Seven Minutes in Paradise (Student!Sophia Laforteza x Student!Reader)
Summary: Where Sophia ends up kissing her best friend in a frat party closet.
[ONE-SHOT]
False God (Sophia Laforteza x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: Seeing your girlfriend wearing that black lace dress did absolutely nothing for your sanity. You already knew there was only one way this would end—you needed to die between her thighs.
[ONE-SHOT]
Bloodsuker (Vampire!Sophia Laforteza x Human!Reader)
Summary: Where your girlfriend was too stubborn to admit she was hungry.
[ONE-SHOT]
We never go out of style (Sophia Laforteza x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: Where you have auditory hypersensitivity and end up having a sensory overload during a post-show meet & greet.
[ONE-SHOT]
If you could stay like that (Sophia Laforteza x Actress!Reader)
Summary: Where Sophia and the girls finally meet their daughter, Mia.
[ONE-SHOT]
Do You Missed Me? (Sophia Laforteza x Actress!Reader)
Summary: In which the photo your girlfriend posted on Weverse looked a little too revealing.
[ONE-SHOT]
Anánkē (Daughter of Zeus!Sophia Laforteza x Daughter of Athena!Reader)
Summary: Where you and Sophia were destined from birth to be together.
[ONE-SHOT]
Tears Run Down My Thighs (Nerd G!P Sophia Laforteza x Volleyball Player!Reader)
Summary: Where you end up finding out that your roommate has never touched a girl before, and that gives you an idea to solve that little problem.
[ONE-SHOT]
Daniela Avanzini
Easy (Daniela Avanzini x Girlfriend!Reader)
Summary: Where Daniela ends up finding her girlfriend asleep on top of her college notes.
[ONE-SHOT]
Flower Crown (Daniela Avanzini x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: Where Daniela's girlfriend loved to make flower crowns for her.
[ONE-SHOT]
Love Story (Daniela Avanzini x Main Manager!Reader)
Summary: Where Daniela ends up falling asleep in her girlfriend's lap after an exhausting rehearsal.
[ONE-SHOT]
Ruin The Friendship (Daniela Avanzini x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: Driven by her curiosity about kissing girls, Daniela turns to the most experienced girl in the band.
[ONE-SHOT]
Long Live (Daniela Avanzini x Platonic 7th Member!Reader)
Summary: Daniela always wanted a little sister, and you always wanted a big sister.
[ONE-SHOT]
No Doubt (Daniela Avanzini x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: Jealousy really shouldn’t suit your girlfriend as well as it does.
[ONE-SHOT]
Spanish Lessons (Daniela Avanzini x Singer!Reader)
Summary: Your girlfriend tries to teach you Spanish but ends up getting flustered by how attractive your voice sounds in Spanish.
[ONE-SHOT]
Sick (Daniela Avanzini x Masc!Fem!Reader)
Summary: Where you get sick and try to hide it from Daniela, but she finds out and becomes a little too overprotective of you.
[ONE-SHOT]
Good Luck, Babe (Daniela Avanzini x Singer!Reader)
Summary: Where you went from being just another one of Daniela's late-night hookups.
[ONE-SHOT]
Fire Signals (Daniela Avanzini x Football Player!Reader)
Summary: Daniela has a massive crush on her girlfriend's biceps.
[ONE-SHOT]
Moonlight (Werewolf!Daniela Avanzini x Vampire!Reader)
Summary: Where you had to handle your girlfriend during the full moon.
[ONE-SHOT]
The way you're biting on the corner of my mouth (Catwoman!Daniela Avanzini x Batwoman!Reader)
Summary: Where Daniela hated it when people shamelessly flirted with you, and you seemed too slow to notice.
[ONE-SHOT]
Atychía (Daughter of Aphrodite!Daniela Avanzini x Daughter of Ares!Reader
Summary: Where you are sent on an endless-time mission and, after months away, return to a Camp Half-Blood that has just gone through a war following Thalia's tree nearly dying.
[ONE-SHOT]
BAILE INoLVIDABLE (Ex-Girlfriend!Daniela Avanzini x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader)
Summary: Nearly nine years after your breakup with Daniela, which was mainly driven by her hectic routine as an intern in the corporate healthcare field, you find yourself facing a dilemma: your four-year-old daughter, Charly, a mini copy of you, is obsessed with the group Katseye and begs to go to their Coachella show. The problem is that your ex-girlfriend just happens to be the main act that night.
[One]— [Two]
Secret Admirer (Popular!Daniela Avanzini x Nerd!Reader)
Summary: Where at least twice a week, Daniela would receive anonymous letters from a secret admirer, and other times she'd get huge bouquets of flowers and chocolates. Daniela had absolutely no idea who was behind it all, but she seemed determined to find out.
[ONE-SHOT]
Manon Bannerman
Never Be The Same (Pairing: Manon Bannerman x Football Player!Reader)
Summary: Where Manon ends up kissing her girlfriend in front of the stadium cameras.
[ONE-SHOT]
Security (Manon Bannerman x Security!Reader (Chief)
Summary: Where Manon seemed to love making you chase after her as she dodged away to hug fans.
[ONE – TWO – THREE]
Pick Your Filter (Manon Bannerman x Singer Fem!Reader)
Summary: Where Manon is invited to be the muse in her best friend's music video, but she never imagined the song would be about her.
[ONE-SHOT]
Mine (Manon Bannerman x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: Where you couldn't keep your eyes off your girlfriend's stomach.
[ONE-SHOT]
Valentine's Day (Manon Bannerman x Actress!Reader)
Summary: Where Manon's girlfriend surprises her on Valentine's Day.
[ONE-SHOT]
Metanoia (Daughter of Aphrodite!Manon Bannerman x Daughter of Zeus!Reader)
Summary: Where Manon was known for breaking hearts all over camp half-blood, what no one ever imagined was that she would fall for the arrogant charm of Zeus's daughter.
[ONE-SHOT]
Bad Routine (Wife!Manon Bannerman x Wife!Reader)
Summary: Seven years of a solid, passionate marriage had turned into a draining, silent routine, and Manon found herself wondering: Where would this all end?
[ONE-SHOT]
Tears (Trophy Wife!Manon Bannerman x CEO!Reader)
Summary: A four-year marriage wasn't always filled with happy moments, even if you believed you could make it up to your wife with handbags that cost a fortune or by simply buying out an entire store because she had loved a single jacket.
[ONE-SHOT]
Wicked Games (Aphrodite!Manon Bannerman x Ares!Female Reader)
Summary: In most Greco-Roman myths, Ares and Aphrodite were seen as the rawest and most intense form of love, and in the end, that was exactly what happened whenever the two of you were alone.
[ONE-SHOT]
Lara Raj
All of The Girls You Loved Before (Lara Raj x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: When things got tough, the beach was the first place Lara and her girlfriend turned to.
[ONE-SHOT]
Guilty as Sin (Catwoman!Lara Raj x Batwoman!Reader)
Summary: Where you almost dying made Lara realize that she loves you.
[ONE-SHOT]
Lego Girl (Lara Raj x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: In which Lara's girlfriend is known for always building with Legos.
[ONE-SHOT]
Psychí (Daughter of Apollo!Lara Raj x Daughter of Ares!Reader)
Summary: Where everyone believed that you and Lara were too different to ever be together, but the thread of fate seemed to prove otherwise.
[ONE-SHOT]
Megan Skiendiel
Another Day (Megan Skiendiel x 7thMember!Reader, (Previously; Daniela Avanzini x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: You spent years nursing a one-sided crush on the only straight girl in the band. Daniela discovered your feelings for her and said she could never like a girl. Months later, she shows up dating a boy who's practically your copy. Meanwhile, Megan has always been in love with you. Seeing how Daniela broke your heart over a boy, Megan decides her time to act has finally come. (Which leads Daniela to realize she actually liked you too—only now, you're looking at Megan the same way you once looked at her).
[ONE-SHOT]
Darlin', I fancy you (Megan Skiendiel x Eventual 7th Member!Reader
Summary: Where Hybe uses you as a surprise element for Katseye's debut.
[ONE-SHOT]
Touch Me (Megan Skiendiel x Volleyball Player!Reader)
Summary: Where your body felt like a sanctuary to your girlfriend.
[ONE-SHOT]
You're My Lover (Pairing: Megan Skiendiel x 7thMember!Reader
Summary: Where you take your girlfriend to meet your family.
[ONE-SHOT]
I can see you (Daughter of Apollo!Megan Skiendiel x Daughter of Hades!Reader)
Summary: Megan had a huge crush on the daughter of Hades, but the girl seemed far too oblivious to notice it.
[ONE-SHOT]
Front Line (Technological Engineer! Megan Skiendiel x Operations Captain! Reader
Summary: Where Megan faithfully believed she would never need to be on the front lines of operations, but with the team captain's disappearance, Megan is forced to lead an entire team in search of her.
[ONE-SHOT]
Jeung Yoonchae
Real Friends (Jeung Yoonchae x Platonic!7thMember!Reader)
Summary: During a sleepless night in the middle of the tour, Yoonchae knows exactly who to turn to.
[ONE-SHOT]
I Could Get Used to This (Jeung Yoonchae x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: Where the girls find you and Yoonchae cuddled up on the living room couch while playing Minecraft.
[ONE-SHOT]
Bruises and Kisses (Kate Bishop!Jeung Yoonchae x America Chavez!Reader)
Summary: Where you find your girlfriend covered in bruises in the apartment the two of you share.
[ONE-SHOT]
You know how to ball, I know Aristotle (Jeung Yoonchae x Lacrosse Player! Reader)
Summary: Where Yoonchae had a crush on the Captain of the College Lacrosse team.
[ONE-SHOT]
Érotas (Daughter of Hades!Jeung Yoonchae x Daughter of Apollo!Reader
Summary: Where no one ever imagined that the only daughter of Hades would fall for the most troublemaking, extroverted daughter of Apollo.
[ONE-SHOT]
Polyamory Katseye
Kiss Me Thru The Phone (Sophia Laforteza & Manon Bannerman x Streamer!Reader)
Summary: Where you and your two girlfriends had to learn how to handle the distance in some moments of your relationship.
[ONE-SHOT]
Used to This (Daniela Avanzini & Sophia Laforteza (Sodani) x Main Manager!Reader)
Summary: As the Main Manager of Katseye, you were used to taking care of those girls as if they were a part of you, but you never imagined you'd be on the other side of the coin, being taken care of by Daniela and Sophia after an exhausting week.
[ONE-SHOT]
Burnout (Lara Raj & Megan Skiendiel (Megara) x Girlfriend!Reader)
Summary: In which it wasn't the first time Lara and Megan found you asleep on your college books.
[ONE-SHOT]
How You Get the Girl (Manon Bannerman & Lara Raj (Marz) x 7thMember!Shy Reader)
Summary: Ever since the Dream Academy, it's always been clear that you were a shy girl, almost always covered by loose clothes and with your trusty handheld video game. The moment Manon and Lara laid eyes on you, they knew they wanted you.
[ONE-SHOT]
Pretty Girls (Daniela Avanzini & Manon Bannerman (Danon) x 7thMember!Reader)
Summary: Where you always seemed oblivious to the crush that Daniela and Manon had on you.
[ONE-SHOT]
When Did You Get Hot? (Daniela Avanzini & Megan Skiendiel (Meizini) x 7thMember Nerd!Reader)
Summary: Back in Dream Academy, you were known as the nerdy girl with a lanky, slender frame. Now, nearly three years after Katseye's debut, Daniela and Megan discover that there's a paradise hidden beneath all those layers of baggy clothes.
[ONE-SHOT]
You're so gorgeous (Sophia Laforteza & Megan Skiendiel (Meifiz) x Doctor!Reader)
Summary: Where your girlfriends find out you've been experiencing burnout due to excessive hospital shifts.
Summary: Where at least twice a week, Daniela would receive anonymous letters from a secret admirer, and other times she'd get huge bouquets of flowers and chocolates. Daniela had absolutely no idea who was behind it all, but she seemed determined to find out.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warning: Mention of Hierarchical Difference (Popular x Nerd), Daniela is a bit spoiled, Reader is described as Tall and Muscular, Clumsy Reader, Secret Crush, Some Angst and Comfort!
Katseye Masterlist
Saint Claire Academy was a masterpiece of Gothic architecture that seemed to have been ripped straight out of some ancient European city and planted in the middle of the bustling metropolis. Polished marble hallways reflected the light streaming through arched windows, painting geometric patterns on the floor. On the ceiling, frescoes told stories of saints and sages, as if every step taken there were a sacred act of learning.
But any student who had spent more than a week at that institution knew that Saint Claire's true belief system wasn't in the frescoes.
It was in the invisible, yet fierce, hierarchy that governed every interaction, every laugh, every glance.
And at the top of that social pyramid, breathing the rarefied air of the gods, was Daniela Avanzini.
It wasn't just her beauty, though that alone was enough to stop traffic. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, as if even gravity refused to disrespect her. Her honey-brown eyes held a lively, intelligent sparkle that seemed to say, "I know exactly what you're thinking," and usually, she did. Her smile was an event, something that made the people around her hold their breath, waiting for a glimpse of divine approval.
Daniela Avanzini wasn't popular.
Daniela Avanzini was popularity.
She walked through the hallways as if she owned the place, and in a way, she did. Students stepped aside to let her pass, not out of fear, but out of a kind of reverential respect. Girls wanted to be her. Boys wanted to be with her. And Daniela, generous in her benevolent royalty, occasionally granted crumbs of attention to her subjects.
You, on the other hand…
Well, you existed in a completely different universe.
Your world didn't have polished marble or ceiling frescoes.
Your world had the smell of aged paper, printer ink, and the comforting silence of the third-floor library. There, books didn't judge. There, equations had no hierarchies. A Pythagorean theorem was immune to your social standing.
That was where you felt at home.
You were tall. Not in that elegant, model-like way, like the girls in Daniela's group. You were tall in a gangly way, with broad shoulders you didn't quite know what to do with, long arms that seemed to have a life of their own, especially when you got nervous, which was whenever Daniela Avanzini was within a ten-meter radius.
Hours at the gym had sculpted your body in a way that other people might find intimidating. Defined muscles under pale skin, large hands that could lift impressive weights but trembled like green twigs when you tried to, I don't know, grab a glass of water in front of Daniela.
A paradoxical combination: the muscular nerd.
And clumsy. Very clumsy.
Once, you were leaving the chemistry room with your books when Daniela passed you in the hallway. Her perfume, something citrusy and floral, you spent weeks trying to identify the brand, you later found out it was a French import, invaded your senses. Your brain short-circuited. You tripped over your own feet, dropped a stack of notebooks, and nearly took a decorative plant pot with you.
Daniela didn't even notice.
She walked past you as if you were part of the furniture.
And, in a way, you were.
To Daniela Avanzini, you were just another piece of the scenery. The tall, clumsy girl who carried books that were too heavy and avoided eye contact. Invisible. Harmless. Irrelevant.
And that was fine.
Really.
You repeated that to yourself every night, before going to sleep, as you replayed every tiny detail of those seconds of indirect interaction. It's fine. I don't need her to notice me. I don't need her to see me. I can admire from afar. Like a work of art. Like something beautiful and unattainable.
But Daniela's honey-brown eyes, when they occasionally swept the room and ignored you, left an emptiness.
An emptiness that began to grow.
An emptiness that began to hurt.
Until, one day, the emptiness became unbearable.
It was on a rainy Tuesday. You were sitting in your usual spot in the library, the table in the corner, near the window, where the light was good and no one bothered you. Your calculus notebook was open to page twenty-three, but your mind was elsewhere.
On Daniela.
She was wearing a beige sweater that day, you remembered. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun that, on anyone else, would be sloppiness; on her, it was style. She was laughing at something Sophia had said, and that sound, a laugh that sounded like musical notes, had followed you through every class, chased you to the library, haunted you in the silence.
And then, without thinking much, maybe that was the problem, you never thought when it involved Daniela, you grabbed a pen and started to write.
"For you," the letter began, the handwriting hesitant, trembling. "For the girl who makes the sun look dull. For the girl whose laugh I would hear in the middle of a noisy crowd. For the girl who doesn't know my name, but who makes me want to shout it from the rooftops."
You wrote about the way the light hit her hair during sunrise, creating a false halo of a saint. You wrote about the way she bit the tip of her pen when she was focused on reading, the little furrow of her brow, the slight biting of her lips. You wrote about how beautiful she was and how distant she was and how it broke your heart in a way you didn't even know was possible.
When you finished, you read it all over again, felt your face burn, and thought about tearing it up.
But you didn't.
Instead, you folded the paper into three parts, found a purple envelope in your backpack, when did you buy purple envelopes? and, the next day, before the first bell, you left the letter in her locker.
Your heart hammered so hard you were sure someone would hear. Your hands trembled. You nearly dropped the envelope three times before managing to slide it through the slit of the locker.
You ran to the classroom as if the devil were chasing you.
And spent the rest of the day with your stomach in knots.
The reaction was… bigger than you imagined.
The next day, during break, you were sitting in the courtyard eating a cheese sandwich when Daniela appeared. Not near you, of course. Daniela appeared in the epicenter of the courtyard, surrounded by her usual entourage: Manon, with her watchful eyes and calculating smile; Sophia, the sweetest of the group, with her easy laugh; and other faces you only knew by sight.
Daniela was holding the letter.
Your letter.
"Guys, look what I found!" She exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Someone left it in my locker!"
Manon took the letter first, reading quickly, a smile appearing on her lips.
"'For the girl whose laugh I would hear in the middle of a noisy crowd.'" She read aloud, and you felt your stomach twist. "Wow, Dani. Someone's in love."
"It's so cute!" Sophia practically jumped, trying to read over Manon's shoulder. "Who do you think wrote it?"
Daniela took the letter back, a smug smile curving her lips. She examined the handwriting, turned the paper over, smelled it, she smelled the paper, and you nearly died right there.
"No perfume." She observed, with a small furrow of her brow. "Guys usually put perfume on letters, don't they?"
"Or more clueless." Manon added, but there was a playful tone in her voice.
Daniela tucked the letter into her bag carefully, as if it were a treasure. Her honey-colored eyes swept across the courtyard, examining every face, every possible suspect.
"I'm going to find out who it is." She declared, and there was determination in her voice. "I always find out."
You sank a little lower in your seat, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you.
—
Twice a week. Religiously. Like a sacred ritual.
Monday and Thursday.
Those were the days for the letters.
You developed an elaborate system. You watched Daniela, but not in an obvious way, at least, you hoped it wasn't obvious. You took note of small details: the book she mentioned reading in literature class (Pride and Prejudice, she said she adored Darcy), the flower she pointed out on the way to the parking lot (pink gerberas), the chocolate she always ordered at the school cafeteria (salted caramel, Belgian, from a specific brand).
Every piece of information was cataloged in your brain, archived, transformed into material for the next letter, the next gift.
The letters evolved quickly.
A week after the first, you left a bouquet of pink gerberas in her locker. The bouquet was enormous, almost ridiculous, with thirty-six carefully arranged stems. You saved up for weeks to pay for it.
When Daniela opened her locker and saw the flowers, the scream she let out echoed through the entire hallway.
"GERBERAS!" She held the bouquet as if it were a trophy, spinning around to show everyone. "How does he know? How does he know they're my favorites?"
Manon raised an eyebrow.
"He? Or she?"
Daniela blinked.
"What?"
"Sophia mentioned it the other day." Manon continued, with a mysterious smile. "That maybe your secret admirer wasn't so… masculine after all."
Daniela frowned, confused. Her honey-brown eyes scanned the hallway, sweeping over the curious faces watching the scene.
"No." She said, finally. "Is the handwriting feminine? I don't know. Maybe it's a sensitive guy. There are sensitive guys, Manon."
"There are." Manon agreed, but there was a glint in her eyes that suggested she still had her doubts.
You were just five meters away, leaning against the water fountain, holding a water bottle tightly enough to crumple the plastic. A part of you wanted to run. Another part wanted to confess everything right there, shout "IT WAS ME!", see the surprise in her eyes, the recognition.
But you did none of that.
You just watched, invisible, as Daniela smiled at the bouquet of gerberas with a happiness that wasn't for you.
—
It was inevitable.
Daniela wasn't the type to leave mysteries unsolved. She was determined, stubborn, and loved a challenge. And the secret admirer, that anonymous being who knew her tastes, her preferences, who made her feel special in a way no boy at school had ever managed, was the perfect challenge.
She started interrogating people.
Not aggressively, but with the disarming charm that only Daniela Avanzini possessed. She would approach someone during break, tilt her head, smile that smile that made knees go weak, and ask in a casual tone:
"You wouldn't happen to have any idea who's been sending me flowers, would you?"
Most people stuttered, blushed, denied vehemently. Some even confessed false affections, hoping it would bring them closer to her.
Daniela laughed, thanked them, and crossed names off an imaginary list.
You watched everything from afar, feeling your heart in your throat every time she approached your danger zone.
And then, the day came.
You were in the cafeteria, sitting at a corner table with your calculus companions, Yoonchae, who was quiet and brilliant, and Lara, who was loud and also brilliant, and Megan, who was both. You were distractedly biting into an apple when you felt the shadow.
A shadow of French perfume and overwhelming presence.
"Hey."
You looked up.
Daniela Avanzini was standing right in front of you, arms crossed, head slightly tilted. Her honey-colored eyes examined you with an intensity that made your brain melt into a useless puddle inside your skull.
"H-h-hey." You managed to articulate, after an awkward pause.
"You're the big girl who's always in the library, right?"
Big girl.
The word hit you like a punch. But you swallowed hard and nodded.
"Y/n," you managed to say your own name, which was already a miracle. "My name is Y/n."
"Y/n." Daniela repeated, as if tasting the word. Her smile widened slightly. "Right, Y/n. Tell me something."
She leaned forward a little, reducing the distance between you. You could see the tiny golden reflections in her eyes, could smell her perfume, could count the seconds your heart stopped beating.
"You wouldn't happen to have any idea who's been sending me flowers, would you?"
The words got lost somewhere between your brain and your mouth. You opened and closed your lips like a fish out of water. Your ears started to burn, oh, no, you knew what was coming next. First the ears, then the cheeks, then the neck. You were going to turn into a tomato right in front of her.
"F-flowers?" The word came out strangled. "I'm… allergic."
The lie was so absurd, so senseless, you almost laughed at yourself.
Beside you, Lara and Megan exchanged glances. Yoonchae hid her face behind her book.
Daniela watched you for a long moment. Her eyes traveled over your red face, your broad shoulders, your trembling hands.
"Of course not." She murmured, more to herself than to you. Her voice had a tone of disappointment. "Too clumsy to be that romantic."
She turned and walked away.
Manon and Sophia, who had been watching from afar, followed her.
You stood still, the apple forgotten on the table, the words echoing inside you like a painful mantra.
Too clumsy to be that romantic.
Too clumsy.
Clumsy.
That night, you didn't sleep.
Not because of the embarrassment, although that certainly contributed. But because something inside you had broken. Not the admiration. Not the affection. But the illusion that, maybe, one day, Daniela might see you as something more than a clumsy big girl.
Maybe she was right. Maybe you were incapable of a caring gesture. Maybe everything you felt was just… inadequate.
But the next night, you wrote another letter.
—
Weeks turned into months.
Daniela Avanzini's secret admirer became a legend at Saint Claire. People speculated in the hallways, bet money during breaks, kept suspect lists that were updated weekly.
No one, absolutely no one, put Y/n's name on that list.
Because how could it be? The tall, clumsy girl who could barely form a full sentence near Daniela? The nerd who spent breaks in the library while normal people socialized? It was ridiculous.
It was perfect.
You took advantage of this invisibility masterfully.
The gifts became more elaborate. Not just letters and flowers, but small gestures that demonstrated an intimacy that bordered on obsessive. One day, Daniela casually mentioned she had lost her favorite bookmark. The next day, a new bookmark, identical to the old one, appeared inside her literature book, with a note: "So you can pick up where you left off. Literally."
Daniela took the bookmark home and slept with it under her pillow. Manon found out later and didn't stop laughing for a week.
Another time, Daniela commented about a thermal mug that had broken. A week later, a new mug, exactly the same model, appeared on her desk in the classroom. The note said: "Hot coffee is a necessity, not a luxury."
"This is creepy." Sophia admitted, watching Daniela hug the mug like it was a puppy. "Whoever it is is watching you. For real."
"It's romantic." Daniela countered, but there was a slight tremor in her voice. "It's… attention. No one's ever given me this much attention."
Manon raised an eyebrow.
"Dani, everyone gives you attention."
"Not like this." Daniela said, and her honey-colored eyes drifted away, lost in thought. "Not in the way that… that seems like they really see me."
You heard this conversation from behind a pillar, where you were hiding, not intentionally, you were just trying to get to the chemistry room and the path passed near them. Your hands sweated. Your heart raced.
She was starting to understand.
Or maybe not.
Because the next day, Daniela was back to her usual interrogation, approaching a boy from the soccer team with a charming smile.
"You wouldn't happen to have any idea who's been sending me flowers, would you?"
The boy, a tall blond named Mateus, blushed intensely.
"I… I mean… maybe…"
Daniela's eyes widened.
"It was you?"
"No! No, I mean… no, but I wish it had been." He stammered, and Daniela sighed, frustrated.
Another name crossed off the list.
You sighed in relief, hidden behind a column, the bouquet of lilies you planned to deliver later still hidden in your backpack.
—
Autumn arrived at Saint Claire with its palette of warm colors and the smell of dry leaves. The marble hallways grew colder, and students started wearing heavier coats, which, you discovered, was a tactical advantage. The larger pockets made transporting notes easier.
On that specific afternoon, Daniela was sitting in the café inside the school. Not the main one, but the cozy one on the second floor, with velvet armchairs and dark wood tables. Manon and Sophia were with her, chattering about some gossip you couldn't quite hear, even if you leaned dangerously out of your hiding spot behind a bookshelf.
Daniela wasn't paying attention.
You saw it. You always saw it.
