#cupids bindings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alive-gh0st · 2 months ago

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❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

❤︎ summary: after defying a divine directive and choosing mercy over order, you—a cupid built not to feel—fall from the realm and crash into a world you don’t belong to. wingless and exiled, you land on a planet bruised by war, grief, and something worse: apathy. but one figure watches your descent. he’s not a hero. not a god. just a man turned monster, carrying the weight of a planet he helped destroy. you were made to spark love. he was made to conquer. so why can’t he walk away?

❤︎ contains: sfw. celestial mythology. lonely immortals. slow-burn dynamics. post-war emotional fallout. deconstruction of love as a weapon/tool. and a wingless cupid with a cracked heart and a crooked smile.

❤︎ warnings: emotional manipulation (brief). themes of exile and identity loss. canon-typical violence references (omni-mark’s past). light blood/injury mentions. quiet existential grief. soft heartbreak. and the inconvenient ache of wanting to be wanted.

‪❤︎ wc: 4455

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i wanted to write something aching. something soft and sharp and too pink in all the wrong places. this is my love letter to the ones who were built to help others but never expected to be helped. to the hopeless romantics. to the heartsworn. if you’ve ever looked for your own thread and found nothing but empty space—i see you. let’s fall together.

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Before time had a name, there was love.

And before love had rules, there were those who enforced them.

You were one of them.

Cupids were never born in the way humans or any other beings are.

There was no crying, no clutching warmth, no heartbeat against heartbeat. You weren’t given to anyone—because in your world, nothing is ever truly given. It’s assigned.

And you were assigned to love.

Long before your first breath—or what could even be counted as a breath—your existence was stitched together with rose-gold thread and spun into something soft.

Something radiant. Something shaped to serve.

The Realm of Threads didn’t believe in accidents. It believed in connection.

Harmony. Devotion.

These were your first lessons—woven not from stories, but from structure. From a place built not to feel love, but to uphold it.

Cupids, as humans might call them, are not gods. They are not angels. They are not the chubby, winged caricatures drawn on glossy cards each February.

They are constructs.

Beings built from emotion itself, shaped by the pulse of the universe and tasked with one divine, inescapable truth—make them fall in love.

All of them.

Every soul in every world is marked by a thread—red, golden, soft, or shining. Invisible to most. Tangible only to your kind. And where those threads exist, your kind follows.

Weaving. Binding. Mending.

You never asked why. You were taught never to ask why.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

In your realm, the sky is made of lace.

Not literal lace—but that’s what it looks like, with its rippling tapestry of lights and longing.

You drifted through it as a child, surrounded by other Cupids—silent, graceful, unwavering. They didn’t speak unless they had to. Words wasted time. Emotion was observed, not expressed.

You were the odd one out almost immediately.

You giggled when you shouldn’t have. You sang with no rhythm. You watched humans too closely, too curiously. You wondered what it felt like to be kissed—not as a target, not as a mission—but as something wanted.

The Supervisors said your strings were too tight.

They meant your emotions.

You cared too much. Thought too hard. Dreamed in colors that didn’t belong to you.

But you were a prodigy, so they didn’t clip your wings. Not then. They praised your precision, your instincts. You’d never missed a target. Not once.

But love, you would learn, is only beautiful when it behaves.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You were trained before you ever knew what training meant.

In the Realm of Threads, there is no childhood. Not in the way humans define it. There are no lullabies, no scraped knees, no tumbling laughter in the grass. There is structure. There is schooling.

There is silence.

You were given a pod—not a room, not a bed. A pod. Sterile and softly lit, humming faintly with emotional frequency.

It pulsed with the echoes of distant connections: engagements, kisses, heartbreak, soulmates colliding on foreign soil.

It was meant to teach you. Not to feel—but to understand what feeling looks like.

Your first lessons weren’t in numbers or words. They were in observation.

Screens stretched across your wall like windows into other realms. Every second of every day, you watched humans love each other. Fumble and flourish. Make mistakes. Fix them. You learned the cadence of confession, the stillness before a first kiss, the ache of waiting by a phone that wouldn’t ring.

You took notes.

You practiced on simulations. Shadow versions of real people, constructed for training. They were emotion puppets—coded to respond, to mimic the human condition, but never feel it.

You pulled their strings like a composer, conducting the perfect crescendo of a meet-cute or a second chance.

And you were so good at it.

Even the elder Cupids, old as planetary rotations, took notice.

They called you “Silken.”

They called you “True-Handed.”

They said your instincts were woven with clarity few possessed.

But even then—you knew something was wrong.

Because love wasn’t clean. It wasn’t predictable. It wasn’t math.

You saw it in the gaps between the simulations—in the real footage, in the stolen glances and unsent letters.

Love was messy.

And you weren’t allowed to say that.

So instead, you smiled. You bowed your head. You aced your assignments. And when it was finally time to receive your bow—the instrument that would mark you as a field Cupid, ready to enter the human realm—you let them place it in your hands like a crown.

Ceremonial. Divine. Cold.

Your wings fluttered for the first time that day. Not from pride. From something else.

Restlessness.

Because you weren’t sure you wanted to be part of this system.

But you’d been shaped for it. And in the Realm of Threads, shape is everything.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

They say Cupids don’t feel the way humans do. But if that were true—why did it ache?

You never had a red string.

That was the first thing you noticed.

You saw them everywhere—thread-thin, glowing like veins of fire across the fabric of reality. Around wrists, through hearts, tied in impossible loops from continent to continent, galaxy to galaxy.

Red. Gold. Silver.

Some pulsed softly. Some burned bright. Some frayed at the ends—doomed to break.

But you?

You had none.

You looked. Every year. Every cycle. Every mirror.

And there was never one waiting for you.

The instructors said it was proof of your purpose.

You were meant to love, not to be loved.

Cupids didn’t need soulmates. You were the threads—not what they tied together.

But still, when you were alone in your pod—your crown-glass screen humming with soft simulations—you sometimes wrapped a ribbon around your own finger and pretended.

Just for a moment. Just to feel what it might be like to belong to someone.

To be chosen.

To be someone’s reason.

You told no one.

Cupids weren’t supposed to pretend.

Not about that.

You always grinned too brightly. Talked too much. Got too close to the humans you helped.

You asked too many questions.

Why this couple? Why that connection? Why did heartbreak sometimes look so much like love?

