#I will write something beautiful and poetic for this au

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 1 ▷ || play next song?

summary : After another horny stream, you drop the bomb: fuck-a-fan fridays—seven weeks, seven fans, seven filthy videos. masks on, faces hidden, just you and one lucky subscriber tangled up on camera each week. All they have to do? strip down, get hard, and show you why it should be them. Auditions start now.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men

A/N : and so it starts!!! is everyone ready to see the submissions from your favorite horndogs? :) (also i hope you can tell whose who hehehe) i'm trying to keep the writing inclusive for every sort of female presenting person so let me know how i've done!

The next few weeks passed in a blur of lace, lube, and direct deposits that made your head spin. What had started as a desperate half-joke had morphed into a full-blown empire - your empire. The girl who once contemplated selling her underwear for gas money was now clearing rent, tuition, groceries, and still had enough left over to drop serious coin on clothes and silk bed sheets.

You’d gone to the next level. Your friends were of course benefitting from your suspiciously newfound wealth, you casually said you had found a better part-time job, never letting them know the truth when you decided to take them shopping. Not yet at least.

Private requests were your bread and butter. You weren’t just good anymore - you were a professional tease, a digital siren with a library of toys, outfits, and vocal tones that could bring grown men to their knees. They paid for everything; soft whispers, rough talk, slow stroking, filthy roleplays. Some just oddly wanted to hear your moans on loop. Others wanted personalized videos where you called them by username and told them exactly what you’d do if they ever had the balls to show up in person.

You were making big bank. Like “accidental tax bracket change” big. Like “should probably consult a financial advisor” big.

And the men?

Oh, the men were obsessed.

Especially the regulars. Their usernames lit up your screen night after night, tipping with reckless abandon, flooding the chat with unfiltered thirst. You didn’t know who they were in real life, yet, but their personalities bled through the screen in such vivid, chaotic little ways.

EmoWithaBoner was yearning. Desperate in a way that made your chest clench and your thighs twitch. His messages were usually soft, almost sweet - You deserve everything, You looked so beautiful tonight - until something cracked open inside him mid-message and he’d type something crazy like: I would lick your cunt until you beg me to stop. Now that had gotten a small “Oh.” out of you. He wanted to worship you and ruin you all at once.

SixEyesOnly was a fucking menace. Flirty, cocky, constantly sending emojis that were way too smug for someone probably watching with only one hand available. His tips were ridiculous, like, spend $300 just to watch you eat grapes in a bad wig slowly sort of ridiculous, and his messages read like he was trying to fluster you on purpose. You assumed it was some sort of control thing with him, throwing money at people and getting them to do it. No complaints from you.

TempleOfSin was smooth, a little poetic, a little filthy. He asked for long, descriptive videos where you described what you were wearing, how you’d touch him, how you'd taste. He liked to also order roleplay videos where you pretended to worship him like he was some sort of God. Sometimes he called you his loyal little follower. You didn’t ask questions.

daddyissuez was feral. No other word for it. His requests were blunt, primal, always toeing the line of what the platform allowed and your own, now lacking, self-control. He liked spit, degradation, and power games. His tipping was sporadic and a lot less compared to the others, though, it was enough to keep him in your attention.

OfficeAfterHours was different. Polite. Polished. His messages came like little business memos laced with innuendo. “You looked stunning tonight. That color suits you,” followed by a $200 tip telling you to buy more in the same color. Never crude, always composed. It made him stand out more, somehow. Like a man who didn’t need to beg. A man who expected what he wanted, and always got it.

And then there was KingOfRot.

Unpredictable. Crude. Arrogant. He dropped tips like they were nothing. $500 just because you looked at the camera in a way he said was like a ‘deer in the headlights’. Odd, but $500 was a good amount to keep your mouth shut. He called you “pet,” “whore,” “delicious little thing.” You should’ve blocked him. Instead, you kept reading his messages twice over with your jaw unhinged and in wonderment whether or not he actually said that. His energy was intense and you hated how hot that was.

Which brings us to tonight.

You were perched in your new silk sheets, ring light warm against your skin, wearing your most transparent slip where your nipples were clearly on display and a smug little smirk behind that now iconic mask of yours. You’d hyped this stream for days - teased it on your feed, hinted at it in DMs. The chat was already on fire and you hadn’t even said a word yet. Tonight was a big one.

EmoWithaBoner: god ur so fucking hot tonight SixEyesOnly: i logged in 15 minutes early and i still feel late :(( OfficeAfterHours: You’ve outdone yourself this evening. KingOfRot: Come on, get to the fucking point, girl.

You grinned, slow and lethal, dragging your fingers along your inner thigh and ignoring KingOfRot.

“Well,” you purred, “I figured since you’ve all been very generous lately… it’s time I give something back.”

SixEyesOnly: oh fuck You licked your lips, loving the short little power trip it gave you. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, voice sweet and dangerous. “Maybe it’s time to start a little… tradition.”

You paused for dramatic effect.

“Fuck-a-Fan Fridays.” You bit your lip. Boom. Chat detonation. SixEyesOnly had sent you $200 just for the phrase.

EmoWithaBoner: you’re joking SixEyesOnly: oh shit baby TempleOfSin: Perfect. KingOfRot: You say when and where, pet. daddyissuez: i’ll be first. fuck the line OfficeAfterHours: I trust you've thought this through..

You leaned in close. OfficeAfterHours was cute in the way he was concerned for you. “I mean, why stop at one, right?” You giggled, cheeks burning behind your mask as you kicked your feet a little bit out of the view of your webcam. “I was gonna keep it casual, but um… yeah. What if I made it a thing? Like, a series?”

Another pause. You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried heat.

“One fan. Every Friday. For seven weeks.”

You crossed your bare legs over one another, your slip rising on your thighs as you did so. “Seven Fridays. Seven people. Seven chances to fuck the brains out of a very nervous, very willing woman who cannot believe she’s actually saying this live right now.”

You sat up again, brushing the slip back into place like your nipples weren’t clearly on display.

“I mean..obviously, we’ll keep it anonymous. Like, we’re not stupid here. Masks. No faces. Just hands. Bodies. And my camera.” The chat was still in full meltdown, comments stacking so fast the shitty platform could barely keep up. Your heart was pounding, your skin warm and tingling from the high of it all—of watching them fall apart just from your voice, your words, the soft shift of silk and skin. You hadn’t even done anything explicit yet, and they were on their knees.

God, it was addictive.

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft sigh, the movement pulling your slip just high enough to tease your hips. A final little gift before the curtain dropped.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” you said with a giggle, feigning innocence even as your gaze sparkled with something much dirtier. “You guys are gonna give me a heart attack.” SixEyesOnly: no no no don’t leave yettt!! :(( KingOfRot: You owe me for the buildup, woman. You tilted your head, lips curving into a sweet little smile as you leaned forward, giving them just one more generous view of your tits before the curtains closed.

“But before I go…” you said, voice slipping into something quieter, softer, like a secret you didn’t mean to share. “If you’re serious about Fuck-a-Fan Fridays… I want you to show me.”

The pause that followed had its own kind of weight. You watched the chat stall for half a second. The anticipation was thick enough to choke on.

“Send me a message,” you murmured, “with a picture. No face. Just your body, and cock, obviously.”

You let your fingers trail down your own torso, to your hips, your thighs, hinting at what you wanted to see. “Let me see what I’d be touching.. What I’ll be fucked braindead by.” EmoWithaBoner: fuck i’ll take a hundred SixEyesOnly: don’t lose your mind too much baby KingOfRot: It’ll be mine you dream about when you touch yourself. OfficeAfterHours: Submission will follow shortly. No face. Clean framing. High quality.

You had to laugh—giddy and a little breathless. You honestly didn’t think they’d go this feral.

“Think of it as an audition,” you said, tucking your knees to your chest, playing sweet again. “Show me what you’re offering. How you’d fit against me. In me.”

You smoothed your hand up your own thigh, lazily now, teasing.

“And just so you know,” you added with a little grin, “I’m only really looking at the ones who’ve tipped enough to keep my attention. You know who you are.”

Oh, they most definitely did.

The seven of them were already scrambling—photos incoming, tips rolling, blood leaving their brains. You didn’t need names. Their usernames were burned into your memory. Their obsessions with you were paying your bills.

“Goodnight, boys,” you whispered. “Impress me.” The second you ended the stream, you collapsed backward into your pillows with a dazed little laugh, limbs spread like you’d just run a marathon and won a gold medal in filth. The glow from your laptop cast a soft haze across your legs, the screen already lighting up with the chaos you’d left behind—tips still pouring in, messages stacking, your inbox begging for attention.

And the photos?

Oh, they were already flooding in, from people you didn’t want, but it was there regardless - upping your activity.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin resting in your palm as you clicked open the first one with a half-curious, half-unhinged smile.

No face, just like you asked. Neck down. The guy was standing in front of a mirror, one hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other lifting his hoodie to show off his chest. His abs were flexed. His cock hard enough to cast a shadow.

You blinked. Let out a slow breath.

“…Damn.”

Another one came in. Different guy, different vibe—tattoos on his hips, hand slick and stroking himself in a dimly lit bathroom, captioned: Fridays look good on me. Want to see how I look underneath you?

“Oh my god,” you whispered, laughing as you pulled your legs up behind you. “This is real. I’m really doing this.”

And you were. One fan. Every Friday. Seven weeks. Seven videos. Each one getting posted to your feed, available for your hundreds of subscribers to watch, rewatch, tip on, comment under, and probably break their dicks to.

It wasn’t just a hookup. It was content. Premium content.

Still riding the rush, you opened your messaging panel and started typing.

New Mass Message Sent to All Subscribers:

Hey babes— If you missed the stream tonight (rip to you), here’s your official invite.

Fuck-a-Fan Fridays is happening. Starting next week, I’ll be choosing seven of you to spend one very intimate night with me. Every Friday for the next seven weeks, I’ll be posting a new video. One fan. One full-length scene. Just me… and whoever impresses me the most.

How to audition:- Send me a photo. - Neck down only. No faces. Masks will be worn on camera, so full anonymity will be protected. But I need to see everything. Cock out. Hard. Your body. Your vibe. The way you'd look on camera—underneath me, on top of me, behind me, inside me.

Show off a little. Or a lot.

Make me want it. Let the auditions begin.

xoxo,

—Your girl

taglist : @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @syubseokie

[beloveds-embrace]

also sorry for being one of those ppl, but would you consider writing a simon x reader only piece for your dukedom au? i know you don't write explicit smut, but maybe something suggestive? size kink? mask kink? us women being weirdly turned on by grumpy, gruff men? just girly things he he just married things he he (why are we like this kadjkaf)

I understood this as no poly 141, just simon and his wife 🫡 i hope you enjoy this anon!

Marriage to Duke Simon Riley had settled into a rhythm, a quiet understanding forged through time and proximity. You’d learned his patterns- how he preferred the solitude of his study in the mornings, the way he’d gravitate to the stables after a difficult day, and the rare occasions he sought you out in the evening, a silent request for your company that you never refused.

It was peaceful. Far more than you’d expected, but you weren’t one to complain about silver linings.

He wasn’t a man of grand gestures or poetic words, not like you asked for any, but he was steady, and that steadiness had become a source of comfort. It wasn’t love- not yet- but it was something solid, something good, and it was yours.

Still, Simon remained an enigma, his gruff demeanor a constant reminder that he didn’t open himself to others easily. Yet, there were moments- small, fleeting moments- where his guard would slip, and you’d glimpse the man beneath the stoic mask. Those moments made your heart race more than you cared to admit.

Like now.

The two of you were walking along the forest path just beyond the manor grounds, the crisp air heavy with the scent of pine and earth. Simon walked a step ahead, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the dappled sunlight in the handsome suit he was wearing today. You could hear the crunch of leaves beneath his boots, the quiet way he scanned the surroundings as if it were second nature.

Leftovers from his time serving the military, you persumed.

You tried to focus on the path, on the beauty of the autumn leaves, but your attention kept drifting to him- the way his coat stretched over his frame, the way his long strides made you quicken your pace to keep up, boots stretching across his powerful calves. It wasn’t fair, really, how easily he dominated the space around him, how your height compared to his only seemed to emphasize his sheer presence.

Yet you didn’t mind at all.

“Are you always this quiet, Duchess?” he asked suddenly, glancing over his shoulder.

Caught off guard, you blinked up at him. “I thought you liked quiet, Your Grace.”

“I do,” he said, voice rumbling like distant thunder. A lot of times, you wished you could gather enough courage to ask him to read to you, but it was a childish, foolish want.“But you’ve been staring at the ground for the last ten minutes.”

Your face heated, though you tried to play it off. “Just thinking.”

Sharp eyes lingered on you for a moment before he turned back to the path. “Careful, Duchess. Too much thinking could distract you.”

You rolled your eyes at his typical bluntness, but before you could retort, Simon’s body tensed, his steps halting abruptly. His arm shot out, blocking you from moving forward.

“What is it?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

��Stay behind me.” he ordered, his tone low and commanding.

Before you could question him, you heard it- a low growl coming from the trees ahead. Your heart leapt into your throat as a wolf emerged from the shadows, its eyes fixed on you with predatory intent.

Simon didn’t flinch. He stepped in front of you, his large frame completely shielding you from the animal’s view.

“Don’t move.” he murmured, calm but firm.

You clutched the back of his coat, your pulse pounding in your ears. Despite the danger, you couldn’t help but notice how steady he was, how he seemed utterly unshaken in the face of the threat.

You were so glad you were with him.

The wolf took a cautious step forward, its growl deepening. Simon didn’t back down. Instead, he shifted slightly, angling his body to keep you fully protected and covered.

The standoff felt like it stretched on forever, but eventually, the wolf seemed to reconsider. It let out one last growl before slinking back into the trees, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

Only when the forest was silent again did Simon relax just slightly, though his hand lingered on the hilt of the dagger at his belt.

“Are you hurt, wife?” he asked, turning to face you.

You shook your head, still gripping his coat like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “No, I- thank you. That was…”

Terrifying.

“Part of the job,” he interrupted, his gruff tone downplaying the moment. But his sharp gaze scanned you anyway, as if double-checking for injuries.

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, but so was something else- a heat that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way he’d shielded you without hesitation. The way his body fully covered yours, gruff demeanor forgotten to keep you safe.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he said firmly, cutting you off. His brow furrowed as he looked down at you, his imposing frame still towering over yours. It made you feel safe. “You’re my wife, my Duchess, and that makes you my responsibility.”

The words should have felt cold, detached, but the way he said them made your chest tighten. There was something unspoken in his tone, something you weren’t sure he even realized he’d revealed.

You nodded, unsure of what to say, but your silence seemed to satisfy him.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “We should head back.”

And then he bent down, picking you up even as you yelped. “Simon-“

“This is safer.” He wasn’t even mildly bothered, carrying so easily like you weighed nothing to him. It made your cheeks burn even more, and warmth curl in your stomach (which you pointedly ignored). “…and you should call me Simon more, I believe.”

“…only if you also call me by my name.”

A bit later, he looked at you with an eyebrow raised. “…Have you been skipping meals?”

You blinked at him, arms around his neck in fear of being dropped anyways. “No? Why the question?”

“You are far lighter than I expected. I was worried.”

Youe face softened, something sweet blooming in your chest. “I am eating well, fret not… Simon.”

When the both of you finally returned to the manor, your mind was still replaying the way he’d positioned himself in front of you, how small you’d felt in his shadow- and how much you’d liked it.

Dinner that night was uneventful, the two of you seated across from one another in the quiet dining hall. Simon ate methodically, occasionally glancing your way, his sharp eyes flickering between your face and the untouched wine in your glass. He was unreadable as always, but you caught a faint flicker of concern in his gaze.

“Still shaken?” he asked at last, breaking the silence.

You looked up, startled. His voice was softer than usual, though it still carried that low, commanding timbre that always made your spine subconsciously straighten.

“No,” you said quickly, though your cheeks heated. Today, that was all your body seemed to do. “Not shaken.”

His brow arched, unconvinced. He leaned back in his chair, the broad stretch of his shoulders making the large dining room feel smaller. You couldn’t help but let your focus linger there for a few seconds before meeting his eyes again. “You’ve barely said a word since we got back, wife. It’s… worrying.”

“It’s nothing,” you murmured, looking down at your plate. But Simon’s presence across from you was impossible to ignore. The way he seemed to fill the room, his height and size so effortlessly commanding, made you hyperaware of your own smaller frame.

You wanted him.

He noticed- of course he noticed. Simon noticed everything.

“Look at me.” he ordered, quiet but firm.

You hesitated for a second but obeyed, your gaze lifting to meet his. The intensity in his eyes made your breath catch.

“I need you to tell me if something’s wrong,” his voice was rough, but laced with something softer. “You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

Your heart beat faster at his words, and for a moment, you wondered if he realized the effect he had on you. Did he know how steady he made you feel? How his mere presence made you feel safe in ways you couldn’t put into words? In ways that were far too improper to be put into words?

“I’m fine, truly, husband.” you managed to say at last, offering him a small smile.

Simon studied you for a moment longer before giving a slow nod. “Good. Because if you’re not, you tell me. Understood?”

“Yes.” you said softly, the corners of your lips twitching despite yourself.

Later, as you prepared for bed, Simon’s words echoed in your mind. You were brushing your hair at the vanity when the door creaked open behind you. Glancing in the mirror, you saw him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Simon stepped into the room when you nodded your permission, and all your attention unsurprisingly turned on him. He had that effect. He came to stand behind you, his reflection towering over yours in the mirror. The sight sent a thrill down your spine, though you quickly looked away.

“You’re still thinking,” he said, his voice low as he leaned down slightly, his head just beside yours. His height difference felt even more pronounced like this, his sheer size making you feel small in a way that was anything but unwelcome.

You wondered if he’d surround you completely in bed-

“I’m not,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, sharp and unyielding. “You are. Something is on your mind, yet you refuse to tell me.”

Simon straightened, his figure casting a shadow over you. He reached out, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your bare shoulder. The gesture was so simple, yet it left you breathless.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, low and deliberate. Smug.

Your eyes snapped to his reflection, your cheeks flaming. “What?”

“Being reminded,” he said, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Of our difference. My dear Duchess, do you think I would remain unaware forever?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to deny it, your silence speaking louder than words. Simon’s smirk deepened, a rare, fleeting expression that made your heart pound.

His hands stayed on your shoulders, then slowly trailed down until he was kneeling behind you. You knew that if he’d be between your thighs, his frame would keep you spread for him.

And then he hummed, big hands on your waist. “…say no, and I shall leave, wife. But if not, I promise to fix what I’ve caused. I would not wish to leave you wanting.”

Carefully, you turned around. He looked gorgeous underneath you like this, thumbs caressing your ankles.

“…please stay, Simon.”

You did not regret your decision, at all.

[theodorenmyth]

hi! not sure if soulmates counts as a weird au, but if you’re willing: would you write mattheodore + m!reader where matt and theo are in an established relationship as soulmates then discover you are also their soulmate? maybe people are like how tf do you have two soulmates???

fluff/smut/angst/whatever is good. if not, no problem! thanks

Three Threads of Love

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x m!reader x Theodore Nott

Summary ; You wake up with a dark green streak in your hair—proof that you’re soulmates with Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott. You try hiding, running, and even dyeing your hair, but they figure it out. After a dramatic meltdown (and an attempted escape), Mattheo and Theodore kidnap you with love—because, like it or not, you’re theirs now.

A/n ; this was so funny in my head while I was imagining this, enjoy!!

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 5.8k+

Soulmates.

The word alone was enough to make your stomach churn—not in disgust, but in reluctant acceptance of a fate that had never been yours.

Everyone at Hogwarts had some kind of soulmate mark. It wasn’t always instant, but by the time you reached your fifth year, you were bound to see at least something. A change in eye color, a faint tattoo-like symbol on the wrist, a string that tied you to another person, or the most dramatic of all—your hair turning the same shade as your soulmate’s.

You had seen it happen all around you.

It was beautiful. It was poetic. It was tragic.

And yet, it had never happened to you.

No colors. No scars. No strings. Nothing.

You were simply you, Y/N L/N, the single yet handsome and endearingly adorable Hufflepuff. The boy who didn’t have a soulmate mark.

At first, people assumed it would come later, that maybe you were a late bloomer. But when seventh year rolled around and you were still untouched by fate, the whispers started.

"What if he doesn’t have one?"

"Does the universe even allow that?"

"Oh, Merlin, imagine being born single. That’s actually tragic."

Even your friends—Cedric, Susan, and the rest of the Hufflepuff gang—joked about it. Not cruelly, but in a way that made you feel like some kind of rare specimen.

"Maybe you’re the universe’s loophole," Cedric had said once, slapping your back in amusement. "The one person meant to roam free."

You had laughed it off. Smiled. Accepted it. Because what else were you supposed to do?

There was no mark.

No connection.

No destined love waiting for you at the other end of a thread.

You were simply alone.

And you had made your peace with that.

Until, of course, fate decided to fuck you over.

─────────

You had always been a heavy sleeper.

So, naturally, it took something extraordinary to wake you up before the sun was even fully up.

This morning, that extraordinary thing was your own shriek.

You had barely cracked your eyes open when something felt off. Like, in-your-bones, gut-wrenching off. It wasn’t a feeling you could pinpoint, but there was a strange tingling in your scalp that made you sit up, groggy and disoriented.

And then you saw it.