Her honey-brown eyes were fixed on a vague point on the floor, her mind clearly elsewhere. She was spinning a pen between her fingers, a nervous habit you had noticed weeks ago, when she was particularly anxious about a math test.
"Dani? Dani!" Manon poked her arm. "Are you listening?"
"What? Yes, of course." Daniela blinked, coming back to reality. "Sophia's going to order the turkey sandwich, and you want the smoked salmon."
"That was five minutes ago." Manon said, with narrowed eyes. "Where is your head?"
Daniela sighed, running a hand through her hair.
"I was thinking about the last note."
"Ah." Sophia and Manon said in unison.
"He mentioned the pink tulips." Daniela continued, almost speaking to herself. "How did he know I talked to you about pink tulips, Manon? It was on Monday, in the hallway, for a few seconds. No one was around."
Manon frowned.
"Maybe someone was and you didn't notice."
"I always notice." Daniela said, but her voice didn't have its usual conviction. She seemed… disturbed. "It's like he's always there. Watching me. Knowing me. And I don't even know who it is."
Sophia touched her shoulder affectionately.
"Does that bother you?"
"No." Daniela answered too quickly. Then, more slowly: "I don't know. Maybe. It's strange to think that someone sees me in a way I don't see myself."
You held your breath behind the bookshelf.
She doesn't know, you thought. She has no idea.
And then Daniela sighed, stretched her arms over the table, and murmured:
"What a boring day. I'd trade everything right now for a hot chocolate and a chocolate chip cookie."
You froze.
A hot chocolate and a chocolate chip cookie.
The information burned itself into your brain like fire. You left the café before they could see you, ran up the stairs, crossed the courtyard in long strides, and arrived at the main canteen breathless.
"One hot chocolate." You ordered, throwing money on the counter. "And three, no, five chocolate chip cookies. And… put whipped cream on the chocolate. Lots of whipped cream."
The employee raised an eyebrow, but prepared the order.
Five minutes later, you were back at the café, hidden behind the same bookshelf, watching.
"Miss Avanzini?" The waitress who worked at the café approached the table, carrying a tray.
Daniela looked up, surprised.
"Yes?"
"Someone sent this hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies for you."
The silence at the table was absolute.
Daniela looked at the tray, at the waitress, at the tray again. Her mouth opened slightly.
"Who?" She asked, and her voice came out higher pitched than normal.
"The person asked not to be revealed, miss." The waitress replied, with a small smile. She placed the tray on the table and withdrew.
Daniela stood staring at the steaming hot chocolate, the whipped cream slowly melting, the five cookies perfectly arranged on a small porcelain plate.
"This is…" Sophia started.
"Creepy." Manon finished. "I was going to say creepy."
"Romantic." Daniela whispered, but her voice trembled slightly. "It's… it's romantic. But it's also…"
"Insane." Manon said.
"Very attentive." Sophia corrected.
Daniela picked up the hot chocolate with both hands, as if she needed something to warm herself. Her honey-colored eyes were shining in a different way, not the smug sparkle of someone receiving a compliment, but something deeper. More vulnerable.
"How does he know?" She asked in a low voice, almost to herself. "How does he know everything about me?"
Manon and Sophia exchanged glances.
"Maybe it's someone who's been watching you for a long time." Sophia suggested softly.
"Maybe it's someone who's closer than you think." Manon added.
Daniela bit into the cookie, and her eyes widened.
"It's my favorite." She murmured. "It's exactly my favorite."
On the other side of the café, you were sitting at the corner table with Megan, Yoonchae, and Lara. You tried to look casual, stirring your own hot chocolate, which you had bought as a cover, but your hands were shaking so much the liquid threatened to spill.
"Why are you so nervous?" Megan asked, with narrowed eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Cold." You lied. "It's cold."
Lara laughed.
"It's twenty-three degrees."
Yoonchae lifted her eyes from her book for a moment, observed you, and then returned to her reading with a small smile on her lips.
She knows, you thought, feeling the panic rise. Yoonchae always knows everything.
But none of them said anything.
They just drank their coffee, ate their cakes, and pretended not to notice when you spent five minutes staring at Daniela's table as if she were the center of the universe.
Because, to you, she was.
—
The weeks continued. The gifts continued. The notes continued.
But something had changed.
Daniela was no longer just enchanted. She was… obsessed.
Not with the gifts themselves, although they continued to be luxurious and perfectly thought out. But with the mystery. With the person behind them.
She started observing people in a different way. Her honey-colored eyes no longer just cataloged; they investigated. She paid attention to who looked at her for too long, who blushed when she passed by, who hid behind books when she approached.
And you noticed.
You noticed that her eyes were starting to land on you more frequently. Not with interest, not yet. But with a hint of… curiosity.
"Did you notice Y/n today?" Daniela asked Manon on a Thursday, while they were drinking juice in the courtyard. "She was looking at me in history class."
"Everyone looks at you in history class." Manon answered, without looking up from her phone.
"No. It was different. She was… studying. But she was also looking at me."
Manon raised an eyebrow.
"You're getting paranoid, Dani."
"Maybe." Daniela admitted. "But… don't you think it's weird? She's tall, has an athlete's build, but she's completely clumsy around me. The other day she tripped over her own backpack when I walked into the library."
"Maybe she's just clumsy." Manon suggested.
"Or maybe she's nervous."
Silence stretched between them.
"Dani." Manon said, finally, with a warning tone. "Y/n is a weird nerd who spends her time in the library. It's not her."
"I know." Daniela sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I know. It's ridiculous. But… she's always around, don't you think? Not in an obvious way. But when I look at the corners, at the quietest places… she's there."
Manon didn't answer.
But her gaze followed Daniela's, landing on the corner table, where you were completely absorbed in a calculus book, or pretending to be.
You felt their eyes on you like a physical weight.
Your heart raced. Your hands sweated. You turned a page you had already read three times.
She's watching me, you thought, panic and hope mixing in a nauseating combination. She's starting to see.
—
February fourteenth arrived.
All of Saint Claire was decorated with paper hearts, red balloons, and roses being sold at exorbitant prices in the main lobby. Couples kissed in the hallways, defying all rules against displays of affection, and the singles walked around crestfallen, carrying the weight of loneliness on a day that celebrated love.
For Daniela Avanzini, however, Valentine's Day wasn't about loneliness.
It was about expectation.
Since six in the morning, gifts had started arriving. Red roses from an admirer who signed only "A Senior Boy." A box of generic chocolates from another who, by the trembling handwriting, was clearly nervous. A silver bracelet, pretty but impersonal.
Daniela thanked them, smiled, stored everything in a bag that Manon carried.
But her eyes remained expectant.
"It hasn't arrived yet." Sophia observed, as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.
"He'll send something." Daniela said, with a confidence that didn't seem entirely genuine. "He always sends."
And then, when they opened her locker after third period…
Daniela stopped.
Her entire body froze.
Inside the locker, occupying all the space, was the most beautiful bouquet she had ever seen. Lilies as white as snow, twenty-four of them, tied with a lavender-colored satin ribbon. Beside it, a box of Swiss chocolates, not just any chocolate, but those from a specific brand that was only sold at a confectionery downtown, two hours away.
And, on top of the chocolates, an envelope.
Daniela picked up the envelope with trembling hands. The handwriting was familiar, the same as the letters, the notes, the small gestures that had marked the last few months.
She opened it.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Daniela.
I know you're confused. I know you want to know who I am. And I wish I could tell you, out loud, looking into your eyes. But fear is greater than courage. The fear that, when you find out, everything will change. The fear that you'll look at me and see only what you've always seen: a shadow. Someone invisible.
But today, on the day of love, I want you to know one thing.
I see you. Not the way others do. Not the popular girl, the queen of Saint Claire, the prettiest girl in the room. I see Daniela. The girl who laughs with her eyes. The girl who bites her lips when she's nervous. The girl who keeps the notes she receives in a box under her bed, yes, I know about that.
I see you. And I love you. Silently. Secretly. Possibly forever.
If you want to know who I am… meet me in the isolated room on the top floor. After the last class. I'll wait.
— Your Silent Admirer"
—
Daniela spent the entire day in a state of nervousness that bordered on a nervous breakdown. She could barely concentrate in class, barely eat, barely breathe. The note was folded in her pocket, the paper already crumpled from how many times she had reread it.
Manon and Sophia tried to go with her, but Daniela refused.
"I need to do this alone." She said, and there was a fierce determination in her eyes.
The stairs to the top floor were narrow and dusty. No one frequented that part of the school since they had deactivated the art rooms the previous year. The light came in weakly through dirty windows, creating elongated shadows on the creaking wooden floor.
Daniela walked down the empty hallway, her footsteps echoing in the stillness.
The isolated room was at the end, on the left. The door was ajar.
She took a deep breath. Once. Twice.
She pushed the door open.
And froze.
You were there.
Sitting at an old desk, in the corner of the room, your hands resting on your knees and your head bowed. The light from the dirty window fell on your broad shoulders, on the gray sweater you were wearing, on your large hands that trembled slightly.
Daniela stood in the doorway for a long moment, processing.
"You." She finally said, and her voice came out strange, not surprise, not anger, not… anything she expected to feel.
You lifted your eyes.
Your face was red, not just your cheeks, but your neck, your ears, even the top of your forehead. Your eyes were glistening, as if you had been crying, or were about to.
"Daniela." You said, and her name came out of your mouth like a prayer. "I… I can explain."
"It's you?" Daniela took a step forward, her honey-colored eyes wide, incredulous. "The clumsy nerd who can't form a sentence around me? The girl who said she was allergic to flowers? It's you who's been sending me letters for months? Who gives me pink gerberas and Belgian chocolates and bookmarks?"
You swallowed hard.
"Yes."
"And you know what kind of cookie I like?" Daniela's voice was getting louder, higher pitched. "And what brand of Swiss chocolates I prefer? And that I keep the notes under my bed? How do you know that, Y/n?"
You stood up from the chair, your fight or flight instincts screaming to run, but your legs refused to obey.
"Because I watch you." You said, and your voice came out firmer than you expected. "Because I've been watching you for two years, Daniela. Since the first day you walked into that history room with a blue sweater and a smile that… that made me forget how to breathe."
Daniela opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"I know it sounds creepy." You continued, the words pouring out like a waterfall now, impossible to contain. "I know it sounds obsessive. And maybe it is. But it's not… it's not the way you think. I don't want to scare you. I don't want to hurt you. I just… I just wanted you to know that someone sees you. Someone really sees you. Someone cares about the little details, about the way you furrow your brow when you're confused, about the way you hold your pen when you're nervous, about the fact that you hate it when people interrupt you mid-sentence."
Daniela took another step forward. Then another. Now she was just a meter away.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Her voice was strangely… fragile. A fragility you had never heard before. "Why stay in the shadows?"
"Because I was scared." You admitted, and a tear escaped, sliding down your hot face. "You're Daniela Avanzini. You're the sun. And I'm… I'm just someone who lives in the dimness, admiring from afar. I thought if you knew, you'd laugh. Or worse, you'd feel pity. 'The clumsy big girl who can't even talk to me properly.' That's what you said. 'Too clumsy to be romantic.'"
Daniela's face changed. Surprise gave way to something you couldn't identify, guilt? Regret?
"Y/n, I…" She started.
"You don't have to apologize." You cut in, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. "You were right. I am clumsy. I am weird. I spend breaks in the library while you're out there, living. But when I write those letters… when I choose those flowers… I don't feel clumsy. I feel… enough. I feel like, for a few minutes, I can be the person who makes you smile. And that…"
Your voice broke.
Daniela took the last step. Now she was right in front of you, so close you could feel the heat of her body, could see the tiny particles of gold in her honey-brown eyes.
"And that what?" She asked softly.
"That's all I ever wanted." You whispered. "Not to be loved back. Not to be corresponded. Just… to know that I can make you happy. Even if you never know my name."
The room fell silent.
The wind blew outside, making the dirty windows tremble. A dry leaf danced across the floor.
And then, before you could say anything else…
Daniela leaned in and kissed you.
It wasn't a soft kiss, nor hesitant. It was a determined kiss, as if she was trying to prove something to you, or to herself. Her lips met yours with an intensity that made you take a step back, your back hitting the dusty wall.
Daniela followed the movement, her hands coming up to grab your sweater, pulling you closer.
You stood paralyzed for a second, two, three, your brain overloaded, unable to process what was happening.
Then, something inside you broke loose.
Your hands, those large, trembling, clumsy hands, rose and found Daniela's waist. You pulled her against you, harder than you intended, and Daniela let out a small sound of surprise against your lips.
The kiss deepened.
There was no technique there, just two years of frustration, two years of silent desire, two years of "too clumsy" being dismantled in a single gesture.
When Daniela finally pulled back, her lips were red and swollen, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Never again." She said, her voice hoarse. "Never call yourself clumsy again. Do you hear me?"
You nodded, unable to form words.
"And never again." She continued, her fingers caressing your face, wiping away the traces of your tears. "Never think you're not enough. You gave me gerberas and chocolates and notes that made me feel… made me feel like someone saw me. Really saw me. No one's ever done that before."
"Daniela…" You started, but she cut you off with another kiss, quicker, lighter, almost a seal.
"You're an idiot." She murmured against your lips. "A romantic, creepy, and… and amazing idiot. How did you manage to hide this for so long?"
"Fear." You repeated, your forehead resting against hers. "A lot of fear."
"Of me?"
"Of losing you. Even though I never had you to begin with."
Daniela laughed, that laugh you had spent two years hearing from afar, which was now so close you could feel the vibration against your chest.
"You're ridiculous." She said.
"I know."
"And clumsy."
"I also know."
"And mine."
You blinked.
"What?"
Daniela pulled back enough to look into your eyes. Her smile was different now, not the smug smile of the queen of Saint Claire, but something more genuine. More vulnerable.
"Mine." She repeated. "You're mine. From now on. Because if you thought you were going to write all those letters, give me all those gifts, know all my secrets, and then just… disappear again… you're very wrong, Y/n."
You laughed, a silly, incredulous laugh, that echoed through the empty room.
"I'm not going anywhere." You promised.
"Good." Daniela said, and her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you into a hug. "Because I have a huge list of questions. How did you find out about my favorite bookmark? How did you know about the Swiss chocolate? And how the hell did you manage to get into my classroom to put the new mug there without anyone seeing?"
"Professional secrets." You joked, and Daniela laughed against your shoulder.
Outside the room, hidden behind the door, Manon, Sophia, Lara, Megan, and Yoonchae exchanged glances of pure triumph.
"I knew it." Megan whispered, with a huge smile.
"You bet against it." Lara reminded her.
"Details."
Yoonchae just smiled, turning another page of her book, as if nothing had happened.
As if she already knew the ending of this story from the beginning.
—
The next day, Daniela Avanzini showed up at the library.
Not to look for a book, not to interrogate anyone, but to sit at your table. Right in front of you.
"I'm bored." She announced, as if that explained everything. "And you have the most interesting face in the library."
You blushed, you would always blush around her, apparently, but you smiled.
"You hate the library."
"I do." Daniela agreed. "But you're here."
And she pulled up a chair, sat down next to you, and spent the whole afternoon watching you solve calculus equations while eating the chocolates you had brought, "just in case," you said.
Daniela laughed.
And the sun, for the first time, decided that the shadow also deserved a little light.
Pairing: Ex-Girlfriend!Daniela Avanzini x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader
Summary: Nearly nine years after your breakup with Daniela, which was mainly driven by her hectic routine as an intern in the corporate healthcare field, you find yourself facing a dilemma: your four-year-old daughter, Charly, a mini copy of you, is obsessed with the group Katseye and begs to go to their Coachella show. The problem is that your ex-girlfriend just happens to be the main act that night.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warning: Talks about Breakup (Reader and Daniela), Talks about Divorce (Reader is divorced), Aged-up characters (Reader and Dani are 28), Your daughter being a cupid, Angst and Comfort.
Katseye Masterlist |Part Two
It was a Saturday morning when the first rays of sunlight began to pierce through the blackout curtains of the penthouse in Los Angeles. Your body still seemed to want to shelter itself in the soft sheets, in the scent of lavender and jasmine that dominated your bedroom. Your eyes were heavy, fighting to stay closed, but a tiny hand seemed insistent on poking your cheek.
"Charly… go back to sleep, love." You grumbled, burying your face into the pillow as if you could negotiate with a four-year-old mini hurricane.
"No, mami." Charly replied, with that typical voice of someone who believed she held all the reason in the world compacted into her small body. "You promised we'd have breakfast with Aunt Summer. You pinky promised."
The pinky. Damn it. The sacred pinky contract was unbreakable in the law of Charlotte S/s.
You opened one eye, finding your daughter's little face inches from yours. The same eyes, the same nose shape. An exact mini copy of you, but with an energy you swore wasn't genetically possible.
"I promised we'd have breakfast, not that it would be at six in the morning on a Saturday, Charly."
"It's already seven forty-two, mami."
You let out a suffering sigh, defeated by an argument from a child who sometimes still swapped her R's for W's but could read the time on a digital clock better than most adults.
"Mami…" Charly poked your cheek again, now with a sharp index finger.
"I'm getting up, Charly." You murmured against the pillow, without moving a single muscle besides your lips.
Charly seemed to accept that answer for three long, silent minutes. Enough time for you to start slipping back into sleep. But then, a shadow loomed over your bed.
"Mami, I'm going to let Aunt Summer throw ice water on you." Charly warned, with an absolutely terrifying calmness for a preschooler.
Your eyes snapped open instantly.
"And I'll cancel the tickets for that blessed show, Charlotte S/s." You shot back, and the pout that formed on your daughter's face was so immediate, so perfectly rehearsed, that you almost applauded that child's dramatic ability.
"Sorry, mami." Charlotte whispered, hugging your leg over the duvet. Her regret was genuine and sweet. It was always genuine and sweet. That was why you were completely at the mercy of a three-foot-tall person.
You ruffled her dark curls, feeling your chest tighten with love.
"Go take a shower, little pest."
Charlotte let out a little giggle before bolting toward the door.
"No running, Charly!"
"SORRY, MAMI!" Charlotte shouted from the hallway, clearly still running.
You let yourself fall back onto the bed for thirty more seconds, staring at the ceiling. The show. The damn Katseye show. When your daughter discovered that group, about eight months ago, you thought it would be a phase like all the others. But Charly wasn't the type who had phases. She had obsessions, and this one involved dancing in front of the television, asking you to braid her hair just like "the lady who spins," and making Summer — your best friend and partner in crime since college — spend a small fortune buying absolutely everything that had the group's logo on it.
You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. There was a message from Summer, sent at two in the morning, the time the British blonde had arrived in town.
[Summer]: Pink tomorrow? Found a perfect cropped top for you. No, you don't have a choice. Yes, Charly already approved via photo.
You smiled, shaking your head. Summer loved Charly with a ferocity that only fell short of your own. When your marriage crumbled, three years ago, Summer had crossed the ocean for six months, living in your guest room, learning to braid curly hair on YouTube, and making you laugh when everything felt gray. You were divorced. A single mother. A twenty-eight-year-old woman who, to the world, had a settled life as an executive in the healthcare field. And, depending on the angle, the world was right.
You had Charlotte. And Charlotte was the center of your universe. The rest could be a mess.
You got up, went to your daughter's room. Charly was sitting on the floor, trying to put on her socks by herself — one was inside out, the other was from the wrong pair.
"Need help, love?"
"No, mami. I'm a big girl." She replied, with all the determination in the world, as she shoved her foot into the inside-out sock and furrowed her brow.
You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms. "Big girl." At four years old. Time was a thief.
—
Coachella was perfectly orchestrated chaos. The April sun in Indio painted everything with a golden, warm tone, and Charlotte was sitting triumphantly on your shoulders like a queen inspecting her kingdom.
"Aunt Summer, look! A man dressed as a banana!" Charly pointed, her voice muffled by the straw of the water bottle she held like a chalice.
Summer lifted her sunglasses, following the little girl's gaze.
"That, Charly, is performance art."
"What's art? Is art a costume?"
"It's kind of…" Summer hesitated, looking at you for help.
"It's when someone does something funny or beautiful or strange so people think about something, love." You answered, holding Charly's ankles to keep her steady.
"Oh." Charly processed the information. "So the man thought he was a banana?"
"Exactly that." Summer laughed, ruffling the girl's curls. "You're a genius, Charlotte."
Charlotte had spent a fortune at the merch booths. Or, more precisely, you had spent it. Because when Charly pointed at a Katseye t-shirt with the sparkle of absolute desire in her eyes and said, "Mami, I need this one, it's a necessary good," you discovered that your ability to say "no" was tragically laughable.
"Mami, I'm hungry." Charlotte announced, with a pout you knew well. It was the prelude to an emotional collapse if food didn't appear within five minutes.
"Come down here, love." You said, helping her slide gently from your shoulders to the ground. "What do you want to eat?"
Charlotte placed her hand on her chin, in a gesture of fake deep contemplation that she had clearly copied from you.
"Mhm… Hamburger with a mountain of french fries. A real mountain, mami. Not a little. A lot, a lot."
"Let's negotiate. A mountain, and you eat at least three baby carrots."
"Two carrots."
"Three."
"Two and one broccoli."
You rolled your eyes, while Summer burst into laughter beside you.
"Deal. Two carrots and one broccoli. You're going to be a terrible lawyer, you know that?"
"Mami, what's a lawyer?"
"Someone who argues very well. Better than you."
"That doesn't exist." Charly stated, categorical, and Summer had to lean on you to keep from doubling over with laughter.
"That girl is you in a miniature body, Y/n. And I love it." Summer declared, wiping a tear of laughter.
"Come with me, princess." The blonde extended her hand, and Charly accepted it like someone granting an honor, guiding her toward the nearest food booth.
You stayed behind for a minute, watching the two of them. Summer, tall and blonde, with her British accent that never softened, even after so many years coming and going from London. Charly, tiny and vibrant, talking nonstop about how Katseye's music was "very, very, very good" and how the lady who danced was "the most beautiful in the whole wide world."
The lady who danced.
You blinked a few times, pushing away the intrusive thought. You were not going to start with this now. This was about Charly. About Summer. About a happy, musical, and absolutely normal day.
—
The show had been quite a spectacle. Charly vibrated like never before, switching between your shoulders and Summer's. Every now and then she'd grumble that Aunt Summer wasn't "as tall and strong as mami," which made Summer roll her eyes and call her a "three-foot tyrant." At the end, when the group finished their last song and the fireworks popped in the dark desert sky, Charly was exhausted. With her little eyes shining and her head resting on your shoulder, she whispered:
"It was the best day of all, mami."
And you kissed her sweaty forehead, feeling immense warmth in your chest.
But the day wasn't over yet.
You knew one of the event organizers. Five years ago, you had closed an important partnership for your company, providing medical care infrastructure for large-scale events. A good professional relationship, a phone call, a generous donation to a charity he supported, and you had the impossible in your hands: three passes for the Katseye Meet & Greet.
"Come with me." You called, adjusting Charly in your lap. She was limp with sleep.
Summer furrowed her brow, looking at the flow of people heading toward the exit.
"I thought we were already leaving."
"Not yet." You answered, enigmatic.
She followed your gaze to a security guard in a suit, standing discreetly beside a restricted entrance. The same security guard who had accompanied you during your professional visits years ago.
"Mrs. S/s, it's good to see you again." The man said with a respectful nod as you approached. "This way, please. They're already waiting."
Summer grabbed your arm tightly. The blonde's gaze went from your blatant poker face to the security guard, to the entrance, and back to you.
"You didn't, Y/n." She murmured, her voice choked.
"Didn't what?" You blinked, innocent as a fallen angel.
Summer's eyes welled up. Summer, who didn't cry. Summer, who watched you fall apart during your divorce and held your hand in silence. She held back the tears now, because Charly was there.
"You got…" She took a deep breath, biting her lip. "You got the Meet & Greet."
"Don't start crying now, Summer. Otherwise I'll cry too, and we'll have to explain to Charly why two adults are having a meltdown."
When your turn came, you set Charly on the ground. She rubbed her eyes, still drowsy, but already more alert with the movement around her.
"Love, you're going to go in there with Aunt Summer, okay? Mami's going to stay a little bit behind to take the photo."
"You're not coming with, mami?" Charly furrowed her brow, insecure.
"I'll be right there watching you, I promise." You adjusted the Katseye t-shirt she was wearing, the same one she had insisted on sleeping in the night before. "Go on, show them how you dance."
Charly smiled, her little eyes shining again, and took Summer's hand. The blonde threw you one last look — a mix of emotion, disbelief, and a silent "I-told-you-so" — and the two disappeared through the curtain indicated by the staff.
You grabbed your professional camera, adjusted the settings with the practice of someone who had made it a hobby over the last few years. The staff indicated where you should stand — a strategic spot with good lighting and a wide angle.
You took a deep breath. Everything was fine. It was just a Meet & Greet. Just a memory for your daughter to keep forever.
And then the curtain opened.
The members entered in a line, smiles, waves, a rehearsed welcome choreography. But your eyes, absolute traitors that they were, didn't see the group. They saw a specific figure. Dark, curly hair cascading over her shoulders. A luminous smile, the kind that transformed any environment. The same elegant posture, the same magnetic energy.
The air fled from your lungs.
It was Daniela Avanzini. In the flesh. More beautiful than you remembered. More beautiful, perhaps, than you had the courage to recall.
She was greeting Summer with a polite hug when she noticed Charly. The four-year-old little girl, standing, with wide eyes and an open mouth, frozen before her idol. Daniela crouched down to her level, her gaze scanning the girl's features. The dark curls. The shape of her nose. The eyes. Every single one of those details seemed to hit her like a tiny dart.
Daniela hesitated. She froze for a fraction of a second that only someone who knew her deeply would notice.
Then, as if the air around her had changed density, Daniela lifted her face. She searched. She found.
Your gazes met.
The world stopped.
Literally. The sound of the event, the background music, the staff chatter — everything reduced to a distant, irrelevant buzz. Ten years. Ten damn years without a sign, without a message, without a wave from afar. And there you were. With the same serious gaze as always, the same dimples that used to make Daniela's legs tremble. Holding a professional camera as if this were just another job.
