col0rlord

[col0rlord]

stop earning advanced degrees i need you to finish your fanfiction

[col0rlord]

Tightrope (D.S)

who: Daniel Seavey x reader summary: Daniel, grows distant on tour and forms a close bond with another performer. As she lets go of their fading relationship, Daniel returns too late—realizing the depth of what he’s lost. word count: 2.1k a/n: listen to the song as you read this. I'm in my sad girl era. jk, but this has a whole lot of emotion in it.

There’s a quiet ache in the pit of your stomach that never seems to leave. It started the day Daniel left for tour, a dull throb you told yourself would fade with time. But it hasn’t. It’s only gotten louder.

You remember standing at the terminal, your fingers curled around the edge of your sleeve as Daniel kissed you goodbye. His arms were warm and tight around you, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, "I’ll call you every night, okay? I promise."

You believed him. Of course you did.

At first, it was fine. The first week, he called every night like he said he would. Sometimes from dressing rooms, sometimes from the tour bus. You’d talk until your eyes blurred, listening to the sound of his voice like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

But then… things changed.

He started texting instead of calling.

“Busy tonight. Long soundcheck. Love you.”

The next night: nothing.

And then came the photos.

You didn’t follow her at first. Elise. The new girl on the tour. Backup vocals and occasional keys. You weren’t threatened—why would you be? Daniel had chosen you. He had told you over and over that this relationship, this love, was the most real thing he’d ever known.

But the photos started coming. Not just the ones he posted, but the ones tagged by fans. Elise, always beside him. Elise in candid shots, laughing at something he’d said. Elise with her hand on his shoulder. Elise with her head leaned on his arm backstage. Elise curled up beside him on the bus, his hoodie wrapped around her like it belonged there.

You don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend. You hate that stereotype.

But god, it hurts.

You sit on the floor of your apartment, scrolling through the newest set of tagged photos. Your hands tremble, the phone too bright in the darkness. You recognize the look in his eyes—softer, more open. It used to be reserved for you. You don’t know when it changed. You don’t know why it changed.

You play Tightrope on repeat, the melody twisting into your chest like it’s echoing the cracks in your heart.

"Some people long for a life that is simple and planned…"

You used to think your love was the exception. That what you had was too strong to be shaken by distance or temptation. You were the steady ground, the one who always waited, always believed.

But now, you feel like the one left behind.

And Daniel? He’s walking a different tightrope.

You text him—just a simple “Call me when you can?”—and set the phone down beside you. The screen stays dark.

Three days pass.

No call. No text. Just more photos. One of them is a video this time—Daniel and Elise singing a duet on stage. Their voices melt into each other, eyes locked, harmonies sweet and intimate. The crowd cheers when they finish, and Elise tugs him into a hug. He wraps his arms around her like it’s instinct.

You try not to cry. You really try.

But the tears come anyway, hot and silent, soaking into the collar of the shirt he left behind.

You remember a night when you and Daniel sat on the roof of your building. It was late spring, stars scattered across the sky like confetti. He’d looked over at you and said, "No matter where this career takes me, it’s you. Always you."

You held on to those words like a lifeline. Maybe too tightly.

Now you wonder if they ever really meant what you thought they did.

When he finally calls, it’s two in the morning.

The phone buzzing jerks you out of sleep, your heart leaping into your throat. You fumble for it, blinking back the haze.

“Hello?” Your voice is rough, too hopeful.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, casual. Like he didn’t disappear for nearly a week.

You sit up, pulling the blanket tighter. “Hey…”

There’s a pause, long enough that you can hear the hum of the bus engine in the background.

“Sorry I haven’t been in touch,” he says eventually. “Things have just been… crazy.”

You wait for more. An explanation. An apology that sounds like he means it.

Nothing comes.

“I saw the videos,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

He’s quiet again. Then: “Yeah?”

“You and Elise sound really good together.”

He exhales. “She’s talented. We’ve been writing some new stuff between sets.”

You stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “That’s great.”

He doesn’t pick up on the hollow note in your voice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t want to deal with it.

You close your eyes. “Daniel… are we okay?”

There it is. The question you’ve been choking on for weeks.

He hesitates. Just for a second. But it’s enough.

“Of course we are,” he says too quickly. “Why would you ask that?”

You press your lips together, fighting the sting of tears. “Because it doesn’t feel like we are.”

“I’m just busy,” he says. “That’s all. Tour is intense. It’s not about you.”

You want to believe him.

But you also want him to say he misses you. That he’s felt the distance too. That he’s seen the way the silence between you has grown, and he hates it as much as you do.

He says none of that.

Instead, he adds, “Look, I should get going. We’ve got a super early call tomorrow.”

And just like that, the call ends.

More days pass. You try to focus on work, on friends, on anything that isn’t the knot growing in your chest.

But it’s hard when your heart is still waiting on someone who’s already gone.

You start to wonder if love really is like walking a tightrope—precarious and beautiful, but only if both people are holding the line.

You’re holding on with everything you have.

You’re not sure he is anymore.

Weeks later, the tour returns to your city.

You don’t hear from Daniel. Not even a “Hey, I’m in town.”

But you see the stories. The posts. Elise tagging him at local spots you used to go to together. The place with the best tacos. The bridge you took midnight walks on.

Your stomach sinks.

You go to the show anyway. You tell yourself it’s closure. That you need to see for yourself.

The crowd is wild, pulsing with excitement. Daniel walks on stage, and your breath catches. He still looks like the boy you fell in love with. But there’s a gleam in his eyes that doesn’t belong to you anymore.

