#TY FOR THE THREAD KEY

[minxmut-cafe]

𝐻𝑂𝑀𝐸 𝑆𝑊𝐸𝐸𝑇 𝐻𝑂𝑀𝐸

Pairing : Namjoon x Reader

Word count : 777

Warning : No warning, comfort, soo much comfort, joonie is finally home

Authors Note : WE ARE BACK BITCHES OMG OMGOMGOMGOMG I CANNOT BELIEVE AFTER 18 MONTHS WE FINALLY GOT TO SEE THEM AGAINUSDHHDBDDHD THEY ALL LOOK SO PRECIOUS AND MY SHAYLA NAMJOON, I LOVE HIM SM. I wish I could heal him the way he's healed hundreds of others, and may he never go through what he went through in the military.

Synopsis : "Namjoon's finally discharged and all he wants is to go home to his girl"

The cameras are loud.

They always are, but today they feel like a storm—flashing, clicking, cheering. Namjoon smiles gently, the way he’s trained to, bowing along with Taehyung. The brass glint of the saxophone in his hand catches the sunlight, and someone’s yelling his name behind the barrier. But it’s all a haze.

He can’t hear a thing. Not really. Because all his brain is screaming is one thing, over and over:

Home. Her. Home. Her.

His uniform itches. The air smells too clean. He’s standing on the outside now, after months of dirt and orders and quiet sobs into his pillow when the dorm lights were out. After so many days when the only thing that kept him breathing was your voice—sleepy, loving, soft on the phone, like silk threads tying him back to something real.

The ride back is a blur. He clutches the saxophone the whole way.

You know he said to wait.

So you do.

You’re practically vibrating with excitement, barefoot in his favorite oversized shirt—the one, the ridiculously baggy one with the little bleach stain near the hem that you never dared wash because it still smelled like him. You cooked all his comfort food, every last bit of it, filling the apartment with the scent of home. His drink’s on the counter, ice already sweating down the glass. Your heart is racing.

Every few seconds, you check the clock. You pace. You nearly combust.

And then—

The key turns.

“Joonie—”

You don’t even let him get the door fully shut. You launch yourself at him.

The saxophone clatters somewhere on the floor, forgotten. His mouth opens in surprise and then—

“Baby?”

You’re already clinging to him, arms around his neck, legs half-wrapped around his waist, kissing any part of his face you can reach. His hair, his jaw, his cheeks, his lips—tears spilling down your face as your laughter breaks free.

“You’re really here,” you whisper, cupping his face like he’s made of something holy. “You’re really here, baby—oh my god—”

He breathes in.

You. The scent of your skin, your hair, the warmth of your body against him—soft, real, shaking with emotion.

“I'm home,” he chokes out, voice already trembling. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You laugh and cry at the same time, running your hands over his back, shoulders, hair—like if you stop, he might disappear again.

Somehow, you make it to the couch, but only barely.

He tackles you gently into the cushions, his entire body weight sinking into yours like he’s trying to bury himself inside your skin. His laugh is breathless, breaking into little sobs as he kisses you through them, your lips salty from both your tears.

“Never again,” you whisper, cupping the back of his head. “You’re home now. You’re safe. You’re mine.”

He kisses you like it’s a promise. Like he’s trying to inhale you. Like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

“I thought about this,” he murmurs against your throat, “every night. Just this. You. Laughing. Holding me. This stupid couch. I’d have given anything just to touch you—”

“You don’t have to give anything anymore,” you say, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “You already came back. That’s everything.”

And in that living room filled with the scent of home-cooked food, salt tears, and months of aching need finally met, Namjoon lets himself collapse.

Into you. Into safety. Into love.

Because after everything…

He’s finally home.

[crowsofdarkness]

You've been braty all evening and suggest a fun game to play with Bucky: Hide and fuck.

18+ CW's below the cut( mask kink, protected pinv since she's on the implant, oral with both male and female receiving, fingering, masturbation, choking, degradation, rope play/bondage, making of a sex tape, rough/possessive sex, and slight voyeurism)

a/n: ok I fully understand that Bucky wearing the mask post winter solider is somewhat traumatic but in this little universe/fic, Bucky is trying to get over the trauma by replacing that feeling of fear with something different.

My breath was unsteady and echoed loud in the confined space I found myself in. Surely Bucky had to be returning to our room soon, it had been hours since I left him at the bar with Steve, now almost ten in the evening. As soon as I came back to our room, I went about showering off the long days filth and slipped into a new piece of lingerie I’d bought a while ago just never found the perfect time to wear it. 

Until now. 

All night, I’d been teasing Bucky by whispering all of the filthy things I wanted him to do to me. More so, I wanted him to chase me and fuck me. Unfortunately even with the size of our room, there still wasn’t enough space for Bucky to hunt me down so I had to settle with a simple game of hide and seek. 

Or as I called it in the text I sent him: hide and fuck. 

I managed to fit myself in the large wardrobe dresser that we had in our room, the ones that were tall enough where I could sit inside of it somewhat comfortably. The scent of my peach perfume, Bucky’s favorite,  clouded around me as I sat with my knees pulled to my chest. Just when I was about to give up, tired of waiting, I heard the insert of a key card into the slot and the door clicking open. I had left the light on in the main area of the hotel room so some of it could cast a light into where I was hiding but with a soft click, everything was blanketed in black. 

Bucky’s back. 

Holding a hand over my mouth, I tried so hard to remain quiet even though I was beyond giddy with excitement that he had agreed to this. I knew that this was also supposed to be a therapeutic exercise for him. A way for him to see himself in his old Hydra mask and come to terms he’s not that person anymore. 

Although he was afraid, we both knew that those words that controlled him were long gone. No longer programmed. Even if he wore the mask tonight, Bucky wouldn’t become the soldier. 

His footsteps were so light, almost nonexistent, as he moved around the room. I could feel his presence as it halted in front of the wardrobe and before I could register what was happening, Bucky ripped open the doors and yanked me from it. 

My body fell to the floor with little damage and I quickly scurried away from Bucky only for his fingers to wrap around my ankle, dragging me back to him. His large body loomed over me, lust filled eyes and his lower half of his face was covered by the mask.  His breathing was all I heard as I stared up at him. He wore nothing but the mask and black briefs, hanging low on his hips. The light colored hairs of his happy trail brought a tender smile to my face. 

“Found you,” Bucky growled as his palms traced over the thin white lace of my lingerie, his eyes growing even darker. 

“I-I guess you did,” I stammered while he climbed on top of me. 

WIth his hips locking me in place, Bucky reached over my head towards a bag I hadn’t noticed before and riffled through it. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the rope between his hands, him threading it between his fingers. 

Bounding my hands to my ankles, Bucky went about tying them together with the rope, checking how tight it was before letting the game slip away for a moment. 

“Too tight?” 

I shook my head. “I promise, it’s fine.” 

He took off the hair tie around his wrist and gathered my hair away from my face and into a ponytail. His vibranium finger grazed over my cheek, forcing my eyes to meet his. 

“If you ever want to stop, say red,” he said quietly. 

“Okay,” I breathed, understanding the usage of our new safe word. 

With my hands and feet bound together, I let out a squeal of laughter mixed with shock as Bucky lifted me from the ground, carrying me like a tied animal over towards our bed and roughly tossed me onto it. My ass was up towards the ceiling, barely covered by the lace I wore, and his nostrils flared when he leaned over my lower half, still donning the mask. 

“You smell so good,” he praised while kneeling on the bed. 

“Peaches,” I informed, reminding him of my perfume. 

Bucky hooked a finger into my panties, shifting it to the side so he could brush his nose along my wet folds. 

“Oh,” I murmured when I realized what kind of smell he was referring to. 

Due to how I was tied up, I wasn’t able to look down and see Bucky between my legs, but I could feel the faint brush of his tongue over my clit and I pulled on my bindings. 

“One more thing,” Bucky said before slipping away from me to rummage around in my suitcase. 

I turned my head towards him. “We don’t need a condom. I’m on the implant, remember?” 

He ignored me, still rummaging around in my bag until he spun quickly on his heels towards me holding onto one of my camcorders. 

“Sex tape?” I asked with a teasing edge to my voice. 

Bucky’s lips curled up after he ripped off the mask. “A fucking sex tape.” 

After making sure it was fully charged and set up on the dresser across the bed with the perfect angle, he was quick to be back at the foot of the bed, kneeling on the floor. 

“I want to taste you so fucking bad, doll. Will you let me?” 

My head fell back to the mattress with fluttering eyes. “Please.”

Yanking my panties to the side again, Bucky was quick to devour me, teeth and tongue all over my core. My body writhed against the bed as he took turns between my clit and folds with his tongue before ultimately wrapping his lips around my sensitive bud and forced two vibranium fingers inside of me. 

“Shit,” I panted as the orgasm was quick to build. 

I’d been on edge all night waiting for him and I knew it wouldn’t take me long to reach there. Bucky momentarily removed his fingers from me to press the fullness of his tongue against my folds, licking me up from the bottom to the top.

"Fuck," I moaned when his tongue speared inside of me for a few strokes, before replacing it with his fingers again. 

Bucky’s lips wrapped around my clit to bite and suck at the bundle of nerves. He ate me like a man starved as was offered his final meal before death. The familiar burn at the base of my spine made me call out his name; in a praise and a warning. 

“So close,” I keened. 

Bucky’s arm held up my legs that were still bound and since his mouth was a little preoccupied, he smacked my ass with the hand that was holding my panties to the side. 

Let go, doll. 

I came with a shout, grinding myself against Bucky’s face as he licked and finger fucked me through the aftershocks. 

“Shit,” I choked on a breath when he pulled away only to rise to his feet, yanking down his brieds, now standing in front of me in nothing but the mask. 

I pulled on my bindings, yearning to touch him, but let out an aggravated cry when I realized how tight he tied them. 

“I need to be inside you, doll,” Bucky admitted while grabbing a hold of my ankles with one hand and guiding himself inside of me with the other. 

Both of our groans of pleasure tangled sweetly together and Bucky, who stood at the edge of the bed now, slammed into me with such force, it shook the headboard against the wall. The sound of skin on skin was heaven sent, along with the image of Bucky’s head rolled back, mouth open as he let out pants of air in tangent with each of his thrust. They were brutal, nearly bruising, but I reveled in it. It awoken a fire deep inside of me that from now on needed to be set ablaze. 

“So.” 

Thrust.

“Fucking.” 

Thrust. 

“Tight,” Bucky groaned as his hips stalled for a moment and I watched as the muscles in his stomach constricted. 

He was close but was trying not to tumble over the edge so he slipped out from me. Before I could protest, he was climbing onto the bed towards me. He lifted my head up, wrapping my hair around his hand to force my mouth towards his cock slick with my arousal. 

“Open that pretty little mouth,” he demanded, yanking on my scalp. 

With glittering eyes gazing up at him, I parted my lips so he could force himself inside. He ignored my gagging as he hate fucked my throat with such a bruising grip on my hair, I was sure it would be sore for days. Drool pooled from my mouth and around his cock, dripping down to my chest. 

“Such a good little slut,” Bucky smacked my cheek with the hand that wasn't tangled in my hair. “You love the way you taste, huh?”

My yelp of shock was drowned out by his cock as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. I could taste myself on it, the tangy arousal lingering on my tongue. But soon I was gasping for breath when Bucky pulled himself from my mouth to grab a hold of my chin, bringing his face mere meters from mine. 

“I asked you a question, doll. I expect you to answer it.”

I did the best I could to nod with his tight grip but it wasn’t enough for him so he tapped my cheek again. 

“Words. You need to use your words.” 

“Yes,” I blurted. “Yes, I love the way I taste on your cock.”

“That’s my good girl,” he praised before forcing his cock deep inside my throat again. 

This time, he didn’t hold himself back as he spilled himself inside of my mouth. 

“Don’t you dare swallow,” he spat through gritted teeth as he held the back of my head, letting my tongue glide him through the aftershocks. 

I held his seed in my mouth, long after he fell to the bed next to me, only to reach into the bag he brough, pulling out a knife. My eyes widened but unable to speak, I held my breath. 

Bucky brushed his lips over mine. “You can swallow now, pretty girl.” 

Obeying him, I let out a breath and motioned towards the shiny blade. “I think this is a step too far.”

He let out a low chuckle before reaching for my bound legs and hands. “Relax, doll. I’m just cutting you free.”

Tattered rope fell to the bed and Bucky quickly brought the red, irritated skin to his lips, peppering it with kisses. 

All I did was hum and as we laid there, Bucky’s fingers grazed up and down the inside of my thigh, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“I hope you know I’m not finished with you yet,” was all he said before he yanked me off of the bed. 

As we passed by the camcorder, Bucky turned it so it could face out towards the balcony of the hotel room. 

“Bucky!” I nearly screeched when I noticed the somewhat busy street just a few floors beneath us. 

He spun me around so my back was against the railing, the city lights painting us in a luminescent glow, and traced a finger down the front of my lingerie. 

“This is new,” he noted. 

I shivered with not only his touch, but the cool breeze that passed over us. 

“Do-do you like it?” I asked, nervous. 

“I love it so much, doll, that I’m going to fuck you with it on,” Bucky husked before holding out his hand, spitting on it. 

