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cressidagrey · 1 month ago

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Love Letter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Other people write love letters, Felicity Piastri reengineers tire degradation.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who actually knows what she is talking about and is the genius behind the science. She said this science "was understandable and accurate enough for fic." (Also I am aware that this is not believable, but hey, let me have fun 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

By the time McLaren hit mid-season in 2024, Andrea Stella had become something of a veteran in the art of bracing for impact — the kind that came not from a crash, but from the Piastri household.

He had gotten used to it.

Oscar’s precision. His unnerving calm. The way he drove with the composure of a man triple his age and none of the ego.

Felicity, who wasn’t technically on the payroll, but might as well have had a desk in R&D. Who was so liked in the engineering department that Andrea had overheard an engineer asking Oscar like an overexcited puppy when his wife was going to come back and play with them.

Felicity was always lingering at the edge of a race day.

Always watching. Always noticing.

And then there was Bee — small, serious, and so wildly intelligent it made his engineers nervous. She had literally seen an issue with their suspension during her first trip to the garage. Now, she asked about downforce balance mid-lunch and then drew airflow diagrams on her juice box.

Andrea had learned to expect brilliance from them.

But what Felicity handed him that morning wasn’t brilliance.

It was revolution.

It came in the form of a single-page drawing.

A3 paper. Hand-sketched. Neat annotations in clean block lettering.

She passed it over casually, like it was a grocery list. “Was thinking about deg last night. Couldn’t sleep. Just a theory. Don’t know if it’s actually useful, sorry.”

Andrea glanced at it.

Then really looked.

And stopped breathing.

At first glance, it looked like a cooling solution — rim cooling, a variation on brake duct design. Not uncommon. Not radical.

But then he saw it.

Phase. Change. Materials.

His eyes darted to the margin where she’d written:

PCM core set to activate at 276°C. Peak drawdown window ~30 seconds, reset threshold <210°C. Tapered air channel design for directional retention. Modeled after CPU heat-sink transfer.

Andrea looked up.

Felicity just shrugged. “Everyone’s been trying to brute-force cooling through airflow. I figured… maybe it’s not about keeping it cool. Maybe it’s about controlling the peak.”

It wasn’t theoretical.

It was elegant.

Andrea’s brain kicked into high gear.

PCM — phase change materials — had been a whispered concept in F1 circles for years. The holy grail of thermal management.

The idea that you could insert a material that would melt in response to a precise temperature range, absorbing energy as it changed state — holding a system in a stable thermal window. It worked in CPUs. Data centers. Rocketry.

But no one had ever made it viable in an F1 brake drum environment.

Not until now.

Not until this.

Not until it came from Oscar Piastri’s wife, at 2 a.m., in the quiet space between insomnia and motherhood.

Andrea blinked hard. “You know we’ve had engineers — PhDs — trying to crack this for years?”

She just shrugged.

He had no words.

Just respect.

And the rising sense that something seismic had shifted.

He handed it straight to the sim team. They ran a closed simulation. Quietly. Then another. And another.

By the time they tested it under controlled parameters, the engineers were whispering about windowed degradation curves. About temperature floors. About thermal consistency that shouldn’t be possible.

Oscar was suddenly able to manage medium compounds like they were hard. The performance drop-off curve flattened — flattened. Andrea had never seen anything like it.

No magic bullet in F1 ever worked this fast.

But this?

This wasn’t a magic bullet.

It was physics. It was material science. It was control — without compromise.

They ran it again during a private test at Silverstone. And then — stealthily — implemented portions of the system into the race package.

By the time the 2025 season came around, Red Bull was accusing them of cheating. Mercedes was sulking. Ferrari was confused.

The paddock wanted to know what the hell McLaren had done.

The answer?

Felicity Piastri.

When Andrea called her into his office, holding the latest race run data in one hand and a calculator in the other, she sat across from him sipping tea out of a mug with Bee’s name on it.

“You realize you’ve just solved one of the biggest unsolved problems in modern F1?” he said.

Felicity blinked. “I was just tired of watching Oscar hemorrhage tire life while driving perfectly.”

Andrea stared at her.

She added, a little awkwardly, “I didn’t… mean to change the whole season. I just wanted him to stop overcompensating for a thermal flaw no one was fixing.”

Andrea leaned back in his chair and said — for the first time in his career — “I am both terrified of and completely in awe of your entire family.”

Felicity just smiled and said, “Would you mind printing a copy of the new tire envelope profiles? Bee wants to compare the heatmaps to the old ones.”

Andrea buried his face in his hands. “Tell her to go easy on us.”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

They were rocket ships now. Every track. Every compound. Consistent, controlled, deadly fast.

And somewhere, deep in the McLaren server, the drawing still existed. In a scanned file. Named Piastri_Insomnia_Fix_v1.pdf

Andrea renamed it later that week.

"Found the Window."

Because that’s what it was.

A window — held open by a woman who thought differently. Who didn’t need the spotlight. Who just loved someone enough to stay up all night figuring out how to protect him from heat, chaos, and failure.

And somehow, she’d done the same for all of them.

***

Mark Webber had seen a lot in his career.

Title deciders. Broken bones. Politics dressed up as progress. He’d seen technical miracles and driver meltdowns and the rare, perfect moment when both came together and worked.

But he had never seen a technical revolution arrive folded in half on a single piece of A3 paper, annotated in gel pen and handed in like someone had just scribbled down the grocery list.

And he certainly hadn’t expected it to come from Felicity Piastri. Maybe he should have.

He was standing trackside in China when Andrea Stella handed him the printout — not the PDF version with simulations, but the original. The drawing. The one that changed their 2025 season from promising to dominant.

“She gave me this on a Tuesday,” Andrea said, voice flat with disbelief. “Said it was just a thought. I’ve had people with entire departments fail to model this. She did it because she couldn’t sleep.”

Mark turned the page over once. Then again.

It was neat. Clean. Not showy.

Pressure curves, airflow vectors, the highlighted activation band of the phase change material she’d used to stabilize tire temp near the brake drum.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “She’s a genius.”

He knew that. He had been aware of it for years. But it was something else entirely to see it in action.

Andrea didn’t argue. “She just… wanted to help Oscar.”

Mark stared at the drawing again.

That’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t a flex.

This wasn’t about glory. Or proving herself. Or showing up a paddock full of men with degrees and dynos.

It was a love letter.

Written in airflow.

Signed in melting point theory.

Stamped in the stable temperature range of a tire that could now go ten laps longer without falling off.

Felicity hadn’t just solved degradation.

She had — quietly, brilliantly — rewritten the way Oscar raced.

Because he was hers.

And this was what loving him looked like.

Not flowers. Not poems. Just… making the world easier for him. A little softer. A little kinder. A little less brutal at 300km/h.

Mark let out a slow breath.

“Do you think she knows what she did?” he asked.

Andrea shrugged. “I think she knows why she did it. That’s probably enough.”

Mark folded the paper again — carefully, reverently — and tucked it back into the folder.

And in that moment, he didn’t see the terrifying engineering breakthrough.

He just saw a woman who loved her husband enough to change the laws of tire life —So he wouldn’t have to carry the weight alone.

***

Oscar had just come back from a long run on used mediums when Andrea called him into the office.

Nothing dramatic — just a quiet, “Got a sec?” as Oscar peeled off his gloves and handed his helmet to a mechanic. The kind of thing that sounded normal. Routine. Like maybe they were going to go over sector data or tire drop-off or which curb had tried to kill him today.

So when Andrea closed the office door behind them and reached into his drawer without saying a word, Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Then Andrea handed him a sheet of paper.

A3. Slightly folded. Faint graphite smudges along the margin.

The original one. Still folded along the crease Felicity had made when she handed it to Andrea like it wasn’t the single greatest thermal breakthrough in modern tire strategy.

Oscar took it automatically.

Looked down.

And stilled.

There were notes in clean block print. Equations. Angled airflow paths, subtle thermal gradients, annotations on phase change material melt points and rim temperature drawdown.

Oscar’s throat went dry. His eyes scanned the drawing again, heart starting to race—not from adrenaline, but from recognition.

He knew that handwriting.

It was so her. The tidy script. The neat arrows. The absence of drama.

Just a brilliant mind trying to fix something that made the person she loved suffer.

He’d seen it on post-it notes stuck to Bee’s whiteboard. On margin scribbles in books Felicity had left lying around. On every note she slipped into his suitcase before he went to a race….every note that he then slipped into his racing gloves.

Oscar looked up, voice quieter than it should’ve been. “This is Felicity’s.”

Andrea nodded once. “She gave it to me three months ago. Said it was probably nothing. Just an idea she had when she couldn’t sleep.”

Oscar sat down.

Because suddenly, his knees weren’t quite up to the task.

He stared at the drawing like it might vanish.

This was it.

The fix. The reason their tires held. The reason he didn’t fall off in stint two. The reason strategy meetings had shifted from damage control to aggression. The reason the car felt like it trusted him back for the first time in forever.

He felt it like a punch to the chest.

“She… she did this?”

“She did,” Andrea said. “And she didn’t want credit. Said she just wanted you to stop overcompensating for bad thermal management. That you were too good to keep bleeding lap time for other people’s mistakes.”

Oscar swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

He looked back down at the paper.

At the numbers.

The calculations.

Oscar turned the page over.

A post-it was pressed to the back, Andrea’s handwriting.

“From Mark: ‘This isn’t just engineering. This is her love letter to Oscar — making the world around him easier.’”

Oscar’s heart stopped.

He stared at the sentence for a long, long time.

He read it again. And again.

The words didn’t feel like compliments.

They felt like someone had taken a flashlight and pointed it directly into his chest — illuminating something he hadn’t dared to articulate, even to himself.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

The sketch. The concept. The whole damn thing.

Felicity hadn’t set out to change a season.

She’d just wanted him to stop hurting.