"Dani?" Sophia's voice cut through the trance, a hand poking her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Daniela blinked, returning to reality with an almost physical jolt. Her cheeks burned.
"Um… Hi." She replied, her voice somewhat hoarse. Not to Sophia. To the air. To the universe. It would have been pathetic if it weren't devastating.
Summer, beside her, watched the scene with the expression of someone who knew exactly what was happening. She had noticed the second Daniela froze. She knew. And, discreetly, she slipped her hand into her pocket, touching the small card where she had scribbled her phone number the night before. A hunch. Summer had always had good hunches.
Charlotte, oblivious to everything, tugged at the hem of Daniela's pants.
"Miss? Are you the lady who dances?"
Daniela lowered her gaze, finding the same intense eyes. Identical to yours. A punch to the chest, perhaps the sweetest and most devastating one she had ever received.
"I… Yes. I dance." She composed herself, crouching down again, now with a more genuine smile, more fragile. "What's your name, princess?"
And you, behind the camera, felt your heart race in a way it hadn't in almost a decade.
Charly smiled, openly, displaying the dimples she inherited from you.
And Daniela felt the ground open up beneath her feet.
"I'm Charlotte. But you can call me Charly. Only people I like can call me Charly."
And, in that instant, Daniela Avanzini realized she was lost.
Again.
Charlotte's smile was a punch to Daniela's chest. Not just because of the child's natural sweetness, but because every feature of that little face was an echo of someone she had spent nearly a decade trying, and failing, to forget.
"Charly…" Daniela repeated, testing the name in her mouth like someone tasting a sip of old wine. "It's a very beautiful name. The name of brave people."
"You think I'm brave?" Charlotte's eyes sparkled, the exhaustion from the show evaporating instantly before the exclusive attention of her idol.
"Very. You came all the way here, faced a mountain of big people, and you're still standing. That's brave people stuff."
Charlotte seemed to absorb that like a medal being pinned to her chest. Then, without warning, she threw herself into Daniela's arms in a tight hug.
Summer brought her hand to her mouth. Sophia and the other members exchanged confused but silent glances, sensing that something bigger was happening there. No one interrupted.
You, behind the camera, felt your fingers tremble on the shutter. You fired a photo on autopilot, capturing the instant Daniela Avanzini closed her eyes and hugged your daughter back. There was a vulnerability in that image you hadn't expected. That you didn't know if you deserved to witness.
"Mami!" Charlotte disentangled herself from the hug and spun around, waving frantically. "The dancing lady hugged me! Did you see?"
All heads turned in your direction.
You lowered the camera slowly. Swallowed dryly.
"I saw, love."
Daniela stood up. Her eyes didn't unglue from you. They were the same brown eyes you knew by heart, but now there was something different there. A depth. A silent urgency. Perhaps the same one you felt throbbing in your chest.
The staff made a move to hurry the process, indicating that the line needed to move along. Sophia, ever attentive, stepped forward and touched Daniela's arm.
"Dani, we need to continue…"
"One minute." Daniela said, without diverting her gaze from you. "Just one minute, Soph."
Sophia stepped back. She knew. Maybe they all knew, somehow. There were old photos. There were tour nights when Daniela drank too much and talked about you. There was the fact that, in nine years, no one had seen the main dancer of Katseye take a lasting romantic interest in anyone.
"Y/n." Daniela pronounced your name as if it burned and soothed at the same time. A loud whisper, too intimate for a public event.
"Dani." You replied, and your voice came out steadier than you expected. But your hands still trembled.
The silence between you two was an ocean. Ten years fit there, in that meter and a half of distance. And Charly, oblivious to the weight of that moment, pulled Summer's hand and pointed to another member of the group.
"Aunt Summer, that one is Yoonchae! She tickles Lara in the video!"
"I've seen that video, Charly." Summer replied, but her eyes were glued on you and Daniela. She was on high alert, like an emotional bodyguard.
Daniela took a step forward. She hesitated. There was a multitude of unsaid things hovering over you both.
"You…" She started, but her voice faltered. She swallowed dryly. "Are you okay?"
It was a silly question. Too broad. But it was the only thing she could formulate.
You opened a sad smile, your dimples appearing.
"I am. I'm okay. Working a lot. You…" You looked around, at the stage, at the event, at the crazed fans still screaming outside. "You made it, Dani. You made everything."
Daniela shook her head, an almost imperceptible gesture.
"Not everything."
The weight of those two words fell over you both like a curtain. You knew exactly what she was referring to. And Daniela knew that you knew.
Charlotte reappeared, wrapping her arms around your legs.
"Mami, can I take a picture with everybody? The lady said I can." She pointed at Manon, who waved from the back with a warm smile.
"You can, love." You stroked her hair, grateful for the interruption that dissolved, even if momentarily, the tension.
The members gathered around Charlotte, who posed like a true star. Daniela remained beside her, her hand resting gently on the girl's shoulder. You fired the camera once, twice, three times. Each click froze a piece of a reality you hadn't fully processed yet.
When the photo session ended, the staff began to actually hurry the exit. Charlotte was already yawning again, fatigue defeating euphoria. Summer approached and picked up the little girl in her arms.
"I'll take her outside, get some air." Summer said, in a tone that meant "resolve what you need to resolve." She touched your arm lightly. The card with her number had already mysteriously vanished from her pocket. You noticed, but didn't comment.
You started to walk away, but a hand touched your wrist.
It was Daniela. The contact sent a shock through your arm, an electric current that awakened dormant memories in every nerve ending.
"Wait." Her voice was urgent. "Can we… Do you have something to write with?"
You furrowed your brow, confused.
"Write?"
"Your number. Your phone. Anything." Daniela was speaking fast, stumbling over her words the way she did when she was nervous. You remembered that. You remembered how she'd stutter when something really mattered. "I know it's been a long time. I know you probably don't even…" She took a deep breath. "But I don't want to lose you again. Even if it's just… to talk. To understand."
The world around was dissolving. The staff calling, the lights dimming, the night advancing. But there, in that instant, there was only Daniela's face, her tearful eyes, the touch of her fingers on your wrist.
You had two options. Protect your heart, as you'd done for almost a decade. Or crack open a sliver.
"I couldn't change it." You admitted, and the confession hurt and liberated at the same time. "Every time I tried, I gave up. In case you… someday…"
You didn't finish the sentence. You didn't need to.
Daniela brought her hand to her chest, as if her heart was about to escape. A trembling smile was born on her lips.
"I never changed mine either."
And there, in the middle of the controlled chaos of a Meet & Greet at Coachella, two ex-girlfriends that time tried to separate exchanged a look that was worth ten years of silence.
—
Three days later, the phone rang.
It was Sunday night. Charlotte was sleeping in your room, after insisting she needed to "protect mami from the closet monsters." You were on the couch, with a half-finished glass of wine and a work report you couldn't focus on. The number on the screen wasn't saved, but you recognized it instantly. Like you'd recognize your own breathing.
You answered.
"Hello?"
Silence. Breathing. And then:
"Hi." Daniela's voice was low, hesitant, but warm. "Sorry to call so late. I spent three days staring at this number. Three days rehearsing what to say. And now I've forgotten everything."
You let out a low, damp laugh.
"Still stuttering when you're nervous?"
"Always. Apparently."
The silence returned, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a silence of reunion, of recognition.
"Your daughter…" Daniela began. "She's beautiful, Y/n. So beautiful. And she has your dimples."
"And she argues better than half my lawyers." You smiled, resting your head against the back of the couch.
Daniela laughed. That laugh you hadn't heard in a decade. The sound made something inside you unravel and rebuild itself at the same time.
"I'm sorry." Daniela said, suddenly. "For letting you go. For thinking that the dream and you couldn't fit in the same life."
Your eyes burned. You blinked, controlling the tears.
"We were so young, Dani. Both of us."
"I know. But I never stopped thinking about you. Never."
A tear escaped. You wiped it with the back of your hand, grateful she couldn't see.
"Charly wants to know if the 'dancing lady' can come to her birthday." You murmured, changing the subject because your heart couldn't take any more.
Daniela let out a sound between a laugh and a sob.
"I'd love to. If you'll let me."
"I will."
Outside, the Los Angeles night sparkled with its thousands of artificial lights. But there, in your living room, with the phone in your hand and Daniela's voice in your ear, you felt for the first time in years that perhaps the darkness could, after all, give way to something new.
Pairing: Nerd G!P Sophia Laforteza x Volleyball Player!Reader
Summary: Where you end up finding out that your roommate has never touched a girl before, and that gives you an idea to solve that little problem.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warning: Shy Sophia, Slightly Mean and Popular Reader, Brief Mention of Sophia Being a Virgin, Reader Has a Crush on Her, Intersexuality, Slightly Dirty Talk, and Explicit Adult Content!
Katseye Masterlist
Friday night smelled of sweat, dust, and victory when you walked into the dorm. The athlete’s duffel bag hung heavy from your left shoulder, but you barely felt it. Your white sneakers were stained by the court's dust, and the black sports bra you wore refused to hide a thing—every small muscle in your abdomen, every curve of your toned arms was right there on display. The short volleyball spandex hugged your thick thighs in a way that was impossible to ignore. And, of course, there was a clear intention behind it.
There was a certain Filipino girl with dark eyes and a nervous smile who was always sitting at the study desk of the room you shared. Sophia Laforteza was the reason you almost always returned to the dorm wearing fewer clothes than usual. Some days, you chose shorter outfits; others, more revealing fabrics. Because you knew she would stare.
Sophia swore you didn’t see the apparent bulge in her sweatpants, or how she crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs together, when you walked out of the bathroom in short pajamas that left a bit of your butt exposed. It made her curse internally, her face burning, before rushing for a freezing shower that barely relieved the throbbing ache between her legs.
But tonight, your goal was clear. You weren't going to sleep until you got at least one kiss from that damn nerd who made you sleep with an intense, pulsing ache in the middle of your legs.
You entered the room, heading straight for the large wardrobe. Sophia, wearing headphones, didn't notice you. You grabbed a loose white shirt and sleeping shorts. A hot shower would be enough to take the weight off your back and give you the energy needed to put your plan into action.
Nearly thirty minutes later, you stepped out of the bathroom with damp hair, the shirt completely covering your tiny shorts. The scent of vanilla and sandalwood spread through the room—a subtle, warm perfume that made Sophia shift her attention from the computer to the bathroom door.
You leaned against the doorframe, a slow smirk forming on your lips as your eyes met hers.
"Still on that computer, Nerd?" Your voice sounded nasal and provocative. That smirk, full of intent, made Sophia swallow hard, a shiver running down her spine. "Cat got your tongue, Nerd? You know it’s rude not to answer people."
Silence was the only response. Sophia’s cheeks burned, a deep blush spreading to the tips of her ears. A sudden, familiar heat throbbed right between her legs.
You approached, the sound of your flip-flops on the floor making Sophia’s heart beat even faster.
"Breathe, Nerd. I don't bite," you said, tossing your wet towel onto the chair near your bed. A mischievous grin curved your lips. "Unless you ask me to."
A sound escaped Sophia’s throat—a low moan, almost a short sob, which made her blush even deeper. You laughed, a soft and satisfied sound. You loved teasing her because you knew she became increasingly nervous and restless every time you flirted shamelessly.
Sophia’s eyes were fixed on a point below your face.
"My eyes are up here, Nerd," you sang out, watching her pupils dilate as she stared at your thighs.
"I-I... I wasn't staring." Her voice failed her, trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"You were," you countered, grabbing the back of her chair and spinning her around to face you in one firm movement. "You do it every day, Nerd." You leaned in, resting your hands on the arms of the chair, trapping her there. The scent of sandalwood enveloped her. "Actually, I like it, you know? I love seeing you nervous like this, Nerd."
Sophia opened her mouth, her lips dry, trying to form a coherent sentence. But what escaped was another low moan as you sat right on top of her erection. The hard mass pressed against the center of your shorts, drawing a sigh of satisfaction from you.
"Mhm... a Nerd full of surprises, huh?" you whispered, grinding slowly, feeling every inch of the Filipino girl's considerable length beneath the fabric. "Can I kiss you, Nerd?"
Sophia nodded frantically, a desperate and anxious gesture, as if she had been waiting years for this. And she had. You leaned in, tracing a slow line of kisses from the edge of her jaw to the corner of her lips. Every small gasp from Sophia, every uncomfortable shift, every tremor of her body against yours was like music. She was fighting her own arousal, and you could feel it.
"Slowly, Nerd," you whispered against her mouth, feeling her hot, shaky breath. "We have all night."
And finally, it happened. The kiss was slow, exploratory—a first wet and warm contact. One of your hands moved from the back of the chair to Sophia’s dark hair, feeling the softness as your fingers intertwined there. She moaned, a soft, delicious sound against your lips, and her hips rose involuntarily, pressing the bulge even harder between your thighs.
You let out a low moan in response, feeling your own core throb, becoming even wetter than you already were. Your kisses began to travel down, a hot and wet trail along Sophia's pale neck, sucking the skin lightly, leaving marks that would be her undoing. The hand in her hair slid down, finding the racing pulse at her neck.
"Have you ever touched anyone before, Nerd?" you asked, your voice low but firm—absolute control.
When Sophia didn’t answer, only letting out a frustrated moan, you slightly increased the pressure of your fingers on her neck, guiding her gaze to yours. That simple act made her eyes widen—a shock of pleasure and surprise.
"I asked a question, Sophia." Your whisper was a command.
"N-Never," she finally replied, her eyes glazed, her pupils blown wide.
A smile of pure satisfaction spread across your face. That confession ignited something deep within you, a sinful idea taking shape.
"Then today you’re going to learn how to touch a girl," you said, your voice like dark, dangerous velvet. You let go of her neck and took her hands, which were resting tremulously on the chair arms. They were beautiful hands—large, with long fingers. "So use these huge hands for something useful, Nerd. Start by taking off my shirt."
Sophia nodded, obedient. With hands still shaking, she grabbed the hem of your white shirt. You raised your arms to help, and the damp fabric was discarded on the floor. The cool air of the room touched your completely bare torso, your firm breasts, and the sound Sophia made was somewhere between a gasp and a prayer. Her erection throbbed inside her sweatpants, the shape more evident than ever.
You took her hands, still suspended in the air, and guided them slowly to your chest.
"Now use your hands to massage them, Nerd," you instructed, placing her large palms over you, pressing her fingers against the soft flesh.
The contact drew a joint sigh. Sophia’s hands were warm, slightly rough, and they covered you perfectly. She stood still for a second, hypnotized, feeling the texture, the weight, the heat. Then, with a courage born of deep desire, she finally began to move—a hesitant touch that would soon become bolder, guided by you.
—
Your back met the soft mattress, the cool duvet contrasting with your hot skin. Sophia’s body hovered over yours, uncertain, her eyes dark and hungry, but her hands still hesitant. She was admiring you, almost entranced. The lamp light drew shadows on the contours of your breasts, the hard line of your stomach.
"So big..." Sophia murmured, more to herself than to you, as her trembling fingers touched your hip. "What if I hurt you?"
You laughed, a low, husky sound full of condescending affection. With one hand, you tugged the elastic of your sleeping shorts, removing the only piece still covering you, and tossed it aside. You lay completely naked beneath her clothed body.
"You won't hurt me, Nerd," you said, your voice a firm whisper. "You’re going to fuck me. Let’s start with a basic anatomy lesson."
Your fingers hooked into the waistband of her sweatpants and pulled them down. What sprang out made you catch your breath for a second. A thick, long, and already throbbing penis—smooth skin, the tip reddened and glistening with a drop of pre-cum. You had imagined it, feeling the bulge, but seeing it was something else. It was big.
"Holy shit, Nerd," you whispered with genuine admiration. Sophia looked away, embarrassed, but you caught her chin and forced her to face you. "Look at me. You’ve kept this your whole life and you don't know how to use it?"
"I... I don't know..." she stuttered, a blush spreading from her cheeks to her chest.
"Then pay attention," you ordered, making her sit beside you on the bed. You knelt, spreading your thighs wide and using your fingers to open yourself up for her. Sophia’s eyes followed the movement, her erection twitching with the beat of her heart. "This is what gets you excited. A girl's pleasure point is here, this button. It’s called the clitoris."
You slid your middle finger around the bundle of nerves, letting out a low sigh. Sophia swallowed hard, mesmerized by the sight. Her hand moved toward her own erection, but you brushed it away with your other hand.
"No. Not yet. Since you don't know how to touch anyone, you’re going to learn to touch me first. Use your hands for something useful."
Timidly, Sophia reached out, her long fingers trembling slightly until they touched the inside of your thigh. You guided her hand slowly upward, through the hot interior of your thighs, until her fingers found your wet core.
"Like that..." You arched your hips against her fingers when she, obediently, began to explore. A hesitant touch at first, then firmer as you moaned in approval. "Slide slowly, feel how wet I am... for you, Nerd. That’s the effect you have on me."
Sophia’s fingers, though shaky and inexperienced, were large and curious. As you instructed her, she slid a long finger along your wet entrance, catching your lubrication and bringing it up to your clitoris. The first direct touch there made you arch your back, a louder moan escaping. Sophia let out a moan in response, as if it gave her pleasure too.
"That’s it, Nerd. You’re learning so fast."
You felt her body move closer. The large, hot tip of Sophia’s member pressed against your thigh as if it had a mind of its own. She continued to stroke her fingers slowly, learning the rhythm you liked, but her hips began to move as well, rubbing the hard length against your leg. She moaned, a frustrated and pleading sound.
"P-Please..." Sophia begged, her voice thick. "I need... I can't take it anymore."
You loved seeing her like this—undone, pleading. With a smile, you pulled her on top of you again, your naked bodies meeting. You grabbed the condom from the nightstand, tearing the wrapper with your teeth without taking your eyes off hers.
"Let’s see if you learned," you teased, rolling the condom down the entire length of her throbbing member with both hands. Sophia moaned loudly at the contact, her brow furrowed in concentration and pleasure. You guided the thick tip to your entrance. "Very slowly, Nerd. It’s your first time. Go at my pace."
She nodded, her eyes locked on yours. The tip pressed against your entrance, and both of you held your breath. Sophia pushed in just the head, an inch, and the sensation was so intense that a deep moan escaped her throat while you panted.
"Look at me," you ordered, your voice ragged. "I want to see your eyes when you fill me up."
With a controlled thrust of your hips, you swallowed her a bit more. One centimeter at a time. The feeling of being filled was overwhelming—a perfect, delicious stretch that drew gasps from you. Sophia was shaking, struggling not to thrust all at once. Finally, when she was completely buried, she let out a sob of pleasure, her forehead falling against yours.
"Do you feel that?" you whispered against her lips, contracting your internal muscles around the length pulsing inside you. "That’s me, squeezing this big cock of yours. It was made for me, wasn't it?"
"Yes... yes..." she whimpered, starting to move. The rhythm was unsteady, clumsy, and desperate—and completely delicious because of it. "You’re so... so..." She couldn't form a sentence, she just thrust.
"So what, Nerd?" you challenged, digging your nails into her back and lifting your hips to meet her, making her go even deeper. The friction sent waves of electricity down your spine.
"So... tight," she finally moaned, her voice a thread. "So hot... I’m going to... I think I’m going to..."
"Not yet," you growled. You flipped her over on the bed with a skillful move, reversing positions. Now you were on top. Sophia looked at you with adoration and surprise, her hands instinctively moving to your breasts. You braced your hands on her chest and began to move at your own pace, riding her with slow, deep strokes, grinding every time you came down. "You only come when I tell you to."
Sophia moaned your name, her large hands squeezing your breasts, then moving down to your waist, helping you with the movements. The sight of her beneath you—eyes rolling back, mouth agape, completely surrendered—was better than any fantasy.
"Do you want me, Nerd?" you moaned, increasing the pace, the wet sound of your union filling the room. "Want me all for yourself?"
"Only yours," Sophia cried, nails digging into your waist. "Only yours... only yours..."
That was enough. You tilted your hips, making her pubic bone rub against your clitoris with every thrust. Pleasure exploded in a hot, white wave that crashed through your entire body. You groaned her name, loud, feeling your orgasm pulse in waves around Sophia’s member.
The sensation of you tightening was the final push. Unable to hold back, Sophia let out a guttural grunt and came, filling the condom with hot spurts while her body shook in spasms beneath yours.
You stayed like that for a long minute, sweaty and breathless, your body still sheltering hers as she slowly softened. You leaned down and pressed your lips to Sophia’s—a soft kiss, very different from the hunger before. It was a thank you.
When you pulled apart, you saw a different glint in the Filipina's dark eyes. It wasn't just desire or nervousness anymore.
"So..." You broke the silence, a satisfied smile on your lips as you toyed with the sweaty hair on Sophia’s forehead. "It looks like you finally touched a girl."
Sophia, still breathless, just smiled—a goofy, adorable smile that made your heart tighten in your chest.
"I think I’m going to need more practical lessons," she whispered, her voice husky.
You laughed, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose. Your shy nerd, by all accounts, was an excellent student. And you could hardly wait for the rest of the semester.
Apparently now all of Katzblr has turned moralistic about people's ages, even though everyone knows the biggest consumers of fanfics are minors and unfortunately no one can control that
Everyone knows that most of us writers also started writing and interacting with adult content when we were still minors
So I'm not going to be the one judging a teenage girl for lying about her age, especially when I'm a psychology student and I know exactly how a young person's mind works.
And I think that instead of attacking others, you should try to raise awareness about the harms of consuming this kind of content, and that talking to adults (who in most cases have bad intentions) can lead to something much worse than getting canceled on the internet
The message is: stop spreading hate and try to be more humane with people. You never know what's going on in someone else's mind, and a simple sentence from you could end up wrecking someone's life
Pairing: Aphrodite!Manon Bannerman x Ares!Female Reader
Summary: In most Greco-Roman myths, Ares and Aphrodite were seen as the rawest and most intense form of love, and in the end, that was exactly what happened whenever the two of you were alone.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warning: Forbidden Love (Pre-Battle of Manhattan), Eros acting as a Cupid for his Mothers, Greek Mythology AU!, Reader is tall and muscular (But completely pliant and soft when it comes to Manon), A Bit of Angst and A Lot of Comfort!
Katseye Masterlist
The Manhattan sky burned in an orange dusk when you felt her presence before you even saw her.
It was always like this—the air grew sweeter, laden with the scent of roses and sea salt, as if Olympus itself conspired to announce Aphrodite's arrival. Your muscles tensed by instinct, the essence of Ares pulsing through your veins like war drums, but something inside you melted the very next second.
Because it was her.
Manon emerged between the columns of the Empire State terrace, her dark hair falling in perfect waves over bare shoulders, wearing something that seemed woven from the very concept of beauty—or perhaps just a red dress that hugged every curve of her body as if it were jealous.
"Always so tense, my dear war." Her voice was honey and venom, an invitation you knew all too well. "Anyone would think you're about to enter battle, not admiring the sunset."
You scoffed, but your eyes couldn't tear away from her. They never could.
"Maybe I am. The battle is coming, Manon. You know that."
Manon tilted her head, a smile dancing on carmine-painted lips. She walked toward you with the grace of someone who knew the world stopped to watch her—and it did. Each step made the fabric of her dress ripple like waves on a private sea.
"Battle is always coming, my love." She stopped before you, so close that her perfume enveloped your senses like an embrace. Her delicate fingers touched your muscular forearm, and you felt your skin tingle beneath the contact. "But tonight, there is no battle. There is only us. And what are you doing here, all serious and magnificent, when you could be with me?"
You wanted to answer. Wanted to say something sharp, something worthy of Ares. But with Manon, words always failed. It was as if the goddess of war became just a woman—your woman—vulnerable and completely surrendered.
"Always so soft, Manon." Your voice came out rougher than you intended.
She laughed, a sound that echoed like crystal bells.
"I am soft in many ways, warrior." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "But you know I can also be… intense. It depends on the battlefield."
Before you could respond, a third presence materialized on the terrace. Golden wings sliced through the air, and Eros landed on the marble balustrade with the elegance he'd inherited from Manon and the imposing posture he'd inherited from you.
"Mothers." He greeted you both with a nod, his eyes blue as a summer sky shifting between the two of you. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Always, my love." Manon reached out to caress her son's face, and Eros leaned into the touch as if he were still a child. "But you know it's never an unwelcome interruption."
You watched the scene with your chest tight from a tenderness you dared not name. Your children were living proof that fate had intertwined you and Manon long before any divine decree. Eros, with his ability to birth love where once there was emptiness. The twins Phobos and Deimos, who terrorized armies but melted in Manon's arms like cubs. Harmonia, who was the perfect balance between the chaos of war and the beauty of love.
"Actually." Eros straightened, and there was something in his eyes you recognized as the rare seriousness he'd inherited from you. "I came to ask something."
The air seemed to grow heavy. Manon moved instinctively closer to you, her fingers intertwining with yours as if it were the most natural place in the world. As if there were no decrees forbidding it. As if Hephaestus didn't exist.
"What is it, my son?" Your voice was steady, but your divine heart beat in a rhythm that wasn't one of war.
Eros looked toward the horizon, where the clouds were staining themselves purple and gold.
"The Battle of Manhattan approaches. The demigods are preparing. Some of my siblings are among them." He paused, and when he looked back at you both, there was a raw vulnerability on his face. "And I need to know, Mother. Both of you. After all these centuries, after everything we've been through… are you finally going to be together? Truly?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Manon squeezed your hand, and you felt the almost imperceptible tremor in her fingers—something no one else in the universe would notice, but you weren't just anyone. You knew every nuance of Aphrodite as you knew every weapon in your arsenal.
"Eros…" Manon began, but stopped, her eyes finding yours.
And you saw there everything that had always existed between you. You saw the stolen nights in forgotten temples. You saw the children conceived in passion and desperation. You saw Hephaestus's fury, the golden net that trapped and exposed you both to Olympus's ridicule. You saw how none of that stopped you from continuing to find each other, century after century.