When Elise comes out, the crowd roars. She moves like she belongs beside him. And maybe she does.

They sing your song last.

The one he wrote for you.

Only now, Elise is singing it with him.

And when their voices blend, you know.

He’s let go of the rope.

You walk out before the final chorus.

You don’t hear from him for two more days. Then comes a text.

“Hey. Can we talk?”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. A million things you want to say claw at your throat.

But in the end, you only write:

“I think we already did.”

A month later, you stand on the same roof where you once made promises in the starlight. The city hums below you, steady and bright.

You think of the song again.

"Some people long for a life that is simple and planned…"

But you? You took the risk. You loved with your whole heart. You walked the tightrope, even when it swayed.

And maybe you fell.

But you didn’t break.

You breathe in the night air, crisp and clean. Somewhere out there, Daniel is singing to someone else.

But you’re still here.

Still standing.

And next time, you won’t walk the rope alone.

Weeks later:

The tour ended with confetti raining down, thunderous applause, and a dizzying afterglow of adrenaline. Daniel smiled through it all—photos, handshakes, late-night afterparties—but somewhere beneath the surface, there was an emptiness he couldn’t name.

He didn’t realize it then.

Not until the quiet.

Not until home.

When he stepped into the apartment, it didn’t feel like coming back—it felt like walking into someone else’s life.

At first, he thought he had the wrong key.

The lock turned too easily. The door opened too smoothly. And then the silence hit him. Too still. Too bare.

The living room was hollow.

The shelf where your books used to be—empty.

The blanket you always wrapped yourself in, the one he used to steal off your shoulders just to make you laugh—gone.

The kitchen, once cluttered with mismatched mugs and half-finished grocery lists on the fridge, looked sterile now. Like a house, not a home.

He stood in the doorway, suitcase by his side, heart in his throat.

“Hello?” he called, even though he knew.

No answer.

He moved through the apartment slowly, room by room. Each one confirmed it: you were gone.

No notes. No trace. Just space.

The bedroom hit the hardest.

Your drawer was empty.

The corner where your guitar leaned, untouched for months, now sat vacant. Even the photos—those tiny, captured moments of late-night dancing, your bare feet on his while he hummed along—they were gone from the frame on the dresser. Replaced by nothing.

He dropped onto the edge of the bed, his hands trembling slightly. He didn’t know what he expected. That you’d wait, maybe. That you’d still be here, arms crossed, angry but forgiving. Still his.

But you weren’t.

And suddenly, it all clicked into place.

The silence on the phone. The quiet disappointment in your voice. The way you said “I think we already did” when he finally reached out.

He had crossed a line and never looked back.

You had waited.

But even the strongest love can't dangle forever.

He opened the drawer in the nightstand. For a moment, he hoped—something, anything.

Inside was one single item.

A key. His key.

Your voice echoed in his head, not as you were when he left, but the version of you he’d kept locked away—eyes full of fire, soft laughter under the covers, your hands tugging him back down to bed on sleepy mornings.

He had been so focused on chasing the high of performance, the thrill of applause, the connection with someone who was always right there on stage with him. Elise was great. Kind, talented. But she wasn’t you.

She never would be.

She hadn’t known him before the spotlight. Before the fans. Before the pressure.

You had.

You loved the version of him that didn’t have to perform. And he had left that behind.

He walked to the kitchen, the silence almost mocking now. Opened the cabinet out of habit. Found it empty, save one chipped mug you must have forgotten.

Your favorite one.

He picked it up carefully, brushing a thumb over the worn edge. Something inside him cracked wide open.

Regret didn’t come like a wave.

It came like a landslide.

He sank to the floor right there in the kitchen, back against the cabinet, the mug pressed to his chest like it could bring you back.

But you were gone.

You had walked the tightrope with him, step by terrifying step, believing it would lead somewhere safe. You had steadied him, caught him, trusted him. Even when he was too distracted to look down and see that you were the one keeping him from falling.

And when he let go, you did the only thing you could—you stepped off the rope before it snapped beneath you.

Now, all that remained was the echo of your absence.

He sat there until morning, the sky growing pale beyond the windows, the city slowly waking up.

And still, you didn’t walk through the door.

He knew then: you wouldn’t.

This wasn’t a break.

It was the end.

He could fill stadiums. Sing to thousands. But the stage lights were nothing compared to the way you used to look at him in the morning. That kind of love wasn’t found twice.

He had lost you.

And now, he would have to learn how to live with that.

[col0rlord]

Barely Touched pt 11 (A Daniel Seavey fanfic)

The Grammys fallout was immediate.

Some said you and Daniel were “unprofessional.” Others called you heroes. Headlines went wild—“Daniel Seavey Calls Out Industry Hypocrisy Live on Stage”, “The Duet That Wasn’t Still Owns the Night.”

But the label?

Silent.

Until they weren’t.

Your manager called the next day. “The label wants a meeting.”

Daniel laughed through the speaker. “Bet they do.”

You met in a glass-walled boardroom overlooking the city. You in soft leather. Him in all black. No smiles.

One executive cleared her throat.

“So… we’d like to put the duet back on the release calendar. It’s gotten some traction.”

Daniel leaned forward. “Too late.”

The room shifted.

You added, “We’re not giving you our story now that the world wants it. That’s ours.”

They looked at each other, stunned. Confused. As if they still hadn’t figured out you weren’t bluffing.

Daniel stood. “We’re going indie. Our way. No filters. No control. No apologies.”

