#meret manon bannerman x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sillymommy6969 · 15 days ago

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𝑺𝒆𝒙 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒍, 𝓜.𝓑.

♱ yt video: it’s always been all about manon, but even the most beautiful powerhouses have their kryptonite

♱ cw: mdni, 7th member!au, flirt/tease!r, loser!manz, yall are freaked out, insinuations of sex, sexual/suggestive undertones

𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆

clip one: [ weverse ] peanutbutterlover02’s last words

it’s been officially a month and thirteen days since manon has been on weverse dms. fans were beginning to feel withdrawal from the lack of manon content they’ve been receiving lately. but considering this was the last thing she sent to the public channel of her chat, nobody was exactly surprised:

peanutbutterlover02 no i told lara not to read them guys

peanutbutterlover02 i swear i tried to save her

peanutbutterlover02 rmb when i read the wattpad stories of me and sophia in the live like the day after coachella

peanutbutterlover02 i was so shocked idek what to say yall

peanutbutterlover02 *voice memo* transcription: [ manon ] yall i was so… frozen when i read that shit, but, like, don’t get me wrong, it was such an experience, ‘cuz if someone wrote stories about you online, you’d wanna read it too.

peanutbutterlover02 but hey at least it was quality literature

peanutbutterlover02 *voice memo* transcription:

[ manon ] but it was actually so funny ‘cuz the wattpad story i was reading was like me cheating on sophia-- *a door swings open loudly, a low, sultry, but muffled, voice purred*

[ ??? ] fuck, manz, i need you to let me-- *voice message is abruptly cut short after a quick struggle*

the voice memo was quickly deleted from the chat shortly after it was sent. but, of course, the devil works hard, but eyekons work harder, because in an hour, a tiktok posting the incident had gathered over 2.7M views and 76.8k reposts.

user01 y/n begging to be fucked wasn’t on my 25 bingo card

user02 omg my girl was ovulating what the fuck

user03 the whine?? oh god i need to be baptized in her spit

user04 i love how we all collectively recognized y/n’s voice

user05 teardrops on my thighs or whatever taylor said

user06 yall someone isolated y/n’s voice at the end

another tiktok video, which has just about a quarter of the engagement the original post had, contained an edited version of the voice memo, where your voice was singled out. what they could make out seemed to dig the hole deeper.

peanutbutterlover02 *voice memo* transcription:

[ manon ] but it was actually so funny ‘cuz the wattpad story i was reading was like me cheating on sophia-- *a door swings open loudly, a low, sultry, but muffled, voice purred*

[ y/n ] fuck, manz, i need you to let me sit on your f--

user07 oh. my. fucking. god. it smiled at her voice

user08 manon’s stronger than me we’d never leave the room

user09 seven rounds a night or whatever jungkook said

user10 i am not normal abt this. i am not normal abt this.

user11 and neither of them hv been on weverse since

clip two: [ ig stories + post ] odessa’s birthday rave

odessa’s parties were renowned for being an absolute disaster in the best ways possible. nobody ever left an azion party empty-handed, sober, or sensually coherent, and that was a guarantee. and since you and manon were both good friends with the actress, an automatic invite went unsaid.

on odessa’s instagram, there was a two second clip of the two of you clamped amongst her party dump.

you had an arm around manon’s neck, both of you swaying lightly to whatever music the dj was playing. both of your had drinks in your hands, and in the short second span of the video, you cupped her cheek with a hand, biting the other. manon’s hand instinctively brushed away your hair, grabbing at your neck, before it retreated just a bit when she realized the two of you were being recorded by a sly odessa.

the video, unlike most leaks inconveniently for the two of you, wasn’t taken down. the post itself racked up double the attention odessa’s social media feed does, and it was safe to say #n/nmanz had successfully started trending again.

some other videos from the party surfaced following the post:

influencers who attended posted videos of the party at different points in time, and eyekons could make out the two of you in some of them. even your pr management team had trouble trying to keep these videos to a minimum.

quenblackwell give me one margarita and i’ll open my-

the montage of clips compiled for quen’s tiktok was a series of three to five second videos of the party. some of her and billie, odessa, and other friends in attendance.

in the short four second feature you made, quen’s hips were anchored under your hands as you danced to charli xcx.

you immediately let go of the woman when manon comes into frame, grabbing her hand and twirling her into your arms. your hand toggled the belly chain around her exposed stomach, your fingers dancing across her warm skin, tracing her hips.

user01 quen is our number one n/nmanz soldier

user02 clicked for quen stayed for the n/nmanz crumbs

user03 not quen accidentally hard launching y/n being manon’s sneaky link lmao

user04 nobody loves a n/nmanz slip like quen lmao

madelyncline I could fix you (champagne emoji) @/ynmn

“baby, say ‘hi’!” madelyn yelled into her phone, grabbing your jaw. your cheek was pulled flush against hers, smiling ear to ear as you circled your arms around the blonde’s neck.

“hello!” you slurred, eyes half-lidded with a glossed-over look.

“manz, come here,” the actress called, and both your heads snapped off-camera towards the same direction.

the fans deducted it was much later into the party, considering everybody seemed much more intoxicated and sweaty from the partying. when the familiar ghanaian woman came onscreen, your palm slid across the curve of her ass, pulling her into you. she blew kisses at madelyn’s phone, her cheeks flushed and a sheepish grin across her lips.

the video slow zoomed into manon, who tried greeting madelyn’s story, but could only muster nervous laughter when she felt your nose graze her jaw, teeth scraping her skin.

her hands pressed against your chest, resisting, but the adrenaline pumping in her system wasn’t exactly helping her attempts at not thinking about you sucking her neck. you eyed the phone out the corner of your eye, smirking against the woman’s neck. to the camera, it looked only like you had burned your face into the crook of her neck. but come on, the eyekons knew you best--y/n was a major in freakology.

ynmn *reposted the story* no fixing required ;)

alishaboe some fools told us no eating in the lady’s room… @/odessaazion @/rachel.sennott @/quenblackwell @/ynmn @/meretmanon @/pheobedyenevor @/billieeilish

alisha posted a mirror selfie taken in the bathroom of the air bnb odessa rented out. everybody was striking a pose. on the very side, manon had a hand in her curls, winking at the camera as she fixed her hair. you leant in the very front, a stick of gloss in your hand, swabbing across your lip.

laradevito this is gold ahaha manon’s gonna kill you

rachel.sennott u abt to pass out there @/meretmanon ?

meretmanon omg delete this right now

ynmn nooo keep it we look so fucking good here manz

drewstarkey hiding in plain sight (tongue emoji)

a story from drew was a poorly-taken photo, the flash blowing out his eyes as a cigar hung from his lips. he had one arm around you, the other around manon, middle finger raised on both hands. the two of you, like in alisha’s post, had flushed cheeks and drinks in your hands. you leant into the man, mid-laugh as manon bent away, a hand over her grin. manon had red spots littering her neck, and a familiar jacket draped over her shoulders. judging from pictures of the party before, it had you written all over it. a priceless addition to the n/nmanz file.

user05 drew and y/n and manon?? where do i look wtf

user06 didn’t even tag them but eyekons assembled

user07 drew blink twice if they held hands behind you

clip three: [ weverse ] ep promo / manon’s bday live

the lived kicked off with six members sardined onto a couch that clearly wasn’t made for a group with this much energy. sophia’s in the middle of having a squeak off with daniela over the ipad, yoonchae’s keeping things on track, and lara’s reading off the staff teleprompter behind the camera. you were pushed to the very edge of the sofa, wedged between a jumpy megan and the armrest. beside you, sat in a chair, was manon.

“yes! beautiful chaos is out now.” lara read off the prompter, earning a couple scoffs from the girls. “y’know, go stream it, go buy it, or get it tattooed, anything, really--!”

“no! don’t get it tattooed!” yoonchae interrupted abruptly.

“dedicate it to your relationship. or your situationship, whichever fits the mold right now.” daniela added, nodding with pursed lips. “this is definitely a pro-girls record.”

you perked at the word ‘relationship’, gaze trailing off.

you sneaked a peek at manon out the corner of your eye, watching her toy with the ends of her durag. she sat slumped in the lawn chair, a hand on her the armrest and her legs spread wide. she looked too good for a casual promotional live, can she really blame you for not being able to focus on work?

user01 omg not a thought behind y/n’s eyes rn

user02 “you coming?” yes all over the screen catch!

user03 why is manon aura farming lmao

the corner of your lips gently quirked upwards, your fingertip finding its way between your teeth as you stared shamelessly.

user04 if looks could impregnate manon would be in labour

user05 like damn we know she look good but y/n’s drooling

user06 when you’re in a “being manon’s thirstiest fan” competition and you see y/n (you’re cooked lol)

when the eldest noticed you eyeing her like a piece of meat, she couldn’t resist the smirk creeping onto her expression. her hand raised to rest over her features, covering the fluster radiating from her cheeks. she subtly adjusted how she sat, faking a stretch before one hand steadied the ipad in her lap, the other hand falling into yours smoothly.

your hand pressed against your forehead, shielding the tiny snark of amusement you couldn’t resist. when you regathered yourself, you didn’t look at the ghanaian woman.

instead, you focused on sophia’s rant about disney movies.

user07 will proudly say the hand placement made me ovulate

user08 oops! looks like manon’s hand accidentally fell into y/n’s leg guys! she’s such a clumsy little baka > v <

user09 they thought sophia’s yapping distracted us lmao

user10 y/n trying not to bend manon over in public challenge!

user11 i feel like i’m a man watching a victorian era stripper taking off one of her gloves or showing her ankle

“what? i’m team ‘mean girls’ all the way.” manon scoffed, her thumb tracing the inner-lining of your thigh as she argued with daniela, who was beyond theatrically inclined in response.

you had tuned out the latina’s whining long ago, your eyes fixed on the woman’s warm palm against your flaming skin.

you laced your fingers between manon’s, nails scraping along the crevices of her hands. chills ran up her arm, the hair on the back of her neck standing as the petty bickering with her roommate suddenly fell dull. you heard her swallow, clearing her throat in an attempt to distract herself from the way your fingers encouraged her to grope at your plush thighs.

alas, when has she ever been able to stay away from you?

you guided her hand, now squeezing you on its own volition, just an inch higher. she doesn’t notice, not right then.

“--manz. manon!” daniela yelled, sneering at the older.

“hm? what?” she snapped out of the fluster briefly, a serious expression riddled across her face. “what’s happening?”

“do you want your cake or not, bruh?” megan cackled.

“she’s losing her…” yoonchae gestured towards her ears, and lara was quick to help finish her thought. “…hearing. yes.”

“oh, yeah, of course.” manon smiled, “do we do it now?”

“guys, pray for manon, she’s already getting alzheimer’s from being a grandma.” megan faked a sob for the camera, before earning herself a harsh scowl from the latter.

her hand, clasped under yours, moved higher once again.

just as the staff prepare to hand over manon’s cake to sophia, you finally caught her timid eye. you smirked, a wordless challenge for her to accept, though it wasn’t exactly by will.

as sophia held the cake out for daniela to light the candles, you dragged her hand all the way up your thigh. she felt your body heat nurse the back of her hand, and her fingers involuntarily tightened around your flesh. you giggled into your free hand, still very much composed, contrary to a now boiling manon. she fidgeted, unable to sit still, her fingertips burning its mark into you as she threw her head back against her chair, inhaling deeply. she was quickly forced to snap out of it, when two figures began walking over, carefully cradling her cake.

the first note was mangled, and your voices all melded together not long after. though sophia’s soothing tone rang just by her ear, manon could hear only one voice out of you.

you sung ‘happy birthday’ in a way manon could only wish was one she heard every year. her tongue prodded her inner-cheek.

user12 damn y/n knows what she’s doing fr

user13 10 other ppl in the rm and manon only looks at one

user14 nobody’s gonna talk abt manon’s hand placement???

“happy birthday, manzanita!” you cheered once the singing had ceased, the girls all clapped as you pulled her in by the neck, placing a tender smooch on her cheekbone. the glossy line of your lips marking her tan skin. “i love you.”

user15 y/n l/n you are absolutely. fucking. insane.

user16 pussy whipped y/n was in fact on my 2025 bingo card

user17 love how none of the girls are fazed anymore

“open.” manon mouthed, picking at the cake with a fork. she held the big glob up to your lips, in which you parted on cue.your eyes lingered on the camera, then at the staff shaking their heads disapprovingly. you giggled, smiling as the older stared at your lips, smeared in cream and frosting.

she grabbed your jaw, turning you to face her. she carefully wiped the gunk from the corner of your mouth. a tiny piece of cream fell onto your beautiful chaos shirt, she picked it up, sticking it in her mouth. she grinned, feeling you rest your head against her shoulder. the ipad now in your hands.

user18 “open” my legs? i’m spread and ready for you manon

user19 ppl who don’t think n/nmanz are friends are right

user20 they love starting rumours huh

user21 oh the editors abt to have a field day with this one

“okay, it’s y/n’s turn to do a fit check.” daniela waved you up. you tore away from manon, getting pushed into the middle by a whooping megan. “show it off, mami!”

you tugged at the beautiful chaos shirt. “okay, so the most stylish, amazing, fantastic shirt a girl could ask for.” you then did a 180, flashing the camera your entire outfit. “and yeah, y’know--oh! you guys wanna know a little secret?”

you tucked your shirt up, a chain flickered across your torso.

manon bit her lip, grinning as she raised both arms to cross behind her head. all eyes fell on her, but hers fixed on you.

“looks good, right?” you purred, twirling your hips.

“more like familiar,” lara burst into laughter, “since when do you let other people wear your belly chains?”

manon shrugged, “what? i’d let all of you if you just asked.”

“what!” daniela squeaked, “you told me to go shove my lame jewelry up my ass when i asked if i could borrow your--!”

“that never happened,” manon answered calmly, her hands clasped together behind her durag. “dani, stop spreading lies. stop spreading hate.” she shook her head in disbelief.

“what!” daniela repeated, shooting up this time, ipad in hand.

as yoonchae and sophia try and talk an agitated daniela down, you took your seat again beside megan. she gave the both of you a knowing glance, shielded by the curve of her cap, but the smirks both of you threw back were hard to miss.

user22 if this is their marketing strategy then i’m falling for it

user23 i’m always down for some n/nmanz propaganda

user24 poor megan’s always at the scene of a wlw crime lmao

the staff quickly turned on the tracklist to beautiful chaos. when the familiar sultry beat to gabriela came on. the dirty synth melding into the snapping bass served a club bathroom, except there were a dozen staff members on the other side of the camera. as sophia yanked daniela up with her, one by one, the others joined them on the floor.

you started dancing to the choreo, catching everybody’s attention when your hips jerked to the prechorus, laughing as the girls lets out harmonized “oohs” and “ahhs”.

“where are all my gabriela lovers?” you teased, a throwback to earlier when nobody agreed with your personal favorite pick. just as sodani salsa danced together, megan pulled yoonchae into the little circle her and lara had made. you hyped them up, grabbing manon’s hand as she stood to the very left of the screen. all six of you, in sync, began dancing to the chorus.

user25 i feel like a female bird watching a mating dance

user26 made a 1hr whimpering audio to celebrate this album

user27 my rose toy flew into my hand like thor’s hammer

you turned, front facing megan, hands still lingering on manon’s. slowly, the older came up behind you, slow, and her hands found their way around your hips. she moved with you, subtle at first, the way friends would at a club a couple shots in. you don’t miss a beat, as daniela began mouthing the spanish lyrics, you ground back into her with your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth.

she smiled, shying away from the camera as her hand slid back, palming the side of your ass.

user28 ref do something?? they dry humping on the floor??

user29 nah this ain’t no soft launch this full softcore porn bro

user30 they bout to be unemployed omg please

the thrill is short-lived, because quickly, it was obvious all seven pairs of eyes shot up to glance behind the camera setup. lara was first to clap her hands, before encouraging megan to finish off the song with an ending fairy pose.

as the others settled back onto the couch, you looked past the phone, pressing your lips thin as you pulled away from manon.

manon stepped back, the tiny smile entirely wiped from her face as she tightened the durag around her head. she cleared her throat, red-faced and trying not to make a sound as she plopped back into her chair. she held her hands up, widening her eyes in a faux innocent flail. you tried not to giggle.

user31 y/n should charge manon rent the way that girl is always all up in her personal space lmao

user32 i get it guys the ep was just a prelude to their sex tape

user33 challengers w me y/n and manon go!

user34 the staff saw their lives flash before their eyes

clip four: [ youtube ] “gnarly” behind the scenes part 1

just between a take of the girls walking around incheon airport and rehearsing for the music video, there were shots of the six of you lounging about the rehearsal room. sophia was tasked to narrate, mostly, but you could see the others entrapped in their own ‘getting ready for the session’ routines.

while megan began stripping herself of the baggy clothing she was wrapped in at the airport, lara practiced her little part in the second verse, and yoonchae folded her hoodie neatly.

laying on the floor belly-first, giving the camera a little tour of the new braids she had gotten specially done for this music video, was manon. her acrylics dragged along the creases of her braids, tracing the letters as she explained how long it had taken her to get them done the day beforehand.

in the background of sophia’s point of view just before manon’s cut, you could be seen taking off your beanie and zip-up, left in something much lighter, but still in baggy sweats.

you laid down beside the eldest, who only watched in silence as you propped yourself against the floor, laying elbow-first. your hair slide to the other side of your neck, and the back of your shoulder was flashed on camera for a quick moment.

neither you or the camera man noticed, but the pink scratches lining the muscles on your back were hard to miss.

they were diagonal. shallow. fresh. blink and you’d miss the way yoonchae’s eyes widened behind them, immediately turning away to shield her red face from the cameras. still, it wasn’t censored, it was left clear as day for all fans watching.

user01 1:24 hello??? the scratches on y/n’s back?????

user02 omg and guess who got new acrylics (it’s manon)

user03 holy fuck ik manz’s new nails are sharp but damn

user04 “she fell” no babe she was fucking thrown

user05 y/n trying not to break a hip to lay down next to her girl we didn’t just see evidence of her strapping someone down

user06 i just know they have crazy sesbian lex

another shot you’d see the scratches clearer than peering through glass would be when you were leaning out the window of a car with lara, where your outfit was a backless piece with a fur coat. the lights flickered, wind combing through your hair, blowing it away from your nape, where marks scattered across the top of your back. most would assume it was part of the makeup for the music video, if not for its earlier appearance.

a short clip of the others gathering around the screens to watch, and briefly, manon’s eyes widened, and a hand slapped over her mouth. their dialogue was inaudible, but daniela and megan had begun teasing the eldest behind the roommates.

user07 11:01 manon testing out her new set huh

user08 imagine showing up to work on katseye’s set for the first time and having to cover up a girl’s claw marks on y/n

user09 manon trying not to walk funny is so stupid

user10 omg it’s a freak on freak crime

clip five: [ fancam ] the (n/nmanz) debut performance

at a performance organized for the manila showcase, some fans gathered for the soundcheck as part of a special treat for their vip passes. as the stage crew made their last round of checks, the seven of you began putting on gear.

sound checks were arguably one of your favourite ways to interact with fans. it was always such a laid back atmosphere, in clothes that didn’t chafe you to death.

a lot of fancams began recording when feedback could be heard blaring from the speakers. there were snippets of dialogue heard here and there, earning a few whoops and cheers of excitement from the crowd.

“--don’t stop, i’ll ruin--!” the audio cut in and out just like that.

the fans erupted in havoc, screaming and screeching at the top of their lungs. the audio was brief, but unmistakeable.

especially to the fans rewatching the video on tiktok.

it was obvious you were the one speaking, but considering no other response came after your slip, they had no idea who you were speaking to. luckily, the fans sitting at the very edge of the floor could just video the seven of you standing behind the stage, and though she had a beanie and some sunglasses on, the tan complexion, sharp eyebrows and belly chain were hard to miss--none other than the visual queen herself, manon.

you stayed in place as the staff helped adjust the settings on the mic pack clipped to the back of your pants, but you returned the smirk manon threw at you. she continued making obscene gestures, flashing you teasing expressions as you stood, helpless. it was just before the audio cut in.

user01 i need me a lip reader right now cuz what did y/n say

user02 “if you don’t stop, i’ll ruin your lip combo again”

user03 ugh it’s always y/n with the unhinged thirsty replies

user04 need a gf asmr video from y/n right now

user05 ik their pr team is absolutely sick of them by now

user06 she said again??? what do you mean again?????

user07 i would’ve said fuck the soundcheck and folded

user08 whoever experienced this live i hope your pillow is hot

#sillyposting^ྀི #manon bannerman #manon katseye #meret manon #manon x reader #katseye manon #katseye x reader #katseye #katseye imagines #manon bannerman x reader

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rosachae · 2 months ago

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idol | megan skiendiel x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

of course you knew. how could you not?

‎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

innocent enough.

‎

or so you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’re being so dramatic.”

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

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

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

and unfortunately, you kind of did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“not what i asked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you looked at her, unsure how to respond.

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

“i wasn’t flirting.”

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

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

you kind of hoped she did reach out.

even just to say hi.

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

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

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

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

she clicked it.

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

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

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

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

she watched it again. and then a third time.

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

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

and now this.

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

she didn’t press it.

not yet.

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

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

maybe she could work with that.

‎

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

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

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

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

megan blinked. “what?”

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

megan tensed immediately. “oh god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

lara held out a hand. “seconded.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m getting to it,” megan muttered.

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

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

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

“i’m not saying that.”

“‘you have great taste in women’—”

“lara.”

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

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

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

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

lara squinted. “it’s boring.”

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

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

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

“lara,” manon sighed.

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

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

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

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

silence.

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

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

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

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

megan covered her eyes. “i hate everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you hesitated.

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

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

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

“nobody,” you said.

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

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

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

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

“yes,” they said at the same time.

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

you nodded.

“and you didn’t reply because…?”

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

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

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

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

“i’ll write back,” you said quietly.

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

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

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

you took a breath. opened the keyboard.

and started to type.

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

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

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

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

then you stared at it some more.

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

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

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

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

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

message sent.

you didn’t breathe for a full five seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that was, at least, until your phone chimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shoved your phone toward them without speaking.

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

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

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

“you made those charts,” you reminded him.

“and they’re scientifically sound.”

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

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

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

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

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

your phone buzzed again.

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

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

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

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

coffee. with megan.

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

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

friday showed up before you were ready for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’s so not.”

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

“black or white?”

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

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

“black,” chaewon and sungchan said in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

your phone dinged again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

three pairs of eyes locked onto you in unison.

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

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

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

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

then, knock knock knock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so chill,” chaewon added, nodding solemnly from her place at the wall, where she’d become one with a houseplant.

“this is how we always sit,” yunjin said, phone upside down in her hand, gaze glued directly to megan’s face. “completely normal. zero eavesdropping. you can’t prove otherwise.”

megan let out a laugh, scrunching her nose as she looked back at you. “your friends are amazing.”

“they’re something,” you muttered, grabbing your bag before your legs could decide to walk without you.

“so,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck and bouncing slightly on her toes. “you ready? or do you need a few more minutes to, like, peel them off the furniture?”

you gave a quiet laugh, trying not to show that your hands were already clammy. “nope. ready.”

megan smiled again. softer this time. like she was seeing you for real. “cool. let’s go, then.”

and with that, you stepped out into whatever this was going to be, your heart doing cartwheels the entire way.

‎

truthfully, megan’s car wasn’t what you’d expected. some part of you, the part still convinced the universe had a twisted sense of humor, had pictured something absurd. maybe a crop duster or even the rusty tow truck from cars. something loud. chaotic. entirely un-date-like. instead, it was a sleek black suv. understated but sharp, just like her.

from the passenger seat, you couldn’t help sneaking glances. megan’s focus was fixed on the road, her jaw tense, her hands gripping the wheel like she was bracing for impact.

“you look nervous,” you said, a little too gently.

“o-oh, well. you know.” her voice cracked slightly as she coughed into her shoulder, eyes flicking toward you before immediately darting back to the windshield. she gave you a crooked grin, brief and almost sheepish. “i am. honestly, i feel like i’m going to vomit.”

you laughed before you could help it. light, surprised. “vomit? that’s dramatic.”

“i mean, maybe,” she said, her eyes narrowing playfully for half a second before softening again. “it’s just… i didn’t expect to actually be here. with you. not in a bad way. in a surreal way.”

you felt the flush creep across your cheeks before you even registered it, a warmth that pooled somewhere in your chest. still, you tilted your head toward her, teasing. “i can’t tell if you mean that as a compliment or not.”

megan practically panicked. “no! no, no no, not at all. god, please, that’s the silliest thing i’ve ever heard.” her words came out too fast, tripping over themselves. she shook her head like it would help untangle the knot in her thoughts. “i’m just nervous, okay? i keep overthinking it. like, what if i say something dumb, or do something weird, or—”

her voice dropped slightly, and she added, almost under her breath, “you’re so pretty i can’t think straight.”

then she froze, eyes widening as if realizing she’d said it out loud. her face goes red, a grimace pulling across her lips. she lifts a hand off the wheel to gently facepalm herself, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “please ignore me. i’m begging,”

you could only watch. you don’t know when the fond grin crossed your lips. when your heart skipped a beat, when her endearing clumsiness had you relaxing in your seat. perhaps knowing that she was just as, if not more, nervous as you made you feel relieved. after a beat, you laughed. soft. her eyes lit up as she glanced at you from her peripheral, the short noise drawing her from her thoughts.

“you’re fine,” you said, quiet but real. “i’ve been looking forward to tonight too.”

“really?”

“yeah. do you think i’d let my friends invade my house all week just for fun? they’ve been insufferable, harassing me all week. i guess i maybe haven’t made it all that secret that i’ve been interested in you for a while.” then you shake your head. “interested in meeting, that is.”

this time it was megan’s turn to crack a stupid grin.

whatever nerves you felt immediately disappeared the longer you talked to each other. truth be told, you were worried whether you’d get along as well as you hoped you would. part of you worried that once you saw each other, it’d be awkward. quiet. instead megan somehow managed to fill the silence with conversation. she asked about your family, about your day, about your friends. in turn you asked about hers.

she laughed at something you said. not even something that funny, really, just a small comment about the gas station snacks you liked. but the way she laughed, like she meant it, like she wasn’t just being polite, made your chest feel lighter. her voice filled the car, soft but certain, and the road hummed under the tires like it was part of the conversation.

you glanced over at her. she was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. her thumb tapped along to the music playing low through the speakers. some indie band neither of you had heard before but had both agreed sounded “pretty good.” it was easy. easier than you expected.

you didn’t have to think too hard before speaking. there was no second guessing. no awkward pauses that made you reach for your phone or pretend to check the map. she asked about the book in your bag and you told her it was something you started three times but never finished. she admitted she did that too, more often than she’d like to admit. you both laughed again.

the sky outside started to shift, the blue softening into a hazy gold. you weren’t sure how long you’d been driving, only that time felt different in the car with her. stretched out. slowed down. kinder.

it didn’t take long for her to park outside a cafe, but neither of you moved to get out. instead, you agreed to order to go. that’s how you ended up here. still in her car, windows slightly cracked, the warm scent of coffee filling the space between you. your drink sat snug in the cupholder, hands curled around it for warmth, and a half-eaten bagel rested in your lap. just outside the windshield, the lights of seoul shimmered across the han river, soft and golden against the night.

she didn’t seem in any rush to leave, and neither were you.

after a long sip of coffee, the next question came out without much thought.

“how long are you in korea for this time?”

“another week, give or take,” she said, eyes flicking to the skyline, like she was already counting down.

“do you miss home?”

“i do. yeah. i miss my car, mostly. it’s my baby. a bmw m3.”

you looked at her, eyebrows raised. “whoever handed you the keys to a sports car must have had a serious lapse in judgment. you drive this suv like you’ve got a personal vendetta against the speed limit.”

she let out a laugh, head tipping back slightly. “what can i say? i like to go fast.”

“sure. until we’re airborne.”

“oh, come on,” she grinned. “you weren’t complaining when you were riding shotgun, all cozy and content, full-on passenger princess mode.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “i was holding onto the door for dear life.”

“you were vibing,” she said.

“i was surviving,” you shot back, but it was playful, light.

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it was the kind that settled easy between two people who’d already found a rhythm.

megan reached for her own cup, nearly knocking over the paper bag between you in the process. the bagel inside gave a sad little flop onto the console. she froze.

“whoops. that was... not smooth.”

you laughed, nudging the bag gently back toward her. “you’re a menace behind the wheel and a danger to pastries. noted.”

she gave you a sheepish smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “yeah, i’m really killing it tonight, huh?”

“actually,” you said, voice a little softer, “i’ve had a really nice time.”

she blinked at you, surprised. “yeah?”

you nodded, looking out toward the river before meeting her eyes again. “i was kinda nervous. not because of you, just... sometimes people are different in person. it doesn’t always click.”

megan was quiet for a second, then gave a small, crooked smile. “i was worried about that too. i overthink everything. i even tried to pick a good playlist just in case the conversation died and we needed... filler noise or something.”

you laughed. “is that why i’ve been listening to three hours of sad indie girls?”

“they’re emotionally articulate,” she said, pretending to be offended, but her grin gave her away. “besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

you leaned back against the seat, stretching your legs out a bit. “yeah. it really did.”

the city lights danced in her eyes when she looked at you, soft and a little uncertain, but there was warmth there too. the kind that made the car feel smaller, safer.

“you’re easy to talk to,” she said after a moment, quieter than before.

you smiled, heart tugging just slightly at her honesty. “so are you.”

a comfortable silence settled again, the kind where neither of you felt the need to fill it. the engine ticked softly as it cooled, and in the background, another melancholic song hummed through the speakers.

“i was gonna try and act all chill and collected,” megan said eventually, gaze fixed on the skyline. “but then i fumbled, almost crashed into that curb, and now my bagel is probably in pieces.”

“you’re doing great,” you said, trying not to smile too much. “like, truly elite first impression.”

she turned to face you, eyes bright despite the dim light. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

and just like that, the nerves that had once lingered in the corners of your chest felt like a distant memory.

after that night in the car, things shifted. not in a big, dramatic way. no sudden declarations, no fireworks. just small things. steadier things.

your conversations moved from instagram dms to real texts. it felt natural. seamless. one day she asked for your number like it wasn’t a big deal, like she hadn’t already been in your head more than you cared to admit. and you gave it without hesitation, like it wasn’t a risk. like you already knew she’d treat it right.

when she left korea, it was quiet. no big goodbye, no emotional scene. she texted you from the airport, a blurry photo of her and a coffee she swore was going to keep her awake through the flight. from there, the messages kept going. even with the time difference, she found time to talk. random updates. sleepy selfies. voice notes with a little static in the background because she always seemed to be walking somewhere, or in a van, or waiting backstage. sometimes she’d send a song with no context. sometimes just a “this reminded me of you” followed by a meme that made absolutely no sense.

you talked about everything and nothing. the shows she was doing. the tiny hotel rooms she was crashing in. how much she missed sophia’s dog, chanel. how lara had started sleep talking again. how yoonchae had near cried when she had to say goodbye to her parents again when they returned to california.

you told her about your week, the upcoming film you’re wrapping up shooting, your friends, the late-night ramen run that ended in rain and ruined shoes.

some nights, the conversations lasted until one of you fell asleep mid-text. other nights, it was just a good morning or goodnight, quick but never careless.

somehow, she made the space between you feel smaller.

it didn’t take long for others to start noticing your budding friendship, either.

if there was one thing you should know about megan skiendiel, it’s that she’s stubborn. fiercely so. once she feels something, she clings to it with both hands. no disguises, no apologies. she doesn’t know how to be subtle and doesn’t try to be. her heart shows up before she even walks into the room.

and lately, her heart had a habit of mentioning you. probably more than it should have.

the first time was during a casual sit-down with a popular youtuber. the question had been harmless enough. “did you meet anyone interesting in korea?”

megan didn’t even blink before your name tumbled out of her mouth.

behind her, manon practically doubled over laughing while lara muttered something about “bad timing” and “inside jokes.” the clip went viral within the hour.

eyekons weren’t buying the act. they knew.

especially after that solo live.

‎

megan sank into the couch with a sigh, stretching her legs over the coffee table as she adjusted her phone. It’d been a long day. dance practice ran overtime, vocal lessons left her voice raw, and all she wanted was to collapse into bed. but she had promised her fans a live, and the guilt of leaving them waiting weighed heavily on her.

she brushed her hair back as the screen flickered to life. a wave of comments flooded in immediately, the chat scrolling too fast to keep up.

she smiled, a familiar warmth settling into her voice. "hi, everyone. It's been a while, huh?"

the dorm was quieter than usual. yoonchae and daniela were still at the studio, finishing up some recording. lara, sophia and manon were off doing who knows what.

megan answered questions between sips of water, laughing as fans teased her. she talked about her love for food, and her habit of getting lost in airports. the conversation was easy, natural. she talked about practice, her favorite songs lately, and the games she'd been playing. it felt comfortable, like a casual late night talk with friends.

then, suddenly, the energy shifted. the comments exploded into chaos. fans were spamming messages faster than she had ever seen before.

"wait, what's happening?" she mumbled, eyes flicking over the chat, trying to make sense of the flood of messages.

then she saw it. a single line of text that had a dumb grin permanently etching itself across her face.

y/n: have you ate today? you look so cute with those glasses on!

her eyes scanned the screen again just to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. but no. it was still there. your name. your message.

she dropped her hands into her lap and beamed, full teeth, no restraint. her cheeks were already tinged pink, and now they burned. she didn’t care.

“hi, y/n,” she said, voice soft but electric. “you’re really here, huh?”

the chat lost its mind. it was like someone had thrown gasoline on a bonfire. hearts, exclamation marks.

megan didn’t even try to hide it.

“i wasn’t expecting that,” she said, practically bouncing in place now. “like, i thought maybe you’d be busy or… i don’t know, being famous and cool and doing actor things.”

she laughed a short, nervous little burst, then leaned closer to the screen, like it might bring her to you.

“i did eat, by the way. i wasn’t gonna wear the glasses, but my eyes were tired and they help with the light. but… i’m glad you think they look nice.”

it wasn’t subtle. none of it was subtle.

she was glowing. lit from the inside out with the kind of joy that couldn’t be faked. and even though thousands of fans were watching, even though the chat was an overwhelming blur of reactions and chaos. for that brief moment, it was like no one else existed. no one but you.

‎

the third, perhaps most notorious time, was two weeks later.

‎

it was meant to be a harmless segment. a fluff piece for some new cosmopolitan youtube show. the kind with silly games and awkward dares and an entire soundboard dedicated to exaggerated gasps. katseye had been invited to promote their upcoming showcase, and the host had them lined up in pairs, facing each other in a game of “who knows who better.”

megan had been paired with sophia, which was dangerous from the start. the two had a history of throwing each other under the bus for the sake of comedy, and neither had a filter to speak of.

“okay, last round,” the host grinned, holding up a cue card. “this one’s just for fun. megan, sophia — name one person your partner talks about way too much.”

“oh no,” sophia said instantly, already grinning like the cat who got the cream.

megan groaned, head falling back dramatically. “don’t do this to me.”

“i have no choice,” sophia replied solemnly. “i’m under oath.”

the buzzer sounded and both girls scribbled their answers down on whiteboards. megan wrote slowly, trying to be clever, trying to think of a joke that would dodge the obvious. but when the timer buzzed again, she sighed and held it up.

so did sophia.

your name. in big, bold letters. twice.

the studio burst into laughter, and the host clutched his chest like he’d just witnessed the reveal of the century.

“wow,” he said, eyes flicking between the two of them. “not even a hesitation.”

“because it’s true,” sophia said, smug. “she’s in her ‘y/n era.’ we’re just living in it.”

megan was pink from ear to ear, trying — and failing — to hide behind her board. “that’s not true. okay, maybe a little true.”

“a little?” manon called from off-camera. “girl, you made us watch one of her movies three nights in a row.”

“it was for the plot,” megan shot back.

“uh-huh,” daniela deadpanned. “plot named y/n.”

the clip made the rounds before the show even finished airing. fancams popped up with captions like “megan being the president of y/n’s fan club for six minutes straight” and the internet did what it does best. spiral.

‎

through it all, megan didn’t deny a thing.

she couldn’t. not when her whole face lit up like a summer skyline every time your name came up. not when her bandmates had stopped teasing and started treating your existence as something inevitable, like the rising sun or the way manon always stole everyone’s chargers.

by then, you weren’t just someone she mentioned.

in an industry known for silence, for secrecy and statements about “valuing privacy,” hybe was practically rolling out a red carpet. in korea, relationships in the spotlight were often treated like scandals waiting to happen. but the western fans? they were eating it up. every clipped interview, every suspiciously timed instagram like, every passing mention of your name on a live. it was all free press, and hybe knew it.

so they leaned in. quietly, strategically. no denials. no damage control. just subtle nudges that said, yeah, keep watching.

and it was driving her crazy.

you weren’t exactly sure when it happened. when the feeling settled in your chest and decided to stay. maybe it had been there all along, hiding underneath the comfort of familiarity and the ease of your friendship. or maybe it grew slowly, in the quiet moments you never thought to mark.

it could’ve been during the weeks she was gone, promoting outside of korea. the distance was supposed to make things simpler. safer. but instead, it just made her absence louder. knowing you were still the first person she messaged in the morning and the last one she talked to before sleep made your chest ache in a way you didn’t have a name for yet.

or maybe it was that one night, the one where you called her just to vent about a costar who had spent the entire day getting under your skin. you were halfway through a breathless rant when you noticed it. the way she was watching you through the screen. how she wasn’t just nodding politely or checking her phone or letting her attention drift. she was listening. really listening. her eyes softened when you got frustrated, lit up when you said something funny. when your voice cracked just a little from tiredness, she didn’t interrupt. she just stayed with you. present and still. like holding space for you was the most natural thing in the world.

and somewhere in all of that, it hit you.

you were in love with megan skiendiel. painfully. undeniably. fully.

at first, you were terrified. quietly, achingly scared. because what were you supposed to do with a feeling like this? loving megan had crept up on you, soft and slow, the way a sunset slips past the horizon before you even realize it’s gone. and now that it was here, fully formed and impossible to ignore, you didn’t know how to carry it.

megan had become a constant. someone who felt less like a friend and more like a fixture. someone you could turn to at any hour, knowing she’d listen without judgment, laugh at your bad jokes, sit in silence if that’s what you needed. she never made you feel like too much or not enough. she just saw you. and the last thing you wanted was to ruin something that good with feelings you didn’t know how to manage.

so you kept it quiet. buried it under casual texts and late-night calls. told yourself it wasn’t the right time. told yourself maybe it didn’t need to be said at all.

but then the girls were coming back to korea. six months had passed since their last visit, and the moment megan found out they’d be landing soon, she called you. not texted. not waited. called.

you’d picked up on the first ring.

and now, you were standing at your front door, fingers still curled around the handle, staring at the very girl who had been living rent-free in your head for months.

before you could even speak, megan threw her arms around you. the force of it almost knocked you back a step. her dark brown hair smelled like travel and lavender shampoo and something unmistakably her. she held you like she’d been counting down the days to this moment. like she’d been holding her breath all the way across oceans and could finally breathe again now that she was here.

her arms were warm and tight around you, her face tucked into the crook of your neck. for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. and for the first time in weeks, your heart didn’t feel so loud.