Because love and war have always walked hand in hand.
"I don't know, Eros." Your voice came out honest, without the masks Ares usually wore. "My father… there's Hephaestus too…"
"Hephaestus knows." Manon's voice was soft, but it carried the weight of a revelation. "After our demigod children nearly died, when we thought we had lost them… he came to me."
You turned to face her, surprised. Manon held your gaze, and for the first time in millennia, there were tears in Aphrodite's eyes.
"He said he finally understood. That love cannot be forged like metal, no matter how skilled the craftsman." Her voice trembled. "He set me free."
The world seemed to stop.
Eros smiled—not the mischievous grin of the god of love, but something pure, childlike, hopeful.
"Then I ask again." He stepped down from the balustrade, placing himself before you both. "Are you going to be together?"
Manon turned fully to you, her hands rising to frame your face with a tenderness that contrasted with all your warrior's grandeur. Her thumbs caressed your cheekbones.
"I've waited for you since before the first grain of sand touched the first shore." Manon's words were a sacred whisper. "Before Olympus. Before the seas. Before Gaia breathed life into nature. Fate wove our threads together, my war. And I refuse to spend one more century pretending I don't belong to you."
You, Ares, the goddess who made armies tremble, who wielded weapons with the strength of a thousand suns, felt your knees weaken.
"Manon…"
"Don't tell me you're afraid." She smiled, teasing. "Mighty Ares, afraid of a little love?"
"You know it's not a little." Your voice was a growl, but your hands found her waist, pulling her close. "You are everything, Manon. You always have been."
Eros broke into a radiant smile, golden wings fluttering.
"I think that's a yes."
"Get out of here, you nosy cupid." You snarled, but there was no venom in the words. There was only the overflowing love you could finally let escape.
Eros laughed, blowing a kiss to you both before vanishing in a shower of golden sparks.
Alone on the terrace, with Manhattan preparing for war below and the stars emerging above, Manon rested her head against your chest. Your arms wrapped around her the way they had always wanted to—like walls that protected rather than imprisoned.
"I love you." Manon's words were a prayer against your skin. "In the rawest and most intense way there is. The way it was always destined to be."
You kissed the top of her head, breathing in roses and salt and her.
"And I love you." Your voice was the promise of a thousand battles won. "With every fiber of war in me. With every piece I didn't even know could love."
The wind carried the distant sound of battle preparations. Soon, you would descend to protect your children. Soon, there would be blood and glory and the roar of war.
But that night, on the terrace of the Empire State, Ares and Aphrodite finally allowed themselves to be simply two women in love, intertwined beneath the stars that had witnessed the beginning of everything.
Love and war, hand in hand.
As it always should have been.
Manon lifted her face, her lips grazing yours in an almost-kiss.
"You know, my dear war…" She murmured, her breath warm against your mouth. "Now that we finally can, I intend to wage some very… specific battles. On a very particular field."
You laughed, a rare sound that only she could draw from you.
"Insatiable."
"I am the goddess of love, not moderation." She bit your lower lip softly. "And I have millennia of repressed desire to make up for."
When your lips finally met, it was like the first dawn. Like the first thunderclap. Like every beautiful and terrible thing that has ever existed.
Pairing: Technological Engineer! Megan Skiendiel x Operations Captain! Reader
Summary: Where Megan faithfully believed she would never need to be on the front lines of operations, but with the team captain's disappearance, Megan is forced to lead an entire team in search of her.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warning: Call of Duty AU!, Reader is described as tall and muscular, PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), Mentions of Death, Angst and Comfort!
Katseye Masterlist
The dust never really settled.
The convoy moved slowly along the cracked road, surrounded by skeletal buildings that seemed forgotten by time. Broken windows, walls scarred by old explosions, abandoned cars covered in sand—everything indicated that this place had once been alive. Now, only silence remained… and tension.
"Stay sharp," you said to the team over the radio, your voice low and controlled. "Any movement out of the ordinary, report it."
The youngest soldier in the group, Carter, watched through his rifle scope, scanning a narrow street to the right. An old ball rolled slowly with the wind. No children. No voices. Nothing.
The city seemed to have been emptied in a hurry.
They knew why.
The gang operating there had turned what was left of the region into a clandestine weapons route. Trucks entered during the night, loaded with crates no one wanted to open. They left before dawn, taking more conflict to other parts of the country.
The mission was simple on paper: locate the storage point and shut down the operation.
In practice, nothing there was simple.
In the distance, the only sign of organization for miles emerged: the operations team's base. Reinforced fences, watchtowers, running generators, a small point of resistance in the middle of chaos. It was the only place that still seemed… functional.
"Base in sight," someone murmured.
But no one relaxed.
Because they knew that the closer they got to what was still intact, the closer they also got to whoever was profiting from all that destruction.
The convoy stopped. Gates opened with a metallic screech.
As soon as they entered, the contrast became even clearer. Inside the base, there was movement, strategy, purpose. Maps spread out, voices coordinating actions, equipment being prepped.
Outside… only ruin.
You stepped down from the vehicle, your eyes sweeping the perimeter. Something was wrong. Your instinct screamed, an old and familiar sensation that had saved your life more times than you could count. The silence was different inside here; it wasn't the silence of military discipline, but something denser, heavier.
"Something's wrong here," you murmured, your hand dropping to the pistol in your holster.
Your men were spread out, too tired to notice.
And none of you seven realized that there were about fifteen guerrillas just waiting, hidden in the shadows of the surrounding buildings, behind parked vehicles, on the rooftops.
Because unfortunately, there was someone infiltrated on the team.
The first shot came from above.
Carter fell before he heard the blast.
—
The silence of the base was abruptly shattered.
An interrupted call on the radio. Static. Then… nothing.
Megan was hunched over a worktable, her fingers stained with grease as she adjusted the circuits of a reconnaissance drone when Sergeant Hayes entered the workshop without knocking. That was already unusual. What came next was worse.
"Lieutenant Skiendiel," his voice was strange, too controlled. "I need you in the command center. Now."
She looked up, the soldering iron still in her hand.
"What happened?"
"It's the Captain."
The soldering iron clattered onto the table with a metallic thud.
The operations team had left at dawn. It was a quick reconnaissance mission, nothing out of the ordinary. But hours later, the main channel went silent. No response, no sign of return.
Kidnapping.
The word wasn't spoken aloud, but everyone knew.
In the command center, glances were exchanged, waiting for someone to take charge. The Major was away, on another operation miles from there. The Lieutenant Colonel was unreachable. The chain of command had a hole exactly where you used to be.
That's when everyone turned their attention to Megan.
Second Lieutenant. Technological Engineer. Specialist in drones, surveillance systems, and electronic warfare. Always efficient… but rarely on the front lines.
She stared at the monitor, frozen for a second longer than she should have been. The screen showed the squad's last known location, a red dot blinking in the middle of a hostile zone.
It had been years since she had held a rifle in actual combat.
"We need a rescue team," Hayes said, breaking the silence. "And we need it now."
Megan swallowed hard. She knew there was no other option. Not when it was you out there. Not when every minute counted.
"I'll lead," she replied, even though her own voice sounded distant.
Some exchanged looks. It wasn't doubt about her intelligence—no one questioned that. It was about the field. About decisions under fire. About carrying lives on her shoulders.
She noticed.
And decided not to run from it.
Minutes later, she was in the armory. She picked up the rifle with hands that remembered more than she expected. The weight was still familiar… only now it came with something new: real responsibility. The cold metal against her palm brought back memories she would rather keep buried.
Hayes approached as she adjusted her tactical vest.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Too long," she replied, checking the magazine with a precision that betrayed old habit. "But I don't need to be the best shooter here."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I just need to make sure everyone comes back," Megan finished, her eyes fixed on the rifle. Then, lower, almost to herself: "That she comes back."
"Just be careful, Lieutenant Skiendiel. If they managed to capture our captain, we can't underestimate them."
Megan nodded, her jaw tight.
But what no one knew, what no one on that base could have imagined, was that Megan and you had an old bond, woven in shared night watches, in conversations that lasted until dawn, in confidences that shouldn't exist between a captain and her subordinate. A bond that had unfortunately been broken by your stubbornness and your fear of not coming home.
You had pushed her away. Said it was better this way. That your job was too dangerous to get attached to anyone.
And Megan, hurt and proud, accepted the distance.
But now you were out there. Alone. Or worse.
And Megan would move heaven and earth to bring you back.
—
The plan was put together in less than three hours.
Megan used everything at her disposal: satellite images, interception of enemy communications, drones she had modified herself to fly lower and quieter. Each piece of data was a puzzle piece she assembled with trembling hands but a sharp mind.
The exact location came from a transmission intercepted at 02:32 pm.
An old processing factory, eighteen kilometers from the base. Decommissioned for years, but with recent thermal activity. Heavy activity.
"There," Megan pointed at the map, her finger steady despite her racing heart. "She's there."
The rescue team departed at nightfall.
Megan led the infiltration with a competence that surprised even herself. Her technical mind found routes where others saw dead ends. Her drones flew over the perimeter, mapping every enemy movement, every blind spot. She coordinated over the radio, her voice calm and precise, as if she were merely adjusting the parameters of a complex system.
But inside, she was terrified.
When they finally stormed the complex and neutralized the remaining guards, Megan was the first to descend into the basement.
And that's where she found you.
You were trapped in a makeshift cell, your back against the concrete wall. Beside you, your right-hand man, Sergeant Morales, had a poorly made bandage on his arm, stained red—a graze wound no one had bothered to treat properly. Your face was covered in dust and dried blood, a deep cut on your eyebrow, your eyes hollow and distant.
But you were alive.
"Captain," Megan's voice cracked.
You raised your eyes slowly, as if returning from very far away. For a moment, there was no recognition. Just emptiness.
Then something flickered to life.
"Megan."
Your name on your lips, in that hoarse, broken voice, nearly undid her right there.
With the help of the soldiers, Megan led you outside, a firm hand on your elbow as you stumbled. Your muscular body seemed to weigh twice as much, too exhausted to maintain your usual upright posture. She guided you to the Jeep that would take you back to the operations center, and you sat in the back seat without saying a word.
From the captivity site to the base, you didn't say a single word.
Megan watched you through the rearview mirror as she drove, her heart aching. Your eyes were fixed on some point beyond the window, beyond the desert, beyond the present. Your hands rested motionless on your thighs, but Megan noticed the almost imperceptible tremor in your fingers.
And then she understood.
The younger body being carried by two recruits to the other vehicle. The face covered by a makeshift cloth, but unmistakable.
Carter.
The youngest on the team. Twenty-two years old. He had a picture of his girlfriend in his vest pocket and a dream of opening a mechanic shop when he got home.
And Megan feared, deeply feared, knowing what you had seen in that cell. What they made you watch. What they forced you to listen to.
Because your eyes weren't just those of someone who survived an ambush.
They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much.
—
The bathroom in your quarters on base was small, functional, no frills. But it had hot water, one of the few comforts your captain's rank guaranteed.
Megan turned on the shower faucet and waited for the steam to begin rising before turning to you.
You were standing in the middle of the room, still in your dirty uniform, shoulders slumped, gaze lost on the white tile. You seemed smaller than you really were—and you were tall, muscular, a presence that usually filled any space with natural authority. Now, you seemed shrunken inside your own skin.
"Hey," Megan called softly, approaching carefully. "Let's get this off."
You didn't react when she began to undo the buckles of your tactical vest. Megan's fingers were nimble, used to dismantling complex equipment, but now they trembled slightly. She pulled off the vest, then the shirt over your head, revealing bruises spread across your ribs, your shoulders. Purple and yellow, some recent, others from days ago.
Megan took a deep breath. She bit her lip to keep the anger from spilling out.
Then came the pants, the boots. You let her. You offered no resistance, but you didn't help either. You just stood there, as if your body were something separate from you, something that didn't deserve attention.
"Get in," Megan gestured to the shower, her voice gentle. "I'll stay here."
You stepped in slowly. The hot water hit your skin and, for a moment, your eyes closed. Megan watched your tense muscles loosen little by little, your shoulders drop even a single centimeter.
She grabbed the soap and a clean sponge.
"May I?"
You hesitated. Then nodded, an almost imperceptible movement.
Megan lathered the sponge and started at your neck, moving down over your broad shoulders, over your scarred back. Every movement was gentle, methodical, as if she were cleaning something much deeper than dust and grime. The dried blood swirled down the drain in reddish spirals. Your breathing was heavy, irregular.
"Carter enlisted eight months ago," your voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper. "He told me he wanted to make a difference. That his father had served, and he wanted to honor that."
Megan didn't answer. She just continued running the sponge, now down your right arm, circling a superficial cut near your elbow.
"He didn't even know how to hold a rifle properly the first month," a pause. Your voice cracked. "I taught him."
The water kept falling. Megan kept being there.
When she finished, she turned off the faucet and wrapped you in a clean towel. She dried you with the same care, as if you were something precious that could shatter at the slightest carelessness. Perhaps that was exactly it.
Then came the first aid kit.
You sat on the bed, your back to her, as Megan cleaned the cuts with antiseptic. The sting made your muscles contract, but you didn't complain. She applied gauze, medical tape—her precise engineer's hands now serving to mend skin instead of circuits.
The bandage on your shoulder was the last one. Megan secured the end carefully and, for an instant, let her fingers rest there, feeling the warmth of your skin under her palm.
"Done," she whispered.
You turned slowly. Your eyes finally met hers.
And Megan saw.
She saw the weight. The guilt. The PTSD you already carried from previous missions, now multiplied, rooted deep, devouring everything from the inside. She saw the strong, determined captain she knew, and she also saw the broken woman left behind after the world collapsed.
"Lie down," Megan asked, adjusting the pillow.
You obeyed, your heavy body sinking into the mattress. Your face was still tense, your breathing still short. But your eyes wouldn't let Megan pull away.
Megan pulled the sheet up to your chest and made a move to stand up.
Your hand grabbed her wrist.
It was a weak, hesitant gesture, so different from the woman who used to give orders with a firm voice and unshakable posture.
"Stay."
It wasn't an order. It was a plea. Small, almost ashamed.
"Stay in my room," your voice was thick with emotion. "Please."
Megan felt her heart break somewhere between the old guilt and the love she had never known how to name properly.
She didn't answer with words.
She just took off her boots, circled the bed, and lay down beside you, on top of the sheet, her face turned toward you. The distance between your bodies was minimal, but enough for you to breathe. Enough so you wouldn't feel trapped.
"I'm here," Megan murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."
Your eyes welled up with tears. You blinked, trying to hold them back, but one escaped, trailing down your temple and getting lost in the pillow.
Megan reached out slowly and held your hand over the sheet. Fingers intertwined with the naturalness of having done this before, in another life, in another context.
"He screamed for me," your voice came out small, broken. "Carter. He screamed for me and I couldn't get there in time."
Megan squeezed your hand tightly.
"You did what you could."
"It wasn't enough."
"I know," Megan whispered. "I know it feels like it wasn't. But you're alive. And as much as it hurts right now, that matters. You matter."
You closed your eyes, your face twisting in a grimace of pain. Megan moved a little closer, her forehead almost touching yours.
"I shouldn't have pushed you away," your confession came in the dark, fragile. "I thought it was safer. For you."
"It wasn't," Megan replied, but without accusation in her voice. Just truth. "It just hurt more."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full of everything left unsaid.
Outside, the base still functioned—muffled voices, footsteps in corridors, the constant hum of generators. But inside that room, the world fit into two bodies lying down, two intertwined hands, two hearts beating in different rhythms trying to find a common tempo.
You took a deep breath, once, twice.
And for the first time in days, you closed your eyes without fear of what you would see when you opened them.
Summary: A four-year marriage wasn't always filled with happy moments, even if you believed you could make it up to your wife with handbags that cost a fortune or by simply buying out an entire store because she had loved a single jacket.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warning: Aged-up Manon and Reader (Both 30 years old), Manon is described as a trophy wife, Mention of children (They have a two-year-old son), Manon showing signs of stress, Explicit Sexual Content, Body Worship, Strap-On Use, Reader is described as taller than Manon, Oral Sex, and Aftercare!
Katseye Masterlist
It was a Friday night when the streets of Zurich began to grow less crowded. Rush hour had dwindled by about seventy percent, leaving only a few pedestrians circulating along the cobblestone sidewalks and cars stopping at bars or restaurants, their amber lights spilling onto the asphalt still wet from the light rain that had fallen earlier. On the passenger seat of your black Maybach, there was an orange bag with a symbol so well known to you that you could recognize it with your eyes closed just by the smell of new leather emanating from within.
It was a typical Hermès bag, containing a Birkin that should cost the annual salary of most of your employees, a shade of deep blue that you knew would perfectly match Manon's eyes when she wore that cream dress she had bought in Milan last month. Your eyes wandered along the familiar path, the streets becoming wider and more tree-lined as you approached the financial district where your penthouse was located. Manon must be a bundle of nerves inside. Even though she exerted no effort beyond her precious two o'clock Pilates class and picking up Dylan from daycare at four, a routine you had meticulously built so she wouldn't have to lift a finger, so she could have everything you never had growing up in that tiny apartment in Bern.
There was a specific reason you spent so many hours trapped in that damn office, with its monitors flashing charts and reports that piled up like an endless stack of obligations, and it boiled down to your dear wife and a certain little boy with the same dark curls and her disarming smile. It was clear that the routine was beginning to affect your marriage; Manon had been quieter in recent months, touches had turned into quick kisses at breakfast, and looks that spoke more than words exchanged across the dinner table while you answered emails on your phone. The week before, you had found her sitting in the living room armchair, looking out the window as if waiting for something that never arrived. She didn't say anything. She just smiled that sad smile that shattered your heart into pieces that not even all the shares of your company could buy back.
It hurt to know that your wife felt lonely in that three-hundred-square-meter penthouse because you seemed to care more about meetings and mergers than about her. Which wasn't true, God, how it wasn't true, because when you were in the office, hunched over contracts that would decide the future of hundreds of employees, the only thing you could think about was your wife's brown eyes, the curves of her body that you had memorized in four years of marriage, the taste of her lips when she laughed against your mouth. You thought about the way she hummed German songs while preparing Dylan's breakfast, the sound of her laughter when the boy did some mischief, the way she stretched in the morning like a lazy cat, dark curls spread across the pillow.
Finally, the enormous building in the most expensive part of Zurich emerged before you, its black structure surrounded by mirrored glass panels that reflected the city lights like an artificial constellation. The same security guard as always, Hans, you remembered, a middle-aged man with broad shoulders and a perpetually serious gaze that hid a kind heart, was leaning against the building entrance, his posture impeccable despite the late hour. You greeted him with a tired nod, handing over the car key and grabbing your Armani blazer from the back seat, the leather briefcase with documents you still needed to review before Monday's meeting, and, of course, the orange bag you carried like a modern offering. Because from where you two came from, money seemed to buy and alleviate any bad situation, a comfortable lie you told yourself every night when you walked in with another piece of jewelry, another dress, another bag that was supposed to fill the void your absence was digging between you.
The elevator took exactly two minutes to reach the second-to-last floor; you counted every second, as you always did. Two minutes were enough to mentally review the meeting you'd had with the Japanese shareholders, worried about Asian market fluctuations. Two minutes were also the time Dylan took to run to the door when he heard the elevator arrive, his little bare feet slapping against the marble floor as he shouted "Mami! Mami!" in that voice that was the most precious thing in the world. Tonight there would be no running. Tonight there would be no shouting. You knew your in-laws had picked up the boy early in the evening, and a part of you missed the joyful chaos he brought. The other part, the one that pulsed at a different rhythm when you thought of Manon, was secretly grateful for the empty house.
You entered the code for the apartment door, your wedding anniversary, a sentimental choice that made Manon smile every time she typed the numbers, and the sound of the electronic latch opening echoed through the silence. You left the briefcase on the entryway table that Manon had chosen from a design gallery in Copenhagen, a piece of light wood that contrasted with the rest of the dark and minimalist decor the decorator had imposed. It was the only piece of furniture that truly seemed to have personality in that apartment, you suddenly realized. The only one Manon had personally chosen.
You adjusted the orange bag in your left hand as you swept your eyes over the living room, the untouched Italian design sofas, the glass coffee table where fashion and decor magazines piled up next to a single little toy truck Dylan had forgotten. There was no sign of Manon there. The open-plan kitchen with its brushed steel appliances was impeccable and empty. The office with frosted glass doors was dark. Only absolute silence that seemed to hurt your ears, heavy as a mute accusation.
Perhaps she was in Dylan's room, tidying up the toys the boy had scattered before going to his grandparents' house? You knew your wife; she liked to keep things in order, a need for control that mirrored your own, born from childhoods where chaos was the only constant. But Dylan never slept away from home without receiving a goodnight kiss from you, without your made-up stories about dragons living in the Swiss Alps and princesses who flew airplanes. You missed him with a physical intensity, a tightness in your chest that only motherhood could explain.
You tossed your blazer over the back of the sofa; Manon hated when you did that, said it wrinkled the fabric, but tonight you couldn't bring yourself to care, and you made your way to the master suite. Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor in a rhythm you knew as well as your own heartbeat. The premise was to take a long shower, with water hot enough to wash away any and all stress you had accumulated in the last fourteen hours of tense negotiations and diplomatic smiles that made your jaw ache. You wanted to let the water run over your body as if it could also wash away the guilt, the fatigue, the constant feeling that you were failing at something fundamental.
But the scene you found in the bedroom made your heart almost leap out of your mouth. The air seemed to thicken, laden with the scent of vanilla candles that Manon had lit and with something more, something you couldn't name but that made your skin tingle.
Manon was facing the enormous full-length mirror that covered one wall of the open closet, wearing only a black silk robe you had bought her on a trip to Paris three months ago. The fabric was slipping off one shoulder, revealing the soft, golden skin you knew inch by inch, every freckle, every tiny scar. She was focused on arranging her dark curls, her long, elegant fingers working through the strands with a distracted grace, so absorbed in the task that she didn't notice your presence frozen in the doorway.
You looked at her as if she were a source of water in the middle of a desert you hadn't known you were crossing. As if every cell in your body was thirsty for her in a way that transcended the physical. The black robe contrasted with her skin in a play of light and shadow that would make any Renaissance painter weep in frustration at not being able to capture it. The line of her neck, that neck you had kissed a thousand times and still discovered new places that made her sigh, seemed elongated, vulnerable, perfect.
Your throat closed with an emotion you couldn't name. Your eyes traced the path from Manon's nape to the curve of her shoulders, down her back which the robe only partially covered. You knew exactly what the texture of that skin felt like under your lips, under your hands, under your body. You imagined the scent of the Dior moisturizer she insisted on buying in sealed boxes directly from Paris, an extravagance you encouraged just for the pleasure of seeing her happy, and also because that specific perfume, mixed with her natural scent, was your personal addiction. Something floral and musky that lingered on your sheets, on your clothes, in your olfactory memory like an anchor to home.
There was no fighting the urge to go towards that woman. There was a magnetism that always pulled you to her, like a magnet that couldn't be turned off or ignored, something primal that went beyond marriage contracts and diamond rings. It was the same force that had made you cross a crowded conference room four years ago, when you first saw her at a charity event you hadn't even wanted to attend. She was laughing at something a friend had said, her eyes shining with a genuine joy that seemed to illuminate the entire room, and you knew, in that exact second, that you would do anything to be the reason for that laughter for the rest of your life.
Manon blinked slowly, her long lashes creating shadows on her cheekbones, and you realized she was looking specifically at your reflection in the mirror. She had known you were there the whole time. Of course she had. Manon always knew exactly where you were, even with her back turned, as if she had an internal radar calibrated exclusively for your presence. The smile that formed on her lips was devilish, aware of the effect she caused, satisfied with your transparent reaction.
"Hey, liebling." Manon's voice was slightly hoarse, as if she hadn't used it much that day, as if she had been saving the words for this exact moment.
The affectionate German term hit you as it always did, a small emotional earthquake that started in your chest and spread to your extremities. Liebling. Darling. Love. She used it when she was happy, when she was tired, when she woke in the middle of the night and searched for you in the dark. It was the word she had whispered against your skin on your wedding night, in a hotel suite in Santorini with the windows open to the Aegean Sea. It was the word she said when she held Dylan for the first time, looking at you with tears in her eyes.
You blinked a few times, still mesmerized by the image of her in the mirror, by the contrast between the black of the silk and the gold of her skin, by the dark curls that framed her face like a living frame. She looked like a deity. No, she was a deity, one you worshipped with offerings of expensive bags and sparkling jewelry because you no longer knew how to demonstrate the absolute devotion you felt.
"Hey." You murmured, and your voice came out shaky in a way that would have embarrassed anyone else. But not with Manon. Never with Manon. She had always had the power to disarm all your defenses, to expose the vulnerable woman behind the ruthless CEO the world knew.
Seeming to finally awaken from the initial shock, although "awaken" wasn't the right word, because you still felt in an altered state of consciousness, as if the air was denser and time slower, you lifted the Hermès bag. The bright orange paper seemed almost vulgar in contrast to the natural elegance of the woman before you, but you saw the satisfied smile that curved her lips nonetheless.
Manon turned slowly, the robe opening a little more with the movement, revealing the line of her collarbone and the beginning of the curve of her breasts. She made no move to close it. Her bare feet made almost no sound against the heated floor as she closed the distance between you, and each of her steps seemed like a silent promise.
"You know you don't need to buy every Hermès bag in Zurich." Manon whispered, and her hands found your silk tie, her agile fingers beginning to undo the knot you had tied hastily that morning, when you were already late for a meeting. The gesture was intimate, familiar, something she had done thousands of times over four years of marriage. "I just need you to be here with me."
The simplicity of the statement hit you like a punch to the stomach. It wasn't about the bag. It had never been about the bag, or the dresses, or the jewelry, or the three-hundred-square-meter penthouse in Zurich's most expensive district. It was about you. About your presence, your attention, your time, the only things all the money in the world couldn't buy back once lost.