He pumped his already hard cock a few times, dragging the extra skin over the head and let out a spew of curses. Gathering some of my arousal between my legs, he worked me open again with two fingers before replacing them with his cock. The rough metal of the balcony dug into my back as Bucky dragged himself nearly all the way out, slowly fucking me with the head before thrusting all of him inside of me again. It went like this for a few moments, my bottom lip caught between my teeth because the feeling caused my skin to prick. I squeezed against him, swallowing his length in warmth and our hips began to move in sync.

“Shit,” Bucky rasped while leaving dark, bruising teeth marks along my neck and shoulder. “You feel so good, doll.”

His fingers wrapped around my neck while his thumb forced my jaw up towards him. I went to slip a finger between us but Bucky slapped my hand away, a growl of arousal slipped through his lips.

“Mine,” he whispered.

The pad of his thumb pressed against my bundle of nerves and with the fast and relentless pace he had chosen now, I felt the coil deep in my stomach begin to tense, my second orgasm so close.

“Yours,” I breathed. 

Our bodies slammed against each other, skin slapping against skin, and the wet noises that came from the place we were connected were so filthy that I was ready to let my body go, walls tensing around Bucky’s cock. He lifted his forehead from my chest and forced our gazes to lock again, my arm wrapped around his shoulder to bring him closer, thumb rubbing circles on his bicep. His eyes took in every inch of my face, burning with the way I gasped silently when I felt the tip of his cock hit that spot. 

“Bucky,” I pured. “I’m going to-.” 

My orgasm ripped through me, causing the words to falter, and I shook in his tight embrace. The night air did nothing to cool my heated skin. 

Bucky removed his bottom lip from the tight grip between his teeth as he let out a deep but quiet moan as he painted my walls with his cum. Lifting me into his arms, I wrapped my tired legs around him as he carried me back into the bedroom and tossed me onto the bed yet again fixing the camera in a different position. 

“I can’t,” I shook my head when he reached for the buttons of my lingerie. 

Bucky kissed a tender kiss on my shoulder. “I know you’ve got one more in you, doll. Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” 

More than anything. 

I was exhausted from my two orgasms, how was he not? Peering down to his cock, I noticed it was nearly hard yet again, the sight of it alone causing my gut to twinge with anticipation and I licked my lips. 

Damn super soldier serum.

“I thought you can't,” Bucky mocked my voice from earlier, causing me to narrow my eyes at him. 

“Shut up!”

The sound of fabric ripping echoed in the room, my lingerie falling away from my body and I screeched while smacking his chest. 

“This was new, asshole!” 

Bucky shrugged, throwing me down to my stomach and lifting my ass in the air to lay a swift smack against it with his vibranium hand. I scrambled to get away from him which prompted him to force the top half of my body against the mattress with one of his hands while the other smacked my ass yet again. 

“Fuck! Bucky!” I bit back the tears as he laid a third smack. “Pl-please.”

“I’ll stop when you apologize for what you called me,” Bucky’s voice was dark, gone with the lust that consumed him. 

For the briefest of moments, part of me feared the monster I had awoken in him but when the pain soon turned to pleaser, I let out a quiet moan afraid he would hear. His large hand rubbed at the red skin before pressing a kiss. 

“Does the pain turn you on, doll? Hm?” Bucky spoke into the skin of my lower back. 

I grasped at the pillow, pulling it close to my chest so I could muffle my answer into it. Which only seemed to displease him because he sunk his teeth into the extra flesh of my hip, making me cry out my answer. 

“Yes! I need it to hurt!”

Wrapping an arm around my stomach, Bucky lifted me up onto my knees and to face the large mirror in the room that was hung across the bed, right next to the camera; still blinking red. I gasped at my reflection of tattered pieces of lingerie hanging on to me still by a thread, mascara running down my face, purple bite marks littered all over my neck and shoulder, and lips faintly bruised from how hard Bucky fucked my throat earlier. 

He knelt behind me and brushed his nose along the shell of my ear while trailing the pad of his thumb over the pulse point of my throat. 

“You look so pretty like this, doll. Marked up as mine so everyone knows who you belong to,” he dragged his teeth along the crook of my neck, breathing me in. 

“God, I fucking love the way you smell.”

His fingers pinched and pulled at my nipples, making my head falter back onto his shoulder.

“What do you want, baby?” Bucky palmed both of my breasts now before trailing a hand down my stomach to spread my legs wide for the reflection and mostly the camera. 

“You,” I breathed. 

Bucky said nothing, instead he slipped two fingers past my slick folds where the head of his cock was slowly gliding up and down. Gathering up not only my arousal but the little bit of precum that beaded at the slit, he brought those fingers to my lips with one simple order. 

“Lick.”

I took both vibranium fingers into my mouth without objection to lap up the tangy mixture of us and hummed greedily. I took them as far as I could without gagging and Bucky showed me how proud he was of me by sinking himself deep inside my pussy. His strokes this time were languid, taking his time with me as he worked me up with his fingers down my throat and the others spreading me wide. 

“That’s it. Take all of me. I can feel your pussy clenching around me, you’re so wet,” Bucky’s pace began to intensify as his words were urging him on. 

One hand wrapped around my throat while the other strumbed against my swollen nub, bringing me closer and close to the edge of destruction. 

My own words were gone, forever lost in the bliss that overtook my body. My soul succumbed to Bucky, allowing him to drag every part of my essence down with him to the darkness. This was a side of Bucky I’d never expected to see and now that I had a taste of him, I wasn’t letting him go. 

“I love you,” I moaned as I allowed the waves of pleasure to drown me as I soaked Bucky’s cock with my orgasm. 

He stilled his movements and sucked in a breath before forcing my face to look into our reflection of the mirror. 

“What did you just say?” 

I blinked a few times, trying to regain myself after the intensity of each after shock, and when Bucky’s grip on my chin tightened, I winced. 

Oh shit. 

I had just blurted out that I loved Bucky.

For the first time. 

Shit. Fuck. God damn it. 

We’d only been dating for a few months and I was suddenly very afraid of how Bucky would react. It was clearly way too soon to be dropping the I love you bomb. 

“Doll,” Bucky’s voice was firm as he shook my face. 

Staring at his reflection, I let the words fall from my lips again. 

“I love you.”

The hard lines on his face softened as he let the proclamation settle for a few quiet beats and just before I could find myself questioning everything, Bucky let out a guttural groan, wrapping an arm around my stomach to pull my back closer to his chest. We were pulled flush against each other as now Bucky used the new angle to buck up into me, hitting the spot each and every time. 

My body was drained and I could barely keep myself afloat in his embrace as the bed shook beneath us, creaking with every snap of his hips. Skin on skin bounced off the walls, overpowering the sounds of my quiet cries, and Bucky bit down hard on my shoulder. 

“Fuck, doll. I love you too, so fucking much. You’re mine, you hear me? Your heart, your soul, this fucking pussy? All mine,” he snarled as he filled my cunt. 

“Ah! Shit!” I cried out louder this time when I felt the teeniest prick of blood from Bucky’s bite into my neck trail down between my breasts. 

We both fell onto the bed, a heap of sweat and cum, and Bucky immediately wrapped me in his arms. He continued to proclaim his love for me while dragging those vibranium fingers up and down my spine, lulling me to sleep; all while the red light from the camera continued to blink. 

[kortac-sweetheart]

it wasn’t like nikto intended to frighten you. it’s just that old habits die hard, and you’re his little adorable astronaut— head in the clouds and always daydreaming about some sweet little date you want to take him on.

one day, enough was enough. he had accidentally snuck up on you again, his large hand brushing against your back was enough to startle you, your hands fluttering this way and that. the pen you were fiddling with dropping with a quiet clack on the floor whilst you let out a little (downright adorable) squeak of surprise.

turning to face nikto you pouted with a little glare up at him, letting out a exasperated huff and shaking your head disapprovingly.

“andre, i swear i’m going to have to get you a collar with a bell if you keep doing this!” you kept rattling on and on about how he doesn’t need to sneak around in the sanctity of your home but his mind was miles away. already latching on to your words.

“i’m going to have to get you a collar with a bell..!”

“get you a collar with a bell..!”

“your collar with a bell…”

he quite liked the sound of that.

it was only a week later when you were relaxing on the couch, halfway off to dreamland again when nikto crawled over besides you on his knees to present you something.

“solnishko…” was all he murmured before holding something out in front of you, reverently with both palms up. it took you a moment to figure out what is was, rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes as sat up to assess it further.

a collar. with a bell.

it was a finely crafted one at that. silky smooth white lace and luxurious pink satin, a hefty heart shaped buckle in the middle engraved with the word “nikto” front and center.

if you squinted further you could see additional engravings just below his name, ones that read “property of ___, if lost return to ___.”

underneath the buckle sat a dainty silver bell, one that miraculously twinkled with mirth when rung.

you sputter, eyes flicking between nikto’s quietly expecting gaze and the satin collar still in his palms— mouth gaping like a fish.

“honey, i— i was joking about the collar, you really didn’t have to buy this.” his expression crumples a bit despite your soft tone, eyes growing glassy.

“do you not like it, lyubov?” his usually stoic and confident tone dampened, muddled with sadness at the thought of displeasing you.

you gently pull his head closer to you, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and nestling his face into your chest.

“it’s not that i don’t like it, dearest. it’s just— do you like it? you really want to wear it? will it make you happy if you wear it?” your hand goes to pet his head and he all but purrs at the affectionate touch, rumbling against your chest.

“of course we like it. we like being yours. we want to wear it, show everyone who we belong to.”

well if they’re so happy to wear it, who are you to judge?

your hand gently plucks the collar from his grasp, finger making a spinning motion. a silent order, one that he will follow diligently, eagerly. with his back facing you, you gently thread the collar around his neck, tying a secure bow in the back with the excess.

tight but not too much, it sits delicately on his neck. a permanent visual and weighted reminder of you, his beloved. it’s downright euphoric feeling, one that he never knew was missing. like a lost lock finding it’s missing key or the last piece of a puzzle being fitted into place— it just feels so… so right to them. it’s a part of the natural order of the world, like how the sun rises in the east or the waves will always lap against the shore, how birds will sing and flowers will bloom, it’s just how it’s meant to be.

nikto was always meant to be yours.

he wears it daily. its become a part of routine, just like when you share a pot of russian caravan with him in the mornings, or how you always eat dinner together side by side, ankles intertwined under the table, a day cannot be complete without it.

it’s always you who does it for him, hands steadily and reverently tightening and loosening it. never him. it’s meant for your hands, and yours alone— it’s meant to show he’s yours after all.

he wears it with immense pride. despite it seemingly being unbecoming of a man such as him, it was ultimately his choice after all. but if you do happen to mention wanting to see something different on him, then he’s all for it. he gently pulls you to sit in his lap, to browse with him looking for new collars to display on his pretty neck.

yes, that black leather one, with the heavy silver buckle and menacing spikes looks quite nice. do you like that white silk one too? the one with the lace trim as well? yes, they have to agree, it’s gorgeous. you can buy as many or as little as you’d like, he’ll wear whichever you choose without complaint.

whatever he wears, it doesn’t matter. all that matters to them is that it lets everyone know that he’s yours at the end of the day.

[p0orbaby]

Take One for the Team

summary: you and alexia are in a secret relationship

warnings: talks of sex

a/n: i volunteer as tribute

word count: 1.1k

-

Alexia's been on a warpath for a week now. You can tell because she's more vocal than usual about everyone else's inadequacies, and that's saying something. Today, she's pacing around the changing room like a caged lioness, ranting about the “abysmal” performance during training. You’re pretty sure she’s the only one who noticed anyone playing badly. The rest of the team looks at each other like, “What the hell is she talking about?”

To be fair, she's not entirely wrong. Someone did manage to miss an open goal from three yards out, but the way she's going on, you'd think that someone also insulted her grandmother and keyed her car.

In one particularly low moment, she accuses Ona of “running like she’s towing a tractor.” Ona’s response is to half-heartedly flip her off, which might’ve made Alexia angrier, but she’s already storming off to harass someone else.

You’re trying to stay under the radar because you’ve already received your daily dose of Alexia’s wrath earlier when you suggested—very helpfully, you thought—that she might want to “relax her shoulders a little.” You even demonstrated a quick shoulder roll for her. In response, she gave you a stare so cold you’re surprised you didn’t get frostbite on the spot.

So, you’re sitting on the bench, quietly tying your shoelaces and pretending you’re anywhere but here, when Aitana slides in next to you. She doesn’t say anything at first, just sighs dramatically and starts fiddling with a pretend loose thread on her shorts.

“Do you think she’s always like this?” Aitana asks eventually. “I mean, off the pitch. Like, what’s her problem?”

You shrug because what else can you do? You can’t exactly explain to Aitana that Alexia’s been on edge because you stole the last of her favorite cereal this morning and refused to apologise. In your defense, it was your cereal. But Alexia can hold a grudge like nobody’s business, and you’re pretty sure that’s why she’s been lashing out at everyone.

Still, you’re not about to say that out loud. You like your life the way it is, uncomplicated by having your secret relationship exposed by a rogue comment about breakfast food.

The others start to gather around, sensing a potential gossip session. The changing room is like that, everyone gravitating toward any sign of drama, like moths to a flame. Irene joins in, wiping sweat off her forehead with her shirt and making it clear she’s had enough of Alexia’s mood swings.

“She needs to get laid,” she declares, completely deadpan.

You almost choke on your own saliva, trying to play it cool while swallowing your surprise. The rest of the team nods in agreement, as if this is the most reasonable suggestion anyone has made in days. You, meanwhile, are caught between wanting to laugh and desperately trying not to give yourself away.