To stop watching his tires fall apart under perfect driving. To stop fighting physics he couldn’t control. To stop carrying all that frustration on his own.

She’d stayed up at 2 a.m. not because it was her job — but because it was his dream.

She had never once made him feel like he had to win for her.

But God, she made him believe he could.

He blinked hard.

Thought about the way she kissed his temple when he came home late. The way she labeled Bee’s lunchbox with thermal guidelines for optimum snack temperature. The way she never said I love you like a performance — only like a truth.

Then he looked up. “Mark… he really said that?”

Andrea’s voice gentled. “He did.”

Oscar stared at the page again.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. That’s her.”

And in his chest, where the engine noise usually lived — Where the pressure, the expectations, the sheer weight of competition settled — He felt something loosen.

Because winning was nice. The championship would be incredible.

But this?

Being loved like this?

That was better than anything he’d ever drive for.

***

The house was dark when he got home.

Not silent — not entirely. There was the low whir of the dishwasher. The cluck of a chicken outside, ruffling in its sleep. The soft creak of floorboards as he kicked his shoes off at the door and padded down the hall in his socks.

It was late. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t needed to.

The bedroom door was open.

Bee was curled up in the middle of the bed like a starfish in mismatched pajamas, one hand still clutching the tail of her stuffed frog. Felicity was beside her, lying on top of the duvet, eyes closed, one arm slung across Bee’s little body like she was anchoring her in a dream.

Oscar stood in the doorway for a long time.

Just… watched them.

His wife and his daughter. One terrifying genius and one tiny one-in-training. Both of them unknowable and brilliant and his.

He swallowed around the knot in his throat and moved quietly to the other side of the bed, careful not to wake Bee as he lay down beside them.

Felicity stirred almost immediately, her breath catching as her body registered the warmth beside her.

Her eyes opened — drowsy, soft.

“Oz?” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “You’re home late.”

Oscar didn’t answer at first. Just slid his hand beneath hers and laced their fingers together. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, slow and steady.

She didn’t push.

Didn’t sit up.

Didn’t ask.

Just waited.

And because she didn’t ask — because she already knew — he found his voice again.

“Mark saw the drawing,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “The one you gave Andrea.”

Felicity blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“He said it was a love letter. That you were making the world easier for me.”

She was still for a beat.

Then: “He’s not wrong.”

Oscar exhaled sharply. Pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve figured something out eventually.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to the crown of his hair.

Her voice was quieter than ever. “I’d do it again.”

Oscar’s breath hitched.

“I’d do it again tomorrow,” she said. “And the next day. And the day after that. If it meant you could breathe easier. If it meant you didn’t have to fight so hard just to keep pace with people who were working with better tools.”

He closed his eyes. Let the weight of her words settle over him like a blanket. Warm. Certain. Steady.

She ran her fingers through his curls once, twice.

And then she whispered: “You make the world easier for me, too. You just don’t notice it. You make it softer.”

Oscar kissed her shoulder. Didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Because she knew.

And he’d carry that with him — into every debrief, every qualifying lap, every moment on the podium.

This wasn’t just about racing.

This was home.

And it felt a hell of a lot like winning.

***

Lando found out in the most Lando way possible: completely by accident and one week too late.

He was in the simulator debrief when the topic of “thermal management integrity stability” came up — words that immediately made him want to die a little inside.

They were talking about their tire performance. Again.

Specifically, the fact that they could now absolutely cook it through mid-stint without falling off the cliff. And no one else could.

Lando was half paying attention — until one of the engineers muttered something about “F. Piastri’s material integration concept.”

Lando blinked.

“Sorry, whose what now?”

The room went quiet.

Andrea didn’t even look up from his screen. “Felicity. The drawing. You’ve seen it.”

“No, I have not seen it. Unless it was attached to a meme or came with a side of banana bread, I was not included.”

Will Joseph — Lando’s race engineer — slowly slid a printed diagram across the table.

Lando took one look.

Paused.

And said, “Wait. This is her?”

Andrea nodded without looking up. “Came up with it over insomnia. Gave it to me like it was a shopping list. It works.”

Lando stared at the airflow map, the PCM trigger temperatures, the annotated note that literally said ‘the goal is to stabilize the moment he usually starts slipping — give him room to breathe.’

He felt like someone had sucker-punched him with science and sentiment at the same time.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re telling me Felicity Piastri — as in, Oscar’s wife who wears motor oil like perfume and once fixed the coffee machine with a literal wrench — came up with the strategy that made our car an actual rocket ship?”

“Yes.”

“And it works.”

“Yes.”

“And she just gave it to you? No credit, no fuss, just… ‘here, I fixed the entire concept of high-deg tire strategy because I couldn’t sleep’?”

Andrea finally looked up. “Correct.”

Lando sat back, stunned.

He knew Felicity was scary smart. Knew she could rebuild a gearbox while calculating orbital velocity. Knew Oscar worshipped the ground she walked on and never made a big deal out of it because he didn’t need to.

But this?

This was something else.

“She didn’t do it for the team,” Lando said quietly, the realization hitting all at once. “She did it for him.”

Andrea didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Lando looked back down at the page — the margins, the equations, the gentle note that said “he’s too good to be held back by bad thermal behavior.”

And he felt it in his chest — that familiar ache.

Because that wasn’t engineering.

That was love.

The quiet kind.

The kind that doesn’t shout or show off.

The kind that stays up at 2 a.m. fixing something no one else thought could be fixed — just so the person you love can breathe easier.

So he doesn’t have to carry it all alone.

So he can go faster, safer, freer.

It was a love letter.

Not in flowers or poems.

In airflow and melting points.

Lando leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Jesus Christ. She built him a better world.”

Will snorted. “She rebuilt tire degradation, but sure, let’s make it poetic.”

Lando didn’t even blink. “It is poetic. He’s the quiet guy. And she’s the quieter genius who knows exactly where he hurts and rewrites the laws of physics to help him anyway.”

Andrea tilted his head. “You’re getting sentimental again.”

“I’m right,” Lando shot back, still staring at the page. “He’ll win the title because she didn’t want him to bleed for it.”

He tapped the margin with his knuckle. “This is the kind of love that never asks for a podium. Just builds the car to get him there.”

And for once — no one had a comeback.

Because they all knew it was true.

***

They were in the driver’s lounge two days later, when Lando struck.

He’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

And Oscar, blissfully unaware, had just taken a bite of his protein bar like he wasn’t about to get emotionally roasted.

Lando stretched out across the sofa like a cat in a sunbeam and said, far too casually, “So… what’s it like being loved so much your wife reinvented tire degradation for you?”

Oscar blinked mid-chew. “…Sorry?”

Lando grinned. “Just curious. I mean, some of us get love letters or handmade birthday cakes. You? You get full-phase material integration strategies and temperature-controlled brake ducting. Romantic stuff.”

Oscar groaned, immediately regretting not hiding in the sim room instead. “Lando.”

“I’m serious,” Lando said, sitting up now, fully energized. “Felicity took one look at your stint data and said, ‘this man needs help. Let me just rewrite thermodynamics real quick.’”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t—”

“No, no,” Lando cut in. “Don’t you dare downplay this. The rest of us? We have to manage deg. You? You have a thermodynamic guardian angel in your marriage bed.”

Oscar flushed, the tips of his ears visibly pink. “She had a theory. That’s all.”

“‘Just a theory,’” Lando mimicked, using air quotes. “‘Just a casual bedtime sketch that turned McLaren into the most stable tire platform on the grid.’ My God, Oscar. She loves you so much it’s physically measurable.”

Oscar sank lower in his seat, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re married to the Nikola Tesla of tire temp control. I deserve to be insufferable.”

“Lando—”

“She built us a better car because she hated watching you suffer.” Lando flopped dramatically. “Imagine. Being loved with that level of efficiency. Can you even comprehend?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s just… always been smarter than all of us.”

Lando stopped mid-rant.

And smiled, softer this time. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause.

Then Lando added, “Anyway. If she ever wants to fix my brakes, tell her I’m emotionally available.”

Oscar snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“What about Bee? Can she be bribed with juice boxes and data sets?”

Oscar shook his head, laughing now. “She’s already running her own simulations. She’s got standards.”

Lando grinned. “Just like her mum.”

Oscar looked down at the McLaren logo on his hoodie — the one Felicity stole all the time — and felt something warm settle in his chest.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

But when he went home that night, he kissed Felicity extra softly — and whispered thank you against her temple like a promise.

And Felicity?

She just smiled, wiped her grease-smudged fingers on her jeans, and said, “Don’t thank me yet. Bee thinks we can improve the airflow angle by three degrees.”

Because love — in their house — was always a work in progress.

And always worth the effort.

***

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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foldingfittedsheets · 8 months ago

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I was talking to a coworker recently and offhandedly said I wasn’t exactly competent at a lot of things. He reared back in obvious visceral disagreement that made me stop midsentence.

“What do you mean you’re not competent?”

“I guess I mean compared to the people I’m surrounded by? I’m not very handy, I guess.”

He looked baffled.

I tried to illuminate with a story. So at the sex shop we needed to vacuum every night, right? But one time after my days off I could tell the carpets hadn’t been vacuumed since I last saw them. I asked the other girls why not. It turned out that the screw that held the handle on the vacuum had been stripped and it wouldn’t stay in. Why was that down to a single screw? Bad design.

So any attempt to vacuum meant the handle just popped off when the screw jumped ship. I looked over the vacuum. I found a junk drawer. I found the biggest screw I could that still fit in the hole wrapped it in tape to bulk it out. Then I shoved/screwed it in place. Then I duct taped the opening so that fucker couldn’t pop out. Voila, a working handle.

The other girls were utterly delighted that I’d fixed the vacuum but I was painfully aware that my solution was neither elegant nor long term.

My coworker listened. Finally he said, “I think being competent just means you have the ability to learn a skill you lack, and you can do that. Your solution worked, and you were the one that tried to fix the problem.”

