i was shivering so she lent me her jacket."

the girls 'ooh'ed, leaning in close to hear megan's disgruntled voice better. "and then i had realized i had forgotten my wallet, and every normal person would've gotten mad, right? but she was so nice and understanding and calmed me down and ughhhhhh," the girl was rambling, hands rubbing down her face to try and clear the blush that never left her cheeks. "then we were in the store and i thought she was being flirty so in my head i was like, "is she flirting with me?" and i didn't know i said it out loud and she responded and basically said that she was."

the girls cheered, manon and daniela high-fiving while lara let out a high-pitched squeal. "then what?"

"well..." megan dozed off for a second before putting her hands on her face again and groaning, seemingly agitated. "we walked home and i forgot to return her jacket, so when i went into sophia's room she noticed it immediately and started badgering non-stop about it."

"so what i'm hearing and assuming is..." manon leaned by the table, grabbing her drink before taking a sip and handing it to lara who was making grabby hands, "you had the chance to flirt back and connect even further, but instead you chose to be a chalant dork that was geeking out the entire time."

lara almost choked on the drink, putting it aside while silently laughing like a maniac. daniela had left the room with the live, entertaining the viewers with whatever story time she had going on, but the live had caught a glimpse of a distressed megan on the floor as she was leaving and became a frenzy in the chat log. "i didn't come here to get bullied! and for your information, manon, watch your back 'cause this was your fault."

megan pressed her pointer finger into manon's chest, and the girl meekly rolled her eyes and batted megan's hand away. "oh, blame me for wanting to connect you with your fine shit."

"megan, i understand that we're half-joking and half-serious right now, but genuinely," lara pushed herself up toward megan, hand coming to pat down the girl's dishelved hair as curiosity laced her voice. "why exactly are you going crazy over her? it can't be just 'cause she's pretty—you've seen plenty of pretty people around—although i do admit that she's more fine than i anticipated, but i literally called manon crazy earlier for suggesting something between you two."

"it's just the way i feel around her, like her aura throws me off completely in a good way." megan was starting to calm down, despite remaining sprawled on the floor as if she had just ran a marathon. "you guys know me. i flirt either as a joke or maybe to get attention, and i always deflect whenever i get shy, but being around her makes me want to be honest- i was honest!"

"and i- no!" megan cut herself off with her own shriek, a knock sounding at the door that locked behind daniela when she originally left. "do not open it!"

"you don't know who it is," lara whisper-yelled, meeting megan's tone. "it could just be dani coming back."

"or it could be sophia coming to take me up to heaven herself! don't open it." megan urged, holding onto manon's arm with a life-dependent grip when she tried to get up, attempting to keep her in place. she sent a look to lara, who sprang up to open the door without looking back.

"hi," a familiar voice rang from the creaked-open door, and megan could shrink down into a ball if she wanted to. "y/n, what a nice surprise!"

lara opened the door wider, and you walked in, making eye contact with the sprawled out figure on the floor that scrambled to get up. manon and lara shared a look, lips pursing together to stifle their laughs while megan attempted a quick fixing of her hair.

"err... yoonchae—human yoonchae—told me that you were probably gonna stay in here, so i figure i'd bring these to you in case you were too scared to come get them." you set down the bags of snacks on an emptied table, stepping back just in time to avoid lara and manon who dove for the bags at first glance. you turned to see megan tearing off your jacket, instinctively putting your hand out to stop her.

"er, it's still cold in here, i don't know why my dad likes the house to be absolutely freezing, but you should keep it." you urged, and megan meekly nodded and closed the jacket around her once more.

"what time do you guys leave tomorrow?" you asked, scratching the back of your neck like you were guilty of some ploy, which you were. you initially came into the room to not only drop off the snacks, but also to ask your way into getting megan's number, expecting the other girls to be asleep or at least minding their own business.

"eight in the morning," manon spoke muffled, mouth full of some flour dessert that megan you bought. you nodded your head, "i'll make sure to see you guys out, then. hm?"

as you headed for the door, opening it with a slight creak, you slanted your head back to see megan burning her eyes into the back of your head. "for the record, you can keep the jacket entirely if you like," you paused, biting the inside of your lip, as if you were almost hesitating, "it looks better on you." then you shut the door.

[lizziee-olseen]

[lizziee-olseen]

TWO PEOPLE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER

summary — in an attempt to get wanda’s attention, you end up warming the strap you hoped she’d fuck you with.

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, strap-on usage, mommy kink, brief daddy kink, cockwarming, holding/accidental wetting, degradation, praise, aftercare, oral fixation, subspace, humiliation, ¿nursing?, idk you suck on wanda’s tits, domestic fluff, men/minors dni

authors note — if you’re familiar with the song peace, i thought the lyrics from the second verse fit this little moment so perfectly! mommy wanda lovers this one is for you, it was heavily requested so nobody look at me! there’s also some soft daddy nat for those that wanted to see more of her

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

You should have learned a long time ago that acting out with Wanda never ended the way you wanted it to. Natasha was easy to get what you wanted out of, a few bats of your eyelashes and a whispered cry of Daddy had her backtracking in seconds, but Wanda was unforgiving and found pride in that fact. You’d gained your footing in this new dynamic rather easily, and on some days, the three of you worked so perfectly together that it felt like you’d been a couple for your entire life, not merely a few weeks.  Wanda and Natasha had fallen into a healthy balance of being your girlfriends and being your dominants. There were days that passed without an ounce of tension, but other days feel like a battlefield. You still weren’t sure how to ask for what you needed from them, which is how you found yourself in the position you’re in now. With summer still lingering through the streets of Westview, you slept between warm bodies every night. There was no indication of what mood you woke up in when daylight painted the sky, but Natasha and Wanda had learned to wait for your not-so-subtle tells. When your eyes peeled open, it was easiest to gauge what side of you they were dealing with. When you wanted to spend the day, or at least a couple hours of your morning, as just their girlfriend, they gave you that without hesitance. Wanda giggled with you in the kitchen and Natasha tackled you onto the couch demanding cuddles, and it always felt easy and real. Other days, when you weren’t so willing to harbor full control of your life, you woke up clinging to your Daddy. It was always Natasha you sought out first thing in the morning, but Wanda can’t complain when she’s the one being smothered throughout the night. They were happy to be whoever you wanted them to be, but they’d slowly been working you up to asking for yourself. 

This morning was one of those days where Wanda decided that if you wanted something from her, you needed to ask and not just with your actions, but with your words. Natasha had gone into the office to oversee a development in a new high-profile case, leaving you to follow the Sokovian around the house like a little lost duckling. Where Wanda went you went, simple as that, well, unless of course she managed to close the door before you could get behind it. That had led to a series of whines and angrily stomped feet, but even then she hadn’t budged then. She hadn’t budged until you had wandered into her office with your hands clasped behind your back. She’d gone to ask what you needed, attempted to give you yet another chance to tell her that you needed your Mommy, but you’d dropped an all black strap-on into her lap and pouted at her with needy eyes before she could get the words out. When she’d pulled her linen shorts down her thighs and attached the harness around her hips, you’d thought you had won. When she told you to get into her lap and take the strap down to the hilt, you were sure that you had won. 

In case it wasn’t clear, you hadn’t won. It had been an hour since she’d asked you to come settle onto her lap and take the strap into your dripping pussy. You’d complied easily, sank down on the toy without her help, and had started grinded your hips against hers in a manner that forced the base to rock against her core perfectly. That pleasure hadn’t lasted long, barely three minutes, and just as your hips had found a comfortable pace, Wanda placed a bruising grip on your hips and completely stilled your movements.  Her lips had been wet when they kissed at the side of her neck, and a pleased hum reached your ears as she used a single slender finger to point your chin toward the ceiling. The full expanse of your neck had been both visible and biteable in that moment, and it hadn’t taken any convincing for her teeth to settle firmly into your skin. You found it laughable that at the start of your contract with Natasha, you’d likened her to a vampire, but Wanda was truly the vampire in your relationship. She possessed an incessant need to dig her teeth into any part of you that she could touch, and you allowed her to eagerly. She’d cooed at your whine when it tumbled from your lips, but there hadn’t been an ounce of sympathy in her face when she asked you, “What do you do to get what you want?” 

“Ask.” You had responded with bated breath, your eyes murky with lust that had been ignored for hours. If Natasha were here she’d have already fucked you raw, but Wanda wasn’t afraid of the long game. She’d never been shy about making you work for what you wanted, and even months into your dynamic with her, not as a couple but as a dominant and her submissive, it never failed to fluster you. Wanda was softer when you shared intimate moments outside of your dynamic. She still never let you top, but she was more lenient in giving in. Her being so firm with you had only cemented in your mind that she knew what you wanted, and the entire day leading up to you warming her strap had been merely a game to her. 

“Mmhm.” She had hummed haphazardly in response, and her hands had still been settled roughly on your hips but her eyes had left yours to trail over the documents that splayed across her desk in messy highlighted piles. You hadn’t had the slightest clue as to what she was really doing, but the rare sight of her so disorganized had felt serious. “And since you didn’t use your words, what happens?” 

You had whined and shook your head in a pleading protest, not wanting to lose your voice when you knew exactly what you wanted. Wanda hadn’t folded at your soft whine, she’d done the exact opposite. The tips of her fingers had pulled your hips down harder against the toy buried deep within your weeping walls, and the head of the dildo had nudged against your softest spot and made your torso fall slack against her chest. “Y-You decide what happens.” You’d finally forced the words into the space between your bodies, and it was rewarded with a sharp thrust of her hips that drove the strap-on further into your pussy. 

“That’s right. What should I decide, hm? I think I’d like to have my pretty little girl warm my strap for a while. What do you think about that idea?” She hadn’t really been asking you. You would’ve been condemned to the same fate even if you’d said no, but you found yourself nodding your head at her question despite how horrible it sounded to sit with your aching cunt filled with pleasure it couldn’t fully claim. “Good girl. Now settle down, Mommy has work to do that little girls shouldn't even be in here to see.” She had guided your head down onto her shoulder, forcing you into near complete darkness before her hands left your hips and returned to the stacks of important documents on her desk. 

You’d tried to remain still, knowing it was what she wanted and she’d have to reward your good behavior at some point, but as the minutes ticked by slower and slower not only did your core demand attention, your bladder demanded relief. The wiggling of your hips hadn’t been reprimanded when the movements started. Wanda had only hummed and shifted beneath you, easing the strap-on into a new position that did nothing for your desperate need to pee. She’d been keeping good on her promise of getting you to drink more water, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the exact predicament she had wanted you in when she forced you to finish an entire glass in the kitchen. Surely it wasn’t. Surely she didn’t want you squirming on her lap from sensations that weren’t caused by her, that wouldn’t make any sense. 

When your wiggling became more frantic and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to moan out in ecstasy or sob in frustration, Wanda sighed and dropped her pen onto the stack of papers that she’d very nearly gotten through completely. Your full and sensitive bladder made the strap-on drenched with arousal feel so much better. Every time Wanda inhaled too deeply or exhaled too sharply, you felt every grove of the cock rub against your walls. The sensation was sharp, fleeting, but embarrassingly addicting and you found yourself trying to replicate little actions that provoked it. Wanda wasn’t as unaware of your intentions as you’d hoped, and when you wiggled a bit too harshly in her lap, finally being rewarded with the quick burst of pleasure, her fingers found your hips again and stilled them just as quickly as she did the first time. 

“Keep still.” She sighed her demand, keeping her tone unbothered which only further provoked your desperation. It was always particularly hot when she acted as though your body writhing against hers had no effect on her. Despite leaving her pen to sit abandoned on the desk, you hadn’t felt her eyes burn into your skin throughout the entire exchange. Your face was still pressed into her neck, hiding in the darkness that you hoped would make this situation less humiliating. 

When you finally had the courage to look up at her, unable to keep yourself still any longer, you cupped her cheeks and directed her attention onto you. “I have to go to the bathroom.” You whispered softly, beyond humiliated with the reluctant admission. Your face turned a flush shade of pink that Wanda thought complemented your eyes perfectly, and you knew you had her full attention when her pupils dilated just the farthest bit more. There was hardly any green left in her stare, but you clung to what little color remained. 

“What was that, little one? Mommy couldn’t hear you.” Wanda pouted her lips, her eyes filled with innocent confusion that wasn’t at all authentic. She’d heard you perfectly clear, you were too close to her face for the words to have fallen short before they met her ears, but she wasn’t letting go of your hips without a further explanation and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold yourself together for. 

“I have to pee.” You said just the faintest bit louder, hoping your pleading eyes would be enough to convey the desperation you felt within your weeping core and taut bladder. You felt so incredibly full, and every time you took a breath that feeling only intensified. 

“Oh, well you can hold it just a little bit longer I’m sure. Mommy’s almost done.” Wanda smiled a sweet sympathetic smile, the grip on your hips slowly becoming softer as she let the pads of her thumb soothe the aching skin with tight soft circles you wished would land somewhere else. 

“I can’t.” You pleaded with her to understand just how badly you had to go, you’d already been holding it for so long trying to make her proud. Wanda frowned at your plea, her cherry tinted lips the only thing you could focus on. 

“Well that’s too bad, milaya.” She said simply, shrugging her shoulders in a nonchalant manner that made your walls clench and your clit throb. “Try harder for Mommy, I’m sure you can do it.” She conceded when your frown didn’t waver, and ever so softly she pecked your lips before things went back to how they were before you’d interrupted her. Your head was guided back down onto her shoulder, and her hands went back to work shuffling through documents that you could only assume she was annotating. 

Another half hour had passed before you couldn’t hold yourself together anymore. You’d lasted longer than you’d anticipated with her full you felt, but the end was in sight as the muscles in your belly fought vicious wars to keep your dignity. You were so close to the edge that even Wanda’s gentle breathing felt like pin pricks against your spine. As your need to relieve yourself grew more intense, so did the coil in your belly that seemed to find fuel in your desperation. A soft cry tumbled past your lips before the dam broke and the coil snapped. You dampened her lap with more than just arousal, and the wet feeling that spread across hers and your thighs only made you cry harder. Moans tumbled past your lips when your cries fell short, and it became a desperate attempt to both seek harder pressure against your clit and get completely away from the wetness that was quickly becoming cold against yours and her naked skin. 

“Oh baby, did you have an accident?” Wanda cooed sympathetically, not even having to look down at your glazed over eyes to know what headspace you’d tumbled into. Your cries weren’t one of pain, nor were they really ones of frustration either. You weeped with humiliation and the desperate need to finally be spoken to. She’d been merely answering you all day, no ounce of elaboration in the short sentences shared. You needed your Mommy, and Wanda wasn’t going to deny you that any longer when you’d been so good for her. Granted, the accident hadn’t been a part of her plan. She’d only intended to make you hold yourself, but she couldn’t deny that it was hot, though a little uncomfortable to be sitting in a cold and wet chair. Despite wanting to get away from the mess, Wanda remained in her chair and devoted her attention to you. In truth, she’d finished her paperwork twenty minutes ago, she’d just been waiting for you to finally break. “Why didn’t you tell Mommy you needed to go potty, silly girl?” 

The words weren’t fully registering in your head, every noise felt miles away and muffled by thick cotton on your ears. If you’d been in a sounder mind, you would have snapped your gaze up to her so quickly that your neck would’ve broken, but that never came. You’d warned her as well as you could that if she didn’t let you up this would happen, but she had taken her chances and the outcome had been exactly what you’d expected. Wanda hummed soothingly when you burrowed your face into her shoulder and your mouth went to work on the little bits of skin that were available beside the collar of her t-shirt. The cock still in your pussy was the farthest thing from your mind, but when Wanda shifted you into her arms so she could finally stand and move away from your accident, you whined at the sensation of your full cunt being empty for the first time in hours. 

“Shh, it’s okay, malen’kaya. You’re okay.” Even in Natasha’s absence the Sokovian spoke Russian. She had no real connection to her native language that had died when her brother did, and whatever she said to you in this moment would fall upon deaf ears anyway. It didn’t matter what language she let fall past her lips, all that you could comprehend in this state was that your Mommy’s arms were wrapped tightly around you and she was so cruelly pulling something away the only thing that had been with you for hours. “We’re gonna get you all cleaned up. Just be patient with Mommy.” Leaving her office chair to be handled at a different time, she honestly might just order a new one, having no intense attachment to the black swivel chair that’s only purpose was to sit on, Wanda carried you back into the master bedroom.

She made quick work of undressing you, soothing your whines of protest when the cold air ambushed your flush and warm skin. Your shorts and panties had been discarded on the floor of her office, so all she had to strip you out of was one of Natasha’s old t-shirts that you had found in the back of the closet and adamantly adored. You reached for her throughout the entire process, a far away look in your eyes as you barely even registered her face coming so close to yours that her breath splayed across your lips. She kissed you softly, capturing your full attention as you returned the embrace, all the while her hands were pulling the piss soaked strap-on off of her hips and away from her core that throbbed to be dealt with, but she could handle the unsatisfied ache. Unlike you, Wanda was particularly fond of edging, the only problem that came with her interest was she never relinquished control for long enough to ever have it be done to her. 

You huffed when she pulled away from your lips in favor of throwing her t-shirt onto the floor with the already existing pile of your own clothes. She left you laying alone in the center of the bed, making a mental note to throw the comforter in the washer before any of you tried to sleep beneath them later on, and walked into the en-suite bathroom. She drew a nice bath, taking the extra minutes to add your favorite bath bomb into the warm water and light the few candles that remained around the edge of the tub. Bubbles were a must, you demanded them every time either of the redheads even suggested taking a bath, so while the water was still running Wanda added them to the tub as well. You didn’t like a hot bath, a fact that you had been sure to tell Natasha when she’d first tried to lower you into an aftercare session with one, so Wanda figured she had plenty of time to go back and collect you while the water cooled down some more. She could already see the bath bomb coloring the water pink as she left, and she knew both yours and her skin would smell like strawberries and vanilla once you crawled out and dried off. 

You had come back to yourself the faintest bit when Wanda re-entered the bedroom. You’d curled up onto your side, your head resting on one of your arms as you let your eyes remain closed. At the sound of her gentle footsteps, wide eyes still glassy shot open and searched for her. Unlike the state you’d been in when she left to run the bath, you were able to recognize her presence now and you made that very clear. “Mommy!” You cried, a fresh set of tears brimming your eyes as you reached a single hand out to her. Wanda kneeled down in front of the bed, gently taking your hand in hers and kissing it softly.

The hand that wasn’t occupied reach out to brush strands of fallen hair away from your face, and as expected, when she ran the pad of her thumb over your bottom lip, your tongue shot out to lick at it before soft lips claimed it entirely. Wanda smiled fondly, her other fingers gently stroking against your cheek. “Privet, moya milaya devochka.” 

You were still too far gone to comprehend the Russian sentence that you had become familiar with, but that didn’t bother Wanda who hadn’t been expecting a response in the first place. You were falling out of your head fairly quickly, and she worried that your humiliation was the leading factor in your unwillingness to let the fog linger fully. 

“Left.” You croaked pitifully around the soft weight of her thumb in your mouth, your wide eyes desperate for her to understand the message you were trying to convey and not let it happen again. 

“I didn’t leave.” Wanda shook her head firmly, placing another kiss to the top of your hand that curled around hers tightly, unwilling to let go for even a single second. You were always clingy when she got you in this state, and she adored every second of it. “Mommy ran us a bath. We’ve gotta get cleaned up.” She promised you, and at the mention of one of your favorite activities, your torso shot up from the bed and her hand fell away from your face. You wobbled in your disoriented and fuzzy state, leaning into her touch when she reached out to stabilize you. “Come on, sweetheart. There are bubbles waiting for you!” 

Wanda helped you into the bathroom, easing herself into the tub before she helped you over the edge and into her arms. You didn’t go for her fingers like she’d anticipated, merely wiggling your way down in her embrace until your head fell onto the swell of her breast. Not wanting to question you when you were so sensitive, Wanda merely dragged her hand across the inside of your thigh as you sat sideways in her lap, transfixed on the sharp edge of her jaw that clenched when you got too far into her head. She’d have to remember to thank Natasha for pushing to get the bigger tub when they’d remodeled the bathroom years ago, it was certainly coming in handy now. Your body was washed with tender touches, the loofa used a light blue color and saturated in Wanda’s own body wash. She didn’t know why you continued to buy your own, when the only one who ended up using it was her after you’d taken the last of hers. 

It was a comfortable silence that fell over the both of you as the bath water slowly became colder and colder, and with each minute that passed in combination with Wanda’s gentle stroking of your hip or your cheeks, you fell firmly beneath the blanket of fuzzy emptiness that you’d been fighting off before. You felt so loved and so cared for, there wasn’t a single thought in your mind beside her. The humiliation of your accident had waned away, replaced by only flourishing warmth. 

Eventually, your lips began to root around for something to suckle on. Wanda’s fingers hadn’t moved to your mouth quick enough, and your tongue sought out the first soft thing that it could find. A gasp fell from Wanda’s lips when you took her sensitive nipple into your mouth, a sharp sensation shooting through her body that was in no way sexual. She’d always had her speculations about this kind of contact, but now that she had it for herself to experience, she understood. She had all of your mind in her hands at this moment, but you had all of her body. It was a delicate balance that further emphasized how your relationship could only thrive if all parties were equal and respected. Wanda trailed a soft finger over the bridge of your nose, her own scrunching up in admiration. 

“Find something you like, little one?” She teased, but there was no bite behind her words as she gently adjusted your latch to be more comfortable for the both of you. The bath water was officially cold, no longer able to be passed off as warm, but Wanda would allow you to sit in it just this once. She was always such a stickler for crawling out of the tub when the water went cold, but even she didn’t want to leave the intimacy of this moment as your eyes fluttered closed and your tongue made gentle sweeps across her nipple. “You did so good for me. So so good. Mommy’s so proud of you. My good girl.” She whispered delicate praise into the otherwise quiet bathroom, her eyes appreciating how the dim candle light made your glassy eyes glow like a fire had been placed behind them. 

She could faintly hear the front door open downstairs and she smiled knowing that Natasha had finally made it home. It wasn’t often that the Russian went into the office alone, but today had worked out weirdly and Wanda wouldn’t trade it for anything. Natasha had noticed how quiet the house was upon entering, and she tried her best not to disturb the stillness that you and Wanda had created. She took the stairs one at a time, peeking into Wanda’s office when she noticed the door was oddly ajar. Wanda either had the door firmly closed or entirely open, it was never left in the half-opened state it was now. Two pairs of shorts and the puddle on the floor told her everything she needed to know about what had happened while she was away at work. Anticipating your blissed out headspace and Wanda’s full hands, Natasha cleaned the scene, still dressed in business slacks and an off-white satin blouse. The chair had been scrubbed and sanitized, and the floor had been given the same treatment in only a matter of minutes. There was no need to buy a new chair now, and memories of this afternoon would linger in the room anytime either one of you set your sight on it. 

Natasha carried yours and Wanda’s shorts back into the bedroom. She picked up the pile of clothes that had been left on the floor, adding them to the laundry basket they kept hidden away in the closet before her own clothes were thrown on top. She dressed quickly, able to hear the one-sided conversation that was happening on the other side of the wall. 

“Daddy’s home.” Wanda cooed sweetly to you, her eyes filled with gentle love and admiration that felt so full she wanted to cry. You barely heard her words, and if you did, you didn’t fully comprehend them, but she didn’t expect you to. “She’ll be so proud of how good you were for Mommy. The best little duckling.” 

Natasha had decided then to make her presence known, two big and cozy towels in her hands. The initial sight of you and Wanda together had shocked her, her eyes transfixed on where her wife’s nipple was in your mouth, but she didn’t make it a big deal. Lowering herself onto the tile floor beside the tub, placing the towels just out of what she deemed the splash zone, the Russian reached out gently to caress your still flush cheeks. 

“How did this happen?” Natasha questioned Wanda, keeping her voice soft so as to not disturb you when you looked so content and fulfilled. The scent of strawberry and vanilla clung to the air in the bathroom, enough for Natasha to know that one of your favorite bath bombs had been thrown into the tub. 

“She’s down deep.” Wanda merely hummed, leaning over the edge of the tub to lay her lips against Natasha’s. “It was the first thing she found when she decided she needed something in her mouth.” Wanda laughed softly, the vibrations jostling her breasts much to your displeasure. Your hand fell onto the swell of her breast, keeping it still as you suckled contently despite the near interruption. 

“I can’t say I blame her.” Natasha teasingly pinched at Wanda’s nipple, not missing the way the Sokovian’s eyes fluttered closed and she chased the sensation when it was pulled away. Wanda had sensitive nipples, it was a known fact that Natasha loved to abuse, but something about this moment with you just felt entirely pure and wholesome. “Let me be the bad guy and get her out. You’re freezing.” Natasha frowned when she noticed just how cold to the touch Wanda’s skin was. She grabbed at you instantly, noticing that the sections of your skin that had been submerged in the water were just as cold as Wanda’s. 

You whined in protest when you were pulled away from Wanda’s chest and wrapped up like a little bug in the towel that Natasha had brought into the bathroom for you. Natasha didn’t bat an eye at your pitiful whimpering, carrying out of the bathroom and toward the guest bedroom when she gathered the hint that the comforter needed to be washed before any of you laid beneath it that night. It was scary how in tune she and Wanda could be at times, but you weren’t fully present enough to comment on their freaky telepathy. 

Natasha got you dressed into a pair of summer pajamas that still occupied the guest room from when you’d first started spending the night. Your clothes occupied nearly every room at this point, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She adored the little traces of your presence that popped up at random moments, which might be the reason why she no longer scolds you for leaving your shoes in every corner of the house despite the large collection at the front door. By the time you're beneath the blankets in the guest bed, Wanda’s coming into the room in a pair of pajama shorts, though she’s still void of a shirt. 

“Giving in so easily, moya lyubov’? And here I thought you were the strict one.” Natasha teased, knowing fully what Wanda had intended on when she purposefully left the matching top in the drawer where the shorts used to lay. 

“I introduced her to a lot today. I’m not going to try and get her to take my fingers when I know that’s not what she wants.” Wanda merely shrugged, allowing her soft heart to bleed into her words for the briefest minute before she was slipping back into the headspace you craved. “Come here, my little duckling. Let’s get you all comfy.” Wanda pulled your body into hers, guiding your lips down to her chest. Her nipple was sensitive, sore from the earlier abuse, but she didn’t mind the sting of pain that came when your lips wrapped firmly around her skin. “You did so good today, milaya. So good.” 

Natasha curled herself around Wanda, keeping you close between the both of them. It wasn’t long before your lips fell slack around Wanda’s nipple and your breathing evened out. Wanda and Natasha smiled down at you endearingly, deciding there was no harm in taking a little nap after the day that they'd had.