A single lock of hair—once your usual shade—was now a deep, almost velvety dark green.

You stared.

It stared back.

And that was when the panic hit.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

Cedric shot up from his own bed like he’d been hexed. “What the fuck?!”

“MY HAIR! MY FUCKING HAIR, CEDRIC!” You grabbed a strand and shoved it in his barely-awake face, eyes wild. “LOOK AT IT!”

Cedric blinked at you, then at your hair, then back at you. “…What am I looking at?”

“It’s green!” You nearly hyperventilated, clutching at your head like you could somehow shake the color out. “It’s not supposed to be green!”

Cedric squinted at the strand, realization dawning on his half-conscious face. “Wait. Wait. Oh, shit.”

You flopped back onto your bed, groaning dramatically. “Oh shit is right! I went my whole life thinking I didn’t have a soulmate, and now I wake up in seventh year with a bloody green streak in my hair?! Who the hell even has green hair?!”

Cedric was still staring at you, now fully awake and fully bewildered. “That—That means something, doesn’t it?”

“No, Cedric, it means nothing—I just suddenly decided to cosplay as a Slytherin overnight.”

“I knew you were hiding a Malfoy obsession.”

“Not the time.”

Cedric bit back a grin before running a hand through his own hair. “Okay. Alright. Breathe. Let’s think about this logically.”

You sat up again, dragging your hands down your face. “Logically? Logically, the only people in this damn school with this specific color of green hair are—”

And then it hit you.

Like an actual bludger to the skull.

Your entire body went stiff. Your brain blanked out.

Because there were only two people you had ever seen with this exact shade of dark green in their hair.

Mattheo Riddle.

Theodore Nott.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Cedric, ever the genius, saw the look on your face and immediately put two and two together. His jaw dropped. “Ohhhhhh.”

Your hands started shaking. “No. No way. That—That can’t be right.”

Cedric was already grinning like a madman. “It is right.”

“I—I don’t have a soulmate!”

“Well, you do now.”

You felt lightheaded. “No. No, this is a mistake. They’re already soulmates. Everyone knows they’re soulmates. You can’t have two. That’s not a thing!”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Tell that to your hair.”

You threw a pillow at him.

─────────

Meanwhile…

Across the castle, in the depths of the Slytherin dorms, Mattheo sat up so fast he nearly knocked Theodore off the bed.

“What the fuck—”

Theodore groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Mattheo, if you woke me up to tell me about your dream where you hexed Potter’s eyebrows off again—”

Mattheo wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring at the faint golden shimmer across Theo’s knuckles.

The same shimmer was now visible on his own wrist.

And they both knew what it meant.

Someone else had just been tethered to them.

“…Oh, fuck,” Theodore whispered.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were not panicking.

You were perfectly calm.

If anyone asked, you were just casually wearing a hoodie with the hood up in the middle of breakfast, in a warm castle, surrounded by friends who knew you never wore a hood indoors.

Absolutely nothing suspicious about that.

…Except, of course, that you were suspicious. Very suspicious.

Which was why, when you slid into your usual spot at the Hufflepuff table, hands tucked into the sleeves of your oversized sweater, you were grinning a little too wide.

"Morning," Cedric greeted, shooting you a knowing glance as he buttered his toast.

"Morning!" you chirped back, voice an octave higher than normal.

Immediately, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott—who had been talking about some Charms essay—turned to look at you.

Both of them frowned.

"You’re being weird," Susan said flatly.

Your grin widened unnaturally, almost manic. "Me? Weird? Noooo."

Hannah squinted at you. "Why are you wearing a hood?"

"Oh! This?" You tugged at the fabric like you had just remembered it was on your head. "Uh—new fashion statement."

Susan exchanged a glance with Hannah before looking back at you. "Fashion statement?"

"Yup!" You nodded way too fast. "I decided to—uh, embrace the mystery, you know? Keep people on their toes! Make ‘em wonder what’s under here. It’s all the rage in—uh, France."

"France," Hannah repeated, deadpan.

"Yup!"

Susan folded her arms. "Y/N."

You laughed. "Yes, dear friend of mine?"

"You hate having anything on your head. You complain about hats. You threw a fit last winter when we made you wear a beanie to Hogsmeade."

"Ah! Yes, well, character development! Growth! The arc of my maturity—"

"Y/N."

You flinched at the tone.

Damn Hufflepuffs and their terrifying ability to detect bullshit.

Hannah narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against the table. "Did Peeves glue something to your head again?"

"No!"

"Did you fail a spell and accidentally dye your hair pink?"

"Of course not!"

"Did a bird poop on your head?"

"What? No!"

"Then why are you hiding your hair?"

Your eyes darted across the Great Hall, looking anywhere but at them. "Oh! Look! Porridge!" You grabbed a spoon, stuffing a massive bite into your mouth, barely even tasting it.

Susan and Hannah exchanged another look, suspicion written all over their faces.

Cedric, the only one who actually knew what was going on, simply took a sip of his pumpkin juice, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"You’re lying," Susan declared.

Your spoon froze halfway to your mouth. "I—"

"You are lying!" Hannah gasped.

"I am NOT—!"

"You are literally grinning like someone who just got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section!"

"That is absurd!" You let out a completely unnatural laugh, shifting in your seat. "I am merely a man who enjoys the simple pleasures of life, such as porridge and— OH LOOK, A WINDOW."

You twisted your body to face the stained glass like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Unfortunately, this only made you look even more suspicious.

"Y/N," Susan started, voice low and accusing. "What did you do?"

"NOTHING!"

"Then why do you look like you’re about to bolt out of the room?"

"I just have a lot of energy this morning!" You were still grinning, voice high and unnatural. "You know, good sleep, nice weather—"

"You slept terribly and it’s raining outside."

"A fine drizzle!"

"You hate the rain!"

"I have learned to love it!"

"Y/N."

You shoved another spoonful of porridge into your mouth, avoiding eye contact.

────────────

At the Slytherin Table

"Alright, spill," Pansy Parkinson demanded the second Mattheo and Theodore sat down.

Astoria Greengrass, seated beside her, gave a more subtle approach, raising a perfectly shaped brow. "Something happened. I can feel it."

Draco Malfoy, sipping his tea, barely looked up. "They probably got into a fight. Again."

Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, leaned in with genuine curiosity. "No, they look… weird. Like, different weird. You two aren’t possessed, are you?"

Lorenzo Berkshire, who had been half-asleep against Draco’s shoulder, finally stirred. "If they are, can we exorcise them after breakfast?"

Mattheo rolled his eyes. "We’re not possessed, Lorenzo."

"Could’ve fooled me."

Theodore, who had been staring at the shimmering mark on his knuckles all morning, finally spoke. "Someone’s been tethered to us."

Silence.

Then—

"I’m sorry, what?" Pansy practically screeched.

Draco choked on his tea.

Blaise blinked in pure disbelief. "How?"

"That’s not possible," Astoria added, looking at them like they had both grown second heads. "You two are already bonded."

Mattheo tapped the golden shimmer across his wrist, the mark still faint but very real. "Yeah, well. Tell that to fate."

"This is insane," Pansy said, eyes wide. "People don’t get two soulmates. That’s—That’s like—"

"Unheard of," Astoria finished, still staring at their marks.

Draco, for once, looked genuinely intrigued. "Have you figured out who it is?"

"Not yet," Theodore muttered, though his gaze flickered across the Great Hall.

"Whoever it is," Mattheo said, smirking slightly, "they’re probably freaking out right now."

Theodore huffed. "You would find this amusing."

"Oh, come on, Theo. Think about it." Mattheo propped his chin on his hand, eyes glinting with amusement. "Some poor bastard woke up this morning with a soulmate mark linking them to us. That’s gotta be terrifying."

"You are terrifying," Blaise agreed.

Mattheo winked. "Why, thank you."

As the conversation continued, Theodore let his gaze wander again, scanning the room.

And then—

There.

At the Hufflepuff table.

A figure slouched in their seat, hood pulled up, looking like they were actively trying to disappear.

Theodore’s lips parted slightly.

Mattheo noticed, following his line of sight—

And promptly grinned.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh."

Draco noticed too, and his brows shot up. "Wait. L/N?"

Pansy nearly dropped her goblet. "You’re joking."

Astoria let out a soft, surprised laugh. "Oh, this is going to be interesting."

Blaise, meanwhile, was just staring at you in utter disbelief. "Him? The guy who’s never had a soulmate mark? The one everyone thought was doomed to be single forever?"

Lorenzo yawned, rubbing his eyes. "I bet he’s panicking."

Mattheo smirked. "Oh, definitely."

Theodore, watching you sink lower into your hoodie, exhaled deeply. "We should talk to him."

Mattheo cracked his knuckles, eyes gleaming. "Absolutely."

────────────

Back at the Hufflepuff Table

You had a bad feeling.

A very bad feeling.

Because the moment you dared to glance up, you found two pairs of eyes locked onto you from across the hall—one dark and intense, the other sharp and calculating.

Mattheo and Theodore.

Staring at you like they had just figured out exactly who their third soulmate was.

You gulped.

Cedric, noticing your expression, leaned in. "They know, don’t they?"

You swallowed thickly. "They definitely know."

Susan, still confused, followed your gaze—only to see two of the most dangerous Slytherins in the school actively plotting your demise with their eyes.

"...Y/N," she said slowly. "What did you do?"

You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. "I think I got soulmated."

Cedric grinned. "Told you fate wasn’t done with you yet."

"Shut up, Diggory."

But deep down, as panic turned into something dangerously close to excitement, you couldn't help but wonder

What the hell were Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott going to do about this?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Everything was fine.

You were fine.

You were totally fine.

Which was why you were currently walking through the courtyard with your friends, laughing along to one of Cedric’s stories while keeping a firm grip on the hood of your oversized sweater.

Just in case.

Because if anyone so much as glimpsed your hair—if anyone saw that stupidly obvious green streak that had appeared overnight—your life would be over.

Dead. Gone. Vanished.

The headlines would read: Y/N L/N, Hufflepuff Extraordinaire, Found Dead Due to Pure, Unfiltered Embarrassment.

Susan and Hannah still hadn’t stopped being suspicious, but you had managed to redirect most of their attention onto a very detailed discussion about which professor was the scariest.

"McGonagall."

"No way, Snape."

"Flitwick."

"…Flitwick?"

"You’ve never seen him angry. I have. It was horrifying."

You were just starting to think you’d actually get through the day undetected when the absolute worst thing possible happened.

Flint.

Marcus fucking Flint.

One of the dumbest, most obnoxious Slytherins in existence.

You didn’t even see him coming.

One second, you were minding your business, strolling along, successfully avoiding any and all suspicious activity.

The next?

A rough hand yanked the hood off your head.

"Oi, L/N, what are you hiding—"

Silence.

The courtyard froze.

You felt a chill run down your spine.

Oh, no.

Your friends stared.

The Hufflepuffs around you stared.

The entire courtyard stared.

Because right there, in broad daylight, your previously normal hair was now a very, very noticeable shade of blonde—except for the bold dark green streak running through it.

Your soulmark.

That exact shade of dark green.

Slytherin green.

Mattheo-and-Theodore green.

Susan's jaw dropped.

Hannah gasped.

Cedric, to his credit, didn’t look that surprised—just vaguely amused.

But Flint?

Flint howled with laughter. "OH, THIS IS RICH! L/N’S BEEN SOULMATED TO A SLYTHERIN—"

You did not let him finish.

Nope.

Absolutely NOT.

Instead, fueled by pure, raw panic, you pulled out your wand, muttered something under your breath—

And disapparated.

One second, you were in the courtyard, standing in front of way too many people.

The next, you were gone.

Vanished.

Just poof.

─────────

Hufflepuff Dormitory, Five Minutes Later

You were not hyperventilating.

Okay, you were, but no one needed to know that.

You were pacing back and forth in your dorm, hands buried in your traitorous hair, breathing way too fast.

"This is bad. This is so bad. This is���FUCK—this is really bad—"

Cedric walked in, looking entirely unsurprised to find you in full meltdown mode. "You vanished in front of half the school."

"Yes, Cedric, I am aware."

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "So, what’s your plan?"

"My plan?" You let out a deranged laugh, spinning to face him. "My plan is to fake my death, move to a small cottage in the woods, and never be seen again."

"That’s not a plan," he pointed out, far too calmly.

"It is if you commit."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"You could just talk to them."

You stopped pacing to glare at him. "Oh, wow, what an idea, Cedric. Talking. Genius. Brilliant. Too bad I have crippling anxiety and would rather gouge my eyes out."

Cedric sighed. "Okay, so what are you going to do?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And then—

An idea.

A glorious, absolutely stupid idea.

You turned to your trunk, rummaging through it until you found your wand and one of your old spellbooks.

Cedric raised a brow. "Y/N…?"

You flipped through the pages frantically. "There’s a hair-dyeing spell in here somewhere—I know there is—aha!"

Your finger landed on the page.

"Here! This! Temporary. Quick. Lasts about a day. Perfect."

Cedric blinked. "You’re going to—what? Hide it?"

"Yes."

"With a spell that lasts one day?"

"YES."

He stared at you.

Then sighed. "I don’t know why I expected anything else."

─────────

Back in the Great Hall

While you were busy spiraling, the entire school was losing its collective shit.

The moment you vanished, the courtyard had erupted.

The whispers spread fast.

And within minutes, the whole castle knew:

You, the beloved Hufflepuff, notorious single person, widely believed to be soulmate-less—was actually tethered to two of Slytherin’s most infamous students.

"You have got to be joking."

Pansy, still sitting at the Slytherin table, was staring at Mattheo and Theodore.

"He literally teleported away," Draco said, sipping his tea. "That’s how panicked he was."

Lorenzo whistled. "Damn. That’s impressive."

"We need to talk to him," Theodore said, his normally calm demeanor just slightly off-kilter.

Mattheo was already grinning. "Oh, definitely."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope you two have a good plan, because Y/N is probably halfway to Albania by now."

Mattheo just cracked his knuckles. "Don’t worry, Pans. We’ll find him."

And when they did?

You were not getting away.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You woke up the next morning with a single, hopeful thought:

Maybe it was all a dream.

Maybe your hair was still normal. Maybe you hadn’t accidentally revealed your soulmark to half the school. Maybe you hadn’t literally disapparated in front of everyone like a fucking lunatic.

Maybe.

You slowly reached for your wand on your nightstand, hesitated, then conjured a mirror in your shaking hand.

Then, you looked.

Your heart sank.

The spell had worn off.

The bright green streak was back, glaringly obvious against your blonde hair.

You let out a slow, defeated sigh.

"Fuck."

"Still there?"

You flinched so hard you nearly fell out of bed. "CEDRIC—"

"Sorry," he said, entirely not sorry as he leaned against the doorway. "But considering you screamed like a banshee yesterday, I figured I should check in before you self-combust."

You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. "This is so bad."

"Oh, definitely."

"Cedric."

"What? You want me to lie to you?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he said, deadpan. "It’s completely fine. No one noticed. The entire school is not talking about it. Also, you definitely didn’t magically vanish in front of fifty people."

You glared at him through your fingers. "You’re the worst."

"I am the best. Now get dressed."

"Why?"

"Because if you hide in here forever, Mattheo and Theodore will find you eventually, and you don’t want to know what their reaction will be if you avoid them all day."

You blanched. "Oh, fuck, you’re right."

"Obviously."

"I need to hide."

"No, you need to face them."

"Or I could hide."

"Y/N."

"Cedric."

"I swear to Merlin, if you don’t—"

But you were already flipping through your spellbook again.

"There! Temporary hair-color alteration! Lasts three hours—"

Cedric sighed so hard it sounded like he aged five years. "You’re stalling."

"I like stalling."

"It’s only going to get worse if you don’t talk to them."

"Maybe I want it to get worse."

"You don’t."

You ignored him, casting the spell and watching with relief as the streak disappeared, replaced with your natural hair color.

Cedric just shook his head. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet, a smart idiot, because no one will know—"

─────────

The Great Hall

You walked into breakfast with false confidence.

You were fine.

Your hair looked normal.

Everything was fine.

You sat down at the Hufflepuff table, flashing an overly large grin at your friends. "Morning, everyone!"

"Morning—"

"Why are you so chipper?" Susan asked immediately.

You blinked. "What? No reason."

Hannah squinted. "You’re acting weird."

"Weird? Me? That’s crazy talk!" You laughed, but it was too high-pitched, too forced. "I’m totally normal! Nothing to see here!"

Cedric, sitting beside you, sighed.

Susan’s eyes narrowed. "And why are you still wearing that huge hoodie?"

"Because I like it."

"It’s eighty degrees outside."

"I really like it."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing!" You shot her another wild grin, your eyes darting across the room.

Unfortunately, your eyes immediately locked onto the Slytherin table.

More unfortunately?

Mattheo and Theodore were already staring at you.

Your breath hitched.

They knew.

You didn’t know how they knew, but they definitely knew.

Mattheo was grinning, sharp and predatory, like he was waiting for you to run.

Theodore was watching you with his usual unreadable expression—calm, controlled, but his gaze felt heavy, like he could see right through you.

You snapped your head back around, facing your plate with great intensity.

Don’t panic. Stay calm. They’re just people. They’re just—

"Oh, my Gods, you’re definitely hiding something."

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice. "NO, I’M NOT."

"You so are," Susan said, pointing an accusatory finger. "Your eyes are darting all over the place and you’re grinning like an absolute maniac—"

"That’s just my face—"

"You’ve got that ‘I just committed arson’ look again."

"I do not—"

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, just tell us already—"

And then—

A horrible, terrible, awful voice spoke up from behind you.

"What’s wrong, L/N? Something you don’t want people to see?"

Your stomach dropped.

Flint.

Again.

And before you could even react.

He yanked your hood down.

Again.

Your heart stopped.

Because this time?

Your fucking hair wasn’t hidden.

The room fell silent.

And just like yesterday—

Every single person in the Great Hall stared.

Your brain completely short-circuited.

"Oh," Blaise said from the Slytherin table, his eyes widening. "Holy shit."

"Well," Pansy muttered, staring. "That explains a lot."

"Oh, wow," Lorenzo added, blinking. "That’s…kind of hilarious."

Draco just sipped his tea, unbothered. "Knew it."

Your breathing turned shallow.

"Welp," you said, voice higher than normal. "Guess that’s my cue to—"

You didn’t even finish your sentence before casting another disillusionment spell—

And disappearing.

Again.

Leaving the entire Great Hall in absolute chaos.

And at the Slytherin table, Mattheo and Theodore just exchanged a look.

Then, simultaneously, they stood up.

It was time to find you.

And this time?

You weren’t getting away.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ───

You had exactly two thoughts as you sprinted back to your dorm at breakneck speed:

1. Flint is a dead man walking.

2. I am so, so, so utterly, catastrophically fucked.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you practically threw yourself through the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, ignoring the confused stares of your housemates. You raced up the dormitory stairs, slammed the door behind you, and immediately started hyperventilating.

Think. Think. THINK.

Your cover was blown. Your very obvious, very incriminating soulmate mark had been exposed to the entire school. And, worst of all—

Mattheo and Theodore had seen it.

And they were going to find you.

"Shit, shit, shit," you muttered, pacing like a panicked rodent caught in a trap. "Okay. Okay, Y/N, you can fix this. You just need to—"

You didn’t even know what you needed to do. Hide? Run? Fake your own death?

"Mate."

You whipped around to see Cedric leaning against the doorframe with the most done expression you’d ever seen on his face.

"You cannot be serious."

"Oh, I am so serious," you hissed, wild-eyed. "This is life and death, Diggory!"

"No," he corrected, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is you being insanely dramatic about the inevitable."

"There is nothing inevitable about this," you shot back. "I still have time to flee the country—"

"You do not have time to flee the country," he groaned. "And even if you did, Mattheo and Theodore would just hunt you down."

You flinched. "That’s exactly what I’m afraid of."

Cedric just sighed and crossed his arms. "You do realize that the whole point of soulmates is that you’re meant to be together, right?"

"Yes, well, maybe fate should have consulted me first, because I was not prepared for this," you muttered, gripping your hair. "I mean—two? Who the fuck gets two soulmates?!"

"Apparently, you."

"That’s not helpful, Diggory."

"It wasn’t meant to be helpful," he deadpanned.

You groaned again, throwing yourself onto your bed and burying your face in a pillow. "This is a nightmare."

"This is hilarious," Cedric corrected. "And I would kill to see Mattheo and Theodore’s reaction right now."

At that exact moment—

Someone knocked on the dormitory door.

Your entire body went rigid.

Cedric’s eyebrows raised. "That was fast."

You slowly lifted your head from your pillow. "No. No, no, no, no. That is not them. That could be anyone."

Another knock.

This time, louder.

Your soul left your body.

Cedric smirked. "You gonna answer that, or should I?"

"Neither," you whispered in abject horror. "We ignore it. We pretend we’re dead."

"Pretty sure they won’t buy that."

"Well, I’m willing to test that theory—"

"Y/N."

You froze.

Because this time, it wasn’t a knock.

It was a voice.

A deep, smooth, terrifyingly familiar voice.

"Open the door."

Mattheo.

You squeaked.

"We know you’re in there," another voice added, calm and even.

Theodore.

Cedric grinned. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

You whipped around, eyes wild. "CEDRIC, DO NOT OPEN THAT—"

But the bastard had already swung the door open.

You felt your soul exit your body.

