#manon bannerman x y/n

[ssivinee]

「 Timeline 」

b. manon x f reader ✎𓂃 Ever since you were young, you have begun to plan your life for success. somewhat even obsessed with the idea that led you to being unintentionally self-centered at times. You believed your plans were coming to fruition... when Manon decides to throw your entire timeline off.

word count ! 18.5 k

tags ! cheater manon, virgin reader, mirror sex, a bit of degradation, dom reader, tiny praising kink, reader being confused SO much.

author's note ! you guys are literally insane. THANK YOU FOR THE 1K FOLLOWERS. it literally almost makes me wanna cry. but in celebration, im giving yall another long katseye smut.

ehem i will be doing my reqs after this so everyone BARE WITH ME PLS AND TY!

Working in the corporate scene had always been your life goal. It was eye-opening to realize that some of the jobs you once dreamed of wouldn’t have provided a stable income. Especially since you were the kind of person who planned out your entire life before it even truly began.

From a young age, you carried this almost narcissistic belief that you were destined for more—an idea born from growing up in a middle-class family surrounded by people you considered painfully average. You were seven when ambition first took place, and you never let it go ever since.

You remembered living in an old modern house, playing soccer as an after-school activity, and watching how often your mom and dad worked. At first, you believed that anyone who worked hard was destined for success. But over time, you learned it wasn’t that simple. When your parents returned home at ungodly hours, their arguments about money and time were heard through the walls of the house.

One particular fight ended with your father slamming the front door and heading out for a late-night drive to clear his head. That night, you started thinking about what success really meant and how to attain it. There were so many variables like education, finances, and even luck. But what if you didn’t have luck… how could you build a future without relying on something not everyone had?

While your parents worked their night shifts, you began journaling every idea, every goal, every backup plan, all within your childhood bedroom.

You had always been gifted with numbers, so you figured that a career in accounting would be a good career to look into. By the time you reached high school, you spent every summer interning at various companies. It was taxing for a teenager, but you figured if you couldn’t handle it now, you wouldn’t survive whatever you planned for college, so you pushed through.

During your first two years of university, you focused entirely on finishing as many classes as possible. At the same time, you took a job as a remote financial analyst, balancing work and school to keep progressing at a good pace.

You even poured everything into finishing four years of education in just two. Once you graduated, you worked multiple jobs until, at twenty-four, you finally had the proper resume to apply for an opening at a telecommunications company called Zuno.

Using the smartass brain of yours, you assessed the company’s future potential and determined the odds were in your favor. You applied for an internal auditor position and figured that climbing the corporate ladder would be easy enough.

Turns out, you were right since, by twenty-five, you’d been promoted to Head of Financial Planning and Analysis. The new position allowed you to pay off your parents’ bills and mortgage, purchase your own loft in the city, and be financially stable for a very long time.

You were perfectly on track with your ‘perfect’ timeline, but that was until you weren’t. The next step would’ve been becoming CFO, but with your age and experience, it was now all about the waiting game. You’d need a few more years before you could realistically take over your boss’s position.

The problem was, this well-thought-out plan hadn’t accounted for the momentum to pause. And now that you were facing it, the thought made you sick. Life had been too smooth for you to accept this kind of dilemma.

But that wasn’t something you could dwell on now, especially not while sitting in the conference room, furiously typing away on your laptop.

“What’s the budget, forecast, analysis, and planning for the upcoming project?” asked Gary Dinapoli, your CFO. He addressed his entire team, but you knew the question was mostly for you, like usual.

“For Project Sierra,” you began confidently, “the current working budget is estimated at $27.3 million, with a ten percent buffer. Of that, roughly 42% is for the infrastructure and network expansion in Tier 2 markets, 31% to product innovation and internal R&D, and the rest split between marketing, onboarding, and operational overhead.”

The room grew quieter as a few heads turned in your direction. You continued in a steady tone, “Forecasts for Quarter three show a projected 14.6% increase in user acquisition if launch dates hold and marketing sticks to the current schedule. Momentum from Project Romeo exceeded ROI expectations by 23% last quarter, bringing in $11.2 million above initial statistics.”

Gary raised an eyebrow, but you continued, “Analysis of customer behavior over the last six months shows a 19% uptick in cross-platform engagement. Based on trajectory, we can expect net revenue impact to peak by mid-fourth quarter with breakeven happening around month five, possibly sooner with the right moves.”

You finally glanced up from your laptop, locking eyes with Gary. “As for planning,” you added, “we’re currently finalizing phase timelines with cross-functional leads. Finance-wise, I’ve already mapped out cash flow pacing to avoid strain, and risk assessments are clean unless the market peaks unexpectedly.”

It was silent for a second, until Gary let out an impressed, loud exhale through his nose. “Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “Guess I don’t need to ask if you’re ahead of schedule.”

You just offered a faint smile, fingers already typing again.

Before he could end the meeting, you heard another voice speak up from the opposite end of the room.

“Well, some of that’s just projection,” Chase said, casually adjusting his cufflinks. “Market response isn’t guaranteed, especially when user behavior fluctuates from time to time. We saw the same thing with Romeo before you adjusted your forecast.”

Chase always had a habit of inserting himself when he didn’t feel seen, which, to his disdain, was often. He’s five years older than you, has been in the company longer, and was your competition for your current position. 

The keyword is ‘was’ because getting the position before him wasn’t something he got over, even after a year since the announcement.

Gary didn’t even bother turning his head to the man, just keeping his eyes on the papers instead, “Yes, Chase. And I read your report this morning. Everything she just said? Already in it—just with fewer run-on sentences.”

A few coworkers stifled a laugh, but you stayed quiet. Glancing at the older man, who looked embarrassed at the boss's words, you could only shake your head at the sight. Gary turned his attention back to you, “Finish up your work by four,” he said. “Then head upstairs to his office at five and give him a report, please.”

You give Gary a tight-lipped smile at his kind tone as he dismisses everyone. Going to the thirty-eighth floor, you waited with coffee in hand to go to your own office. Having your own space also kept you ahead of schedule, so the promotion was a blessing, not only for your path in life but for the sake of your mental health as well.

Gary spoke of him as if he were the biggest secret of the business, but that was only because he didn’t always get along with the CEO. Marcos Gosse, the founder and CEO of the company.

You could sit in your office every single day, thinking why the two didn’t get along, but you didn’t understand it, as both are kind men. Marcos was one of the youngest CEO’s you were even aware of, standing at the same age as you. He’s an intelligent man who treated his employees well.

Maybe Gary was jealous? 

You shook your head, not liking to assume anything unless they were backed up with any kind of evidence. Now heading into your office, the cool air hit the sleeves of your black portefino shirt once you opened the door.

Settling into your chair, you take another sip of the coffee as you set the silver laptop on the surface of the glass desk. Then, staring at the standing whiteboard which had multiple check marks on it, all the work needing to be done today was seemingly finished even before the meeting you just had. All you had to do was sit and wait until five.

Which meant an annoying hour and twenty minutes of nothing to do. So instead of lounging around, you took out the thick notebook from your leather briefcase-shaped bag. Taking a red pen from the black pencil holder on your desk, you open the book and begin writing the plans for this month.

While writing down a bunch of meetings, deadlines, and events, another woman exited the elevator. She took in the large buildings, giving herself an unofficial tour of the place as she took it into her own hands. 

Every employee heard her expensive heels clacking down the hallway, most of the rooms sectioned off by large walls of oak wood that seemed to be painted in a dark stain. She hums, impressed with the modern look of the space, while others stare at her as she struts to the opposite end of the building.

She begins reading the plaque of each room, seeing that she has found people in higher positions in the department. Through a big enough window, she finds Gary, who seems to be taking a phone call.

He catches a glimpse of the woman, giving a kind smile and a wave. They had met the week prior during a meeting Marco had prepared. She knew the older man didn’t have the best relationship with her husband, but Gary looked like a cuddly bear in her eyes, which made her love him.

Next, she walked over to the room beside Gary’s to find the plaque engraved with ‘Head of Financial Planning and Analysis’ and ‘Y/n L/n,’ right below it. She looks into the room through the glass, not showing her complete face, where she finds you deep in your notebook. 

She watched as your gaze moved to a phone, then you wrote swiftly with your red pen. Your glasses hung from the bridge of your nose, sliding down due to looking down at the paper. So engrossed, you didn’t even notice her staring at you.

Instead of seeming like a creep to the rest of the workers on the floor, she decides to take her leave to the top floor, where she would hang around until the night ends. Luckily, the hour went by quickly, and you had time to grab a snack from the breakroom. After storing your laptop and notebook back in your bag, you bring them with you and enter the room that smells like food.

You stand in front of the vending machine, thinking a small Rice Krispies treat would help your stomach since you would be home right after giving your report. As you pay with your phone, the snack drops, and you unwrap it to eat.

“I must have to worst luck to see you everywhere,” You hear Chase’s annoying voice say, and you take a bite out of the snack, giving him a smile along with it. “Still salty, old man?”

“It’s been a year, and yours still hanging onto that grudge of yours,” You tease while still munching on the treat as he quickly looks angry. “That position should be MINE!”

You shake your head, tapping your finger on your hip as you throw away your garbage and swallow the last piece. “You mean ‘that should have been my position.’ C’mon now, Chase. Proper grammar, please,” you told him while taking your leave to the upper floor, and heard him growl.

It may not be apart of your life plan, but pissing off the older man always made your day go by smoother.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime as you stepped in from the 38th floor, pressing the button that led to the 40th. As the doors slid shut, the sound of the elevator filled the silence, giving you a moment to roll your shoulders back without the bustling office ringing in your ears. The upper levels of the building were always quieter, and you already wished your office was up there.

When the doors opened again, all you could still hear was the silence that took over the entire floor. Due to the floor having higher representatives and a large empty meeting room, everyone stayed quiet in their own offices.

You walked all the way to the end, the room being blocked off by towering, dark wooden doors. Then, knocking twice as you waited for the okay to enter, and it didn’t take long for a voice to come through.

“Come in.” Pushing the door open, you were met with the scent of leather and lemon, likely due to the candle that was evidently lit up on the desk. Marcos stood from behind the table, smoothing down his suit jacket that had gotten wrinkled from the whole day of sitting, and he had an easygoing smile that he always greeted you with.

“There’s my genius numbers machine,” he said jokingly, then motioned for you to sit. “How’ve you been?” You sat down, crossing one leg over the other as you offered him a polite smile. “Same as always, just trying to make sure Chase doesn’t bark up a storm.”

Marcos chuckled, “I told you, he was going to throw a fit after today's meeting. But hey, you always handle him best.” He leaned on the desk now after taking a seat, his back resting on his large office chair. “Tell me—did you ever get that Chrysler you kept going on about?”

You let out a small laugh through your nose, “I did, it’s all black.” He grinned widely, nodding in approval. “Nice. You’ve got good taste.” He always talked to you all friendly, like he wasn’t your boss. You took it up with being the same age as him, and he probably needed a friend who wouldn't judge him for how young he is.

From your bag, you pulled out the prepared papers and slid them across the desk. Marcos took it, his fingers flipping through the first few pages scanning through them as he trusted your work. You gave him a quick rundown, saving him the time.

“Budget for Project Sierra is good to go, no unexpected adjustments since Monday. Analysis is clean, and planning is already syncing with the other companies for a greenlight deployment. Phase one’s basically ready.”

He nodded along, halfway through a skim of a page. “I’ll dig into the rest later tonight—” A knock interrupted him. His gaze shifted to the door, a bit confused about who it might be. “Come in.”

The door opened smoothly, and in stepped a woman who literally looked as confident as she walked. Her hair was styled into a straight, sleek ponytail cascading down her back with not a single hair out of place. She wore pointed, glossy red heels with a black sleeveless midi sheath dress that had a square neckline and cut off right below her knees.

You didn’t know who she was, but you glanced over your shoulder, and for a second, your eyes locked with hers.

She looked quite expensive, all you could even tell yourself that. But other than that, you didn’t pay much attention to her, as she dressed like many of the higher representative women in Zuno.

Marcos stood from his chair again, gesturing between the two of you with that usual soft-spoken tone of his. “Ah—perfect timing,” he said. “This is Manon. My fiancée.”

You only blinked as you stood up slowly, brushing your pants down before reaching out your hand. “Nice to meet you,” you said coolly, offering a firm shake. Her fingers curled around yours in return, and you noticed how soft and small her hand felt as they wrapped around yours.

“Likewise,” she answered with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘It’s only a marriage contract,’ she told herself over and over again. But she wasn’t about to say that out loud, because why would she?

Manon had met Marcos about six months ago. A lunch gathering between industry executives and family shareholders introduced them, and things moved fast once her parents got to know him for a bit. Two months after the first meeting, both of them signed the paperwork. It was only a marriage and company transaction that would favor the two.

Manon did try to fight it, lord knows she didn’t want to deal with anything of this sort since she had only turned 23. Yet there seemed to be no way out once her parents set their minds on it.

Her father was the CEO of Bannerman Studios, one of the biggest production companies in the industry, and the engagement would be a headline-worthy topic in the business circuit.

But despite the perks and polished smiles, Marcos didn’t excite her. He was genuinely sweet,  the kind of man who always held doors open and asked if she’d eaten. He even sent fresh flowers to her place every week, left handwritten notes when he traveled for work, and never raised his voice, like ever.

It should have been perfect, and granted, it was. But Manon wasn’t the type of woman who liked to be perfect. She liked chaos, stupid decisions, and risks. She liked the feeling of freedom, the excitement of anything that left any person breathless. Basically, anything that involved trouble, Manon loved and gravitated towards.

And right now?

She was staring at you. You were taller than her, looked composed, clean, and smart, which wasn’t something that would usually excite her. Your long hair was twisted back into a claw clip, some strands framing your face. You wore navy blue wide-leg tailored pants, stood in black heels, and a white button-up tucked in perfectly, looking like everything fit to a tee and showed off your figure.

Manon didn’t say anything else, and it wasn’t like she could. Everything she thought about you could’ve been considered infidelity even if she wasn’t, yet, married to Marcos.

She could just swoon for you, and in that little wild corner of her mind, you looked like the kind of woman who might surprise her with entertainment. And since her contract signing four months ago, this seems to be the moment she has been waiting for.

“I should take my leave, need to cook up some dinner,” you told your boss, and he gave you a kurt nod. “It was nice to meet you, Manon,” you say out of common courtesy. Her gaze couldn’t even leave your face when she told you, “It was so nice meeting you as well.” 

There was something in the tone of her voice that made you raise an eyebrow before you head out of the office. You shake your head while walking down the hall, believing Manon to be a person who just liked meeting new people.

Yeah… that was it… surely?

It was finally Friday, one of the days that sped up before the weekend. You were finishing up the last of your reports for the day, already mentally clocking out for a normal, uneventful weekend. The next two days would usually just be you, in your loft, chilling while watching some random documentaries throughout the day. You even had a few queued up already—one about a serial killer, another on Amy Winehouse. 

Even if you graduated early, you still loved learning, especially if they were things that were on your own terms. Some could say nerdy, you say… nerdy and educational. More knowledge won’t kill anyone.

You were thinking about it as you typed away on your keyboard, until a knock echoed off your office door. You paused mid-type, brows furrowed since you weren’t expecting anyone.

Not even saying anything, the door cracked open, and in walked Manon.

She stepped inside without much of a word, giving the office space a look around, which made you look puzzled. You could tell she was checking to see if anyone was paying attention to her sudden appearance, but everyone was too caught up in doing their work to even care. You heard multiple office phones ringing, people silently replying to emails and research, while others responded to the calls. No one even spared her a glance, which seemed to relieve her.

She then shut the door softly behind her. You leaned back in your chair, eyes narrowing slightly, your confusion not even being hidden at all.

“…Ms. Bannerman?” you asked slowly, the name coming from memory when Marcos had mentioned more about her two days ago, when the topic came up again somehow. But she waved a hand, cutting you off gently. “Just call me Manon.”

You blinked, still not fully understanding the situation, but replied the same way. “Ms. Bannerman.”

She tilted her head slightly, caught off guard at the way you repeated her name instead. She was used to people folding for her and following whatever she told them to do. Who wouldn’t? She was Manon Bannerman, after all.

But you didn’t budge, not one bit, as you sat in your chair just observing her next move. And that earned you a smirk from her.

From behind her back, she revealed a coffee cup and stepped forward. “A peace offering,” she said playfully, leaning slightly across your desk as she handed it over.

Your eyes instinctively flicked down, then back up—very quickly. The velvet maroon dress she had on dipped low in the front, showing off her cleavage, sleeves hugging her arms, and the fabric clung extremely tightly to her frame. She looked expensive yet seductive, which was surely the wrong setting for an outfit like such, while standing in your office and leaning over your desk like it wasn’t a big deal. You noticed the subtle glint of a thin chain bracelet wrapped twice around her wrist, paired with the faintest whiff of jasmine and wood. Her perfume legit just smelled as expensive as she looks.

You took the cup, still unsure. “…Uhm. Okay?” With a hesitant sip, you feel the heat of the coffee first, the sensation being something you were fond of, then some sweetness hits your tongue. It wasn’t bad, sometimes liking sweet things every now and then, but you definitely didn’t prefer your everyday coffee this way.

“It’s a bit sweet, but thanks for the coffee,” you said anyway, in a polite manner. When you looked back up, her mouth had dropped slightly open. “You think that’s sweet? I only asked for two sugars.”

You shrugged. “I usually drink it black.” That made her pause; she should’ve seen it coming. Your demeanor was like the kind of person who liked straight answers… and your coffee plain.

She leaned her weight onto one hip, brow raised, and mumbled under her breath, “How do you prefer your women then…” It was barely audible, and you blinked with a perplexed look on your face. “Sorry—what?”

She straightened up quickly, brushing it off with a light laugh. “Nothing,” she said smoothly, already backing toward the door.

Hand on the knob, she turned over her shoulder one last time. “Have a good day.” You nodded once, still processing what the fuck just happened. “…You too.”

As the door shut behind her, Manon walked past the cubicles of employees and down the hall, heels clicking rapidly as she sped walk.

She needed to think of some way for you to be interested in her, or even just catch your attention, because if someone like you wasn’t easily impressed, she was going to have to figure out a way to do so.

So when entering the elevator and pressing her destination, she just kept thinking and thinking about a plan. When walking into Marcos’ office, Manon didn’t even knock. It would’ve been a waste of time for her.

Ironically, she never did when it came to Marcos' office—he had even grown accustomed to it after she started doing it a month into their contract. However, it still caught him off guard, his head lifting from a thick pile of papers when she entered unannounced.

“Manon,” he greeted, smile kind and voice still that signature softness he gave to everyone. 

She didn’t understand why her brain had to operate the way it did. Her parents set her up for greatness with this man, and regardless of what she thought, he was overall a perfect person. Wealthy, sweet, treated people with kindness, funny, and just a friendly guy overall. Yet why were those qualities just not enough for her?

She remembered a few nights ago, when Marcos had taken her to an expensive rooftop restaurant. It was one of those places with a skyline view that everyone posted on Instagram. He talked about stocks and a bit about work before talking about things that could possibly happen for their wedding over steak, and smiled every time she laughed at a joke she didn’t find funny. When he dropped her home, he kissed her forehead goodnight. 

…That was it.

A faint trace of embarrassment crept onto her cheeks as she stepped further into the room. She hated how uncollected she felt in that moment—it wasn’t like she was in trouble or anything. Still, she didn’t respond to him, choosing to make her way to the opposite end of his office, in front of his desk, but far away enough, where the couch was placed.

It was in front of the black colored concrete accent wall in his room. The seating arrangement made it comfortable enough that she didn’t feel suffocated despite the corporate space that seemed hectic all the time. Granted, it was still Marcos’ space, so she couldn’t feel super free, but it sufficed for the space that it was. The couch is modern, low, yet wide, with clean ivory leather surrounding it and dark wood framing. A beige concrete drum coffee table was in front of it, fitting into the ‘plain’ modern aesthetic Manon actually despised.

Manon took a seat, crossing a leg over the other as she took a sip of the iced coffee she had bought herself in the process of buying yours.

That look you gave her earlier pretty much stuck in that pretty head of hers. It hadn’t been anything crazy either, just a pause with the piercing gaze of yours, as your brows narrowed ever so slightly while watching her every movement. You were clearly studying her and didn’t even hide it.

You could think that it wouldn’t get any worse, but it did to Manon. When you didn’t look impressed, like at all.

Marcos glanced up again, focused only on her, “Where’d you disappear to? I figured I’d see you before I met with the commercial company.”

Her expression didn’t change as she gave him a nonchalant shrug, “Just went out to get coffee.” It’s all she intended to say, especially since Marcos didn’t ask anything further. He hummed under his breath, giving a nod before glancing back down at the documents he’d been reviewing.

But then, out of nowhere, Manon’s brain seemed unable to help itself. “I bumped into Y/n in the elevator.” So she lied, yet admitted to seeing you… she wanted to smack herself in the head as soon as the word left her mouth. He stopped mid-read, brow raising slightly in curiosity. “Y/n?”

“You mean… my head of FP&A?” he asked, eyes lifting again, this time a bit confused. “She rarely leaves the building unless it’s her lunch break. Maybe she took it late today? She’s clocking out soon anyway, so I guess it’s possible.” He didn’t sound suspicious, just a bit curious about his friend whom he believed he knew well, but that didn’t stop the flicker of panic that jolted through her for a brief moment.

“I’ll ask her about it—”

“No,” she cut in, voice just a little too quick than intended. Marcos paused, pen still in hand, eyes flickering with mild confusion at her tone. She caught the way she sounded and Marcos’ face, faking an airy laugh.

“It was just… a little awkward,” she said, brushing a curl from her perfectly styled hair behind her ear as she leaned back into the sofa. “I don’t think it’s worth bringing up.” He could’ve questioned her, but it seemed like Manon put her acting skills up to the test in the moment. One of the many things being born a Bannerman taught her.

He nodded, the information new to him, “That’s surprising. She’s usually really composed and professional.”

“Exactly,” Manon replied without any hesitation. “Which is probably why it was awkward. I’m kind of the opposite, you know?” Marcos chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door, then it eased open. Manon recognized him as Morcos’ assistant, a small-framed man, wearing a collared shirt that wrinkled from how big it was, eyes insanely visible behind his large-rimmed glasses.

“Sir,” he said, voice a little too soft. “The—uh—boardroom’s ready. They’re waiting.”

Marcos sighed quietly, standing from his seat and collecting his papers into a folder. “Right. I’ll be back in an hour.” He rounded his desk, walking over to Manon and giving her a brief peck on the cheek. “Just relax here for a bit, okay? We’ll head out after.”

She nodded and smiled in return, though the moment he left, the smile dropped. Manon Bannerman was a lot of things. Patient was not one of them.

She stood up, pacing a bit before settling back into the couch. Her gaze wandered, drifting over the art, the floating shelves with framed awards on them, the books she doubted anyone ever actually opened, with the dust collecting on them. She sat for another two minutes, legs crossing and uncrossing, fingers tapping against her thigh.

Then her eyes landed on his desktop monitor. With no one else in the room, her intrusive thoughts began running. It was one of the only offices without windows, and she knew that Marcos didn’t turn off his computer unless he was heading out for the night.

Curiosity took over as she waited five more minutes. Just long enough to make sure the coast was really clear. Once she felt enough time had passed, she made her move.

She did her best to be a bit quiet, heels barely clicking against the floor as she made her way behind the desk. The chair was adjusted higher than she preferred, but since she was snooping around, complaining couldn’t so much as she pressed the mouse.

The screen woke instantly, and to her luck, the internal system was open. She assumed there had to be a private company network, and since Marcos was the CEO, it made sense that he’d have access to everything. His employees, projects, and departmental files.

She typed your name in the search bar, and her research didn’t take long. Because as soon as she pressed enter, a file opened in full screen, and your face was the first thing that greeted her. 

That same damn face that has her acting a fool. Manon leaned forward, dragging a finger under her chin as she looked closer. ‘Fine as hell’ was the first thought that entered her head.

But as her eyes scanned the contents of your file, she only expected to see a phone number, birthday, emergency contacts, and address, just in case. But she realized this wasn’t just some basic profile—this thing had everything on it.

Your official ID photo and your full resume underneath. Manon didn’t expect anything less from you, seeing the long list of experience and education. She thought it would be creepy of her to see all of this, but she had already committed to all of it at this point. She saw emergency contact information, an address listed, your income details, years of employment, and even certifications.

Not much of the information was useful unless she wanted to be a creep and basically stalk you. It made her a bit hopeless until she scrolled all the way back up, finding notes with dates beside them.

It seemed, Marcos would check these often, noting things down that he had to bring up with his employees. A bulleted line stood out to her, ‘Event planning: discuss finance tracking with Y/n for Q3 Celebration Budget. Have her oversee spend limits during setup and execution.’

It was for a company-wide party. One of those things wealthy people loved to throw to boost morale, PR, and just to ‘celebrate’ the success of their company. Manon liked calling it ‘ego parties’ because these people gathered around to boast about their own success rather than about the company party they were invited to.

You wouldn’t be there as a guest, but as a working and paid employee. Still, a room full of people, music, lights, her in something other than her ‘normal’ clothes… and you somewhere in all of this. Manon believed she wouldn’t get another chance to do something in a long time unless she was willing to wait.

She smirked to herself, slowly spinning the chair just slightly to the left. Catching your attention was officially on her to-do list with this upcoming event.

And she was going to make sure that it was going to go her way. She closed the file, doing her best to leave everything the way Marcos left it, and went back to her seat.

Manon leaned back, arms stretching above the backrests, where she sighed in a relaxing manner. Brewing up a plan in her head, she had to not only seduce you (because she was aware that wasn’t going to work) but find something that interests you to really reel you in.

The next few days were ‘normal’ enough. Manon brought you coffee every other day, not in a pattern, so it didn’t seem super odd to you. If anything, you were grateful at times, since you couldn’t get a second cup of coffee on some days. She even began getting your order done.

One black coffee with one packet of sugar. You rarely ever minded her, and it wasn’t meant to be in a disrespectful way. You had only made one friend in the company, and that’s Marcos. There was no other person, and you’d like to keep it that way.

After minding your business for about two weeks, Manon even began thinking that she was beginning to look like your assistant.

Although doing all of this would surely work in her favor. Because by visiting you every other day, she got to know more about you despite the minimal chatter.

While waiting for the next couple of days, the invitation didn’t need to be extended. She did want to make sure she wasn’t obvious about it. From what she can recall, Manon had been same spot in his office like usual, flipping lazily through a magazine, waiting for him to wrap up his email. 

Which meant a lot of reading for him and more waiting for her, but it had become the norm, everything Manon visited. They would get food together throughout the day, and she’d grown used to Marcos’ routine, and she doesn’t have a choice.

After an hour, they exited the elevator toward the private parking area where his car was parked. She adjusted her sunglasses and sighed out a sound, sounding somewhat tired from something.

“I feel like I haven’t gone out in forever,” she said, dramatic enough but also passes off as a casual comment that came to mind. “No party or even wine. I’m getting a little bored with life.”

Marcos, ever sweet and receptive, gave her a glance. “That’s funny,” he replied, already unlocking the car and opening the passenger door for her. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go with me to a Celebration. Just a little progression success for the project.”

“Like a rich party kinda thing?” she asked with a tiny tilt of her head, feigning vague interest. “My parents told me you guys throw those like... once a quarter or something.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know it sounds corporate and stiff, but it’s going to be at the Astrelle building, the one that’s a few minutes away from here. I asked them to go all out with planning—live music, open bar, the whole thing. I figured we could go together.”

“Well, since you insist,” she replied with a lazy grin, sliding into the passenger seat like she hadn’t been planning this for weeks. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

So that's how she finds herself standing under the luxurious chandeliers of the ballroom. She held a flute of champagne effortlessly between her two fingers. Her posture and face, somewhat relaxed, but deep down, she was on alert.

The venue was breathtaking with its cream colored marble floors beneath everyone's feet, veins looking like they had been dusted with gold. Crystal chandeliers shine with bright lights overhead. 

Manon stood near the edge of the room, looking like trouble… in a good way. Her gown was a deep midnight blue, almost tricking the eye to see black until the light hit it just right. A floor-length sheath cut that followed every curve, hugging her body. A slit ran high up her left leg, stopping just below the hip with a perfectly angled hem, it was sexy without exposing too much. 

The neckline dipped into a clean, plunge, held together by a delicate gold chain that wrapped across her chest, looking like jewelry built into the gown itself. Her hair was slicked back into a sleek ponytail again, and the glimmer of her diamond drop earrings would shine as she swayed her head.

She wasn’t acting like it, but she was looking for you. Walking gracefully through the crowd, exchanging polite smiles with people she didn’t know, giving half-hearted nods to board members who likely didn’t recognize her. 

The live jazz mixed with hints of lounge house was just loud enough for everyone to hear each other's conversation. A waiter passed by with another tray of champagne, and she switched her empty glass with a full one, taking a sip of the sparkling liquid that seemed to pop on the surface of her tongue.

Her eyes scanned the sea of rich people, tailored suits, cocktail dresses, and gowns with disinterest until she noticed a figure in the far back, off to the side of the ballroom, near the door that led to the terrace, where she saw you.

You were facing slightly away from her, speaking with someone who looked professional, clearly someone you worked with. You held a clipboard, nodding, and your posture looked rigid as your shoulders looked spread out with tension, looking like you were in a ‘serious’ mode.

Manon leaned onto a column, slightly tucked behind one of the open archways, watching you from a short distance.

You looked way better than she expected, especially since she expected you to match your coworkers. It was clear that you had a higher position compared to your peers. She eyed the matte black heels you wore, coordinating with the other women who seemed to be working as well. 

Still, Manon seemed to forget something. That, despite your position in the company, Marcos valued his friendship with you. She did notice that every time you gave him a report, the two of you seemed to be very ‘buddy-buddy.’ Also, not knowing what to make of it, she makes her mind believe that you two are genuinely just friends.

Her meeting you had to look as natural as possible. So she waited until you turned slightly to your right, appearing to give final notes to whoever you’d been speaking to. Once you took a step toward the outer terrace doors, she moved quickly with her flute of champagne still in hand, intercepting your path with perfect timing.

You felt a gentle bump, shoving you a bit to the left due to your focus being on the clipboard.

