yvaine ☠︎︎

about me 𝜗ৎ

my name is yvaine [eve-ain] fil-am living in nyc. i mostly write for groups like katseye, æspa, le sserafim, and twice!! busy with school + work so please be patient with request （´∇｀''） IM WLW

bias 𝜗ৎ

manon, rei, giselle, yves, haerin, yunjin, beomgyu, sophia

-🐨

annoying but mine— sophia laforteza ✶⋆.˚

genre: fluff

synopsis: y/n comes home in a bratty, sassy mood and spends the night complaining, teasing, and bossing sophia around over the smallest things

sophia learns pretty early in their relationship that y/n does not experience “moods” the normal way. there is no gradual easing into tiredness or quiet softness. it is more like a switch gets flipped somewhere in her brain and suddenly the entire world is either slightly irritating or attacking her, and sophia just happens to be the nearest available target.

today is one of those days where y/n enters the room like she is already mid-argument with reality itself, closing the door a little too firmly behind her and pausing in the middle of the room just long enough to decide that everything is wrong and must be announced.

sophia looks up from the couch slowly, laptop still open but less important, because she recognizes this version of y/n immediately. sophia doesn’t even get a chance to greet her properly before y/n is already scanning the room.

“why is it so bright in here,” y/n says at last.

sophia glances around, then back at her. “because it’s literally evening and we have overhead lights.”

“that sounds like a major design flaw.”

“it sounds like a room.”

“i can’t even relax like this,” she decides.

sophia closes her eyes for a brief moment. “like what.”

“like this,” y/n repeats, gesturing vaguely at the air. “it feels like a fucking interrogation room.”

“it’s a bedroom.”

“whatever”

sophia lets out a quiet breath, already halfway between amused and exhausted, and stands up to adjust the lights without arguing further because she has learned that arguing is not actually part of the solution tree with y/n, it is just an optional mini-game she refuses to stop playing. she dims the room slightly, then turns back.

“better?” she asks.

y/n sits up just enough to look around like a judge evaluating a performance. after a long pause she nods once. “acceptable.”

sophia stares at her. “you’re really generous today.”

“i know.”

sophia sits back down, shaking her head faintly, but she barely gets comfortable again before the next demand arrives like it was scheduled.

“sophia.”

“yes..?”

“i’m cold.”

sophia doesn’t even look up this time. “the blanket is literally right next to you.”

there’s a pause, the kind where sophia already knows she has said something that will be challenged for sport.

“that’s not the point,” y/n replies.

“it feels like the point.”

y/n sits up slightly, offended in principle rather than urgency. “you’re my girlfriend.”

sophia slowly turns her head toward her. “and?”

“and that means you’re supposed to take care of me.”

“i feel like we did not sign paperwork that says that.”

“oh but we did.”

“i am going to start charging taxes.”

y/n gasps softly, hand on her chest like she has been wounded. “wow. so this is what love looks like to you.”

sophia gets up anyway, because despite everything she is weak for her, and grabs the blanket from the end of the bed before walking over and tossing it lightly onto y/n’s lap.

“there,” she says. “your royal decree is complete.”

y/n immediately pulls it around herself like she has been rescued from a harsh environment, then settles back into the bed with a satisfied hum. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome.”

“you could’ve done it sooner.”

“you could’ve done it yourself.”

“but then what would you do,” y/n says without missing a beat.

sophia pauses, then looks at her. “sit in peace.”

“sounds boring.”

“it is. i highly recommend it.”

y/n ignores that entirely and instead shifts again, inching closer across the bed until she is directly in sophia’s space like a magnet that has decided distance is optional. she leans her shoulder into sophia’s arm, then immediately adjusts again because apparently even closeness has to be optimized.

“come here,” y/n says.

sophia looks down at her. “you were just arguing with me.”

“and now i want you.”

“that’s not a transition.”

“it is for me.”

sophia lets out a soft laugh despite herself and finally gives in, sitting back properly so y/n can fully lean into her side. y/n takes the opportunity immediately, wrapping herself halfway around sophia like she is claiming emotional territory and making herself comfortable with zero hesitation.

“you’re very bossy today,” sophia mutters, but her voice has softened.

“you’re very compliant,” y/n replies.

“i’m tired.”

“same.”

there is a pause after that where the energy shifts just slightly. not in a dramatic way, not in a serious way, just in the way it always does when y/n runs out of steam and forgets to keep being difficult on purpose. she adjusts again, this time slower, settling into sophia’s side instead of pushing at it, fingers lightly catching the sleeve of her shirt like she needs something to anchor her there.

sophia notices immediately, of course she does, because she notices everything about y/n even when y/n is pretending she is not being observed.

“you’ve been sassing me all night,” sophia says lightly.

“i always sass you,” y/n replies, as if this is a known personality trait like eye color or height.

“thats true.”

“and you always survive.”

“barely.”

y/n hums, then tilts her head slightly so she can peek up at sophia. “you like it though.”

sophia thinks about pretending to deny it for exactly half a second before giving up completely. “unfortunately.”

“good.”

“that was not supposed to make you happy.”

“it did.”

sophia shakes her head faintly, then reaches up to lightly fix a strand of y/n’s hair without thinking about it too hard. it is a small gesture, automatic at this point, and y/n immediately leans into it like it is the most normal thing in the world for her to do after being mildly unbearable for half an hour.

they sit like that for a while, the room finally quiet in a way that feels less like tension and more like settling. sophia’s arm ends up loosely around y/n’s shoulders at some point without either of them announcing it, and y/n, for once, does not try to negotiate or complain about positioning. she just stays there, warm and slightly smug and completely relaxed now that she has successfully turned being annoying into being held.

after a long pause, y/n speaks again, voice softer but still carrying a faint trace of her usual teasing edge. “you know you’re kinda cute when you’re tired.”

sophia raises an eyebrow slightly. “kinda?”

“don’t push it.”

sophia smiles faintly and leans down just enough to press a quick kiss into y/n’s hair, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re still annoying,” she murmurs.