“She probably hasn’t gotten any in weeks,” Cata adds with a knowing smirk, like she’s an expert in Alexia’s sex life. Or her supposed lack thereof.

Mapi grins like she’s just figured out how to solve world hunger. “We need to volunteer someone”

Oh no. No, no, no. You can see where this is going, and you’re about to make a break for it when, Patri, Irene, and Mapi all turn to you simultaneously, their eyes practically gleaming with mischief.

“You should do it,” Patri says, pointing a finger at you like she’s accusing you of a crime.

You blink at her, feigning innocence. “Why me?”

Irene shrugs. “Why not? You’re like... the calmest person here. You can handle her”

Ingrid’s eyes narrow in on you, and she tilts her head. “Plus, you’re not bad-looking”

“I appreciate the backhanded compliment,” you say dryly, glancing at the door, wondering if you can make a run for it before they start making detailed plans. “But why would I want to-”

“Take one for the team!” Mapi interrupts, practically cackling. The others join in, laughing like they’ve just solved a great mystery. “It’s a win-win. She gets laid, and we don’t have to deal with her bullshit for at least a day”

You have to admit, it’s a decent plan. If you weren’t already sleeping with Alexia, that is. But they don’t know that, and you can’t exactly tell them without revealing your secret, which would definitely make things awkward.

You open your mouth to object, but Ona cuts you off. “It’s perfect. You’ve got that whole mysterious vibe. She’ll be into it”

“You think she’ll be into it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Marta grins. “She might kill you first, but that’s a risk we’re willing to take”

They all laugh, and you can’t help but smirk. They have no idea how much Alexia is “into it,” but you’re not about to spill the beans now.

“Fine,” you say with a dramatic sigh, pretending to mull it over. “I’ll do it. For the team”

Irene pats you on the back like you’re about to go off to war. “Good luck, soldier. You’re going to need it”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you deadpan, but they’re already high-fiving each other, congratulating themselves on their brilliant scheme.

-

Later, when you finally get Alexia alone, she’s still fuming, muttering something about people not taking the game seriously. You’re not really paying attention, though, because you’re still stuck on what the team said earlier. You can’t help but laugh when you think about it, which only makes Alexia glare at you more.

“What’s so funny?” she snaps, crossing her arms.

You shake your head, still grinning. “Nothing. Just thinking about how you’re really wound up lately”

Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step closer, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “And?”

“And,” you say, dropping your voice to a low murmur as you pull her in by the waist, “the team thinks you need to get laid”

Alexia blinks at you, her expression shifting from anger to surprise, and then she lets out a laugh, genuine and loud, like she hasn’t in days. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, nuzzling her neck as she relaxes in your arms. “They volunteered me. Said I should take one for the team”

Alexia pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her mouth curving into a wicked smile. “You told them we’ve been doing that for months now?”

“Nah,” you say, shaking your head. “Figured I’d let them keep thinking they’re the geniuses”

She laughs again, shaking her head in disbelief, then leans in to kiss you, her lips warm and soft against yours. When she pulls back, she looks a lot less stressed than she did before, which you consider a job well done.

“Think I’ll have to thank them later,” she murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “You mean thank me?”

Alexia’s eyes glint with that same dangerous edge from before, but this time it’s paired with a smirk that promises nothing but trouble. “I already do, don’t I?”

You can’t argue with that. And for once, neither can the team.

[the-fox-with-no-name]

The epilogue in The King’s Men might have felt anti-climactic to some, but it was precisely what the series needed, a realistic, grounded conclusion. It tied up the trilogy by addressing the key threads: Riko’s downfall, Neil’s well-deserved happiness, and the team’s new beginning. There wasn’t a need for excessive dramatics or a drawn-out finale because the heart of the story had already been delivered. Nora Sakavic wrapped up what was essential, staying true to the tone and purpose of the series. Rather than feeling rushed or lazy, it’s a testament to her understanding of where the story should end, offering closure, not indulgence. It’s not about pleasing every expectation but honoring the journey and leaving the characters where they belong.

Besides, I found Riko’s death both satisfying and fitting. It wasn’t overdone or overly dramatic. It felt raw and real. I’m not saying my point of view is the only one, but that’s just how it came across to me. Riko’s end wasn’t about glorifying revenge or tying things up with a neat bow; it was about consequences and the end of an era and a beginning of a new one.

Food for thought.

[novlr]

How do you come up with a satisfying ending to a story? And what different types of endings can a story have?

Writing an ending that does justice to everything you’ve written up until that point is an incredibly daunting thing to tackle. It’s your last chance to leave an impression on your reader, and it needs to feel both surprising and inevitable. So how do you toe that line?

What makes an ending satisfying?

A satisfying ending isn’t just about tying up loose ends. It’s about giving your readers emotional closure while staying true to your story’s themes and character arcs. The best endings feel both unexpected and perfectly logical: they catch readers off guard while making complete sense within the context of your story.

Essential elements of a strong ending

Your story’s ending acts as the final piece of a puzzle. Every element needs to fit perfectly up to that point so that your ending can create a complete picture that readers will find satisfying.

A strong ending should:

Resolve the main conflict: Give readers the closure they’ve been anticipating throughout your story.

Complete character arcs: Show how your characters have grown or changed through their journey.

Deliver on story promises: Pay off the expectations you’ve built through the rest of the narrative.

Reflect core themes: Reinforce the deeper meanings, themes, and messages of your work.

Provide emotional payoff: Make readers feel their investment in your story was worthwhile.

Feel earned, not forced: Arise naturally from the events and choices that came before.

Each of these elements works together to create an ending that resonates long after readers turn the final page. Miss one, and your ending might feel incomplete.

Types of endings

Just like there is no single way to begin a story, there are lots of ways to end one. The type of ending you choose should grow naturally from your story’s genre, themes, and the journey your characters have taken. A lighthearted romance might call for a neat resolution and a happily ever after, while a philosophical literary novel might benefit from a more ambiguous conclusion. The key is matching your ending style to your story’s needs.

Here are some types of endings you might consider, along with when and how to use them most effectively:

Resolution endings

These endings tie up all major plot threads neatly. They work well for:

Standalone novels.

Genre fiction where readers expect closure.

Stories with clear antagonists.

Traditional narrative structures.

Open endings

Some questions remain unanswered, inviting reader interpretation. Best for:

Literary fiction.

Stories focusing on internal conflict.

Stories that emphasise life’s complexity.

Works aiming for realism.

Circular endings

The story returns to where it began, but with meaningful change. Effective in:

Character-driven narratives.

Coming-of-age stories.

Stories about personal growth.

Stories about cycles or patterns.

Twist endings

A revelation changes everything that came before. Works well in:

Mystery and crime novels.

Psychological thrillers,

Stories with unreliable narrators.

Stories exploring perception vs reality.

Bittersweet endings

Victory comes at a cost, combining triumph with loss. Perfect for:

Epic narratives.

War stories.

Complex moral tales.

Stories about sacrifice.

Epilogue endings

A glimpse into the future after the main conflict resolves. Useful for:

Series conclusions.

Generational stories.

Stories needing emotional closure.

Stories with far-reaching consequences.

Writing your ending

Once you understand the different types of endings available to you and how you can mix and match them for best effect, it’s time to tackle the actual writing. This is where theory meets practice, and where it’s easy to find yourself stuck. After all, it’s one thing to know what makes a good ending in theory, but quite another to actually write one.

Writing a strong ending becomes much easier when you break it down into manageable steps. And like any writing advice it might take some experimentation and practice to find what method works best for you.

For planners

If you’re the type of writer who likes to outline and plan ahead, try to:

Plot your ending first: Having a clear destination helps you plant the right seeds throughout your story.

Create an ending outline: Map out the major beats of your conclusion chapter by chapter.

Plant deliberate clues: Weave in foreshadowing that will make your ending feel inevitable in retrospect.

Track your promises: Keep a list of questions your story raises that readers will want answered.

For discovery writers

If you prefer to find your story as you write, consider:

Writing multiple endings: Let yourself explore different possibilities without committing to one. It’s amazing what you’ll find speaks to you when you let yourself play in the sandbox of your own story.

Following character arcs: Let your characters’ lead the way. The way they grow and change can often suggest natural conclusion points.

Looking for themes: Try to notice recurring themes in your draft that could point toward meaningful endings.

Take notes: Your subconscious often plants seeds for endings while you write, so if you have a thought on a possible ending at any point, make sure you keep a note of it.

For hybrid writers

Many writers fall somewhere in between, so you could try:

Flexible plotting: Have a general idea of your ending but stay open to organic changes.

Milestone mapping: Identify key moments your ending needs to hit without plotting every detail.

Character-plot balance: Let character decisions influence your planned plot points.

Regular revision: Adjust your ending plans as your story evolves.

Testing your ending

If you’re not sure on whether your ending is effective once you’ve written it, then ask yourself these questions:

Does it feel true to your characters?

Have you resolved the main conflict?

Does it satisfy the story promises you made?

Will readers find it emotionally satisfying?

Does it reflect your themes?

Would a different type of ending work better?

You can also ask these questions of your beta readers if you feel like you’re too close to the story to be objective!

Remember, a great ending grows organically from your story’s DNA. It should feel both surprising and inevitable, like there was no other way your story could have ended, even if readers didn’t see it coming.

The trick is finding the right type of ending for your specific story and executing it in a way that leaves readers satisfied. Whether you’re writing a neat resolution or an ambiguous conclusion, make sure it honours the story you’ve told and the journey your readers have taken.

[deuxmiya]

ROOMMATES | ROOM 11. ISAGI YOICHI

EPISODE 01 [ The Sunday Splurge ]

apples, paprika and a tin of caviar for your troubles.

WC. 1.7k

content. good old grocery shopping, you and isagi are basically boyfriend, girlfriend. story under cut

Sundays are reserved for grocery shopping with Isagi. After the two of you attend to your business for the day— you work, and him, training. The both of you take a little walk down to the grocery store on the corner of the street to buy your weekly necessities. It gives you time to catch your breath, unwind and just spend a little time with each other. Your weeks can get pretty busy, with him striving to be an up-and-coming, world class soccer player, and you taking the world by storm with your journalist reviews and papers. So when the both of you aren't chasing the high of your dreams to change the world, you are just two regular people, shopping for groceries on a Sunday afternoon.

"Ready to go?" Isagi hums as he finishes tying his shoes. He grabs his wallet from the little console table stationed beside your apartment door and his keys that hung on a set of hooks above it.

"Yeah, just about." You nod, taking a jacket off from another hook beside the one his keys had hung from. You thread your arms through the sleeves and zip it up for good measure. You slip on a pair of sneakers that were lined up next to the rest of you and Isagi's shoes, and fix a strand of loose hair that hung in your face.

When you walk, the shopping list crinkles up in your jeans pockets. The sound of paper crumpling is muffled by the denim. The streets were rather quiet at this time, it was as if the people of Nagano had unanimously agreed to slow down— even if time was slipping right by them. The wind curls strands of your hair obscure directions, but it was nice to relish in especially after a day of slugging through your final massive report of the month. The breeze runs past you, whisking away the stress that tugged along your scalp and temples.

You and Isagi stroll side by side on the pavements— he takes the outside, closest to the road while you walk on the inside, closest to him. Step in step and stride by stride, the two of you dreamers found your grounding on the concrete pathways to the grocery store. The sun begins to make its slow descent into the horizon, hazy pinks and oranges begin to decorate the skyline.

"So, how was training today?" You ask, hands shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket as you look over to him. His hoodie was clinging to him as the wind pressed against him, his hair beginning to dance along with yours.

Isagi turns to look you, lips pursed as his shoes clack against the cement sidewalk. "It was pretty good, I got to try a few strats with Hiori and Kurona. Managed to get past a one-on-one with Yuki too."

"Oh really? That sounds like fun, how are they by the way?" You smile upon the mention of his teammates. The last time you had met them was at a team party Isagi invited you along to.

"They're doing fine, Kurona always asks if you're doing well. Yuki is asking how your work is coming along too." He grins, recounting the details of his day.

"Oh Kurona is so sweet. Tell him I'm doing well," You laugh bashfully, shaking your head. "Oh and tell Yukimiya that work is also good. Gotta let them know I'm taking over the world, you know?"

Isagi chuckles. "I'll be sure to let them know then. Because your so well and capable domination."

You nudge him with your elbow and he nudges back. The two of you spill out strings of laughter and giggles from your lips as you saunter the rest of your way down the block.

The supermarket welcomes you in with its automatic sliding doors. Isagi picks up a basket by the entrance, swinging it back and forth between his fingers as you both begin to walk through the aisles.

"What do we have to buy?" Isagi asks.

"I remember milk and cereal, which is what we regularly get anyway." You ponder, reaching into your pants pocket to find the list. You unfurl it in your palms, paper creased and corners torn. Isagi hovers over your shoulder to get a better look at the groceries you needed to purchase.

Your shopping list was always composed of random scribbles of wants and needs on the backside of an old receipt. Throughout the week, it's stuck to the fridge with a small soccer ball magnet, which you had bought Isagi as a gift from a time too long ago to even remember. The both of you would grab at the first pen in reach, to scribble and jot down items you would need to restock on later. The paper was filled with an amalgamation of both Isagi's and your handwriting, sharp and slanted here, shaky and loopy there.

"Is that an 'a' ?" Isagi points at a scratchy line of pen, tracing along the loops in the ink.

"I think so." You nod, gaze following his finger.

"Okay so apples... I think." He squints as he tried to decipher the rest of the blue ink. "Did you write that?"