I digested that and agreed, but admitted any new skill learned would prompt me to be a huge baby about it.

#ramblies #funny #writing #story #I think too there’s so many times I’ve failed basic stuff like- I can’t put air in my tires or change a flat #I can’t use tools to a high degree #and all my friends are total badasses who make stuff and know what they’re doing with their hands #so all my shoestring solutions feel like playtime #but technically I can usually come up with some kind of janky solution

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rauferes · 21 days ago

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When Rook is twenty-eight, and Emmrich fifty-four, Emmrich takes Rook's hand gently and tells her that they must fully consider what it means for him to be so much older. To attach herself to him, when he is so close to his own decline, is folly—

Rook looks at him directly, waiting until his downcast eyes meet hers.

"I'm a Grey Warden," Rook tells him. "I know how to make every year that I am given count."

When Rook is thirty-one, and Emmrich fifty-seven, as Emmrich presses a kiss against the back of Rook's bare shoulder, Rook admits in a small voice: "I have, at most, fifteen years left to live."

In the warm darkness of their bedroom, the quiet stretches like the last moment after a crystal has been struck, just before the world falls again into silence.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Emmrich vows.

When the bells peal, sunlight and thrown petals and grains and joyous laughter raining down on them in equal measure, when Emmrich clasps her hands and says I give you my heart and soul. I will honor and cherish you each and every day of our lives— his voice sounds exactly the same.

When Rook is thirty-seven, and Emmrich sixty-three, she finds him on the floor of his laboratory, overcome by weeping.

"I have it," Emmrich tells her. "I have it. The Blight will progress no further in you."

She rocks him on the floor for a full hour as he sobs with the heart-rending relief, clutching her as if afraid to ever let her go.

When Rook is forty-six, and Emmrich seventy-two, Emmrich claims that most of his smile lines are Rook's doing.

"And many of the worry ones, too," Rook teases gently, brushing her thumb over her favorite, the divot closest to his right eyebrow.

Decades of love settle over a person as tangibly as gravity: they are both radiant with it.

They watch the sun set together, as they have done hundreds of times, hand in hand. Emmrich waits until the last sliver of pink has left the clouds before he turns to Rook to speak.

"I have learned that my solution was flawed," Emmrich admits very quietly. "The Blight in you will be at bay only so long as I live."

The light of the first rising star is reflected in Emmrich's gleaming, tear filled eyes.

Rook raises their joined hands to her mouth, kissing the back of his.

"I am older than I ever thought I would live," Rook says tenderly. "This life is enough, love."

The words soften Emmrich's expression, but fail to touch the grief in his eyes.

"It is more than enough," Rook tells him, at fifty-two.

"You think I want to live in a world without you in it?" she tells him at fifty-six.

"I love you," she tells him, every day.

"Every word in every love poem ever written isn't enough to say just how much I love you."

Emmrich peers at her over his thick glasses, pausing in his reading of the book of sonnets.

"Should I stop, then?" Emmrich teases.

"No," Rook says, settling her head more comfortably in his lap.

He runs one knotted, shaking hand through her grey hair, presses a kiss to her forehead. Rook closes her eyes.

When Rook is fifty-seven, and Emmrich eight-three, he slips away in the night. She wakes, as always, with her hand in his. She lies quietly for a long time, her eyes bleakly dry, knowing that this time is the last.

Most deaths feel sudden, in the end.

And yet every griever knows: it is still possible, somehow, to survive the removal of a heart.

After Rook has stood for two hours at the funeral, crying mechanically and stopping just as suddenly, Manfred guides her away.

"It's time to sit down, Mother," Manfred tells her gently. "Would you like water? Tea?"

Even fifteen years after beginning his travels, Manfred still sounds so much like Emmrich. The place where her heart is meant to be aches. Rook lets him settle her in a chair, and bring her the blend of tea that he designed just for her.

"There are two more bequeathments to distribute from Father's will," Manfred tells her. "He wanted both to be delivered by my hand."

The first is an elegant leather-bound book, intricately tooled, with fine gilded additions. It's carved with both their favorite flowers, intertwined. Rook opens the cover with shaking hands.

The lines are labelled with a date, with a single sentence accompanying it, penned in Emmrich's fine hand. Each is a message to her. It began almost four years ago, but— the book is far too full. Every page is written in. Rook flips forward to find that Emmrich wrote a line for every day for the next three decades.

"He should have spared himself the pain of writing so much," Rook says. "The Blight will have me far sooner than that!"

Manfred silently hands her an envelope. On its front is written:

To my darling Rook.

Rook reads the letter. She stares at Manfred, uncomprehending.

Manfred embraces her, pressing his forehead to hers in his version of a kiss to the cheek.

"The Blight won't take you at all, Mother," Manfred says gently. "He transferred the spell to me eight months ago."

Through a veil of tears, Rook sees that every neat line in Emmrich's book ends the same way.

I love you.

#dragon age #emmrich volkarin #emmrook #emmrich x rook #rook x emmrich #rauferes writes #grief #major character death #(this one was for Butterflies and Softened Eyes Emmrook)

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astrobydalia · 5 months ago

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🐍New year astro observations

first post of 2025, the year of the snake!

– astrobydalia

A thing I've noticed is that degrees can carry some energy from the dignities. For example if you have your Mercury in 21º degree in whatever sign, that mercury can express characteristics of debilitation since that's a sagittarius degree and mercury is debiltated in sagittarius

Aquarius placements, specially venus, appear picky when choosing their friends or people they truly like but honestly I've noticed that all they want is someone who has a personality. Like literally just be your own person and they’ll love seeing how you’re someone with many layers to you. It sounds simple but we live in a society where the instinct is to imitate others to fit in and Aquarius placements like it when you're (genuinely) true to yourself. Does not mean they will make you their bestie cause that depends on each individual but they at least appreciate the authenticity.

^^I remember this Aquarius Venus guy had a crush on me back in college and he once said to me "I like you because you're complicated"😭

Aquarius/11th house placements befriend people who share their political/philosophical/spiritual ideals. I’ve noticed that the people they ghost the most are the ones who don’t share their visions

Mercury rx natives are very good listeners actually. Even if they have the planet in domicile or exaltation, they are very patient when it comes to obsorbing info that's why I've seen this placement is common in "nerds" or book worms. They take their time understanding things and can come across as slow sometimes but they’re just very meticulous.

Capricorn Moons and their “facts don’t care about your feelings” attitude while simultaneously being the most sensitive and emotional person in the room

Something else I've seen with debilitated moons (scorpio/cap moon) is that they tend to have no patience or sympathy for people who seem to have it easy in life in some way. They only seem to respect people who know what it's like to struggle like they have

Virgo Mars natives are low-key misanthropic and/or introverts. They don’t like being around people for too long cause they very easily feel a lot of disdain for others' dumb and nonsense behaviors. It’s like they seem to be so easily exasperated by everything and everyone

Also, I’ve noticed Virgo Mars people are the type to stay low profile during conflicts or tense situations, mostly choose flight over fight response. They are surprisingly calm and collected and will find a solution or escape in no time. When they feel threatened and choose to fight tho… they get cold-blooded af

Taurus Venus natives are so POISED and elegant and I say that as a libra venus. You will never see them being messy, they behave with a lot of class always

Venus-Sun conjunction in synastry is actually not so good imo. In a natal chart this is considered a weak aspect for relationships because venus is combust. When we find it in synastry, this means Sun person combusts venus person. At best Venus person almost worships Sun person to their detriment. At worst Venus person feels like sun person is too much and tends to see the sun person as too obnoxious

I also think this is why Sun-Moon conjunction in synastry is overrated. Moon is too soft of a planet and sun feeds off of the moon’s affection while moon becomes attached and drained. I’ve very often seen with this aspect how sun person unknowingly offends or hurts moon person in some way

Also, strong venus synastry between women can manifest as toxic competition, "cat fight" energy

Venus opposite/square Moon is a very phony aspect tbh specially the square. They appear to be way nicer than they actually are

I've noticed men with Leo placements tend to be pretty sexist and openly defend traditional gender roles or patriarchy values. The instinct of Leo men is to be the 'king', the leader and Alpha just like actual lions. However if they also have strong feminine energy in their chart such as major water and earth energy they tend to show more benevolent sexism or chivalry behavior

Gemini placements will immediately like you if you are someone who is open to chill chats with them and you overall make them feel like they can freely rant to you about random stuff

Cancers are very infantilized but imo they are the least naive and most intelligent out of all the water signs. Cancer Moons in particular I've noticed can actually have a very accurate and impartial intuition. Cancer Moons have this ability to just understand and accept people's feelings, intentions and situations exactly for what they are without any judgement which makes them VERY intelligent people. Idk I’ve just seen cancer moons are actually the most level-headed out of all water moons

Leo Venus honestly give me huge pick-me vibes and low-key have the personality of a spoiled brat fr. I've seen ppl with this placement be a lil to obsessed with getting sexual attention and being the most desirable person in the room

honestly I've noticed that the people I genuenly get along with the best in the long run are people I have 1st house synastry with. There's something about 1st house synastry that feels SO uplifting and refreshing like there's this spark everytime you see or are with this person and you just naturally get eachother's vibe

That said, 7th house synastry is a bit overrated imo. Again, not saying it is bad but this is the house of open enemies as well as partnerships. 7th house represents parts of yourself you have a hard time accessing and that's why you attract people with this energy. Therefore 7th house synastry often creates love-hate dynamics, cause it's like yeah you like the person on a surface level but there's always some hidden 'BUT' bc they low-key embody the exact opposite of what you identify (1st house)

6th house synastry is very common in people that dislike each other, specially the house person disliking the planets person

Virgo placements are STARVED for validation like no other sign but they hide this well cause they don't wanna appear desperate. They tend to carry this teachers pet behavior to all sorts of aspects of their life hence the trope of virgo being obedient or goodie-two-shoes