“and you’re still here,” y/n replies immediately, though it comes out quieter now, more content than challenging.

genre: fluff

synopsis: in a quiet small town, megan and y/n keep meeting at the same bus stop until it slowly turns into something neither of them can ignore

megan doesn’t notice the pattern at first because nothing about it announces itself as something worth noticing. it’s just mornings in a town that never fully wakes up, where the air is always a little too cold.

the bus stop becomes part of that routine. y/n is there more often than not, always in the same loose posture like she’s trying not to take up too much space in a place that already feels small. coffee cup held loosely, eyes usually on the road instead of the people beside her.

megan starts standing in her own spot without thinking about it. not next to y/n, not far enough to feel separate. just close enough that it becomes consistent. the kind of consistency neither of them name, but both of them adjust to over time.

it’s y/n who breaks the silence first one morning, still not looking at her.

“it always feels like it is thinking too hard about coming,” she says.

megan glances at the empty road. “the bus?”

“yeah,” y/n replies. “like it’s deciding if it wants to bother.”

megan exhales a small laugh. “that’s kinda dramatic.”

that finally gets y/n to look at her, just briefly. “maybe,” she says. “or maybe it just takes its time with things.”

megan should have let that pass. instead she finds herself asking, “you think everything takes its time like that?”

y/n shrugs slightly. “some things do.”

there’s a pause after that, but it doesn’t feel like emptiness. it feels like something being left open.

and megan realizes that y/n talks like she is always halfway through a thought she trusts enough not to finish.

after that, the pattern stops being invisible.

megan starts arriving earlier without meaning to, just enough that she keeps catching y/n already there. y/n starts facing the road a little sooner when she hears footsteps she recognizes. neither of them acknowledge it, but both of them adjust to it like it is already established.

the distance between them also begins to shift in ways that are never commented on. a step closer one day. a slightly smaller gap the next. sitting on the bus with the same space left between them every time, as if the space itself has become something agreed upon without discussion.

then one morning y/n says, “you’re always early.”

megan looks at her. “am I?”

“yeah,” y/n replies. “not by a lot. just enough that i notice.”

megan huffs softly. “you notice everything, huh?”

y/n finally looks at her fully. “only the things that repeat.”

that makes megan quiet for a second longer than usual.

then she asks, “do i repeat things?”

y/n tilts her head slightly. “you’re starting to.”

megan should have turned that into a joke. instead she just says, “that sounds kinda bad.”

y/n shakes her head. “it’s not bad.”

“what is it then?”

y/n hesitates, like she’s deciding whether or not to say something she has already thought about before.

“it is just noticeable,” she says.

and somehow that feels worse and better at the same time.

it rains one afternoon, heavier than usual, turning everything into soft noise. y/n is under the school steps without her coffee cup again, which megan notices immediately when she arrives.

“you forgot it?” megan asks.

y/n glances at her hands like she is confirming the question.

“yeah,” she says. then after a pause, “i did not feel like carrying it today.”

megan leans slightly against the railing. “that sounds like a bigger decision than coffee.”

y/n looks at her for a second. “it was not about coffee.”

megan waits.

y/n continues, quieter now. “some days it feels like you do things just because you always do them. not because you want to.”

megan studies her. “and today?”

y/n shrugs. “today I did not want to.”

there is a beat.

then megan says, “that is kind of… nice.”

y/n almost smiles. “yeah?”

“yeah,” megan replies. “like you are allowed to stop doing things just because they’re normal.”

y/n looks at her for a moment that lasts too long to be casual.

then she says, “you think about things like that?”

megan shrugs. “sometimes.”

“not most people do,” y/n says.

“are you most people?” megan asks.

that actually gets a small breath of a laugh out of y/n. “no,” she says.

megan straightens slightly. “good.”

y/n raises an eyebrow. “good?”

megan pauses, then just says, “yeah.”

and she doesnt explain why.

because she doesn’t know how to without making it sound like something else is happening.

which it already is.

the hoodie moment comes later that same week.

the rain starts again, lighter this time but persistent enough that it does not feel temporary. y/n is still under the steps when megan finds her.

megan does not think long before she takes off her hoodie.

she just says, “here.”

y/n looks at it.

then at her.

“you’re going to get cold,” she says.

megan shrugs. “ive been through worse”

that gets y/n to pause.

“that isnt really a convincing argument,” she says.

megan holds it out anyway. “just take it.”

y/n hesitates longer than she should, like she is trying to understand something that is not fully being said out loud.

“you dont have to do that,” she says.

megan answers immediately this time. “i know.”

that is what makes y/n take it.

she doesn’t put it on right away.

she just holds it in her hands for a second longer than necessary.

“why did you do that?” she asks quietly.

megan shrugs again. “you looked cold.”

“thats it?” y/n presses.

megan meets her eyes. “do i need another reason?”

y/n doesn’t answer right away.

then she says, “most people dont do things like that without reasons.”

megan tilts her head slightly. “maybe i’m not most people.”

that makes y/n look at her differently for a moment.

like she is re-evaluating something she thought she already understood.

then she finally puts the hoodie on.

and doesn’t move away after.

after that, the silence between them changes.

it stops being empty and starts being aware.

megan notices y/n watching her before she looks away slightly too late. y/n notices megan orienting toward her even when she is pretending not to. their timing starts to overlap in ways that feel less accidental every day.

they start talking more without meaning to extend conversations.

“you always leave first?” y/n asks one afternoon.

megan glances at her. “do I?”

“yeah,” y/n says. “like you’re trying to get somewhere before you have to think about it too much.”

megan exhales. “that sounds like a diagnosis.”

y/n smiles faintly. “maybe it is.”

megan looks at her. “what would you diagnose yourself with then?”

y/n does not answer immediately.

then she says, “i think i wait for things too long.”

megan frowns slightly. “that doesn’t sound better.”

y/n shrugs. “it’s more accurate.”

that is the kind of honesty that starts to sit between them after that.

not dramatic, but rather steady.

it reaches a point where neither of them can pretend it is not happening anymore.

it is after school again.

bus stop.

y/n is sitting.

megan stands longer than usual before sitting down too, closer than before, but still not fully beside her at first.

y/n breaks it.