You weren’t supposed to wonder. You were supposed to execute. Deliver arrows. Create outcomes. Adjust the threads.

But you liked watching after the mission was done.

You stayed longer than you should have. Saw the way people clung to one another. Fought. Forgave. Grieved. Moved on. Sometimes, even when the threads said they wouldn’t.

And worse—you started to feel happy for them.

Genuinely.

Not in the approved, detached sense of “mission accomplished,” but like… something warm bloomed in your chest just watching two people choose each other.

One day you told another Cupid—casually, as if it was no big thing—that it must feel nice to be loved like that.

She looked at you like you were malfunctioning.

Reported you. Quietly.

You were summoned for evaluation.

They used soft words. Nothing cruel—just… firm.

“Attachment undermines your clarity.”

“You’ve been too immersed in lower realms.”

“Emotional mimicry is a known side effect. You’ll adjust.”

You didn’t adjust.

You just learned how to lie better.

You laughed louder. You perfected your posture. You earned the nickname Heartsworn, and everyone said it with admiration.

But you felt empty most days.

Like a thread that had never been tied.

And it gnawed at you, that emptiness—because you were built to help others find connection.

So why did it feel like you’d never have your own?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It happened on a world not so different from Earth.

Small. Blue. Quiet in the way only dying stars can make a planet feel.

The threads there were thin. Brittle. Nearly broken.

It needed love desperately. That’s why they sent you.

Because you never missed. Because your aim was perfect. Because you were the shining example—the “Heartsworn,” the favorite, the infallible.

And at first, it was routine.

Two beings. Two threads. One frayed at the end, knotted tight around grief. The other hesitant, flickering. Their paths crossed in a way that felt almost poetic—a shared umbrella. An open bookstore. A laugh like recognition.

You hovered above them, bow pulsing in your palm. A clean shot. Two arrows. One for each.

But then something shifted.

The woman—your target—she looked up at the man, eyes tired but tender. And the way he looked back… like he was remembering how to breathe.

And you saw it.

She had already loved him.

It hadn’t been forced. It hadn’t been orchestrated. No divine architecture. No thread pulling them forward.

Just… choice.

Human, messy, miraculous choice.

You hesitated.

And that’s all it took.

Your bow trembled in your hands. Not from error—but from resistance.

Because for the first time—you didn’t want to interfere. You didn’t want to force it.

You wanted to let them be.

You lowered your weapon.

And then—because you were soft, and reckless, and maybe stupid in the eyes of the Supervisors—you spoke to her.

She didn’t see you. Not clearly. Just a shimmer in the corner of her eye. But you whispered anyway.

“You don’t need help. You already chose him.”

The words weren’t authorized. Your presence was meant to be undetectable. You were not allowed to alter the script.

But you did.

And for a moment—nothing happened.

Then the red thread between them sparked.

Bright. Violent. Uncontrolled.

It burned itself into existence. Without your arrow. Without divine sanction.

And they kissed.

Not because you told them to.

Because they wanted to.

Your lips curled into a soft smile.

You didn’t regret it.

But the moment you returned to the Realm of Threads, you knew something was wrong.

The lights were dimmed. The supervisors were waiting. No lectures. No trials.

Just one sentence.

“You interfered.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself—but the guards were already reaching for your wings.

You’d heard what it sounded like.

The sound of ripping. The way it cuts deeper than bone.

But you’d never imagined it would hurt like this.

Your knees hit the lace-floor. Your mouth stayed silent.

You didn’t scream.

Not because it didn’t hurt—but because they wanted you to.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to take that from them.

Dignity, you told yourself.

Dignity is all I have left.

You were told you would not be recycled. You were too “contaminated.” Too unstable. A bad example.

So instead—they exiled you.

You didn’t get to ask where.

Just a flash of cold light—

And then the sound of wind.

Falling.

Alone.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You hit the ground hard.

Not like a leaf drifting. Not with grace. Not with poise. Not like the Cupids in the stories.

Like a comet.

A streak of light through an unfamiliar sky, dragging heat and ache in your wake.

You didn’t black out right away—but you almost wished you had.

Because the first thing you felt wasn’t the crash. Wasn’t the way your ribs seized or the way your shoulder twisted beneath your fall.

It was the space between your wings.

The hollow.

The absence.

You gasped.

Air—not laced with threadlight, not humming with frequency, just air—rushed into your lungs like punishment.

You curled onto your side, dirt grinding into the soft parts of you. Wet grass clung to your skin. The sky above was wrong—blue, yes, but so still. No shimmering frequencies. No glowing red filaments. Just clouds, soft and slow.

You were somewhere real.

Somewhere unmarked.

Somewhere alone.

It wasn’t the pain that made you want to cry.

It was the quiet.

Because back home—even when you were alone in your pod, even when no one looked at you—there was always something.

The buzz of love blooming. The echo of longing. The soft, constant pull of other people’s threads, humming just outside your senses.

But now?

Nothing.

It was gone.

You sat up slowly.

And then immediately flopped back down with a tiny, theatrical groan.

“Ouchie,” you mumbled to no one, voice breathy and soft and definitely not pained—because no, you were totally fine. Just a bit… stunned. And mildly bleeding. And definitely wingless.

But you were smiling. Kind of. Maybe.

Okay, so it trembled a little at the edges.

“I’ve had worse landings,” you said aloud—which was a lie. You’d never landed before. You’d always floated.

You tried again, slowly, every nerve screaming. Your knees trembled. Your arms buckled. You caught yourself on the soft slope of a hill, hands sinking into wildflowers and moss.

You blinked down at them.

Yellow, pink, violet. Stubbornly bright.

They looked like something out of a simulation.

They weren’t.

They were real.

Your mouth twisted.

Of course you landed in a field of flowers. Of course.

You laughed.

It came out cracked and hoarse. Almost a sob.

Because everything hurt, and everything was still spinning, and you had no idea where you were, and no one was coming for you, and—

No.

No, you weren’t going to cry. You weren’t.

Cupids didn’t cry.

Even clipped ones.

Even broken ones.

Even ones bleeding into someone else’s sky.

Still, you tried to push yourself up, wobbling on legs that hadn’t had to support you since your designation. It felt wrong. Heavy. Like gravity had teeth and it didn’t trust you. You teetered. Fell to your knees again.