You followed, heels clicking as you walked out of the room that once tried to shrink you.

Two Weeks Later

The offers came in like wildfire.

Indie labels begging for a deal on your terms.

Streaming platforms offering full visual albums.

Even a legendary producer reaching out: “Whatever you two want to create… I’m in.”

But the biggest came in a quiet little email. Subject line:

“Let’s build something no one can take.”

It was from an artist-owned company. Fully independent. Artist-run. No boardrooms. Just music. Just truth.

You and Daniel didn’t even hesitate.

The Comeback

You announced it on a live video, sitting together on a couch, cozy and real.

“We’ve got something coming,” Daniel said, grinning. “It’s not just a song. Or an album. It’s… a rebirth.”

“First single drops soon,” you added. “Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Untouchable.”

Fans flooded the chat.

“THEY’RE DOING IT THEIR WAY.”“This is what love sounds like.”“The industry could never.”

That night, you and Daniel walked to a tiny studio tucked between two pizza joints in Brooklyn. No red carpet. No cameras. Just him, you, and a song that had been living in your bones.

It wasn’t Ours.

It was newer. Braver. The next chapter.

He looked over at you before the track started rolling.

“You ready to make history?” he whispered.

You smiled, heart steady.

“Only if you’re standing right beside me.”

He kissed you once, slow.

“Always.”

[col0rlord]

Barely touched pt 10 (A Daniel Seavey fanfic)

The Grammy invitation came with a sting.

Not from the Academy—from the label.

A last-minute twist. An olive branch that felt more like a test. The email read:

“We’d like to invite Daniel Seavey and [Y/N] to present the award for Best Pop Duo/Group Performance. The duet was nominated before its removal. This is an opportunity to turn the page publicly.”

Translation: Smile. Play nice. Pretend nothing ever happened.

You stared at the screen in silence. Daniel stood behind you, hands on your shoulders, jaw tight.

“They want us to read the winner of the category they stole from us,” you said.

He exhaled slowly. “And pretend we’re honored.”

“I should say no.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But we won’t.”

You turned to look up at him.

“Because we’re not finished,” he said, eyes fierce. “And they don’t get to erase us.”

Grammys Night

Everything glittered.

Camera flashes. Gowns. Tuxes. The air thick with nerves and perfume. You looked every inch the pop royalty they’d tried to deny—skin glowing, lips stained dark red, a custom black satin dress that made your body feel like poetry.

Daniel looked like trouble in the best way—sharp in a tailored suit, rings on his fingers, that rebellious glint in his eye. He never let go of your hand, not once.

Backstage was a blur of fake smiles and polite tension.

Then—your cue.

You stepped onto the stage, spotlights burning down, a massive crowd spread before you. Somewhere out there, the execs were watching. Somewhere backstage, the team that pulled your song sat in expensive silence.

You stood at the podium with Daniel beside you.

He glanced at you once, then into the crowd.

“I’ll take this one,” he said smoothly, voice echoing.

“Before we announce the winner,” he continued, “I want to say something. Something we weren’t really supposed to.”

You could feel the panic from the wings.

He took a breath.

“There was a song that almost made this category. One that was pulled. Silenced. Not because it wasn’t good enough—but because it was honest. Because it wasn’t convenient.”

You looked out over the crowd—celebrities shifting uncomfortably in their seats. But a few? Nodding.

Daniel went on. “This industry has a habit of punishing people for being real. For being in love. But if we’re going to call this the biggest night in music—shouldn’t it celebrate the truth?”

A stunned silence.

Then, one voice in the crowd: “Say it, Daniel!”

He smiled, then finally read the winner.

Applause. Cameras. Forced energy.

But the moment? Yours.

Backstage, the air was electric.

People passed you without making eye contact. A few whispered “That was brave.” One producer offered a clipped “You just burned a bridge.”

Daniel didn’t care.

He took your hand and pulled you through the chaos until you found yourselves alone in a hallway near the loading dock—bare, cold, real.

“I meant every word,” he said, his voice low.

You stepped closer. “I know.”

He touched your face, soft and full of fire. “We might’ve lost the duet. The award. The industry’s approval—”

“But we didn’t lose us,” you finished.

He leaned in, kissing you hard—like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

And in that moment, you knew:

They could take the mic. They could bury the song. But they could never rewrite the story.

[col0rlord]

Barely Touched pt 9 (A Daniel Seavey fanfic)

The city never really slept, but somehow, your apartment had become an island of stillness.

It was two days after Ours dropped, and everything outside your window was chaos—headlines, think-pieces, fan theories, trending hashtags like #TheyDidThat and #OursIsOurs. But inside?

Peace.

You woke up to Daniel’s arm lazily draped across your waist, his face buried in your shoulder, his breathing warm and steady against your skin.

You didn’t move. Not yet.

You just watched him—his lashes fluttering in half-sleep, that little crease in his forehead he only had when he dreamed hard, the softness that replaced all the usual charm and fire when he was like this.

Vulnerable.

Yours.

Eventually, he stirred, nose brushing your collarbone.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice gravel and honey.

“Mmm,” you replied, too wrapped up in the moment to bother with words.

He blinked up at you, smile forming slowly. “Still famous?”

You snorted. “Still chaos.”

He stretched, groaning. “Still worth it.”

You rolled over to face him, brushing his messy curls back. “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve just… existed.”

“No running?” he asked.

“No hiding. No cameras. No label calls. Just this.”

He leaned in, kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then paused—hovering just over your lips.

“I could get used to this kind of silence.”