“Oh—shit, sorry,” she said, turning with a look of surprise, brows up, pretending like she hadn’t already clocked your exact location twenty minutes ago. You instinctively reached out, one hand lightly touching her arm to steady her. 

Your eyes finally met hers… again. “...Ms. Bannerman,” you said, a bit skeptical due to the past few days, but act as normally as possible due to the setting.

She smiled innocently,  a look you didn’t really believe. “Manon,” she reminded, in that same voice from your office two weeks ago. You didn’t respond to that, not wanting some kind of casual relationship. Your hand dropped from her arm, and you gave a polite nod. “Didn’t expect to see you back here.”

She gave a little shrug, lifting her champagne flute. “I like parties, but these rich ones aren’t exactly my cup of tea.”

You scanned her dress quickly. Not trying to be rude or anything—just something you usually did, especially when events like these had everyone dressing up in elegant clothes. It also isn’t hard not to notice the way the fabric moved when she did.

“You look different,” you commented casually. “Good different?” she asked, lips smirking in mild amusement. You didn’t answer, and she let the silence take its course; she needs you to talk to her anyway. You glanced past her, checking to see if the event coordinator had moved on, then looked back.

“Is there something you needed?” you asked, the tone still professional, but more curious than intended. “Not really,” she replied, sipping her drink again. “I just… didn’t want to spend the whole night smiling at old men who flash their Rolexes and stories about tax breaks.” You almost smirked at that. Wanting to achieve greatness yourself, but maybe since you weren’t there yet, it was easy to agree with her statement.

“I figured I’d find someone a little more... to my taste,” she added, tilting her head slightly.

“I’m working,” you reminded her. She made a soft hum of acknowledgment, stepping back slightly, but it was clear that she was making a slow exit. “Well,” she said with a wink. “Try not to work too hard.”

As she turned, Manon did a spin for a turn for you to catch the way the slit of her dress shifted with her movement as she began to walk away toward the bar.

She could somewhat feel your lingering gaze, but she knew you weren’t one to likely stare unless it felt necessary.

The celebration went on, and Manon did her best to act like a background character in a movie. She stayed beside Marcos for most of the night, doing her best to keep up with conversations with senior executives and investment partners, smiling and nodding at the right times while sipping slowly at her third flute of champagne. 

She felt like she was going to need a couple of those to survive the night.

The live jazz music became softer, setting a more ambient mood as the chandeliers became warmer in color, and the moon began to appear. The warm glow of candles at each table glowed a bit brighter, which helped warm up the space.

But in between every comment about someone else, her eyes would subtly flick across the room, looking for you. Luckily, you weren’t hard to keep track of as you hadn’t changed out of your ‘uniform,’ because even in matte black heels and tailored slacks, you still stood out. 

Manon found it odd in the way you seemed to keep her in a trance without even trying. You didn’t exactly have this special look to you, almost looking as normal as everyone else. Yet you are attractive, she assumed it was likely in the way you carried yourself. You rarely ever smile, well, unless talking to Marcos. When speaking, you always got to the point and made sure your words came across properly. Manon also found the way you spoke so formal to be… enticing to her, to keep it a bit PG in her head.

Every few minutes, Manon found herself drifting toward you—on accident, for the first few times. The next few were definitely on purpose.

The first time, it was by the stage area where the staff was adjusting the equipment for the bands, keeping everything in check. You were reading something on your phone, keeping expenses in check while you weren’t physically busy. Manon stepped beside you, humming quietly.

“Is it bad that I’m more scared of expense reports than I am of horror movies?” she murmured casually. You didn’t even glance up, just shrugging, “Depends on the horror movie.” That got a soft, pleased laugh from her.

She tapped her acrylic nails against her glass, then added with an innocent tilt of her head, “I heard you liked those. Horror films.” Now you glanced up, a bit curious as to how she knew.

“I bring you coffee like every other day, I was bound to notice, you know?” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. Your boss's fiancé had practically become your unofficial coffee runner for some odd reason. Only Manon would know what’s going on in Manon’s head, and you weren't sure if you wanted to find out. “Heard some of those blood-curdling kinds of screams from your computer.”

You nodded once. “I like to keep background noise while I work.”

“That explains why you were watching The Silence of the Lambs while working on a large email.” You didn’t say anything, but a small smirk ghosted the edge of your lips before you walked off to finish what you were doing. Slightly yelling over the music while leaving her alone, “It’s an iconic movie.”

Later, by the dessert table—which had been almost picked clean by rich snobs—she spotted you again, talking to someone from the company, and she didn’t even care to remember their name. She only waited until they left before speaking to you again.

“They have Greek options on the menu tonight,” she said, her voice just above a whisper so as not to startle you.

You blinked. “You’re surprisingly observant.” Manon smiled, a bit proud of herself since she usually wasn’t. Then looked over the table, “You get the same order almost every Thursday—chicken souvlaki bowl, lemon rice, no eggplant.”

You raised a brow, even more skeptical of what her game is now. “Sounds like you’re building a case file on me.” She grinned, “Maybe I am.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“No,” she said. “But if I ever have to get you on my side, I know to order a Swedish dessert to go with your coffee.” You didn’t respond right away, almost buffering at what she said. Had she really visited your office with coffee THAT MANY TIMES to know all of that about you?

She saw the breath of a laugh that passed through your nose, not being able to hold it back.

Marcos joined the two of you a minute later, a hand on Manon’s back as he gave you one of his good ole smiles. “It’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, voice cheery. “Told you she’s not as over the top as she seems.”

“She’s been… surprising,” you admitted. That made Manon turn her head just a tiny bit. Those were the only words she needed to hear to keep this momentum going. 

Then, after a few hours pass, you finally got the signal to break. A little red mark on your work app letting you know it was your scheduled break for the day. One that you needed after the five-hour mark, really, but this was your first break in seven hours. The band picked up the pacing with their music, which had the guests become looser with their drinking, giving you a minute to breathe.

Everyone was acting like bafoons, but luckily, these were all wealthy people who had reputations to uphold, so anything breaking shouldn’t be a major concern.

Instead of watching over everyone again, you disappeared toward the employee catering area at the back of the venue, where the food was kept for you guys—nothing on tiny porcelain trays, just stainless steel trays with generous servings, sodas, waters, and coffees that tasted like they cost one dollar. In this economy, that price was good, but not for your taste buds. You sat for a bit with a bottle of water and a simple plate of spiced rice, grilled veggies, and grilled lamb. No one really talked to each other unless it was about work, everyone to focused on getting energy back and going back to work.

Once you were finished, you felt the urge to pee from the water you had been drinking throughout the day, and knew you needed to use the restroom. You made your way to the employee wing, only to be met with a queue of people waiting. You checked your phone, still on break, but it wasn’t going to last for much longer.

With a quiet sigh, you left the hallway and turned down the corridor toward the guest bathrooms. 

When entering, you peek your head in before completely entering, trying to make sure some big corporate boss wouldn’t yell at you. Not even taking the time to look over the grand decor of this bathroom, you headed into a stall and did what you had to. It was quick, which was great since you needed to be in and out. 

You dried your hands slowly after stepping out of the stall, tugging down at the sleeves of your outfit and fixing your hair. There was a quiet to the room, only the soft hum of a nearby speaker playing instrumentals.

Until you heard the door open, making you stiffen up a bit. Yet you relaxed as soon as you saw the midnight blue that had been near you way too much this entire day.

Manon. She entered, and you hear her heels click louder against the clean tiles. She walked straight to the mirror, beside you once again, applying soft pressure to the edges of her eye makeup like it actually needed touching up.

You didn’t give yourself a chance to glance at her, not even saying anything as you focused on washing all the soap off your hands. She let the silence be, thinking of what to say before she actually thought of something.

“Thought you were supposed to use the employee restroom,” she teased, not looking at you but watching your reaction in the mirror. She also wasn’t going to reveal that she didn’t need to come here, but saw you rushing over into this bathroom.

“They were full,” you replied evenly, drying your hands with a paper towel and tossing it out. “Didn’t realize I had a bathroom tracker now,” she hears how nonchalant you are, but takes into account the little look you gave her. The way your brow raised, how the corners of your mouth twitched upward a bit.

“I don’t track you,” she said confidently, still dabbing at her lipstick with her finger. “I just notice things.” You nodded once, almost laughing even, then leaned slightly to the side of the mirror to adjust your earring. “Mm. I’ve noticed.”

She didn’t back off; in fact, she felt like she could make something happen here. Manon reached into the silver sparkling clutch tucked beneath her arm and pulled out a bullet-tubed lipstick. She uncapped it, swiping it once across her lower lip.

“You’ve got a good face,” she murmured, not even looking at you. “Strong jaw, defined cheekbones. I was just thinking…” You looked over, mildly confused. She turned toward you slightly, capping her gloss with a soft snap.

“...you’d probably look really good with some smudged lipstick on you.”

What the hell did that mean? Who were you kidding? You totally understood what she meant… but this wasn’t something you wanted to touch. One, she was your boss’s fiancée. Two, you weren’t exactly planning on being in a relationship, nor have you been in one. Lastly, SHE’S YOUR BOSS’S FIANCÉE.

The comment was said in such a featherlight tone that it could’ve been a comment about makeup advice for you. Yet she seemed troublesome enough for you to know that wasn’t the case. Your brows lifted just a little, just registering the implication.

Manon turned back to the mirror, fixing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.“Just... an observation,” she added lazily.

You didn’t respond, but your gaze lingered on her a second longer than it should have.

She finally looked at you through the mirror again. “See you out there,�� she said, the corner of her lip curling into a knowing half-smile. Then, just like that, she walked out.

Was… was she just flirting with you?

For the first time, you didn’t have anything to say. “What in the world do you have me involved with right now?” You questioned while looking up at the dark marble ceiling, lighting beaming a bit as you groaned. 

Your timeline is about success, not whatever this was. There was a feeling that this would set you back a bit—or maybe a bunch. You aren’t really sure.

The weekend flew by quickly, and it was already Monday morning, which came faster than usual. Usually, you’d like time to go by quickly, and being able to hit your timeline quotas was always on your mind. Yet, you almost hoped time would go by slowly after the event.

By Sunday, you had time to breathe, organize your files, and even binge two documentaries while folding laundry and meal prepping for the week. Doing all the chores on that day, the schedule made everything feel normal, even for just a bit.

Though even with being busy, you couldn’t get Manon’s words out of your head. Smudged lipstick?

You didn’t realize how much those two words could live rent-free in your mind, and you didn’t exactly like it either. Shaking your head, you pulled into the parking lot—your black Chrysler shining underneath the sun as you pulled into the lot and parked in your usual space.

Grabbing your leather briefcase-style purse from the passenger seat and your go-to hot black coffee in the other hand, you made your way into the building. The elevator greeted you quietly as you stepped inside alone, and it was only as the soft elevator music played above that your mind began to wander again.

‘You’d probably look really good with some smudged lipstick on you.’

It didn’t sound friendly, but you knew better than to assume it was. Because it absolutely wasn’t professional.

It made you fall deeper into this cycle of thoughts you were beginning to have. Manon seemed like an anomaly in your mind. Sure, she was beautiful, but also… chaotic, unpredictable, and most importantly, Marcos’ fiancée. Let’s not forget that part of the information… There was pure sarcasm there.

Marcos was someone you respected, especially since he’s constantly kind to you. Offering you a promotion that could’ve taken others years to be considered. He always asked about your life, never raised his voice at anyone, and even went out of his way to pronounce everyone’s name right on the first day of hiring.

So, whatever it was Manon had tried at that party—whatever she meant—you told yourself to forget it.

The elevator dinged on the 38th floor. You stepped out, still sipping your coffee, pulling out your keycard for your office. The floor was empty, the lights dim because of the time, which wasn’t unusual. You were usually the first in, and it gave you thirty minutes of pure silence to mentally prepare yourself for the hectic day.

But when you opened your office door, your brain paused. Because lo and behold, there’s Manon sitting in your chair.

Her legs crossed casually, her fingers spinning slowly against the edge of your desk, looking comfortable in a room that should’ve been your safe space. You hadn’t even noticed the blinds were shut from any view of the outside, too focused on what’s in front of you. 

“...What the hell?” you muttered under your breath. She looked at you, a brow raised while looking, clearly, unbothered. “Good morning to you, too.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was bored,” she replied with an airy tone, voice sounding sluggish like she had no better reason. “Wanted a change of scenery.” You checked the time on your phone instinctively. “It’s barely past seven.”

“And?” she smiled.

No words could even explain how you felt, an exhale just escaping through your nose, using your foot to close the door. She wore a deep blood-red cropped top, sleeveless with some geometrical cut-outs, a small metal clasp at the collarbone keeping it secured. The matching skirt was high-waisted and fit her curves.

It was neither appropriate nor inappropriate for the space you were in. She just looked a little confused about what to wear in the office, if you were being honest with yourself. This also doesn’t negate how good she looks, either.

You walked across the room and dropped your bag onto the olive green velvet couch pressed up against the far wall. The black wood coffee table sat in front of it, where you placed your cup of coffee and laptop. You sat down on the carpet with a soft sigh, letting Manon stay in her spot instead of troubling yourself.

Finding yourself typing in your login, you begin to check the schedule for the day. “Meeting in thirty minutes,” you mumbled, scrolling. “Finance team again… which means Chase.”

You said out loud, but you regret it almost instantly.

“Oh~,” Manon hummed, dragging the word. “The infamous Chase. You really don’t like him, huh?” You gave her a pointed look but didn’t answer, hands tapping across the keyboard.

She wasn’t pleased with the reaction, so she made a move instead.

You didn’t see didn’t pay mind to her, but the couch shifted behind you, and then she was somehow beside you already. Sitting on the floor like it was normal, like she hadn’t snuck into your office before you even got in.

Focus only on the screen in front of you. You kept working, inputting reminders, clearing notifications, and answering three long emails. But you could feel her. Her shoulder was close to yours, and the scent of whatever perfume she wore.

“You’re really not going to say anything about how close I am?” she asked, almost teasing.

“I figured you’d do what you want regardless,” you replied, still not looking.

That made her chuckle, then she leaned her weight onto one hand, the other resting against your couch as she adjusted her posture. You could feel her eyes were on you this time.

Then she spoke again, voice softer this time, but laced with intent. “You’re warm.” You turned your head. “What?”

“You’re blushing,” she said, playful but still watching closely. “Your ears always get red first, don’t they?”

You looked at her for the first time in minutes, lips parting slightly as nothing came out. She didn’t look back, just kept scrolling absently on her phone, as if she didn’t just say something that made your brain go a hundred miles per hour.

Then she said it, like a harmless observation. “Maybe you should take off that blazer. Roll up your sleeves or something.” You weren’t sure what came over you, because you normally wouldn’t do a suggestion like that. But this time you listened.

You pulled off the navy blazer slowly, revealing the white silk button-up underneath, and began to roll your sleeves up to your elbows.

Minutes passed, and neither of you said anything. While you were doing your best to focus, Manon’s eyes trailed all over your arms. The way your forearms would flex every time your typing picked up the pace, or how the veins in your hands would pop while gripping your cup of coffee. 

Yeahhh, you definitely had her in a chokehold.

Then, out of nowhere, she leaned closer. “Hey, what’s that?” You looked at your screen where she pointed and told her, “That’s the tracker for Q3 expenses—”

But before you could finish the sentence, her hand wrapped lightly around your forearm as she leaned in to point at something. Your breath caught, and she clearly noticed with a victorious look in her eyes. Then letting go like it meant nothing as you finished your explanation.

You cleared your throat and kept working. Time was moving fast enough that the clock ticked down to five minutes before your meeting. You stood, slipping on your watch and grabbing your laptop.

“I’ve gotta go,” you said, your voice sounding nervous, and you wanted to slap your head because of it. She leaned back against the seating of the couch like your office is her house.

“I’ll stay here,” she said with a shrug. “Make myself comfortable.” You blinked. “It’s not your office.”

“But it’s not not, either.”

‘What the hell did she just say?’ You questioned yourself, staring at her, but decided not to argue at the small time you had.

As you walked toward the meeting room, sleeves still rolled up, laptop in hand, you noticed Gary glancing at you as soon as you stepped in. His eyes dipped to your arms briefly, but you noticed. You didn’t say anything. Just sat down, opened your device, and rolled your sleeves down quietly beneath the table.

Only then did he begin the meeting. It dragged on longer than scheduled, not that it surprised you. These things always started out with simple overviews, but by the end, they had turned into a full-on strategy session. You’d already finished reviewing the numbers last week, so most of the hour was spent with your elbow on the table and your cheek resting in your palm, half-listening while Chase ran through a checklist that felt more like he was trying to prove something, as always.

Still, you took your delegated tasks, nodding, and typing them into your calendar. There were three things you’d have to follow up on throughout the week, but nothing too major. Just enough to keep your head intact.

By the time you pushed open the door to your office, your sleeves still faintly creased from earlier, you felt ready to crash. What you weren’t ready for… was Manon still in your office. 

She’d relocated to the couch, one leg tucked under the other, scrolling through her phone in silence. You didn’t say anything at first, walking past her toward your desk. You flicked the monitor on with a finger and sat down, adjusting the screen’s tilt before glancing once in her direction.

“Does Marcos know you’re still down here?”

“He doesn’t mind,” she said casually, not even looking up. “I texted him earlier that I was in your office.”

You quirked a brow. “Before or after I came in?” She gave a sly shrug, finally meeting your gaze. “Does it matter?”

You didn’t answer and instead, logged into your system, pulling up the software you used to organize reports, opened your calendar on the side, and—without thinking too much—clicked on the search bar for a movie.

You always liked something playing in the background. It helped you focus. The moment the opening credits of a classic black-and-white thriller started rolling across the screen, Manon perked up from the soundtrack.

“Ooooh—what are we watching?”

You leaned back in your chair slightly. “Just something to keep me entertained.” She didn’t need another excuse, wheeling herself from the couch on one of the extra desk chairs—thankfully, your office had more than one—and placing herself right beside you. A little too close, but not that you’d expect anything different by now.

As the movie played quietly between your clicks and page flips, you focused hard on the spreadsheet in front of you, trying to ignore the light taps of her finger against the armrest. Or the way she kept leaning in every now and then, just to read the captions. Manon clearly had good enough vision to have made that comment during the event.

You told yourself, just work. That’s the only thing that should be happening in the first place.

But somewhere between the first movie ending and the next one starting, you found your eyes drifting toward the movie side of your screen more than your numbers. By the third film—one of your favorites, Misery from like 1990—you had half-forgotten that you needed to work.

Manon was still beside you, cross-legged now in the chair, fully invested in Kathy Bates' spiral into madness. You didn’t even register when she pulled her phone out and started texting someone.

Then, not even ten minutes later, there was a knock on your door. Pausing the movie, brows furrowed together. You weren’t expecting anyone or anything. “I got it,” she said, hopping up without a glance.

You watched as she opened the door just a sliver, exchanging a short greeting with someone out in the hall before closing it again with two brown paper bags in hand. She set one in front of you, the warm scent wafting up and instantly hitting your nose. You didn’t even have to look inside, knowing that exact smell.

“You got my order.”

“I figured you’d be hungry,” she said in a hum, settling back into her chair with her own bag. “And it’s almost your usual lunch time.” You didn’t say it aloud, but you were surprised.

Not because she knew what you liked. Because she’d made it clear during the event that she had all this information about you, throwing out small facts she’d clearly gathered. The Greek food, documentaries, coffee, and desserts.

She basically studied you during every coffee visit. You both ate in silence, fork against the aluminium take-out containers. It was surprisingly still comforting, even with her beside you.

You were reaching for a napkin when her fingers brushed your cheek quickly. “You had something.” You froze, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, catching a tiny crumb.

Then she popped it into her own mouth. Sucked her finger clean with a smirk and kept chewing like nothing happened.

You paused, focus no longer on the food and movie. Clearing your throat, you reach for a sip of water, pretending to check your inbox like that would somehow make you act normal again. But it didn’t help.

Then, just as you were finishing up, she subtly leaned closer, until her head was tilted onto your shoulder. “Just watching a little closer,” she said. You didn’t answer. Just tilting the screen slightly toward her direction, more, in hopes that she’ll move away. 

Your heart was stupidly loud in your chest. Quite frankly, it was freaking you out at the possibility of her hearing it. Eventually, she pulled back and leaned into her chair again, stretching out a bit. She reached for her phone once more, probably checking the time, and you hoped she was checking for any texts from Marcos.

“I should head up before he starts looking for me,” she said after a minute, standing and brushing off her skirt. “But expect this again.” You turned toward her, blinking like you didn’t hear her right.

“Huh?” She winked, already walking to the door. “You heard what I said, Miss L/n.”

You didn’t even get a word out before the door clicked behind her. Now sitting in silence, you drag your hands through your hair, fingers tugging lightly at the strands you’d styled that morning. It felt like your mind was too scrambled to even function the entire day.

Lightly slapping your face multiple times, needing to wake up from whatever messed-up reality this was. You were Y/n L/n. You didn’t get distracted. You didn’t let random people come into your office when they wanted to, and let them stay. You didn’t do… whatever the hell that was.

You groaned quietly, rubbing your temples and leaning back in your chair. Because you had no clue how you were supposed to survive the rest of this week. Let alone the next time she would decided to stroll into your office like she owned the damn building.

And unfortunately… You knew she was bound to keep her word. That’s just the vibe Manon gave off.

Now, every other day, you’d walk into your office and there she’d be. Always sitting somewhere different. Luckily, it wasn’t every single day, but her schedule didn’t make it any better.

One day, it’s your chair, legs crossed, her tablet in hand like she was actually doing something. The next, she’d be curled up on your couch, flicking through her phone or reading something in magazines the company provided for every private office.

And every time, you had the same reaction—eyebrows raised, confused stare, followed by that half-sigh, half-resigned chuckle as you walked in and set your things down.

It became a routine at some point, and you just let it happen.

Meeting, working on the computer, some movies, then lunch. She would leave after that, usually. You also weren’t exactly the type to let people into your space like this. But for whatever reason, you didn’t push her out. 

It was hard to pinpoint why as well, but you didn’t want to think about it. But it was now feeling natural for you to have ‘a friend’ around every other morning.

Strangely, Marcos never said a word. Not asking what she was doing on your floor so often, or why she spent hours in your office some days. If anything, he just smiled at the thought of it all. To him, his two favorite people becoming friends was… a win.

And maybe that’s what made you feel like you shouldn’t ask questions either. Because if he wasn’t worried, then why would you risk being the one to begin those thoughts for him?

Even when it started feeling more natural, when your conversations drifted from surface-level things to more personal topics. The sarcasm turned into inside jokes, and the playful banter stopped catching you off guard.

You never even noticed when you stopped calling her Ms. Bannerman. One day, it just… became Manon. And the moment you said it, she smirked like she had been waiting for it the whole time.

You didn’t notice that either. One dense mofo.

Then it was another quiet afternoon, where you're seated at the desk, typing out a brief report, one ear tuned to the old horror film playing on your screen. Today it was ‘The Others,’ which Manon actually chose this time. You figured you’d let her, since she was starting to take an interest in your movie preferences. It was now a bonding time for you.

Your blazer was already tossed over the back of your couch, sleeves rolled up as the breeze of the AC hit your skin, becoming a new thing you did ever since Manon stuck around. An iced coffee rested beside your mousepad, and a fork sat in your finished lunch bowl—Greek salad, of course.

The coffee was Manon’s, by the way, you liked your coffee piping hot.

Manon sat just to your left in the spare office chair, slouched down with her ankles crossed, wearing a sleek black blazer with matching wide-leg trousers. Looking like ‘money,’ and you had become used to it.

Today, you felt yourself being much more observant than usual, to your own detriment. The way she puckers her glossy lips to take a sip out of the straw. The way she twisted the ring on her middle finger while watching the movie. The short, hum she let out when she commented on a shot she liked.

You tried to distract yourself from it all. Because, despite this new routine you had going on with her, you knew who she was and who she was with.

But she wasn’t acting like someone taken.

Not with the way she would lean in close sometimes to fix your collar, that didn’t need fixing. Or the way she always sat with her leg touching yours just slightly, the way she had commented that you “never flinched during scary movies, but somehow managed to jump every time she touched you.”

You couldn’t respond to anything flirty she threw at you, not knowing how to. Just giving tight smiles and turning back to your monitor.

But now, as another movie neared its halfway mark, she stretched. Arms overhead, body arching, the fabric of her top shifting up a bit. She then turns to you, gazing up and down. “You always sit like that when you’re trying not to fall asleep,” she said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

She nodded at your posture. “All stiff. Straight spine. Classic sleep-fighting position. Should relax a bit before you get a stiff neck.”

You cracked a smirk, shaking your head. “I’m not tired.”

“Uh-huh.”

You leaned back a little, cracking your neck. “I’m just focused.” She hummed, biting into a small biscuit she had picked up from the lunch tray earlier. “Sure.”

You looked back at your screen. But her gaze lingered on you longer than it should’ve.

She didn’t speak again until a few minutes later, eyes still on the screen, voice quieter.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

It feels like a cold breeze went down your back when hearing her hushed tone, a tiny shiver overcoming your body. She almost got you there, but you didn’t look away from the screen. 

“No.”

“Have you ever?”

“What kind of question is that?” You asked back, not understanding where the questions were coming from.

She shrugged, unbothered. “Just curious.” You leaned back, arms crossed loosely. “Not really. I’ve been… busy.”

“That’s not an answer I’m accepting.”

You sighed, exhaling as you rubbed your temple. “I haven’t really dated. I never thought about it much. I wanted to get here.”

A brow raises, and she leans closer, “Here, meaning?”

“My position in this company… in life,” you told her while tapping a pen on the notebook you had written almost everything. Manon only assumed that it was for work, noticing after her third visit. It was always in the same spot, a regular five-star notebook in green. Even if she wanted to know more about you, she didn’t have the guts to snoop in that book unless she wanted you angry.

She smiled faintly, her gaze softer. “And now that you’re here?”

You paused from typing. The question felt like a light slap to the face, strange to even hear. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Still feels like there’s more to do.”

She leaned in slightly. “You ever wonder what it’d be like to just… let yourself enjoy something?” You turned, eyes meeting hers.

The silence could be cut with a knife, the tension rising as you felt the heat building on your chest. She wasn’t looking away, and you could hear it in your head—how your breath began to waver.

You thought maybe she’d laugh it off, right about now. Maybe say something else to tease you. But instead, she leaned in more, and you could feel yourself instinctively pushing on your feet to roll back.

Her hands reach forward on the armrests, using as much strength as she could to stop you in your tracks. You didn’t feel an incredible force being used, but it seemed like your legs weakened, the use of heels every day—almost like a workout— failing you in these moments.

Manon pulls you in slowly, tilting her head a bit in the process, and you could just feel your eyes stuck open wide while hers begin to flutter shut. Before you could even begin to process a single thing, you feel her lips on yours.

The gloss transferred on your own plain lips, and all you could do was sit there, frozen, like a stone statue. Everything caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure what to do from here. As much as you didn’t want to ‘ruin the moment,’ the first thought that came into mind was Marcos.

You were currently kissing his fiancée… no—she was currently kissing you. The switch in thoughts seemed like a pathetic way to excuse the actions, but it was bad no matter what way it was worded.

You wanted to push back, maybe even hard enough to hopefully get her out of your office, but her hand grazed the edge of your jaw, thumb sliding beneath your chin, a slow lifting motion as she helped tilt your head to the right. Completely and utterly still, you were like a system short-circuiting in real time.

Her lips were warm, and you inhaled, smelling a wave of her minty fresh breath. You didn’t kiss her back, not right away at least. Yet she didn’t seem fazed. When she pulled back, she lingered just an inch away from you, still within reach.

“That’s what it feels like,” she whispered. You swallowed, voice quiet. “Manon…” She tilted her head, a bit of amusement in her voice, “You didn’t stop me.”

“I didn’t know it was happening.”

“Still didn’t stop me.”

She’s right, you could’ve pushed her away, but you didn’t. That reaction pleased her. Manon wanted to test the waters with how her plan was going. Although in her book, testing the waters basically equated to jumping off a bridge into deep water in anyone else's eyes.

And that was exhilarating to her, just like that kiss.

The alarm on your phone buzzed, and you almost jolted from your seat. It just meant the meeting you had with accounting in ten minutes. She smiled, tapping your thigh lightly as she stood. “You should get ready.”

You watched her walk toward the door, walking out like usual. “Same time tomorrow?” she asked, hand already on the knob. You only nodded once because words were no longer going to work in your favor, apparently.

She left, and the door clicked shut behind her, and there you were. Still in your seat, head slightly tilted back. Your heart was beating a bit too loudly while your mind raced a bit too fast.

You could almost feel reality punching you in the gut as you let the thoughts settle down, and how were you supposed to sit through a whole meeting now? Better yet, how were you ever supposed to face Marcos after that?

The only solution that came to mind… let Chase do the reports for a while. Even for a week, just to clear your head.

It didn’t seem like anything was actually gonna save you from her, because she was in your office the next day, sitting with a glass of wine standing tall on your desk. Your eyes land on the red wine, then drift toward her with a tired gaze.

“Couldn’t give me a break?” Your hand reached back, combing your voluminous hair that you didn’t have the energy to fix for today.

“Nope,” she told you enthusiastically, popping the ‘p’ as she strutted towards you. Her fingers raked through the ends of your loose hair, and you didn’t move an inch. Manon could see the physical lasting effect she had on you.

The tamed Y/n everyone knew in the office was nowhere to be found. She saw a woman with smoldering eyes, hair kept down, while a few wrinkles were visible all over your black collared shirt. You wore matching slacks and heels, no accessories, and just some square glasses she had never seen that covered up your bleary eyes.

“You’ll get a break from me today,” she said and you could feel your shoulder relax until she butt in again, “until later tonight.” The confused face that had been recurring since you met Manon is once again on your face.

“You better not leave tonight, Y/n,” you listened as she began to place two wine glasses—not sure where she even got them from.

And for some reason, you listened. You didn’t even know what time it was when you finally looked up again. The schedule seemed to be pretty clean of meetings, just a bunch of paperwork and emails needing to be done. It was a blessing and a curse because time flew by, and before you could even consider the amount of hours that had past, the familiar sound of your office door clicking open snapped you out of your tired daze.

As she promised, she walked in as her eyes checked the digital Apple Watch on her wrist.