“you smell different,” megan mumbled, voice muffled against your shoulder.

you blinked, startled. “um. thanks?”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands still resting on your waist. “not bad different. just… like laundry detergent and success.”

you snorted. “you’ve been on korean air for fifteen hours and that’s what you open with?”

“i missed you too,” she said, and there was no hesitation in it. no theatrics. just honesty, plain and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say.

you felt the corners of your mouth twitch, trying hard not to smile like a complete idiot. “i figured. what with the fifteen missed calls.”

“okay, first of all,” she said, stepping fully into the apartment now, shrugging off her jacket, “ten of those were because i forgot the time difference and thought you were ghosting me.”

“you forgot the time difference?” you repeated, crossing your arms with a skeptical look.

megan turned around, eyes wide and unconvincing. “yes?”

you stared.

she caved. “no. i panicked. sue me.”

you closed the door behind her, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you like it,” she said without missing a beat, flopping dramatically onto your couch.

you didn’t deny it. instead, you walked over and stood behind the couch, arms draped loosely over the back as you looked down at her.

“so what’s the plan now that you’re back?” you asked.

megan grinned, tossing her head back to look up at you. “coffee. your favorite ramen place. a movie i’ll definitely talk through. and if you’re really lucky, maybe i’ll even let you win at mario kart.”

“bold of you to assume you’d be letting me win,” you said.

“bold of you to think you could beat me,” she fired back, eyes sparkling.

you met her gaze, heart stuttering, voice softer now. “i’m really glad you’re here.”

her grin faltered just a bit, and something gentler settled into her expression. “me too,” she said. “more than you know.”

for a moment you just stared at her, the moment truly settling in. you really did miss her. texting and phone calls were one thing, but seeing her in person was another. her goofy smile, the way she locked in like she didn’t just drop the funniest bomb known to mankind, the way she laughed as if she didn’t care who was watching. she was just one girl and yet, she consumed the space so beautifully without even knowing.

you almost did it then. almost opened your mouth and let the words tumble out. but you didn’t. instead you settled on a small smile.

you were about to ask megan if she wanted water when your phone buzzed against the counter. you didn’t need to look to know who it was. you’d spent the entire night before (and entire day honestly) lighting up your text chain with yunjin. sure enough, when you unlocked your screen and peered down, there she was.

yunjin [7:13pm]: is she there yet or did she ghost you after all that build-up

yunjin [7:13pm]: respond right now or else i’ll think you confessed and blacked out from emotional overload.

you rolled your eyes and typed back quickly with one hand while grabbing two glasses with the other.

you [7:14pm]: she’s here. no blackouts. yet.

yunjin [7:14pm]: yet??? i’m counting the minutes. btw u should ask her to come to the party tn. i think sungchan wanted to introduce u to someone too, so ur contractually obligated to show up.

the idea of sungchan wanting to introduce you to someone made your blood run cold. the last time that happened, you ended up stuck in a corner with shindong rambling about crypto, diet tips, and the “glory days” of SM for thirty painfully long minutes.

still, you swallowed the groan bubbling up in your throat and slipped your phone into your pocket before yunjin could fire off something even more unhinged. when you turned back toward the living room, megan had curled herself sideways into the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, her head tilted back like she was trying to make sense of the ceiling tiles.

“was that yunjin?” she asked, grinning like she already knew the answer.

“unfortunately.”

“what’d she say? wait, don’t tell me. something dramatic, slightly invasive, and definitely teasing.”

you handed her a glass of water with a dry look. “spot on. she wants to know if you’re real or just a figment of my imagination.”

megan raised an eyebrow. “and what did you tell her?”

“that you’re here.” you smirked. “look at miss nosey over here.”

she raised both hands in mock surrender, barely hiding her smile. “hey, what can I say? i’m working on a phd for not being able to mind my own damn business.”

you laughed, shaking your head. the kind of laugh that came easily around her. and then, remembering the rest of yunjin’s message, you leaned your weight against the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly on the cushions.

“she’s throwing a party tonight,” you said. “something about celebrating a new album drop. you should come. bring the girls.”

megan sat up a little straighter, sipping her water with the kind of dramatic flair that made you snort. “a party? are there going to be snacks?”

“probably.”

“alright, i’m in. but only if there are snacks and minimal small talk. and maybe karaoke.”

“so you want snacks, bad lighting, and a mic. noted.”

“see, you get me.” she beamed, already reaching for her phone. “i’ll text the girls. we’ll make it a proper entrance.”

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. your heart was too full for your own good. “god help us all.”

the drive over was chaotic in the way only megan’s presence could make it. she’d managed to wrangle sophia and daniela into coming, predictably the two most likely to say yes to the word “party” before even hearing the rest of the sentence. manon and lara had tapped out almost immediately. yoonchae hadn’t even bothered pretending she was considering it.

megan drove, one hand lazily on the wheel, the other dancing over the radio dial every five seconds. you sat in the front passenger seat, watching her in the glow of passing streetlights.

sophia leaned forward from the back. “so, y/n,” she started, voice thick with mischief, “how’s it feel being megan’s favorite girl?”

“sophia,” megan warned without looking away from the road.

daniela snorted, flinging a gummy at the back of megan’s head. “what? it’s true. we’ve heard more about y/n in the last six months than we have about anyone else.” then she turned to you, leaning forward besides sophia. “i was starting to think she made you up.”

“my god, you guys are worse than lara and manon.” megan muttered, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. she glanced at you, caught the smile playing on your lips, and groaned. “you’re both so annoying.”

“say you love her and we’ll shut up,” daniela sang from the backseat.

“i will crash this car,” megan said flatly, but her ears were pink.

you turned in your seat, raising an eyebrow at the two girls behind you. “this what you do on every drive?”

“only when the company’s good,” sophia grinned.

by the time you walked up to the le sserafim dorm, the music could already be heard before you even reached the front door. the air outside buzzed with voices and laughter.

you barely had time to step over the threshold before you heard it.

“there she is!”

yunjin materialized out of the crowd like she owned the place. which, sure, she basically did. it was her party afterall. she practically skipped the last few steps toward you. before you could get a word in, she grabbed your hand, pulled you into a hug that was half tackle, half dance spin, and leaned back to look you over. “hi, hello, love you, you look disgustingly hot—don’t even try to run, i’ve got plans for us tonight.”

you barely had time to laugh before she clocked the girls behind you. “megan!” she called, eyes lighting up as she pulled you into the house. “and you brought the fun ones! hi, sophia. hi, daniela.”

“you act like we don’t always show up,” sophia said with a grin, accepting the hug yunjin offered.

“it’s not a real party unless daniela’s threatening to outdrink everyone,” yunjin replied.

“not a threat if it’s true,” daniela said, winking.

megan held up her hands in mock surrender. “i told them to behave.”

“why would you do that?” yunjin laughed. “no, i want full chaos tonight. come find me later, i’m kidnapping y/n for a minute.”

you looked back at megan just as yunjin tugged you into the crowd, her hand firm in yours. megan simply grinned, the light catching her face just enough to make your heart skip.

and then the music swallowed you whole.

some part of you couldn’t help but feel a little bit annoyed. truth be told, you’d have rathered been home with megan. caught up on lost time and put on a movie. maybe stepbrothers, because you know it’s one of her favorites from one of your many late night conversations.

instead, you were here. loud music, dim lights, and the kind of packed crowd that made it hard to think. it wasn’t awful. yunjin’s parties never were. her friends were warm and welcoming, even if chaewon had greeted you with a smug “so where’s megan?” the second you walked in. but still, your eyes kept drifting.

you caught sight of her across the room, laughing at something sophia said, a hand tucked into the pocket of her baggy jeans. daniela was already halfway into a dance battle with some guy in a bucket hat. megan wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. she was just… being. but somehow, that was enough to pull your gaze every time.

you tried to focus on the conversation happening around you. tried to lean into the easy rhythm of old friends and new music. but your mind had already wandered. back to the idea of megan beside you on the couch. back to her laugh. back to the quiet. back to her. always her.

eventually you took a step back when the cup yunjin shoved into your hands was getting empty.

“gonna get a refill.” you shouted lamely over the music. you didn’t wait for her to respond before you were stalking your way to the kitchen.

it was in that space you were able to truly look around. you didn’t miss the curious glances shot your way, no, that would’ve been impossible. it felt incredibly vain to acknowledge that you were an idols idol, but you knew.

you were halfway refilling your cup with some kind of soju concoction when a voice cut through the air.

“y/n!”

you looked up and immediately locked eyes with a familiar pair of browns. a tall, handsome figure weaved through the crowd toward you, his shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes just enough to make him look like he hadn’t planned a single part of his night. sungchan grinned, all coy charm and childish mischief. you groaned the second he pulled you into a rough side hug, the unmistakable scent of alcohol clinging to his clothes like cologne. still, your arms came up automatically, returning the hug without a second thought. for all his nonsense, sungchan had always been a good friend.

“i want to introduce you to someone.”

you turned just as sungchan stepped aside, and there she was. karina.

you had never met her in person before, but you might as well have. her face was everywhere. it lit up across high-rise billboards in gangnam, looping through luxury brand ads on the subway monitors, popping up on your explore page whenever you so much as breathed near the fashion or idol tag. you remembered the way jaewook had bragged about her back on set a year ago when the dispatch article dropped. he had shown his phone to his costar like it was breaking news, grinning like he had just won something. you had rolled your eyes, walked off to get coffee, and told yourself it wasn’t your business. it wasn’t, until now.

karina was even more stunning in person. her beauty wasn’t the kind that made a scene or demanded attention. it just existed, like it belonged there. her gaze met yours and stayed, unwavering.

it wasn’t rude, or even intense in a threatening way. just… focused. present. like she wasn’t just seeing you but actually registering you.

you were suddenly very aware of your posture, your hands, your everything.

“it’s so nice to meet you!” she called over the music, her voice warm and clear even with the bass thudding through the walls. she stepped just a little closer, enough that you could hear her without leaning in. “i love your stuff. seriously. i’ve been asking sungchan to introduce us for ages, but he’s always chickened out at the last second.”

sungchan made a wounded noise, hand over his chest like she’d just stabbed him, but before he could fire back, wonbin came stumbling past, arm slung around his neck with all the grace of a wrecking ball. they disappeared into the crowd in a tangle of laughter and chaos.

you rolled your eyes and turned back to karina, only to find that her gaze hadn’t left you once. her eyes held yours with that same calm, curious steadiness, like she wasn’t in a packed party but somewhere quieter. somewhere smaller.

you offered a small smile. “likewise. though to be fair, i think he just gets intimidated around pretty girls.”

her lips curved. “pretty, huh?”

you blinked, brain catching up three seconds too late. “oh god, sorry. i don’t know why i said that. yunjin handed me a cup earlier and i don’t even know what was in it. she could’ve poisoned me for all i know.”

karina laughed, the sound easy and low. “knowing her, it’s probably something criminal. you’ll wake up with a hangover and a new life philosophy.”

you laughed too, but it faltered slightly when she leaned in, just enough for her shoulder to brush against yours. it was nothing, a light touch, but it grounded you instantly.

“don’t worry,” she said, voice softer now, “i think you’re pretty too.”

your heart stuttered.

you opened your mouth, but whatever you meant to say vanished the second her smile deepened.

“not to be dramatic or anything,” karina said, lifting her cup for a slow, nonchalant sip, “but i think we’re being watched.”

you blinked. “watched?”

“mhm. i can feel her eyes burning holes into the back of my head. like a laser pointer. i’m actually a little afraid to turn around.”

you tilted your head, letting your eyes scan the room until you found her. megan, standing across the floor. at some point sophia had shoved her cup into megan’s hands and joined daniela on the dance floor. the chinese girl clutched the cup in both hands like it might leap out of them if she didn’t keep a death grip on it. her expression was neutral, but her stare? not subtle.

you cleared your throat. “who, megan? no, no, she’s—”

“look at the way she’s holding that cup,” karina cut in, a grin already pulling at her lips. “you’d think she just watched the most annoying man on earth walk in and ruin everyone’s mood.”

you huffed. “reminds me of a certain six-foot-something actor with a god complex.”

karina snorted, her eyes flashing with recognition before she laughed for real this time, head tipping back for just a second. she knew who you were talking about almost immediately. the one man you had in common besides sungchan happened to be her very tall (very annoying) ex.

“right. i forgot you know jaewook.”

you raised an eyebrow. “unfortunately.”

“hey,” she said, still grinning. “he’s not that bad. underneath all the bravado he’s actually kind of sweet.”

“sure, you don’t need to convince me.” you shrugged, completely deadpan. “if the dick’s bomb, it’s bomb.”

karina choked, hand flying to your shoulder as she doubled over in disbelief. she was laughing harder than before, and you felt a little thrill run down your spine at the sound of it.

when she straightened up again, she wiped at her eye and shook her head. “you’re going to wake up tomorrow and regret ever opening your mouth.”

“without a doubt,” you said, already sipping to forget.

“i think i want some of what you’re having,” karina said, eyes glittering with mischief as she swirled the liquid in her cup. “it’s my cue to go find the woman of the hour. but before i do…”

she leaned in, slower this time. you thought she was going to say something else right away, but then her mouth dipped lower, her breath warm as it ghosted the curve of your jaw. you stiffened in surprise, the proximity making your pulse stumble. her lips came dangerously close to your ear, just barely brushing your skin when she spoke.

“that girl. megan.” her voice dropped to something sly and sweet. “she wants you. it’s written all over her face. she hasn’t stopped staring since i walked over. so how about you use some of that liquid courage and do something about it?”

your breath caught, cheeks burning with the kind of heat no drink could explain. karina pulled away just as slowly, and her smile was soft but wicked. it said a hundred things at once.

i’m glad we met, good luck out there, don’t screw this up.

then she was gone, slipping into the crowd like she had always belonged to it. her red solo cup bobbed above the sea of people as she drifted toward the corner where yunjin and chaewon were doubled over in laughter.

you didn’t even have time to process it before someone else stepped into her place.

megan.

her arm brushed yours, then stayed there, her hand wrapping gently around the bend of your elbow. she was close. so close. close enough that you could smell the perfume on her skin, something cool and soft, mint layered with warm vanilla. it hit you all at once that it was yours. a bottle that had disappeared from your vanity six months ago before katseye left korea. and now here it was, clinging to her in the most dizzying way.

your body flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the music or the alcohol. your eyes traveled up, taking in the sheen of sweat along her collarbones and the way her skin glowed under the lights. her crop top clung to her in all the right places, her stomach taut from dancing. you could still see the echo of her movement in the way her breath rose and fell, chest barely brushing yours.

you finally looked at her face again. she was already staring.

her eyes were darker than you remembered, shadowed and unreadable, fixed on you with something that felt like pressure and want and restraint all tangled up into one look. her lips were drawn in a line, neither smiling nor frowning, but firm with intent.

the air between you thinned.

you weren’t sure who would speak first. or if either of you had to. not with the way the tension folded in and around you like the bass from the speakers. not with the way her fingers curled just slightly against your arm, like she wasn’t ready to let go.

“oh. hey. you doing okay?” you asked, voice raised slightly over the music pulsing around you.

megan didn’t answer right away. her eyes stayed locked on yours for a beat too long, and just when you thought she might finally say something, her gaze dropped. slow and deliberate. it traced the line of your jaw and landed just beneath your ear. her expression shifted. something flickered across her face, subtle but sharp. a furrow of her brow that sent a wave of nerves crashing down your spine.

before you could speak again, she brought her thumb to her lips and wet it. then, without hesitation, she reached forward and pressed that same thumb to your neck. her touch was warm, careful. a soft swipe against your skin.

your breath caught.

“she left lipstick on you,” she murmured, quiet but clear enough to cut through the noise.

your hand shot up on instinct, palm flattening over the spot just beneath your ear. you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, blood rushing too fast under your skin.

“o-oh. yeah. was an accident,” you stammered, the words clumsy as they left your mouth.

megan didn’t respond right away. she just hummed. low, unreadable. then her hand slid down from your elbow, fingers grazing your forearm like she couldn’t quite decide if she wanted to hold on or let go. eventually she settled, her grip tightening just enough that you felt the weight of it. like an anchor. like a warning. like something unspoken passing between the two of you that neither of you had the guts to name.

not yet, anyway.

for a long second, she just stood there, saying nothing. she didn’t blink, didn’t move. only stared.

you shifted on your feet. “did… did i do something wrong?”

her voice was steady, but low. “let me drive you home.”

you blinked. “oh. okay.” it came out softer than you meant, a whisper carried easily between you. she heard it all the same.

‎

you weren’t sure how much time passed between then and now. one moment you were alone in the kitchen of yunjin’s dorm, the next megan was muttering something to sophia and daniela under her breath, a rushed string of syllables that made them blink once, twice, and nod. she grabbed your hand without waiting for an answer and pulled you toward the door. you felt the weight of every pair of eyes that followed you on your way out. yunjin’s brow arched with thinly veiled amusement. sungchan mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “what did you do.” and karina… she didn’t say a word. she just winked.

now you were in the passenger seat of megan’s car, the inside dim and quiet save for the faint hum of the engine and the soft patter of rain beginning to hit the windshield. your buzz had all but faded, replaced by something heavier, something laced with nerves. megan’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. the jaw that was so often relaxed with laughter and teasing was now set and stiff.

you turned to face her fully. “megan. what’s going on with you?”

she didn’t look at you. her gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead as if it held all the answers she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud.

“when did you and karina get so close?” she asked, too casual to be convincing.

you tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “are you jealous?”

there was a beat of silence. then she scoffed.

“no!…. yes. fuck, y/n, i don’t know. i don’t know what i feel. all i know is that seeing her in your space like that just— it just drives me crazy.”

the car hummed beneath you, megan’s hands gripping the wheel like she was holding onto something more fragile than the leather beneath her fingers. she floored it the moment she pulled onto the main road. fast, reckless as always. the first time you rode passenger princess in her car, you practically grabbed onto the seat for dear life. except tonight, you didn’t even mind. you couldn’t look away. her jaw clenched tight, the faint pulse at her temple a rhythm you felt in your own chest.

the car sped down the dimly lit road of your penthouse’s underground parking, tires echoing against concrete walls. megan didn’t slow until she pulled into a quiet corner, the only sound the engine’s low hum. just the two of you now.

her jaw was tight, eyes sharp. “karina,” she spat, voice low and rough. “she was all in your space like she owns it.”

you met her glare, feeling the heat rising between you. “megan, i just met her.”

her hand clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles went white.

“yeah, well, she sure didn’t act like it,” megan bit out. “in your ear, touching your arm like you’ve been hers for years. you think i didn’t see the way she looked at you?”

you blinked at her, pulse quickening. “why does it even matter?”

megan turned to you then, full body, her eyes blazing. “because it does. because you’re not just some friend i joke around with anymore, y/n.”

the silence that followed was thick, pressing. you stared at her, at the curve of her jaw clenched in frustration, at the way her chest rose and fell like she’d just run a sprint. her brows were furrowed, but beneath the frustration was something else. something that made your stomach twist and your fingers curl tight around your seatbelt.

“megan…”

she exhaled hard, dropping her head back against the headrest for a second like she was trying to force the words out. then her voice came, rough and low. “i can’t stand seeing someone else touch you like that. it makes me feel like i’m gonna lose my mind.”

you reached out, hand hovering before it found hers on the console between you. her fingers twitched under yours, like she was deciding whether to pull away or pull you closer.

“you’re not gonna lose your mind,” you said quietly. “you’re just finally saying what we’ve both been thinking.”

she didn’t reply. didn’t need to. you swallowed, heart hammering. this wasn’t the easy conversation you’d expected. it was raw, jagged, real. her eyes locked onto yours, wild and fierce. for a moment, you could almost feel the weight of everything she hadn’t said hanging between you.

without warning, she leaned in, closing the space with a fierce urgency. her lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding, like she needed to prove something. your breath hitched, caught off guard but all in.

it was messy, desperate, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission. your hands found her hair, pulling her closer. she growled low, the tension snapping as the lines between friends and something more shattered.

it was a blur after that. megan barely killed the engine before the two of you were out of the car, walking fast and too close as you made your way through the quiet underground garage. her hand hovered at your back, not quite touching, but you could feel the heat of it through your shirt. the elevator ride was silent, charged, her reflection burning holes into yours through the metal walls.

the second your door swung open, you were on her again. the lock clicked behind you as you pressed her up against the door, mouths crashing together like you’d both run out of time. your hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, greedy for skin. she kissed you like she needed you to breathe.

“y/n,” she breathed out, but whatever she was going to say got lost in the next kiss, your name drowned out by the low thud of her back hitting the hallway wall.

you didn’t even think, just grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the bedroom, feet stumbling, laughter breaking through the tension for a split second. she followed without hesitation, eyes locked on you like she was trying to memorize the way you looked at her now.

as soon as you hit the threshold of the room, your mouths found each other again. she kicked the door shut behind her without looking, hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt like she’d waited too long for this.

she pulled away after a moment to simply stare.

megan looked at you. the kind of stare that could melt ice. her gaze traces the lines of your body like she was hungry, yet still she said nothing. she swallowed, her lips pursing together as she weighed her own thoughts in her mind. her eyes trailed up and down before finally they settle themselves again on yours. it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what she was thinking in this very moment. you could practically read her through her silence. the way she practically itched to say something funny, to break the tension with a lighthearted joke in true megan fashion. but she couldn’t. her body was reacting as much as yours was. she trembled slightly, her chest rising up and down as if she was struggling to take in air. but it was pure anticipation. when she talks her voice is careful, hesitant, like she was afraid that one wrong word would break the quiet you slipped into.

“how do i tell you that i want you without making a fool of myself?”

your breath hitched when suddenly she moved. she took a step closer, and instinctively you take a step back. the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you’re falling back. the only thing you can do is sit stupidly and stare up at her as she stares down. she was already tall, but now she loomed over you.

she was so unlike herself. just ten minutes ago she was fumbling over her own feet, giggling between kisses as her fingers clumsily trailed up and down the warm skin on your back. now, she was confident. like she was looking at you through the lens of someone who realized in the span of a quick ten minutes that they were standing before something holy.

you hum. “you say it. tell me, megan.”

she doesn’t hesitate. she nudges your legs apart so she’s standing between them now, your legs trapping her in. her hands instinctively raise to the back of your head, one idly playing with the baby hairs on the nape of your neck while the other gently grabbed your chin. she didn’t ask, just simply gripped your chin between her thumb and index finger and tugged. she leaned down slightly , so close that you could feel her hot breath hitting you. when she talks, her voice is quiet.

“i want you, y/n.”

she moved one inch closer, and her lips brush yours. it was faint. a feather light touch, but it sent shivers down your spine all the same. her eyes dropped back and forth between your eyes and your lips, the grip she had on your chin tightening momentarily before she let go. her hand lazily drifted down from your face and to your chest, fingertips just lightly grazing your skin. and then, she moved the other hand. the hand that once played with the hairs on the back of your neck now moved to the front, fingertips dancing along your throat. she hums. her voice dripped like venom, tantalizing and dangerous all in the same breath.

“you have no idea how bad.”

you swallow, and megan feels it against the hand she held to your neck when her fingers gently reach out and clasp. nothing tight. but she doesn’t say anything. she simply stares. her eyes dark, her face unreadable save for only the pure want clear in her words. through the grip on your throat, you reply. your voice fell to a whisper, though just as confident as her own.

“then show me.”

she didn’t need to be told twice. the grip she held on your neck tightened just slightly before she relented. her lips which once grazed yours finally surged the small distance. she kissed you, every emotion she pushed to the back of her mind finally coming out in full force. she tilted her head, a soft sigh of relief escaping her when you met her kiss with equal fervor.

this was it. the moment where finally, she’d let herself cave. the moment where megan would lose her inhibitions and finally be true to both herself, and to you. being so close to you in this moment made her full body vibrate. you were intoxicating, and she was addicted.

megan deepened the kiss, her tongue gently swiping across your bottom lip. when you don’t open your mouth, she bites your lip. taking advantage of the gasp you let out, her tongue darts in. without words, her intentions were clearer than daylight.

she wanted you, and she wanted bad.

the grip on your neck only tightened until eventually you needed to pull back for air. a string of saliva coated your lips when she pulled back, her grip on your throat relaxing. but she doesn’t mind. she lets you breathe, feels your chest rise and fall beneath her full hand as she trails open mouthed kisses down from your swollen lips to your jaw, and then your neck. she littered kisses around the area her hand clasped around only moments ago, soothing the dull feeling of a phantom grip.

through your haze and a short gasp, you couldn’t help but tease her.

“who knew you had that in you, huh, skiendiel?”

megan answered with a simple bite to your neck. a nibble, soothed over with a faint swipe of her tongue immediately after. it was enough to shut you up, if even for a moment. she hummed.

“can’t help myself. you’ve no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this.”

this time it was your turn to raise a hand and gently play with her hair, her mouth still working at your jaw and throat. you sigh, your fingers clasping around a clump of her dark hair. you shake your head.

“what, are you trying to tell me this is the only reason you asked for my number all those months ago?”

she knew you were joking, that you were being facetious. still she couldn’t help but frown. she dropped fully to her knees now between your legs, still fully trapped by your legs on either side of her. from this angle as she pulled away from your neck, she looked up at you through her sleepy eyes and pink bangs.

“maybe this part was wishful thinking. but no, not the only reason.” her hands trailed down again, finding your skin beneath your shirt. her hands were so numbingly cold despite the warmth in her gaze. her hand pressed against your lower stomach, feeling the way your abdomen clenched slightly against her cold palm. she looked at you with her half lidded eyes and all you saw was sincerity. she continues.

“you’ve no idea how hard it is to keep my hands to myself when you’re you. but fuck, look at you now.” her other hand reaches for the hem of your shirt and now she tugs, her touch gentle despite the bite in her words when she says her next words. “you’re mine, baby.”

the words set something off in you. something that lit a fire in the deepest pits of your stomach, begging to be addressed. and megan knew it.

and so, she did.

you weren’t sure at what point you fell asleep. all you knew was that when you woke up, you were in your own bed. the blankets were pulled up beneath your chin but it wasn’t their warmth that clung to you like it was moulded for your body, and yours only.

your eyes trailed over to the sleeping girl besides you. megan’s arm wrapped around your torso, holding you close. her bare body pressed against yours had a chill running down your spine. you could already feel the hickeys forming on your neck, the bruises on your thighs. you could feel the phantom feeling of her nails scratching down your back and her coaxing whispers lingering in your ears.

megan had practically transformed into a completely different person. the memory of her eyes, dark and dangerous, had you inadvertently shifting closer to her. the slight movement was enough to wake her. a deep, sleepy groan pulled from her lips as she subconsciously nuzzled herself closer into you. when her eyes fluttered open and they landed on you, the difference was night and day.

she was nervous. shy. she practically hid her face in your neck only to turn red in embarrassment when she was met face to face with the marks she left on your throat. when she speaks her voice is low, awkward.

“i-i, uh, you know. i’m so sorry. too much? probably. oops.”

despite the situation, you couldn’t help but laugh. the sound alone made her groan, her head digging even deeper into you as if the action alone would hide her from your teasing. a classic ‘if i can’t see you, you can’t see me’ kind of thing.

“it’s okay, megan.”

she looked up at that, her cheeks still flushed red. but there was no mistaking the way her shoulders relaxed. she looked back at you and it’s then the events from the night before seemed to finally settle in. it’s in this lighting that you realized, again, just how gorgeous she is. the way her hair framed her face even when she was ridden with bedhead. the way her soft lips pouted involuntarily, the way her sleepy eyes looked up at you through her lashes. she was so, unbelievably beautiful without even needing to try. you couldn't help but wonder if she knew this as well as you could see it.

with a newfound sense of confidence, she suddenly leaned forward. her lips found yours and unlike the fit of messy kisses she gave you the night before, now she takes her time. when she pulls away, pink dusts her cheeks.

“i can’t believe we did… that.”

you raise a brow. “oh? pray tell why you’re so surprised.”

megan’s eyes practically blow wide. “seriously? you’re not even the slightest bit shocked and overwhelmed and- a-and, i don’t know, lowkey kinda freaking the fuck out? i mean jeez. you’re you!”

before you can reply she’s already continuing. her arm around your torso tightens, a look of pure shock and elation cemented across her face.

“do you have any idea how scared it makes me knowing that you’re practically in a league of your own? i mean, shit, you walk into a room and everyone stares. i walk in and everyone waits for me to break my own leg! you’re you. and i’m me. and this just doesn’t make any sense, a-and-“

you turn slightly so you’re facing her fully, her arm around you not slipping but loosening just enough. you shake your head, a hand reaching up gently to swipe her hair from her vision. her pink bangs covered her eyes just slightly, hiding the state of pure frazzle in their depths. you can’t help but chuckle softly.

when your lips tilt up at the corners, a small grin gracing your face, megan stopped rambling. she was so, completely, irrevocably enamored by you in a way that it hurt her brain.

when you leaned forward just enough to seal her lips with your own, her breath catches in her throat, silenced. for a moment you both lay there. her arm around your torso now moving to lightly grip your waist, her fingers digging in just barely as if she was grounding herself in the moment. your hand cupped her jaw, the kiss deepening just a second longer. when you pull away, her eyes are blown wide. she stares back at you in equal parts awe, and fear. she was completely undone by you.

“relax.”

the simple word was all she needed. she nodded her head stupidly and obediently, her lips pursing so tight together as if you’d given her a command she’d follow til her last breath.

your grin softens into a small smile. “you’re such a loser, megan.”

megan grimaced. the kind of look that was half part an awkward smile, and half part an embarrassment pout. she burrows her head into your chest with a drawn out groan. she feels the way your body vibrates when you chuckle, hears the way your heart skipped a beat with her ear pressed to your bare chest. and in that moment, she decided.

no amount of embarrassment would ever outweigh the pride she felt in knowing that it was her you were holding that very morning.

a month passed.

megan hadn’t planned on going live. it was one of those quiet nights that felt heavier than it should have. the dorm was calm. daniela had vanished into her room with a face mask and a bowl of cereal. sophia had crashed early. the silence made everything feel louder.

so she pulled on an oversized hoodie (your hoodie) and went live from her bed. nothing fancy. just her and her phone, legs tucked under her, the soft yellow light from her nightstand casting a warm glow across the screen.

“hi,” she said, voice soft with that slight rasp it always had when she was winding down. “i couldn’t sleep.”

the chat exploded immediately. hearts, greetings, inside jokes, fans asking about everything from what she had for dinner to her favorite stage outfit from the last comeback. she answered a few, laughed quietly when someone asked if lara still sleep-talked. her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the sleeve of her hoodie as she scrolled.

“what’s the weirdest dream you’ve had recently?” she read aloud, smiling. “okay, so i had this one where i was back in high school, but for some reason all the desks were made of jello, and sophia was my teacher? yeah, no idea. my brain is a strange place.”

another wave of hearts. more laughing emojis. the mood stayed easy, casual, soft around the edges.

then came the question. fast, buried in a sea of others, but megan’s eyes caught it and held.

“who’s that in the background?”

she blinked.

then turned, just slightly, to glance behind her.

there, on the edge of the bed, barely in frame, was you. hoodie half-zipped, face makeup-free, curled against a pillow and blinking slow from the comfort of just having woken up from a nap you hadn’t even meant to take.

megan looked back at the camera, lips tugging into a smile that was both shy and completely unbothered.

“guess the secret’s out,” she said, voice low but steady.

the chat exploded again, this time in full-blown chaos. some fans caught on immediately. others were in denial. a few begged her to clarify, but she didn’t.

instead, she leaned back against the headboard, reached over, and laced her fingers with yours. you blinked blearily, took a second to realize what was happening, then gave a soft laugh.

“hi,” you murmured, just loud enough to be heard. “sorry, i kind of knocked out.”

“it’s okay,” megan said, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “you’re cute when you sleep.”

the live didn’t last much longer after that. she answered one or two more questions, gave the usual love you guys and get some rest, then signed off.

but the clip stayed. it spread fast, faster than either of you expected. screen recordings, gifs, screenshots, fan theories shifting into confirmed realities. by morning, your names were trending side by side.

and just like that, it wasn’t speculation anymore.

it was real. it was official.

it was you and her. finally.

1K notes · View notes

manonsmartini · 12 days ago

Text

Private Collection — Manon Bannerman (18+)

✒️ explicit sexual content · g!p tattoo artist!manon · camgirl!reader · oral sex · facefucking/deepthroating · worship · cumplay · breeding kink/creampie · mutual masturbation · overstimulation · voyeurism · tattooing kink? · dubcon undertones · light angst

Summary: When an anonymous camgirl walks into Manon’s tattoo studio asking for something personal, the line between obsession and intimacy shatters. Manon, secretly addicted to her streams, never expected to meet her offline—let alone touch her. But when they finally fall into each other, it’s filthy, it’s emotional, and it’s real. Neither of them can go back to pretending. Not when they’ve already gone too far. (14.3k words)

The studio smells like disinfectant and ink. Black tiles, sharp lines, matte finish—a clean kind of sterile that tries too hard not to look like it. At the center of it all, lit like an exhibit under low gold light, is Manon.

She sits behind the front desk, sketchbook open, hand moving lazily with a charcoal pencil. Her legs are wide, feet planted firm on the ground like she owns it—because she does. Tongue flicking the edge of a lollipop, her phone screen dims beside her elbow, the last paused frame still showing: an anonymous live stream, muted.

People are not supposed to jerk off at work; they’re not supposed to have favorites, but Manon, for all her cocky stillness, is deeply fucking flawed.

Manon’s favorite’s not just anyone; it’s her.

The girl with the faceless body and the unscripted moans; the camgirl who doesn’t perform like the rest—doesn’t pout, doesn’t call anyone “daddy,” doesn’t fake anything. She doesn’t even show her face. All you get is the silhouette of her mouth when she gasps and the way her stomach tenses when she cums.

For Manon, it’s not porn, it’s more intimate than that, and it drives Manon fucking insane.

She tells herself it’s just the authenticity, the art of it. But that’s a lie; she watches for the way you touch yourself slowly and how you whimper when you edge too long. She watches your streams to see the way your fingers tremble when you cum so hard you forget to mute your mic. She’s probably heard you cum more times than she’s heard her ex say she loved her.

Manon shifts in her seat, spreading her legs wider beneath the desk. Her cock presses tight inside her jeans, uncomfortable. She adjusts her cock when no one’s around, and she only jerks off to you now.

Nobody else does it for her, not even the girls who beg to get tattooed by her or the Instagram models, or the girls she drinks under the table. Not even the ex who still DMs her every now and then.

Only you—you, who could be anywhere or anyone. You, who have no idea (or so she thinks).

It’s past midnight when the neon buzz of the tattoo shop finally goes dark. It’s time to go home but Manon doesn’t leave. She never does—not on Thursdays. The others think she stays late to clean her guns, prep stencils, or sketch on the walls again. But in reality, it’s for this.

The old leather couch in the room squeaks beneath her as she settles in—shirt off, sweatpants low. Her laptop is bulky, but she brings it anyway; she likes the bigger screen when she’s in her tattoo studio. It feels more immersive, like you’re really there with her—one-on-one. She opens it, and her heart skips when she sees the notification: Live now.

You.

No face and fake moans, just fingers, skin, and your own pleasure humming through the screen.

The camera is steady tonight—angled just enough to show your parted lips as you breathe against your wrist, your thighs slick and twitching with each circle of your fingers. You’re on your back, hips rolled to the side like it’s instinct, like it’s real—because it is, and that’s what kills Manon. It’s not some performative, pornified show for men. You’re not hamming it up for coins.

You’re doing this for yourself, and maybe, if she lets herself be delusional, you’re doing this for her.

Manon’s cock is already hard beneath the band of her briefs, thick and aching from the moment you gasped into the mic. She palms herself slowly, like she’s scared to miss a second. Her thumb drags over the wet tip, breath catching when you spread yourself open and moan. Quiet, raw, but not needy—needy would imply you didn’t know how to get what you want.

You do.

You whisper something soft, just a breath of “just like that”, and Manon loses her rhythm. Her hips twitch off the couch and her fist tightens, jerking her cock in slow, hungry pulls, matching the rhythm of your fingers.

She watches as you arch, knees bent, toes curling, and the vibrator comes into view—a small one, barely buzzing, but you nearly sob when it touches your clit. Manon swears, low and breathless. Her other hand slides down to cradle her balls, rolling them gently while her hips jerk up again.

She imagines being under you, forcing you to keep going, licking you through your orgasm, tasting it straight from your pussy while your thighs tremble around her head. She bites her lip at the nasty thoughts.

Your breathing stutters—you’re getting close. Manon watches with laser focus, her grip tightening, speed picking up, jerking herself just the way she knows it would feel best if she were buried in you, cock twitching as you clench around her.

You cum without warning, your body seizing, hand shaking, a soft “fuck” spilling from your lips, and that’s all it takes.

Manon chokes on her breath, thighs shaking as she cums hard into her hand, warm ropes striping across her stomach. Her eyes don’t leave the screen, not even for a second.

You lie there panting, soft and still, and undone.

And Manon’s still watching, staring at your beautiful frame, still thinking about the way you touched yourself like you knew someone was watching—someone like her.

It should’ve ended there, with her hand sticky, her breath caught somewhere between shame and satisfaction. The screen dimming, the stream ending, the guilt setting in like clockwork. But it doesn’t really end there.

Because even after she cleans up, even after she throws on a hoodie and pretends the orgasm didn’t rattle her bones, the image of you lingers—head tossed back, breath catching, fingers wet and glistening under pink LED light.