[lizziee-olseen]

Lay Low

Pairings: milf!wanda x southern milf!reader x natasha romanoff

warnings: intersex wanda and natasha(they have penises), anal, top!reader, oral (r receiving), bondage, cuckolding, mommy kink (R), slight size comparison kink, masturbation, worries of cheating, praise kink, degrading, p in v, guided masturbation, slight mentions of r having a thicker body

Word count: 3468

You hummed the sweet melody of a loud, classical song playing in the background as you took the pan of cookies out of the oven. Your twin sons, Tommy and Billy, rushed into the kitchen to try and grab them, only to regret it as they expressed their pain verbally by biting into the hot chocolate-filled treat. Before you could say anything to them, you heard the front door click open and lifted your head quickly with a wide grin, the three of you quickly heading to greet your wife after her two week mission.

Wanda groaned at the impact of her sons, but smiled nonetheless, leaning back up to kiss you on the lips.

“Mm, I missed you so much, baby..” she muttered against your lips, only breaking apart to kneel down and kiss Tommy’s forehead and then Billy’s, claiming they grew so much in the time she was away, even though they looked relatively the same. As they rambled on, filling her in on how one of them lost a tooth, they both had a sleepover for the first time, how one of them sprained his ankle while climbing the tree, and furthermore; but you were now distracted by the redhead walking through the door holding a large duffle bag, looking slightly out of place and disheveled. Wanda glanced up at you apologetically, as if to say we’ll talk about this later, and you put on a smile to greet the woman.

“Uh, hello there, dear! The names Y/N, are ya Wanda’s friend?” You spoke with an extended hand that she shook, her grin slightly growing at your thick southern accent. She glanced you up and down once to not make it obvious, but nodded at your question.

“Yes, ma’am. I am an Avenger just like your wife, she informed me that we could lay low here while we are-“

“On a mission, I already told her. Not the details, of course, but she knows I’m on one.” Wanda interjected before Nat could tell a lie like she was trained to do. Natasha nodded and watched as you easily directed the kids into the kitchen where the cookies must have cooled.

“So, Natasha, tell me a bit about yourself.” Wanda took her duffle bag and set it in the guest bedroom before heading back downstairs where Tommy and Billy were calling out for her, begging her to play outside with them.

“Well, uh..I’m single, I have no kids, and I just work day and night for a living.” You chuckled and she grinned, happy to make you laugh like that.

“Do you not want any babies of your own, darlin’?” You leaned on the countertop with one hand and furrowed your brows as you asked, and Natasha shrugged.

“I haven’t really thought much of it. I mean, sure, when I was a kid I wanted a bunch! But I was a kid, now I have responsibilities.” She glanced downward at your hand going on top of hers as you frowned.

“Honey, that ain’t no life to live! I’m tellin’ you, you gotta put some more thought into what you really want, because when you start wrinkling and gettin’ grey hair, there ain’t no turning back.” She hummed thoughtfully, and was quickly handed a cookie along with a glass of milk as she sighed in relief at the sight of slightly real food for the first time in two weeks. “I made me and the boys some pasta and meatballs, does that sound like somethin’ you’d want, sweetheart?” Natasha nodded quickly with a biteful of the cookie in her mouth. You sent her off to shower while you warmed up the meal, along with Wanda while the boys finished up their homework as they waited for their turn in the bathrooms to get ready for their bedtime. I could hear my name shyly spoken from the top of the steps and went up there to see Natasha hiding behind the bathroom door in a towel, peeking out to see me.

“Hey, uhm..I know you’re already giving me everything I could ask for but do you think I could bother you for some clothes for the night?”

“Well, of course, darlin’. The clothes in your duffle bag ain’t clean?” She shook her head no and you made a mental note to put them in the washer right after handing her some of Wanda’s old pajamas. When the two came downstairs to eat, the boys rushed to the bathrooms as if their spots could be taken, and it was the three of you in the dining room left. Natasha came down in some shorts and a flannel. Wanda came down in her boxers and a wife beater tank top, kissing your cheek as a thank you for the dinner.

You eventually wandered into the kitchen to get ahead on dishes when the two came in with their now empty bowls, thanking you again for the meal and telling you how delicious it was. Wanda put her hand on your hand as she stood behind you and placed the bowl in the sink, this time kissing your neck once as you smiled at the ticklish feeling. She went into the fridge to grab a small glass of milk to go along with the cookies you made earlier and while she was distracted, Natasha went up behind you as well, her hand on your back as you felt her front brush up against you, making your head shoot it as your eyes widened.

“It was absolutely delicious, ma’am..” She uttered before placing it in the sink as well as you tried to go back and feel the ever so pressure of her crotch against yours in your mind. You glanced over to your wife, seeing her putting the milk back in its place with no knowledge of what her partner just did. Maybe you were overreacting, maybe it was innocent..?

That night you lied next to Wanda as she slowly got on top of you while peppering kisses along your neck, teasing the straps of your shirt down until your breasts peaked out. She wrapped her lips around your nipples, giving both of them the attention they deserved as your fingers weeded through her hair gently. Two delicate fingers threaded over your shorts, softly running up and down to create a smooth friction.

“Does that feel good, Mommy?” She mumbled out, quickly going back to her desperation against your nipples. You hummed in approval, your mind not fully there as you tried to focus on the feeling she was giving you. Your wife was truly amazing at what pleasure she brought to the table, but currently your mind was slightly preoccupied. You had to be overreacting, there was no way such a sweet woman like Natasha would try and rub onto you in front of your own wife-

“Y/N? Baby? Are you feeling alright, do you want me to stop?” She paused, looking up at you with furrowed brows as the movements of her fingers stopped. You instantly glanced up at her, shaking your head no as you cupped her cheek, to which she leaned into it.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby..Mommy’s just a little sleepy. You wanna make up for all that missed time, now don’t you?” She quickly nodded, removing your shorts and lowering her head to your abdomen before reaching your inner thighs. She gave a few pecks to them before receiving a warning from you to not tease, and she quickly latched onto your clit, sucking the bud softly before pulling back to give small feather-like licks, trying to collect your sweet juices and wetten the area.

“Wanda, honey, if you don’t start doin’ something soon, Mommy’s gonna have to get herself off while you watch-“

“No! No, I- I can do it.” She didn’t say much more as her face fell between your legs, her tongue working against your sensitive bud as she worked off of your hungry moans. She whimpered into your skin as she humped the bed beneath her ever so slightly, one hand ready to move into her boxers until she heard your voice through your beautiful cries.

“Don’t you dare touch that fucking cock, you’re gonna use them fingers on me, baby.” She quickly obeyed, two fingers trailing across your hole for access until she slowly pressed, and they were lost in an abyss as your moans grew louder, your hand coming over your mouth to muffle yourself. It only took a few more moments before your legs were shaking and your breaking point was reached, juices being lapped up quickly as Wanda greedily sucked you dry. Slowly, her head came up, and you giggled as her lips were coated in a slick juice and her breath was labored, but her smile was evident under the dim lamp on your bedside table.

“Don’t you look like a pretty little girl..” Wanda blushed and glanced down, her hand falling to her painfully hard penis behind her boxers. There was a slight wet stain and you guessed it was her pre cum, she always seemed to release a lot out of pure excitement.

“Mommy..I-“

“Shh, sweetheart..what you’re gonna do is take that tiny little cock out of your boxers..and since Mommy is just so tired, I’m sure you don’t mind doin’ all the work for her, right? Right, Good girl.” Wanda bit her lip in concentration as she lined her length up with your entrance, only to feel a hand on her chest stopping her as she quickly looked up at you in confusion. “You silly girl, who told you that you was going inside of me tonight?” Her eyes widened slightly as you turned around to sleep on your stomach, your voluptuous behind right in front of her. And for almost an hour she rutted against your soft skin, her cum planting on you twice as she quickly wiped it away with a wet and dry towel, hoping not to wake you up. It didn’t take long of her constant movement before you fell asleep, but the exact thrusts reminded you of the kitchen, where you felt her friend's length pressing up against your ass, and you could almost imagine her doing the same thing. But you always quickly shut the idea down, feeling horrible at the thought of mentally betraying your wife in such a way, especially with her friend and in her own home.

The next week was spent with you reliving a similar memory, and more awaking. Like when Natasha was on the verge of pissing herself when she woke up and both bathrooms were in use. One had your son in it and one had you in it, so respectfully it felt more right to either piss her pants or politely ask to quickly use the bathroom you were showering in. And so she did, and while you drowned out the noise, she focused on the slight crevice between the wall of the shower and the shower curtain where she could see physical movement, and she swore she caught a glimpse of your bare, soapy breasts.

Another time was when the boys pleaded to watch a movie and you agreed, everyone sitting on the couch to watch the comedy movie they recommended. Natasha was next to you and so was Wanda, both boys closer to the end of the couch. Oftentimes you’d have to get up to either use the restroom, get more popcorn, get something for the boys, or any other reason Natasha couldn’t remember because she was too focused on the quick peek of your lavender laced underwear that she’d get. For most of the movie she’d have to keep her hand over her bulge to hide it, and she swore one time your hand gracefully brushed over it under the blanket.

Eventually, by the sixth night, you were in the bathroom after finishing brushing your teeth, staring at yourself in the mirror in shame. You had a wife, a family, what was wrong with you? Why were you getting so wrapped up mentally in a deeply thrilled desire? Why was it even a desire? Wanda came into the bathroom as well, smiling at you worriedly through the mirror as she placed her hands on your hips and kissed your bare shoulder softly.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” You opened your mouth to speak before pausing, looking down in shame.

“I don’t think I can let your friend stay here no more, baby..I’m sorry.” She furrowed her brows and gently turned you around in her hold, lifting your chin so you were looking at her this time.

“Did something happen? You know you can tell me anything, right? We don’t keep secrets, that’s in our vows-“

“I find her attractive.” You blurted out, making her body stiffen as you realized the implications of what you just did. “I’m so sorry, darlin’..I-it’s not you, I swear! She- I don’t know what’s goin’ on with me, but all week I’ve been thinkin’ nasty and vile thoughts no married woman should be havin’..I’m so sorry, Wanda..” You waited for any words, but there was a long pause of silence, before Wanda slowly brought you into a hug, sighing into it.

“I wish I could say I blame you, sweetheart, but I don’t.” You pulled back at her statement, confusion riddled across your face.

“You- can’t blame me? Have you been..havin’ similar thoughts?”

“Well, I don’t know what thoughts you’re having, but I can’t lie and say I haven’t thought about her in ways I think you’re describing. She’s a strong, attractive woman who I worked with for two weeks alone, and while nothing happened between us, obviously I started to find her attractive in that time.” You slowly started to let out a small chuckle at the odds of the situation, putting a hand over your chest as you thanked all Gods she wasn’t mad, and that she in fact agreed with you.

“So tell me about these thoughts then, I want to hear all about ‘em.” You led her back to the bed as she sat down, feeling her cock slowly harden as you sat down on her lap and waited for her to speak.

“Well, uh..I- I’ve thought about us three together, not just me and her. I-…god, this is embarrassing-“

“No, no, baby, Mommy ain’t gonna judge you..I swear this turns me on a lot more than you think.” She gulped nervously and nodded, looking down at her lap instead of your face as you let her this time.

“I..think about, uhm…you…tying me to a chair a-and making me watch..”

“Watch what, darlin’?”

“…Watch you have sex with her. Like…using a strap on and fucking her from behind. And, like, jerking her off while you degrade me..I- I don’t know, it was just a thought I had one time, I guess.”

“Yeah? You want Mommy to make you cum just from watchin’ me fuck your friend? You dirty little girl..how many times you done jerked off to the idea already?” She whimpered at your condescending tone and your hips guttering against her crotch, making her lips shudder before she spoke.

“T-three times, Mommy- but I never came without your permission!” You hummed in approval and stroked her cheek, making her lean into it before you grabbed her phone from the bedside table and handed it to her.

“Call your little friend an’ bring that chair over for me.” She quickly and eagerly moved you aside, kissing you softly before pulling over the desk chair you had in your shared bedroom while calling Natasha, who was quick to come to your room and lock the door behind her. She was quite shy intruding on you and your wife’s sex life, even with an invite, especially when walking in on you gently tying Wanda’s hand and arms to the chair and kissing her softly in reassurance.

You looked over to Nat, smirking at her awkward stance as she then straightened up, taking a step forward as you started prancing towards her. You placed your hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her lips, making her glance at Wanda, only to have your hand cup her cheek and align her back with you.

“Don’t you be lookin’ anywhere but where I tell you to, alright?” She nodded and the two of you fell into a rhythm, which led to the removal of clothing and eventually she was on the bed in front of your wife, and you were harnessing a strap on around your hips, placing globs of lube on both the strap and her tight hole.

“Now imma need you to tell me if you is hurting or need me to stop, okay? I may be rough but I ain’t out to torture you.” Natasha agreed and slightly angled herself closer, feeling her rock hard cock dripping pre cum, begging to feel the penetration.

“Oh, you is a desperate one, aren’t you? Dirty little girl, Mommy can’t wait to fuck this sweet ass-“ She jumped as you smacked one of her cheeks, and she gasped quietly as she felt the tip prodding at her hole. She was brought back to where she was when she heard Wanda’s whimper and saw her pulsing length as her hips slightly thrusted into the air, as if she was riding into nothing.

“May I touch myself, M-Mommy?” Natasha spoke the title with anxiety, the feeling of it coming off her tongue somehow soothing. You barely ever let Wanda jerk herself off, but your plan was to degrade her and bring Nat up momentarily in order to fill your shared sick satisfaction.

“Give me a little longer, darlin’, we barely even in yet.” You teasingly giggled, slowly reaching the halfway mark as her groans filled the room. She made eye contact with Wanda as her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her mouth slanging open. Your hands fell to her abdomen and gently guided her upward so you were both lying on your knees. In doing this, the purple strap found itself even deeper, until you were bottomed out inside of her. When she was ready, your hips gently thrusted back and forth as her head leaned back into your shoulder, and you kissed along her neck. You grabbed Natasha’s hand and guided it to her penis, slowly moving her fingers up and down as she moaned quietly.

“Mm, such a big cock..look at that, Wanda, I can barely wrap my hand around it!” Wanda shuddered in slight shame as Natasha’s hips juttered into your hips repeatedly, her pace quickening. Wanda could practically feel your thick strap in her, she was jealous, and it only turned her on more. Natasha’s thighs shook as you guided her into an orgasm, she shakily came down muttering your title and holding onto your arm around her tightly. She had a tear rolling down her cheek, something nobody has ever seen from her.

“Mommy? Can you untie me now? I- I’ve been really good, I-“

“Shh, honey, I didn’t tell you to speak, now did I?”

“But I-“

“Natasha, do you want me to untie Wanda?” Natasha gulped nervously, looking between you two as she fought between what she wanted and what Wanda wanted.

“I-…I want you to focus on me a little more, Mommy..please.” You smirked and nodded, lying down as you opened your legs enough to wrap around Natasha’s waist and pull her in. She grinned to herself and lined up with your hole, her fingers collecting your slick as a lubricant to softly spread around before finding your clit to softly tease. You held onto her shoulder as she thrusted into you slowly, originally planning to ease you into her size until she felt your foot on her bottom pushing her closer and she took the hint to quicken her pace.

As Natasha found her rhythm, Wanda was moaning to herself, desperate to cum already. Her cock had been aching this entire time, and all she could think about was your soft, southern voice telling her to cum. And only after Natasha finished on your stomach did her ties come undone with soft kisses being peppered onto her wrists and ankles, and her friend sat on the bed, awkwardly grabbing her clothes to put back on until you looked at her in confusion.

“What do you think you’re doin’? Oh, no, you ain’t leaving yet,” You came over to her pulling her over to where your wife was and forcing Nat to her knees in front of the other’s aching, desperate penis. “You better clean up the mess you done made, sweetheart.”

[lizziee-olseen]

we were forever [w.maximoff]

pairing: sugarmommy!wanda maximoff x sub!reader

summary: there's only one thing that can soothe your insecurites about your relationship with wanda: giving her pleasure no one else can.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> dom/sub dynamics; brief allusions to pet play {W calls R puppy once}; legal age gap; mommy kink; technically power bottom wanda; cunnilingus {W receiving}; fingering {W receiving}; grinding/humping; body worship?; mentions of insecurity {including body insecurity}; accidentally more tender and vulnerable than planned; NOT proofread

wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: it took me far too long to write this part but i hope the wait was worth it. i don't think anyone will be surprised if i said i got attached to this AU, right? i'm not sure what comes next for these two but there WILL be another part. and hopefully it won't take as long to arrive. hope you enjoy <3

[part one | ]

* * * * * * *

Being with Wanda came with a lot of surprises.

Usually, it was the material kind.

A new necklace, an expensive blazer, a collection of sex toys that made your face warmer than the sunlight that streamed through her windows on an early morning. Nothing was like anything you'd ever experienced before.

It wasn't just the money or the gifts, it was the relationship itself. Or well…the dynamic. You still weren't exactly sure what to call what the two of you had going on.

The uncertainty only added to your own insecurities, your worries that you were nothing more than a temporary toy for her to play with.

Because why wouldn't you be? Wanda was rich, older than you, a successful businesswoman with no time for games.

And yet here you are, with this gorgeous woman on your lap, looking at you with nothing but adoration in her eyes. Adoration for speaking up and asking for something. Not just anything, though.

Asking for a brief moment of control.

A small glimmer of dominance.

Now that's a surprise if you've ever seen one.

Then again, Wanda loves keeping you on your toes. Except tonight, you're giving her a run for her money. Meeting her at every twist and turn with a surprise of your own.

"Sweetheart," she says, voice soft as silk. "I'm going to need words."

You'd almost forgotten what was going on. The needy request you'd made to get to touch her for once, to give her pleasure instead of simply taking it. It wasn't like there was anything wrong with the routine you two had going on but you needed the change.

Needed the reassurance that she wanted you. That she needed you just as much as you needed her.

"I want to touch you, Mommy," you reply, giving her the cutest puppy dog eyes you can muster. "…please."

You add the please just to sweeten her up a little more. Not that you need to, she's already staring down at you with pure adoration.

"Yeah?" Her hands grip your wrists and she slowly guides them under her blazer, encouraging you to help her undress. "You want to make Mommy feel good, angel?"

Your nod is instant, just like the wandering hands that help the older woman shrug her blazer off. Instead of moving to remove her button-up shirt, you grip her hips. "Can I? Can I please?"

You're met with a laugh. Not the sharp, teasing, sound she uses when she's in a mean mood but a soft, affectionate sound. One that makes your heart skip a beat and reminds you she's willing to do anything for you.

"How can I say no to that?"

Instead of answering her, you make your move. Your grip on her tightens and you move her down onto the couch, her laughter returning and lighting up the space around you. Even your growing need is forgotten as you focus on the sound, on doing everything you can to hear it over and over again.

It's a thought far more romantic than what you usually allow yourself but you can't help it. The way she looks at you, the way she responds to your touches, it only serves to make you fall harder for her. To open your heart to her despite the danger that it could bring.

The soul-crushing reality that she might not want anything more than what you already have. That she might now want you to be anything more than a pet.

The thought makes you cringe so you push it away in the only way you know how.

As soon as Wanda's back hits the couch, you give her a second to get comfortable before you practically pounce on her, lips attaching to her stomach. One of her hands comes up to tangle in your hair, the contact more grounding than commanding.

"There you go," she coos, unable to stop herself. "You're so cute like this."

Even though her words make you flush, you don't allow yourself to get distracted. The feeling of her skin beneath your lips gives you more than enough to focus on even as your hands wander.

You rest your hands on her hips as your mouth trails a path downward, stopping for a brief second to nip at her barely-there abs. Even though she never voices them, you know the insecurities about her body that she holds. Especially when people stare at the two of you, your age-gap obvious to wandering eyes.

You've never minded the age difference, though. Never seen anything in the older woman's body except perfection. Inches and inches of skin that deserve worshiping.

Your mouth moves downward until you reach the zipper of her trousers. "Can I…?" You trail off, allowing your eyes to drift up toward her own.

The sight of her makes your breath catch in your throat.

She has her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her vibrant green eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. In that moment, she's the most perfect sight you've ever seen.

"Go ahead, angel. Take them off."

Her words encourage you to keep going, your teeth catching her zipper and slowly pulling it down. The slowness almost makes you want to pull away and simply use your fingers but the way Wanda's grip on you tightens convinces you to not stop.

When you finally manage to get the zipper down, you allow your hands to move once again and slide her pants down her legs. She lifts herself up enough for you to get her underwear down, and the sight of her arousal makes you drool.

You don't even get the clothes out of the way, simply let them bunch up underneath you before you're moving between her spread legs, your hands holding her thighs open.

"Gorgeous," you mutter.

Since you're too focused on what's in front of you, you miss the way she blushes at your words, her chest tinting the softest shade of pink. "Don't tease me, sweetheart."

All you do is hum, leaning in until everything disappears except the smell of her arousal and the feeling of her skin beneath your tongue.

Your mouth finds its way onto her cunt, your tongue exploring her folds before teasing her clit just to hear her gasp. You don't even have to look up to know her head's thrown back already and you put yourself to use by wrapping your lips around her already swollen clit.

Maybe you're depraved but the evidence of her arousal, of her desire, helps you quell the remaining doubts about your relationship. No one else can see Wanda like this. No one else can make her feel as good as you do. That's the one thing you're sure about.

Mainly because her moans let you know you're doing everything right.

"Fuck, y/n." The sound of her voice makes you subconsciously buck your hips, slowly grinding against the fabric beneath you. "Just like that, baby, making me feel so good."

Her approval makes you double your efforts, sucking lightly on her clit and drawing circles on it with your tongue. Your fingers quickly move up her thigh and slide underneath your chin before two slide right into her soaked cunt.

The intrusion makes her gasp, her walls clenching around you as you work inside, drawing more beautiful sounds out of her. "Oh, don't stop, sweetheart."

As if you'd ever even think to stop.

You move your fingers in and out of her pussy, your tongue working overtime on her clit. Her hips start thrusting into your eager mouth as she slowly loses control of herself, giving in to the pleasure clouding her mind.

You meet her halfway, keeping up your movements and ignoring everything else.

You're so caught up in making her feel good that you don't even realize the way you're grinding down against the fabric of her pants until her free hand taps your hip. "Keep going-"

Her pleasure morphs into your own, her moans spurring you on to work harder which in turn makes your hips move faster. There are far too many layers in the way but that doesn't stop your clit from twitching or your underwear from getting soaked.

"Wanna make you cum, Mommy," you whisper, your desire almost lost among the sound of her wetness.

"Yeah?" Wanda answers. "You wanna be a good girl for Mommy, darling?"

"Mhmmm, please."

Your pleading is what gets to her. You know exactly what it does to her, especially when you can feel her clenching uncontrollably around you, soaking your chin.

"Oh, fuck-" She groans, her hips twitching beneath you.

You take that as your cue, sucking harshly on her clit while she grinds against your fingers.

Like a hairtie snapping, Wanda suddenly lets go, her orgasm crashing into her all at once.

Your movements don't stop, though, helping her ride out the overwhelming pleasure that makes her vision swim. Your fingers slide out of her only for your tongue to dive down, lapping up her release until she's far too sensitive to allow more contact.

"Easy, puppy," she says, her voice a touch too breathless to sound anything but soft. "Mommy's sensitive."

Her fingers tug your hair until you get the hint and allow her to pull you away. You're panting as you rest your forehead against her stomach, nails digging into her thigh.

"Please-" You moan, voice hoarse. "Need to cum."

It's only then that you realize how wound up you are. Your hips move frantically as you chase every bit of pleasure you can, eyes trained on Wanda's face. On the blush on her cheeks, the inviting curve of her neck, the teeth marks on her bottom lip.

She's so gorgeous you could cry.

Or combust.

Or both at the same time, considering your movements.

"Go ahead, sweetheart," she replies, not having the heart to tease you at such a vulnerable moment. "Let go for Mommy."

And you do.

Allowing the pleasure to override your sense, moving your hips until your whole body goes still. It's the briefest moment but in it, there's nothing on your mind except Wanda.

The depth of your connection, the need that's unlike anything you've ever felt before, the safety that comes from surrendering yourself to her.

It's nothing but pure bliss.

And when your orgasm crashes in and your body shakes under the relentless waves, she's right there with you.

She pulls you against her, helping you up until your sweaty forehead rests in the crook of her neck. Her gentle voice soothes your cries of her name as it all becomes too much to bear alone.

"It's okay, I'm right here," she murmurs, hands running down your shaking back. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm all yours, y/n."

And while her words should make you feel possessive, territorial even, all they do is calm you. Remind you that you're exactly where you're meant to be.

In her arms.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @boredandneedfanfics @rosekjsses @milflovers4 @sevikasoneandonlywife @dextur

[lizziee-olseen]

A simple request—

Paring(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: After a long, exhausting day, all you want is to unwind in your girlfriend's arms.

word count: 1.9K

tags l content: established relationship, smut, breeding kink, mommy kink, cockwarming, breastfeeding, induced lactation, sub reader, Wanda has a cock, abandoned movie lol.

A/N: I'm excited and nervous to post this lol, it's just a short drabble. I hope you guys enjoy! (and yes, it's about me and my girl— again.)

The day had drained you completely. Endless lectures, overwhelming assignments—your mind felt like it was on the verge of shutting down. As you stepped into your apartment, the familiar scent of home instantly soothed you—a mix of fresh linen, vanilla, and something distinctly Wanda. With a deep sigh, you dropped your backpack by the door, kicking off your shoes without caring where they landed.

All you wanted—no, all you needed—was to unwind. Just you, Wanda, and a movie. That was your simple request.

As you made your way into the bedroom, Wanda lay sprawled on the bed, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands, her crimson-painted nails tapping idly against the ceramic. A book rested open in her lap, though she seemed more focused on the warmth seeping through her fingers than on the words before her. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed her in warm light, making her look almost ethereal.

"Hi, my love," she murmured, her voice like a gentle caress.

Just hearing those words made something in your chest loosen. The tension that had gripped you all day dissipated, if only for a moment. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding and walked over to the bed, practically collapsing onto it.

Wanda shut her book, setting it aside as she turned toward you, concern flickering in her eyes.

"Long day?"

You groaned, pressing your face into the pillows. "The longest. I don’t want to think, don’t want to talk about assignments, and definitely don’t want to see another professor’s face for at least a week." You rolled onto your side, gazing up at her.

"I just need to watch a movie. I need to turn my brain off, cuddle under the blankets, and just exist for a while. That’s all I want."

Understanding flashed across her face, and without hesitation, she nodded. "Okay, baby. That sounds perfect."

She reached for the remote, shifting closer to you. "What do you want to watch?"