You kissed him back slow, deep, like you had nowhere else to be—and for once, that was actually true.

The day passed in slow moments:

Coffee in the kitchen, mugs shared between stolen kisses.

A shower that turned into twenty minutes of water, laughter, and Daniel trying to sing into a shampoo bottle.

Couch naps. Lazy songwriting. Your head on his lap while he strummed mindlessly, fingers tangling in your hair.

At one point, he looked down at you and said quietly, “I used to think peace was boring. That I needed chaos to feel alive.”

You tilted your face up to him.

“But now?” he whispered. “This… you… you make quiet feel electric.”

You reached up and tugged him down into a kiss that said me too.

Later that night, curled up under a blanket with your feet tangled and a record spinning low in the background, your phone buzzed once.

Just one text.

From your manager.

“Call me when you’re ready. We need to talk about the Grammys.”

Daniel read it over your shoulder and arched a brow. “Storm incoming?”

You looked at him, heart steady.

“Let it come.”

[col0rlord]

Lotus Inn (D.S)

who: Daniel Seavey x reader summary: Coming to this bar was a bad idea, or a good one. You seem to find that everything is going back in time. The universe seems to be in favor with someone, but also fixing what could go wrong with you meeting Daniel. word count: 1.3k a/n: might want to watch the music video if you haven't. I low key was having this idea as I was showing my friend the video.

1:38 ————|——— -3:15

“Y/N, HURRY UP!” Sophie yelled, her voice slicing through the room as I fumbled with my left earring, trying to make sure it was in straight. I glanced at myself in the mirror, adjusting my black dress, pulling it down just a bit to smooth out any creases.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming!” I called back, tossing my hands up in mock surrender before heading toward the door.

We had rented a room at this funky spot called the Lotus Inn. It had the whole 70’s club aesthetic going on — velvet, neon lights, and a vibe that felt like it belonged in an old movie.

The bar downstairs was buzzing with life. The music was loud, the air thick with heat and the scent of perfume. People were scattered in every corner, talking, laughing, and swaying to the rhythm of the night.

I scanned the room and noticed two guys on stage, pointing at a girl in a silver dress. She was dancing, and I’ll admit, her dress was stunning — she was stunning. I turned my gaze around the room, and then my eyes locked on a guy near the jukebox. He was wearing a brown jacket over an orange patterned shirt, and his hair was already a mess. He turned around, unsteady on his feet, but when his eyes met mine, he stood up straighter, trying to act sober. The song he picked started playing, the lyrics about moving on the dance floor just barely cutting through the noise.

A few moments passed, and the guy on stage tripped, stumbling down the stairs. I blinked and then opened my eyes again.

“Y/N, HURRY UP!” Sophie’s voice snapped me out of it. I blinked, finding myself staring into the same mirror again, earring in hand, the left one missing.

“What the hell?” I whispered, confused, as I quickly placed the earring back in and rushed out the door to catch up with Sophie, who was already halfway down the hall.

When we walked into the club again, the scene was the same. The two guys were still on stage, the girl in silver was still dancing, and the guy at the jukebox — he was still there too, looking over at me. Sophie danced her way over to the bar with some people, leaving me to watch as the night seemed to unfold again.

The guy on the stage turned, walking down toward the girl in silver, but just as he was about to approach her, another guy wrapped his arm around her. 

The moment froze, rewinding.

The song restarted.

This time, the guy from the stage made it to the girl without interruption. I glanced back over at the jukebox, and there he was, eyes fixed on me now, stumbling but trying to look smooth.

“Hey,” he said, finally making his way over. “I saw you and thought you might want to dance. Want to dance with me?”

I shrugged. “Sure, Y/N,” I said, instinctively reaching out for his hand.

“Daniel,” he grinned, taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor.

We danced for a while, laughing and spinning with the music. After a bit, we made our way to the bar, where I spotted that same girl and the guy from earlier, now chatting at the counter.

“What do you want to drink?” Daniel asked, leaning on the bar with a casual air.

“Cranberry vodka,” I replied, scanning the crowd again. The guy and the girl at the bar were still there, laughing, the world spinning just a little.

Daniel glanced at the bartender and held up two fingers. “Two Gin and Tonics,” the other guy ordered, his voice slurring slightly. The girl across from us turned to the bartender, her voice sharp and clear: “I only drink Tequila.”

The drinks came, and we cheered, clinking glasses before taking a sip. The warmth spread through me, and I saw Daniel slide a $30 bill to the bartender.

Rewind.

The song played again, and I found myself back at the bar. The same sequence unfolded: The other guy ordered Tequila this time, the girl in silver taking hers. The bartender handed us our drinks, and I caught the guy cheering for the new year. The girl looked uncomfortable from that.

Rewind. 

“To friday?” He tried again in the same scenario. “I only cheer for world peace,” she said, her voice light but intense. “Wait, What's happ-” I tried to talk to Daniel but everything shifted again.

Rewind.

Back at the bar, same song, same situation. The drinks were in our hands, and this time, when we cheered, I felt it — the warmth creeping through me, the buzz taking over again. We danced again, careful not to spill our drinks, laughing with each other, each round of shots only pushing us further into the haze.

Soon enough, we joined Daniel's friend, Jack, Corbyn and Zach. the four of us were taking shots in quick succession, the night blurring around us. Corbyn, one of their other friends, stumbled into the guy from earlier, spilling his drink all over him. The girl stood there, awkwardly trying to hide her smile. Daniel and I burst out laughing, and I let my head fall onto his shoulder.