“you’re always here,” she says again, but softer this time.

megan looks at her. “so are you.”

“not like that,” y/n says, but there is no distance in it anymore.

megan sits fully now.

closer.

“then how?” she asks.

y/n looks at her properly. “like i always end up noticing you before anything else.”

megan doesn’t look away.

“that sounds like a you problem,” she says, quieter than before.

y/n exhales lightly. “it’s not a problem.”

“what is it then?” megan asks.

y/n hesitates.

then, finally, honestly: “i don’t know anymore.”

thats the first time neither of them tries to fix whats happening.

megan looks at her for a long moment.

then says, “i think i do.”

y/n goes still slightly. “yeah?”

megan nods once. “yeah. i just dont think I want to say it wrong.”

that makes y/n’s expression soften.

“try,” she says.

the road is empty. the bus is late again. the air feels like it is holding still.

megan finally says, “i think i don’t want this to be nothing.”

y/n does not respond immediately.

then quietly: “it’s not nothing.”

megan looks at her. “then what is it?”

y/n meets her eyes fully now.

that’s the first time neither of them moves away from the space between them.

megan leans in first, slow enough that it could be stopped.

y/n doesn’t stop it.

she meets her halfway instead.

and when the bus finally arrives, neither of them reacts right away.

because whatever was going to change already did.

and for the first time, they sit together like it was never something they had to figure out.

genre: fluff

synopsis: y/n hosts alysa, amber, and isabeau during a snowstorm, and a snowball fight turns messy when sides change.

the airport was loud in the way airports always were. rolling suitcases, announcements, footsteps that never stopped moving. it should have felt overwhelming, but y/n only felt one thing, anticipation.

she had been checking the arrivals area for almost ten minutes when she finally saw them.

alysa walked out first, hair slightly messy from the flight. amber followed close behind, already talking animatedly, while isabeau trailed them with her usual calm expression that somehow always looked mildly amused at everything happening around her.

and then alysa saw her.

her face changed instantly, like everything else in the world stopped mattering.

“y/n!”

she broke into a run, bags almost slipping off her shoulder, and y/n barely had time to step forward before alysa collided into her.

y/n laughed as she caught her, arms wrapping tightly around her waist.

“you’re going to knock me over,” y/n said softly.

“worth it,” alysa mumbled into her shoulder, holding on like she had no intention of letting go.

behind them, amber made a loud sound of disgust.

alysa finally pulled back just enough to look at y/n’s face. her cheeks were slightly pink, from the cold or maybe something else, and she was smiling in a way that made alysa’s chest feel lighter.

“miss me?” alysa asked.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “you literally texted me from the plane five hours ago.”

“so yes,” alysa concluded immediately.

y/n laughed again and adjusted alysa’s hood. her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary.

“you look tired,” y/n said softly.

“i’m fine,” alysa replied, then leaned forward slightly. “you should see amber. she tried to sleep sitting up and fell into isabeau twice.”

“i did not fall,” amber corrected loudly. “i leaned.”

isabeau nodded. “she leaned into me repeatedly.”

y/n smiled and finally turned to hug amber and isabeau too, both of them greeting her with warm, slightly tired energy. but even as they talked, snow began falling outside in thick, slow flakes.

by the time they got to the car, it was already sticking to the roads.

amber peered out the window. “we are not going anywhere tonight.”

“nope,” y/n said, starting the engine. “you’re stuck with me.”

alysa leaned her head against the seat beside y/n almost immediately. “worst problem ever.”

“she means best,” isabeau translated.

“i did not,” alysa said.

“you did,” amber added.

y/n just smiled.

the house was warm when they arrived.

lights soft, floors clean, the smell of something like cocoa already lingering because y/n had been preparing earlier without really admitting she was excited.

as soon as they stepped inside, the contrast from the cold made everyone exhale at the same time.

amber dropped onto the couch immediately.

“i am never moving again.”

isabeau took off her coat slowly. “thats what you said on the plane.”

“i meant it this time.”

alysa, however, was already looking out the window.

snow was coming down harder now, covering the yard in thick white.

her eyes lit up.

“we should go outside,” she said suddenly.

y/n turned. “absolutely not.”

“snowball fight,” alysa insisted.

amber immediately sat up. “actually that sounds fun.”

isabeau looked between them. “i would rather sit in silence.”

alysa pointed at her. “you’re coming.”

isabeau sighed. “of course I am.”

the yard was already knee deep in snow.

y/n stood with laila and ilia beside her, bundled in jackets and gloves, while alysa stood across from them like she was preparing for something important.

amber and isabeau were technically on her side.

technically.

“okay,” alysa announced, holding a perfectly packed snowball. “we follow my strategy.”

amber raised a hand. “what strategy.”

“win.”

“that’s not a strategy,” isabeau said.

alysa smiled brightly. “it is if i say it confidently.”

y/n laughed from across the yard. “we are so winning this.”

alysa pointed directly at her. “you’re going down.”

“she is so dramatic,” y/n told laila.

“she likes you,” laila replied immediately.

y/n choked slightly on air.

alysa threw the first snowball.

it hit nothing important, but it started everything anyway.

snow exploded into chaos almost instantly.

laughter, shouting, running.

y/n ducked behind a pile of snow while ilia immediately launched a counterattack. laila was laughing too hard to aim properly, which somehow still worked in their favor.

alysa moved fast, surprisingly fast, dodging and throwing with focus that made her competitive streak obvious.

“you’re all slow,” she called out.

“you’re loud,” y/n called back.

“i’m efficient,” alysa corrected.

amber, meanwhile, was supposed to be helping alysa.

supposed to be.

she threw a snowball.

it hit alysa directly in the shoulder.

silence.

alysa turned slowly.

“amber.”

amber froze. “accident.”

isabeau immediately followed with another snowball.

this one hit alysa’s arm.

alysa stared at both of them.

“you’re supposed to be on my team.”

amber shrugged. “we’re evaluating leadership.”

“you’re betraying me,” alysa said.