Your lips curved into a small smile as you answered without hesitation. "Rom-com."

Wanda chuckled, shaking her head fondly. "I should've guessed."

"You should've," you teased, nudging her arm. "They're the best. They’re funny, they’re sweet, and they make everything feel a little bit lighter."

With an amused sigh, Wanda scrolled through Netflix, already knowing you wouldn’t settle for anything else. "Alright, one predictable, overly romantic, cliché-filled movie coming right up."

"Masterpiece," you corrected, grinning as you reached for her.

Before you could say anything else, Wanda set the remote down and gently pulled you into her arms, shifting you so you rested against her front, nestled between her legs. The warmth of her body instantly soothed you as she wrapped her arms around your waist, holding you close.

"Are you comfortable?" she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. You hummed in response, melting further into her embrace. The movie played on and she continued to caress you, her hands slowly making their way under your shirt. 

"Wanda" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"Yes, baby?" she asked, before  nipping at your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. 

“We’re supposed to be relaxing,” you mumbled. She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your ear.

“This is relaxing, no?” You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you surrendered to her touch, letting the movie fade into the background. She continued to explore your body, her fingers trailing along your stomach and then up your ribs, teasing the underside of your breasts. You let out a quiet whimper, arching into her touch.

"So responsive for me," Wanda whispered, her voice low and husky. her slender fingers eventually made their way into your shorts, slowly dipping into your folds. She let out a groan at the wetness she found there, her fingers parting your folds and sliding into your entrance.

"Fuck, baby," she breathed, her voice thick with arousal. "You’re so wet."

She began pumping her fingers slowly, eliciting a moan from you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction. But then suddenly, it stopped, and a whimper escaped your lips. You opened your eyes to see her smirking at you, a playful glint in her eyes.

"What happened to relaxing?" she teased as she removed her hand from your shorts and brought her fingers up to her mouth, sucking them clean. The sight made you shudder, and you could feel the heat building between your legs.

"I- I am relaxed," you managed to stutter out.

"Mmhmm," Wanda hummed, her lips curving into a smirk. "Let's see if we can help you relax a little more, shall we?" her cock pressed against your back and she ground herself into you, making sure that you could feel how hard she was.

"Yes please," you breathed, squirming slightly as she continued to tease you.

"but we need to focus on the movie" she reminded you as she trailed her hands up and down your body.

"It's hard to focus on the movie when you're touching me like that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Wanda's chuckle was playful, "Maybe we can multitask," she suggested, her breath hot against your ear. "We can watch the movie, and I can... help you relax at the same time."

"I think that can be arranged," you breathed

"Shhh” she murmured as she pulled your shorts down as well as her own. 

"warm up my cock, hm?" A groan escaped your lips as she guided her tip to your cunt, your wet folds allowing her to push right in. The feeling of her stretching you open was almost too much, and you felt yourself trembling against her. She wrapped her arms around you and pulled you flush against her chest as the movie continued to play in the background. 

Wanda made sure to keep a steady pace of small, shallow thrusts, just enough to tease you without being too distracting. Every so often, she would buck her hips, eliciting a soft moan from you as her cock hit that perfect spot inside you.

"You're doing such a good job, keeping mommy's cock nice and warm." Your response was immediate, a whimper escaping your lips as your hips rocked back into hers, driven by a primal need to be closer, to be filled completely. 

"Please, Mommy," you whispered, your voice a faint, desperate plea that lingered in the air as you rested your head back against her shoulder. 

"I want you to breed me." As soon as the words left your lips, Wanda's entire demeanor changed. Her eyes, which had been gleaming with a mixture of desire and playfulness, suddenly burned with an intense urgency. She pulled you closer, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she deepened her thrusts.

Her movements became more frantic, more desperate, as if she was driven by a singular focus to give you what you wanted. The air was filled with the sound of her ragged breathing, her gasps and moans mingling with the creaks and groans of the bed as she pushed up against you with increasing intensity. 

The movie, which had been playing in the background, was forgotten, the sounds and images on the screen fading into insignificance as Wanda's actions became the sole focus of your attention. You felt yourself getting lost in the sensation of her body moving against yours, the friction and heat building as she drove herself deeper and deeper into you. 

Wanda's hands were everywhere, grasping and clutching at your skin as if she was trying to pull you closer, to merge your bodies into one. Her lips were on your neck, your shoulder, your ear, her breath hot and urgent.

As her movements continued, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps.

"That's it, baby," she whispered. "Take mommy's cock. Take it all." Her hands reached up and cupped your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. Her fingers lightly pinched, sending a spark of pleasure through your body. You moaned, a soft, breathy sound, as your hips instinctively bucked back into hers.

You were on the verge of losing control, and you knew it. 

"I'm going to—" you whispered, your voice barely audible as the sensations overwhelmed you. The words trailed off, lost in the tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you.

"Cum, baby," Wanda grunted. "Cum all over my cock. I'm going to fill you up." As she spoke, her body tensed, and you felt her release inside you, a warm, gentle flood that seemed to never end. She didn’t stop her movements, instead increasing them to ensure you took every drop of her seed. 

You cried out, your body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Wanda held you close, her thrusts slowing as you came down from your high and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the two of you panting, struggling to catch your breath. 

"Ohh, my love, you were perfect," she whispered, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as she pressed soft, gentle kisses. With a gentle movement, she shifted your body, turning you around to face her, her cock still nestled deep within you— exactly where you both loved it to be. As she held you, you whimpered a little, your body squirming subtly to press against hers more intimately. 

Wanda's arms tightened around you, holding you close, the steady rise and fall of her breath soothed you. Your body felt heavy with exhaustion, a weariness settling in as you melted against her.

“Sleepy, baby?” Wanda murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead.

A small hum left your lips as you shifted slightly, seeking more of her comfort.

“Mama…” you breathed, half-asleep but still aware enough to know what you wanted.

“I’m here, my love,” she reassured you, tucking you even closer. “What do you need?”

Your fingers curled against her skin as you whispered, 

“Milky.”

Wanda’s chest rose with a quiet chuckle, her amusement laced with tenderness. 

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she murmured, adjusting her position so she could take off her shirt. She bared the soft curves of her breasts to you, her warmth and scent enveloping you in familiar safety. Her hands guided your head back to her chest, where the sweet aroma of her milk mingled with the lingering notes of vanilla that were uniquely hers.

As you latched on, the steady, pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat filled your ears, lulling you further into the depths of relaxation. Wanda’s fingers twisted through your hair, scratching your head absentmindedly. 

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

The gentle pull of warmth, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath, the way her arms held you so securely—it was all you needed. 

The weight of the day faded, the last remnants of tension melting away as your body sank fully into her embrace. She shifted slightly, her fingers gently brushing against the corner of your mouth to wipe away a stray drop of milk that had lingered there. And with a gentle motion, she wrapped the blankets more securely around you both. Even as she started to drift off, she was aware of your tight walls still wrapped around her cock. 

"Sweet dreams, my love," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, as the warmth of her heartbeat pressed against your cheek. You felt her hold you just a little tighter.

[lizziee-olseen]

𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 & 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜

prequel to juno

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: someone asked about this and honestly thank you so much for doing that, i love the idea and have been obsessing over it for weeks now. hope this does the first part justice (also i couldn’t figure out which filter i used on the first fic’s header and now this one pisses me off bc it looks different 😔)

also, i’m totally in love with this dynamic. i might keep writing oneshots about these two specifically because damn 😭 i can’t let them go

summary: college!au, fuckboy!nat and reader trying to get her to commit

warnings: smut, tipsy sex, implied dubcon (very brief, not between reader and nat), exhibitionism, unprotected sex, cheating but not really, vomiting (mentioned)—not sure if there’s anything else, but lmk if you find something so i can add it

word count: 18.5k (ik it’s long and i apologize for that but i promise it’s worth it if i may say so myself)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

The basketball hits you in the back of your head.

It's not the most painful thing to ever happen to you, but the impact is enough to make you stumble. A dull ache shoots through your skull and you turn around, glaring at whoever the offender is.

Red hair, basketball jersey, hands lifted in silent apology before you can even say anything. Natasha's been walking behind you for about five minutes now and, unbeknownst to you, she's been staring a little too much. Staring hard.

Short white skirt, baby pink lacy top, high heels — it's enough to make her lose her train of thought. Paired with the sun framing your body, the sight is lethal.

It's also enough to make her forget about Clint. Once he'd realized she's staring, he knocked the ball out of her hands and sent it flying.

All she wanted to do was check out whoever's walking in front of her. Suddenly, she has to deal with an angry, no less gorgeous girl staring her down.

Her thoughts falter. Her witty self is gone. All that remains is a mushy brain and the urge to somehow turn things around.

"Say something", you demand, rubbing the sore spot on the back of your head.

"...His fault, not mine."

You tilt your head, briefly glancing at her jersey. Natasha Romanoff — you know her. Not intimately, just in passing. You exchanged names once, during Welcome Week. You’ve seen her in bars, been to some of her basketball games. Usually, she's tangled up with some other girl.

Natasha picks up the ball again. She holds it out to you, almost like a peace offering. Your lips twitch and you lower your hand from your head.

"You ever play?", she asks.

You snort. "I don't think my high heels are gym approved."

"High heels or not, I think you'd look pretty good on the court." She leans in, voice dropping to a murmur. "Or against the lockers. Pick your poison."

Next to her, Clint rolls his eyes. He's seen her do this way too many times before. Find a girl, flirt with her, take her home. Then, complain about a hangover and a phone that's getting blown up with messages and voicemails. All it leads to is another girl who got ghosted by Natasha Romanoff.

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. You're familiar enough with her reputation and, truthfully, you like to protect your peace. No need for more drama, right?

But the sweat glistens on her biceps — she must've finished basketball practice not too long ago. Loose strands of red hair curl in the moist heat. Green eyes twinkle. You look away, at the parking lot stretching out next to you. Painfully uninteresting, but you're trying to keep your thoughts from wandering into dangerous territory.

"You're going to the cafeteria?", you ask, finally glancing at her again. Pull yourself together.

"Mhm", she says, tossing the ball into the air and catching it with one hand. "You, too?"

"No." You tilt your head, smiling sweetly. You step back and lift your hand, waving. "Have fun!"

You turn and walk towards the main entrance, skirt swishing and heels clicking against the pavement.

All Natasha can do is stare, eyebrows raised. The basketball drops and rolls away, causing Clint to curse and chase after it, but she's still staring. Only when he returns and punches her arm does she turn around.

"What?"

"You’re not serious."

"Oh, come on. That was harmless."

"That?" He wheezes, tucking the ball under his arm. "With you, it's never harmless."

Natasha lets out a dismissive sound, but her eyes have tracked you again. She's used to girls falling into her lap, not them walking away without so much as glancing back at her.

Nothing about this is, or will be, harmless.

. . .

Natasha's not the type to spend her Fridays studying, but she has no choice. That is, if the prospect of studying includes running into someone who seems to be avoiding her.

The lighting inside the library is dim. Pages rustle, keyboards click, people murmur softly. It smells like old books and the coffee you brought along in your thermos.

On the table in front of you, you've got a real setup — laptop, books, some notes, a few pens. You're distracted, which is good. You don't notice the people entering the library, don't notice the students making a little too much noise. This way, you can study more efficiently.

You also don't notice when Natasha walks in, but she notices you. All it takes is one glance in your direction, and suddenly, she's on her way to your table.

She slides into the seat across from you and stretches out. Her legs bump into yours. When you look up, she grins faintly and crosses her arms behind her head.

"You lost?", you mumble, directing your attention toward the laptop in front of you again.

"I'm right where I want to be."

"Doubt that."

Natasha steals one of your pens and twirls it between her fingers. She stays quiet for a moment, watching you, taking you in. Oversized sweater, off-shoulder. Lacy bralette peeking out from underneath. Hair half-up, slightly messy, and a delicate necklace around your neck.

You look up and your eyes meet. You tilt your head.

"Looks like you're staying."

"Am I not allowed to?"

"As long as you left your basketball at home", you say, reaching for a marker, "it's fine."

"I told you that wasn't me", she points out, stealing the marker from you. She flicks off the cap and draws a crescent on one of your notes. You look up, eyebrows raised and lips pressed together to keep them from twitching. She shrugs. "Matches your necklace."

"I almost got a concussion", you say, grabbing the marker again. "And you were right behind me. So I'll assume it was you."

"That's odd", she says. "Girls usually don't get concussions when I'm behind them."

You scoff, tucking some hair behind your ear. Natasha hums and leans in, arms crossed on top of the table. Her eyes are a deeper green now, courtesy of the dimmer light inside the library, but they shimmer just as much.

You shake your head and shift in your chair, fingers tapping against the book in front of you. "You're here to study or piss me off?"

"A bit of both. Multitasking, you know." She tilts her chair slightly, balancing it on its back two legs, making herself comfortable.

You're still not sure what she wants from you, but you have your assumptions. You know who she is. Everyone does. Star athlete, newest captain of the university's basketball team, current record holder of hooking up with the most girls. At least that's what everyone says about her.

You're certain they have a point, though. You're witnessing it with your own eyes. Natasha Romanoff is a flirt, a fuckboy, and you're her latest victim.

"I'm here to study", you point out.

"I can see that."

"And you...?"

"Keeping you company."

"Who's saying I want company?"

Natasha shrugs. "You haven't made me leave yet."

You sigh, conceding, then lower your eyes again. You skim the vocabulary list of French in front of you. If you'd paid more attention last semester, you maybe wouldn't be struggling as much now.

Natasha leans in, glancing at the vocabulary as well. Se doucher, s'habiller, être d'accord — she glances at you, at the slightly bored look on your face, and taps your arm with a pen. You look at her.

"Ton français est déjà pas mal", she whispers, "mais j'aimerais bien entendre comment tu gémis dans cette langue."

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks before you can stop it.

There's no way she just asked you to moan in French.

"You're way too fucking bold for your own good."

"Yeah?" She hums, getting up from her chair. She walks around the table and you turn your head to keep her eyes on her, but suddenly, her mouth is right next to your ear. "I've found that it works."

You look up, slowly, until your eyes are boring into hers. Her mouth is inches away from yours, heat radiating from her plush lips. Then, your eyes dart lower. You stare at them.

She notices. Of course she does.

A smirk forms on her face. Small, barely noticeable, but irresistible. It convinces you that maybe two can play this game.

"Alors", you mumble, "fais-moi gémir."

Natasha pauses, surprise crossing her features. But then you're packing up — stacking books and papers, putting your laptop into your backpack — and she almost puts her hand on your arm.

"You were being serious?"

"Hm?" You look up, head tilted and glossy lips shimmering. You shake your head. "Oh, no. I'm going home."

"This is the second time you're doing this."

You sling the backpack over your shoulder and glance at her. "Pretty sure it's not the last time, either."

She shifts on her feet, jaw clenched and hands tucked into the pockets of her sweatpants. Before you can leave, she quickly steps in front of you.

"There's this party", she says. "Next week. Pietro's place. Perfect spot for you to reject me a third time."

"Pietro?", you ask, raising your eyebrows.

"One of the Maximoff twins."

"Right." You nod. "Sounds lame."

"It won't be", she insists. "Just...come by. Have a beer. Maybe you know a few French party tricks?"

You exhale, trying to stop yourself from smiling. It's a lost cause, though, and the way your face seems to soften gives Natasha whiplash.

"We'll see", you say, brushing past her. "Guess you'll just have to keep an eye out for me."

"Okay", she mumbles.

You pause, arms wrapped around the books you're holding to your chest. You look at her one last time, then you step out of the library.

. . .

A steep staircase and dim lighting don't pair well.

One hand sliding along the railing attached to the wall to keep yourself from falling, you're slowly making your way down the stairs and into the basement. As soon as you've stepped inside, the stench hits you.

Air thick with smoke, smelling like vodka and sweat. Weed and cheap perfumes, pizza and something not unlike the sourness of vomit. You scrunch up your nose and glance at your friends.

Everything is exactly how you expected it would be. Neon LED strips, worn couches, a dying potted plant in the corner. The bass from the speakers is rattling the walls. Someone's rolling a joint on the coffee table.

In your tiny corset top and silk skirt, you definitely feel a little out of place. Then, you spot her.

Grey hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, basketball shorts, a bottle of beer in her hand. She laughs at something Clint says, then tips back her head to take a sip. As she's moving her lips from the bottle's mouth, she quirks her eyes in your direction.

What comes next seems to be the longest hour of your life.

60 minutes of tiptoeing around each other, of glancing across the room, of trying to distract yourself. You're tense, you both are, you're tipsy, and every time you try to focus on something else it fails horribly — which is exactly why a game of 'spin the bottle' is both a blessing and a curse. Looking at the expression on Carol's face, though, you feel like Natasha may have meddled in this.

You gather on the couches. You sit on the armrest, one leg crossed over the other, and watch Natasha as she sits down on the floor right across from you.

The bottle spins a few times, but you barely pay any attention. That is, until it's your turn.

You spin the bottle. You watch it almost land on Natasha, but then it stops too soon. Before you know it, you're kissing one of Clint's friends.

You're tipsy enough to not care too much, but Natasha's lips form a thin line. She lifts her bottle to her mouth and takes a swig.

The game continues. More kisses, some resembling pecks and others turning into full make out-sessions.

Suddenly, it's your turn again. You spin the bottle, watch it closely — and it lands on Natasha.

First, there's a beat of silence. Someone whistles. Heart racing, you clear your throat and put aside your drink. You get up, approach her, and end up in her lap. Her hands come up to rest on your waist.

"Not rejecting me this time?", she murmurs, looking at your mouth. Your lipgloss has been tempting her all night.

"Third time's a charm", you reply, running your hands along her jaw and up into her hair. Silky red locks, smooth between your fingers.

Natasha exhales quietly. She leans in, closing the distance and pressing her lips to yours.

It's controlled at first. Nothing but a firm press of lips. Beer and weed, lipgloss and strawberries.

Bass that's making the floor thrum. Warm hands and plush lips. You feel her heat against you. Natasha, dazed and undone, pulls you closer until your body is flush with hers.

Her hands sneak higher, fingertips grazing the hem of your top. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her hoodie. Your lips part, and so do hers, and her grip on your sides tightens.

Your thighs are snug around her middle. Her hands move lower, to the part beneath your ass, and grasp at the soft flesh there.

Suddenly, it's desperate. You're tipsy enough to be bold, so you deepen the kiss further and further. Natasha goes along with it, because why shouldn't she? — This is what's she's been wanting for weeks at this point.

At some point, you're forced to remember you aren't alone. You pull away, breathless and flushed, need growing inside your buzzing body. Natasha stares back at you, breathing heavily, her shorts uncomfortably tight. You see a muscle in her jaw tick.

Swollen lips tingle, kiss bitten and slick with her taste. Her fingers twitch against your sides, the suppressed urge to get up and drag you away apparent.

There's no need to say it out loud. You both know you're getting out of there, and you're doing it together.

You get off her lap and sit back down in your spot. She keeps looking at you, her knees tucked against her chest to hide the issue the kiss left her with.

You last five minutes. You shift, glance at her, let your eyes sweep over your friends. Having decided you're done waiting, you get up and disappear in the hallway. Natasha's eyes track you down, then she scrambles off the floor and shoves her beer into Clint's hands.

"Don't wait up", she says, already chasing after your retreating figure.

You glance over your shoulder as you're going up the stairs. Sure enough, Natasha's following close behind.

You start pushing open doors. Bathroom? Occupied. Living room? No way. Anyone could walk in on you.

One of the bedrooms is empty. Judging by the looks of it, it belongs to Pietro. Messy desk, unmade bed, empty bottles on the nightstand. At this point, though, you really don't care.

You hear the door close and turn around. A few seconds later, you're tangled up with her. Hands roam your body impatiently, lips move in sync with yours. You try to walk her backwards, maybe push her against the wall, but she hoists you up by your thighs and carries you to the bed.

You're too tipsy to consider whether this can end well, but you're also horny enough that you wouldn't worry even if you were sober.

Natasha is almost sober — two bottles of beer don't have much of an impact on her at this point —, but she doesn't care, either. You've been on her mind for weeks. You've been that dirty little fantasy she jerked off to, that one girl that somehow managed to catch her attention in a room full of others. This is something she needs.

She spins around and sits down with you in her lap. You pull away for a second, only to tug at her hoodie. She peels it off, revealing a fitted tank underneath. Muscles taut, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands reach for your corset top, fumbling with the stubborn fabric.

"Fucking- how do you get this off?"

"Try being less rough", you mumble, smiling, and use your finger to tip her chin up. You kiss her. Her tongue sweeps past your lips.

The corset top comes off, and Natasha moves you onto your back. She tugs down her shorts just enough to get what she wants.

All it takes is one look at her, and you instantly realize this will hurt. You knew she's big — you felt it sitting on her lap. But looking at her now, hard as a rock and flushed and pulsing, your tipsy brain starts to grasp that making her fit will be a challenge.

"You'll be fine", she promises, having noticed you staring. She rolls on a condom and crawls on top of you. Her lips meet yours and she guides herself into place.

You moan into her mouth. Her hips roll against yours, easing it into you inch by inch. It stretches you out. You're soaked, but getting her fully inside you still proves to be difficult.

She keeps her eyes glued to your face, watching every little reaction as she buries herself in your swollen cunt. Your thighs wrap around her waist, trembling, and she bottoms out.

"Doing so good", she pants. She pulls away to bury her face against your neck. She starts moving her hips, fucking her throbbing cock into you. You mewl and whine, manicured nails raking down her muscular back. "Wanted this for so long."

"Yeah?" You moan, nails digging into her skin. Your hips rock against hers. The bed shakes underneath you.

Gripping your waist tightly, she pulls out and thrusts back into you. It's enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

"Yeah", she grunts, placing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "Wanted you so bad."

Your eyes flutter shut. You lift your hips, meeting each of her thrusts. The orgasm builds up, and you come around her cock.

In the morning, you're up first. Sunlight is filtering through the curtains, the air smells like sex and sweat.

You roll over and see Natasha, still asleep and one arm behind her head. The other is tucked under your body. Once the fog in your head has cleared up, you realize you've just added yourself to her list of disposable one night stands.

'Not that serious.' That's the words she says whenever she's questioned about her hookup habits. Now you're part of that, as well.

You sit up slightly and pause. When she stays asleep, you slip out from underneath the covers and pad through the room. You grab your skirt, your underwear, and put your clothes on.

"Y/N?", she mutters, rubbing her eyes. You look at her as you stand there, slipping your high heel on. "You leaving?"

"It's not that serious, right?", you say.

You grab your purse and Natasha leans on her elbow, studying you. In the early morning light, with your hair messy and your lipstick smudged, you look even more tempting. If she was different, she'd beg you to stay. She'd try to make more mornings like this one happen. Maybe she'd even see if there could be more than sex to this.

But that's not who she is, or at least that's what she tells herself. Still, she clears her throat and shrugs, almost awkwardly.

"Not staying for breakfast?"

"Not today", you say, hand on the doorknob. "See you around?"

"Sure", she mumbles. The door falls shut behind you. Any chance at getting you back into bed with her is gone — for now, at least.

Natasha exhales slowly and sinks into the mattress again. She stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched and one hand fisting the bedsheets. She doesn't know why she's so frustrated. You said it yourself: 'not that serious'. Nothing is ever serious with Natasha.

After a few minutes of silent sulking, she decides it's the lack of sleep that's got her acting like this.

. . .

Natasha doesn't chase.

She tells herself that multiple times — usually when you make fun of her for getting clingy, or soft. When she asks for your number, when she starts texting you late at night. When the hookups become more frequent.

It's still just sex, but something more begins to build. Friendship, affection. Something that feels like love but can't be — or that's what you both tell yourselves.

When you get a text one evening, you expect it to be another booty call. You've been hooking up for a while now, and not a day goes by where you don't see each other.

It's not an invitation to come have sex, though. You look at your phone and raise your eyebrows.

Natasha: please tell me you

know how to take

care of a kitten — 8.37 pm

Natasha: Y/N im

begging you — 8.38 pm

*image attached*

You: what the fuck — 8.40 pm

Natasha: COME OVER — 8.40 pm

The sight you get when walking into her dorm is ridiculous in the best way possible. Natasha — all muscles and basketball shorts — and a little kitten clawing at her hoodie.

It turns out that Natasha, leaving the court after practice, heard something meow pathetically. At first, she wanted to leave — it was pouring rain, and she was tired, and truthfully, she can't take in every stray she runs into.

Then, she saw the kitten. Tiny, partially hidden in a bush, its fur soaked. It meowed again.

She tried to walk away. A few minutes later, she was stuffing the tiny thing into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie.

"Aw, so cute", you coo, sitting down next to her. "I guess the kitten's cute, too."

She shoots you a glare, but the effect is destroyed by the little feline trying to catch one of her drawstrings. "You could try helping."

"No fun in that." You reach for Natasha's hands and start adjusting them. That little bit of contact is enough to send heat into her cheeks. "It's still wet. You need to dry it."

"I tried! It bit me."

"Yes, yes", you mumble, grabbing a random towel and silently praying it isn't full of sweat or other gnarly bodily fluids. "It fits in your palm, but it's so scary."

"It has knives for hands."

You dry the kitten off together. Once that's done, you show her how to hold it. But then, it knocks.

"Randy here", someone calls. Your resident advisor.

"Wait, let me-"

"No!" Natasha, panicking, grabs the kitten. All you can do is stare, stunned, as she yanks down her hoodie to stuff it inside. The poor creature lets out a pitiful mew, and your eyes widen in horror.

"Natasha!", you hiss.

"Shut up!" She grips the front of her hoodie when the kitten meows again, as if she can physically will it into silence.

You give her a bewildered look. Then, you remember.

Randy hates cats for multiple reasons. Mild allergies, bad encounters when he was a kid, general lack of fondness toward other living beings. Pets aren't allowed in the dorms, either way — but he'll even shoo the strays away. He's awkward, but he's not a pushover. If he finds out about this, he'll rat you out.

Another knock. More impatient this time.

"Uh, guys? It's Randy! Open up?"

"A minute", you call back, smoothing down your hair. Natasha is wrestling with the kitten inside her hoodie. She winces when it buries its claws in her chest.

Cheeks flushed and expression somewhat schooled, you make it to the door and open it. Randy stares at you. Clearly, he expected someone else.

"You", he says.

"Me."

"This is Romanoff's dorm, though."

You step aside just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her. You glance over your shoulder as well. When you see her flushed face and the wiggling hoodie prison, you quickly block his view again.

"What do you need?"

Behind you, you hear a muffled mew.

"Just wanted to pop by", he says, looking over your shoulder again. You cross your arms and lean against the doorframe, chin lifted in silent defiance.

"We're studying", you lie. "So please leave?"