Rewind.

Back to the bar.

The scene unfolded differently now. Corbyn stumbled into the guy, but this time he caught him, making sure he didn’t fall. The guy was standing straight now, smiling, his eyes flickering to the girl before he moved back toward us.

The room spun, the lights flashing in wild colors, our bodies swaying and moving to the beat. It wasn’t just the alcohol anymore; something else was in the air — something strange and intoxicating. I danced with Daniel, lost in the rhythm, barely able to keep my eyes open as Jack, across the room, wiggled his fingers in front of his face. I laughed, copying him, the world feeling like it was bending around me.

We found a spot to sit, my head resting on Daniel’s shoulder. The club was still alive, but everything felt distant. Daniel’s friends slumped over tables, nearly out of it. The guy from earlier and his girl were still laughing together at the bar.

I watched Daniel get up and head to the jukebox, flipping through the options with a thoughtful expression. I followed, resting my hand on his shoulder as I peered at the glass case. He tapped it lightly, and the ripples inside grew larger as the music swirled around us, hypnotic.

The green light inside the jukebox grew brighter the longer I stared, and I turned around, noticing his friends sprawled out on tables, their bodies tangled. I looked back at him, his gaze fixed on the spinning disc, his movements slow, deliberate.

Rewind.

“Y/N, HURRY UP!” Sophie yelled again, pulling me from the trance. I blinked, feeling dizzy. I turned around, looking at her through the mirror as she struggled with her earring.

“What?” she asked, her brow furrowed as though I was crazy.

I ran down the hall, still trying to get the earring in, my steps quick and heavy as I rushed to catch up with her. I paused in the doorway to the club, taking it all in again. The same feeling. The same people. Daniel, at the jukebox. I smiled, walking up to him.

He looked at me, squinting as though focusing through the haze. I saw him pick a song.

I saw you movin’ on the dance floor, I caught you lookin’ over at me and my friends, Got my attention, now I want more, I think we both know how this night’s gonna end…

“Great choice,” I said with a grin, leaning in as our eyes locked. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus through the alcohol.

“Want to dance with me?” he asked, his voice low, playful.

[col0rlord]

Barely Touched pt 8 (A Daniel Seavey Fanfic)

You weren’t supposed to be in that studio.

Not on paper. Not in emails. Not in any of the calendar invites your label could track. But you were there anyway—tucked away in a hidden downtown space Daniel had used before he ever made it big. No plaque on the door. Just a dusty old neon sign and a cracked couch in the corner.

It was just you, him, a borrowed mic, and something bigger than both of you.

Daniel sat behind the glass, headphones on, eyes locked on you through the booth window.

“You ready for this?” he asked, voice soft in your ear through the comms.

You nodded, heart thudding. “Are you?”

He smiled. “I wrote it with your laugh in my head.”

You closed your eyes.

He hit record.

The song was different from anything either of you had ever done.

No auto-tune. No tricks. Just a stripped-down melody, a heartbeat drum, and Daniel’s voice—raw and full of everything he hadn’t been able to say on stage.

The lyrics weren’t subtle.

“They told me to let go / Said silence was safer / But how could I lose you / And sleep like a faker…”

Your harmony slipped in like a secret between the lines. Smooth. Personal. Yours.

“They took our song / But they can’t take this / You’re the chorus I can’t resist…”

By the time it ended, you were both quiet.

The silence afterward was its own kind of magic. He stepped out of the booth, headphones dangling around his neck, and looked at you like you were the only person left in the world.

“What do we call it?” you asked, voice still a little breathless.

He smiled.

“Ours.”

Drop Day:

It wasn’t announced. No teaser. No label backing.

At midnight, Daniel posted a single tweet:

They can take the promo.They can take the playlist spots.But they don’t get to take our story.

“Ours” — out now.

No label. Just love.

It exploded in less than ten minutes.

Fans crying. Fans reposting. Fans flooding the internet with edits, lyrics, reaction videos. And the ones who had doubted?

Even they couldn’t deny it.

This wasn’t a stunt. This was a real fucking love song*.

Later that night, you and Daniel sat on the floor of his apartment, laptops open, watching the chaos unfold.

“Top five on iTunes,” he muttered, scrolling. “Without a label.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Without permission.”

He looked down at you, lips brushing your forehead. “Without regret.”

You smiled. “Play it again?”

He grabbed his guitar.

And in the quiet, with the glow of the screen lighting his face, he sang the chorus like it was only ever meant for you.

[col0rlord]

Barely touched pt 7 (A Daniel Seavey fanfic)

The press conference was scheduled within 48 hours.

A sleek downtown venue. Rows of cameras. Flashes. Buzz. Your team wanted you quiet. Polished. Smiling through it.

Daniel had other plans.

You were backstage, pacing, your heart knocking like a drumline. Daniel was seated in a makeup chair, still in his hoodie, phone in hand, ignoring the stylist trying to fix his hair.

“Are we sure about this?” you asked him for the fourth time.

He looked up, blue eyes steady. “Yes.”

“They want us to downplay it. Say it was a moment. A misunderstanding.”

“They want us to lie,” he said. “Again. And I’m done.”

You swallowed hard. “If you say what you’re planning to say, they’ll pull the duet. Maybe more.”

He stood up, walked over to you, and cupped your face gently. “Let them. I’d rather lose a song than lose this. Than lose you.”

Before you could answer, someone called out from the hallway.

“Daniel? [Y/N]? You’re on.”

