#i love deciphering these little details because

[spcherryygirl]

⌗ 𝗢𝟭 — HE'S A GENIUS ! ❪ 'CAUSE I LOVE A WOMAN LIKE YOU ! ❫

♯ headcanons : : the batboys with a special fbi agent!reader

♯ specifically ncavc!reader ( national center for the analysis of violent crime )

♯ with : : b. wayne , d. grayson , j. todd , t. drake , d. wayne && d. thomas

♯ suggested ( & assisted ) by @yeoniverseee && @laufeysgoddess !

♯ tags : : gn!reader( but fem!reader in mind while making this ). inaccurate with the fbi job. ooc. rushed. not proofread. fluff. fbi agent!reader. ncavc!reader. grammatical errors. reader knows their identities. not much details about the ncavc because the author has no idea how to actually do their job. criminal minds mentioned / references. established relationship. reader has trauma but not shown ( they're an special fbi agent, fbi = tough shit ). long ( again, it's not proofread ). cheesy && cringe. all are aged up ( also because to become an fbi agent, you must be of age. unless they're part of the naturals program. + the program doesn't exist in the fbi btw. it's from a book ). viana & her shit humor.

♯ m.list ⨟ dc m.list

♯ notes of viana : : 000. hi hi

001. it should be special agent only but, but! i felt like it didn't sound professional because fbi agents legit have to make it clear of what kind of ( special ) agent they are.

002. mighttt,, a make one for the supers !

003. &&& terry mcginnis 😋

004. unsub = the culprit

005. @dntaed was the first person ( aside from the two who suggested this idea ) that i hinted ab this uh work. && trust,, roy's in the works ‼️

❛ BRUCE WAYNE ❪ BATMAN ❫

✦ bruce is very overprotective of you, especially when you work late. he's used to having you surrounded by danger, but he still gets worried whenever you get yourself involved in a case that may end in violence.

✦ occasionally, you need to convince him not to call in his "backup" ( a.k.a. the entire batfamily ) when you head out for a solo field case.

✦ he admires your work but is still concerned. he'll have alfred deliver you a blanket or some coffee after a particularly difficult case, even if you're not home yet.

✦ alfred loves you. so whenever you come home late, expect not only your boyfriend, but alfred who's preparing a hot cup of coffee & a meal.

✦ bruce can be stand-offish sometimes, especially after a long day of fighting crime, but you're one of the only people who can get past his defenses & actually get him to talk.

✦ you've discovered his identity ( how could you not, working in the fbi is part of the ncavc? ) & he's not as shocked as he ought to be. nevertheless, he feels uncomfortable discussing it initially.

✦ when he's drained, he'll allow you to assist him in relaxing, even if it means sitting quietly while you read a case file. he doesn't require words. simply being near you is enough. more than enough, in fact.

✦ he doesn't show affection in public, but he'll send you a tiny smile when he thinks nobody is looking.

✦ bruce is the kind of person to leave you little notes with directions or reminders on a case you're handling, typically signed "b."

✦ he can't help but respect your mind. if there's anything that makes him relax around you, it's discussing about your jobs▰breaking down patterns, reviewing cases, & deciphering criminal minds.( criminal minds mentioned !? )

✦ occasionally, after a tough case, he'll catch you in a moment of weakness & softly let you know that he's proud of the work that you do, even though it's risky.

✦ when he's batman, he doesn't want to admit it, but he'll occasionally leave you a little token or a note in places that only you would be aware of▰such as the office desk drawer or the kitchen counter.

✦ he always asks how your day was, but only after he's finished with his batman business. he'd ask you,,, "how's your day, my love?" & really listen as you speak.

✦ he never asks you to give up doing your job▰he even encourages it, but that does not mean that he is not worried about you being in the line of fire.

✦ bruce may be rough, but when you report to him that you have solved a tough case, his face will crackle with pride for you even though he may attempt to hide it behind his glowering.

✦ when you both get stressed, you'll just sit together, no talk, just holding hands as a silent reassurance.

❛ DICK GRAYSON ❪ NIGHTWING ❫

✦ dick is a goofball & a big tease. he'll always joke with you about your serious, no-nonsense approach to work & say that you're too serious for your own good.

✦ he'll pull you into spontaneous sparring sessions to get you "let loose" from a difficult case. & although he does let you win sometimes, it's only because he enjoys seeing you get all riled up about it.

✦ despite dick having a love for joking around, he's intensely defensive of you when it comes to the risks of your job. he attempts to keep things light, yet he doesn't miss if you appear slightly too exhausted or stressed.

✦ he enjoys having you assist him on cases, even though it annoys him when you point out things he missed ( because, naturally, you're smarter than him at times ).

✦ dick has no problem showing affection in public. he’ll grab your hand or steal a quick kiss when you’re least expecting it, just to see your reaction.

✦ if you’re ever caught in a dangerous situation( like the unsub almost getting you ), dick is the first to swoop in. he may joke about it afterward, but he’s always looking out for you.

✦ he can't help himself from texting you all day long, even when you both have work to do. most of it is just random junk, like memes, jokes, or just checking in.

✦ dick enjoys learning about the cases you're handling, & you'll find him asking questions that get him way too involved in things that don't pertain to him.

✦ he'll occasionally steal your snacks or lunch throughout the day when you're in analysis, just because he knows that you forget to eat when you're concentrating.

✦ if you ever get him catching you becoming too stressed out or overwhelmed, he'll envelop you in his arms & explain that it is alright to rest. you & he both should relax sometimes.

✦ he loves to hear your observations about the criminal mind ( hehe. cm mentioned. again. ) & frequently calls you "the smartest person in the room" when you're around him.

✦ when you're out in the field, dick keeps a close watch on you, but he covers it up with a smile or a joke. he trusts you, but he can't help himself.

✦ he adores it when you become all serious & analytical, but then he's there to top it off with a joke that will make you roll your eyes.

✦ dick will spoil you with little things. like dropping by your office with coffee just because he knows you like it.

❛ JASON TODD ❪ RED HOOD ❫

✦ jason is much more serious about your well-being, & he will usually try to keep you from getting into harm's way ( even though he knows you're going to do your job no matter what ).

✦ he doesn't understand why you work in such a high-risk job, but he respects it because he can tell how much you love your job & the people you're helping.

✦ jason's affection is subtler. he might give you a kiss on the forehead when you're working, or text you something like, "don't make me come save your ass."

✦ if you're looking at a really violent case, jason doesn't like you getting too close, but he'll never tell you to give up. he just gets a little overprotective.

✦ when he's had a pretty bad night out playing red hood, jason prefers to return & simply lie alongside you, holding you without speaking a word. it's his way of receiving comfort without exposing his vulnerabilities.

✦ he is enchanted when you're in control. he'll joke with you about being the "brains" behind the operation while he's the "muscle" but secretly adores your brains & analysis. definitely finds you hot whenever you analyze a case.

✦ if a person hurts you or threatens you in any form, he's right there instantly to deal with it, & there's no dissuading him.

✦ jason is also super good at reading your mood. if you're tense, he'll pull you onto his lap & get you to discuss it, sometimes going so far as to make you watch a film just to take your mind off things.

✦ he's extremely proud of what you do, even when he doesn't say anything. he understands how difficult it is, & every now & then he'll just hold you in silence after a bad case, giving you a quiet "you did good."

✦ jason doesn't exactly try to be discreet about his love language. expect lots of trash talking, possibly some sarcastic remarks, but you can always tell he's got a spot in his heart for you.

✦ he keeps sending you silly stuff like, "will you bail me out of prison if i got arrested?" or "i'm going to blow something up. what are you doing?" just to catch your response.

✦ when you fight, it's intense, but always ends with him pulling you near & apologizing in his manner. the gruff exterior disguises how much he cares about you.

✦ jason will open up emotionally more often after a passionate fight. when he's had a bad night on patrol, he'll turn to you & show you how much he values your support.

❛ TIM DRAKE ❪ RED ROBIN ❫

✦ tim is the most intrigued about your work, questioning you incessantly & wanting to know everything there is to know about criminal analysis. you're always the first with the best theories, & he can't get enough of picking your brain.

✦ he values your knowledge a lot. it's not unusual for tim to utter the words, "you're so much smarter than me," but you'd never let him catch on.

✦ he's such a considerate person & will leave little treats for you. a cup of coffee in your favorite mug, an assistive case file, or something random he thinks you'll like.

✦ if you're working late, tim will sit in with you on the analysis, sometimes just hanging around your place to keep you company & facilitate things through for you. ( he rarely sleeps, anyway. )

✦ he has a tendency to drop by your office unexpectedly, but he's not there to flirt. he really does want to know how your day is going & whether you need anything.

✦ tim enjoys hearing about your cases, especially when you're working on something tricky. he'll geek out over it, even coming up with new theories that make you think.

✦ his gift & acts of service language is for sure. if you ever require assistance, tim will be the first to step forward to aid you without you ever having to ask.

✦ he enjoys those moments of silence with you. when you two are working together, there's always a peaceful understanding between the two of you even when you two are both immersed in your work.

✦ tim is not as sensitive as some of the others, but when he has a hard day, he will come looking for you just to sit with you & have you read or work.

✦ when you are frustrated with a case or having a bad day, tim will instantly try to make things better by coming up with solutions or by reassuring you with his silent understanding.

✦ he's the one who checks up on you all the time, even when you have your hands full. count on receiving out-of-the-blue texts such as, "how's your case going?" or "need a break?"

✦ tim's also going to be most likely to plan date nights including you geeking out together, such as a movie marathon, reading through case files, or cracking puzzles together.

✦ he certainly does have times when he'll get too engrossed in a case & forget to check in, but he always apologizes afterwards, checking that you're alright.

✦ if you ever find yourself in harm's way( ahem, ahem, unsub ), tim is the first to devise a plan of action, going over everything down to the smallest detail to ensure you're safe.

❛ DAMIAN WAYNE ❪ ROBIN ❫

✦ damian wayne is a perfectionist & will demand that level of precision & attention from you. he has the utmost respect for your work, but if you ever slip up & mess up something minor in any case, he will call you out on it. not to be rude, but because he knows you can do it better.

✦ his protective persona is a little too much. he's the sort of man who will hover if you're in harm's way & will insist that you don't interact unless he's with you. he doesn't believe anyone can protect you the way he can.

✦ he's also possessive about you, too, particularly when you're on duty with the other colleagues. if you linger with another colleague too long, even for professional purposes, look forward to having a very crabby damian at home.

✦ damian is impressed by your intellect, though he'd never say so in public. he may casually quiz you on criminal profiling ( wooo, cm mentioned. you know i had to. ) or the cases you're handling, attempting to subtly display how impressed he is with your abilities.

✦ one of his love language is acts of service. if you're having trouble with a case or stressed out, he'll assist in the best way he knows: with his action. this may mean him shadowing you on a case or assisting you in gathering evidence ( though he's very particular about how things should be done. ).

✦ damian isn't too affectionate out in public, but when you're by yourself, be prepared for unexpected, passionate bursts of affection, such as being pulled into a kiss without warning or having his head in your lap at the end of the day.

✦ he attempts to keep his jealousy concealed, but if he perceives that someone is getting too close or familiar with you, he'll either keep his distance from you or confront the person in a rather "damian" fashion.

✦ when he’s upset, damian retreats into himself, but you’re one of the few people who can break through his emotional walls( you are ). he might not talk about it, but he’ll silently seek comfort from you, sitting close or offering a hand.

✦ he’s fiercely protective of your well-being. if you’re involved in a dangerous case, he’ll insist on helping you, even though you’re fully capable of handling it yourself.

✦ damian doesn't like distractions▰least of all from you. when you're both on a case, he'll get intensely focused & expect you to be the same way. but if you interrupt the quiet to joke with him or lighten the tension, he'll flash that hard-to-find smile for you.

✦ if you've been working too hard, damian will pull you away from your case to ensure you get some rest, even if that means forcing you to sleep.

✦ he doesn't get upset when you're discussing work with other individuals, but if someone tries flirting with you, you'll notice a side of damian you never knew existed. a cold, calculating one that will piss the pants off whoever overstepped.

✦ during the times that you feel stressed out, damian would quietly volunteer to spar with you. that's how he winds down & how he finds that it's also a way to bond with someone▰albeit not a suitable stress relief for you.

✦ damian will sometimes pretend not to care about your work, but he's always listening quietly, taking things in. when you come up with something, he'll be the first one to point out how brilliant you are ( in his own manner, obviously ).

✦ his idea of a date could be assisting you with an especially tricky case, or inviting you on a training session, demonstrating that he is able to mix work & "romance" in his own particular way.

✦ he doesn't just say so out loud, but he is immensely proud of you. there are little signals of affection only you can read▰such as his hand casually touching yours during a meeting or his tendency to huddle with you after a rough day.

❛ DUKE THOMAS ❪ SIGNAL ❫

✦ duke is a naturally nurturing person & will always check in on you to ensure you're alright. after long, stressful days at the ncavc, he'll stop by to visit you & ensure you're not overworking or stressing yourself out.

✦ he's a bit of a worrywart. when you're out working on a case, duke will be calling to inquire about all these things like, "are you sure you're safe?" or "do you need assistance with something?"

✦ duke admires your intelligence, but he's not beyond joking about your seriousness as a special agent. he'll attempt to lighten the atmosphere by cracking jokes or sharing random memes while you're heavily engrossed in case analysis.

✦ when you're stressed, duke's the type of guy who'll pull out all your favorite snacks & have you sit down to watch a movie or something fun to take your mind off it, even if you complain about having to work more.

✦ he's a bit of a sentimental softie with you, always showering you with affection in little but nice ways▰such as making sure your coffee is precisely the way you like it or giving you a tight hug after a tough day.

✦ duke values teamwork. he'll do his best to assist you with your cases whenever he can. although his abilities are more street-level crime fighting, he's willing to provide any assistance he can in terms of research or brainstorming.

✦ duke manages to bring lightness into a situation no matter how buried under tons of files or pressure cases you are. his inherent positive outlook is catching, & part of the reasons why you balance each other is because of that.

✦ he hates seeing you burning out, & he will nag you to get breaks. walking outside or grabbing lunch, sometimes even.

✦ duke is a big softie when it comes to you. if you're upset or just need a hug, he's there with his arms wide open, eager to hold you close & soothe you.

✦ he enjoys helping with cases. he'll gladly hear your theories & share his own insights, & when you make a breakthrough, you'll notice his beaming smile.

✦ duke will make you feel comfortable sharing with him what's on your mind. he's always willing to lend an ear & never push you away, regardless of how bad things become.

✦ if you're ever handling a very violent case, he'll intervene to assist you, particularly if it seems like you're having trouble emotionally.

✦ when times get hard, he's the first to drag you away for letting loose▰whether that's a night out on the town, a movie fest, or a stroll under the stars. he knows how to recharge your batteries.

✦ duke is so cuddly when you're together. he'll be holding your hand constantly or kissing you on the cheek, not shy about showing the world how much he loves you.

✦ if you ever second-guess yourself or your capabilities, duke is on hand to calm you down. he'll remind you of your strengths & all the great things you've achieved▰making you realize the worth of your work, the people who've helped & the victims you have avenged.

✦ he doesn't feel so serious about himself, which makes him excellent at your sometimes more serious dedication. his sense of humor & playfulness will always make you feel at ease.

✦ duke also tends to text you silly jokes or remarks during the day, just for the sake of making you smile, particularly when he knows that you're up to your neck in work.

© MINORLYATFAULT 2025

[writella]

Reckless Romantics

Synopsis: Can be read as a stand alone or part two to getting ready for me; a return to innocent, inexperienced!reader and her relationship with Rick Grimes; two weeks after their first time together there has been some distance, but now Rick wants to make up for how hasty he was when he touched her last.

Details: Rick Grimes x fem!reader, smut: oral (f receiving) and teaching reader how to give a handjob, unspecified (of age) age gap, sweetness + kissing + a little mutual pining maybe, probably cliche, and leaning more into Rick as the dutiful leader and gentle lover (I feel this is just as in character as dom!Rick). Reader is a music lover— any kind of music you like— but she also likes a specific band only because I watched a documentary about them at the theater in July so it made its way into the story. Slightly proofread— will be corrected more later. wc: 5-7k (I lost track after finishing it on tumblr).

A/N: I wrote this message before I returned for the summer, but I still want you to read it: Been spending time outside this summer, trying to reach some goals— time got away from me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying I miss you, but please know it’s always true.

— with love from writella, my beautiful reader. ♡

Rick Grimes was not a man to give in to temptation.

My mercy prevails over my wrath, he’d say— his secret keepsake phrase. The one he whispers to himself in moments of hardship; the one he uses when he needs to make decisions only a leader would. Rick was a man of discipline; honor. He never boasted about how seriously he took these qualities, but when others did— admired, applauded, stuck by him for it— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t take note and use their pride to keep him going. This is how he knows he is strong-willed, why he wouldn’t fall for foolish, forbidden things. He was better than that. The safety and prosperity he brought to Alexandria proved it, reaffirmed it.

So why couldn’t someone remind him of that two weeks ago before he touched you?

As for you, you believed yourself to be a girl who wouldn’t fall so easily for the first man who showed you any kind of affection.

From an adolescence of peers who never seemed to take notice of you to one filled with walkers and adults who were either dead or seldom your age, you learned how hard love, let alone any connection, is to come by. It has made you quite the perpetual daydreamer because of it. One with a heart and mind filled with fantasy worlds, creating what you lacked externally. It often made you see yourself as much younger than you were despite all you’ve been through. No regular person your age in the old world has probably escaped as many deaths and wannabe cowboy dictators as you have. Still, they probably knew what it was like to have a high school romance, or at least go to the movies with friends, and have graduated from well, anything. You were simply born too late and shoved into this new world too early to experience even half of it.

This upbringing has brought you up to believe yourself precocious, although— maybe you were already too old for that word now. No, you were, so maybe– sensible, realistic despite the overactive imagination; you could decipher between right and wrong, real versus fake. This is why, for as long as you could, you did not entertain any thoughts of Rick Grimes.

Other people would though, women mostly. But you did have your suspicions of others who thought the same— they just weren't as shameless. Those who were, could be found during lunch breaks from work on house porches; or laughing and whispering at community gatherings and at the back of town hall meetings. Basically any time or place they could turn into a gossip session, which was often. And it didn’t always have to do with Rick. It could be about any one of the men in town; or retelling funny moments to their friends or complaining about their co-workers. But anything of true, great interest always had to do with the community leaders. You wish you could say you were the exception to this interest, but hypocritically, you loved a good inside scoop, and luckily for you, you had a trustworthy way about you. Almost everyone who spoke to you or allowed you to sit with them and their friends for meals agreed: you were a intent, quiet listener making you the best kind of person to say things to without judgment; and people assumed you as shy, yet you loved to laugh which was great for boosting egos. They often treated you as a little sister in that way, as if the pleasure was all yours to get to hear their ramblings because they were either older or perceived themselves to be more sociable and experienced than you. You tried not to care too much about what they took you for. It was nice to feel trusted, even if people could be a little too mean or weird for your liking because no matter who it was, they made you feel as if you were watching television, and you missed television. They told you things from period mishaps– (it’s the apocalypse, there are a lot of free bleeding queens okay)— to which people in their workstations annoyed them most with very detailed explanations as to why and, of course, rumors or general talk about the leaders: who they thought each of them has slept with, if there seemed to be any fighting between them and what side they were taking, and obviously, anything that had to do with one of the guys. Some were downright obvious that one or the other was their type, while others might try to be more sly about it, always bringing whichever man it was up more than the others. But unless they were diehard Daryl girls, wanted to dominate Glenn, or had some military man, hot priest, or doctor kink for Abraham, Gabriel, or Siddiq, most of them apparently felt that Rick was the love of their lives. He was like a local celebrity. A band’s frontman.

“So, what about you?” One of your scavenging partners asked on the ride home. “Which one do you like?”

“They’re all attractive guys,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road. “But I don’t really think about them like that.” You feel a flush coming on. Crushes, or anything romantic, is a part of your internal world, not something you discuss aloud.

“Come on,” she prods. “You never join in. You just laugh at us for being delusional.”

“Whose us?” Rosita asks, her voice sharp, humorous, and not without judgment. “I don’t talk about that shit.” But secretly, she loved the drama as much as you and would have many questions for you later tonight about why you have yet to tell her of the town obsession of treating her friends like the cast of a reality show.

“I don’t laugh at you! I like it when you guys talk about that stuff.”

“But what I’m saying is that I didn’t let you ride shotgun this time so you can hold out again,” the girl jokes half-heartedly.

“What do you mean this time? I get to ride shotgun because I’m the one with the CDs.”

And it’s true, the only thing that cancelled out the silence of drive in moments where conversation ceased was your Oasis album playing in the background. Learning about the band was your new obsession. Much like listening to the crazy imaginations of the girls in town, you found the Gallagher brother rivalry riveting even if you only knew pieces of the story from the music, scraps of magazine articles, and by asking whoever in town happened to be a teen in the 90s. Thankfully you had hit the jackpot today though. One of the houses you visited was once occupied by a dad and daughter with an insane music collection in the living room and a smaller, more curated one in the girl’s room. After gathering what new music you wanted to try from downstairs, you also found some old issues of QuizFest in the girl’s room, filled with activities that were themed with shows you remember from when you were a kid, but the most important discovery— the find of all finds— was one of those Ultimate Guide, Complete Life Story magazines of none other than the band Oasis.

You would now probably know all of the drama between the brothers to tell a coherent story about the band’s history to anyone who wanted an escape from walker related events and farming talk. When you weren’t listening, that’s what people would come to you for: to borrow music, get recommendations, or to tell them a story. In all, you were getting the reputation of being the town’s music historian, meaning you usually used your knowledge to avoid talking about yourself. And it mostly worked.

Except for now.

“Well, if I had to guess,” the girl persists despite your silence, “I think it would be Rick.”

“What?” Noticing the incredulity in your tone, you calm your voice. Shrugging you say, “Why Rick? Everyone likes him.”

Rosita sends a look your way. It’s innocent enough, probably just showing that she is still listening on as she drives but you were refusing to look at anyone now to know for sure.

“Exactly,” the girl says. “He’s a classic knight in shining armor type. I feel like he’d talk you through it, which I think would be good for— someone like you.”

Your face is on fire, you can’t even speak properly. “I- first of all, what do you know about my experience?” you ask, the incredulous tone returning. But all you get as an answer is knowing snorts and chortles from the two women. Ouch. Nonetheless, you continue, “Second, you think shooting a guy in the head in front of his wife and the whole town is chivalrous?”

Oh—

That makes car goes quiet.

You know you made a mistake.

You didn’t mean it as crassly as you said it, and you did feel bad for saying it knowing that the situation was more difficult than you summed it up to be, but you didn’t apologize. All this talk about crushes and especially Rick made you embarrassed. It’s not that you didn't see what others saw anyway. Of course you noticed how nice Rick’s curls are, how he doesn’t have to use any product for them to look as they do; or those blue eyes and how when you get closer, they become that much more stark and crisp; or how good he was at talking to people, convincing them of things or simply just reassuring them as a friend; and that southern drawl that still sometimes catches you by surprise by sounding so pronounced at the end of certain words, making his voice that much more intoxicating. Of course you saw the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had a crush on him.

Right?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. You just felt you knew better. He was like a president. You know of them, and you believe in them, but you don’t get close to them. And it didn’t matter that he told Carl to personally deliver you a stereo he and Daryl found while out once. How he remembered how you liked music. How he told Carl to tell you this one was probably better than the old one you had, that it was louder. You only showed him your old stereo that once when he was helping you move. He was just a perceptive guy with a good memory. All leaders are like that.

Right?

Anyway, let’s get back to your crass… joke.

“Hilarious.” Rosita says and you hear the low contempt in her voice at your insensitivity.

“That was ages ago though,” the girl chimes in, saving you just a little, “and he did it to help her. He didn’t care about the mess he made. He save her. I’d say that’s pretty romantic.”

“Let’s not call that romantic,” Rosita scoffs, and despite the slight frustration, there was a quiet sadness in her voice at the memory. “That wasn’t love.”

“That was reckless, not romantic.” You agree. Partly because you truly do, but also in attempt to win back favor from your friend. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But after that day, it was all you could think about.

The idea of a knight; a romantic; someone that would do anything for you, ruin his reputation for you; find gifts from the outside that he’d send is son to give to you. Maybe you did find it charming, idyllic.

These thoughts soared in your mind so much so that on one night when thinking about boys from books or your favorite artists wasn't enough during moments under your sheets when your back arched and your fingers trailed up your thighs, your mind switched from people you would never meet to him, to Rick. Your eyes scrunched tighter, and you tried to shake it away, telling yourself it was just the women in town and the talk in the car getting to you. But then you thought about how rich and hot pink his lips looked on a bright sun-burning day and how it would feel like flames firing inside of you if he kissed you with them.

Ideas like these went on for nearly a year now. You even started questioned if maybe you had always liked him, maybe you were always just like the other girls even though tried to not be. You had thought it made you respectful, realistic; after all, how could Rick be the love of your life if he was everyone’s? Wonderings like this became even worse and more confusing when Rosita had asked if you’d like to move in with her. Becoming closer with her meant being around the leaders more often, which meant coincidental encounters and conversations with Rick as well. Quickly, he wasn’t just that president or celebrity anymore who talked to you sometimes and got you that stereo that once. He was becoming a peer— at least in some ways. One who was curious about your interests as much as your opinions. But it’s not exactly like you were in the in-crowd now as some people assumed. You didn’t get to go to leader meetings, and as much as you knew Rosita must have been telling you more than others know, she couldn’t have been telling you everything. But you did see him more than other people now, when he and the leaders came over to the house or when Rosita was invited over to theirs and she’s tell you to come too. And now, with these thoughts spiraling, you can’t help but to look back at the at the times where Rick approached you, gave you all his attention no matter how small it was and asked you about what you were listening to or reading that week, letting you ramble. He was an older guy, yes, but he cared, he actually listened, and he didn’t make you feel like the childish little sister others do.

Sadly, you did become the fawn like you had told yourself you wouldn’t be. But you couldn’t stop picturing him when you closed your eyes, and in fact, it was nice to imagine someone to fall asleep with, to wake up to. It was just going be your secret. Part of your fantasy world. But then— it all caught up to you.

Through the sliver of the open door he saw you, fingers between folds, goading yourself on as you chanted his name in whispers.

And to your surprise, he encouraged it. No, he did so much more than that— he helped you, made you come; gave you your first orgasm and made you his like no one has before.

You loved it. You gave into it. Even if it was just one secret moment. It made you give into the idea that this would continue but of course, it didn’t. He hasn’t spoken to you in almost three weeks until—

“Woah-” you gasp, almost crashing into just the person as you exit your room.

“Sorry,” you both say in unison, holding onto each other's forearms before quickly letting go. Your arms cross over into your chest before dropping as you enter your room again, clearing the hallway, and his hands go behind his back. He’s still as unsteady as you are, his mouth is slightly open, thinking of what to say.

“Hi,” you whisper tentatively.

“Good morning,” he politely replies. His eyes now smile slightly as he nods to you. You don’t miss how the light emanating from your bright room makes them shine. And he doesn’t miss how the light shining behind your figure makes you, in your white cotton sundress, look like an absolute angel.

“Good morning,” you repeat, giggling slightly, not knowing what else to say.

“Good morning,” he says again, lost and as giddy as you are.

“Oh wait— is the leader’s meeting here today?” Rick starts to nod and answers yes as you continue to speak, “I totally forgot! I’m sorry. I know I should be gone by now.”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine. I was just going to the bathroom.”

“Here? Was someone in the one downstairs?”

“Just wanted to be away from everyone when they came. Daryl and I came early so we started talking and I just- we didn’t see eye to eye on something. I needed a minute.”

You nod. That seems to be your signature when to talk to him. You hated it honestly. Often over-analyzing your words, worrying you’ll sound immature or stutter in front of him. “I'm sorry,” you tell him sympathetically. For a moment there is only silence which makes you worry he will go away, so without thinking, you ask: “I know you’re busy but, if you need a moment, maybe you would like to come in here instead?”

Rick freezes but then, inevitably agrees. As he enters, you close the door and quickly go to shut off the low playing stereo and rehang some of the dresses on your chair in the closet— you had been getting ready for the day. Rick goes to sit on the chair after you empty it but you stop him. You sit on the vertical side of your bed and guesture Rick to sit in the spot next to you, closer to the headboard. You wanted to sit next to him.

Rick doesn’t question this, maybe he wanted to be as close to you as you had, so as he sits, your thighs touch. You try not to move too much at the first contact. Still, the heat that starts to burn inside you makes you realize how much you’ve craved this. Can two weeks feel like a lifetime? It’s like you haven’t felt him in ages.

“What were you playing today?” He asks and you realize you eyes went straight to the area where yours and Rick’s legs touched. You know he noticed but still you try to answer normally.

“Selena. Rosita loves her. It’s one of her most famous songs: Amor Prohibido.”

He nods. “I probably wouldn’t understand a bit of it,” he laughs.

He would probably remember the singer from the news if you gave more context but you don’t. There is a silence that follows until you ask, “So,” starting slowly, “what’s wrong? Is Daryl aright?”

He doesn’t answer. His mouth is open as if he’s deciding what to say, but nothing comes out, so you continue, “You know, nothing is ever right in the world when Rick and Daryl fight. It makes me sad.”

The joke makes those lines at the sides of his eyes appear— a quiet laugh. “Well you know I’d never want to make you sad. Especially not you.” You two exchange a light smile while that heat rises fast to your heart. “We’ll be fine,” he finally says, but then he goes quiet again. Rick seems unsure if he wants to continue. He even looks at the door, wonders if the others have shown up yet, but— he knows he doesn’t want to leave. And even more, he knows he shouldn’t after ignoring you like some teenage boy. He decides to tell you what’s happening: “Daryl wants us to bring new people in. You know how he’s always going out there. But I think it’s way too soon.”

You hum agreeingly, but at the same time, you understand Daryl. “I think he just likes to give people what he never used to have,” you suggest.

“I know,” he nods a bit annoyedly; “and that’s a nice way to put it, but you know him, when he has his mind set on somethin’ he can be so damn stubborn. It’s frustrating. He won’t compromise or listen to anything.”