Another mew. Natasha is fidgeting, trying to keep the kitten and her hoodie in place. She could swear she's never sweated this much in her entire life. Her fingers shake as she gently adjusts the kitten.

This is the first time everything between you begins to feel different. You're not sure what it is — the absurdity of hiding a kitten? The panicked looks she keeps shooting at you? Her softer side, so unlike what she's shown you so far? —, but you feel yourself slipping into a dangerous situation.

Falling in love with Natasha can't end well.

Randy frowns and shifts, his head tilting. You scoot to the side, silently cursing his nosiness.

"I got a test tomorrow, Randy."

"Yes, just-"

"No", you say firmly, heart thundering with a mix of anxiety and thrill. He sighs. "Whatever it is, just come by tomorrow. I'm sure we'll run into each other again."

He gives you one last skeptical look, then steps back. You shut the door and turn around only to see Natasha barely holding back laughter. She's still shaking, the kitten finally pushing its head through the neckline of her hoodie. A tiny paw presses against her collarbone and your stomach flips.

Not the cocky athlete. Not the shameless flirt. Just a girl in her dorm, a girl you're starting to like more and more, freaking out over a kitten.

You cross the room before you know it. Hands cupping her face, heart rabbiting with exhilaration, you lean in and kiss her deeply.

It's the first crack that appears in your just friends-facade.

. . .

Most people expect the casual stuff to be less complicated than actual relationships.

In many cases, that's true. In others, it absolutely isn't.

The emotional intimacy is there, but there's no commitment. Neither of you has the right to get jealous, but it happens anyway. There are expectations, but there are no labels. Either of you could walk out at any given moment.

It's thrilling. It's terrifying. It makes every hookup, every kiss, feel like something worth chasing.

Then, you fight. Usually, it's nothing serious, but it sucks anyway. It creates this odd push-and-pull, this combination of cursing each other out only to end up in bed together. It leads to jealousy plays and spikes of irritation, sleepless nights and desperate text messages resulting from being lonely and horny.

This time, it started when Natasha flirted with someone at a bar. You were there with a couple of friends, and when you turned around to order another cocktail, a girl had approached her. Suddenly, you caught her flirting shamelessly.

It wasn't what made you fly off the handle, though. The nudes in her phone, hours after you'd had sex in her dorm, were.

Not that serious, she said. We're just hooking up. Casual, you know. I wasn't even interested in her.

You kept yelling, anyway. She glared at you, but it wasn't too intimidating. You know she's scared of you, for some reason, so you kept bawling her out. The night ended with you blocking her.

Almost a week later, you're still ignoring her. You're pissed, and it'll stay like that until she apologizes, so you keep her number blocked and your bed empty.

Wanda is the one who drags you to a sorority party. Mainly because she likes one of the girls there, but also because she thinks you need to get out of your dorm and find a rebound. Plus, the theme is 'movie characters', and she can't miss that.

The word rebound makes you frown, though.

"It wouldn't be a rebound", you tell her. "We never dated. No wounds I need to distract myself from."

"Y/N, honey, that girl always leaves a wound."

Maybe she has a point. Trusting her judgment, you end up going to that party. You step into the room, and the first person who looks at you is none other than Natasha.

She sees your costume and forgets how to function. A green, short dress, shimmering wings on your back, makeup flawless. Ballet flats with pompons on the toes.

Tinkerbell. Short and sweet — very on point.

Her thoughts are a mess. No way. She did this on purpose. To ruin my night. What if I ruin her, instead?

Fuck, I need to sit down.

Her hand tightens around the beer bottle. Her jaw clenches as she grinds her molars.

But you? You're barely paying attention to her. You're smiling already, talking to Wanda about everything and anything — some concert, the kitten she took in — while Natasha is losing her mind. You're sipping drinks, chatting with people, laughing.

You step closer to some guy in a Joker-costume. He leans in, mumbling, and you giggle. He reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

It's barely something, but Natasha feels like she's witnessing a war crime.

She downs one more shot, her brain fuzzy, and then gets up. You feel her hand on your back, pushing you away from the guy. You're too surprised to react properly.

"She's not interested", she snaps when he tries to stop her.

"Since when do you speak for me?"

"Shut up", she mutters, wrapping her arm around your waist.

You stare at her, frowning. Is she drunk?

Maybe. Not necessarily. She could be completely sober and still act like an idiot.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to talk to you tonight, you know."

"Sure", she grunts. "That's why you're dressed like this. To piss me off."

You stop and tear yourself away from her embrace. She pauses, blinking.

"Not everything I do is for you!", you snap. "And I'm tired of you acting like it is!"

"Then why are you dressed like that?", she barks.

You glare at her, your back against the wall. She's walked you into some hallway — secluded, dark, but close enough to the party so you can still hear the music. The ground is vibrating, shaking beneath Natasha's feet, and her head spins with a mixture of anger and want.

Your costume isn't helping. The short dress, the sparkling material, the smooth skin of your thighs. Now she's not only drunk and pissed, but can also feel herself harden and twitch in her camo pants.

"Are you kidding? I'm dressed like this because I look good!"

"Obviously", she retorts, stepping forward. The dog tag around her neck dangles in front of you, her alcohol-warm breath fanning your mouth. "You always do."

Her hand comes up to press against the wall beside your head. You look up at her, expression forcibly blank. She leans in closer, breathing heavily. Her lips almost touch yours, but you push your hand against her chest.

"You're drunk", you say.

"I'd want you even if I was sober."

"You don't get to say that", you hiss. "Not after what you did."

"And what did you do?", she says, fingers curling and fist pressing harder against the wall. "I saw you, you know. With that clown over there. What do you even want from him?"

You stare at her, both of you out of breath. Something about this situation is turning you on — how close she is, how she smells like that one cologne you love on her. How you're alone, bodies inches apart. How her hips twitch, and her eyes both search and avoid yours. How, despite it all, she's actually jealous.

"It's just casual, right?", you murmur.

Natasha furrows her eyebrows. Her lips curl into a faint smirk. "That's something you worry about?"

"No."

"Liar."

You shove her. She stumbles closer anyway, grabbing your face and kissing you.

Teeth clash, bodies intertwine against the wall. Your hands grasp at the material of her tank top. Your back hits the wall, again and again, and her hands move to fumble with your dress. She bunches it up around your hips, her fingers quickly finding the front of your lace panties. She groans when she feels how wet you are.

"Who'd you wear these for?", she pants against your neck.

Your hips buckle into her touch, chasing friction. She rubs against you through the thin fabric. You moan and Natasha sees stars.

"Fuck- fuck, Nat-"

"Stop talking", she gasps, pulling you into another kiss. Her fingers nudge past the fabric and slide against slick heat. She works you open, filling the hallway with quiet squelching sounds.

Her fingers fuck into you. You moan, back arching, and reach between you to fumble with the zipper of her pants. You yank the fabric down enough to let her cock spring free. Pink-tipped and veins throbbing, oozing precum.

Natasha's breathing stutters when she feels your hand around her cock. You stroke her, slowly at first, and her head drops against your shoulders. Her fingers are still inside of you, but the movements become more irregular.

"Shit", she whines, burying her face against your neck. You smear precum down her length, lubricating it. Her fingers curl inside you and you almost let go.

She pulls away and tears her pants down. Not willing to waste any time, she squeezes your thighs together and pushes her cock between them. She fucks herself with your plush thighs, the shaft just barely grazing your clit, precum making your skin slick.

Beads of sweat roll down her temple. You stare at her, equally lightheaded and mesmerized.

Finally, she hikes up your thigh and aligns herself with you. She thrusts in, deep, and both of you moan.

Wet, hot, tight. Natasha's losing her mind.

"Tinkerbell, huh?", she pants, snapping her hips forward.

"Yeah", you moan, meeting each of her thrusts. She laughs roughly, pressing her lips to your neck. "Bet you've never fucked a fairy before."

"Can't say I've had the pleasure." She grunts against your neck, then lifts her mouth to your ear. The coil in your stomach tightens. "Wanna cum inside you."

Not thinking straight, you nod frantically. You grab the chain around her neck, keeping her close. Her cock throbs hotly inside you, and your clit is so swollen that it hurts each time her skin rubs against it.

She couldn't stop if she wanted to. She's so deep, so close, chasing it, and your soft moans and whines aren't making it any easier for her, either. Hot spurts of cum shoot into you, your own orgasm milking out every drop as your walls tighten around her.

Natasha sags against you, spent. Her cock twitches inside of you, a white and sticky fluid dripping down your thighs, and you exhale shakily. The noises from the party — muffled music, voices, the bass — takes you back to reality. Back to the dark hallway, the fight, the fact you just had sex without even considering you could be walked in on.

You're sticky, overstimulated. Dizziness is setting in. The music thumps, but it's nothing compared to your pounding heart. Natasha breathes against your neck, her arms still keeping you trapped against the wall, and you finally push her away.

"You still need to apologize."

"I just made you come", she says.

"You really think that's a smart answer right now?"

"No, but-", she says, but you shove her off and the words die on her tongue. She frowns, opening her mouth again, but then it shuts when she sees her cum drip down your thighs. She stares, her half-erect cock twitching once more.

"Don't even think about it", you say, glaring and straighten your dress. "Apologize, or I'm leaving."

"There's nothing to apologize for", she says after a few seconds of silence. She pulls up her boxers and cargo pants and zips up again. "We're not official."

Just like that, you regret everything that happened in the past ten minutes. You regret ever getting to know the feeling of her finishing inside you, of ever thinking things could change. You regret thinking you could be the odd one out, the one who makes her change.

You don't say anything. You step back, using your hands to remove most of the cum sticking to your thighs, and walk away.

Natasha's heart races as she watches your figure disappear. She doesn't chase. And yet, she runs after you.

She catches your wrist just as you're about to leave the house. She spins you around and pulls you into her arms, kissing you.

You want to shove her away. You want to let this go. You should let it go.

An hour later, you unblock her number.

. . .

Popcorn, soda and a horror movie at a flashback cinema.

It was Natasha's idea. She was the one who came up with it, thinking it'd be nice to see you squirm. Maybe you'd clutch her arm, hide your face against her shoulder, make her feel needed. Though, she obviously couldn't tell you that.

You couldn't say no, even if a part of your brain kept telling you to. Two hours, spent in a dark room, hearts racing and bodies too close to ignore the heat burning between you.

You were right. It is dark, and intimate, and you notice her stretch and put her arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes. Way too cliche.

Her breath fans your ear. Her thumb slips under the shoulder strap of your top. She teases the skin there, listening closely to see if you'll react in any way.

You don't. But then, her free hand pushes up the hem of your top to touch your stomach. Fingers travel higher, graze the lacy bra, and then dip underneath the fabric.

In front of you, you watch Krueger kill Glen. A Nightmare on Elm Street — a classic, one that'd probably leave you with at least a week worth of sleepless nights, but you're barely able to focus.

Natasha cups your breast. Her thumb rolls over the nipple, flicking it, tugging at it, until it's pebbled against her touch.

Then, you feel her mouth on your neck. Her tongue darts out and licks a stripe over your throat.

Your thighs press together in a hopeless attempt at keeping the wetness at bay, but it's no use. You shift in your seat, hoping no one will notice.

On-screen, it's a bloodbath. Between your legs, it's like a dam broke.

"Scared yet?", she mumbles, twisting and rolling the bud until it's raw and almost painfully sensitive.

"Watch the damn movie", you hiss through gritted teeth.

"I've watched it twice", she says dismissively.

You'd ask why she picked it. You don't have to, though. It's obvious — she did it so she could feel you up under the cover of darkness.

You don't fully understand why. You could do this in either of your dorms. You'd have more privacy, more time. You wouldn't risk being caught and getting banned from this cinema.

It's a nice cinema, though. The speakers are loud enough to cover up the moans that escape you.

Your hands grasp the armrests, nails digging into soft fabric. Natasha keeps trailing kisses all over your neck, wet and open-mouthed, and your hips shift desperately.

Fingers curl. You're trying to keep yourself from grabbing her stupid hand and pushing it between your legs yourself.

In the end, you don't have to do that. Her hand comes up from underneath your shirt again. You feel it inside your panties.

Your thighs spread just a little bit. Just enough to allow her fingers to gather wetness before thrusting into you. Your hips nearly jerk off the seat.

She thumbs your clit. Her fingers piston into you, setting a fast, relentless pace.

"Got plans for spring break?", she mumbles, like she isn't fucking you stupid inside a movie theater right now. Like her fingers aren't drenched with your slick. Like she isn't about to rip through her own sweatpants.

You almost laugh, but then her fingers curl just right. You whine, hand jerking and knocking over your popcorn. Natasha gives a breathless chuckle against your neck.

"Taking that as a 'no'", she muses, voice a whisper, and pulls out only to thrust back in. Your hips buckle. "How's Miami sound, baby?"

"Fuck."

"You a fan?", she mumbles. "All our friends are going. Tony said he'd get us a surprise."

Your vision blurs. Your lower belly tightens, heat shooting into it. The pleasure builds up, relentless and overwhelming, and your hips wiggle in the seat.

People are being murdered brutally on-screen. Blood, screams, booming speakers.

The real horror? She pulls out.

The emptiness hits you suddenly. You gasp quietly, feeling the pleasure shift into an aching, throbbing sensation. For a moment, you consider shoving your hand between your legs just to get it over with.

"I'll fucking kill you", you hiss, grabbing her slick hand. "Finish that."

"I'm not a fan of exhibitionism."

"Want to end up like that guy on the screen?"

She snorts quietly and sinks back into her seat, not making a move to help you out.

You shift, again and again, the movement giving you some much needed friction. But it's not nearly enough, and before you know it, your hand is pushing past your underwear.

Natasha watches, wide-eyed, as your hand starts to move. Something about it makes blood shoot into her lower half.

"Jesus Christ", she practically moans, her hand flying down to press against the bulge in her sweatpants.

She watches you squirm in your seat, soaking your own fingers because she left you desperate. Your hips roll up into your hand, chasing that high, and when it finally comes, the noises that escape you are enough to make thick ropes of milky cum shoot into Natasha's boxers.

She wasn't even touched properly. Watching you was enough.

The aftermath is a mess. Both of you wrecked, panting, her boxers drenched and your thighs sticky.

You feel her warm breath against your ear.

"So, Miami?"

. . .

The entire campus — no, the entire city — knows Tony Stark is extra.

Still, you don't expect him to pull up with an entire bus the day you're going to Miami for spring break.

"It's like The Magic School Bus", you say.

Natasha's got her arm around your shoulders. You're both leaning against the wall in front of your dorms, the early morning sun blinding you. You lift your hand to protect your eyes.

The people around you, groggy from waking up at 6am, are rubbing their faces. Oversized hoodies and disposable coffee cups galore, none of you too sure whether this is worth it. It feels more like a school trip than spring break.

"Would love to see him in a Mrs. Frizzle getup", she mumbles.

Clint, standing in front of you, snickers. He's got his arms around his girlfriend. You eye his outfit, which consists of a Hawaii shirt and khaki shorts, and are silently glad Natasha decided to go with something less obnoxious.

Steve grunts as he closes the luggage compartment. A total of 15 people are going to Miami, and he had to haul every suitcase and duffel bag into the bus.

"Done? Took you long enough", Tony says, arms crossed. He nods at the bus. "Come on."

"20 hours", Natasha mutters, walking into the bus with you. You find two seats in the middle and sit down. "I'm going to lose it."

"They're taking turns driving. You can literally sleep the whole way there. You'll be fine."

She grunts and plops into the space next to the window. You sit down and she pulls you closer, hand slipping under your top and resting on your stomach. Smooth, warm skin, her fingers drawing circles.

Your friends are staring. You know they are. It's not everyday that they see Natasha cozying up with someone like this.

A 20-hour bus ride is long enough already, but time really starts to drag when you're spending it next to the person you can never quite figure out.

Hour 1. You talk, quietly, and share earbuds.

Hour 2. Tony apparently managed to find one of the few buses nearby that have a/c. You shiver, Natasha notices, and suddenly, you're wearing her hoodie. You breathe in her scent.

Hour 4. Bored and tired, you both stretch out your legs and accidentally nudge each other. She doesn't pull back, it turns into a mindless little game of footsies, and your feet tangle.

Hour 5. You fall asleep. You didn't mean for that to happen — but she's warm against you, and her hoodie's soft, and a sip of the vodka she brought along knocked you right out.

Hour 7. You wake up, slowly, to find out the seat next to yours is empty.

"Where's Nat?", you ask sleepily.

"Taking a leak", Clint calls from the driver's seat. Wanda turns toward you, a knowing look on her face. You roll your eyes.

A minute later, she's back. She slides into the seat next to you, arm immediately resting over the backrests of the seats, and hands you a little flower. You twirl it between your fingers, studying it, and Natasha gets that dreaded warm feeling in her stomach again.

"Hope this didn't hurt your credit score."

"Be grateful."

"I am."

Her lips press against your cheek before she can stop herself. Everyone stares, and Natasha mutters something about you 'just having fun.' Her words sting.

Hour 9. Golden hour. The playlist is slower, the bus quieter. Her fingers tap an absentminded rhythm against your thigh.

Hour 14. Sleep-deprived and travel-weary, the idiocy is hitting you at full force.

Natasha pulls you into her lap, hands roaming your middle. You curl into her, grinning stupidly. She smiles against your neck and drags her lips higher up, kissing your earlobe. Her tongue darts out, just barely touching the shell of your ear. You laugh, and the others stir in their sleep.

You both freeze for a moment. When everyone stays quiet, she shifts you in her lap until her mouth can press against yours.

Hour 19. You're two hours away from your destination. You're way too honest and tired to keep the walls up. Hands intertwine, breaths mingle. You're sprawled out on the seats, squished together, but you don't mind.

"You ever think about leaving?"

"Leaving?", you murmur.

"Yeah. Just leaving. No plans, no destination. No...bullshit."

You're not sure why she's asking you, of all people.

Hour 21. You finally arrive at the hotel. You each have separate rooms, but it's 5am, and you're exhausted and needy, and Natasha ends up in your bed. Head on her chest, you fall asleep.

. . .

Just friends, you've told the others. Just having fun, you know.

Friends — but you're not kidding anyone.

You spent the first day in Miami sleeping. In your hotel room, on the balcony, and now, on the beach. You're on a lounger, a beach umbrella protecting you from the UV rays. Her face is planted between your boobs, her hand resting on your ass with her fingers under the fabric of your bikini.

You're not alone. Your friends are everywhere around you, either napping or suntanning, drinking cocktails or swimming. You're not sure whether this is what spring break is supposed to be like, but it's nice. Peaceful, slow, quiet.

Natasha grunts in her sleep, nodding her head to push her face further into the plush heat of your body. Your arms wrap around her head.

So much to do, so many things to see — yet it still feels like she'd rather be wrapped around you than anything else.

You see Tony return with a bag of food. Your hand trails down her spine, an attempt to gently coax her into wakefulness.

"What?", she mutters, fingers curling.

"Stark brought cheeseburgers."

"Don't care. Let me sleep."

"I'm hungry."

Natasha looks up, eyes bleary. You smile faintly when you notice the light sunburn on her cheeks.

"I want food", you add.

She stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Then she sighs and sits up, raking one hand through her hair. It's curled at the ends from the saltwater, with little grains of sand in it. She gets up like going to grab you some food is the most obvious thing to do.

You lean back, watching her. You're so lost in thoughts that you almost don't notice Daisy poking your side. Your head turns.

"What?"

"Her? Really?"

You shift, looking away again. "What about her?"

She shrugs, but silently, she immediately comes up with an entire list of reasons. At the top — the fact that Natasha's slept with basically every girl on campus and hasn't had a relationship last longer than a week so far. It's happened to her as well, but there's no way she'll tell you that.

"Nothing", she says evasively. "She's just got this whole...dumb and poetic-thing going on. Like, she has no clue what the fuck she's saying, but it sounds good anyway."

Natasha, crouched down in front of the greasy paper bag, grabs two burgers. Your head lolls to the side and you almost sigh when she looks up and puts her jawline on full display. It's too easy to want her, even if you maybe shouldn't.

"She's not dumb", you say, glancing at Daisy again. You hesitate. "But she's not poetic either. I mean, that sex joke she made yesterday?"

"You laughed, though."

"Huh?"

"You laughed", she repeats. You give her a deadpan look. "Seriously. You laugh at all her jokes."

You scoff, shaking your head. Internally, though, you're wondering whether she's right.

You watch Natasha return, two burgers and a soda in her hands. You scoot forward and she plops down behind you, letting you sit between her legs. Daisy doesn't say anything, but the look on her face is telling enough.

. . .

Logs and branches in various stages of burning, smoke curling into the air, sparks drifting upward. Embers glow, stars sparkle mirthfully, tequila burns your throat.

You're sitting on blankets, feet buried in the sand, and watch the bonfire. Natasha's next to you, roasting marshmallows and sipping tequila. You nudge her when she puts the bottle a little too close to the fire.

"Careful there."

"I am", she mumbles, looking at you. Her eyes roam all over your face, drinking in every feature. She has no idea how mesmerized she looks. She has no idea how helpless she looks. She's tipsy, and she's warm, and she's in love. The thought would scare her, but her brain isn't capable of much more than staring at you and keeping her awake.

If she had to choose between the two, she'd pick the former.

People are dancing, swaying around the bonfire. Music is playing on portable speakers. Her hand finds yours. Suddenly, you're stumbling through the sand.

"Hey, my marshmallow!"

"Screw that", she says, turning to pull you in close. There's that stupid little smile on her face, the one that makes you gravitate towards her. She leans in, hot breath fanning your lips. You tilt your head.

Hands smooth down your sides, the fabric of your bodycon dress silky under her palms. She leans in, nose almost touching yours.

"Bet you wanna", she mumbles, drunk and testing her limits. You roll your eyes, but don't pull away. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Like this is funny."

"It is funny", you say. Her hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. "You're ridiculous."

She scoffs, hands sliding down your sides. Hooking her thumbs under the hem of your dress, she starts bunching it up around your thighs. You swat at her hand.

"Not here", you say, glancing at your friends. Another knowing look from Wanda. You flip her off.

Natasha doesn't respond. Her head dips into the crook of your neck, peppering the perfumed skin with kisses. Wet, warm, worshipping. She's smitten and drunk and hard, and the ocean is right nearby, and if she tries enough...

"No."

She groans, her fingertips digging into your thighs. She presses against you, already straining against the fabric of her shorts.

"They're not even watching."

"They are", you insist. "You're the one who keeps telling them we're friends, anyway. So let's not go overboard."

Another noise of disapproval. She's drunk, and you're soft and warm, and she'd probably fuck you right here in the sand if given the opportunity.

Also, enough guys have been staring at you all night. She wants to give them something to stare.

You pull back and cup her face. You look right into her eyes. Her heart skips a beat. She's a goner.

Now everyone is staring. This time, neither of you notices.

(Because even drunk, she knows it's you.)

. . .

It's rare that you and Natasha part during that week in Miami, but it does happen.

She's at the bar, you're in your hotel room. She's ordering drinks, you're making sure your hair looks nice. She's chatting up some girl, you're twisting and turning in front of the mirror to see every angle of your body.

Natasha doesn't even know how it started. All she remembers is waking up alone, the memories of last night fresh in her mind.

A beach concert. You, in front of her, complaining about not being able to see. In hindsight, she knows you must've been exaggerating; in that moment, however, she didn't care. She grabbed you and hoisted you onto her shoulders.

People stared. Her shoulders felt like the top of the world. When you slid down, she didn't let go.

A few hours later, at 4 in the morning. You, tipsy, in her lap. Strong arms wrapped around your middle. A heart that beat a little too fast.

It's overcompensation. She's desperate to prove to herself that what she has with you still isn't anything serious, but she knows that's ridiculous. Looking at the girl in front of her — tiny bikini, full lips, messy eyebrows — she feels nothing. Just months ago, she would've done everything in her power to get her to sleep with her.

Now? Static. Boredom. Emptiness. It's frustrating and it's terrifying.

The girl leans in. She brushes her fingers along Natasha's bicep, down to her forearm and to her wrist.

Natasha swallows, trying to focus. Much to her dismay, she can't remember a single trick. She feels like she doesn't even know how to flirt anymore.

Then, you walk past. Black strapless bikini, a net wrap around your waist, tan lines on your shoulders. You walk past, barely noticing them, but Natasha jumps up and pretty much dumps the girl she was talking to.

You don't pay her any attention. It only makes things worse.

You round a corner, and Natasha puts her hands on your waist. You turn your head to look at her.

"I thought you had somewhere else to be."

Her thoughts falter. Then, she shakes her head.

"Nowhere else", she promises, kissing the back of your neck. "Where you going?"

"The pool", you say, adjusting the tote bag you've got slung over your shoulder. You weave through the crowds of half-naked people.

An hour later, you're both in the water. You haven't forgotten about her flirting at the bar, but she has. The second you walked by, that other girl was off her mind.

You're in the water, a drink in your hand and Natasha standing behind you with one arm circled around your waist. Her fingers slip under the strap of your bikini top, and she pulls at it to let it snap back. You glare at her, but she just smirks.

You're surrounded by your friends. Wanda is sitting on the edge of the saltwater pool, a cocktail in hand. Clint is snoring on one of the loungers. Sam jumps in headfirst, making Wanda squeal when she gets splashed with water.

Natasha leans in, lips against your wet shoulder. Water glistens on your skin. Hours pass, and the sun dips lower. Everything is washed in orange and gold. You're facing her now, arms wrapped around her middle. She runs her hand up your back and gently tugs at the clasp of your bikini, but this time, she doesn't let it snap. She just holds it.

You're staring. You both are. She's in way too deep.

The group asks whether you want to go to some club. You agree and go back to the hotel the change.

It's just the two of you now, hands brushing and skin sun-kissed, barely clothed. You both prefer this, but neither of you says it out loud. You step into the elevator, only in swimwear and with your hair damp and smelling like saltwater. Natasha so close, skin still damp from the pool.

The numbers on the panel tick. She watches your reflection in the elevator's mirror. You catch her eye and tilt your head. She pushes her hands into the pockets of her swimming trunks and looks away.

"You okay?"

"Fine", she mumbles. She's not one to get scared easily, but she's terrified.

You hum, unconvinced, but don't press further. It dings, the elevator doors slide open, and you step out. Natasha trails after you, noticing way too much. The strap of your tote bag sliding off your shoulder shouldn't be important. The water drops rolling down your spine shouldn't be important.

You shouldn't be important. This started as a fantasy, a hookup. Nothing that should've lasted more than a night or two. And yet, here she is. Not walking past your hotel room to get to her own, but stepping in right after you.