"Yes? No? I don't remember?" You scratch your head as you continue going down the list. You laugh awkwardly, still trying to figure out what the third item on was. You toss your head back in defeat, a sigh escaping your lips. "Oh my god, we write in hieroglyphics!"

"I feel like an archaeologist trying to uncover something here..." He hunches over with you, taking a hold of the receipt in your hand. "What is that, a 'w'?

"No that's a 'y'." You draw out the letter as it was written on the folded paper.

"How the hell is that a 'y'?" Isagi was bewildered. He knew the both of you were in a rush, but he didn't think handwriting from two adults could be written with such disgrace. Not to add that one of them was meant to sign posters, jerseys and caps while the other, was a literal writer.

"Okay, so we can agree that says pasta right?" Isagi titters, his words laced with doubt. "Because I know that's clearly a 'P'."

"Oh no, that says paprika." You laugh. "That was me. I remember writing it because I wanted to try this chicken recipe the other day but we didn't have any."

"I'm not going to question where the 't' came from then..." Isagi huffs as he returns the receipt to you.

"That's clearly a 'k'." You hold the paper back out to him, rolling your eyes.

"Mhm, sure." Isagi smiles as he begins to walk over towards the apple stand. They were stacked up high like pyramids in their designated wooden crates. He points to the apple towers, grin still stretched across his face. "Green or red?"

"Mmm I'm feeling green this week." You pull on the complimentary plastic bags they had for fruit and vegetables, fumbling with its edges in an attempt to open it. "How about you?"

"Sounds good to me." He nods in agreement as he looks over the plethora of Granny Smith apples stacked up on the shelves.

You spend your time feeling around and sorting through the different stemmed fruits. Picking up and putting down ones with bruises or bad discolouration. Isagi slides an apple over into your peripheries, a shy smile on his face as if he were suggesting you take it.

You exaggerate a hum, plucking the apple from his palm and spinning it around in your hand as if you were dissecting it. You slide your gaze over to Isagi, who looks at you nervous but expectantly as if he were waiting on your approval. You smile, placing it into the bag without a second glance. Isagi cheers a little on the inside when you do, a victory on par with scoring the first goal in a game.

You sort through the rest of your groceries quickly, or as quickly as you could while trying to read each other's handwriting. You pick up a bottle of smoked paprika on the spice rack, tossing the deep red powder into the basket Isagi was holding. The jar's tumble is cushioned by the bag of flour and carton of milk already inside the cart. Isagi grabs up a few boxes of his usual protein and granola bars, sliding them in next to the cereal.

Your last stop was the deli, where you were greeted by the regular butcher you have come to known these past few weeks. He smiles when he sees the two of you, inviting you over to come look at the selection of meats and cheeses he had to offer.

Isagi asks for two cuts of sirloin steak, which the deli worker prepares with ease, handing them to you wrapped in plastic and then parchment. You place it into the basket alongside everything else you were planning to buy.

The employee somehow guides you down to the seafood selection the store had stocked in fresh this morning. He attempts to sell you some salmon, even going so far as to offering you a discount on your steak. You sweat, a forced smile on your face as you try to decline. Isagi only lets out an awkward noise.

Before you could turn to leave however, the man comes back with a small golden tin in his hands. A fresh batch of caviar, 'great to have with a lot of things you already had in your basket'. He even lets the two of you try it, giving each of you a small spoonful of the black pearls of roe.

You turn to Isagi as the rich flavour melts on your tongue. He meets your gaze with a similar expression. You were both suckers for good food and you knew it. You then look to each other and then the small but rather large price tag on the tin. You were both doomed.

"This isn't on our list." You shake your head, not knowing whether you were trying to convince Isagi or yourself at the moment.

"Nope. Not at all" Isagi nibbles on the remainders of caviar on his spoon.

"I'll give it to you for half off because you're my favourite customers." The butcher chimes in.

You and Isagi are horrible under pressure. You give in, and guiltily load the tin of caviar into the basket with the rest of your groceries.

What had originally started out as a promise, became routine. Sundays became reserved for grocery shopping—You and Isagi had cemented yourselves into eachother’s lives.

thank you for reading !!!

CHAPTER LIST | MASTERLIST

[theodorenmyth]

Hey, can we get a part 2 to three threads of love like basically them js trying to get him to accept their soulmate thing and like their progress thanks

Three Threads of Love II.

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!Reader x Mattheo Riddle

Summary ; Despite your best efforts to deny the sudden, magical connection tying you to both Mattheo and Theodore—already soulmates in their own right—you spiral into a dramatic whirlwind of hoodie-hiding, pouty “hmph”s, jealousy-fueled meltdowns, and increasingly flustered encounters, until your vulnerable heart betrays you and you end up nestled between Theodore’s legs with Mattheo asleep on your chest in the Slytherin common room, accidentally proving that maybe… just maybe… the threads of fate got it right.

A/N ; OH MY GAAWWDD, TYY FOR REQUESTING 😋🫶 This is my first fanfic in over a month soplease pleaseee enjoy 🥀💔(I got a writing block, so sorry if my writing seems different)

Warnings ; nothing, just PUREEEE fluff, y/n being a dramatic lil cutie, jealousy

Word count ; 5k+

You were going to die.

Not in the fun, dramatic “woe is me, the universe has betrayed me!” way.

You meant actual death.

Cardiac arrest.

Heart giving out.

Soul leaving your fucking body right here in Transfiguration class.

Why?

Because you’d made the grave mistake—the stupid, irredeemable mistake—of saying the words:

“Yeah… you can sit with me. But like, only in class.”

You had thought—naively—that such a statement would create a respectable emotional boundary. You had thought Mattheo and Theodore might interpret it as a tentative, hesitant olive branch. A slow start. Something manageable.

You had not accounted for Mattheo Riddle sitting down beside you and promptly draping an arm along the back of your chair like he was already engraving your initials together into a tree.

You had not anticipated Theodore Nott taking the other seat, silent and cool and terrifyingly calm, like he didn’t plan to leave it for the next fifty years.

And you absolutely, completely, entirely did not prepare for being sandwiched between both of them, stuck in the middle of what could only be described as a soulmate chokehold.

Your heart was beating out a war drum rhythm against your ribs. You were trying your best to appear casual. Normal. Unbothered.

You were also sweating, twitching like a cursed clock hand, and bouncing your leg under the desk like your knee was on a sugar high.

Totally fine.

This was fine.

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

Mattheo leaned closer. “You say that, but your leg’s vibrating like it’s possessed.”

“I always bounce my leg.”

“You didn’t last week.”

“I do it when I’m deep in thought,” you hissed, scribbling violently on your parchment.

Theodore, from your left, tilted his head slightly. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Shut up,” you blurted, voice cracking.

You could feel your ears heating up. Your cheeks were so hot they could have been used to toast bread. Maybe even grill cheese. A full meal.

The worst part?

They were both acting completely normal.

Mattheo slouched in his seat, stretching his legs out, his fingers tapping lazily against the desk as he smiled to himself. Meanwhile, Theodore had his arms crossed, looking focused, but every now and then, his eyes flicked toward you like he was secretly watching you combust for fun.

You tried to copy Cedric’s signature unimpressed face.

You failed.

You looked like a constipated owl.

Professor McGonagall began the lesson, waving her wand and revealing a complicated diagram of animal transfiguration on the board.

You attempted to take notes. Tried being the key word.

Because Mattheo’s knee bumped yours under the desk.

And you, in your infinite grace, made a sound. A high-pitched, choked-off squeak that made the Ravenclaw girl three seats away glance over.

Mattheo blinked innocently. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” you lied through your teeth. “I just… sneezed.”

“That wasn’t a sneeze,” Theodore murmured.

“That was my soul screaming,” you muttered. “In case you didn’t notice, this is a high-stress situation.”

Mattheo chuckled under his breath. “You’re making it one.”

“Maybe don’t lean in like that,” you grumbled, eyes glued to your parchment.

“I’m just sitting,” he said innocently, though his arm was still behind your chair, knuckles lightly brushing your shoulder every few seconds.

You tried not to react. You were not going to be flustered again. You’d sworn it.

No more squeaking.

No more panicking.

You could be chill.

You were chill incarnate.

You—

Your hand brushed Theodore’s.

Your breath caught.

It was accidental, stupid, meaningless. You both reached for the same inkpot and your pinkies touched.

You nearly threw yourself out the window.

Your entire soul detonated.

Theodore paused.

Then, deliberately, he brushed his fingers against yours again.

You physically levitated.

“Y/N?” he asked, calm as ever, “You okay?”

You didn’t trust your voice.

You nodded instead, violently, like a bobblehead having a meltdown.

Mattheo snorted.

“You’re blushing,” Theodore noted, clearly amused.

“I’m not blushing,” you croaked. “It’s the lighting.”

“We’re underground,” Mattheo said. “There is no lighting.”

“I’m having a fever,” you said desperately. “It’s contagious. Both of you should leave.”

Mattheo leaned closer, his lips inches from your ear. “If you wanted us to touch you, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.”

You dropped your quill.

You bent to grab it and stayed down there for a few seconds longer than necessary, just to escape the humiliation.

When you came back up, your hair was a mess, your face was even redder, and Mattheo was watching you like you were his favorite kind of entertainment.

“You good?” he asked, all too smug.

You cleared your throat. “Perfect. Couldn’t be better. So good, actually. Best day of my life.”

Theodore, ever the quiet menace, slid your parchment closer to himself, his fingers brushing your hand again—just briefly.

You twitched.

“You spelled ‘transfiguration’ wrong,” he added casually.

“I’m under duress.”

“It’s endearing.”

You hated them.

You hated how calm they were. How effortless. How they were clearly enjoying the living hell out of watching you unravel.

But the worst part?

You were fucking beginning to like it.

Just a little.

Just enough to notice how nice Mattheo’s cologne smelled up close. How his stupid shoulder fit perfectly against yours. How Theodore’s voice dropped an octave when he spoke directly to you. How his hand lingered just a second longer than it should have.

Your eyes darted between them.

Mattheo was pretending to study the board. Theodore had his chin resting on his hand, watching you from the corner of his eye.

You tried to exhale.

It came out as a high-pitched wheeze.

Class ended far too slowly and far too quickly at the same time. You were still twitching. Still blushing. Still struggling to look either of them in the eye without combusting.

As the rest of the students packed up, Mattheo leaned toward you. “So… same seat tomorrow?”

You stared at him like he’d grown another head. “We’ll see,” you said, hoping it sounded mysterious instead of desperate.

Theodore brushed your hand again as he passed you your quill. “Thanks for letting us sit. We missed being close.”

You blinked. Swallowed. Nodded stiffly.

Mattheo winked. “Try not to miss us too much before dinner.”

You held it together.

You did.

Until they walked out.

Then you slammed your head against your desk and muttered, “I am doomed.”

From across the room, Cedric stuck his head in the door and called, “I heard everything. You’re adorable. But also doomed.”

You flipped him off without looking up.

The next day . .

You were not jealous.

You weren’t.

You were... mildly concerned.

Vaguely observant.

A loyal classmate paying attention to the integrity of the potion-making environment and the distracting volume of the laughter being aimed directly at Mattheo’s damn face.

You were absolutely not staring at the way that sixth-year Slytherin girl leaned over his desk like she was trying to crawl into his lap. You didn’t notice the way her laugh dragged out a half second too long, or how she touched his arm as if she had any business whatsoever being within his personal space.

No. You weren’t paying attention to any of that.

Even though your quill had stopped moving.

Even though your jaw was tight.

Even though your eyes had narrowed into little slits of murderous intent.

You were just... hyper-fixated.

Totally calm.

Just studying Mattheo’s immediate radius like it was cursed. That was normal. That was healthy.

The girl tossed her hair over her shoulder—twice—and gave him what could only be described as a look that belonged in the restricted section of the library.

"Your eyes are just so intense," she cooed.

You immediately looked down at your cauldron before you said something insane like, “Thanks, they’re also MY soulmate’s eyes, you tragic broomstick.”

Mattheo just smiled a little and went back to grinding the knotgrass like nothing was happening, like he was completely unbothered by her flirting or your rapid descent into psychological crisis.

You clenched your jaw and poked at your potion so aggressively it sizzled too fast and turned an ominous shade of purple.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t flirting back.

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t looked at her more than once.

What mattered was: she thought she could try.

She thought she had a chance.

She didn’t see the green streak in your hair or the mark on your soul.

You weren’t possessive. You just believed in justice.

And then, as if the universe had declared this to be your villain origin story, it happened again.

Across the room, Theodore was flipping through his notes, calm and quiet as always, when a seventh-year Ravenclaw girl waltzed up to him like she was auditioning for the lead role in “Obliviate My Dignity, I Love You.”

“Oh, Theodore,” she said sweetly, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder, “I was wondering if you could help me with Ancient Runes sometime this week? I always get so confused with those complicated little symbols, and you’re just so smart...”

You couldn’t breathe.

You weren’t even blinking anymore.

Your hands were clenched so tightly around your quill that you felt the tip snap with a pathetic crack.

Your parchment was shaking.

She giggled.

GIGGLED.

A FUCKING HEHE.

And Theodore—stoic, poised, elegant Theodore—just gave a nod, polite and distant, like nothing about this warranted your complete emotional combustion.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to shove your book across the room and shriek, “BACK OFF YOU WHORE, HE BELONGS TO ME!”

Instead, you sat there.

Frozen.