Before she even closes the tab, her fingers move on instinct as she sends over a fat tip, enough to make your notifications pop. She doesn’t leave a message, never does, but she knows you’ll see the name. You always do.

Perhaps it’s stupid, maybe it’s nothing but wishful thinking, but the thought that you might smile when you see it—that maybe you already know she always gives more than she should—keeps her from shutting the laptop just yet.

You were too much and too real unlike the others. You couldn’t be bothered to perform for the pleasure of your viewers; you only touched yourself like you meant it, like you didn’t need anyone watching but let them look anyway.

Manon doesn’t even know your name.

So when the bell above her studio door jingles just past noon the next day, she doesn’t think anything of it. Manon doesn’t look up right away thinking it was just another client. Another appointment in her calendar. Another blank canvas.

She’s still wiping her hands, still half in the last sketch she was working on. But the confident sound of your shoes against concrete, with just the slightest suggestion of a sway, made her pull her eyes up.

And at that moment her breath stops cold and her stomach flips.

The girl in front of her isn’t dressed loud; it was nothing over-the-top. Just a simple tank top, baggy jeans that sit low on the hips, a few gold rings that clink against your phone as you scroll for something, but there’s something about the way you move. You acted like you’ve already been seen; that you’ve always known how to be watched.

You’re… striking, but also familiar in a way she can’t place. Like a distant memory wearing lip gloss and confidence. She doesn’t know why her palms go clammy or why her jeans suddenly feel too tight. Manon doesn’t even know it’s you.

“Hey,” you say, eyes flicking up. Your voice is soft, but there’s that thing in it; it was warm and slow, like honey poured over something sharp, “I have a 12:15?”

Manon blinks at you then glances at the clock. It’s 12:23. She nods anyway, “Yeah. Come in.”

You smile, and it hits her like a wave of déjà vu she can’t place. She chalks it up to hunger or thirst, or maybe even the fact that she hasn’t gotten laid in a while—aside from the livestreams.

You follow her into the back room, gaze sweeping the shop. Your eyes studying the posters of past clients, the rows of ink bottles arranged like candy jars, the machine tucked neatly beside the chair.

“So,” Manon says, glancing at your form again, trying to keep her thoughts buried, “What are we doing today?”

You scroll again on your phone before holding it up to her.

A kiss mark. It looked messy but classic, a little smeared, but it was deliberately placed.

“I want this,” you say, “At the base of my neck.”

You thought it was the safest place to start; it was hot, chic, sensual in that effortless way you always tried to be. It’s not very vulgar nor desperate. Just you—a living contradiction of performance and privacy.

Manon raises an eyebrow, nodding at the photo, “Any particular stencil?”

You pause, shrugging a little, “I figured you could use yours.”

She laughs with a slight hint of nerves, sharp and surprised, “My lips?”

You nod, acting so calm about it, so casual, like it’s nothing, but there’s a little upturn in your lips that tells Manon that you know exactly what you’re doing.

“You don’t have to, if that’s weird,” you add, “I just thought it’d be more… original.”

Original. Sure.

Manon’s mouth felt dry. She doesn’t trust herself to speak right away, so she just nods again and moves toward the drawer where she keeps her lipstick—deep crimson, waxy, matte. She doesn’t wear it for herself that often and thought that this would be a great opportunity to put it to use.

She opened the tube, smearing lipstick over her lips with a practiced swipe. Her hands don’t shake—tattoo artists don’t get to do that—but her cock stiffens under her sweats the moment she steps into your space.

Then she turns to you, “Sit.” You do, settling on the tattoo chair, tilting your head to the side, hair falling like water to reveal your neck.

Manon doesn’t breathe, because now that she’s this close, there’s a softness to your skin that has her heart doing something uneven. Her lips hover, just a second too long.

She leans in. Her lips press against the base of your neck in a kiss that lasts longer than it should.

A soft moan automatically escapes you, and it was not performative, you really didn’t mean to. But you catch the way her nostrils flare; she heard.

God. It’s her voice. It sounds just like her. She sounds like the fucking streams—

No. Don’t be stupid. It’s just a voice.

The kiss, or more specifically the mark, was precise. It was simply all business, if anyone asks. But in Manon’s head? Her brain is short-circuiting.

Her lips tingle, sweatpants feel tighter than before despite it being loose. She doesn’t even look at your face when she pulls away, afraid that she’ll see amusement there, or worse, recognition.

She cleans the ink, puts her gloves on, the machine whirring softly in the background, “You good?” she asks.

You smile, with that same knowing tilt on your lips, “Yeah,” you say, “I trust you.”

And she has to clench her jaw at that—don’t say that, not with a voice like that, not when she still hears you moaning in her head, not when she still doesn’t know why your body feels like something her hands already know.

As she starts the tattoo, needle kissing skin, she thinks, maybe it’s just lust. Maybe it’s nothing, or maybe—

Maybe it’s the way your breath hitches just slightly, your lashes fluttering as if this isn’t just ink on skin but something else.

She tattoos the mark carefully, slowly. It’s intimate work and her focus didn’t falter. Her gloves press against your skin with a kind of gracefulness, and you fight the urge to squirm. Every vibration from the machine feels amplified because it’s her.

“Done,” she says after a while, voice husky. She doesn’t meet your eyes. But you do, and you catch the outline in her sweats. It emboldens you.

“Can you do another?” you ask sweetly, “Same kiss, just… here.”

You gesture to the soft swell on your left tit, right where the fabric hides the tenderest part of your breast, already moving to take your tank top off. Manon stills, her mouth slightly parts, involuntarily, then closes again.

Fuck. Don’t get weird. She’s probably testing me.

But what if she isn’t? What if she’s really—

No. Be cool. Be normal. You’re not sucking her tit, you’re just tattooing it. Professionally… Kind of.

“If it’s too much, you don’t have to,” you add quickly, already moving to unclasp your bra. You want to give her an out. You’re not cruel, but you do like this; the tension, the way she’s looking at you like she’s two seconds from folding.

“No,” Manon says—a little too fast, “I can.”

Manon applies the lipstick slowly, eyes flickering once to your now-bare chest, then away, pretending to fuss with the ink even though her hand is already steady. She’s inked a thousand people before. She’s seen skin in every state, but this is different.

You sit upright, arm resting against the chair, the angle lifting your breast just enough for her to see the dip of soft flesh and the way your breath rises, controlled but not calm.

Manon leans in, planting a kiss that lands right under the swell of your breast, a warm press of her lips that lingers a second too long. Not because she’s trying to be seductive—at least that’s what she tells herself—but because her mouth won’t move.

She swears, for a beat, she can hear you moan, but it’s only in her head, her imagination where she hears the same moan that rings through her laptop late at night, echoing off her bedroom walls in pixelated ecstasy. The moan that’s driven her to curl her fist around her cock more times than she could ever admit.

And for a split second—just a second—Manon wonders if her mind is playing some sick joke.

Same tone, same breath, and… same body?

No, no way. It’s just the lipstick fumes getting to her, so she swallows it down and keeps her face neutral.

Manon doesn’t even know what the girl in those videos looks like, and this one in front of her? You’re real; tangible, soft, and not some favorite blur behind a screen. You were just… uncannily familiar.

So she tells herself it’s nothing and that she’s projecting. But her cock twitches in her pants, and she can’t stop the thought,

Would she sound like her if I bit down?

You hold perfectly still, eyes on the ceiling as her fingers steady your chest, and the hum of the machine begins again. Manon is very gentle and precise, and she doesn’t comment when your nipple hardens under her touch.

She’s a professional, and so are you. Except neither of you feel like it right now.

When it’s done, you don’t say thank you; instead, you simply ask her, “You up for one more?”

You added, quieter, tilting your head, “And again, it’s okay if you don’t want to. It’s… low.”

You point just beneath your navel, to the softest edge of your bikini line—right where a kiss would disappear if you had a bush. Low enough to make her stare, high enough to stay a secret. It would be intimate, sacred, and most importantly, yours.

Manon freezes like she’s been hit by lightning, her eyes wide, lips parted, and every possible thought crashing into itself like cars in a pileup.

She must’ve misheard. Right? You’re just messing with her. There’s a hidden camera somewhere, and her best friend Dani’s about to burst in, cackling at her—“Manon’s hard again, what a shock!”

Except you’re not laughing; you’re just watching her expectantly and dead serious. Her throat bobs, her pants feel too tight.

Say yes. Say yes or you’ll regret it for the rest of your fucking life.

“I’ll do it,” she says, her voice just shy of breathless—and she wants to claw at herself for how needy it sounds. You slowly and knowingly flash her a borderline wicked smile.

The way you shimmy your jeans down, hips swaying like you’ve danced this seduction before—like you know exactly what it does to her. You don’t take them all the way off, just enough. Just to show her that you’re not wearing anything underneath but that black lace that was nearly sheer.

You slip it downwards with two fingers, and her jaw clenches so hard you see it. A twitch in the cheek. A muscle pulled taut.

You can feel the air shift; Manon’s on her knees, and suddenly her mouth is right there—so close it makes you tremble, because you can feel her breath ghosting over skin that’s never been this bare for her.

You point lower—just beneath the curve of your stomach, where your jeans used to sit, right at the top of your mound. The spot where low-rise panties would barely cover. A few centimeters below your belly button. A few centimeters above your clit.

The place you want her mark. The place no one else will see unless they’re allowed to.

Her eyes flick there, then back up at you, then down again. Manon leans in slowly, lips parted. She lingers, lips parted against your skin like she’s breathing you in. But she wants to do more than that; she wants to press her tongue right against the dampening lace of your panties. She wants to drag her mouth over your slit, feel you pulse on her lips, hear the way your breath breaks when she sucks.

But she can’t—so instead, she settles on forcing her lips to your skin, right above your mound, right where the tattoo will go. Just a simple kiss for a tattoo, and right before she kisses you—

You move, just a little, it was barely noticeable. Your hips tilt ever so slightly to meet her mouth—like your body’s desperate for her. Like you need her lips there, and Manon notices.

Fuck.

Her cock throbs painfully against her sweats, already straining from the moment she knelt between your thighs. But now? Now it’s impossible to hide. The outline of it presses boldly against the fabric, swollen and twitching. Her heart’s beating too loud. Her mouth opens wider, hovering there like she’s debating whether to kiss or taste.

You swallow hard. She’s so close, too close even. Just a little lower, just a little—if she moved an inch, she’d find how wet you were. If she opened her mouth—just a little wider—

Would she do it? If I asked?

You keep your face still, but your cunt pulses beneath her mouth. You’re soaked, aching, holding your breath like that’ll somehow hold back the heat rushing through your core.

Manon’s thoughts spiral.

I want to lick her. I want to ruin her. I want to taste her through those fucking panties until she whimpers my name, until her legs shake and her voice breaks.

She swears under her breath.

No. No. Just ink her. Just get through this. Pretend you’re not this fucking hard.

Her breath stutters while your thighs twitch, and then she pulls back, fumbling for the tattoo gun with hands that won’t stop shaking. Her fingers graze your skin as she positions herself again, and that’s when it happens.

You shift, almost imperceptibly—just a little adjustment, like you’re settling into place, but that’s all it takes.

Because of the sudden movement, her fingers slide down, the latex catching briefly on something slick. She freezes and her breath stutters. The edge of Manon’s gloved fingers slides across your slit, through the fabric. You feel it, and so does she.

She’s touched wetness through lace before—but this? This is heat. Your arousal, caught on her glove like proof of your undoing.

She exhales sharply through her nose, like she’s trying not to react, but instead of pulling away, her hand lingers, just a second too long. And then she does it again.

Manon drags it back slowly. Just a soft, shameless pass over your folds, like she’s adjusting placement—but you both know that’s a lie. She did it unapologetically and definitely not innocently. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do you.

But something passes between you; something shared and unsaid.

You stay still, eyes low-lidded, pretending not to notice, but your body cannot lie; your thighs twitch, chest rises, and your panties are damp, clinging now.

You want her to keep going. God, you want more. Your clit throbs, and you think,

Please. Just touch me again. Just a little.

Her next touch isn’t clumsy. Another brush, accidental again, but less convincing this time. The edge of her glove brushes just above your clit. Barely-there pressure—but enough to make your breath catch. Her fingers drag lower, ghosting the edge of your slit.

She’s pretending it’s part of the prep, but you know. You both know, and yet you both pretend that it’s an accident.

It was a shared delusion; a mutual dare. It’s a game, and neither of you are losing. That is until the game felt too hard.

Manon’s jaw clenches, her cock pulsing hard and aching against the seam of her sweats. She’s not going to last; not built for this kind of restraint.

Fuck it, she thinks. She peels the glove from her right hand, and before you can even process it, her bare fingers slip under your panties.

You gasp—quiet, breathless. Your hips lift slightly without meaning to.

She slowly drags two fingers down the length of your slit; you were soaked. Her fingertips glide your folds like they’ve been here before.

And without any warning nor hesitance, she lowers her mouth. Just the hot press of her tongue against your clit, and everything in you combusts. You nearly cry out, your hands shoot down, grabbing her hair—not to push her away, but to hold her there, anchoring her in place; practically begging her to stay.

Her tongue licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt. She moans softly into you, like she’s the one being touched. You tilt your hips, offering her more. Manon’s face fits perfectly between your thighs, her hand sliding up, spreading you wider, and her mouth works in slow, adoring laps—like she’s worshipping, not eating.

She’s so pretty like this, you think, dazed. So fucking pretty.

You run your fingers through her curls, stroke her cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. She groans against you when you do, hips grinding into nothing. Her bulge was very evident—hard, twitching in her pants, and desperate, but she’s focused only on you. Manon’s lips wrapped around your clit, her tongue circling in a maddening rhythm.

Your legs start to shake, moans break into little stutters. She hums on you, like praise, and it sends you spiraling, “Manon,” you whisper, like praying to her. She groans gutturally and you swear she nearly cums from that alone.

You helplessly tug her closer, wanting nothing else than to disappear into her mouth. You want to fuck her face until everything else fades; until the only thing left is her tongue and your ruin.

And when your orgasm hits, it does so violently. Your whole body shudders, your hips jerking forward, and her grip on you tightens.

She keeps going at it until your breathing slows and your grip loosens, until you’re a mess beneath her. Only then does she finally pull back, with her lips glossy and her mouth wet with you.

Manon looks up at you, eyes glazed, pink flushed across her cheeks like she’s in love or in heat. Perhaps it was both.

Your pulse still pounds in your ears, the tattoo gun sits forgotten on the tray, and neither of you speaks. Yet.

Manon licks her lips, still wet with your arousal, and stands slowly. Her shadow stretches over you as she rises to her full height, her breath heavy and eyes dark. She looks wrecked and dangerous, “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?” she asks, voice husky—a bit accusing, but it also felt like a promise.

You don’t answer; you don’t need to. The silence between you is thick with everything already said through gasps and glances, through touches pretending not to be touches.

She rounded the chair, and then suddenly, she stood before you. On your side now, towering over where you sit, legs still parted, lace panties tugged to the side like you’ve been ruined and left that way.

And then you see it; the outline of her cock—huge and straining against her sweatpants, the waistband tented obscenely. There’s a wet spot forming where her tip presses against the fabric. She’s been holding back for too long.

You exhale, slow and shaky. Your eyes drag down, lingering on it, “Fuck,” you mutter, lips parting slightly.

Manon raises a brow at your reaction. Her smirk is tight, strained, like she’s on the edge.

She hooks her fingers into the waistband, eyes locked to yours. Slowly, Manon lowers her pants. Her cock springs free, flushed, hard, and dripping. Your mouth waters instantly, licking your lips in response.

And then, like a little knife between the ribs, you whisper, “Are you gonna fuck my mouth with that?”

Her breath catches while something in her gaze snaps. She steps closer, cock bobbing at the movement, heavy and impossibly hard. One of her hands tangles in your hair, not yanking—just holding, guiding you closer.

You look up at her from under your lashes.

“You want it that bad?” she murmurs, voice ragged, “Want to feel me fuck your mouth like I own it?”

You nod, but it’s not enough, so you open your mouth a little wider. Barely part your lips making it feel like a silent invitation.

Her thumb drags over your bottom lip, smearing it with the precum that coated her finger.

“I’ll ruin you,” she whispers. You just smile as a response, eyes gleaming with excitement, “Try me.”

Manon’s hand tightens in your hair—not cruelly, but firm enough to hold you where she wants you. Her other hand wraps around her cock, just beneath the head, the shaft slick with precum that beads and drips.

You can see every inch of her now. She’s thick, flushed dark with need, a vein pulsing along the underside. Her tip is glossy, wet, practically leaking. You’re not sure who’s trembling more; if it’s her or you.

“You really want this?” Manon asks, but there’s no real question in it. Her eyes are already blown wide with hunger. Her chest rises and falls like she’s been holding her breath for hours.

You don’t nod this time; you open your mouth instead. Your tongue out, eyes steadily on hers, and she fucking groans.

“Jesus,” she mutters. Her hips twitch forward like she can’t help it. She guides her cock to your mouth, letting the tip rest on your tongue. She feels heavy against your muscle; salty and most importantly, hot.

You close your lips around it, slowly, teasingly, until your lips meet the fingers she used to hold up her cock to your mouth. Her lashes flutter, “Fuck, you feel good,” Manon breathes, voice cracking.

You start to suck slowly, pulls that make her thighs tense on either side of you. Her hand stays in your hair, guiding but not thrusting.

She watches you, stares right into your eyes, jaw clenched, lips parted. Her lipstick is already smudged from earlier. Her neck glistens with sweat. She looks ruined, feral, like she can’t believe this is real.

You moan around her just to see what it does, and what it does was nothing short of amazing. Manon’s hips jerk forward, forcing more of her cock into your mouth. She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth, “Don’t—fuck—don’t tease.”

But you do; you hollow your cheeks and pull back slowly, tongue dragging along the underside. You swirl it around her tip, tasting the salt and slick, keeping your gaze locked on hers.

“God, you’re filthy,” Manon whispers, more to herself than to you, “Filthy little slut.”

You smile around her cock, and that’s when she breaks.

Her hand tightens in your hair and she starts to fuck your mouth with slow, deep thrusts that make your throat flutter and your jaw ache. Manon doesn’t go too hard, it’s just enough to take control, to feel you struggle a little. She watches every twitch of your face, every flicker of emotion.

You love the way she handles you—like she’s thought about this a thousand times. Like she’s been dying for it.

She pulls out suddenly, strings of spit connecting your lips to her cock, “Open wider,” she says, “Let me see your tongue.”

You obey wordlessly.

Manon strokes herself once, twice, then presses her cock back in—deeper this time, past your tongue, but not your throat. Just where she wants to be.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “That’s it. Right there.”

You let her use your mouth; you let her fuck it. Messy and lewd sounds echo through the room—wet suction, stuttered breathing, the soft slap of skin against skin as her cock slides in and out of your lips. Your mascara’s probably smudged. Your chin is soaked. But all you see is her.

Manon.

Jaw tight, brows furrowed, eyes wild. You reach for her thigh, grip it, dig your nails in as she begins to tremble.

Her breathing quickens, her hand twitches in your hair while her thrusts falter. She’s close, “Fuck,” she hisses, “I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna cum—”

You hold eye contact, pressing your tongue flat… and she does.

Manon groans as she spills hot across your tongue, thick and salty and overwhelming. She doesn’t bury herself in your throat—she stays shallow, watching the way her cum paints your mouth. Her cock pulses against your lips, leaking more with each twitch.

She cups your jaw after, thumb swiping some of the mess, “Don’t swallow,” she murmurs, “Let me see it.”

You tilt your head back, tongue out, mouth full of her, and naturally, Manon moans at the sight. She sounded low and wrecked.

“You’re perfect,” she says, almost in disbelief and in awe.

Manon doesn’t even give you time to swallow; she leans down and kisses you—mouth open, tongue deep, tasting herself on your tongue like she’s starving for it.

Her lips crush against yours, cum sticky between you, slick and warm, smearing across your lips and hers. It drips from your chin. From hers.

You moan into her mouth as she devours you, hips still twitching like she could cum again just from this. She groans when she tastes it.

“Fuck,” Manon breathes between kisses, “I taste so good on you.”

You nod, dazed, drunk on her, and that’s all it takes. She grabs you again, rougher this time, her fingers digging into your scalp as she drags your head back into place.

She steps forward, presses the length of her cock back to your swollen lips, already hardening again, already leaking, “You’re not done,” she says.

And just like that, Manon fucks your mouth again, harder this time, her pace faster than the last round. This time, there was no more gentleness, no more slow teasing—just the wet slap of skin, and the hot, wet choke of your lips around her cock.

Her hand holds your head in place, palm flat against the headrest of the tattoo chair, anchoring you while her hips snap forward; she’s using you now.

Thrusting so deep your nose is buried in the soft fabric of her shirt. The edge of the leather digs into the back of your neck but you take it, every inch, every ragged thrust, every shuddered curse as she drills your mouth like it’s the only hole she wants to own.

Your eyes tear up and your jaw aches, but you don’t stop her. Instead, you look up at Manon—make her see you gagging around her cock, make her feel every twitch of your throat, every desperate inhale around her.

And God, does she watch; Manon’s eyes were wide, ferocious, and a little bit cruel, “You look so fucking good like this,” Manon growls, “Fuck—fuck—your mouth is perfect.”

Her abs tighten and her voice turns guttural, like it’s ripped from her chest.

You feel her cock twitch again—and then she pulls out just in time to slap it across your face, cum still smeared on your lips from earlier, your mouth still open, still begging.

And she just stares, with her chest heaving and her cock twitching. She looks at you like she’s ruined you; like she’s not done yet.

You’re moaning again involuntarily. There’s something about the way it slips out of you that feels… familiar. Not the act, not the setup—just you.

The shape of your pleasure, the cadence of your breath, and the way you hum, even now, with her cock still heavy on your tongue. It shouldn’t feel familiar, yet it does.

It’s in the way your lashes flutter and the tilt of your hips. Perhaps it was the soft whimper you let out when her fingers graze your cheek, her thumb smearing spit and cum across your jaw.

Manon’s blinking through the haze, struggling to ground herself. Her pulse stutters with something more than arousal—it’s recognition, clawing its way through the fog.

“Do you… want me?” she asks suddenly, voice husky, hesitant even. Her gaze drops to your soaked panties, clinging to you like a second skin, then drags back up to your flushed face.

You don’t speak, you simply nod. Manon starts to pull out of your mouth, to line herself up with your slick, needy cunt, but before she can—

You move; you shift your weight, press her back onto the tattoo chair with a soft thud, and climb on top of her.

Her breath immediately catches as she stills beneath you, wide-eyed.

You straddle her hips with aching precision, the leather of the chair creaking softly beneath you both. Her sweatpants are low, cock still slick and hard between you. She’s a mess—shirt bunched up, hair wild, pupils blown out, every muscle trembling with restraint.

You reach between your bodies, guide her cock to your entrance with a confident, practiced ease. Your hand is steady and your lips are parted.

“Wait—” Manon pants, barely audible, “what are you—”

But you’re already slowly sinking down onto her entirely, and Manon breaks. Her jaw goes slack, a soundless moan catching in her throat as you sheath her to the hilt, your cunt warm and devastatingly tight around her. It’s all-consuming—soft heat and steady pressure that makes her vision blur.

You weren’t bouncing; you’re moving—with purpose, hips rolling in a rhythm that feels studied, sensual, and earned.

It isn’t shy, but you weren’t eager-to-please either. Instead, the way you fucked her felt indulgent.

Manon watches you ride her like it’s something you do for yourself, like you’re using her cock as a means to pleasure, not as the prize, and it guts her… because it’s fucking beautiful.

Your pace is hypnotic; the drag of her cock inside you is intense and thorough, the way you clench every time your hips grind down on hers like you know exactly what you’re doing… because you do.

Manon’s arms tremble from where she grips the sides of the chair, eyes darting to where your bodies meet, then back to your face.

She’s spiraling because there’s something about this, about you, that feels too familiar. But it wasn’t your face, and she doesn’t think it’s your voice either, but she wasn’t sure.

It’s the way you fuck. It lives somewhere in her muscle memory. Her hands twitch like they’ve followed this rhythm before. Her spine arches when your walls flutter around her, not because of surprise—but because of recognition.

She watches the way your mouth parts in a breathless moan, still shining with spit and cum. Manon watches the subtle shake in your thighs when your clit brushes her pelvis just right. She watches the way you ride her like you’re chasing something divine.

And that’s when it clicks. Not fully, and not even consciously. But it creeps in the back of her mind like a fever dream—like the soft echo of something she’s watched a hundred times in the dark.

You’re her camgirl. She just doesn’t know it yet—not fully and not with certainty. But her body does. She’s seen this exact sway of hips, heard those exact moans.

They’ve gotten her off before, more than once, more than she’ll ever admit.

It hits her so hard her hips jerk upward, chasing more depth inside you. You gasp—head tipped back, mouth open.

She hears it, feels it, watches the way your body opens up more with every stroke, and she can’t tear her eyes away.

Manon has never seen anyone fuck like you—authentic, wild, and very sure of themselves. You don’t care about impressing her. You don’t care if she moans, or begs, or loses her mind.

You’re just enjoying it.

You reach for her jaw without thinking, palm warm on her flushed cheek.

She leans into it, almost delirious from the sensation. Your thumb swipes her bottom lip, slick from where she’d kissed you messy earlier—tongues tangled, cum smeared across your mouths like a confession.

Manon swears she’s going to die here because she doesn’t know who you are, but somehow, she already does.

She’s close, too close. Her hands are gripping your hips, fingertips digging into your skin like she’s scared you’ll disappear mid-thrust. She’s panting now, sweat beading along her hairline, jaw slack from the way your cunt milks her cock so fucking perfectly—tight and slick and greedier than anything she’s ever known.

You don’t let up, not one bit, you ride her like you mean it. Like you’ve needed this for days and no one else has ever been enough. You’re flushed and stunning, the bounce of your hips measured, and your rhythm lethal. Manon watches you take her all the way in with every drop of slick—her cock disappearing inside you over and over like you’re trying to break her on it.

Then it hits her, Manon’s ragged breath catches in her throat, her body locking up under yours as the orgasm barrels into her, unstoppable. Her thighs twitch and her hips jerk up, trying to meet you one last time, and she cums hard.

It was hot and deep, and most importantly, it was inside you. You feel it almost instantly—the way her cock pulses violently inside your cunt, the first spurt of cum thick and scalding. Then the next. And the next.

Her cum fills you fast, and it drives you mad, your whole body jolts with arousal as you realize she’s cumming in you, as you feel it spill, warm and heavy, the slippery rush of it coating your insides.

It only makes you wetter—makes it easier to ride her, harder, faster, and more shameless. Her cum slicks your walls and you moan, louder this time, desperate, grinding down against her like it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

Because it is. Your pussy swallows her whole, clenching and fluttering around her cock, squeezing out the last drops of her orgasm as you chase your own. You feel the mess between you both, the scandalous squelch of every thrust now amplified, heat and slick and everything that shouldn’t be this good but is.

Manon is wrecked—muttering something incoherent, eyes fluttering, too overstimulated to process the way you’re still moving, still using her cock to get yourself off.

And then your own climax violently tears through you; you were shaking as it felt breathtaking. Your back arches, your mouth parts in a silent cry, and your pussy clamps down on her so hard Manon gasps out your name like a confession. Cum spills again, pushed out around her cock, hot and messy between your thighs as you collapse forward.

Your lips find hers without thinking, still moving even as your body trembles, riding the aftershocks of your orgasm like you refuse to let the high go.

And still—she’s inside you. She’s still hard and twitching. But most importantly, she’s still yours.

You stay like that for a moment; you’re all draped over her, breath stuttering against her collarbone, your chest rising and falling with hers. The room smells like sweat and sex, thick with heat and something more fragile, like the trace of a truth neither of you is ready to speak yet.

Your cunt still pulses faintly around her, oversensitive, stuffed full, your thighs sticky with the mess you both made. You feel every twitch of her still hard cock inside you, still seated deep, and instead of discomfort, it makes you exhale a soft laugh. A real one; breathless and light. It escapes before you can catch it.

Manon stiffens, her brows knit together just slightly, her arms around you loosening—not enough to push you off, but just enough to hesitate. You don’t see her face right away, but you feel the shift.

She’s overthinking, and you can tell by the way her breathing changes, like she’s scanning every beat of silence for mockery. Like she’s waiting to be made fun of. Like some buried shame just wriggled out from beneath the euphoria.

And you hate that for her, so you lean back just enough to look at her, to really look at her, your expression soft. Then slowly, you leaned in to kiss her again—slow this time, your lips plush, parted, and unhurried.

You kiss her like you mean it, like you didn’t just fuck the soul out of each other, but now you want to give something back, and only then was when she exhales.

Manon kisses you back with something like disbelief. She melts under you, hands finding your hips again, not to guide or grip but just to hold, like she needs to remember you’re real.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss, “Looks like I’ll have to reschedule that last tattoo,” you murmur against her mouth, teasing, as if you aren’t still seated on her cock, both of you ruined beyond repair.

She huffs a breath, dazed, “The one near your…”

“Cunt,” you finish for her, eyes glinting with mischief. Manon nods, like she’s forgotten every other word in the dictionary.

You finally sit up, carefully lifting yourself off her with a wince and a quiet gasp, and she watches as her cum leaks out of your pussy; it was thick, creamy, and unmistakable. It pools between your thighs and she’s never been more tempted to pull you back down and start again.

But you’re already moving, reaching for your discarded clothes, for your phone, for your wallet. When you try to pay her, Manon immediately shakes her head, “No. You already paid enough,” she says, voice rough.

You raise an eyebrow, “If anything, I should be the one paying more. You gave me a very generous extra service.”

Her ears flush pink, but she still shakes her head. You don’t push it. You just tuck the bills back into your wallet and say, with a faint smirk, “I’ll pay for the next one.”

She watches you like she wants to believe this isn’t the last time, “As long as it’s you,” she murmurs, “other payment methods are open.”

It’s a joke; half a joke. But it lands somewhere deep between your legs anyway.

You kiss her one last time—on the cheek this time, and it was both gentle and grounding—then pull what seems like her hoodie over your head and walk out the door like you didn’t just rearrange each other’s lives.

You leave smelling like sex and lipstick, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft click. Manon’s still lying on the table, one arm draped over her eyes, her other hand resting on her stomach, where the memory of you lingers like heatstroke. Her cock twitches uselessly, overstimulated and drained.

She doesn’t move for a long time.

Eventually, Manon drags herself up, cleans the studio in a daze, and tells herself it was just a one-time thing. A beautiful anomaly. Something to be kept between stained tattoo chairs and smudged lipstick tubes.

By the time Thursday rolls around, she’s convinced herself of it. She’s evened out, putting the gloves back on, and masked it behind the familiar.

And tonight, like always, she’s alone in her closed shop—lights low, ashtray full, laptop screen casting a soft blue glow across her bare thighs. She’s already got her cock out, hand lazily wrapped around the shaft as she scrolls to find her. The one she never misses.

The camgirl with the whimpers that doesn’t beg for attention. The moans that sound too real. The performance that never feels like one.

And there you are. Live again.

Wearing that sheer black robe you only wear when you’re feeling dangerous. There’s a little delay on the stream, but it’s fine—Manon knows the rhythm. She knows how long you like to tease, how you drag the show out just to make your viewers squirm.

Except tonight is different; there was something Manon would have never anticipated.

Because when you strip slowly and shamelessly, as you pull your panties down and sink to your knees for the camera, you turn your body to the side and that’s when Manon sees it clearly,

Two tattoos.

One on your neck, the other near your breast—both of them hers. Hers in technique, hers in placement, hers in memory. She doesn’t need to squint. She knows the linework, the angle of her kiss, the faint smear of intimacy preserved in ink.

It hits her like a punch to the gut because these aren’t just tattoos—they’re evidence. Proof that the woman she’s been jerking off to for months, obsessing over in dark corners of her mind, is you.

The one who walked into her shop like a fever dream. The one who rode her until she was shaking. The one who asked her soft, teasing, so casually cruel, if she could use her lips as the stencil.

It’s you.

The realization tears through her chest and down to her cock, which stiffens in her grip like it’s reacting to memory alone. She gasps, mouth parted, eyes wide and locked on the screen.

It shook her—the knowledge that she made them, and not just the work, but the way she made the stencil by kissing your skin, staining it with red lipstick and worship. She remembers how your thighs tensed when her mouth met your chest, how you arched into her when she kised a mark just above your underwear.

It was you.

The girl she’d been obsessing over for months. The one she’d never thought she’d actually meet. The one she’s watched with her hand down her pants more times than she can count.

And now, she’s been inside you.

You shift on camera, effortlessly sensual, touching yourself in full view of a faceless audience, but all she sees is the way your back arched when you came on top of her. All she hears is the laugh you gave when you looked down at both of you, wrecked and messy, and told her you’d have to reschedule the third tattoo. The one on your mound.

And now it’s clear you haven’t yet because that space is still bare. But not for long. Because you are coming back. You said so with a kiss. You promised it with your smile.

She blinks at the screen like she’s trying to wake up from a dream, but her body moves on instinct. Her cock pulses in her grip, harder than it’s ever been. Manon moans aloud—deep and hoarse—as her hand tightens even more. She strokes herself faster, the ache turning sharp with knowing. You’re not just a camgirl behind a screen. You’re the girl who made her tremble. The one whose voice she could recognize blindfolded. The one who made her feel.

You’re right there on screen, fingers spreading your slick folds, speaking directly into the camera—but all she can hear is the way you gasped her name in real life. The way your body clenched around her. The way you laughed in her arms like you could stay.

Suddenly, it’s not about the fantasy anymore because as she’s watching you put on a show for everyone else, Manon knows that only she had the pleasure of the truth of that skin. Only she’s kissed it, bitten it, and branded it.

While the thousands watching only get pixels and illusions, Manon gets to remember how you felt when you kissed her slowly, her cum on your tongue. How your cunt milked her cock when you came.

Her hips jerk up from the couch, a groan slipping out sounding loud and broken. She’s cumming hard, cum spurting onto her stomach, her hand, the leather couch. She bites down on her own knuckle to muffle the noise, but it’s too much.

At this point, she doesn’t even care anymore. She keeps watching your livestream as she was panting, and all she can think about is this:

You’re coming back, and she has no fucking idea how she’s supposed to keep it together when you do. Especially now that she feels ruined.

It only gets worse when the stream ends, and she’s left staring at the afterimage of you—tattoos still glistening on your skin. A reminder burned into her; you were never just a fantasy and now she doesn’t know how to go back to pretending.

You shut the stream down with steady hands, heart still thumping under skin that glows with heat and intention.

You saw her name in the viewer list again. No tip this time, not even a chat, but she was there. You can always tell.

Manon doesn’t say much lately—hasn’t, ever since you walked into that studio and left with her mouth stamped across your chest, but her silence is heavier now, like she knows or is starting to spiral into that same dangerous place you’ve already dived headfirst into.

Because you did know right from the beginning. From the voice note she once sent through the site’s overpriced audio message feature—a slow, husky confession of how she’d ruin you on her tattoo chair, how she’d mark you in ways that had nothing to do with ink. You remembered that voice like a secret, kept it tucked between your thighs, and memorized it.

And when you stepped into her shop and she greeted you with that same voice? You knew.

Even before the glove came off, before she kissed your skin and smeared that lipstick over your chest like it was ritual, you knew exactly who she was.

Manon didn’t, and that was the difference.

You let her take you apart, let her whisper in your ear with the same voice that used to echo in the back of your skull after every private stream. You fucked her with the knowledge she didn’t have, and she gave you everything without realizing she’d already given too much.

Now you’re going back, just like you said you would. A few days from now, your appointment confirmed.

The third tattoo—the one you joked about, low and pretty while her cock was still inside you. The one she kissed before you left, her breath shaky, her lipstick smeared, her hands trembling like she didn’t want you to go.

You exhale slowly and stretch out on the bed, the high of the stream still tingling beneath your skin. You wonder what her hands will do this time. You wonder if she’ll know. If she’ll bring it up. If she’ll snap.

You kind of want her to, because it’s not a game anymore. It never really was.

You really want her to snap; that’s what you were thinking about the whole way there.

The walk to the shop; the sound of your heels against the pavement accompanied by the weight of your robe underneath your jacket—no bra and panties. Not for seduction, but for symmetry. You want her to see your skin bare when she marks it. You want her to see what she’s already ruined.

The shop bell rings low when you push the door open. She looks up from behind the desk, and everything in her stills. That’s when you instantly knew; she knows.

Her eyes flash with something sharp—confusion, disbelief, and hunger that curdles into something darker. Manon looks at you like you’re a ghost; like she’s about to be haunted.

You smile, just barely, “Still have time for me?”

Her voice comes out husked and low, “Yeah. Back room.”

The hallway feels quieter this time; the walls and air felt tighter. Manon doesn’t lead you with the same loose confidence she used to, her shoulders are coiled with tension, and she doesn’t look back. Not even once.

You sit on the same chair you fucked her in, and watch her pull on gloves like armor, eyes flicking away from you every chance they get; she’s avoiding it, avoiding you.

That’s fine. You wait until her hand touches your hip, bare skin underneath the robe, because you undressed for this, and that’s when you say it, softly and perhaps even lethally.

“You saw the stream.”

Manon freezes, the words slice straight through her. She doesn’t flinch, but her hand stiffens on your skin. She lifts her gaze slowly, as if dragging it up your body costs her. When her eyes meet yours, there’s something different in them now; perhaps it was shame, or maybe it was recognition. Like all the lines between real and imagined have finally collapsed into something she can’t ignore.

“I did,” she says quietly. Your head tilts, just slightly, like you’re waiting for more. But Manon doesn’t give it to you. She doesn’t know how to; her mouth feels dry and her pulse too loud.

Because yes, she saw it. Manon watched it from the couch in the dark, one hand wrapped around her cock, the other pressed to her chest. She came as she watched you touch yourself—she released from the way you looked at the camera and the sound of your voice. From the marks she left glowing on your skin.

And when you turned, knelt, and spread yourself open, she saw everything—except that final mark. The one you were supposed to come back for, and did.

She pulls the gloves off.

“Giving up already?” you tease, eyebrow arched.

“No,” Manon mutters, voice low, “Just—don’t need ‘em yet.”

