Holding Hands While Walking

Holding hands while walking

plot twist:they’re both freaks 🚩‼️

putting this here too,, red flags art trend w my OCs! would you take any of these rats to dinner?👀

the housewardens crushing on you

characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, malleus notes: gn! reader, descriptions + mentions of food/eating, Idia’s takes direct inspo from the vignette “that party animal from class” other crushes: first years

riddle rosehearts

Bless him, Riddle is so high-strung around you. He just wants to give off the impression of being someone who is refined, dependable, and put-together, which he is under normal circumstances. But with a crush on you, he’s constantly caught off-guard by your praise and compliments and seems to permanently have a red face.

“Are you sure all the roses are red, Trey?” Riddle asked, eyes sweeping the garden for what felt like the hundredth time. And, for the hundredth time, Trey assured him that yes, the roses were red; the mouse in the teapot had a smear of jam on its nose; and, per rule 228, as it was Wednesday, no one picked any flowers.

“Why’s the housewarden so tense today?” Riddle heard one Heartslabyul student ask. His friend responded, “I don’t know, it’s just another Unbirthday party.”

Riddle huffed, the urge to collar them growing, though he refrained. It wasn’t just another Unbirthday party, it was the one he personally invited you to, so it had to be perfect—or at least close to that.  

Trey placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It looks great, Riddle. This could be the best Unbirthday party that we’ve put on.”

Riddle nodded, silent, still examining the area for anything out of place. Then, he heard Cater’s loud voice, followed by Deuce and Ace’s, and then yours. He straightened and brushed down his uniform just as you entered the garden.

“Merry Unbirthday!” Trey cheered, prompting the other Heartslabyul students to follow suit.

You laughed, “Thanks! This all looks great!”

“Riddle did most of it,” Trey said. “He picked out the tea and pastries and everything.”

Riddle shot a glare at Trey, who just smiled and winked back at him. With a rapidly reddening face, Riddle motioned gracefully to the table at the center of the celebration. “The guest of honor sits there.”

“Aww, this is so awesome, Riddle!” you said as he led you, pulling the chair out for you.

“Thank you. I wanted you to have the merriest Unbirthday.”

“Well, this certainly looks very merry,” you said. “Can I try one?” You pointed at the cookies neatly piled on the tiered tower.

When he nodded, you added, “Actually? Can you pick one out for me?”

“Me?” he asked, his collar feeling too tight and too hot all of a sudden. When you gave an affirmative hum, he paused and thought hard. You often stayed away from super sweet treats and he had seen you go for the carrot cake as your after-dinner dessert… Riddle pulled out one of the spice cookies, holding it out to you.

Cookie still in Riddle’s hand, you leaned forward to take a small bite, flavors bursting immediately. You savored the slight heat of the cookie and enjoyed the way the flavors made you think of autumn. “That’s delicious!” you said. “Did Trey make these?”

Riddle looked away from you to try and hide his blush. “I did, actually… with Trey’s help.”

“Incredible,” you said. You waited until he faced you and said, “I want to thank you for this again. I don’t think anyone’s ever done anything this nice for me before.”

Riddle’s face went bright red.

Keep reading

Fontaine Mons part 1

This sound reminded me of them.

++ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

[summary] wrio’s spouse winds up in prison. special treatment ensues.

[cws] gender neutral reader. fluff.

“What you did was incredibly stupid.”

“I’d like to think it was very brave, actually.” You quip back, lips pursed as you turn up your chin. “You should be proud of me, really.”

“I should be proud that you got yourself thrown in prison?” You don’t have to look up to know that Wriothesley is sporting an incredulous expression. “Did they knock your head around a bit before bringing you down here?”

“You’re acting like I murdered someone.” You finally meet his gaze, and you resist the urge to sink down into your seat at the clear disapproval in his eyes. “All I did was—”

“Break into the Opera Epiclese and destroy government property.”

