#theoandstreamer!reader

You tugged at the hem of your top one last time in the mirror, turning side to side as if the angle might magically change your mind. Jeans that actually fit, a cropped little number that was just enough without being too much, and—shockingly—no hoodie in sight. You hardly recognized yourself.

Behind you, Theo lounged on the edge of the bed, chin in his hand as he watched you fuss. “You know,” he said slowly, “if you stare at yourself any longer, you’re gonna burn a hole through the mirror.”

You shot him a look. “I just want it to look… right.”

His lips quirked into that half-smile, the one that was equal parts smug and annoyingly soft. “It looks right. More than right. You look incredible.”

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself, and you quickly bent down to grab your shoes. “You’re biased.”

“Yeah,” he admitted easily, still watching you. “But I’m also right.”

By the time you had your shoes laced and jacket in hand, your friends were already blowing up your phone with where are you texts. But Theo wasn’t done.

“Hold on,” he said, hopping up from the bed. He plucked your phone out of your hand before you could protest and held it up. “Stand there.”

“What?”

“For your Instagram story,” he explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re not about to waste this fit on blurry bathroom selfies.”

You laughed, but humored him, shifting awkwardly as he adjusted the lighting.

“No, no—angle your shoulder like this. Chin down. Perfect.” He snapped a few photos, then frowned down at your phone. “One more. Hair over this side. Yeah, that’s it. Now spin. Show off the whole thing.”

You groaned but spun, and he actually whistled. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

When you reached for your phone, he pulled it back just out of reach. “Wait. Gotta pick the right song. Don’t you dare post this with something tragic like Taylor Swift. This deserves… hmm…” He scrolled for a moment before holding it up triumphantly. “Levitating. You can thank me later.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching the phone back. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously helpful,” he corrected, grinning. “Now go. Before your friends show up at the door and drag you out by force.”

You were halfway to the door when his voice softened, losing the teasing edge. “Hey.”

You turned.

Theo was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smile tugging at his mouth. “Have fun tonight. And… you look amazing. Really.”

Something in your chest fluttered, and for a second, you almost forgot you had somewhere to be. But then your phone buzzed again—we’re outside!!—and you forced yourself to grin.

“Don’t wait up,” you said, even though you knew he would.

He smirked. “Oh, I’m definitely waiting up. Can’t wait to see you stumble back in your jeans at 2 a.m., complaining about your feet.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you slipped out the door—but his words stayed with you all the way to the car.

Theo lasted about thirty minutes on his phone before boredom got the better of him. With a sigh, he dragged himself over to your desk and plopped down into your chair, staring at your dual monitor setup like it was a spaceship.

“Alright,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles. “How hard can this be?”

It turned out… not very. At least not when he booted up Minecraft in Creative mode. Twenty minutes later, he was proud architect of what he described out loud as a structurally questionable castle. He spent another ten building a garden of flowers around it. But by the time midnight rolled past, even that lost its charm.

By two a.m., Theo was sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram and resisting the urge to stalk your tagged photos. He wasn’t worried. He hadn’t once texted you to check in, hadn’t tried to call. You were out with your friends—exactly where you should be. He trusted you.

So he waited.

And when the front door creaked open at nearly five in the morning, he sat up, blinking against the sudden burst of noise.

“Baaaabe!”

You stumbled in, hair a little messy, cheeks flushed, shoes dangling from your hand as you grinned wide at him.

Theo’s mouth twitched. “Well, well, well. Look who finally remembered she has a house.”

You practically launched yourself onto the couch, nearly knocking the phone out of his hands as you showered his face with kisses. “I missed you sooo much.”

He laughed, catching your wrists gently. “You saw me five hours ago.”

“Too long,” you whined, nuzzling into his chest like a cat. “Do you know… do you know how much I love you? I love you. I love you. Like, a million times.”

Theo smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You’ve mentioned it. About seven times already.”

“Not enough,” you insisted, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Your words slurred, but your sincerity was sharp. “You’re, like… my favorite person in the whole world.”