Her palms are cold against the edge of the tray, and she grips it tight; anything to ground herself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Manon asks. You don’t even blink, “Would you have let me fuck you if I did?”

Silence. And then, like a knife, “You played me.”

You let out a small laugh, “And you didn’t?”

Manon stiffens.

“I knew your voice, Manon. Months ago. You moaned into my inbox for forty tokens.”

Her stomach turns, “That was—different,” she says, even though it sounds weak. Even though she knows it’s not true.

“Why?” you press, “Because I was a fantasy, and now I’m not?”

“No,” Manon’s voice drops even lower, “Because you’re worse.”

There’s a flicker of something in your smile; it was mean and knowing, “You liked it.”

And fuck—that’s the problem. She did.

Manon liked it too much; liked it enough to lose herself in it. Enough to forget the lines, to fall for a girl whose real name she never even knew.

Her eyes drop, Manon tries not to look at you, but she can’t help it. Your skin is bare, glowing even. You came here like this, for her.

Her cock twitches, unwanted and inevitable. You lean back, robe slipping from your shoulder, “So? Are you gonna do it?”

She breathes deep, moves to grab the lipstick and the cup of distilled water, but her hands are shaking.

“I’m still going to fuck you after this,” you murmur, eyes locked on her, “But this time, I want to hear you begging.”

Manon doesn’t respond, she just uncaps the red lipstick, rolls it out to the edge. Her reflection in the mirror looks like a woman she doesn’t recognize anymore.

She leans forward, just enough to press her lips to your skin. Manon adjusts the machine in her grip, thumb hovering over the power switch, but she hasn’t turned it on yet.

Because suddenly you’re fully naked. You’d dropped the robe just as she finished pressing her lips to your skin. It pooled at the floor like silk giving up.

And now, you’re reclining on her chair—back slightly arched shamelessly, thighs relaxed open, skin warm beneath the overhead light. You’re unapologetically wet and not trying to hide it one bit. The slick glistens faintly where your cunt kisses the leather.

She forces her eyes up to your face, where she’s met with that familiar smirk.

��You sure you want it here?” she asks, voice rough, “This low?”

You hum, “It’s the only place that makes sense.”

Manon bites the inside of her cheek hard. Her lip mark rests just above your mound. If it was moved just a little bit, she’d have to spread you open.

She tries to steady her breath as she dips the needle, lining the gun up to your skin. The hum of the machine fills the room.

But then, your voice cuts through, “I used to finger myself to your voice notes.”

The gun jerks in her hand, just slightly. Not enough to mar the mark, but enough to make her freeze. She looks up at you.

Your eyes are half-lidded, unbothered. Lazy with mischief, “For a while,” you continue, “nothing got me off. I couldn’t even get wet. I kept trying, but I’d just lie there, hand down my panties, bored.”

Manon says nothing; she can’t. Her heart is pounding so hard it deafens her.

“And then you started leaving messages. Telling me everything you’d do to me in that chair,” You glance around, “This chair.”

The tattoo machine is still vibrating in her hand, ink bubbling at the tip.

“I would cum so hard to your voice,” you murmur, “Over and over. I’d play it on loop. You talking about fucking me in your shop, telling me how you’d bend me, how I’d look with your cock in me.”

Manon swallows hard at your filthy words.

“I stared at that pic you sent,” you say. “The one where you were hard, leaking, fingers wrapped around your dick like you were mid-stroke. You’d just finished, hadn’t you? Came for me.”

Manon’s chest rises with a shaky inhale.

You smile, “That’s when I started getting wet again. Every time your username showed up in my viewer list, I got soaked. Had to imagine it was you, that it was you fucking me, not just strangers watching me get off behind a screen.”

The machine finally shuts off.

Her hand drops to her lap, trembling slightly. You haven’t moved. You’re still bare, still watching her like she’s the one on display.

“I didn’t come here to fuck you that day,” you tell her, “That wasn’t the plan.”

Manon’s throat is tight.

“I just wanted your mark permanently. I wanted it so I’d never forget the way you made me feel. How obsessed you were and how good it felt.”

Her jaw clenches.

“But you were the one who fingered me, Manon,” you say, voice soft but firm, “You ate me out like it was the only thing that mattered. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t the camgirl. That was you.”

Silence stretches between you; she can’t even look at you now.

Because she’s hard again. Desperately, stupidly hard. Her baggy jeans feel unbearably tight. Her briefs are sticky with pre-cum. And you’re lying there, completely bare, cunt wet, leaking against the seat she tattoos on like it’s nothing.

She turns the machine back on, if only to distract herself.

The needle meets your skin again. This time, slower. She has to focus harder to keep her hand from trembling. The buzz fills the air, but it can’t drown out your voice.

“Would you ever tattoo me on stream?”

Manon’s hand pauses, and you don’t even wait for her to answer.

“Like this,” you say, “Bare. Spread. Maybe on my inner thighs. So close it’d ache. So your voice gets shaky because you can see how soaked I am.”

Manon’s eyes flutter closed for a moment; she keeps going, keeping the line steady.

Your moan is soft, more breath than sound, “Mmh. You’re hard, aren’t you?”

She doesn’t answer. You let the silence settle, before addressing her, “Can we take a break?”

Her hand stills.

You pout, just a little, “I’m getting shy.”

Manon raises an eyebrow, “Shy?”

“Well,” you say, gesturing down, “I’m naked. You’re not.”

Her brows lift slowly, “You want me to strip.”

“Fair’s fair,” you whisper.

Manon stares at you, her face unreadable, and stillness stretching too long.

Inside, she’s anything but still; her thoughts spiral, messy and uncontainable, already imagining what you’d sound like with her cock in your mouth again, if you’d choke on it or if you’d finally hold the reins and suck her dick in your own terms. She has to admit, she wants to ruin you, slowly. She wants to stretch you open and keep you full; to mark you inside and out. But she stands there, statue-still, letting none of it show.

She tells herself, Don’t fuck this up. But then again, she already did—didn’t she?

Then wordlessly, she sets the machine down. She peels her shirt off first. No grandeur of any kind, it was simply a quiet movement. Then the sports bra, damp at the band. Then her jeans. Then the briefs underneath, sticky with evidence of her arousal.

Her cock springs free, thick and red, already glistening with precum. It curves up against her abs, flushed and needy, framed by muscle and gold beads.

It’s humiliating how hard Manon is. Her balls ache and her stomach is sticky. She wants to thrust into something, anything—wants to bend you over her chair and fuck you so slow you cry from frustration. And yet she pretends to be calm. Pretends she’s not twitching every time you breathe. But you smile like you know. Of course you fucking know.

“Much better,” you murmur.

Manon picks the machine back up, and starts tattooing again.

You stay just as open, just as wet, thighs parted as she inks you. Her knuckles graze your skin with every pass. She doesn’t look at your cunt, but it’s there, dripping, teasing her peripheral vision, begging for her attention. Her cock hangs in the corner of your vision, begging for attention, leaking like it can’t take much more.

But Manon tattoos you like you’re holy, like she didn’t already fuck you senseless, and as if she’s trying not to cum just from the sight of you. Yet somehow, you’re the one trembling.

You watch her work; focused, steady, and dangerously composed. Her brows are drawn, lashes casting shadows against her cheekbones. Manon’s tongue presses to the inside of her cheek as she leans in to trace along the stencil she herself kissed into your skin. Her machine hums softly, low and rhythmic, like the purring threat of something feral barely held back.

Manon is barely holding it back, her jaw is tight from the clench of her teeth, because if she so much as looks up and sees your eyes again—if she looks down and sees the way you’re dripping for her—she might lose it. And she can’t afford that.

Her thick flushed cock bobs slightly with each precise movement, standing rigid against the toned plane of her abdomen. A clear bead of precum glistens at the tip before slipping down the shaft as it was also catching on the taut curve of her abs. Her waist beads don’t budge, stretched gently above the swell of her hips, framing the way her body moves with artful precision.

You stare. You feel. Every shift in the air, every vibration against your skin as she tattoos just above your mound. You laid there with your chest heaving, cunt shamelessly slick against the leather seat where your arousal has made a mess of you, heat pooling, soft folds glistening, and leaking as she works.

She doesn’t comment, doesn’t even let her eyes wander, but you don’t miss the strain in her jaw as well as the slight tremble in her bicep. The way her cock jumps when your breath hitches, when your thighs twitch involuntarily at a tender pass of the needle.

She’s throbbing; Manon can feel the pulse of it up her spine, her brain short-circuits, flashing with images of you riding her. Of pushing her cock into you raw, watching your body take every inch and beg for more.

You’re so close and so fucking bare, and she hasn’t even kissed you again.

And then, finally, she lifts the machine away.

Her body is stiff, and not just her cock. She wants to cum; has wanted to since the second you undressed. But more than that—she wants you to own her, not just to fuck or to finish.

She wants you to imprint yourself into her muscle and memory, until every orgasm she’ll ever have is because of you. Manon swallows it down and wipes her gloves clean.

You blink, dazed. Manon’s quiet, not looking at you, just methodically setting her tool aside, wiping excess ink away with practiced care. Her hand stills over her fresh mark and then she reaches for a small jar.

The ointment goes on in a smooth, clear layer. It’s cool at first, but her gloved fingers are warm and gentle. She spreads it slowly, her palm steady as she protects the skin she just claimed.

You flinch, not from pain but from the intimacy and silence. The way her touch feels too careful, after everything.

Manon doesn’t say anything right away. She screws the lid back onto the ointment jar, wipes her gloves on a towel, then begins to methodically dismantle her machine—unplugging, wiping, coiling cords. She still appears stoic, silent, but most importantly, naked.

“You knew the whole time,” she says, not looking at you. Her voice is steady, like she’s just making an observation, “You came here knowing exactly who I was.”

Her hand pauses briefly over the tray, then resumes.

“I never expected that to happen…” A small, humorless chuckle under her breath, “But what I never imagined is that you’d hide yourself from me.”

Her words sting. Not in the way she says them, but in the way they don’t ask for anything. She’s not begging for answers. She’s laying them down like tattoos—lines you can’t erase.

You sit up slowly, legs still parted, skin still warm from her touch. The room’s too quiet, too charged, and somehow too tender.

“Is it done?” you ask, voice barely above a murmur.

“Yeah,” Manon says, without turning around.

A beat passes.

“You’re still hard.”

Another.

“You’re still wet.”

That finally draws her back to you, her eyes meeting yours—red-ringed and low-lidded. Her jaw is tight while her cock still leaks against her stomach, thick and flushed and aching.

And even now, she doesn’t move; she just watches you, eyes flicking between your face and your thighs, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your ruin.

You shift, slowly from where you’re laid open on the tattoo chair, you push yourself upright, legs drawing together, before swinging them to the side—bare thighs brushing against leather, feet not quite touching the floor.

Manon watches you, unmoving. You reach for her wrist.

She doesn’t resist when you grab her hand and pull—hard—dragging her close, between your parted legs. Your grip is tight. Her body jolts forward with the motion, chest brushing your knees. Her cock presses against your skin, hot and slick, leaving a streak of precum against it.

Your eyes are dark on hers; they looked unreadable, unsatisfied even. Then you drop your gaze and grab her cock.

She exhales sharply through her nose, jaw clenching, but she still doesn’t stop you.

You lick a slow and steady line from the base of her balls up to her leaking tip, tasting her for the first time today—salty, bitter, already warm from how long she’s been dripping for you. You feel her twitch against your tongue.

Without wasting anymore time, you suck her in. Not teasingly; you take her whole.

Her hips stutter as the head of her cock hits the back of your throat. Your nose presses into the gold beads kissing her pelvis. Her thighs go rigid under your hands.

Still, she doesn’t move—doesn’t thrust into your mouth, but her hand flies to your head. It’s not there to guide, not to fuck—just to keep you there. Her palm spreads over your scalp, long fingers curling through your hair like she’s anchoring herself, like she might cum if she lets go.

You hold her in your throat, breathing through your nose. You feel her pulse against your tongue, her cock is thick and heavy, stretching you wide, but your moan is feral.

You pull back slowly, lips dragging, spit catching, until only her flushed tip is between your lips—connected by a thread of saliva and precum that breaks when you inhale and take her again.

You bob your head now, rhythm building, not for her pleasure but for yours. You like the weight of her; the tension she holds. How she doesn’t dare speak and lets you set the pace. You chase the sensation, and every time she twitches, every time her thighs tense or her breath catches in a stuttered grunt, it makes you wetter.

You want to ruin her, and Manon lets you. She can’t even take her eyes off you.

The way your mouth moves. The shape of your lips stretched wide, tongue greedy, spit coating her length as you take her deeper, again and again.

Your throat clenches around her, and fuck, it’s so good she jerks forward without meaning to. A shallow thrust, her hips twitching from instinct, the need to feel more of your warmth, your wetness, and your ruin.

Manon swears under her breath, eyes fluttering shut, as she tries to still herself. But you moan again, that sound, and her control cracks all over again.

Another thrust, then another, and you don’t flinch. You take her like you were made for it, like you want her to lose control. You’re too good at this and it’s driving her mad.

Manon is soaked in heat, beads of sweat dripping down the hard lines of her abs, catching in the string of beads hugging her waist. Her cock is flushed, slick, too close. Every time her balls hit your chin, she feels her release coil at the base of her spine. She doesn’t want to waste it.

So she pulls out, a ragged breath leaves her. Manon looks at you, curls messy, mouth red and spit-slick, a string of precum and saliva connecting your lips to her tip.

She needs to move.

Wordlessly, she grabs you by the waist and lifts—pulling you off the tattoo chair and toward the leather couch in the corner. The one she always collapses onto Thursday nights after closing. The one she’s ruined with fantasies of you. The one she’s imagined this exact moment on, over and over, until her knuckles were white and her thighs shook.

She doesn’t speak, simply positioning you with a silent urgency. You end up laid back along the cushion, legs hooked over the backrest, head hanging just off the edge of the couch—exposed, upside-down, waiting.

Manon stands in front of you, her cock hovers over your lips, thick and twitching, and finally, she pushes in.

She groaned loudly, it sounded nothing short of real and deep in her chest—because the angle is perfect. She can see everything. She can feel everything. Your throat clenches around her cock just right, and her balls slap rhythmically against your face with every thrust.

Manon braces one hand against the couch. The other grips your jaw, firm but not cruel, just grounding herself.

She fucks your mouth in slow and steady thrusts, long and deep, her eyes glued to the sight of her cock disappearing into your throat, again and again, watching your lips wrap tight around her base.

She’s getting closer and closer to her release but she needs more of you, so Manon pulls out, panting, tip flushed purple and twitching. Precum drips from her cock onto your neck.

She drops to her knees.

Gently, she guides your legs off the backrest, repositioning you so you’re sitting upright on the couch now, your thighs parted. She doesn’t say a word. Just leans in—pressing kisses to your inner thigh, soft at first, as if she’s worshipping your body.

Then her mouth is on your cunt, and she moans as soon as she tastes you. And you—god—you react like you’ve been waiting for this, like this is what it was all building toward.

You grab her by the hair and pull, not guiding—demanding. You roll your hips, grinding against her tongue, fucking her face like she did your throat.

Manon lets you use her for your pleasure. Her hands grip your thighs, anchoring you to her mouth, her tongue licking deep, her nose buried against your clit. She doesn’t fight the pressure and doesn’t resist when you thrust against her, again and again.

You use her solely for yourself and she lets you do whatever the fuck you wanted willingly.

Because she’s been dreaming of this, needing this, since the first time she saw you move on camera, low-res and filtered in blue light, untouchable. But now you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re wet on her tongue and holding her head like you’ll die if she stops.

And Manon, who's famous for being aloof, distant, impossible to shake, fell to her knees and let you ride her mouth like she was made for it.

Because maybe she was.

You moan as you move against Manon’s mouth and she doesn’t stop devouring you. Her tongue relentless, lips soaked, her face buried between your thighs like she needs you to breathe. Her nose nudges your clit with every stroke of her tongue, and the taste of you, raw and slick and overwhelming, has her groaning against your cunt like you’re the only thing that’s ever made her feel real.

You’re grinding against her mouth hard, hips twitching, trying to pull away, too sensitive, but Manon won’t let you. Her hands hook under your thighs, pinning you open, dragging you closer until she’s drowning in it, until her whole face is coated in your release.

When you finally cum, it’s loud and sudden. A sharp cry pierces through the rather quiet room aside from the lapping sounds of Manon’s tongue, your body shudders beneath her.

And she takes it, letting your cum spill onto her tongue, her chin, her flushed cheeks. You gasp for breath, legs trembling, body limp, but she doesn’t move.

Manon just leans in and kisses your thighs, slow now, almost gentle. She licks the slick off her lips like it’s honey. Then she leaves marks—soft, blooming hickeys pressed into your inner thigh, one after the other, like a quiet promise.

When she finally pulls back, her mouth is red and shiny, her eyes almost gone with lust. Manon wipes her face on the back of her hand and leans in closer, resting her forehead against yours.

“You okay?” she murmurs, voice hoarse, low. You nod in response, then wordlessly, you pull her in.

She doesn’t even hesitate.

Manon lifts your hips with practiced ease, settling between your legs, one hand braced on the couch cushion, the other stroking down your side—carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, even now, even as her cock rubs against your soaked folds.

She lines herself up, her tip teases your entrance, wet and ready and still twitching from earlier. She looks down at you, “You ready for me?” Manon whispers.

You grab her ass, pulling her in. The first thrust knocks the breath out of both of you.

Manon sinks in slowly, inch by inch, fighting every urge to slam, to take, to lose herself. She watches your face as she bottoms out, her abs tight, her breath ragged.

You moan, eyes fluttering shut, and just then, Manon loses it. Her hips started to move, her pace wasn’t reckless but her thrusts were deep. Every stroke is angled just right, and you meet her thrust for thrust, your hips snapping up to meet hers, each collision raw and wet and loud.

Manon’s hands grip your waist tight, but not tight enough to hurt. She’s careful, always—never once brushing your tattoo, like some part of her is still mindful even when she’s fucking you this hard.

And then she starts talking; it was low at first—words pressed against your throat, your cheek, your collarbone between kisses.

“I think about you every week,” A thrust.

“Every time you go live, I have to close the shop early,” Another thrust—deeper.

“I’ve cum on this couch more times than I can count thinking about you.”

You whimper at her words, urging her to keep going, “And now you’re here—taking me like this.”

Her voice cracks a little; she sounds gone.

“Fuck—you don’t fake it. You never perform for them. I see it. That’s why I can’t stop watching. That’s why I wanted you,” you clench around her, moaning her name.

“You take what you want,” she breathes, speeding up, “You look at me like you already know I’m yours.”

Manon’s fingers trail down to circle your clit, rubbing tight little circles in time with her thrusts. Her cock is hitting deep, hard, but not careless.

“I want you to cum again,” Manon growls, “I want to feel you lose it on my cock. Can you do that for me, baby?”

You nod, broken and breathless. Your hips buck up again, chasing the rhythm.

“Good girl,” she murmurs, kissing your jaw, your throat, the corner of your mouth, “Take it—just like that. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.”

She feels you clench around her again and groans, hips stuttering.

“Cum for me.”

And just as she said it, you do.

Manon feels your cunt flutter around her, sucking her cock in, still trembling from your orgasm—and you’re not even down from it yet when you start begging.

“Please,” you pant, “Inside, Manon—please, I want it—want you to cum inside me, don’t pull out, don’t—”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide, struck dumb for a moment.

You weren’t saying it to please her. You weren’t begging for the effect of it. You meant it; you wanted it, wanted her, wanted the mess and the stretch and the heat of her.

Your hands claw at her back, dragging her down, and you kiss her like you’re about to swallow her whole. Open-mouthed and desperate, your hips still moving, grinding into her cock as she stays buried deep, barely able to keep her rhythm together.

Manon moans into your mouth, choked and shaky. Her whole body’s trembling, “Fuck,” she gasps, nose brushing yours, her breath hot against your cheek, “You want that?”

“Yes,” you groan, “want to feel it, feel you—all of it. Want it inside, Manon—please—”

“Shit—baby—”

Manon loses it.

Her rhythm falters, but her hips don’t stop. She’s thrusting harder now, rougher, her pelvis grinding into your clit every time she drives forward. She watches your face twist with pleasure, and it just breaks her.

Her voice is hoarse, fucked-out, “Gonna fill you up,” Manon pants, “Gonna make you feel everything—I want it so deep you taste it in your throat—fuck—”

You cry out, clawing at her ass to pull her even closer, “Do it—Manon, please—”

Just then she’s cumming hard. She slams in and stays there, hips jerking in tiny spasms as she shoots inside you, pulsing deep within your cunt, her cock twitching as she empties herself with a broken moan.

But she doesn’t stop; even while cumming, she keeps thrusting, fucking her cum into you, like she’s trying to make sure none of it leaks out, her pelvis grinding, dragging more slick sounds from your soaked core.

Manon’s cum is dripping, but she just pushes deeper.

You gasp, grabbing her face, pulling her into a sloppy, feral kiss, all open mouths and wet tongues. Her moans spill into you, hot and helpless, your lips slipping, teeth clashing, breath tangled between whimpers.

“More,” you whisper between kisses, “Don’t stop—more—”

Manon groans, drunk on it, on you, on the way your body won’t let her go.

You’re still moving under her, matching her desperate rhythm with your own, obsessed. Like you want to crawl inside her skin and stay there—like this is the only way you’ll ever feel right again.

Manon cups the back of your head and stays inside, every inch, hips still rolling, deep and slow now, working her cum into you like a promise.

“Fuck,” she whispers, forehead to yours, “I could do this forever.”

You smile—wrecked and breathless, “Then do it.”

And she does; not just in sex.

It’s quiet, finally, except for the sound of your breathing.

Manon’s still inside you, but she’s not moving anymore, she’s just holding you close, your legs cradled around her waist, your chest against hers. Her forehead rests against your collarbone, her curls damp with sweat and sticking to her cheeks.

Your hand is in her hair, fingertips gently scratching at her scalp like you’re trying to soothe her and yourself at the same time.

Neither of you say anything yet, but at the same time, there’s no need. Not when the air still feels charged and your bodies are so completely tangled it’s impossible to know where one ends and the other begins.

And yet—when she finally does move, it’s to pull out carefully, her hands sliding down to hold your thighs as she presses a lingering kiss to your inner knee, then another just above the inked skin. She doesn’t speak yet, only disappears for a moment to clean you up, warm towel in hand, gentle like you’re made of glass.

When she returns, you’ve pulled your robe halfway on but you haven’t wrapped it around you yet. She drops the towel to the side and sinks to her knees in front of you.

And Manon stays there naked, sweaty, spent, and most importantly, worshipful.

Your legs spread naturally for her, one draped over her shoulder now, just to keep her close. Her hands find your waist like they were meant to live there.

“I always watch you on Thursdays,” Manon murmurs, voice raw but soft, “After my appointments. Right here.”

You don’t tease; you just nod once, like you already knew.

Her thumb draws a slow line over your stomach, where the warmth of her release still lingers inside you. Her voice falters for a second, but then steadies.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says, “Not like this. I was obsessed, and I didn’t know what I was going to do when I found out who you were. But then you showed up in real life, and you were… more. So much more. And I couldn’t just stay away.”

You say nothing, you simply reach forward, cradling her jaw like she’s something delicate. Manon leans into your touch.

“I didn’t want to be just another one of them,” Manon admits, “Another client. Another viewer. I didn’t want you to think I was just… jerking off to the fantasy, because I wasn’t. I mean—I was. But that’s not what kept me coming back.”

You slowly flash her a gentle smile, “What was it, then?”

Manon laughs softly, embarrassed. Her head dips, “You,” she says simply, “The way you don’t fake it. The way you take what you want. How you move like you don’t care who’s watching—but you do. You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re not afraid of being seen. I guess I… I loved that. I love that.”

Your fingers curl into her curls again, “You love me?” you ask.

Her eyes lift to yours—so unguarded now, nothing like the cocky, collected tattoo artist from earlier; just Manon, just yours.

“I do.”

There wasn't any fanfare nor fireworks, it was just that soft, steady honesty that lands deep in your chest and anchors something inside you.

And then your voice, just as sure, “Then choose me.”

“I already did.”

You lean in, kiss her, slow this time. A kiss made of yeses. Her arms wrap around your waist as she pulls herself up onto the couch beside you, your legs still tangled, and you lie like that for a while—two bodies, one rhythm.

Without wearing any masks, not performing for a show; but settling only with the truth.

Eventually, she pulls the throw blanket over your bodies. You’re still naked, still a mess, but neither of you care.

Her fingers trail absentmindedly over your stomach.

“So,” you whisper, “Thursday nights?”

She groans, “Don’t start,” but she’s grinning against your skin. And in her eyes, there’s no shame—no signs of pretending. Just a future that will be shared by the two of you.

You don’t know where both of you are headed, but you know this, you’re not letting go and neither is she.

Forever starts quietly, sometimes.

Just like this.

903 notes · View notes

ssivinee · 1 month ago

Text

「 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.

682 notes · View notes

whyvaine · 20 days ago

Note

Heyyy could I request gamer/streamer Megan trying to impress fem reader? I think it’d be funny lol, thank youu!

don’t clip that chat!!— megan skiendiel

⌖ pairing: streamer! megan x reader

⌖ synopsis: megan’s a confident streamer until her crush y/n shows up. now she can’t aim, can’t speak, and chat’s clipping everything

megan was cool.

well. at least online.

to her chat, she was rizzgan: twitch partner, semi pro aim demon, and full-time menace. she was fast-talking, quick-clicking, and somehow always got away with saying the most messed up things on stream. people loved her for it. she was chaotic but in a charming, “please post more tiktoks of this” kind of way.

but all of that fell apart the moment y/n showed up.

it was supposed to be a normal stream. a chill 4 hour ranked session with her usual trio. megan had even done her eyeliner that day. her setup was glowing, the music was on, and everything was fine

until her mod dm’d her:

“yo. y/n’s in chat 😭”

megan blinked.

froze.

no.

no no no no

and then she saw it, glowing in her chat feed like it was sent straight from hell.

y/n: hey meg :)

she didn’t even get the chance to respond before she got headshotted on stream. her character’s body dropped dramatically.

“NOOOO okay, no, that didn’t count, i got distracted!” megan protested, half laughing, half freaking out, trying to recover. her voice cracked.

“by what? the wall you were staring at?” yoonchae teased in her headset.

her mouse slammed down on the mute key.

chat, predictably, was already exploding.

y/n sent one message and you DIED??

that’s wild she folded IMMEDIATELY

don’t fold now queen 😭😭😭

SOMEONE CLIP THAT

“don’t clip that chat,” megan grumbled, pulling her hoodie up to cover her face. “actually no one clip anything for the rest of the stream. everything from now on is off limits. illegal. banned.”

someone clipped it anyway.

—————————————————————————

the next few rounds were worse.

megan, usually sharp and reactive, was suddenly off.

her aim was terrible. her timing was off. she threw a flashbang at herself twice. twice.

y/n sent another message:

that was a cool move :) didn’t know people flashbang themselves like that haha

and megan just leaned back in her chair, covered her face, and dramatically whispered, “i can’t do this.”

chat was screaming.

—————————————————————————

that should’ve been the end of it.

it wasn’t.

the next day, y/n showed up in person.

“thought i’d come hang while you streamed,” she said casually, smiling like she wasn’t megan’s #1 weakness, holding two iced coffees and wearing megan’s merch hoodie.

megan short circuited.

“yeah uh cool, that’s cool,” she said, definitely not panicking. “yeah just uhm sit wherever.”

y/n sat behind her gaming chair. close. too close. megan could feel the warmth of her presence and the smell of her shampoo and it was absolutely ruining her.

she fumbled every match that stream.

“you good, meg?” her teammate asked halfway through. “you’re, like, walking into the walls.”

“yeah!” she said, too quickly. “i’m great. totally fine. never been more fine in my life.”

“y/n,” yoonchae said, voice suspicious in comms, “are you there in person?”

megan slammed the mute button so hard her mic cracked.

—————————————————————————

her downfall peaked when y/n leaned forward resting her chin lightly on megan’s shoulder and whispered, “how do you revive again?”

megan froze mid game. her character stood perfectly still in an open hallway.

“uh. it’s E,” she said.

“thanks,” y/n replied sweetly.

and megan, completely overwhelmed, accidentally alt-tabbed out of the game.

chat lost it.

clips were already being made with titles like:

megan gets distracted by pretty girl and forgets how computers work

she’s so gone for her 😭

—————————————————————————

after stream, megan collapsed on her bed dramatically.

“i can never stream again,” she muttered into her pillow. “i’m retiring. i’m done. my legacy ends here.”

y/n sat cross legged at the edge of the bed, sipping her drink. “you were cute.”

megan lifted her head like a zombie. “what?”

“when you got all flustered. and muting every five seconds. and flashing yourself. very cute,” y/n said casually, with a tiny smile. “i’m surprised chat didn’t ship us harder.”

megan stared at her.

y/n tilted her head. “what?”

“do you like me?” megan blurted.

y/n blinked, then laughed. “i thought that was obvious.”

it wasn’t.

it really wasn’t.

megan looked like someone had unplugged her entire soul.

“oh my god,” she whispered. “this whole time i’ve been trying to impress you and i looked like a clown”

“a cute clown,” y/n offered.

megan buried her face in her hands again. “don’t clip this either.”

—————————————————————————

chat the next day was a war zone.

WAIT YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER NOW???

we’ve been shipping this for MONTHS

she rizzed y/n by FLASHBANGING HERSELF TWICE I’M SCREAMING

her name is rizzgan after all😭

and megan, wearing the exact same hoodie y/n had on the day before, just smiled into her mic.

“don’t clip that chat.”

—————————————————————————

700 notes · View notes

charlvr · 27 days ago

Text

- simply incompatible | opposites attract

Pairing. Manon Bannerman x Reader

w.c. 7.0 k

Katseye's new music video director is Hollywood’s golden girl: polished, polite, and absolutely unbearable. Too bad she’s also stupidly attractive, unreasonably talented, and immune to Manon’s charm. It’s fine though, Manon’s not catching feelings. She’s just catching… creative differences.

The floor of the van buzzed faintly beneath her feet, but Manon barely felt it. Her fingers tapped against her knee in time with a rhythm only she could hear. Outside, the city blurred by in streaks of neon: old storefronts, impatient traffic, the occasional fan with a poster held high, waiting for a glimpse of their idols. But Manon wasn’t looking.

Her mind was on the comeback.

Katseye’s second EP was everything they had fought for. Bigger budget. Sharper choreo. Real momentum. And for once, people were starting to see her, not just as a pretty face or a producer’s plant, but as someone who belonged. Someone who earned their spot.

But a moment in the spotlight didn’t guarantee anything. Not in this industry. And Manon knew better than to let herself get comfortable.

A tap on her shoulder snapped her out of it.

"Hey, where’d you go?" A voice cut through the haze. Manon blinked, pulled abruptly back into the van. She turned to catch Daniela watching her closely, brows knit with concern. "You okay?”

Realizing she’d drifted off mid-conversation, Manon straightened, twisting the rings on her finger, if only to have something to do. “Oh sorry,” she apologized, though the word escaped with a sheepish laugh. She gave a quick shake of her head, clearing away the remnants of her wandering thoughts, hoping that it didn’t show, "I was…nowhere. What were you saying?"

Daniela didn’t press, just rolled her eyes in that way that meant she absolutely knew something was wrong but was choosing to let it slide, anyway, “Our new music video director. Y/N L/N? Have you heard of her?”

Manon paused.

Daniela gave her a small, knowing smile. And why wouldn’t she.

It was the Y/N L/N.

Hollywood’s buzzword of the year. Rising indie darling turned box office favorite turned walking press cycle. Though calling her “rising” felt almost disingenuous when in just two years, she had built the kind of career most spent a decade chasing.

Manon’s stomach turned inexplicably. She hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, the delay barely noticeable even to herself, before shifting in place.

Yeah,” Sophia said from the row ahead, twisting around with one arm slung over the seat. She carried with her that natural sort of disappointment that told Manon she probably zoned out on an important debrief, “You missed, like, half the conversation.”

Lara snickered from across the aisle but dropped her gaze at Sophia’s pointed glance, no doubt having not paid attention either, suddenly very interested in the seam of her sleeve.

“Oops. My bad,” Manon offered, though the grin tugging at her mouth said otherwise. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting her head tilt lazily against the seat. “But Y/N’s an actress. What do you mean by the director of our music video?”

Daniela shot her a look that said we explained that too, but let Sophia answer anyway.

“Rumor is she’s branching out,” Sophia explained, with the kind of shrug that tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. “New chapter. Wants to prove she has range.”

Manon’s brow creased. “New chapter? Didn’t she just start acting.”

Another shrug. “Probably testing the waters before she gets stuck doing romcoms with Hollywood’s white men of the month.”

Manon let out a sigh, long and far too weary for the situation. “And we get the honor of being her test run. Great.”

The words came out sharper than she meant. The thought of being someone’s pet project — for sale, replaceable — turned her stomach.

If Sophia noticed, she didn’t say. “Basically. I think our team just wanted her name attached.”

"Can’t blame them, though." Megan chimed in, snapping her gum as she stretched her legs into the aisle, “With all the press around Y/N lately, this could be great exposure for us.”

Manon made a face. “Heard she was a bitch. Didn’t she almost get canceled last year for being difficult on set?”

Daniela nudged her sharply with an elbow. “Language. Yoonchae’s right there.”

Beside her, Yoonchae raised her hand. “I heard she was nice?”

“Yoonchae,” Sophia sighed, “you know you don’t have to raise your hand to speak, right?”

Yoonchae gave a sheepish smile.

“I don’t think Manon is entirely wrong though,” Megan said, glancing up from her phone. “I heard Y/N’s not a total nightmare, but... intense? Crew members say she only talks when she has to. Very professional. Which the media now translates to entitled.”

Daniela rolled her eyes. “God forbid a woman takes her job seriously.”

“God forbid she talks to her crew like humans,” Manon muttered back.

Sophia arched a brow, unimpressed, “You don’t even know this woman.”

“That’s why I’m only muttering,” Manon replied, “I’m reserving the right to be wrong.”

Sophia opened her mouth like she wanted to challenge that logic, but stopped herself, “Well, Y/N L/N is good at her job,” she said instead. “Yoonchae and I watched her newest movie last month. We both cried in the first twenty minutes.”

“I did not cry,” Yoonchae protested.

"I saw tears."

“I had allergies.”

“In December?”

“Well, she can be whatever the hell she wants,” Lara cut in, suddenly very interested. “Because she is so damn fine.” She tilted her screen toward the rest of the group.

Manon leaned in to look at the Instagram page. “You… pulled that up way too fast.” It wasn’t an accusation, exactly, but it might as well have been.

Lara grinned, unapologetic. “What? I like looking at pretty people.”

“And you followed her already?” Manon squinted at the screen, spotting the telltale icon.

The other girl’s smile widened, "I like to move fast.”

Sophia’s brows furrowed, a new thought forming in real time. "Wait—did the team even clear that follow? It hasn’t been announced yet that Y/N’s working with us. The Eyekons might start putting pieces together."

Lara only waved her off, slipping her phone back into her bag like it wasn’t a ticking PR nightmare. “Please. Knowing them, they’ll just assume I’m flirting.”

She paused. "Which I am."

The van dissolved into laughter, but Manon couldn’t stop her smile from fading just a little as she looked out the window:

The studio building loomed ahead.

Same place. Same group. But somehow, everything looked sharper. The lights glared a little brighter. The sets loomed a little taller. And from the way all the other girls fell quiet as they stepped out, Manon could tell she wasn’t the only one feeling it now.

—

Inside, a staff member was already waiting. The group barely had time to compose themselves before they were ushered through a maze of cordoned hallways, the kind that felt deliberately out of sight, until they reached a tucked-away meeting room just off the main wing.

It wasn’t anything glamorous: just a folding table, half a dozen mismatched chairs, and someone’s leftover iced coffee sweating on the windowsill. Someone from Y/N’s team greeted them almost immediately. He was tall, overdressed, and already mid-apology before the door fully closed behind them.

“So sorry for the delay.” The words tumbled out in a flurry, so rushed they were nearly unintelligible. “Miss L/N is finishing up a press event downtown, there were some issues with security, but she’s on her way now. Traffic is a nightmare, though, so we thank you all for your understanding. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make all of you more comfortable. Anything—seriously.”

He offered a smile, but it barely held. It wavered at the edges, more a grimace than reassurance.

Manon exchanged a quiet glance with Lara, half amusement, half concern. Someone stifled a laugh, probably Megan, but no one uttered another word. They didn’t have to. The man looked like he might unravel if they did.

Sophia stepped forward, “It’s fine. Don’t worry, we understand.”

Manon was feeling less generous.

“Off to a strong start for our new director,” she murmured, just loud enough for Daniela to hear.

The other girl bumped her shoulder, “Be nice. We still haven’t met her, yet.”

Manon nodded, “You’re right, it could get worse.”

That earned her a smile as the two shared a knowing look, a grin flickering between them. Behind them, Megan began helping herself to whatever snacks had been left out, while Lara scrolled her phone with the kind of practiced disinterest that took actual effort.

Manon let her gaze drift back to the man in the suit, still nervously checking the time, still smoothing down his sleeves like they might wrinkle spontaneously. The stack of folders in his arms shifted as he fiddled with the peeling corner of a nametag, then glanced at his phone. Then the door. Then his phone again.

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of woman it took to make someone that tightly wound. He wasn’t even the one who was late, and yet here he was, sweating and apologizing on Y/N’s behalf like his entire job depended on it.

And maybe it did.

When it came to Y/N L/N, the press could never seem to quite agree. Brilliant, sure. Talented, obviously. But there were other words too depending on the day and the headline. Cold. Difficult. Impossible to read. The kind of reputation that might’ve been sexist if it didn’t come with just enough anonymous quotes to back it up.

Manon might not have known her, not really. But if Y/N was the kind of person who had her staff this jumpy before even walking into a room?

Well. Maybe the rumors weren’t completely off.

As if on cue, the door opened and a still breeze of press-ready perfection swept in.

Y/N L/N entered like she didn’t notice the room at all. Press-fit blazer, hair sleek, a small gold pin clipped to her collar. Deliberate, expensive, and wholly unnecessary. She looked every bit the headline: elegance first, humanity second. Her apology was leaving her lips before she’d even fully stepped inside.