Manon dressed differently than usual that which made your head tilt slightly on instinct. A black cropped hoodie hung loose on her frame, roughly cut sleeves for a tank top look, and matching sweatpants pooled around her ankles. She had swapped her usual pointed heels for a pair of black socks and open sandals, something so normal that it almost made you chuckle.

She didn’t even look like the same woman. This was a normal, functioning human being in front of you. No makeup, hair tied back loosely with a few flyaways, and something about the look made your stomach flip.

“Hey,” she said casually, half-smirk painted on her lips. “Hope you didn’t eat yet.” Your eyes trailed down to the bottle that was kept cool in the room, then to the plastic bag of food in her hands. “I didn’t,” you admitted quietly, sitting back in your chair and clasping your hands together on the desk. “But I wasn’t planning on… wine.”

“Well, we can’t live off saltine crackers forever,” she said, nodding toward the small plastic sleeve of crackers you had left beside your keyboard. “Don’t think those count as a meal.”

You were too tired to argue or give her a smart remark, but you let her do her thing.

To Manon, it was evident that you looked like the version of yourself people weren’t meant to see. And she’s currently seeing all of it.

You didn’t know what you were doing—what you were thinking, even—but you watched her hand tilt the bottle and let the red liquid fill the glasses anyway. She slid one over to you carefully. Taking it slowly, fingers brushing hers just briefly in the exchange. There was a part of your brain that wanted to say no, that this was a terrible idea, that you’d regret it by the morning. But then again, that same part of your brain hadn’t slept much last night since she kissed you.

So, you took a sip. Despite not being much of a party person or adventurer, you could handle your alcohol well, and you sure did love wine. The bottles you kept in your apartment were very telling of that, at least you're a responsible drinker, though.

“Not bad,” you murmured. Manon took out some pasta—an easy food to share between the two of you and used a plastic fork. “Better than those crackers,” she quipped, lounging on your couch with one leg tucked under her.

It was quiet for a little while. The soft hum of your air conditioning filled the room, and the city lights outside your picture windows cast a dim blue hue across the office. You sat at your desk, swirling the wine slightly in the glass without realizing it, while Manon sat with her head leaning back against the couch cushion.

“You look tired,” she said softly.

“I am.”

“I figured.”

You glanced over at her again. Her face was still angled toward the ceiling, but her eyes were on you. “I told Marcos I was coming here tonight, by the way.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

“He didn’t mind,” she added quickly, shrugging. She wasn’t about to tell you that she spoke of it as ‘wanting girl time with you.’

Your expression flattened. “Is that so?”

“Yeah~,” she said, eyes gleaming a little. “He thinks we’re besties now.” That made you snort quietly. Sipping a bit on your wine again. “Right.”

“He thinks you’re good for me,” she added, tone a little more serious now. “Keeps me company while he’s working, he says.” You didn’t respond, sipping again. Once again, you couldn’t trust a peep out of your mouth.

“I think you’re good for me,” she admitted. That time, you looked at her. You expected a flirty look in her eyes, maybe even a smirk. Yet she met you with sincerity in her eyes.

“I don’t know what this is,” you muttered. “Neither do I.” That was more honest than she expected from herself, because there wasn’t much to gain from this. If anything, it’s more trouble than it was worth.

Still, there was something in her that she couldn’t ignore either. A growing infatuation with you. That’s not what she thought when she first met you, but after every coffee she brought, every conversation, it started to feel like she opened a new book. Every new chapter she saw was something new. And she was now hooked.

You exhaled slowly, letting the weight of your body sink deeper into your chair. Setting your glass down on the desk, your fingers still curled around the base of the glass.

“You kissed me.”

“I remember… clearly remember that,” she said, voice soft. Your gaze met hers again, studying the way she sat across the room, not saying much. And maybe that’s what threw you off the most. 

She was being patient.

“You’ve been acting like that didn’t happen,” it sounded like a sigh coming out of you. “No,” she said, a small smile curling at her lips. “You’ve been acting like that didn’t happen. I just figured I’d give you time to process.”

Those words made you hate how right she was. There was another lengthy silence, so quiet that you could hear the faint tapping of her fingers against her wine glass—and the steady pound of your heartbeat in your ears. You stood slowly, Manon catching the hesitation in your movement. But you walked over anyway.

She didn’t move when you sat beside her, just watched you settle next to her on the couch, glass still in hand. You both faced the city view from your floor-to-ceiling windows. Just the soft, ambient lighting and the tension that felt like it had been building for weeks.

Her arm brushed against yours, the contact like a trigger for a conversation. “I don’t usually do this,” you mumbled.

“I know, I can tell.”

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” she murmured, glancing over. “But I’ve been paying attention.”

You turned, brows lifted just slightly. “To what exactly?” She tilted her head, resting it on her arm that leaned on the back cushions. “How do you loosen your hair later in the day. How you always pause movies at exactly the one-hour mark—like it’s your reminder to refocus. How you use hand sanitizer right before touching your keyboard after meetings. You’ve got three types of pens on your desk, but you only ever write with the same black one. And you smell like something woody every morning.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the specifics. “That’s what I pay attention to,” she said simply.

You felt your throat go dry. Her gaze was on your mouth now, and something about that made your fingers twitch against your glass. She leaned in—just a little—but it was enough to make your breath catch.

“You gonna kiss me this time?” she asked, her voice curious, a way to tempt you, and it worked. You didn’t answer, just tilted your head forward a fraction of an inch.

Manon set her wine glass down on the coffee table, and you followed without thinking.

Her hand then cups your cheek again, like before, thumb tracing slowly along your jaw as her lips find yours.

The flavor and scent of wine are clear as you take a small breath, inhaling. You leaned into her, your body responding on instinct. When her hand slid behind your neck, you didn’t stop it, letting yourself be pulled closer with your knees brushing against hers. Lips parted just enough for her to sigh into you, her fingers touching your upper back, lightly grazing with her acrylic nails.

“You want me to stop?” she asked gently, lips still against yours.

You shook your head, too hypnotized by her to speak. The scent of her perfume clung to the air around you, and everything, like the wine, the heat, her touch, was starting to overwhelm your senses.

Neither of you is drunk, but something about the build-up, the way your thoughts had been spiraling since that first kiss—it all clicked too fast, and now it was crashing into you.

You leaned forward more, no thoughts going on, and Manon let herself fall back onto the armrest slowly. Her arms wrapped around your waist, fingers sliding down your back, tugging at your shirt where it was tucked in, the belt you wore stopping any movement. Your forearm pressed beside her head, holding you up, the other hand resting on her waist. Her skin was warm, exposed under the cropped hem of her hoodie.

Rain started to tap against the windows, light at first, then gaining more momentum. The soft sound gave the room a strange calmness, contrasting with the sudden burn that had settled low in your stomach.

She wrestled with your belt, reaching for it with a smirk, clearly growing impatient. You could sense the struggle to unbuckle them, so you took over and did it yourself, tossing it to the floor without breaking from her. She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh as her hands slid beneath your shirt, nails grazing lightly against your back.

“This is what I’ve wanted since I met you,” she whispered against your lips, her voice husky. You felt the heat from her words, the wetness pooling against your underwear. “And why is that, Ms. Bannerman?” you asked, half-teasing.

Her mouth curved against yours as she kissed you again. “Someone who needed some loosening up. The way you carry yourself with so much authority—it’s sexy, Y/n.”

That made something in you stir, made your fingers curl into the fabric at her waist as her nails toyed at the top of your slacks. You managed to untie the drawstrings of her sweats, hands pressing against her hips.

“I need you,” she whispered again, lips trailing down your jaw, the gloss from her mouth leaving faint marks with every press of her kiss. You could feel the waistband of her sweats shift beneath your fingers, how her body tensed as you got lower. Her skin was soft, and you felt the edge of her underwear just barely beneath your fingertips.

But then, just as your hand pressed forward, it hit you like sirens in your head. Just a bunch of loud and blaring horns. You froze, then pushed your body off hers, breath shaky.

“What?” Manon asked, breathless. Her lips were slightly swollen, and her hair was out of place on your couch.

“W-we can’t be doing this,” you stammered, scrambling up and smoothing down your shirt, eyes wide, panic creeping up your spine. You grabbed your bag and started tossing your belongings inside.

“Y/n, you can’t just get up and act like—”

You cut her off, heading straight for the door without looking back. With great timing, the hallway was empty. Pressing the elevator button while your heart couldn’t settle down as the thing took too long. Too many thoughts and feelings were spiraling. 

Feelings. Everything was beginning to scare you. Glancing back multiple times, heart pounding as if she might come running to you. You wouldn’t even know what to say, scared of the option of being cornered in the small space.

When the elevator finally came, you rushed for the lobby button. The rush had you fumbling with your bag, almost dropping multiple items while trying to calm yourself down.

By the time you stepped out into the parking lot, the rain had picked up. It poured down heavily, and with the wind picking up, your collared shirt, now soaking up the drops of rain, is cold. You walked through it anyway to get to your car, barely noticing how soaked your clothes actually became.

Meanwhile, Manon remained on your couch, still leaning against the armrest, her lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. She didn’t chase you, wanting to give you time.

But the way you kissed her back? She knew you wanted her, but she also knew—just like everything with you—it had to come with your permission.

And that only made her want you more.

Your eyes flickered open, warmth from the sun going through the windows of your apartment and landing right on your face. You sat up sluggishly, rubbing at your eyes before reaching for your phone resting on the side of your bed.

Marcos had finally texted back, long after you’d passed out from your late-night shower.

Marcos Sure Y/n! U don’t even have to come in until Thursday if u want. Just lmk when u want to come back in.

You Just needed one rest day, Marcos. I’ll be back tmmr, thanks.

Your replies were short, the feeling of guilt still bubbling low in your stomach. Crawling out from your loft, you made your way down to the open living space, stretching slightly before opening the fridge. There was a small comfort in the domesticity of it—making your own coffee, moving slowly. You didn’t get to do this often, mostly because you preferred being at the office. So, it was kind of nice to get to do this again after so long.

You turned on the TV and put on a random documentary from your Netflix list, the kind you always meant to watch but never had time for. Coffee in hand, you moved around your kitchen to make something simple—eggs, bacon, and toast. As the food cooked, the smell filled your apartment, adding to the alleviating feeling you were currently having.

You sat on the couch, plate balanced in your lap, and ate while half-watching the screen, already considering what to do with the rest of the day. A jog sounded good—get your body moving, then rest.

After your quick breakfast, you changed into a basic gym set, throwing a large shirt over it and lacing your sneakers before heading out for a jog through the neighborhood. The breeze was nice, just brisk enough to cool your skin as you ran past familiar houses and quiet sidewalks. After about an hour, you stopped by a small smoothie shop for a pick-me-up and walked home with a green blend of mango, kale, apple, and juice in hand.

Back inside, you hopped into the shower, letting hot water rinse away the sweat. You scrubbed thoroughly, trying to reset your body and your brain, and when you stepped out, you slipped into oversized sweats and a sports bra.

You returned to the couch, curling up with your smoothie and remote, letting the documentary play while your body melted into the cushions. That’s honestly how the entire day went: some cooking, snacking, and lounging. It was peaceful.

The sun had started to set again by the time you noticed how golden rays were spilling through the tall windows of your apartment. You reached for the remote, closing the blinds with a quiet mechanical hum just before there was a knock at your door.

Your brows furrowed, not expecting anyone. Padded toward the door barefoot, fingers slightly wrinkled from all the dishes and cooking you’d done that day. No one ever really came to your apartment—unless you were ordering food, and you hadn’t.

You opened the door without thinking much. That was your mistake, because there, Manon stood in front of you. In her usual high-end clothes, curls bouncing softly around her shoulders. Her presence didn’t match the atmosphere of your home, and your eyes practically bulged from your head as your mouth parted in shock.

You instinctively looked past her, left and right down the hallway like someone might follow behind. “What do you think you're doing here?” you whispered, voice hushed like you were trying to avoid being caught.

Manon blinked, confused, then looked around dramatically. “Marcos told me you wouldn’t be in, so I decided to take the day off too.” She breezed past you like she’s been here multiple times, dropping her purse onto your couch.

“How do you even know my address?” you asked, still stuck in place.

“Nice place,” she commented instead, eyes roaming the space with interest.

‘YOUR BOSS’S FIANCÉ IS LITERALLY IN YOUR HOME? DOES THAT NOT CLICK IN HER HEAD? IS THIS NOT WEIRD??’ Was all you could think.

You shook your head and sighed. “Uhm… welcome in, I guess?” you muttered, still confused.

“Thanks,” she said casually, toeing off her shoes before walking further inside. “So what brings you here?” you asked, arms crossed now.

“Was a little worried after yesterday,” she said, and your heart skipped a beat—until she added, “Thought you might’ve gotten sick from the rain, so I brought some stuff.” From the oversized purse she carried, she pulled out a collection of items—cough drops, cold medicine, compresses, and even herbal candies.

You blinked. “You didn’t have to do all th—”

She stopped you, placing the back of her hand to your forehead and then your neck. “I think you feel a little warm. Lay down. I’ll take care of everything.”

You sat down slowly, still watching her like she was some dream. Manon, in your kitchen, pouring hot water for instant noodles she’d apparently bought on the way here. You tried to go back to watching TV, but it was hard. You're extremely hyper-aware, too focused on the fact that she’s in your home and all the commotion behind you.

After about ten minutes, she came back behind you, handing over a steaming bowl of noodles, then rushing off again to grab a glass of water, two pills, and a warm compress fresh from the microwave.

You stared at her like she was insane. “Manon, what happened last night was a m—”

“Eat, Y/n,” she cut you off sharply, voice dipped in something that made you instantly look down at the noodles, then back at her, then back at the noodles to do as you were told.

“Good,” she said once you finished. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s keep watching.”

And of course, she plopped down next to you again, this time sitting cross-legged like a mermaid, skirt a bit tight around her thighs for her to move them properly on your couch. 

You finished your meal while pretending she wasn’t sitting inches away. She handed you the medicine once you set the bowl down, and you hesitated, looking bewildered. She didn’t acknowledge you, so you just took the medicine.

You shifted on the couch, inching further to the right, trying to make some distance. But Manon, like her usual self, reached for the blanket over your lap, lifted it slightly, and slipped underneath—cozying up right next to you, head resting lightly against your chest.

You stiffened immediately, not moving a single bit. Your heartbeat was out of control, and she noticed.

Manon looked up at you, gaze soft, and you slowly looked down to meet her eyes. Her face was inches away from you. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

You nodded once, swallowing. “Do you not feel bad for Marcos?” you whispered.

She caught the hint of sadness in your voice, the guilt you weren’t even hiding. Shaking her head gently, she whispered, “Marcos is sweet—and I know you see him as a friend too. But this contract, the wedding, all of it… It was sudden. And he just isn’t the person for me.”

She paused, gaze heavy with something unreadable. “He clearly deserves better than me.”

You raised a brow, a bit offended as that implies ‘you deserved her worse.’

“What does that entail for me, then?” Her answer came quickly, “I want you. And I’m willing to put in more effort with you than I ever did with him. I’ve admitted that to myself, Y/n.”

The confession made you smile a bit, and you told her, “I think I want you too, Manon. But I don’t know how I feel about doing these things behind his back.”

“Let me worry about that,” she tells you, flipping herself onto your lap without hesitation, straddling you, making your breath hitch. Her skirt rides up her thighs, warm skin meeting your palms as your hands instinctively move to hold her steady.

The moment her eyes lock with yours, butterflies stir in her stomach—something about the way you look up at her, the feel of your grip, confirms it. She really, truly does like you.

Her fingers cradle the back of your neck as she pulls you in, crashing her lips onto yours. 

Manon was never the type to dominate, and that wasn’t about to change now. She needed you to take control, even if you had no experience. She was sure it was there—you just needed a little push.

Her hips roll slowly, grinding against your lap, only slightly cushioned by the blanket. Still, you feel her heat through the friction. Her legs wrap around your waist as you shift, pulling the blanket away and lifting her with ease.

You gently lay her back onto the couch, kissing her through the motion. Your hands slide up her thighs, fingers grazing her warm skin, and she lets out a muffled groan, her lips still tangled with yours. Her fingers tangle in your loose hair, tugging slightly—every little sound she makes only pushes you deeper into want.

“Y/n, please, I need you now,” she pants, voice quiet but full of desperation as she pulls away from the kiss. You pause, just for a second, hesitant. “I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, Manon,” you admit, and the look on your face is endearing, soft, wide-eyed, like a lost puppy.

She giggles, catching her breath. “Just be your usual, confident self, and I’ll help you. Okay?”

You nod, leaning in for another kiss, trying to find your footing again—okay then. You could do this.

Your lips trail down to her jaw, then lower, planting kisses across her neck, pausing as you feel the subtle hitch of her breath. You take note of how her chest rises, how her skin tastes faintly sweet and a little salty from the heat building between you. You kiss just above the line of her top—a neckline she always wore, part of her style.

Her outfit tonight isn’t complicated, something you’re thankful for. You fumble slightly with the tiny clip and zipper, but manage to undo them while still kissing her slowly, deeply. She hums into your mouth as her top gets taken off, and with her arms wrapped around your neck, she lets you pull it off completely.

Her chest is now bare before you, perky and flushed. The sight alone has your mouth going dry. ‘Be your confident self.’

“You're so sexy,” you whisper, brushing soft kisses along the curve of her chest until your lips reach one of her nipples. You swirl your tongue around it, hearing her gasp and then sigh, gripping your hair as her back arches slightly.

“That feels nice,” she breathes, and you glance up at her with a lazy smirk, lips still connected to her skin. “Doesn’t it?” you tease, bringing a hand up to pinch and play with the other. She groans, her breath shaky.

“Don’t tease me~” she mutters in a warning tone, but her body betrays her, hips subtly rolling up. “Don’t tell me what to do. Didn’t you want this?”

It comes out low, with a tone she wasn’t expecting—and she’s visibly shaken by it, in a good way, you could almost hope. The smirk on your lips turns a little wicked, a change of heart in a way. She watches you like you’ve just become a different person.

Her thighs rub together, the friction audible as she moves under you, and you notice how restricted her legs are from the skirt.

“Oh, this can’t do,” you murmur, sitting up and gazing down at her. She tilts her head to ask what you mean, but you're already pushing her skirt higher. She lets out a soft yelp when it bunches at her hips.

Her eyes narrow, but your grin only widens. “It was in the way.”

Your finger presses against her clothed center, dragging upward slowly, and you feel her hips buck slightly when you reach her clit. “Fuck~” she mutters, jaw going slack. You raise your brow, encouraged.

Then her voice dips in a more commanding way, “I need your fingers now.” The urgency in her tone surprises you a bit. You shift again, reaching under her to tug down her underwear. Her wetness is immediately visible, clinging as the fabric is pulled away, and the sight makes your own thighs clench involuntarily.

She watches you react, stunned, and giggles. “Are you just gonna sit there or—”

You don’t let her finish. You lean down, swiping your tongue up her slit. It felt right doing it despite being your first time, and the moan that spills from her lips is the confirmation you needed.

You lick again, slower, and smirk when you hear the tiny gasp she lets out. “If I knew pussy tasted this good, I would’ve added it to my timeline,” you admit, causing her to laugh breathily before gasping again when your tongue flicks her clit.

Manon’s hand threads through your hair, guiding your head, and you feel her push you deeper. You grin against her, tongue curling into her entrance, flicking, sucking, tasting.

“Shit,” she moans. Her body jolts slightly with each movement of your tongue

Her fingers slip up her own stomach to her chest, playing with her nipples while your tongue works harder. You’re in awe of her—how her praise seems to have control over you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” she breathes, and that’s all it takes for you to kick it up a notch. Your tongue flicks faster, and you tease her entrance with one finger. Her hips jerk, trembling slightly.

You slide it in, slowly at first. “Holy shit,” she whines, voice cracking as her pussy clenches around you. You close your eyes, tasting her, feeling her. Deciding it was a good time to put another finger in, she gasps.

You look up—she’s staring at you now, eyes looking drunk yet focused. Your fingers curl, and she spreads her legs wider. You pump faster, now fully comfortable, and she can tell she did what needed to be done. The pace gets sloppy but only because of her wet pussy, and when her thighs start to shake, you pull away, smirking as her juices shine on your chin.

“Be a good girl and keep these open wide, yeah?” The tone in your voice makes her shiver. Her eyes flutter, and you prop yourself up between her legs, holding her thighs apart with your knees as your fingers dive back in.

“Too good,” she mumbles, barely holding herself up. Her head falls back, biting her lip to stay quiet. That wasn’t about to work in your book; you wanted to hear her.

“I want to hear you, Ms. Bannerman. I wanna hear how you sound for me~.” She opens her mouth to argue, but a third finger slips in, and she screams.

“Fuck!” her voice echoes in your apartment. You feel her thighs adding pressure to your knees as she instinctively wants to close them.

“Y-your nei-neighbors—” she tries to protest, panting. You lean in, lips near hers, fingers still buried deep. “I couldn’t give two fucks about my neighbors. I want to hear you.”

You kiss her slowly, then pull away to whisper, “If only you could see yourself right now. The sweat, the way your eyes roll back.” You glance at the mirror on the opposite wall, then realize a great idea you could do.

You pulled your fingers out and dragged her toward it. She stumbles, surprised, and her legs nearly buckle. You stand behind her, and she stares into the reflection in the mirror above the drawer, her face flushed and fucked-out with her pussy glistening from you lights.

“What are you—?” You silence her with a hand on her neck, guiding her chin. “Now you can see how pretty you look for me.”

Your other hand sneaks between her legs again, rubbing her pussy slowly. “Can you hear how wet you are?”

You slip a finger in. The sound is undeniably loud as you both hear it in the silence of your apartment. “This cunt all wet for me, hm?”

She whimpers. You cup one breast, teasing her nipple again. “All wet for you,” she admits.

“Is that so?” You slip three fingers in and she gasps again, knees almost buckling.

She reaches for support on your drawers, but you keep her in place. “Eyes forward, brat.” She stares, half stunned, half delirious, at the new nickname. You hold her upright, pumping steadily.

“You’re a brat, right? That’s why you kissed me first.” She nods. You chuckle, kissing her neck. “Why’d you do it, hm?”

“I-I found y-you hot and I f-felt like you could r-ruin me.” You raise your brow, smirking. “Am I fitting the standard?”

“More t-than you know.” That had you pump faster, and her thighs began to tremble. “Holy fuck, Y/n,” she moans, voice breaking. You lean against her, murmuring in her ear. “Wanna cum?”

She nods desperately. “Hold it,” you tell her, and she’s left-mouthed open in shock at your words. You drop to your knees behind her, tongue replacing your fingers. You want her to break for you.

“Y-Y/n I can’t—” she cries. You hum in response, dragging your tongue over her clit again and again. “I-I can’t hold it—”

You pull back, your fingers going in again. “Go ahead, baby.”

She cums with a cry, legs giving out as she collapses onto her knees, forehead pressed to the storage.

You back away, licking your lips, breath ragged. “That good enough for you?” you ask, amused. “More than enough,” she mumbles.

You grin, lifting her with ease and carrying her to the couch, laying her down as she’s surprisingly really light.

“What do we do about Marcos?” You ask, still worried despite the crazy moment that just happened between the two of you, and you settle down to take a break. “I’ll handle him, don’t worry about it. I told you,” she voiced, very assuring in her words, but then you look down a bit.

“Then how about us?”

She smiles while looking at you, taking her hand in hers, which makes you look over. “I told you I wanted you, and I meant that, Y/n.” You smiled, seeing how serious she was.

“Well, as long as you actually handle Marcos, I’m up for it… just don’t get me fired,” you joked at the hand, elbows up as she nudges you while laughing.

She was going to make this happen. Breaking the contract, running away with you, doesn’t really matter. Manon is just determined to make it happen for you.

[eyekonimations]

and, fyi, the dsm-5 can only take you so far ⭑.ᐟ yn ln is a sophomore in university , a crappy drummer , and a minimum wage boba shop employee . expecting the worst once again for her third semester , yn's pessimistic world view is shattered upon serving her cutest customer to date ─ meret manon bannerman , a member of katseye , the darling influencer friend group rocking all of social media .

03. herlock sholmes

── prompt - any instruction, action, or other event that sets the occasion for a response to occur.

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[difficultlife]

Caught in 4K Falling (asleep) for You

→ daniela avanzini x 7thmember!reader

Summary: You weren’t supposed to fall asleep during lives, rehearsals, or interviews… but it happens. A lot. What you didn’t expect was to fall in love just as easily.

Author’s note: English is not my first language. I am not really happy with how this turned out but this prompt had been stuck in my head for the past couple of days.

If anyone looked at Katseye from the outside, it was easy to tell: this group was loud. Whether backstage, on live streams, or at 3 a.m. in the dorm kitchen, someone was always scream-laughing, dancing in the hallway, or throwing popcorn at someone else. And then there was you.

The third youngest, a couple months younger than Lara, but worlds apart in energy. You weren’t cold, not at all, just… quiet. Sleepy. Dreamy, maybe. You blinked slowly at the chaos like a house cat among six golden retrievers. And somehow, it worked.

You were the all-rounder no one saw coming. You danced like liquid fire, hit high notes like it cost you nothing, but by the time rehearsal ended, you’d already be curled up on the floor with someone’s hoodie over your head, snoring softly. It became a Katseye tradition:

“Where’s Y/N?”

“Sleeping again.”

~

One dorm morning, chaos was in full swing while you remained the calm eye of the storm. “Y/N! Wake up! There’s breakfast!” Megan shouted from the kitchen. No answer.

Daniela peeked into the bedroom, sure enough, you were curled into a ball, face smushed into your pillow. Blanket half on, hair a mess, dead to the world.

“Guys,” Daniela whispered, voice dropping as she stood in the doorway. “Shut up. She’s still sleeping.”

Sophia rolled her eyes from the couch. “How is that even possible? We’ve been playing music for an hour.”

“She could sleep through a concert,” Lara snorted.

Daniela stepped inside quietly and gently tugged your blanket back up to your shoulders. You sighed in your sleep and leaned into it. Her heart did something weird in her chest.

“You’re soft with her,” Manon teased from behind.

Daniela jumped. “I— I am not.”

Megan smirked. “You literally just tucked her in like she’s your girlfriend.”

“She’s tired!”

“She’s always tired,” Lara deadpanned.

“She’s cute when she sleeps,” Daniela muttered, almost too quiet.

“What was that?” Manon grinned.

“NOTHING.”

~

The day started like every other Katseye live: chaos at level 100. Sophia filmed Megan and Yoonchae doing a Tiktok dance, and Manon tried (and failed) to balance a baguette on her head. Daniela sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to hold her phone steady while answering fan comments.

And then there was you, wedged in the corner of the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing your frame, eyes half-shut. You weren’t just tired. You were done.

“Y/N, you alive?” Megan called, leaning into your space.

You raised one hand like a feeble flag. “Barely.”

The fans went wild in the chat:

“LMFAOOO Y/N looks like she’s being held hostage”

“She’s so tired omg let her SLEEP”

“Daniela protect her 😭”

Daniela glanced over her shoulder at you, her expression softening. She smiled softly and pointed to her bed.

You blinked at her, a little dazed, then pushed yourself up. Without a word, you shuffled out of frame. The others didn’t even notice, too busy yelling about whether cereal was a soup.

Then, five seconds later, you were back, dragging a pillow behind you, hood up over your eyes, a blanket clutched like a cape. You walked past the chaos, climbed into the bed in the background, and flopped down face-first, blanket over your entire body.

“Wait— did she just—” Sophia turned.

Daniela was already smiling, shaking her head. “She’s gone,” she said to the camera. “She’s literally sleeping mid-live.”

The chat exploded:

“Y/N PULLED THE RIPCORD 😭”

“I respect it. Queen behavior.”

“Daniela go tuck her in challenge?? 👀”

Daniela glanced at the camera, then back at you. You hadn’t moved. Your breathing had already evened out.

“…I’ll take care of her,” she whispered to the live, almost instinctively.

No one commented on how her voice always went softer when it came to you. But the fans noticed. And so did you, even half-asleep.

Later, in the rehearsal room, you were wide awake now, at least, by your standards. Hood up, legs crossed, sipping warm tea like you were 80 years old. But once the music started, everything changed.

On stage, you were electric. You matched Daniela step for step in a duet, and for a moment, even the staff were watching with wide eyes.

After the last beat hit, you smiled, half-lidded, sleepy still, and Daniela caught herself staring.

You tilted your head at her.

“…You okay?”

Daniela blinked. “Yeah. Just… you’re amazing. That’s all.”

You rubbed the back of your neck shyly. “You too.”

In the corner, Lara fake-swooned into Megan’s arms. Sophia made kissy noises. Manon was already plotting a new ship name.

~

Everyone in Katseye knew it: Y/N needed her sleep. And if she didn’t get it? They called it “Grump Mode.”

Like that one morning in Seoul.

Sophia had shaken you gently.

“Y/N, we’re late. Interview in twenty. Come on, sleepyhead.”

“Don’t call me that,” you grumbled into your pillow.

“You need to get up.”

You rolled over dramatically, blanket over your head.

“Don’t talk to me. I’m boycotting the day.”

“Oh no, she’s cranky,” Lara whispered.

“Abort mission,” Manon added, diving behind the couch.

Daniela just laughed, crouched beside you. “Want coffee?”

You peeked out. “Only if you get it.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Fine. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your ears turned red.

~

Flirty fireworks became the group’s favorite pastime: trying to get you and Daniela alone together.

Megan "accidentally" booked only one dressing room for two.

Sophia made you and Daniela partner up for choreography "for better stage chemistry."

Lara would whisper, “She’s staring again,” whenever Daniela zoned out mid-rehearsal.

And she was staring. Often.

Especially when you danced with your cap low and hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. When you got flustered. When your eyes watered slightly after a yawn.

When she caught you hiding a shy smile after she called you beautiful.

You, for your part, weren’t subtle either. You’d nudge her shoulder during breaks, whisper bad jokes in her ear, call her "grandma" when she nagged.

But the moment she flirted back, you short-circuited.

“You’re staring, Y/N,” she said once, smirking.

You looked away so fast you nearly tripped on your own feet.

~

There were live streams where you leaned against Daniela half-asleep, and she'd lower her voice just for you.

“She’s tired again,” she’d whisper to fans. “Long day. But she still came to say hi.”