“we are enhancing the experience,” isabeau corrected.

y/n laughed so hard she almost dropped her snowball.

“i can’t believe this is happening,” alysa muttered.

“it is very believable,” isabeau said.

then amber leaned slightly toward y/n’s side.

and threw another snowball at alysa.

perfectly aimed.

direct hit.

alysa stood frozen for a second.

then slowly turned toward y/n.

“you’re enjoying this.”

y/n smiled sweetly. “maybe.”

alysa pointed at her. “you’re next.”

second round: full betrayal

this is where everything collapsed into chaos.

amber fully switched sides

she just walked over to y/n’s group mid fight like it was completely normal.

“hi,” she said, joining them.

alysa’s jaw dropped.

“you can’t just leave.”

“i just did,” amber said calmly.

isabeau followed a few seconds later.

“can i also leave?”

alysa looked betrayed in the most dramatic way possible.

“what did i do.”

“you were annoying,” isabeau said.

“you were loud,” amber added.

“you threw snow at us first,” y/n pointed out.

alysa turned slowly toward y/n.

“you too.”

y/n smiled again. “i’m just here.”

“you are orchestrating this,” alysa accused.

“no,” y/n said. “you’re just losing.”

laughter erupted everywhere.

then the fight restarted, but now it was chaos in the purest form.

amber and isabeau were fully helping y/n, calling out alysa’s movements, blocking her throws, and occasionally sabotaging her aim just enough to make her lose balance.

alysa was laughing too, despite everything, snow in her hair, cheeks pink from cold and effort.

she tried to throw a snowball at y/n.

missed.

isabeau blocked it.

“you are not allowed,” isabeau said.

“this is unfair,” alysa said.

“this is teamwork,” amber corrected.

y/n threw a snowball.

it hit alysa’s sleeve.

alysa gasped dramatically. “you betrayed me.”

“you started it,” y/n said.

“i started nothing,” alysa insisted, laughing now.

she ran forward again, slipping slightly in the snow, and y/n instinctively stepped forward too, catching her lightly by the arm so she did not fall.

their hands stayed connected for a second longer than necessary.

alysa looked at her.

“you saved me.”

y/n shrugged. “i did not want you to fall.”

alysa smiled softly. “you’re so nice.”

“do not get used to it.”

third round: collapse

eventually, nobody was keeping score anymore.

it was just laughter.

snow in hair, gloves soaked, breath visible in the cold air.

amber eventually flopped into the snow.

“i’m done, guys.”

isabeau followed. “same.”

laila collapsed next to y/n, laughing too hard to stand.

alysa finally stopped too, standing in front of y/n, breathing slightly heavier, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

“you cheated,” she said.

“you lost,” y/n replied.

alysa stepped closer. “you teamed up against me.”

y/n nodded. “yes.”

alysa smiled slowly. “i’m impressed.”

“you’re not mad??”

“i am a little mad,” alysa said, leaning closer, “but also i kinda like when you win.”

y/n froze slightly at that.

alysa noticed.

“what.”

“nothing,” y/n said quickly.

alysa reached up, brushing snow off y/n’s cheek.

“you’re cute when you try to act smug,” she said quietly.

y/n looked away immediately.

amber from the snow: “oh my god just kiss already.”

isabeau: “please ignore her.”

inside, warmth hit them instantly.

blankets. cocoa. the sound of everyone collapsing into couches and floors.

alysa immediately gravitated toward y/n again, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched.

amber and isabeau were still arguing lightly about betrayal.

laila and ilia were still laughing.

y/n handed alysa a mug of cocoa.

“you lost,” she said again.

alysa took a sip. “i’m aware”

y/n smiled.

alysa leaned her head gently against y/n’s shoulder.

“next time,” she murmured, “i’m so winning.”

y/n turned slightly.

“you wish”

alysa smiled.

“maybe.”

genre: angst, fluff

synopsis: y/n writes love letters for jonah to daniela but she starts to fall for dani too. when dani dates jonah y/n avoids her until they finally talk in the diner

y/n had always loved the streets, the way the sunlight streaked across cracked sidewalks in the afternoons. she loved walking home with daniela even if she never admitted it out loud. the air always smelled faintly of grass and dust, occasionally carrying the warm sweetness of the bakery on the corner, the scent hanging around like a quiet memory.

they would sit on the curb outside daniela’s house, talking about everything. daniela would talk about her mom’s diner, about which regulars were difficult or funny that day, about the new song she had learned. y/n would listen, notebook open on her lap, occasionally scribbling down ideas but mostly just memorizing her voice, her gestures, the small ways she smiled when she thought no one was watching.

“i hope you’ll write something about me when we’re older,” daniela had said once, nudging y/n with her elbow, eyes bright with mischief and hope.

y/n had nodded, tucking the words into a small corner of her mind. she later wrote them down in her notebook, folding the page carefully, keeping it safe. she never showed it to anyone. she didn’t need to.

then jonah moved from canada. he arrived suddenly, confident and loud, speaking in a way that drew attention without even trying. he made friends instantly, cracked jokes in class, and somehow caught daniela’s curiosity immediately. y/n remembered watching them together for the first time, jonah talking with his hands while daniela laughed softly. it wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough. enough to make y/n feel a quiet pang she couldn’t name, a small ache that grew in silence. she stepped back. she said nothing. she let it happen.

years later, y/n and jonah were inseparable, the kind of friends who had survived awkward phases, shared secrets in whispers late at night, and leaned on each other in ways no one else could understand. so when jonah showed up one afternoon at her house, nervous and fidgety, she barely raised an eyebrow.

“i need your help,” he said, pacing in her bedroom, hands twisting and untwisting like he was about to confess a crime.

“with what?” y/n asked, pen tapping against her notebook, her voice calm even as her stomach twisted.

“i want to ask daniela out properly,” he admitted, “but i can’t find the right words.”

her chest tightened. she forced a swallow. “what do you mean you can’t find the right words?”