Endearingly, you try to withhold a laugh, your lisp pursing. Not only because when he says anything, it actually sounds like anythang, but because Rick sounds like he’s describing himself and he doesn’t even realize it.

“And,” he adds, pausing for a moment before he continues, scratching his beard. It looks as if maybe he shouldn’t tell you what he’s about to. His head hangs low to say: This is not information for everyone to know, okay? But the last time he went out there with Glenn, the reason Glenn’s arm is in a sling right now, is because they met a group, tried to bring them back and before they could make it even close to home, the group fought ‘em, tried to steal what they scavenged, and almost kill Glenn.”

You widen your eyes at the statement. You actually already knew this from Rosita, but that will stay between you two. All you feel is humbled that he felt he share it with you, despite it being a dark thing. It was a close call. Rick was right for being very cautious right now. “Wow,” is all you can get in before he speaks again.

“Imagine if we lost him. Fought this war with his wife and unborn baby at the time for nothing? So he couldn’t even meet him?” Rick shakes his head, and you notice his foot tapping lightly, making his knee bounce. This had happened a month ago now but it was obviously affecting him. “It was reckless and I told him that. That right now we need to be focusing on what’s inside these walls. People have only just started getting back to being comfortable now; to feeling like this is a home.”

Your eyes remain wide, “We did so much rebuilding you.”

“We did complete rebuilding.” He corrects, though not rudely. Shaking his head, he goes back to talking about Daryl: “I think I made it seem like what happened to Glenn was his fault. So not only were we arguing but I must’ve hurt him,” Rick realizes, “and now he definitely won’t be back today— maybe not even until next week.”

A silence hangs in the air after this; it seems he finished. Now, you know you should speak, but as the silence continues, you grow more unsure of what to say. Issues like these are things you’ve never dealt with. You didn’t want to say something stereotypical.

“I’m sorry I’m putting all this on you.”

“No, no,” you quickly console, trying to think. “Um, well,” you say, starting unsteadily, “this is probably going to sound stupid and not helpful. I don’t even remember the exact context or what was truly said so it might not make any sense either but, do you remember when I had my Oasis obsession? Earlier this year?”

“I do,” he laughs, turning his head over to your music table. His eyes scan any of the visible album titles to see if he can find it, but the print on most of them are too small. He turns back to you as you continue:

“This is going to sound a little far off but I think you and Daryl are like Liam and Noel.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Didn’t those two hate each other?”

“I mean, yes— but it’s much more complicated than that to me— but no, I don’t mean in that way. It just that there is this quote Noel says that I don’t remember exactly, but I really liked: he said that even though he wrote the music and Liam did the singing that Liam meant the words just as much as Noel did because they’re brothers and he wrote them. I thought that was beautiful, but…” you trail off.

He stays silent, trying to give you space to find your words but you feel like you’ve gone too far. It’s all pretty convoluted and not a true comparison to what’s going on that you’re even confusing yourself a little. “I think what I mean is that even though they have their different roles, they still feel very similar things and believe in the same purpose. I think that’s like you and Daryl. You two are so similar yet so different. But there’s still a binding force that always brings the two of you together. So, like I’m sure you already know and I didn’t even need to tell you, but you two will be okay. You two have different ways of doing things, but the music or the life you’re trying to create in Alexandria still has the same meaning to the both of you.” You laugh small and breathily as you end. “That probably didn’t make sense.”

Rick smiles to himself. “I didn’t get that first bit, with the quote, but no… that made a lot of sense to me.” He nods toward you and you return his smile. “You’re so bright. You know that? Not everyone knows how to stitch things together like that the way you do.”

This makes you feel good. Rick thought you were smart. You know you should say thank you, but instead, something else comes out: “May I, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he answers, almost stuttering it out, a hint of hesitation before he did, but he nods so kindly, so reassuringly as he tells you again: “yes.”

Your fingers touch his lower cheeks lightly, feeling the bristles of his beard. You’re slow, and careful, and scared. Your fingers linger on his jaw for a moment until they completely caress his right cheek and then you move in, swiftly— worried you’ll lose your confidence, worried he’ll change his mind. You catch his lower lip and seal the kiss. Your lips are locked for a few seconds until you retreat. It was nice, and exciting, but short. You knew you could have put your tongue in his mouth. You believe he would have let you because you remember when he did it last time, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by doing it wrong and once again reminding him how much you don’t know. But you’re sure giving him a grade school kiss like this one was enough of a reminder.

Your eyes roll down, chin low. Your cheeks are on fire and your hands do not know where to go so you start fiddling with the hem of your dress and then you laugh. You were trying to be courageous this time, and you were, but you also weren’t.

Rick grabs your left hand, holding it at the end of your thigh, “I liked that,” he says softly.

“You did?” You ask as softly as he, eyes meeting his.

A short, airy snicker comes out, “Mhm,” he hums, giving you a closed-mouth smile. He found you simply adorable.

“Can I… try it again?”

Rick pulls on your forearm, attempting to bring you closer to him. “Yeah,” he nods, voice gentle. “Do you want me to help?”

You nod before you speak, happily accepting, “Yes.”

He puts your hands on his shoulders. One of his grabs onto your waist and the other holds you lightly under your chin, adjusting your head to meet his lips. The first kiss he places holds just for a couple of moments as the one you gave him did, gentle but packed with longing. The next two are slow, pretty pecks that already have you melting at his touch, lips agape waiting for the next one. The fourth is the one where he brings his tongue into your mouth, carefully bringing it in quarter by quarter. He tastes the top of your mouth and tongue and you feel him as he slowly starts to explore how far you may like to go, but truly you become stagnant other than your hands that press into his shoulder. Luckily, Rick either doesn’t notice your hesitation or is already silently helping you as he takes the lead, pulling you closer by the hips and slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth to kiss you more. It makes you smile— the excitement of your first make-out session. You giggle, and then it makes him smile too and your teeth slightly bump into each other. Accidently you nip his lip because of it, making you pull back.

Your fingers hover over your lips as you impart a quiet apology but Rick just shakes his head giving you another quick kiss instead. He starts to move back on your bed, back pressed again the headboard and he tells you quietly, “Come here.”

You get up and sit higher up on the bed as well, calves folded under your thighs. He takes one of your legs and starts to put it over his as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod, vigor growing as you do it now, thrilled to sit on his lap. Your dress bunches around your hips and the tops of your thighs. You move closer to press your chest into his and you kiss him first again, another small one but with intent as you look at him afterward, feeling the scratch of his beard on your fingertips as you smile at him, in awe that this is happening.

“You want to try this time?”

“Uh,” he means you put your tongue in his mouth this time, but you’re afraid to do it wrong but you know you want to say yes so you do, “Yes, okay.”

So he brings you in again and you kiss him. He mouth opens a little and you try to bring your tongue in slightly but you teeth clash. “Sorry,” and quickly he responds that it’s okay and rubs your cheek, telling you to just open your mouth a little wider, no teeth, let your tongue go on top of his.

You try it. Your tongues meet again, licking each other tips before you slowing press in more, your chest touching his as you try to close the gap.

Rick starts slowly rocking your hips against his and he takes control of the kiss again. It helps you not think, you like it. And you like the feeling of that incoming tight bulge starting to form under his jeans, but then you let go. “Wait,” you say, “I like this.” You pause for a moment, confusing him more as to why you stopped. “But… there is something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” his hand stay fixed on your hips and waist, rubbing soothily, “What it is?”

Another pause. “I feel nervous,” you whisper.

“You have no reason to be, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.”

You laugh, smiling as you look off to the side. Anythang.

He smiles too, although unknowingly to what you found funny. His head tilts as he tries to find your gaze and turn it towards him again.

“Well, the last time we were together here you taught me how to do something. You taught me how to pleasure myself better so,” you stutter, “I want to pleasure you. If that’s okay. And I was wondering if you’d teach me how- to touch you here.” You remove yourself from straddling him and point in the direction of his cock.

Instantly he feels a stir of his already hardening dick.

This is not how he expected things to go this time. Or truly, he didn’t expect any of this at all, but when you asked to kiss him he decided he would be gentle, more giving. It felt like you wanted him to take again, the exact thing he was trying not to do. “I feel like I took advantage of you last time.”

“Rick…” you shake your head. “I’m the one who didn’t close the door all the way. You asked if it was okay and then you asked if you could go faster. I said yes to everything…” You start to worry— is he second guessing everything now?—“I feel maybe we remember this differently.” You bow your head again now. Feeling ashamed, wondering if he did.

Rick places one hand on your knee to comfort you although he still says, “It’s just that I’ve never done something like this before.” His thumb sways on your skin. “I just don’t want you to end up feeling like you’re wasting your time. Your first times.”

You’re surprised, “It’s so funny how you can be so self-assured in front of a crowd and now you don’t think you’re good enough.” You take his hand and press it towards your chest. Your heart was racing. “I like you. So much.” You swallow as he says your name softly, realizing how fast your heart was going. “No one in town is truly ever mean to me or anything, and Rosita has been so kind with letting me move in with her and we talk and its nice but, you know— she has her flings and her friendships that are separate from mine and everyone just always seems like they have their person and I just don’t. I don’t have my person, or any person.” You remove your hands from your chest but Rick still holds onto it, squeezing your hand as you start speaking again. “You’re kind, Rick, and you make me excited, and you remember things about me… “ If your face could get any hotter, it does, “And, well, you’re very handsome. If you could teach me again, I would like that.”

God… Rick was trying to be a romantic yet you were so adamant on getting him off. He laughed inwardly, shaking his head, deciding that the best way to handle this situation— and make up for some of his guilt as he was trying to— would be to give you the thing you say you want and not what he thinks you want. Suppose that’s one for widower’s wisdom.

Decidedly, Rick gets up from the bed, giving you a once over, still admiring how adorable, and how sexy, you look to him with your feet under your lap, hands on your knees as you look up at him from the bed and your white dress. He starts undoing his shirt buttons. “Remember when I did this the first time?”

A smirk came on, there’s the Rick you remember. Blue eyes intense, and voice getting cocky as he gets ready to give you what you need, what he knows you only want from him.

“Yes,” you say quiet yet with budding excitement. You start going for the hem of your dress, “Should I start taking this off too?”

“Mm, stay like that.” He’s taking off his belt. “Thought you looked beautiful in it right when I saw you.”

Your thighs squeeze together slightly. Rick Grimes was undressing before you, for you, and calling you smart and beautiful all the while.

As Rick lowers his boxers, his cock springs up. He returns to his spot on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. All of a sudden he seems to truly recognize that he is the only one exposed. He would tell you what to do, guide you, but in a small way, in a way you probably didn’t realize, you were in control. It seems that each time this happens— although it’s only been twice— and each time he talks to you— which has been plenty— you steal a little more of Rick’s heart and he just can’t stop it.

“So,” he clears his throat, your eager eyes on his cock making him twitch, “you usually just wrap your hand around, start from the base and keep pumping up.” He shakes his head, “there’s not too much too it but it’s best to keep your hand light at the start, you—”

You nod quickly, “May I?”

As he nods back you, “Yes.” And as he says it you’re already licking your hand.

“Is it okay if I spit? That helps right? Or is that nasty to you?”

He’s caught off guard, “No, no, that helps.”

So you do and you place your hand lightly at the base as he said and you start to pump. Instantly, he lets out a gasp, and the next noises that follow are repressed grunts and groans. You want to ask him to stop doing that but you’re a little scared to speak up that way just yet and you’re too engrossed in how you can see the light veins of green and blue on him and how he’s so red at the tip. It was honestly exciting. Just this, touching him with your hand, staring at his member and watching him twitch as his mouth opens to pant lightly. It still felt unreal but you liked it and you were happy to learn. You start to pump him more towards the top, placing your thumb on his slit- pressing in. His abs clench at that. You push in a little harder and you squeeze your fist around him a little— testing it out to see what happens—and he groans, unadulterated this time, “oh, fuck.”

The heel of your foot that’s under your lap pushes into your center at that.

You start pumping faster. “Am I doing good, Rick?”

Hearing your voice sets him off, “Fuck, sweetheart. Yes.” He’s honestly choking out each of his words, he didn’t expect to get so turned on by all of this. He realizes the last time he had sex was with you that first time, and before that… he can’t even remember. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

As you pump, you start to slow down, only doing it shallowly towards his base. You’re feeling confident and you kiss the side of him, licking a fat stripe up to the top and then you pump him fully again.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he breathes out. He wants to tell you to slow down but it comes out of nowhere, he stutters before he can even speak. An unintelligible groan mixed with a moan comes out abrupt and louder than he intends and white spurts of liquid come out.

You go faster for a few moments, then start to slow down, a little unsure of what is best to do, but you notice when you start squeezing him a little more as you continue to pump up and more whiteness fall out from inside of him.

“Did I, make you come?”

“Yeah,” he says, huffing.

“I did?” your cheekbones rise as you ask with awe— it was another first for the books.

Rick’s tries to let his embarrassment fade, he can tell you were just excited about it, but still, he looks down and to the side, avoiding direct eye contact— almost like you typically would. You peer at him, almost nervously because of it. Rick is usually the confident one. “Doesn’t always happen that fast,” he explains.

“Well before a month ago I didn’t know how to make myself come so I wouldn’t know,” you say with self-deprecating assurance. You had heard from the girls in town that it was easier to make men orgasm. You already had it in your head as something not to judge. You wonder how hard he must have been restraining himself the first time he placed himself inside you, or if it just happened to be easier for him that time around. “I didn’t expect I could do it or anything really. I thought it was…” you smile while giggling, “interesting.”

“A good interesting I hope.”

“Very,” you assure. “I liked it.” You kiss his cheek as you take some wipes that are by your night stand and you start cleaning him up. He doesn’t tell you that you don’t have to; he helps along with you.

“You sure you’ve never done any of this before?”

You shake your head. “I just read fiction books.”

He smiles to himself, a quiet snort of laughter leaving his nose. You always surprise him.

When you two are done cleaning, he puts his boxers back on. Quickly, he is on the bed again and starts to kissing you. Rick holds your shoulder and pushes you down. Finally, it’s time for his redemption, he feels. It was your turn to be pleasured. Just like he wanted to do from the beginning.

Rick kisses down your neck to your collarbone, and the parts of your exposed chest and he pushes your dress up past your hips. His lips move back up to yours, kissing you more before saying, “I really wanna show you something sweetheart.” He presses his thumb into your clit over your underwear. “Can I kiss you down there? Have you ever had that before?”

You shake your head slowly, eyes wide. “I-” you start nodding your head, “-I would really like that.” And in such a small voice you add, “Please.”

Rick kisses your cheek. Deep and softly he breathlessly tells you, “I would love to.”

Rick moves his head lower and gives you slow kisses over your underwear from your mound to the end of your lips. He starts to drag your panties over your legs and once they’re gone he kisses up your thighs. Then his nose rubs and sways ever so lightly on your lips. He breathes in and it makes you shutter. Your heart is going crazy again. Finally, he licks upward. One long and languid stripe ending with a kiss to your clit and then he truly begins.

Tongues are wet and sticky and everything you ever dreamed of. Your eyes roll back instantly from that first lick and kiss. You remember a time when you started touching yourself that you used to never think of receiving oral. You thought it was scary, nasty, that you wouldn’t like it until the moment you thought about it as a million kisses on your most sensitive lips, or someone liking you so much that they’d get drenched by your wetness just to touch you, to taste you. After that, you thought about it all the time and now it was finally happening– someone needing you so much they just had to know what you taste like. Here he was: kissing, licking, sucking, not caring about how he looks but only how you feel— you now knew what it was like to be desired.

Rick presses his tongue flat on your clit, rubbing deep circles. His eyes are open, looking up at how your mouth opens wider and wider. You let out little whimpers, enamored by his tongue, still deciding if you like the scratch of his beard, but your eyes stay glued to the ceiling, scared to look at the scene below.

He gives you kitten licks in between speaking, “Look down. Don’t miss your first time.”

Your eyes go down slowly, watching as he gives open mouth kisses to your clit and right lip, tilting his head. He stays there for a moment, hearing your short and breathy pants, kissing and licking your clit and lower lips like they were the ones above your chin. His eye contact sends bursts of sticky wet fluid down your hole and you release a whimpered moan, they’re always sp short and soft and high pitched. He can tell you like it but he can also see you’re nervous. You don’t trust yourself, you know it, and he’s starting to realize it too. You’re scared of completely letting go.

He peppers kisses to your clit before moving upward, his tongue rolling and mouth kissing from your lower stomach to your breasts till his face reaches yours again. “No one’s here,” he tells you. He then kisses your lips allowing you to taste yourself for the first time. “Relax,” he whispers, rolling out each syllable. He holds your chin with one hand while he inserts a finger into your hole with the other, his pointer is instantly drenched and you shudder at the feeling. His single calloused finger reminds you of the time he was last inside you. He pumps slowly, looking into your eyes as he speaks, “Don’t think about who could come downstairs.”

“What if Rosita or Daryl come back?”

“What if?” He says it so simply as if he’s ready for everyone to know. Truly, that would be an issue, but right now it was not about him and it was completely about you; he wanted to give. It was short-sighted, reckless, yes, but… you were just so pretty, so bright, so insightful, and he felt like he needed to make up for all the taking he did last time, of your first time. Rosita had went to run after Daryl, hopefully no one was here anyway. But again, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. “Lay back,” he gently commands, “forget what I said before- close your eyes. Just give in to it. Like I’m the only one who's here.”

Rick licks zig zag stripes down your slit and then he decides to insert his tongue in your hole. He goes as deep as his tongue allows, collecting your wetness and trying to swallow it in moments when he turns back to kissing. He his nose is brushing and rubbing up against your clit as he sucks wetness from down below and you start letting out stringy moans you can’t control. Soft, pretty, and continuous, “uh, ah, uh, uh” that turn into “sorry, I’m sorry.” You’re still self-conscious about your own noises. This was still only the second time you’ve heard the sounds you make when someone else is fucking you.

But Rick shushes you. Giving small kisses to your clit as he looks up at you, seeing your scrunched eyes and open mouth. “I like knowing you like it, pretty girl. I like all those pretty sounds you’re making.”

Your pussy tightens around nothing at that phrase.

“Keep going. You don’t have to be shy.” He grabs your chin and you look down at him. His beard is wet. “We’ve already made a mess anyway.”

He starts kissing your labias, licking up wetness when you decide to ask, nervously, “Can you make sounds too?”

Instantly, Rick goes again to kiss your clit, humming into it as he sucks. Breathing against you he says, “Want me to tell you I like it, sweetheart?” His tongue slides down again, tongue reaching into your hole and he moans into your pussy.

Your back arches and you mewl, you could almost scream.

That’s it, he thinks. Rick keeps humming and groaning into you now. His voice is so seductive. “I love tasting your pussy, baby.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Rick starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and going fast with his tongue in your hole “My bright, pretty girl gonna come for me? Hm?”

“Oh, Rick, I want to. Please, Rick.”

Rick starts to go faster and your brain turns to mush. Only noises coming out and when he stops his tongue movements to say something more you push his head down. “Sorry,” you say. You’ve never been forceful before but he says nothing, just continues going down on you and taking his free hand to place it over his, gesturing that he wants your hands in his hair. You tug on his curls and he grunts into you. You start chanting his name and then he switches to placing his lips on your clit and putting two fingers in your pussy. It reminded you of the first time but instead of your three fingers they were two of his and it felt so much better than you ever knew before, better than you could ever do it yourself. It sets you off. Your eyes shut tighter if they could. “Rick! Oh my god,” you moan and then again and again and then you come.

Rick laps at your cunt, vigorously trying to wipe you clean. He makes it look like it will be the last and only time. It makes you worry but at the same time he looks so sexy like that; needy for you even after you finished.

He takes your wipes and cleans his lips before cleaning you up as you did for him. He kisses you thighs and your lips and your cheeks as he continues. “You did such a good job,” he says. “You always do.”

You’re filled with pride at that. “Thank you.” Then worry sets in. You realize how public you’ve made everything. “Did I just ruin your life?”

He laughs while caressing your thigh. That anxious expression of yours that he just got rid of returns after all the work he did.

“I’m gonna check downstairs. Okay? If they’re there, they’re there.” You nod. We already made a mess anyway, you remember him saying. “They might want to start the meeting when I go down so, whatever happens, happens alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your eyes are still nervous, but it’s all too late anyway. “Okay,” you respond.

“Okay,” he says back, kissing you once more. As he dresses himself again, he tells you, “I promise I won’t wait two weeks to see you again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he says as a send off and goes into the bathroom to clean his face.

When he reaches the living room, there is no one. Rick is thankful but confused.

As he nears the coffee table there is a sheet of yellow lined legal pad with a talkie next to it.

Call when you’re done, it reads.

“Rosita?” He questions into the device. Who else could it have been, right?

He can almost hear the grin on her face. “They should start calling you Reckless Rick for all the agony you put these Alexandria girls through.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “There’s just something about that stupid hair cowboy accent, I guess.”

Before he can respond, telling her that it’s absurd to think of him as a playboy, that he was far from it, she continues:

“So, fucking my roommate? You’re glad Glenn and Maggie called everyone over to theirs instead. Hershel took his first steps while you were teaching someone else how to take theirs.”

She unpressed the button to suppress her laughter. “Just get over here,” she concludes, putting down the walkie and going back to meet the rest of the group with a perfect poker face. She tells everyone Rick will be here shortly.

Oh, Alexandria’s leader and her new little best friend who has been hearing the townswomen’s fantasies of him for years: Reckless Rick and his reckless romantic girl.

Rosita would give you so much shit for this when she gets home.

[padmerry]

Stan twins: codependency & identity issues

“I tell you it’s unnatural for siblings to get along as well as you do,” says Stan to Dipper and Mabel in Not What He Seems, clearly missing his own relationship with Ford before things started to change. “We used to be like Dipper and Mabel,” says Ford in Weirdmaggedon 3: Take Back the Falls. Were they really, though?

I think what many people don’t get about Stan and Ford’s dynamic as children, or even as teenagers, is that, no matter what Stan and Ford think or say about it, they were not like Mabel and Dipper. That just highlights their lack of self-awareness. Here’s a canon analysis for anyone who cares to understand my point:

Mabel and Dipper have overall very different interests and hobbies and act separately on them. They have other friends and spend time with them—well, at least Mabel has Candy and Grenda, as the bubbly social butterfly she is; Dipper, on the other hand, seems way more preoccupied with deciphering the mysteries of Journal 3, but doesn’t miss an opportunity to be included in Wendy’s cool teenage group, as seen in episodes The Inconveniencing and The Love God (in the latter, he seems to be actually succeeding). As fraternal twins of different genders, no matter how alike they look (and despite Mabel’s joke of being “girl Dipper”), they still manage to retain pretty distinct identities. No issue here.

Mabel does her sleepovers, goes to boy band shows, and has encounters with potential crushes. When a surprised Dipper asks her about her vampire love in The Deep End, she points out, “I don’t tell you everything.” Dipper, meanwhile, explored the town with Soos, went to Wendy’s house, hung out with her teen gang, and overall lived many adventures without Mabel, such as trying to prove himself a man with help of the Manotaurs. I think the episode that shows the healthy independence Dipper and Mabel had from each other the best is probably Carpe Diem, inspired in Alex’s real life frustration with his sister, Ariel, but it can be observed all through the series:

What is shown to us in AToTS already differs from that. The Stan twins were inseparable, and each other’s only friends, as Stan establishes early on in his narrative: “Those bullies may have been right about us not making many friends, but when push comes to shove, you only really need one.”

With his question to Ford in the Lost Legends comic, The Jersey Devil’s in the Details, Stan implies they really did everything together, in a way reminiscent of Phineas and Ferb: “So what’re we gonna do today, buddy?”

Even small details, like the toys in their room, served to show the difference between the Stans and Dipper & Mabel, as Matt Chapman clarifies on the episode’s official commentary:

You also see that at this age, all the stuff that would cross over, that would appeal to both of them. You know, it’s not just like, oh, there’s science stuff here and then there’s like—I don’t know—what little Stan would be into. It’s like, no, they both like all this.

“But Mabel was just as desperate in Dipper and Mabel vs the Future as Stan was in A Tale of Two Stans!” Yes, true. She was, and I do believe her relationship with Dipper was the most important one in her life. But do you think the facts that a) she was already terrified of growing up, as shown in the episode Summerween, b) Candy and Grenda declined her invitations to their birthday party, c) Wendy showed her the apparently terrible reality of being a teenager, and d) Stan told her that it would be fine because at least she would always have Dipper... had nothing to with it? Originally her parents were going to forbid her from bringing Waddles to Piedmont, as revealed in the episode commentary of Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future, as just one more heartbreaking thing on the pile of Mabel’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. (Of course, teen Stan’s circumstances were aggravated by the bad home situation he was being “left alone” in by Ford—just like Mabel! Whose parents were arguing, per TBoB canon, to the point of giving Dipper recurring nightmares.)

Another very important thing is that the poor girl was twelve years old, while Stan was presumably seventeen-ish, an age at which separation would be normal and even expected, with the time for college approaching. In fact, differently from what happened with Mabel, whose imminent separation from Dipper came out of left field through an unexpected proposal by Ford (foreshadowed only by her slight discomfort over how close Ford and Dipper were becoming), there was a blatant rift between the teen Stans that Ford went so far as to acknowledge to Stan’s face. Using Stan’s own words from the Land Before Swine commentary: “Anyway, cut to high school, the guy’s never kissed a girl, prom is coming up, and he asked me for advice. ‘Stanley, I know things have been a little weird between you and me with college, but can you talk to me about girls?’” That was before prom (the one in which a girl threw fruit punch at Ford), mind you.

And still, this is what Stan thinks when he realizes Ford is going to accept the scholarship: “Without Ford, I was just half of a dynamic duo. I couldn’t make it without him.” He saw himself as only half of a whole—no wonder, with the way both twins were pushed to believe this since their birth, when they were both named Stan.

When asked about Shermie, Alex observed that a crucial part of their dynamic is that they only had each other. No younger or older brother to support them. The quote from HanaHyperfixates’ and ThatGFFan’s interview:

In terms of Shermie, I remember asking Rob or somebody at some point, like, “Would Shermie be here, logically? Do we have to see him?” I don’t really wanna see him. I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in Stan and Ford being—sort of having only each other and then losing each other because of their different life paths.

I think the suggestion was, “Maybe Shermie would be a baby. Maybe that would happen.” And being like, “okay sure.”

Let’s not forget, too, the only time Ford ever mentions Shermie in Journal 3—“Sherman Pines’s,” surname and all:

From my own observations about their parents, that point is only driven further home.

Filbrick is, well, Filbrick. I don’t think I need to explain much here; every one of us has different interpretations and headcanons about him, but they seem to all agree on the common factor he wasn’t a good father—how much that can be justified by their time period or stretched to accommodate the most heartwrenching stangst is up for debate, just not a subject for this post.

Caryn is more complicated. I think Filbrick was definitely ‘worse’ than her, so to speak, at least in a more obvious way, and she has canonically demonstrated considerable fondness for Stan in particular—according to her, Stan’s rambunctiousness can be attributed to an excess of “personality,” he’s her “little free spirit.” She was, most notably, one of the two people present at Stan’s funeral if the info on the new website is to be trusted. We see her smiling brightly in the picture of the baby Stan twins included in TBoB, which hints at the fact she indeed liked her kids.

But the fact that she, as an adult, didn’t intervene when Stan was kicked out is simply, in my point of view, inexcusable. One could say she was momentarily paralyzed from an overwhelming fear of Filbrick, as a supposed victim herself, but a) that’s already entering headcanon domain, and b) I think that’s far from the truth and directly contradicting the comics, in which she looks happy and relaxed in the company of Filbrick: initiating contact and kissing him on the cheek, comfortingly stroking his back, looking at him with can only be described as tenderness... I don’t think Filbrick is meant to be seen as a monster, not in an exaggerated way. (He’s shown to be touched by Stan’s little stunt with the golden chain, too.) Just a really shitty father, in a common, boring, more nuanced, no less traumatizing, way.

Borrowing a paragraph from a previous analysis:

To me, the most telling thing of all is the fact Stan calls for Ford to help him, not his own mother. Ford, his brother, same age as him, who was at the moment beyond furious with him and very unlikely to show any compassion. Ford, whose attempts to change Filbrick’s mind would more likely than not have been unsuccessful. Not Caryn, adult, who probably had much greater sway over Filbrick. They say a child’s first instinct is to call for their mama. Clearly not in this case!

I’m not saying, here, that Caryn didn’t care about her boys. I elaborate more on her in the meta referenced above, here.

I find it adorable how easily, without any previous prompting, baby Stanley opens up to Ford about his feelings in the comics. The sheer vulnerability of this moment, seeking Ford’s reassurance that he wasn’t a bad kid; the implicit, profound trust, especially coming from someone like Stan, who grows into a man packed to the gills with toxic masculinity due to what he learned from his father. And the manner in which Ford gently comforts him, as if he were used to doing so. As Stan, too, had been shown to do when Crampelter mocked Ford’s fingers. They were clearly accustomed to being each other’s emotional pillars, in the way that kids who learned early on that they can’t count on adults or lean on the authority figures in their lives start building their own little safe space.

The way I see it, the Stan twins got along extremely well, for better or for worse. No obnoxious sibling bickering. No fights and conflict. How could they? They were literally each other’s only friend. If anything, their first major fight was caused by lack of communication, among many other things; they repressed their frustrations with each other to a ridiculous point instead of simply externalizing them like you would expect of an average sibling dynamic.

Second of all, they were monozygotic aka identical twins, as strongly hinted in the show, comics, and books, and as confirmed by Alex on the TBoB website, the behind-the-scenes DVD commentaries, and Twitter. The first mention of it, in 2015, below:

They were both named Stan, they had the same face. I’ve read irl identical twins’ confessions about the nature of such a relationship re: identity issues and how people tend to treat you, and it’s often not pretty. In the Stan twins’ case, their sense of identity was beyond blurry, and it’s not difficult to see why. If you pay attention to the show or the comics, you’ll see many hints of this unhealthiness: the way they were both called to the principal’s office (“Pines twins,” even though only Ford was an interested party), the way Stan was called “a dumber, sweatier version” of Ford by Crampelter, the way they had already pretended to be each other before, not in their childhood but adolescence (Stan’s idea, according to hilarious extra material in the DVDs).