And giggled.

Which also trembled a little.

“I meant to do that.”

You dusted imaginary dirt from your imaginary uniform and gave an exaggerated little curtsy to the empty air.

No one clapped. Rude.

You dragged yourself to your feet.

Shaky. Awkward. Wobbly in a way you hadn’t felt in cycles. The Realm of Threads taught you to float everywhere. Gliding was cleaner. More efficient. Less emotional.

You hadn’t really walked since childhood simulations.

The ground felt weird under your feet. Solid. Gritty.

Your bow was still intact. Miraculously. You hugged it close like a stuffed toy, curling in on yourself for a moment, letting the quiet press into your bones.

You could still feel it.

That place between your shoulders—where your wings had been. Like a ghost limb. Like something sacred had been carved out of you and left a silence behind.

You hated it.

But you kept moving.

Maybe—if you helped someone on this world—they would come back for you. Maybe if you just kept doing your job, proved you were still useful, still good, they’d rewind the exile.

Reattach what they’d taken.

Please.

You stumbled once. Then again. Then face-planted into a patch of daisies with a grunt so undignified you groaned into the soil.

“Get it together,” you mumbled into the grass.

You pushed yourself back up. Sat on your knees for a second. Took a breath.

You didn’t know how long you wandered after that.

Minutes? Hours? You lost time in the way only the heartbroken can.

It got dark fast.

The sky burned gold, then violet, then black. Stars blinked overhead—foreign constellations, wrong patterns.

You were still limping through the field when the noise came.

A whoosh.

Sharp. Cutting. Like something splitting the air in half.

You froze.

Turned slowly.

And then—saw him.

Not a blur. A shape. Coming toward you like a storm with legs.

You only had a second to register what was coming at you: tall, fast, red and white—a storm in the shape of a man. And a scowl, carved from thunderclouds.

Flying.

He was flying.

You squinted.

Not a Cupid. Definitely not a Cupid.

A human?

No.

No, he felt… too much.

You didn’t have your thread-sight anymore, but you could still feel.

Emotions. Echoes.

He felt like gravity.

Like something that had no business coming closer—and was doing it anyway.

He landed hard. Just a few feet away.

Harder than you had. The ground splintered beneath his feet, shockwaves rippling out in a perfect ring. Dust and wildflowers burst upward like a gasp. He stood there for a beat—motionless.

And you… just stared.

Red suit. White accents. Red cape. Black goggles like midnight slicing across his face. He didn’t glow. He didn’t shine. He loomed.

His presence felt like gravity doubled—like the world bowed to his weight and dared not rise again.

You blinked at him slowly. Then offered a tiny wave.

“Hi.”

Silence.

He didn’t move.

You glanced behind you like maybe he was staring at someone else, but no—those mirrored goggles were fixed on you.

“Hiii,” you tried again, voice cheerier. “Okay, so I know this looks weird. But I promise I’m not here to hurt anyone! Unless, um. You count your planet’s gravitational field. Which did kinda kick my butt—ow.”

No reaction. His posture didn’t shift. You had a sudden, vivid mental image of being vaporized.

“I’m just passing through!” you rushed, hands up. “A… a tourist! On a very involuntary vacation!”

Still nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing—he was breathing.

Barley.

His voice, when it came, was sharp enough to slice open a planet.

“You’re not human.”

Your grin faltered for a second before rebounding, like a rubber band that’s been snapped too many times.

“Nope. Not even a little bit! But I’m very human adjacent in a lot of ways! I’ve watched a lot of rom-coms and I know how to do a proper hug—although full disclosure, I might fall over during it because of the whole… clipped wings situation.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes—hidden though they were—felt like twin drills boring into the softest parts of you.

“Why are you here?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then plastered on a sheepish smile.

“That’s kind of a long story,” you admitted, voice dipping softer now. “The short version is… I got kicked out of my hom—my realm. For caring too much.”

Something flickered across his face. Brief. Gone before you could catch it.

“And now,” you continued, tone brightening again as you gestured to the wildflower field like a very proud but slightly concussed game show host, “I’m here! In… wherever here is. Honestly, it’s pretty. Good flowers. Ten out of ten. Bit of a rough welcome, but I’ve had worse.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Your hand drifted unconsciously to your back, fingertips brushing the jagged place where wings used to rise.

You shrugged. “It’s mostly cosmetic.”

He said nothing. Just stared.

You took a step forward—then immediately lost your balance and fell face-first into a patch of daisies.

There was a beat of silence. Then two. Then three.

And then—so faint you thought you imagined it—you heard the faintest exhale of breath from the man in red and white.

Not a laugh.

But maybe the ghost of one.

You rolled onto your back and grinned up at the stars.

“See?” you said, voice light. “I’m great at making first impressions.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The second he saw you, he didn’t trust you.

Not because you looked dangerous. No—you didn’t. You were crumpled in a bed of wildflowers, wobbling like a broken marionette and smiling like someone had painted joy over grief and hoped no one would notice the cracks.

But that was exactly why he didn’t trust you.

People didn’t fall from the sky and grin. Not here. Not anywhere. Not anymore.

So he hovered, silent, watching you crawl upright like you didn’t know how to use your own legs. Like the planet was something foreign. Like gravity was something new.

That wasn’t normal.

Mark had seen a lot of things in a lot of universes—false gods, black holes, men split into fractions of themselves—but this? A girl with stardust on her skin and nothing in her hands but a bow? That was new.

He landed hard. On purpose. Let the ground feel him.

You flinched. Not at the sound—at the silence that followed it.

And then you looked up.

Big eyes. Bare feet. Mouth bleeding at the corner, but curved like you hadn’t noticed. Or didn’t care.

And then—

“Hi.”

Like you hadn’t just fallen from orbit.

He didn’t speak.

“Hiii,” you tried again, softer. “Okay, so I know this looks weird. But I promise I’m not here to hurt anyone! Unless, um. You count your planet’s gravitational field. Which did kinda kick my butt—ow.”

Still he said nothing.

He didn’t move.

Mark watched.

Measured.

Assessed.

You were glowing at the edges—not visibly—but in some low, stubborn frequency. Like the kind of candle you couldn’t blow out even after you’d shattered the holder.

It irritated him.

He spoke without meaning to.

“You’re not human.”

You beamed, wounded and bright. “Nope! Not even a little bit!”