“Hi, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting,” she said, stepping in with a crisp bow. “There was a delay downtown, and then the security here, and—anyway, thank you for your time.”

Her voice was smooth, measured in the way people learn after one too many scandals. She looked at each of them as she spoke, eyes moving down the line of Katseye like she was trying to make up for lost time. And it worked, sort of. The apology sounded genuine enough. But her smile didn’t stick. It felt rehearsed. Staged. Like a scene she was re-enacting, not a reflection of her intentions.

Manon twisted the ring on her finger, hard.

Or maybe not. Maybe Manon was being entirely too critical of someone she didn’t even know. People had said worse about her too, once. Perhaps, Y/N deserved more grace.

Lara leaned in, “Wow. She’s even prettier in real life.”

That shook Manon out of it, “Of course that’s all you’d have to say.” She sighed.

The other girl grinned, “What? She is, though.”

And for a second, Manon didn’t argue, just snuck a glance at Y/N. “Doesn't it matter to you that she's insultingly late to our first meeting?”

Lara shrugged. “Hot people get away with more.”

Manon didn’t have a response for that.

Y/N continued with her introduction, now moving down the line. “It’s really nice to meet you all,” she said, pausing in front of each girl. Making sure to shake their hands. “Sophia, right? Yoonchae? And Megan? Lara—love your recent shoot, by the way. Daniela?”

She paused slightly before each name, like she’d memorized them just that morning. Manon tried not to read too much into it, just patiently adjusted the smile on her face into something more agreeable.

And then—

Nothing.

Y/N moved right past Manon without so much as a glance.

And for a moment, she just blinked, watching Y/N cross to the table where her agent was already pulling out papers and talking logistics. She thought to herself that maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe Y/N had just missed her. Maybe—

Manon folded her arms, mouth pulling tight at the corners. She knew better than to believe in coincidences like that.

No. That felt strangely deliberate.

Forget the benefit of the doubt. It seem her and Y/N wouldn't get along after all.

—

Back at the house, the group’s usual post-schedule haze had set in: shoes kicked off, water bottles scattered across the floor, someone’s laptop playing muted K-dramas in the background. It was familiar and easy, the kind of comfort you only earn after months of shared dressing rooms and overnight rehearsals.

Manon was stretched across the couch, a bowl of cereal balanced on her stomach, half-watching the screen and half-scrolling her phone when Sophia wandered in.

“So,” Sophia said, dropping into the armchair across from her. “That went well.”

Manon snorted. “Sure. If you ignore the part where Y/N pretended not to know our names. Oh! Or when she completely skipped mine.”

From the kitchen, Daniela looked up, “Maybe she was just nervous.”

“Well she’s supposedly a movie star,” Manon replied, “Shouldn’t she be better at pretending?”

Yoonchae piped up from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, fingers busy with a half-finished bracelet looped over her knee. Lara sat behind her with a slightly less impressive bracelet, “She seemed nice.”

“She seemed polite,” Manon corrected, tapping her spoon against the edge of the bowl. “There’s a difference.”

“Okay,” Megan called from the hallway, half muffled by distance “How do you already have a grudge? We’ve known her for, like, half an hour.”

Manon sat up, a little too fast, the bowl in her lap wobbled dangerously “I don’t have a grudge.”

Daniela laughed, bumping the cabinet door shut with her hip. “You absolutely do have a grudge.”

“I just…” Manon hesitated, brow furrowing like the memory physically pained her. She looked toward the blank TV screen, then away again. She couldn’t explain it herself, not really. But that wouldn’t stop her from trying. “She rubs me the wrong way.”

Lara raised an eyebrow, clearly fighting the urge to make a joke, then dropped her gaze back to her thread.

Sophia let out a dry cough, “Because she forgot one name? Or because she’s serious about her job?”

“Because she’s acting like she’s too good for this one.”

That landed harder than intended.

Megan reappeared in the doorway, as if summoned, “That’s not what I saw. Honestly, she looked like she was just doing her best.”

A short silence settled over the room. Not heavy, exactly. Just... full.

Manon glanced around, meeting the eyes of each of her friends, and realized this was a battle she wouldn’t win. Not when anything else she said would only make her sound petty. She sighed and finished the rest of her cereal with one exaggerated crunch. "Whatever. She’s our director, so I guess I’ll play nice."

Sophia gave her a long, suspicious look.

“As long as she does too,” She almost forgot to add.

Sophia only exhaled, like she’d been expecting it all along, “It might just be you in this grudge.”

Manon stirred the last bits of cereal in her bowl and decided she couldn’t hear anything over the clink of her spoon.

—

It was barely past ten when they were called back to the studio for a production meeting.

Though “meeting” was generous. It was more of a creative session. Loosely defined. Costumes were still in flux, set design barely approved, but someone in production had clearly decided it was time to get everyone in the same room, pass around some coffee, and start pretending things were under control.

Manon wasn’t expecting anything special. Maybe another round of awkward greetings, a schedule rundown, a stiff apology from Y/N if she even bothered to show.

She definitely hadn’t expected Y/N to be there before them. Already deep in conversation with a lighting director, speaking in hushed, focused tones.

She wasn’t in her press-fit blazer, anymore. No perfect collar, no polished sheen of Hollywood. Just a fitted black sweater, slouchy at the wrists, and her hair pulled back, two strands falling artfully loose around her face. Too casual to be accidental. She stood beside the folding table where the production boards were laid out, flipping through notes with one hand and sipping something iced with the other. No entourage. No makeup team. Just her.

And yet, somehow, she looked even more curated. Like she had checked this outfit twice before leaving the house, then once more at the door. She’d traded her red carpet armor for something softer, but it only made her seem sharper. More untouchable.

It was impressive, if not weirdly unsettling.

"Y/N!" Megan called out, waving as the group shuffled in.

Y/N startled, just a half-second delay, a flicker of recognition before she smiled. Polite. Practiced. The kind of smile you give to strangers when you’re trying to be liked. Or not disliked.

But it almost felt like something she was slipping into. Like she'd reached for warmth without remembering where she kept it.

Manon watched it all, her mouth tugged down at one corner.

—

The MV concept, for what it was worth, wasn’t bad.

Actually, it was good. Surprisingly good. Clean. Well-structured. Symbolic without being heavy-handed. Y/N walked them through it in broad strokes, clear and confident. She wasn’t performative. She didn’t overcompensate. She just knew what she wanted and expected them to follow.

She sounded like a director.

Which annoyed Manon more than it should have.

Every time she’d catch Y/N narrowing her eyes in thought or scribbling something in that too-neat handwriting of hers, she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. But then she’d catch herself and wonder what the hell even was getting to her.

—

They started filming on a Thursday. The sun rose indifferently.

The group had only shown up a few minutes late, delayed by LA traffic, but everything was already ablaze when they arrived. Someone had forgotten to update the call sheet. The costumes department hit a snag. And almost everything that could go wrong, did.

Yet somehow, through it all, Y/N remained collected.

She moved through the chaos with an almost eerie calm, giving quiet direction, adjusting shot lists, barely reacting when the grip team blew a fuse or an intern spilled coffee on a prop couch. It was as if she'd already accounted for every possible mistake. As if she'd expected the mess and chose not to be bothered by it.

Manon tried not to be impressed, but it was hard not to notice, anyways.

Lara, of course, chose the break between takes to strike.

“So… are you seeing anyone?” she asked, all charm and shine, leaning casually against the lighting rig as Y/N reviewed footage. Her voice was just loud enough that it didn’t sound like a real question.

Y/N glanced up from her monitor. “Not at the moment, no.”

“Looking, perhaps?”

A pause. A blink. A small, unreadable tug at Y/N mouth that might’ve been a smile, or nothing at all.

“No. Can’t say I am.”

Lara tilted her head, thoughtful. “That’s a shame.”

Y/N shrugged. And then…silence.

Someone coughed. Sophia groaned. Manon bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

It wasn’t that Lara had been shot down. Not exactly. It was just how completely untouched Y/N was by it all. Like the words hadn’t landed. Like the question hadn’t reached her. Like she was above it all, or worse, somewhere else entirely.

Not arrogance. But close.

She was too serious. The kind of serious that didn’t quite belong on someone her age.

And a part of Manon, quiet and curious, wondered what it’d be like to break that composure. Just a little. To see what was underneath.

Not to be cruel. Just to see if she could.

—

It started without thinking.

They were lining up for another take. The usual mess of cables, shouts, countdowns. Someone adjusted her mic. Someone else yelled about battery levels. Y/N’s voice crackled in through the headset, clipped and neutral:

“Let’s run that again, from the top.”

Manon, already half-bored, leaned toward Megan, her voice pitched just enough to carry. “How do you think she’ll react if we just said no?”

Megan snorted, barely looking up from her dress, “Try it.” She dared.

That was all the permission Manon needed.

“Okay,” she called out, louder this time. Casual. Like she might’ve been asking for another water bottle. “No.”

Megan’s head whipped up. “Wait—I was joking—”

Too late.

Y/N looked up from her seat.

No?” she echoed, the word soft but level. She didn’t frown. Didn’t stiffen. Just stilled.

“Yeah.” Manon tilted her head, folding her arms loosely. “No.”

There was a pause, not long, just enough for Manon to recognize she wasn’t being ignored. Then, a nod. Smooth. Effortless. Detached.

“Okay. Reset,” Y/N told the rest of the crew.

And that was it. No follow-up. No correction. Just the clean, quiet pivot of someone refusing to take the bait.

Manon blinked.

“Well,” she muttered under her breath, “I guess that’s one way to react.” Megan let out an audible sigh of relief beside her.

Sophia was already half-apologizing from across the room, but Y/N barely glanced over, just waved her hand like she was brushing something off her sleeve, and turned back to the monitor.

Manon scoffed. Not loud. Just to herself. The whole thing felt like a bust.

She wasn’t even sure why Y/N still bugged her. Maybe it was because the woman was always so unshakable, like nothing ever got under her skin. Or maybe it was the indifference: the way Y/N hadn’t even looked at her directly, hadn’t offered the dignity of irritation. Or maybe Manon just hated the thought of losing a game she hadn’t meant to play.

Whatever it was, it stuck.

So on the next take, she paused a beat too long before hitting her mark. Then flubbed a line she knew by heart. She pretended not to hear a direction. Missed a cue. Shrugged when Sophia gave her a look.

Subtle things. Nothing that would cause a delay. Just enough to see if she’d get a rise.

And still. Nothing.

No scolding. No direct eye contact. Just the faintest crease between Y/N’s brows. A momentary glance toward her agent or Sophia like she was checking if there was a rule against talking back.

Never a confrontation, though. Never a single word actually directed at Manon. And somehow, that felt worse.

She still didn’t know what exactly she was trying to get from Y/N, but she knew she wasn’t going to stop looking.

—

The next few weeks passed in the kind of steady state of chaos Manon had come to expect. Long hours. Back-to-back rehearsals. Constant revisions. The usual choreography of comeback season. And yet, somehow, everything felt just slightly off-tempo.

It wasn’t anything obvious. Nothing she could point to outright. Y/N was still the model of professionalism. She gave clear direction, adjusted when necessary, took notes well. But something about her didn’t sit right with Manon. Or maybe, Manon admitted privately, it sat too right. Like something she couldn’t shake off.

Y/N had been late again that morning. Just by a few minutes, but it was enough to give Manon something to feel righteous about. She’d been adjusting a mic when she spotted the director walking in, coffee in one hand, script tucked under the other. No sweater this time. Just a hoodie and joggers. Still somehow put together. Still frustratingly unbothered.

Manon didn’t plan it. The words came before the thought.

“What kept you this time? Another press conference?”

Y/N barely blinked, “Something like that.”

Manon let out a low whistle, eyes tracking her movement across the room. “Must be hard being Hollywood’s princess.”

A low blow, she knew. Too casual to sound like one. But deliberate all the same.

Y/N paused mid-step.

And Manon nearly looked away then, already braced for the usual brush-off. Some practiced, polished non-response.

If it had been anyone else, she might’ve earned a raised brow, maybe even a snide comment. But Y/N wasn’t anyone else. With her, indifference had a rhythm.

A nod, if Manon was lucky. A glance that slid right past her, if she wasn’t. Always calm, always polite. That same infuriating poise that had been quietly unraveling Manon for weeks.

Like none of it ever mattered. Like Manon didn’t either.

But this time— something shifted. The smallest twitch at the corner of Y/N’s mouth, quick enough to miss if Manon hadn’t already been watching. So quick it might’ve been nothing. Maybe should’ve been nothing. But Manon saw it, regardless.

“Oh, is that what they call me now?”

And it knocked Manon off balance.

She froze. No comeback, no grin. Just a second of raw stillness. Because for one heartbeat, Manon felt it. Something slipping. Something opening.

She straightened, pulse suddenly picking up. “Well… among other things.”

Y/N turned toward her, fully now. Still not quite smiling, but not walking away either. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

It wasn’t sharp. Wasn’t even sarcastic. Just.. curious. Like she might actually want to know. And for one dizzying second, Manon thought: this. This is what she’d been trying to get to.

But the moment came too fast, and she missed it by half a breath.

“Nothing,” she said, too quickly. Too careless. “I’ll let the internet tell you instead.”

She hated it the second it left her mouth. All that buildup, the weeks spent poking and prodding, only to flinch at the finish line.

Y/N hummed in response. Low. Maybe amused, maybe disappointed. It was hard to tell.

Yet still, Manon couldn’t bring herself to be too upset.

Because, yes, Y/N still walked away untouched. Yes, Manon had missed her shot. But it was the closest she’d come to being let in.

That was enough to keep her thinking about it long after Y/N was gone.

—

It happened again a few days later. They were in the middle of a long shoot, the kind that drags so much you forget what time it was. Y/N was by the monitors, doing what she always did: adjusting lighting, calling for another take, then another. Calm. Focused. Impossible to ignore.

Manon had told herself she was just watching. Out of boredom, mostly. Curiosity, maybe. But certainly not interest.

Definitely not that.

Still, her feet carried her forward before she’d made a conscious decision.

“So,” she started, stopping just short of Y/N’s chair. She caught the flicker of Daniela’s raised brow, Megan’s slight glance. She ignored both. “What do you do for fun?”

Y/N didn’t look up. Barely even seemed to react, “Fun?”

“Yeah. Fun. Know what that is?”

There was a pause. Then a sigh. Not annoyed, not tired, just mechanical, like she was giving Manon a moment of her time out of principle rather than interest. Y/N turned her head just slightly, enough to meet Manon’s eyes.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

Manon smiled innocently. Or tried to. Because suddenly, she couldn’t help but notice how steady that eye contact was. Couldn’t help the way her traitorous pulse kicked in for no good reason. Couldn’t stop staring at Y/N’s mouth instead of brushing off her words.

“So… no,” she managed, somehow.

A breath of something, amusement, maybe, passed through Y/N. Barely there, but it landed like more.

“Go to your mark, Manon.”

And she nearly smiled again. Just from the way Y/N said her name: quiet, certain, like she knew it well. But Manon fought the smile, held her ground for a beat longer, then tilted her head. “Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.”

Y/N’s brows lifted, then lowered, then lifted again. “I didn’t.”

Manon didn’t bother with a response. Just winked and walked away, for once, the one to exit first.

But her smile lingered longer than it needed to. Her victory felt a little lighter than it was supposed to. She didn’t look back. But she wanted to.

And that made everything feel less like a win and more like a retreat.

—

Later, when the group was sprawled across the break room couch in varying stages of exhaustion, Megan spoke up.

“Okay, but seriously,” she began, voice muffled as she pulled a pillow over her face. “What is going on with you two?”

Manon, half-asleep, cracked one eye open. “With who?”

“You and our lovely director,” Megan said, like it was obvious. And maybe it was. “Flirting or feuding? Because it’s getting hard to tell.”

Daniela chuckled, earning her a light kick from Manon. “I think Manon might have gotten a laugh out of her, today.” She grinned, a no-good traitor to the cause.

“No way!” Lara gasped. “Not possible. I couldn't even get a laugh.”

Manon pretended not to be offended.

“It wasn’t a laugh,” she muttered. “It was a... huff.”

“She huffed at you?” Lara repeated, and yeah, it sounded more ridiculous when she said it like that.

“Forget it.”

Sophia looked up from her phone, perhaps feeling generous, perhaps simply amused, “Honestly, Manon has a better chance than the rest of us. And all she does is antagonize the poor woman.”

“Maybe she’s into that,” Megan offered. Like it might be helpful. It wasn’t.

Manon frowned, “Yeah, maybe if she’s a masochist.”

That got a ripple of laughter, and she leaned into the noise, letting it carry the moment somewhere else. Because she wasn’t thinking about the teasing, anymore. Or the huff. Or even the raised eyebrow.

She was thinking about the silence that had followed. The way Y/N had looked at her: steadily, like she was waiting for something else. Like she almost expected Manon to say more.

For reasons Manon couldn’t explain, that was beginning to feel like a real problem.

—

The next day felt unusually quiet. Not in a bad way, just… off-kilter.

They were running pick-ups for a dream sequence: slow tracking shots, soft lighting, the kind of heavily aesthetic scenes that required more posing than dancing. Which meant the wardrobe had full reign, and apparently, they’d decided to let the girls have more input.

Manon arrived a few minutes early to hair and makeup, half-asleep and balancing an iced americano in the crook of her arm, only to pause at the rack of outfit options.

"Are these... new?"

“Director’s request,” the stylist chirped, almost excited. “She thought it’d be nice to give each of you something a little more personal for this part. More freedom of expression.”

Manon raised a brow. “Y/N said that?”

The stylist nodded. “Verbatim.”

That alone gave her pause. She hadn’t even known Y/N believed in expression, let alone endorsed it. But she wasn't going to be the one to reject a miracle in this lifetime.

She flipped through the hangers, fingers catching on something she didn’t recognize from her original pull. A little unexpected. Structured but dramatic. It wasn’t her usual silhouette, but it looked almost too good to not at least try on.

She slipped on the dress. Checked the mirror.

She looked… like someone else. Not bad. Just different. Almost like the kind of girl no one would dare overlook.

It wasn't her, exactly. But it felt close enough.

She tilted her head. Adjusted the neckline.

By the time everyone was on set, the rest of the girls were fussing over their own picks: Sophia had gone for sequins, obviously, and Lara had layered something neon over something sheer just to piss off wardrobe, but the moment Manon stepped into the light, the conversations seemed to dip for a second.

“Damn, Manon,” Daniela said as she stepped into better light. “Where’d they even hide that dress?”

Manon shrugged, feigning innocence. “Stole it off your rack. Figured it was time you shared.”

Daniela scoffed, though it was playful, “I think I’d remember a dress like that.”

“I think I finally know what it's like to be the stylists’ favorite.” Daniela laughed at that.

“Okay, hold still,” one of the stylists chimed in, stepping forward to adjust a strap on Manon’s shoulder. “You’re pulling focus — in a good way. But not if you don't let me fix this.”

Manon raised a brow but didn’t argue. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daniela mouthed a quick goodbye as she gestured toward the makeup team. Manon gave her an understanding nod.

“Actually,” the stylist added, now eyeing the fabric more closely, “Can I grab your rings? The fabric is delicate, and I don’t want anything to get caught during the take.”

Manon blinked, then glanced down at her hands like she’d forgotten she was still wearing the rings at all.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”

She slid them off easily, one by one, and dropped them into the stylist’s waiting hand. A soft clink of metal echoed as they landed: silver on silver, just barely audible.

Footsteps approached, measured and purposeful. Manon turned just in time to see Y/N step away from the monitor, probably reacting more to the delay than anything else. Her gaze flicked toward the commotion, searching for the holdup, then caught on Manon.

Not dramatically. Not like she’d been struck. But not entirely indifferent, either. Just a glance held long.

“Is that…” she started, the words trailing off.

“I made a few changes,” Manon replied, casual. Though her chin tilted, half-daring, half-defensive. Like she might have to argue if Y/N requested her to change.

Y/N’s eyes tracked down the dress again, slow. Then back up. “Yes. I can see that.”

A beat.

“…Why? Is that going to be a problem?”

Another pause. Still short. But now thick with something else.

“No. It’s fine.”

She hesitated. Almost unsure. Then added, a little quicker, a little quieter, “You look good.” The closest thing to softness she’d shown so far.

And that? That threw Manon far more than anything else ever could have.

“Oh,” she said, voice suddenly quiet too, “Okay.”

Y/N looked away, something almost like shame dusting across her cheeks. It seemed so out of place, Manon couldn’t tell if she’d imagined it.

The director cleared her throat. “Everyone, let’s get to our marks. We have a long day ahead.” Her voice was steady again. Back in place. Like nothing had happened at all.

But Manon couldn’t find it in her to move right away.

She just stood there, for half a second longer than she should have, watching Y/N refocus on the monitor: jaw tight, eyes too fixed. And for the first time, she caught a glimpse of something she hadn’t noticed before.

Because it no longer looked like Y/N was in control. It looked more like she was just trying to hold it all together.

And Manon? She wasn’t so sure how she felt about it all, anymore.

—

The final day of filming dragged like an open wound.

Not that it was anyone’s fault, exactly. The scenes they were wrapping weren’t particularly hard. No stunt-heavy choreo, no tricky camera rigs. Just slow, wide-angled shots to stitch the narrative together. Easy in theory. Tedious in practice. And made worse by the fact that Manon could barely walk.

She hadn’t told anyone about the sprain.

It wasn’t a break, or even that serious. Just a rolled ankle during rehearsal earlier that week. But the swelling hadn’t gone down, and the dull throb was quickly becoming sharp. Every time she stepped onto the soundstage, it screamed at her. Every take made it worse.

But the clock was ticking. They were already behind schedule, and Y/N had another project lined up in a matter of days. If Manon couldn’t finish her scenes, they’d have to scrap the footage entirely; reshoots weren’t an option. And that, that wasn’t happening.

Not when she’s worked this hard. Slogged through too many months of barely being enough. Letting it go to waste now felt worse than pain. Worse than limping through the takes, worse than the shame she tried not to let herself feel when she messed up the same step for the third time in a row.

So she pushed. She gritted her teeth and pushed. All day.

The others were exhausted, as was she. Y/N had been watching from behind the camera, notes in hand, asking for redos, alternate takes, wider coverage. Perfectionist stuff. Nothing new.

But it was during the second to last setup that everything crumbled: she missed her cue.

Not by much, just a beat. But enough. Enough that Megan, then Daniela, then the crew to all noticed. Enough that Manon’s foot dragged in a way that wasn’t just tired, but compromised. Enough that someone else had to step in.

And then, it was over.

Just like that.

“Manon,” someone from her team called after she’d limped her way into her dressing room. “You can stop getting ready. We’re done for the day.”

She blinked, not understanding, “What? But we didn’t get the shot.”

“Y/N called wrap.”

Silence.

“What do you mean, she called wrap? We were behind.”

The staff member shrugged, clearly not having been told details, “She just said she wanted to rewrite the scene. Or try something new. I don’t know, she said she had a different vision.”

Manon stared at the vanity mirror, her fingers paused on the edge of the cold counter. An uncomfortable veil casted over the silence. An even more uncomfortable truth hid beneath. As if feeling it, the staff member awkwardly asked to be excused from the room.

Manon nodded a goodbye.

She thought to herself that she should’ve been relieved. She should’ve welcomed the reprieve, taken the rewrite, let it go. Should’ve, if she were in a more generous mood, seen it as kindness. Mercy, even.

Y/N was sure to catch heat from the higher ups, maybe spark a few more headlines from the press if the "rewrites" interfered with her next project, but she also had the kind of career that could survive the damage. Manon didn’t.

Because if Y/N was tired — of pretending, of biting her tongue, of holding together whatever fragile illusion they’d been balancing between them this past month — then this would’ve been the perfect out.

But Manon had never been good at accepting charity, and she was worse at letting people make decisions for her.

Especially not Y/N L/N. Especially not her.

The storm came before Manon knew she was moving.

Her feet carried her across the lot, fast enough to regret, hard enough to feel, anger pulsing like blood in her ears. She ignored her ankle. Ignored the throbbing in her calf. Ignored the pounding in her chest.

When she shoved open the door to the director’s room, it slammed into the wall with a crash that rattled the frame.

Y/N flinched like she’d been struck. Her eyes snapped up. And for a second, neither of them moved.

“How dare you.” Manon said, and it came out low. Almost a growl.

Y/N froze, fingers resting on the folder like she couldn’t remember what she’d been doing with it. She looked tired. Hollow around the eyes. And maybe she was. Maybe they both were: had both been for a while now.

But Manon didn’t care.

She stepped further in, each foot-fall feeling heavier than the last. Her whole body buzzed. Each word tore out from someplace deeper than breath.

“How dare you?” she said again, louder this time, like the first hadn’t landed hard enough. Like she needed to feel the echo of it in her own chest.

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“How fucking dare you.”

Y/N’s expression twisted, confusion, then guilt, then something else entirely, “Manon—”

“No,” Her voice cracked like lightning. There was a weight in her chest, one she’d been carrying for too long and it finally surged to the surface from where it had been dragging her down all this time. All while she had pretended she wasn’t struggling to stay afloat. "When will you understand? You don’t get to make that call. You don’t get to decide for me and hide behind concern.”

Y/N’s voice faltered. Her hands twitched, fingers curling slightly around the folder like she wasn’t sure whether to close it or throw it, no longer the calm, collected director she was just seconds ago, “I just thought—”

“Well, I didn’t ask.”

The words dropped like stones. But they didn’t settle. They pressed in, thick and real. Threatening to tear through the fabric of lies and indifference between them.

“Meret, please.”

The name hit like a slap and landed like a blow. It cracked something inside Manon, sharp and immediate, and spilled out pieces she thought she had long buried away.

Manon flinched. Hard.

Y/N’s own voice broke on the name, like she didn’t mean to say it. Like it slipped out from a time before they’d both grown claws. Her face went pale, and her mouth opened, as if to take it back. As if she knew she had torn something open that could never be closed again.

“Wait, I’m sorry—”

“No.” Manon's voice was barely a whisper, but it still cut like steel. “Don’t you call me that.”

She was shaking. But she didn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything past the roar in her chest, the way her name still echoed in the air like a wound held open.

“You don’t get to say my name like that,” she breathed. “It no longer belongs to you. Especially not that one.”

Y/N looked sick. Physically sick. And Manon almost laughed at the irony. She’d spent weeks trying to break Y/N down. Trying to get something, anything, from her. And in the end, it was Y/N’s own damn words that shattered everything.

“I could’ve done it. I would’ve done it. I didn’t need you saving me. Not now. Not ever.”

The room felt too small. Her pain suddenly too big. It spilled into every corner, thick and suffocating, like smoke in her lungs. It filled the space like a flood, swallowing reason, drowning whatever voice might have told her to stop.

“You’ve done well enough forgetting me this long,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Don’t start pretending to care now."

—

[Next]

#katseye x reader #manon bannerman x reader #meret manon x reader #charwritez

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sweetismei · 7 days ago

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"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.

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neptuneraj · 16 days ago

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the siren's song - manon bannerman

a cruise trip with your friends doesn't go the way you expected.

pairing: siren!manon x fem!reader

cw/tags: nsfw, drowning, deep water, fear, hurt, mentions of drinking, kissing, making out, suggestive content

today was a great day. you could say it was perfect. it was the first day of a cruise trip with your friends, lara, yoonchae and sophia. the ship was huge, with leisure areas, like a big swimming pool and even an open bar, where you and your friends are now, with these two girls named daniela and megan — you guys met them a couple hours ago, but they’re so sweet and funny, so you guys invited them to spend the other days of the trip with the group, and they thought it would be so nice.

you chose not to drink much, accompanying yoonchae — she’s underage, so she wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol anyway, so she was just eating the snacks that the other girls ordered.

“guys, i love y’all so fucking much.” megan suddenly declares her feelings with a voice full of emotion, visibly drunk. drawing loud laughs from everyone at the table, especially you and yoonchae. they were the kind of people who, when they drink, become even funnier than they already are. “we love you too” lara answers and they hug each other.

you and yoonchae didn't want to interrupt their moment of fun, but they were too drunk.

“hey! let’s go to our room. we can talk there.” you get up even with the protests of the girls, but you and yoonchae were insistent.

after a long time of talking, you guys finally arrived in the room. you pull the younger girl closer to you as you whisper in her ear, “can you handle the girls alone? i’d like to go out alone for a little while.”

yoonchae looks around.

everyone was lying on the bed, lara and megan were already sleeping, cuddling each other like it wasn’t the first time they ever met. sophia and daniela were talking and laughing, and doesn’t seem to have any interest in going out again.

“yeah, i think so.” she laughs at the sight of the girls. “but please don’t take too long, i’m gonna be worried with you.”

“i’m gonna be fine.” you give her a comfort smile as you walk out of the room.

you choose not to be so far away from the other girls, just enough for you to enjoy your moment alone — which was not too hard, because most of the people were on the bar or just sleeping.

now, you’re in the lowest part of the ship, resting your hands on the handrail, just watching the view of the beautiful ocean — the waves shaken, the cold air hitting your face, and the night sky full of stars, shining above your head.

you didn’t have much time alone today, and wanted to enjoy it.

a few moments have passed, and you see something strange in the middle of the ocean, a ripple and bubbles forming into the water — then a long white tail moves to the surface and splashes the water. it was bright and shiny. so beautiful it was mesmerizing. something you’ve never seen before.

it could be a fish, right?

no. it was too big to be just a fish tail.

it could just be another sea animal just swimming… right? you try your best to convince yourself — but it doesn't work. you don’t know any sea animal that had a shiny white tail like that, and almost the same size as a person.

you feel scared, and turn around to go back to your friends, then a sound comes from the ocean. it was a soft sound. first you thought it could be someone in the ship, maybe they decided to turn on the volume of the music that was playing at the bar early — but it was coming from there, in the middle of the ocean.

for a moment you just froze there, you don’t know why, but it was arousing your curiosity. almost like it was attracting you. you turn around betraying your feets, that has the urge to go away. then you face the sea again, getting closer to the edge of the ship.

the sound gets louder this time, and you realize it was actually a song.

a beautiful female voice singing.

you couldn’t describe what she was singing, it was a completely unknown language — echoing in your ears and infiltrating every part of your body.

you climb up to the railing, you don’t know why, but you need to go to the water — to see her. the cold air hits you harder now, and the waves seem rougher than before.

the voice stops, and you are startled to realize how close to the sea you are.

a movement in the water catches your attention again, at the same spot that you saw the tail. then, a female head comes out from under the water. your heart skips a beat, the urge to scream and run away invades your whole body — it was a siren.

the woman in the sea looks at you with a mischievous smile on her face. you get scared, the sudden appearance makes you lose balance and fall into the water, leaving a scream.

your body collides with the freezing sea water, your skin burns as you despair, returning to the surface trying to catch your breath. you look at the ship and around.

the woman is no longer there.

you look at the water and there’s her tail again, now closer to you. she pulls you by your soaked shirt underneath the water again, almost ripping the tissue with the amount of strength she has. you shook your arm and legs, she was swimming very fast. then, you get rid of the piece of cloth she was holding so you could move away from her touch. she lets go of you and you go back to the surface.

you were breathless, spitting out water that you swallowed.

now the ship was far away.

you try to swim again, your legs beating up against the water so hard that your shoes come out, there’s no way you could reach that ship.

you were there in the middle of the ocean — like a prey being hunted.

the water moves beneath you and the woman pulls you underwater again. her nails dig into your ankle and you writhe in pain. you feel dizzy, the salt water invades your mouth, your body is tired from swimming as your muscles ache with the effort of trying to get away from her.

she takes advantage of your tiredness and swims quickly. you don't know how much time passed since you're getting dragged by the woman, until she pulls you out of the water and places you on top of some rocks. the waves were crashing hard, you don’t see the ship anymore. nothing. just you and her.

the woman was on top of you now, her two hands were resting on either side of your head, and you could feel her heavy tail moving up and down above you, it was rough — like a fish skin. to your surprise, she was incredibly beautiful.

her chest and waist are covered in pearls, forming a long string. the ears are sharp, with scales as the same color of her tail. her nails are pretty long and sharp — which explains why your ankles hurt. her hair is braided in brown color, it is long and curved, swinging in the strong wind. everything about the woman was beautiful. seductive.

she smiles with your gaze, you're already under her spell. “like what you see, huh?”

a pretty and smooth voice comes out of her mouth. you couldn’t say anything — your whole body shivers with cold and fear.

“so cute the way you tried to get away from me. as well, my name is manon.” a proud look appears on her face. one of her hands got up as the other supported her — the sharp finger nails trails a patch across your whole stomach, gently scratching the area. you were totally exposed. vulnerable. “you know... when i saw you there all alone, i couldn’t help myself.”

you feel her weight become less heavy on your body, and then you realize that her large tail has turned into a human legs — you assume that’s because she’s no longer in water. she looks like a human now, except for her predator gaze towards you. she adjusts her position, and gets on her knees.

“p-p-please…” you cried out. “let me go.”

she laughs as tilts her head to the side, admiring every inch of you. “no, why would i do that? you’re the prettiest one i’ve ever seen.”

a surprised face comes up to you because of her response, and you start to feel embarrassed. her gaze was intimidating. everything in her is… attractive.

a smirk appears on her lips and her hands now make a way up. one beside you head again, supporting her own weight, and the other grabs your chin, making you look at her eyes. the same color as the night sky.

you just tremble under her gaze and try to push her shoulders with all the strength you had left to get the woman away from you, but she was much stronger. she doesn’t even move an inch.

manon laughs at the way you thought you could get away from her. so adorable.

before you could try to fight her again, her mouth opens and she sings. the same song you heard earlier at the ship — but this time, you feel relaxed.

she gets closer to you, face to face. her warm breath now hits all of your skin. she presses her lips into your cheek and starts to go down, distributing kisses into your neck and collarbone. you squirm when you feel her tongue touch your neck and her teeth biting your sensitive skin. one of her knees makes a way between your legs, pressing the area with no shame, and you groan in response — a smile appears on her face.

manon walks away from your neck and look at you again — her stare is full of hunger and desire.

she leans towards you and passes her lips against yours gently. you don’t reject it. instead, you reciprocate.

you’re under her will now.

she widens her mouth as her warm tongue slowly invades your mouth, exploring every inch of you. her touch is addictive, you melt in the softness of her lips.

when manon breaks the kiss, she sees your face looking desperate for her touch, craving her. with a malicious smile, she hums, “you’re mine now.”

#manon bannerman x reader #manon bannerman x female reader #manon bannerman #katseye x female reader #katseye x reader #meret manon x female reader #meret manon x reader #meret manon #katseye manon

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smokenblk · 3 days ago

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KOMOREBI — meret manon bannerman

SEASON ONE : EPISODE ONE ; BROKEN NOSE .

genre ; drama

director notes ; this is more of a prologue so apologies if it’s a bit boring 🫩

disclaimer : blood , reader is mad awkward , basic opening chapter , reader be dissociating fr , NOT PROOFREAD/EDITED , really shitty writing pls don’t jump me

" 恋の予感 ; koi no yokan "

I remember sitting in the counselor's office, the one they told my dad to get me after my mom had passed, before first grade started. I never knew her that well as they were separated , although my dad says I have her eyes, smile, “her everything," he said. That ultraviolet fish tank flashing into my baby browns, watching the bright pink and orange fish racing as if they had the entire space of the ocean in that small, claustrophobic tank.

"What are you thinking about, Y/N?" My counselor's shrill voice knocked me back to where I actually was, the office, and not in the tight fish cage. I shrugged, not wanting to look the lady in the eyes, but she still bent down to meet me anyway. Her coffee-scented breath hit my nose like a Mack truck. "Whenever you're in your head too much," She tapped my temple that was covered by my bunch of locs. "Remember what real life feels like with your five senses."

That night, the only thing I could think about was my mother. I folded my hands out of dad's yellow Bundera while he drove downtown, resting my head on them as the wind whipped my hair roughly. Would I have laughed the same as her? Would we watch the Raiders every Sunday like Dad and I? Would she read me those bedtime stories in different voices, the ones dad couldn't get quite right?

Taking a deep breath, I grounded myself in my senses.

The California air smelled like the salty waves, pushing and pulling sand. It sounded like the passing of the other cars and the faint sounds of Jill Scott coming through the radio. Felt like a wave of humidity sticking to my skin like a thin layer of unwanted thoughts. The lights looked like artificial stars, setting the skyline ablaze as we sped down the highway.

Now, my apartment smells like the cinnamon incense Daniela would light any time she'd come over, and the lingering smell of cannabis. I knew Dad would hate me for smoking that shit. It felt like a heat flash, trapped inside my fur blanket, which Megan let me borrow, the only blanket I have, and a gust of wind from the fan occasionally blew at me before turning across the room. But the place sounded like—

"Y/N!"

Sounded like the murmur of the TV, probably some Zeus Network bullshit that autoplayed, and the abrasive honking of a van. My eyes shot awake, blurred as I tried to kick the blanket off of me. My chest was coated in sweat when the fan hit it. When I opened the window with a heavy tug, I stuck my upper body out, sleep still crusting my eyes.

There they were.

Megan, a former coworker. Her body contorted as she leaned into the driver's window, honking away in short, rhythmic patterns. When I met her, her hair was a ginger, orangish color. Now, it had been dyed enough to only show the pink in the front while the rest of it was black..

Daniela, a girl I had met in middle school, stood beside Megan, dressed in a pair of baggy jean shorts and one of my shirts, which had been cut into a crop top using a pair of kitchen scissors. She waved and pointed her camcorder in my direction and zoomed in, catching how my eyes squinted at the sunlight and how my hair was up in all sorts of directions. Her eyes were a light brown in comparison to my dark ones. I loved how her honey-blond hair waved to her mid-back and managed to smell like coconut shampoo every day.

"You ever look at your voicemails?" God, I hate her voice. I rubbed my eyes with my palms slowly, watching the greens and purples clog my vision before blinking back up to them. "No, Daniela. Cause nobody fucking leaves voicemails anymore!"

My voice cracked, "That's not a thing people do now!" I yelled, straining my voice to prove my point. He said I got that from her as well. "Calm down, babe." Megan finally stopped abusing the car's horn, calling me the nickname I had never given her a response to. "You're gonna miss a free ride to the park if you don't haul ass." She shrugged, hopping back into the driver's seat, honking one last time.