Baby Ford, in the comics, has demonstrated a tendency to shoulder the blame that should only be attributed to Stan. For example, when he exclaims, “Oh my God! We killed the Sibling Brothers!” Ford, honey, if anyone had killed the Sibling Brothers, it would’ve been your brother, the person who shoved them in the first place. Not you.

I find it adorable that he also grounded himself for Stan! Filbrick had been very clear about grounding Stan, only, not both twins. But Ford stays with him as if he were grounded as well, as if he didn’t even have a choice. Where Stan was, there was Ford, not far behind.

They were an unit. Inseparable. As simple as that.

Until they weren’t.

The science fair incident happens, of course—and it’s worth noting Ford doesn’t consider the possibility that Stan sabotaged him out of jealousy or envy of his success for even a second! Instead, he immediately assumes Stan broke his machine so Ford would stay with him!

Did their codependency end with their separation, then? I’ve seen many people believing that yes, it did.

But mullet!Stan, now an adult, ten years after his fight with Ford, still resents Ford for not staying with him “forever”:

Not only that, but as Rob Renzetti (who is Gravity Falls’ supervising producer and story editor and the co-author of Journal 3) phrased it in this separate interview by HanaHyperfixates, Ford’s absence in Stan’s life haunted him and shaped all his relationships:

Um, I mean, to me that’s—I mean, really, Stan—Stan’s life has been… it’s been… sad, and lonely, since—he really… his brother was his best friend, and he loved him so, and I don’t think, you know, I don’t think any other relationship ever worked out for him, because of what happened between him and his brother.

And by the end of it all, you get Bill calling Stan “co-dependant” (British Bill?) on the TBoB website:

I know you might think, at first, that we should take Bill’s insults with a grain of salt, since he’s 1) Bill and 2) petty and desperate. But Bill has also a track record of trying to hit where he thinks will hurt the most, and he knows people. His insult here is not an isolated thing either. It might have been easily dismissed, I agree, if not for all the other evidence for the Stans’ codependency that I’m currently showing you. It’s just one proof out of many, just reinforcing an idea that’s already presented quite clearly.

If you’re still not convinced, Alex has revealed in HanaHyperfixates and ThatGFFan’s interview that Ford’s entire character was built around the type of person that could plausibility explain Stan’s neediness:

Ford was very much us building backwards. The same way you know a black hole is there by the light warped around it, it’s like, you know the damage someone’s family has done to them by all of their weird tics and behaviors. So who is the character who would result in Stan being this hurt and needy and mad and also longing?

But Stan’s codependency, imo, was always easier to see than Ford’s, to the point people mistakenly think Stan cared more about Ford than Ford about him. (I’ve dedicated an entire meta to debunking that assumption as well, here.)

In the commentary of Society of the Blind Eye, though, Alex added, referring to Ford and Fiddleford’s friendship:

Ford as somebody who lost Stan is kinda looking for—even though he rejected his brother, he kinda needs, he needs that other person, and he tried to find that in this kinda sweet prodigy and he just pushed him too far.

What Alex said about Ford’s relationship with Fiddleford can easily be applied to Ford’s relationship with Bill and with Dipper, since Ford needs “that other person,” needs to be one half of a duo. Ford has tried to recreate his dynamic with Stan again, and again, and again:

And then, of course, we have Ford’s proposal.

What’s really cool about this first image (below) is that it was drawn before Stan even accepted Ford’s proposal, and parallels their childhood picture in Ford’s pocket (one that, per Word of God, Ford has always carried with him, even before his portal days, as explained here) in a very obvious manner:

Ford was already excitedly fantasizing, drawing fanart of them together, picking their outfits and the name of the boat.

But more than that, he also says:

[...] I think it’s time for the Pines twins to join forces again. At least, I hope so. I haven’t discussed my idea with Stan yet. But if I know my brother, he will jump at the chance to find “money and babes.”

And this, to me, expresses both his hope that Stan would welcome his idea and agree to sail away with him and his almost certainty that it is exactly what is going to happen. Ford does mention Stan’s love for “money and babes,” but do you guys think Ford didn’t know what (or better yet, whom) Stan actually loved? In AToTS, Journal 3, and TBoB’s new canon material, we can observe that same certainty. In all three instances, Ford immediately assumes that Stan will show up and come for his call via postcard with no indication whatsoever that the possibility of Stan declining showed up in his mind.

Alex has also commented, in the first interview I’ve referenced:

Those characters at sea—it was so rich. They’re really really funny, because they both have major major blind spots. I can kinda write stories about them as a duo forever, because you can always excuse them both getting hyped on a bad idea for their own reasons, and then you can always come up with a reason for them to disagree about it, and it’s always sweet to see them come together again, because they’re so full of themselves, but they are also both so damaged they desperately need each other.

Not only reinforcing the idea that their codependency was—or at least eventually became—mutual, but confirming that things returned to their status quo. Ford has a black & white mindset, the only way he knows how to be with Stan is a codependent way. They’re either separated and estranged or they’re sailing completely alone on a boat for the rest of their lives. Either rivals or best friends forever. There’s no middle ground for him.

[cloudyluun]

Polished in Love

Summary: When Y/N, a passionate nail artist, first paints her boyfriend Harry Styles’ nails, she doesn’t expect it to become their thing. But Harry, ever the devoted and supportive boyfriend, falls in love with the ritual, and with her talent. Soon, he’s booking actual appointments at her salon, showing off her designs to the world, and, in classic Harry fashion, scheming something in secret. When he finally reveals his surprise—a nail polish collection inspired entirely by her, Y/N realizes that love, much like a good manicure, is all about the little details.

A/N: If you’ve ever dreamed of being in a soft, fluffy relationship where your partner is your biggest fan (and also happens to be Harry Styles), then welcome! This little story is my love letter to all things cozy, romantic, and slightly ridiculous—because let’s be honest, Harry being obsessed with getting his nails done is peak adorable. Expect lots of heart-eyes, some happy tears, and a man who is completely and utterly whipped. Hope it makes you smile! Based on this request!

Word Count: 4,3k

Warnings: 

Extreme levels of fluff (proceed with caution if you're allergic to sweetness)

Harry Styles being the softest, most supportive boyfriend ever

Excessive nail polish talk (you might leave wanting to paint your nails)

Emotional tears caused by overwhelming cuteness

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

It starts on a slow Sunday afternoon, the kind where the sun filters through the curtains in soft golden streaks, dust motes swirling lazily in the warm glow. Y/N is perched on the couch, her legs folded beneath her, a tiny brush held delicately between her fingers as she finishes the last touches of a new design on her own nails. The scent of fresh polish lingers in the air, mingling with the faint traces of Harry’s cologne as he lounges beside her, his head tipped against the back of the couch, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

She catches him watching her out of the corner of her eye—curious, maybe even a little intrigued. It’s not the first time she’s caught him looking like that when she works. There’s something in the way she loses herself in her craft, how steady and precise her hands are, that seems to mesmerize him.

Y/N grins, setting her polish bottle down with a little clink. “You wanna try?”

Harry blinks, his gaze flickering up to meet hers. “Try what?”

“Nail polish.” She wiggles her fingers, flashing the delicate design she just finished. “I think you’d look great with some color.”

He scoffs, but there’s a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “D’you now?”

“Uh-huh.” She leans forward, playful and enticing. “Let me do your nails.”

There’s a beat of silence. Harry tips his head to the side, eyeing her like he’s trying to decipher her true intentions. He’s not against it—he’s worn rings, pearls, mesh tops, even feather boas—but this? Letting her sit and paint his nails like they’re at some childhood sleepover? He exhales a quiet chuckle, rubbing his thumb along the inside of his palm.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Y/N raises a brow, then reaches for his hand without waiting for permission. His fingers are warm beneath hers, calloused in places from years of playing guitar, strong yet gentle. She brushes her thumb over the back of his hand, noting the contrast between his larger fingers and her smaller ones.

Harry watches, amused but not resisting, as she starts rifling through her collection, muttering to herself about what color would suit him best. He lets her have her fun, stretching his arm across the couch cushions, and before long, she’s settled in, fully focused as she uncaps a bottle of deep navy blue polish.

“Alright, superstar,” she murmurs, dipping the brush into the bottle. “Try not to move.”

He scoffs again, but there’s something in his expression—fondness, amusement, maybe even the tiniest bit of anticipation. He lets her guide his hand onto her thigh for stability, and the first stroke of polish glides smoothly across his thumbnail.

Harry is quiet as she works. The soft strokes of the brush, the way her fingers gently adjust his own, the faint smell of acetone and floral-scented cuticle oil—it all lulls him into something warm and comfortable. He watches her intently, observing the slight furrow in her brow as she focuses, the way she occasionally chews her bottom lip when she’s being extra careful.

“This is kind of nice,” he admits after a moment.

Y/N looks up, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. “Told you.”

By the time she finishes the last coat, Harry is fully relaxed against the couch, his fingers resting easily in hers as she blows gently on them to help them dry faster. He wiggles his fingers experimentally, his lips pursed in thought.

“Alright,” he says finally, lifting his hand to inspect her work. “This is actually pretty sick.”

Y/N beams. “See? You were meant to be my favorite client.”

Harry laughs, low and warm, before pulling her in for a quick, lazy kiss. His lips are soft, slightly chapped, but they mold perfectly against hers.

That night, when he leaves her apartment, he doesn’t remove the polish.

The habit sneaks up on them quietly, unintentionally. At first, it’s just a joke—something lighthearted and fun, a cute little activity that makes Y/N laugh and lets Harry indulge in something he never really considered before. But then, it turns into more.

After long days at the studio or on the road, he finds himself gravitating toward her little salon space, dropping into his usual seat with a sigh.

“Rough day?” she asks, tilting her head as she starts gathering supplies.

He nods, closing his eyes briefly. “Yeah.”

And that’s that.

She doesn’t need to say much—just gets to work, painting his nails while he rests his head against the couch cushions, humming softly to whatever playlist she has on in the background. Sometimes, they chat; other times, they sit in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

One evening, after she finishes painting a delicate celestial design on his nails, Harry glances down at his hands with a lazy smile.

“I’m keepin’ these on.”

Y/N looks up from putting away her polishes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, running his thumb over the dried design. “Gonna show ‘em off.”

She doesn’t think much of it until the next day, when Twitter explodes with pictures of him at an event, hands adorned in her handiwork. The designs are small but intricate—tiny constellations, a few scattered stars, all meticulously painted in gold against a dark blue base. Fans go absolutely feral over it.

“Okay, but who did his nails???” one tweet reads, with thousands of likes beneath it.

It doesn’t take long for someone to find the answer.

“My girlfriend did them,” Harry says nonchalantly in an interview a few days later, flexing his fingers slightly as the interviewer compliments the look. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

And just like that, the world takes notice.

Y/N doesn’t even realize it at first. She’s busy at work, carefully painting a client’s nails when her phone starts buzzing insistently in her pocket. She ignores it, assuming it’s just her group chat blowing up over some drama. But when she finally takes a break and checks her notifications, her screen is flooded.

Harry’s latest interview clip has gone viral.

The video is everywhere—Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. Fans are gushing over his nails, zooming in on the intricate details she’d painstakingly painted just days ago. The internet is obsessed, not just with Harry’s latest look, but with the fact that she did them.

Her DMs are a mess. There are requests for appointments, compliments from strangers, and even a few messages from beauty influencers asking where she gets her inspiration. Y/N stares at her phone, overwhelmed, before calling the only person who could’ve caused this.

“Harry,” she says the moment he picks up, voice caught between exasperation and amusement. “What did you do?”

He chuckles softly. “I just told the truth, love.”

Y/N can practically hear the grin in his voice.

From that moment on, painting his nails isn’t just something they do in the privacy of her apartment. It becomes their thing, a little ritual of care and closeness.

Harry, ever the extra and devoted boyfriend, takes it one step further.

At first, he still lets her do his nails at home—lounging on her couch, feet propped up on her coffee table, stealing kisses between coats. But then he starts showing up at her studio. Unannounced. Like he’s just another client.

The first time, it’s almost comical.

Y/N is midway through buffing a regular client’s nails when the bell over her studio door chimes. She barely glances up—until she hears an unmistakable voice greeting her receptionist.

“Afternoon, love. I believe I have an appointment?”

She snaps her head up so fast she nearly knocks over her polish display.

Harry stands there, casually dressed in a loose jumper and beanie, dimples on full display as he flashes her an innocent smile.

He waves his fingers at her. “Figured it’s about time I booked a proper session, don’t you think?”

Her client, wide-eyed, looks between them. “Wait. Is that—?”

Y/N groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Harry, you don’t need an appointment. You could’ve just come over.”

“And deprive you of a paying customer?” he teases. “Absolutely not.”

That’s how it starts.

Harry starts officially booking nail appointments—never mind that Y/N refuses to charge him. He insists on getting the full salon experience.

And of course, he never comes empty-handed.

Sometimes, he brings her favorite coffee, balancing two cups with practiced ease. Other times, it’s a fresh bouquet of flowers, a new shade of nail polish he found, or pastries he claims he baked himself (though she’s convinced his private chef helped).

One time, he walks in carrying a ridiculous heart-shaped box of chocolates, looking so smug about it that she can’t even pretend to be annoyed.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she plucks a chocolate from the box. “You really don’t have to bribe me to do your nails, y’know.”

He hums, settling into her chair. “Can’t a man spoil his favorite nail tech?”

Y/N huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re the only client who gets this treatment.”

Harry just grins, completely unbothered.

At some point, he starts referring to a specific chair in her studio as his.

“Oi!” he calls out one day when he walks in and finds another client sitting in it. “That’s my chair.”

Y/N chokes on her laughter.

Her client, startled, looks up. “Wait—what?”

Harry gestures toward the seat with mock seriousness. “That’s Harry’s Throne. Reserved for me.”

Y/N groans, facepalming. “Harry, stop.”

But it’s too late. The nickname sticks.

From that day forward, whenever he comes in for an appointment, her staff jokingly refers to it as his throne. He leans into it shamelessly, draping himself dramatically over the chair whenever he sits down.

“Ready for your royal treatment, your highness?” Y/N teases one day as she sets up her tools.

Harry smirks. “Always.”

And honestly? He loves it.

Not just the pampering, but the way she focuses when she works—her brow furrowing in concentration, the way she tilts his hands just so, the gentle touch of her fingers against his skin.

Sometimes, he hums softly while she paints, some unfinished melody floating in the air. Sometimes, he watches her intently, admiration clear in his gaze.

Other times, he just reaches out, squeezing her hand for no reason at all.

“You’re staring again,” Y/N murmurs one day, not looking up from where she’s carefully adding tiny details to his nails.

Harry doesn’t even try to deny it. “Can’t help it. My girl’s an artist.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, but she hides her smile.

Harry is, without a doubt, her most dramatic—and devoted—client.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

It starts off subtly.

At first, Y/N doesn’t think much of it—Harry’s always been the curious type. He asks random questions all the time, sometimes just to hear her talk, sometimes because he’s genuinely interested in whatever she’s passionate about.

But then the questions start getting oddly… specific.

They’re all about nails.

“What’s your favorite nail polish finish?”

Y/N pauses mid-brushstroke, glancing up at him. “What?”

Harry shrugs, looking down at the glossy black polish she’s carefully applying to his nails. “Just wondering. Do you like matte? Glossy? Maybe something with a little shimmer?”

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “I mean… it depends on the vibe. But I usually go for a high-shine finish. Why?”

He grins. “No reason.”

The next time, it’s even weirder.

“What ingredients should a really good polish have?”

Y/N stops filing his nails, giving him a long, unimpressed stare. “Are you planning to start making your own, or…?”

Harry just laughs, but he doesn’t answer.

And then, a few days later:

“If you could design your own collection, what colors would you pick?”

Y/N puts her tools down.

“Okay. What is going on?” she demands, crossing her arms.

Harry looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes. Too innocent. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been asking so many questions about nail polish,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And not just casual questions—like, very specific, detailed ones.” She tilts her head. “Are you planning on opening a rival salon? Should I be worried?”

Harry smirks, leaning back in his chair—Harry’s Throne, as he insists on calling it. “Maybe I just want to be well-informed about my girlfriend’s industry.”

Y/N scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“Can’t a man ask questions without being interrogated?”

“No, Harry. No, he cannot.”

Harry just grins, clearly enjoying himself.

Y/N studies him, trying to piece it together. She knows him too well. He’s up to something—she can tell from the way his dimples keep threatening to show, the way he’s biting his lip like he’s holding back a secret.

But no matter how much she pries, he won’t crack.

He just sits there, letting her work, humming under his breath like he doesn’t have some mystery scheme in the works.

And Y/N, for all her determination, has no choice but to let it slide.

For now.

Y/N doesn’t realize it at first.

Sure, she notices when Harry starts posting more pictures of his nails. Sometimes it’s a casual Instagram story—his hand resting against the steering wheel, rings gleaming, nails freshly painted. Other times, it’s a candid shot of him mid-performance, microphone in one hand, the other adorned with intricate designs that Y/N had carefully painted herself.

But it’s not until a week after she finishes a particularly detailed set—deep emerald green with delicate gold accents—that she wakes up to something different.

Her phone is blowing up.

It’s not just the usual notifications. It’s thousands of them. Tags, mentions, DMs flooding in faster than she can process.

Her stomach flips as she clicks into Twitter (or whatever the app is calling itself these days).

And there it is.

A tweet—no, several tweets—from popular beauty bloggers, fashion accounts, and actual magazines, all talking about her.

“Harry Styles’ latest manicure is an art piece. The woman behind it? The insanely talented Y/N, who runs a small studio in London. We need to talk about her work.”

She blinks. Scrolls down.

Another tweet:

“Y/N’s nail artistry is insane. Look at the details on this design. Someone get this woman a brand deal IMMEDIATELY.”

And then, a TikTok—one of many—where a beauty influencer is attempting to recreate the very design Y/N had painted on Harry’s nails just days ago.

“Alright, so today we’re trying to do THE Harry Styles nails—yes, the ones by Y/N. No promises mine will be as good as hers because, like, have you seen her work??”

Y/N’s jaw drops.

It’s not just one person. It’s everywhere. People attempting to recreate her designs, tagging her, gushing over her work.

And just like that, her little nail studio—the cozy, quiet place she’s built with so much love—is suddenly the hottest spot in the industry.

Her phone rings, startling her out of her daze.

Harry.

She answers immediately. “Did you see this?”

“I did.” He sounds entirely too smug, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Kinda amazing, innit?”

Y/N lets out a shaky laugh. “I—I don’t even know what to say. It’s… overwhelming.”

“Yeah?” His voice softens. “Good overwhelming or bad overwhelming?”

She swallows, looking at the endless flood of notifications. “I mean… good, I think? Just… a lot.”

There’s a beat of silence, then:

“See, love? You’re brilliant.”

Her heart clenches.

It’s such a simple statement, yet the way he says it—so full of quiet certainty, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world—makes her throat tighten.

She bites her lip. “You really think so?”

Harry scoffs. “I know so.”

And, okay. Maybe the attention is a lot to process. But with Harry in her corner, she feels like she can handle anything.

And she’s going to have to—because things are about to get even bigger.

Her studio is fully booked within days.

Appointments she would have normally spaced out over months are now being snatched up in seconds. Celebrities—actual A-listers—start reaching out to her, inquiring about appointments, collaborations, anything to get a piece of her work.

And through it all, Harry remains her most loyal, most devoted client.

“Hope you’re still making time for me, love,” he teases one night, winking as he drops off her favorite coffee.

Y/N laughs, squeezing his hand. “You’ll always have a spot in my chair.”

Harry grins, his fingers curling around hers, warm and steady. “Good. Would hate to think fame’s gotten to your head.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging his arm. “Oh, please.”

But she doesn’t miss the way he’s looking at her. Fond. Proud. Like he’s known all along that this moment—her success, her recognition—was inevitable. And somehow, that’s even more overwhelming than the notifications still buzzing in her pocket.

--

A few days later, Harry texts her out of nowhere.

H: Pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.

Y/N frowns at the message, a small smirk tugging at her lips. 

Y/N: Excuse me? Am I normally walking around looking like a gremlin?

H: No, you always look perfect. But tonight is special.

That makes her pause. Special?

Harry isn’t the type to get cryptic—not unless he’s planning something.

And judging by the way he shows up at her place that evening, hair perfectly styled, rings glinting in the golden glow of the setting sun, dimples fully engaged, he’s definitely planning something.

“Okay,” she says slowly, sliding into the passenger seat of his car. “What’s going on?”

Harry just smirks, shifting gears as he pulls onto the road. “Patience, love.”

Y/N groans, throwing her head back against the seat dramatically. “You know I have none of that.”

He laughs, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “It’s worth the wait.”

She grumbles but lets it go, letting the warm hum of the radio fill the space between them as they drive.

He takes her to one of their favorite little restaurants—small, cozy, the kind of place where no one bothers them. It’s tucked away from the chaos of London, all dim lighting and soft music, the scent of fresh bread and wine hanging in the air.

And yet… he’s nervous.

Harry never gets nervous.

But she can tell—by the way his knee bounces slightly under the table, by how he keeps fiddling with his rings, by the way he’s not eating, which is the biggest red flag of all.

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m worried. Are you dying? Did you commit a crime? Blink twice if you need me to hide a body.”

Harry lets out a startled laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, love.”

“What?” she says innocently. “You’re acting weird.”

He exhales, rolling his lips together before finally—finally—meeting her eyes.

And then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, sliding it across the table.

Y/N stares at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the box.

“…I swear to God if this is an engagement ring and you’re proposing to me in the middle of a risotto course—”

“It’s not that,” Harry interrupts, laughing, cheeks pink. “Just—open it.”

She eyes him warily, then flips open the lid.

Inside, nestled against the black velvet lining, are three bottles of nail polish.

Not just any nail polish.

Her colors.

She recognizes them instantly. The deep emerald green, the soft blush pink, the inky midnight blue—all shades she’s used on him before, all shades that have become his favorites.

She blinks. Her heart stutters. “Harry, what…?”

He leans forward, hands clasped together on the table. “I’ve been working on something,” he says softly. “For a while now.”

She looks up at him, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

He takes a breath, like he’s really nervous now, like the words are heavy in his mouth.

“I’m launching a brand, called Pleasing.” he finally says. “Beauty, lifestyle, all of it. And the first collection?” He nods toward the box, a small, almost shy smile on his lips. “Nail polishes. Inspired by you.”

Y/N’s breath catches.

She looks at the bottles again, hands slightly unsteady as she picks one up.

It’s not just the colors. It’s the details—the names on the labels.

💚 Green like your eyes 💖 Blush when I call you mine 💙 Midnight Hums

Her throat tightens.

She flicks her gaze back to him. “Harry…”

He reaches for her hand, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “Because you love nails,” he says, voice low, steady. “And I love you.”

Y/N’s heart shatters.

Not in a bad way. In the best way. In the I-don’t-know-how-to-handle-this-level-of-love way.

Because he did this. For her.

Her vision blurs slightly. “You—you made these for me?”

Harry chuckles softly, squeezing her fingers. “’Course I did, love. Everything about them—the colors, the branding, even the formulas—I made sure they were exactly how you’d want them.”

Y/N stares at him, completely overwhelmed.

She blinks rapidly, trying to process everything—how he’s been working on this in secret, how every little detail screams her, how this isn’t just some business move for him, but something deeply, intimately thoughtful.

And then her vision blurs again.

“Oh,” she breathes, voice trembling. “Oh, no.”

Harry’s brows lift in alarm. “No?”

She lets out a watery laugh, swiping at her eyes. “No as in—God, I’m gonna cry.”

And she does.

Right there in the middle of their cozy little dinner, with candles flickering around them, with the soft murmur of other diners in the background, she completely breaks down.

Happy tears, grateful tears—tears that carry all the emotions she can’t quite put into words.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He reaches across the table, thumb brushing gently under her eyes, wiping away the warm, glistening trails down her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to make you cry, angel,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She sniffles, smiling weakly. “You always make me cry. You’re disgustingly sweet, it’s offensive.”

He grins, dimples deep and warm. “That’s a bit rude, considering I just launched an entire line of nail polish inspired by you.”

Y/N lets out a half-laugh, half-sob, shaking her head. “Exactly.”

Harry chuckles, leaning back, then suddenly reaches into his pocket again. “Well, since I’ve already got you crying—” He pulls out a single bottle of polish, holding it up with a boyish glint in his eyes. “So, love, what color are you painting my nails tonight?”

Y/N sniffs, still laughing through the last of her tears. “You—you brought a bottle?”

He shrugs. “Was hopeful.”

And God, she loves him so much she aches with it.

Without thinking, she grabs the bottle from his hand, twisting it open. “Give me your hand.”

Harry’s grin widens, and he immediately obeys, stretching his fingers out across the table.

They’re surrounded by warm candlelight, by the soft hum of quiet conversations, by the smallest flicker of fairy lights strung along the restaurant’s windows. It’s intimate, private, theirs.

She works with slow, careful strokes, the same way she always does. Harry watches her, his gaze unwavering, soft as ever.

And when she glances up, meeting his eyes—she swears he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world.

From that night on, Y/N isn’t just Harry’s favorite nail tech—she’s his muse.

She becomes part of the Pleasing process, helping him pick new colors, testing formulas, brainstorming ideas over coffee and late-night chats.

Her little studio, once a quiet hidden gem, now has a months-long waitlist. But no matter how busy things get, she never gives up her chair—never stops doing what she loves.

And Harry?

Harry never lets anyone else touch his nails.

It becomes their thing, a quiet tradition.

Before every event, every launch, every moment—she’s there, polish brush in hand, fingers steady as she paints his nails, grounding him the way she always has.

Even when life gets chaotic, when they’re traveling, when he’s on tour and she’s juggling her own work, they find moments for it.

Sitting cross-legged on a hotel bed, half-dressed for the next show. Curled up on a couch after a long day, with Netflix playing in the background. Backstage before a performance, where the only thing keeping him still is her touch.

And it’s not just about the polish.

It’s about love. About care. About the way it all started, with one perfect manicure.

And, if Harry has it his way, it’ll never end.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28

[glitterandwitchcraft]

🔮 Do you want to get into dream divination? 🔮

It can be tricky especially trying to force yourself to remember your dreams and every little detail. I've been doing this for my whole life (my parents and their parents and so on view dreams as potential messages from the ancestors and/or god) so I have a few tricks to help you get started!

You don't need to force yourself to remember everything or anything at all. If there is something important, you will remember it upon waking.

At first, picking out what is just the product of electrified goo resting and messages will be really hard. Not everything in your dream has a meaning and not every dream has a message.

Once you start getting the hang of it, while you dream you will get a certain feeling when something happens and that's how you know that it's important for your waking life. For me, the feeling when faced with a symbol or message is when you recognize someone strongly but can't place them or remember anything about them.

If you tell people that you do this, they will 100% message you about all their dreams they think may hold meaning expecting you to decipher every little aspect. This is fun a lot of times but just learn boundaries and such as it can become frustrating trying to do everything in your daily life plus figure out a highly personal message for someone else.

Don't rely on standardized meanings for everything. Some things have different personal meanings for you. If it's your own dream, your feelings and attachments to that thing ALWAYS apply before a standardized meaning does. For example, I've always loved keys. I used to go look for random keys all the time as a kid. Traditionally a key means there's something you need to unlock or find. For me, a key would represent childlike wonder, curiosity, holding onto something, finding something, or taking something.

Get a notebook or a physical dream dictionary so you can write down the symbols and the dates they occurred. Doing this can help you figure out if there's repeating themes. Repeating themes could indicate that you are not taking proper action, you aren't seeing the message correctly, that it isn't a symbol at all and just something your brain likes to dream about, or you have a repeating stressor in your life.

Be prepared for tons of resources to use heavily gendered and mystical definitions. If a definition/meaning does not connect with you then don't use it as it does not apply to you.

There are a ton of scam websites when you first start looking. And there are a bunch that just plagiarize from other websites (literally copy and paste word for word). If you need help deciphering what something means, I recommend getting a grasp on what if means to you and what you felt in the dream when you came across it before having to go through 1,000 sources to help you further.

Most people who do dream divination are more than happy to assist you in breaking down meanings. Feel free to send me a message at any time!

Not all symbols are applicable at the time of reception. The more complicated the meaning or message, usually the longer until you need it. The universe, spirits, God, whatever you believe is giving you the message, should be giving you plenty of time to figure out what something means and being able to use it before the message is needed. Don't stress yourself out by thinking your life is going to be a chaotic disaster tomorrow because you dreamed of swimming in big waves in a storm. You have time.

As with any divination, the future is always subject to change with any action you take. And never use divination for health matters and the like.

[stevieschrodinger]

Eddie notices things.

He might be loud and brash, might be over the top and his mouth might run away before his brain can kick in, but he still notices things.

He likes the details. Loves a fantasy world that’s so detailed it’s believable. Loves a tiny detail in a story that becomes relevant two hundred pages later. Loves a detail in a puzzle in a DnD game. He loves the minutia of everything.

So he notices these details about people. Mostly because Eddie likes to create people. He likes to write his own stories, likes to make his DnD characters real...foibles and all. Any time Eddie is alone, or bored, or waiting, sometimes he looks around and thinks, ‘if I were writing this, how would I describe it?’ And then he does...he writes in his head about the tree he can see, what the weather is doing right now, how he would describe the quality of the sunlight or the way the rain rattles against the window. He watches complete strangers and writes out their whole life in his head. Eddie likes the details, and he likes to create characters, and he also thinks, a lot of the time, you write what you know.

So yeah, Eddie pays attention to the people around him. How they dress, how they behave, if they bite their nails or chew pen lids. If they stand straight or lounge against the nearest wall or counter. How they cradle their smoke in their hand when it’s breezy out.

All the little details he can build into characters he makes in his mind.

Steve’s calendar interests him. It probably shouldn’t, that stuff would be private if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s hanging in Steve’s kitchen where anyone can see it. Plus the fact that it is just a calendar and there for by it’s nature isn’t very interesting. Eddie thinks he finds it interesting just by the virtue that it’s to do with Steve Harrington, and therefore it immediately becomes very interesting to Eddie.