And you, eyes half-lidded, would reach over and kiss her cheek without thinking.

The fans lost it every time.

Sometimes during soundcheck, when everyone else was still warming up, you’d rest your head on Daniela’s shoulder. She’d wrap an arm around you and hum quietly.

You’d sigh. She’d giggle.

She started calling you "kitten" on those days, half as a tease, half as a secret.

You’d bat her away weakly, cheeks pink. “Not in front of the others,” you’d mumble.

“But you’re purring,” she’d whisper.

~

One night backstage, Daniela taught you a dance. You were sleepy, groggy, yawning between steps.

“Step, sway, turn,” she said gently, guiding your hand.

You stumbled.

“Sorry, sorry—”

She caught you. “You’re okay. Just follow me.”

You did. You always would.

When the rest of the group peeked in, they saw her laughing as you spun her slowly, both of you barely aware anyone else existed.

“They’re in love,” Sophia whispered.

Manon pulled out her phone. “They’ll know when they see this on TikTok.”

~

You were sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, the hoodie swallowed your frame, one arm dangling lazily over the side. The quiet hum of the dorm felt like a lullaby, until Daniela appeared in the doorway, water bottle in hand.

Without opening your eyes fully, you reached up and grabbed her hand with a slow, lazy grip.

“Hey,” you murmured.

Daniela smiled, stepping closer. “Yes?”

“You’re just walking past like you don’t know I want cuddles.”

She melted instantly, the corners of her mouth tugging up. “You didn’t say anything.”

You smirked, eyes still half-closed. “Didn’t have to. My aura spoke.”

She laughed quietly and dropped down to sit beside you, her fingers brushing yours.

~

The room suddenly erupted with the other members screaming over some ridiculous game they’d started on the floor. You watched them, hood pulled up, arms crossed, pretending to be annoyed but secretly entertained.

Daniela leaned in close and whispered, “You good?”

You deadpanned, “I’m praying for everyone’s downfall.”

Her grin widened. “That’s hot.”

~

You blinked slowly, feeling the weight of only two hours’ sleep dragging on you. Someone, maybe the manager, had just suggested filming TikToks for the fans.

“No,” you said flatly.

“It’s just one,” the manager insisted.

“No.”

Daniela elbowed you playfully. “I’ll do one if you carry me like a princess.”

You sighed, dropping your head back against the couch. “Fine. But I’m not smiling.”

~

Later, in the van ride home, the world blurred into a fuzzy gray as you half-dozed. A poke to your cheek jolted you awake enough to mumble, “If that’s not Daniela, I will bite.”

Her soft laugh was the only answer. “Good news: it’s me.”

You cracked one eye open. “Then I’ll only growl a little.”

Her warmth settled next to you, and even in the exhaustion, it felt like home.

~

The room was alive with chatter, soft laughter from the group, the gentle clatter of cups, and the steady buzz of the live stream chat scrolling on the screen. All the members were gathered together, their energy warm and easy, a perfect blend of friendship and fun.

You had been fighting off sleep for a while now, but the weariness was winning. Your eyelids fluttered, and your head bobbed slightly as you tried to stay engaged with the conversation. A few viewers in the chat started to notice.

“Is Y/N falling asleep?” one typed, followed by another, “So cute, lol.”

Daniela caught the messages, her eyes flickering toward you with a knowing smile. She paused her own story and glanced your way. “Come here,” she mouthed softly, her voice barely above the hum of the stream.

Without a word, you shifted closer and gently lowered your head into her lap. Daniela’s fingers immediately found your hair, weaving through the strands and scratching softly at your scalp.

The rest of the members exchanged amused, affectionate looks but kept the vibe relaxed and calm. Daniela’s gentle touch was soothing, and you felt the last threads of tension slip away.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, still speaking just for you.

You nodded slightly, eyes closed, comforted by the warmth of her presence and the softness of her hands.

In the chat, the viewers flooded with heart emojis and kind messages, watching the quiet, tender moment unfold live, a peaceful little pause amid the laughter and excitement.

~

The studio was emptying out.

It was past midnight, a full day of rehearsals, interviews, and another chaotic TikTok live. The other Katseye girls had already disappeared to their rooms with face masks and leftover ramen, the usual post-performance wind-down. But you? You’d found your way to the couch in the corner of the studio, hoodie bunched around your shoulders, cap pulled low.

You were curled up like a cat, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling off the edge. Completely passed out.

Daniela found you like that.

She had returned for her water bottle but paused mid-step. Her smile softened instantly.

She crossed the room, crouched beside the couch, and gently brushed your hair back from your face.

You made a soft sound in your sleep, eyes fluttering, and mumbled something no one else would’ve understood.

Except her. Her name.

She froze. Then you blinked awake, groggy, half-aware, and your eyes found hers. “Hey,” you whispered, voice raspy, almost childlike.

“Did everyone leave?” Daniela nodded, still crouched there beside you. “Yeah. Except me.”

Your smile was slow. Lazy. “Good. You’re my favorite anyway.”

She swallowed. “Y/N…”

You sat up, stretching your arms with a groan. Your eyes glistened, watery from a yawn. Then, still sleepy, still warm and raw from the nap, you said it. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Daniela stared.

Your eyes went wide. You looked like you’d just realized what you said. “I mean—I didn’t—I’m just tired. Don’t listen to me, I’m half-asleep—”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

You paused.

Your voice came softer this time, rough around the edges. “I’m in love with you.”

Daniela leaned forward, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “Then you should kiss me.”

And you did. Slow, sweet, tentative. Like everything inside you had been asleep until that exact second.

Her lips were warm and patient, her hands anchoring you as your body melted into her touch.

You sighed, involuntarily, and she giggled softly against your lips.

"You're so dramatic when you're tired," she whispered.

“Am not,” you mumbled, dazed, already leaning in for more.

Your cap bumped her forehead. She laughed again, tugging it off and tossing it aside before kissing you harder this time, her fingers threading through your hair, your arms pulling her closer.

You kissed like the moment had been waiting for weeks, and now it had finally caught up.

Somewhere in the hallway, Megan’s voice rang out: “I TOLD YOU THEY’D KISS IN THE STUDIO!”

Lara shrieked. Sophia screamed. The door burst open.

You and Daniela shot apart, breathless and caught red-handed. You grabbed your cap like a shield.

Manon clapped. “About time.”

Daniela was flushed and glowing.

You were dazed, pink, and still very much half-asleep. But you grinned.

And when Daniela reached for your hand, you let her.

[sweetismei]

"movie night"- Dani Avanzini (+18)

Synopses: What was supposed to be a simple movie night takes a heated turn when Dani quickly grows bored of the film. Her playful teasing soon escalates, leaving you so worked up that the movie fades into the background and all your attention belongs to her.

pairing: Dani Avanzini x fem reader.

Warnings: NSFW, scissoring, fingering, bit of dirty talk. MEN & MINORS DNI.

A/N: English is not my first language soo please be gentle w me sweeties 💗

It all started when you and your girlfriend finally managed to set up a movie night after a long time without seeing each other.

Most of the time, it was really hard having a famous girlfriend, especially during an album release period.

She almost always stayed late at the company rehearsing, had to go to interviews, shoot concept photos, attend fanmeetings… that complex routine wasn’t easy for you, and even less for her.

And as a result, you two were hardly spending any time together anymore, except through video calls or when Dani came home late at night, exhausted, just to sleep.

You weren’t complaining at all — in fact, you always supported her in every situation! Sending her sweet messages every day telling her how amazing she was for working so hard and doing such a good job, and even picking her up now and then with your car, which melted Dani’s heart every time.

And then, after all that beautiful chaos finally ended, now you and your girlfriend could spend as much time together as you wanted, without worrying — at least for a while — if Dani would need to wake up early to practice.

The sky was clear, glowing with stars that lit up the entire city. With the distant sound of horns and people talking, you and your girlfriend were getting ready to finally watch the movie Dani had been so eager to see with you. The mood was perfect for that night, almost as if the universe itself was in your favor to make every detail even more perfect.

At that moment, you had Dani practically lying on top of you, your legs tangled with hers, while she used the remote control to search through the TV for the movie. After a few minutes scrolling through the catalog, Dani finally found the one she wanted to watch. You smiled at the satisfied expression on her face as she pressed play, and soon the room was filled with the glow of the screen.

A comfortable silence settled in, only the sound of the movie filling the space. Dani remained lying on top of you, her soft breath brushing against your skin, while her fingers absentmindedly traced shapes on your leg in a loving way.

For a moment, it was just the two of you there, enjoying the closeness and the warmth of your bodies together as you spent time with each other.

The movie played on the screen, and you were completely focused on the story, not realizing that Dani’s touches were beginning to change their tone. At first, they were just distracted movements of her fingers on your leg, so light they felt like innocent affection. You stayed attentive to the movie, not giving it importance.

But little by little, the strokes became longer, firmer, moving further up your skin. The kisses that at first seemed casual now came more often, slowly trailing down from your shoulder to the curve of your neck.

It was only when she left a kiss a little longer, accompanied by a gentle squeeze on your thigh, that you realized the intention behind each gesture. Your body responded before your mind could even process it, a shiver running through your skin.

You glanced away from the screen for a moment, meeting the soft smile on Dani’s lips as her touches grew bolder.

You looked back at the screen, as if you could regain your focus, but it was already too late. Dani took advantage of the moment to slide her hand a little higher, her fingers pressing lightly into your thigh, while her lips explored every inch of your neck with lazy, provocative kisses — she was in complete control of what she was doing to you now.

The movie was still playing in front of you, but the images began to blur in your mind because of her touch. The heat spreading through your body made it impossible to ignore what was happening.

When Dani bit softly into your skin, pulling an involuntary sigh from you, you realized there was no more hiding it. Your eyes found hers again, and the mischievous smile you received in return made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

So for a moment, the movie you had both wanted so badly to watch suddenly didn’t seem so important anymore.

You took a deep breath, trying to convince yourself you were still paying attention to the movie, but each of Dani’s kisses made it harder. She seemed to savor the effect she had on you, and the way her fingers insisted on exploring more of your skin made her intention to completely distract you crystal clear.

She really underestimated your patience.

You let her continue for a few more moments, watching how each gesture became bolder, the kisses now trailing slowly down the curve of your shoulder, her hand almost reaching where she truly wanted to touch.

It was only then that you moved your hand, gently holding her wrist to stop her advances. Dani lifted her gaze to you, surprised, only to find a determined smile on your lips.

“I thought you wanted to watch the movie, Dani,” you murmured, still keeping your calm tone, but your eyes shone with challenge. Her smile faltered for a second, replaced by a faint blush that betrayed her anticipation.

Without another word, you suddenly turned your face, capturing Dani’s lips in a firm, intense kiss. She gasped in surprise, but quickly gave in, her hands clutching your shirt as if searching for an anchor.

You took the chance to guide the kiss, dominating every movement of your mouths. Your fingers slid to the nape of her neck, pulling her even closer, while you felt Dani’s surrendered smile against your lips.

You deepened the kiss without hesitation, invading her mouth firmly as your tongue explored every inch, until Dani let out a low moan against your lips. Without breaking the kiss, you gently pushed her back onto the bed, ending up on top of her.

Dani looked at you with half‑closed eyes, flushed cheeks, and parted lips catching her breath. For a moment, you swore you could melt at the sight.

Your fingers slowly trailed along the side of her body until they stopped at her waist, where you gripped firmly before returning your kisses to her lips.

You let your hands wander freely over every inch of the woman beneath you, as if you wanted to send her a message or dictate a rhythm through your touch. She gasped softly under you, her body reacting to each of your caresses.

The kiss grew more urgent, and you didn’t give Dani a chance to catch her breath. Your hands slid down her waist, pulling her closer as your bodies fit perfectly together, as if you had been made for each other. The heat between you practically burned.

With a firm movement, you grabbed her thigh and pulled it over you, making Dani let out a muffled moan against your lips. Your fingers explored her skin without hesitation, slowly sliding up her leg until they reached the hem of her shirt, which you quickly pulled up as she raised her arms and shifted her hips to help you take it off.

Since you were supposedly going to “sleep” after the movie, Dani was already without a bra, which made things easier for you. Without a second thought, you took one of her breasts into your mouth, drawing a loud sigh from her lips that sounded more like an inaudible moan, while your free hand squeezed the other.

Your mouth worked perfectly against her chest, sucking and lightly nibbling her nipple as if you were eating your favorite candy, pulling heavy sighs from Dani’s lips with each second.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, guiding and following the movements you made on her breasts, now alternating between them, your mouth working one and then moving to the other repeatedly.

The way Dani arched her hips slightly beneath you, searching for more contact while tilting her head back in a subtle surrender, gave away how much she needed you in that moment, making you smile between her breasts.

You lifted your face slowly, leaving a trail of hot kisses across her chest until you reached her lips again. She moaned softly into your mouth as soon as you kissed her firmly, her hips still moving restlessly beneath you.

As you deepened the kiss, your hand trailed slowly down her waist, exploring every curve until it reached the inside of her thigh. You squeezed lightly, just to feel the shiver run through her body, before finally sliding your fingers where she wanted them most.

Dani arched her body under you, a muffled moan slipping against your lips, and you took the chance to intensify the kiss, dominating every movement while your hand explored with firm precision over the now slightly damp fabric.

In a swift motion, you brought one hand to the waistband of Dani’s shorts and pulled them down with her help, removing the piece from her body.

Before you could finally do anything, Dani stopped you, placing a hand on your wrist and making you pause.

“That’s not fair,” she said with a playful smile on her lips. “You need to take yours off too.”

Surprised by her words, you let out a disbelieving laugh, almost incredulous that she could make a moment like this feel a little lighter.

You did as she asked. Still straddling her bare hips, you sat up and raised your arms, pulling off the shirt you wore, and then quickly slid off your pants, leaving yourself completely exposed to Dani. At that moment, her hands were gripping your waist as she bit her lips, staring at the view in front of her. The friction of your bare hips against hers made both of you let out a soft sigh.

You wasted no time resuming the kiss, this time hungrier, pinning Dani beneath you while your hands explored every exposed inch.

She panted against your lips, and you took the chance to let your hand trail down again, now with no fabric between you. Your fingers found her warm wetness, and the moan that slipped from Dani was so loud at your sudden action that you had to stifle it with a deep kiss, as you began to rub her slowly, just to watch her squirm.

The way Dani clutched your waist, silently begging for more, only fueled your desire to drive her insane. You sped up your fingers, changing the pressure, while your mouth captured every sound she let out, savoring each reaction as your reward.

“Babe, please,” Dani whimpered between muffled moans, while you kept your fingers sliding up and down her clit in a slow, agonizing rhythm.

With your mouth spreading kisses across her neck, you suddenly slipped two fingers inside her soaked entrance, teasing at first, only pushing in the tips.

She opened her mouth in a soundless moan, head falling back, which you used as an excuse to deepen the kisses now turning into light hickeys, going straight to the spot that drove her crazy.

The way just the tips of your fingers pushed in and out of her entrance was leaving Dani completely undone, her head practically in the clouds from your teasing.

“F‑fuck, don’t tease me.” she begged weakly, tightening her grip on your hair.

You lifted your gaze, stopping right in front of her face, watching her expression completely surrendered and desperate for you. Then you finally slid both fingers in fully.

You watched her reaction intently, seeing the way her brows furrowed and her lips parted in a guttural moan as you pushed all the way in.

Your movements quickened, pounding into her entrance with a rhythm that grew faster and faster, while the room filled with the wet sounds of your fingers inside her and the loud, shaky moans she let out, mixed with her uneven breathing.

Your mouth alternated between her breasts, her neck, her collarbone, near her ear, and finally her lips, swallowing every beautiful sound that escaped her mouth.

The palm of your hand pressed against Dani’s clit, and she was already showing the first signs of being close. You felt how her walls tightened around your fingers and how her hips rolled against you, searching for more friction.

Dani’s face was flushed, her cheeks burning red, sweat lightly dripping down her temples from the overstimulation you were giving her. Your bodies were so hot at that moment that the heat could be felt from meters away.

As an involuntary act, Dani bit her lip in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans that were now loud enough for the neighbors to hear — but you didn’t care.

“No, no… I want to hear your pretty sounds,” you said, bringing your fingers to her chin and making her open her mouth again.

Dani was getting so much pleasure she could barely form words, only moans and babbles spilling from her lips.

At this point, she didn’t even care anymore if it was too loud or if she’d have to face a serious conversation with the neighbors later. The rhythm of your fingers pumping in and out of her soaked pussy was so intense that she had lost control of even herself.

“Sh‑shit, Y/N, I’m close. Please don’t stop,” Dani cried out between moans.

You didn’t respond, only brought your free hand down to her clit, rubbing it to give her the pleasure she craved. She received it with loud moans, moving her hips against you.

“Are you gonna cum for me, baby? Hm?” you whispered against her neck, planting soft kisses on the spot.

Without warning, her walls clenched tightly around your fingers as her hips arched completely, followed by a loud moan tearing straight from her throat as she came, coating your fingers with her release.

You kept your movements going, now slowing the rhythm as she spilled over your hand, feeling her spasms as you prolonged her pleasure.

You finally eased your fingers out, now glistening with her, watching every reaction she gave beneath you. Still without breaking eye contact, you brought your two soaked fingers to your mouth, moaning softly as you tasted her on your tongue.

Still breathless from her orgasm, Dani brought one hand to the back of your neck, pulling you close and crashing her lips against yours in a fierce kiss, sighing at the taste of herself on your tongue.

The kiss grew more urgent, and Dani, still panting, didn’t seem satisfied. Her hands slid down your waist until they reached your hips, gripping tight as she murmured against your lips.

“I want to feel you too…” The plea came out as a desperate moan, and you didn’t think twice. You repositioned yourself, tangling your legs with hers until your hips fit perfectly, as if made to measure for each other. The heat between you was almost unbearable, and when you pressed your center against hers, both of you let out a loud moan in unison.

The movements started slow, just to feel the friction, but soon Dani grabbed your waist and pulled you harder, making the friction increase and your moans echo through the room.

You pressed your forehead to hers, panting, as you rolled your hips with growing intensity, feeling her body tremble against yours.

“Y‑yes…” Dani whispered, almost whining with pleasure, biting your lower lip as she matched your movements.

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rising higher, your bodies fitting together perfectly, hot and desperate. The wet sounds and muffled moans filled the air, until you could no longer tell where her pleasure ended and yours began.

The movements grew more frantic, the intense friction pulling involuntary moans from both of you. Dani clawed down your back, leaving red marks in her wake, while pulling you even closer, as if she wanted to fuse with your body.

You ground against her firmly, finding the rhythm and savoring every second of how perfectly your centers fit together. The wet sounds and muffled cries filled the room, drowned only by the distant movie still playing on the TV.

Dani arched her hips to meet each of your thrusts, her legs tightly tangled with yours, keeping you from any distance. Your faces brushed together, breaths mingling, lips brushing in urgent kisses and gasps.

“More… don’t stop,” she begged, her voice hoarse, almost breaking from the pleasure.

You obeyed, intensifying the rhythm, feeling the heat building stronger and stronger between you. Dani’s body shook beneath yours, and you knew she was close — just like you.

Holding tightly to her waist, you moved even faster, and soon both of you were moaning loudly, completely lost in the moment. The friction became unbearably good, each thrust pulling desperate new sounds from Dani, who dragged her nails down your skin as her whole body trembled.

And then, almost at the same time, the final wave crashed over you both. You gave in, moaning hard against her lips as the climax exploded between you. Your hips still grinding against hers as both your bodies shook in sync.

Dani cupped your face, trapping your lips in a deep, messy kiss, moaning into your mouth as the spasms still coursed through you. The heat, the sweat, and the flood of pleasure left you both breathless, clinging to each other as if the world had stopped right there.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of ragged breathing, racing hearts, and the delicious sensation of still being pressed together, her body glued to yours as if she’d never let you go.

And maybe after this, you would finally watch the movie Dani had been wanting so badly.

[meiyokbf]

under your spell

(y/n) (y/l/n), a soft-spoken lit nerd with sharp wit, gym shoulders, and almost zero game; never expected to meet the love of their life in a strip club, but megan wasn’t the kind of girl you saw coming. she was guarded, magnetic, and almost impossible to read, but at the same time she makes falling feel like a risk worth taking. lara and manon were supposed to be background noise to that night, a chaotic one-time hookup, but what started as fun becomes something harder to name once real feelings creep in. between sophia and yoonchae’s quiet loyalty and daniela’s reluctant care, everyone’s trying to figure out what it means to choose each other; on purpose, for real.

warnings: stripper!megan x nerd!g!p!reader, manon x lara, nsfw themes ahead, mdni. mentions/usage of drugs & alcohol, stripping, sensitive family matters & neurodivergence. reader uses they/them pronouns just for the sake of neutrality.

check out megan’s playlist!

chapters:

00. | characters.

01. | part one.

02. | part two.

03. | part three.

04. | part four.

05. | part five.

06. | part six. (tba)

last updated: 07/16/2025!

[cindergorge]

𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗘𝗬𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 | 𝗦. 𝗟𝗔𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗭𝗔

Sophia left her old school to start a new life, to start writing a new page in her book and leave all the mistakes in the past. What happens when the most precious thing she lost because of those same mistakes comes rushing back into her life, but not for the reasons she hoped for.

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: sophia laforteza x f!reader

𝗙𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: le sserafim (yunjin), aespa (karina), katseye and etc.

𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗦: on going

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧: open

𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗦:

dumb, dumber & the dumbest | yap squad, yap squad 2.5

𝟬𝟭: it's been a long time coming.....

𝟬𝟮: when the gang get tgt

𝟬𝟯: who went this hard on you

𝟬𝟰: who?

𝟬𝟱: would never do ts to pookie

𝟬𝟲: HOW TF

𝟬𝟳: WHO YOU TRYNA GASLIT

𝟬𝟴: no I'm just surprised

𝟬𝟵: what can I say

𝟭𝟬: y'all been talking crazy abt me

𝟭𝟭: FUCK MY LIFE

𝟭𝟮: she's my favorite child

𝟭𝟯: stalker much?

𝟭𝟰: i said quit acting dumb

𝟭𝟱: LARA YOU DUMB BITCH

𝟭𝟲: it's so about her

𝟭𝟳: GFYS

𝟭𝟴: WHAT

𝟭𝟵: W mindset

𝟮𝟬: sweetheart

𝟮𝟭: perfect

𝟮𝟮: no promises

23: low maintenance

24: she tried

25: AY AY CAPTAIN

™𝗖𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗘 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟱.

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧: @sunshinez4, @itzkatflixs, @harajukub4rb1e @iisayfa, @kianthegirlkisser, @yeetaberry127, @goofymickeyr, @hydrardz, @falling-intoo-deep, @mei2yok, @arihiu, @gablmk, @kristalag, @saysirhc, @fruityg0rl, @xochitlisbest, @tormaa1, @apersonwhowrites, @vvyuqi, @yjiminswallet, @cceanvvaves, @micaluvssoccer, @kkoga, @linnnsworld, @haerinkisser, @mirophobic, @erraticwritterz, @takuhg, @d1spact, @saturda3, @lovelytayyy,

[useblond]

Moth To A Flame ─ S.L

ᯓ★ synopsis: Sophia finds herself caught in the quiet gravity of you, who makes her feel seen for the first time, even as the heat between you and her threatens to consume you both.

ᯓ★ warnings/tags: Sophia x Fem?Reader, there's no real pronouns in this story but you are referred to as a girl like once, Angst & Fluff, major hints of internalized homophobia, unrequited love lowk, lmk if I missed anything else! (w.c: 6.3k)

ᯓ★ a/n: longest fic i've ever written my pen was on fire (also hits a little too close to home)

The moth knows — it always knows — that the flame isn’t meant for it. But it still chooses the heat over the dark.

Sophia Laforteza wasn’t loud about her beauty—she didn’t have to be. She moved through the world like a whispered secret, all soft denim jackets and quiet sarcasm, her voice smooth and low like a favorite song you didn’t realize you’d memorized. When she laughed, she tilted her head back just slightly, and you swore it made the sun hit her differently.

It started with late afternoons in the art room. You were working on a charcoal sketch, she was messing around with acrylics. The windows were always open, and her presence filled the space like lavender in warm air—comforting, unexpected, and lingering. She’d lean over your desk and comment on your work, her hair brushing your shoulder, her breath close to your cheek. It felt innocent, until it didn’t.

This time, she peered over your shoulder with paint-streaked fingers and a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Is that supposed to be me?” she asked, voice lilting.

You didn’t look up. “Maybe.”

She leaned in closer, head tilted. “You made my eyelashes look stupid long,” she said, but she was smiling. “You think I blink in slow motion or something?”

You chuckled, smudging a shadow under her cheekbone. “It’s called artistic interpretation.”

She hummed. “Mhm. And that little curve right there? My mouth doesn’t do that.”

“It does when you’re pretending not to laugh at your own joke.”

Her breath caught for half a second. Then, softly, “You’re dangerous with that pencil, you know that?”

“Why, because I’m accurate?”

“No,” she said, her voice dipping into something warmer. “Because the way you see me? It’s... a little too bright. Makes me feel like I’m worth looking at.”

You froze, just for a moment. She noticed, she always noticed.

Then she added, more playful, “Also, you gave me killer cheekbones, like, damn. Can I hire you full time to make me hot on paper?”

You finally glanced up at her. “You don’t need paper for that.”

Sophia blinked. Smiled—wide this time. “Okay, now that was flirting.”

“You started it.”

She gave a soft laugh, backing away slowly. “Don’t stop drawing. I like seeing myself through your eyes.”

And just like that, she went back to her canvas—humming, pretending she hadn’t said something that would echo in you for days.

But the sketch stayed in front of you.

Because there was something about capturing her that felt like chasing light you knew wasn’t meant to be held.

You tried to keep drawing.

You really did.

But it was hard to focus when her words lingered louder than your pencil scratching the page. “I like seeing myself through your eyes.” No one had ever said anything like that before. No one had looked at your work like it meant something personal. Like it was more than lines on paper like it was intimacy.

Across the room, Sophia dipped her brush into cobalt blue, swirling it lazily through water like she wasn’t rearranging the whole atmosphere. Her brow furrowed in concentration, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She had this way of moving that didn’t demand attention, but drew it anyway. Like gravity, subtle and inescapable.

You looked back down at your sketch. Her eyes were still unfinished.

You didn’t know how to draw eyes like hers—ones that knew how to disarm and disappear in the same breath. So instead, you let the charcoal fall still and watched her.

“I can feel you staring,” she said suddenly, without turning.

You flushed. “I’m not—”

“Liar,” she sang, glancing back at you with a crooked smile. “You sketch me, then stare at me like I walked out of your own drawing.”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice softened. “Maybe I’m just trying to get it right.”

She set her brush down and walked over, slow and deliberate, like she was stepping across some invisible line between you.

“You already did,” she said, looking down at the page. “It’s weird, seeing yourself the way someone else sees you.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You draw me like I’m…” She hesitated. “Soft. Like I haven’t spent most of my life trying not to be.”

Your heart clenched. “Maybe that’s because you are.”

She looked at you then—really looked. And something flickered behind her eyes. Not surprise. Not even conflict. Just fear, cloaked in fondness.

“I’m not used to being seen like this,” she whispered. “Like I’m more than what I’m trying to hide.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Sophia,” you said gently. “I just draw what’s already there.”

She swallowed, gaze falling to your lips for a fraction too long.

And then, her voice went playful again—retreating behind that familiar smirk. “Well, if I’m your muse, I expect royalties. Maybe snacks. Or a tragic poem or two.”

You smiled, but didn’t match her teasing tone. “Too late. I think you’ve already taken everything.”

Her breath caught—barely audible. But you heard it.

And she stood there, suddenly very still, as if part of her wanted to lean in and the other part was already backing away.

But she didn’t do either. She just said, quiet as dusk, “Be careful with me.”

And you wanted to say, I already am.

But instead, you picked up your pencil and kept drawing.

Because it was the only way you knew how to hold her without getting burned.

The next day, the art room felt different—lighter somehow, like the tension from yesterday had softened into something warmer. You arrived early, the familiar scent of paint and charcoal wrapping around you like a quiet welcome. When Sophia slipped in a few minutes later, she settled into her usual spot beside you with that easy, knowing smile, like the world was holding its breath for what might come next.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just let your pencil move, let the quiet settle around you like it belonged there. The light through the windows was softer today, filtering in like gauze, and Sophia was beside you again—same seat, same soft grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

No teasing yet. Just her presence, close enough to feel.

She rested her chin on her hand and watched you sketch, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm against her jaw. But every now and then, one of them twitched—like something beneath her skin was stirring, uneasy. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes yet.

After a moment, she said, “You always start with the eyes?”

Her voice was low, but there was a smile in it.

You didn’t look up. “Well if I can’t get the eyes right, the rest doesn’t matter.”

She leaned in, just a little. “Wow. You say that like this is life or death.”

You smirked. “You say that like you’re not staring at your own face while I draw it.”

She laughed softly, then tilted her head. “Okay, but you kind of make it impossible not to. I mean—look at this.” She pointed gently at the sketch. “Why do I look like I’m about to say something poetic and ruin someone’s life?”

“Because you usually are.”

She grinned. “Flattery and accuracy? Dangerous combo.”

You glanced at her sideways. “What can I say? I’m an artist.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” she teased, nudging your elbow lightly. “Because from here, it just looks like you’re romanticizing me in real time.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but didn’t deny it.

“Should I be concerned?” she asked, a glint in her eye. “Are you falling in love with your subject, or is this just part of the artistic process?”

Your pencil paused for a beat too long.

Then you said, “You started it.”

She bit her lip, hiding a smile. “Touché.”

She didn’t pull away this time. But her leg bounced ever so slightly under the table, a nervous energy betraying the ease she was trying to wear. Still, she stayed close, like part of her couldn’t help it—like she wanted to see what you’d draw next—not just on paper, but in whatever strange, beautiful thing the two of you were building, unspoken and careful.

Weeks passed, but the art room stayed your sanctuary.

You and Sophia fell into something easy—unspoken, undefined, but real in the way routines become rituals. Some afternoons were quiet, both of you hunched over your work, headphones in, toes occasionally brushing beneath the table like a secret. Other times, she was all mischief, wiping a streak of color across your page and calling it a “collaboration.”