Because standing in the doorway, looking directly at you, were Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott.

And they looked very, very determined.

"Hi, boys," Cedric greeted cheerfully. "Come to collect your runaway soulmate?"

Mattheo smirked. "Oh, absolutely."

Theodore just tilted his head, eyes locked onto you. "You have nowhere to run now, Y/N."

You laughed nervously, scooting backward on your bed. "Okay, okay, let’s just—relax, yeah? Let’s be rational about this—"

Mattheo took a single step forward.

You yelped and scrambled off the bed. "I’m very flattered—honored, even—but I think there’s been a terrible mistake—"

"Oh, there’s no mistake," Theodore interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "You are ours."

Your breath hitched.

Mattheo grinned, dangerous and amused. "And we’re not letting you run anymore, sweetheart."

You felt your entire nervous system short-circuit.

And Cedric?

He just sat back, crossed his arms, and grinned like the smug asshole he was.

"Oh, this is so much better than I imagined."

You were pretty sure your entire nervous system had just crashed and rebooted.

Because Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott were standing right there—inside your dormitory—blocking the only exit—and looking at you like you were a cornered rabbit.

Which, to be fair, you were.

You were already mentally preparing your last words, calculating how long it would take to jump out the window and debating whether or not you could survive the fall.

"Y/N," Theodore said calmly, taking a slow step forward. "We just want to talk."

"Do you?" you squeaked, pressing yourself against the nearest desk as if it would swallow you whole and save you from this nightmare. "Because I feel like this is less of a talking situation and more of a trapping me in my own dormitory situation."

Mattheo grinned, dark eyes glittering with amusement. "You say ‘trapping’ like we’re holding you at wandpoint, sweetheart."

"Emotionally, you are!"

Theodore sighed. "Why are you running from us?"

"Uh—self-preservation?"

Mattheo snorted. "Dramatic much?"

"YOU SAY THAT LIKE THIS ISN’T A VERY SERIOUS SITUATION!" You flailed your arms wildly, your breathing coming out erratic as your brain scrambled for an escape plan. "I WOKE UP WITH A SOULMATE MARK! NOT ONE! BUT TWO! THAT’S NOT NORMAL! I’M NOT NORMAL! MY LIFE IS OVER!"

"You’re being a little theatrical," Theodore muttered.

"THEATRICAL?" you shrieked, gesturing at your hair like it had personally betrayed you. "I—LOOK AT THIS! I LOOK LIKE A REJECTED HOUSE ELF!"

Mattheo cackled. "Merlin, I love this guy."

"NO YOU DON’T!" You spun on your heel, calculating your chances of breaking through the door and making a run for it. Spoiler alert: Not good.

Theodore sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we are literally standing here trying to talk to you. You are making this way harder than it needs to be."

"I’M MAKING IT HARDER?" You gasped, putting a hand to your chest like you were about to have a Victorian-era fainting spell. "Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize waking up with my entire destiny rewritten required a casual conversation over tea and biscuits!"

Mattheo smirked. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It is a terrifying thing!" you corrected. "You two have been together for years! And now—now I just suddenly appear in the equation?!"

"You didn’t just appear," Theodore said, calm and steady as ever. "You were always meant to be a part of this, Y/N."

"THAT SOUNDS LIKE A LOAD OF COSMIC BULLSHIT!"

You twisted your body, suddenly darting to the left—

—only for strong arms to wrap around your waist and yank you backwards before you even got the chance to move three feet.

"Oh you little shit—" Mattheo laughed, tightening his grip as you kicked and flailed like a deranged cat. "Did you just try to run?"

"CEDRIC DIGGORY, YOU HELP ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" you bellowed, desperately reaching out toward your dormmate, who was watching the entire scene unfold from his bed with an expression of sheer amusement.

Cedric raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Nah, I think I’ll sit this one out."

"TRAITOR!"

"Oh, calm down, sweetheart," Mattheo grinned, leaning down to murmur in your ear. "You act like we’re about to kidnap you."

"YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE!"

"You are so dramatic," Theodore muttered.

"THIS IS A JUSTIFIED REACTION!"

"You’re flailing like a fish," Mattheo added. "It’s kinda adorable."

"STOP CALLING ME ADORABLE, I AM STRUGGLING FOR MY LIFE!"

"Oh my god," Theodore sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, just breathe. You’re not dying. You’re not being held hostage. You’re just ours now. That’s all."

"THAT’S ALL?!" You gaped, struggling even harder. "‘That’s all’?! You’re acting like you just told me my schedule has changed, not that my entire FATE HAS BEEN TIED TO TWO OF THE MOST TERRIFYING SLYTHERINS IN EXISTENCE!"

Mattheo smirked. "Terrifying, huh? I like that."

"SHUT UP, RIDDLE!"

"You know," Cedric interrupted, tilting his head thoughtfully, "for someone who’s been single his whole life, you’re really bad at handling affection."

"I HAVE NEVER EXPERIENCED AFFECTION BEFORE, CEDRIC! THIS IS UNPRECEDENTED TERRITORY!"

"So what I’m hearing is," Mattheo grinned, "we just need to get you used to it."

"NO—"

Before you could scream in protest, Mattheo spun you around, forcing you to face them as Theodore took a step closer, his gaze softer now.

"Y/N," he said, firm yet gentle, "you are ours. Whether you accept it now or later, that fact won’t change. You belong with us."

"That sounds dangerously like a threat," you muttered.

Mattheo chuckled, tilting his head. "More like a promise."

Your stupid, traitorous heart stuttered at the way they were both looking at you.

You took a deep breath.

Then promptly threw yourself onto the floor.

Mattheo blinked. "Did he just—?"

Theodore sighed deeply. "Yes. He did."

Cedric snorted. "Oh, this is gold."

"I’M DEAD!" you announced from the floor, sprawled out dramatically. "You cannot claim me if I'm dead!"

Mattheo just laughed. "Oh, darling, you have no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were still on the floor, arms spread out like a tragic hero, contemplating your life choices as Mattheo and Theodore stared down at you.

Mattheo was smirking, his arms crossed, while Theodore looked half-amused, half-exhausted, like he had already aged ten years dealing with your antics.

"Y/N," Theodore sighed. "You cannot just lay there and pretend you’re dead."

"Watch me," you muttered.

"You are so painfully dramatic," Mattheo cackled, nudging your leg with his foot. "C’mon, sweetheart. Get up before someone steps on you."

"I am the floor now. The floor and I are one. I have embraced my fate."

Cedric, still sitting comfortably on his bed, chuckled. "So, is this just how you’re planning to handle your entire soulmate situation? Just...playing dead?"

"YES!"

"That’s not a bad plan," Mattheo mused, stroking his chin. "Bit flawed though. ‘Cause y’know, we’re not leaving you alone, sweetheart."

"You say that like it’s a good thing!"

"It is," Theodore said, deadpan. "And you’re going to have to accept it eventually."

You made a pained noise, covering your face with your hands. "I don’t know how to be a soulmate! I’ve been single my whole life! I was mentally prepared to be a lone wolf forever! The universe did not prepare me for two soulmates, let alone you two!"

"So what you’re saying is," Mattheo grinned, "you were ready to be miserable forever, but now that you actually have soulmates, you’re just freaking out instead."

"YES!"

Theodore let out a long, suffering sigh, like he was praying for patience. "Y/N, you’re acting like we’re asking you to perform some kind of ancient ritual. You’re our soulmate. That’s it. You don’t have to ‘be’ anything except yourself."

You peeked at him between your fingers. "But you two already have each other. What if I just—mess everything up?"

At that, Mattheo’s smirk softened, and Theodore’s eyes turned gentler.

"You won’t," Theodore said, calm and steady, like he was stating a fact rather than a hope.

"We wouldn’t be bonded to you if you weren’t meant to be ours," Mattheo added. "The universe is a bitch, but it’s not wrong."

You groaned, kicking your legs against the floor like a toddler. "You guys are making this too real! Let me have my panic, dammit!"

Mattheo laughed, and before you could protest, he scooped you up off the ground, hauling you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"WHAT THE HELL, RIDDLE? PUT ME DOWN!"

"Nah," Mattheo grinned. "You had your fun. Now it’s our turn."

"THIS IS LITERAL KIDNAPPING!"

"Nope, just soulmate bonding," Theodore said smoothly, walking beside Mattheo as if this was completely normal. "And considering how much you’ve avoided us, we have a lot to catch up on."

"CEDRIC, CALL THE MINISTRY! I’M BEING TAKEN!"

Cedric just grinned, waving lazily. "Have fun, Y/N."

"YOU’RE THE WORST, DIGGORY!"

"Love you too, mate!"

You screamed dramatically, kicking your feet, but Mattheo just laughed, tightening his hold on you like he was never letting go.

And the worst part?

Despite all your protests—despite your chaotic, overdramatic panic—

There was a small, traitorous part of you that didn’t want him to.

[levandright]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

their favorite way to show their love for you is through — words of affirmationꜝꜝ

if you enjoyed reading this consider leaving a like or reblog ᐢ..ᐢ

pairing ⋆ ot7 enhypen x gn! reader ʬʬ content / warning(s) ⋆ comfort—so much comfort, established relationship, non-idol au ꕀ word count : 2,541 (the longest yet) ʬʬ go back to the start? ・ archive ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : tysmmm to my lovely moots for giving me the inspiration for this by answering my lil survey <3 as usual my bsf proofread + edited and added to this (they should start their own blog istg- but then again they don't really write as a hobby... + they're busy so i think their blog would just collect dust T-T) i should really take notes cause they write so poetically...

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 - “ you are capable of so much more than you know.”

you’re sitting on your bed, feeling the weight of deadlines and responsibilities pressing down on you. the glow of your laptop screen feels harsh in the dim light, and you can’t shake the sense of being overwhelmed. just as you take a deep breath, there’s a soft knock at your door.

“heesung?” you call, grateful for his presence. he opens the door, his expression shifting from concern to warmth as he sees you.

“hey y/n, i brought some snacks,” he says, holding out a plate of your favorite treats. “but I can tell you need more than just food right now.”

you give a small smile, but it fades as you look back at your screen. “i just feel like everything is piling up. i don’t know how to handle it all.”

he sits down beside you, placing the snacks aside. “let me remind you of something,” he begins, his voice soft yet steady. “just like the moon must endure the night before it can shine, you too will find your light again. it’s okay to feel this way; it’s part of the journey.”

you look at him, captivated by his words. “but what if I can’t find my way?”

he gently takes your hand, his grip reassuring. “you are not lost; you are simply navigating through a storm. allow the winds to guide you, and trust that the sun will rise again. each challenge you face is like a note in a beautiful song—sometimes dissonant, but eventually leading to harmony.”

his poetic words wrap around you like a warm embrace, and you feel the tension in your shoulders start to ease. “you really know how to lift my mood, don’t you?”

he smiles, a twinkle in his eye. “i’m here to remind you that even the darkest nights will give way to dawn. let’s take a moment to breathe and celebrate your strength. you are capable of so much more than you know.”

with a newfound sense of hope, you nod. “thank you, heesung. i really needed to hear that.”

“anytime,” he replies, and together, you take a deep breath, allowing the weight to lift just a little more as you share in the comforting silence.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 - “you did your best, and that’s enough.”

it’s been a tough day—one of those days where no matter how hard you tried, nothing seemed to go right. frustration bubbles inside you, mixing with a sense of inadequacy you can’t seem to shake.

you hear a gentle knock at the door, and a moment later, jay steps inside. he takes one look at you and instantly understands; he’s seen that look before.

without a word, he crosses the room and sits beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. you look up, trying to manage a small smile, but it fades quickly. “i really tried, jay. but I feel like it wasn’t enough. nothing went the way i wanted it to.”

jay’s gaze is warm and understanding, his expression softening as he listens. he reaches for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “hey,” he says, his voice calm and steady. “you did your best, and that’s enough.”

you blink, letting his words sink in, but a part of you protests. “but… what if my best wasn’t good enough?” he shakes his head, his hand still holding yours.

“your best isn’t measured by the outcome. it’s about the effort you put in, even when things get tough. you showed up, you tried, and that’s what really matters.”

a comforting silence settles between you as you take in his words. “i guess i just wanted everything to go perfectly.”

“i know,” he replies gently. “but perfection isn’t what makes you amazing. your determination, your resilience—that’s what i see, and that’s what matters to me.”

a small smile finally breaks through, and you feel a weight begin to lift. “thank you, jay. i needed to hear that.”

he smiles back, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’ll always be here to remind you.” then, with a soft touch, he pulls you into a warm hug, his embrace steady and reassuring.

and as you relax in his arms, you realize that maybe, just maybe, doing your best really is enough.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 - “even the stormiest skies eventually clear.”

you're curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring at your phone, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of your worries.

when suddenly, the door creaks open, and jake steps in, shaking off the rain from outside and instantly brightening the room with his presence. “hey there sunshine,” he greets, noticing your downcast expression. “what’s got you looking so down?”

you sigh, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. “just… everything. It’s been a rough few days.”

without hesitation, he plops down beside you, pulling you to his side. “i get it. life can feel like a heavy cloud sometimes, but remember, even the stormiest skies eventually clear.”

you lean against him, taking in his warmth. “it just feels endless right now.”

he brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his voice steady and soothing. “you’re not alone in this. i’m here to help you carry the weight. let’s take it one step at a time. every storm has its purpose, and i believe you’re going to come out even stronger.”

a small smile breaks through your gloom as you look into his eyes. “thank you, jake. you always know how to make me feel better.”

he grins, his eyes sparkling. “of course. you light up the darkest nights. just remember, whenever you’re feeling low, I’m right here to remind you how incredible you are.”

feeling a sense of comfort wash over you, you snuggle closer, letting his reassuring words wrap around you like a warm blanket as rain continues to fall outside.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 - “you mean so much to me”

you’re standing in the snack aisle of your favorite grocery store, contemplating whether to go with your usual chips or try something new. sunghoon, who’s been scanning the shelves beside you, suddenly goes quiet. when you glance over, you catch him just… staring at you, a small, soft smile on his face.

“uh, did i miss something?” you ask, laughing a little as you grab a bag of chips.

sunghoon shakes his head, but his smile only grows wider. he takes a step closer, lowering his voice as if he’s about to share a secret. “you know you mean so much to me, right?”

you blink, surprised by the sudden confession. glancing around, you notice a few shoppers moving past, some casting curious looks your way. “sunghoon, we’re at the store…” you whisper, cheeks warming as you give him a playful nudge.

he chuckles, completely unfazed by the setting or the people around. “i know, but i just wanted to say it. i love you, and i don’t care where we are. i don’t want to miss a chance to remind you.”

your face softens, and you feel your heart flutter at his sincerity. “you’re so random sometimes, you know that?”

he grins, grabbing the bag of chips out of your hand to toss it into the cart. “maybe, but you love it,” he says with a playful wink.

you roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. “yeah, maybe i do.”

and as you continue down the aisle, you feel lighter, his words replaying in your mind. sunghoon may choose the most unexpected times to say how he feels, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 - “you are more than enough.”

the evening light filters through your window, but instead of its usual warmth, it only amplifies the feeling of heaviness in your chest. after a long day, you find yourself scrolling through social media, comparing yourself to the perfect smiles and flawless features of others. tears start to fall, blurring your vision as self-doubt creeps in.

suddenly, there’s a soft knock at your door, and before you can respond, sunoo enters. he immediately notices your tear-streaked face, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern. “baby? what’s wrong?” he asks, quickly crossing the room to sit beside you.

you wipe your eyes, attempting a smile, but it falters. “i just… i feel like i’m not pretty enough for you,” you admit, your voice trembling. “you could find someone so much better.”

sunoo’s heart aches at your words. he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. “what? no way,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “you are more than enough. these thoughts don’t reflect who you truly are.”

“but everyone else seems perfect,” you reply, your voice breaking.

he shakes his head, squeezing your hand tighter. “perfection is a myth, and even if it were real, it wouldn’t matter. you are unique and beautiful in your own way. i see all the things that make you special, and they’re what drew me to you in the first place.”

a small, hopeful smile begins to form on your lips as you look into his eyes. “really?”

“absolutely,” he leans closer and continues, “i love you just the way you are, and i would never trade you for anyone else. you are perfect to me, and I’ll always be here to remind you of that, especially on days like this.”

feeling the warmth of his words seep into your heart, you nod, gratitude flooding through you. “thank you, sunoo. i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “you’ll never have to find out. i’m here for you, always.”

as you settle into his warmth, the weight of your insecurities begins to lift. then, gently pulling back, sunoo cups your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. “can i show you how much you mean to me?”

before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you softly, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. it’s a kiss filled with reassurance and love, reminding you that you are enough just as you are.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 - “you’re doing your best, and that’s what matters most.”

you sit at your desk, surrounded by textbooks and notes. you’ve been putting in long hours, determined to improve your grades and stay on top of your studies. but tonight, exhaustion starts creeping in, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of doubt about whether all this effort is worth it.

just then, jungwon knocks softly before entering your room, a bright smile lighting up his face. “hey, i brought you some snacks!” he says cheerfully, holding up a plate filled with your favorite treats.

you look up, trying to muster a smile. “thanks, jungwon. i really appreciate it, but I’m not sure i have time to eat right now.”

he puts the plate down beside you and leans against the desk, observing your scattered notes. “you’ve been at this for hours, haven’t you? i just wanted to check in on you.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “yeah, i’m trying to keep up, but it feels like I’m not making any progress.”

jungwon’s expression softens as he looks at you. “i see how hard you’re working every day, and i want you to know that it doesn’t go unnoticed. you’re putting in so much effort, and that’s something to be proud of.”

his words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re speechless. “you really think so?”

“absolutely,” he replies, his voice filled with sincerity. “you’re doing your best, and that’s what matters most. remember, progress isn’t always immediate, but every step you take is a step closer to your goals.”

feeling encouraged, you take a deep breath and nod. “thanks, jungwon. that means a lot coming from you.”

he smiles and pulls you into a gentle hug. “and don’t forget to take breaks, okay? you can’t pour from an empty cup.”

you laugh softly, feeling lighter already. “i’ll try my best.”

“good,” he says, stepping back and gesturing to the plate of snacks. “now, let’s take a break and enjoy these together. you deserve it.”

as you share the snacks and laughter, you feel a renewed sense of motivation. jungwon’s unwavering support reminds you that you’re not alone in your journey, and his encouragement makes all the difference.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 - “it’s okay to be tired.”

riki had been looking forward to spending the day with you, but as he watches you curled up on the couch, he notices something isn’t right. you are normally so full of life and energy, but today, you're dull. your spark is somewhat muted.

“y/n,” he whispers, sitting down beside you. “you okay? you seem a bit… off.”

you look up, forcing a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “yeah, i’m fine. Just a bit tired, i guess.”

riki stares at your face and notices how you turn your eyes away, attempting not to show fatigue. “you know, it’s okay to be tired. you don’t have to hide it from me. everyone has those days.”

you shrugged it off as if it were nothing. “i didn’t want to ruin our day.”

he shakes his head, worry creasing his eyes. “you could never ruin our time together. if you’re feeling overwhelmed, it’s totally normal. you don’t have to put on a brave face all the time.”

you take a deep breath and look away, feeling a sense of guilt creeping in. “i just didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“listen,” riki says gently, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “feeling tired and needing a break doesn’t make you weak. it just means you’re human. we all have our limits. i care about you, and it’s okay to share how you really feel.”

you meet his gaze, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. “i appreciate that, riki. i guess i just thought i should be able to handle it all.”

he smiles softly, his voice steady. “there’s strength in acknowledging when you need help. so, how about we take a break together? we can watch a movie and order your favorite takeout. no stress, just a cozy day.”

your heart warms at his thoughtfulness. “that sounds perfect.”

“great! i’ll grab my phone,” he says, jumping up with newfound energy. as he moves around the room, you feel a sense of comfort wash over you. riki has a way of making you feel understood, reminding you that it’s okay to let your guard down.

as the two of you settle in for a cozy afternoon, laughter and lightheartedness return, slowly chasing away the shadows of your worries. when he finally sits back down beside you, he leans closer, gently brushing a stray hair from your face.

“just remember, i’m always here for you,” he whispers, his eyes warm as the word spoken.

before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his touch lingering as a wave of comfort washes over you. in that moment, you feel a sense of peace, knowing that with riki by your side, you can be your true self without fear.

perm taglist. @honeychocos @kozumesphone @manaah02 (open)

wyll taglist. @lilly-cherry7 (comment or ask to be added)

©levandright

[butlervibesonly]

𝟕𝟑 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘/𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑

• Summary: You are an actress and Austin’s wife. Vogue has decided to make one of their famous interviews and you are more than happy to do it!

• Pairing: Austin Butler x Priscilla actress! reader

• Warnings: None, probably just my own admit that there is definitely not 73 questions cause it was so hard to make up

• Note: Hi there, loves! I watched 73 questions Vogue videos and I thought of this! All replies are from my head, and they are of course not personalized. Since we are all different you can change to reply for yourself, just like you would do! 🤍

“Okay, so Y/n, tell us what’s the first thing you do when you wake up?”

You smile, walking through your and Austin’s house.

“The first thing that I do when I wake up? I kiss my husband!”

“How would you describe your morning routine in three words?”

You think for a while, coming up with the three perfect words.

“Slow… cozy and… romantic.”

“Poetic! What’s the best part about being married to an actor?”

You step into your living room, camera following you to the couch.