It’s got big pages, a decent amount of space to write in every day. And Steve has. Every single day.

There’s a pattern to it that Eddie deciphers pretty fast; his shift at work is on the top line; it’s in red. Next is anything to do with the kids, and it’s in green; picking the kids up or meeting them or going to a game for Lucas or basically anything like that. Then blue, and that seems to be stuff to do with Eddie himself, Robin, Nancy, if he needs to meet them, give them a ride somewhere, or just times to hang out.

The bottom line is in black, and it’s stuff like, ‘hoover’, ‘do laundry’, ‘bathroom,’ ‘kitchen’, ‘groceries,’ followed by a little note that seems to be about whatever Steve plans to have for dinner that night.

Below it is a note pad, also hanging up, with an in process grocery list on it. Eddie knows why all this is here; Steve’s forgetful.

If Steve makes plans, he immediately writes it down; Eddie’s seen it for himself.

Eddie sees it too, when Steve’s struggling to hear. If too many people speak at once, or if there’s too much background noise, Steve doesn’t stand a chance.

If he’s not looking at you when you’re speaking to him, chances are, he might not be hearing you. Which, okay, Eddie’s just kind of rolling with it.

Until they get together. No one was more surprised by this turn of events than Eddie, who was convinced that he was just going to pine after Steve forever and that would just be how things were for the rest of his life. That was right up until Steve Harrington held his hand and just sort of...seemed to forget to let go.

Eddie hasn’t pointed it out to him yet, he’s still kind of worried that if he points out the fact that they’re kind of, sort of, dating, Steve might realize and stop again. So yeah, Eddie rides the wave, not at all freaking out when Steve invites him over for dinner and a movie like that’s just a normal thing they do now. Because it is. Because they’re kind of dating.

There’s no answer, but that’s pretty normal, the front door is unlocked a lot of the time, Steve doesn’t want to hinder anyone's entry if there’s any kind of emergency going on, and it’s totally normal now for any of them to just wander into Steve’s house.

Steve is cooking; Eddie can smell it. He stands in the kitchen doorway and says Steve’s name. And predictably, Steve doesn’t react.

Eddie takes this as an opportunity to gauge this. He says Steve’s name a little louder; still nothing.

Eddie tries four times, a step closer and a little louder each time, until the last time, when Steve spins around so fast the spoon he’s holding splatters sauce on the counter top and his other hand flies to his chest, “holy shit.”

“Sorry,” Eddie rubs at Steve’s arm and shoulder as he gets his breathing under control, “you couldn’t hear me.”

Steve shrugs, “it’s fine.”

“Stevie…you could at least, you know, go get them checked, or whatever.”

Steve hums, "maybe, if you go with me," and Eddie's quick to agree, because he gets a kiss out of it.

[silverryuan]

Riddle Rosehearts with a Siren reader from Jibaro

A/N: "It's weird that I don't have writer's block... I actually have a lot of ideas in my head that I really want to write but due to classes I can't seem to find any time for my hobbies anymore."

Warning: Blood Consumption, Slight Angst

The Siren or The Golden Woman is a character from Netflix's animation series, "Love, Death, and The Robots". She's the love interest of the deaf soldier from the Jibaro episode, directed by Alberto Mielgo.

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• Your and Riddle's friendship is rather complicated yet it cannot be called a mere acquaintance. Although you don't really talk much you use arm swaying movements to communicate with others, it's almost like some sort of dance or another version of sign language. Rook likes to decipher these actions of yours and Kalim likes to dance with you.

• However, that doesn't mean he tolerates how you let your numb skull friends break the rules in the Heartslabyul dorm. He sometimes wonders if Ace and Deuce became affected by your... tendencies to cause trouble and wreak havoc across the campus. But you only do that as self-defense, as Grim says on your behalf.

• But why in Twisted Wonderland would you randomly scream at people as a defense mechanism? ← Riddle thought as if he doesn't do that himself.

• Riddle never heard you talk but he has heard some rumors associated with your loud screaming. It seems like there's a record of many Savanaclaw beastmen who tried to gang up on you, suddenly did these unusual body movements in reaction to your screaming. As if they're in a trance trying to dance with you but failed miserably.

• The Faculty and Staff were called numerous times to break it up when the students started fighting themselves. When the students snap out of it they don't remember what happened. The only thing they described was hearing beautiful singing, which doesn't make sense...

• Is this your Unique Magic? It's a little similar to Ruggie's Laugh With Me with a mix of Jamil's Snake Whisper, albeit more violent. Because of those incidents, you'd been put into the avoid-at-all-costs pedestal in the student body.

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• The first time he interacted with you was in the cafeteria. Back when he was, ahem, overly strict before his Overblot. He did not like how the collared fool named Ace described him and had second thoughts about removing his collar. Before he could scold Ace, you suddenly leaped onto the table and proceeded to stare at him while moving your head from side to side.

• That was also the moment where he first learned how instinctual you can be when you feel threatened. He yelped and backed away from you, not without uttering an excuse about another rule being violated. On that day, he thought that you were the same as Floyd. Weird and eccentric.

• Riddle wanted to collar you at that moment but he remembered that you had no magic, so he didn't. But by the Great Sevens, he was proven wrong. Deadly wrong. He had become one of the victims that had fallen to the extent of the severity your magic can go.

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• Him Overblotting was far too unsightly of a dorm leader. He broke too many rules, hurt too many of his dormmates, nearly destroyed his dormitory, unaware that his own mother created a monster like him. He held on to his delusions of following every rule down to every detail of it, thinking it was the best for him. But no...

• He knew that it wasn't. He knew deep down that he was hurting others, his friend Trey, but he denied it because they broke the rules. So he punished them because he was right and that he should teach them not to break another rule.

• But what rule is suitable for this? His demented form? His Overblot rampant for control? Who is even right? What rule should he follow to make the pain stop? His mother didn't teach him this... Was what Trappola said was right?

• The thoughts and memories of his past worsened his condition and only made him more mad. He felt his head pounding too much. The black tears of ink wouldn't stop. He hadn't this felt vulnerable and helpless in a long time. It seems that the time he spent with his mother managed to numb the pain as well as his emotions.

• His vision turned dark as the blot consumed him. He cannot breathe. The monster was slowly killing him. Riddle in turn slowly embraces the void, embracing his final moments.

• Somebody... Anybody... Please... Save... Him.

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• ... But it was too late for him.

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"Everyone... Run... Ake... Cov....!"

• At least he get to hear Trey's voice one last time. His voice was panicked and muffled by the blot but nonetheless, Riddle wants to hear it.

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"Yuu! What... doing...?!.... Dangerous...!!"

• Was that your name? Trey is yelling at you. What were you doing?

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"GET BACK!"

• What?

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A̷̞̖̤̩̰̭̼̹͇̘͇̫̭̠ͭͤ͑̈͐̽͛͗̂̆͊̾ͥ̄ͪ̑̎̈̆̀͢͡҉͟҉̶̷̷̨̡̛̀͘̕̕͘͟͟͟͞͠͡A̷̍̓̋̂͘͠͝A̷̶̗͍̺̱͎̠͓̙̖̞̱͇̩͈̒͆ͨͬ̎̌͒͑̓̊͒̈̑̇ͪ͂͝ͅ͏̡̧͜͟͟͢͞͠͝҉́̀͠͠A̳̬͉̫̥̤̩̰̺̯͍͉̪͈̭̜̮̣̣ͬͨ̅̈́ͣͬ͌ͦ̚҉̸̵̡̧̧A̲̫̤̫̥̟͚͕̞̦̣̭̦̞͍̣̮͉̺̮͛ͭ̽ͣͬ̓ͧ̀̐̅ͅͅͅA̵̷̶̧̪͇͈̖̖͔̺̙̦͆̇́̆̏̋̓ͥ̍̓͌͆͂͗̄ͪͯ̚҉̡̡͏̸̶̶̛̕͢͡A̵̷̧̡̛̦̭̰̟͇̯̱͙͇̣̖̩̻̞͙̰̪̱̫͔ͮ͂ͧ̉͋̎ͨ̃ͥ͋̈̀́̕͝҉͡҉̴͠҉̸̡̡̡̀͜͡͝A̷͈̭̠̗͍̹̠̙̗͙͕͎͍̘̥̥̜̹͚̺͚̍ͪ̾̎̔̔ͪ̉ͣͣ̾̊͗̇́ͣ̍̆͐͋͟͠ͅͅ҉̶̛́̕͟͟͢͡À͍̹͉̟̞̼̰͈̻̱̞̥̰͊͒̃̈̓́̿͐ͯ̑͑̍͂ͬ̇ͪ̀̆̚͡ͅͅǍ͚̮͈̰̤͍̹̖͚̮̤͉ͥͬ̏̒̈͌̒̅͆͊̌ͥ͒̔ͮ̂́̀͢͟͟͝҉̧̛̕A̦͎̫͊̈́̌̄̅̓ͦ͂ͬ̔̓̅̍̂ͯ̈́ͭ͂̓͝A̶̷̴̷̸̢̧̡̡̨̡̛̗̖̥͉̰̞̫͉̦̮̦̹̗̗̭̒̋̕͘͘͜͜͟͢͢͞͏̶̕͏͏A̪͍̗͈̤͔̗̠͉̯̮͍̬̪͓̭͕̱̫̞ͮ̓ͦͪ̄͛̄̎ͮͫ͌̽ͧ̈̓ͧ̽̃̽ͮ̐ͭͅͅ

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• What was that? What is that sound?

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A̷̞̖̤̩̰̭̼̹͇̘͇̫̭̠ͭͤ͑̈͐̽͛͗̂̆͊̾ͥ̄ͪ̑̎̈̆̀͢͡҉͟҉̶̷̷̨̡̛̀͘̕̕͘͟͟͟͞͠͡A̷̍̓̋̂͘͠͝A̷̶̗͍̺̱͎̠͓̙̖̞̱͇̩͈̒͆ͨͬ̎̌͒͑̓̊͒̈̑̇ͪ͂͝ͅ͏̡̧͜͟͟͢͞͠͝҉́̀͠͠A̳̬͉̫̥̤̩̰̺̯͍͉̪͈̭̜̮̣̣ͬͨ̅̈́ͣͬ͌ͦ̚҉̸̵̡̧̧A̲̫̤̫̥̟͚͕̞̦͛ͭ̽ͣͬ̓ͧ̀̐̅ͅͅͅA̵̷̶̧̪͇͈̖̖͔̺̙̦͆̇́̆̏̋̓ͥ̍̓͌͆͂͗̄ͪͯ̚҉̡̡͏̸̶̶̛̕͢͡A̵̷̧̡̛̦̭̰̟͇̯̱͙͇̣̖̩̻̞͙̰̪̱̫͔ͮ͂ͧ̉͋̎ͨ̃ͥ͋̈̀́̕͝҉͡҉̴͠҉̸̡̡̡̀͜͡͝A͈̭̠̗͍̹̠̙̗͙͕͎͍̘̥̍ͪ̾̎̔̔ͪ̉ͣͣ̾̊͗̇́ͣ̍̆͐͋ͅÀ͊͒̃̈̓́̿͐ͯ̑͑̍͂ͬ̚Ǎ͚̮͈̰̤͍̹̖ͥͬ̏̒̈͌̒̅͆͊̌ͥ͒̔ͮ̂A̦͎̫͊̈́̌̄̅̓ͦ͂ͬ̔̓̅̍̂ͯ̈́ͭ͂̓͝A̶̷̴̷̸̢̧̡̡̨̡̛̗̖̥͉̰̞̫͉̦̮̦̹̗̗̭̒̋̕͘͘͜͜͟͢͢͞͏̶̕͏͏A̪͍̗͈̤͔̗̠͉̯̮ͮ̓ͦͪ̄͛̄̎ͮͫ͌̽ͧ̈̓ͧ̽̃̽ͮ̐ͭͅȦ̲̟̭̪̺̜̻̞̹̯͕̱͋ͥͤͩͦ͊̀̕͏̧A̢̠̻̠̩̜̥̩͙̺̓ͤ̾̓ͥ̏͛̅̔̉ͥ̾ͭ̌͋ͦͤ̇͐ͭ̆̚A̗͈̜̱̞̞͓̹͓̩̼̓ͤ̑À̶̷̵̴̧̢̛̜̯̩͕̟̟̞͈̒̅̇̀̇̔ͭ̔̄̄͆͑ͥ̂̃̉́͘̕͟͞͞͞ͅ҉̷̨̨̛̀͘͠͞Ȃ̮͈̝͈̩͈͚͙̭̙̪̦̺͚̾͆͆́̃͋͂͆͐͆ͭ̋̓Å̵̷̡̼͖͕̪̱̠͓̼̪̜̕̕͢͏͏̷͝A̜̘̺̭ͩ̃̅̀͐͋ͤ͐ͪ̅ͣͬ̌̊̐̽̆̃͒̿͛̿̌̉̀ͫ̉À̷̴̸̢̛͚̲͉̠̞̺̭̘̐ͬͥ́͗̏̊̆̾̒̒ͥͭ̽̋̓̑̀̀͘͞͞͝͡Ą̴̷̢̢̨̧̛͇͖͓̟̪͗̓͑̂́́̀̚͘͢͜҉

• It's coming closer...!

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A̷̞̖̤̩̰̭̼̹͇̘͇̫̭̠ͭͤ͑̈͐̽͛͗̂̆͊̾ͥ̄ͪ̑̎̈̆̀͢͡҉͟҉̶̷̷̨̡̛̀͘̕̕͘͟͟͟͞͠͡A̷̍̓̋̂͘͠͝A̷̶̗͍̺̱͎̠͓̙̖̞̱͇̩͈̒͆ͨͬ̎̌͒͑̓̊͒̈̑̇ͪ͂͝ͅ͏̡̧͜͟͟͢͞͠͝҉́̀͠͠A̳̬͉̫̥̤̩̰̺̯͍͉̪͈̭̜̮̣̣ͬͨ̅̈́ͣͬ͌ͦ̚҉̸̵̡̧̧A̲̫̤̫̥̟͚͕̞̦̣̭̦̞͍̣̮͉̺̮͛ͭ̽ͣͬ̓ͧ̀̐̅ͅͅͅA̵̷̶̧̪͇͈̖̖͔̺̙̦͆̇́̆̏̋̓ͥ̍̓͌͆͂͗̄ͪͯ̚҉̡̡͏̸̶̶̛̕͢͡A̵̷̧̡̛̦̭̰̟͇̯̱͙͇̣̖̩̻̞͙̰̪̱̫͔ͮ͂ͧ̉͋̎ͨ̃ͥ͋̈̀́̕͝҉͡҉̴͠҉̸̡̡̡̀͜͡͝A̷͈̭̠̗͍̹̠̙̗͙͕͎͍̘̥̥̜̹͚̺͚̍ͪ̾̎̔̔ͪ̉ͣͣ̾̊͗̇́ͣ̍̆͐͋͟͠ͅͅ҉̶̛́̕͟͟͢͡À͍̹͉̟̞̼̰͈̻̱̞̥̰͊͒̃̈̓́̿͐ͯ̑͑̍͂ͬ̇ͪ̀̆̚͡ͅͅǍ͚̮͈̰̤͍̹̖͚̮̤͉ͥͬ̏̒̈͌̒̅͆͊̌ͥ͒̔ͮ̂́̀͢͟͟͝҉̧̛̕A̦͎̫͊̈́̌̄̅̓ͦ͂ͬ̔̓̅̍̂ͯ̈́ͭ͂̓͝A̶̷̴̷̸̢̧̡̡̨̡̛̗̖̥͉̰̞̫͉̦̮̦̹̗̗̭̒̋̕͘͘͜͜͟͢͢͞͏̶̕͏͏A̛̪͍̗͈̤͔̗̠͉̯̮͍̬̪͓̭͕̱̫̞͍̺̗ͮ̓ͦͪ̄͛̄̎ͮͫ͌̽ͧ̈̓ͧ̽̃̽ͮ̐ͭ̕͜͟͜͠͝ͅͅ҉̶̴̧̨̀͟͜Ȧ̲̟̭̪̺̜̻̞̹̯͕̱͋ͥͤͩͦ͊̀̕͏̧A̢̠̻̠̩̜̥̩͙̺̓ͤ̾̓ͥ̏͛̅̔̉ͥ̾ͭ̌͋ͦͤ̇͐ͭ̆̚Ą̵̵̸̨̛̗͈̜̱̞̞͓̹͓̩̼̪̙̯̹̠̜̩͙̙͕͈͔̮̓ͤ̑̕͢͜͟͞͏̨̡͢͢͢À̶̷̵̴̧̢̛̜̯̩͕̟̟̞͈̒̅̇̀̇̔ͭ̔̄̄͆͑ͥ̂̃̉́͘̕͟͞͞͞ͅ҉̷̨̨̛̀͘͠͞Ȃ̮͈̝͈̩͈͚͙̭̙̪̦̺͚̾͆͆́̃͋͂͆͐͆ͭ̋̓Å̵̷̡̼͖͕̪̱̠͓̼̪̜̕̕͢͏͏̷͝A̜̘̺̭̰̤̱̲ͩ̃̅̀͐͋ͤ͐ͪ̅ͣͬ̌̊̐̽̆̃͒̿͛̿̌̉̀ͫ̉̀̀͘͟͟͢҉̴̸̨͜͠͡À̷̴̸̢̛͚̲͉̠̞̺̭̘̐ͬͥ́͗̏̊̆̾̒̒ͥͭ̽̋̓̑̀̀͘͞͞͝͡Ą̴̷̢̢̨̧̛͇͖͓̟̪͗̓͑̂́́̀̚͘͢͜҉̷̛̀̀͘͜͠͝͡͡A̢̹̥̬̖̘̘͓̥̮͕͋̐͆͌͑͋́ͬ͆ͫͪ̅̔́̊̋͆ͧ̈́ͧ̆ͯ͌̄̆́͟͝ͅ͏͝Ą̸̴̸̧̨̡̫̫̠̳͉͓̦͓̘̯̳͖̣͎̲͕̟̠̔̃̽́ͪ̔ͮ̅ͩ̎̔͂̉̇͒ͬ̏́̀̕͢͟͞͝͞͠ͅÀ̧̡̛̛̩̻̫͚̞̹̱̙̝̩̘̩̟̠̥̐̈́̾͊ͨ͊͢͜͡͏̶̵̷̴̴̵̧̨̨̕͜͢͏́Ȃ͇͉̣͎̇ͬ̾̇ͦͮ͂̈́̾͗̓̍̂̈ͦ͜͡͠҉̷̴̢̢̛͜͡͝҉Ą̶̴̸̨̧̛͉̠̦̤͔͓̯̠͎̩͉͐̄ͭ̎ͮ͊̌̓́̅̎̇ͦ͐̇҉̵̵̨̧͘͘͏̴̴̵̵̡̧Ã̷͚̗̞̗͎͎̳̑̆́̅ͭ̌̑̌̓̈ͯ͌ͤ͗ͭ̀͒͛ͮͮͩ̚͘҉̶̡̡̛̛͘͘͘͟͞҉̴̸̷̷̢̛́͘̕͟͢͡͠Ả̦̞̠̳̱̙̠̺̿̓ͯ͆͂̈̀ͯ͝͏̨̀͘͟͟͟͠͏̴̧̢̨͘͘͘̕͜͜͞͠͡͏̴Ȁ͖̲̩̤͇̞͇͚̞̭͈̤̱̞̖͂̿͒̓ͩ͆̀̾̏ͣ̀̒͂͑̈́̿̿ͪ͐͐̃̆ͮͯ͊ͅ͏̴̛̀́͟A̹̱̩̯͖̳̤̼͍͔̞̬̘̖̥̫͍̦͎̺͕̭̰̤͛ͨ̆ͤ͋̇̄͌̆̽ͥͪ̓̄ͥ̅̒̕ͅ҉A̴̴̶̸̶̶̡̦̣͈̯̤̖̯̣͙̖̪̫͕͕̲̼͍͍̪͎̲̩͜͟͝ͅ͏́Ā̶̸̵̸̢̛̬͇̫̺̜̖̫͉̫̟̹̳̥̪ͫͭ̓ͤ͑̎͐̐͆͆̇͌͊͊̽̄̏͗́̂͘͢͢͢͜͟͠͝͞҉̴̛͏̵̸̧́͘A̸̛͕̭̫̜̳̲͍͈̪͍̫͓̞͓̠͈ͦ͊͐̽͆͊̿̍̽ͥͮ̈́ͬ̈ͯ̈́̎͑͒ͫ̀̅̅͝ͅĄ̴̴̵̴̡̦̪͕̭͕͚͚̝͉̝̻̙͓̤͚̩̫̯̥̞͔̗̑̽͑́̔̂͌̓̽ͤ̀̈ͨ̈́̔̉͋̏̍ͫ̈́̆ͭ͆̎́͢͠͠҉̷̷̧҉̀Ă͖̥̘̺͖̭͙̗̗̰͔̹̱͚͓̣̺̥̳͇͍̏̐̈ͥ̀ͤ͂̎ͨ̀̓̆̌͠͏͘͟͡҉͏͏̴̶̡͠͏̧̧̛́̀͘͟͞͞͡͠͠҉A̛̛͖͙̠̭̼̟̱̘̤̬͙̦͓͉̖͉ͫ̀̐̈́̍̒͒ͣͮ̌ͨͨ̒͗̽̋ͧͯͤ̚̚̚͘͜͜͟͡͝ͅͅA̷̛̘̰͍͉͔̥̹͚͖̮͇̦̻̪͚̪̮̗͚̳̮̫͚̜͌̈͗ͭ̎̅ͨͫ̆ͯͦͦ̿̈́̈́ͩ͊̐ͮ̆ͩ͑ͨA̵͈̼͇̠̩̤̱̮̳̠̝͕͛ͧͩ̃̅̈̍̾͊́̈́̌̀ͦͩͦͨ̋ͦ̌̃̅͏̵͢҉̶̡̛́̀͠͏͏͏͏͝A̸͎̤̞̝͕̗͕̣̣̼̫̻̾̓ͮͬ̄ͨͣ͆̀͢͏҉͜͜҉̸̕A̶̶̸̡̧̨̧̹̪̬̩͖͖͈̭͔̯ͥͬͩ͗̒̌̾ͣ̑́́́͘͘̕̕͘͟͜͟͟͝͡͠͡͝͡͝ͅÁ̵̡̫̭̩̙͎̺̞̝̹̥̝̤̯͖̆̈́̉̈́̊͊͑ͮ̀́̚͘͘͜͢͞͠͏̀͏͏҉̸̡̀A̛̰͓̬̙̮̖̫̤̙͍̤̘͚͕̱̬̱̝̗̪͖̲̅ͨͣ̀̓̎̎̿̊̑̌̓͒ͮ͜͠҉̶̛͢͏̶̴̸̨̡̀̀͘͝͞Â̱͈̬̘̥̟͕̘̘͙̺͉͍͕͇͖̄͋ͩ́ͦ̓̌̊ͦ͐̂͛̈̽́͟͝͏̶̷̸̸̵̵̨̧̢́́̀͘͘͘͟͜͟͜͡͡͝Ą̷̧̜̮̲̟̥͎͕͉̖͉͖̩͈̮̺̂͘͢͝͠͞͠͏͞Ạ̴̶̢̠͎͖̥̙͙̱̼̯̻́̐̑̽̈́͆̊̂ͫͬͤͯͨ̾̔̑̈ͩ͛ͣ̎̏̆̏ͯ̓̊͘͟͜͠͞͝͏̧̛́̕͟͜͡Ą̸̷̷̴̡̛̪͙̻͇̬̲͖̪͖̅̌̓̆͊ͨ̏̿̓͆͑̄̍ͦ̊ͮ̇͋̏͌̾̑̾̈̍ͧ͜͟͞͞͡͡͠͞ͅA̬̭͉͙͓͖͇̰͇͍̾͂̄ͯ̔̉̿ͮ̍͆ͮͨ̚A̸̵̡̢̠̞̳͓̦̹ͬ̊ͭ͆͗͂ͮ͊͘͘͡͝͠ͅ҉̵̶̵̴̡̢̧͟͜͡͠͠͝҉̸҉A̶̶̧͈̝̞̻̺̙̭ͫ̐̀͘̕͘̕͟͝҉҉͢Ạ̷̧̡̛̛̓́͟͜͠͝͝͝Ǎ̷̡̢̛͔̠̭̙̣̖͎̬͈̥́ͬ̋͂͂ͤ͋ͧ͑ͩ̂̽ͯͮ̒̅ͪ̀̊̒̎ͩͨ̈́̈͌͢͝͞͠ͅÂ̸̧̪ͮ̋͌̎̉͋ͨ͑̊̎ͩ̈́̎͒̀͜͝҉̸͜͞͡A̴̧̧̢̢̨̘̠̹̱̻̤͖̫̯̞̬͖̗̠͚̳̲͓̪̿̍ͨͦ͛̓̍͊̀͊͗́ͣ̚͡͞͏͢҉̷̸͘͏Ą̴̸̵̴̛̻͓̯̞͇̻͢͟͠͡҉̵҉̶̴̡̛̕͘͜͜͜͡͠Ą̵̹̮̭͉̦̺͔̆͟͝͡͡͞Ą̴̷̡̨̨̧̨̰͔̱̻̺͓͇̩̝̺̣͉̦̗̳͆̀ͦ̆ͧ͛ͨ͆ͯ̅ͫ̽̊̄̅̓ͬͦͣ̍ͪ̋̎̚͘͘͘͢͟͡͝͞A̢ͯ̍͑͐̎̆̅͛̅͒̉̒͋ͣͤ̅͂̆̐ͨͭͤ̐ͣ̚҉̀͏̶̷̸̸̵̨̢̧̢̡̡̛̛́͘͢͠͡͞͝͠͝A̘̱̪͎̟̯̪̔͗̄ͫ̋ͧ͌̄͊͛̈́ͫ̍͆ͬ͛ͤͧ҉̶́҉̸̴̨̢̡́́͢͟͡͝A̷̶̴̵̡̛̘̩̙̯̜̩̦̟̱̼̤͉̭̲̟̹͇̯̗̱̘̲̔ͥ̌̅̒̽́̀́͘͢͜͜͞͠͏̵̡́̀͢͞҉̨͏̧͟

• Riddle cradled his head as a piercing shriek breaks the sound barrier, the void around him started falling apart from the shockwaves.

• It sounds awful... Like a thousand banshees shouting and crying inside his head...

• How it painfully reminded him of his mother yelling at him!

• How it sounded like her voice multiplied in every direction surrounding him and started screaming at him...!

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• But it stopped. Everything went silent...

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• The cries of the damned were replaced by beautiful melodic singing...

• ... It was hypnotizing him.

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"Riddle! Snap out of it!"

"Rosehearts! Stop this madness!"

"Riddle, please, can you hear us?"

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• Outside from Riddle's caged mind, his Overblot form and monster were in a spiral, desperately fighting back to whatever magic you've casted upon him. The more you screamed, the more Riddle suffered.

• Thank the Sevens Crowley managed to make himself useful and evacuated the rest of the students. Otherwise they'd fall under your magic's attack range too. Trey and Cater made a good call summoning magic shields around themselves before you attacked.