“Good thing,” he teased softly, “since you’re mine.”

Helping you to your feet was a comedy routine in itself, your knees wobbling and your arms wrapped around him so tightly he could barely move. He guided you to the bedroom, carefully tugging off your jeans and slipping you into your comfiest pajamas.

When you tried to protest with a half-hearted, “I can do it,” he only shook his head. “Not when you’re about to topple over like a newborn deer.”

He sat you down, grabbed your makeup wipes, and began gently removing your mascara smudges and glitter eyeshadow while you rambled about your night—half complaints about the music being too loud, half tangents about how good the fries at 3 a.m. tasted.

By the time you collapsed against the pillows, you were still mumbling. “Theo, my head’s spinning. Everything’s spinning. Even you’re spinning. Stop spinning.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Close your eyes. I’ll make it stop.”

But you didn’t—at least not for another thirty minutes. You talked and talked, your words slowing only when exhaustion finally claimed you.

Theo lay beside you, listening to your soft breathing, shaking his head with a smile.

It was 3:11 AM, and Theo had been seconds from falling asleep when he heard it:

“THEO LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!”

He didn’t even lift his head at first. He just sighed into his pillow. Oh god. She was awake. And wired.

You burst into the bedroom like a raccoon who found Red Bull.

“I THINK I FIGURED OUT HOW TO MOONWALK. WATCH.”

Theo finally cracked an eye open.

“You’re barefoot,” he murmured. “And the floors are slippery. This ends badly.”

But you were already doing it — some chaotic blend of moonwalk, shuffle, and interpretive chaos. You spun. You clapped. You slid across the floor like gravity was optional.

Then you started singing. Loudly. Off-key. About something that sounded like pasta.

Theo stared. “What did you eat?”

“I had a brownie,” you said proudly. Then another. “Then another brownie.” Then holding up a finger like you had discovered fire: “Also I think I licked the frosting bowl? Maybe twice?”

Theo sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

You ignored him and leapt onto the bed like a hyperactive cat, landing on your knees and bouncing.

“Theo, THEO, THEO—look, look, look!”

He blinked. “…You’re vibrating.”

“I KNOW, ISN’T IT AMAZING?” you shouted, shaking your hands like you had electricity in your veins.

You started dancing again — on the mattress this time — nearly kicking him in the face.

“Hey—careful—” “Sorry!” Bounce. “BABE SERIOUSLY—” “I CAN’T STOP!”

You jumped once more.

A little too high.

A little too sideways.

Right off the bed.

THUMP.

Followed by the softest, most betrayed: “…ow.”

Theo peered over the edge of the mattress at you crumpled on the carpet like a fallen superhero.

“You okay?”

“Maybe.”

A beat.

“…Theo?”

“Yeah?”

“I think the sugar died.”

Theo sighed — long, suffering, amused. “Yeah. I noticed.”

You rolled onto your back, arms out, staring at the ceiling like your soul was leaving your body. “I am… so sleepy.”

“Shocking,” he muttered.

Theo got out of bed, scooped you up off the floor with zero resistance from your limp, exhausted body, and carried you back under the blankets.

You curled into him immediately, the sugar rush gone, replaced by warm, heavy drowsiness.

He brushed your hair back from your face. “You done?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled into his chest.

“No more brownies after midnight?”

“Mm-mm.”

“You promise?”

“No.”

Theo huffed a laugh, pulling you tighter against him. “Figures.”

You nuzzled into his neck, voice barely above a whisper now. “Sorry I was… a tornado.”

He kissed your forehead. “You’re my tornado.”

You smiled sleepily at that, fingers curling into his shirt as you finally melted into him, warm and soft and calm at last.

And within a minute, you were out cold.

Theo lay awake just a second longer, smiling against your hair.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispered. But he sounded a little bit in love when he said it.

The day had been long, the kind that left your shoulders heavy and your patience thin. You fumbled with your keys, already bracing yourself for the familiar comfort of home—sweatpants, maybe a shower, then bed.