Inside, it's cool from the air-conditioning. Natasha plops down on your bed, hands tucked under her head and legs stretched out. She watches you as you dry your hair with a towel, and your eyes meet. It's quiet, way too quiet, and you clear your throat.

"We're leaving in ten", you remind her.

"We have to?", she asks. You glance at her, already in front of the mirror and changing into a dress. She swallows.

"You told them we'd go."

"Changed my mind."

"Well, I didn't." You adjust the straps of your bra. "What, you want to miss out on a night in Miami?"

"We have other nights."

You slip into a dress, but internally, you've slammed your foot down on the brakes. Natasha shifts on the bed, turning her head to look at the ceiling instead. You watch her through the mirror, something inside you twisting. You're not sure you want to leave, either.

"You okay?", you ask quietly.

Her head lolls to the side. "I'm good."

You hesitate. "We don't have to go, you know."

"It's fine. We said we would."

"I mean it." You pad to the bed and sit down beside her. She rolls onto her side, her hand trailing over crisp white bedsheets and coming up to rest on your thigh. "We'll order room service."

"No more cheeseburgers", she says.

You smile faintly. Tony has been in charge of getting everyone food a few times too many.

"No", you say, brushing some hair away from her face. "Anything else."

She hums. She glances at your face, then averts her eyes. Her head tips forward and her lips press against your knee. You reach out absentmindedly, running your fingers through her damp hair.

"Don't tell me you're tired", you mumble, smiling.

"Not tired enough", she says. She tugs at the hem of your dress. "So we're not going?"

You sigh. "Apparently not. Why?"

"May as well take this off."

You laugh, swatting at her hand. It's no use, though — she grabs you, pulls you down with her, keeps you trapped with her arms. You squirm.

"That's the real reason, huh?!"

"Maybe", she concedes, grinning. She kisses you, her hands moving to bunch up the fabric of your dress around your thighs. Hands roam bare skin, slowly, memorizing it. She pulls away and presses her lips to your shoulder, then her eyes drift.

For a moment, she just stares.

You nudge her.

"Natasha."

She blinks, meeting your eyes. Right — keep moving.

You're not used to her being this slow. Hands seem to move in slow motion. Lips drag across skin. Her nose brushes against yours.

The dress comes off and is tossed aside. You roll on top of her, feeling how warm and damp from the pool she still is.

"I should've gotten you a towel", you mumble, cupping her face. "You'll get a cold, with the a/c on."

Natasha just smiles. She tucks you against her body, forehead leaning against yours, and reaches into her swimming trunks. Hand around her length, she lazily palms herself before starting to pump herself to full mast. Not that much is missing, anyway.

"I'll be fine", she replies.

Her lips brush against your forehead. She keeps her hand around herself, but doesn't rush it. Her movements are lazy, unhurried. For the first time ever, you feel like your time isn't limited. It's a nice feeling. Maybe you'll let yourself get used to it.

She tugs off the swimming trunks, the fabric clinging to her skin. Finally, she rolls on a condom. Nudges your thighs apart, moves one to rest over her hip.

"Come here", she mumbles, one hand cupping the back of your head. "Let me feel you."

The head of her cock taps against your entrance, teasing you. You do have all the time in the world.

A breathless little moan escapes you. Her skin is cool from the a/c, with an undercurrent of heat beneath it. You press closer, making her strokes deeper. Her hips roll into yours, her arm stays wrapped around your waist. You meet every thrust, eyes slipping closed.

"Fuck", you breathe.

"You're good, baby."

Defined abs flex with every roll of her hips. You tug her closer, even deeper, and she grips your hip in an effort to stop herself from rutting into you mindlessly.

Your hand slips between your bodies. Your thumb finds your clit, swollen already, and circles it. Breathless little sounds escape you.

Natasha moans. She kisses you, traces your spine with her thumb, gently presses you down into the mattress. It's lazy, soft, and you've found a steady rhythm that works for you.

You're slick with arousal, but pulling out and rocking back in is still a challenge for her. Natasha grabs your thigh and pushes your knee to your chest, opening you up more. You whine and break the kiss, mouths inches away as you both breathe heavily.

"Not gonna last long at this rate."

"We got all night", she pants, thrusting her throbbing tip against something deep — so deep it makes it your hips stutter. "You got plenty of time to last long."

She's in so deep she barely has to pull back. She just grinds in deeper, cursing under her breath whenever you clench around her. Her cock is swollen, aching and twitching, and she can feel herself get closer to the edge as well.

Your hips jerk off the mattress when she rotates them with her hands. She laugh, voice rough, and kisses your throat.

"Yeah?"

You nod, clutching her biceps. "Right there-"

"You got it, baby. You got me."

Another roll of her hips. The pleasure builds, making all your nerve endings tingle with the approaching orgasm.

Breathy pants against your neck. A hand maps out your side, your thigh. Groans in response to whimpers, the sun outside disappearing from the horizon. A hotel room, darkened by the lack of sun and cold from the air conditioning.

The heat increases. She starts pounding into you, her nose nuzzling your neck. More kisses.

"I'm close."

"Me too."

"Wanna cum in you."

Your mind jumps back to the first time you did that. Back at the sorority party, after you'd had that fight. You remember the feeling, and a part of you craves it, but you also know you got incredibly lucky back then.

"Don't want to be a mom yet", you say, words punctured by little grunts.

Natasha whines at the mere thought. She loses rhythm before you do, her thrusts becoming sloppy and desperate.

She comes first — hard. You feel the way the condom swells when she spills into it. You feel her throb, feel the continuous twitching against your walls. It pushes you over the edge as well.

Thighs trembling and hips rutting, you moan. Natasha catches your mouth, swallowing every sound, and keeps rolling her hips until you stop.

Her hips twitch. She's wrecked, but there's no way she's pulling out. She kisses your collarbone instead, dazed and spent.

"Nat", you mumble, aftershocks coursing through you. "I'm full."

"Fuck", she pants. Her head drops forward and her forehead comes to rest on your shoulder. "Feel so good."

"Better than the club."

"Agreed."

You spend hours like this. Intertwined on your bed, in the shower, over the table. When you finally decide to call it a day, Natasha's too tired to think properly.

Her face is tucked against your side. Her hand is on the inside of your thigh. She nudges your ribs with her nose.

Two words make everything better and worse.

"You're different."

. . .

Things go both up- and downhill. Sometimes, everything seems perfect. She kisses you in front of others, tipsy and clingy. She sleeps in your bed. She washes the salt out of your hair and kisses the underside of your thighs.

Red lipstick on her shirt colors, her nails painted with your favorite nail polish. Risky snaps and smelling like your perfume. Secretive kisses, messy kisses that end in spit-slicked lips, smiling into kisses before pulling away just to hear you whine.

She loves every second. Every second of it terrifies her, but she loves it.

She doesn't know why she ends up ruining it.

There's something that feels way too serious about waking up under you every morning. About how defensive she gets. How she uses sunscreen to draw shapes on your back. Your friends teasing her isn't helping, either.

It's harmless at first. It hurts, but it's harmless.

She disappears at a party. You have no idea where she goes, or what she's doing. When she returns, she doesn't tell you anything.

She's always been touchy, and that hasn't changed. Her hand ends up on someone's thigh. Her arm rests over someone's shoulder. You try your best to ignore it.

Then, the text messages. They light up her screen at night, flashing names you don't recognize. Natasha grabs her phone and flips it over. You scoot away from her.

She ignores the people who text her, but she doesn't tell them to stop, and she doesn't block them, either.

During another party, she's without you. It's rare that this happens, and she knows it. But the others know it, too.

"Single again?", Tony asks, handing her a vodka shot. She rolls her eyes but doesn't respond, instead knocking back the shot. "Where's your girl?"

She rubs her eyes. They're tearing up from the alcohol. "Seriously, shut up."

"No, I mean it. Where's Y/N?"

"Maybe they broke up", someone adds unhelpfully.

"Can't break up if you were never dating in the first place."

"Were you dating? I mean, with your track record..."

Natasha averts her eyes, jaw tense. She leans against the wall and starts counting the cigarette butts on the ground. But she's panicking, and she doesn't get far.

"Come on", Clint says, nudging her. He has no idea just how much damage his words are about to cause. "You can tell us, you know. We'd love to know if someone finally got you to dip your toes in the monogamy-pond."

She has two options.

One: admit she's all in with you.

(Not happening. She hasn't even been able to admit that to you, or herself.)

Two: prove that nothing's changed.

(How the fuck is she supposed to manage that?)

Natasha drags a hand down her face. She feels hot all over, her cheeks tingling, her fingers numb. She steps away. They all start talking at the same time, a chorus of we weren't being serious and come on and take a joke, man.

She edges past a small group of men and bumps into some girl. Natasha barely pays her any attention, but the girl's eyes linger. She watches her slide onto a barstool and order a shot from the bartender.

She downs a shot, then another. The girl watches her for a while, then she sits down next to her. Natasha glances at her, barely reacting.

Sun-kissed skin, glowing. Wavy blonde hair. Red dress, barely-there and accenting every curve. Exactly the kind of girl she used to go for.

Glossy lips tug into a smile. She touches her bicep and runs her fingers down to her forearm.

"Alone here?", she asks quietly. Her head tilts. Natasha curses silently when the simple mannerism reminds her of you.

"Nobody else around me, is there?"

"I suppose not." The girl leans in. Her breath is sweet and fruity, with notes of alcohol woven into it. "Oh. But now there is."

Natasha smiles reluctantly. The girl is flirting, and she's about to let it happen. This is her opportunity to prove she's still herself, prove that nothing's too serious yet.

Too many shots. Too much alcohol, even for Natasha. She's not someone who likes to feed into stereotypes, but she's Russian, and she's been drinking for way too long. She can hold her alcohol — still, she ends up drunk and with some girl in her lap.

Natasha doesn't even know her name. She comes up with the genius idea to call her Blondie.

More alcohol. Suddenly, she feels unfamiliar lips press against hers. Ignoring the nauseating feeling of guilt in her stomach, she kisses her back harder. Her tongue gets sucked into the girl's mouth, hands squeeze and roam her biceps.

"Wanna get out of here?"

Natasha, drunk but still able to think, hesitates. Blondie cups her jaw.

"Getting shy on me?", she teases. That hits her right where it shouldn't.

They get up. They stumble to the hotel. They burst into the room.

Lips clash, hands unbuckle a belt. She hardens slightly, but it's nowhere close to what you manage to do to her. Blondie starts peppering her jaw with kisses, and her hand dips under the waistband of her boxers. Natasha's head is spinning, drowning in panic and vodka.

She wants to tell herself this doesn't mean anything. That this just proves she's still herself. But she knows the truth.

She feels her hand around her half-erect cock. She grabs her wrist.

"Wait", she says, swallowing. "I don't-"

The girl pouts. "I thought you wanted this."

Natasha shakes her head. Does she want this? No. Does she know what she wants, though? She's not sure.

She looks away. The girl starts moving her hand inside her boxers. Natasha's stomach turns.

The door clicks open.

For a moment, all you can do is stare. You don't even process it at first. It's too surreal. Natasha wouldn't do this. She's known for sleeping around, but those last few months couldn't have been in vain.

And yet, the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Natasha and some girl are half-naked, and they're clearly in the middle of something you don't want to know about. Hand still in her boxers, wrapped around her, touching what you had in your mouth just hours ago.

Your heart stops, then slams against your ribs. First, you feel nothing — then it's just pure anger. The other girl glances at you, lazily, and you'd love to do some serious damage with that chair to your right.

Natasha, immediately sobering up, curses and pushes the girl away. You're out of the door already, storming down the hallway. You hear footsteps behind you, and you change your mind about taking the elevator. Instead, you take a turn and rush down the stairs.

"Y/N, wait! Fuck-"

You shake your head, running faster. She's close behind.

You make it into the lobby. Natasha's running, shoving people aside. Her heart is racing, and for the first time ever, she feels like she truly fucked up.

She's done similar stuff before. Slept with girls only to ignore them literal hours after, ghost people, lie and cheat and hurt the ones around her. It feels different now. Worse.

Finally, she makes it. She reaches for your wrist, fingertips grazing your skin, but you whip around and pull away.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"Please, please just listen-"

"Listen? I'm supposed to listen? Go on then, explain!"

Natasha stops in her tracks. She starts babbling, face flushed and hands shaking. You're still in the lobby, and people are looking at you weird, but you block them out. You block everything out, everything except the hot, boiling feeling of disappointment in your veins.

You knew it from the beginning — falling in love with Natasha can't end well. Here you are now, four months later, and you realize just how right you were.

"Look, I- I regret this, okay?", she says, desperately, pathetically. "I didn't want it to happen. I just- I drank, I drank too much, and she was right there, and I was terrified-"

You let out a bitter, hurt laugh. "Oh, you regret it? Well, that changes things. I'm sorry for assuming."

"No, baby, I mean it", she says, eyes pleading, and grabs your hand. You draw back as if singed by her touch. "Please."

"No", you say. You can feel the moisture forming in your eyes, the tears way too close. "No. Seriously. Fuck you."

"Y/N..."

"You're so full of yourself", you spit, stepping back. She steps forward again, but you rebuff her attempt once more. "You really think you're worth any of this? That any sane person will keep playing this game for you?"

Her face falls. She shakes her head, trying to pretend like your words didn't cut to the bone.

"You're not worth it", you say. "You're not worth any of it."

Natasha has to agree. All she can do is watch as you leave.

. . .

You ignore her. You block her. You stay away from her.

And still, somehow, she's everywhere.

On campus, at parties, outside the library. In basketball shorts and hoodies, an iced tea or black coffee in hand. Apologies lay on her tongue, ready and waiting to be served to you, but you're not in the mood to listen to any of them.

Natasha knows she's being pathetic. She's gone from 'the girl who doesn't chase' to 'the girl who's sadder to look at than a blind puppy'. She used to get any girl she wanted, no matter who, but now, the one girl she likes can't even bear to look at her.

She's aware you don't want to hear it, but she keeps trying, anyway. In the hallways, when you're on the way to class (you start regretting ever telling her where your seminars take place), in the cafeteria (which you start to avoid going to), in the parking lot.

"Can we talk?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care."

"Y/N, please."

You whip around. "Can you quit that?!"

Natasha freezes, hands lifted. Your chest twists at the sight — almost half a year ago, not too far away from where you're standing right now. A basketball and a girl that was a little too cocky. If you'd known, would you've still taken that same route? Or would you have taken a detour?

"I'm sorry", she repeats, more quietly. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to make it better. But I miss you, and I'm sorry, and..."

And what?, she thinks. And please take me back? And I've never been this miserable over anyone before? And I love you?

She still can't say any of it out loud. She just rubs the back of her neck and shifts on her feet.

You stare at her, waiting, not saying a word. You're letting her sweat because she deserves it. You're letting her hope that you might forgive her.

Then, you turn around. You leave abruptly, not even bothering to give her the satisfaction of a response. Natasha stands there, staring, before finally reacting.

"It wasn't that serious, anyway!"

You flinch. Just barely, but she notices anyway, and her blood runs cold. She can't fathom why she'd even say that — all of this is her fault.

You leave. Again.

. . .

It's midnight when something hits your window.

You're in bed, not doing much. Staring at the ceiling, scrolling through whatever social media app your finger clicks on first, trying to somehow fall asleep.

It's quiet, aside from the rain outside. It's been storming for hours at this point, but the heavy downpour has turned into a slightly gentler hissing.

Then, a thump against your window disrupts the near-silence.

You sit up with a start to look at it. Faint cracks have appeared in the glass, forming a suspiciously circular shape. You hesitate for a second — god knows who's throwing shit at your dorm window in the middle of the night. This is New York, after all. Tons of crazy people running around, even on campus. Maybe it'd be safer not to check.

Then, it hits you. You blink, slowly, before getting up and padding to the window. You open it and look down only to find out it's Natasha. She's standing there, basketball in hand and bottom lip briefly tugged between her teeth, her clothes and hair soaked from the rain.

"Can we talk?", she pleads.

You stare at her. You step back and close the window.

The second you're back on your bed, Natasha exhales in frustration. She's panicking, rubbing her face and clenching her jaw. She has to do this, though. She has to get you to talk to her.

She lifts her hands and aims again. The ball flies through the air and slams against the window again — this time, too hard.

Glass shatters, a basketball shooting straight into your room. You stare at it in disbelief, too shocked to react, before finally jumping up. You grab the first thing you find, which is a half-empty vodka bottle, and step in front of the window to hurl it at her.

Her eyes widen and she barely dodges it. It shatters on the pavement, clear liquid spraying.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!", you yell, grabbing the next object. Another bottle, this time a plastic one. She curses when it hits her shoulder.

"Y/N, please-"

"No!" You search your desk frantically. You grab one of your old French books. Natasha jumps aside.

"Jesus Christ! Can we not make this a pattern?"

"Oh, you're sick of patterns?", you yell. You see a pair of scissors and immediately know what to do. You return to the window, basketball and scissors in hand, and her jaw slackens. "That's funny!"

"Wait", she says, scrubbing her hand down her face. "That thing's damn expensive."

You glare at her, breathing heavily. "That's your priority right now?"

"I'm not saying that, but I do care about it-"

The blade stabs into the rubber. Air hisses. The ball deflates in your hands, and you toss it in front of her feet. Natasha winces.

"That was a limited edition, babe."

"I don't fucking care!"

Natasha looks up. For the first time all night, you feel something close to guilt. She's drenched, defeated, water dripping from her hair and down her face. Her hoodie is completely soaked, and her expression is absolutely wrecked. She's so unlike the cocky girl that hit on you not too long ago that she's almost unrecognizable.

In that moment, you hate her. Still, she's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.

"Tell me how to fix it", she pleads. "Just tell me what to do."

You glare at her, still out of breath. The anger is making your blood boil, hotly and thickly.

"Get your ass upstairs", you hiss. "NOW."

Natasha looks like she just short-circuited. She's frozen in place, blinking up at you through the rain, water drops catching in her eyelashes. Slowly, she grabs her deflated basketball and starts moving to the front door of the building.

Wet sneakers squeak, her steps heavy. She walks up the stairs and finds your dorm — stickers on the door, ranging from Strawberry Shortcake and Tinkerbell to a lipstick kiss print and a heart with the words 'try me' inside. She hesitates before knocking.

The door opens. She slips into your room, clutching that stupid shell of a ball like it'll save her. You slam the door shut.

Your room is too you. She used to love it, in a way. Pink blankets, vanilla candles, lipstick marks left on your desk from that time she had you bent over it.

She turns around and her thoughts falter. A flimsy blue babydoll dress, lacy and short. Your thighs are on full display, distracting her a little too much.

Why did you have to wear this? How is she going to focus?

"And?", you prompt.

"Uh...", she says dumbly. She's staring, and she's not able to stop. "I, uhm..."

Natasha's soaking wet, freezing and humiliated. She came here to patch things up with you. And now, her biggest problem is that she wants to bury her face between your thighs.

It's too late when she drags her gaze back up. You've caught her staring.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! You're still thinking with your dick?!"

"No, I-"

Her back thuds against the wall and she winces, but no complaints come from her. She's aware that she deserves this, so she doesn't fight back.

You shove her, again and again, letting her body hit the wall. She's bigger than you, towering over you, strong enough to grab you and haul you across the room. Yet, you've got the upper hand.

"Say something, you coward!"

You need her to react at this point. You need the silence to stop, need her to do anything else but stand there and take your rage like a kicked puppy.

Silence. Barely a reaction. You fist the front of her soaked hoodie and shake her. Your heart is thumping against your chest.

"You had a ton to say when you were hitting on me!", you shout. "Now you'll just stand there?"

She nods weakly. It's enough to make your chest burn as the desperation flares again. She can't be that indifferent.

Tears burn in your eyes, hot and stinging. You continue to shove her, keeping this one-sided fight alive. Because that's what it is — one-sided. It has to be when your counterpart is acting like a damn vegetable.

"Fucking fight me, Natasha!"

An order, or a plea. You're not sure.

She stares at you, gaze trailing to your lips. She shouldn't be thinking about kissing you, or about taking off your dress and keeping it slip to the floor. She should stay rational. If she does something dumb, she's done for. She—

"So we're not hooking up, I guess."

Oh.

Eyes wide, heart stopping for just a split second. Oh, she's dead.

If you were mad before, you're livid now. You slam her against the wall, making her let out an 'oof' for the first time since this started. It's not just a spat, it's a full blown fight. The worst one you'd ever have, if you think about it.

Your fists thunder against her chest, then you grip her hoodie again.

"I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!"

The back of her head hits the wall. She grunts, finally grabbing your wrists. But her grip is as gentle as possible, considering you immediately try to break free from her grasp.

"Hey", she says, out of breath and pleading. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"Seems to be a common theme with you!", you hiss, tears gathering in your eyes. "Fuck- let go!"

"Only if we talk!"

"Let go!"

She shakes her head. You struggle against her grip, twisting your wrists and kicking and fighting, then the tears break free. You sob, the noises tainted with frustration, and thrash against her.

"I hate you", you sob out. The words hit her right in the chest, like gunshots and needles all at once. "You led me on for half a year, and for what?"

"I wasn't leading you on", she promises, desperate to fix things. But god, it's hard to fix something you think has already shattered. "Please believe me. I just- fuck, I'm bad at this."

You shake your head, breathless and sobbing and furious, and slam your arms against her. "Stop talking! Fuck, just- just-"

Natasha's heart is beating so fast she thinks it'll jump right through her chest. Not a good idea. She's pretty positive that if that happened, you'd grab and squish it until it bursts like a balloon.

"Please hear me out", she begs. "Just for a moment. Fuck, Y/N, I- I-"

You sob, fists managing to hit her chest once more.

"You what?"

"I love you."

You freeze. There aren't many things you're certain of when it comes to her. Everything feels like an illusion, like something that could change tomorrow.

What you are sure of, though, is that she's never said these three words to anyone.

The question now, though, is whether this is an illusion as well. Whether she's trying to find a way out of this by telling you another lie.

"You think I believe anything you say?", you sob, the tears coming harder.

"I mean it", she says, squeezing your wrists and rubbing her thumb across your skin. Her eyes search your face frantically, trying to see if you'll listen for at least a second. "I love you, and it's fucking terrifying, but I do, I love you, and- fuck, I'm not used to this."

You shake your head, unwilling to let her words cut too deep. But they do, they cut, and not only to the bone but through the bone.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have done that. You wouldn't have slept with someone else, you- you wouldn't have made me stay just friends."

She decides not to comment that, technically, she was about to sleep with someone but didn't go through with it. You're not hitting her anymore, but if she dared voicing that thought, you'd probably straight-up murder her just like you did her poor basketball.

"Because I'm not used to any of this", she says, voice quieter. "I've never been in an actual relationship, Y/N. I don't do that. I sleep with girls and move on. I don't- I don't just fall in love. But I fell in love with you, and I'm too fucking stupid to act right."

You stare at her, breathing heavily and swallowing. She sounds sincere. You feel like an idiot for thinking that, but fuck, she sounds like she means it. And that is the worst part.

You're certain this might end up killing you eventually. But your lips press against hers just as suddenly as she appeared in your life.

You kiss her. Hard, desperate, furious. Natasha, stunned, hesitates before putting her hands on your waist. You cup her face, grabbing it, and tug her closer.

Your lips slam against hers, again and again. You walk backwards. Natasha, confused and hardening amid all of this chaos, follows obediently.

You suck on her tongue. She exhales, shuddering against you. Her hands tighten around your waist.

You push your hand into her shorts. She pauses, startled.

"Fuck me", you say. "Do something right."

"Y/N, you-" Natasha cuts herself off, breathing heavily. Then she's all over you, pushing you down on the bed, kissing and sucking on your neck, teeth scraping against skin. Hands under her damp hoodie, nails raking down her back and drawing blood. Her breath stutters, her face is pressed against your neck.

She wants to fix this, fix whatever's left of you. Return to what you had and make it better this time.

She kisses down your throat and reaches your chest. Latching onto your breast through the thin fabric of your dress, her hands push your legs apart.

Lacy underwear comes off. Her fingers are cold against your slick heat, making them slide in easily. She sucks on your boob, leaving a wet stain on the delicate fabric. Your back arches.

You grind against her, head thrown back. "Not like this", you pant. "Get on the bed."

"What?"

"You heard me." You sit up, grabbing the front of her hoodie. "Come on, asshole."

Natasha doesn't let anyone boss her around. But it's you, and she's done enough damage, so she scoots off you and lays down. You lean over her, your hair creating a curtain around your faces, and kiss her. Your hands trail down her front, right to her shorts. You pull them down just enough to be able to straddle her cock, easing it into you and stretching you out.

You roll your hips against hers, the tears having dried on your cheeks. You stare down at her, both of you out of breath, and fist the damp fabric of her hoodie.

The bed creaks beneath you. Cold gusts of wind enter the room through the broken window. She feels the same — throbbing, filling you entirely, her hips thrusting off the bed — but something's off.

You push the feeling aside and bob up and down, moaning quietly, your breasts bouncing with every movement. Natasha watches you, both mesmerized and worried. The fight was intense. You were sobbing, thrashing — for good reason. But now, you're riding her like a you've forgotten about everything.

She opens her mouth, wanting to say something. You grip her hoodie tighter.

"Don't."

"Y/N, are you-"

"Don't make it worse."

She keeps her mouth shut. She grips your waist instead, fucks up into you, letting you take what you need.

Is this what you need?

It used to be. You're not sure anymore.

A few more thrusts. Natasha thumbs your clit. Watches you fall apart for a second time that night. Comes when you do. You ride it out, pulsing around her, feeling her hot seed spill into you. Three, four spurts, heavy and filling you up.

You shudder, thighs sticky, and lift your hips to make her pull out. Coldness surrounds what was once enveloped in tight heat. Natasha wishes she could make you sit back down, but she's not in the position to ask for anything anymore.

You roll off her and lay down on your back. Shoulder to shoulder, your feet right next to the middle of her calves. You're right next to each other, but there may has well have been hundreds of miles between you.

She hesitates before glancing at you. Your eyes are staring up at the ceiling, face blank, distant.

Her fingers brush your hand. You don't pull away. She intertwines them with yours.

"Nat?"

Your voice startles her, makes her breath hitch. She closes her eyes. "Yeah?"

"You should go."

Despite having anticipated this, her heart drops. It takes her a bit to get out of her frozen state and sit up. Part of her thinks like she'll never feel this again, so she just sits there for a moment.

The various shades of lipstick on your nightstand. The high heels next to your closet. The fucking shards on the floor.

You, in bed, refusing to look at her.

She gets to her feet and falters. This can't be it, but this is it. At least that's what it feels like.

Natasha leaves her deflated basketball where she left it, right near the door. She puts her hand on the doorknob, twists it, and steps out.

This isn't it. It can't be. She'll make sure of that. But for now, all she can do is leave you alone for once.