""̨̌̽AA̯̝ͪ͏A̠̭̠ͯ̀̀ȀA̱̫̯ͣ̔̍Ā͔̞͉̈́U̗͡U͇̭̯U̬̜ͪ̅͡U̝̟̮G͎͓͇ͥ̅̓G͈̜̙G̬̝͉͊̾G͒͒͡H͇ͯͩ̑H̹̬́͌H͓̫̆ͨH̵̗̚!ͫͫ̍!̦̬͗ͤ̌́҉!͙͚͂̓ͮ!̷͍̝͊͐!̖̟̦́̓͒͘͘ ̡ͪ͑S̷̫̓ͧ́́T̫̐Õ̵̳̙̣̾̂P̶̛ ̰͙̈́͜͞Ȋ͔̺̭̆͞T̐̚͏͝.͇͙̤̐̐ͩ͘͠.̩͗ͤ.̢̦̱̝̚͘!̢͕ ̸̺͈̤͌̃͘S͈̺̘ͦ̅͟T͍̩̠O̸̞͈̹ͥͦͩ͟P͆͗̍͏̧ ̴̜̦Ţ̷̲̙͕H̤̰̤̀͜A̜͙͉ͧͣ͂T͙͊́͞.͚ͪ̇̽.́͟.̬̯̜ͭͫ͘!̵ A̵̝̗̖A̞͙̣̓̏A͍̅͢A͆̈͌Uͧͮͦ҉͏U̶͇̰̗U̘̭̗̔͐U̡̱̜̳ͯ̿G͠G̝̤̙͌̀͏G̪̬̜G͙̳ͯ͏̴Ĥ̬̜͕̌͝"̜̃͟

A̷̞̖̤̩̰̭̼̹͇̘͇̫̭̠ͭͤ͑̈͐̽͛͗̂̆͊̾ͥ̄ͪ̑̎̈̆̀͢͡҉͟҉̶̷̷̨̡̛̀͘̕̕͘͟͟͟͞͠͡A̷̍̓̋̂͘͠͝A̷̶̗͍̺̱͎̠͓̙̖̞̱͇̩͈̒͆ͨͬ̎̌͒͑̓̊͒̈̑̇ͪ͂͝ͅ͏̡̧͜͟͟͢͞͠͝҉́̀͠͠A̳̬͉̫̥̤̩̰̺̯͍͉̪͈̭̜̮̣̣ͬͨ̅̈́ͣͬ͌ͦ̚҉̸̵̡̧̧A̲̫̤̫̥̟͚͕̞̦̣̭̦̞͍̣̮͉̺̮͛ͭ̽ͣͬ̓ͧ̀̐̅ͅͅͅA̵̷̶̧̪͇͈̖̖͔̺̙̦͆̇́̆̏̋̓ͥ̍̓͌͆͂͗̄ͪͯ̚҉̡̡͏̸̶̶̛̕͢͡A̵̷̧̡̛̦̭̰̟͇̯̱͙͇̣̖̩̻̞͙̰̪̱̫͔ͮ͂ͧ̉͋̎ͨ̃ͥ͋̈̀́̕͝҉͡҉̴͠҉̸̡̡̡̀͜͡͝A̷͈̭̠̗͍̹̠̙̗͙͕͎͍̘̥̥̜̹͚̺͚̍ͪ̾̎̔̔ͪ̉ͣͣ̾̊͗̇́ͣ̍̆͐͋͟͠ͅͅ҉̶̛́̕͟͟͢͡À͍̹͉̟̞̼̰͈̻̱̞̥̰͊͒̃̈̓́̿͐ͯ̑͑̍͂ͬ̇ͪ̀̆̚͡ͅͅǍ͚̮͈̰̤͍̹̖͚̮̤͉ͥͬ̏̒̈͌̒̅͆͊̌ͥ͒̔ͮ̂́̀͢͟͟͝҉̧̛̕A̦͎̫͊̈́̌̄̅̓ͦ͂ͬ̔̓̅̍̂ͯ̈́ͭ͂̓͝A̶̷̴̷̸̢̧̡̡̨̡̛̗̖̥͉̰̞̫͉̦̮̦̹̗̗̭̒̋̕͘͘͜͜͟͢͢͞͏̶̕͏͏A̛̪͍̗͈̤͔̗̠͉̯̮͍̬̪͓̭͕̱̫̞͍̺̗ͮ̓ͦͪ̄͛̄̎ͮͫ͌̽ͧ̈̓ͧ̽̃̽ͮ̐ͭ̕͜͟͜͠͝ͅͅ҉̶̴̧̨̀͟͜Ȧ̲̟̭̪̺̜̻̞̹̯͕̱͋ͥͤͩͦ͊̀̕͏̧A̢̠̻̠̩̜̥̩͙̺̓ͤ̾̓ͥ̏͛̅̔̉ͥ̾ͭ̌͋ͦͤ̇͐ͭ̆̚Ą̵̵̸̨̛̗͈̜̱̞̞͓̹͓̩̼̪̙̯̹̠̜̩͙̙͕͈͔̮̓ͤ̑̕͢͜͟͞͏̨̡͢͢͢À̶̷̵̴̧̢̛̜̯̩͕̟̟̞͈̒̅̇̀̇̔ͭ̔̄̄͆͑ͥ̂̃̉́͘̕͟͞͞͞ͅ҉̷̨̨̛̀͘͠͞Ȃ̮͈̝͈̩͈͚͙̭̙̪̦̺͚̾͆͆́̃͋͂͆͐͆ͭ̋̓Å̵̷̡̼͖͕̪̱̠͓̼̪̜̕̕͢͏͏̷͝A̜̘̺̭̰̤̱̲ͩ̃̅̀͐͋ͤ͐ͪ̅ͣͬ̌̊̐̽̆̃͒̿͛̿̌̉̀ͫ̉̀̀͘͟͟͢҉̴̸̨͜͠͡À̷̴̸̢̛͚̲͉̠̞̺̭̘̐ͬͥ́͗̏̊̆̾̒̒ͥͭ̽̋̓̑̀̀͘͞͞͝͡Ą̴̷̢̢̨̧̛͇͖͓̟̪͗̓͑̂́́̀̚͘͢͜҉̷̛̀̀͘͜͠͝͡͡A̢̹̥̬̖̘̘͓̥̮͕͋̐͆͌͑͋́ͬ͆ͫͪ̅̔́̊̋͆ͧ̈́ͧ̆ͯ͌̄̆́͟͝ͅ͏͝Ą̸̴̸̧̨̡̫̫̠̳͉͓̦͓̘̯̳͖̣͎̲͕̟̠̔̃̽́ͪ̔ͮ̅ͩ̎̔͂̉̇͒ͬ̏́̀̕͢͟͞͝͞͠ͅÀ̧̡̛̛̩̻̫͚̞̹̱̙̝̩̘̩̟̠̥̐̈́̾͊ͨ͊͢͜͡͏̶̵̷̴̴̵̧̨̨̕͜͢͏́Ȃ͇͉̣͎̇ͬ̾̇ͦͮ͂̈́̾͗̓̍̂̈ͦ͜͡͠҉̷̴̢̢̛͜͡͝҉Ą̶̴̸̨̧̛͉̠̦̤͔͓̯̠͎̩͉͐̄ͭ̎ͮ͊̌̓́̅̎̇ͦ͐̇҉̵̵̨̧͘͘͏̴̴̵̵̡̧Ã̷͚̗̞̗͎͎̳̑̆́̅ͭ̌̑̌̓̈ͯ͌ͤ͗ͭ̀͒͛ͮͮͩ̚͘҉̶̡̡̛̛͘͘͘͟͞҉̴̸̷̷̢̛́͘̕͟͢͡͠Ả̦̞̠̳̱̙̠̺̿̓ͯ͆͂̈̀ͯ͝͏̨̀͘͟͟͟͠͏̴̧̢̨͘͘͘̕͜͜͞͠͡͏̴Ȁ͖̲̩̤͇̞͇͚̞̭͈̤̱̞̖͂̿͒̓ͩ͆̀̾̏ͣ̀̒͂͑̈́̿̿ͪ͐͐̃̆ͮͯ͊ͅ͏̴̛̀́͟A̹̱̩̯͖̳̤̼͍͔̞̬̘̖̥̫͍̦͎̺͕̭̰̤͛ͨ̆ͤ͋̇̄͌̆̽ͥͪ̓̄ͥ̅̒̕ͅ҉A̴̴̶̸̶̶̡̦̣͈̯̤̖̯̣͙̖̪̫͕͕̲̼͍͍̪͎̲̩͜͟͝ͅ͏́Ā̶̸̵̸̢̛̬͇̫̺̜̖̫͉̫̟̹̳̥̪ͫͭ̓ͤ͑̎͐̐͆͆̇͌͊͊̽̄̏͗́̂͘͢͢͢͜͟͠͝͞҉̴̛͏̵̸̧́͘A̸̛͕̭̫̜̳̲͍͈̪͍̫͓̞͓̠͈ͦ͊͐̽͆͊̿̍̽ͥͮ̈́ͬ̈ͯ̈́̎͑͒ͫ̀̅̅͝ͅĄ̴̴̵̴̡̦̪͕̭͕͚͚̝͉̝̻̙͓̤͚̩̫̯̥̞͔̗̑̽͑́̔̂͌̓̽ͤ̀̈ͨ̈́̔̉͋̏̍ͫ̈́̆ͭ͆̎́͢͠͠҉̷̷̧҉̀Ă͖̥̘̺͖̭͙̗̗̰͔̹̱͚͓̣̺̥̳͇͍̏̐̈ͥ̀ͤ͂̎ͨ̀̓̆̌͠͏͘͟͡҉͏͏̴̶̡͠͏̧̧̛́̀͘͟͞͞͡͠͠҉A̛̛͖͙̠̭̼̟̱̘̤̬͙̦͓͉̖͉ͫ̀̐̈́̍̒͒ͣͮ̌ͨͨ̒͗̽̋ͧͯͤ̚̚̚͘͜͜͟͡͝ͅͅA̷̛̘̰͍͉͔̥̹͚͖̮͇̦̻̪͚̪̮̗͚̳̮̫͚̜͌̈͗ͭ̎̅ͨͫ̆ͯͦͦ̿̈́̈́ͩ͊̐ͮ̆ͩ͑ͨA̵͈̼͇̠̩̤̱̮̳̠̝͕͛ͧͩ̃̅̈̍̾͊́̈́̌̀ͦͩͦͨ̋ͦ̌̃̅͏̵͢҉̶̡̛́̀͠͏͏͏͏͝A̸͎̤̞̝͕̗͕̣̣̼̫̻̾̓ͮͬ̄ͨͣ͆̀͢͏҉͜͜҉̸̕A̶̶̸̡̧̨̧̹̪̬̩͖͖͈̭͔̯ͥͬͩ͗̒̌̾ͣ̑́́́͘͘̕̕͘͟͜͟͟͝͡͠͡͝͡͝ͅÁ̵̡̫̭̩̙͎̺̞̝̹̥̝̤̯͖̆̈́̉̈́̊͊͑ͮ̀́̚͘͘͜͢͞͠͏̀͏͏҉̸̡̀A̛̰͓̬̙̮̖̫̤̙͍̤̘͚͕̱̬̱̝̗̪͖̲̅ͨͣ̀̓̎̎̿̊̑̌̓͒ͮ͜͠҉̶̛͢͏̶̴̸̨̡̀̀͘͝͞Â̱͈̬̘̥̟͕̘̘͙̺͉͍͕͇͖̄͋ͩ́ͦ̓̌̊ͦ͐̂͛̈̽́͟͝͏̶̷̸̸̵̵̨̧̢́́̀͘͘͘͟͜͟͜͡͡͝Ą̷̧̜̮̲̟̥͎͕͉̖͉͖̩͈̮̺̂͘͢͝͠͞͠͏͞Ạ̴̶̢̠͎͖̥̙͙̱̼̯̻́̐̑̽̈́͆̊̂ͫͬͤͯͨ̾̔̑̈ͩ͛ͣ̎̏̆̏ͯ̓̊͘͟͜͠͞͝͏̧̛́̕͟͜͡Ą̸̷̷̴̡̛̪͙̻͇̬̲͖̪͖̅̌̓̆͊ͨ̏̿̓͆͑̄̍ͦ̊ͮ̇͋̏͌̾̑̾̈̍ͧ͜͟͞͞͡͡͠͞ͅA̬̭͉͙͓͖͇̰͇͍̾͂̄ͯ̔̉̿ͮ̍͆ͮͨ̚A̸̵̡̢̠̞̳͓̦̹ͬ̊ͭ͆͗͂ͮ͊͘͘͡͝͠ͅ҉̵̶̵̴̡̢̧͟͜͡͠͠͝҉̸҉A̶̶̧͈̝̞̻̺̙̭ͫ̐̀͘̕͘̕͟͝҉҉͢Ạ̷̧̡̛̛̓́͟͜͠͝͝͝Ǎ̷̡̢̛͔̠̭̙̣̖͎̬͈̥́ͬ̋͂͂ͤ͋ͧ͑ͩ̂̽ͯͮ̒̅ͪ̀̊̒̎ͩͨ̈́̈͌͢͝͞͠ͅÂ̸̧̪ͮ̋͌̎̉͋ͨ͑̊̎ͩ̈́̎͒̀͜͝҉̸͜͞͡A̴̧̧̢̢̨̘̠̹̱̻̤͖̫̯̞̬͖̗̠͚̳̲͓̪̿̍ͨͦ͛̓̍͊̀͊͗́ͣ̚͡͞͏͢҉̷̸͘͏Ą̴̸̵̴̛̻͓̯̞͇̻͢͟͠͡҉̵҉̶̴̡̛̕͘͜͜͜͡͠Ą̵̹̮̭͉̦̺͔̆͟͝͡͡͞Ą̴̷̡̨̨̧̨̰͔̱̻̺͓͇̩̝̺̣͉̦̗̳͆̀ͦ̆ͧ͛ͨ͆ͯ̅ͫ̽̊̄̅̓ͬͦͣ̍ͪ̋̎̚͘͘͘͢͟͡͝͞A̢ͯ̍͑͐̎̆̅͛̅͒̉̒͋ͣͤ̅͂̆̐ͨͭͤ̐ͣ̚҉̀͏̶̷̸̸̵̨̢̧̢̡̡̛̛́͘͢͠͡͞͝͠͝A̘̱̪͎̟̯̪̔͗̄ͫ̋ͧ͌̄͊͛̈́ͫ̍͆ͬ͛ͤͧ҉̶́҉̸̴̨̢̡́́͢͟͡͝A̷̶̴̵̡̛̘̩̙̯̜̩̦̟̱̼̤͉̭̲̟̹͇̯̗̱̘̲̔ͥ̌̅̒̽́̀́͘͢͜͜͞͠͏̵̡́̀͢͞҉̨͏̧͟

• Riddle, who is now covered in ink from head to toe, is thrashing and destroying everything that comes near him. His Blot monster kept bashing its head on the ground. You were unfazed by his sudden change of aggressiveness and screamed louder.

• Even if he threw projectiles at you, your shrieks' shockwaves would deflect it with strong gusts of wind. Cracks began to appear on the monster's glass head.

"W-what's happening to him...?"

"He's weakened by Henchman's Unique Magic!"

"Eh?! You mean Siren! Yuu's Unique Magic is enough to make him like this?!"

"Focus, Deuce!"

"R-right, sorry!"

"Time to end this, guys... Split Card!"

"He's almost down. Cover us, Yuu! Doodle Suit!"

"I summon forth... Cauldron!"

"Fnyaaaagh!"

A̷̞̖̤̩̰̭̼̹͇̘͇̫̭̠ͭͤ͑̈͐̽͛͗̂̆͊̾ͥ̄ͪ̑̎̈̆̀͢͡҉͟҉̶̷̷̨̡̛̀͘̕̕͘͟͟͟͞͠͡A̷̍̓̋̂͘͠͝A̷̶̗͍̺̱͎̠͓̙̖̞̱͇̩͈̒͆ͨͬ̎̌͒͑̓̊͒̈̑̇ͪ͂͝ͅ͏̡̧͜͟͟͢͞͠͝҉́̀͠͠A̳̬͉̫̥̤̩̰̺̯͍͉̪͈̭̜̮̣̣ͬͨ̅̈́ͣͬ͌ͦ̚҉̸̵̡̧̧A̲̫̤̫̥̟͚͕̞̦̣̭̦̞͍̣̮͉̺̮͛ͭ̽ͣͬ̓ͧ̀̐̅ͅͅͅA̵̷̶̧̪͇͈̖̖͔̺̙̦͆̇́̆̏̋̓ͥ̍̓͌͆͂͗̄ͪͯ̚҉̡̡͏̸̶̶̛̕͢͡A̵̷̧̡̛̦̭̰̟͇̯̱͙͇̣̖̩̻̞͙̰̪̱̫͔ͮ͂ͧ̉͋̎ͨ̃ͥ͋̈̀́̕͝҉͡҉̴͠҉̸̡̡̡̀͜͡͝A̷͈̭̠̗͍̹̠̙̗͙͕͎͍̘̥̥̜̹͚̺͚̍ͪ̾̎̔̔ͪ̉ͣͣ̾̊͗̇́ͣ̍̆͐͋͟͠ͅͅ҉̶̛́̕͟͟͢͡À͍̹͉̟̞̼̰͈̻̱̞̥̰͊͒̃̈̓́̿͐ͯ̑͑̍͂ͬ̇ͪ̀̆̚͡ͅͅǍ͚̮͈̰̤͍̹̖͚̮̤͉ͥͬ̏̒̈͌̒̅͆͊̌ͥ͒̔ͮ̂́̀͢͟͟͝҉̧̛̕A̦͎̫͊̈́̌̄̅̓ͦ͂ͬ̔̓̅̍̂ͯ̈́ͭ͂̓͝A̶̷̴̷̸̢̧̡̡̨̡̛̗̖̥͉̰̞̫͉̦̮̦̹̗̗̭̒̋̕͘͘͜͜͟͢͢͞͏̶̕͏͏A̛̪͍̗͈̤͔̗̠͉̯̮͍̬̪͓̭͕̱̫̞͍̺̗ͮ̓ͦͪ̄͛̄̎ͮͫ͌̽ͧ̈̓ͧ̽̃̽ͮ̐ͭ̕͜͟͜͠͝ͅͅ҉̶̴̧̨̀͟͜Ȧ̲̟̭̪̺̜̻̞̹̯͕̱͋ͥͤͩͦ͊̀̕͏̧A̢̠̻̠̩̜̥̩͙̺̓ͤ̾̓ͥ̏͛̅̔̉ͥ̾ͭ̌͋ͦͤ̇͐ͭ̆̚Ą̵̵̸̨̛̗͈̜̱̞̞͓̹͓̩̼̪̙̯̹̠̜̩͙̙͕͈͔̮̓ͤ̑̕͢͜͟͞͏̨̡͢͢͢À̶̷̵̴̧̢̛̜̯̩͕̟̟̞͈̒̅̇̀̇̔ͭ̔̄̄͆͑ͥ̂̃̉́͘̕͟͞͞͞ͅ҉̷̨̨̛̀͘͠͞Ȃ̮͈̝͈̩͈͚͙̭̙̪̦̺͚̾͆͆́̃͋͂͆͐͆ͭ̋̓Å̵̷̡̼͖͕̪̱̠͓̼̪̜̕̕͢͏͏̷͝A̜̘̺̭̰̤̱̲ͩ̃̅̀͐͋ͤ͐ͪ̅ͣͬ̌̊̐̽̆̃͒̿͛̿̌̉̀ͫ̉̀̀͘͟͟͢҉̴̸̨͜͠͡À̷̴̸̢̛͚̲͉̠̞̺̭̘̐ͬͥ́͗̏̊̆̾̒̒ͥͭ̽̋̓̑̀̀͘͞͞͝͡Ą̴̷̢̢̨̧̛͇͖͓̟̪͗̓͑̂́́̀̚͘͢͜҉̷̛̀̀͘͜͠͝͡͡A̢̹̥̬̖̘̘͓̥̮͕͋̐͆͌͑͋́ͬ͆ͫͪ̅̔́̊̋͆ͧ̈́ͧ̆ͯ͌̄̆́͟͝ͅ͏͝Ą̸̴̸̧̨̡̫̫̠̳͉͓̦͓̘̯̳͖̣͎̲͕̟̠̔̃̽́ͪ̔ͮ̅ͩ̎̔͂̉̇͒ͬ̏́̀̕͢͟͞͝͞͠ͅÀ̧̡̛̛̩̻̫͚̞̹̱̙̝̩̘̩̟̠̥̐̈́̾͊ͨ͊͢͜͡͏̶̵̷̴̴̵̧̨̨̕͜͢͏́Ȃ͇͉̣͎̇ͬ̾̇ͦͮ͂̈́̾͗̓̍̂̈ͦ͜͡͠҉̷̴̢̢̛͜͡͝҉Ą̶̴̸̨̧̛͉̠̦̤͔͓̯̠͎̩͉͐̄ͭ̎ͮ͊̌̓́̅̎̇ͦ͐̇҉̵̵̨̧͘͘͏̴̴̵̵̡̧Ã̷͚̗̞̗͎͎̳̑̆́̅ͭ̌̑̌̓̈ͯ͌ͤ͗ͭ̀͒͛ͮͮͩ̚͘҉̶̡̡̛̛͘͘͘͟͞҉̴̸̷̷̢̛́͘̕͟͢͡͠Ả̦̞̠̳̱̙̠̺̿̓ͯ͆͂̈̀ͯ͝͏̨̀͘͟͟͟͠͏̴̧̢̨͘͘͘̕͜͜͞͠͡͏̴Ȁ͖̲̩̤͇̞͇͚̞̭͈̤̱̞̖͂̿͒̓ͩ͆̀̾̏ͣ̀̒͂͑̈́̿̿ͪ͐͐̃̆ͮͯ͊ͅ͏̴̛̀́͟A̹̱̩̯͖̳̤̼͍͔̞̬̘̖̥̫͍̦͎̺͕̭̰̤͛ͨ̆ͤ͋̇̄͌̆̽ͥͪ̓̄ͥ̅̒̕ͅ҉A̴̴̶̸̶̶̡̦̣͈̯̤̖̯̣͙̖̪̫͕͕̲̼͍͍̪͎̲̩͜͟͝ͅ͏́Ā̶̸̵̸̢̛̬͇̫̺̜̖̫͉̫̟̹̳̥̪ͫͭ̓ͤ͑̎͐̐͆͆̇͌͊͊̽̄̏͗́̂͘͢͢͢͜͟͠͝͞҉̴̛͏̵̸̧́͘A̸̛͕̭̫̜̳̲͍͈̪͍̫͓̞͓̠͈ͦ͊͐̽͆͊̿̍̽ͥͮ̈́ͬ̈ͯ̈́̎͑͒ͫ̀̅̅͝ͅĄ̴̴̵̴̡̦̪͕̭͕͚͚̝͉̝̻̙͓̤͚̩̫̯̥̞͔̗̑̽͑́̔̂͌̓̽ͤ̀̈ͨ̈́̔̉͋̏̍ͫ̈́̆ͭ͆̎́͢͠͠҉̷̷̧҉̀Ă͖̥̘̺͖̭͙̗̗̰͔̹̱͚͓̣̺̥̳͇͍̏̐̈ͥ̀ͤ͂̎ͨ̀̓̆̌͠͏͘͟͡҉͏͏̴̶̡͠͏̧̧̛́̀͘͟͞͞͡͠͠҉A̛̛͖͙̠̭̼̟̱̘̤̬͙̦͓͉̖͉ͫ̀̐̈́̍̒͒ͣͮ̌ͨͨ̒͗̽̋ͧͯͤ̚̚̚͘͜͜͟͡͝ͅͅA̷̛̘̰͍͉͔̥̹͚͖̮͇̦̻̪͚̪̮̗͚̳̮̫͚̜͌̈͗ͭ̎̅ͨͫ̆ͯͦͦ̿̈́̈́ͩ͊̐ͮ̆ͩ͑ͨA̵͈̼͇̠̩̤̱̮̳̠̝͕͛ͧͩ̃̅̈̍̾͊́̈́̌̀ͦͩͦͨ̋ͦ̌̃̅͏̵͢҉̶̡̛́̀͠͏͏͏͏͝A̸͎̤̞̝͕̗͕̣̣̼̫̻̾̓ͮͬ̄ͨͣ͆̀͢͏҉͜͜҉̸̕A̶̶̸̡̧̨̧̹̪̬̩͖͖͈̭͔̯ͥͬͩ͗̒̌̾ͣ̑́́́͘͘̕̕͘͟͜͟͟͝͡͠͡͝͡͝ͅÁ̵̡̫̭̩̙͎̺̞̝̹̥̝̤̯͖̆̈́̉̈́̊͊͑ͮ̀́̚͘͘͜͢͞͠͏̀͏͏҉̸̡̀A̛̰͓̬̙̮̖̫̤̙͍̤̘͚͕̱̬̱̝̗̪͖̲̅ͨͣ̀̓̎̎̿̊̑̌̓͒ͮ͜͠҉̶̛͢͏̶̴̸̨̡̀̀͘͝͞Â̱͈̬̘̥̟͕̘̘͙̺͉͍͕͇͖̄͋ͩ́ͦ̓̌̊ͦ͐̂͛̈̽́͟͝͏̶̷̸̸̵̵̨̧̢́́̀͘͘͘͟͜͟͜͡͡͝Ą̷̧̜̮̲̟̥͎͕͉̖͉͖̩͈̮̺̂͘͢͝͠͞͠͏͞Ạ̴̶̢̠͎͖̥̙͙̱̼̯̻́̐̑̽̈́͆̊̂ͫͬͤͯͨ̾̔̑̈ͩ͛ͣ̎̏̆̏ͯ̓̊͘͟͜͠͞͝͏̧̛́̕͟͜͡Ą̸̷̷̴̡̛̪͙̻͇̬̲͖̪͖̅̌̓̆͊ͨ̏̿̓͆͑̄̍ͦ̊ͮ̇͋̏͌̾̑̾̈̍ͧ͜͟͞͞͡͡͠͞ͅA̬̭͉͙͓͖͇̰͇͍̾͂̄ͯ̔̉̿ͮ̍͆ͮͨ̚A̸̵̡̢̠̞̳͓̦̹ͬ̊ͭ͆͗͂ͮ͊͘͘͡͝͠ͅ҉̵̶̵̴̡̢̧͟͜͡͠͠͝҉̸҉A̶̶̧͈̝̞̻̺̙̭ͫ̐̀͘̕͘̕͟͝҉҉͢Ạ̷̧̡̛̛̓́͟͜͠͝͝͝Ǎ̷̡̢̛͔̠̭̙̣̖͎̬͈̥́ͬ̋͂͂ͤ͋ͧ͑ͩ̂̽ͯͮ̒̅ͪ̀̊̒̎ͩͨ̈́̈͌͢͝͞͠ͅÂ̸̧̪ͮ̋͌̎̉͋ͨ͑̊̎ͩ̈́̎͒̀͜͝҉̸͜͞͡A̴̧̧̢̢̨̘̠̹̱̻̤͖̫̯̞̬͖̗̠͚̳̲͓̪̿̍ͨͦ͛̓̍͊̀͊͗́ͣ̚͡͞͏͢҉̷̸͘͏Ą̴̸̵̴̛̻͓̯̞͇̻͢͟͠͡҉̵҉̶̴̡̛̕͘͜͜͜͡͠Ą̵̹̮̭͉̦̺͔̆͟͝͡͡͞Ą̴̷̡̨̨̧̨̰͔̱̻̺͓͇̩̝̺̣͉̦̗̳͆̀ͦ̆ͧ͛ͨ͆ͯ̅ͫ̽̊̄̅̓ͬͦͣ̍ͪ̋̎̚͘͘͘͢͟͡͝͞A̢ͯ̍͑͐̎̆̅͛̅͒̉̒͋ͣͤ̅͂̆̐ͨͭͤ̐ͣ̚҉̀͏̶̷̸̸̵̨̢̧̢̡̡̛̛́͘͢͠͡͞͝͠͝A̘̱̪͎̟̯̪̔͗̄ͫ̋ͧ͌̄͊͛̈́ͫ̍͆ͬ͛ͤͧ҉̶́҉̸̴̨̢̡́́͢͟͡͝A̷̶̴̵̡̛̘̩̙̯̜̩̦̟̱̼̤͉̭̲̟̹͇̯̗̱̘̲̔ͥ̌̅̒̽́̀́͘͢͜͜͞͠͏̵̡́̀͢͞҉̨͏̧͟

A̭̦̫ͧ̎͘͜A̍ͧA̴̞͇ͫ̈́ͫͧͥ̀ͅÄ̵̼̮́ͩ̍A͖͢G̨̛͔̜̦̮̪̐̉̇̊̀̀͠G̷̟͍̳̭ͪ̈ͪͦHͬ̏̽̾͂H͚̘͍̾̒̇H̸̗̩͍̘̓̈ͦ̍͛͞!̢̈̕!̵̧̬͝!̨̨͖̦̩̱͑ ̺̰̺͛͗̈̾̃҉҉͞Ḙ͎͖͍͇̊̂̇ͥN̯̯̤̮͔̐̈́ͤ̎Ǫ̴̤̥̻̦ͦͭ͊̚͜U͎͋̑̀Gͩ̕H̛҉!̺͕̄̒̑̃̀͠҉͢͞!̢̢͉̃ͥ̀͡!̠̱̟̹͟͞͏ ͍ͣ͏Ǫ̼̫̺ͭͬ̎F̖̰̞͎̆ͣ̄̅F̛̮̳̩͉̦ͪ͘͘ ̼͉̯͊̏̊̄W̲̪͙I̴͔͈̙͓͌͒͂́͘͢͞T̞͈̪͢H̡̧̹͚̪ ̛̟͍̘̭͟A̵̡̡̯̎̋́͘L̴͎̜̀Ļ̷͉̰̠̉͗ͅ ̸̙̙̣̤̦͒̏̿̕͜Ý̙̗̰ͥ̓͜͏̡̢͢O͇͚͖̩ͪͮ͑Ȕ̟̞͈͎̰̐̽ͪ̃͜͢͝͠R̷͞͝ ̘͎̒̑͊͞H̬ͯ̒̎́҉͏̨E̴̛͈͔̠Ẻ͓̦̘E̪̹ͣ͊͊͆͆Ȃ̶̢̛͖͚̹̙̄ͣ̄̉́A̛̝̤A̸̸̝̻̥̣ͣ̽͏Ą̡̘͢D̗̙̹̟̓̄̓̕͡S̴̥̟͎!͈̭͉̥͏̶̡̕͠!̢̢̠̜̌̒̾ͣ͆̕͟!̟̰̣ͤ҉

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{NRC – Infirmary}

• Riddle woke up in the school infirmary. He sat up with a ringing noise in his head. He tries to recall the things that happened but the headache prevented him from doing so. The boy was surprised by Trey, Cater, and the rest of the troublemakers appearing by his side. They looked relieved, tears welled up in Trey's eyes and he says something...

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• ... He can't hear him... Why can't he hear him? Is it because of the ringing? What is he saying?

"...Mnh?... Trey?... Cater?..."

"Riddle! You're okay! A-are you okay? Does your head hurt?"

"Dorm Leader Rosehearts! He's awake!"

"Ssshhhh! His head might still be ringing!"

"... H-huh?"

• Trey and Cater were right up beside him immediately, checking on him. The students behind them couldn't believe it but they were relieved to see him awake.

"Siren! Yuu's magic did quite a number on you, dorm leader... Maybe you should rest more-- Woah!"

"H-Hey, Riddle! Don't sit up yet, you just woke up. There, there, relax."

"Are you in any pain right now? You look a little pale..."

"I... I... Can't... You..."

• They're mouths were moving but no sounds came out no matter how hard Riddle strained his ears.

"What is it? Can you speak louder? What's wrong?"

"Trey.. I can't hear you."

"W-what?"

"I-i can't hear what you're saying, Trey. I can't hear all of you! I c-can't- I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING!"

"Dorm Leader, calm down! Take deep breaths."

"It's alright, just look at us. Everything will be fine."

"He can't hear us?"

"His condition is worse than I thought. Did his Overblot perhaps took his ability to hear?"

"Everyone, please get out of the infirmary. He needs space."

• The students of Heartslabyul left the room but Ace, Deuce, Grim and you stayed behind. Riddle's hands cupped his tear stained face as his sobbing intensifies.

"We're so sorry, Riddle... Don't worry, the Infirmary Ghosts can help you. We'll be right here every second."

"Yeah, you'll get your hearing back in no time!"

"... I'm... sorry... I'm sorry..."

"E-eh?"

"I'm so sorry... *sob*.... *sob*... I've been so horrible to all of you.... *sob*...."

"Woah. Dorm Leader Riddle Rosehearts crying? Oh. My. Sevens."

"Cater."

"Sorry, Trey, it's just... I never see him cry his eyes out like this."

"... *sob*.... It's all my fault... it's my own fault...! ... *sob*... You were right... *sob*...!"