Instead, the moment you pushed the door open, you froze.

Right there in the middle of the living room stood Theo, grinning like an idiot, arms braced dramatically around—

A wheel. A massive, glorious wheel of Parmigiano Reggiano.

You blinked once. Then twice. “Theo. What the hell is that?”

“A gift,” he announced proudly, as if the universe had bestowed it upon him personally. “For you. Well… technically for us. But mostly for you.”

You dropped your bag, laughing despite yourself, exhaustion dissolving into sheer disbelief. “You didn’t. You actually didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” he said, patting the cheese wheel like it was a beloved pet. “Thirty-six kilos of pure happiness. Imported. Authentic. Do you feel how lucky you are right now?”

Shaking your head, you pulled your phone out of your pocket, unable to resist. “No one is going to believe me.”

Theo immediately straightened, throwing a mock-model pose beside the cheese. “Good. Document it. Let the world know you live like royalty.”

Grinning, you hit record, flipping the camera toward him and the absurd wheel. “I come home from work, dead tired… and this is what’s waiting for me. A man and his cheese.”

Theo wiggled his brows at the camera. “The man is optional. The cheese is forever.”

You snorted, cutting the recording before your laugh ruined the shot. “Instagram is going to eat this up.”

And with that, you hit post.

You hadn’t even put your phone down before the reality set in.

“Wait,” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes at Theo. “You didn’t… already open it?”

Theo gave you that innocent look that wasn’t innocent at all. “Of course not. You have to respect the wheel.”

You stared at him. Then at the massive block of cheese dominating your living room. “Respect the—Theo, this thing weighs more than me.”

“Thirty-six kilos,” he confirmed proudly. “And tradition dictates it’s split with two people. Romantic, right?”

You let out a laugh that was half horror. “Romantic? That’s not a proposal, that’s manual labor.”

Already, he was dragging out a set of comically oversized knives he’d somehow stashed behind the couch. You raised both hands. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not strong enough for this.”

“Yes, you are,” Theo grinned, thrusting one of the knives into your hand like you were about to duel. “Together, amore. You and me. Against the cheese.”

You looked down at the blade, then back up at him, deadpan. “This is the most Italian nightmare I’ve ever had.”

But of course—ten minutes later, you were both crouched over the wheel like medieval peasants, grunting and laughing as you tried to score and crack the rind. You slipped once, nearly toppling into him, and Theo caught you with one arm while still wrestling the cheese with the other.

“This is insane,” you wheezed between bursts of laughter. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

“Correction,” Theo said, sweat on his forehead but grinning like a madman. “This is our life. And our cheese.”

When the wheel finally split with a satisfying crack, both of you collapsed backward onto the kitchen floor, laughing like lunatics.

Theo wiped his brow dramatically. “Victory,” he declared, pointing at the golden, crumbly interior like it was treasure. “We did it.”

“You did it,” you corrected, still catching your breath. “I mostly screamed and prevented myself from losing a finger.”

He smirked, pushing himself up. “And now… the real reward.”

You blinked at him as he rolled up his sleeves with dangerous intent. “Theo. Don’t tell me—”

“Pasta alla Ruota, amore,” he announced proudly, already heading for the stove.

You groaned, dragging yourself onto a stool. “You’re insane. You actually bought a thirty-six kilo wheel of cheese just to spin pasta in it.”

Theo didn’t even deny it. Within minutes, he had a pot of pasta boiling, butter sizzling in a pan. You watched helplessly as he expertly carved a crater into the heart of the parmigiano, shaving curls of cheese into it until the hollow looked like a glowing bowl.

“Now,” he said, voice low and reverent as if conducting a ritual, “the magic.”

You snorted into your glass of water. “You’re way too into this.”

But when he drained the pasta and swirled it straight into the carved-out wheel, tossing it until steam curled around the molten cheese, even you had to admit—you were impressed. The smell alone was enough to make your stomach growl.