“i feel it,” he said, looking frustrated. “i just can’t put it into words, but you can.”

she paused. this was it. this was the moment where she could either step aside or step inside and pour her feelings into paper, leaving her heart behind. she nodded slowly. “i’ll help,” she said quietly.

the first letter took hours. she wrote about the little things jonah might never notice: the way daniela carried three plates at once at the diner and the subtle hum she made when refilling coffee. jonah watched silently, wide-eyed.

“how do you even think of this stuff?” he asked after a while.

y/n did not answer. she did not need to. she was remembering everything: the way daniela had once held a stray kitten in her hands, the curl of her hair falling over her cheek, the way she’d bounce on her toes when she was excited.

when daniela read the letter during her break at the diner, the air smelled of fry oil and coffee. she sat in the back booth, sunlight spilling through the blinds, flickering across her face. she smiled softly, the kind of smile that made y/n’s chest tighten as if someone had pulled on her ribs. later, she texted jonah. “that was really sweet.”

jonah grinned at y/n triumphantly. “she liked it.”

“of course she did,” y/n whispered, forcing a smile she hoped he wouldn’t notice.

the letters continued. daniela began leaving notes for jonah, folded and tucked into his bag. y/n read each one carefully, memorizing the handwriting, the way she dotted her i’s and the subtle curls on her t’s. daniela wrote about feeling seen and understood, about moments that nobody else noticed. one note said, “it’s like you’ve been watching me.” y/n’s hands shook slightly. she had been.

weeks later, jonah asked her out clumsily in the school hallway after last period. daniela laughed and said yes, and the sound of it struck y/n harder than she expected. she stood by her locker, pretending she wasn’t listening, pretending she didn’t feel the old ache rise again in her chest.

after that, everything shifted. y/n stopped going to the diner. she avoided their usual booths, avoided the smells of coffee that reminded her of daniela. she ignored jonah’s texts unless they were about homework. she ignored daniela completely.

in school, every time daniela glanced toward her, hoping for recognition, y/n looked away first. she walked faster, chose different routes between classes, and sat farther back in classrooms than she had ever done before.

one afternoon, daniela typed carefully, “hey, are you okay?”

no response.

did i do something?

still no response.

please just talk to me.

the typing bubble never appeared.

the silence stretched across weeks. daniela’s chest tightened with each passing day. she remembered the letters, the quiet glances, the way y/n’s hand had brushed against hers when passing a notebook, and it hurt more than anything else.

jonah noticed too. one evening, they sat in his car outside the diner, the engine off, just the sound of distant cars humming down the street.

“did you guys fight?” he asked quietly.

daniela shook her head. “she won’t look at me,” she admitted, biting her lip.

“she’s just weird sometimes,” jonah said, frowning.

but neither of them sounded convinced.

weeks passed in silence. daniela found herself more distracted by the absence of y/n than by anything else. she replayed memories of them together as children, remembered y/n’s quiet laugh, the way she noticed every small detail about her, the old letters. she realized that the pull she felt toward y/n had never disappeared. it had just been muted, buried under years of timing, distance, and circumstance.

one night, after closing, daniela found y/n sitting in the corner booth at the diner, hands folded over her notebook, eyes staring down at the page. the lights flickered softly above, chairs were flipped upside down on tables, the air smelled faintly of coffee and fry oil, warm and comforting.

“you stopped coming,” daniela said softly, stepping closer.

y/n did not look up.

“you haven’t said anything in weeks,” daniela said, a little louder this time.

silence.

“y/n,” she said again, more insistently.

y/n finally lifted her eyes, tired, wary, and full of things she had tried to bury. “i couldn’t sit there and watch you fall in love with something i wrote,” she admitted quietly.

daniela blinked, then took a small step closer. “i didn’t fall in love with what you wrote,” she said.

“you were dating him,” y/n whispered.

“i was dating the idea of you,” daniela said, soft and steady.

y/n’s hands shook slightly.

“don’t,” she whispered.

“it’s true,” daniela said, reaching out slowly, placing her hand over y/n’s on the table. “the way the letters noticed things, the way they remembered things from when we were kids. jonah wasn’t there for that. it was you.”

y/n swallowed hard. “i liked you before he moved here,” she admitted.

“i know,” daniela said softly. “i didn’t understand it then. when he showed up, it was easier. he was loud. you were quiet, but every time i read those letters, it felt like being eleven again. sitting on the curb, listening to you say it felt like home.”

y/n’s voice dropped to a whisper. “i thought i lost.”

“you didn’t,” daniela whispered, leaning forward, pressing her forehead gently against hers. “you just never said anything.”

y/n’s voice trembled. “i never stopped.”

for a long moment, neither of them moved. the diner felt small, warm, and fragile, holding them in that quiet bubble. daniela leaned closer. “then stop being quiet,” she murmured.

y/n did not look away. she did not pull back. she simply let herself be there, in that messy, quiet, beautiful space where everything had been waiting to be said for years

—

I used to get upset about the same things when I wrote ff lmao.

anyways dont mind my being nosey... but what was the fic request? if u don't mind sharing (briefly ofc not the entire thing)😛

sending the same anonymous fic request to multiple writers at the same time is disrespectful and inconsiderate. even if there are no malicious intentions behind it, the behavior itself is still harmful. intention does not erase impact.

writing a fic is not a quick or effortless task. it takes time, energy, and creativity. when you send the same prompt to multiple writers, you turn that labor into an unspoken competition. writers are unknowingly pitted against each other to see who will “deliver” first or better, without their consent. that is not fair, and it’s not something anyone agreed to participate in.

this also shows a lack of respect for writers as individuals. we are not interchangeable content machines. our ideas, voices, and time matter. treating prompts like something you can mass-submit until someone responds reduces writers’ effort to something disposable, and that is deeply discouraging.

i understand that the anon who did this likely didn’t mean any harm. however, ignorance does not excuse the behavior. if you want multiple takes on the same idea, you need to be transparent and ask openly, or wait until a fic is posted before approaching another writer. anything else is unfair.

because of this, i will not be posting the fic associated with that request. this is not a punishment, it is a boundary. i will not create work under circumstances that disregard my time or place me in competition with other writers without my knowledge.

let this be a clear reminder: respect writers’ labor, respect their boundaries, and think before sending requests. fandom should be enjoyable, not uncomfortable or exploitative.

by the shore— megan skiendiel ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

genre: fluff

synopsis: megan and y/n spend a cozy beach weekend together, filled with laughter, waves, and sunsets

the beach house wakes slowly, sunlight spilling through the windows and painting patterns across the floor. the sound of waves mixes with music drifting from someone’s speaker and distant laughter. y/n stretches, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin, and immediately notices megan leaning against the doorframe, hair messy and damp from yesterday’s swim.