• Ace stepped closer to Riddle. The crying boy saw him and cried even harder.

"T-Trappola... I'm sorry... I did want that Mont Blanc tart! I really did... *sob*... I felt bad for tossing it away... But I had to follow the rules... *sob*... I'm so sorry...!"

• Riddle let out all of the pain, all of the guilt, all of the regret he bottled up throughout his life. Ace decided to forgive him for admitting his defeat but left his reasons of doing so for another day once Riddle is healed.

• Moments later, the Infirmary Ghosts appeared and checked on Riddle's vitals. Riddle finally stopped his crying, he still hopes to reconcile with Ace. He knows that his wrongdoings will not be forgiven... He does not deserve to be called a dorm leader if all he ever do is hurt his own dormmates.

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"He's healthy now and the blot is all gone. There's nothing clogging his ear canals, no bleeding. In fact, his ears look fine."

"We don't know why he lost his hearing. Maybe it's because of a concussion?"

"The students did give him a beating but that's unlikely."

• A few hours passed by. The Ghosts became puzzled and made Riddle recite the 810 rules to check for brain damage, using a notebook and pen to communicate. Riddle perfectly recalled all of the rules. The Ghosts then asked Riddle to recall his dormmates' and classmates' names as well as their appearances. Riddle remembered all of them correctly. This made the Ghosts even more puzzled.

"Looks like Yuu's magic worked too well on him."

"This was caused by magic? If so by whom?"

"Siren! Yuu's Unique Magic."

"My Henchman's Unique Magic makes them scream very loud. They can hypnotize people with it and make them go crazy."

"Really? That's some frightening magic you got there, kid..."

"Suppose that they've used it to make him deaf?"

"To cover us when we subdued him. Riddle looked like he was in great pain the whole time."

"Ah, I see."

"Well, every mage's magic gotta have some kind of loophole or weakness around it, right?"

• The Ghosts turned to ask you if there's a cure, to which you nodded yes. You took a scalpel and pierced it across your palm. Everyone was taken aback when droplets of your blood dripped on the floor but you ignored them and grabbed a teacup by Riddle's bedside. Your blood soon filled half of the cup and you gave it to Riddle.

• Riddle looked at you with shocked eyes and rejected the gesture. You insisted to lift the cup to the boy's mouth.

"W-w-what? What are you...?"

"I think Henchman wants Riddle to drink it."

"Huh?!

"What?!"

"B-but that's...!"

"I dunno! It's what my Henchman is doin'!"

"What the hell?! Don't you think it's... I don't know... Weird and gross?!"

"Hmm... If it's the only way then we don't see why not."

• The Ghosts wrote on the notebook, instructing Riddle to drink the blood. Riddle, who literally saw you cut your own skin, closed his eyes and hesitantly gulped it all down. Coughing as the metallic taste of the red liquid lingered on his tongue.

• You bandaged your bleeding palm and left the room with a theatrical bow. This moment became a core memory of the group's earliest impression of you.

"Fnyagh... I think they're tired from all that screaming. I'm gonna go rest with them. A fight like that surely made me sleepy. Hey, Henchman! Wait for the Great Grim!"

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• One day later, Riddle finally got back his hearing and the headache he had disappeared. He recovered with no complications. His dormmates' planned to throw an Unbirthday Party for him in his recovery. However, Riddle's guilt has not left his mind.

"Ace Trappola."

"Uh, yes?"

"I... heavily apologize for how I treated you... how I treated all of you with strict cruelty. I see now that not all can follow the rules like how I was raised to... And that I shouldn't enforce such rules and give harsh punishments because of one's trivial or small mistakes... From now on, I'll take time to reflect on my actions and the effects it has on others... From this day forward, I, Riddle Rosehearts, hereby back down as dorm leader of Heartslabyul--"

"Sorry, dorm leader but you can't."

"P-pardon?"

"The title of dorm leader sounds nice but I don't want the strings attached to it. No one can handle the responsibility like you can, no one puts more effort into the duty of the title like you do, no one is more suitable for a dorm leader like you are. Besides, I didn't ask you to a Mage's Duel to take your position. I want you to see how much of a heartless snob you were. You were at fault for mistreating your dormmates. Trey and Cater are also at fault for letting you mistreat them for a long time. That just isn't right."

"I'm sorry too for turning a blind eye all this time as vice dorm leader. I was too cowardly to face him."

"Me too. I should've looked out for you guys as your senior. Some friends we are, huh?..."

"But that's alright. I'm sure your dormmates can forgive you guys and give you a second chance."

"Y-You really think so?... Will they forgive me? After all I've done?"

"Of course, we forgive you, Riddle. As your friends, we're here to help you whenever you need."

"Yups! Totally vote for a second chance! Just don't overdo it next time and have some more mercy, dorm leader!"

"On behalf of the Heartslabyul dorm, we still want you as our dorm leader!"

"I... I-I'm...thank you, everyone... thank you all so mu--"

"BUT I STILL HAVEN'T FORGIVEN YOU!"

"E-eh?!"

"Ace!"

"NO, DON'T "ACE!" ME! AFTER ALL THE EFFORT WE PUT INTO THAT PERFECTLY GOOD MONT BLANC TART AND TOSSING IT OUT. IT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN JUST CRY AND GET AWAY WITH IT!"

"What the hell's wrong with you!?"

"The poor guy's sorry isn't he?"

"Y-yes, I do feel terribly sorry for wasting the tart."

"WELL, IF YOU ARE SORRY AND YOU DO WANT TO EARN MY FORGIVENESS, AS A PUNISHMENT FROM ME, IT'S YOUR TURN TO MAKE THE TART!"

"Ace, stop talking!"

"No, he's right. I accept the punishment. I will make the tart."

"WITHOUT TREY'S HELP!"

"W-what?!"

"But Ace...! Isn't that a little...?"

"OH? IS IT TOO HARD FOR OUR DORM LEADER?"

"N-no! I can handle this. I'll do it by myself!"

"GOOD! NOW GET TO BAKING WHILE WE FIX UP THE PARTY!"

.

.

.

{Heartslabyul – Unbirthday Party}

• The rose bushes that were destroyed by blot were restored their original clean state. The branches that scattered the area were removed and more grass was planted to layer the bald ground. The light of the sun bounced off the shiny surface of the teapot and silver tableware. The ripped and tarnished table sheets were replaced by new white ones.

• Riddle seemed to have a hard time adjusting with his newfound leniency but he doesn't act like he has a stick up his behind anymore and is now more calm.

"Alright, let's see... The table sheets are white, tableware is at place, acceptable weather, it's nobody's birthday today... Is the mouse asleep inside the teapot? Actually, nevermind. It does not matter anymore."

"Hey there, Riddle. You don't have to be too lenient now. Take it easy."

"I second that, we wouldn't be able to recognize you without your habits of being prim and proper."

"Forgive me, it's just... I've never done this before... breaking a ru-- well... excluding ones for this occasion."

"Don't you worry your head about that, dorm leader! You'll get used to it. It's not so bad."

.

.

• As the three chatted, Ace approached them smugly, however, the sweat evident on his forehead from the work of cleaning up the dorm lessened the effectiveness of his smugness.

"So, you have the tart ready, dorm leader?"

"Ah yes, I have it prepared. And I wasn't assisted by Trey and followed the instructions for making it exactly the way down to every detail."

"What flavor is it?"

"Cherry."

"Did you remember to put enough chestnuts? Like, a ton of them?"

"Yes, I did. Just because I want to correct my faults does not mean you have the right to boss me around. I'm still your dorm leader."

"We'll see about that. Now you know what it's like to be in our place."

"Dorm Leader, Ace!"

"Spade. Are the flamingoes and hedgehogs ready?"

"Yes! I've also invited Grim and Siren! Yuu like you requested."

"That's good, thank you."

• Speaking of which, Riddle felt absolutely guilty about the insults he hurled at you during the previous Unbirthday Party. You looked uneasy when he aggressively pointed out your appearance. He guessed that he deserved to get screamed at by you. It's a better punishment than his mother's verbal abuse.

"Heya! We're here! Where's the food?"

"Sigh, Grim..."

"What? I'm hungry! Let's get this party started! Hey, Henchman, wanna dance later after eating?"

"☺️!"

• You nodded with a smile, it faltered when you faced Riddle. You simply stared at him like you're expecting him to do something. Luckily, the short boy find this awkward encounter as a good moment to apologize to you. He tells you to come with him to the Rose Maze.

.

.

{Heartslabyul – Rose Maze}

"Hello again...Siren! Yuu, was it?.... I want to speak with you for a moment... In private."

• Riddle sends the eavesdropping three a stern look, putting emphasis on the word private, and they read it as a signal to shoo, but they didn't. Instead, Ace, Deuce, and Grim proceeded to watch in silence at a corner, peeking at a nervous Riddle struggling to form words while under your laser-focused gaze.

"........"

"I-it's not about rule violation. It is just for a dorm leader to invite guests to get acquainted with them... Yes, it's to establish a... Well..."

".....😶?"

• Your gaze softened and your head tilted to the side, like you're both questioning and urging him to state his reasons more clearly. Riddle decided to not speak like a dorm leader but as a person who's grateful for your efforts.

"Oh, forget it. Siren! Yuu... I cannot apologize for the insults I've thrown at you... how I called you a magicless human who lacks discipline and manners... and I cannot thank you enough for saving me even after all that... But..."

"........."

"I do feel sorry, I do... I feel so ashamed of myself... Please give me a chance. A chance to give a new impression. A chance to make things right... This Unbirthday Party is now a welcoming gift and an offering of gratitude for saving me. Please, accept this apology."

"......."

"... And... I'm sorry about the Mont Blanc tart... I won't waste food for a trivial rule like that ever again."

• Your smile returned to your face and you bowed. The eavesdroppers took that as a positive sign to wait at the table for you.

"... 🙂‍↕️."

"Y-You... you forgive me?... Thank you... Thank you so much... You've no idea how relieved I am! I admit, I was worried there for a minute. Thank you."

• Riddle almost teared up from relief and joy but he wiped his eyes. This is a good sign after all, no need for more crying. He'll make the others worry.

"I, Dorm Leader of Hearstla- no... I, Riddle Rosehearts, am humbly grateful for your forgiveness. Now, shall we go back?"

.

.

• You and Riddle walked out of the Rose Maze, awaited by a hungry Grim and an impatient Ace.

"You done chatting with him?"

"☺️!"

"C'mon, c'mon! Don't just stand there. Sit here! I heard from Ace that Riddle made a Mont Blanc tart for us! I wanna taste it!"

"Grim, calm down. Your drool is soaking the table sheet!"

• In the end, the tart made by Riddle tasted terrible but you guys got a good laugh at it. Music filled the party and you danced with your new friends.

.

.

• Like I said, Riddle has a somewhat complicated friendship with you. You liked to feel free from restraint or control so you could freely express yourself however you want. Riddle is one of the others that keeps you at bay or from doing anything stupid.

• Riddle even made the effort to learn and decipher your movements. And in turn, you took time to learn some of the Queen of Hearts' rules.

• There are times where he hides behind you to scare away Floyd. There are times he lets you roam around Heartslabyul and dance within the Rose Maze (not without a warning to not break a rule). You cause less trouble now, however, he can't say the same for your idiots.

• He's also one of the individuals who protects your gold scales from watching eyes (read: Azul, Ruggie) and to provide the headmaster a list of reasons on why he can't just take it whenever Crowley asks. He warns you to stay away from others who want to monopolize you. He tries his best to threaten Azul to never strike a deal with you.

• He's seen you cure Overblot victims with your blood, amazed by its effectiveness to heal injuries and even some disabilities. For example, a student from Heartslabyul that were injured by the blot claimed that their blindness was gone. Another one from a different dorm used to have a paralyzed nerve in his leg, but now he can run with no difficulties thanks to your blood.

• He worries for your safety and well-being at this point. He knows that he cannot restrict you from every choice you make, whether selfless or foolish. Besides, you told him not to grow gray hairs for you as he has a lot on his plate as a dorm leader. You learned cautiousness from experience that there are individuals who revel in the despair of others.

• You know pain physically and emotionally all too well. It was under the guise of a person you thought who loved you. Only to stab you in the end and take everything you have dear away from you. Leaving you alone to lament in your miserable state.

• Riddle felt that pain too. It disguised itself not only as a loving figure, but as his own mother. A mother who inflicted strictness upon him like no other, caused him to Overblot and on the verge of dying. But he was saved by his friends who cared for him.

• But who saved you from your pain? It was just you. All the horrific things they did to you, yet... you let it all go, you learned to accept it and moved on your own. Riddle was astonished by your strength to let the painful past go. It gave him a deep thought that if you can do it, maybe he can too. You bared your scars to him and he bared his to you.

• Your carefree and cautious demeanor contrasts Riddle's strict and wrathful one. But overall, he thinks that you are a great and loyal friend. A friend that he didn't think he deserved, but one who needed to show him how to let hurtful things go. How to accept your mistakes and imperfections as a part of your journey.

• To dance with no fear on the stage full of pain and sorrow called life.

[insidekatmind]

Confession-Alejandro Balde

Wearning:+18,sweet smut.

It was late, and the rain was falling gently on the streets of Barcelona as you clutched your phone in your hands, your heart shattered by yet another lie. The proof was right there, in front of your eyes messages, photos, details that left no room for doubt. He had cheated on you. Again.

You felt foolish, exhausted, drained. How much longer were you going to stay in this toxic relationship, hoping he would change?

A knock at the door made you jump. You already knew who it was.

Alejandro stood there, his hoodie slightly damp from the rain, his eyes burning with restrained anger. He looked at you for a moment, then, without saying a word, pulled you into his arms.

"You don’t deserve this," he whispered against your hair.

You broke down in tears, letting all the pain flow out, just like the rain streaming down the windows. Alejandro didn’t let go, not even for a second.

"I don’t understand why I keep hurting myself," you murmured, your voice breaking.

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. His dark eyes were intense, filled with a feeling you couldn’t quite decipher yet.

"Because you love him," he answered, a trace of bitterness in his tone. "But he doesn’t know what it means to love you."

Your breath hitched for a moment."Ale…"

He shook his head, taking a deep breath as if he was about to say something he had been holding back for too long.

"I’ve seen you suffer too many times, Y/N. I’ve watched you forgive, hope, stay when you should have walked away." He paused, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. "And I realized I can’t stand by and watch anymore."

Your heart pounded wildly.

"I love you," he confessed, his voice trembling but sure. "And I have for a long time. I just always thought you deserved someone better than me… but then I realized that anyone would be better than him."

He gave you space to pull away, to refuse, to deny. But you didn’t. Because in that moment, with his hands holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, you felt a truth you had never dared to face before:

Alejandro was everything your ex wasn’t.

And maybe, he was exactly what you had needed all along.

You look at him for a while and then finally kiss him. He responded almost immediately, kissing you back hungrily, as if he could not believe that this was finally happening. His hands roamed across your body possessively, pulling you closer to him as if he wanted to fuse your body into his.

You straddled him without breaking the kiss. He groaned, his hands gripping your waist as you straddled him, his body reacting to you. He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth passionately. Alejandro shifted you a little so you were fully sitting on his lap, and could feel his excitement growing as your body pressed against him.

You moaned and clung to him as you kissed him more passionately. He broke the kiss for a moment, his breathing ragged, and looked at you with dark eyes filled with desire.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured, his hands roaming across your back, as if trying to memorize every curve of your body. Without warning, he flipped you both over so you were now laying on the couch, with him hovering over you.

You look at him smiling and you let him fall on your body hugging him while you caressed his hair and every now and then you gave him sweet kisses on his face. He buried his face in your neck, nuzzling and breathing you in. His body was heavy on you, but it felt safe and comforting.

His hands roamed your body, sliding underneath your shirt and caressing your bare back. He let out a low moan, as if just the touch of your skin was enough to make him lose his mind. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" He murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He began to kiss and lick your skin, his teeth grazing along your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His hands continued to roam over your body, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You could feel his arousal, hard and wanting, pressed against you, and it made you shiver with anticipation. You pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair. He responded immediately to your touch, his body pressing against yours even more. His hands were everywhere, as his mouth latched onto your skin, finding every sensitive spot that made you arch your back, and moan softly.

He nipped at your earlobe and then whispered in your ear, his voice deep and sensual, “I want you. I want you so bad it’s driving me crazy.” You shivered at his words, feeling a new wave of desire wash over you. You pulled him closer, kissing him hard and needy, as your body strained against his. He groaned, his hands sliding further down your body, exploring every curve as if marking you as his territory.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, wanting him even closer, wanting to feel every inch of his body against yours. He responded in kind, his own hips rolling against you as he kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours.

Alejandro gently and delicately takes off your leggings and kisses your legs softly and then takes off your panties, he moans at the sight. He looked at you, his eyes dark and heavy with desire. He ran his hands over your thighs, his touch a mix of gentle and possessive.

"You are so magnificent," he murmured, his voice hoarse, as he planted kisses along your legs, his lips sending shivers of pleasure through your body. Alejandro slowly made his way up, his hands sliding up to your hips, as he pulled you closer. He looked up at you, his eyes locking with yours, filled with an intensity you had never seen before.

He quickly takes off his sweatpants and boxers and slowly enters you. His hands gripped your thighs as he slowly entered you, his body trembling with desire. He let out a low moan, his eyes locked on yours, as if he couldn't look away.

He took a moment, his body completely enveloped in you, and you could feel his heart pounding against your chest. He leaned in, kissing you deeply, his body pressed against yours as if he couldn't get close enough. “You feel so good,” he says softly as he pushed his cock into you slowly and sensually.

You moan softly feeling his gentle, slow and sensual thrusts. Alejandro watched your face closely, his gaze taking in every single expression you made. He loved the way your body responded to his touch, the way your moans made him shiver.

His hands continued to roam your body, finding all the spots that made you arch your back, and squirm in pleasure. He was taking his time, wanting to make you feel every single moment, every single sensation.

“Ale” you moan softly as you still feel his slow and sensual thrusts. “faster” you murmur but Alejandro shakes his head. “There's time baby, I want to make you feel every inch of me inside you” he whispers softly kissing your forehead.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect,” he murmured between kisses, his hands roaming over your body lovingly. “I’ve wanted this for so long, I can barely believe it’s real.”

Your heart beats fast at his words and you smile softly and then moan as you feel Alejandro slowly and sensually hitting your g-spot. “There it is,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming as he noted your reaction. He knew he had found the perfect spot, and he began to move himself even more to touch it more softly, slowly making you lose your mind.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he commanded. “Don’t look away.” You obeyed, your gaze locked with his as he continued to move inside you. His eyes were dark and intense, filled with so much emotion it took your breath away.

He bent down to kiss you again, his mouth devouring yours possessively. His movements became even more deliberate, as if he was trying to drive you crazy. Every inch of your body was on fire, ignited by the passion of his touch. Alejandro picked up the pace a little, his thrusts becoming deeper and more erratic, but he was still in control, still keeping the rhythm slow and sensual. He could feel your body reacting to his touch, your breathing ragged and heavy.

Alejandro watched you closely, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he was trying to burn this moment into his memory. His hands were everywhere, roaming your skin, touching every part of you as if he couldn’t get enough.

You moan softly, kissing his jaw lovingly. "Ale I'm coming" you whisper. “Let go, baby,” he whispered back. “I’ve got you, I’m here.”His hands gripped your thighs a little tighter, as he continued to move inside you, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” he said, his voice low and sensual. “Come for me and I’ll catch you.” At his words you moan softly and come. With two more thrusts he pulls out and comes on your belly sighing loudly.

He groans at the sight. Alejandro reaches out and takes the rag that was on the furniture and removes his cum from you and then throws the rag on the floor. Alejandro collapsed beside you, his body glistening with sweat, his breathing ragged. He pulled you closer, holding you tightly in his arms. “That was… incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and filled with emotion.

Alejandro looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and satisfaction. He gently kissed your forehead, his fingers tracing a path across your skin as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You smile sweetly and hug him.

He held you close, relishing the feeling of you in his arms. He gently kissed the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair. "I can't believe that just happened," he murmured, still sounding slightly breathless. "I've dreamed of this for so long, and it was even better than I could have imagined.”

Alejandro hugged you tighter, feeling a wave of protectiveness wash over him. He never wanted to let you go. He wanted to keep you safe, keep you happy, and keep you close. His hand gently caressed your back, feeling the soft curves of your body. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I love you so much, and I always have. I just never thought it could be real."

Alejandro pulled back slightly, so he could look into your eyes. He wanted to make sure you knew how serious he was, how honest his words were. He cradled your face in his hands and searched your gaze, his expression filled with a mixture of vulnerable and intensity.

[takes1]

heyyy, I just found your page and I’m in love omg<333 would just like to request an ushijima imagine with a tall reader (5’10-11) it’s so rare to see a tall reader tbh hahah, anyways reader is captain of the girls volleyball of their school and is a middle blocker, ushijima just kinda stumbled upon their gym with tendou and cannot take his eyes off here or something 😭

Thank youuuuu

thanks pookie! sorry about the wait. this was a great request! i rlly appreciate asks like these. sorry i wrote this man a little different than what i normally see, but it made sense to me

warnings. none, sfw.

details. ushijima not getting social queues / pining!ushijima / kinda dumb!ushijima / stoic!ushijima / staring / secretly sweet!ushijima / tall!reader / team captain!reader / unrequited? crush / tendou being a great wingman / 1.8k words

links. masterlist. more haikyuu here. my ao3. request box.

Leading a team full of peers never came naturally. At least, the girls didn't make it an easy task when every order, every call was either questioned or giggled at.

Today's practice in particular was getting to you. Nobody was focused up and there were some plays that only existed because it was a Friday afternoon going into a long weekend off.

You shut down a laughable attempt at a spike. If anything, your jump was too high- the ball caught your chest and slammed into the opposite side of the court. What was that? Six shut-downs in the past ten minutes?

"Let's try hitting the ball, not bumping it!" You shouted, swiping the sweat down and off your face. It was mean, but honest.

"We're trying!" Somebody whined.

You flung your arm dismissively at the other side of the net and rested your hands on your hips. Maybe it was just destined to be a rough day, after all.

A melodic whistle from the entrance turned your attention to a cheery redhead, skipping towards the court. Behind him trailed a slower, silent, but somehow greater presence.

You called for a water break at once- celebration ignored- to greet your eccentric friend.

"Strooong block," Tendou grinned and scanned you for signs of effort- he found it in the wetness across your light-colored shirt, "Good game?"

"Hardly," You fanned yourself by pumping your collar with air.

Ushijima stopped glancing around the gym and finally acknowledged your presence- you pretended to not care about his awful staring problem. He didn't look you in the eye, but in a way, it made you more on-edge. Was there something wrong?

You stopped fanning yourself and faked a smile to hide how concerned you were that they might stay to watch, "We're just- off, today--,"

"Mmmm!" Tendou's attentive hum and consequent staring was far more objective, but creepy nonetheless.

What a couple of weirdos.

"We were just about to call it, actually," You placed your hands on your hips, squinting at the other captain to guess his intentions, "So if you were trying to use the court, you can have it."

Narrowed eyes caught your gaze in an intense, humbling second- you wrapped your arms around yourself and glanced away.

Ushijima had an otherworldly harshness to him. You rarely felt the need to shy away from people, but he knew how to make you squirm.

He said absolutely nothing to you. Tendou accepted your offer and paid it forward by inviting you to stay and run drills, but there was something about Ushijima you couldn't decipher, no matter how much you wanted to practice. It was like he had a problem with you, or the way you ran your team, or he was just pissed off- none of those were possibilities you had the energy to deal with after this evening.

They took the court gladly to do some pair work and clean up; your team left in a cheerful mood, ready to get started on their long weekend right away. The arrangement left only you dissatisfied.

Tendou stalked your exit carefully from afar, tip-tapping anxiously on the ball in his hands. Your long shadow slipped away and they were alone at last.

He kept his voice low, just in case, and cozied up to Ushijima's side, "Soooo..."

Ushijima spared a passing glance over to his curious friend, no more.

"How long?" Tendou's attentive, inquisitive grinning was enough context. No need for direct name-dropping, nor denial.

His stone face began to fill with color.

This was a new feeling for him- it felt like he was dying, but in a good way, and he didn't want it to ever stop. He couldn't seem to catch his breath until you left. That didn't bother him per say- he didn't need air if it meant he could watch you shut down spikes, or roll into a skilled receive, or lead your team.

When he was forced to speak was the only real problem. He could sit and be a spectator forever, but when it came to getting any words out with you, they all fell apart on his tongue. He was always pretty quiet, but he knew this was pushing what he could get away with.

"Don't know. I've always liked her."

Tendou tossed the ball to him. He caught it, deep in thought.

It was clear that you didn't return the feelings. From the beginning, you were always different with him than you were with your team, or even Tendou. He knew he wasn't charming, or charismatic, or friendly. That wasn't an issue until recently.

The way you walked, with a slight swagger, always standing straight-- using your height as a weapon, captured his attention first. He caught himself stealing glances at you from across the gym when your teams switched for precious practice time. He started to notice more. The strong lines in your legs, the sweat-stuck hair on your brow, the little pant on your breath when you said hey just out of civility, the confidence in your voice when you called plays.

Now he battled the feeling of wanting to put himself closer to you. Once that craving started to hit him at night, moments before he drifted off to sleep, he knew something was wrong with him.

Every time he had the opportunity to say something, he lost his voice.

"It's-," He slapped the ball a few times onto the gym floor, then stopped to think before sending it over, "Different now."

Tendou shot him an easy pass, "Y'know, I was starting to think you couldn't get crushes."

He bumped it back, "Me too."

-

Despite how off putting the experience was, by the next practice you were able to brush it all off. You were operating on two completely separate teams, after all. What the guys did, how they practiced, and when was simply not your business.

You slung your bag over your shoulder on the way out of your classroom. Your teacher called after the exiting students about due dates.

"I've been getting questions about the quiz! Remember, you also have a discussion due. They're two different assignments--!"

You only halfway paid attention, too excited about the warmth blowing in through cracked windows from the hall. It would feel so good at practice today - and you had something special planned to raise morale.

You were only a step out the door when you crashed into something firm. The sound of your head smacking into Ushijima's was loud, and unsurprisingly, painful.

"Oh-!"

"Mm-,"

You ran hot with embarrassment and failed to cover it with a laugh. How did you not see him?

"Sorry," You both muttered at the same time.

You rubbed your temple, he rubbed his forehead.

As he did so, he spared you no dignity with what looked like a judgmental up-and-down gaze. It was so piercing that made you grip your shoulder strap tighter. You weren't sure if he meant something by it.

That was just another example of his behavior that felt contradictory.

"We need..." He trailed, briefly checking his hand for any blood. When he looked up, his eye contact so intense that his brows began to furrow. There was some sort of affliction behind his eyes. A narrowed, preoccupied focus that made you uneasy.

You instinctively wiped the back of your hand over your hot face, in case you had anything on it. The side of your head throbbed like terrible.

He opened his mouth a little to say continue, but sighed instead, uneven.

Things were starting to connect in your brain. Little by little, you picked up on more cues from his body language. He was out of breath, a little sweaty, and flushed. He was clearly rushing here. That was the reason you plowed into one another. You realized you were lucky you were around the same size, or else that could've knocked you on your ass.

"The guys need to get into the gym earlier today."

The statement ripped you from your spiralling, almost complete, thoughts. You laughed, "Yeah, right."

Despite you both being Captains of the same sport, there was very little need to talk to each other beyond your shared affinity for Tendou. Your team schedules never clashed- your coaches and advisors made sure of it.

You squinted when he clearly wasn't kidding.

"Do you really 'need' it? Or do you just want the gym earlier?"

He took a breath to answer, but you were quick to ask another agitated question, "Did Coach Washijou approve of this? I haven't seen an updated schedule."

Talking to you was impossible enough, but you were pissed off, and asking so many questions, and the light was hitting your face just right, and you smelled so good. He couldn't shake how pretty you still looked, angry and impatient with him. You stood straight and proud. Your eyeline was close to his own so he could savor every color he could find in your darting eyes.

His slow reaction and lack of social graces was so off-putting that you could only assume it came from a place of narcissism. He must not have cared, or he thought that his own team was more deserving of practice time that he demanded taking yours.

You were seconds away from calling him an entitled prick when you spotted a familiar redhead approaching, just over Ushijima's shoulder.

"(Y/n)!!" He sang and squeezed past his friend to take your hand in his. He tossed it back and forth between his own. It made you smile for a moment; as always, he helped diffuse the tension.

"Hey, Satori-," You wanted to be nicer, but only had about 15 minutes left to figure this issue out, "What is this about needing the gym sooner?"

He looked up at the ceiling, acutely aware that Ushijima was not a fan of this physical contact between the two of you, "Hmm! Ohh, that. I meant to tell you-,"

A calculated gaze to Ushijima, "He said nevermind."

That little liar.

In a flash, just through that familiar, cunning face of his, Ushijima understood that Coach Washijou never actually wanted the gym. Tendou only told him the 'news' because he wanted him to have a reason to speak to you. He really wanted to punch him, just for a moment.

There was something between them you couldn't make out. A conversation there you didn't get. You couldn't, and didn't want to, bother yourself with it.

"Perfect! So, there's no issue then?" You patted Tendou, then Ushijima's broad shoulder and squeezed between them to go change for practice.

"Mm-mmm, No issues here!" Tendou grinned and wiggled his fingers goodbye at you. He looked at his friend.

Ushijima placed an oversized hand on that shoulder and watched you walked away.

taglist. love ya'll <33

@yuchacco

@integers

[agatharkn3ss]

Agatha's info/rumours

I thought I'd pull together all the info we've been shown in ep.6 and add my interpretation to it. I still can't believe that Billy read these short bits and claimed he knew an "egregious" amount about Agatha.

As usual, biased towards Agathario, because I think they are heavily implying Agatha's connection to Death (I mean yes, the writers could just be trying to explain why the internet would be so invested in her identity, but still)

First of all - "333 partial results for Agatha Harkness Ancient Witch". I love yet another allusion to how Agatha is linked with number 3, making her the actual harbinger of doom (I explain this here).