The conference was a blur. Shouts. Questions. Reporters asking everything from “When did the relationship start?” to “Is this a PR stunt?”

You both sat side by side at a table, microphones in front of you, lights almost blinding.

Daniel leaned in.

“I’d like to say something.”

The room fell silent.

He cleared his throat, hand resting just beside yours—close, but not touching.

“I know everyone’s been speculating about what’s going on between us. So let me be really clear.”

He looked directly into the cameras. Into the world.

“This wasn’t planned. It’s not for PR. I didn’t fall for [Y/N] because of a duet, or a tour, or any of the industry nonsense people want to attach to it. I fell because she’s real. Because she challenges me. Because when I’m with her, I actually feel something again.”

Murmurs rippled through the room.

Daniel’s jaw flexed. “If the cost of telling the truth is losing a song, or a few fans, or a deal, so be it. But I’m not going to pretend this isn’t real just to make execs comfortable.”

He looked at you then.

“I’m not hiding her. Not again.”

You blinked fast, trying not to fall apart on camera.

It was quiet for half a second—then a tidal wave of flashes, questions, chaos.

An hour later, the email came in.

Subject line: “DUET REMOVED FROM RELEASE SCHEDULE.”

You stared at the screen. Cold.

“Effective immediately. Due to breach of media protocols and contract tone violations.”

Daniel’s voice behind you was rough. “They really did it.”

You nodded slowly. “It’s gone.”

He crossed the room in three steps, took your face in his hands again.

“We’ll write something better.”

Tears stung your eyes. “But this one was ours.”

His voice broke a little. “So are the next hundred.”

Later that night, a video of the conference hit Twitter.

It was just Daniel’s part. His speech. The look he gave you when he said he wasn’t hiding you.

It went viral.

And somewhere in the comments, buried under praise and hate and speculation, someone wrote:

“They took the song. But they couldn’t take the story.”

[col0rlord]

Barely Touched pt 6 (A Daniel Seavey fanfic)

The storm passed by morning.

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, soft and golden. Daniel was still asleep beside you, one arm tossed over your waist, breathing slow and steady. For a moment, you let yourself believe the world didn’t exist outside this beach house.

But then your phone lit up.

26 missed calls.15 texts from your manager.A message from Daniel’s publicist: “Call me NOW.”

You slid out of bed carefully, heart already sinking.

By the time you stepped outside and answered your manager’s call, you already knew—you’d been found.

“There are photos,” she snapped the second you picked up. “Paparazzi must’ve followed you from New York. They got you two on the beach. Kissing. Laughing. Holding hands.”

You closed your eyes. “Are they online?”

“Everywhere. Twitter’s melting down. Your name’s trending next to his. His fans are split—some are thrilled. Some are… not.”

Of course.

You hung up just as Daniel stepped outside, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

You handed him your phone, and watched his jaw tighten as he scrolled.

“Well,” he said, voice flat. “So much for our secret escape.”

The air shifted—like the magic of the last few days had been yanked out from under you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He looked up. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But we weren’t ready. Not for this. And now—”

Daniel stepped forward. “Hey. Look at me.”

You did.

“I meant what I said last night. I’m not letting this go, no matter what headlines say. No matter what the label wants.”

Your lip trembled. “What if they pull the duet? What if they cancel the next show?”

“Then we keep singing. We find another way. You and me.”

You nodded, trying to believe it. But before either of you could speak again, your phones started ringing again—simultaneously.

Daniel picked his up, listened for a second, then groaned.

“That was Jonah. The label wants a meeting. Today.”

You looked at him. “What do we do?”

He glanced out toward the water, jaw set, determination written all over his face.

“We show up. Together.”

And so, the hiding ended.

Hand in hand, you walked back into the spotlight.

You didn’t know what was waiting for you.

But for the first time, you weren’t afraid of being seen.

[col0rlord]

Barely touched pt 5 (a Daniel Seavey fanfic)

The rain started as a whisper.

You were curled up on the beach house couch, Daniel sitting on the floor in front of you, lazily plucking at his guitar while reruns played in the background. It had been three perfect days—sun, sea, and no obligations. But tonight, the sky was darker than usual, and thunder started to rumble low in the distance.

“Think it’s gonna storm?” you asked, tugging a blanket tighter around your legs.

Daniel glanced at the sliding glass door. “Probably just passing through.”

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

By midnight, the wind howled like something out of a horror movie. Rain slammed against the windows. The power flickered once—twice—then cut completely.

You stared at the black TV screen. “Cool. Love that.”

Daniel stood up, stretching. “Alright. I’ll be the man and find candles. Or at least a flashlight. You stay put and don’t get eaten by beach ghosts.”

You snorted. “If I die, I’m haunting you first.”

“Fair.”

He returned moments later with a candle and a cocky little grin. “Romantic, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You plan this storm?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped anyway.

The two of you sat cross-legged on the floor, the tiny flame flickering between you. Outside, lightning cracked the sky. Inside, it was quiet. Heavy.

Daniel was unusually still, guitar abandoned, fingers twisting the hem of his hoodie. You’d never seen him nervous.

“What?” you asked, voice soft.

He looked up. “Nothing.”

You tilted your head. “Liar.”

He sighed. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You know this doesn’t last forever, right?”

You blinked. “The storm?”

“No. This. Us. Hiding out. Playing house. Eventually, we go back. The label. The press. The fake smiles. The chaos.”

Your chest tightened. “I know.”

“I don’t want it to end,” he said quietly.