Finally, Theo twirled a forkful with dramatic flair, holding it out to you. “For my incapable chef of a girlfriend, who can burn water but deserves pasta made by the gods.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward anyway, letting him feed you. The taste hit instantly—rich, creamy, absolute heaven.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, covering your mouth. “That’s illegal. That shouldn’t even be real.”

Theo grinned, smug as ever, taking a bite for himself. “Worth the wheel?”

You pretended to think, then nudged his knee under the table. “Worth the wheel. But next time I'm not helping you crack it open.”

The decision had been brewing for months. You’d danced around it on stream, hinted at it to Theo, even written half a pros-and-cons list that somehow turned into doodles of bread loaves and cats.

And then one quiet Monday morning, you did it. You quit.

No big announcement, no cinematic music. Just you, an email, and a deep breath that felt like finally exhaling after holding it for years.

You were officially a full-time streamer.

The first week was bliss. You streamed when you wanted, played whatever game called your name, answered emails from sponsors in your pajamas, and ate lunch at 3 p.m. because—why not? Theo cheered you on like you’d just won an Oscar, always hovering nearby to bring you coffee or make cameos in chat.

But by week two… the cabin fever hit. Hard.

You’d gone from office chaos to home silence overnight, and the hours between streams felt long. Too long. So, one morning, on a whim, you pulled out the flour.

“I’m gonna bake,” you told Theo, who looked at you like you’d announced you were starting a cult.

“Bake what?”

You blinked. “Something.”

And that was how it started.

The first loaf of banana bread came out underbaked in the middle, but Theo ate two slices anyway, declaring it “avant-garde.” The next day it was chocolate chip cookies—slightly burnt, still edible. Then muffins. Then brownies. Then focaccia that somehow made you both emotional because, as Theo dramatically declared, “It’s art you can eat.”

By the end of the month, your kitchen looked like a bakery had exploded inside it.

Theo didn’t complain once. In fact, he thrived.

You’d catch him stealing cookies off the cooling rack midstream, or leaning in to whisper into your mic: “She’s baking again. Send help.”

But you knew he loved it. He’d show up after every batch, trying to act casual, pretending he wasn’t waiting for you to hand him something fresh from the oven.

One afternoon, you were kneading dough with flour streaked across your cheek when Theo came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“You’re covered in flour,” he murmured into your neck, voice amused.

You leaned back against him, smiling. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He laughed softly, swiping a finger across your jaw and holding it up triumphantly. “Evidence.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing, but your heart swelled anyway.

Later that night, as you streamed, chat noticed the apron hanging off your chair and immediately flooded the messages:

SHE’S A BAKER NOW?? Theo must be living the dream 😭 engineer → programmer → streamer → baker ??? girl does everything

Theo leaned into frame just long enough to grin and say, “I’m not complaining,” before disappearing again, only to reappear five minutes later holding a muffin.

You groaned, “I just took those out!”

He shrugged, mouth full. “Occupational hazard of dating a genius.”

You turned back to the camera, shaking your head—but your smile gave you away.

A few ‘couldn’t be me’ messages zipped by.

You smiled softly. “Here’s the thing, guys: I trust him completely. Like, no second thoughts, no doubt. He comes home to me. Not them. He kisses me when there’s no one watching and no camera to catch it. And…” — you gave the lens a little smirk — “…he’s way better at it when it’s not part of a script.”

That line? Yeah, Chat lost their minds. Heart spam, caps lock declarations of ‘MA’AM’, and far too many marriage proposals directed at you.

You were still laughing at the chaos when you caught movement in your peripheral vision. Turning slightly, you spotted Theo leaning casually against the living room doorway, phone in hand, a crooked grin on his face like he’d been there for a while.

“Oh no,” you said, half-laughing, “you’ve been lurking.”

“I’ve been listening,” he corrected, strolling into frame. “And I feel very… seen right now.”

You tried to wave him off, but he stopped just behind your chair, resting a warm hand on your shoulder. “You’re not wrong, though,” he said, voice dipped in that half-teasing, half-serious tone that made your chest flutter, “I’m way better when it’s real.”