Fuming.

You calmly (violently) stuffed your books into your bag, slammed your cauldron shut, and stormed out of the classroom like your robe was on fire and your dignity was the smoke trailing behind you.

Neither Mattheo nor Theodore even had time to say anything.

Because you were already gone.

Like a jealous little storm cloud with anger issues and the emotional stability of a cursed kitten.

────────────────

Ten minutes later, you were back in the Hufflepuff common room, violently offended by existence, draped across the nearest armchair like a Victorian maiden who’d just learned her engagement had been broken off.

Face buried deep in the cushions, body twisted at an angle no healer would ever recommend, you let out a groan so dramatic it echoed through the room.

“She touched his arm,” you hissed into the pillow. “She touched him, Cedric. With her hand. Like she was entitled to it. Like that arm hadn’t been claimed by fate and magic and whatever divine thread ties me to my terrible, irritating soulmate—”

Cedric, several feet away at the chessboard, didn’t even glance up. “You’ve said that three times already.”

“Because it bears repeating!” you shouted, flipping onto your back and throwing one arm over your eyes like the sky was falling. “Mattheo SMILED. And not a polite smile. Not a disinterested, dismissive, ‘please leave me alone’ smile. A pretty one! He did that sharp little side-smirk! You know the one!”

Ernie peeked up from the couch, confused but intrigued. “The side-smirk?”

“The one where his lip curls like he knows you’ll sell your soul for him!” you cried, flailing your hands in the air. “And then—THEN—he leaned back in his seat and let her talk to him for a whole minute.”

Cedric moved his knight, muttering, “A whole minute. Scandalous.”

You sat up straight, wild-eyed and flushed. “It WAS! And she twirled her hair, Cedric. Hair twirling. In front of me. She twirled, giggled, and tucked it behind her ear like she was in some tragic romance story. I don’t even twirl my hair and I’m adorable!”

“That’s true,” Susan chimed in from beside Ernie, flipping through a book but watching you with far too much amusement. “You pout and dramatic sigh. Much more your brand.”

“And don’t even get me started on Theodore,” you seethed, sinking back into your chair and pulling a throw blanket over your head like you were entering mourning. “Some Ravenclaw girl just happened to need help with Ancient Runes and just happened to sit next to him and just happened to giggle like a deranged fairy when he said a single word.”

Ernie blinked. “Was it a helpful word?”

“IT WAS ‘SURE!’” you wailed. “She asked if he could help her and he said ‘sure’ like it meant nothing. Like she wasn’t plotting to seduce him right there on the table!”

Cedric, still not looking up, asked, “Did he actually flirt back?”

You paused. “No.. but he breathed near her! And he tolerated her existence!”

Susan burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re so far gone it’s embarrassing.”

You huffed, cheeks puffing out furiously. “I’m not jealous.”

“Uh-huh,” Ernie said gently, holding in a grin.

“I’m not!” you insisted, wrapping the blanket around yourself like a burrito of righteous fury. “I’m just...being observant.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m observing the threats to my peace.”

Susan leaned closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “The way you puff your cheeks out when you're mad is so cute.”

You let out a muffled “hmph” and turned your back to all of them, nose in the air, face flushed, cheeks round and puffed out like a hamster that had been denied snacks and emotional validation.

Cedric glanced up finally and sighed. “Y/N, just admit you’re jealous and we can move on.”

“I am NOT JEALOUS,” you snapped, not turning around. “I am concerned. For the sanctity of our soulmate bond!”

Susan cackled. “Classic.”

────────────────

Later that day, in the library. .

You had chosen the most secluded table in the entire back corner of the library—the one hidden behind towering bookcases and suspiciously dusty shelves no one touched since 1873. It was your fortress of petty.

Textbooks? Open.

Quill? Sharp.

Eyes? Squinted in betrayal.

Arms crossed so tightly you were ninety percent sure your own ribs were bruised. You weren’t writing anything, or reading, or even pretending to. You were just... sulking.

And the moment you saw Mattheo and Theodore enter the library, your back went straight like a puppet on strings.

They saw you instantly, of course. How could they not? You were exuding the kind of dramatic storm cloud energy that could ruin a vacation.

You did not wave.

You did not smile.

You made direct eye contact for half a second, then turned your head so fast your neck cracked, flipping open your Transfiguration book like it had personally saved your life.

You heard them approach—heard the way Mattheo’s boots tapped lightly on the floor, how Theodore moved without making a sound at all.

And then—without so much as asking—Mattheo slid into the seat beside you like he owned it, which in hindsight, he probably assumed he did.

Theodore took the chair across from you, looking unbothered and elegant as always, like he was about to read a 600-page poetry anthology out loud in a dead language.

You didn’t look at them.

You refused.

Instead, you stared at the page in front of you with the intensity of someone trying to set it on fire through sheer spite.

A beat of silence.

Two.

Then—

“You’ve said ��hmph’ six times in the last two minutes,” Theodore said, tone as flat and dry as the dusty library air.

You stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mattheo, already lounging with one arm slung lazily over the back of your chair, leaned in with an amused smile. “You also sighed dramatically four times. Adjusted your posture five. And glared at Theodore when he looked at his watch.”

“I was admiring his watch,” you said, still not making eye contact. “It’s ugly.”

“I gave it to him,” Mattheo replied smoothly.

You blinked. “Exactly.”

Theodore raised a brow. “You pouted at your inkpot.”

“I was—” You faltered. “It insulted me first.”

Mattheo grinned. “Did it, now?”

“...Yes.”

“You also whispered ‘traitor’ to your quill when it rolled off the table.”

You turned a page in your book so aggressively it might’ve developed trauma. “It deserved it.”

Theodore tilted his head ever so slightly, resting his chin on one hand while the other idly traced circles on the wooden table. “You've been avoiding eye contact.”

“I’ve been making eye contact with this table,” you said.

“The table is not your soulmate.”

“Neither are you!” you snapped automatically, then immediately flushed when you realized what you just said.

Mattheo’s smile widened. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

You sucked in a breath through your nose and gave a sharp little “hmph.” Then another. Then one more for good measure.

Mattheo leaned closer, chin nearly resting on your shoulder now, his voice far too amused for your liking. “Are you jealous?”

You blinked rapidly at your book. “No.”

“You’re vibrating.”

“I’m cold.”

“It’s boiling in here,” Theodore replied, still cool and unreadable.

“I have poor circulation,” you snapped.

Mattheo laughed. “You’re blushing.”

“It’s a blood pressure issue!”

Theodore’s eyes twinkled, the faintest curl of a smirk forming at the corner of his lips. “It’s alright, Y/N. We think it’s cute.”

“I am not cute,” you said, cheeks growing impossibly warmer. “I am threatening.”

Mattheo hummed like he was considering it. “You are threatening. In a ‘tiny, furious owl with separation anxiety’ kind of way.”

You stood abruptly, practically knocking over your chair as you stuffed your book into your bag with a vengeance. “I’m going to study somewhere else.”

Mattheo blinked up at you. “Why?”

Theodore looked entirely unbothered. “So you can complain to Cedric again?”

You froze.

Your hand paused halfway into your bag.

“You heard that?” you asked, voice cracking like a dry twig.

Mattheo grinned. “You shrieked loud enough to rattle the common room walls.”

You stared at them, utterly horrified. “I hate both of you.”

“You’ll learn to love us eventually,” Mattheo said, smug.

You let out another “hmph,” turned on your heel, and stormed off down the aisle of books, cheeks puffed out, stomping like a pissed-off puffskein that had been denied a cuddle.

They watched you go in silence for a few seconds.

Mattheo leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head, utterly content.

Theodore finally allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk.

“He’s going to be unbearable about this for weeks.”

Theodore nodded slowly, fingers steepled. “And we’re going to enjoy every second of it.”

You were sulking again.

Not in the usual way—not with puffed-out cheeks and dramatic sighs and stomping footsteps that echoed through every hallway. No, this was... quieter.

More dangerous.

Because this time, they were the ones avoiding you.

You hadn’t seen Mattheo or Theodore in two whole days.

Two.

Whole.

FUCKING.

Days.

A whole 48-hours.

No shared glances in the corridors. No smug grins across the Great Hall. No teasing banter about your latest emotional meltdown. Not even a sarcastic comment about your twitchy hands or how cute you looked when you were furious.

It was maddening.

Worse—they were doing it on purpose.

Cedric confirmed it that morning while tying his tie with the energy of someone emotionally drained by your 4 a.m. ranting.

“Yeah, I saw them near the Slytherin table yesterday,” he’d muttered around a yawn. “Mattheo looked over at you and smirked. Then walked in the opposite direction.”

You gasped so hard you choked on your own toast.

“They’re teasing me,” you croaked, dramatic and betrayed. “They’re emotionally waterboarding me.”

Cedric didn’t even blink. “You’ve used that phrase three times this week.”

“Well it keeps being true!”

Now it was evening, and you were curled up in your usual chair in the Hufflepuff common room, staring blankly at your book without turning a single page. Every few minutes, you let out the world’s smallest “hmph,” followed by another.

Susan was mid-essay nearby when she finally caved.

"Y/N," she said softly, "please find them before you kill yourself. You radiate the energy of an abandoned Victorian orphan."

You opened your mouth to argue—then closed it again.

Because she was right.

You were tired of pretending you didn’t care. Tired of pretending their absence wasn’t suffocating. Tired of pretending like you didn’t miss them so much it hurt.

So you stood up.

Tossed your quill onto the table.

And mumbled, “I’ll be right back.”

────────────────

The Slytherin common room was quiet when you walked in, your eyes scanning the space as you clutched the sleeves of your hoodie. Your footstep echoed softly against the stone floor, the low hum of the fire crackling in the background. You had expected to arrive before them, maybe have a second to collect your thoughts, but instead—

There they were.

Mattheo and Theodore, already settled on the floor in front of the large emerald velvet couch, backs leaned against it like it was their personal throne. Theodore was calmly flipping through a book, legs stretched out long in front of him, posture perfect even in relaxation. And Mattheo… Mattheo was sitting right next to Theodore, his hand gently playing with his fingers, his entire body relaxed and comfortably close, with his head tilted back to rest on Theodore’s shoulder.

He wasn’t even pretending not to be clingy about it.

You stopped in your tracks, shoulders stiffening slightly, and let out a tiny "hmph.”

Neither of them moved.

But Mattheo’s lips twitched like he was fighting back a grin.

You took a step closer, narrowing your eyes as you walked slowly toward them, arms crossed over your chest. “So this is what you two do when you’re not harassing me.”

Mattheo opened one eye, still lazily resting against Theodore’s shoulder. “Define ‘harass,’ sweetheart.”

“You were ignoring me for two days.”

“You call that ignoring?” he replied smoothly, his hand reaching up to play with the string of Theodore’s hoodie. “We were giving you space. You looked flustered.”

“I’m always flustered!” you shot back. “You don’t just leave me to—process emotions! Like some wounded Victorian maiden in a tower!”

Theodore finally looked up from his book, staring at you with an annoyingly calm gaze. “You missed us.”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “I missed your chaotic aura.*l That’s all.”

Mattheo leaned into Theodore a little more, clearly enjoying himself. “You stomped out of Charms class like someone had insulted your kneazle.”

“I don’t even own a kneazle.”

“You do now. His name is Denial.”

You gasped. “You jerk!”

Another small “hmph.” left your lips as you dramatically turned your face to the side, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing your blush. Your eyes flicked back to the pair of them, curled up like puzzle pieces, fitting together with years of comfort and silent communication.

And the worst part? You wanted in. You wanted that warmth. That safety. That closeness.

Your feet moved before your pride could stop them.

“I’m sitting there,” you mumbled, pointing vaguely between Theodore’s legs.

Theodore blinked. “Here?”

“No. In the void, Theodore. Yes, there.”

You walked over before they could say anything else, and Theodore wordlessly shifted his legs slightly apart to make room. You turned around and slowly—very slowly—sat down between his legs, your back against his chest, his knees bracketing your sides. His arms didn’t move to touch you, but they hovered nearby, like he was waiting for permission.

Your breath hitched slightly. You didn’t stop him.

The warmth of his body behind you made your heart flutter in the most irritatingly tender way. And then—

Mattheo moved too.

Without warning, he scooted in—right in front of you, between your crossed legs, his knees on either side of your thighs, his back pressed gently to your chest. But instead of just sitting there, like a normal person might, he leaned his entire weight forward, turned himself sideways, and flopped his head down directly onto your chest.

You yelped.

Your soul left your body.

“Mattheo—!”

“Shhh,” he hummed. “You’re comfortable.”

“I’m not a mattress!”

“You’re my mattress now,” he mumbled smugly, nuzzling closer, one arm draping over your waist like he belonged there.

Theodore let out a faint sigh behind you. “He did this to me earlier.”

“He’s heavy,” you complained, even as your hands awkwardly hovered near Mattheo’s shoulders, not quite sure if you should push him off or hold him tighter.

“Strong chest,” Mattheo muttered into your hoodie. “Perfect pillow.”

“Your flirting is criminally effective and I hate you.”

From behind, you felt Theodore rest his chin lightly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not pushing him off.”

“I’m contemplating murder,” you whispered.

“You’re stroking his hair.”

You froze.

Your hand had—without your permission—found its way into Mattheo’s curls and had started absently running through them. You immediately stopped, yanking your fingers away like you touched a hot cauldron.

“I didn’t mean to!”