But the moments that got you weren’t loud.

They were soft, almost forgettable—if they didn’t sit in your chest for hours after.

Like when she started showing up with an extra granola bar or iced coffee and casually tossing it your way. “Too much caffeine makes me jittery,” she’d say, even though she drank enough to fuel a small city.

Or the way she’d quietly slip into your hoodie when the room got too cold, burying her hands in the sleeves like they belonged there. “You smell like graphite and paint” she mumbled once, nose pressed into the fabric, pretending it wasn’t a compliment.

And then there were the looks.

Those held too long glances across the room when you weren’t even talking—when she should’ve been focused on her canvas but was clearly watching you instead. Her gaze always softened a little when she thought you didn’t notice. Like she was memorizing you the same way you’d tried to memorize her features on paper.

And her touch.

God, her touch.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was everywhere. The way she’d rest her hand on your knee while scrolling through reference photos. The way her fingers would trail over yours when she handed you a brush, like the extra second meant nothing. Like she didn’t notice. (She noticed. You always noticed.)

One afternoon, she came in late, hair windblown, cheeks pink from running.

“Sorry,” she huffed, sliding into her seat beside you. “Some freshman dumped a whole water bottle in the hallway and I slipped. Like full cartoon banana peel moment.”

You smiled, offering her the thermos of tea you'd brought just in case. She took it without hesitation.

“You think of everything,” she said, wrapping her hands around it.

“I think of you,” you almost said.

Instead, you asked, “So did anyone see?”

“Just my pride,” she muttered, sipping. Then she looked up at you, grinning. “But if I ever break a bone, will you draw me dramatically in a hospital bed?”

“I was planning to sketch your eulogy.”

She gasped, mock-offended. “Cold. I bring you snacks, I wear your hoodie, I bless your sketchbook with my face—and this is how you repay me?”

“Bless my sketchbook?” you echoed, raising a brow.

She gave you a sly smile. “Don’t act like you don’t like drawing me.”

You didn’t answer.

And she didn’t press.

But later, when you were packing up, she lingered by your side instead of leaving first like usual. Her fingers toyed with a bent paperclip she found on the table, twisting it aimlessly before finally speaking.

“I um… made you something,” she said, reaching into her tote bag and pulling out a small square of thick, watercolor paper.

It was a sketch. Quick, messy, but unmistakably you. You recognized the curve of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the furrow in your brow you always got when you were concentrating. It wasn’t perfect—but it was honest. Unflinching. Soft.

“I don’t draw people,” she said, almost defensively. “Like, ever. But I don’t know. I wanted to try. You were… easier than I expected.”

You stared at the paper, throat tight. “Sophia…”

She shrugged, not quite looking at you. “It’s not great. You can throw it away or whatever.”

“I’m not throwing this away,” you said immediately, voice low.

She finally met your gaze, something unspoken thrumming between you.

“I didn’t know how else to say it,” she admitted, barely a whisper. “So I drew it.”

And just like that, she slipped past you—brushing your arm on the way out, like always.

You stayed there long after the door closed, the sketch still in your hand.

She hadn’t said the words.

But god, it was starting to feel like she didn’t need to.

You arrived first in the early morning, the sketch folded carefully inside your notebook like a secret you weren’t ready to share out loud. The art room was empty except for the soft hum of the heater and the way the late morning light spilled in, dust motes drifting lazily through the air.

When Sophia slipped in, the door’s faint creak pulled your attention. She moved quietly, settling into her usual spot beside you, but this time there was a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She didn’t say hello. She didn’t smile right away. Instead, she watched you with that slow, searching gaze.

You took a breath and slid the sketch across the table toward her. “I kept this,” you said, voice low. “It means more than I can say.”

She picked up the paper gently, fingers tracing the edges like it might crumble if she touched it too hard. Her eyes flicked to the lines — the way she’d captured the tension in your jaw, the slight furrow in your brow when you concentrated.

“It’s… honest,” she murmured, almost surprised. “I wasn’t sure I could even do it justice.”

You shrugged, heart suddenly pounding in your chest. “You did. It’s real.”

For a long moment, you both sat there, just breathing in the quiet. The usual noise of the world felt miles away, as if this room was a bubble where only the two of you existed.

She kept staring.

At first, you thought it was just the drawing—her focus pinned to the sketch between you like it held some invisible thread she was trying to untangle. But then her gaze drifted, not to your hands, not to your eyes, but lower. Lingering. Soft. Intent. Like she’d forgotten herself for a moment and let her attention slip somewhere it wasn’t meant to linger—somewhere that said more than she was ready to admit.

You blinked. “Are you… staring at my lips?”

Sophia froze. Just for a second. But it was enough. You saw the pause in her shoulders, the way her fingers stilled against the table like someone had just spoken her secret out loud. Then, without looking up, she replied—carefully but not sheepish.

“I made sure your lips were drawn perfectly, you know.”

The words shouldn’t have knocked the air out of you like they did. But they carried weight, unexpected and strangely intimate—like she’d handed you something she hadn’t meant to show. Your heart stuttered.

“Oh yeah?” you managed, voice a little too soft.

She nodded slowly, finally lifting her eyes to meet yours. And there it was again—that look she only wore when she forgot to guard herself. Like she’d wandered into a feeling and didn’t know how to walk back out of it. There was no flirtation in it, no armor. Just a quiet gravity. She studied you the way you studied light on a canvas—deliberately, like you were the kind of detail she never meant to fall into but had anyway.

“Yeah,” she said, voice hushed and sure. “I couldn’t get them wrong. They’re… specific.”

You tilted your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the edge of your mouth. “Specific, huh?”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh but too fragile to carry any humor. “Shut up.”

But you didn’t. “So you stared at my lips long enough to make sure they were ‘perfect.’ That’s dedication.”

Her smile faltered—but not in a way that meant something bad. It softened. Like the truth was something fragile in her chest she was finally letting see daylight. Her hand curled slightly on the edge of the table, like she needed to hold on to something.

“I kept thinking,” she said quietly, “if I ever kissed you, I’d want to get the shape right. Like… remember it.”

The words landed with a softness that felt like thunder. You stilled, every part of you suddenly tuned to her voice, to the weight in it, to the unspoken ache that slipped between each syllable. If you ever kissed me.

It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t even hypothetical.

It was a confession wrapped in a maybe.

“If,” you echoed, almost afraid to say more.

Sophia’s gaze didn’t leave yours. And this time, you saw it clearly—the fear threading through the fondness, the way her chest rose and fell like she’d just said something irreversible. Her voice broke a little as she added, “If you wanted that too.”

You didn’t say anything, not right away. You just set your pencil down carefully, like the smallest noise might scare the moment off. And then you leaned forward, slowly, deliberately, until there was barely an inch between you. You could smell her shampoo again—citrus and something faintly floral—and feel the tremble in her breath, soft and uneven. Her skin was warm where your fingers brushed her jaw, and the heat of her lingered on your lips even before they met.

“I’ve been drawing you for weeks, Sophia,” you said, so softly it felt like a promise. “Do you really think I didn’t want to?”

She let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, her hand lifting instinctively like she didn’t know whether to pull away or pull you closer.

“Then can I?”

The question barely made a sound, but it echoed through you like the sharp intake of breath before a plunge. There was a vulnerability to it—fragile and raw. Like even asking cost her something she wasn’t sure she could spare.

You didn’t nod. You didn’t speak.

You leaned in—then paused, heart pounding in your throat. You waited, gave her space to flinch, to change her mind. She didn’t. Her lips parted just slightly, her breath catching like she’d been holding it too long. And only then did you move again, slow—measured.

And then you kissed her.

Gently. Like a whisper passed between two hearts who had been trying not to speak too loudly.

At first, she didn’t move. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was hesitation. But then you felt it—the way her lips pressed back into yours, tentative and trembling, like she didn’t believe it could be real until you gave her the space to feel it. Your hand found her jaw, thumb grazing the edge of her cheek, and the way she leaned into your touch made your heart ache in the most tender way.

She kissed like she was scared she’d be punished for it. Like somewhere deep down, she still believed this was wrong. But her body curled into yours with a desperation that told a different story—one of longing, and loneliness, and a girl who didn’t know how to ask for comfort unless it was handed to her in silence.

Like part of her knew she'd get punished for this, even as every part of her responded to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When you finally started to pull away, catching your breath, thinking maybe this was the moment to let it settle, to let her sit with what just happened — Sophia’s hands moved fast. One slid around your waist, firm, grounding, possessive. The other found the curve of your spine and held you there, like she wasn’t done. Like the kiss had pulled something loose in her and she needed it back.

Her fingers clenched in the fabric of your shirt—tight, trembling, like she needed something to anchor her or risk floating away.

“No don't-" Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. “Don’t pull away yet.” Her forehead pressed to yours, and you felt the faint tremor of her next breath shake through both of you. “I’ve been starving for this. For you.”

The words slipped out like they cost her something.

You froze, heart suddenly thudding in your chest like it was knocking on bone. Her forehead rested against yours, breath fanning over your lips. You could feel how hard she was breathing. How shaky. How alive she was in that moment.

“Sophia,” you murmured.

But then she kissed you again—fiercer this time. Not out of fear, but hunger. A kind of ache that had been gnawing at her from the inside out for far too long. Her mouth moved against yours like she was trying to make up for lost time, for all the ways she pushed you away, all the ways she convinced herself she couldn't this, she didn’t need you—and failed.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. Your hands were already on her, pulling her closer, matching the desperation in her touch. She kissed like she wanted to memorize you, like she was trying to etch the shape of your mouth into her muscle memory.

The kiss didn’t end so much as it dissolved—faded into the air like mist breaking apart under morning light. One moment, you were still inside it—still feeling the weight of her against you, the press of her hand against your spine, the heat of her breath between kisses that tasted like things neither of you were brave enough to say aloud. And then she pulled back. Just a little. Just enough to let the silence crawl back in.

Her forehead rested gently against yours, eyes still shut, as if she could hold onto the feeling a few seconds longer without having to face what it meant. Your heart was still thudding, loud and aching in your chest like it hadn’t realized the moment was over. But it was. You could feel it in the way her hands, once clenched tightly in your shirt, began to loosen—fingers slipping away like she was letting go of something she never should’ve taken in the first place.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t dare move.

You stayed still, holding your breath like a wish, hoping if you stayed in that moment just a little longer, she wouldn’t take it back. That she’d lean in again, choose the wanting over the fear.

But she didn’t.

Sophia stepped back. Not far. Just enough to create a silence that suddenly felt cavernous.

Her arms dropped to her sides. Her shoulders straightened, but not out of confidence—it was something brittle, something resigned, like she was already building her walls again, one breath at a time. She took a sharp inhale and opened her eyes.

And whatever softness had lived there just seconds ago was retreating fast. The warmth had dimmed, replaced by something unreadable. Not cold exactly, but distant. Like she was stepping outside of herself, watching it all from somewhere else.

“I—I shouldn’t have,” she said, voice nearly inaudible. “Not with you. Not like this.”

She shook her head like she was trying to erase the moment, not remember it.

It hit you like cold water to the face.

You straightened without meaning to, your throat tightening. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, she stood up so fast her chair scraped harshly across the floor, a sound that made both of you flinch. Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed them to the edge of the table, grounding herself like the room had started to spin.

“I didn’t mean to—” She paused, swallowed. Her voice cracked when she spoke again. “I wasn’t supposed to feel this. Not for a girl. Not in a way that doesn’t go away.”

You stared at her, chest heavy. “But you do.”

The silence that followed was louder than any denial.

She didn’t nod. Didn’t look at you. Just stared at a spot on the floor like it had all the answers. Her mouth twitched, like she was trying to find words and kept losing them mid-thought. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Hollow. “It’s easier when you don’t let it get this far.”

You stood slowly, pulse hammering. “Easier for who?”

Still, nothing.

Only the sound of the wind brushing against the windowpane, the faint metallic drip of water from the sink, and the unbearable stillness between you.

When she finally met your eyes, it wasn’t with defiance. It wasn’t even with guilt.

It was with grief.

Grief like she’d already mourned this. Like she’d been preparing to lose you before she even had you.

“You don’t understand,” she said, and her voice wasn’t sharp—it was tired. “I wasn’t supposed to be someone who felt things like this. Not with you. Not like this.”

Your voice softened, cracked open. “Why not?”

She parted her lips to respond, but nothing came out. A flicker of something crossed her face—fear, maybe. Or longing. Or both twisted so tightly together they looked the same. She shut her eyes, voice barely a breath. “Because it makes me want things I'll be punished for, I don't deserve this."

You took a step forward, careful, like any sudden movement might send her running. “Hey you do deserve this.” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But she flinched like the words stung, like hope was a thing with teeth.

“Don’t say that,” she said sharply—too quickly. Her voice cracked against the edges of it. “Please. Don’t.”

“Why not?” you asked, throat raw.

And then—cold.

“Because you think this means something it doesn’t.”

You blinked, as if that might dull the sting. As if looking away would make it land softer. But nothing could dull that. Not when you’d just tasted what it meant to be wanted and now she was pretending it didn’t matter.

You saw the way she winced after saying it. Like she didn’t believe it either. But she didn’t correct herself. She didn’t soften it. She just stood there, holding the lie between you like a shield.

You didn’t argue.

Didn’t plead.

You just stood there, heartbreak settling in your chest like dust that wouldn’t be brushed off—thin and sharp, and everywhere.

She took a step back.

Then another.

And you didn’t stop her.

She didn’t reach for you. Didn’t offer an apology.

She just said, in a voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it: “You draw people like they’re made of light.”

She hesitated.

“But I was taught to hide mine.”

A bitter smile tugged at her mouth. “And I’m not ready to be seen burning.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her like the last stroke on a canvas you hadn’t finished. One that would stay half-formed, eyes still blank, shadowed by all the things she wouldn’t let you see.

You sat back down slowly, body folding in on itself, like the only thing keeping you upright before was her hands on your skin.

The sketch still lay in front of you. Her face. Her mouth, the way it curved when she teased you. Her eyes—still unfinished, still empty.

You stared at it until the lines blurred, until your breath grew shallow and uneven.

She kissed you like she was starving.

And then walked away like it never happened.

You didn’t cry.

Not yet.

You just picked up your pencil.

Tried to draw something else. Anything else. But your hand wouldn’t move.

Because how do you sketch absence?

How do you draw the space someone leaves behind when they take all their love with them?

How do you hold someone who’s already decided they’re too much to keep?

It had been three weeks.

Three long, aching weeks without Sophia in the art room.

You told yourself you were fine. You showed up like you always had. Sat in the same chair. Opened the same sketchbook. Picked up the same pencil. But everything felt quieter. Lonelier. The light hit the room differently now, slanting colder through the windows. Every creak of the door felt like a false alarm—each one lifting your head just slightly, hope still flickering before it had the chance to die again.

She hadn’t messaged. Not even once. And you hadn’t reached out either—not because you didn’t want to, but because you already knew how the silence would answer. You didn’t think you could bear seeing her name light up your phone only to be told she meant none of it. Or worse—to be ignored entirely.

So you waited in your own quiet way. Let her absence settle in like dust—coating the edges of your routine, sinking into the lines of your sketches. Your drawings had changed too. Faces disappeared. You couldn’t bring yourself to draw eyes anymore—not when hers were the last ones you’d tried and failed to finish. Instead, your pages filled with fragments. Shoulders caught mid-turn. Palms held open but empty. A collarbone, a shadow, the back of a neck. Pieces of people, never whole. Never hers.

And you told yourself this was the end.

Until the door opened.

It was late in the day, the kind of late where the sun stretches out tired and pale through dusty windowpanes. You were hunched over your sketchbook, erasing the same line into oblivion, trying to draw anything that didn’t ache.

The door creaked softly.

And you didn’t need to look.

You felt it in your chest before your eyes confirmed it.

Sophia.

She stood in the doorway like a ghost half-summoned—her hair tucked beneath the hood of her jacket, her hands buried deep in her pockets, her shoulders hunched like she was afraid to be seen. Or afraid that she already had been. She didn’t move. Just stood there, eyes locked onto you with something unreadable—something raw.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

No smile. No softness. Just the silence between you folding tighter.

She stepped inside, let the door fall shut behind her with a quiet click that sounded too final.

You sat back, unsure whether to stand, unsure if you were supposed to be angry or relieved or terrified.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” you said, voice careful.

She scanned the room briefly, like it had changed in her absence. “I wasn’t either.”

Her voice sounded like it had been used up. Paper-thin. Worn from being bitten back too many times.

She didn’t sit. Didn’t unpack her paints. Just walked slowly toward your desk and stopped in front of you, staring down at your sketchpad.

You watched her eyes move across the page.

A faceless figure. Just a torso, blurred and reworked until it was barely recognizable.

“You stopped drawing me,” she said.

It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even a question. Just fact.

You met her gaze. “You stopped letting me.”

She looked away. And there it was—that twitch in her jaw, the clench of her mouth, like she was fighting back something too big to name.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” she said quietly.

You studied her. Her posture. The way she stood like she was about to run but didn’t want to turn her back to you. “I didn’t think you came here for anything.”

Her eyes flinched shut.

And still, she didn’t leave.

Instead, she reached into her jacket, fingers fumbling for a second before pulling something out—folded paper, worn at the edges. Your heart stuttered when you recognized it.

Her sketch. The one of you.

She placed it gently on your desk, between you. A deliberate offering. Or maybe a burial.

“I don’t want it anymore,” she said.

Her voice was too flat. Like she needed it to sound colder than she felt.

Your chest tightened. “Why?”

She stared at the paper. Not at you.

“It makes it real. And I can’t afford for this to be real. Because it doesn’t mean what you think it does.”

You blinked. Slowly. “It meant something when you gave it to me.”

She hesitated.

And for just a second, you saw it—something crack in her expression, something that almost made it through.

But then she took a step back.

And whatever softness had been left in her eyes vanished.

“I’m not actually in love with you or anything” she said. Not with anger, not with cruelty. With something worse—a lie she was trying to turn into truth through repetition. As if saying it flatly enough might drown out the way her voice trembled.

You didn’t move. The air shifted. Sharpened.

Sophia hesitated.

And for the briefest second, something flickered in her eyes. Not regret. Not quite. Just the barest shimmer of what could’ve been. Of truth she couldn’t let live.

But then she blinked it away. Snapped the door shut inside herself again.

“It was a moment,” she said. “That’s all.”

“You kissed me like it wasn’t just a moment.”

She looked at you then—and it nearly broke her. You could see it. The crack running through her certainty. The way her lips parted, like she might say something real—might admit it.

But instead, she whispered, “You were easy to fall into. That doesn’t mean I meant to.”

Silence fell like ash.

You swallowed the hurt. Let it settle.

“Sophia, why are you doing this?”

Her eyes flinched shut.

And this time, her voice didn’t fight.

It surrendered.

“Because if I let it be real, I don’t know how to live with it.”

She drew in a breath, sharp and shaky. "So you can stop… waiting.”

You shake your head in disbelief, "But I don't understand, how are you gonna just do all of this to me?" you reply, voice slightly cracking.

Sophia’s lips parted like she might finally say something real.

But then her eyes hardened.

And you saw it—the choice.

She was choosing to lie.

To kill whatever fragile thing had been growing between you before it became something she couldn’t bury.

“Stop making it bigger than it was,” she said. “Please.”

Your chest tightened, something rising in your throat you couldn’t swallow down. “Why are you so afraid of loving me?”

The question landed between you like a shatter—raw and sudden.

Sophia flinched.

Finally, finally, her eyes met yours.

And there it was—all of it. The ache. The conflict. The fear.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Like the truth tasted bitter on her tongue.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than anything else.

“Because I’m not someone like you,” she said.

“I want to be,” she whispered. “But I don’t know how. And I’m scared that if I try… I’ll ruin it.” Her voice trembled, but she kept going, like she’d rehearsed this part.

“You’re not ashamed of the way you feel.” She looked away. “I am.”

There was no malice in it. No anger. Just resignation.

And guilt.

So much guilt.

It flickered across her face the second she said it—like she knew it wasn’t fair. Like she knew it was a coward’s answer. But she didn’t take it back.

She just looked down, hands curling into fists at her sides, as if saying it out loud made it more real than she was ready to handle.

You didn’t respond.

What could you even say to that?

There was no counterpoint, no protest that wouldn’t sound like begging. You could’ve told her she was wrong. That she was someone like you, if she just let herself be. That it wasn’t about being the same—it was about choosing each other despite the fear, despite the mess. You would’ve met her where she was. You already had.

But she wasn’t meeting you.

She couldn’t.

And you knew—deep down—you had always known.

Because love like this was never going to be fair. Not with her. Not with someone who kissed you like salvation and fled like you were fire. Not with someone who wanted to be seen but not held. Not with someone who kept calling it nothing because she didn’t have the courage to call it everything.

Sophia looked at you one last time. And you saw it. The fracture behind her eyes. The guilt curdling into shame. The fear trying to wear itself like strength. She opened her mouth, like she might take it all back, but no words came. Just the same silence you’d grown so used to.

Her hand hovered over the sketch one last time—then pulled back.

She didn’t come to make things right.

She came to burn the last piece of it down before it could light her up again.

And maybe you should’ve stopped her.

But moths don’t stop flying.

Even when they see the fire coming.

You nodded, slowly. Because what else was there left to do?

“Okay,” you said. Quietly. Not angry. Not pleading. Just scorched.

Sophia flinched at the softness. It landed harder than shouting ever could.

And then she turned.

No goodbye. No second glance.

Just the hush of her footsteps, and the weight of everything she couldn’t say closing in behind her.

The door shut softly behind her. No slam. No finality.

Just quiet.

And quiet, you were learning, could burn too.

You sat there, alone with her drawing—lines she had made for you in a moment of tenderness she was now trying to erase.

She left it behind.

But she took everything else.

You stared at it for a long time, not knowing what hurt more—the honesty in her lines, or the lie in her leaving.

And then, slowly, you picked up your pencil.

You turned to a new page.

And for the first time, you didn’t try to draw her.

You drew a moth.

Delicate wings.

A tiny body suspended in stillness.

And just above it—light.

Not soft. Not safe.

A flame, flickering too close.

And even though the moth should’ve known better, you drew it leaning in anyway.

Because it was never about the fire.

It was about the wanting.

The helpless, hopeless wanting.

[avanzinii]

what a flirt — SOPHIA LAFORTEZA PART 2.

synopsis: sophia, your bandmate, is a natural flirt. you can’t help but crush on her—but are the feelings reciprocated?

pairings: sophia laforteza x 7th member!reader

disclaimer: slightly angsty, fluff, some suggestive indications, swearing, this is part 2! you can read the first part here 🤍

as soon as the words left your mouth, your body froze. absolutely and completely frozen.

it felt like you weren’t in control of yourself. you wouldn’t have said that so bluntly—especially on a live with thousands of people watching.

your mind was blank, your hands were stuck in hair, and your mouth was left hanging open. you knew where you were, physically, but you felt as if it were just you and sophia in that room.

her face was still. her eyes winced a little at first out of shock. it was obvious she was struck as well.

however, her instincts kicked in before yours. she quietly laughed and sat up, looking at the others again.

“lovebirds,” manon joked. while their faces didn’t show it, it was clear to you that manon and megan felt the tension too.

megan was holding in her giggles, of course. part of you wondered if this was part of her plan.

either way, your stomach was in a knot. you focused for the sake of the live, but your face was hot and your hands were restless.

you pushed yourself to act like everything was normal—to act like you didn’t confess that you were in love with your best friend and bandmate.

after that, megan held the ipad for most of the live. she tried not to make it obvious she was scrolling past the comments on you and sophia, but you could tell.

it felt like every three lines was a new comment about ‘sophy/n.’ you knew this wouldn’t be the worst of it either. social media would be hell soon enough.

the live didn’t last that much longer—long enough for it to not be suspicious, but short enough you could hide immediately after.

“okay, bye eyekons!” megan smiled as she reached to turn off the screen. nothing was said right after, which was unlike normal.

usually, you would laugh together about the stupid things you all said, but this time it was just quiet.

“it’s late, isn’t it?” sophia said. her hand reached to her mouth as she shut her eyes to force a yawn. “you guys can stay up, i’m going to sleep.”

just like that, she had run off to her room.

nothing. not a word. no comment on your live confession of love. just gone.

“did i miss something?” manon turned to you.

a sigh drew itself out of you. “i don’t even know.”

“y/n has a huge crush on sophia,” megan beamed.

“megan!” you gasped, playfully slapping her.

“what? it’s obvious now!”

all you could do was sit with a defeated look on your face. everything was happening so quickly, and your thoughts were racing even faster.

“whatever happens, we got you,” manon said. she stood up to pull you to her, but your body felt weak.

the moment you fell into her arms, your eyes spilled out tears. completely sobbing—snot dripping onto her shirt.

“oh y/n, baby,” megan cooed.

you pulled back from manon’s embrace, smiling. “it’s okay, i think i’m just going to sleep now,” you said.

they nodded. normally, they’d badger you to stay longer, but this was different.

as your bedroom door clicked shut, you fell to your knees. it all came rushing back.

every “what if” moment made you feel stupid. you questioned how you could even let yourself hope that you had a chance with her.

to her, you were simply just a friend.

who knows if you were even a best friend—it was impossible not to question that in that moment.

face completely damp and stained with makeup, you felt so broken.

you were losing your best friend over an accidental confession.

——

the next few weeks were rough, to put it simply.

the day after the livestream, twitter broke out into chaos. eyekons were debating whether the moment was purely you two “committing-to-the-bit,” or if you were genuinely in love with each other.

user a: there’s no way that was a joke did you see y/n’s face 😭

user b: u guys are acting like this is new for them, sophy/n has always been like this bro

user c: they flirt but that… was a new level for them

user d: god forbid girls wanna joke with their friends

however, the worst of it wasn’t social media.

sophia tried to act like nothing had happened. tried acting like the whole world didn’t stop.

no anger, no resentment, no nothing.

she still made you breakfast the way you liked. on saturdays, she still bought you your coffee order. at practice, she still left an extra water bottle—unbeknownst to her that you only ever wanted extra water to see her.

the only thing actually different was her flirting. she stopped flirting with you completely.

it’s not like she owed you that, but you couldn’t help but feel hurt.

her compliments were simply professional after the live. when asked about you in an interview, she replied, “y/n is a beautiful person.” she paused. her breath lingered. “inside and out, she’s amazing,” she finished.

hearing her call you beautiful was a deep cut. it didn’t matter if it was just for the camera to you. it was the closest you felt to her again.

every gesture of hers you took with gratitude, but you couldn’t help that part of you yearned for more.

her affection was the only thing that could fill the empty feeling inside of you.

——

next part

a/n: thank you guys sm for the support on the first part oh mygod 😭 made my week ily guys

[yaeisessed]

Tainted - gp!manon bannerman x fem!reader

synopsis: this edit p much but only like first ten seconds (30 likes for me to remake the edit but w manon)

wc: 6,723

warnings: smut, cursing, blowjobs, unprotected sex(wrap it b4 u tap it), impact play, sex work, facials, backshots, cunnilingus

A/N: first post on this account hope its not too terrible!!(not proofread and I haven’t written in a year so that’s my excuse if it’s bad)

The blue light of Manon’s phone casted a glow over her face, the only bright lighting in the dim room she currently resided in. She was stuck in the addiction that was endlessly scrolling on Instagram Reels, a mindless ritual to numb the edges of a long tiring day, when a particular video caught her attention. It was a girl, backlit by a warm seductive glow, the luminescence of what she assumed was a ring light behind the camera lighting up the room enough to see the girl, but not what was behind her. In front of her a counter, filled with ingredients for baking something.

Manon found the words of the girl completely gliding over her head, reduced to nothing as her focus was drawn elsewhere. It was the way the top clung to the skin of the girl, the way it dipped low, not low enough to show anything, just enough to get you imagining it. The way that her shorts rode up just a bit when she turned around and stood on her tip toes to grab something. 

It was hypnotizing.

Pretty girls were a currency Manon understood intimately. As the daughter of one of the biggest directors in the film industry, she’d been surrounded by them her entire life. She’d even followed in her father’s gilded footsteps, finding her own niche behind the camera, and occasionally, in front of it. A few childhood roles in her father’s films and some modeling gigs in her teens had opened the doorways to countless opportunities. 

She loved it, she truly did. Standing in front of a camera and posing, understanding the ideas given to her and making them her own. 

It was a second language as easy as her first.

She had fully intended to continue doing this with her life, but it was when her high school girlfriend was leaked to the public that she realized fame wasn't all the best. It was a blurry video from prom, her dancing and kissing a girl that was barely even recognizable in the video. She wasn't sure how but by the next day the girl’s address and all her personal information was leaked. 

She was dumped the next day.

She truly did enjoy the spotlight, but she didn't enjoy it when it landed on the things she held close to her heart. She did still work in the industry, but it was only ever behind a camera since that incident. She loved this work and found that even though she wasn't in front of the camera she enjoyed it all the same.

So, it wasn't the girl's beauty alone that held Manon captive. It was the effortless sensuality of her actions, as if she was simply born with the intuition. 

The video looped, once, twice, a dozen times. Manon’s thumb had learned the precise second she needed to pause at the perfect frame to get a better look, until that wasnt enough anymore. A swipe right, and she was on the girl’s profile. She wouldn't admit it, not even to herself, but her eyes immediately darted to the bio, clicking on the linktree and scanning for a specific link. A wicked grin bloomed on her face when she saw the familiar logo. Without a second thought, her finger tapped, Safari opened, and a subscription screen materialized.

"$9.99 per month." The blue button was an easy target. A quick login with her spam gmail account, a seamless transaction, and the page refreshed. Suddenly, her feed was filled with images of the girl, y/n, her profile now revealed.

in red lace lingerie, a garter belt of the same color over her underwear and connected to it, deep red stockings. y/n was artfully arranged on a bed, one leg bent over the other and a single finger teasing the edge of her bra, a teensy bit of nipple slipping through. Manon’s pulse quickened.

She clicked on y/n’s profile picture, then the DM button. A tip, followed by a proposition.

The familiar ping from your bank: +$10. Then, a second, more substantial one: +$300. You’d assumed it was a regular, someone hoping to coax a conversation out of you with a generous tip. It wasn't the highest you'd ever received, but it was certainly enough to command your attention.