“Probably the fact we get to live a thousand lives together.”

“Beautifully said! Is there any biggest challenge of working with your spouse?”

You chuckle, knowing exactly how to answer this.

“Probably film serious scenes. We can’t be serious when we’re together!”

You laugh, recalling the times when you and Austin couldn’t stop laughing while shooting arguing scene.

“What’s the most romantic thing Austin has ever done for you?”

Austin has done so many beautiful things but…

“Hmm... The fact that he married me and is spending the rest of his life with me is the most romantic thing I could wish for.”

The interviewer smiles, loving your answer.

“Ah, you two! If you and your husband could remake any classic film together, which one would it be?”

You laugh, as you look at your coffee table in front of you. There is the book that’s movie adaptation is your answer.

“Pride and Prejudice, indeed. I need to see Aus as Mr. Darcy flexing his hand!”

“What’s the secret to your on-screen chemistry?”

“There is no secret, we just go with the flow and let things come naturally.”

You stand up and make your way to kitchen.

“What’s one word that perfectly describes your relationship?”

“Passion.”

“Vintage or modern—if you had to choose one forever?”

You turn to your house, sensing the answer.

“Both mixed together! Duh!”

“What’s some of your most prized vintage possession?”

You smile widely, as you turn to arrange the flowers in your vase.

“A piece of jewelry that once belonged to Audrey Hepburn."

“Is there any classic Hollywood couple that inspires you?”

“Mmm… Love of Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy was really interesting!”

You walk over to the musical part of your house.

“Wow! You have a lot of vinyls! What’s your go-to Elvis Presley song?”

Austin would love this question, but so do you.

“I would say… Where No One Stands Alone. The cover with Lisa Marie.”

“Perfect choice! If you could travel to one decade for one day, which one would it be?”

You sit down by the piano.

“The 1970s—pure rock and roll energy. Obviously!”

“Haha! I should have expected that! What’s your dream role that hasn’t happened yet?”

You look back at your roles and think…

“Something completely unexpected—a gritty, transformative role that challenges everything I’ve done before.”

“Y/n, I think fans are dying to know; what’s Austin’s underrated talent?”

With a grin you reply very quickly.

“He’s an incredible cook! Our kitchen turns into a five-star restaurant when Austin leads the kitchen and also, he writes the sweetest handwritten notes—every single one of them is a keeper.”

“That’s wonderful! What’s a book you recommend to everyone?”

You move to your bookshelf where you and Austin keep your books.

“Probably… Great Gatsby. Wonderful story and! Pride and Prejudice of course!”

You grin.

“If you could have coffee with any author, dead or alive, who would it be?”

“Jane Austen… Louisa May Alcott and… J. K. Rowling.”

“That would be fantastic meeting! What’s a fictional character you relate to the most?”

“That’s tricky one… Maybe Jo March? I love books, independence, and a little bit of rebellion.”

You lead the way to your yard.

“Who’s your dream co-star?”

“Meryl Streep.”

“Who is your biggest inspiration?”

You sit down on the porch.

“My husband—his passion and dedication push me to be better every day.”

“Do you prefer preparing for dramatic roles or lighthearted ones?”

“Preparing for both is fun!”

“Sweet or savory?”

“Sweet, anything homemade.”

“What’s your favorite movie that you and your husband have done together?”

You smile, thinking.

“Every single one is beautiful, but Elvis was fun.”

“What’s one film you both watch over and over again?”

“Easy! The Notebook!”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I do.”

You reply simply, because that’s exactly how you and Austin fell in love.

“What’s your idea of the perfect date night?”

“Good food, movie and each other’s company.”

“Sounds romantic! What’s the best meal you’ve ever had?”

“True, Italian Carbonara!”

“Who’s the funniest person you know?”

“Awh, c’mon… my husband again!”

“What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

“That I am the best wife-“

You reply with love and affection.

“If you could own any piece of Hollywood memorabilia, what would it be?”

“That’s a tough one… I have no idea, probably script of Titanic?”

“Do you have any pre-show or on-set rituals?”

You nod.

“Listening to music eases my tense.”

“How do you unwind after a long day of filming?”

“Hot bath, and a good book.”

“What’s one thing your fans might not know about you?”

“I can’t go a day without reading a chapter from a book—even if it’s just a few pages.”

You chuckle, admitting.

“What’s your most-used phrase on set?”

“I am really clumsy sometimes so I say; Can we film that again?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Cats or dogs?”

“Dogs!”

“Heels or flats?”

“Depends on where I wear it!”

“What’s your go-to accessory?”

You look at your hand.

“My wedding ring. Anywhere, anytime.”

“What’s a fashion trend from the past you’d love to bring back?”

You gasp, loving the question.

“Oh! I don’t know if this was ever fashion trend but I loved the way Princess Diana combined hoodie and cycle shorts!”

“What’s your signature perfume?”

“I love Miss Dior!”

You stand up and go your garden.

“Who’s your ultimate Hollywood icon?”

“Audrey Hepburn! I really love her, she was splendid actress.”

“What’s your dream vacation destination?”

You stop by your pool and smile.

“Some tropical paradise… Mauritius let’s say.”

“What’s a talent you wish you had?”

“I wish I could play the violin. Or any other musical instrument.”

“How do you memorize lines so quickly?”

You smile and raise your eyebrow.

“Who said I memorized them quickly?”

“What’s your favorite piece of furniture in your home”

“Even tho I can’t play it, probably our piano. I love watching Austin play it.”

“What’s one thing you always keep in your purse?”

As you remember, smile forms on your cheeks again.

“I carry a four leaf clover in my wallet. It’s my lucky charm!”

“What’s your favorite thing about being on set?”

“Making a lot of memories with my co-stars and having a lot of fun.”

“What’s a song that always gets you in a good mood?”

You chuckle and try to think of one song.

“I would say Dog Days Are Over by Florence & The Machine.”

“That’s catchy one! What’s your hidden talent?”

“Hidden talent? Haha, I have no clue!”

“How do you handle nerves before a big event?”

“Dancing! Shaking off the stress and nerves.”

“What’s your favorite way to spend a Sunday?”

“I love lazy Sundays so cuddles on couch, movies sometimes walks.”

You get up and walk to your house again.

“If you weren’t an actress, what would you be doing?”

You walk into the house and think about it.

“Probably… Fashion designer.”

“What’s your biggest pet peeve?”

“I really don’t like when you are talking to someone and they are not listening. Communication is a key.”

“What’s your go-to comfort food?”

“Croissants. Try the ones filled with chocolate!”

“What’s a moment in your career that you’ll never forget?”

“When Aus was nominated for an Oscar and both of us were surrounded by the actors we always looked up to.”

“What’s your favorite holiday tradition?”

“I love to bake gingerbread cookies on Christmas!”

“What’s the last book you read?”

You look back to your shelf.

“The last thing I read is From Here To The Great Unknown.”

“Who’s your ultimate style icon?”

“My dear friend Zendaya!”

“How cool! What’s the best advice you’ve ever received about marriage?”

You smile warmly, thinking of Austin immediately.

“Always support each other’s dreams, even when they take you in unexpected directions.”

“That’s beautiful, Y/n… What’s your favorite part of old Hollywood glamour?”

“The elegance—everyone carried themselves with such grace and mystery.”

You explain with a wink.

“What’s one thing about fame you didn’t expect?”

That’s interesting question you never thought about.

“How much more I’d value my private life once my public life got bigger… I appreciate the quiet moments away from it all.”

“How do you handle bad days?”

“Austin makes me happy. Always. Whenever I feel down he is my reason to raise up again.”

“Speaking of him… What’s a hobby you and your husband love doing together?”

“We try new stuff together! Whether it’s sport, art or anything else, we always try to do new things together.”

“If you could duet with Elvis on one song, which one would it be?”

You laugh, loving the thought of it.

“Well… maybe the classic Can’t Help Falling In Love.”

“What’s your biggest career goal right now?”

“Right now I focus on the upcoming projects, and do my best to make them happen.”

“Goos luck with them! What’s a quality you admire in your husband?”

“That he always listens. He can just sit there and listen to my hourly talking, but he listens every single word.”

You smile warmly, love spreading through your chest.

“What’s a quality he admires in you?”

“He always says I make any place feel like home.”

“How do you want to be remembered in Hollywood?”

“For my performances, but also for my kindness.”

“What’s your biggest hope for the future?”

“To build a family, a home, and a results of work I’m proud of.”

“And lastly what’s one piece of advice you’d give your younger self?”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be successful—just be real.”

From the many interviews you ever did — this was your favorite. Finally you could share the love and passion for everything. For your career, and especially for the love of your life.

[bth3cowboi]

pas de deux, cl16xreader

masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x ballerina!reader

summary: In ballet, a pas de deux is a dance for two people. Sometimes between step and step, someone may fall in love.

format: social media au

( twitter )

( instagram )

charles_leclerc

liked by f1, wretchedswan and 1,544,873 others

wretchedswan

liked by charles_leclerc, yourfriend and 1,788 others

wretchedswan

liked by charles_leclerc and 5,870 others

wretchedswan winter season is over here in monaco🤍🦢❄️ so happy for the new year ahead! hoping for more nutcrackers, swans and good new pals

show all comments

yourfriend umm baby thats a man right there

wretchedswan new pal✨ yourfriend omg is that...? wretchedswan pal✨

user1 it was beautiful to watch you this year!

wretchedswan thank you!!

user2 monte carlo's superstarrrrr

( twitter )

( instagram )

wretchedswan

liked by charles_leclerc, joris_trouche, and 10,712 others

wretchedswan la fille mal gardée 🧺🌷💌 come see us at @/lesballetsdemontecarlo

tagged yourfriend;

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user1 rocking the handmaid's tail look

wretchedswan not everyone can relate

yourfriend they said jeté but all you heard was toi ate!!

wretchedswan cuntyyyyy

lesballetsdemontecarlo ❤️🌺

charles_leclerc Wow🤩💐

wretchedswan <3 user2 charles what are you doing hereeee user3 omg Charles????

user4 what is formula 1😭 i just came for the ballet content

user5 cars go vroom

user6 are you charles' girl now??? uugh

user7 thought you were cuter

user8 girlie you're already on wag pages is it trueee

charles_leclerc

liked by wretchedswan, lewishamilton, and 1,900,433 others

charles_leclerc Enjoying the sun and the beautiful views😉☀️

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user1 my heart just BROKE

user2 so its true???😢

wretchedswan cute👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 I think I had better sights tho

charles_leclerc Impossible, nothing compares to you user3 bro user4 nothing compares to youuu?? oh I died landonorris so cornyyy charles_leclerc mate?? wretchedswan don't break his heart lando💔 let him be poetic in his way charles_leclerc babe... landonorris HAHAHAH lameee🤣🫵🫵

user6 joris they got your man

user7 I wasn't expecting a charles leclerc hard launch at 6am but here I am

user8 the tifosi is weeping user9 every italian man just got their heart broken today

pierregasly Looking good, seems like you're both having some fun😏 invite us next time

charles_leclerc Soon, we want a double date francisca.cgomes yesss! wretchedswan 🥰🥰

wretchedswan

liked by charles_leclerc, joris_trouche, and 33,202 others

wretchedswan ballet intensives + things I ate this summer🍇🫒🩰

show all comments

user1 GIRL??

user2 oh let me see what charles' girlfriend eats- OH

user3 she heard the delulu girlies call her names and she said stay mad im winning lol

yourfriend tw for male

wretchedswan im still yours❤️‍🔥 yourfriend love u sm 🥺 dump him charles_leclerc Wow, you’re the best too👍 @/yourfriend yourfriend 😘😘

user4 theyre actually cute whattt

user5 you think charles was in that theater with a book trying to look mysterious?

user6 a wattpad fantasy but charles is the reader user5 in a 1D concert, Yn is harry styles user7 LMAOOOO

charles_leclerc perfect girl, je t'aime❤️

wretchedswan je t'aime aussi<3

user8 I, too, want to have this diet

user9 me 2 baby me 2

——

a/n: hope you liked this one!! is short and silly but well, I just wanted to write something ballet related lol. If anyone has requests or something to say my asks are open! and my masterlist is uppp

[whirlpool-blogs]

whirlpool's personal MOTA fic recs!

I've actually been dying to put this together for a while now...today is as good an excuse as any! I might not know everyone's tumblrs vs ao3 names so I will NOT be offended if you tell me to correct something!! <3

the big list = going alphabetical order in my folder because YES I do download my favorites, it's like having your own little bookshelf!!

non-clegan fics:

nine mothers' sons by @reallylilyreally (truly beautiful, breathtaking, and **THE** John Brady bible for the fandom so make sure you pray to it every night)

at your heels by @reallylilyreally (this one is Ev Blakely, another really beautiful story that helps you understand just why Crosby's memoir speaks of Blakely with such love and affection)

clegan (or gale-centric, or john-centric) fics:

A Direct Solution by @sweaterkittensahoy (Gale & Marge proposition Bucky...so cute and so hot)

ain't it easy? by @stereobone (dom/sub with john as the dom but ohhh man it's so much more than just that!!!!! this fic is so full of FEELS. and it's also HOTTTT. and also the FEELSSSSS.)

all the rest of what I want with you by @london-cowboy (the level of care that went into writing this fic is insane and impeccable. down to its own internal timeline, little egan kiddos, and the ANGST. but it's all worth it, I promise!!)

back home where you're from, that's the measure of a man by wolfhalls (nice little oneshot of the bucks, I love the back-and-forth of their dialogue in this one, it really does feel like two people who know each other well)

bittersweet between my teeth by @blixabargelds (post-war adjustment...love when the two majors are a little messy and a little sad and also john calls gale the prettiest thing he ever saw so there's that <3)

bluebirds singing a song by ourdarkspirits (Marge jumps Bucky's bones. Then Gale joins. Super fun, super hot!)

Close and Yet Closer by Anonymous (LITERALLY THE MOST!!!!!! FIC OF ALL TIME!!!!!!! Gale is a little bit mean and John is a lot bit sweaty. Like all the time. it's amazing and you should read it and it WILL change your life.)

Corpse Song by birdwif (oof. john is miserable in the stalag he's scratching at the door he's gnawing his own leg off.)

deep breath baby by @defnotanarc (um FISTING. yeah. intense and delicious. side note sometimes the world isn't fair and people who are really talented and amazing at drawing are also really good WRITERS too LIKE WTF!!)

DOG DINNER by @wompire (super interesting writing style, extremely poetic and striking. hits you right in the gut.)

everything and the kitchen sink by @swifty-fox (YEAH THIS ONE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE TOO. modern au where gale is a professional dom and john is a journalist who hornily consents to both (1) fucking around, and (2) finding out. in top ten fics of the decade in general tbh)

Freed From Desire by @feyd-meowtha (yoooooo such a fun and free and sexy fic!!! such a great writing style and such a cool remix of all the characters we know and love!)

He wears his love around his neck by kasugayamaisforlovers (Gale character study, he tries to run his little gay thoughts away which is always so fun to see)

hold me like a knife by storm_warning (tw: self-harm, this REALLY gets into John's self-destructive stalag spiral and it's super visceral and wet and heart-wrenching and written with such, such care and precision)

Hound Within the Heart by Anonymous (fairy-tale esque, gets super crazy and pushes the limits of reality but in the best ways possible)

I Don't Wanna Be Alone Tonight by @johnslittlespoon (cuddling for warmth <3 and then a little more <3 <3 so sweet and intimate!!)

I Like A Bad Boy by @nicijones (modern college AU and bucky is a fratty fuckboy type & in this fic he DOES punch a guy for Gale and it's all very hot and sweet and a delight to read)

i wish you wouldn't tell me (about your hawaiian party) by @whitetrashjj (when the fuckbuddies thing gets messyyyyyy because gale catches feelingsssssss, so delicious and meaty!!)

if that isn’t love, it’ll have to do by @irregularcollapse (ALWAYS such incredible character reads from this author, never misses. also facefucking. also FACEFUCKING <3)

i'll be seeing you by @puffanities (a quick 1.6k oneshot but still packed with some really great characterization and powerful language!! 'when the numbers of planes don’t match...')

i'll find you before the dust settles by butidontreallycare (a Westworld AU!! super cool)

in our bedroom after the war by @stereobone (one of those fics that's just like. a pillar of the community, y'know? iconic. classic. eternal.)

Into the Unknown by Melanie_Mikaelson (big win for john whump enjoyers. BIG win. like 20+ chapters of winning)

it ain't for meatball by @meyerlansky (Curt/Bucky. Curt puts the dog collar on Bucky....and it's HOTTTT arf arf i'm barking just like bucky is in this fic...)

It's Not Love, but It's Fun by @sweaterkittensahoy (Curt/Bucky, 500 words so it's short and sweet just like Curt ahahahaha, ANYWAY still such an interesting little read regardless!)

judgment by the hounds by @puffanities (PG, very visceral and tender apology after the stalag fight scene <3)

level-off maneuvers by wormringers (sweet little oneshot of the Bucks in London)

little fix by ForASecondThereWedWon (Algeria <3 <3 you just kNOW those two gay pilots were sniffing and huffing and licking each other's sweat.....this author GETS it)

love means nothing (in tennis) by @irregularcollapse (fics that make you go WEEEEEEEE!!!! every word, every physical action that these characters take is SO precise and well-written. truly like wrapping a soft bathrobe around yourself and also the bathrobe is incredibly sexy and also they're sucking each other off post-game but PRE-shower. also gale's dad!! also margie!! truly such a well crafted AU)

make you feel alive by @sig-nifier (really sweet little oneshot of gale being a little protective of john. and i am ALWAYS a sucker for the 'call off your dog' trope... and it's done perfectly here!)

meet me at the chapel by @swifty-fox (still in-progress and SUCH a creative, inventive universe!! outlaw john you will always be famous to me!!!!)

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder by @swifty-fox (swift can really weave a story like no one else. so many lines that pack a punch. and in the end, they make it <3)

my type by @spaceshipkat (this one is SOOOOO well-written, I always go so crazy for the dialogue!!! such a great push-pull dynamic in this fic)

night terror by @antiquitea (hot! and sweet! and HOT! and angsty!!!!! highlights include: gale gives john a literal countdown deadline to get off)

Obligate Mutualism by bowhuntress (Gale-centric story of trying to get John through the stalag, then returning the England without Bucky, a fic very obviously written with a lot of care and love)

obsessions, and other things by @sig-nifier (the Bucks cope. really great pacing and dialogue, and I always love when fics take the care to delve into john's struggle with alcoholism as well)

of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world (he walks into mine) by @whitetrashjj (really fun parallel universe where Buck owns a bar, just a great read all-around!)

Oh, I do, do I? by @defnotanarc (DIRTY TALK, like the most delicious, incredible dirty talk you can imagine, this fic nails it!!)

One of your Girls by @soliloquy-dawn (9k oneshot and it's great all the way through, Gale is jealousssss of John fucking around, don't worry they resolve it <3, definitely captures that innocence of pre-Bremen MOTA episodes)

peacetime like a liminal space by @spaceshipkat (this one is PHENOMENAL. post-war, John goes to New York City and turns out it doesn't fill the emptiness. luckily Gale shows up. <3)

Putting Words to It by @impalachick (YEAH THIS ONE IS REALLY HOT. John is a snoop and reads Gale's letters to Marge <3)

Reunited by Flowersandthings (PG, cute & funny oneshot of the Bucks being reunited after Gale makes it over from Greenland!)

Reverie by @avonne-writes (REALLY creative, well-crafted story. Gale and John are soulmates and can visit each other's dreams since adolescence. INCREDIBLE journey and arc in this story, the stalag part is just wow. truly such a gift to the fandom!!).

Rugire by Anonymous (umm omegaverse-ish but with deer dynamics. messy. and SO good.)

SHOTGUN. by pornogirl (YEAH this one is awesome, it's not safe it's not sane but oh boy it is consensual)

Song of Songs by @swifty-fox (sweaty sex sweaty sex sweaty sex)

Spin, Sit, Roll-Over by @glumbabie (Gale is a little mean to John and it's VERY sexy of him tbh. 'DOGS DON'T TALK'???? 'YOU CAN EAT'???????? yeah. read this.)

the chimneys hardly ever fall down by @redbelles (another Gale/Marge + John, and it's HOT. it's SEXY it's awesome!!)

the hand of a good man by @stereobone (John rewrites Gale's daddy history <3)

the jacket by @dogmetaphors (REALLY great sense of dialogue and characterization even in 1.6k words, also shamelessly horny and SO yummy)

The Major’s Wife by tryingmyhandatwriting (John/Original Female Character but like. give this one a chance, I'm telling you!! I'm always soooo compelled by sex scenes that like. are actually a little bit unhappy. and this one SERVESSSSS.)

this must be the place by @blixabargelds (BIG win for Gale whumpers. broken bone and LOTS of blood and super well-written)

To be alone with you by Damn_Illusive (THIS ONE IS SO, SO SPECIAL AND CREATIVE!! freaky army experimentation gives gale and john telepathic communication. incredible separation arc while gale is in the stalag. really, really unique story that is such a staple in my mind as one of the the most incredible clegan stories ever. I think about this one A LOT!!!)