Manon's fingers finished undoing the tie knot with deliberate slowness, pulling the silk fabric from your neck as if unwrapping a gift. Her brown eyes met yours, and there was something in them that made your breath catch, a mixture of love, longing, and a hunger that mirrored your own.
"Even though I love your presents." She continued, her voice still in that low, intimate register that seemed to envelop the two of you in a private bubble where the rest of the world didn't exist. The tie slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor, forgotten. Her hands rose to your shoulders, massaging the tension accumulated there with a firm pressure that drew an involuntary sigh from your lips. "I still prefer you."
The low sigh escaped you like a confession, and Manon smiled, that specific, satisfied, intimate smile that she reserved only for moments like this, when she exerted her power over you and the result was exactly what she expected. The Swiss-Ghanaian woman knew exactly the effect she had on you. She had always known. It was knowledge she carried with quiet confidence, like someone who knows the sun will rise tomorrow.
"Go take a shower." Manon murmured, and it wasn't a suggestion. Her lips found your jaw in a soft, almost chaste kiss that contradicted the gleam in her eyes. The contact was too brief, teasing, leaving your skin tingling where she had touched. "And I'll heat up dinner."
She pulled away before you could answer, the silk robe rustling softly as she headed for the bedroom door. She paused at the threshold, looking over her shoulder with that same devilish smile that had started everything.
"Unless, of course… you want something different for dinner."
The insinuation hung in the air between you like a third presence, laden with possibilities. Your eyes roamed her body again, the black robe now hanging dangerously off one shoulder, revealing more golden skin, more silent promises.
Your only reaction, because you never, ever fought against anything that woman said or suggested, was an almost imperceptible nod of your head. An assent. A surrender.
Manon came back to you.
This time there was no hesitation in her steps, only the certainty of someone who finally had what she wanted within reach. She stopped inches from you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from her body through the thin silk of the robe. She had to tilt her head back to look into your eyes; you had always been taller, a difference Manon adored, saying it made her feel protected when you wrapped her in your arms.
"I missed you." The words fell from her lips like a confession, laden with the weight of weeks of silent distance. It wasn't an accusation. It was just the truth, naked and vulnerable, offered to you as a gift far more valuable than any Birkin. "I missed you every day. Even when you were here. I missed this. Us."
Your hand found her face before you could think about the movement, your palm fitting perfectly into the curve of her jaw as if sculpted for that specific purpose. Your thumb traced the contour of Manon's lips, feeling the soft texture, the subtle moisture she had left when she ran her tongue over them seconds ago.
"I missed you too." Your voice came out hoarse, broken, as if the words had been stuck in your throat for too long. "I think about you all day. Every meeting, every call, every damn contract… all I want is to come home. To you."
Manon's eyes glistened with what might have been tears, but she blinked quickly, refusing to let them fall. Instead, her hands found the buttons of your shirt, undoing them one by one with a deliberation that was both torturous and exactly what you needed. With each button that came loose, her fingers brushed the newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
"Then show me." She whispered against your collarbone when the shirt finally fell completely open, her lips touching the sensitive skin there with the lightness of a feather. "Show me how much you missed me."
You didn't need any more encouragement.
Your hands found her waist through the silk, pulling her closer until there was no space between your bodies, until you could feel every curve of her molding against you. The robe had fallen almost completely open now, and the warm skin of Manon's abdomen pressed against yours through the thin layer of your open shirt.
The first real kiss of the night wasn't gentle. It was hungry, desperate, a collision of lips and tongues that carried weeks of longing and frustration and unspoken love. You kissed her as if you were drowning and she was your only oxygen. Manon reciprocated with equal intensity, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, to anchor you in the present moment.
"Bed." You managed to articulate between kisses, the word coming out more like an order than a request. "Now."
Manon laughed against your lips, that sound you loved more than any symphony, and let herself be guided backwards until the back of her knees hit the edge of the king-size bed that dominated the room. She fell onto the gray silk sheets, the black robe opening completely to reveal the body you knew so well and yet always discovered something new to worship.
For a moment, you just stood there, at the edge of the bed, looking at her. The soft light from the side lamps painted shadows and highlights on her skin, outlining every curve, every plane, every detail you had memorized in four years of marriage. The silvery stretch marks on her hips, a legacy of Dylan's pregnancy, which she sometimes looked at with insecurity in the mirror and which you found the most beautiful thing in the world, marks that her body had housed and nourished your son. The small scar on her left knee, from a childhood bicycle fall. The way her abdomen contracted slightly with each breath, betraying her arousal.
"You're so beautiful." The words escaped before you could contain them, laden with a reverence that bordered on religious. "Sometimes I look at you and I can't believe you're my wife. That you chose me."
Manon propped herself up on her elbows, her dark curls spread across the pillow like a halo, and smiled, not the devilish smile from before, but something softer, more vulnerable. The smile she reserved for moments when defenses fell and all that remained was the woman she was behind the trophy wife the world saw.
"I didn't choose you." She said, and her voice had an almost imperceptible tremor. "I recognized you. The second I saw you at that party, four years ago. I recognized you as mine. As if every version of me in every possible life always ended up with you."
Your remaining clothes were discarded with an urgency that left no room for elegance; the already open shirt fell from your shoulders, the pencil skirt you had worn to the meeting was pushed down your hips with the help of Manon's eager hands. Soon you were just in your bra and panties, your exposed skin prickling not from cold, but from the intensity of your wife's gaze upon you.
You joined her on the bed, your larger body covering hers like a shelter, a shield. Your lips found the neck you had admired earlier, and this time there was nothing chaste about the contact. You kissed, licked, nibbled the sensitive skin, being rewarded with a low moan from Manon and the arching of her back.
"You're stressed." Manon observed, her hands roaming your back, feeling the tension accumulated in your muscles. "Let me take care of you first."
She tried to reverse your positions, but you held her in place with gentle but firm pressure.
"No." You murmured against her skin, descending into the valley between her breasts. "Tonight, I take care of you. Let me. Please."
The "please" broke something in Manon. She nodded, her fingers relaxing in your hair, allowing you to take control.
And you did. With the same meticulousness you applied to your business, but with a devotion no contract could ever demand.
Your lips traced every inch of her body as if redrawing a sacred map. Her collarbone, where her perfume was strongest. The lower curve of each breast, where you lingered longer than necessary, drawing increasingly urgent sighs. The soft abdomen that contracted under your mouth, the stretch marks you kissed one by one, wanting her to know how much you loved them. The hip bones that jutted out slightly, creating a valley your lips explored with reverence.
"Liebchen." Manon moaned, the term of endearment distorted by pleasure. Her hands in your hair tightened and relaxed in a rhythm that matched your movements. "Please…"
You looked up to meet her eyes. They were dark, pupils dilated, her breathing uneven. Beautiful. So beautiful it hurt.
"What do you want, my love?" Your voice was a rough whisper against the skin of her inner thigh, where you had placed a kiss moments before.
Manon swallowed hard, the movement of her throat hypnotic.
"You. Inside me. Now."
Three phrases. Three orders you were more than willing to obey.
You pulled away just enough to reach the nightstand drawer, where you knew you would find what you needed. The black leather harness was familiar in your hands, as was the attachment you secured to it, one you had chosen together in a discreet shop in Amsterdam, during a trip that felt like it belonged to another life. The life before the sixty-hour work weeks, before the silent distance that had settled between you.
When you positioned yourself between Manon's legs again, now equipped, she looked at you with a mixture of anticipation and something deeper. Love, perhaps. Trust, certainly. The trust of someone who surrenders completely, knowing they will be safe.
"Ready?" You asked, your forehead resting against hers, sharing the same air.
"I always was." The answer came as a whisper, her lips brushing yours.
You entered her slowly, with a patience you didn't know you possessed, watching every micro-expression on her face, the initial furrow of her brow, the parting of her lips, the catching of her breath. Manon adjusted around you, her body receiving you as if you had never been apart, as if the weeks of distance had never existed.
"God." She gasped, her nails digging into your shoulders. "This… I needed this so much. You."
You began to move, establishing a rhythm that was both familiar and new, rediscovering the angles that made her moan, the depths that made her arch her back. Your lips found hers in kisses that were more shared breath than actual contact, warm air mixing between you.
"I love you." You murmured against her mouth, the words escaping in sync with each thrust. "Love you. Love your body. Love every part of you. Love the marks from carrying our son. Love your scent. Love the sound you make when…"
Manon interrupted you with a desperate kiss, swallowing your words and transforming them into something physical. Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper, her hips meeting yours in a dance you knew so well.
The room filled with sounds—the rustle of silk sheets, your ragged breathing, the small moans that escaped Manon with every movement. The mirror still reflected the scene, but you didn't need to look. You could feel her in every cell of your body, as if there was no separation between you, as if you were two halves of the same being.
"Closer." Manon pleaded, her voice broken by pleasure. "I need you closer."
You pulled her up, changing the angle, and the moan she let out told you that you had found exactly what she needed. Your movements became more urgent, less controlled, driven by a primal need that went beyond the physical.
"There." She panted, her eyes closing, her head thrown back, exposing the column of her throat which you immediately covered with kisses. "There, there, there…"
You felt her beginning to come undone, the internal muscles clenching around you in an unmistakable warning. Your hand slid between your bodies, finding the spot you knew would push her over the edge, applying the exact pressure she loved.
"Come." You whispered against her ear, your voice rough with desire and love and all the things you couldn't express in words. "Come for me, my love."
Manon shattered with a muffled cry against your shoulder, her body trembling in successive waves of pleasure that you felt echo through your own. You held her through all of it, your movements gradually slowing until they stopped completely, allowing her to float back to you.
For long moments, there was no sound but your ragged breathing and the beating of your hearts, which you could feel where her chest pressed against yours. Manon was limp in your arms, limbs heavy with satisfaction, her face hidden in the curve of your neck.
"Stay." She murmured when you made to move. "Just one more minute. I need to feel you here."
And you stayed. You would stay forever if she asked.
When you finally separated, you removed the harness carefully, setting it aside to worry about later. Now, what mattered was Manon, her eyes still slightly glazed, her body marked with evidence of your love, her smile satisfied and sleepy.
You pulled her to the bathroom, where the whirlpool tub you rarely used awaited. While the hot water filled the space with steam, you busied yourself with small cares—a warmed soft towel, the bath oil she loved, two glasses of white wine you brought from the kitchen without bothering to dress.
Manon entered the tub first, sighing with pleasure as the hot water enveloped her muscles. You joined her, positioning yourself behind so she could recline against your chest, her head resting on your shoulder.
"Better?" You asked, your lips against her temple, your hands tracing distracted patterns on her abdomen under the water.
"Much." The answer came with a satisfied sigh. Manon's fingers found yours underwater, intertwining them. "We needed this. I needed to remember that you're still here. That we're still here."
Guilt bloomed in your chest, bitter and familiar.
"I'm sorry." The words came out before you could stop them. "For all the nights I came home late. For all the times you needed me and I was in a meeting. For making you feel lonely in our own home."
Manon turned in your arms, the water sloshing with the movement. Her brown eyes met yours, serious, with no trace of the pleasure haze from minutes ago.
"I don't want your apologies." She said, and her voice was firm. "I don't want you to feel guilty for working, for building something you'll leave for our son, for being the brilliant woman I fell in love with. I just want you to come back to me at the end of the day. Even if it's late. Even if it's just to hold me for five minutes before sleep. Just… come home. To me."
You kissed her, soft, reverent, promising with your lips what words couldn't express.
"I'll come back." You murmured against her mouth. "Always. Every night. For you."
Manon smiled against your lips, and it was like watching the sunrise after weeks of storm.
The rest of the night unfolded in small kindnesses. You washed her hair with the imported shampoo that kept her curls soft, massaging her scalp until she purred like a satisfied cat. You dried her body with a fluffy towel, kissing every inch of skin you found. You dressed her in one of your large sweatshirts—she loved sleeping in your clothes, said they smelled like you—and carried her back to the bed with clean sheets you had changed while she rested.
Food was forgotten in favor of being tangled together, limbs intertwined, breathing synchronized. The bedroom window showed the lights of Zurich twinkling below, but nothing was brighter than the woman in your arms.
"You know what I thought about today?" Manon murmured, her voice sleepy against your chest.
"What?"
"That our son has your smile, but my laugh. And that there's nothing in the world I want more than to see you both happy. Even if it means sharing you with the whole world."
Your heart clenched with a love so vast it seemed to overflow.
"You don't share." You whispered, kissing the top of her head. "The world has the CEO. You and Dylan have me. And that… that's just yours. Forever."
Manon snuggled closer, and you felt her smile against your skin.
"Forever." She repeated, like a promise, like a prayer.
Outside, Zurich slept. But inside, between silk sheets and intertwined arms, two women rediscovered that love wasn't in expensive bags or extravagant gifts. It was in the small moments. In the aftercare. In the words whispered in the dark.
Pairing: Daughter of Hades!Jeung Yoonchae x Daughter of Apollo!Reader
Summary: Where no one ever imagined that the only daughter of Hades would fall for the most troublemaking, extroverted daughter of Apollo.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy, Yoonchae is described as taller than the reader, Manon and Daniela playing matchmakers, and lots of fluff/comfort!
Katseye Masterlist
The midday sun beat down on Camp Half-Blood with an intensity typical of August. You were lying on the grass near the archery field, arms stretched back as if trying to hug the ground itself, eyes half-closed against the golden light that insisted on invading your eyelids.
"You're going to get burned," Manon commented, sitting beside you with her legs crossed, sharpening a dagger with an expression of amused boredom.
"Daughter of Apollo, manz. Burning is kind of my thing," you replied, bringing a hand to your forehead like a dramatic soap opera damsel. "The problem is I'm dying of boredom. Where's the excitement? Where's the danger? Where's—"
"Yoonchae?" Manon finished, a mischievous smile curving her lips.
You sat up so fast you nearly got dizzy.
"I wasn't going to say that."
"Of course not," Manon rolled her eyes, but the smile remained. "You've just spent the last fifteen minutes staring at the Hades cabin like a dog waiting for its owner to come home from work."
"I'm worried about the newbie they assigned to her today. You know how Yoonchae is… intimidating."
Manon snorted a laugh.
"Yoonchae is only a threat to people who don't know what they're doing. And from what I know, the newbie is a daughter of Athena. She'll be fine."
"Still," you murmured, adjusting the strap of your bow on your shoulder. "She could come train with us today. I promised Mrs. Dawn I'd help the newbies with archery handling, and you know Yoonchae's a beast with swords. It would be the perfect pair."
Manon raised an eyebrow.
"'Perfect pair'? You mean you're going to spend the whole day openly flirting with her while the newbies watch in disbelief?"
"I don't flirt."
"You call her 'Pretty Shadow.'"
"Because she's a pretty shadow. It's a nickname."
"You bought an asphodel flower-shaped bone pendant and left it on her bed with a note that said 'even darkness has its garden.'"
You broke into a wide smile, utterly shameless.
"It was poetic."
"It was passionate. And kind of disturbing, considering asphodel flowers are associated with the Underworld."
"She liked it."
Manon opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a deep voice that seemed to cut through the hot air like a cold blade.
"Are you two going to sit there all day or are you going to work?"
You turned your head so fast you nearly cracked your neck.
Yoonchae was standing a few meters away, arms crossed over her chest, expression impenetrable. Her midnight-black hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, contrasting with pale skin that seemed to glow faintly against the sun. She wore the camp's black t-shirt—always black, because Hades would approve of nothing less—and combat pants that made it clear, even from a distance, that she wasn't there for games.
She was taller than you. A good five centimeters that you felt every time you stood on your tiptoes to whisper something in her ear or when you had to lift your chin to look her in the eyes.
Which happened often. Because you loved looking into her eyes.
"Yoonchae!" You exclaimed, jumping to your feet in a move that would make any Olympic athlete applaud. "I was just talking about you."
"I heard," she replied, dryly. "You were talking quite loudly."
"Great! Then I don't have to repeat myself." You approached her with long strides, completely ignoring the "do not approach" aura that Yoonchae emanated like perfume. "You're helping with the newbies today, right? Mrs. Dawn said you'd be my partner."
"She said she'd consider it."
"And did you consider it?"
Yoonchae held your gaze for a long second. Her dark eyes were like bottomless wells, capable of making anyone back away. Anyone but you.
"Yes," she finally answered, her voice so low it sounded like a secret. "But no funny business."
"Me? Funny business?" You placed your hand on your chest, feigning indignation. "Yoonchae, you wound me. I am professionalism itself."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
Manon slowly stood up, tucking the dagger into its sheath.
"Well, I'll leave you two with the newbies. I have to find Dani for team combat training." She passed by you and, in a quick move that Yoonchae pretended not to notice, whispered in your ear: "Archer, aim for the heart."
You smiled, and Manon disappeared toward the Aphrodite cabin with one last meaningful look.
—
Mrs. Dawn, a silver-haired nymph who coordinated newbie training, gathered the group in the main clearing. There were five new kids, all between twelve and fourteen, with wide eyes and expressions ranging from fear to excitement.
"Today," the nymph announced in a voice that echoed like bells, "you will have the honor of learning from two of the camp's best warriors. Yoonchae, daughter of Hades, will command the sword session. And Y/N, daughter of Apollo, will command the bow and arrow."
The children looked at Yoonchae with a mix of admiration and terror. She was truly imposing, standing there with the black sword hanging on her back as if it were an extension of her own body.
You, on the other hand, received more curious looks. Because you didn't look like a warrior. You looked like someone who had just walked out of a rock concert, hair tied in a messy bun, colorful bracelets on your wrist, and a smile as wide as the horizon.
"I'll take the archers," you announced, pointing to three of the children. "You, come with me. Yoonchae, you take the swordsmen?"
She just nodded, without a word, and guided the two remaining newbies to the opposite side of the clearing.
—
The next twenty minutes were… productive, as far as possible.
You taught the newbies the basic stance, correcting their arm positions and how to hold the bow with a patience that surprised even yourself. There was something gratifying about seeing the sparkle in their eyes when the arrow finally hit the target, even if it was on the outermost edge.
"Good job, Leo! Now take a deep breath before you release. Archery is about calm, not strength."
The boy, a blonde son of Hermes, nodded, clearly trying hard to imitate your technique.
While they practiced, your eyes involuntarily slid to the other side of the clearing.
Yoonchae was in her element.
She held the sword as if she had been born with it in her hand, moving with a hypnotic fluidity as she demonstrated a basic strike. The two children watched slack-jawed, and you couldn't blame them. There was something almost unreal about the way Yoonchae moved, as if darkness itself danced around her, making every gesture both beautiful and deadly.
She said something you couldn't hear, and the newbies repeated the move, clumsy in comparison but dedicated.
You were so distracted watching that you almost didn't notice when one of your newbies, a red-haired daughter of Demeter, called your name.
"Y/N? Are you okay?"
"Hm?" You blinked, bringing your focus back. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've been looking at the other group for a long time."
The other kid, Leo, laughed.
"She's looking at Hades's daughter."
"I am not," you lied, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Damn sun. Or damn Apollo heritage. Or damn heart that couldn't disguise itself.
"You are too," the redhead insisted, a mischievous smile appearing on her lips. "Do you like her?"
"Like is a very strong word. I just… appreciate her sword technique."
"You appreciate her."
"Sofia, focus on the target before I make you run twenty laps around the lake."
The girl laughed but obeyed.
You sighed, running your hand over your face. It was getting too obvious. You needed to disguise it.
—
Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Dawn announced a break and suggested you mix the groups—archers and swordsmen could train together, simulating real combat situations.
That's when things got interesting.
"Yoonchae!" You called, running toward her before the nymph even finished the sentence. "Let's pair up for a demonstration?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"A demonstration of what?"
"How an archer and a swordsman can fight together. You in front, covering hand-to-hand attack, and me behind, providing support from a distance." You were already taking the bow off your back, eyes shining with excitement. "It'll be perfect."
Yoonchae looked at you for a long moment. Her expression was impenetrable, but you had learned to read the little things—the slight tremor in her fingers, the way her jaw relaxed a little when she was considering something.
"Only if you don't shoot an arrow into my head," she finally said.
"Yoonchae! I would never do that."
"Remember last year? During the night training?"
"That was an accident. The lantern was broken, it was dark, and you just disappeared into the darkness. How was I supposed to know you were exactly where I was going to shoot?"
"You could have warned me."
"I yelled 'SHOOTING'."
"You yelled 'CLOSE YOUR EYES, YOONCHAE'."
"Details."
She shook her head, but you saw it. You saw the corner of her lips curve, just a millimeter, just enough to be considered an almost-smile.
Your heart did a somersault.
—
The demonstration was, to use an understatement, electrifying.
You and Yoonchae moved as if you had rehearsed it your whole lives. She advanced against the moving targets Mrs. Dawn had conjured, the black sword cutting through the air with a threatening hum, while you fired golden arrows that exploded into light upon impact, covering the flanks she left open.
It was a dance. A dance of light and shadow, of sun and moon, of chaos and control.
The newbies watched slack-jawed.
"Now!" Yoonchae shouted, retreating in a quick move to open up space.
You needed nothing more. Three arrows. Three targets. Three perfect hits, each one dead center.
You turned to her with a triumphant smile, and that's when you noticed.
Yoonchae was looking at you.
Not the normal way, not with that expression of boredom or impatience she usually had. She was looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
Your heart stopped for a second.
And then her expression closed up again, as if she had remembered herself, and she turned to the newbies with a cold voice:
"That's how it's done. Now you try."
—
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of arrows, swords, and excited shouts from the kids. You divided your time between teaching and observing Yoonchae, who seemed determined not to meet your gaze again.
But you were a daughter of Apollo. Persistence was in your blood.
When training ended and Mrs. Dawn dismissed the newbies, who ran off toward the dining hall, exhausted but happy, you approached Yoonchae with slow steps.
"You were great today," you said, stopping beside her.
She didn't answer immediately. She was putting her sword back in its sheath, her movements precise and economical.
"You too," she finally murmured, her voice so low you almost didn't hear.
"What?" You brought your hand to your ear, posing as if you hadn't heard properly. "Can you repeat that? I think the wind carried it away."
Yoonchae slowly turned her head, and you saw those dark eyes shining with something that could be irritation… or maybe, just maybe, amusement.
"Don't be insufferable."
"Impossible. It's my natural state."
She sighed, and it was such a human sound, so tired, that you almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
"Why do you do this?" Yoonchae asked, and for the first time that day, you heard something fragile in her voice. Something she clearly didn't want you to hear.
"Do what?"
"This." She made a vague gesture in your direction. "Talk to me. Approach me. Insist."
You frowned, confused.
"Because I like you?"
Yoonchae laughed. It was a short, bitter laugh that made your chest tighten.
"No one likes me, Y/N. At best, they tolerate me. And you…" She shook her head. "You're the brightest person I've ever known. You're the daughter of the sun, of light, of music. I am… I'm Hades's daughter. I'm darkness. I'm death."
"You're Yoonchae," you interrupted, and your voice came out firmer than you expected. "You're the person who spent three hours in the rain teaching me how to handle a sword when I broke my bow. You're the person who left a note in my cabin after I lost Lara saying I was 'strong enough to shine even in the darkness.' You're the person who—who makes me feel like the sun is rising every time you almost smile."
Yoonchae fell silent.
The wind blew, swaying her dark hair, and for a moment you could have sworn you saw her eyes shine—not with tears, but with something rarer still.
Hope.
"You're terrible," she whispered.
"I know."
"And insufferable."
"I know that too."
"And—" Yoonchae hesitated, and then, in a move that seemed to have required all the courage in the world, she reached out and touched your face. Her palm was cold, as expected of Hades's daughter, but the touch was so delicate that you felt shivers run down your spine. "And I think I like you too. Even though it's the stupidest thing I've ever done."
Your heart exploded. Literally exploded. You were sure some god somewhere was laughing at you, because there was no way someone could feel this much happiness at once.
"Yoonchae," you said, and your voice came out strangled. "Yoonchae, did you just say you like me?"
"Don't make me repeat it."
"I'll repeat it for you. I'll tell everyone. I'll write it in the clouds. I'll—"
Her hand covered your mouth.
"Don't you dare."
You laughed against her palm, and then, on an impulse you couldn't contain, you turned your head and kissed her hand.
The blush that rose to Yoonchae's cheeks was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
—
From the top of the hill, watching through a pair of binoculars that were definitely not appropriate for spying, Manon and Daniela shared a look of pure victory.
"I knew it," Manon said, a huge smile on her face.
"You didn't know anything," Daniela shot back. "You bet it would take months."
"But I hoped it would be today. That counts."
Daniela rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too.
"They're pathetic."
"Completely," Manon lowered the binoculars, watching the two figures down there—one golden and one black, so different and yet so perfectly complementary. "But they're our pathetic."
Down below, completely unaware of their secret audience, you and Yoonchae remained in silence, hand in hand, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.
And, for the first time in a long time, the daughter of Hades didn't feel cold.
Pairing: Daughter of Apollo!Lara Raj x Daughter of Ares!Reader
Summary: Where everyone believed that you and Lara were too different to ever be together, but the thread of fate seemed to prove otherwise.
Note: English is not my fisrt language.
Warning: Mentions of a Prophecy, Reader is described as tall and muscular, Flirty Lara, and Lots of Comfort!
Katseye Masterlist
The twilight fire cast dancing shadows over the Camp Half-Blood amphitheater, and there you were, leaning against one of the marble columns chipped by decades of mock battles. Your arms crossed over your chest betrayed more than impatience—they betrayed boredom.
"It looks like the daughter of Ares is about to explode," someone commented in the distance, accompanied by muffled giggles.
You didn't even bother looking in the direction of the voice. It was true, after all. At nearly six feet tall, with muscles defined by years of exhausting training and a permanently scowling expression, you were the living portrait of contained irritation.
But it wasn't the nightly council that irritated you. It wasn Chiron's tedious speeches about responsibility, nor the fearful looks the younger campers threw your way.
It was her.
Lara Raj.
Daughter of Apollo. Singer, poet, healer, and the most annoyingly radiant creature to ever set foot in that camp.