Opening the app, your eyes widened as you saw it was a brand-new subscriber. No one had ever tipped that much right out of the gate. The message sat at the top of your inbox, a bold, demanding presence. You knew you couldn't ignore it. 

<M B sent>> $300

<M B sent>> let me fly you out

<Y/N L/N sent<< oh? that's gonna cost you.

It was a practiced, playful deflection. You were fully prepared to refuse, regardless of the amount they’d send in return, that or you’d name a price too much for them to even ponder the thought of sending it. You’d navigated these requests before, and flying out to meet a stranger—likely a man—was a hard boundary. The most you ever showed was your chest; you were not a prostitute and had no intention of becoming one. 

This was simply a means to an end, a way to stay in college without the crushing weight of student loans. You had gotten majorly unlucky with housing, and hadn't found a spot in the dorms despite applying early. This meant you had to pay for housing utilities and food with your own money, your parents had offered to help but you knew it was above their means and declined. 

You hadn’t ever wanted to go into this industry, but the cruelness of fate had other ideas. 

You told yourself it wasn't so bad—no full nudity, no sex on camera. It was a lamentable consolation, a whisper of justification in the quiet moments when you questioned how you’d ended up here. But for now, it was your reality, and though it made you uncomfortable to actually think about, it allowed you to live comfortably. You lived in the expensive city of Berkeley, and even though you earned quite a bit from OnlyFans you still lived in a small apartment and had a roommate. The city was expensive and you could only consider yourself lucky that you weren't on the streets. 

Your attention was once again drawn out from your thoughts to the phone that rested in your hand. Your eyes met the screen and a shriek left your throat. 

<M B sent>> $500,000 <M B sent>> pack your bags baby

Your roommate Sophia came rushing in, worry written all over her face, “what happened, are you okay??”

You didn't say anything, just flipped your screen over to her, and as soon as her eyes met the screen you heard her scream. 

“What the fuck do i say??!?!? This rando subbed literally today and just sent me half a fucking mil!” you exclaim, your hands flailing around as your mind spins.

You don't wanna go and sell your body for real, but you also cannot at all say no to this man who just spent half a million on you. 

You can see Sophia's mouth moving, probably comforting you and telling you what you need to hear in the moment, but it's like there's cement blocking your ears off of any noise. You feel overwhelmed by all the emotions running through you, but all you can think of is how much you need the money. You wouldn't have to post as much, if you get this man hooked onto you it could quite literally turn your life around.

Or it could be a kidnapper who will kill you and sell your organs. 

Your hands shake as you type the words, but you know you have to do it. You tell yourself it's for your future, for the sake of helping your parents who’ve always been there for you. You tell yourself its for the sake of your younger sister who you've been trying to save a college fund for. You don't want her to struggle the way you did, you want her to live her life to the fullest, the life you couldn't have. 

You consider yourself halfway there already, unlike how you were in highschool, she doesn't have to work a job and worry about when she’ll next get to eat. You remind yourself of your own childhood, where your parents were never home because they were working all day doing their best to keep your childhood home. You barely even remember seeing them at home, because when they were they were just sleeping, exhausted from how much they overworked themselves.

You had made it into Berkeley though, you had done what no one in your shitty town had and now you truly believed that you’d be able to do even more than that. With a mind made up you pressed send.

<Y/N L/N sent>> SFO airport, I'm free next week. <Y/N L/N sent>> and make sure its a round way ticket, you can choose when i come back😉

You turned your screen over to Sophia and heard her audibly sigh, her head falling to her hands as she groaned. “Did you not hear any of what I said?!”

You shook your head no and she threw her head back as she let out another groan. She took your phone away from you and began talking again, likely repeating what she had said before. 

Her words were in one ear out the other, because you had already decided and you stuck to your decision. She’d agree with your decision as well once you started earning enough to cover her part of the rent as well anyways. 

Your palms grew damp as the plane touched down, you were going to be among the first to leave the plane. A perk of the first class ticket that had been sent to you. You were thankful for the comfortability it brought, but now that you were disboarding the plane you wished to stay longer, to delay the inevitable. The thought of selling yourself to a stranger was unnerving, you tried to rationalize it as just another one-night stand, but deep down you knew the truth.

He'd booked a full week, and your suitcase, packed accordingly, felt like a lead weight. You refused to shell out $8 for a trolley, and so instead you were left struggling to drag the heavy suitcase around. You made your way through baggage claim and into the bustling arrivals area. A woman in a cap and mask approached you from the side, blocking your way.

“y/n?” Her voice was muffled, but clear. You gave her a once over, she was taller than you by maybe a head, and she wasn't dressed extravagantly, you had expected a man in maybe a crisp expensive suit. Lying to his wife about going on a business trip but instead meeting with a whore. You were pleasantly surprised to see a woman who looked about your age, maybe a year or two older.

“You’re mb, right?” You asked, and she nodded, her hand coming up to scratch the back of her neck. “You can call me Manon, that's my name.” 

“Cool, cool. Can I get a picture of you? Just for my friend, you know, in case you’re secretly a serial killer or something.” It probably wasn't the smoothest line, but Sophia would kill you if you didn't, and honestly, maybe this oddly attractive woman who was paying you for sex would do so too. (serial killer joke if it didnt land btw asin if you don't get that pic she might actually kill you)

She mumbled a quick “sure,” pulling down her mask. You snapped the picture, sending it off. Then, to your immense relief, she took your luggage and led the way out.

The car ride was silent. You braced yourself for questions, but none came. You figured she was into the quiet type and remained still, taking deep, calming breaths, though her intoxicating scent only seemed to heighten your nerves. You tried to memorize the route, but the packed streets of LA were a blur. If anything went wrong, you were truly lost.

“Get on your knees.” It was the first thing she'd said since asking your name, spoken the moment you stepped into the hotel room. There was no hesitation; you obeyed. As she removed her mask and cap, you were met with a face so breathtaking it rendered her command all the more enticing. You hadn't gotten a good look at her at the airport, too focused on getting the awkward moment of sending a picture of her to your friend to actually get a good look at her.

You followed her to the couch, watching as she sat down and then kneeling between her legs. You gazed up, wide-eyed and brown, as she looked down with pure lust.

Her thumb found your mouth, tracing around your lips before slipping inside. You swore you heard a low moan escape her as her thumb sunk into your mouth, but you didn’t dwell on it. instead sucking on her thumb, swirling your tongue around it, teasing it gently with your teeth.

“mm, such a good girl f’me. You look so fucking beautiful, baby. Can’t wait to fuck this perfect mouth of yours.”

Your eyes flickered down to between her legs, noticing a slight curve beneath the fabric that you’d initially dismissed as just baggy sweatpants. You decided to test your theory, laying a hand over her crotch, slowly palming and feeling her. A satisfied hum escaped you as you felt her slowly harden in response to your touch.

She pulled her thumb from your mouth, spreading your spit across your lips, coating them in the slick substance before bringing it to her own mouth and sucking. Her wet thumb came back down to your face, stroking your cheek and leaving a trail of her saliva in its wake. 

“The safe word is red and if your mouth is full just tap on me twice, mkay?” you nodded in response. “Words baby, words” 

“Okay, safe word is red, two taps for stop.” She let out a hum of approval, her hand drifting down towards your neck. 

Her hand encircled your neck, finding purchase at the back before gripping it firmly. With a forceful push, she aggressively guided you down into her clothed bulge. You opened your mouth as it met the cloth, assuming that was what she expected you to do when pushing down. You were met with approval for your actions when she groaned and bucked her hips up into your mouth. 

With the newfound confidence her response evoked, you let your tongue drift out of your mouth and had it circle around the outdent in her pants. You suckled on it and let your saliva flood over her pants, you could feel the throbs and twitches of it. 

Your hands found the waistband of her sweats; slipping your hand beneath both her pants and boxers, pulling them down low enough for her cock to spring out and hit your face. 

You wrapped your hand around her and looked up to meet her eyes, the sight you found was something that had you yourself moaning. She had one lip pulled under her teeth, her eyes squeezed shut and her head thrown back. She looked so stunning you had to take a moment to regain yourself before starting to stroke her. 

You lowered your head to hers and darted a tongue out, you licked at the bead of clear pre cum that had accumulated at her tip. You didn't often enjoy giving out blowjobs, you didn't like the taste of cum nor the texture, but something about Manon made you crave her. You found yourself enjoying the feel of her cock in your mouth, her cum salty with a musky aftertaste was something you seemed to crave more and more of.

Your head moved up and down on her cock with vigor, taking more and more with each stroke. She was definitely the biggest you’d ever taken, but you were determined to give her a reason to send you the other half of that mil. You kept your eyes trained on her, your eyes slightly unfocused, but watching her nonetheless. 

She finally opened her eyes; her warm pools of brown meeting yours and you watched as her eyes grew heavier, pupils expanding as she took you in. Lipstick stains all over her cock, your cheek stuffed with her, your eyes teary and dazed as they looked up at her.

Manon wasn't sure what possessed her when she grabbed your head and shoved it down, watching as your eyes squeezed shut. The sound of your gags and chokes filled the room, your tears rolling down your face and landing on her pelvis. She pushed as hard as she could until met with the resistance of your throat closing up. 

“c’mon baby, relax that throat for me”, she said, her hand sliding down to the front of your throat, stroking it almost as if she meant to coax it into loosening up. 

You weren't ready for her at all, it was so sudden and you struggled to get a hold of yourself. You hadn't ever deepthroated someone, but the more you looked up at this girl the more you found yourself wanting to comply with her wishes. You tried your best to loosen your throat, it was contracting heavily and your constant gagging wasn't much of a pleasurable feeling either. You took a deep breath in through your nose and slowly tried relaxing around her, allowing her to slip further in.

“mm just like that baby”, her hand carded through your hair, brushing through your hair before coming back to your scalp. “You’re so perfect.”

Her hand gathered at your hair, bunching it together, eyes never leaving yours, keeping her forceful grip on your pushed down head. She grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off her, allowing you a moment to breathe, she waited a couple seconds, before pushing you right back down. Your eyes flooded with tears and you couldn't seem to stop gagging, you were lucky enough that the chokes had subsided, but this still wasn't something so fun. 

As she slipped in deeper and deeper with each thrust, you felt your throat relaxing more and more. You were slowly adjusting around her thickness, it wasn't an easy task, nor did it even feel like it belonged that deep in your throat; but Manon’s face and the noises she was letting out were turning you on indefinitely. 

It wasn't long until Manon’s hand on your head slackened, her hips moving instead, jerking up in erratic thrusts, signaling her release. You started moving on your own, now that she wasn't forcing your movements, meeting her each thrust by going down. Her moans increased in pitch and before you could fully process it you felt a spurt of warmth on your tongue before she hurriedly pulled out. 

She stroked herself vigorously as she spilled onto your face, the white gooey liquid covering your face more and more with each spurt. She stopped stroking herself, panting heavily in her place on the couch. Using her hand she directed her cock towards your face, smearing her cum across the entirety of your face. She dragged her cum soaked tip towards your lips, smearing it on like lipstick, attempting to push deeper inside. 

You complied, loosening your mouth enough for her to slip in, she brought her other hand down and pulled your mouth fully open. She grabbed your tongue between her thumb and index finger and lightly tugged on it, understanding her intent, you stretched your tongue out and allowed her to lead it out of your mouth. 

She trailed her cock back up towards the cum on your face, gathering more; to then slide it back down, tapping her cum coated tip onto your tongue before slowly pushing in more. You licked off all the cum covering her, you never found yourself particularly fond of the texture nor taste of cum but you were sure you could get used to hers. 

Her now softened cock dropped from your mouth and her hand came up to cradle your face. “You did so good, baby, cmon let me make you feel good too.” her hand caressed your cheek before pulling you up and bringing you into a kiss. Her tongue pushed its way into your mouth,it felt around as if tasting what she’d left there. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, your entire body alive and humming. She kissed hungrily, like she wanted to devour you, and you could only wish that was a promise.

Manon’s hands didn’t wander—not yet. Instead, she made you stand, steadying you with a gentle palm against your hip. You stood there, knees shaky as you stood, bruised from how long you’d stayed on them, watching as she stripped herself bare. She kept her eyes trained on you as she pulled up her shirt, she wasn't wearing a bra under. 

your eyes widened as you caught sight of her abs. You couldn't recall when you last felt this aroused simply by looking at the body of another. You reached your hands out to grab at her waist, squeezing at the skin before trailing your hands up to trace along the protruding muscles. You lowered your hands to where her pants and boxers sat, beneath her cock and slowly lowered them. 

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, she had already pushed you onto the bed. Standing at the edge, she began to stroke her semi-hard member and commanded, "strip." 

Her eyes were trained on you as she lazily stroked herself, enjoying the sight of slowly revealed black lace against the plush of your skin. You flung your clothes off the bed, and in the next moment she was on top of you. 

“You’re so pretty baby..” she murmured, her voice a soft hum over your lips, breath mingling with yours. 

Then in a sudden, seamless motion, she flipped you, effortlessly shifting your positions until you were straddling her. Manon's hands found their way to your waist, gripping tightly at the flesh as she leaned up to capture your lips in between hers. 

She slowly started urging your hips back and forth,Your wetness glistened, leaving a slick trail along the ridged curves of her well-defined abs. You lost yourself in the rhythm she had set, surrendering yourself to the pleasure you were feeling, rocking harder and harder against her as you chased your peak. 

You found it harder and harder to continue the kiss she was still urging onto you, your mouth opened wide as tiny gasps and loud moans left your mouth. She swallowed them all down and still went back seeking for more, her hands on your hips increasing the pace and her tongue in your mouth still searching for more of you.  the pleasure had your mind going blank, you squeezed your eyes shut and dug your nails into the skin of her shoulder, red drew with how hard you dug but she didn't seem to care and with how lost you were in pleasure you couldn't find it in you either.  

“I-im close”, it was gasped out, you pulled away enough for her to stop chasing after your lips, your eyes squeezed shut and your nose scrunched up, you could feel it. You were so close and it felt so so good and then it all stopped. 

Your eyes flew open and you looked at her with betrayal written all over your face, hers was a look of pure satisfaction. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as quick as she had stopped you, your bottom lip trembling in both frustration and sadness as you mourned the loss of your orgasm. You tried to move yourself on top of her, desperately seeking the friction that you craved so desperately, but her grip on you was too strong. You were sure there’d be dark purple hand marks decorating the skin at your waist tomorrow, but that all seemed so small in sight of your orgasm. 

You wanted it so bad, you deserved it. 

Her hands drifted up to your face, wiping at the tears that had now fallen, “it's okay baby.” she soothed, her grip on your hips loosening as she stroked the skin there in comfort “come sit on my face and I’ll make it all better.” Her words were emphasized by a squeeze to your skin before she began urging you to move upwards. 

Your knees were positioned on either side of her head as she pulled you down to sit. Her mouth was on you instantly, her tongue a warm wet sensation as it moved across your core. The pleasure surged through you immediately and intensely, you moved your hips, grinding down into her as she swirled her tongue around your entrance, playfully teasing in and out. You pushed down onto her tongue, whining as you desperately ached for her to fill the pit in your stomach that came with the emptiness. 

“inside– please..” you panted out, grinding down harder, desperately chasing the high she had taken from you. 

This time she had mercy on you, her tongue entering you in one thrust, the feeling of the pulsating muscle finally inside you bringing you one step closer to the edge. She felt around you, her tongue circling your insides, prodding at the skin around her. She opened her mouth wider, allowing her tongue to enter you further and her teeth to lightly graze your clit. Your body jolted at the sensation, a loud moan leaving your lips. 

Manon was thoroughly enjoying herself under you, the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing around her tongue could only make her indefinitely harder with thoughts of sinking herself into you. The deeper she sunk her tongue into you the more of your sweet essence doused her. The way you would squeeze around her a little tighter when she grazed her teeth against your clit, the way you’d leak endlessly into her mouth, the moans that’d accompany all of this. 

Manon could only assume she was in heaven. 

She was addicted, her tongue ached with the repeated movements of in and out, her jaw growing tired of opening and closing. She reckoned she could stay here till the end of time, a place where her pleasure didn't matter because she was sure the pleasure of feeling you around her tongue was infinitely better.

It was invigorating, the thought that a woman as beautiful as you was currently sat atop her face and desperately grinding down into her. Your slickness spreading along her philtrum, the way it ran down her face to her cheeks and down to her chin when you moved back. She could only get lost in the taste of you as she found herself craving more and more, pushing deeper and deeper hoping for that more. 

She would say it didn't take long, but her sense of time had long since been warped since she first got a taste of you. She would say that it hadn't been enough time, but she could feel that you were getting close, the way you tightened up around her tongue, the way your moans pitched up, frantic and high at the edges. Manon brought her hands to your inner thighs, spreading her hands flat while her thumbs worked to pull your lower lips apart, spreading you open for her even more as she worked her tongue in firm, deliberate strokes. 

Your head fell back, arms buckling as the pleasure built violently. You weren’t even aware of the sobbing, a soundless cry that left your throat at the sheer immensity of pleasure you were feeling. The orgasmic bliss hit all at once, and you nearly collapsed forward, your head leaned into the bedframe. 

Tears were fresh on your cheeks, you buried your face in your arms and tried not to scream as your orgasm wracked through you, leaving your muscles trembling and slick thighs clamped tight around her head.

Manon kept going, working you through it, lapping up the mess between your legs, greedy for just one last taste before she knew she’d have to stop. It was too much almost immediately, as soon as the waves of pleasure ran their way through you, they dissolved into overwhelming sensitivity. You tried pulling yourself up, tried moving away from her face as her tongue continued its stimulation.

“s’too much”, it was a moan mixed with a whine, your body wasn't fully recovered, and your clit burned with overstimulation as she sucked it into her mouth. 

“C’mon baby, you can give me one more.”

Her suckling on your clit never stopped, her tongue swirling the nub as her hands drifted up to your waist, stroking at the skin there, coaxing you into relaxing and giving her another. You could feel yourself nearing already, it was mixed in with that soreness of overstimulation, it hurt but you could feel the pain slowly making way for pleasure as your peak slowly made its way towards you. 

It hit you suddenly, your body curled in on itself as you grinded down into her face, whimpers and moans leaving your throat as you did so. As soon as it passed over you, you immediately rolled over, off of her face and onto the bed; she let you. Your muscles were still spasming and even that felt like too much stimulation for you. 

You turned your head to look over at her only to find her licking her lips, the sight of it so stupid it forced a laugh out of you. Unrestrained and real, “do i really taste that good?” you asked, your grin wide as you stared into her eyes, full of wonder. 

“You have no idea”, she breathed out, her eyes staring into yours with an intensity you couldn't name. She leaned in, head hovering over yours before leaning down to meet your lips, she urged your mouth open and her tongue met yours, sharing the taste of you. 

She pulled back just as quick as she leaned in, “good isn't it?”

“Mm i dont think i like it too much”, you said, a grimace on your face. 

You were never a fan of cum in general, but you would say hers was the most tolerable. Your cheeks flushed at the thought and you quickly pushed it down, you weren't anything to her and you shouldn't have her become anything to you. The silence settled over you two like a blanket, quiet and comfortable. 

Until manon’s hand drifted downwards to her still hard, precum leaking shaft. “Can you go again? If not that's cool, I can get myself off.” your eyes drifted down from her face to where her hand rested around her cock, moving up and down in mesmerizing motions. You could feel the wetness surge out of you, your body overcome with need for her. 

“Lets go again.” 

That was all the permission Manon needed, surging up and making her way on top of you, her hands resting on either side of your head. Her knees were next to your stomach, supporting her weight so she was hovering over you. She sat up and grabbed your waist, moving a bit back before flipping you over so you were on your stomach. 

You laid there, limp, letting her manhandle you and enjoying the rough treatment. the way she pushed your legs forward to bend them under you, settling a hand on the small of your back, forcing you to arch further. 

Manon dropped her hands down onto your ass with a clap, watching the skin ripple under her touch. She let her hands roam around the curve of your skin, squeezing as she went, kneading the flesh in between her fingers. She let a hand drift further down, finding its way in between your legs, sliding against the wetness that was steadily accumulating. She slipped two fingers inside you easily, groaning as she did so. 

“You think you can take me baby?” she asked, scissoring her fingers inside you for maybe a minute before impatience overtook her. 

You let out a moan in response, mind too foggy to think up an answer. Her cock was fisted in her hand and she ran the tip of it up and down the length of your cunt. You pushed back down into her, “i-inside, i can take it.” 

Manon guided her tip to your entrance, her desire to be in you outweighing that of to tease you. She slowly sunk herself inside of you. The first few inches easily slipping in, but the deeper she went the more resistance she was met with. She let her head tilt back as she went against all that she wanted and stayed in place, allowing you a minute to adjust. 

She didn't wait for you to reassure her it was fine to move, she couldn't hold back any longer and simply slammed herself all the way in. Her hands gripped tighter at your ass, the groan she let out vocalizing her pleasure. The feeling of your insides against her cock was a feeling that couldn't be compared to her tongue in you or being in your mouth. She could feel the pleasure overtake her entire being, you were so tight around her, the pressure bordering on too much but more than enough to pleasure. 

Manon truly could not be blamed for her actions. 

She started moving immediately, she couldn't help it, it felt so good yet not enough. She needed it to be enough and so she surrendered herself to pleasure which was reflected in the punishing pace she set. 

The sound of skin meeting skin rang in the room, loud, wet, and messy. You were sure that the people in the rooms next to yours would be able to hear, but it didn't matter. Not when your sensitive pussy was being fucked raw, when you were being taken for all you were. 

You couldn't find it in you to complain either, the moans leaving your mouth distracting you from even thinking one up. She was so thick and so long, reaching places in you you didn't know could be reached. It was too much and not enough all at once, the burn of the stretch overwhelming and throbbing all at once. Her fingers on your clit, circling the raw bundle of nerves and overloading the pain with pleasure. 

It wasn't long at all till the burn of the stretch faded out into pleasure, your moans growing louder as your pleasure did. You stuffed your head into the pillow, muffling your moans as you bit into it while simultaneously pushing your ass up higher. Her hand on your clit slowed as she felt you relax into her, but it never left, just slowed. 

Her other hand which rested on the curve of your ass trailed its way up your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, soft against your skin. A contrast to the way she grabbed your hair and pulled when she reached your head. She leaned over your back and pulled your head up, "don't do that baby, i wanna hear all the slutty noises you make for me.” 

You found yourself forgetting altogether who she was, why you were here and what this meant for you. You lost yourself in the moment, in the way she pounded into you and the pleasure she brought like oxygen. You felt fully taken, you felt as though she was someone who you had chosen not someone who chose you.

Her pace got faster and your climax approached all the same, it felt so so so good and you were so close. The thrusts into you got harder, her cock hitting deeper, deeper than what felt normal but the pain of it pleasured you. You never thought yourself a masochist, but with how good her stroke game was you felt yourself becoming one

“a-ah! I-im close manon, im s-so close..” 

She dug her fingers into your waist, gripping hard and in the same spot she had the entire time. Her thumbs met each other right above your belly button, and you had a faint idea that she enjoyed the thought. Her hands were big, but so was all of her; it turned you on infinitely more. 

“yeah? you gon cum ‘round be beautiful?” you nodded your head vigorously, you didn't trust your mouth for words so actions would have to do. 

“go on, I'm waiting on you.” she leaned over you and whispered the words into your ear, her voice was ragged and husky, the sound of her skin meeting yours would definitely have drowned out the sound if it wasn't right next to your ear.

Her voice was so undeniably hot, you could feel yourself flutter around her, body spasming as you finally let go and came. It was almost as soon as you did you felt her cum flood into you, warm spurts filling you up. Her thrusts died down slowly, her body shaking before she collapsed on top of you. 

Your knees gave out and you laid flat on your stomach with her on top of you, she rolled off of you after a few seconds, resting right next to you. You scooted so you were now on top of her, resting your head on her chest and listening to her rapid heartbeat. She ran a hand through your hair as your breathing slowed down. 

“‘m gonna go run you a bath, kay?” you buried your face in between her breasts, humming out a reply in dissent.

“dont go..” 

“c’mon baby, the sheets are all gross and sticky and so are we.” she said as she removed herself gently from under you, you groaned at this but didn't make any move to keep her in place. 

Manon made her way over to the en suite bathroom, she leaned over and turned on the bathtub faucet. She put her hand under the running water, adjusting the water to be a bit too hot but not hot enough to burn. She waited a minute before going back to the bed, you were sprawled out with your eyes closed and breathing even; asleep. 

A soft smile made its way onto her face, you looked so cute like this. All ruined because of her, cum leaking out of you and a bit left on your face, sweaty from the sex and all worn out. She would definitely consider her money well spent, maybe underpriced if anything. 

She walked over to you on the bed, she carefully slid an arm under your knees and one under your neck and slowly lifted you. You stirred a bit, your eyes fluttering open and meeting hers, she smiled down at you so softly it made it hard to believe this was the same woman who absolutely destroyed your pussy and mouth. 

She bent down, gently placing you into the hot water before stepping in herself and sliding in behind you. You felt yourself relax into the water, it was just the right temperature, and the softness of her behind you comforting. You were so tired, worn out from all that you two did. 

You felt her hand reach over you before coming back down to your body, with what you assumed was soap, you let her wash your body. The sweet scent of lavender filled your lungs, the sound of soft splashes filling your ears, and warmth filling your chest. It was oddly intimate but in a way you found you didn't mind, it was comfortable and in your exhausted state you could only be thankful that manon was the one who showed up at the airport. 

You had previously been scared of who might show up, you were pleasantly surprised to see such an attractive woman, and had initially thought that with someone this attractive you’d be fine to pretend to enjoy the sex. After having sex with her, you could only look forward towards the rest of this week, maybe you could get used to this..

END

A/N: i remeber i had an actual plot thought out for this like a month ago but i totally forgot what i had planned when i started writing this and so thats why its so short or i swear this was gonna be better like actual plot,, also pls ignore where i randomly characterize y/n(giving her a backstory) it was important when i wanted this to be more than just smut but then i backed out of adding plot😣😣😣

[beomniiz]

10:36 ， mbm

( 💬 ) — Manon was used to getting what she wanted, it was a perk that came with being royalty, ranging from bedding, to chunks of land if she really wanted. There was one thing she couldn’t have though, at least not publicly. You, her very own personal knight.

❪ 𝓲ndex ❫ ⋆˚꩜｡ ft. princess!manon x knight!reader 994wc ⟢ angst, with a touch of fluff, reader is dead, mentions of being beaten to death, mentions of puking, survivors guilt (?), homophobic underlining 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

+1 NEW MESSAGE — wow thank u ninguitar for nominating me to make this im extremely honoured

“You must marry a good man Manon, I will have them line up the suitors tomorrow.” Her mother said, pulling the jaw string of Manon’s corset a bit too tight, causing her to wince.

“This is no joking matter. You know we’ve been in a tight spot because of your… antics.” Ah. How could Manon ever forget? Her failed attempt at keeping her true feelings in check. Every time she thought of it, it made her heart ache a little more.

As Manon's mother finished up, Manon stood up— sucking in her breath to ease the pain of the corset, which was clearly too tight.

“Don’t be late to dinner.” Her mother said, before leaving.

Manon found herself walking around— more specifically inside of the piano room, it's almost like she can see that night clearly.

Manon wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. “Come on! We won’t get caught!” Manon’s voice echoed through the hallways, pulling you along with her.

You weren’t allowed to be there, you knew that— much or less you weren’t even allowed to leave the door of Manon’s bedroom.

She led you into this gorgeous room— filled with many seats, along with a grand piano in the corner. Manon remembers your reaction vividly.

The way your mouth was agape, your eyes wide. The way your hand slightly squeezed hers— she remembers it all.

Yours and Manon’s relationship was complicated, but you enjoyed each other's company nonetheless. She and you both knew, you two couldn’t be together. It would never work.

She remembers watching you marvel over the piano, you had always been one for music. “Check this out!” You said, amazed.

She remembers your voice, the excitement you couldn’t contain. You had sat down, pulling the fall board up. Your eyes were lit up— something Manon still sees, even in her dreams.

Manon pulled up a chair, sitting beside you as you had started to play— it was still vivid in her mind. The way your hands guided across the keys, the way you looked so immersed, something she’s never seen in you, not even on your most stoic days.

Manon lets her hand glide across the keys, a frown on her face. These very keys were just played by you, a mere few days ago. Manon could see the stain on one of the keys, that same detail made her feel ill. It reminded her that this was most likely her fault.

“Who would’ve thought a knight knew how to play piano.” Manon said jokingly, though you just smiled. “I had dreams too.” She knew that. Of course she did.

It’s not like you willingly became a knight, she knew it had something to do with your parents— a topic you didn’t want to further expand on, and she was okay with that, it’s not like she had the best relationship with her parents either.

Manon had patted the spot beside her, your armor clashing lightly as you sat— causing you both to wince, checking to make sure nobody had heard.

She rested her head on your shoulder, moving closer until her side was touching the coldness of the metal you wore— she could still feel it. Manon thinks about that night everyday since it happened, it could have been different. It could have been avoided.

She still remembers the way she had pulled you up, the warmth of your hands on her own. The way your eyes gazed into hers— as if she was your whole world.

You put your forehead against hers, a small smile on your face. “They’ll inevitably find a suitor for you.” You had said, though with no anger in your voice.

It was a fate that was unavoidable, one you could not change despite how bad you wanted to.

“I don’t want one if it is not you.” She had said, holding onto you tighter. “None of these useless men actually care. They just want an obedient wife.” She spat out, though her anger wasn’t towards you.

Manon had pressed her lips against yours— something she wishes she never did to this day.

A shocked gasp rang through the room. You both pulled away, Manon will never forget the blinded rage on her fathers face.

She will never forget your screams as he hit you repeatedly. She never wanted to inflict pain on you. She remembers being held back by the maids as her father dragged your limp body out of the room, even if you were still alive—

she knew you wouldn’t be for much longer. She shuts her eyes as she leaves the piano room, she didn’t know where he took you—

“I took care of it.” Her father had gruffed out at the dinner table. Her mother had her face in her hand, the room was thick with tension.

Manon remembers feeling enraged at her mother’s next words. “It’s not the fact it was with a knight.. but a girl.” Manon’s jaw clenched, before her father stood up.

“Of course it has everything to do with it being a knight and a girl!” The way they spoke of you like some object— their words paired with the scratches on her father’s arm made her nauseated.