To the Moon and Back by @rambleonwaywardson (iconic astronaut AU, written with SUCH care and love, it's so obvious!! and BIG win for john whumpers. who said that -)

Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me) by @johnslittlespoon (sooo fun and creative and inventive, Bikeriders-esque!Gale and a sweeter, more innocent John. really well crafted)

trading paper dolls by ForASecondThereWedWon (Alex draws Gale pinup girl style in the stalag.....John swipes it.... super great fic!)

two slow dancers by everywordnotsaid (unrequited love, John for Gale, through their journey. I genuinely, actually sobbed for a long time at the conclusion of this fic. I am always thinking about this fic. I think it really captures something about the experience of watching the show and realizing in that hopeless, lovesick kind of way that there's no way to go back in time and save all of them. I still get teary whenever I think about this story or hear the song. It's one of those fics that's not just good, not just great, but somehow also really fucking IMPORTANT. this story MATTERS. you should absolutely read it and save it and imprint it onto your heart. I know it's imprinted onto mine.)

Un Chant d’Amour by @counting0nit (really intriguing take on the interrogation center time frame!)

unicorns, and other extinct animals by @spaceshipkat (really, really incredible reading experience. something that actually touches other aspects of my life, even now. I see planes overhead and I think about this fic. I see letters on a table and I think about this fic. just. this author GETS IT, you know? just absolutely nails every aspect of this kind of fic: post-war adjustment, the pain, the LOVE. this fic will make you FEEL it. let it happen.)

Up In Our Bedroom by @steeseman (ICONIC. really one of those pillars of the community type fics, y'know? it's funny and it's sweet and it's painful and the hot parts are HOT. clearly written with SO much care, and SO much love, and SO much precision. every single word packs a punch. absolutely one of my top reads of all time, across time, across fandoms)

When the bones are good by @aramblingjay (a really incredible post-war fic, such a beautiful, rich writing style!! isn't afraid to dig at the hard parts - john's relationship with alcohol, their nightmares from the war. stunning visuals -- the author uses setting and place and motion in such a tangible, real way. I can still see the little hideout spot in my mind's eye, even now. one of those fics that's just. such a treasure to the fandom.)

your dreams, whatever they be by @drylite (this one is super new, and it's just SUCH solid writing!)

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man) by @johnslittlespoon (one of those fics that's a pillar of the fandom for SURE!!! definitely a classic)

[deathofacupid]

hi! i just wanted to say i really love your writing! it never fails to make me laugh (or cry) do you have any author/fic recs?

grrr thank u bb !! im glad i could make u laugh (or cry) !! im going to take this opportunity to rec the shit outta my moots !! these aren't in any particular order check them all out (make sure to read rules n such) (u also sent a follow up that it was for jjk so here u go) 💕

@salsakiyoomi; i instantly eat up what ever she posts when she posts it !! i've been meaning to read her drummer!sukuna series !! the way she writes for sukuna is just grrr... my favorites is this one for sure !! (love u soulmate)

@indiewritesxoxo; is what GOT me into jjk... very moving pieces !! snapshots has my heart and soul i believe, but i need to catch up !! i love the way she characterizes, just yum. her fics always have the perfect amount of everything !!

@cuntyji / @kashverse; im trying to think of my favorite work but EVERYTHING leaves me foaming at the mouth... kashs smut is so perfect in every way, im always giggling at the funny part. her crack? impeccable. her work never ever fails to make me smileee

@loveyislost; all her smaus are on point !! literally like crazy. work wife had me GAGGED and so did just a pretty face which i haven't finished yet !! (can u tell the tbr list is long) but check her out !!

@gojosoups; what do i even say here. i should start off by saying i STILL am thinking ab burglar!toji and that sneak peak of hey mister police man i am SO excited for words wont aid me here. and this ?? gojo royalty au ?? i was on my knees i fear.

@naomigojo / @naomi-main; two words... forbidden fruit. two more words... zombie husband. i genuinely want to kiss ur brain so bad bc WHERE do u come up with these ?? the way she writes gojo just just just bro

@unabletonotlovesatoru; i drool every time u post okay. u warm my heart. everything is a freaking hit. i cant pick a favorite theyre all perfect im barking. the fluff is just its fluffing SO good. this ?? dropped my assignments to read. made me want to write fluff so i did that instead and i have NO regrets it was so cute im gonna bite u

@yanderenightmare; dont mind me stalking your masterlist and eating everything up pretend like im not there turn the other cheek or blind eye ykykyk but seriously. i always get shivers. this yuta smut ?? made me realize i was missing something my entire life i think about it so often dpwm

@stxrysnow; bro. cmon. has beautiful pieces and is far too underrated i fear. fought not to gatekeep this cutie. bc. what. her pieces are so poetic and i just love the writing so much. the imagery has me sobbing always. this satosugu work made me fall in love w u

@mia-can-yap-too; i know u just started writing but this megumi work does wonders for the soul. its so cute (thank u mia i say to the shrine)

other writers that deserve all the love they can get ever !!

@nanamiskentos; i think ab this very often ?? smut was insanely jaw-dropping and the entire time gojo was just so gojo and i loved it.

@reignpage; nawt ashamed to say i check the page multiple times a day and giggle when i see updates. this queen both can write smaus and fics and both EAT. not over wolf!toji btw tho that was so heartwrenching and lovely. the smut was top tier and so was the angst. that was the best 20k journey i have been on. first time i read a fic that long in one sitting like ?? v v good

@fushitoru; spiderman!gojo ilysm... lit my fav two fandoms squished together. i cried and laughed and the entire plot was just so amazing kissing ur brain.

@baepsays; this drabble is honestly just so everything like i think ab this too often for my own good...

i just KNOW that there are so many more amazing authors out there, and theres no way i could ever list them all. these are just my recs, and i hope u love them as much as i do !! <33

[mapofsouthdakota]

Plated I

The knives are sharp. The heat’s real. Love has no place here—so why does it keep showing up?

Synopsis: In a heat-soaked kitchen where pressure simmers and perfection is law, you stand shoulder to shoulder with a team of brilliant misfits—each carrying their own scars, secrets, and fire.

From Caleb’s controlled intensity to Sylus’s velvet power plays, Rafayel’s chaotic beauty, Zayne’s surgical focus, and Xavier’s quiet steadiness, every shift cuts deeper than the last.

This is a story of tension, taste, and slow-burn hearts—where trust is plated, feelings are forbidden, and love might just be the most dangerous ingredient.

Details: 7500 words. Slowburn bonanza, 18+ series. Non MC! AU building and Raf’s and Zayne’s time to shine…. Aaaand Sylus’s delicious power play as your hot boss. Let’s get to know them! This chapter contains: fluff, stress, flirting, cheek kissing, sexual tension and banter. I loved writing this. Buckle up and (hopefully) enjoy this slow burn.

Chapters: Initial AU doodle, Pilot, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

Tags: @gavin3469

Critic vs artist | Chapter one

The air is wet with last night’s rain—still clinging to the sidewalks like spilled thoughts.

Raf walks beside you, steps uneven on purpose—like he’s turning the sidewalk into a runway only he can see. His hair is damp at the edges, violet curls falling into soft, intentional chaos across his brow. The plum of his bangs catches the morning sunlight like ink in motion.

His jacket—a deep charcoal wrap, belted high with asymmetrical cuts and layered fabric—flutters slightly as he moves, half-open despite the chill. The collar’s sharp, exaggerated, and undeniably Raf. His boots are sleek. High-shine. Expensive. One hand is gloved in soft leather. The other? Bare, save for a ring that glints like starlight—delicate but bold.

It’s not mismatched. It’s curated.

“If I die today,” he says, “make sure my eulogy includes the phrase ‘death by undercooked critic.’ And that someone throws rose petals onto the stove.”

You glance over. “Rose petals on the stove?”

He grins. “It’s poetic, Flame. Extremely me.”

You give him a look. He grins wider, eyes catching the early light like stained glass.

“Too soon?”

You nudge his shoulder. “Too early.”

He makes a noise like he’s been personally wounded. “God. I forgot you’re one of those. The focused ones. Calm-before-the-storm types. Do you ever just spiral?”

You deadpan. “I spiral efficiently.”

“Terrifying,” he whispers, full of admiration.

The city around you is half-awake. Sidewalks slick, gutters glinting. The restaurant glows faintly ahead, dark windows waiting.

You both fall into silence for a moment, walking in step.

Then softly, you say, “Hey. Heads up—things might be weird today.”

Raf tilts his head.

“Caleb and Zayne,” you explain. “They had a moment. Yesterday. Tense. Quiet. But… loud underneath.”

You pause. “It shook something.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then nods. “Sooo the air’s going to taste like resentment and repressed masculinity. Got it.”

“Exactly.”

Raf exhales through his nose, flicking his curls out of his eyes like he’s shedding a mood.

“Good to know. I’ll keep it light. For morale.”

You and Raf step through the back entrance together, the door creaking shut behind you. The kitchen looms ahead—cold steel and quiet shadows—but you both veer left, ducking into the locker room.

It’s dim and still inside. Just the low hum of the old overhead light and the faint scent of starch and citrus cleaner clinging to the air. Your lockers sit side by side, scuffed and dented, familiar.

Raf peels off his coat slowly, flicking damp curls out of his eyes with one elegant shake of his head. He hangs his coat with care, draping it over the hook like it deserves mood lighting.

You follow, tugging your jacket off and unlocking your locker with fingers still a little cold from outside.

For a moment, there’s only the quiet rustle of fabric—aprons being tied, sleeves being rolled, the low click of latches and belt snaps.

Then Raf speaks, his voice softer than before.

“Do you think he’ll hate me?”

You glance over.

He’s staring at the inside of his locker like it might hold the answer. Like the old recipe cards and mirror decals taped there have started whispering judgments.

You blink. “Who?”

He gestures vaguely toward nothing. Toward everything: “The critic. The entity. The sentient fork who’s coming to reduce me to a single flavor note.”

You pause, slipping your arms through your chef coat sleeves.

“They don’t know you.”

He looks at you then—eyes sharper, lower. His voice drops into something honest.

“Then let’s make sure they remember me.”

You smile.

You’re both halfway dressed now—necks exposed, apron loose. You reach for your hair tie just as Raf steps a little closer, shoulder brushing yours.

He bumps you lightly. Then stops.

Turns halfway, taps his own cheek with one finger.

“This is where you wish me luck, traditionally. Culinary custom. Very sacred stuff.”

You raise a brow. “I’ll kiss your cheek if this turns out decent.”

He gasps. “Blackmail? In this economy?”

You shake your head, reaching into your locker again. But you’re not quick enough.

Raf leans in and steals the kiss anyway—a soft smack against your cheek, close and quick and warm. He lingers just long enough that you feel the smile in it.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t step away completely.

He glances over his shoulder, eyes catching yours—blue and flickering pink in the light, like heat caught in a gemstone.

He sees the blush blooming on your face. Sees everything.

“Oh no,” he murmurs dramatically. “I forgot how adorable you are in the morning. Now how am I supposed to focus?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Raf.”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving one elegant hand. “Discipline. Art. Professionalism. I am a temple of restraint.” A beat. “But temples still burn, you know.”

He pauses then—eyes narrowing, lips curling.

“Watch out, little flame.” His voice drops an octave. “You’ll set the kitchen on fire before we even clock in.”

He winks. Once. And walks out like he owns the day, chef coat flaring behind him like a final act.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are still warm. And when you step out after him, into the glow of steel and citrus—

the fire waits

——————————————————————————

You round the prep counter with Raf trailing behind you like a ghost in glitter, still drying his hands on a kitchen towel he brought from home “because the restaurant ones are too emotionally rough.”

The kitchen’s not empty.

Zayne is already at his station—of course he is. Sleeves rolled. Forearms scarred and steady. His coat is folded with perfect corners beneath the counter, like it needs to be reminded that it doesn’t run the place today.

He’s working in near-silence, slicing spring onions into paper-thin curls. They pile like green silk on the cutting board, each slice identical. His movements are precise enough to be boring—if they weren’t terrifying.

He doesn’t look up.

“Morning,” you offer softly.

No answer at first.

Then, after three more exacting cuts:

“Morning.”

Not cold. Not quite warm. Just… there.

Raf squints over your shoulder. “Ugh. The ghost of conflict past.”

You shoot him a glance. “Don’t.”

He shrugs, not apologizing. “Just observing. The air’s ten degrees colder over here.”

Zayne says nothing, but the corner of his jaw flexes.

You move to your own station. Raf hovers.

“So,” he says, “what’s the vibe? Broken trust? Unspoken resentment? Tense ex-lovers with knives?” Raf pauses. “Actually, I’d watch that show.”

You lean closer. “He’s still not talking. Not really.”

Raf glances toward Zayne. “Right. Post-snap lockdown. How subtle.”

Zayne finally glances up. One slow look at Raf. One at you. No change in expression.

“I can hear you.”

Raf smiles. “Oh good. We were worried.”

You bite back a laugh. Zayne resumes slicing like your voices are ambient noise—like music he doesn’t like, but can’t be bothered to turn off.

Then—

The door opens again.

No bootstep this time.

Just a soft shuffle, like someone walked in without quite deciding to stay.

Xavier appears at the edge of the kitchen, arms full of folded towels and a paper bag clutched in one hand like a peace offering.

His blond bangs are messy from the hood he hasn’t removed yet. His jacket is only half-zipped. His expression is, as usual, unreadable—but peaceful. Like he wandered in from a dream and hasn’t realized he’s supposed to be stressed yet.

He sets the towels down carefully on the counter near you.

“Lavender. From the shelf above the oven,” he says, as if that explains everything.

You blink. “…Thanks?”

He nods once. Then adds, “You forgot it last time. I remembered.”

Raf presses a hand to his heart. “How is he the softest and the most haunting?”

Xavier glances at him. “Because I nap.”

“Deeply unfair,” Raf mutters.

Xavier drifts toward his usual spot near the pantry—not quite a station, not quite out of the way. Just his. He starts unpacking the bag with the kind of slow, reverent movements people usually save for altars.

Then—

The door opens a final time. Boots. Solid. Familiar.

Caleb steps into the kitchen with two heavy bags balanced in his arms, his coat still unbuttoned, hair damp from the outside air. He sets the bags on the prep table with a dull thunk and breathes in the room like he’s taking stock of a battlefield.

He doesn’t say good morning.

His gaze sweeps the kitchen—Zayne still slicing like the cutting board owes him a debt, Raf stretching like a dancer, Xavier calmly arranging bundles of herbs like they’re poetry.

His eyes find you last.

And stay there.

Just a second longer than they should.

Then he turns, moves to the board, rolls up his sleeves in one clean motion.

“Brigade.”

His voice cuts through the soft clatter of prep like it was built to. Not loud. Just final.

“Team’s all here—more or less. Make yourselves useful.”

He doesn’t wait for replies. Instead, Caleb sets a folded sheet of paper on the board—creases sharp, corners squared. Notes. Preferences. A map of the critic’s palate, etched in black ink and personal experience.

“No foam. No tricks. No ‘modernist interpretations.’” He glances—just briefly—at Raf.

Raf throws up his hands in mock offense. “I wasn’t going to start with fire, Maestro. I was going to end with it.”

Caleb ignores him.

“No fennel. No licorice. No licorice disguised as fennel. He’ll taste it.”

He moves a pen across the prep sheet like he’s marking a warfront.

“He cares about structure. Doesn’t want a journey. Wants a statement.”

Zayne, across the room, doesn’t say a word—but he’s watching. Knife paused.

Caleb glances at Xavier’s corner—still calm, still minimal, towels folded and untouched herbs set aside with gentle care.

No prep laid out.

But still, Caleb says nothing. Just: “I want calm stations. I want rhythm. This isn’t about invention. This is about control.”

His hand hovers over the last line on the page—something written smaller.

You lean in, and Caleb murmurs it without looking at you: “He remembers everything. Every plate. Every chef. And he writes like he’s sharpening a knife.”

You swallow. You already knew that. But hearing it from Caleb—voice low, composed—it lands heavier.

He finally looks at you again. Direct. Steady.

“This will be clean,” he says. “No emotion on the line.”

And then—like it’s already decided—

“Service starts when I say it does.”

Zayne doesn’t turn. Caleb doesn’t acknowledge him either.

The silence is short—but sharp.

Raf claps his hands once. Loud. Unnecessary.

“Okay, people. We’re marinating in tension. Can we please toss some oil on this emotional salad and move forward?”

Xavier, without looking up: “You don’t marinate salad.”

“It’s metaphorical, White Rabbit”

“It’s inaccurate.”

You step in, breath steadying as you move to the center. “Let’s just… start. Please?”

There’s a beat of stillness.

Then—a sharp clap. Measured. Final.

Caleb doesn’t even look up from the prep list.

“As I said,” he drawls, voice smooth as steel. “I start the service.”

He flips a page, scans, then adds—still calm, still deadly precise: “And before we start, I expect the tightest, cleanest prep this kitchen’s ever seen.” A pause. His eyes flick up, catching yours with a hint of something almost teasing. “No excuses. No shortcuts. If you’re not proud of it, it doesn’t go on the line.”

Then he moves.

And the kitchen follows.

Stations are claimed. Spoons clink. Steel kisses wood.

The line wakes up—

And so does the fire.

And then—

From the hallway, a new voice:

“Smells expensive.”

All of you freeze.

Dressed like he has dinner reservations in three places at once. Charcoal coat. Silk scarf. Not a hair out of place: Sylus.

“Morning,” he offers, casually. “Anyone dead yet?”

“Not yet,” Caleb murmurs. “We’re warming up.”

Sylus glances around. Takes in the silence.

“Ah,” he says, voice full of velvet and teeth. “The critic tension. Charming. And what’s this?” He points vaguely between Caleb and Zayne. “Frostbite?”

No one answers.

Sylus grins.

“Excellent.”

He strolls to the coffee station and starts inspecting beans like he’s about to invest in them. His fingers drift over the tins with exaggerated precision, turning each label like he’s judging a vintage.

Then—

“Chef Caleb,” he says casually, not looking up, “tell me the groceries weren’t tragic this time. I’d like to pair our slow collapse with a wine that doesn’t taste like disappointment.”

Caleb doesn’t take the bait. Just answers, flat as steel: “Sea urchin from Hokkaido. Stone fruit from Provence. Veal, marble-grade, cut to spec.” A pause. “Sour cherries air-freighted from Kyoto.”

“Mm,” Sylus hums, as if this means something to him. It does. He plucks a bottle from beneath the bar and sets it aside—deep burgundy glass, gold foil glinting faintly.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed now, gaze drifting across the crew. His expression softens—just enough.

“Well, you’ve got your knives. Your fire. Your egos. And my blessing.” A pause. His eyes land on you.

“Don’t ruin it, chefs.”

But there’s trust in the bite.

He lifts the bottle slightly, a toast without the glass.

And turns back to the espresso grinder like none of it mattered in the first place.

You turn back to your station. The mood is sharpened. Not ruined—just pulled tighter.

Everything is clean. Everything is ready.

And you can feel it in your bones.

——————————————————————————

The sound is quiet.

Not a bang. Not a rush. Just the soft click of the front door opening—far too early.

You hear it before you see it. Before the burners are even fully lit. Before the air is properly warm. Caleb doesn’t flinch. Just lifts his head slowly, hands steady on a citrus cure, and looks toward the door.

You and Raf freeze mid-motion at your stations. Zayne pauses with a spoon just above a tasting dish.

The kitchen breathes in.

Two figures step inside.

The first is exactly what you expected: pressed collar, coat folded neatly over one arm, small notepad in hand. The critic. As sharp and as unreadable as the stories say.

But behind him—

A second. Younger. Tall. Black coat, hands in pockets, eyes already scanning the room like he’s cataloguing everything. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t speak.

You can feel it shift then.

This is no casual meal.

This is a test.

The sound of a blade gently tapping down on wood punctuates the pause. Zayne sets his spoon down. Raf quietly reaches for his tasting spoon but doesn’t move to use it.

Caleb speaks first.

“Chefs—eyes up.”

Not loud. But the air tightens.

He walks slowly toward the pass, glancing once at the unexpected second guest. No comment. Just adjusts.

“New seating. Same service. We keep the plan.”

The hush breaks in tiny cracks. Zayne nods without a word, fingers already resuming motion. Xavier turns, smooth as a whisper, and reaches for folded linens like nothing’s happened. Raf, beside you, exhales through his nose like a performer before curtain.

“Fantastic,” he murmurs. “Not one, but two mouths to impress. Double the trauma. Double the applause.” He glances at you. “We live or die by sugar today, little flame. Let’s make it fatal.”

The guests sit. Not a word exchanged. The critic sets down his pen. The protégé crosses one leg over the other, still watching the kitchen like it might blink first.

Sylus is already at the table, poised with the bottle in hand, pouring the aperitif with practiced grace. The light catches on the rim of crystal as he leans in—shoulders relaxed, smile unreadable.

“From the northern slopes of the Montagne de Reims,” Sylus says, his voice smooth as the pour itself. “Chalk at the roots. Mist in the mornings. Pinot Noir grown in tension—power wrapped in elegance.” He tilts the bottle with perfect control, adding lightly:“It’s the kind of champagne that remembers the weight of the soil it came from—and chooses to rise anyway.”

He doesn’t overstay. Doesn’t sell. Just lets the silence sip it in.

Then he straightens, nods once, and disappears with the same ease he arrived—leaving the glass full, the table waiting, and the kitchen watching.

And just like that—

Caleb lifts his head, eyes scanning the line.

“Fire it.”

The word lands sharp and steady. Not loud. Not rushed. Just final.