I rolled my eyes, slamming my window shut. Picking up whatever clean clothes I had left from the many hampers around my room before changing outfits. A pair of Lucky You jeans I had spent the rest of my paycheck on, and a Derek Carr Raiders jersey that dad said I'd grow into. I barely did. I brushed my teeth while humming to myself, my bare feet spread across the cold tile like my old therapist told me.

Snatching my keys from the small hook in front of the door, I ran out. My skateboard was tucked between my arm and my side. One shoe was tied and the other was loose as I headed down the stairs, or almost headed down the stairs.

"FUCK!"

My foot missed the step. Of course. I tumbled down hard, each stair feeling as if the cosmos themselves sent a curse onto my body. Every step slammed into my body as my body fell like a human slinky. My face hit the ground, leaving a ringing in my ear and the smell of iron in my nose. The air must've been knocked out of me while I groaned and gasped for oxygen when I flipped around.

I could see Daniela's figure running up to me. "Holy shit, I got that on camera!" She laughed, holding onto the camcorder as if it were fused to her. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Daniela crouched beside me, holding up three fingers, "Dumbass, I'm not concussed." I huffed and sat up onto my scraped elbows with a hiss. "Yet.."

"Are you okay?" An unfamiliar voice spoke up. The sound was softer, grounded, and laced with a thickness one could only find in raw honey. I nodded quickly, face scrunching at the ache it brought, but at least it cleared my vision right up. Her eyes seemingly widened as I looked up, staring at her.

She stood with a fragile box against her hip while her face was covered in fear, and her eyes brown like mine, filled with something, maybe pity. Her skin glowed in the scorching sun like a halo surrounding her whole body. "Ow!" Daniela kicked at my scraped side in an attempt to cease my long staring session. I began to brush myself off, but stopped when I noticed the blood droplets on the white of the jersey. I lifted my hand, rubbing my nose, feeling the blood gush into my palm, "Oh, shit!" I scrambled to my feet, wiping the bodily fluid onto my way-too-expensive jeans. She placed the box down, backing away from me as my nose dripped.

"Pinch your nose, it's gonna leak everywhere." Her voice sounded clearer now, sounding like a Tylenol to my throbbing head. I slammed my fingers over my nose, breathing through my mouth, which tasted faintly of metal. "You okay now?"

She looked like a model, her face was soft and full of expression as she stared at me. Her curly hair was pulled back into a rushed bun, and her lips were covered in a gloss. She smelled like freshly washed laundry. Even with my bloodied, stuffed nose, I could tell.

"Fuck, yeah I'm--yeah."

I smiled dopily, my teeth smeared in blood. Daniela laughed. I turned to look at the Latina, "I'm putting this in the video." My hand quickly came back to the lens, swatting at it. "Turn that shit off for two seconds, Dani."

I stuck my clean hand out for her to shake. It was obvious that she was trying hard not to laugh, "I'm Y/N." She slowly nodded, ignoring my hand. "Yeah, I kinda heard them yelling it..." She pointed at the two in the back.

"Right...yeah..." I laughed, hand still out, and finally she shook it, feeling my sweaty palm, "I'm Manon. I'm in the apartment 65C, I'm still moving things in..."

Manon, you mentally repeated, drilling it into your brain to live there permanently. "That's a really pretty name." I let go, her fingers dragging against my palm. She didn't say anything, just stared at my leaking nose and crimson hand. I was too nervous to say much of anything either, so we stood there until the feeling of fast food napkins hit my chest with a thud, thanks to Daniela. "I live across from you, I think, 65B." You rocked against your heel as she raised her eyebrows and nodded awkwardly.

I stuffed tissue into my nose, clogging the blood. "Sorry, I didn't expect to bust my ass in front of someone so beautiful," I smirked crookedly, a flash of my red teeth still peeking out, I'm sure. Manon chuckled, a hand covering her mouth, "You fall enough times to have pick-up lines ready or what?"

I shook my head, the throbbing returned, and through squinted eyes, I spoke again, "No, I usually take a lot longer to think about what I say, but I think I might actually be concussed." Reaching for my board, I heard Manon scoff, the sound reaching in between my ribs, making my heart sputter.

"Well, you were in a rush, so I guess I'll let you go." She picked up the box, heading up the stairs carefully, "Wait, are you free tomorrow?" I didn't think long before the words flooded out of my mouth. I clenched my fist, knocking it against the railing.

"Depends..." Manon dragged, half curious, half cautious. "I just wanted to know if you'd be down with going on a trip with us?" I grimaced. Maybe I did have a concussion.

"Is this some kind of kidnapping ritual thing or--" "No! No! We're just going out of the city for a while, and you don't look from here, so I thought I'd offer to show you places." I rambled.

"Uh.." Manon looked at the van, me, then at the dumbasses inside the van, "Sure." She dragged the 's' a little longer than I had expected before my face brightened up. "Great, I'll see you then." She waved, and I shot a thumbs-up before she walked back to her door, propped open with another box.

As soon as she was gone, I slapped my forehead. "Wow!" Daniela laughed, camera now off. "That was the worst flirting I've ever seen."

special viewers : @kianthegirlkisser @runm3over

#katseye #smokenblk #lesbian #writing #wlw #katseye x reader #fanfic #manon bannerman #meret manon bannerman x reader #katseye manon #manon x reader #daniela avanzini #megan skiendiel

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vex91 · 10 months ago

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KATSEYE Masterlist

(f) - fluff, (a) - angst, (af) - angst + fluff, (s) - smut

Meret Manon Bannerman:

Nothing yet...

Sophia Elizabeth G. Laforteza:

Nothing yet...

Daniela Avanzini:

Nothing yet...

Lara Rajagopalan:

Nothing yet...

Megan Meiyok Skiendiel:

Nothing yet...

Jeong Yoonchae:

Nothing yet...

OT6:

Nothing yet...

#katseye x reader #meret manon bannerman x reader #sophia elizabeth g laforteza x reader #daniela avanzini x reader #lara rajagopalan x reader #megan meiyok skiendiel x reader #jeong yoonchae x reader

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soeyekonic · 3 months ago

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— ✩♬ ₊˚. same boat ⭑ M.S

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis while visiting her hometown, megan is reunited with you, the childhood crush she’s never truly gotten over. as her feelings grow stronger, fear makes her pull away, until a late-night breakdown leads to the confession she never thought she’d say out loud.

disclaimer : fluff 🙌. mutual pinning. megan skiendiel x childhood friend!fem!reader. slight angst (not really..just some overthinking). idk guys… megan js gives me lizzy mcalpine vibes 😣

currently playing same boat - lizzy mcalpine

megan hadn’t been back to honolulu in over a year, and everything felt too familiar and too foreign at once. the breeze still smelled like plumeria and salt. her old bedroom, still full of her childhood posters, felt smaller now. her mom still made spam musubi first thing in the morning, like megan hadn’t grown up and flown across the world.

but this time, she wasn’t alone.

katseye had landed in hawaii for a much-needed break. the girls were staying at a nearby beach resort, all sunburnt smiles and windblown hair, thrilled to finally meet megan’s infamous hometown. and all megan could think about was you.

you, the childhood friend she never got over. you, who she hadn’t seen since she left for los angeles . you, who were apparently also home visiting family.

and now, according to her mom, you were coming over. with your family. for dinner. tonight.

“megan’s gonna freak,” manon said, leaning over the kitchen counter. “you talk about her all the time. i thought she was a myth.”

“i don’t talk about her that much,” megan muttered, trying not to burn the tofu sizzling in the pan.

“megan,” yoonchae deadpanned. “you once wrote a whole verse in a demo about her eyes. we had to cut it because it was too obvious.”

the other girls laughed. megan blushed, hiding her face behind the cabinet door.

“she’s just…important, okay?” megan mumbled. “we grew up together.”

daniela tilted her head. “important like ‘first love’ important or…?”

megan didn’t answer. she didn’t have to. they already knew.

—

you showed up with that same shy smile megan remembered from when you were thirteen, all sun-drenched and soft-voiced. she hadn’t realized she’d missed your voice until she heard it again.

and the rest of katseye? instantly loved you.

“you’re the y/n?” lara asked, eyes wide. “the real y/n?”

you laughed. “depends on what megan’s told you.”

“she said you saved her from drowning once,” sophia chimed in. “but that she jumped in after a beach ball, so maybe it’s not as dramatic as it sounds?”

“she exaggerates,” you teased, nudging megan gently as you passed her a plate. “she was fine.”

the night blurred into stories, grilled fish, and ukulele strings echoing in the background. you sat beside megan on the porch steps, just like you used to when you were kids, watching the stars.

and she was overthinking again.

you looked older now, but still familiar. her heart squeezed when you laughed at something daniela said, when your eyes lingered on hers a little too long. did you know? could you tell?

maybe you were just being polite. maybe you didn’t feel the same. maybe megan had made it all up in her head…again.

—

the days after, you started hanging out with the group. going on hikes, lounging on the beach, late-night snacks at megan’s, karaoke that got too loud. you were a perfect fit. everyone saw it. everyone but megan.

because something was shifting inside her and she was scared.

the second or third time she caught herself staring at you for a little too long, she panicked. she was used to liking you, sure—but this? this was different. the feelings were louder now, older and sharper. you weren’t just a memory to hold onto, uou were right there, laughing in her passenger seat, falling asleep in her mom’s living room, humming along to her favorite songs.

she liked you. bad. and it was terrifying.

so she started pulling back.

by day four, you noticed.

at first, you thought maybe she was just tired. but then it kept happening. she stopped walking beside you on hikes. she avoided eye contact during group dinners. and when you texted her to hang out, her replies got shorter.

“rain check,” she said one evening.

that was it. no smiley face. no promise of tomorrow.

you stared at your phone for a long time, fingers tightening.

had you said something wrong? crossed a line?

that night, you stayed late at megan’s house while everyone else was watching a movie in the back. you wandered into her room, fingers tracing the books on her shelf, the polaroid pictures still hanging above her mirror. then you saw her in the hallway, eyes locking with yours. you smiled. she froze.

then she turned and walked away.

megan ran.

she didn’t mean to. she just… couldn’t be there anymore. the air in the house felt too thick. she couldn’t look at you and pretend she was okay. so she left. quietly, slipping out the back door, sandals in hand, feet hitting the sand without thinking.

the beach was nearly empty, moonlight casting silver shadows across the tide. megan sat down, knees to chest, trying to calm the pounding in her head.

why couldn’t she just be normal about this? why couldn’t she just tell you?

because she was scared. scared that if she confessed and you didn’t feel the same, she’d lose you completely. scared that maybe you were just being nice, and this was all one-sided. scared that her feelings would ruin everything.

“megan?”

she whipped her head around.

you were standing there, barefoot, breathless, your hair falling over your shoulders. you walked toward her slowly, eyes wide and hurt and confused.

“did i… do something wrong?”

megan’s mouth opened, then shut.

you sat beside her, arms crossed tightly over your chest, voice smaller this time. “you’ve been avoiding me.”

“i know,” megan whispered.

you blinked, waiting.

megan looked down at her hands, digging into the sand. “i didn’t mean to. i just… i got overwhelmed.”

“with what?”

“with you,” she snapped, then instantly looked away. “i mean—god. just—everything.”

you didn’t say anything. so she kept going. words spilling too fast, too raw.

“i thought i was okay. i thought i could just be around you and pretend it’s nothing. that it’s just nostalgia or whatever, but it’s not. it’s not. i like you, y/n. i like you and it’s driving me crazy and i didn’t want to ruin anything so i just started acting weird and now i’m ruining it anyway and i hate that i can’t just be normal about this but you’re just—god, you’re you and—”

“megan.”

she stopped.

you leaned in. quiet. sure.

“i like you too.”

megan blinked, stunned. “you- you do?”

“i thought i was being too obvious,” you admitted, smiling faintly. “but you were too busy spiraling.”

megan laughed, hands shaking, face flushed with relief and disbelief. “so i didn’t screw everything up?”

“not yet,” you teased. “but you came close.”

you both laughed then, softly. and when megan looked at you, really looked at you, moonlight in your hair and the ocean whispering behind you, she felt steady for the first time in days.

“i don’t want to lose you,” she said quietly.

“you won’t,” you promised. “you never did.”

so she kissed you. right there on the sand. the kind of kiss that felt like home, like healing, like something that had been waiting for years.

and for the first time since coming back to honolulu, megan wasn’t overthinking.

she was just... finally living it.

—

megan woke up with sand in her hair and sunlight warming her face. the sound of waves still lingered in the background, but softer now, gentler. you were curled up beside her, head resting on her shoulder, arms wrapped around your knees, both of you still in last night’s clothes.

she didn’t want to move.

everything from the night before felt surreal. your voice asking “did i do something wrong?”, the way her panic had spilled out of her, and your calm answer: “i like you too.”

her heart had been on fire, and then you’d touched her hand, and suddenly, she could breathe.

now, with the ocean stretching out in front of you and your fingers loosely laced with hers, she felt it fully. the quiet kind of happy. the kind that settled in your chest and didn’t ask questions.

“hey,” you whispered.

she turned her head. “hi.”

you smiled, lazy and sweet. “we slept on the beach.”

“i know.”

“my back hurts.”

“mine too.”

but neither of you moved.

later that morning, when megan walked into the kitchen of the beach house, barefoot and still sandy, the girls were already awake, half-dressed for a beach day, eating fruit straight out of the fridge. daniela was wearing megan’s hoodie. lara was using a butter knife to aggressively cut a mango.

manon was the first to notice. “she returns,” she said dramatically, bowing. “where have you been, miss skiendiel?”

“yeah,” sophia added, squinting. “we thought you got swept away by the tide or something.”

yoonchae narrowed her eyes. “you didn’t come back last night.”

megan blinked. “i—i was at the beach.”

“with who?” lara asked, tilting her head. then a beat passed. “wait. with who.”

megan looked down, cheeks flushing.

and then the room exploded.

“no. no way,” daniela shrieked, dropping a slice of pineapple. “you kissed her?”

megan tried to say something, but sophia clutched her arm and gasped. “she kissed her. she’s not denying it!”

lara screamed into a towel.

yoonchae smiled softly. “finally.”

megan hid her face in her hands as the girls circled her like sharks who smelled blood, but the good kind. the best kind.

“we’ve been rooting for this for months,” manon said. “honestly, i’m relieved. i was tired of being subtle.”

“you weren’t subtle,” megan muttered.

“details,” she waved off.

then, through the noise, you stepped into the kitchen holding two iced coffees, one for you, one for megan.

everyone went quiet.

“oh,” you said, glancing around. “did i… walk into something?”

megan walked over, took the coffee from your hand, and, before she could think too hard, kissed your cheek.

“nope,” she said softly. “perfect timing.”

the girls screamed again. megan laughed into her drink. and for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t running from anything.

she had everything she needed, right here.

a/n: guys i love this song so much. like u don’t understand

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lascvitae · 2 months ago

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SNOOZE ✵ MANON BANNERMAN.

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ alt. I CAN’T LOSE WHEN I’M WITH YOU

HOW CAN I SNOOZE AND MISS THE MOMENT .ᐟ

ᝰ.ᐟ manon comes home early from promotions to the smell of garlic, the sound of your playlist, and the sight of you in her shirt. dinner can wait. she missed you too much to pretend she didn’t.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. g!p!manon x fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. smut (18+). ᝰ.ᐟ tags/warnings. cursing, unprotected sex (wrap it fore you tap it) established relationship, praise kink, fingering, slight size kink, pet names (baby).

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 1.5k

ᝰ.ᐟ katty requested by anon 🤭

(🎧) now playing — snooze by sza.

masterlist.

YOU DON’T HEAR THE DOOR.

the pan sizzles softly, the smell of garlic and sesame oil curling up into the kitchen light. your playlist hums somewhere behind you. you’re barefoot on the tile, hair pulled back, wearing one of manon’s shirts and tiny shorts. it still smells faintly like her, perfume and and that hotel smell.

it’s just after 11:30. she wasn’t supposed to be home yet. you had everything timed: noodles finishing around midnight, bathtub filled, candles lit, towel warm in the dryer. a full plan, down to the forehead kiss before she passed out on your chest.

you’re too caught up in it all to notice the door unlocking. then her suitcase rolling in. then the subtle sound of her feet against the hallway floor.

you only notice when two arms wrap around your waist from behind and a very tired voice finds your ear.

“smells good.” she murmurs.

your heart stutters.

“manon. you’re— what? you weren’t supposed to be here yet.” you drop the spoon straight into the pan and try to whip around halfway, but she tightens her grip, chin resting on your shoulder now.

“wait, don’t move. just— give me a second.” she says.

you nod, heart stuttering as she presses against your back. her hands slide under the hem of your shirt, cool fingers finding skin like they’ve missed the feeling. she exhales, breath brushing your neck.

“hi to you too.” she adds.

“you’re early.” you say quietly while smiling.

“caught the earlier flight.”

“you could’ve warned me.”

“that would’ve ruined the whole dramatic reveal.”

you huff, barely hiding the smile forming onto your face. “i had everything planned.”

she presses a soft kiss to your neck. “mhm. i can tell. you’re a dream right now.”

you try to elbow her but it doesn’t land. she just laughs and pulls you closer.

“you’re distracting me.” you mumble.

“now you see what you do to me. i’m in love.”

you pause.

then let out a breath and melt a little in her arms.

“i made your favorite. then i was gonna run you a bath. the lavender one. after that, we’d watch a movie. something dumb you’d fall asleep to.” you say.

it’s silent. you can feel her fingers flexing against your abdomen.

“you’re perfect. you know that?” she murmurs.

you glance over at the pan — steam still hovering over it — then lean back against her just enough to let her feel it. the way your body fit together perfectly, how warm you are, how present both of you are.

“dinner’s almost ready. you wanna sit down?”

“not really. kinda just wanna stay right here.” her hands slide along your stomach, still tucked under your hoodie.

you let the spoon rest on the edge of the pan, heat still on low. “missed me that much?"

her breath hitches behind you.

“more than i should admit out loud.”

you bite your lip.

“manon.”

“sorry. i don’t know what to tell you. you smell really good and you’re cooking for me like the love of my life.”

she doesn’t sound sorry. just breathless.

you try to speak, but you fail and she notices.

her voice drops.

“can i touch you a little?”

you nod before you even realize it. “yeah.”

“yeah?”

you finally turn to face her. she looks tired. really tired. but her eyes are focused in a way that makes your breath catch.

“i missed you.” she says.

“i missed you too.”

then there’s silence.

“come here.”

her hands shift, one behind your thigh, with the other at your back, and before you can even think to react, she lifts you up and settles you on the edge of the counter like you weigh nothing.

you gasp. “you could’ve said something.”

she totally ignores you, stepping between your legs. her smile softens. “god, look at you.”

she finally kisses you then, and it’s nothing like her usual rushed post show kisses. it’s slow. like she’s pacing herself.

and when she pulls back, her forehead presses to yours. her voice drops to a whisper.

“i’ve been thinking about you every night. and now you’re here looking like this.” she says.

you blink at her.

she smiles again. “you’re lucky i’m tired. or you would’ve been screaming already.”

you bite your lip, cheeks flushed.

“dinner’s gonna get cold.” you reply weakly.

“let it.”

her mouth is back on yours before you can say anything else. slower this time. deeper.

you kiss her back, arms wrapping around her shoulders, fingers slipping into her curls at the nape of her neck. she groans quietly and presses her body closer, hips sliding forward just enough for you to feel it again. the weight of her against your core.

you gasp softly into her mouth.

she pulls back just enough to breathe, lips brushing against yours as she mumbles. “you’re killing me right now.”

you smile, slightly dizzy. “i haven’t even done anything.”

“that’s the problem.” she mutters, leaving slow, open mouthed kisses right under your jaw.

you whimper when her teeth graze your sweet spot.

she smiles against your skin. “yeah. that’s what i'm talking about.”

her hand slides down your thigh, slow and steady. she cups the back of your knee, nudging it gently up around her waist until you open for her. the hem of your shorts rides higher. and she bunches up her shirt around your waist.

“you’re so fucking pretty.” she whispers, eyes trailing down.

your cheeks flush.

she kisses you again, then moves her lips down to your jaw, throat, and collarbone. her hands never stop moving. they wander beneath the fabric, fingertips gliding along your ribs, your stomach, up to your chest, until she palms over you through the thin fabric of your bra.

you gasp, hips twitching.

she grins, sleepy but hungry.

“you’re warm. fuck, i missed your body.” she says quietly, thumbing over your nipple.

you squirm, tugging at the collar of her hoodie. “take this off.”

she shrugs it over her head and you instantly reach for her shoulders.

her hand trails back down between your legs. she presses two fingers against the center of your shorts — slow, with no pressure yet, but just enough to make you whine.

“you’re already wet?” she whispers.

you nod.

“of course you are. you missed me too, huh?” she murmurs.

you nod again and she smiles into your mouth as she kisses you. her hand starts to move in slow circles through the fabric, firm enough to make your stomach flutter.

“i don’t wanna rush tonight.” she says, lips dragging across your cheek.

you moan softly and she shushes you gently.

“just keep your legs open. let me feel you.” she whispers.

you nod, biting your lip. her hand slips under your shorts this time — no more teasing. her fingers find your folds, hot and so sensitive it makes your back arch.

“shit. you’re dripping.” she mutters, dragging her fingers through the mess.

you can’t even speak. just a breathy moan, high and helpless.

“dreamt about how warm you are. how tight you squeeze me when you’re close.” she says, kissing your throat again, slower now.

you rock your hips up into her palm. she lets you. lets you chase the pleasure as she pushes two fingers inside you, slow and deep.

you gasp and your arms tighten around her.

“yeah, baby. fuck yourself on my hand.” she whispers, curling her fingers just right.

you’re clenching around her already, eyes fluttering shut, thighs trembling slightly where they wrap around her waist.

“you’re so deep.” you whimper.

she groans at that. “don’t say shit like that— fuck.”

she pulls her fingers out, slick and shining, and you watch through low eyes as she tugs her sweats just low enough to free her dick. her tip presses against you instantly.

“ready?” she asks, forehead pressing to yours.

you nod. “please, manon. need it.”

she pushes in slowly — stretching you open, inch by inch. your mouth drops open, eyes fluttering closed. her hands hold your hips steady, grounding you as she bottoms out.

“fuck. you’re squeezing me so tight already.” she groans.

you moan, arms wrapping around her shoulders now. she starts to move with slow thrusts, deep and steady, grinding her hips just enough to make you feel every inch.

you’re already close again, breath hitching with every roll of her hips.

“you feel so good. so fuck— you’re so big.” you whimper.

manon shudders, rhythm faltering for just a second.

“say that again.”

“you’re so big— stretching me so good— i’m— fuck, i’m gonna cum—“ you gasp.

“yeah? wanna feel you cum for me. do it, baby.” she pants, eyes locked on your face

and you do.

you cum hard, mouth open in a silent cry, legs locked tight around her waist. your cunt clamps down around her dick so hard it pulls a moan out of her.

“you’re— shit, i’m not gonna last—“ she groans.

you’re still shaking when she starts fucking you faster, hips slamming into you now. her hands are gripping your waist like she needs you.

“you make me so fucking crazy. you feel so good, i can’t—“ she says through lazy moans.

“cum inside.” you whisper.

her whole body jerks.

“fuckfuckfuck—”

and then she’s gasping into your neck, hips stuttering, thrusts slowing as she ruts into you with a desperate rhythm. her voice is broken, whispering your name over and over as she grinds through it.

you hold her close, thighs still trembling, breath shallow.

she stays there for a second, still inside you with her forehead to your shoulder. her arms wrapped around your middle like you’re the only real thing in the world.

“you okay?” you whisper.

she nods.

“i needed that.” she breathes, lips against your skin.

“after only four days?” you tease, earning a groan from her.

you smile, all soft and fucked out. “yeah. me too.”

taglist — @saysirhc @m00nqvv @yuyuy90

#snooze — mb #katseye imagines #katseye x reader #wlw #wlw post #gxg imagine #gxg smut #meret manon #manon bannerman #katseye manon #manon x reader

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rosachae · 2 months ago

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bend (her) like beckham | manon x reader

⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon ⁍ genre: slowburn fluff, angst. idol!manon x soccer player!reader. posh spice/david beckham dynamic spinoff. wingman megan and wingman beabadoobee (soccer player!bea) ⁍ a/n: thank you so much for requesting this, anon! as i've said in previous posts, sorry for the delay in getting this out. i hope this is what you were looking for. i had a lot of fun writing this. ⁍ w.c: 20.3k ⁍ warnings: curt language, nsfw/suggestive themes, mentions of painkiller abuse and injury. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is one of the best midfielders the sport of women's soccer has ever seen. manon bannerman is a part of the global girl group sensation, katseye. they couldn't be any more different. that much was made clear after a chance hookup lead to their paths crossing once again at a pregame performance. who knew a little note would be the start and end of everything?

los angeles glittered in a way that felt almost artificial, like a city made for the lens of a camera instead of real life. you’d flown in the day before, checked into your hotel, and tried not to overthink the weight of the season opener. it wasn’t your first time playing in a packed stadium, but the buzz around this match was different. the whole country was watching. so were the brands. so were the scouts. so was everyone who had ever told you you were too young, too bold, too much.

but tonight wasn’t about that. tonight was bea’s birthday.

you hadn’t seen her in months, not since the team usa off-season camp in colorado. she played for angel city fc now, and technically, she’d be your rival on the field tomorrow. but friendships like yours didn’t vanish just because you wore different kits. when she called earlier in the week and said “don’t you dare miss my party,” you hadn’t even pretended to hesitate.

the house was tucked high in the hills, the kind of place only athletes, actors, and internet famous people seemed to know about. you’d barely made it out of the car before you heard someone call your name.

bea was already there, walking up to your car with a large shiteating grin on her face.

“would you look what the cat dragged in. y/f/n. i thought you were gonna flake,”

“beatrice laus. funny seeing your dopey face. you won’t be so happy when i wipe the field with your ass tomorrow.”

bea grimaced when you dropped her full government name, but then shook her head with a short laugh. “shit talking already? and on my birthday? have some class.”

you rolled your eyes playfully when she leaned in for a quick hug, the tattoos on her arms glittering under the strobing lights filtering through the windows of her house. you hug her back stiffly, wincing slightly at the heavy smell of alcohol seeping into her clothes.

“jesus, bea. how the hell do you plan on even waking up tomorrow?”

bea shrugged, her grin not once slipping from her face as she looped her arm through yours. she practically tugged you up the stairs and into her house, voice raising to be heard over the thumping music.

“nevermind that, why don’t you have something to drink? live a little!”

you narrow your eyes. “this sounds like some shitty attempt at sabotage if i’ve ever heard it. you know we have a game to play.”

she waved her hand dismissively. “you only live once. let me enjoy my night.” then she trailed off when something catches her eye in the far corner. “while you go be mopey somewhere else, i have some babysitting to do.”

the last thing you heard before she disappeared into the crowd was a loud “hey! get off my chandelier!” before the music droned out any and all legible string of sentences.

you shook your head, laughed under your breath, then let your gaze wander the room. you didn’t recognize many people. a few fellow athletes, a handful of streaming personalities, a tattooed actor from that one netflix show. everyone was dressed like they had nowhere to be the next day. there were polaroids passed around and a tray of neon shots no one really wanted to take but did anyway for the aesthetic.

if you were being honest with yourself, you’d have rather been anywhere else. the music was too loud, the house too crowded, and the air smelled like expensive perfume and the kind of liquor that burned going down. it wasn’t like you to be out so late the night before a game, especially not one like this. season opener. national spotlight. everything to prove.

but bea had asked, and saying no to her had never been your strong suit.

still, as the night wore on, your patience wore thin. you were tired of smiling at people you didn’t know. tired of pretending to care when someone told you they’d seen your nike ad. you’d already dodged a half-hearted attempt from some girl you vaguely remembered, the one who thought flirting was a sport and boundaries were optional. you were sick of people trying to shove shots into your hands like you hadn’t worked your entire life for the game. you knew what coach would say if he saw you here. not angry. just disappointed. the thought alone made your stomach twist.

you kept your face neutral. unreadable. it was easier that way.

with a quiet sigh, you peeled yourself away from the crowd and wandered toward the back of the house. the hallway was long and dimly lit, the thrum of bass dulling the farther you walked. you passed a bathroom, a guest room, a door that was half-cracked open with coats spilling out like it had given up trying to hold everything inside.

eventually, you found the balcony. or maybe it found you.

it was empty except for a flickering candle on the railing and the city stretched out beneath you like a lit-up promise. out here, the air was cooler. you could finally breathe. you stayed there for a while, long enough for the hum of the party behind you to fade into background noise. the city had a rhythm of its own. the occasional whoop of a car down in the canyon, the buzz of neon from somewhere in the distance, the faint echo of music bleeding out from other houses stacked along the hills. the kind of place where it felt like everything was happening all at once.

you were so caught up in the quiet of it that you didn’t notice her step outside.

not at first.

it was the click of the sliding door, soft but intentional, that pulled your attention. you glanced over your shoulder, only half-interested. and then you saw her.

she stepped into the light like she didn’t care who was watching. slow, unhurried, utterly unbothered by the idea of being seen. dark eyes, high cheekbones, that exact kind of poised elegance that didn’t feel practiced so much as inherited. her dark brown boho braids framed her face in a way that had your breath catching in your throat. several strands of hair framed her face like they belonged there, delicate against her smooth complexion. she wore low rise jeans and a tank top that showed off her toned stomach, the belly chain around her stomach ricocheting light as if they were diamonds on her skin. for a second, you genuinely thought she might be a model.

you looked away before you could be caught staring.

didn’t matter. she noticed anyway.

“you hiding, too?” she asked, voice low and smooth like she’d spent the whole night not saying much and was only now deciding to use it.

you couldn’t place her accent but the little teaser you got was enough to have you wanting to hear more.

you huffed a quiet laugh. “something like that.”

she walked over, leaning on the railing beside you. just far enough to be polite, just close enough to make your skin buzz.

“i get it,” she said. “it’s loud in there.”

you nodded. “and a little too… curated.”

she smiled at that. not wide. just a tug at the corner of her mouth like she wasn’t used to smiling for strangers but decided to anyway.

“you here for bea?” she asked.

you nodded. “old friend. team usa.”

“ah. so you’re an athlete.”

you glanced over, eyes narrowing a little. “that obvious?”

“the way you stand. the way you didn’t drink the shot someone tried to give you. and…” she paused, letting her eyes drag across you for just a second too long. “the quads.”

you laughed, caught off guard. “okay. fair.”

she tilted her head, curious. “soccer?”

“football,” you corrected, smiling despite yourself.

“right. of course.”

a beat passed. the silence was comfortable now.

“you?” you asked.

she shrugged. “just here with friends.”

you raised a brow. “you don’t seem like a ‘just here’ kind of girl.”

“maybe i’m not,” she said, and you couldn’t tell if it was a challenge or an invitation.

maybe it didn’t matter.

because five minutes later, you were still talking. ten minutes after that, your hands brushed. twenty minutes later, the city wasn’t what you were looking at anymore.

maybe it was the way she looked at you.

not with expectation, not with hunger, but with this quiet kind of curiosity that made your skin feel warmer than it should have in the night air. like she was studying you. like she wanted to figure you out without asking for anything.

the ride back to the hotel was quiet. you’d called the car, sat side by side in the back seat, close but not touching. her knee bumped yours when the car hit a bump on the freeway. she didn’t pull away. neither did you.

when you got to the room, you unlocked the door like you’d done it a hundred times before. the key clicked, the door swung open, and you stepped inside without looking back. you tossed your phone onto the desk, kicked off your shoes, and reached for the bedside lamp. the soft yellow glow filled the room, casting long shadows over the rumpled comforter and the single armchair pushed against the corner.

you heard the door close behind you.

she lingered near it, one hand still on the handle like she hadn’t made up her mind. her gaze swept the room, thoughtful, slow.

“this what five-star athletes get?” she asked, lips twitching like she was fighting a smirk.

you glanced over your shoulder. “you coming in, or just here to rate my accommodations?”

she smiled then, slow and deliberate, before stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind her. “depends. you planning on entertaining your guest?”

“depends,” you said, mirroring her tone. “you planning on staying?”

she walked the room like she had all the time in the world. dragged her fingers along the edge of the desk, paused at the foot of the bed, tapped the corner of a framed photo of some abstract skyline you hadn’t noticed before. her presence filled the space without effort. you weren’t sure if it was the way she moved or the way she looked at everything like it might tell her a secret.

“nice view,” she murmured, peeking through the sheer curtain.

you didn’t answer. you were watching her.

she turned, eyes landing on yours again. “you always bring strangers back to your hotel room?”

“only when they look at me like that.”

she tilted her head, feigning innocence. “like what?”

“like they want something.”

“maybe i do,” she said. then, after a beat, “maybe i don’t.”

you crossed the space between you without thinking. your fingers found the edge of her jeans first, then slid up to the curve of her waist. her hands came up to your collar, light and curious, not pulling you in but not letting go either.

“this where you ask for my name?” she asked, voice low now.

“do you want me to?”

she considered it. “no.”

you nodded. “then don’t tell me.”

the kiss was slow when it landed, soft and searching, her lips brushing yours like she was figuring out how you liked to be kissed before committing to it. she tasted like peppermint and a whisper of something floral. her skin was warm under your hands.

you didn’t rush. didn’t fumble.

the pace stayed lazy, deliberate. clothes came off in between teasing comments and almost-touches. her mouth ghosted over your throat and she muttered, “what are you thinking about?” against your skin.

you breathed out, “only you.”

she laughed quietly, a little smug. but she said nothing more when you pulled her down with you onto the bed.

whatever came next wasn’t about knowing each other. it was about the way her hips moved against yours, the way her hand held the back of your neck like it meant something, the way she moaned into your mouth when you bit her lip a little too hard. it was about how quiet the room got except for the sounds you made together, the rustle of sheets, the rhythm of bodies learning each other’s language one kiss, one breath at a time.

she didn’t ask anything of you. neither did you.

but when she kissed your shoulder, your jaw, the place just under your ribs like she wanted to remember it, you wondered if she might be trying to leave something behind.

only by the time morning came, the space next to you was empty.

she was gone.

for a moment, you wondered if you had imagined the whole thing. but then you spotted the note. it was folded in half and placed neatly on the pillow, written on the hotel’s stationery in small, looping handwriting.

thx for the night. –meret

you sat there with the note in your hand for a long while, memorizing the name, the shape of it, the way her face lingered in your memory even though you hadn’t known it for more than a few hours.

you didn’t know her last name. you didn’t know what she did or where she was going next. you just knew her name was meret, and she had vanished like smoke. without a sound, without a trace, save for that single line in ink.

you slipped the note into your bag before getting up.

by the time you stepped into the stadium that afternoon for the pregame warmups, you’d almost convinced yourself to forget her.

almost.

‎

manon didn’t get back to the hotel until almost four in the morning.

technically, it was closer to four-thirty. the sun was already brushing against the edges of the horizon, and downtown los angeles looked too clean for how she felt. her braids were coming undone, her shirt was buttoned wrong, and she had the faintest mark under her jaw where someone’s teeth had lingered longer than they should have. she didn’t bother adjusting any of it. the lobby was empty, the elevator was slow, and when she caught her reflection in the mirrored wall, she just looked at herself once, then looked away.

she tried to be quiet pushing into the room. she really did. but the key card stuck a little in the lock and her boots thudded against the carpet when she kicked them off. that was enough to wake sophia.

“manon?” sophia’s voice was raspy, low with sleep. “is that you?”

a rustling followed, then lara’s voice came from the second bed. “god, it is her. jesus. what time is it?”

“you’re lucky we’re not on live right now,” daniela mumbled into her pillow. “i’d be exposing your walk of shame in real time.”

manon didn’t say a word. just slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. but that didn’t stop them.

“i want a full debrief in the morning,” megan called out. “i want names, timelines, weather conditions.”

“was she pretty?” lara asked, her voice high with curiosity.

“was she good?” daniela countered, only to be met with silence. she continued after a beat. “she’s quiet. that means yes.”

manon returned ten minutes later in fresh clothes. she looked clean but guilty, more ammunition to fan the fire.

megan sat up, stretching like a cat. “you smell like someone else’s perfume.”

“and success,” sophia added.

“how was she?” lara asked, immediately elbowed by yoonchae.

manon finally spoke, voice dry. “you’re all freaks.”

megan gasped. “rude.”

“don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” sophia said, tossing a pillow at her. “you disappeared with a stranger and came back looking like a victoria’s secret campaign. we’re allowed to be nosy.”