“morning,” megan says softly, voice husky from sleep. she steps closer, hands brushing y/n’s. “didn’t think i’d find you up before me.”

“someone has to make sure you don’t sleep in all day,” y/n teases, slipping her arm around megan’s waist.

“you spoil me,” megan murmurs, resting her forehead against y/n’s shoulder. she presses a quick, sleepy kiss to her neck before pulling back. “come on. the ocean isn’t going to wait.”

y/n laughs, and together they step outside barefoot. the sand is still cool from the night air, dotted with shells and footprints from the group’s late-night beach walk. sophia and daniela are already arguing over who gets the biggest wave, lara is holding the camera, and manon is attempting to braid yoonchae’s hair with questionable success. the beach is alive, chaotic, and full of warmth.

megan takes y/n’s hand, weaving their fingers together naturally. “first one in is a chicken,” she says with mock severity.

“you’re joking,” y/n replies, raising an eyebrow.

“i never joke about cold water,” megan deadpans, tugging y/n toward the shoreline.

the first wave hits, icy and sharp. megan squeals, clinging to y/n, who laughs uncontrollably. soon they are wading waist-deep, arms wrapped around each other for balance. playful splashes turn into a full-blown water fight, laughter echoing across the shore. sophia joins in, and soon the four of them are kicking, dodging, and shrieking in the waves while lara films it all, already planning to post a “beach day” montage.

once they collapse on towels to dry off, sandy and dripping, dani suggests building sandcastles. megan’s eyes light up, excitement bubbling through her.

“we’re going to make the best one,” she says confidently.

“sure, sure,” y/n laughs, sitting beside her. knees touch. hands brush constantly as they scoop sand, shape towers, and carefully place shells along the walls. megan concentrates, tongue peeking out in determination, while y/n watches, heart full of fondness.

“stop staring,” megan mutters, cheeks heating.

“you’re cute when you concentrate,” y/n says quietly.

megan groans, leaning closer. “you’re distracting me on purpose.”

their sandcastle ends up crooked but charming, a haphazard fortress crowned with shells and tiny seaweed flags. when a wave creeps too close, megan gasps and grabs y/n’s arm dramatically. “it’s doomed!” she exclaims. they collapse laughing, digging their toes into the wet sand, megan leaning her head on y/n’s shoulder.

the afternoon drifts slowly. there are snacks shared between fingers sticky with melted ice cream, quick swims to cool off, and candid photos taken by lara that capture the messy, chaotic joy of the day. megan keeps sneaking kisses whenever the others aren’t looking, pressing small pecks to y/n’s temple, cheek, and shoulder, each one soft and deliberate.

as the sun begins to lower, painting the sky in golds and soft pinks, the group retreats to the shoreline for a sunset walk. megan and y/n walk slightly apart from the others, hands intertwined. the ocean stretches endlessly before them, waves lapping at their feet.

“this is my favorite part,” megan murmurs, squeezing y/n’s hand.

“the sunset?” y/n asks.

“being here with you,” megan replies softly, eyes catching the light. “just us. no rush. no noise.”

they stop walking, foreheads touching, breath mingling with the salty air. “i’m not going anywhere,” y/n whispers. megan smiles, eyes glistening, and leans in for a slow, tender kiss, gentle as the waves brushing the shore.

night falls, cool and calm. a small fire is lit near the dunes, the group gathered around with blankets and mugs of hot cocoa. megan sits close to y/n, shoulders brushing, sharing warmth. they talk quietly, voices soft, trading inside jokes and lingering touches. when someone tells a story that makes everyone laugh, megan tilts her head to look at y/n, eyes sparkling, laughter curling softly around her.

later, when the fire has burned low, they wander down to the beach again. the moon reflects on the water, silver and bright. megan slides her hand into y/n’s, thumb tracing lazy circles. “want to collect seashells?” she asks. y/n nods, and they walk along the wet sand, small treasures tucked into pockets, occasional nudges and quiet smiles exchanged.

eventually, they stop and sit, backs to the cool sand, gazing at the horizon. megan rests her head on y/n’s shoulder. “we’ll remember this weekend forever,” she says quietly.

“we’ll make more,” y/n replies, leaning into her.

the rest of katseye laughs somewhere behind them, probably teasing, probably calling them back. megan laughs softly too, pressing a quick kiss to y/n’s temple.

they stay there a little longer, watching the waves and stars, holding onto each other, safe in their own small world.

baby, can you call me back? it’s so lonely in my mansion

genre: fluff

synopsis: wonyoung has always had everything, but now she wants y/n, and she is not afraid to make her chase it

jang wonyoung had never met a rule she liked. she moved through the hallways like she owned them, perfectly polished, perfectly styled, with a smirk that could make anyone feel small.

her friends followed her like a royal entourage, and everyone in school knew better than to get in her way. if she wanted something, she took it. if she was annoyed, she made it everyone’s problem. if she did not get her way, she made sure everyone knew exactly how rich her parents were. she was bratty, entitled, and enjoyed it.

y/n had noticed wonyoung before, of course. everyone had. she had even heard whispers about classmates who had accidentally offended her or been teased in front of the cafeteria. to y/n, wonyoung was just another rich, bratty girl. she kept her distance, smiled politely when necessary, and avoided attention.

then came the day in the library.

y/n was tucked into a corner, headphones in, working on a report. she thought she was alone until a shadow fell across her table. she looked up and saw wonyoung leaning against the bookshelf, sunglasses perched on her nose, a smirk playing on her lips.