I need to ask Capricorn Mars people: when do y’all sleep? Every single minute of these people’s lives is occupied with some activity, be that work or leisure. And funny thing is they never seem to be overwhelmed or tired at all, in fact the more they do the more energized they seem to be

Something else I’ve noticed with Capricorn Mars is that they tend to have a very bold and obnoxious personality. Even if they are more introverted, they tend to be a little too direct to the point where they can come across as rude, insensitive and power-hungry. But at the same time this makes them appear competent and confident and a lot of ppl like that about them

Scorpio Juno natives tend to be very opportunistic and greedy when it comes to business. Sometimes to the point of having questionable work ethic sometimes. Overall this is a major placement for indicating talent in business or finance and making a lot of money

Libra Venus natives have a wondering eye definitely. What makes them start to consider someone as a potential partner is looks first and foremost, the rest comes later lol

I once saw an observation that said “gemini placements want you to listen to them but they won’t listen to you” and let me tell you this is a FACT. Talking with a Gemini placement feels like they’re just brain dumping stuff on you💀💀Love you guys tho

Libra loves to flex their wealth, achievements and status a lot more than Capricorn/Scorpio/Leo

Capricorn placements are naturally good educators and they honestly give me influencer energy low-key. They just naturally have this trustworthy and competent energy that when they lean into guiding and teaching people in some way they really excel and attract success the most

Venus-Venus synastry >>>>>> Venus-Mars synastry. With Venus-Venus aspects (even harsh ones) there’s a natural desire to bond/come together with this person in some way no matter what, so the attraction is most of the time mutual and very lasting. You also just naturally like each other and genuinely enjoy each other’s presence. If the relationship is sexual then the sex is just as good if not better than with Mars cause Venus rules pleasure and you’ll both want to please each other while Mars tends to be more self-serving sexually

This is not to say Venus-Mars aspects in synastry are bad, they definitely can create nice bond, chemistry and all of that. But Venus and Mars have opposing natures which can create strong attraction and irresistible pull because they compliment each other but at the same time it can also manifest as mismatching dynamics in the relationship where you aren't always in the same page, specially with harsh aspects. Just my opinion tho.

I know I've said this before but I wanna reiterate that Mars in the 7th house synastry does not reap good results in the long run as per my observation. Its giving friends-to-enemies or lovers-to-enemies energy. There's this feeling of instantly clicking with this person but very soon becomes evident that the two people have conflicting drives and desires which creates a LOT of tensions and unspoken competition/resentment. I've noticed it creates a dynamic where eventually one or both but specially the mars person in particular ends up resenting the house person

I’ve also talked about this before but I just keep observing that Moon-Saturn conjunction often appear to be very thoughtful, mature and kind because they’re very calm and observant of others but you very quickly notice that they actually seem to be completely and genuinely apathetic towards others’ emotions fr. They are aware of people's feelings and can actually understand them fairly well but it's like they observe them from an outside perspective like they're studying others rather than getting emotionally involved with them in an empathetic way. This behavior can have its positives but honestly for the most part I've seen that it makes the natives pretty shady and two-faced due to the strategic nature of Saturn. People with this aspect can play double agent exceptionally well

The most short-tempered mars sign as per my observation is Taurus Mars hands down. They're moody and unpredictable af.

Gemini Mars people have this oddly calm and aloof energy to them where they look like they’re only two sentences away from sending you to the therapist if you upset them in the slightest (they scare me)

I’ve noticed it’s actually Aries and Aquarius placements who love the enemies to lovers trope. Aries is the type to enjoy playful bullying or little dramatic arguments while Aquarius is more about the cat and mouse dynamic, flirting while acting uninterested and things like that. I've noticed they both love this vibe of almost daring the other person and feeling intrigued.

Speaking of, Aries Venus people confuse the shit out of me cause you gotta be a lil bit of an ice queen in order for them to like you😭 And they themselves act in ways that you'd think they hate you and wanna piss you off or create tension but they're just teasing, they wanna see what you're made of. That's why I said they "lack charisma" not because they don't have any but cause they have a very specific charm that can very often rub a lot of people the wrong way (cause it goes against venus' universally plesant nature), same with the other debilitated Venus positions

Gemini moons 🤝 being emotionally unavailable.

Gemini placements 🤝 being forgetful AS FUCK. Not so much if they also have taurus placements tho

Something I've seen in a loooooot in the synastry of those married couples where the man is head over heels obsessed with his wife is the man's Lilith conjunct the woman's inner placements or angles SPECIALLY her ASC or Venus. She is his weakness and it's that kind of relationships where he can't take his eyes (and hands) off of her and he is fiercely determined to make her his

Something else I've seen in the synastry of married couples is the man's mars falling on the woman's 4th house. He wants to protect her and start a family with her

Aquarius ASC in the composite chart gives off HUGE situationship vibes frrr. I've noticed that couples who have this tend to fully act like they're in a relationship but if you ask them if they're dating they'll tell you they aren't cause they never made anything official. This is the type of connection where they've been together for years but it is uncertain where there relationship is going long-term, nothing's ever officialized or set in stone (Cap 12th house) kinda like "yeah idk one day we'll get married I guess who knows"

astrobydalia

#astrology #astro #astro observations #astro notes #zodiac #birth chart #astrobydalia #astrology observations #astro community

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gf2bellamy · 2 months ago

Note

Omgosh yes please write my idea! I would love that! (Spencer fiddling with an engagement ring while waiting at the hospital then proposing) and I loved that fic too! Honestly I adore the way you write fluff and hurt/ comfort! Have a great day!

proposal — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader has been shot, mention of concussions , spencer and reader are both very emotional, reader is in surgery a/n: hi hi ! i hope you like this <3

Surgery.

For the first time in his life, Spencer Reid’s mind was terrifyingly, agonizingly silent. No equations, no statistics, no facts to distract him, just that single, suffocating word.

Surgery.

You were in surgery. You were on the other side of those sterile white doors, unconscious, your body at the mercy of strangers’ hands. The thought made his stomach twist. These were skilled professionals, he knew that logically, but they didn’t know you.

They didn’t know how you hummed under your breath when you were concentrating, or how your nose scrunched when you laughed, or the way your fingers always sought his in moments of quiet. They didn’t know that you were his, his light, the only person who could unravel the chaos in his mind with a single touch.

People who didn’t know that you were his future.

Spencer sat in the waiting room. His body refused to move. His mind, for once, refused to help him escape. The world around him was muted. The team had tried, at first. JJ had murmured reassurances, her voice soft. Hotch had spoken to the doctors, gathering information Spencer couldn’t bring himself to ask for. But eventually, they all fell silent, giving him space, or maybe they just realized there was nothing they could say.Their voices were background noise, distant and foggy.

None of it mattered. The only thing that felt real was the small, satiny box burning a hole in his pocket.

His fingers twitched toward it instinctively, tracing the edges through the fabric of his slacks. He had carried it with him for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment. A quiet evening, maybe. A walk under the stars. Somewhere peaceful, where he could tell you, with all the words he’d practiced in his head, just how irrevocably in love with you he was.

But now the future felt like it was dangling over a cliff.

A sharp breath tore from his lungs as the reality crashed over him again, you were hurt. You were lying on an operating table, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. His mind, usually so quick with solutions, was horrifyingly blank.

It was too much. The walls, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the sound of machines, it all felt like it was suffocating him. So Spencer walked out.

He didn’t say a word to anyone. He just moved, his legs barely working beneath him, until he found himself outside, stumbling toward a bench just beyond the sliding emergency doors.

He sat down heavily, the world still spinning. And then, he pulled it out.

The ring.

The one he had agonized over for weeks. It was perfect. Delicate, elegant with a diamond that caught the light like the spark in your eyes when you teased him.

His throat tightened. He had tried to shield you. God, he had tried. The bruise throbbing along his left side was proof, he’d thrown himself between you and the unsub without hesitation. But it hadn’t been enough. A split-second miscalculation, a fraction too slow, and the unsub’s strike had landed on you instead.

Spencer’s fingers trembled as he opened the box. The diamond glimmered faintly under the hospital’s lights, and he traced it with a feather-light touch.Then he closed it. A tear fell. It landed on the satin with a quiet tap, the fabric darkening where the droplet soaked in. Spencer didn’t wipe it away. He just stared blankly ahead, his vision blurring.

The doors slid open. Footsteps. “Hey, Reid.” Garcia’s voice was uncharacteristically subdued. No silly nicknames. Just Reid. That alone told him everything.She only ever called him that when things were bad. When she didn’t have the energy for sweetness or nicknames. He didn’t turn.But his shoulders slumped slightly, another tear escaping before he could stop it. She sat beside him. Garcia said nothing for a moment. Then her breath hitched, just barely. She’d seen it. The ring.

Garcia’s fingers dug into the edge of the bench, her knuckles whitening as she fought to keep her composure. No gasp, no dramatic reaction, just a sharp inhale, her eyes flicking between the box and Spencer’s shattered expression.Spencer finally spoke. His voice was barely a whisper.

“I was going to do it soon,” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles along the box.

Garcia didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. Just let him speak or try to.

“I was… uhm…” he started, but his voice cracked on the words. He took a shaky breath, his lips trembling. “I—I just…” His sentence broke apart, lost in the ache in his throat. Another tear slipped down his cheek, falling silently into his lap.

Three minutes of silence stretched between them. Spencer’s grip on the ring box hadn’t loosened; his knuckles were bone-white.

“She talked to me about it.” Garcia’s voice was soft. Spencer finally moved. Just his head, slow, as if even that small motion took unbearable effort. His eyes , red-rimmed, locked onto hers.

“What?” The word came out breathless, like he was afraid of the answer.

Garcia’s smile was fragile, a ghost of her usual brightness. “She was talking about a future with you,” she murmured, her own tears now shimmering under the hospital’s lights. “Said how she wanted to marry you.”