You saw her arrive late, as always, her hair now dyed a red so vibrant it seemed incandescent under the twilight light. It fell in disobedient waves over her shoulders, and she wore a laurel wreath she had certainly ripped from some sacred tree without permission.
Damn daughter of Apollo.
Damn smile she gave you when your eyes met.
"They're already starting to gossip about us," Lara murmured, appearing at your side as if she had materialized from thin air. Her voice was melodic, even when she said things that made you want to strangle her. "I heard someone say it's 'inappropriate' for a daughter of Ares to hang around with a daughter of Apollo."
"And 'hang around' is an elegant euphemism for whatever it is we're doing?" You replied without taking your eyes off the bonfire, even though all your senses were sharpened to her presence beside you.
Lara laughed, a sound that echoed inside your chest like a drum.
"We're coexisting, my favorite warrior. Sharing the same breathable space. What a scandal."
It was then that she moved a little closer, and you felt the heat radiating from her body—not Apollo's divine heat, but something more earthly, more real. Her perfume was honey and cinnamon, and she smelled like spring in the middle of summer.
"Get away," you growled, but your words lacked their usual ferocity.
"I won't."
"Lara."
"Y/N."
The silent standoff lasted only a few seconds before Lara tilted her head, her amber eyes gleaming with a knowledge that seemed too ancient for someone so young.
"You know what the prophecy says, don't you?" She whispered, low enough for only you to hear. "A child of Apollo shall fall for a child of Ares in their eighteenth summer."
"It's an idiot legend," you retorted, feeling your jaw tighten. "And it doesn't apply to us. I'm eighteen, but you—"
"I'm eighteen too," Lara raised an eyebrow. "Interesting, isn't it? Fate has a sense of humor."
That's when you realized it. Your eighteenth summer together. The numerical coincidence everyone at camp had conveniently ignored because it was easier to believe that a daughter of Ares and a daughter of Apollo were "too different to be together."
Too different.
As if hatred and love weren't two sides of the same bloodstained coin.
"You're insufferable," you said, but it was already too late. Lara had moved, her hand finding your chin with a gentleness that belied the strength of her healer's fingers.
"And you're stubborn," she replied, and then her lips met yours.
The kiss was like a wildfire. It started small, hesitant, but quickly spread through your entire being, burning away all your defenses, all your arguments, all the reasons why you two shouldn't be doing this.
The voices around fell silent. The bonfire crackled louder, as if Hestia herself was watching, amused.
When Lara pulled away, her face was flushed, and her red lips were slightly swollen.
"Do you still think we're too different?" She asked, and there was a challenge in her voice, but also a vulnerability she rarely let show.
You stared at her for a long moment. Her flaming red hair. Her eyes that seemed to contain all the brightness of the sun. Her annoying ability to disarm a daughter of Ares with a single touch.
"No," you admitted finally, feeling the ghost of a smile on your own lips. "I think fate is a bastard."
Lara laughed again, and this time, you didn't hold back the smile threatening to split your face.
On the other side of the amphitheater, campers whispered. Some in shock. Some in delight. Most simply surrendering to the inevitability that sometimes, the thread of fate weaves the most unlikely patterns.
A child of Apollo and a child of Ares.
Two girls far too troublesome to care what others thought.
You're so gorgeous || Sophia Laforteza & Megan Skiendiel
Pairing: Sophia Laforteza & Megan Skiendiel (Meifiz) x Doctor!Reader
Summary: Where your girlfriends find out you've been experiencing burnout due to excessive hospital shifts.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warnings: Mention of Polyamory, Reader is 25 years old, Burnout Syndrome, Reader is described as taller than Sophia and Megan, and Lots of Comfort!
Katseye Masterlist
The hallways of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center never slept. White fluorescent lights hummed softly, blending with the muffled sounds of heart monitors, medication carts, and the hurried footsteps of nurses changing shifts. To any outsider, it was just another busy hospital in Los Angeles. To you, it was your second home — or rather, the place where you spent more time than in your own apartment.
At twenty-five years old, freshly arrived from Brazil with a degree in intensive care medicine in your luggage and a residency that seemed endless, you had thrown yourself headfirst into the frantic routine of the city. Los Angeles wasn't what you had imagined. The flow of people on the streets, the hellish traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard, the lost tourists in Hollywood, the homeless in Downtown, the celebrities trying to go unnoticed in Beverly Hills — everything coexisted in an organized chaos that, somehow, reminded you of São Paulo. But the climate was different. That dry heat during the day and the biting cold at night, as if the city itself didn't know what it wanted to be.
And neither did you anymore.
The first year was exciting. Every shift was a new challenge, every patient a different story. You learned quickly, stood out among the residents, earned your superiors' trust. But the initial enthusiasm gave way to something heavier. Something you refused to name.
The hours of sleep decreased. Meals turned into quick snacks eaten standing up, between one patient and the next. Coffee became your main energy source. Your days off — those rare moments when you weren't on call — were spent sleeping or reviewing cases. The apartment you shared with Sophia and Megan, the two most important people in your life, had become just a place where you left your things.
They complained. Gently, worriedly, but they complained.
"You promised you'd have dinner with us tonight," Sophia would say, in that soft tone that mixed frustration and sweetness.
"Just one more shift, Soph. The new resident needs supervision."
"You said that last week. And the week before."
You remembered how Megan had looked at you that night, arms crossed, lips pursed in a half-smile that didn't hide her concern.
"You know, I read about burnout syndrome the other day," Megan commented, trying to sound casual. "You have a lot of the symptoms."
"I'm an intensive care resident, Meg. Everyone here has symptoms. It's part of the training."
Your answer was automatic, almost rehearsed. Because deep down, you knew. You knew you were at your limit. You knew your hands trembled a little when you held your coffee. You knew that sometimes you forgot what you'd eaten for lunch — if you'd eaten at all. You knew that lately, when driving back home after a 36-hour shift, you had to concentrate intensely to avoid closing your eyes for too long.
Your superiors noticed, too.
"You need to reduce your workload," said Dr. Harrison, the residency chief, after reviewing your time logs. "This isn't a request — it's medical advice."
"I'm fine, Doctor. I can handle it."
"It's not about handling it. It's about not killing someone — including yourself — from exhaustion."
You ignored him. You picked up more shifts. After all, someone had to cover the night shift when the head nurse called desperately at three in the morning. Someone had to stay when a critical case arrived minutes before shift change. Someone had to be the doctor who didn't give up.
Until someone collapsed.
—
Friday started like any other. You arrived at the hospital at six in the morning for a shift that would technically end at seven p.m., but that you already knew would stretch into the early hours. Two patients in the ICU were unstable. One of them — a sixty-eight-year-old man with heart failure — required resuscitation for nearly forty minutes before stabilizing.
Your hands no longer trembled. They ached.
"Doctor, the gentleman in 304 is asking for you," Nurse Kelly said, touching your shoulder. "He wants to thank you in person."
You nodded, too drained to smile. You went to the room, listened to the patient — the same one you had resuscitated — thank you with tears in his eyes. You said it was your job. You left the room and walked toward the cafeteria.
The hallway seemed longer than usual. The lights were brighter. Your ears were ringing.
When was the last time you truly ate?
The question echoed in your mind as if it weren't yours. As if someone else — maybe Sophia, maybe Megan — had whispered it in your ear.
Yesterday. No, the day before. There was that sandwich… or was that just coffee?
You put your hand on the wall to steady yourself. The dizziness came fast — a sudden spin that made the floor seem to tilt beneath your feet. Your vision darkened at the edges. The ringing in your ears grew louder.
Just a few more steps. The cafeteria is right there. You'll sit down, eat something, drink water…
Your body didn't cooperate.
The last thing you saw was the gray vinyl floor of the hallway rushing toward you. The last thing you heard was Nurse Kelly's scream.
Then silence.
—
Waking up was gradual, like emerging from deep water. First came the sounds: the beep beep beep of a heart monitor, muffled voices in the distance, the creak of a door. Then touch: the rough sheet beneath your fingers, the bandage on your left arm, the pillow that was too hard. Finally, vision — blurry at first, then focusing on the white ceiling with plaster tiles, the hospital curtains, the LED light.
You were in a hospital bed.
Your hospital.
"She's waking up!" The voice was familiar, high-pitched, filled with both relief and desperation.
You turned your head with effort. Sophia was sitting in a chair beside the bed, her dark hair tied in a messy bun, her eyes swollen and red. Megan stood next to her, one hand on Sophia's shoulder and the other gripping the side of your bed so tightly her knuckles were white.
"Hi," you managed to whisper, your throat dry.
"Hi?" Megan repeated, her voice cracking between a stifled sob and a nervous laugh. "You passed out in the middle of the hallway, hit your head, were unconscious for hours, and the first thing you say is hi?"
Sophia didn't say anything. She just held your hand with both of hers and pressed her forehead against your fingers, her shoulders shaking in silent tears.
You tried to sit up, but immediate dizziness made you sink back down.
"No, no, no," Megan said, standing up and placing a hand on your shoulder with a gentleness that contrasted with the firmness of the gesture. "You're staying right there lying down, you hear me? The doctor said absolute rest until tomorrow."
"I am a doctor…"
"Not right now, you're not. Right now, you're a patient."
The door to the room opened and Dr. Harrison walked in, a clipboard in his hands and an expression you had never seen on him before — somewhere between genuine concern and a silent I told you so.
"Good morning, Doctor. Or rather, good evening. It's almost eleven."
You blinked. Eleven. You had passed out around two in the morning. You'd been unconscious for nine hours.
"Your tests all came back normal," he continued, pulling up a chair and sitting at the foot of the bed. "The fall didn't cause any major trauma — just a small bruise on the back of your head. Your blood work shows clear signs of malnutrition and dehydration. Your cortisol levels are extremely high. And, from talking to you while you were unconscious, you mentioned severe insomnia, loss of appetite, difficulty concentrating, and anhedonia."
Anhedonia. The inability to feel pleasure.
Sophia lifted her face, fresh tear tracks still visible. Megan held her breath.
"You meet all the diagnostic criteria for advanced-stage Burnout Syndrome," Harrison concluded, closing the clipboard. "I'm issuing a two-week medical leave. Complete removal — no hospital, no shifts, no studying cases. And I'm requiring weekly psychological follow-up for at least two months."
"Doctor, I can't just…"
"It's not a suggestion."
The firm voice didn't come from Harrison. It came from Sophia, who had stood up and was now staring at you with an expression you rarely saw on her. Sophia was sweet, calm, patient. But in that moment, there was something hard in her eyes. Something that hurt more than any diagnosis.
"You almost died," Sophia said, her voice trembling but determined. "You passed out alone in a hallway, hit your head, and if Nurse Kelly hadn't seen you… If you had fallen differently, hit something more dangerous… You could have died alone, on a hospital floor, and we wouldn't even be here."
Megan moved closer, wrapping an arm around Sophia's waist, but she didn't take her eyes off you. They were both devastated. And you, who spent your days saving lives, hadn't been able to save yourself.
"They're your emergency contacts," Harrison added, softer now. "They got here in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes, Doctor. From Hollywood to here. Megan must have broken every speed limit."
Megan sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
"I didn't break them. I just bent them a little."
A weak laugh escaped Sophia, muffled by her crying. And despite everything — the exhaustion that seemed to have settled into your bones, the diagnosis you still hadn't fully processed, the fear you saw in your girlfriends' eyes — something inside you warmed.
They were there. They had come. They hadn't given up on you, even when you had almost given up on yourself.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I'm sorry."
Sophia leaned down and kissed your forehead, her lips soft against your warm skin. Megan held your other hand, interlacing her fingers with yours carefully to avoid pulling the IV.
"You don't need to apologize," Megan said quietly. "You just need to get better. And we're going to help with that. Even if it's through hate and love."
"It's not through hate," Sophia corrected, a small smile forming. "It's through aggressive affection."
"It's the same thing."
You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion pull your eyelids down like an invisible weight. But for the first time in months, the tiredness didn't come with anxiety. For the first time, you allowed yourself to think that maybe — just maybe — stopping wasn't giving up.
Maybe stopping was the first step toward starting over.
"Two weeks," you murmured, already almost asleep. "Two weeks at home with you."
"Three, if the psychologist thinks it's necessary," Harrison corrected from the sidelines.
"Two," you insisted, weakly.
"Three," Sophia and Megan said in unison.
You opened one eye, met their determined gazes, and sighed.
"Three."
And as the heart monitor continued its rhythmic beeping, as Dr. Harrison left the room with a discreet smile, as Sophia adjusted the blankets over your body and Megan laid her head on the edge of the bed as if she weren't going to move from there anytime soon — you felt something you hadn't felt in a long time.
Safety.
Maybe Los Angeles still didn't know if it wanted to be hot or cold. Maybe the hospital continued its chaotic flow outside. Maybe there was a long road ahead — with therapy and difficult conversations and the slow rebuilding of everything you had let fall apart.
But that night, between the cold sheets of a hospital bed, with the two women you loved watching over your sleep, you finally allowed yourself to rest.
Request: Yes / No
'I was wondering if you could write a story where the reader is like the ‘bear’ of the group. She’s always warm, even in the coldest weather, but she doesn’t sweat—she’s basically like a walking heater. She doesn’t need to wear a hoodie inside the dorm and just chills there while the six girls are all bundled up in hoodies.'
Summary: When the girls realise you're basically a human heater, it quickly becomes an unspoken rule—stick close and steal the warmth. From rehearsals to movie nights to chaotic everyday moments, they rely on you to keep the cold away… until one day, you overheat, and the roles reverse.
A/N: i got a bit delirious towards the end of the story so its a bit unhinged... or maybe not enough? idk you be the judge. all ik is rn im ready to sleep for 100 hours straight💀
Not the dramatic kind of cold—just that constant, creeping chill that settled into your bones and refused to leave. The kind that made the mirrors fog slightly at the edges and turned the floor icy under thin soles.
'Why is it always like this?' Daniela complained, rubbing her hands together as she paced back and forth. 'Do they want us to suffer?'
'I think it builds character.' Lara said dryly, though she was currently wrapped in a hoodie and clutching a thin scarf around her shoulders.
'That’s not character, that’s hypothermia.' Manon added, exhaling into her hands before rubbing them together again.
Yoonchae was practically curled into herself on the floor, sleeves pulled over her hands as she tried to trap any warmth she could. 'I can’t feel my fingers…'
Sophia was near the speaker, hopping lightly from foot to foot. 'We should start moving, that’ll warm us up.'
'No,' Daniela shot back immediately. 'I refuse to dance until I can feel my toes again.'
The door creaked open. All of them turned.
You stepped in like it was any other day. Joggers. Loose top. Bag slung over your shoulder. No hoodie. No jacket. Nothing.
The girls went silent immediately.
'…What?' You asked, pausing just inside the door as all six of them stared at you.
Daniela blinked slowly. 'Why are you dressed like that?'
You glanced down at yourself. '…Like what?'
'Like it’s summer.' Lara said, gesturing toward you with a scarf-wrapped arm.
'It’s freezing.' Yoonchae added, her voice small but very serious.
You frowned slightly, stepping further inside and letting the door shut behind you. 'Is it?'
Six faces stared at you in disbelief.
'Yes.' Manon said flatly.
You shrugged, slipping your bag off your shoulder and dropping it by the wall. 'My apartment was warm.'
'That doesn’t explain anything.' Sophia said, though she was smiling a little.
You didn’t think much of it. Just shrugged absentmindedly and started stretching, like always.
The girls, however, went straight back to trying not to freeze to death.
Daniela resumed pacing. Yoonchae stayed curled up. Lara tightened her hold on the scarf. Sophia kept moving to stay warm. Megan sat curled against the mirror. Manon shook out her hands.
And you— you just stretched. Completely unbothered.
A few minutes passed. The room filled with quiet complaints, soft groans, and the occasional dramatic sigh.
Then there were footsteps. You didn’t look up as someone approached from behind, too focused on loosening your shoulders. A second later, there was a light weight settling against your back.
Lara. You can tell by the scent of her perfume. She didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned into you, her forehead pressing between your shoulder blades as she let out a long breath.
'Warmth…' She mumbled.
You blinked mid-stretch. '…What?'
But she didn’t answer right away. Instead, her arms slowly wrapped around your waist from behind.
'…Wait.'
There was a pause.
'Why are you so warm?'
You let out a small, confused laugh. 'I don’t know? I just am.'
Lara pulled back slightly, hands still gripping your sides as she leaned around to look at you.
'No, like—' she pressed her palm against your arm, eyes widening slightly. 'You’re actually warm.'
That caught attention.
'What?' Daniela turned immediately.
'Don’t lie.' Manon said, though she was already walking over.
Megan lifted her head slightly. 'What’s happening?'
'She’s warm.' Lara said, like she’d just discovered something life-changing.
You snorted. 'Everyone’s warm, Lara.'
Lara leaned back just enough to look at you properly, her eyes narrowed like she was trying to solve something.
Then without warning, she grabbed onto your arm. 'Come here.'
'Lara—'
She pulled. Your balance shifted immediately, your hands catching yourself as she dragged you slightly across the floor with surprising determination.
'Lara—what are you doing—'
'Daniela,' she called, not stopping. 'Feel her.'
Daniela turned mid-complaint. 'Feel wh—'
Lara shoved your arm toward her. Daniela grabbed it automatically and froze.
'…Why are you so hot?' She said.
'I’m... I'm not—'
'You are,' she interrupted, still holding your arm like she didn’t quite believe it. 'Why are you so warm?'
You pulled your arm back slightly. 'I’m normal.'
'No, you’re not.' Lara said immediately, already scooting closer to you again.
From the side, Yoonchae had slowly gotten up, curiosity pulling her closer.
'…Can I check?' She asked quietly.
You looked at her, then at the others. 'Uh… sure?'
She reached out carefully, touching your sleeve. Her eyes widened almost instantly. 'You’re really warm…' She murmured.
Manon stepped closer next, more composed, but clearly curious now. She brushed her hand briefly against your other arm.
A small pause. '…That is not normal.' She said simply.
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. 'Why is everyone acting like I’m a science experiment?'
'Because you kind of are right now.' Daniela said.
Behind you, Lara had already re-attached herself. This time without hesitation. She leaned fully into your back again, arms wrapping around you tighter than before.
'Don’t move.' She said.
You sighed, but there was a smile in it now. '…You’re really committing to this.'
'I was cold,' she replied simply, voice muffled slightly against your back. 'I’m just nice now.'
That made you laugh properly.
From across the room, Sophia shook her head. 'That’s actually kind of genius.'
Megan finally pushed herself off the wall. Not rushing. Just walking over slowly.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stopped beside you and watched. Then, quietly she reached out and tapped your arm. Lightly. Testing.
Her brows lifted, just slightly. '…Huh.'
You glanced up at her. 'What?'
She shook her head a little, like she was filing the information away. '…Strange.'
But she didn’t move far after that. Just stayed nearby. Close enough.
Meanwhile, Lara tightened her hold on you again. 'You’re not allowed to leave.' She declared.
'I just got here.' You said.
'Good.'
Daniela crossed her arms, still eyeing you. 'This is actually insane.'
Manon nodded once. 'Useful, though.'
Yoonchae hovered close, not quite leaning this time, but definitely staying within range of your warmth.
You looked around at all of them, still slightly confused—but amused now. '…You guys are weird.'
'Maybe.' Lara said into your back. 'But you’re warm.'
You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you tried to lean forward again.
It didn’t really work. Not with Lara attached.
'Can I continue stretching or am I just stuck like this now?' You asked.
'No.' She said immediately.
Daniela snorted. 'You’ve been claimed.'
You twisted slightly to look at her. 'Hey! I’m not an object.'
'Debatable,' she replied. 'Right now you’re a heater.'
From beside you, Megan let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
You glanced at her. She didn’t say anything—just looked away, like she hadn’t meant to react.
Yoonchae hovered awkwardly near your side. 'Are you… actually not cold at all?'
You shook your head. 'Not really.'
Manon tilted her head slightly, observing you like she was still trying to figure it out. 'That’s impressive.'
Lara squeezed you again. 'Don’t move.' She repeated.
'I have to move,' you laughed. 'We’re literally here to rehearse.'
'Five more minutes.' She bargained.
Before you could argue, the studio door opened again. Everyone froze.
Your choreographer stepped in, already mid-sentence as he glanced down at his phone—then stopped.
His eyes lifted. Took in the scene. You on the floor. Lara attached to your back. Daniela standing there like she’d just witnessed something life-changing. Yoonchae hovering. Manon watching. Sophia halfway across the room. Megan standing close by.
There was a brief pause.
'…I’m not gonna to ask.' He said flatly.
The room went dead silent.
Lara didn’t move. You closed your eyes briefly. '…Yeah that’s probably for the best.'
He nodded once. 'Good. Warm up properly and let’s start from the top.'
'Lara.' You said.
'No.'
'Lara.'
She groaned dramatically but finally let go, her arms sliding off you as she leaned back with a sigh like she’d just lost something important.
'I was comfortable…'
'You’ll survive.' Daniela said, already moving back into position.
You pushed yourself up from the floor, stretching your arms out again properly this time.
'Barely.' Lara muttered, but she stood anyway, tugging her hoodie sleeves down over her hands again.
The group slowly reset.
Sophia moved to her spot, clapping lightly. 'Okay, lets focus.'
Manon rolled her shoulders back, posture straightening. Yoonchae shuffled into place, still glancing at you every now and then. Daniela bounced lightly on her feet, shaking out the cold. Megan stepped into formation too.
Then the music started. And just like that, you were dancing. The cold didn’t matter as much once you started moving. It never really did.
But still, between transitions, between counts, you caught it.
The way Lara drifted closer during breaks. The way Yoonchae stood just slightly within your space. The way Daniela brushed past you like she was 'accidentally' checking again.
Even Megan, quiet and subtle, stayed near. Not touching. Not obvious. Just… there.
By the time the first run-through ended, everyone was breathing heavier, bodies finally warming up from movement.
Lara immediately dropped to the floor again. 'I’m going back.' She declared, already reaching for you.
You laughed, stepping back just in time. 'No—absolutely not.'
'Traitor.'
Daniela pointed at you. 'You can’t just have warmth and not share it.'
'I didn’t realise this was my responsibility.' You shot back.
Manon crossed her arms, a small smirk on her face. 'It is now.'
Yoonchae nodded seriously. 'Yeah.'
You looked around at all of them. At the way they were watching you now. Different.
And you sighed. Smiling anyway. '…I’ve created a problem.'
Megan, standing beside you, glanced over briefly. '…Yeah,' she said quietly, 'you have.'
And somehow, even with the cold still lingering in the studio, it didn’t feel quite as bad anymore.
Because now they knew. And they weren’t letting you forget it.
---
Sophia’s apartment was quieter than the rehearsal studio. Softer, too.
The kind of space that immediately made you relax the second you stepped inside—warm lighting, blankets thrown over the couch, the faint smell of something sweet lingering in the air.
Except, it wasn’t actually warm.
'Okay,' Sophia said, setting down a stack of bowls on the coffee table, 'before anyone complains—my heating is broken.'
'I wish,' Sophia replied. 'Maintenance said they’ll fix it tomorrow.'
Lara immediately grabbed one of the blankets off the couch. 'I’m not surviving this.'
Manon shook her head slightly, though she reached for a blanket too. 'It’s not that bad.'
Yoonchae was already wrapping herself up like she was preparing for winter. 'It is.'
Megan, standing near the couch, pulled the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands, shoulders hunching slightly.
'…Why is it colder inside than outside?' She muttered.
You, meanwhile, didn’t think much of it.
'Feels fine to me.' You said casually, kicking your shoes off and heading toward the floor.
Six heads turned.
'…Of course you’d say that.' Daniela muttered.
You just laughed lightly, dropping down onto the rug in front of the coffee table, grabbing a slice of pizza without a second thought.
The others settled in behind you. Couch claimed, blankets distributed, bodies instinctively closer together for warmth.
Lara tucked her legs under herself, wrapped tight in her blanket. Yoonchae sat curled beside her. Daniela leaned into the armrest, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Manon sat more composed, but still wrapped up.
Sophia hovered for a moment before settling at the end. Megan dropped down beside Daniela, tucking one leg under herself as she adjusted her hoodie and leaned slightly closer to the others for warmth.
The movie started. You were already focused on it. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, pizza in hand, completely relaxed. Unbothered. The cold didn’t register to you the same way it did to them. It never really did.
Behind you, though, it was a different story.
'Why is it getting colder?' Daniela whispered like the room itself was plotting against her.
'It’s been five minutes.' Sophia whispered back.
Lara leaned closer to Yoonchae. 'I can’t feel my toes again.'
Yoonchae nodded seriously. 'Same.'
Megan tugged her sleeves further over her hands, shoulders curling in slightly. '…My hands are freezing.'
Manon didn’t say anything. But she adjusted her blanket slightly tighter around her shoulders. And then her eyes briefly flicked to you.
Still sitting there. In a t-shirt. Completely fine.
About twenty minutes in, the movie had settled into a quieter scene. The room dim. The only real light coming from the TV.
You were focused, halfway through another slice of pizza, so you didn’t hear it at first. The quiet shift behind you. The soft movement of fabric.
Not until something moved behind you. Close and sudden. And then there were arms. You flinched. A sharp inhale leaving you as your shoulders tensed instinctively.
'Hey—hey, it’s just me.' Manon’s voice came quickly, calm and low.
You turned your head slightly, still a little startled. '…Manon?'
'Yeah.' She said simply.
Before you could question it further, you felt it. The blanket. It draped around you from behind, settling over your shoulders as her arms wrapped loosely around your middle, pulling you back just slightly— not forcefully. Just enough. Tucking you in.
You blinked. 'Oh.'
It clicked. The warmth wasn’t just yours anymore.
You felt her shift behind you, settling properly, her chin resting lightly near your shoulder as she adjusted the blanket to cover both of you.
'Continue watching.' She said quietly.
There was no teasing in her voice. No big explanation. Just… simple.