“what are you doing here?” wonyoung asked, voice dripping with mock annoyance.

y/n blinked. “i’m just studying”

wonyoung tilted her head, smirk widening. “studying? interesting choice. not exactly the most exciting way to spend your time”

y/n looked down at her notes, unsure what to say.

“you know,” wonyoung continued, walking closer, lowering her voice, “i have never really seen you around. in the halls, the cafeteria.. you’re like a ghost.”

y/n flushed but stayed quiet. wonyoung seemed completely unbothered, like she could crush someone with just a glance.

over the next few days, wonyoung noticed small things. the way y/n laughed softly at jokes she made to herself, the way she organized her bag, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she concentrated. wonyoung told herself she was just observing for fun, keeping busy, but there was a new irritation growing inside her: she wanted attention from this quiet girl. she wanted to know more.

one afternoon in the cafeteria, wonyoung spotted y/n sitting alone. she leaned over to her friends. “look at her,” she whispered, smirking. “she thinks no one notices. i think i like noticing her.” her friends stared, uncharacteristically quiet. wonyoung scoffed. “what? it’s true. why does she make my day more interesting?”

and then it hit her. she wanted y/n’s number. she wanted to talk to her. she wanted to know everything about her. for the first time, she felt desperate.

one afternoon, she cornered y/n in the hallway. her friends flanked her, but it was all for show. wonyoung stood in front of y/n, perfectly poised like a queen confronting her subject.

“well well well,” wonyoung said, arms crossed, smirk in place. “if it isn’t you”

y/n tried to sidestep. “wonyoung, please, i’m just trying to get to class”

“nope,” wonyoung interrupted, tilting her head, studying y/n like a predator assessing its prey. “we have an important matter to settle. and by important, i mean important”

y/n blinked. “important? what do you mean”

wonyoung smirked wider. “we’ve never exchanged numbers. and that is completely unacceptable”

y/n’s fingers twitched toward her phone. “i don’t think-”

“do’nt think?” wonyoung repeated, stepping closer. “are you seriously turning me down? me, jang wonyoung? the girl who literally has everything”

“i’m not trying to-” y/n stammered

“save it,” wonyoung said, tossing her sunglasses onto her head. “this is serious. my life feels incomplete without your number”

y/n exhaled, pulling out her phone. “okay, fine. here”

wonyoung snatched it like treasure, typing in her number with exaggerated care. “perfect. now you’re mine in case of emergencies”

as y/n walked away, she could not stop glancing at her phone. wonyoung was bratty, yes, but there was something in the way she looked at her that felt different.

the texting began that evening. bratty at first, playful, slightly mocking, but quickly becoming persistent.

wony:

did you survive math class

y/n:

barely lmao. thanks for checking

wony:

of course. also do you eat lunch or just skip it like a loner?

y/n snorted, shaking her head. this was ridiculous but her heart was beating faster than normal.

y/n:

i eat sometimes

wony:

good. i cannot have my favorite person starving lol

y/n froze. favorite person. bratty girl, this was different.

over the next few days, the texts became longer. wonyoung sent playful jabs, random pictures of her day, sarcastic comments, and occasionally messages that were surprisingly thoughtful. y/n found herself smiling at her phone at odd times, realizing she enjoyed talking to wonyoung more than she expected. she even started checking her phone as soon as it buzzed.

her friends began to notice. one afternoon, yunjin and sunghoon sat across from her in the cafeteria, watching her grin at her phone.

“who has you grinning like that” yunjin asked

“nobody” y/n said too quickly, cheeks heating

sunghoon smirked. “really? nobody texts you this much. i have never seen you smile at your phone like that before”

y/n laughed nervously. “it’s nothing. just some random texts”

yunjin exchanged a look with sunghoon. “sure, random texts”

that night, y/n reread wonyoung’s messages. the bratty remarks, playful threats, random check-ins, and occasional messages hoping she had a good day felt personal. her chest fluttered.

“wait” she murmured to herself, scrolling back. “does she like me”

her heart raced. she tried to shake it off. wonyoung was just wonyoung. rich, bratty, impossible. no way she liked her.

but then her phone buzzed again

wony:

stop smiling at your phone like that or i’ll come over

y/n flushed red and typed back

y/n:

no balls

wony:

try me

y/n could not stop smiling. it was not just bratty behavior anymore. wonyoung’s messages carried attention and care. slowly y/n realized she had been waiting for them more than she wanted to admit.

a few days later, wonyoung cornered y/n in the hallway again. this time she seemed different. hands fiddling with her bag, a hint of nerves in her posture.

“so,” wonyoung said softly, voice uncharacteristically shy, “you’re actually smiling at my messages. that’s good”

y/n laughed, nervous. “they’re just funny sometimes”

“funny?” wonyoung repeated, looking at her seriously. “i’m trying very hard here. you’re supposed to be impressed”

“i am,” y/n said, cheeks heating

wonyoung froze. “really?”

“really,” y/n confirmed, smiling shyly

wonyoung grinned, all bratty confidence back. “good. because you’re mine. so, uh will you maybe want to go out with me sometime”

y/n’s heart skipped. she had been hoping for this without realizing it. she nodded, smiling wide. “yes”

wonyoung’s grin widened, triumphant. “finally. about time you agreed”

they started dating, and life became sweet. wonyoung still acted like the world belonged to her, but now she belonged to y/n too. she demanded silly things, teased y/n relentlessly, and flustered easily whenever y/n touched her hand. y/n, in turn, loved teasing her, laughing at her dramatic antics, and slowly learning to navigate the messy, bratty, soft side of wonyoung.

Could I request a Megan Skiendiel x masc (butch) reader. Where the reader is still in university and can’t make it to all the tour stops. When the girls come to NY Megan and the reader go out and about. Maybe classic sight seeing and taking fun pictures to post on instagram. Megan and the Reader are in an established relationship.