A sharp inhale. Spencer’s chest constricted, his pulse roaring in his ears.You had talked about it. You had imagined it. “When?”

Garcia swiped at her cheek with her thumb, her voice steadier now.“Last month. After that case in Vermont, remember? When you two stayed behind to watch the sunrise.” A watery chuckle. “She said… it was the first time she let herself really picture it. The dress. The vows. You, in some mismatched suit, quoting Dostoevsky at the altar.” A sound escaped him, half sob, half disbelieving laugh, as his grip on the box tightened. His vision blurred again, but this time, it wasn’t just from fear. You had wanted it too. Spencer closed his eyes. His free hand lifted, pressing against his mouth as if he could physically hold back the wave of emotion threatening to drown him.

Garcia didn’t say anything else.

In that moment, Spencer remembered the way you’d curled against him on the couch last week, murmuring about someday buying a house with too many bookshelves. The way you’d kissed his forehead after a nightmare and whispered, “You’re stuck with me, Spencer Reid.” The way you’d already chosen him, long before he’d even bought the ring. And now, all he could do was pray, that he’d still get the chance to hear the word yes.

Spencer’s thumb traced the satin edge of the box one more time, when the hospital doors hissed open behind them.Morgan’s voice cut through the night air. “She’s stable.”

Spencer was on his feet before he’d fully processed the words, the ring box fumbled into his pocket. His long legs carried him forward in a daze, past Morgan’s relieved sigh, past Garcia’s watery “Thank God”, past everything except the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. A nurse was speaking to Hotch near the reception desk, her clipboard clutched tight. Hotch didn’t hesitate, he took one look at Spencer’s ashen face and pointed sharply at him.“Take him first.”

The nurse nodded, her shoes squeaking against the linoleum as she turned. “Right this way.”

The smell of antiseptic burned his nose. Machines beeped behind half-closed doors. Somewhere, a phone rang. None of it mattered. The door creaked as Spencer pushed it open, his breath catching in his throat. And there you were, alive, breathing, real, propped up on hospital pillows. A thick bandage wrapped around your waist peeked out from beneath the thin hospital gown. A brutal reminder of how close he'd come to losing you.

His knees actually buckled. For a man who could calculate structural load-bearing limits in his head, who knew exactly how much force it took to collapse a human body, Spencer Reid suddenly understood physics in a whole new way. The relief hit him like a tsunami, nearly bringing him to the ground as your eyelids fluttered open.

"Spencer." Your voice was hoarse, barely audible over the beep of the heart monitor, but it might as well have been a symphony.

He was at your side in three frantic strides, his long fingers trembling as they reached for you. One hand cradled your face like you were made of glass, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. The other combed through your hair. "I love you." The words tumbled out. "God, I love you so much." His forehead pressed against yours.

You managed a weak smile, lifting a heavy hand to curl around his wrist. "Missed you too, genius," you murmured, your thumb stroking his pulse point where it raced against your fingertips.

His fingertips brushed your cheek, feather-light, like he was scared you’d vanish if he touched you too hard. Then your hair, his fingers slipping gently through it. He trailed them down to your jaw, over the edge of the bandage on your shoulder, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You’re really here,” Spencer whispered, almost in awe, like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “I thought—” He stopped himself, choking on the rest of the sentence. He took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “You’re okay. That’s all I care about.”

Your smile was faint, tired, but so full of love. You reached for him, weakly, your fingers brushing against his hand.“Sit down,” you murmured.

He moved instantly, the mattress dipping under his weight as he perched on the edge of your hospital bed. But he didn't let go. His hands remained locked around yours, fingers lacing through yours. Spencer's hands trembled around yours as a single tear tracked down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he choked out. His shoulders curled inward like he was physically bearing the weight of his failure. "I should've—I could've—" His voice fractured, unable to articulate the countless scenarios his brilliant mind had already calculated where this might have been prevented.

You interrupted him with the gentlest squeeze of his fingers. "Spencer," you murmured, waiting until his shattered gaze lifted to meet yours. "You did protect me. That tackle you made bought the team those crucial seconds." A faint smile touched your lips. "My genius hero." His lower lip quivered violently as he absorbed your words, your forgiveness, your unwavering faith in him.

In that moment, Spencer made his decision.

"I almost lost you today," he rasped. His thumbs traced circles over your knuckles. "And I just—" A shuddering breath. "I can't—"

The satin box materialized in his shaking hand as if by pure instinct. He knew the timing was absurd, knew Hotch would raise an eyebrow and Morgan would tease him mercilessly later about proposing in a hospital. But the thought of waiting one more day, one more hour, without you knowing…

The box clicked open to reveal a delicate diamond ring.

Spencer's entire being focused on your face as he whispered the three words that had kept him breathing when your heart monitor had flatlined for those eleven eternal seconds: "Marry me. Please."

Spencer knew how this looked, knew every logical reason why this moment was all wrong. The antiseptic smell clinging to your skin. The way your hospital gown gaped where they'd cut it away for the bullet wound.

"Oh my God, Spencer—" Your voice broke, tears welling so fast they spilled over before you could blink them away.

His own vision blurred as he watched them trace paths down your cheeks. The mathematician in him noted their trajectory, how they followed the exact same lines they had when you'd cried over his concussion last winter. The man in him just wanted to kiss each one away.

"I know," he whispered, thumb brushing your knuckles where the IV disappeared into your skin. "This isn't... there should've been candlelight. Or—or that little bookstore you love. Not..." A shaky gesture at the blood pressure cuff still wrapped around your arm.

Your fingers tightened around his with surprising strength. "Spencer."

He swallowed hard. "I had this whole speech memorized. Math formulas and—and the chemical composition of diamonds." A wet laugh escaped him. "But all I can think is that I almost never got to ask you at all." The ring trembled in his grip as he lifted it between you, a question, a promise, a plea all in one. "Say you'll still have me? Even like this?"

The moment the word "yes" left your lips, something miraculous happened, the throbbing where the bullet had grazed you, dissolved.

"A million times yes," you choked out between tearful laughter, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth. The movement tugged at your IV line, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You watched, breath caught in your throat, as his fingers trembled around the ring. The diamond caught the light as he lifted it. When you offered your left hand, your own fingers shook in tandem with his. Your vision swam dangerously, the heart monitor beside you spiking as the ring settled at the base of your finger. This time, the dizziness had nothing to do with blood loss and everything to do with the man currently pressing tear-stained kisses to your newly adorned hand—his lips warm and desperate against your skin, whispering "thank you" like a prayer against your knuckles.

For a dizzying moment, you wondered if the pain meds had finally tipped you into hallucination, until Spencer's tear hit your wrist, warm and startlingly real.

You stared down at the diamond. "Good choice," you murmured without thinking, your thumb brushing over the ring.

Spencer laughed. Loudly."Only you," he choked out, his long fingers cradling your hand, "would critique my ring choice while wearing a heart monitor."

Your bottom lip betrayed you again. The diamond blurred behind a fresh sheen of tears as you whispered, "I'd say yes in a warzone if it was you asking." Spencer smiled softly, still staring at your hand in awe.

"So," you murmured. "Does this mean I get to call you fiancé now?"

The word struck him like a physical blow. You saw it in the sudden hitch of his shoulders, the way his breath left him in a rush. His lips parted soundlessly before forming the word himself: "Fiancé."

He tasted it. Savored it. "I think..." A slow, dazed smile bloomed across his face. His free hand rose to brush a stray tear from your cheek. "I think I like that more than any other title I've ever had."

You laughed, wincing slightly when the movement tugged at your stitches, but the pain was distant, unimportant. Spencer’s hand immediately flew to your side, hovering protectively. “Easy,” he chided gently, but his worry melted into another grin when you rolled your eyes at him.

You caught his fluttering hand, weaving your fingers through his. The new weight on your left hand felt foreign yet thrilling.

"So...a wedding," you said, watching how the words made his breath hitch. A slow smile spread across your face as you imagined it - Spencer at the end of some sun-dappled aisle, his long fingers nervously adjusting a tie that Garcia would undoubtedly insist was "aubergine" instead of purple. The way his voice would shake reading vows he'd secretly rewritten seventeen times. His thumb began tracing absent circles on your knuckle. You could practically see the calculations whirring behind those whiskey-warm eyes, percentage chances of rain in Virginia springs, optimal guest count-to-cake ratio equations, until your gentle squeeze derailed his racing thoughts. A blush bloomed across his cheekbones, that endearing pink flush you'd first fallen for during his rookie days when Hotch would praise his profiles.

His expression softened into something wistful. "I always thought," he started slowly, "that it would be small. Just the team." His thumb brushed over your ring. "Maybe my mom, if she's having a good day."

The way his eyes softened at the mention of Diana told you everything, how he'd already imagined her smoothing his lapels, how he'd practiced explaining the ceremony to her during their weekly calls. "Somewhere quiet. Outside, maybe."

You smiled so wide your stitches protested, but the pain was secondary to the warmth spreading through your chest. Your thumb also traced the familiar ridge of his knuckles. "Under oak trees," you mused, watching his eyes light up in recognition. "The kind with leaves that turn to copper in fall. Garcia can string fairy lights through the branches..."

"We could get married under that giant sycamore at Quantico," he offered suddenly, his voice gaining momentum. "The one by the cold case archives. Rossi knows a violinist who—" He cut himself off, blinking. "I've... apparently given this more thought than I realized."

You brought his hand to your lips, kissing each fingertip. "My meticulous man." The diamond caught the light as you moved.

"You’re really going to be my wife," he murmured, voice low and reverent.

You smiled, your free hand lifting to brush a loose curl from his forehead. "And you’re really going to be my husband." The word felt foreign and thrilling on your tongue.

Spencer’s breath hitched, his lashes fluttering as he leaned into your touch. "Husband," he repeated, testing the weight of it. His lips curved into a slow, wondering smile. "I like the way that sounds."