Service begins

Plates begin to move. The pass pulses under Caleb’s rhythm—measured, exact. He’s not calling like a drill sergeant. He’s conducting.

Every sound has weight. Every motion has intent.

But the balance is delicate.

You can feel the heat beneath the surface—not just from the burners.

Eyes are watching. Notes are being taken.

And the kitchen knows it. Zayne’s fish lands a second too early. Just one. Caleb doesn’t raise his voice—doesn’t even look. Just:

“Again.” Short. Clipped. Trusting Zayne will fix it without needing more. Xavier misses the tarragon. You catch it first—your hand already reaching for the small bundle. He takes it from you with a calm nod. No flinch. Just adjustment.

And you— you almost let your glaze over-reduce. A second too long. The edges go from shine to danger. Then—

Caleb is there.

Behind you. Close. But not crowding.

His hand moves over yours—lightly, not stopping, just correcting. Two fingers to the flame. A slight shift. The heat eases.

He doesn’t scold.

He doesn’t even pause.

His voice is low, steady, just above the simmering pans: “Breathe.”

You do.

He stays there for a beat longer.

Then—softer: “You’ve got it.”

You nod. The motion feels smaller than your breath. But he sees it.

And then he’s gone—already moving down the line, already guiding the next plate with a tilt of his chin and a barely audible correction.

Your hands—steady now—move with purpose.

The critic’s still watching.

But right now, you’re not cooking for him.

You’re cooking because Caleb told you you could.

You finish the plate. Wipe the edge clean. Adjust a single leaf of micro basil that’s refusing to sit just right.

Almost. You know it’s almost.

You hesitate, but call it anyway.

“Hands.”

And the second the word leaves your mouth,

you know—

this isn’t perfection.

But it’s yours.

And it’s already gone.

The plate disappears down the line.

You exhale.

But only halfway.

Because across from you, Raf is silent.

And that’s how you know—he’s locked in.

Head bowed. Shoulders relaxed but utterly still. The chaos is gone. Only control remains.

His bangs—always unruly—are clipped back with something that looks like it came from a Paris runway and a craft store at the same time. His eyes narrow, squinting so hard the pink fades to almost nothing, lost beneath the glassy sheen of focus.

He’s crafting the final course. The pièce de résistance. The thing that might make—or break—the entire impression.

His station is unusually neat. Garnishes arranged by color. Sauces lined in perfect spirals on tasting spoons. His coat is unbuttoned at the collar, but that’s the only concession to chaos.

He’s torching citrus slices with exacting grace, layering them on a bitter caramel base that smells like late summer and secrets.

Then—Caleb steps in beside him.

No words at first. Just a quiet pause as he picks up a spoon from the edge of Raf’s tray. Tastes. Waits.

A beat. Then a slight nod.

Approval.

Raf freezes for a fraction of a second—enough for you to notice.

Then he grins—low and crooked. “Maestro,” he says softly, almost like it’s a blessing. It’s playful. But there’s real warmth in it.

Caleb doesn’t reply. Just moves on.

But Raf lingers in that moment a little longer than he should, watching him go. Then exhales, flicks a speck of zest from his cuff, and returns to the dish like something just clicked into place.

Like maybe—maybe—he really is about to save the night

You step up beside him.

“What are you making?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just says:

“A memory.”

You blink. “Whose?”

He finally looks up. And winks.

“Hopefully theirs.”

——————————————————————————

The final dish lands on the pass.

It’s not extravagant. It’s not loud.

It’s precise. Deep. Beautiful.

You recognize the scent of browned butter and smoked sugar. There’s a curl of citrus skin twisted like a ribbon at the center. A single candied petal pressed gently to the rim.

Caleb lifts the plate. Looks at it a beat longer than usual. He says nothing.

Then: “Send it.”

And it goes.

You all watch from the line.

The critic tastes first. Pauses.

Then the protégé.

No words.

But they eat it all. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

The critic sets his fork down. Folds his napkin.

He stands.

The protégé lingers a second longer. He doesn’t rise until the chair squeaks beneath him. Then he turns—slowly—just enough to glance back toward the kitchen.

His eyes scan the line.

They meet yours.

Cool. Measured. Calculating.

Then shift to Raf.

The two of them hold that stare a moment longer than necessary.

Still no smile.

But a slow, thoughtful nod.

And then—they’re gone.

The door closes behind them. Not loud. But the sound echoes in the space like someone just set down a judgment too heavy for the air.

The kitchen is still.

Utensils down. Hands still. Breaths held.

Even the burners hiss softer.

Then—

“Puh-lease.” Raf exhales—loud, dramatic, like he’s been holding his breath for three courses too long.

He steps back from the counter, stretching his arms overhead with a noise halfway between agony and art.

“If they didn’t love that, I’m moving to France and becoming a performance artist who cooks exclusively with grief and seaweed.”

He drops his arms. One gloved hand presses to his chest, the other fanning himself.

“Opening night will be called Salted Despair.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. A real one. Small, but sharp with relief.

Caleb doesn’t. But he looks at Raf. Really looks at him. One long glance—unblinking, unreadable, then softened. He gives a single, subtle nod.

Respect.

Raf catches it. His back straightens—not in pride, but recognition. And then he turns to you.

His voice isn’t loud this time. It’s steady. Close.

“Tell me you saw that.”

You nod. “I saw it.”

His lashes flick down once, slow. The faintest exhale escapes his lips. His voice drops, velvet-threaded.

“I was really trying.”

You reach for his hand. Just a light brush of your fingers over his—like grounding a live wire. Just enough.

“It showed.”

His eyes search yours for a moment.

Then he smiles.

Not wide. Not cheeky. Just… full.

He exhales once more, quieter this time.

“Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. And he starts wiping down his station like nothing happened—like he didn’t just save the soul of the night.

But you saw it. And he knows you did.

——————————————————————————

Raf’s wiping down his station, humming a low, off-key version of something orchestral and absolutely made up. The rest of the kitchen is beginning to move again—small clinks, closing drawers, the soft snap of towels flung over shoulders.

You glance toward Zayne.

He’s at his station. Cleaning with the kind of focus that looks peaceful to anyone who doesn’t know better.

But you’ve seen it before—the way he gets when there’s too much in his head. When the silence becomes a shield.

He finishes polishing the blade of his chef’s knife. Places it gently in the leather roll. Buckles it tight.

He doesn’t look up.

You cross the room slowly.

“Walking out?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer with words.

Just slings his bag over one shoulder and gives you the smallest tilt of his head—yes.

But when he turns toward the door, he hesitates.

And you go with him.

——————————————————————————

The alley behind the restaurant is quiet. The pavement slick with old rain, the city lights painting it gold.

You walk in silence. The only sound is the rhythm of your shoes against cracked cement, and the low thrum of traffic somewhere far away.

Zayne keeps his hands in his pockets. His shoulders aren’t tight—but they’re held. Like he hasn’t decided yet whether to let the day go.

After a block, he speaks.

Barely above the hum of the night.

“It was good.”

You nod beside him.

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Not perfect.”

You glance sideways. “Does it need to be?”

Zayne exhales through his nose. Not a sigh—just a controlled release of thought.

“Maybe not.”

He walks a little further before speaking again. This time, there’s something quieter in his voice.

“Culinary school used to feel like this. Late nights. Long walks. Me, you. Caleb.” A pause. “We’d finish service and grab snacks we couldn’t afford. Steam buns. Cheap noodles. Whatever was hot and fast.”

“You always ordered too much.”

A beat.

“But only because you were saving yourself for dessert.”

“So you two could eat it without guilt,” he says flatly, but his mouth tugs slightly at the edge. “It was routine. Caleb and I—we didn’t talk much then either. Not about anything real. Just… walked. Same way we do tonight.”

He glances at you, hazel green eyes catching the light. “It helped back then. It still helps.”

Your chest aches in that quiet, familiar way—the kind that comes from being remembered right.

He walks a little further before speaking again. His voice stays even, but there’s a softness to it—something closer than nostalgia.

“I was never much of a talker.”

A pause.

“But I liked listening. To you and Caleb.”

You glance over. He doesn’t stop walking, just keeps his eyes forward—hands still in his pockets like he’s measuring time.

“You’d argue about everything. Techniques, temperature, plating styles…”

Another pause, dry at the edges.

“You once debated resting meat versus flash-searing for twenty minutes in a heatwave.”

You huff a quiet laugh. That sounds right.

Zayne finally looks over, eyes glinting just a little under the streetlight.

“I kept score, you know.”

You blink. “What?”

“The debates. I kept a tally.” He lifts his brows, faintly amused. “You’re still ahead. Seventy-eight to seventy-three.”

You stare at him.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

“You were always better at saucework. Caleb was obsessed with proteins. You balanced better.”

It hits you gently—but deep. That he remembers. That he watched. That he kept track.

You bump his arm with yours. “I’m going to need that scoreboard in writing.”

Zayne’s mouth twitches—almost a smile.

“Of course. It’s laminated.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You glance down.

RAFAYEL: where’s my kiss. blackmail worked. obviously.

You bite back a laugh and type quickly.

YOU: you’ll have to wait for the review.

Three dots appear.

RAFAYEL: liar. wounded. betrayed. art ruined. jk i love you.

Your chest warms.

You’re still smiling when you tuck your phone away.

Zayne notices.

He doesn’t say anything right away—but then: “Was that who I think it was?”

You pause. “Raf?”

He makes a soft sound—not quite agreement.

You glance at him. “Who did you think it was?”

Zayne hesitates. Just for a second. A flicker of something crossing his face. Then he shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter.”

You walk a few steps further.

Then you stop.

And without a word—you hug him.

His body stiffens at first, caught off-guard. But he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t make a sound.

You feel the slow breath leave his chest. The quiet drop of his shoulders.

When you pull back, his voice is barely audible:

“Thanks, Ace.”

You nod.

“Always.”

And the two of you keep walking—together.

Quiet. Steady. Closer than silence.

——————————————————————————

Back at the restaurant, the lights are off—except for one.

A low amber glow from the wine bar, where Sylus leans against the counter, glass in hand, suit still sharp. The room is quiet now. Still.

He watches the door where the two of you disappeared, then raises his glass—not to the critic. Not to the service.

“Stars are slow things,” he says into the stillness.

He takes a sip.

And the restaurant sleeps.

——————————————————————————

The kitchen is quieter the next day. Not dead—just dulled, like someone turned the volume down on the world but left the tension humming underneath.

Knives move. Water boils. Bread rises. The rhythm is there, but it doesn’t carry. Everything feels a touch slower, like the whole place is caught in a long inhale, waiting for the exhale that never quite comes.

No sparks. No fire behind the eyes of the brigade. Everyone shows up, but no one’s pushing.

Even Raf is subdued. He hums something strange and half-finished under his breath as he slices strawberries with more precision than flair, like they’ve said something deeply personal and he’s holding a grudge.

You move through your prep slower than usual. Not because you’re tired—but because it all feels slightly off-beat. Like the air’s too thick. Like the tension is curled somewhere in the corners, just out of sight.

You’re waiting.

All of you are.

So you fill the space with motion. The small, mindless tasks that give your hands something to do while your head keeps listening for a bell that doesn’t ring.

You restock dry goods. Wipe the same countertop twice. Rearrange spice tins that didn’t need arranging.

And that’s when you notice him—Zayne, appearing beside you as silently as he works. No announcement. No shift in the air. Just there, all at once, like he always had been.

Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable.

Watching the shelves like they owe him answers.

He doesn’t say your name. Just gestures toward the shelf like he’s helping, even though he wasn’t assigned to this part of the kitchen today.

You fall into rhythm.

Silence, at first.

Then—

“You ever feel like your best is too clean?” The words are so soft you almost miss them.

“Like it doesn’t taste like anyone at all?”

You turn to look at him, but he’s focused on lining up spice tins. Cinnamon. Cardamom. Sea salt.

His sleeves are rolled. His forearms bare—scarred and steady. The knuckles of his right hand are faintly red, like he gripped something too tightly for too long.

You don’t speak. Just let him go on.

He exhales, slow and precise.

“I don’t care what the critic thinks,” he says. Then adds, “or I shouldn’t.”

He adjusts a container that didn’t need adjusting. It’s already perfectly aligned. His dark hair falls slightly over his eyes, and he doesn’t push it back.

“It’s not about ego,” he murmurs. “I just—need to know that I didn’t waste it.”

He finally glances at you. Just for a second. His hazel green eyes are clearer than you’ve ever seen them. Not cold. Not sharp. Just… bare.

“Sylus once told me I cook like I think. Not like I feel.” A small huff of breath escapes him—almost a laugh. “Said if I ever figured out how to do both, I’d be dangerous.”

You lean your shoulder lightly against the shelf beside him. Still no words.

Zayne stares ahead, not blinking. “Sometimes I think I’ve tried too hard not to believe him.”

He goes still. The jars in front of him are perfectly placed. No more tasks left.

You shift a little closer—not invasive, just enough that he feels you there. And gently, without needing a cue, you reach out. Just placing a hand over his forearm.

Warm. Anchoring. Wordless.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t look at you. But his hand—so still a moment ago—twitches slightly under yours. Like the pressure of your presence is something he doesn’t know how to carry.

But maybe wants to.

When you let go, he finally speaks again.

“Thanks… again, Ace.” His voice is lower now. But clearer. Measured like always—but with something human tucked into the quiet.

You don’t say anything in return. You just nod.

And return to your station.

Behind you, Zayne keeps working. But his shoulders aren’t quite so tight anymore. And for the first time all day—you hear his knife hit the board with rhythm.

——————————————————————————

The fluorescent lights overhead buzz softly. One of them flickers, slow and uneven. The room smells like soap, starch, and the last hours of a long day.

The clatter of post-service fades beyond the wall.

You’re still tying the last loop of your apron when Xavier passes behind you, already changed, coat folded over one arm. He pauses at his locker just long enough to reach into a cooler bag you hadn’t seen him carry in.

He pulls out a small see through plastic container. Without fanfare, he sets it beside your things.

Leftovers. Duck, pickled pear, one perfect mint leaf on top.

He adjusts the knot in his scarf like nothing happened. Then, softly—

“You didn’t eat.”

You glance up.

He’s already by the door, nodding once—silent, certain. Then he slips out, leaving nothing behind but the scent of herbs and the soft click of the closing door.

You’re just turning back to your locker when the air shifts again—Raf enters like a stage cue, perfectly timed, flicking his curls out of his eyes and shrugging out of his chef’s coat like it personally offended him.

His designer coat is draped over his arm, all sharp angles and buttery folds, the inside lined with something silk and scandalous.

He throws it over the bench with flair, catching your eye.

Then taps his cheek.

Once. Twice.

Raises a brow.

“In case you forgot,” he drawls, “you owe me a kiss. The sugar-saved-your-life type. The blackmail-was-legitimate type.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Justice is slow.”

He sighs dramatically.

“So are broken hearts.”

A beat.

He leans in—fast—and steals a kiss to your cheek, grinning as he pulls back. “But I’m still collecting the real one later.”

With a wink and a flourish, he’s gone. You can still smell his cologne in the locker air.

You turn back to your locker, rummaging through your things—gloves, scarf, whatever gets you home warm enough. Your fingers brush against the small container Xavier left, still cool to the touch.

You reach for the container, fingertips just brushing the waxed lid.

Then—

The door swings open. Boots on tile. Two sets. Familiar weight in both.

You glance up.

Zayne and Caleb. Together.

Zayne’s already shrugging out of his coat, hair still damp, eyes sharp and cool as ever. Caleb’s jacket is slung over one shoulder, sleeves pushed up past his forearms, arms dusted with flour and smudged with the faint ghost of oil. His shirt clings slightly at the collar—the aftermath of control.

They both spot you at the same time.

Two smiles.

Zayne’s is faint. Barely there. A respectful tilt of the lips, the kind of smile he saves only for you.

Caleb’s is fuller. Quieter than usual. The corners of his mouth twitching up like he’s relieved to see you still here.

“Look who’s still standing,” Caleb says, tossing his coat onto the bench.

“She’s always the last one standing,” Zayne replies, deadpan.

Their eyes meet—a flicker of understanding, not tension.

Something between them has shifted. Smoothed. Repaired not by words, but by the shared rhythm of service.

Caleb bumps Zayne’s shoulder as he passes. “Still packing like you’re fleeing a war zone, huh?”

Zayne adjusts the strap on his duffel with surgical precision. “That’s rich coming from the guy who keeps an emergency set of knives in his car.”

“I like being prepared,” Caleb murmurs, grabbing a clean rag from his locker.

“You like control,” Zayne says, already moving toward the door.

“And you like pretending you don’t.” Caleb chuckles, soft and low. Zayne almost smiles.

They pass by you again. Caleb slows. His hand rises—

And he ruffles your hair. Just once. Just enough to shift the air around you.

“Get home safe, chef.”

Then he’s gone. Zayne follows without a glance back, their footsteps syncing on instinct.

No farewell. Just quiet.

You blink, hands still hovering over your things.

Something’s changed.

You don’t know what. You weren’t meant to.

But it settles in your chest like heat held close, a soft flicker of something mended—or mending.

And without quite meaning to, you smile. Just a little.

It lingers. Stays with you.

Then—

From the doorway, low and velvet-smooth, wrapped in dry amusement:

“Well now… would you look at that.”

You turn.

Sylus is leaning lazily against the frame, one hand in the pocket of his tailored coat, the other cradling a half-full glass of wine. The light behind him halos the edges of his silhouette, casting him in gold and shadow.

You didn’t hear him enter.

He’s been there.

Watching.

His eyes flick toward the closed door where Caleb and Zayne just left. He smiles—slow and feline.

“You know, I never quite believed in miracles.” A sip of wine. A pause. “But seeing those two walk out without blood on the walls?” Another sip. “Either the stars are shifting…”

His gaze settles on you.

“…or someone knows how to nudge the right pieces.”

You raise a brow. “You?”

He doesn’t answer. Just tilts his glass in your direction, like a toast to a shared secret neither of you will speak aloud. “I prefer to think of myself as… an observer with influence.”

He steps fully into the room now, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft click. His shoes don’t make a sound on the tile.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” he murmurs, circling the edge of the bench. “How fire and ice can share a locker room, when the temperature’s just right.”

You exhale, unsure whether to be impressed or suspicious.

He sits beside you—never too close, just enough to feel his presence.

“They needed the tension broken. And you?”A pause. “You needed to see what happens when people bend before they break.”

Then, softly: “You’re good for them, you know.”

You don’t answer.

But your chest feels just a little heavier. And warmer.

Sylus swirls his glass once, watching the light fracture through it. “Come.” He rises, smooth and unhurried. “We’ve earned something expensive tonight.”

And just like that—he offers his hand. Palm open. Eyes unreadable.

——————————————————————————

The lock clicks behind you with that familiar soft weight.

The restaurant is dim, most of the lights off now—except the low amber glow behind the wine bar. It stretches warm across the counters and gleams along the clean steel like a secret you’ve earned the right to hear.

Sylus moves ahead of you without looking back. He knows you’ll follow. His coat whispers as he shrugs it off—deliberate, graceful, like everything he does.

He gestures for you to sit at the bar.

He selects a bottle already waiting—dark, elegant, and expensive in the way you feel in your bones more than you read on a label.

He pours two glasses. Quietly.

Then hands you one.

Sylus doesn’t speak right away. He just starts swirling the wine—wrist steady, eyes lowered—watching the movement like the glass is telling him something only he can hear.

The wine is deep. Smooth. A dark garnet that clings to the crystal like silk before it lets go.

“It’s got legs,” he murmurs, voice low and rasping like it’s meant to be heard in candlelight. “Slow-dripping. That’s how you know it’s got weight. Alcohol content. Structure.”

His gaze stays on the wine, but his voice drips like the vintage itself—rich, unhurried, expensive.

“You see that cling?” He tips the glass slightly, watching the streaks of red crawl down the side. “That’s glycerol. Comes from late harvest grapes. Colder nights. Longer fermentation.” A pause. “This one’s oak-aged. Five years. Just enough to take the edge off without softening the finish.”

He finally glances at you.

Noticing your stare.

Noticing everything.

Red eyes lock onto yours—slow, unblinking. Almost undressing you in the most cruelly elegant way possible. Not lecherous. Just… knowing. Like he already sees the part of you you haven’t shown yet—and he’s waiting for you to catch up.

A slow, indulgent smile curls at the edge of his mouth

“Careful, chef.” His voice drops. “If I go on much longer, you’ll fall asleep.”

You raise a brow, but say nothing.

He leans in slightly across the bar, wineglass still poised between his fingers.

“Should I have sung you a lullaby instead?”

You say nothing. Just lift your glass to your lips and take a slow, measured sip—eyes on his over the rim. That is your answer.

His smile deepens, slow and sharp.

“Ah,” he murmurs, voice dropping just a little lower, silk pressed against something darker. “So you do like it when I take my time.”

The words hum under your skin like a promise.

Or a warning.

Sylus leans on the bar again, the soft backlight sketching gold across the sharp line of his jaw, the open collar of his shirt catching just enough of the glow. He watches you—not intently, but like he’s measuring something you haven’t said yet.

The silence stretches. Warm. Expectant.

Then finally, with a quiet shift of weight and a tilt of his head, he speaks: “You’ve come far, chef.” A pause, lazy with purpose. “But you’re still standing on the edge.”

You raise a brow, half-smiling. “Of what?”

He doesn’t answer. Not directly.