Your jaw dropped in mock scandal, but Chat was already going feral.

‘GET MARRIED ALREADY’ ‘WE’RE WITNESSING A ROM-COM IN REAL LIFE’ ‘PROPOSAL ANY PERCENT SPEEDRUN LET’S GO’

Theo glanced at the messages, his grin widening. “See? They’ve got good taste. I should probably listen to them.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile too much. “You’re interrupting my gig, you know.”

He leaned down just enough for his breath to warm your cheek. “Yeah, but I’m your favorite side quest.”

The next second was chaos. Both of you screaming, laughing, jumping in circles like kids. He grabbed you by the waist and spun you, nearly tripping over the coffee table, but neither of you cared.

“I told you!” you shouted between kisses to his cheek and jaw. “I told you they’d be stupid not to take you!”

Theo was grinning so wide it almost hurt, his voice cracking with pure joy. “This is insane. This is actually happening. My dream role, babe—my dream role!”

You cupped his face, kissing him full on the mouth this time, smiling against him. “No one deserves it more than you.”

He held you close, forehead pressed to yours, still bouncing slightly on his feet like he couldn’t keep the excitement contained. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Not a chance.”

“Liar,” you teased, though your voice was thick with pride.

“Not lying,” he said, kissing you again. And again. And again, until the happy noise of your little world blurred into nothing but laughter and warmth.

Private celebration. Just the two of you. Just right.

Eventually, the shouting and spinning burned itself out, and you both collapsed onto the couch in a heap of tangled limbs. Theo’s chest was still rising fast, his grin glued in place like he couldn’t believe it even now.

You tucked yourself against his side, legs draped over his lap, his arm heavy around your shoulders. He kissed the top of your head absentmindedly, like he couldn’t stop touching you if he tried.

“Feels unreal,” he murmured after a while, voice low and rough from laughing too hard. “Like… me. In that movie. With those people.”

You shifted to look at him, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “Not unreal. You earned this. All the late nights, all the auditions, all the times you wanted to quit but didn’t—you built this moment.”

Theo’s eyes softened, that rare quiet creeping in when he let himself be vulnerable just with you. “Still feels like I’m gonna wake up and it’ll be gone.”

You squeezed him tighter, resting your chin on his shoulder. “If you wake up, I’ll be right here to remind you it’s real.”

That earned you a kiss—slow, lingering, gratitude spilling through more than words could. He broke away just long enough to laugh again, forehead pressed to yours. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” you teased gently, nuzzling closer. “But say it again anyway.”

“I love you,” he repeated, like a promise.

The host smiled warmly. “Alright — we are joined today by Theodore Nott and his plus-one to The Arcadian Crown premiere, who may or may not have broken the internet last night.”

You made a face. “In my defense, I didn’t mean to go viral for standing like a confused NPC.”

Theo, smooth as always, leaned slightly toward the camera. “She was the best part of the premiere.”

You groaned softly. “And he lies professionally now.”

That earned a laugh from the host. “Okay, let’s start with something easy: was there a moment where you realized, oh, this is serious?”

You glanced at Theo. “Do you want to—?”

He nodded once, then said, “Yeah. It was when she paused her stream mid-raid to answer my text about whether I should dye my hair for a role.”

You blinked. “Wait, that’s the moment?”

“You called me shallow for even asking,” Theo added, grinning. “I don’t know. It just hit me — no one else would be honest like that. Or funny. Or pick up the phone in the middle of a fight with a fantasy spider boss.”

The host turned to you. “Same question?”

You hesitated. “Probably the first time he sat through one of my eight-hour streams and didn’t complain once. Just listened. He was in chat under a fake name, but he didn’t miss a single message. I think that’s when I realized — oh, this guy pays attention.”

Theo didn’t say anything, but his hand found yours beneath the table.

The next question came gently. “What do you admire most about each other’s work?”

You looked at him first. “He’s not afraid to take up space. That’s something I really struggle with — being loud or proud about what I do. But Theo walks into a room and owns it, not because he’s trying to, but because he’s not pretending to be anyone else. He makes people believe what he says. That’s kind of magic.”