You look up when you feel her linger. She's watching you, her body already half-concealed by the door. Then, her mouth opens.

"It was serious", she mumbles. "It never wasn't."

The door shuts.

. . .

You and Natasha ending up in the same place is a coincidence.

You were just trying to distract yourself, and Natasha got dragged here by Stark. Clint would kill him if he knew — he's been trying to keep her away from basically every girl in existence. Tony, on the other hand, believes she just needs to get laid.

She's told him that that's the last thing she needs. That that's what got her into this mess. But he doesn't listen. He's very convinced she just needs to 'act like herself again.'

"That one."

"No."

He turns, then points the mouth of his beer bottle at a girl with blue hair. "That one. Dyed hair, meaning she's probably unstable, meaning-"

She kicks his ankle. "Stop being a pig."

He whips around, looking offended. It's a show, though. It always is. "Excuse me? May I remind you of that girl in sophomore year? When you made up that story because she-"

"Okay, okay. Got it, I'm a hypocrite. Now stop trying to hook me up!"

He smiles, eyes sweeping across the room as he tries to find another victim. "You're sure? Give me five and I'll find someone with daddy issues."

Natasha sighs, knocking back a tequila shot. It burns, but not in a pleasant way. Whatever bar Tony dragged her into — the alcohol they serve is cheap, the lights flicker, and it smells like something rotten. But, according to him, it's the least pricey one in the area. Which shouldn't be an issue, considering he's rich and likes to splurge, but for some reason, he enjoys the low quality booze more.

He keeps pointing out various girls. 'Insecure. I can tell by the way she adjusts her dress.' 'Got dumped. Look how she keeps checking her phone.' 'Hey, a slut. Your soulmate!'

She almost rams her elbow into his side. Then, she spots you.

It's been almost two weeks since that night in your dorm. Two weeks of little to no sleep, of resisting the urge to apologize again, of regretting every tiny thing that happened since that night in Miami.

You haven't been doing better. You've been trying to move on, but it's hard. Moving on from someone who feels like home is like trying to move mountains.

There you are now, sipping cocktails and listening to some guy go on and on about something. He's been buying you drink after drink, and truthfully, you've been going along. Getting drunk isn't the worst thing you can think of in that moment.

Natasha blinks and rubs her eyes. Her heart is beating faster, rabbiting in her chest like it's trying to escape and run toward you.

"Oh. Oh, no. Not again."

She turns, frowning. "What?"

Tony gestures in your direction. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Okay, man."

"Seriously. Better find a new heart to rip apart."

She grits her teeth, clutching the shot glass in her hand. You're still oblivious about her being in the same room as you. Although, you seem to be oblivious about pretty much everything else, too.

She's seen the look on your face a bunch of times before. Too many times to not realize. You're drunk.

And the guy next to you? Still talking, still flirting, still pushing drinks in your direction. Still hovering.

You sway. He touches your side, right where your ribcage is, and tries to pull you aside. Natasha snaps.

Shoving her way through the crowd, she's by your side before Tony can tear away his eyes from some strawberry blonde girl. She moves next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and essentially nudging the guy's hand off.

"What the fuck, dude?"

"Take a hike", she barks. "Can't you see she's drunk?"

He scoffs. "She's only had, like, a couple drinks."

"She looks like she's about to pass out!"

"Nat?"

She glances at you, startled and worried. "Hey, baby. You good?"

You look at her lazily, eyes squinted and head spinning. "You're here."

"Yeah", she murmurs, softening.

Whoever that guy was — it takes one look at the two of you to realize that his little plan won't work out. He clenches his jaw and walks off, fuming silently. He'd fight her if he didn't recognize her face. Of course it's Romanoff.

"I'm dizzy."

"Let me get you out of here", she says, looking for your jacket. It's not even May yet, and the nights are cold. She finds it and tries to get you to put it on. When that doesn't work, she wraps it around your shoulders. "Still can't hold your alcohol, I see."

"Fuck you", you mutter. But you're drunk and safe and warm, and for once, you don't mean what you said.

Natasha rolls her eyes and helps you up. She turns around, and thats all it takes — you trip and crash into the bar, knocking over a glass of wine.

"Hey!"

"Oh, hush", Natasha says, shooting a glare at the upset girl and steadying you. "That shit's cheap as hell, anyway."

"Burns, too", you add, grasping the front of her letter jacket.

She smiles faintly, your arm over her shoulders, and leads you outside. She has to bend over a little since she's taller, but she doesn't really care.

The night is cold, and the way to your dorm is longer than it should be. When she's on her own, it takes two minutes. With a drunk you by her side, however, it takes fifteen.

You stumble. You curse her out. You throw up into a hedge.

Going up the stairs is easy. Getting you into your dorm, however, is not. You're on the floor, one hand grasping the metal rods of the railing behind you, and ignore Natasha's attempts to coax you into your room.

"Get inside."

"No."

"Y/N."

"I'm tired."

"Your bed is right there."

Eventually, she just grabs you and hoists you over her shoulder.

Pajamas, water, bed. She sits down, hesitates before tucking you in. You stare at her, still not sobered up.

Wet eyelashes — did you cry? She didn't see you cry —, oversized shirt, smudged lipstick. A mess if she's ever seen one, and you're usually so put together.

"You should sleep", she starts. Your eyes flutter shut. "You need anything, before I leave?"

"You know damn well", you mumble, face half-buried in your pillow. She swallows.

"Painkillers?", she asks, ignoring what you said. "For the hangover. A bucket, maybe?"

"Don't do that."

Natasha exhales, slowly. She rubs the back of her neck and glances at your window. At least that's fixed now. Everything else still seems to be in shambles. Even if she tried to pick the shards up, they'd cut delicate skin and draw blood.

"What?", she asks reluctantly. Absolutely no part of her wants to know the answer, yet she can't help but ask.

"Don't act like you care."

She opens her mouth, but you've passed out already. Guilt churns in her stomach, but there's no way to get rid of it. She can't apologize — you're asleep. And even if you weren't, you probably wouldn't listen.

No apologies, then. Instead, she cleans up after you. Puts aside your dress, your high heels. Orders coconut water and bananas from some local convenience store that delivers this late at night (good for hangovers, apparently, at least according to the internet) and tucks you in.

. . .

There's no trace from her when you wake up. Just a note next to some groceries, saying: good for your hangover.

It takes you a moment to remember last night. You're disoriented, hungover, and the entire room seems to be spinning. Once the memories have fought their way through the mess in your head, you freeze. Everything seems to go silent, even the birds and cars outside.

A guy, putting his hands on you. Alcohol. Natasha. At the bar, in the street, in your dorm. Touching you without actually touching you.

Now, she's gone. No trace from her, except for a random stalk of bananas and a bottle of coconut water.

You stare at it, unsure. You unscrew the bottle and take a sip. Not bad.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you grab your phone to check it. No message from her, but Daisy sent you a picture of a flyer for the basketball game later that night.

Daisy: you coming? — 8.21am

You: forget it — 8.59am

Daisy: not a question anymore.

you're coming to the game — 9.00am

You: im really not — 9.00am

Daisy: school spirit or something

like that. you can't avoid her for the

rest of the semester — 9.01am

Unfortunately, she has a point. You fight it at first, but you know you have to go. Not for Natasha. Not so you can fix what's broken (though 'broken' is one hell of an understatement at this point).

You'll go. You'll watch. You'll leave. Maybe that'll help you leave things behind.

When you enter the university's gymnasium, you feel her friends' eyes on you. Not too long ago, your friend groups had mixed and mingled — Carol and Wanda, Sam and Daisy, Tony and Bruce. Now, they barely talk. Neither of you made them take sides, but it happened anyway. Everyone else seemed to split when you broke up, too. Though, it wasn't really a breakup.

You slip through small crowds of people, following Wanda and Daisy to a row of empty seats. It's loud already, with some pre-game playlist playing and everyone talking loudly. People throw popcorn, yell, laugh. It's rare that you feel out of place, but this time, you do.

"You really dolled yourself up", Daisy says, handing you a coke. "Is that lace?"

You glance down, realizing the neckline of your top is a little too low. You quickly adjust it. "I threw on the first thing I saw."

"Uh-huh."

"I can still leave", you hiss. She smiles and nudges you.

"Not yet", she mumbles, right as the teams walk onto the court. You follow her gaze and feel your heart speed up. "There we go."

Natasha. In her jersey, hair pulled back into a low bun, green eyes flickering across the stands nervously. It doesn't take long until she spots you. You both freeze, and the entire gymnasium may as well have noticed.

Nobody noticed, of course, except for Daisy and Wanda. They're all caught up in themselves. To you, it still feels like they did, because nobody else matters in that moment. It's you and her, and everything else is a blur.

Daisy doesn't dare say anything. She saw the look on your face, and she's not risking anything. Because even if she knows your relationship with Natasha was a whirlwind — it was still the most genuine thing she'd seen you get involved in.

Natasha averts her eyes. Knowing you still came here is both the worst and best thing in the world.

Carol, also on the team, noticed this little moment between you. She pats her back and tells her to come warm up.

The game starts. Natasha's team wins possession.

You stay in your seat, watching her. She's playing aggressive today, you can see that. Scoring hoops, pushing past defenders, blocking shots.

She's on top of her game today, and you refuse to acknowledge why.

Then, she runs across the court. She gets fouled, hard, and slips. You jump up right when she slams onto the court, a low thud echoing through the suddenly silent hall. But she bounces up like it's nothing.

"You looked worried there."

"She fell", you mumble, arms crossed over your chest. Daisy raises her eyebrows, but says nothing.

Halftime. Natasha's team is slightly behind, with the other team leading at 30-32. She makes her way to the bench and grabs her water bottle. She looks distracted at first, absentminded, but then she finds your face in the stands and you realize what exactly is distracting her.

Maybe it should've been obvious. Maybe part of you doesn't want to believe it, though.

You hold her gaze for longer than necessary. Daisy goes silent next to you, Wanda tilts her head curiously. You finally lower your eyes and fidget with the seam of your skirt.

The second half begins, and Natasha's team catches up as quickly as it loses the lead again.

You're actually frustrated for her. You watch the way her jaw tightens, how she briefly rubs her eyebrows, how she rolls her shoulders. It's a tough game, and even worse?: something's at stake. She's got something to prove.

She's getting more aggressive as the seconds pass, even forces a foul. When someone throws a cheap elbow while she's guarding someone and the referee doesn't call it, she loses it.

Your eyes widen as she gets in the referees face, snapping at him and gesturing with one hand. He tries to calm her down, but it seems futile. There are multiple things stressing her out, and there's only so much she can take. Your stomach twists at the sight, because despite everything that happened, her frustration still seems to be yours.

Eventually, she backs off and jogs back onto the court. Looking up, she searches for you. You nod, tentatively and your heart pounding, and she lowers her head and exhales.

One minute left before the game ends. The score is tied.

It's electric now — the players are sprinting, the ball is a blur. Natasha runs, dribbles, hesitates. She finds your face in the crowd, glancing at you for just a fraction of a second, and then jumps and swishes it through the net.

The gym erupts, the buzzer sounds. She doesn't hear any of it.

Her team is celebrating, and so are the people in the stands. Someone shakes and opens a bottle of beer to spray others with it, everyone is yelling, the cheers are so loud you feel like your eardrums are in genuine danger.

Natasha isn't celebrating. She's walking towards the stands, nervously wiping her hands on her shorts.

Whether this is a good idea or not, she doesn't know. But it's too late now. She's right there, right in front of you, only a row of people separating you from her. Out of breath, sweaty, adrenaline crashing. You stare at her, unsure, and watch her grab the bottom of her jersey.

She pulls it over her head and tosses it in your direction. You don't catch it — it hits your chest and falls into your lap.

You look at her, hesitating. Is she being serious?

She is. She stands there, staring at you, still trying to catch her breath. It's an impossible task, with the way you're looking at her.

Swallowing, she turns around. Daisy nudges you, and you finally grip the stupid jersey. It's still warm, smelling like sweat and cologne.

Natasha walks away, soles squeaking quietly on vinyl ground. She glances at you over her shoulder, briefly, but it's enough.

She looks away. You jump up.

You shove people aside and hop down the rows in front of you, reaching the court. You're practically sprinting at this point, desperate to reach her before she gets to the locker room.

You grab her, spin her around, kiss her so hard she almost stumbles. She groans, but it shifts into a soft whimper. She drops the bottle she was holding and grips your waist.

Around you, people are still cheering, still celebrating. But this is the real victory.

You deepen the kiss, drag your fingers through the damp baby hairs at the back of her neck. Her lips are salty, addictive, her body thrumming against yours.

Natasha tastes something sweet, fizzy, matching the way her stomach tingles. You're here, choosing her in front of everyone, and god, it feels good.

Time slows down. She inhales against your lips, sharply, her fingers digging into your skin. You get on your tiptoes, allowing her to stand a bit straighter. You pull away just enough to take a breath, and she makes a quiet noise of protest.

By the time you part, your lips are swollen and slick. Natasha's looking at you like you hung the damn moon, like you're the reason her heart is slamming against her ribs. Which you kind of are.

"You- I-"

You manage a smile, your fingers still playing with her baby hairs. How often does she get nervous? Once in a blue moon.

"You did good", you mumble, studying her. She swallows thickly. "Finally."

"I'm so sorry", she mumbles, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you against her. Your feet leave the ground. "I'm so fucking sorry. Fuck. It was all a mistake. I..."

You don't let her finish. You kiss her, again and again, until the tension slowly disappears from her shoulders. She pulls away and buries her face in your neck. It's not the basketball game that's leaving her shaking — it's you.

"You're a moron."

"Mhm." Her lips press against your shoulder.

"An idiot. An absolute buffoon."

"That's fair."

You pull away again, still clutching her jersey in your hand. Natasha gives it a quick little nod, and it looks so ridiculously shy you can't help but laugh.

"Say it", you tease, cupping her cheek. She frowns. "Come on. You're a big girl, aren't you?"

A deep breath in, then out. Her eyes sweep across your surroundings, making sure no one's listening.

"Put that on", she finally mumbles. "It's yours now. I'm yours."

You press another kiss to her cheek, then step away and put on her jersey. Your jersey, actually. Sweaty and damp, smelling like her.

Natasha smiles softly. She fidgets, shifts, then grabs your hand.

"We never had an actual first date, you know."

You hum. She's right. You hooked up, and then continued hooking up. There was never anything that even resembled an official date.

"What're you saying?"

"You, me." She squeezes your hand. "Maybe a nice restaurant? Or takeout? We can have a picnic. I don't know, I don't usually do this."

You want to say no at first. Not because you don't want to, but because the after game-celebration is in full swing. The entire team is talking about going to a bar.

But then you realize that Natasha hasn't spared them a single glance since the buzzer announced the end of the game. She's been here, with you, looking at you, asking you out on a date.

The fuckboy athlete who keeps everyone at an arm's length, now actually taking something seriously.

You kiss her, already leading her out of the gym.

"Yes. But no cheeseburgers."

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @esposadejoyhuerta

[lizziee-olseen]

Let me in—

Pairing(s): Wanda maximoff X female!reader

Summary: Wanda’s distance leaves you hurting, but when she notices, she makes it right.

Tags | content: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, Wanda was a dick and then she wasn’t, established relationship.

A/N: it’s just a short Drabble, I wrote this at 3am cuz I was sad and needed comfort. Blame any mistakes on the lack of sleep!

It started gradually. Wanda came home later than usual, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion. She would collapse onto the couch, rub her temples, and sigh, long and tired.

You always asked how her day was, even when you knew the answer.

“Tiring,” she would say. “Exhausting. Never-ending.”

And that was all.

No “how was your day?” in return, no lingering touch or soft smile. Just complaints about how drained she was before she retreated into silence.

You understood. You really did. She had so much on her plate, more than most people could handle. But after days of this—of being more of a sounding board than a person—it started to wear on you.

So one evening, when she sighed and dropped onto the couch beside you, rubbing her forehead as she mumbled about how drained she was, you hesitated before speaking.

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way,” you said gently. “Maybe we could do something together to take your mind off—”

“I don’t need that right now,” Wanda interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. Just final.

Your mouth snapped shut.

She didn’t notice.

You sat there, hands folded in your lap, as Wanda sighed again and leaned back against the cushions. A minute later, she pulled a blanket over herself and closed her eyes, as if she had already moved past the conversation.

But you hadn’t.

You swallowed hard and turned away, blinking rapidly as something in your chest twisted. It wasn’t just that she was tired. It was that she didn’t need you. Not your comfort, not your words, not anything.

And that realization sat heavy in your throat for the rest of the night.

—

Days passed, and the weight in your chest didn’t ease.

You still talked to her, still offered your support, but it was different now. The warmth in your voice was strained, your patience fraying at the edges. Every time she brushed you off, every time she sighed like your words were just another thing she had to deal with, it chipped away at you.

And eventually, she noticed.

Not in the way you wanted her to. Not because she saw the hurt building inside you. But because she felt the shift.

You weren’t distant. You were still there. But the space between you felt heavier.

It wasn’t until she came home late one night and found you sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV with red-rimmed eyes, that something inside her clicked.

She sat beside you carefully, testing the waters. “You okay?”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Are you?”

That made her pause.

You turned to face her, expression open and raw in a way you knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore. “I know you’re tired. I know you have a lot on your shoulders. But that doesn’t mean you have to carry it alone.”

She swallowed, guilt flickering across her face. “I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But you did.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not suffocating.

Then, finally, Wanda reached for your hand���the same one she had pulled away from days ago. She laced her fingers through yours, squeezing like she was afraid to lose her grip.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… forgot how to let you in.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in her words.

“You don’t have to do anything alone,” you murmured. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I love you.”

Wanda exhaled sharply. She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against your hair. “I’ll do better.”

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fully sink into her embrace. The warmth of her arms, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it was everything you had missed. Everything you had been aching for.

“I just needed you,” you admitted softly. “Not even to fix anything. Just… to be here.”

Her hold on you tightened. “I know,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion. “And I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t enough for me.” She pulled back just enough to look at you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Because you are. You always are.”

A shaky breath left your lips. “I missed you.”

Wanda’s expression softened, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I missed you too,”

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose. When her lips finally met yours, it was slow, lingering, an apology and a promise all in one kiss.

When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours, her fingers still tracing soft, comforting patterns against your skin.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice filled with so much warmth it made your chest ache.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you reached up to cup her cheek, your thumb brushing over her skin. “I love you more.”

Wanda let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Impossible.”

[lizziee-olseen]

DUMB MUTT

Owner!Wanda x Fem!Puppy!Reader

tw: collar and leash, slapping, degrading, praises, hair pulling, boot/heel riding, no orgasms

Wanda had been at work for most of the day and hadn’t returned home to until the late evening. You could hear the jangle of the keys in the front door before it gently swung open to reveal your Owner, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit paired with a fine pair of black heels to match.

You sat patiently in the hallway that leas to the front door with your floppy ears perked up and your tail wagging wildly behind you. You bit your lip to hold yourself back, it was common for you to get too excited and start whining and whimpering which Wanda either found adorable or highly annoying after a long day.

“Mama.” You called out to your Owner, crawling slowly towards her. Although she was fashionably late, her hair was tied up and slightly disheveled.

“Oh Puppy,” She called out, crouching down to your level after putting her car keys and jacket away. “How’s my little Puppy,hm?” She reached out to scratch behind your ears, smiling with exhaustion as she watched your tail bang against the wall.

“Happy now youre home.” You answered, licking your cheek and sniffing her to ensure no other Puppies had taken her for claim. “Is Mama okay?” She only nodded. Pulling away slightly to untie her hair and let those beautiful red locks that you loved so much drape down her back and frame her face. “How about we head to bed? You can sleep with Mama tonight.”

You whimpered excitedly and crawled to the bedroom that you occasionally shared with Wanda, pushing open the door with your head and picking up a toy,that had been left in there previously, with your mouth. However, when Wanda followed swiftly behind you, her mouth fell agape as she glanced around the half destroyed bedroom.

The blankets were shoved off the bed, the pillows were slightly ripped allowing the feathers inside to flutter around the room and the duvet was covered in a mixture of mud and drool. She forgot to close the door properly. “Puppy.” She whispered in shock, her eyes darkening with both annoyance and anger. Wanda was exhausted beyond belief, her day had been terrible due to people nagging her ear off and not completing tasks correctly which meant she had to do it all herself. But this. This was her tipping point.

Wanda, with towering rage, gripped your collar to throw you off the bed and onto the floor with a loud thud. A painful whimper and wince filled the room as your knees hit the wood below. “Stupid fucking mutt!” Wanda shouted with frustration, tugging on your collar once more to lift your head up. “You pathetic and stupid dog.”

Your bottom lip quivered as you made eye contact with your owner, your frightened eyes welled up with tears as Wanda glared down at you with disgust and resentment. “I- Mama i’m sorry…” You whimpered out, an audible tremble in your voice as you tried to hold yourself together.

Wanda had only been this mad once before and that was because you chewed her favourite and most expensive pair of shoes. But even then, she never manhandled you or belittled you this much. “Oh you’re sorry?” She hissed, slapping you across the face with a hard flick of the wrist causing your ear to ring. “I am frankly exhausted from today and my dumb animal of a pet decided to make it worse!” Her voice was loud and laced with venomous words.

“Mama-“ She quickly shut you up as she let go of your collar and gripped your hair instead, tangling her fingers in your locks with a firm twist that made the follicles sting. “Mindless fucking animal.”

Your Owner, with most of her strength, pushed you away as she let go of your hair and rubbed her forehead. You dipped your head as you tried to hide your tears that ran down your face, your body trembling and your tail tucked between your legs as you sniffled.

“You don’t get to be upset.” She quipped, shaking her head as she walked out the bedroom suddenly. Your heart sank as she left, the dreadful thought of her leaving you and never coming back because you tore up her bedsheets filled your mind. But as you were about to open your mouth, she finally came back with a leash. “Get undressed.”

You gulped and started to undress without hesitation knowing if you did this punishment would be a lot worse than it was going to be. “Faster, mutt.” Wanda demanded, stepping closer and kneeling down to rip off your clothes. “Don’t take your fucking time while all i’ve done today is fucking wait!”

She threw your shredded clothes aside and clipped the leash to your collar, standing up to look down at you. The lack of sympathy and respect was evident in her eyes as you knelt there, all tear eyed and bare before her.

“Here.” The red head snapped her fingers as she sat on the edge of the bed, pointing to the floor between her legs. “Now.” She tugged your leash.

You swiftly crawled towards her, kneeling at her feet with your back straight and your hands on your thighs. “Look at me.” And you did. “Who’s a pathetic excuse of a pet?”

“I am.” You replied with certainty, shifting on your knees before she slapped you again. “Who’s a bad girl?”

“I am, Mama.” You shifted once more to give your tail the opportunity to tuck itself between your legs. “You think tearing up my bed is acceptable?”

“I-“ SLAP. The evidence of punishment was being to form on your face, bright red and harsh outlines of fingers had plastered themselves on your skin. “It’s a yes or no question.”

“No.”

“Do you see me wrecking your crate, hm? Throwing out all the pillows and shredding up your toys?” Wanda tilted her head and pulling your leash. “Hm?”

“No.” You whispered. You dipped your head again in shame, still now, in this situation, you had now idea why you ripped up her pillows and threw her blankets on the floor. You knew it wasn’t acceptable to go into your Owner’s room without permission so why did you do?

“Silly Puppy.” She whispered back softly, stroking your head and playing with your ears. Her soft and sweet tone of voice paired with the gentle touch to your ears was a stark contrast to what she was doing to you before. It made your head fuzzy. “Silly Puppy needs a punishment hm? I think Mama has the perfect punishment for you.”

She tapped her foot on the floor and narrowed her eyes, a silent order for you to straddle her heeled foot. The perfectly polished heel reflected your glistening pussy perfectly. “Aww, the dumb mutt is getting off on this abuse hm? Is that why you did it? You wanted Mama to be rough with you?”

Your body shivered and filled with goosebumps at her accusation, maybe she was right? She had been awfully soft and gentle with you these past few days of intimacy but even then you could have just asked her to be rougher without ruining furniture.

“Too dumb to reply.” Your Owner sighed, lifting her heel up to push it against your folds. “You’re thinking with your pussy again and we haven’t even started.” You flinched and whined as her cold shoe hit your sensitive skin. “Please- i’m sorry.” You finally managed to say, accidentally bucking your hips.

“This is meant to be a punishment, Puppy.” She reminded you with a smirk, tapping the tip of her heel against your clit which made you shudder and gasp. “Pathetic. Grind on your Owner’s shoe, Little one. Go on.”

With permission you confidently and with need started to hump her shoe, biting your lip as you arched your hips slightly to rub your clit against the heel between your legs, small moans filling the room. You grip her leg as your hips sped up, whimpering as your wetness leaves evidence of your arousal on her shoe. “Good girl.” She praised, scratching behind your adorable floppy ears while you stuck your tongue out to pant and continue your actions like a dog in heat.

Wanda continued to pet you, changing between scratching your ears and stroking your hair as she watched you grind on her foot. Her eyes glowed with arousal and smugness, the way you whimpered and drooled on yourself made her panties wet but, she wouldn’t dare tell you that. Your hips rocked and stuttered with each bump against your clit, wrapping your arm around her leg for stability as your orgasm was growing embarrassingly fast.

“You close Puppy? You wanna make more of a mess on your Owner’s nice shoes hm?” She teased, her voice filled with mockery and fake sympathy. “You want to cum for me?” You nodded, the wire connected to your brain and mouth short circuited causing you let out a needy mewl.

“Hold it, Pup.” She whispered, pulling on your leash that continued to be wrapped around her fist. “No cumming without my permission.”

“Please-“ You choke out, your body trembling as your thighs twitched with anticipation and want. “Please, Mama! I’m close-“

“Lift your hips.” Wanda commanded with a firm tone which you relentlessly complied with a groan of sexual frustration. “It’s a punishment remember, bad puppies dont deserve to cum.” The redhead said with a smirk, tapping your cheek with taunt. “Now lick my shoe clean.”

๋࣭ ⭑🕸🦇🕸๋࣭ ⭑

AUTHORS NOTE:

i literally thought of this when i was… edging myself two days ago 😀 tmi? probably. anyways please forgive me if this is ropey… i did warn ya’ll that my smut is not on its A game these days. ITS ALSO NOT PROOF READ

[lizziee-olseen]

Collision Course (WandaNat x Reader)

— Chapter 1: The Second of Three

Link to full fic on AO3

Summary: After moving to New York, a collision while cycling sends you flying into the lives of Wanda Maximoff and her wife, Natasha Romanoff. Together, they teach you a new way of belonging and being loved.