Them hitting spots like Chinatown, photo booths, and watching the sunset near dumbo?

when i can, i’m yours— megan skiendiel .ೃ࿔ *:･

✈︎ genre: fluff, slight angst

✈︎ synopsis: y/n can’t make all the tour stops, but megan and her steal a day together in new york

the tour schedule sits open on megan’s phone, dates stacked like bricks, one after another, and she scrolls past the stops y/n could make, past the ones she couldn’t, and past the ones she can only hope she will.

she makes it when she can.

she repeats it in her head like a prayer, like a promise, like a lifeline.

tour exhaustion creeps in quietly. it settles in her shoulders, in the way hotel rooms all look the same, in the quiet hum of the air conditioner after rehearsals. most nights, she lies with her phone pressed to her chest, scrolling old messages, rereading voice notes, staring at pictures she can’t stop thinking about.

“she sent me a picture of her notes,” megan says suddenly in the practice room, hoodie half-zipped, phone resting on her chest.

daniela hums. “cute.”

“they’re color-coded,” megan insists. “she only does that when she’s stressed.”

lara raises an eyebrow. “so.. she’s stressed.”

“more than usual,” megan says quietly. “and i can’t be there.”

manon tilts her head. “megan, she’s in university. it’s her life.”

“exactly,” megan groans. “and i can’t be part of it.”

the room is quiet. just for a moment, no teasing, no jokes, only the weight of her words.

“you miss her,” yoonchae says softly.

“yeah,” megan admits without joking. the words taste like guilt and longing and relief all at once.

“when did you last see her?” sophia asks.

megan checks her phone. “thirty-six days.”

a pause. heavy.

“i saw her in dallas,” megan adds quickly. “came straight from an exam. left before sunrise. it was… short.”

lara exhales. “that’s rough.”

“felt like borrowing time,” megan whispers. “like i wasn’t supposed to keep her.”

manon scrolls through the schedule. “we’re in new york next week.”

megan sits up. “we are?”

“yes,” manon says. “text her before you spiral again.”

fingers fly across the screen.

megan

new york

i know you’re busy

but i’d really love to see you :(

the typing bubble disappears. reappears.

y/n:

i’ll make it work :)

megan presses her phone to her chest. she makes it when she can.

the week crawls.

every rehearsal feels longer. every hotel room colder. megan listens to y/n’s voice notes between soundcheck and wardrobe changes. short updates, sleepy laughs, a whispered “i miss you” sent late at night. she replies with photos of hotel windows, stage lights, and scribbled setlists. none of it feels like enough.

new york finally arrives.

soundcheck ends, and megan can barely concentrate. she keeps glancing at the entrance, expecting y/n to appear magically. her chest is tight, anticipation humming under her skin.

and then, tote bag slung over one shoulder, hair a little messy, cheeks flushed from rushing, she is there.

megan moves before she can think, arms wrapping around y/n and pressing her face into her shoulder.

“you’re really here,” she whispers.

“i almost wasn’t,” y/n says, hugging her tightly. “class almost got in the way.”

“but you’re here,” megan replies, voice low and full.

they linger for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, hands tangled.

the next morning stretches wide and slow.

they leave the hotel without a plan, coffee in hand, sneakers crunching on the sidewalk. the city smells of pretzels and exhaust and possibility. megan keeps glancing at y/n, memorizing the way her scarf falls, the way her hair catches sunlight.

central park is first. leaves crunch beneath their feet. megan spins y/n mid-step, laughter spilling out. y/n squeals, cheeks pink, heart catching in her chest.

“you’re ridiculous,” she says.

“you love it,” megan retorts.

they take too many pictures. y/n laughing, leaning on megan, squinting into the sun. one accidental photo catches megan kissing y/n’s cheek saved immediately, never posted. some things are theirs alone.

after central park, they wander toward chinatown. the streets hum with people, smells of dumplings and sizzling woks filling the air. megan drags y/n from stall to stall, sampling snacks, tasting teas, picking out tiny trinkets. she insists on buying a tiny lucky charm, slipping it into her hoodie pocket.

“for me or for you?” y/n teases.

“for us,” megan says firmly, tucking it safely in.

they stumble across a photo booth tucked into the corner of a small arcade. megan drags y/n inside, insisting on a full strip of silly photos. they scrunch faces, blow kisses, cross eyes, laugh until they cry. the last strip is soft: y/n resting her head on megan’s shoulder, both smiling quietly. megan slides it into her wallet immediately.

“you’re so extra,” y/n says, peering over her shoulder.

“i’m capturing memories,” megan replies smugly.

times square hits next. neon lights, flashing screens, crowds everywhere. y/n snaps a candid of megan, awe in her eyes. megan looks back, smiling softly, letting herself be seen.

they duck into a café when the lights and noise get too overwhelming. knees brush under the table as they share a pastry. y/n stirs her drink slowly.

“sometimes i feel like i’m failing you,” she whispers. “like i’m only ever showing up halfway.”

megan reaches across the table, thumb brushing y/n’s knuckles. “you show up as you are. that’s enough.”

y/n presses her hand to megan’s, eyes glossy. “it’s hard not being with you all the time.”

“i don’t need all of you at once,” megan says. “i just need you when you can.”

they wander more streets, discovering small alleyways, street performers, bookstores, a tiny vinyl shop. megan lifts y/n to reach a record on the top shelf. they laugh, linger, hands never separating.

as the sun dips behind skyscrapers, they sit on a park bench, y/n leaning against megan, the city spinning around them. no photos, no posts, just them.

on the walk back to the hotel, megan buys two small slices of cheesecake from a corner vendor. they sit in the lobby, sharing bites, smearing frosting on each other’s noses. y/n laughs, hiding her face, and megan captures it with her phone, only for her own camera roll.

back in the hotel, exhausted but glowing, y/n curls into megan’s side.

“i have class tomorrow,” she murmurs.

“i know,” megan whispers back, holding her close. she doesn’t push her to stay. she just stays, letting the moment exist without counting the hours.

one photo sits unsent on megan’s camera roll: the two of them on a bench, eyes closed, city moving around them.

for once, megan doesn’t measure love by distance or schedules.

it’s about meeting y/n where she is, holding her there, and staying as long as she can.