It's interesting that the related questions are all about the immortality of the witches:

Are witches immortal?

Do real witches ever die?

How do you kill a witch?

How old is the oldest witch?

If we didn't have other super-old witches in the show, it would make me wonder if Agatha didn't make some sort of pact with Death (Rio), where she provides "bodies" to her in exchange for her long life. But as it is, we have Lilia as 450+ years old and Jen is also older than a century, but you don't see them trying to kill people (I think).

The very first search result is quite fun:

"The Macabre Wiki – a comprehensive encyclopaedia of all things that only come out after dark. Created by two blood witched from Salem"

No matter what, I will forever believe this is Agatha and Rio's page. (for reasons explained here)

The rest of the search results are not as exciting:

Witchy Resource – Ancient witches and ancient warlocks are not well documented traditionally and usually for good reason…

Witches and Aging – Apparently, witches are able to chose how they age and present themselves to humans. Some withes choose to stop again at a certain point staying roughly 30 years old visually for literally hundreds of years.

Dreadit – Salem Witch Trials – Recently I’ve been researching a ton on the SWT and not many people know this but there are reports of witches that actually survived burning and drowning

The Art of the Ancients – Learn about the secret art of witchcraft and the witches that have [...]

So this suggests Agatha specifically chose her look and age. Neat. Quite empowering really.

Also, another suggestion that some witches can be immortal and survive burning and drowning. I wonder if we will see this in the show - Agatha and Rio having absolute blast at mocking people who were trying to torture/kill Agatha, only to realise she wasn't feeling any pain, she would just raise and shout "Surprise witches!".

Then we go onto the Salem Witch Trials page. This pretty much confirms what we already know about them. I immediately clocked how all the handles only have green or purple colours... Coincidence? I've not tried to decipher the names, but if anyone has any suggestions, let me know!

witchygirlblack: Did any witches survive the Salem witch trials? Are they still alive? Where are they? Witches can live for hundreds of years, so the ones that survived the trials might still be out there [] witchkraft dreadit, you must know of some?

4thlevelwarlock: The Salemites, Evanora Harkness’s coven, were prominent in the area. I’ve heard rumours [...]the young children from the coven escaped

SamSamwitch: @4thlevelwarlock look familiar? [Agatha image link]

BoftheEast: be careful posting about her just saying

Then Billy takes the photo through reverse image search. I know these are tiny, inconsequential details but I still love them:

"Looky" sounds like a little nod to Lilia's "kooky"

The letters “o” have moons inside of them.

Each letter has different colour that seems to align with the witches – light blue (Jan - water trial?), purple (Agatha - spirit), yellow (Lilia - air), dark blue (Billy?), orange (Alice – fire)

This search then leads to a number of events that Agatha has been spotted at. Rather than pull out the quotes, I'm going to put the events in a chronological order and add relevant background info:

Salem Witch Trials (1692-1693) - this was a series of hearings and prosecutions of people accused of witchcraft in colonial Massachusetts. More than 200 people were accused. It was the deadliest witch hunt in the history of colonial North America. This is the time where Agatha's mother and her coven try to "punish" her for using "the darkest of magic". Her fingers weren't black, so she's unlikely to have had Darkhold back then. (btw the script for this suggests Agatha was 18 at the time, so she was born ~1675, making her ~351 years old in 2026)

The Eastern Seaboard - Although we don't know the exact dates, there are "unconfirmed reports of Agatha traveling the Eastern Seaboard". This could relate to various areas but this is likely just referring to the US East Coast. The Thirteen Colonies, which formed the United States in 1776 were located on this coast, playing an important role in the development of the United States.

The sinking of the Titanic (1912) - the British ocean liner sank as a result of striking an iceberg on her maiden voyage from Southampton, England, to New York City, US. Of the estimated 2,224 passengers and crew aboard, approximately 1,500 died. Agatha is listed as one of the survivors

The Hindenburg disaster (1937) - a German commercial passenger airship caught fire and was destroyed during its attempt to dock at Lakehurst, New Jersey, on its journey from Frankfurt, Germany. The accident caused 35 fatalities among the 97 people on board, and an additional fatality on the ground. The publicity shattered public confidence in the giant, passenger-carrying rigid airship and marked the abrupt end of the airship era. Again, Agatha is spotted as a woman who "survived the explosion then disappeared"

"Jolene" (1972-1973) - The headline states "Does this 1972 Surveillance photo of Dolly Parton show the real Jolene?" and Jac Schaeffer confirmed that yes, Agatha = Jolene. So I had some fun with this, because why not?! I wondered what Agatha's play would've been here. Is she truly after Dolly's "man" - if so, in what way? Or is she after Dolly herself? Note that although the article says 1972, later on we also see statement that Agatha was last seen in Nashville Tennessee, 1973. Now - that year in Nashville, Dolly not only recorded "Jolene" in May, but a month later she also recorded "I will always love you" - a song that is widely understood to be a goodbye song to her business partner because she decided to pursue solo career. In my head this is all a result of Agatha's influence, who showed Dolly her real power.

On that note, I don't think we would be far off assuming that as Agatha kept Dolly (or her man) her company, she would've actually come across Lorna Wu herself? We know it was similar time, because "The Ballad of the Witches Road" record was made in 1978. Alice mentions how she got her tattoo in Colorado as her mum was playing at the Red Rocks amphitheatre. Dolly Parton also performed at the Red Rocks in 1972 (the same year as the camera footage), so Agatha could've been there...

Finally, we get to the "brujapedia" - the encyclopaedia of witches. It's fun to speculate who could be running this page - the whole theme is black and white, with red highlights. There is also an image of a raven - as I discussed it before, it is a symbol of bridging the world of life and death. So it would be fun if it was Death herself maintaining it, as she would be the only one who would truly know who the real witches were. Also it would be a cool census of who is still remaining for her to "collect" their dues.

Another good spot from @chaotic-homoromantic is that "bruja" is a Spanish word for "witch", giving us another hint to Rio.

I couldn't really find any info on any other names other than the top one. Abigail Adams was a founder of the US, wife of John Adams, the second US president and mother of John Quincy Adams, the 6th US president. I'd like to think witches had some input back then.

Also interesting is how Agatha's surname is misspelled - it has two Ks. I wonder why that is - no way it's a mistake, seeing how much detail they've put into this. Maybe it's a subtle suggestion that this information came straight from Agatha herself or as a joke from someone who knows her, since she's known for using wrong words. (or it could just be a suggestion that all of the other names on this list are also misspelled, explaining why we can't find any info on them)

Then we get to some info about her - most of which I already collated into the timeline above. There is also a vague mention of Nicky: "Agatha Harkness. Son. Name unkown, rumours [...]"

But there are also some other bits - hilariously referred to as "FUN" facts:

Fun Facts:

Murdered her entire coven

Possesses succubus powers

Nick name is “witch killer!”

Only known survivor of The Witches Road

Folklore references: It is said certain children’s book make reference to Agatha [...]

Funny how the nickname absolutely includes the exclamation mark. I feel like maybe Jen was the one who submitted this info.

As for the children's book - I feel like it wouldn't be just a single story but more like the Grimm's Fairy Tales. Following Lilia's comment, Agatha probably was the template they used for "evil witches" - poisoning apples and stealing kids and eating children. It's not something she would deny anyway.

Now, the Succubus comment is interesting. In lore they are generally depicted as a sexual being - "a female demon or supernatural entity in folklores who appears in dreams to seduce men, usually through sexual activity."

But I think in Agatha's case, things are different. Yes, she has the charisma and can probably seduce people quite easily (I mean, she probably seduced Death, didn't she?). But I don't think that's like a magical power. In fact, if it was, it think it would be really unfair to Agatha, erasing the fact that her character had to build and evolve around her experiences and the fact that she had to survive - "in a way that few do". So I think this "fun fact" could be partially coming from someone's snarky comment (Dolly Parton's?), who just wanted to take away Agatha's agency. Or fell for Agatha and then blamed it on her "powers" rather than admitting their own gullibility. Just like women over the centuries were accused of witchcraft and casting curses if things simply didn't go the way someone wanted.

Plus the way she goes about getting her magic from people is absolutely not seductive. She simply finds a way to annoy the heck out of the target!

But of course, that's not all there is to it, because on the other hand Agatha has her syphoning ability - now that could also be described as the "succubus powers" referred to above. In DnD succubus attacks using a "Deadly kiss", basically draining the essence of life and I feel like this is quite a good description:

"The kiss of a succubus is an echo of the emptiness that is the fiend’s longing for a corrupted soul. Likewise, the recipient of the fiend’s kiss gains no satisfaction from it, experiencing only pain and the profound emptiness that the fiend imparts. The kiss is nothing short of an attack, usually delivered as a final farewell before the fiend escapes."

In that magic/soul sucking way, she would have more parallels to Death, explaining their connection. More so, if Agatha can't control her powers - because Death does not really have much control either, she just has to do her job when the time comes.

[slvtteez]

☀ Doctor, Doctor. | 정윤호

ateez masterlist

✦ summary: just a few days into touring yunho becomes sick with a high fever and as ateez' doctor it was your job to take care of him. ✦ pairings: idol! yunho x doctor reader ✦ genre: idol au, fluff ✦ word count: 1.1k ✦ warnings: yunho is sick 😢, small detail of him being sick ✦ a/n: it took me over a month to complete this request but its finally out!

I am not a medical professional so any thing written is not an accurate representation of what a doctor is/does.

this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be a realistic representation of any of the real people mentioned.

Each moment that passed left you anxious. The silence inside of the room was deafening despite the continuous ticking of the clock. You stood at the edge of the bed watching his stilled form, only comforted by the slight rise and fall of his chest.

You couldn’t understand how it’d gotten this far. Yunho never let himself go, he was the first one of all the members to let you know if he wasn’t feeling well no matter how seemingly small the injury was. 

‘Well he hasn’t spoken to you in almost two weeks y/n,’ your mind rang out. The admission, though true, still caused your heart to ache. You didn’t know where the sudden change in Yunho stemmed from, one minute you were two peas in a pod the next he was avoiding you like the plague. You’d hoped that all would be resolved before the tour had started but here you were still unsure of where you stood with him but nonetheless carried out your duties as ateez’ primary doctor.

Grabbing a damp towel, you made your way up to him dabbing the small beads of sweat that formed on his forehead. His face was pale, the slight dark circles that had formed beneath his eyes stood out further showing his exhaustion. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you continued to dab the cool cloth on his fiery skin making sure to be as gentle as possible. Yunho begins to stir slightly in his sleep, small whimpers sounding from his throat. 

You shot up from the side of this bed carefully watching over his next moves. Yunho had been in and out of sleep since the day before, not even being able to keep his eyes open for just a few seconds. He began to mumble incoherent words that you had a hard time deciphering. Growing concerned you place a hand on his arm lightly in an effort to soothe him.

“P-please.” Yunho mummers, his arm twitching slightly under your touch.

“Y/N, I love you.” he choked out.

A small gasp escapes your mouth at his words.

‘Did I hear him right?’ you thought. You felt your own head checking to see if you were the one catching a fever or did Yunho really say that he loved you.

‘It’s the sickness talking.’ you brushed off his words, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Y/N, I only want you,” Yunho mutters again, an unreadable expression taking over his face.

Your hand stilled on his because you were now sure what you’d heard was real. Yunho did in fact say he loved you.

‘He’s asleep and sick y/n, he could be having a nightmare for all you know,’ your mind rang out quickly before you began to overthink his actions.

Feeling as if you weren’t in the best mindset to continue looking over Yunho, you’d  decided it was best to call in your PA to care for him for the rest of the night. As you moved to walk away a weak but firm hand gripped your wrist. Your head quickly snapped back to see Yunho looking at you.

“Don’t leave.” he voiced weakly.

“Y-yunho oh my god.” You stuttered, your previous thoughts abandoned at the sight of him.

“Stay.” He whispers, attempting to squeeze your hand again, a slight smile gracing his face.

“Fine.” you sigh.

“If I stay I need you to at least drink some water and eat a little.” You make your way over to the table pouring Yunho a glass of water. Walking back to his side you help him sit up before bringing the straw up to his mouth.

He drinks the water earnestly finishing the entire glass with a big sigh.

“Thank you.” he says, leaning his head back on the headboard.

You make your way back over to the table picking up the soup Seonghwa had dropped off when he’d come to check on Yunho earlier. 

“I meant what I said.” He says softly.

You freeze in place contemplating on whether to act oblivious or just pretend you didn’t hear him at all.

“What do you mean?” You question walking over to him; soup in hand.

“I love you y/n.” 

“Yunho ple-”

“I do y/n.” he interjects.

Your gaze travels up meeting his sunken eyes, a slight glimmer glazing over them.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you. I just didn’t know what to do with my feelings.” Yunho sighs.

“Yunho you don’t have to do this. Just focus on getting better, that's what’s important right now.” You plead not having the mental capacity to remotely process this new revelation.

Yunho nods in response, not wanting to push the matter further and overwhelm you. You quickly help him eat his soup before giving him more medicine, watching as he slowly drifts back to sleep.

A FEW DAYS LATER

Yunho was back to being his normal cheery self and you were now the one avoiding him. He respected your need for space knowing that his confession was abrupt and a bit reckless given his state.

You mulled over his admission not knowing how to respond. Of course you loved him in ways beyond being a friend but what would that mean for your relationship. You didn’t want to ruin your friendship by following your feelings alone. You didn’t want to potentially destroy something that was already so perfect, but you also didn’t want to regret not trying, which is why you were now standing in front of Yunho’s hotel room trying to gain the courage to knock.

“Here goes nothing.” You sigh before knocking.

A second later the door to his room swings open revealing a flustered Yunho.

“Oh y/n umm come in.” he stepped aside letting you in.

You brace yourself for a moment releasing a shaky breath before speaking.

“I love you too.” You rush out before your mind even gets the chance to talk you out of confessing. 

“I love you Yunho and I’m scaredofwhaththismightmean. Idon’twantthingstochangebutIwanttotryand I know-.” Yunho’s arms wrap around you, silencing you mid sentence. You instantly relaxed in his hold, his warmth soothing the anxiety you’d felt.

You couldn’t stop yourself from rambling your concerns wanting to finally let go of the thoughts that had consumed you for days. It was best to be transparent if you were gonna go all in with this.

“We’ll work through this together.” Yunho gives you a tight squeeze doing his best to reassure you of his words.

“Okay.” You whisper, turning around in his hold, loosely wrapping your arms around his waist. You snuggle into his chest taking in a deep breath the comfort from his scent easing you even more.

‘Everything will be fine,’ you thought, allowing yourself to be lulled in Yunho’s embrace.

—taglist: @lezleeferguson-120

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it like, reblog with tags, comment, and follow!

[that-salty-ghost]

As Above, So Below | Chapter 29: Exceptions| Viktor [Arcane] // Male Reader | Rating: M Throughout

Word Count: ~4.9k Summary: Viktor pushes your buttons until he's busy with other activities Tags: swearing, sexual tension, flirting, kissing, mage-y stuff Last Chpt: First Aid

Check my pinned post for more details/previous chapters/etc.

Some silent moments pass as you finish patching Viktor up—thankfully without further mention of the kind of effect he has on your nervous system.

The wind still howls, the snowstorm still rages on, but the two of you couldn’t be bothered inside these walls.

The air settles easily between you as you trail off into lighter conversations—Viktor’s voice dropping low and gentle as he tells you more about the little things that shape his life.

Like how he loves crossword puzzles, the sound of birds singing in the morning, and skipping stones on the water at dusk. That he likes to have something to sip on when he finds time to cook. That he hates public speaking. That he’s trying to stop picking at the callouses on his palms when he fidgets.

You share your own quirks and stories too—telling him about your ever-growing record collection, how Jeff followed you home from the Freljord, how you can’t dance for shit but know your way around the pole at the brothel.

You tell him that you don’t particularly miss your father, but you do miss his war horse. That you also prefer cooking with a drink in hand, and that you’ve been meaning to finish a puzzle that Viktor said he spotted at R&R’s.

When he politely asks if he can help you with it, you’re not sure how anyone could ever tell this man no when his eyes are beaming with that much excitement.

Which is also why you don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not finished because deep down, you hated that puzzle down to its microscopic, way-too-identical, 3,000-piece guts.

It hurt your back to bend over it for so long, it was likely missing a minimum of a dozen pieces at this point, hell—even the image of some obscure landscape didn’t even pique your interest.

But Viktor does.

And who were you to rob him of the little things that he found joy in. To rob yourself of more time that you could spend with him.

Of course you agree.

You’re about to cap the salve and pack it up when Viktor’s question shifts the conversation back to everything that’s just transpired.

“Does ehh…anyone else know about you? About what you can do?” His question comes quietly and you’re not sure you’ll ever get use to how tender his voice sounds when he’s curious about something sensitive.

“Remy. And my fence…friend?...” You tinker with that title mentally before shrugging the semantics away. “…but I uh…I don’t think he remembers.” You scoff under your breath at that probability.

“What?” His brow quirks and you realize Viktor doesn’t know anything about Kass. “I’m failing to see how this is a forgettable experience.”

You’re amused that he’s more curious about the man’s memory rather than his questionable occupation, but try to answer all the same. “Kass uh…frequently dips into the pool of mind-altering substances.”

“Ah,” The machinist offers a small smile and a “Yes, I suppose that would do it.” to let that fact lie for now.

You offer a weak grin in return and try to give him a little more context. “He’s the one that said to ditch my backpack for the shoulder suspenders.”

“The one who said you would look like a workaholic?”

“That’s him.”

“Hm.”

He pauses with that information and you try to decipher where his mind went. Rather than pry, you just give him a little more. “He can be a lot. Definitely has some demons hot on his heels, but I think you would like him.”

“If he suggested that you wear those suspenders, I already do.”

Before you light up the room for the third godsdamned time you pull your hand from Viktor’s and let the glow slowly subside from your fingertips. You quickly eye the leather accessory in the corner of the room, still drying out near the fire when Viktor’s voice pulls your attention back to him.

“So, I’m only the third person who knows…that you’re a mage, I mean.”

His reversion back to the original topic at hand is not unwelcome. You nod, the realization finally hitting you that you’ve allowed this crush of three days in on one of the most vulnerable parts about you. A choice your father would’ve punished you for. Something he would’ve said would be the death of you if you didn’t put Viktor down first.

But you sit calmly, confident in your decision being the right one.

“I just…for both of our safety, have to ask you not to tell anyone else…I know that’s not fair—”

“Of course that’s fair.” He interrupts your incoming trail of apologies and you feel that his fingers shifted from his leg to the side of your knee. “And you have my word.” His swift understanding only furthers your conviction and your father’s voice immediately fades from your mind. “Though, I’m curious—with so few people that know—what made you trust me?”

“It was…kind of a gut feeling…?”

“Sharing something that personal is driven by your microbiome?”

“It’s hard to describe.”

“Try me?”

He clearly wants more, still not sure if you’re being completely honest. You try to explain it better.

“I used to think it was my mother looking out for me. I’m not so sure about that. Maybe it's just intuition, but…sometimes I get this…pull. I don’t have a better word but it’s strong. And I know I can trust it…so I know I can trust you too…”

Viktor’s expression softens and he seems to understand despite your poorly worded explanation. You reach for a washrag to dab up any excess salve and it hits why you showed the other man what you could do in the first place.

“This happened when you tripped up that pickpocket didn’t it?” You reach for his arm to assess his wrist one more time, feeling good about your work after checking for any residual inflammation.

Feeling good about having an almost-normal excuse to hold his hand again as well.

Viktor inhales through his mouth which quickly turns into a lopsided grin. He pauses, pressing his lips back together again without saying a word and flicks his gaze from your hands back up.

Feeling his eyes on yours, you stop what you’re doing to glance up at him. In an instant you realize his boyish ‘I’ve been caught’ expression has probably kept him out of trouble in many instances. Endearing was an understatement you think to yourself as your voice wavers.

“You’ve been sore all night?” The space in between your brows pinch together as that thought sinks in.

“That wrist is usually sore by the end of every night.” Viktor shrugs offhandedly like it was nothing for him until you catch him peering at his cane in the corner of your eye. You wondered quietly if that was the cause of said everyday soreness.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the night.”

“Ruin the night? You didn’t capsize a boat.”

“That didn’t ruin the night.”

“This certainly wouldn’t have either.”

A quiet “Hm.” is all he mumbles as he notices you’ve finished up. There’s a small selfish part of you that wants to pretend like you’re still working so you can keep his hand in yours awhile longer, but you loosen your grip as a signal that it was fine to move.

“How’s that feel? Any better?”

Viktor lifts his hand to stretch out his fingers, eyes widening after he experimentally rolls out his wrist. The disbelief that surfaces in his expression evident as he turns his hand with ease. “It—yes much more than usual…” He eyes the salve then your hand before his gaze finds yours again. “How…is that possi—?” The wily expression that plagues you gives Viktor pause, apprehensively tilting his head, jaw still slack with a brow arched. “…What…?”

“Just thinking about what it would’ve been like if you would’ve told me sooner.” It’s the first time you’ve thrown a little shade at Viktor. You know the man is quick, but you weren’t fully prepared for how he fully throws it right back.

With a toothy grin, he scoffs. Pressing his tongue to cheek and begrudgingly nodding at your comment with an “Ah…” Viktor’s demeanor shifts into something more playful, catching you completely off guard when he abruptly stands without warning. You reflexively scoot back, nearly falling off of the footrest as you do. He only gives you a teasing shrug—you can practically hear the sarcastic “whoops” he wants to say before he makes his way towards the door.

Your brows furrow as you get up to shadow him, a puzzled grin forming more fully with each step. “What are…” A chuckle escapes you as you try to figure out what he’s up to. “Where are you going now?”

“Oh.” He turns his head like he isn’t aware that he has you perfectly confused, motioning to the door with brows raised in feigned innocence. “Just thinking about taking mistress Linda up on that sleepover she so graciously offered.”

“Mistress Lin—is that actually her name?” Amusement seeps into your tone at his empty threat of joining the woman who recently propositioned him.

“Sure.”

“Suuure?” You watch Viktor bite back a laugh as you call him out. “You don’t know her name, but you’re ready to jump into bed with her?” You muse as you take a step closer to him. “You don’t seem the type.”

“I’ve been known to make exceptions.” He reaches for the doorknob, giving you a lighthearted challenge before shrugging nonchalantly. “And I’ve done worse.” The way he delivers the line, you have to believe him. And the pause it gives you is palpable.

You stand speechless for a moment while he cocks a brow at you to test his honesty. But you do no such thing. You’re not sure how far he’s gone with anyone, but you begin to realize that he may have more experience than you might’ve initially anticipated.

And based on the sly smile beginning to weave into lips that you imagine would look much better in between your teeth…you figure your theory is likely correct.

As he slowly starts to tease apart your self-control, you had to admit, Viktor has you wrapped around his little finger when he’s like this.

Crafty and collected and completely merciless with keeping you on your toes.

Toying with you and testing the waters to see if you were willing to go toe-to-toe with him.

And while your elusive confidence usually made it difficult to find the right words when he was around, wit was a game that brought it back to the forefront.

So, you bite.

“You could also do better.”

Secretly, you’re just as taken aback as Viktor looks as soon as the words leave your mouth. But still, you double-down and take a step towards the man whose hand is now slowly slipping off of the door���s handle. He collects himself with a small nod—a touché before starting to level with you.

“So, your intentions were to bed me in a cheap room after all?”

“Bed you?” You repeat back, his choice of words throwing you for a loop before you pick at the details of his accusation. “Viktor, this is far from cheap.”

“You’re not denying it?”

“Denying what?”

His small turn on his heels draws you a little closer, clearly not backing down from this subtle dance as he quips back.

“If you want to play coy you should’ve stayed in the river.”

“Coy…was that a fish pun?”

“You do seem to love those.”

His crooked grin adequately accents his unfortunately true accusation…you do appreciate the occasional tasteful pun.

“Clearly not as much as you seem to love Linda.”

It wasn’t your best counterpoint. You were struggling with your rebuttal after taking another step and catching the familiar scent of smoke from the stove and cardamom from Viktor. The smallest hint of herbal soap from his damp hair and the crisp outside air from the cracked window. Each aroma clashing beautifully against the other—stunning your senses into understanding the proximity closing in.

“We’re just going to talk, her and I.”

Ohhhh, you could kick yourself for that stupid fucking slip up right about now.

You understand exactly what he’s doing with his reclamation of your words. He wants to hear you say it. Wants to hear what you want. Wants to watch you grapple for control of this back-and-forth, of your flawed logic.

Wants to see you squirm when he fully turns to face you, his chest almost bumping against yours as he straightens his back.

You give in, allowing him to entertain the meaning as much as he’d like.

“I think your mouth might be too busy for that.”

Your new favorite color returns in earnest, staining his cheeks more quickly than he can hide it.

Look at that, you’re back in control.

His smug grin quickly dissolves into hushed breaths, lips parted when you subtly steal a glance at them only to find that he’s trying to steal a glance at yours as well.

Your heart betrays its sure rhythm…until the other man decides to join you in playing coy, instantly dragging you back into another rapid-fire exchange.

“Whatever do you mean, [Y/n]?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Quite the smart ass.”

“Quite the smart tongue.”

“In more ways than you know.”

“Lucky Linda.”

“Unlucky you.”

“Unlucky…me?”

Your voice breaks quietly before you drop your gaze—taking in the meaning behind bold words and wondering how much weight was behind them until he solidifies it.

“Mmhm.”

Slowly succumbing to the familiar feeling of defeat as Viktor gets the upper hand of your repartee. Your eyes dart aimlessly over him as you try to pull your thoughts together in a desperate attempt to gain it back.

He catches your pause and quirks a brow, looking quite pleased to have you reeling under his words. With a sigh of exaggerated disappointment complete with a quick click of his tongue, he adds fuel to your fire just as easily as the hearth he’s fed.

“And here I thought you had a knack for getting what you wanted.”

Gods you wanted that. Wanted to push him right up against that fucking door. Wanted to close the gap between you, wipe that sly smirk off his face, and make better use of his quick tongue. Wanted to prove that his assumption about you was correct—that you were a person capable of going for what you wanted…or even that you could be for that matter.

For him at least…you wanted to be.

But there you stood. Wrestling with doubt and nerves and ego as you showed the icicles forming on the windowsill what it really means to be frozen in place.

Then it hits you. That small, hushed piece of information that slipped from the other man’s lips not so long ago.

You decide to take one more stab, relying on Viktor’s integrity when he dismissed mistress whoever-the-fuck within your earshot.

“And here I thought you were exactly where you wanted to be tonight.”

Loosening fingers fall the rest of the way from the handle only to be pressed flat against the door behind him. His knuckles carve white into the back of the hand that grips his cane a little bit tighter now. It’s small, subtle—but proof that you’ve rattled his relatively unflappable demeanor.

Something in him changes and at first you struggle to decipher it. His muscles look tense, particularly the ones in his shoulders as he makes an effort to hold his head high even with his back literally and metaphorically against the wall. You can’t tell if he’s surprised that you heard that part of their conversation, or if the meaning behind that sentence actually scared him.

When he pushes his weight off the door it takes every ounce of your being to stay collected. To maintain eye contact with a gaze that was becoming all too easy to drown in. To shake the shiver rolling down your spine when he answers you.

“I am…”

He speaks with confidence but the way honeyed eyes are frantically searching yours says otherwise. Uncertainty becomes apparent as he watches you watching him, his head dipping slowly downward with growing apprehension as he finishes his sentence softer than before.

“…well…almost.”

His breathing gets shaky, stuttering in his chest as it rises and falls. Uncertainty is one thing, but you’re realizing it’s more than that.

“Almost?”

He’s nervous.

“Almost.”

Just like you.

…

But unlike you,

“Where…would you rather be…?”

Nerves don’t get in the way of what he wants.

…

…

…

“…here.”

Viktor’s voice softens and before you can speculate—before he has a chance to change his mind—he leans forward to close the gap separating you.

His lips press against yours with a tenderness that stuns you into place. He’s unhurried. Resolute. Like kissing you was the most natural thing in the world for him.

Like he was in fact, exactly where he wanted to be for the night.

Regardless of his finesse, your body goes rigid as you reflexively grab ahold of his forearm for support.

…Which he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

He returns your stiff grip with a tentative touch—his fingers extending lightly along the underside of your arm—soothing you despite the tight hold you have on him.

It’s such a small, soft motion…but it settles you. Immediately for that matter. That’s when it hits you that Viktor was actually right about what he said earlier.

Time really had no place when he was with you.

In the span of a sharp breath, you don’t know at which point your eyes fluttered shut. Or when you stopped thinking. Let alone when you stopped breathing. When your grip loosened, when your jaw unclenched. When your worries lifted into nothingness.

When the noise settled and everything finally felt…still.

Something you haven’t felt in years…

And just in time for Viktor to pull away.

As you feel him shift his weight back you all but catch yourself from greedily leaning forward. Leaving you looking practically starved, and clearly craving more than a mere sample…as delicious as it was.

Not yet ready to relinquish the small peck, your eyes hold onto what your lips couldn’t.

Doused with the same state, Viktor’s own lips remain parted, likely still lingering with the sensation of having yours pressed against them. A sensation it seemed he also wasn’t quite ready to surrender by the looks of it.

When your eyes meet, heavy and cautious and equally full of need for the other, Viktor tilts his head just slightly. His dark brows furrow, knitted with contemplation or curiosity—maybe both. But you recognize the purpose behind that look.

He’s trying to read you.

And rivaling the very book you pulled from the shelf, you let him.

He easily pages through your wanting expression, mulls over your body language until you catch him glance back at your mouth with a gaze that transitions from reserved to ravenous in a blink before meeting your eyes again.

Neither of you say a word. Neither of you have to.

He just quirks a brow at you.

Quicker than usual.

More intentional.

Not at all the expression you’ve seen when something has piqued his curiosity. Or when he’s wanting more insight that was initially provided.

No, this was something else.

This was a wordless way to say, ‘your move’. An affirmation that there could be more if you wanted it. Wanted him.

This wasn’t a request for more information.

It was a request for more…of you.

…

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but in the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you saw one of the icicles break away from the sill.

…

Turns out you’re tired of being frozen too.