“The line is made of more than sharp knives and full plates,” Sylus says, voice low and smooth. “It’s made of the people who hold it.”

He doesn’t look at you at first. Just tilts his glass, watching the wine catch the light. Then his gaze drifts, slowly, to the kitchen—now quiet and dark, but still pulsing with everything left unsaid.

“You know them,” he murmurs.

“But not well enough.”

You blink.

“You mean—”

He makes a slow, fluid gesture—elegant and maddeningly vague.

“One of them hides behind rules. One behind silence. One behind sparkle. And one—”

His red eyes flick to the hallway where Caleb disappeared minutes ago.

“—refuses to stop burning.”

You feel it land before he even finishes the thought.

Sylus turns fully back to you now, and the low light brushes silver across his hair, framing the sharp edge of his jaw. His posture is relaxed, but the weight in his stare holds you still.

“Caleb is fire in a pressure cooker,” he says. “He doesn’t burn out. He burns in.”

You glance down into your wine—deep, red, impossible to read.

“Every mistake in that kitchen?” His voice lowers. “He thinks it’s his. Every dish. Every delay. Every stare from that critic—it’s all his to carry.”

Your grip on the glass tightens. “That’s not fair.” It comes out without your permission. Quiet. Raw.

“No.” Sylus doesn’t flinch. “But it’s true.”

He leans forward slightly, and the gold glow of the bar slides across his chest. His presence is calm, but looming—like a storm that hasn’t chosen its direction yet.

“They follow him,” he says, slower now. “Because he holds everything together.”

A breath.

“But one day—he won’t.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Your pulse is already beating harder in your throat.

And Sylus sees it.

His voice softens. But it doesn’t lose its edge. “When that day comes, someone will have to keep the fire alive.”

A pause.

“I think that someone is you.”

The words hang there—not a compliment. A burden. A truth.

You sit with it. And he lets you.

Then—

“So find out,” he murmurs.

Then, a beat later—his voice a shade lower, the rasp deliberate: “Peel them back. Learn what they bleed, what they break for. And when the moment comes—don’t hesitate. Take what’s yours.”

A flicker of a smile, cruel and quiet.

“It’s not a request, chef.”

“To knowing them?” you ask, tilting your glass.

Sylus smiles—just barely.

“To seeing what they won’t show,” he says, raising his glass.

But before yours can meet it, you pause.

Your eyes flick to his—playful, pointed. You lean in slightly, elbow on the bar, chin tilted just enough to be dangerous.

“And what about you, boss?” Your voice is softer now. Closer. “What don’t you show?”

Something in him stills, and the moment stretches—quiet and golden, like a breath held too long.

Then, there’s a shift.

Not in his voice. Not in the measured ease of his posture.

In his face.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible—a flicker of something old and weighty, a shadow beneath the polished surface. A sadness lacquered in charm. Something that’s learned how to live just fine with the cracks.

It’s there and gone in a breath, hidden beneath the curve of his mouth, the practiced slope of a near-smirk. But you catch it. Just barely. A twitch at the corner of his expression, too honest for him to mean to show.

He lifts his glass, just a fraction, and the light fractures through it—red and amber, like fire caught in crystal.

“That,” he says, voice smooth as velvet dragged through ink, “would ruin the fun, darling.”

He taps his glass to yours—just a soft clink—and drinks first.

And when he drinks, it’s not a toast.

It’s a deflection.

A beat later, you follow.

———————————-———————————-———

Your keys hit the counter. Jacket falls to the back of a chair. The silence of your apartment wraps around you like steam—warm, empty, unbothered.

You shower.

Water hits your shoulders in even beats, but it doesn’t drown out the sound in your head.

Not footsteps. Not fire.

His voice.

When that day comes, someone will have to keep the fire alive.

I think that someone is you.

You turn the water hotter.

It doesn’t help.

Later, in bed, the linen gathers loosely around your legs. You lie still. Eyes open. Ceiling glowing with citylight.

I brought you here to lead.

You close your eyes.

The words chase you into sleep anyway.

I think that someone is you.

I think that someone is you.

I think—

Knock knock knock.

You jolt upright.

There’s weight behind it. Familiar. Steady.

Another knock.

Then Caleb’s voice, muffled but unmistakably him:

“Chef. Open up.” A pause. “It’s important.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, linen tangled around your calves, heart still catching up to the moment. A glimpse out the window shows the light just breaking.

He’s been out running.

Hair damp. Hoodie clinging to his chest.

Your phone lights up beside you—three missed calls from Caleb.

Another knock.

“Chef. Either you’re dead or drunk. Open up.”

——————————————————————————

Chapter two

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: I’m taking my time with this AU because I want each character to shine in their own chaotic, delightful way. Posting the next chapter soon, just need to proofread. Y’all reading this? You’re the real deal. Peak humanity. I appreciate you so much it’s almost suspicious. Like—why are you so nice? Never in my life did I think I’d use my completely useless knowledge about chalky soil and harsh climates affecting grape growth… in a fanfic. And yet—here we are. Peak useless knowledge meets peak unhinged thirst. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[aventurineswife]

Hello! I kinda want your imput on something in the sahsrau. How do you think the characters would react if the reader expresses romantic or sexual attraction? I kinda had this though since a lot of people would think that the reader aka the creator is uncapable of feeling or understanding said feelings. Whoever the reader is capable of proving them wrong rather quickly. How do you think they would react to the reader wishing companionship or a romantic partner?

Or another idea how do you think they would react if they find out the reader had a lover once? or maybe even adopted a child? Like this type of thing would humanized the creator a lot because despite their power or divinity they aren't emotionless and it would make them more relatable. What do you think?

Ooh yes, I love this question. It adds such a deep, raw human layer to the whole SAHSRAU setup—like, the kind of twist that would throw the entire cast into emotional orbit.

Because you’re absolutely right: in most self-aware AUs, the reader—the “Creator”—is usually viewed as some untouchable, omnipotent force. So the moment they express something as intimately human as romantic or sexual attraction? That wall of godhood starts to crack, and for a lot of characters, that's earth-shattering.

1. Shock and Disbelief

Characters like Dan Heng or Jing Yuan might initially be stunned silent. They’ve spent so long revering you as this divine presence that the idea of you wanting something as simple and earthy as love? It’s like watching a star cry—it shouldn’t happen, and yet it does.

“You... feel that? Even with everything you are?”

“Does divinity not shield you from longing?”

They aren’t being judgmental—they just didn’t know you could want like they do.

2. The Soft Crumble

Characters like March 7th, Himeko, or Yukong would have this moment of quiet realization. Your confession makes you feel real to them. It humbles them in a good way, like:

“You’re not just watching from above… you’re with us.”

“You’ve been lonely too, haven’t you?”

They’d treat your feelings with so much care after that. Like, if you said “I miss being held,” someone like March would absolutely start crying.

3. Overprotectiveness Activates

Characters like Blade, Kafka, or Luocha might react with an intense surge of protectiveness. You? Wanting something so vulnerable? So open to being hurt?

“Who dared touch what’s sacred to us?”

“Your heart is precious. Not a soul is worthy.”

Even if they want to be your companion, this news might make them scared—not of you, but of the world being cruel to you.

4. Past Lovers / Children = Mind Blown

Finding out you had a lover or a child? That’d change everything.

Clara might start seeing you as even more kind, more nurturing.

Silver Wolf might analyze your choices like they’re priceless lore: “Wait, wait—what were they like? What kind of person gets the Creator’s heart?”

Argenti? Absolutely shattered. You had a family? A mortal, beautiful, fleeting love? That’s the most poetic tragedy he’s ever heard. He’d write songs about it.

And then there’s the collective ache—realizing their beloved divine has known loss. That your smile holds grief they never saw. It would make them adore you more, not less.

BONUS CHAOS: Reader admits their crush on the character(s)

Imagine the panic.

Reader: “...I always liked the way you spoke. It made me feel safe.”

Them: “...ERROR. FATAL SYSTEM CRASH—REBOOTING—”

You’ve just confirmed they’re not just your creation, they’re your desire too. Cue: emotional breakdowns, vows of devotion, fights between acolytes, and someone (probably Sunday or Argenti) declaring a week-long celebration.

So yeah, it would shake the entire system. Some would crumble, some would rejoice, and some would be quietly devastated because now they realize…

You’re not just their god.

You’re someone who bleeds. Who misses. Who loves.

And nothing could make you more sacred than that.

[fushiglow]

glo! if you had to keep only one stsg fic for the apocalypse which one would it be?

Well, anon, the fic I would have chosen has unfortunately been removed by the author. I'm devastated, but an author's agency over their own work always comes first and foremost for me (I have controversial opinions about this, I think!). Since I can't share one fic, why not share a bunch of SatoSugu fic recs instead?

—

idolatry - pellucids

This is a fic I will keep screaming about until more people show it the love it deserves. If I could only read one E-rated SatoSugu fic for the rest of my life, I'd probably choose this one! Not only is the writing absolutely beautiful — poetic and evocative and right up my street — but the author's grasp on these characters is perfect to me.

For me, this fic is evidence that it's possible to explore depictions of gender and sexuality in nuanced and thoughtful ways while keeping characters recognisable to their canon counterparts, which is something I really value in a fanfic. I think the highest praise I can give this fic is that it feels like gender euphoria to me.

—

Born to Die - @detta-pica

I could talk at length about this fic, and I have in the comment section! Big, fat, long comments under each chapter — which speaks volumes all by itself.

You can see my thoughts in detail there, but in short, something I really enjoy about hermit's writing is that it's abundantly obvious that she has a strong grasp on the original material. Even in this really unique take on a vampire AU where there's always going to be a degree of give and take when it comes to characterisation and themes, hermit not only dissects those canon themes in a deeply satisfying way that feels true to the essence of the original work, but also sprinkles nods to the canon material into the text in simply delightful ways. As a writer, she's economical with her words in a way that's enviable to me, quite frankly!

If nothing else, read it because the fic is tagged "BAMF Geto Suguru". Suguru is unbearably cool in this, actually.

—

Crack My Ribs Open, I'll Show You My Heart - @alpha-hydra

You'll see the word "evocative" come up again and again in my descriptions of the fics I love. Perhaps this makes sense if you notice the things I focus on in my own writing, but it's something I look for in the fiction I read, too — immersive, descriptive writing that spirits you away to another world.

Alffy absolutely nails that here. They really engage all of the senses in this piece to paint a beautiful picture of the setting and the scenery. Plus, it's always delicious when a fic employs a non-linear narrative to great effect. I was dropped right into the middle of this story and instantly compelled. Ugh, I love this fic.

—

frostbitten - @neyasochi

This fic is still a work in progress, but it's already one of my favourites. Being familiar with sochi's writing already, I highly doubt the ending is going to change that. Once again, extremely evocative writing which means that, with the story taking place during a bitter winter, this one transports you away to a winter wonderland and feels magically cold to read.

I also think sochi's characterisation is just wonderful. Gojo is such a charming shit, and the name calling in this fic is delightful — "fussy little ingrate" and "bossy little peasant" are some of my favourites! Yes, it's light-hearted and fun, but there's a sizeable emotional kick to this story, with some really intense and intimate moments which sochi handles so well.

Lastly, the seasonal imagery and puppy Gojo vibes are all over this fic, so it'll come as no surprise to some of you that I'm enjoying it!

—

G.O.J.O. - yours_grubby

If you enjoyed Ex Machina, you'll enjoy this fic. It features all my favourite Gojo themes neatly bundled up into a unique AI concept that intrigued me immediately. The reason sci-fi settings are my favourite is because sci-fi is the perfect canvas for interrogating our humanity. I think many people are distracted by the technology and the sweeping world-building, but at their heart, sci-fi stories are almost always asking the question "what does it mean to be human?" in some form or another.

We make weapons out of humans, but what about when we make humans out of weapons? What does it say when our technological creations demonstrate more humanity than the humans that built them? Is it even possible for the human brain to construct a sentient artificial intelligence that won't ultimately be subject to the same unique pitfalls of the species that created it? To our unique strengths, too?

This fic had me asking all of these questions and thinking about humanity on a bigger scale. Stories that make me feel things, stories that make me question things, stories that appeal to my humanity — that's the good stuff.

—

That's all for now! The truth is, I don't read fanfic nearly as much as I used to, for a few different reasons. I am not ascribing any moral value to this statement (I can't believe I feel the need to make disclaimers like this these days), but the more time we spend in a world where Gege Akutami isn't actively developing the world and characters of Jujutsu Kaisen, the more I see fandom depictions departing from faithfulness to the original material in ways I don't personally enjoy. Related to that, I think I've also become much fussier as my preferences become more refined over time.

Plus, as many fanfic authors have said before me, reading time is writing time! For someone who published more words than are contained in the whole of The Fellowship of the Ring last year while working full time for an extremely under-resourced charity, that really doesn't leave much reading time unfortunately!

However, it means that the fics that do grab my attention tend to be absolute gems. I hope you and everyone else reading find something you enjoy in this post ♥

[littlejoyss]

Do you write for more than just Hyunjin? If so can I request a Felix fic where he is comforting a plus sized reader? -Thanks!

Yes! I write for OT8. Sorry for the late reply, life has been busy. Here is the fic :)

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕

Stray Kids - College Au!Lee Felix x Plus Sized!Reader Warnings: Body image issues, bad self-talk, not proofread Word Count: 1.1k (short n sweet)

You and Felix have been friends since the beginning of freshman year, but your connection has always felt like something more. 

Sometimes, it’s in the way he insists on walking you home after a study session, brushing it off as “just being a good friend,” or how he remembers the smallest details about your likes and dislikes. Other times, it’s the quiet moments when you’re alone together.

Though you’ve never crossed the line into romance, there’s a subtle hint of it in your relationship, leaving you to wonder if Felix feels it too, or if you’re imagining it. 

You must be imagining it. He was handsome and you were…you. Chubby and shy. 

You tried not to think of it too much though. 

It’s a cool evening the city hums softly in the background as you and Felix walk side by side. He had texted you earlier, suggesting a late-night hangout, and you immediately said yes. 

Felix walks with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his breath visible in the cold air. “So,” he says, his voice low but bright, “are you ready for our adventure?”

You laugh softly, tilting your head. “Adventure? Isn’t this just us walking to the park?”

He grins. “A park at night is totally an adventure. Who knows what we’ll find? Maybe a stray cat or… a really questionable vending machine snack?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. That’s always what Felix has done for you. He makes even the most boring things seem magical. 

When you reach the park, the two of you settle on a bench overlooking a frozen pond. Felix pulls out a thermos from his bag and offers you a cup of hot chocolate he made at home. You take a sip, savoring the warmth. 

His freckles are faintly visible in the dim light, and his expression is relaxed as he stares at the pond.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say softly.

He turns to you, his smile gentle. “Anytime. You know that.”

The moment stretches, the unspoken tension between you lingering like the mist of your breaths in the air. 

He speaks again, “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You glance up at the sky, the moon shining softly against the dark canvas of the night. It is beautiful.

You’ve read about that phrase before. It’s often used as a poetic confession, a subtle way of saying what someone might be too scared to say outright.

Your cheeks heat, the chill of the night doing little to cool the warmth spreading across your face. You glance at him, trying to gauge if he meant it the way you think he did. Felix is still looking at the pond, but there’s a slight tension in his jaw that wasn’t there before.

You take a steadying breath. “It is,” you reply softly, your gaze drifting back to the moon. You could leave it at that, let the moment pass as so many others have before. But you didn’t want to this time.

“Felix,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you say that?”

He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs, his lips twitching into a nervous smile. “Because it is beautiful,” he says, his tone not entirely convincing. “And because… I wanted to know if you’d understand.”

Understand. 

Your hands tighten around the cup of hot chocolate as you muster the courage to ask the question you’ve been too afraid to voice for years. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

He exhales, his breath fogging in the air. “I guess I am,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “But it’s hard, you know? You’ve been my best friend for so long, and I don’t want to mess that up. But…” He trails off, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I feel like I’d regret it more if I didn’t say anything.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest. You set the cup down beside you, your fingers trembling. “Say what?” 

He looks back at you, his expression raw and open in a way that you’ve never seen before. “That I like you. Not just as a friend. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I didn’t know how to tell you because… well, because I thought maybe you wouldn’t believe me.”

You blink, his words taking a moment to sink in. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?” 

Felix gives a soft, almost bitter laugh. “Because you never see yourself the way I see you. You’re kind and funny and smart. You make everything feel easier, lighter. And you’re beautiful.” His cheeks flush, but he doesn’t look away. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“I thought… I thought you were just being nice. That you couldn’t possibly…”

“Like you?” he finishes gently, leaning closer. “Why couldn’t I?”

“I just…” you stammer, struggling to put your feelings into words. “You’re you. You’re amazing. And I’m… me.” You look down at your body.

Felix's thumb brushes over your knuckles, a gentle, reassuring touch that brings your gaze back to him. "Hey, don’t say that. I like you exactly as you are. I don't care about anything else, just you.”

You blink, feeling a mixture of disbelief and something else you can’t quite name."But I’m not like-" you start to say, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

"Stop comparing yourself to anyone else. You’re you. And that’s all that matters to me." His hand moves, slipping to the side of your face as he gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t even know had fallen. "I’ve always liked you for who you are, not some idea of what you think you should be. No matter what size you are and no matter what you look like, I see you, and you’re perfect. Every part of you."

"I don’t know what to say," you admit, voice small and unsure.

"You don’t have to say anything right now. I just wanted you to know how I feel." He lets out a small laugh, a nervous edge to it. "I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I didn’t want to mess up what we had."

Your heart beats louder, and the urge to close the distance between you becomes overwhelming. "Felix..." you murmur again, this time with a quiet, but genuine smile. 

His thumb strokes your cheek once more. "You’re perfect just the way you are,” he says again.

You find yourself leaning into his touch, your heart swelling, and before you know it, your lips meeting his in a kiss. It’s gentle at first as if both of you are testing the waters, but when his hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you a little closer, the kiss deepens.

When you finally pull back, your faces are very flushed. Felix grins, his forehead resting against yours. "So," he says with a playful glint in his eyes, "was that okay?"

You laugh, your heart racing in a way that feels right. "Yeah, that was more than okay." You breathe out, "The moon thinks the sun is beautiful too."

[featherquillpen]

The Ten Best Books I Read This Year

In order of when I read them, not how much I liked them.

Yellowface by R.F. Kuang

A novel about a white author who uses yellowface to achieve literary success. I don't usually read realistic fiction, but I loved Kuang's fantasy novel Babel so I gave this one a try. It is difficult to read, but unputdownable. It's like watching a trainwreck because you just have to see how bad it gets. A takedown of the publishing industry in all its ugliness.

2. Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh

This is exactly the kind of sci-fi I most desire. It's a deradicalization story told from the point of view of a far-right zealot slowly deradicalizing herself. I really enjoyed the insights into exactly what it takes for a dangerously radicalized teenager to change her mind.

3. The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera

A novel about a Chosen One who walks away from his destined mission and joins group therapy for failed messiahs. Unquestionably the best book on this list. Mind-blowingly excellent. It's as funny as the premise makes it sound, but also deeply profound, politically astute, and the best new spec fic of the COVID-19 era. Big plague CWs here.

4. El Nunca Más de las locas by Matías Máximo

A non-fiction book about the experiences of LGBTQ people in Argentina in the 1970s and 80s. Only available in Spanish, sorry gringues. The book is not only a great work of scholarship, but way more poetically written than I'm used to from history books. Please more historians write with this level of prose, it really adds something.

5. True Biz by Sara Nović

Again, I don't usually read realistic fiction, but this novel by a Deaf author about a year in the life of a Deaf school really grabbed me. It made me cry a whole bunch, and it took me on a compelling tour of Deaf culture, from former cochlear implant users to CODAs to multigenerational Deaf families.

6. Siren Queen by Nghi Vo

A novel about making it big in the golden age of Hollywood when you're Chinese-American and all the studio execs are fae monsters. I've read novellas by Nghi Vo and loved them so I wanted to graduate to her full novels. Oh my god. She really is such a good writer it makes me foam at the mouth. Magic and fae bargains are such good metaphors for Hollywood.

7. Tell Me I'm Worthless by Alison Rumfitt

Trans horror that endeavors to explain why the UK is LIke That. And boy, does it ever succeed. This book calls for basically every imaginable content warning, but it's so worth it. The audiobook deserves a special shout-out; huge props to Nicky Endres for the spine-chilling and sometimes hilarious performance.

8. The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo

After Siren Queen I needed more Nghi Vo as soon as possible, so I got this magical AU of The Great Gatsby told from Jordan Baker's point of view. The magic does add something to Gatsby's parties, but the book is at its best when it delves into the parts that Fitzgerald never touched: Jordan Baker's inner life and her history with Daisy.

9. The Sapling Cage by Margaret Killjoy

Trans anarchist witches? Trans anarchist witches with leftist infighting??? Margaret Killjoy once again I thank you for my life. I love how this book shows you very directly how anarchist societies work on a day to day basis, as well as the problems they face.

10. Pests: How Humans Create Animal Villains by Bethany Brookshire

An amazing non-fiction book about the animals we love to hate. The book's take on controversial issues like white-tailed deer management is very nuanced and takes into account important dynamics of settler colonialism and how it affects all of our relationships with the animals close to us.

[alwaysakin]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fanfic Rec

Guys I have so much useless fanfic knowledge -- one of my friends asked me for a list of Buffy fics and this happened.