“it’s a sisterhood,” daniela said solemnly. “this is what you signed up for.”

manon climbed into bed besides lara without answering. she kept her expression neutral, but they all clocked the faint smile she tried to hide when she turned toward the wall.

she only managed to get two hours of sleep before she had to get up and prepare for the day ahead of her.

they had spent the morning rehearsing, the afternoon getting glammed, and now they were all dressed in stage outfits that shimmered when the sun hit them right. hair slicked, nails done, in-ear monitors already tucked into place.

by the time the van pulled up to the stadium it was 2p.m. the teasing had died down, replaced by the kind of focused energy only performance days brought. manon sat by the window, earphones in, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. she hadn’t said much since leaving the hotel. the others assumed she was just in the zone. none of them noticed the way her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh, or the way she kept glancing down at her phone like it might tell her something she didn’t know yet.

the van pulled into the private tunnel, slowing to a crawl. stadium security swarmed the entrance, and huge vertical banners hung from the outer walls. each one showed a different player. bold block letters. intense, stylized headshots. pure american sports propaganda.

the others were talking about stage positions when manon saw her.

it wasn’t just recognition. it was impact.

her gaze snapped to the banner like she’d been physically pulled by it. the face on the vinyl was unmistakable. same mouth. same eyes. same jawline that she had kissed in the dark just a few hours ago.

manon didn’t move. didn’t blink. for a full three seconds, she forgot to breathe.

megan caught the shift immediately. she felt it in the way manon’s posture changed. the sudden stillness. the air around her turning sharp and quiet.

megan leaned forward, her voice low and curious. “hey. you good?”

manon didn’t answer right away. then she blinked and turned her head, too fast to be casual. “yeah. fine.”

megan narrowed her eyes. “you sure?”

manon nodded. too quickly. “just nerves.”

megan didn’t push. not yet. but she filed the moment away, sharp and clean, and said nothing else as the doors to the van opened and the sound of the crowd roared in from outside.

your face was the last thing she expected to see.

if manon was being honest with herself, she still didn’t know why she went back to your hotel last night. it wasn’t like her. that kind of impulse, reckless and raw, didn’t usually make it past the filter she kept up in public. especially not in a city like this, where eyes were always watching.

maybe it was the way you looked at her on that balcony, like she had hung the stars herself. like all of los angeles could burn and you wouldn’t notice, not with her standing there in front of you.

maybe it was your mouth, the way it curved just slightly at the corners when you smiled, like you were holding back a secret only she was allowed to know.

whatever it was, it pulled her in. and now, seeing you again like this ten stories tall on the side of the stadium, all fire and focus and unapologetic light, she froze. manon wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run.

not that it mattered. alas, the decision was already made for her.

katseye was being ushered through the underground tunnels, their in-ears already clipped in, stage crew calling out cues like the whole night balanced on a stopwatch. they’d prepared for this for months. late-night rehearsals, endless fittings, vocal run-throughs in hotel lobbies. she was ready for this. or at least, she had been.

but then the lights in the stadium dropped to black, the crowd erupting as the announcer’s voice boomed overhead, and manon felt her pulse stutter.

she was center-stage, spotlight trained directly on her, and all she could think about was the way her stomach flipped.

the beat dropped. the opening note hit. the others moved like second nature, muscle memory taking over. but manon’s breath caught. because across the pitch, down the sideline tunnel, she saw you.

you were half in shadow, your kit not even fully visible yet, but your face was unmistakable.

the distance between you was too far for logic, too far for clarity, but somehow, impossibly, she saw it. the way your expression went slack, the way your mouth parted, the way all the blood seemed to drain from your face.

and just like that, the lights weren’t the only thing that came crashing down.

you knew, and so did she.

it was only going to get complicated from here.

the pregame show was electric. clean transitions, perfect harmonies, not a single misstep. katseye had performed in bigger stadiums before, but tonight felt different. louder. tighter. like the air was wired. manon didn’t know if it was the fireworks or the roar of the crowd or the way the grass looked under the lights, but something about the whole thing made her chest feel like it was being wrung out.

then the game started and the pressure shifted. the girls were all but ushered off field and into a private viewing box, given barely a minute to greet fans.

the stadium stayed loud, the drums kept pounding, but manon’s attention had narrowed. she was supposed to be watching the match, they all were. but the second she saw you step onto the field, she forgot the plot entirely.

you were everywhere. cutting through defenders like they were suggestions. calling for the ball with that calm, commanding urgency. scoring once, assisting twice. but it wasn’t your footwork or your stats that had her losing her mind. it was the fact that you were you.

because what were the odds? what were the actual, statistical, cosmically humiliating odds that the girl she’d kissed breathless in a los angeles hotel room would turn out to be you?

manon sat frozen in her seat, arms crossed tight over her chest, trying not to freak out visibly.

megan noticed anyway. the chinese girl peered over at her, speaking quietly so none of the other girls could eavesdrop but just loud enough for manon to hear. “you okay?”

“fine,” manon said, too fast.

“you look like you’re about to throw up.”

“just hot. adrenaline. post-performance crash.”

megan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. not yet.

manon wasn’t too sure how much time had passed of her sitting uncharacteristically still, her eyes following you as you ran up and down the field. it was almost unfair how good you looked, she decided. memories of the night before kept flashing in her mind against her will, an embarrassed flush crossing her cheeks just subtly for sophia to give her a weird stare. but, within what felt like minutes (but was most definitely an hour and some change), the game ended. your team had won. it was only the opening game of the season, but the crowd ate it up regardless.

manon didn’t clap. she couldn’t. she was too busy staring at you, her mouth slightly open, her thoughts absolutely feral.

after a beat, she turned slowly. “hey… what’s number fourteen’s name?”

megan looked at her like she’d just asked what two plus two was. “are you serious?”

manon blinked.

“you mean y/n?”

“y/n,” manon repeated under her breath, like it tasted different now that it had a name attached. “what’s her whole deal?”

megan looked suspicious. “why do you sound like you’re about to launch a background check?”

“just answer the question.”

“okay… let’s see. olympic medalist. league mvp. rookie of the year. huge nike deal. she’s on the cover of like, three magazines this month. wait, didn’t you guys go to bea’s party last night? they’re pretty close friends. i’m surprised you didn’t run into her. they played on the national team together.”

manon couldn’t help but whistle lowly, a teasing grin crossing her lips despite the thoughts running rampant in her mind.

“damn, mei. who knew you were so well versed in this sport?”

megan simply grinned widely. “what can i say? brainrot tiktok doomscrolling leads you down paths you don’t come back from.”

then she cut herself off, her mind already jumping to the next factoid to spit out to the older girl. megan continued after a hum. “she’s also apparently really private, hates interviews, has this weird thing about not letting anyone film her workouts, and—wait. wait.” she narrowed her eyes, her voice dropping. “why are you asking?”

manon stayed quiet.

then, like clockwork, megan’s jaw dropped. “no.”

“megan—”

“no. manon. no.”

“i didn’t know it was her.”

“you hooked up with y/n and didn’t even ask for her name?!”

“i was going to,” manon mumbled. “but then i panicked and left.”

“how do you panic after-“ she paused, looked left and right, then whispered aggressively.“- s.e.x?”

“i don’t know! it was intense! i needed to breathe!”

megan stared at her like she was watching a slow motion car crash. “manon, you ghosted the golden girl of women’s soccer and now you’re sitting here looking like you want to crawl into the grass and die.”

manon’s cheeks flamed a bright shade of crimson. she looked anywhere but at megan. before she could come up with a comeback, the door to the private viewing box and opened and in walked their manager, clipboard in hand. his voice cut through the room loudly.

“alright, time to move!”

manon groaned softly but pushed herself up, more than happy to move on and pretend the conversation never happened.

megan gave her a pointed look. “oh, this isn’t over. not by a long shot.”

manon forced a pained half smile, still feeling the heat of embarrassment, and followed their manager out. the words between her and megan hung unfinished in the charged air, the other four girls none the wiser of the war raging in her mind.

the universe sure did have a funny way of bringing things full circle.

‎

over the next week, your thoughts had been completely tangled around meret manon bannerman. at least, that’s what a quick google search said her name was. you practically held the note she left to your chest the very second you got back to your hotel room after the game.

thx for the night. -meret

the words were crinkled now, the pen ink smudged.

every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel the way your heart dropped in your chest when you saw her pregame. you could still feel the way your blood ran cold when she looked in your direction in that brief, electric moment.

she was stunning.

her movements were engraved into your mind as strong as your earliest childhood memory. her every move was captivating, her pretty face full of expression every time she appeared on the jumbotron. the more you thought about it, part of you was embarrassed you hadn’t recognized her sooner. especially after the night you spent together.

yet, stronger than whatever embarrassment you felt, here you were. unable to shake the phantom trace of her hands on your skin, the way she looked under those bright stadium lights. how the light caught her body in just the right way, how her stage outfit made her stand out like her own special star.

perhaps you shouldn’t have been so surprised when bea approached you after the game, a knowing gleam cemented across her face.

‎

“so? spill.”

you turned to face her when she approached you in the athlete tunnels. she was sweaty, just as tired as you, and yet she still found the energy to seek you out and level you with those teasing eyes. if she was bothered by her teams loss, she didn’t show it. she had far more ‘pressing’ matters to attend to.

you narrowed your eyes. “what are you talking about.”

she practically scoffed as if the answer was obvious. “you and manon, that’s what. don’t forget it was my party you left together. which, by the way, fuck you for ditching so early.” then she shook her head, her faux aggravation shifting into something softer. “what happened when you guys left?”

you glanced away, unwilling to meet her gaze. “nothing happened. we just talked.”

bea raised an eyebrow. “really? because you played like someone was watching you.”

you crossed your arms defensively. “i’m not going to give you the whole story.”

bea’s grin widened. “come on, you can trust me.”

hesitation tightened your throat. the weight of bea’s gaze felt heavy like she was waiting for something, a truth you weren’t sure you wanted to give away just yet. for a moment you looked away, the memory of that night flickering in your mind. the way manon’s laugh had sounded, the heat of her hands sliding along your skin, how the world had shrunk to just the two of you. you took a slow breath, chewing on your words as if deciding whether to swallow them whole. finally, you let out a quiet sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing just enough.

“okay,” you said, voice low and a little reluctant, “we hooked up.”

bea’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “thought so. now, spill the details.”

‎

and you did. kind of. you didn’t tell her everything, just enough to stop her wicked grin and avoid the flood of questions you knew would come next.

but that was a week ago.

now, as you waited for the practice facility’s elevator to open with its little ding, you realized one simple fact. perhaps you’d made your biggest mistake yet by trusting that information with beatrice laus of all people.

it was supposed to be your day off. but, of course, here you were. fresh out of an impromptu strategy meeting with your coach, clipboard in hand, scanning over a revised game plan you barely had time to digest. the soft thud of your sneakers echoed as you walked through the quiet corridor, music and chatter spilling faintly from a nearby training room. you pressed the elevator button, already planning to retreat to a quiet corner and study your matchups in peace.

the doors slid open with a calm mechanical hiss. you stepped inside without looking, preoccupied with your notes. but the second they closed behind you and the soft red glow above the buttons lit up, you realized you weren’t alone.

you heard it first. a small, startled sound, like someone had just choked on their own breath. you looked up, and against all odds, there she was.

manon.

she was standing off to the side, spine straight as a rod, arms folded tightly across her chest like she was trying to make herself smaller. her eyes met yours for only a second before flicking away, as if even looking at you might unravel whatever thread of composure she had left.

you froze. your brain fired off a thousand questions, all scrambling for space at once. still, you managed to speak, your voice quieter than you expected.

“meret…? what are you doing here?”

for the briefest of seconds, manon flinched when her name dropped from your mouth. she’d almost forgotten she left a note for you the morning after, the reminder sending a chill down her spine. but she didn’t correct you. in some way, it sounded almost special coming from you.

despite whatever awkward nerves consumed the space between them, manon somehow conjured enough confidence to unlock her phone and flash the screen in your direction. a text chain between herself, bea, and megan was all you saw.

“i was told there was some kind of conference room,” she said, voice trailing off as she glanced back at her phone. “megan said bea was giving her a tour of the facility. told me to join.”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. the moment your eyes skimmed the screen, the truth of it was written all over your face. manon noticed immediately.

with a sigh that sounded more tired than angry, she shoved her phone into her jacket pocket and leaned back against the elevator wall.

“right. clearly i walked into a setup.”

you scratched the back of your neck, guilt crawling in slow and steady. “yeah. sorry. that’s probably… my fault.”

for a moment manon simply stared at you. it took a moment for your words to fully register, but when they did, she knew what you were talking about instantly. the admission that another person knew of your hookup had her nervously itching the skin above her wrist.

some part of you couldn't help but feel surprised as you watched her. the way she looked down, embarrassed. the way she bit the inside of her cheek as if she could will herself to disappear from this moment and hightail it back home as if nothing happened. she was so different to how she was the night you spent together. it was almost like night and day.

after a moment, you sighed.

“you need a ride home?” you asked before you could stop yourself, heart racing.

she looked surprised. for a moment she seemed to mull over her thoughts, tentative. and then she nodded with a resigned sigh.

“please.”

‎

the drive was quiet at first, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of manon adjusting the sleeves of her jacket. los angeles glowed outside the windshield, all neon haze and soft gold streetlights stretching across pavement. you kept your eyes forward, fingers flexing slightly on the wheel, trying not to let the silence settle too heavy between you.

she didn’t speak, and neither did you. the only thing she did say was a low “chateau marmont” and a frustrated “can’t believe i flagged my driver and guard away.” other than that, nothing.

you flicked on your turn signal even though no one else was on the road. something about the sound filled the space, made it feel less like the two of you were suffocating under the weight of a memory you still hadn’t figured out how to name. every few minutes you could feel her shift in the passenger seat, like she was building herself up to say something but couldn’t quite manage it. you didn’t push. you didn’t dare.

you had run every possible version of this drive through your head. in one, she pretended it never happened. in another, she confessed she regretted it. in one especially (oddly) hurtful version, she looked at you and said it was a mistake. so now, with the real thing stretched out before you, you kept your mouth shut and tried to focus on the road.

manon cleared her throat softly.

you glanced over, just briefly. she was staring out the window, jaw tight, fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve like she was grounding herself with the fabric.

“so,” she started, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, “we’re really not going to talk about it?”

your grip on the wheel tightened just slightly. your stomach twisted. “i wasn’t sure you wanted to.”

she didn’t answer right away. she turned her head slowly, eyes on you now instead of the window.

”well… how about we start with the acknowledgement that this is a pretty awkward first impression we could have possibly had of each other.”

you let out a quiet breath, a short laugh escaping before you could stop it. “yeah,” you said, glancing at her again, this time longer. “i guess jumping straight to a hotel room isn’t exactly the standard getting-to-know-you route.”

manon smiled, just barely, but it softened the tension in her face. “you think?”

you shrugged. “could be worse. you could’ve never left a note.”

“i almost didn’t,” she admitted. “i panicked. wasn’t sure if you’d think it was weird.”

“i thought it was nice,” you said honestly, drumming your fingers lightly on the wheel. “though if i’m being honest, i’m surprised you signed your name as meret.”

she blinked, caught off guard. “why’s that?”

you glanced at her, the corners of your mouth twitching upward. “i googled you after the pregame show. figured out real fast who i’d been in bed with.”

manon groaned and buried her face in her hands. “oh my god.”

“to be fair,” you continued, teasing now, “you were kind of impossible to ignore. all that hair whipping around, the outfit, the lights.”

she peeked out from between her fingers, face flushed but amused. “so you’re telling me you learned everything about me before we even had this conversation.”

“not everything,” you said, shrugging. “just the basics. stage name. discography. three fan edits.”

manon laughed, the kind that crinkled her nose and made you bite back your own grin. “you’re worse than i thought.”

“you were very memorable,” you said simply and that shut her up again, her gaze flicking back to the window, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“besides, not everything,” you continue, eyes back on the road now. “just enough to feel like you're completely out of my league.”

she blinked. “why would you think that?”

“because you’re manon bannerman. international popstar. face of like five brands. terrifyingly attractive. meanwhile, i’m just a girl who likes to kick a ball really hard.”

manon grinned. “you’re kidding, right?”

“not even a little bit.”

“well, now you’ve made me feel like i need to impress you,” she said, and her voice had taken on something lighter, like she was letting herself breathe for the first time in the car. “we didn’t even do proper introductions.”

you pulled up to a stop sign and looked over again. her expression was softer now, curious, open.

“okay,” you said, shifting in your seat so you could offer your hand between the console. “i’m y/n. professional ball kicker.”

manon let out another laugh. “manon. i think all your googling saves me the backstory.”

you took her hand, your fingers brushing hers in a way that felt more deliberate than casual. you held it just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin, the quiet weight of the moment.

“nice to meet you, manon. officially.”

her mouth curled into the faintest smile, something soft and unreadable in her eyes. “likewise,” she said, and her thumb swept lightly across your knuckles before she let go.

there was a brief silence, charged and delicate, before she spoke again.

“and for the record,” she said, voice lower now, “i signed the note with meret because that’s who you were with that night.”

you turned toward her just slightly, pulse quickening. her gaze was steady, unwavering. there was no teasing in her voice, no sarcasm. just truth.

“so which one are you right now?” you asked, quieter than before.

her lips parted, a breath caught between sentences. she didn’t answer right away, but when she did, it was slow and sure.

“i don’t know,” she said. “but you make it really hard to pretend like that night didn’t matter.”

your hand shifted on the steering wheel, grip loosening, breath catching just for a second. you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat.

“did you want it to mean something?” you asked, the words barely a whisper, edged in something raw and real.

she didn’t answer at first. but she didn’t look away either. that silence said more than any ‘yes’ ever could.

she was quiet for a long time. you didn’t rush her. the hum of the engine filled the silence, a steady rhythm under the buzz of traffic.

you turned down a quieter street, one lined with swaying palms and golden-orange streetlights, the sky above slipping from dusk into something darker. it was the kind of road where the world felt paused, like whatever existed beyond your windshield didn’t matter as much as what was happening inside the car.

the tension between you hadn’t disappeared. it still lingered, heavy and unspoken, but it softened somehow. it didn’t cut anymore. it settled, warm and aching beneath your skin.

then manon hummed, low and thoughtful, and it made something pull taut in your chest.

“tell me something about you.”

you glanced sideways. “suddenly interested?”

a short laugh slipped from her lips before she could stop it, as if the absurdity of the situation was finally kicking in. “i think we skipped every step that comes before a casual hookup. why not start now?”

you scoffed, but it came out quieter than you intended. “you can’t just put me on the spot like that. not when the only thing i can think about right now is you.”

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it was thick. charged. like even the air between your bodies was listening. you weren’t sure where your sudden boldness came from, but it sat between you now like a weight. she didn’t flinch. if anything, her breath hitched just slightly, and her lips parted like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

the hotel came into view far too quickly. the moment the security guard popped open the boon gates and you pulled into the parking lot, the car slowing and stilling in a shadow cast by the building, the tension was harder to ignore. the music from the radio played low, a dull thrum in the background.

manon didn’t move to unbuckle her seatbelt. didn’t reach for the handle. she just stared ahead, and after a pause that felt like an eternity, she finally spoke.

“i keep thinking about it,” she said quietly, voice almost lost under the music.

you didn’t ask what she meant. you didn’t need to.

you swallowed, your hand twitching slightly on the gearshift. the air between you was tight again, warm with memory.

“me too,” you said, the words dragging out of your chest like a confession.

she turned to look at you. then it happened. one moment all you saw was a familiar fire in her eyes, the next she practically crawled over the console to straddle your lap behind the wheel. her knees pressed into either side of your thighs as she settled into you, the steering wheel digging into the small of her back. but she didn’t flinch. didn’t adjust.

it wasn’t tentative. it wasn’t soft. it was immediate and wanting, like she had been holding her breath since the moment she saw you and finally let herself exhale. your hands found her hips automatically, gripping tight through the fabric of her low rise jeans as if that might ground you in the moment. it didn’t. nothing could. not with her mouth on yours, not with the way she moved against you like she remembered exactly how your body felt the last time she had you.

there was something about her. the way she kissed you like she was starving, like the memory of your touch had kept her up at night. she was all urgency and heat, her fingers slipping up the back of your neck, threading into your hair like she didn’t care how messy it got. your breath caught in your throat when she rolled her hips just slightly, seeking more, daring you to pull her closer.

it was messy. too hot. too fast. it felt like a freefall, and still you didn’t stop. couldn’t. not when your heart was racing in time with hers, not when every nerve in your body lit up under her touch.

she pulled back just barely, her lips brushing yours, her breathing heavy. her eyes were darker now, glassy in the dim light.

there was just something about her that was so numbingly intoxicating. clearly, she felt the same way.

finally, she broke the silence. “i want to keep seeing you,” she said, voice low but steady.

you swallowed hard.

“i want that too.”

she leaned in again, slower this time, her eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back like she was trying to memorize the moment. your breath caught as she got closer, her hand grazing your jaw, the air between you thick with heat.

but then she shifted.

her hip nudged the wheel with just the right force for the car horn to explode into the quiet night, loud and jarring. she jolted in surprise, and in that split second, her forehead collided hard with your nose.

“fuck!” you hissed, the sharp crack of impact making your eyes water instantly. pain bloomed, fast and hot, and before you could even register what happened, you felt something warm drip over your lip.

“oh my god,” she gasped, immediately pushing back off you. manon’s face was a mask of panic. “i’m so sorry. i was trying to be smooth, not concuss you!”

you gave her a weak, bloody smile. “well. you left an impression.”

“okay, no,” she muttered, already reaching for the door handle. “you’re coming upstairs. i’m fixing this.”

‎

megan clocked you the second you walked through the hotel suite door, her eyes lighting up with immediate mischief. she was curled up on the couch with her phone in hand, idly scrolling through unread text messages. but the second she saw you and manon step inside all flushed, tousled, and breathing just a little too hard, she knew. her lips parted into a slow, satisfied grin.

clearly, her and bea’s plan worked.

then her gaze dropped to your nose, the blood streaking down. whatever teasing remark she was about to toss out died in her throat, replaced by a sharp snort she couldn’t hold back even if she tried.

“what the hell did you do?” she laughed, eyebrows raised, eyes dancing between the two of you.

manon groaned beside you, dragging a hand down her face. “i’m never living this down, am i?”

from across the room, sophia’s head snapped up the second megan snorted, her brows pulling together in confusion. for a moment she thought maybe daniela, lara, and yoonchae had come back already from their ice cream run. instead, she saw you. her eyes widened when she caught the mess of your shirt sleeve trying to stop the flow of blood pooling from your nose.

“oh my god— what happened?” she stood from where she was sitting, already making her way over before either you or manon could answer. her hands hovered near your face, gentle but firm. “are you okay? does it hurt to breathe?”

you blinked, a little overwhelmed by how fast she’d turned into someone’s concerned older sister.

manon could feel her soul leaving her body. “i headbutted her. didn’t mean to. i swear i didn’t mean to.”

sophia gave her a quick look but didn’t stop her fussing. “you definitely nailed her. jesus, you’re lucky her nose doesn’t look broken.” she reached for the tissue box on the counter and pressed a wad of them gently into your hand. “come on. bathroom’s this way. let’s clean you up before anyone passes out.”

“it’s not that bad—” you tried, but she was already halfway down the hall.

“i’m not negotiating with someone who’s actively bleeding,” sophia called back. “manon, get over here. you’re helping.”

manon let out a quiet, horrified sound and followed like a scolded dog. behind her, megan cackled into a throw pillow.

“god, this is better than anything i could have hoped for,” she said between fits of laughter. “and lara thought nothing juicy would come out of this week. girl’s gonna scream when she hears about this.”

manon shot her a scowl over her own shoulder, a warning glare. the chinese girl simply doubled over even harder.

sophia stood over you in the cramped hotel bathroom, gently tilting your chin back with a practiced kind of care. the light above the mirror buzzed softly, casting a faint glow over your blood-streaked shirt and manon’s guilty expression lingering in the reflection behind you.

“you’re lucky,” sophia said as she dabbed carefully at your nose with a damp cloth. “it’s not broken. just a nasty bump.”

you nodded stiffly, trying not to move your head too much. “thanks. sorry for barging in like this.”

sophia gave you a half-smile. “not your fault. though next time maybe try ringing the doorbell instead of bleeding through it.”

manon hovered awkwardly near the bathroom door, arms crossed tight against her chest. “i didn’t mean to slam into her. it just… happened.”

megan, leaning on the hallway wall just outside, snorted. “yeah. so did that lipstick on your neck, babe.”

you nearly choked, eyes widening as you instinctively reached for your collar. manon’s ears flushed deep red.

“megan,” sophia warned, but there was no real heat behind it. “don’t make her pass out from embarrassment while she’s still mid-bleed.”

“hey, not my fault they walked in looking like they just got thrown around in a wind tunnel,” megan shot back. “this is gold.”

you let out a weak laugh, unsure where to look. “uh… i’m y/n, by the way. we didn’t really get to do introductions with all the blood and chaos.”

sophia’s expression softened as she rinsed the cloth out under the tap. “sophia. and you’ve already met our resident menace out there.”

megan popped her head back in. “pleasure to meet you, superstar. bea’s been talking you up for months.”

your brows raised. “she has?”

“mmhm,” megan said, clearly enjoying herself. “but i guess someone didn’t get the memo.” she nodded her head very aggressively in manon’s direction.

a quiet beat passed before you turned slightly toward manon, barely thinking. “guess you should’ve been paying attention, meret.”

it was instinctual, the name slipping from your mouth like muscle memory. you didn’t even realize what you’d said until you heard the sharp intake of breath from behind you.

sophia froze mid-dab. her head whipped around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t pull something in her neck. the look on her face was immediate, intense, like you’d just said something sacrilegious.

“i’m sorry,” she said slowly, setting the cloth down on the sink. “what did you just call her?”

you blinked. “meret…?”

sophia stared at you for a long second, then turned slowly toward manon, who now looked like she wanted to crawl into the floor.

“oh,” sophia said, voice dropping just enough to sound dangerous. “you’re the one.”

megan cackled from the hallway. “i’ve been trying not to say it all night.”

you looked between them, suddenly very aware of just how small the bathroom was. “what one?”

“the girl,” megan grinned. “the one she snuck out of bea’s party with.”

“you didn’t tell them?” you asked, turning to manon.

“i didn’t tell anyone except megan.” manon muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.

sophia folded her arms, expression unreadable but not unkind. “well. it’s nice to finally meet you properly. meret doesn’t show up often.”

manon gave her a tired glare. “can you not?”

sophia held up her hands. “just saying.”

you smiled awkwardly, wiping the last of the blood from your upper lip. “well… it’s nice to meet you both too. even if i’m bleeding and weirdly exposed.”

megan appeared in the doorway again, smug as ever. “if this is how you usually meet people, i get why bea said you needed help.”

“megan,” manon warned, shooting her a glare.

sophia just laughed, stepping back to rinse her hands in the sink. “honestly, this is kind of iconic. blood, secrets, confessions. what a night.”

“okay,” manon muttered, suddenly pulling open the bathroom door. “i’m walking her out.”

you blinked. “you don’t have to. ”

“i insist,” she said, already stepping into the hallway, clearly in need of escape.

you followed her past megan, who gave you a little finger wave and an exaggerated wink. “good luck, superstar.”

manon didn’t stop until you were at the hotel room door. she reached for a small notepad from the side table, scribbling quickly, her handwriting sharp and messy. then she tore the page off and shoved it into your hand with a bit more force than necessary.

“here,” she said. “for your shirt, if you want me to cover the dry cleaning bill. or whatever excuse you decide to use.”

you looked down at the number, then up at her. “you really think i’d let you pay for dry cleaning?”

she shook her head. “i think you’re not gonna throw away a perfectly good excuse to text me.”

you didn’t deny it. “i wasn’t planning on it.”

her eyes lingered on yours for a second too long. “good.”

before you could say anything else, sophia’s face twisted into a look of displeasure. “manon, ask her if she wants to stay for tea or something! don’t just shove her out like a scared raccoon!”

“go!” manon hissed, practically shoving you outside of the hotel room and shutting it firmly in your face.

for a moment you just stood there, overwhelmed and confused. but then you moved. you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face as you stepped into the hotel elevator, sliding the note with manon’s handscrawled phone number into your pocket. another momento of the enigma that was meret manon you could add to your collection.

whatever this was, it definitely wasn’t nothing.

‎

you weren’t exactly sure when the shift happened. when something casual and unspoken between you and manon began pulling at the edges of something deeper. maybe it was the moment you finally worked up the nerve to text her, her number saved under a single lowercase ‘m,’ always sitting stubbornly at the top of your messages, no matter how many hours passed between replies. you’d fall asleep with her words still open on your screen, wake up to find she’d responded in the middle of the night, like she couldn’t help herself either.

maybe it started in switzerland.

katseye was in zurich for a tour stop, the city glittering beneath early spring skies, and you were there too. you were called up for a friendly between team usa and team switzerland. you hadn’t planned to see her. hadn’t even thought she’d answer. but you sent the text anyway, a plain “u free?” with no punctuation and more hope packed into two words than you’d admit out loud.

what followed wasn’t what you expected. she met you outside a station, hood pulled low, no cameras, no glam team. just manon, just meret, just her. it was supposed to be a quick drink, something light and easy, but it ended in a motel outside the city center, the kind with too-thin walls and a view of nothing but train tracks. her body curved beneath yours, soft and certain, her breath catching every time you said her name. her curls were free from their usual boho braids, dark and wild against the pillow. she looked impossibly beautiful, more so than you remembered, more than you thought you could handle.

or maybe it started when you were both in the states, the girls in town for a broadcast performance set to air on every major american network that weekend. katseye had already taken over the charts. now they were coming for television too.

‎

you were deep into training, your jersey soaked through and clinging to your back from hours of drills under the unforgiving florida sun. the number fourteen on your shoulders practically burned beneath it, your skin hot, your body running on muscle memory and stubbornness alone. you were the best midfielder in women’s soccer for a reason. no way were you letting a little heat slow you down.

but then you saw her.

she was standing just inside the athlete tunnel, mostly hidden from view, like she hadn’t quite decided whether or not she wanted to be seen. it felt almost cinematic, like the roles had flipped. your brain flashed back to the season opener, that first impossible moment when your eyes found hers in the middle of the chaos. and just like that day, everything else faded.

you stopped cold. for the first time in over three hours, you shot the soccer ball into the net one last time and turned away from the field. you tuned out the ache in your thighs and the gatorade keg that practically had your name written on it. all you could focus on was her.

she wore a baseball cap pulled low and a facemask that covered most of her face, but you knew the shape of her by now. the curve of her shoulders, the way she leaned to one side like she didn’t have a care in the world, her fingers brushing along the hem of her hoodie like she was waiting for something to happen. you jogged toward her, skirting around a bench and ignoring the sting in your calves. and then you hugged her, no hesitation, no second guessing.

if she was surprised, she didn’t show it. if anything, she melted into you, pulling you closer, both of you half-hidden by the shade of the tunnel. you were still catching your breath when you pulled away, sweat clinging to your forehead, eyes searching hers for a reason.

she didn’t give one.

instead, manon slipped her mask down to her chin and bit the inside of her lip without meaning to. her gaze dragged over you slowly, like she didn’t care that you were a mess. your face was flushed, your jersey damp, your socks streaked with dirt. and still, to her, you looked annoyingly good. you smelled like sun and effort and something warm she couldn’t name. her heart was pounding and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss you or stare at you forever.

you blinked, thrown by her silence. “what’re you doing here? is everything okay?”

she nodded, and her smile curled into something that made your chest tighten. her palm pressed flat against your chest like she wanted to ground herself in the heat radiating off you. her voice was soft but certain.

“yes. i just wanted to see you.”

one thing led to another. it always did with her.

you don’t even remember how you got there exactly. one second you were standing in the tunnel, manon’s hand still resting against your chest like she didn’t want to let go, and the next, you were both slipping through a side entrance to the locker rooms like you had done this before. maybe not here, not in this exact spot, but the rhythm of it felt familiar. inevitable.

the hallway was quiet. the air conditioning inside was a stark contrast to the heat outside, but your skin still burned, pulsing with leftover adrenaline and something else entirely as manon led you by the wrist down the hall, past rows of lockers and benches, until she found an unlit corner behind a set of closed doors. it wasn’t glamorous. scuffed tile floors, abandoned water bottles, a broken clock on the wall. but it didn’t matter. you weren’t thinking about any of that.

she pushed you gently against the wall, eyes searching your face like she needed to make sure you wanted this too. you didn’t say a word. you didn’t need to. your fingers were already curling into the hem of her hoodie, pulling her closer until there was no space left between you.

her mouth found yours, warm and insistent, tasting like strawberry chapstick and something sweeter, something that made your knees weak even though you’d been running drills all morning. you kissed her like you hadn’t seen her in weeks, like the sound of her voice saying your name in that low, accented way had been echoing in your head nonstop since the last time. maybe it had.

her hands were everywhere. your waist, your jaw, your thighs, her fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch. you pressed your forehead against hers, noses bumping, eyes half-lidded as your pulse pounded in your throat.

“we shouldn’t,” you muttered, barely believing it even as the words left your mouth.

manon just smiled, slow and wicked, and kissed you again. “i know.”

but neither of you stopped.

the locker room was quiet but your breathing filled it, ragged and uneven, her soft moans barely restrained as she rocked against you. your back hit the wall again, and you let it, let her take whatever she wanted, gave it willingly because god, you wanted her just as badly.

‎

or perhaps, counter intuitively enough, it was that night in seoul.

‎

you had flown in for a friendly against south korea, the stadium packed, the energy wild with national pride. katseye happened to be in the city too, riding the chaos of a promo week that had them performing on every major music show and showing up to every brand partnership event possible. you’d barely caught glimpses of manon through screens. a fan cam here, a blurry group photo there, but nothing real. not until megan messaged you late one night, her name lighting up your phone with a simple question.

[9:30 p.m.] can u come? she won’t admit she’s sick but she needs someone.

you knew who she was talking about instantly.

despite your body aching from ninety minutes of pushing yourself to your physical limit, despite the early call time you had the next morning, you were already grabbing a hoodie and digging through your backpack for whatever you could carry. pain meds. electrolyte packets. a heat patch from the drugstore across from your hotel. a bag of honey-dipped crackers and one of those vitamin drinks that tasted horrible but worked. little things she had mentioned once, weeks ago in passing. things you didn’t even realize you had remembered until you were stuffing them into your arms.

megan met you by the emergency exit of their hotel. she didn’t say much, just pressed the keycard into your hand with a meaningful look.

“she’s in 1903. don’t be weird. and don’t let the staff see you.”

you laughed under your breath, heart pounding with nerves, but still you nodded. “thanks, mei.”

when you slipped into the room it was dim, the curtains drawn tight. manon was bundled into the bed, hoodie half-zipped, hair loose and messy around her pillow. she didn’t look glamorous. she looked pale and worn out, her skin too warm under the soft light of the bedside lamp, a tissue box on one side of her and her phone facedown on the other. her eyes fluttered open when you came in, and for a second she didn’t say anything. just blinked at you like she wasn’t sure if you were real.

“you actually came,” she said finally, her voice rough and barely above a whisper.

“of course i did,” you said, your own voice quieter than usual. you slipped off your shoes and dropped the bag onto the edge of the bed. “megan said you were dying. this is me saving your life.”

she laughed, tried to at least, but it turned into a soft cough. you sat beside her, pulling out everything you brought, lining them up on the nightstand. her eyes followed your hands as you laid down the heating pad, the tea sachets, the exact brand of menthol patches she liked for muscle aches.

“you remembered,” she murmured.

“yeah, well. you kind of say a lot of things when you’re drunk on post-show adrenaline,” you teased, but the warmth in your voice gave you away.

she didn’t answer right away. just watched you with this look in her eyes, like you had peeled her open without trying, like it scared her and thrilled her all at once.

you helped her sit up, propping the pillows behind her, your fingers brushing hers every time you adjusted something. she was burning up, and it made your chest hurt. she shouldn’t have been performing that hard. she should’ve been resting, drinking soup, wrapped in seven blankets and watching cartoons like she used to as a kid.

“do you want me to go?” you asked after a while, once she had taken the meds and curled back under the covers.

her answer was immediate.

“no. stay.”

you didn’t climb into bed, not right away. you just sat there, your back against the side of the mattress, close enough that her fingers could find yours if she reached. she did, eventually, her hand falling limp into your lap. you held it gently, your thumb tracing the faint calluses along her palm.

it was quiet. not tense. not charged. just… quiet. comforting. the kind of silence that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t used to.

after a long stretch, manon spoke again, barely above a whisper.

“this is scary,” she said. “how much i like this.”

you looked up at her, and for once, she didn’t look away. she let you see it all. the vulnerability, the truth, the walls she had built so carefully, now lowered just enough to let you in.

“then don’t be scared,” you said softly.

she didn’t answer, but she didn’t let go of your hand either.

you stayed there until the sun began to rise. no kisses. no tension. no clothes tangled on the floor.

just her hand in yours and the quiet question over whether something had shifted.

‎

but it didn’t. it never had.

you and manon had defined the rules from the beginning, sharp and clear like lines drawn in chalk. strictly physical. a situationship that worked when your paths happened to cross. a night here, a hotel room there, nothing deeper than sweat and stolen time. you were constantly on the move, bouncing from city to city with your team, and she was prepping for katseye’s world tour, about to disappear into stages and spotlights across six continents. it made sense this way. clean. easy.

besides, you were polar opposites.

you felt most like yourself with your cleats in the mud, jersey soaked, surrounded by teammates shouting directions and coaches losing their minds on the sidelines.

manon thrived in controlled chaos under stadium lights and camera flashes, her body moving in perfect rhythm, her expressions rehearsed and weaponized.

you liked quiet mornings. she liked the buzz of late nights. and neither of you believed in fairy tales.

the night you first brought up boundaries, it had been her who said it out loud.

‎

“no feelings,” manon said, sitting cross-legged at the foot of your hotel bed, her fingers twisting the drawstrings of her hoodie. “just fun. that’s the deal, right?”

you nodded, trying to ignore how the word ‘feelings’ lodged like something sharp in your chest. “right.”

it should’ve been enough.

but sometimes she said things that chipped away at the walls you both worked so hard to keep up. like the night in sacramento, when her lips were still pink from kissing you breathless and she laid on her side, staring up at the ceiling like she was scared of what she’d see if she looked at you. her voice was quiet, but you heard every word.

“i’m not ready to be a headline,” she said. “megan still gets tagged in edits with that livestream where they basically forced her to come out. like it was content. and lara…” she trailed off, jaw tightening. “lara got eaten alive for being honest.”

you understood. of course you did. you had teammates who were careful with who they followed on instagram, who they sat next to at press conferences, who they hugged too long after a goal. women who chose privacy over peace of mind. you’d done the math too many times to count.

“then we keep it simple,” you said finally, your voice steady even though your stomach was twisting. “just us. when we can. no strings.”

and you meant it. you both did.

but it was getting harder by the day.

harder when her name lit up your phone and your heart jumped before you could stop it. harder when her voice dropped to a whisper just for you, even when her whole group was around. harder when you caught her watching you after you’d already looked away.

you told yourselves the rules were still in place. but deep down, you both knew the game had already changed.

‎

truth be told, manon wasn’t sure when everything started to change, either.

she told herself it was still casual. convenient. she liked the way things were. the thrill of control, the ability to slip in and out of someone’s life without consequence. it was easier that way. clean. you were supposed to be just that, a beautiful complication she could walk away from whenever the schedule got too packed or the spotlight too harsh.

but somewhere along the way, she stopped walking away.

it was sophia who called her out first.

they were backstage at a commercial shoot waiting for touch-ups, manon’s face already half-painted in shimmer. sophia sat beside her, legs kicked up on an unused stool, casually sipping her coconut water like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb.

“is it just for the sex?” she asked, not even looking at manon when she said it.

manon blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

“you and her. is it just the sex?”

there was a beat of silence. manon forced a laugh, but it came out tight.