You kept talking. Rambling. Fumbling your way through some patchwork lie about tourism and rom-coms and wings—clipped, apparently.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t need to.

He was looking for something. A tell. A crack.

“Why are you here?”

That stopped you.

Just a second. Barely.

But it was enough.

Your grin shrank. Eyes dipped. Voice turned soft.

“That’s kind of a long story. The short version is… I got kicked out of my hom—my realm. For caring too much.”

That flickered something inside him.

He crushed it before it could breathe.

Mark didn’t do soft. He didn’t do “caring.” That was the problem with the others. They hesitated. Thought. He didn’t. That’s why he survived.

So why was he still here?

Why wasn’t he flying away?

Why hadn’t he broken you in half the moment you lied?

You stepped forward. Tripped. Fell face-first into a clump of flowers like a deer learning how to walk for the first time.

He didn’t flinch, but he exhaled—just once. Quiet. Almost amused.

You rolled onto your back and smiled at the stars.

“See? I’m great at making first impressions.”

He hated how you said it.

Like it mattered.

Like someone out here was still capable of being good.

He walked toward you.

You didn’t run. You didn’t crawl away. You sat there, hands splayed out behind you, watching him like you weren’t sure if he was going to help you up or crush your skull.

Smart.

He stopped in front of you.

Tilted his head.

“I should kill you.”

Your eyes widened, but you didn’t move. “You could. You really could. But I’d prefer we didn’t start there?”

“Then give me one reason not to.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked up at him like you were weighing the clouds.

“I don’t have one.”

Mark stared.

You continued.

“I mean—I don’t know if I’m important. I don’t have a secret code or an army or even a sandwich right now. But…”

You reached up, touching your back—where the blood had dried, sticky and shimmering.

“But I used to be someone. I used to help people fall in love. And maybe that doesn’t matter to you—but it mattered to them.”

There was a silence.

He wasn’t sure what he expected you to say.

But it wasn’t that.

He should leave.

He should fly away and chalk you up to another anomaly.

Instead, he said:

“Can you still do it?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Make people love.”

Your lips curled up. Slowly. Sadly. “I don’t know.”

Another pause.

You were watching him too closely now. Like you were trying to read a string that wasn’t there.

“You’re not really from here either,” you said softly. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

You already knew.

“Are you gonna hurt me?” you asked.

He looked at you, at the way your voice didn’t tremble, even though your body did.

And for once—he told the truth.

“I don’t know.”

You nodded.

“Fair.”

Then you reached up and offered your hand.

Not in fear. Not in desperation.

Just… like someone who was used to offering something and not getting it taken.

Mark didn’t take it.

But he didn’t crush it either.

He looked past you—at the dark hills, the useless stars, the broken silence.

After conquering this place and killing his father—he didn’t know what this planet was anymore.

Didn’t care.

But he had nowhere else to be. Not anymore.

He turned.

Walked.

And when he didn’t tell you to stay—

You followed.

Not too close.

Just… close enough.

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˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Once, you were small. Once, you believed everything they told you.

Your first robe was the color of a peach blossom.

It shimmered when you turned, sleeves brushing the floor, too big for your arms and still perfect in every way. You’d never worn something so soft.

You twirled three times in front of the mirror, arms out like wings, giggling because everything felt light.

“You look very neat,” said one of the elder Cupids, gliding past with a clipboard. “Remember to keep your posture upright when you’re selected for observation.”

“I will!” you promised, standing taller.

The robe swished when you walked. You liked that. It made you feel important. Like you were finally what they said you would be—purposeful.

Part of something big.

You didn’t understand everything yet, but that didn’t matter.

You were going to be a Cupid.

And Cupids were good.

“Today,” said another instructor, voice warm and practiced, “you’ll learn about threads.”

You beamed. Sat up straighter. Listened with all your heart.

“Every being has a thread,” they explained, conjuring a floating hologram that flickered softly through the training chamber. “They wrap around us, tie us to our people. See?”

The threads shimmered—red, gold, silver, glowing like starlight.

You gasped. It was so pretty. It made your chest feel warm.

“You’ll help people find each other,” the instructor went on. “You’ll guide their steps. Fix what’s frayed. Strengthen what’s fragile.”

“I can do that!” you blurted.

A few other young Cupids turned to look at you, but you didn’t care. Your legs were swinging off the floating bench and your hands were already up.

“I wanna do the red ones,” you said proudly. “Those are the soulmate ones, right?”

The instructor smiled. So gently. Like they were talking to someone a little slow, but very sweet.

“Oh, darling,” they said. “You don’t get one.”

You blinked.

“Huh?”

“You won’t have a red thread,” they said again, same caring voice, same soft smile. “Cupids don’t get them.”

You frowned. “But… we’re people too?”

“No,” they said kindly. “You’re not.”

Another Cupid, older, came to kneel beside you. Their hair was smooth. Their smile too perfect.

“You’re something better,” they told you. “You were made for love. You don’t need to be in it.”

“But—” you started.

“We give it,” the first instructor interrupted gently. “That’s your gift.”

You hesitated.

“But doesn’t anyone ever want us back?” you asked in a small voice.

The instructor’s smile didn’t change.

“No one has ever asked that before.”

You blinked. Sat very still.

They stood again.

“Alright, little hearts,” the elder said, clapping once. “Time for simulation prep. Let’s learn how to listen when a thread hums.”

Everyone got up.

You did too.

You smiled. Because they smiled. Because everyone around you looked so sure, so peaceful, so right.