Mattheo just hummed, too cozy to care. “Don’t stop…”

You groaned and thudded your head back against Theodore’s shoulder. “You two are infuriating.”

“You love it,” Theodore murmured, his voice so low and soft it made you shiver.

You didn’t reply.

But you didn’t move, either.

You even let out a little, content sigh.

Ten minutes passed by like a flash.

You were so warm.

So unbelievably, stupidly warm. Enveloped in an ocean of blankets, stolen body heat, and the barely-there sound of Mattheo's breath against your chest. The faint scent of his cologne—cinnamon and something darker—lingered on his robes and wafted up each time he shifted. It wrapped around you like a sleep spell.

Theodore’s arms were loosely encircling your waist, steady and grounding. He wasn’t doing anything—just holding you. But every so often, his fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your hoodie, tracing idle lines like he was memorizing the shape of you in silence.

One of them was gently rubbing your back.

The other had their fingers wrapped loosely around the string of your hoodie, tugging it every now and then like a bored cat playing with yarn. You had no idea who was doing what anymore.

You didn’t care.

You just let yourself sink into it.

Let the low, familiar rumble of their breathing pull you into that fuzzy place between awake and asleep. Let the quiet flicker of firelight on your closed eyelids lull you deeper. Let go of all the petty “hmphs,” all the jealousy, the biting comments and sulking. For a moment—just one—you weren’t overthinking everything. You weren’t pretending to hate them. You weren’t caught in the terrifying realization that two soulmates had already found each other and somehow, impossibly, also found you.

You were just… here.

Warm.

Held.

Wanted.

A breath shuddered out of you and your muscles softened completely, sinking further into Theodore’s lap like you were meant to be there. Mattheo let out a soft hum at the sound, his cheek now smushed lazily over your sternum. You felt the vibration in your chest, and your fingers—completely of their own accord—moved to rest gently in his hair.

The softest curls.

So warm.

So—

“Mm’not jealous,” you mumbled, half-asleep. “You’re jealous…”

Theodore let out a quiet laugh through his nose.

Mattheo snorted against you. “Sure, darling.”

But you were already gone. Lips parted. Breathing even. One hand tangled in Mattheo’s hair, the other limp near Theodore’s wrist. Your cheeks were flushed, soft lashes resting against the tops of your cheeks, the same cheeks that puffed out earlier when you were pouting your entire soul away in the common room.

You looked like peace personified. Like something breakable and beautiful.

Theodore glanced down and carefully adjusted your hoodie so it wasn’t bunching too tightly at your neck. His fingers grazed your jaw briefly, like he couldn’t help himself. Like it would’ve been a crime not to touch you gently while you were this still.

Mattheo looked up at him, voice low. “He’s still blushing.”

Theodore nodded, barely audible. “Even in his sleep.”

Neither of them moved.

They didn’t want to.

They didn’t dare.

This was the first time you'd let them hold you like this.

The first time you'd come willingly, nervously, but trustingly. It wasn't dramatic or loud or laced with teasing comebacks.

It was soft.

Vulnerable.

The moment felt sacred.

And that was the exact moment all hell broke loose.

The common room door creaked open—quietly at first, then all at once.

Lorenzo was the first to enter, holding a butterbeer and mid-sentence with Pansy. “And I told her, if she thinks she can just hex a boy into dating her—” He froze.

Right behind him, Pansy dropped her chocolate frog. Astoria’s gasp could probably be heard by the Bloody Baron. Draco walked into her back and nearly dropped his whole cauldron cake.

Blaise stopped chewing entirely.

All five of them stared.

On the couch in front of the fireplace, the three of you were an aesthetic tragedy waiting to happen.

You, dead asleep, face tucked into Mattheo’s hair, hand still curled in Theodore’s jumper. Mattheo, content and borderline purring on your chest. Theodore, holding both of you like a quietly smug piece of artwork.

“I am—” Astoria began, eyes wide.

“—actually going to cry,” Pansy whispered, hand over her heart.

Draco blinked like a man who had just seen the moon turn into a puppy. “They’re all cuddled up like baby ducklings.”

Lorenzo let out a laugh that shook his whole chest. “That’s it. That’s the moment. Draco. Camera. Now.”

Draco, bless his chaotic soul, grinned. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He whipped out the shiny black Muggle camera from his robe like he was drawing a wand. It beeped. Whirred.

Mattheo stirred slightly, but didn’t open his eyes.

“You’re gonna get caught,” Blaise warned softly, though his smirk was already forming.

“Oh, it’s worth it,” Pansy whispered, biting her knuckle.

Draco leaned in, camera poised. “Smile, lovebirds…”

The flash went off.

Mattheo’s eyes cracked open—just barely.

“You take one more photo,” he murmured groggily, “and I’m cursing your shoes to scream every time you walk.”

“I’ll risk it,” Pansy whispered back, already gesturing for another shot.

Theodore opened one eye and spoke with deadly calm. “All of you are insufferable.”

“But he’s BLUSHING in his sleep,” Astoria hissed gleefully.

Mattheo cracked a sleepy smile. “He really is.”

You stirred slightly, letting out a soft snore before snuggling deeper between them.

And the camera flashed again.

[misasimagines]

friendship bracelets / reader x Caleb / (Love and Deepspace)

included characters: Caleb!

rating: SFW! Completely wholesome

warnings: Unrequited yearning on both sides. Reader is a little tsundere. GN!

You sat on the floor of Caleb's living room, the sun shining through the open window and down onto your lap. It kept you warm on this cool morning and additionally lit up the project you were working on. Sunlight made your collection of relatively cheap beads and charms glint and sparkle like diamonds.

You threaded another bead onto the bracelet and held it up against your own wrist to check the placement. It was a mix of orange, red, and purple beads, and at the very center, you had snuck in two charms that bore your own initials. It looked to fit your own wrist too well so you were adding on some extras to make sure it would fit Caleb's without cutting off his circulation.

It was silly, even though you took it completely seriously, to be making a friendship bracelet for your adult, male, military employed bestie. It was even sillier to put your own initials into it as if you had some kind of claim over him. Which, as you snuggled up in his hoodie, you thought it wasn't that far from the truth. Caleb was always very loyal to you. Any request you made of him, he did everything he could to fulfill it. Any mood you were in, he did his best to match or or fix it. Anything you wanted, he'd find a way to get it for you. And the way he looked at you when you rambled on about something or even just stumbled into the kitchen for coffee in the morning... You flushed to think of that look.

It was setting yourself up for heartbreak to think it was anything serious.

You finished the bracelet and pulled the ends together, tying them so it could be tightened and loosened to a certain point at will. Slipping it on your own wrist, you tested the fit again. It slid down to your hand and you had to splay your fingers out to keep it from falling off. It made you think about Caleb's hands, how much bigger they were than yours. If you thought too hard, you started thinking about his fingers fitting between your own- about the roughness on his knuckles, the calluses on his palms, the-

Again, heat filled your cheeks and you tugged the bracelet off and began hurriedly putting away your craft supplies. Caleb was your friend. He'd always been your friend, and no matter how much it made your stomach sink, you had the feeling he'd always think of you like a little sibling. You scowled at your own mess as you scooped beads back up into their baggies. This minor craft project had really invaded the entire coffee table and a good chunk of the floor. Part of you felt compelled to quickly tidy up before Caleb got back because you knew he would usher you away and clean it up himself. He would pat your head, lightly tease you for making a mess, and then put everything back away on a shelf in a closet you would have to climb to reach.

“It's more convenient for me to put it there,” he’d say. “You can always ask me to get it for you,” he'd say. “It's not my fault you're a pipsqueak,” he'd say, and then he’d ruffle your hair and make it a knotted mess.

Why were you making him a friendship bracelet again?

The front door swung open and Caleb walked through, startling you out of your frustration and causing you to spill a bunch of amethyst and ruby toned beads out all over the floor.

“No!” You whined petulantly, watching them scatter and roll away.

Caleb stopped at the entryway, taking off his earbuds and setting them down next to his keys. He had just gotten back from his morning run, still wearing his stupidly tight tank top and shorts that left little to the imagination. Not that you were wanting in that regard. When it came to Caleb, you had a VERY vivid imagination. Vivid enough to make you blush if you let your thoughts drift that far. Thankfully, his own annoying voice broke you out of that dangerous line of thought, “Interesting assassination tactic, pips. Alerting me to the old marbles on the floor tripping hazard trick?” 

You glared at his levity, “You won't be joking when it works and you fall on your ass.” You crawled around picking up the beads and swearing under your breath when they seemed to dart away from your grasp. It's like they had minds of their own, fleeing for safety under the couch and across the room into the hall.

“I don't know, I think I have it in me to crack a few jokes even with a cracked skull,” he retorted, crouching down and grabbing up a few beads to help you.

It wasn't even a question to ask him for help, and your frustration ebbed away at the familiarity of his presence. His constant, unsolicited assistance could be annoying, but there was something undeniably comforting in how reliable and predictable he was in that regard. “You'd be making dumb comments in the grave,” you snarked, a little softer towards him.

“Someone has to brighten the mood in the graveyard,” he agreed, already holding more beads in his hand than you had managed to collect. “Unless you plan on visiting regularly to keep me company?”

You looked up at his playful smile, and he held out a handful of beads for you. “Not sure how much brightness I’d bring when I'm mourning your death.” You held out your hand to accept the beads.

“Hmm,” he cupped your hand with one of his own to keep it steady before dropping what he'd collected onto your waiting palm. “And here I thought you'd be celebrating your successful assassination.”

Your cheeks flushed red and you felt frozen in this gentle touch. His hands were hot, maybe slightly sticky with sweat from his exercise. Breaking yourself out of your Caleb induced stupor, you responded, “I’d regret it immediately.”

The sincerity of your comment left you both quiet. He retracted his hand and found an empty bag for your beads, holding it open for you to put them back.

You quickly recovered, “Besides, when you're dead, no one cooks for me. It's really inconvenient.” You carefully directed your handful of plastic baubles into the bag.

Caleb sealed it up and tossed it next to you with the others, “All I am to you is a personal chef, I see.” 

You shook your head and grabbed the bracelet, “Nu-uh. Would ‘just a personal chef’ be the proud owner of a one of a kind, handmade, artisan bracelet from yours truly?” Holding it out, you suddenly felt a surge of embarrassment. What if this was too childish?

As you began to pull it back, he grabbed your wrist and pulled it back between you. “Go on then, put it on me,” he smiled warmly at you.

You felt nearly feverish as you pulled the bracelet down over his hand and cinched it around his wrist. It fit perfectly. He turned his hand over to admire it and you made yourself busy fidgeting with a bag of fruit charms.

“I think you missed your calling, pipsqueak,” he praised you with a grin. “But…these are your initials. Trying to tell me somethin’?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, “It's a friendship bracelet, Caleb…of course the person who made it for you would include their initials. You know, so you…remember who your friend is and everything.” Your explanation sounded succinct and believable enough to you, but the soft, knowing smile he continued directing your way made you think he believed otherwise.

“Okay, okay, I get it. For a second I was thinking you were trying to mark your territory on me or something.”

Cheeks lighting up, you crumpled your bag in indignation and embarrassment because he TOTALLY read you, “I'm not a dog!”

He laughed and patted the top of your head, “Whatever you say,” he ruffled your hair even more to prove your point and you wiggled out from under it with a deep pout. He pulled back his hand and regarded the bracelet again with an expression not dissimilar to the one he gave you when you spent an hour rambling about your latest hyperfixation. “If it's a friendship bracelet, I should make you one too, right?”

You shrugged, still too embarrassed to emote otherwise.

“Teach me?” He tilted his head down to try to find your gaze.

When you lifted your eyes to look at him, you knew the bracelet meant more than friendship to you. The adoration in his face reflected everything you felt for him but couldn't say. You wanted to hold his hand and tell him yes, the initials meant you wanted to tell everyone who saw him that he was yours. You didn't want anyone else to be able to look at him and have a place in his heart. It was so selfish, so controlling, it made your stomach churn with guilt. 

“Pips?” He prompted, concern etching itself into his face 

“Yeah, sorry. Of course, I'll show you,” you tried to quickly recover, turning back towards the coffee table and finding the string to start it 

Caleb gave you a second more of his worried attention, but when you stubbornly continued to set up for his own crafting session, he turned away and dug through bags of beads. You glanced over, curious what he was searching for, and narrowed your eyes when he found the bag of alphabet charms. He dangled it in front of your eyes with a playful smile, “Better start looking for my initials now, right?”

Chewing your lip, wondering what he was playing at, you shrugged indifferently though you felt anything but, “It's whatever you want.”

He tipped out some of the charms and started looking for a C, “It is what I want. Anytime we see these bracelets, we'll know we belong to each other.”

Your face burned and your heart raced. Rather than react like an adult, like someone who could admit to what they wanted, you elbowed him in the side, “Dorky ass,” you grumbled.

He just grinned as he kept sorting through the charms, occasionally looking at your own initials on his wrist with unabashed giddiness.

[donteverblameash]

Ya'll ever like HE'S MY DAD, and he doesn't exist?

Anyways, here's some Bucky Barnes as your dad HCS!

Strictly platonic! Hcs under the cut :)

-Bucky likes to sleep in, especially on the weekends, don't expect anything to be happening around the house until AT LEAST 10 am

-And even after that, he loves lazy mornings.

-He's sipping coffee, and you're half asleep against him with the TV on as background noise as his hand threads through your hair.

-Bucky likes taking walks with you around the neighborhood. He needs the fresh air.