Your throat went dry.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’ve been in this industry since I was fifteen. I’ve been told who to be, what to wear, who to date—and for the first time, I feel like me. And it’s because of you.”

You stared at him.

He looked down, like the words were too much.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “Because I think this is real, and I don’t want to lose it when we walk back into the world.”

You reached out, fingers brushing his. Slowly, deliberately, you pulled his hand into yours.

“Then we don’t lose it,” you whispered. “We fight for it.”

His eyes met yours—so open, so vulnerable it almost hurt.

And just like that, he kissed you again. But this one wasn’t about heat or tension.

This was soft. Full of everything neither of you had dared to say.

When you finally pulled apart, rain still battering the windows, Daniel leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re it for me, you know that?” he murmured.

And this time, it wasn’t scary. It wasn’t overwhelming.

It just felt like truth.

[col0rlord]

Gender and sex are NOT the same thing. Gender is what you identify as, while sex is what I’m having with Rafe Cameron tonight. Stay informed

[col0rlord]

Barely touched pt 4 (a Daniel Seavey fanfic)

The morning after the New York kiss, your manager called with a tone that could kill a houseplant.

“The label wants damage control. The fans are spiraling. You and Daniel need to lay low. Or at least pretend to.”

You sighed into the phone, sprawled on the hotel bed with your laptop half-packed and Daniel’s hoodie still around your shoulders.

“Define ‘lay low.’”

“Get off social media. Avoid being seen together. Don’t kiss in public. Simple.”

You hung up with a sarcastic, “Sure. Totally easy.”

Daniel walked in just as you tossed your phone onto the bed. Hair messy. Barefoot. Eating a granola bar like nothing was on fire.

“What’s the verdict?”

“They basically want us to go underground.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So… no more rooftop make-outs?”

“Not unless you want to trend again.”

Daniel grinned, already pulling out his phone. “Fine. Let’s go somewhere they can’t find us.”

You blinked. “What, like disappear?”

“Yeah. Just for a few days. Somewhere warm. Quiet. Off-grid.”

“You serious?”

“Dead serious. Come on.” He turned his phone toward you. “Look at this place.”

A tiny beach house. Private. Hidden in a sleepy California town with a name you couldn’t pronounce. No paps. No noise. Just ocean and sun.

You hesitated for half a second before saying, “Book it.”

Two days later

The beach air smelled like salt and freedom.

You and Daniel had your feet in the sand before you even unpacked. No fans. No cameras. Just you two, toes buried in the warm shore, eyes squinting at the endless blue.

Daniel looked over at you, wind in his hair. “You know… I’ve always wanted to disappear with someone.”

You rolled your eyes. “You make it sound like we’re in a spy movie.”

He smirked. “We are. Except instead of dodging bullets, we’re dodging TikToks.”

You laughed, tossing a handful of sand at him.

The days melted together. Mornings were spent in oversized T-shirts and coffee-fueled silence on the porch. Afternoons were all swimming and wandering through town, pretending you were normal people. Nights… those were the best.

Bonfires on the beach. His guitar in his lap, your legs tangled across his as he strummed something soft.

“You know,” he said one night, voice quiet over the crackling fire, “I don’t think I’ve ever really written a love song for someone. Not until now.”

You looked up, heart skipping. “You writing one for me, Seavey?”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Already started.”

The kiss came easy—saltwater on lips, heat in your chest, the kind of kiss that makes time blur.

No cameras.

No chaos.

Just him. Just you.

Exactly where you were supposed to be.

[col0rlord]

Barely touched pt 3 (A Daniel Seavey Fanfic)

The internet broke in real time.

The kiss was everywhere—on fans’ phones, in blurry zoomed-in videos, in headlines screaming: “Daniel Seavey and [Y/N]: More Than Music?”

By the time you got back to the hotel, your phone was blowing up. Texts from your manager. Your publicist. Your mom.

You were standing in the hallway outside your hotel room when Daniel showed up, hoodie pulled low, trying to be subtle and failing miserably.

He leaned against the door next to yours, hands shoved in his pockets, that damn smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“So,” he said casually, “we’re trending.”

You shot him a look. “You kissed me on stage, Daniel.”

He held up his hands. “Guilty. But can you blame me?”

Your silence said enough.

He stepped closer. “Do you regret it?”

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. You were still feeling it—the softness of his lips, the way he held you like he didn’t care who was watching. You didn’t want to regret it.

“I don’t know what this is,” you finally whispered. “Us.”

He nodded slowly. “Neither do I. But I know I don’t want it to stop.”

Your pulse jumped.

“Then what are we supposed to do?” you asked.

He gave you a look—one full of mischief and something more dangerous: honesty.

“We lie.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“Just for now. Let the chaos die down. Keep it between us until we know what this really is.”

You hesitated… then gave in. “Fine. But no more stage kisses.”

He grinned. “What about hallway kisses?”

You didn’t have time to answer before he leaned in and pressed a soft, secret kiss to your lips. Quick. Stolen. Dangerous.

“Night,” he murmured, backing away, eyes twinkling.

You were left standing there, heart pounding, mouth parted.

And so the secret started.

The next week was chaos.

You and Daniel were everywhere. Interviewers asking about “chemistry.” Fans dissecting every eye glance, every lyric, every shared mic moment. And through it all, you and Daniel pretended like it was nothing.

“Just great friends.” “Really proud of the work we did together.” “Totally professional.”

But behind the scenes? It was anything but professional.

Sneaking into each other’s dressing rooms. Fingers brushing under dinner tables. His hand on your thigh during late-night bus rides, just out of sight.