"You’d better," you teased, your thumb tracing the arch of his cheekbone. "Because you’re stuck with me now, Dr. Reid."

He laughed, soft and breathless, before his expression softened into something unbearably tender. "I’ve never been happier to be stuck with anything in my life." You tugged him closer, until his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "We’re really doing this," you whispered.

His fingers tightened around yours. "We really are."

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst

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cruel-seduction · 7 months ago

Text

Mattheo Riddle Headcanon

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Mattheo's love might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

Mattheo Riddle

౨ৎ 6’2 | He’s not as tall as Theo, but you wouldn’t dare mention that unless you want to end up against a wall (and not in the fun way—well, not just the fun way). He’s tall enough to tower over you, and honestly, that’s all he needs.

౨ৎ Built to fight | Mattheo doesn’t have the lean elegance of Theo or Draco. He’s solid—broad shoulders, strong arms, and that delicious combination of athletic and dangerous. (He’s fought more boys in Hogwarts hallways than you’ve taken exams, and every single one of them regretted it.)

౨ৎ Hands? MADE FOR SIN. Big, veiny, and calloused from Quidditch and street fights. He’s got a grip that can pin you down or pull you close—whatever mood he’s in. (He could choke you mid-argument, and you’d thank him afterward. RESPECTFULLY.)

౨ৎ He doesn’t work out for fun—he works out to survive. Fistfights, dodging hexes, getting thrown into detention every week; it’s all part of the “Mattheo Maintenance Plan.” (He calls it cardio; we call it hot as hell.)

౨ৎ Face? Pure trouble. Mattheo’s got that sharp jawline and cheekbones that could cut glass. Dark, stormy eyes that smolder like embers, framed by lashes so long they should be illegal. He’s always got a cut or bruise somewhere on his face—his version of an accessory. (You just want to kiss it better, don’t lie.)

౨ৎ Hair? CHAOTIC. Dark and curly, it looks like he ran his hands through it during a fight and then just left it that way. It’s thick and soft, and you know it’d feel like heaven wrapped around your fingers. (Or gripping your thighs while he devour —anyway.)

౨ৎ That smirk. It’s a weapon. Crooked, cocky, and knowing, it has the power to make you forget how to breathe. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he throws it your way. (And you hate yourself for falling for it every single time. But not enough to stop looking.)

౨ৎ He doesn’t just walk; he prowls. There’s a predatory grace to the way Mattheo moves, like he’s always two seconds away from either a fight or dragging you into a dark corner. (You wouldn’t mind the later one, do you?)

౨ৎ Voice? A slow burn. Low, raspy, and smooth, like he’s smoked one too many cigarettes but still has you hanging on every word. When he whispers, it’s game over. (He calls you “trouble” in that tone, and suddenly you’re ready to commit a crime.)

౨ৎ Anger Management Issues | Mattheo doesn’t yell—he doesn’t have to. His rage is cold, quiet, and calculated, which somehow makes it ten times scarier. He’ll get even, and he’ll do it in a way that leaves scars. (Emotionally and physically.)

౨ৎ Fight first, ask questions never. Mattheo’s solution to any problem is his fists. Someone looked at him wrong? Fight. Someone disrespected Theo or Draco? Fight. Someone dared to breathe near you? FIGHT. (And he’ll win, obviously. Look at him.)

౨ৎ Slytherin Prince energy. He doesn’t care for titles, but people gravitate to him anyway. He’s magnetic, exuding a dangerous charisma that makes you want to follow him—even if it means walking straight into hell.

౨ৎ Soft spots? Hidden under lock and key. Mattheo doesn’t open up easily, but when he does, it’s devastating. A rare, crooked smile or a quiet laugh, and suddenly your whole world tilts. (We LOVE a secretly soft bad boy.)

Would you let Mattheo Riddle ruin your life? Absolutely. Would you thank him afterward? Also yes. (No notes. Just him.)

Mattheo Riddle | Personality

౨ৎ He’s loud but in that dangerously calm way when it matters most. Mattheo knows exactly how to push buttons, whether it’s with a smirk, a biting remark, or just the way he looks at you like he knows all your secrets. (Spoiler: he probably does.)

౨ৎ The type of person who thrives in chaos. He’s not a troublemaker by default; he just is trouble. People either avoid him completely or flock to him like moths to a flame—usually the latter. (WE LOVE A MAN WHO IS THE RED FLAG AND THE WHOLE DAMN CARNIVAL!)

౨ৎ Reputation? Notorious. Everyone knows Mattheo Riddle. Maybe it’s because he’s always at the center of some scandal, or maybe it’s just because you can’t not notice him.

౨ৎ Manipulative, but make it hot. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or even argue much. Mattheo knows how to twist words and situations until you’re the one apologizing to him. (And then he has the audacity to smirk about it.)

౨ৎ Fights aren’t something he picks—they’re something that find him. But once he’s in one? All bets are off. "You wanted this. Don’t start crying now."

౨ৎ Unlike Theo’s quiet menace, Mattheo fights loud. He taunts his opponent with sharp quips and cruel laughter, the kind of guy who’ll land a punch and then casually fix his hair like it was nothing.

౨ৎ Obsessive tendencies galore. When Mattheo decides something—or someone—is his, it’s game over. He doesn’t just like you; he fixates. (Good luck trying to shake him off because you’re not going anywhere.)

౨ৎ Affection? Worship disguised as possessiveness. He’s the type to follow you around like a shadow, making sure everyone knows you’re off-limits. His jealousy? Immediate and obvious. "If you wanted to make me mad, congratulations, princess. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

౨ৎ He’s a natural flirt, but it’s not rehearsed. Everything about Mattheo is raw, instinctive, and dripping with confidence. (The man could make tying his shoes look like foreplay. It’s unfair.)

౨ৎ Smirks more than he smiles, and every single one is lethal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you rethink your life choices. (Like why you aren’t currently pinned against a wall by him.)

౨ৎ His anger is a wildfire—hot, destructive, and consuming. But what’s scarier is the moments right before he snaps, when his voice lowers and his eyes darken. That’s when you really start praying.

౨ৎ Chaotic protector energy. Mattheo doesn’t have many people he’d go to the ends of the earth for, but if you’re one of them? He’ll burn the world down to keep you safe. (And he’d make it look sexy while doing it.)

He’s not just passionate; he’s intense. Whether it’s fights, emotions, or sex, Mattheo doesn’t do anything halfway. He’s all-in, all the time. (Exhausting? Yes. Worth it? Also yes.)

Would you let Mattheo Riddle ruin your day, your life, and your sanity? Absolutely. Would you regret it? Never.

౨ৎ Layers of chaos. On the surface, Mattheo looks like he’s got everything under control—swagger, confidence, and a devil-may-care attitude. But under all that? Oh, he’s a mess. Overthinks everything, but you’d never know it because he masks it with a cocky grin and impulsive decisions. (SOMEONE GIVE THIS MAN A THERAPIST, BUT ALSO LET HIM KEEP THE TOXIC EDGE. WE LOVE IT.)

౨ৎ Moody as hell, but in the hot way. You’ll know when he’s upset because he gets too quiet, that jawline clenching just so. He won’t lash out; instead, he’ll brood in the corner until someone’s brave enough to poke the bear. "Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? *Smirk.* " (Sir, that smirk says you’re about to burn the whole castle down.)

౨ৎ Impulsive to the core. Plans? Never heard of them. Mattheo acts on instinct—whether it’s throwing a punch or dragging you into an empty corridor because he needs you right now. It’s a miracle he hasn’t landed himself in Azkaban.

౨ৎ Organized chaos. His notes are scribbled, his robes are half-untucked, and yet he’s always prepared. Somehow. He doesn’t stress about the details; he just wings it. (And annoyingly, it works out every time.)

౨ৎ Languages? Oh, he knows a few. His Italian is rough but so hot, especially when he’s muttering something under his breath that you can’t quite catch. And Merlin help you when he growls something in Parseltongue. (THE THINGS WE’D LET HIM DO IN THAT LANGUAGE.)

౨ৎ Smart but reckless. Mattheo doesn’t study much, but he’s one of those annoyingly brilliant types who can pick up a spell by watching someone else do it once. He’d ace every class if he cared enough to put in the effort.

౨ৎ Social butterfly with teeth. He thrives in social situations—not because he’s polite, but because he’s got the charisma of a goddamn snake. Everyone either loves him, hates him, or fears him. Sometimes all three at once. "Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t think I’d catch you looking, but here we are." (Boy, nobody was looking. But now we are.)

౨ৎ Driest sense of humor. Mattheo’s sarcasm is so sharp it could cut glass. Half the time, people not sure if he’s joking or insulting them.

౨ৎ But according to him you look good in everything. Wearing a garbage bad? "Oh baby, You look like goddess"

౨ৎ Drinks tea like an old man. (Yeah, you thought he’d be a whiskey guy, didn’t you? Nope. Earl Grey, no sugar, no milk. Deal with it.)

౨ৎ Parties are his stage. Mattheo doesn’t just attend parties—he owns them. Whether he’s in the center of a fight or the middle of the dance floor, he’s the one everyone’s watching. And if he’s not? He’ll make sure he is. "Draco’s drunk, Theo’s being boring, and you’re coming with me. Now."

౨ৎ Protector vibes, but make it chaotic. Mattheo will fight anyone, anywhere, at any time if they so much as look at his friends the wrong way. But he’s not the silent type—oh no, he’s the guy yelling insults mid-fight and making sure the whole room knows why this person deserved it.

౨ৎ Would you trust Mattheo Riddle to make a single responsible decision in his life? No. Would you follow him into the chaos anyway? Absolutely.

Mattheo Riddle | Boyfriend

Oh, dating Mattheo Riddle is like dating a thunderstorm: chaotic, intense, and utterly mesmerizing. He’s a mix of reckless devotion, gentlemanly gestures, and just the right amount of toxic edge to keep things interesting.