You didn’t want to be the wrong one.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly

taglist sign up: 𓊆ྀིhere𓊇ྀི

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

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hearts4hughes · 2 months ago

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prescription love letter from Coriolanus Snow. make it obsessive

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ SWEETHEART SYNDROME

my darling,

you can leave me. you can rip the seams of my world, strip the warmth from my bed, and burn every reminder of the nights we’ve spent tangled in each other’s shadows. you can lace your words with finality and stitch that pretty, trembling mouth into a line of false resolve, but it won’t change the truth.

you were mine the moment you first met my gaze. i saw the spark in your eyes, the promise of fire, and i knew—even then —that i would ruin you.

you say you’re leaving me, but you underestimate the hold i have on you. you can change your address, block my number, surround yourself with fresh faces and soft, meaningless touches, but you will still hear my voice in every darkened hallway, feel the ghost of my breath against your neck when the lights go out.

you think distance will break this thing between us, this all-consuming need that has twisted itself into our very bones. you think a slammed door and a bitter goodbye will sever the threads that bind us, but you are wrong.

you will come back to me. you always do.

because, my love, i have threaded myself through your every heartbeat. i am in your blood, your breath, the frantic pulse at the base of your throat. you cannot rid yourself of me without tearing yourself apart.

so go, if you must. run until your beautiful legs give out and your lungs burn with the effort of escape. i will still be waiting, my arms open, my hands hungry, and my mind ravenous.

and when you come back—because you will, my darling— i will forgive you. i will pull you back into my arms, trace the scars of your rebellion with my lips, and remind you just how deeply you belong to me.

yours,

C.S.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @43hughes @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @xoxosblogsblog @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck

#જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ sweetheart syndrome #nora’s writings 💐#coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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lovebeinaprincessworld · 1 year ago

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Avatar

Tsu’tey

Good loving

Sharp edges

Tìtunu

Tìyawn/Ve’kì

Tsu'tey sees

Reypaytun

Neteyam

Never a burden

Prove to you

Protection duty

Cupids chokehold

Nerves talking

Ghost

The hearts that bind us

Kavuk si

Steyki

The sweetest syulang

Another man’s treasure

His fierce flower

Smells like trouble

Jake Sully

Fantasize

Sex Education

Tonowari

Missed lessons

Inexperienced

Iknimaya

Do I not treat you well?

Pxelo (+Ronal)

Breeding

Aonung

Helping friends

Squeeze it apart

Best friends brother

Tough lover

Heartfelt

Size difference

Precious Tawtute Sickness

Courting Ayelýn

Ronal

Best friends mother

Tsireya

My unruly heart

Girls like girls

Love advice

Miles Quaritch

Technical difficulties

Hybrid

Sweet surrender

Eywa has decided

Daddy issues

Sinner and Saint

Lyle Wainfleet

Help me

Hopelessly devoted to you

Mansk

Late night feels

#x reader #fluff #angst #smut #avatar #neteyam #navi #pandora #jake sully #tsutey #miles quaritch #aonung #tonowari #ronal #recom mansk #lyle wainfleet #fanfic rec #fanfiction #avatar x reader

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totaly-obsessed · 1 year ago

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Cupid

Lia Wälti x reader

-> Valentine's Day with Lia and your Daughter

-> thank you @babsisbakery for the poem, and thank you @alotofpockets for the dutch translation help and conversation

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Small hands tugged at your ear, ripping you from your very much-needed sleep. Once you saw your daughter’s adorable little eyes and the excited smile on her lips you just couldn’t be mad anymore.

“Mama, we need to start!” In a whisper shout, she bounced up and down, ready to get the day going.

She was right – you did need to start. Together with Amelie, you had planned to treat your fiancée to a wonderful Wednesday. It was Valentine's Day after all.

Still groggy with sleep you let the small blonde pull you out of bed before she gave you a moment to gather yourself, as she handed you slippers that matched hers.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Amelie had already laid out her little apron and quickly pulled it over her pajamas before turning around, gesturing to you to bind it behind her.

“All done my love. Let’s start with the waffles huh?”

Just 20 minutes later a hearty and big breakfast was cooked up, and Amelie nervously grabbed the card you had crafted with her beforehand.

“What if she doesn’t like it, Mama?”

Crouching down in front of the five-year-old got harder the older you got – but never in a million years would you stop doing it.

“That’s impossible my love! Lia loves everything that you make for her. She keeps it in her cubby – you’ve seen it before!”

Technically Ames was only your daughter – but with a no-show father and Lia falling in love with both you and your little companion at first sight, she was her ‘Momie’ in every way the small blonde could wish for.

While Lia had no genetic input whatsoever – Amelia could be and look a lot like her. They had the same kind of smile and funny laugh, but their stare could be terrifying.

“You come with me?”

How could you say no to that face? So together you walked up the stairs, and the once excited five-year-old had turned into a nervous wreck, hiding behind your legs and making herself as heavy as she could.

With a quiet squeak, the door opened as you pushed it, giving your daughter a slight nudge towards the bed, where you could already see Lia trying to spy through her lashes giving it her best to hide a smile.

“Momie?” the pudgy hand that wasn’t holding the card nudged your fiancée – who continued to play dead to the world.

“Momie – wake up please!”

Like in a bad movie Lia suddenly sat up with a big smile, stretching her arms wide with an obviously fake yawn.

“Good Morning Mon petit amour!”

Amelie panicked, or rather froze on the spot – immediately turning to you with wide eyes and Lia just knew that she would flee if nothing happened.

“What do you have there my love?”

A hesitant step towards the bed and the small blonde was close enough for her Momie to grab her. The loud squeal of surprise that filled the room was miles better than the nervous shuffle of feet.

“Wrote it just for you Momie!”

With an exaggerated gasp, the brunette footballer opened the pink envelope to discover a handcrafted card. It was white and on it a big heart, that you had to draw because a certain someone wasn’t happy with her tries and had about five meltdowns because of it. It was filled with little folded-up papers in pink and purple – above the heart she had made you write “I love you to pieces” after you had tried to help with her writing.

On those little papers were reasons why you and Ames loved the Swiss, but if it came to your opinion, there weren’t enough notes in the world that could do the love you held for the woman justice.

“Oh, will you read it to me?” Lia had tears in her eyes once she saw the small poem in wriggly handwriting. She pulled your daughter to her chest, looking at the card together while you snapped some secret pictures. “I’ll help you read them, okay?”

“To Momie,

From many tantrums to always making me laugh,

You are my favorite hero, kicking ass on the pitch

And being my personal chef at home,

And finding time to play with me and my Dinos.

I couldn’t have wished for a better mom.

- Your Ames!”

Lia’s eyes were filled with tears as she pressed kiss after kiss on Amelia's messy hair. Of course, the Swiss knew that you had massively helped her with writing, but Amelia had such a way of speaking that she could definitely recognize it in there.

The five-year-old was proud of herself and whipped her head back from Lia behind you.

“Breakfast now! Come Momie – I made you waffles!”