And the worst part?

You were falling.

Hard.

[col0rlord]

Barely touched pt 2 (a Daniel Seavey fanfic)

The kiss haunted you.

Not in the romantic, fairy tale kind of way. No. In the “I-can-still-feel-his-mouth-on-mine-and-it’s-making-me-lose-my-mind” kind of way.

Ever since that moment backstage, things with Daniel had been… confusing. He didn’t bring it up. Neither did you. But something shifted. His glances lingered longer. His teasing held more weight. And the space between you in green rooms and soundchecks got smaller. Closer.

You weren’t sure if it meant anything to him.

Until the night of the LA show.

The crowd was louder than usual. The stage lights burned hot, but not nearly as much as Daniel’s presence beside you. The two of you were performing your collab live for the first time—the duet everyone was already obsessed with.

Your verses were laced with that familiar tension. The push and pull. The almosts. The not-quites. And the fans felt it too—you could hear it in their screams.

Then came the final chorus. The part where you two faced each other.

Normally, you'd sing it with your usual defiance—like a challenge. But tonight, Daniel looked at you differently. Like he was remembering that kiss. Like he was about to do something stupid.

Your breath caught.

He stepped closer.

Closer.

Your lips kept moving to the melody, but your heart was in your throat.

And then—

He kissed you.

Right there.

In front of 10,000 screaming fans.

No hesitation. No teasing smirk. Just raw, real, undeniable heat. One hand on your cheek, the other wrapped around your waist, anchoring you like he’d been wanting to do it forever.

The crowd exploded. Phones were out. People were yelling, crying, screaming. But all you could feel was him.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let go. Just looked at you, eyes sparkling under the stage lights.

“You gonna yell at me for that?” he murmured, breathless.

You blinked, your head spinning. “Probably.”

He grinned. “Worth it.”

And when the music faded and you two walked offstage together—fingers laced, still buzzing from the adrenaline—it was clear to everyone.

This wasn’t enemies anymore.This was something else entirely.

[col0rlord]

[col0rlord]

Barely touched (a Daniel Seavey fanfic)

Table of contents

You know what.

I am becoming obsessed with you.

Lets runaway from it all.

you make me feel real

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

Part 9:

Part 10:

Part 11:

Part 12:

Part 13:

Part 14:

Part 15:

Part 16:

Part 17:

Part 18:

Part 19:

Part 20:

Part 21:

Part 22:

Part 23:

[col0rlord]

Barely touched (a Daniel Seavey fanfic)

authors note: I'm going to do a little note here for everyone to know a little back story. When I was in middle school/high school. When they Had all the problems with the management and all that then broke up I kinda stopped listening. But guess who popped into my fyp on tiktok. Daniel mfking Seavey. Started listening to his music he was releasing and fell IN LOVE again. I never have felt this why since I was in middle school and I love this feeling. also had not single idea on what to write so here we are. anyways saw hi in concert in Chicago and was screaming the whole time. (cried a little too ngl). anyways I hope you all enjoy this. Ahh I'm scared. Ok, here we go

You’d always thought Daniel Seavey was insufferable.

He was the kind of guy who’d wink at you mid-argument, who always knew exactly how to push your buttons—and loved doing it. The kind of guy who'd casually flirt just to throw you off, then act like you were the one blushing.

You were thrown together on tour. Same label. Same management’s bright idea to do a collab album. One tour bus. One shared green room. Constant banter. Constant tension.

It was hell.

It was electric.

You’re pacing the empty backstage hallway after a particularly messy rehearsal. Daniel had once again rewritten his vocal part last minute. Your patience? Gone.

He appears around the corner, hair tousled, water bottle in hand like nothing happened.

“You trying to memorize the floor tiles?” he asks, voice teasing.

You stop walking, crossing your arms. “I’m trying not to commit a crime, actually.”

Daniel smirks, leaning against the wall. “Let me guess. You’re mad because I made it better?”

“You made it worse, Seavey. We’re not even singing the same version of the song anymore.”

He takes a step closer. “You always this uptight, or just around me?”

You glare. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet… here you are. Sharing a tour bus with me. Every night.”

“Trust me, it’s not by choice.”

“Sure it’s not.” His voice drops slightly, and he’s too close now. Too smug. “You ever notice how your voice gets all shaky when you’re mad at me?”

You blink. “It does not.”

He laughs. “It just did.”

You move to walk away, but he steps in front of you. His hand brushes your arm—barely a touch, but it burns.

“I don’t know why you hate me so much,” he says softly. “Is it because I get under your skin, or because you don’t want me to?”

You’re silent.

He tilts his head. “Come on, say it. You hate me, right?”

You look up at him, jaw tight. “I don’t hate you.”

There’s a beat. A shift.

Daniel’s eyes flicker from your lips back to your eyes. “No?”

“I just…” You hesitate, heat rising in your chest. “You drive me insane.”

He grins, stepping closer. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Your back hits the wall, and suddenly the space between you doesn’t exist. His breath is warm on your cheek, his hand brushing against your side like he’s not sure if he should pull away—or pull you in.

You don’t let him choose.

You kiss him.

It’s sharp at first, like every bite of sarcasm you’ve ever thrown at each other. But it softens—deepens—like you’ve both been holding your breath for way too long.

When you finally break apart, he’s still close.

“Well,” he whispers, eyes flickering to your lips again. “Took us long enough.”

You breathe out a laugh, still slightly breathless. “Shut up.”

He grins, completely unbothered. “Make me.”

And this time, you do.