౨ৎ The Fighter You Can’t Stay Mad At:

Let’s get this out of the way: Mattheo is always getting into fights. Whether it’s over you, his friends, or just because someone looked at him wrong, his knuckles are perpetually bruised.

You’ve become an expert at patching him up, and even though he winces when you clean his wounds, he sits still because you’re the one touching him.

But the second you start crying while bandaging him up? Oh, his heart shatters. He’d rather die in the ring than see tears in your eyes. "Baby, please don’t cry. It’s just a scratch—I’m fine, I promise." (Spoiler: It’s not just a scratch, but he’ll never admit it because he can’t stand upsetting you.)

౨ৎ The Open Book:

Mattheo tells you everything. Even the dumb stuff that doesn’t matter.

He’ll burst into your room with stories about the dumb prank Theo pulled or the argument he had with Draco over which Quidditch team is better.

It’s not just oversharing—it’s that he wants you to be part of every aspect of his life. You’re his person, and he doesn’t hold back. "Guess what? Draco tripped on his robe this morning, We saw his penis, and Theo nearly died laughing. You should’ve been there—it was glorious."

౨ৎ Your Number One Listener:

If you’re a talker, Mattheo listens like your words are the most important thing in the world. He’ll nod, ask questions, and remember everything.

You’ll mention something in passing—like wanting to try a new dessert—and two weeks later, he’ll surprise you with it.

And if someone interrupts you while you’re talking? Oh, they’re about to meet a very pissed-off Mattheo. "She wasn’t finished speaking. Shut up and wait your turn."

౨ৎ Gentleman With a Hint of Chaos:

Despite his bad-boy demeanor, Mattheo has a surprisingly soft, thoughtful side.

He carries pads or tampons for you, keeps a hair tie around his wrist just in case, and always has a water bottle on hand because you forget to stay hydrated.

He’ll open doors, walk on the side closest to the street, and make sure you’re warm when it’s cold. (But let’s be honest, he’ll also yank you into a broom closet mid-conversation because he needs to feel you right now.)

౨ৎ Hopelessly Devoted (But Low-Key Toxic):

Mattheo worships the ground you walk on, but don’t mistake that for him being easygoing. Oh no. His loyalty comes with a dark, possessive streak.

He’s not the type to tell you who you can or can’t talk to, but rest assured, anyone who crosses a line with you will regret it.

You can do anything, like literally anything. You can kill a guy and all Mattheo would do is kiss your forehead and hide the body. According to him you are never wrong. You can slap him, punch him, or worse kill him he would still justify it saying there must be a reason behind this.

He’s subtle but scary when it comes to protecting you. A cutting glare, a whispered threat, or just his mere presence is usually enough to keep people in line.

౨ৎ How He Fell in Love:

Mattheo thought he was immune to love. Sure, he flirted and hooked up, but real feelings? Nah, not for him.

Until you came along.

It hit him during one of his usual brawls. He glanced at the crowd, and there you were, looking so worried. And suddenly, getting punched didn’t matter—making sure you never had to worry about him like that again did.

Afterward, he was awkward as hell trying to tell you how he felt. He didn’t have Theo’s calculated charm or Draco’s smoothness. Instead, he just blurted it out one day while you were laughing at some dumb joke he made. "I love you. Like, I think I’d die if you ever left me, so… yeah."

Your stunned silence nearly killed him, but then you kissed him, and he knew he’d never want anyone else.

౨ৎ Ride or Die Energy:

Mattheo isn’t just your boyfriend; he’s your partner in crime.

Whether it’s sneaking into the Restricted Section, hexing someone who pissed you off, or just holding your hand while you rant, he’s always got your back.

He might be reckless, dramatic, and a little toxic, but he’s also fiercely loyal, endlessly devoted, and absolutely crazy about you.

Dating Mattheo Riddle? Exhausting. Chaotic. Perfect.

Mattheo Riddle | Affection

Mattheo Riddle isn't the type to pour out his feelings in grand speeches or dramatic gestures—no, he's far too intense and possessive for that. But when it comes to affection? He’s got a way of showing it that’ll make you never doubt how much you mean to him.

౨ৎ The Quiet, Intense Affection:

Mattheo is a man of action, not words. He won’t always tell you he loves you, but his touch? Oh, it says everything.

His hand on your waist when you walk through crowded hallways. The way his fingers graze your back when you’re standing too close to someone.

In public, he’s cool and calm. But when it’s just the two of you? He’s all about that quiet intensity that makes your heart race.

If someone tries to flirt with you? He’ll just stand there, leaning against a wall with a smirk, eyes dark and unreadable, watching. He doesn’t need to say a word; everyone knows you’re his.

౨ৎ Praise Kink, Because Why Not?

Mattheo lives for praising you, but not in some sugary, over-the-top way. No, his words are quiet, almost off-handed—but they hit like a freight train.

"I don't know how you make doing nothing look so fucking sexy."

“You’re brilliant. You’ve got this whole school eating out of the palm of your hand, and I love it.”

He’ll say things that seem like offhand compliments but are actually his way of making it clear you’re the most important thing in his life. You’ll think about it later, and that’s when it hits: he means it.

౨ৎ Acts of Service—Mattheo Style:

Mattheo won’t jump up and start fussing over you the second you’re upset. He’ll do it in his own way—quietly, but with a look that says he’ll take care of you.

He won’t tell you when he’s bought your favorite candy or snuck into the library to grab the book you mentioned once.

"You said you were feeling stressed, so I already cleared your schedule for the week," he’ll say, as though it’s no big deal. (It’s a huge deal, but he’ll never admit it.)

If you’re tired and need a break, you can bet Mattheo will be the one to drag you out of the common room for a walk, simply so you can breathe without all the chaos.

౨ৎ Possessiveness, But Make It Sexy:

Mattheo doesn’t have to raise his voice or throw punches to show how much you’re his. His possessiveness is felt—a deep, simmering intensity that wraps around you.

At parties, his hand is always on you. Resting on your back, on your thigh, on the curve of your waist. Every touch is a claim, subtle but strong.

He doesn’t need to make a scene when someone flirts with you. Instead, you’ll see him lean in, whisper something in your ear, and the person who was trying to flirt with you? Suddenly, they’ll lose interest.

"I believe you’re standing a little too close to her," Mattheo will say, his voice smooth, and then? Instant silence. You’ll never see that person again.

౨ৎ The Soft Side of Mattheo:

Don’t be fooled by his hard exterior—Mattheo has a surprisingly soft side, but only when he’s with you.

He loves wrapping you up in his arms, his strong hands gently cradling your head as he runs his fingers through your hair. The moment the world is quiet, Mattheo will pull you closer, murmuring things only meant for you.

"You’re the only one who can make me feel like I can finally breathe," he’ll whisper, kissing your forehead like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

He’s the type to hold you while you fall asleep, his hand resting on your back, as though he’s terrified of letting you go.

౨ৎ Mattheo Riddle, the Perfect Boyfriend:

He’s everything you didn’t know you needed. Intense, protective, and slightly toxic, but in the best way possible.

He’ll fight for you, adore you in his own way, and make you feel like you’re the only one in the world.

It’s the kind of love that burns, but in the most thrilling, heart-stopping way possible.

Because, at the end of the day, Mattheo Riddle isn’t just your boyfriend—he’s your protector, your love, your obsession.

And honestly? You’d never want it any other way.

(So yeah, you might occasionally hate how possessive he is, but you love it. Let’s be real, you know he’s all yours and you wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Mattheo Riddle | Obsessive Devotion

If Theodore is calculated destruction, Mattheo Riddle is reckless chaos. He doesn’t just want you to fall apart; he wants to be the reason you can’t put yourself back together. With Mattheo, it’s raw, unrelenting intensity—the kind that leaves you breathless, marked, and utterly ruined.

౨ৎ The Firestarter:

Mattheo thrives on tension, but unlike Theo’s slow burn, Mattheo’s approach is an inferno. He’ll corner you in dark hallways, his hands caging you against the wall, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs something filthy.

"You think you can tease me like that and get away with it? Oh, sweetheart, we’re far from done."

He doesn’t do subtle. His need is primal, immediate, and entirely consuming. If you’re within reach, you’re his—whether it’s in the privacy of his dorm or against a cold stone wall in the dungeons.

౨ৎ Possessive Chaos:

Mattheo doesn’t just want to own you—he needs to make sure everyone else knows it.

He leaves marks on purpose, smirking when you try to cover them up. "Don’t hide it, baby. Let them see who you belong to."

He’ll pull you onto his lap at parties, his hands gripping your thighs possessively, his dark eyes daring anyone to come close.

౨ৎ Praise Me, Baby:

Mattheo isn’t shy about telling you exactly how much he wants you. His words are rough, filthy, and laced with need, but they always leave you trembling.

"You’re a fucking goddess, you know that? Look at you, taking me so perfectly."

He thrives on your reactions—every gasp, every moan, every arch of your back. It’s his fuel, his addiction.

And if you praise him back? If you tell him he’s good, that he’s making you feel amazing? His restraint snaps. He becomes desperate, almost feral, to prove that he can give you everything you want and more.

౨ৎ Control Meets Chaos:

Mattheo loves being in control, but he’s also unpredictable. One moment, he’s guiding you with a firm, steady hand; the next, he’s pinning you down, his lips bruising yours as he loses himself in the heat of the moment.

He’s rough but never careless. Every grip, every bite, every growled "mine" is deliberate, a testament to just how much he adores you.

Push him too far, though—maybe tease him with a sly smile or brush your fingers against his neck when you know he can’t do anything about it—and you’ll unlock a side of him that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

"You want to play games, sweetheart? Fine. But don’t think for a second you’ll win."

౨ৎ The Edge of Obsession:

Mattheo isn’t just devoted—he’s obsessed. He memorizes every little thing about you—your favorite scent, the way your lips twitch when you’re amused, the soft sounds you make when he kisses that spot just below your ear.