“That’s such a trumped-up charge!” You huff and roughly cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing as you think back on the charges that had been slapped down onto you by that damned archon. “You trip in the dark and accidentally fall into the oratrice and all of a sudden you’re a criminal. Hmph!”

“Yeah, exactly. It also doesn’t help that you broke in—”

“—I left my bracelet in there after the trial! Was I just supposed to leave it behind and potentially lose it forever? The condition of the lost and found in that place is downright terrible—the guards pocket all the good stuff.”

“You could have bought another one.”

“Not like this one.” You look down to the gray bracelet encircling your wrist, and a warmth spreads in your chest as you gently twist it around, finger rubbing over the messily written engraving on the inside of it. “This was a gift.”

“Hardly.” He sighs, and your eyes flick up to watch as he runs his hands through his already messy hair. “It’s just scrap metal I bent up and welded because I couldn’t buy you proper jewelry back when I was a prisoner.” It’s his turn to look at the bracelet.

“You were so creative back then.” You smile a bit wider. “I remember you used to have something new made every time I came to visit you. What was that one thing you made? The one that we painted together?”

“The ballerina music box.” He groaned, looking a bit embarrassed, and you snapped your fingers.

“The ballerina music box!” The ballerina was a bit oddly shaped, and the box had sharp corners on one side and rounded on the other, and the song the box played was distorted and sounded more creepy than relaxing due to some disfigured cogs, but you loved it nonetheless, and had even sobbed in thanks when he had first presented the gift to you. “I love that little box.”

“It looks like a child made it.”

“A child in the throes of eleazar, yes,” you nod, and his mouth opens a bit in surprise before he huffs out a laugh. “But I still love it… because you made it.” You give him a sweet smile, and you can see him soften up before your very own eyes; broad shoulders losing that rigidness, lids lowering, crease between his dark, thick brows disappearing.

“You’re tryin’ to butter me up.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Is it working?”

“Not at all, jailbird.” He gives you a smile of his own, and despite the clear sarcasm in it, you can’t help the little flutter your heart does at the sight. “No special treatment for you.” So he says, yet he had placed a cup of tea down for you the moment you were brought to his office, and had even tried to inconspicuously nudge the basket of cookies in your direction, pretending not to notice when you reached for one. “Spouse or not.”

“What a mean man.” You slouch down in your seat. “I treasure the gifts that my lovely, amazing, strong, handsome, and so so so incredibly smart husband gives me and what do I get in return? A criminal record and unfair treatment! I’m suing the entire nation the moment I’m free!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand in the air as if fanning away the conversation, and now it’s your turn to huff. “For the few days that you’re here, you’ll be working directly with me in exchange for coupons.” He takes a slow sip of his tea, adams apple bobbing as he swallows, before gently setting the cup back down onto its small plate. “I’ll make your first job real easy to get you in the swing of things.”

“How kind of you.”

He just barely contains an amused smile. “Very. Now…” He shifts in his seat. “Give me a kiss.”

“I’m married, Your Grace.”

“I’m sure your husband won’t mind. Kiss. Now.” He taps a finger against his lips, and after a moment you stand up and round his desk, hands finding his shoulders as you bend at the waist so your noses brush.

“My husband is a very good fighter, by the way. When he finds out you twisted his spouses’s arm like this, he’ll pummel you.”

“I can handle him.” A hand snags you by the waist, forcing you down into his lap, and you only have time to let out a quiet yelp before Wriothesley’s lips are on yours. The kiss is slow, sensual, and it brings a warmth to your cheeks and covers you with a bashful cloak when he pulls back to let his eyes roam over your face. “I’ve gotta say… your husband is a real lucky guy to snatch up someone as cute as you.”

“Hmph. Seems like you’re trying to butter me up now.”

“Is it working?” He presses his face into your neck, his lips pulling into a smile against your skin, and you have to fight back one of your own.

“Not at all, jailbird.”