Finally, you move—leaning forward and tipping your head to catch Viktor’s lips more fully than before. You can hear him inhale sharply at the sudden contact, can picture his brows pinching together in concentration…

…can feel his back hit the wall with a resounding ‘thud' as your actions come a bit more rushed than you intended. A soft “mmph” escapes from his lips to yours at the impact, his hand jerking from your forearm to your delt for balance, but he doesn’t break the kiss.

Still, you consider pulling back to make sure he’s alright. To apologize for quite literally throwing yourself at the other man. You place your hands against the surface on either side of his hips, bracing to push yourself away.

But his arm wraps around your shoulders instead—pulling you closer and reassuring you that he’s okay. That this is okay.

…more than okay.

It doesn’t seem like his first kiss, and it definitely isn’t yours, but judging by how much you both have clearly been wanting this, it might as well be.

Your hands are clumsy when you blindly reach for his waist—scraping your knuckles on the wooden door as you add to the symphony of thuds pounding against it.

And Viktor’s moments are no smoother.

Abandoning his support, his palm warms your cheek as slender fingers splay wildly against your ear and neck. You can feel him straining, his digits curling slightly before releasing—like he was holding onto his self-control by a thread. Fighting with himself from being too rough with you.

Too hungry for you.

Too consumed by you to care that his actions are quickly followed by a boisterous clank as his cane hits the floor.

…Which only seems to spur you both on.

Viktor’s lips crash against yours again and again. Each kiss becoming more desperate than the last with each breath sounding harsher in between. Your need for each other easily outweighing the desire to come up for air as the sound of huffs fill the room.

A small experimental press into your shoulder has you shift your stance, staggering your legs in between Viktor’s to accommodate the slight imbalance. You can feel his weight begin to fully settle onto you and you happily hold him against the door while his other hand drifts from your cheek.

Inch by agonizing inch his hand trails downwards—reading the lines that have shaped your history and sculpted your features like brail under his fingertips. His touch is cautious…curious—moving carefully over your chest, following each curve that dips around tense muscles and scars that never healed quite right.

You sigh into him while he explores you, pausing his pursuit on the raised line left from a bullet grazing you the day your parents died. He tables the questions churning in his mind to tilt his head and kiss you deeper.

Soothe your old wounds with magic of his own.

He presses his lips to yours more gently than the last time, slowing the adrenaline-fueled pace before you feel the featherlight touch of his tongue brushing along your lower lip. Your breath hitches as you savor how soft he is with you. How his movements are so delicate despite the tangible desire brimming just beneath their surface.

It’s quite the dichotomy. Strong enough to knock the air out of you.

In the form of a moan, sure. Which Viktor gladly muffles when he feels you part your lips for him. His tongue eagerly begins to dance with yours, moving slowly at first while he gets use to you before easily falling into a back and forth of give and take.

The thin fabric of his shirt leaves little to the imagination as your own hands begin to wander, running up his back before languidly trailing down again. He arches into your touch—pulls you closer while you start to memorize the curvature of his spine, the edges of his shoulder blades, the indents of his hips.

It’s effortless—getting lost in Viktor. His skin radiates a warmth that draws you in like a moth to a flame. You can’t help but consider the likelihood of his rising temperature being a byproduct of the arcane that recently resonated inside of him.

And that gives you an unexpected rush that you can’t explain.

Something along the lines of he can understand you on a base level that no one else has been able to even come close to reaching. Knows what it’s like to have something entirely unruly course through his veins without a compass or care. Knows the static and heat and tension and release of it all.

A micro-dosed version of it, sure.

A micro dose is more than enough in a world sober of magic. And more than enough to fully lose your inhibitions with him.

Deft fingers drag slow as molasses along your stomach, rippling over the contours that are already wound tightly in knots. You can feel him hum approvingly, clearly enjoying how your muscles tense under his teasing.

But not as much as you enjoy the sound he makes when you catch his lip between your teeth.

It’s a hushed groan caught in the crosshairs of surprise and pleasure. Barely above a murmur, but audible evidence that he’s come a little more undone. You give a light tug and match the subdued sigh that you pull from his lips, warmth blooming in your chest while his fingers dig into your shoulder and abdomen.

When you let go you can feel his smile while he chases evasive breaths, lips catching on yours lightly with each word that passes from them.

“And you…” He chuckles softly before finishing. “…said you don’t bite.” He follows his statement by taking the lead—pushing himself off the door, snaking an arm around your waist, and taking shallow steps to walk you backwards.

“I made…” You grin at his callback, trying to find your breath as well in between kisses and footsteps. “…an exception.”

“Do you make those often?” His voice sounds shot, graveled with passion that grows with each step. “Exceptions…”

“From time to time.” Your ears are burning and you’ve been so caught up in his aftershocks that you barely notice the pressure that’s caused your skimpy ass shorts to get tighter. You reinforce your own voice, playing into his question that you know is alluding to the common rules of a first date. “We’ve already made quite a few…”

“What like…assault?”

His clever response causes you to grin into a small kiss, your tongue teasing his before you correct him. “Well, battery. Technically.”

“That’s…not better.”

After another kiss, another step you manage to answer back with a crime of his own from the evening. “And how about theft?”

A playful nibble on your lip hitches your breath before he hums another rule broken from the list. “Mm. Vandalism.”

Gradually you get use to letting him steer you blind, your movements shifting from an uneven shuffle to steady-ish steps. You figure he trusted you mending him with raw magic—you can trust him not to let you fall on these expensive floors.

Not that you would care at this point anyway.

“Can’t forget about gambling.”

“Of course not.”

The backs of your knees hit the bedframe and you both stop in your tracks.

His focus travels.

Yours follows.

A glance behind you puts the luxe mattress layered with more blankets and pillows than you have in your entire loft into plain view. The implications of what comes after sitting heavy in the air as Viktor’s hands fall to your hips.

Your half-lidded vision is blurred but mesmerized by the way his whiskey eyes drink you in. His gaze moves down your chest and over your stomach until it drops low enough to make your cheeks flush.

“We could…just retire for the night, [Y/n].” His tone gives you all of the comfort in the world that it was okay to do so as he lifts a hand to cradle your cheek. “Falling asleep beside you—” He pauses, a sincere smile pulling at his lips while he imagines what that looks like. “That would be enough for me.”

Kind, warm eyes reflect the honesty behind sweet words. You match his smile and get lost in his touch, leaning into his palm before placing your hand on his. Thin fabric still leaving little to the imagination, you only have to glimpse down for a second to steel your thoughts into a word.

“Unless…?”

“Unless…” Warm ignites into to a smolder, sweet swiftly becomes sultry, and his touch fades from your cheek to fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“You’d like to make one more exception with me…”

----------

A/N: Oh it's HEATIN' UP--thanks to everyone for being patient with this chapter, it took a minute to fully form and write up and I hope it gives some warm fuzzies during these TRYING times :) Also wanted to say hi hello and welcome to any new folks! I am loving every comment, they seriously make my day. I'm so glad y'all are here and hope you enjoy the read! This is definitely a longer fic that started as a comfort read/be a place to visit if you've had a hard day and has turned into an entire story that I'm really excited to continue. I'm not sure how far into season 2 we'll go yet since we still have a few episodes left, but I'll be sure to include some tidbits and little easter eggs regardless of where to story finishes.  Thank you also for the follows, feedback, likes, shares and everything in between. It means the world to me and I'm beyond humbled this lil thing has brought some folks even a little bit of joy.  If you're feeling wild, my ko-fi is linked to my pinned post and in my lil sidebar (no pressure ever, I do this for free and because I love it)...But if there's a dollar in there I will be telling my homophobic dad his son made a buck writing gay smut at the family dinner next week. 

And if that isn't success I don't know what is. Anyway, thank you again for reading and I hope everyone is doing well out there! Cheers, Ghost

[yesimwriting]

I really like to think about bestie and armand just being a silly little couple if/when they finally get together and doing silly couple stuff...

also I love your writing, I'm obsessed with them and their dynamic !!

this is such a cute concept, their dating/together era would be so sincere, i feel like that sounds kind of vague but their relationship is just so genuine, like there's no ulterior motives to the way that they are with each other

here's a list of couple-y things bestie and armand do when/if they ever lock in and get together:

When discussing labels, bestie is inclined to use the word 'boyfriend' because it's familiar. Armand finds the term much too fleeting and dismissible and would be ready to call bestie his companion after a single openly romantic outing (maybe before then tbh).

Regardless of any debates on what to call each other, bestie is so happy to show off/introduce Armand to her friends and family. Also, I think Armand is extremely polite around bestie's relatives. Best behavior for the in-laws <3

Bestie becomes so adept at deciphering how Armand's feelings, that a single glance in his direction is enough for her to know what kind of mood he's in. She also knows when to try to make him talk about what he's feeling, and when to just silently sit with him.

Armand's yearning somehow gets worse after they're officially together. He's constantly treating her like she hung the stars in the sky.

Armand reads about 95% of the books that bestie reads without being asked to so that he can talk to her about them.

He also brushes up on whatever art style/medium bestie is currently working with to make sure that he's familiar/up to date on whatever bestie's working on.

Speaking of bestie's art, she paints Armand regularly. He doesn't tell her how significant these paintings are to him until she's made a few.

Also, I think it'd take some time for Armand to tell her some of the details about his trauma, but once he does, he tells her more specifics than he's told anyone else. He'd also tell her about the ways in which it still affects him.

He regularly pledges his loyalty to her and means it, which, sometimes, feels more significant than saying "I love you".

They don't think to have a conversation about living together, they just end up always sleeping in the same place.

Bestie and Armand are like magnets. They constantly gravitate to each other without realizing it. Even when they're both doing independent activities, they end up in the same room, and then eventually, holding hands/touching each other in some way.

Despite their different schedules, they become semi-dependent on sleeping next to each other.

I believe that Armand has some trauma when it comes to abandonment, and while anxious attachment tendencies and jealousy can be a lot, bestie understands why Armand struggles with these things. She'll reassure him as much as she needs to, and genuinely doesn't mind.

Bestie is incredibly protective of Armand's mental an physical well being. He likes noticing flashes of that protectiveness more than he'd ever admit to.

Also, after they're finally together, sometimes they'll discuss something that happened in the past and bestie randomly realizes that Armand has been pining for her.

Armand discusses eternity with her extremely casually.

Any vampires that know about bestie's existence know not to mention her in front of Armand for their own safety <3

----

this became way longer than i thought it'd be omg

[thethiefandtheairbender]

as a lifelong ATLA fan who narrowly had ATLA dethroned as my top show by The Dragon Prince steadily over the past 5 years, the similarities between the two have very little to do with the surface level parallels that get regularly drawn between them.

Like ATLA, TDP has Books for seasons and chapters for episodes, but unlike ATLA, which only touched on storytelling sparingly as a theme, TDP is obsessed with interrogating storytelling and history and the presence of unreliable, biased narrators throughout many of its episodes (most notably 2x05, 2x06, 3x06, 4x04, and 4x07 among them). Half of what you learn in the 1x01 intro ends up being a lie once you reach S3, with more being steadily deciphered.

Yes, TDP has different magics with people living under those umbrella terms... for the elves. Humans are coming culturally at things from a completely different angle, and the elves' connection to their primal sources are discussed philosophically in detail, informing their practices and their culture first hand, including the way they chafe against humans, who are arcanum-less. Many animals in the world are also connected to magic, which influences both their design and which ones get hunted for humans' more 'clever' solution in dark magic, including each other.

The core issue of the Puppetmaster, down to being a coercive magic formed by someone deeply resentful of their imprisonment? Said puppetmaster is the main endgame antagonist of the entire show with all of S4 onwards being exploring the ethics of controlling people against their will in various methods, and the entire show itself being a thematic battleground of fate (imprisonment) vs free will for virtually every single character.

Where ATLA mostly concerns itself timeline wise with ending the war, very little thought is shown by any of the characters as to what they'll do after the war. This isn't a problem (as it reflects the sheer domineering scope of the conflict) but even Zuko being firelord is only ever really addressed with 2.5 episodes left till the finale. TDP, meanwhile, ends its 'war' in s3 and s4 opens up with dealing with the old wounds festering between people with centuries of history, the struggles that come when people aren't able to let go and believe they're safe or mourn in a healthy manner, and the religious/cultural clashes that may occur when trying to integrate different groups of people.

TDP also has an evil father with a devoted daughter and a brother who eventually defects, but it explores the reality of an abusive parent who loves/will sacrifice for you and your right to leave regardless, even if that means leaving the sibling you truly deeply love and who loves you in turn. Which means that when you and your sibling are on opposite sides of a deep ideological conflict, it actually really fucking hurts bc we've seen first hand just how much they love each other and also how and why everything fell apart not in spite of that love necessarily, but also because of it.

Is this to say that TDP is a 1:1 with ATLA or that it's better? No, not at all, and the latter is subjective. I prefer TDP, but I think they're about on equal ground when you look at each show currently as a whole (although TDP has two seasons left to go).

But TDP takes a lot of what ATLA was doing thematically with some of its most interesting beats and then builds or expands upon them further. It talks further and more consistently about the cycles of violence; in many ways, Jack De Sena's character, Callum, begins the series largely where Sokka had ended (and he's not the most like Sokka anyway; very much his own thing); we get Faustian bargains and centuries' long grief and fucked up people who are trying both succeeding and failing at not doing fucked up things. There are antagonists, but it is very hard to actually label anyone at this point a straight up villain. Moral greyness is where the show starts, and it just continues from there.

That's not to say the show is nothing but dark and depressing - like ATLA, there's a steady thread of hope and humour even as the show gets steadily closer and closer to its 11th hour point - but the show is usually emotionally heavier. There's more blood and potentially disturbing imagery with body horror and on screen death. There's so much foreshadowing you basically can't go more than 5 minutes into any episode without having something that's going to come back around or be referenced again like 3-5 seasons later.

Just to be clear - TDP is like ATLA, but it's like ATLA in interesting ways beyond the more shallow surface level that usually gets attributed to it, while still very much being its own show and its own thing. And that is why I tend to recommend it to people who like ATLA.

Thank you and goodnight

(Also, the fandom doesn't have any ship wars, and the show is queer as fuck)

[bleedingichorhearts]

Hello! I see asks are open!

May I please request a Yandere!Salamander from Space Marine Husbandry Sentience? Trying so hard to be a gentlemen and polite, and not ravage his sweet treasure (yet, needs to wait until his courting gift is ready and his darling accepts...), loving their bonded being independent and working to support them, even though he could take care of and protect them...

He's trying so hard not to be too covetous (failing). Trying so hard not to be jealous of the baselines who get to spend hours of the (work)day with his treasure, of people who get her attention. But it's okay because she likes him best, loves him, chooses him, and comes home eager to see him and fall into his arms and sink into his warmth and protection.

Salamanders are like dragons, but they're not unreasonable... most of the time. Just let him protect and support you, and show him a little affection... a little love and appreciation. That's all.

(Love you're writing it's so cool and fun! The Custodes Series is my favourite so far!)

"Awww! This is such a cute request! Salamanders are most definitely like dragons but just with a cuddly, protective factor. I just image a big ol' fluffy drake that got the hair dryer, lol. I didn't put summary as your words are absolute. As for "the golden knights?" I'm glad that I'm doing well with it! I always worry that I didn’t put emotion in anything." - Ichor

Tagged - "@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.”

TW: Cuteness Aggression? Yandere, A Very Tiny Smidge of Smut Thoughts.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

The Salamander thumbs at the forged courting gift in his hands. His eyes looking over every single detail on it, making sure it was absolutely perfect for you. That every single detail on it was to tell a tale to those who could decipher what was on it, and most importantly to impress you. His little treasure.

He has been incredibly careful with you, not wanting to scare you away from him that maybe differ your view of him. Your “snuggly dragon.” An affectionate term he knows, and it makes his heart’s feeling like they were wrapped up in flames like a dragon inhaling; only keeping their fire in their chest, never releasing it upon his foes.

Ah. His fingers stop briefly on stroking the gift, his head lifting up and looking out the darkening skies of your nest. His mind briefly wondering when you would be back. His “foes.”

He would consider the other baselines that work with you, and that dare to come over into your nest a type of foe. He isn’t quite sure on what type of foe as he is conflicted with his thoughts about it while their some that are rather kind and light up your day when he should be doing that. There are some that get too close to his comfort and he just wishes to engulf you in his arms, never see those baselines again. Yet, there are some that keep their respective distance, and others? “Introverts,” a term he keeps forgetting to grab a description from the Apothecary.

Despite all that, he loves how independent you are, even if he wants to take care of you himself. He would prefer it that way, but you insist that you need something to live by, and honestly? Wasn't he enough? Was he not something to live by? If he didn't know any better, he would have stolen you from the get-go. Yet, something in the back of his genetically kind mind told him to go slow and steady with you. Not only that, but he has heard that he would have a better chance of a healthy bond to bloom with you by taking his time.

He sighs, keeping his gaze out of the window. A certain dread filling up his nerves as you were coming back home later than usual. It a rare thing honestly for you to come back late as one time he freaked out. Scouring your whole workplace to find you, snatching you up before hissing at the boss who dares to keep you to their greedy cooperate hands! He would like to remove them and offer them to A Night Lord, but with how you snuggled up to him immediately... it calmed his thoughts. His chest giving you a rumbling purr to put you at ease while he takes you back to your nest.

He loves it when you are all cuddly with him. He is all for it as it means more attention on him. It means more time with you, more time to rub his scent all over you, and coo lovingly in your ear when you coo and pet him back. These little affections of yours always putting those... dark thoughts in the back of his mind for just a moment.

Grumbles start to leave him after a while though, and if he had a tail? It would be twitching with irritation. His eyes flickering around the main part of your nest: the bedroom before looking back out the window. Hoping that if he pretended to look away you would just suddenly appear. Of course, that doesn't really work. Maybe with video games when they are loading.

An inhumane hiss rumbles through his chest when he suddenly gets up and off from sitting on your bed. His hands quickly hiding the courting gift for you in the highest shelf in your closet as he quickly turns away and out into the hallway. He always had a bit of a short temper when you were gone away from too long than what you have told him, and if he had it his way? That corporate would be burned to the ground like the Xenos that he purged with his own flame. Taking your time away from him should be sinful of those who greed!

Great, now he was thinking like a Word Bearer....

He huffs when he reaches the front door, absolutely ready to swing it open, maybe pop it off if hinges before he pauses. His head tilting slightly while a soft click sounded out, and a faint but fresh scent of you seeping behind the door.

"I'm hom- Gah!"

You don't even get your greeting words out as you're practically bodied by your Salamander that has most definitely gotten growly and huffy at your lateness. Your feet dangling while your carried away from the door. Irritated chuffs and gruffs' leaving your Salamander.

"Hey now," You laugh, patting his chest lightly as he snuggles you close all while walking back to your bedroom. "I'm only... 5 minutes late, give me some slack."

"Too long." He growls lowly, placing himself down onto your bed with a slight bounce like a huffy child before stuffing you in his chest. "Need you here, with me."

"Clingy, you are." You laugh again, happily snuggling into him after the long workday. Your hands wrapping around his torso as much as you can. Only getting about halfway, but the simple actions make your Salamander purr. Though, it sounds restricted, as if he really didn't want to amuse you. "You going to play that game? Fine."

He gives a rumble in response, lowering himself a little as you lean away from him in his lap. A bit of a mischievous glint in his eyes. He knows what he's playing, and he wants to absorb everything you would give him. Especially since your 5 minutes late.

"Greedy thing." You tease, lifting your hand up to cradle his jawline that he nuzzles into your palm for. His purr slowly becoming louder. Your other hand moving from his torso to gently scritch at his neck, going up and down slowly. Your eyes seeing a little shiver going through him, and you smile. "You're lucky I love you."

His body seems to freeze for a moment before he leans down more to nuzzle his nose against your neck. His back going to kill him for the awkward position, but he doesn't care for it. He cares for you, and your sweet, adoring words. His lips giving a twitch; just itching to just mark you right there as you let him nuzzle against you with another laugh escaping your lips.

"Sweet little treasure..." He purrs into you, his teeth beginning to itch at how he could just... mark you as his, right now. So vulnerable. Underneath him... crying out his name...

"Little?" You scoff, faking offence. Pulling away from him. "I'll have you know I am average size-!"

He simply turns, sort of manhandling you to snuggle you down into your own bed with him onto of you and you on the bottom. His head resting on your stomach with the weight of him pinning you down into your own bed.

"Really?" You deadpan, placing your hand on-top of his head.

He coos sweetly in response, nuzzling into you.

[eddiesghxst]

a very big thank you to my bby @mmunson86 bc she listens and entertains all of my random ass bursts of inspo and helped me decipher the plot to these two babies (and many many others hehe), ilysm stinky 🤍

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: older!NASCAR driver!eddie munson x pop singer!reader

summary: Eddie's a famous former NASCAR driver who now does paint jobs for celebrities, and you just so happen to need a paint job

contains: oral (f receiving), banter, flirting, and eddie being head over heels for reader <3

word count: 2k

| nascar!eddie x pop singer!reader masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Thursday is Eddie’s favorite day.

One more day til the weekend, things are slow at the shop, and Bug, the detailer, usually pays for lunch. So, Eddie’s usually pretty fucking happy on Thursday— usually. However, it’s hard to be happy when you wake up to a music video of a famous pop singer crashing the car you’d just spent weeks working on.

Now, Eddie’s all for creativity and expressing art in different forms of destruction, but it’s hard to see the art in smashing a brand new McLaren, freshly painted and detailed by none other than Eddie Munson himself. Sure, you paid for it, so it’s basically a waste of your money, but it’s also a waste of Eddie’s time and work.

“Turn this song off, Bug,” Eddie grumbles from under his mask, focused on spraying fine lines of paint onto the car in front of him. It’s your song.  The song that you’d smashed Eddie’s car into smithereens for. That being said, even if Eddie is utterly and incredibly displeased with how you’d decided to treat Eddie’s hard work, his heart skips a beat when he hears the familiar tone of your voice, “You don’t like my music, Munson?”

Eddie pauses his task, blinking a few times to clear the possibility of the paint fumes finally getting to his head and making him hallucinate. And if Eddie’s hallucinating, then his brain is quite vivid because the click of your heels is drawing closer and closer with the smell of your sweet perfume.

Eddie puts the spray gun back on the cart next to him and stands up, facing you as you approach him. Eddie sighs, tipping his head to the side as he removes his gloves. This isn’t the first time he’s met you; no, he met you when he dropped the car off at your film set. You were kind and soft-spoken, with a pretty smile and voice that made Eddie’s chest erupt in butterflies he hadn’t felt in years. You were gorgeous then, and you’re gorgeous now, standing in front of him with that sinister little glint in your eyes.

You’re a pretty young thing, that much is obvious, but it doesn’t negate the fact that you crashed Eddie’s car.

“How can I help you, doll?”

You smile, tipping your head as you watch Eddie remove the mask from his face, tossing it onto the tool cart along with the disposable gloves. “Need a paint job for my new car. Wanted the best in town.” You sweetly say.

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “A paint job?”

You blink up at Eddie, pretty eyes and cute lashes batting up at him. God, you’re perfect. It's no wonder why the entire world is head over heels in love with you.

“You crashed my car, honey.” Eddie points out.

Your hopeful gaze falters then, lips dipping into a ghost of a frown, “It wasn’t my idea.” You respond. “You crashed my car. For a music video,” he drawls, “Do you know how much time I spent on that car?”

Bug seems to take that as his cue to leave because suddenly he’s tossing his tool in his toolbox and calling over his shoulder, “Goin’ to lunch, boss.” And there goes Eddie’s free lunch.

A flash of guilt passes through your eyes before you huff with a roll of your eyes, shifting to lean on one foot as you cross your arms over your chest, “It wasn’t your car.” 

“It’s got my work written all over it.”

“Again, it wasn’t my idea.”

Eddie tilts his head, lips pouting as he shrugs mockingly, in a way. “But you went with it.”

Eddie had been slowly walking you backward across the empty garage, pressing and pressing until you reached his parked car, your body coming to a sudden stop with a hitch in your breath. You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes for the second time, “Well, I was filming a music video. I just do what they tell me to and look pretty— it’s kind of my job, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s eyes fall to your lips for a split second.

You lick your lips, cocking your head to the side as you gaze up at him, “Obviously.”

Eddie’s lips twitch like he wants to smile, a smirk lingering in his tone as he mocks you, “Obviously.”

“You really don’t like my music?”

You feel like you’re losing your mind. Not only are you standing in the famous Munson’s Paint & Body garage, but you’re standing face to face with the Eddie Munson— famous former NASCAR driver and hot as fuck body man.

It’s like all those Sundays you spent back in high school watching him race as your dad bet money with his friends on who would win are flashing before your eyes. Okay, so you’re fangirling a little bit; who wouldn’t? It’s Eddie fucking Munson.

“Never said I didn’t like your music; I just don’t like the fact that you crashed my car.”

And well, you feel bad. You didn’t know the car would get hurled off a cliff in the middle of the California desert, but it was a little late to protest against that when it was flying through the wind at 90 miles per hour with literal flames decorating the wheels.

“I’m sorry,” you finally apologize. “I shouldn’t have let them destroy your car… which was technically my car for my music video.” You and Eddie share a playful gaze, but it’s soon overthrown with something lustful when Eddie reaches out, fingers toying with the waistband of your denim skirt. “You’re playing with fire, princess.” He lowly says.

You hum, tipping your head as he towers over you, bodies pressing against one another as you dance along the edge of the thick line of tension, “Wanna do something about it?” A sly smirk and glinting brown eyes have you weak in the knees, your body heating up like a fucking furnace as the man silently gazes at you. 

It’s like the spread of wildfire when he presses his lips against yours, a warm hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses you against the hood of his car. Your skirt is short, and it rides up when he maneuvers you further up the hood. You let out a shaky breath against his lips when the cool metal of the car meets the hot skin of your thighs.

You’d be lying if you hadn’t somewhat come here with the intention of getting your hands on the handsome older man— there’s no denying there was some kind of energy bouncing between the two of you when you briefly met him on the set of your music video. Eddie’s got a way of looking at you with daring yet respectful eyes that make you want to pounce— he had it then when you first met, and he has it now.

He’s pawing at you like he’s addicted, big hands grasping at your sides as he practically devours you. It’s sloppy and wet and so fucking addicting you wish you didn’t have to breathe so you could just keep kissing him.

He’s slinking his hands down to your thighs, hooking them into the crooks of your knees and pressing them up, spreading you wide for him as he kisses down your neck. He reaches one hand up, tugging down at your shirt to give him room to mark the swell of your breasts. Your breath hitches when your bare nipple meets the cool air, and he laves his tongue over it, “W-what about— fuck.” You whimper as Eddie hums, kissing further down your body and fully pushing up your denim skirt to mouth at your thighs. You press your thighs closer together, pressing up onto your elbows to gaze down at Eddie as he kneels between your legs.

“What about your employees?” You ask.

Eddie mouths at your thigh, kneading at the fat of your skin as he speaks, “Just me and Bug today. Open up, baby.” His brown eyes are like swirling hypnotic pools, and your body moves in accord with his directions, thighs parting to show him the damp material of your flimsy panties.

Eddie groans, leaning forward to drag his tongue up the damp spot before gently nipping at the material. He’s impatient, so he only hooks his thumb in the hem of the cotton and hooks it off to the side, keeping it pinned beneath his thumb so he has full access to your dripping cunt. He doesn’t waste time, laving his tongue from your opening up to your clit, teasingly running the tip of his tongue in circles over your sensitive bud just to hum at the pitiful whimpers and whines that escape your mouth. 

Your eyes roll when he closes his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking and teasing until you’re fully moaning, reaching down to thread your fingers into his curly locks, knuckles curling at the root to gently tug him deeper into your cunt.

“Yeah, yeah,” He breathes, “Fuck my face, princess, there we go.” It’s so wet, his voice, so wet and eager and mind-numbingly gorgeous.

He teases two thick fingers at your entrance before sinking them into you and curling them in a come hither motion. Your legs twitch to close around his head, “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Eddie, I’m so close.”

You’re teetering on the edge, heat brewing in your lower tummy as Eddie devours you like it’ll be his last fucking meal. The lights overhead are bright, and there’s heavy metal playing from the shop speakers. Still, all you can bring yourself to focus on is the sinful drag of Eddie’s tongue up and down the entirety of your cunt, sticky strings of arousal and spit smearing all over your thighs and his face, and your moans increase in volume when he slinks a hand up to squeeze at your chest.

His fingers are gentle yet overwhelming as they pet at your sensitive spot, and before you know it, you’re body is tensing, and you’re coming around his thick digits, soaking his chin as you fail to keep your thighs open and sounds to a minimum.

Eddie doesn’t mind, though, it seems, because he only moans and nuzzles his face deeper into your pussy, greedily licking into you like it’s his last chance— and hopefully it’s not.

You must have spaced out because, between the immense pleasure and the sinfully beautiful sight of Eddie between your thighs, you seem to only come back to earth once Eddie places your panties back over your pussy, pressing a gentle kiss to your covered and aching clit.

He snickers when you twitch in overstimulation, “You’re real cute when you cum, you know?” He says before pressing a kiss into your thigh. You huff out a laugh, leaning on your elbows to watch as he stands up to hover over you, pressing his palms into the hood of the car on either side of your blissed-out body. “Thank you?” You say. Eddie laughs, eyes twinkling with admiration as he gazes down at you.

“I’ll cut you a deal, alright?” He starts. Though your mind is still foggy with the lingering effects of your orgasm, your eyes narrow in suspicion as you tell Eddie to continue. Eddie sighs, leaning in further, “You let me take you on a date, and I’ll paint your car— I’ll also forget all about you crashing my car.”

Even if you want to point out that the car wasn’t Eddie’s, yet again, you can’t help the giggle that slips from your lips as you give in and nod, “Okay. One date.”

Eddie beams, raising an eyebrow as he responds, “Yeah?” You want to lean in and kiss him, but you think the heat of the moment from before had been fuel to the boldness that you’re now lacking.

You nod before holding up your index finger, “One,” you stress, “No promises for a second. I don’t have another car for you to paint.” You joke, but Eddie only shrugs with a smug look.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got enough cars for you to last a lifetime of dates.”