He carries your favorite snacks in his bag, not because you asked, but because he noticed you skipped lunch one day.

౨ৎ Endurance King:

Mattheo doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, breathless, and begging for mercy. Even then, he’ll push just a little further, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

"One more, baby. Just one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?"

And when you think you’ve reached your limit, he’ll hold you close, his voice soft and soothing as he helps you come back down.

౨ৎ Switching It Up:

Mattheo loves being in control, but when you take charge? Oh, it drives him wild. The second you push him onto the bed, straddle his hips, and demand that he behave, he’s putty in your hands.

"You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind, baby."

Watching you take what you want from him—feeling your nails dig into his skin, hearing the way you gasp his name—it’s enough to make him come undone every single time.

౨ৎ The Vulnerable Side of Mattheo:

As intense and chaotic as he is, Mattheo has a softer side that he only shows to you. After the fire has burned out, he’ll hold you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers things he’d never admit in the light of day.

"You’re everything to me, you know that? I’d burn the whole world down for you."

He loves running his fingers through your hair, tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he listens to your heartbeat. It’s in those quiet moments that you see the depth of his devotion—the way he’s completely, irreversibly yours.

౨ৎ Mattheo Riddle, The Lover You’ll Never Forget:

He’s fire and brimstone, chaos and passion, but beneath it all is a man who would do anything to make you feel loved, desired, and protected.

With Mattheo, every touch, every word, every moment is a whirlwind of intensity that leaves you craving more.

Because once you’ve been loved by Mattheo Riddle? No one else will ever compare.

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himasgod · 12 days ago

Note

May I request the tweels (or any of the beastmen) x reader who got braces?

(I think the tweels would find braces interesting bc merfolk probably don't need those lol)

MERFOLK, BEASTMEN AND FAE X READER

HEADCANONS WHERE YOU GOT BRACES

Floyd, Lilia, Jade, Ruggie, Leona, Jack, Azul, Malleus, Sebek

I've had braces for quite some time now and they've always been quite painful for me, so I'm sorry if I exaggerated this a bit 😭.

The moment Floyd notices your braces, he grins. “Eh? What’s that shiny stuff on your teeth, shrimpy?” he asks, eyes gleaming.

He’ll definitely poke at your cheeks the second you smile, especially during lunch. He’s fascinated. “They look like tiny little chains~ Are your teeths locked up or somethin’, shrimpy?”

Constantly comes up with weird nicknames like “Metal Mouth,” “Silver Bites,” or "Chomp-chomp"

One day, he tries to trade a button with you for “one of your braces links.” When you tell him they’re not removable, he just laughs and goes, “Guess you’re stuck like that, huh~?”

Despite the teasing, Floyd gets very defensive if anyone else makes fun of them. That’s his shrimpy. Only he’s allowed to mess with you like that.

He secretly thinks your braces make your smile even shinier, and the first time you’re embarrassed to smile around him, he squishes your cheeks and says: “Don’t hide it. I like it. It’s weird and shiny—just like you.”

“Oho~ What’s this? A mortal fashion trend I’ve missed?” Lilia is delighted when he notices your braces for the first time. You can practically see the sparkle in his eyes.

“Braces, you say? How charming! In my day, if your teeth were crooked, you just didn’t smile in portraits~”

He’s very playful about them, calling you things like “sparkling” or “silver smile cutie.”

He loves making jokes like: “Careful, or I’ll get caught in those wires when I kiss you~”

But if you ever feel self-conscious, Lilia switches gears completely. He cups your face and says: “These? They’re just a moment in time. What matters are you behind your smile. That’s what drew me in.”

He starts packing you bento boxes with soft mushy food and insists it’s traditional fae healing cuisine (it’s just mochi and gelatin, but he’s doing his best).

Also offers to enchant the braces to "sing softly in harmony" every time you bite down, but you definitely decline that one.

He leans in close and says, “Ah... fascinating. May I take a closer look?”

You’ll catch him reading up on human orthodontics just to understand how they work. He finds the idea of intentionally altering one’s bone structure to be utterly enthralling.

"Ah, so they use tension over time to shift your teeth? Remarkable. In the Coral Sea, our teeth simply regrow if damaged... quite different indeed."

He asks you questions like: “Does it hurt when they tighten them?” “Can you remove them yourself?” “What happens if you get struck by lightning with all that metal?”

Jade finds your vulnerability over them endearing. If you’re shy about smiling, he’ll gently assure you: “There’s no need to be embarrassed, dear. It’s quite the elegant solution—efficient and human.”

Ruggie is immediately intrigued by your braces, especially since he's never seen anything like that growing up in the impoverished Sunset Savanna.

“Whoa, are those real metal? Like... do they do somethin’ or are they just for looks?”

After you explain what they’re for, he whistles and says, “Sheesh, humans really do go the extra mile for shiny teeth, huh?”

You already know this boy’s gonna tease you. “Hey, if you bite someone, does it leave a cool imprint? Like a gear mark or somethin’? That’d be sick.”

When he sees you being shy or hiding your smile, he softens instantly. “C’mon, don’t be like that. You’ve got a great smile—braces or no. 'Sides, they kinda sparkle in the sun. Betcha could blind a guy if you timed it right.”

He offers to help carry your bag when your mouth’s sore or sneak you soft snacks from the cafeteria.

Ruggie gets very protective if anyone dares mock you. He might be a hyena, but he bites back if someone messes with his beloved.

“Say it again, and I’ll make you chew on scrap metal. Let’s see how you like it, huh?”

At first, Leona is completely unimpressed. He raises an eyebrow and goes, “Tch. Hervibores are so weird.”

But secretly? He thinks they’re kinda cool. He just won’t say it out loud.

If you try to hide your braces around him, he gets annoyed. “Quit fidgeting. If it bothered me, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Leona will 100% nap on your lap while you’re sore from an appointment, acting like it’s for his comfort. “You’re the pillow today. Don’t move, or I’ll bite.”

But you catch on pretty fast that he’s being gentle for your sake, even napping with one ear twitching toward you to monitor your breathing if you're sore.

He low-key pays attention to what you can and can’t eat and casually pushes the wrong foods off your tray without saying a word.

And if you ever look down on yourself for needing braces, his voice gets firm: “Listen. You’re already strong enough to go through all that pain for a better future. That’s more than most people can say. So stop acting like you’re less, got it?”

Jack is surprisingly shy when he first notices your braces. Not because he’s judging—he’s just unfamiliar with the concept.

He straight-up asks: “Are they... alright? Do they hurt? Should you be chewing that?”

The first time he sees you wincing after a tightening appointment, his tail droops a little. “Do you want me to walk you back? You look like you're in pain…”

Jack becomes incredibly considerate—offering cold drinks, even adjusting your scarf or collar to make sure nothing presses on your jaw.

He absolutely blushes the first time you smile at him with braces, then clears his throat and mutters: “You’ve got a nice smile... not that it matters what I think. I mean—it does—I just... yeah.”

If anyone tries to tease you, his ears flick up. “Say that again, and I’ll make you apologize to them—with a mouthful of your own teeth.”

He’s honestly in awe of how tough you are. “Most people would complain nonstop. But you’re just... handling it. That’s cool. You’re cool.”

And when you finally get your braces off, Jack notices instantly and gives you a genuine smile: “You looked good before. You look good now. But… I think I like your confidence the most.”

Azul tries to act all suave about it, but the truth is: he's completely thrown off by how cute you look with them.

“Ah, I see you’ve... updated your dental equipment,” he says, adjusting his glasses. (Internally: Oh no. They’re adorable.)

When you tell him how painful it was getting them put on, he immediately launches into Concerned Boyfriend Mode: “Did you take the painkillers I brought you? Shall I fetch more soup? I read that cold smoothies can help ease the inflammation...”

Brags to the others in the Most Azul Way Possible: “My significant other is investing in their future—perfect teeth, no less. Vision, commitment, discipline. Qualities of a successful individual.”

That said, he will absolutely start offering orthodontic deals at the Lounge, using your experience as a case study. “Smile confidence package: get your teeth adjusted and a free coupon for eel mochi!”

The first time you get self-conscious about your braces, Azul falters a little and says, almost shyly: “I think they suit you. They reflect your character—strong, determined... and charming.”

Malleus is fascinated the first time he sees your braces. He leans in with those glowing eyes, blinking slowly. “You have metal... attached to your teeth. Is this a custom of your people?”

You explain what braces are for, and he nods gravely like you’ve just imparted sacred knowledge. “Ah... so they alter the growth of your bones over time. Such craftsmanship... humans truly do have curious forms of magic.”

He’s surprisingly gentle about it, never teasing you. In fact, he considers it a mark of resilience. “You endure pain in pursuit of a goal. That is... admirable. A strength.”

Malleus offers to cast protective wards on your braces “should they ever threaten your health or comfort,” and you have to gently explain that’s not necessary.

One day, he casually says: “They glint when you smile. I quite enjoy the sight.”

When you’re sore or shy about them, Malleus encourages you with calm certainty: “Whether adorned with silver, metal, or not, your smile has always been a treasure.”

His dad is a dentist sooo he's the only one "familiar" with the concept. Atill, its something strange for him.

"It’s—uh—good that you are seeking improvement! As expected of someone close to Malleus!”

He immediately starts researching orthodontics. You catch him in the library with books like “Metal in Human Medicine”

Every time you wince in pain or avoid smiling, he panics internally and tries to act composed: “STAND TALL! Your braces are a sign of perseverance and strength! Do not falter, human!”

He constantly tries to find foods that won’t hurt your mouth and shoves tupperware at you with aggressively handmade meals. “I prepared these soft steamed vegetables. They’re high in calcium for bone support. NUTRITION IS VITAL!”

He’s very, very proud of you and shouts it. “MY PARTNER BEARS METAL IN THEIR MOUTH AND YET SMILES THROUGH THE PAIN—TRULY, NONE COMPARE!”

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