You hesitated for a second, then relaxed. Your shoulders dropped. The initial surprise fading quickly as you leaned back slightly into her hold without really thinking about it.
It was warm. Not overwhelming. Not tight. Just… steady.
You could feel the contrast more clearly now—your warmth against the cool air, the blanket trapping it in, her arms holding it there.
'…You were cold.' You murmured.
'A little.' She admitted.
That was it. You huffed a small, amused breath, shaking your head lightly. '…You could’ve just asked.'
'I could have.' She said.
Then after a moment of silence. '…This was easier.'
That made you smile.
Behind you, Lara noticed first.
'…Hey,' she whispered, nudging Yoonchae slightly. 'Look.'
Yoonchae peeked over. Her eyes widened a little.
'She stole her.' Daniela whispered dramatically.
Megan leaned forward slightly, peeking past Daniela, her brows lifting. '…Oh, we’re just doing that now?' She murmured, half amused, half impressed.
Sophia glanced over too, trying not to laugh.
Manon didn’t react. Didn’t move. She just stayed there, calm and composed, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
And you? You just… let it happen. Because it was warm.
The movie continued. Soft dialogue filling the room. Occasional quiet reactions from the others.
But now, you were aware of it. The difference. The way the blanket held the warmth in. The way Manon’s arms rested comfortably around you. The way your back leaned lightly against her without resistance.
It wasn’t overwhelming. It wasn’t strange. It just made sense.
After a while, you didn’t even think about it anymore. You just reached for another slice of pizza, still watching the movie, still completely at ease, now just… slightly more shared.
And behind you, Manon stayed exactly where she was. Quiet. Warm. Not saying anything. Just keeping you there. Like it was already understood.
Across the couch, Lara pulled her blanket tighter. '…I want a turn later.' She muttered.
'You’re not scheduling her.' Daniela whispered back.
Yoonchae nodded softly. 'We can take turns.'
Megan leaned back into the couch again, adjusting her hoodie with a small huff. '…I’m adding myself to that list.'
Sophia covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
You didn’t hear that part. Too focused on the movie. Too comfortable where you were. Too unaware that this was quickly becoming a very real system in the group.
And that you were right at the centre of it.
---
Airports always felt the same. Bright. Busy. A constant hum of movement and voices blending together—rolling suitcases, distant announcements, people rushing past like they were always just about to be late.
The group moved together through it all, a small cluster of familiar energy in the middle of the chaos.
Bags in hand. Passports ready. Half awake.
'Why is it always so cold in here?' Daniela complained, tugging at the sleeves of her hoodie as she walked.
'It’s an airport,' Manon replied simply. 'It’s always like this.'
'That doesn’t mean I have to like it.'
Lara adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, bundled up properly this time. 'At least we dressed for it today.'
'That’s because we learned.' Daniela shot back, glancing briefly at you.
You're walking alongside them in your usual sweats, a loose top and a hoodie that you weren’t even wearing. It was slung over your arm instead.
Sophia noticed immediately. Of course she did. '…You brought a hoodie.' She said, eyeing you.
'Yeah.'
'You’re not wearing it.'
You shrugged. 'I don’t need it.'
She stared at you for a second. Then shook her head with a quiet sigh, like she’d already accepted this about you.
Ahead of you, Yoonchae walked quietly, hands tucked into the sleeves of her own hoodie.
She looked smaller like that. More bundled. But even from a distance, you noticed it.
The slight hunch in her shoulders. The way her hands were pulled in tighter. She was cold.
You didn’t think about it. Didn’t hesitate.
'Yoonchae.'
She turned slightly, blinking up at you. 'Yeah?'
You held your hoodie out toward her. 'Here.'
She paused. '…What?'
'Take it.'
Her eyes flicked between you and the hoodie. 'But—what about you?'
'I’m fine.' You said simply.
She hesitated for maybe half a second, then took it.
'Thank you.' She said quickly, already pulling it over her head.
She didn’t even take her own hoodie off. Just layered yours on top of it without a second thought. It looked ridiculous. Two hoods. Sleeves slightly too long. Fabric bunching.
Daniela stared. '…That’s insane.'
Lara let out a small laugh. 'You look like you’re wearing armour.'
Yoonchae didn’t care. She just pulled the sleeves over her hands again, shoulders relaxing almost instantly.
'…It’s warm.' She said quietly.
You smiled a little. 'Good.'
From behind you, Megan glanced over briefly, taking in the scene before looking forward again, adjusting her own jacket.
Manon shook her head faintly. 'You didn’t even think about that, did you?'
You shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal. To you, it never was.
Sophia, however, had slowed slightly to walk beside you. She looked at you. Then at your now empty arm. Then back at you.
'…Are you cold?' She asked.
You shook your head. 'No.'
She didn’t look convinced.
'C'mere.' She said, reaching out before you could react.
Her hands wrapped around your arm, rubbing up and down briskly like she was trying to warm you up manually.
'Sophia—'
'You gave your hoodie away,' she said. 'At least let me—'
She stopped mid-sentence. Her hands slowed. Then paused completely.
'…You’re already warm.' She said, more to herself than anyone else.
You huffed a small laugh. '... yeah.'
She looked at you for a second and then, without overthinking it, she shifted. Instead of letting go, she looped her arms around yours, pulling it in closer and holding it against her chest.
'Oh,' she said lightly. 'This works.'
You blinked. Then smiled a little. '…You’re using me.'
'Obviously.' She replied without hesitation.
You didn’t argue. Didn’t pull away. You just kept walking like that. Through the noise. Through the crowd.
Sophia attached to your arm, quietly stealing warmth. Yoonchae a few steps ahead, still bundled in two hoodies. Daniela and Lara talking quietly. Manon walking steadily beside them. Megan just ahead, occasionally glancing back to make sure everyone was still together.
It was… normal. Weirdly normal. Then the line for check-in came into view.
'Finally.' Daniela muttered.
You all slowed, merging into the queue with everyone else. Suitcases set down. Passports pulled out again.
Sophia was still holding onto your arm. You didn’t even notice how long it had been. Until— 'Next.'
You stepped forward automatically, grabbing your suitcase handle. And paused.
'…Soph.'
She looked up. 'Hm?'
'I need my arm.'
There was a brief pause then she blinked, like she’d forgotten. 'Oh—right.' She let go immediately, stepping back with a small laugh. 'Sorry.'
You smiled, flexing your fingers slightly as you reached for your bag properly. 'It’s okay.'
Behind you, Daniela snorted quietly. 'She got too comfortable.'
'I did not.' Sophia said, though she was still smiling.
'You absolutely did.' Lara added.
Yoonchae, still wrapped in both hoodies, nodded. 'Same.'
You glanced back at them briefly, shaking your head with a soft laugh before turning back to the counter. It was quick. Routine. Check-in. Bag tagged. Sent off.
But as you stepped aside again, back with the group, Sophia didn’t hesitate. She slipped right back to your side.
Not grabbing your arm this time. Just standing close enough. Like she’d already figured out exactly where the warmth was. And wasn’t planning on losing it again.
---
Snow in Los Angeles didn’t make sense. It just… didn’t. Yet there it was. Heavy and constant. Falling in thick, quiet sheets outside your window, coating the streets, the rooftops, the palm trees that looked deeply unprepared for this kind of weather.
The entire city had slowed down. And more importantly—it was cold.
Not just 'oh, it’s a bit chilly.' No. It was the kind of cold that seeped into everything. Apartments. Hallways. Walls that clearly weren’t built for this. Most people were struggling.
You? You were asleep. Fully knocked out. Not even under your covers. Just… on top of your bed.
Still in your clothes from earlier, sprawled slightly diagonally across the mattress like you’d meant to lie down for a second and never recovered.
Your blanket was half hanging off the side. Your pillow barely under your head. Completely unaware of the freezing weather outside.
Across the building, Megan was very much aware.
'This is getting ridiculous.' She muttered, now pacing her apartment with arms crossed tightly over herself after a failed attempt at sleeping.
Her hoodie wasn’t helping. The blanket she’d tried earlier hadn’t helped. Even the heater, which was technically on, felt like it was doing absolutely nothing.
She grabbed her phone. Dialed. It rang. And rang. And rang.
'…Seriously, Y/N? You're always awake...' She muttered, staring at the screen.
No answer.
She tried again but got the same result.
Megan frowned. 'Did she fall asleep already…?'
Another glance at her apartment. Another shiver. '…Yeah, I’m not doing this.'
A decision was made. A few minutes later, your apartment door unlocked. Megan stepped inside like she’d done it a hundred times before—because she had.
'Hello?' She called quietly, shutting the door behind her.
No response.
The place was still. Lights off. Silent.
She made her way down the short hallway toward your room, already knowing where you’d be.
Your door was slightly open. She pushed it gently. And there you were.
'…Oh my god.'
You were fully passed out. On top of your bed. Not even under the blanket.
Megan stared at you for a second. 'You’re actually unbelievable.'
She stepped closer, arms still folded, shaking her head slightly.
'You’re telling me it’s basically snowing in LA and you’re just—' she gestured vaguely at you, '—like this?'
No response. You didn’t even move.
She sighed, stepping up to the side of your bed. '…You have to be cold.'
Carefully, she reached out and grabbed your arm. Then paused.
'…What.'
Her brows furrowed. She squeezed lightly. Then pressed her palm more fully against your arm.
'…You’re warm.'
Not just warm. Actually warm.
Megan stared at you like you’d personally offended her. 'You’re something else entirely.'
You shifted slightly in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent before going still again.
She exhaled slowly through her nose. '…Unbelievable.'
Another glance at your blanket. Then at you. Still not using it.
'Move.' She muttered, already grabbing the edge of it.
You didn’t. So she did it herself. With a bit more effort than expected, she tugged the blanket up, then awkwardly maneuvered you—just enough—to get you under it properly.
You stirred. '…mmh—'
'Shh.' She said automatically, even though you weren’t really awake.
Once you were at least somewhat covered, she hesitated. Looked at the bed. Then at her own arms. Still cold. '…Yeah, no.'
Decision made. She climbed in. Quickly. Sliding under the blanket beside you and immediately shifting closer, chasing the warmth she’d already felt.
And then you woke up. Violently. Your entire body jolted. '—WHAT—'
Megan flinched. 'Whoa—hey—hey—'
You stared at her, heart racing, eyes wide in the dim light. 'What are you doing—?!'
'I tried calling you!' She said quickly, hands up slightly in defence. 'You didn’t answer!'
You blinked at her. Then at your room. Then back at her. '…You broke into my apartment?'
'We all have keys.' She shot back.
You stared for another second. '…Right.'
Silence. You were still half asleep. Still very confused. Brain clearly not functioning at full capacity.
'…Why are you in my bed?'
'It’s freezing,' she said immediately. 'My apartment is unbearable.'
You processed that. Slowly. '…So you came here.'
'Yes.'
'…To my bed.'
'Yes.'
'…To—what. Sleep?'
She gave you a look. '…and to not freeze.'
Another pause.
Your eyes blinked slower this time. Your body already starting to sink back into the mattress.
'…That’s so gay.' You mumbled.
Megan stared at you. '…But I am gay.'
You didn’t respond. Because you were already settling again. Not moving away. Not arguing. Just… accepting it.
Megan exhaled quietly, shaking her head. '…my god.'
But she didn’t leave. Instead, she shifted slightly closer. Not dramatic. Not clinging. Just enough.
Because the warmth was immediate. Real. And after a few seconds, her shoulders relaxed.
'…Okay, yeah,' she muttered softly. 'Worth it.'
You made a small, sleepy noise in response.
Neither of you said anything else. The room fell quiet again. Snow still falling outside. Soft against the window. Inside, it was warm and still.
And within minutes, both of you were asleep. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
---
Manon’s apartment always felt… put together. Clean counters. Soft lighting. Everything in its place. Even when it was lived in, it never felt messy—just warm in a quiet, calm way.
The kitchen, however—was currently occupied. Steam curled up from the pot on the stove, the gentle bubbling filling the space with a low, steady sound.
You stood there, focused, sleeves pushed up slightly as you moved with ease around the counter.
'Are you sure you don’t need help?' Manon asked from where she leaned against the kitchen island, arms loosely crossed.
You shook your head. 'I’ve got it.'
She watched you for a second longer, then nodded. 'Alright. I’m not complaining.'
From the living room, voices drifted in.
'I’m telling you, it was her fault.' Sophia said.
'That doesn’t even make sense.' Yoonchae replied, her voice lighter, amused.
Manon glanced over her shoulder. 'What are they arguing about now?'
'No idea,' you said, reaching for a bowl. 'But I’m not getting involved.'
She smiled faintly. 'Smart.'
A few minutes later, you were finishing up. Ramen, carefully assembled. Soft boiled eggs, perfectly cut. Slices of spam tucked neatly between noodles. Steam still rising.
You picked up the bowl carefully, adjusting your grip before turning toward the living room.
'Food’s—'
The front door burst open.
'I’m actually freezing.'
Daniela. Her voice echoed slightly as she stepped inside, immediately hugging her arms around herself.
'This is getting beyond a joke now,' she continued, kicking the door shut behind her. 'Why is it colder inside than outside? That doesn’t even make—'
She stopped. Because she saw you. Standing there. Holding a bowl of ramen. In a t-shirt. Completely fine.
There was a pause. A very brief one.
'…Oh.'
You blinked. 'Hey.'
You didn’t even get another word out. Because suddenly— Daniela moved. Fast.
'Wait—'
She crossed the room in seconds and latched onto you. Full force. Her arms wrapped around your middle as she pressed into your side like she’d made a life decision and wasn’t turning back.
You stumbled slightly, instinctively adjusting your stance to keep the bowl steady.
'Whoa—hey—!'
'Don’t move.' She said immediately, voice muffled slightly against you.
'I’m holding hot food—'
'I don’t care.'
You let out a disbelieving laugh, trying not to spill anything. 'Daniela—'
'You’re warm.' She cut in, tightening her grip like that settled everything.
From the couch, Sophia leaned forward slightly. 'That was quick.'
Yoonchae nodded. 'She didn’t even say hi properly.'
'I said hi.' Daniela muttered.
'You attacked me.' You corrected.
'Same thing.'
Manon stepped into the doorway from the kitchen, taking in the scene with a small, unsurprised exhale.
'…I leave you alone for five seconds.'
'She’s cold.' You said, like that explained it.
'I am cold.' Daniela added, not moving at all.
You shifted slightly, still trying to balance the bowl in your hands. 'Can you at least let me put this down?'
'No.'
'Daniela.'
'…Fine.'
But she still didn’t fully let go. You went to side step her but she moved with you.
That's when you felt it. Something warm brush against your neck. You froze instantly.
'—WHA—?!'
Your whole body jolted, nearly spilling the bowl as you whipped your head slightly.
'Did you just kiss me?!' You shrieked.
'WHAT—NO?!' Daniela yelled back immediately, just as loud.
'You did—you literally—'
'I DIDN’T—YOU MOVED—'
'I DIDN’T MOVE, YOU’RE ATTACHED TO ME—'
'I WAS TRYING TO NOT DROP YOUR FOOD—'
'BY KISSING MY NECK?!'
'I DIDN’T KISS YOU—'
'THEN WHY DID IT FEEL LIKE THAT—'
'I DON’T KNOW—YOU’RE WARM—'
'THAT DOESN’T EXPLAIN ANYTHING—'
'I PANICKED—'
'YOU PANICKED AND KISSED ME?!'
'I DIDN’T—'
Through all of this— she had still not let go. Still fully attached to you. Still holding on like her life depended on it.
On the couch— Sophia had fully lost it. 'Oh my god—' she laughed, covering her face. 'What is happening—'
Yoonchae was doubled over slightly, laughing quietly. 'They’re both screaming—'
Manon just stood there, arms crossed, shaking her head slowly. '…You two are freaks.'
'Don’t do that again!' You said, turning your head slightly to glare at her.
'I didn’t do anything!' Daniela shot back.
'You absolutely did—'
'It was an accident!'
You narrowed your eyes. She narrowed hers right back. A moment of silence passed.
'…You didn’t kiss me?' You asked, more suspicious now than anything.
'No,' she said, equally defensive. 'I would never.'
'Good.'
'Good.'
Another pause.
'…That was weird.' You muttered.
'…Yeah.' She agreed.
And then— like nothing had just happened— she tightened her grip again. Resting back against you. Completely unbothered.
You stared ahead for a second. Then sighed. '…You’re still holding onto me.'
'Obviously.'
'…Unbelievable.'
From the couch, Sophia wiped tears from her eyes. 'Please don’t stop, this is the best thing I’ve seen all day.'
Yoonchae nodded, still smiling. 'That was really loud.'
Manon turned back toward the kitchen. 'I’m pretending none of that just happened.'
You shook your head, but there was a small smile there now. Because somehow, this had just become another completely normal moment.
With a careful breath, you finally managed to steady your hands, nudging Daniela slightly with your shoulder just enough to create space.
You leaned forward—slow, deliberate—and set the bowl down on the coffee table without spilling a single drop.
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you relaxed slightly into her now tightening hold.
'…You have no shame.'
'None.' She said.
From the couch, Sophia laughed. 'At least she’s honest.'
Yoonchae pulled her legs closer under herself, watching the two of you with a small smile.
'You’re not even wearing a hoodie.' You said, glancing down slightly.
'I didn’t think I’d need one.' Daniela replied.
You raised a brow. 'It’s freezing.'
'Yeah,' she said. 'And now I’ve fixed that.'
You huffed out a soft laugh.
She shifted slightly, adjusting her position so she was more comfortable, her head resting lightly against your shoulder now.
The tension in her posture had already eased. Her shoulders weren’t hunched anymore. Her grip wasn’t as tight. Just… settled.
Manon walks back into the room holding chopsticks and a few bowls, shaking her head faintly. 'You didn’t even try to resist.'
'Why would I?' Daniela replied. 'This is efficient.'
'That’s one way to put it.' Sophia said.
You glanced around at them, then back down slightly. '…You could’ve just asked.'
Daniela snorted quietly. 'And wait longer? No.'
That made you smile.
A comfortable silence settled for a moment. The kind that came easily.
'…Is that ramen?' Daniela asked, finally lifting her head slightly.
You glanced at the table. '...no its fried chicken. Yes, its ramen! You've been stood with your head hovering over it for the past two minutes.'
'You could’ve just said yes.' She mumbled, still staring down at the bowl like she’d just discovered something life-changing.
'And ruin the moment?' You shot back lightly.
She looked at it. Then back at you.
'…You made food and didn’t tell me first?'
'You literally just got here.'
'Still...'
You laughed, gently nudging her. 'Go eat.'
She hesitated. Then tightened her hold again. '…Bring it here.'
You stared at her. 'No.'
Sophia laughed. 'You’re so lazy.'
'I’m cold.' Daniela defended.
'You’re attached to the solution.' Manon pointed out.
'…Exactly.'
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. '…Unbelievable.'
But you didn’t move away. Didn’t push her off. Just stood there— letting her cling. Letting her steal warmth without a second thought.
Because at this point, it wasn’t even surprising anymore. It was just… Daniela.
---
The studio had never felt this exhausting before. You were all in for 8 a.m sharp. That’s when it started. Warm-ups. Run-throughs. Corrections. Again. Again. And again.
By the time you’d hit midday, your muscles were already burning. By the time you came back from the short break—barely twenty minutes to breathe, eat something quick, drink water—
it just… kept going. Music looping. Feet hitting the floor in sync. Voices calling counts. Mirrors reflecting every movement back at you.
'Again from the top.'
And you did. You always did. Hours passed like that.
The cold from earlier in the week? Completely gone. Now the studio felt thick. Heavy. Warm in a way that clung to your skin.
And you— you felt it more than usual. Not the cold. Never the cold.
But the heat? That was different. Your shirt stuck slightly to your back. Your breathing heavier than normal. A constant warmth under your skin that didn’t fade, no matter how many times you wiped sweat from your face.
Still, you kept going. Because everyone else was. Because that’s what you did.
Until finally— 'Alright, that’s it for today.'
The music cut. Silence. And your body just gave in. You dropped. Not dramatic. Not graceful. Just collapsed forward onto the floor, arms barely catching you before you ended up face down.
A groan left you, muffled against the ground. '…I’m done.'
Behind you, the others followed soon after.
Daniela flopped onto her back. 'I can’t feel my legs.'
Lara dropped beside her. 'I don’t think I have bones anymore.'
Yoonchae sat down more carefully, though even she looked drained. Sophia lowered herself with a tired exhale. Manon rolled her shoulders, breathing steady but clearly feeling it. Megan leaned back against the mirror, head tipping slightly as she caught her breath.
For a moment, no one moved. Just the sound of breathing.
'…You’re really warm.' Yoonchae’s voice was quiet. You cracked one eye open slightly.
'…I’m always warm.'
'No,' she said, a little closer now. 'Like—really warm.'
She’d shifted, sitting near your head now, her hand hovering slightly before she leaned in just a bit more. 'I can feel it from here.'
Daniela lifted her head slightly from the floor. '…Are you steaming?'
Lara squinted. '…Wait, yeah—'
'You’re lying.' You muttered weakly.
'I’m not,' Daniela said, pushing herself up slightly. 'You actually look like you’re overheating.'
'That’s new.' Manon added, glancing over.
Sophia was already moving. Of course she was. She pushed herself up and came over, crouching beside you as she reached out placing her hand gently against your forehead.
'…Yeah,' she said softly. 'You’re too hot.'
You let out a small groan. 'That’s a first.'
'No kidding.' Daniela muttered.
Sophia didn’t move her hand right away, her touch grounding and steady. Then she shifted slightly.
'Sit up a little.' She said gently.
You didn’t really want to. But you did anyway. Slow. Heavy. The second you moved, the heat seemed to hit you all over again, making you wince slightly.
'Easy.' Sophia murmured.
She started fanning you with her hand instinctively, trying to create some kind of airflow.
It helped. A little.
'Wait—hold on—' Daniela suddenly shuffled closer. You barely had time to react before she grabbed the bottom of your shirt.
'…Daniela—'
And started lifting it up slightly. Then letting it fall. Then lifting it again. Creating the most inconsistent, chaotic airflow possible.
'…What are you doing?' You said, too tired to even argue properly.
'I’m helping.' She said.
'That’s not helping—'
'It is, feel that—'
'It’s uneven—'
'It’s airflow—'
Manon, standing nearby now, let out a quiet laugh. 'I’m surprised you’re not attached to her right now.' She said lightly.
Daniela paused mid-motion. '…What?'
'Like the other day,' Manon continued, grabbing a towel and starting to wave it gently in your direction, much more effectively, 'you wouldn’t even let her put the ramen down.'
There was a beat.
Megan, still leaning against the mirror, blinked. '…You what?'
Daniela immediately pointed at you. 'She started it—'
'I did not—' You mumbled weakly.
'She accused me of kissing her!'
'I didn’t accuse—you literally—'
'You screamed!'
'Because you were on my neck!'
'IT WAS AN ACCIDENT—'
'Why were you that close—'
'Because I was cold—'
Megan stared at the two of you. '…Why do I always miss this type of shit.'
Sophia sighed, still fanning you gently. 'A lot happened, it was hilarious.'
Yoonchae nodded seriously. 'They both screamed... a lot.'
Lara, who had disappeared for a moment, came rushing back in. 'I got water.' She said, slightly out of breath, holding out a bottle.
'Lifesaver.' You muttered.
She crouched beside you, opening it for you before handing it over. You took it, drinking gratefully.
Around you—they all hovered. Sophia fanning you steadily. Manon standing nearby, using the towel properly this time. Daniela still occasionally lifting your shirt like she refused to admit her method wasn’t great.
Yoonchae sitting close, watching carefully. Lara hovering with the water. Megan nearby, arms loosely crossed now, just observing, shaking her head slightly.
'…This is weird.' You mumbled after a moment.
'What is?' Lara asked.
'You guys… taking care of me.'
'You take care of us all the time.' Yoonchae said simply.
Sophia nodded. 'Yeah. Let us have this.'
Manon added, 'It’s only fair.'
Daniela huffed lightly. 'Yeah, don’t make it a thing.'
You let out a quiet laugh. '…Alright.'
You didn’t argue after that. Didn’t brush them off. You just… let yourself sink back slightly. Let the towel waves cool your skin. Let the air from Sophia’s hand ease the heat. Let Lara keep the water coming. Let Daniela continue her questionable method. Let them be there.
Because for once—you needed it. And they were already there to give it.
The studio slowly quieted again. The exhaustion still there. The heat slowly fading. But now, it was softer.
And as you lay there, eyes half closed, breathing finally evening out— you couldn’t help the small smile that settled in. Because maybe being the one who kept everyone warm also meant— you were never going to be left to burn out alone.
---
BONUS:
For a while, you just stayed there. Letting the cool air hit your skin. Letting your breathing settle. Letting the warmth finally ease into something manageable again.
'Alright,' Sophia said softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. 'Up you get.'
You groaned. 'No.'
'Yes.'
You barely had the energy to argue. Still, you let out a weak, 'Give me five minutes.'
'You’ve had ten.' She replied, not unkindly.
'…That’s unfair.'
She smiled slightly, already hooking an arm under yours. 'Come on.'
With her help—and a lot more effort than it should’ve taken—you managed to sit up. Then stand.
Your legs protested immediately.
'…I regret everything.' You muttered.
'Good,' Daniela said from somewhere nearby. 'That means you worked hard.'
You shot her a tired look.
Sophia kept a steady hand on your arm, making sure you didn’t just collapse again.
'You’re not walking home.' She said, glancing over toward Lara.
Lara looked up instantly. 'I’m driving?'
'Yes,' Sophia replied. 'She's not walking in this condition.'
You didn’t even argue. Didn’t have it in you. '…Okay.' You mumbled.
That alone told them how tired you were.
'Wow,' Daniela said. 'No fight?'
'Too tired.' You said simply.
You slowly made your way over to your bag, movements sluggish, still feeling that lingering heaviness in your limbs.
Everyone else started gathering their things too, the usual end-of-day routine falling into place.