-With little ones (and big kids!), he loves playing games. Soccer? He'll be goalie. Hide and seek? He'll count. Tag? You're it.

-And he will play apart!

-Yes, he'll do the voices. Your little hand is now a phone!? Is someone calling? If you want him to be a fairy princess, alright, he knows he left that tutu around here somewhere-

-Likes to hold hands with you as he has a big fear of losing you in crowds (probably because SOMEONE in the 40s kept on slipping off the get into trouble)

-He is confused by and just a little scared of teens.

-Don't try and get him into social media. Please.

-"I don't understand what all these words are. Are these people?" "It's the comment section, dad. Yes. They are real people." This guy just said I'm a 10. What does that mean?? I'm not a damn number."

-He pretty much believes teenagers are just overgrown toddlers.

-"Whats that? Oh, we're pouting now? I can pout, too! See?"

-Then he will proceed to have the most annoying pouty face ever until you break and laugh.

-Bucky just cares and notices so much. He sympathizes and empathizes.

-"They've had an off day, probably a long day at school, so they'll probably fall asleep in the car. I'll carry them in and order their favorite."

-Having a bad day? Do you want him to stay? Go? Get you something, hold you, turn on a show? He'll do it.

-In a bad situation, need him to come pick you up? He's getting his shoes on now. He's on his way.

-If something bad happens, he's the first to hold you. First, to tell you it's okay and that he'll help. He'll kiss your forehead and pick you up and brush you off.

-"Now, now. Wipe those tears. That's it. Stop your crying, I'm right here. You're so strong. I'm so proud. It's gonna be fine, I gotcha."

-Will sing you a lullaby. Even if it's a little out of key, he'll sing to you.

-Has a love for proudly introducing you to people, holding onto your shoulders with a beaming grin as he asks you if you want to say your name.

-Tries not to be too emotional, but he can't help it! Birthdays and graduations? Tears.

-"Heh, don't look at me, kid, your old dad's just being stupid... I'm so proud of you, though."

-When Bucky is in a grumpy mood, you can almost always cheer him up. He'll wrap an arm around you and squeeze you tight, and you can feel the weight being lifted off his shoulders.

-If he gets overexcited he'll pick you up and set you on his hip (you could be 3 or 26. He doesn't care he can and will do it)

-And he WILL spin you around until you're laughing and dizzy.

-Unintentionally embarrasses you.

-Like he's so blunt and forward sometimes.

-"Awh, look, this was from back when you were six. You threw an absolute fit before this picture over toys..." "Dad!" "Well, you did."

-Bucky Barnes is the sassiest man alive and in turn raised sassy kids.

-But sometimes he can't handle the sass back, go figure.

-"Do NOT take that tone with me!"

-"I've had it up to HERE-"

-"Newsflash pal..."

-Good at picking up on how you're feeling.

-"Do you wanna go home?" "Do you not feel well?" "Feelin' shy? Need me to do the talking?" Things like that.

-He also does other soft little things.

-Buying you your favorite candy bar when he goes out

-Tying your shoes (Does the Lil bunny ears)

-Leaves you a note in your lunch box.

-Automatically goes to check your forehead when he sees you feeling off.

-Tucks your head against his chest or shoulder during hugs.

-Puts his tongue between his teeth when he's trying to help you with your homework.

-Bonks your head gently when your being a goof

-Uses slang in the wrong contexts because it ticks you off a little.

-Blows on your cuts and scrapes when you get them.

-Holds your hand and says, "Hey, just look at me," when you get shots.

-Reads you, the Hobbit.

-Treats you like your his favorite person because you are his favorite person.

ALRIGHT WERE DONE 🗣🗣🗣

Feel free to leave requests in my ask box!

[plounce]

new mogtomes event rewards!

dropping next wednesday, 2/26: easier ways to get cool stuff! (link to the official site)

i've compiled the in-game sources for all the rewards under the cut (or in this bsky thread)!

PAISSA EARRING - this is new! never-before-seen paissa earring! here's the paissa brat minion, and here's a full-grown paissa

INFERNO JACKET - previously a reward for the mogtomes event leading up to 5.5.

SHADOW GWIBER - lv 80 trial hades extreme

FALCON IGNITION KEY - this was a was a reward for being subscribed during a specific 90 day time period iin 2017 (ty to a bsky commenter for this correction)! it has land, air, and underwater forms!!

MAGICKED BED - shb treasure map dungeons provide enchanted elm lumber, 3 of which can be used to craft this (your eyes are actually open when you use it. which bugs me, so i had tomte close her eyes for this pic)

QUEEN'S GUARD BARDING - a possible drop from delubrum reginae, the bozja duty between the two exploration areas! (bozja is unlocked post-5.0; you have to have also completed the stb alliance raids)

ANCIENT ONE - a minion from the optional/bonus shb dungeon anamnesis anyder

PRIMAL ANGEL ORCH ROLL - from the eden's verse: furor, aka e6, aka the garuda/ifrit fight.

MODERN AESTHETICS: FORM & FUNCTION - silver/gold bunny treasure chests in eureka pyros.

PLEASANT DOT PARASOL - lockboxes from the bozjan southern front, or purchase with 25 clusters there.

BALLROOM ETIQUETTE: THE WINSOME WALLFLOWER - /lean emote. 1800 skybuilder's scrips (firmament/diadem, so crafting/gathering)

ELBST HORN & BOMB PALANQUIN HORN - ARR allied society quests, sahagin and kobolds respectively

LEGENDARY KAMUY & HALLOWED KAMUY - stormblood extremes, shinryu ex and seiryu ex respectively

woodland chair, apothecary's workbench, candlelit sundries, fat cat rug, and fluffy pancakes are all easily craftable furniture. you can buy them on the market board OR i will make these for you (i ♥ crafting). don't waste your mogtomes.

WIND-UP SYLPH - minion from the ARR allied society quests for the sylphs.

the skallic clothes are all drops from the post-stormblood msq dungeon "the drowned city of skalla", which can be run with duty support. it has the essential BLU spell "hydro push" as well. (the striking/aiming/healing pants are a cute glam option for fem characters! these are dyed soot black)

SPECIAL TIMEWORN MAPS: lv 70, 80, 90 guaranteed portal treasure maps. POTENTIALY special are lv 90 khumbhiraskin maps (maze); CONCEIVABLY special are lv 90 ophiotauroskin maps (roulette). lv 70s can help you get the 'luckiest of lord/ladies' title. all good choices if you have spare mogtomes.

not covering riding maps because they are not useful and are a waste of currency (imo). riding maps do NOT affect your FLYING speed! only your ground speed!

TRIPLE TRIAD CARDS:

POROGGO: npc, seika, idyllshire

HONOROIT: npc, house fortemps manservant, ishgard

SEEKER OF SOLITUDE: lv 80 msq dungeon, grand cosmos

SHB WOL: lv 80 msq trial, seat of sacrifice (normal & ex)

EDEN'S PROMISE: lv 80 eden raid, eden's promise: eternity (e12n + savage)

BITTY DUCKBILL - minion, shb+ hunt currency (800 nuts), crystarium hunt desk.

BACON BITS - minion, lv 80 botanist retainer venture.

THE GARDEN'S GATES ORCH ROLL - shb allied society quests for pixies (which are shb's combat society quests).

CURIEL ROOT - can be used to feed your chocobo to increase exp gains for it. you can only use this if you have a stable available, either through your apartment, house, or FC house. can just be bought through the marketboard.

MAGICKED PRISMS (JOB MASTERY) - fun stars effects for a few seconds. a mogtome staple. if you truly want some sparkles for a few seconds, holidays usually have some and there are doubtless people selling their variant dungeon prisms on the market board for pocket change.

MGP PLATINUM CARD - 50k mgp, which is a nice chunk of change. if you have spare mogtomes after getting everything else you want, my recommendation is spending them either on these or special timeworn maps (which can be stacked, keeping your inventory tidy!)

to get every registrable item (as in items that you pop and then can use in perpetuity in some fashion) (and again excluding riding maps) would take 767 mogtomes.

that's everything! happy mogtomes! i'm very excited to see what the ultimog challenge will be...

[chmpgneprblem]

Lucy Gray and reader singing together, please?

INVISIBLE STRING ; LUCY GRAY BAIRD

pairing: lucy gray baird x covey!reader (not related) summary: lucy gray pitches a song to you, you don’t seem to realize what it’s about until you sing it with her on stage warnings: reader being oblivious (and jealous), mentioned that reader is fem a/n: i did change a lot of the lyrics but it's to fit the plot!! word count: 1.0k join taglist!!

Lucy Gray proposed a new song to you. “It’s kind of lovey-dovey… but I think we should play it tomorrow at the Hob.” She was nervous, only looking at you for a quick second before staring at her feet the rest of the time. What could she be so nervous about? “Well play it for me!” You beamed at her and shoved her shoulder. She grabbed her guitar from beside her and started to play for you.

The melodic notes that came out of the guitar awed you as she played. Her sweet voice blended well with background noises of the guitar, it had you mesmerized.

And isn’t it just so pretty to think? All along there was some invisible string, tying you to me.

You recognized the saying from something Maude Ivory had told you once. She had brought it up while they watched a couple dance as Lucy Gray sang. “It’s this belief I read about. It’s a string tying soulmates together, it means that the universe wants you to be together. Almost like it’s written in the stars.”

As Lucy Gray sang to you, you couldn’t help but wonder who she was singing about. “It’s probably about that peacekeeper friend of hers…” You got a stab in your ribs but from what? Jealousy? Maybe. You hadn’t thought of it before but as she was nearing the end of the song, the pain got worse.

She sang the last chorus, her voice still smooth as she sang the same lyrics; this time with a key change on the guitar. She sang oohs and ahhs while she continued to play the relaxing melody. She ended the song with a nervous smile on her face.

She began to ask you shyly, “So what do you-” You cut her off, “It’s amazing Lucy Gray, we should get the others together, so we can practice it.” You told with a smile, despite the feeling of jealousy deep within you. She blushed at your praise as she muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” You left her with a smile as you went to gather the rest of the Covey.

Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire. Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons. One single thread of gold tied me to you.

You were jealous. What did he have that you didn’t? You loved Lucy Gray, you had loved her since you first met her in the hob years ago. You just didn’t know if she felt the same.

Just like every night, you and the Covey played at the Hob. But this night was different, they were playing a new song.

You and the rest of the Covey got onto the stage. Lucy Gray strutted up to the mic with an excited smile. She turned to you to give a nod, a way of telling you it was time to start. You passed the nod onto the rest of the Covey. Maude Ivory gave a thumbs up to you then looked over to Lucy Gray with a knowing smile. What were they planning?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Lucy Gray’s voice. “Hello everybody, It’s so great to see you!” She spoke to them with her usual charm. 

As she spoke to the crowd, you scanned around. That peacekeeper boy wasn’t here. Guess he won’t get to hear her song.

“Tonight we’re gonna start with a new one, I call it ‘invisible string’” She told the crowd, grabbing a tambourine while Tam Amber started playing the banjo. You joined in a little after he did on the guitar, Barb Azure playing her fiddle not long after you.

Black was the color of your shirt when you were sixteen at the local bar you used to work at to make a little money.

The lyrics sounded familiar. You looked around at the rest of the Covey to see them with grinning faces. Was this song about you? Surely not, so you just pushed it to the side as you continued to play guitar along with her.

And isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me.

Lucy Gray sang the chorus, turning to you with a smile as you harmonized together; you were doing a slightly higher pitch than her. You smiled back, as if nobody else was there but her.

Pure was the snow in the song in the bar when you had first met me.

She turned back to the crowd as she sang the second verse. It was about you. You get brought back to that day from the mention of it. 

You had walked in to do your usual bartending shift, not expecting much entertainment but were pleasantly surprised to see a band playing. The main singer, Lucy Gray, was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. She seemed to be smiling at someone in the crowd as she sang. She turned as she continued to sing and saw you standing there, in awe from her voice and beauty.

A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms, right into that dive bar. Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire. 

You looked at her, and suddenly you were that same awestruck girl from back when you were just a bartender at the Hob. She looked back at you with loving eyes, you thought your knees were going to buckle, but you stood up straighter.

As the final chorus came up, Lucy Gray put down the tambourine to start snapping her fingers to the beat as she sang with you.

And isn’t it just so pretty to think? All along there was some invisible string, tying you to me.

You changed the key on your guitar as you two started to sing the same oohs and ahhs she had sung to you just the night before. Her voice was as smooth as honey while your higher and slightly gravelly voice harmonized with hers. Your opposite tones mixed perfectly together.

Your spirits matched with your voices, made for one another. You left the Hob that night with Lucy Gray on your arm knowing that you two really were written in the stars.

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 7

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 21k

previous part <- current part -> next part

You rifled through your closet, pulling out a long, oversized coat. It was loose enough to hide your frame but stylish enough not to draw attention. A wide-brimmed hat, too, to shadow your face, and a pair of dark sunglasses for when you stepped outside. You layered a soft scarf around your neck, both for warmth and disguise.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the dark glasses hiding your eyes, and the hat pulling your hair into a loose bun. You looked… different, like someone trying not to be recognized at all.

Perfect.

You tugged the coat tighter around you, tucking the ends of the scarf into the collar. The mirror didn’t reflect the same girl who’d stood crying behind that studio door just days ago. This version of you had made a choice. Rebellious. Terrified. Alive.

Your phone buzzed.

Chan: I’m outside. I brought dumplings.