“obviously,” she said. “i mean… that’s the whole point.”

sophia looked at her then, eyebrow raised. “you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

manon didn’t answer after that. she didn’t have to. the lie was already starting to fray, tugged loose thread by thread every morning she woke up. with every text she sent you between layovers, when she should have been sleeping or doing vocal exercises or scrolling past the mess of her notifications.

you had started becoming a part of her rhythm, tucked into the margins of her day like something familiar and necessary. it wasn’t defined. it wasn’t labeled. but it was there, humming beneath everything like background music she couldn’t turn off.

and then the tabloid dropped. a headline splashed across one of the biggest entertainment sites.

katseye’s manon skipping practice to be with mystery lover?

the photos weren’t all that incriminating. a blurry shot of her slipping into a black suv, another of her walking through a hotel lobby with a baseball cap pulled low. but the article did what it was designed to do. it stirred the pot. people started speculating, naming names, dragging innocent people into a story they had no business being in. her phone exploded in minutes.

the group was shaken and management was furious. manon got defensive. sharp-edged. she told them she was giving her all, and she was. she hadn’t missed a single show. she was nailing every vocal, every formation, every interview. she was doing everything right. but inside, she was spiraling.

she hated how exposed it made her feel. how the idea of being seen with you now felt like a risk instead of a relief. she hated how much it scared her, not because of her career, but because of what it meant. what it had already become.

so she shut everything down.

she stopped replying to your messages. stopped opening them, even when she saw the little preview on her lockscreen. she told herself it was necessary. strategic. protection. but the truth was simpler than that.

she was terrified.

even when you were in the same city, just blocks away, she didn’t reach out. not when she passed by the cafe you mentioned stopping at before matches. not when she saw a clip of you post-game, sweat glistening on your forehead as you gave an interview. not even when megan threw her a pointed look and said, “you know she flew out on her own dime just to be here, right?”

radio silence. it was easier that way.

at least, it was supposed to be.

‎

the scans were already up on the screen when you walked into the medical suite on crutches, your sock balled in your fist, blood from a turf burn drying on your shin. the pain in your foot throbbed with every step, but you barely noticed it. not compared to the ache twisting behind your ribs.

dr. vasquez didn’t say anything at first. just motioned for you to sit, then turned back to the monitor. the x-ray glowed quietly behind her.

“third metatarsal,” she said finally, voice calm, clinical. “clean fracture, just above the base. you’ll need to be non-weight bearing for at least three weeks, maybe longer, depending on how your body responds.”

you stared at the image, the thin white line splitting the bone like a crack in porcelain. it didn’t feel real. it didn’t feel like your foot.

you should have seen it coming.

but your head had been somewhere else entirely. still spinning from the headline you saw that morning. you’d already re read it ten times over since it dropped. it was a tabloid splash with manon’s name in bold, alongside a photo that could have been anywhere, but you knew. the angle, the outfit, the timing. it was from the day you snuck out the back of the hotel after one of her shoots. your hood up. your hand brushing hers just before she pulled away.

katseye’s manon skipping practice to be with mystery lover?

your fingers had gone cold when you saw it. not because of the implication, but because she hadn’t said a word. no explanation. no warning. just silence. it had been days. messages unopened. voice memos unplayed. nothing.

you were still thinking about all of it when the ball ricocheted across the scrimmage line. still thinking when you pivoted to intercept, not noticing carly’s sprint until it was too late.

you remembered the moment in pieces. the sharp twist of her cleat, the angle of her hip, the deliberate weight behind the collision that sent you crashing down. she hit you low. too low. too late.

you couldn’t prove it, but you knew it was on purpose. the way she looked at you when you hit the ground, the flicker of something smug in her expression before the medics were even called. she had always hated how much press you got. how coaches praised your instinct, how you never had to fight for minutes. jealousy made people reckless. sometimes it made them cruel.

and now you were here, sitting under sterile lights, the pulse in your foot screaming with every heartbeat.

“what’s the recovery window?” you asked finally, voice hoarse.

dr. vasquez’s expression softened, but her tone stayed steady. “if we’re aggressive with rehab, maybe six to eight weeks. but that’s pushing it. you’d be cutting it dangerously close.”

your stomach dropped. you did the math before she even finished.

“so i’m out.”

she didn’t say yes. she didn’t have to.

you leaned forward, burying your face in your hands. the shame hit first. then the anger. not just at carly, or at the injury. but at yourself, for being distracted. for letting manon live rent-free in your head while everything you’d worked for slipped through your fingers.

there were fifty-two days until the world cup.

dr. vasquez sat beside you, softening just a little. “i know this is hard. but if you push too soon, you risk long-term damage. you could make it worse. you could lose more than just this tournament.”

you nodded, even though every part of you rejected it. your fingers clenched the edge of the bench so tightly your knuckles ached.

“you’re going to have to sit out,” she said gently. “even if the team makes it all the way, it’s unlikely you’ll be cleared in time. i’m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t.

your whole life was built around movement. training, matches, chasing the ball like it was oxygen. and now you were expected to watch from the sidelines while the biggest tournament in your career unfolded without you.

all because you let yourself care about someone who didn’t even bother to check if you were okay.

‎

you didn’t cry until later.

not in the medical suite, not in the locker room when you sat numbly in your uniform for another forty minutes, not even when you hobbled to your car and stared at the steering wheel like it might tell you what to do next.

but later that night, with the lights off and your foot elevated on a stack of pillows, a half-eaten protein bar abandoned on the nightstand and the taste of metal in your mouth from biting down too hard on your molars. that was when it cracked. when it finally all broke open.

it started slow. the kind of crying that barely makes a sound. a quiet leak of emotion that felt more like an exhale than a sob. but then it grew, sharp and raw, a frustration so tangled you couldn’t pull one feeling free from another.

you were furious. at carly, at your bad luck, at the way the world moved forward even when you were stuck standing still.

but most of all, you were hurt.

manon hadn’t reached out. not once. not even after the tabloid dropped. not after the photo. not after your injury, which was now spreading across headlines too.

usa star midfielder suffers metatarsal fracture ahead of world cup.

it was too much. the noise, the silence, the pain.

so you shut it all out.

you turned your phone off. stopped checking your messages. stopped opening apps. even the sound of a teammate’s voice on your voicemail made your stomach twist.

the pain in your foot was manageable at first. dr. vasquez had prescribed a standard course of anti-inflammatories, mild painkillers. but it wasn’t just the break that ached. it was everything else. your body didn’t want to move. your head didn’t want to think. every reminder of the game, of the tournament slipping by, it all made your chest tighten.

so you took more than you needed. then something stronger. then something else altogether when the first bottle ran out.

days blurred together after that. your crutches leaned against the corner of your room, untouched for hours at a time. dishes piled up. emails went unread. you had your surgery, but rehab appointments were missed, then rescheduled, then ignored.

you told yourself it was fine. that you just needed time. that you’d bounce back.

but weeks passed, and you were still stuck in the same space. not just physically, but in your mind.

the silence between you and manon stretched like a fault line. neither of you said the words. neither of you reached across the gap. and maybe she had her reasons. maybe she was scared. maybe she didn’t know what to say.

but so were you.

what was there to say when everything you had built— your career, your momentum, your carefully guarded heart— was crumbling around you, and the one person who made you feel less alone in all of it had disappeared without warning?

you were benched. fractured. falling into something you couldn’t name yet, not fully. not until the days started feeling like fog and the nights like nothing.

you had always been the strong one. the composed one. the one who never buckled under pressure.

but now you were slipping, and no one knew just how far.

‎

you didn’t hear the knock the first time.

it was the second, louder, more impatient, that made you jolt upright on the couch, a thin line of drool drying on the corner of your mouth. your ankle throbbed where it was still loosely elevated on a pillow, your muscles aching from staying curled in the same position too long. a sharp pain shot up your spine as you moved, and you cursed under your breath, blinking toward the door.

when you opened it, half-limping, half-squinting at the afternoon light, bea was already pushing her way inside.

“jesus christ,” she muttered, eyes scanning your apartment. “have you moved in the last three days?”

you didn’t answer. didn’t really need to. the answer was all around you. plates on the kitchen counter, unopened mail, a cluster of pill containers on the coffee table. a heating pad sat unplugged on the floor, next to an untouched resistance band draped across a crumpled pair of joggers.

bea toed a pile of athletic tape with the tip of her shoe, then turned to look at you, arms crossed.

“i texted you a dozen times.”

“i know.”

“and called.”

you nodded.

she paused, letting that hang for a second, before exhaling slowly. “okay. you want to be mad, you can be mad. you want to shut people out, fine. but i’m here now, and i’m not leaving until you stop looking like the ghost of someone i used to win olympic gold with.”

you looked away, your jaw tightening. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not.”

there was no judgment in her tone. just fact. clear and simple.

you sank back onto the couch and ran a hand through your hair. your fingers brushed the edge of your temple, where a dull headache had been living for most of the day.

“my foot’s fucked,” you muttered.

“yeah, i figured.”

you closed your eyes for a beat. “world cup’s gone.”

“for now,” bea corrected, sitting on the arm of the couch. “not forever. you’ll get back there.”

“you don’t know that.”

“no, but i know you,” she said. “and you’re not the kind of person who gives up. or hides out like this. what’s really going on?”

you didn’t answer. not right away. bea gave you time.

finally, you said it. “i’ve been taking the meds.”

her gaze flicked to the bottles.

“more than prescribed?” she asked quietly.

your silence was enough of an answer.

bea sighed and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “okay. look. i’m not here to lecture you. i get it. you’re in pain. physically, emotionally, whatever. but this?” she gestured at the mess, the closed blinds, the lingering haze in your eyes. “this isn’t you.”

you bit the inside of your cheek.

“you need to go to rehab,” she said, gently now. “not just for your foot. for your head. your heart. get back to feeling like a person again. you owe that to yourself.”

you stared at the floor. “i just… i can’t even think straight.”

“then let someone help you think,” she said. “start small. one step. you talk to dr. vasquez. you get back in the gym. you cut the pills. even if you don’t believe you can, just act like someone who might.”

your chest hurt. not in the physical way, not like your foot, but in the deeper, heavier way. like something caved in.

“she hasn’t even called,” you said suddenly. it slipped out before you could swallow it back.

bea blinked. “manon?”

you nodded.

“do you want her to?”

you didn’t know how to answer that either.

it felt silly. no matter how many times you wracked through your brain trying to make sense of the hurt you felt, it never made sense. why were you so bothered? you weren’t even dating. manon had made it very clear that whatever you had going on meant less to her than it did to you.

still, you knew the answer was yes. if the swiss girl was to call in that moment then, you would have answered without hesitation.

after a beat, bea sighed.

“okay,” she said, softer now. “then leave that part. for now. focus on what you can control. your body. your recovery. get strong again. then decide what comes next.”

you let the silence stretch out again. not as long this time.

eventually, you nodded.

you didn’t say thank you. didn’t have to. bea saw it in the way you started stacking the pill bottles into a bag. in the way you pulled the blinds open an inch. in the way your voice didn’t break when you finally asked, “will you drive me to the clinic tomorrow?”

“yeah. of course.”

for the first time in weeks, you let someone help you.

‎

manon hadn’t planned to ghost you. not really.

when the tabloid dropped, splashing her name across headlines with words like “mystery lover” and “missing rehearsals”, her stomach turned so hard she almost threw up backstage. it didn’t matter that the photo was grainy or that she hadn’t missed a single scheduled rehearsal. what mattered was that katseye’s name was being dragged, and her face was at the center of it.

management was livid. not at her directly, not at first, but at the optics. they didn’t ask questions about where she’d been or who you were. they didn’t want the truth. they wanted control. so she apologized, bowed her head, promised to focus, promised it wouldn’t happen again. she cut off the distraction.

you.

it was supposed to be temporary. just enough time to let things cool down. she performed like everything was fine. every camera flash, every dance rehearsal, every note sung like her lungs weren’t filling with something heavier each day.

it worked. kind of.

the group dynamic stabilized again. management backed off. the scandal passed, replaced by some other trending story. the comments under katseye’s posts stopped mentioning the photo.

but something in her didn’t settle.

she felt it when megan looked at her for a second too long during vocal warmups. when sophia threw her a side glance during dinner, chopsticks paused mid-air. when she hesitated before asking if she was “doing okay” in the most nonchalant tone she could manage.

then one night after practice while the group was sprawled out in the dorm’s main room, pizza boxes open and a drama humming softly on the tv, lara finally said it.

“you know you’ve been weird lately, right?”

manon looked up from her phone, blinking. “what?”

“standoffish,” daniela added from where she was braiding yoonchae’s hair. “like, emotionally constipated but in french.”

“i’m literally fi—” manon started.

“you don’t have to lie,” sophia cut in gently. “we know it’s about her.”

for a moment manon didn’t say anything. she looked back and forth between the faces of the five girls looking back at her. all knowing, all patient, and all careful as if they were afraid the wrong word would set her off.

manon then turned to sophia and megan pointedly, her face twisting up in betrayal. “you told them?”

lara interrupted with a soft shake of her head, reaching a hand out to gently grasp and squeeze manon’s knee. an action rooted in comfort and reassurance more than anything. “don’t be mad at them. we all kinda put two and two together. you were practically glowing after florida.”

“then you started moping after the tabloid,” daniela added, less accusing than concerned. “you ghosted her, didn’t you?”

manon didn’t answer, and they didn’t push. they didn’t need to. the silence said enough.

megan was the one who broke it.

“you should call her,” she said quietly, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her hands as if trying to make herself smaller. “it’s not too late.”

“yes it is,” manon snapped, the words escaping before she could stop them. too quick, too sharp, more reflex than thought. she wished she could pull them back the moment they were out in the air, but no one flinched. they just looked at her like they already knew she felt that way.

sophia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. her voice stayed calm. “she probably thought you didn’t care.”

manon’s jaw tightened. “i do.”

“then tell her,” yoonchae said softly, barely above a whisper. “or at least let her explain. you owe her that much.”

and maybe they were right. maybe she did owe you something.

but the part no one understood, not even herself most days, was that caring about you terrified her. you were everywhere. in her chest, in the spaces between her ribs, in the long silences after the lights went down on stage and the applause faded and she found herself alone with her thoughts.

so she nodded. not to them, but to herself.she’d call. eventually. that was the plan.

that was, at least, until the photos showed up. they found her in the middle of dance rehearsal.

her phone buzzed twice in her pocket before her instructor scolded her into checking it during a water break. and there it was. a text from megan with just a link.

she clicked it.

the article wasn’t long, but the headline was bold.

star midfielder y/n l/n sparks new romance? mystery woman spotted leaving rehab clinic with athlete.

and underneath it, a gallery of images.

you, stepping carefully down the concrete steps, a compression boot still strapped to your foot. you, shielding your face with a hoodie. and beside you, a woman. one hand steadying your back as you climbed into a car.

manon felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

it didn’t matter how innocent it might have been. didn’t matter how professional the woman looked.

she shoved the phone into her bag and didn’t finish rehearsal. didn’t wait for approval or sign out. just walked straight out the back exit and into the evening air, rage clawing up her spine and sinking deep into her shoulders. jealousy bloomed before she could even name it. bitter and sour and fast.

you looked good. better than the last time she saw you. like you were getting stronger. like you didn’t need her. and maybe you didn’t. maybe she’d made it that easy to walk away. to replace her.

she hated that she had no right to be angry. hated even more that she was anyway.

her fingers hovered over your name in her contacts. the one still saved under something stupid. not your full name. not even your nickname. just a little sun emoji, because that’s what you were. what you’d become. blinding. impossible to ignore.

but she didn’t call. you were still in the same city, at least for another few days.

perhaps she should have.

‎

by the time she was outside your hotel, she didn’t have a plan. she shouldn’t have come, she knew that much. bea had texted megan your hotel and room number, and one thing led to another.

the next thing she knew, she was knocking on your door.

one knock. then another. then silence.

her hands clenched at her sides, her pulse screaming through her eardrums. when the door finally clicked open, there you were. eyes tired, hair damp like you’d just gotten out of the shower, wearing a hoodie that was too big and probably stolen from one of your teammates. your boot was still on. your expression crumbled the moment you saw her.

“manon.”

“who is she?” manon asked, skipping hello. skipping anything remotely human.

you blinked. “what?”

“the woman in the photos. is that what you do now? go from one secret to the next?”

your face paled. then hardened.

“you don’t get to ask me that,” you said quietly.

manon’s throat burned. “so it’s true.”

you exhaled like you were trying to hold it together, like the air itself was too sharp. then you turned your back to her, walking back into the room, and left the door open for her to come inside.

she did.

when you opened the door you expected bea. maybe one of the team trainers, perhaps even room service. but the second you saw manon standing in the hallway in a zip-up jacket and baseball cap, mouth drawn tight, your stomach dropped.

“you could’ve called.” you said when she stepped in behind you, the door slamming shut.

manon tugged her cap off and with it, the air shifted. it always did when she was close.

you didn’t speak and neither did she. not until her eyes landed on the overnight bag by the couch, your rehab paperwork half-tucked beneath it.

“who was she?” manon asked, again, sharp. “the one in the photo. leaving the office with you.”

you frown. “it’s not what you think.”

it truly wasn’t. your rehab caseworker was a woman nearly twice your age, a woman with a husband and kids. she was helping you.

truthfully, at this point you didn’t think manon even deserved the answer.

“really?” she laughed bitterly. “because from here, it looks pretty obvious.”

your jaw clenched. you couldn’t begin to describe the emotions embroidering themselves into you in this moment now. anger. frustration. disbelief. you were angry at yourself for staring, for still being so inconceivably taken aback by her sheer beauty despite it all. you were angry for still finding her so breathtaking even after seeing her for the first time after weeks of silence. she ghosted you. she left you to pick up the pieces of something she left shattered.

above that, you were angry she had the guts to show up and demand answers like you owed her anything.

you didn’t even bother asking how she knew where you were, you knew bea had something to do with it.

instead, you scoffed. “you’ve got some nerve, meret.” you say her name with a kind of venom that made her flinch, even if she tried not to show it.

she took a step closer. “don’t turn this on me.”

you shake your head disbelievingly. “what do you want from me? you show up after leaving me in the dark, and expect me to welcome you in with open arms?”

“you think I wasn’t losing my mind watching my name go viral for something that wasn’t even real?”

real. you scoff, biting your tongue. the words you wanted to say begged to be let out. instead you shook your head.

“you didn’t have to disappear.”

manon laughed, hollow, like it scraped something raw inside her. “my career was on the line.”

“so was mine!” you nearly shouted, and the sound of your voice bouncing off the hotel walls startled you both. you closed your eyes for half a second, forcing yourself to breathe. “but I didn’t ghost you. I didn’t pretend like none of it happened.”

“i wasn’t pretending,” she said, softer now, but the edge hadn’t fully left her voice. “i was trying to fix it before it got worse. management was on my ass. the girls were on edge. and then that headline—”

you shook your head, stepping away from her. your foot ached as you moved, but you didn’t care. the pain grounded you more than anything she said. you cut her off.

“you ghosted me to save your image, fine. but don’t you dare come in here accusing me of anything.”

her eyes narrowed. “so you admit there’s something to accuse you of?”

your chest heaved. “no. i’m saying you don’t get to act like a victim.”

she was silent for a beat, long enough for the air between you to feel toxic. then she gestured toward the bag and the paperwork she’d seen. “what even is all that?”

“don’t act like you care now, manon.” you scoff.

manon’s face twisted up with a kind of hurt that she felt in the core of her being. for a moment she just stared at you. she so badly wanted to say all of the things that plagued her mind the months you’d known each other. she wanted so badly to drop to her knees then and there, to swear on her life— her career — that not a single day had passed where you didn’t cross her mind.

instead, her frustration got the better of her.

“we weren’t even together,” manon snapped, eyes flashing.

“i know we weren’t.”

“we said it was just sex. fun.”

“yeah,” you said, louder now, “but it stopped being fun a long time ago, didn’t it?”

manon had nothing else to say. knowing that you felt the same way she did should have felt like relief. like a breath of air. instead, it felt bitter. it left a taste in her mouth she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to swallow.

your words weren’t a confession, and she knew it.

she swallowed. “it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

you laughed. a melancholic, tired kind of sound that shook your body with the weight of all your pent up emotions. “then let’s just pretend like none of this happened. that’s what you wanted, right?”

the words hit their mark. you saw it in her shoulders, in the flicker in her jaw, in the way she wouldn’t meet your eyes now.

you stepped back, your boot knocking into the corner of the bed.

“go.”

manon grabbed her cap off the counter, turned to the door, and paused.

“maybe this was a mistake.”

the door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality that sounded louder than the shouting ever had. and just like that, the room shifted. heavier, colder, emptier. the silence rushed in all at once, like water filling a void. you didn’t move for a long time. just stood there, breathing shallowly, your pulse still racing from everything she said. from everything she didn’t.

it wasn’t until your eyes dropped to the floor that you saw it.

a piece of paper, half-tucked beneath the corner of the nightstand. crumpled, like it had been carried around too long. worn thin, like it had been folded and unfolded over and over again. you weren’t sure when she’d left it. maybe when you turned your back, maybe before the fight even started. but somehow, it felt like the loudest thing she’d said all night.

you hobbled over slowly, the pain in your foot barely registering now beneath the weight in your chest. when you picked it up, your fingers shook. the ink was faded in places, smudged at the edges, but the handwriting was unmistakable. familiar. careful.

i think i love you. –meret

you stared at it for a long time, something breaking open inside you with every second that passed. all the things she hadn’t said, all the chances you both missed, pressed into six quiet words. not a plea. not a promise. just the truth.

and it came too late.

‎

another week passed since your argument. you were still in los angeles, and there were now two days until the world cup opener.

the stadium was completely empty, silent except for the distant hum of the city beyond the floodlights. you sat alone on the cold metal bleachers, the late afternoon sun sliding slowly behind the stands, casting long shadows across the empty pitch. the grass looked impossibly green, the goalposts still standing like silent sentinels, and every inch of the field called out to you with a quiet ache you couldn’t ignore.

you looked down at the note again, the ink smudged where your fingers had held it too tightly. the weight of those six words felt like a stone inside your chest, heavy but delicate all at once. then your eyes shifted to your foot. the boot had been taken off only a day ago, but every time you put weight on it, there was a sharp reminder that your body was still fragile. the pain was duller now, not enough to keep you off the field, but enough to remind you that your foot had betrayed you once, and you weren’t sure if you had forgiven it yet.

your team had made it through without you. barely. sitting on the sidelines, pacing the hospital halls with a phone pressed to your ear, hearing the whistles and scores secondhand had been a slow kind of torture. but somehow they had pulled through. by grit, by luck, and by sheer will. it should have been enough to light a fire inside you, something fierce and unbreakable, ready to carry you onto the field again.

but your mind was elsewhere.

you could still hear manon’s voice when your eyes closed. the way she had said your name in the hotel room, the way her frustration had cracked just enough to show something softer underneath. the fight had burned through every part of you, but it was the silence after that cut deepest. the click of the door, the empty room she left behind. it stayed with you like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

you knew katseye was still in la. you knew it was their final stop before they headed back to europe for an undetermined amount of time. you probably wouldn’t see her again for a while.

in twenty minutes you had your final medical exam. it was the moment that would decide if you were really ready to play. you should be getting up, walking to the clinic, proving to everyone including yourself that you were ready to play. but your body refused to move. your foot still ached, but more than that, your heart did too. the ache in your chest pressed down like the cold metal seats beneath you, heavy and inescapable.

you almost didn’t register the feeling of someone approaching you. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. the sound of her sneakers on the metal steps had been careful, deliberate, but not quiet enough to mask the familiarity.

“i thought i’d find you here,” bea said quietly, her voice floating down like it belonged to the quiet.

you didn’t turn around. not at first. the note was still warm in your hands, soft from how many times your fingers had traced its edges. you knew the creases by heart now, the way the folds had started to tear, the way her handwriting had smudged just enough to feel like a memory slipping away.

bea eased down onto the bleacher behind you, one row up, her elbows braced on her knees, eyes fixed on the same field you hadn’t been able to stop staring at. for a while, she didn’t say anything else. just breathed next to you, steady and quiet. then she hummed knowingly. “you’re gonna miss your checkup.”

her tone wasn’t urgent, but the weight of what she was reminding you of pressed in anyway.

you nodded slowly, the answer already formed before she asked. “i know,” you said. your voice came out low, but solid, like the decision had already rooted itself in you. “i’m not going.”

the silence that followed wasn’t surprised. it was careful.

“what do you mean?” she asked after a beat, not accusing, just trying to make sure she understood you.

you finally turned your head, just slightly, just enough to look at her over your shoulder. “i mean i’m not doing it. i’m not going. i don’t think i can.”

bea leaned back a little, her brow creased, confusion shifting into something quieter. “you’ve waited for this for weeks,” she said, not unkindly. “the whole rehab, the work, everything. all of it.”

you nodded again, the motion small but sure. “i know. but something in me still doesn’t feel right. my foot’s almost there, yeah, and i’m technically cleared to test it. but it’s not the pain that’s stopping me.”

she didn’t press you. didn’t speak. just stayed with you in the quiet, letting it stretch a little, like she knew there was more and she was willing to wait for it.

you took a breath and let your eyes fall back to the field, the light now golden and low. “everything else in me still feels shaky,” you said. “like i could take the field tomorrow and my body would show up, but the rest of me wouldn’t.”

you didn’t realize you were gripping the note until your thumb brushed over the paper again. the edges had curled, worn thin from the way you kept holding it like it might hold you back together.

“she left this,” you said, your voice quieter now.

bea glanced at the paper in your hands, then back at you. “how do you feel?”

the question sat in the air for a long time before you answered. “like i was halfway in love with her the second i saw her.”

bea tilted her head, her eyes gentle. “is it still there?”

“yeah,” you whispered. “it never really left.”

she looked down at her hands, then up at the empty field. “you know… we’ve both played through pain. done it for years. and i get it. sometimes you have to. but this?” she nodded at the note. “this doesn’t sound like something you should be playing through.”

you stayed quiet.

“you love her,” bea said, not a question this time, just a quiet truth placed between you.

you nodded again, barely, the motion so small it might’ve been missed if she hadn’t already known the answer.

for a while, all you could hear was the buzz of the stadium lights overhead, the slow groan of one flickering to life after another. the field looked too perfect, too green, too untouched. it felt like a painting, still and silent, waiting for someone to step into it.

“so why are you still here?”

you exhaled slowly, staring straight ahead. “because if i miss this exam, i don’t play. and if i don’t play, then what was all of it for? the injury, the rehab, the sacrifice… what was the point?”

bea didn’t look away from you. she stayed still for a moment longer, then finally spoke again.

“maybe it wasn’t just for the game.”

you turned your head, uncertain.

“maybe it was for more than that,” she said. “for learning that your worth isn’t measured by the next match. for giving yourself permission to want something you can’t chart on a scoreboard. for figuring out that there’s a difference between playing through pain and playing like you actually want to be there.”

you looked down at the note in your hands again, your voice almost too soft to hear.

“i don’t know if she wants to see me. not after how we left things.”

bea didn’t hesitate. “then find out.”

“it’s too late,” you said, not with certainty but with fear.

“it’s not,” she said. “she’s still in the city, right? the tour ends tonight?”

you nodded, barely. “yeah. the bowl.”

“then you don’t need a plane. you don’t need a manager or a doctor or a pass. you just need to go.”

you opened your mouth, hesitating. “what if i’m wrong? what if i go, she doesn’t want to see me?”

bea gave you a look. not harsh. just steady. “then at least you’ll know you weren’t too scared to try.”

the stadium around you was still. the sun nearly gone now, the lights casting that familiar pregame glow over the field. the ache in your foot felt distant for once, like your body had finally decided to follow your heart’s lead.

“the medical team—” you started.

“i’ll cover for you,” bea said. “i’ll tell them you needed time. they’ll deal.”

you stared at her, overwhelmed. “why are you doing this?”

she gave a small smile. “because i’ve seen you fight for everything else in your life. now i want to see you fight for this.”

you blinked hard, throat tight.

“thank you,” you whispered.

bea stood with you, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “go,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “before i start getting emotional and ruin my whole cool persona.”

you let out a breath that was half laugh, half something closer to release. “too late for that,” you said, your voice shaky but warm.

and this time, when you turned and started walking down the bleachers, it didn’t feel like you were leaving something behind.

‎

the show had ended, but the air still pulsed with it. every surface backstage hummed like it had absorbed the sound and refused to let it go. the concrete beneath your feet felt warm, as if it had held the energy of thousands of stomping feet and was still deciding whether to let it fade.

somewhere beyond the heavy doors, the crowd was still roaring. you stood near the back exit, just out of sight, half shielded by a wall of black storage trunks marked with shipping labels and tour codes. it smelled like sweat and vinyl and adrenaline. somewhere along the drive, bea must have called megan to give her a heads up that you were on your way. it was likely megan’s doing that you were let backstage without any hassle.

you hadn’t planned what to say. not on the drive over. not in the slow, stalling walk through the backstage corridor. your mind had been too loud and too blank at once.

your phone hadn’t stopped vibrating since you arrived, tucked deep in your jacket pocket. it buzzed again and again. the coaches, the medical staff, your name probably floating across a dozen group chats in varying degrees of concern, irritation, disbelief. you’d silenced everything. not because you wanted to be reckless, but because this moment didn’t belong to anyone else.

you needed it to be yours.

when the door opened from the far side of the stage, a fresh wave of cheers rolled in, muffled but still enormous. then the sound shifted. boots against metal, quick voices calling for clear paths, crew shouting directions over each other as the final load-out began. a golf cart beeped somewhere near the loading dock.

and then, in the middle of all that movement, she appeared.

manon.

she was walking with the rest of them at first, laughing at something, her head turned toward one of the other girls. her shirt clung to her back with sweat, her hair damp and tangled from the heat of the stage. her face was still flushed, bright from the lights, from the movement, from whatever high came with finishing something that had taken months to build.

you almost stepped back when you saw her. the way your breath caught felt involuntary, like your body had been holding it in anticipation for longer than you realized.

and then she saw you.

she stopped like she’d hit something. like her whole body forgot what it was supposed to do. her mouth parted slightly. one step, then another, slower this time. the girls kept moving without her, unaware or pretending not to notice. now that you thought about it, you definitely didn’t miss the sly glances megan and sophia shot your way. but, before you could dwell on it, your attention was brought back to the woman of the hour.

the sound around you blurred for a second, not disappearing but dulling. like someone had turned the volume down on everything except the space between you and her.

her eyes stayed on yours, wide, searching. her lips moved before her voice did, like she had to try it out first just to believe it was real.

“you’re here,” she said. not an accusation. not even a question. just a quiet fact she hadn’t expected to say out loud.

you nodded. “i couldn’t miss this.”

manon blinked, slow and dazed, like she was surfacing from deep water. she looked exhausted, like the kind of tired that clings to your bones. but still, impossibly, unfairly beautiful. there was a glazed softness in her eyes, as if the stage had taken something from her and left behind a quiet kind of wonder. strands of hair clung to her damp temples, her breath still unsteady, and yet she carried herself with the kind of grace that made it hard to look away

you stepped closer, letting the words rise from the place where they had been buried for too long. she didn’t step away. you fished into your pocket and found the note she left you. not the first one where she thanked you for the good night together, but the second. you couldn’t shake its words from your mind no matter how hard you tried.

her eyes dropped to the note and recognition flickered across her face in an instant. her lips parted slightly, then pressed together as she swallowed. the weight of memory settled in her throat.

you hesitated for a moment, opened and closed your mouth. there were so many things you wanted to say. maybe an apology, an icebreaker to dull the hurt you made each other feel in that hotel room. instead, your words slipped out before you could fully register them, second nature.

“i love you.”

manon froze, her breath catching as if your words had cracked the stillness between you. for a long moment, neither of you moved. the air felt thick, heavy with everything left unsaid, everything too fragile to touch. then, slowly, her eyes lifted to meet yours. wide, uncertain, searching. a flicker of something raw and unguarded passed through her gaze, breaking through the stunned silence.

she swallowed again, voice barely above a whisper.

“i… don’t know what to say.”

you continued so she didn’t have to. you take another step closer so that you were only a foot away, swallowing for the nth time since you arrived. you folded the paper delicately in front of her and placed it back into your pocket with the kind of care fit for gold. when you talk your voice is barely above a whisper, but she hears you loud and clear.

“you don’t have to say anything. i just needed you to know.”

manon’s eyes softened. you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the way her chest slowly deflated like she was finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even noticed she was holding. her face relaxed, the tension in her body collapsing as if your words made everything right. as if suddenly, everything made sense.

she closed the distance between you, her voice slow and careful as she lifted a hand to rest on your arm, hesitant. she moved with the softness of someone afraid their very touch would burn. she didn’t want you to pull away.

“i didn’t want the world to ruin what we had,” she admitted, her voice soft and honest. “but i almost did that myself.”

you nodded slowly, feeling the tightness in your throat, the weight of everything that had passed between you. the words tasted bittersweet but true.

she reached out then, her fingers trembling just a little as they lowered from your shoulder and brushed against your hand. the touch was tentative, fragile, but it grounded you both in the moment. you didn’t rush.

“i love you, too,” she whispered.

it was all you needed to move.

when your lips finally met, there was none of the noise or flashiness you might have expected. no fireworks burst in the air, no grand gestures to announce your feelings to the world. instead, the kiss was steady and gentle, as if it had been waiting patiently for this moment to arrive.

it was quiet, a soft meeting of lips that felt like a secret finally shared between two souls who had been searching for each other in the dark. the warmth of her mouth against yours was steady and sure, offering comfort instead of urgency. it was a calm reassurance, a slow and deliberate connection that spoke louder than any shouted confession ever could.

the kiss deepened just enough to hold the weight of everything you’d both been carrying. frustration, hope, regret, love. it was like the first solid step after a storm, the foundation beneath your feet that had been missing for so long.

when you pulled apart, her smile hit you like a burst of sunlight, lighting up her entire face. you barely noticed the soft rustling and muffled giggles as megan tumbled to the floor, caught off guard by the moment. she, yoonchae, sophia, daniela, and lara were practically piling on top of each other behind the corner, like a comically awkward tower of kids trying to sneak a peek at the kiss. their eyes wide and curious, they peeked around the edge in a jumble of limbs and whispered excitement, struggling to stay quiet but failing spectacularly.

even when megan clambered back up, embarrassed. even when manon rolled her eyes at them before turning back to you with a warm smile.

all you saw was her.

you didn’t win the cup.

the team barely made it out of the group stage before collapsing under pressure, slipping out of the tournament with a loss that tasted more like betrayal than defeat. the fine came quickly after. five figures. stern wording. a statement released to the press so the league could pretend like they were doing something about it. you didn’t necessarily expect that purposely missing your health examination would lead to such a big consequence, but you didn’t fight it. didn’t argue. didn’t even flinch when the payment went through. because the truth was, you didn’t regret a single thing.

being off the field meant time, and time meant manon.

katseye had left for the european leg of their world tour two days after the tournament ended, and you went with them. not officially. not publicly. but you were there. slipping into venues through side doors, helping manon rehearse choreography by counting beats on your fingers, sitting backstage with a spare towel and gatorade like it was the most normal thing in the world.

the phone calls changed, too. they got softer. longer. manon stopped hanging up first. she stopped hiding behind excuses, stopped changing the subject every time it got too close to sounding like love. somewhere between paris and prague, you spent more time together. long train rides across europe, cheap hotel rooms between tour stops. the kind of nights where everything slowed down just enough for both of you to exhale.

by the time the new season came around and you flew back to los angeles, the fear that used to wrap itself around manon’s ribs like wire had finally started to loosen its grip. the phone call confirming you were cleared to play the next season was celebrated, the two of you spending the night together in the best way you knew how.

carly wasn’t so lucky.

she didn’t just get benched, she got dropped. her contract terminated, her name wiped from the team’s socials like she was never there to begin with. the league didn’t offer an explanation, but they didn’t have to. everyone had heard the recording. it passed through group chats and newsrooms like wildfire. her voice, smug and casual, bragging about how she’d gone in harder than necessary during that scrimmage. said she was tired of you being treated like you were untouchable. like some golden girl. said you needed to be humbled.

jealousy cost her everything. and for once, you weren’t the one left picking up the pieces.

the season opener came fast. same stadium. same energy humming under the lights. bea’s same infuriating grin across the athlete tunnel as the crowd was already spilling into the aisles. drums echoing in the distance, flags waving.

but something felt different this time. like the tension had shifted.

katseye was there, dressed down in team hoodies and dark glasses. they weren’t performing this time, but rather watching. not for the cameras. not for a paycheck. just as fans.

manon stood at the edge of their section, fingers curled around the railing. her shoulders were straight, her posture easy, and stitched across her back in bold white lettering was your number.

fourteen.

you didn’t see her at first. you were too locked in. cleats tapping against the tunnel floor, eyes scanning the pitch. everything sharp and focused and familiar. until the sound shifted. a wave in the noise, sharper, higher, a cheer that didn’t quite match the moment. and when you turned, she was there.

stepping down from the suite, walking toward the sideline like she belonged there. like she’d done it a hundred times before. her expression unreadable, her pace calm and sure. security didn’t stop her. the cameras didn’t look away. and when she reached you, she didn’t pause.

her hands came up to your face, warm and steady, and she kissed you. right there. in front of the fans. in front of the world. it wasn’t a stunt. it wasn’t a reveal. it wasn’t soft or hesitant or staged. it was real.

open. certain. hers.

the photos hit twitter before the first whistle blew. your name and hers started trending in less than ten minutes. a thousand different versions of the same headline began circulating.

power couple. surprise romance. soft launch, hard launch, everything in between. it couple status: confirmed.

for a while, it felt like everything tilted off its axis. interviews you hadn’t agreed to. red carpet invites with both your names spelled wrong. paparazzi waiting outside practice and tabloids stitching together timelines that didn’t make sense. people fell in love with the idea of you before they even understood the reality. they cropped photos, made edits, wrote essays on your love like it belonged to them.

but beneath the noise, beneath the flashbulbs and thinkpieces, the truth stayed simple.

you chose each other.

even when it was inconvenient. even when the schedules didn’t align. even when you were halfway across the world, talking through time zones and static and exhaustion. when your bodies were too tired to move but your hearts still found ways to reach.

you fought for it.

and manon, who once thought being loved out loud would cost her everything, now wore your hoodie through airport terminals, took your hand in front of fans, leaned her head on your shoulder when the cameras flashed like she wasn’t scared of being seen anymore.

she hadn’t expected any of it. not the attention. not the weight of being talked about like you were something bigger than just two people trying to love each other the best way you knew how.

but when she looked at you, she knew she’d do it all again.

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