Due to the rain last week, the fixture against the London City Lioness has been pushed to today. So after spending the day in blissful peace, it was time to go to the game. Wrangling a little excited 5-year-old girl dressed as Cupid into the car was much harder than anticipated, and at some point, Lia had to leave early.

Viv greeted you at the car as you helped Amelie out of the car. She was still a little unsure about her knee, so she opted to sit in the stands, keeping you company. “Wow – Look at you!”

“Vivi! I’m Cupid!”

Dressed in a pink and gold dress, white gloves, and a golden hairband. On her back was a pair of small, white, feathery wings – in her hands a tiny bow with fake arrows that had heart-shaped tips.

“I can see that lieve schat. Let’s get you two inside huh?”

Watching the game with a young child is always a bit different than it would be without – but you wouldn’t change it for the world. Amelia was excited for the first half, screaming her little lungs out when Lia scored from a corner kick off of Katie.

As a celebration, the Swiss imitated pulling back the string of an arrow and letting it go in your direction – effectively sending you a heart accompanied with a wink.

Your relationship was no secret by far, the brunette loved to brag about you and her daughter. And no matter how much she boasted about you, you would always blush – so seeing your already red face on the big screen gave you a fright. Viv and Ames just laughed at you.

During the second half, Amelia was busy reading a book she had brought for her. While she had gotten Lia’s athleticism she had gotten your intense love for books, and once she started, she wouldn’t stop until it was finished. Or at least she wouldn’t stop that easily.

Once the final whistle blew, the Arsenal girls winning 3-0, Viv escorted you down to the pitch – you not knowing the way was her excuse but in reality, she just wanted to see Beth. As soon as Amelia’s feet hit the grass, she was gone running around with Kyra, Alessia, and Victoria.

“Did you see my goal? Scored it just for you!” Lia’s smile was enticing and she didn’t wait long to pull you into a breathtaking kiss, only stopping once Katie fake gagged next to you.

Before she could say what she wanted to a small body slammed into her. Amelia, of course. In her hand, a beautiful white rose that you definitely didn’t bring from home.

“For me? Oh, thank you my personal Cupid, doing such a good job!”

Now down on her knees, the brunette engulfed your daughter in a bear hug – careful not to crush the cupid wings on her back.

“It’s from Rue Rue!”

The five-year-old skipped back to Ruesha Littlejohn who gave her a high five and a piece of candy while Katie could only stare at the rose in her hands. Not even noticing you and Lia nearly collapsing because of laughter.

Cupid had delivered her a rose from Rue Rue, her ex-girlfriend…

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso imagines #arsenal wfc x reader #katie mccabe x reader #lia walti x reader #lia wälti x reader #lia wälti #lia walti

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slippinmickeys · 5 months ago

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Funfetti prompt: how did Mulder propose? My sincere apologies to whoever asked for this prompt. I wrote down the prompt, but neglected to write down the name of who asked for it and it's been a couple of weeks now. Please call yourself out in the tags or in the comments on AO3 and I'll rectify my mistake!

He is buried in the cradle of her hips, a briny haven, deep as the Vineyard Sound; a place he has only been a handful of times.

Scully, nine weeks out from a natural birth in a dusty day bed in Georgia, makes a groaning, satisfied sound, her thumb hooked into his cheek. He crimps her knuckle delicately with his teeth, feels a surge of affection for his partner. Tenderness. It is an echo of what he feels for his son, sleeping several feet away, his mother’s cupid bow lips in a soft, round face.

“Marry me,” he says into the flesh of her chest, swaying and heavy with milk.

The copper cap of her hair is draped over one eye, and the other pins him briefly.

“What?” she says breathily. “No.”

They haven’t really discussed this, though he’s tried to bring it up. His paternal leave was up a week ago and he’s come to her apartment every night after work like Ward Cleaver, tie loosened, Scully in the kitchen or nursing on the bed. He sits and takes off his penny loafers and asks to hold his warm son in the crook of his arm and wonders how life has deposited him here; a ticking stripe chair, a new nine-to-five Bureau gig, a contentment he has never before felt, never chased.

“Marry me,” he says again, more earnest this time, and he feels her thighs tense where she’s straddling his lap.

“Are you always this talkative in bed?” she asks, lifting herself up only to sink back down.

He is still learning her body, and she is relearning this new version of it, twisting her hips in a way that makes them both groan. Their first time sleeping together again after William was born was shy and tentative, Mulder afraid he’d hurt her and Scully half dazed with remembered sadness and longing.

“I don’t remember,” he husks.

“Me neither,” she says on a sigh.

Her orgasm comes on quickly and she seems surprised by it, her mouth rounding into a little O that has him finishing not far behind her, sinking back into the pillow in relief. She climbs off of him half a minute later and pulls the sheet up and over her shoulder.

Mulder rises and removes the condom he wore on the advice of her OB-GYN, and comes back to the bed, stopping to look into the bassinet before sliding in beside her.

“Were you serious?” she asks, her voice small.

His pillow smells sweetly of breast milk, and he finds an errant burp cloth rolled under the corner of it, which he tosses gently onto the bedside table.

“I was,” he says, turning back to her, surprised to find it's the truth.

“Are you asking out of some sense of responsibility or…”

She’s looking at him like she’s trying to figure him out, reconciling the man who had been her partner with the man currently laying beside her.

It has been hard-fought–reconciling those things himself–won out with one look at his newborn son after several months of not knowing where he fit in, who he was anymore. He now only feels a rightness, a sense of peace. And it’s only by Scully’s side, by William’s, from which that rightness flows.

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of it,” he says.

Scully looks at him with a look he’s come to recognize as hope. “What’s the other part?”

“I’m irredeemably in love with the both of you,” his voice cracks. “And I want to bind you to me in every way I possibly can.”

She turns her head so her cheek is resting on her hand.

“The way you bound yourself to Diana?”

The comment stings, but not sharply. She has a point.

“Diana wanted me under her thumb. Marrying me was an act of control, not devotion.”

“How come you never told me?”

“I was embarrassed. There’s a reason I asked for an annulment rather than a divorce.”

Mulder thought of the ring, which he’d thrown in the Potomac. It had been made of gold. A soft metal, malleable. Easily bent. If Scully agreed to marry him, he was doing it with platinum. Titanium. Steel.

“And you’d rather have a family than the Truth?” Above the constellation of her freckles, her eyes burn with the blue of a driftwood flame.