You slung your bag over your shoulder— then paused. Your eyes drifted toward Daniela. She was mid-conversation with Yoonchae, completely unaware.
You stared at her for a second. Then, without a word—you walked over. Slow and deliberate.
She turned slightly. '…What?'
You said nothing. Just leaned in like you were about to kiss her.
Her eyes widened. 'WAIT—' She screamed. Full volume. 'NO—NO—NO—'
She shoved you away and bolted across the room like her life depended on it.
You burst out laughing immediately, the sound breaking through your exhaustion.
'I DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH YOU—' You called after her.
'STAY AWAY FROM ME—' She yelled from across the studio, pointing at you like you were a threat.
'You’re scared of the gays.' You shot back, still laughing.
'I’M NOT SCARED—YOU’RE WEIRD—'
'YOU PANICKED—'
'YOU LUNGED AT ME—'
'I LEANED—'
'THAT’S WORSE—'
On the side, Sophia had fully given up, laughing as she covered her face. 'Please,' she said, breathless, 'can we go home now—'
Yoonchae was giggling quietly. Manon shook her head, though there was a small smile there. Megan just exhaled, amused, grabbing her bag.
Lara was already heading toward the door. 'Come on, before they start round two.'
You adjusted your bag again, still smiling as you turned back. '…You started it.' You muttered toward Daniela.
'I DID NOT—'
'RAMEN INCIDENT.'
'IT WAS AN ACCIDENT—'
'KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT—'
'GO HOME—'
You laughed again, softer this time, the exhaustion finally catching up properly.
And this time, when Sophia gently nudged you toward the door, you went. No resistance. Just tired. Warm. And surrounded by voices that didn’t quite quiet down, even as you all started to leave.
Because somehow, even at the end of the longest day, there was still energy left for this. For laughter. For chaos. For each other.
─── . . . i'm lost in admiration
could i need you this much? . . . ───
SYNOPSIS. the fives times megan has embarassed herself in front of you, and the one time that charm worked
PAIRING. loser!megan x popular!fem!reader
TAGS. fluff, high school au, reader is implied filipino but that doesn't really matter i just wanted to write a specific scene, lara emotional support bff
A/N. this was absolutely not in my list of fics to post but i suddenly had inspiration to write this right away after watching filo romcoms with my bsf! i will post smut after this trust
𑣲 the first time:
it happened in the first week of classes.
professor smith’s introduction to philosophy. megan had been coasting through high school on a quiet wave of mediocrity, but you walked into that classroom and suddenly everything fell in slow motion. kind of like those cheesy romcoms.
you were laughing with a friend, your head thrown back slightly, and the sound seemed to cut through the low hum of academic chatter.
it was less a lightning strike and more a slow, creeping warmth that settled in her chest. a crush. an immediate and already overwhelming crush on the girl with the easy laugh who sat just behind her.
megan decided, with the desperate logic of a lovestruck idiot, that the only way to make you notice her was to be brilliant. if she couldn't be funny or charming, she could be smart.
she’d answer a question. not just any question, but a hard one. she’d craft a response so insightful, so eloquently delivered, that you’d have no choice but to lean forward and whisper to your friend, "who is that girl?"
for the next twenty minutes, she barely listened to the lecture. she was too busy rehearsing. professor smith posed a question about the trolley problem, a classic ethical dilemma. this was it. megan’s moment.
she whispered her answer under her breath, a low, determined murmur. while utilitarianism suggests sacrificing one to save five is the most logical choice, a deontological framework would argue why am i even writing an answer to this…
it was perfect. it was concise. it used all the right keywords. her heart hammered against her ribs, but her answer was solid. she took a deep breath and raised her hand.
"ah, ms. skiendiel," professor smith said, a pleased surprise in his voice. "go ahead."
every head turned. megan could feel your gaze on the back of her neck. she opened her mouth to deliver her flawless, pre-rehearsed monologue, and her mind went completely, utterly blank.
it was like a chalkboard being wiped clean. the words were gone. the concepts evaporated. all that was left was the roaring sound of her own blood in her ears and the terrifying weight of eyes on her.
"uh," she managed, her voice a pathetic squeak. "i… um…"
she could feel a hot blush creeping up her neck, burning her ears. she could picture you behind her, your brow furrowed in confusion, maybe even pity. the silence stretched on, thick and suffocating.
"sorry," she finally choked out, her voice barely audible. "i… i think i have the wrong answer."
she sank down into her seat, her face flaming with a humiliation so profound it felt physical. she wanted to melt through the floor and disappear into the building's foundation. she didn't dare turn around, but she didn't have to.
she could feel your presence behind her, a silent, judgmental weight. she had just proven herself to be an idiot. great job, megan, she thought, staring fixedly at her notebook.
she definitely thinks you're a mute moron now.
𑣲 the second time:
fate, in the form of a well-meaning english teacher, decided to throw megan a lifeline. or so she thought.
for a "getting to know you" unit, they were broken into random icebreaker groups. and by some miracle of the universe, your name was called right after hers. megan was grouped with you.
megan immediately plopped down next to lara, her partner-in-crime, and tried to look casual. the prompt was simple: go around the circle and share your favorite musical artist. megan zoned out, her mind a fog of indifference, until it was your turn.
you started talking about filipino artists and bands, your voice soft but confident. you mentioned maki, then cup of joe, and something in megan’s brain short-circuited.
this was it. this was her in. she could build on this. she could be cool and worldly. she could be that girl that knew a lot of songs from different countries!
“i love filipino artists too!” megan blurted out, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. the whole group turned to look at her, including you, a flicker of pleasant surprise in your eyes.
“oh, really?” you asked, your smile genuine and encouraging. “who do you like?”
panic. pure panic. megan’s mind, which had been empty a moment ago, was now a chaotic mess of every artist she had ever heard of.
she searched frantically for a filipino name, any name, but her brain supplied only the most famous, most obvious, most incorrect answer possible.
“bruno mars,” she said, her voice full of a confidence she absolutely did not possess.
the silence that followed was deafening. it was the kind of quiet that feels loud, where you can hear the air conditioning humming and the clock ticking on the wall.
megan watched as your friendly expression slowly morphed into one of polite, bewildered confusion. she knew, in that instant, that she had made a terrible, terrible mistake.
lara, bless her heart, swooped in to save the day. “oh yeah, i love bruno mars too!” she said with forced cheerfulness. “he is mixed with filipino anyway!”
as she spoke, lara discretely reached over and pinched megan’s side, a sharp, reprimanding squeeze that made megan jump. megan’s face bloomed into a brilliant, humiliating shade of crimson. she didn't dare look at you, but she could feel your gaze on her.
when she finally risked a glance, you were giving her a small, tight, polite smile, the kind of smile you give someone when you feel sorry for them but have no idea what else to do.
megan wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. bruno mars? she thought, burying her face in her notebook.
instead of catching a grenade, can someone throw one at me right now?!
𑣲 the third time:
the third opportunity presented itself on a crisp tuesday afternoon. megan was standing by her locker, pretending to search for a non-existent pen, when she saw you.
you were struggling, your arms busy with a tower of textbooks and binders, all of which seemed to be on the verge of toppling over. you were making slow, careful progress down the hall toward the faculty room.
this was it. the classic, chivalrous move. it was simple, it was helpful, and it was impossible to mess up.
megan pushed off the lockers and jogged to catch up to you, her heart already doing a nervous little tap dance against her ribs. "hey," she said, trying to sound casual and not like she’d been stalking your movements for the past five minutes. "you need a hand with those?"
you looked up, a stray strand of hair falling across your forehead. "oh! uh, yeah, actually. i was just taking these to mr. harrison."
"i can get them," megan insisted, her voice perhaps a little too eager. she reached out, her hands ready to be the hero. "here, i'll carry all of them."
you hesitated, looking from the heavy stack to megan’s admittedly lanky frame. "are you sure? it's kind of a lot."
"i'm sure," megan said with a confidence she was rapidly losing. "you can just get the door for me."
convinced, you carefully transferred the entire weight of the stack into her waiting arms. the moment the books left your hands, megan realized her miscalculation.
this wasn't just "kind of a lot." this was a miniature library. the weight was immense, pressing down on her, and the tower wobbled. her arms started to shake almost immediately.
"okay," she grunted, her face contorting in a way she hoped looked like effort and not sheer panic. "i got it."
she took one step. then another. the tower tilted. she tried to correct it, overcompensated, and then gravity won. the entire stack of books and binders slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor with a series of loud, echoing thuds that seemed to reverberate down the entire hall.
megan stood frozen as she looked at the disaster she just made, her face burning with a shame so intense it felt like a physical blow.
she was an idiot.
a weak, clumsy, overconfident idiot.
she immediately dropped to her knees, scrambling to gather the scattered books, her movements frantic and clumsy.
a soft laugh made her pause. she looked up to see you shaking your head, a warm, genuinely amused smile on your face. "it's fine," you said, kneeling down to help her. "really. it happens."
your easy kindness was somehow more humiliating than if you’d laughed at her. you helped her stack the books, and soon you were both on your feet, each holding half the pile. the walk to the faculty room was silent.
megan kept her eyes glued to the floor, her face still hot, her mind replaying the sound of the books crashing over and over again. she had tried to be your hero and ended up needing you to save her.
smooth, megan. real. fucking. smooth.
𑣲 the fourth time:
valentine's day was just around the corner, and with it, the annual school-wide decorating committee. when megan heard you’d signed up to volunteer, she didn't hesitate.
she dragged a reluctant lara with her, signing them both up with the flimsy excuse of "school spirit."
her real goal was clear: to be assigned to the same task as you.
of course, things didn't go according to plan. because she was one of the taller volunteers, she was immediately assigned to "high-altitude duties" like hanging streamers from the ceiling, taping banners to the top of the walls, and generally being put on display.
you, with your steady hand and neat handwriting, were stationed at a large table in the center of the room, surrounded by colorful paper, glitter, and fine-tipped markers. you were tasked with cutting out paper hearts and writing beautiful, flowing calligraphy messages for the banners megan was supposed to hang.
from her perch on a wobbly step-ladder, megan had a perfect, panoramic view of you. she watched as you laughed with your friends, your head bent in concentration as you carefully traced out the letters to "be mine."
you were in your element, a picture of effortless grace. megan felt a pang of longing so sharp it almost hurt. she liked you so much. maybe too much.
after an hour of wrestling with stubborn tape, she decided to take a break. she hopped off the ladder and grabbed a juice box from the refreshments table, leaning against the wall to watch you unnoticed.
she was lost in a daydream, one where you looked up from your work and smiled right at her, when you did exactly that.
you turned your head, your eyes scanning the room, and they landed directly on hers.
megan’s brain short-circuited. she’d been caught staring. panicked, she tried to look away, but her body betrayed her. she attempted to take a casual sip from her juice box, but in her haste, she sucked too hard. a wave of the overly sweet, pulpy liquid went down the wrong pipe.
she choked. a loud, ugly cough that echoed in the bustling room.
"oh my god, are you okay?" lara was at her side in an instant, her eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and exasperation. she started patting megan’s back with forceful, rhythmic thumps. "breathe, meg! breathe!"
megan was bent over, her face burning with a level of embarrassment that felt physically painful. through a haze of tears and coughing fits, she could feel your eyes on her. she was the girl who choked on a juice box while staring creepily.
there was no coming back from this.
she wanted to evaporate this instant. she didn't look up again for the rest of the afternoon, convinced that if she ever made eye contact with you again, she might actually die on the spot.
now she thinks i'm a creep!
𑣲 the fifth time:
the day before valentine's day, megan was a woman on a mission. operation: get you the perfect gift. she couldn't ask you directly, so she resorted to her usual method: using lara as a human shield.
"okay, so you go up to her," megan whispered frantically at her locker, her voice hushed and urgent. "and you just, like, casually ask what her favorite flower is. and then, maybe, you can work into the conversation if she prefers practical gifts over, like, chocolates or something. make it sound natural!"
lara sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "megan, nothing about this is natural. just watch a professional."
before megan could protest, lara dismissed her entire intricate plan and walked right up to you and your friends at the end of the hall.
megan wanted to die in a ditch.
she watched, her heart in her throat, as lara chatted with you all effortlessly. a few minutes later, lara sauntered back, a triumphant smirk on her face.
"sunflowers," she announced. "and she'd rather get something practical than a box of chocolates that'll just melt. she was also complaining that her favorite calligraphy pen is running out of ink. you're welcome."
megan could only sigh in relief as she moves to give lara a hug, which the latter avoids almost instantly. "you only wanna hug me when i do something for you?!" she complained.
megan just laughed at that, and of course, before leaving to go to her next class, stole a glance at you from across the hallway. the rest of the day was a blur after that.
after school, megan embarked on a city-wide quest, hitting flower market after flower market until she found the most perfect, vibrant sunflowers. then she went to three different art supply stores before finding a high-quality calligraphy pen and a place that could do a quick, professional engraving.
on valentine's day, she walked through the school halls holding the giant bouquet of sunflowers and the small, sleek box, enduring the stares and whispers.
she was a walking, talking beacon of her own feelings, and it was excruciating. she found you by your locker at the end of the day, surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. you were already holding a few bouquets of roses and a giant teddy bear.
and that’s when the doubt hit her, hard and fast. you were so popular, so desired, so… out of her league.
what was one more gift from a clumsy, awkward girl who’d embarrassed herself in front of you more times than she could count? but what was there to lose, anyway? her dignity? she’d lost that months ago.
she waited.
she waited until your admirers dispersed, until you were alone, juggling your gifts as you tried to open your locker. megan took a deep breath and walked over.
you turned, a little surprised. "megan? hey."
she couldn’t speak. her throat felt like it had turned to stone, her hands trembling. all she could manage was a hurried, broken whisper:
“i—i won’t bother you anymore.”
before she could even register the sound of her own words, she thrust the bouquet of sunflowers and the small box into your hands, turned on her heel, and practically disappeared down the hall.
the soft shuffle of her sneakers echoed behind her as she fled, leaving you standing there, surrounded by a cloud of petals, the faint scent of flowers hanging in the air, and a swirl of confusion that had no answers.
when you got home, you set down all your gifts.
the roses were beautiful, the chocolates were rich, the teddy bear was soft. but then your eyes fell on the sunflowers, bright and cheerful, and the small, elegant box. you opened it.
inside was a beautiful, weighted calligraphy pen. you picked it up, and there, on the smooth silver barrel, was your name, engraved in a delicate, flowing script.
it was, by far, the most thoughtful gift you had ever received. looking over at the pile of flowers and chocolates and plushies, you realized this was the only one that was useful. the only one that showed someone had been paying attention. the only one that was truly you.
megan went home that day and collapsed onto her bed, the image of your surprised and pretty face burned into her mind.
she thought of the bouquet of sunflowers as closure. a final, grand gesture to cap off her ridiculous, one-sided pining.
it was over. she had done her part. now, she could finally move on.
that was terrible for a closure, but at least i did it.
♡ the one time:
valentine's day had fallen on a friday, which meant megan was sentenced to an entire weekend of overthinking. the two days were a special kind of hell.
did you even like the sunflowers? were they already wilting in a vase? was the calligraphy pen tossed in a drawer, forgotten, a weird gift from a weird girl?
by sunday night, megan had convinced herself she’d made a huge mistake and that facing you on monday was an impossibility.
it took lara physically dragging her out of bed and threatening to tell her mom about the hidden stash of energy drinks under her bed to get her to school.
"you can't hide forever," lara said, pulling her through the crowded hallway. "just act normal."
megan was trying to formulate a plan that involved hiding in the library's reference section until graduation, but fate, as usual, had other plans. the first person she saw, after turning a corner away from lara, was you.
you were standing by your locker, and for a split second, your eyes met.
panic seized her. this was it. the moment of ultimate humiliation. she was about to turn and bolt, to make a run for it, but you were already moving, striding toward her with a purpose that made her freeze in place.
"hey," you said, your voice soft. "can i talk to you for a second?"
megan could only manage a jerky nod. you didn't take her to a classroom or an empty hallway. instead, you led her outside, to a small, secluded garden area behind the science building that was mostly used by the gardening club.
you stopped and turned to face her, looking uncharacteristically nervous. you held out an envelope. megan’s name was written on the front in the most beautiful, flowing calligraphy she had ever seen.
megan eventually realized you used the calligraphy pen. a pen running out of ink could not write this thick.
"i, uh, i wrote you a letter," you said, your voice a little shaky. "but i don't think i can let you read it by yourself."
megan took the envelope, her fingers trembling. she went to tear it open, but you gently put a hand on hers, stopping her. "wait."
and that’s when megan really looked at you. you weren’t confident and composed like you usually were. you were fidgeting, your gaze darting away from hers, a faint blush creeping up your neck. you were nervous. you were embarrassed. you were shy.
just like her.
"i wanted to say all this in the letter," you began, taking a deep breath. "but i think it's better if i just... say it outloud. i've noticed you, megan. i think i've been noticing you for longer than i even realized."
megan’s breath hitched.
"that day in philosophy… when you raised your hand and your mind went blank? i didn't see a girl who was embarrassed. i saw a girl who was so brave to try in the first place. and when you got quiet, i just wanted to tell you that it was okay. but just… just like you, i get shy, and my shyness made me chicken out from telling you that."
you took a step closer, and megan almost stepped back out of habit.
"during icebreaker, the one where you said bruno mars… megan, it was the most random, most ridiculous thing i'd heard all day. it still makes me laugh from time to time, because you were just so confident and… cute."
your voice dropped to a near whisper, filled with a soft tone. "when you tried to carry my books… you didn't have to do that. you saw me struggling, and you just wanted to help. and when you dropped them, i wasn't laughing at you." you paused, searching for any sign of discomfort in megan's eyes.
there was none.
you continued, "...i was laughing because it was so sweet, and i was just… happy you were there." you took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure as you smiled.
"i noticed you staring at me during volunteer. i wished you looked back because i kept staring, hoping i'd get to see you looking at me again."
megan could feel her heart racing and her hands shaking a bit. she was definitely getting red at the ears.
you looked down at your hands for a moment, your fingers fiddling with each other before meeting her gaze again. "the sunflowers… and the pen. my name, engraved on it. while everyone else was giving me things that were easy, you were giving something that was me. it was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me."
you finally looked her straight in the eye, your own filled with a vulnerability that mirrored her own. "i like you, megan. i think i might be falling for you. and i just… i couldn't let you walk away thinking that your gift was closure. for me, it was a beginning."
you took a small step closer, hands unclenching the bouquet she’d thrust into yours. “please… don’t ever stop bothering me, megan. don’t run away from me like that. i’ve been noticing you, every little thing, and i don’t want you to disappear.”
megan just stared, her mind completely blank. it was too much. it was everything she had ever wanted to hear, and it was all happening at once. she felt a smile so wide it hurt her cheeks start to form, and she was overwhelmed, overcome with a joy so intense she didn't know what to do with it.
she suddenly turned away from you, her back facing you. for a terrifying second, you thought she was going to walk away, that this had all been a misunderstanding.
but she wasn't leaving. she just needed a moment. she pressed her hands to her face, her shoulders shaking with silent, giddy laughter, trying to regain her composure because she couldn't stop smiling.
after a moment, she turned back around, her face flushed and her eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness.
“i… i’ve been such a fool,” she admitted, voice trembling. “i thought… i thought all you ever saw was me making a mess of things. but i just… i didn’t want to be invisible to you.”
a slow, brilliant smile spread across your face, mirroring her own. you reached out and gently took her hand. “i see you, megan,” you whispered. “i’ve always seen you.”
and in the quiet of the little garden, surrounded by flowers and the promise of something new, megan finally understood.
she hadn’t been invisible at all. she had been seen all along.
i'll be your fool for as long as you want.
please don't repost, plagiarize, or translate my works without my permission ⋆ MASTERLIST
When Did You Get Hot? || Daniela Avanzini & Megan Skiendiel
Pairing: Daniela Avanzini & Megan Skiendiel (Meizini) x 7thMember Nerd!Reader
Summary: Back in Dream Academy, you were known as the nerdy girl with a lanky, slender frame. Now, nearly three years after Katseye's debut, Daniela and Megan discover that there's a paradise hidden beneath all those layers of baggy clothes.
Note: English is not my first language.
Warnings: Mention of Polyamory, Nerd Reader, Megan and Daniela have a huge crush on Reader, Oblivious Reader, Reader described as tall and with a toned body.
Katseye Masterlist
The morning sun in Los Angeles was still shy, filtered through the large frosted glass windows of HYBE's dance studio. Outside, the city's buzz was beginning to stir, but inside the spacious room, with its immaculate wooden floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a sacred silence reigned.
It was the kind of silence you had learned to love.
You slipped in discreetly, your backpack feeling light on your shoulders. The security guard at the door already knew your eccentric schedule—arriving two hours before the official Saturday practice to have the studio all to yourself. A routine you'd kept since your Dream Academy days, when the noise and competition threatened to consume your sanity. The empty studio was your temple. And stretching was your silent prayer.
You tossed your backpack into the corner, near the sound system, and sighed. You were wearing loose, comfortable gray sweatpants, and over them, a black hoodie that… well, wasn't exactly yours. A stroke of fate, as you liked to justify it. Or the reality of having shared a wardrobe with Yoonchae for so many years that you couldn't even remember what belonged to whom anymore. It just so happened that Yoonchae was only four centimeters shorter, which, in the universe of borrowed clothes, was the equivalent of perfect mathematical harmony.
You stretched, your bones popping in a familiar symphony. You started with your neck, rolling your head in slow motions, then your shoulders, your wrists. Every joint received meticulous attention. You had never been the most explosive dancer in the group—Manon had the presence, Sophia the technique, Lara the charisma. You had the precision of a Swiss watch. And that required a well-prepared body.
You knelt on the cold floor, leaning your torso forward in a deep back stretch. The black hoodie, fuzzy on the inside, was starting to feel uncomfortable. The studio's air conditioning hadn't been turned on yet, and LA's sunny morning was heating the space through the skylights.
With a fluid motion, you stood up and, without thinking, pulled the hoodie by its collar, taking it off over your head in an almost mechanical gesture. You folded the garment—Yoonchae's hoodie—and set it on top of your backpack.
Beneath it, you were wearing a black, short-sleeved compression shirt, as tight as a second skin. The technical fabric hugged every curve, every line of your torso with surgical fidelity.
And there, reflected in the studio's infinite mirrors, was the truth that the baggy clothes had been hiding.
Your shoulders, once thin and unassuming, now had a defined structure. Your arms, slender under the oversized hoodies, revealed a geography of long, lean muscles, hard as steel cable—the result of years of pilates, indoor climbing, and a secret fascination with functional training that you never mentioned. Your abdomen, then… it was enviably toned. Not a bodybuilder's six-pack, exaggerated, but that elegant drawing of well-behaved ridges that appeared when you moved, suggesting contained, explosive strength. Like a lean panther.
You sat on the floor, opening your legs into a straddle stretch, and leaned forward, your nose nearly touching your knee. You felt the stretch burning deliciously in your hamstrings. In the compression shirt, every movement made the muscles in your back ripple in relief. You were in a state of complete, zen peace, oblivious to the world.
Until the studio door opened with a familiar click.
"I swear to God, Meg, if you don't stop drinking that smoothie in the company car, Lara will—" Daniela's voice echoed, vibrant and full of morning energy, before she'd even finished walking through the door.
"She'll what? Love me even more?" Megan replied, laughing, with her drawn-out accent and a straw in her mouth.
They walked in together, as they always did these past few months. An unlikely duo that had become inseparable. Daniela in her open hoodie, hair tied in a messy bun, and Megan in a sports top and leggings, her red hair shining in the morning light.
"We swore we were going to be the first ones here," Daniela complained, yawning. "Who's putting in overtime again on Satur—"
She stopped.
Megan stopped too, the straw of her smoothie forgotten between her lips.
For a second, time in the studio seemed to warp.
You had your back to them, still bent over in your stretch, the black compression shirt outlining the inverted V of your back. When you realized you were no longer alone, you slowly lifted your head, turning on your axis with a graceful, controlled movement.
Your face remained neutral, as always. A small nod. A calm voice:
"Good morning."
You stood up to get your water bottle, unceremoniously. And that's when they saw everything.
The black shirt. The arms. The abdomen. The way that lean, slender body they'd known for nearly three years, always hidden in layers of loose fabric, size XXL hoodies, oversized pants, now revealed itself like a Greek sculpture in motion.
Daniela blinked. Once. Twice.
Megan let out a muffled sound, the forgotten smoothie dripping from the straw and onto the studio floor.
You didn't notice. You were busy uncapping your bottle, drinking water in small, precise sips, the muscles in your neck moving beneath your skin.
Daniela and Megan exchanged a look.
It wasn't just any look. It was the look that develops after months of late-night conversations, of sharing the same bench in the company car, of whispering about the quiet girl in the group while she read a quantum physics book in the corner of the waiting room.
It was the look that said: We need her.
Daniela bit her lower lip, her heart pounding a mile a minute in her chest.
Megan, for her part, smiled slowly. A dangerous smile, full of silent promises. She finally swallowed the gulp of smoothie that had been forgotten for far too long.
"Wow," Megan said, her voice coming out lower than usual. "You're here early, Y/N."
You just shook your head, putting the bottle back in your backpack.
"I always am."
And without another word, you returned to the center of the studio and began your warm-up exercises, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes devouring you with every movement, every subtle muscle contraction beneath the black fabric.
Daniela sidled up to Megan, their shoulders brushing.
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" she whispered, her voice faltering at the end.
"I am," Megan replied, not taking her eyes off you. "And I want it."
Daniela laughed softly, a nervous and excited laugh at the same time.
"Me too."
Outside, the Los Angeles sun finally broke through the clouds, flooding the studio with golden light. And in the center of it all, completely unaware of the hurricane she had just accidentally unleashed, you simply stretched your arms above your head, the compression shirt riding up a fraction of an inch, revealing one last triangle of smooth, defined skin at the base of your abdomen.
Paradise, Megan thought, wasn't a place.
It was a nerdy girl in a borrowed hoodie who finally decided to take her jacket off.
