the cost of you | daniela x femreader

perfect harmony.

you never really believed in the word soulmate. it always felt like a cheesy thing people said when they were in love, as if love itself wasn't enough of an explanation for why they wanted to spend their whole life with someone. you didn't think you needed fate or destiny to justify falling for a person.

and then came daniela.

it wasn't dramatic the way it happened. no fireworks, no background music swelling at the perfect moment. she didn't even look at you the first time you met, too busy tying her hair up as manon introduced you to the group. but there was something about her — the coolness she carried, the effortless way she made silence feel louder than words — that pulled at you.

months later, here you are. her girlfriend. her person.

and most days, it feels like that's enough.

⸻

the day begins like most of them do: with daniela draped across you, limbs heavy, hair spilling against your neck. she's not a gentle sleeper. her body twists through the night until she eventually ends up on top of you like you're a human pillow, pinning your arm under her. but you never complain. not when her slow breaths tickle your skin, not when her hand curls into the fabric of your shirt as though she's afraid of losing you in her dreams.

the sunlight creeps through the blinds, slicing across her face, highlighting the soft edges of someone who rarely lets the world see her softness. you brush a strand of hair out of her eyes, careful not to wake her yet. mornings with daniela are quiet things — a fragile balance between your warmth and her calm.

"stop staring at me," she mumbles suddenly, her voice groggy, eyes still shut.

you smile. "you weren't even awake."

her lips twitch, the closest thing she gives to a morning smile. "i don't have to be. i can feel it." she finally cracks one eye open, brown gaze locking onto yours. "creep."

"romantic," you correct.

she hums, shutting her eyes again, but her hand tightens against your shirt in contradiction.

⸻

you and daniela aren't perfect, but your mornings almost trick you into believing you are. breakfast is a mix of your chatter and her quiet presence, her sipping coffee while you ramble about something you saw online. she doesn't always respond with more than a nod or a smirk, but you can tell she's listening.

when she does speak, it's often blunt, sharp in a way that makes you laugh.

"you'd be terrible in a zombie apocalypse," she tells you as you drop a piece of toast on the floor.

"what? no, i'd be amazing. i'd survive on pure luck."

she lifts a brow. "exactly my point."

you throw a napkin at her. she dodges without looking up from her phone, a small smirk tugging at her lips as though she enjoys being the one who always wins these little games.

it's domestic. it's comfortable. and sometimes you catch yourself thinking you could live like this forever.

⸻

later, when she's out at rehearsals, you find yourself scrolling through the hundreds of photos on your phone — most of them candid shots of her. daniela hates pictures, always ducking away or scowling when she notices the camera, but you've managed to catch her off guard enough times to build a gallery.

one of your favorites is of her in the passenger seat of your car, window cracked open, sunlight hitting her hair while she stares out at nothing. she doesn't even look like she knows you're there. but to you, it's perfect.

you don't tell her you scroll through them when she's gone. that's your secret, tucked away like a comfort blanket.

⸻

the thing about daniela is that she doesn't give her softness easily. she hides it behind sarcasm and stubbornness, behind the sharp edge of someone who has been looked at her whole life and doesn't want to be seen unless she chooses. but you've seen it.

you've seen it when she lets you hold her hand under the table during dinner with the others, her thumb tracing small circles against your palm like it's second nature. you've seen it in the way she tucks a blanket around you when you fall asleep on the couch, pretending she didn't. you've seen it in the way she says your name when she's tired — soft, almost vulnerable, like she's giving you something she doesn't trust anyone else to hold.

and it makes you think maybe soulmates aren't about fate at all. maybe they're just about finding the person who makes you believe in the word.

⸻

that night, daniela drags you out for a late drive. she doesn't explain where you're going, just tells you to get in the car with that stubborn tilt to her chin that says you'd be wasting your breath if you argued.

the streets are quiet, neon signs glowing against the dark. the radio hums low in the background, a song you half recognize, and daniela taps her fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat.

"you're quiet," you say eventually.

she glances at you, then back at the road. "i'm always quiet."

"quieter than usual."

her jaw tenses, then relaxes. "thinking."

"about what?"

"stuff."

you roll your eyes but don't push. you've learned that daniela will tell you what she's thinking when she's ready, and not a second sooner. still, you reach out and place your hand over hers, the one resting against the gearshift. her fingers curl around yours automatically, even though her gaze stays fixed on the road.

and for a moment, the silence between you feels less like distance and more like safety.

⸻

when you get home, you collapse together on the couch, her arm heavy across your waist as she scrolls through her phone and you mumble about your day. eventually her phone drops onto her stomach, her breathing evens out, and she drifts off.

you watch her sleep, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose, the faint furrow in her brow that never quite goes away even in rest.

you don't know it yet — but this, right here, will become the memory you'll return to when everything shatters. the calm before the storm. the illusion of forever.

because right now, with daniela asleep against you and her hand still tangled with yours, it feels impossible to believe she could ever break your heart.

a/n: AHHH IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS YOU GUYS