Word count (Chapter 1): 6k

Warnings: none for this chapter

Featuring: Full story is/will be heavy on mommy kink / praise kink (there's hints of both here if you squint).

A/N: This is chapter one of my current (and first) fanfic. If you like this then please check out the remainder of the fic on AO3 (link at top and bottom of post) — I've posted ten chapters and 63k words so far, so there is lots to sink your teeth into. Hope you enjoy!

It comes out of nowhere, the car. A flash of navy blue in your periphery, a sudden impact to your front wheel, and you are tumbling through the air like a rag doll. A clatter, a screech of tiles. The dull thud of your body against a bonnet. The crack of your helmet — and within it, your skull —against the unforgiving ground. 

Consciousness returns slowly, lagging behind the awakening of your senses. First you see the tarmac beneath you, feel the roughness beneath your skin. The taste of blood is what prompts the questioning in your mind. 

What happened? 

Your brain is foggy, thoughts disconnected. You try to press yourself up with your hands but one of your arms buckles beneath you.

“Don’t try to get up,” someone warns you; a woman’s voice, urgent but kind.

The pain arrives like a second collision, held back by adrenaline but released now that your brain knows you are safe. Your shoulder screams out, winning your full attention at once. It’s bad, you can tell that much. Beneath the thick layer of agony radiating from the top of your arm, you can just about discern the stinging of your cheek. Running your tongue over your lips you find them raw, ragged and wet. The taste of blood intensifies, and you anxiously do an inventory of your teeth with your tongue. They all seem to be there, solid. Just the outside then, you think numbly. 

“Where am I?” you wonder aloud, trying to lift your head but finding it heavy and difficult to move. There’s something wrapped around your neck, something extending from your forehead which scrapes on the ground at the slightest movement. A helmet? The pieces begin to connect; your bicycle helmet. So you were cycling somewhere.

“My bike!” you squeak suddenly, your priorities jumbled in the confusion of the situation. “Where’s my bike?”

“Don’t worry, it’s here. You got knocked off by a car. Do you remember?”

You look up with the smallest tilt of your head to see a woman crouched down beside you. Her hair is long and wavy, in a shade you’d call ‘strawberry blonde’ back home. She looks so worried, her eyebrows frowning in concern. She has nice eyes, you think. You’re sort of staring up at her now, blinking as you try to process both her beauty and her explanation. Your brain isn’t sorting them out properly; it keeps revolving back to thinking how pretty she is, every time you try to understand what she said about what happened.

“I — I don’t…” Your words come out stilted, and you can’t finish the sentence. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart — you knocked your head, it might take some time to remember.” She’s smiling down at you, this woman. A worried sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. The pain remains, but some of the panic dissipates. A calm energy emanates from her, and it’s helping you feel safe, despite all the unknowns which sit ominous and black in your head like redacted words on a page.

Slowly, this stranger reaches out her hand and tentatively places it on your fingers. Cautious and gentle, waiting for resistance. It’s your good arm she’s chosen, so thankfully it elicits no extra pain. In fact, your fingers grasp at hers automatically, seeking out the comfort without express permission from your brain. You watch it happen with interest, almost amused by your instinctual movement. It takes a moment before you register that she’s asked you a question: “What is your name?”. You open your sticky lips again, and manage to murmur out your full name, first and last, as if you are meeting at some formal occasion. You don’t even perceive this as weird, it just comes out, product of your foggy brain.

She smiles at this. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. My name is Wanda.”

You’ve never met someone called Wanda before. The name seems so fantastical, and paired with the beauty of this woman, you begin to process some doubt about your current situation. After all, you can’t remember anything from before. Rather like the fragmented details of a dream. Suspicion floods you, and again you try to sit up, wanting to investigate.

“Hey,” Wanda says, squeezing your hand gently. “Careful, sweetheart. The ambulance will be here soon — can you stay still for me, until they get here?”

You lean back again, settling back on the concrete. The pain in your shoulder amplified so much from even the mere activation of your core muscles to initiate sitting up, so you’re almost thankful for the encouragement to desist. Plus, you can feel her stroking your fingers gently in her warm hand, and you don’t want it to stop. 

There’s a wailing sound in the distance, and you’re so out of it that it takes a while to realise what it is. They sound a little different here, maybe less scary but more sad. Still, your brain is focussing on the wrong things, and it takes the quickly intensifying siren sound to make you wake up to the practicalities of this scenario.

“My bike?” You look up at Wanda in panic. “What will happen to my bike if they take me away? I can’t leave it!”

Wanda looks back behind her for a moment, then returns her gaze to you.

“Don’t worry,” she reassures you. “I can take it in the back of my car, and meet you at the hospital maybe?”

Her words sink in slowly. Yes, that seems to work, you think. You try to nod, but it’s too awkward with the helmet, the straps seeming to tighten around your neck as you try. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “Thanks, Wanda.”

She smiles down at you, then looks up to something behind you. “They’re pulling up now, Y/N. You let the EMTs help you, and I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Between the cacophony of noise building around you and the burgeoning pain in your body, you can’t find the focus needed to decipher what on earth she had meant. The acronym is gone already, the letters scrambled and faded into meaninglessness. Instead, you concentrate on the constant, calming pressure of her hand in yours.

Until it is taken from you, removed by gloved hands and strange faces. You can't help but whimper at the loss of Wanda’s comfort, combined with the painful ramifications of their manoeuvres. They speak words to you, words you don’t really hear or understand. You can just about make out Wanda’s voice joining a conversation, asking a question, but by the time you realise it’s her they have already answered, they have moved on, moved you, and closed the doors between you. 

During the journey, something is given to you, somehow, which eases the pain and obliterates what little perception you still had. You give in easily to the sweet senselessness, and meet all their verbal offerings with a blissful, aloof smile.

At some point, you become aware that the rattling, wailing inside of their vehicle has been replaced with clean white walls and a comfy bed. You wonder if you had missed the waiting room, or if such things simply don’t exist over here. Everything is subtly different, in a way which might have been disconcerting, if you’d had all of your senses intact. Instead though, it washes over you like a humorous anecdote. The one thing you remember is Wanda, and you wonder when she’ll come. If she’ll come. You hope.

The door opens, and a doctor walks in, easily identified by the white coat and confident stroll as he enters, even before he introduces himself as Doctor Schwartz.

Looking down at his clipboard, Doctor Schwartz reads out your full name, his eyebrow rising questioningly at the end. You nod a confirmation, and he gives a cursory smile.

“And… you were hit off your bike this morning?”

“I think so,” you answer quietly. “I, um… don’t really remember.”

“Right.” He scrawls something on his clipboard, the pen making a scratching sound as he writes. “Were you wearing a helmet?”

“Yes, I was.” You’re glad to be certain of something, finally — even though your helmet seems to have disappeared somehow. “I always wear a helmet,” you state, possibly more to reassure yourself.

“Good, good.” He murmurs distractedly. “Well, I think we should do some scans, see what’s going on. The guys from the ambulance said you hurt your shoulder, is there anything else we need to take a look at?”

It takes you a bit longer to process this. Whether it’s because you really did hit your head, or his thick New York accent — you’re not sure. It’s been less than a week since you moved here, and you have no idea how long it will take to get used to the different sounds people make, compared to home. This doctor in particular has quite a monotonous voice, making it harder for you to hear whether he’s asking you a question or making rhetorical statements.

Trying to focus, you do a mental scan of your body. In truth, everything aches, but it’s only really your right shoulder that radiates an acute kind of pain, the kind that alerts you to more significant damage.

“Just my shoulder I think,” you finally reply.

“Right,” he says. It’s not until he raises his head completely and gives you a significant look that you realise there was a question mark at the end of his word.

“Oh — yes, it’s my right shoulder.” You feel your cheeks reddening a little at the miscommunication. 

“Alright, I’ll organise for someone to take you to radiology and bring you back here when it’s done. I’ll come back when I get the results.”

He starts to leave, and you just manage to call out a weak little thank you before he exits your room. 

It’s maybe a couple of minutes before a woman walks in, though you feel so foggy that maybe you aren’t the best judge of time at the moment. She’s wearing blue scrubs and a far more engaging smile, and she introduces herself as Gina, a Nurse Assistant. Gina wastes no time in helping you out the bed and into a wheelchair. You start to protest that you can walk, but as soon as your feet touch the floor you feel yourself swaying a little, and end up leaning into her a lot more than intended. After that you swallow your opposition and let her wheel you out and along the many corridors, making you feel more dizzy. She chats the whole time: throughout the journey; between the scans of your head and your shoulder; all the way back to your room. You’re grateful that she doesn’t ask too many questions, since you still feel confused from the accident and she’s talking far too quickly for you to keep up. Mainly she warns you about how dangerous cycling is here, and gives you a lengthy run-through of culture shocks to expect as soon as she hears your accent and pegs you as a recent immigrant. By the time she helps you back into bed and bids you a cheerful farewell, your head is swimming with words like bodega and brownstone and Bronx.

Not long after Gina leaves, the door opens again. You sit up a bit more, expecting to see Doctor Schwartz, but you’re surprised to see Wanda. Kind Wanda from the scene of the accident, looking at you with a gentle smile from the doorway. Still holding the door, she asks “can I come in?” and positively beams when you nod. 

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here, it was a bit tricky to find a parking space and then they weren’t sure where you’d got to at reception for a while.” Wanda approaches your bedside, and shakes her head slightly. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. How are you doing, sweetheart?”

You can feel your body warming at the pet name, though you know it’s probably just her style of talking, nothing particular for you. 

“Um, I’m doing okay, thanks. They gave me something in the ambulance for the pain, and they’ve done some scans of my head and my shoulder but I don’t know anything yet.”

She nods, smiling down at you from her position standing at the side of the bed. Wanda is so pretty, it’s hard to take in. She’s maybe in her thirties, you think? Older than you, for sure. She has a mature elegance to the way she holds herself and talks, something you can’t imagine ever being able to emulate successfully. She wears a white t-shirt, black blazer and black tailored trousers. The sort of outfit which would make you look like a schoolchild, whereas on her it looks effortlessly sophisticated.

“That’s good,” she says softly. She reaches out, her hand travelling towards you fingers briefly, then she hesitates. Looks at you. You look back at her, wondering how to communicate that you want it, without seeming desperate for her touch. She seems to make a decision though, gently laying her hand over yours, letting you be the one to intertwine your fingers together. “Y/N, have you been able to call anyone? Family, friends?”

You blush at this, and shake your head slowly. Swallowing, you try to find the words, but they won’t come in time.

“I can call people for you, if you want?” she offers. You smile weakly at this thoughtful gesture.

“Thanks, Wanda, but — well, there’s no one really to call.” You see her tilt her head at this, frowning a little with concern or pity. You hastily explain, not wanting to make her feel bad for you. “I’ve just moved here, a few days ago. I don’t know anyone here yet, and this — it’s really not worth bothering people about, when they’re too far away to feel helpful.”

Wanda squeezes your hand. “I see,” she says quietly. “I understand, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say automatically, even though it isn’t. The move, now the accident — it’s all too much really. You’d love to be the adventurous, independent type, you’ve tried to convince everyone of it, but really you need people. This move has confirmed it, exposed your true nature. But it’s too late now. You are committed to your apartment, your Visa, your graduate programme…

Your graduate programme. Shit, things are coming back to you now. You were meant to meet your supervisor in person at 9am; that’s why you were cycling — to get to campus. 

Panic sets in quickly; you’re whipping your head round to find a clock. When you see it is after 10 already, you realise you have just made the worst possible impression…

“Y/N, honey, what’s wrong?” Wanda asks, reaching out to put her free hand on your shoulder (thankfully the good one). Her touch is grounding, and even though you are still spiralling inside, you are able to look her in the eyes and see the inquisitive, caring expression on her face.

“I was supposed to meet someone — my supervisor — at 9,” you explain, voice catching on an anxious sob which you strangle in your throat, trying to contain. “She… I don’t…”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Wanda soothes, interrupting your broken rambling. “It’s okay. We can call them, and explain. You have a very good reason for missing it. They will understand.”

Your breathing is still fast and shallow, but you manage a nod as her words sink in. She’s right, what better excuse could you have for missing a meeting, than being in the hospital?

“Do you want to phone?” Wanda asks. When you hesitate, she adds another option for you. “If it’s easier, I can phone for you?”

“Could you, please?” you ask, sighing out the last remnants of your panic. “I don’t think… My words keep getting jumbled.”

She nods. “Of course, sweetheart, it’s no problem. Do you have a number, or at least a name so I can find it?”

Oh god, you’re an idiot. You should have saved the office number in your phone, but instead it will take logging in to your university account (which would be a feat, in this state) and trawling through emails to find it…

Wanda, seeing the panic returning on your face, intervenes. “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t have it. Where does your supervisor work?”

You can do this, at least. “Um, the psychology department, at Columbia,” you manage to say between little gasps. The anxious breathing has agitated your shoulder, and it’s starting to send waves of pain through your arm again. “Her name is Francesca… something. She’s a professor.”

“You’re doing a really good job, honey,” Wanda praises you, and you feel something else running through your body. A warm feeling that contrasts with the sharp pain. Even overrides it for a moment. She squeezes your hand again, then removes her hands from you to find her phone and start searching for a phone number. 

You lean back against the pillow, allowing yourself to wince and grimace now that she’s distracted. Your shoulder really hurts. Maybe whatever you were given in the ambulance is wearing off now?

“I’ve found it,” Wanda tells you quietly, then she starts a phone call, giving you a brief reassuring smile before it connects and she looks at the wall to focus. 

You tune out her conversation, because for some reason the idea of Wanda talking to your supervisor makes you feel embarrassed, like the way you used to feel on parents’ night at school, knowing the adults were discussing you. So you focus instead on trying to remember the accident, now that you at least have a grasp on where you were going. But your memories are so fragmented, and trying to piece it all together makes your head hurt and your shoulder ache. 

Wanda drops her hand to her side and turns to smile at you. “She says she hopes you get better soon. And that you can reorganise the meeting when you’re better, there’s no rush.”

You nod, a little awkwardly. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you’re glad that she returns to your bedside, and reaches for your hand again. “Wanda,” you begin tentatively, suddenly realising how self-centred your thoughts have been. “Don’t you have… work or something to be going to?”

She smiles. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I’ve already sent in word.”

You nod again — it feels like all you can do at the moment, small gestures and scared words. You wonder if you should ask where she works, or whether it might be seen as intrusive. This whole scenario is so bizarre that you’re not even entirely sure whether the typical social norms would apply. And even if they do, you’re constantly worried about putting your foot in it, doing something which is normal back home but somehow rude over here.

Thankfully, you are saved from the conundrum by the return of your doctor. He waltzes in, absorbed by his clipboard which seems to have amassed new sheets of paper since it last graced this room. Only at the last minute does he look up and notice the new body in the room.

“Oh, hi,” he says in acknowledgement. Then he looks to you. “Is this your mom?”

You don’t know who should be more offended, who he’s misread, though you have a feeling it must be you. Despite being in your mid twenties, you’re used to people assuming you’re still in high school. You’ve been cursed with a baby face and since you stopped growing at thirteen, people often make the mental shortcut and assume you’re still a kid due to your height. No matter how many times people tell you “it’ll pay off when you’re older”, it remains frustrating — and embarrassing — to be so consistently viewed as a teenager. 

“No, I’m a friend,” Wanda corrects him easily, saving you the trouble of responding. Even though you know she was just smoothing things over, it feels nice to hear her say you’re a friend. Today, you really need one.

“Right, I’m Doctor Schwartz,” he says, looking entirely unbothered by his faux pas, and very focussed on his clipboard. “So, Y/N, I’ve reviewed your scans and the physical exams they did, and it’s safe to say you’ve got a concussion, and you’ve fractured your clavicle.” Doctor Schwartz looks up, and perhaps sees confusion, because he clarifies. “Also known as your collarbone.” He taps the bony part of his shoulder for good measure, then flicks over a page and rotates the clipboard so you can see a photocopied scan of your shoulder. He briefly points out the fracture, which is difficult to see, but you suppose he doesn’t really need you to fully understand. 

“Luckily your fracture’s not too bad so you should be fully healed in six weeks, as long as you take it easy. I’ll get a nurse to sort you out with a sling. So no cycling, no colliding with trucks for six weeks, alright?” And he gives you the first hint of a proper smile, which you shyly reciprocate. “As for the concussion, I need you to rest properly for 72 hours, with a responsible adult to keep an eye on you. Since you seem like the adventurous type with your bike jaunts, you might want to have a look at this leaflet about safely returning to sport.” He unclips a leaflet from his clipboard, and starts to hand it to you, before changing his mind and passing it to Wanda. “Or at least, have a responsible adult look at it, hm?”

You’ve still not got a good enough gauge on him to tell whether he’s teasing you, seriously thinks you’re a child, or just doesn’t trust you because of the concussion. So you just nod, to let him know you’ve been listening. Even if it’s not really sunk in. In a way, it’s a relief to know there’s a reason for the fogginess, and you’re not just losing your mind.

“Alright, I’ll make sure a nurse is here soon to sort you out with the sling and such, then you can be on your way.” He pauses, looks between you and Wanda. “I guess your friend here can give you a ride, rather than you cycling home, huh?”

You freeze awkwardly, realising the predicament you’re in with all this “responsible adult” stuff, but Wanda just gives him a little chuckle, and you a reassuring smile. “Of course, Doctor. Her bike’s in quarantine in my trunk, so she’ll be sitting in the front with me.”

This is confusing and comforting at the same time. If she’s serious about giving you a lift, then where does it end? 

“That’s good to hear. Well, Y/N, best of luck on your recovery.”

“Thank you,” you manage, as always awkward with goodbyes.

“Thanks, Doctor,” Wanda smiles, and he leaves the room with a strong swing of the door.

Wanda turns to face you, and begins speaking before you can find the words to decipher her intentions.

“Y/N, you may already have other options in mind, but I want you to know you’d be most welcome to stay with me and my wife whilst you recover. For 72 hours or longer, if you need.”

You are speechless at both this immensely generous offer, and the revelation that Wanda has a wife. Somehow, it almost feels worse when you know the women you find beautiful are queer. At least when lusting after straight women, you know there’s a bigger reason, beyond yourself, why they wouldn’t want you. But now, knowing that Wanda is into women, you feel terrified that she might be recognising your gormless looks for something more than mere admiration. All you can hope is that the concussion may excuse any of your more cringy behaviour, today and — potentially — over the next couple of days. Because of course you want to stay with Wanda.

“Do… do you really mean it?” you ask, then kick yourself for not phrasing this better, doing a polite refusal first. “Because, I’m sure I can work something out otherwise. I don’t want to be a bother.”

She squeezes the hand she’s still holding, and your fingers automatically clutch her a little tighter in return. “No bother, sweetheart,” she promises. “It would be lovely to have your company a little longer, and it’s the least I can do, to look after you a little while.”

Your confusion only increases at her phrasing. “What do you mean?” you ask, wondering if you’re missing something. “You’ve already done so much.”

She smiles a little sadly at this, shaking her head. “You don’t remember, do you?” she says, and you just stare at her, baffled. “Y/N, you were hit by a truck pulling out at the intersection. But with the impact, you were thrown onto my car.”

Very, very briefly, you feel a flash of recognition in your mind. One, two, three impacts. The truck. A bonnet. The ground. Wanda’s car must have been the second of the three. When you look into her eyes again, you see they look a little misty. 

“Was it bad?” you whisper. A stupid question, but you don’t remember, you can’t visualise it beyond the vague knowledge you were piecing together in retrospect.

Wanda bites her lip, clearly working through her own memory, deciding what to say. 

“It was pretty scary,” she says. “I didn’t know if I’d stopped in time, until I got out. All I saw was this flying object, and I slammed the brakes. But it was you. One moment you were on your bike ahead of me, and the next…”

Now it’s your turn to squeeze her hand, offer comfort. Even though you’re the one on the hospital bed, bone broken and brain mixed up, it suddenly seems preferable to having seen it happen. It sounds awful. Knowing you’ve hit somebody, not knowing if they’re alive.

“Wanda, I��m okay,” you tell her, managing a smile though it’s probably more of a grimace because your shoulder is vying for your attention in increasingly volatile ways. “You did everything you could. It wasn’t your fault.”

She wipes her eyes, squeezes your hand back and gives a stoic smile in return, nodding like she’s trying to make herself believe it is true.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” she says. “But please, even just for my own peace of mind, can I accommodate you for a few days?”

You let out a laugh, which you didn’t know you had in you. “I guess I’d be cruel to refuse, in that case,” you reply wryly, and you feel glad that your humour is returning. And proud to see her laugh a little in return.

“Yes, you would be,” she agrees, joining in the joke. “Plus, I must admit it would be nice to have a chance to get to know you when you’re not concussed.”

“Hey,” you protest, feeling defensive for some reason. “I’m fine — I’m doing much better!” 

She just laughs. “Darling, there’s still a good few seconds between me speaking and you answering — and I’m sorry to say you look very confused in those moments.” 

You fold your arms and pout a little when you’ve processed this, but by the smirk on Wanda’s face it seems you must have proved her point. Especially because the movement of your arms was an automatic, emotional response — which really hurt your shoulder.

“I think Doctor Schwartz was right,” she says, lowering her voice and using her free hand to brush a wisp of hair behind your ear. “I think you need a responsible adult to look after you, sweetheart.”

You feel your pout faltering at this, and your heart thudding heavily behind your folded arms. Given what she’s just said about your processing time and vacant expressions, you feel a little worried that your body might be betraying you in other ways, when she behaves like this around you. When this thought occurs, it brings on the realisation that your cheeks are burning hot inside, and must surely be glowing traitorously on the outside. You duck your eyes and hug your folded arms into your sides, trying to pull yourself together.

Before you can be embarrassed any more, a nurse enters with a trolley, smiling at the scene of Wanda by your bedside, holding your hand. 

“Hi there, Y/N, my name is Nurse Amanda, it’s lovely to meet you!” This nurse has a rather overbearingly cheerful attitude, which makes you bristle slightly. “And who do you have with you today, Y/N?”

Well, she hasn’t assumed that Wanda is your mother, but she’s certainly treating you like a kid, and not in a way that makes you feel cared for. No, this feels disrespectful and cheesy. Especially because she’s already given up on you, looking expectantly at Wanda as if you’re unable to answer.

“Wanda’s a friend,” you pipe up, spurred on by annoyance at her treatment of you. You quickly glance at Wanda, to make sure she’s okay with you using the same terminology. She smiles at you, and nods, confirming your words.

“Oh, don’t you have the sweetest accent!” Amanda gushes. You chew on the inside of your cheek, irritated and unwilling to yield any information about yourself. Your folded arms become a little more stiff, sending another shockwave of pain in both directions from your broken collarbone. “Now, this is going to be a bit sore, but you hold on to Wanda’s hand and you squeeze tight when it hurts, okay Y/N?”

You barely resist rolling your eyes. Wanda gives your hand a gentle stroke with her thumb. You look up at her, wondering if she’s on the same condescending wavelength as Amanda, but when she meets your eyes she rolls hers a little, and you have to stifle a laugh. 

Amanda thankfully goes quiet after that, focussing on sorting the sling. It does hurt, a lot — but you’re too stubborn to let it show too much, wanting to be stoic and grown up, more out of spite to Amanda than any intrinsic part of your ego. Once she’s finished, she explains about caring for the sling, how to bathe, when to change it, how someone will come soon with your medication and discharge notes… etc. Given your concussion, you could be excused for zoning out or not fully absorbing all this information. But since Amanda seems to be addressing it all to Wanda and not you, you exhaust all your energy on studying her words and nodding to show your comprehension. When she leaves, with a rather annoyingly chipper “good luck!”, you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Well, she was…” Wanda begins.

“A right cow,” you mutter glumly. Wanda laughs, but reins it back in when she sees you wince. Now that Amanda is gone, you feel suddenly fragile. Like the spiky walls you put up for her have crumbled down, revealing the pain again. 

“It looked really sore, getting the sling on,” Wanda comments, and you nod. “You’re pretty stubborn, huh?”

You look at her, a reluctant grin cracking through your grimace at her shrewd recognition. “Hmm, maybe a little,” you admit.

Another wave of searing pain rushes through you, and you begin to feel a tear breaking through the barricades you are trying desperately to uphold. Embarrassed, you blink it away and apologise hastily.

“Sorry,” you whisper, grimacing slightly with the effort of holding it all in.

She perches on the side of the bed beside you, puts an arm around your back (careful to avoid your damaged shoulder) and ducks her head to meet your bleary eyes.

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart,” she says, shaking her head in a gently chastising manner. Your breath catches slightly at the term of endearment, but you hope she either doesn’t notice, or puts it down to the pain. “It’s okay to cry. Let it out.” And she tenderly strokes your side, where her fingers are lightly wrapped around your waist. 

To your shame, you lean in to this stranger and sob on her shoulder. It’s so wrong, so humiliating… but now that it has started, you can’t seem to close the gates of your defences again. Maybe it’s the pain, or the concussion — or just you, responding to her soft permission. Whatever it is, you’re in too deep now. Surrendered to the compassion and the comforting touch. Somehow hoping it will persist even though it is accompanied by, and only providing for, the pain.

It’s a good few minutes before the sobbing subsides and you begin to slowly sit up again. You can feel the heat in your face, branding you with your embarrassment — though perhaps this is the only appropriate way to be feeling after such a display, you think.

“Your shirt…” you begin awkwardly, glancing at the damp patch on her sleeve where the tears — and, oh god, maybe also your snot — have left their mark. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” 

“There is nothing to apologise for,” she says simply, cutting you off with her soft tone and a rather serious look. She uses her free arm to press her purse against her stomach, unlatch it and rummage about for something. She pulls out a packet of tissues, and hands it to you. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, moving your arms to open it and wincing when your shoulder protests. 

“Here.” She takes the packet from you, pulls out a tissue and passes it to your unaffected hand.

You smile a thanks, and begin dabbing at your (surely puffy) eyes before attempting to blow your nose without making an obnoxious noise. 

The door opens, and another doctor walks in, a woman in a white coat, holding her own clipboard and a pill bottle. She’s a lot more to the point, clinical and respectful, which you appreciate after the ordeal with Amanda. She hands you the pills, and explains how often you can take them, as well as potential side effects. Then she’s passing you the clipboard, and asking you to sign the discharge form with the pen clipped to the side. 

You read the whole form, knowing the concussion is making you slow, but wanting to do the proper thing rather than appearing flippant or immature in front of Wanda and this new doctor.

And then you’re told you’re free to go, and the doctor is gone. 

It’s all a bit sudden, the swift change from treatment to freedom. You blink a little, still catching up. 