“I think they’re one in the same,” he says honestly. Fuck everything else, he thinks. He wants them both knit to him like Pan’s shadow.

Her flower petal lips creep up into a smile.

“Is that a yes?” he smiles back.

“It’s not a no,” she purrs, and a lightness zips through him. From the bassinet, his son awakens with a happy babble.

He’s going to get her the most obnoxious ring he can find. It’ll catch on sweaters and in the craw of Kersh’s secretary. It’ll make Tara blanch and her mother smile. She’ll only pretend to hate it.

He’s going to marry her.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #prompt #funfetti

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soangelbaby · 5 months ago

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𐑺ִ valentine’s day week event ; all addicted to me 💓

five days of control, obsession, and cupid’s arrows—all pointed at you.

cupid’s got an attitude this year, and she’s not handing out soft kisses and shy glances. this is love that takes, love that owns. love that starts with a stolen kiss and ends with a grip that won’t let go. her arrows are ready, but can you handle being struck ?

“. . . stupid cupid, stop picking on me . . .”

˗ ˏˋ what’s to come ˎˊ˗

❤︎ monday ; you’ve been mine ; charlie baker is your brother’s bestfriend, and he’s 3 years older than you. you’ve always wanted each other but your brother has deemed you as off-limits but this valentine’s day, all bets are off the table, who will make the first move ?

❤︎ tuesday ; you love when i hate you ; vinnie hacker has always been your academic rival, but on valentine’s day, when he sees you with a date at his PR event, he’s not having it and he’ll remind you who truly owns you.

❤︎ wednesday ; prove yourself ; valentine’s day is supposed to be about love, but when your boss, jensen ackles, walks in, everything changes. as his assistant, you’re caught between professionalism and a dangerous, irresistible pull.

❤︎ thursday ; captured by cupid ; on valentine’s day, cupid’s arrow strikes—clark kent, the flannel wearing farm boy, tonight he’s torn between his loyalty to lana and his forbidden attraction to you, her best friend. one look sets off a passionate, dangerous affair.

❤︎ friday ; my bloody valentine ; valentine’s day, clark kent isn’t himself—a red kryptonite-fueled vampire. one bite changes you forever—intoxicating, overwhelming, binding you to him. there’s no escape. you’re his now, body and soul.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ wanna keep up ?

reblog this post and spread the love (or, you know… the chaos 😉)!

drop a comment if you’re already feeling the excitement—or if you can’t wait to see what kind of mess i’m cooking up!

tags are appreciated ! keep your hearts close, but not too close. things are about to get dangerous… can you handle the heat ?

✩‧₊˚౨ৎ cupid’s arrows don’t just bring love. they bring madness, obsession, & all the forbidden desires you’re craving. valentine’s week is approaching & the hunt is on. will you survive cupid’s world ?

ෆ༘ rini’s note ; ahh !! im so excited ! literally working overtime on these fics but thank you so much for 250 followers already :D it hasn’t even been a full week yet and y’all gassing me like crazy🥹 but ily ily so muchh get pumped for what i have next luverss <33 also will probably edit this and make tweaks so dont mind thatt lol

#꒰ྀི clarkitus kentley ꒱ྀི #clark kent #clark kent smallville imagines #꒰ྀི jensley acklen ꒱ྀི #clark kent smut #⋆𝜗𝜚 sosi’s recs .ᐟ ⋆#clark kent smallville #jensen ackles smut #vinnie hacker #vincent hacker #charlie baker smut #charlie baker #⋆𝜗𝜚 angelic thoughts .ᐟ ⋆#red kryptonite clark kent #all addicted to me #valentines day #fic events

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astrcmoni · 11 months ago

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❀⋆ ࿔*:･ billie eilish ❀⋆ ࿔*:･

key → fluff -☆ angst- ✦ smut- ⏾ mix - ᯓ

fics:

★ ੈ✩‧₊˚ avec toi, je suis chez moi ੈ✩₊˚

★ say you trust my loveᯓ★

→ synopsis: In the quiet tension of a rainy evening, you and Billie navigate the fragile cracks in your relationship, her unspoken fears and your quiet persistence threatening to collide. Through tender words and honest vulnerability, you begin to bridge the emotional distance, proving that love—yours and hers—is worth the effort. — ᯓ

★ ⁖✦ ˖ flicker of light ˖ ✦⁖

→ synopsis: Two years after a devastating breakup, you unexpectedly cross paths with Billie, the ex who shattered your heart, at a crowded party. As the night unravels, unresolved emotions, lingering tension, and unspoken truths collide, forcing you to confront the love and pain that still bind you. — ✦

★ ⊹₊ ⋆ loved by you⋆ ₊⊹

→ synopsis: you come home after a long day out and noticed that your girlfriend seems a little stiff and frustrated, you take it upon yourself to bring her to relaxation…amongst other things. — ᯓ

★ ℘ ࣪₊ bleeding blue ࣪₊ ㅤㅤ℘

→ synopsis: after destroying her hair, billie turns to you, her fiancé, in hopes of you being able to fix it. — ☆

★ ೃ❀࿔ sweet surrender ೃ❀࿔

→ synopsis: so…basically you and billie fuck, but like sweetly—ᯓ

★ ᨒ* ⊹rhythm of the rain⊹ *ᨒ

→ synopsis: on a quiet night wrapped in rain and reflection, you and billie navigate the tender spaces between love and stillness, finding solace in each other’s presence. in the gentle hum of the storm, her touch becomes your anchor, and the world narrows to just the two of you, infinite and enough. — ☆

★ ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller ☆ᯓ II - III

→ synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring—ᯓ

★ .⏾⋆ dusk til dawn ⋆☼.

→ synopsis: after being invited to the met gala, you and billie are caught in between the spotlight and quiet intimacy of your growing relationship. — ☆

★ ⭒✮⭒ good kisser ⭒✮⭒

→ synopsis: what starts as a simple trip to visit her family in georgia takes an unexpected turn when billie crosses paths with you—a mystery she can’t unravel, a pull she can’t ignore, and a connection that feels as inevitable as it is dangerous. - ᯓ

★ ୨♡୧⁀➷cupid’s kiss ୨♡୧⁀➷

→ synopsis: the city hums around you, a fleeting backdrop to roses, laughter, and the heat of her gaze. by night’s end, only tangled limbs and breathless whispers remain—fragments of a valentine’s you’ll never forget. - ᯓ

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ * . lay with you ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ * .

→ synopsis: wrapped in moonlight and each other, you lie still with her—laughing softly, loving quietly. in the silence, you find peace where her warmth meets yours. -☆

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ moonlight ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

→ synopsis: as the night winds down, you and billie find yourselves alone beneath the stars, the celebration now just a quiet hum in the distance. in her arms, everything feels still—like the world paused just for the two of you to take it all in. -☆

༄sucia༄

→ synopsis: after the final curtain falls on your set, you find a new rhythm in the hush between jazz notes and gasps—wrapped in silk, skin, and your fiancée billie’s hands. in the quiet, she teaches you worship, and you teach her how to crave slow. - ⏾

series-

✮⋆˙⭒NIGHTS LIKE THIS✮⋆˙⭒-

→ In where a girl left with the feeling of the world weighing on her shoulders at the mere age of 20 meets someone who makes her finally feel seen. or in which an artist goes to her first car show and leaves enamoured with the racing life and the queen of the tracks. | (on indefinite hiatus)

headcanons:

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#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish gf #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you

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chiyuuchu · 11 months ago

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Cupid’s don’t always pull the strings <3

(30th July 2024)

Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Prompt! Y/n’s quirk allows herself to see soulmates who are fated to each other. The class finds out this aspect of her quirk and plead to be let in on the eyes of cupid.

Class 1-A as usual was filled with excitement and idle chatter. It was a rare quiet moment where they weren't training, studying, or dealing with the usual chaos that followed them. Everyone was hanging out in the common room of the dorms mostly socialising. Y/N had just stepped out to the restroom, leaving her quirk notes open on her seat.

Mina, always curious, leaned over to take a peek. “Hey, what’s this?” she said, pointing to a page filled with intricate drawings of red strings and notes about ‘soulmates theory.’

Kaminari, Kirishima, and a few others gathered around. “Whoa, is this about her quirk?” Kirishima asked, eyes wide with interest. Flipping to the start of the booklet.

‘Quirk: Cupid of Strings PAGE 3

User who behold of this quirk allows them to produce red strings from the palms of their hands or all their fingers simultaneously. These strings can attack and people in various ways, but their most intriguing aspect of this quirk is the ability to see the connection to the strings of fate. User can see the red strings of fate that bind soulmates together, allowing them to identify who is destined to be with whom.’ Kaminari reads to the class.

Before they could delve deeper, Y/N returned, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere. “What’s going on?” she asked, seeing everyone crowded around her seat.

Mina turned, a mischievous grin on her face. “Y/N, you’ve been holding out on us! Your quirk can see red strings of fate? Like, actual soulmates?”

Y/N blushed slightly, caught off guard. “Um, yeah. I can see the red strings of fate and see who fate decides to connect who with who.”

Everyone who was in the common room erupted in excitement and curiosity. “Can you tell us who our soulmates are?” Sero asked eagerly.

Y/N sighed, knowing this was coming. “I can give clues, but I won’t outright tell you. It’s something you need to discover on your own.”

They pleaded, and after a few moments of contemplation, Y/N agreed to give them hints. She revealed subtle clues, each hint causing waves of realization among her friends.

And guess what? Two weeks later, Mina and Kirishima exchanged glances, recalling the hints Y/N had given back then. A few more days later, they started dating, confirming they were indeed soulmates.

Kaminari and Jirou, after a bit of teasing and more hints from Y/N, also realized they were fated for each other. The excitement and matchmaking success stories became a favorite topic in the class.

One day in class, Midoriya, always the curious and thoughtful one, asked, “Y/N, can you see your own red string?”

Y/N’s expression turned mysterious. “I can, but I won’t say who it’s connected to.”

The girls who were already huddled around together groaned in disappointment. “Why not?” Uraraka asked.

Y/N shook her head. “It’s not the right time. It’s too early.”

The following day, the class enjoyed the novelty of discovering soulmates and the hints Y/N provided. Mina and Kirishima’s relationship blossomed, and Kaminari and Jirou grew closer. The atmosphere in Class 1-A was filled with love and pining.

During lunch at the DekuSquad table, Midoriya asked Y/N, “If you knew who your soulmate was, would you do anything to court them?”

Y/N looked thoughtful. “I do know who it is, and yes, they’re in this class. But I believe in letting things happen naturally.”

And there it is. This mere price of information spreaded within the class like wildfire. Bets were placed, and theories were exchanged. Everyone wondered who Y/N’s soulmate could be.

Todoroki, listening from afar to the theories everyone was making in class, felt a pang of anxiety. He wished he was Y/N’s soulmate but doubted fate would be so kind. During a lunch break, the Deku Squad noticed his unease. They noticed his hopeful lingering gaze at their fellow cupid quirk friend. Y/n excused herself for a phone call leaving the DekuSqaud’s lunch table.

“Hey, Todoroki,” Midoriya said gently. “Maybe you’re her soulmate. You should talk to her.”

Todoroki shook his head. “I don’t want to assume. What if she’s waiting for someone else?”

“But you’ll never know unless you try,” Uraraka encouraged.

Todoroki pondered their words, feeling the weight of his unspoken feelings.

-Timeskip to after the huge war arc-

Months passed and after the battles, things slowly returned to a semblance of peace. One quiet evening, as the sunset bathed the campus in warm hues, Todoroki found Y/N sitting alone, lost in thought.

Summoning his courage, he approached her. “Y/N, can we talk?”

Y/N looked up, surprised. “Of course, Shoto. What’s on your mind?”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, but I didn’t know how to express them. I was afraid…”

Y/N’s eyes softened. “Afraid of what?”

“That fate wouldn’t put us together,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A gentle smile spread across Y/N’s face. “Shoto, I’ve been waiting for you all this time.”

His heart skipped a beat. “You knew?”

She nodded. “I knew. I just didn’t want to force it. I wanted you to come to me when you were ready.”

Relief and joy washed over Todoroki. “I’m ready now.”

They sat together, holding hands as the sun dipped below the horizon. Their classmates watched from a distance, cheering silently, knowing that fate had finally aligned for their friends.

From that day forward, Todoroki and Y/N’s bond grew stronger, their love story a testament to patience, courage, and the strings of fate that bound them together.

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