Theo let the silence hang for a second before answering. “She builds entire worlds from a bedroom office. Makes people feel less alone in real time. I rehearse lines in front of mirrors for weeks — she logs on and handles chaos as it happens.”

Your heart did a weird flip at that.

“Do your worlds ever clash?” the host asked.

You both laughed.

“Yes,” you said at the same time Theo said, “Constantly.”

You gestured vaguely. “He lives in trailers with no Wi-Fi. I live online. It’s... a logistical nightmare sometimes.”

“She talks to people in real time,” Theo added. “I have to shut myself off for days to get into character. But we’ve figured out how to not make that feel like distance.”

“Plus we both get weirdly intense about fictional characters,” you added, grinning.

“Who spirals more before big events?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Me.”

Theo nodded. “Absolutely her.”

You gasped. “Betrayal.”

“You took six photos of your dress,” he said mildly, “on the hanger.”

“I was making sure it didn’t have weird hanger dents!”

“I had to tell her five times that she couldn’t bring a comfort hoodie on the carpet,” Theo told the host, deadpan.

“It had embroidery,” you mumbled. “It was fancy.”

The host smiled. “What’s something about your relationship people don’t see online?”

You and Theo glanced at each other, and this time it was you who answered first.

“She’s quiet,” Theo said. “People think she’s always talking, always streaming, always cracking jokes. But when it’s just us? She’s quiet. I like that the most.”

You swallowed. “And he’s... soft. Not just nice or polite. He really sees people. Makes space for them. He does that for me every single day.”

The host gave them a beat before the final question. “Theo — why say yes to doing this interview together?”

Theo smiled — not the actor-smile, not the press smile. The real one. The one you knew better than your own reflection.

“Because I wanted people to see her,” he said. “Not just a headline or a tag in a photo. Her. And I wanted to do it next to her. Because that’s where I always want to be.”

You couldn’t look at him right away. Your face felt like it was on fire.

Back in the car, the silence wasn’t cozy.

It was tight. Flickering. You were chewing your thumbnail — a dead giveaway.

Theo watched you for a long beat before saying, “What are you spiraling about?”

“I’m not spiraling,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

He just raised a brow.

You looked out the window. “I don’t know what I sounded like. What if it came off wrong? Too much? Or too dependent? Or just... weird? I said I was scared of being perceived — and then I let them perceive me.”

Theo was quiet for a few seconds.

Then: “You didn’t sound weird. You sounded honest. Brave. You sounded like someone who’s not trying to play a part.”

You didn’t respond right away.

So he added, softly, “You sounded like you. That’s what people are going to love.”

You looked over at him, finally. “And what if they don’t?”

“Then they’re not listening properly.”

When the interview went live on YouTube later that night, the comments started rolling in fast:

“she’s so real for being nervous. and still nailed it??”

“never seen Theo this soft. someone get me a paper bag to breathe into.”

“the way they look at each other like they’ve already survived a lifetime together???”

“i want whatever they have. exactly that. no notes.”

You scrolled for a while in silence, curled against Theo on the couch, phone glowing between you. After a minute, you muttered, “Okay, so... not a complete disaster.”

He bumped your foot with his. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re annoying when you’re right.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning in to kiss your cheek, “you keep agreeing to interviews with me.”

You made a noise of protest, but didn’t pull away.

Eventually, you closed the app, buried your face in his hoodie, and let yourself breathe again.

Maybe being seen — really seen — wasn’t so scary after all.

- freaks out in all caps - KING THEO IS IN THE BUILDING - finally the content we DESERVE

You clasped your hands together, smug. “Now, why not me, you ask? Great question. I’ve been banned from the kitchen ever since I managed to cut my finger while slicing a mango. A mango, chat. It wasn’t even moving.”

From behind the camera, a low voice chimed in. “She cut herself before the knife touched the fruit.”

You ignored him. “So today, I’m moral support. And also tech support. Because Theo, despite his many talents, doesn’t know how to operate a stream.”