“I can take your bag,” Wanda says, turning around and picking up your backpack, but holding it up first to give you time to see — and maybe to protest. “Just because you’ve got the sling, it might be hard to carry at the moment,” she explains, as if worried you might react badly to the suggestion you can’t manage. But — and you realise this is a bit weird as you think it — you don’t seem to mind Wanda doing stuff for you, or calling you sweet names, or treating you softly. In fact, you kind of like it. 

“Thanks,” you say, shaking yourself out of your daydream. You slowly swing your legs over the side of the bed and slide off, briefly airborne before your feet meet the floor. Standing up, you feel wobbly. But as soon as you think it, Wanda has gentle hold of your elbow on your good side, steadying you.

“It’s just the concussion,” she reassures you. “You might be a bit wobbly for a couple of days. Do you want me to hold you, or do you want to try on your own?”

You nibble your lower lip, considering. It would be embarrassing to fall over as you leave the hospital. But also? The idea of Wanda holding you is kind of nice. 

“Maybe…” you link you arm through hers, then look up at her for permission. She smiles, and squeezes your arm to let you know it’s okay.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the car. You’ve already met, but I hope it leaves a better impression this time.”

It does take a while, but when you finally get her joke, you giggle. Your head leaning into her shoulder as you walk out the hospital, linked arm in arm together.

Thanks for reading!

If you would like to read the full fic (so far), you can find it here.

[lizziee-olseen]

𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: you and Wanda spend Christmas Eve by the fireplace, making the same mistake you've been making for a long time again.

warnings (18+): intersex character (Wanda), smut, blowjob (Wanda receiving), vaginal sex (r receiving), cheating, mentions of pregnancy, angst. MINORS DNI.

pairings: Wanda x fem!reader, mentions of Wandanat and Pietro x fem!reader

word count: 4k

A/N: here's my slightly late, but not too late, Christmas/New Year special. it's sad but coming from me you already knew that.

masterlist|

A zephyr of gentle wind stirred the dancing of the curtains like dark specters, swirling into the living room in a winter breath that flickered the low fire in the nearby milky granite fireplace like a lantern flame, before the fingers of both your warm hands gripped and, in a disgruntled grunt under your breath, rolled down the windowpane – invading snowflakes gleaming like shavings of steel on the cream-colored ledge. The curtains quieted from their ghostly dance, settling back to rest like sleeping albino bats upside down. You didn't remember leaving the window open, but at the same time, you weren't in full control of your mental faculties at the end of the year either.

“Damn, it's snowing again,” you blurted out, your studious eyes peering at the world outside through the cloudy, stale glass about a hand's breadth away from the tip of your nose, “I... I don't think he'll manage to make it in time. It's too late anyway.”

A beam of pale luminescence penetrated the living room through cracks of ice that fogged up the glass, interspersed white streaks of streetlights that pierced the brief layer of spectral snow inserted inside thanks to the opening of the window above – a tight, dark light, rather vague, that posed in a grayish hue outside, offering the world (your car parked in front of the house enveloped in a sheet of ice, the low fence of the front yard turbid at that distance, the long-time plucked oak tree on the sidewalk and the distant cinder that was the house next door, just the yellow light from an window) the appearance of ghostly silhouettes, like the aftermath seen in a faded dream.

But inside you residence, everything was sheltered and protected by a thick layer of cozy heat coming from the fireplace flames (the orange light casted in tall shadows, shining in the depths of your eyes and in the ornaments hanging from the tall pine tree decorated with the theme nearby, fluttering on the ceiling; its warm reflections inside the living room windows), and you considered the possibility that, sooner or later, you might end up pulling your thick wool sweater over your head.

“Well,” Wanda's low, velvety voice drifted behind your shoulder, “He said he probably wouldn't make it in time for Christmas Eve, didn't he? And that he would stay in a motel in case the blizzard got worse. He'll be here tomorrow morning, honey, don't worry. He... he'll be fine. You don't have to worry about him, Y/n.”

And you understand, you understand what she means, what her tone of voice says contrary to her words. It's just that in so long, you've specialized in pretending, always pretending. Pretending you don't understand, pretending a lie is the truth. Your right fingers were still hooked on the vertical slit in the pale, soft satin curtain, your gaze lost in the stormy puffs of ice outside.

“I know, but… you know how uneasy Pietro can be sometimes, and he'd hate to miss even the tiniest Christmas celebration… I can't help but worry about him, Wanda. He's out there during this blizzard that doesn't look like it's going to pass any time soon, after all.”

The sudden high-pitched ping of a message dropping into a phone chat pierced the oxygen above the crackling hiss of the great dry wood fire burning in the fireplace, sounding just after you've finished your Christmas wails.

You then turned your chin over your right shoulder to regard her with your diligent gaze, and for a second of oxygen engulfed in your throat you just allowed yourself to admire her, Wanda, standing there in the middle of the room, being partially illuminated by the glow of the nearby fire, giving her silhouette the air of a scarlet creature from another world – the jadish eyes fixed on the phone set supplanted in the palm of her right hand, the thin long locks of brown hair that partially curtained a face holding her beautiful strong, fine features, her left fingers curled around the cylindrical body of a steaming porcelain teacup.

“It's him.”

A dizzying itch took hold of your right fingers, and you just took the time to sweep that long lock of hair behind her ear so deeply that every component cell in your body seemed to bristle and ache, as if there were grains of sand in your bloodstream and your bones were made of shards of glass. Your skin burned in the need of hers, a familiar touch, an outdated nostalgia. With your eyes hovering over Wanda's figure, there was no way your worries could sail towards Pietro anymore, not with all your attention focused on his twin sister as it was.

“What did he said?” your voice squirmed from the back of your throat, “Is he okay? He’s safe?”

And you wanted to care, but Wanda was just categorically stunning. Fifteen years ago you had already become familiar with the beauty of her oval-shaped face, but that doesn't mean that it wouldn't even have diminished with the lapidation of time – maturity dawned in a decade and a half, when her facial lines became more accentuated in a natural cut, just a new discovery for you. You still felt the whiffs of her adolescence somewhere, even if even she didn't feel them at all anymore.

It was as if, in so much time, you still hadn't discovered what it was that could actually be pointed out in the emerald shadow aligned with Wanda's gaze that instigated that thirsty burning inside you. You just wanted more of her, as much as you could have. As much as she would allow herself to be yours. In front of her, on her torso, Wanda was wearing the loose crimson and green thick wool sweater that your mother-in-law had given her last Christmas – Natasha had a pair of this piece knitted in green and red wool.

“See,” she muttered then, still with her eyes downcast, “He's fine. Here.”

Wanda's right forearm lifted her wrist to your eye level, turning the phone's pale screen into a synthetic glow toward you, her brother's contact shimmering across your retinas.

[Pietro]: Yo Wands tell Y/n I won't be able to make it in time anyway, this sucks man, a truck overturned on the road because of the snow and they won't fix it until tomorrow morning ☹ I miss her and the boys wtf!!!☹ ☹

The face of Wanda's thumb pressed the button on the side of the device after a couple of measly seconds of silence permeated by the ambience of the crackling of the incandescent firewood, and on the wide, newly darkened screen, the reflection of your deplorable facial expressions was outlined – your lower lip being sucked under your upper incisors, the streak of skin creased almost mournfully between both your brows. Wanda just lowered the device completely, moving it out of your field of vision.

“So… he won't be coming home today.”

“No,” she looked at you, her eyes flickering fire and dark green, “He won't come home today. And the boys are out like logs in their beds already,” and it was true, after all, she had read them a couple of bedtime stories herself. She always wanted to spend as much time as possible with the twins, after all.

Something sparked inside you, in heat and hunger, when the emerald color of Wanda's eyes stared at you from under her heavy lashes. It was like a non-syllabic question (can I?). You looked into her sharp cheekbones, engulfed partially by that orange reflection of the fire burning there so close to the two of you – you just wanted to feel her close, all to yourself, call out her name in your needy grip on your chest. Yes, scorched will and hunger sharpened through your veins, yes Wanda, you can. Now you can.

Her phone and teacup were both placed carefully on top of the light wood coffee table in front of the sofa, placed in a spot parallel to the fireplace and comically next to the fully decorated Christmas tree, blinkers off, presents wrapped in colored paper. But her phone pinged again that night, a bitter reminder, a sick joke – a message from a different contact, Natasha, a red heart emoji next to it. Wanda looked at you when you looked at her.

“I'm a fucking horrible person,” she muttered under her breath, as close to your personal space as she could get.

“I know,” was your broken voice reply, “But that's okay, because so am I.”

And, in an act of regret, you just did what your need obligated you to do – you reached forward and took Wanda for yourself, flattening the commission of your lips against her mouth that tasted of compunction and tea, just an old comfort for the overflow of your feelings so dismayed, so much need that would soon overflow. After all, that wasn't the first time that you kissed Wanda, and it certainly wouldn't be the last time that you would look for the hold of her arms, so that she could cherish the desire bristling in the hollow of your inner groins. The desire to have her always supplanted the shame of your ego.

A sinuous dance of delicate, tangible lips that fit perfectly and neatly, like something it should be. The ardent and passionate kiss was transmuted, however, into a harmonious kiss, and the harmonious kiss metamorphosed into splashes of tiny tight-mouthed kisses that soon dismantled in a state of fear, scattered in a reality where uncertainties and worries were mere ignoble daydreams, as long as you were in each other's arms. The first kisses were always fearful, they always meant to be.

The palms of both of Wanda's warm hands felt gentle against your sides, risking to caress your hipbones with the pads of her thumbs. A wave of the urge to implode in tears swept over you – perhaps out of desire or fear, regret or the intrinsic will of flesh and bone. You just wanted her to burn you like the fire in that fireplace burned to ashes in the wood, the only witness to your act of adultery, the fire that in the end consumed everything completely, a natural destroyer of evidence.

With her melodious lips parted, her pulps pink and cracked, Wanda, in turn, began to give you infinitesimal, lingering kisses along the contour of your neck, along the area where it joined your left shoulder, along the line of her jaw located in the gap between your ear and neck, validating the traces of hickeys sitting there, like long brushstrokes of dark paint on a blank canvas.

"Wanda..." you purred like a sleepy cat, the heavy lids covering your eyes again, enjoying the feel of the warm lips splashing over the bristling epidermis.

Unguarded, perhaps even a little needy in your deprived core, you snuggled against your beloved's warm body, a guilty, lazy little dread embodied by the commission of your own wet lips. You felt a warm forehead press against your pale skin band above your brows, and you and Wanda opened your lids at the same time – an immensity of burning green, brown strands of hair strumming against the skin of your chin.

“I need you now, baby,” she sighed against the kiss of your lips, “I-I – I need you, Y/n. It hurts. I need you now.”

And you knew what she needed – that's why you gave it to her, sitting her down on the couch, Wanda's sweater pants pooling around her knees in a matter of seconds. There was never room for ceremony when what you did was just the result of a mutual repression that always led to a needy outburst. 

From the hollow of your pearly lips, the tip of your velvety tongue made itself present, and that tongue, sweet and musky, soaked the entire length of her penis in a layer of shimmering saliva, the veins throbbing as the outline of the curled mouth cupped the pulsating tip, without the resistance of teeth in your way.

“Fuck, baby,” was a muffled moan against the palm she pressed to her own lips, urging you to do what you intended to do, “Just like that… Y/n, shit…”

You sucked Wanda's precum once, wringing a musical wail from both of your throats—the shivering moment, the bittersweet sap and the cinnamon heat, all etched into the center of your tongue, an already familiar taste in your stomach. Maybe that was why she chose you – the way you were the first person outside her family circle who accepted her for who she was, for what she felt she should be.

You were fifteen when you met the Maximoff twins, a boy and a girl, children of immigrants, in junior year of high school. And you were sixteen when you found out why Wanda didn’t used the locker room after PE with the other girls in your class.

“My parents thought I was a boy when I was a kid,” she once told you, under the bleachers after a literature class, “But then we found out that I was born different from Pietro, from most other people even... the doctors said the name is intersex. It's not very common, but it can happen sometimes.”

A girl with long dark hair that flowed in waves down her shoulders and wearing a second-hand fabric jacket, also dark as her hair. She was dark and stunning.

“Got it,” you hissed because you were sixteen and didn't know what to say, and Wanda was your best friend, “Your brother asked me out.”

“Oh,” it was like the sound of a piece of glass breaking, “Got it,” you always saw the way she looked at you, but it was Pietro who had the initiative. And he was always a good boy, and your parents taught you that there's no denying a good boy.

It didn't take long for Wanda's body sensitivity to acclimatize to your mouth, after just a handful of minutes in which you passed between her legs, ennobling the length of her member with just the tip of your tongue (back-and-forth movements, little kisses, and, at the latest, daring nibbles). You, upon noticing your beloved's familiarity with your tongue movements, took it from the inside of your mouth, almost the entire length between the flesh of your cheeks, reaching the summit of your throat, moist and plump.

“Y/n,” Wanda groaned, her brow furrowed, “Fuck, baby–!” and you felt a touch on the top of your head, near the roots of your hair.

Your mouth went up and down once, twice, five times. Wanda's right fingers, intertwined with your bundle of hair, made sure that the movements progressed eventually to something continuous and hard – her hips moved vigorously, fucking her way with her heavy member to the back of your throat. A cavernous yelp escaped Wanda's throat as her brows twitched and her eyes squeezed into two lines on her panting face, a pleasurable simulation of pain, a ball of yarn being woven down her navel.

You, the one who knew her as well as she herself did, tried to accompany Wanda's orgasm formulation with the movements of your mouth, thick saliva mixed with precum dripping from the corner of your lips in thick threads that wet the band the skin of your chin; you compressed your lips around her cock as you slid down its length, only to return to the head and then intensify the avid sucking until you brought your lover to the culmination of her own pleasure, of everything you wanted her to feel.

“Shit, shit, shit— ah! Y/n, I'm going to cum in your mouth, baby! Fuck!”

Wanda leaned forward so that both of her hands were resting on your temples, keeping your head in place as it spilled over your tongue, hot cum rushing its way to your stomach like you always did – always glad to swallow all the bittersweet load deposited inside you by Wanda.

At her apex, Wanda collapsed back to the length of the back of the couch, a warm, sweat-soaked dark lock plastered to her forehead. Her chest rose heavy and slumped back into her ribcage beneath her crimson wool sweater. The fire crackled in the hearth and in you too, however, because you wanted more, more of her, all of her – time was scarce and limited, and as such, incapable of being wasted. So you rose up towards her face, crying out to her.

“Wanda,” you called, your chin touching hers, your knees pierced by hers, “Wanda, I need you inside me now. Please, I need... I need you. I need you.”

You spoke as if you weren't in your living room at home – as if your children weren't sleeping right above your head. And she held you like she wasn't your husband's sister.

“It's okay, my dear. I am here. I'm here for you now, Y/n, I'll give you what you need.”

And then you were on top of her again, your shorts discarded like a rag before the fireplace, your hand reaching for Wanda's to close it by the back of your own hand, her thumb sinking soon into the warm flesh of your hip, her fingertips opening the moist lips of your pussy. On both of your ring fingers rose bands of golden wedding rings, yours different from hers, which turned copper in front of the fireplace – rings placed there by other people.

With the touch came a mutual moan that was engulfed by the embers, crackled from deep within your throats. And you began to reach down, feeling her inside, thick and firm. You came down the full length of her, and Wanda's back instinctively arched.

“Fuck-! Fuck, you're always so tight, baby, fuck–! You're practically grabbing me..."

“You're big,” your hands found her shoulders, the wool soft and red, “So big, Wanda… I want you for myself. I want you all to myself tonight, please.”

“You already have me, baby,” she lisped under her breath, “You always had me.”

With her member all tucked inside your cunt, inch by inch swallowed inside your throbbing walls, Wanda's mouth burned lustfully. The roar that bloomed through a crack in her lips had been a husky murmur.

Without circumlocution, Wanda was quick to thrust herself against your throbbing cunt, hollow slapping sounds filling the living room as she thrusted her hip against your wet entrance – so needy, a growing urgency in her bones and in your flesh, yearning for the heat of the ethereal figure that unfolded to you with such care and mastery, the inhuman touch burning over your skin. Wanda's movements were fast and uneven, solemnly guided by her desire to have you, to be inside you.

Her fingertips brushed your fine wet, low pubic hair, and you took a deep breath, your chest rising heavy and falling lightly, snorting a breath of warm air in a ravenous moan against the shell of her ear – the warm skin of your face cinched against Wanda's neck, who found herself able to feel both of your swollen nipples pressed against hers through the material of your sweaters so muffled. Her arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you against her, the two of you as close together as you could be.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/n!”

“Wanda,” the words strangled in your throat in a strangled moan, “Wanda, I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” she whimpered against your chest, “I love you too, I've always loved you…”

The steady movement of her hips brushed in eager friction against your swollen, nervous clit against the base of Wanda's cock, soaking her in your natural, smoldering lubricant juices. Your ecstasy compelled you to choke on a moan that coiled in your throat, and you rolled your hips forward, begging for more, so debilitating when against something as simple as the feel of her close to you, a single ethereal touch.

“I love you, Wanda. I love you I love you..."

The notion of the fact that that woman beneath you, reeking of tea and sex, as supernal of the encompassing reaches of human cognition as she could possibly be, could come to leave you at any moment saddened you to your ecstatic core. You didn't want to leave her. You didn't want to lose her, a battle already lost. With a soft growl (which came dangerously close to a needy moan) you pressed your entire body against Wanda's to make her feel how in control like she was over your mundane will. And your sister-in-law didn't even try to stop you.

“I love you Wanda, I love you, I love you, I'm sorry, I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n, I love you too, fuck, I will always love you, always, always... please, I’ll always love you–”

You rode her like that, being impaled, squeezing her tighter and tighter, until the two of you came together, her orgasm painting your walls in needy vastness, in an encapsulated moment where you were hers and she was yours, where your choices led you in the right direction, her inside you where she should always be, your arms around her like you always wanted her to – her inner thighs were strong and wet against your hips.

“I'm sorry,” you cried against her neck, Wanda's hands stroking the length of your back beneath the wool layer of your sweat-damp sweater, her flaccid cock still nestled within your walls as if it weren't already too late.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wish I had chosen right. I'm sorry. I wanna do it again. I wanna choose you. Please. I wanna choose you.”

“It's okay, Y/n,” Wanda lisped against your hair, a tear pooling under her lashes, “It's okay, honey. You already have me. You’ll always have me.”

The end of the year festivities came and went like the blur of the blizzard outside that Christmas Eve by the milky granite fireplace, and in the first half of January you and Pietro entertained your families for longer than you'd like – his parents and yours, and Wanda and Natasha, her wife, inevitably came and went too. The world presented itself in a furious way to you at the beginning of the year, incongruous: people everywhere, Wanda, Natasha, Wanda, Natasha, cold January winds. Natasha wanted kids with Wanda because she was a great aunt to Billy and Tommy.

“Children, huh?” Pietro asked his sister one night when the two of them were sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, the fire crackling softly.

“I thought you and Nat were the type who didn't want kids… but hey, this is awesome news, Wands! You'll be a great mom, you're like the boys' favorite aunt, everyone sees that! You take great care of them, Wands, so I imagine you'll be even better with your own children!”

“Yeah,” she smiled wanly, a little bitterly, looking into the fire, “With… my own children.”

“And I bet it will be the same with the next one too,” the twin looked at her, his blue eyes flickering towards her. Wanda looked away from the fire to look at Pietro.

“The next one…?”

“Yeah,” he smiled with the grace and pride that only someone in that situation could carry with him, “Y/n is pregnant again, Wanda! Can you believe?! Another Maximoff in the world!”

And then, Wanda looked at her brother. And she wanted to cry – cry for him, for herself, for Y/n and Natasha and Billy and Tommy, and that new child to come into that fucked up world made of lies and more lies. For all the mistakes she and Y/n made that could very well tear that family apart. She almost cried in front of the fireplace. If Pietro knew the true reason for those tears, he would never forgive her.

“Yeah,” Wanda smiled, a tear trapped in her green gaze, the fire burning in the fireplace, “Another Maximoff in the world.”

[lizziee-olseen]

Jealous stepmom! Wanda

Pairing(s): jealous stepmom!Wanda X female!reader

Summary: Your stepmom threw you a surprise party for your 18th birthday. She gave you a special gift and made it clear that you’re her baby girl — only and always will be hers.

Word count: ~ 1.4 k

Tags: just teasing and jealousy; naive reader.

A/n: it was supposed to be a drabble, just random thoughts.

The year you turn 18 has finally come, but what you didn’t expect was that your day would fall right in the middle of your semester exam week. Being a dedicated and responsible student, you focused on your studies, even though your disappointment was obvious - and Wanda noticed it.

Wanda, your stepmom, who has always been so caring and attentive towards you, wasn’t going to let such an important day pass without a celebration. She planned everything, even asking your best friend Yelena for help with the guest list – a surprise party for her special girl.

The day of the party arrived, and you didn’t even suspect the surprise – after an exhausting week of exams – and of course, it didn’t matter that your birthday had already passed. She remembered, and she prepared all of this just for you.

All your friends were there, your favourite foods, great music – it was the perfect surprise. And Wanda was there the entire time, making sure everything was perfect, always watching you enjoy yourself and create unforgettable memories.

But, at some point, things changed. You noticed that her gaze was different – she seemed angry. You thought about going to talk to her, but you were the birthday girl, and every time you tried, one of your friends would grab your attention. Natasha, your best friend’s older sister, in particular, wouldn’t leave you alone. It was routine for her, whenever she had the chance, she’d joke with you, make you laugh, or even tease you with double meanings – she’s a troublemaker, but you love her.

Wanda noticed the two of you, maybe even too much.

---

The party ended, the last guests had left, and you left your gifts scattered around the living room. Exhausted from all the fun, your heart was full of gratitude for the surprise party. But there was still one last gift you hadn’t opened – the gift from your stepmom.

Then your eyes widened when you saw what it was — a pink lace lingerie set. You had never worn one of those before; you were too shy to expose your body, and as your stepmom used to say — “you’re only a baby girl.”

“So… did you like it?” she said, pulling the fabric out of the box. “My baby girl is turning into a big girl now, so I thought of a nice gift for the occasion.” She winked at you.

Your cheeks were turning red with embarrassment. “I love it, it’s beautiful and fancy,” you smiled at her, and before you could say anything else, she continued.

“I want you to wear it for me,” her tone grew firmer, almost like a command.

“For you? Now?” you stared at her, confused.

"Yes, Darling. Don't you want to look pretty for your Mommy?" - She stood up from the bed, extending her hand as a sign for you to stand up.

Of course, you wanted to please Wanda — you had always been her good girl, never letting her down. Despite your embarrassment, knowing she had never seen you so exposed before, you nodded and accepted. She smiled softly, assuring you that she would patiently wait for you to return from the bathroom after changing.

And there you were, standing in front of her, wearing nothing but the lace lingerie set — and probably with your cheeks as red as the fabric.

“You’re so beautiful! Just look at you!” Wanda said, taking a few steps closer to you. “My baby girl. I want you to know that no matter how old you are, you’ll always be my baby. Just mine.” She hugged you, her hands gently running along your naked back. “You’re mine, right? Mommy’s baby girl.” She whispered in your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your neck.

You could only nod and let out a muffled groan. Her touch made your skin burn. She had always been careful, like any mother, but this time you felt something different — she had never touched you like that before.

“Let’s lie down, hm?! You must be so tired,” she said, releasing your body and holding your hand, leading you to the bed.

She lay down beside you, her fingers gently tracing over your skin, sending shivers through you at her touch. A new sensation began to stir between your legs, you were getting wet — it felt good, but left a sense of emptiness, as if something was missing.

“I saw that you had a lot of fun at the party, and I’m really happy about that. I also noticed how close Yelena’s sister is to you. What’s her name again?” — you felt her nail scratch across your stomach.

“Are you talking about Natasha?” — you let out a soft moan as her hand slid up to the fabric covering your boobs. — “She’s nice.” — you tried to lighten the mood, but you failed.

“Hmm, Natasha…” — she said the name in a low voice, her fingers now tracing gently over the thin lace of your bra and you could feel your nipple getting hard and she probably felt too — “And she’s nice…” — she repeated your words with a mocking tone. — "I guess my sweet girl likes older women then." - you blushed even more with her last words.

Her hand lingered with your boob, the touch growing heavier — more intense, almost possessive. — “And what about me? Is your mommy just nice too?” — Her eyes met yours; she wasn’t angry, but there was a hunger in her gaze that made your breath hitch.

You thought carefully about the right words to say. — “You’re the best, not just nice — you’re my mommy.” — her hand coupled your boobs firmly, your hard nipple between her fingers.

“Good girl. And you’re mine, right? Only and always mine.” — She placed a soft kiss just above your boobs. You let out a muffled “yes” with a quiet sigh. Her lips pressed more firmly against your skin, and you were sure it would leave a mark the next day.

“I need to hear you say it,” she said, continuing to place soft kisses around your breasts over the fabric.

Your body was hot and you felt your panties getting damp and the slight discomfort between your legs making you more and more impatient, as if you needed to touch, feel more.

"I am only and forever mommy's little girl," you strained to say, closing and rubbing your legs against each other in an act of seeking more contact.

Wanda smiled at your words. She lifted her head, your faces just inches apart, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Good girl. I need you to spread your legs for me now,” her tone turning firm again.

“Hm?” — your confused gaze met hers, and she likely noticed your legs shifting restlessly.

“You heard what I said,” her hand resting on your thigh. “Or are you hiding something from Mommy?” she arched an eyebrow.

You knew something was happening between your legs — a new sensation, a slight ache, almost like a need. Obediently, you parted your legs. She then looked down, her eyes fixed on your panties. Embarrassed, you tried to close your legs, but her hands held your thighs, keeping them apart as she wanted.

"I see a wet spot on these pretty panties. You made a mess here, sweetheart." - she ran her finger over the fabric of the panties, and you let out a moan feeling the contact. - "See how you'll always be my baby? Always making a mess." - she continued to rub her finger over the fabric and you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter.

"I believe it's a little sore here, am I wrong?" - no words came out of your mouth other than low moans. - "My baby's precious pussy needs some care. It's okay, mommy is here to take care of you." - she said, bending down, now her face close to your panties, you could feel her breath through the fabric. And then you felt her lips touch right on the wet spot, pressing - a caressing kiss.

She stood up, returning to your side of the bed, pulling your body close to hers. - "How about we rest now? You said you were almost asleep." - Her arms wrapped around you for a hug and before you knew it, you were the little spoon. - "And I promise that if tomorrow you still feel uncomfortable here" - She placed her hand over your panties, her fingers touching the wet spot again, your clit being pressed. - "Mommy will make you feel better." - She left a kiss on your neck and said finally. - "Good night, my love. Have sweet dreams."