Manon remembers puking that day, she remembers a lot from that day.

She’s thought of running away, but what is the good in running away if she doesn’t have the person she wanted to run away with, with her?

Manon knows some part of what happened to you was her fault, which is why she can’t bring herself to look at half of the knights within the kingdom.

It leaves a painful reminder that you will no longer be there to sneak into her room late at night, or uselessly talk about your pianist dreams— that you knew would never come true.

Your death has served a good reminder to Manon that all good things in her life will eventually come to an end, whether it means it’s taken by force or naturally.

[chazedazed]

So sudden ♫ Lara Raj x fem!reader

Warning ➟ nsfw, foul words, not proofread

Disclaimer ➟ Every word written here is but a work of fiction. Nothing is a real representation of who these people are in real life.

Synopsis ➟ You couldn't bare liking Lara anymore, so you chose to ignore her. The Indian, who had no idea why you had suddenly become so cold all of a sudden decided to confront you.

WC ➟ 1.53k

A/N ➟ idk js some random cute smut i decided to write as my first work lol

creds to @adornedwithlight for the banner!!

You were so fucked. You've been in a talking stage with someone— a common friend. She was so nice, so polite, so perfect. But you couldn't help it. For some reason, every time you had gone on a date with her, all you could remember was Lara.

Your bandmate, someone who treated you like you were her sister for fucks sake. But could anyone blame you?

The lasting eye contact, the lingering touches, felt like electricity to you. Every time Christine had made you feel calm, safe, and in control— Lara had made you feel erratic, unsafe in the best way possible, out of control— alive.

You hated feeling this way. This was wrong. You felt so guilty— poor Christine didn't deserve any of this. And on a particular Sunday— the guilt had caught up to you.

''Fuck yeah— movie night.'' Manon sighed as she sat down on the couch, scooting in between Daniela and Sophia. You were all sitting in order, from left to right.

Sophia, Manon, Daniela, Yoonchae, Megan, and finally, Lara and you, on the side.

You cursed. Being this close to Lara meant more trouble for you. You hoped she'd focus on the movie and ignore you, but luck was not on your side.

An hour into the movie, Lara had started to drift, the fatigue catching up to her. The Indian had decided to sleep on your shoulder, and very carefully lowered her head onto it. Your breath hitched. You hadn't expected Lara to all of a sudden make physical contact with you.

Thankfully, she hadn't noticed you panicking over something so small. The girl slept peacefully on your shoulder, and it felt so right. So disgustingly right.

The smile on your face turned into a pained frown. Good God, you were thinking about your bandmate in that way. What would Missy think? What would the rest of your members think? What would she think?

You looked away, trying to control your heartbeat. But much to your dismay, it didn't work. Lara just had this effect on you— this intoxicating effect you couldn't quite figure out.

You didn't want this anymore... the feelings, the guilt— you didn't want to want her anymore. So you had come to a conclusion.

Lara put her arm around your neck, and smiled.

''Good morning sleeping beauty. Care to explain why I can't find my hoodie?'' You cursed. Of course you had borrowed it.

''Oh, it's in the wash right now. I lumped it in with mine. I'll give it back to you later, yeah?'' You coldly responded, politely and gently removing her arm that was on you. Lara was surprised at the coldness, but shortly brushed it off as you waking up on the wrong side of the bed.

Okay, either you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed for the past two weeks, or Lara had done something.

You had been ignoring or brushing the girl off for the past two weeks, to the point your other members had noticed. Sophia wanted to confront you, saying it was unhealthy and downright shitty. But Lara told her not to, wanting to confront you herself.

It was however, hard to get you in the same room as her alone. It was like trying to capture a rat in a shabby trap. She had to actually come up with a good plan. And come up with a good plan she did.

Everyone was out right now as far as you were concerned. You cut ties with Christine a week ago, telling her she was amazing, but it just wasn't working out. The blonde constantly asked why, but all you could give her was bullshit about ''work'' and how you ''don't know'' whether you could handle it or not.

You had your headphones on. You were in a green tank top, supported with black basketball pants. It was your go to fit, after all. You decided an hour ago that chilling in the house would be a great refresher, but it was all about to be ruined.

You heard three knocks on your door. You paused your music, and thought about who it could be. It couldn't have been Manon or Daniela— the two would never knock on your room, especially because it was theirs too. Megan wouldn't really care either. So it was either Yoonchae or Sophia, coming home earlier than you had thought.

''Come in! Doors open.'' The door opens, and there, you were met with none other than the person you've been trying to avoid for the past few weeks.

''Fuck.''

You froze, not knowing what to do. Lara closed the door, and locked it for good measure, making sure you wouldn't run from her or something.

The girl took in a deep breath, and spoke.

''...Hi'' She moved closer to your bed, and signal towards the spot in front of you, as if asking ''may i?''. You hesitantly nodded your head, and the Indian sat down.

''Okay... so, what exactly did I do? And don't play dumb— It's painfully obvious.'' You bit your lip, shit, maybe you should have gone out with Megan or Daniela.

After receiving no answer seconds after asking a question, Lara grew desperate. Desperate to know why one of her closest friends had suddenly started treating her so coldly.

''Please, Y/n. What did I do? You've been so cold to me— I don't know anymore.'' She pried your hands away from your phone, and held them.

You sighed. There was no getting out of this. It was now or never.

''I... I like you.''

''What?'' Lara blinked, and looked at you in confusion, asking herself whether or not she had just heard what you said right.

''I like you, Lara Rajagopalan. A lot.''

You stared into each others eyes, as Lara inched closer to you. She held your jaw, and waited for a second— for any sign of discomfort.

You hadn't given any.

She crashed her lips onto yours, tasting like sweet cherry. It felt as if you were electrocuted. You've kissed girls before, but it had never felt this way. Felt this good.

Instead of a nice and soft first kiss with Lara, this one was rough. A hungry kiss, one that you were sure bruised your lip.

She pressed on your chip with her thumb, allowing entrance for her tongue, but you pulled away. Short of breath.

Breathing heavily, you asked her, looking her dead in the eye, both your gazes filled with lust.

''Do you... do you like me back?'' Lara looked at you, wondering if it was a genuine question or a teasing one. After noticing that it was, the latter giggled.

''Baby is that even a question?'' Lara said as she crashed her lips onto yours once more, her tongue finding its way into your mouth faster than last time.

Lara moved her hands over your thigh, slowly parting both your legs. You let out a soft moan, surprising Lara and yourself. You felt embarrassed, and it was neatly displayed on your face. Lara pulled away,

''Don't be shy. No one's home baby.. moan all you want.'' Lara pushed you onto the bed, and you were now lying down, with the Indian above you.

The girl traced her hand up your legs all the way to your thigh and stopped.

''Tell me you want this.'' You nodded,

''I want you.''

The girl wasted no time in taking your pants and underwear off. The girl reveled at the sight of you, all disheveled and ready for her. She couldn't help but tease, finding this all a little too cute.

You whine at her teasing,

''Lara, please...'' Lara let out a soft giggle,

''Please what?'' Normally, you'd be too embarrassed to even think about entertaining her, but right now?

Right now you were too desperate to process your own behavior.

''Please.. I want you in me. So badly.''

Lara slips a finger into you, and you let out a sharp and short moan, not expecting her to enter you so fast after all the slow teasing just seconds prior.

The girl slips another inside wasting no time, and you couldn't stop the elicit moan from coming out.

''Mhfm..!'' Lara slowed down her pace a bit, as you adjusted to her fingers. After a couple seconds and a soft nod from you, the girl started moving her fingers at a steady but moderate pace.

It felt so good, like eternal bliss.

Lara placed soft wet kisses on your collar, as she stuck her fingers in and out of you. You felt like it was all so much— too much.

''Ah...ah! I'm going to—'' Lara hums, and in no time, you let it all out. Lara held you close, helping you ride out your high.

As the two of you heave heavy breaths, you both find each other's eyes.

You smile, and Lara nuzzles herself into your neck. Neither of you spoke, not wanting to break the peaceful silence. Lara placed the blanket over both of you, and cuddled you.

Neither you nor Lara know what's gonna happen now, but that's a problem for later. For now, both of you were going to sleep together and enjoy it.

[floraltypes]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ through and through (🪽)

pairing - meret manon bannerman x fem!reader

synopsis - fellow fans reminisce about the moments when the love between Y/N and manon appeared to grow stronger and more vibrant. through a collection of tweet from passionate fans there is a glimpse into key on-camera relationship moments, along with a sneak peek at what was happening behind the scenes as their bond developed.

"You really want to get the flower?" Manon sat at your side as you were laid out on the covered seat, right arm extended while the tattoo artist began to place down the outline of a small, vibrant flower. "You don't have to."

"Is this a worried Meret?" You softly questioned, looking up at the girl with teasing eyes. "I want to," you reminded her, a soft glittering red gloss smeared and sparkling on the outer corner of your upper lip.

"It'll look really good on you," she grinned back, pinning some of her braids behind her head, allowing the girl to move her head whichever way with no fear of hair in her face. "You're such a flower girl after all."

"What does that mean?"

"They have such an undeniable beauty, easily entrapping those who care to look," she winked, her hand beginning to wind itself with your own.

"Those words sound a little familiar; are they from the song snippet you sent me the other day?" You questioned, tilting your head against the crinkle of plastic as a beam of sun came into view.

"Might have to call the song Flower Girl," she said with such smoothness of her tongue, eyes filled with confidence before concern as she caught you with your lip between your teeth, the buzzing beginning as the machine neared closer towards your skin.

The Ghanaian girl pouted out her own, red gloss catching it's on glimmer from the sunlight, and winded her thumb in tiny circles as it caressed the crease between your own and your pointer finger.

One camera stood prompted right at her face, another further off to the side, ready to catch a different angle of the possible reactions of the Ghanaian girl. She sat calm and collected, flipping through pages of her beloved journal as the cameras caught her eyes, lightening up and a downturning smile when they caught different portions.

"So, Manon," the voice behind the screen began to speak, deeper yet with a gentle tinge as they took in the girl hurriedly flipping further, brief scribbles of dark ink catching the camera's lens. "What is it like to look back at your journal now near the end of the competition? You've made it to the top ten."

"Uh," and an uncomfortable chuckle leaves the girl's glossed lips, eyes widening with clear shocked energy as she looks over towards the person. "Reading this back was shocking."

"What were your journal entries like back when you first arrived with the girls?"

"It's filled with a lot of nervous energy back then," she scrounges back tens of pages to get to the beginning moments, the first few pieces apart of the book. "I got this to help to personally document my experience through all this, so it definitely includes irrational and frantic thoughts." There is a brief pause, her eyes looking and reading throughout the pages as one braid falls to the front of her features. "But a lot of the girls were nice in the beginning; it did not start out with a lot of drama. I remember meeting Nayoung, who was fairly new and Daniela! She had made some joke that didn't go over really well but the fact that it didn't made it funnier. Soon enough, I was introduced to Y/N; she made it like a duty to make me comfortable."

"How so?"

"She helped me unpack and listened to me blab on about my life at home while she shared some stuff about her own and a bit about her fears of coming. Leaving everything behind is really frightening when you don't even know if it will be worth it in the end. I had thoughts like those sometimes, but I felt deep down that I would make it so it didn't come up much." Manon brushed her braid back, sticking a nail between the pages to bring about a random page. "There was a time with some drama; I remember being so nervous but she just held my hand and walked in as if nothing bothered her, keeping me along with her. I feel like since then, especially, we've just always been side by side."

"Would you say you're closest to Y/N here?"

"For sure, she is one of the ones I'm closest with; I can't even think about not debuting with her. It'd be so weird, like wrong."

"Come here!" Sophie whined, the liquid in her glass swishing about as she wobbled on the larger heels, rushing to pull Manon over to the chairs. "No more talking; it's time for drinking!"

"Sophie," Manon laughed, itching the side of her face as she looked her friend up and down. "Might want to start slowing down, Soph."

"Thanks, Mama Manzanita!" She laughed, one that was so short it turned into a whole laughing attack that she nearly dropped her glass; more than half of its contents completely spilled upon the floor at this point. "Get in the party mood, I am!" The music is blasting all about; Manon could barely hear her close conversation with you only minutes earlier. The place is filled with vibrant twentysomething year olds bumping to the pounding beats with different colors of streams of lights seeping through every which way.

"I can't leave Y/N," Manon tries to tell her friend, sitting her on the torn cushion to then take the glass and put it on the wobbly table in front. "I was not expecting it to be crazy tonight. I was thinking something more simple."

"But it's always Y/n this and Y/n that," Sophie grabs both of Manon's arms, almost pulling her on top of her. "What about me? I miss you; you're going to forget about me soon." She whines in her drunken stupor, clearly emotions heightened from the extra liquor.

"Never," Manon shakes her head, a smile now creeping up on her lips as she brushes away a few baby strands from the girl's face, makeup losing its vibrancy. "Y/n is a different kind of friend, like a different kind of feeling, Soph," she winks.

"Oh?" Sophie looks heavily perplexed before she lightly hits her cheek. "Oh! Trust me, I'm going to be the best wing woman ever," she whipped her head around, ponytail smacking Manon in the face. "Y/n! Y/n!" She repeatedly yells, "Get over here."

With uneasy hands, Sophie tries to halt herself up, stealing one of the drinks from the table with a quick gulp before basically falling into you.

"Go get by Manon on that bench right now!" Sophie demands, standing back away from you and pushing you off into the distance. "I need a good picture out of tonight, so Y/N, sit on the bench, good, and Manon, sit on the top behind her! Yes!" The photographer in her takes over the wasted part, guiding you two into the pose that could've taken over the internet, one where Manon slides her hands to lie on your shoulder with your face looking up and hers looking down.

The shot that the girl gets starts wobbled, but one out of the ten ends up clear, clear that either you two are true professionals or truly have a special extra feeling for one another.

"It's so crazy in here," you whisper, your eyes still keeping their steady gaze on the woman above you. "Sophie sure likes to party."

"I mean everyone does," Manon adds, her head moving ever so slightly down towards you, lips reaching closer and closer, and eyelashes filled with the darkened dye that is more noticeable now. It's like a rush of flames that wanders about your skin, leaving goosebumps in its trace. It's addicting the way you subtly try to lift your head ever so higher, a bit closer, just a bit more.

"Bro, everyone is asking about the other girls!" Dani turned towards Manon, shaking her head at the comments that she read off the screen, different ones asking about all the different members. Asking where they were, if they could join, if they were working on new music.

"Just appreciate us!" Manon pretended to fake crying, dragging her hands down her face in a ploy of being distressed. "We clearly serve more with the lives. People always want more."

"Some of the girls are out, and some are at home," Dani answered, dragging her finger down the phone to scroll through more comments. "We are going out soon to meet up with some of the others. That's why Manon has to hurry up with her hair already!"

"Chill, beauty takes time," Manon swished her ponytail in Dani's face, picking up the brush with a helping of gel to smooth back some hairs.

"Y/N is here, probably lounging around in her room," Dani replied, sitting back from where she once sat on her knees. "Who do you think pulls the most?" She read aloud.

"Easy," Manon scoffed.

"Me." They both spoke at the same time, heads quickly spinning towards one another with incredulous looks.

"Yeah, right, you can't even pull the g-" Manon clamped a hand over Dani's mouth, which Dani's own hand followed in tandem. "Anyways," she smiled once both were removed.

Manon let her eyes glide through the comments, now seeming to flood in quicker at their little stunt but she ignored the speculations and tried to keep to ones that would not get her yelled at by her manager or worse, Sophia. "I love watching the edits and seeing artwork; it's all so good. You guys are truly talented."

"Oh, that painting of Y/N and Manon goes crazy," Dani points out the comment mentioning a painting of the two; it had recently blown up all over their Twitter, watching different fan pages go crazy over the quality and seemingly the deeper feelings behind it.

"Don't get me started," Manon chirped up, leaning over excitedly as she panned the phone a little more towards her. It was seriously so gorgeous! They had me looking so valorent, and Y/n looked stunningly soft."

"And it was a huge ship post," Dani clarified, trying to keep her voice lower, yet instead, it seemed to come out at the same tone.

"Wait, really?" Manon whispered back, shock etched into her features, before imagining the piece again and the different details apart of it. "That's actually crazy how the eyekons can-"

"Be quiet!" Sophia swung the door open, shaking her head in the background as both girls fell silent. "You two should not be on live!"

"We're having fun, mom," Manon whined, placing her hands together in a pleading motion while looking back up to her. "Please!"

"Sophia is freaking out in our room," you popped your head into the bedroom. "She's going to pass out from fear."

"Baby y/n!" Daniela cheered, standing up to try and drag you into frame. "Everyone's asking how one of the youngest in the group is doing."

"I'm not even the youngest!" You quickly reminded everyone, crossing your arms at your waist in faux frustration. "This is silly."

"Ever since that clip of your pout went around, you're being called baby," Manon told you, allowing you to sit in the middle of them both, one leg practically over Manon's. "My baby y/n," the girl taunted, squeezing at your cheeks.

"Our baby!" Daniela corrected as she squeezed at your other one.

The phone was carefully angled to hit over your features instead of the girl who sat a few feet away tapping loudly at her own computer playing a new game on Roblox. The redhead completed such actions with a lot of spunk, music blasting from the headphones that wrapped around her ears, as this was her choice to spend her downtime. You just laughed occasionally as she muttered little things to herself, letting your eyes take a peek at her form before finding their way back to the screen.

"Yes, there will be new music before you know it!" You responded proudly, picking up the mascara that lay haphazardly at your desk. Other makeup products spilled about as you comfortably took your time getting ready. "I cannot say more; I am not Manon," you laughed, a fellow comment talking about how the said girl always seemed to be on the brim of revealing more than needed.

You screwed open the pink tube, lightly dragging the brush against your eyelashes, fingers clad with golden rings as the jewelry part of your outfit had already been assembled. Once you were finished, you used your unoccupied fingers to flick through the comments. "I do know Sophie; she is funny," you laughed in remembrance of hectic times with the sporadic woman. "Her and Meret make a good pair," you smiled lightly. The comments seemed to speed up slightly, questioning if that was a subtle move to ship the two women, an action you definitely were not trying to portray.

"No! No," you raised your hands up in a type of defense, frantically trying to clarify what you had previously meant. "It makes sense why they are good friends, that is all." Yet a comment from a certain 'Ynonlvr' caught your eye, writing, "See how she defended that one quick, possessive Y/n peaking through.". It was a comment you couldn't help but softly smile at, a memory of just how much this specific woman played a toll on your heart.

A specifically patterned knock was placed at the wood of your door, creeping you away from such thoughts but just enlarging the smile on your features. You scooted in closer to the camera, hands cupped around your lips as you leaned in. "You are all going to be excited to see who is here!" you turned towards the door, raising your voice "Come in! I am live."

"Hello gorgeous!" Manon swung the door open, dropping down to her knees so that she could lightly push you, fitting herself into the frame. "Oh no, I was not speaking to Y/N. I was obviously speaking to you, eyekons," the Ghanian girl spoke, winking towards the camera before throwing one arm around you to pull you close again. She turned her head to the side, leaning up to her ear so that you could feel the soft, hot breath that was let out before she spoke. "Let's go get going; I've got a surprise!"

"Oh?" You looked over at her, eyes glancing up and down in faux disbelief. "Really now?" Her eyes, though, were captivated by the comments, ones rolling in explaining that the scene was somewhat sensual and fulfilling their Ynon addiction.

"Well," she stood back up on her feet, outfit all glammed with a stunning pair of shoes to match. "I am glad you eyekons are feeling the outfit, as am I." She placed a hand on your head, looking down to make sure you got the unsaid message to hurry up. "I gotta go now, and soon will Y/N!" She placed her attention back fully onto you, removing the hand. "See you soon; love you through and through," she stepped out the door, peeking her head back in once again. "Hurry!"

You scrounged around with your makeup products, trying to put some back in their respective places while looking for the needed ones. As the brush bristles of your bigger brush danced against the pink pigments of your Fenty blush, you tried to answer some last remaining comments.

"A lot of people actually ask about that," you dragged the makeup brush against your skin. "The whole 'love you through and through' is like how people will say 'love you to the moon and back'; it is just a little more personal addition. Like throughout it all, we will be there; our love will be there."

katseye masterlist

[eyekonimations]

and, fyi, the dsm-5 can only take you so far ⭑.ᐟ yn ln is a sophomore in university , a crappy drummer , and a minimum wage boba shop employee . expecting the worst once again for her third semester , yn's pessimistic world view is shattered after serving her cutest customer to date ─ meret manon bannerman , a member of katseye , the darling influencer friend group rocking social media .

00. a midsummer night's tragedy

── variable-ratio schedule of reinforcement - in which a reward is delivered after an unpredictable number of responses. such unpredictability spawns high rates of responding and makes a behavior resistant to extinction.

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[huhtriever]

hi so since you’re accepting requests, i have an idea that i think you’d write well. so i was wondering if you could write a fic where manon and y/n were childhood friends who were always close to the point where everyone thought they dated? (the trope where everyone knew they were in love except them) but then they become distant when manon goes to korea and debuts in katseye. at first there was still video calls, texts here and there but eventually they stopped talking. skipping forward, after katseye makes it big, manon goes back to switzerland to visit family and by chance meets y/n and they reconnect and realize how in love they were the whole time. (this is just a loose idea but hopefully you can fulfill it, thank you, you’re an amazing writer btw💓💓)

Home - Manon Bannerman

synopsis: y/n and manon were inseparable — childhood best friends turned something more, even if they never said it aloud. when manon leaves to chase her dream, distance and silence grow between them. six months later, fate brings them back, where feelings resurface and nothing feels finished.

content warnings: brief mentions of alcohol use

pairing: manon x reader

you and manon grew up side by side.

matching scraped knees, bike rides until the streetlights flicked on, pinky promises whispered in the dark with hands clasped tight. she was the kind of constant you didn’t think twice about—the person who knew your favorite cereal, your middle name, the way you twisted your hair when you were nervous.

your families were close. always had been. sunday brunches, joint vacations, shared holidays like one big blur of warmth. she’d sneak into your bed after thunderstorms. you’d hold her hand through dentist appointments. you used to write each other notes and bury them in the backyard, convinced you'd dig them up someday and laugh.

and when you were fifteen, you started noticing how her smile stuck in your head longer than it should’ve. how she looked in golden light. how your stomach flipped when her hand lingered too long on your arm.

when you were sixteen, your pinky promises started feeling different. when you were seventeen, you stopped talking about who you were crushing on altogether.

you never said it out loud. neither did she.

but you think she knew. and you knew she knew.

people always said you’d end up together.

and maybe you believed them.

maybe that’s why it broke something in you when she told you she was leaving.

—

“i got in.”

you looked up. you were sitting on her roof, legs dangling over the edge like you used to do when you were ten and fearless.

“got in where?”

her voice was almost too quiet. “la. they want me to move out. full-time. it’s… real this time. dance. content. training.”

you stared at her. “wait, like… move move?”

she nodded. “yeah. june.”

your heart stuttered. it was april.

you forced your voice to stay level. “that’s... soon.”

“i know.”

you looked away. down at the street, at the empty sidewalk, at anything but her face.

“that’s... huge, manon,” you said, and your voice sounded far away. “you’re gonna kill it.”

she gave you a small smile. “you think so?”

you nodded, swallowing hard. “always.”

she nudged your shoulder. “you’ll visit, right?”

you tried to joke. “sure. if i’m not too busy, you know… doing nothing.”

she laughed softly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “shut up.”

you smiled, but it was paper thin.

she didn’t bring it up again. neither did you.

but you didn’t sleep that night.

—

at first, she kept in touch. late-night facetime calls where she showed you her tiny apartment, the weird cereal she found at a bodega, the bruises on her knees from over-rehearsing.

“tell me everything,” she’d whisper, even when she looked half-asleep. “what’s new back home?”

you’d tell her about small things. how your mom started burning toast again. how the gas station near home finally restocked her favorite candy.

she’d laugh and say, “god, i miss it.”

you’d say, “you miss me more.”

she’d smile. “maybe.”

but then the calls slowed. her texts came hours late. and when you did talk, she seemed somewhere else.

you’d ask, “are you okay?”

and she’d say, “yeah, just tired.”

but it wasn’t just tired. it was distant. like she was slowly drifting into another world where you didn’t quite fit anymore.

and still—you waited. held on. hoped.

until one night, you broke.

—

you didn’t plan to confess.

it was late, and you were drunk off nostalgia and wine. the house was quiet. your heart was loud. you opened your notes app and stared at the blank screen for a while before finally writing:

i think i’m in love with you. actually, i know i am. and i don’t know what to do with that.

you sat with it for twenty minutes, rereading it again and again. then, against your better judgment, you hit send.

you watched the message deliver. watched the time stamp shift.

read: 1:42 am.

no reply. not that night. not ever.

—

you didn’t talk for months after that.

and you didn’t try, not again.

not after the silence that followed.

you started dating someone else. a girl who worked at the campus bookstore and laughed at your jokes. she was kind. sweet. she liked you.

but you never let her into the room where you kept manon. that part of you was still locked up tight.

you smiled at parties. posted photos with friends. did your best to look whole.

but you never really felt it.

and then one night, your mom said it like it was nothing.

“oh, by the way—manon’s back in town. her mom’s hosting something this weekend.”

you froze mid-bite.

“what kind of something?”

“just a small get-together. family friends. you’re invited too.”

your chest twisted.

“cool,” you said, pretending your stomach didn’t just drop.

—

you told yourself you wouldn’t go.

then you stood in front of your closet for twenty minutes, trying to pick a shirt.

you weren’t even sure why.

but you went.

her house looked exactly the same. warm lights, rosemary candles, soft music playing in the background. it smelled like childhood. like everything you’d been trying not to remember.

you saw her before she saw you.

she was laughing in the kitchen, her hair tied back, sleeves rolled up. she looked a little older. a little sharper around the edges. but still her.

still the girl who once swore she’d never leave you.

and then she turned—and saw you.

she found you outside, later. away from the crowd.

“hey,” she said softly, like the word might shatter if she spoke too loud.

you looked at her. “hey.”

silence.

she shifted. “i didn’t think you’d come.”

“i almost didn’t.”

“so why did you?”

you looked down at your shoes. “honestly? i don’t know. maybe i just… wanted to see if you were real. or if i made you up.”

she bit her lip. “i’m real.”

“are you?” you laughed, but it sounded bitter. “because you disappeared.”

“yn”

“you read it.” your voice cracked. “you read what i sent.”

she looked away. “i know.”

“you didn’t say anything.”

“i didn’t know what to say.”

“anything, manon. you could’ve said anything. even ‘i don’t feel the same.’ at least then i wouldn’t have felt like i was shouting into a void.”

she stepped closer. “it wasn’t that.”

“then what was it?” you asked, louder now. “what was so hard about just being honest?”

she looked at you, eyes glassy. “i was scared, okay? i didn’t want to mess it up. i thought if i said something, if i admitted it... i’d never be able to focus. and i needed to focus. i needed to make it work.”

“so you left me hanging instead.”

“i didn’t mean to”

“but you did.”

the silence hurt more than the words.

she swallowed hard. “i thought i was protecting us.”

you shook your head. “no. you were protecting yourself.”

that landed.

she blinked quickly, like she might cry.

“i thought about you every single day,” she whispered.

“then why didn’t you act like it?”

“i don’t know. i don’t have a good answer. i was selfish. and i’m sorry.”

your voice came out quiet. tired. “you could’ve just told me you loved me too.”

her eyes snapped up.

“i do.”

you exhaled like it hurt. “then why does it feel like you don’t?”

she reached out, but didn’t touch you. “do you still...?”

you didn’t let her finish.

“don’t ask me that.”

“why not?”

“because if i say yes, you’ll break my heart again. and if i say no, i’ll be lying.”

her lips trembled. “i never stopped loving you.”

you closed your eyes. “then why did you let me go?”

she didn’t answer.

and this time, you didn’t wait.

you left before dessert.

she didn’t follow.

and maybe that’s how you knew.

-

hi! thank you so much for this request. i actually had a similar story idea for sophia i might still post it, not sure yet. i hope this one lives up to your expectations!

[sweetismei]

❝ 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲. ❞

✦ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 ✦: After an exhausting and overwhelming day of training, Manon is completely drained. Luckily, her roommate finds just the right way to help her unwind and let go of all that built-up stress.

✦𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈✦: 7thmember!female x Manon

✦ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 / 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✦ : 7thmember!reader, fem!reader x manon, soft plot, little bit of angust, stress, sub!manon, other members are mentioned, dom!reader, "risky" sex, cunnilingus (m!receiving) NSFW content, minors & men DNI.

a/n: This is my first write on this app, and english is not my first language, so please be gentle w me sweeties!

As soon as the alarm rang on that gray morning, all seven women in the dorm almost instinctively knew the day would be long. Even though they woke up in different rooms every day, it was possible to feel the weight of exhaustion hanging in the air, like tension stuck to their skin, silently pulsing from miles away.

The problem, however, had started before the sun even rose. The night before, the group had come back late from rehearsal. Too late. Even after weeks of practice, the choreography for the new song “Gabriela” wasn’t quite where it needed to be, and the creative team’s pressure certainly didn’t help. That same day, shortly after a much-needed break, the group was suddenly called into an unexpected meeting with one of the choreographers, who once again warned that there was no more time for messing around, they had exactly one week to have the choreography ready.

Obviously, the seven women were not happy about this. Not just because of the pressure, but also because that man barely deserved to be called a choreographer. All he did was show up at the company every two weeks, act rude, and pass on orders he barely understood, orders that came from his team, since that was “his job.”

At the moment, though, none of that mattered. The next morning, as a result of all that stress and maximum effort (both physical and mental ) only Daniela and Lara remembered to set their alarms.

Chaos was inevitable.

Hairbrushes were fought over, makeup was applied in the hallway using shaky phone flashlight, clothes were changed hastily, socks swapped in the elevator. They left the building 27 minutes past the agreed time, almost in silence, Not out of organization, but because they were too busy dealing with their own morning anxiety and stress.

The ride in the van was quiet, nothing more than a “have a good day!” to the driver, or a “Did you take your medicine from the drawer?” asked out of concern.