Non-Buffy Centric, One-Shot Fics

Potential Friend by srmcd1 - a cute little ficlet that looks at what might have happened if Jesse lived.

Age Difference by Amina - for all the Oz fans out there! A time-travelling Oz gives Buffy a new perspective on life and relationships. Slightly Angel-bashing.

All that I wanted was just to be haunted by you by chasingfictions - After the events of "The Body," Jenny's ghost bullies Giles into moving in with the Summers girls. This one made me BAWL.

Appropriate conduct by The_Eclectic_Bookworm - an increasingly angry series of memos between Principal Synder & Jenny, Giles, and the other teachers of Sunnydale High. Absolutely hilarious.

i belong to time, you belong to me by chasingfictions - Dru knows when she meets Spike, that he will fall in love with a slayer. She forgets, until she doesn't. Beautiful, poetic, and very Dru.

One Girl in All the World by zedpm - a trans!Buffy AU, where she was born in a boy's body and is still the slayer. A beautifully done AU, with Oz and (surprisingly! Riley) as particular standouts. Minor Spike/Buffy.

The Holy Grail of Buffy Fics: Long, With a Focus on an Ensemble Cast. Absolute Masterpieces.

hit rewind by untiljanuary - Hands down, the best Buffy fic I've ever read. Buffy (from some time in season 6, but unclear when), is sent back in time to season 3. What makes it so interesting is that it's from everyone else's perspective! The author writes Cordelia, Willow, Faith, Angel and Spike in particular so well. Lots of interesting character work, though the plot hasn't deviated too much from canon so far.

Ships: Buffy/Spike, Angel/Cordelia, Willow/Tara, Anya/Xander. The Buffy/Angel ends on mutual terms.

two roads diverged (and that has made all the difference) by RoseyPoseyPie - a Buffy season 5/Angel season 2 crossover. Hoping to escape Glory, the Scoobies end up in Pylea with the Fang Gang. This fic is absolutely hilarious (the scene where everyone gets high and drunk together is a notable standout). The author writes Anya, Lorne and Cordelia in particular super well. Dawn and Angel's dynamic is also amazing.

Ships: Buffy/Spike, Angel/Cordelia, Anya/Xander, Willow/Tara.

don't know how to stick around, but I wanna by chasingfictions - a series in an alternate universe where Faith, instead of going to prison, joins Angel Investigations. Very Fang Gang centric, but really builds up their family bond. Darla, Faith, and Wesley were stand outs to me in this.

Ships: eventual Faith/Buffy, and minor canon pairings. Faith briefly pursues other girls, including Darla.

Best Spuffy Centric Fic

wouldn't it be nice? by SummerFrost - an alternative universe, where the will-be-done spell in season 4 goes a little differently, and Spike and Buffy start a slow crawl towards friendship that becomes... something. So soft and sweet. Has two sequels, and the season 6 one in particular is WONDERFUL.

Every Letter That You Write Me by othellia - the obligatory fandom soulmate AU. Young Buffy is absolutely adorable in this one, and Spike and Buffy's relationship is bittersweet, raw, and believable.

Choices by lafillesauvage - An AU. After Season 5 of Angel, Spike becomes human. Angel does not. Buffy still chooses Angel, and these are the consequences. Slightly excessive Angel bashing, but the characterization of Buffy and Spike, and little notes like Buffy's relationship with Giles being slowly fixed and Willow getting a non-Kennedy girlfriend are great! Buffy/Angel with a happy Spike/Buffy ending.

The Darkling by OffYourBird - the iconic time travel Spuffy fic. Buffy goes back in time and meets Spike... in the 1970s. His slow path to redemption starts differently, with tons of interesting changes in the timeline. Be warned, this one is LONG and smutty. Shout out for making me believe Giles/Anya could work as a couple!

Inside Man by HollyDB - An Angel season 5 fic. Spike calls Buffy. This shows all the things that change when Buffy has a spy on the inside of the Fang Gang. Follows canon up until the last episode, but provides fun context.

Short, Cute Cangel Fics

give them all that they can drink by eagle_eyes. The one where Cordelia is ace. Amazingly written, and the Cangel relationship is so soft and believable.

Another Chance by NikitaDreams - After the events of Angel: the Series, Cordelia travels back in time. Focus on Cangel and Connor. Lots of cute family dynamics.

Halloween Happily Ever After by GeckoGirl89 - cute, mutual pining between Angel and Cordelia in season 3. Angst with a happy ending. Really highlights how oblivious Cangel were to each other's feelings.

[jezuschristsuperstar]

loving your fics!!! do you have any recs or personal favorite sydcarmy fics or authors you would recommend?

Heyyyyyy💗 Thank you so much, this means a lot to me🥹💗

Do I have any rec and favourite sydcarmy fics???? Yes yes yes.

My favourite Sydcarmy fics and authors🫶

Legacy- Anonymous (toxic sydcarmy for the win, absolutely brilliant)

True Blue- Littlemisslots/ @sydneysrissotto (I am genuinely convinced that she is Joanna Calo in disguise. She knows something that we do not)

Anything by @emilybrontay (her work is so beautifully crafted, thoughtful, and effortlessly hilarious. Queen of baby fics. She puts so much care into them. God bless her and Eulalia)

The Cycles series- MissAmyShay (not necessarily sydcarmy per say but it is a beautiful spin on what goes on in the show. It is deeply introspective and we get to see into all of the characters. In my mind this is season 3)

Anything by Oysterknife/ @purposechef (that's sydcarmy Jesus- general consensus)

Hands full of Plates- Thesuncameout ( Absolutely beautiful. Definition of a slowburn)

The Wild, Wild Berry- Blissymbolics (I think about this fic all the time. So horny, so much depth, so delicious, and I'm going to reread it today)

Anything by Charmtion (in this case both the Sydcarmy and the Sydrichie. The writing is genuinely so poetic and poignant and I always find myself sobbing like a fucking child)

Seasons of Sydney- shewalksoverme (I need an update otherwise I'll die)

Nothing but the blood of Jesus- glitterslag (might I say, best sydcarmy au ever. Holy FUCK)

His private joy- tvfanatic97 (check out her spideychelle tings too, just brilliance)

Epicure- Jane3yr3 (another beautiful piece of art that had me sobbing like a child)

Forever- noangeleither (I wish it was canon, I could sell a kidney and a chunk of my liver)

Is this alright?- Blissymbolics (I wish I could write sex as devastating as mother mane, I wish)

Heatwave- Daydreamgoddess (hot horny hot horny yes horny hot...horny)

Eating for two- Blissymbolics (okay anything by Blissymbolics)

Do you like me for me- ogagia (just pure sweetness)

Love Lies- anongirl233/ @sarahsays233 (toxic sydcarmy sustains me)

Wishbone- evilbutter/ @sanmarzanhoe (a profound character study on Sydney, her relationship with her father, loneliness and abandonment that had me crying in my living room at 3am)

Burning at both ends- Anonymous (not sydcarmy. It is sydrichie. It is so hot and so well written and I revisit it all the time)

Sydney, baby, use your head- Ceselle1024/ @ambeauty (so hot and so earnest, I live and I love)

And I can tell that you're my good girl- Mariyanas (HORNY BRILLIANT EXXXCELLENT AND YES SHE DOES HAVE A PRAISE KINK)

Again and Again- 2shytheshippy ( This fic lives in my heart. It shatters me. A brilliant exploration of their dynamic and how their relationship is a work in progress through sex whether ot be good or bad. This was one of the first sydcarmy fics I've ever read and almost 3 years later it still ticks within me)

These are such talented writers. So much power within their hands and I'm so lucky to have stumbled across their work. I have a lot more, I might make a part two🤗

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

Noirceur | JJK | Main Part

Pairing: demon! Jungkook x fem! human! Reader

Summary: A kiss. A curse. A tangled fate. A dark soul. His love breaks your fate, your bond cures his death. And a poetic dance that he traps you in, along with your own song that only he can hear. A story told wrong or in which Jungkook finds his lover after swimming through centuries of lost time and cursed minds.

Warnings: fluff?, angst, demon! Jungkook, black swan! Jungkook because I'm obsessed, toxic love, soft yandere?, obsession, implied kidnapping, dark fantasy, magic, curses, spells, blood, minor injuries, anxiety and feelings related to it, non-con kissing, kinda creepy, mentions of death, poetic writing, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 3.1k words

A/N: I wrote this one in one sitting O.O, let me know what you think in the comments, darlings! Also, who else is obsessed with Black Swan Jungkook? Because I certainly am and this fic was inspired by the music video and my own ideas :D.

ALSO, this au is open for further parts if you request anything, darling! My inbox is open, lovelies xxx. This story will go how you like and I'll link all the parts into a Main Masterlist when something is requested for this story.

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

Noirceur: (noun). The state of being pitch black in colour; a state of lacking illumination.

The stories you have heard all your life were true. You didn't doubt it anymore.

From purity to evil. From light to the darkest night. A loneliness that turned into love, it morphed into an obsession. A claymation of a life, a soul. A being. A heart.

In the depths of hell where shadows writhe,

A demon walks, his heart alive.

His eyes, twin flames, burn with desire,

To find a soul, his dark empire.

The legend had changed, because Jungkook did not live in hell. His empire was situated over this very Earth. He had searched for centuries for that part of him, that part of him that was still alive. That part of his heart that was still beating and that should not fear him. That soulmate that was given to him by fate itself. That soulmate he wanted to claim. That lover he needed to possess.

He felt it when you entered the abandoned castle of arts, the large opera house where he had died many moons ago. He could no longer remember how he stopped being in the land of the living but he had never come across another one of his kind.

He was cursed. To live forever and torment the unfortunate souls of this world. He was cursed. To be alone in his long time punishment. He was cursed, his heart burned to ashes and his power rose from the depths of the earth.

But since you came across his path, Jungkook's punishment became a game for him to play. A game for you to endure.

You had been running endlessly through the infinite halls of the large opera house. Your naked feet were painted in crimson red as they bled with every step you took. You ran, passing through many hallways with many paintings hanging on the walls. You ran and ran, a soft music in the background made the hairs at the back of your neck stand up with nerves, with fear.

Footsteps were heard behind you. Those footsteps that had been chasing you for so long you could no longer remember when was the last time you had actually been outside of this abandoned castle of arts that was now your prison in hell.

"Come out, little dove. I only want to play."

You bit your lip as the words reached your ears. Those words that dripped from the mouth of your captor. The man who chased you to the end of the world, however you doubted he was actually a man.

You hid behind some curtains worn out by time itself. Your hands clenched the fabric of the dirty dress that was only enough to cover your dignity. It made you shiver. From the cold, from the fear. Maybe both, maybe neither.

"(y/n), (y/n). Dearest, (y/n)...STOP HIDING!"

You flinched when his voice boomed around the place you didn't doubt had once been beautiful. Blood oozed from the bite your teeth inflicted over your tender lip and you sniffled, hearing the footstep halt before they began echoing around once more, this time coming closer to you.

Through realms of terror, he roams the night,

Seeking a heart to claim as his right.

A soulmate bound by fate's cruel hand,

To join him in the demon's land.

In fear, you ran once more. As if you could ever leave his poisonous claws. As if you were able to leave that hideous place that played with your mind, with your soul, with your heart and memories as if they were toys at his reach. For him to use as he pleased. 

Curtains hung from the tall ceiling that once had a beautiful pattern painted on it. It made you feel lost. As if you were running in circles. Always lost. With nowhere to go. As if you had ever had a choice. Or better said, as if your choice had been willingly taken by you. 

Because there had once been a choice. A choice you made. A decision you chose. You entered that place by your own will yet your freedom in leaving was never yours to be held in the first place. It made you sick to the stomach, as if a storm was closing in on you and there was no way out of it. No sun ripping through the curtains, no wind blowing the clouds away. 

Jungkook could hear your frantic breathing, your hurried footsteps and suppressed sobs. He could hear your beating heart resonating so strongly in his ears it only sent a chill down his spine at the chase.

He remembered the sweet scent that suddenly invaded his own prison the moment you entered the large opera house. For only the kiss of his soulmate would free him from the shackles of fate, only the purity of the heart would be able to set him free and roam the world as he pleased.

In whispers cold, his voice does call,

A siren's song, a chilling thrall.

He seeks a soul as dark as he,

To walk with him, for eternity.

"Don't you know that I love you, sweet (y/n)? Why do you run from your lover, hmm? If you come to me willingly, it will hurt way less, love."

You ran and ran, ignoring the pain in your feet, the pressure in your chest, the harsh beating of your heart. You weren't going to give up that easily. You weren't going to surrender without fighting back.

The hallways carried so many paintings on the walls. So many paintings of beautiful women. Pictures that you couldn't pay enough attention to. Paintings that resembled absolute fear and sorrow, something you didn't know but felt utterly familiar.

You stopped running when you made it to the main theatre as you stood on the old stage. The wooden beneath your feet was dusted with the remnants of time, broken glass was scattered along the dark wood from the frail chandelier that hung from the ceiling with its crystals tainted in greying dust.

The pain in your feet was ignored as you walked across the stage. You didn't hear Jungkook's maniac laugh, you didn't hear his approaching footsteps or his sick declarations of love. Of obsession. Yet the silence made you even more nervous. You didn't know where you were, you didn't know what day it was. Time had become a foreign concept for you, a thing your mind could no longer grasp.

How long had you been trapped in that hauntingly beautiful place? Has it been hours, days... months? Did people search for you? How about Taehyung, the man who sent you to that place to begin with? Was he wondering why you never came back to work? Was he wondering if you were still working on the story of the broken opera house to publish in his extravagant magazine? Did he even remember your presence or did he keep you around because you never questioned his orders and demands?

But there was no use in blaming others for your current situation because there was nothing to be done. You walked in an almost monotonous way to the centre of the stage, blood staining the ground below your feet as more and more cuts opened your precious skin.

Jungkook watched you from behind the curtains, he watched you wander around the open space. He watched you with haunted eyes glimmering in golden magic that cursed through his veins. He watched you with desire and delicacy. As if you had been crafted into a perfect doll for him to care when all his hands had ever done was to destroy and taint.

Your tears adorned your face like small diamonds over your soft looking skin. He wanted to wipe them and treasure such pearls of pain and fear within him. Your hands trembled as you gazed around you, eyes fixing on the fallen glass on the ground, the broken chandelier that hung from the ceiling and that seemed to snap at any moment, the crusty wood beneath your feet and the old paintings of women around the grand place.

"You don't have to run anymore, little dove."

Beneath the moon's unholy light,

He searches for his love in fright.

Through haunted woods and cursed moors,

His longing heart forever lures.

With a choke gasp you turned around, watching as Jungkook emerged from the back of the stage, the curtains giving him an aura that made you shiver. He took a step forward and you took a step backward. The need to keep as much distance between the being that kept you in his grasp and your own sanity was stronger than your actual fear of him.

"I have waited centuries to finally meet you."

His words only made more tears roll down your cheeks, eyes red and puffy as you glared at him in fear. You took a step as he approached you once more.

"Please..."

Your sweet voice enchanted him like a curse. Desiring to hear you speak once more, he remained silent and listened, taking another step towards you and instinctively you took once back.

"...please, let me go. I p-promise I won't tell anyone about what happened h-here today. I'll never come back and disturb you but, please-"

He laughed, a sound so harmonious it echoes around the empty opera house. You found it alluring, like a siren's song but you had to physically refrain yourself from falling into his arms.

"Do you really think I'll let you go after searching for you through so many lifetimes? You are mine, little dove. Forever mine."

Jungkook smiled, ever so sweetly you felt sick. A smile that got engraved in your memories forever. You shook your head but couldn't look away, taking another step back as he insisted on getting close to you.

"Look around you, love! Look around you and deny me that we aren't meant to be! We are destined, little dove. Tangled by fate. Look! Look around, (y/n)!"

And you did, not hesitating to follow his command with the force in his voice that made you suppress a sob. You looked around, eyes landing on one of the many paintings of the large room. One of the paintings that decorated the dull walls. The paintings that were old and worn out by time. Your eyes widened when you saw it. When you witnessed that the demon in front of you spoke nothing but fact. A sudden realisation dawned upon you and you felt as if you were drowning in a well with nothing to hold on to and nothing to hope for.

Because the lady on the painting cried tears of blood, the lady on the painting resembles your soul. Those were your hands, fisting the fabric of your dress in a deathly grip. Those were your tears rolling down your cheeks. The woman in the picture was the reflection of your soul trapped in a timeless mirror of blood.

"You see now? This whole castle of arts is our sanctuary. Our palace, Queen of mine."

You shook your head, in shock, in rejection. In fear. In anguish. You shook your head as you took step after step backwards even when he wasn't doing anything to get close to you.

Was your fate really next to him? Were you really tangled in such a web of lies you weren't able to escape? Or was he just playing with your mind?

"Stop it, (y/n)."

Jungkook spoke in alarm as he saw you getting closer and closer to the edge of the stage. But you didn't listen, your mind acted on its own in a fragile attempt at getting you away from this nightmare you had fallen into.

"Stop it!"

"Get away from me!"

Your scream resonated all over the place, your feet didn't stop moving until you stood at the edge. The height was enough to hurt you and the sole idea of it made him feel his heart beating, at least for a second or two as you stood on the edge while you faced him with shock written all over your beautiful features.

You took another step and a gasp escaped your lips as the floor disappeared from beneath you. Your eyes closed in instinct and your arms flailed as gravity pulled you down towards the hard ground covered in broken glass that was surely going to break you.

Jungkook acted in an instance, his eyes glowed in golden yellow as his large and black wings spread behind his back and he moved across the stage in less than a second, a path of ice was left behind him, freezing the ground below him, the curtains around the stage and his heart as well as he caught you in his arms before you were to succumb to nature's own force.

But in his quest, he leaves a trail,

Of fear and anguish, deathly pale.

For those who cross his path beware,

The demon's love is naught but despair.

Your eyes met his in a dance of emotions that made you dizzy in its nature. His hands found home on your waist just as your own rested on his forearms. His eyes, ever so beautiful, hid so many secrets you felt curious about yet you wished to remain in the darkness as well.

"I won't leave you. Not after burning in my own grief with your absence. You are the key to my existence, love"

His words pierced your soul like a sharp dagger. You sniffled, breathing in deeply as you found yourself gazing into his golden irises.

"You'll never leave my side."

One of his hands left your waist as it cradled your cheek softly. His touch burned you with an ice cold feeling it made you shiver in his arms whether from the coldness itself or fear of your current position, you really couldn't tell.

"You will learn to love me, (y/n). Just like I have loved you all this time. You'll learn."

Jungkook never broke eye contact with you as he allowed himself to swim in your (e/c) gaze. Your skin under his palm felt soft, the softest he has ever touched in both his lives as a mortal and as a demon of death.

You gulped, wanting to run away from him. Disgusted at his unwanted touch but strangely craving it more. As if you had been deprived of it for so long. Maybe your soul has. Maybe it was your soul that missed him, that missed that other part that was to complete your existence yet your heart and mind rejected that very own idea.

His eyes glowed once more, his wings extending behind him as he looked down at you with his golden eyes that prevented you from looking away. You found yourself enthralled by his magic, his powers and strength.

Your rigid body relaxed in his arms and he suppressed the growing smirk that threatened to appear over his lips. For he had captivated your mind in a glowy golden trance that would allow his freedom.

Jungkook leaned forward and he found no resistance from you so he continued until his lips met yours. His spell had worked over your mind even when your heart was beating wildly against your chest.

He kissed you and golden magic radiated from him. He kissed you and the chains of fate released him. He kissed you and was now a free demon, free to roam the Earth as he pleased. Free to do whatever his heart wanted for as long as you stayed next to him.

He escaped his own jail, that castle of arts was no longer his prison but was now his palace with you as his Queen of darkness.

He kissed you and he tainted you. His golden magic erupted from the very depths of his soul and enveloped you both as he was crowned as the king of darkness, with you as his precious queen.

Forever and always.

For all times to come.

For all lifetimes to last.

And you'll learn to love him, maybe not as much as he loved you. But you'll learn. Eventually. Why shouldn't a Queen love her King? Why wouldn't you love him when he gave you the world to your feet? Why wouldn't you love him when your souls were tangled?

Jungkook would wait. Wait until you'd love him completely, wholeheartedly. Absolutely and undoubtedly. For you were the reason for his black soul and now beating heart. A heart that only beats for you and you alone. His Queen of Darkness.

And when he broke the kiss and your body grew limp in his hold, he carried you in his arms, his wings extended and he flew. He flew to the skies with your body in his hold. He flew away to a place no other mortal knew about. His own palace. His own hell. His kingdom. That place where his home was, that place he’ll share with you. 

Because Jungkook had waited centuries for you to finally find your way to him. He’d wait more if it meant you’ll love him in the end. Another lifetime felt like nothing if he knew you would give him your heart with your very own hands as you wore your crown of darkness, matching with his and ruling his kingdom of evil. 

What was heaven compared to your love? What was light compared to your heart in the night? What was obedience compared to the sins of his own mind? Did it matter? No. It never did. And now that you were finally his to love and cherish for eternity, he could burn the world down for you to smile at him ever so softly and delicately, like an elegant rose with deathly thorns. Like a true queen of his domain. 

His Queen. 

So if you hear his haunting cry,

Beneath the starless, moonless sky,

Beware his love, a twisted fate,

For in his arms, darkness awaits.

January/19/2024

~Masterlist

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