You grinned despite yourself, slipping your phone into your pocket as you grabbed your keys and cracked open the door. The hallway was empty, the soft hum of the building’s heater the only sound. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, less of a chance of running into anyone.

When you reached the side entrance, Chan was waiting by the curb, leaning against a lamppost with his hood up and a white takeout bag in hand. He looked up the moment you stepped outside.

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you like he’d been holding his breath since last night and only now let himself exhale. “You look like a spy,” he said softly, amused.

You smirked, walking toward him. “That’s the idea.”

He offered the bag. “Your dumplings, miss.”

You took it, and the warmth from the paper seeped into your fingertips, grounding you. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re breaking the rules.”

“You’re lucky I’m willing to risk our entire contract for your taste in dumplings.”

You both stood there for a moment, quiet laughter shared under the faint glow of the streetlight. The thread glimmered gently beneath your coat sleeve. It was healing.

Chan glanced around, then nodded toward the alley beside the building. “There’s a little park a few blocks away. Hardly anyone goes there at night. You okay walking?”

You nodded. “As long as you walk slow.”

“Deal.” He smiled, falling into step beside you.

You walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Somewhere down the block, a car honked. A dog barked behind a fence. Normal sounds. Uncomplicated ones. You weren’t idols right now. It wasn’t a PR stunt. Just two people testing something out.

When you reached the park, the streetlamps gave way to softer amber lights lining the gravel path. You found a bench tucked under a tree and sat side by side.

Chan opened the bag and handed you a container. “One half-spicy, one soy-garlic. Just like you like.”

“You remembered my order from this morning,” you said, smiling softly.

“I want to remember everything about you,” he replied, quieter this time.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you took a bite of a dumpling instead.

Chan nudged your shoulder gently. “You’re really not scared?”

You chewed slowly. Thought. Swallowed. “I’m terrified.”

He chuckled once, hollow and honest. “Same.”

“But I’d rather be terrified with you than safe without you,” you added. “The thread’s not just some metaphor. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Chan looked over at you then, fully, his gaze so open it ached. He reached out and took your hand, careful at first, like he was still waiting for the world to punish him for this softness. But you didn’t pull away. His pinky brushed yours, and the thread glowed again. 

You laughed. “During our first Zoom call, you said having this contract would make you look more romantic. I don’t think you need extra help in that department.” Chan groaned, tipping his head back against the bench. “Don’t remind me. That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever said.”

“It kind of was,” you teased, nudging his knee with yours.

You continued to eat before you suddenly remembered something, “Oh! I wrote more lyrics in my notes app for our song.”

Chan perked up instantly, eyes widening with interest. “You did?”

You nodded, pulling your phone from your pocket and unlocking it. “I was going to send them to Iseul for approval, but… I didn’t. Not yet.”

“Because of everything?” he asked gently.

You looked up from your screen, meeting his gaze. “Because they were too honest.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Can I hear them?”

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the app. But then you saw the soft glow of the thread between you, brighter now. So you nodded and opened the note.

You cleared your throat and read:

“No need to run, no need to chase,

 We’re moving slow, but still in place.

 The world can spin, but we won’t break,

 We’ve got a light that time can’t shake.”

By the time you finished, the air had gone still between you. Chan didn’t speak right away, just stared at you like the lyrics had knocked the wind out of him.

You swallowed hard. “I wrote it the night you didn’t come.”

He nodded, gaze falling for a beat. “And I showed up the night after.” Chan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, then turned his head toward you. “Can we put that in the song?”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

Chan nodded without hesitation. “Dead serious. It’s beautiful.”

“Okay. Let’s put it in.”

Chan smiled, and it did something dangerous to your heart. “You know, I used to think writing with you would be easy because of how good you are.”

“And now?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Now I know it’s not easy at all,” he said, “because everything you write means something. And I’m terrified of ruining it.”

You reached for his hand again, letting your fingers find his. The thread pulsed in quiet agreement. “You’re not ruining anything, Chan. You’re the reason I can even write like this. My soulmate”

For a second, he looked like he might kiss you.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned back against the bench, still holding your hand, and looked up at the stars barely visible through the city haze. “When we perform this live, it’s going to kill me.”

You laughed softly. “You mean emotionally or career-wise?”

“Both,” he muttered, grinning. “Definitely both.”

The two of you sat there under the half-lit sky with dumpling containers empty beside you. You turned toward him, eyes soft. “Tomorrow, we write the rest of the song.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After a long day of writing, producing, and recording in the studio, it was time for your first scheduled Instagram live together.

You hadn’t spoken much since finishing the final verse, both of you emotionally worn out. But now, with the ring light casting a soft glow across the studio couch and Chan adjusting the mic levels like it was any other day, the pressure started to creep back in.

Not the pressure to perform. But to pretend. And you’d promised you wouldn’t do that anymore.

“You ready?” Chan asked, glancing over at you.

You nodded, smoothing your sweatshirt and tucking a few strands of hair under your ear. “As I’ll ever be.”

He gave a small smile, tight, but sincere, and hit the Go Live button. Instantly, hearts and comments poured onto the screen like a digital tide.

💬 OMG THEY'RE TOGETHER I CAN'T BREATHE

💬If they don’t kiss by the end of this live I’m suing

You tried not to look directly at the flood of reactions, instead focusing on the steady rhythm of Chan’s voice as he greeted everyone, his fingers drumming against his knee.

“Hey, everyone,” he said, glancing at you for a moment before continuing. “We just wrapped a long day in the studio, and we wanted to check in with you guys and hang out!”

You smiled, leaning slightly closer to the mic. “First off, thank you. We’ve seen everything. The teaser, the theories, the edits-”

“-the fanfics,” Chan added under his breath, which made you snort.

“And we’re honestly… overwhelmed. In the best way,” you said.

Chan nodded, his grin crooked. “Yeah. You guys made our future song something way bigger than we imagined. And we’re so grateful for that.”

💬 THE FANFICS OMG HE SAW

💬 THEY’RE GIGGLINGGGG

💬 they’re literally glowing like the relationship theory is canon I don’t care

You glanced over at him, the glow of the ring light soft against the edges of his face. It was strange, being this open on camera. But also, it wasn’t. Because you weren’t pretending anymore.

He continued, “So, we thought we should play some rounds of Never Have I Ever on live.” Aka, your PR team thought it would create great ship content.

You smirked, already feeling the familiar nervous flutter in your stomach. “Alright, I’m game. But I’m warning you, I don’t hold back.”

Chan raised his eyebrows playfully. “Neither do I.”

He held up a small stack of index cards that were premade by your team. “Okay, I’ll go first. Never have I ever… faked a sick day to avoid an event.”

You laughed. “Guilty as charged. And you?”

Chan shrugged, grinning. “Can’t say I haven’t.” Chan laughed softly and shuffled the cards. “Alright, let’s keep it light. Never have I ever… stayed up all night binge-watching a show and regretted it the next day.”

You grinned, nodding immediately. “Guilty. That was me last weekend.”

💬 SAME!! What show tho?? 👀

💬 Lol, relatable AF

Chan laughed. “I can’t say no to a good drama marathon either. Okay, your turn.”

You picked a card and read aloud, “Never have I ever… accidentally sent a text to the wrong person.”

Chan snorted. “Oh, big yes.”

You rolled your eyes. “That time I texted my friend complaining about a meeting… and it was to the whole team chat.”

You both laughed.

Chan pointed at you teasingly. “Never have I ever… forgotten someone’s birthday and tried to cover it up.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Way too often. I’m terrible with dates.”

Chan’s smile softened. “Alright, how about a sweet one? Never have I ever… written a love letter or note to someone.”

You glanced at him, the thread pulsing warmly between your hands. “I have.”

Chan nodded, his voice quiet. “Me too. I actually still have the ones I wrote when I was younger.”

💬 Aww, so wholesome!!

💬 They’re officially couple goals 💖

You both laughed softly, the tension easing as the questions continued. There was an intimate space between you on camera, no scripts, no pretending, just two people being themselves.

General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin

Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1

[prfectboy]

in an instant, kid's face has fallen. his hands fly up to his hair, as if mussing it enough will make the three white stripes disappear & fade into blackness; as they should be ( it was not for his lack of trying, either-- if only his reaper body didn't repel toxins & chemicals, such as hair dye ). his lower lips trembles, eyebrows drawing to the center of his forehead. "you're right," he says, feeling his knees go weak. "you're absolutely right! who am i to find issues with other people's messy hair - such as yours, that just thinks it can jut out anywhere - when i look like THIS?? i feel like a complete abomination! a scum upon the earth! i should be ashamed!"

in an attempt to hide his humility, perhaps, he lowers himself to the ground, covering his head in the process. this was a very sore subject for him.

{{ L }} " MY hair? What about yours, twerp? Got those stupid stripes on it. "

[theerastour]

drawtober day 11: one single thread of gold | @taylortober | shop prints

tying you to me | low-key ts

[watchnrant]

Agatha All AlongEpisode 3: Easter Egg Breakdown

Amulets

Every Witch Has One (Not Just Agatha)

A key detail from this episode is the revelation that every witch in the coven has their own amulet, not just Agatha. As the witches traverse the Witches’ Road, which transforms into a sandy walkway leading to a beach house, their attire shifts to match the setting, yet their amulets remain. This small but significant touch teases the potential deeper importance of amulets for MCU witches and possibly hints at their connection to power and identity within witchcraft.

Big Little Lies Reference

An Homage to HBO's Big Little Lies

Mrs. Hart’s (Debra Jo Rupp) remark about the beach house feeling like it’s straight out of "Huge Tiny Lies" is a clever nod to Big Little Lies. This HBO show, which revolves around secrets and a murder investigation in a wealthy seaside town, is reflected in the trial-like proceedings in this episode. From the luxurious coastal setting to the suspense-filled plot, this homage adds another layer to Agatha All Along, showcasing Marvel’s playful engagement with pop culture.

Mephisto Confirmed?

Agent of Mephisto

The episode drops a significant hint about Mephisto’s potential existence in the MCU. When Jennifer Hale speaks to Teen, she warns him about Agatha, citing dark rumors about her trading her son, Nicholas Scratch, for the Darkhold. According to these whispers, Nicholas became an agent of Mephisto, confirming that the demon lord may already be operating behind the scenes. This moment sets the stage for larger MCU implications, tying in with long-standing fan theories about Mephisto's involvement in mystical storylines.

Trading Her Son for the Darkhold

"She Wouldn’t Recognize Her Own Son"

In a chilling revelation, Jennifer suggests that Agatha wouldn't recognize her son if he appeared before her. This is a subtle clue that Teen might actually be Nicholas Scratch, Agatha’s long-lost son, rather than the presumed reincarnation of Wanda’s son Billy (aka Wiccan). The mystery surrounding Teen’s identity deepens, making this a key narrative thread for future episodes.

Alice Wu’s Tattoo

Cursed Women & Protection

Alice Wu-Gulliver (Ali Ahn) reveals the story behind her tattoo, which was given to her at age 13 to ward off a family curse.

Teen also shares that something significant happened to him when he was 13. Given that Teen is now 16 and WandaVision occurred three years ago, this suggests a connection to Wanda Maximoff, further fueling the theory that Teen may be Billy Kaplan.

This conversation is filled with subtle clues that connect characters through shared trauma and mysterious pasts.

Mrs. Hart’s Hallucination

"Please…Wanda, Let Him Breathe!"

Mrs. Hart's hallucination brings back a haunting moment from WandaVision. Near the end of the episode, she is shown begging Wanda to "let him breathe," seemingly reliving the traumatic death of her husband, which may have been caused by the limitations of Wanda's Hex. In WandaVision, many residents were trapped in loops or frozen, and this new revelation implies that Mrs. Hart’s husband was among the unintended victims of Wanda’s control. It’s a tragic callback to the consequences of Wanda’s grief and power.

Lilia’s Premonition

"Try to Save Agatha"

Lilia’s sudden outburst, "Try to save Agatha," feels like an eerie premonition. This brief but impactful moment hints that Agatha may soon face grave danger, and saving her could become a central objective for the other witches. It’s a well-placed piece of foreshadowing that could hint at Agatha’s future role in the MCU.

Coven's Hallucinations

Facing Past Traumas

Each witch in Agatha’s coven faces a nightmarish hallucination tied to their deepest traumas.

Alice relives her mother's grief over her grandmother’s death, feeling a terrifying sense of inherited doom.

Jennifer’s hallucination shows her facing a man—possibly a doctor or priest—who calls her an "inconvenient woman" and tries to drown her.

Lilia’s vision is especially haunting, as she encounters a demon-looking nun after following a mysterious teenage girl.

These hallucinations provide insight into the coven members' pasts and suggest that their traumas are far from resolved.

Agatha’s Hallucination

Did She Trade Her Son for the Darkhold?

Agatha's hallucination is particularly disturbing. She approaches a baby’s bassinet, only to find the Darkhold in place of the infant. This vision supports Jennifer's earlier claim that Agatha traded her son for the Book of the Damned, but Agatha’s horrified reaction suggests that there is much more to this story. The moment reveals Agatha’s internal conflict and deep-seated regrets, adding depth to her character’s motivations.

Hansel and Gretel Reference

Lilia’s Friend and the Oven

Lilia's brief mention of her friend who went into an oven is a dark reference to the classic Hansel and Gretel tale. In the context of witches and burning, this could symbolize the fate of witches who face persecution or punishment, tying into the show's overall themes of betrayal and survival.