Once they arrived at the building, there was barely time to catch their breath; they were immediately called to the main rehearsal room. The lead choreographer’s gaze was sharp as a knife, and it took only half a song for the nervousness to turn into a mistake. Sophia, whose ankle had been overloaded since the previous week, mistimed a spin during the bridge of “Gabriela” and fell hard on her right foot.

The snap was sharp. A grunt of pain filled the room.

Rehearsal stopped, a staff member rushed to help Sophia, and the choreography was halted. The choreographer’s expression mixed irritation with concern, but he said nothing. Sophia was helped out of the room by two managers. The silence that remained was louder than any music.

But the hell was far from over.

Half an hour later, when they returned to practice in a smaller formation, the sound system in the room completely failed. The same speaker that had been acting up for days, but no one had fixed it because “it wasn’t a priority.” Still, the practice went on. Even later, when they tried again in reduced numbers, the tension was still palpable. No one dared speak loudly or laugh. They moved as if walking on glass, and not just because Sophia was out. The music started again, accompanied by the weight of sleepless nights, fear of mistakes, pressure, and constant negative thoughts, making everything feel heavier. When Yoonchae missed her entrance for the second time, the creative director raised her voice from across the room.

“You’re all exhausted, I get it. But you know this is no excuse. The world out there doesn’t wait for you to be okay before demanding results.” The silence that followed was more cutting than any scolding.

From then on, everything became mechanical. Repeated steps, empty expressions, sweat streaming down temples as if washing away the last bit of patience. It was like a test to see how far patience could stretch. At night, when they returned to the dorm, no one said a word. Just the usual sounds: zipper on backpacks, light switches clicking, muffled shower water. A silent, heavy routine. They weren’t angry at each other — just too drained to feel or say anything.

Later, after everyone took hot showers and changed out of their sweaty rehearsal clothes into soft, comfortable sweatshirts, one by one they appeared in the kitchen. No one mentioned cooking, it was obvious. Before anyone could ask, you tossed your phone on the counter, screen still showing the notification: “I Ordered pizza.”

No one was surprised. They all knew each other well enough to know exactly how many slices and what toppings each one wanted. And even if they didn’t, they knew it was that or nothing, and honestly, no one had the energy to argue about pizza toppings tonight. While waiting, everyone spread out in different corners of the house. Lara and Dani were at the dining table, quietly laughing at random videos, chatting occasionally. Megan and Sophia collapsed on the couch, bodies too heavy for gravity. You lay on the floor, facing the turned-off TV, scrolling mindlessly through silly Instagram reels. Yoonchae was lying on top of you, her head resting on your stomach, scrolling on her phone too. Her phone’s soft notification buzz echoed lightly against your skin, but neither of you cared. The only one who hadn’t come downstairs yet was Manon. You were probably the first to notice her absence, when Lara suddenly asked from the table, a bit loudly, “Isn’t Manon going to eat?”

Yoonchae slowly got up. “I’ll go to the bathroom and check on her,” she said, already heading down the hallway. The pizza arrived shortly after, the smell filling the room with cheap comfort. Dani and Lara went to the door to pick up the boxes, returning with the treasure carefully balanced. Still, no sign of Manon.

“I’ll call her again,” Megan said, standing up.

“Better not,” Yoonchae warned, coming back from the hall with a small smile at the corner of her mouth. “She’s pretty stressed. She’ll probably eat later.”

No one pushed it, completely understandable after two exhausting days. After everything, no one wanted to force anything.

They ate in silence, then slowly started laughing at random topics, letting the day dissolve between slices of pizza and silly jokes. That was always the moment when things seemed to feel normal again, the teasing and jokes they always shared.

Gradually, everyone returned to their rooms. You brushed your teeth, did your nightly skincare, and as you closed the bathroom cabinet, you thought of Manon.

Poor babie, she’s so stressed over all this :( What could you do to help her?

Without thinking, you left your room on automatic steps, heading down the hall straight to her door. Before you knew it, you had knocked lightly three times.

“Manz, are you okay?” you asked, pressing your ear gently against the cold wood, hoping to hear her answer.

“Sweetie, we ordered pizza. You can’t go that long without eating!” You said, a little worried. When no answer came, you decided to risk it and turned the doorknob slightly, giving her a heads-up that you were entering. As soon as you saw the room, you caught Manon about to lift herself off the bed, which meant she wouldn’t have to get up to open the door, making her visibly relieved when you came in.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you, hmm?” you said, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, silence filled everything. Manon sighed slowly, turning her face into the pillow. Her hair was a little messy, and a subtle tired shine clouded her eyes.

“Do you… want to watch a movie with me?” she asked, almost apologetically. “I can’t sleep right now… my head is so full.” You moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed calmly.

“But you’re really going to skip eating, Manz? There’s pizza in the kitchen. At least one slice, come on…” She gave a weak smile and shrugged. “Relax, before we left the company, I ate two sandwiches, actually,” Manon revealed, making you chuckle softly.

Without saying a word, you lay down next to Manon, who almost automatically positioned herself on your side, resting her head on your chest as you whispered softly, “Come here.” Once she lay down, she could hear your calm, carefree heartbeat, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

As you gently stroked her hair, a random cooking show played on the TV. It wasn’t your favorite genre, but you knew Manon liked it for some reason, so you didn’t question or ask to change it, you didn’t want to interrupt her rare moment of peace after such stressful days.

Bored with the show, your mind drifted to the last few days — it had been so stressful for everyone, but especially for Manon. As the oldest in the group, after their leader Sophia injured her ankle in rehearsal, all the leadership responsibility fell on Manon’s shoulders, forcing her to endure all the unnecessary scoldings and warnings from the dance managers over their delayed choreography. That had piled on a much heavier burden for her than for the rest.

You thought about how full Manon’s mind must be right then, knowing that even after rehearsal, the work problems didn’t magically disappear but returned the next day, lingering all night until her body was too exhausted to do anything but fall into a deep sleep.

You wouldn’t let your beloved roommate go through this alone, would you?

The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence where you both just enjoyed each other’s company. Your fingers still gently stroked her hair, moving slowly down to the nape of her neck, and that’s when you noticed how limp her body was against yours. Surrendered. Completely vulnerable.

Your touch slid down the curve of her spine, and she shivered slightly, reacting to the shiver your fingers caused. The tips of your fingers brushed the hem of her shirt, and in a slow, almost innocent motion, you lifted it just enough to expose her waist. Manon said nothing, nor did she react — at least that’s what she thought. Because just from that light touch, you could feel her breathing getting slightly heavier. The tip of your fingers started to trace slow, random circles on her soft skin, moving up and down as if searching for some kind of permission or response. Luckily, you found it. Her hips arched slightly, barely noticeable, but you saw it.

Your fingers traced slow lines along her waist, climbing higher, feeling the warmth of her skin grow under your touch. Manon didn’t speak, but her body spoke volumes. Her breath deepened, a slight tremble shook her when your nail lightly grazed a sensitive spot. You leaned in, pressing your nose against the curve of her neck. The skin there was warm, and the sweet scent mingled with her heated body pulled you closer. A soft, muffled sigh escaped her lips. The shirt rose a little more as your hand moved over her ribs, feeling the muscles tense, as if she was fighting between relaxing and surrendering completely.

Without a word, Manon tilted her head slightly to meet your eyes. The sight seemed perfect to her — dilated pupils, parted lips, minty breath escaping, everything felt like a dream.

Almost automatically, you gave the impulse needed for your lips to finally meet. At first, the kiss was just a soft press, savoring the closeness, no hurry. Then it deepened slowly, both of you enjoying the faintly minty taste. Without warning, Manon positioned herself over you, making one of your hands find her waist, the other the back of her neck to deepen the control.

You felt something warm demanding passage during the kiss, Manon deepening the moment with her tongue, which you eagerly welcomed, sighing lightly with the sensation.

In a quick move, the two of you started a tongue battle for control, neither willing to surrender. Suddenly, you reversed positions, sitting Manon on the bed with her back against a pillow, head resting on the headboard. Your legs wrapped around her hips, one on each side, arms around her neck, pulling her closer while she held your waist. You kissed her without leaving any doubt about who was in control, because at least this time, you were going to make her feel good.

The kiss deepened as your hands wandered freely over her curves; from her waist up to her neck, shoulders, and nape. You placed a hand on her stomach, feeling all the muscles and curves sculpted from gym workouts. Manon knew you had a slight (big) obsession with her abs. Whenever she could, she showed them off just to make you melt. Now that she had given you that completely, exposed and only for you, it felt like winning the most precious prize after days of work stress.

You paused your kisses on her lips to plant soft kisses along her jawline, moving down to her neck, leaving light marks and wet kisses there, careful not to leave any bruises since you were public figures. What would the eyekons think if they saw Manon with those marks? You didn’t want your bandmate to get any trouble because of you. So, you made sure to be very gentle the whole time.

Manon arched her back slightly and tilted her head to the side, giving you more access to plant kisses and do whatever you wanted. Of course, you gladly obeyed, drawing a soft sigh from her slightly parted, now red and swollen lips. Manon ran a hand through your hair, gripping gently as an encouragement and a plea to keep going.

“Y/n...” Manon murmured softly after a sigh that sounded more like a moan.

“Hmm?” you murmured, your mouth busy descending her clavicle, leaving kisses and gently sucking the area, savoring every bit of her skin like it was the most delicious food in the world.

“Sweetie, please...” Manon said through sighs, already impatient with the delay.

You noticed her impatience, and since you knew she’d had a terrible day, you didn’t tease or prolong it.

Quickly, you lifted her shirt up to her neck, revealing her large, swollen breasts waiting just for your mouth, as if they were meant only for you. You didn’t even think about removing her shirt completely, at that moment, all you cared about was feeling her breasts fully around your mouth until your tongue muscles begged for rest. You took Manon’s breasts into your mouth as if it was your last meal, eliciting a soft moan and a sigh of relief from her. Your tongue worked desperately on one breast, sucking and leaving faint marks of hunger, while your hand worked on the other. You alternated between sucking, nibbling, and planting light kisses to ease the lingering soreness.

“Fuck, baby,” Manon moaned as you circled her hardened nipples with your tongue.

She grabbed your hair, guiding your movements, making it almost impossible to hold back any sounds escaping her mouth. She could practically explode just from the sight in front of her.

You, with red, slightly swollen lips, saliva dripping down your chin and around your mouth, eyes tearing up from pleasure. She pulled your mouth away gently and raised your chin with one hand to look directly into your eyes. You were a mess — but a mess for her. She sighed at the sight, and you lowered your mouth back to her breasts. She had a unique taste, one you were addicted to like a kid with their favorite candy. You decided to shift focus a bit and started planting wet kisses down her stomach while Manon pushed your head lower, eager to speed up the process.

You slowly licked around the length of her well-defined stomach, with no rush to savor every inch of it. It felt like paradise, and honestly, for you, it really was. You felt her skin shiver with every touch and kiss, hearing her moan softly in approval. With each passing second, you moved closer to the waistband of her pants, playing lightly with the elastic, which made her bite her lip to hold back the sounds.

“Y/n... please, love.” Manon moaned, begging you to finally touch her where she needed you most, her skin tense and pulsing from your touch.

You paused for a moment to look at her, raising your head slightly to take in her expression before finally giving in. She looked stunning, biting her lips lightly, sweat dripping from her forehead, stomach, and chest glistening with your saliva, skin flushed red from your kisses and nibbles… she was like a drug.

Without hesitation, your eyes asked her permission to pull down her pants and finally get to work, to find what you both needed. Without replying, Manon moved her hips up so you could remove her pants effortlessly, which you did without a second thought. As soon as her pants were off, you saw her pussy already soaked, only covered by her panties’ fabric, which made a sly smile curl on your lips.

“Poor thing, you’re already so wet for me…” you said with a small pout. “Don’t worry, love. I’m going to take care of you.” You licked your teeth, already imagining her taste all over your mouth.

You ran a finger lightly over her folds, feeling her warm wetness on your skin. Manon moaned a bit too loudly from the sudden overstimulation, making you immediately shush her.

“Shh... be quiet, baby. You don’t want the girls to hear you making those pretty sounds, do you?” you whispered, placing soft kisses over her panties still covering her pussy. “Imagine what they’d think, hmm?”

Manon covered her mouth with one hand, trying to stifle her moans, while the other hovered in your hair, pushing your head down, desperate to speed up the torturous process.

“I’m starting now, Manz, and you’re going to be a good girl and stay quiet, okay?” you said, fingers already at the waistband of her panties, hearing her almost desperate nod.

Without wasting another second, you pulled her panties down, revealing her dripping pussy practically dripping for you, making you sigh softly at the sight. Manon, on her side, felt the hot breath on her clit as you pulled her underwear away, making her lift her hips slightly to let you remove the fabric completely.

“So wet... Fuck, you’re so perfect.” You muttered to yourself as if letting a thought slip aloud, eyes locked on the spot. Manon heard it and felt like she was in heaven.

Without warning, you leaned down and started sucking her clit as if she was the last meal of your life, softly moaning as you tasted her wetness in your mouth.

She felt like paradise. Her head thrown back, chest and waist arched upward, letting out small moans muffled by her hand while you traced circles with your tongue around her hot, wet clit, as if she was releasing everything just so you could drink and savor her wetness with Manon in your mouth.

She felt like she was in heaven. Manon’s head tilted back, her chest and waist arching slightly upward as she let out soft moans, now muffled by her hand while you traced slow circles with your tongue around her warm, wet clit, as if she was releasing everything just so you could drink her in and savor the taste. Your hands rested on the insides of her thighs, giving you support as you drowned in her pussy. Without warning, you slipped your tongue inside her, causing the woman before you to let out a loud moan, her brows furrowing in pleasure.

You pulled your mouth away with a sharp smack, making Manon whimper at the sudden loss of your warm, skillful lips on her core.

“I told you to stay quiet, kitten. Didn’t you hear me?” you whispered, your mouth practically pressed against her.

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?” Manon shook her head almost automatically, her mind spinning and fully consumed by pleasure as she let out soft sighs through her slightly parted lips.

“Well... then stay silent,” you said, returning to work on her swollen clit.

Occasionally, you felt Manon grind and arch her hips lightly against your mouth, seeking more friction and contact in exchange for pleasure. Her head spun from the sensation, babbling nonsense words and praises aimed at you, completely drunk on the moment. She was so overstimulated you could swear she might explode from pleasure, and you could feel it.

Like the obedient baby you were, fully focused on giving Manon everything she wanted, you slowly slid two fingers inside her, easing her into the sudden intrusion and helping her hold back those beautiful sounds you desperately wanted to hear but couldn’t, given the other girls were in the house.

At first, you went slow, no rush or desperation. But as soon as you felt all the muscles that had clenched tightly around your fingers relax and get used to the length, you sped up, pumping her pussy and curling your two fingers inside her, making her nearly unable to contain her moans.

It was too much for her. The wet sounds of your fingers sliding in and out of her entrance, the smacks of your tongue repeatedly working her clit, her hands gripping your thighs while one stayed tangled in your hair guiding your movements — Manon could feel herself on the edge of collapse. Her mind spun endlessly on thoughts of pleasure; she had no strength left to think of anything else, only to moan and writhe beneath you.

With those steady movements, Manon felt the first waves of her orgasm hitting her hard due to the intense overstimulation you’d been giving her these past minutes. She felt a surge of overwhelming satisfaction and pleasure spreading to her stomach, rolling her eyes beneath her closed lids.

“Y-y/n-ah, my God!” she moaned.

“I think I’m close, y/n. I’m close,” Manon gasped, trying her hardest to hold back and not cum right then. You said nothing. Instead, you deepened and quickened your movements with your fingers and mouth, attacking her pussy faster, sending waves of pleasure through Manon who now writhed beneath you.

With all this overstimulation, Manon involuntarily threw her head back and arched her hips up, seeking even more contact, she began to move up and down, practically riding your face.

Without warning, she let out a guttural moan followed by spasms, rolling her eyes with her back arched and hands still tangled in your hair as she came undone completely in your mouth.

You made sure to keep your two fingers pumping inside her entrance while using your mouth to drink every drop of her juices that now mixed with loud moans escaping her lips. You drank it all, leaving not a single drop behind, feeling her warm liquid stain your tongue white. You could drink from her like this forever. And now, you were sure Manon was completely relaxed and at ease in your hands.

[meiyokbf]

under your spell | megan x g!p!reader | part three

author's note: so so happy that you guys are enjoying it! thankfully my job allows me to write when i have the time so you guys can expect one chapter per week :)) lmk if you guys are liking this or if you have any ideas that you would think it’d fit the story ;)

warnings: mdni. stripper!megan x g!p!reader, slightly manon x lara, lowkey megan being emotionally avoidant, angst (?) i dunno it’s just megan not giving three shits about reader.

word count: 2,8k.

🏷️: katseye, megan x reader, megan skiendiel x reader, katseye x reader, katseye smut, megan smut, manon x lara, marz.

masterlist. | prev. I next.

you woke up to the scent of her. not perfume; just her. skin-warm, faintly spiced, the trace of last night still clinging to your chest like a ghost you didn’t want to exorcise.

her room was dim, curtains pulled enough to block most of the light, but the edges glowed soft. megan was already awake. lying beside you, facing the ceiling, one arm slung over her stomach like she’d fallen asleep mid-thought and hadn’t moved since.

you stared for a second too long. she didn’t move. you weren’t sure if she even noticed you were awake.

— good morning… — your voice came out quiet, still half-rasped.

her eyes flicked toward you, then back to the ceiling.

— is it?

you blinked.— i mean… statistically, probably not. but you’re here. and you didn’t kill me in my sleep, so that’s a win.

her lips twitched like she almost smiled. almost. you sat up, sheets pooling around your waist. your shirt was lost to time, or maybe the floor. your body ached in that good way, like you’d just survived something holy. she didn’t move.

— you always this talkative in the morning? — you asked.

— you always this curious about people who were strangers yesterday?

— you kissed me like i was a secret. kind of ruins the stranger thing.

that got her. a flicker in her eyes. a pause.

— i kiss a lot of people.

— sure. but i bet you don’t stay in bed with all of them until the sun’s up.

she finally sat up, dragging the blanket with her. her tank top clung in places that made your throat tighten, but her face stayed unreadable.— you want coffee?

you didn’t say anything for a second. the shift was so fast it made your chest sting.

— i’d love some. unless you’re offering it as an excuse to shut me up.

— maybe.

you followed her to the kitchen. the floor was cold. and yet she moved like muscle memory, not saying anything as she poured the grounds, clicked the burner. when she handed you the mug, her fingers brushed yours. fleeting. unintentional.

— thanks. — you sipped. bitter and strong. just like her.

you leaned against the counter. she didn’t face you. just stared at the window like it held answers.

— so… last night wasn’t just-

— don’t. — she said it gently, but firm.

you blinked. — i wasn’t trying to make it anything it’s not. i just… — she finally looked at you.— it was good. that’s all. let’s just leave it there.

your stomach sank, just a little.— you always this good at emotionally ghosting people in daylight?

— only when they start asking questions i don’t want to answer.

you nodded slowly. — okay.

the word sat between you like a loaded gun. she didn’t pick it up. after a while, she glanced at your cup.

— you want me to call you an uber?

— nah. i’ll walk. fresh air. helps me process being emotionally dismantled before 10 a.m. — she rolled her eyes.— dramatic.

— you know me. tragic lesbian protagonist vibes only.

you both smiled, for once. you were at the door, pulling your jacket tighter like it could shield you from whatever this morning was. she was standing a few feet behind, arms folded, that guarded look settling back over her face like armor she’d dropped sometime in the night and just now remembered to pick up.

— hey. — you said, hand hovering over the doorknob. — if this is the part where i disappear into the night and you never hear from me again… i feel like we should at least pretend to be modern about it.

she raised an eyebrow.

— meaning?

you held up your phone.

— i don’t know. maybe i text you something stupid later, and you leave me on read. the classics.

she hesitated. just for a second. then she stepped forward and took the phone from your hand without saying anything. typed quickly. passed it back.

megan. no emoji. just a period.

you glanced at it, then back at her.

— wow. very formal.

— i like punctuation.

— should i reply in full MLA format?

she huffed a laugh, small but genuine.

— just don’t send me a “what are we?” text and we’ll be fine.

— bold of you to assume i’m emotionally available enough to ask you.

— bold of you to assume i’m emotionally available enough to answer.

you both stood there for a second, smiling; not fully, not safely, but close. then she stepped back. hands in the pockets of her sweatpants.

— see you around, maybe?

— maybe.

so you left without fanfare. she didn’t kiss you again, didn’t ask you to call. and yet somehow, you still had the tiniest bit of hope in your heart.

you made it halfway through the door before hearing manon yell from the living room.

— if you left your soul somewhere in that stripper’s apartment, i’m not going back to get it for you.

you dropped your keys in the bowl and sighed.— good morning to you too, weirdo.

she was on the couch in your guys’ ugliest blanket while eating an ungodly amount of baby carrots with hummus, her makeup still slightly smudged from the night before and legs tucked under her like she hadn’t moved since 2018. eclipse was paused on the screen, as always. her letterboxd was unironically filled with twilight rewatches and pattinson’s batman movies.

— you’re glowing. — she pointed her fork at you dramatically. — tell me everything. now. and you better not lie because i’ll know.

— you’re in a blanket burrito. how threatening can you be?

— emotional terrorism is still terrorism, (y/n) (y/l/n).

you groaned.— don’t call me that when i just got back from my first-ever stripper-induced existential crisis.

she perked up immediately.— so you did hook up?

you kicked off your shoes and collapsed next to her.— define hook up.

she gasped.— oh my god. oh my god, you did. you nasty little freak. you let her ruin you, didn’t you?

— if by “ruin” you mean expertly detangle all my self-control and let her get rid of the rest of my sanity, then yes. yes, i did.

manon clutched her heart like she was going to faint.— i’m so proud of you. and so jealous. and also slightly mad that you beat me to it.

— oh, so you and d- i mean, lara, didn’t…?

— oh no, we absolutely did. but like, in a stairwell. not all hot and vulnerable like your gay little telenovela shit over there.

you blinked.— wait. a stairwell?

— babes, it was giving shut up and fuck me energy. she kissed me mid-fight about how getting fingered in a bathroom stall is more romantic than a dinner date, which is an insane take to say the very least, and next thing i know her hand’s under my skirt, i’m moaning like a porn star into her mouth, and that poor freshman that lives on fifth is sprinting down the steps like he saw god fucking satan without protection. — manon ate a baby carrot as if she didn’t said the most horrific sentences in the history of the planet. — although, if we’re looking back in retrospect, he kinda did.

you stared at her for a full five seconds.— that’s somehow the most on-brand thing that’s ever happened to you.

— right? and i’m not even mad. she ghosted me this morning which i lowkey expected. but this morning while i cleaned up, i found one of her earrings by my bed. which means she genuinely forgot it or drops jewelry like she’s the sapphic version of hansel & gretel and she’s leaving behind emotional breadcrumbs.

— she ghosted you?

— i mean… not exactly ghosted. more like caspered. left before i woke up. left the earring. didn’t text. emotionally confusing but still vaguely hot.

you winced.— yeah. megan didn’t ghost but she might as well have. she did the “thanks for the orgasm, now please leave before i feel something” thing.

— ew. — manon made a face.

— yeah. it was like… last night she was soft. real. like she actually wanted to get to know me, even if just a little. and this morning she flipped the switch. cold, quiet, full government name energy.

— okay but... did she say she wasn’t into it?

— no.

— did she say she was? — you hesitated.— i think so? — you groaned. — after we fucked last night, i asked her if we were going to see each other again. she said yes, but i don’t know… something shifted this morning, for some reason.

— then babes, she’s avoidant. classic case. girl probably learned how to compartmentalize her feelings before she learned how to spell them.

— okay now, dr. phil.

— just saying! she’s hot, mysterious, dances like the floor owes her rent; of course she’s got emotional walls. probably has quotes about trust tattooed on her back and everything.

you sighed, tugging the blanket off manon and wrapping yourself in it instead. — so what the fuck do i do?

— you wait. and you don’t get all main character who got ghosted at dawn about it. you were amazing. you liked her. she apparently liked you. i think she just needs time to process the fact that she liked someone who voluntarily quotes jane austen in casual conversation.

— i literally read pride and prejudice to relax. oh fuck, she’s gonna hate me.

— or she’s gonna fall madly in love with you and ask you to write her name in that weird ass lord of the rings language.

you laughed into the fabric.— thanks. you’re the worst.

— and i love you too, nerd. now shut up and get under the blanket. we’re watching bella be a dumbass for the millionth time.

the velvet room always smelled like vanilla lotion, floor wax, and someone’s broken fantasy.

you’d think it would fade after a while; maybe the neon wouldn’t hit the same, or the leather of the couches would start feeling like any other seat in the world. but for megan, the club was still a mask she could slip into like second skin. tight. familiar. necessary.

“jade” didn’t need to feel anything. “jade” just needed to move.

she was in the dressing room now, sitting in front of the long mirror while the speakers hummed low bass behind the wall. her lashes were half-glued, lips lined in a sharp cherry-red she didn’t even like anymore. her robe hung off one shoulder. she looked like someone on a movie poster. one of those indie ones that never really ends, just fades to black.

and for some twisted reason she couldn’t understand, she kept thinking about this morning.

you, sitting on the edge of her bed, shirt wrinkled, hair a mess. half-smiling like it meant something.

fuck.

— please tell me that look is from a hangover and not emotional vulnerability. — lara leaned in the doorway, half in costume, half holding a monster can like it was the elixir of life. megan didn’t answer. she wiped under her eye, then reached for the powder brush.

— don’t start with me.

— wouldn’t dream of it. — lara took a sip, sauntering in. — you disappeared after your little field trip to the rooms yesterday. i figured you were either fucking or crying.

— why not both?

lara snorted. — you know, i’m starting to think you only let people fuck you when you’re trying not to feel things.

— wow, psychoanalyze me harder, huh?

— well, you smell like someone else’s t-shirt.

megan didn’t respond to that. just flicked the brush and adjusted her bra strap. her hair was pinned up, earrings in. she looked the part and that’s all that mattered.

— so, how was it?

— it was okay.

— that’s what you always say.

lara sat on the chair beside her, one thigh thrown up like she was trying to air out the trauma. megan caught her reflection in the mirror: red hair pulled back, dark lip liner, glitter shoulders. dallas. always a little too much. always perfect at pretending it wasn’t.

— you don’t get to talk. they said you left with their friend last night, fucked in their apartment and shit.

— yeah, well. i make bad choices with pretty girls. sue me.

— you’re not that self-aware.

— and you’re not that heartless.

they looked at each other, for real this time. lara’s smirk flickered, then dropped.

— you liked them?

megan stared at the mirror. said nothing.

— you did. shit, that’s why you look like that.

— like what?

— like you’re waiting to be punished for being happy.

megan stood. pulled the robe tighter. checked her phone: no messages. one DM from a guy who tipped too much. a story reaction from a girl she danced for last week. nothing from you. good.

— how much time do i have?

— fifteen.

megan nodded, tossed her phone into her locker nearby.

— tell stephen to cue track three. and please, shut up about this.

— already done. — lara stood too, a beat behind. — just don’t fall apart on stage. i’m not picking you up if you break something.

— would be a hell of a show, though.

megan left the room without waiting for a reply.

on stage, the lights burned blue. her heels clicked as she took her place. the beat dropped low and slow. her body moved before her thoughts could catch up. muscle memory. performance. power. looked at the crowd as if they were nothing but her peasants.

but halfway through, she caught sight of someone leaning against the bar. familiar jacket with wide eyes. her heart jumped.

but it wasn’t you.

she looked away before the ache could spread. before she could admit that she'd looked for you. hoped that your obnoxiously sweet eyes were looking at her again. and she hated herself for it.

when her set ended, she didn’t wait for applause. she grabbed her cash, slid backstage, peeled off the lashes and washed her mouth clean of red. sat in the dark with her knees to her chest. and then her phone buzzed once.

(y/n): my favorite jacket smells like you now. it’s kinda yours by law.

(y/n): you should come and reclaim your prize.

she stared at it for a long time. megan took a deep breath before turning off her phone, deciding that texting you back was a problem for future megan.

she should’ve gone straight home after her set. thankfully, she had the rest of the evening off to herself; which was a rare occasion. but she’d stayed late instead, claiming she had to change the playlist for next week’s rotation. the speakers in the velvet room’s dressing rooms still echoed with the bassline of someone else’s routine. the place smelled like perfume, cleaning fluid, and stage sweat; familiar enough to numb her a little, enough to drown out the voice in her head that still sounded like you.

you.

(y/n).

shit.

she leaned against the counter in the far corner of the dressing room, water bottle pressed to her neck, hair still damp from the post-set rinse. her legs ached, the good kind of ache, the burn that came with movement and control. but it wasn’t enough to ground her. nothing was.

she shouldn’t be thinking about you. not like this. not again.

but the way your hands had trembled just a little when you touched her. the way you’d smiled at her like she wasn’t just a one-night spectacle. like she was a person. oh god, she hated that look. and she craved it.

you looked at her like you wanted her to stay.

well, nobody stayed. she made sure of that. people only stuck around if they gave her something to hold, something real. and she didn’t do real. couldn’t. not since what happened.

she ran a hand over her face, trying to pull herself together. she looked at her phone again on the counter beside her.

she didn’t want to look. didn’t wanna open her messages app and see your name plastered on her screen reminding her of what she was missing. and then, going against every rule that she made up for herself, she grabbed her phone and opened up her messages.

(y/n): my favorite jacket smells like you now. it’s kinda yours by law.

(y/n): you should come and reclaim your prize.

simple. teasing. soft enough to hurt.

her thumbs hovered for too long, then she typed.

megan: “i should stop by to get it, then.”

and then she stopped. stared at the screen.

the cursor blinked. patient. like it didn’t care if she hit send or not. like it didn’t know what it meant.

she backspaced the message, one letter at a time.

then locked her phone.

she stood there, still in her costume, water bottle still pressed against her throat like maybe it could quiet her pulse, like maybe it could cool the heat spreading through her ribs, the ache she didn’t want to name.

she didn’t answer. even though she wanted to.

god knows how much she wanted to.

instead, she went back to her locker, pulled on her hoodie over the glitter and sweat, and slipped out the back door like a shadow trying not to be chased.

you’d text again. probably. and maybe next time she’d answer.

but not tonight. tonight, she needed to pretend it hadn’t happened.

just for a little longer.