- imagine being banned from your own kitchen - we’re all here for theo anyway let’s be honest - i love her but she’s a menace

And then he appeared: Theodore, hair messy, sleeves rolled, eyes already scanning the countertop like a Michelin-star chef about to reclaim his rightful throne.

“Ciao,” he said smoothly, nodding once at the camera with an infuriatingly perfect smirk. “Today we’re making Pesto alla Genovese. Properly. No weird substitutions. No food processors. No... pink glitter salt.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I knew you were gonna bring that up.”

“We share a kitchen, darling,” Theo replied, starting to unpack his ingredients. “I’m haunted daily.”

- HAUNTED 💀💀💀 - i want to be bullied by him so bad - he said glitter salt like it personally offended him

Theo held up a small container and gave the camera a deadpan look. “She also owns heart-shaped measuring spoons. And a whisk that sparkles.”

You gasped. “And you love it here.”

He didn’t argue. Just turned back to toast the pine nuts like a man trying to preserve his dignity.

Soon, he had everything set up in a neat row: fresh basil, garlic cloves, pine nuts, grated parmesan, olive oil. You peeked over his shoulder, arms crossed.

“You know you’re intimidating chat right now, right?”

“Good,” he murmured. “Someone needs to hold them accountable for using garlic powder in pasta.”

- he’s coming for everyone - that wasn’t even directed at me and i feel attacked - i’ve never peeled garlic in my life

Theo worked like he’d done this in another life — measured, precise, talking through each step in that warm, quiet voice that somehow made basil emulsification sound romantic. But you weren’t really listening.

You were too busy sneaking pine nuts.

“Stop eating the ingredients,” he said without turning.

“You didn’t measure them.”

“I eyeballed them.”

“You say that, but then judge me when I do it.”

“Because you eyeball salt like you’re trying to kill someone.”

Eventually, the pasta was cooked and plated: a perfect swirl, topped with vibrant pesto, a bit of parmesan, and a basil leaf, as if he were serving royalty.

He slid one bowl in front of you with a little flourish. “Your Highness.”

You took one bite — and immediately groaned. “Oh my god. I hate you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That good?”

“It’s criminal. I can never eat jarred pesto again.”

“I told you. You’ve been committing basil-related war crimes for years.”

- BASIL WAR CRIMES - i can’t believe this is a real couple - this is marriage coded i don’t care

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t fall for me while I was still microwaving pasta in a mug.”

“That wasn’t a courtship,” he said. “That was an intervention.”

As you both ate, the chat slowed — heart emotes taking over, chaos turning into cozy. Theo sat beside you now, elbow resting on the counter, watching you chew with a small smile. Like he didn’t need to say anything.

And then, mid-bite, he reached over to swipe his thumb across your cheek.

You blinked. “Did you just—on stream?”

“There was pesto on your face,” he said simply.

- screams in lowercase - they’re so casual about it i’m LOSING MY MIND - someone hold me

And just when things couldn’t get any worse for chat’s emotional stability, Theo leaned over and pressed a kiss to your cheek. Casual. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. And he did, just not on stram.

You didn’t move. Chat absolutely exploded.

He just picked up his fork again. “Do they always scream this much?”

You shrugged. “You kissed me on camera. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m beginning to understand.”

By the time both bowls were empty and the contented silence set in, you leaned back in your seat with a sigh. “Okay, fine. You win. This was perfect.”

“I always win,” Theo replied, and the worst part was — he didn’t even sound smug. Just matter-of-fact. Like gravity.

You smirked toward the camera. “Alright, chat. I’m gonna end stream before Theo gets recruited by some Food Network exec in the comments.”

Theo reached over and flicked one of your sparkly measuring spoons. “Let it be known, I disapprove of glitter in food.”

- you don’t get a say you kissed her - he’s literally glitter-proof. i love him.

You clicked a few things on your stream deck and waved at the camera. “Thanks for hanging out with us today, nerds. Back to your regularly scheduled tech gremlin chaos next stream.”